u/levus-205

Part 1 if you missed it: https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesFromTheCreeps/s/YOcAwvVdBi

Part 2:

Update #7: Finale

It’s been a while, a long while. I just want to start off by saying I am safe, and I’m far away from the house. I’ve sold that place, and am holed up in a nice cozy hotel until further notice. Sorry if that kills some of your tension, but please stick around. I’m going to post this one last update, and then promptly never think of that place ever again. I’m finally free, and have just one last story to tell. 

The time I spent in the house was immeasurable. I estimate it may have been months, but it very well could have been a year. A year of the same walls. A year of the same food, growing stale in my mouth every time I ate. A year of nonsense doors leading to rooms they shouldn’t have, windows that show nothing but light, and a house that spins on an axis when it’s bored. The internet had fled completely after my last post, so I was often bored out of my skull. I had read every book on every shelf, even the ones I absolutely loathed. If I recall correctly, at one point I just started setting fires in the various house copies, just for entertainment. The misery of boredom was like a droning drill in the background I could never shut off. 

Then, the day arrived, when an idea entered my mind. I had opened the door to the newest house copy, when it struck me. I walked to the front door, and opened it to the next copy, and then did the same for it. Then I opened the next door, and the next, and the next. Over and over, I went through those exact doors. Within minutes I ended up jogging from door to door, and then running, and then full dead sprinting like the world’s most fucked up treadmill. I just bowled through door after door, they weren’t even locked so why bother being polite to this hell hole. Over and over I ran, and ran, and ran. On either side of me was the blur of the house, shifting and changing at random points. Different decor, different set up, it was even flipped like a mirror sometimes.

Then the halls started twisting, rotating, spinning. But I kept running. Even when I was thrown into a wall, I just ran. Or when I fell onto the ceiling, and felt my bones crack on impact, I just fucking ran. Through the pain, the ache, I kept fucking running. I climbed over furniture when gravity flipped, jumped to the door while hanging to the ceiling. I had to keep moving, something in my mind told me this had to work. It had to work or else it was all for nothing. And it did, in a way.

Eventually, I fell. I tripped running through the front door, and slid across a new, strange floor. Slowly, I got back to my feet. I was somewhere else, not the house, somewhere very different. It was just… a void. I don’t know how else to phrase it, my poor authorial brain doesn’t have many adjectives that fully encapsulate this place. Endless, infinite, bright, white, blinding, quiet; so, goddamn, quiet. Annoyingly quiet. It’s the type of silence that’s just as bad as living in a world of blaring sounds. Maybe that’s the noise sensitivity talking, but it was a new brand of hell regardless. I started to walk, then I just… it sounds so ridiculous when I type it out. I just started making  a “tick” noise, over and over. It’s all I could think to do, just tick. My brain told me I had to keep track of time, somehow. And so every second I would tick, and I kept count. Besides moving, my brain had nothing else to focus on. It’s not like there was anything to look at or listen to, so my brainpower was put to just counting. To see how long I was there for. 

Do you wanna take a guess? 

Twelve hours. 432,000 ticks or so. I’m sure by the time I hit an hour, or 3,600 ticks, I tallied it in my brain and counted up to the next hour. So on, so forth, for twelve hours. This was the real hell of boredom. The houses were bad, annoying, but at least they’d change. Some copies were different, but this place was just the same thing, over and over. Understimulation and overstimulation all to the max, the silence and blinding walls. Dante said the final circle of hell was a giant lake of ice, where the dark lord sat in the center, his three heads eternally chewing on the three greatest sinners. That may have been hell for him, but this was my hell, my ninth circle. An endless white room, with me ticking like a dumbass clock. Walking, for twelve hours. 

But then, I ran into a wall. Until then, there was only the floor on which I walked across. I’d compare the feel of both to linoleum, hard and cold to the touch. I think I honestly cried when I found that wall, wept like a little kid. It sounds stupid, but you’ll never understand unless you’ve gone through what I have. I ran my hand along it, for maybe 1,985 ticks, a bit over 33 minutes. Then I found something, an indent. It was like drywall, a thin plaster over a door frame. I started kicking at it, trying to break it down. It shattered like glass, and there was an opening into… it looked like the ocean. Like a wall of water, contained by nothing, but staying in place. I held out a hand, tapping the surface, the water rippling off into small rings across the bright blue. I walked into it, anything was better than the void. I fell through, upwards somehow. It felt cold, but my clothes remained dry, as I launched up, and landed on a dock. 

I was next to a lake, laying on a dock made of worn, damp wood. The sun was setting across the horizon, shining bright orange lights across the darkening sky. It was beautiful. It felt like my journey had come to an end, but of course I couldn't be that lucky. I stood myself up, looking to see a cabin, next to the lake. Slowly, bones aching, I made my way towards it. It was unreal. It looked like the house of my dreams had been made real, a lakeside cabin with a view of the sunset. It was perfect… too perfect. 

I entered through the patio door, into a room filled with bookshelves, a comfortable reading chair in front of a lit fireplace. It was calm, the sound of the fire and the quiet hum of birds a mellow choir of peace. I… I sat down. There was a little table next to the chair, a mug of hot tea sitting on it. I took a sip, vanilla chai, my favorite. Not the middling store bought kind either, it tasted like it was fresh from the cafe. But not just any cafe, it tasted like the cafe I visited once, maybe two years ago in Maine. It was the best I had ever gone to, spent a small fortune on just that one cup but it was so worth it. And there I was, tasting it all over again. 

I was in bliss, pure bliss for the first time in forever. Comfort, soothing sounds, and the greatest thing I had ever drank. It was almost overwhelming, after the hell I had gone through I was in the middle of such joy. If before I was in The Inferno, I was finally resting in Paradiso. I cried, not the childish weeping of before, but a beautiful silent stream of tears. I closed my eyes, leaning back in the chair. Peace, I had found peace. Finally, 

But it wasn’t right. It was just… given to me. I knew better, I know better. Happiness is something you fight for, and my battle wasn't over yet. I opened my eyes. I stood up, groaning like a dad getting up out of his easy chair, and made my way through the hall. I passed by a kitchen, decorated in maintained potted plants, the polar opposite of my actual living space in every way. There was a dining room, a dark oaken dining table with eight chairs seated, a chandelier hanging above it. This was not my home, I had no hand in making, buying, or changing it. It was made for me, but only as a distraction from my real home, one I’m still yet to find. I walked to the front door, fully prepared to see a copy on the other side. But no, somehow it was stranger, even by the standards of the house.

It was me. I was sitting in a dark room, at a desk, typing away on a typewriter. I was dressed in a denim jacket, a red turtleneck barely visible under it. My hair was its usual dyed white, tied back in a braided ponytail. The small space was filled with the echo of clacking keys, but they sounded… off. It was a harder sound than flesh against metal, more like rock or glass or-

“You haven’t been writing very much, you know that right?” 

I, or they, spoke. It was like hearing a recording, familiar but just… off. They stood, turning towards me. They wore my same circular glasses, deep blue eyes staring back at my own. Their hands… the fingers were worn down to the bone, little patches of blood stains on their ends. I just stared at them, and they stared back.

“What is this?”

“I’m here to help you, your guardian angel, if that’s what you wanna call me.”

They stood from their chair, walking up to me as our eyes remained locked.

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“The Labirynth, Queen in Yellow, The Mother, whatever you wanna call it. It’s trying to take you, and the house is dragging you in.”

“I… I don’t… I don’t get it, I don’t understand any of this.” 

“It’s okay, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m getting you out of here, and you can pretend this is all just one big, bad dream.”

They took my hand, hard bones squeezing against my skin. It felt like it was vibrating, shaking my flesh.

“Now, you have to wake up. It’s time to get writing, Carmen.” 

I felt a wave of drowsiness pull at my consciousness, as the world faded away, and my eyes shut. And then, I was in the house. I was in the office, standing in front of my desk. My word document was still open, my manuscript still unwritten. I broke down, just lying down and laughing right there on the floor. It was so funny at the moment, I don’t get the joke anymore. 

The real world had stayed the same day, Tuesday the 19th, at 9:48. I didn’t care, I stopped trying to apply any kind of real world logic to the house. When I finally got out to meet them again, my friends said I looked like shit, and I did. My hair was messy, I was pale, my eyes had bags down to my cheekbones. It didn’t matter if it had only been a moment in this world, I had to live through every second of the house. I couldn't stand being in it, near it, even looking at it. I got in contact with a realtor, and sold it as quickly as I could. Of course it took forever, but I rented the hotel I’m still at in the meantime. Eventually, I got it back on the market, not sold to anyone but available. I’ve moved my stuff out over the past few weeks, not staying any longer than I had to. I’m looking for a new place as of now, hopeful far away from that… thing. I’m moving town, maybe even state. I hear Minnesota is pretty nice.

But there was one last thing, one last thing I had to do before leaving. 

I was walking out the front door, the last of my things held in my arms, when a memory struck me. Those words I wrote, or… other me wrote. Talking of the mother, the labyrinth, the void. I wondered who else would be in my position, my shoes, my hell. So, I took a piece of paper, and wrote a few small words on it. 

“Do you ever hear the call of the void?” 

I slipped it under the closed front door. And when I opened it back up, the paper was gone. I hope it finds who it needs to. But that’s another path, another door. 

One that’s not mine to open.

This is draft 2 of this story. Please enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Through me you pass into this woeful city.

Through me you pass into eternal pain.

Through me you pass among the lost people.

Justice moved my maker on high.

I was made by divine power

Supreme wisdom and primal love

Before me nothing was created that 

was not eternal, and I endure eternal. 

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. 

-Dante’s Inferno

I’ve decided to compile my experience into one post, half for ease of reading and half because my old posts were deleted. Maybe it was me, maybe it wasn't, I don’t know. After everything that’s happened, I can’t be sure of anything. But here it is; my torment, my inferno, my house, my story. 

The initial post:

I have no idea where else I can post this. Apparently you guys are pretty well versed in weird stuff like this? I don’t know, that’s what some people said on other subs and threads. The long and short of this situation is that weird stuff has been happening around my house, and I think it could be… haunted, or something? I think? I don’t know, I’m so scatterbrained right now, this is just so damn weird. I’ll start at the beginning: 

I bought this house maybe two months ago now, and it’s my first time ever owning one. For years I had mostly only lived in apartments, and a duplex at one point; which is just half a house, with an obnoxious guy living in the other half, who you attempt to avoid at every opportunity. But after a particularly profitable set of novels (not to brag) I managed to get a down payment on a little place in the middle of town. The house itself isn’t particularly odd, just a plain old one bath, two bed, two story with a pretty simple layout. It’s off in the middle of town, not close to where the majority of the houses are, but that’s the most outwardly unusual thing about it. And to be honest, I prefer it that way most days. I don’t really care for neighbours, mostly from past experiences being so damn close to other people; I refer you back to obnoxious duplex guy. 

Regardless, the house seemed normal. At least until now, of course.

I was in town for a little while, shopping mostly then stopping at my favorite cafe afterwards. When I got home, the front door was locked. This isn’t unusual by itself of course, but what happened afterwards is why you’re reading this. I knew I had locked my door before leaving, so I just took out my keys. But the moment I put the house key in the door, I felt a chill ripple through me. It was the middle of summer outside, a high of 95, but it felt like I had been thrown into ice water for half a second. I shuddered, but continued opening the door as the feeling subsided. 

The first thing I saw was the bathroom door, wide open. Nothing that unusual, just annoying. Surely, I had just forgotten to close it before leaving, right? But then I looked down the hall, and saw another door open, the one leading to my office. Again, not immediately concerning, but confusing. How did I manage to forget closing not one, but two doors? Then I walked into the kitchen, and found every single cupboard door open. 

That was officially the time to start panicking. 

Immediately, I ran right back out, and called the police. At first I thought I had been robbed, what else could it be? Why else would everything be open? But no. They searched everywhere, had me look for anything missing, but everything was in place. Not my computer, not any of my clothing, nothing. After they investigated, the only thing they could guess was that a strong gust of wind had somehow blown everything open. They told me to just “Make sure your windows and doors are closed tight.” I thanked them, but knew it was just some bullshit. I knew damn well the windows were closed up, and the wind couldn’t have gotten through if it wanted to. 

But I tried to write it off as best I could. That’s really all you can do when something unexplainable happens, with no evidence or signs or anything to speculate about. But then the weird shit started up again. For maybe three or so days, I’ve been experiencing just… strange things around my house. Random doors have started opening, sometimes windows. Mostly it happens when I’m out and about, but it's even started doing it when I’m home. I’ve also found bookshelves rearranged in my living room/, and all of this is starting to drive me crazy. 

So yeah, that’s why I’m here, asking you guys for help. So, what do ya’ll think? Is it a poltergeist? Maybe a demon? Hey, if I’m lucky I could write another dozen books about this and make a fortune. Not likely, but hey I can dream sometimes. But yeah, any help would be nice, literally any. At this point, I’ll take some crackpot conspiracy theories if you’ve got any. Might not be true, but it might at least be entertaining. 

Great, I think I just heard another door open…

Update #1: The situation in my house is getting stranger. 

It’s been about a week since my first post, and I’ve found little in the way of suggestions or advice. Mostly just some generic spiritual stuff, some healing crystal scam, sage burning, salt, et cetera. Oh, and somebody suggested it may have been carbon monoxide poisoning. So I decided to get some CO2 detectors installed, which I should’ve done earlier if I’m being honest. Nothing detected as of yet, but maybe it… dissipated? Can I make it more obvious I’m a first time home owner, and not the brightest one at that? Remains to be seen. 

In regards to any kind of history with the place that would cause some spooky shit, nothing, nadda. The place was built only a year ago, and not over any kind of burial or former residence or orphanage or insane asylum or anything like that. No previous owners either, I’m the first one to live here. It’s almost comical how normal this place’s history is. The place wasn't cheap either, the down payment was a bit over $15,000. The only reason I could afford it is because my books somehow managed to make enough to work with. It was a blessing and a curse really, giving me a house but leaving me barely able to write for the past few months. Can you blame me? You manage to get an audience once and now the expectation is set, you gotta make the same measure of quality over again or risk losing them. And when you’re career is keeping people’s attention, losing it is suicide. 

But enough about my melodramatic professional life, time for the spooky shit that you actually came for. 

The door phenomena seems to have been the catalyst for all the new weird things that have been happening. I mean, hindsight being what it is, I realise there’s always been strange stuff going on in my house. It started small of course, I’d find things out of place occasionally and just brush it off, thinking my goldfish brain was just forgetting where I had put them or joking to myself that it was a ghost. But now, the doors will just randomly open; I’ll be in my office and I’d hear the bedroom open upstairs, eating and hear the bathroom open, so on and so forth. 

It became more concerning when, like I added in the first post, I noticed my bookshelves were moving as well. To give you an idea of the layout, my living room is basically one half library. Bookshelves take up the eastern wall, each of which are set about a foot apart with each of them dividing the books by genre. Just like most everything so far, changes to them started small, almost unnoticed. For a day or two I’d find books in the wrong place, again very minor, but soon enough the entire shelves had been moved when I wasn’t looking. Sometimes they’d even be in different corners of the room, over beside the television, and one time even right in front of my staircase. 

But that wasn't the weirdest thing, of course not. Objects going missing? Ok. Things moving by themselves? Odd, but you can get used to it after a while. But yesterday, I made some breakfast, and walked into the dining table. The table is a bit bigger than necessary in all honesty, with four chairs, the latter three of which were rarely used. I kept them for the rare chance I had company, like bunking your and your college roommate’s beds for all the parties you never end up having. Anyways, the point is I had four chairs. I know I had four, sat at either side and either end of the table. But that morning, when I turned the corner to the dining room, there were ten. Ten, sat around, and on top of the table.

Six extra chairs, from out of literal nowhere. My breakfast was dropped to the floor, and I just kinda… sat down, silently. I’ve always had a “strategy” of shutting down when overwhelmed, just going quiet and becoming as small as possible. I’ve done it ever since I was a kid. I’ve been able to move past most overwhelming things of course, I don’t just curl into a ball at the drop of a hat. But sometimes when life has too much going on, I can’t help but just try to put it on pause, and shut down. This was one of those cases, it was just too much. I could deal with the doors, it was stressful but I could move past it if nothing was otherwise wrong. The stuff moving was annoying, but again, I could work through it eventually. But the chairs, the goddamn chairs just didn’t make any sense. I just… couldn’t. 

But now here I am, once more asking… no, begging at this point, for your help. This can’t be a ghost anymore. Unless this spirit is a carpenter or something, there is no way six chairs just appear out of nowhere. Just… please, anything. I’ll be sure to update, but until then anything would help. Please. 

Down 

Down

Down In the rabbit hole 

Down 

Down 

Down I walk I wander in halls that are not my own 

Walk 

Walk 

Walk 

The void calls 

Ring Ring Ring 

Do I answer? 

Ring Ring Ring 

Hello? 

Edit: I just woke up at  2am to a bunch of questions about the last part of the previous update. All I can say right now is that I didn’t write that, and I am freaking the fuck out. 

Update #2: Yet again, my house has been acting weird. 

Welcome back to another episode of me slowly losing my sanity and grasp on reality. Hey, that rhymed ha ha. If you’re curious, the six extra chairs disappeared after I basically just ignored them for the rest of the day. As for the lovely little poem on my last post, I have no clue. I think it’s some kind of… weird prank? Maybe some hacker edited my post to fuck with me, that’s my best guess at least. I’ve since changed my passwords, and checked all transactions, but nothing weird. I’m just hoping it doesn’t happen again.

Anyways, after the suggestion of a few comments I’ve decided to look into the people who made this house. Unfortunately, like most research I’ve done on the place, I  found nothing. I was able to track down the realtor, but nothing on who made the place. I didn’t have it made, it was here for months before I got it, and I can’t find out who constructed it. I’m thinking of calling the agent and just prying her instead, but we’ll see how that goes. In other news, the house’s mind games have amped up. I’ve written down a few occurrences that have happened the past week or so, and will transcribe them here now.

The stairs have had more or less steps randomly. I estimate there were originally maybe 20 or so, but I’ve been tripping on them a lot recently. I counted them throughout the last few days, trying to keep a log of how many there are and when they change. 

Tuesday: First 2 tripping incidents, in the morning and evening. Didn’t count the steps either time, oddly enough I didn’t think they’d change randomly. 

Wednesday: In the morning, 20 steps, the standard. When I went up to change, 13. When I came back down, 20 again. Went up to bed, 22 steps. 

Thursday: Went down in the morning, 25 steps, tripped because I thought the staircase was shorter. It looked like I was at the bottom, but when I tried stepping off it was like I had … I don’t know, teleported 5 steps up. Trying to use the stairs less over all, to avoid hazards. 

Went up in the evening, or at least tried to. Lost count after maybe 35 steps, felt like an escalator going in reverse. Though it didn’t seem to change how the staircase looked, no matter how many steps up I went. Tried going back down the steps, but ended up upstairs, despite stepping downwards. 

Friday: Went down, 20 steps. I thought it was… too normal.  Decided to experiment. Went up and down several times, logged step count each time.

Up: 20

Down: 22

Up: 12

Down: Felt like only 3

Up: 20 again

Down: 5

Up: 5 again

Down: 31

Up: Lost count after 57

Down: 2

Decided enough was enough. 

Step count changes, but the staircase looks the same, every time. 

Beyond stair escapades, my furniture is yet again acting up. That’s the best way I can describe it, it almost feels like they're acting like children, playing pranks and slipping out from under me. One time I tried sitting in my reading chair, I wanna say Wednesday? The days are starting to kind of blend together, just barely distinguishable between each other based on whatever weird things happened that day. But yeah, Wednesday, that’s when my reading chair shot out from under me, and I fell flat on my ass. 

The same happened with my dining room chairs. I tried to sit down and bam, I’m on the ground. Now this is annoying enough, but my table has shifted as well. Or maybe I’m the one being shifted? Depending on the event the furniture is either a foot away from where it should be, or I’m a foot away from it. In the blink of an eye, either of us has moved. I’ve broken at least one plate because of this, and I think my ass is bruised indefinitely. 

The chairs have also been changing amounts, again. Sometimes I find four, sometimes only two, sometimes there’s seven or even more. There’s not been a full ten since the first time, but it just keeps changing on me. I swear to god it’s intentional. Things are only ever moving when I’m not paying attention, when any other time it’s normal. I don't know what to do anymore. I’ve been trying to keep out of my house as much as possible, going out as often as I can, using most any excuse to leave. But I have to come back, to eat, to sleep. 

It’s my house, but I don’t feel like I have any control over it. 

So yet again, I’m just asking for help, any help. 

This house is no home it is not made for me I’m trapped in the ever changing architecture the world of walls the windows of eyes the blood of water I rattle a cage of comfort I scream into voids but they do not listen I live in the living I am walking walking walking

I cannot run I cannot run I can’t run run run run run run run run

I hear her whispering to me

The Lady Behind The Wallpaper

Edit: Okay, I’m extra freaking out now. 

Update #3: The house. 

For weeks now my house has been experiencing phenomena that can be only described as otherworldly. Doors have opened on their own, furniture has been moved, extra or less chairs have been appearing at my dining table, etc and etc. I’m still working on finding out what company or contractor made this place, but my realtor has been absolutely unhelpful in that department. Beyond the house my own account has been acting bizarre, with little incoherent ramblings at the end of or in the comments of my previous posts. This has continued, despite me installing a VPN and changing the passwords to the majority of my accounts. Before you ask, I’ve also had it scanned for malware and physically looked at my PC for keyloggers. I learned a bit about cyber security from a really, really stupid horror story I read forever ago (thank you David Fucking King). But regardless, I’ve found nothing. Yet another dead end, in my long list of dead ends. 

But someone did suggest something I found… intriguing. They had the idea that I might be writing them, just in my sleep. Now, I’ve never sleepwalked in my life, but it’s… possible? I don’t know, maybe the stress has gotten to me and my body just starts doing what I’m supposed to do, write. As for the nature of the writings themselves, maybe it’s some kind of weird mix of patterns. Like fusing how often I write about this fucking place with some of my more flowery prose. It’s just a theory, but I see very few other explanations at this point. But I’ll wait for a bit to test this, just a bit. 

Until then, more house updates.

Furniture is still moving, so that’s great. At one point I made my way downstairs in the morning, just to find one of the bookshelves blocking the way. I spent maybe fifteen minutes trying to move it without pushing the thing over, trying to find the smallest gap between the wall and the shelf to pry my fingers through. I’m thinking maybe conveniently doorway sized bookshelves weren’t the best purchase, but that has been the least of my issues. 

Maybe two days ago, I was sitting in my office, failing to write anything in my newest manuscript as per usual, when I got up for the bathroom. But when I opened the door, I was looking at my bedroom. To clarify, my office is the former first floor bedroom, and my actual bedroom is on the second floor. I just stood there for a long while, staring. What else could I really do? My mind just couldn’t logic it out, so I froze in place, my usual self defence mechanism. But after maybe ten minutes of error screen brain, I managed to make a single step through the door. And when I turned around, the stairway was behind me, exactly where it was meant to be. And again, I just looked at it for minutes on end. 

Minutes 

Minutes 

Time 

Time 

Time over and over repeating the same steps over and over and over 

I’m walking in the living beast a child of gods in living boards and breathing wood the house of thoughts the windows stare at me for hours on end they mock me and my puny ideas and my frail body but I don’t care I can’t show my weakness or my mind

I stare back

The doors have been leading into random rooms. I’m not joking, I’m thin on humor about this whole situation. I’ve recorded at least 12 different times where I’ve opened a door, and the wrong room was on the other side. It happens most often when I try to leave my office. I’ve ended up in the bathroom, the bedroom, the front or back door, even in rooms without doors leading to them. At least twice I’ve walked out of my bedroom, and right into my kitchen. Like right in the middle of it, where there are exactly zero doors. Like I just fucking teleported there. 

I swear every door I open is becoming a gamble on whether or not I end up where it should lead. It’s yet another goddamn thing for me to get tripped up on almost daily. But it’s not the worst thing that's happened, not by far…

I tried taking a walk this morning. I like to take little strolls down the sidewalks closest to my house, just going around the town and listening to my music. At first I did this as just routine self care, getting exercise and a bit of peace in the morning, seeing the real world after being locked in front of a screen not writing a single word. But now it’s become more of an escape, an opportunity to get out of the house, out of the madness. But that changed today. I went out, walking down the street as always. Then I rounded a corner, when I suddenly fell. The back of my head slammed on the ground, my eyes squeezing shut in pain. I figured I had somehow slipped backwards. But as I sat up, grasping my aching head, I opened my eyes. 

I was back in the house, right by the front door. I’m sure you can guess how well I dealt with that. 

Yet again, I just need any kind of help. That’s all these posts have become at this point, just me begging for advice or assistance or anything at this point. I really just want any kind of help anymore. I really have no clue what to do besides maybe moving out, but that’s not an immediate solution, despite how nice it sounds. And regardless, I almost feel like the house… doesn’t want me to leave. 

It kept me from leaving today, why wouldn’t it do it again? 

Edit: Saw the message. I’m buying a camera for my office.

Update #4: I am losing my mind, and my house is to blame. 

I was the one writing the messages. 

I have been going into my office, and typing them out in my sleep. 

I am not a great writer. I have never claimed to be one. I don’t think I am one in all honesty, I am still quite underdeveloped in the craft. My prose is too flowery at times, too simplistic and nothing burger at others. My dialogue can be awkward, I am often so excited just to have written the first draft that I never even think to revise it. I am young, barely an adult in all honesty. I feel more like 3 children, hiding in a trenchcoat, trying to pretend I know what I’m doing. I am foolish, jumping into publishing without a second thought. And when my work got attention, even the smallest bit, I got so excited. Honestly, I think that’s the reason I write, attention. That’s pretty sad, right? The only reason I ever bothered putting pen to paper or hand to keyboard is because I didn’t get enough hugs as a kid. Because I couldn’t keep people, and felt alone so often. That, and not any kind of artistic merrit or grand idea swimming in my brain, is why I write. And then, I got attention, a lot of it. And life was okay for a time. I got money from that attention, I got a lot in fact. I bought a house with that money, I was succeeding, even just a little bit. In my mind I’m sure I felt like hot shit, an overnight celebrity over a paint by numbers fantasy story whose community was only large enough for a down payment. But to me, I was just showering in fame.

And then I realised I couldn’t write. Not anymore. There was so much weighing on every word, every idea. Would I ever write something that good again? Was it even good, or was I just stupid and lucky? Would I hold people’s attention like I had before? Or would I be forgotten, all over again. The stress kept me from putting down even a single word, though ideas floated around in my mind like absent minded fish in a tank. 

But I’ve been writing in my sleep, little poems of pain. About this house, a house that appeared out of nowhere. A house someone found, sold to me, and I’m now stuck in. I guess I deserve it in a way. I bought this place from money I got by whining loud enough that people would read whatever garbage I churned out just to get eyes on me. And now, here I am. Stuck. 

The house won’t let me out. Out out out out out out out out out out out out out out let me out let me out let me out out out LET ME GO LET ME GO I WANT TO BE FREE

It was maybe a day or two after I fell, and ended up back in the house. I tried to leave again, but when I opened the front door, I ended up in the house, again. It was connected to the back door, and I was staring into the living room, and down the main hall. For context, the back door and front door are visible from one another from down the main hall. It’s like when you place a mirror in front of a mirror. I went back, walking back into the first house and going through the back door. But of course, it led to another front door. It was just a chain of house copies, door after door leading to the front or the back. Failing to exit through any of these doors, I tried the windows. They don’t open anymore, the mechanism is gone. I tried breaking them, punching them, hitting them with chairs, knives, nothing. Not a single crack of scratch or anything. They don’t even show the outside anymore, at least not the actual outside. It’s barren, just the vague impression of sidewalks, streets, grass, sunlight, etc. but it’s all fake, it never changes, even at midnight it still just shines with the facade of daylight. 

Contact with the outside world is nearly impossible. I’ve tried sending messages, calling, emailing, nothing. Reddit works occasionally, for some reason, thus me posting this. But beyond that, my phone and pc are both useless. It's been like this for weeks now. I haven’t written until now, I don’t really have an excuse as to why. Besides my usual “my house hates me and keeps changing”. Changing chaining shifting its form keeping me locked here keeping me alive but tortured tortured tortured tortured I want TO BE FREE OF THIS HELL LET ME OUT I CAN’T HEAR WHAT YOU’RE WHISPERING. Each copy of the house has its own food, so at least I won’t run out, probably. But that’s not all that's happened, of course not, why would it be?

I’m sitting, reading, trying to ignore everything as always, when suddenly I’m falling. Not a short fall, like my chair tipped over. It felt like I fell off a roof, as I crashed onto a hard, unfamiliar surface. When I managed to work past the pain long enough to stand back up, I realised I was standing on the dining room wall. Before you ask, of course there were more chairs than usual. 

Gravity has been shifting. Sometimes I’ll just suddenly “fall” onto a wall, like the house just rotated on an axis. Sometimes it’ll reverse entirely, and I'll crash down, or… up onto the ceiling. Over and over, without any broken bones, somehow. But the furniture, the appliances, everything else in the house stays in place.  I don’t know how. That’s such a stupid thing to add, of course I don’t know. I don’t know why any of this is happening, it just is. I can’t explain any of it and it pisses me off. Every time, EVERY damn time some new weird shit happens I just have to keep going, or just freeze in a goddamn stupor, just staring as if it’ll fix itself if I look long enough long long long long into the void why does it sing why does it whisper to me it tells me such confusing things it speaks of its hate of its life its form its mother the labyrinth the infinite halls beyond us the bleeding influence my prison

Mother

Queen in Yellow

Let me free of your spawn 

My house 

It’s not my house It never was Nevernevernevernevernevernever 

And it never will be

And now I figure out that I’m the one writing cryptic bullshit into my computer at night, editing or commenting on my own posts randomly. Maybe that explains the dreams. Dreams of… just a voice, whispering. I can never hear what it’s saying, at least not clearly, and when I catch a familiar word it never makes sense. The sleep writings make no sense, this house doesn’t make sense, nothing makes sense. 

There’s nothing I can do anymore. I’m just stuck here. And so I’m posting, yet again, just asking for help. Or maybe just attention. At this point I can’t see the difference. 

Please. Anything. 

I don’t want to be alone. 

:( 

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE

Update #5: Me, Myself, and I. 

I’m still alive, barely. 

I’ve gotten tired of the same food, over and over. Eating in general makes me feel sick, almost to the point of vomiting. I hate vomiting, it’s been a fear of mine since childhood. I don’t, not often, but the idea of it is sickening. Your body just violently rejecting something from itself, forcing it out of your mouth. I hate even just thinking about it, makes me nauseous, which of course just doubles how much I hate thinking about it. I wonder if it’s the house. Maybe the spinning has finally gotten to me, just turning over and over and over and over and over and over and over. 

The days blend into each other. The sun doesn’t not set, there is nothing outside of the house but empty streets and light. The clocks don’t work, they’re all just frozen at 9:48. I don’t know why that time specifically. I’ve eaten the same food for weeks, maybe months at this point. Whenever I run out, I just open the front door, and I have a whole new fridge to eat from. I’ve more than lost count how many times I’ve done that. It’s to the point where I don’t even bother cleaning up after myself. What’s the point, the next house will be spotless. As always. 

The houses aren’t always the same. Things can be doubled, halved, etc. sometimes there’s no furniture, sometimes no windows, sometimes it’s flipped upside down. I think it’s testing itself, seeing what form pisses me off the most. Doors are still the same bullshit, I mostly just stick to the rooms without them. As for sleeping, I do most of that on the couch now. The stairs won’t let me into my bedroom, they just keep going up infinitely, so I don’t even bother. Sometimes I’m lucky and I can open a random door and end up in there, but that’s rare. And you don’t even wanna know what the bathroom situation is like. 

I’ve been trailing off while writing, as I’m sure you’ve seen. I think it’s a form of daydreaming, like my brain is trying to draw me into sleeping so I’ll write the same nonsense I have over and over and over and goddamn it, I did it again. I’m not gonna even bother deleting that. Go ahead, think I’m crazy. I really don’t care anymore. 

You don’t know me. And to be honest, neither do I anymore. Nothing feels real. I could be your friend, your foe, someone you pass by without a glance, someone you know.  I could be a blank canvas for someone else to plaster in the paints of their own ideas, or maybe I’m a statue, carved in stone, unalterable by any means outside of destruction. I could be a woman, I could be a man. Maybe I’m neither, maybe both. The mirror won’t tell me which one anymore. I could be the  same as I started, nothing changing or growing. Maybe I’m different, grown from my experiences, changed, better even. I could go to Heaven, I could go to Hell. Does it even matter? Are they even real? I don’t even know if I’m even real. This place, this house, none of it feels real. Why would I be real either? Maybe I’m just a character, in some author’s story, being slung along through this world against my will. 

Maybe I’m nothing. Maybe I’m everything

If you stare into the void, it stares back

If you hear the call of the void, do you follow? 

I hear it

I hear the call of the void

Do you hear it too?

Update #6: The Inferno. 

Have you ever read The Divine Comedy? You may have, you might not have. I personally had to read through it for a college English essay. It’s about Dante Alighieri going through the catholic afterlife with his ancient Greek poet boycrush Virgil. Along the way he meets several historical and mythological figures who have been condemned to hell, sent to purgatory or brought to heaven. It’s all a giant dissertation of the catholic church at the time, and is most well known by its first part, The Inferno; or how its two non fictional main characters were the namesake for the very fictional characters Dante and Vergil in the series "Devil May Cry”. The dissections of hell and its nine rings were so significant that many believe its descriptions originated from the christian religion itself. But no, a lot of it Dante just made up. I’ve always found that interesting. But that’s not entirely important though. What is is the words inscribed above the gates of hell, or more specifically their last line. 

Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here. 

I’ve thought about that alot. The fact that Hell felt the need to write a warning to those who were about to enter. It’s kinda funny, why would those designated to eternal torment need to be told they’re about to feel nothing but pain? But now that I’m here, in this place, I wish I had a warning. Something, just to warn me of the little slice of hell I’d find myself ensnared in once the purchase had completed. It would’ve been so simple, but the real world isn’t a story of course. There is no foreshadowing that’s more akin to forelighting, just life leaving the smallest clues to its cruelty. 

Life, not a story

Life, not a story

I’m living, I am not written

I wish there was a sign in front of the house, a warning, something so obvious I’d never even think of stepping foot in this god forsaken place. But no. Instead hell let me in with open arms, and only then showed more of its nature, day by day. It comforted me, but only long enough that I had no choice but to stay. 

Abandon all hope. 

Through all of this, there’s this odd feeling that I’m at the brink of something. Like I just need to dig a bit deeper and everything will make sense. There might just be a light at the end of the tunnel, but it’s shining real dim. So I keep digging and digging and digging and digging and digging and digging and digging and digging and digging and digging and digging and digging and digging and digging and digging and digging and digging. 

There’s layers to this place, rings, and I know I’m breaking through to the bottom of this. The void is calling me, it has been for a long while now, and I’m planning to finally answer.

Would you join me? 

Part 2: Reddit has a word limit https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesFromTheCreeps/s/ZRuWA2le5V

Preamble: This is an unfinished draft of my Slenderman retake/reimaginging/whatever, The Watcher. It's been in progress for a long, long time, and not nearly finished. But I figured I could give ya'll another little teaser.

Enjoy! And please do comment and feedback you have, I'd love to hear it (and I'll only cry a little bit if you hate it)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Watcher

Dear Janet.

It's been a while. I hope you've been doing well, and that you'll be out of the hospital soon. What has it been now, three weeks? Four? Time's moving too quickly. I miss our weekly book talks, I've gotten far too ahead in my book and need to gush about it to someone. My coworkers are so done with me rambling about it.

But, I know you know that isn't why I'm writing this. I wish I could've sent this to you earlier, but I've been busy since we last spoke. But, I did what you asked. I watched your recordings. It was... quite a journey to be completely honest. Just like you asked, I'll describe it to you, all of it. Hopefully you can start to remember again. I have no idea how you could've forgotten some of this, but I guess brains can be weird like that. Trauma, injury, ect. Feels like any slight pressure on your head could spell doom sometimes.

I arrived at your house in the morning, bright and early. I'll admit, I was anxious at first. I always thought that place was kinda creepy, but it was just extra... off, without anyone in it. An old story next to the forest, kinda place where people get murdered in those old horror stories. The forest always creeps in a bit too close for comfort, but I guess that's why you loved it.

The inside was as it always is, just a bit darker than I like. You always did prefer some shadows, said something about it making you relaxed, but I only put me on edge. Guess it's why I like meet ups at my place more. But then again my place doesn't have Cooper. Pup is doing fine by the way, think your mom's been dropping by to feed him, thankfully.

Anyways, after an admittedly long time of psyching myself up, I went to your office. You never did show me it, always made me kinda nervous about it. You brushed it off as just, "research stuff" but I gotta admit I always thought you were, like, hiding a body or something in there. But no, it was research. Just... not the kind of research I was expecting.

I thought, if you didn't in fact murder someone, it was for your articles, and maybe you didn't show me because of confidentiality or something. But, I thought you had gone crazy. You might've gone crazy, and now with whatever happened you just don't remember it. You had pictures, filled notebooks, drawings, everywhere. They were strewn about haphazardly, just all over your shelves, desk and even bed. Some were open, others filled with sticky notes, some were only half full of writing. Like, you began writing in one but started writing in another one without finishing the previous, multiple times!

Janet, we've been friends since forever, so I think I can confide this in you. I thought you were always kinda... weird. Like, you were always into spooky stuff. You'v had phases of loving true crime, to hauntings, to cryptids. It creeped me out a bit, but it wasn' t too much of a problem. You were a horror thriller, I was cheesy romcom, opposites attract and such. But I would've never guessed it went this far. I mean, you had an actual cork board filled with pictures and actual red threads.

But, that's besides the point. You'll want to know what the board had on it. First of all, a lot of photos. Not yours, they were to... low quality. They were all blurry shots of the forest, mostly tree lines. You had a few circled in certain areas, but I'm not sure why. I really didn't see much beyond maybe an out of place branch or two. You had a few of the library, the one that burned down almost 25 years ago now. I remember you told me 3 kids who were there didn't evacuate, but were found in the woods nearby a few days later. That was when you were really into missing 411 cases. One photo in particular had a sticky note, with "Possible connection?" written on it. There were other notes, mostly with words like "sighting?" Or "witness?".

There were a lot of drawings as well. They looked very rough, torn, and slightly dirty. They all were notepaper, drawn on with charcoal. There were a few faces, really simple ones though, just ovals with a few lines and shapes. There were a few with trees, they all looked like pines, or maybe that was just because of how simple they were. They felt more like warnings than the faces or trees, a few had words along the lines of "stay out". But they didn't freak me out that much.

The one that did was dead center on the board. It was just two shapes, but just the sight of it sent a chill through my blood. In the middle was a circle, with an X crossed through it. The ends of the X extended out of the ring, curving toward each other slightly at the top and bottom. It’s a symbol I've become all too familiar with now. Below it was just two words:

"WATCHES ALL”

It was at this point I considered leaving, just running out. Telling you the camera wasn't there, and just moving on with life. I felt like I was taking a step into something I’d regret, some rabbit hole I couldn’t climb out of. But… I don’t know, I felt guilty about it. You had asked me for one, simple favor while you recovered. But you know me, I couldn’t just break a promise, or even lie to you. So, I hooked up your camera to the computer, just like you instructed. When I turned on the computer, I was pleasantly surprised to find that picture we took at the orchard as your wallpaper. We looked so stupid in it, but… I’m glad you enjoyed it. Anyways, I found the video files, and started watching.

I’ll try my best to describe everything, but I’m no author so forgive me if it’s not the most engaging read.

It started off with some footage of you, just driving with the camera face up in the passenger seat. You looked very serious, focused. Peered out at the road through your glasses, hair tied back in a bun, the car silent of anything but the sound of the road. It looked like it was sometime in the afternoon. I tried to be all detective-like and deduce what time it was based on the sun, but realised the video had the time of recording in the bottom left. Shows me for trying to be intuitive, there goes the dream of being “Detective Anna Shemp” I guess. It was maybe ten minutes of just you in the car, until you eventually parked and picked up the camera.

Your brow kinda furrowed as you turned the camera to the windshield. It was the outskirts of a forest, You muttered, “They should’ve been here by now.” under your breath as you left the car, taking a bag from the back seat, and walked over to the lone picnic bench. It sat right at the mouth of a trail, a dirt path that went led into the woods. You sat around for a moment, waiting. It was about five minutes of you just sitting, scrolling through your phone. Eventually, I heard another vehicle pull up, and you looked up before walking over with the camera. There were two men, both unloading backpacks from their car.

One guy was blonde, his hair kinda messy and ruffled. He had a bit of stubble, wore a windbreaker and brown cargo pants. He waltzed up to you with a smile, holding out his hand.

“Hey!” he beamed, “Kevin, pleasure to meet you!”

Based on what the camera picked up, you shook his hand quickly.

“Janet, and the pleasure’s all mine.”

“Nice to finally meet in person, Oh, speaking of which!”

He pointed over at the car, and the camera turned in the same direction. It fell on the other man, as he took a big backpack out of the back seat. He was darker haired, dark brown I think, combed semi formally. He had a thicker beard, though it was neatly trimmed, along with a few freckles on his cheeks and bright green eyes. He was wearing a buttoned up flannel shirt, and a pair of well worn jeans over hiking boots. While I watched, I thought he looked… oddly familiar. Like, I thought I had seen him before, but couldn’t quite put my finger on where I had.

“That guy over there is Liam,” Kevin continued from behind the camera, “he’s the other guy I mentioned on the group chat.”

“Afternoon,” Liam said, before putting his focus back onto the equipment.

“Hey,” you halfheartedly replied.

“Welp, now that we’re all well acquainted,” Kevin continued, as the camera back over to him, “you wanna film an intro miss Janet?”

“Oh, right, yeah.”

The camera turned back to your face, the forest in the background, as you cleared your throat.

“We are here today at the edge of Stirling City, one of the many sites tied with our investigation into the being known as, The Watcher.”

I felt a shiver run over me with that name. I could only vaguely recall anything about it, something about a monster in the woods, an old German fairy tale. You talked about it a long time ago, but I was too creeped out and had asked you to refrain from the topic. But here it was, again. Then there was mention of Stirling City, where the library fire happened. Together, something clicked in my mind. Everything in your office, every note, the entire corkboard, it was all about this. This thing, this cryptid or whatever, The Watcher. I expected to be fearful, maybe even just give up and go home. But instead, I remained. I was hooked, line and sinker.

“Our investigation,” you continued, looking stoically into the camera, “has brought us from corner to corner on the internet. But now, we finally have the chance to conduct a research in person, and into a location most associated with this elusive entity.”

The camera flipped back around to the vehicle, as Kevin and Liam were putting their bags over their backs. 

“How was that?” You asked, your tone still flat.

“Yes, perfect,” Kevin replied, still beaming through the strain of his backpack, “fits the vibes exactly! What did you think Li-man?”

“...It’ll work” Liam replied, not even looking over at him. Rather, his sight was fixed onto the woods, staring off into the middle distance at the trees.

“Well, I thought it was great.”

“Regaurdless,” you interjected, “could we do a quick equipment check? Before we all rush headlong into the woods?”

“Aw, shoot, you right.”

The camera was placed on the ground, while the group sorted through their bags. The only thing it captured was the sound of them rifling through various items.

“So,” you continued, “you’ve each got enough water for the day right?”

“Yes ma’am,” Kevin answered, “both got hundred twenty ounce bottles.”

“Spare clothes?”

“Yep.”

“Batteries?”

“Double A’s, as requested.”

“Tent?”

“Liam was supposed to pack it.”

“I’ve got it.” Liam replied. “The pocket knife too.”

“Pocket knife?” you asked, confused.

“Just in case, you never know.”

There was a short pause, before you spoke again.

“Fair enough. Bear spray?”

“Yepperoni.” Kevin answered, still chipper as ever.

“Phone charger? The power bank kind?”

“Aye aye captain!”

“I brought the firewood, and we each have sleeping bags and food. Yeah, we’re good to go.”

The camera was brought back up, as Kevin exclaimed, “Hell yeah!”, before strutting off into the woods. It turned over to Liam, standing solemn and stoic as always. He glanced over at you, looking through the side of his eyes.

“Is he always like this?” you dryly asked.

Liam smirked a bit, the first time I’d seen him with any expression other than “resting PTSD face.”

“Hmph,” he snickered, “yeah, he’s a real golden retriever ain’t he?”

“Hah, so you can smile.”

“Well,” he slowly made his way to the forest, following Kevin, “shall we? Before he trips on a bear trap?”

As Liam began trekking down the forest trail, you followed in his stead, silently recording as you went. But as you entered, I couldn’t help but notice something strange. My eye wasn’t drawn to it at first, but as I played back the footage I noticed something off in the woods. At first it just seemed like some kind of shadow, a trick of the light. With the camera quality and its distance, it looked so ordinary. But I looked closer. It was a figure, a person. They stood, maybe 50 feet away from you and Liam, just watching. Their faces were hard to make out, no clear features, a mask of some kind I figured. I felt a shudder as the image stuck itself deep in my mind. it just seemed so… off, so damn creepy. Who were they? Why were they just out in the woods for no reason. At this point, I started thinking you were making this all up, that this video was just some sick joke. But no, you wouldn’t go through all this, faking memory loss, just to scare me.

So, maybe against my better judgement, I continued.

For a long while, the footage was pretty mundane: A lot of walking, the back of Kevin and Liam’s heads, occasional shots of the woods, etc. There was little conversation between you three, mostly just the occasional quip or question from Kevin. I didn’t glean much from what he said, maybe that he was from New Jersey? I honestly stopped paying much attention when he brought up his high school basketball team. But eventually, you guys finally stumbled on something. In the midst of the walk, Liam held up a hand.

“Hold up,” he ordered, staring off to the side of the trail. 

“What?” Kevin asked, shocked and concerned. “What’s going on?”

In response, Liam just pointed. The camera panned toward the woods, and onto one tree in particular. Something rested on the face of its trunk, a single sheet of lined notebook paper. The video zoomed in, taking in the details. A drawing, in dark charcoal, was etched across the page. The exact kind strewn about your office, same style and everything. This one depicted a series of pine trees, with a tall figure far in the background. Above was just one word:

“SOMEWHERE”

I think your words summed it up best.

“Well, that’s ominous.”

“But promising!” Kevin chimed in. “C’mon, we’ve got at least another hour of hiking before we make it to the real forest.”

The camera panned back to the group, as Liam turned toward him.

“I feel like we’re deep enough into the woods, man.” he replied, rubbing his temple with one hand.

“Oh what, you gonna let a little poster spook us off? Watch.”

The camera followed Kevin, shit eating grin plastered over his face, as he waltzed over to the tree. With one hand, he pulled the page from the trunk in a quick movement. He turned, holding it up by his face, still smiling.

“See? Nothing to be afraid of.”

He then continued down the trail, folding the page into his pocket. You looked over at Liam, as he turned back at the camera.

“I mean, he’s right,” you began, “some kid’s prank probably.”

Liam stared into the camera for a moment, before taking in a deep breath.

“Alright,” he sighed, his eyebrows raising and falling in quick but quiet irritation, “your call ma’am.”

He turned back to the trail, and followed behind Kevin. It was only at this moment while watching that I finally realised where I had seen Liam before. He was at the hospital when I came to visit you, he came by your room. I’m sure you remember him, he’s the whole reason I’m writing this. He just popped his head in. said he dropped off your camera, then left. It was weird, and it was no wonder it took so long for me to fully recognise him, I had only seen him for half a second. I was kinda relieved at first, it had finally clicked in my brain. But it also… unnerved me. It was suspicious to say the least. Why was he the one who showed up? Why did he have your camera, when you weren’t found with it? It just didn’t make sense, at least not at the moment. But regardless, I continued on.

The footage cut a few times. I think you were trying to save battery, or there just wasn't much going on. The dense woods, your own feet walking the trail, a few I’m guessing accidental shots of your face trying to adjust the settings, oh, and a cute close up zoom of a chipmunk. That was nice, though looking back I couldn’t help but see something in the background. The footage was kinda a I Spy game like that sometimes, random things in the background that you had to squint to find. In this case, another page. I couldn’t tell you what was written on it, but beyond the blurring, I did see that symbol.

The circle, with an X through its center.

I moved past it, and kept watching. Eventually, the group had made it into the woods, setting up camp in a small clearing. Though, clearing isn’t the best word for it. It was just a slightly less dense patch of trees, though they were still quite numerous. It was cramped, three tents surrounding a small fire pit, which themselves were surrounded on all sides by the woods. At this point in the footage, it was almost 4 o’clock at night. The set up was mostly not filmed, kinda hard to record while pitching a tent at the same time I suppose. But eventually, the camera fell on a stretching Kevin.

“Well how about that,” he beamed, still sunny despite manual labor, “nothing like a good ol’ days hike right and some tent pitching huh?”

“Whatever you say.” was your disinterested reply from behind the camera. It fell on the two men on either side of the pit, Kevin standing awkwardly while Liam got the fire going. Eventually a match lit, and the pit flashed with orange flames. Everyone sat around the fire, chairless, the other two absent mindedly glancing at each other.

“Hey,” Kevin began, always the one to get a conversation started, “since we’re all sittin’ here, and Miss Ashton is gonna need more b-roll, why don’t we talk about some Watcher stories?”

There was a silence among the group, as Kevin glanced between you and Liam, waiting for a reply.

“Well, the fire’s good mood lighting,” you answered slowly, “I don’t see why not.”

“Heck yeah,” Kevin beamed, “you got any good ones Liam?”

Liam glanced towards Kevin, then to the camera, barely tilting his head in either direction.

“Well, up north they’ve had a few sightings. Mostly people going missing, people in masks showing up, tall figures in the tree lines.”

“Masked?” you asked.

“Yeah. People claim they were chased off by crazy people in masks.”

“What,” Kevin chimed in, “like a cult?”

“No, just… people, out in the forest, acting all weird. Not just up north, everywhere.”

“Exactly,” you added, “I’ve heard there were similar reports in the south too, Alabama and Florida I think.”

“Right right,” Kevin beamed, amping himself up, “and there was that weird stuff going on in Jersey.”

“That was the actual Cult,” Liam replied, nudging Kevin’s arm, “The Order or something.”

“So,” you continued, “the entity has been linked to cases of strange behavior, namely people with masks, and even cult-like activity.”

“I mean, maybe it does something weird to their brains,” Kevin answered, warming his hands by the fire.

“Like, drive them crazy?”

“Exactly! I mean, why else would someone traipse around the woods?”

There was a long moment of awkward silence, as everyone soaked in the irony.

“Well, traipse around the woods in the mask.”

“Right,” you dryly responded, “well, the main story most people know is the Stirling City Library Fire.”

“The millennium or 86’ one?” Kevin asked.

“There was one in 86?” Liam replied, confused.

“Yeah, though there’s nothing that really happened. Well except the original slide photo going missing.”

“Oh yeah,” you added “the one where people say you can see The Watcher in the background.”

“I still think it looked more like a weird tree.”

“Anyways, no. The one most people know is the 2000 Blaze, the one where the three children went missing, then just showed back up one day. Evelyn Harmon, Cheyenne Guerrero, and Liam…”

You trailed off into silence, as Liam looked back at the camera.

“Wilson.” He concluded. “His last name was Wilson, I’m Liam O’Donovan.”

“Oh, right,” you answered nervously, “sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s confusing given where we are.”

“Well, anyways.” You resumed. “The three claimed to have been assisted by a quote, ‘tall man in a suit’, which fits with most descriptions of The Watcher. Stranger yet, it was claimed that when the three were found, one of the children was wearing a paper mask.”

“Cue the stinger!” Kevin grinned.

“Well, that should be enough for now, in terms of b-roll.”

“Welp, we’re gonna need some more firewood.” Liam added, slapping his knees as he stood. “You wanna tag along Janet?”

“Actually, I need to review the footage quick, if you don’t mind.”

“I can go with,” Kevin chimed in, rising from his seat “let her relax after walking all day.”

“Alright, then,” Liam replied, patting him on the back, “as long as we’ve got enough hands to carry with.”

“You betcha!” Kevin exclaimed, patting Liam on the back.

“Please don’t touch me.”

“Oh yeah, sorry.”

The camera panned as the two of them walked off into the forest, as Kevin continued on yammering. Eventually, they disappeared into the trees, and it was just you and the campfire. The woods have to have stretched on for miles, a void of green and bark in any given direction. You faced the camera down, the trees just barely visible near the top, mumbling a bit as you clicked some of the buttons. Then for a second, the footage cut to black, then came back to the same shot of the ground and treeline. This repeated a handful of times as you looked through the footage.

But at some point, something changed. After a few cuts, I could see something in the treeline, a shadow. Then it cut again, and it was closer. Another cut, even closer. Then finally, there was someone standing in the camp, maybe a foot away from you. But you didn’t notice, still just looking through the footage. At first, I thought Kevin or Liam had come back, but no. The shoes were different, not the hiking either of the guys were wearing. They were rough, duct taped and bandaged together. I could feel my head thrumming with my quickening pulse, as the figure just calmly sat down. Then finally, you noticed, and the camera turned up in tandem.

She sat on one of the chairs, hunched over, with her hands folded and elbows against her knees. She wore all black, like she had just left a funeral, with a hood pulled tight over her head. She wore thick leather gloves over her hands as well, concealing every inch of her body. Slowly, she tilted her head towards you, the camera catching the smallest glint of her eyes.

“Don’t be afraid,” she finally said, “I won’t bite.”

Her voice was so… relaxed, calm, heck I’d even call it soothing.

“W-Who are you?” Was your shaking reply, just barely keeping your camera steady.

“My name means nothing. My title is The Mourner.”

That explained her choice of outfit.

“Why a-are you here? What do y-you want?”

Her head turned further, her face slowly revealed to the camera. Though, maybe face isn’t the right word. It looked more like a mask, pale white, with an inhuman texture to its surface. It looked feminine, with its expression twisted in a somber scowl, mouth down turned and brows angled inward. It was detailed to the enth degree, the creases and wrinkles clear despite the video’s quality. It looked almost as much like an angry glare as it did a dour look. Then there were the markings. There were dark streaks down either of her eyes, like dark running mascara. And over her right eye was that mark again, the circle and the X.

From behind the mask, she uttered a reply, still just as calm as before.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“You’re not safe here, no one is.”

“Is that a threat?” You barked, bolting up from your seat. “Are you threatening me?”

“I am simply a messenger.” She replied, slowly standing from her seat. “I mourn every life lost here, and I wish not to see you or your companions become more to grieve.”

“Jesus Christ, just tell me what’s going on! What’s so dangerous out here?”

“Many things,” she continued, slowly walking away as the camera followed her, “not all of which are obvious. Keep your eyes open, Janet.”

“H-how… how the hell do you know my name!?” 

She turned to face you, standing on the edge of the woods. 

“The forest knows many things. It always watches, with no eyes.” 

And then, she walked off. Just casually strolling into the trees.

“Hey, hey!” You screamed. “What the hell! Get back here!” 

She didn’t respond, continuing on without pause. Suddenly, you dropped the camera, running to try and catch up with “The Mourner”. The video kept rolling for several minutes, recording nothing but the trees from its spot on the ground. And I sat there with it, just staring into the void of bark and leaves. It was just that one shot, for so long I ended up thinking the video had frozen. But when I looked at the timestamp, it was still playing. Then it started making a strange noise as well, like the audio was bugging out, repeating the same sound over and over. But again, it was just the video, not the computer glitching. And then, the recording itself began breaking down, random pixels filling the screen randomly as the quality kept fluctuating. 

And then, it finally came into frame. A figure amongst the trees, dark and just as tall as them. I almost didn’t see it, just fading into the background. But as soon as I saw it, my ears started ringing. But it was so strange, it wasn't a painful feeling. It was almost a relieving feeling, like a pressure in my head I never knew of was suddenly gone. It was such a weird feeling, like my brain had been given air for the first time in forever, as the screen shook and shifted around this… thing. 

And then it was gone. 

The ringing left my ears, my mind returned to normal, and the video stopped glitching. I had to pause it, take a breath. I hadn’t felt anything even close to that, not even when we got hypnotized at that one show. No, this was something wholly different, something indescribable. As I calmed myself back down, I felt a warm trickle down my lip. I brought my hand to my face, and sure enough my nose had started bleeding. 

I rushed to the bathroom, stuffing toilet paper into my nose to stop the blood. I was trying not to laugh at how you always call that making a “nose tampon”, lest I cover your bathroom in blood. Thankfully, it stopped soon after, and all was calm once again…