Nobody knows what rock bottom truly is until they've hit it.   After a rather boozy night that consisted of sending out about four dozen resumes and horrendously written cover letters I passed out. When I woke up the next morning I decided to at least try and make some money at home while waiting for an interview. At that moment I thought that the best way to go about it was completing those internet surveys that yielded $5 subway gift cards and other shit like that after about an hour of answering questions. I mean I didn't have any other marketable skills that could have yielded immediate income. It was either that or wasting a day away playing computer games. At least I wouldn't have to pay for food. I did these surveys for about five hours before nearly passing out. It was way more excruciating than I'd originally anticipated. At the end of those five hours I'd accumulated about $45 and cash in gift cards. $9 an hour. Not like I was making much more than that before. I was about to close my laptop up for the day and head to a bar in an attempt to drown out my melancholy when I first saw it. It shouldn't even have been noticeable but for one reason or another it was. At the bottom corner of the website that I was on existed a tiny singular advertisement. Maybe it was the simplicity that got me. Mean black letters in a tacky font that read surveys for cash overlapped a completely white background. At least they were direct with the message. One more couldn't hurt I thought. Might as well scrape together a little bit more booze money before heading out. I sat back down, clicked on the picture link and prepared myself to grind through some more painstaking inquiries. The first few questions were simple enough. I guess they weren't really questions but more data collection. My name, age, and occupation. I thought it was kind of weird that they also asked my height and weight but it wasn't unheard of. The first real question was a different story though. I must have stared at it eyes wide and mouth agape for God knows how long.  In plain English this is what popped up on my screen. How strong is your urge to currently look behind you? There were five options below ranging from not at all to overwhelming. There was no feasible reason why I should have been afraid at that moment but I was. I tightened my breathing trying to make out any subtle noises behind me. There were none. After maybe about five minutes I worked up the courage to look. There was nothing. I sighed in relief and scoffed at myself at the same time. This must have been some kind of joke however I decided to entertain and answering neutral and clicking on to the next question. This is what it read. Why would you look behind you? I smart. Funny. You're simply typing in a I don't know in the response box and once again clicking next. This was the third question. You're on a plane. Apart from you there is only one passenger who is sitting somewhere behind you. At some point you get up to go to the washroom and find that the man is gone. You check to see if he is in the only bathroom on the plane but he isn't. What do you do? Then I must have stupidly stared at it for nearly ten minutes. Was this some kind of obscure personality test? I mean it must have been right? Right. I put the same answer that I used for the last question. I don't know. It was true. I didn't know.  I clicked next again now more intrigue than anything. The fourth question went like this. You wake up in woods unfamiliar to you. It's nighttime and the moonlight provides you with only slight visibility. About thirty feet away from you there is a small dimly illuminated cabin. The door is open and a smiling woman is motioning for you to come in. Do you go? Explain why. The question wasn't necessarily weirder than the last one so my conjecture that this was some kind of odd personality test was still feasible. I actually made an attempt to answer this one. Something along the lines of going into the cabin because there's simply nowhere else to go. Once again I clicked next. Probably shouldn't have. The questions started getting really messed up. They weren't too gory or explicit, not anything like that. They were just stranger, weirder, more psychologically disturbing. If you're wondering why the hell I kept going I can't really give you an explicit answer to that. I just felt like I had to. It was an esoteric creeping sensation that I can't quite explain away. But I could never shake it. So I just went on. Some of the questions that stood out were suppose that you wake up one night to find an elevator in your house. During every midnight after that it opens up for five minutes, revealing an exact copy of yourself that gets progressively more injured as time goes on. Do you keep living like this? Or do you enter the elevator once and end it all? You're in a hotel room but are awoken by a rapid knocking at your window. You peek through the blinds seeing what appears to be a man missing both his eyes.  Do you listen to him? This was one of my least favorites.  One of the tapes include footage of her being murdered by a masked intruder. Your mother simply laughs at this footage without saying anything. In your opinion, is this a cause for concern? In addition to this insanity inducing shit, there were some rather disconcerting events happening in real life as well. I received a knock at the door about 30 minutes in. I looked through my peephole to find a guy standing there frantically shaking his head and mouthing no while making direct eye contact with me. He looked terrified. Obviously I didn't open up. I received about 10 phone calls from somebody named the auditor on my caller ID. They left a message every time but each one was just a recording that consisted of somebody saying numbers through heavy static. Actually it sounded more like screaming now that I think about it. About an hour into this thing I was on the verge of a mental breakdown. I was petrified of looking behind me even though there was no indication that anything should have been there. I heard some soft scratching coming from my vent at one point. So I moved my couch under it. Eventually I reached what appeared to be the end of the survey. However it wasn't a question. It was simply a statement. Don't let them in. They're not to be trusted. Almost as if it were on cue, I heard more knocking at my door about 5 seconds after reading this. As slowly and silently as I could, I moved over and looked through the peephole once again. It was a different person than the one I'd seen earlier. She was a woman looking to be in her mid-twenties. She was wearing a thick blazer despite it being around 90 Fahrenheit outside. She was also wearing sunglasses so I could never tell where she was actually looking. She eventually took a piece of paper out of her pocket and slipped it under the door. I read the note. It's lying. Leave your apartment immediately. It's been about half an hour since. I can't bring myself to look at the computer screen nor at the woman outside. She's still there. I can see the shadows of her feet from underneath my door. I heard my bedroom window open a few minutes ago, but I've since jammed the door shut with a chair. I can hear some kind of distorted muttering coming from behind it now. Maybe rock bottom wasn't so bad. But what the hell am I supposed to do here? When I was 12, my grandmother came to live with us. She wasn't ill, but at 89 my mother didn't want her living alone anymore. My mom worked so she had a caretaker help during the day and on Saturday afternoons when my mom did her shopping, I would watch my grandma. She was a kind and cheerful lady and she would often tell me stories about her childhood. During this particular week, I had taken a book out of the library called Tales of Terror. That Saturday afternoon we were in the living room folding a basket of clean clothes and I happened to ask her, what's the scariest thing you can remember? She paused and sat back in her chair. Well, she said, when I was a girl a little older than you, we lived in a small village. The only thing remarkable about it was the abbey. Four miles outside the town, up on a hill. No one knew exactly how old it was, but it looked like it had been there forever. In order of nuns had taken up residence there and with the help of workmen from the village, they had begun a restoration. When I was 14, I was hired to work in the kitchens. The abbey was really the only source of employment for the village and I was happy to have the work. My job was to clear the tables after meals, do the dishes and sweep and mop the floors. Most days I would quickly finish the dishes and use my sweeping as a reason to explore. The massive stone entry opened onto what was called the Great Hall with several large rooms off of each side. This section was in fairly good condition and used to greet important guests. The kitchens and sleeping quarters were on the right and to the left was the chapel and a wide stone path that led to the oldest and most dilapidated section of the abbey. This was of course the part that I was most curious about. As the weeks passed I took notice that every day and noon a large plate of food was prepared and taken out of the kitchen door across the courtyard and handed to the Mother Abbas. She and only she would carry the dish past the chapel and down the shaded path to the old part of the abbey. She would return in 20 minutes or so and then retire immediately to her room above the dining hall. The Mother Abbas was quite old and very strict and I tried my best to keep out of her way. I would do my work and took pride in a job well done. Things went along this way until late September of my first year there. Two of the nuns became ill and then two became four and four became six. It spread quickly. Although the few left that were healthy spent their days taking care of the sick. I had been asked to clear the dishes and then head home until farther notice. They said they would send for me after the sickness had passed. I finished my work and walked out into something I had never seen before, a completely empty courtyard. I looked down the old stone path and thought this may be my only chance. So I took a quick glance around and moved into the cool shadows of the walkway up several steps and into the old wing of the abbey. Outside it was early afternoon but in the dark stone hallway it was twilight. Here it was completely silent. I could hear my footsteps echo as I stepped slowly down the hall. The passage went on for a while and it ended at the base of a narrow stairwell. Going up I felt the curving stone walls with my hand. At the top of the stairs the hall branched out in three directions. I considered retreating worried I would get lost. That was when I saw the footsteps clearly marked in the thick dust of the floor. So I followed down the hallway to the left up another stairway so narrow that only one person could fit. At the top of the stairs there was only a landing with two heavy oak doors on either side directly opposite each other. The doors each at a small barred window about 12 inches wide. That was when I heard the whispering. It was a constant volley of words. Spoken with urgency I crept closer to the door to see if I could understand but the words seemed to connect together making some other language foreign to me. I don't know what possessed me but I inched toward the bars. I had to see what was inside peeking through them. I saw only darkness. As my eyes adjusted though I saw the outline of a small figure. A woman. She was turned away from me. Her long hair was matted and unkept and she was whispering in a feverish pitch. It was then that something soft brushed against my ankle and I fell back against the door with a scream. Something black jumped away from me. I saw that it was just the happy cat. Something must have followed me from the kitchen looking for something to eat. Standing back up I brushed the dust from my clothes and then I noticed the whispering and stopped. I turned around slowly and saw her face was just inches from mine. Her eyes were solid white and I was so close that I could see tiny red veins running through them.  Before I fainted I saw that she was grinning at me and I heard her whisper three words. We played till we died and now we're all dead. Graveyard train. I saw them last night. I'm the main keeper and partial owner of a small cemetery on the east coast. My job is to make sure things go smoothly. I'm in charge of everything from burials and arrangements to maintaining the grounds and sometimes even sales, caskets and such. Although I am encouraged to upsell as much as possible I never do. It doesn't seem right to try and get every last penny out of someone who has just lost a loved one and after all it's just a box. It being prettier than others isn't really of the utmost importance. Last time I checked the dead don't care about fashion. I just hope they're staying dead. This week I drew the short straw and had to work the 9pm to 6am shift. We usually have a security guard but he had called in due to a family emergency. There had been some strange happenings occurring on site recently and we all thought that a group of local kids might be vandalizing the property at night. I set up in our main office which was located in the dead center of our 40.6 acres of property. There was an old VCR in the lounge that had been there for years and when I pressed play I was surprised to see Abed and Costello meet Frankenstein in old fashioned lettering. Frankenstein was just about to grab the main character when I heard what sounded like a small explosion outside. And then another and another. Grabbing my flashlight I wondered if the local kids had broken in and set off some unused fireworks from the 4th of July. The idea of calling the cops immediately passed through my mind but I thought better of it. It was probably just some kids after all. If they didn't know anyone was there besides them perhaps I could even give them a scare.  Suddenly running across to the edge of the cemetery my body was now concealed in thick shadows as I made my way closer to the explosions. There was a 4th and then 5th boom and then silence. Suddenly I saw the outline of 5 figures standing together around the water of a large pond we maintain. Gotcha I thought.  Running over the best way to scare them off I decided on the old police routine. Running over behind the largest gravestone in sight I slid down and realized I was now only 20 or so feet away. I was filled with a mixture of excitement and nervousness and for a moment I thought better of the whole plan. But excitement went out.  It's the police. I yelled running out towards them and making as much noise as possible. Now the thought had never occurred to me that they might actually freeze and as I made my way closer fear took over. The 5 figures hadn't even flinched at my screaming. In fact they weren't moving at all. My running slowed to a crawl as I now stood only 6 or 7 feet away. A few moments of silence passed by and still the figures didn't move. I took one step closer and turned on my flashlight. It flickered for a moment and then held heavy on the backs of 5 individuals. And then it hit me. They weren't kids, they were adults. And they were all dressed as they had been buried. I even recognized some of them. There was a tall man of 50 that had suffered a heart attack just days ago.  I remembered because the obituary had said she had died the very day of her birthday. Fear was indeed taking over now and I forced myself to say the only thing that would pop into my head. Hello? I called out tentatively. They showed no sign of having noticed me and only stood together staring into the dark water of the pond. I ran back into the office and called 911. Even in my shocked state I was aware enough to realize that explaining that the dead had risen from their graves probably wouldn't be the best idea. I told the operator that a few adults had broken into the cemetery. Within 15 minutes a single police car arrived and two young men stepped out of the vehicle. They drove around for a short while and then walked the rest of the hills on foot, finding nothing of course. When they arrived back at the main office they explained that there was no trace of anyone. They did however admit to seeing more than one trail of dirt leading down to the pond. The next morning I started to tell the other workers about what I had seen and then thought better of it. Seeing five recently dead figures staring at their reflection in the middle of the night, I'll keep that to myself. I thought of something better. I worked the night shift again tonight. I'm going to grab a shovel and see for myself if those five are still where they should be. I don't know when you're going to read this, but I can tell you when it started. I was out for a walk alone in the woods when the entity came for me. It was beyond a blur. It was for lack of a better term, absence of meaning. Where it hid there were no trees. Where it crept closer there was no grass. Through the arc it leapt at me. There was no breeze of motion. There was no air at all. As it struck I felt the distinct sensation of claws puncturing me somewhere unseen. Somewhere I'd never felt before. My hands and arms and legs seemed fine and I wasn't bleeding. And I knew I'd been injured somehow. As I fearfully ran back home I could tell that I was… less. I was vaguely tired and it was hard to focus at times. The solution at that early stage was easy. A big cup of coffee helped me feel normal again. For a while that subtle drain on my spirit became lost in the ebb and flow of caffeine in my system. You could say my life began that week actually, because that was when I met Marr. She and I got along great, though to be honest I'm pretty sure I fell in love with her over the phone before we even met. It was almost as if the strong emotions of that first week made the entity fight back. It was still with me, latched on to some invisible part of my being. The first few incidents were minor and I hardly worried about them. The color of a neighbor's car changed from dark blue to black one morning and I stared at it before shaking my head and shrugging off the difference. Two days later at work a co-worker's name changed from Fred to Dan. I carefully asked around but everyone said his name had always been Dan. I figured I'd just been mistaken. Even as ridiculous as this sounds, I was peeing in my bathroom at home when I suddenly found myself on a random street. I was still in my pajamas, pants down, and urinating, but now in full view of a dozen people at a bus stop. Horrified, I pulled up my clothes and ran before someone called the cops. I did manage to get home but the experience forced me to admit that I was still in danger. The entity was doing something to me and I didn't understand how to fight back. Mar showed up that evening but she had her own key. Hey, I asked her with confusion. How'd you get a key? She just laughed. You cute. Are you sure you're okay with this? She opened a door and entered a room full of boxes. I know living together is a big step, especially when we've only been dating three months. Living together. I'd literally just met her the week before. Thing was, my mother had always called me a smart cookie for a reason. I knew when to shut my app. Instead of causing a scene, I told her everything was fine and then I went straight to my room and began investigating. My things were just as I had left them with no sign of a three month gap in habitation, but I did find something out of the ordinary. The date. I shivered angrily as I processed the truth.   What kind of creature could consume pieces of one's soul like that? I'd missed the most exciting part of a new relationship and I would never understand any shared stories or in jokes from that period. Something absurdly precious had been taken from me and I was furious. That fury helped suppress the entity. I never imbibed alcohol. I drank coffee religiously. I checked the date every time I woke up. For three years I managed to live each day while observing nothing more than minor alterations. A social fact here and there, someone's job, how many kids they had, that sort of thing. The layout of nearby streets, the time my favorite television show aired, that kind of thing. Always those changes reminded me that the creature still had its claws sunk into my spirit. Not once in three years did I ever let myself zone out. One day I grew careless. I let myself get really into the season finale of my favorite show. It was gripping, a fantastic story. Right at the height of the action, a young boy came up to my lounger and shook my hand. Surprised I asked, who are you? How'd you get in here? He laughed and smiled brightly. Silly daddy. My heart sank in my chest. I knew immediately what had happened. After a few massed questions, I discovered that he was two years old and that he was my son. The agony and heartache filling my chest was nearly unbearable. Not only had I missed the birth of my son, I would never see or know the first years of his life. Mar and I had obviously gotten married and started a family in the time I'd lost and I had no idea what joys or pains those years contained. It was snowing outside, holding my sudden sun in my lap. I sat and watched the flakes fall outside. What kind of life was this going to be if slips and concentration could cost me years? I had to get help. The church had no idea what to do. The priest didn't believe me and told me I had a health issue rather than some sort of possession. The doctors didn't have any clue. Things showed up on all their scans and tests, but they happily took my money and returned for nothing. By the time I ran out of options, I decided to tell Mar. There was no way to know what this all looked like from her side. What was I like when I wasn't there? Did I still take our son to school? Did I still do my job? Clearly I did because she seemed to be none the wiser, but I still had a horrible feeling that something must have been missing in her life when I wasn't actually home inside my own head. But the night I set up a nice dinner in preparation, she arrived not by unlocking the door but by knocking on it. I answered and found that she was in a nice stress. She was happily surprised by the settings on the table. A fancy dinner for a second date? I knew you were sweet on me. Like the Lord, I knew when to keep my mouth shut. If I'd gone on about being married and having a son, she might have run for the hills. Instead, I took her coat and sat down for our second date. Through carefully crafted questions, I managed to deduce the truth. This really was our second day. She saw relief and happiness in me, but interpreted that as dating jitters. I was just excited to realize that the entity wasn't necessarily eating whole portions of my life. The symptoms as I was beginning to understand them were more like the consequences of a shattered soul. The creature had wounded me, broken me into pieces. Perhaps I was to live my life out of order, but at least I would actually get to live it. And so it went for a few years from my perspective. While minor changes in politics or geography would happen daily, major shifts in my mental location only happened every couple months. When I found myself in a new place and time in my life, I just shut up and listened, making sure to get the lay of the land before doing anything to avoid making mistakes. On the farthest flung leap yet, I met my six-year-old grandson, and I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. He said, writer. I told him that was a fine idea. Then I was back in month two of my relationship with Mar, and I had the best night with her on the riverfront. When I say the best, I mean the best. Knowing how special she would become to me, I asked her to move in. I got to live through what I'd missed the first go-around, and I came to understand that I was never mentally absent. I would always be there, eventually. When we were moving her boxes in, she stopped for a moment and said she marveled at my great love, as if I'd known her for a lifetime and never once doubted she was the one. That was the first time I truly laughed freely and wholeheartedly since the entity had wounded me. She was right about my love for her, but for exactly the reason she'd considered a silly romantic analogy, I had known her my whole life, and had come to terms with my situation and found peace with it. It wasn't so bad to have sneak peeks at all the best parts ahead. But of course I wouldn't be writing this if it hadn't gone worse. The entity was still with me. It had not wounded me and departed like I'd wanted to believe. The closest I can describe my growing understanding was that the creature was burrowing deeper into my psyche, fracturing it into smaller pieces. Instead of months between major shifts, I began having only weeks. Once I noticed that trend, I feared my ultimate fate would be to jump between times in my life heartbeat by heartbeat, forever confused, forever lost. Only an instant in each time meant I would never be able to speak with anyone else, never be able to hold a conversation, never express or receive love. As the true depth of that fear came upon me, I sat in an older version of me and watched the snow falling outside. That was the one constant in my life. The weather didn't care who I was or what pains I had to face. The creature was always there. The falling snow was always like a little hook that kept me in a place.  And I'd never yet shifted while watching the pattern of falling white and thinking of the times I'd gone sledding or built a snow for it as a child. A teenager touched my arm. Grandpa? Huh? He'd startled me out of my thoughts so I was less careful than usual. Who are you? He half-grinned as if not sure whether I was joking. Handing me a stack of papers, he said, it's my first attempt at a novel. Would you read it and tell me what you think? Ah, of course. Pursuing that dream of being a writer, I see. He burned bright red. Trying to, anyway.  I'll read this right now. The words were blurry and annoyed I looked for glasses I probably had for reading. Being old was terrible and I wanted to lead back into a younger year, but not before I read his book. I found my glasses in a sweater pocket and began leafing through. Far puttered in and out of the living room, still beautiful, but I had to focus. I didn't know how much time I would have there. It seemed that we had relatives over. Was it Christmas? A pair of adults and a couple kids I didn't recognize tromped through the hallway and I saw my son. Now adult, walk by with his wife on the way out the door. As a group, the extended family began sledding outside. Finally, I finished reading the story and I called out for my grandson. He rushed down the stairs and into the living room. How was it? Well, it's terrible, I told him truthfully. But it's terrible for all the right reasons.  But the structure of the story itself is very solid. I paused. I didn't expect it to turn out to be a horror story. He nodded. It's a reflection of the times. Expectations for the future are dismal, not hopeful like they used to be. You're far too young to be aware like that, I told him. An idea occurred to me. If you're into horror, do you know anything about strange creatures? Sure, I read everything I can. I love it. Awarely, I scanned the entrances to the living room. Everyone was busy outside. For the first time, I opened up to someone in my life about what I was experiencing. In hushed tones, I told him about my fragmented consciousness. For a teenager, he took a well. You're serious? Yes. He donned the determined look of a grown man accepting a quest. I'll look into it. See what I can find out. You should start writing down everything you experience, build some data. Maybe we can map your psychic wound. Wow, sounds like a plan. I was surprised. That made sense, and I hadn't expected him to have a serious response. But how will I get all the notes in one place? Let's come up with somewhere for you to leave them, he said, frowning with thought. Then I'll get them, and we can trace the path you're taking through your own life. See if there's a pattern. For the first time, since the situation had gotten worse, I felt hope again. How about under the stairs? Nobody ever goes under there. Sure, he turned and left the living room. I peered after him. I heard him banging around near the stairs. Finally, he returned with a box, laid it on the carpet, and opened it to reveal a bursting stack of papers.   Taken aback, I blinked rapidly, forgiving his cussing because of the shock. Did I write those? He looked up at me in wonder. Yeah, or you will. You still have to write them and put them under the stairs after this. He gazed back down at the papers, then covered the box. So you probably shouldn't see what they say. That could get weird. That much, I understood, he gulped. There are like fifty boxes under there, all filled up like this. Deciphering these will take a long time. His tone dropped to deadly seriousness.  Tears flowed down my cheeks then, and I couldn't help but sob once or twice. I hadn't realized how lonely I'd become in my shifting prison of awareness, until I finally had someone who understood. Thank you. Thank you so much. And then I was young again, and at work on a random Tuesday. Once the sadness and relief faded, anger and determination replaced them. After I finished my work, I grabbed some paper and began writing. While the week shifted around me, while those weeks became days and then hours, I wrote every single spare moment about when and where I thought I was. I put them under the stairs out of order. My first box was actually the thirteenth, and my last box was the first. Once I had over fifty boxes written from my perspective, and once my shifting became a matter of minutes, I knew it was up to my grandson to take it from there. I put my head down and stopped looking. I couldn't stand the river of changing awareness any longer. Times and places and dates and jobs and colors and people were all wrong and different. I'd never been older. I sat watching the snow fall. A man of at least thirty that I vaguely recognized entered the room. Come on, I think I finally figured it out. I was so frail that moving was painful. Are you him? Are you my grandson? Yes. He took me to a room filled with strange equipment and sat me in a rubber chair facing a large mirror twice the height of a man. The pattern finally revealed itself. How long have you worked on this? I asked him aghast. Tell me you didn't miss your life like I'm missing mine. His expression was both stone cold and furiously resolute. It'll be worth it. He brought two thin metal rods close to my arm and then knotted at the mirror. Look, this shock is carefully calibrated. The electric zap from his device was startling but not painful. In the mirror, I saw a rapid arching light silhouette appear above my head and shoulder. The electricity moved through the creature like a wave, briefly revealing the terrible nature of what was happening to me. A bulging leech-like mouth was wrapped around the back of my head, coming down to my eyebrows and touching each ear and its slug-like body ran over my shoulder and into my very soul. It was a parasite and it was feeding on my mind. My now-adult grandson held my hand as I took in the horror. After a moment, he asked, removing it is going to hurt very badly. Are you up for this? Fearful I asked. Is Mar here? His face softened. No, not for a few years now. I could tell from his reaction what had happened, but I didn't want it to be true. How? We have this conversation a lot, he responded. Are you sure you want to know? It never makes you feel better. Tears brimmed in my eyes. Then I don't care if it hurts or if I die. I don't want to stay in a time when she's not alive. He made a sympathetic noise of understanding and then returned to his machines to hook several wires, diodes and other bits of technology to my limbs and forehead. While he did so, he talked. I've worked for two decades to figure this out, and I've had a ton of help from other researchers of the occult. This parasite doesn't technically exist in our plane. It's one of the lesser spawns, and it feeds on the plexus of mind, soul, and quantum consciousness and reality. When details like names and colors of objects changed, you weren't going crazy. The web of your existence was merely losing strands as the creature ate its way through you. I didn't fully understand. I looked up in confusion as he placed a circle of electronics like a crown on my head in exact line with where the parasite's mouth had ringed me. He paused his work and grew pale. I forgot that you wouldn't know. You're lucky, believe me. After a deep breath, he began moving again and placed his fingers near a few stitches. Ready? Ready? This is carefully tuned to make your nervous system extremely unappetizing to the parasite, but it's basically electroshock therapy. I could still see more smile. I'd just been with her moments ago. Do it. The click of a switch echoed in my ears, and I almost laughed at how mild the electricity was. It didn't feel like anything, at least at first. Then I saw the mirror shaking, and my body within that image convulsing. Oh no, it did hurt. Nothing had ever been more painful. It was just so excruciating that my mind hadn't been able to immediately process it. As my vision shook and fire burned in every nerve in my body, I could see the reflected trembling light silhouette of the parasite on my head as it writhed in agony equal to mine. It had claws, six clawed lizard-like limbs under its leech-like body, and it cut into me in an attempt to stay latched on. The electricity made my memories flare.  The edges of that memory began lighting up, and I realized that my life was one continuous stretch of experience. It was only the awareness of it that had been fragmented by the feasting evil on my back. I'd never managed to be there for the birth of my son. I'd jumped around it a dozen times, but never actually lived it. For the first time, I got to hold Marr's hand and be there for her. No. No. That moment had shifted seamlessly into holding her hand as she lay in a hospital bed for a very different reason. Not this. God, why? It was so merciless to make me remember this. I broke down in tears as nurses rushed into the room. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to experience it. I'd seen all the good parts, but I hadn't wanted the worst part. The inevitable end that all would one day face. It wasn't worth it. It was tainted. All that joy was given back ten thousand fold as pain.  My scream faded into a surprise shout as the machines and electricity and chair faded away.  I was out in the woods on a bright summer day. Oh God. I turned to see the creature approaching me. It was the same absence of meaning, the same blank on reality. It crept forward just like before, but this time it hissed and turned away. I stood astounded at being young again and freed from the parasite. My grandson had actually done it. He'd made me an unappetizing meal, so the predator of mind and soul had moved on in search of a different snack. I returned home in a day's. And while I was sitting there processing all that had happened, the phone rang. I looked at it in awe and sadness. I knew who it was. It was Marjorie, calling for the first time for some trivial reason she'd admit thirty years later was made up just to talk to me. But all I could see was her lying in that hospital bed dying. It was going to end in unspeakable pain and loneliness. I would become an old man, left to sit by myself in an empty house. His soul may have gone long before him. At the end of it all, the only thing I would have, sitting and watching the falling snow. But now, thanks to my grandson, I would also have my memories. It would be a wild ride, no matter how it ended. On a sudden impulse, I picked up the phone. With a smile, I asked, hey, who's this? Even though I already knew. Rumors were rife about the alleyway behind the tavern. It was haunted, folks said. Haunted by the ghost of a young girl who had been found murdered in that passage. People avoided the small street after dark, for the spirit was said to be a vengeful one. Of course, no one could name anyone whom the ghost had actually killed, but the tales were enough to keep people away from the alley at night. Fortunately for the owners of the tavern that backed onto the alley, their front door faced a well-lit road and so business was not slack. In one night, while the tavern was full of drinkers, a nasty character named O'Hare wandered into the bar. Women and children were not safe in his presence, but especially not women. After O'Hare had consumed far too much alcohol, he suddenly announced to the bar that he'd seen a pretty young thing in the alley out back of the tavern. The bartender froze in the middle of polishing a glass. No one said a word, but everyone was thinking about the ghost of the vengeful young girl. Everyone in the bar looked down at his or her glasses as he stumbled to his feet. No one made a move to stop him, and there were quiet whispers of, he deserves what's coming to him. As O'Hare left the building, it's just too bad that there isn't really a ghost, thought the bartender, setting down the shining glass and picking up another one to polish. O'Hare sorely needed a lesson in human kindness and respect for others. It was at that moment a horrible scream came from the alley. Everyone in the tavern looked up in shock and fear, and there really been a ghost out there. Or was O'Hare up to his old tricks and now costing another woman? The men leapt to their feet and raced to the back door of the tavern. Pouring out into the street, they were met by an unnatural cold, and their eyes were dazzled by a blaze of light. The bartender thrust his way to the front of the crowd and saw the body of O'Hare lying in a pool of bright white light. His throat had been torn to pieces, and blood was spilling out in gushes. Above him hovered the semi-transparent figure of a young girl, her eyes gleaming with red fire, her mouth covered with blood. She glared down at O'Hare and then turned to look at the crowd. The specter licked the blood from her lips, her eyes on the bartender's neck. Then she vanished, taking the light with her. At their feet O'Hare gasped out his last breath and died. The local authorities were summoned to deal with the body of O'Hare. They were skeptical, but there were many eyewitnesses. The bartender resigned his position the next morning and took a job across town. The memory of the ghost hungry stare at his neck, prompting him to look elsewhere for employment. Maybe you've heard the story of the witch and the evil that followed her. Legend says that from 1817 to 1821, a family came under attack by a clairvoyant entity that could affect the environment and even shapeshift. While some of that is true, it's far more simple than you think. Sometimes words are chosen because they convey a truth. Sometimes that truth is obvious. Though I am now an old man, my body riddled with cancer, I wanted to warn you of what happened so many years ago. In the 1950s, my family relocated to an old two-story brick home in New England. The five of us arrived late in the evening and my two sisters and I stared out into the dark water behind our home. What's more, when we stepped into our bedroom, we found that our three beds pointed out towards the ocean. It was also strange. My parents had little money, but were able to purchase the home for far less than what they had paid for a small apartment in Ohio. As my mother entered the bedroom behind us, her surprise was real as well. I didn't realize the home would be furnished. What lovely little beds, she said.  We immediately sat up and looked out into the ocean. Think we'll see a shark? Sarah asked. Of course we will. It's the ocean, I replied confidently. My two younger sisters smiled, looking over at me in wonder. They always thought I would protect them, but I couldn't stop what was coming. And none of us were ready for what happened next. That night we fell asleep easily from the long journey until we heard the noise. The soft ding of a bell awoke us from our slumber. Did you hear that, John? Emma asked quietly. Yes. Gazing down at the black water, we were lost for words. There was a luminescent figure which appeared to stand on the surface of the water. As our eyes adjusted together, we saw that it was a woman. She was smiling warmly, and as she drifted closer, we realized that the sound we had heard was from a bell she was holding. Her graceful hand moved in the wind, and I heard the noise again. She floated even closer. Her eyes now locked hypnotically with my sister Sarah. And then she was gone. I didn't have a chance to wake my parents because the next thing I knew I was in a deep sleep. Upon waking, I was greeted to the somber eyes of my father staring down at me. My parents had awoken in the morning to find Sarah missing. Searching everywhere, they had finally spotted her body drifting lifeless at the edge of the ocean. The next few days, I tried to tell my mother and father about what the three of us had seen that night, but they wouldn't have it. They were inconsolable at the loss of their daughter, and had no patience for the fairy tale Emma and I had created. Sarah was buried three days later, but it wouldn't be the last time I saw her. The night after her funeral, Emma and I awoke to the same sound. We shot up in bed and stared down into the deep waters. John, did you? My sister was interrupted by the second recurring noise piercing the air. I like to think that I would have had the sense to warn her to cover her ears, if not for what happened next. The eyes of my dead sister Sarah looked into mine. The beautiful figure of the woman was not alone this time. The small shape of my sister floated next to her, the two of them holding hands and smiling up at us innocently. Before I could react, I heard the noise for a third time. I fell into a deep sleep. When I awoke in the morning, it was to my mother screaming, Where is your sister? Where is she? They found Emma's body two hours later a mile out into the ocean. She was floating face down in the Atlantic. The loss of their second child was more than enough for my parents. Though we weren't able to leave the house for a week's time, my mother and father now ordered me to stay in their room every evening. Their window faced the street and didn't look out into the water. Late that night, I awoke in my parents room to the faint sound of a bell. In a panic, I covered my ears tightly and remained that way until dawn. We left the house one week later. I've never gone back.   I didn't even wonder. Somehow I knew something was going to emerge out of the darkness. I just didn't expect to see what I did. How could I have known then what I know now? Four months ago in May, I saw it for the first time.  If you've never read One for the Road, you're missing out. It's maybe my favorite short story of all time and was a most frightening introduction to vampires as a child. I had just gotten to the part where the two old men see their first vampire, a beautiful dark-haired woman, when I noticed the room had gotten colder, much colder. It was May in San Francisco, yet I could see my breath upon each exhalation. It seemed like it was 20 degrees, but how was that possible? Getting up to check the thermostat and possibly call the landlord, I happened to look up at just the right time. There was a black spot on the ceiling. It couldn't have been more than an inch in diameter, and that first night I decided it was a spot of dirt or mold that I had never seen before. Telling myself I would grab a ladder and clean it in the morning, I clicked on the heat setting on the old thermostat and went back to bed. I forgot about it the next day, working a double of a restaurant and coming home after midnight. When I arrived back and plopped down in bed, that same hole stood out, but this time it seemed bigger. Maybe two or three inches now. Over the next few months I witnessed as the hole grew slightly larger each day. Sometimes it would grow by an inch or two. Sometimes it would only be a millimeter. But the one constant was that it would grow. It would always grow. How could I be sure you might be thinking? Well, the third evening it came into view I finally grabbed a ladder and measured it for myself. I was careful not to touch it, the temperature getting so much colder as I approached that I figured my hand might freeze completely upon coming in contact, or something worse. I can't say it when I never told anyone about it, or why I didn't run like hell. Maybe I just didn't want some group of scientists claiming it for themselves, you know. At that point in my life I didn't have much to show for myself, and this was the one thing that felt like it was mine. Maybe this would be one of the greatest discoveries of all time, and I wanted to be the first one to find out what was inside. Last night, I finally got my wish. The room seemed colder than normal, confirmed upon checking the thermostat and finding it was well below zero. I watched as the whole flexed and bent, and something began to pull its way out of the darkness. First, there was a small shape about the size of a finger. Then, something like a hand emerged, dripping a steady plop of what looked like blood down from the ceiling and onto the icy wooden floor.  Maybe I imagined the bright red blood steaming up from its shape and becoming a thin mist, but the thing did seem to be almost burning as it lay there on the thick blue rug at the center of my room. A few minutes went by, and time seemed to help the creature calm its breathing back down to a slower rate. A stronger wave of horror fell over me then, as I watched the thing slowly raise its level and stand, seeming to examine the bedroom around it as it walked awkwardly from corner to corner. I was trying to decide if I should run like hell or try to speak with it when it seemed to notice me for the first time. Hello? I said nervously. Blood dripped off the creature and onto the floor as it finally took a step towards my bed. Help me. The figure whispered, a weakness and fear even greater than my own emanating from its lips. It continued. How do you know my name? It almost seemed to grow tired then, and I watched in a mix of horror and confusion as it walked slowly into my bathroom. There was a click as the shower door closed, and then the soft squeaking of the steel shower handle, followed by a steady downfall of water. My legs dangled off the bed as I thought about a whole slew of options from calling the police to calling NASA to just running like hell. But I didn't, choosing instead to stay and wait. Until fifteen minutes later, the handle squeaked off and the door opened slowly. Close. The thing said weakly. I did as it asked, rushing towards my closet and grabbing the first thing I saw, a black sweater and pair of warm blue jeans. Reaching my arm around the corner of the bathroom door, I half expected to be bitten or something worse, but none of that happened. Thank you. The voice said as it took the clothes from my hands. You, you're welcome. I managed to reply, walking over to the kitchen table and sitting down. What else could I do? I grabbed two beers and waited. Not long after, the dark shape of what I assume was its head peaked around the corner and stared at me from the bedroom, now wearing the fresh clothes I had given it. The shower had been successful, and the red blood I assumed that had covered the creature was now most certainly covering my shower walls and bathroom floor. I shuddered at the thought. Don't worry. I cleaned it. The voice said, sitting down across from me at the kitchen table. I remember this. It said. And then the scream started. The thing falling to the floor and clutching its head tightly. It never stops, never stops. It said painfully, perhaps more to itself. If I've left out the description of the creature, well, that's because at first I couldn't think of the words. It seemed to be absent of color. Completely black would be the best description, I suppose. But don't they say the black holes aren't really black? The figure's absence of color had been a stark contrast to the darkness, even when the lights had been off completely. From its size and shape it appeared to have the general stature of a man. The clothes above it almost made it appear human, well, sort of. The clothes I had given it were puffed up as if a man was inside of them. But upon a closer look they were filled with darkness. After a few moments, the thing stood back up in front of the kitchen table. It had no eyes that I could tell, but I knew it was examining me nonetheless. It took me so long to escape, the voice said. To escape from where? The thing made up of nothingness shifted across from me, perhaps turning its head. The darkness. The conversation was normal until one of the speakers suffered a sudden and violent death. It began when a young, fresh-faced youth with an old-fashioned camera drape around his neck approached a young woman sitting on a park bench. Excuse me, miss, he began tentatively. She looked up from her phone and brushed a lack of blonde hair out of her green eyes. Yes, she said, masking her mild annoyance with a smile. I'm doing a photography project for my school, he said, and I was wondering if I could photograph you. Oh, she said. The request seemed to puzzle yet flatter her. She thought for a moment and then said, sure. Great, said the young man, smiling. Over there by that tree would be best. The woman gladly obliged and the two strode over to the tree together, where the woman posed somewhat awkwardly with a smile that was almost genuine. Actually, the young man said, would you mind moving over a couple feet to the left? Just here? The woman asked, shuffling over a couple feet. A bit more, he said, she moved over a few more inches and smiled. Two things happened at once.  Suddenly, the world's volume was turned down. My heart pounded in my ears. The woman's body went limp and sank to the grass, spilling blood from her neck and a torrential fountain. The bystanders screamed and my hands fumbled from my phone to dial 911. My hands were shaking badly and I almost dropped the phone into the grass. After I dialed, I held the ring phone to my ear and looked up. The young man was nowhere to be seen. I wondered where he had gone, but the thought was driven from my head as a 911 operator picked up. 911, said the woman's voice, what is your emergency? But I couldn't answer. Something was severely wrong with me. There didn't seem to be enough air in my lungs and my hands started to feel cold and numb. I was dizzy now. The world spun and the ground rose up to meet my face, smashing my nose painfully. My vision began to swim in darkness and then there was nothing. When the EMTs revived me, the woman's body had already been packed into the ambulance and taken away, though the bloodstain remained, a dark stain of brown against the green of the grass. The EMTs said I'd had a panic attack and passed out. The police took my statement and they sent me home, numb with shock. A few weeks later, I found out that the woman had been hit by a stray bullet from someone shooting cans in their backyard a mile away. It was a one-in-a-million shot, they said. A week later, I saw the young man again. He wore the exact same clothes, had the exact same haircut and tearful grin, and the same old-fashioned camera was draped around his neck. I saw him by chance through the window of a restaurant, chatting up an elderly couple who sat in a corner booth. The silent, smiling conversation did not last long before the young man convinced them to get up and move to another booth. He lifted his camera to his face and nothing happened. The old woman smiled and cocked her head to the side as if she was asking him something. He smiled back and raised a finger before lifting the camera to his face again. There was a sound like roaring thunder and the wall of the restaurant exploded into dust and debris. A truck had crashed through the wall and demolished the old couple's booth. The young man stood there as if nothing had happened. He raised the camera to his face, took one more picture, and then turned to leave. He pushed the door to the restaurant open and walked out. He stopped and scanned the street. His gaze halted on me. The screaming and the chaos faded into silence as his pre-turn naturally blue eyes bore into mine, turning my insides to ice. And then, in a moment, he was gone. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. I hoped after that to never see him again but fate did not care much about my hopes. It never does.  Sarah was telling us a story about a strange man she'd met by the school who had offered to take her picture.  My heart sat up and began to beat against the inside of my chest. Trying to maintain the illusion of calm, I set my fork down gently on my plate, and I told her that if she ever saw that man again, she was to run, and that she absolutely, under no circumstances, was she allowed to let him take her picture. But he did take my picture, Dad, said Sarah. He wouldn't let me see it, but he said he'd come show me when it was ready in a week. What? I gasped. My voice was hoarse and small. My wife was looking between my Sarah and I with a look of concern and confusion. Sarah seemed to sense that something was wrong and her chin began to quiver. Nothing's wrong, honey, I said. Everything is going to be okay. The lie struggled out of my throat and the guilt of it seized my heart and squeezed it tight. Sarah's eyes were watery, but she continued what she was saying. He said something else to Dad. She said uncertainly. He said it was very important. Yes, he said he wouldn't develop my picture if you let him take yours in the park tomorrow at noon. A wave of relief intermingled with sadness washed over me and a tension I hadn't even noticed dissolve from my shoulders. I could feel the tears starting out in my eyes as I kissed my daughter's head, sticking in a huge whiff of her scent. That scent of pure youth that makes the old feel young again. I kissed my wife hard on the lips, savoring the taste. Half lipstick and half the pork chops you just eaten. I love you, Janine, I said. And I love you too, Sarah. They looked at me uncomprehendingly, concerned as if I had lost my mind. I've always loved my family more than life itself. And tomorrow at noon, I guess I will have to prove it. Perhaps I can get the better of the stranger. Perhaps not. Wish me luck. You can run on for a long time.  Johnny Cash, I can't stop. Scott yelled over at me, the yellow mustangs screaming down the Pacific Highway and breaking a hundred miles per hour. He slammed his foot down to the floor again and again. Nothing. It must have cut the lines. He continued, the panic in his eyes increasing. 107.  I don't want to die like this, man. I looked over at his terrified eyes and back up through the clear glass. The shocked face of an eight-year-old little boy rushed past us as we continued to pick up speed. 116 miles per hour now. And for the briefest of moments, the pulse of the adrenaline rushing through my body cleared and a feeling of euphoria washed over me. This felt like a video game and Scott was pretty damn good at it. An elderly couple, or at least I think they were, in a white van changed lanes without seeing us and it almost ended for all four of us right then and there. Jesus, Scott said under his breath, managing to pull the wheel to the left and barely avoid them while somehow not flipping the car. 125. The euphoric feeling dissipated and the adrenaline pumped back into my heart. Watching Scott swerve and miraculously avoid every obstacle thrown at him, I couldn't help but feel admiration for my friend. There was an icy focus to his eyes now and he wasn't about to give up. Despite everything that had happened, there would be no surrender. Not yet at least. Hold on, he said, turning the wheel abruptly to the right and speeding up the Runaway truck ramp, 118 miles per hour. I think we're slowing down. 95. Yeah, I think so too, I replied, taking a deep breath. 60. 30. The Mustang rolled to a halt as we breathed a collective sigh and exchanged a look of relief. I put my hand on his shoulder. Good thinking. We got lucky again, man, he replied. The terror never leaving his eyes as he stared over at me. He fought back tears and continued, I can't keep this up forever. And he was right. He couldn't. The brake lines being cut was just the latest incident since he had seen the film only a short time ago. There had been the house fire. Scott had barely gotten out alive, just happening to wake up at three o'clock in the morning for a glass of water. After 911 had been called and the house had been evaluated, the authorities determined it to be caused by faulty wiring and nothing more. He knew better. There was the near electrocution. The jackstand for his car almost crushing him and the wolves. I'd rather not speak about that one. What should we do? Scott asked me. The adrenaline dying in a blank stare falling across his face as he gazed out of the car window and up into the thick green trees and surrounding hills. I took a moment to gather my thoughts and then finally replied. We persist. His exhausted body turned towards me as he dug into his left breast pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He nearly dropped it before gripping the steel handle tighter, flicking the flame and taking a slow drag. You're right. We'll figure this out. Scott smiled. Thanks for being here, Dan. If you ever want to leave, I interrupted. I'm here with you till the end. I replied. He nodded. And then he held his hands around his throat, first puzzled and then terrified. I can't breathe. His eyes glazed over, anyone unconscious. I put my ear against his chest and listened to his respirations. Shallow yet still there. His pulse was thready and quickening. Yet it continued. And as his breathing slowed, I saw the red flashing lights of an ambulance speeding up the ramp behind us. Someone must have dialed 911. You've got to be kidding me. As a man and woman quickly got out of the ambulance and ran over to us, I readied myself and then exited the car. Help, my friend. Scott had been having a terrible time the past few years. His father had died of cancer. He had lost each job he had fought so hard for. And his girlfriend even left him after he had proposed.  I told Scott that she was troubled from the start. I didn't tell the two medics why he had passed out. And I certainly wasn't going to explain how I had laced the cigarette with poison this morning while he slept. I know what you're thinking, and yes, it was supposed to be painless. I just wanted to end his pain. In a way, death had been after Scott. Watching the two medics work desperately to save him, I found a grin falling over my face. He had never shown this type of resilience before. And it was impressive. Still, he had been through too much and I didn't want him to struggle anymore. And it wasn't like I was just being selfish.  That's what friends are for. Yet each time he had made it. Sure, he survived the fire and what happened before. Yes, he had gotten lucky after I had cut the brake lines. And maybe he would even be saved by the paramedics in these bright green hills before the poison spread completely through his lungs and then into his heart. But I'll get in more of these days. They say you have to make a goal and no matter what, persist. Well, there's always tomorrow. My work friends and I were at our favorite pub last night. Not a really fancy place, but, you know, cheap beer and close enough to home that I don't have to drive. The night started out normally enough, the four of us crammed into a small table off in the corner, mostly talking shop and shitting on our boss. Being this was the middle of the week, there weren't too many other people around, maybe around eight or nine others in the whole place. Everybody just kind of keeping to themselves sort of people you'd expect to see in a pub on a Wednesday. Anyway, from where I'm sitting, I have a pretty good view of the TV behind the bar. Jesse the bartender is kind of lazily flipping through channels and passes by our local news channel. There's a brief burst of orange and red on the screen, which I register as a fire happening somewhere, which then disappears as Jesse switches over to the next channel. Something about the image looks oddly familiar, though. Hey, Jess, can you switch that back? I call out to her. The news comes back on and suddenly I recognize the building in the frame. It's my building. And it's burning.  Loudly enough that a few people follow my gaze to the television. That's my apartment. The crowd in the bar falls kind of quiet, everybody staring up at the screen now. The screen shows a wide shot of the outside of my building. The camera must be set up on the north end of the block because I recognize a lot of shops on the ground floor. Property management, dry cleaner, convenience, marred, etc. The top left corner of the building is a flame. It's not a huge fire by any means, but it looks like a few units between the top four floors or so have already been engulfed by the flames. Jesus, man, what a my co-worker says.  There's an uncomfortable murmur of agreement that passes around the table. I mean, I don't blame them, I wouldn't know what to say in this situation either. Yup, I agree, just as awkwardly. Thankfully, my apartment is only about halfway up and located on the west side of the building. I cross my fingers hoping my stuff will be okay. The camera cuts to a reporter on the scene. He's standing a little farther away, looking at the shops in the background I can tell he's across the street on the northwest corner of the building. Firefighters are expected on the scene any moment, he's saying, and hopefully they'll be able to contain this horrible inferno before it spreads any farther. As I was saying before, it's very fortunate that everyone was able to evacuate the building before things got too bad, or who knows what tragic events may have unfolded. He's really laying it on thick, my other co-workers joked. I chuckle a bit. All things considered, at the moment, it really didn't seem all that bad. But then, a few moments later, Uh, hang on, the reporter on TV says. We're getting some updated information. It seems, hang on one moment while we readjust the camera. The previously locked down camera starts to shift, the angle focusing on an area of the building about halfway up the west side. All the lights in the building are out, except for one. I feel a weird creeping sensation as I start counting the windows from the bottom. Five up, two over, that's my place. I swore I turned that light out, I think at first. Then I see it. There's a person standing in my window. The camera is zoomed out too far to make out any features, but it definitely looks like a man and it's definitely standing in my apartment. I watch, petrified, as the camera zooms in closer. The reporter babbling on about the overlooked, ill-fated soul still trapped in the blazing such and such. As the image gets closer, I start to make out more details. Another person is dancing, or something. I don't really know how to describe it, but he's moving around a lot, and everything he's doing has this bizarre rhythmic quality to it. He starts waving his arms in the air, back and forth, back and forth, and then he's waving them up and down at his sides. Then he's banging both fists on the glass. Then he's waving his arms over his head again, back and forth. Everything he's doing is to the exact same tempo. One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four. He starts jumping up and down, waving his arms over his head like he's trying to get someone's attention from a long distance, but everything is to the exact same rhythm. Over and over again. One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four.  My voice, a horse whisper. And then the camera gets a little closer, and finally we can make out the person's features. It looks almost exactly like me. It's wearing the exact same clothes that I'm wearing now, clothes I changed into moments before leaving the apartment earlier. Its face looks almost exactly like mine as well, except for its eyes. Its eyes are far too big for a normal person. It also has this almost comical look of horror on its face. I don't even know how to describe it. Imagine if someone were pretending to look scared, but as a joke. It would have almost seemed funny if the circumstances were different, but instead it was just extremely unnerving. No one in the bar is talking now. Everyone is fixed on the TV. The person is still swaying and waving around, beating its hands on the glass or jumping in circles. I almost don't hear the reporter mention the fact that firefighters have rushed into the building and are now heading for my floor. Oh god, I think. Without really understanding what was happening. Please don't go in there. I stare transfixed at the screen. From this angle you can just barely see the top of my front door through the window. Not too far behind where this creature is flailing about. Right now it's holding its face in his hands and shaking its head from side to side as if saying no. Suddenly the door behind it bursts open as presumably the firefighters have entered my apartment. The creature stops moving. For a second I see its expression change. The comical look of horror is gone, replaced by a huge smile filled with enormous pointed teeth. Then the lights go out. We all just sat there, staring at the screen as the camera slowly zoomed out from the now dark window. No one says anything as we all quietly pay our bill and leave. I went directly to my sister's place across town and asked to stay with her. I told her there was a fire in my apartment and that's it. When I tried to find footage from the news online later that night it seemed like they had edited that last part out. I don't know if any of you on the subreddit know what that thing was but I hope they didn't put out that fire.  The children in the town knew better than to cross the old bridge in the park, especially during the evening hours on foggy nights. Even the grown-up stayed clear, knowing that those who dared venture out were doomed never to be seen again. And everyone knows grown-ups are usually pretty naive when it comes to such matters. They had even made an effort to stop people from crossing the bridge by making a gate that closed every day an hour before sundown to block access to the park. The grown-ups seemed so proud of themselves for protecting the little ones and so the children didn't have the heart to tell them that it was a waste of money that are spent buying birthday and Christmas presents. Everyone knew better than to cross the bridge so there was no reason for a gate at all.  Born and raised in the next town over little Eleanor had only recently moved when her parents divorced and her father and new stepmother got full custody of her. Though she fancied the idea that she was just too clever to get along with the other children, the opposite was in fact true. She was nearly as ignorant as a grown-up, constantly questioning things and demanding evidence for every trivial truth. Some of the harsher rumors claimed that she didn't believe in ghosts, aliens, or even the completely inarguable fact that the 4th grade homeroom teacher Mr. Mason was a werewolf demon hybrid from heck who worked for the devil himself.  Even so Eleanor was very prideful.  She persisted. It wasn't long before everyone started avoiding her, fearing that her blatant disrespect of the supernatural made her dangerous and unlucky. At first Eleanor didn't seem to mind too much, as her vanity deluded her into thinking that she was better off alone anyway, since apparently she was just so much more intelligent than all the other children anyway.  The children had heard her say many strange things, but now she had gone too far. Even the grown-ups knew how dangerous the old bridge was. A few of the kinder, more patient ones gave Eleanor a pitiful glance, reminding themselves that she didn't know any better. But while things like Mr. Mason and the sewer clowns were survivable, the old bridge in the park promised at least a bazillion percent chance of never being seen again.  They begged and pleaded with her to drop the subject as she demanded proof, credible sources of information. Some were valiant enough to promise to invite Eleanor to their birthday parties if she'd only promise never to cross the bridge. But stubborn little Eleanor wouldn't listen to reason or bribery. She swore to them that she'd prove that the old bridge was nothing to fear using a hand-me-down video camera she'd received on her ninth birthday.  There was no way to stop her from killing herself without putting some effort into trying.  Eleanor didn't appreciate their efforts. That night Eleanor snuck out of the safety of her home, biked to the park, and struggled over the gate. Tonight was particularly foggy, and it took her longer than expected to get to the old bridge. Apparently, the gate wasn't the only precaution the grown-ups took. They had also changed the paths around so that the only way to get to the old bridge was by following the winding deer paths through the marshy woods. It was eerily quiet. No owls hooted and no crickets chirped. Any reasonable person would have recognized the silence as an omen of horrible tragedy to come, but not a girl who denied even the existence of moon vampires. And only with her reckless self-confidence and a flashlight, Eleanor walked to her own demise. By the time she found the bridge, it was nearly a quarter past ten, widely known in the town, to be the most sinister of times. Obviously, this was true. Why else would the grown-ups rush them to their rooms and demand they sleep until the sunrise promised their safety? Eleanor either willingly ignored the time or just didn't know its significance as she turned on the camera.  She was so self-satisfied that God himself probably considered striking her down with a lightning bolt for being so prideful, but then decided he was better off now wasting his precious time. She lifted her foot to step onto the bridge, but hesitated. As if just for a second, the ignorance clouding her mind had cleared. It wasn't too late to turn back. If she chickened out now, the other children would surely only make fun of her cowardice for a few weeks, and as a bonus she'd not suffer what was most likely a horrible death. After an agonizing 12 seconds of thought, Eleanor put her foot down on the stone of the bridge. When she wasn't immediately exploded into confetti or else were injured, she let out a whoop of celebration and started bragging incessantly to her camera. Meanwhile, God was probably reconsidering his leniency. As she walked on, she prattled onto the camera and bragged about how clever she was. All in all, it took nearly five minutes of self-righteous babbling before Eleanor realized something was amiss. This is a very long bridge, isn't it? Thinking she had misjudged the whiff of the river, Eleanor peeked over the railing only to see there was nothing below her, and it's so foggy I can't see a thing.  Despite her efforts to see the river, the fog made it impossible to find it, but it had to be there, right? And so she continued on, every step making her more and more anxious. At this rate, the camera was going to run out of batteries. Any rational person would have turned tail and run screaming like a banshee that had stepped on a Lego. But again, Eleanor hesitated. She checked the time on the watch she had borrowed from her stepmother as if it would tick out, nope, everything is perfectly normal. Do carry on, in Morse code. This must be broken, surely I have not been walking for a whole 30 minutes. Her panic only rose when she checked to see how long the camera had been recording. Eleanor hadn't pressed the button, and all this time she'd been talking to no one like a complete maniac. Before she had time to swear aloud, her flashlight had the nerve to flicker. Not only had she forgot to record this experience, she'd left her spare batteries at home. Eleanor was in trouble, though she didn't yet realize how much trouble she was in. Even now she thought the worst that would happen is she'd get lost on the way home without any light to guide her way. Her shoulder slumped, and with a pout she turned around to head back before her batteries died completely. She felt almost as done as she was, wandering into the woods so unprepared. This killed the cat, Eleanor supposed, though by killed she actually meant non-lethally inconvenienced. Maybe she'd try again tomorrow night. It felt like three hours passed, but in reality it was closer to two and a half. Eleanor, patron saint of not believing anything without proof, ignored the very real evidence of her stepmother's watch telling her it was nearly one in the morning, unable to control herself anymore. She burst into a sprint and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her, desperate to see the bank of the river. Her flashlight gave out, and so did her confidence. She screamed as loudly as she could and fell into a heap onto the cool stone of the bridge. What was she supposed to do now? Turning back clearly wasn't any good, and seeing as the park was closed there was no one around to hear her pitiful cries for help. And so Eleanor gave up.  Surely, it'd be a waste of energy to do anything more. Hours passed by, slower than maple syrup right out of a too cold fridge. Eleanor did anything she could think of to pass the time, practice multiplication in her head, figure out what she'd tell her father when he found out she'd been out all night wandering the woods. Anything but acknowledged that maybe she never did off this bridge alive. Though instead of fearing monsters, she was still afraid of earthly things like dying of wolves or boredom. To prevent at least one of those things, Eleanor put on her camera, for real this time, and began recording her goodbyes. At the very least, she thought she could delete it if everything turned out alright. As if on cue, a light in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She quickly turned the camera off and got to her feet. Was it the sun already? No, it wasn't the right color, and it was too small. Could it be? Like a moth drawn to a bug-zapper, Eleanor scrambled to her feet and darted for the light. Help me! Hello! The light, or more accurately, the ancient old lady holding the light, responded. Are you lost, little girl? Eleanor slowed to a quick jog, tears of relief swelling in her eyes. No child in the entire world had ever been more happy to see a weird stranger on a bridge. Yes, thank you so much. I was getting worried that I'd never see anyone again. She couldn't yet see that the old woman had no eyes, or that her right arm appeared to be made of solid gold. She didn't see the many rows of bristle-like teeth, or the fingers that seemed to have twice as many bones as they should have. If she had, maybe she'd have stopped herself before running straight into the monster's arms and hugging her close. Please, will you take me home? The monster was taken aback. She'd eaten many children, but this was the first to so quickly give itself up to her. This was very fortunate for Eleanor. If the monster were more focused, she'd have unhinged her jaw and swallowed her whole before Eleanor had the chance to look up and realize she was in mortal danger. With a scream, she threw herself off the monster and back the way she came without even looking back to confirm what she saw was real. Skeptic or not, she was more prepared to face the lonely bridge before facing what seemed to be an actual monster. The old woman regained her wits and let out a cackle before chasing after Eleanor. Don't you want my help anymore? Her feet petter-pattered in such a way that it sounded like she had three sets of feet.  But there's something about being terrified half to death that really gets the adrenaline pumping. Eleanor never listened, but for once it did her some good. Her lungs burned as she took in just enough air to propel her into safety. Though she didn't know it, the other children's carefulness was saving her. The monster was weak enough from hunger that she actually stood a chance of surviving. She was panting too hard to hear that the river was babbling below. Her eyes were too clouded with tears for her to see that the sun was rising and the fog was fading away. The moment the light of mourning reached down to the bridge, the monster let out a horrible screech and quickly scurried down into the river. Eleanor was still running until she was off the bridge and nearly out of the woods. Finally, she slowed to a walk to let her lungs rest. She done it. She survived the old bridge. With a start, Eleanor looked at her camera and nearly sobbed with joy. The whole thing had been recorded. There was concrete proof of the horrible monster and her escaping. Heck, she'd only really screamed the one time so she probably looked pretty brave. The other children would be so impressed with her. Her tearful rejoicing settled into a worried frown. If this was true, then what else? Was Mr. Mason really a demon? Did she really have to worry about sewer clowns and moon vampires and ghosts? Heck, it didn't matter. All that mattered is that she survived. And if she could survive this, she could survive any crazy old thing. Her confidence rose again. No longer was she blind to the world around her. Now she knew better and she'd use her knowledge for good. Where did that bridge monster come from? Apparently it was weak to sunlight and could only live in darkness. Maybe she could destroy it, but she would need help. The other children knew things, but they were too afraid to fight them. It was time for that to change. Things in this town were going to be completely different from now on. Together, they would rid this town of whatever monsters may plague it. Eleanor sprinted off the bridge and through the woods. Looking out into the road leading back home. The truck had seemingly come out of nowhere. Flattening Eleanor before she knew what hit her, literally. And thus, the first child ever to survive crossing the old bridge died.  I'm very worried about my son. More than worried at this point. Terrified, his behavior these past few weeks is not normal. Not healthy. It makes me think there's something wrong. At first, he would just come and stand at the doorway. He did this at night. Just before I'd be ready to fall asleep, I'd roll over to turn off the lamp. And he'd be standing there in the doorway. I used to try to speak to him. I don't do that anymore. He never has answered me. He just stares. A couple of days ago, he graduated from standing in the doorway to coming in and sitting on the bed. He still doesn't speak. I have asked him what he wants. I've asked him if anything is bothering him. It's not like him to be so quiet. He usually waits until my wife is asleep. That's the part that gets me. She always falls asleep before me. And he has never come in when she's awake. But then, she didn't have a hand in this. If something doesn't change soon, I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm starting to think that he knows that I'm the one. So first things first, my name isn't Joe. I'll get to that. Two days ago, I moved into an old Victorian house on the edge of the city. I had gotten an amazing deal due to some type of death having occurred here recently. The realtor didn't want to go into details, but I was fine with that. I wasn't a superstitious man. That might be changing. The house has been great, except for the fact that the lights will flicker from time to time. Last night, they went out completely. I grabbed a flashlight and headed down to the basement. I had been in such a rush to purchase the home at a great price that I realized I didn't even know where the fuse box was. Scanning the basement, I found no sign of it. Then I noticed a wooden closet I hadn't seen before. The thick oak door was locked tightly, but luckily I had a set of keys from the previous owner. After trying a handful of them, the right key clicked into place and I was in business. Opening the door, I saw the fuse box on the wall above an old table. I tried different switches and then suddenly the power came back on. When I pulled the old chain that worked the light bulb above me, what was on the table came into view. It was crowded, but one thing stood out. A dusty Pikachu doll sat staring at me. As I took a step closer, I also noticed a series of papers next to it. Chuckling, I wondered if the previous owners had forgotten the little fella. I wasn't one for Pokemon, but I'll admit this thing and the smile on its face were adorable. Now, this is where things get interesting. As I picked up the series of papers next to the doll, I started to realize that they were letters from the previous owner. What follows is an account of those letters. I'll let you decide what to believe. My name is Joe and I am a doll. It wasn't always like this. I had a life once. I had a middling attractive, somewhat loving wife. I had two children, a boy and a girl. They were pretty good despite the fact that they never cleaned up their toys, shoveled the driveway when it snowed or held the door for old ladies. You get my point though, I haven't always been a doll. I don't remember how I died, but I'm pretty sure someone killed me. After death, not everyone can recall their last moments alive. I'm not sure what happened, but I do remember when my heart stopped beating. I was living life to the fullest one moment, then the next my soul was floating around bumping into everything in the room. Would you even call it a soul? I don't know the correct terminology, but whatever I was, I was weightless and floating. Floating, floating, floating. After a few minutes of cheerfully bouncing off dressers and ceilings, I happened to glance down and notice something strange on the ground below me. There was a dark, perfectly circular hole opening up in the wooden floorboards. The hole was slowly growing in size, I realized, and I watched accurate smoke billow up towards the ceiling.  Suddenly a blinding bright red light poured out from the hole and bathed the room. As I worked to regain my sight, I heard the murmur of voices. I listened as the damned called out to me. Join the damned, you. Join us. Uh, yeah, no thanks, I said, rubbing my eyes and doing my best to navigate away from the red lights and yelling. I've never liked loud noises, especially when they are associated with the screams of the damned. So anyway, at the same time all of this was happening, another strange sight was unfolding as well. I looked out the second floor window and began to watch something miraculous. The clouds began to part, and through the clear blue sky I could see a beam of light start to shine directly down into the room. I looked up through the tunnel and was lost for words. It was so beautiful. Though far away I could see the spirits of my friends and family that had gone before me. Even my dog Barky was up there. Seeing my childhood dog was enough for me, and I knew at that moment where I was meant to go. I pondered what life was going to be like for me now in heaven, quickly running through a list of people I hoped not to see up there, when all of a sudden I began to feel myself float slowly off the floor and towards the light. Well, here goes nothing. I hoped Fred didn't make it to heaven, I thought. When something happened that I should have seen coming, I tripped. One of my loving children had neglected to clean up their toys again, and this time it was going to cost me eternity with Barky. As I began to spin out of control and towards the hellish screams and the hole below, part of me looked forward to explaining to my kids that this time their laziness might literally damn my soul for all eternity. See what happens when you don't pick up your toys?  I looked out and started spinning away from the black hole and towards my daughter's room. Even though I was dead, all this spinning was making me a bit queasy. I was wondering if I was going to throw up ectoplasm or something. Then it happened. I caught a glimpse of the two new dolls my eight-year-old daughter had just blackmailed me into buying her the day before. Looking over at me in the department store, she had calmly stated that if I didn't buy her what she wanted, she would scream for exactly two and a half hours. Maybe it had been the thought of an extra half hour of screaming, but I gave in and succumbed to her demands of terror. The first doll was a strong-looking green Hulk with bulging muscles and a look that he's not to be trifled with. The second was one of those, what do you call them, pokemen? Yeah, I think that's what they are.   Apparently you have to be very careful when floating towards the light, because even the slightest mistake can change your fate for eternity. The next thing I know, I'm awake and staring at the ceiling of my daughter's room. Everything was all just a strange dream, I said, getting to my feet.  And Jesus Christ, that spider over there is humongous. Wait a tick, why is my arm yellow? Now what are the odds that out of all my daughter's things, my soul would happen to bounce into one of those goddamn pokemen. My little legs ran quickly over to the mirror on the wall as I silently prayed that my worst fears weren't going to be realized.  I stood at the mirror and almost blacked out again as I saw what was now my reflection.   Well, I spent the first few hours beginning to come to grips with my new situation. I could move around freely although I had roughly the agility of a teddy bear. My wife and children came home a few hours later to find my body laying on the cold wooden floor. I watched as my children cried earnestly, and I wondered if I had been there for them when they needed me. Oddly enough, my wife Margaret barely even seemed to notice that I was dead. Maybe she's the one that murdered me. I guess time will tell. I stayed with my children in their rooms for the first few months after my death. It wasn't as bad as you'd think, actually. My daughter would hold me close as she went to bed, and my son even played with me sometimes. I can talk for the record, but choose not to. I figure talking to my children will end up one of two ways and both turn out very badly. For now, I'm still figuring out what's best for them. A smiling yellow doll suddenly talking and telling them it's their dead father hasn't seemed like the best idea as of late. I pretend I'm just a doll, and I look after my children the best I can. Sometimes I'll finish a math problem they have or even whisper some advice after a bad day at school. I only do these things as they sleep, of course. Things continued like this for a while, and Jack and Emma are now 9 and 10 years old. I slowly grew to love living in their room, seeing a deeper side to my children that I'd never even noticed when I was alive. I now had a chance to listen to their thoughts and hear them talk about their big dreams and little tragedies from day to day. Now this is where the story really begins. Last night around midnight, I watched as the window slowly creaked open to my children's room, and something came in. I couldn't make it out, but it was taller than a man and its eyes glowed pure white. Before they could scream, the thing waved its clawed hand and my children fell into a deep sleep. It walked over slowly, then paused as it reached the bed. I think it was deciding which one of them to take. After a few dreadful moments, it reached out its long arms and chose Emma. Anger built up inside of me at this evil thing and how helpless I was to stop what was happening. I thought about fighting it, but I'm just a doll, man. This, whatever it was, was some evil creature of the night. In my current state, I didn't have a chance. See that as it may though, I wasn't about to just let it take my daughter. Before the thing could pick her up completely, I quietly stowed myself away in the soft blanket surrounding her. Leaping out the window hastily, the evil thing flew into the night. I could hear the rhythmical flapping of its wings as I clung to my daughter. I was beyond terrified that it would drop Emma, but all I could do was watch. After what seemed like hours, it landed in a dark set of trees and made its way on foot through the thick brush. Trying hard to memorize our route as we went, I watched carefully as we approached a series of caves. I couldn't see in the darkness, but after a few more minutes I felt it lay my daughter on the ground and leave. I have tried waking my daughter, but nothing has seemed to work. She is in a deep, deep slumber. I don't know when this spell is going to wear off and I don't know what it wants, but I don't want to wait around here and find out. Even though I'm just a doll now, Emma is still my daughter. I'm going to save her somehow. I have to try. After a short while of thinking, I knew there was no way around it. I was going to have to speak to her. Maybe then she'd wake up. If it worked, it was going to be interesting trying to explain things to her. I took a deep breath into my little tiny lungs, got closer, and screamed as loudly as I could into her left ear. Probably not the best idea. Emma screamed louder than any little girl has ever screamed, jumping up and curling herself against the wall. Emma. Emma, it's me. It's dad, I said. After a moment I could hear her words reach out to me in the darkness. Dad? Yes, honey, it's me. But before I could continue, she interrupted by walking closer and screaming again at the top of her lungs. Dad, there's something moving on the floor. Well, honey, that's the thing. Now, I was hoping to wait till you were older to have this talk, I replied. Time seemed to stop as she put two and two together. You're Pikachu? She asked to be wielded. No, sweetie, I'm one of them Pokémen, I stated calmly. My daughter continued to stare blankly and I began to fear she was going to fall into a confusion coma or something. Emma, sweetie, I died. And then before daddy could go to heaven, I tripped over one of your toys that I told you to put away and I ended up in this Pokémon doll. And then I stayed with you and your brother and watched over you.  And then I hid myself away to protect you. And then he set you down in a cave. And then I screamed really loudly into your ear. And now you know daddy is a Pokémen. Make sense now? She shook her head. Okay, do you remember the monster that took you out of your bed? Emma nodded yes. Well, honey, he's going to come back, maybe soon. I need to get you out of here, I said. Dad, can I just ask you one more question before we go? I nodded. Why didn't you ever tell me? My heart sank. I didn't want to scare you, I replied, reaching my hand up to grab hers. I watched as my daughter thought it over and then took my hand. Maybe something told her it was me after all. Though it was pitch black in the caves, my current body seemed to provide just enough light for us to see. We silently made our way through what seemed like a labyrinth, hoping that we hadn't made too much noise earlier. Maybe the thing hadn't hurt us after all. I could feel the light breeze of the wind up against me, and I think we were almost near the surface when we heard something. It sounded like the soft crying of a child, maybe a boy. I wanted to keep going, but I felt my daughter tug on my hand. No, dad, we have to go help whoever it is. We can't leave them down here, she whispered. As I stared up at my daughter, I realized she was a far better person than I was. I knew the crying might be a trick, but I also saw courage and determination in her eyes. I would try not to let her down this time. Okay, honey, but let's be careful, it might be a trick, I said. As we followed the sound of the child, suddenly a large cavern opened up in front of us. Under any other circumstance, the site would have been breathtaking. The walls and ceiling all around us were covered with some type of crystals. Every color you could imagine shone in blazed forth. It was beautiful, but we had no time to stop and stare. Had the crystals not lit the cavern, the next step would have been our last.  A narrow bridge made out of the crystals seemed to almost float from our feet to the other side of the cavern. The boy was at the end of the bridge. His crying had stopped as he'd seen us approach, and now the three of us stared at each other. I would never have let my daughter cross something so dangerous, but before I could tell her to stay put, she was halfway across and headed towards the young boy, pushing my fear of bottomless caverns aside. I rushed to catch up to her as we stood together in front of the boy. His hands and feet were bound. As we fumbled with the ropes, he spoke. Who are you guys? He asked. My daughter answered back. Well, I'm Emma, and that's my father now I guess. I waved up at him. Your dad is Pikachu? He asked Emma politely. But before either of us could respond, we heard it. The monster had returned. Looking across the shining bridge, we stared across at the thing that had taken my daughter.  I put myself in between the children and onto the bridge. Stay back. Maybe I can distract it while the two of you run past, I said. I watched as the thing unfolded its wings and began to smile. A row of red teeth far too large for its mouth were illuminated now, and I knew there was no way we could get past the creature. Then, suddenly, I heard the soft voice of my daughter behind me.  You're Pikachu now. I looked back at her. Daddy, you can kill it. Honey, I'm just a doll now. I don't have any real powers. I replied sadly. Emma smiled down at me. You can do it, Dad. I knew it was crazy, but what did we have to lose? Okay, Emma, I'll try. Tell me what to do. The little boy spoke before she could reply. You have to say it, he said. Suddenly the creature unfolded its wings completely and began to hover above the bridge. I could hear the same rhythm of its flapping as it smiled and came closer slowly. Say what? I asked. Emma spoke quietly. You have to say your name. You have to say Pikachu. That's how it works. Pikachu, I asked curiously. No, Dad. You have to mean it when you say it. I looked back over at the creature as it made its way towards my daughter. You have to believe. As I looked from the creature back to my daughter, I felt a tiny flicker of hope. I took a step forward onto the bridge. Something began to change inside me. I could feel the beginning of electricity begin to surge. It seemed to flow through the ground, up into my tiny legs and into my entire body. My eyes began to shine brightly. Pika, the beginning of the spark, Pika. Sparks began to fly all around me now. The creature stopped smiling as my eyes glowed white. Pika. For a moment, I really was Pikachu. Thunder shook the cavern around us and fell down onto the creature. It cried out in agony as electricity made its way through the thing's body. And then it fell. It fell far into the endless cavern below. As it did, the three of us hurried across the bridge and towards the breeze we had felt earlier. We made our way up into the light of day and into a forest of dark green trees. It took us hours and it seemed there was no end in sight when the sound of cars could be heard. A road. I looked back towards Emma and the little boy. I don't think we can tell anyone, I said. Emma stared down at me. What should we say? She asked. I thought for a moment. Tell them the truth about being taken. But never tell anyone about the creature you two saw. Tell them a man kidnapped you, and you never got a good look at him. The two children nodded back at me as the three of us stood together one last time. I reached up to Emma as she took me in her arms. We stepped back into civilization. It turns out that the little boy happened to live a few streets over and the two of them became close friends. I was glad my daughter had someone else who knew what happened. We returned home and I continued to watch over my son and daughter. The only one Emma ever told the truth to was her brother, who actually took me being a Pokémon rather well. Things went like that for a while and then I started to notice a change in myself. Each passing week had made my body weaker and I began to understand that I was dying. First it became harder to walk. Emma was creative and she gave me a large candy cane from the Christmas tree so that I could balance better. It helped for a little while. Then it became harder for me to speak. I wouldn't be able to talk for days at a time and I was unsure when I would lose the ability completely. One night I sat my children down on their beds. I don't know how much longer I'm going to be here. I'm so sorry I wasn't a better father. Don't be sorry, dad. You saved me, Emma said. Seeing back tears and forcing a smile, I could feel the beginning of tears myself as I asked the two of them to help me to a small table. That was the last night we spent together, laughing and playing cards like family. After the two of them fell asleep, I sat down at the tiny desk and thought about all that had happened. Then the lamp went out. We had been having problems with the electricity ever since we got back home. I didn't want to wake the two of them, they needed a rest.  I continued down the basement steps until I found the closet where the fuse box was. Pushing a small step ladder over, I was almost to the top when I felt myself slip and fall into a cardboard box that was wedged out of sight. Hours passed and then days. The fall from the ladder had taken what was left of my strength and I could no longer walk or speak. The hardest thing I've ever been through was hearing my daughter and son cry the next few weeks as they looked desperately for me every night as they searched for their father. But they never found me. After a few weeks of searching, their mother must have decided that they would no longer be able to live in this house. Maybe she thought that the memory of their father passing away here was just too much for them. The house grew quieter. I don't hear any of them anymore. Time continued like it always does. After one night during a storm, I began to feel myself fade away. I could sense myself floating up like I had before and things happened the same way. A bright tunnel of light shone through the wall and up into the sky and a sense of peace made its way through the room. But this time there was no black hole under me and no bright red light. No screams of the damned could be heard. There was just the light. My soul made its way upwards and I was just about to enter the tunnel when something unexpected happened. I bounced off an old water pipe. Not again. Then that's where the letters from Joe, the previous owner, end. I'm not sure if this whole thing was some kind of joke and I wasn't able to get in touch with his daughter Emma to verify the truth of any of what was written. Maybe there's no truth to it at all. But there's just one more thing. Before leaving the closet, I noticed something else I hadn't seen before. A brand new Iron Man doll sitting against the wall on the table. Smiling, I propped open the door and headed back upstairs. My girlfriend had been the first to see it while I had been the first to see her.  I had found her kneeling on a hill between a triangular-like pattern of tall pine trees and digging furiously into the dry dirt. Fresh blood stained her palms, yet she showed no signs of feeling any pain. I reached down quickly, putting my hands on her shoulders and attempting to pull her away. Tara spun backwards and bit the flesh of my hand. As I recoiled in surprise, she turned back and continued digging farther into the earth. I sat down a few feet away, put pressure on the wound and watched in a mix of confusion and dread. We had decided on camping for our anniversary. The two of us were experts, not to be arrogant, but it's the truth. And I knew that we would be able to get ourselves out of any situation two campers could find themselves in. I hadn't expected to find what we did. The trip had started out normally enough, the first spot we found having four vehicles plopped in the parking lot. Now let's go farther, she had said, smiling and kissing me softly on the cheek. I want us to be alone. I smiled back. I wasn't about to argue. We went 30 miles farther north and this time when we arrived at the campground there wasn't a soul in sight. In fact, the place looked almost abandoned. An eerie feel, you know? A dumpster or two knocked over, I assume, from bears and the vines and various brush were starting to creep over the path and take over completely.  When you graduate, you mean if you graduate, Tara had said. I flashed her a sarcastic look but couldn't hold back a smile. As the sun was starting to retreat behind the steady backdrop of mountains surrounding us, we had seen the shape of a snake slither off the side of the path. Tara screamed, running a few yards in the opposite direction. She was as brave a soul as I had ever met but snakes were just not her thing. I called back over to her. Hey, you should have said why did it have to be snakes? I shrugged. She didn't get the reference. Chuckling, I followed the yellow outline closely through the rocks and down onto a cool creek of the clearest water I'd ever seen, or at least I can remember seeing. Personally, I love snakes. After a minute or so went by and no sign of Tara, I looked down at my new friend. Well, it's been fun, but the most beautiful girl in the world says we aren't getting married if I have a snake for a pet. Mr. Snake and I shared a moment as I whispered down towards him. I just want you to know you would have been my first choice. It had taken longer than I would have liked to find Tara once I reached the path again. In those few minutes, I wasn't scared. I mean, not in the traditional sense, but there was something. Dread isn't exactly right, but it's close. Premonition, maybe. That's when I saw her digging furiously between the pine trees, blood starting to cake with the dirt along her arms. She had bitten me, and I watched in horror as she continued. Jesus, why didn't I get up to stop her? A last ray of sunlight found its way through a maze of tall pines and fell onto the black outline. It reflected back up into Tara's eyes, and she immediately began to cry as she fell backwards onto the ground behind her.  I somehow knew what had to be done. As I walked over slowly, she whispered, Don't go. I have to. I interrupted, kneeling down over the object. Tara had dug a little over a foot down into the hard dirt, and a small black mirror reflected back up in me. Besides the debris still covering the outline of its edges, it was in pristine condition, I realized. Without wasting any time, I reached into the pile of dirt next to me and was about to bury it again, when it came into view. Inside the mirror was an old woman sitting in a wooden chair, in what looked to be the exact same spot Tara and I were in now. Three pine trees stood behind her, forming a perfect triangle. Her chair was in the very center. It wasn't exactly like a photo, it was more alive than that. Though she wasn't moving, it seemed as real as anything had before. I was so focused now on the woman that I had forgotten to apply pressure to my hand where Tara had bit me earlier.  I watched as the old woman opened her eyes and looked up at me. Oh my god, what is it Jason? Tara asked, not really wanting to hear the answer. I quickly stepped backwards, the crunching of leaves below me making me all the more uneasy, and I looked into my girlfriend's blue eyes. There's a woman in there. She looked at me. Tara ran over and held me close, staring over my shoulder towards the black glass. Don't look at it, I told her. The sun continued down over the horizon, and I realized it was growing dark far too quickly for my liking. I put my hands on Tara's shoulders and summoned my courage. I think we should break it. Her eyes drifted back towards the object, and a swell of emotion rose and then fell over her face. No. Why not? We're not breaking it, she replied. I looked her over. Then we bury it. I'm burying the thing. Period. And before she could reply, I walked her over to the log and sat her down. Stay here. Seeing how angry she still was, I knelt down in front of her. You have to trust me. The resentment fell away, and she hugged me close. I'm sorry. You're right. Bury it. I nodded, walking back over to the object and covering it up with as much dirt as I could, all the while making sure not to look back down at the woman. Every fiber of my being wanted to, but I resisted. After a few minutes, dirt fully covered it again and rose up an inch or two from the ground, but it wasn't packed tightly, and the thought occurred to me of someone else or some animal digging it up. I grabbed four of the heaviest rocks I could find and set them down on top. There, I said, wiping my brow. Now before it gets dark, we have to get as far away as we can. Tara nodded, and we made our way back towards where we had came from. As we quickly moved down the trail, we made good time, and even after the sun set, our flashlights were strong enough to keep us going at a good pace. Until she felt it. Jason, I need to sit down. Tara said weakly. I sat down with her. I noticed that she looked thinner, almost frail. I think it's my hip. It really hurts. She said, reaching out to hold my hand. I looked around and then back at her. We can't stay here, Tara, I replied, attempting to help her up. Stop, stop. She yelled. I think it's broken. Did you fall or something? I asked. But she hadn't fallen. We just didn't yet understand what was happening. I checked my phone, and luck would have it that I finally had a single bar. When the helicopter arrived, the two of us flew together to the nearest hospital. Tara was taken into emergency surgery for a broken hip, among other things. Her blood pressure had dropped significantly, and she was barely able to speak. Surgery was longer than expected, going on until dawn of the next morning. When we finally saw the surgeon, his eyes focused on Tara's mother. Please come with me for a moment. I stood to come with them, and he motioned towards me. I'm sorry you left to stay here. Only immediate family in. It's okay, her mother insisted. The surgeon nodded and led us into a more private room. Please sit down. Is she okay? Tara's mother asked. She made it through surgery, but he trail off. But what? I replied.  I've... I've never had an operation like this before. He took a deep breath. This isn't a medical diagnosis. But she seems to have aged. Tara's mom and I exchanged a confused look as he continued. I've never seen anything like it. I want to see her. Before he could reply, I continued. I want to see her now. He nodded, and after a moment he rose and led us to the room she had been given. Tara's mother fell back against the wall, and began to scream as she saw her daughter's body. My girlfriend looked over at us. Her face withered and something beyond frail. She looked to have aged a hundred years or more. I rushed over, pushed away the shock the best I could, and held her hand. What's happening, Jason? She asked weakly. It's been five days since that night, and Tara is still alive for now. I've wanted to talk to her. I've wanted to go over the plan I have, but she's only awake for a few minutes at a time before fatigue takes over and she falls into a deep sleep. I think that I have to go back. I think I have to go back to those hills and those pine trees. I think I have to dig it up again. This time when I see it, I'm going to break it. Sometimes when I sit at night in my girlfriend's room and drift off to sleep, I can see that old woman inside the black glass staring back at me. I tell myself that I'm imagining it. I tell myself that it's only a dream. There is something that haunts me, though. When I close my eyes and see her, the old woman staring back at me isn't old at all anymore. She's young. It's all in the eyes. Unknown. It started with small things. Inside jokes between us, I'd find her not remembering. Events from a few years ago she would get wrong, though not entirely. I think her laugh was even different. Lana. Remember when Strider fell into the lake? There was a pause and then she laughed. He was so clumsy. She replied jokingly. But as I remembered back, she had been terrified when our German Shepherd had haphazardly slid off the smooth rock and into the cool waters of Lake Erie in November. The tide had been higher than normal that evening, and he had just assumed he could venture out to his normal spot on the rocks. Wrong. Running out ahead and staring back triumphantly, a small wave had pushed him back just enough. He lost his balance and slid off the side into the waves. Strider had been unable to get back up himself due to just how wet and slippery the edge had been. And after a few terrified seconds, I managed to jump in and lift him back up onto the rocks myself.  I told you the tide was higher today. He could have died. She had yelled. That had been her reaction at the time, but now her response was much more lighthearted. I chalked it up to growing older. People change, right? Lana was no different. Maybe looking back, she could find humor in it now. Still, I couldn't help but feel that my wife wasn't the same person. And though part of me didn't want to push the issue, I found the nagging thought of her being someone else entirely burrowing its way deeper into my mind. And things only got worse. A few weeks ago, the color of her eyes changed from dark brown to a mix of green and silver. They almost shined.  What's wrong? She asked, standing up to examine herself in the mirror. Oh, that's just from the medication, Dom. She stated, falling back into bed and wrapping her arms tightly around me. I'm so glad I'm here with you. She continued. Hiding a sudden feeling of terror, I hugged her back and pretended everything was okay. But I don't think people's eyes just change color. Ever. Even due to medication. Over the next few weeks, I figured out something I wish I hadn't. The farther back in time I referenced, the more sketchy her memory became. Now, I know what you're thinking, that makes sense.  Dementia or Alzheimer's came to mind, but I've read that typically those patients suffer from short-term memory loss first. Their long-term memory is intact, at least until the later stages. Last night, I confirmed my doubts, catching Lana in a lie about her stepfather. You think George would want the old pickup? I could sell it for cheap. A moment or two passed as she thought it over. Yeah, I think you might, she replied, smiling warmly and hugging me even tighter than before. I'm so glad I'm here with you, she said again. Unwrapping her hands and standing up quickly, my eyes never left hers. Your stepfather, George, has been dead since you were 12 years old, Lana. She began to slowly laugh. So help me God, she laughed. I guess I knew you'd figure it out eventually. Your wife, Lana, has been dead for seven months. Fear gripped me, and I knew her words were true. Running now to the door, her voice behind me became more frantic. But it was too late. I was down the steps and running into the pantry. I was planning to grab my phone. I was planning to grab the keys. I was planning to stop right there, the menacing voice said. Somehow in my frenzied state, I hadn't noticed two tall, dark-haired men standing just inside the back door. They both carried a hand gun, and my sudden entrance hadn't surprised them at all. Where are the photos? The man in charge asked. What? What photos?  He whipped the pistol across my forehead. Nearly passing out from the pain, my eyes began to sting as the red washed across my brows and began to drip down onto the linoleum floor below me. I stared up at the two men. Who are you? The younger man kept his eyes on me, but spoke to the man in charge. Maybe he doesn't know. I could only stare up in confusion as the two men discussed what to do next, then continued. A few months ago, your wife saw something she shouldn't have. She must have told you. The man in charge examined my face. Laughing was all I could do to keep it together at this point.  His eyes became more serious as he walked over and set the tip of the gun against my temple. We want the photos. I don't have your photos. An idea occurred to me. Maybe you should ask my wife. The tall man grinned. We did ask her. He replied with a hint of satisfaction. Right before we buried her. A moment passed between us and the younger man pointed the gun back towards me. He doesn't know anything. Let's kill him. We can start the house after. No. The tall man interrupted. Too loud. Use a blade. He said calmly. Handing his partner the largest of knives from the rack hanging above the kitchen island. But before he could step forward to finish the job, the younger man dropped the knife and began to scream like a child. The once dark kitchen was now filled with a blinding silver. And something behind me began to growl. The two men's faces quickly started to burn the color silver. Their screams echoing throughout the house. Shoot her. One of them yelled as red hot silver began to drip from his cheeks. A hail of bullets flew across and towards the figure behind me. And then the scream stopped. The only remainder of the men being two distinct piles of pure silver. The nauseating fumes nearly caused me to pass out. But somehow I managed to stand. Using what was left of my strength, I walked over and sat down next to the body of my wife Lana. At least one of the bullets had lodged into her chest. She was still breathing. Looking into the silver eyes that had once seen cold, I now saw a warmth and love in them. Holding her hand, I had to ask, Who are you? There was sadness then. Don't you remember? I'm your guardian angel. Putting pressure on the wound, I could feel the beginning of tears as the soft words filled the air and the silver glow in her eyes began to dim. It was so nice being here with you. Four years ago, Julia Gray was murdered. They never found her body. I was new to the Bay Area when she went missing, just having moved from New York. Though I will admit my family is wealthy, I insisted on making my own way. That stubbornness pushed me to buy an old sailboat that needed work. And though I was told by my sister that it was the worst decision I've ever made, when I looked at the 30-foot sailboat with a clear blue line across the side, I knew there was no coming back. I've lived on the boat since I've moved here and I pay far less than almost anyone in the area. Around the time when I heard the news of the young woman gone missing, I started to learn how to sail. The first time was terrifying, I'll admit, as I had no idea what I was doing and my boat was not yet in proper condition. I nearly crashed into the rocks lining the marina before the luck of the wind somehow pushed me out towards the bay. If you're old enough to have learned to drive, maybe you can understand the experience. When you first operate the controls of a boat, you have no idea how it's going to tilt and turn and go. You have to just take a deep breath and see what you're really made of. I think Kurt Russell said it best. The best way to find out is to get her out on the ocean. If anything is going to happen, it's going to happen out there. True words were never spoken. Well, I survived my first trip on the boat. In fact, over the next few months I did indeed learn to sail. Sometimes I would get into jams when a wind would pick up out of nowhere. Sometimes a basic failure that I couldn't yet solve would cut the engine out. But I learned as I went and it began to seem like the wind was always on my side. It was always there to get me home. The night Julia's ghost visited me began like any other, except for the storm. My god, what a storm. Even though the harbor and breakwall around the marina are there to protect you from the weather, this night they couldn't stop what was coming. The tide was higher than I'd ever seen it and each howl of the wind brought huge waves of dark water over the wall. I drank two beers hoping that I could sleep through the howling and somehow I did. I slept for a time until something woke me up. I could feel the space was colder than before and notice the wind had gotten even more fierce. I worried the lines holding my boat to shore had loosened in the storm as I threw my feet off the bed and opened my eyes. What I saw was horrifying. I stared through the passageway that led to the outside door and saw a figure standing in the next room over. I always left a single light on and it brought just enough light to see her shape clearly. The hatch had been opened and her dark hair blew in the wind that the storm had brought with it. Her white dress seemed to glow in the light, yet I couldn't see her face. All I could think of was to close my bedroom door and wait it out until the morning. As luck would have it, when I opened the door the next morning, the girl was gone, but not forever. She would appear inside my boat the next four nights.  I even tried talking to her, but she never said a word. She wouldn't answer at all when I spoke to her. It almost seemed to make her more angry, actually. I stopped trying to talk to her after that. Then one night as Julia sat on the step inside my boat, I made a mistake. When I stood up from bed and took a step closer, I accidentally shot off the lamp that I left on every night. In an instant, all light was gone from the room, and in that same moment, I heard her scream. It took me a few moments to finally locate the switch again in the blackness. But when I did, the girl was gone. Pausing for a moment, I grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down at my kitchen table. It made sense. From that night forward, I would make sure all the lights were off when I went to bed, and God's honest truth, Julia, never came back inside. That night, I slept better than I had in years. The next day, I woke up smiling and I decided to call in Sip to med school. I deserved it after all. And I felt like fishing. Maybe I'd even find a good spot. In fact, I knew the perfect spot. That morning, I motored out of the marina and into the wind. I cast both anchors, one in the front and one in the back. Pulling out my fishing rod and getting comfortable, I stared down into the water below. Julia Gray. I looked down farther into the deep blue water around me, and I swore for a moment that I saw the exact spot where I had dumped her body four years earlier. Yeah, this was the spot. Julia Gray. It made sense that she would be afraid of the darkness. Darkness was all she would ever see again. Part 2 I was living in New York and had just begun my first year of residency when my life changed forever. Working as a surgical resident was extremely demanding. We were on call between 60 and 80 hours a week. There was no time for a social life or any kind of life for that matter outside of work. Then, one sunny Tuesday afternoon, I was eating lunch in the hospital atrium when Julia asked me if she could join me. Julia was one of those girls you don't say no to. She was smart, funny, and drop-dead gorgeous. She always had an air of flirtatious mischief about her. Julia worked as a nurse's aide, mainly in the Children's Cancer Ward. She had this great ability to get the kids laughing. Julia joined me for lunch and we ended up talking for two hours, at the end of which I asked her on a date. Perhaps, she said, smiling. Then she handed me her number. I called the next day and we made our plans. It was six days until I had a free night, the longest six days of my life, and I needed to do a preoperative check on one of the patients in the Children's Cancer Ward. Hoping to run across Julia, I surveyed the room before walking over to my patient Clara. Clara was a very serious eight-year-old. I asked her a list of questions, then we just talked for a while. Before leaving, I asked if she was nervous about the surgery. She said no, then paused and looked me straight in the eyes. You like her, don't you? Before I could answer, she continued. She's not nice. She pretends to be nice, but she's not. Just then, I heard the door swing open and I saw Julia stride in smiling and holding a giant cluster of balloons. She tied one to each bed while she continued laughing and talking. Clara watched silently. Saturday finally arrived. I made some suggestions for plans, but Julia said she preferred spontaneity. We spent the entire day together just wandering around the city and we both agreed that we'd never had so much fun doing nothing. Only one thing marred an otherwise perfect day. I had a dog, a golden retriever named Casey, and I told Julia that I needed to stop at my apartment to let him out. Now, ordinarily, after I walked up the three flights of stairs and unlocked my apartment door, I would grab the leash and Casey would race past me down to the ground floor. But today, standing in my doorway with Julia, I found Casey had stopped mid-room. He sat frozen, staring at us. I grabbed his leash and called for him, but he backed up into the kitchen and refused to budge. Julia turned her head towards me. Maybe he doesn't like strangers. I'll just wait outside. No problem. Casey didn't relax until I heard the downstairs entry door open and then shut. Looking back now, I should have known. Hindsight is 20-20 red. Our second day turned out to be our last. I had the day off, so the two of us decided to spend it hiking in the mountains. It was a beautiful day and we had just reached the top of a climb that ended in a sheer drop of at least a few hundred feet. Without warning, Julia stepped over to the edge and looked over at me. If I jump, you jump, right? What? Julia moved forward until the tip of her shoes hung out over the edge. I grabbed her arm, but she pulled away from me, leaning out farther over the precipice. Yanking her back hard, she fell into my arms and looked up at me. I knew you'd save me, she said.  I said, grabbing her arm and pulling her back down the path until we were far away from the edge. We barely spoke on the hike back down and we drove back to her apartment in silence. Before going in, she looked at me seriously. You know we're meant to be together, right? Julia, we hardly know each other, I replied, slamming the car door. She walked into her house, now looking back. I had a very busy schedule and didn't see Julia again the rest of the week. Saturday night, arriving home from the late shift, I found a package waiting for me at my doorstep. The return address was from my mom. I took Casey for a quick walk then had some dinner before sitting down to open the box. Smiling, I pulled out a squeaky toy in the shape of a squirrel and a rawhide dog bone. It's for you, but, I said, sitting the box on the floor. After a long night, I quickly fell asleep on the couch. A short while later, I awoke to the sound of crying. Casey had thrown up on the carpet and was whining softly. I spent several minutes trying to calm him down, but his cries grew louder and more urgent. I carried him to the car and drove to the animal hospital. Two hours later, he was dead. My mom hadn't sent any package, nor had my father or sister, and I had what was left of the rawhide bone tested for toxins. The test came back positive for rat poison. I didn't say a word the next day when I went into work at the hospital, just wanting to be left alone. I had my suspicions of who did it, but I needed more evidence. Before I could gather any, I was called into my superior's office. Sit down, please. I think you know what we called you in here. Actually, sir, I have no idea. I replied softly. Well, this morning, one of the other workers filed a harassment charge against you. They said you assaulted them. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I'm sorry, but we're going to have to suspend you until we finish the investigation. In a state of shock, I emptied my locker and headed down the hall. As I made my way towards the exit, I saw Julia. The entire left side of her face was covered in dark bruises. As I left the building, she gave me a smile. If this was the last thing that happened, maybe I could have found a way to go on with my life. But Julia wasn't finished with me at part three. Some people need to be killed, but make sure you plan carefully or they might get you first and make sure there are no illnesses. I spent a sleepless night in my empty apartment with nothing to do but think. I knew that if I could speak to my supervisor alone, I would have a better chance of telling him my side of the story. So I called and asked to come in. He said he had meetings all day, but I could come in the evening at eight o'clock. It was Julia's day off, so there would be no chance of running into her. Thank God. Our meeting came and went, and I found myself sitting in my car in the hospital parking wondering how my life had been utterly destroyed in less than a week's time. It came down to this.  I sat there in my darkened car for over an hour, trying to figure some way out of this when I noticed a car pull in. The car looked a lot like Julia's. A woman who looked a lot like Julia got out and walked to the back door by the children's ward. She went inside. I followed. Getting inside the locked hospital without a key card was a problem, but I knew that Carl on the janitorial staff always propped open the door in the basement stairwell to have a smoke. Lucky for me he was a chain smoker. I offered him 50 bucks to come with me for 10 minutes in case I needed a witness. He nodded. Quickly and quietly, we headed for the children's cancer ward. Stopping just shy of the glass double doors, we slowly looked inside. All of the children were asleep, but in the softly lit room I could see Julia standing perfectly still. She was looking down at Clara. Julia looked like she was carved in stone. She didn't even appear to be breathing. Christ, I heard Carl whisper. That's creepy. I was reaching forward to push open the door when Carl grabbed my arm. No, so just call the cops on you. I'll do it. I could say one of the kids threw up and I have to mop the floor. I looked over at him quickly. Okay, but go now. Standing to the side, I let Carl pass through the doors. As they spoke, I could hear Julia heading towards me, so I ducked into the closet across the hall. I listened as the soft clicking of her heels headed towards the exit and outside. Once she was out, I exited the closet and walked back into the children's ward. Carl, can you post yourself outside the door tonight? Clara's mom gets here every morning at 7am, so she'll be safe after that. But what abo