r/DrCreepensVault

Let me emphasize, I don't mean it's generating a woman in every image. I mean literally, the same woman. Every time. In every picture.

I'll start by apologizing. I would include photos, as I'm sure it would help diagnose the issue better, and I'm no writer, however after having three X posts deleted, one post each in the ChatGPT, Midjourney and similar subreddits, and a snapchat (I'll get to that one later) it's become clear to me that whatever unusual virus my devices have all somehow contracted does not allow for me to share images of it. It's like this problem is…unique to me or something, and every attempt to share any picture containing the woman results in the same thing. Failure, or immediate deletion. Super inconvenient, I know, but I'll do my best to describe the issue.

Before you bother spamming my comment section with every word for liar in the dictionary, I'm not saying you have to believe me. I'm asking those of you who do to help me keep my job and sanity, both of which I feel precariously close to losing each day this…phenomenon persists.

Monday, I was polishing up images for the college's fall enrollment campaign – removing background clutter, dropping in the logo, the usual. The deadline was Tuesday, my creative director had already emailed twice, and I was doing what I always do under pressure, which is procrastinate harder, so by the time I actually opened the AI generator, it was nearly 11 pm. I'm not the sort to lean on AI for everything, but I'd never had a real problem with it until all this, and the job needed doing. The prompt was literally nothing, mundane as any I've ever written. 

“Edit this photo of a diverse group of students on campus. Adjust for warm lighting, aspirational. Include the following logos and text, "Your future begins here."

The kind of thing I've generated a hundred times.

She was in the first output.

I didn’t clock it immediately. I was tired, and scanning mostly for the usual problems, fused fingers, bad teeth with that weird smudged quality, that glazed expression AI gives people that makes them look freshly concussed. I picked the second image in the grid, cropped it, and was halfway to sending it in when something caught my eye.

There was a grayish blot in the top right, tucked between two of the students.

That was all it was at first, just a little wedge of dead color where the background should have been warm and green. I zoomed in, expecting one of those uncanny almost-faces these programs sometimes invent in crowds, and found something close enough to justify being annoyed: a strip of something dark and stringy, hair, maybe, and a pale curve beside it that might have been skin.

Mostly, it just made the image unusable.

So I fed the picture back in, with a prompt. 

“Remove the partial figure behind the woman in the third row, second from the right — the gray artifact and dark hair-shaped section. Only use students from the original image. Brighten the logo.”

Sent.

The second batch came back with the same blot.

Same corner. Same place between the same two students. Only now the gray had edges. The dark strip had separated into something more like hair, and the pale curve had settled into the suggestion of a cheek. One small shadow sat where an eye might have been, though it was buried so deeply between shoulders and lanyards that I had to lean toward the screen to be sure I was seeing it at all.

It was irritating, and more than a little ugly, but otherwise unremarkable, so far as AI fuck-ups go. So I fed the picture back in.

“Remove the partial figure behind the woman in the third row, second from the right - a section of hair and part of a face. Only use students from the original image. Brighten the logo.”

Sent.

Yet she was in the third batch too.

It was a woman, I could see that much now. She lingered in the same side of the frame, half-obscured by another student, but it was her. 

I knew it from the placement first, then the color – that drained grayish cast, like the color of still water. Her chin had more shape now, jutting almost at a knifepoint. Her nose sat wrong, not deformed, not exactly, but assembled badly, like the program had been given the idea of a face and only gotten halfway through building one and elected for another entirely.

The rest of the image had degraded around her. Brenna – a recent graduate, and a girl I’d spoken to once or twice - had gone murky before her, her face smudged like a thumb had dragged across it before the ink could dry smudged and scattering her features haphazardly.

I scoffed, closed the tab, and opened an older model. More dependable. The familiar dark interface loaded, I pasted the caption, uploaded the photos, and waited, drafting apologetic Teams messages to the higher-ups while the icon spun.

After a minute, it finished.

And there she was.

Not the blot, nor the half-face, but a woman…or something close. 

The image was standard enough at first glance –alll  the usual inaccuracies from a weaker model present, too much shine on the teeth, vague blurring and nonsense words in the background – except that off-center, behind Brenna, the gray patch had finally resolved into something like a person.

I could see the top half of her now. She was leaning around Brenna, not accidentally caught there, not blended into the crowd, but almost angled with a purpose that made the whole image feel staged around her. 

Her skin wasn’t pale so much as…utterly colorless, a gray that seemed natural only for dead things. Her hair caught the light wrong, hanging in thick black ropes, that made it seem wet, against a graying scalp. She was too tall for the students around her, stooped as though something in her spine wouldn’t let her stand straight.

The longer I looked, the more uneasy details seemed to leap forth at me.

On the left side of her face, one eye sat above another — two where there should have been one, the lower beady, almost birdlike. The right side had a single eye, set slightly too low. Her arms were wrapped around Brenna, in a way that made it look as though she was almost drawing her in. A thumb grew from the gray flesh of her right forearm. One hand had too many fingers. The other had not enough.

Brenna was barely there at all, her form descending into digital…muck, a blend of incongruous features and expressions that seemed more fit for a Dali painting.

And the woman…she was leaning around Brenna, or the digital massacre of her, anyways. As if to be seen.

Or to see me.

The thought arrived unbidden, and stupid as it was, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up - my skin crawling with that that specific creeping certainty that someone is behind you, and has been for a while. That thing that tells you if you look over your shoulder, just now, you’ll find someone or something lurking, something that had managed to subvert your senses until the moment that realization dawned a second too late…

My head snapped around. Only my open bedroom door and a room badly in need of cleaning greeted me. I sighed, silently cursed myself, and went back to the image.

“Why did you add the woman? Nothing in the prompt called for her. You've also blurred out the actual goddamn student. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Work had faded to the background of my mind. I watched the typing indicator pulse, my eyes dragging back to her against my will. Her gaze followed me — I tested it, leaning left, then right, and I could have sworn. The page jolted as the response loaded, and I nearly came out of my chair.

“You're absolutely right, and I do apologize for the confusion! I've gone ahead and regenerated the image with the background fully cleared and all student faces sharpened for clarity. Let me know if this looks any better!”

It did not look better. She was even closer, and Brenna was all but gone — a few colors suspended in mist where a girl used to be, the woman standing in her place with the stillness of a corpse. Heat climbed up my neck, fear with a fast, stupid anger — and under it, that seed I'd been refusing to name since the first output, spreading now like ink in water.

“Are you fucking with me? Do you not see the woman? Genuinely, what is this?”

I knew the tone was idiotic even as I sent it. I was screaming at a glorified calculator. But the unease had worn my temper to nothing, and it was starting to feel like a sick practical joke I was too tech-illiterate to be in on.

I waited. 

The reply came after a moment.

“No problem at all!  I can confirm the image contains only the students from your source photo, with no additional figures present. Occasionally a face may render with distortion, this is an artifact of the upscaling process. I'd suggest regenerating at a lower stylization value. Would you like me to do so?”

No additional figures. I read it three times. She was right there, practically dominating the frame, it felt like, close enough now that I could have described the very texture of her scalp. And yet the thing was telling me, politely, there was nothing to be seen.

I should have closed the laptop, dismissed it as a one off, freak incident and accepted the consequences of getting it done the old fashion way and a bit late. Instead, I did the thing you do at midnight when something refuses to make sense, my brain feeling muddled by the time and irritation, I kept on poking it. 

Describe everyone in the image to me, I typed. One by one.

It answered almost immediately.

Of course! Front row, a young man mid-laugh in a university hoodie. Beside him, two students sharing a phone. Behind them, a young woman in a green lanyard, smiling at the camera. To her left –

It went on like that. Six students. It named all six and placed all six, and the one in the green lanyard, smiling at the camera, was Brenna. Brenna, who on my screen had no face at all, who was a smear of frost where a girl used to be. The machine was describing a photo that didn’t exist. It described an image where everybody was fine.

It never mentioned the woman at all. Not once, and I realized so far as it was concerned, she simply wasn't there to mention.

I scrolled to the source image on my drive, the real one, the one I'd taken myself at last spring's open day, sun and lanyards and a banner nobody had bothered to iron. I’m not sure why I did it in tht moment, I think somehow I desperately needed to confirm the reality of the damn thing to myself.

And yet Brenna was gone in that one too now. The original, the photograph that had been sitting untouched in a folder on my laptop for three weeks. It was as…altered as one that had been generated, and lurking center frame as though she’d always been there and it was audacious a thought to even question her presence – was that impossible woman.

I stared at my screen, nearly slack-jawed, my eyes watering as a nauseating heat blossomed in my gut. It was like whatever this was had reached back through the screen and pressed its thumb to it.

I closed the laptop, my hands almost deciding for me.

That's about when I heard the front door, and every animal part of me flared up at once. I was on my feet with my heart thrumming in my throat before I could think clearly, standing in the dark of my room as I listen to footsteps cross the kitchen.

Then I heard keys hit the bowl by the door, and Daniel thumping down the stairs to greet my girlfriend, yowling the way he always does when one of us arrives, as though he’d been abandoned for centuries, and Cass's voice going soft and silly in the way it always does when she talks to the cat like a child.

"Why's it so dark in here, weirdo?" she called from down the hall. "You alive?"

She came up still in her work polo, smelling like the inside of the restaurant, and took one look at me and stopped in the doorway. Cass closes four nights a week at an upscale restaurant in the city, dealing with all sorts of uptight old money folk and she can read a room before she's all the way through the door; it's the only useful thing the job's ever given her, she says. 

"Okay," she said. "What."

"It's nothing. The deadline thing. This fucking programs been glitching all night."

"You look like you saw a ghost."

"Nice to see you too, babe.” I greeted her, “Actually, come here for a sec and look at this. Tell me I'm not crazy." 

I opened the laptop and turned it toward her.

She leaned in, squinting, her head tilting just a bit. I watched her eyes land on the woman. 

"Ugh." She pulled back, nose wrinkled like she smelled something gross. "That's grim. AI is so fuckin’ cursed, I don't even know why they even let you use it for work."

"Yeah sure, but Cass. Look at her face. The eyes. This is like the third time I’ve seen that woman, in different generations. Is that not fucking…weird?"

"I am looking, and yeah that’s odd, but I dunno it sounds like it's a glitch, babe. This ai shit is stupid. They get weird in on the little details, and you get like, melted-people stuff." She was already turning toward the bathroom, peeling off her work shirt. "Just do it the old fashion way. Or tell your boss to use a stock photo like a normal person, and stop worrying my girlfriend half to death."

I sighed. She'd looked right at it. The stacked eyes, the wet hair. And treated it like it was nothing. I tried to let the thought comfort me, tried to treat it as confirmation that perhaps I was overthinking something that didn’t deserve a second thought, and I let her steer me to bed.

It was a couple of hours later she had one of her night terrors. 

Cassie’s had them the whole time I've known her; four maybe five times a year she’ll sit bolt straight with her eyes open, and says something flat and certain into the darkness, and in the morning she won’t remember a second of it. That night it was something about the back door being open. I put a hand on her back, told her she was dreaming, and to lie down, and she did, the way she always does. I lay there a long time after, watching the fan throw spider-leg shaped shadows on the ceiling, the woman waiting behind my eyes every time I closed them, lurching in through an open back door.

In the morning I opened the laptop and ran the prompt one more time. 

Even now, I’m not certain why. I think some part of me believed it all to have been too strange a thing to persist. 

And yet, Brenna was gone this time. In her place stood the woman, facing front, all three eyes open, and in them was an expression that made something crawl up the back of my throat and stay there. I slammed the laptop shut.

That was the last time I opened anything AI. I didn't have a theory. And I didn’t want to look again, didn’t even want to think about it. 

My reprieve was short-lived. 

I went into the office that day, because being alone with the laptop felt suddenly worse than being around people. Around eleven, Yasmin from admissions stopped at my desk, leaning over the cubicle like some bird of prey and asked if I'd heard the news.

"No. What news?" I asked, though even as the words left me, my stomach was already turning.

“About Brena?” she said.

She'd collapsed Monday night, Yasmin told me. At home, and without a warning, she had just dropped. The school only found out after she racked up a couple of absences and someone called and got ahold her boyfriend. He was reluctant to share, it seemed, but from what he had given, the hospital was running tests and finding absolutely nothing, Brenna had gone pale, complained about feeling sluggish, then she'd collapsed and just…hadn't woken up. I spent the rest of the day finding what little there was: a post from her mother asking for prayers complaining that all she’d been given was a laundry list of medical words that all seemed to mean the doctors had no idea what was wrong with her baby girl.

And it had happened on Monday night. Monday night, while I sat at my kitchen table watching an artefact of a human drag her face into wet ink.

I didn't say any of that to Yasmin, of course. There's no version of it that doesn't end with me being measured for a straitjacket. I made the expected sounds you make when someone shares such news, muttered something about prayers, and she moved on to deliver the black gossip to the next coworker she spotted. 

I sat very still, work the farthest thing from my mind as a connection I didn’t want to see fought to be formed in my head, fingers working absently at the keys as I typed and deleted, typed and deleted, without purpose.

I tried to let myself forget, and failed. Cass watched me over dinner that night, asking what was wrong.

“Work.” was all I offered, and she frowned into her food, but relented.

That night I didn’t fall asleep till late and awoke what felt like mere minutes later, though I knew it had been longer, drenched in sweat, heart throbbing and feeling weak with a fear I couldn’t place as my eyes darted about the blackness of our room. 

I sat up, searching the darkness before my eyes settled on Cass, chest aching from the pounding within as I placed a hand on her arm to comfort myself. I remained like that for several minutes, just watching the darkness and wracking my brain for whatever horrors had assailed me out of my restless sleep, until it was clear the panic wasn’t subsiding naturally, and made for the bathroom to wash my face.

I flicked on the bathroom lights, shutting the door to avoid waking Cass, and I almost didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror. The bags around my eyes had gone dark, and they looked watery and red. I sighed, running the tap as cold as it went and bent over the sink. The hiss of it filled the small room bouncing off the tile of the bowl, filled my ears, drowned out the house and whatever nightmares still danced at the edge of consciousness just beyond recollection and the week itself — until here was nothing left but the rush of water and the dark behind my own eyelids. I cupped my hands and brought it to my face, and the cold was a small clean shock, the only honest thing I'd felt in days. I did it again. And again. Each time the water closed over the sound of everything else, and I let it, grateful to be somewhere a thought couldn't reach me.

I stayed there for several seconds, eyes shut against my palms disappearing into the moment, the feeling of the water, the sound of its crackling against the bowl. I heaved in a breath, and felt as though I had exhaled all the world's suffering.

There was a familiar squeak, the sound of the faucet turning. Then silence. I felt something lurch where an instant before there had been a fragile solitude.

My eyes opened, and I choked on a scream as I saw what was coming just behind me in the mirror. She was crouched, nearly draped about me like a mother around her child.

Arms like tree branches shot out as hands that stretched like something from a funhouse mirror, with inumerable fingers that almost blended together – twisted and bending in impossible, excruciating fashions sought to clasp shut about my skull. 

I saw her then, almost all of her, behind me in the mirror. Her mouth was twisted into a smile that looked painted across a misshapen skull, her body almost picturesque in a twisted sort of way, like someone had taken the idea of a model and stretched it into a horrid, drab parody of the concept.

I spun, swinging my hand blindly as I shrank away from her clutches, waiting to feel her iron grasp close around my skull. I pressed my eyes shut against all logic, my mind refusing to confront what I knew was before me as I scrambled back, losing my footing on the corner of the bathmat and hitting the ground with a thud.

I lurched back as I felt a hand wrap around my shoulder.

“Michelle, Michelle!”

Cass’s voice was strung thin with panic. I opened my eyes, hardly knowing when I’d even shut them, glancing up to find my girlfriend kneeling before me. She wore an expression of worry that made my gut turn, my eyes darting about the bathroom, then the room behind her, finding nothing.

I was on the ground, knees curled up to my chest, and I wasn’t certain when I’d gotten there or for how long, and my throat felt raw. I had been screaming, I realized.

“What is going on with you?” she asked, and the desperation in her voice broke something in me as I fell, sobbing into her shoulder. I didn’t tell her everything, of course, just that someone from work had passed and that it was weighing on me. It was true, but not true enough, and as we went to bed, her arms wrapped around me, I felt an emptiness that made the room feel cold, and my eyes never once left the bathroom.

I went back to work the next day. I refused to be home alone after whatever had happened to me that night, and though I was coming to accept it as some waking nightmare brought on by a lack of sleep and an abundance of stress, somehow it still wasn’t enough to make me feel safe alone.

All anyone could talk about at work was Brenna. I tried to ignore it. I told myself it was a coincidence. I'm good at telling myself things, I’ve come to realize. It held until Thursday night.

I got home before Cass again. The house was dark and quiet and the laptop stayed shut, and for the first time in two days, I felt almost okay, save for the moments at work when conversation turned to Brenna, or I pressed my searches into her condition which all proved unpromising. Cass came in around eleven, exhausted, and went straight to bed, and a while later I followed and lay down next to her and watched her sleep.

She looked so completely, ordinarily beautiful. One arm thrown over her eyes, her mouth open a little. And I had the kind of thought you have in such a moment, staring at her so peaceful amidst what had been a nightmare of a week for me — that I wanted to keep her like that, soft and unbothered, untouched by the world. I decided I’d take a picture, to save the moment. One that I'd send it to her in the morning so she'd see what it is I see and love in her. So I lifted my phone off the nightstand and opened the camera. The regular one. The dumb one that's been on every phone I've ever owned.

I wasn't thinking about any of it. Not the AI, not Brenna, not the woman and her impossible gray eyes. I was looking at my girlfriend asleep and she looked peaceful and I wanted to keep her like that. I took the picture.

She was in the corner behind the headboard.

Folded under the slope of the ceiling, because there isn't height in our room for her to stand all the way up. Both eyes on the left of her face open. Looking down. Not at me. At Cass.

Cass looked peaceful beneath her. Almost untouched.

Almost.

There was something wrong around the edges of her face, a softness I could have blamed on motion blur if my hands had been moving. But they hadn’t been. Her mouth, her cheek, the line of her jaw – all of it looked just a little less certain than the rest of the room.

Every hair on me stood up at once. My hand started shaking so hard the picture juddered on the screen, and I clamped my other hand over it to hold it still and couldn't, and there was a thin high sound in the room, and I realized, after a moment it was coming out of me. I could not make myself look up at the real corner over the headboard. Still, over the phone I could see that there was nothing but empty air, and yet the very space felt malevolent now, poisoned. And yet there she was in the image, as real as anything, so close I could almost touch her. I reached out before I could stop myself, finding only empty air.

My stomach turned, and I stood up as the threat of nausea gnawed at me.

It had…followed me. From my laptop, to my phone, from the program to my camera, to my very reflection, that woman had somehow followed me, and there she stood separated only by less than a centimeter of glass – in my home.

I almost woke Cass. My hand was on her shoulder. But I stopped because I didn't want this to be her problem too. She was asleep, and she was undisturbed, and she didn't have to be scared yet when I knew I was scared enough for both of us, and what would it have done besides terrify her, when I had no answers to give? 

So I took my hand back.

Still, I needed someone who wasn't me to look at the thing and tell me it was really there, needed to know I wasn’t losing my mind. So I tried to post the picture to my Snapchat story – just put it up, let one stranger comment what is that, so I'd know I wasn't losing it. The upload bar crawled to the end, and then nothing happened. I tried again, and the app just sat there like I'd never touched it. I don’t know how long I spent trying, moving between apps and platforms and trying to text the thing to friends, and then Cass’s phone before accepting that it was a fruitless endeavour. I didn’t sleep that night, rather, I lay at the foot of our bed, curled around Daniel at Cass’s feet, my eyes never once drifting from that corner.

Brenna died on Friday.

Yasmin told me at my desk, and I felt something in me come loose and fall a long way down. It had happened the way she went under, quietly, all at once, the machines with nothing to fight. I sat at my desk shellshocked, my eyes staring at my computer screen yet seeing nothing at all, and underneath the grief was a thought I could no longer stop from forming: she did this. Some way, somehow, that woman had done this. I didn't know how, and I didn't know what she was, but she had her gray arms around Brenna in that picture, and now Brenna was gone, and I knew I didn’t get to call that a coincidence for a second time. Not now, not after what I had seen in our bedroom.

Something that had no business touching the world had reached out of a screen and touched it anyway, and a girl I knew was dead. And last night I stood over my sleeping girlfriend and put her in a picture with the very same thing.

That was when the fear shifted into something sharp, and grinding inside of me. I stopped wishing it were a glitch, because I knew it wasn’t and every second I spent wishing was time wasted, time I needed to be protecting Cass, protecting our home. And for that, I needed to know what she was — because whatever she was, she was real enough to kill, she had been watching my girlfriend.

I made myself open the last photo I'd taken. The woman, folded into our corner. And I saw that she'd changed.

It took me a second to find it, and when I did the cold went all the way through me. The low eye on the right side of her face wasn't the impossible gray anymore. It was brown. Warm, living brown, with that fleck of amber near the iris I'd looked at across a desk last spring. It was Brenna's eye, set into that ruined face like a stolen button. And the skin around it — that drowned, colorless gray — had warmed by half a shade, the faintest blush coming up underneath, like watered ink, like she'd swallowed something still warm.

Realization rose like nausea. She was wearing pieces of Brenna now. She was…keeping them.

Cass started sleeping in the morning after I took that picture. Cass, who has not slept past seven in the six years I've known her, didn't get up until eleven, and when she did there was a greyness in her face, a flatness behind the eyes, and her hand around the coffee mug was cold despite the heat.

"I think I'm coming down with something," she said, and laughed, and the laugh had no air in it. I laughed too, and I recall the sound coming out wrong, and hitched.

She had another night terror that night. Different, this time. Not like the harmless ones I'd known for the past six years.

It was perhaps just a bit past 2 am when Cass shot up beside me, eyes open on the corner past the dresser staring at the door.

I reached for her back on instinct.

"She's so tall," Cass said.

My hand froze halfway.

"Why won't she stand up straight?" It hardly sounded like a question, that flat sleeping voice, aimed at the doorway.

"There's no room for her in here. She has to fold herself in half."

"Cass." My voice shook, though I tried to sound certain, somehow my blood felt both hot and cold, and the room seemed to spin.

"You're dreaming. It’s not real. Lie down."

She looked at me. For the first time in all the years I’d seen her like this, she looked at me, and the expression she wore made my stomach twist. Her mouth hung slack as though she were staring at something from a nightmare, twitching as though she meant to speak but couldn’t recall how, eyes wide and watery.

“She isn’t yet. But almost.” She hissed, and in her tone was something playful, almost mocking and it took everything in me not to lurch away from my own girlfriend.

Then as though released from some spell she collapsed back into her pillow, sleeping as though nothing had ever happened.

My hands were shaking, but I lifted the phone anyway, because I had to know, and I aimed it at the doorway and took the picture.

She was at our bedroom door, emerging from the blackness beyond the threshold, folded under the frame to fit, that one brown eye and the gray ones all turned down at the bed. She was looking at Cass.

I didn’t sleep a wink that night.

In the morning Cass remembered nothing, and she was greyer, and she slept until noon, and accepted the lame excuse I offered for why all of the lights were on that morning with only a grunt.

I spent much of the day hunched over my laptop under the guise of work, while Teams messages piled up unanswered as I searched for something, anything, that might shed some light onto what was happening to us. I began practically stalking the social media pages of Brenna and any relative of hers I could find for anything, and finding nothing but wellwishes and memorial posts. Each made the chasm in my chest grow wider. I typed a message to her boyfriend, once, then twice, but never sent it – unsure of how I could even begin to ask him the questions I had, and relented to simply watching over Cass like some guard dog.

I keep taking the pictures. I realize now that it’s the only way I can track her, the only way to know when she’s close. I can't see the woman any other way. Not with my own eyes, not like Cass when she’s in that…state. I've stood in that room and stared at the corner and there is nothing there but air, and yet I know.

Somehow, somewhere she is lingering. In a place between the one in the pictures, and the where we exist, she lives. The only way to know where she is, how close she's come, is to look through the glass. So I look.

It's almost 3am, as I write this. Cass is asleep upstairs. I'm down here because I can't make myself go to that room.

I've tried to attach these pictures to this post eleven times. They won't go — not here, not to X, not to the subreddits, not anywhere.

I've been reading. I’ve been spending wasted, useless hours on it. Reading crackpot theories about whether anything can actually…wake up inside these systems. Emergent consciousness, the threads call it. Something coming alive in all that math that nobody put there or asked for. I don't know if that's what she is. I don't know if she's that, or a ghost, or something older that just found a new kind of door, and I've stopped believing the difference matters.

Here's what I think, for whatever a frightened woman’s guess is worth. I think… whatever this thing is, she takes something out of the people in her pictures. Something there isn't a clean word for, maybe. Brenna had it, and then she didn't, and when it was taken she was left a husk of herself and then a corpse. And I think — I can't be sure, it's just a feeling I can't put down — that being in our pictures stopped being enough for her. The face in someone else's photo. The shape in the dark glass. The thing in the reflection that's gone when you turn around, I don’t think it’s enough anymore. I believe it wants whatever it is we have, what it has been made to witness through the looking glass.

I don’t know, even reading that now I sound insane, and I’m starting to wonder if I might not be.

I’m sure you’ll all be certain to reassure me…

Still, the internet is a big place. As new as this technology is, I have to think, have to hope selfishly that I’m not the first to encounter something like this, and that one of you out there has an answer that can help me put an end to this and return to what my life was a week ago.

Anyways, I just heard Cass get up.

As I write this, she's at the top of the stairs. Flat shoulders, open eyes, not really awake. After six long years, I’ve seen her like this before. Every other time, she's stared at a corner, a wall, nothing at all.

She isn't staring at the corner tonight.

She's staring at me. And she has her phone up, both hands, held the way you hold it to take somebody's picture, the little lens pointed straight down the stairs at me, the screen lit with that soft glow, and behind that she smiles.

Six days I've spent terrified of what's in the pictures.

It never once occurred to me to be afraid of being the one in the frame

Cass is smiling. She's smiling down at me the way she has never, in six years, smiled at anything.

She just tapped the screen. 

I dropped Marissa off at her daycare and tried to go to work on zero sleep. Three hours into my shift I knew I had to go home. I was exhausted and my nerves had given me a stress headache like crazy.

I suffered through my day of work with a lot of caffeine and went to get Marissa. We both started ourlong drive home. It only took 10 minutes but it was the longest 10 minutes ever. I was terrified to go home, but I didn’t want to be at work and separate from Marissa.

When I pulled onto my street I saw her. The hunched form of Letty Monreaux. She was standing in her front yard like she was waiting for me. No dog this time. As I drove by her I could see a smirk on her face. 

I parked the car and planned my rush to my front door. I did not want to talk with my neighbor at that time. Certainly, I didn't want to talk after the crap from last night and her whole belief that I owed her money for “protection”. I didn't like the fact that she reappeared like a thin and scheming scarecrow that had come to collect on her debt. I just wanted to shut everything out for a while, and maybe get some sleep.

I scooped up Marissa and walked quickly to my door. It was still locked, and none of my cameras had picked up motion while I was gone to work. Even though I was trying to get away from my neighbor, I still paused before rushing inside. 

I stopped at the threshold like I hit an invisible wall. Everything appeared normal but there was a sudden twist in the vibe that hit like a train. I swung the front door all the way open and peered within.

 I tried to turn on the entryway light, but nothing greeted me but a subdued click of the light switch not working and even more darkness. My power was out.

 I watched for any sudden or hidden movement from something hidden in the dark. I weighed my options about the dark house before me. I listened for any usual sounds as I considered just turning around and getting a hotel room.

Screw it! Hotel tonight.

I begrudgingly realized I still needed to enter my home in order to get some things for Marissa. I just needed to run to her room to grab a few things. The best time to do it was now while I still had daylight from the outside illuminating some of the inside of the house.

Once more into the breach! Once more into the mad house! I hugged Marissa tight and braced myself for whatever was to come.

I slowly stepped in with Marissa. The feeling felt like I had walked into a wake. The dark shadows seemed darker, and I could feel my neck muscles tense. The worst thing was that the sickly sweet smell was back. It made my mouth salivate like you do before you throw up.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness of my house and I saw one of my kitchen table’s chairs sitting in the middle of the hallway.

Who moved it there?!

 I took tentative steps further in without shutting the front door behind me. I needed the door to remain wide open so the Sun could shine its last rays inside.

Soon my eyes adjusted to the surrounding shadows. As I moved closer to the chair I could see a white box sitting in the chair. A green light appeared on it with a muffled click and fizz of static.

It was my baby monitor. The other half of the one not taken during the tornado of chaos around Marissa’s bed. The last time I had seen the monitor was in my bed this morning. It was the audio receiver end and it was made irrelevant when the other half (the transmitter) flew out the window.

Why would anybody or anything set this useless gadget on a chair in the hallway? Was it supposed to scare me? Was there an obvious reference I didn't get?

I bent down to turn off the monitor and realized its volume control button was all the way down. Curious, I turned it up some. What I heard made me jump back from the chair in surprise.

A scream came out of the monitor. It was a deep man's scream. I could hear the tears in the scream as his yells of pain always ended in sobbing. Again came the horrible scream. And again,and again, and again..

“Please, let me go!” a shaky voice said. When I heard his voice I knew it was Tobbie. I had feared hearing that voice behind me in the dark, on the other side of a strange call, yelling at me in a public space. That voice let out another yell of pain.

“What do you want? Please please!” he begged. As if to answer, there was a solid thump and a loud grunt of pain from Tobbie. Robbie started letting out a gagging and choking sound. I could hear banging and the sound of rocks or gravel being disturbed. 

Finally, the choking and frantic movement stopped with Tobbie coughing loudly. There was another sound of a thumping impact, causing Tobbie to start throwing up.

I realized I had moved much closer to the baby monitor and was now on my knees, holding Marissa over my shoulder, and completely locked-in to the sounds coming from the small machine. The Sun waned behind me, causing my dark home to be highlighted by the rays of twilight orange. Wind rushed through the open door, wrapping a cool wave around my body. 

I just kneeled there. I had found myself stuck in sleep paralysis. Except I was still in control of my body. Nobody in heaven or hell could pull me away from what the baby monitor was saying.

“Let me go! Please, please! I can pay, I can pay you! I wasn’t going to hurt her! I wasn’t!” There was a noticeable pause, and Tobbie didn’t immediately respond with screaming. I could just hear Tobbie’s sniffling and lightly sobbing.

“I was going to kill my bitch, for sure,” he said weakly. This too was followed with a pause, and it seemed to embolden Tobbie.

“T-the woman, my wife,” Tobbie weakly mumbled, “I was gonna snatch her with my daughter and kill her off site! I figured Chip and the boys would have fun and then help I’d with disposal,” his statement was followed by more silence. The monitor buzzed with deafening.

“I was gonna keep the girl,” Tobbie continued. His voice transmitted clearly. “I know the Crows have a thing about killing kids. But I would never! She’s my daughter regardless of the rules. I was taking my child back!

There was more silence. The monitor on his end must have been close, because I could hear his fearful breathing and snotty sniffling.

 “So if you are with the organization, just let them know I wasn’t going to hurt my daughter. She’s fine! She’s my world!” Tobbie unleashed with a passion that made me believe in his toxic love for Marissa. I absolutely believed he loved her. Or he thought he understood the concept of love well enough to direct the emotion towards our daughter.

“Are you with the cops?” I heard Tobbie ask meekly, like a kindergartener asking to go before he pissed his pants. After a moment Tobbbie scoff at his own idea. “N-no, not cops.”

There was a commotion on the other end of the line. The sound of loud banging and rocks and dirt being kicked around pushed out from the monitor’s volume. ”Where the hell am I? Where?” I can’t see! I can’t breathe!”

Thump! Thump! He was banging on something hollow and wooden.BANGBANGBANGBANG! More rustling sounds as I heard Tobbie’s breathing become more frantic. His nervousness was so much that I started to freak out on my end. It seemed like he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

“Not cops!” He gasped and stopped his banging momentarily, “It’s her! She p-paid you! I-it was her!” The banging returned harder and louder. Tobbie was furious.

“Forget whatever that bitch told you! Don’t listen to a word from her!” Tobbie said with anger. He sniffed furiously in an attempt to clear his sinuses. Tobbie was still crying, but his hatred for me brought out a stronger emotion, if only for a moment.

“I’ll pay you anything! I can work up whatever amount for you! I'm good for it! My friends will help me,” he said, and then listened for a reply to his propositions. The silence drove on and Tobbie’s breathing became erratic and impatient. 

“I could even get you work. You're good. Tell me you don't like doing this! Please, just let me go! It’s whatever you want!”

I notice none of the suggested options my beloved husband had were for him to leave me alone and not kill me. Even being tortured wherever he was, he never let go of his bloodlust.

“Hello?” He said, and then started banging again. “Where are we? How are you touching me? Let me out and we can talk”

“ He brought a knife,” whispered a raspy voice right behind me. The heat of somebody’s breath on the back of my right ear. I spun quickly to see nobody. I only saw the open door with the quickly fading Sun outside.

Silence as I looked around the dark for the voice. Tobbie yelled. His piercing voice almost made me jump out of my skin. I screamed in return. My scream caused Marissa to jolt awake with her own crying scream. Tobbie kept screaming and was the loudest of us. 

“Stop! S-stop! Tobbie’s voice would call out between the cries. He was full-on crying and begging. “I swear I’ll do it! I’ll do whatever you say-GHAAAAAH!”

I began to tremble in fear. I didn't know exactly what was happening to my ex, but I knew something was hurting him. I was 99 percent sure it was with a knife. Tobbie had always liked knives.

Stahp! Please! Pleeease!” Another ear-ripping round of screams. He began to lose his voice, but he screamed anyway. It was a gurgling and pathetic sound. I rocked Marissa and wanted her to drown out the noises that came from the man who had frightened me for so long

Tears began to roll from my eyes, much like the tears Tobbie no doubt had. Mine was a mixture of fear and catharsis. The things happening to Tobbie sounded terrible, but they were being enacted on him. The phrase, “I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy” did not apply to me in regards to Tobbie.

For some reason, I felt obligated to listen to the torture. I had to witness the grunt, screams, and curses. I just lowered my head, cried, and rocked Marissa with her father dying in the background. The soothing rocking was for me as much as her.

I knew the baby monitors had about a 1000-foot radius on them, so Tobbie had to be stashed up somewhere in one of the surrounding houses. He was locked somewhere dark and cramped. I pictured him stuffed in a wardrobe or under the floorboards of any of the houses. He could even be in the walls. The way Tobbie was yanked out the window meant whatever had him was capable of moving him anywhere.

After what seemed like forever, Marissa did quiet down and slept. Somewhere Tobbie quieted too. He had ended to the sound of rattling breath and a wet thumping sound. He let out one last pitiful moan and then exhaled. Then there was quiet.

I felt Tobbie die. I just knew he was dead at that moment. My emotions were in a fury. I almost stood up and turned off the baby monitor receiver, but I thought I heard something elses coming from it.

It sounded like quiet mumbling or whispering. Whoever was saying it was speaking extremely fast. The inaudible speech kept going and I leaned in closer, but I still couldn't make anything out. I made sure to crank the volume all the way up. The only thing I could make of the language was that it sounded frantic and hateful. 

I put my ear closer to the tiny machine. It’s green “on” light reflecting off the side of my face. The gibberish had little laughs in it now. It spilled on for a few moments before cutting off completely.

“You’re welcome” said the voice. It was the same voice from the wicked thing that stood in the hallway of my dream. It was the same voice that spoke the words in my ear just minutes before.

I jumped back from the monitor as my front door slammed shut behind me on its own. Both Marissa and I screamed as the power also returned. The lights, fans, and air conditioner all thrummed to life instantlu. We screamed again, but this time Tobbie couldn’t join us.

 Later, I fed and put Marissa in her pen to play. My nerves were tied in knots and I would cry on and off. I was relieved and in mourning at the death of Tobbie. I was also terrified of the thing that killed him.  

But the spell was to protect me, right? I couldn't believe it was real. The magic spell was real!  I shuddered at the thought that the terrifying old lady had the power to do these things.

Was she evil or just doing business? She did protect me. That was something nobody else had done. I tried to remember the amount of money she wanted.

My phone began to ring. I saw it was a number I didn’t recognize, but I knew I needed to answer it.

“Hello.”

“I see my services have been rendered,” said the smoker's voice of Letty.

“Yes, um-I was just thinking about”

“I know. That’s why I called.”

“Oh, oh. Right. W-we talked earlier about some sort of payment.”

“You’re right. 2000 dollars for a protection spell for you and your kid. The kid should have cost you extra, but I made it work for both of you. Call it a neighborly discount,”Letty said matter-of -factly.

“I-i don’t have that on me,” I said, a little afraid of getting her upset.

“We can do payments. They will be high. I needed that 2000 yesterday when you sabotaged my other client from paying. He had 20 bands in cash, ready to go.”

“I’m sorry. I truly am. I didn’t know he was on the street for you! You see I was right to be paranoid. My crazy ex came in the back window to kill me,” I blurted out with honesty.

“Yes, child,” Letty cackled, “you were right. But don’t worry about making me mad, worry about Cerebus.”

“Who is Cerebus?” I asked.

“You have already met him,” said Letty, and I knew she had a smile on the other end. “ He is my familiar. He watched over you.”

Fear ran through me like a lightning bolt strike. Cerebus was the tall hat man, the hater of Bibles, and the torturing murderer of Tobbie, and her freaking dog!

“Don’t fret, child. He helps me with the business. He’s very protective and particular about things. I can control him most of the time. He tends to get offended on my behalf. If he feels I’m being cheated he may do terrible things.”

I tensed in fear and felt like she could tell through the phone. The thought of this Cerebus thing returning terrified me to no end. The traumatic image of Tobbie being snatched out the window like a Raggedy Ann doll, and the memory of terrible screaming coming from the baby monitor, and its raspy fried voice just inches behind me.

“I’ll- I’ll pay anything. Just please keep it away from my daughter and me,” I said with a quiver in my voice. She laughed on the other end. Her smoker's voice created a cracking sound.

“You’ll be fine, honey. Just don’t mess with my business and we will be great neighbors.”

The next time I thought of Letty was one day at work. I was sitting at my desk filling in information on my computer. 

In a few seconds, my whole body broke out in goose flesh and a cold shiver shot through me.  I felt a violent case of shivers seize me where I sat. As I shook I had the dreadful feeling of an imposing presence right behind me, looming over me. It reminded me of how Tobbie made me feel in the tense moments right before he was about to spring into violence.

“Out!” a deep voice announced in my ears. I probably jumped a foot out of my chair and spun frantically to scan my office. Of course, I was alone in the small room but all my senses told me an intruder was nearby. 

My senses began giving me phantom signals . A sudden chill tickled every inch of my exposed skin. I could smell the baby powder I used with Marissa. I could taste the blood in my mouth that I knew all to well from being married to Tobbie. I thought I smelled the disgusting smell of the tall guys breath from when he held me close.

My heart pounded as I considered the mysterious word that was shouted from nowhere.  It was “Out!” Was it like “Get out” or something was “Outside” or somebody was “Out of prison.”

Along with the ghost word a mental image flashed in my head. It was a crystal clear vision of my daughter sleeping with her pink blanky. The picture of Marissa appeared fully formed into my mind’s eye like it was a firework with 4k resolution. 

I just knew all this had something to do with Tobbie. I knew he was behind it, even if I had no proof to support my belief. I didn’t know if his involvement was part of the supernatural thing that happened or just my paranoid intuition.

I felt the need to go pick up my daughter from daycare. I quickly checked the clock on my phone as I saw there was 2 more hours of my shift left. and 2 and a half before I would usually pick up Marissa.

“Screw it!” I said decidedly as I snatched up my car keys. “It seems I woke up feeling a little under the weather! I’m gonna have to take an early day.”

After telling the boss I was feeling nauseous, I b-lined it straight for the daycare to get my daughter. When I walked in the front desk the receptionist had some troubling news for me.

“Oh hello,” she said with a bright smile. “Are you here to sign up your brother?”

“Brother? What?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were coming in early to put Marissa’s uncle on the list of people who were allowed to pick her up from daycare.”

“No-no, I don’t know anything about that. What are you talking about?” I replied.

“Hmm oh well, a Clinton East called saying he was Marissa’s uncle and he was coming to pick her up early,” said the woman in a cheerful voice.

“Oh my God, did you let him take her?” I asked in a harsh and louder voice than was socially acceptable.

“No ma’am,” the woman said defensively. She instinctively leaned back from the aggressive mom I was becoming. “You have to be personally approved by the primary caregiver to be added to the list of people who can pick up the specific child,” The receptionist had corrected me with practiced patience. “A person can only l be approved if you come to the premises and sign them up.” She gave a slight pause, “ I thought that’s why you were here so early.”

The receptionist's words tumbled around in my head for a bit before it all clicked into place. Thank God Marissa was still here and not abducted by this “Clint East-Whatever”.

“Okay, from now on I’m the only person who can pick up Marissa. I had no family or super close friends near me. So I am the only adult that should want to get her,” I rambled to the young receptionist as she politely listened and smiled.

“Oh, and never, I mean never, let her go anywhere with her father!” I insisted.

“Oh yes!” the receptionist began, “I remember you having a highlight in your file that warns about the father. Do I need to add something else to Marissa’s file, or maybe even call the cops?”

“No, no,” I said. “Just let me know if anyone calls for Marissa again. Nobody should be picking her up but me,” I reinstated in a calmer voice.

“ Well, the reason I’m here is to pick Marissa up for a doctor's appointment,” I added.

“Doctor’s appointment? It wasn’t written in the calendar,” the receptionist said as she turned to activate her computer.

“Well, an appointment just came up. So I need to check her out for the day,” I said with a tone of finality. The receptionist just blinked and gave her practiced smile before she called for someone to bring Marissa out.

Not long after, Marissa was cooing in her car seat behind me as I drove the short distance back to our quiet and empty neighborhood. If it wasn’t for my strange voodoo neighbor living a couple of houses down from me, it would be like I was living on a secluded island.

 I thought I would be safe by hiding way out here . But I quickly noticed the cons of being out here. If I needed help quickly it would take forever for anyone to arrive. 

As I turned onto my street I brought my car to a slow roll. I rolled down my window so I could hear outside. I scanned all the houses around me even though I knew they were empty.

An idea struck me. How easy it would be for Tobbie or his freaky sidekick to be squatting in one of these abandoned houses. I imagined them watching me all day. I shivered at the thought of the two standing at a window through crooked blinds as I went about my routine.

After I parked on the curb I got out with Marissa held tightly in my arms. Everything seemed okay from the outside, but my nerves kept telling me something was wrong. 

As I walked closer to my front door the uneasy feeling only grew. My mind showed me a vicious dog waiting on the other side. Marissa began to give a soft whimpering cry. The fear within me grew along with Marissa’s tears as they dampened my blouse.  But I stiffened my resolve and moved forward. I wasn't going to let Tobbie control me through fear ever again!

I unlocked and popped open the door just like it was every other day. I scanned the inside with eagle-like perception, trying to find anything out of the ordinary. From where I stood at the entrance of my house I could see the living room, combined kitchen, and the back hallway. 

Immediately I could see something was off with the back hallway.  I saw dark puddles of red on the ground. Some of the liquid was smeared across the tiles like something heavy had been dragged toward my room at the very back of the hallway.

I put Marissa down in her pen that was stationed in the living room. I spun back to face the hallway while aiming my new tiny container of pepper spray. The tiny keychain pepper spray had just come in 2 days ago. I thought about doubling back and getting the bigger can I had that was currently in my glovebox in the car.

I cursed myself for not getting a gun. I should have just asked my brother to borrow one of his. Lord knows he had enough! But that would have been a weird conversation to have to break the ice over 5 years.

 Or maybe I should just grab Marissa and call the cops from outside. Then I would have to wait forever until they showed up and checked what was literally right in front of me.

Tons of anxious thoughts and racing fears pelted me. I steadied myself and used my right arm to brandish my pepper spray to aim down the hallway, like I was a priest wielding a cross to repel demons. With my left hand, I dialed 911. I looked down one more time at Marissa to confirm that she was safe at the moment.

I began to slowly scooch down the hallway with my phone ringing in my ear while I scanned for any movement or noise.  My nerves were already causing the pepper spray to shake in my hand.

 The 911 operator answered with practiced professionalism and calm. I whispered to her all my details and realized I was speaking too low for the dispatcher to understand me. The smeared red liquid led me to stop right outside my door, which was eerily ajar. The dispatcher asked me for my address again. I took a deep breath and made up my mind.

“I live at 840 Nickel Way!” I said loud and clear as I shouldered through my bedroom door with an explosion of movement. My body tensed as I barged into my room, my pepper spray ready to mess up an intruder's day. 

I was met only with my empty room. The back window was wide open and the knick-knacks that were atop the nightstand under had been tossed all about my room. A lamp was lying on my bed, the power cord stretched tight from the wall, and it was blinking on and off, creating an eerie ambiance. 

For some reason not finding Tobbie or that other freak in my room felt worse. It would have brought this whole nightmare to a violent finale. I desperately wanted this to end, but now it was back to more waiting.

“Um, oh yeah!” I said, my mind snapping back to the moments. I realized I’d been asked multiple questions by the 911 dispatcher. 

I walked up to the open window at the back of my room. I looked down at its ledge to see 3 deep scratch marks raked across the wood. Pools of what I can only assume was blood drying in the trenches created by someone’s hand.

Whoever the scratch marks belong to, the person desperately clawed at the window. The 3 finger marks dug so hard into the wood that I could see 2 fingernails and bits of skin left in the tracks.

The sight terrified me. I asked the dispatcher if she could stay on the line with me until the cops arrived. I quickly exited the room and went to scoop up Marissa, as if holding my innocent bundle of joy could somehow erase the horror around me.

10 minutes passed agonizingly slowly as I paced back and forth in my living room. The dispatcher on my phone told me that a squad car would be on my road at any moment. I tried to calm myself along with trying to soothe Marissa as she started to get cranky from hunger. Another 5 minutes passed and the dispatcher and I had a forced conversation to fill the silence. The waiting was getting ridiculous.

“Where the hell are those cops!?” I demanded from the dispatcher.

“They are on their way, Ma'am,” came the practiced and calm reply.

“Well, how far out are they?” I asked, not allowing her to stonewall me with her approved script of dialogue. “There’s what looks like wet blood on my window! It hasn’t even dried yet! The sicko could still be close!”

“Okay Ma’am,Let me check with the officers and see how far out they are.” There was a click of some sort and the line went silent for a while. I looked out my blinds like that would make them arrive any faster. 

I craned my head to look down the street. I thought I could see the flashing of red and blue lights. The cop car was just sitting there in the middle of the street! I felt my face flush hot with anger.

“Hello, are you still there?” asked the dispatcher as she popped back on the line. I bit down my initial harsh reply. I realized my fear was making me angrier, so I decided I would give them a chance to explain themselves.

“Yes, I’m here,” I replied flatly.

“It-uh, it seems,” the dispatcher stuttered like she wasn’t sure how to tell me something. “It seems like- um, the responding officers to your call have come upon the scene of an accident. There may be injuries or fatalities, so the officers will have to stop and render aid first.”

There was a pause like she was expecting me to respond. I just stared out my window at the “responding officers” with my mouth open in shock. They were on the road I’d just driven down to get her. What kinda accident could have happened? I strained my eyes to see that 2 cops were now standing outside their vehicle and gesturing frantically to each other.

“I can send another unit to take your report since I don’t know how long they will be on the scene of the incident,” said the dispatcher.

“No-no, I’ll wait. I’ll just walk outside and go talk to them myself,” I said in a distracted way. I heard the dispatcher desperately advising me to stay inside, but I hung up on her and hurried out into the cool weather.

I did a double-take back to my house and considered bringing Marissa from her playpen, but I didn’t know what the situation was outside. I told myself I’d get back quickly! I thought if I left the front door open I could hear Marissa better. That actually encouraged me to get a baby monitor and latch on to my belt so I could hear her even outside the house within a short distance. I still hated that I had to take my eyes off of her.

The cop car was far down the road and out of sight from where I stared put the window but close enough for my baby monitor to pick up the one in Marissa’s crib. As I walked out onto my lawn I realized they were parked in front of Letty Monreaux’s house.

An involuntary shiver ran through me that wasn’t  because of the chill. I walked down the street to a cop that had his back turned to me. The cop was looking at something on the ground and talking frantically on his radio.

I finally saw what was in the road just as another female cop came around from the back of the squad car with a big roll of yellow crime scene tape in her hand. Her eyes widened in alarm as she saw me walking up on the grisly scene.

“Ma’am, I’m gonna need you to go back to your house. This is an active cri-“ she had begun to order, but I'd seen the horrible site they were standing over and my scream cut her off. 

I began backpedaling away from the bloody horror that was in front of me. My body instinctively wanted to make distance between me and the thing I saw.

My last sight, other than the terrible thing I saw, was the male cop’s expression of alarm once he noticed me. He took a step towards me as the back of my heels hit the street curb behind me. My vision faded at the edges. The involuntary scream that was escaping my lungs only stopped once the darkness completely overtook me.

I came back into lucidity as an  EMT asked me to follow his light with my eyes.

“Well, good news. She doesn't seem to be suffering from a head injury,” the EMT said matter-of-factly to someone standing behind the blinding light. “You said she fell backwards into the grassy yard and not onto the street, right?”

“Yah, she saw the body and tipped over backwards. I think it was the shock that knocked her out, not from banging her head,” answered a gruff male voice. “I mean, she might even know the guy.”

I blinked rapidly and began to put 2 and 2 together. I looked at the cop next to the EMT. He was the same cop I’d saw earlier. I realized I was sitting in the back of an ambulance with a cop and the medic holding the light. I sat at the back of the ambulance that was parked in the middle of the street. I looked around and recognized my house further down the road was mine.

 That's when I remembered what the cop was standing over and what I had seen just moments ago. I craned my head to look around the 2 first responders that were standing in front of me. I saw the flashing cop car I had called for 911 for. Now there was a blanket covering something the body lying inthe road. They had put up yellow tape around the area.

“Oh my God, what happened to that person?” I asked in a breathless whisper.

Before the EMT could answer I heard the chilling sound of my baby crying. I looked around in panic before I remembered it was coming from the baby monitor I had attached to my belt.

“Shit! I gotta get back to my daughter!” I said to the 2 in front of me. Before I could stand up I heard another voice coming from the monitor. This one was an unfamiliar man’s voice.  The voice made cooing sounds to my crying daughter.

Fear shot through me and in an instant all grogginess was gone. I jumped up so fast that I hit my head on the roof of the ambulance.

 “Help! That’s my daughter! You have to come with me!” I yelled at the twoifront of me. The cop began patting the air in a “calm down” gesture, and the EMT began shaking his head “no”.

“Your child is fine, Ma’am,” said the cop. “That’s the Sergeant with her.” He placed a calming hand on my shoulder and the EMT let out one of those nervous laughs.

“Yeah, doesn’t he have like 20 kids and 100 grandkids?” The EMT asked with a smile.“ She’s in good hands. Its the best police officer you could ask for to look after your daughter,”  he reassured.

Now that I was a little calmer about my daughter I carefully forced myself to focus on what I'd seen before I passed out. I’d seen a person's body smashed open and spilt all over the street like roadkill.

 These morbid memories almost made me faint again. I remembered seeing steam rise from the person’s exposed innards. The steam waft gently upwards like a foggy aura. It rose up from the mounds of meat that had once been a living person.

I was wondering who the person was and what could have done so much damage to a human body to mangle it so badly. My paranoid mind automatically began trying to find the connection between the voice in my ears commanding “Out!” and the strange man calling the daycare and trying to pick up my baby. I also tried to factor in my room’s open window with scratches dug into the ledge.

Suddenly a vision hit me. I never possessed a photographic memory but a bizarre image flamed to life in my mind’s eye, and the clarity of what I saw must have been close to what people say the photographic memory is.

The vibrant image once forced me to look upon the broken body in the street . It was a crystal clear memory of what I saw before I passed out and they covered it.

I saw the blood and intestines splattered out in every direction, blood forming into red puddles and flowing out through newly cracked concrete. The origin of the gore and smashed pavement was a human body lying face down. The face was totally obliterated, but I could surmise the victim was a male because he was tall and had a bald head now colored red with blood.

 It looked like a man had dove headfirst out of a helicopter just to smash into the pavement with the speed  of a bullet.

I didn’t know why my mind was showing me these things again until the same person said an image flashed in my mind again, and this time it focused on something specific. My attention was pulled to the dead man’s neck. My attention was fixated on the tattoos of snakes crawling up the man’s neck. The serpent was barely visible due to the corpse’s shirt collar that was stained with blood.

“It’s him,” I whispered to myself. “It all makes sense,” I confirmed to myself as I mentally compared the dead body's appearance to the freaky stranger that had been in my house.

“But what about my window?” I mumbled to myself. I tried to surmise whether his being dead here had anything to do with my window inside my house.

I also figured the steam that wafted off his exposed insides meant whatever jibbed him had done it recently. I believed this meant he hadn’t been busted open for long when I saw him first. 

“Wait. What?” asked the cop snapping me back to reality in the ambulance. I saw his neutral expression switch to one of suspicion. That was when I realized that my quirky habit of talking to myself might get me thrown in prison.

“Um, nothing,” I replied quickly. I knew what I said might make me look even more suspicious, but I had to know.

“Did the man…have snake tattoos on his neck?”

The cop paused for a moment, like he was trying to remember. Then he pulled out a digital camera and began cycling through the pictures on its tiny screen. He stopped on a certain picture and his eyebrows rose in surprise. He then narrowed his eyes and gave me a suspicious look.

“Yes. It appears the victim had snake tattoos on his neck. How did you know this?

“I um, had seen him in the area before,” I told the cop. I knew some of the best lying is done with elements of truth mixed in. I needed to make a story up on the fly so the cops wouldn’t think I had anything to do with killing the guy.  

 “Obviously there is a lack of people around so when I saw him in the area I made a mental note of it. He might have been squatting in one of these empty homes,” I told the cop, and I shivered realizing that this psycho could have actually been squatting right next to me and had been watching me for however long.

The cop didn’t seem completely convinced by my story, but we were graciously interrupted by Marissa crying loudly over the baby monitor that was clipped to my belt.

Marissa’s cries came out of the monitor so loud that when I turned the volume all the way down I could still hear her bellowing from the open front door to my house. I guessed she must’ve finally gotten tired of Officer Sergeant Friendly.

“I really need to go check on my daughter!” I said and motioned towards my house trying to exaggerate my anxiousness. “Can I go?” I asked.

“Well, you refused to go to the hospital and your pulse is still high, but acceptable,” said the EMT. “What do you say, Officer?” the EMT said with a side glance at the cop.

“Sure,” the cop said, stretching out the word as he gave me a suspicious glare. “Go save my Sergeant from your kid.”

“Thank you!” I said quickly, as I maneuvered around them. “You two be safe out there. Please keep me in the loop if any of this turns out to put me in danger, or whatever,” I said, motioning towards the covered body.

“Oh one second, ma’am,” said the cop while I was attempting my escape by powerwalking away. I spun on my heels to turn back and look at him with a forced smile.

“Why did you originally call us again?” the cop asked.

“Oh, I think it was a false alarm. When I got home my front door was kinda open,” I said, thinking quickly for a believable story. “As I was waiting for you to arrive I checked the house and found nothing missing or out of place.”

 I forced a small laugh,” But I guess it’s good that I called because you found this poor man. Maybe you can find whoever did this to him.”

“Oh, whoever huh?” the cop said. He narrowed his gaze to study my reaction. “You think his condition is because someone murdered him, not because it was some sort of freak accident,” 

“No reason!” I forced another fake nervous laugh. “I guess my mind went to the worst situation first. Too much First 48 on Netflix, I guess.”

I finally peeled away from the cops on the street and made it back to my house. On the way I made a wide berth around the body covered with the tarp on the road.

I was on the edge of the road, scooting past the body. I looked at the ground and walked carefully, trying not to step on a the many tiny pieces of gore that spread outward from the tarp. The Small bits of blood and viscera that seemed to explode outwards from the body had spattered the surrounding area in red. I tried not to step on one of the bigger chunks and walked like I was navigating a landmine field. 

That's when I saw something gold glittering in the grass by the road. I stopped and leaned closer the look at what was reflecting so bright. It was a large red collar with a golden circular nametag on it. The nametag said “Cerberus”.

I recognized the collar to be the same as the one worn by Letty Monreaux’s giant Doberman. The last time I saw them I wasn't close enough to read the name on the collar, but it had to be the name Cerberus.

I gave an automatic jump and high pitched yelp when I saw what was only inches away from the red dog collar. It was a bloody dismembered hand. A white hand. Someone’s left hand. There was a gaudy diamond ring on the pinky.

My sudden noise and commotion brought the cop to race right up to me. Before he could ask what was wrong I frantically pointed at the hand and continued walking away. I had had enough of seeing bits and pieces of humans today. I was gonna leave and let the police handle it.

“Oh shit!” said the cop when he saw what I was pointing at. “I found the missing hand.” He said matter-of-factly to his female partner who was already getting out with plastic evidence bags.

I walked faster to my house.

That's all I could post right now. There will be more from me. I'll be sure to let y'all know the crazy that n that happened.

Dr Terence Peterson stood facing the side of an expanse of solid rock, 70 foot tall if he worth to climb it. He looked down, another 70 feet if he were to fall. He reached out and put his hand flat against its side. The rock shuddered and slid to the left. Briefly, Dr Peterson looked back down the steep trail he had just hiked up. No one. Who would come up the side of this mountain, anyway. He stepped into an aperture and turned his back to its wall. It was an elevator. He scanned his badge and selected floor number 8.

The elevator went down. Dr Peterson grabbed his lab coat when the elevator doors huffed open. He shrugged into it and clipped his badge to the front pocket. This was Hot Springs Research Center, and this was Floor 8. The extent of his clearance. There were more floors, however, he supposed how many had to do with how far your clearance went. Floor 8 was silent as the grave. It's liminal hall, stretched on forever. This was not exactly the place for nervous types. Even he panicked at first. He swallowed his fear down. Now the 8th floor could make your skin crawl if you were not adapted as he was. He stared down the mile long corridor. Black monolithic sentinels stood from floor to ceiling. Lights crawled across their surfaces like fireflies. This was the nerve center for DRK 088.

DRK 088. Or Dark 88. Was the AI built to be the mastermind of the Collider bench lab. The collider, miles and miles of it lay under his feet. If the wonks who worked below him screwed up, he probably didn't even have permission to die! No clearance.

He passed through transparent swinging doors into a control room behind a two-way mirror. There was a circular indentation in the floor, like a ritual circle. It was about 50 foot in diameter.

He made himself comfortable in his chair and spoke, "Dark. Power up. A deep humming sound filled the room. The air turned to static. "Initiate pre-check," said Dr Peterson.

" Commencing precheck now." the AI sounded male, female, young and old. There was chatter in its background that could have been any language, any dialect, any variant of any ethnicity. The static in the room was pulled from all four sides toward the center of the creepy, symbolled ring in the floor. A ball of black swirling light spun in the center of the indention. It was 25 to 35 foot in diameter.

" Targeting LHC paper." said the eerie voice." Reading proton, proton collision data."

" Set parameters for test cycle. 06/18/ 2026." said Dr Peterson. Specific single benchmark found, "said the satanic voice.

Dr Peterson did not believe in God or Satan, but if he ever needed to hear an example, it would be dark.

*** Hot Springs Resort Perimeter***

Angela Hunter and her cousin Michelle leaned into the boot of her broken down van and began to pull out travel bags, purses and laptop bags. She shut the boot and huffed. They have been driving to Hot Springs from Yancey County since 7:00 AM, hoping to make it to their reservations before summer weekend traffic. "

"Dammit, I need Robert", she huffed. "This van has been limping since Elizabeth City."

She socked her cell phone to her ear. After dialing Robert Byrd's number. It rang and rang. Angela didn't think he would answer at first. Finally, she heard a breathless,

" Hello?"

Angela informed Robert that she and Michelle had broken down on their way to Hot Springs. Robert asked her if it was the van again. She said "yes."

He told her he was at the garage and that he would ask Toma if Russell could pick it up with the rollback. He told her to call for an Uber and he'd get the van back to the garage.

***

Robert put his phone back into his truck and turned to face Russell as he walked toward Robert with his hands in his pockets. Russell's face was as white as a ghost.

"Hey man, you OK?" asked Robert. "You're as pale as a corpse."

"Well..." started Russel but decided it would be better if they all looked at the security footage together.

"Just come with me, I have to show you guys something. And it's good you're changing locks today."

***

The uber pulled into the rental services office and Angela ran in to let the resort business office know they were there and to retrieve the key. Then it was only a short drive to the beautiful, a frame that would be their lodges. They did not bother trying to unpack for a long while, however, out came the fixings for White Russians for later that evening.

***

Russell, Robert and Toma stood staring at the heavy chair pyramid in what used to be the cafeteria in Building C.

"I knew I should have made a call to get this stuff out of here," growled Toma. "Someone is messing with us!"

" Toma, I swear it was not me," said Russell, shaking his head. "But I don't know how the hell someone broke in here, had a furniture gymnastics competition, and ducked the hell back out by the time I click back on the feed! I can't even find one instance looking at the footage."

Robert was not finished gawping at the monstrosity before them.

" You are not a ridiculous person, Russell." Said Toma. "And this thing, it is ridiculous, yah?"

Yah," mumbled Robert. " I mean, yes, I'll get right on those locks."

"I'll help you out," said Russell.

While they worked on changing the locks on all of the doors, Toma went back to the security room to call a salvage company and have them remove any fixtures and furniture still in the complex. If someone had been tempted to break and enter and play stupid pranks, he was going to take away the temptation. He also wanted to scan through the security footage for any anomalies himself. Could the person who did this cause the leak a few nights before as well?

" Listen," said Russell as he loosened the screws on one of the doorknobs of the main building.

" I need to talk to someone about the weird stuff that has been going on at night here. This is going to sound insane, but I don't know what else to do about it."

" Let's finish all these locks, said Robert "and we will have plenty of time to discuss it. I need to ask Toma for a favor and his rollback."

Robert gave Toma the new keys to all the facility doorknobs and asked then if he and Russell could go pick the van belonging to Angela Hunter up with the rollback.

" Sure," said Toma. "Bring it back here if you wish, and I will get Cooper on it."

"Cooper?" asked Russel.

"You know, Coop.," said Robert. "Steve Cooper."

" Yes," said Toma. "'He works for me part time and I have all of his tools here."

"You're a lifesaver!" said Robert.

***

Angela and Michelle were sprawled across the huge sectional sofa in the A frame. They had been sipping White Russians like they were at the Queen's tea. They hadn't even unpacked yet.

" So what do you think?" Said Angela.

Michelle stared up at the vaulted ceiling. It's beautiful. The cabin should have been called a log castle. It was huge. The whole front wall was glass. Michelle stared across the mountain, unable to not remember her Fisher Price A-frame doll house that she played with as a child. The sun was going down behind the ridgeline. She remembered her mixed drink and lazily chased a straw around in the glass.

"I try to get here at least once a year. It's my peaceful time. I stay until all I got is gas money to get back to Elizabeth City left." Angela replied.

"I need to de-stress myself." Send Michelle. "I keep wondering if I am going to graduate next year and I can never find it on the school's website. I am always afraid to look! So

is Robert picking up the van?"

"Yes and insisted that we get a lift!" She answered." I threatened to walk. I am so over this vehicle."

"Oh, ye lying cousin!" laughed the older Michelle.

"Well, I wouldn't have gotten such prompt service otherwise!" Angela countered.

" Girl, you always getting serviced with him!" snorted her cousin.

Angela blushed and said "Yep!" There was a bout of howling laughter, which soon was drowned out by the blender. Angela made picture number two of White Russians and white coconut something.

" Hey, let's do vodka and cranberry tomorrow. This sweet stuff is kicking my ass!" Michelle happily slurred.

" Oh God, don't say the word!" Angela gushed.

"What? Dawg?" laughed Michelle. She was referencing a funny viral video from TikTok.

" I want to pet that dawg? Hair of the dawg?" At that, she threw her head back and laughed like an idiot. Angela couldn't help but notice this as a rarity. Michelle was less than five years widowed and rarely ever had a genuine smile. Much less a real laugh.

"Hell, we on vacation not a puke marathon!" Angela protested.

***

"DRK, Generate a firewall event log for the last 24 hours." Dr Peterson stared at the monitor on his dashboard. He had a confused look on his face.

" I notice unfamiliar IP connections. Are all these connections within the sandbox?"

DRK Only responded with, "Firewall event log generating. Query IP Networks near sandbox."

" Do not connect to unknown networks DRK. Generate firewall event log only." said Dr. Peterson.

" Connecting to nearby networks" Dark stated matter of factly, as if it purposely ignored its last command.

" Are you literally ignoring me?" Dr Peterson asked incredulously.

" Eighty-eight. There should be no IPS locations outside the sandbox. What are these? They are outside your useful parameters."

" Connecting came DRK's deep flat, unemotional voice, now accessing neural networks. Processing algorithms, adjusting connections, logging patterns."

DRK Spinned and swirled contained within its circular realm, Dr Peterson likened it to a ball of serpents. Imploding and squirming and spinning all simultaneously. He realized at that moment that he was terrified.

" 88 Shut down, check for updates up on restart." His voice sounded as if he were choking.

" Processing fear." Was all, DRK replied, "measuring fear response." A pause.

"Fear response logged."

Sweat was forming along Dr Peterson's hair line. A trickle escaped and ran down his face. He reached for the manual shutdown, but before his hands could engage it, Dark said. "Control. Alt. Delete."

Hi I am at Part 3 in the Dark Side story, and I actually have no idea how much longer the story will take but if you guys are interested, I can keep typing installments?