Hello everyone. I am Dr. Penton, a researcher from L.A. I have a Ph.D in Marine Geology and a minor in… Jesus, who cares anymore.

I am here with an urgent message. A warning.

It’s unlikely, but if anyone is coming across coordinates: [REDACTED].

DO NOT GO THERE.

I repeat.

DO NOT GO THERE.

If you find yourself near these coordinates. GO BACK. Do not approach.

Do not go near the section of water that has no waves.

I am currently aboard the R.V. Saint Clair. I am part of a small crew of scientists who came here to study what we thought were either a geological phenomenon or a consequence of climate alteration.

I’m currently on track to leave the section of water designated Hazard Area One, or A-1. We passed by A-2 and A-3 already.

If I don’t make it out. If I can’t make it. I… at least want this to be a log of my experiences.

I’m putting this excerpt in whatever forums or social media I can find.

God help us.

A-1 is an area approximately 2,000 feet in diameter, and about 0.29 square kilometers, of completely still water.

Roughly circular-shaped, surrounded by occasional rocky formations on its edges. The most notable thing about hazard area one is, as mentioned, the water.

It’s completely still.

There is no motion in A-1. There are no waves and no ripples in the water. It is equivalent to a lake in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

It’s physically impossible.

Hazard Areas 2 and 3, are also similar. The only difference is that they are smaller in size. Probably only about the size of a football stadium.

I… I don’t think I’ve ever seen or read of anything like this. When I was first contracted, I was told there was an area on the ocean with abnormally large CO₂ concentrations. When we finally arrived, we found something much… stranger.

There is, I suppose, a large concentration of CO₂ in the area. But it has the peculiar property of coming in intermittent phases.

Every 2.3 hours a large concentration of CO₂ is detected. It’s roughly rhythmic, which is bizarre, but that’s what the instruments detected.

This alone would constitute enough to have our names plastered over science magazines all over the world. I’m not that shallow but that’s not where the oddities ended.

The area was supposed to be consistent with volcanic activity, probably a hydrothermal vent associated with volcanic or tectonic activity. There is, however, incongruent data with that theory.

The temperature around this place is consistently 5 degrees Celsius above what would be expected. Volcanic activity does not substantially increase water temperature, at least not of this volume. So alternative theories had to be explored.

We lowered a CTD to roughly 500 meters to measure temperature, salinity, and density. It takes a few days for it to process readings, so we waited.

We shouldn’t have waited. We should have left.

We were informed, by honestly, several governments at this point, of class F disappearances in this area. Do people remember a thing we used to talk about as kids? The Bermuda Triangle?

That’s a F class disappearance. Large vessels containing more than fifty people on board.

Our little dinghy boat wouldn’t count, we’re only about eighteen people. I’m not supposed to say this, but supposedly a cruise ship of over five hundred people went missing in an area similar to this.

You probably didn’t hear it on the news. But the people who sail this area know.

Morgans is the ship’s captain. He’s probably one of the few people stupid enough to agree to come here.

He says he’s been out in the waters for years now. Never had an issue. Sometimes he sails across A-1 but he says he doesn’t dare do it through A-2 or A-3. Says it’s bad luck.

Silly superstition aside, there doesn’t seem to be any logical reason not to sail over these areas. Sure, there are disappearances, but nothing in these areas lends for such events to happen.

When they asked me to come, they basically said they wanted a “rock” scientist to be on the ship. I had the good graces to come, but I was left scratching my head as to what this is as well.

My colleagues are marine biologists, non-marine geologists and oceanographers.

They also don’t know what this is. Our resident biologist was shell-shocked on the first day however.

Every so often, there’s a deluge of dead fish that surface on A-1. The largest animal detected among them was a blue whale, probably that strayed from a pod.

It was half-decayed, so the prevalent theory became that there’s a massive gas seep on the ocean floor. Probably involving hydrogen sulfide. That’s a compound made from sulfur.

That would explain the smell.

It would seem obvious that dead fish would produce a foul odor, but it honestly doesn’t compare to the lingering stench that surrounds A-1. It smells like a salty sewer.

An intense hydrothermal vent would explain everything at this point. The gas release, the temperature, the dead fish, even the smell. But it wouldn’t explain the stillness.

I’m not an oceanographer, so I can’t explain why the water is perfectly still. It feels supernatural. It looks like it too.

My colleague says you would need a hyper-specific set of ocean currents to achieve this level of stillness. Something that doesn’t exist anywhere in the world.

I add to that that with this level of volcanic activity, it makes it doubly impossible. Underwater volcanoes change currents. If this really is a volcano or some vent making a perfect balance of currents so the water is perfectly still, then what are the odds?

How is that possible? And moreover, it doesn’t explain another property of A-1.

It’s moving.

Fifty meters per month. Still congruent with a hydrothermal vent or a volcano I suppose. They “move” in the sense they can dislocate over time with changes in the ocean floor.

My more humorous colleagues suggested it’s a massive spaceship underwater. Possibly an entire city, creating stillness for the preservation of stable life.

My other less humorous colleague, the marine biologist, Dr. Monroe, suggested it’s large-scale pollution.

That to me feels more plausible. Pollution, I suppose, ends up being a generic term to describe anything man-made that could be down there. Anything from illegal dumping operations to an entire ship graveyard.

All of these theories have holes in them. So, we bicker about what it actually is.

Each of my coworkers seem to come up with theories that are congruent with their own fields. I guess it makes sense. But we were all wrong.

A few days ago, we were standing in the middle of A-1. CTD was five hours off giving us readings, so we parked the ship there and waited.

One massive object came to the surface of the water and honestly scared us. It was an animal. A species of shark, a dead one.

A massive whale-shark. One of my colleagues suggested cutting part of it and eating it. Dr. Monroe said my colleague was being disgusting. Whale sharks are majestic creatures. Eating them would be cruel and inhuman.

My other colleague retorted that in Indonesia, they said the best fish to eat are predators. He tried some of their sharks there and said he loved them.

Dr. Monroe quickly explained that whale sharks aren’t predators but filter feeders. They don’t hunt. They just open their mouths and swim. Whatever gets in their mouth, they eat.

My other colleague responds with, “so they’re bottom feeders?”

I’m personally not interested in eating anything that’s half-dead in these waters. I doubt I could get the taste of sulfur and rot out of my mouth for weeks.

I’ll stick to the canned food we have.

I’ve work closely with my colleagues over the last few weeks to understand what A-1 actually is.

We came to the conclusion that A-1 is a hydrothermal vent on the ocean floor that exhales such a high concentration of methane and sulfur compounds, that it produces a toxic zone for large wildlife that swims in the perimeter.

It’s an ecological dead zone, demarcated by protruding rocks near its edges and a characteristic smell created by the aforementioned gas release.

As for the still water, we only came to one result.

Inconclusive.

It’s as good as it gets. And after the density readings we would probably set sail and head back home.

I remember having a conversation the day before we discovered the readings. We were out of ideas so I talked to the captain.

“What do you think it is?” I asked.

“What it is?” he responded.

“Yes…”

“Well, it’s not some joke like your friends are making it out to be.”

He was referring to my colleagues. Some of them asked the captain to pull up some of the dead fish for research or for a meal.

“Yes, sorry about that.” I apologize.

“The sea is not a playground, laddie”

“I understand.”

I asked Morgans what he thinks it is again.

“I don’t know.” he replies.

Figures.

“But if it’s not moving, it’s wrong. Nothing stands still on sea. Especially the water.”

Morgans doesn’t have any scientific background. But he does have experience. Experience is invaluable. And he also presents himself as a variable. He passes A-1 routinely. But he’s never harmed, he doesn’t “disappear”.

It would provide an interesting insight into A-1 if Morgans ever saw anything. Something to explain the disappearances.

But there’s nothing, he passes along with his small boat every month. And nothing happens.

I doubt he’s hiding anything. But an occasional explosion of gas could explain the boat disappearances.

Gas doesn’t explode naturally at sea, however. Was this some massive man-made structure?

I was about to give up when the density reports began to glare on my computer.

When I got back the density report, I paused.

I sprinted out of the cabin and went to look out to sea. We were still deep in the middle of A-1. I think the captain had ever seen me like this.

I’m only a marine geologist, but even I understand readings outside my field.

These aren’t readings consistent with the ocean floor or just water. This level of density can only mean one thing.

It all clicked in place and I finally understood. I told the captain and we began to speed off out of A-1. Never thinking of going through A-2 or A-3.

I think I almost threw up, while Captain Morgans’ face was just pure white.

It wasn’t a geological site we were studying.

I’m writing this as I’m passing the rocks near the end of A-1. I can see the end and the start of the normal ocean.

I reiterate this to all who read this.

Do not go to these coordinates.

Do not go anywhere matching the descriptions of A-1, A-2 or A-3.

We almost passed the rocks and left. I can see them clearly now.

I’m such an idiot. Why couldn’t I tell before?

We’re lucky were even alive.

Those aren’t rocks.

They’re teeth.

Hello everyone. I am Dr. Penton, a researcher from L.A. I have a Ph.D in Marine Geology and a minor in… Jesus, who cares anymore.

I am here with an urgent message. A warning.

It’s unlikely, but if anyone is coming across coordinates: [REDACTED].

DO NOT GO THERE.

I repeat.

DO NOT GO THERE.

If you find yourself near these coordinates. GO BACK. Do not approach.

Do not go near the section of water that has no waves.

I am currently aboard the R.V. Saint Clair. I am part of a small crew of scientists who came here to study what we thought were either a geological phenomenon or a consequence of climate alteration.

I’m currently on track to leave the section of water designated Hazard Area One, or A-1. We passed by A-2 and A-3 already.

If I don’t make it out. If I can’t make it. I… at least want this to be a log of my experiences.

I’m putting this excerpt in whatever forums or social media I can find.

God help us.

A-1 is an area approximately 2,000 feet in diameter, and about 0.29 square kilometers, of completely still water.

Roughly circular-shaped, surrounded by occasional rocky formations on its edges. The most notable thing about hazard area one is, as mentioned, the water.

It’s completely still.

There is no motion in A-1. There are no waves and no ripples in the water. It is equivalent to a lake in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

It’s physically impossible.

Hazard Areas 2 and 3, are also similar. The only difference is that they are smaller in size. Probably only about the size of a football stadium.

I… I don’t think I’ve ever seen or read of anything like this. When I was first contracted, I was told there was an area on the ocean with abnormally large CO₂ concentrations. When we finally arrived, we found something much… stranger.

There is, I suppose, a large concentration of CO₂ in the area. But it has the peculiar property of coming in intermittent phases.

Every 2.3 hours a large concentration of CO₂ is detected. It’s roughly rhythmic, which is bizarre, but that’s what the instruments detected.

This alone would constitute enough to have our names plastered over science magazines all over the world. I’m not that shallow but that’s not where the oddities ended.

The area was supposed to be consistent with volcanic activity, probably a hydrothermal vent associated with volcanic or tectonic activity. There is, however, incongruent data with that theory.

The temperature around this place is consistently 5 degrees Celsius above what would be expected. Volcanic activity does not substantially increase water temperature, at least not of this volume. So alternative theories had to be explored.

We lowered a CTD to roughly 500 meters to measure temperature, salinity, and density. It takes a few days for it to process readings, so we waited.

We shouldn’t have waited. We should have left.

We were informed, by honestly, several governments at this point, of class F disappearances in this area. Do people remember a thing we used to talk about as kids? The Bermuda Triangle?

That’s a F class disappearance. Large vessels containing more than fifty people on board.

Our little dinghy boat wouldn’t count, we’re only about eighteen people. I’m not supposed to say this, but supposedly a cruise ship of over five hundred people went missing in an area similar to this.

You probably didn’t hear it on the news. But the people who sail this area know.

Morgans is the ship’s captain. He’s probably one of the few people stupid enough to agree to come here.

He says he’s been out in the waters for years now. Never had an issue. Sometimes he sails across A-1 but he says he doesn’t dare do it through A-2 or A-3. Says it’s bad luck.

Silly superstition aside, there doesn’t seem to be any logical reason not to sail over these areas. Sure, there are disappearances, but nothing in these areas lends for such events to happen.

When they asked me to come, they basically said they wanted a “rock” scientist to be on the ship. I had the good graces to come, but I was left scratching my head as to what this is as well.

My colleagues are marine biologists, non-marine geologists and oceanographers.

They also don’t know what this is. Our resident biologist was shell-shocked on the first day however.

Every so often, there’s a deluge of dead fish that surface on A-1. The largest animal detected among them was a blue whale, probably that strayed from a pod.

It was half-decayed, so the prevalent theory became that there’s a massive gas seep on the ocean floor. Probably involving hydrogen sulfide. That’s a compound made from sulfur.

That would explain the smell.

It would seem obvious that dead fish would produce a foul odor, but it honestly doesn’t compare to the lingering stench that surrounds A-1. It smells like a salty sewer.

An intense hydrothermal vent would explain everything at this point. The gas release, the temperature, the dead fish, even the smell. But it wouldn’t explain the stillness.

I’m not an oceanographer, so I can’t explain why the water is perfectly still. It feels supernatural. It looks like it too.

My colleague says you would need a hyper-specific set of ocean currents to achieve this level of stillness. Something that doesn’t exist anywhere in the world.

I add to that that with this level of volcanic activity, it makes it doubly impossible. Underwater volcanoes change currents. If this really is a volcano or some vent making a perfect balance of currents so the water is perfectly still, then what are the odds?

How is that possible? And moreover, it doesn’t explain another property of A-1.

It’s moving.

Fifty meters per month. Still congruent with a hydrothermal vent or a volcano I suppose. They “move” in the sense they can dislocate over time with changes in the ocean floor.

My more humorous colleagues suggested it’s a massive spaceship underwater. Possibly an entire city, creating stillness for the preservation of stable life.

My other less humorous colleague, the marine biologist, Dr. Monroe, suggested it’s large-scale pollution.

That to me feels more plausible. Pollution, I suppose, ends up being a generic term to describe anything man-made that could be down there. Anything from illegal dumping operations to an entire ship graveyard.

All of these theories have holes in them. So, we bicker about what it actually is.

Each of my coworkers seem to come up with theories that are congruent with their own fields. I guess it makes sense. But we were all wrong.

A few days ago, we were standing in the middle of A-1. CTD was five hours off giving us readings, so we parked the ship there and waited.

One massive object came to the surface of the water and honestly scared us. It was an animal. A species of shark, a dead one.

A massive whale-shark. One of my colleagues suggested cutting part of it and eating it. Dr. Monroe said my colleague was being disgusting. Whale sharks are majestic creatures. Eating them would be cruel and inhuman.

My other colleague retorted that in Indonesia, they said the best fish to eat are predators. He tried some of their sharks there and said he loved them.

Dr. Monroe quickly explained that whale sharks aren’t predators but filter feeders. They don’t hunt. They just open their mouths and swim. Whatever gets in their mouth, they eat.

My other colleague responds with, “so they’re bottom feeders?”

I’m personally not interested in eating anything that’s half-dead in these waters. I doubt I could get the taste of sulfur and rot out of my mouth for weeks.

I’ll stick to the canned food we have.

I’ve work closely with my colleagues over the last few weeks to understand what A-1 actually is.

We came to the conclusion that A-1 is a hydrothermal vent on the ocean floor that exhales such a high concentration of methane and sulfur compounds, that it produces a toxic zone for large wildlife that swims in the perimeter.

It’s an ecological dead zone, demarcated by protruding rocks near its edges and a characteristic smell created by the aforementioned gas release.

As for the still water, we only came to one result.

Inconclusive.

It’s as good as it gets. And after the density readings we would probably set sail and head back home.

I remember having a conversation the day before we discovered the readings. We were out of ideas so I talked to the captain.

“What do you think it is?” I asked.

“What it is?” he responded.

“Yes…”

“Well, it’s not some joke like your friends are making it out to be.”

He was referring to my colleagues. Some of them asked the captain to pull up some of the dead fish for research or for a meal.

“Yes, sorry about that.” I apologize.

“The sea is not a playground, laddie”

“I understand.”

I asked Morgans what he thinks it is again.

“I don’t know.” he replies.

Figures.

“But if it’s not moving, it’s wrong. Nothing stands still on sea. Especially the water.”

Morgans doesn’t have any scientific background. But he does have experience. Experience is invaluable. And he also presents himself as a variable. He passes A-1 routinely. But he’s never harmed, he doesn’t “disappear”.

It would provide an interesting insight into A-1 if Morgans ever saw anything. Something to explain the disappearances.

But there’s nothing, he passes along with his small boat every month. And nothing happens.

I doubt he’s hiding anything. But an occasional explosion of gas could explain the boat disappearances.

Gas doesn’t explode naturally at sea, however. Was this some massive man-made structure?

I was about to give up when the density reports began to glare on my computer.

When I got back the density report, I paused.

I sprinted out of the cabin and went to look out to sea. We were still deep in the middle of A-1. I think the captain had ever seen me like this.

I’m only a marine geologist, but even I understand readings outside my field.

These aren’t readings consistent with the ocean floor or just water. This level of density can only mean one thing.

It all clicked in place and I finally understood. I told the captain and we began to speed off out of A-1. Never thinking of going through A-2 or A-3.

I think I almost threw up, while Captain Morgans’ face was just pure white.

It wasn’t a geological site we were studying.

I’m writing this as I’m passing the rocks near the end of A-1. I can see the end and the start of the normal ocean.

I reiterate this to all who read this.

Do not go to these coordinates.

Do not go anywhere matching the descriptions of A-1, A-2 or A-3.

We almost passed the rocks and left. I can see them clearly now.

I’m such an idiot. Why couldn’t I tell before?

We’re lucky were even alive.

Those aren’t rocks.

They’re teeth.

Hello everyone. I am Dr. Penton, a researcher from L.A. I have a Ph.D in Marine Geology and a minor in… Jesus, who cares anymore.

I am here with an urgent message. A warning.

It’s unlikely, but if anyone is coming across coordinates: [REDACTED].

DO NOT GO THERE.

I repeat.

DO NOT GO THERE.

If you find yourself near these coordinates. GO BACK. Do not approach.

Do not go near the section of water that has no waves.

I am currently aboard the R.V. Saint Clair. I am part of a small crew of scientists who came here to study what we thought were either a geological phenomenon or a consequence of climate alteration.

I’m currently on track to leave the section of water designated Hazard Area One, or A-1. We passed by A-2 and A-3 already.

If I don’t make it out. If I can’t make it. I… at least want this to be a log of my experiences.

I’m putting this excerpt in whatever forums or social media I can find.

God help us.

A-1 is an area approximately 2,000 feet in diameter, and about 0.29 square kilometers, of completely still water.

Roughly circular-shaped, surrounded by occasional rocky formations on its edges. The most notable thing about hazard area one is, as mentioned, the water.

It’s completely still.

There is no motion in A-1. There are no waves and no ripples in the water. It is equivalent to a lake in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

It’s physically impossible.

Hazard Areas 2 and 3, are also similar. The only difference is that they are smaller in size. Probably only about the size of a football stadium.

I… I don’t think I’ve ever seen or read of anything like this. When I was first contracted, I was told there was an area on the ocean with abnormally large CO₂ concentrations. When we finally arrived, we found something much… stranger.

There is, I suppose, a large concentration of CO₂ in the area. But it has the peculiar property of coming in intermittent phases.

Every 2.3 hours a large concentration of CO₂ is detected. It’s roughly rhythmic, which is bizarre, but that’s what the instruments detected.

This alone would constitute enough to have our names plastered over science magazines all over the world. I’m not that shallow but that’s not where the oddities ended.

The area was supposed to be consistent with volcanic activity, probably a hydrothermal vent associated with volcanic or tectonic activity. There is, however, incongruent data with that theory.

The temperature around this place is consistently 5 degrees Celsius above what would be expected. Volcanic activity does not substantially increase water temperature, at least not of this volume. So alternative theories had to be explored.

We lowered a CTD to roughly 500 meters to measure temperature, salinity, and density. It takes a few days for it to process readings, so we waited.

We shouldn’t have waited. We should have left.

We were informed, by honestly, several governments at this point, of class F disappearances in this area. Do people remember a thing we used to talk about as kids? The Bermuda Triangle?

That’s a F class disappearance. Large vessels containing more than fifty people on board.

Our little dinghy boat wouldn’t count, we’re only about eighteen people. I’m not supposed to say this, but supposedly a cruise ship of over five hundred people went missing in an area similar to this.

You probably didn’t hear it on the news. But the people who sail this area know.

Morgans is the ship’s captain. He’s probably one of the few people stupid enough to agree to come here.

He says he’s been out in the waters for years now. Never had an issue. Sometimes he sails across A-1 but he says he doesn’t dare do it through A-2 or A-3. Says it’s bad luck.

Silly superstition aside, there doesn’t seem to be any logical reason not to sail over these areas. Sure, there are disappearances, but nothing in these areas lends for such events to happen.

When they asked me to come, they basically said they wanted a “rock” scientist to be on the ship. I had the good graces to come, but I was left scratching my head as to what this is as well.

My colleagues are marine biologists, non-marine geologists and oceanographers.

They also don’t know what this is. Our resident biologist was shell-shocked on the first day however.

Every so often, there’s a deluge of dead fish that surface on A-1. The largest animal detected among them was a blue whale, probably that strayed from a pod.

It was half-decayed, so the prevalent theory became that there’s a massive gas seep on the ocean floor. Probably involving hydrogen sulfide. That’s a compound made from sulfur.

That would explain the smell.

It would seem obvious that dead fish would produce a foul odor, but it honestly doesn’t compare to the lingering stench that surrounds A-1. It smells like a salty sewer.

An intense hydrothermal vent would explain everything at this point. The gas release, the temperature, the dead fish, even the smell. But it wouldn’t explain the stillness.

I’m not an oceanographer, so I can’t explain why the water is perfectly still. It feels supernatural. It looks like it too.

My colleague says you would need a hyper-specific set of ocean currents to achieve this level of stillness. Something that doesn’t exist anywhere in the world.

I add to that that with this level of volcanic activity, it makes it doubly impossible. Underwater volcanoes change currents. If this really is a volcano or some vent making a perfect balance of currents so the water is perfectly still, then what are the odds?

How is that possible? And moreover, it doesn’t explain another property of A-1.

It’s moving.

Fifty meters per month. Still congruent with a hydrothermal vent or a volcano I suppose. They “move” in the sense they can dislocate over time with changes in the ocean floor.

My more humorous colleagues suggested it’s a massive spaceship underwater. Possibly an entire city, creating stillness for the preservation of stable life.

My other less humorous colleague, the marine biologist, Dr. Monroe, suggested it’s large-scale pollution.

That to me feels more plausible. Pollution, I suppose, ends up being a generic term to describe anything man-made that could be down there. Anything from illegal dumping operations to an entire ship graveyard.

All of these theories have holes in them. So, we bicker about what it actually is.

Each of my coworkers seem to come up with theories that are congruent with their own fields. I guess it makes sense. But we were all wrong.

A few days ago, we were standing in the middle of A-1. CTD was five hours off giving us readings, so we parked the ship there and waited.

One massive object came to the surface of the water and honestly scared us. It was an animal. A species of shark, a dead one.

A massive whale-shark. One of my colleagues suggested cutting part of it and eating it. Dr. Monroe said my colleague was being disgusting. Whale sharks are majestic creatures. Eating them would be cruel and inhuman.

My other colleague retorted that in Indonesia, they said the best fish to eat are predators. He tried some of their sharks there and said he loved them.

Dr. Monroe quickly explained that whale sharks aren’t predators but filter feeders. They don’t hunt. They just open their mouths and swim. Whatever gets in their mouth, they eat.

My other colleague responds with, “so they’re bottom feeders?”

I’m personally not interested in eating anything that’s half-dead in these waters. I doubt I could get the taste of sulfur and rot out of my mouth for weeks.

I’ll stick to the canned food we have.

I’ve work closely with my colleagues over the last few weeks to understand what A-1 actually is.

We came to the conclusion that A-1 is a hydrothermal vent on the ocean floor that exhales such a high concentration of methane and sulfur compounds, that it produces a toxic zone for large wildlife that swims in the perimeter.

It’s an ecological dead zone, demarcated by protruding rocks near its edges and a characteristic smell created by the aforementioned gas release.

As for the still water, we only came to one result.

Inconclusive.

It’s as good as it gets. And after the density readings we would probably set sail and head back home.

I remember having a conversation the day before we discovered the readings. We were out of ideas so I talked to the captain.

“What do you think it is?” I asked.

“What it is?” he responded.

“Yes…”

“Well, it’s not some joke like your friends are making it out to be.”

He was referring to my colleagues. Some of them asked the captain to pull up some of the dead fish for research or for a meal.

“Yes, sorry about that.” I apologize.

“The sea is not a playground, laddie”

“I understand.”

I asked Morgans what he thinks it is again.

“I don’t know.” he replies.

Figures.

“But if it’s not moving, it’s wrong. Nothing stands still on sea. Especially the water.”

Morgans doesn’t have any scientific background. But he does have experience. Experience is invaluable. And he also presents himself as a variable. He passes A-1 routinely. But he’s never harmed, he doesn’t “disappear”.

It would provide an interesting insight into A-1 if Morgans ever saw anything. Something to explain the disappearances.

But there’s nothing, he passes along with his small boat every month. And nothing happens.

I doubt he’s hiding anything. But an occasional explosion of gas could explain the boat disappearances.

Gas doesn’t explode naturally at sea, however. Was this some massive man-made structure?

I was about to give up when the density reports began to glare on my computer.

When I got back the density report, I paused.

I sprinted out of the cabin and went to look out to sea. We were still deep in the middle of A-1. I think the captain had ever seen me like this.

I’m only a marine geologist, but even I understand readings outside my field.

These aren’t readings consistent with the ocean floor or just water. This level of density can only mean one thing.

It all clicked in place and I finally understood. I told the captain and we began to speed off out of A-1. Never thinking of going through A-2 or A-3.

I think I almost threw up, while Captain Morgans’ face was just pure white.

It wasn’t a geological site we were studying.

I’m writing this as I’m passing the rocks near the end of A-1. I can see the end and the start of the normal ocean.

I reiterate this to all who read this.

Do not go to these coordinates.

Do not go anywhere matching the descriptions of A-1, A-2 or A-3.

We almost passed the rocks and left. I can see them clearly now.

I’m such an idiot. Why couldn’t I tell before?

We’re lucky were even alive.

Those aren’t rocks.

They’re teeth.

Hello everyone. I am Dr. Penton, a researcher from L.A. I have a Ph.D in Marine Geology and a minor in… Jesus, who cares anymore.

I am here with an urgent message. A warning.

It’s unlikely, but if anyone is coming across coordinates: [REDACTED].

DO NOT GO THERE.

I repeat.

DO NOT GO THERE.

If you find yourself near these coordinates. GO BACK. Do not approach.

Do not go near the section of water that has no waves.

I am currently aboard the R.V. Saint Clair. I am part of a small crew of scientists who came here to study what we thought were either a geological phenomenon or a consequence of climate alteration.

I’m currently on track to leave the section of water designated Hazard Area One, or A-1. We passed by A-2 and A-3 already.

If I don’t make it out. If I can’t make it. I… at least want this to be a log of my experiences.

I’m putting this excerpt in whatever forums or social media I can find.

God help us.

A-1 is an area approximately 2,000 feet in diameter, and about 0.29 square kilometers, of completely still water.

Roughly circular-shaped, surrounded by occasional rocky formations on its edges. The most notable thing about hazard area one is, as mentioned, the water.

It’s completely still.

There is no motion in A-1. There are no waves and no ripples in the water. It is equivalent to a lake in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

It’s physically impossible.

Hazard Areas 2 and 3, are also similar. The only difference is that they are smaller in size. Probably only about the size of a football stadium.

I… I don’t think I’ve ever seen or read of anything like this. When I was first contracted, I was told there was an area on the ocean with abnormally large CO₂ concentrations. When we finally arrived, we found something much… stranger.

There is, I suppose, a large concentration of CO₂ in the area. But it has the peculiar property of coming in intermittent phases.

Every 2.3 hours a large concentration of CO₂ is detected. It’s roughly rhythmic, which is bizarre, but that’s what the instruments detected.

This alone would constitute enough to have our names plastered over science magazines all over the world. I’m not that shallow but that’s not where the oddities ended.

The area was supposed to be consistent with volcanic activity, probably a hydrothermal vent associated with volcanic or tectonic activity. There is, however, incongruent data with that theory.

The temperature around this place is consistently 5 degrees Celsius above what would be expected. Volcanic activity does not substantially increase water temperature, at least not of this volume. So alternative theories had to be explored.

We lowered a CTD to roughly 500 meters to measure temperature, salinity, and density. It takes a few days for it to process readings, so we waited.

We shouldn’t have waited. We should have left.

We were informed, by honestly, several governments at this point, of class F disappearances in this area. Do people remember a thing we used to talk about as kids? The Bermuda Triangle?

That’s a F class disappearance. Large vessels containing more than fifty people on board.

Our little dinghy boat wouldn’t count, we’re only about eighteen people. I’m not supposed to say this, but supposedly a cruise ship of over five hundred people went missing in an area similar to this.

You probably didn’t hear it on the news. But the people who sail this area know.

Morgans is the ship’s captain. He’s probably one of the few people stupid enough to agree to come here.

He says he’s been out in the waters for years now. Never had an issue. Sometimes he sails across A-1 but he says he doesn’t dare do it through A-2 or A-3. Says it’s bad luck.

Silly superstition aside, there doesn’t seem to be any logical reason not to sail over these areas. Sure, there are disappearances, but nothing in these areas lends for such events to happen.

When they asked me to come, they basically said they wanted a “rock” scientist to be on the ship. I had the good graces to come, but I was left scratching my head as to what this is as well.

My colleagues are marine biologists, non-marine geologists and oceanographers.

They also don’t know what this is. Our resident biologist was shell-shocked on the first day however.

Every so often, there’s a deluge of dead fish that surface on A-1. The largest animal detected among them was a blue whale, probably that strayed from a pod.

It was half-decayed, so the prevalent theory became that there’s a massive gas seep on the ocean floor. Probably involving hydrogen sulfide. That’s a compound made from sulfur.

That would explain the smell.

It would seem obvious that dead fish would produce a foul odor, but it honestly doesn’t compare to the lingering stench that surrounds A-1. It smells like a salty sewer.

An intense hydrothermal vent would explain everything at this point. The gas release, the temperature, the dead fish, even the smell. But it wouldn’t explain the stillness.

I’m not an oceanographer, so I can’t explain why the water is perfectly still. It feels supernatural. It looks like it too.

My colleague says you would need a hyper-specific set of ocean currents to achieve this level of stillness. Something that doesn’t exist anywhere in the world.

I add to that that with this level of volcanic activity, it makes it doubly impossible. Underwater volcanoes change currents. If this really is a volcano or some vent making a perfect balance of currents so the water is perfectly still, then what are the odds?

How is that possible? And moreover, it doesn’t explain another property of A-1.

It’s moving.

Fifty meters per month. Still congruent with a hydrothermal vent or a volcano I suppose. They “move” in the sense they can dislocate over time with changes in the ocean floor.

My more humorous colleagues suggested it’s a massive spaceship underwater. Possibly an entire city, creating stillness for the preservation of stable life.

My other less humorous colleague, the marine biologist, Dr. Monroe, suggested it’s large-scale pollution.

That to me feels more plausible. Pollution, I suppose, ends up being a generic term to describe anything man-made that could be down there. Anything from illegal dumping operations to an entire ship graveyard.

All of these theories have holes in them. So, we bicker about what it actually is.

Each of my coworkers seem to come up with theories that are congruent with their own fields. I guess it makes sense. But we were all wrong.

A few days ago, we were standing in the middle of A-1. CTD was five hours off giving us readings, so we parked the ship there and waited.

One massive object came to the surface of the water and honestly scared us. It was an animal. A species of shark, a dead one.

A massive whale-shark. One of my colleagues suggested cutting part of it and eating it. Dr. Monroe said my colleague was being disgusting. Whale sharks are majestic creatures. Eating them would be cruel and inhuman.

My other colleague retorted that in Indonesia, they said the best fish to eat are predators. He tried some of their sharks there and said he loved them.

Dr. Monroe quickly explained that whale sharks aren’t predators but filter feeders. They don’t hunt. They just open their mouths and swim. Whatever gets in their mouth, they eat.

My other colleague responds with, “so they’re bottom feeders?”

I’m personally not interested in eating anything that’s half-dead in these waters. I doubt I could get the taste of sulfur and rot out of my mouth for weeks.

I’ll stick to the canned food we have.

I’ve work closely with my colleagues over the last few weeks to understand what A-1 actually is.

We came to the conclusion that A-1 is a hydrothermal vent on the ocean floor that exhales such a high concentration of methane and sulfur compounds, that it produces a toxic zone for large wildlife that swims in the perimeter.

It’s an ecological dead zone, demarcated by protruding rocks near its edges and a characteristic smell created by the aforementioned gas release.

As for the still water, we only came to one result.

Inconclusive.

It’s as good as it gets. And after the density readings we would probably set sail and head back home.

I remember having a conversation the day before we discovered the readings. We were out of ideas so I talked to the captain.

“What do you think it is?” I asked.

“What it is?” he responded.

“Yes…”

“Well, it’s not some joke like your friends are making it out to be.”

He was referring to my colleagues. Some of them asked the captain to pull up some of the dead fish for research or for a meal.

“Yes, sorry about that.” I apologize.

“The sea is not a playground, laddie”

“I understand.”

I asked Morgans what he thinks it is again.

“I don’t know.” he replies.

Figures.

“But if it’s not moving, it’s wrong. Nothing stands still on sea. Especially the water.”

Morgans doesn’t have any scientific background. But he does have experience. Experience is invaluable. And he also presents himself as a variable. He passes A-1 routinely. But he’s never harmed, he doesn’t “disappear”.

It would provide an interesting insight into A-1 if Morgans ever saw anything. Something to explain the disappearances.

But there’s nothing, he passes along with his small boat every month. And nothing happens.

I doubt he’s hiding anything. But an occasional explosion of gas could explain the boat disappearances.

Gas doesn’t explode naturally at sea, however. Was this some massive man-made structure?

I was about to give up when the density reports began to glare on my computer.

When I got back the density report, I paused.

I sprinted out of the cabin and went to look out to sea. We were still deep in the middle of A-1. I think the captain had ever seen me like this.

I’m only a marine geologist, but even I understand readings outside my field.

These aren’t readings consistent with the ocean floor or just water. This level of density can only mean one thing.

It all clicked in place and I finally understood. I told the captain and we began to speed off out of A-1. Never thinking of going through A-2 or A-3.

I think I almost threw up, while Captain Morgans’ face was just pure white.

It wasn’t a geological site we were studying.

I’m writing this as I’m passing the rocks near the end of A-1. I can see the end and the start of the normal ocean.

I reiterate this to all who read this.

Do not go to these coordinates.

Do not go anywhere matching the descriptions of A-1, A-2 or A-3.

We almost passed the rocks and left. I can see them clearly now.

I’m such an idiot. Why couldn’t I tell before?

We’re lucky were even alive.

Those aren’t rocks.

They’re teeth.

Hey one of the lurkers. I’m scratching my head currently over this situation. Anyone else faced anything similar? There’s a place I go to, a little town church. It’s fairly normal, Presbyterian, I think. I don’t really understand much about churches, but there’s something wrong with the one I go to…

The church I go to, the people there… They worship me.

Like they pray to me. Every time. Yes, it’s exactly as it sounds.

Every week, I go there and they pray to me.

Or maybe I should say “at” me? I don’t think this is an experience most people can even verbalize.

And no, I’m not fucking crazy, but they might be.

It doesn’t really matter at this point. What I know is that they’re fairly ordinary people from what I can tell. (You get to know people after spending every Sunday with them).

But when it comes to me, they just… I don’t know, they think I’m some kind of God.

It’s getting extreme… And it all started a few weeks ago.

The first time I went there, everything seemed normal. Go in, listen to some Latin (?), say amen, the whole shebang.

There was a quiet part where we were all supposed to silently pray to ourselves. You pray to ask for more personal stuff, I assume. Bring me prosperity, fix my relative’s health, bless my grandchildren, that kind of stuff. Everything was normal, until I noticed a little girl in the pew in front of me. That’s when it started.

She was praying towards me. Looking at me.

She would close her eyes intermittently. Like she was almost scared to look at me directly.

I was left scratching my head, but I generally dismissed it. It’s just a kid. She’s either joking or she doesn’t understand how she’s supposed to pray.

The week after, things escalated.

As I entered church that Sunday, everyone was looking at me. It was fucking creepy.

They would bow their heads, mutter some words under their breath or even try to grab my hand.

I’m fairly new there, so I thought maybe it was some initiation thing. Maybe other people went through that already?

As I sat down, the pastor began the morning sermon. Weirdest monologue I’ve ever heard.

“Bless ye be the fruits of the Lord. The one who brings the sun and the light. The head of the carrier, bursts forth the savior. In Him we believe, the saving grace, a God made manifest. From flesh and bone.”

I was left scratching my head at that.

“Amen.”

“Amen”, they said. And I saw more looks in my direction. Like they were aiming their prayers at me.

The little girl was one thing. But now, I saw about five people do the same thing. It didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

Needless to say, I left church that day a bit earlier than usual. A bit faster too.

The week goes on as normal. I meet some of the congregants down by the grocery store, the mall, the sidewalk. They’re always nice, respectful, warm. They have this way of making me feel like I’m someone…important. Likeable.

The following Sunday, all pretenses of normality were abandoned.

As I walk in, I felt like some bride at a wedding. Everyone was sitting down and they got up as soon as they saw me. I strolled down the corridor through the pews and was greeted by everyone.

They bowed to me, paid their respects, kissed my hand, begged for good fortune in their lives. Everything and anything they can think of.

Then the pastor had me sit on a chair facing everyone. And they all prayed to me.

God, that was awkward.

It was pretty bad, but it doesn’t compare to what happened over the last few weeks.

Now, I know what you might be wondering. “Are you stupid? Why did you keep going there?”

Well, my grandma, basically. I didn’t have much going on in my life to be honest. I don’t have much going on now. The only family I’ve ever had was my grandma.

She was, as you can probably guess, very religious. And probably the only person on Earth that truly cared about me.

She died last year.

She didn’t leave me much. We didn’t have much to leave. She just made me promise her one thing.

“Start going to the church”, she pleaded.

That was her last request before she died. Just go to church. I was scratching my head when she said that. I thought I’d humor her. I mean, what else can I do? Maybe I’d find some meaning in religion. I wasn’t expecting religious people to find meaning in me.

It’s like I’m their God. Or a Messiah figure of some sort. I don’t understand, really.

I ask the pastor what’s up. What’s the deal with this? Is this some sort of prank? Is it some church lesson about humility?

“Humility?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“The head of Divinity does not need to be humble.” He simply replied.

Divinity. Is that what they think of me? In normal Christianity, the head is God, the savior…me. That’s what he thinks I am. Some kind of God. I asked the reverend one more thing.

“This isn’t some weird ritual thing, right? You’re not going to sacrifice me?” I asked.

“What!? No! Of course not! We would never harm you!”

Okay… Well, I had to ask. I’m not a complete idiot. I know what cults lead into. It doesn’t stop me from sometimes carrying a gun to church.

If any of them try anything, I’ll give them some “divine retribution”.

So yeah, the last few weeks. Things have been getting, well, weirder. I was honestly hitting a breaking point.

One Sunday, the sermon was going as usual. I’m sitting in my chair being the target of everyone’s prayers, whilst the reverend is talking about how “only the eyes of the faithful can truly see my divinity”, something along those lines.

I start to leave and then one of the women sitting on the bench throws herself at me.

I was genuinely caught off-guard and I fell while she proceeded to rapidly remove my shoes.

She… she starts kissing my feet, profusely. It was revolting, honestly.

I feel bad for her, she’s middle-aged, but this was WAY too much. I think I might have reflexively kicked her. She was kissing and yelling at the same time.

“I CAN SEE IT! I SEE IT! IT IS SO BLESSED!”, she yelled.

The rest of the people there helped her off me. Dragging her away.

But her eyes…My God. Her fixation on me. It was insane.

“I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!”, I heard her yell as she was being dragged off.

Jesus, what a lunatic. Well, relatively speaking.

She got kicked from the church and she’s banned from entering.

After that, over the last couple of weeks, it’s been pretty average to be honest. Sure, I’ve normalized it. People get on their knees. They bow to me. I kiss their children, and they bathe me, then use the water to bless others.

But they’re happy. And I’m… I’m okay with this. I think at least.

It’s a coin toss whether I was going to leave or not honestly. I’m not sure why I stayed. Was it my grandma, morbid curiosity or something else?

But I have nowhere to go. Nothing else in my life has meaning.

I still scratch my head at some of the practices.

The church has now begun to be adorned by random animal parts. Mainly heads.

I’d say most of them are pig’s heads.

I’m the head of Divinity and they are the head of rot or something. From mine comes light and truth and from theirs comes flesh and bones.

So, before everyone gets too judgmental. Hear me out. I want… I want people here to join.

Sure, I’m not painting the prettiest picture, but we’re good people. And you might think I’m going to get sacrificed or something, but I’m here, aren’t I?

I’m not dead. They won’t harm me… They can’t.

They love me.

I’ll grace you with one more story. It might seem counterproductive. But this last story is one of redemption and punishment.

Last Sunday, the woman who was expelled returned.

She was begging, pleading to let her in. She pushed through people and went straight for me.

I’ve never seen such despair in a person. She kept begging for forgiveness, asking to be let back in. She grabbed me, shook me, almost took parts of my clothes off.

I…I understand this woman is not mentally well. She doesn’t even look me in the eyes, she always seems to look past me. She clearly needs help.

The other parishioners didn’t share that opinion though.

They grabbed her, pulled her off me and then proceeded to stomp her into the ground.

She was almost killed.

They stomped her with their boots and shoes as hard as they could. They clearly wanted to protect me. She survived, but needed to be taken to the hospital.

I told them to stop. This… this violence is disgusting. It disgusts me. There will be no violence in this church.

They conceded, they relented.

They repent.

They’re not bad people. They’re just… overprotective of me. Some ripped clothes aren’t justification for such callous violence. Not here.

The poor woman made a full recovery and she’s allowed back in. Her name is Mary. Seems fitting.

I wanted to tell you this story to inspire you all to see a better light to people. I also judge these people but now, now I understand.

They’re as lost as I was. My grandma was right. I was probably going to leave at the start, and if not, leave after a few weeks.

But then I started thinking, why not?

Why not be a God?

If that’s what these people believe, if that’s what they want. Why shouldn’t I give it to them?

It’s only fair that I grace them with, well, Me.

I don’t have a family, I don’t have friends, but I have them. I have my flock. And I am their savior.

I understand that now.

When I walk down the street now, I greet everyone. The old and the young, the sick and the healthy. I try to give back what they gave me.

It was during one of these walks that I found the little girl that first started praying to me all those weeks ago.

That conversation still irks me to this day. Something she said that left me scratching my head.

I went up to her to greet her. I don’t get along with children well, but she is a member of my flock, so I have to try.

I simply said, “Hi”, to her and asked when the next worship day is.

“Worship day?” she replies.

I explained to her that I was thinking we should meet up every two days, maybe three, or maybe we should make it five hours.

I think I’ll call those days, “Chrisdays”.

“Why would we call it that?” she asks.

“Well, because you worship me. That’s my name, Chris.” I reply.

“What do you mean?” she replies.

I started to think she’s a bit confused. Maybe this is too complicated for a child’s mind. But then she told me something that I’ve been thinking about over the last few days.

“We don’t pray to you.” she said.

She’s probably just another lost lamb like I was. Poor child doesn’t even understand the religion properly.

I mean, what child does? I just… I don’t understand how she doesn’t get it. How does she not get that I’m Divine? Isn’t it obvious!? God. Why is my head so itchy lately?

But then she said something else.

“We pray to what’s behind you. Behind your head.”

What? I don’t really understand what’s she’s talking about. Is she still making fun of me?

I scratch the back of my head.

Hey one of the lurkers. I’m scratching my head currently over this situation. Anyone else faced anything similar? There’s a place I go to, a little town church. It’s fairly normal, Presbyterian, I think. I don’t really understand much about churches, but there’s something wrong with the one I go to…

The church I go to, the people there… They worship me.

Like they pray to me. Every time. Yes, it’s exactly as it sounds.

Every week, I go there and they pray to me.

Or maybe I should say “at” me? I don’t think this is an experience most people can even verbalize.

And no, I’m not fucking crazy, but they might be.

It doesn’t really matter at this point. What I know is that they’re fairly ordinary people from what I can tell. (You get to know people after spending every Sunday with them).

But when it comes to me, they just… I don’t know, they think I’m some kind of God.

It’s getting extreme… And it all started a few weeks ago.

The first time I went there, everything seemed normal. Go in, listen to some Latin (?), say amen, the whole shebang.

There was a quiet part where we were all supposed to silently pray to ourselves. You pray to ask for more personal stuff, I assume. Bring me prosperity, fix my relative’s health, bless my grandchildren, that kind of stuff. Everything was normal, until I noticed a little girl in the pew in front of me. That’s when it started.

She was praying towards me. Looking at me.

She would close her eyes intermittently. Like she was almost scared to look at me directly.

I was left scratching my head, but I generally dismissed it. It’s just a kid. She’s either joking or she doesn’t understand how she’s supposed to pray.

The week after, things escalated.

As I entered church that Sunday, everyone was looking at me. It was fucking creepy.

They would bow their heads, mutter some words under their breath or even try to grab my hand.

I’m fairly new there, so I thought maybe it was some initiation thing. Maybe other people went through that already?

As I sat down, the pastor began the morning sermon. Weirdest monologue I’ve ever heard.

“Bless ye be the fruits of the Lord. The one who brings the sun and the light. The head of the carrier, bursts forth the savior. In Him we believe, the saving grace, a God made manifest. From flesh and bone.”

I was left scratching my head at that.

“Amen.”

“Amen”, they said. And I saw more looks in my direction. Like they were aiming their prayers at me.

The little girl was one thing. But now, I saw about five people do the same thing. It didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

Needless to say, I left church that day a bit earlier than usual. A bit faster too.

The week goes on as normal. I meet some of the congregants down by the grocery store, the mall, the sidewalk. They’re always nice, respectful, warm. They have this way of making me feel like I’m someone…important. Likeable.

The following Sunday, all pretenses of normality were abandoned.

As I walk in, I felt like some bride at a wedding. Everyone was sitting down and they got up as soon as they saw me. I strolled down the corridor through the pews and was greeted by everyone.

They bowed to me, paid their respects, kissed my hand, begged for good fortune in their lives. Everything and anything they can think of.

Then the pastor had me sit on a chair facing everyone. And they all prayed to me.

God, that was awkward.

It was pretty bad, but it doesn’t compare to what happened over the last few weeks.

Now, I know what you might be wondering. “Are you stupid? Why did you keep going there?”

Well, my grandma, basically. I didn’t have much going on in my life to be honest. I don’t have much going on now. The only family I’ve ever had was my grandma.

She was, as you can probably guess, very religious. And probably the only person on Earth that truly cared about me.

She died last year.

She didn’t leave me much. We didn’t have much to leave. She just made me promise her one thing.

“Start going to the church”, she pleaded.

That was her last request before she died. Just go to church. I was scratching my head when she said that. I thought I’d humor her. I mean, what else can I do? Maybe I’d find some meaning in religion. I wasn’t expecting religious people to find meaning in me.

It’s like I’m their God. Or a Messiah figure of some sort. I don’t understand, really.

I ask the pastor what’s up. What’s the deal with this? Is this some sort of prank? Is it some church lesson about humility?

“Humility?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“The head of Divinity does not need to be humble.” He simply replied.

Divinity. Is that what they think of me? In normal Christianity, the head is God, the savior…me. That’s what he thinks I am. Some kind of God. I asked the reverend one more thing.

“This isn’t some weird ritual thing, right? You’re not going to sacrifice me?” I asked.

“What!? No! Of course not! We would never harm you!”

Okay… Well, I had to ask. I’m not a complete idiot. I know what cults lead into. It doesn’t stop me from sometimes carrying a gun to church.

If any of them try anything, I’ll give them some “divine retribution”.

So yeah, the last few weeks. Things have been getting, well, weirder. I was honestly hitting a breaking point.

One Sunday, the sermon was going as usual. I’m sitting in my chair being the target of everyone’s prayers, whilst the reverend is talking about how “only the eyes of the faithful can truly see my divinity”, something along those lines.

I start to leave and then one of the women sitting on the bench throws herself at me.

I was genuinely caught off-guard and I fell while she proceeded to rapidly remove my shoes.

She… she starts kissing my feet, profusely. It was revolting, honestly.

I feel bad for her, she’s middle-aged, but this was WAY too much. I think I might have reflexively kicked her. She was kissing and yelling at the same time.

“I CAN SEE IT! I SEE IT! IT IS SO BLESSED!”, she yelled.

The rest of the people there helped her off me. Dragging her away.

But her eyes…My God. Her fixation on me. It was insane.

“I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!”, I heard her yell as she was being dragged off.

Jesus, what a lunatic. Well, relatively speaking.

She got kicked from the church and she’s banned from entering.

After that, over the last couple of weeks, it’s been pretty average to be honest. Sure, I’ve normalized it. People get on their knees. They bow to me. I kiss their children, and they bathe me, then use the water to bless others.

But they’re happy. And I’m… I’m okay with this. I think at least.

It’s a coin toss whether I was going to leave or not honestly. I’m not sure why I stayed. Was it my grandma, morbid curiosity or something else?

But I have nowhere to go. Nothing else in my life has meaning.

I still scratch my head at some of the practices.

The church has now begun to be adorned by random animal parts. Mainly heads.

I’d say most of them are pig’s heads.

I’m the head of Divinity and they are the head of rot or something. From mine comes light and truth and from theirs comes flesh and bones.

So, before everyone gets too judgmental. Hear me out. I want… I want people here to join.

Sure, I’m not painting the prettiest picture, but we’re good people. And you might think I’m going to get sacrificed or something, but I’m here, aren’t I?

I’m not dead. They won’t harm me… They can’t.

They love me.

I’ll grace you with one more story. It might seem counterproductive. But this last story is one of redemption and punishment.

Last Sunday, the woman who was expelled returned.

She was begging, pleading to let her in. She pushed through people and went straight for me.

I’ve never seen such despair in a person. She kept begging for forgiveness, asking to be let back in. She grabbed me, shook me, almost took parts of my clothes off.

I…I understand this woman is not mentally well. She doesn’t even look me in the eyes, she always seems to look past me. She clearly needs help.

The other parishioners didn’t share that opinion though.

They grabbed her, pulled her off me and then proceeded to stomp her into the ground.

She was almost killed.

They stomped her with their boots and shoes as hard as they could. They clearly wanted to protect me. She survived, but needed to be taken to the hospital.

I told them to stop. This… this violence is disgusting. It disgusts me. There will be no violence in this church.

They conceded, they relented.

They repent.

They’re not bad people. They’re just… overprotective of me. Some ripped clothes aren’t justification for such callous violence. Not here.

The poor woman made a full recovery and she’s allowed back in. Her name is Mary. Seems fitting.

I wanted to tell you this story to inspire you all to see a better light to people. I also judge these people but now, now I understand.

They’re as lost as I was. My grandma was right. I was probably going to leave at the start, and if not, leave after a few weeks.

But then I started thinking, why not?

Why not be a God?

If that’s what these people believe, if that’s what they want. Why shouldn’t I give it to them?

It’s only fair that I grace them with, well, Me.

I don’t have a family, I don’t have friends, but I have them. I have my flock. And I am their savior.

I understand that now.

When I walk down the street now, I greet everyone. The old and the young, the sick and the healthy. I try to give back what they gave me.

It was during one of these walks that I found the little girl that first started praying to me all those weeks ago.

That conversation still irks me to this day. Something she said that left me scratching my head.

I went up to her to greet her. I don’t get along with children well, but she is a member of my flock, so I have to try.

I simply said, “Hi”, to her and asked when the next worship day is.

“Worship day?” she replies.

I explained to her that I was thinking we should meet up every two days, maybe three, or maybe we should make it five hours.

I think I’ll call those days, “Chrisdays”.

“Why would we call it that?” she asks.

“Well, because you worship me. That’s my name, Chris.” I reply.

“What do you mean?” she replies.

I started to think she’s a bit confused. Maybe this is too complicated for a child’s mind. But then she told me something that I’ve been thinking about over the last few days.

“We don’t pray to you.” she said.

She’s probably just another lost lamb like I was. Poor child doesn’t even understand the religion properly.

I mean, what child does? I just… I don’t understand how she doesn’t get it. How does she not get that I’m Divine? Isn’t it obvious!? God. Why is my head so itchy lately?

But then she said something else.

“We pray to what’s behind you. Behind your head.”

What? I don’t really understand what’s she’s talking about. Is she still making fun of me?

I scratch the back of my head.

Hey one of the lurkers. I’m scratching my head currently over this situation. Anyone else faced anything similar? There’s a place I go to, a little town church. It’s fairly normal, Presbyterian, I think. I don’t really understand much about churches, but there’s something wrong with the one I go to…

The church I go to, the people there… They worship me.

Like they pray to me. Every time. Yes, it’s exactly as it sounds.

Every week, I go there and they pray to me.

Or maybe I should say “at” me? I don’t think this is an experience most people can even verbalize.

And no, I’m not fucking crazy, but they might be.

It doesn’t really matter at this point. What I know is that they’re fairly ordinary people from what I can tell. (You get to know people after spending every Sunday with them).

But when it comes to me, they just… I don’t know, they think I’m some kind of God.

It’s getting extreme… And it all started a few weeks ago.

The first time I went there, everything seemed normal. Go in, listen to some Latin (?), say amen, the whole shebang.

There was a quiet part where we were all supposed to silently pray to ourselves. You pray to ask for more personal stuff, I assume. Bring me prosperity, fix my relative’s health, bless my grandchildren, that kind of stuff. Everything was normal, until I noticed a little girl in the pew in front of me. That’s when it started.

She was praying towards me. Looking at me.

She would close her eyes intermittently. Like she was almost scared to look at me directly.

I was left scratching my head, but I generally dismissed it. It’s just a kid. She’s either joking or she doesn’t understand how she’s supposed to pray.

The week after, things escalated.

As I entered church that Sunday, everyone was looking at me. It was fucking creepy.

They would bow their heads, mutter some words under their breath or even try to grab my hand.

I’m fairly new there, so I thought maybe it was some initiation thing. Maybe other people went through that already?

As I sat down, the pastor began the morning sermon. Weirdest monologue I’ve ever heard.

“Bless ye be the fruits of the Lord. The one who brings the sun and the light. The head of the carrier, bursts forth the savior. In Him we believe, the saving grace, a God made manifest. From flesh and bone.”

I was left scratching my head at that.

“Amen.”

“Amen”, they said. And I saw more looks in my direction. Like they were aiming their prayers at me.

The little girl was one thing. But now, I saw about five people do the same thing. It didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

Needless to say, I left church that day a bit earlier than usual. A bit faster too.

The week goes on as normal. I meet some of the congregants down by the grocery store, the mall, the sidewalk. They’re always nice, respectful, warm. They have this way of making me feel like I’m someone…important. Likeable.

The following Sunday, all pretenses of normality were abandoned.

As I walk in, I felt like some bride at a wedding. Everyone was sitting down and they got up as soon as they saw me. I strolled down the corridor through the pews and was greeted by everyone.

They bowed to me, paid their respects, kissed my hand, begged for good fortune in their lives. Everything and anything they can think of.

Then the pastor had me sit on a chair facing everyone. And they all prayed to me.

God, that was awkward.

It was pretty bad, but it doesn’t compare to what happened over the last few weeks.

Now, I know what you might be wondering. “Are you stupid? Why did you keep going there?”

Well, my grandma, basically. I didn’t have much going on in my life to be honest. I don’t have much going on now. The only family I’ve ever had was my grandma.

She was, as you can probably guess, very religious. And probably the only person on Earth that truly cared about me.

She died last year.

She didn’t leave me much. We didn’t have much to leave. She just made me promise her one thing.

“Start going to the church”, she pleaded.

That was her last request before she died. Just go to church. I was scratching my head when she said that. I thought I’d humor her. I mean, what else can I do? Maybe I’d find some meaning in religion. I wasn’t expecting religious people to find meaning in me.

It’s like I’m their God. Or a Messiah figure of some sort. I don’t understand, really.

I ask the pastor what’s up. What’s the deal with this? Is this some sort of prank? Is it some church lesson about humility?

“Humility?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“The head of Divinity does not need to be humble.” He simply replied.

Divinity. Is that what they think of me? In normal Christianity, the head is God, the savior…me. That’s what he thinks I am. Some kind of God. I asked the reverend one more thing.

“This isn’t some weird ritual thing, right? You’re not going to sacrifice me?” I asked.

“What!? No! Of course not! We would never harm you!”

Okay… Well, I had to ask. I’m not a complete idiot. I know what cults lead into. It doesn’t stop me from sometimes carrying a gun to church.

If any of them try anything, I’ll give them some “divine retribution”.

So yeah, the last few weeks. Things have been getting, well, weirder. I was honestly hitting a breaking point.

One Sunday, the sermon was going as usual. I’m sitting in my chair being the target of everyone’s prayers, whilst the reverend is talking about how “only the eyes of the faithful can truly see my divinity”, something along those lines.

I start to leave and then one of the women sitting on the bench throws herself at me.

I was genuinely caught off-guard and I fell while she proceeded to rapidly remove my shoes.

She… she starts kissing my feet, profusely. It was revolting, honestly.

I feel bad for her, she’s middle-aged, but this was WAY too much. I think I might have reflexively kicked her. She was kissing and yelling at the same time.

“I CAN SEE IT! I SEE IT! IT IS SO BLESSED!”, she yelled.

The rest of the people there helped her off me. Dragging her away.

But her eyes…My God. Her fixation on me. It was insane.

“I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!”, I heard her yell as she was being dragged off.

Jesus, what a lunatic. Well, relatively speaking.

She got kicked from the church and she’s banned from entering.

After that, over the last couple of weeks, it’s been pretty average to be honest. Sure, I’ve normalized it. People get on their knees. They bow to me. I kiss their children, and they bathe me, then use the water to bless others.

But they’re happy. And I’m… I’m okay with this. I think at least.

It’s a coin toss whether I was going to leave or not honestly. I’m not sure why I stayed. Was it my grandma, morbid curiosity or something else?

But I have nowhere to go. Nothing else in my life has meaning.

I still scratch my head at some of the practices.

The church has now begun to be adorned by random animal parts. Mainly heads.

I’d say most of them are pig’s heads.

I’m the head of Divinity and they are the head of rot or something. From mine comes light and truth and from theirs comes flesh and bones.

So, before everyone gets too judgmental. Hear me out. I want… I want people here to join.

Sure, I’m not painting the prettiest picture, but we’re good people. And you might think I’m going to get sacrificed or something, but I’m here, aren’t I?

I’m not dead. They won’t harm me… They can’t.

They love me.

I’ll grace you with one more story. It might seem counterproductive. But this last story is one of redemption and punishment.

Last Sunday, the woman who was expelled returned.

She was begging, pleading to let her in. She pushed through people and went straight for me.

I’ve never seen such despair in a person. She kept begging for forgiveness, asking to be let back in. She grabbed me, shook me, almost took parts of my clothes off.

I…I understand this woman is not mentally well. She doesn’t even look me in the eyes, she always seems to look past me. She clearly needs help.

The other parishioners didn’t share that opinion though.

They grabbed her, pulled her off me and then proceeded to stomp her into the ground.

She was almost killed.

They stomped her with their boots and shoes as hard as they could. They clearly wanted to protect me. She survived, but needed to be taken to the hospital.

I told them to stop. This… this violence is disgusting. It disgusts me. There will be no violence in this church.

They conceded, they relented.

They repent.

They’re not bad people. They’re just… overprotective of me. Some ripped clothes aren’t justification for such callous violence. Not here.

The poor woman made a full recovery and she’s allowed back in. Her name is Mary. Seems fitting.

I wanted to tell you this story to inspire you all to see a better light to people. I also judge these people but now, now I understand.

They’re as lost as I was. My grandma was right. I was probably going to leave at the start, and if not, leave after a few weeks.

But then I started thinking, why not?

Why not be a God?

If that’s what these people believe, if that’s what they want. Why shouldn’t I give it to them?

It’s only fair that I grace them with, well, Me.

I don’t have a family, I don’t have friends, but I have them. I have my flock. And I am their savior.

I understand that now.

When I walk down the street now, I greet everyone. The old and the young, the sick and the healthy. I try to give back what they gave me.

It was during one of these walks that I found the little girl that first started praying to me all those weeks ago.

That conversation still irks me to this day. Something she said that left me scratching my head.

I went up to her to greet her. I don’t get along with children well, but she is a member of my flock, so I have to try.

I simply said, “Hi”, to her and asked when the next worship day is.

“Worship day?” she replies.

I explained to her that I was thinking we should meet up every two days, maybe three, or maybe we should make it five hours.

I think I’ll call those days, “Chrisdays”.

“Why would we call it that?” she asks.

“Well, because you worship me. That’s my name, Chris.” I reply.

“What do you mean?” she replies.

I started to think she’s a bit confused. Maybe this is too complicated for a child’s mind. But then she told me something that I’ve been thinking about over the last few days.

“We don’t pray to you.” she said.

She’s probably just another lost lamb like I was. Poor child doesn’t even understand the religion properly.

I mean, what child does? I just… I don’t understand how she doesn’t get it. How does she not get that I’m Divine? Isn’t it obvious!? God. Why is my head so itchy lately?

But then she said something else.

“We pray to what’s behind you. Behind your head.”

What? I don’t really understand what’s she’s talking about. Is she still making fun of me?

I scratch the back of my head.

Chapter 10 – A new gig

 

A job like any other. Just another job. That’s what Tommy Rousso thought when he was told to go to the harbor and investigate a new island.

It was a bizarre request. The papers simply showed up near his desk one day. They looked official, so he decided to take the job.

To help the great American effort across the world. Uniting nations, after a world sundered by war. He had never heard of Bocarrossa, and little did he care to learn.

Yet something compelled him to go. To take a plane to Italy and then wait in line in that harbor. Where the air was cold and there was no one around him he could talk to. He wasn’t sure why he did it.

 It was like something was always pulling him. Strings attached to his soul, guiding him to his destiny. Something to uncover, something to resolve, or maybe something to face.

— Tommy?

Tommy snapped out of his thoughts.

— Uh… what?

— You were staring at nothing… again.

— Yeah… I… — his tone switched quickly. — What!? Can’t a man think?!

— Yes, of course… You just seem… distracted.

— Well, you seem annoying.

Lucas frowned with irritation.

— It’s almost over. We’re almost there. — Lucas observed.

— Right.

— I noticed you’re leaning on your gun a bit… Your hand… it’s kinda hovering over it. — Lucas added.

— Yeah? I’m shooting the next person I see talking on this mountain.

— I…

— Old woman or not. — Tommy declared.

— You give us Americans a bad rap.

— You’re not American. You’re one of them.

Tommy looked at Lucas looking if he was offended. He simply shrugged.

— I guess so. — Lucas shrugged.

— Don’t worry, you’re one of the good ones.

— Oh really? Thanks, Tommy. I’m glad you can approve at least one of us.

— No problem.

— Unfortunately, that means Maria doesn’t make your list.

— Maria… She… — He paused and turned to his friend. —That’s messed up Fieri…

— Yeah, because you’re being crass too. It’s your logic.

— Well, forgive me that I haven’t loved the people around. The last one was a crazy person who thought she was an angel.

— I think they’re victims.

— Victims? — Tommy asked.

— Yeah… Of whatever is happening up here. Of whoever is responsible for this.

— We’ll see about that. I can’t really defend people who would even suspect this is happening, and not do anything.

— Maybe… maybe they have no choice. Maybe they’re forced to do it.

— I couldn’t tell you anymore. I can’t understand what’s going on.

— We’re here.

Tommy stopped. In front of him was a walled-off area. Surrounded by mountainous rocks that had been shaped to form a sort of barrier.

The climb up the mountain had become more irregular. It was understandable. The mountain began to twist and turn on itself the closer you got to the top. So the area around them seemed to be sculpted to open into a large area. Tommy and Lucas began to slowly enter the platform of sinners. It was like an arena.

Good news seemingly finally graced the two detectives. For the benefit of their sanity, the place was empty. There were no bodies, and no macabre positions or punishments. Only a walled off area, some trees interspersed around, and the common large black obelisk residing in the middle. Farther ahead, one could see a bridge suspended over nothing, apparently the only way out.

It was a welcoming break for their mental health, but a complete halt to their investigation.

— What’s going on? There’s nothing here! — Tommy exclaimed.

— It’s empty…

— That’s… a relief?

— I don’t… I don’t understand.

Lucas picked up on something. A faint noise. Like a constant drumming.

But the noise resembled gravel being stomped around. After the echoing effect stopped, he realized what it was. Footsteps. But they were too fast. Someone was running at them.

It wasn’t long until they saw someone sprinting at them at a distance.

—    HELP! – the figure yelled.

Tommy and Lucas were stunned. Tommy quickly pulled out his weapon.

— WOW! WOW! STOP! – Tommy yelled back, pointing his gun.

The man ground to halt. In front of them was an old man.

Half-naked, with only pants on. Leathery and used, like a torn pajama made from old cloth. He had nothing on his chest and nothing on his feet. His hair was lanky, gray and disheveled. An unkempt beard grew from his face, his eyes darken from lack of sleep.

He had an expression of pure terror permeating his entire face.

—    Please, you have to help me! — he cried out.

— What!? Help!? — Tommy asked, confused.

— PLEASE! They are coming for me! They are going to find me… — the man sobbed in desperate pleas.

— Who!? Who’s coming!?

The church? The priests? Tommy thought. Was this finally it? Did they find their culprits?

—    I don’t have time! PLEASE I…

The next thing that happened would shock Tommy Rousso to his very core.

The old man was picked up, screaming and crying, by something. Something barely human.

The two detectives watched in horror as the man was grabbed by an entity, with hands larger than his torso. They seemingly came out of nowhere, materializing from the mist. They were gigantic, much larger than any man. Five meters in height or more. Reddish skin that looked rough and hard. Four arms sometimes placed symmetrically around their frame. A simulation of a human.

Above their bodies, where their heads should be, was nothing. Their torso opened up, like a Venus fly-trap. Serrated bones formed a clamp where a neck should be, making their bodies appear like a cage.

And a cage it was.

The old man was picked up by one of the giants. He screamed and yelled as he begged for help, help that didn’t come. A fate he couldn’t get used to.

The giant proceeded to shove the man inside him, through the opening on his neck. Bones cracked and joints twisted as he did that, but it didn’t stop. Soon the old man was trapped inside the creature, accompanied by several other people.

That was his punishment, it seemed. And one that he was desperate to run away from. Not soon after, the whole area seemed to be filled by giants and men running around in fear. Screaming. Running. And being chased.

— What the fuck!

Tommy stood face to face with one of the giants. Not understanding what was happening. He took his gun and shot. A large aching howl was heard from the giants, who proceeded to pick up a tree, and throw towards the detectives.

The large tree passed by Tommy, barely missing him. But it flew a few more feet and landed near the entrance, blocking the way in.

The giant stood back up and faced the two detectives. Tommy turned to Lucas. An instant that felt like forever.

— RUN!

Lucas didn’t need much more motivation. When Tommy yelled, they both sprinted in parallel directions. Bumping and hitting into random fugitives that were running for their lives. Tommy managed to dodge them cleanly. The giants seemed less interested in them.

So, they ran. Trying to avoid the chaos as much as possible.

— TOMMY!

— LUCAS!

— THE BRIDGE! GO TO THE BRIDGE! — Lucas yelled while jumping over a fallen man.

Tommy heard him and set his sights on the goal. The bridge was their only way out.

A suspended path that was constructed years ago to link to the top of the mountain. The two continued to bob and weave, running through the chaos. Afraid that they were next.

“Caedes”. That is the Latin word for massacre. That was what people in Bocarrosa called that platform. The place where murderers are punished.

The act of taking a life. One of the most unholy and grave sins a human can commit in most religions.

It was no different here.

The two detectives kept running. Among the yelling and the begging. Among the sounds of crushed bones and mouths that cried out and were then quickly silenced. They didn’t take the time to read the warning in the obelisk. The words of the Red one himself:

“If you’re a murderer

and you must kill

their mouths are full

with your body and will”

Tommy saw the exit right in front of him, and saw Lucas reached the bridge and escaped the accursed platform. Tommy had to dodge more people, more screams, and more chaos. He was behind. And right before he reached the exit, one of the giants fell on top of the exit, and blocked his path.

— SHIT!

The enormous creature floundered, attempting to get up. Tommy panicked, and without much choice, pulled out his weapon and shot the entity twice. It groaned a loud hum that could be heard throughout the entire mountain.

But the creatures were agile and faster than they appeared. Without much delay, it stood back up and propelled itself towards Tommy. The detective, on the other hand, barely had time to react. The giant landed in front of Tommy and the two stared at each other.

The giant torso full of bones met face to face with Tommy’s eyes. Tommy froze, terrified of the fate that awaited him. Not able to move, and knowing he couldn’t outrun it. The entity looked at Tommy.

And then it left. Ignoring him to go chase others.

— TOMMY COME! – Lucas yelled out.

Tommy quickly obliged. He ran to Lucas, through the walled area of Caedes and onto the start of the bridge.

— Are you okay!? — Lucas asked in distress.

— What the fuck!? What the fuck are those things!?

— Are you hurt? Can you move?

— Yeah! I’m fine! That… that thing… that giant thing just ignored me.

— We gotta get out of here before they come!

— I know. I…

Tommy had little time to speak before all his air was knocked out of him. Behind him, one of the people of the platform crashed into him, giving him no time to react. And with the force of the impact, Tommy and the man were thrown off the bridge and onto the misty abyss.

— TOMMY!

Lucas panicked. His eyes darting around to look for Tommy. The bridge he was on was suspended onto pure nothingness.

A misty chasm that only showed a few protruding rocks on the ground.

— TOMMY!

Silence was returned. Lucas looked around in shock.

— Fucking… help me… you…idiot. — he heard.

Lucas snapped back; he heard the raspy voice right below him. It was Tommy, who had managed to hold on to a piece of rope attached to the structure.

— Pull me up! — Tommy cried out.

The crazy man who had jumped Tommy was still holding on to his leg. Making the climb impossible without help.

—    HELP ME! – the insane man yelled out.

Tommy looked at him. He couldn’t spare to be merciful at that moment. The man had foam in his mouth and eyes that begged for help, but Tommy still kicked him, which caused him to fall and disappear into nothing.

Tommy lost his balance before Lucas managed to grab his hand.

— SHIT! — Tommy exclaimed.

— I got you! — Lucas yelled back.

The two stood there for a moment.

— Well, what are you waiting for?! An invitation!? PULL ME UP!

Lucas breathed in, stopped for a moment, and then mustered all his strength. In one swift dash he pulled Tommy up, who immediately grabbed the bridge like it was the most precious thing in the world.

The two men sat down, their breaths shallow and rapid.

— Are you… Are you okay?

Tommy breathed in and breathed out before answering.

— …No.

The two men tried to regain their breath.

— But I’m alive. Thanks. — Tommy continued.

— Yeah.

Tommy pulled in air.

— …Lucas.

— …Yeah?

— I... I know that man…

— What!?

Tommy stood up, still holding on to the ropes.

— I think I know who that man was. — Tommy continued.

— What are you saying?

— That was Vincente Navarro.

— Who…?! Who the fuck is Vincente Navarro!?

— The… The snake oil salesman. —  he said between ragged breaths. — He was one of the people in the missing people’s file. I remember him. It said he might have killed his wife.

— What are you talking about Tommy?!

— Fuck me. —  he leaned on the side. —  Do I have to repeat everything?

Lucas looked at him, confused and desperate.

— Don’t you get it?! That was one of the people that we were looking for! And he’s right

fucking there!

— The guy who just fucking fell?! What!? How? How is that possible?

— I don’t... I don’t know.

— How long was he even missing for? — Lucas asked.

Tommy looked around at the previous platform before answering.

— Five years.

— Five years!? He’s been running around this place for five years?!

— I... I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck is going on…

The two looked at the platform where the shouts and echoes of desperate people filled their lungs and terrified their souls.

— We…We can’t go back through there.

— What the fuck are those things, Lucas?

— I… I have no idea.

Tommy tried to reach for something. But then suddenly found himself patting his entire body.

— Shit! —  he cursed with venom.

— What?

— I lost my cigarettes.

Lucas looked at him, more concerned with their well-being than with his vice.

— We have to go… Those things can come back. — Lucas advised.

— God fucking damn it.

The two detectives started slowly walking. Uncertain yet without options. Tommy looked around the suspended bridge. There was no end in sight. A large passage to the mountaintop.

It was the end. The holiest place in Bocarrosa. The only place left to check.

The mist fogged the front and the back. The red moon had disappeared from the sky. Thunder now appeared from an unknown source. Piercing through the lonely night sky. More a roar than anything natural.

Lucas walked in front with a disintegrating Tommy behind him. He had enough. Nothing made sense anymore. No explanation was sufficient. Where were the people? Where was the mayor? Where was the church or the psychopath they were looking for?

Where was he going?

— I don’t understand… That thing just ignored me… — Tommy mumbled, trying to recenter his thoughts to small mysteries.

Lucas stood silent. Not understanding or knowing the answer.

— It went after them. But it didn’t care about me… — Tommy continued.

— Have you ever killed someone?

Lucas said, breaking Tommy’s monologue.

— Yes. Yes, I have. — he confessed.

— That platform. It was for the sin of murder. I don’t know why it ignored you. It’s probably…

— HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU SO CALM!?

— I…

— I’m sorry. I… I don’t understand what’s going on.

— I don’t know either. I think those… people were murderers. Like the guy you talked about.

Tommy wasn’t having it. The night air crackled with the sound of thunder. The bridge swung back and forth. Its old rope, dry and moldy, leaving an imprint on the detective’s hand every time it was grabbed.

Each step, closer and closer.

— We’re here. — Lucas announced.

The fog had dissipated. And the night had calmed down. The wind went silent, all one could hear was thunder. Distant, calm, enveloping. They were there, the top of mountain.

There was nothing on the final platform of Bocarrosa. Only a small area, dusty and empty. No grandiose obelisk erected in the middle, little to note or see. Around the area, were tombstones, the aforementioned graveyard. The place where the faithful meet their Lord. The ones who sin and the ones who don’t.

The only other thing of note was a cave, erected into the mountain. Like a gaping mouth. Rocks around it, protruding from the ground like teeth. And from the outside, you could see the faintest hint of a red glow.

The two detectives walked in deeper. There was no one. Just the platform. Just the tombstones. Just the thunder. The final platform. They were there. Not by choice, not by desire, but by fate.

Tommy opened his mouth to the night sky.

— What… What is this? — Tommy whispered, his face coiling with anger.

Lucas looked around. His face more depressed than angry.

— Where the fuck is it… Where? — Tommy continued.

Tommy looked around. He circled the area, every nook and cranny. There was nothing. No culprits, no evidence and no answers. He saw Lucas go towards a grave, looking intently at it.

— Where is it!? Where the hell is it, Lucas!? Uh!? Where is it? Where is everyone?

Lucas stood silent. Seemingly more focused on what was in front of him.

— Where’s the shovels? Where’s the priests? Where’s the fucking mayor? Where’s her dad!?

Tommy threw his hat on the ground with force, and began pacing around uncontrollably. He was at his wit’s end.

— What the fuck did we see up here?! These… these bodies. These monsters. What is going on!?

He turned to Lucas seemingly directing his anger at him.

— We almost fucking died and there’s fucking no one here! NO ONE! — he shouted, the mountain echoing his voice back.

— It’s here.

Tommy’s eyes bulged at his partner’s words. He didn’t understand.

— What are you looking at!? — Tommy asked.

Lucas paused more melancholic than ever. His eyes draped in sadness.

— My girlfriend. They buried her here.

Tommy’s face turned to disappointment. He went back to the middle of the area. Still searching for answers. The thunder around them seemed ever closer.

— I think my parents did this. They were good to me.

Static filled the air. Tommy’s mouth dried out. The night felt colder. Colder than usual, colder than possible.

Thunder came and sounded the night. And the silence was cut away, by Lucas’s words.

— They buried me here. Right next to her.

Tommy stopped. He slowly turned around.

— What…?

Lucas’s coat swayed in the wind. Wind that finally came, chilling the night. Lucas finally turned to him.

— I’m sorry boss.

Tommy looked to his friend.

— I’m the ferryman.

Thunder cracked loudly from the background. A loud roar of Mother Nature, as Tommy looked back at Lucas. His eyes now shifting and turning.

—    What…?

Lucas stood still, not a shred of emotion on his face.

— This… This isn’t the time for fucking jokes. — Tommy replied.

— It’s not a joke.

Tommy started nodding his head. He replied to Lucas.

—    Don’t.

He paused.

—    Don’t do this shit, Lucas.

Tommy paced back and forward once more. He took his hand to his mouth to bite it.

— Don’t you do this to me now. Don’t you dare do this shit to me, Fieri.

— I’m sorry boss.

— YOU SHUT YOUR GODAMN MOUTH! We’re not doing this!

Lucas stood quietly. Obeying his superior’s order.

— Tell me this is a fucking joke. Tell me you’re fucking joking.

Lucas simply shrugged, almost indifferent.

— Don’t, Fieri. Don’t do this shit. Not now.

— I’m sorry. This was out of my control.

Tommy slowly walked up to Lucas.

— What is this… What is this!? What are you fucking doing Fieri? Uh? Why are you fucking with me like this?

Lucas’s demeanor had shifted completely. He was answering questions almost emotionlessly.

— Things… Things go out of control. The island is too active. I guess that’s normal. It was like that for me... It’s worse now.

Tommy leaned in closer to Fieri.

— What… what the fuck is going on here? Huh… — he asked, his eyes watery and pleading with insanity. — Are you responsible for this?

— No, Tommy. This was your doing. — he coldly replied.

Tommy paced backwards.

—    Shut up… Shut up…

—    I’m sorry it had to end this way.

—    Please… Tell me you’re lying… You’re fucking me, aren’t you?

—    No Tommy. I am the ferryman.

Tommy’s mind was too fractured at this point. He took out his gun and pointed at Lucas.

— You think this is fucking funny?! YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY!?

Lucas simply looked at him. A look of mercy, pity and an inkling of a smirk.

— You goddamn son of a bitch.

Lucas didn’t care. It was like the weapon wasn’t a threat to him.

— Put your hands in the air!

— You saw it too.

— PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR, FIERI!

— In the platform where those who murder get punished... You saw it.

— I don’t care about your religious bullshit!

— I’m sorry boss. This isn’t an investigation case. This is a judgment.

Tommy breathed out in frustration.

— I don’t care what the fuck you think this is! I’m telling you only one more time! PUT YOUR HANDS UP!

Lucas didn’t budge. He seemed completely indifferent to the detective.

— I didn’t know it either. When the island started to wake up. I didn’t know a new ferryman was coming.

— ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME!?

— When those things in the swamp attacked us. When the cave woke up. Even I didn’t know the time was upon us.

— What…!? What the hell are you talking about?

— I’ve been dead for fifteen years, boss. I was brought here. To be judged. By Him.

Tommy’s grip on his gun tightened.

— Is that what you tell yourself?! You fucking sicko. You think I give a shit about the stories in your head!?

— They’re not just stories Tommy.

— Did you do it?

— Do what Tommy?

— Did you do it!? Did you kill those people!?

Tommy begged out for answers. His partner simply looked back at him.

— Did they look dead to you?

— Maria died… You son of a bitch. Who is responsible for this!? TALK!

— I told you already Tommy. The Red one is.

Tommy desperation tinged his face. His mind processing what was happening.

— You lied to me.

— Yes, I did.

— This whole time, you’ve been fucking lying to me.

— Rules are for mortals, boss… Not for me.

— STOP, talking like that! You’re not something else, you’re just a piece of shit psycho!

— Maria was… unfortunate. I’m sorry. It’s like I told you... It was out of my control.

— Control!? What fucking control!?

— The island reflects the sin of the ferryman. It reflects you, Tommy. Your sin.

— You’re saying that was my fault?!

— Not completely.

— What the fuck are you talking about? What ferryman!? I’m not…

— That’s why I had to bring you here. My work is done. I am to be destitute. And you… you are to take my place.

— You are one crazy piece of shit.

— The Red one knows everything. He knows you too.

— Does he know how to take a bullet? — Tommy fixated his gun on Lucas’s head.

Lucas just continued looking on, indifferent.

— Don’t make me do this! Just put YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP!

— I’m sorry boss. I’m not always in control as well. Sometimes it’s Him… he speaks through me.

Lucas’s eyes glowed a dim red as he said that.

— I really didn’t want this to happen. But I had no other choice. It was my job.

— LUCAS FIERI, I’M GOING TO TELL YOU JUST ONE MORE TIME! PUT YOUR HANDS UP!

— She was depressed, wasn’t she?

Tommy’s eyes lit up at the question.

— Mary. She was depressed. You took care of her. For months.

— You… Shut your fucking mouth!

— She couldn’t take it after she lost your child. She lost her will to live.

— Shut up… You think you can trick me!? This some kind of mentalist trick!? How do you know this?!

— My parents buried me here Tommy. I went through the same as you. I also sinned. I abandoned someone, Tommy. And the last ferryman took me here, fifteen years ago. To take his role.

— Bullshit.

— I was guided here. By a man only I could see. He served Him for fifty years. Fifty years of service, Tommy, then… you’re free.

— What?!

— I don’t know why you’re different, Tommy. You’re special. You broke the cycle. I only had to serve fifteen years.

Lucas looked toward the cave.

—    Now it’s your turn.

Tommy looked at the entrance of the cave.

— You really are a crazy bastard. You think you’re invisible too? What a crock of shit!

— Only you can see me, Tommy.

— Fuck off! Anyone can see you, you fucking lunatic.

— Really Tommy? Think about it... That waiter didn’t. She saw you alone, eating and talking to yourself. Maria asked you if you were crazy, she didn’t believe the stories, even when the waiter warned her, even when you were talking to me. The mayor couldn’t see me either. I was trying to pass silently. My role was to guide… not to lead.

— What… No…

—    My parents… They buried me. Fifteen years ago. That’s when I died. I was thirty-five at the time, I guess I’d be fifty by now. That’s why they didn’t believe you.

Lucas continued.

— They knew their place. No one stops the ferryman. I told you they were victims. That wasn’t a lie.

Tommy almost lost his sanity. Before he remembered an inconsistency.

— That crazy woman saw you! Indexus! She talked to you.

— In the mountain, under the full moon. The living see the dead. And the dead…

— …taste the living. What… that’s not. — Tommy continued.

— You really think those people in those other platforms were dead? Or even alive?

— What... No… This… It isn’t possible.

— I really didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. Believe me.

Tommy snapped back to his rage.

— SHUT UP!

Lucas’s face softened; his posture now lax. A sign of a huge burden lifted from him. Only sorrow and pity remaining.

— I really am sorry. You’re going to have to go inside the cave. — Lucas pointed. — Over there. That’s where you will be judged… By Him.

Tommy looked stunned at the suggestion.

— Are you fucking stupid? You think I’m going to go there? To whatever trap you set up here? You freak!

— It was the same with me… I went in. I was so…

—    What are you going to do, you piece of shit?! Drag me in there?!

—    If I have to.

— Lucas, I ain’t fucking playing around anymore! Did you do this!?

— I’m tired, boss.

Tommy finally released a fraction of his tension.

— What?

— I was so damn tired. You know what it’s like, don’t you?

— What… What the hell are you talking about?

— My sin… Giovanna. I told you… She was sick…

Tommy almost relented. He wanted to lower his gun, but stood firm.

— We were just kids when we left. And her illness. The schizophrenia. It just got worse and worse. I was alone. No family, no money. No one to help.

— I don’t know what it’s like, no.

Lucas sighed with a smile. Trying to still connect to his old partner.

— I left her, Tommy. I abandoned her.

— You’re sick. You need help.

— I guess so… You lasted longer.

— What are you fucking saying?! You think I’m like you? What the fuck is this? You’re some sick son of a bitch who thinks I’m like you?! I’m not!

— I really am sorry, Tommy.

— I fucking trusted you. — Tommy whimpered.

The night sky boomed loudly with distant thunder.

— He knows about your sin. About what you did.

—    Stop.

—    He knows about Mary, about the child.

— Stop talking about my wife. Don’t you fucking dare!

— I told you it was the same for me.

Tommy became more agitated at the mention of his wife. His finger trembling hard on the trigger.

— Giovanna would see things. Every day. She was so sick. She couldn’t work. She couldn’t eat or dress herself… I had to come home every day and take care of her after I worked. I took night shifts, so I could take care of her during the day.

Tommy stayed silent.

— I wasn’t sleeping. I couldn’t eat or think. She wasn’t even there. Mentally. The girl I loved was gone. Five years of this. Five years of taking care of her. I just… I couldn’t take it anymore.

— What… what did you do?

— The front door was open one day. I just went to get something from the kitchen, and she just stepped outside. Alone, into the cold. Someone with her condition would never be able to even call for help.

— Lucas…

— I didn’t go after her. I just… I just let her go. I never saw her again.

Tommy snapped out of it and pulled his gun tighter to him.

— Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you? It’s not working!

Lucas sighed, a smile creeping in.

— I guess… I guess I don’t deserve it, yeah.

— You don’t. You killed these people, didn’t you!?

— No, boss. I told you I didn’t, I told you… it is the…

— ENOUGH!

Tommy yelled out echoing in the mountain.

— You’re not special! You’re not a God! And you’re not this ferryman! You’re sick, Lucas. You’re just sick in the head. And I’m taking you back, so you can face your crimes.

— I guess it’s hard to believe… Even after what you saw.

— We’re leaving, Fieri!

— I know things, Tommy. It’s not a trick. I know what you said to your wife the day she took her life.

— Shut up, Fieri.

— You just wanted to go have a smoke, right? Just a break. I understand. I know.

— Shut the fuck up.

—    You dream about that day every night.

—    SHUT UP FIERI.

—    Your greatest sin…

Tommy walked around the platform, eyes locked on his target. The man he considered a friend. A man who was now calling himself an emissary of God.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The situation, the implication, the reminder of what he lived through.

— I’m sorry, it had to end this way. I really considered you a friend.

The air felt heavy. Tommy twitched.

— You will be judged for committing the highest sin. Then you can…

Two large thunderous booms sounded across the air. It wasn’t lightning or thunder. It wasn’t a roar. But the sound of a pistol shooting twice. Tommy broke. He shot Lucas in the chest twice, red rage clouding his mind.

— I DID NOT ABANDON MY WIFE!

The dust settled after. The air was quiet and the platform stood still. Tommy’s mouth hang open. He was certain he had hit Lucas. But against his understanding of the world, he just stood there. Unharmed and melancholic.

— I know… — Lucas replied.

Lucas started explaining what happened that night. The night he sinned. The one that Tommy desperately tried to forget.

His wife had called for help. Red tainting her clothes. It had been the fifth attempt at conceiving a child. Hers and Tommy’s greatest wish in life.

She was on the floor, crying profusely. She was inconsolable.

A miscarriage.

Instant, impossible to avoid. Tommy couldn’t do much. She just asked Tommy to take him away. She couldn’t bear the sight of her unborn child like this.

And so, Tommy did.

He had put up a facade. A hard look for his wife. He couldn’t believe it himself. The air of the night was crisp, cold to the taste. How couldn’t it be? It was winter in New York and the temperatures were below zero.

Tommy held his only son in his arms. Small, innocent, and pallid. His small features, a symptom of a premature birth. He couldn’t do anything. Just release himself of the evidence. The air stung on his face, the cold hurts more when it’s wet.

He left his home and searched around. For a place to leave him. His wife was a more immediate concern. There was a dumpster near his building, and no one was around. So, he simply walked up to it and placed his newborn child in it. Calm, quiet and lifeless, with as much grace and respect as he could. He looked at him, one last time.

— I’m sorry kid… I’m sorry… son.

Tommy walked away. His heart broken, but he had to take care of someone else’s first. He walked up the building and never wanted to think about that day in his life again.

But he didn’t know.

The sin of abandonment doesn’t not require forethought. It doesn’t require intent. You cannot abandon your loved ones.

In an alleyway in New York City. A cry was heard out. Alone, weak and new. A small soul looking for help cried out. In the cold of the night, looking for his mother, looking for her warmth. He cried out for several minutes, not knowing what the world was, or who the man who abandoned him there was. And he continued crying, until the cries became softer and softer and the night returned to silence.

A few days later, his wife took her life. Tommy stood still listening.

— No…

His voice fractured. Lucas’s eyes never looked so sad and full of sorrow staring at the detective. Tommy fell down to his knees and went catatonic. Not moving for five minutes, silent and cold. He looked at his gun, a weapon that didn’t even faze Lucas.

He wanted to take it to his head, but there were no bullets left.

He stood; eyes fixed on the ground. His spirit wandering. Aimlessly turning, until he oriented himself towards the cave entrance. He stopped for a few seconds and started walking.

He went past the graveyard and all the tombs surrounding him. He went past Lucas and didn’t say a word. He went past the bodies, and the evidence that he could never find. And he went past all of the weight of the sin he now knew about.

He stopped, as he stood in front of the entrance.

Tommy looked back at Lucas. His former partner. There was nothing left to be said. The pain of a lifetime of regret and loneliness had led him to that place. A fate he accepted. There were no more distractions, no more running away. Just guilt, just grief.

His voice cracked the night sky.

— Will it hurt? — he asked.

Lucas looked at his partner. He answered honestly.

— Yes.

— Good.

There is a poem that people in Bocarrossa know from ancient times. A poem that was never written anywhere but lives deep within their hearts. They know this about their God, about the Red one.

What you face when you commit the highest sin.

“If you abandon the ones, you love

Then you are lost

I’ll eat you myself

At any cost. “

The thunder subsided leading to silence. Lucas looked at his partner one last time. His job was over, as Tommy started walking inside the cave and into the mountain.

 

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A port echoed with the sound of loud boats’ horns as they arrived full of merchandise. The air was soft and calm, warm to the taste. Ships would come in and out of the harbor signaling exchanges of people and merchandise.

The port was busy with noises but also silent. The telltales whispers from sailors of another ghost story to scare the rookies.

But this time the story wasn’t just a ghost story. It was more of a myth. A myth about an island, in the middle of the Mediterranean, where people go missing. The sailors know it’s a bad omen to go there, but they still do.

Business is business, and they need the money.

They tell the new guys about how you shouldn’t stay too long on the island. And to avoid breaking the rules over there. The newbies don’t really believe it. But the older and more experienced sea travelers seem to be serious about it.  It’s not a religious fixation or some wild superstition, there is something going on in that sea. Something that makes you disappear. That devours your existence.

Something ancient, something hungry.

They tell tales of something else. The thing you need to look out for. A person. Any person that seems to be there for you, and wants to go to the island. Some say they look like a seductive woman, others say it’s an enormous skeleton in robes. The wiser and older of the sailors correct them, however.

He is called the ferryman and he looks like a detective.

A man with a long trench coat and a fedora hat.

It seems stupid to them, but an older sailor swears it’s true. And it’s been like that for over fifty years.

He swears other sailors have seen him. He’s been hearing those stories ever since he’s been a kid. There is, however, one thing that changed. The stories used to talk about a young detective. Tall, dressed sharply and with no white hairs on his head. But when the old sailor started working on the docks, the story changed. The mysterious stranger was now older, shorter and sometimes said to have a temper.

The younger sailors laugh. It sounds like he’s just describing a man aging. But the old sailor explains to them, it’s not the same man. And the biggest difference about him is that he is always smoking a cigarette.

Whatever description goes around, everyone knows. In every harbor in Italy or Malta. From Greece, to Spain or Portugal. They know. Do not go to that island, especially not with a wary stranger, that only you can see.

The old sailor swears he has even seen him once or twice himself. A man leaning on the railings, smoke trailing from his mouth. Smoke that’s always tainted in red. But the sailor knows best, he doesn’t approach the man. He hasn’t lived a perfect life. He has also sinned.

The boats continue to move in and out of the harbor. The same as always. People going in and going out. And the new generation of sailors learns what to look out for.

If you ever find yourself near a harbor that can lead to a certain island called Bocarrossa, do not speak to that man. He is there for a reason.

He has a job to do.

He is the ferryman. And he is there to take you to be judged.

There’s a man at the end of my bed. He stares at me. It scares me.

Ever since I was young, I believed monsters were real. But they’re not, hallucinations are.

My entire life, I’ve been struggling with them. Monsters and creatures that aren’t really there for anyone else but me. Taunting me, mocking me, threatening me.

It’s not always some monster, sometimes it’s people. A wandering stranger, a friendly kid, a neighbor.

It’s difficult to get used to. But I had a lifetime worth of experience. Something strange has been happening since last year, however. My visions, my ghosts, they aren’t just saying their normal spiel, they’re doing something more.

They know the future.

It’s really the only way I can describe it. Ever since my life finally calmed down, these things, these hallucinations, they’ve been telling me things.

Things they shouldn’t know.

It has made my life impossible. Everything has become intertwined. Reality and imagination, truth and lies.

If these things aren’t real…, how can they know what’s going to happen?

There’s a boy I know named Matt. We’re always together. Always switching stories.

Let me make it perfectly clear. I know this already.

Matt is not real.

I’ve known this for years. No one else sees him besides me. One day, I was just minding my business in my bedroom and he was there, silently. He turned to me.

“Your mom is coming up the stairs.” He claimed.

I was confused at the time, but sure enough my mother opened the bedroom door and asked me what I wanted for dinner.

This is where it started.

I thought that maybe I subconsciously heard my mother. Maybe somewhere in my mind, I’ve tracked the pattern of her coming up at this hour. Otherwise, how was it possible?

These hallucinations, they’re not real. Are they?

No, they can’t be. They have to be fake; they have to.

But if they’re fake, they’re a product of my mind, of me. So, they should only have access to information that I have.

So how do they know more than me?

I’m supposed to ignore them. I’m supposed to ignore Matt and the other things that live around me. That’s what’s “healthy”. But how can I solve this problem? How can I know if they’re not real?

If they know things that I don’t, that means they can’t be me. But how are they not me if no one else sees them?!

I’m losing my fucking mind.

I gave in to temptation one day and asked Matt. Asked him how he knows things.

“How did you know my mom was going to come in through the door?” I asked.

“How did I know?”

“Yeah… You’re not real.” I stammered.

“Yeah?”

“Yes… so… how?” I insisted.

“Are you sure?”

“What?” I asked.

He went silent, before he answered.

“Are you sure I’m the one who’s not real?”

I don’t think I have to say that I don’t talk to Matt much anymore. The doctors are right. Talking to them doesn’t help.

So yeah, doctors… Drugs, hospitals. It wasn’t always like this. Things used to be softer, quieter. A bird that seemed out of place, a stranger that was taller than he should be. My hallucinations didn’t manifest as boys my age that could tell me exactly when my parents would come up to my room, or predict what I was going to have for dinner. I didn’t use to see Matt. Or the monsters.

I said there’s a man at the end of my bed. And there is. He’s not really a man, at least not a person. But I can see him now.

His long fingers scrapping the end of the wood frame. A small dent caused by his endless scratching.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

He looks at me. Never moving. Always staring.

He looks hungry.

I see other things now. Other creatures that are impossible. Monsters that go bump in the night and tell me things no one should know.

There was a “thing” in the lake behind my house. Calls itself a Näcken. I can’t pronounce it well, so I just called it Nixie.

Nixie is a trickster. It tries to constantly get me to enter the lake, tells me the water is warm, that wet feet feel best.

It’s almost endearing how ineffective it is. I understand Nixie isn’t real. It doesn’t stop it from trying.

“Come in the water.” It taunts me.

Its lips flap weirdly with a strange reptilian look to them. Most of the time Nixie is mouth-deep inside the water. I don’t pay much mind to it. If my life wasn’t so sad, I’d laugh.

“Join me.” It continues.

I largely ignore it. But one day he said something strange.

“You forgot what you did, didn’t you?”

Forgot what I did? Something about that messed with me. I’d usually ignore anything Nixie would say, but this felt out of character. Forget what? What was it talking about?

It rings true to me, because I do have blackouts. Comes with the package of being mentally altered, I guess. Is Nixie talking about that?

Did I do something and black out?

Did I forget?

It’s probably just another trick. Nixie is a part of my mind, so it knows this. Probably using my own thoughts to try to trick me into getting into the water.

But… if Nixie is just a hallucination. What does it know about what I did? Shouldn’t I know too?

Does this mean it’s… real?

I stop myself from having these thoughts. I seek refuge, a comfortable place where I can be alone with myself.

It’s getting rarer these days.

I said things used to be softer, quieter. I sort of lied. There wasn’t so much mental abuse in my past as much as physical abuse.

My parents.

They softened up over the years. A rare blessing, honestly. When I was younger, my father drank. A lot. And my mother cursed her life and didn’t seem to care much about my existence.

They went through an upwards shift as my mental health went down a downwards spiral. They might not be the best people, but they try.

I guess seeing their only son beg for help against the “monsters”, made them shift their perspective. They became more caring.

They’re not perfect. Dad still argues, but less. He stopped drinking. AA solved that issue.

My mom grew more caring and thoughtful too. She’s still the same woman as before. She’s always miserable on a Monday and can’t stand drunks. But her meals are warmer now, and her smile is fuller.

Sometimes I wonder if they put on a show for me, or if I’m really the only person who can’t get better.

So, I keep going to school and living my life, but in the corner of my eye, I keep seeing Matt. Telling me things.

Things he shouldn’t know.

“Your mom worries about you.” He claims.

Yeah, that’s not much of a stretch. I know that already.

“She cries softly over what you did.”

Did what? Why do they keep mentioning that?

“They didn’t use to be like that.”

At this point, Matt is torturous more than the quirky little hallucination that I could tolerate. I try not to be alone with him.

My parents, my school friends, Mrs. Penton. I’ll go to anyone to avoid listening to him. He’s a constant reminder that something is shifting, something is changing, and I don’t know what.

I guess I should mention Mrs. Penton. She’s a sweet old lady that lives down the street. I used to go there and have some of her pecan pies. They were delicious. I would go to her, tell her about my problems, stay with her a bit. We would talk about me, talk about her. Whatever it might be.

She was old, probably someone’s grandma, but they never visited.

Sucks for them. More pie for me.

I feel bad for her. So, I keep her company, but honestly, she’s the one keeping me company. Sure, I have friends at school, but they don’t… We don’t talk about these things. Can’t expect a bunch of fifteen-year-olds to be serious about this.

But Mrs. Penton is nice. She’s like my estranged grandma. I talk about my parents and I talk about my hallucinations. She knows I’m mentally “different”, but she doesn’t care. What sweet old lady would?

Sometimes she isn’t all there mentally. So, I guess that’s relatable.

I remember one day when I was eating at her house, asking her about family.

“Why does no one visit you?” I asked.

“Ah… My boys have their own life now. They’re too busy to visit their old mom.”

I bit down on the pie, somewhat outraged.

“I wouldn’t stop visiting you if I was your son. Being older is not an excuse.”

“Thank you dear. You’re as sweet as pecan pie” She replies.

She pinches my cheeks. It hurts in a good way. A reassuring way.

I remember a few years ago when my parents would argue and when my visions were rare and few between. I remember what a shitty kid I was. Violent, aggressive. Angry.

Seeing Mrs. Penton living on her own, alone and content, makes me think that maybe even I can get better. I used to be violent, now I’m just sick. It’s a more honorable problem to have.

And someday, if I’m cured, if I get better, maybe I’ll enjoy life with a fuller smile. The pecan pie will taste sweeter.

I tell her about my day and she tells me hers. I tell her my… “visions” are getting stranger, that they can tell the future. She hears me out and is left confused as to what to do.

She knows I’m just venting.

“I’m sure you’ll get better, honey. Just don’t give up.” She says, the tone of her voice is warm.

I feel like I could even blush.

“Thanks, Mrs. Penton.” I said with my mouth full of pie.

“You should run along home, honey. Your mom is waiting for you.”

“Yeah, sure Mrs. P. I’ll see you later.” I reply.

She gives me a hug and pulls me closer one last time.

“Don’t worry about it honey. You’ll get better. The monsters or Matt can’t hurt you. Have a safe trip home.”

I get embarrassed. I live so close by. What trip? It’s barely walking dist…

Wait what did she say? I pause eerily at her comment.

“How do you know his name is Matt?” I ask.

I’ve talked to Mrs. Penton about everything and anything. But I don’t give her the names of the hallucinations, I don’t want to validate them.

Another chilling thought occurs to me.

“How do you know my mom is waiting at my house?”

A cold smile is much deeper than a fake one. One that brings malice and betrayal.

That’s the smile I saw on Mrs. Penton’s face, before my entire world was shrouded in darkness and I passed out.

Darkness.

It thumped my entire being awake.

When I woke up, I was alone. In the middle of a field.

There was something in my hand.

I stood up confused and dazed. I opened my hand and looked. I didn’t understand what I was looking at.

Have you ever tasted mud?

The soil beneath your feet?

When I sensed my lips and mouth full of earth, I started throwing up. I wheezed and I heaved what I swallowed only minutes ago. The delicious “pecan pie” came hurling from my mouth back to the ground it belongs to. A worm runs away serendipitously from the dislocated earth.

I’m such a fucking idiot.

Of course, Mrs. Penton isn’t real. How could she be? Why would I expect anything good to happen in my life? Why would I expect a sanctuary?

She’s gone. She was never real.

I go back home. I’m slouched over, depressed, manic.

I see them around me. Monsters of all shapes and sizes. Standing on rooftops and standing on the street.

They’re laughing. They’re laughing at me.

Laughing at how stupid I was that I was tricked again by my own mind.

I…I… want to cry.

They’re right. Why do I even try? I know I’m not supposed to know peace.

I get home and I fall on my bed. A single tear forms a sickening feeling in my stomach.

It’s rage, frustration. I want to yell more than I want to cry.

Matt sits there looking at me. A small smirk on his face. I can’t see it with my eyes, but I can feel it.

I wish he was real. I’d punch him.

I’d kill him if I had the chance.

“Your mom is going to call you.” He predicts.

Not long after.

“Chris, come down! It’s time to eat!”

God damn it. How does he know?

I’m enraged. I get out of my bed and confront Matt. I demand answers. He doesn’t answer.

I say fuck it. I’ll go talk to Nixie, maybe it knows something.

Matt’s expressions shifted a little. He seems worried.

“Don’t go talk to Nixie. Don’t go near him.” He says.

What? Is he concerned? Concerned about me? Concerned about another fucking hallucination like him? Why?

Why does he care? What is this? Civil war between hallucinations now? I tell him to fuck off before I storm out of the room.

“You’re all the same thing, Matt. Fuck off.”

He just looks at me perplexed.

“You really don’t remember do you?”

The same shit Nixie said. What is wrong with them? They can fuck off with their cryptic messages.

I go down to the kitchen. Sit at the table where my mother just cooked me a meal. I look it over, the enticing aromas luring me in a closer.

A foreign hand touches the plate, one that I’m familiar with.

There’s a creature in the kitchen pushing the plate towards me. Presenting it as its own creation. It’s a hallucination that’s been here for some months now. A weird feminine shape that has no face and a slim figure. I’ve grown to hate these things. I hate these hallucinations.

I ignore it and start eating.

I tell my mother about what happened with Mrs. Penton. I hold in a hiccup that would prelude a wave of tears.

My mother looks at me. Her smile really is getting warmer. She comforts me.

“It’s a beautiful day, let’s go shopping.” She tells me.

I see Matt in the corner of my eye. He’s just watching me. He seems to be waiting for something.

I eat the real food placed in front of me. A weak palate cleanser for the mud I had in my mouth just moments ago.

A beautiful day? There’s nothing beautiful about today. This is probably the worst Monday of my entire life.

I pause. Today. Today is Monday.

I look at Matt. And then I look at my mother. Cheery and happy.

He’s standing there. Right in front of me. What does he want? What do they all want?!

It can’t be…

There’s a burning scenario in the back of my head. It presses against my skull and crushes my spirit. The day I found out Mrs. Penton wasn’t real was the day my mind decided to travel the path I had always avoided.

“Mom.”

“Yes, honey?”

“Is Matt real?”

She stops herself. Hesitating. Her eyes drifting around the room quietly and steadily. But Matt didn’t move. He just stared at my mother. Unblinking.

“Of course not, honey.” She responds.

Of course, not… That would be impossible. Matt is not real. I’m sure of that. But something was still scratching the back of my head. It left a burning question in my head. A sacrilege, something that I honestly regret saying.

I remember that day well. It was a Monday. I open my mouth and let out.

“Mom, are you real?”

I saw my mother smile.

She stood silently. Her face static.

A smile so wide and so impossible that I swear I saw the outlines of her mouth leave her face. Ungodly, and unholy. I screamed, consumed in the fear and confusion of the moment. And then there was darkness.

A darkness that enveloped me. I begin to remember.

I remember the time before the monsters. Before they showed up in my life. Every wandering creature, every impossible entity. I remember all the yelling, the arguments and the hatred.

The vile, hot hatred between my parents. How bad it was…

How could I have forgotten?

I finally understood Matt.

My father never stopped drinking. And my mother, she never cared about me. They abused me physically. Every day, even when the visions were weak and my mind was sound.

They didn’t get better. Everything was getting worse. And I was still the same shitty violent child. I remembered the day I was pushed by my father and banged my head. How my mother just looked at me without caring. And how I noticed the knife that was near me.

That’s when I charged at my father.

My mother screamed as father fell. And then I turned it on her.

Now I’m alone. I confessed to what I did. I was arrested and put in a facility for mentally deranged children.

I get it now.

Matt isn’t real. And neither is anyone else.

I killed them all.

They put me in a psych ward and they have me write this. It’s supposed to self-help. I guess they go easier on kids that have mental issues and kill their parents.

I’m serving my sentence for my crime, while they’re doing what they can to bring my mind back to reality.

To where the world really is. The best drugs and proper therapies.

I know now none of them are real. My parents, Matt, the old lady down the road that used to make me pecan pies. None of them. They were all stories. Comfortable lies to keep myself going.

Lies to make me forget what I actually did.

Of course, they knew. Of course, they all knew what was happening. They’re all part of the same hallucination. The same fever dream I’ve had for years.

As my hallucinated mom was cooking dinner, my hallucinated “friend” knew what she was doing.

Because they’re part of the same system. The same mind. Me.

The doctors are helpful. They tell me what’s real and tell me what’s not. And I don’t see them anymore. All the people that I thought were real in my life are gone. But at least I know the truth.

I put my pencil down and scream.

WHY!?

I did everything they told me! I take the drugs; I do the treatments! I confess, I accept what I did!

So why!? WHY? Why is this still happening?!

How is it doing this?! HOW?!

I DON’T SEE MATT! I DON’T SEE MY PARENTS ANYMORE! SO WHY!?

Why do I still see the man at the end of my bed!?

There’s a man at the end of my bed. He stares at me. It scares me.

Ever since I was young, I believed monsters were real. But they’re not, hallucinations are.

My entire life, I’ve been struggling with them. Monsters and creatures that aren’t really there for anyone else but me. Taunting me, mocking me, threatening me.

It’s not always some monster, sometimes it’s people. A wandering stranger, a friendly kid, a neighbor.

It’s difficult to get used to. But I had a lifetime worth of experience. Something strange has been happening since last year, however. My visions, my ghosts, they aren’t just saying their normal spiel, they’re doing something more.

They know the future.

It’s really the only way I can describe it. Ever since my life finally calmed down, these things, these hallucinations, they’ve been telling me things.

Things they shouldn’t know.

It has made my life impossible. Everything has become intertwined. Reality and imagination, truth and lies.

If these things aren’t real…, how can they know what’s going to happen?

There’s a boy I know named Matt. We’re always together. Always switching stories.

Let me make it perfectly clear. I know this already.

Matt is not real.

I’ve known this for years. No one else sees him besides me. One day, I was just minding my business in my bedroom and he was there, silently. He turned to me.

“Your mom is coming up the stairs.” He claimed.

I was confused at the time, but sure enough my mother opened the bedroom door and asked me what I wanted for dinner.

This is where it started.

I thought that maybe I subconsciously heard my mother. Maybe somewhere in my mind, I’ve tracked the pattern of her coming up at this hour. Otherwise, how was it possible?

These hallucinations, they’re not real. Are they?

No, they can’t be. They have to be fake; they have to.

But if they’re fake, they’re a product of my mind, of me. So, they should only have access to information that I have.

So how do they know more than me?

I’m supposed to ignore them. I’m supposed to ignore Matt and the other things that live around me. That’s what’s “healthy”. But how can I solve this problem? How can I know if they’re not real?

If they know things that I don’t, that means they can’t be me. But how are they not me if no one else sees them?!

I’m losing my fucking mind.

I gave in to temptation one day and asked Matt. Asked him how he knows things.

“How did you know my mom was going to come in through the door?” I asked.

“How did I know?”

“Yeah… You’re not real.” I stammered.

“Yeah?”

“Yes… so… how?” I insisted.

“Are you sure?”

“What?” I asked.

He went silent, before he answered.

“Are you sure I’m the one who’s not real?”

I don’t think I have to say that I don’t talk to Matt much anymore. The doctors are right. Talking to them doesn’t help.

So yeah, doctors… Drugs, hospitals. It wasn’t always like this. Things used to be softer, quieter. A bird that seemed out of place, a stranger that was taller than he should be. My hallucinations didn’t manifest as boys my age that could tell me exactly when my parents would come up to my room, or predict what I was going to have for dinner. I didn’t use to see Matt. Or the monsters.

I said there’s a man at the end of my bed. And there is. He’s not really a man, at least not a person. But I can see him now.

His long fingers scrapping the end of the wood frame. A small dent caused by his endless scratching.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

He looks at me. Never moving. Always staring.

He looks hungry.

I see other things now. Other creatures that are impossible. Monsters that go bump in the night and tell me things no one should know.

There was a “thing” in the lake behind my house. Calls itself a Näcken. I can’t pronounce it well, so I just called it Nixie.

Nixie is a trickster. It tries to constantly get me to enter the lake, tells me the water is warm, that wet feet feel best.

It’s almost endearing how ineffective it is. I understand Nixie isn’t real. It doesn’t stop it from trying.

“Come in the water.” It taunts me.

Its lips flap weirdly with a strange reptilian look to them. Most of the time Nixie is mouth-deep inside the water. I don’t pay much mind to it. If my life wasn’t so sad, I’d laugh.

“Join me.” It continues.

I largely ignore it. But one day he said something strange.

“You forgot what you did, didn’t you?”

Forgot what I did? Something about that messed with me. I’d usually ignore anything Nixie would say, but this felt out of character. Forget what? What was it talking about?

It rings true to me, because I do have blackouts. Comes with the package of being mentally altered, I guess. Is Nixie talking about that?

Did I do something and black out?

Did I forget?

It’s probably just another trick. Nixie is a part of my mind, so it knows this. Probably using my own thoughts to try to trick me into getting into the water.

But… if Nixie is just a hallucination. What does it know about what I did? Shouldn’t I know too?

Does this mean it’s… real?

I stop myself from having these thoughts. I seek refuge, a comfortable place where I can be alone with myself.

It’s getting rarer these days.

I said things used to be softer, quieter. I sort of lied. There wasn’t so much mental abuse in my past as much as physical abuse.

My parents.

They softened up over the years. A rare blessing, honestly. When I was younger, my father drank. A lot. And my mother cursed her life and didn’t seem to care much about my existence.

They went through an upwards shift as my mental health went down a downwards spiral. They might not be the best people, but they try.

I guess seeing their only son beg for help against the “monsters”, made them shift their perspective. They became more caring.

They’re not perfect. Dad still argues, but less. He stopped drinking. AA solved that issue.

My mom grew more caring and thoughtful too. She’s still the same woman as before. She’s always miserable on a Monday and can’t stand drunks. But her meals are warmer now, and her smile is fuller.

Sometimes I wonder if they put on a show for me, or if I’m really the only person who can’t get better.

So, I keep going to school and living my life, but in the corner of my eye, I keep seeing Matt. Telling me things.

Things he shouldn’t know.

“Your mom worries about you.” He claims.

Yeah, that’s not much of a stretch. I know that already.

“She cries softly over what you did.”

Did what? Why do they keep mentioning that?

“They didn’t use to be like that.”

At this point, Matt is torturous more than the quirky little hallucination that I could tolerate. I try not to be alone with him.

My parents, my school friends, Mrs. Penton. I’ll go to anyone to avoid listening to him. He’s a constant reminder that something is shifting, something is changing, and I don’t know what.

I guess I should mention Mrs. Penton. She’s a sweet old lady that lives down the street. I used to go there and have some of her pecan pies. They were delicious. I would go to her, tell her about my problems, stay with her a bit. We would talk about me, talk about her. Whatever it might be.

She was old, probably someone’s grandma, but they never visited.

Sucks for them. More pie for me.

I feel bad for her. So, I keep her company, but honestly, she’s the one keeping me company. Sure, I have friends at school, but they don’t… We don’t talk about these things. Can’t expect a bunch of fifteen-year-olds to be serious about this.

But Mrs. Penton is nice. She’s like my estranged grandma. I talk about my parents and I talk about my hallucinations. She knows I’m mentally “different”, but she doesn’t care. What sweet old lady would?

Sometimes she isn’t all there mentally. So, I guess that’s relatable.

I remember one day when I was eating at her house, asking her about family.

“Why does no one visit you?” I asked.

“Ah… My boys have their own life now. They’re too busy to visit their old mom.”

I bit down on the pie, somewhat outraged.

“I wouldn’t stop visiting you if I was your son. Being older is not an excuse.”

“Thank you dear. You’re as sweet as pecan pie” She replies.

She pinches my cheeks. It hurts in a good way. A reassuring way.

I remember a few years ago when my parents would argue and when my visions were rare and few between. I remember what a shitty kid I was. Violent, aggressive. Angry.

Seeing Mrs. Penton living on her own, alone and content, makes me think that maybe even I can get better. I used to be violent, now I’m just sick. It’s a more honorable problem to have.

And someday, if I’m cured, if I get better, maybe I’ll enjoy life with a fuller smile. The pecan pie will taste sweeter.

I tell her about my day and she tells me hers. I tell her my… “visions” are getting stranger, that they can tell the future. She hears me out and is left confused as to what to do.

She knows I’m just venting.

“I’m sure you’ll get better, honey. Just don’t give up.” She says, the tone of her voice is warm.

I feel like I could even blush.

“Thanks, Mrs. Penton.” I said with my mouth full of pie.

“You should run along home, honey. Your mom is waiting for you.”

“Yeah, sure Mrs. P. I’ll see you later.” I reply.

She gives me a hug and pulls me closer one last time.

“Don’t worry about it honey. You’ll get better. The monsters or Matt can’t hurt you. Have a safe trip home.”

I get embarrassed. I live so close by. What trip? It’s barely walking dist…

Wait what did she say? I pause eerily at her comment.

“How do you know his name is Matt?” I ask.

I’ve talked to Mrs. Penton about everything and anything. But I don’t give her the names of the hallucinations, I don’t want to validate them.

Another chilling thought occurs to me.

“How do you know my mom is waiting at my house?”

A cold smile is much deeper than a fake one. One that brings malice and betrayal.

That’s the smile I saw on Mrs. Penton’s face, before my entire world was shrouded in darkness and I passed out.

Darkness.

It thumped my entire being awake.

When I woke up, I was alone. In the middle of a field.

There was something in my hand.

I stood up confused and dazed. I opened my hand and looked. I didn’t understand what I was looking at.

Have you ever tasted mud?

The soil beneath your feet?

When I sensed my lips and mouth full of earth, I started throwing up. I wheezed and I heaved what I swallowed only minutes ago. The delicious “pecan pie” came hurling from my mouth back to the ground it belongs to. A worm runs away serendipitously from the dislocated earth.

I’m such a fucking idiot.

Of course, Mrs. Penton isn’t real. How could she be? Why would I expect anything good to happen in my life? Why would I expect a sanctuary?

She’s gone. She was never real.

I go back home. I’m slouched over, depressed, manic.

I see them around me. Monsters of all shapes and sizes. Standing on rooftops and standing on the street.

They’re laughing. They’re laughing at me.

Laughing at how stupid I was that I was tricked again by my own mind.

I…I… want to cry.

They’re right. Why do I even try? I know I’m not supposed to know peace.

I get home and I fall on my bed. A single tear forms a sickening feeling in my stomach.

It’s rage, frustration. I want to yell more than I want to cry.

Matt sits there looking at me. A small smirk on his face. I can’t see it with my eyes, but I can feel it.

I wish he was real. I’d punch him.

I’d kill him if I had the chance.

“Your mom is going to call you.” He predicts.

Not long after.

“Chris, come down! It’s time to eat!”

God damn it. How does he know?

I’m enraged. I get out of my bed and confront Matt. I demand answers. He doesn’t answer.

I say fuck it. I’ll go talk to Nixie, maybe it knows something.

Matt’s expressions shifted a little. He seems worried.

“Don’t go talk to Nixie. Don’t go near him.” He says.

What? Is he concerned? Concerned about me? Concerned about another fucking hallucination like him? Why?

Why does he care? What is this? Civil war between hallucinations now? I tell him to fuck off before I storm out of the room.

“You’re all the same thing, Matt. Fuck off.”

He just looks at me perplexed.

“You really don’t remember do you?”

The same shit Nixie said. What is wrong with them? They can fuck off with their cryptic messages.

I go down to the kitchen. Sit at the table where my mother just cooked me a meal. I look it over, the enticing aromas luring me in a closer.

A foreign hand touches the plate, one that I’m familiar with.

There’s a creature in the kitchen pushing the plate towards me. Presenting it as its own creation. It’s a hallucination that’s been here for some months now. A weird feminine shape that has no face and a slim figure. I’ve grown to hate these things. I hate these hallucinations.

I ignore it and start eating.

I tell my mother about what happened with Mrs. Penton. I hold in a hiccup that would prelude a wave of tears.

My mother looks at me. Her smile really is getting warmer. She comforts me.

“It’s a beautiful day, let’s go shopping.” She tells me.

I see Matt in the corner of my eye. He’s just watching me. He seems to be waiting for something.

I eat the real food placed in front of me. A weak palate cleanser for the mud I had in my mouth just moments ago.

A beautiful day? There’s nothing beautiful about today. This is probably the worst Monday of my entire life.

I pause. Today. Today is Monday.

I look at Matt. And then I look at my mother. Cheery and happy.

He’s standing there. Right in front of me. What does he want? What do they all want?!

It can’t be…

There’s a burning scenario in the back of my head. It presses against my skull and crushes my spirit. The day I found out Mrs. Penton wasn’t real was the day my mind decided to travel the path I had always avoided.

“Mom.”

“Yes, honey?”

“Is Matt real?”

She stops herself. Hesitating. Her eyes drifting around the room quietly and steadily. But Matt didn’t move. He just stared at my mother. Unblinking.

“Of course not, honey.” She responds.

Of course, not… That would be impossible. Matt is not real. I’m sure of that. But something was still scratching the back of my head. It left a burning question in my head. A sacrilege, something that I honestly regret saying.

I remember that day well. It was a Monday. I open my mouth and let out.

“Mom, are you real?”

I saw my mother smile.

She stood silently. Her face static.

A smile so wide and so impossible that I swear I saw the outlines of her mouth leave her face. Ungodly, and unholy. I screamed, consumed in the fear and confusion of the moment. And then there was darkness.

A darkness that enveloped me. I begin to remember.

I remember the time before the monsters. Before they showed up in my life. Every wandering creature, every impossible entity. I remember all the yelling, the arguments and the hatred.

The vile, hot hatred between my parents. How bad it was…

How could I have forgotten?

I finally understood Matt.

My father never stopped drinking. And my mother, she never cared about me. They abused me physically. Every day, even when the visions were weak and my mind was sound.

They didn’t get better. Everything was getting worse. And I was still the same shitty violent child. I remembered the day I was pushed by my father and banged my head. How my mother just looked at me without caring. And how I noticed the knife that was near me.

That’s when I charged at my father.

My mother screamed as father fell. And then I turned it on her.

Now I’m alone. I confessed to what I did. I was arrested and put in a facility for mentally deranged children.

I get it now.

Matt isn’t real. And neither is anyone else.

I killed them all.

They put me in a psych ward and they have me write this. It’s supposed to self-help. I guess they go easier on kids that have mental issues and kill their parents.

I’m serving my sentence for my crime, while they’re doing what they can to bring my mind back to reality.

To where the world really is. The best drugs and proper therapies.

I know now none of them are real. My parents, Matt, the old lady down the road that used to make me pecan pies. None of them. They were all stories. Comfortable lies to keep myself going.

Lies to make me forget what I actually did.

Of course, they knew. Of course, they all knew what was happening. They’re all part of the same hallucination. The same fever dream I’ve had for years.

As my hallucinated mom was cooking dinner, my hallucinated “friend” knew what she was doing.

Because they’re part of the same system. The same mind. Me.

The doctors are helpful. They tell me what’s real and tell me what’s not. And I don’t see them anymore. All the people that I thought were real in my life are gone. But at least I know the truth.

I put my pencil down and scream.

WHY!?

I did everything they told me! I take the drugs; I do the treatments! I confess, I accept what I did!

So why!? WHY? Why is this still happening?!

How is it doing this?! HOW?!

I DON’T SEE MATT! I DON’T SEE MY PARENTS ANYMORE! SO WHY!?

Why do I still see the man at the end of my bed!?

There’s a man at the end of my bed. He stares at me. It scares me.

Ever since I was young, I believed monsters were real. But they’re not, hallucinations are.

My entire life, I’ve been struggling with them. Monsters and creatures that aren’t really there for anyone else but me. Taunting me, mocking me, threatening me.

It’s not always some monster, sometimes it’s people. A wandering stranger, a friendly kid, a neighbor.

It’s difficult to get used to. But I had a lifetime worth of experience. Something strange has been happening since last year, however. My visions, my ghosts, they aren’t just saying their normal spiel, they’re doing something more.

They know the future.

It’s really the only way I can describe it. Ever since my life finally calmed down, these things, these hallucinations, they’ve been telling me things.

Things they shouldn’t know.

It has made my life impossible. Everything has become intertwined. Reality and imagination, truth and lies.

If these things aren’t real…, how can they know what’s going to happen?

There’s a boy I know named Matt. We’re always together. Always switching stories.

Let me make it perfectly clear. I know this already.

Matt is not real.

I’ve known this for years. No one else sees him besides me. One day, I was just minding my business in my bedroom and he was there, silently. He turned to me.

“Your mom is coming up the stairs.” He claimed.

I was confused at the time, but sure enough my mother opened the bedroom door and asked me what I wanted for dinner.

This is where it started.

I thought that maybe I subconsciously heard my mother. Maybe somewhere in my mind, I’ve tracked the pattern of her coming up at this hour. Otherwise, how was it possible?

These hallucinations, they’re not real. Are they?

No, they can’t be. They have to be fake; they have to.

But if they’re fake, they’re a product of my mind, of me. So, they should only have access to information that I have.

So how do they know more than me?

I’m supposed to ignore them. I’m supposed to ignore Matt and the other things that live around me. That’s what’s “healthy”. But how can I solve this problem? How can I know if they’re not real?

If they know things that I don’t, that means they can’t be me. But how are they not me if no one else sees them?!

I’m losing my fucking mind.

I gave in to temptation one day and asked Matt. Asked him how he knows things.

“How did you know my mom was going to come in through the door?” I asked.

“How did I know?”

“Yeah… You’re not real.” I stammered.

“Yeah?”

“Yes… so… how?” I insisted.

“Are you sure?”

“What?” I asked.

He went silent, before he answered.

“Are you sure I’m the one who’s not real?”

I don’t think I have to say that I don’t talk to Matt much anymore. The doctors are right. Talking to them doesn’t help.

So yeah, doctors… Drugs, hospitals. It wasn’t always like this. Things used to be softer, quieter. A bird that seemed out of place, a stranger that was taller than he should be. My hallucinations didn’t manifest as boys my age that could tell me exactly when my parents would come up to my room, or predict what I was going to have for dinner. I didn’t use to see Matt. Or the monsters.

I said there’s a man at the end of my bed. And there is. He’s not really a man, at least not a person. But I can see him now.

His long fingers scrapping the end of the wood frame. A small dent caused by his endless scratching.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

He looks at me. Never moving. Always staring.

He looks hungry.

I see other things now. Other creatures that are impossible. Monsters that go bump in the night and tell me things no one should know.

There was a “thing” in the lake behind my house. Calls itself a Näcken. I can’t pronounce it well, so I just called it Nixie.

Nixie is a trickster. It tries to constantly get me to enter the lake, tells me the water is warm, that wet feet feel best.

It’s almost endearing how ineffective it is. I understand Nixie isn’t real. It doesn’t stop it from trying.

“Come in the water.” It taunts me.

Its lips flap weirdly with a strange reptilian look to them. Most of the time Nixie is mouth-deep inside the water. I don’t pay much mind to it. If my life wasn’t so sad, I’d laugh.

“Join me.” It continues.

I largely ignore it. But one day he said something strange.

“You forgot what you did, didn’t you?”

Forgot what I did? Something about that messed with me. I’d usually ignore anything Nixie would say, but this felt out of character. Forget what? What was it talking about?

It rings true to me, because I do have blackouts. Comes with the package of being mentally altered, I guess. Is Nixie talking about that?

Did I do something and black out?

Did I forget?

It’s probably just another trick. Nixie is a part of my mind, so it knows this. Probably using my own thoughts to try to trick me into getting into the water.

But… if Nixie is just a hallucination. What does it know about what I did? Shouldn’t I know too?

Does this mean it’s… real?

I stop myself from having these thoughts. I seek refuge, a comfortable place where I can be alone with myself.

It’s getting rarer these days.

I said things used to be softer, quieter. I sort of lied. There wasn’t so much mental abuse in my past as much as physical abuse.

My parents.

They softened up over the years. A rare blessing, honestly. When I was younger, my father drank. A lot. And my mother cursed her life and didn’t seem to care much about my existence.

They went through an upwards shift as my mental health went down a downwards spiral. They might not be the best people, but they try.

I guess seeing their only son beg for help against the “monsters”, made them shift their perspective. They became more caring.

They’re not perfect. Dad still argues, but less. He stopped drinking. AA solved that issue.

My mom grew more caring and thoughtful too. She’s still the same woman as before. She’s always miserable on a Monday and can’t stand drunks. But her meals are warmer now, and her smile is fuller.

Sometimes I wonder if they put on a show for me, or if I’m really the only person who can’t get better.

So, I keep going to school and living my life, but in the corner of my eye, I keep seeing Matt. Telling me things.

Things he shouldn’t know.

“Your mom worries about you.” He claims.

Yeah, that’s not much of a stretch. I know that already.

“She cries softly over what you did.”

Did what? Why do they keep mentioning that?

“They didn’t use to be like that.”

At this point, Matt is torturous more than the quirky little hallucination that I could tolerate. I try not to be alone with him.

My parents, my school friends, Mrs. Penton. I’ll go to anyone to avoid listening to him. He’s a constant reminder that something is shifting, something is changing, and I don’t know what.

I guess I should mention Mrs. Penton. She’s a sweet old lady that lives down the street. I used to go there and have some of her pecan pies. They were delicious. I would go to her, tell her about my problems, stay with her a bit. We would talk about me, talk about her. Whatever it might be.

She was old, probably someone’s grandma, but they never visited.

Sucks for them. More pie for me.

I feel bad for her. So, I keep her company, but honestly, she’s the one keeping me company. Sure, I have friends at school, but they don’t… We don’t talk about these things. Can’t expect a bunch of fifteen-year-olds to be serious about this.

But Mrs. Penton is nice. She’s like my estranged grandma. I talk about my parents and I talk about my hallucinations. She knows I’m mentally “different”, but she doesn’t care. What sweet old lady would?

Sometimes she isn’t all there mentally. So, I guess that’s relatable.

I remember one day when I was eating at her house, asking her about family.

“Why does no one visit you?” I asked.

“Ah… My boys have their own life now. They’re too busy to visit their old mom.”

I bit down on the pie, somewhat outraged.

“I wouldn’t stop visiting you if I was your son. Being older is not an excuse.”

“Thank you dear. You’re as sweet as pecan pie” She replies.

She pinches my cheeks. It hurts in a good way. A reassuring way.

I remember a few years ago when my parents would argue and when my visions were rare and few between. I remember what a shitty kid I was. Violent, aggressive. Angry.

Seeing Mrs. Penton living on her own, alone and content, makes me think that maybe even I can get better. I used to be violent, now I’m just sick. It’s a more honorable problem to have.

And someday, if I’m cured, if I get better, maybe I’ll enjoy life with a fuller smile. The pecan pie will taste sweeter.

I tell her about my day and she tells me hers. I tell her my… “visions” are getting stranger, that they can tell the future. She hears me out and is left confused as to what to do.

She knows I’m just venting.

“I’m sure you’ll get better, honey. Just don’t give up.” She says, the tone of her voice is warm.

I feel like I could even blush.

“Thanks, Mrs. Penton.” I said with my mouth full of pie.

“You should run along home, honey. Your mom is waiting for you.”

“Yeah, sure Mrs. P. I’ll see you later.” I reply.

She gives me a hug and pulls me closer one last time.

“Don’t worry about it honey. You’ll get better. The monsters or Matt can’t hurt you. Have a safe trip home.”

I get embarrassed. I live so close by. What trip? It’s barely walking dist…

Wait what did she say? I pause eerily at her comment.

“How do you know his name is Matt?” I ask.

I’ve talked to Mrs. Penton about everything and anything. But I don’t give her the names of the hallucinations, I don’t want to validate them.

Another chilling thought occurs to me.

“How do you know my mom is waiting at my house?”

A cold smile is much deeper than a fake one. One that brings malice and betrayal.

That’s the smile I saw on Mrs. Penton’s face, before my entire world was shrouded in darkness and I passed out.

Darkness.

It thumped my entire being awake.

When I woke up, I was alone. In the middle of a field.

There was something in my hand.

I stood up confused and dazed. I opened my hand and looked. I didn’t understand what I was looking at.

Have you ever tasted mud?

The soil beneath your feet?

When I sensed my lips and mouth full of earth, I started throwing up. I wheezed and I heaved what I swallowed only minutes ago. The delicious “pecan pie” came hurling from my mouth back to the ground it belongs to. A worm runs away serendipitously from the dislocated earth.

I’m such a fucking idiot.

Of course, Mrs. Penton isn’t real. How could she be? Why would I expect anything good to happen in my life? Why would I expect a sanctuary?

She’s gone. She was never real.

I go back home. I’m slouched over, depressed, manic.

I see them around me. Monsters of all shapes and sizes. Standing on rooftops and standing on the street.

They’re laughing. They’re laughing at me.

Laughing at how stupid I was that I was tricked again by my own mind.

I…I… want to cry.

They’re right. Why do I even try? I know I’m not supposed to know peace.

I get home and I fall on my bed. A single tear forms a sickening feeling in my stomach.

It’s rage, frustration. I want to yell more than I want to cry.

Matt sits there looking at me. A small smirk on his face. I can’t see it with my eyes, but I can feel it.

I wish he was real. I’d punch him.

I’d kill him if I had the chance.

“Your mom is going to call you.” He predicts.

Not long after.

“Chris, come down! It’s time to eat!”

God damn it. How does he know?

I’m enraged. I get out of my bed and confront Matt. I demand answers. He doesn’t answer.

I say fuck it. I’ll go talk to Nixie, maybe it knows something.

Matt’s expressions shifted a little. He seems worried.

“Don’t go talk to Nixie. Don’t go near him.” He says.

What? Is he concerned? Concerned about me? Concerned about another fucking hallucination like him? Why?

Why does he care? What is this? Civil war between hallucinations now? I tell him to fuck off before I storm out of the room.

“You’re all the same thing, Matt. Fuck off.”

He just looks at me perplexed.

“You really don’t remember do you?”

The same shit Nixie said. What is wrong with them? They can fuck off with their cryptic messages.

I go down to the kitchen. Sit at the table where my mother just cooked me a meal. I look it over, the enticing aromas luring me in a closer.

A foreign hand touches the plate, one that I’m familiar with.

There’s a creature in the kitchen pushing the plate towards me. Presenting it as its own creation. It’s a hallucination that’s been here for some months now. A weird feminine shape that has no face and a slim figure. I’ve grown to hate these things. I hate these hallucinations.

I ignore it and start eating.

I tell my mother about what happened with Mrs. Penton. I hold in a hiccup that would prelude a wave of tears.

My mother looks at me. Her smile really is getting warmer. She comforts me.

“It’s a beautiful day, let’s go shopping.” She tells me.

I see Matt in the corner of my eye. He’s just watching me. He seems to be waiting for something.

I eat the real food placed in front of me. A weak palate cleanser for the mud I had in my mouth just moments ago.

A beautiful day? There’s nothing beautiful about today. This is probably the worst Monday of my entire life.

I pause. Today. Today is Monday.

I look at Matt. And then I look at my mother. Cheery and happy.

He’s standing there. Right in front of me. What does he want? What do they all want?!

It can’t be…

There’s a burning scenario in the back of my head. It presses against my skull and crushes my spirit. The day I found out Mrs. Penton wasn’t real was the day my mind decided to travel the path I had always avoided.

“Mom.”

“Yes, honey?”

“Is Matt real?”

She stops herself. Hesitating. Her eyes drifting around the room quietly and steadily. But Matt didn’t move. He just stared at my mother. Unblinking.

“Of course not, honey.” She responds.

Of course, not… That would be impossible. Matt is not real. I’m sure of that. But something was still scratching the back of my head. It left a burning question in my head. A sacrilege, something that I honestly regret saying.

I remember that day well. It was a Monday. I open my mouth and let out.

“Mom, are you real?”

I saw my mother smile.

She stood silently. Her face static.

A smile so wide and so impossible that I swear I saw the outlines of her mouth leave her face. Ungodly, and unholy. I screamed, consumed in the fear and confusion of the moment. And then there was darkness.

A darkness that enveloped me. I begin to remember.

I remember the time before the monsters. Before they showed up in my life. Every wandering creature, every impossible entity. I remember all the yelling, the arguments and the hatred.

The vile, hot hatred between my parents. How bad it was…

How could I have forgotten?

I finally understood Matt.

My father never stopped drinking. And my mother, she never cared about me. They abused me physically. Every day, even when the visions were weak and my mind was sound.

They didn’t get better. Everything was getting worse. And I was still the same shitty violent child. I remembered the day I was pushed by my father and banged my head. How my mother just looked at me without caring. And how I noticed the knife that was near me.

That’s when I charged at my father.

My mother screamed as father fell. And then I turned it on her.

Now I’m alone. I confessed to what I did. I was arrested and put in a facility for mentally deranged children.

I get it now.

Matt isn’t real. And neither is anyone else.

I killed them all.

They put me in a psych ward and they have me write this. It’s supposed to self-help. I guess they go easier on kids that have mental issues and kill their parents.

I’m serving my sentence for my crime, while they’re doing what they can to bring my mind back to reality.

To where the world really is. The best drugs and proper therapies.

I know now none of them are real. My parents, Matt, the old lady down the road that used to make me pecan pies. None of them. They were all stories. Comfortable lies to keep myself going.

Lies to make me forget what I actually did.

Of course, they knew. Of course, they all knew what was happening. They’re all part of the same hallucination. The same fever dream I’ve had for years.

As my hallucinated mom was cooking dinner, my hallucinated “friend” knew what she was doing.

Because they’re part of the same system. The same mind. Me.

The doctors are helpful. They tell me what’s real and tell me what’s not. And I don’t see them anymore. All the people that I thought were real in my life are gone. But at least I know the truth.

I put my pencil down and scream.

WHY!?

I did everything they told me! I take the drugs; I do the treatments! I confess, I accept what I did!

So why!? WHY? Why is this still happening?!

How is it doing this?! HOW?!

I DON’T SEE MATT! I DON’T SEE MY PARENTS ANYMORE! SO WHY!?

Why do I still see the man at the end of my bed!?

There’s a man at the end of my bed. He stares at me. It scares me.

Ever since I was young, I believed monsters were real. But they’re not, hallucinations are.

My entire life, I’ve been struggling with them. Monsters and creatures that aren’t really there for anyone else but me. Taunting me, mocking me, threatening me.

It’s not always some monster, sometimes it’s people. A wandering stranger, a friendly kid, a neighbor.

It’s difficult to get used to. But I had a lifetime worth of experience. Something strange has been happening since last year, however. My visions, my ghosts, they aren’t just saying their normal spiel, they’re doing something more.

They know the future.

It’s really the only way I can describe it. Ever since my life finally calmed down, these things, these hallucinations, they’ve been telling me things.

Things they shouldn’t know.

It has made my life impossible. Everything has become intertwined. Reality and imagination, truth and lies.

If these things aren’t real…, how can they know what’s going to happen?

There’s a boy I know named Matt. We’re always together. Always switching stories.

Let me make it perfectly clear. I know this already.

Matt is not real.

I’ve known this for years. No one else sees him besides me. One day, I was just minding my business in my bedroom and he was there, silently. He turned to me.

“Your mom is coming up the stairs.” He claimed.

I was confused at the time, but sure enough my mother opened the bedroom door and asked me what I wanted for dinner.

This is where it started.

I thought that maybe I subconsciously heard my mother. Maybe somewhere in my mind, I’ve tracked the pattern of her coming up at this hour. Otherwise, how was it possible?

These hallucinations, they’re not real. Are they?

No, they can’t be. They have to be fake; they have to.

But if they’re fake, they’re a product of my mind, of me. So, they should only have access to information that I have.

So how do they know more than me?

I’m supposed to ignore them. I’m supposed to ignore Matt and the other things that live around me. That’s what’s “healthy”. But how can I solve this problem? How can I know if they’re not real?

If they know things that I don’t, that means they can’t be me. But how are they not me if no one else sees them?!

I’m losing my fucking mind.

I gave in to temptation one day and asked Matt. Asked him how he knows things.

“How did you know my mom was going to come in through the door?” I asked.

“How did I know?”

“Yeah… You’re not real.” I stammered.

“Yeah?”

“Yes… so… how?” I insisted.

“Are you sure?”

“What?” I asked.

He went silent, before he answered.

“Are you sure I’m the one who’s not real?”

I don’t think I have to say that I don’t talk to Matt much anymore. The doctors are right. Talking to them doesn’t help.

So yeah, doctors… Drugs, hospitals. It wasn’t always like this. Things used to be softer, quieter. A bird that seemed out of place, a stranger that was taller than he should be. My hallucinations didn’t manifest as boys my age that could tell me exactly when my parents would come up to my room, or predict what I was going to have for dinner. I didn’t use to see Matt. Or the monsters.

I said there’s a man at the end of my bed. And there is. He’s not really a man, at least not a person. But I can see him now.

His long fingers scrapping the end of the wood frame. A small dent caused by his endless scratching.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

He looks at me. Never moving. Always staring.

He looks hungry.

I see other things now. Other creatures that are impossible. Monsters that go bump in the night and tell me things no one should know.

There was a “thing” in the lake behind my house. Calls itself a Näcken. I can’t pronounce it well, so I just called it Nixie.

Nixie is a trickster. It tries to constantly get me to enter the lake, tells me the water is warm, that wet feet feel best.

It’s almost endearing how ineffective it is. I understand Nixie isn’t real. It doesn’t stop it from trying.

“Come in the water.” It taunts me.

Its lips flap weirdly with a strange reptilian look to them. Most of the time Nixie is mouth-deep inside the water. I don’t pay much mind to it. If my life wasn’t so sad, I’d laugh.

“Join me.” It continues.

I largely ignore it. But one day he said something strange.

“You forgot what you did, didn’t you?”

Forgot what I did? Something about that messed with me. I’d usually ignore anything Nixie would say, but this felt out of character. Forget what? What was it talking about?

It rings true to me, because I do have blackouts. Comes with the package of being mentally altered, I guess. Is Nixie talking about that?

Did I do something and black out?

Did I forget?

It’s probably just another trick. Nixie is a part of my mind, so it knows this. Probably using my own thoughts to try to trick me into getting into the water.

But… if Nixie is just a hallucination. What does it know about what I did? Shouldn’t I know too?

Does this mean it’s… real?

I stop myself from having these thoughts. I seek refuge, a comfortable place where I can be alone with myself.

It’s getting rarer these days.

I said things used to be softer, quieter. I sort of lied. There wasn’t so much mental abuse in my past as much as physical abuse.

My parents.

They softened up over the years. A rare blessing, honestly. When I was younger, my father drank. A lot. And my mother cursed her life and didn’t seem to care much about my existence.

They went through an upwards shift as my mental health went down a downwards spiral. They might not be the best people, but they try.

I guess seeing their only son beg for help against the “monsters”, made them shift their perspective. They became more caring.

They’re not perfect. Dad still argues, but less. He stopped drinking. AA solved that issue.

My mom grew more caring and thoughtful too. She’s still the same woman as before. She’s always miserable on a Monday and can’t stand drunks. But her meals are warmer now, and her smile is fuller.

Sometimes I wonder if they put on a show for me, or if I’m really the only person who can’t get better.

So, I keep going to school and living my life, but in the corner of my eye, I keep seeing Matt. Telling me things.

Things he shouldn’t know.

“Your mom worries about you.” He claims.

Yeah, that’s not much of a stretch. I know that already.

“She cries softly over what you did.”

Did what? Why do they keep mentioning that?

“They didn’t use to be like that.”

At this point, Matt is torturous more than the quirky little hallucination that I could tolerate. I try not to be alone with him.

My parents, my school friends, Mrs. Penton. I’ll go to anyone to avoid listening to him. He’s a constant reminder that something is shifting, something is changing, and I don’t know what.

I guess I should mention Mrs. Penton. She’s a sweet old lady that lives down the street. I used to go there and have some of her pecan pies. They were delicious. I would go to her, tell her about my problems, stay with her a bit. We would talk about me, talk about her. Whatever it might be.

She was old, probably someone’s grandma, but they never visited.

Sucks for them. More pie for me.

I feel bad for her. So, I keep her company, but honestly, she’s the one keeping me company. Sure, I have friends at school, but they don’t… We don’t talk about these things. Can’t expect a bunch of fifteen-year-olds to be serious about this.

But Mrs. Penton is nice. She’s like my estranged grandma. I talk about my parents and I talk about my hallucinations. She knows I’m mentally “different”, but she doesn’t care. What sweet old lady would?

Sometimes she isn’t all there mentally. So, I guess that’s relatable.

I remember one day when I was eating at her house, asking her about family.

“Why does no one visit you?” I asked.

“Ah… My boys have their own life now. They’re too busy to visit their old mom.”

I bit down on the pie, somewhat outraged.

“I wouldn’t stop visiting you if I was your son. Being older is not an excuse.”

“Thank you dear. You’re as sweet as pecan pie” She replies.

She pinches my cheeks. It hurts in a good way. A reassuring way.

I remember a few years ago when my parents would argue and when my visions were rare and few between. I remember what a shitty kid I was. Violent, aggressive. Angry.

Seeing Mrs. Penton living on her own, alone and content, makes me think that maybe even I can get better. I used to be violent, now I’m just sick. It’s a more honorable problem to have.

And someday, if I’m cured, if I get better, maybe I’ll enjoy life with a fuller smile. The pecan pie will taste sweeter.

I tell her about my day and she tells me hers. I tell her my… “visions” are getting stranger, that they can tell the future. She hears me out and is left confused as to what to do.

She knows I’m just venting.

“I’m sure you’ll get better, honey. Just don’t give up.” She says, the tone of her voice is warm.

I feel like I could even blush.

“Thanks, Mrs. Penton.” I said with my mouth full of pie.

“You should run along home, honey. Your mom is waiting for you.”

“Yeah, sure Mrs. P. I’ll see you later.” I reply.

She gives me a hug and pulls me closer one last time.

“Don’t worry about it honey. You’ll get better. The monsters or Matt can’t hurt you. Have a safe trip home.”

I get embarrassed. I live so close by. What trip? It’s barely walking dist…

Wait what did she say? I pause eerily at her comment.

“How do you know his name is Matt?” I ask.

I’ve talked to Mrs. Penton about everything and anything. But I don’t give her the names of the hallucinations, I don’t want to validate them.

Another chilling thought occurs to me.

“How do you know my mom is waiting at my house?”

A cold smile is much deeper than a fake one. One that brings malice and betrayal.

That’s the smile I saw on Mrs. Penton’s face, before my entire world was shrouded in darkness and I passed out.

Darkness.

It thumped my entire being awake.

When I woke up, I was alone. In the middle of a field.

There was something in my hand.

I stood up confused and dazed. I opened my hand and looked. I didn’t understand what I was looking at.

Have you ever tasted mud?

The soil beneath your feet?

When I sensed my lips and mouth full of earth, I started throwing up. I wheezed and I heaved what I swallowed only minutes ago. The delicious “pecan pie” came hurling from my mouth back to the ground it belongs to. A worm runs away serendipitously from the dislocated earth.

I’m such a fucking idiot.

Of course, Mrs. Penton isn’t real. How could she be? Why would I expect anything good to happen in my life? Why would I expect a sanctuary?

She’s gone. She was never real.

I go back home. I’m slouched over, depressed, manic.

I see them around me. Monsters of all shapes and sizes. Standing on rooftops and standing on the street.

They’re laughing. They’re laughing at me.

Laughing at how stupid I was that I was tricked again by my own mind.

I…I… want to cry.

They’re right. Why do I even try? I know I’m not supposed to know peace.

I get home and I fall on my bed. A single tear forms a sickening feeling in my stomach.

It’s rage, frustration. I want to yell more than I want to cry.

Matt sits there looking at me. A small smirk on his face. I can’t see it with my eyes, but I can feel it.

I wish he was real. I’d punch him.

I’d kill him if I had the chance.

“Your mom is going to call you.” He predicts.

Not long after.

“Chris, come down! It’s time to eat!”

God damn it. How does he know?

I’m enraged. I get out of my bed and confront Matt. I demand answers. He doesn’t answer.

I say fuck it. I’ll go talk to Nixie, maybe it knows something.

Matt’s expressions shifted a little. He seems worried.

“Don’t go talk to Nixie. Don’t go near him.” He says.

What? Is he concerned? Concerned about me? Concerned about another fucking hallucination like him? Why?

Why does he care? What is this? Civil war between hallucinations now? I tell him to fuck off before I storm out of the room.

“You’re all the same thing, Matt. Fuck off.”

He just looks at me perplexed.

“You really don’t remember do you?”

The same shit Nixie said. What is wrong with them? They can fuck off with their cryptic messages.

I go down to the kitchen. Sit at the table where my mother just cooked me a meal. I look it over, the enticing aromas luring me in a closer.

A foreign hand touches the plate, one that I’m familiar with.

There’s a creature in the kitchen pushing the plate towards me. Presenting it as its own creation. It’s a hallucination that’s been here for some months now. A weird feminine shape that has no face and a slim figure. I’ve grown to hate these things. I hate these hallucinations.

I ignore it and start eating.

I tell my mother about what happened with Mrs. Penton. I hold in a hiccup that would prelude a wave of tears.

My mother looks at me. Her smile really is getting warmer. She comforts me.

“It’s a beautiful day, let’s go shopping.” She tells me.

I see Matt in the corner of my eye. He’s just watching me. He seems to be waiting for something.

I eat the real food placed in front of me. A weak palate cleanser for the mud I had in my mouth just moments ago.

A beautiful day? There’s nothing beautiful about today. This is probably the worst Monday of my entire life.

I pause. Today. Today is Monday.

I look at Matt. And then I look at my mother. Cheery and happy.

He’s standing there. Right in front of me. What does he want? What do they all want?!

It can’t be…

There’s a burning scenario in the back of my head. It presses against my skull and crushes my spirit. The day I found out Mrs. Penton wasn’t real was the day my mind decided to travel the path I had always avoided.

“Mom.”

“Yes, honey?”

“Is Matt real?”

She stops herself. Hesitating. Her eyes drifting around the room quietly and steadily. But Matt didn’t move. He just stared at my mother. Unblinking.

“Of course not, honey.” She responds.

Of course, not… That would be impossible. Matt is not real. I’m sure of that. But something was still scratching the back of my head. It left a burning question in my head. A sacrilege, something that I honestly regret saying.

I remember that day well. It was a Monday. I open my mouth and let out.

“Mom, are you real?”

I saw my mother smile.

She stood silently. Her face static.

A smile so wide and so impossible that I swear I saw the outlines of her mouth leave her face. Ungodly, and unholy. I screamed, consumed in the fear and confusion of the moment. And then there was darkness.

A darkness that enveloped me. I begin to remember.

I remember the time before the monsters. Before they showed up in my life. Every wandering creature, every impossible entity. I remember all the yelling, the arguments and the hatred.

The vile, hot hatred between my parents. How bad it was…

How could I have forgotten?

I finally understood Matt.

My father never stopped drinking. And my mother, she never cared about me. They abused me physically. Every day, even when the visions were weak and my mind was sound.

They didn’t get better. Everything was getting worse. And I was still the same shitty violent child. I remembered the day I was pushed by my father and banged my head. How my mother just looked at me without caring. And how I noticed the knife that was near me.

That’s when I charged at my father.

My mother screamed as father fell. And then I turned it on her.

Now I’m alone. I confessed to what I did. I was arrested and put in a facility for mentally deranged children.

I get it now.

Matt isn’t real. And neither is anyone else.

I killed them all.

They put me in a psych ward and they have me write this. It’s supposed to self-help. I guess they go easier on kids that have mental issues and kill their parents.

I’m serving my sentence for my crime, while they’re doing what they can to bring my mind back to reality.

To where the world really is. The best drugs and proper therapies.

I know now none of them are real. My parents, Matt, the old lady down the road that used to make me pecan pies. None of them. They were all stories. Comfortable lies to keep myself going.

Lies to make me forget what I actually did.

Of course, they knew. Of course, they all knew what was happening. They’re all part of the same hallucination. The same fever dream I’ve had for years.

As my hallucinated mom was cooking dinner, my hallucinated “friend” knew what she was doing.

Because they’re part of the same system. The same mind. Me.

The doctors are helpful. They tell me what’s real and tell me what’s not. And I don’t see them anymore. All the people that I thought were real in my life are gone. But at least I know the truth.

I put my pencil down and scream.

WHY!?

I did everything they told me! I take the drugs; I do the treatments! I confess, I accept what I did!

So why!? WHY? Why is this still happening?!

How is it doing this?! HOW?!

I DON’T SEE MATT! I DON’T SEE MY PARENTS ANYMORE! SO WHY!?

Why do I still see the man at the end of my bed!?

Ever since I was a kid, I hated hospitals. The smell, the waiting. It’s awful.

It doesn’t help that some of my worst memories are in a hospital. My grandfather dying, my father’s heart attack. There really are no redeeming qualities to these places, I guess.

I suppose that makes it weird that I decided to pursue a career in medicine. I mean, sure, a lot of bad is associated with hospitals, but there’s a lot of good as well. Here I can help people, I can make a difference.

There’s a hospital in my town that’s…. unusual. Once I got my degree, it was the obvious place to work.

It’s a small place but the money was good and it was close by. So much so that I don’t even have to take my car.

I’d heard the rumors in town about the place, but not all of them. And I didn’t believe them.

I mean, who could?

They saw off people’s arms when they get an infection? There’s waiting times that stretch on decades?

I mean it was just really silly shit. Impossible, really.

Then I started my first day.

Let me make something clear. I’m a normal guy, and I’m also a normal GP. There’s nothing wrong in my town, and I’m not a crazy person.

But this hospital… This fucking place. I had to leave.

The first day I worked there, I was just put in an office to do regular checkups. Some coughs, some sneezing. Basic stuff. You mostly diagnose basic things or you forward them to some other specialty or order some tests.

It was a pretty average day but right near the end, an old woman came in. This is how I remember the conversation.

“Good morning. Mrs. Penton.”

“Hello, doctor.”

“So how can I help you?”

“Well… one of the doctors told me to come here to get my prescription.”

“One of the doctors? Who?”

“I….”

“What’s the medication called? Do you remember?”

“I don’t remember no… It’s hard to remember things when you’re this old, honey. It’s those red pills.”

“Red pills? Okay, let me just check your file then.”

“NO!”.

She grabbed my hand when she said that.

“No need to check that, honey. Just give me the pills.”

At this point, this old fragile woman, and I do mean fragile, was holding my hand without moving. She looked crazy. Her eyes, they started changing color. I can’t really describe it.

I was “saved” when a colleague of mine happened to come in and saw the conflict. He just took a look at the old lady and looked back at me.

“Astrozome?” he simply said.

The old lady almost jumped up at him in excitement, yelling “Yes!”. He simply jotted something down in a note and sent her on her merry way.

I was left dumbfounded.

“New here?” he turned back asking me.

“Yeah? What the hell was that?”

“She has acute reditis. Now you know.”

He picked up the extra equipment he wanted from my room and left.

I looked up “Astrozome” or “reditis” and I didn’t find anything online or heard about in any other medical setting. But there it was in my hospital computer. An option for “Astrozome”. Whatever it is.

It doesn’t list any active substances. It just says “red pills” and lists a dosage. This is where I started getting suspicious.

I assumed maybe that old lady was just some drug addict. Maybe hooked up on opioids. If that red pill was a placebo, I guess that could explain it. But that would be highly unethical and probably illegal.

There was something wrong with Mrs. Penton, and I don’t know what. Her eyes, the way she grabbed me. It’s… something was wrong. She was too strong; she was stronger than me.

I look back fondly at that day. It was honestly the most normal day I had in that hospital. Things got much worse.

I remember the following week when I was in my consultation room and I started hearing people running.

Now, that was fucking scary. I stepped out and saw nurses, janitors, interns and doctors were all running in one direction. They weren’t sprinting or running away from something. But they clearly wanted to get out.

I grabbed someone and just asked him what was going on. This is what he told me.

“What?! Let me go! It’s almost 8:00 P:M!” he replied.

“What? Why are you running!?”

“They forgot to set the clock backs after day light savings! It’s almost eight!”

I was confused but I left with them. I don’t work past 8:00 P.M in fact my schedule is pretty alright. I work from 9:30 A.M till like 7:00 P.M. I didn’t know this but apparently there’s an alarm that plays every day at 7:30 P.M.

Apparently, that alarm is supposed to warn people to leave. I didn’t know this because like I said I’m not there at that hour.

That’s the day I found out one of the rules of this hospital. You don’t work after eight. Not ever. It still baffles me. But I remember distinctly what the staff was yelling as we were all running away.

“The patients are getting up!”

Jesus.

The patients. That’s who we were running from. Every day everyone “runs” or leaves the hospital at exactly 8:00 P.M and the hospital gets locked up. Everyone who is left inside stays inside. Doesn’t matter if you’re a visitor, a nurse or a doctor.

I don’t know how the patients survive on their own till the next morning but they do. I… I needed the money at the time. I’m sure some other staff works the night shift.

I hope.

Everything is wrong with that hospital, as you can see. But if I could narrow it down, the things that make no sense, would be the patients, the doctors and the diseases. And I guess the insane rules.

They sort of dovetail.

I´d take low level corruption or some embezzlement honestly. Maybe some sexual harassment. But the shit that I’ve seen? It’s not normal… It’s not… possible.

You see what the patients are like so I guess I’ll talk about the doctors. I’m not sure what’s wrong with them.

My colleagues were very bizarre. The younger ones, myself included, were always stressed out but the old dogs, the ones that’ve been around the block. Those older doctors, they just don’t care.

I once had to draw blood from a patient. A woman. Seemed fairly ordinary, until I stuck the needle in.

A lot of people are scared of needles. I should know, my sister is like that. But it’s rare to see the opposite.

When I inserted the needle, she started drooling in excitement.

I’m not sure what was wrong with the woman, but she just kept shouting:
“MORE, MORE”, as I drew her blood.

Jesus Christ, what a lunatic she was. She looked disappointed when I stopped. When I brought her blood to the lab to get it tested, I was left dumbfounded staring at it. My God, it was so thick. It was like syrup.

I gave the blood to one of the lab guys. Dude just looks at me.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“It’s blood” I respond.

I don’t know if the guy was stupid or something but how much more obvious does it get? I told him I need the generic blood work. The dude just pops the vial open and starts drinking it. I’m left standing there speechless and when he turns to me and says.

“She has diabetes.”

He licked his lips.

“Type II.”

Jesus Christ. I don’t even know who I should report this to. H.R is always sick.

Before I left, I knew of a bunch of people who quit too. I remember management offering us an extra five hundred dollars in our wages to stay. I don’t know where they get their money. But I remember that they’re always understaffed.

Gee, I wonder why.

Next are the diseases.

We once had a patient infected with mold. A woman. She was… I can’t really describe it.

The mold was growing on her legs and arms. Mold exposure is supposed to only trigger allergies or, at worst, affect your lunges.

 But this woman had mold on her arms. Like visibly black mold was sprouting from her limbs.

 I was sent to her house with another colleague to gather more samples and check if the house was still livable.

The woman was old and there’s really no point sending a sick woman back to get sick again.

Once we got to her house, I saw something that I swear I still can’t understand to this day.

Have you ever seen fur up close? Like animal fur? Like some carpet made from animal fur or something made to resemble it?

When I got to this woman’s house and I saw her pitch-black wall, it took me a few minutes to accept I was looking at mold. It looked like someone glued a bear to the wall.

We tried to wash it off or take parts of it off the wall. An hour later it was back again.

This woman. This house. I really don’t understand any of it. The mold. It thinks. It moves.

When we got back to the hospital the woman was in a dire situation. Her family doctor said there was nothing we could do. So, we stopped treatment. Poor woman.

That’s not the weird part however. I swear I saw this before I left. I saw the other doctors took the mold samples we took from the house… They just took almost a pound of mold, and they were rubbing it on her.

I remember hearing them say.

“This way it won’t spread.”

I’m a coward for not speaking up. But I couldn’t handle it. Were they right? I don’t even know.

I’ve seen more new and impossible diseases here than in all my time studying. They don’t even show up in books.

There’s another disgusting disease that’s a regular at this place. They’re called “Mercury Bloom”, or more accurately Chromopustulosis.

Long story short, they are these pustules that are well… colorful. Polychromatic as the system lists it. If you ever want to be mesmerized and disgusted at the same time, come to our hospital. You’ll see a lot of them.

They’re big balls of pus that explode randomly and have shifting colors. They’d actually be quite pretty if they weren’t so disgusting.

So yeah, try to explain multicolored infections, because I certainly can’t.

If everything I described so far isn’t enough to convince anyone of how insane this place is, I’ll leave you a series of rules I’ve picked up while I worked there.

Here are a few of them:

- You must leave work before 8:00 P.M (I’ve mentioned this).

- If a patient with osteoporosis comes in the hospital, you MUST break one of their fingers. They will either be indifferent to it or thank you.

- If you decide to pray for a loved one or pray at all. It MUST be pointed south.

- If a patient comes in asking for a shot. Do NOT give him one. DON’T look at him in the eyes or talk too much with it. Just politely and firmly say no, and move on with your work. We don’t do shots. And whoever comes to ask for one, knows this already.

-Whatever happens in the hospital. You need to know one thing. If you develop some blemish or infection that looks blue. That’s it. You’re a goner. You’re donezo. We even have a saying around here.

“If it’s blue. Get out of the room.”

I keep telling them it doesn’t rhyme but they insist that it does.

There’s more but I don’t want to bore anyone with our rules.

So, as you can imagine my sanity is quite flimsy at this point. I needed the money when I came here but at this point, I just want peace of mind.

I’ve quit. I’m done working there.

I guess I should explain why.

There was an… event, that happened some days ago that made me sign my resignation. I’ve worked there for five months but enough is enough. It’s just too much.

A few days ago, there was an emergency and someone had to be operated in the E.R. I happened to be around when they did it.

It was a middle-aged man. Nothing weird about him, but he was complaining about massive pain in his abdomen.

The… attending surgeon at the time, decided to perform an emergency laparotomy. That’s basically opening your stomach right there and then.

A very stupid and dangerous idea, but he did it anyway.

There was a small crowd watching, with me in it. And we watched how over the next fifteen minutes this man had his stomach wide open and we all saw what was causing him so much pain.

I can’t describe what I saw that day. I’m not a biologist and I… It was just, impossible. What I saw doesn’t exist.

They pulled something out of his stomach.

It was long, it was black and it looked like rope. But it wasn’t just rope, it had legs.

If anyone thinks it’s insectoid legs, let me correct you by saying this thing had a feather at the end of its body. I apologize to anyone who is squeamish and had to read this, but that’s not where this story ends.

If this was just another foreign body extraction, I could maybe live with it. Ok so we have impossible parasites here. What else is new?

But I can’t accept what I saw that day.

After the removal of that “thing”. I heard the surgeon say.

“It’s old.”

“Old”? Well sure, it’s maybe a parasite at its later stages of life. Nothing bizarre there. But as I was leaving, I saw it. I saw someone bring something.

I saw as a nurse brought a bucket of cold iced water with a strange, rope like entity, swimming in it. One that was identical to the one that was removed.

And I saw as she picked it up with tweezers and gave it to the surgeon.

“This one is new.” She said.

I… I’m not a brave man. I don’t know what they did with that new “thing”. But I can guess. And if want to keep my sanity, I try not to guess too much, I try not to think about it.

So that did it for me. It broke me. So, I left.

This is like last time I’ll set foot there and hopefully this is the last time I talk about it too.

I hated that hospital. The smell, the patients. The endless hours. The impossible scenarios and gruesome deaths. I leave nothing of myself in my place. I take nothing of worth with me.

I quit. It’s over. I’m never setting foot in that place again.

All that’s left are these memories, these stories.

And the disease I got while working there.

It’s one of those multicolored pustules. Remember? I hate it. Shifting its colors playfully, it’s so impossible. I guess I never really understood how that place works.

I wish I knew, maybe it would help.

I watch the pustule on my leg shift colors ever other hour.

As it shines of green and shines of red. It makes me think of the horrible things I went through.

It reminds me of that place. It forces me to remember.

And since yesterday, it’s been shining blue.

Ever since I was a kid, I hated hospitals. The smell, the waiting. It’s awful.

It doesn’t help that some of my worst memories are in a hospital. My grandfather dying, my father’s heart attack. There really are no redeeming qualities to these places, I guess.

I suppose that makes it weird that I decided to pursue a career in medicine. I mean, sure, a lot of bad is associated with hospitals, but there’s a lot of good as well. Here I can help people, I can make a difference.

There’s a hospital in my town that’s…. unusual. Once I got my degree, it was the obvious place to work.

It’s a small place but the money was good and it was close by. So much so that I don’t even have to take my car.

I’d heard the rumors in town about the place, but not all of them. And I didn’t believe them.

I mean, who could?

They saw off people’s arms when they get an infection? There’s waiting times that stretch on decades?

I mean it was just really silly shit. Impossible, really.

Then I started my first day.

Let me make something clear. I’m a normal guy, and I’m also a normal GP. There’s nothing wrong in my town, and I’m not a crazy person.

But this hospital… This fucking place. I had to leave.

The first day I worked there, I was just put in an office to do regular checkups. Some coughs, some sneezing. Basic stuff. You mostly diagnose basic things or you forward them to some other specialty or order some tests.

It was a pretty average day but right near the end, an old woman came in. This is how I remember the conversation.

“Good morning. Mrs. Penton.”

“Hello, doctor.”

“So how can I help you?”

“Well… one of the doctors told me to come here to get my prescription.”

“One of the doctors? Who?”

“I….”

“What’s the medication called? Do you remember?”

“I don’t remember no… It’s hard to remember things when you’re this old, honey. It’s those red pills.”

“Red pills? Okay, let me just check your file then.”

“NO!”.

She grabbed my hand when she said that.

“No need to check that, honey. Just give me the pills.”

At this point, this old fragile woman, and I do mean fragile, was holding my hand without moving. She looked crazy. Her eyes, they started changing color. I can’t really describe it.

I was “saved” when a colleague of mine happened to come in and saw the conflict. He just took a look at the old lady and looked back at me.

“Astrozome?” he simply said.

The old lady almost jumped up at him in excitement, yelling “Yes!”. He simply jotted something down in a note and sent her on her merry way.

I was left dumbfounded.

“New here?” he turned back asking me.

“Yeah? What the hell was that?”

“She has acute reditis. Now you know.”

He picked up the extra equipment he wanted from my room and left.

I looked up “Astrozome” or “reditis” and I didn’t find anything online or heard about in any other medical setting. But there it was in my hospital computer. An option for “Astrozome”. Whatever it is.

It doesn’t list any active substances. It just says “red pills” and lists a dosage. This is where I started getting suspicious.

I assumed maybe that old lady was just some drug addict. Maybe hooked up on opioids. If that red pill was a placebo, I guess that could explain it. But that would be highly unethical and probably illegal.

There was something wrong with Mrs. Penton, and I don’t know what. Her eyes, the way she grabbed me. It’s… something was wrong. She was too strong; she was stronger than me.

I look back fondly at that day. It was honestly the most normal day I had in that hospital. Things got much worse.

I remember the following week when I was in my consultation room and I started hearing people running.

Now, that was fucking scary. I stepped out and saw nurses, janitors, interns and doctors were all running in one direction. They weren’t sprinting or running away from something. But they clearly wanted to get out.

I grabbed someone and just asked him what was going on. This is what he told me.

“What?! Let me go! It’s almost 8:00 P:M!” he replied.

“What? Why are you running!?”

“They forgot to set the clock backs after day light savings! It’s almost eight!”

I was confused but I left with them. I don’t work past 8:00 P.M in fact my schedule is pretty alright. I work from 9:30 A.M till like 7:00 P.M. I didn’t know this but apparently there’s an alarm that plays every day at 7:30 P.M.

Apparently, that alarm is supposed to warn people to leave. I didn’t know this because like I said I’m not there at that hour.

That’s the day I found out one of the rules of this hospital. You don’t work after eight. Not ever. It still baffles me. But I remember distinctly what the staff was yelling as we were all running away.

“The patients are getting up!”

Jesus.

The patients. That’s who we were running from. Every day everyone “runs” or leaves the hospital at exactly 8:00 P.M and the hospital gets locked up. Everyone who is left inside stays inside. Doesn’t matter if you’re a visitor, a nurse or a doctor.

I don’t know how the patients survive on their own till the next morning but they do. I… I needed the money at the time. I’m sure some other staff works the night shift.

I hope.

Everything is wrong with that hospital, as you can see. But if I could narrow it down, the things that make no sense, would be the patients, the doctors and the diseases. And I guess the insane rules.

They sort of dovetail.

I´d take low level corruption or some embezzlement honestly. Maybe some sexual harassment. But the shit that I’ve seen? It’s not normal… It’s not… possible.

You see what the patients are like so I guess I’ll talk about the doctors. I’m not sure what’s wrong with them.

My colleagues were very bizarre. The younger ones, myself included, were always stressed out but the old dogs, the ones that’ve been around the block. Those older doctors, they just don’t care.

I once had to draw blood from a patient. A woman. Seemed fairly ordinary, until I stuck the needle in.

A lot of people are scared of needles. I should know, my sister is like that. But it’s rare to see the opposite.

When I inserted the needle, she started drooling in excitement.

I’m not sure what was wrong with the woman, but she just kept shouting:
“MORE, MORE”, as I drew her blood.

Jesus Christ, what a lunatic she was. She looked disappointed when I stopped. When I brought her blood to the lab to get it tested, I was left dumbfounded staring at it. My God, it was so thick. It was like syrup.

I gave the blood to one of the lab guys. Dude just looks at me.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“It’s blood” I respond.

I don’t know if the guy was stupid or something but how much more obvious does it get? I told him I need the generic blood work. The dude just pops the vial open and starts drinking it. I’m left standing there speechless and when he turns to me and says.

“She has diabetes.”

He licked his lips.

“Type II.”

Jesus Christ. I don’t even know who I should report this to. H.R is always sick.

Before I left, I knew of a bunch of people who quit too. I remember management offering us an extra five hundred dollars in our wages to stay. I don’t know where they get their money. But I remember that they’re always understaffed.

Gee, I wonder why.

Next are the diseases.

We once had a patient infected with mold. A woman. She was… I can’t really describe it.

The mold was growing on her legs and arms. Mold exposure is supposed to only trigger allergies or, at worst, affect your lunges.

 But this woman had mold on her arms. Like visibly black mold was sprouting from her limbs.

 I was sent to her house with another colleague to gather more samples and check if the house was still livable.

The woman was old and there’s really no point sending a sick woman back to get sick again.

Once we got to her house, I saw something that I swear I still can’t understand to this day.

Have you ever seen fur up close? Like animal fur? Like some carpet made from animal fur or something made to resemble it?

When I got to this woman’s house and I saw her pitch-black wall, it took me a few minutes to accept I was looking at mold. It looked like someone glued a bear to the wall.

We tried to wash it off or take parts of it off the wall. An hour later it was back again.

This woman. This house. I really don’t understand any of it. The mold. It thinks. It moves.

When we got back to the hospital the woman was in a dire situation. Her family doctor said there was nothing we could do. So, we stopped treatment. Poor woman.

That’s not the weird part however. I swear I saw this before I left. I saw the other doctors took the mold samples we took from the house… They just took almost a pound of mold, and they were rubbing it on her.

I remember hearing them say.

“This way it won’t spread.”

I’m a coward for not speaking up. But I couldn’t handle it. Were they right? I don’t even know.

I’ve seen more new and impossible diseases here than in all my time studying. They don’t even show up in books.

There’s another disgusting disease that’s a regular at this place. They’re called “Mercury Bloom”, or more accurately Chromopustulosis.

Long story short, they are these pustules that are well… colorful. Polychromatic as the system lists it. If you ever want to be mesmerized and disgusted at the same time, come to our hospital. You’ll see a lot of them.

They’re big balls of pus that explode randomly and have shifting colors. They’d actually be quite pretty if they weren’t so disgusting.

So yeah, try to explain multicolored infections, because I certainly can’t.

If everything I described so far isn’t enough to convince anyone of how insane this place is, I’ll leave you a series of rules I’ve picked up while I worked there.

Here are a few of them:

- You must leave work before 8:00 P.M (I’ve mentioned this).

- If a patient with osteoporosis comes in the hospital, you MUST break one of their fingers. They will either be indifferent to it or thank you.

- If you decide to pray for a loved one or pray at all. It MUST be pointed south.

- If a patient comes in asking for a shot. Do NOT give him one. DON’T look at him in the eyes or talk too much with it. Just politely and firmly say no, and move on with your work. We don’t do shots. And whoever comes to ask for one, knows this already.

-Whatever happens in the hospital. You need to know one thing. If you develop some blemish or infection that looks blue. That’s it. You’re a goner. You’re donezo. We even have a saying around here.

“If it’s blue. Get out of the room.”

I keep telling them it doesn’t rhyme but they insist that it does.

There’s more but I don’t want to bore anyone with our rules.

So, as you can imagine my sanity is quite flimsy at this point. I needed the money when I came here but at this point, I just want peace of mind.

I’ve quit. I’m done working there.

I guess I should explain why.

There was an… event, that happened some days ago that made me sign my resignation. I’ve worked there for five months but enough is enough. It’s just too much.

A few days ago, there was an emergency and someone had to be operated in the E.R. I happened to be around when they did it.

It was a middle-aged man. Nothing weird about him, but he was complaining about massive pain in his abdomen.

The… attending surgeon at the time, decided to perform an emergency laparotomy. That’s basically opening your stomach right there and then.

A very stupid and dangerous idea, but he did it anyway.

There was a small crowd watching, with me in it. And we watched how over the next fifteen minutes this man had his stomach wide open and we all saw what was causing him so much pain.

I can’t describe what I saw that day. I’m not a biologist and I… It was just, impossible. What I saw doesn’t exist.

They pulled something out of his stomach.

It was long, it was black and it looked like rope. But it wasn’t just rope, it had legs.

If anyone thinks it’s insectoid legs, let me correct you by saying this thing had a feather at the end of its body. I apologize to anyone who is squeamish and had to read this, but that’s not where this story ends.

If this was just another foreign body extraction, I could maybe live with it. Ok so we have impossible parasites here. What else is new?

But I can’t accept what I saw that day.

After the removal of that “thing”. I heard the surgeon say.

“It’s old.”

“Old”? Well sure, it’s maybe a parasite at its later stages of life. Nothing bizarre there. But as I was leaving, I saw it. I saw someone bring something.

I saw as a nurse brought a bucket of cold iced water with a strange, rope like entity, swimming in it. One that was identical to the one that was removed.

And I saw as she picked it up with tweezers and gave it to the surgeon.

“This one is new.” She said.

I… I’m not a brave man. I don’t know what they did with that new “thing”. But I can guess. And if want to keep my sanity, I try not to guess too much, I try not to think about it.

So that did it for me. It broke me. So, I left.

This is like last time I’ll set foot there and hopefully this is the last time I talk about it too.

I hated that hospital. The smell, the patients. The endless hours. The impossible scenarios and gruesome deaths. I leave nothing of myself in my place. I take nothing of worth with me.

I quit. It’s over. I’m never setting foot in that place again.

All that’s left are these memories, these stories.

And the disease I got while working there.

It’s one of those multicolored pustules. Remember? I hate it. Shifting its colors playfully, it’s so impossible. I guess I never really understood how that place works.

I wish I knew, maybe it would help.

I watch the pustule on my leg shift colors ever other hour.

As it shines of green and shines of red. It makes me think of the horrible things I went through.

It reminds me of that place. It forces me to remember.

And since yesterday, it’s been shining blue.

Ever since I was a kid, I hated hospitals. The smell, the waiting. It’s awful.

It doesn’t help that some of my worst memories are in a hospital. My grandfather dying, my father’s heart attack. There really are no redeeming qualities to these places, I guess.

I suppose that makes it weird that I decided to pursue a career in medicine. I mean, sure, a lot of bad is associated with hospitals, but there’s a lot of good as well. Here I can help people, I can make a difference.

There’s a hospital in my town that’s…. unusual. Once I got my degree, it was the obvious place to work.

It’s a small place but the money was good and it was close by. So much so that I don’t even have to take my car.

I’d heard the rumors in town about the place, but not all of them. And I didn’t believe them.

I mean, who could?

They saw off people’s arms when they get an infection? There’s waiting times that stretch on decades?

I mean it was just really silly shit. Impossible, really.

Then I started my first day.

Let me make something clear. I’m a normal guy, and I’m also a normal GP. There’s nothing wrong in my town, and I’m not a crazy person.

But this hospital… This fucking place. I had to leave.

The first day I worked there, I was just put in an office to do regular checkups. Some coughs, some sneezing. Basic stuff. You mostly diagnose basic things or you forward them to some other specialty or order some tests.

It was a pretty average day but right near the end, an old woman came in. This is how I remember the conversation.

“Good morning. Mrs. Penton.”

“Hello, doctor.”

“So how can I help you?”

“Well… one of the doctors told me to come here to get my prescription.”

“One of the doctors? Who?”

“I….”

“What’s the medication called? Do you remember?”

“I don’t remember no… It’s hard to remember things when you’re this old, honey. It’s those red pills.”

“Red pills? Okay, let me just check your file then.”

“NO!”.

She grabbed my hand when she said that.

“No need to check that, honey. Just give me the pills.”

At this point, this old fragile woman, and I do mean fragile, was holding my hand without moving. She looked crazy. Her eyes, they started changing color. I can’t really describe it.

I was “saved” when a colleague of mine happened to come in and saw the conflict. He just took a look at the old lady and looked back at me.

“Astrozome?” he simply said.

The old lady almost jumped up at him in excitement, yelling “Yes!”. He simply jotted something down in a note and sent her on her merry way.

I was left dumbfounded.

“New here?” he turned back asking me.

“Yeah? What the hell was that?”

“She has acute reditis. Now you know.”

He picked up the extra equipment he wanted from my room and left.

I looked up “Astrozome” or “reditis” and I didn’t find anything online or heard about in any other medical setting. But there it was in my hospital computer. An option for “Astrozome”. Whatever it is.

It doesn’t list any active substances. It just says “red pills” and lists a dosage. This is where I started getting suspicious.

I assumed maybe that old lady was just some drug addict. Maybe hooked up on opioids. If that red pill was a placebo, I guess that could explain it. But that would be highly unethical and probably illegal.

There was something wrong with Mrs. Penton, and I don’t know what. Her eyes, the way she grabbed me. It’s… something was wrong. She was too strong; she was stronger than me.

I look back fondly at that day. It was honestly the most normal day I had in that hospital. Things got much worse.

I remember the following week when I was in my consultation room and I started hearing people running.

Now, that was fucking scary. I stepped out and saw nurses, janitors, interns and doctors were all running in one direction. They weren’t sprinting or running away from something. But they clearly wanted to get out.

I grabbed someone and just asked him what was going on. This is what he told me.

“What?! Let me go! It’s almost 8:00 P:M!” he replied.

“What? Why are you running!?”

“They forgot to set the clock backs after day light savings! It’s almost eight!”

I was confused but I left with them. I don’t work past 8:00 P.M in fact my schedule is pretty alright. I work from 9:30 A.M till like 7:00 P.M. I didn’t know this but apparently there’s an alarm that plays every day at 7:30 P.M.

Apparently, that alarm is supposed to warn people to leave. I didn’t know this because like I said I’m not there at that hour.

That’s the day I found out one of the rules of this hospital. You don’t work after eight. Not ever. It still baffles me. But I remember distinctly what the staff was yelling as we were all running away.

“The patients are getting up!”

Jesus.

The patients. That’s who we were running from. Every day everyone “runs” or leaves the hospital at exactly 8:00 P.M and the hospital gets locked up. Everyone who is left inside stays inside. Doesn’t matter if you’re a visitor, a nurse or a doctor.

I don’t know how the patients survive on their own till the next morning but they do. I… I needed the money at the time. I’m sure some other staff works the night shift.

I hope.

Everything is wrong with that hospital, as you can see. But if I could narrow it down, the things that make no sense, would be the patients, the doctors and the diseases. And I guess the insane rules.

They sort of dovetail.

I´d take low level corruption or some embezzlement honestly. Maybe some sexual harassment. But the shit that I’ve seen? It’s not normal… It’s not… possible.

You see what the patients are like so I guess I’ll talk about the doctors. I’m not sure what’s wrong with them.

My colleagues were very bizarre. The younger ones, myself included, were always stressed out but the old dogs, the ones that’ve been around the block. Those older doctors, they just don’t care.

I once had to draw blood from a patient. A woman. Seemed fairly ordinary, until I stuck the needle in.

A lot of people are scared of needles. I should know, my sister is like that. But it’s rare to see the opposite.

When I inserted the needle, she started drooling in excitement.

I’m not sure what was wrong with the woman, but she just kept shouting:
“MORE, MORE”, as I drew her blood.

Jesus Christ, what a lunatic she was. She looked disappointed when I stopped. When I brought her blood to the lab to get it tested, I was left dumbfounded staring at it. My God, it was so thick. It was like syrup.

I gave the blood to one of the lab guys. Dude just looks at me.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“It’s blood” I respond.

I don’t know if the guy was stupid or something but how much more obvious does it get? I told him I need the generic blood work. The dude just pops the vial open and starts drinking it. I’m left standing there speechless and when he turns to me and says.

“She has diabetes.”

He licked his lips.

“Type II.”

Jesus Christ. I don’t even know who I should report this to. H.R is always sick.

Before I left, I knew of a bunch of people who quit too. I remember management offering us an extra five hundred dollars in our wages to stay. I don’t know where they get their money. But I remember that they’re always understaffed.

Gee, I wonder why.

Next are the diseases.

We once had a patient infected with mold. A woman. She was… I can’t really describe it.

The mold was growing on her legs and arms. Mold exposure is supposed to only trigger allergies or, at worst, affect your lunges.

 But this woman had mold on her arms. Like visibly black mold was sprouting from her limbs.

 I was sent to her house with another colleague to gather more samples and check if the house was still livable.

The woman was old and there’s really no point sending a sick woman back to get sick again.

Once we got to her house, I saw something that I swear I still can’t understand to this day.

Have you ever seen fur up close? Like animal fur? Like some carpet made from animal fur or something made to resemble it?

When I got to this woman’s house and I saw her pitch-black wall, it took me a few minutes to accept I was looking at mold. It looked like someone glued a bear to the wall.

We tried to wash it off or take parts of it off the wall. An hour later it was back again.

This woman. This house. I really don’t understand any of it. The mold. It thinks. It moves.

When we got back to the hospital the woman was in a dire situation. Her family doctor said there was nothing we could do. So, we stopped treatment. Poor woman.

That’s not the weird part however. I swear I saw this before I left. I saw the other doctors took the mold samples we took from the house… They just took almost a pound of mold, and they were rubbing it on her.

I remember hearing them say.

“This way it won’t spread.”

I’m a coward for not speaking up. But I couldn’t handle it. Were they right? I don’t even know.

I’ve seen more new and impossible diseases here than in all my time studying. They don’t even show up in books.

There’s another disgusting disease that’s a regular at this place. They’re called “Mercury Bloom”, or more accurately Chromopustulosis.

Long story short, they are these pustules that are well… colorful. Polychromatic as the system lists it. If you ever want to be mesmerized and disgusted at the same time, come to our hospital. You’ll see a lot of them.

They’re big balls of pus that explode randomly and have shifting colors. They’d actually be quite pretty if they weren’t so disgusting.

So yeah, try to explain multicolored infections, because I certainly can’t.

If everything I described so far isn’t enough to convince anyone of how insane this place is, I’ll leave you a series of rules I’ve picked up while I worked there.

Here are a few of them:

- You must leave work before 8:00 P.M (I’ve mentioned this).

- If a patient with osteoporosis comes in the hospital, you MUST break one of their fingers. They will either be indifferent to it or thank you.

- If you decide to pray for a loved one or pray at all. It MUST be pointed south.

- If a patient comes in asking for a shot. Do NOT give him one. DON’T look at him in the eyes or talk too much with it. Just politely and firmly say no, and move on with your work. We don’t do shots. And whoever comes to ask for one, knows this already.

-Whatever happens in the hospital. You need to know one thing. If you develop some blemish or infection that looks blue. That’s it. You’re a goner. You’re donezo. We even have a saying around here.

“If it’s blue. Get out of the room.”

I keep telling them it doesn’t rhyme but they insist that it does.

There’s more but I don’t want to bore anyone with our rules.

So, as you can imagine my sanity is quite flimsy at this point. I needed the money when I came here but at this point, I just want peace of mind.

I’ve quit. I’m done working there.

I guess I should explain why.

There was an… event, that happened some days ago that made me sign my resignation. I’ve worked there for five months but enough is enough. It’s just too much.

A few days ago, there was an emergency and someone had to be operated in the E.R. I happened to be around when they did it.

It was a middle-aged man. Nothing weird about him, but he was complaining about massive pain in his abdomen.

The… attending surgeon at the time, decided to perform an emergency laparotomy. That’s basically opening your stomach right there and then.

A very stupid and dangerous idea, but he did it anyway.

There was a small crowd watching, with me in it. And we watched how over the next fifteen minutes this man had his stomach wide open and we all saw what was causing him so much pain.

I can’t describe what I saw that day. I’m not a biologist and I… It was just, impossible. What I saw doesn’t exist.

They pulled something out of his stomach.

It was long, it was black and it looked like rope. But it wasn’t just rope, it had legs.

If anyone thinks it’s insectoid legs, let me correct you by saying this thing had a feather at the end of its body. I apologize to anyone who is squeamish and had to read this, but that’s not where this story ends.

If this was just another foreign body extraction, I could maybe live with it. Ok so we have impossible parasites here. What else is new?

But I can’t accept what I saw that day.

After the removal of that “thing”. I heard the surgeon say.

“It’s old.”

“Old”? Well sure, it’s maybe a parasite at its later stages of life. Nothing bizarre there. But as I was leaving, I saw it. I saw someone bring something.

I saw as a nurse brought a bucket of cold iced water with a strange, rope like entity, swimming in it. One that was identical to the one that was removed.

And I saw as she picked it up with tweezers and gave it to the surgeon.

“This one is new.” She said.

I… I’m not a brave man. I don’t know what they did with that new “thing”. But I can guess. And if want to keep my sanity, I try not to guess too much, I try not to think about it.

So that did it for me. It broke me. So, I left.

This is like last time I’ll set foot there and hopefully this is the last time I talk about it too.

I hated that hospital. The smell, the patients. The endless hours. The impossible scenarios and gruesome deaths. I leave nothing of myself in my place. I take nothing of worth with me.

I quit. It’s over. I’m never setting foot in that place again.

All that’s left are these memories, these stories.

And the disease I got while working there.

It’s one of those multicolored pustules. Remember? I hate it. Shifting its colors playfully, it’s so impossible. I guess I never really understood how that place works.

I wish I knew, maybe it would help.

I watch the pustule on my leg shift colors ever other hour.

As it shines of green and shines of red. It makes me think of the horrible things I went through.

It reminds me of that place. It forces me to remember.

And since yesterday, it’s been shining blue.

Ever since I was a kid, I hated hospitals. The smell, the waiting. It’s awful.

It doesn’t help that some of my worst memories are in a hospital. My grandfather dying, my father’s heart attack. There really are no redeeming qualities to these places, I guess.

I suppose that makes it weird that I decided to pursue a career in medicine. I mean, sure, a lot of bad is associated with hospitals, but there’s a lot of good as well. Here I can help people, I can make a difference.

There’s a hospital in my town that’s…. unusual. Once I got my degree, it was the obvious place to work.

It’s a small place but the money was good and it was close by. So much so that I don’t even have to take my car.

I’d heard the rumors in town about the place, but not all of them. And I didn’t believe them.

I mean, who could?

They saw off people’s arms when they get an infection? There’s waiting times that stretch on decades?

I mean it was just really silly shit. Impossible, really.

Then I started my first day.

Let me make something clear. I’m a normal guy, and I’m also a normal GP. There’s nothing wrong in my town, and I’m not a crazy person.

But this hospital… This fucking place. I had to leave.

The first day I worked there, I was just put in an office to do regular checkups. Some coughs, some sneezing. Basic stuff. You mostly diagnose basic things or you forward them to some other specialty or order some tests.

It was a pretty average day but right near the end, an old woman came in. This is how I remember the conversation.

“Good morning. Mrs. Penton.”

“Hello, doctor.”

“So how can I help you?”

“Well… one of the doctors told me to come here to get my prescription.”

“One of the doctors? Who?”

“I….”

“What’s the medication called? Do you remember?”

“I don’t remember no… It’s hard to remember things when you’re this old, honey. It’s those red pills.”

“Red pills? Okay, let me just check your file then.”

“NO!”.

She grabbed my hand when she said that.

“No need to check that, honey. Just give me the pills.”

At this point, this old fragile woman, and I do mean fragile, was holding my hand without moving. She looked crazy. Her eyes, they started changing color. I can’t really describe it.

I was “saved” when a colleague of mine happened to come in and saw the conflict. He just took a look at the old lady and looked back at me.

“Astrozome?” he simply said.

The old lady almost jumped up at him in excitement, yelling “Yes!”. He simply jotted something down in a note and sent her on her merry way.

I was left dumbfounded.

“New here?” he turned back asking me.

“Yeah? What the hell was that?”

“She has acute reditis. Now you know.”

He picked up the extra equipment he wanted from my room and left.

I looked up “Astrozome” or “reditis” and I didn’t find anything online or heard about in any other medical setting. But there it was in my hospital computer. An option for “Astrozome”. Whatever it is.

It doesn’t list any active substances. It just says “red pills” and lists a dosage. This is where I started getting suspicious.

I assumed maybe that old lady was just some drug addict. Maybe hooked up on opioids. If that red pill was a placebo, I guess that could explain it. But that would be highly unethical and probably illegal.

There was something wrong with Mrs. Penton, and I don’t know what. Her eyes, the way she grabbed me. It’s… something was wrong. She was too strong; she was stronger than me.

I look back fondly at that day. It was honestly the most normal day I had in that hospital. Things got much worse.

I remember the following week when I was in my consultation room and I started hearing people running.

Now, that was fucking scary. I stepped out and saw nurses, janitors, interns and doctors were all running in one direction. They weren’t sprinting or running away from something. But they clearly wanted to get out.

I grabbed someone and just asked him what was going on. This is what he told me.

“What?! Let me go! It’s almost 8:00 P:M!” he replied.

“What? Why are you running!?”

“They forgot to set the clock backs after day light savings! It’s almost eight!”

I was confused but I left with them. I don’t work past 8:00 P.M in fact my schedule is pretty alright. I work from 9:30 A.M till like 7:00 P.M. I didn’t know this but apparently there’s an alarm that plays every day at 7:30 P.M.

Apparently, that alarm is supposed to warn people to leave. I didn’t know this because like I said I’m not there at that hour.

That’s the day I found out one of the rules of this hospital. You don’t work after eight. Not ever. It still baffles me. But I remember distinctly what the staff was yelling as we were all running away.

“The patients are getting up!”

Jesus.

The patients. That’s who we were running from. Every day everyone “runs” or leaves the hospital at exactly 8:00 P.M and the hospital gets locked up. Everyone who is left inside stays inside. Doesn’t matter if you’re a visitor, a nurse or a doctor.

I don’t know how the patients survive on their own till the next morning but they do. I… I needed the money at the time. I’m sure some other staff works the night shift.

I hope.

Everything is wrong with that hospital, as you can see. But if I could narrow it down, the things that make no sense, would be the patients, the doctors and the diseases. And I guess the insane rules.

They sort of dovetail.

I´d take low level corruption or some embezzlement honestly. Maybe some sexual harassment. But the shit that I’ve seen? It’s not normal… It’s not… possible.

You see what the patients are like so I guess I’ll talk about the doctors. I’m not sure what’s wrong with them.

My colleagues were very bizarre. The younger ones, myself included, were always stressed out but the old dogs, the ones that’ve been around the block. Those older doctors, they just don’t care.

I once had to draw blood from a patient. A woman. Seemed fairly ordinary, until I stuck the needle in.

A lot of people are scared of needles. I should know, my sister is like that. But it’s rare to see the opposite.

When I inserted the needle, she started drooling in excitement.

I’m not sure what was wrong with the woman, but she just kept shouting:
“MORE, MORE”, as I drew her blood.

Jesus Christ, what a lunatic she was. She looked disappointed when I stopped. When I brought her blood to the lab to get it tested, I was left dumbfounded staring at it. My God, it was so thick. It was like syrup.

I gave the blood to one of the lab guys. Dude just looks at me.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“It’s blood” I respond.

I don’t know if the guy was stupid or something but how much more obvious does it get? I told him I need the generic blood work. The dude just pops the vial open and starts drinking it. I’m left standing there speechless and when he turns to me and says.

“She has diabetes.”

He licked his lips.

“Type II.”

Jesus Christ. I don’t even know who I should report this to. H.R is always sick.

Before I left, I knew of a bunch of people who quit too. I remember management offering us an extra five hundred dollars in our wages to stay. I don’t know where they get their money. But I remember that they’re always understaffed.

Gee, I wonder why.

Next are the diseases.

We once had a patient infected with mold. A woman. She was… I can’t really describe it.

The mold was growing on her legs and arms. Mold exposure is supposed to only trigger allergies or, at worst, affect your lunges.

 But this woman had mold on her arms. Like visibly black mold was sprouting from her limbs.

 I was sent to her house with another colleague to gather more samples and check if the house was still livable.

The woman was old and there’s really no point sending a sick woman back to get sick again.

Once we got to her house, I saw something that I swear I still can’t understand to this day.

Have you ever seen fur up close? Like animal fur? Like some carpet made from animal fur or something made to resemble it?

When I got to this woman’s house and I saw her pitch-black wall, it took me a few minutes to accept I was looking at mold. It looked like someone glued a bear to the wall.

We tried to wash it off or take parts of it off the wall. An hour later it was back again.

This woman. This house. I really don’t understand any of it. The mold. It thinks. It moves.

When we got back to the hospital the woman was in a dire situation. Her family doctor said there was nothing we could do. So, we stopped treatment. Poor woman.

That’s not the weird part however. I swear I saw this before I left. I saw the other doctors took the mold samples we took from the house… They just took almost a pound of mold, and they were rubbing it on her.

I remember hearing them say.

“This way it won’t spread.”

I’m a coward for not speaking up. But I couldn’t handle it. Were they right? I don’t even know.

I’ve seen more new and impossible diseases here than in all my time studying. They don’t even show up in books.

There’s another disgusting disease that’s a regular at this place. They’re called “Mercury Bloom”, or more accurately Chromopustulosis.

Long story short, they are these pustules that are well… colorful. Polychromatic as the system lists it. If you ever want to be mesmerized and disgusted at the same time, come to our hospital. You’ll see a lot of them.

They’re big balls of pus that explode randomly and have shifting colors. They’d actually be quite pretty if they weren’t so disgusting.

So yeah, try to explain multicolored infections, because I certainly can’t.

If everything I described so far isn’t enough to convince anyone of how insane this place is, I’ll leave you a series of rules I’ve picked up while I worked there.

Here are a few of them:

- You must leave work before 8:00 P.M (I’ve mentioned this).

- If a patient with osteoporosis comes in the hospital, you MUST break one of their fingers. They will either be indifferent to it or thank you.

- If you decide to pray for a loved one or pray at all. It MUST be pointed south.

- If a patient comes in asking for a shot. Do NOT give him one. DON’T look at him in the eyes or talk too much with it. Just politely and firmly say no, and move on with your work. We don’t do shots. And whoever comes to ask for one, knows this already.

-Whatever happens in the hospital. You need to know one thing. If you develop some blemish or infection that looks blue. That’s it. You’re a goner. You’re donezo. We even have a saying around here.

“If it’s blue. Get out of the room.”

I keep telling them it doesn’t rhyme but they insist that it does.

There’s more but I don’t want to bore anyone with our rules.

So, as you can imagine my sanity is quite flimsy at this point. I needed the money when I came here but at this point, I just want peace of mind.

I’ve quit. I’m done working there.

I guess I should explain why.

There was an… event, that happened some days ago that made me sign my resignation. I’ve worked there for five months but enough is enough. It’s just too much.

A few days ago, there was an emergency and someone had to be operated in the E.R. I happened to be around when they did it.

It was a middle-aged man. Nothing weird about him, but he was complaining about massive pain in his abdomen.

The… attending surgeon at the time, decided to perform an emergency laparotomy. That’s basically opening your stomach right there and then.

A very stupid and dangerous idea, but he did it anyway.

There was a small crowd watching, with me in it. And we watched how over the next fifteen minutes this man had his stomach wide open and we all saw what was causing him so much pain.

I can’t describe what I saw that day. I’m not a biologist and I… It was just, impossible. What I saw doesn’t exist.

They pulled something out of his stomach.

It was long, it was black and it looked like rope. But it wasn’t just rope, it had legs.

If anyone thinks it’s insectoid legs, let me correct you by saying this thing had a feather at the end of its body. I apologize to anyone who is squeamish and had to read this, but that’s not where this story ends.

If this was just another foreign body extraction, I could maybe live with it. Ok so we have impossible parasites here. What else is new?

But I can’t accept what I saw that day.

After the removal of that “thing”. I heard the surgeon say.

“It’s old.”

“Old”? Well sure, it’s maybe a parasite at its later stages of life. Nothing bizarre there. But as I was leaving, I saw it. I saw someone bring something.

I saw as a nurse brought a bucket of cold iced water with a strange, rope like entity, swimming in it. One that was identical to the one that was removed.

And I saw as she picked it up with tweezers and gave it to the surgeon.

“This one is new.” She said.

I… I’m not a brave man. I don’t know what they did with that new “thing”. But I can guess. And if want to keep my sanity, I try not to guess too much, I try not to think about it.

So that did it for me. It broke me. So, I left.

This is like last time I’ll set foot there and hopefully this is the last time I talk about it too.

I hated that hospital. The smell, the patients. The endless hours. The impossible scenarios and gruesome deaths. I leave nothing of myself in my place. I take nothing of worth with me.

I quit. It’s over. I’m never setting foot in that place again.

All that’s left are these memories, these stories.

And the disease I got while working there.

It’s one of those multicolored pustules. Remember? I hate it. Shifting its colors playfully, it’s so impossible. I guess I never really understood how that place works.

I wish I knew, maybe it would help.

I watch the pustule on my leg shift colors ever other hour.

As it shines of green and shines of red. It makes me think of the horrible things I went through.

It reminds me of that place. It forces me to remember.

And since yesterday, it’s been shining blue.

Ever since I was a kid, I hated hospitals. The smell, the waiting. It’s awful.

It doesn’t help that some of my worst memories are in a hospital. My grandfather dying, my father’s heart attack. There really are no redeeming qualities to these places, I guess.

I suppose that makes it weird that I decided to pursue a career in medicine. I mean, sure, a lot of bad is associated with hospitals, but there’s a lot of good as well. Here I can help people, I can make a difference.

There’s a hospital in my town that’s…. unusual. Once I got my degree, it was the obvious place to work.

It’s a small place but the money was good and it was close by. So much so that I don’t even have to take my car.

I’d heard the rumors in town about the place, but not all of them. And I didn’t believe them.

I mean, who could?

They saw off people’s arms when they get an infection? There’s waiting times that stretch on decades?

I mean it was just really silly shit. Impossible, really.

Then I started my first day.

Let me make something clear. I’m a normal guy, and I’m also a normal GP. There’s nothing wrong in my town, and I’m not a crazy person.

But this hospital… This fucking place. I had to leave.

The first day I worked there, I was just put in an office to do regular checkups. Some coughs, some sneezing. Basic stuff. You mostly diagnose basic things or you forward them to some other specialty or order some tests.

It was a pretty average day but right near the end, an old woman came in. This is how I remember the conversation.

“Good morning. Mrs. Penton.”

“Hello, doctor.”

“So how can I help you?”

“Well… one of the doctors told me to come here to get my prescription.”

“One of the doctors? Who?”

“I….”

“What’s the medication called? Do you remember?”

“I don’t remember no… It’s hard to remember things when you’re this old, honey. It’s those red pills.”

“Red pills? Okay, let me just check your file then.”

“NO!”.

She grabbed my hand when she said that.

“No need to check that, honey. Just give me the pills.”

At this point, this old fragile woman, and I do mean fragile, was holding my hand without moving. She looked crazy. Her eyes, they started changing color. I can’t really describe it.

I was “saved” when a colleague of mine happened to come in and saw the conflict. He just took a look at the old lady and looked back at me.

“Astrozome?” he simply said.

The old lady almost jumped up at him in excitement, yelling “Yes!”. He simply jotted something down in a note and sent her on her merry way.

I was left dumbfounded.

“New here?” he turned back asking me.

“Yeah? What the hell was that?”

“She has acute reditis. Now you know.”

He picked up the extra equipment he wanted from my room and left.

I looked up “Astrozome” or “reditis” and I didn’t find anything online or heard about in any other medical setting. But there it was in my hospital computer. An option for “Astrozome”. Whatever it is.

It doesn’t list any active substances. It just says “red pills” and lists a dosage. This is where I started getting suspicious.

I assumed maybe that old lady was just some drug addict. Maybe hooked up on opioids. If that red pill was a placebo, I guess that could explain it. But that would be highly unethical and probably illegal.

There was something wrong with Mrs. Penton, and I don’t know what. Her eyes, the way she grabbed me. It’s… something was wrong. She was too strong; she was stronger than me.

I look back fondly at that day. It was honestly the most normal day I had in that hospital. Things got much worse.

I remember the following week when I was in my consultation room and I started hearing people running.

Now, that was fucking scary. I stepped out and saw nurses, janitors, interns and doctors were all running in one direction. They weren’t sprinting or running away from something. But they clearly wanted to get out.

I grabbed someone and just asked him what was going on. This is what he told me.

“What?! Let me go! It’s almost 8:00 P:M!” he replied.

“What? Why are you running!?”

“They forgot to set the clock backs after day light savings! It’s almost eight!”

I was confused but I left with them. I don’t work past 8:00 P.M in fact my schedule is pretty alright. I work from 9:30 A.M till like 7:00 P.M. I didn’t know this but apparently there’s an alarm that plays every day at 7:30 P.M.

Apparently, that alarm is supposed to warn people to leave. I didn’t know this because like I said I’m not there at that hour.

That’s the day I found out one of the rules of this hospital. You don’t work after eight. Not ever. It still baffles me. But I remember distinctly what the staff was yelling as we were all running away.

“The patients are getting up!”

Jesus.

The patients. That’s who we were running from. Every day everyone “runs” or leaves the hospital at exactly 8:00 P.M and the hospital gets locked up. Everyone who is left inside stays inside. Doesn’t matter if you’re a visitor, a nurse or a doctor.

I don’t know how the patients survive on their own till the next morning but they do. I… I needed the money at the time. I’m sure some other staff works the night shift.

I hope.

Everything is wrong with that hospital, as you can see. But if I could narrow it down, the things that make no sense, would be the patients, the doctors and the diseases. And I guess the insane rules.

They sort of dovetail.

I´d take low level corruption or some embezzlement honestly. Maybe some sexual harassment. But the shit that I’ve seen? It’s not normal… It’s not… possible.

You see what the patients are like so I guess I’ll talk about the doctors. I’m not sure what’s wrong with them.

My colleagues were very bizarre. The younger ones, myself included, were always stressed out but the old dogs, the ones that’ve been around the block. Those older doctors, they just don’t care.

I once had to draw blood from a patient. A woman. Seemed fairly ordinary, until I stuck the needle in.

A lot of people are scared of needles. I should know, my sister is like that. But it’s rare to see the opposite.

When I inserted the needle, she started drooling in excitement.

I’m not sure what was wrong with the woman, but she just kept shouting:
“MORE, MORE”, as I drew her blood.

Jesus Christ, what a lunatic she was. She looked disappointed when I stopped. When I brought her blood to the lab to get it tested, I was left dumbfounded staring at it. My God, it was so thick. It was like syrup.

I gave the blood to one of the lab guys. Dude just looks at me.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“It’s blood” I respond.

I don’t know if the guy was stupid or something but how much more obvious does it get? I told him I need the generic blood work. The dude just pops the vial open and starts drinking it. I’m left standing there speechless and when he turns to me and says.

“She has diabetes.”

He licked his lips.

“Type II.”

Jesus Christ. I don’t even know who I should report this to. H.R is always sick.

Before I left, I knew of a bunch of people who quit too. I remember management offering us an extra five hundred dollars in our wages to stay. I don’t know where they get their money. But I remember that they’re always understaffed.

Gee, I wonder why.

Next are the diseases.

We once had a patient infected with mold. A woman. She was… I can’t really describe it.

The mold was growing on her legs and arms. Mold exposure is supposed to only trigger allergies or, at worst, affect your lunges.

 But this woman had mold on her arms. Like visibly black mold was sprouting from her limbs.

 I was sent to her house with another colleague to gather more samples and check if the house was still livable.

The woman was old and there’s really no point sending a sick woman back to get sick again.

Once we got to her house, I saw something that I swear I still can’t understand to this day.

Have you ever seen fur up close? Like animal fur? Like some carpet made from animal fur or something made to resemble it?

When I got to this woman’s house and I saw her pitch-black wall, it took me a few minutes to accept I was looking at mold. It looked like someone glued a bear to the wall.

We tried to wash it off or take parts of it off the wall. An hour later it was back again.

This woman. This house. I really don’t understand any of it. The mold. It thinks. It moves.

When we got back to the hospital the woman was in a dire situation. Her family doctor said there was nothing we could do. So, we stopped treatment. Poor woman.

That’s not the weird part however. I swear I saw this before I left. I saw the other doctors took the mold samples we took from the house… They just took almost a pound of mold, and they were rubbing it on her.

I remember hearing them say.

“This way it won’t spread.”

I’m a coward for not speaking up. But I couldn’t handle it. Were they right? I don’t even know.

I’ve seen more new and impossible diseases here than in all my time studying. They don’t even show up in books.

There’s another disgusting disease that’s a regular at this place. They’re called “Mercury Bloom”, or more accurately Chromopustulosis.

Long story short, they are these pustules that are well… colorful. Polychromatic as the system lists it. If you ever want to be mesmerized and disgusted at the same time, come to our hospital. You’ll see a lot of them.

They’re big balls of pus that explode randomly and have shifting colors. They’d actually be quite pretty if they weren’t so disgusting.

So yeah, try to explain multicolored infections, because I certainly can’t.

If everything I described so far isn’t enough to convince anyone of how insane this place is, I’ll leave you a series of rules I’ve picked up while I worked there.

Here are a few of them:

- You must leave work before 8:00 P.M (I’ve mentioned this).

- If a patient with osteoporosis comes in the hospital, you MUST break one of their fingers. They will either be indifferent to it or thank you.

- If you decide to pray for a loved one or pray at all. It MUST be pointed south.

- If a patient comes in asking for a shot. Do NOT give him one. DON’T look at him in the eyes or talk too much with it. Just politely and firmly say no, and move on with your work. We don’t do shots. And whoever comes to ask for one, knows this already.

-Whatever happens in the hospital. You need to know one thing. If you develop some blemish or infection that looks blue. That’s it. You’re a goner. You’re donezo. We even have a saying around here.

“If it’s blue. Get out of the room.”

I keep telling them it doesn’t rhyme but they insist that it does.

There’s more but I don’t want to bore anyone with our rules.

So, as you can imagine my sanity is quite flimsy at this point. I needed the money when I came here but at this point, I just want peace of mind.

I’ve quit. I’m done working there.

I guess I should explain why.

There was an… event, that happened some days ago that made me sign my resignation. I’ve worked there for five months but enough is enough. It’s just too much.

A few days ago, there was an emergency and someone had to be operated in the E.R. I happened to be around when they did it.

It was a middle-aged man. Nothing weird about him, but he was complaining about massive pain in his abdomen.

The… attending surgeon at the time, decided to perform an emergency laparotomy. That’s basically opening your stomach right there and then.

A very stupid and dangerous idea, but he did it anyway.

There was a small crowd watching, with me in it. And we watched how over the next fifteen minutes this man had his stomach wide open and we all saw what was causing him so much pain.

I can’t describe what I saw that day. I’m not a biologist and I… It was just, impossible. What I saw doesn’t exist.

They pulled something out of his stomach.

It was long, it was black and it looked like rope. But it wasn’t just rope, it had legs.

If anyone thinks it’s insectoid legs, let me correct you by saying this thing had a feather at the end of its body. I apologize to anyone who is squeamish and had to read this, but that’s not where this story ends.

If this was just another foreign body extraction, I could maybe live with it. Ok so we have impossible parasites here. What else is new?

But I can’t accept what I saw that day.

After the removal of that “thing”. I heard the surgeon say.

“It’s old.”

“Old”? Well sure, it’s maybe a parasite at its later stages of life. Nothing bizarre there. But as I was leaving, I saw it. I saw someone bring something.

I saw as a nurse brought a bucket of cold iced water with a strange, rope like entity, swimming in it. One that was identical to the one that was removed.

And I saw as she picked it up with tweezers and gave it to the surgeon.

“This one is new.” She said.

I… I’m not a brave man. I don’t know what they did with that new “thing”. But I can guess. And if want to keep my sanity, I try not to guess too much, I try not to think about it.

So that did it for me. It broke me. So, I left.

This is like last time I’ll set foot there and hopefully this is the last time I talk about it too.

I hated that hospital. The smell, the patients. The endless hours. The impossible scenarios and gruesome deaths. I leave nothing of myself in my place. I take nothing of worth with me.

I quit. It’s over. I’m never setting foot in that place again.

All that’s left are these memories, these stories.

And the disease I got while working there.

It’s one of those multicolored pustules. Remember? I hate it. Shifting its colors playfully, it’s so impossible. I guess I never really understood how that place works.

I wish I knew, maybe it would help.

I watch the pustule on my leg shift colors ever other hour.

As it shines of green and shines of red. It makes me think of the horrible things I went through.

It reminds me of that place. It forces me to remember.

And since yesterday, it’s been shining blue.

There once was a girl who liked to read
She wrote some stories for all to see
She wrote with glee and wrote alone
She wrote the fates of all foretold

She wrote the stars and wrote the land
She wrote a king who had no hand
She wrote the races and all their whims
She made them fingers, the Mother's limbs

She wrote the fate of you and me
She smiled alone and laughed with glee
She's left alone, her brother gone
He eats the sun, he eats the dawn

She takes the world and makes our fate
She takes our form and then creates
Fear her coming, and fear your odds
She is not a girl; she writes the Gods

Hey guys, Chris here. Coming to the internet to try to solve a problem I have. I could really use the help.

Is anyone good at math here? I need… I need help. I need a miracle.

My sister is going to die.

I guess it’s obvious by now, but does anyone have an impossible lotto in town? One that… can kill you?

Is that exclusive to our little town in the middle of nowhere?

We’re not really supposed to talk about it to outsiders. And I can’t find anything when I look it up online. It can’t be the only one… right?

I should explain why it’s so strange and honestly horrible. There’s a small building where you can participate in this lottery.

You get one ticket per person every year. And you have a 1% chance to get a white star and a 1% to get a grey star.

If you get the white star, you win. If you get the grey star, you die.

I think you can understand what happened here.

My sister got a grey star.

So, I need to get a white star to counter it.

There’s a man who runs this lottery. He’s weird, he’s tall, he’s lanky. And he has teeth that are sharper than they should be. We call him the “Prize Master”. And he’s not someone to fuck with.

So, why do I need a white star? Well, winning is not just winning money or something. You can get, well, anything.

A car, a house, fifty million dollars. You name it. It’s not exactly that simple, but that’s the gist of it.

And if you get a white star, you can cancel someone else’s grey star.

So, I did something. I was desperate.

I did the unthinkable. But I didn’t have any doubts. I took my sister’s star.

Now I’m going to die.

You can kinda do that. Most people don’t. You can take people’s prizes, give them your win, give them your loss. You can even join prizes.

It’s… heartbreaking sometimes. There have been a fair amount of people taking other people’s losses. Dads, moms, grandpas. All dying for the mistakes of their family members.

People are so greedy, they’re so shitty. You’re quite literally gambling your life away.

I had to do that with my sister. She’s my only family. She cried a lot when I told her I took her place. What was she expecting? I didn’t play this year, or any year for that matter, so now I’m going to do it.

I need to get a white star.

That’s why I’m even posting here. To see if anyone knows some loophole or maybe there’s some math trick I can do to survive. I basically need to hit a 1 in a 100 chance to live.

I should explain something about the Prize Master. He’s not exactly a nice guy. He doesn’t make it easy.

Wins aren’t always wins. You have to properly explain what you want.

One time some dude won a white star and said he wanted all the women in town for himself.  Yes, you can wish for something like that.

Poor guy, idiot really.

He killed himself some years later. Couldn’t live with what he did.

The Prize Master gave him what he wanted. All 15% of the female population of the town to himself. Yup, all his. He got what he wanted, in a jar.

I don’t know how it’s possible to fit so many people in such a small container.

Poor guy. People almost lynched him. He killed himself a few years later. Couldn’t live with the guilt, I guess. I mean, fuck, how could you?

Even his mom went missing. I don’t think he dared to look for her in the jar.

So yeah, that should give you an idea of what kind of lottery this is. It’s risky and it’s stupid. But if you win and you don’t get on the Prize Master’s bad side, you “usually” get what you want.

I know of another woman who won a white star. She wished to be “filthy rich”.

Oh boy.

The following week people found her in her house. I don’t really want to describe how they found her.

They told me she was kneeling. Arms stretched out, trying to get all the coins off of her.

Deep inside her nostrils, they said.

God. She didn’t make it in the following days. How can you, when your body is encrusted with coins.

There’s a reason you have to be specific with what you want. You can’t just ask for something willy-nilly.

Let me give you a positive example.

Some guy once got a white star, good for him. He was highly specific.

I want a Lamborghini with V10 engine, he asks. Not a toy, not a paper cut, he wants it without taking the equivalent sum of money from his bank account, etc. etc.

He got his wish. Fancy sports car. Worth half a million, I think. Wish granted, I guess.

The guy is always struggling financially though. Do you have any idea how much insurance you have to pay for a vehicle like that? The premiums are insane.

So yeah, it’s not always horrible. That kind of life changing prize is too enticing for people in this town.

There’s one rule the Prize Master has.

Don’t win twice. That’s all you’re not allowed to do, don’t get two white stars.

We found that out the hard way.

Some guy did that once. He got himself two tickets. People do that sometimes. Increase the odds and whatnot.

Took his wife’s ticket or something, joined it together with his. He won the first time. But then he got greedy and tried again.

He won again.

I…I don’t want to explain what happened afterwards. It was just… We spent months picking pieces of him throughout town.

You don’t win twice. Not ever. It’s a bad idea.

Man, I’d love to say his wife is still grieving. But she really isn’t. The Prize Master is a brutal man, he hates double wins.

Even his wife got killed in the process. Really brutal stuff.

The people in this town suck. They really don’t help each other. They’re just obsessed over trying to win some stupid death game

Not me though. I usually don’t play. I don’t want to lose my life over trying to win some word game with some demon.

My dad wasn’t the same.

I guess I should explain something. I lied.

There aren’t just white stars and grey stars. There’s a third thing that can happen. Something so rare we don’t even know the odds.

They’re called Exceptions. If you ever find yourself with a ticket with a circle on it.

Run.

Just run.

Get out of town, take a plane, a boat, it doesn’t matter. Run. If you get a circle, you become an Exception.

That’s what happened to my dad. Our father became an Exception. That’s why my sister kept playing every year. If you get a white star, you can nullify an exception.

We could get our father back.

That’s why she played. That’s why she lost. And now I’m screwed. She’s an idiot.

I guess I should talk about what losing entails now. And what’s likely going to happen to me…

One of my friends that I went to school with lost the lottery some years ago. He was a nice kid, awkward, shy. Parents were poor, the guy just wanted a chance at life. He just wanted a bit of money to go to university.

God.

He got a grey star. I… The next few weeks with him were Hell. He was jittery, paranoid, on edge all the time. I mean, who could blame him?

Remember that I said he was shy? I was basically his only friend. And his wish to have enough money to go to university was severely twisted.

There were these things… Things he started seeing. At every corner of his eye and every time he was awake, he would tell me that these creatures. that were hidden too deep in the shadows, were always trying to get his attention. This went on for days.

 No one helped. No one could help.

Then one day he just came to me… He was smiling. The fakest smiles I’ve ever seen. He turned to me:

“Chris, I got accepted to uni. I’m going with my new friends”.

He was crying, when he told me that. Tears strolling through his wide smile. I think… I think I saw some pressure on his shoulders. Like something had it’s arms around him.

I never saw him again after that day.

He was a good kid. I think about him sometimes. I get angry. I’m angry that no one helped him, I’m angry that I didn’t help him. But it’s different now, I’m not going to lose someone else like this again.

That’s it really. I guess I’ll leave you with one more example. Another loss...

There was a guy who wished for “happiness”. He lost. What happened to him, to his kids, his dog…. God. It really is a fucked-up game.

They had to clean so much excrement.

There’s a reason we don’t wish for happiness or anything else that’s too, abstract. We wish for money, cars, houses or, well, more money. Anything material and expensive really.

You don’t want to end up like them. I guess you’d die anyways, so it doesn’t matter. But you certainly don’t want to go out like them.

I’m not going to make the same mistake as these people. I don’t want money or something conceptual. What I want is clear.

I was going to ask what my odds of winning are. Or wonder if there’s some math major that can explain some probabilistic process I haven’t thought about. One that could help me.

But I’m fucking delusional, aren’t I? There’s no saving grace, there’s nothing.

It’s just a 1% chance of winning. Like always. There’s no tricks.

I need to win, that’s it. I can’t choose to not play.

I’m joining my ticket with my sister. That way I can have my ticket directly counter hers. I’m not going to try to make a wish or get it stolen or make some other mistake. My star just needs to counter her grey star.

I need to win.

If I die then I die. At least my sister is safe.

A 1% chance that I live, and a 1% chance that I die.

Wish me luck.

 

Edit 1:

I can’t believe this. It’s impossible.

I DID IT!

I got a fucking white star! Holy shit what are the odds?

Holy crap, I am so happy. I just had to post it here! Thanks for trying or whatever, I don’t care! I’m so happy! I’m going to tell my sister.

We did it! Holy crap, we actually did it!

Catch you all later.

Chris.

 

Edit2:

I’m… I’m trying to understand what’s happening but I don’t get it. I went to my sister to show her the ticket. She was so happy…

I asked to see her ticket and she showed it to me.

I don’t understand. How could she make such a simple mistake… Couldn’t she tell them apart...?

What’s going to happen to us?

My sister… she was wrong. Her star, it isn’t grey.

It’s white.

 

Hey guys, Chris here. Coming to the internet to try to solve a problem I have. I could really use the help.

Is anyone good at math here? I need… I need help. I need a miracle.

My sister is going to die.

I guess it’s obvious by now, but does anyone have an impossible lotto in town? One that… can kill you?

Is that exclusive to our little town in the middle of nowhere?

We’re not really supposed to talk about it to outsiders. And I can’t find anything when I look it up online. It can’t be the only one… right?

I should explain why it’s so strange and honestly horrible. There’s a small building where you can participate in this lottery.

You get one ticket per person every year. And you have a 1% chance to get a white star and a 1% to get a grey star.

If you get the white star, you win. If you get the grey star, you die.

I think you can understand what happened here.

My sister got a grey star.

So, I need to get a white star to counter it.

There’s a man who runs this lottery. He’s weird, he’s tall, he’s lanky. And he has teeth that are sharper than they should be. We call him the “Prize Master”. And he’s not someone to fuck with.

So, why do I need a white star? Well, winning is not just winning money or something. You can get, well, anything.

A car, a house, fifty million dollars. You name it. It’s not exactly that simple, but that’s the gist of it.

And if you get a white star, you can cancel someone else’s grey star.

So, I did something. I was desperate.

I did the unthinkable. But I didn’t have any doubts. I took my sister’s star.

Now I’m going to die.

You can kinda do that. Most people don’t. You can take people’s prizes, give them your win, give them your loss. You can even join prizes.

It’s… heartbreaking sometimes. There have been a fair amount of people taking other people’s losses. Dads, moms, grandpas. All dying for the mistakes of their family members.

People are so greedy, they’re so shitty. You’re quite literally gambling your life away.

I had to do that with my sister. She’s my only family. She cried a lot when I told her I took her place. What was she expecting? I didn’t play this year, or any year for that matter, so now I’m going to do it.

I need to get a white star.

That’s why I’m even posting here. To see if anyone knows some loophole or maybe there’s some math trick I can do to survive. I basically need to hit a 1 in a 100 chance to live.

I should explain something about the Prize Master. He’s not exactly a nice guy. He doesn’t make it easy.

Wins aren’t always wins. You have to properly explain what you want.

One time some dude won a white star and said he wanted all the women in town for himself.  Yes, you can wish for something like that.

Poor guy, idiot really.

He killed himself some years later. Couldn’t live with what he did.

The Prize Master gave him what he wanted. All 15% of the female population of the town to himself. Yup, all his. He got what he wanted, in a jar.

I don’t know how it’s possible to fit so many people in such a small container.

Poor guy. People almost lynched him. He killed himself a few years later. Couldn’t live with the guilt, I guess. I mean, fuck, how could you?

Even his mom went missing. I don’t think he dared to look for her in the jar.

So yeah, that should give you an idea of what kind of lottery this is. It’s risky and it’s stupid. But if you win and you don’t get on the Prize Master’s bad side, you “usually” get what you want.

I know of another woman who won a white star. She wished to be “filthy rich”.

Oh boy.

The following week people found her in her house. I don’t really want to describe how they found her.

They told me she was kneeling. Arms stretched out, trying to get all the coins off of her.

Deep inside her nostrils, they said.

God. She didn’t make it in the following days. How can you, when your body is encrusted with coins.

There’s a reason you have to be specific with what you want. You can’t just ask for something willy-nilly.

Let me give you a positive example.

Some guy once got a white star, good for him. He was highly specific.

I want a Lamborghini with V10 engine, he asks. Not a toy, not a paper cut, he wants it without taking the equivalent sum of money from his bank account, etc. etc.

He got his wish. Fancy sports car. Worth half a million, I think. Wish granted, I guess.

The guy is always struggling financially though. Do you have any idea how much insurance you have to pay for a vehicle like that? The premiums are insane.

So yeah, it’s not always horrible. That kind of life changing prize is too enticing for people in this town.

There’s one rule the Prize Master has.

Don’t win twice. That’s all you’re not allowed to do, don’t get two white stars.

We found that out the hard way.

Some guy did that once. He got himself two tickets. People do that sometimes. Increase the odds and whatnot.

Took his wife’s ticket or something, joined it together with his. He won the first time. But then he got greedy and tried again.

He won again.

I…I don’t want to explain what happened afterwards. It was just… We spent months picking pieces of him throughout town.

You don’t win twice. Not ever. It’s a bad idea.

Man, I’d love to say his wife is still grieving. But she really isn’t. The Prize Master is a brutal man, he hates double wins.

Even his wife got killed in the process. Really brutal stuff.

The people in this town suck. They really don’t help each other. They’re just obsessed over trying to win some stupid death game

Not me though. I usually don’t play. I don’t want to lose my life over trying to win some word game with some demon.

My dad wasn’t the same.

I guess I should explain something. I lied.

There aren’t just white stars and grey stars. There’s a third thing that can happen. Something so rare we don’t even know the odds.

They’re called Exceptions. If you ever find yourself with a ticket with a circle on it.

Run.

Just run.

Get out of town, take a plane, a boat, it doesn’t matter. Run. If you get a circle, you become an Exception.

That’s what happened to my dad. Our father became an Exception. That’s why my sister kept playing every year. If you get a white star, you can nullify an exception.

We could get our father back.

That’s why she played. That’s why she lost. And now I’m screwed. She’s an idiot.

I guess I should talk about what losing entails now. And what’s likely going to happen to me…

One of my friends that I went to school with lost the lottery some years ago. He was a nice kid, awkward, shy. Parents were poor, the guy just wanted a chance at life. He just wanted a bit of money to go to university.

God.

He got a grey star. I… The next few weeks with him were Hell. He was jittery, paranoid, on edge all the time. I mean, who could blame him?

Remember that I said he was shy? I was basically his only friend. And his wish to have enough money to go to university was severely twisted.

There were these things… Things he started seeing. At every corner of his eye and every time he was awake, he would tell me that these creatures. that were hidden too deep in the shadows, were always trying to get his attention. This went on for days.

 No one helped. No one could help.

Then one day he just came to me… He was smiling. The fakest smiles I’ve ever seen. He turned to me:

“Chris, I got accepted to uni. I’m going with my new friends”.

He was crying, when he told me that. Tears strolling through his wide smile. I think… I think I saw some pressure on his shoulders. Like something had it’s arms around him.

I never saw him again after that day.

He was a good kid. I think about him sometimes. I get angry. I’m angry that no one helped him, I’m angry that I didn’t help him. But it’s different now, I’m not going to lose someone else like this again.

That’s it really. I guess I’ll leave you with one more example. Another loss...

There was a guy who wished for “happiness”. He lost. What happened to him, to his kids, his dog…. God. It really is a fucked-up game.

They had to clean so much excrement.

There’s a reason we don’t wish for happiness or anything else that’s too, abstract. We wish for money, cars, houses or, well, more money. Anything material and expensive really.

You don’t want to end up like them. I guess you’d die anyways, so it doesn’t matter. But you certainly don’t want to go out like them.

I’m not going to make the same mistake as these people. I don’t want money or something conceptual. What I want is clear.

I was going to ask what my odds of winning are. Or wonder if there’s some math major that can explain some probabilistic process I haven’t thought about. One that could help me.

But I’m fucking delusional, aren’t I? There’s no saving grace, there’s nothing.

It’s just a 1% chance of winning. Like always. There’s no tricks.

I need to win, that’s it. I can’t choose to not play.

I’m joining my ticket with my sister. That way I can have my ticket directly counter hers. I’m not going to try to make a wish or get it stolen or make some other mistake. My star just needs to counter her grey star.

I need to win.

If I die then I die. At least my sister is safe.

A 1% chance that I live, and a 1% chance that I die.

Wish me luck.

 

Edit 1:

I can’t believe this. It’s impossible.

I DID IT!

I got a fucking white star! Holy shit what are the odds?

Holy crap, I am so happy. I just had to post it here! Thanks for trying or whatever, I don’t care! I’m so happy! I’m going to tell my sister.

We did it! Holy crap, we actually did it!

Catch you all later.

Chris.

 

Edit2:

I’m… I’m trying to understand what’s happening but I don’t get it. I went to my sister to show her the ticket. She was so happy…

I asked to see her ticket and she showed it to me.

I don’t understand. How could she make such a simple mistake… Couldn’t she tell them apart...?

What’s going to happen to us?

My sister… she was wrong. Her star, it isn’t grey.

It’s white.