u/S_Duarte

It wasn't out of the ordinary. She drew pictures all the time, putting crayon to paper every waking moment.

Such a sweet kid. Tragic circumstances.

Never said a word. Just smiled and handed you a drawing.

Sometimes she would spend hours on one picture, trying her hardest to get it just right. Other times she'd scribble a line or two, and then it'd be onto the next. The staff collected each one and put them into a large binder, so she could revisit them later on. But she never did.

The staff doted on her constantly, making sure she always had everything she needed, and then some. There were stacks of paper and boxes of materials for her to use, along with dolls and other toys.

But she liked to draw.

Most nights, she would fall asleep holding a crayon, then wake up in the morning and continue where she left off.

Sometimes we'd find her drawing in the middle of the night. No light at all, just scribbling away. The sound of wax dragging against paper cutting through the dead silence.

It was her therapy, and we hoped it would help her remember something.

Remember anything.

But despite her situation, she was always smiling. I wondered what she was thinking and how I could reach her. To help her get past that mental barrier. Then we could find out what really happened to her family.

Strangest case I've ever heard.

A family of 6 is found deceased except for the little girl. They are essentially crushed, or imploded, by an unknown force, with no exterior signs of trauma. That information wasn't on the official report.

The child has not spoken since. No other family. Communication is minimal.

Sometimes I felt she wanted to say something, but then would freeze abruptly and turn back to her pictures.

She loved sitting at the large bay window that overlooked the forest and mountains. Day and night.

Every morning she would look up from her drawing and greet me with a smile, and I would ask the routine questions, hoping her situation had somehow improved overnight.

Things went on much the same for many months.

But on one particular day, something changed.

For the first time, I saw sadness in her eyes. I approached her, but it felt like she was not happy to see me. Visibly upset.

She finished hastily scribbling the last of her lines, turned the page over and pushed it towards me. Almost reluctantly. Truth be told, I don't even remember picking up the damn thing.

The image wasn't of the usual happy-go-lucky people, places and things. It took me a few seconds to realize that I was looking at a strange figure, hiding in darkness.

Flooded with nausea, a suffocating dread consumed me.

It was hiding in shadow, almost imperceptible. But very much there.

Smiling.

My mind tried coming up with a reason as to how and why this child would create such horrifying imagery. A glimpse into a moment that should not be seen.

It was all done in a muddy mix of colors. Limbs too long for its body, with the faintest red pin pricks floating above the smile. It was so frightening that it stole any good thoughts left inside my head.

It felt like the embodiment of... Evil.

There's no better way to describe it.

The stare was horrifying. But I couldn't look away.

Something was watching me. Latching onto me.

All of this from a damn piece of paper. A stupid scribble. A kid's drawing.

I tried shaking it off, but it felt like something was pulling me down.

The patient was back to drawing her regular artwork shortly after, and I sat cowering in my office, wondering about the picture that lay face down on my desk.

Obsessing over it.

Doubting what I saw.

I wanted to take another look to confirm my suspicions. Just a quick peek would do. But I was dying inside.

So I burned it.

I took it into the bathroom sink and set it on fire. Pile of ashes and soot flowing down the drain. Long gone. I can't take it back now, but I really wish I could.

Because that's when I started seeing things.

In the periphery of my vision when I'd wake up.

Looking in the rear-view mirror when driving to work.

Peeking out from the open doorway while I watch TV.

Kneeling beside me as I'm falling asleep.

It's always watching me. The figure.

At this point, I don't think it will ever go away.

It's been days since I've gone back to work. 'A family emergency,' I told them.

But little do they know. I can't face them. Not like this.

I still have so many questions. Why did it have to be me? Has she drawn these pictures before? Will it happen to someone else?

It's watching me type this out right now.

The figure.

I wonder if it can read this.

It's filling up more of my vision each day.

It was barely noticeable at first, but now it's trying to trick me into looking at it. Acknowledging it.

I don't even want to open my eyes anymore.

I'm scared.

I still haven't looked directly at it.

But I can tell it's smiling.

It wasn't out of the ordinary. She drew pictures all the time, putting crayon to paper every waking moment.

Such a sweet kid. Tragic circumstances.

Never said a word. Just smiled and handed you a drawing.

Sometimes she would spend hours on one picture, trying her hardest to get it just right. Other times she'd scribble a line or two, and then it'd be onto the next. The staff collected each one and put them into a large binder, so she could revisit them later on. But she never did.

The staff doted on her constantly, making sure she always had everything she needed, and then some. There were stacks of paper and boxes of materials for her to use, along with dolls and other toys.

But she liked to draw.

Most nights, she would fall asleep holding a crayon, then wake up in the morning and continue where she left off.

Sometimes we'd find her drawing in the middle of the night. No light at all, just scribbling away. The sound of wax dragging against paper cutting through the dead silence.

It was her therapy, and we hoped it would help her remember something.

Remember anything.

But despite her situation, she was always smiling. I wondered what she was thinking and how I could reach her. To help her get past that mental barrier. Then we could find out what really happened to her family.

Strangest case I've ever heard.

A family of 6 is found deceased except for the little girl. They are essentially crushed, or imploded, by an unknown force, with no exterior signs of trauma. That information wasn't on the official report.

The child has not spoken since. No other family. Communication is minimal.

Sometimes I felt she wanted to say something, but then would freeze abruptly and turn back to her pictures.

She loved sitting at the large bay window that overlooked the forest and mountains. Day and night.

Every morning she would look up from her drawing and greet me with a smile, and I would ask the routine questions, hoping her situation had somehow improved overnight.

Things went on much the same for many months.

But on one particular day, something changed.

For the first time, I saw sadness in her eyes. I approached her, but it felt like she was not happy to see me. Visibly upset.

She finished hastily scribbling the last of her lines, turned the page over and pushed it towards me. Almost reluctantly. Truth be told, I don't even remember picking up the damn thing.

The image wasn't of the usual happy-go-lucky people, places and things. It took me a few seconds to realize that I was looking at a strange figure, hiding in darkness.

Flooded with nausea, a suffocating dread consumed me.

It was hiding in shadow, almost imperceptible. But very much there.

Smiling.

My mind tried coming up with a reason as to how and why this child would create such horrifying imagery. A glimpse into a moment that should not be seen.

It was all done in a muddy mix of colors. Limbs too long for its body, with the faintest red pin pricks floating above the smile. It was so frightening that it stole any good thoughts left inside my head.

It felt like the embodiment of... Evil.

There's no better way to describe it.

The stare was horrifying. But I couldn't look away.

Something was watching me. Latching onto me.

All of this from a damn piece of paper. A stupid scribble. A kid's drawing.

I tried shaking it off, but it felt like something was pulling me down.

The patient was back to drawing her regular artwork shortly after, and I sat cowering in my office, wondering about the picture that lay face down on my desk.

Obsessing over it.

Doubting what I saw.

I wanted to take another look to confirm my suspicions. Just a quick peek would do. But I was dying inside.

So I burned it.

I took it into the bathroom sink and set it on fire. Pile of ashes and soot flowing down the drain. Long gone. I can't take it back now, but I really wish I could.

Because that's when I started seeing things.

In the periphery of my vision when I'd wake up.

Looking in the rear-view mirror when driving to work.

Peeking out from the open doorway while I watch TV.

Kneeling beside me as I'm falling asleep.

It's always watching me. The figure.

At this point, I don't think it will ever go away.

It's been days since I've gone back to work. 'A family emergency,' I told them.

But little do they know. I can't face them. Not like this.

I still have so many questions. Why did it have to be me? Has she drawn these pictures before? Will it happen to someone else?

It's watching me type this out right now.

The figure.

I wonder if it can read this.

It's filling up more of my vision each day.

It was barely noticeable at first, but now it's trying to trick me into looking at it. Acknowledging it.

I don't even want to open my eyes anymore.

I'm scared.

I still haven't looked directly at it.

But I can tell it's smiling.

I work at a local grocery store. You know, one of those places that sell a bit of everything: Food, electronics, clothing, pharmaceuticals, that sort of thing. Most of the time, I work in the evening after classes, so usually it's pretty uneventful. But yesterday, towards the end of my shift, the manager came up to me and asked if I wanted to work overnight. It was short notice, but since I really needed the money, I entertained the idea.

My manager (let's call him Bill) let me know that the night supervisor (let's call him Andy) would not be in. Family emergency or something. This guy never missed a shift, and he's the only one who works overnight. Apparently, he's been there forever. They must pay him well because he never left. I only met him once, but he struck me as odd, a strange demeanour about him. Maybe that's why he preferred nights, so he didn't have to interact with anyone.

Well, the Manager asked me again if I'd be willing to take over in Andy's absence. I thought about it, and before I could say anything, he told me the pay would be at double time plus the night premium, including a bonus if everything went well. I wasn't sure if this was just a one-time thing, but I really couldn't say no.

I didn't have any classes the next day anyway, and I had just woken up before my shift, so I was still feeling pretty good. More importantly, the extra money was enticing. Just a couple of hours and I'd have a few extra days' pay in my pocket. What could go wrong?

I accepted the offer, thanked him, and then asked what my duties would entail.

"Oh, nothing crazy," he said with a smile. "I'll leave you with the keys and a list before I head out."

He began walking back to his office when suddenly, he stopped and turned to me with a serious expression.

"Just... Be sure to follow everything that's written down, exactly."

He stressed that last word, a strange heaviness weighing on it, eyes fixed on me. I nodded in agreement. Of course I'd follow the list. Would there be a reason not to? I shook it off and continued with my normal routine of unloading the remaining pallets.

The job's simple; take inventory, stock shelves, face products, help customers and perform any other tasks they feel like giving us. It's pretty boring, but it pays the bills while I finish school. One by one, the lights shut down, leaving only a dim glow in their place as workers finished clocking out. The silence that followed was unnatural, a suffocating quiet that muffled my ears. It was a strange feeling to know that everyone was leaving while I stayed behind. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy my solitude, but this was different. The unsettling atmosphere was a festering wound that kept on spreading.

Shortly after, Bill waved me down as he was leaving with one foot out the door.

"Thanks again for doing this," he said. "Here are the keys. Be sure to lock up after you leave. The list is on my desk. And please..." He stared at me with a serious expression and snatched my wrist, pulling me close. I flinched and instinctively pulled back, but he had an iron grip.

"Follow the instructions exactly as they're written. Do not deviate. No matter what, under any circumstances... Don't leave without completing everything on that list." The smell of coffee and hot breath hit me with every word, but that’s not what made me feel sick. A strange feeling settled over me, and I didn't quite know how to respond. I wanted to ask him what he meant, but all that came out was:

"You got it, Bill." I smiled sheepishly and pulled away as he released my hand.

"Good," he said with a grin. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow."

With that, he left the store, whistling as he hopped into his car and drove away. I stood there for a moment, hating that peculiar feeling that told me to run. Screaming at me to just leave. There was a sense of unease looming, but I brushed it off and officially started the night shift.

I quickly locked the door behind him and rushed over to his office. There on his desk was a single sheet of paper.

"Not a very big list."

There were only 5 tasks, but I grew more puzzled as I soon found that each one was stranger than the last.

1. Ensure all exits are locked. Under no circumstances are you to open the door for anyone.

Simple enough. There were only 2 exits in the building anyway, and I sure as hell wasn't going to let anyone inside. But what if someone from the day shift came back? Or someone needed help? I shrugged it off and continued reading.

2. Put out all merchandise from pallets and build any displays as needed. Do not be alarmed if they move on their own.

Most of the pallets had already been emptied, so after that, I was just left with building the displays. But why would they move by themselves? Maybe the displays had sensors or timers.

3. If you hear someone call out to you: Do not respond or acknowledge them. Just leave it alone. It will pass.

At that point, I was starting to get freaked out. Why would anyone else be there? Maybe it was some kind of test. I had no idea what it meant, but I was sure that there was more to the night shift than I had originally thought.

4. If someone is behind you: Do not turn around and speak to them. Do not look at them. Avoid staring at all costs.

I paused for a moment in disbelief, unable to take any of it seriously. What kind of game was Bill playing? Was I on camera? Was this some type of initiation? If so, I wasn't impressed. All I knew was that I was getting tired of it already. And I certainly was not going to leave without collecting my pay.

5. Once all tasks have been completed, walk backwards out of the building while reciting the words on the coin. Do not leave without doing so.

The last part was underlined in red pen.

"You've got to be kidding me," I joked, laughing out loud.

What person in their right mind would do this without thinking twice? I half expected to find Bill laughing at me from outside.

And coin? What coin?

I looked down, and there it was on the desk, gold and radiant. I never saw anything like it before. It was exquisite. I wasn't sure of the origin, but it appeared ancient, sparkling brilliantly in my hand as I ran my thumb over the engraving and attempted to read the words. It spelled out: "Malum Non Sequitur."

"This is total bullshit," I laughed, crumpling up the paper and throwing it into the waste bin, pocketing the coin. There was no way I was going to do any of this. I was just going to finish my work and get the hell out of there. But right as I stepped out of the office, the lights in the store started to flicker.

Not a good start.

That's when I noticed a figure jutting out from one of the far aisles. A featureless shape silently observing me. Long hair past their shoulders with an almost imperceptible smile. But it was there. Gave me the chills.

"Hello?!" I yelled. "Who's there!?" No response.

Someone was definitely there with me. My hands grew sweaty as I scoured the checkout aisles and pulled out a flashlight beside one of the tills, quickly flicking on the switch. My hands trembled, guiding the light to the far end of the store, where I had witnessed the figure, but there was no one there. I told myself I was just spooked by the stupid list, that it was all in my imagination, but tendrils of doubt crept up in the back of my mind.

I raced to the back exit without thinking, adrenaline pumping, to make sure it was still locked, and sure enough, it was. Rusty deadbolt in place. I scoured the entire store, still running, throwing myself blindly at the situation. But I found no one. And just to make sure, I went back to Bill's office to check the security cameras and confirmed that the only person inside the building was me. I breathed out a sigh of relief, glad that it was just my overactive imagination, then took a moment to gather myself before emptying out the remaining pallets.

Over the next few hours, while filling up shelves and rotating product, I had a strange sense that someone was watching me. Several times, I would turn around, feeling eyes on my back, but never saw anything. Even though I knew I was alone, there was always a nagging voice in the back of my mind telling me, ‘What if?'

Once that was all finished, I started setting up the displays. There were a few mannequins that needed clothing, and also a giant cardboard lizard for a children's breakfast cereal that needed to be built. The cereal's actually pretty good. Multi-coloured loops with little bug-shaped marshmallows. My stomach rumbled as I thought about downing a bowl or two and guzzling the milk at the end.

One of the mannequins was partially dressed. Bill must've started on it before he left. Strange. It looked eerily familiar. The eyes had a lifelike quality, despite being plastic. I shuddered, fixed on that dead stare. As I reached out to touch it, a loud bang cut through the silence that made me jump. It came from the storefront window.

When I made my way over, I was surprised to see someone smiling as they waved for me to come closer. A dishevelled man, wearing tattered clothing with long hair covering his face. He looked up with a cupped hand, holding a small shivering dog in the crook of his other arm, nestled into the man's discoloured jacket.

"Food?" he asked, smiling a toothless grin.

I felt horrible and wanted to help them out. I was sure that I could get a few items and let Bill know. He could just take it out of my pay. No big deal.

"Wait right there," I stammered, racing over to the aisles and grabbing a few items before rushing back. I even had everything in a bag, all ready to go. But as I slid the metal into place, ready to unlock the door, I remembered the list. That stupid list.

1. Ensure all exits are locked. Under no circumstances are you to open the door for anyone.

That familiar dread came back, and the bag suddenly felt like it weighed a ton. I felt like such an asshole.

"Actually, I'm not sure if I should," I said, defeated. "The store's locked up and the alarm's enabled, I don't think it'd be a good idea."

I lied about the alarm, but I didn't want to tell him I couldn't help. I hoped that he would just nod and walk off. At most, say a few words. But not this.

His smile waned, and there was a sudden shift in his cheery disposition.

"Please," he said sternly, grabbing at the door handle, pulling with all his weight. I backed up slowly.

"Open the door. Just open the door. Open the door. Open the door!"

He banged his head repeatedly on the glass, all the while repeating those words, voice deep and guttural. I thought he was going to shatter the window and climb through. My body broke out in a cold sweat. I turned around and swiped my phone to dial the Police, but when I turned back, the man was gone. In an instant. There was absolutely no trace of him.

Did that just happen? I felt like I was going crazy. He must've been spooked when he saw me dialing and left, I guess. I was really starting to get creeped out.

I walked back to the displays, looking over my shoulder several times, expecting to see him at the window again, smiling at me. But he never came back. I shook it off and returned to my work. Upon observing the mannequin, I realized it had an uncanny resemblance to Andy.

'Pretty eerie,' I thought to myself, and wondered if it was just a coincidence or if maybe they had it custom-made. I laughed at the absurd idea and continued with my tasks.

Assembling the remaining mannequins was easy enough. Align the pins and insert them until they click, and voila. There were 5 in total. All pale in colour, with faces that looked realistic. Blank expressions etched into them. And those smiles. The one with long hair stared at me from behind the others. It was unsettling watching them grouped together, so still. Almost felt like they could move at any moment. Those lifeless eyes staring into nothingness.

I laughed off the unnerving idea and dismissed the strange thoughts, throwing on the garments for each mannequin before moving them around the department.

It was almost 2 a.m., and I had nearly completed the displays. Just one more to go, and I could finally get out of there. I winced in pain as my stomach growled, quickly reminding me that I had not eaten in quite a while, so I grabbed a chocolate bar from the bag that was meant for the homeless man and tore into it.

Once the plastic straps holding the cardboard lizard display were cut, I unfolded and organized the various parts until everything was neatly laid out. I actually enjoy building displays, folding and sliding the slots into place, attaching the pins and clips together. It’s satisfying watching everything come together. Come to life.

The lizard display stood about 6 feet tall, and as I stepped back to admire the large character ready to pounce into a bowl of frosted cereal, I heard my name called for the first time that night. Not loud, but a gentle whisper, as if they were close by.

My body tightened up, and I instinctively remembered the list:

3. If you hear someone call out to you: Do not respond or acknowledge them. Just leave it alone. It will pass.

I couldn't explain any of it. Impossible for someone to be there. I checked everywhere. I knew I was alone. Despite all of it, I didn't call out to see who was there. Maybe it was because of the list, as stupid as that sounds.

I walked around the store, flashlight in hand, taking timid steps so as not to make noise, and yet again, I found nothing. I dismissed it, thinking it was all in my head, and made my way back to the display. On my way there, I noticed the mannequins had their heads turned. I could've sworn they were all looking forward when I set them up, but now their lifeless eyes were staring in my direction. Goosebumps covered my skin, and I ran back to the display, wanting to quickly finish up so I could leave. But then I heard it again.

The hair on my neck raised up, and I was ready to leave right then and there, but I decided to follow the rules and pretend that everything was ok, making my way around the store one last time before leaving. I would just tell Bill that I forgot to clean up. I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem. Once again, I nervously made my rounds, but when I came across the clothing section, I couldn't explain what I saw.

The mannequins that I had just placed in separate areas of the department were now huddled together. It was as if I caught them in the middle of a conversation. My body went cold, and the list once again popped up in my mind.

2. Put out all merchandise from pallets and build any displays as needed. Do not be alarmed if they move on their own.

How could I not be alarmed? There was definitely someone there with me, and they were playing a sick joke. My heart was beating violently in my chest, and the sweat was starting to seep out of every pore. Then I noticed something.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Four mannequins.

Where was the 5th? Then, before I could act on the disturbing moment, someone spoke from the deafening silence. It was a soft monotone voice, almost muffled. Not angry. Almost pleasant. But the stark contrast of their voice and the situation made it all the more unsettling.

"Hello," it spoke again, just as calm as the first time. It was clear as day. I could feel their presence right behind me. Every hair on my arms stood on end as static filled the emptiness, and something brushed the back of my neck.

4. If someone is behind you: Do not turn around and speak to them. Do not look at them. Avoid staring at all costs.

I wish I could have controlled myself better, to know what I know now. But my first instinct was to turn around and acknowledge who stood before me. Or what.

Lifeless eyes stared back at me. A blank expression frozen with an ominous grin. It was one of the mannequins. The one that looked like Andy. The dim fluorescent lights flickered above, reflecting off its glossy face. My body spasmed and struggled to breathe, feeling an unbelievable tightness in my chest. I was rooted to the ground, a thrum pulsing in my head, growing louder and louder by the second.

Then, before my eyes, it moved. The mannequin moved. Its hand twisted and raised up high before clamping down on my shoulder with a speed so quick it almost didn't register. Its face was now inches from mine; I could feel it breathing. Actually breathing. A cold breath that smelled of plastic and a rotting sweetness that I will never forget.

In that moment, something snapped in me, and I could no longer contain myself. I came out of my stupor and burst forward, running into the nightmarish figure and toppling it to the ground. In an instant, I was back on my feet, racing to the storefront, trying to fight the urge to look back, but I couldn't. In that brief moment, I saw them all, staring in my direction, attention fixed on me. My stomach clenched, and panic erupted.

My hands trembled uncontrollably as I tried to fish the keys out of my pocket, the distance between us shrinking as they approached in a disjointed march. I dropped the keys several times, and no matter how many times I tried, I just couldn't get the metal blade into the keyway. Finally, I gave up, and as they were about to grab me, I ran and jumped over the checkout counters, their heads turning to follow my direction.

Deeper into the store I went, their limbs creaking while they followed close behind. There was no telling what they would do to me, and I didn't want to find out. I wondered if Andy had known about those things. If maybe he forgot to follow one of the rules and now stood alongside them, as one of their own. I wondered what Bill knew. If he also bribed Andy with a sum of money so large that he couldn't say no. Where did they come from, and what was the endgame? I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on getting out of there.

I weaved in and out of aisles, running full speed and knocking anything down that would slow their pursuit. They were on the edge of my periphery, intent on hunting me. They called out in a sing-song tone, taunting me. Tears ran down my face, an absolute fear consuming me. Indescribable how scared a person can get, worried my heart would give out at the rate it was beating.

I decided to hop over the Pharmacy counter and crouched there in waiting for God knows how long. The phones had no dial tone. I quickly dialed the Police, but only errors appeared. Swiping through my phone, I tried Bill's number, wanting some sort of explanation. No signal. Something wouldn't let me dial out, I was sure of it. I tried to analyze the situation, but nothing would fit into any realm of possibility.

The frustration began building, and I was ready to scream. Feeling defeated, I slumped down and cried into my hands, not knowing what would become of me. I thought about never seeing my family again or never being able to pet my dog. My jaw clenched tight, teeth grinding as I imagined my limbs being torn and repurposed into a monstrous form. All I could do was hope for the best.

Some time passed, and there was no longer any movement. Peeking out cautiously from behind the counter, I saw that a few mannequins were close by, absolutely still and no doubt listening for me. They were waiting for me to slip up. To give myself away. I watched them for several minutes, their dead eyes and half smile taunting me. I thought about making a run for it, but there was no way I could get out. Not like this. I needed a distraction.

Then I remembered my phone. I set an alarm for a few minutes, wrapped it up in my work shirt, and picked a good spot. I took a deep breath and tossed my phone with such force that it cascaded high over the mannequins and landed towards the front of the store. It made a loud thud, attracting their attention. Good. All I had to do was wait and hope the phone wasn't damaged from the drop. If that didn't work, I didn't know what else I could do. Maybe wait until sunup, when Bill arrives. If he arrived. Maybe this was his plan all along. I thought about all the ways I would tear into him, question him about the stupid rules and why he picked me to do this shift. And then my phone rang.

A heaviness lifted from my shoulders as the figures turned toward the alarm, first their heads, like animals perked up at the sound of prey, then their bodies as they began walking away from me. I was done. Done with all of it. I was ready to leave, and so close to the exit at the back of the building.

Within my sight and with no one left to guard it, I slowly made my way from cover to cover, through various shelves and displays, past the double doors and finally into the docking area. With the doors closed behind me, I flicked on the flashlight and moved closer to the exit. Closer to freedom. Now it was just a matter of sliding the bolt out of its place.

But it wouldn't move.

It was jammed in tight and rusted in place. To tell you the truth, I’m unsure of the last time the door had been opened. I tried again, and still it didn't move. I started to panic, wondering if they would find me before I could get out. If they followed me, I was done for.

I scanned the area, the beam of light falling on a piece of 2x4 propped up against the wall, and so I used it to pry the bolt back. More and more pressure I applied, rocking my body weight into each wrench back, when suddenly... It snapped with a loud crack. My heart sank.

I stood there for a moment, hoping that those things had not heard me, praying for some small grace, but when the double doors slowly swung open, I knew I was wrong. In they came, all 5 of them, crowding through the doorway, eyes lighting up in the darkness, intently focused on me. I panicked, gripping the bolt tight and slamming all my weight into it, twisting and pulling, the mannequins stepping closer and closer, joints creaking and popping with every move.

They called out again softly, a terrible unison of voices burning into my mind, lumbering forward. I thought about giving up. Maybe escaping was not in the cards for me. Isn't that why Bill set all of this up? Maybe he thought I was an easy target. The energy in my body was draining, but when they were within arm's reach, the bolt finally slid back, and I threw the door wide open.

The cold night air kissed my skin, and for a moment, I was relieved, grateful to see the outside world, until I felt their plastic fingers digging into me, pulling me back in. I felt my body lift off the ground as they turned me toward them. That horrible image left me feeling helpless, a mass of twisted arms holding me in place as I cried and screamed. I twisted and flailed, pleading with them, wanting to be far away from there.

In my desperation, I placed my feet against them and pushed with all the strength I could muster. Slowly, I could see their limbs separating, until finally they gave out, and I fell onto the cold, wet pavement.

They stood there in the doorway watching me, unmoving, staring from the darkness. It seemed like they couldn't step through, and for a moment, I thought I was free. Finally, I had beaten them. Then the one that looked like Andy took a disjointed step forward, past the threshold. It took me only a moment to gather myself up before storming out of there. I just ran. Ran without stopping. Never looking back.

The entire time, I thought about those things. No explanation for any of it. Replaying the night's events over and over. All I wanted to do was get home. Once I arrived back at my apartment, I tried to calm down and thought maybe it was all a prank. A very elaborate prank. It had to be. I lay in bed, unable to fall asleep. Unable to forget their faces.

Then I remembered the stupid rules, especially the last one:

5. Once all tasks have been completed, walk backwards out of the building while reciting the words on the coin. Do not leave without doing so.

When I first read it, I thought it was completely absurd. But the more I dwelled on it, after all that happened, the more I realized that maybe it wasn't a game. It felt more like a ritual than anything. To keep whatever was in there from leaving. What are those things? Truly. Maybe I should have followed the instructions more closely.

"Malum Non Sequitur."

The words on the coin. I looked it up, which means something like "Evil do not follow."

What have I done?

My eyes wandered to the window, overlooking the empty street, and somehow I wasn't surprised at what I saw.

They're outside right now, watching me from the treeline.

They know where I am.

They know I’m watching.

The instructions were clear. Don’t look at them. Don’t acknowledge them. Don’t give them attention.

I did all of it.

And the words. I didn't recite the words.

The coin is burning hot in my hand. I’m holding it so tightly it’s cutting into my palm. The pain is strangely comforting.

What if I go back? What if I follow everything exactly? Can I fix this?

There's a tapping on the window now.

I haven't turned around yet.

I just want to sit here a little while longer.

I work at a local grocery store. You know, one of those places that sell a bit of everything: Food, electronics, clothing, pharmaceuticals, that sort of thing. Most of the time, I work in the evening after classes, so usually it's pretty uneventful. But yesterday, towards the end of my shift, the manager came up to me and asked if I wanted to work overnight. It was short notice, but since I really needed the money, I entertained the idea.

My manager (let's call him Bill) let me know that the night supervisor (let's call him Andy) would not be in. Family emergency or something. This guy never missed a shift, and he's the only one who works overnight. Apparently, he's been there forever. They must pay him well because he never left. I only met him once, but he struck me as odd, a strange demeanour about him. Maybe that's why he preferred nights, so he didn't have to interact with anyone.

Well, the Manager asked me again if I'd be willing to take over in Andy's absence. I thought about it, and before I could say anything, he told me the pay would be at double time plus the night premium, including a bonus if everything went well. I wasn't sure if this was just a one-time thing, but I really couldn't say no.

I didn't have any classes the next day anyway, and I had just woken up before my shift, so I was still feeling pretty good. More importantly, the extra money was enticing. Just a couple of hours and I'd have a few extra days' pay in my pocket. What could go wrong?

I accepted the offer, thanked him, and then asked what my duties would entail.

"Oh, nothing crazy," he said with a smile. "I'll leave you with the keys and a list before I head out."

He began walking back to his office when suddenly, he stopped and turned to me with a serious expression.

"Just... Be sure to follow everything that's written down, exactly."

He stressed that last word, a strange heaviness weighing on it, eyes fixed on me. I nodded in agreement. Of course I'd follow the list. Would there be a reason not to? I shook it off and continued with my normal routine of unloading the remaining pallets.

The job's simple; take inventory, stock shelves, face products, help customers and perform any other tasks they feel like giving us. It's pretty boring, but it pays the bills while I finish school. One by one, the lights shut down, leaving only a dim glow in their place as workers finished clocking out. The silence that followed was unnatural, a suffocating quiet that muffled my ears. It was a strange feeling to know that everyone was leaving while I stayed behind. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy my solitude, but this was different. The unsettling atmosphere was a festering wound that kept on spreading.

Shortly after, Bill waved me down as he was leaving with one foot out the door.

"Thanks again for doing this," he said. "Here are the keys. Be sure to lock up after you leave. The list is on my desk. And please..." He stared at me with a serious expression and snatched my wrist, pulling me close. I flinched and instinctively pulled back, but he had an iron grip.

"Follow the instructions exactly as they're written. Do not deviate. No matter what, under any circumstances... Don't leave without completing everything on that list." The smell of coffee and hot breath hit me with every word, but that’s not what made me feel sick. A strange feeling settled over me, and I didn't quite know how to respond. I wanted to ask him what he meant, but all that came out was:

"You got it, Bill." I smiled sheepishly and pulled away as he released my hand.

"Good," he said with a grin. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow."

With that, he left the store, whistling as he hopped into his car and drove away. I stood there for a moment, hating that peculiar feeling that told me to run. Screaming at me to just leave. There was a sense of unease looming, but I brushed it off and officially started the night shift.

I quickly locked the door behind him and rushed over to his office. There on his desk was a single sheet of paper.

"Not a very big list."

There were only 5 tasks, but I grew more puzzled as I soon found that each one was stranger than the last.

1. Ensure all exits are locked. Under no circumstances are you to open the door for anyone.

Simple enough. There were only 2 exits in the building anyway, and I sure as hell wasn't going to let anyone inside. But what if someone from the day shift came back? Or someone needed help? I shrugged it off and continued reading.

2. Put out all merchandise from pallets and build any displays as needed. Do not be alarmed if they move on their own.

Most of the pallets had already been emptied, so after that, I was just left with building the displays. But why would they move by themselves? Maybe the displays had sensors or timers.

3. If you hear someone call out to you: Do not respond or acknowledge them. Just leave it alone. It will pass.

At that point, I was starting to get freaked out. Why would anyone else be there? Maybe it was some kind of test. I had no idea what it meant, but I was sure that there was more to the night shift than I had originally thought.

4. If someone is behind you: Do not turn around and speak to them. Do not look at them. Avoid staring at all costs.

I paused for a moment in disbelief, unable to take any of it seriously. What kind of game was Bill playing? Was I on camera? Was this some type of initiation? If so, I wasn't impressed. All I knew was that I was getting tired of it already. And I certainly was not going to leave without collecting my pay.

5. Once all tasks have been completed, walk backwards out of the building while reciting the words on the coin. Do not leave without doing so.

The last part was underlined in red pen.

"You've got to be kidding me," I joked, laughing out loud.

What person in their right mind would do this without thinking twice? I half expected to find Bill laughing at me from outside.

And coin? What coin?

I looked down, and there it was on the desk, gold and radiant. I never saw anything like it before. It was exquisite. I wasn't sure of the origin, but it appeared ancient, sparkling brilliantly in my hand as I ran my thumb over the engraving and attempted to read the words. It spelled out: "Malum Non Sequitur."

"This is total bullshit," I laughed, crumpling up the paper and throwing it into the waste bin, pocketing the coin. There was no way I was going to do any of this. I was just going to finish my work and get the hell out of there. But right as I stepped out of the office, the lights in the store started to flicker.

Not a good start.

That's when I noticed a figure jutting out from one of the far aisles. A featureless shape silently observing me. Long hair past their shoulders with an almost imperceptible smile. But it was there. Gave me the chills.

"Hello?!" I yelled. "Who's there!?" No response.

Someone was definitely there with me. My hands grew sweaty as I scoured the checkout aisles and pulled out a flashlight beside one of the tills, quickly flicking on the switch. My hands trembled, guiding the light to the far end of the store, where I had witnessed the figure, but there was no one there. I told myself I was just spooked by the stupid list, that it was all in my imagination, but tendrils of doubt crept up in the back of my mind.

I raced to the back exit without thinking, adrenaline pumping, to make sure it was still locked, and sure enough, it was. Rusty deadbolt in place. I scoured the entire store, still running, throwing myself blindly at the situation. But I found no one. And just to make sure, I went back to Bill's office to check the security cameras and confirmed that the only person inside the building was me. I breathed out a sigh of relief, glad that it was just my overactive imagination, then took a moment to gather myself before emptying out the remaining pallets.

Over the next few hours, while filling up shelves and rotating product, I had a strange sense that someone was watching me. Several times, I would turn around, feeling eyes on my back, but never saw anything. Even though I knew I was alone, there was always a nagging voice in the back of my mind telling me, ‘What if?'

Once that was all finished, I started setting up the displays. There were a few mannequins that needed clothing, and also a giant cardboard lizard for a children's breakfast cereal that needed to be built. The cereal's actually pretty good. Multi-coloured loops with little bug-shaped marshmallows. My stomach rumbled as I thought about downing a bowl or two and guzzling the milk at the end.

One of the mannequins was partially dressed. Bill must've started on it before he left. Strange. It looked eerily familiar. The eyes had a lifelike quality, despite being plastic. I shuddered, fixed on that dead stare. As I reached out to touch it, a loud bang cut through the silence that made me jump. It came from the storefront window.

When I made my way over, I was surprised to see someone smiling as they waved for me to come closer. A dishevelled man, wearing tattered clothing with long hair covering his face. He looked up with a cupped hand, holding a small shivering dog in the crook of his other arm, nestled into the man's discoloured jacket.

"Food?" he asked, smiling a toothless grin.

I felt horrible and wanted to help them out. I was sure that I could get a few items and let Bill know. He could just take it out of my pay. No big deal.

"Wait right there," I stammered, racing over to the aisles and grabbing a few items before rushing back. I even had everything in a bag, all ready to go. But as I slid the metal into place, ready to unlock the door, I remembered the list. That stupid list.

1. Ensure all exits are locked. Under no circumstances are you to open the door for anyone.

That familiar dread came back, and the bag suddenly felt like it weighed a ton. I felt like such an asshole.

"Actually, I'm not sure if I should," I said, defeated. "The store's locked up and the alarm's enabled, I don't think it'd be a good idea."

I lied about the alarm, but I didn't want to tell him I couldn't help. I hoped that he would just nod and walk off. At most, say a few words. But not this.

His smile waned, and there was a sudden shift in his cheery disposition.

"Please," he said sternly, grabbing at the door handle, pulling with all his weight. I backed up slowly.

"Open the door. Just open the door. Open the door. Open the door!"

He banged his head repeatedly on the glass, all the while repeating those words, voice deep and guttural. I thought he was going to shatter the window and climb through. My body broke out in a cold sweat. I turned around and swiped my phone to dial the Police, but when I turned back, the man was gone. In an instant. There was absolutely no trace of him.

Did that just happen? I felt like I was going crazy. He must've been spooked when he saw me dialing and left, I guess. I was really starting to get creeped out.

I walked back to the displays, looking over my shoulder several times, expecting to see him at the window again, smiling at me. But he never came back. I shook it off and returned to my work. Upon observing the mannequin, I realized it had an uncanny resemblance to Andy.

'Pretty eerie,' I thought to myself, and wondered if it was just a coincidence or if maybe they had it custom-made. I laughed at the absurd idea and continued with my tasks.

Assembling the remaining mannequins was easy enough. Align the pins and insert them until they click, and voila. There were 5 in total. All pale in colour, with faces that looked realistic. Blank expressions etched into them. And those smiles. The one with long hair stared at me from behind the others. It was unsettling watching them grouped together, so still. Almost felt like they could move at any moment. Those lifeless eyes staring into nothingness.

I laughed off the unnerving idea and dismissed the strange thoughts, throwing on the garments for each mannequin before moving them around the department.

It was almost 2 a.m., and I had nearly completed the displays. Just one more to go, and I could finally get out of there. I winced in pain as my stomach growled, quickly reminding me that I had not eaten in quite a while, so I grabbed a chocolate bar from the bag that was meant for the homeless man and tore into it.

Once the plastic straps holding the cardboard lizard display were cut, I unfolded and organized the various parts until everything was neatly laid out. I actually enjoy building displays, folding and sliding the slots into place, attaching the pins and clips together. It’s satisfying watching everything come together. Come to life.

The lizard display stood about 6 feet tall, and as I stepped back to admire the large character ready to pounce into a bowl of frosted cereal, I heard my name called for the first time that night. Not loud, but a gentle whisper, as if they were close by.

My body tightened up, and I instinctively remembered the list:

3. If you hear someone call out to you: Do not respond or acknowledge them. Just leave it alone. It will pass.

I couldn't explain any of it. Impossible for someone to be there. I checked everywhere. I knew I was alone. Despite all of it, I didn't call out to see who was there. Maybe it was because of the list, as stupid as that sounds.

I walked around the store, flashlight in hand, taking timid steps so as not to make noise, and yet again, I found nothing. I dismissed it, thinking it was all in my head, and made my way back to the display. On my way there, I noticed the mannequins had their heads turned. I could've sworn they were all looking forward when I set them up, but now their lifeless eyes were staring in my direction. Goosebumps covered my skin, and I ran back to the display, wanting to quickly finish up so I could leave. But then I heard it again.

The hair on my neck raised up, and I was ready to leave right then and there, but I decided to follow the rules and pretend that everything was ok, making my way around the store one last time before leaving. I would just tell Bill that I forgot to clean up. I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem. Once again, I nervously made my rounds, but when I came across the clothing section, I couldn't explain what I saw.

The mannequins that I had just placed in separate areas of the department were now huddled together. It was as if I caught them in the middle of a conversation. My body went cold, and the list once again popped up in my mind.

2. Put out all merchandise from pallets and build any displays as needed. Do not be alarmed if they move on their own.

How could I not be alarmed? There was definitely someone there with me, and they were playing a sick joke. My heart was beating violently in my chest, and the sweat was starting to seep out of every pore. Then I noticed something.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Four mannequins.

Where was the 5th? Then, before I could act on the disturbing moment, someone spoke from the deafening silence. It was a soft monotone voice, almost muffled. Not angry. Almost pleasant. But the stark contrast of their voice and the situation made it all the more unsettling.

"Hello," it spoke again, just as calm as the first time. It was clear as day. I could feel their presence right behind me. Every hair on my arms stood on end as static filled the emptiness, and something brushed the back of my neck.

4. If someone is behind you: Do not turn around and speak to them. Do not look at them. Avoid staring at all costs.

I wish I could have controlled myself better, to know what I know now. But my first instinct was to turn around and acknowledge who stood before me. Or what.

Lifeless eyes stared back at me. A blank expression frozen with an ominous grin. It was one of the mannequins. The one that looked like Andy. The dim fluorescent lights flickered above, reflecting off its glossy face. My body spasmed and struggled to breathe, feeling an unbelievable tightness in my chest. I was rooted to the ground, a thrum pulsing in my head, growing louder and louder by the second.

Then, before my eyes, it moved. The mannequin moved. Its hand twisted and raised up high before clamping down on my shoulder with a speed so quick it almost didn't register. Its face was now inches from mine; I could feel it breathing. Actually breathing. A cold breath that smelled of plastic and a rotting sweetness that I will never forget.

In that moment, something snapped in me, and I could no longer contain myself. I came out of my stupor and burst forward, running into the nightmarish figure and toppling it to the ground. In an instant, I was back on my feet, racing to the storefront, trying to fight the urge to look back, but I couldn't. In that brief moment, I saw them all, staring in my direction, attention fixed on me. My stomach clenched, and panic erupted.

My hands trembled uncontrollably as I tried to fish the keys out of my pocket, the distance between us shrinking as they approached in a disjointed march. I dropped the keys several times, and no matter how many times I tried, I just couldn't get the metal blade into the keyway. Finally, I gave up, and as they were about to grab me, I ran and jumped over the checkout counters, their heads turning to follow my direction.

Deeper into the store I went, their limbs creaking while they followed close behind. There was no telling what they would do to me, and I didn't want to find out. I wondered if Andy had known about those things. If maybe he forgot to follow one of the rules and now stood alongside them, as one of their own. I wondered what Bill knew. If he also bribed Andy with a sum of money so large that he couldn't say no. Where did they come from, and what was the endgame? I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on getting out of there.

I weaved in and out of aisles, running full speed and knocking anything down that would slow their pursuit. They were on the edge of my periphery, intent on hunting me. They called out in a sing-song tone, taunting me. Tears ran down my face, an absolute fear consuming me. Indescribable how scared a person can get, worried my heart would give out at the rate it was beating.

I decided to hop over the Pharmacy counter and crouched there in waiting for God knows how long. The phones had no dial tone. I quickly dialed the Police, but only errors appeared. Swiping through my phone, I tried Bill's number, wanting some sort of explanation. No signal. Something wouldn't let me dial out, I was sure of it. I tried to analyze the situation, but nothing would fit into any realm of possibility.

The frustration began building, and I was ready to scream. Feeling defeated, I slumped down and cried into my hands, not knowing what would become of me. I thought about never seeing my family again or never being able to pet my dog. My jaw clenched tight, teeth grinding as I imagined my limbs being torn and repurposed into a monstrous form. All I could do was hope for the best.

Some time passed, and there was no longer any movement. Peeking out cautiously from behind the counter, I saw that a few mannequins were close by, absolutely still and no doubt listening for me. They were waiting for me to slip up. To give myself away. I watched them for several minutes, their dead eyes and half smile taunting me. I thought about making a run for it, but there was no way I could get out. Not like this. I needed a distraction.

Then I remembered my phone. I set an alarm for a few minutes, wrapped it up in my work shirt, and picked a good spot. I took a deep breath and tossed my phone with such force that it cascaded high over the mannequins and landed towards the front of the store. It made a loud thud, attracting their attention. Good. All I had to do was wait and hope the phone wasn't damaged from the drop. If that didn't work, I didn't know what else I could do. Maybe wait until sunup, when Bill arrives. If he arrived. Maybe this was his plan all along. I thought about all the ways I would tear into him, question him about the stupid rules and why he picked me to do this shift. And then my phone rang.

A heaviness lifted from my shoulders as the figures turned toward the alarm, first their heads, like animals perked up at the sound of prey, then their bodies as they began walking away from me. I was done. Done with all of it. I was ready to leave, and so close to the exit at the back of the building.

Within my sight and with no one left to guard it, I slowly made my way from cover to cover, through various shelves and displays, past the double doors and finally into the docking area. With the doors closed behind me, I flicked on the flashlight and moved closer to the exit. Closer to freedom. Now it was just a matter of sliding the bolt out of its place.

But it wouldn't move.

It was jammed in tight and rusted in place. To tell you the truth, I’m unsure of the last time the door had been opened. I tried again, and still it didn't move. I started to panic, wondering if they would find me before I could get out. If they followed me, I was done for.

I scanned the area, the beam of light falling on a piece of 2x4 propped up against the wall, and so I used it to pry the bolt back. More and more pressure I applied, rocking my body weight into each wrench back, when suddenly... It snapped with a loud crack. My heart sank.

I stood there for a moment, hoping that those things had not heard me, praying for some small grace, but when the double doors slowly swung open, I knew I was wrong. In they came, all 5 of them, crowding through the doorway, eyes lighting up in the darkness, intently focused on me. I panicked, gripping the bolt tight and slamming all my weight into it, twisting and pulling, the mannequins stepping closer and closer, joints creaking and popping with every move.

They called out again softly, a terrible unison of voices burning into my mind, lumbering forward. I thought about giving up. Maybe escaping was not in the cards for me. Isn't that why Bill set all of this up? Maybe he thought I was an easy target. The energy in my body was draining, but when they were within arm's reach, the bolt finally slid back, and I threw the door wide open.

The cold night air kissed my skin, and for a moment, I was relieved, grateful to see the outside world, until I felt their plastic fingers digging into me, pulling me back in. I felt my body lift off the ground as they turned me toward them. That horrible image left me feeling helpless, a mass of twisted arms holding me in place as I cried and screamed. I twisted and flailed, pleading with them, wanting to be far away from there.

In my desperation, I placed my feet against them and pushed with all the strength I could muster. Slowly, I could see their limbs separating, until finally they gave out, and I fell onto the cold, wet pavement.

They stood there in the doorway watching me, unmoving, staring from the darkness. It seemed like they couldn't step through, and for a moment, I thought I was free. Finally, I had beaten them. Then the one that looked like Andy took a disjointed step forward, past the threshold. It took me only a moment to gather myself up before storming out of there. I just ran. Ran without stopping. Never looking back.

The entire time, I thought about those things. No explanation for any of it. Replaying the night's events over and over. All I wanted to do was get home. Once I arrived back at my apartment, I tried to calm down and thought maybe it was all a prank. A very elaborate prank. It had to be. I lay in bed, unable to fall asleep. Unable to forget their faces.

Then I remembered the stupid rules, especially the last one:

5. Once all tasks have been completed, walk backwards out of the building while reciting the words on the coin. Do not leave without doing so.

When I first read it, I thought it was completely absurd. But the more I dwelled on it, after all that happened, the more I realized that maybe it wasn't a game. It felt more like a ritual than anything. To keep whatever was in there from leaving. What are those things? Truly. Maybe I should have followed the instructions more closely.

"Malum Non Sequitur."

The words on the coin. I looked it up, which means something like "Evil do not follow."

What have I done?

My eyes wandered to the window, overlooking the empty street, and somehow I wasn't surprised at what I saw.

They're outside right now, watching me from the treeline.

They know where I am.

They know I’m watching.

The instructions were clear. Don’t look at them. Don’t acknowledge them. Don’t give them attention.

I did all of it.

And the words. I didn't recite the words.

The coin is burning hot in my hand. I’m holding it so tightly it’s cutting into my palm. The pain is strangely comforting.

What if I go back? What if I follow everything exactly? Can I fix this?

There's a tapping on the window now.

I haven't turned around yet.

I just want to sit here a little while longer.

I work at a local grocery store. You know, one of those places that sell a bit of everything: Food, electronics, clothing, pharmaceuticals, that sort of thing. Most of the time, I work in the evening after classes, so usually it's pretty uneventful. But yesterday, towards the end of my shift, the manager came up to me and asked if I wanted to work overnight. It was short notice, but since I really needed the money, I entertained the idea.

My manager (let's call him Bill) let me know that the night supervisor (let's call him Andy) would not be in. Family emergency or something. This guy never missed a shift, and he's the only one who works overnight. Apparently, he's been there forever. They must pay him well because he never left. I only met him once, but he struck me as odd, a strange demeanour about him. Maybe that's why he preferred nights, so he didn't have to interact with anyone.

Well, the Manager asked me again if I'd be willing to take over in Andy's absence. I thought about it, and before I could say anything, he told me the pay would be at double time plus the night premium, including a bonus if everything went well. I wasn't sure if this was just a one-time thing, but I really couldn't say no.

I didn't have any classes the next day anyway, and I had just woken up before my shift, so I was still feeling pretty good. More importantly, the extra money was enticing. Just a couple of hours and I'd have a few extra days' pay in my pocket. What could go wrong?

I accepted the offer, thanked him, and then asked what my duties would entail.

"Oh, nothing crazy," he said with a smile. "I'll leave you with the keys and a list before I head out."

He began walking back to his office when suddenly, he stopped and turned to me with a serious expression.

"Just... Be sure to follow everything that's written down, exactly."

He stressed that last word, a strange heaviness weighing on it, eyes fixed on me. I nodded in agreement. Of course I'd follow the list. Would there be a reason not to? I shook it off and continued with my normal routine of unloading the remaining pallets.

The job's simple; take inventory, stock shelves, face products, help customers and perform any other tasks they feel like giving us. It's pretty boring, but it pays the bills while I finish school. One by one, the lights shut down, leaving only a dim glow in their place as workers finished clocking out. The silence that followed was unnatural, a suffocating quiet that muffled my ears. It was a strange feeling to know that everyone was leaving while I stayed behind. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy my solitude, but this was different. The unsettling atmosphere was a festering wound that kept on spreading.

Shortly after, Bill waved me down as he was leaving with one foot out the door.

"Thanks again for doing this," he said. "Here are the keys. Be sure to lock up after you leave. The list is on my desk. And please..." He stared at me with a serious expression and snatched my wrist, pulling me close. I flinched and instinctively pulled back, but he had an iron grip.

"Follow the instructions exactly as they're written. Do not deviate. No matter what, under any circumstances... Don't leave without completing everything on that list." The smell of coffee and hot breath hit me with every word, but that’s not what made me feel sick. A strange feeling settled over me, and I didn't quite know how to respond. I wanted to ask him what he meant, but all that came out was:

"You got it, Bill." I smiled sheepishly and pulled away as he released my hand.

"Good," he said with a grin. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow."

With that, he left the store, whistling as he hopped into his car and drove away. I stood there for a moment, hating that peculiar feeling that told me to run. Screaming at me to just leave. There was a sense of unease looming, but I brushed it off and officially started the night shift.

I quickly locked the door behind him and rushed over to his office. There on his desk was a single sheet of paper.

"Not a very big list."

There were only 5 tasks, but I grew more puzzled as I soon found that each one was stranger than the last.

1. Ensure all exits are locked. Under no circumstances are you to open the door for anyone.

Simple enough. There were only 2 exits in the building anyway, and I sure as hell wasn't going to let anyone inside. But what if someone from the day shift came back? Or someone needed help? I shrugged it off and continued reading.

2. Put out all merchandise from pallets and build any displays as needed. Do not be alarmed if they move on their own.

Most of the pallets had already been emptied, so after that, I was just left with building the displays. But why would they move by themselves? Maybe the displays had sensors or timers.

3. If you hear someone call out to you: Do not respond or acknowledge them. Just leave it alone. It will pass.

At that point, I was starting to get freaked out. Why would anyone else be there? Maybe it was some kind of test. I had no idea what it meant, but I was sure that there was more to the night shift than I had originally thought.

4. If someone is behind you: Do not turn around and speak to them. Do not look at them. Avoid staring at all costs.

I paused for a moment in disbelief, unable to take any of it seriously. What kind of game was Bill playing? Was I on camera? Was this some type of initiation? If so, I wasn't impressed. All I knew was that I was getting tired of it already. And I certainly was not going to leave without collecting my pay.

5. Once all tasks have been completed, walk backwards out of the building while reciting the words on the coin. Do not leave without doing so.

The last part was underlined in red pen.

"You've got to be kidding me," I joked, laughing out loud.

What person in their right mind would do this without thinking twice? I half expected to find Bill laughing at me from outside.

And coin? What coin?

I looked down, and there it was on the desk, gold and radiant. I never saw anything like it before. It was exquisite. I wasn't sure of the origin, but it appeared ancient, sparkling brilliantly in my hand as I ran my thumb over the engraving and attempted to read the words. It spelled out: "Malum Non Sequitur."

"This is total bullshit," I laughed, crumpling up the paper and throwing it into the waste bin, pocketing the coin. There was no way I was going to do any of this. I was just going to finish my work and get the hell out of there. But right as I stepped out of the office, the lights in the store started to flicker.

Not a good start.

That's when I noticed a figure jutting out from one of the far aisles. A featureless shape silently observing me. Long hair past their shoulders with an almost imperceptible smile. But it was there. Gave me the chills.

"Hello?!" I yelled. "Who's there!?" No response.

Someone was definitely there with me. My hands grew sweaty as I scoured the checkout aisles and pulled out a flashlight beside one of the tills, quickly flicking on the switch. My hands trembled, guiding the light to the far end of the store, where I had witnessed the figure, but there was no one there. I told myself I was just spooked by the stupid list, that it was all in my imagination, but tendrils of doubt crept up in the back of my mind.

I raced to the back exit without thinking, adrenaline pumping, to make sure it was still locked, and sure enough, it was. Rusty deadbolt in place. I scoured the entire store, still running, throwing myself blindly at the situation. But I found no one. And just to make sure, I went back to Bill's office to check the security cameras and confirmed that the only person inside the building was me. I breathed out a sigh of relief, glad that it was just my overactive imagination, then took a moment to gather myself before emptying out the remaining pallets.

Over the next few hours, while filling up shelves and rotating product, I had a strange sense that someone was watching me. Several times, I would turn around, feeling eyes on my back, but never saw anything. Even though I knew I was alone, there was always a nagging voice in the back of my mind telling me, ‘What if?'

Once that was all finished, I started setting up the displays. There were a few mannequins that needed clothing, and also a giant cardboard lizard for a children's breakfast cereal that needed to be built. The cereal's actually pretty good. Multi-coloured loops with little bug-shaped marshmallows. My stomach rumbled as I thought about downing a bowl or two and guzzling the milk at the end.

One of the mannequins was partially dressed. Bill must've started on it before he left. Strange. It looked eerily familiar. The eyes had a lifelike quality, despite being plastic. I shuddered, fixed on that dead stare. As I reached out to touch it, a loud bang cut through the silence that made me jump. It came from the storefront window.

When I made my way over, I was surprised to see someone smiling as they waved for me to come closer. A dishevelled man, wearing tattered clothing with long hair covering his face. He looked up with a cupped hand, holding a small shivering dog in the crook of his other arm, nestled into the man's discoloured jacket.

"Food?" he asked, smiling a toothless grin.

I felt horrible and wanted to help them out. I was sure that I could get a few items and let Bill know. He could just take it out of my pay. No big deal.

"Wait right there," I stammered, racing over to the aisles and grabbing a few items before rushing back. I even had everything in a bag, all ready to go. But as I slid the metal into place, ready to unlock the door, I remembered the list. That stupid list.

1. Ensure all exits are locked. Under no circumstances are you to open the door for anyone.

That familiar dread came back, and the bag suddenly felt like it weighed a ton. I felt like such an asshole.

"Actually, I'm not sure if I should," I said, defeated. "The store's locked up and the alarm's enabled, I don't think it'd be a good idea."

I lied about the alarm, but I didn't want to tell him I couldn't help. I hoped that he would just nod and walk off. At most, say a few words. But not this.

His smile waned, and there was a sudden shift in his cheery disposition.

"Please," he said sternly, grabbing at the door handle, pulling with all his weight. I backed up slowly.

"Open the door. Just open the door. Open the door. Open the door!"

He banged his head repeatedly on the glass, all the while repeating those words, voice deep and guttural. I thought he was going to shatter the window and climb through. My body broke out in a cold sweat. I turned around and swiped my phone to dial the Police, but when I turned back, the man was gone. In an instant. There was absolutely no trace of him.

Did that just happen? I felt like I was going crazy. He must've been spooked when he saw me dialing and left, I guess. I was really starting to get creeped out.

I walked back to the displays, looking over my shoulder several times, expecting to see him at the window again, smiling at me. But he never came back. I shook it off and returned to my work. Upon observing the mannequin, I realized it had an uncanny resemblance to Andy.

'Pretty eerie,' I thought to myself, and wondered if it was just a coincidence or if maybe they had it custom-made. I laughed at the absurd idea and continued with my tasks.

Assembling the remaining mannequins was easy enough. Align the pins and insert them until they click, and voila. There were 5 in total. All pale in colour, with faces that looked realistic. Blank expressions etched into them. And those smiles. The one with long hair stared at me from behind the others. It was unsettling watching them grouped together, so still. Almost felt like they could move at any moment. Those lifeless eyes staring into nothingness.

I laughed off the unnerving idea and dismissed the strange thoughts, throwing on the garments for each mannequin before moving them around the department.

It was almost 2 a.m., and I had nearly completed the displays. Just one more to go, and I could finally get out of there. I winced in pain as my stomach growled, quickly reminding me that I had not eaten in quite a while, so I grabbed a chocolate bar from the bag that was meant for the homeless man and tore into it.

Once the plastic straps holding the cardboard lizard display were cut, I unfolded and organized the various parts until everything was neatly laid out. I actually enjoy building displays, folding and sliding the slots into place, attaching the pins and clips together. It’s satisfying watching everything come together. Come to life.

The lizard display stood about 6 feet tall, and as I stepped back to admire the large character ready to pounce into a bowl of frosted cereal, I heard my name called for the first time that night. Not loud, but a gentle whisper, as if they were close by.

My body tightened up, and I instinctively remembered the list:

3. If you hear someone call out to you: Do not respond or acknowledge them. Just leave it alone. It will pass.

I couldn't explain any of it. Impossible for someone to be there. I checked everywhere. I knew I was alone. Despite all of it, I didn't call out to see who was there. Maybe it was because of the list, as stupid as that sounds.

I walked around the store, flashlight in hand, taking timid steps so as not to make noise, and yet again, I found nothing. I dismissed it, thinking it was all in my head, and made my way back to the display. On my way there, I noticed the mannequins had their heads turned. I could've sworn they were all looking forward when I set them up, but now their lifeless eyes were staring in my direction. Goosebumps covered my skin, and I ran back to the display, wanting to quickly finish up so I could leave. But then I heard it again.

The hair on my neck raised up, and I was ready to leave right then and there, but I decided to follow the rules and pretend that everything was ok, making my way around the store one last time before leaving. I would just tell Bill that I forgot to clean up. I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem. Once again, I nervously made my rounds, but when I came across the clothing section, I couldn't explain what I saw.

The mannequins that I had just placed in separate areas of the department were now huddled together. It was as if I caught them in the middle of a conversation. My body went cold, and the list once again popped up in my mind.

2. Put out all merchandise from pallets and build any displays as needed. Do not be alarmed if they move on their own.

How could I not be alarmed? There was definitely someone there with me, and they were playing a sick joke. My heart was beating violently in my chest, and the sweat was starting to seep out of every pore. Then I noticed something.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Four mannequins.

Where was the 5th? Then, before I could act on the disturbing moment, someone spoke from the deafening silence. It was a soft monotone voice, almost muffled. Not angry. Almost pleasant. But the stark contrast of their voice and the situation made it all the more unsettling.

"Hello," it spoke again, just as calm as the first time. It was clear as day. I could feel their presence right behind me. Every hair on my arms stood on end as static filled the emptiness, and something brushed the back of my neck.

4. If someone is behind you: Do not turn around and speak to them. Do not look at them. Avoid staring at all costs.

I wish I could have controlled myself better, to know what I know now. But my first instinct was to turn around and acknowledge who stood before me. Or what.

Lifeless eyes stared back at me. A blank expression frozen with an ominous grin. It was one of the mannequins. The one that looked like Andy. The dim fluorescent lights flickered above, reflecting off its glossy face. My body spasmed and struggled to breathe, feeling an unbelievable tightness in my chest. I was rooted to the ground, a thrum pulsing in my head, growing louder and louder by the second.

Then, before my eyes, it moved. The mannequin moved. Its hand twisted and raised up high before clamping down on my shoulder with a speed so quick it almost didn't register. Its face was now inches from mine; I could feel it breathing. Actually breathing. A cold breath that smelled of plastic and a rotting sweetness that I will never forget.

In that moment, something snapped in me, and I could no longer contain myself. I came out of my stupor and burst forward, running into the nightmarish figure and toppling it to the ground. In an instant, I was back on my feet, racing to the storefront, trying to fight the urge to look back, but I couldn't. In that brief moment, I saw them all, staring in my direction, attention fixed on me. My stomach clenched, and panic erupted.

My hands trembled uncontrollably as I tried to fish the keys out of my pocket, the distance between us shrinking as they approached in a disjointed march. I dropped the keys several times, and no matter how many times I tried, I just couldn't get the metal blade into the keyway. Finally, I gave up, and as they were about to grab me, I ran and jumped over the checkout counters, their heads turning to follow my direction.

Deeper into the store I went, their limbs creaking while they followed close behind. There was no telling what they would do to me, and I didn't want to find out. I wondered if Andy had known about those things. If maybe he forgot to follow one of the rules and now stood alongside them, as one of their own. I wondered what Bill knew. If he also bribed Andy with a sum of money so large that he couldn't say no. Where did they come from, and what was the endgame? I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on getting out of there.

I weaved in and out of aisles, running full speed and knocking anything down that would slow their pursuit. They were on the edge of my periphery, intent on hunting me. They called out in a sing-song tone, taunting me. Tears ran down my face, an absolute fear consuming me. Indescribable how scared a person can get, worried my heart would give out at the rate it was beating.

I decided to hop over the Pharmacy counter and crouched there in waiting for God knows how long. The phones had no dial tone. I quickly dialed the Police, but only errors appeared. Swiping through my phone, I tried Bill's number, wanting some sort of explanation. No signal. Something wouldn't let me dial out, I was sure of it. I tried to analyze the situation, but nothing would fit into any realm of possibility.

The frustration began building, and I was ready to scream. Feeling defeated, I slumped down and cried into my hands, not knowing what would become of me. I thought about never seeing my family again or never being able to pet my dog. My jaw clenched tight, teeth grinding as I imagined my limbs being torn and repurposed into a monstrous form. All I could do was hope for the best.

Some time passed, and there was no longer any movement. Peeking out cautiously from behind the counter, I saw that a few mannequins were close by, absolutely still and no doubt listening for me. They were waiting for me to slip up. To give myself away. I watched them for several minutes, their dead eyes and half smile taunting me. I thought about making a run for it, but there was no way I could get out. Not like this. I needed a distraction.

Then I remembered my phone. I set an alarm for a few minutes, wrapped it up in my work shirt, and picked a good spot. I took a deep breath and tossed my phone with such force that it cascaded high over the mannequins and landed towards the front of the store. It made a loud thud, attracting their attention. Good. All I had to do was wait and hope the phone wasn't damaged from the drop. If that didn't work, I didn't know what else I could do. Maybe wait until sunup, when Bill arrives. If he arrived. Maybe this was his plan all along. I thought about all the ways I would tear into him, question him about the stupid rules and why he picked me to do this shift. And then my phone rang.

A heaviness lifted from my shoulders as the figures turned toward the alarm, first their heads, like animals perked up at the sound of prey, then their bodies as they began walking away from me. I was done. Done with all of it. I was ready to leave, and so close to the exit at the back of the building.

Within my sight and with no one left to guard it, I slowly made my way from cover to cover, through various shelves and displays, past the double doors and finally into the docking area. With the doors closed behind me, I flicked on the flashlight and moved closer to the exit. Closer to freedom. Now it was just a matter of sliding the bolt out of its place.

But it wouldn't move.

It was jammed in tight and rusted in place. To tell you the truth, I’m unsure of the last time the door had been opened. I tried again, and still it didn't move. I started to panic, wondering if they would find me before I could get out. If they followed me, I was done for.

I scanned the area, the beam of light falling on a piece of 2x4 propped up against the wall, and so I used it to pry the bolt back. More and more pressure I applied, rocking my body weight into each wrench back, when suddenly... It snapped with a loud crack. My heart sank.

I stood there for a moment, hoping that those things had not heard me, praying for some small grace, but when the double doors slowly swung open, I knew I was wrong. In they came, all 5 of them, crowding through the doorway, eyes lighting up in the darkness, intently focused on me. I panicked, gripping the bolt tight and slamming all my weight into it, twisting and pulling, the mannequins stepping closer and closer, joints creaking and popping with every move.

They called out again softly, a terrible unison of voices burning into my mind, lumbering forward. I thought about giving up. Maybe escaping was not in the cards for me. Isn't that why Bill set all of this up? Maybe he thought I was an easy target. The energy in my body was draining, but when they were within arm's reach, the bolt finally slid back, and I threw the door wide open.

The cold night air kissed my skin, and for a moment, I was relieved, grateful to see the outside world, until I felt their plastic fingers digging into me, pulling me back in. I felt my body lift off the ground as they turned me toward them. That horrible image left me feeling helpless, a mass of twisted arms holding me in place as I cried and screamed. I twisted and flailed, pleading with them, wanting to be far away from there.

In my desperation, I placed my feet against them and pushed with all the strength I could muster. Slowly, I could see their limbs separating, until finally they gave out, and I fell onto the cold, wet pavement.

They stood there in the doorway watching me, unmoving, staring from the darkness. It seemed like they couldn't step through, and for a moment, I thought I was free. Finally, I had beaten them. Then the one that looked like Andy took a disjointed step forward, past the threshold. It took me only a moment to gather myself up before storming out of there. I just ran. Ran without stopping. Never looking back.

The entire time, I thought about those things. No explanation for any of it. Replaying the night's events over and over. All I wanted to do was get home. Once I arrived back at my apartment, I tried to calm down and thought maybe it was all a prank. A very elaborate prank. It had to be. I lay in bed, unable to fall asleep. Unable to forget their faces.

Then I remembered the stupid rules, especially the last one:

5. Once all tasks have been completed, walk backwards out of the building while reciting the words on the coin. Do not leave without doing so.

When I first read it, I thought it was completely absurd. But the more I dwelled on it, after all that happened, the more I realized that maybe it wasn't a game. It felt more like a ritual than anything. To keep whatever was in there from leaving. What are those things? Truly. Maybe I should have followed the instructions more closely.

"Malum Non Sequitur."

The words on the coin. I looked it up, which means something like "Evil do not follow."

What have I done?

My eyes wandered to the window, overlooking the empty street, and somehow I wasn't surprised at what I saw.

They're outside right now, watching me from the treeline.

They know where I am.

They know I’m watching.

The instructions were clear. Don’t look at them. Don’t acknowledge them. Don’t give them attention.

I did all of it.

And the words. I didn't recite the words.

The coin is burning hot in my hand. I’m holding it so tightly it’s cutting into my palm. The pain is strangely comforting.

What if I go back? What if I follow everything exactly? Can I fix this?

There's a tapping on the window now.

I haven't turned around yet.

I just want to sit here a little while longer.

It feels like a cosmic joke, knowing this might be the only place where my story actually gets taken seriously. I'm not looking to convince you, that's not why I'm posting this. Because most of you will read what's ahead and think nothing of it. And I hope that's the case. I truly do. But to those unfortunate few who are going through the same thing... Well, now would be a good time to pray.

There's so much that I can't explain. So much that I don't understand. But I'll try. Wouldn't you? I've never tried writing like this before, but I'm just going to go with my gut and get this out in one shot. I need to get it ALL out. Sort of like my therapy, I guess. Believe me, don't believe me. The only thing that matters is getting this out.

I can't remember the last time I didn't see my mother for our family dinners. Even though she lives several towns over, I always make the drive every week so we can spend the day together. But going there is mostly her idea. It's like she's scared to leave our hometown or something. I don't know, she's beyond stubborn, even more than I am. I've told her over and over again to come stay at my apartment, but she always declines. Doesn't even hesitate or take time to reconsider. She's an old woman set in her ways who enjoys her space. Ultimately, there's nothing wrong with that, I guess.

My mother is getting old, yet she never complains of the pain. But I can see it in the way she moves, puttering from room to room. That's why I hired a caregiver, even though I knew she would hate the idea. At first, anyway. Someone goes by the house several times a week to help out with errands and other chores, which seems to brighten her spirits. I know she's grateful, even if she never says it directly.

My mother and I were always close - we still are. Even as a kid, we were inseparable. She was my best friend. Now she calls, and we talk on the phone throughout the week; she likes to fill me in on the things I miss while I'm away. She also asks me constantly when I'm coming home. No matter how many times I tell her that I work too far away, she still pesters me to find something closer. But that sleepy little town doesn't have anything to offer me. Not anymore.

She was never one to skimp out on our Sunday dinners, either. No matter how many times I told her that a simple meal would do, she would shush me, offering me a kind smile in return. And so when I stopped hearing from her last week, I became worried.

Naturally, you think the worst. Maybe she fell and hurt herself, or maybe someone broke into the house and did God knows what. Countless scenarios were running through my mind. Luckily, the local Sheriff is a High School friend of mine, so I asked him to pass by for a wellness check. Later that night, he called me, saying my mother looked tired but otherwise fine and that she'd call me. Well, hours passed, and I still didn't hear anything from her.

To be completely honest, in that moment, I was more angry than relieved. She wasn't answering any of my calls or messages - for what reason? I wondered if I said or did something to upset her. Is that why she was avoiding me? All I knew was that something didn't feel right, so yesterday after work, I packed my things and made my way over there. I'd either catch her in the act or come to realize that it was all just a crazy misunderstanding. I had hoped for the latter.

The entire drive over, no matter how much I denied it, the atmosphere felt uneasy. Normally, I love an autumn drive through the backroads. The allure of autumn quickly faded as the bare trees started to resemble skeletal hands, twisting and reaching out of the earth. A nagging voice told me all the worst things that I didn't want to hear, and my heart began to pound in a terrible rhythm.

The old farmhouse came into view, gravel road crunching as I turned into the driveway. The mailbox was worn but still had the family name, carved by my father. He was a man's man. Tough as nails. Strong and intelligent, but also kind and caring. Someone that people looked up to.

He passed suddenly when I was young, rest his soul. Everyone felt his absence like a kick to the chest. Suffocating. We felt aimless. Hopeless. Then everyone in our family started disappearing one by one. My aunt and uncle moved away, and so did my cousins. My sister married and moved halfway across the world. And my dog died shortly after. It was a lot for me. A lot for us. We were left to deal with all of it. Mother and son. But being together helped us grieve. She was a good mother. Still is.

Countless times, I've asked her to come live with me. It's ideal since I work in the city, so I wouldn't have to drive several hours each way to see her every week. There's more than enough space and everything she could ever need, but she always declines. Every single time without hesitation. But I get it, that's her home, and that's where she'll stay for the rest of her days.

The house had an unsettling silhouette against the night sky, sitting in complete darkness, which was unusual. At the very least, my mother kept the porch light on. The creaking steps of the old front porch sagged and groaned under my weight as I raced up the steps. I knocked. Several seconds passed, and there was no movement. No answer. I knocked again, more hurried this time. At that point, I decided enough was enough. Anger is all there was. She'd gone far enough. But that's when I noticed the windows.

They had been covered up. From the inside. With newspaper. Alarm bells were ringing in my head. My hands shook uncontrollably while fishing the keys out of my pocket, my mind thinking the worst. The lock turned, and the heavy door squealed, ringing out in the absolute silence. I reached for the light switch and flicked it on, but the darkness remained. I hoped it was only the bulb. Standing there, I wondered what terrible scene had played out, and what was yet to unfold.

A loud thump caught me off guard, echoing from the basement. The hair on my arms stood on end, heartbeat pulsing in my ears like muffled waves. On and into the dark hallway, trashed like there had been a pack of animals running through the house. The dim cellphone light shook in my trembling hands, unsure if it was from the anxiety, fear or both. Past the dining room with broken plates and glasses, down another corridor with skewed and twisted paintings, then through a set of double doors and into the kitchen. Lo and behold.

There she was, sitting at the breakfast table with an old oil lamp surrounded in filth, hunched over and looking down at an unopened can of soup. The room was painted with a warm orange glow, and I'm not sure if it was a trick of the light, but she looked 20 years older. Her hair was wild and unkempt, her skin etched with more lines and deeper creases than I remember, and her eyes were dim.

The circumstances were strange, to say the least. I was worried out of my mind, wondering what had happened to her. Yet there she was, sitting at the kitchen table in the middle of the night, apparently in the mood for a midnight snack. She didn't even realize I was there at first, eyes wide and staring down. Always down. I called out to her, even shouted, but there was no response. She was on another planet.

I put my hand on her shoulder and woke her out of a daze, causing her to flail violently, lashing out and nearly falling out of her chair. Her hand latched onto mine, and when she saw me, her expression changed to that of a frightened child. Guilty. I asked her what happened, letting out a sigh of relief knowing that she was, in quick observation, relatively fine. She gave me a tiny smile, then apologized for her lack of communication. Something about feeling unwell and forgetting to tell me.

Bullshit. That was a complete lie. Right to my face. That wasn't like her at all. What was she keeping from me? My mind just screamed 'liar' as the anger rose. I took a deep breath and allowed myself to calm down. She's still my mother after all.

I offered to make her something to eat as I was sure she hadn't eaten in what looked like days. She shook her head slowly and assured me she was ok, but it was clear that she was trying to get me to leave. I sighed, turning to flick the lights on, when she yelled for me to stop.

"No!" she screeched. "Just... Please, stop..."

I turned back to her with a bewildered stare, finally believing that she had genuinely gone insane. Brief images flashed in my mind of her in a dark, padded room, and our weekly dinners having an entirely different dynamic.

I threw the switch on and off repeatedly and gave her a sharp stare that showed my true frustration. She turned away, defeated.

"What's going on, Mom?" I asked with equal amounts of compassion and frustration.

"Why is the power out? Why are the windows covered up? And what's with not replying to me? I'm telling you, after all this, you better have a damn good explanation."

*Thump thump*

There it was again. The thumping. A dull rattle faded in and out, right below us. I could feel it vibrating through my feet each time it happened. My mother's eyes widened, and she recoiled, lifting her feet onto the seat and wrapping herself up like a child, her attention turning toward the door that led to the basement.

I couldn't even speak. She momentarily looked up at me with her tearful brown eyes before quickly turning away. A look of shame and guilt painted her face. I tried desperately to make sense of the situation, but there was no explaining any of it. And so I turned toward the source of that maddening sound. My footsteps echoed in the kitchen as I walked over to the basement door, the action feeling drawn out and slow. There was a sliding bolt securely fastened into place. It was new and crudely installed.

I looked at her with a questionable expression. Ashamed, she turned away. Then the noise came again. I still couldn't describe it exactly, but it sounded like gentle tapping... or clicking. The hair on my neck stood up.

"Mom..." I said softly, as if to ask, 'What did you do?'

She locked eyes with me, shaking her head with a mournful look on her face, tears welling up. I wondered what the hell was going on. The moment I put my hand on the deadbolt, her voice filled the room like a crack of thunder.

"Don't!" she cried out. The silence that followed her outburst lingered uncomfortably, accompanied by the periodic thumps and clicks from the basement.

"Don't," she whispered. "Please don't..."

I couldn't believe it. There she was, in a state of obvious discomfort, lying to me, hiding something from me, keeping secrets from me, yet expecting pity. Anger consumed me. I gritted my teeth and snatched the lantern off the table, pulling back the bolt and throwing the door wide open. It slammed against the wall, cracking loudly as I stepped forward and was greeted by darkness. A putrid scent of decay followed, accompanied by a cloying sweetness that made my stomach turn. I didn't know what to expect, but I knew it wouldn't be good.

The lantern shone weakly into the inky blackness that waited below. With each step down, loud creaking followed, along with my screaming mother pulling me back and begging me not to go any further. But I didn't listen. How could I?

The thumps and clicks grew louder until I stepped onto the cold concrete floor, and suddenly everything stopped. Quiet. However, I wasn't truly alarmed until the door closed behind me, and the bolt slid into place. Unease started to consume me in a way I had never felt before as sweat ran down the small of my back. An animal had crossed my mind. Maybe it trapped itself somehow and scared my mother to the point of hysteria. Maybe a ghost? I laughed at the absurdity because I didn't believe in such things. At that moment, I truly just wanted to get the whole ordeal over with and put it all in the past.

The basement was a mess of machinery, boxes and neglected items piled together under huge sheets, along with a workbench and tools that belonged to my father. I grabbed a hammer off the wall and instantly felt better, gripping the wooden handle until my knuckles were bone white. There were signs of footprints here and there, but they were too large to be an animal. They led nowhere anyway. After spending 20 minutes looking around and finding nothing, I circled around defeated and found myself back at the stairway.

*Thump Thump* *click clack*

There it was again, even louder. The clicks reminded me of a playing card flapping against the spokes of a bicycle, like the one I had as a kid. Couldn't really explain it or associate it with anything that would make sense, so I continued toward the noise. At my feet, there were droplets of something dark, so small it was almost imperceivable. I leaned in closer, that same nauseating smell. My stomach twisted into a knot, acid rising in the back of my throat. I fought the urge to vomit and steadied myself on a box, then saw the covered-up drag marks that led into a small storage space. Blood pounded in my ears, and my vision narrowed.

Inside, there were several large boxes, one of them containing my old trophies and school stuff. Something inside me almost wanted to pull out the old memories and reminisce. But it was the furthest box tucked away in the corner that caught my attention. A dark stain had soaked through, standing out amongst the rest, and the drag marks headed in that very direction. I didn't know what I was looking for, but I knew that I had to look in that particular box.

It was filled with random knick-knacks, crocheted tablecloths and porcelain figurines. But it was all stained in that same stuff. The smell was sickening. It burned my sinuses, forcing me to hold my breath as the dark liquid covered my hands and the clicking grew louder. I didn't know what it was, but I was close, carefully pulling back the layers one by one.

*thump thump* *click clack*

My heart slammed against my chest in a frenzied rhythm, sweat blurring my vision.

Beneath the items and old memories was what looked like a leatherbound book, dark with a glossy sheen. I reached further into the box, tracing over the crevices, folds and valleys of the shaped leather, my fingers coming away with strands of that putrid oil. It was.. Warm. But the more that was revealed, the sooner I came to realize that it wasn't a book at all... It was a face. A distorted human face.

My body constricted, and my surroundings blurred in an instant. I wasn't even registering the smell of that stuff anymore. I was entranced. The thing was horrifying to look at, an expression of agony with a mouth twisted open and silently screaming into the ether. It looked ancient. I incessantly wondered why and how my mother came across that peculiar item. I was so fixated that I no longer worried about the possibility of an animal nesting in a box in my mother's basement. Instead, I kept looking at that haunting face.

Dried like old leather and gaunt beyond all reason, covered in a sheen of that putrid substance. A mummified human-like face. It reminded me of the shrunken heads that are found throughout the world. But this one was full-size, and the proportions were very wrong. The thump I heard and felt gave way to a cold jolt that ran through my body. I could feel the clicks vibrating through my hand, but still didn't understand what I was dealing with. So I kept going.

The detail was captivating. Maybe it was a carving of some sort. The eyes were shut, lips pulled tight over its teeth, nose shrunken to shape the bone and cartilage beneath. Where did my mother find it? I sat there for minutes staring at it, picturing scenarios that led the item to where it sat. Amid all the fascination and confusion, I found myself in total disbelief when something grabbed me.

Absolute terror is the perfect way to describe how I felt in that moment. The life drained from my face as something held me in place with a painful grip. I didn't physically react until it started pulling me in. Now I felt like a trapped animal, desperately thrashing to get out of harm's way. In a fleeting moment, I thought about cutting my arm off to escape, even though I didn't fully know what was happening. It continued to pull me down until finally I saw its eyes open, inches from my face. Why had I gone down there in the first place? Why was I even there? I didn't want to accept anything as reality anymore. All I wanted was to get the hell out of that basement.

With enough force, I managed to free myself, falling back and struggling to breathe. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get a breath of air into my lungs. I crawled back, the lantern out of reach and on its side, flame sputtering. The box began to move and shake, but I was glued to the spot. It's not that I didn't want to move. I couldn't. My mind screamed for me to run, but my body betrayed me.

A terrible form started to emerge. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. Not even in my nightmares could I conjure up such an affront to God. It was so physically twisted and compressed that it had to unfold itself as it continued rising from out of that stained box, all the while letting out that terrible sound that will stay with me forever.

*click clack*

I remember thinking over and over again that it couldn't be real. In what conceivable way could it be real? It was so absurd that I started laughing. I genuinely started laughing uncontrollably until I felt myself growing dizzy, colored dots filling my vision. The lantern sat on its side, the flame barely lit and on the verge of going out. The weak glow dimly illuminated the figure, twisting and cracking, setting back into place.

It stood upright for a while, cloaked in darkness. But I could still see it, swaying slowly. Two pinpricks of light reflecting from its eyes, watching me. Waiting. My body shivered uncontrollably. Then, it took a disjointed step up and out of the box, placing one shrivelled leg in front of the other. The thing dragged its feet, stepping closer with hands outstretched. My breath staggered in my lungs. It looked down with pale white eyes, dancing around feverishly. Thin strands of long black hair covered its mottled scalp, billowing as it contorted and twisted its malformed body. No words can accurately describe the true horror I felt. No feeling could match the absolute terror. I was completely frozen.

There was a moment where I thought it was over, and had accepted, even waited, for it to just end. To grab me. Scoop me up and do whatever it is that it intended to do. I don't know why I thought that. Maybe it was the creature's doing. The rhythmic thumping and clicking passed through my body, the vibrations so strong that my teeth rattled. I had accepted in that moment that it was the end. Then my mother's screams filled the air.

She appeared with fear cast aside, striking the thing with a broom in hand and tears in her eyes, screeching like a maniac. I had never witnessed such fierceness in her before. She grabbed the lamp and set it down beside me. The light grew brighter, and only then did I notice the fabric hanging off the creature. They were remnants of clothing and looked eerily similar to the maid’s uniform.

As my mother continued striking the creature, it suddenly grabbed the handle and pulled her in, sinking its teeth and coming away with a mouthful of wrinkled flesh. The screams were horrible. From both my mother and that thing. I cried as I flew up with my newfound courage and placed a well-timed kick into its body, sending it reeling back and releasing my mother from its grip. My body was flooded with adrenaline, and without hesitation, I picked up the hammer and delivered a strike so hard that it flew back into the wall. But no matter how many times I connected with the thing, it got back up.

I turned back to find my mother on the floor, one hand on her bleeding face, and the other holding up a box of matches. Barely a moment passed before I had struck several of them, tossing the growing ball of fire onto the tattered uniform of the creature lying twisted in front of me. It erupted instantly, like it had been soaked in alcohol, screeching in absolute agony as it reached out to us, flames erupting from its eyes.

The fire rose and licked the ceiling, but died out quickly. Before I knew it, my mother and I were standing before a smouldering pile of ashes, and I, in absolute disbelief. I looked at her, a bloodied hand holding her face, tears streaming down.

"I didn't know what to do," she pleaded.

I stood there watching my mother let go of the secret she had been holding, and letting the truth finally sink in. A brief pause hung in the air before it all came out.

"I caught her stealing," she said at first, fidgeting with her shirt. "And when I confronted her, she didn't take it well at all. I thought maybe she'd deny it and leave or something, but she completely lost it. She started screaming at me, and then..." her frail arm rose, hand pointing to the top of the stairs. I watched, my eyes eventually falling on the mark that was stained into the concrete. I shook my head in disbelief.

"She attacked me! What was I supposed to do?! I was only defending myself!" She exclaimed, a sudden wave of anger bursting out from the gentle woman I had always known and loved. I lifted my head, turning to look at my mother, who had her face in her hands, sobbing. She pointed with a trembling hand, reliving the moment. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

"She was all twisted up and begging for help, screaming in God knows what language..." She closed her eyes, trying to find the strength to speak. "And I just shut the door and turned off the lights... I left her there." Those words sank in. I felt a deep shame that I couldn't let go of.

"They would have blamed me," she said softly. "They would have blamed me... Blamed me... Blamed me... Me.. Me..." She continued like that, crying into her hands, wailing with a heavy heart. Suddenly, a switch flipped, and she grabbed my arm, a frantic look taking over her face.

"I turned on some music, and it helped at first." I gulped, not saying a word. "I was going to tell someone, I really was. But then.... During the night, I started hearing... Her." My mother's nails dug into my arm, grip getting tighter.

"Mom, relax!"

"She'd move around the house but never leave, always wailing!!" My mother grimaced, letting go of my arm and covering her ears, shaking her head violently. I reached out to her, gripping her shoulders tight in an attempt to calm her down, but it didn't work.

"She even started coming up the stairs at night, standing on the other side of my bedroom door, scratching! Scratching the door! She wouldn't leave me alone!" My mother was hysterical, screaming and shouting. Her hand fell away, and I could see the bite was no longer bleeding.

"Mom, you have to calm down!"

"She got upset after I put the lock on, so she turned off the power. I went down to flip the circuit breaker and found her hiding in that box. She peeked out at me, and I saw what she had become. She was dead. She was dead, for heaven's sake!!!" She stopped moving altogether. But the tears kept coming.

"Son," she started, pleading with all the hope in the world. "Why is this happening?"

Her words hit me with a sudden force, a deep sadness taking over me. What we had just experienced felt like a horror movie. A set of rules that aren't supposed to be grounded in reality. This kind of thing is not supposed to happen. I didn't want to believe any of it, not a word. But now I know better.

She turned her attention towards me, holding my face in her cold, trembling hands. We sat there for a while, not saying a word. But when I decided to get up, she moved along with me, arms gripped tight. My eyes filled with tears as we rose to our feet and climbed back up the stairs with lantern in hand. The steps sagged and creaked, long groans contrasting with the otherwise silent home. A strange feeling coaxed my senses, and I instinctively threw several glances back over my shoulder, out of some deep fear that the creature was still alive. But there was nothing behind me.

As I stood in the doorway, staring down into that terrible scene, I circled around the idea of what that thing was and where it belonged. I wondered if it was at rest, no longer cursed to live a life of torment. Or if maybe some part of it still hides in waiting, waiting for another opportunity. She watched me with pleading eyes, finding the courage to keep it together as I gave her a kiss on the forehead and slowly shut the door, sliding the lock into place.

I turned and gave her a short smile, the day's events weighing heavily on me. I wasn't angry anymore, I was just glad that she was ok. We would worry about everything tomorrow. A fresh start. After I cleaned her up and put her to bed, I went straight to my room and lay awake all night. I was exhausted, and each time when I was on the verge of falling asleep, the scratching at the door would start. But every time I checked outside, there was no one there, and my mother was fast asleep.

This morning, I found her in the basement, humming songs from my childhood. She hasn't moved from there much, but otherwise she's fine. She still looks the same. Smiles at me the way I remember. Even her wound has already started healing well, which gives me confidence that everything will be ok. It has to be.

She doesn’t have much of an appetite, though. Or thirst, for that matter. But that's ok, we'll get through this. Together. Just a small setback. She's still my mother, after all.

In all our years, I've never missed a family dinner. Not one. And I don't intend to. The only problem now is... I have no idea what she likes to eat.

It feels like a cosmic joke, knowing this might be the only place where my story actually gets taken seriously. I'm not looking to convince you, that's not why I'm posting this. Because most of you will read what's ahead and think nothing of it. And I hope that's the case. I truly do. But to those unfortunate few who are going through the same thing... Well, now would be a good time to pray.

There's so much that I can't explain. So much that I don't understand. But I'll try. Wouldn't you? I've never tried writing like this before, but I'm just going to go with my gut and get this out in one shot. I need to get it ALL out. Sort of like my therapy, I guess. Believe me, don't believe me. The only thing that matters is getting this out.

I can't remember the last time I didn't see my mother for our family dinners. Even though she lives several towns over, I always make the drive every week so we can spend the day together. But going there is mostly her idea. It's like she's scared to leave our hometown or something. I don't know, she's beyond stubborn, even more than I am. I've told her over and over again to come stay at my apartment, but she always declines. Doesn't even hesitate or take time to reconsider. She's an old woman set in her ways who enjoys her space. Ultimately, there's nothing wrong with that, I guess.

My mother is getting old, yet she never complains of the pain. But I can see it in the way she moves, puttering from room to room. That's why I hired a caregiver, even though I knew she would hate the idea. At first, anyway. Someone goes by the house several times a week to help out with errands and other chores, which seems to brighten her spirits. I know she's grateful, even if she never says it directly.

My mother and I were always close - we still are. Even as a kid, we were inseparable. She was my best friend. Now she calls, and we talk on the phone throughout the week; she likes to fill me in on the things I miss while I'm away. She also asks me constantly when I'm coming home. No matter how many times I tell her that I work too far away, she still pesters me to find something closer. But that sleepy little town doesn't have anything to offer me. Not anymore.

She was never one to skimp out on our Sunday dinners, either. No matter how many times I told her that a simple meal would do, she would shush me, offering me a kind smile in return. And so when I stopped hearing from her last week, I became worried.

Naturally, you think the worst. Maybe she fell and hurt herself, or maybe someone broke into the house and did God knows what. Countless scenarios were running through my mind. Luckily, the local Sheriff is a High School friend of mine, so I asked him to pass by for a wellness check. Later that night, he called me, saying my mother looked tired but otherwise fine and that she'd call me. Well, hours passed, and I still didn't hear anything from her.

To be completely honest, in that moment, I was more angry than relieved. She wasn't answering any of my calls or messages - for what reason? I wondered if I said or did something to upset her. Is that why she was avoiding me? All I knew was that something didn't feel right, so yesterday after work, I packed my things and made my way over there. I'd either catch her in the act or come to realize that it was all just a crazy misunderstanding. I had hoped for the latter.

The entire drive over, no matter how much I denied it, the atmosphere felt uneasy. Normally, I love an autumn drive through the backroads. The allure of autumn quickly faded as the bare trees started to resemble skeletal hands, twisting and reaching out of the earth. A nagging voice told me all the worst things that I didn't want to hear, and my heart began to pound in a terrible rhythm.

The old farmhouse came into view, gravel road crunching as I turned into the driveway. The mailbox was worn but still had the family name, carved by my father. He was a man's man. Tough as nails. Strong and intelligent, but also kind and caring. Someone that people looked up to.

He passed suddenly when I was young, rest his soul. Everyone felt his absence like a kick to the chest. Suffocating. We felt aimless. Hopeless. Then everyone in our family started disappearing one by one. My aunt and uncle moved away, and so did my cousins. My sister married and moved halfway across the world. And my dog died shortly after. It was a lot for me. A lot for us. We were left to deal with all of it. Mother and son. But being together helped us grieve. She was a good mother. Still is.

Countless times, I've asked her to come live with me. It's ideal since I work in the city, so I wouldn't have to drive several hours each way to see her every week. There's more than enough space and everything she could ever need, but she always declines. Every single time without hesitation. But I get it, that's her home, and that's where she'll stay for the rest of her days.

The house had an unsettling silhouette against the night sky, sitting in complete darkness, which was unusual. At the very least, my mother kept the porch light on. The creaking steps of the old front porch sagged and groaned under my weight as I raced up the steps. I knocked. Several seconds passed, and there was no movement. No answer. I knocked again, more hurried this time. At that point, I decided enough was enough. Anger is all there was. She'd gone far enough. But that's when I noticed the windows.

They had been covered up. From the inside. With newspaper. Alarm bells were ringing in my head. My hands shook uncontrollably while fishing the keys out of my pocket, my mind thinking the worst. The lock turned, and the heavy door squealed, ringing out in the absolute silence. I reached for the light switch and flicked it on, but the darkness remained. I hoped it was only the bulb. Standing there, I wondered what terrible scene had played out, and what was yet to unfold.

A loud thump caught me off guard, echoing from the basement. The hair on my arms stood on end, heartbeat pulsing in my ears like muffled waves. On and into the dark hallway, trashed like there had been a pack of animals running through the house. The dim cellphone light shook in my trembling hands, unsure if it was from the anxiety, fear or both. Past the dining room with broken plates and glasses, down another corridor with skewed and twisted paintings, then through a set of double doors and into the kitchen. Lo and behold.

There she was, sitting at the breakfast table with an old oil lamp surrounded in filth, hunched over and looking down at an unopened can of soup. The room was painted with a warm orange glow, and I'm not sure if it was a trick of the light, but she looked 20 years older. Her hair was wild and unkempt, her skin etched with more lines and deeper creases than I remember, and her eyes were dim.

The circumstances were strange, to say the least. I was worried out of my mind, wondering what had happened to her. Yet there she was, sitting at the kitchen table in the middle of the night, apparently in the mood for a midnight snack. She didn't even realize I was there at first, eyes wide and staring down. Always down. I called out to her, even shouted, but there was no response. She was on another planet.

I put my hand on her shoulder and woke her out of a daze, causing her to flail violently, lashing out and nearly falling out of her chair. Her hand latched onto mine, and when she saw me, her expression changed to that of a frightened child. Guilty. I asked her what happened, letting out a sigh of relief knowing that she was, in quick observation, relatively fine. She gave me a tiny smile, then apologized for her lack of communication. Something about feeling unwell and forgetting to tell me.

Bullshit. That was a complete lie. Right to my face. That wasn't like her at all. What was she keeping from me? My mind just screamed 'liar' as the anger rose. I took a deep breath and allowed myself to calm down. She's still my mother after all.

I offered to make her something to eat as I was sure she hadn't eaten in what looked like days. She shook her head slowly and assured me she was ok, but it was clear that she was trying to get me to leave. I sighed, turning to flick the lights on, when she yelled for me to stop.

"No!" she screeched. "Just... Please, stop..."

I turned back to her with a bewildered stare, finally believing that she had genuinely gone insane. Brief images flashed in my mind of her in a dark, padded room, and our weekly dinners having an entirely different dynamic.

I threw the switch on and off repeatedly and gave her a sharp stare that showed my true frustration. She turned away, defeated.

"What's going on, Mom?" I asked with equal amounts of compassion and frustration.

"Why is the power out? Why are the windows covered up? And what's with not replying to me? I'm telling you, after all this, you better have a damn good explanation."

*Thump thump*

There it was again. The thumping. A dull rattle faded in and out, right below us. I could feel it vibrating through my feet each time it happened. My mother's eyes widened, and she recoiled, lifting her feet onto the seat and wrapping herself up like a child, her attention turning toward the door that led to the basement.

I couldn't even speak. She momentarily looked up at me with her tearful brown eyes before quickly turning away. A look of shame and guilt painted her face. I tried desperately to make sense of the situation, but there was no explaining any of it. And so I turned toward the source of that maddening sound. My footsteps echoed in the kitchen as I walked over to the basement door, the action feeling drawn out and slow. There was a sliding bolt securely fastened into place. It was new and crudely installed.

I looked at her with a questionable expression. Ashamed, she turned away. Then the noise came again. I still couldn't describe it exactly, but it sounded like gentle tapping... or clicking. The hair on my neck stood up.

"Mom..." I said softly, as if to ask, 'What did you do?'

She locked eyes with me, shaking her head with a mournful look on her face, tears welling up. I wondered what the hell was going on. The moment I put my hand on the deadbolt, her voice filled the room like a crack of thunder.

"Don't!" she cried out. The silence that followed her outburst lingered uncomfortably, accompanied by the periodic thumps and clicks from the basement.

"Don't," she whispered. "Please don't..."

I couldn't believe it. There she was, in a state of obvious discomfort, lying to me, hiding something from me, keeping secrets from me, yet expecting pity. Anger consumed me. I gritted my teeth and snatched the lantern off the table, pulling back the bolt and throwing the door wide open. It slammed against the wall, cracking loudly as I stepped forward and was greeted by darkness. A putrid scent of decay followed, accompanied by a cloying sweetness that made my stomach turn. I didn't know what to expect, but I knew it wouldn't be good.

The lantern shone weakly into the inky blackness that waited below. With each step down, loud creaking followed, along with my screaming mother pulling me back and begging me not to go any further. But I didn't listen. How could I?

The thumps and clicks grew louder until I stepped onto the cold concrete floor, and suddenly everything stopped. Quiet. However, I wasn't truly alarmed until the door closed behind me, and the bolt slid into place. Unease started to consume me in a way I had never felt before as sweat ran down the small of my back. An animal had crossed my mind. Maybe it trapped itself somehow and scared my mother to the point of hysteria. Maybe a ghost? I laughed at the absurdity because I didn't believe in such things. At that moment, I truly just wanted to get the whole ordeal over with and put it all in the past.

The basement was a mess of machinery, boxes and neglected items piled together under huge sheets, along with a workbench and tools that belonged to my father. I grabbed a hammer off the wall and instantly felt better, gripping the wooden handle until my knuckles were bone white. There were signs of footprints here and there, but they were too large to be an animal. They led nowhere anyway. After spending 20 minutes looking around and finding nothing, I circled around defeated and found myself back at the stairway.

*Thump Thump* *click clack*

There it was again, even louder. The clicks reminded me of a playing card flapping against the spokes of a bicycle, like the one I had as a kid. Couldn't really explain it or associate it with anything that would make sense, so I continued toward the noise. At my feet, there were droplets of something dark, so small it was almost imperceivable. I leaned in closer, that same nauseating smell. My stomach twisted into a knot, acid rising in the back of my throat. I fought the urge to vomit and steadied myself on a box, then saw the covered-up drag marks that led into a small storage space. Blood pounded in my ears, and my vision narrowed.

Inside, there were several large boxes, one of them containing my old trophies and school stuff. Something inside me almost wanted to pull out the old memories and reminisce. But it was the furthest box tucked away in the corner that caught my attention. A dark stain had soaked through, standing out amongst the rest, and the drag marks headed in that very direction. I didn't know what I was looking for, but I knew that I had to look in that particular box.

It was filled with random knick-knacks, crocheted tablecloths and porcelain figurines. But it was all stained in that same stuff. The smell was sickening. It burned my sinuses, forcing me to hold my breath as the dark liquid covered my hands and the clicking grew louder. I didn't know what it was, but I was close, carefully pulling back the layers one by one.

*thump thump* *click clack*

My heart slammed against my chest in a frenzied rhythm, sweat blurring my vision.

Beneath the items and old memories was what looked like a leatherbound book, dark with a glossy sheen. I reached further into the box, tracing over the crevices, folds and valleys of the shaped leather, my fingers coming away with strands of that putrid oil. It was.. Warm. But the more that was revealed, the sooner I came to realize that it wasn't a book at all... It was a face. A distorted human face.

My body constricted, and my surroundings blurred in an instant. I wasn't even registering the smell of that stuff anymore. I was entranced. The thing was horrifying to look at, an expression of agony with a mouth twisted open and silently screaming into the ether. It looked ancient. I incessantly wondered why and how my mother came across that peculiar item. I was so fixated that I no longer worried about the possibility of an animal nesting in a box in my mother's basement. Instead, I kept looking at that haunting face.

Dried like old leather and gaunt beyond all reason, covered in a sheen of that putrid substance. A mummified human-like face. It reminded me of the shrunken heads that are found throughout the world. But this one was full-size, and the proportions were very wrong. The thump I heard and felt gave way to a cold jolt that ran through my body. I could feel the clicks vibrating through my hand, but still didn't understand what I was dealing with. So I kept going.

The detail was captivating. Maybe it was a carving of some sort. The eyes were shut, lips pulled tight over its teeth, nose shrunken to shape the bone and cartilage beneath. Where did my mother find it? I sat there for minutes staring at it, picturing scenarios that led the item to where it sat. Amid all the fascination and confusion, I found myself in total disbelief when something grabbed me.

Absolute terror is the perfect way to describe how I felt in that moment. The life drained from my face as something held me in place with a painful grip. I didn't physically react until it started pulling me in. Now I felt like a trapped animal, desperately thrashing to get out of harm's way. In a fleeting moment, I thought about cutting my arm off to escape, even though I didn't fully know what was happening. It continued to pull me down until finally I saw its eyes open, inches from my face. Why had I gone down there in the first place? Why was I even there? I didn't want to accept anything as reality anymore. All I wanted was to get the hell out of that basement.

With enough force, I managed to free myself, falling back and struggling to breathe. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get a breath of air into my lungs. I crawled back, the lantern out of reach and on its side, flame sputtering. The box began to move and shake, but I was glued to the spot. It's not that I didn't want to move. I couldn't. My mind screamed for me to run, but my body betrayed me.

A terrible form started to emerge. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. Not even in my nightmares could I conjure up such an affront to God. It was so physically twisted and compressed that it had to unfold itself as it continued rising from out of that stained box, all the while letting out that terrible sound that will stay with me forever.

*click clack*

I remember thinking over and over again that it couldn't be real. In what conceivable way could it be real? It was so absurd that I started laughing. I genuinely started laughing uncontrollably until I felt myself growing dizzy, colored dots filling my vision. The lantern sat on its side, the flame barely lit and on the verge of going out. The weak glow dimly illuminated the figure, twisting and cracking, setting back into place.

It stood upright for a while, cloaked in darkness. But I could still see it, swaying slowly. Two pinpricks of light reflecting from its eyes, watching me. Waiting. My body shivered uncontrollably. Then, it took a disjointed step up and out of the box, placing one shrivelled leg in front of the other. The thing dragged its feet, stepping closer with hands outstretched. My breath staggered in my lungs. It looked down with pale white eyes, dancing around feverishly. Thin strands of long black hair covered its mottled scalp, billowing as it contorted and twisted its malformed body. No words can accurately describe the true horror I felt. No feeling could match the absolute terror. I was completely frozen.

There was a moment where I thought it was over, and had accepted, even waited, for it to just end. To grab me. Scoop me up and do whatever it is that it intended to do. I don't know why I thought that. Maybe it was the creature's doing. The rhythmic thumping and clicking passed through my body, the vibrations so strong that my teeth rattled. I had accepted in that moment that it was the end. Then my mother's screams filled the air.

She appeared with fear cast aside, striking the thing with a broom in hand and tears in her eyes, screeching like a maniac. I had never witnessed such fierceness in her before. She grabbed the lamp and set it down beside me. The light grew brighter, and only then did I notice the fabric hanging off the creature. They were remnants of clothing and looked eerily similar to the maid’s uniform.

As my mother continued striking the creature, it suddenly grabbed the handle and pulled her in, sinking its teeth and coming away with a mouthful of wrinkled flesh. The screams were horrible. From both my mother and that thing. I cried as I flew up with my newfound courage and placed a well-timed kick into its body, sending it reeling back and releasing my mother from its grip. My body was flooded with adrenaline, and without hesitation, I picked up the hammer and delivered a strike so hard that it flew back into the wall. But no matter how many times I connected with the thing, it got back up.

I turned back to find my mother on the floor, one hand on her bleeding face, and the other holding up a box of matches. Barely a moment passed before I had struck several of them, tossing the growing ball of fire onto the tattered uniform of the creature lying twisted in front of me. It erupted instantly, like it had been soaked in alcohol, screeching in absolute agony as it reached out to us, flames erupting from its eyes.

The fire rose and licked the ceiling, but died out quickly. Before I knew it, my mother and I were standing before a smouldering pile of ashes, and I, in absolute disbelief. I looked at her, a bloodied hand holding her face, tears streaming down.

"I didn't know what to do," she pleaded.

I stood there watching my mother let go of the secret she had been holding, and letting the truth finally sink in. A brief pause hung in the air before it all came out.

"I caught her stealing," she said at first, fidgeting with her shirt. "And when I confronted her, she didn't take it well at all. I thought maybe she'd deny it and leave or something, but she completely lost it. She started screaming at me, and then..." her frail arm rose, hand pointing to the top of the stairs. I watched, my eyes eventually falling on the mark that was stained into the concrete. I shook my head in disbelief.

"She attacked me! What was I supposed to do?! I was only defending myself!" She exclaimed, a sudden wave of anger bursting out from the gentle woman I had always known and loved. I lifted my head, turning to look at my mother, who had her face in her hands, sobbing. She pointed with a trembling hand, reliving the moment. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

"She was all twisted up and begging for help, screaming in God knows what language..." She closed her eyes, trying to find the strength to speak. "And I just shut the door and turned off the lights... I left her there." Those words sank in. I felt a deep shame that I couldn't let go of.

"They would have blamed me," she said softly. "They would have blamed me... Blamed me... Blamed me... Me.. Me..." She continued like that, crying into her hands, wailing with a heavy heart. Suddenly, a switch flipped, and she grabbed my arm, a frantic look taking over her face.

"I turned on some music, and it helped at first." I gulped, not saying a word. "I was going to tell someone, I really was. But then.... During the night, I started hearing... Her." My mother's nails dug into my arm, grip getting tighter.

"Mom, relax!"

"She'd move around the house but never leave, always wailing!!" My mother grimaced, letting go of my arm and covering her ears, shaking her head violently. I reached out to her, gripping her shoulders tight in an attempt to calm her down, but it didn't work.

"She even started coming up the stairs at night, standing on the other side of my bedroom door, scratching! Scratching the door! She wouldn't leave me alone!" My mother was hysterical, screaming and shouting. Her hand fell away, and I could see the bite was no longer bleeding.

"Mom, you have to calm down!"

"She got upset after I put the lock on, so she turned off the power. I went down to flip the circuit breaker and found her hiding in that box. She peeked out at me, and I saw what she had become. She was dead. She was dead, for heaven's sake!!!" She stopped moving altogether. But the tears kept coming.

"Son," she started, pleading with all the hope in the world. "Why is this happening?"

Her words hit me with a sudden force, a deep sadness taking over me. What we had just experienced felt like a horror movie. A set of rules that aren't supposed to be grounded in reality. This kind of thing is not supposed to happen. I didn't want to believe any of it, not a word. But now I know better.

She turned her attention towards me, holding my face in her cold, trembling hands. We sat there for a while, not saying a word. But when I decided to get up, she moved along with me, arms gripped tight. My eyes filled with tears as we rose to our feet and climbed back up the stairs with lantern in hand. The steps sagged and creaked, long groans contrasting with the otherwise silent home. A strange feeling coaxed my senses, and I instinctively threw several glances back over my shoulder, out of some deep fear that the creature was still alive. But there was nothing behind me.

As I stood in the doorway, staring down into that terrible scene, I circled around the idea of what that thing was and where it belonged. I wondered if it was at rest, no longer cursed to live a life of torment. Or if maybe some part of it still hides in waiting, waiting for another opportunity. She watched me with pleading eyes, finding the courage to keep it together as I gave her a kiss on the forehead and slowly shut the door, sliding the lock into place.

I turned and gave her a short smile, the day's events weighing heavily on me. I wasn't angry anymore, I was just glad that she was ok. We would worry about everything tomorrow. A fresh start. After I cleaned her up and put her to bed, I went straight to my room and lay awake all night. I was exhausted, and each time when I was on the verge of falling asleep, the scratching at the door would start. But every time I checked outside, there was no one there, and my mother was fast asleep.

This morning, I found her in the basement, humming songs from my childhood. She hasn't moved from there much, but otherwise she's fine. She still looks the same. Smiles at me the way I remember. Even her wound has already started healing well, which gives me confidence that everything will be ok. It has to be.

She doesn’t have much of an appetite, though. Or thirst, for that matter. But that's ok, we'll get through this. Together. Just a small setback. She's still my mother, after all.

In all our years, I've never missed a family dinner. Not one. And I don't intend to. The only problem now is... I have no idea what she likes to eat.

It feels like a cosmic joke, knowing this might be the only place where my story actually gets taken seriously. I'm not looking to convince you, that's not why I'm posting this. Because most of you will read what's ahead and think nothing of it. And I hope that's the case. I truly do. But to those unfortunate few who are going through the same thing... Well, now would be a good time to pray.

There's so much that I can't explain. So much that I don't understand. But I'll try. Wouldn't you? I've never tried writing like this before, but I'm just going to go with my gut and get this out in one shot. I need to get it ALL out. Sort of like my therapy, I guess. Believe me, don't believe me. The only thing that matters is getting this out.

I can't remember the last time I didn't see my mother for our family dinners. Even though she lives several towns over, I always make the drive every week so we can spend the day together. But going there is mostly her idea. It's like she's scared to leave our hometown or something. I don't know, she's beyond stubborn, even more than I am. I've told her over and over again to come stay at my apartment, but she always declines. Doesn't even hesitate or take time to reconsider. She's an old woman set in her ways who enjoys her space. Ultimately, there's nothing wrong with that, I guess.

My mother is getting old, yet she never complains of the pain. But I can see it in the way she moves, puttering from room to room. That's why I hired a caregiver, even though I knew she would hate the idea. At first, anyway. Someone goes by the house several times a week to help out with errands and other chores, which seems to brighten her spirits. I know she's grateful, even if she never says it directly.

My mother and I were always close - we still are. Even as a kid, we were inseparable. She was my best friend. Now she calls, and we talk on the phone throughout the week; she likes to fill me in on the things I miss while I'm away. She also asks me constantly when I'm coming home. No matter how many times I tell her that I work too far away, she still pesters me to find something closer. But that sleepy little town doesn't have anything to offer me. Not anymore.

She was never one to skimp out on our Sunday dinners, either. No matter how many times I told her that a simple meal would do, she would shush me, offering me a kind smile in return. And so when I stopped hearing from her last week, I became worried.

Naturally, you think the worst. Maybe she fell and hurt herself, or maybe someone broke into the house and did God knows what. Countless scenarios were running through my mind. Luckily, the local Sheriff is a High School friend of mine, so I asked him to pass by for a wellness check. Later that night, he called me, saying my mother looked tired but otherwise fine and that she'd call me. Well, hours passed, and I still didn't hear anything from her.

To be completely honest, in that moment, I was more angry than relieved. She wasn't answering any of my calls or messages - for what reason? I wondered if I said or did something to upset her. Is that why she was avoiding me? All I knew was that something didn't feel right, so yesterday after work, I packed my things and made my way over there. I'd either catch her in the act or come to realize that it was all just a crazy misunderstanding. I had hoped for the latter.

The entire drive over, no matter how much I denied it, the atmosphere felt uneasy. Normally, I love an autumn drive through the backroads. The allure of autumn quickly faded as the bare trees started to resemble skeletal hands, twisting and reaching out of the earth. A nagging voice told me all the worst things that I didn't want to hear, and my heart began to pound in a terrible rhythm.

The old farmhouse came into view, gravel road crunching as I turned into the driveway. The mailbox was worn but still had the family name, carved by my father. He was a man's man. Tough as nails. Strong and intelligent, but also kind and caring. Someone that people looked up to.

He passed suddenly when I was young, rest his soul. Everyone felt his absence like a kick to the chest. Suffocating. We felt aimless. Hopeless. Then everyone in our family started disappearing one by one. My aunt and uncle moved away, and so did my cousins. My sister married and moved halfway across the world. And my dog died shortly after. It was a lot for me. A lot for us. We were left to deal with all of it. Mother and son. But being together helped us grieve. She was a good mother. Still is.

Countless times, I've asked her to come live with me. It's ideal since I work in the city, so I wouldn't have to drive several hours each way to see her every week. There's more than enough space and everything she could ever need, but she always declines. Every single time without hesitation. But I get it, that's her home, and that's where she'll stay for the rest of her days.

The house had an unsettling silhouette against the night sky, sitting in complete darkness, which was unusual. At the very least, my mother kept the porch light on. The creaking steps of the old front porch sagged and groaned under my weight as I raced up the steps. I knocked. Several seconds passed, and there was no movement. No answer. I knocked again, more hurried this time. At that point, I decided enough was enough. Anger is all there was. She'd gone far enough. But that's when I noticed the windows.

They had been covered up. From the inside. With newspaper. Alarm bells were ringing in my head. My hands shook uncontrollably while fishing the keys out of my pocket, my mind thinking the worst. The lock turned, and the heavy door squealed, ringing out in the absolute silence. I reached for the light switch and flicked it on, but the darkness remained. I hoped it was only the bulb. Standing there, I wondered what terrible scene had played out, and what was yet to unfold.

A loud thump caught me off guard, echoing from the basement. The hair on my arms stood on end, heartbeat pulsing in my ears like muffled waves. On and into the dark hallway, trashed like there had been a pack of animals running through the house. The dim cellphone light shook in my trembling hands, unsure if it was from the anxiety, fear or both. Past the dining room with broken plates and glasses, down another corridor with skewed and twisted paintings, then through a set of double doors and into the kitchen. Lo and behold.

There she was, sitting at the breakfast table with an old oil lamp surrounded in filth, hunched over and looking down at an unopened can of soup. The room was painted with a warm orange glow, and I'm not sure if it was a trick of the light, but she looked 20 years older. Her hair was wild and unkempt, her skin etched with more lines and deeper creases than I remember, and her eyes were dim.

The circumstances were strange, to say the least. I was worried out of my mind, wondering what had happened to her. Yet there she was, sitting at the kitchen table in the middle of the night, apparently in the mood for a midnight snack. She didn't even realize I was there at first, eyes wide and staring down. Always down. I called out to her, even shouted, but there was no response. She was on another planet.

I put my hand on her shoulder and woke her out of a daze, causing her to flail violently, lashing out and nearly falling out of her chair. Her hand latched onto mine, and when she saw me, her expression changed to that of a frightened child. Guilty. I asked her what happened, letting out a sigh of relief knowing that she was, in quick observation, relatively fine. She gave me a tiny smile, then apologized for her lack of communication. Something about feeling unwell and forgetting to tell me.

Bullshit. That was a complete lie. Right to my face. That wasn't like her at all. What was she keeping from me? My mind just screamed 'liar' as the anger rose. I took a deep breath and allowed myself to calm down. She's still my mother after all.

I offered to make her something to eat as I was sure she hadn't eaten in what looked like days. She shook her head slowly and assured me she was ok, but it was clear that she was trying to get me to leave. I sighed, turning to flick the lights on, when she yelled for me to stop.

"No!" she screeched. "Just... Please, stop..."

I turned back to her with a bewildered stare, finally believing that she had genuinely gone insane. Brief images flashed in my mind of her in a dark, padded room, and our weekly dinners having an entirely different dynamic.

I threw the switch on and off repeatedly and gave her a sharp stare that showed my true frustration. She turned away, defeated.

"What's going on, Mom?" I asked with equal amounts of compassion and frustration.

"Why is the power out? Why are the windows covered up? And what's with not replying to me? I'm telling you, after all this, you better have a damn good explanation."

*Thump thump*

There it was again. The thumping. A dull rattle faded in and out, right below us. I could feel it vibrating through my feet each time it happened. My mother's eyes widened, and she recoiled, lifting her feet onto the seat and wrapping herself up like a child, her attention turning toward the door that led to the basement.

I couldn't even speak. She momentarily looked up at me with her tearful brown eyes before quickly turning away. A look of shame and guilt painted her face. I tried desperately to make sense of the situation, but there was no explaining any of it. And so I turned toward the source of that maddening sound. My footsteps echoed in the kitchen as I walked over to the basement door, the action feeling drawn out and slow. There was a sliding bolt securely fastened into place. It was new and crudely installed.

I looked at her with a questionable expression. Ashamed, she turned away. Then the noise came again. I still couldn't describe it exactly, but it sounded like gentle tapping... or clicking. The hair on my neck stood up.

"Mom..." I said softly, as if to ask, 'What did you do?'

She locked eyes with me, shaking her head with a mournful look on her face, tears welling up. I wondered what the hell was going on. The moment I put my hand on the deadbolt, her voice filled the room like a crack of thunder.

"Don't!" she cried out. The silence that followed her outburst lingered uncomfortably, accompanied by the periodic thumps and clicks from the basement.

"Don't," she whispered. "Please don't..."

I couldn't believe it. There she was, in a state of obvious discomfort, lying to me, hiding something from me, keeping secrets from me, yet expecting pity. Anger consumed me. I gritted my teeth and snatched the lantern off the table, pulling back the bolt and throwing the door wide open. It slammed against the wall, cracking loudly as I stepped forward and was greeted by darkness. A putrid scent of decay followed, accompanied by a cloying sweetness that made my stomach turn. I didn't know what to expect, but I knew it wouldn't be good.

The lantern shone weakly into the inky blackness that waited below. With each step down, loud creaking followed, along with my screaming mother pulling me back and begging me not to go any further. But I didn't listen. How could I?

The thumps and clicks grew louder until I stepped onto the cold concrete floor, and suddenly everything stopped. Quiet. However, I wasn't truly alarmed until the door closed behind me, and the bolt slid into place. Unease started to consume me in a way I had never felt before as sweat ran down the small of my back. An animal had crossed my mind. Maybe it trapped itself somehow and scared my mother to the point of hysteria. Maybe a ghost? I laughed at the absurdity because I didn't believe in such things. At that moment, I truly just wanted to get the whole ordeal over with and put it all in the past.

The basement was a mess of machinery, boxes and neglected items piled together under huge sheets, along with a workbench and tools that belonged to my father. I grabbed a hammer off the wall and instantly felt better, gripping the wooden handle until my knuckles were bone white. There were signs of footprints here and there, but they were too large to be an animal. They led nowhere anyway. After spending 20 minutes looking around and finding nothing, I circled around defeated and found myself back at the stairway.

*Thump Thump* *click clack*

There it was again, even louder. The clicks reminded me of a playing card flapping against the spokes of a bicycle, like the one I had as a kid. Couldn't really explain it or associate it with anything that would make sense, so I continued toward the noise. At my feet, there were droplets of something dark, so small it was almost imperceivable. I leaned in closer, that same nauseating smell. My stomach twisted into a knot, acid rising in the back of my throat. I fought the urge to vomit and steadied myself on a box, then saw the covered-up drag marks that led into a small storage space. Blood pounded in my ears, and my vision narrowed.

Inside, there were several large boxes, one of them containing my old trophies and school stuff. Something inside me almost wanted to pull out the old memories and reminisce. But it was the furthest box tucked away in the corner that caught my attention. A dark stain had soaked through, standing out amongst the rest, and the drag marks headed in that very direction. I didn't know what I was looking for, but I knew that I had to look in that particular box.

It was filled with random knick-knacks, crocheted tablecloths and porcelain figurines. But it was all stained in that same stuff. The smell was sickening. It burned my sinuses, forcing me to hold my breath as the dark liquid covered my hands and the clicking grew louder. I didn't know what it was, but I was close, carefully pulling back the layers one by one.

*thump thump* *click clack*

My heart slammed against my chest in a frenzied rhythm, sweat blurring my vision.

Beneath the items and old memories was what looked like a leatherbound book, dark with a glossy sheen. I reached further into the box, tracing over the crevices, folds and valleys of the shaped leather, my fingers coming away with strands of that putrid oil. It was.. Warm. But the more that was revealed, the sooner I came to realize that it wasn't a book at all... It was a face. A distorted human face.

My body constricted, and my surroundings blurred in an instant. I wasn't even registering the smell of that stuff anymore. I was entranced. The thing was horrifying to look at, an expression of agony with a mouth twisted open and silently screaming into the ether. It looked ancient. I incessantly wondered why and how my mother came across that peculiar item. I was so fixated that I no longer worried about the possibility of an animal nesting in a box in my mother's basement. Instead, I kept looking at that haunting face.

Dried like old leather and gaunt beyond all reason, covered in a sheen of that putrid substance. A mummified human-like face. It reminded me of the shrunken heads that are found throughout the world. But this one was full-size, and the proportions were very wrong. The thump I heard and felt gave way to a cold jolt that ran through my body. I could feel the clicks vibrating through my hand, but still didn't understand what I was dealing with. So I kept going.

The detail was captivating. Maybe it was a carving of some sort. The eyes were shut, lips pulled tight over its teeth, nose shrunken to shape the bone and cartilage beneath. Where did my mother find it? I sat there for minutes staring at it, picturing scenarios that led the item to where it sat. Amid all the fascination and confusion, I found myself in total disbelief when something grabbed me.

Absolute terror is the perfect way to describe how I felt in that moment. The life drained from my face as something held me in place with a painful grip. I didn't physically react until it started pulling me in. Now I felt like a trapped animal, desperately thrashing to get out of harm's way. In a fleeting moment, I thought about cutting my arm off to escape, even though I didn't fully know what was happening. It continued to pull me down until finally I saw its eyes open, inches from my face. Why had I gone down there in the first place? Why was I even there? I didn't want to accept anything as reality anymore. All I wanted was to get the hell out of that basement.

With enough force, I managed to free myself, falling back and struggling to breathe. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get a breath of air into my lungs. I crawled back, the lantern out of reach and on its side, flame sputtering. The box began to move and shake, but I was glued to the spot. It's not that I didn't want to move. I couldn't. My mind screamed for me to run, but my body betrayed me.

A terrible form started to emerge. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. Not even in my nightmares could I conjure up such an affront to God. It was so physically twisted and compressed that it had to unfold itself as it continued rising from out of that stained box, all the while letting out that terrible sound that will stay with me forever.

*click clack*

I remember thinking over and over again that it couldn't be real. In what conceivable way could it be real? It was so absurd that I started laughing. I genuinely started laughing uncontrollably until I felt myself growing dizzy, colored dots filling my vision. The lantern sat on its side, the flame barely lit and on the verge of going out. The weak glow dimly illuminated the figure, twisting and cracking, setting back into place.

It stood upright for a while, cloaked in darkness. But I could still see it, swaying slowly. Two pinpricks of light reflecting from its eyes, watching me. Waiting. My body shivered uncontrollably. Then, it took a disjointed step up and out of the box, placing one shrivelled leg in front of the other. The thing dragged its feet, stepping closer with hands outstretched. My breath staggered in my lungs. It looked down with pale white eyes, dancing around feverishly. Thin strands of long black hair covered its mottled scalp, billowing as it contorted and twisted its malformed body. No words can accurately describe the true horror I felt. No feeling could match the absolute terror. I was completely frozen.

There was a moment where I thought it was over, and had accepted, even waited, for it to just end. To grab me. Scoop me up and do whatever it is that it intended to do. I don't know why I thought that. Maybe it was the creature's doing. The rhythmic thumping and clicking passed through my body, the vibrations so strong that my teeth rattled. I had accepted in that moment that it was the end. Then my mother's screams filled the air.

She appeared with fear cast aside, striking the thing with a broom in hand and tears in her eyes, screeching like a maniac. I had never witnessed such fierceness in her before. She grabbed the lamp and set it down beside me. The light grew brighter, and only then did I notice the fabric hanging off the creature. They were remnants of clothing and looked eerily similar to the maid’s uniform.

As my mother continued striking the creature, it suddenly grabbed the handle and pulled her in, sinking its teeth and coming away with a mouthful of wrinkled flesh. The screams were horrible. From both my mother and that thing. I cried as I flew up with my newfound courage and placed a well-timed kick into its body, sending it reeling back and releasing my mother from its grip. My body was flooded with adrenaline, and without hesitation, I picked up the hammer and delivered a strike so hard that it flew back into the wall. But no matter how many times I connected with the thing, it got back up.

I turned back to find my mother on the floor, one hand on her bleeding face, and the other holding up a box of matches. Barely a moment passed before I had struck several of them, tossing the growing ball of fire onto the tattered uniform of the creature lying twisted in front of me. It erupted instantly, like it had been soaked in alcohol, screeching in absolute agony as it reached out to us, flames erupting from its eyes.

The fire rose and licked the ceiling, but died out quickly. Before I knew it, my mother and I were standing before a smouldering pile of ashes, and I, in absolute disbelief. I looked at her, a bloodied hand holding her face, tears streaming down.

"I didn't know what to do," she pleaded.

I stood there watching my mother let go of the secret she had been holding, and letting the truth finally sink in. A brief pause hung in the air before it all came out.

"I caught her stealing," she said at first, fidgeting with her shirt. "And when I confronted her, she didn't take it well at all. I thought maybe she'd deny it and leave or something, but she completely lost it. She started screaming at me, and then..." her frail arm rose, hand pointing to the top of the stairs. I watched, my eyes eventually falling on the mark that was stained into the concrete. I shook my head in disbelief.

"She attacked me! What was I supposed to do?! I was only defending myself!" She exclaimed, a sudden wave of anger bursting out from the gentle woman I had always known and loved. I lifted my head, turning to look at my mother, who had her face in her hands, sobbing. She pointed with a trembling hand, reliving the moment. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

"She was all twisted up and begging for help, screaming in God knows what language..." She closed her eyes, trying to find the strength to speak. "And I just shut the door and turned off the lights... I left her there." Those words sank in. I felt a deep shame that I couldn't let go of.

"They would have blamed me," she said softly. "They would have blamed me... Blamed me... Blamed me... Me.. Me..." She continued like that, crying into her hands, wailing with a heavy heart. Suddenly, a switch flipped, and she grabbed my arm, a frantic look taking over her face.

"I turned on some music, and it helped at first." I gulped, not saying a word. "I was going to tell someone, I really was. But then.... During the night, I started hearing... Her." My mother's nails dug into my arm, grip getting tighter.

"Mom, relax!"

"She'd move around the house but never leave, always wailing!!" My mother grimaced, letting go of my arm and covering her ears, shaking her head violently. I reached out to her, gripping her shoulders tight in an attempt to calm her down, but it didn't work.

"She even started coming up the stairs at night, standing on the other side of my bedroom door, scratching! Scratching the door! She wouldn't leave me alone!" My mother was hysterical, screaming and shouting. Her hand fell away, and I could see the bite was no longer bleeding.

"Mom, you have to calm down!"

"She got upset after I put the lock on, so she turned off the power. I went down to flip the circuit breaker and found her hiding in that box. She peeked out at me, and I saw what she had become. She was dead. She was dead, for heaven's sake!!!" She stopped moving altogether. But the tears kept coming.

"Son," she started, pleading with all the hope in the world. "Why is this happening?"

Her words hit me with a sudden force, a deep sadness taking over me. What we had just experienced felt like a horror movie. A set of rules that aren't supposed to be grounded in reality. This kind of thing is not supposed to happen. I didn't want to believe any of it, not a word. But now I know better.

She turned her attention towards me, holding my face in her cold, trembling hands. We sat there for a while, not saying a word. But when I decided to get up, she moved along with me, arms gripped tight. My eyes filled with tears as we rose to our feet and climbed back up the stairs with lantern in hand. The steps sagged and creaked, long groans contrasting with the otherwise silent home. A strange feeling coaxed my senses, and I instinctively threw several glances back over my shoulder, out of some deep fear that the creature was still alive. But there was nothing behind me.

As I stood in the doorway, staring down into that terrible scene, I circled around the idea of what that thing was and where it belonged. I wondered if it was at rest, no longer cursed to live a life of torment. Or if maybe some part of it still hides in waiting, waiting for another opportunity. She watched me with pleading eyes, finding the courage to keep it together as I gave her a kiss on the forehead and slowly shut the door, sliding the lock into place.

I turned and gave her a short smile, the day's events weighing heavily on me. I wasn't angry anymore, I was just glad that she was ok. We would worry about everything tomorrow. A fresh start. After I cleaned her up and put her to bed, I went straight to my room and lay awake all night. I was exhausted, and each time when I was on the verge of falling asleep, the scratching at the door would start. But every time I checked outside, there was no one there, and my mother was fast asleep.

This morning, I found her in the basement, humming songs from my childhood. She hasn't moved from there much, but otherwise she's fine. She still looks the same. Smiles at me the way I remember. Even her wound has already started healing well, which gives me confidence that everything will be ok. It has to be.

She doesn’t have much of an appetite, though. Or thirst, for that matter. But that's ok, we'll get through this. Together. Just a small setback. She's still my mother, after all.

In all our years, I've never missed a family dinner. Not one. And I don't intend to. The only problem now is... I have no idea what she likes to eat.