I always hated hallways, but after today, I never want to enter any of them ever again.

What happened tonight scared me beyond anything and twisted some of my sweetest childhood memories into a nightmare.

When I was little, I lived in an old farmhouse with the rest of my family. My grandparents had been farmers their whole life, but when I was born, they’d already retired.

The farmhouse was huge, more than thirty meters in length. When I was little, I used to sleep in my mom’s bedroom. Once I was a bit older, though, I got my own room. I loved it. It was big, had a couch, a bed and all my toys were there.

There was one problem with the room though: It was located in the middle of the building.

To go anywhere, I had to follow a long hallway that led through the whole building. This was fine during daytime since large windows on both ends allowed the sunlight to enter.

At night, however, this hallway became my own personal hell. It was creepy, and both sides ended in nothing but darkness. The worst was the light switches. They were located on either end of the hallway, where stairways connected it to the ground floor.

Whenever I had to go to the toilet at night, I had to walk down the hallway for about ten meters. What made it even worse, was that the farmhouse was more than a century old. Noises were a common thing. The creaking of old beams or the floor boards, often made me shake in fear.

It was terrible, and walking those ten meters at night was the worst part of my young life.

Whenever I had to go, I’d open the door of my room all the way to illuminate the hallway. It didn’t help much. The only thing it did was to fill it with long shadows and to transform the small cupboards into lurking monsters.

I had a savior though, my grandma.

My grandparents had their own bedroom a few doors up the hallway. After one of my nightly visits, I’d told them all about my fears. I’d complained about how afraid I was to go to the toilet at night. All they said was, ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of, it’s all in your head.’

When I had to go the next night again, I saw a dark silhouette at the end of the hallway. I’d have screamed had I not heard the familiar voice of my grandma.

She told me everything would be fine, but pleaded me to close the door. The bright light wasn’t good for her old eyes. Once I’d done that I heard her walk towards me. She said all this would be our little secret. No one had to know that she was here. If I were quiet about it, everyone would think I’d overcome my fears all by myself.

It was only natural that I took her advice. I was a child, after all. When she held out her hand in the dark, I grabbed it. Then she walked me to the toilet, waited for me to be done, and we returned back to my room.

Before she went back to hers, she’d always ask me if I wanted to come along and sleep in her bed. Each night she’d ask me this same question.

By then, I thought of myself a big boy. I told her, I could handle the darkness of the night all by myself and went back to my own room. At times I would look after her though, as she vanished into the darkness. Occasionally she’d repeat her invitation even after I couldn’t see her anymore.

I’d have to lie if I said it was never tempting. Yet, I never went after her.

The first few months I’d dreaded nothing more than to go to the toilet at night. I hate that dark hallway and even this new room. Once grandma was there, though, things got better.

The only thing I was a bit perplexed about was that grandma always knew when I had to go to the toilet. Did she hear all the ruckus I made when I got up and walked to the door? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was always there.

The whole thing continued till mom, and I moved to the city.

That last year, holding hands with grandma felt a bit weird. I was already eleven years old at the time. I might have even told her that she didn’t have to do it anymore. Yet, deep down, I was happy that she was still there. I knew that without her, I’d be scared to death.

I’m now twenty-four years old. I’ve never been back in this house much. Mom and I only used to visit my grandparent’s during the holidays. Even then, we could never stay overnight, because mom was so busy with her work.

Grandma died when I was sixteen years old, and my grandpa died three years ago. After that, mom moved back into the old house. By that time, she was self-employed, so things didn’t change much for her, and I was already in college.

At the moment I’m taking a little break from my studies. I decided it would be an excellent idea to visit mom and to spend some time at my childhood home. It’s the first time I’m back here for more than an afternoon.

When we’d moved, we had left most of the old furniture behind. I was amazed when I saw that my old room was still in the same state. Mom was about to prepare the guest room for me, but I decided to stay right here.

After she had gone to bed, I decided to browse the internet for a bit. At one point, though, I had to go to the toilet.

“Great, time to relive some old memories,” I said to myself.

I knew mom hadn’t bothered to put up new light switches or even a lamp for that matter.

Well, I wasn’t a kid anymore. I got up, opened the door, and carefully peeked outside like I’d always used to.

At the end of the hallway, I saw a familiar dark figure.

Only now, as an adult, did I realize how tall, almost towering the shape was. It filled out the entire hallway. At the same time, it seemed to be hunched over, leaning forward in my direction. I saw long, dangling arms that stretched from the top of the figure almost down to the floor.

As a little kid, it must’ve seemed reasonable that grandma was taller than me and that her arms were so much longer than mine.

As I stared at the figure, one of its impossibly long arms reached out to me. It ended in a bony hand so large, it would easily enclose mine. Then I heard a somewhat distorted, almost giggling version of my grandma’s voice:

“Everything is going to be fine, my dear, little boy.”

Over two decades ago, when I was ten years old, I saw Alexander the Magnificent’s Magnificent Puppet Show. What happened back then still haunts me to this day.

It was summer break, and I was as typical as a ten-year-old boy could’ve been. Ever since I was in second grade, I spent many of the warm summer months at my friend Martin’s house. We were in the same grade, but he was almost a year older than me. He was my best friend and you could say I was looking up to him a little. Well, not just a little, if I’m honest.

Martin was the popular type and had many friends in town. I on the other hand was a shy, reserved type. His friends, most of which I knew from school, accepted me well enough, but I still felt I didn’t belong to their group.

We spent most of our days on the town’s vast soccer field.

It was there that we first noticed Little Tony. The small boy, who couldn’t have been older than six, was eying us from afar curiously.

It took him a while to approach us and it was already evening when he asked if he could play with us. We all laughed at the little, awkward boy, but eventually, we let him join us.

While we played, Little Tony would go on and on about how amazing his dad was.

“My dad is the best dad in the world!” he’d say smiling brightly or “No one’s as amazing as my dad!”

It was comical, to be honest, and even as a ten-year-old, I found his behavior erratic.

“What about your mom? Is she awesome too?” one of the others teased him.

Little Tony shook his head, but his smile didn’t waver.

Then, out of nowhere, he stopped and raised his arms to get our attention.

“Why don’t we all go to my place? My dad’s cool and I have all the toys in the world and we can play together and hang out and have fun!”

He babbled on like this, but soon our attention turned back to our game. We didn’t care about his toys or his dad for that matter.

Right at this point, he said something different though.

“Oh,” he exclaimed suddenly, “you could watch the puppet show!”

I stopped in my track and turned towards him. Others did the same thing.

“What puppet show?”

“My dad’s puppet show,” he answered matter-of-factly.

Little Tony kept talking about it and we learned that his father was a famous puppeteer. He’d come to our small town to perform his puppet show. If we came with him now, we could watch his rehearsal of tomorrow’s show. He said his dad was known far and wide and was one of the best puppeteers in the whole wide world.

We were sure he was exaggerating, but the prospect of getting to see a free puppet show convinced us in the end.

Puppet shows were popular in the area I’m from. You could say they are an enormous part of our cultural landscape. Most of the kids in the area grew up watching them and loved them ever since. There were many types. Some were more tailored to adults. Others told adventurous tales and local legends to the delight of children.

Some of Martin’s older friends rolled their eyes, pretending not to care, but I could tell they were as excited about it as I was.

So soon enough we all joined in and went on our way, Little Tony in the lead.

Unfortunately, the small boy didn’t have a bike, so we were forced to walk and push our bikes along with us.

His father stayed at a small, old cottage outside of town. I think these cottages were once a popular holiday attraction aimed at city folks. Even when I was a kid though, many of them were in disuse and some of them were run down or completely abandoned.

There weren’t just the two of them though, Little Tony said, there were all his siblings, so it was never boring.

The walk there was annoying enough, but Little Tony made it even worse. He kept going on and on about his dad and how great the puppet show would be. It got on my nerves, and many others seemed as annoyed as I was. No matter how often we told him to be quiet though, he rambled on, almost mechanically.

The moment we made it to the cottage, a middle-aged man sprouting the biggest mustache I’d ever seen welcomed us. He ignored Little Tony, who walked on, past his father without so much as saying a word.

The man introduced himself as Alexander the Magnificent. With his flaming red robes and his black cylinder, he gave off the impression of a magician and not a puppeteer.

“Ah, I bet you’re here to see the puppet show,” he said in a loud booming voice and snapped his fingers. A tiny firework shot out from between them. We were all impressed by this.

From a distance, we could see a few other kids, which we assumed to be Little Tony’s siblings. None of them gave us any attention as Alexander let us to an enormous stage next to the small cottage he lived in.

We all oohed and aahed when we saw the impressive construction. He spread out his arms in a grand gesture and pointed at a row of seats in front of it.

“The show will begin in but a few moments, my dear guests,” he said in the same booming voice.

He bowed again before he hurried towards the stage.

As we waited for the show to begin, we noticed that the sun had started setting. One of the younger kids in our group complained. It was late, and he had to get home or he’d be in trouble with his parents. Peer pressure is a powerful thing, especially between kids, so it took only a few words to shut him up.

It wasn’t long before the curtains opened. Pompous music played, and light flooded the stage.

Alexander stepped forward to greet us again.

“Welcome to Alexander the Magnificent’s Magnificent Puppet Show, the most amazing puppet show in the whole wide world! You will see and experience unbelievable things tonight!”

The man’s entire demeanor was one of pomp and grandeur and again I couldn’t imagine him to be a puppeteer.

He threw his head back, lifted his arms high into the air, and once more fireworks went off above him. The curtains fell shut again and a moment later the music cut out.

For a few seconds, everything was quiet before a happy and fun melody started to play.

When the curtains opened again, the stage’s background had changed. There was now a canvas showing a green hill with a tiny house on it.

“There was once a boy named Jack,” Alexander narrated.

I was psyched to see the puppets, squirming on my chair, but to my surprise, a little boy around my age entered the stage. This was supposed to be a puppet show, right? Weird, I thought, but kept watching.

The little boy made his way to the center of the stage and I noticed right away how weird and stiff his movements were.

“Jack wanted nothing more than to marry Jane.”

With that, a little girl entered from the other side of the stage. She almost skipped to the middle, but her way of moving was similarly stiff.

“When Jack told her though,” Alexander continued in a tragic tone. “Jane wasn’t interested.”

On the stage, the little boy moved towards the girl, but she shook her head and turned away from him. The little boy gasped before he turned to the audience, an expression of misery on his face.

“Now what could Jack do to get Jane’s attention? Could he win her heart over with a present?”

The little boy looked around before he plucked a flower from the scenery and gave it to the little girl. She looked at it before she shook her head again and threw the flower away.

The boy reacted in abject misery again.

The entire ordeal repeated for a few more times, getting more comical as it went on.

“Finally,” Alexander narrated, “our hero Jack set out on an adventure to find a present worthy of her love.”

With that, the first act ended, and the curtains fell shut.

I wasn’t the only one who’d enjoyed the show so far. Some other kids seemed to be as excited as me. Martin and two of his older friends seemed to be bored, rolling their eyes at the play, and I was embarrassed about my excitement.

It was only a minute before the curtain opened again. Eerie music was playing, and the scenery had changed to that of a dark forest.

“Jack had traveled far and wide, but eventually he found himself trapped in a thick, old forest.”

With that, the little boy entered the stage again.

“He didn’t know,” Alexander said in a gloomy, foreboding voice, “that he was being watched the entire time.”

At this point, I made out the lurking ominous figures behind some trees on stage. The music got creepier and now all of us were hooked. As if on cue, the sun behind us vanished and twilight arrived.

First, the lurking figures only watched the boy, but soon they reached out for him and followed him from tree to tree. Finally, one of them jumped out and landed right in front of him. It was another little boy, dressed up as a wolf.

I looked up, but not in shock at the wolf’s sudden appearance. The way he’d jumped out had been unnatural. It wasn’t so much a jump, but it seemed more as if he’d been yanked forward. It reminded me of a puppet being moved on strings and as I watched him I noticed he was moving in the same stiff manner.

I looked over to my friends, but it seemed I was the only one who’d noticed or was bothered by it. I wanted to say something to Martin next to me, but I was too afraid he’d be mad at me for something as silly as that.

As the act went on, it was revealed that all the lurking figures were forest animals. One after another they jumped out from behind the trees and soon the boy was captured and brought to the king of animals.

The king was a bizarre mixture of various animals. He was covered in a mixture of fur and feathers and mighty antlers seemed to protrude from his head.

“The king of animals demanded to know what brought Jack to their forest.”

“Jack, courageously, told him he was out to seek a present for the one he loved.”

“The king thought about Jack’s word for a moment before he made him an offer. If Jack was to help them get rid of the evil hunters, he’d reward him with a magic crystal. A crystal that would grant him anything he desired.”

The little boy nodded a few times and soon enough he went on his way with some animals in tow.

With that the curtains fell, and the second act ended.

The third act was set at the edge of the forest. The boy and his new animal friends were hiding between a few trees on the right side of the stage.

In the center, three figures, dressed up as hunters, set around a campfire.

“Finally our hero Jack and his friends found the evil hunters!”

As the boy and the animals watched, the three hunters laid down to sleep. Soon after, the boy and the animals set out into their direction.

Alexander’s voice became a whisper and the music too turned quiet, becoming almost inaudible.

“They inched closer and closer, but the hunters were not only evil, they were also prepared.”

With that one of the animals was caught in a trap and in an instant, the three hunters jumped back to their feet.

The music turned into a loud crescendo as a battle emerged on the stage.

It was portrayed in an over the top, comical way. The animals clawed and bit the hunters, who in turn beat them with their clubs.

They all moved in the same stiff way, making the entire battle look unnatural. What was even weirder were the sounds. When the kids hit each other, the sounds were too loud, almost wooden, reminding me of old superhero movies. My friends laughed at the goofiness of it all, but I sat there awkwardly.

Soon the first hunter fell to the ground. He didn’t stagger, he just went limp and crashed to the floor, his arms and legs spread out in weird angles. The same happened to other participants who were defeated. All of them fell to the ground in a way that reminded me of real puppets being dropped to the floor. It was bizarre and even as a kid, I realized something was wrong about this situation.

I looked away from the ruckus on the stage for a moment, my eyes wandering upwards. There he was. Alexander was atop the stage, leaning over it as a puppeteer would. As the battle on the stage raged on, I could see his hands moving frantically, as if he was a real puppeteer.

Had he been up there the entire time?

As I watched, I didn’t understand what he was doing. Was he pretending to be a real puppeteer to make it seem like this was an actual puppet show? Was this why all the kids moved in this stiff, wooden way?

It was such a strange idea.

And then I saw something shimmering in the air. I could only make them out for a moment, the countless strings that came from Alexander’s hands, and were connected to the kids on stage. I saw how he moved two of his fingers upwards and the boy jumped, no was yanked forward, to attack the last of the hunters.

When the hunter dropped to the floor, the strings were already gone, invisible to my eyes yet again.

I didn’t understand what I’d seen. I poked Martin next to me again and again to get his attention, but his eyes stayed on the stage before he finally glared at me.

“What’s your problem?” he demanded.

“Something’s wrong! He’s controlling them,” I tried to explain, but broke up when Alexander’s loud thunderous voice announced the end of the act. When I pointed to the top of the stage however, the curtain had already fallen and the man was nowhere to be seen.

Martin turned away again, calling me a weirdo, and I was left sitting there, confused.

As the fourth act started I saw him up there again, moving and weaving his hands through the air to move the kids on stage. I poked Martin again, but instead of turning to me, he poked me back. Finally, I yanked at his arm and pointed to the top of the stage.

“Look!” I whispered into his ear.

Martin tried to shake me off before he saw the man up there. He watched him for a second before he glared at me once more.

“What’s your problem? Stop being so weird!”

With that, he yanked his arm free and before I could continue talking to him Little Tony walked up to me.

“Isn’t the show just the greatest thing ever?”

I tried to ignore him, telling him to get lost, but he’d stay right where he was, all the while smiling at me.

“I can’t wait for the ending,” he went on.

“I don’t care about the ending!” I shushed him and tried Martin to listen to me again, but Little Tony wouldn’t leave me alone.

“It’s the best part of the play. I’m so excited!” he chirped on.

“Leave me alone,” I yelled back at him once more.

“Martin,” I started, but he shushed me to keep quiet and soon a few of his friends joined in.

I hate to say it, but I was never one to put up a fight.

So I sat there and turned back to the stage. I saw that the little boy was back on his way home, the magical crystal in hand.

The back of the stage was moving as he walked on, changing from the forest to a grassy plain before he returned to the green hill. I noticed that the tiny house on the mountain was now destroyed. The little boy looked around before he found another kid, dressed as an old man, lying on the floor.

Alexander began narrating the end of the play.

“The moment Jack returned home, he learned from the old man that the hunters had been protecting the village. Now that they were gone, the wild animals had eaten all the villagers, leaving only the old man to tell the tale.”

The boy on the stage started crying, but then he looked at the crystal in his hand.

“So Jack held up the magical crystal, whispering his solitary wish. ‘I wish everyone was brought back to life.’ There was one thing the crystal couldn’t do though, it could never bring the dead back to life. And so Jack learned that he’d been tricked, had been used by the animals and become nothing but their puppet.”

With that, the curtains closed and fireworks went off once more. The so-called puppet show was over.

On the stage, the curtain opened again and all the kids were there. The boy named Jack, the girl named Jane, the animals, the hunters and the old man. On top of the stage, a light went on, and finally, everyone could make out Alexander.

The kids on stage all came forward and bowed to the audience, moving in the same wooden way.

My eyes went up to Alexander’s hands. I’d hoped they’d be resting on top of the stage, that what I’d seen before had been nothing but my imagination.

But it wasn’t.

Moving his hands gracefully, he controlled every one of the kids and once more the shimmering threads were visible. Martin was watching it now too and I could see that he didn’t understand what he was seeing either. I saw another one of my friends raise his arm, pointing at Alexander.

Finally, all the kids bowed for the last time. Two of my friends were clapping excitedly, some only a little, unnerved by what they’d seen.

Martin and I were quiet. By now I wanted nothing more but to get out of there.

“Let’s go,” I whispered to Martin who seemed to be frozen in his seat next to me. Before he could answer Alexander spoke up again.

“Well, it seems some of you,” he started, eying me and Martin, “didn’t quite enjoy our little puppet show. This makes me very sad because we performed it just for you. Perhaps some of you are interested in giving us a little feedback? Or maybe,” he paused, his mouth twisting into a grin, “would like to join us and help improve it?”

I started shaking my head vehemently.

“I just want to go home,” I mumbled.

“You should join. It’s so much fun!” he piped up.

All the kids on stage were just standing there, their heads resting on their chests and their arms hanging at their sides.

Alexander laughed.

“It seems we have to insist.”

And right then he yanked his hands upwards and the kids on stage sprang to life again. With another jerk of his hands, they all jumped from the stage in unison, landing right in front of us. As they took another leap towards us, I stumbled over my chair screaming in terror. I got back up, turned away from them, and ran. After only a few meters though, my arm was caught, and I was yanked backward. I crashed to the ground and saw Little Tony hanging on to it. He was still smiling as he held on to me with an iron grip.

“You can’t leave yet,” he said in his happy little voice.

I tried to yank my arm free, but that didn’t do a thing. All it did was to make his grip tighten and his smile going ever brighter.

As I watched, I saw that the other kids had reached my friends now.

I struggled against Little Tony’s grip, tried to get free, but to no avail.

Finally, in a sudden flash of inspiration, I raised my arm above the little boy’s head. Even if I couldn’t see them, I felt the invisible strings. I yanked at them as hard as I could and felt them snap. Little Tony’s body became powerless in an instant.

What happened next though still makes me shudder in utter despair.

Do you know what happens when you remove the strings from a wooden puppet? It falls apart. That’s what happened with Little Tony.

His arms and legs fell off his torso and his little head rolled a few feet away. There was no blood, no wounds. His body simply separated into its various parts. There was still skin though, the places where his body parts had been fused moments ago were all covered in normal skin.

Each part of him seemed to be his own, distinct… thing, made of flesh and bone and covered in skin.

I stood there for a second, staring at the pieces that had once been Little Tony. His face still wore the same joyful smile as before.

When I looked up, I saw Martin. He was being held down by another puppet. He was squirming and crying, trying to get free. For a moment he stared at me, his face a mask of confusion and terror.

I stood there, confused, took one step forward, but I couldn’t seem to move any further. Then something shimmered in the air and moved towards his body. The strings made contact, seemed to dig into him. His eyes grew wide, his mouth opened and his entire body shook before it went limp.

By now Alexander had noticed that I’d destroyed one of his puppets and the one that had held down Martin came for me. It jumped high, flew right towards me and I barely avoided it from landing on top of me.

I ran and rushed from the stage. For a moment I saw another one of them out of the corner of my eye. It was gliding next to me, inches above the ground, its arms stretched out trying to get to me. For a moment I felt his cold, stiff fingers brush over my shoulder before it was yanked backward.

Alexander’s strings, I realized. They couldn’t reach any further!

I don’t know what happened afterward. I must’ve taken my bike and drove right home as fast as I could. Not to Martin’s home, but all the way to my parents’. They were confused when they found me outside, more so when they saw the state I was in.

I learned later that it had been long past midnight. I’d arrived crying and shaking, hitting the door and screaming for them to protect me from the puppets.

—

My friends went missing that summer. Seven kids, including Martin, were never seen again. I was questioned countless times and needless to say they didn’t believe a thing I told them. They probably thought I was too shocked, or worse, that I was downright lying.

They still checked the cottage, but they found no trace of anything I’d described. No Alexander, no puppets, and no stage.

I told them that everything must’ve been hidden away. Alexander the Magnificent must’ve left, but no one had heard about a man like that or his infamous puppet show.

In the end, my friends stayed missing. They still are to this day.

As the years passed, I put this story away, hid it in the depth of my mind, telling myself it was nothing but a terrible dream.

A week ago though, I saw something on my way through town. It was a little boy, approaching a group of kids on the soccer field.

“Hey there,” I heard him pipe up to them. “I’m Little Martin. You should all come to our puppet show this evening!”

When I turned over and saw his face, I froze in terror. It was Martin’s face. He looked exactly like he had over two decades ago and was smiling as brightly as Little Tony had.

Have you ever seen someone so disgusting and ugly it makes you gasp for air? I did. As a kid there was an old woman, living in the next town over that had the more than fitting name ‘The Gorgon’.

I first heard about her from friends living in the same town. Well, she didn’t live in the town per se, she lived in an old run-down cabin at the edge of town. The entire area around her place could’ve been described as a dump or a cesspool. I heard my friends joking it was as disgusting as her.

When I heard all this, I imagined an old ugly woman with a wrinkled face spotting huge warts and no teeth in her mouth. The image was that of a witch I’d seen in a movie on TV.

As so often, I wasn’t prepared for the bleak reality.

Her body was so skinny it looked fragile. Her hands were dirty and discolored. It was a stark contrast to her otherwise white, almost transparent skin. Here and there, it was missing and in its place were festering sores, leaking puss.

The worst was her face. The first time I saw it, I gasped and held my breath till I was out of air.

Huge blisters and the same puss-leaking sores covered it. Her skin was sagging, almost as if it was close to tearing apart. In other places, it looked as if it was melting. Her eyes had retreated deep into her skull and were yellow and bloodshot. There was still hair left on her head, but it sprouted in dark, messy bushes that alternated with bald spots.

To a kid like me, she was repulsiveness personified.

I had asked my friends if she suffered from an illness or a disease, but my friends said they didn’t know. So we asked around town. We got many answers, but they all said the same thing. It was old age, her living conditions, and the general neglect of health. There was one other thing they told us, though, to stay clear of her and don’t associate with her.

What can I say, we were typical kids. The more you tell us something’s forbidden, the more interested in it we get.

When I was twelve years old, I spent a lot of my summer break in this town. So far we’d only driven past The Gorgon occasionally and watched her from afar.

That summer break though, we all got more interested in her.

We spent many of our mornings or afternoons hiding between the trees near her place. From our hiding spot, we’d watch her and make up stories about her.

Even her way of moving and her demeanor were all wrong.

She spent a lot of time outside. At times she’d sort through the trash that had accumulated around her cabin. At others she’d rest in an old camping chair she’d propped up.

There was one peculiar thing about her, though. She always had a tiny box on her. Most of the time she pocketed in the old, stained pants she wore. Sometimes, though, she held it in her hands, staring at it and cradling it like a treasure.

It didn’t look like a treasure, though. Whenever she held it, it appeared no different from the rest of the rubbish around her place.

We never learned what it was since she always kept it at her body, never parting with it even for a moment.

Another interesting fact was that we saw no animals around her place. Some of my friends said it was because she marked her territory. I didn’t know what they meant, so one of them told me she was like a cat. She was pissing at the side of her cabin and the ground all around so animals would stay away. It sounded a little far-fetched, but back then I believed it.

One day a group of teenagers came by her place to make fun of her. They called her names, teased her, and threw things at her. The old woman was furious, jumped from her chair, and yelled at them to leave her alone. This went on for some time before she disappeared inside her cabin.

We thought this was it, but after a while, she returned outside. The cacophony of name-calling started again. Instead of yelling back at them though, the Gorgon walked into their direction and threw something at them. The teenagers screamed in disgust and rushed away. It wasn’t long before a foul stench reached us.

We later learned that she’d filled an old plastic bag with something foul and rotten and hurled it at the troublemakers. Stories of what it was ranged from foul water, rotten trash up to her piss, and fecal matter.

As the days passed, watching her from afar grew old.

Before long we snuck around her cabin to have a look at the things lying around it. We’d hoped to find hints of ritualistic magic, dead animals, or even voodoo puppets. In reality, though, it was nothing but plain, old, boring trash. Most of it consisted of crumbled up newspapers, refuge and torn clothing. None of it was worth anything.

We never actually agitated her though, as many others did. It wasn’t that we were nice kids. No, we were afraid of her. I still remember the day I snuck up to the sole window of the small cabin, trying to peer inside only to see her disgusting face behind the stained glass. I never ran so fast in my life. We all did. Whenever she noticed us we booked it, screaming about the curse of the Gorgon.

It was our version of the mythological story of Medusa. If she’d lay eyes on you for too long, you too would turn out as disgusting as she was.

I honestly believed in it.

It was during our second week that we finally gave in to our curiosity and broke into her cabin.

The building had only one door and a tiny, dirty window. It had been tempting us for a while. We wanted to explore the lair of the Gorgon and see what sort of things she kept inside. We wondered if she was a witch and her home was a place of foul magic, filled with dead animals or worse things.

The plan we prepared was simple. I guess it was the best a bunch of kids could come up with. We divided into two groups, team alpha, and team bravo. While the alpha team would sneak into her place, it was bravo’s objective to distract her from coming inside.

I’d gotten my hands on dad’s new expensive digital camera and brought it along to take pictures. It was either to report our findings or to snap a few quick pictures in case we didn’t get the chance to take a closer look.

We knew that the Gorgon often fell asleep in her chair outside, so we lay in wait for just that moment.

After what seemed like an eternity, she finally dozed off in her chair and we got our chance.

We got moving and hurried over to her cabin. I’d volunteered to be part of the alpha team. We pushed open the door as quietly as possible and prepared ourselves to find a lair of evil and disgust.

What we found instead was a poorly furnished and rather normal room. There were no pentagrams, no blood circles, no dead animals, or pagan altars. Nothing of the sort at all. The place wasn’t even covered in trash or shit. No, it was as normal as an old, run-down cabin could be. Sure it was dirty, the wallpaper was stained and mold was growing in two corners, but that was about it. It was way more normal than any of us had suspected and we were vastly disappointed. We’d hoped to find something crazy, so we’d have a story to tell.

I halfheartedly snapped a few pictures so we could at least prove we’d been inside.

Soon enough we heard noises from outside. Our friends were laughing and yelling and the Gorgon was screaming back at them in her shrill voice.

It was right at this moment that one of my friends tripped and fell against the table in the center of the cabin. An old rusty pot standing on it crashed to the floor. For a second the loud metal clang was the only audible sound in the entire universe. Then the door burst open and we could see her disgusting face, brimming with anger.

“What do you think you’re doing in here, you little shits?!” she shrieked at us, her voice shaky and quivering with anger.

She stormed inside, trying to get us. Her problem was that she was as slow as she was ugly and there were far too many for her. One of my friends easily dodged her and rushed past her, outside. The rest followed him, screaming in terror. I was the last one, and I’d almost made it outside when I felt her grab onto my arm. I was frozen in fear. Time itself seemed to slow down as she pushed her disgusting visage inches in front of mine.

“Where do you think you’re going, you little shit?” she screamed at me and her foul breath made me gag.

In an instant, fear was replaced by panic. I screamed, cried and struggled against her grip. With each moment though, it seemed as if she pressed down harder, almost as if she wanted to pull me back inside. I could feel something wet and sticky and a moment later I saw the disgusting puss from her sores running down my arm. I called out for my friends, begged them to come back, but they’d abandoned me.

“Don’t you ever come back here again, I dare you, or I’ll,” she spat at me. Her face was twisted into a ghastly grin and when our eyes met, all the drowsiness was gone and they seemed alive, burning with energy.

In a moment it was over and she released me. I stumbled outside and ran away as fast as I could.

As I ran, my arm felt strange and itchy and there was a weird smell coming from the area where she’d touched me.

After a few hundred meters, though, I noticed something much, much worse. I wasn’t holding my dad’s camera anymore. It must’ve dropped from my hands when she’d gotten a hold of me.

I stopped in my track and tears started streaming down my face. Dad had paid a lot of money for it and I’d be in serious trouble for losing it.

For what must’ve been minutes, I stood there, without the slightest clue what to do. Then I took the first, shaky step back into the direction of her cabin. I was still crying and had no real idea what I would even do.

As I got closer, I saw that she was outside again and as soon as she saw me, she started screaming at me again. The little box was in her hand again and she grasped onto it as she stared at me.

“You want to try me, aren’t you, you damn brat?”

When she noticed that I was crying, she started to laugh and to ridicule me. It wasn’t long before she tired of the ordeal and seemed to wonder why I didn’t leave. By then the box had already vanished again, inside her pockets.

“What the hell’s your problem? Get lost!”

At first, the words didn’t come out and all I could muster was a low mumbling. As she went on to insult me though, I grew angry.

“It’s because of my dad’s camera,” I rambled. “I lost it and it’s expensive and I need it and my parents will get mad if I don’t return it.”

I expected her to laugh or to scream at me again, but she turned around and vanished inside her cabin. I thought she’d left, and I’d already taken the first steps away when I heard her behind me.

“Where are you going, you dumb brat?”

She was holding something in her hand and when she took a few more steps into my direction, I recognized the camera.

“You just gonna keep staring at it or are you gonna come get it?”

I went over to her and once I’d taken it from her hand, she turned around.

“Get lost already,” she said as she walked away.

“Thank,“ I started, but my voice was too quiet and eventually I ran off.

A quick check revealed that the camera’s light still turned on and it seemed to be working fine.

When I got home, though, trouble was already waiting for me. Mom had noticed that dad’s camera was missing. I handed it back to her, apologizing. She instantly noticed a huge scratch on its side where it must’ve hit the ground. She scolded me and when she tried the camera, it turned on, but that was about all it did.

What was even worse, though, was my arm. I developed a gross, blistering rash where she’d touched me and had to be taken to a doctor. It healed eventually, but left me with a nasty scar that should always remind me of the incident.

When my parents pressed me about what had happened and how I’d gotten the rash on my arm, I told them everything.

They grounded me for months, forbidding me from ever visiting that town again on my own, and told me to never get close to that woman ever again.

For the next two years, I did as they’d told me.

—

The reason I found myself back in this town wasn’t because of the Gorgon, it was a mere coincidence.

I’d been interested in a girl from school that lived there and had wanted to meet up with her. Unfortunately, she stood me up. On my way back home though, I ran into one of my old friends.

We soon got to talk about the old days and he asked me why I’d never shown my face in town again. He joked that they all thought I’d caught the curse of the Gorgon on that day.

I told him the whole story. How I’d broken dad’s camera, the rash, and how I wasn’t allowed to come back here.

Well, as it turned out, he had a story to tell me as well.

After we’d broken into the Gorgon’s home, they’d soon lost interest in her. It had grown old to tease her and once it was clear, she wasn’t harboring any secrets in her cabin, they moved on. Sure, she was still a local curiosity, but that was about it. Apart from the occasional prank, she drifted off into obscurity.

That was until thirteen-year-old Bob Reimer, or Bobby for short, had moved here with his family a couple of months ago. He was a city kid and a nasty one, a real troublemaker. He’d changed schools frequently because of behavioral problems. I guess his parents thought he might not get in as much trouble in a more rural environment.

Oh, how wrong they’d been. As soon as Bobby learned about the Gorgon, he gave her hell. With Bobby, it wasn’t just name-calling and pranks anymore.

He’d steal or break anything she’d left outside, bombard her with water balloons, or even shot fireworks at her. Not even the inside of her cabin was safe. Countless times he’d snuck inside to create havoc in there. When the old woman would come after him, Bobby didn’t run. No, he waited for her and the moment she tried beating him he’d retaliate with a stick or a bat until she was the one running away.

Sure, he got into trouble, but he didn’t let it go. In time, his antics got worse and worse.

Things escalated a few weeks ago when he snuck into her cabin again and set fire to it. No one knows if it was supposed to be another prank or if he wanted to burn the place down, but that was exactly what happened. In mere moments the old cabin went up in flames.

The Gorgon and Bobby ended up with severe burns. Bobby, however, got the worse of it and ended up dying in the erupting fire.

They admitted the Gorgon to the local hospital after the event. There she remained to that day. It wasn’t only because of the burns, but because of general health concerns and her deteriorated state of mind.

I remembered the time she’d returned my camera to me and had shown me she wasn’t pure evil like we’d all thought. I also remembered that I’d never properly thanked her for it.

To be honest, I don’t know if it was this feeling of guilt or if it was mad curiosity, but I decided to visit her.

When I arrived at the hospital, the receptionist asked me what brought me there and if I wanted to visit someone. I almost blurted out that I was there to see the Gorgon. After some thinking, I told her I was there to visit the old lady who’d gotten herself burned at her cabin. She eyed me suspiciously for a moment, most likely wondering if I was up to some sort of trouble. After a few moments, though, she told me to follow her.

We ended up stopping at a nice little room with an enormous window that allowed you to watch the park outside.

I saw the figure resting in the hospital bed in an instant. Her arms and her face were covered in bandages. As bad as it sounds, I was thankful for it. The only thing that proved that it was the Gorgon was the eyes and the dirty, yellow spots all over the bandages. When the nurse knocked on the door, the old lady looked over at us.

“You got the wrong damn room again,” she yelled at the nurse.

The nurse didn’t react to her harsh words and instead smiled at her.

“No, this time you have a visitor, Miss Lang.”

The old lady looked from the nurse over to me.

“And who are you, brat?” she asked, squinting her eyes.

I shuffled around and after holding her gaze for a moment I averted my eyes.

“The camera boy,” I mumbled while staring at my feet.

“Don’t know, no camera boy.”

“From two years ago,” I started and looked up again. “I dropped my dad’s camera, and you returned it to me after we’d-“

I broke up because the nurse was still around. For a while the old lady said nothing, then she nodded at the nurse, who hurried away down the hall.

“Get yourself a damned chair or leave, brat!”

I hurriedly dragged a chair from a corner over to her bed and sat down.

“Now, why are you really here? Tell me.”

“It is because of the camera. I wanted to thank you, Miss,” I tried to remember the name the nurse had said, but I could only think of her as the Gorgon.

“Well,” I continued after a while. “If you hadn’t returned it to me, I’d have gotten into a lot more trouble with my parents. So, thank you, I hope you-“

“Parents can be the goddamn worst!” she cut me off.

I smiled awkwardly, surprised at her harsh language. I was about to get up and leave when she continued talking.

“They were both scum, you know,” and after a short while, she added, “my parents, that is.”

“Why?” was all I could muster to ask.

“Wanna know the truth, brat? Mommy was a bitch if you ever knew one and daddy was a violent drunk. He was always yelling and screaming and it was always poor little Camilla he yelled at. Why the fuck are you here? Why are you so useless? What the fuck are you doing? Everything was always little Camilla’s fault.”

I realized, as I listened, that her name had to be Camilla.

She went on, rambling by now and I was too nervous and too interested to say anything.

The whole situation was absurd. Here was this old woman, who’d once been nothing but an ugly, disgusting creature to me. Now, though, I realized, she was a person too, like me. She had parents, a name, and must’ve once been a kid just like me. I wondered what must’ve happened that turned her into what she was now.

Her story continued, and I learned that Camilla ran from home when she was barely a teenager. She said she couldn’t stay there anymore, not after what had happened. She never elaborated on what had happened though.

After she ran she met Ramon, if that even was his name. She wasn’t sure anymore, but what was important was that he took her with her.

“I know you don’t want to look at me now brat, even with all that shit covering my face, and I can’t blame you. Back in the day though, your eyes would’ve been glued to little Camilla.”

She reminisced about long, ebony hair and hazel eyes before she laughed.

“Tell you the truth, brat, I don’t even remember what I looked like anymore, but Ramon sure was taken by me.”

I didn’t know what to say to any of that, so I sat there and continued to listen.

“Can’t remember much of anything anymore. What I remember is that Ramon made me truly appreciate my little friend. With daddy, it had been different. Fear, panic, anger. With Ramon, though, there was no struggle, no fear. No, it just… happened.”

I stared at her and it took me a while, but I assumed she was talking about… sex. And as for her little friend…

“That’s why I had to run again eventually, and that’s how I ended up in the streets. That’s where I met other girls, like me, not the good kind, but who gives a shit, right? A girl has to eat. Didn’t have no family no more, didn’t have no Ramon.”

I noticed her suddenly staring at me. “Ain’t gonna ask no questions, you damned brat? Why you even here?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know,” I mumbled, but she just shook her head.

She soon talked about dangerous guys, other girls, and falling in and out of love. It seemed her story was that of a runaway who’d met the wrong crowd and ended up being a prostitute.

It wasn’t long before she worked at the house, as she called it.

“That’s where little Camilla was introduced to her second-best friend. It makes you forget all the awful things that happened and makes you feel so much more alive. Makes you appreciate certain things much, much more. The heat, the intensity, the… satisfaction.”

Again, I was confused for a bit, but it soon dawned on me that this time, she was talking about drugs.

“Would be a godsend if not for what it did to your body. Didn’t take long to turn a beautiful little girl into a nasty, ugly bitch.”

She broke into laughter once more, but this time it was strained, frustrated even.

“That’s the price you pay. Melts your face, makes your skin blister, and fall off. Rots you from the inside out.”

I must’ve shuddered visibly because she gave me a ghastly grin.

“Didn’t stay at the whorehouse for long. Couldn’t deal with Candy and Strawberry and Peaches. So once more I trusted in my two little friends, and once more I ran. To a different city, a different street, and different men. Lived like that a few more years, met a few more nasty people, got a good beating here and there and that was that. Eventually, little Camilla ended up right here, right at this town, too broken and too ugly to go on anymore.”

“That’s how you came to live in that cabin?” I asked with all the strength I could muster.

“Damn right, brat. You aren’t as dumb as you look. People didn’t want me here. They called me a monster, told their kids to stay away, some even spat at me. Bet they all wished I’d move on or die. Well soon enough they’ll get their wish,” she spat at me in sheer anger.

I knew it had to be the latter she was talking about.

We both sat there in silence, her seemingly too exhausted to continue and me too stunned at the story I’d heard.

“I think I better get going,” I finally mumbled.

I’d barely gotten up when she surprised me by speaking again.

“You want to know more about my little friend? You want to know how he helped me to get away so often? From daddy, from Ramon, from those bitches at the whorehouse and all the men who came afterward?”

“What are you-?” I asked, staring at her as she rummaged below the folds of the bed.

“No, I don’t want to,“ but I broke off when she pulled out the tiny box I’d seen her clutch on to so many times.

As I stared at it, I finally saw what it was, a small box of matches. With a shaking hand, she pulled one of them out and lit it.

“This here, this is it, my little friend!”

I didn’t understand, didn’t know what she was talking about.

“But your little friend, didn’t you mean,” I started in confusion, but she cut me off right away.

“It is fire,” she pressed out with an exhilarated voice.

“Daddy was constantly screaming at me, threatened to send me to one of those vile boarding schools for girls. That same night, once he and mommy had fallen asleep, I burned the house to a crisp. When Ramon broke my heart and wanted to move on with that bitch Sandra, I burned him in that stinking little room of his. Those bitches at the whorehouse who stole my money? Well, one day, I made sure things would get really hot.”

She was cackling now, as she held the little burning match in her hand.

“Oh, there’s nothing better, you damned little brat. Nothing better than to let all your problems go up in flames. To just burn it all away, the pain, the anger, and the ones causing it. Just like that fucking brat a couple of weeks ago.”

I watched for a moment as she lit a second match, staring at the flame with manic satisfaction in her eyes.

When she pushed her hand into the small flame, when she started breathing heavily, as her skin blistered, I ran from the room and from the hospital.

I had thought the way she looked was ugly and disgusting. I had wondered how she’d turned up like that and even felt pity for her. But her story, her revelation, had proven something to me.

It didn’t matter what someone looked like, it didn’t matter how ugly or beautiful they were. For it is a person’s soul that counts and Camilla’s had always been ugly and disgusting, even long before her body resembled it.