The city I live in is one of those popular tourist destinations. It’s an old city, one with a rich history, full of beautiful architecture, and a plethora of sightseeing attractions. Most importantly, though, it’s a clean city. For the most part, at least. People always forget the dirty network of tunnels that make up the city’s underbelly: the sewers.

That’s where I work. Times have changed, of course. When people hear you’re working in the sewers, they presume you wade through shit and sewage all day, but they couldn’t be more wrong. These days, we’re mostly working with machinery and robots. It’s rare that we actually have to set foot in the tunnels ourselves.

About a week ago was one such day. Our equipment had shown us that there was a pressure issue in one of the tunnels. To find out what exactly was wrong, my colleague Andrew and I had to go down there for a manual check-up. I hated those days. You never got used to them. Wading through those dark, sticky tunnels is not only claustrophobic, but as disgusting as it sounds. What makes it even worse is the smell.

Most of what’s down there is shit, toilet paper, and fatbergs. Consider yourself lucky if you don’t know what the third one is. And yet, people flush all sorts of other things down their toilets. I’ve seen trash, dead animals, but also medicine, clothing, batteries and even an iPhone. The funniest thing I saw was a dildo that slowly swam past me.

On that day, things were different.

Our city’s old, and various types of sewage treatment facilities have been used throughout the decades. While some of the old systems have been modernized, others were simply abandoned. Because of this, there’s an entire second network of old, dilapidated tunnels.

Where we had to go that day was a tunnel right below one of the city’s major sightseeing attractions. Without even looking at the plans, I knew what it meant. There was no way we could enter the sewers right there. Our boss made one thing clear: tourists on their fancy sightseeing trips didn’t want to see dirty sewage workers. This meant we’d have to use an entrance a couple hundred meters away, and make our way to the problem area underground.

Our maps told us we’d have to circle the entire city center, which would take us almost an entire hour. Yet we soon found a different route, one that would lead us through some of the old sewer tunnels. They were declared off limits because of safety issues, but we couldn’t care less. It would cut our trip in half.

We’d barely entered the old tunnels when Andrew got quiet. He crouched down to pick something up.

“What’s up? You found something you like?” I asked jokingly.

For a moment, he was quiet. When he turned back to me, his face was serious, and I could see that he was holding a kid’s baseball cap in his hands.

“It’s probably been flushed down here somehow, but…”

His voice trailed off, but I nodded. We all knew these old, half-hidden tunnels held some sort of strange fascination with the local kids. It’s usually nothing serious; a bit of exploring here, leaving some graffiti there, that type of thing.

A few years ago, however, a kid went missing down here. At first, everyone thought the boy would turn up eventually, but he must’ve lost his way and wandered these tunnels for days. It was Andrew who found him, or rather… what was left of him. That day had changed him, and from then on, he was much more serious whenever we found hints of kids down here.

As we continued on, we kept our eyes open for clues.

A couple of minutes later, we ended up in front of a metal sewer gate that kept us from going any further. I was a bit confused. Why was it down here? I thought they’d stripped the old tunnels back in the day. Even stranger, it looked kind of… new. I went forward to have a closer look, but I’d only taken a few steps when something touched my leg. I jerked back.

 “Shit! There’s something down here,” I cursed.

 “What do you mean?” Andrew asked, instantly alarmed.

“No clue, bumped into something. Hold on,” I said, taking out my flashlight.

As I pointed the beam at the water in front of me, I finally saw what I’d bumped into. It was the bloated, half-rotten corpse of a child. I stumbled back, crashed right into Andrew, and brought us both down.

“The hell are you doing?!” he yelled at me.

“It’s… it’s a child,” I stammered. “The body of a child’s down there!”

I got back up and pointed the flashlight at the spot ahead of us. There it was, gently rocking back and forth in the sewage water before us.

“Jesus Christ,” Andrew whispered.

While I was still stunted, Andrew rushed forward, and carefully tried to lift the small body. He’d barely raised it above the water level when it broke apart and vanished again. For a moment, he stood there, looking at his hands in a mixture of shock and misery, before he retched and vomited.

Still grasping onto my flashlight, I set out for him, but stopped after only a single step. My eyes grew wide.

“There’s more,” I mumbled.

I slowly moved the beam of the flashlight further, and there, behind the gate, I saw dozens of other corpses.

“What the absolute fuck,” Andrew said, as he looked in the beam’s direction.

For a moment, he was frozen, just staring ahead, before he turned back to me, his face a mask of terror.

“Maybe a graveyard or something,” I whispered, struggling to make sense of what I was seeing.

I opened my mouth again, but closed it the instant I heard something from afar. Footsteps, and they were getting closer! Instantly, I motioned for Andrew to be quiet, and turned off my flashlight and my helmet’s headlight. A few moments later, he did the same thing.

As we stood there, in the darkness, my eyes darted around, trying to find some sort of hiding place, but I couldn’t see a damned thing. All the while, someone was getting closer to us from the other side of the gate. Eventually, not knowing what else to do, I did the same thing Andrew had done. I crouched down. The smell was almost unbearable, and I had to fight the urge to vomit as the disgusting sewage water splashed against my lips. I tried my hardest not to think about the corpses in the water ahead of us.

“… Rats should take care of them,” a deep voice ahead of us said, and then started laughing.

I noticed the distant beam of a flashlight, but it was too far away to make out anything.

“There’s too many, for fuck’s sake. You really think the rats will eat all this?” a second voice chimed in, followed by a splash.

“Well, we could always throw in a bit of that stuff and cook ‘em all up.”

“Nah, the boss told us not to use that shit down here. The sewer guys will notice, and then we’re in even bigger shit than we already are.”

Another splash.

“The boss can go fuck off for all I care! Takes no genius to know what will happen. With all that food down here, the rats will breed like crazy. We’ll be back at square one, only that it won’t be the hobos but the rats this time.”

“Shut up, you idiot! If anyone hears you talk like this-“

“No one will know if you keep your mouth shut!”

The two voices rattled on, their sick jokes echoing eerily through the dark sewer tunnel.

I crouched there in the water, frozen in shock and disbelief. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Jesus Christ, what the fuck?

I don’t know for how long we waited. Eventually, the light vanished, and the chatter of the two voices ebbed away. Yet for minutes we didn’t dare move. Then, slowly and quietly, we waded back in complete darkness. We were both quiet, both shocked and scared shitless, because we knew what we’d just witnessed.

Ours is a fancy city, a beautiful one, with a rich history, full of beautiful architecture, and a plethora of sightseeing attractions. Most importantly, though, it’s a clean city. But like any city, ours too has its problems, its hidden corners. In recent years, rent skyrocketed, leaving many barely scraping by and many others out in the streets. The homeless became an eyesore, a problem for the city’s pristine image. Wealthy tourists didn’t come here to see beggars on the sidewalk or huddled around the train stations. Something had to be done, the new mayor said. He promised to solve the city’s homeless problem, announced grand housing projects and new job opportunities.

Guess he found a simpler solution.

One might wonder how no one notices dozens or even hundreds of people going missing, but that’s just how people are, especially in a snobbish and vibrant city like ours. No one cares about the homeless. They are nothing but a nuisance. No one’s going to think twice about a missing beggar or a group of drunks. All they care about is that they’re gone.

We didn’t finish work that day. We both made excuses and left.

That evening, the two of us got together for a talk. We argued about what to do for the entire night. I still remember the frustration on Andrew’s face, the anger in his voice. He said we’d have to do something, to go to the cops and make this entire thing public. We couldn’t just let them get away with it. I told him to lie low for the time being. We had no clue who was involved, and without evidence, no one would believe us, anyway. In the end, he nodded and agreed with me.

Two days later, we were scheduled on a shift together, but he never showed up. I tried to convince myself that nothing had happened, and was still too traumatized by what we’d seen that day. Yet I had a strange feeling about it. After my shift was over, I called Andrew’s wife; she confirmed my suspicion. She’d no idea where her husband was. She’d gone to the police, but so far, they had no leads.

I’m so freaking scared right now; I don’t know what Andrew did. Maybe he really went to talk to the cops, or maybe he went down there again on his own. The only thing I know is that something happened to him. What makes it even worse is that whenever we have to go down there, we always do so in pairs. It’s common procedure.

Whoever took care of my colleague knows he wasn’t down there alone. And I’m sure, by now, they know I was with him that day.

There is an abandoned mansion near my village.

Now I know, abandoned buildings aren’t anything special, but here is something strange about this one. You see, it’s not an old building, but a brand new one.

The construction started almost a decade ago and lasted for more than nine years. Everyone was sure that some rich, old guy would move in, but that never happened. It seemed as if the place was abandoned as soon as it was finished.

I was still a kid when I heard the news that someone had bought a giant plot of land near our village and soon construction of the mansion started.

My friend and I went to the construction site almost daily. It was fascinating. We loved to watch all the huge cranes, trucks and bulldozers.

The construction workers and the foreman weren’t too happy about us sneaking around. Whenever they noticed us, they’d yell at us and told us to scram.

It wasn’t long before a wall was built around the property to keep other unwanted visitors and us out. Sure, we tried to get in countless times, to the dismay of our parents, but we never succeeded. In the end we gave up.

As the years passed the construction continued slowly and quietly. No one cared about it anymore and it had become another part of life.

People only started to talk about the place again when the construction was finished. Everyone wanted to see who the person was that had spent all those years constructing his dream home.

No one ever came. The construction workers left, the heavy machinery vanished, and that was it. No one was around anymore. No cars ever arrived and none left.

For the longest time, I tried to convince myself that the owner was most likely an introvert. Someone who’d isolated himself from society and had snuck into his new home unnoticed. Why were there never any lights and why was no one ever seen at the mansion?

For the past week, I spent hours watching the place. I grew a bit obsessed with the whole thing. Guess it says a lot about me, doesn’t it? It was summer break and here I was watching some strange, possibly abandoned mansion.

A couple of days ago I was fed up. I could watch all I wanted, but I’d never find out anything that way. I was on my way to the mansion an hour later.

The entry gate was locked as I’d expected. What was strange though was that there was no bell or speaker system, nothing at all. I couldn’t even find a nameplate.

For a couple of minutes, I walked alongside the wall until I was a bit out of view. I was surprised at how easy it was to climb over the wall.

The moment I landed inside I expected a blaring alarm to start or a pack of watchdogs to come running my way. The only thing I saw instead was how overgrown the place was.

Bushes, small trees, and other plants grew everywhere and had transformed the lawn into thick underbrush. Even the path that led from the entry gate to the mansion was overgrown and barely visible.

As I got closer to the building I saw that the plaster was flaking here and there already. The whole building was plagued by signs of aging. It was a new building, why was it already in a state like this?

The windows held another surprise for me. They were bare of drapes or curtains and when I looked inside, I saw… nothing. There was no furniture, no lamps and not even wallpaper. All I saw were bare walls.

While I walked alongside the mansion a thought popped up in my head. What did it look like inside? Was there even anything at all?

I don’t know what I was expecting when I tried the front door. Definitely not, that it would open up.

What I stepped into was a giant empty hall. There was nothing inside. There were no stairs, no rooms, or even walls dividing up the building.

As I made my way from one end of the building to the other, things stayed the same. There were the foundation walls, there was a roof, but nothing else. I didn’t get what this was. It took them seven years to build… this? It was completely empty!

Well, almost completely, I thought, when I found a massive steel door. It was unlocked as well, but so massive that it took me multiple tries before I’d pulled it open.

I was sitting on the floor, panting and looked at the dark stairway behind it. Guess I found the entrance to the basement.

I sat there for a long minute, debating if I should continue my exploration down there or if I should leave. That stairway and the darkness it led to made me not just a bit anxious. I had no idea what I’d find down there. But, wasn’t this exactly why I’d come here? By now I knew that there was definitely something wrong with the place. The only question was, what.

And so curiosity won over fear.

I pulled out my phone and with its dim light I started my descent.

The stairway led into a vast room or better a hall. As I moved my phone around I noticed that his area was much more refined. Workbenches lined what I assumed to be metal walls.

For a moment I scanned the area in front of me anxiously, but I didn’t see anyone.

As I walked through the underground hall I saw that most of the workbenches were empty. On some I noticed empty plastic containers or glass jars, but not a hint of their former content remained. I went to have a closer look and saw how dirty the walls were. When I reached out to touch them, they felt greasy, almost sticky.

The air down here was heavy with something I couldn’t define. Images of hospitals popped up in my mind and I was reminded of the smell of alcohol and chemicals.

This whole basement area looked as if it had been carefully planned and constructed. There was definitely structure here.

I found many different rooms, both small and big, hallways connecting them all, and sets of stairs that led to even lower levels. All of it was empty. Only the workbenches and a few empty boxes and containers remained.

What the hell was this place? Had they started construction down here and ran out of money? If so, why?

As I continued exploring, I found more and more details. There was a giant old generator at one end of the complex and I noticed that numerous air ducts lined the walls.

The second level of the basement was the same. More empty rooms, more workbenches, more air ducts and more stairs. There was something about this place. It felt wrong, but I didn’t know why.

That was until I found the oven.

It was an absolute monstrosity, the size of an entire room.

My first thought was that it must have been some sort of furnace or that it was used to heat the place. The thing was much too simple though and much too crude. It was constructed of bricks and half a dozen steel hatches lined its front. It was a stark contrast to the rest of this basement complex with its fancy work benches and metal walls.

Ever since I’d entered the room, the thing had reminded me of something and finally, I realized what it was: a cremation oven.

My skin started to crawl as I looked at the hatches.

I don’t know why I did it, but I went forward and opened one of these hatches. I guess I hoped to find answers. I wanted to figure out what this place was and what the people who’d constructed it did down here. Instead, it only brought up more questions.

Behind the hatches was nothing but ash and coal. I reached out with my hand, but then I noticed a fire poker nearby.

It didn’t take long for me to find something. Between the ash and coal there was something else, bone. I stared at it with morbid fascination and then I kept digging.

After a while, I’d find not one but a whole heap of bones. At one point I uncovered a skull and for a moment I stared at its empty eye sockets. When I looked away I saw the inside of the hatch for the first time.

Its surface was covered in innumerable scratches.

The oven, the bones, these scratches, dear god what was this place?

I felt sick and stumbled backward as I was pulled back to reality. I stood there, unable to think and a ‘holy shit’ escaped my mouth.

And then I heard it. As if to answer my words a rattling started inside the oven, behind one of the hatches. Suddenly the room was filled with moans and screams. Then unopened hatches began shaking violently as if someone was banging against them from inside.

I screamed and ran from the room. I was at the stairs only a few seconds later. As I rushed to the upper floor, I could still hear the weeping and wailing from below.

Soon after I’d made it back to the mansion and outside.

I called the cops then and there and told them what I’d found.

—

I learned later that the place must have been some sort of underground laboratory. What exactly they made down there is still unknown. The authorities believe it was drugs or other illegal contraband.

The mansion itself was almost entirely constructed from cheap drywall. That’s why the authorities believe that its construction was nothing but a facade to cover up what was really going on.

Whoever ran this whole thing pretended to build a mansion for almost a decade, while he ran his real operations underground.

They didn’t say much about the bones they found. They were of varying age, but most of them seem to be no older than a year. Which was precisely when construction of the mansion was finished.

When I asked them about the screams, they told me there was no way that they could have been real. There’d been no one down there and in the oven there was nothing but ash, coal, and bone.

When you hear the word Express Delivery, the first thing that comes to your mind is Amazon, right? Or maybe FedEx?

Well, the one I worked for was a bit different.

It was run by one man only, Mikhail.

I got to work with him because I fucked up big time.

It all started when I dropped out of university. After that, I blew two apprenticeships, worked a bit here and there and finally ended up living on welfare.

To be honest, I was never serious about work. I was looking for ways to make big money, easy ways. At first, I tinkered around with various forms of earning money online. Eventually, though it drove me to my city’s shitty casinos. When I say shitty, I mean it. My city was no Vegas, so all you could find were shitty basements with slot machines and dirty poker tables.

Gambling is a fucked up thing, especially if you are desperate. You tell yourself that all it takes is one more game and you only need to win once.

It didn’t take long for my measly welfare money to melt away. A week later the limited credit I took out in my desperation was gone as well. All the while I told myself I needed a bit more time to get the hang of things. Guess it’s what every gambling addict tells himself.

It was at one of the casinos that I got to know Aleksey, a second generation Russian immigrant. There are quite a few of them living in eastern Germany.

Aleksey was a blast. After I’d dropped out of university, I’d lost contact with quite a few of my friends. The rest started avoiding me more and more when they noticed my gambling addiction. It felt great having someone to play poker and slots with.

The best thing about Aleksey though was that he introduced me to Yuri when I mentioned my money troubles. I’d not paid rent in two months and I’d not even be able to pay my monthly credit rate. I was looking for some serious trouble. That’s when Yuri said he’d led me some money. Enough money to pay off my credit and to keep up playing.

Of course being the idiot I was at the time, I didn’t even think about what was going on. Instead, I accepted the money right away. I paid off the bank and after that, I kept gambling with Aleksey. I only had to hit it big once, I told myself. That was the only thing I had on my mind, and that was what brought me a lot of trouble.

Looking back, I can’t believe what an idiot I was. I must have been mad to not having seen what was obviously coming.

Well, fast forward a couple of months. I was at Yuri’s once again, to take out a new loan. It should have been my fourth one. That day though, things were different. Yuri told me he’d not be able to lend me any more money. It was the opposite, he needed his money back.

That day I finally learned that neither Yuri nor Aleksey were my friends. They never had been. I finally understood. They were the type who preyed on idiots like me. People dumb enough to fall for their charade and come to them for money.

All those thoughts went through my head as I sat in Yuri’s backroom. My nose was bloody, two of my fingers were broken, and I had at least half a dozen severe bruises all over my upper body.

They kept me there for almost four hours. They made sure that I knew they weren’t fucking around. I was never so scared in my entire life. At the end of the whole ordeal, Yuri told me he knew of a way to get his money back. He had an acquaintance who needed someone for a job. There was no question if I’d do it or not. Instead, he handed me a note with an address and a time.

“You’ll be there. If not, I’ll find you and kill you.”

I had seen his gun, and I’d seen his eyes as he’d broken my fingers. I knew he’d not even think twice before shooting me.

After this interrogation was over, they kicked me out. I was left to drag my throbbing and trembling body home.

Three days later I found myself in the outskirts of town. The address Yuri had given me was a parking lot near an old industrial area.

I’d not slept all night. I had no idea what would happen. I told myself over and over again that Yuri needed his money back, but could I be sure? What if they led me out there to get rid of me or something? Maybe they wanted to harvest my organs?

As I felt panic overtake me, I told myself to calm down. I’d be alright. Nothing like that would happen to me.

I could have taken a bus there, but I felt like walking. It would calm me down, I thought.

It did not. After every few meters, I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder. Whenever a car drove by, I had to fight the urge to jump into bushes next to the street.

Once I could finally see the empty parking lot, I started to meticulously scan the area. Was there anyone there? Was someone hiding and waiting for me to get closer?

Shit, what the hell was I even doing? Don’t run, I told myself. Don’t you dare run. It was still early. Still, more than half an hour before I was supposed to be here.

In the end, I decided to hide in some bushes next to the parking lot to see what would happen. I didn’t even know what I was waiting for. I had various movie scenarios in my head. In one a group of Russian street thugs arrived. In another, it was a black car with tinted windows.

It was a good ten minutes later that something happened. What I saw didn’t fit any of the scenarios I had in my mind. It was a shitty old delivery truck that arrived at the parking lot. I waited to see if someone would get out, but nothing happened. The truck just stood there, and I was sure, it had nothing to do with me.

After five more minutes, the driver-side window was lowered. I could see the hard face of a middle-aged man inside of the truck.

He was staring straight into my direction. At first, I thought it was a coincidence, but he didn’t look away. When our eyes met, I knew in an instant, that this was the guy.

I cursed and almost jumped up. He must have seen me as soon as he arrived and waited for me to get over there ever since. Fuck!

“Are you Mikha-?”

“Get in,” he cut me off with a thick Russian accent.

Right as I walked over to the side of the truck, the doors unlocked. I got in awkwardly and took the seat next to him. The moment I closed the door, he locked them again.

I sat there in utter silence, not just a bit scared. Out of the corner of my eye, I scanned the man.

His face was rough and he had hard eyes. I couldn’t guess how old he was. He might have been in his early thirties, but could very well have been in his late forties. His hair was dark and short, as was his beard.

He wore a dark muscle shirt and a pair of army pants. His arms seemed to consist of nothing, but muscle and his hands seemed to be twice as big as mine. He must have been an ex-military man or something.

For a few seconds, no one said a word.

“So, what am I-?”

“First rule, you only speak when spoken to.”

When I didn’t react, he jerked over to look me straight in the eyes. I gulped and nodded.

“Good. Second rule, you do everything I fucking tell you too, no questions asked.”

“Third rule, you don’t tell anyone what we are doing. If you do, I’ll kill you.”

Again I nodded, multiple times. His eyes were narrow and hard. After a few more seconds he started the truck and we drove off.

That’s how I started to work with Mikhail.

We drove in silence for the first couple minutes. Then he started to explain what my job consisted of.

Mikhail was a contracted courier, one of the best, he said. “Express Delivery Service,” he said with a big grin on his face.

What this meant was simple. We were transporting goods from one place to another. What we were delivering? It didn’t matter. I didn’t need to know. The pay was good, that was all that was important.

“Well, not like you’ll see any of the money. Goes straight to Yuri anyways.”

—

Our very first stop was at a beverage shop near a small town. Mikhail stopped the car and got out. When I tried to do the same, he turned around.

“You stay,” he instructed me.

With that, he made his way inside. What the hell? Was he getting himself a beer or something?

It was five minutes later that he returned, got in and drove the truck to the back of the shop. Then he told me to get out and opened the end of the truck.

A short while later, some bald eastern European guy walked over towards us from the store. I could tell almost in an instant, that he wasn’t a regular employee.

The guy who followed him was. He was carrying the first of many unmarked wooden boxes and dropped them next to the truck.

“Load them,” Mikhail said to me, “carefully though. You drop one, you pay for all!”

I went and lifted the first one. They were quite heavy. Were we going to smuggle booze? I could live with that, I thought.

While I was loading the truck, Mikhail and the Eastern European guy were talking a bit further away. They both lighted a smoke and seemed to discuss a serious topic. When the guy saw me looking at him, he turned over.

“You are too slow, get a move on for fuck’s sake!” he yelled at me with an accent even thicker than Mikhail’s. Then he started laughing and went back to his talk.

Once I was done loading the boxes, Mikhail showed me how to secure them as best as possible with the tension straps. Then he left me to do that as well. While I tried my hardest to get things done, Mikhail and his client were both shouting as well as laughing at me. It took about half an hour, quite a bit of help and more than half a dozen insults by Mikhail before I was finished.

At this point, Mikhail got into the truck without another word and we drove off. It took another hour until we crossed the border into the Czech Republic.

We passed the old empty border patrol building without any issue. Thank god for open borders, I thought to myself.

After two more hours, we arrived at an old, abandoned industrial area in the middle of nowhere. As soon as we parked the car, two guys made their way towards the truck.

“Those are the brothers, Otik and Juro, old friends of mine,” he said grinning.

As the two of them got closer, I couldn’t help but think something was wrong with them. Otik was the older one of two and the fatter one. He greeted Mikhail while the other one, Juro, stood behind. That guy gave me the creeps. He was tall and scrawny, the complete opposite of his brother. He stood behind Otik without saying a word, eyeing me curiously.

“What the hell are you waiting for!?” Mikhail screamed at me.

For a moment I was dumbfounded, but then my brain started to work again. I opened the back of the truck and began to unload the boxes.

Juro came forward without saying a word and started moving them inside. I didn’t know what it was, but there was definitely something wrong with him. The way he walked, his half-smile and the way he eyed the boxes. It was all wrong. For a moment I even thought that he had an erection.

I looked away and told myself to focus only on unloading the boxes.

While I was busy with that, Mikhail took out an envelope and handed Otik a couple of banknotes. Otik counted them greedily, then smiled and nodded at Mikhail. They exchanged a few more words. After that Mikhail went back to his seat in the truck and waited for me to finish unloading.

Once I was done, we sped off. I had no idea what had happened. Thinking back to ‘the brothers’ as he’d call them, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Unfortunately, it shouldn’t be the last time I saw them.

I had thought we’d drive back to Germany. Instead, Mikhail drove the truck further into the Czech Republic.

That’s how I spent my first couple of weeks working for Mikhail. Sitting in his car, loading and unloading boxes and most of all, keeping my mouth shut. We were out on the streets for at least eighteen hours per day. We didn’t stop anywhere to spend the night. Instead, we slept right in the truck. When it came to food, we either ate shitty fast food or the diner type.

I didn’t get to go home for weeks at a time. It was rare that I ever got to take a break. If I was able to go home, it was never for more than a day. I usually spent all of it sleeping. After weeks in a truck, a good night in a bed is heaven.drop

As the weeks went by, Mikhail got a bit more talkative. I learned that I wasn’t there to only load and unload goods.

“If it’s only me in the truck, the police might get suspicious, but with a pussy like you around, no one thinks of trouble,” he said laughing his ass off.

Another one of my tasks was to be a scapegoat. Something bad happened? The cops caught us red-handed? It was me who was supposed to take the blame.

I asked Mikhail only once how long I was supposed to work with him, but I didn’t get a clear answer.

“Until your debt is paid,” was all he said.

—

Work was almost always the same. Sure, at times, I was loading boxes. At others, I’d heave huge crates into the truck. One thing didn’t changed though, I never found out what it was we were transporting.

Considering the money Mikhail was paid by his clients, it was pretty clear we weren’t transporting common goods. I was sure it was drugs or some other sort of contraband. Hell, it might even be weapons.

For a month and a half that’s how things went. There were a few times when I’d almost dropped a box, but thankfully it never happened.

I guess it was due to the clients that Mikhail kept. They were usually armed and looked like serious trouble. Knowing that you’d get a bullet between the eyes if you dropped their goods, puts you in a state of hyper focus.

The mistake I made though was much worse.

Mikhail had stopped the truck at a random resting area at a Polish Autobahn. It was around two in the morning and Mikhail said he’d get cigarettes and something to eat.

Once he was inside the diner, I left the truck as well. You see, for the past half an hour I’d heard one of the crates we’d loaded move around in the back. Mikhail either hadn’t heard it or chose to ignore it. I thought about telling him, but there was his rule of not speaking to him. I’d gotten a bloody nose twice by now, for approaching him without his permission. So I kept quiet.

What I was worried about though, was that some of the goods inside the crate might get damaged. I was the one who’d loaded them and only God knew what would happen to me if something broke.

Being the scared idiot I was, I went to the back of the truck right then and there. I had to see if the crates were okay and if the tension straps were still fastened.

Busying myself in the back with my flashlight I checked here and there. After only a few moments I saw that some of the tension straps had gotten lose. This had caused one of the crates to move to the side of the truck. There seemed to be no real problem. I also knew that our destination was only about an hour or two away. Still, I didn’t want to take any risks. For all I knew, I might already get into trouble if the crates weren’t adequately secured.

So I jumped in, pushed the crate back into its original position and loosened the straps a bit. I was about to fasten them again when I heard someone call out to me in Polish.

I turned around to yell at whoever it was to go away. I broke up when I saw that it was two police officers. I could feel the color drain from my face and myself getting sweaty.

I cursed at myself for showing my fear so obviously. They must have seen me rummaging in the back of the truck and decided to check out what was going on.

Did they notice my reaction though? Oh god, please tell me they didn’t see it.

“Eh… everything is fine, just checking if the crates are secured properly,” I stammered in my best English.

They both didn’t say a thing for a few moments while eying me. Finally one of them said something in what I presumed was Polish. I didn’t understand a word.

“Only English or German,” I said awkwardly.

“What are you loading?” one of them asked.

I stood there and couldn’t think. What the hell should I tell them? I had no clue what was inside the crates. Hell, I didn’t even know what they were usually used to transport. Where they used to carry booze? Construction materials? Tools? I had no freaking clue. My brain was frozen. I could see the officers starting to get impatient.

“Only alcohol,” I blurted out.

One of them raised his eyebrows and grinned before he translated it for his colleague. They exchanged a few more words.

Oh god, please go away, I thought while I tried to appear as relaxed as possible.

“No,” the same officer said.

He pushed me aside with his arm, while his colleague jumped into the back of the truck. He took out a flashlight and started to check out the crates.

I stood there, but couldn’t do anything. I was frozen solid, with one of the officers standing right next to me.

Fuck, how did this happen? How the hell did this happen? Shit, I am a fucking idiot, I cursed at myself in my head.

What if they-

I was cut off as I saw Mikhail appear. He suddenly stepped out from behind the truck and stood right before the officer and me.

“What’s the problem here, officers?” he asked with a smile on his face while smoking a cigarette.

“Who are you?” the officer next to me asked in surprise. I saw him put a hand on his hip instinctively. All the while the other officer was still checking out the inside of the truck.

“I am the driver,” Mikhail said almost emotionless.

“What are you shipping,” the officer asked once more, this time with more urgency in his voice.

At that moment Mikhail said something in Polish.

In an instant, the cop in the back stopped checking the crates and turned around. I could see how surprised he was. Then he left the truck and asked something else. The only thing I understood was a Russian name.

Then Mikhail nodded and went up to the driver’s seat. He gave the cops a full view of his hands. Then he got out an envelope filled with money. Finally, he handed it to the officers.

They counted it, nodded and walked off. I didn’t get to think about what had taken place because as soon as we were alone, Mikhail hit me square in the face.

In tumbled to the ground as my whole head erupted in pain. On the ground, I could feel the blood rush from my nose. Mikhail had hit me before, but never as hard as this.

He shouted something in Russian at me and when I didn’t react, he repeated it so I’d understand.

“Close the back and get in, you bloody idiot!”

Once I’d sat down in the passenger seat, Mikhail threw a dirty rag at me.

“Clean yourself up for fuck’s sake,” he yelled at me.

While I did so, he started the truck and we drove off.

“This all comes from your pay! I’ll tell you once and only once, you don’t touch anything when we are out in the open.”

“Okay,” I said in a low voice and nodded.

He stared at me in anger and I winced, thinking he might hit me again. Then he spat out a few curses in Russian before he spoke again.

“Can’t take that route anymore. They are going to wait for us now and bleed us dry. Fuck! What the hell were you even doing!?”

I could see how the knuckles on his hands grew white as he held onto the steering wheel. I sat there, not sure what to say. Should I tell him the cops walked over and demanded I’d open the back? Would they do this? In the end, I decided to tell him the truth.

“I heard a noise and I thought one of the crates had gotten lose. I didn’t want anything to get damaged, so I went to check and refasten it.”

For a moment Mikhail watched me, trying to make sure if I’d told the truth. Finally, he sighed.

“Okay, you are not a total idiot. You had the right idea, but what you did was still stupid. If anything like this happens again, you tell me before you act. Don’t ever just touch things. If the police find out what’s inside, we are in trouble. Serious trouble.”

Well duh, I thought, if the cops find out we are trafficking drugs or shit, then we are in trouble. Not that I didn’t know that already.

At least that’s what I thought we were transporting. I should find out what it really was five weeks later.

At the time we traveled through the back-lands of the Czech Republic. We’d loaded some crates and were on our way to bring them back to the brothers.

For two hours we’d followed nothing but back-roads. We’d driven through so many poor, half-empty villages, I’d stopped counting. Out of nowhere, a police car appeared behind us.

Mikhail stopped the truck right away. When the guy appeared at the window, I knew in an instant that he was trouble. His expression was serious, almost angry. I could tell that the moment he’d seen Mikhail he was suspicious. He pointed the flashlight directly at his face and told him something in Czech. When Mikhail got out of the car, the cop turned to me and yelled at me as well. I didn’t understand a word but got out as well.

Once we were out, the cop started to ask Mikhail a few questions, to which he gave short answers. After that, the officer instructed him to get to the back of the truck. I did not understood a word, but it was clear that he wanted to know what we were transporting. Mikhail gave him one of our standard answers: clast, the Czech word for alcohol.

The police officer grinned, pointed at the back of the truck and instructed Mikhail to open it. When Mikhail didn’t move, the cop pulled out his gun. The next thing he made us do was to get out one of the crates. Both Mikhail and I heaved it from the truck to the ground.

I noticed how the cop’s eyes focused on Mikhail. It was clear to him that if anyone would cause him trouble, it wasn’t me.

Mikhail told me to open the crate. While the cop watched, I got a crowbar from the front of the car. Then I started to remove the large nails that held the crate shut.

Once the front popped open, two black sacks fell out onto the dirt.

The cops face turned bleak and his mouth became a hard line. I could see that he now pointed his gun straight at Mikhail, snapping a command at him. Mikhail turned to me.

“Open it,” was all he said.

I blinked and looked at him, but didn’t understand. He wasn’t suggesting I’d… but right then he pointed at the sacks. Oh fuck no, I thought. From where I stood it was obvious what was inside. The form, the outlines, everything. Fuck!

I went forward and ripped one of them open. I had only opened it for a bit and was greeted by a face staring straight at me. Even though I’d know what was inside, I still stumbled back a step in surprise.

The cop was still looking and pointing his gun at Mikhail as he walked to the bag. When he saw the corpses inside, he took out his radio.

Right at that moment, Mikhail yelled something in Czech. I had no idea what he was saying, but the cop turned and pointed the gun at me. His finger was on the trigger and I saw the shock and anger on his face.

In one short moment, my mind became blank. This was it. I was convinced I was dead. Then the cops face exploded.

Blood, bone and brain matter rained down on me.

At first I was surprised that I was still alive. Then came the confusion. When I finally realized what had happened, I screamed.

Mikhail was with me a moment later, putting his hand over his mouth.

“Stop screaming idiot, you are still alive.”

Once my legs started working again, he helped me up. Then he brought me a rag and helped me clean off the worst. After that, he stuffed the corpse of the officer in the crate as well. I was still completely numb as we loaded the crate again. Mikhail told me to get in the truck, while he fastened the crate as quickly as possible. Then we drove off.

It was only about ten minutes later that Mikhail drove the car towards a forest and stopped.

“Why are we-?”

“Shut up,” Mikhail said.

My eyes grew wide. Was he going to shoot me? Was it because I saw what was in the crate, or that he shot the police officer?

When I saw him lean behind his seat to search for something I started rummaging around with the seat belt. Before I’d even opened it in my state of mind, I was hit. Not by a bullet, but by a bag.

“Change into these, can’t have you running around all bloody and shit.”

I looked at him confused before I realized what must be in the bag. I stepped out of the car, undressed and put on the clothes he’d thrown at me. They smelled quite a bit and were way too big for me. I didn’t complain, I was more than happy to get out of the blood and brain covered ones I’d been wearing. We dumped the rest of the clothes in a bag and put them behind my seat.

“Otik and Juro will take care of it, the cop, the clothes, everything. Cost a bit more, but whatever. Common procedure. Not the first time something like this has happened.”

It took more than an hour before my brain started working again. I finally realized that I really was a scapegoat. I’d been Mikhail’s distraction. He’d waited for the right moment to shout something that would make the officer turn to me. I don’t know what it was he’d said, but probably something like ‘Yes, shoot him!’

If Mikhail had been a moment late, I’d be dead as well. I’d be stashed into the same crate as the cop. He probably did so with others who worked with him before. Common procedure he’d said. Watching him now, from the corner of my eye, I could tell he didn’t give a shit. He did not care one bit if I’d been shot back then.

I had thought I was an alibi or someone to take the blame. That was only half the reason for me to be there. If necessary, I was there to take a bullet or if things got bad, to die for Mikhail.

There was nothing I could do about it though. I couldn’t even complain about it. I could only sit there, in this shitty truck, in the middle of nowhere. All the while I had to fight the urge to jump the asshole sitting next to me. Not that it would do me any good.

I was surprised when he spoke up.

“It’s a safe route. There should’ve been no one there. Could be that someone ratted me out. Wasn’t careful enough, my fault.”

Now he hadn’t apologized and I was damn sure that I’d never hear this guy use the word sorry. Still, that he’d said anything at all…

Shit, to be honest, I’d thought he’d hit me again for not tackling the police officer earlier.

After that, he said nothing until we reached the brothers.

—

Mikhail was right, the brother’s really had no problem taking care of things. They took the crates we brought and took care of the police officer as well.

Hell, Otik even joked about our run-in with the police and what happened.

By now it was clear to me what their job was. I could see the chimneys of the old furnaces in the back. It was probably quite easy for them to get rid of almost anything. And out here, no one would give a damn.

For a moment, as I heaved one of the crates out, I remember Juro’s weird smiles and his odd behavior. I thought back to what I thought I’d seen that one day. As a result, I felt nothing but disgust for the guy.

Once I was done with the last crate, I found him standing right next to me.

“Too bad, by now I thought I’d find you in one of them too, oh what I’d do then…”

I almost jumped back as I saw his half-empty gaze and smile right next to my face.

“Fucking shit,” I screamed at him. He reacted by laughing out loud, but I could see, that he was grinning at me for the next few minutes we were there.

“He’s one sick fuck,” Mikhail said when we were back in the truck, “knows what he is doing though.”

Once we were back on the street, Mikhail told me it was time for a trip to Bratislava. An old acquaintance of his needed a prompt delivery. The pay was worth the long journey he said. I said nothing. I knew damn well that I’d not earn a dime of what we’d make anyways.

This was not the worst though. Knowing what we were transporting scared me more than anything. Before I’d thought it was drugs or contraband, but now that I know what it was, I couldn’t help but be afraid. I didn’t want to know who Mikhail’s clients really were.

What if he’d tell them I knew what was in the crates? Would they shoot me then and there, right after I finished loading? Would they stuff me in another crate and that be it? What about Mikhail? Would he get rid of me at one point? For two whole weeks, I almost freaked out whenever we stopped, thinking this could be it.

In time though, those feelings went away. I got used to the work and what we were transporting as well. I guess I grew desensitized to it all.

After a while, I even picked up some Czech and Polish. I at least wanted to understand what the cops and some of Mikhail’s clients were yelling at me.

By that time, work felt almost normal, not much different from any other job.

It shouldn’t stay that way.

I had worked with Mikhail for half a year when it happened. We were on our way back from Belarus to Poland, to one of our end destinations. Turns out Mikhail didn’t work with only the brothers. He knew a couple of other trusty people who were also specialized in corpse removal.

Mikhail drove the truck and I was reading through a Polish lesson when I heard a knock from the back of the truck.

At first, I thought I imagined things, but then a heavy thud followed. I looked at Mikhail, who as fuming. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever seen him this angry before, including the night of my first major mistake.

“What is-?”

“Nothing,” he answered between clenched teeth.

We drove on for a while longer until Mikhail brought the truck to a halt a bit off the road.

“Go check,” he commanded me.

Once I was in the back of the truck, I could hear it clearly. Someone was rummaging and moving in one of the crates. I could hear a muffled voice from inside.

I went back to Mikhail.

“Someone is alive back there,” I pressed out.

I could see Mikhail’s expression darken. He cursed in Russian and spat out of the car. For a long minute, he sat there, not doing anything. Then he got out his gun.

Oh shit, he is going to shot the guy, I thought. Then I noticed that he wasn’t getting up from his seat nor did he open the door. He was looking at me holding the gun up to me.

“Wait, what are you… no, I can’t, I mean…”

Mikhail’s face turned hard. “You do it.”

I stared at the gun, not sure what to do.

“Take it!” he screamed.

I took the gun and stumbled to the back of the truck. I stood there, staring at the crate and listened.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Some pleading in Russian. Another Thud.

I can’t do it, I can’t do it, I can’t fucking do it! That’s a person in there. I can’t freaking shoot someone. I was starting to freak out.

I don’t know how long I was standing there when I heard Mikhail curse.

“What takes so freaking long?” he asked in an angry voice. Then I heard him get out of the truck and saw him walk over to me.

“I can’t freaking do it,” I said to him, almost pleading with him.

“You have to,” Mikhail said with a thick Russian accent. His face was completely empty of any emotion.

“N-no, it’s impossible, I can’t kill-“

“Then you die.”

He said it matter-of-factly. I stood there and felt beads of sweat forming on my forehead and on my hands. My heart started to beat faster and faster. How did it come to this? What the hell was I supposed to do? I couldn’t shot someone, could I? I wasn’t going to be a murderer. Fuck this shit. Fuck it all. Fuck Mikhail, fuck Yuri and fuck this guy in there!

“Dyes-yat. Dyev-vat. Vo-syem,” he started all of a sudden.

What the hell was he doing?”

“Syem. Shest,” he continued.

He was counting I realized. The memories of Russian class in sixth grade came back to me. It was the numbers from ten down to one he was reciting!

“Chye-tir-ye. Tree.”

Oh god, what the fuck do I do?

And then, almost entirely out of it, not even sure what I was doing, I pointed the gun at Mikhail. He started to grin and stopped counting.

“You aren’t going to do it,” he said, “don’t kid yourself, someone like you can’t.”

“Shut up!” I yelled at him.

“What are you going to do? You are going to shot me? What are you going to do afterward? Steal my money and run?”

I didn’t answer. I had no fucking idea about any of that. Mikhail knew and started laughing. Then he took one step towards me.

“Stop, or I’ll fucking shot!”

“You won’t. You are a pussy.”

I said nothing. Instead, I pointed the gun straight at his head and took another step back. I had to keep my distance from him.

“I am not going to shot that guy in there! I am not going to do it! I am not a freaking murderer!”

Mikhail started to laugh again.

“And you are going to prove it how? By shooting me?”

This time I grinned weakly.

“If that’s what it takes…”

I had wanted it to sound hard and intimidating, but my voice almost cracked as I said it.

Mikhail laughed again and a moment later, he came at me. At that moment I closed my eyes and pressed the trigger.

It clicked. Nothing else. I opened my eyes in surprise and the only thing I saw was Mikhail’s fist hitting me once more.

I woke up in the passenger seat of the truck. The moment I opened my eyes I was flooded by a wave of familiar pain. Jesus Christ, that guy hits like a truck!

Then I realized where I was and what had happened.

“What the fuck?!” I screamed and started to pull on the seat belt to get rid of it.

“Stop,” Mikhail said in a low voice. He pushed me back into the seat and slowed down the truck.

“What the hell is going on? What was this whole-?”

“It was a test,” Mikhail said in a normal voice.

“Test?! What the fuck kind of test… are you-“

“To see what sort of person you are.”

I had no idea what the hell he was going on about. Mikhail Sighed, before leaning back.

“There is enough bad in this world, enough people like me. This here, all of this, it is all bad. I wanted to see what you’d do. If you’d shoot a man without any other reason than me telling you to do it.”

“That’s why you handed me the gun and all?”

He nodded. My eyes grew wide.

“What if I’d shot you? What if the gun wouldn’t have-?”

“No bullets. You really are an idiot.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. We both did. I was such a goddamn idiot.

“So what if I’d decided to do it.”

“Then there’d be one more bag in that crate,” he answered grinning.

“What happened to-?”

I broke up when I saw Mikhail’s face. It was hard like so often before. This time though, as he looked at the sky ahead, I saw something else: Regret.

After a few more moments we drove off.

I worked with Mikhail for three more months. Not much changed during that time. We didn’t talk a lot and I didn’t find out more about him. I guess though, that’s the way he is.

It was one day, by sheer surprise, that he stopped the truck on a Germany street.

“Get out of the car?”

I did as he told me and he soon followed. What was going on now?

Once we were out Mikhail started to talk.

Yuri never had any intention of letting me go. I’d work for Mikhail as long as was necessary, then he’d get rid of me. I wouldn’t have been the first one to meet such an end.

“Don’t worry, I am not going to shoot you. If I wanted to, I’d done it much earlier.”

Then he handed me something. It was an envelope and a note. As I checked the envelope, I saw that it was filled with money.

“What are-?”

“Shut up! Don’t make me take it back, okay?”

“You don’t belong in this world. You are not a bad person. In this envelope is enough to last you for a bit. On the note is the name of an old friend. He’ll give you work, good and honest work.”

I couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“Mikhail, what are you-?” I couldn’t finish. Instead, I went forward to hug him, but he raised one of his massive hands.

In a moment his expression grew serious again.

“I know how you ended up in this situation. Gambling. Loans. Easy Money, right?”

I felt so utterly embarrassed. I didn’t know what to say, but then Mikhail grabbed me by the cuff of my neck.

“If you ever do that shit again, I come and shoot you myself, understood?”

I gasped in surprise.

“You understand!?” he asked once more.

“Y-yes, I won’t ever do it again.”

“Good.”

He looked at me once more.

“Now fuck off, before I regret what I’ve just done.”

With that, he got back in his truck and drove off. For long minutes I stood there, sure he’d be back.

Once I finally realized he wouldn’t, I checked the address he’d given me on my phone. Then I started walking.

Good and honest work, it didn’t sound too bad.

---

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I always loved hiking.

Even as a child, I was torn towards the wilderness. While other girls wanted cute clothes and pretty dolls, all I wanted was to spend my days outside.

I guess it is due to the influence of my uncle, John. After my parents died, I came to live with him.

He was an ex-military man, a tough guy and knew nothing about children. In the end, John decided to teach me about the things he knew about most: the outdoors.

I grew to love that stuff. I learned about hiking, camping, climbing, how to make a fire and many other, similar things. I became quite the tomboy, as you can imagine.

Time passed and by now I am in my thirties. John has been dead for over a decade.

I’d love to tell you that I became some sort of free spirit who travels the world. It had been my dream ever since I was little, but unfortunately, my life took a different direction.

After high school and John’s death, I couldn’t afford to go to college. I started to work in an office to earn some money. Somehow this temporary position turned into a perpetual one. For more than ten years now I’ve been sorting through documents, typing out emails and, yes, making coffee.

Every once in a while though, when I’m on vacation, I tend to go out on a hiking trip. That’s what I did a few weeks ago too. I’d been looking forward to it for months.

I planned to visit a local mountain range, the forests around it and spend a couple of days hiking. Since it was summer by now, I decided to spend the nights camping in the wilderness.

The first day was terrific. It felt so good to finally leave the dusty office behind and breath fresh mountain air again. On this day I had decided to follow the common hiking tracks. I wanted to visit the most popular tourist spots in the area.

I met other people here and there, but since it wasn’t the holiday season yet, I was almost always alone on my long walks. In the evening, I put up camp in one of the many specifically marked bivouacs of the area.

For the second day, I had decided to venture into the forest. While following the hiking trails was recommended, I wanted to get the feeling of my childhood back.

For hours I made my way through shady forests and clearings. Every once in a while I crossed a hiking trail, but most of the day I stayed blissfully ignorant of civilization.

As it got later and day turned to night, I had not reached the camping area I’d set out for. I had planned out a rough route, but it seemed I’d ventured out a bit too far.

In the end, I decided to set up camp in a small clearing in the middle of the forest.

I put up my tent, set up a small, safe cooking fire and prepared a quick meal for myself. As the sun set I thought back to Uncle John and the times we’d spent together. I missed the old man.

Time passed and I soon found myself in darkness. It was time to sleep, I told myself and went into the tent.

I wasn’t worried about animal attacks. The only thing out here were deer, foxes, and badgers. There could be wild boars as well, but they were scarce and didn’t approach campsites. I crawled into my sleeping bag knowing I was safe. It didn’t take long for me to drift off.

I woke up in the middle of the night. There were noises outside. For a while I lay there, completely quiet, listening. I waited for the sounds to stop or for them to grow more distant. They didn’t. Instead, it sounded as if something was scavenging through my campsite. I heard more rustling, followed by the clang of the cooking pot.

Was this really a fox or a badger? It was not uncommon for them to sneak up to a campsite, but they rarely made enough noise to wake you up. At this point, I started to grow a bit anxious.

There was always the off-chance that you ran into some weirdo or a homeless person. I had heard my share of camping horror stories.

I carefully opened my sleeping bag. Then I went to the tent’s entrance. I moved the zipper down one centimeter at a time to make no noise.

I put my head outside and scanned the area. The campsite was in chaos. The forest floor was turned upside down. My chair was thrown aside. Even the remains of the camping fire were scattered and I couldn’t see the metal cooking pot. At first, there was no sign of an intruder, but then I noticed a large, dark silhouette at the end of the camping site. It was way too big to be a fox or a badger.

“Don’t tell me this is really a person.” I thought.

I was quick to put on some clothes and my shoes. Then I picked up Uncle John’s old hunting knife and pocketed it.

“It’s better to be prepared Lina,” he’d always said to me.

After that, I pulled out a flashlight and went back to the opening of the tent.

For a second I only watched the silhouette, but then I turned on the flashlight and pointed it directly at it.

“Okay, who are you and what do you…” I broke up when I saw the true nature of the intruder.

It was a skinny hairless, white thing, a twisted humanoid creature. It was holding the metal cooking pot in arms that seemed to be too long. The moment I’d turned on the flashlight, the creature threw the pot aside. Its head jerked right into my direction.

For a second the creature only focused on me and I could see the twisted face. Its eyes were of a deep red color. Where the nose would have been was only a knotty heap of bone and skin. The worst was its mouth. It was half open. I could see an assortment of huge, misshapen teeth, between disgusting fleshly lips. Then the thing let out a short, high-pitched scream.

I saw the creatures mouth twist into a smile, and before I could react in any way, the thing rushed towards me on all fours.

My head was spinning. I was in a panic. What the hell was that thing? Something like that couldn’t be real. My flight or fight instinct chose flight, due to the surrealistic nature of the situation.

I almost ripped open the entrance of the tent, jumped outside and ran into the forest. I had to get away from that creature.

I had no idea where I was going. The only thing my brain screamed at me was to get away from the horror I had seen.

As I ran, I was still holding the flashlight. For a moment I turned around to illuminate the forest behind me and there the creature was. It was so fast, I thought. It wasn’t even running, but it seemed to be jumping from tree to tree as it came closer and closer.

Right at that moment, my world turned upside down. I tumbled over the root of a tree and crashed hard to the ground. For a moment all the air was pressed out of my lungs. I lay there, panting and as I pushed myself back up, I felt a hand close around my ankle.

When I turned around, I saw the creature’s disgusting whitish face looking down at me. A mocking smile was showing on its face. In pure panic and rage, I started kicking at the creature. A moment later my hard boot connected with its face.

I heard it scream up in pain and felt the grip on my leg loosen. Moments later I was up and running again.

I ran past trees and fought myself through the thick underbrush. Then I saw something different in front of me.

In the moonlit night, I noticed it was stone. At first, I thought I’d reached one of the mountain cliffs, but it was much too smooth for that. It was a wall, no, a building I finally realized. It must be an old ruin in the forest.

I stumbled forward and saw an entrance right in front of me. In mere moments I went inside and hid in one of the corners of the entry room. As quick as I could I turned off the flashlight I was still holding.

I sat there in the darkness, breathless and shaking, trying to calm down.

“It is okay Lina, it won’t find you here, it is going to be okay.”

I did repeat this mantra over and over again in my mind, forcing myself to breathe slowly.

Minute after minute passed. There was no sound other than my now quiet breathing.

Once I had finally calmed down enough to get up, I heard noises from outside again. Footsteps, right in front of the building. They were hard, heavy and rustled through the leaves on the forest ground.

“Oh please god no,” I said out loud and quickly put a hand over my mouth.

That thing must be back. It was right outside. I am trapped! Right at that moment, I noticed a doorway to my left that led to another room.

As quietly as I could, I started to sneak towards the doorway and the second room.

Quietly, I told myself. Don’t make a noise. I could hear the creature. It must be shuffling around outside in front of the building.

I finally stepped through the doorway. Oh god please let there be another way out, please let there be another way…

Right at that moment, I stepped on something. It felt soft and strange and as I looked down, I saw a sort of small creature below my feet. In the dark, I could make out a pair of empty eyes staring up at me.

I screamed up and in a new surge of panic, I kicked the thing away. My mind conjured up nightmarish visions of twisted, white offspring. For a second I feared that I’d found my way straight into the creature’s nest.

I pulled out the flashlight again and turned it on, only to see that it was an old, half-rotten stuffed animal. I looked around the room and in utter perplexity, I saw that there was at least a dozen of them. All old and dirty, scattered across the floor. There were other things too, old furniture and rotten cloth.

Right then I realized what I’d done. Lina, you freaking idiot, that creature must have heard your scream.

And as if to answer the thought, I heard footsteps that soon came closer. Why is there no window, I cursed as I frantically moved the flashlight over the walls. Then I stopped as I saw something new.

Pictures.

It was pictures of women, brunet women. They covered almost an entire wall.

There were dozens of them. Small pictures, big pictures, some in black and white, others in color.

“What the fuck is this!? What is this place?” I asked myself and wondered if the thing had come after me due to my brunet hair.

Right at that moment, I heard a noise. As I turned, I already knew what I’d see: the twisted, white abomination standing in the doorway.

I saw how the disgusting mouth changed into a smile as the red eyes focused on me. It had found me.

I stumbled back but bumped into the wall behind me. The creature giggled, then opened its mouth as if to say something.

“No, get away from me,” I pressed out from between my lips.

The thing took the first step towards me. This time I heard something.

“…ther,” it said.

I looked around again, but there was no way out. I pushed myself along the wall, trying to somehow get away. All the while the mocking smile and the red eyes followed me along.

“…other,” it said again.

What the hell was going on? I saw how it spread out his arms, trying to block my only way of escape, the doorway. Finally, as it said it once more, I understood what it was saying:

“Another.”

Oh god. I realized it. Another. I looked at all the pictures on the wall. Another woman. Another victim. I had found my way into the lair of this twisted, women hunting abomination. And now it had another one, me.

It said it twice more, before it stumbled towards me, throwing itself at me with outspread arms.

“No! Get the fuck away from me!” I screamed out loud.

Right before the thing was on top of me, I let go of the flashlight and ripped out the hunting knife.

There was the sickening sound of tearing flesh, followed by the wailing of the creature. Then my hands were flooded with a warm, sticky liquid.

In my frantic panic, I retracted the knife, before I stabbed the creature twice more.

The things wailing grew louder and louder before it fell back and crashed to the floor, flailing its arms around.

For a few more seconds I stood there, shaking, then the bloody knife fell from my hands and I ran.

I ran until my lungs were burning up in my chest. I can’t say how long it took me to finally calm down.

After that, it must have taken me another hour before I stumbled upon a hiking track.

When it finally dawned, I heard noises ahead. I hastened my pace and soon ran into a group of hikers. When they saw me they gasped and started to back away. They only stopped when I called out to them and pleaded for help.

I don’t remember what I said. I must have been rambling on and on.

In the end, they called the police. Two officers, named Siegert and Schneider arrived soon after.

I told them my story, but I could see the expression on their faces. They didn’t believe me.

Finally, though, the two of them agreed to follow me to my camping site. After that, we searched for the ruin, where I’d stabbed the creature. It took no more than ten minutes to find it.

Keeping a safe distance, I followed them back inside the old house. The first room was completely empty. Then we went into the second one.

“What the hell…” Siegert whispered as he saw the room.

As I looked down at the creature now, it seemed much more human. Its body, while somewhat disfigured and white as a sheet, was almost completely normal. It wasn’t the giant, hulking monstrosity I had thought it was, but only barely above average height.

As the officers finally turned it around, I could see the face once more. It was still as disfigured as I’d remembered it.

I looked at the rest of the creature. Something was wrong with one of his hands I noticed. I started to count the fingers: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

“Seven,” I said out loud.

Officer Schneider turned towards me. He was an older man, almost twice my age.

“Oh, the fingers,” I started and pointed at the hand, “there’s seven of them on this hand.”

As I said it he walked over towards me and looked down as well.

“Could it be?” he whispered.

Then he turned to me again.

“Miss Brandt, I might have heard more about this… creature. Always thought it was nothing but an urban legend though.”

“What are you talking about?”

The man looked at the creature once more, sighed and then told me the story he’d heard.

Back in the day, he started, a family lived out here in this very house.

They were an older couple, quite reclusive. The two of them, even though they were at an advanced age, had two children a boy and a girl. As the rumors go, the two siblings developed a deep bond and once they got older, this bond turned into love.

The boy was soon sent off to live with relatives while the girl, Maria, stayed with her parents.

As time went on, talk about the reclusive family started to spread. One story said that the harsh treatment of the son was because Maria had gotten pregnant.

It was never proven of course, but an old and confused midwife added to the story. She insisted that she once helped deliver a particularly disfigured, albino child. It was born from a forbidden love and cursed by God, she said.

As the years passed Maria’s parents grew old and died, leaving the young woman to live in the forest by herself.

By that time she had started to work at a workshop in a village nearby. Many of her co-workers urged her to move into the village as well, but she refused.

Many said it was due to her lifestyle, but others believed the actual reason was the rumored disfigured child.

None of these rumors could ever be proven. Only a few years after her parents, Maria died too, during an accident at the workshop.

She was buried next to her parents.

In the end, the small, old house in the forest was abandoned. Maria’s brother had all but vanished and she had no other relatives.

In the years to come, many of the rumors persisted, especially those surrounding Maria. Kids playing in the forest talked about a wailing coming from the abandoned building. Hikers and campers spoke about white shades or ghosts that they had seen in the middle of the night.

Many people in the area thought it was Maria’s ghost haunting her old home in the forest.

Seeing those seven fingers, Schneider said, reminded him of all those old stories. There had been one more thing the old midwife had said. The disfigured, albino child had been born with seven fingers on one of his hands.

As I stood there, I realized what he was saying. That creature that had come after me must have been Maria’s child. After his mother’s death two decades ago, that twisted child must have continued to live out here.

In the end, the police ruled that I had acted in self-defense. After two decades of living out here, Maria’s child must have been in a dangerous, almost feral state. They also believed that the child must have been severely mentally handicapped. He must have thought of me as someone stumbling into his territory. For that reason he’d attacked me.

At least that is what everyone thought. It was yesterday that I finally found out the truth about all this.

After the whole thing was over, I’d reached out to Schneider and asked him, if he could find a picture of Maria. I can’t say why, but I guess I wanted to see a picture of the poor woman whose story I’d heard that day.

Yesterday a letter arrived. Inside was a short note by Schneider and a picture of a young woman. She wasn’t exactly pretty, but she had this happy, friendly smile and long brunet hair.

Brunet hair, I thought, like all the women in those pictures and like me, too. At that moment it dawned on me. When I’d seen them, I had thought those pictures were his victims, but the police had assured me it wasn’t the case.

After his mother had vanished, the child must have gathered all of them. In his mind, after all those years, those brunet women must have looked to him like his mother.

That’s what he’d said that night. He hadn’t said other or another like I’d thought. What he had said was mother.

After two long, lonely decades, a brunet woman had stumbled into his home. He must have thought his mother had finally returned home to him.

That’s why he’d been smiling and giggling. That was the reason for the outspread arms.

That poor unlucky soul. In his mind his mother had finally returned home and then she’d brutally stabbed him to death.

Entry #1 — 05/02/18

Back in therapy Doctor Schulz told me that whenever I had strange thoughts, I should write them down. That’s the reason I started this journal.

I am not sure what it is, but in these past weeks, I had the feeling that strange things were going on. I think people are watching me.

I live in a massive apartment building. The flats are small but affordable. There is one problem: The missing solitude, peace and especially privacy.

Knowing that dozens or even hundreds of people live in the same building is a suffocating thought. It had been bothering me ever since I moved in.

The apartment building is part of an extensive residential area. There is nothing but rows and rows of similar buildings next to each other. They are only divided by small recreational areas nested between them.

The closeness of the buildings makes living here a bit awkward. When I first moved I had no blinds or curtains. I felt a bit naked, to be honest. Anyone from the adjacent building was able to watch me. I knew it was irrational. It wasn’t like I was particularly interesting or attractive.

Once I got my blinds, they were almost perpetually closed. They were a godsend.

I got to admit though, at times it was tempting to go outside and risk a peek at other people. You could catch a couple during an argument or someone acting weird. At one time I even saw someone watching porn with the blinds open.

Unfortunately, it goes both ways. If I was able to watch other people, they could watch me too.

In the colder month that was fine.

Once it got warmer though, more and more people spent time on their balconies. It makes it awkward to do the same. I hate people watching me, always did. Like I’d done last year, I kept the blinds closed.

This year too I felt watched. I couldn’t explain it, but it made my skin crawl. It was like the feeling you get when someone’s eyes focus on you. It was ridiculous. I had the blinds closed. No one could look inside.

As always it was just my imagination. My brain was acting up again and playing tricks on me. God knows it likes to do those things.

Over time I couldn’t deny it anymore though. I wasn’t sure if it was only on mind.

A couple weeks ago I was proven right. A man over in the other building looked straight at me.

I pushed it off as a coincidence, a trick of the moment. Every time I looked over though, I saw the same guy.

At first, I thought I was paranoid, stupid even. Who knows, the guy might sit outside all day, enjoying the nice weather.

Every time I went to the blinds though there was this feeling of apprehension. What if he was is there again? I told my brain to drop it. Ignore it, and all is well.

It didn’t matter. Whenever I looked, he was there.

Today it wasn’t just him. On a different balcony, I saw a woman staring at me as well. As I gazed over the building, I found other people too. They were all doing the same thing: Watching me.

The weirdest part is that they didn’t stop. They didn’t just look once or twice and go back to their business, no they continue to watch.

I felt myself freaking out, so I started to write this down. It always helped me to clear my head and to keep calm.

What I can say is that this is too weird. I am sitting here, sweaty all of a sudden. Maybe they all weren’t looking at me?

Entry #2 — 05/06/18

I am sure that I do not imagine things. When I look, those people stop right in their tracks and start watching me. Every single time they are there. Hell, as I said, their eyes are glued on me.

Entry #3 — 05/08/18

I’m catching myself looking out more and more often. I am telling myself it is all in my head and the next time I look out there is no one there anymore.

The problem is, every time I am confronted with this weird reality. More and more people seem to join in every single day. First, it was only two or three, but now it’s dozens. There is no way this is a coincidence.

Entry #4 — 05/10/18

Today I dusted off the old binoculars. It was time to give those people a bit of a closer look. It felt a little wrong to use them like this. I had got them for something different, but oh well.

How do they even see me? I am hiding behind the blinds and only ever look for a moment. Still, they notice me in an instant.

Entry #5 — 05/11/18

Are they all talking to each other? Did they all get together and chose me as a target to fuck with? Do they know I don’t like to be watched? Is that why they are doing it?

Entry #6 — 05/15/18

Enough is enough. I am done with this shit. For the past weeks, I spent my free time thinking about this and staring at people. Staring at people who just stare back at me! It is not only weird but stupid, really fucking stupid.

If I stop to give them attention, I am sure they’ll stop looking.

Entry #7 — 05/19/18 — 11:22am

I ignored them for days.

Yesterday I even went out with Tom and a few other friends. We went to a party, had a few beers and hang out together. It was a pretty nice evening. First time in a long while I had fun.

This morning I ruined things. Hungover as I was I prepared myself some coffee. Then, without thinking, decided to air this musty place out a bit.

As soon as the blinds were up, I felt their glances on my body. It gave me quite the scare to see all those people looking at me. I took a step back in shock, and after a few seconds, I closed the blinds again.

A few minutes later I peeked outside once more, trying not to move the blinds at all. They are still there, even now, an hour later.

Entry #8 — 05/19/18 — 2:33pm

The more I keep watching them, the more I think this all a set-up. It could be a social-experiment or a reality show.

There is no other way you can explain what is happening. The people who are watching must be following cues and instructions.

Whoever is behind this might have cameras installed to monitor my reaction. Are they recording me right now as I type this out?

Or is it a dumb prank? Is someone trying to freak me out? Could it be Alex? But how’d he get all those people to join in with him?

Entry #9 — 05/19/18 — 7:14pm

I’ve been racking my brain all day. Are they trying to get a reaction from me? Do they want me to watch them? Are they trying to provoke me? Is that what why they are keeping me under this sort of surveillance?

Well then, assholes, I am provoked!

I am going to go out there, and I am going to sit right there watching you. Let’s see how you react to this! Do you like to see me check you out with those binoculars? Oh, I hope you do!

Entry #10 — 05/19/18 — 10:52pm

Well, that grand plan of mine did absolutely nothing. Everything was the same. They kept it up for hours!

I don’t know how they are able to do this. I don’t think they moved at all. They are standing completely still. This is ridiculous.

They are still standing outside. It is dark by now. They shouldn’t even be able to see me anymore. Not outside on the balcony and not in here. Why haven’t they moved yet?

Entry #11 — 05/10/18 — 1:17am

This has turned from ridiculous to scary. Even when I look out now, I can vaguely make out their silhouettes in the dark. They must all still be on their balconies. I’ve checked every couple of minutes, but nothing changes.

This is the first time since this started that I am seriously freaked out. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. I am going to bed now. I made sure every door and every window is closed.

Entry #12 — 05/20/18 — 7:47am

I almost couldn’t sleep last night. Even in bed I felt watched. It is stupid, yet I still felt their eyes resting on me. All night I imagined them looking over at my window.

Deep inside I knew that as soon as I went to bed, they all went inside. I imagined them congratulating each other, shaking hands and laughing about how well they’d played me.

The worst part was the nightmare that followed. I dreamed that I stood in the middle of a vast square. An endless number of people surrounded me. They were all staring at me. No one said a word. Then they all started to close in on me.

I woke up screaming. That was enough sleep I told myself and got up. It was morning anyways.

The first thing before I typed this out was to look out again. Of course, they a all there already. How could it have been any different? I wasn’t even surprised!

Entry #13 — 05/20/18 — 11:26am

I talked to my neighbor. That damned grumpy old geezer.

I had to ring a few times before he opened the door. I heard no footsteps or any other noises. That’s how I knew he’d been standing behind the door all this time, watching me through the spyglass.

When I didn’t leave, he had no other choice but to open.

I asked him if he’d seen or noticed anything strange going on outside in the building opposite ours.

He stared at me for a few seconds, shook his head and mumbled something to himself, before closing the door again. Yeah right, fuck you too.

After he’d closed the door, I felt his eyes watching me through the spyglass. Once I was inside, I wondered if he was part of it too. It wouldn’t be too farfetched. It fit his character perfectly. I saw it in my mind now: Him standing behind his door all day, keeping a lookout for me and giving them information.

That must be how they know if I am home or not. He is giving them information!

Entry #14 — 05/20/18 — 2:54pm

I’d been fuming ever since I got back from my neighbor.

Was this whole fucking area involved?

This was starting to get to me. I had to talk to someone. I had to show them what was going on here.

I tried recording from inside or from my balcony, but you can’t see enough. I have to go outside. I am going to record the insanity that is going on here.

Once I have it on video, I can show everyone. Hell, I can post it on YouTube. Then I’ve got them!

Entry #15 — 05/20/18 — 6:37pm

Not good. Not a good idea at all!

I stormed outside, alright. The first thing I saw was the parents near the playground staring at me. As I walked, they kept track of me, whispering to one another.

I ignored them until I saw their faces. They were grimacing, some even pointing at me.

So, of course, I started filming them. I ignored when someone yelled at me. There is a good chance they are involved in this whole thing too!

Still filming I made my way to the building. I went right for an old man who’d been staring at me ever since this morning. I yelled at him and asked him why he was doing it. As expected I got no answer. No movement either. I yelled at him once more, then I went to the next person, an older lady, and filmed her.

It wasn’t long before some sweaty, fat fuck in a muscle shirt came over to me. He asked me in a harsh voice what I thought I was doing. I couldn’t film people without their permission, especially the kids at the playground.

I said nothing and kept at it. Fuck that dude, I thought.

To make a long story short, he grabbed my phone, got angry and told me to get the hell out of here, or he’d call the cops. At first, I wanted to argue, but a crowd had already formed.

All that attention made me uneasy as hell. I stammered that if he returned the phone, I’d get out of there.

When he finally did I almost ran back. The fat fuck dared to yell after me and call me a nutjob. Yeah right, I was the crazy one here! Not all of them! I could even hear them whisper all around me.

“That’s him right?”

“Isn’t that the guy?”

I saw how they looked at me. When I called them out, I only got stares back. I knew they were hiding their smiles and laughter. At this moment I knew that everyone out there was involved. I knew they were planning their next step while I was standing right between them.

Once back inside I suffered from a severe panic attack. It was the first one in a long while. I couldn’t do anything than to lay on my bed, breathe slowly and try to calm down. Once it was finally over, I typed this out.

Entry #16 — 05/20/18 — 7:11pm

Tried to send the video to my friends, but that fat guy must have deleted it when he got a hold of my phone. Fucking hell!

Entry #17 — 05/24/18 — 6:06am

Didn’t do much for three days. Got up, went to work in the morning and spent the evening playing games. I was tempted to look outside, but I could resist.

At least until now. I looked, and they were all back at it. Why are there so many people on their balcony at a time like this?

What the hell are they doing!? Don’t they have to go to work? If not why aren’t they asleep? How can they all do this at six in the freaking morning?

Entry 18 — 05/24/18 — 5:13pm

No change. They are all still there, still looking over here. I can’t tell for sure, but I think they didn’t move at all.

I don’t care anymore. I opened the blinds, took out my binoculars and checked them out in detail. There had to be something. There had to be one single detail that showed me it was all a trick or a farce.

They are completely still. Some looked a bit different though. Angrier than the rest and as if they were frozen in motion.

Out of nowhere the dream I had a few days ago came back to me. Are they frozen in forward motion? Looking once more showed me they were indeed. Does that mean they are coming for me? Is that why they are in these strange positions?

After only a few minutes I put the binoculars away and closed the blinds. I am not going to think about this.

I have to let this go. I have to let this go. I have to let this go.

I will let it go.

Entry #19 — 05/29/18

I did well. I did let it go. I am going to wait till summer is over if I have to. I am not going to get near those blinds, the windows or the balcony.

I even hang out in the city two days ago. It wasn’t too nice with people all around me, but better than sitting here, being watched all day.

Entry #20 — 06/02/18 — 2:11pm

I am all alone. There is no help. The police are involved too. Fuck them! Fuck the police! How can they take part in some shit like that!?

But they really are all working together. They are all out for me. What the hell do they want!? Why are they all playing me! What the fuck can I do? I am so freaking confused.

Entry #21 — 06/02/18 — 4:07pm

I had to calm down. I was too angry to write down what happened.

The day started off normal. I played some games and minded my own business.

At one point I realized though that the only thing I heard was the low humming of my computer.

It was Saturday. It was summer. The weather was great. I realized the sounds from the playground were missing. I should’ve heard kids playing and yelling.

I told myself to let it go. I’d been doing well to do so. The more I said those words, the less they worked. Curiosity and fear drove me forward, but I couldn’t see the playground from the window.

From the balcony I could see it. Everyone near the playground was frozen, looking towards me. All eyes, those of the parents as well as the kids, were focused on me.

I had ignored this thing for almost a week, but they got me again. They got me to look yet again. They had to keep pushing me, didn’t they?

At that moment I said fuck it and called the police. I should have done so much earlier. I told them people were spying on me, they were acting strange, and I was scared.

When they arrived, I told them the whole story and led them straight to the playground.

Well, what do you know? Everything was back to normal! Kids were playing, and adults were chatting.

Oh, how surprised they all acted when they saw me with the police. I thought I’d got them now. I told the officers what had been going on before.

The officers went over to talk with the group. I could see one woman gesticulating heavily into my direction. I had smiled, thinking the officer had got her. Turned out I was wrong. Big surprise. The officers came back to me and asked me which apartment was mine. I pointed at it.

Of course, they asked about the blinds. What the hell did it matter? I told them it was for protection, so people couldn’t watch me. Then they dared to ask me if I often watched people. Well, what do you expect? Yes, I do! I had to find out if they were watching me! I had to check on them! Freaking police.

Well, they didn’t take that too well. They asked me about the time I’d been filming people. That bitch must have told them. She must have lied about me! I tried to tell them it was to prove the situation around here. I wanted to have evidence of the weird things happening. They cut me off.

Instead of listening, they told me that people had complained about me. I was the one who was watching people they said! Me! They said I watched them all day from my balcony! That’s absolute fucking bullshit! I am not watching anyone! I tried to explain again, but once more I wasn’t allowed to talk.

They told me to shut it. I had called them the help me, and they told me to shut up! That wasn’t enough. They told me to get a grip and go to a fucking psychiatrist! Yeah right, I go straight back to Doctor Schulz tomorrow. I’ll say to him ‘Hey doc, I am back, the police told me I should talk to you!’ I didn’t have those problems anymore! He said so himself!

They were full of shit! I didn’t even listen anymore. I let them talk, but I watched the playground. I saw them. I saw them look at me. They were talking about me. Telling each other to get back into position soon.

One of the officers snapped a finger in front of me. In the end, they told me to keep quiet, not to film anyone and that disturbance of peace and privacy was a serious crime.

Yeah, that is a crime, right? They are all doing it! But that’s of course not what those two assholes cared about!

Once they had left, I went back inside.

That’s where I am now. For an hour I was so mad, I couldn’t stop pacing around. Even the freaking police won’t help me.

But that wasn’t it. That wasn’t why I was so mad. It was their faces. I noticed it. The little smile when I told them my story. They were part of it too. I figured it out just now. Hah!

That’s why they didn’t help me. The police are involved as well! I don’t know why I didn’t notice it back outside.

Or wait, maybe those weren’t even real policemen. Hell, they could be two guys that lived in the building over there. Put on a uniform, play the part and fuck with me a bit more!

I looked outside as soon as I’d come back inside. Yep, there they were again. It was exactly as I’d thought.

They are all smiling now. It’s because they know they got me again. I am watching them again, and that’s what they wanted, right? I am playing your stupid game once more.

Fucking hell!

Entry #22 — 06/02/18 — 10:21pm

I remembered the dream once again. I had once read that dreams can be premonitions. In the dream, all the people that watched me came closer towards me.

Guess what I noticed? They are getting closer. It is slow and barely visible. It is so I don’t notice it, but I did now! It is only a step or two at a time, but they are definitely inching closer. I can see some that are already leaning over their balcony railing.

The ones outside too. Even from my windows I can now see the playground group. But when I look, they don’t move.

Why are they doing this? Is it to play with me? To freak me out? To drive me insane? Or is it, so I keep watching? I don’t freaking now.

Entry #23 — 06/03/18 — 1:42am

Tried to sleep, but I can’t. I got up again, and there are still dark silhouettes outside. They are still at the playground. I can’t see them clearly, but I know they are there. They know I didn’t sleep.

I tried recording them once again, but my phone isn’t working right. Whenever I take a picture or record a video, it is nothing but darkness. They don’t show up at all! Did that fat guy break it? Fuck!

This is so absurd. So completely ridiculous. It is almost two in the fucking morning, and those people are still outside. With their freaking kids! I wanted to open the window or the balcony door and scream at them to give it a rest, but they’d like that wouldn’t they?

Entry #24 — 05/04/18 — 6:41am

oh god oh god oh god ohgd ohgd ohgd ohgod oh god oh god oh god ohgdo oh god ohg od oh god oh ogdo no no no no no no I can’t

Entry #25 — 06/04/18 — 8:34am

Okay, I am calm now. I am calm now. No one can hurt me.

I tried something. Spoiler: it was freaking stupid, and my phone is gone!

I had the grand idea to try to film people once more. It was not even seven, barely six and the playground was full of people. I went out with my phone my in hand and started to take pictures.

I leaned forward to get a full view and started filming. At that moment I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.

I turned to see what it was. I saw that everyone on that whole side of the apartment building was leaning forward like me, staring at me. They all looked straight at me, right into my eyes. Their expression was angered, their eyes wide. They seemed to almost lean towards me as if they’d come for me at any second. It freaked me out more than anything in my entire life. I screamed, stumbled backward and sent my phone flying.

I ran back inside.

After an hour I went back outside to look for my phone. It wasn’t fucking there. It must have landed somewhere else. Goddamnit!

I peeked outside once more and prayed that I had imagined things. I had not. Everyone was still there. Not only to the left but also to the right. I saw my neighbor, his face twisted into a visage of cruel mockery, Even from above the people were staring at me.

I am laughing as I type this out. None of this makes any sense. It is surreal. Did I slip into freaking bizarro world?

I don’t freaking know anymore!

Entry #26 — 06/04/18 — 1:22pm

Completely forgot work. I only remembered it now.

I sent an email to my boss, saying I was sick. Don’t even care what he thinks.

Entry # — 27 06/04/18 — 5:44pm

I am trapped. I am freaking trapped now.

I should have left this place while I still could. After what I saw this morning, I told myself I should get away. Something bizarre and very, very, wrong was going on here. Hell, it had been going on for weeks now!

As soon as I opened my door, I saw that the whole hallway was filled with people, dozens of them!

I yelled out in surprise, expecting them to jump me. Instead, they were all frozen in place, all staring at me. Watching me and waiting for what I was going to do.

I wanted to run. I really wanted to. I wanted to get out then and there. I took only one step forward, and I saw they were all smiling.

I saw that they were leaning forward towards me as if they were expecting me to try. They were taunting me to try it. Their arms were outstretched, their hands open in anticipation. I knew they’d grab me as soon as I tried. They wanted me to try running. They weren’t just watching me I realized, they were preying on me.

That’s when I threw the door shut and locked it. I ran to the living room, expecting to hear them push against the door. I thought they’d knock against it or try to pry it open.

Instead, there was only silence. Everything stayed quiet.

Why the hell aren’t they doing anything? I screamed at the door why they didn’t come and take me. Nothing again.

After that, I sent Tom a Facebook message. I knew he’d be worried, but I needed help. I told him how scared I was, that something strange was going on here and that I didn’t know what to do. I am waiting for his reply now, but so far he hasn’t read my message.

Entry #28 — 06/04/18 — 8:25pm

Tom still hasn’t read my message.

I checked through the blinds earlier. They are all getting closer. The people from the other building are now outside. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of people are filling the small recreational area. They all look over here. None of them are moving when I watch. That’s why I don’t dare to stop. I look outside all the time now, I have to. I can’t risk them getting any closer! I can’t risk for them to get here. To get me!

Entry #29 — 06/05/18 — 4:46am

I didn’t sleep yet. No answer from Tom.

An idea came to me. Are they watching me to see if I am watching them? Are they trying to sneak up on me? To come here and get me when I am not watching?

So that means they watch me to see if I am watching so they know if I am watching and if I don’t they can come closer? Is that why they are watching so intently?

The more I think about it, the more sense it makes. There can’t be any other reason. There never was. I started to laugh so much when I finally understood it. I had to type this out. They are all watching me to see if I am watching them.

It is so so simple! I am still laughing, even now. How stupid I was to not see it earlier.

I have to go back to watch now! I have to be serious again!

Entry #30 — 06/05/18 — 8:12am

What is insanity?

Things don’t make any sense anymooooore.

Nothing does at all at all at all at all!

I must have passed out at one point and woke up not long ago. I jerked up because I haven’t been watching.

I saw no, I see, something impossible. There are dozens of heads looking over from the sides of the balcony.

Wait no, it must be more. It’s hundreds! They are all peeking over the sides, all atop one another and are all looking straight at me as I am typing away. tak tak tak

That’s not the worst though. What is really so stupid, so goddamn stupid stupid stupid is the ones who look down from the top. From the freaking top!

They are upside down and are looking at me. It shouldn’t be possible. If they tried that they’d fall down and crash to the ground. Yet I see them. It is absolutely im-fucking-possible.

Are you telling me they are all using rope? Hundreds of people are dangling down like in Mission Impossible to look into my apartment? It is so stupidly stupid I am laughing again. I am going to actually put on the Mission Impossible theme later on. In my mind I see hundreds upon hundreds of ropes dangling down towards my balcony.

This is all impossible. None of this makes any sense. Reality itself has turned to nonsense. This is not bizarro world, this is nonsense world.

Entry 31 — 06/05/18 — 1:01pm

It’s not fucking real, is it?

Do I imagine all of this? Was none of it real to begin with? Is there no one out there at all? Maybe it’s all just in my head?

ALL

IN

MY

HEAD

HEAD HEAD

If I go outside is it all over? Are they all gone? Should I do it?

What if it is real though? What they aren’t human? Could I be the only human left in this building? Is that why they are all focusing on me? No one else is real, and I am the only real one left?

Hah, me the only REAL one left, that’d be great. Just me.

I don’t know.

I don’t know don’t know doN’tk no don’t know don’t fucking know don’know don’t

Entry #32 — 06/05/18 — 11:04pm

I’ve barricaded the place.

There are so many of them now, I can’t watch them all.

Whenever I fall asleep or doze off, they are closer. I never see them move, but they wait till I can’t watch anymore.

Their hands are reaching out for me. They are climbing onto the balcony already.

And they are still watching me.

Ok, did I miss anything? The windows are covered up. Check! The balcony door is blocked off too. Check! The front door and the whole entry area is sealed. Check!

I still have enough food for a week or two!

Entry #33 — 06/06/18 — 9:22am

I slept again.

The doorbell woke me. I know they are in front of the door. I am listening. I can hear you. I know you want me to go and open the door.

You can try to lure me out all you want, I won’t come. I am not an idiot. I won’t open the door. I am not falling for any of your silly tricks. Not me.

Entry #34 — 06/06/18 — 10:11am

The balcony is overflowing with people.

There is a tiny spot from which I can still watch them. It is because I have to always watch them.

There are no sounds. They don’t make any sounds. At times I think the sound is all but gone. The only sound is the doorbell. It is a trick.

Entry #35 — 06/10/18 — 4:53pm

There are hundreds of them on the balcony now. They are all smiling. Is it in anticipation?

There are so many. How do they all fit on the balcony? I am laughing again as I watch them. There are too many people out there. It is impossible for hundreds upon hundreds of people to be on my tiny balcony, yet they are all there. They are on top of each other, next to each other, filling up the balcony to the top. There are more of them outside. They are coming from all sides.

It’s as if they are pouring into the balcony. As if some giant is pushing more and more of them inside. It makes no sense.

Entry #36 — 06/11/18 — 6:17pm

I got a couple of messages from Tom. He tells me that everything is alright. He talked about how I am having another one of my episodes. I should come outside. Doctor Schulz is with him, and they can help me.

I knew he was with them. Ever since the start. I knew it. He always was. Even back in the day. Him and Schulz, two parts of an evil whole.

Now they are ringing again and again and again and again. Over and over and over again.

Are they going to get in soon? What if they break down the door? What if they pour in from the balcony? Nothing to do but to wait.

Oh and wait I will. Do and come for me. I am prepared. I got every knife, every tool, and every other sharp or blunt object. Come in if you want. Come and try to get me. I won’t let you.

I am going to fight and fight and kill and fight and kill

There are noises outside again!

Emily always aimed to be at the top. She just had to be number one. There was one problem: her sister, Heather.

Heather had it all. She was pretty, smart, athletic, and by far the most popular girl in school. To top it all off, she didn’t even try or make a conscious effort. Emily herself was pretty and smart, too, but Heather always outshined her younger sister.

I got to know the two of them when I was in second grade. They had moved into the house next door with their father. It was only natural for us to become friends. Emily and I became especially close, given that we were in the same grade.

It’s hard to say when Emily’s envy began. I thought it started during middle school, but it must’ve been much earlier. Emily never showed it openly. In front of her sister and their father, she wore the mask of the ideal younger sibling. She’d always compliment her sister, but I could see the tiny cracks in her mask; the narrowed eyes, and the fake smile that stayed on for a bit too long.

I’d thought it was nothing but sisterly rivalry, but one late afternoon, as the two of us were walking home, I found out just how furious she was.

“She’s so goddamn perfect, it’s unfair!”

“Who is?”

“Her! Why’s everyone always talking about her? Today as well! ‘Oh, Emily, I’m sure one day you’ll be as pretty as your sister.’ Ugh, how I hate it!”

“Look who’s talking,” I said, laughing. “I mean, just look at-“

“Oh, shush, Lizzy!” she cut me off, staring me down. “That’s not the point.”

“I was just trying-“

“Just stop, okay? Do you have any idea how hard it is!?”

I sighed, but said nothing else.

“How many times do you think I have to hear how I’m almost as perfect as her? How do you think I feel when a guy I like asks me about her? I’m sick and tired of it!”

In her anger, she stomped on next to me, her hands balled into fists. For a moment, she stopped her angry tirade and bit down on her lower lip. Then another mumbled curse escaped her mouth. This was only the first of many similar outbursts.

When Heather graduated, she followed her dream of becoming a professional dancer. Emily thought her time to shine had come. Finally, her sister had left the throne to her. At least, that’s what Emily thought, but Heather proved to be an ever-looming shadow. Guys only talked about how they’d kill for a chance with her. The trophy case still showed her many accomplishments, and even the cheerleaders aspired to be just as good as Heather. No one ever talked about Emily, and I could see how that hatred was eating away at her.

Things changed two years later, when Emily and I graduated as well, and went on to university. Finally, Emily seemed to free herself from her sister’s shadow and to become a person of her own. Being the close friends we were, we decided to attend the same university. Emily majored in fashion design, while mousy little me went into the science field. We even moved into the same dorm. Sure, we weren’t dorm mates, but we lived only a single floor away from each other.

During our second semester, Facebook exploded in popularity. Having been on Myspace for years, I was quick to sign up. Emily was more reluctant, but after I’d pestered her for weeks, she made an account of her own. She was quick to discover her sister had a profile, too.

I had thought her obsession was long over, but now I realized just how deep her envy truly ran. Every once in a while, when I came to her room, I’d find her hunched over at her desk, leaning forward, and glaring at the computer screen. Sometimes, I’d watch her in fascinated trance before I made myself known. She went through her sister’s pictures, her posts, and even her friends list. She never admitted to it, and either minimized the browser or downplayed it by stating she was just looking for mutual friends. I knew what was going on, however, and I knew she was stalking her sister.

When Facebook launched the fan page feature, I suggested Emily might create one for her designs. At first she was against it, but once I pointed out the advantages, she gave in. To her, and even my surprise, she got quite a few initial fans. After some weeks, the number had grown to a hundred, and two months later, it was well above a thousand.

Then one day, when I came over to her dorm room, I found her on the phone.

“You have no idea how happy I am. I mean, more than a thousand people! It’s unreal!”

At first she didn’t even notice me, and seemed entirely absorbed in her conversation. While she bubbled into the phone, she was pacing the room, her face twisted into a forced smile. When she finally noticed me, I pointed at the phone in her hand.

“Oh, it’s Heather!”

I frowned for a moment, said a quick hello, and found myself a place to sit.

“Yeah, Lizzy helped me set it up.”

“No, I think that’s not it. Maybe I’m just talented, you know?”

She giggled into the phone, but it was so fake and hollow it made me shudder.

“Oh? Yeah, I guess. I mean, sure, I’d be happy to help.”

She said it in a voice as sweet as honey, but her face was distorted by this mockingly satisfied expression. I’d never seen her like that before.

“No, it’s not hard at all. I could even invite some of my friends to like your page.”

I sighed when she said this. Emily noticed, and instantly stared me down. I could only shrug in annoyance.

“What’s that Heather? Yeah, sure. Well, Lizzy’s waiting, gotta go, sorry.”

I looked up at Emily, who was beaming. Not at me, but at herself. It was ghastly, because I couldn’t remember when I’d last seen her that happy.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“I told Heather a little about my fan page,” she said in the most innocent of voices.

She told me she’d called her sister because she missed her. After all, she was the only family she’d left. The topic of the fan page came up by sheer chance. Once it was out, though, Emily had to tell her sister all about it. After a while, Heather wanted to know more.

“I mean, I had to help her, right?”

I nodded, but I knew what this was really about. For the first time, Emily was the popular one, and Heather could use her help. I could see how she relished the feeling, the look of bliss on her face, the long torn-out breaths she took, and, of course, the fact she couldn’t seem to stand still. She was out of it.

Every time Heather called her, Emily was in that same state of euphoric bliss. Her eyes were wide, her mouth warped into this ghastly, over-drawn smile, and her eyes were glowing with an almost manic light. It didn’t matter where Emily was or what she was doing. We were at the bar? She’d rush off to the toilet. We were in the study hall? She’d leave for half an hour. Even when the two of us were hanging out with friends, she would rush off to answer the phone.

I tried to talk to her about it multiple times, but she always shrugged it off. After all, Heather was her sister, so she had to help her out. I was annoyed at her behavior, but more than anything, I was hurt. She was never like that when it was just the two of us. I was supposed to be her best friend!

All that changed a few months later. I could instantly tell something was wrong with Emily. She was fidgety, nervous, and constantly on edge. Whenever she could, she’d check Facebook, and I could always see that weary expression on her face. I didn’t know what exactly was going on, but I was sure it was related to Heather.

Then, one day when I was on my way to my room, things took a turn for the worse. People were whispering in the hallway, and I noticed a crowd had formed on Emily’s floor. Someone was yelling and screaming. When I got closer, I saw people standing in front of Emily’s door.

“That freaking…! Why’s it always her?! It’s always… Fuck!”

It was Emily. From behind the closed door, I could hear more curses mixed with the sound of things breaking. I tried to open the door, but found it locked.

“Hey! Emily? What’s going on?”

I knocked on the door. First gently, but soon I was pounding against it.

“Are you okay? What’s-?”

Suddenly, the tore was torn open, and I found myself face to face with her. She looked terrible: her hair was wild, her eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying, and her mouth tight, hard line. The room behind her was in utter chaos. The remains of her belongings and various sketches and designs littered the floor.

“W-What are you doing?” I asked, confused.

“You,” she spat, staring daggers at me.

Then she took a step forward and pushed me back.

“This is all your fault!”

“Wait, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about that stupid fan page! If you wouldn’t have told me to set this thing up, then Heather would’ve never-“

“This is about Heather?”

“Of course it is! Do you have any idea how well her page is-“

I cut her right off.

“First of all, weren’t you helping her the entire time? What did you expect? Second of all, who cares?”

“I fucking care, Lizzy!” she snapped at me.

She trembled, and tears of rage streamed down her face.

“Why’s she always got to be better than me? Can’t she let me have anything?!”

“You want to know why? Because Heather doesn’t care about popularity or being better than others.”

When she heard this, Emily pushed me once more, this time harder. I stumbled backward and hit my head against the wall. I opened my mouth to yell at her, but when I saw her standing there, I almost laughed. She looked like a pouty little child. Crying, her hands balled into fists, and biting down on her lower lip. Her eyes, however, told me a different story. They were full of hate, and for a moment, I thought she’d pounce on me. Instead, she just stumped on the ground, and let out a toneless scream of frustration.

At that moment, I turned around, made my way through the crowd, and returned to my room. When I went to check how much better Heather’s page was doing, I saw Emily had already deleted hers. After this incident, I didn’t talk to her for weeks. Her obsession with her sister had annoyed me for months, and this was the last straw. I was done with her for good.

Then, one morning, she called me out of the blue. I stared at the phone, reluctant to answer. I half-expected her to hurl more insults at me, or worse, cry about her sister again.

When I eventually picked up, she was in hysterics.

“Heather was in an accident!” she said before I could so much as say hello.

“Wait, Emily, what happened?”

“I don’t know. I’m not at the hospital yet!”

“Where are you at!? I’m coming, too!”

At the hospital, we soon learned what had happened. On the way to one of her performances, a car had crashed into Heathers. One of her legs was almost crushed in the collision, and she had to be taken to the emergency room. The doctors were able to save the leg, but it would be paralyzed.

When Emily heard the news, I thought I saw the hint of a smile on her face. It was only there for the blink of an eye, and I was sure I’d imagined it. All I saw now was sadness and tears. We hugged each other tenderly. Her clinging to me, rambling on about her sister. I just held her, trying to comfort her, but the image of that fleeting smile stayed with me.

When we could finally enter Heather’s room, she didn’t look up. Her face was entirely empty, and all the color had drained from it. Her eyes were staring ahead at nothing, and her mouth was slightly open. She just lay there, unmoving, like a broken and discarded doll. I couldn’t imagine how she felt. Having your dream taken from you in a mere instant… You could see it in her, and you could feel it in the oppressive atmosphere that filled the room.

From that day onward, Emily visited her sister daily. During that time, I didn’t see or hear much of her. The few times we actually met up, it was only ever for a few minutes at a time.

“It doesn’t matter what happened before. We only have each other, Lizzy. Since Dad died, there’s no one else.”

Once Heather was released from the hospital, Emily moved in with her in their old home. She took it upon herself to take care of her sister. To do that, she also took a break from university.

When I finally found the time to visit them, not much had changed about Heather. She would talk to me, but it was nothing but mundane things. Her voice was emotionless, and I could tell she didn’t care about the words she was saying, didn’t want to convey anything. No, she just went through the motions. The dream she’d lost, her dancing, however, was never so much as whispered about.

As the weeks passed, Heather slowly improved. Occasionally, I could see these short, shy smiles wash over her face as we talked, and it told me that life was returning to her. Emily, too, had changed, and seemed truly happy about her sister’s recovery. I hadn’t seen them like that in forever. True sisters, bound by a deep-set affection for one another.

I visited the sisters a lot during that time. At first, it was only to help Emily move, and set up a small studio for herself. These initial visits, however, were enough to rekindle the old friendship the three of us had shared. We spent countless evenings talking about the fun we’d had as kids together. Yet whenever I left, there was this strange feeling. Emily talked so happily about those days, but I couldn’t forget how she’d resented her sister back then, constantly ranting on about how much she hated her. I told myself she’d changed, that it was all in the past, but was it truly? I could only hope so.

As Heather’s leg healed, she found her independence again, allowing Emily to dive back into her fashion. One evening, while Emily worked on a new piece, I had a long conversation with Heather.

“I’m still not sure what to do with, well… life,” she confessed sadly, glancing at her crippled leg.

I was quiet and shuffled around before I got an idea.

“Why don’t you help Emily with her fashion?”

Heather gave me that same shy smile before she dismissed the idea, laughing.

“Oh, Lizzy, there’s no way I’d be good at it. I was never good at anything, except…”

Once more, she was quiet but I gently urged her on.

“It would give you something to do, and it could give you a way to repay Emily for everything she’s done.”

Eventually, she agreed to think about it. It was the last time I should ever talk to her.

Some weeks ago, I’d been offered an internship, but I hesitated. Moving to the other end of the country meant leaving the two of them behind. Yet the closer they grew, the more I felt like an outsider, nearby, but no longer part of what they shared. So, I eventually left. Life was stressful, work was hard, and slowly, the sisters and I drifted apart. Messages became scarce, and I didn’t want to be intruding. For the first time, the two of them seemed like a family again, as if they had rediscovered something long lost.

Two months later, in the late evening, after a long day at work, I noticed I had several missed calls from Emily, but also a voice mail. When I heard her quiet voice, riddled with sobs, my heart instantly sank. As I listened, I held the phone in my shaking hand before I slumped down with tears in my eyes. Heather had killed herself by jumping out of a window.

I tried to call Emily, but she declined, and messaged me she wasn’t able to talk to me right now. With shaking hands, I typed out a response, telling her I was always there for her and that she could reach out whenever she needed me. Then, as my worries about the way she acted intensified, I booked a ticket back home. Sitting on the train, I didn’t understand what had happened. Why… this? Why now? Heather had gotten so much better, hadn’t she? I thought back to that conversation about her wanting to help Emily, about how happy the two of them had been, and yet… Had I just not seen her pain?

At the funeral, a devastated Emily told me that her sister had never truly gotten over the fact that she couldn’t dance anymore. She always put on a happy face, and never truly told anyone, but Emily had noticed how it was eating away at her.

“I should’ve seen it coming, but…” she said, with tears in her eyes.

During the gathering at the funeral, Emily revealed that she’d name her newest collection after her sister. It was to honor her memory, she said.

In the months to follow, the collection turned out to be an enormous success. Not financially, but the positive reception was overwhelming. Many people, both friends and strangers, urged her to put it up for sale. It seemed Emily’s career in fashion was off to a great start.

That’s until I discovered the truth.

By that time, my internship was long over, and I was living at the dorms again. One day, I couldn’t access my Facebook account. To restore my password, I had to access the old email I’d used to sign up. After I’d logged in, I had a quick look through the emails, but all I saw was spam, except for one. It was an email from Heather, sent about half a year ago. I felt cold when I saw this. My heart skipped a beat, and goosebumps appeared all over my arms. I hovered over it, but somehow, it felt wrong, like I was… dishonoring her memory. Then, after the initial shock and confusion were gone, I clicked it.

In it, Heather thanked me for urging her to work with Emily. At first, she only supported Emily here and there, but before long, she grew to enjoy it. She told me she’d started to work on a few pieces of her own. She couldn’t wait to show them to Emily, but before that, she wanted a second opinion. At first, I sat there, confused, not understanding what I was looking at. Wasn’t that Emily’s new collection? The one she’d named after Heather? Then why’d Heather sent those? How did she have those? Then it hit me. Emily must’ve stolen them from her and… Confusion was replaced by anger. I thought about Heather’s shy smile when I’d urged her to help Emily, her excitement in the email. She’d sounded so happy, so proud about those designs of hers. I wanted to scream, to understand why Emily would do something like that.

I was at her house an hour later, the same house where Heather had killed herself. When she opened the door, I confronted her about it right away. Emily denied everything. It was all bullshit, a fake email sent by someone jealous of her newfound success. Why did I believe it? How could I think she’d do something like that? The more I pressed her, however, the more agitated she became, the more desperate. She was ranting on and on, making up scenario after scenario, stumbling over her words, half-screaming at me.

At first, Heather had never even talked to her. Then she admitted Heather helped her out a little, before one sketch was by Heather, but only one. Finally, she threw her hands down, stomping on the ground in frustration like she’d done so many times before, and confessed everything.

“It was always just her! Heather this, Heather that. Everyone only ever talked about her. How she was oh so perfect. But then poor little Heather had her accident.

As she stood there, I saw it again, that same smile I thought I’d seen at the hospital. Now it was more pronounced, more disgusting, full of vile satisfaction, and I knew it hadn’t been my imagination.

“But you know what!? Once her dream was shattered, she couldn’t help but barge into mine. Mine! I’d finally found something I was good at. And you know what? You know fucking what, Lizzy? Here comes crippled Heather again!”

In her anger, she was pacing left and right, had balled her hands into fists and wasn’t even breathing as she spat her words at me.

“Oh, how she asked, with that silly little smile of hers. ‘Lizzy said I should try out fashion. Maybe I could try it on my own. I just want to see how things turn out.’ And guess what? Things turned out amazing!”

She threw her arms up as she said that last sentence.

“Heather’s designs were better than anything I ever did! Anything!”

She laughed and shook her head in disbelief and sheer outrage.

“She didn’t even know what she was doing! Can you imagine it, Lizzy? ‘Am I doing it right, Emily? Do you think it works?’ Oh yes, Heather, it worked! It was fucking great, Heather!”

She turned towards me, her eyes wide.

“Can you believe it, Lizzy? Can you!?”

“I, I don’t-“

“Of course you don’t! I couldn’t either. But this… this bitch! She was better than me again. Same as always. But this time, I wouldn’t let her get away with it. Not this time!”

Emily still stared me down, but I watched as her mouth slowly warped into a grotesque smile.

“You know what I did? You know what I did when she showed me her finished pieces? I laughed right in her face. ‘Sorry, Heather, but dear god, those are terrible.’ That’s what I said!”

A mad giggle burst from Emily’s mouth before she began cackling. I felt sick to my stomach.

“I told her I had to hide them away before anyone could see them. ‘We wouldn’t want people to think not only your leg but also your arms are paralyzed, wouldn’t we?’”

With that, she broke into bouts of laughter that rippled through her entire body. For a moment, her euphoric rage become so much, I thought she’d keel over.

“My god, you should’ve seen her face. It was, it was-“

She had to stop to catch her breath, and for a few moments she just stood there panting, still shaken by the remnants of that mad bout of laughter. Insanity, I thought, pure insanity.

“It was the best thing ever! The oh-so-great Heather was crying right in front of me! It felt so damn good!” she said, red-faced and beaming at me.

“But I wasn’t done with her. Oh no, I was not. I kept demanding she’d help me. It was the least she could do. Maybe she’d even be able to pick up a thing or two. And you know what? Innocent, sweet little Heather agreed. It felt so good to torment her like this, Lizzy, so damn good!”

For a moment she was hugging herself, and I saw her entire body quivering with excitement. Then the mad smile was back.

“It was so funny. ‘This is no good, Heather. What are you even doing, Heather? My god, you’re ruining everything, Heather!’ Oh, how the tears kept flowing!”

“Don’t tell me because of this she-?”

“Killed herself? Of course! And you know what? I could’ve stopped her. I heard how she dragged herself up to the attic on that leg of hers. Could hear the creaking of the floorboards above me. And you know what, Lizzy? I could’ve run after her and told her I didn’t mean any of it.”

And finally, a cruel grin showed on her face, one with the corners of her mouth almost up to her ears. The whites of her teeth showed like the canines of a mad, rabid animal. It was nothing but a savage look.

“But I didn’t. I just leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. Then minutes later, I heard the impact.”

A wave of nausea washed over me. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This woman, this disgusting creature; how had I ever been friends with her!? But then I saw tears streaming from her eyes, and she started sobbing heavily.

“Emily, you-“ I started, but my voice trailed off.

I’d thought those were tears of guilt that she’d realized what her hateful obsession had driven her to do. When she spoke again, however, I realized how wrong I was.

“I was… I mean, I was so happy, Lizzy. Finally, I could be the popular one. Finally, it would be me!”

She stood there, her eyes wide and glowing, her face radiant, half-dancing across the room as if she was having the most beautiful of dreams. I watched the insane display, shaken to my core, not able to find any words for this absurdity, for this display of insane joy. After only a few seconds, she came to a halt. Her head jerked in my direction, her face turned hard, and her eyes came to rest on me.

“If it wasn’t for that damned email,” she spat. “Things would’ve been perfect, but you had to read it, didn’t you, Lizzy!?”

She took a threatening step towards me, then another, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey.

“But you know, no one has to find out about it,” she said, her voice dripping with malice, and an unsaid, lingering threat.

As she moved closer towards me, I backed away, my breath coming in short, hard bursts. She couldn’t mean to… Before I could finish the thought, her fingers closed around a pair of sharp scissors. I backed away, tried to run, but she was faster, and got a hold of me. My heart was pounding in my chest. I had to run, to get away, but I couldn’t. Then she raised her hand, ready to bring the scissors down on me. I screamed, raising my arms instinctively to protect myself.

“Emily, don’t!”

For a moment, I could almost feel the piercing pain, but then, when I looked up, I found her just standing there. She was shaking, and a moment later, the scissors dropped from her hand.

“Oh god, Lizzy, what am I even…”

Then she opened her arms, staring at me with a pleading expression on her face.

“Please, Lizzy, you don’t have to-“

“Get the fuck away from me!” I screamed at her and pushed myself past her.

Once I was back home, I revealed everything. With trembling fingers, I typed out a long Facebook post about all the disgusting things my former best friend had done, including the truth about Emily’s new collection. After that, I sent Heather’s email to everyone I knew.

It didn’t take long for people to turn on Emily. My phone rang day and night. Calls and texts by Emily kept flooding it. At first she was begging me to forgive her, but slowly, they grew more vitriolic, even threatening. I ignored them all. Instead, I watched as all the praise and admiration for Emily slowly turned to condemnation.

An investigation about her involvement in Heather’s death was started, but nothing came of it. Suicide is a divisive issue, and my story couldn’t be proven by a single email. In the end, it was ruled that the driving force behind Heather’s suicide had been her ongoing depression.

I don’t know what happened to Emily after all that. For a while, random accounts posted spiteful comments on my Facebook profile and the memorial page Heather’s friends had created. Everyone knew it was Emily.

After a while, however, things got quiet. Some said Emily finally moved on with her life. Others said her guilt finally got the better of her, and she followed her sister into an early grave. If she’s alive, however, I’m sure her envy still torments her.

Even to this day.

Prison is no pleasant place, especially not for new guys like me. That’s not important though. I’m only allowed to use the computer and access the internet for so long. What’s important is how I ended up here. It’s a story that needs telling.

Until a month ago, I was a regular guy.

I’d finally graduated from university with a diploma in engineering. Before I would join the workforce, I went on a well-earned vacation. One of my favorite activities was hiking, or, to be more precise, backpacking. During many of my semester breaks, I’d explored vast areas of Germany and parts of Western Europe.

I’m a typical loner, always have been, so I enjoy time alone in the wilderness.

I’d planned to spend spring and summer backpacking one last time. There were a few areas in Germany I hadn’t seen yet, and after that, I’d planned to make my way up to Denmark and Scandinavia.

On a Friday night, a few weeks ago, I had a chance encounter that should change my life forever.

I often traveled in the late evening and sometimes even at night. There’s something about the solitude of these late hours and having the stars above you. It’s quiet, relaxing, and most of all humbling.

As I walked on, my thoughts drifted to a topic that had been on my mind for a while now.

“Was a career in engineering what I wanted to do?”

I only noticed the thunderstorm when it was already too late. At first, it was only a drizzle, but within minutes it became a downpour.

I stopped to set up camp, but the storm had become way too bad. There was no way I’d be able to put up the tent.

Instead, I dashed for a nearby forest, to sit out the worst there. If I’d be lucky, I might even find a couple of trees that would shelter me enough to set up the tent.

When I was only a few dozen meters from the forest, I noticed a small wooden shack. It was a tiny thing, most likely constructed as a resting place for wanderers.

I didn’t like the look of this tiny, gloomy place at all, but being drenched in the rain was even worse.

As I stepped up to the small entrance, I noticed a light inside. When I peeked inside I saw a man sitting at a small cooking fire.

Before I could say a word or come up with a greeting, he noticed me.

“Hey, don’t stand there like this. Either get in or get the hell out of here.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said stepping inside, “sorry about that.”

With that, I took a seat opposite him but made sure I was right next to the exit. I was always the cautious type.

“So what brings you here at a time like this? We’re probably the only people still out.”

“Nothing much, I’m hiking, or, well, backpacking. Forgot the time and was surprised by the storm. Didn’t even get the chance to set up camp.”

At this, my new acquaintance laughed.

“Guess we’re both unlucky. I was out hunting when the storm surprised me as well. With it pouring like this, there was no way I’d make it home. So I decided to sit out the worst here.”

I gave him a friendly smile and nodded. Still, I didn’t like this situation at all. Sure, this guy seemed friendly enough, but sitting in a dark shack with a stranger didn’t feel right. It was unnerving.

After some time, he seemed to notice my demeanor and the anxious glances I took at him every once in a while.

“Come on now, I’m a hunter, not some psychopath or a serial killer.”

I looked up in surprise and shook my head.

“No, I didn’t mean to-“

“Relax, the name’s Thomas, I’m pulling your leg.”

“Eric,” I introduced myself.

“Honestly though, I can’t blame you. It’s creepy out here. Middle of the night, this small place here, the freaking thunderstorm, it doesn’t feel right. You scared the living hell out of me, appearing out of nowhere.”

I couldn’t help but laugh myself.

“Look who’s talking. You sitting there in the back like that. Why do you think I was afraid to step in?”

Now we were both chuckling.

“How long you think the storm will last?” I asked.

Thomas shrugged. “Storms like this are common this time of year, so I’d say an hour or two at the most.”

“Ah, you’re from around here, right?”

He nodded.

“I live down in the village,” he said and gave a brief nod to his left. “Can’t wait to get home. It’s way too late.”

While we continued our awkward small talk, Thomas pulled a piece of meat from his backpack. He sliced off a small piece of it with a long hunting knife. I inched back against the wooden wall of the shack when I saw it. I watched as he pierced the small piece and roasted it over the small flame of the cooking fire.

“Rabbit,” he said when he noticed me staring at him. “Real good, real tasty.”

I watched as he turned the meat from one side to the next. Fat juices were dripping from it and I felt my mouth watering.

“You hungry?” he asked when he noticed me watching him.

“Nah, I’m fine, it was just-“

“No need to be shy, there’s more than enough. It was quite the big one I caught today. Got no plates though, so you’ll have to do with the knife.”

As he held it out towards me, I noticed something was wrong with his hands. They looked dark or dirty. I was about to say something, but then kept my mouth shut.

Instead, I took the knife from him. I hadn’t admitted it, but I was starving. I blew on the steaming meat for a bit before I took a bite.

It tasted weird. I’d tried rabbit, and this here tasted different. To be honest, it tasted like nothing I’d ever eaten before.

“You sure this rabbit was all right? It tastes kinda funny.”

Thomas smiled and nodded.

“It’s because the meat’s fresh. Caught it earlier this evening, only a couple hours back. Fresh meat always tastes different.”

I sat there for a bit, staring at the knife in my hand before I tried another bite. It still tasted as strange as before.

“Don’t know, might not be my thing,” I said and returned the knife to him.

Thomas shrugged.

“Suit yourself. You ever been hunting yourself?”

“No, never. Why?”

“Just wondering. It’s a shame, really. Hunting’s amazing, almost exhilarating. Waiting for your prey, following it, exhausting it, and then taking it down. There’s something special about it. You know, it almost feels like I’m a different person, like I’m truly alive.”

I nodded but felt awkward. Somehow, what he’d just said didn’t sit right with me. It wasn’t so much his words, but his acting. He’d leaned forward, staring at me with wide eyes and a twisted grin on his face. I couldn’t help but shudder a little. For a moment my initial apprehension came back, and I regretted having returned the knife.

I tensed up when Thomas got up, but instead of jumping me, he stepped to the entrance of the shack and looked outside.

“Well what do you know, it’s stopped.”

As I listened, I realized he was right. The noise of the pouring rain outside had almost subsided.

“Guess I better get going. Need to catch at least some sleep before work tomorrow. Sorry, but I must leave you here by yourself.”

“All good, no worries.”

With that Thomas gathered his things, took care of the small cooking fire, and after a quick wink, he went on his way.

The moment he’d left, I took a long, deep breath and felt myself relaxing a little. Freaking hell, this entire encounter was creepy.

I took out my camping lamp and turned it on. I would not sit here in the dark like that all on my own.

As Thomas walked away, I listened to the sound of his footsteps. For a while, I could make them out before they grew more distant. Eventually, I couldn’t make them out anymore. Guess he’s gone for good, I thought.

Or he’s stopped somewhere nearby.

“Shit, don’t start to think about weird stuff,” I told myself. “He’s just a normal guy. Maybe a bit weird, but harmless.”

Still, I told myself to stay awake. You never knew. So I put the small lamp right next to me and positioned myself so I could see the shack’s entrance.

I thought about setting up camp somewhere else, but after the downpour, everything would be wet and muddy. As much as I hated it, I was best off staying right here.

While I sat there and watched the entrance, I felt myself drifting off to sleep. I don’t know how late or early it was when I finally dozed off.

I was woken up by a hand touching my shoulder.

I jerked awake and for a moment I was confused about my whereabouts. While I put together that I was still inside the shack, I found myself face to face with two police officers.

“Found someone inside, he was asleep,” the female one called out to someone outside.

“Care to explain what you’re doing here, young man?” the other one asked.

“I spent the night here because of the storm, officer. What’s going on?”

“Let’s go outside,” he said, leading me by the arm. The female officer stayed inside to have a look through my things.

“You think it was him?” another officer asked.

The one next to me shrugged.

“Says he stayed here because of the storm. Might be nothing but a coincidence.”

“Would be one hell of a coincidence,” the officer who’d been outside said, giving me a suspicious look.

“What’s going on here?” I finally asked.

“A young woman from a nearby village went missing last afternoon. Her family called us last evening. After the storm, we searched the area, in case she’d gotten herself hurt. Turns out she was right here.”

I looked around, but I saw no one here expect the police officers.

“She’s right behind the shack, dead. Stabbed half a dozen times with a knife. Care to tell us what you know about that?”

That’s when my world started spinning. My legs gave way as I remembered Thomas last night, the way he acted, the way he’d talked about hunting.

Then something clicked inside of my mind. A knife?

And with her loud voice, the female officer announced that she’d found precisely that inside the shack.

At this moment everything went down too fast. I was accused, handcuffed, and shoved into the back of the police car.

As we drove off, I told them all about Thomas and what had happened last night.

Then I recalled one more thing. It had been dark in the shack, but I’d wondered about his hands. I’d thought they’d been dark or dirty, but he must’ve been wearing gloves. And that’s when I realized why he’d handed me the knife.

He’d got me. He’d got me good.

When I remembered the meat, I gagged and almost threw up right inside the police car. They later proved my suspicions. They had found part of the girl inside the shack and in the remains of Thomas’s cooking fire.

The local news called it an utterly disgusting deed and a cannibalistic murder. I don’t know how often I told them the entire story, how often I pleaded with them, but they didn’t listen. Even my attorney, who believed my story, told me there was no way to prove any of it. They’d found no hint of anyone else having been there.

Thomas, or whatever his name was, must’ve prepared for this murder meticulously.

And with me stumbling right into his mess, he’d found the perfect scapegoat.

---

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I don’t know what happened to my friend John, but by now I fear for the worst. There’s been no word from him for more than a week.

I hang out with him and the rest of my friends almost every week. We are your typical group of younger people in their early to mid-twenties. Some are students; some are part of the workforce, it doesn’t really matter.

Last week we threw a party. It wasn’t Halloween, Carnival, or any other occasion, but we still decided on a costume party. Either wear a costume, or you aren’t getting in. The place we decided on was my friend Thomas’ place. He was well off and could afford to rent a spacious studio apartment, unlike the rest of our group.

I decided to dress up as a post-apocalyptic soldier, trying to be a raider from Fallout. In reality, it must’ve looked more like one of the weird homoerotic costumes from the Mad Max movies.

When I arrived at the party, a couple of people were already there. My friends Tom and Marie, and three other people I didn’t know. I said hello to everyone and went to greet Thomas, who eyed my costume suspiciously for a moment. He said he’d invited a couple more people. I shrugged, the more, the merrier.

While some people showed up in typical costumes, like zombies and nurses, others showed up in the weirdest outfits. There were two guys dressed up as an oversized bottle of beer and an oversized pack of cigarettes, calling themselves Beer and Smokes. One girl was a huge beach ball, and another guy showed up in a full-body dog costume.

As the evening progressed, I got drunk pretty quickly. I got to know some of the new people, took part in a ridiculous guessing game, and won a drinking contest against Beer himself. It was great, and everyone had a blast.

After midnight a couple of the students suggested that we’d go to a cheap dance club near campus. I had been to the place a couple of times before. It meant shitty mainstream music, cheap drinks, and more drunk people. I was so in.

It took some time to ask around, but in the end, a whole dozen of us decided to go. There was me, Tom, Marie, John, Beer and Smokes, the two students who’d suggested going, three of Thomas’ friends and finally the guy in the dog costume.

A couple of beers to go, a funny, yet uneventful subway ride, and we soon had only ten more minutes by foot until we’d reach the club.

On our way, John said he’d to take a leak and asked if anyone else had to as well. No one was answering, but as John walked off the guy in the dog costume joined him. The two vanished behind a corner to find some bushes.

It shouldn’t take longer than a few minutes, so we decided to get in line already.

The club was only a couple blocks away, so I sent John a quick message on WhatsApp to come find us. Call me an asshole, but I was pretty drunk, and he’s old enough to find his way.

The rest of the night was a blur.

We went in, got shots, then beer, then more shots, then it’s all a blank.

I woke up the next day with a splitting headache and the world spinning around me. By the time I was able to get up and function as a normal human being again, it was already early evening.

My phone informed me that I’d gotten quite a few messages, but most were nonsense or pictures of last night.

On Facebook things were different. I’d gotten a message from Alison, John’s girlfriend. We weren’t exactly close, so I was a little surprised. She asked what had happened last night and if I knew where John was. The last time she’d seen him was yesterday evening before he went out.

I sighed, freaking overprotective girlfriend. Wasn’t John with us at the club and we went home together? I tried to remember, but I had no idea what had happened.

I told her what I recalled. We had a party, went to a club and that I had no idea where John went. She told me that she’d already asked Tom and Marie, but the two couldn’t tell her anything either.

I thought about it for a bit. I honestly didn’t know if John was at the club with us. Then I remembered that he’d gone for a leak with that dog guy. Must’ve been one of Thomas’ friends, I concluded.

I sent him a quick message, and he told me he’d no idea who the guy was and that he arrived with Beer and Smokes.

Finding the two of them was easy. They were already tagged in the pictures on Facebook. The one who replied was Beer.

‘Hey, who was the guy that came with you to the party last night?’ I asked via messenger.

‘You talking about Smokes?’

‘No, the guy in the dog costume.’

‘Dog costume? Who are you talking about? Wait, that guy? No clue, we’d met him on the way to Thomas’ party.’

‘Alright, thanks.’

Weird, I thought, but okay.

I rechecked WhatsApp. The last time John had been online was before midnight. We’d still been at Thomas’ place at that time. My message about us getting in line without him had been delivered but was still unread.

At that point, the whole situation started to feel a bit strange. I sent John another message asking him where he was and told him that Alison was worried. When I got no answer, I tried to call him, but it went straight to voicemail. Alright, his battery’s probably dead, I reasoned, or he’d lost his phone somewhere.

Still, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong, and so I asked around on Facebook. First I contacted my friends, then the other people who were at our party. No one could tell me anything about dog guy. Everyone remembered him, but no one had the slightest clue who he was. For all I knew, he’d been a complete stranger that showed up at our party.

Thinking about it now, I don’t know if I ever saw him drinking or interacting with anyone. He was always a quiet bystander, just standing somewhere, merely watching.

I felt a cold shiver running down my spine as I looked at the pictures he was in.

“Who the hell are you?”

When John went to take a leak dog guy had followed him. No one thought anything about it at the time. Yet, no one remembered seeing neither John nor dog guy afterward. This person, this stranger, was the last one my friend had interacted with. Worst of all, the damned costume made it utterly impossible to figure out who he was.

By now, there are only two questions:

Who the hell was at our party last week, and what did he do to my friend?

There was this small restaurant in the town I grew up in, called Uncle John and Aunt Annie’s. It was your typical small-town diner that served home-cooked meals and was run by a friendly older couple.

The two of them must’ve been in their late thirties or early forties when they opened it. What made the place so special was not the food, but the drinks. They served a variety of homemade beverages. There were juices, beers and a variety of hard liquor.

The most popular one was called Aunt Annie’s Ale. It was a reddish fruit liquor if I remember correctly. People were crazy about it, especially since their stock was always limited. Only a few bottles were available and Uncle John always said it took a damn long time to make it.

From what I heard, it was really strong but had this amazing juicy taste. There were quite a few people who visited the place only to taste the ale. I don’t think they ever sold any of the bottles, but served it only during meals. It was a clever strategy.

Many people wanted to know how the ale was made or at least what its ingredients were, but the couple revealed nothing. It’s a family recipe, they used to say.

The ale was so popular that someone broke into the diner one night, with aspirations of figuring out the secret behind it. Thankfully the old couple noticed the incident and called the police who swiftly apprehended the criminal. The entire thing was crazy, considering it was all about some ale.

But who am I to talk. It’s exactly this ale that brought my best friend and me back to my old hometown. After years, we’d put our savings together and opened our very own restaurant. While we worked on the menu, I thought back to the old place in my hometown. I’d told my friend about their special drinks and the ale.  So we soon made our way back there to get our hands on the recipe. If it was even half as good as people said, we could make some serious money.

After getting in touch with some old friends, I found out that Uncle John had died almost a decade ago. Aunt Annie was still very much alive, though. She must’ve been in her seventies by now. As soon as we’d heard that she still lived in the building that had housed the diner, we were on our way.

The moment we reached our destination, I recognized the old diner. There was even the old display. Time hadn’t been kind to it. By now most of the colors were faded, and some letters were gone, leaving it an indistinguishable mess.

As we left the car and made our way towards the old building, I saw movement behind one of the second-floor windows. Before we even reached the door, a tiny old lady opened it. Back in the day, Aunt Annie had been a crafty, happy, and boisterous woman. Now, in old age, she looked frail and as if she’d shrunken to only half her former size.

For a moment she just stared at us and didn’t say a thing.

“If you boys are looking for a place to get a meal, sorry to tell you, but this one here’s been closed for a very long time. You’d best be off and try the new place down in,” she broke off, trying to remember the name.

“But Aunt Annie, it’s me, little Jerry, don’t you remember?”

She leaned forward, examined my face for some time before she smiled.

“Oh, of course, little Jerry! How nice of you to come to visit! Come in, come in!”

My friend looked at me, brows raised, but I shushed him in an instant. Of course, my name wasn’t Jerry. There might have been a kid with that name in town, but I didn’t care.

The moment I’d seen her and heard her speak, I could already guess that her state of mind might be as frail as her body. When she recognized me as little Jerry, I knew.

She probably had no idea who Jerry was, but her brain had conjured up the image of a random family member. It was sad seeing her like that, but what worried me more was that she might have forgotten about the ale. She motioned for us to follow her up the stairs into her living room.

Aunt Annie’s place gave you the feeling of traveling back in time. The furniture must’ve been old even when I’d been a kid. The television set was huge and clunky, the type you wouldn’t even find at a scrap yard these days. Even the smell of the place was old and musty.

The old woman had been talking ever since we entered the place. Honestly, I didn’t even understand half of what she was saying and didn’t care about the rest. Aunt Annie, however, chirped on happily about how glad she was that we visited her. I nodded, agreed with her here and there, and smiled a lot. That did the trick.

I soon shifted the topic to the old restaurant and how things were different back then. She told us a few stories about her and Uncle John and the many people they’d know back in the day. I have no idea how much of it was true, but I could tell her mind was all over the place. This went on for almost half an hour before I even got the chance to ask her about the ale.

The moment the word had left my lips, her eyes focused right at me, as if she’d snapped right out of her drowsiness.

“It’s all gone,” she hissed at me, “every last drop of it. Stuff of the devil!”

“What are you talking about Aunt Annie?” I asked, my voice dripping with innocence.

“I’m not here to get any of it. I came to visit you,” I assured her, but she didn’t react at all.

She seemed to be too agitated after I’d mentioned the ale and was still murmuring to herself.

“Aunt Annie?” I asked, putting my hand on her shoulder.

“Oh Jerry, I’m sorry, what were we talking about? Sometimes I forget things.”

I nodded smiling and told her we’d been talking about old times. She smiled and piped up right again. What had caused this sudden episode? It had to be the frustration about people coming here repeatedly over the years asking about it.

Finally, I decided on a different approach. I told her that my friend and I were starting our own restaurant and that we’d like to get some tips from her. After all, her place had been the talk of the town back in the day.

However, there was nothing she could tell us. They prepared food, and people came to eat.

“People need to eat, right?” she said smiling.

I sighed and cursed before I asked her if she had any recipes we could use.

She thought hard but admitted that she didn’t cook much anymore. She often forgot the ingredients, or part of the process, and ended up ruining everything.

By that point, I got frustrated. I told her that the last time I’d been visiting her she’d promised to hand me her old cooking book.

When she heard that she lit up a little.

“Oh, you are right, the book, the book. I’m sorry Jerry, I forgot all about it. My mind isn’t as good as it used to anymore.”

“Don’t worry about it. How about you get it for me now?”

She motioned for me to follow her along, and we went into a little kitchen.

“Now where did I put it again?” she mumbled to herself.

For long minutes she stood there, eying the kitchen in front of her before she went to an old drawer. After rummaging through it for a while, she discovered a small, old notebook. The moment she’d found it, she handed it over to me with an enormous smile on her face. I flipped through it, but all I found were recipes for the various meals they’d served. There was no mention of any drinks.

Dammit, I wasn’t just frustrated anymore. No, I was mad.

“Well, that’s all nice, but what happened to Uncle John’s notes? The ones about the drinks? Wasn’t it the drinks that made your place as popular as it was?”

Her mood changed right away. Again she cursed and murmur to herself.

“What’s the matter, Aunt Annie? Why are you so angry?”

For a second she stared at me, her eyes wide open.

“Is it because they all wanted to get more of that stuff?”

“More of what, dear?” she asked.

The episode was already over again, but my patience was gone.

“More of the ale, Aunt Annie!” I confronted her.

“There’s no more of the ungodly stuff! We had to stop making it,” she broke off.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it was wrong John! We can’t anymore! I can’t.”

She was lost again and tears welled up in her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

“Why can’t you?” I pressed her.

My friend had gotten up and came over to the kitchen looking at me with a sullen face. I didn’t care.

“Because we used them!” she cried.

“Who are they?”

She cried, shivered, and almost collapsed, crashing against the kitchen counter.

“It was wrong John, all of it! We can’t ever go down there again!”

“Down where?”

“The basement, John. It’s all wrong, everything down there is!”

She went on and on, but I couldn’t make out her words anymore. I didn’t have to, I knew where I had to go.

Aunt Annie was clinging to the kitchen counter. My friend looked at me in disgust as he stepped up to the old lady.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“I’ll have a look at what I can find down there,” I said shrugging.

With that, I left and hurried down the stairs. Judge me all you want, but there was most likely no other way to get anything out of her.

It took me a while to find the door that led to the basement. It was at the back of the house at the end of the diner’s old kitchen.

As I approached the door, I found it locked. No surprise, I thought, considering her words. For a little while, I searched for the keys but when I didn’t find them I went back to the door. Fuck it, I told myself. After two heavy kicks, the old door already bent inwards a bit. Three more and it swung open.

I couldn’t see a thing as I stared down the stairs. Thankfully, I found an old light switch that was still working.

A lonely lightbulb dangled from the ceiling near the bottom. I went down one step at the time, testing each of the wooden stairs before I put my weight on them.

Once I was down, I looked around but found nothing of interest. I saw some old, empty shelves that must’ve once been filled with supplies. There was a tool here and a box there, but other than that the place was empty.

I went through a few of the things before I discovered another doorway leading to the second part of the basement.

“Bingo,” I whispered the moment I entered and saw Uncle John’s old still.

There was another shelf here, covered by an old curtain, but I ignored it for now. Instead, I walked right to a small desk at the end of the room. My eyes lit up when I saw its drawers.

The first one was filled with an assortment of tools and spare parts. The second one was the same. It was in the third one that I found what I’d been looking for. A notebook and a few sheets of paper.

A quick look at the sheets revealed that it was the instructions on how to work the still and its various parts.

The moment I opened the notebook and saw the instructions for an herb liquor called Herby Herbert, I knew I’d found what I’d been looking for. I leafed through the pages. There was a variety of liquors and drinks in there, all with silly names. Bobbie’s Berry Booze, Long Leg Larry’s Liquor, Old Odette’s Ouzo, to name a few. It went on like that and I had to admit that some names were funny and creative.

When I came to the last page, I was confused. There were over two dozen drinks in here, but nothing about the ale.

“Shit! Why’s it not in here?”

I checked the few sheets of paper again, then went through the notebook once more. There was nothing.

I threw the notebook to the ground and went back to the drawers. If it was their special secret brew, then maybe…

After five minutes I’d found it. There was a small space at the bottom of one of the drawers containing a small stack of notes. They were dirty and clipped together.

“Finally,” I said to myself in triumph.

There was no name on it, and the handwriting was shoddy. Even worse, the pages were dirty and with the little light I had down here, I almost couldn’t read them. Eventually, I went back upstairs to one of the old dining room tables and looked through them.

The first page was entirely covered in handwriting. The second one showed various glass jars, all with individual notes. The third page held more instructions while the last one listed all the ingredients. I read sugar, fruits, strawberries, and a couple of other things. That’s it! There was no name on the page, but the ingredients left no doubt that I’d found what I’d come here for.

Starting from the first page, I began to read. Creating the drink was a long and arduous process because a so-called special ingredient was limited and took a long time to gain. I was intrigued and wondered what that could be.

As I read on I found out how you had to prepare the ingredients and how to let them age till they were ready to be distilled. The special ingredient was mentioned repeatedly, but it was never revealed what it was. Apparently, it was put in a glass jar and let ripen in there for weeks or even months, depending on a few factors. The process itself was mentioned in excruciating detail. As far as I understood the most significant factor was time. The process itself didn’t seem too hard.

I checked all the notes, looked for some kind of secret message, but never found out what it was.

I went back to the page with the glass jars. It explained how you added one ingredient after another, mixed them with water and other liquids, and what the different stages looked like. At a certain point, it was mentioned that you had to add it to the rest. Then it took more time for everything to get ready.

“What the hell’s it supposed to be?” I cursed at the notes.

Then I remembered the covered shelf I’d seen.

I rushed back down and pulled the curtain away to see what was behind. The entire shelf was filled with jars. Most of them were empty, some had liquids in them, but there were two that contained something else.

I stood there dumbfounded before I stumbled back a few steps. What the hell was that supposed to be? Was this some kind of sick joke? I blinked, shook my head, but it was still there. There was no doubt, I’d found out the identity of the secret ingredient and it almost made me vomit. Two of the jars each held a human fetus in them.

One was small, containing a name tag, and identifying the fetus as Raphael. The other, however, was bigger, and apart from the fetus, different fruits and berries had been added to it.

I’m no doctor, but I damn well know what a fetus looks like. I stumbled away from the shelf, but before I’d even reached the next room, I vomited on the ground.

Aunt Annie’s Ale. Now the name made sense in a sick and twisted way. It was made of something that came out of her. Why they’d been driven to create something like that…

Still, I thought, it made sense that the stuff was always so limited and at a certain point they couldn’t make it anymore. There was a point in time at which Aunt Annie couldn’t get pregnant anymore. Thinking about that made me vomit again.

I started thinking. The town had been a devoted Christian community. Other people often condemned abortions or complications during birth. So they hadn’t talked about it. Had the sadness of losing their children brought them to keep them?

What I still couldn’t find an explanation for was what could’ve driven them to do… this. Animosity? Insanity? A way to get rid of them?

I thought back to the time when I was a little boy, to the happy, boisterous lady Aunt Annie had been, to stout Uncle John. The thought of them making a drink out of their own… I would have thrown up a third time, but by then, my stomach was empty. I stumbled back up the stairs of the basement and into the kitchen.

I picked up the notes again, crumbled them up, and was about to throw them away when my friend appeared.

“You found anything?”

“Nothing,” I told him and hid the notes in my pocket.

He looked at me for a while. Must’ve seen how sick I’d looked.

“You all right, man?”

“Yeah, must’ve been the damp air of that freaking basement. Been down there for almost an hour.”

I didn’t say goodbye to Aunt Annie. No, I left the place right away. To be honest, I contemplated burning the entire place to the ground the moment I stepped outside.

Our restaurant started well enough, but it declined quickly. It’s tough competing with other restaurants and the big fast-food chains. My friend told me, if nothing happens we’d have to close the place down soon.

I remembered his words when I found the crumpled up notes one day.

“If nothing happens.”

In a small town, there is a limited supply of the special ingredient. In a city with a population numbering in the millions though, you can get your hands on them much easier. At least, if you know where to look.

Desperation leads to bad decisions, they say.

I wish, I wish I’d thrown those damned notes away back then because now, there’s no turning back anymore.