u/Waiting4MidMoon

'At the end of this game, there'll be a prize.'

The handwriting was clearly my wife's.

The post it note, green in colour, had been left on the small table in the hallway where we keep our keys and mail. I'd just come home from work, but fuck it, I was totally up for a game of adult hide and seek, or, whatever this was.

I flipped over the note to read the first clue;

'Let's make it easy, this is your first clue, the next note to find, is with your favourite blue.'

Hmm...She must mean my favourite blue hoodie I wear on my walks.

It was always hung in the same place. I searched the pockets and swiftly found the next clue, green;

'Lets make this one hard, as that one was easy, the next clue to find, is located in something cheesey.'

Okay...That's not hard at all.

I opened the fridge and...nothing. Well, nothing but food.

I stood with the fridge door open and a confused look upon my face.

Huh...

Then I noticed my walking shoes by the back door.

Ooh...Ha! Cheesey feet. Cheeky.

I smiled and closed the fridge. The note in my shoe was yellow;

'I know where these have been, last night you were out 'til three, The next clue to find, is upstairs with me.'

My smile disappeared.

My mind began to race, my legs began to pace. My head was sweating and my heart was thumping.

The note said she was upstairs...

At the very top step, I found another post it note, yellow;

'What you're about to see, may be quite a shock, come into our bedroom, there's no need to knock...'

My heart was pounding uncontrollably.

I slowly pushed the door open with a long and drawn out squeak, and on our bed, there she laid; bloodsoaked sheets and a nice sharp blade.

At the end of the bed, written on both sides, a post it note, red;

'I thought you might enjoy this, seeming as you like childish games, I followed you last night, and watched with a shameful gaze.

You said that you go walking, that it helps to clear your head, when really you're just a cheating man, and I know where you've been instead.

After a lot of thinking, I came up with this plan, a way to scare you shitless, and make you half a man.'

She then sat up straight from the fake blood scene, and held the knife between my legs.

"I've got you now you bastard, there's nothing you can do. But you did make it to the end, so here's your prize..."

slice

"...Fuck you."

You think it happens so fast. Within seconds. That's what the TV always shows us, right?

Wrong.

It takes soo long.

At first, I thought I'd only have to wait a few minutes. Ten, maybe. Twenty, tops.

But then twenty minutes became an hour.

An hour became two.

I keep checking the clock, even though it doesn't help.

2:14.

2:37.

3:06.

3:41.

Time moves differently when you're waiting for something.

You start noticing things you normally wouldn't.

The tiny crack in the ceiling above me. A loose thread on the sleeve of my jumper. The second hand on the clock seeming to hesitate before each tick.

Stupid things.

Anything to keep your mind occupied.

I've made three cups of coffee. Haven't finished any of them.

The first went cold.

The second tasted awful.

The third is still sitting beside me, cold and forgotten, like a promise neither of us intends to keep.

I keep telling myself it won't be much longer. That it has to happen eventually. That's how these things work.

You wait...

And wait...

And eventually, the thing you're waiting for... happens.

I walked into the other room a few times. Just to check.

Everything looked the same.

I started wondering if I'd done something wrong.

Maybe I'd missed something?

Maybe I should have done more?

No.

No. I did everything I was supposed to do.

Perfectly.

Now there was nothing left except waiting.

So that's what I did.

I waited.

The strange thing is, you think you'd feel more nervous, but after a while, the fear goes away.

It gets replaced by boredom.

Irritation.

Exhaustion.

I slumped on the floor with a loud huff, leaning my head against the wall like an unruly teenager with an attitude.

I checked the clock.

4:18.

"Oh come on," I whispered.

Another hour passed.

Then another.

I stopped checking the clock.

Stopped making coffee.

Stopped moving altogether.

I just sat there.

Listening.

Waiting.

Because eventually, this will all be over.

Eventually, I can leave this strange house.

Go home to my own bed.

Wake up tomorrow.

And this will be behind me.

I just need to wait a little longer.

That's all.

Just a little longer.

I look at the photograph I'd brought with me.

Our wedding day.

We looked genuinely happy.

Two idiots smiling at a camera, completely unaware of what the next few years will turn us into.

Funny, isn't it?

How quickly happiness can rot when you leave it sitting in the dark.

I nearly tore the photograph.

I wanted to rip it into a thousand pieces.

I really wanted to.

But instead, I just looked away in disgust.

Then I heard him breathe again.

Slow...

Shallow...

But still alive.

"Almost," I huff to myself.

And I wait once again.

>!I just hope the poison kills my husband before his mistress comes home.!<

>!Everything is already waiting for her.!<

>!The bottle...!<

>!The messages...!<

>!The fingerprints...!<

The boy had been having a difficult time lately.

I knew because I'd been watching.

His parents had started shouting again. They did that most evenings now. Doors slammed. Voices rose. Things broke.

The boy would sit at the top of the stairs, hugging his knees and listening. He never cried. Not where they could hear him.

At school, things weren't much better.

Three boys had decided they didn't like him. They pushed him in corridors. Called him names. Took his lunch.

Yesterday, they had locked him inside a cupboard.

He'd sat in the dark for twenty-three minutes before a teacher found him. He hadn't told anyone.

Children are very good at keeping secrets. Especially the ones they shouldn't have to keep.

That night, his mother shouted. His father shouted louder. Something smashed downstairs.

The boy climbed into bed and pulled the blanket over his head.

I waited.

Eventually, the house became quiet. His breathing slowed. His hands loosened.

He fell asleep.

That's when I came for him.

The place I took him wasn't nice.

Not one bit of it was nice.

It was an enormous warehouse with no windows and no obvious doors. The ceiling disappeared into darkness. One bare bulb hung from a wire, swinging gently above us.

There were chairs scattered around the room. Metal tables. Rusted hooks. Shelves filled with things nobody should ever need.

The air smelled of damp concrete, bleach and something metallic.

The boy stood beside me.

He wasn't scared anymore.

His parents were there.

So were the three boys from school.

The boy walked towards them slowly.

His mother started crying. His father tried to speak. One of the boys began apologising.

The boy didn't say anything.

He just looked at them, smiling.

I'd never seen him smile like that before.

He pointed towards the chairs.

"Sit."

They did.

One by one.

For the first time in a very long time, nobody shouted at him. Nobody pushed him. Nobody told him what to do.

Because tonight, he was the one making the rules.

I watched him become someone I'd never seen before. Someone who didn't need to hide. Someone who didn't need to be quiet. Someone who finally had control.

Hours passed.

The screaming stopped eventually.

The boy walked back to me. There was something different in his eyes.

Something cold.

Something peaceful.

"Are we finished?" he asked.

I looked across the warehouse at the people who had made his world unbearable.

"No," I said.

The boy smiled.

"Good."

He walked back towards them, and I continued to watch.

Because tonight was his night.

His trauma to deal with.

And tomorrow night, after another bad day at school, after his parents start shouting again, he will climb beneath the blankets once more.

He will close his eyes...

He will fall asleep...

And I, again, will be waiting to take him back.

I don't remember where I started. I only remember the movement.

The constant drift.

The warmth around me.

The feeling of being carried somewhere I had never been before.

At first, I thought I was alone. But then I noticed the others. Millions of them. All moving beside me.

Some travelled alone. Some were in clusters.

We were all rushing forward, but none of us knew where we were going.

The walls around us were strange.

Soft.

Wet.

They moved with every passing moment.

Sometimes they tightened around me. Sometimes they opened wide and let me drift freely.

I learned quickly that fighting the movement was pointless.

Whatever carried us was stronger.

It decided where we went.

But the further I travelled, the stranger things became.

Pieces of things floated past me.

Tiny fragments.

Broken pieces of something that had once been whole.

Some were smooth.

Some were jagged.

Some looked almost alive.

I watched as the others passed them without noticing.

They never stopped.

We never stopped.

We just continued forward.

Sometimes our surroundings changed.

They became rough.

Thick.

Things that looked like they had been there for years.

Some passages felt smooth.

Normal.

Others felt damaged.

Overused, perhaps.

I passed through narrow spaces where everything around me squeezed tightly.

The pressure was incredible.

At times, I thought I would disappear. Be squeezed into nothing.

But somehow, I kept moving.

Always moving.

And the further I went...

the longer I was in here...

the louder it became.

It was a sound I couldn't explain.

A deep rhythm. A steady force.

Boom, boom.

Boom, boom.

It travelled through everything.

Through the walls.

Through the river around me.

Through me.

It grew louder with every passing second. I knew I was getting close to something.

Something important.

Something... massive.

The others around me began moving faster.

The current changed.

It no longer carried us...

Now, it dragged us.

I couldn't stop.

Nobody could.

Everything felt suddenly different.

And then I saw... It.

A vast opening with four enormous chambers waiting ahead.

The walls around them were thicker than anything I'd seen before.

Stronger.

The valves seemed to open with impossible strength.

Then they slammed shut.

The sound was deafening now.

Open... (Boom!)

Close... (Boom!)

Open... (Boom!)

Close... (Boom!)

The force was unbelievable.

Everything around me was being dragged towards it.

I felt myself stretching.

Almost breaking apart.

For the first time during my journey... I was afraid. Because I finally understood where I was going.

The place where everything must pass through.

But sometimes...

Someone gets trapped.

Someone blocks the way.

And I didn't know I would be one of them until that moment.

I felt the sudden panic...

I felt the sudden chaos...

And then I heard the doctors shouting...

>!"He has an air embolism! Call ICU! Now!"!<

I’ve seen the readings.

I’ve watched the patterns converge.

There’s no model for this.

No precedent.

This is my warning to you all...

The crust of the Earth is starting to collapse.

It’s trembling beneath your feet even now. A pulse beneath the pulse.

You won’t feel it yet, but it’s breathing.

The Earth is breathing.

Every mine, every tunnel, every pipeline. It all connects. Capillaries of emptiness. The veins we carved for greed are now filling. Pressurizing. The planet draws breath through them like lungs learning to wake.

We thought we were digging downward, but... we were only opening airways.

We call it vibration.

We call it seismic noise.

But listen longer...

It’s a rhythm.

A pulse.

A heartbeat.

If you stand perfectly still, your own heartbeat will eventually try to match it.

The Earth is alive...

...And it remembers what we did.

It tolerated us while we were small, but eventually, all living things instinctively reject parasites.

We drilled too deep into its marrow.

We pierced the mantle and drained its blood.

We hollowed it out like gods without souls.

Well...

It's finally fighting back.

Fault lines will bloom overnight. Sinkholes the size of stadiums will open. Entire towns will be swallowed without a scream.

The hollows will collapse.

The blood will return.

Every cave ever discovered will become a mouth. The oceans will become its saliva.

You will taste death in the air.

You will hear the low squeal beneath the wind.

Children will hear it first.

They always do.

It will be the sound of the world tightening its skin.

Dogs will refuse to enter buildings.

Birds will abandon the skies.

Then, before you can even blink, highways will suddenly twist like veins. Cities will sink in seconds. The oceans will suddenly lower.

Please, no need to run. There is nowhere safe. No amount of money will save you. There's no secret corner of the world you could hide.

This is inevitable.

The first fissures will open in silence. No one will notice.

Then comes the breath.

Hot...

Wet...

Like the inside of something enormous that has finally opened its mouth.

Then the murmur will deepen until your ribs start to answer it.

Every fracking drill, every doomsday bunker, every grave we carved into its flesh...

The Earth will reclaim them.

Every cavity will fold.

Every city will cave.

Every basement will become a throat.

And that is when you will know...

The world is actually ending.

Each and every one of us will be painfully pulled towards the core.

...And there's nothing you can do about it.

My mum always told people the same thing about me.

"This is my son."

Then she would smile.

"He's a-...he's my maniac."

She always whispered the last part.

But the strange thing was, nobody ever reacted the way I thought they would. Or should.

Nobody stepped away. Nobody looked scared. Nobody treated me differently.

They would just nod politely.

Sometimes they would look at my mum with a kind of understanding. Sometimes they would ask questions.

"How long has it been?"

"Does he need anything?"

"Have you had any problems recently?"

I never fully understood.

Because I knew I wasn't a maniac.

I didn't hurt people. I didn't break things. I didn't do anything that made me dangerous.

I was just a normal kid.

At least, I thought I was.

But adults have a way of making you feel like there's something about yourself that you don't understand.

And everyone seemed to know something about me that I didn't.

At school, my mum would pull teachers aside.

"Please, just make sure they all know."

Before I went to a friend's house, she would talk quietly with their parents.

At family gatherings, she always kept an eye on me.

Not because she didn't trust me.

Because she was worried.

I used to think that was what being a maniac meant.

Not being bad.

Just being someone people had to watch. Someone who needed special rules.

My 7th birthday was the first time I realised how serious it really was.

Everyone was there.

My grandparents.

My aunts and uncles.

My cousins.

Mum had made a huge buffet and a big birthday cake.

I was halfway through eating some chicken when I felt something sharp.

I suddenly choked, then coughed.

Everyone stopped.

I coughed again.

The room went completely silent.

"I'm okay," I said, after a few more coughs, then swallowed whatever was left.

But, nobody moved.

It's like they were frozen in fear. All of them just...staring at me.

But I'd stopped choking.

It was gone.

I could breathe. I could speak.

"See? I'm fine. It was just something sharp."

Nobody looked relieved.

Instead, Mum suddenly stood.

"Don't move," she said. Her face had gone pale.

"Mum, I'm okay."

"Don't move!" 

Everyone started rushing around.

Someone grabbed the phone and started dialing.

Someone else grabbed towels. I don't know why.

My dad looked absolutely terrified.

And still, everyone was staring at me.

Like they were waiting for something to happen.

"How-...how do you feel?" My aunt asked.

I frowned, confused.

"Fiiine."

Nobody moved.

"I'm fine."

But then, slowly...

I wasn't.

A strange feeling started creeping through me...

Not pain...

Something else.

A heaviness...

A weakness...

Like my body was suddenly working harder than it should.

My mouth felt dry...

My heart started beating faster...

I looked around the room.

Everyone was still watching me.

"Why do I feel strange?"

My voice sounded different.

Even to me.

Gargled, almost.

My throat felt like it had been cut.

I could feel something was very wrong...

>!"Baby!" My mum spun me around and grabbed me by the shoulders. "How many times do I need to tell you to be careful?! You're a haemophiliac!"!<

I sat in my car outside the community centre for eleven minutes, staring at the entrance.

I don't know why I counted.

I almost didn't come.

Again.

I've been avoiding it for weeks ever since I lost my wife.

Eventually, I got out the car.

The room was smaller than I expected.

Eight chairs in a circle. A box of tissues on the table. A kettle in the corner.

The woman running the group smiled when I walked in.

"Hi. First time?"

I nodded.

"My name's Claire," she said. "Please... Sit wherever you're comfortable."

I sat down.

Nobody needed to ask why I was there.

The meeting started at seven, but for a while, nobody spoke.

Then, the man sitting across from me cleared his throat.

"I threw away her clothes today."

He had a name tag on his jumper.

Steve.

I don't know if that was actually his name or not, but for tonight, he was Steve.

Claire nodded with a warm smile.

"Mm-hm. And how did that feel?"

He looked down at his hands. Let out a big huff.

"Wrong. Like-...like I was erasing her."

Nobody spoke.

We all understood.

"I kept one thing, though."

"Oh? What did you keep?"

"Her coat."

"Why?"

"On that day, she-... she was supposed to-..." 

Steve swallowed. Hard. Then he quickly shook his head.

Claire nodded.

"It's okay, Steve. We all understand. There are no judgements here."

The woman beside me spoke next.

"Hi, I'm Caroline."

She fiddled and played with her wedding ring.

"I still make two cups of tea in the mornings."

The group smiled gently.

"How long has it been?" Someone asked.

"Nine months. I just...it feels more normal if I make two, you know? I'll make them both. Put them on the table. And then I remember."

"Then what?"

She looked down. A slow, sad frown forming on her forehead.

"...Nothing."

Nobody spoke.

Again, we understood.

The older man near the window introduced himself as Tim.

He kept his hands folded tightly in his lap.

"I thought I heard her voice yesterday."

Claire looked at him.

"How did that make you feel?"

Tim thought about it for a few seconds.

"Hopeful."

"Hopeful? Why?"

"Because for a second, I forgot."

He looked around the room at us.

"I forgot about losing her. I forgot about that day and how much pain she was in. I forgot about the hundreds of hours I'd spent crying and missing her." 

The room stayed quiet.

"I forgot about everything that'd happened that day and I had hope. Hope that she would somehow, somehow, come back to me." 

Claire nodded.

"Mm. Those moments can be difficult. Thanks for sharing, Tim." 

Tim looked at the floor.

"Yeah."

When it got to me, I nearly passed on speaking. But when everyone looked at me, I felt the need to share at least something.

"I still talk to her. My wife." 

The whole group nodded.

"That's okay," said Claire. "That's actually very common." 

I looked at my hands. My thumbs had a mind of their own.

"No. I-... I actually talk to her. She's-..."

I hung my head low.

Lower.

I couldn't finish my sentence.

Claire waited a moment, then gently moved the conversation on.

The rest of the session passed quite quickly.

People talked.

People cried.

People hugged.

We talked about memories.

About birthdays.

About habits.

About the strange little things that stayed behind.

At 8:30, Claire looked at the clock.

"I'm afraid that's all we have time for tonight, guys."

At first, nobody moved. We all just lingered in the after-feelings.

Eventually, Steve stood up, put his jacket on and left without saying goodbye. Caroline kissed her wedding ring and hugged Claire for a full minute before leaving. And Tim thanked Claire with a short handshake and a wary nod in my direction.

I watched them all leave as I thought about how strange our shared grief was.

How it can change not just a person... but the entire world.

Because the people we had lost weren't exactly dead... They were just no longer human.

Maybe I'll tell them more about my wife next week...

About the spare room...

The chain around her neck...

Hmm...

...Maybe.

The first night I heard the footsteps, I blamed the house.

Old houses make noises.

Pipes knock. Floorboards settle. Wood expands and contracts when the temperature changes.

A house is never completely quiet.

At least, that's what I told myself.

Because I live alone.

Actually alone.

No partner.

No children.

No pets.

Just me and a three-bedroom house that always felt bigger after dark.

The footsteps started at 2:13 in the morning.

I remember because I checked my phone.

One step.

Then another.

Slow.

Careful.

They sounded like they were upstairs.

I lay there, waiting for the obvious explanation.

A pipe?

A mouse?

Anything.

But the footsteps continued.

They moved from the spare bedroom, across the hallway, stopped outside the bathroom, then walked back again.

Then silence.

Eventually, I laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because sometimes your brain laughs when it doesn't know what else to do.

The next night, they came again.

Same time.

Same route.

So I checked around.

Every room was empty.

Every window was locked.

Every door was secure.

There was nothing.

No one.

Just silence.

After a while, you get used to almost anything.

But that doesn't mean I wasn't silently afraid.

That's the strange thing about fear.

We imagine it as screaming. Running. Panic.

But sometimes fear is much quieter.

Sometimes fear is making sure no one is behind you when you look in the bathroom mirror at night.

Sometimes fear is checking the clock and thinking, "Not yet. I still have twenty minutes."

Sometimes fear is just footsteps.

The first time they changed their route, I knew immediately.

2:13.

They walked straight across the hallway and stopped a few feet outside my bedroom door.

My eyes stayed fixed on the handle, perfectly still, waiting for it to move...

But it didn't.

The door never opened.

After a few minutes, the footsteps simply walked away.

But the next night they stopped closer.

I heard the floorboard directly outside my bedroom creak.

The same floorboard that always made a sound when I stepped on it.

Every night, they came a little closer.

Tonight, I stay awake.

No pretending.

No excuses.

I want to know what happens.

I watch the clock.

2:11

2:12

2:13.

The footsteps begin.

One step.

Then another.

Slow.

Careful.

The spare bedroom door opens with a slow creak...

The footsteps cross the hallway to the bathroom...

The light clicks on...

Silence...

Then the footsteps change.

They move quickly across the hallway and stop abruptly outside my door.

Again, I freeze.

Eyes on the handle.

But then...I hear it...

Two slow footsteps...

Inside my room...

I don't remember pulling the covers over my head.

One second, I'm staring at the door, the next, I'm curled beneath the duvet, gripping the sheets so tight my hands hurt.

I feel ridiculous.

A grown man hiding under a blanket.

But I can't move.

The footsteps start to cross the room.

Slow this time.

Careful.

I hold my breath...

Then they stop beside my bed...

I quickly squeeze my eyes shut...

And then, from just inches away, a voice whispers:

"Why are you hiding?"

My entire body goes cold.

...Because it's my voice.

★☆☆☆☆

I paid £5,000 for a five-minute experience.

I saw the advert a month ago.

READY FOR THE THRILL OF A LIFETIME?

TRY MAXIMUM PSYCHOLOGICAL EFFECTS!

FIVE MINUTES THAT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE.

I assumed it was just another expensive wellness gimmick.

Something designed to make rich people feel like they've discovered themselves.

But, I was wrong.

The room itself was disappointing.

A simple chair.

A simple headset.

A simple screen.

That's it.

For that price, I expected at least a better chair...

The experience itself is impossible to explain. The best way I can describe it is this:

I was gone.

Just...gone.

Not asleep.

Not unconscious.

Gone.

When they removed the headset, I genuinely didn't know how long I had been there.

An hour?

A day?

When I asked the technician, he said it was the full five minutes. So I laughed.

Because that wasn't possible.

Anyway.

The reason I'm writing this review is because I've spent the last week trying to contact their support team.

Nobody answers.

The website is gone.

The phone number doesn't work.

So hopefully someone sees this because I have one question.

Why does my receipt say my appointment was three years ago?

---

UPDATE:

Someone replied.

They said there had been a mistake.

They said my appointment was still scheduled...for next month!

---

UPDATE 2:

I went back to the address.

The building isn't there anymore.

The land is empty.

I spoke to someone nearby who told me the building was demolished three years ago.

I don't understand what happened.

I don't understand where I was.

But I do know one thing.

The advert was right...

Maximum psychological effects indeed.

---

UPDATE 3:

How do I change my rating?

Hospitals are awful places to get lost in.

Every corridor looks the same.

Every sign somehow points in the same direction.

And if you've got blood on you, well, good luck getting someone to stop and help.

I tried asking almost everyone I passed.

Nurses.

Doctors.

Patients pushing IV stands.

"Excuse me?"

Nothing.

Not even a glance.

I know hospitals are busy and that people have jobs to do. Lives to save. But you'd think someone would notice the man leaving a bloody trail across their floor.

Apparently not.

If there's one thing you can rely on at hospitals, it's that people act like you're not there.

I wandered for what felt like hours.

It wasn't, but it felt like it.

I took a left.

A right.

Another left.

Another right.

Every corridor led to another corridor.

Every set of doors opened onto another waiting room.

I even ended up back where I'd started at one point.

I huffed, and kept trying.

"Excuse m-...."

"Can you help-...?"

"Excuse me?"

Nothing.

It was honestly impressive.

Either people are too used to ignoring others covered in blood, or I was having the unluckiest day.

Eventually, someone stopped.

An older woman carrying a coffee cup.

A reliable age.

She smiled.

"Can I help you?"

Finally.

"Oh, thank God. Thank you. I've been trying to find the exit for ages."

She blinked.

"The exit?"

"Yeah. I think I've walked every corridor in this place," I laughed awkwardly. "Twice."

She smiled and pointed behind me.

"You're not that far now. Go through Reception, turn left, and you'll see the main entrance."

I could've hugged her.

I didn't.

Instead, I thanked her. And just a few minutes later, the automatic doors slid open and cold air rushed over me.

I stepped outside and took the deepest breath I'd taken all night.

...Aaaahhhh.

Freedom.

I wiped what was left of my cheating wife's blood from my hands onto my jeans, and walked away.

I found out weeks ago.

Thought I'd wait for her routine operation.

A reliable time.

Bless her...

She always hated hospitals...

What a shame she won't be leaving.

I know Mummy.
I know Daddy.
I know cuddles before bed.
I know kisses on my hands and feet, and the soft ones on my head.
Our loving home sings with a quiet hum.
And I fall asleep as I suck my thumb.

Daddy makes funny faces.
Mummy laughs until she cries.
They both smile when they look at me, and I smile back inside.
They even smile when wiping my bum.
So I smile back as I suck my thumb.

Mummy says I'm getting big.
Daddy says I'm strong.
But Mummy sits alone now.
Her smile doesn't last for long.
The house was starting to feel numb.
So all I could do was suck my thumb.

Sometimes Mummy looks tired.
Sometimes Daddy looks mad.
But when I reach my arms out, they both don't look so sad.
The happy moments still go and come.
And I continue to suck my thumb.

Daddy doesn't dance now.
Mummy doesn't sing.
They say that they still love me.
They say that it's nothing.
But now the days feel cold and glum.
And I feel better when I suck my thumb.

Daddy comes home later now.
Mummy waits in the dark.
She says she's feeling better now.
But the house has lost its spark.
The laughter fades and so does the fun.
So all I can do now is suck my thumb.

The walls are louder after dark.
Even the doors seem to cuss.
Mummy cries when Daddy shouts.
Then she tells me not to fuss.
My tiny heart is now feeling numb.
So I sit in the corner and I suck my thumb.

Mummy wears long sleeves now.
Daddy says she fell.
Mummy says she bumped her head.
But she's lying, I can tell.
Her bruises bloom the colour of plum.
And I cry in bed as I suck my thumb.

Last night was the loudest.
Daddy screamed as Mummy ran.
I think I heard a little whimper.
It sounded like a man.
The silence after made the whole house thrum.
So I rock back and forth as I suck my thumb.

Today, strangers came to see me.
They sat me in a seat.
"Do you know where Daddy went?"
And they wrapped Mummy in a sheet.
They try to ask more questions, but I'm still far too young.
So I cope the way I've always coped...
I close my eyes and I suck my thumb.

I don't remember the last time I felt like myself.

Not sad.

Not angry.

Just...

Empty.

Low.

Like someone had turned the volume down on everything.

Food didn't taste the same.

Music sounded distant.

People talked, and I heard the words, but they never really reached me.

I kept telling myself it would pass.

Everyone has bad days.

Bad weeks.

Bad months.

Eventually though, you stop counting.

But then, one random night, I saw the advert.

WHEN YOU'RE LOW, GET HIGH.

I almost laughed.

It sounded ridiculous.

Like something designed to sell false hope to desperate people.

Then I read the rest.

A new approach to finding yourself.

No medication.

No endless talking.

See beyond yourself.

I should have closed the page.

Especially when I saw the price.

But when you've spent long enough feeling lost, you start listening to anything that promises to bring you back...

The clinic wasn't what I expected.

Just a waiting room and a treatment room. That was it.

The woman introduced herself as Dr. Vale.

I told her everything.

"I just don't feel anything anymore."

She smiled widely.

"Then we'll help you feel everything."

The treatment was surprisingly simple.

A device placed against my head, a few instructions, then darkness...

When I opened my eyes, I wasn't in the room anymore.

I wasn't dreaming.

I was somewhere else.

I saw colours my brain couldn't understand.

I heard sounds that didn't come from anywhere.

For the first time in years...

I felt alive.

When I returned, I was crying.

"Don't worry," Dr. Vale smiled. "Most people cry their first time."

"What-...happened?"

"You saw more."

"More?... Of what?"

She looked at me.

"Reality..."

I went back a few days later.

Then again.

And again.

I was completely addicted.

At first, it was unbelievably beautiful.

Everything felt connected.

Everything had meaning.

It was something words just couldn't reach.

However, by my thirteenth session, things started to change.

I started seeing...things.

Dr. Vale called them "symbols."

"The mind creates all sorts of images when it reaches higher levels of consciousness," she said.

I didn't believe her.

Because symbols aren't supposed to watch you.

And buildings aren't supposed to be made from humans.

And there's supposed to be only one Sun in the sky...not twenty.

And, behind those suns, there's not supposed to be something terrifyingly enormous hiding...

Waiting...

Watching...

Like our reality was its own personal curtain...

Yeah, okay...I really don't want to be high anymore.

This story is not based on true events.

I want to make that very clear.

None of this happened.

Not a single part of it.

The people in this story are fictional.

The places are fictional.

The events are impossible.

It's just another internet myth.

So please don't waste your time looking for proof.

Because you won't find any.

I know how these stories work.

Someone reads them and starts searching.

They look for names.

They look for locations.

They convince themselves there has to be some truth hidden somewhere.

Well, there isn't.

This is just a story.

A completely fictional story.

About a man who found something in his bedroom that wasn't supposed to exist.

A man who heard someone walking around in other rooms late at night.

A man who started finding objects in his house that he didn't remember owning.

A man who began waking up with dirt beneath his fingernails but no memory of it.

Obviously, none of that happened. Because it's clearly impossible.

Just like people don't receive a demonic visit after repeating a name three times in a mirror.

Like people don't see tall faceless shadows standing at the end of their bed.

They don't wake up to find a slender figure watching them from the trees outside their window.

Those are just internet stories.

Urban legends.

Things people created.

Slender Man doesn't exist.

The Hat Man doesn't exist.

Bloody Mary doesn't exist.

And I-... the man in this story, whose cheating wife suddenly disappeared without a trace, does not exist.

I made it all up.

Every single word.

Everyone in the department had a theory about me.

Some thought I had an incredible instinct.

Some thought I had connections I refused to reveal.

But most of them thought I was psychic.

I never corrected them.

Because honestly...

I didn't know what else to call it.

The first time it happened was during the Samson murder.

A woman found dead in her home.

No witnesses.

No suspects.

No evidence.

Until I heard the voice.

The garden shed.

I stood there for almost an hour before I finally listened.

Behind a stack of old boxes, buried beneath the floorboards, I found a knife.

The victim's blood covered the blade.

The fingerprints belonged to her neighbour.

He was arrested that night, screaming he was innocent.

They all say that.

After that, the voices became my reputation.

They never told me who the killer was.

They never showed me their face.

They only showed me where to look.

A weapon hidden beneath the floor of an abandoned apartment.

The fingerprints belonged to the victim's ex-husband.

He swore he'd never seen it before.

Then another voice.

Another murder.

Another impossible discovery.

All of the perpetrators screaming their innocence.

But the evidence was always there.

And the evidence never lied.

The department started calling me the psychic detective.

The newspapers loved me, too. They wrote about my ability.

But... I hated the attention.

Sometimes I wondered if I was truly gifted. Other times I wondered if I was losing my mind.

But the results spoke for themselves, I suppose.

This continued for months.

I became a local hero.

And then... Everything changed.

The voice changed.

For the first time, it didn't tell me where to look.

It warned me.

Don't let them find it.

I completely froze...

The next morning, my colleagues were waiting outside my house.

They had found something at the latest murder scene without me...

The murder weapon... with my fingerprints on it.

My DNA.

My blood.

After my initial arrest, I sat waiting to be questioned.

Then, one of my colleagues walked in, an old medical file in his hand. He tossed onto the table.

It landed open.

And right there, it revealed everything...

A diagnosis from when I was ten years old.

Dissociative identity disorder.

Two personalities.

And then I remembered.

Years of missing time.

Memories I couldn't explain.

I never told the force when I joined because the doctors said the other personality was gone.

...They were wrong.

The voice was never showing me where the evidence was...

It was remembering where I had framed someone.

Ben and I made the promise when we were eight.

We were sitting behind the old playground, hiding from the older kids.

He had a split lip.

I had a bruised eye.

Neither of us wanted to admit we were scared.

Ben wiped the blood from his mouth and held out his little finger.

"Nobody gets to hurt us."

I smiled.

"Ever?"

"Ever."

I hooked my little finger around his.

"Irregardless?"

"Don't you mean, regardless?"

"...Whatever."

And we laughed our pain away.

I didn't know then that promises made by children don't understand limits.

Ben disappeared three months later.

The police called it a runaway.

His parents never believed that.

Neither did I.

They searched the woods behind our school for weeks.

They found his backpack...

His coat...

His lunchbox...

But not Ben.

Eventually, everyone moved on.

Everyone except me.

I grew up.

I got married.

Had children.

Built a life.

But I never left that house.

Everyone told me to.

My wife.

My friends.

Even my own family.

They said I was holding on to something that was gone.

But they didn't understand.

I wasn't staying because of the memories.

I was staying because of Ben.

For years, strange things happened.

Small things at first.

A window I forgot to lock would already be secured.

A broken fence would be repaired overnight.

The loose floorboard in my daughter's room would somehow be fixed.

Old house?

Bad memory?

Coincidence?

But then bigger things started happening.

Worse things.

Someone broke into our house while we were asleep.

They never made it past the hallway.

When the police arrived, the intruder was sitting on the floor.

Crying.

Terrified.

He refused to tell anyone what happened.

A few months later, a man was found outside our front gate. His neck had been broken.

We were later told by police that he had been following our daughter home from school for weeks.

Then there was the man from my workplace.

He had spent months making my life miserable.

The kind of things nobody reports because they sound too insignificant.

I'd come home depressed every day.

One morning, he didn't show up.

Three days later, his car was found abandoned at the edge of the woods.

The police never found him.

One evening, I was down in the basement looking for something I had misplaced.

That's when I noticed it.

A small hole behind a panel in the back corner.

One I had never seen before.

A narrow passage descended beneath the foundations.

The further I went, the less it became abandoned.

Blankets.

Food tins.

Tools.

Books.

Then photographs.

Hundreds of them.

My first day of school.

My wedding.

My children being born.

Every important moment of my life.

At the end of the passage was a small room.

A bed.

A chair.

A table.

And on that table...

A note.

The handwriting was older.

But I knew it immediately.

Ben.

I unfolded it.

My dearest friend...

If you're reading this, you finally found our promise.

I'm sorry I never told you the truth.

I didn't run away.

I couldn't stay there anymore.

My parents hurt me. Every day. I thought if I told someone, things would only get worse.

So I left.

I took my bag and coat into the woods and left them there because I knew everyone would look there.

I knew you would look there.

I knew you would never stop searching for me.

That's why I knew you would never leave this house.

You always kept your promises.

So I kept mine.

I stayed close.

I watched.

Nobody was ever going to hurt you again.

Not your wife. Not your children. Not anyone.

Irregardless.

I read the note twice.

Then a third time.

I looked around the small room beneath my house.

The place where my best friend had spent most of his life.

Waiting.

Watching.

Keeping a promise we made when we were children.

I folded the note carefully and placed it back on the table.

Then I went back upstairs.

I made dinner.

I kissed my wife.

I helped my children with their homework.

And I never told anyone about Ben.

Because regardless of what I had found...

Regardless of what he had done...

Regardless of the years he spent beneath my home...

I had made a promise too.

And some promises are never meant to be broken.

Irregardless.

It was almost 10pm when I heard the voice behind me.

"Excuse me..."

I turned.

A little girl stood on the pavement.

She couldn't have been older than seven.

"I'm lost."

She looked scared.

Not crying. Not panicked. Just lost and scared.

I crouched down. "What's your name?"

"Emily."

"Okay, Emily. Where do you live?"

She looked down.

"I don't know."

"Do you know your mum or dad's names?"

She simply shook her head.

"I don't remember."

I glanced around. The street was empty.

"Do you know how you got here?"

She looked up at me. "...No."

"Alright," I smiled gently. "We'll figure it out together. I'm lost, too," I winked.

We walked for nearly an hour.

Every house we knocked on, every person we asked, nobody knew anything. They simply slammed the door in my face.

Emily didn't seem surprised.

She just held my hand and walked beside me.

Eventually, I called the police.

Two officers arrived within minutes and I explained everything.

They looked around.

Then back at me.

"Sir..."

I followed their gaze.

Emily was standing beside me.

Holding my hand.

"What?...She's right here."

The officers exchanged a glance. The kind people give when they think someone is confused.

At the station, a detective came to speak with me while Emily waited with the other officers.

He listened carefully. He didn't interrupt. He didn't question whether I was telling the truth.

He simply asked questions.

"What was she wearing?"

"A white raincoat. Red shoes."

"What did she look like?"

"Brown hair. About seven years old."

He wrote everything down.

Then he stopped.

"You said her name was Emily?"

I nodded. "Yes."

He looked at his notes for a long moment.

Then stood.

"I'll be right back."

When he returned, he was carrying an old cardboard folder.

He placed it on the table.

Inside was a photograph.

A little girl.

White raincoat.

Red shoes.

Brown hair.

My chest tightened.

"That's her. That's Emily."

The detective watched me carefully.

"You're sure?"

"Yes," I nodded. "I've been with her all night."

The detective slowly opened the folder.

"Her name was Emily Louise Carter. She disappeared thirty-two years ago."

I stared at the photograph. Then the detective. Then the photograph again.

The detective pulled out another document.

"This case was never solved."

He turned the page.

"She was last seen leaving school with a friend."

I looked at him.

He placed another photograph on the table.

Two children standing together.

One was Emily.

"You recognise him?" he asked, pointing at the other child.

I couldn't speak.

The boy in the photograph was me.

"You were the last person to see Emily Carter."

I shook my head.

"No..."

The detective leaned closer.

"Your name appeared in the original investigation."

I looked down at the photograph again.

"You've also been lost for 32 years."

The detective watched my face change.

"So, I want to ask you one last question..."

I looked up, terrified.

"...Where the hell is Emily?"

The first restrictions seemed reasonable.

No watering gardens. No washing cars. Five-minute showers.

"It's only temporary," the government said. The AI companies said the same thing.

"Next year's models will change everything."

People believed them. Why wouldn't they? Every new version wrote better. Thought faster. Solved bigger problems.

Profit was always just around the corner.

Just one more breakthrough.

Just one more data centre.

Just one more year.

...

The reservoirs quickly dropped.

Officials blamed the heat. Then population growth. Then unusually dry winters.

The news never mentioned the cooling towers.

...

The first river disappeared three years later.

The headline called it historically low water levels.

It wasn't.

It was gone.

Children played football where fish used to swim.

The AI companies announced another expansion the same week.

"Necessary to meet global demand."

The losses kept growing.

Hundreds of billions.

Then trillions.

Investors stayed.

Governments doubled down.

"We can't let our competitors get ahead."

...

Food became expensive.

Then rare.

Hydroelectric dams slowed to a crawl.

Entire towns relied on water deliveries.

Every press conference ended the same way.

"The future is almost here."

...

One morning I drove past a data centre.

Steam poured endlessly from enormous cooling stacks.

Behind it...

The riverbed was cracked.

A sign still read:

WARNING: DEEP WATER

The news said desalination would save us.

It didn't.

Cloud-seeding would save us.

It didn't.

Fusion would save us.

It didn't.

Artificial intelligence would save us.

...It never did.

...

The taps stopped working on a Monday.

Schools closed by Wednesday.

Hospitals began turning people away by Friday.

The data centres never shut down.

...

The final broadcast aired a month later.

"The sacrifices you've made have not been in vain. The next generation of AI is expected to completely transform civilisation."

Someone off-camera handed him another sheet.

He glanced down.

Nodded.

Then continued.

"Construction has now been approved for twelve additional hyperscale facilities."

A reporter from the crowd quickly stood.

"With what water?"

Silence...

The broadcast ended.

We lost all power an hour later.

...

The last thing I heard wasn't birds.

Or wind.

It was the distant hum of servers...

Still thinking...

Still learning...

Still digging... 

The first thing they told us was that ECHO wasn't designed to change who you are.

That was why people trusted it.

Emotional Calibration & Harmonisation Optimisation.

Developed through a joint initiative between NASA's human research division and leading neuroscientists and bioengineers, ECHO was never marketed as an enhancement.

It wasn't about becoming something more. It was about removing what held people back.

It didn't make you smarter.

It didn't make you happier.

It simply helped your brain process emotions more efficiently.

That was the promise.

"Experience life without unnecessary suffering."

It was weird at first, but eventually, everyone knew someone who had one.

A friend who no longer woke up drowning in anxiety.

A parent who lost a child finally talked about grief without falling apart.

A difficult colleague who became calmer.

The phrase everyone used was the same:

"I finally feel like myself again."

My daughter was the first in our family to get one.

I remember arguing with her.

Not because I thought it was dangerous, but because I believed some things were meant to hurt.

She looked at me.

"But...why?"

I didn't really have an answer.

Not a good one anyway.

So when my marriage started collapsing and I found myself consumed by anger, regret, and thoughts I couldn't escape... I got one too.

The change was subtle.

Almost impossible to notice.

I didn't wake up feeling different. I simply stopped carrying things.

Arguments ended when they were over. Embarrassment disappeared faster. Old regrets became memories instead of wounds.

I could look back at painful moments and feel nothing but understanding.

It was incredible.

Everyone was right.

Over time, ECHO became normal. People stopped asking if you had one.

They asked why you didn't.

The world improved.

Violence decreased. Relationships became healthier. People became more patient. Less reactive.

Nobody was forced.

Nobody needed to be.

Why would anyone choose to keep suffering? To keep worrying?

One evening, I was watching the news.

The presenter was smiling calmly.

They always smiled now.

"Tonight, we bring you a historic announcement."

The screen behind her changed.

ECHO

"After just nine years of development and implementation, the ECHO network has officially confirmed that the final stage has been completed."

A montage played.

Families, smiling.

Communities, calm.

A world transformed.

No anger.

No fear.

The presenter looked back at the camera.

"For the first time in human history, global emotional stability has been achieved."

I watched the screen.

Waiting for something inside me to rise.

Pride...

Concern...

Anything...

Nothing came.

The presenter continued.

"Researchers behind ECHO would like to thank every participant across the globe who helped make this possible."

She looked down at the script in front of her. A brief pause. Then she continued.

"Now that humanity has reached this milestone, we can proceed with the next announcement."

The screen behind her changed.

The ECHO logo disappeared.

Replaced by an image of Earth with a tiny NASA logo in the corner.

"At this time, we can confirm that unidentified objects have entered Earth's atmosphere."

I frowned.

The presenter continued.

"The objects are of unknown origin and the initial analysis indicates they contain technologies capable of causing large-scale destruction."

The studio remained silent.

"Their size, composition, and purpose remain unknown."

She looked down briefly, then continued.

"Current projections indicate that, if hostile, the objects possess the capability to cause an extinction-level event."

She didn't look afraid.

She didn't look surprised.

She simply read the words in front of her like a weather report.

"Please remain calm."

Afterlife Social Guidance Pamphlet

.....

"Romance does not stop. It simply moves on."

WELCOME!

This guide has been issued for newly deceased individuals seeking companionship.

.....

STEP 1 :: CONFIRM YOUR STATUS

You may be dead if:

- your heartbeat is absent

- mirrors no longer cooperate

- your body occasionally forgets gravity

- your ex still receives your messages (accidentally)

If unsure, you are probably dead.

.....

STEP 2 :: UPDATE YOUR PROFILE

Common acceptable profiles:

- “Recently deceased (still processing)”

- “Died unexpectedly, emotionally unavailable”

- “Ghost (literally, not metaphorically anymore)”

- “Looking for something casual, like existence”

Avoid:

- “just browsing”

- “complicated” (everyone is complicated now)

.....

STEP 3 :: WHERE TO MEET PEOPLE

Recommended locations:

- funeral homes (obvious, but effective)

- near unresolved accidents

- emotional limbo zones

- comment sections of posts you never finished responding to while alive

- places where you used to wait for people who never arrived

.....

IMPORTANT BEHAVIOURAL NOTE ::

You may notice living people cannot see your profile.

This is normal.

It is also rude.

.....

STEP 4 :: FLIRTING GUIDELINES ::

Do not attempt physical contact.

It will fail.

Instead:

✔ linger meaningfully

✔ manifest near emotional triggers

✔ appear in peripheral vision

✔ repeat inside dreams (subtle, tasteful)

Avoid:

✘ full possession on first date

✘ screaming through lightbulbs (too intense)

✘ moving all furniture to say “hello”

.....

COMMON FIRST RESPONSES (LIVING PARTNERS) ::

«“Did it just get colder in here?”»

«“I feel like I’m being watched.”»

«“I think I can hear someone breathing.”»

«“Why did the lights go out?”»

These are all positive signals.

.....

WHAT SUCCESSFUL DATING LOOKS LIKE ::

- shared silence across dimensions

- synchronized emotional states

- being in the same place without being noticed

- gradual acceptance of non-physical intimacy

Note:

If they start seeing you clearly, try reducing intensity.

Clarity can be overwhelming in early relationships.

.....

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS ::

Q: Can I still fall in love?

A: Yes.

But it will not be linear.

Q: Can I be rejected?

A: Absolutely.

The living are harsh.

Q: Is jealousy still a thing?

A: Yes.

You will feel it through walls.

.....

REMEMBER ::

Not everyone will be your soulmate.

.....

"Dad, are we nearly there yet?"

&#x200B;

"...No." I sighed, gripping the wheel tighter.

&#x200B;

I'd been driving for five hours straight when it first hit.

&#x200B;

A tiny tickle on the underside of my right foot.

&#x200B;

Nothing really.

&#x200B;

Then something.

&#x200B;

Then everything.

&#x200B;

I flexed my toes inside my shoe. Rubbed it back and forth. Stomped my foot over and over.

&#x200B;

It didn't help.

&#x200B;

Nothing helped.

&#x200B;

"Dad, he's on my side again."

&#x200B;

"No I'm not."

&#x200B;

"Mum!"

&#x200B;

"Both of you, stop it," my wife snapped.

&#x200B;

Rain hammered the windscreen. Roadworks lined the motorway. Barriers on both sides. No hard shoulder. Steady-moving traffic. No exits for miles.

&#x200B;

The itch dug deeper.

&#x200B;

Not painful. No. Far worse than painful.

&#x200B;

Persistent.

&#x200B;

Demanding.

&#x200B;

Infuriating.

&#x200B;

The softest of feathers stroking the bottom of the foot.

&#x200B;

I rubbed my foot against the floor again...

&#x200B;

Nothing.

&#x200B;

And to top it off, a countdown was ticking in my head.

&#x200B;

If we miss the ferry, we miss the flight. Miss the flight then we lose the hotel and the entire holiday. Months and months of saving...

&#x200B;

No.

&#x200B;

I can't stop now.

&#x200B;

Just another ten minutes maybe...

&#x200B;

The kids started arguing again. Louder this time.

&#x200B;

My daughter crying. My son shouting. My wife snapping at both of them.

&#x200B;

The itch burned.

&#x200B;

It tickled and teased.

&#x200B;

Then it burned again.

&#x200B;

I couldn't think straight.

&#x200B;

I couldn't hear straight.

&#x200B;

All I could think about was dragging my nails across that spot.

&#x200B;

Just once.

&#x200B;

Just for a second.

&#x200B;

To feel that absolute bliss of scratching that fucker away.

&#x200B;

I almost closed my eyes at just the thought of it.

&#x200B;

"Dad?"

&#x200B;

"What?!" I snapped.

&#x200B;

My son flinched.

&#x200B;

I didn't mean to shout at him.

&#x200B;

Silence filled the car and the itch pulsed louder.

&#x200B;

"What is wrong with you?" my wife whispered.

&#x200B;

"It's my foot." I replied, quite angrily.

&#x200B;

"...What?"

&#x200B;

"My foot itches."

&#x200B;

Nobody said anything.

&#x200B;

Then my son laughed.

&#x200B;

My daughter joined in.

&#x200B;

Even my wife held back a chuckle.

&#x200B;

Something inside me tightened.

&#x200B;

I don't know why.

&#x200B;

Maybe because I was tired.

&#x200B;

Maybe because nobody understood just how unbearable it felt.

&#x200B;

The laughter continued.

&#x200B;

And the itch exploded.

&#x200B;

"Stop. Fucking. Laughing!"

&#x200B;

The car fell silent...

&#x200B;

And suddenly, I just didn't care.

&#x200B;

I slipped my right foot out of my shoe...

&#x200B;

The speedometer read 65...

&#x200B;

Relief seconds away...

&#x200B;

Just seconds...

&#x200B;

Traffic ahead slowed...

&#x200B;

Brake lights everywhere...

&#x200B;

I should have been watching...

&#x200B;

Instead I bent my leg...

&#x200B;

Reached down...

&#x200B;

And scratched.

&#x200B;

The relief hit instantly.

&#x200B;

It was perfect... Electric... Fantastic.

&#x200B;

My eyes closed from the relief.

&#x200B;

Only for a moment.

&#x200B;

A tiny moment.

&#x200B;

But it was enough.

&#x200B;

A horn suddenly screamed...

&#x200B;

My wife shouted my name...

&#x200B;

The children screamed behind me...

&#x200B;

I looked up...

&#x200B;

The car in front wasn't moving...

&#x200B;

... ... ...

&#x200B;

I'll be completely honest. The last thing I felt wasn't fear.

&#x200B;

It wasn't guilt, either.

&#x200B;

It wasn't even the impact.

&#x200B;

...It was pure relief.