Dread: Volume 1: Dread, #1 635l17

Dread Volume 1

By Matthew Dewey

Copyright © 2020 Matthew Dewey All rights reserved.

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION Tale 1: The Twisted Man Tale 2: Impostor Tale 3: The Hunter Tale 4: The Vessel Tale 5: The Enlightened Tale 6: Dark Waters Tale 7: Echo Tale 8: Halloween 1974 Tale 9:

Night Shift Tale 10: Synthetic Lights Tale 11: The Black Torii Tale 12: Omerta Tale 13: The Devil’s Contract Tale 14: Silence Manor Tale 15: The Basement Tale 16: Light Switch Tale 17: Lost Tale 18: The Underground Tale 19: Down the Hill

Tale 20: Silver Stars Tale 21: Doors Tale 22: Static Tale 23: The Still Cave Tale 24: Trench Tale 25: Broken Notes

INTRODUCTION

Everyone is afraid of something. A thought that resonates with my work so well. I was inspired by many horror fiction writers, Lovecraft in particular, to write stories that not only scared my readers and followers, but me as well. I decided to delve into the darkest tomb, the endless void, the black abyss where my fears dwelt. I discovered there was more to scaring someone than creating a monster; what I needed was to create impact. Believable stories give me that power, stories that can be related to, stories that can be shared. Before there was the internet, there were stories to spread fear, to crumble societies, to shake the common man to his very core. There were stories to learn from. My stories are written to help people realize their fears, fears that linger at the back of their mind, always there, below the surface of sane thought. Through stories that I share on my website, to my followers, to my students, to those who wander the internet in search of something to send a chill down their spines. From these blog posts I created books, novels and volumes of stories. What you have in your hands is the first of many terrifying tomes! Welcome to Dread. Regards Matthew Dewey

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Writer:

Matthew Dewey: http://www.thepennedsleuth.com/ Illustrator: Antonia Dewey: https://www.antoniadewey.com/

Tale 1: The Twisted Man

“A man in robes, a dark purple and orange,” Dylan repeated. “Big fella, hunched over like this...” “Sir, I think I would somebody wearing...robes,” the store clerk replied lazily, unable to hide his disinterest in Dylan’s search, but he still wanted Dylan to leave him alone. “Have you tried the post office? Everyone who enters or leaves this town has to them by.” Dylan sighed, not unhappy with the answer, but still finding a fury within him to fight the clerk. It was a feeling which was overwhelmed by the idea of meeting the man in the robes. The feeling was similar to returning to your home in the middle of the night to find it was broken into. As you check room-by-room, you are happy when you find nobody, but grow increasingly anxious with each room, as you don’t know what you will find in the next one. The longer you search the more likely you are to find what you are looking for. It may not be as you expect, it may be even worse. Leaving the small gas station, Dylan thought back to when he first encountered the strange, terrifying individual. The robed man which has haunted him through the night.

***

While pedalling down the street back home, Dylan noticed an odd figure at the corner of a street. Hunched over, yet taller than his father and clad in dirty purple robes. Dylan ed being so distracted by the figure as he neared it that he didn’t notice the curve in the pavement. The front jerked, shocking him and

causing him to tumble. Dylan ed an incredible pain, a hot flash of white stunning his mind. It was a pain familiar to every child. With scraped hands and knees, Dylan hissed at the foot of the robed man. The child, ing the robed man, looked up at the figure, its silent silhouette against a sanguine sun. He ed raising his hand to block the burning rays, only to be shocked by the monstrous face of the robed man. Twisted, torn, with one eye and mouth too many, all mixed into a curved mass of flesh and teeth. It seemed so human and inhuman, so unreal. It was an unforgettable experience that filled the young Dylan with a unique disgust. Seeing the twisted man for the first time froze him to the spot. Dylan watched as the largest mouth spread in a vertical smile, only making Dylan’s already contorted face grimace in further horror. “Don’t be afraid...,” the mouth spoke so clearly that it’s words branded themself in Dylan’s mind. The words were whispered, calm, but the eyes didn’t blink. Instead, they stared at him, ravenous, with the most malicious intent. Dylan found his feet and ed how to use them at that moment, ignoring open wounds as he pushed off the asphalt and ran away. He didn’t have a destination in mind, fear wouldn’t allow such thinking. Like a terrified animal, Dylan simply ran in the easiest direction and did not stop. It was closer to nightfall by the time Dylan reached home. Checking every corner slowly calmed his fear, making his way home on foot, he finally stumbled towards his house. As he neared it, he felt more secure, safe. The freshly cut lawn, the comforting blue of the walls, his mother's figure moving in the window. All the welcoming signs of home. Walking into the house, Dylan breathed a sigh of relief. He ed his mother in the kitchen, listened to her talk about her day, from the terrible clients to the sweet old ladies who made her laugh. He observed his father and older brother staring transfixed by the television, a commentator relaying his excitement over each perfect of the pigskin. By the time he finally looked back out the window, it was just to catch a glimpse of the tail of the twisted man’s robes.

Dylan ran to the window, but the man had already left, leaving Dylan’s bicycle leaning against the mailbox. He did not sleep that night. Instead, he chose to check the window was latched every odd minute and his door locked every even minute. A delirium consumed him, tortured him, for many years until he grew out of it. Dylan never saw the robed man again during those many years, yet the sight of him never left him.

***

“Hmm...” the post office clerk rubbed his chin. Dylan waited, not expecting much. “Yes, I recall such an individual,” the clerk announced. Dylan’s eyes widened, heart stuttering. “Fancy looking robes, old. Had a cane...or some sort of stick.” “Did he tell you anything?” “He didn’t come in here, just saw him walk past a couple of days ago. We get a lot of odd people coming through here.” “Leaving?” “Coming. Must be a drifter and drifters like to eat; I’d ask around the diner in town.” “Thanks, thank you,” Dylan nodded as he left, his eyes already frantic and darting. Dylan was getting closer. It had been over twenty years since the day he first saw the twisted man. It was from listening to the radio one night that he heard of the man again. By mere chance, a chance which he could not calculate. Yet, it was the fact that he met such a unique man and heard about him again that made Dylan believe it was not by chance.

It was intentional, in some insane way, the twisted man must have known Dylan would hear about him on the radio.

***

“Tim, you must be joking. I won’t have that, this is my show!” the host laughed. “I’m telling you, this man was wearing wizard robes, straight out of the movies,” one caller was telling the host. “Strangest thing I have ever seen and he was such a big guy too. I wanted to ask him what’s up with the getup, but I couldn’t get the words out. Didn’ even look at me, just swung this stick and smashed one of my windows. I’m not a coward, but I’m not an idiot either. I put the pedal to the metal and the last I saw of him was in my rear-view mirror.” “What if the poor guy needed a lift?” the host joked, his sense of humour falling flat on his listener’s ears. “Not this guy, definitely not a hitchhiker,” the caller replied. “You hear all these stories of people who seem so normal, but turn out to be...serial killers...or something. If normal people could be that bad, imagine strange lookin’ people like that freak!” “Last thing you want the backseat of your car, right?” “That’s right. I saw him on the road from Roxburg to Smithden. I don’t recommend stopping anywhere near him, just keeping going. Stay safe out there folks!” “Right, thanks, Tim, drive safe!”

***

“Yeah, yep, the odd one,” the waitress replied. “All sorts of creeps come through here and he sure looked like one with that clothing, but he didn’t cause trouble. Kept his head down, cleaned his plate and didn’t pinch my...well, he was probably the best customer I had.” The waitress laughed while Dylan read the nametag she placed strategically on her chest. “Listen, Nicole, did you see where he went?” Dylan asked, in no mood for jokes and laughing. “Why? What’s he to you?” “I met him a long time ago, I heard he was coming through the town and I want...to see him again.” “I don’t know, hun, it doesn’t work like that.” Nicole began to walk away but stopped when Dylan took out his wallet and pulled out a five-dollar bill. Through a not so subtle exchange, Dylan learnt that the twisted man spoke with her. He told her he was going home, a mile out of town. Nicole didn’t know why the stranger told her this, but he seemed intent on making it clear to her. She couldn’t help but remark on how it stuck in her mind, finding herself repeating the words in the quiet moments. That was all Dylan needed to hear to confirm his suspicions. Dylan had come too far, he had to see it through. Climbing into his car, he followed the directions the twisted man had left for him. Seeing as it was such a small town, Dylan was on the open road soon enough and later he was turning off it onto a dirt road that descended into a sparse forest. It made it easy to spot the cabin in the distance. It was no doubt the place that the robed man mentioned. For a brief moment, Dylan didn’t feel alone in the car, but he ignored the feeling. He was far too concerned with the sensation the cabin gave him. Feeling the pull, Dylan stopped the car, leaving it without hesitation and walking towards the cabin. He didn’t have fear in his heart anymore, he was transfixed by the cabin ahead. Had he kept his senses, he might have seen the several robed

figures walking parallel to him in the distance. These figures faded into the trees as easily as they emerged and once more he was alone, standing outside the door. Dylan made to knock, but the door simply creaked open, pushed by a gust of stray wind or pulled by sinister intent. For a brief moment, Dylan felt his mind clear and at that moment he wanted to run. It was the same instinct one feels when they are about to be bitten by a wild animal, the instinct that saves so many that listen. He stood in front of the gaping maw of the cabin and felt the fear of being consumed by the darkness within. He could have run. Yet, his eyes adjusted and he saw an empty, single-room cabin. At its centre was the twisted man, standing, staring, waiting. Besides the twisted man, in the corner of the room, was a hatch, open and leading to some deeper darkness below. Dylan stepped through the doorway, unable to control himself. “I...I don’t...what...I...” Dylan searched his mind, but couldn’t find the answer. Perplexed, afraid, but not sure why. With the man he feared for so long, standing so close, all Dylan could feel was lost. The twisted man’s hood bobbed up and down as he slowly studied Dylan. Dylan could make out his jagged smile, those gleaming eyes. He could see the glint of light caught in the saliva dripping from the man’s fangs. The twisted man was happy to see him. Dylan felt catatonic, his mind struggling to think and his body struggling to move. That was until the twisted man moved quickly towards Dylan. The speed, the evil nature of this monster before him, it finally helped Dylan’s mind break the spell. He backed out the cabin, turning to run, but immediately fell. Once more, Dylan found himself ignoring the pain as he scrambled to his feet. Feeling once more like a child, a fear flooded his mind. After cursing his carelessness, Dylan cried out for help, screaming from the depth of his being. It didn’t matter. The twisted man gave him a chance decades ago, giving it to Dylan, and there wouldn’t be another. Dylan had been chosen, he willingly stepped into the cabin and he would be dragged back inside, beneath its floor. Stumbling once more, Dylan felt the twisted man’s hands close around his ankles, he clung to the dirt, then the door and even tried to claw into the

floorboards, but it was all for nought. He felt his lower half descend and he twisted to see the dark cellar that the twisted man slowly sank into. Dylan’s legs disappeared into the darkness and once more he struggled. Only now, more hands shot from the darkness, they clung to his clothing and then arms. Dylan didn’t scream, only cried.

***

Dylan’s mother shook him frantically. Dylan was crying, then screaming, as his friends and other school children gathered around him. Everyone could tell he wasn’t screaming over the scrapes on his arms and legs. He was screaming in fear, fear of his mother who held him and all the people around him. His face showed more and more fear with each face he saw. Dylan was carried by his father into the family car. He tried to escape, kicking and screaming, fighting his older brother and mother in the backseat. Dylan’s family were in tears as the youngest in their family fought them madly. It was only when Dylan’s eyes saw the robed figure walking away from the crowd, unnoticed by everyone, that Dylan fell silent. He was silent then and would remain silent for the rest of his life.

Tale 2: Impostor

Habits are easy to develop if they bring you a sense of comfort. These can be good habits or they can be bad habits. Whether we like it or not, these habits define who we are in some way, to a point where even those close to us can subconsciously recognise them. A shift in character, even so slight, can be spotted almost instantly. Jamie Anderson saw such changes in her husband, which grew into deep suspicion and eventually she took action. Robby Anderson was a farmer, late thirties and hardworking. Jamie noticed he came home late one day, but Robby didn’t explain why despite her questioning. Of course, this is always concerning for every young wife. However, it began to grow darker with each successive night. Robby would come back with a sterner face and grumpier demeanour. However, what bothered Jamie was Robby’s change of habits. He never wiped his feet when he came home, but after his first late-night, he always did. He stopped drinking a nightcap, he started eating seconds, sometimes thirds. He even started watching Jamie’s shows with her. Small things that meant so much to her and for most wives, it would be considered a blessing. Jamie saw right through the new habits and decided to follow her husband one day. She followed him to work, watching him work tirelessly and eat his lunch in the company of his two friends. The three didn’t say much, Robby especially. Eventually, the working day ended and everything started to take a turn for the sinister. Instead of going home or ing his friends for a drink, Robby would drive his truck out of town and down a dirt road. Jamie kept her distance ensuring Robby didn’t know he was being followed. It was dangerous driving as Jamie had the

headlights off. Jamie knew that Robby could only be going to the river, which wasn’t too far on foot. She stowed the car out of sight and followed. Jamie told the police Robby met with many other people she recognised from town. Every one of them was digging a pit, wide and deep. Watching them so close became dangerous, as it took only one to turn in her direction and see her. She kept her distance, staying low to the ground and waited. Everyone dug without saying a word and at some point, they all decided it was time to stop. Everyone dropped their spades if they weren’t using their hands and left in whatever vehicle they came in. Some simply walked back to town. Jamie had to investigate further. She approached the massive pit and stood at its edge, staring down into the darkness. At the very bottom, she saw an assortment of objects, but it was too far and too dark for her to make out what they were. As she lifted her head, she saw that nobody had left and all stood at the edge of the forest watching her. Their pale faces seemed to be made of stone, but the feeling they gave her was not so neutral. Jamie didn’t spot her husband, but she only turned to see him swing his spade and knock her unconscious and into the pit. There was a snapping noise as she hit the bottom and Robby considered that to be the end of it. However, Jamie lived. Jamie awoke atop a pile of bodies, cold and lifeless. Her left arm was broken, but she was still able to push herself up with her right and examine the faces beneath her. Among them, she claims to have seen her husband.

***

“And that’s when you decided to kill your husband?” the officer asked from the other side of the bars. “No...that man was not my husband,” Jamie told him softly. “I climbed out of the pit and walked back to town.”

“With a broken arm?” Jamie scowled at him. “It wasn’t easy, but yes.”

***

Jamie made her way home on foot, ragged and in pain. It was nearly morning by the time she arrived, seeing the imposter sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast. She considered confronting him, or going to the police, unaware that Robby was the one who knocked her out. Jamie almost made the mistake of confronting him, but then she saw a woman in the kitchen with Robby. Jamie’s eyes widened in deep horror, the same way they did when she awoke on the heap of death. She saw herself, drinking coffee with the man that wasn’t her husband.

***

“Aliens...demons...government conspiracy,” Jamie whispered. “Pardon?” the officer replied. “I didn’t catch that.” “It was me...a woman that looked exactly like me with a man that looked exactly like my husband. I don’t know how...I just couldn’t stand there, afraid. I went to the shed, I found his shotgun and I shot them both through the window.” “Why through the window?” “I didn’t want to be in there, in case I missed.” The officer nodded with fake sympathy, but couldn’t help but smile.

“What?” Jamie snapped. “I’ve heard many stories in this line of work, ma’am, and I’ve only really started. Tall tales and bald-faced lies. Every one of them pleaded innocent with blood on their hands.” Jamie looked away, not wanting to hear anymore or waste her breath arguing. It wasn’t until the officer turned the key for her cell and opened the door did she look back at him. “Every one of them told more believable stories than yours,” the officer continued. “Now, you don’t seem crazy to me, or stupid, so I’m going to give you just one chance to show me some proof.” The officer placed cuffs around Jamie’s wrists and led her to his car. He still put her in the back, putting a wall between the two. The officer was trusting, but not an idiot. “Give me directions, show me where the pit is,” the officer told her. “What’s your name?” “David Rice,” the officer replied with a smile. “Take the next left, David.” Jamie fed directions to the officer and in moments they were going down the same dirt road that Jamie did. Rice helped her out the backseat and told her to lead the way, while she bombarded him with questions. “Did you see the bodies? Of the...doubles, the impostors.” “No, not my job.” “What are they saying?” “That you killed your husband in cold blood.” “And the other woman?” “They didn’t mention anyone else.”

“What?” “The only body they found was your husbands, no evidence of another.” Jamie turned to look back at Rice, her eyes wide. “She isn’t alive,” Jamie told him shakily. “Why would they lie and say I only killed my hu...that thing.” “My thoughts exactly. Doesn’t make sense for you to it to a double murder with there being only one body.” Jamie and Rice soon reached a steep decline, at the bottom, it levelled out along the river. There was no pit in sight, but there was evidence of one. It had been filled in, but the dirt was still fresh, forming a lighter circle, easy to distinguish. “See? See? They tried to cover it up, but it’s still here,” Jamie told Rice victoriously. David was already raising his radio, calling the station. Jamie approached him slowly, holding out her handcuffs. He shook her head, she wasn’t getting off that easily. “...hello? This is Officer Rice, can anyone..?” Rice began to repeat but was immediately cut off when Jamie wrenched his gun from his holster. Rice reacted quickly, but not quickly enough. Jamie shot his leg, then his stomach. Rice fell, blood pouring from his wounds. It’s at this moment that his radio began to crackle to life, hissing and squeaking. David cringed at the noise as he clutched his stomach, trying to stop the blood. “Yes, that’s the last of them,” Jamie seemingly told the air. The radio hissed once more, this time louder. Jamie stared down at David. His skin grew pale, but it wasn’t due to loss of blood. He saw in her eyes everything Jamie told him about. An abnormal lack of humanity, a cold uncaring soul. He saw more emotion from the barrel of the gun in his last moments. The impostor pulled the trigger and her attention shifted the

moment the bullet left the barrel. Dropping the gun, Jamie began walking back to town, followed by other figures who were waiting in the forest. Only one was walking back to the pit, carrying the bloody, broken form of the real Jamie. Another town had been replaced.

Tale 3: The Hunter

“Master Bennet will see you now, Mr Fisher,” the young butler announced with a false smile. Mr Fisher felt an incredible sense of relief as he left the hallway lined with the trophies of Bennet’s hunting exploits. Surrounded by such morbid displays did not fill him with awe or fascination, but rather a nervous discomfort. Almost as if Mr Fisher were an unmoving witness to something evil, doing nothing to stop it, but unable to tear his eyes away. As much as Mr Fisher enjoyed a good hunt, he did not enjoy being surrounded by the prey’s heads. He knew Master Bennet understood this, which is why his trophies were in his private wing and not adorning the walls in the public wing. Bennet’s office was much more laid back and fitting for someone of such his stature. A foreboding office, but a comfortable one. A decorative carpet large enough to cover the floor softened Fisher’s steps, but Bennet still heard him enter. Fisher could only ire Bennet’s well-tuned ears. “Fisher, how are the guests?” Bennet called from a dark room to Fisher’s left. “I hope you’re not like the rest of those stuck-up stiffs, turning your nose up at the food that was prepared!” “Certainly not, sir,” Fisher nodded towards the darkness. “The party is wonderful, the lights, the music and the food. Although...” “Yes?” “I’m afraid everyone is wondering where their host is. We all expected to see you at the entrance, perhaps even a speech.” “Oh, Fisher, you know that’s not my style.”

“And you know I am eager to begin. These people are only so enjoyable for a limited time, then they tend to grow on one’s nerves.” A snapping noise escaped the darkness, like that of a stick being broken. Bennet’s grunt was clear, which only caused Fisher’s brow to furrow and his concern to rise. “Sir?” Fisher stepped forward. “Is everything-” “Just fine, Fisher,” Bennet stepped into the light. As expected, his attire was splendid, from head-to-toe. Fine shoes, onyx tros, a deep jacket and startling white poet blouse. His face, clean-shaven and eyes keen. “Final touches and all that,” Bennet explained. “I’m afraid I put the cart before the horse. I haven’t prepared myself nor my mask, while my servants have done a wonderful job in preparing everything else. Now, down to business before we return to the party.” Fisher smiled, calm and ready for his questions. “Now, the guests, how many do you suppose made it?” Bennet lit his pipe, taking small puffs to get the tobacco burning quickly. “I thought it was a tall order to invite so many.” “Apparently not, sir,” Fisher explained. “Everyone could make it and with your reputation, they wouldn’t miss it for the world.” “Really, Fisher, you make me blush. The servants?” “All have their jobs it seems. The chefs work tirelessly, drinks are plenty and food even more so. All are comfortable, easing themselves into their seats and enjoying this evening to its fullest. They will be sure to stay out of the way until the fun is over.” “It does my heart good to hear as much.” Bennet smiled warmly and nodded happily. Mr Fisher knew what he was going to ask next, he always asked.

“You know you have my all the way, Mr Bennet. Now, do you want to greet your guests?” “Thank you, Fisher. That will be all.” His final word was sharp and cold, but Fisher didn’t mind. It was simply Bennet’s way when there was something else on his mind. Fisher still wore a calm smile, nodding towards Bennet before walking out of his office. Fisher knew Bennet’s eyes were studying him as he left, the wheels in his mind turning like a clock keeping time. “I like the mask, Fisher,” Bennet called. “A wild cat...somewhat fitting.” When Fisher walked back into the part side of the manor, he found people just as he left them. Drinking greedily, knowing full well that if they were to out they would be in good care. Everyone was among friends, treated like royalty. The stresses of their life long since melted away and now they were relishing in the luxury. Fisher could almost see their inhibitions being abandoned. From room-to-room, everyone had found their comfortable seat to warm. Fisher soon found his place in the first room that Bennet would be entering. Two fat men sat by the fireplace, the warm light highlighting their rounded features. Three women chattered amongst each other, complimenting each other’s masks and insulting others. As Bennet approached, servants vacated the many rooms as fast as they could, the music’s volume rising ever so slightly. He walked through the halls, calm and ready. Fisher saw him approaching and announced to the room that the host was approaching. The fat men rose, as did the woman with a bit more grace, but Bennet held his hands up, bidding them rest. Fisher smiled softly, studying Bennet’s mask with everyone else. A real wolf's head, clearly butchered with its jaw torn from the skull. A set of horns, most likely that of a young stag, stuck out from holes above the eyes. It was vile and sinister, making one of the men’s stomach turn at the sight of it.

“Please, everyone, rest easy,” Bennet smiled, his lips barely visible, but expression clear. “It’s wonderful...so very wonderful! To see such dear friends, forgotten loves and inspiring peers.” As he spoke, gathering everyone’s attention, Fisher approached the closest victim, drawing a serrated blade. With powerful, cruel intent, the knife slit the first aristocrat’s throat. Before anyone could realise, another victim hit the floor, a victim of Bennet’s decisive thrust of a silver dagger.’ The massacre was quick, brutal and over. The screams silenced quickly. In the next room, a young woman with a feathered mask tried to leave to find a friend but was stopped by a butler who guarded the door. “I’m sorry, Miss Atwood,” the butler told her with a stony expression. “Master Bennet is greeting everyone room-by-room and wishes everyone to wait only a moment.” The Atwood simply stepped past the butler who stumbled to catch her but didn’t give chase, afraid of losing the many others in the room. “It will take only a moment, you old fart,” she replied childishly. “I’m sure Master Bennet won’t mind too much.” Atwood skipped onward, peaking into the room where the first slaughter took place. It was quiet, the fat men slumped in their chairs and the three women spread on a single sofa. Not seeing her friend’s brightly coloured dress, the young woman didn’t look too hard at the still figures and moved on to the next room. As Atwood pranced towards the next room, iring the drapes and sparking lights. That is when she saw a man stumble out of one room, wearing a wild cat mask. “Excuse me, excuse me,” Atwood sped towards Fisher, who was deeply shocked to see the woman out of one of the many smoking and lounging rooms. “I’m looking for a good friend of mine, a Miss Lorena Littlechild?” “L-Lorena Littlechild,” Fisher repeated, his shock breaking into uncontrollable amusement. “I believe she may be in this room, shall we?”

Fisher’s smile coupled with the shaking hand that gestured to the room he just left disturbed Atwood. For a moment, she believed him to be a bad drunk, but as she studied his mask and suit, making out the clear marks of blood, she hesitated. A scream soon escaped the room followed by the screamer. A tall man was brought to the ground by Bennet’s tackle and immediately silenced by a knife. The evil that Atwood saw in the eyes of the horned wolf that Bennet wore was enough to make her faint on the spot. Fisher stared down at her crumpled form, raising his eyes from it to the heads that peaked around corners and out of the rooms adjacent. “Master Bennet, I believe the jig is up,” Fisher smiled with sinister humour. “A little sooner than usual...” Another scream as the bodies were noticed, more as the blood spread across the floor. Bennet stood, with a bloodied dagger, eyeing every face. He was not angry. “I prefer the chase,” a hushed whisper escaped the mask. Pandamonium. Aristocrats, helpless and scared thanks to drinking and panic. Many fell on the smooth tiles, their heels and hard shoes aiding the killers. Fisher and Bennet’s cuts were quick, not meant to kill now, but to slow down. In the chaos, many discovered the doors were locked. Some discovered there were no windows on the first floor. One had almost broken a lock before he was cut down by Master Bennet himself. The bloodbath was loud at first, but within half an hour it was silenced. Survivors hiding here and there, only to be found and promptly executed. The servants and chefs waited in the kitchen, beyond a locked and barred door. Terrified of their master, the servants prayed they would make it through another one of Bennet’s hunts. A few more hours later, the last scream echoed throughout the manor. The servants unlocked the doors and began cleaning the manor, from top to

bottom, saving the majority of the bodies on the first floor for last. Meanwhile, Fisher and Bennet took the of the guests and began checking off names as they piled them together, checking beneath each mask. “A fine night...a joyous night,” Bennet announced as Fisher read. He breathed deeply, ignoring aching muscles and injuries he sustained from those who fought back. “Truly...” Fisher replied, crossing off the names. “A Matilda Parkes?” “Yes, I got that one and a Lorena...ah, Lorena Littlechild. One of your additions to the list?” “Yes, I met...” Fisher’s voice trailed off. He recalled the name and the woman who wondered out looking for her. “A-Atwood...that girl...she fainted,” Fisher murmured. “Yes, I saw,” Bennet nodded with a satisfied smile. “How terrible we must have seemed at that moment.” “Benedict, she is still alive.” The two cruel men exchanged looks before rising from bloodied seats. With rapid movements, the two took sharp corners till they entered the same hallway once more. Only blood and bodies of the victims they crossed off the list, but no Atwood insight. Looking further, they saw one of the doors to the outside was open. The darkness of the night with its cold air brought with it a terrible fear for both Fisher and Bennet. “It’s only forest and mountain for miles,” Bennet reminded Fisher. “I will collect the guns, see if you can make out some tracks.” Bennet left immediately for his room while Fisher ran towards the open doors. Opening them wide, he stared out at the forest. In a rage to see more clearly, Fisher tore his mask off and scowled. He heard footsteps behind him too late, turning on the spot to see the murderous intent in Atwood’s eyes as she drove an antique sword through his cold heart.

“Y-you monsters...” Atwood whispered at first, but her voice grew louder as confidence grew. She brought Fisher to the ground, twisting the sword, wrenching it from his torso and striking again and again with each word. “Demons...traitors...murderers!” Fisher died with the first strike, but the words followed his spirit in its descent. Atwood glared a tired fury into his empty eyes. It was the metallic click behind her that brought her back to reality. Turning around, her eyes rested on the bloodied figure of Master Bennet, although none of the blood was his. “Remarkable, Miss Atwood,” Bennet aimed his rifle at her. “I didn’t think you had it in you.” The hammer clicked, but no bang, a notorious fault in the rifles making. Atwood sprang to her feet, Bennet drew his dagger. Despite him being an experienced killer, Atwood’s sword was more difficult to dodge. The blade ran through his centre, his dagger piercing her side. It was a test of wills and Bennet’s won at first. Miss Atwood collapsed to the ground, ing on during the fall. Bennet fell to his knees, then falling onto his side. Unable to move, he stared at the feet of the many victims along the hall, the pools of blood. The dark eyes behind the evil mask grew darker as he died smiling, knowing that what happened that night would be ed. That a part of him, a nightmarish memory, would live on.

Tale 4: The Vessel

The ship raised anchor on the shores of a dying island. The crew could not understand why the captain would go ashore in the first place. The island appeared to have suffered fire and flood. Ashen trees and rotting ones littered the sand, fuming in their ways. It had an aura of death, disturbing the superstitious deckhands. All were happy to see the captain return, happier still to hear the orders to weigh anchor and sail away. Yet, the question was raised why the captain would want to go ashore. He was a man of sensible nature, which was more than could be said for most of the crew. He returned empty-handed as well, at least, it appeared that way. Questions such as these gave the crew reason to watch the captain closely but were left staring at the door to his quarters. “What is he up to?” one foolish crewman asked. “I sense mischief...” The others turned angrily towards the fool, one grabbing him by the front of his shirt. The crew demanded respect, as the captain had earned theirs with every action since serving aboard his ship. The fool apologised bitterly but sincerely regretted mentioning it. Yet, the fool simply said what was on every man’s mind. The crew hated themselves as much the fool, as they couldn’t help but agree. Most decided to brush it off as it never happened, but others decided to take action. Two crew discussed the island in-depth, sharing superstitions and stories, their twisted fear concocting a greater horror with each story. Their restless hearts could take it no longer, both agreeing to spy on the captain later that night. Sneaking out was easy, avoiding the quartermaster was difficult, but both reached the captain’s door. “Wait,” one whispered as the other reached for the doorknob. “Come here.”

The second ed the first in peering between curtains in a small window. It was uncomfortable, but both were treated to a dark view of the inside. Not a candle was lit, not a lantern burning. Instead, a flash of light surprised the two, illuminating the captain at his desk. Thunder rumbled as the two deckhands tried to calm their hearts. Returning to the window, they could now just make out the captain’s silhouette in the darkness. He didn’t move an inch, he didn’t even seem to breathe. The sight of their still captain only worried them, as he was in such a position that he couldn’t be asleep. Superstitious fear could not hold them back, they had to know that their captain was alive. Without hesitation, the two opened the captain’s door and marched inside. Greeted once more by the flash of lighting, the two could see their captain’s eyes flashing white. One, the most fearful of the two, fell back in surprise, backing towards the door. The bravest stepped forward, examining the captain from across the table. “He is dead,” he murmured. “His eyes have rolled back...he is so pale.” The two approached their captain’s body, feeling a pang of sadness, but dark curiosity. Looking down, the two noticed an open box in front of their captain. Leaning close, one could see it was a crude box, sitting on a dirty, ashen cloth. The only clue of what was inside was the fade of the wood in the shape of a circle. “We must tell the others,” the deckhand murmured. “No, are you crazy?” the fearful one stammered. “I would be the first the crew suspects. Let’s leave him for someone else to discover.” Without waiting for a reply, the fool left in a hurry, returning to his hammock below decks. The second was tempted to tell everyone, but once more, the fool’s words filled him with fear and he too left without a word. The two ed the sleeping crew safely, their nighttime adventure unknown to all, but each other. Both could not sleep, but soon the exhaustion of the day caught up with them, just before dawn. The next day everyone returned to their posts, taking care of the ship and

cleaning when they had free time. It seemed like an average day, one where nothing strange would happen, yet the two deckhands found themselves eyeing the captain’s quarters. The door remained closed, nobody discovered the body. It was only around midday that the 1st mate approached the captain’s door. The deckhands watched from afar as the 1st mate knocked on the door. The door opened, to reveal the captain, alive and well. The captain spoke with the 1st mate, marching out on the deck, scowling at everyone like he normally did. The captain marched up the stairs to the helm, speaking with the quartermaster on what appeared to be the heading. What terrified the deckhands most was the lack of any unusual behaviour. “I thought you said he was dead,” the fool hissed to the second deckhand. “He was, he was cold, pale, everything!” the other replied. “Now he is alive, like some sort of gh-” The deckhand fell silent, exchanging a look with the fool. In their hearts crept a fear pure and true. It made perfect sense in their minds, but they could not see proof, nor tell anyone of their suspicions. Discussing it amongst themselves, they exchanged ideas on what they could do to be rid of the ghost. The deckhand suggested a special brew, but the idea was crushed by lack of knowledge on how to make the brew or give it to the captain. The fool then suggested they throw something at the captain, see if he was solid as a man, or immaterial like a ghost. It was an idea that did the least harm, so it was the one they stuck with. Taking an apple from the cook’s pantry, the fool returned to the upper deck, walking casually towards the captain. The deckhand watched closely as the fool greeted the captain, stuttering with slight fear, before offering the captain an apple. Before the captain could answer, the fool tossed the apple in the air. The captain caught it with a grin, taking a hearty bite and thanking the fool. “I am more confused now,” the deckhand murmured. “What’s confusing you?” another deckhand asked.

“N-nothing, just...nothing.” The captain coughed, spluttered and choked. The scene frightened the fool as the captain coughed up the apple, spitting blood onto the deck. “Poison!” the captain choked. The captain clutched a pouch of medicine in his pocket, begged for milk and drank it deep when it came. The medicine seemed to take effect, but the captain’s skin became a frightening shade of green before returning to normal. The fool was grabbed by the other crew while the captain tried to stand tall. The fool pleaded innocence, but the proof was damning. Even the deckhand was in shock, realising he must have made a big mistake. The fool tried to explain, pointing at the deckhand who ed him the night before. Yet, the deckhand explained it must have been fear that made him see those things, fear that clouded his mind. He explained how he had nothing to do with the apple, the other deckhands vouching for him, saying he was on the upper deck the whole day. With those statements, the fool’s safety line was withdrawn and he was at the mercy of the captain and his furious crew. The fool stared up at the captain, trying to explain how he didn’t poison the apple, but the words fell on deaf ears. The captain drew his sword, shifting the coat he wore for only a moment. The coat shifted enough for the fool and deckhand to see a round amulet, made from bone and black feathers. For the briefest moments, they could see a smile twitch on the captain’s face, his eyes flashing white, as he stepped forward. The captain’s sword drove through the fool’s heart, blood spilling on deck until his body was thrown overboard. The crew felt a lot better having been free of the fool’s superstition but were worried about their captain. The captain walked towards his quarter’s, stopping in front of the door and turning back to his crew. He bid the deckhand him, with a sinister smile misconstrued by the rest of the crew as a forgiving one. Without the pressure of everyone around him, the deckhand walked into the captain’s quarters, swallowed by the darkness as the captain shut the door behind them. The crew forgot the deckhand and the fool, unintentionally damning themselves

to become a dead man’s crew. All the while, their minds thought they served under a simple captain, not the Ferryman of the Sea, the Dread of the Damned, the Davy Jones reborn!

Tale 5: The Enlightened

The temple welcomed everyone. The townspeople at the foot of its mountain sang praises to travellers and tourists alike of the wonders within. Stories of peace, stories of power, all given to those with the spirit to claim it. It was everything that every traveller desired and they could not resist its allure. Of course, there is a beauty in every web, a gleam to every hook, the prey need only make one mistake. Shen Jian, a traveller visiting the town, soon discovered why so many flocked to the isolated location. Entering a humble restaurant, he chose the only table empty and awaited service. As he waited, he overheard conversations at every table talking about the temple up the mountain. Shen was surprised to see noble warriors talking with as much enthusiasm as the common peasant. Each one fixated with the idea that priests within the temple have found the answer to every question. Prayers to be answered, each one eagerly left the restaurant after their filling meals, no doubt to begin their ascent to the temple of legend. Shen Jian, who had simply been wandering the roads, had not heard of the temple. He felt left out and bid one of the servants to explain. It seemed he broached a beloved conversation, as a smile grew on the servant’s face and they spoke with loving ion. Shen listened closely, not so taken with the eagerness everyone showed. The servant told Shen that the temple had been on the mountain for several hundred years, a secret from the outside world for a long time. When it was discovered by lost travellers, they were met by masked priests which gave them peace. The travellers were asked to spread the word of the temple, going as far as they could before their bodies gave in. For such peace, the travellers were more than happy to oblige.

Of course, the original travellers had long since ed, although each made their way into legend as wondrous people. Their wisdom helped all those they encountered, which only served to emphasise the greatness of their masters within the temple. A town was built at the foot of the mountain two hundred years ago, starting with simple buildings and businesses of those seeking to profit off of the travellers. Yet, even the temple's beautiful influence could not allow that. The businesses found their share of peace, choosing to only charge travellers fairly. It ensured the future of the town but made sure that it didn’t get carried away with greed. The lust for gold is rampant through these lands, but not one person has the heart to give in when in the presence of the great temple. As Shen listened he grew more interested in the people than the temple. Shen began asking those who lived in town why they didn’t climb the stairs to visit the temple. All replied that it wasn’t time, saying they would climb the stairs when their purpose to help others was fulfilled. They considered finding their peace before their last day to be a selfish act. Shen didn’t understand. Leaving the last establishment, he approached the mountain. The temple sat halfway up the mountain, surrounded by old, but clean walls. It’s lights made it shine so beautifully among the dark side of the mountain. Shen’s curiosity had reached its peak and he began to climb the stairs. What confused Shen first was the lack of sound. It wasn’t a calm quiet that allowed the average monk’s mind to slip into a meditative state. It was the suffocating silence that made even his footsteps sound softer. It wasn’t until he walked through the entranceway in the walls that he could hear his heartbeat. The main grounds were sand, clean and soft. Shen could see the care put into the placement of rocks to make the raking flow beautifully. Yet, once more, something was missing. Instead of sound, it was people. There weren’t any monks, priests or tourists. It became unbelievable to Shen that the temple, as beautiful as it was, could attract so many people across the lands, but not have anyone wandering around the entrance garden. Walking along a snaking path towards the inner sanctum, Shen pondered his

hearing. His heartbeat grew frustratingly loud and for a moment he wondered if he had damaged them somehow. Shen forgot all about the pounding of his heart when the large doors opened without his touch. The inner sanctum was stunning. The warmth of the colours, the richness in its design. Dark wood framed the structure, from the floor to the ceiling. A comforting white made up the surface between the frames. Upon closer inspection, Shen could see it was in fact stone, but its tone and feel were unlike anything he had seen before. It was in this moment of thought that the pounding of his heart ceased. The sudden silence surprised him, but it was a relief as well. Shen clicked his fingers and smiled when the sound was so clear. It was a sound soon deafened by the opening of doors. Across the large room, what appeared to be walls at first shifted, revealing a line of monks. Each one slowly walked into the sanctum. Shen watched their approach with horror, as the monks lacked any features. It was only when they were closer that he could see that they wore some sort of mask made from the same stone he stood upon. The monks didn’t pay Shen any attention despite his obvious fascination with their appearance. Once more a door opened. Instead of a line of monks, a lone priest stood. His robes were darker, but his mask was brighter. The odd figure seemed to be observing Shen as much as Shen observed him. The priest beckoned Shen closer with a gesture and turned for the traveller to follow. Shen could no longer resist. In his heart, deep within, all Shen’s instincts told him to flee rather than follow. Deaf to these internal screams, Shen Jian followed the priest, the door closing slowly behind him. The priest led him down a long hallway, narrow, but tall. It was a journey, seemingly endless, but like a dream, it was over before Shen knew it. Now much older, Shen entered a room with five other priests. Similar to the one who led him, but vanished in a blink, these five priests wore bright masks. Yet, their masks were lifted only slightly, revealing their lipless mouths, the evergrinning teeth.

The priests spoke amongst each other as Shen Jian stood at the room's centre. Catatonic, unable to move or think beyond breathing, the aged Shen could only stare at the centre priest. His white hair floated around him as if he were suspended in water. The council were finishing their discussion, the chattering of their teeth stopped abruptly as each fell silent in turn. Shen turned on the spot and returned the way he had come. Entering the hall while the strange figures watched him leave, Shen began to age another eternity. The hair fell away, as did the skin, the muscles, even bone began to fade. Upon reaching the end of the hall, Shen’s body returned, although he lacked hair and the clothing he once wore. With each step, the stone began to collect on his face, Building into a mask, the stone slowly began to block his vision, but opened his eyes. Once thrown into eternal darkness, Shen Jian saw everything. Shen ed a line of monks, ing them in a never-ending march. His mind freed, his heart tamed and his life lengthened; Shen had all his deep desires, the same desires of all those before him, fulfilled. Shen was enlightened.

Tale 6: Dark Waters

Dark Water was by far the most terrible tourist spot in the city. We had festivals, carnivals, monuments and over-sized furniture, but the lake was an eyesore. Of course, we were stuck with attractions that we gradually downplayed over the years until it stopped appearing on the brochure. This attraction was known as Lake Robinson, but locally it was known as Dark Water Lake. It was something the adults ignored and the children whispered about. The reason behind the lake being ostracised was the same reason why some houses in the world never sold. Someone died and I don't mean of old age. The death, in this case, was mass murder. There was an event being held at the lake. Some say it was a birthday others say it was a wedding. Truth be told, we've all forgotten. All records were destroyed by the previous mayor and it became a local story discussed more often than you would think but died as quickly as the victims. Call it time changing truth into legend and legend into myth, but I know better. I used to visit the lake often. It was almost a second home. There wasn't anyone to bother me and I enjoyed the view as well. Conifer trees surrounded the lake while the sun parted through them creating a display of golden reflections on the lake that was just as breathtaking as the day before. I found myself sitting against a tree trunk and doodling in my journal. Of course, I was hit with many questions after spending so much time there. It wasn't surprising they used to hold events here. I can't imagine a more memorable place in town. It made no sense to me why the mayor would close this part off. It was a fantastic attraction. I pondered this question for a while before returning to town. I guess the reason behind the time I spent at the lake was because I didn't have any friends or family here. To top it off the new attractions were dull and tacky. I rode the roller coaster a million times. The monuments were wearing into

nothing and the giant furniture..well they were never interesting, to begin with. I loved that lake, until one afternoon I walked to the diner. It never changed over the years. Great food and awesome coffee kept me going and the diner supplied both. To be honest, the place wasn't good for me. The food was great, but it wasn't exactly healthy. Anyway, that afternoon I ordered a burger, a nice burger too. While I enjoyed my meal I listened to the conversations in the diner. Usual stuff. Truckers discussing how difficult their job was and teens teasing each other and planning their next day of easy living. However, there were these two teenagers who had a booth next to mine and they were discussing the 'Lake Disaster'. I shouldn't be surprised, but I couldn't help but focus on everything they said. "A counsellor?" "Yeah, man. It was a camp thing they started back in the ‘70s. Counsellor and a bunch of messed up kids. He was holding a swimming event. He planned to teach them all how to swim by the end of the day. The problem was he was drunk. He just threw the kids off the boat. When he realized what he was doing he began to swim after them...but he just sank. Only one kid made it out of that and that was because he was able to clutch onto the boat. How dumb is that?" "Jeez, that's terrible, man. I don't know though, it sounds like something out of a movie." "Maybe, but it makes sense why nobody goes there." "Dude, that is a tragedy or something. It's sad." "Wuss, it's just dumb." I almost laughed at them, but I just shook it off. It was by far the worst story I've heard yet, but it did remind me of catching up with my older brother. I finished my food and walked back to the lake. I don't want to be late. I reached the lake just in time to catch my brother. He stood at the edge of the water. I ran up to his side and punched his shoulder. "Hey, man. What's up?"

He shrugged off the punch and smiled at me. He was probably the biggest moron I have ever known, but also one of the funniest. The teachers treated him badly though, always ignoring him in class. I guess the teachers never paid much attention to me either, but I always sat at the back of the class and out of sight. The last thing I wanted was attention, but my brother craved it. "I can't wait for tomorrow, bro. I'm going to put my course on the map. I will be legendary," He told me, rubbing his arm a little. "I was finally able to convince the primary school teacher to let me take the kids on a field trip, you're going to be there right?" "Of course," I told him. "I've been kinda nervous about ing the rest of the kids, I'm so much older, but I need to learn." "Of course you do! Everyone needs to know how to swim! To top it off I have this great idea to handle the kids with the least amount of effort." "Okay, what's the foolproof plan now? Are you going to build a floating cabin?" "Ha, actually that's not a bad idea. I'm going to write that down later." "So what is your plan?" "I'm going to cut the camp time in half so the kids can spend more time doing whatever they want. I plan to do it straight after the party." "Whatever you say. Just...take it easy. You're the lightweight of the family." "Shut up," he laughed. It was true. I the time our father let him have half a glass of beer and that alone made my brother dizzy. A party might be some trouble, but I didn't think much of it. For now, I needed to leave before the camp began, It was his thing and I didn't want to steal his thunder. "I better get going," I told him. "Mom and dad are having their own '70's end party' and I need to help set up." "Yeah, whatever," he smiled, simply staring out at the lake. "It looks so peaceful, doesn't it?"

"The lake?" "Yeah...something about is so...I don't know. I want to visit the lake every single day..." "I know what you mean..." I said looking out at the lake. I felt a tear slide down my cheek. It was weird...but I didn't mind it. "Hey, before I go..." When I turned back to look at my brother I found myself staring into the forest surrounding the lake. He was gone again. It felt better visiting him this time, but my heart still ached. I don't know how he can talk to me...I'm so much taller than him now. When it happened he was double my height, yet he still talks to me like I'm his little brother. Stopping myself by shaking my head I turned on the spot and made my way home. "Have a good night, bro...see you tomorrow," I murmured before drifting to silence.

Tale 7: Echo

I worked for a large school just off the coast off the Atlantic. It was a prestigious school and it was the largest around. I could spend a good hour walking around it before I visited all the rooms. I am the janitor; unfortunately, so walking around it was my job. Taking care of other people’s messes and perhaps, finding something for myself. The school was very different after the students were let out. Usually, this was the best time for me to go around and clean the areas that were often populated. People don’t like it when you enter the room to clean. It makes them feel guilty somehow and then this annoyance turns to anger if you get in the way or distract anyone. Still, it was the way it had to be. I got to do my job and they got to theirs. By ‘they’ I mean the teachers. I hated them with a ion. Treated me like the trash I took out. The students aren’t that great either, but at least they didn’t shout at me if I missed a spot or if something wasn’t working. For a prestigious school, it didn’t have any handymen either, so that job was left to me too. What a miserable experience, working like a dog for peanuts. However, there was another reason I enjoyed the school after hours. Peace was only the first part, the next was the echoes. The sounds I could create by hitting the lockers with the end of a mop. It reverberated down the halls. It was deeply satisfying damaging school property to an extent where I didn’t have to fix it. Not to mention, the sound was just as satisfying, especially if I beat a rhythm as I walked. I believe I could have been a musician if I had the drive. Of course, this is only where the story begins. It was a Saturday night, no students at all. Not even a school event. If it was a public holiday the school would have been deserted. Still, I was there and was making my rounds. Having completed the first section of classrooms I walked into the hallway and casually

struck the locker. A splendid bang ran through the hallway and I continued my march to the end letting the sound bounce around me like an audible manifestation of a tennis ball. Once I reached the end and began to turn the corner towards the second section I heard a bang again. However, it was not me who struck the locker. Turning around I saw nobody was there. I began walking down the hallway thinking something had broken, but halfway down I heard the bang again. It came from the same direction. The sound was louder than I have ever heard and I jumped in place. I believed for a moment that the lockers rattled, but if they did, it wasn’t for long. I stopped by the locker, weary of the noises it had made. As if on cue another bang erupted from the metal cage and fell backwards in shock. This time the adjacent lockers rattled. Another bang at the other end of the row of lockers. It was as a response to the third knock from the first locker. Another bang from the first locker, followed by the second and soon a third. The noise echoed around me, but unlike my strike, these were violent rather than coordinated. It was just noise, louder than I have ever heard and more than the lockers should be making. It soon quietened and the first locker in front of me burst open. There wasn’t anything inside, just some rust from age. I stood up quickly and began walking down the hallway, faster than I normally would. The locker behind me began to clap, banging repeatedly. Soon the other locker followed suit. I felt one door nudge my arm and I leapt back in surprise. Doing so only sent me back into other lockers. It bashed into me and I felt a tug at my clothes. I don’t know where it was coming from, but I knew where it wanted me. It was trying to pull me into a locker. I stood fast and the force subsided. An overwhelming feeling took over my body. Breathing heavily, I began to dash towards the exit at the end of the rows. Suddenly, with a neon hiss the lights above burst, glass raining down around me and light vanishing, plunging me into darkness. I continued my sprint. I reached the door. Locked. I reached into my and searched for keys. They weren’t there. Suddenly silence is broken only by a single, repetitive sound. Steps. I turned to see the dark hallway. There was still light from the hallway around the corner, which would have felt comforting if there weren’t a growing shadow

at the end. The steps had a click to them and they must have carried some weight because they echoed louder than the chorus of lockers. Indescribable fear gripped me; something was telling me to run. Run as fast as I could. Whatever the shadow belonged to was about to turn the corner and I knew somehow it would be the end if it did. I backed up for a moment and began kicking at the space next to the doorknob. The first dented the door, the second shifted it slightly, but the third hit hardest and the door swung inwards. Without looking back I ran through the doorway. A short, lit hallway, then double doors. I was outside, cold night air surrounded me, but no more echoes. Just the sound of insects and the hum of distant traffic. I gathered what energy I had left and jogged away from the school. I returned the next day. You would think I wouldn’t, but I felt safer when there were people there. I tried to complete my work before school ended, even if it annoyed or angered a lot of people. I didn’t strike the lockers; I didn’t do anything close to making a sound in those hallways. I succeeded in my task and left only a few minutes after the students. As I left a hallway and placed my hand on the doors handle I heard a single, small knock from the closest locker. I took the warning to heart and didn’t look back.

Tale 8: Halloween 1974

Tensions were high this Halloween. Trouble in government, which affected everyone and trouble at home, which affected everyone I cared about. My father lost his job, my mother was sick and my sister was missing. I knew she ditched to go to a high-school party, which only annoyed me more. I was the one who drove from two cities over to see our parents, but I guess it was a three-piece Halloween this year. Still, I was glad to see them again. No matter what path of life you take it is always a pleasure to return home. After the meal, which I cooked being the chef in the family, my mother went to bed and my father fell asleep in front of the TV. Nothing much changed since I was here, but in some ways, it was a good thing. It gave me a few moments of peace before I would collapse in my bed; the sofa across from father. I decided to spend these moments outside with a smoky single, escaping my mother’s coughing. The irony was clear, but I couldn't care. As much as they were family, I didn't like being around them most of the time. Small amounts were best. The cool night air eased my tensions more than the cigarette. It wasn't to last. I saw a car approaching in the distance and I saw my sister’s blonde hair. I finished the cigarette and waited for her. She climbed out of the car, a silhouetted stranger driving away without her. She stumbled across the walkway and didn't seem to notice me till she was next to me, deliriously drunk. "Hey...big bro...uh...yeah..." she mumbled. I stared at her solemnly as she struggled to stand up straight. At that moment I could have lost myself in anger, but once more I breathed a deep sigh. "Get yourself to bed. You have school tomorrow," I told her. She stared at me, overcome with sadness, but it vanished with a hiccup.

"...right," she murmured. With that said, she continued her fumbling journey indoors while I lingered on the lawn. Once I had my share of fresh air I walked back inside. The lights were off; she must have turned them off. That was just stupid, but she was drunk. I almost smiled at the thought of her making it across the room with the lights off. I flicked them on to discover an empty room. No dad, no sister, no furniture. It was empty. The lights flickered once more and everything was back. My father snored in front of the TV. All this happened quickly, but I noticed. I didn't say anything at first so I just shook it off and made my way to the sofa. As I eased myself down on the sofa I blinked and everything disappeared once again. A bare room and a single light bulb. Instead of panicking as I should have, I felt it was all too familiar. I fell back onto the ground, too late to realize the sofa wasn't there anymore. I struggled to stand up as if every limb hesitated to help me, but I managed. My muscles ached, my very tendons didn't seem to exist. Whatever movement I made seemed to cost me all my energy. The room seemed to twist and turn. I closed my eyes and held my head in both hands. I was trying to regain my sanity and hopefully lose the splitting headache. When my mind eventually cleared I realized my heart thundering in my ears and my blood burning. I opened my eyes to find I was still in the empty room. The only difference was that there was a door. A single, white door with its paint peeling off in mouldy flakes. I didn't care how it looked; I just wanted it open and my body running through it. I stumbled at first. I kept blinking as my vision blurred. What the hell was happening? It felt like I was dying, every cell in my brain slowly fading out of existence, leaving me struggling against some force which took me over. I had to reach it quickly...I needed to. I dashed towards it, still clutching my head as if it was going to fall off. I heard footsteps on the other side of the door. I heard something hitting the door, but I was still running. I opened the door and something metallic appeared millimetres before my eyes. It gleamed with an almost bloody fury before I realized it was an axe. It floated in front of me for a moment before withdrawing into the darkness. Something was standing there, it held the axe in one hand and

murderous intent seemed to make its eyes glow red. I started to back away, but the door was shut behind me. The overwhelming sense of fear and helplessness took over and I screamed like a victim in a slasher movie. The stranger approached, pulling the axe back to swing forward in one deadly motion. I don't the axe hitting my skull, but I do closing my eyes. Opening once more I felt relief take over. I was in my apartment, lying in bed, clutching a pillow over my ears to block out the outside noise. My heart was still beating and my limbs still struggled to respond instantly to my thoughts, but at least now it made sense. I sat up, blinking as fast as I could, but the world didn't change. Warm sunlight flooded my apartment. I breathed the deepest sigh of relief. It was still Halloween 1974, but I realized the fundamental differences. My parents were not alive, they died 6 years ago. I know this, I saw it. I had no intention of returning home...not yet. Slowly bringing myself to reality I soon forgot the nightmare altogether. I climbed out of bed as my body woke up and made my way into the living room, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Once I had eaten my breakfast and gotten dressed I walked to the front door. I picked up my work bag, the handle of an axe sticking out. After pushing it back in and zipped the bag properly, I felt awake and ready. Another day, but I was hoping it would be as eventful as the last.

Tale 9: Night Shift

Nighttime is the most eventful time of the day. More gets done during the night than you think more lucrative work anyway. Unfortunately, this is not my work. I drive people from where they are to where they want to be, while I never leave the same seat. The streets are complicated and never lit by proper lights. I have to follow neon streaks and hope that what I'm driving on is the right road. However, despite all my job faults, I enjoyed it. There was a certain relaxing appeal to it. Lucky for me I'm a professional after all these years as well. A few more years and I would be able to drive down these streets blindfolded, but I'm sure as hell not going to be driving a taxi another year. It was a stepping stone for me towards bigger things, or less taxing things if I'm honest. I may be a night owl, but my body still fights me now and then to go to sleep or enjoy some sunlight. This week I would have raised enough money to move uptown and take that night time job with better pay and benefits. There are no benefits to working as a taxi driver. A week is a long time for a taxi driver and something told me it was gonna feel even longer, so I braced myself. I was driving down the 'food district'. That's what I've come to call it anyway. Steam rose from the stores like grey clouds up from the savoury foods into the stars. I always loved driving through this district and hated it at the same time. I loved the smell, but it made me hungry. I drove through here because there was always someone looking for a ride. Away from work and all the way home, usually too far away to walk. Perhaps a customer who wanted to quit walking for the night, something like that. As predicted someone did raise their hand and call for me. I stopped the car and he climbed in. I didn't get a good look at them before letting them in, which was a stupid move. I've had my share of drunks who climbed into the taxi and didn't leave. This always involved me having to get some help and drag them out of the

car. For a moment my mouth twitched into a cringe as I recalled the worst one, but I got rid of it with a deep sigh. When the person climbed into the backseat I was relieved to see a suit, but the face with most of the rest of him was in shadow. Normally the drunks wore ragged sweatshirts or tank tops, sweat sticking to their body from the humidity with stains that smelled strongly of vomit or alcohol. Seeing a suit wasn’t a guarantee that the client was sober and that they would tip well, which eased my mind greatly. I asked him where he would like to go, but he handed me a piece of paper in reply. I guess he wasn't much for talking. I read the card and navigated a path in my head. It was a small business type of building, but I didn't know what they did. The building was called Shift. I threw the card at the foot of the enger seat and started the car. The car made a clunking noise as I changed gears, an annoying and slightly worrying sound, but it was an old car. We were soon on our way, gliding through the streets without fault. No talking and whenever I looked in the rearview mirror at the man he just sat there in the darkness. I asked if he wanted the light on, but he just shook his head. I did a mental shrug and looked at the counter on the dashboard. It steadily ticked up with the amount of Yen he would have to pay. I returned my eyes to the road. It was a long way off, which was good news for me, but I had to get comfortable with the silence. Lights flashed past and every time a particularly bright neon sign approached I flashed a look at the rear-view mirror to see if it lit the man's face. It never did and I soon stopped the habit. I had a funny feeling he was watching me through the rearview mirror as well. At last, we arrived and the man climbed out. I looked at the building as he did. It wasn't exactly an upper-class work area. It was old and falling apart on one side of the roof. Maybe he didn't work here and was just someone who would provide money to repair the building. I didn't care; I just wanted him to provide me with money. Before I asked he handed me the right amount of notes. I nodded my thanks, rolled up the window and made to reset the counter, but it already said zero. Another mental shrug. I threw the money into the enger footwell. I heard a papery sound in the darkness, confirming I still had money to add to it. I revved

the car into motion and was soon off. I marvelled at how curious that client was for a moment. I don't think I've had a stranger enger before. Still, nothing that concerned me now that he was gone. I turned a few corners until I found familiar roads. A week is a long time for a taxi driver and something told me it was gonna feel even longer, so I braced myself. I was driving down the 'food district'. That's what I've come to call it anyway. As predicted someone did raise their hand and call for me. I stopped the car and he climbed in. I didn't get a good look at them before letting them in, which was a stupid move. When the person climbed into the backseat I was relieved to see a suit, but the face with most of the rest of him was in shadow. I asked him where he would like to go, but he handed me a piece of paper in reply. I guess he wasn't much for talking. I read the card and navigated a path in my head. It was a small business type of building, but I didn't know what they did. I threw the paper at my feet and started the car. The building was called Shift.

Tale 10: Synthetic Lights

Synthetic, meaning created by man to imitate something natural. Light is something that stimulates the eye to make something visible. Synthetic light, by definition, is man creating false light to make something visible. Does that mean what is presented to us by man is false by nature? It was often a perplexing contradiction of meaning, a paradox which I have circling my mind as often as possible until I have the answer. All I see is synthetic lights now. Light is used in many ways to reveal the truth. To see what cannot be seen in the dark. It's why lights were directed towards the suspect in an interrogation. Not only does it allow the interrogator to observe twitches or hints of lies better, but it also has a psychological effect on the suspect. With so much light shed upon a suspect and unable to see people in the darkness, their guilt begins to flood out of them. Some would say it was almost a biblical effect, but I believe it is more like the deer-caught-in-the-headlights effect. The suspect feels the fast approaching truck behind the lights and in their last moments they want to absolve themselves of their sins by itting them, of course not entirely, but subconsciously they feel threatened. Makes sense, after all, they are being assaulted verbally as well as visually. Of course, the one being interrogated may retreat from this option. The interrogated will shut their mouth and being pushed only has the reverse effect. In my case, I felt like the deer, sitting in that terrible room. The walls were covered in sinister, red lights. Like the eyes of an evil creature staring at me in the darkness. Sitting in that chair was nerve-racking, but I knew I could ease the stress by closing my eyes. With one more glance around the room, I grew increasingly nervous. These lights seemed to burn their way into my head through my eyelids. It was piercing like bright, burning blades. So I

closed my eyes tighter and sought the escape I so desperately needed in my crumbling mind. The darkness seemed welcoming. A relief from the burning lights that surrounded me. I used to imagine myself in a different place. I would be in my apartment, or at work...but now all I imagined was the inside of my eyelids. I could ease myself in the pitch black. As if something beyond the synthetic lights saw me escape, a voice echoed in the room. "Where were you that night?" The voice asked, but it felt like an order. What the lights did to my eyes the voice did to my ears. It was like this for too long of a time, my answer was always the same, so why keep asking me? Did they know something I didn't? These were the first paranoid questions that popped into my mind the first day I was thrown in here, but now, I couldn't care less what happened to me, I wouldn't tell them what they wanted to hear. "I was at home," I replied. "What were you doing?" "Sleeping." "You're lying." I knew I was, but how did the voice know? Was it in my head? No, stop, I couldn't let the questions keep coming back. Keep your eyes closed, try not to move anymore or less than you have been moving. It's how they know you're lying. It’s when you twitch. It’s when you stutter. It’s when you falter in any way that is different from when you tell the truth. "Where were you that night?" The voice repeated. This time I did not answer. Instead, I opened my eyes and stood up. The light's intensity seemed to increase with every movement I made. It was punishment for resisting. I made for the door. It was difficult to see at first because there were lights on it as well. However, the door wasn't seamless and I noticed the cracks around it. I knew my actions were not appreciated on the other side of the walls, but quite frankly I have been through a lot and I wouldn't stay still for them.

"Sit down," The voice ordered. "I answered all your questions and I don't intend to repeat myself," I said in barely a whisper. "Even though that is exactly what I've been doing for days now." I reached forward and clutched the hidden door handle. I tugged the handle, but as always it wouldn't budge. I felt that burning feeling inside of me as I grew more impatient, as well as outside of me, as the lights burnt my skin. I wanted out of here, I wanted to go home. "You cannot leave till you answer truthfully," the voice replied. I was getting angrier. With the meat of my hands and soles of my boots, I began smashing lights. After a few shocks running through my arms, I settled with just using my feet. I felt a unique kind of relief from breaking these diabolical lights. "I'm not lying, so save yourself some money and let me out!" I yelled. The glass shattered, sparks flew and the voice was drowned out by the ensuing destruction. Soon I had accomplished my goal. All that was left in the room was me and the darkness, with the occasional spark. Somehow in the dark, I felt safer and more sure of myself. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief and closed my eyes. For a few moments, I enjoyed the silence and the serenity. "I am going home, you know I'm going home," I muttered. "I am leaving here today, I am leaving here NOW!" An alarm blared. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. I was lying in my comforting bed as the alarm clock beside me vibrated from the noise it was making. I ignored it for as long as I could but gave in. I reached for it, clutching it in both hands and threw it through the open window. It hit something hard outside and smashed, silencing the alarm. The moment the alarm was destroyed I rested against the cool pillows. The lights flicked on, sending the pain of a thousand wounds through me like acid replacing my blood.

"Wake up! You need to catch the bus to get to work!" "Whatever." I could feel her eyes boring holes into the back of my head. Her judging, her silent questioning. I preferred it over the usual arguments, the usual questions, the incessant screaming. I felt it again, that same anxiety, that same fear. It was her, it was me. She said something, something cruel, but didn’t stay for me to react. She muttered as she walked away. The voice faded and I sighed. I'm getting sick of this.

Tale 11: The Black Torii

The Japanese gates, or toriis, are a common sight in Japan. They are used to mark the entrance to a holy shrine. All except one. The Black Torii, as it has become known in urban legends, marks the entrance to something else. As in all traditional religious faiths, anything different is considered sinister. However, there is no proof of anything diabolical, which leaves me, hopeful. People so far tend to lose track of where it is...or it keeps moving. Still, I had to discover the truth. Ever since hearing about the Black Torii, I was obsessed with finding it, in the hopes of making the discovery that puts me on the map. The urban legend says those who walk through the Black Torii are never seen the same again. This sentence can be taken in many different ways. Does the gate change what you look like or who you are? I am a realist in all respects, but I do believe in an experience changing who you are. Curiosity is either a powerful force or I am just weak, but I was not kidding about becoming obsessed. I sought a better version of myself, a new way of living with my body and mind. It was a broader conflict than me of course, but at least I had the metal to find a solution for myself. Most of the sightings of the Torii came from one town near a lake. I soon found this village, surrounded by rice fields that used the lake to water the rice fields. It was a natural and elegant system and the town thrived. I have been all over Asia and seen many splendid sights, but this one had a unique charm. Not so forced into its beauty like those greeting-card tourist destinations. Its beauty was natural and powerful. I began by asking the locals if they knew where the Black Torii was, but they just shook their head and waved a finger at me. As if they were my mother trying to discipline me for doing something wrong. At first, I thought I had made a mistake or the locals were just being cagey. Maybe they wanted to keep this

curiosity hidden. Maybe it was all just a big joke, but something deep inside me said it wasn't. The Torii was real; I just had to find it. I hoped I would find it soon as well. It had been a long and arduous journey up to this point.

***

I was losing strength and patience to continue my search. Weeks had ed and I was no closer than when I started. I began to grow angry and bitter. Both towards the locals and the jerk who created the legend. I began believing it was all a legend even though every fibre of my being said it wasn't. I fought myself once more, inner conflict over inner conflict. Mentally and spiritually I was being destroyed with two parts of my being. My physical pangs for sleep and nourishment began to be dulled by alcohol at the nearest bar. A bamboo shack with a strong farmer-type behind the counter. He served me drinks that looked like lime-green vodka, but much stronger. I drank it like a thirsty man drinks water. Amazing how it solved a lot of my problems that drink, even if it was only temporary. I became rowdy and aggressive towards the locals. That's when one of the locals, in an attempt to appease my anger, offered to take me fishing. I was to leave the village the next day and I realized I haven't taken part in anything else but a frantic search for something that wasn't real. It might have been the fact that my buzz was fading, but I calmed down and accepted the offer gratefully. Perhaps fishing would take my mind off it and at the same time I needed to be sober before leaving, but only because I didn't want to take the wrong bus.

––––––––

The fisherman was young, but he looked so much older. Years of hard work had

paid their toll on him. As we sailed out onto the flat, featureless lake it began to cloud over. The land became dark and grim, but the water stayed still and all I was concerned with was my fishing rod. Together we caught a lot of fish and smiled happily as we did. The clouds parted and a warm sun graced our backs. The village looked beautiful in the evening sun and we began to catch even more fish. It was truly a pleasure. The man began to tell me of his time growing up, how he started as a dying child, most likely abandoned on a road by terrible parents. Found eating rice while he sat in the rice fields. The town looked after him in a way, sheltering him, until they had a shack for him to sleep in. He was put to work fishing and for twenty years that is exactly what he did. As the evening drew to a close I watched the lure of the fishing rod bob softly move around a large pole. The pole was thick and dark, jutting out of the lake. I looked up to see we were sailing through a torii, the Black Torii. My jaw dropped. It had appeared above me. I looked at the fisherman. He didn't seem to notice the Torii. When I pointed it out he didn't listen. He ignored me flat out. He eventually looked in my direction and his eyes widened. He rowed the boat back and rushed out. I tried catching up with him, tried to stop him, but I couldn't touch him. It was as if he was the air. My hand just ed right through. He shook, hesitation, but then he continued his sprint. He told the others I had disappeared, even though I was standing right by them. They couldn't see me. I looked back at the Torii in the lake. It was no longer there. It had moved and I was trapped. Trapped in existence between reality and the spiritual world. The Black Torii was real and now I pay for seeking it so long only to give up in the end. The townspeople looked shocked at first but accepted it almost as quickly as they heard. The townspeople knew that this is what the Torii did...this is why they tried to ward me off seeking it. I sat down on the grass, eyes wide, staring at the lake. I prayed for a home. I prayed to find my way back to reality, a way to live my life onward. I prayed for safety and peace of mind. I prayed for hours, through the day. I prayed more than I had in my entire life but still found myself existing in another world. I had found where I belonged. Nowhere.

I tried waiting through the night, but it only seemed to grow darker. I began to cry. I cried until I forgot what I was crying about, but the tears were all I had, so I didn’t stop.

***

An old fisherman climbed out of the rowboat slowly, easing himself back onto land. With strong arms, he pulled the boat back ashore, collecting the fish he caught and began lugging it back to the village. While he walked, he heard soft crying. Pausing, the fishermen listened hard for where it could be coming from. Following the sound, he ended up in the rice fields, scanning the reeds as he went until he found the child. It sat there, in the water, weeping while it ate raw rice. Picking the child up, he looked into its eyes and saw such eyes that had seen so much, but ed nothing. Eyes much like his own.

Tale 12: Omerta

Omerta; the law of silence. When the boss issues the law of Omerta in the neighbourhood it means bad things are going to happen. If we witness or hear the event taking place in any way it is our job to pretend it never happened. We saw no evil, heard no evil and speak no evil. It was as simple as that. Of course, there is always a fool that does. A fool that is asking for a short life. I was walking home from the store late in the afternoon. Mother was making a pasta dish that required farm-fresh peas, but alas we didn't have any. The smells were so rich and delightful in that kitchen I wouldn't dare disappoint her with a sub-par meal to what she had originally intended. I told her I would be back soon and dashed out of the kitchen into the warm streets. Bumping into friends along the way, but never slowing down to have a conversation. I could hear their cheery laughter behind me as I ran. One called after me to come and them in a nightly jaunt into the forest. I instead called back saying I had an important mission to complete for my mother. Immediately they understood. I was, in essence, an errand boy in the neighbourhood. Working for peanuts, but everyone saved towards my future. I didn't mind spending a few on food. I was a lean boy and a fast one too. Mainly I conveyed messages and files between businesses, being preferred over formal delivery companies because I was friends with the employees. I was jocular with them, kind, considerate. It was the edge I needed for getting good work. When I arrived at the store they were just about to leave, but the owner knew me well and soon I was walking out of the store with a bag of cold peas in hand. The owner wore a grim face, but I could not waste time to find out why. I dashed down a darkened street, empty now, past putrid alleys. Our neighbourhood was a good one, but in some areas, it was not the cleanest. One, however, made me stop. I heard a grating sound of metal against rock and I paused to investigate, a foolish idea. As I did I saw a man remove a manhole and

walk over to the trunk of his car which barely stood out in the dark alley. When the boot lifted I saw a twisted arm and leg which the man clutched, pulling a corpse of a young woman out into the open. The limp body hit the alley floor with a terrible sound that made my stomach churn. I gasped. The man heard me and turned around. He began to walk towards me and for all the life in me, I wanted to run, but I didn't. My legs wouldn't respond and I was in essence trapped. It may have been night, but I felt the sun setting on my life. The man’s face was barely illuminated by the street lights, but I could see a crooked lip with a scar across it, a profound nose and a twinkle of black eyes. "Do you not understand the meaning of 'Omerta', boy?" he growled. I shook my head the same way I always did when the teacher asked a question I couldn't answer. 'Omerta' was something I had heard before. "It means you will forget you saw anything," the man explained. He seemed calm enough, but I sensed so much hostility in the shadows. "You won't tell anyone, not even your mother. Understand?" "Yes, sir." He stared at me hard and long, reaching into his pocket. The hand slipped underneath his jacket and into a side pocket. I felt myself drain, I felt myself freeze over, I felt my body become translucent as my jaw dropped and shook. I was a dead boy, I could feel it, a knife close to my throat, a gun barrel to my head. The great jaws of death closing in on me. The man took out a cigarette and my heart settled before I fainted. "Good lad, now runoff." He placed his gloved hand on my head, ruffling my hair. As if he was a faith healer, his touch reactivated my legs. I was soon sprinting home. Not to make up time that I had wasted outside the alley, but to get as far from it as possible. I burst into the kitchen carrying the bag of peas, exhausted. My family clapped and cheered when I handed the bag to my mother as the meal was soon to be

completed to perfection. After all this, I could barely stomach eating anything, but I did anyway. My tongue was numb and every other sense distorted. As if the word 'Omerta' was a spell and I was enchanted or should I say cursed? I never told my family or anyone else.

***

"But I am telling you, officer," I said. The officer nodded and told me to wait while he called his partner to take me home. I had said enough. He gave me a kind smile and told me I was a strong man. Yes, it had been nearly four years since that day, but it would never leave me until I told someone. His partner called for me and I jogged after him. I felt so much safer and happier with the story of my chest and officers informed. I climbed into the backseat and fastened my seat-belt, the cop car taking off down the street. "You never told anyone else, huh?" the officer's partner asked. "No, I couldn't bear to burden my family and friends," I replied. "That's good. It saves me a lot of work." The car pulled into a dark alley. The car stopped and I froze. I could see the man’s crooked mouth in the rearview mirror. I could see the scar. At that moment I fully understood the law of Omerta and power it had.

Tale 13: The Devil’s Contract

The office was an oddity in itself. A long table, two chairs either side and no windows. The room was lit by fluorescent lights that gave everything a sickly tone. He came in through a door at the end of the room, sat in his chair across from me and stared into my eyes. He turned the room from sickly to sinister. Of course, he did. When it comes to g this contract what happens is serious, but at least effective. He had nothing in front of him, yet after seeing me all he could do was look at the tabletop. I found this unusual, it would make more sense if I avoided eye with him. Perhaps this wasn't him and was just a representative. I immediately felt more confident and a little aggressive. I stared daggers towards him. "What do you want?" He asked in a tired voice. The voice didn't echo in the bare room, it just cut across the massive table straight to my ears. "I need money," I replied. "That's not what I asked you." He raised his eyes again and my mind fogged up. It was hard to tell why, but I now had the answer. Perhaps he needed me to be more descriptive, but money is so simple. How could I describe it better? "I want a lot of money," I told him. "A fortune to keep you and those around you happy for the rest of your life?" He suggested to me. It was what he was looking for, a better answer to put on the contract I suppose. "Yes."

He looked down again. "Sign the contract and it will be done." He told me. I looked down and saw a sheet of paper. At first, I didn't understand the strange symbols, but as if it read my mind the page shifted out of reality and returned bearing the Italian language. I blinked twice and there was no evidence to say it wasn't Italian before. Immediately I began to feel nervous, but I tried to persevere. Did he know it was now false confidence? I began reading the contract and the room grew tense. It was as if all the forces around me wanted me to hurry up and make a decision the moment I read the first word. I gave in and quickly scanned the document. All I saw was benefits and nothing that suggested a loss. Every line was not a promise, but a guarantee of all my desires being fulfilled. There was more on the contract than just talk of wealth. There were guarantees of more sinful desires and my heart began to leap out of my chest as I imagined it. I could practically taste long-lasting happiness and I smiled to myself, completely forgetting about him on the other end of the table watching me. Satisfied I reached for the pen beside the page. It was a strange pen and I knew from picking it up I needed to dip it in ink. Again, as if reading my mind a small bottle with ink appeared by my side. When I dipped the pen into the bottle the ink turned red and my head felt lighter. I looked up to see he was looking at me. Watching me with a stone-cold face that told me everything I needed to know. The ink vial did not contain ink, but my blood. Somehow I felt that a lot more was taken from me than the vial contained and I felt a lot weaker. Still, I persisted to stare back at him until he backed down, but he didn't, he would never. Why would he? I was a fool and I saw it now. The powerful fear I felt was akin to that of a fly in a spider web. I felt hot and my skin began to itch as my heart raced. I couldn't do it. Everything about this felt wrong and my desire for money grew a hundredfold. I was suffering from inner turmoil between choosing my fate. If I didn't calm down I would have to leave. He was already deciding what to do with me once I signed the contract. I could no longer see his face, his whole body somehow caked with shadow despite the light above him. I felt a cruel smile in that darkness.

"I...stop looking at me," I replied, staring across the room at him. He was me, well, he looked like me. He was me if I signed the document, happy and expecting. Then he was me if I didn't, poor and angry. In a rage, a rage so powerful after seeing such trickery, I picked up the vial of my blood and threw it at the suited man who sat there. The bottle shattered against a surface in-between us. I didn't see anything between us until now, but this time I could see it was a glass pane. It began to crack and the left side began to fall apart. Shards peeling from the frame and shattering to splinters that could pierce you right through. I saw the room behind the glass and it wasn't what I saw through the glass. There were now only a few spots of paint, which came into view only when the fluorescent light flickered on. The glass began to fall from the left side toward the right slowly. I saw the now decayed room, decrepit and his half of the table completely shredded as if claws and teeth had torn at it. The dirtied fluorescent light cast an off grey light when it flickered on, my heart stopping every moment it went dark. He stood up and began walking towards the door. His steps weren't the defined click of fancy shoes now, but the fleshy thumps of bare feet. I couldn't move. When he reached the door he looked at me again, glass falling off, getting closer to him, soon to reveal his true form. Before it did he flicked the light switch, plunging us into darkness before I could see the monster. I heard the door shut and I was alone. I stood up and made to leave, reached the door and pulled it half-open before I heard a click behind me. Glancing back I could see the room back to what it once was when I first arrived. Glancing down the table I could just make out my signature on the contract as it burned out of existence.

Tale 14: Silence Manor

Silence Manor, my home. The long halls, the quiet libraries and the balcony overlooking the ocean below added to the atmosphere. I even dreamt about the manor while I slept in one of its many rooms. I've lived a good life, filled with wonderful people, all long gone but ed fondly. I was the youngest; although I was now well into my fifties. I plan to spend my last days in Silence Manor and with the way that I have been ostracized by the outside world, why not make it my last few decades as well. My daily schedule was nothing special. I spent my time reading. My exercise was walking from one end of the manor to the other, repeating throughout the day because I would always forget something. I wouldn't say I live alone, but there was no one else in the manor. I would always have company walking through those halls. You see, when my loneliness was reaching painful peaks and the echoes grew so loud I could not think straight, I suddenly no longer felt lonely. Your mind finds a way to make you feel better. I saw people, people I had seen at the store that week or on the way there. People I didn't speak to or hear speaking, yet in the halls, they didn't stop talking. I didn't mind, why would I? The illusions were harmless and they made the day more enjoyable. It was only at night did they bother me, as you can imagine. Of course, it was a small price to pay. Sometimes I could hear some interesting conversations between them during the day. I would try to sleep, but the illusions would continue to roam the halls. Some shouted so their voices would echo. Others would slam the doors, but the worst ones fought. I would hear muffled arguments that only turned ugly given time. Sometimes I wouldn't get any sleep whatsoever. Those were the times where I believed I was cursed, not blessed, but as I said, these were rare times. These people could have become my friends if I wasn't too scared of being the one they

fought with. I got used to it over the years. More people would appear each week, but the manor was large, so the chances of bumping into the same person were rare. That's the benefit of wealth I suppose. Some cooked for me when I was too sick to get out of bed. Although I was friends with none of them, they all knew who I was and treated me like I was family. It was wonderful. The food some nights was particularly good, salted just enough for me to enjoy the savoury taste, but not so much I would be needing glasses of water after. Of course, if they did salt it too much they would bring me water I believe. I didn't want to ever insult them either because of my fundamental fear of becoming enemies with anyone of them.

***

"Sir, please listen," the officer said looking very tense. "You don't live in a mansion. You live in a two-story home with seven rooms, most of which are filled with boxes and junk. I need you t-"

***

One night we would all collect each other and fill up the largest room with chairs. One of us, usually me, would climb onto a coffee table and read poetry to the rest. I love poetry with a ion and whenever someone besides me recited a poem I would listen to it on the edge of my seat. Hanging onto every word and revelling in it's-

***

"Sir, please concentrate," the officer told me, frustrated with my interruptions. "You live alone in a small house. This mansion you’re talking about doesn’t exist. It doesn't exist, your friends don't exist. What you've done-" "The people are the illusions officer, but don't worry, they're harmless." "Well, you are damn well not!" A second officer walked up behind and placed a hand on the first’s shoulder. "Call down, man," the second told the first. "You're wasting your time on him. He may seem to have his lights on, but clearly nobody is home. The asylum is sending-"

***

One night I walked through the halls, not hearing a voice or seeing another person. I felt so alone after such a long time. I hated it truly, listening to my steps echoing through the expansive halls. It was dismal, to say the least, to be alone. I walked to the large windows and stared at the cliff face below, counting the rocks until I reached the water, which lapped against the cliffs. I was so angry. After all, we've been through and they left without a goodbye. True, they weren't real, but I am dammit! Of course, they must have heard my outburst and I felt a hand on my shoulder. However, I could not forgive an illusion. I don't know who it was but I pulled their arm throwing them against the large window, my anger flourished at that moment and I wanted to punish them. I couldn't let the others see my weakness or they would never talk to me again. I didn't hold any illusion above the other so it didn't bother me killing one of them. Seeing the unfamiliar form fly through the glass and to the rocks and waters below eased me greatly. This was my goodbye. No more illusions.

***

"Sir, please turn around and put your hands behind your back," the first officer grunted angrily. I turned around and felt cold metal wrap around my wrists. However, I was concerned with the decrepit house in front of me, overgrown with unattended shrubbery and vines. There used to be a nice large window on the second floor but it was smashed. The glass gathered around a white sheet on the ground. The sheet covered something on the ground, but I didn't recognize the shape. Such a shame. The house reminded me of Silence Manor. It reminded me of home.

Tale 15: The Basement

"What's the situation?" I asked the officer. The fat man seemed confused, but then his expression turned sour. "Isn't that your job, detective?" he muttered. "Did you forget that I outrank you?" His friend stopped him before he could say what he wanted to say. "Sorry, sir. He has just seen enough horror today. Describing it isn't a high priority," The calmer officer replied. I pulled him aside and told him to explain if his friend couldn't. He sighed and agreed. Four dead, none of them related, but everyone between the ages of twenty-five and thirty. Each was shot, shotgun wounds, yet there weren't any reports of gunshots despite it being an occupied neighbourhood. When the officer finished explaining I already came to some conclusions. It was simple enough for me to imagine what these kinds of people did. There are many ways to mask a gunshot, but a shotgun is difficult. One, if the victims weren't related by blood, they were related by circumstance. They were involved in something they shouldn't have been. Secondly, if gunshots weren't heard, then either they were shot with a silencer equipped to the weapon, highly doubtful considering it was a shotgun, or, they were killed somewhere else and brought here to hide. That was most likely. Not necessarily far, however, it’s possible that the victims were killed somewhere in the neighbourhood. I walked into the building and the bodies were already bagged. I suppose it was the fat officers call, but it was against code. I

didn't mind, there comes a time where it's better to wait for the doctors to decide what happened to them. Instead, I examined the house. It was empty, but not up for sale. It was most likely abandoned or one of the victims owned it. Either way, it was abandoned now. It was well cleaned, no signs of anything faulty or old. It seemed that for an empty house it was well looked after. We were looking into who owned it as I checked it out. I had a heavy feeling that there was more to it than just a few bare rooms and bloodstains on the floor where the victims were dragged. I walked towards a closed door that two more officers were trying to get into. One leaned against the wall while the other fiddled with the lock using a special kit. I waited while he worked and soon the door swung open. The spectator clapped softly and nodded. The two soon noticed me and nodded in greeting. "Nice work," I said walking through the door. The door led to a set of stairs that ran in a spiral, descending into the basement. As suspected. This was no doubt the place where the victims were killed, a basement, even without padding, is soundproof once the door is shut. If the killer wanted to he could have them screaming for days before putting them out of their misery. I hate to think that's actually what he did. I highly doubted the killer or killers transported four victims to dump them in a busy suburb. Eventually, someone was going to smell the deceased. The basement was as bare as the upper rooms, save for two cupboards against one wall. Seeing nothing else to examine I walked towards them. Opening the doors of one I saw that it was empty. Feeling hopeful I checked the next. Empty as well, but something caught my eye. A brass button is hidden in the upper corner of one of its drawers. "Huh, is this Narnia?" I muttered pressing the button. A back dropped and slid into a thin trench in the cement with a loud thunk. Almost like a guillotine dropping its blade. Wary of this I began to observe my surroundings for anything dangerous. The hidden room wasn't so bare. There were tables, some surgical, and side tables covered in metal instruments. There were shelves against the walls lined with books that were thicker than bricks.

Finally, the shotgun amongst pools of blood. I found the murder weapon and place of death. Whoever the killer/s were, they weren't here now, but they left enough evidence around for me to track them down. It was clever creating a silenced room in the basement, even a shotgun could barely be heard in that room. The whiteboards kept my attention as I paced the room. Most were covered with calculations and strange symbols I've never seen used in math, but one had a simple sentence. "They will wake up." A proper lunatic alright. Sickened enough by the smell of blood and exited the basement. There weren't any officers inside, but I could hear their voices outside. I was about to leave when I noticed the body bags were missing. The officers cleaned up fast. A dark thought hit me. I walked outside and spoke to the fat officers’ friend. He was a tall man, sturdy-looking, no doubt a beat cop. At least when I talked to him I got the information I was looking for anyway. Not many people were happy to have me as a detective considering most of the force applied to become one and I showed up out of nowhere and took the job right from under their noses. "Where are the body bags?" I asked one. "What body bags?" He replied. My jaw clenched and heart rate sped up. There is no end...a strange, irrational feeling bubbled up inside me for a moment, but it vanished when a grin grew on the officer's face. "Nah, I'm just messing with you," the officer smiled. "They're in the van, ready to be transported to the morgue." Everybody is a comedian, even in times like these. However, I found myself laughing. "Good, you had me going there for a second," I replied with a slight smirk. That's when a man clambered out of the van covered in blood only to be jumped

on by four corpses who proceeded to devour him.

Tale 16: Light Switch

Early mornings were a cinch to me. It was the simple grind of going to the store across the street, picking what I needed for breakfast and coming home. The best part about this is that I saved money in the end. I wouldn’t buy extra food just in case, because it would take only a minute to get it. Unfortunately, it meant leaving my home unattended which seems to create a whole set of mysteries on its own. Whenever I come home, no matter if I was gone for just a minute, something changes and never for the better. The first time this happened was a month after the day I moved in two years ago. At that time it began with something strange, but not threatening. Like finding my cups arranged on the floor. I wouldn't trip, but I was afraid that I would step on them by mistake and the glass would shatter. Today, it was something far more serious. After buying some overpriced yoghurt I opened the front door to my home and my eyes widened at the sight of my chandelier drastically lowered and swinging towards my head. It was an old, cast-iron piece and without a doubt would brain me at that speed, but I could step out of its swing. It swung up into the top of the door frame with a life-ending thunk and stuck in the wood. At this point, I realized it foolish of me not to make my house safer. I could afford to step on a glass or two or even finding my clothes piled on top of me, but what I needed was a complete overhaul of the house to make sure it was safe. I began collecting anything and everything I didn't need. Anything that wasn't nailed down I removed and placed on the front lawn. My chairs, my sofas, the chandelier, the knives and anything else that would prove a risk to my well-being. With that down, I was living in a form of child-proofed house. What furniture I had was cheap plastic, so light it could barely scratch me. Anything else I bolted

to the ground, such as my refrigerator. Eating food of course became difficult, but you do what you can. I felt the house was trying off me in some way or another, so this was my solution. Do you think I should leave? Well, having lived in it for two years and the little mysteries starting small, I grew used to every little problem. Of course, it seemed to understand what I had done and started doing something else to frustrate me. A week later I came home from work to find an unusual difference. The light switches s were missing. The buttons remained, but no ling around them. I shook my head for a moment as I stood there in the dark, but was immediately surprised by flashing lights to my left. I turned to see the living was lighting up and then falling into darkness. It was steady, turning on and off every second, not faster or slower. I walked towards the living room and just as the tip of my foot entered the lights remained on. I was surprised by the occurrence. Whatever affected my home never did anything while I was in it. I never saw a strange occurrence or heard one. As far as I understood the rule I had to be away for it to change something. I looked around the living room some more and examined the light switch. No different from the others, ing missing, but the button remained. I took it for what it was. A message from the ghost or spirit that it was growing impatient with me. I begged whatever was causing these problems to stop. To this, I received no response, but another sound of clicking further in the house. I turned off the living room light and walked towards it. It was the entranceway light, flicking a little faster than the one in the living room. I stepped into it and the lights stayed on. I heard more clicking coming upstairs, this time I just walked up, leaving the entrance light on. There was no time for being concerned about electricity bills. The hallway light was flickering and the moment my foot hit the second floor it stopped, although I was sure I saw something in the moments between the light turning on and off. That split instant something flashed into vision but went away just as quickly.

More clicking. It came from my bedroom, so I entered and stood in the bare room. Everything was as I left it, the bed made and my clothes put away. I could appreciate the ghost for not throwing them around as per usual. Finally, I heard a strange clicking from the hallway I had just left. It was metallic, not like the flicking of my light switch. Stepping back out I saw a figure at the end of the hallway, standing against the wall. From what I could see he was male, cloaked in shadows as if the light couldn't touch him. The metallic clicking came from his lighter, which he held in his left hand, flicking the cap on and off. I didn't know what to say or do, so I watched, paralyzed and a tremendous feeling of vulnerability took over. The flicking was fast at first, but it slowed down to a crawl. Click, clack, click, clack...click...clack...click... He flicked the lighter closed, in the time the cap hit the lighter the lights went off and I heard the clack behind me. Nothing happened to me in that instant. but I do ing out. I fainted from fear and woke up in my apartment the next day. Only one thing was different, aside from me waking up in my hallway where I fainted I noticed the light switches were completely removed, disabling me from turning the lights on and off. The message wasn't so clear, but clear enough for my common sense. I packed my things and left as soon as possible. As I closed the door lock clacked a farewell.

Tale 17: Lost

"...stay tuned to hear more on Coal Pine FM..." I jabbed the button and the radio fell silent. Trees closed around the car as the path narrowed, but I could see it widening up ahead. It wouldn't be too long before I reached the crossroads. Not a moment too soon either. The night was drawing in and the fog was thickening. It was going to be a difficult drive, but I wouldn't have to drive for long at least. I sighed with relief, nearing a landmark like this after being lost for so long. It was a long trip upstate, but I was looking forward to a new life. Away from the city and all its traps. I couldn't force myself to keep thinking about it. The city was in the past, what happened, happened. One must not dwell too much on what one cannot change. The engine purred happily as I turned off the side road onto the highway. I was way past city limits, so it was fine to use the main road. I shifted into a higher gear in the hopes of making good time, but as I did the fog thickened. I cursed loudly and slowed down. It was like pea soup, so thick I would be mad to speed through it. I resigned myself to drive at a steady pace, leaning back into my seat and leaning against the car door in an attempt to tuck myself firmly enough between the two that I could relax. I knew it was going to be colder upstate and prepared accordingly, such as wearing thicker clothes. A few minutes ed and night fell. The brights flickered to life, but they might as well have been fireflies taped to the hood. I sighed with frustration and turned the radio back on. Country music began to flood the car. It was not my favourite genre of music, but it was better than nothing. I kept a keen eye for any traffic lights. The crossroads were near. I felt the ominous night play with my mind as I drove, but I preferred to shake it off and let the music consume my mind.

***

The radio buzzed loudly so suddenly I got a fright. A static noise filled the car for a moment, but I hit the radio a few times and it fell silent. Of all the cars I had to take it had to be the one with the faulty electronics. Whatever, as long as the battery has enough juice to keep the car going I was happy. Still, now that the radio was broken I felt the ominous throb of the nightlife pierce the fog and make its way to my ears. Frustration flowed through me and I found I was driving faster. Thankfully, the lights flickered in the distance. I figured they were traffic lights, which was perfect for me. It meant I was nearing another town, which I could hopefully use to restock. Perhaps even find a CD or two to play on the disc player. However, the traffic lights didn't seem to get any closer. The radio buzzed again. This time when I turned to hit it I saw a smokey hand drift from the air vents next to it. At least, I'm sure it was a hand. The smoke dissipated so fast I couldn't be sure. The fact that there was smoke leaking in through the vents was enough for me to panic a little. I closed off the car vents and opened my car door window. The smoke filtered out, but I was really worried about the car. Was the engine overheating? There weren't any warning lights, so it couldn't be that, then again, faulty electronics seemed to be the cars strongest suit so far. Once the smoke was gone I began to roll up the window and just as it closed something hit the front window hard. A crack appeared, but I only noticed it once I straightened the car. I was breathing hard as I swerved the car. I don't know what I hit, but it wasn't too big. I stared at the crack in the window and noticed something was stuck in the glass. I cringed in disgust trying to imagine what it was. It was dark and hard, but it wasn’t a rock from the look of the blood around it. It was a beak. I slowed down and focused on the road. What was going on? I just needed to reach the crossroads but it wasn't

happening. Smoke, projectiles and lights that I couldn't reach. Was I in a nightmare? It would explain a lot, but I've been around long enough to know I wasn't asleep. As I pondered this the lights drew near. I blinked several times but didn't question it. The radio began to play music once again. Suddenly, the fog receded and I was here. Streetlights illuminated the crossroads while traffic lights flickered. I leaned against the wheel and rubbed my eyes. My heart was beating like the car engine. I sighed and lingered at the stop longer than the other cars wanted me to. The car behind me honked. The other cars ed in, so I shifted gears and pulled off. Halfway across the intersection the inside of the car flooded with light. A particularly loud horn boomed and I turned to see the eighteen-wheeler. Time didn't slow, the truck hit and I ceased. It was sudden, deserved and unexpected on my part. I felt the world shift as the car tumbled, I felt pain in several areas of my torso, but it was the resounding snap and deathly pain in my neck as it twisted that killed me. I stood up and stared down at the car. Blood trickled down my forehead as the country music slowed. Voices, screams and soon my vision faded. I stared down at my body and shook my head. I had tried so hard this time, but once more I had experienced the same fate as before. There was no escape from it, so I decided to leave myself behind and whatever was keeping to the road. I decided that now is the time I make my way on foot. Not even glancing at the onlookers I chose my direction and walked away.

Tale 18: The Underground

I hated the subway. It was filled with rude people and lunatics. First, the wait for the train. You have to watch out for pickpockets and nauseous homeless drunk on cheap spirits. The moment the sounds of the street faded you knew you were in for a treat. It seemed the cities worst centred around the subway, so I guess that makes me one of the cities worst. To be honest, if I had the energy to walk across the city, I would, but I can't and this is one of the mundane problems. However, this is nothing compared to the train ride itself. The last time I rode the subway was unforgettable because even to this day I have no idea what happened. I stepped on and found a free seat. The stiff chair bugged me. It was so easy to slide right off or into someone else. I soon realized this was even more so for this train when we set off. The train lurched forward so fast I grabbed the edge of the chair to keep from sliding off. Such a burst of speed was surprising, but I let the thought for a moment and concerned myself with just making it to the end of the trip. I looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but they didn't. They continued to read, sleep or stare aimlessly at the floor. I couldn't blame them for trying to the time, but something was off and I couldn't be the only one who noticed. The train was moving faster and faster. The lights in the tunnels sped past, stretching with the Doppler Effect. Soon they became one continuous beam of light and I sat there looking like a fool. My head darted from side-to-side looking at the people and outside the window. Was it always this way or was my mind snapping? A question I asked myself several times that week. My eyes were wide as I stared at this light. Just as soon as it started it disappeared. The tunnel lights vanished and the train shook more than usual. Thinking back on the scenario I wonder why I wasn't making a bigger scene. I

will add that to the list of things I can't explain that night. My eyes eventually drifted to the engers across from me and I found myself noticing something unusual. There was a couple across from me. The man sat with one leg over the other while the woman had her legs apart. The man was dressed in a suit and the woman in a short dress, reading a newspaper. I found it more unusual when the man turned to stare at me the moment I started studying his face. The train began to slow and soon the familiar light of another stop had arrived. engers left, others came on. I watched the couple leave as well as other unusual figures. Again, I don't understand my behaviour. I should have just walked off with them, but it wasn't my stop. It was the stop that came before the one I was waiting at. I threw away the idea that the train went backwards. It was probably just a mistake with the signs, but I know now that it was something keeping me on that train. A force or person that didn't want me to walk off and stay on for another trip. The train burst forward once again and the darkness returned. There weren't any tunnel lights. It was just a void, an emptiness. I took a quick look around the train. They were all new engers seated in cheap seats just like mine. My heart began to beat like an engine pushed to the max. Whatever it was, it sensed something was off now and I began to feel terrified. I felt eyes on me, I felt hands on me, I felt the breath of strangers drift across me. It was a harsh feeling and it left me holding my breath and my muscles tensed to the breaking point. Once more I turned my attention to the enger across from me and I found that they were staring back at me. His face was masked in shadow, but then he lifted his head enough to reveal the horror of who sat across from me. He didn't have eyes, just flesh where eyes should be. Everyone else had the same trait. Flesh staring at newspapers or the floor. Everything was silent. The train was making no sound. It was quiet. The lights flickered and the other people lifted their heads simultaneously. It was such a mass movement that I couldn't help but notice.

––––––––

They were all staring straight at me. Whatever they were, they knew I could see what they were and they didn't like that. The lights flickered off and my heart stopped. I felt death close its hand on me. A few seconds more of silence and the lights returned. They were gone, all of them. I was in an empty compartment. The tunnel lights had returned with the sound of the train. Just as I noticed this the train began to slow and it soon came to my expected stop. Without hesitation, I climbed off the train. I was the only one to get off. I didn't notice this at first. I was too happy to see other people. These people had eyes. They talked, they read and they were bored. The train hissed behind me and began to take off. I didn't look back, I just ran back to the surface. I would never take the subway again. I repeated that statement to myself so many times, but I found myself returning to it, never feeling the same again. Where else could I go? Getting a taxi would cost me more than I can afford, I knew nobody with a car and I wouldn't be able to afford one anytime soon. Despite all that I felt, I sat in the same cheap seat a few days later, nervous sweat running down my forehead. I fear the underground.

Tale 19: Down the Hill

Climbing out of the car the two students noticed the lights were gone. Andy had seen lights that led into the forest from a distance, back in their small town, but Dave was unconvinced. Still, Andy thought it was worth more than checking out. He had been seeing things like this and his closest friends didn't believe him. The last option was Dave, who wasn't his closest friend, but a bully. If the two found what Andy saw, Dave would vouch for him and if not, Andy loses lunch money for the next week. "I should have asked for your car," Dave joked looking at the set of wheels they were walking away from. "Or your sneakers." "Like I would have agreed to that," Andy muttered as they walked, although upon further thought he probably would have. "C'mon, we're looking for the cabin I saw in the lights. Lights can be hidden, but not an entire building." "Unless it doesn't exist, wasteoid," Dave murmured to himself, recognising the smell in the car. The two began walking down the hill into the woods. The foliage was thick, but there were some clear paths they could follow. Andy decided to go down one path while Dave went down another that Andy suggested. As the two made their way into the forest Andy listened for any strange noises. He was only greeted by sounds of hooting owls, a faint chirping hum of crickets. All in all, the woods were starting to seem as empty as Dave expected. Still, he continued his hike and kept a keen eye. The two walked further apart until they couldn't see each other, but it was Dave who spotted something unusual at first. It was a twinkling of a distant light amongst the trees. He left the path and began hiking towards it surprised. Sure enough, there was a small garden light that you drove into the ground. Battery-

powered and bright, perfect for guiding your way through the forest. Dave picked it up and turned it off. If he hid this there would be no proof for Andy. Dave smiled to himself and looked around for any more. As commanded another one was in sight and he jogged over towards it, stumbling over some roots here and there, but soon wrapping his hand around the garden light and pulling it out of the dirt. With a small click, the light turned off, leaving him in darkness. Dave smiled to himself looking around the moonlit forest. Easiest money he had ever made. Once he was sure there were no lights left he began to hike back but stopped almost immediately. There, beyond several trees was a small cabin. It was an old building, something straight out of the trailer park, but it looked far cleaner. Dave sighed and made his way over to it. It was a cabin, something that hunters would use if they were interested in the finer things. Dave recalled seeing such a cabin at camp, a pair of camp counsellors would sneak in there after dark for a quick one. The bully smiled fondly at the memories of when he and some lowlifes would watch. Dave turned a corner and found himself in front of the door with a spray-painted design around the door. It was vibrant, a mixture of neon blue, pink and some yellow sparks. It was hard to tell what the design was, but it looked angled and sharp. Dave lit one of the garden spikes and held it up. It was a detailed painting of an open wolf’s mouth, revealing a tongue on the door and teeth surrounding it. "Gnarly," Dave murmured, genuinely impressed. Dave hesitantly opened the door and entered the small room. Flicking the light switch he could see it was a basic room with a messed up kitchen, dirtied bed and a cluttered desk. There was a horrible smell as well, but Dave was used to it. He walked over to the bed and examined it. There were adult magazines and crumbs everywhere, all of it looked new, not aged. Turned around he walked past the small kitchen and the door towards the desk. "Jeez, this place is grody as hell," Dave murmured cringing visibly.

He was about to examine some shining metal under a blanket. Dave's fear grew tenfold when he saw it was the edge of an axe, splashed with red which still dripped onto the desk. Lowering the light he saw pools of blood had formed and centred on another large lump beneath the desk, this covered with a bloodsoaked blanket. Dave backed away slowly and heard approaching footsteps at the last second. Whipping around he saw a looming figure running towards him with a brutal spade. The man's face was covered in a dark sack, but Dave could see through it, straight into the menacing eyes of a killer. Dave ran out the door, knowing full well if he barricaded himself inside he would be trapped. Running towards the forest Dave pushed past trees, spikes of fear driving themselves through his brain and the road looking all too far away. Even more fear gripped him when he heard the huffing breath of his pursuer; however, he was relieved to hear it vanish, the man exhausted. Dave thanked his athletic parents and broke into a break-neck speed of a dash, reaching the road, and soon after, the car. Dave looked back and saw nobody and without hesitation, he climbed inside and plucked the keys from the small spot that Andy hid them in. Dave stopped for a moment and stared at the keys, realizing Andy was still in the forest. Luck was on his side as he saw a figure climb over the embankment wearing familiar red all-stars. Dave gestured wildly for Andy to make his way over and Andy began to jog over. "What the hell are you doing, Dave?" Andy asked, getting closer. "Waiting for you, asshole!" Dave shouted back, climbing out of the car and reaching forward to grab Andy by the front of his shirt. "Let's get outta h-" Dave was cut off by a sharp pain in his abdomen and a sharp realization that Andy's matched the killers. Dave lifted his hand and plunged a garden spike into Andy's neck. The two stuttered in their movements before drawing their weapons back. Dave didn't have enough killer instinct for a second strike, but Andy did for a second, third and fourth thrust that left Dave on Death's door. Andy breathed and choked on blood before Dave's eyes, the two collapsing on the ground. Dave

watched with morbid curiosity as Andy died slowly, Andy stared back with hate in those cold eyes. Andy's car would be found the next morning, but the bodies of the two students would not.

Tale 20: Silver Stars

The Silver Stars were a set of stars that appeared once every twenty-five years. It is common for stars to disappear. It means that they died thousands of years ago and the light has only just stopped reaching us. However, for stars to disappear and return on such a tight schedule is an unexplainable phenomenon. All we know is that the Silver Stars change nature that day. It shifts the balance in the direction of good, or it shifts it in the direction of bad. If you examined the times closely you would find that major events or actions that led to such were caused by Silver Stars. Animals react in many different ways. Most of them are positive. The creatures would make peace with their prey or their would-be killer. Foxes lay with rabbits, lions with wildebeest and so on. Other times it is the complete reverse. Foxes are killed and eaten by rabbits, zebras attack lions. The food chain is turned upside down, shifted to such an extent that the next day is a shock to the natural system and animals experience internal and mental problems that change their very being, killing them in the process. The stars have also been known to affect people. Not all people, most humans seem to show no change. Perhaps it only applies to those with more animalistic nature, but the average person will make it through the occurrence without a single shift in character. However, there are cases where the stars have an influence and it is as clear as day. They are reported in the paper usually, but I was aware of one that was never reported. It happened in my home. I have a fairly large home. I suppose it wouldn't appear so if I lived with anyone else. Hard work didn't get me this house, just cunning and no small amount of deceit. Not much you can do in this society that would lend you this kind of

wealth, so I turned to some scummy options. I woke up one night, having experienced a terrible nightmare. I immediately forgot what it was, because I heard something smash inside my home. I first felt fear, but I didn't back down from strange noises. It is in my nature to investigate anything out of the ordinary. I walked down the stairs towards where I thought the sound came from. I heard another noise along the way. It was running water and the clinks of glass. It was coming from my kitchen. When I turned a corner I could see the light was on. Someone was standing at my kitchen sink washing the dishes. He picked up one glass after another, washed it thoroughly, dried it and placed it on a rag to be later packed away. The man seemed normal enough. He wore a plain t-shirt and good, clean shoes. However, he was at my home. I held a gun at my side and warned him to leave, but he ignored me. He moved from doing the dishes towards the cleaning cabinet, grabbed a broom and began sweeping the floors. I finally saw his face and again it was average. Clean-shaven, neat hair and I could even smell aftershave and cologne. It felt as if one of my employees broke in, but I did not recognise his face. I warned him again, but still, he ignored me. He didn't seem to be causing harm, but I still felt instinctual aggression. I couldn't shoot the man unless he was behaving threateningly, I just couldn't. I reached into my pocket and began to call the police. The man dropped the broom and raised his hands in surrender. He begged me not to call the police. He was just cleaning. Out of all the things in the world a man could do breaking into my home, decorated with finery and money and valuables stored in almost every ornate box, he came here to clean? I asked him what he was doing in my home and he just told me he needed to stop. Stop everything he’s done in his life and do something else. Stop all the destruction in his wake, stop all the cruelty he caused. He had to show kindness and save himself. He was not a religious man, he meant to save himself from the guilt. There was blood on his hands, but it was the blood that needed to be wiped clean. I don't know why that worked, but I stopped my call. I let the intruder do what he wanted to do. He did chores. He dusted and cleaned anything that looked

dirty. He did this for hours. I followed him around and asked him questions, but all he said was thank you and fell silent. I made sure to keep a great distance from him and have my gun ready. I grew too angry. He sickened me. This monster that broke into my home and cleaned? The gun felt right in my hand. He told me he had to leave, but I couldn't let him. He may have finished a bunch of chores, but he owed me for breaking in. He did something wrong. He needed to pay. I aimed at his back and pulled the trigger twice. He fell dead. Blood flowed from open wounds onto the swept floor and the man sighed his last breath post-death. I don't know how I knew, but I knew what to do with the body. I found his wallet, I found his address, I opened the door with his key and placed him on the chair. Leaving remnants of evidence here and there that pointed towards a suicide I found myself collecting some of his things. Knives, guns and strange, dark instruments that I found ingenious. Before leaving I unleashed a box full of store-bought rats into his apartment and shut the door. Two days later I saw his face in an article alongside a blurred messy picture of his face as they found him. I smiled at the rat’s handiwork, but even more so what I read below the picture. He was a serial killer of some note. My guilt plagued me, but not for long. It seemed to me at that moment I had found my calling. People act strangely during the Silver Stars Phenomenon; they are never the same after.

Tale 21: Doors

This isn't a nightmare. The doors were an almost common phenomenon. People seeing the same dream and even seeing each other. People on the other side of the world met each other in their dreams. Government reaction? Well, their initial plan was to kidnap these people. Experiment with them. However, it grew at an exponential rate. Everyone was seeing these doors. Soon you couldn't just pluck someone out of their homes or from the street. Still, those of us who were curious about this phenomenon found it to be a lot more sinister than most believed. My name is Ryan, agent #454642, team psychologist. I try to keep people from going insane, but I don't know how I can do that in a world that isn't our own. We all fell asleep as planned and the scientists who connected our consciousness did a great job. We all woke up together in the same room. The room was dimly lit by a light bulb, but other than that it was featureless. The room seemed to be concrete, but once again, we couldn't say for sure. We all collected ourselves and walked through the first door. We called the next area the Climb. Stairs in every direction, like a tangled web of edged slopes. It was something out of an MC Escher nightmare, but what kept our attention were the doors. The doors that led to places that we could not predict and we planned on searching as many as we could. We didn’t know which way was up, which way was down. Gravity seemed to only apply to the steps you were standing, otherwise, you could be standing sideways in comparison to someone else and wouldn’t feel any other force pulling at. For that reason, we called it the Climb, as we assumed that the door you came from was the centre of a sphere, so no matter which way you were going it was up towards a surface...at least if there was a surface. Doors were on the steps, doors were lying against the steps, doors on the floor

and doors just floating in space. Madness, but there is some order to it that nobody else but I could see. Somebody designed this nightmare with an intention and it was time to find out what it was. We split into three teams of two, an agent with every civilian. One team climbed up, one team stayed on the level and my team descended. My partner was a civilian named Lionel. We both decided to see how far the stairs went so we began to descend into a seeming abyss. All objects were illuminated, from stairs to doors, but there weren't any walls as far as we could see. Nothing that held a light source. Just so much darkness. Our steps didn't make a sound. I suppose it wouldn't if we were in some kind of vacuum. The idea of space crossed my mind, but I believed that the ground absorbed all the pressure perfectly, so each step had its sound muffled. However, my theory was scrapped when we soon heard a scream, followed by a heavy object hitting the ground in front of us. The stairs shifted but didn't break. It was one of the civilians from another team. Immediately, Lionel began to panic believing. It wasn't too hard to convince him that none of it was real and the civilian would have woken up. Instilling an idea that we could not die in this 'dream' world. Once that was done we continued our descent, but Lionel was still shaken up. We were growing tired and decided to walk through the first door. Hopefully, it would contain the food or resources we needed, like some doors we searched in the past. Unfortunately, it did not. Unlike the reported doors, this one led to a hallway, not a room. We walked down to the end and found an agent, dead. He was mauled by some sort of creature, claw marks and lacerations lined his body and blood splattered everywhere like Pollock painting inspired by 80s slasher films. We turned around to find the hallway had shortened and the door was in front of us. Lionel ran through first and I followed, pausing on the stairs to look back. Turning for a moment I saw the agent lift his head and smile with bloodied teeth. I paused for a moment of fear, but as it began to move the door shut by itself, leaving me in the void with a sinking feeling. I believe something was in that room and it had control over the world. Or perhaps, there were more dangerous creations than the ones we found before.

When I looked around I could not find Lionel. Not a sound was being made so I decided to ascend towards the last agent and civilian. It didn't take long. The stairs seemed to understand my goal and moved upwards. I saw the figures of two people. Recognizing their backs I leapt off the rising stairs to the stationary ones the figures were ascending. I ran up to meet them, but I made a mistake in assuming they were who I thought they were. The figures turned around revealing faces that lack anything. It was like the centre of each of their faces was replaced with the darkness that we walked in. The figures kept facing me, but both walked off the stairs, falling into the abyss, bouncing off doors and steps violently. Snapping sounds could be heard amongst their fleshy smacks, again, I believe by design and I smiled. I was ready to return to the real world, my mission had reached its end. I activated my watch and the chemical was released in the room in the real world. I woke up in the chamber and you know the rest. The others didn't move from their bunks and I felt so very hopeful that we succeeded. I saw my colleagues beyond the glass give me the thumbs up. The subjects were terminated, including the traitorous double-agents. From this report, we can conclude that the experiment was a success. With the right emitter, we can influence the state of this 'dream' world. We can decide where the stairs lead and what is behind each door. Further experimentation is required, but soon we will have the control we seek. The power to influence and destroy anyone that sleeps. We had taken full advantage of the doors phenomenon, though I felt we were pushing the fear a little too far. That bloodied smile stuck with me...

Tale 22: Static

Steven eased himself into the chair. The comforting sound of birds put him at ease and exhaustion caught up with him after such a long day. The warm fire glowed its appreciation for his hard work. The logs burned splendidly, fighting the cold air and finally a good night’s rest neared. Before drifting into a deep slumber, Steven reached for the remote and turned the TV on. He preferred to listen to something while he slept; strangely the sounds didn't seem to have such an effect that night. The news was as boring as ever. Talk of a storm on the coast, talk of death in a public place, talk of possible war. It was the same story every day. He switched the channel to sports and placed the remote down. He knew he was about to fall asleep, so he might as well have dreams about football while he was out. His eyelids drooped and darkness fell over him. Steven woke up. It was late in the evening now. The room had fallen dark. The fire was out. However, the TV was still on. Steven rubbed his eyes and yawned. The sound that caught his attention was grating. It was the sound of static from the TV. He wondered if this was what woke him up, but he doubted it. Still, he might as well turn the TV off and go to sleep in his bed. He muttered to himself as he rubbed his eyes slowly till his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He climbed out of the chair with great difficulty; he wasn't the lightest of men. With slow, unsteady steps he neared the TV and turned it off. The static disappeared and he was now in a complete void. He knew his way back to his room like the back of his hand and soon he was climbing into the cool covers. His aching arms twitched with slight pain caused by the work he did at the lumber-mill. That being said, Steven did force himself to ignore it, or he would never sleep. The last thing he needed was physical pains. Suddenly, a familiar sound returned before his head hit the welcoming pillow. It

was the static of the TV, grating its sound softly through the living room and cutting straight to his eyes. There was nothing hypnotic about this static, otherwise, Steven would have ignored it. The voice at the back of his mind beckoned for sleep, but he had to investigate. Did the TV remote fall off the side table and turn on the television? It was possible in a strange world, but not in his home. Whatever the reason, he couldn't sleep with it on. As Steven climbed out of the bed the static became louder than before. No longer low and grating, but loud and obnoxious. He grunted his displeasure as he walked through the hallway back to the living room. A light flashed within the house for a blink of an eye. Darkness returned and the man counted the seconds before he heard the crack of lighting. It wasn't too far but it didn't matter. He continued his journey ignoring the approaching storm, recalling the local news mentioning it not too long ago. His large arms and clumsy feet bumped the sides of the walls and edges of furniture, making this walk more frustrating. Entering the living room he noticed something that confused his very tired mind. The static sound reverberated around him, yet the TV was off. The TV was off and the sound was not coming from the TV itself anyway. Something about this room was creating this noise. He looked around the room for the source, but he didn't see anything. Another flash of light, this time the sound came sooner. This thought didn't cross his mind. He was far too concerned with the open window. Steven never opens this window, seeing it made fear manifest within his chest and spread towards his mind. The curtains floated on the frigid breeze and his originally calm mind was filled with aggravating thoughts. The static grew louder as time ed. Steven was not moving. Something in him kept his feet bolted to the floor. The static blocked out all other sounds. He stared at the blank window, although there was nothing he could see in the darkness. Another flash. His jaw dropped at a sudden, blood-freezing sight. There wasn't anything in sight outside, but inside there were tendrils of darkness creeping from the window across the wall like shadows. They disappeared as soon as the flash of lighting vanished. His feet were free and he ran to his room. He didn't get far. When he entered the hallway he noticed the front door was

open. More needles of fear pierced his being, some pinning his limbs to where they were. He was frozen in fear and there was no amount of courage within Steven that would free him. The static vanished. All sound had left him. He stared into the pitch black outside through the very open doorway. No lighting, no sound of rain. Nothing. His eyes focused. There was a dark sky, no stars, but enough light from the ghost of a moon to show off the silhouettes of the trees. Among these trees, Steven noticed a blank, featureless shape. It was white and in this darkness it stuck out like a sore thumb. All his mind focused on it and the faint sounds of steps. The pale, floating shape was approaching, bobbing in the shadows and growing larger as it covered the distance. Steven tried to turn his head and get his body in motion to run away but to no avail. Steven's head twitched sharply as if pulled by a neck muscle in spasm. He was being forced to watch the figure as if his body surrendered to the figure. It stared at him, he stared at it. He heard the legends, everyone had. It was there and then it wasn't. The pale face of the tall man was no longer in sight, gone in a blink. Steven turned his ears now to hear any sounds, but the silence was all he heard. His world shifted, the house twisting in his vision as he collapsed, heart finally giving out. The last sights Steven had burned into his now blackened eyes were legs and the sound of crying. Of course, Steven's disappearance was reported when one of his friends came over to visit the house. There wasn't anything unusual; all windows and doors were locked, no sign of entry. Nothing was stolen and absolutely no evidence to say foul play was a possibility. The situation to most and the police was that Steven left home and walked away never to be seen again. However, a handful knew what happened to Steven, they knew the culprit’s name, but for fear of a padded cell, said nothing.

Now you know too.

Tale 23: The Still Cave

We waded through the cold waters towards the void in the cliff face. A cave that wasn't there the day before welcomed us with an open maw, so you can understand our curiosity. It could have turned out to be a simple rockfall from years of seawater bashing up against the cliff, but no matter how close we got we could not see the back of the cave. It was indeed something that has been here longer than we have and our interest only peaked when we saw the beauty of the pools inside. Our boat floated gingerly into the cave and soon the dark ceiling drifted over us as we entered. The rock face looked perfectly cut; water must have been splashing up against the ceiling of the cave for centuries, which would explain why an entrance to the cave broke so recently. It was worked too thin and with enough force would crumble with ease. It seemed peaceful at first, the light of the warm sun cascading down the bright rocks on the blue-green water. We didn't want to bring the boat too far in, so we decided to climb off and wade inwards through the shallow water. The water was perfect as if being pooled in the cave-aged it like wine, turning it into this calm and just cool enough water that was perfect for wading in. Something straight out of a travel brochure, but the further we waded the further the ambience shifted from peaceful toward sinister. There weren't any drops falling from the ceiling, which usually was always the case in these water caves or even the sound of water lapping up against the sides, but it was deathly silent. We couldn't hear the echo of the sea either. It was extremely off-putting after some long quiet moments. I enjoyed the silence, but this kind of silence was deafening and found myself talking and pointing out obvious things to my friends. Telling them how cool the cave was and pitching an idea to set up a private getaway with our other friends and family. None of them responded and soon the overwhelming feeling that the ambience gave pushed me to tell them of my discomfort in those shallow pools.

When I turned to tell my friends this feeling I realized they were gone. I was alone. At first, I thought my friends were playing a prank on me and hiding under the water, but the water was almost crystal clear and they were wearing bright colours for safety. Professionals like us always did this, especially when working in deeper waters. I stared at the still waters and inklings of panic began to seep into my heart despite my best efforts to push it away and man-up instead. I heard sound for the first time since entering the cave. The sound of water being parted with force, but there wasn't a splash. It was the sound of underwater swimming. The reverberations were clear. I heard it whenever we went to see the dolphins off the coast near a small island close to town. Of course, I heard and felt similar swimming from that of sharks as well during deeper dives. My worst fear realized I searched for one of the large rocks that stuck out of the water. There wasn't time to apply the old tactics; it was time to get out of the water. I quickly located a rock not too far away that I could scale on top of. Finding what I was looking for I waded slowly towards it to not make too much movement to catch the creature’s attention. Of course, when I realized that even slow moves in such calm waters made so much disturbance I decided to book it and splash over to it quickly. Keeping the creature insight I saw it wasn't too attracted and I made it there easily. Stumbling onto the wet rock, my feet slipping out underneath me I hit the ground, but I stayed on. I noticed a wet crunch beneath me and saw it was fish bones, new and old. The bones were clean of all meat. I turned to look back at the water and I saw what was in the water a lot more clearly. Even though the slight murkiness of the water I could make out the strangeness that was the form because it appeared so familiar. A scaly beast with arms and legs swimming through the water. Its back was spiked with protective bones and its eyes glowed red with fury. It swam in circles around the rock fading in and out of vision whenever the shade of the water was dark enough. My heart was racing with fear. I was breathing heavily and my mind whirled. I had so many questions after seeing it, but at the time I felt only fear. It disappeared again in a dark patch of water and I didn't see it return. Clouds must

have been ing in front of the sun, as the waters became too dark to make out anything beneath their surface. Silence, then a wet slap of something on the rock behind me. I turned to see a deformed fish-like face with massive fangs. It only took me a second to realize it was a rubber mask, but in that instant, I felt my spirit leave my body. My friend pulled off the mask and laughed heartily. My other friends waded out from behind another rock to in. I was too happy to see them be angry. I laughed. It was a spectacular joke that was all too convincing for me, yet I treated them with a congratulatory nod. We quickly swam out of the cave and back to the boat, me questioning them thoroughly. "But you were wearing bright orange," I reminded them. To this, my friend pulled the wet-suit zip down revealing the orange swimwear. They had investigated the cave an hour earlier and stowed the suit under a rock at the entrance. "And oxygen?" I asked. "Give me a break, dude," my friend smiled. "I've been able to hold my breath for an age." I shrugged mockingly, joked about me being the better at breath-holding, but in the end my two friends had the last laugh when they pulled out a camera. A few clicks here and there as well as a recording of my reaction. The two smiled proudly having pulled it off and sat down in the boat, revving the motor and preparing to return to the closest piece of land to show the media off to the others. I congratulated them properly, truly not having any hard feelings about it and they thanked me with childish grins. Still, the ordeal made me feel so uneasy and I felt something ask another question at the back of my mind. My smile slowly faded. I examined the suit to find it completely smooth, singular in colour. Upon further inspection, I held the mask up and saw it was just like any cheap rubber mask you could buy in a store. It was well done, but so many characteristics of this disguise didn't match what I saw in the water.

There were no dark scales and fins, nor spikes along the back. The mask did not have anything that could make the eyes glow a faint red. I found myself turning back and looking towards the shallow caves. I saw the shade of the cave ceiling on the pure water and not much else. However, before I turned to look back at the others and ask them I saw it, something stood up in the water, partly cloaked by the shade, but still clear as day. Standing taller than any man it watched us sail away and I stared transfixed by the horror that soon disappeared into the darkness of the water.

Tale 24: Trench

For us, since this mess began, the trenches were home. From the kids who lied about their age to the veterans, trench warfare has always had the same effect on the troops. It was a terrible combination of depression and desperation; feelings that were brought on by the lack of food and low-quality defences. To make it fair, it was the same for the enemy as well. We sat in our trenches that day, staring at the trees above us. Jungle trees had a strange beauty to them, but we were more concerned with the rain. By eyeing the sky above us we were given hints of what the rain was like and thus, how long it would be before our trenches got flooded. Ironically, I wanted some rain to break through and cool me off. The heat was dreadful and the insect’s plaguing us only made the experience more uncomfortable. Of course, we knew what we were getting into, but we still found ourselves complaining profusely. Eventually, we saw the shape of our commanding officer holding a page in his hand that was already disintegrating from the climate. “Listen up, chaps,” he began. “The Jap’s have us flanked on our right side; they defeated Johnson’s company last night.” A groan droned amongst the troops and I found myself ing in. Being flanked only meant one thing. We were to push forward, which in our case meant pushing into a facility that was filled with the enemy. A facility that we needed to surround and wait for reinforcements before attacking. As always, when we got pushed against the wall, we pushed through the wall. Our ammunition wasn’t looking good at all, but the smile beneath our officer’s nose told me that it wouldn’t be a problem. “Now as you know, we have a science facility of the sort in front of us and the

pillboxes have had us pinned down for the past two days,” the officer continued. “We were ambushed in our attempts to destroy the door, but when the allied forces send us to do a job...” “...we best get the job done,” we all finished half-heartedly. “Exactly,” our officer stated with enthusiasm. “HQ has issued our ranks with new armaments, not to mention some special packages sent to us from American folk. Who here has experience with smoke and fire?” At this, the officer had our full attention. Smoke and fire was a term we often used for special tactics. We would lay down a fog of smoke with special grenades. It would be a large cloud that many could hide within. It didn’t mean you were impossible to shoot at, but it certainly made it harder for the enemy to see you. That was the smoke, the fire was explosives. Grenades usually, but in addition to that, we were issued good ol’ American dynamite. Later that day, once we were all briefed on the plan, we sat with our backs against the trenches and prepared for the inevitable. Two of the troops had dug a small, unstable tunnel into the jungle. It was hard to find by the Japanese, but our way out of the trenches without being seen. Only two volunteered to go out and set up the first stage of the plan. Sure enough, the two privates returned, covered in mud and leaves. Each wore a smile and once the sun had fallen we heard why. With a terrific bang, the pillboxes crumbled as one of the privates sank the plunger. It was quite a display and once we heard the commotion the smoke grenades were sent out in every direction. There were several directions we could have gone, but of course, we chose forward. With any luck, the enemy would think of this as a retreating tactic and as luck would have it, they did. We reached back to where we were two days ago. The steel doors to an enemy bunker stood strong in front of us, but not for long. The remainder of the dynamite was planted all around the door and within moments we had taken cover. The explosion was a lot louder and more powerful; it certainly let the enemy know where we were. However, we now had a bunker. We ran in, guns ready and shooting anything that moves. The dark Japanese uniforms fell to the ground and still, we continued our push deeper into the bunker. I led a troop of soldiers down one pathway while the commanding officer stayed

behind with the rest to cover the entrance. It was truly a heroic moment; every one of us fighting with the fierceness of animals, tearing through the enemy. It was at this point in the journey that we turned a corner and descended some steps. Four of us, including me, now stood in a wide, white hallway. Lights shone down from the ceiling. The facility gleamed with a surgical amount of cleanliness, which we only mucked up with our muddy boots. Still, we proceeded with caution as we no longer had any veritable cover. For us, it was uncomfortable. The clean, almost clinical nature of the hallway was too much of a contrast to what we had been seeing for so long. One side of the hallway was lined with windows to different rooms; each very small, but containing some terrifying deformation of man. There were soldiers in these...cages...allied as well as their own. All of the experiments were covered in blood and executed with a bullet through the head. The men lay in corners or crumpled on the ground, dead as doornails. That is until we reached the last experiment room where we found a German soldier, standing in his confined room with three other soldiers dead at his side. The German experiment didn’t seem deformed or mutated in any way, but he stood staring at us maniacally with a hole in his forehead where the bullet exited. He was alive. He laughed in delight upon seeing our fear and began smacking at the unbreakable glass with the flesh of his hand. He tried speaking to us in German, but none of us spoke a word. He continued to plea for our aid, but we were horrified. We left one private to watch the German while we searched further into the facility. There were only a few more rooms, each one with several scientist corpses lying dead on the ground with a gun in their hands, an apparent suicide party. Notes were burnt in bins and technology smashed. There was no evidence of what happened here, they made sure of that. All that was left of the facility that could give us a clue to what was going on was a German who was still alive despite a bullet to the brain. Of course, we took him home. Of course, we asked him questions when we got there. Of course, some things are better left unsaid.

Tale 25: Broken Notes

David plucked every out-of-tune string before positioning his fingers into a chord. The bow touched the strings lightly and with every motion, the violin produced a low hum. Rotating the bow as he dragged it so he made use of every string, David discovered a tune in his mind. The tune was awful and it reverberated in the dusty, grey attic. Still, there was nobody around anymore to hear him, so he began to play more confidently. The screeching of the instrument ensued and even David’s ears were crying out in agony. In his frustration, he threw the violin aside; it failed him in his desire to create music. The piece of wood smashed against one of the columns, strings snapped and wood splintered. David walked to the stairs and descended through the house. He stepped lightly around the blood and ignored the smell. Once out of the tall building, David walked up the pavement and tuned his ears to the sounds of the night. As he walked, he raised his hand to his ears and clicked his fingers every few seconds. He let the sound resonate in his ear, but hated how as quickly as it started it disappeared. David began to murmur to himself. Bushes rustled along the road and once more he found himself consumed by the noise. Pausing for the moment, David noticed something amongst the chatter of leaves and the creaking of branches. A fine, consistent tune danced between the noise and David found it beautiful. He located the source and made his way straight for it. Crossing lawns and scaling fences, Dave found himself in the backyard of a small home. Scanning the area for a sign of a dog, but there was none. He walked up to the window which had the light shining through it. Between the blinds, he saw an elderly man, obese and with a large white beard working the strings of a guitar. The man played a tune so lightly that most could not hear it, but David recognized music in the harshest of noises, even from afar.

The man began to cough as he played, suddenly stopping and coughing into his hand. It was painful to watch, especially to David. Light, happy music replaced by a harsh, sad cough of a dying man. David watched the man drop the guitar, clutch at his chest and spit blood. Once more sadness filled David as the old man crumpled to the floor, dead. Blood spewed from his mouth like a faucet and David cursed; another one. Breaking the window with his elbow, David heard a low alarm in the background. He could not stay like before, he had to leave now. However, in a short time, David had climbed into the building and grabbed the guitar. Slinging the strap over his shoulder, David walked up the pavement playing the guitar like the man. He was grateful to find it was in tune and soon a melody flowed from the guitar and David smiled. He hummed to himself as he played, the harshness of the night sounds blocked from his ears by the song filling him. Murmurings of words played upon his lips as a cop car ed him. “Sir, have you heard any disturbances?” the policeman asked, slowing his car down. David eyed the cop and shook his head. “No disturbances at all,” David replied. “Do you mean my guitar?” “Uh...no...you continue as is, sir,” the Cop replied with a confused expression. With that, the two parted and not for the last time. David felt the urge to sing to himself and his lips began to open a little wider as his tongue and throat worked to make the words. A voice within him began to sing and David hated the sound. For a moment he stopped in disbelief but tried again. To his greatest displeasure, David realized his voice out of tune. He held the guitar in his off-hand and realized what needed to be done. Turning on the spot, David began to walk back. The guitar didn’t feel right in his hand anymore and he felt the weight slipping through his fingers. Still, it wasn’t the guitar that needed to be punished. It produced a wonderful sound and it did not deserve to be punished. David reached the house that the old man lived in and walked up the open front door. With a deep breath, David placed the guitar next to the door and entered. There was a low hum of static in the next room and he walked straight for it softly. The

policeman was standing over the body of the old man, talking into his radio with central. David eyed the gun at the policeman’s hip and pondered what his next move should be, but instead, he just stood there. The policeman began to cough as well, falling to the ground, his hand in the pool of blood. He curled onto the ground and noticed David out of the corner of his eye. The coughing continued painfully and eventually, the light faded from his eyes. David knelt beside the body and unfastened the gun from his holster. With a flick and a click, the safety was off. He knew it wouldn’t work, he knew it a long time ago. The gun pounded once he pulled the trigger, his head jolted on his shoulders, but his eyes didn’t close for the last time. He threw the gun to the side and wiped the spot where the bullet entered. Not a single drop of blood. David sighed deeply and, at that moment, he accepted what he was. Walking out of the building he continued in a direction he chose at random. The world throbbed in his wake. His steps rotted the ground and the trees crumbled. Anger filled the broken god and his mouth began to seal. He wiped the fleshy skin that now replaced his mouth. David stared at the horizon and tuned his ears for the sound of life.

Conclusion

Also by Matthew Dewey

Dread Dread: Volume 1 Dread: Volume 2

Four Horsemen The Four Horsemen Conquest's Champion

Tales from a Fox Tales from a Fox Tales from a Fox Volume 2 Tales from a Fox Volume 3 Tales From a Fox Volume 4 Tales from a Fox Volume 5