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 words Express Delivery Service, you think of FedEx, or maybe Amazon, right? Well, the one I worked for was a little different. It was run by one man and one man alone: Mikhail. I got to work with him because I fucked up. Big time.

Long story short, I was a useless bum. I was never serious about work. Instead, I looked for ways to make big money, easy ways. When nothing worked out, I ended up at my city’s shitty casinos. When I say shitty, I mean it. My city’s no Vegas, so all you can find are grimy basements with old slot machines and worn poker tables.

Gambling’s fucked up, especially when you’re desperate. Just one more game. Just one win. It didn’t take long for my measly welfare money to dry up. A few days later, I’d burned through all my credit. All the while, I kept telling myself, I just needed more time.

That’s when I met Aleksey, a second-generation Russian immigrant. He was a blast. After dropping out of university, I’d lost touch with most of my friends. It felt great to have someone to gamble, drink and party with again. When I told him about my money troubles, he introduced me to Yuri, a friend of his. I hadn’t paid rent in two months, and I couldn’t make money monthly credit payments. I was looking for some serious trouble. Yuri said he’d led me some cash, enough to cover my bills, and to give me another shot at the tables. Being the idiot I was, I didn’t think twice. I paid off the bank and went right back to the poker table with Aleksey. I can’t believe I didn’t see the obvious. No, I think I knew all along, but I wanted to believe that Aleksey really was my friend.

Fast forward a few months, and I’m sitting at Yuri’s again, asking for another loan. Things were different that day. Yuri was different. The way he looked at me made my stomach drop. In a few short words, he told me there were no more loans. Instead, he wanted his money back.

Turns out, neither Aleksey nor Yuri had been my friends. They preyed on idiots like me, people dumb enough to fall for their charade. At this point, I realized what they were doing. The casinos I’d spent all my loans at? They were Yuri’s. Every Euro I’d lost had gone right back to him. A no-loss game for this asshole.

All those thoughts ran through my head as I sat in Yuri’s backroom, nose busted, fingers broken. They kept me there for four hours and made sure I knew they weren’t fucking around. I was a trembling, shaking mess by the end. I cried, pleaded, and promised I’d find a way to pay. They ignored every single word.

Finally, Yuri told me there was one way to repay him. An acquaintance of his needed someone for a job. It wasn’t an offer. It was an order. He handed me a slip of paper with an address and a time. I stared at it with wide eyes. What the hell was this? What did he mean by-?

“You be there. If not, we find you and kill you. And we will find you.”

I nodded frantically. I’d seen his gun on the desk, and the grin on his face when he broke my fingers. There was doubt he would.

They kicked me out, and I was left to drag my battered body back home. I didn’t think about going to the police or the hospital. There’d be questions, and questions meant trouble.

---

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

I’d not slept all night. Hell, I’d barely slept at all ever since I’d been at Yuri’s! I kept telling myself that Yuri needed his money back, but could I be sure? What if this was a set-up? They could make an example of me, and I’d end up a washed up corpse down by the river. No identification, just another anonymous body.

The thought of running crossed my mind. Would they really find me? How would they even know where I’d go? No, stop! You’re going to be all right. Just calm down, you goddamn idiot. You fucked up enough already.

As I got closer to the parking lot, I scanned the area meticulously. I looked for cars, people, anything. But there was no one. I was completely alone. Anything could happen out here, I realized. Anything. Don’t run. Don’t you dare run. I tried waiting at the edge of the lot, but after a few minutes, I grew too antsy. I felt naked, vulnerable, like prey. Hell, I didn’t even know what I was waiting for. Eventually, I pushed myself between a few meager bushes, trembling and keeping my eyes open. My mind was spinning, combining movie scenes into more and more ridiculous scenarios. A group of Russian bikers would arrive, or a black van with tinted windows. Hell, maybe an agent of the freaking KGB.

What showed up couldn’t be more different: a small weathered truck, the colors faded, the open loading area entirely empty. For several minutes, the truck just stood there, idling. I was convinced it had nothing to do with this entire thing. Then, the driver-side window went down, and I saw the hard face of a middle-aged man. He stared straight at me, and the moment our eyes met, I knew this was the guy. I cursed under my breath and stumbled out of the bushes and towards the truck. He must’ve seen me the second he arrived. Fuck.

“Are you Mikha-?”

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

I walked around to the other side of the truck, and when I reached for the handle, the doors unlocked. I got in awkwardly, shutting the door behind me. The moment I did, he locked them again. I sat there, trembling, sweating, but trying my hardest to hide it. For a few seconds, I didn’t dare move, just sat there, staring ahead, telling myself to calm the fuck down.

Then I stole a glance at the man from the corner of my eye. His face was hard, his skin rough and leathery. His eyes were sharp and piercing, almost predatory. I couldn’t even guess his age. He could’ve been anywhere from thirty to fifty. His hair was cropped short, his beard a little more than a shadow of stubble. He wore a dark muscle shirt and army pants. His arms were enormous, pure muscle. Ex-military, I guessed. Or maybe something worse.

The silence stretched on until it became an almost feasible sensation. Finally, I worked up the courage to speak.

“So, what am I-?”

“First rule,” he cut me off again. “You only speak when spoken to.”

When I didn’t react, he glared at me. I swallowed hard before I nodded.

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

He paused, his eyes growing a tad bit narrower, sharper.

“Third rule. You tell anyone what we do, I’ll kill you.”

Again, I nodded frantically. His eyes rested on me for a moment longer, as if he was sizing me up. Then he turned back to the wheel and started the truck. That’s how I started to work with Mikhail.

For the first minutes, we drove in silence. Then, without even looking at me, he explained the job. To make it short, Mikhail was a contracted courier. One of the best.

“Express Delivery Service,” he said with a big grin on his face.

What it meant was simple. We were transporting goods from one place to another. That’s all he said. The goods? Didn’t matter. I didn’t need to know. The pay was good, that’s what was important.

“Not like you see any of that money. Goes straight to Yuri.”

Our first stop was a beverage shop near a small town in the middle of nowhere. Mikhail stopped the truck and got out. When I tried to do the same, he turned around.

“You stay,” he ordered.

With that, he made his way inside. What the hell? Was he getting himself a beer? I watch him. He was walking normally, but I saw how he carried himself. Ready at any moment. For anything. Then I noticed the outline of a gun in his back pocket. Fuck, what the hell had I gotten myself involved in?

For five seemingly endless minutes, I sat there, sweating bullets, waiting for a gunshot, for him to come back, gun in hand, ready to drive off. Instead, he came back, opened the back of the truck, and told me to get out. A moment later, a bald Eastern European dude followed him out. I could tell right away that this guy wasn’t a regular employee. He was trouble.

Finally, a nervous-looking young man brought out the first of half a dozen unmarked wooden crates and sat them down next to the truck.

“Load them,” Mikhail snapped at me. “Safely. You drop one, you pay for all.”

I lifted the first crate. Shit, these things were heavy. Booze, maybe? Hell, I could live with smuggling alcohol. As I loaded the crates, Mikhail and the bald guy stepped aside, lit a cigarette, and began talking in Russian. When the man noticed me staring, he turned to me.

“You too slow. Get a move on, suka!” he yelled, his Russian accent even thicker.

Then he started laughing and turned back to Mikhail.

Once finished loading, Mikhail showed me how to secure the crates with tension belts. Then he left me to finish the job, or rather, try. It took me half an hour with Mikhail and his client, both ridiculing me. I wanted to snap back at them, ask what the fuck their problem was, but knowing who I’d be insulting made it much, much easier to keep quiet. When I’d secured the crates, we got back in the truck, and without another word, we were off.

Soon we crossed the empty border patrol station into the Czech Republic. Two hours later, we arrived at an old industrial area on the edge of an abandoned town. As soon as Mikhail parked the car, two men started walking towards us.

“Those are the brothers, Otik and Juro. Old friends,” he said, flashing a grin that was a tad bit too wide.

As the two of them came closer, I couldn’t help but stare. What the hell was wrong with them? They wore identical tracking suits, but couldn’t have been more different. Otik was the older of the two, and much fatter than his brother. He greeted Mikhail, while the other, Juro, hung back. That guy gave me the creeps. He was lanky to the point of being emaciated, standing behind his brother in silence, shuffling his feet and eying me curiously.

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

For a second, I was dumbfounded, but then I scrambled out of the truck and began unloading the crates. Juro still hadn’t said a word, but started carrying them inside. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was definitely something wrong with him. The way he walked, the way his limbs moved, and that half-empty smile as he eyed the crates… All of it was wrong. For a second, I could’ve sworn he had an erection.

I looked away, telling myself to focus on nothing but unloading. While I was busy, Mikhail handed Otik an envelope. He tore it open, greedily counted the contents, then smiled and nodded at Mikhail. Money, of course. After A few more words, Mikhail jumped back in the truck and waited for me to finish.

Back on the road, I had no clue what had just happened. Thinking back to the brothers, as Mikhail called them, I couldn’t make sense of them. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the last time I saw them.

I assumed we’d head straight back to Germany, and maybe I’d get some rest. Instead, Mikhail drove us deeper into the Czech Republic. That’s how my first weeks of working with Mikhail went. Riding his truck, loading and unloading crates, but most importantly, keeping my mouth shut.

We were on the streets sixteen hours a day. We didn’t stop anywhere to stay the night, but slept in the truck. When it came to food, it was either the diner type or instant noodles. I didn’t get to go home for weeks at a time, and when I did, it was never more than a day.

Over time, Mikhail got a bit more talkative, and I found out my job was more than just loading and unloading crates.

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

I couldn’t believe it. So I was a scapegoat. I knew what it meant. If anything went wrong, and we got caught red-handed? Guess who’d take the fall? After he finished explaining, I asked him how long I was supposed to work for him, but of course, he didn’t give me a straight answer.

“Until your debt is paid.”

---

Work was always the same. Just loading and unloading crates, never knowing what we were transporting. Considering the money Mikhail was paid, it was clear it wasn’t common goods. I was sure it was drugs or other contraband. Hell, it might have been weapons.

For a month and a half, my life went on like that. A few times, I almost dropped a crate, but, thankfully, it never happened. I guess it was because of Mikhail’s clients. All of them looked like serious trouble and were probably armed. The prospect of getting a bullet between the eyes sure keeps you hyper-focused.

The mistake I made was much worse than dropping a crate.

Mikhail had stopped the truck in a resting area on a Polish Autobahn. It was two in the morning, and he went to grab some cigarettes and something to eat.

Once he was inside, I got out of the truck. For the past half hour, I’d heard a crate shifting in the back. Either Mikhail hadn’t noticed, or he was ignoring it. I’d thought about telling him, but he had this damned rule of me keeping my mouth shut. I’d gotten a bloody nose twice already, so I kept quiet. Still, I was worried about the goods getting damaged or even falling off the truck. After all, it would be my fault.

Being the scared idiot I was, I went to the back to check. One of the tension belts had come loose, causing a crate to slide to the side. I knew our destination was only an hour or two away, but I didn’t want to risk it. For all I knew, I’d already be in trouble for not securing them right the first time.

So I jumped in the back, pushed the crate back in place, and started re-fastening it. Right at then, someone called out to me in Polish. I was on edge, my hands were sweaty, and was about to tell them to fuck off.

I closed my mouth when I saw two police officers approaching me. The color drained from my face, and I began trembling. Dammit, you idiot, keep it together. My mind was racing. They must’ve seen me rummage in the back of the truck, a shitty old truck, full of unmarked crates. They knew something didn’t add up. Shit, did they know we’re smugglers?

“Eh… everything’s fine, just checking if the crates are probably secured,” I stammered, trying my hardest to keep my voice from cracking.

They didn’t say a word, and just watched me. Then one of them said something in Polish.

“Only English or German,” I said, barely keeping it together.

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

Shit, I couldn’t think straight. What the hell was I supposed to tell them? I had no clue what was in those crates. I didn’t even know what they were usually used for. Was it booze? Construction materials? Tools? With each passing second, the officers were growing more suspicious.

“Only alcohol,” I blurted.

One of them raised an eyebrow before he grinned and translated it to his colleague. They exchanged a few more words, eying me the whole time. Oh god, please go away.

“No,” the same officer said, grinning.

He shoved me aside while his colleague jumped onto the back of the truck, flashlight in hand, inspecting the crates one by one. I stood there, frozen, unable to do anything. How the hell had this happened? You goddamn idiot!

Just then, Mikhail appeared from behind the truck, cigarette in hand, stopping right in front of the officer and me.

“What’s problem, officer?” he asked, flashing a casual smile.

“Who are you?” the officer next to me asked, surprised, his hand wandering to the holster over his hip.

“I am driver,” Mikhail replied, calm as ever.

“What are you shipping?” the officer asked, in a much more serious tone.

Mikhail said something in Polish. The officer in the back stopped and turned around. I could see the surprise on his face. Then he asked something else. I caught a Russian name. Mikhail nodded, then moved slowly to the driver’s seat, keeping his hands visible. He pulled out an envelope filled with cash and handed it to the officers. They counted it, nodded, and walked away.

Before I could make sense of what had just happened, Mikhail hit me square in the face. Pain exploded as I hit the ground. Blood streamed from my nose, filling my mouth with an irony taste. Mikhail had hit me before, but never this hard. I stared at him with wide eyes, half-expecting him to pull out his gun and end it right here. Instead, he cursed at me in Russian. When I didn’t respond, he repeated himself.

“Close back and get in, stupid idiot!”

Once I sat in the passenger seat, Mikhail threw me a dirty rag.

“Clean yourself up!”

As I wiped the blood from my face, he started the truck, and we drove off.

“This comes from your pay! Listen, you don’t touch anything when we out in open!”

“Okay,” I mumbled, nodding, half-expecting another hit.

His knuckles were white around the steering wheel, his face twisted in anger. For a few more minutes, he kept cursing under his breath before he spoke up again.

“Can’t take that route anymore. They will wait for us, bleed us dry. Fuck! What you think you doing?”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. I considered telling him the cops asked me what was in the back, but then I opted for the truth.

“I heard a noise and thought a crate had gotten loose. Didn’t want anything to get damaged or fall off, so I went to refasten it.”

For a moment, Mikhail’s eyes probed me, trying to figure out if I was lying. Then he sighed.

“Okay, you not total idiot. You had right idea, but you still stupid. Next time you hear anything again, you tell me. Don’t just touch things. If police finds out what inside, we in trouble. Serious trouble.”

Well, duh, if the cops find out we’re smuggling contraband, we’re fucked. Not that I didn’t know that already. At least, that’s what I thought we were transporting. Five weeks later, I should find out what it really was.

It was night, and we were driving through the backwaters of the Czech Republic, on our way to the brothers. Business as usual. For two hours we followed nothing but narrow roads, and hidden paths, driving through so many half-empty villages I’d lost count.

Then, out of nowhere, a police car appeared behind us. Mikhail stopped the truck right away. When the officer stepped up to his window, I knew he’d be problem. His face was hard, his expression serious, and as soon as he laid eyes on Mikhail, he was suspicious.

He aimed his flashlight directly at his face and said something in Czech. Mikhail got out of the truck, and when the officer’s eyes came to rest on me, I did the same. The officer started questioning Mikhail. I didn’t understand a word, but it was clear he wanted to know what we were transporting. Mikhail gave one of our standard answers: clast, Czech for alcohol.

The officer smirked and ordered Mikhail to open the back of the truck. When Mikhail hesitated, the officer drew his gun and made us unload one of the crates. The officer’s gaze was fixed on Mikhail, entirely ignoring me. He knew who was the threat here.

Mikhail muttered a few words, and I understood he wanted me to open the crate. I went to the front, got a crowbar, and began removing the large nails that held the crate shut. When the front popped open, two black plastic bags fell onto the ground. The officer’s expression hardened, his mouth becoming a single, hard line. He pointed the gun straight at Mikhail, barking another order at him.

“Open them,” Mikhail said, looking at me.

I blinked, realizing what he meant. Oh fuck no. Even from where I stood, I could see enough to know what was inside. The shape, the outline, everything. But what was I supposed to do? I went forward, gripped the plastic, and tore it open. It was just a small tear, but enough to reveal a face staring back at me. Pale, lifeless, its empty eyes staring at nothing. I’d know what was inside, but I still stumbled back, gagging, nearly vomiting.

The cop barely looked at me, his gun still trained on Mikhail, while he approached the sacks. When he saw the corpse, he took out his radio. Right then, Mikhail yelled something in Czech. I didn’t understand, but the officer jerked toward me, gun raised, eyes burning with shock and anger. My mind went blank. This was it. I was dead.

Then the cop’s face exploded.

Blood, bone and brain matter rained down on me. I fell to the ground, shocked to be still alive. Then confusion turned into panic, and I started screaming. Mikhail was beside me in an instant, putting his heavy hand over my mouth.

“Stop screaming idiot, you alive.”

I lay there, trembling, crying, trying to scrape the pieces of what was once a man’s head off my clothes, my face. Once I could move, Mikhail pulled me up. He handed me a rag to clean off the worst while he stuffed the officer’s corpse into the crate. He called me to help him load it, but I couldn’t. I just stood there, frozen, staring. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again, and pushed the crate back onto the truck himself. Then he told me to get in while he refastened it. A moment later, we were driving again.

After only ten minutes on the road, he turned left, steering the truck into a forest before he stopped.

“Why are we-?“ I started.

“Shut up,” Mikhail snapped at me.

My heart pounded in my chest, my eyes grew wide, and my hands started shaking. Oh dear go. He was going to kill me. I’d seen what was in the crate. I’d seen him kill the cop. He was going to get rid of me, too! He leaned back in his seat, and I saw him reach for something. The gun! Frantically, I tore at my seatbelt, but in my panic, I couldn’t get open. Then something hit me. Not a bullet, but a bag.

“Change. Can’t have you run around all bloody.”

I stared at him in utter confusion before I realized what was in the bag. My entire body was numb, and my legs almost buckled as I stepped out of the car. Then I changed into the clothes Mikhail had handed me. They were a few sizes too big for me and reeked, but I didn’t complain. No, I was glad to get out of the blood- and brain-splattered ones I was wearing. Once done, I stuffed my clothes into the bag and hid it behind my seat.

“Otik and Juro take care of it. The cop, the clothes, everything. Cost more, but whatever. Common procedure. Not first time this happened.”

Not the first…? What was he-? May brain didn’t work, but after a few moments it clicked. I was a decoy, a distraction. He’d waited for the right moment to shout something, forcing the officer to look at me. Probably something like ‘Yes, shoot him!’ If Mikhail had been a second late, I’d be dead, too. I was alive by sheer dumb luck. Others who’d worked for him before probably hadn’t been so lucky.

Common procedure, he’d said. Watching him now, from the corner of my eye, I knew he wouldn’t have cared if I’d died there. I’d thought I was an alibi, someone to take the blame. That was only part of it. If necessary, I was here to take a bullet for him, or worse, die for him. Hot seething anger rose inside of me, but what could I do? I couldn’t say a damned word. All I could do was to sit in his truck, fists clenched. God, I wanted to jump that guy, to beat his face in, but I knew I wouldn’t stand a chance. My thoughts were interrupted when Mikhail spoke up.

“It’s safe route. Usually no police. Could be someone ratted me out? Wasn’t careful. My fault.”

He hadn’t apologized directly, and I doubted I’d ever hear him say the word sorry. Still, that he’d said something at all…

After that, he started the track, and we drove in silence until we reached the brothers.

Mikhail was right. The brothers had no problem taking care of things. No questions asked. Hell, Otik even joked about our run-in with the police. By now, I knew what their job was. I could see the chimneys and the old furnaces. Out here, no one would give a damn about what they did.

As I heaved out a crate, Juro’s weird smile and behavior came back to me. When I thought back to what I’d seen that day, I felt sick to my stomach. After the last crate was unloaded, I found him standing right beside me.

“Too bad, thought you’d be in one of ‘em by now. Oh, the fun I’d have…”

I cringed, disgusted by his half-empty smile and lolling tongue.

“Fucking shit!” I cursed.

He only laughed, but kept watching me, grinning until we finally left.

“He one sick fuck,” Mikhail said. “Knows what he doing, though.”

Back on the road, Mikhail told me our next destination was Bratislava. An old acquaintance of his needed a prompt delivery. The journey was long, but the pay was worth it. I kept quiet. I knew damn well I wouldn’t see any of that money.

That was not the worst, though. Now that I knew what we were transporting, I was a shaky, anxiety-riddled mess. Drugs or other contraband would’ve been bad enough, but this… this was something else. What about me, though? What would happen if his clients found out I knew? They’d shot me on the spot, stuff me in one of those crates, and that would be it. There was also Mikhail. Would he get rid of me, eventually?

For two weeks, I couldn’t think straight. Every time he stopped the truck, I thought this was it. My time’s up. But it never happened. In time, I grew numb to it all. The guns, the crates, what was in them… I guess I accepted whatever was waiting for me.

In time, I even picked up some Czech and Polish, if only to understand what Mikhail was saying to his clients, as well as the cops.

Still, it was a job. After a while, it felt like any other.

It shouldn’t stay that way.

---

I’d been working with Mikhail for half a year when it happened. We were on our way back from Belarus to Poland. Turns out, Mikhail didn’t just work with the brothers. He knew a few other people who also specialized in corpse disposal.

While Mikhail drove the truck, and I was going through a Polish lesson, I heard a knock from the back. At first, I thought I’d imagined things, but then a heavy thud followed. I glanced over at Mikhail. He was fuming. I’d never seen him this angry.

“What was-?”

“Nothing,” he cut me off, gritting his teeth.

We drove on in silence until Mikhail abruptly pulled off the road.

“Go check,” he ordered.

At the back of the truck, the sounds were unmistakable. Someone was moving inside one of the crates. I even heard a muffled voice. I went back to Mikhail.

“Someone’s alive back there,” I stammered.

Mikhail’s expression darkened as he cursed in Russian and spat out the window. He sat there for a few minutes, silent. Then he pulled out his gun. I froze. He was going to finish the job himself. At least I thought so. Instead, he looked at me and held out the gun.

“Wait, what are you…? No! You can’t… I mean…”

Mikhail’s face hardened.

“You do it.”

I stared at the gun, then back at him, unable to move.

“Take it!” he screamed.

My hands trembled as I took the gun and stumbled to the back of the truck. I stood there, listening to the thuds and the muffled pleading from inside. No, I can’t do it. I can’t fucking do it! That was a person in there. How can he expect me to just…!? I stared freaking out, couldn’t breathe, and my heart was pounding in my chest. The gun felt like it weight a ton.

“What take so goddamn long?” he shouted in an angry voice.

A moment later, I heard him step out of the truck, and saw him walk up to me.

“I can’t freaking do it,” I pleaded with him, tears streaming down my face.

“You have to,” Mikhail said, his thick Russian accent colder than ever.

His face was completely devoid of emotions.

“N-no. It’s impossible. I can’t kill-“

“Then you die.”

He said it as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

I stood there, sweat dripping down my forehead. How did it come to this? What the hell was I supposed to do? I couldn’t shoot someone! I wasn’t a freaking murderer! Fuck this! Fuck Mikhail, fuck Yuri, and fuck this guy in there, too!

“Dyes-yat. Dyev-vat. Vo-syem,” he suddenly started.

What the hell was he doing now?

“Syem. Shest.”

The memories of my sixth grade Russian class came back to me. The numbers. He was counting down from ten.

“Chye-tir-ye. Tree.”

Oh god, what do I do? What the fuck do I do?

Then, completely out of it, not sure what I was even doing, I pointed the gun at Mikhail. He grinned and stopped counting.

“You won’t,” he sneered. “Not someone like you.”

“Shut the fuck up!” I screamed, my voice cracking.

“What you gonna do? You gonna shot me? Take my truck and run?”

I stayed silent. I had no fucking clue what I was going to do, and Mikhail knew it. He started laughing and took a step closer.

“Stop or I’ll shot!”

My hands were sweaty, my whole body was trembling. Mikhail just grinned wider.

“You won’t. You pussy.”

I said nothing, willing my body to stop shaking. Then I pointed the gun straight at his face.

“I won’t shoot that guy in there! I’m not a murderer!”

“And you prove it how? By shooting me?”

This time, I couldn’t help but give him a frustrated, half-crazed laugh.

“If that’s what it takes…”

I’d wanted it to sound intimidating, but my voice was quiet, meek, barely more than a whisper. Mikhail laughed again before he lunged at me. In my panic, I squeezed my eyes shut, and pulled the trigger. The gun clicked. Nothing else. I opened my eyes just in time to see Mikhail’s giant fist smashing into my face.

I woke up in the passenger seat, pain flooding through me. Jesus Christ, that guy hits like a truck! Then I realized what had just happened.

“What the fuck?!” I yelled, pulling on the seatbelt, trying to free myself.

“Stop,” Mikhail said in a low voice, pushing me back into the seat as he parked the truck on the roadside.

“What’s going on? Why did you-?”

“It was test.”

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

“To see what person you are.”

I stared at him, utterly lost. He sighed, leaning back in his seat.

“There’s enough bad in this world, enough people like me. This here, all this, is bad. I wanted see what you do. Would you shoot man just because I tell you to?”

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

When he nodded, my eyes grew wide.

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

“No bullets. You really are idiot.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, and soon he joined in. He was right, I was such an idiot.

“So what if I’d decided to do it?”

“Then there’d be one more bag in crate,” he answered, matter-of-factly.

“What happened to-?” I asked, but my voice trailed off when I saw the look on his face.

Cold and hard as usual, but now with a tinge of something else: regret.

---

I worked with Mikhail for three more months. Not much changed between us. We talked little, and I didn’t learn more about him. I guess, that’s just who he is.

Then, one day, he stopped the truck on a deserted German road.

“Get out of car.”

I did as I was told, and he followed. We were in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t know what was happening. Mikhail stepped up to me and finally spoke.

Yuri, he explained, had no intention of letting me go. I’d keep working for Mikhail for as long as I was useful. When I wasn’t… well, he’d find a way to get rid of me. I wouldn’t be the first to meet that kind of end.

I watched as Mikhail reached into his pocket, my body tensing up.

“No worry. I won’t shoot. If I wanted, you’d be dead already.”

Instead of his gun, he pulled out an envelope and a small slip of paper, and handed them to me. The envelope was filled with money.

“What are you-?”

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

I looked at him, dumbstruck.

“You don’t belong in this world. You not bad person, but if you stay, you become like me. Blood on hands, blood you can never wash off.”

He looked away, lost in thought for a moment.

“In envelope is enough money for a while. On note is name of friend. He give you work. Good and honest work.”

I couldn’t believe what he was saying. I stepped forward to hug him, but he immediately pushed me back.

“Don’t.”

In an instant, his expression grew stern.

“I know how you ended up here. Gambling. Loans. Easy money.”

I looked away, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. I tried to say something, but before I could, he got a hold of my collar.

“If you do shit like that again, I come and shoot you myself. Understood?”

I gasped, nodding quickly.

“Yes. I get it. I won’t do it again.”

“Good.”

He looked at me once more.

“Now fuck off, before I regret it.”

With that, he jumped back in his truck, and was gone a moment later. I stood there, waiting, half-sure he’d return, and tell me it was another test. After half an hour had passed, however, I knew he wouldn’t. This was it.

I took out my phone and checked the address he’d given me. Then I began walking.

Good and honest work. It didn’t sound too bad.

I always loved hiking and to immersing myself in wild, unrestrained nature.

Growing up, I spent a lot of time with my uncle, John. He was a free spirit, a hiker who loved nothing more than to explore thick forests and wide planes. After my parents passed away, I came to live with him, and he taught me everything there was to know about surviving in the wilderness. As an adult, I wanted nothing more than to travel the world like he did, but life had other plans.

After high school, and Uncle John’s death, I couldn’t afford to go to college, so I took an office job. Ten years later, I’m still stuck in it. Every once in a while, though, when I have a few days off, I love to go on hiking trips. A few weeks ago, I did just that.

Normally, I stick to the common routes and hiking tracks, but this time, driven by nostalgia, I wanted to get that feeling of adventure that had so dominated my childhood. I wanted to go out into the wild, see unrestrained nature, and stay blissfully ignorant of human civilization.

After hours of trekking through the thick, dense forest, I realized I wouldn’t reach the camping site I’d chosen as my destination. When the sun went down, I set up camp in a small clearing. As I did, I couldn’t help but think my many trips with Uncle John. I missed that old man.

Before long, night descended, and after a quick meal, I crawled into my tent and went to sleep. I wasn’t worried about animal attacks. All that was out here were deer, foxes, and badgers. Wild boards were a possibility, too, but they usually stayed away from campsites.

Loud noises from outside woke me in the middle of the night. For long seconds I just lay there, quietly, and listened. It’s just some animal, I told myself. The sounds, however, persisted, and grew louder, almost as if something was tearing through my campsite. I heard more rustling, followed by the clang of the metal cooking pot. Foxes and badgers are curious, but they rarely make enough noise to wake you up. An icy feeling washed over me, and goosebumps appeared all over my arms when I thought about the alternatives.

The chances of running into a weirdo or a homeless person were slim, but I’d heard my fair share of camping horror stories. With shaking fingers, and my breath held tight, I slowly opened my sleeping bag. Then I made my way to the tent’s entrance. I moved the zipper down a few centimeters and peered outside.

The campsite was in total chaos. Leaves and branches had been strewn everywhere, as if something had torn through it. My chair had been thrown aside, the remains of the campfire were scattered, and the metal cooking pot was missing. At first, I saw no signs of the intruder and almost sighed with relief, but then I could make out a dark silhouette. A lump formed in my throat, and fear washed over me. Shit, that was way bigger than a fox or a badger. A person, I told myself, it’s got to be a person. Sweat broke out all over my body. I threw on my clothes before I picked up Uncle John’s hunting knife.

“Better be prepared than sorry, Lina,” he’d always said, recounting one of his many close calls.

After that, I pulled out my flashlight, and made my way back to the tent’s opening. Please, just go away, I prayed, please. Yet the figure seemed to have no intention of moving on. For a few seconds, I watched its silhouette before I turned on the flashlight and pointed it directly at it.

“Okay, whoever you are, and whatever you think-“

I yelled, but my voice caught in my throat and my eyes grew wide when I saw the true nature of the intruder. It wasn’t a person, but neither an animal. It was a grotesque, whitish humanoid creature with long dangling arms. As it held onto the cooking pot, I could almost see the joints in them. Too many for a human being, too many.

The moment it noticed the beam of the flashlight, it threw the pot aside, and its head jerked in my direction. I almost cringed back when I saw it. Its eyes were deep set and red, and its nose was nothing but a knotty heap of bone and skin. The worst, however, was its mouth. It hung half-open, and I watched as a lolling tongue pushed past misshapen teeth and licked over disgustingly fleshly lips.

Then the thing let out a high-pitched squeal. I watched, frozen in terror, as its mouth warped into a twisted smile before it came for me, half-running, half-crawling. My head was spinning, and adrenaline surged through my veins. What the hell was this thing?! This… this couldn’t be real! Then the trance I was under broke, and my fight-or-flight instinct instantly chose flight.

In a single swift motion, I tore open the tent’s entrance, jumped outside, and dashed into the forest. I didn’t know where I was going. All I knew was that I had to get away from this creature, this monstrosity. The flashlight was still in my hand, the beam darting left and right wildly, as I desperately tried to find something that could help me, save me.

When I looked over my shoulder and illuminated the forest behind me, I could see it coming after me. It was moving faster than should be possible, as if jumping from tree to tree.

At that moment, the world turned upside down. I stumbled over the root of a tree and crashed to the forest floor. All the air was driven from my lungs, and I lay there, desperately gasping for air. I was about to get back up, pushing myself onto my elbows when a hand clamped around my ankle, bringing me back down. The creature was right there, staring at me with a mocking grin on its disgustingly whitish face. I squirmed, tried to get free, but it didn’t let go. Finally, my boot came down on its face. It yowled in pain, and its grip on my foot loosened.

Moments later, I was up again. I ran past trees and dashed through the thick underbrush. Then I saw something ahead of me. It was stone. A cliff, I thought, but it was much too smooth for it. I realized what it was: a wall, a building. A ruin in the forest.

On weak, trembling legs, I stumbled onward, and soon discovered an entrance. Without thinking, I made my way inside, turned off the flashlight and hid in a corner. I sat in the darkness, shaking and holding my breath. It’s okay Lina, it won’t find you here, it’s okay. I repeated this mantra over and over again, forcing myself to breathe as quietly and slowly as humanly possible. Seconds turned into minutes, but there was were no sounds other than my low breathing, and the pounding of my heart. The creature was gone! Yet the moment I got up, I heard something. The rustling of leaves, as something was searching the area in front of the building.

“Oh god, no,” I mumbled, and instantly covered my mouth.

It was back, and it was right there! How had it found me? Why hadn’t it moved on!? My eyes darted around wildly, searching for another way out, for anything. That’s when I discovered a doorway to my left that lead deeper into the ruin.

I carefully made my way forward. Quietly, I told myself. Don’t you dare make any noise! It was still outside, still searching. Finally, I made it to the second room. Please let there be another way out. The moment I’d entered it, I stepped on something. It was strangely soft, and when I looked down, I saw a small creature below my feet. I cringed back when I saw a pair of empty glass eyes staring up at me. I could barely cover my mouth as a fresh surge of panic shot through me. In an instant, I kicked the thing away. Its lair. I’ve made my way right into its lair, and this here… it’s got to be its offspring. For a moment, I imagined myself being swarmed by tiny white bodies, being torn to pieces and…

Then the beam of the flashlight hit the thing, and I saw what it really was. It was nothing but an old, half-rotten stuffed animal. As my eyes darted across the room, I saw half a dozen more. All were old and dirty. That’s not all I saw, though; there was old furniture, rotten clothes. Then I jerked around. The sounds were getting closer. The thing must’ve entered the building. Window, there’s got to be a window! I sent the beam of the flashlight across the room, frantically searching for a way out when it hit something else.

Pictures.

An entire wall of the room was covered in pictures. Pictures of women, brunette women. It was dozens; small pictures, big pictures, some in black and white, others in color.

“What the…? Why?” I mumbled.

Had this thing… this creature come after me because I was a woman? Because of my brunette hair? Then I heard a disgusting wet gurgle from behind me, something almost akin to a… giggle. For a moment, I was frozen in shock before I slowly turned around. The disgusting whitish abomination had found me. I saw how its mouth changed into a smile as its red eyes focused on me. I stumbled back, pushing myself against the wall.

“Stay away from me!” I screamed at it.

The thing, however, took one step into the room, and for the first time, I heard something else, the approximation of a word.

“…ther,” it said.

My eyes darted around once more, but there was no way out. There was nothing! I pushed myself along the wall, waiting for a chance to dash past it, but its red eyes and mocking expression followed my every move.

“…other,” it said again.

I watched as it spread out its arms, as if it knew what I was planning to do, as if to block me from escaping. Finally, it said it once more, and this time, I understood what it was saying.

“Another.”

Oh god. Another. All those pictures on the wall. All those women. Another woman, another victim, had found its way into its lair. It said it twice more before it came stumbling towards me, arms outspread.

“No!” I screamed.

Then it was on top of me. My fingers closed around the familiar, worn hilt of Uncle John’s hunting knife as I yanked it from my pocket. I heard the sickening sound of flesh tearing before the creature wailed, and my hands were flooded with warm, sticky blood. In my frantic panic, I pulled the knife back and stabbed the creature twice more. The wailing grew louder and louder before it crashed onto the floor, convulsing, its arms flailing around wildly.

For another second, I just stood there, staring at the thing, before the knife fell from my hands and I ran. I ran until my heart felt close to exploding, and my legs grew numb, almost unresponsive. Yet I stumbled on over the forest floor until I came upon a small hiking track.

Not knowing what else to do, I followed it. When the sun was finally up, it didn’t take long before I ran into a group of hikers. The moment they saw me, dirty and covered in blood, they backed away, but when I rambled on about what had happened, they called the police.

A local officer named Schneider arrived soon after. He was an older man, about twice my age. I told him what had happened, but I could see in his expression that he didn’t believe a word I was telling them. After a bit of back and forth, he relented and agreed to follow me to my campsite. Once we’d arrived, we searched for the ruin where I’d been attacked by the creature. It took only ten minutes before we stumbled upon it. Keeping a safe distance, I followed him inside.

“What the hell?” he said when saw the creature.

In the daylight, the creature looked entirely different from last night. Its body was as white as a sheet, but apart from that, it was almost normal, almost… human. It wasn’t the hulking monstrosity I thought it had been. When the officer turned it around, I could see the face once more. It was as disfigured as I’d remembered it. Then I noticed that something was wrong with its hand, its fingers. I began counting them.

“Seven,” I finally said out loud.

Officer Schneider turned to me with a questioning look on his face.

“The fingers,” I said, and pointed at the creature’s hand. “There’s seven of them on its right hand.”

When I said this, the man walked over the get a better look.

“I’ll be damned,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Then he turned back to me.

“Miss Brandt, I believe you’re not the only one whose encounter this… creature.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?”

He glanced down at the creature once more, his brow furrowing, as if deep in thought.

“Rumors, nothing but local rumors… things in the forest. Ghosts, shades; that type of thing. Always thought it was nothing but an old story, a local legend you could say.”

I stared at him expectantly. The old man sighed before he recounted the tale.

Decades ago, a reclusive family lived out here, an older couple with their son and daughter. Because of their isolated life, the siblings grew close, and before long, their bond turned into a forbidden love. When the son got sent away, people began talking. Maria, the daughter, had supposedly gotten pregnant. It was nothing but rumors, but an old, confused midwife swore she once helped deliver a particularly disfigured albino boy. Years passed, Maria found work in one of the local villages, but even after her parents’ death, she refused to leave her family home. Some believed it was because of her upbringing, others whispered about the rumored disfigured child. One day, Maria died in a work accident, and thus the old home was abandoned. Even after her death, however, the rumors about Maria persisted. Kids talked about hearing her wailing from deep within the forest, and hikers would occasionally mention sightings of a white shade seen during the night. Seeing those seven fingers, Schneider said, reminded him of the old midwife’s story, because she’d said one more thing: the albino child was born with seven fingers on its right hand.

When he’d ended his tale, it finally clicked for me. What I’d thought to be a terrible creature must’ve been Maria’s child. After his mother’s death, he must’ve continued to live out here on his own.

In the end, the incident was ruled as self-defense. It was concluded that Maria’s child must’ve been severely mentally handicapped. After living out here on its own for so long, he must’ve been in a dangerous, almost feral state. He probably thought I’d enter his territory and thus attacked me.

At least that’s what everyone thought.

After the investigation was over, I asked Officer Schneider for a picture of Maria. I guess I wanted to find closure for what had happened to her son. Yesterday, a letter arrived. In it was a brief note by Schneider and an old photograph of a young woman.

When I looked at it, I instantly noticed her dark, brunette hair. Those pictures, I thought, all the women in them had brunette hair, just like me, and just like Maria. That’s when I realized the truth. I’d originally thought all those pictures were of his victims, but the police assured me that wasn’t the case. No women had ever gone missing in the area, and no bodies had ever been discovered.

No, after his mother had vanished, the child must’ve gathered them. In his mind, after all those years, those women must’ve looked to him like his mother. Shaken, and with tears in my eyes, I realized what he’d said that night. I’d thought he’d said other or another, but what he’d really said was mother.

After two long, lonely decades, a brunette woman had stumbled into his home. He must’ve thought his mother had returned to him. That’s why he’d been smiling and giggling, and that’s why he’d spread out his arms when he came for me.

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

Entry #1 – May 2, 2018

Doctor Schulz told me journaling helps sort out my thoughts. I should’ve done so much sooner. This place feels odd. It always has, but recently, things have gotten worse. I think people are watching me.

Doctor Schulz helped me find this place after my troubles back in the day, but things just don’t feel right. The apartment complex is too big, rows and rows of identical buildings, only divided by small parks.

When I first moved in, I told Doctor Schulz all about it, but he said it was all in my head, and I just needed time to get used to it. He even got me to put up blinds. It helped in the beginning, but I’m not so sure anymore. I feel like something’s out there, waiting for me, almost as if I’m hiding from something. God, this feels all so damned weird.

Occasionally, I can’t help but glance outside myself. I know I shouldn’t. He told me as much, but I still do it. Sometimes I see people arguing, hanging out on their balcony, or having a party at their place. That type of thing.

A few days ago, I saw him. There was a man in the building across from me, staring at me. I thought it was just a coincidence, but whenever I looked again, he was back. Every single time I checked, he’s there, unmoving, staring directly at me.

Today it was different. It isn’t just him anymore. There are more. A lady here, a teenager there, a couple a few floors up, all watching me.

The reason I decided to write this down is that they don’t stop. They don’t just take a glance and go back to their business. No, they keep staring, even if I directly stare back at them. They keep it up until I close the blinds again.

This is just too goddamn weird.

Entry #2 – May 6, 2018

Okay, I tried to do what Doctor Schulz told me. Tell myself it’s not real, and that it’s all in my head.

But no. Every single time I look outside, all those people stop. They stop right in their tracks and start watching me. There’s no hesitation. It’s like they know when I’m going to open the blinds. Doesn’t matter if it’s morning or evening. The second I look outside, their eyes are glued to me.

How the hell could this just be in my head? No, it’s real.

Entry #3 – May 8, 2018

Today, I caught myself looking out for longer and longer. I keep trying to convince myself it’s all in my head. One day, I’ll open the blinds, and everything’s back to normal.

The problem is, every single day, I’m confronted by the same thing. Even worse, day by day, it’s more faces who join, more eyes. First, it was only a handful of people, but now it’s dozens. Everywhere I look, I see the same thing: faces turned towards me, eyes staring at me.

What the hell do they want from me?

Entry #4 – May 10, 2018

Got a hold of my binoculars today. I shouldn’t have, not again. Doctor Schulz told me as much, I but I have to know. I need to know what they are up to.

Why are they always there? How the hell do they know? What if they aren’t just watching, but waiting?

Entry #5 – May 11, 2018

What if they’ve been talking and planned it all out together?

Maybe they know I hate being watched, and that’s why they are targeting me?

Entry #6 – May 15, 2018

Enough is enough. I’m done with this shit. I’ve spent the past weeks thinking about this, and staring at people. Staring at people who just stare back. It’s not just weird anymore. It’s getting stupid. Really freaking stupid.

If I stop playing their game, I’m sure they’ll give up soon enough.

Entry #7 – May 19, 11:22AM

I ignored them for days. Hell, yesterday I went out with some friends and had fun for the first time in ages.

This morning, I fucked it all up. Royally. I wasn’t thinking and just wanted to get some fresh air. The moment I opened the blinds, they were all there, watching me. Scared the living hell out of me! Closed the blinds instantly.

A few minutes later, I had another look, trying my best not to move the blinds, but they were still there. Even now, an hour later, they still are.

I thought things would go back to normal, and they’d give, but it’s like they’ve all been waiting for me, waiting for me to look again.

Entry #8 – May 19, 2018 – 2:33PM

This has got to be some sort of set-up or a social experiment! There’s no other way. It’s some kind of stupid joke, and they do it just to mess with me.

Maybe they’ve got hidden cameras to record my reaction. Maybe they are watching me right now, as I sit here, typing this.

Entry #9 – May 19, 2018 – 7:14PM

Checked the place, the balcony, but no cameras, nothing. At least as far as I can tell.

But then why are they doing this? Do they want a reaction from me? Do they want me to watch them? Is it to provoke me?

Well then, assholes, I am provoked! If you want me to watch, I give you a fucking show! I’m going out there right now with my binoculars, and I stare right back at you. Let’s see how you like it! Do you like being watched? Having binoculars pointed at you? Well, I hope you fucking do!

Entry #10 – May 19, 2018 – 10:52PM

Well, that plan did absolutely fucking nothing. Everything’s entirely the same. They kept it up for hours. None of them moved. I don’t know how they do it, but they stood perfectly still. For hours! It’s ridiculous!

I can still see them. They are still on their balconies, at their windows, staring at me.

Entry #11 – May 20, 2018 – 1:17AM

They are still at it. I check every couple of minutes for something to change, for them to be gone, but nothing happens. They aren’t moving. I can still see their silhouettes! Why the fuck are they doing this?

Oh god, I’m starting to freak out. Calm down, breathe, calm down. Just go to bed and be done with it.

Entry #12 – May 20, 2018 – 7:47AM

I almost couldn’t sleep last night. Lay in bed for hours. Even under the blanket, I felt watched. It’s so stupid, but I could still feel their eyes on me. I imagined them out there, looking over at my window all night. I know it’s stupid, and I know it’s not true. The moment I closed my eyes, they all stopped and went back inside. Shaking hands and congratulating each other for how well they played me.

This is getting to me. I had the dream again, the same fucking dream for the first time in months. I was back at that damned square. All those people staring me down, closing in on me even though they weren’t moving.

I woke up drenched in cold sweat, feeling suffocated.

The first thing I did was to get right back to the window. Wouldn’t you know it? They are all back, already staring at me. Of course they are! How would it be any different? I’m not even surprised anymore!

Entry #13 – May 20, 2018 – 11:26AM

Talked to my neighbor.

Had to ring multiple times before that damned old geezer opened the door. Heard no footsteps, so he must’ve been standing there the entire time. Right behind the door, watching me through the spyglass.

When I didn’t leave and kept ringing, he eventually opened the door. Asked him if he noticed anything strange going on in the area, or the building across. He just stared at me and shook his head before he threw the door right in my face. Didn’t hear a damned thing after that. No footsteps, no nothing. I knew he was still there, watching and waiting for me to leave.

Back inside, I couldn’t help but curse about him. The hell was wrong with him? Then I thought about it. What if that’s all he’s doing? Watching every time I go outside?

So he’s part of it, too. He’s their lookout. It makes so much sense. That’s how they know if I’m home or not. Maybe he even listens in on me, to figure out if I’m awake or not. All to give them information so they can keep up their ridiculous little game.

Entry #14 – May 20, 2018 – 2:54PM

Been fuming ever since I typed out the last message. Knowing my neighbors in on it, I wonder just how many people are involved. Is it the entire building? The entire neighborhood?

Fuck, I need to talk to someone, to show them what the hell’s going on here. I picked up my phone, pressed the record button, and rushed onto my balcony. No way I’d give them any time to hide what they are doing! Problem was, I didn’t see a damned thing. No, I have to go outside.

But once I get proof, I can show people! I can even show Doctor Schulz. Or I just upload it on YouTube and show the entire world how they are fucking with me!

Entry #15 – May 20, 2018 – 6:37PM

Not good. Not a good idea at all.

I stormed outside, all right? The moment I did, I could feel the eyes of the parents on the playground on me. Heard them whispering to one another. At first I ignored them, but then I saw their faces. Grimacing and pointing at me. Recorded them without a second thought. They yelled at me, sure, but I didn’t give a shit. No, I knew they were involved. They all are.

Made my way to the building across, and screamed at a man who’d been staring at me all day. Guess what? He pretended to be confused, scared, to do nothing at all. Went to the next one, and then the next, but they all pretended to be doing nothing, and having no clue what I was talking about.

Then this fat guy in a muscle shirt approached me. Told me I couldn’t just go filming people, especially the kids. I didn’t care. I kept recording him, too. Big mistake. He took my phone, told me to get the fuck out of here, and threatened to call the cops. I wanted to argue, but more and more people approached us, staring, whispering to one another.

‘That’s him, right?’

‘Isn’t that the guy?’

I panicked, fucking freaked out, tore the phone from his hands and ran back. I knew they all saw, they all watched.

Once I made it back, I slammed the door. Could do nothing but slump down. Fuck them, fuck them all!

Entry #16 – 20 May, 2018 – 7:12PM

Fuck! When I tried to watch the recording, I couldn’t find it. I scrolled through my entire gallery for minutes, but nothing. That guy who’d taken my phone must’ve deleted it. Of course he had. They knew what I was planning all along!

For a moment, I laughed before I grew angry. I had no freaking proof. None at all!

Entry #17 – 24 May, 2018 – 6:06AM

For three days, I blocked it all out. I got up, went to work, and spent the evening in front of the TV. Thought it was enough to block out the voices in my head, but they were still there, and each day they got louder. Sometimes I stood in front of the blinds, knowing it, feeling it, but I didn’t look. For three whole days.

Today, I just couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t get rid of that strange feeling. I wanted to know, I had to. When I finally looked, they were all back, all staring at me, not moving a muscle.

It’s six in the freaking morning! Why aren’t they asleep? Shouldn’t they get ready to go to work? Don’t they have anything better to do than to fucking watch me!?

Entry #18 – 24 May, 2018 – 5:13PM

No change. They are still there. Hell, I don’t think they even moved.

At this point, I don’t fucking care anymore. They must’ve kept this up for three days, without me looking at them even once. I screamed at them to fucking move, to breathe, to something, anything! They didn’t.

I got the binoculars and decided to check each and every one of them. There had to be something, some sort of detail that showed me their trick. That’s when I noticed something had actually changed. They weren’t just staring at me like before. They looked angry, and as if frozen in motion.

The dream came back to me instantly. Are they closing in on me? Coming for me? I wanted to look more, but I couldn’t. This is too damned freaky!

Told myself to let it go, to not look anymore. This is driving me freaking nuts! They are driving me freaking nuts! Is that what they are trying to do? To drive me insane?

Well, good luck, I’m done! I’m not playing your freaking game anymore!

Entry #19 – 29 May, 2018

I’m doing well. I let it go. Didn’t touch the blinds, didn’t go to the window, and haven’t been out on the balcony. No, I’m going to wait till this is all over. There’s no way they can keep it up forever.

I’ve been going out a lot. To the city center, Starbucks, that type of thing. God, it helps so much. The loud, bustling city drowns everything out. It’s so much better than to just sit here, being watched all day.

But the moment I get back, there’s nothing but silence. Every time I’m here, the voices are back. Telling me something’s wrong, something’s going on, and that dozens, no, hundreds of people are waiting for me to show myself.

Fuck you! I won’t!

Entry #20 – June 2, 2018 – 2:11PM

I’m alone. All alone. There’s no help. There’s no one. The police aren’t doing anything. Nothing!

Fuck, what’s this all about? Why’s no one doing a goddamn thing? How’s no one noticing what’s going on?

Entry #21 – June 2, 2018 – 4:07PM

I had to calm down. I was too out of it by what just happened.

The day started normally. I played some games and minded my own business. I only realized it in the afternoon. It’s Saturday, it’s summer. Why’s it so quiet? Normally, I’d hear kids yelling and playing outside. I told myself to not fall for it. I’d been doing well, so damned well. The more I said, the less it worked.

Of course I looked. Of course I did. But from the window I couldn’t see the playground. From the balcony I could. The moment I stepped outside, I saw it. Everyone on the goddamn playground was frozen, staring at me. Parents, kids, everyone!

I’d ignored it for almost a week, but here we are. They’d got me again. That’s what they’d wanted. For me to look, to see, to notice they were still watching me! I’d had it. I called the cops then and there and told them what was going on here.

Well, wouldn’t you know it? The moment I led them outside, everything’s back to normal! Kids are playing, adults are chatting. Oh, how surprised they all acted when they saw me with the cops. I couldn’t help but grin, thinking I’d got them. The officer went forward to confront them, but came back soon after.

Turns out, I was fucking wrong. Big surprise. They asked me where my apartment was, and when I pointed at it, they asked why the blinds were closed. Told them it was for protection, so people couldn’t watch me. I saw the way they looked at me, how everyone looked at me!

Then they fucking asked me if I was spying on people. Me! Well, what do you fucking expect? I have to check if they are still watching me! That’s what they fucking want me to do! Well, they didn’t like that one bit. They asked me about the time I’d been filming people. Bitch must’ve told them. She lied about me being a freak, about me being the one who was acting weird. I tried to explain that I was trying to prove what was going on, to get evidence, but they cut me right off.

They held me a freaking lecture about the disturbance of peace and quiet. It was a serious crime, they said. Oh yeah? Is it? Then what are they doing? Then they even had the nerve to tell me to go to a fucking psychiatrist! Yeah, sure, I go right back to Doctor Schulz and tell him the cops sent me! I don’t have those problems anymore! He fucking said so himself! It’s not me who’s wrong! It’s them!

They went on rambling, arms crossed, looking all smug, smirking. I didn’t listen anymore, I didn’t care. I watched the people on the playground. They were already whispering to one another, telling each other to get back into position.

Once they left, and I was back inside, I knew what would happen. I knew exactly what they’d do. I didn’t even have to look. They knew I’d fucked up, and they’d got me again.

That’s where I’m at now. For the past hour, I was so mad, I couldn’t even type this out. Even the police wouldn’t help me. They just ignored me!

No, hold on. What if they didn’t ignore me? They’d been laughing, hadn’t they? They’d fucking ridiculed me and told me I was crazy. What if they are in on it, too? They have to be. Of course they are. That’s why they didn’t listen to a damned thing I said. Even the police, they even got the police involved.

Or did they?

What if those weren’t real policemen? Maybe it’s just to guys living in that damned building? If they were tapping my calls, they knew what I was going to do. So two of them put on a uniform, pretend to be the cops, and play out their part of this fucked up little game. I just went back to the window and looked outside. They are all back in position, but now they aren’t just staring, they are grinning.

They know. I’m back, watching again, just like they wanted.

Entry #22 – June 2, 2018 10:21PM

I thought about the dream again. I once read that dreams can be premonitions, but I thought it was bullshit. Until now.

The people, all those people watching me, they are getting closer. It’s subtle, barely visible. They don’t want me to notice, but I did. I did, all right? A step here, a lean there.

But now that I know, I can’t unsee it. They are all inching closer. Leaning over balcony railings, getting out of their apartments, standing at the doors. Even those outside, those at the playground. I couldn’t see them from the window before, but now I can!

But when I look, none of them are moving. I don’t get it. I don’t get any of this!

Entry #23 – June 4, 2018 – 1:42AM

Tried to sleep, but I can’t. Got up again, and they are all still there. I can’t see them clearly, but the playground’s still full of people. They know I’m not asleep, they fucking know! This is insane. It’s two in the freaking morning! But there they are, with their kids! I wanted to scream, to tell them to go to hell, but they’d like that, wouldn’t they?

Instead, I tried to record them again, but the phone isn’t fucking working! When I press record, all I get is a black screen, like they aren’t even there! It’s because of that guy. When he deleted that recording, he messed with it.

Entry #24 – June 4, 2018: 6:41AM

ohgod ohgod ohgod no no no I can’t can’t can’t no please please no I can’t

Entry #25 – June 4, 2018 – 8:34AM

Okay, I’m calm now. I’m calm. The balcony door is closed. No one can get in. No one can hurt you.

I tried something, I fucking did, but spoiler alert: it didn’t fucking work, and my phone’s gone!

All right, calm down, idiot. Just type it all out.

I eventually got some sleep, woke up, and had a look again. They were still there. It wasn’t even seven, barely six in the morning, and the playground was already full of people. I went on the balcony right away, phone in hand, to try again. If I couldn’t record them, I could at least take a picture, right?

I leaned forward to get a better view and started snapping pictures. But then, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. Everyone on the whole left side of the apartment building was leaning forward, over their balcony railings, staring at me with angry wide eyes, as if they’d come for me at any second! I screamed, stumbled back and sent the freaking phone flying!

After an hour, I decided to get it, but it was fucking gone. It must’ve fallen off the balcony! I told myself there was no way this was real, but when I peeked out again, I saw them. All those people leaning forward and watching me. This is so ridiculously stupid, but here we are. What the fuck’s even going on? Did I slip into freaking bizarro world?

I don’t even know anymore.

Entry #26 – June 4, 2018 – 1:22PM

Forgot about work.

What does it even matter at this point?

Entry #27 – June 4, 2018 – 5:44PM

I’m freaking trapped. I should’ve left, I should’ve left this goddamn place when I still had a chance.

After this morning, I told myself to get out of here. Something very, very wrong was going on here. When I opened the front door, the entire hallway was packed. Dozens of people, neighbors, silent, frozen, staring. I wanted to run, to barge right past them, but I couldn’t. I managed a single step before I saw their grins, their open hands, the way they were leaning forward. They were preying on me, waiting and preying on me! No, they were waiting for me to move. The moment I ran, the moment I’d reach them, they’d get me. That’s when they’d move!

I slammed the door, locked it, and ran back to the living room. I thought they’d come for me, that they’d break down the door, but they did nothing. Absolutely nothing! Why aren’t they doing anything? Why the hell are they just waiting and watching?

I finally got in contact with Doctor Schulz. Couldn’t call him, so I sent an email. Told him what was going on, that I was scared and needed help.

Now, I’m just sitting here, waiting.

Entry #28 – June 4, 2018 – 8:25PM

Nothing from Doctor Schulz.

I peeked through the blinds. No change. Still outside. All getting closer. Hundreds, maybe thousands, filling the entire park. They are coming for me. Whenever I look away, they inch in closer. I can’t stop. Even when I’m typing, I can’t stop watching.

I can’t let them get closer.

Entry #29 – June 5, 2018 – 4:46AM

I didn’t sleep. Not yet. But I finally realized what’s going on here. I finally understood it! It’s so goddamn simple, it makes me laugh! They are watching me to see if I’m watching them! That’s what’s been going on here! They only move when I’m not watching!

How didn’t I get it sooner? It’s so damned obvious!

Entry #30 – June 5, 2018 – 8:12AM

Things don’t make sense anymore. Nothing does at all, at all, at fucking all!

I must’ve passed out right there, in front of the blinds. I jerked awake, because I wasn’t watching. What I saw should be impossible. There are heads everywhere. Dozens, hundreds, peeking over the side of the balcony, stacked on top of one another, watching me type away.

But there’s more. And it’s the most goddamn stupid thing I’ve ever seen. They are staring down at me from the top, from the top of my freaking balcony. I’m laughing so hard because it makes absolutely no sense! It should be impossible! They’d crash down right away, but here they fucking are! Are they using ropes as part of some weird stunt? Hundreds of people, dangling down like something out of Mission Impossible? For hours? All to watch me?

But if it’s so fucking stupid, why I am so goddamn scared!?

Entry #31 – June 5, 2018 – 1:01PM

It’s not real. It can’t be.

Is it all in my head then? What if none of it is real to begin with? Maybe there’s no one outside? Maybe I’m losing it, or I lost it a long time ago?

It. Is. All. In. My. Head.

If I just go outside, it’s over, right? They’d all be gone. All I’d see would be normal people. Should I do it?

But what if it’s real after all? What if they aren’t human? Maybe I’m the only real person in the building, and that’s why they are all focusing on me? Oh god, it actually makes sense! They are all fakes, and I’m the only real one left! That’s why everything felt so wrong! Me, I’m the only real one. Just me!

I don’t know anymore. I don’t fucking know anymore.

Entry #32 – June 5, 2018 – 11:04PM

I’ve barricaded everything. Windows are covered. Balcony door is blocked. Front door and entry area are sealed. Got enough food for a week. No one can come in. I checked twice. No, three times.

Will it be enough? There’s so goddamn many of them. Every time I doze off, every time I close my eyes, they are closer! But I never see them move. Never!

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

Entry #33 – June 6, 2018 – 9:22AM

Slept again. Told myself to stay up, but I fucking fell asleep again!

The doorbell woke me, but I didn’t move. It’s them. They’re hoping I slip up and stop watching. I won’t.

You can try to lure me away, but it won’t work. I won’t fall for your tricks! Not me!

Entry #34 – June 6, 2018 – 2:53PM

I’m so goddamn exhausted. All day, been watching all day.

Nodded off twice, and by now the balcony’s overflowing with people. I can see them through the tiny holes in my barricade.

I don’t get it. How are there so many, so many faces? How can they all fit on my tiny balcony? More are joining them, pilling on top of one another, filling every inch! It’s like some invisible force keeps cramming them in, one by one, tighter and tighter.

This is absurd, impossible, but it’s happening right here, right in front of me.

Entry #35 – June 6, 2018 – 4:15PM

Everything’s quiet. They make no sound. Nothing but silence. Except for the doorbell. It keeps ringing. Over and over. Again and again.

No, I’m not falling for it. It’s a trick! Maybe it’s not even real! Another trick to distract me, to get me to stop watching so they can come inside!

Entry #36 – June 6, 2018 – 7:33PM

Doctor Schulz got back to me. Said it’s another one of my episodes, and he’s on the way. But I know better. I had time to think. It’s got to be him. He’s the one outside. Ringing the doorbell. He’s in on it, too. He’s been part of this from the beginning. Even back in the day. It was him who sent me here! It’s always been him!

He told me I’m losing it, but I’m not. Oh no, I’m not. He’s responsible, he sent them after me, those things, putting me through all this, just so he can get me, so they can get me! He’s ringing nonstop now. Ringing. Ringing. Ringing.

I know his plan. He’s trying to get me away. To make me stop watching.

But I won’t. I won’t stop. I’ll keep watching.

Not moving. Never moving again. I can’t.

All I can do is watch, watch so they don’t get me.

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 free, 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 for 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 to 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 the fakeness and hollowness of 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 seemed 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, however, 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?”

Emily 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 gently urged her on.

“It would give you something, 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’d 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.

“God, you are such an idiot Tom!”

“Shut up, Sue!”

I could hear their exchange from the other side of the wall and the laughter following it.

Noisy neighbors, we all know them and I am sure many of you have their own first-hand experiences.

They come in all types and ages: Students partying in the middle of the week like Tom, Sue and their friends. But there was also old people watching TV at max volume, couples fighting and screaming at each other or kids who are a little too loud when playing.

Some years ago I used to live in the low-income area of my city. Some of you might have one word on their mind right away: ghetto. It wasn’t like that. The area itself wasn’t that bad. What was bad, were the buildings. Look up ‘Soviet Living Complexes Germany’ and you know what I am talking about. Even the better ones are cheaply made, old-fashioned and barely adequate for our times.

Back in the day, when these complexes were new, everyone wanted to live there. After the German reunion though, their reputation fell. As newer and better buildings became the norm. In the decade following the reunion everyone who could afford it moved to the more attractive parts of the city.

Only the poor and those living on welfare or other benefits stayed.

Nowadays the whole area is a sort of welfare town. It was a melting pot of alcoholics, the long-term unemployed and various other, similar people.

How did I end up there? Well to make a long story short: I had to move, could only get a shitty job and couldn’t afford to get a better place.

As I said, things weren’t all bad. The worst you’d run into was some drunk idiots and those are easy to avoid.

Of course, there were people screaming at each other, but most of it was harmless. Actual violence was scarce. The worst that happened was that you woke up in the middle of the night because of some drunk idiot. In time, you got used to it.

That’s why I ignored the noisy neighbors upstairs as well. I had gotten used to hearing the occasional argument or things breaking apart.

I also didn’t like calling the police. The few times I actually did, they told people to knock it off. The noise had started again after half an hour or so but with double the intensity. From then on, I decided to lay low.

When the noises upstairs got too loud, I’d often turn the volume up or use my headphones to not be disturbed.

One day the doorbell rang and I saw a lady I assumed was in her late thirties. I had no idea who she was, but that didn’t mean much. I barely knew anyone in the building and I didn’t want to associate with the other tenants. The lady asked in an embarrassed way if it had been my girlfriend who’d been yelling last night.

Now at the time, I’d been dating a girl for some time who used to stay over at my place a lot. I guess she assumed that we were living together.

In a few sentences, I informed her that this wasn’t the case. I was living alone and my girlfriend hadn’t stayed over last night.

At that, the lady seemed a bit startled but then nodded. Of course, I asked what was going on. She told me she was living on one of the upper floors and she wasn’t feeling safe anymore.

She said she’d hoped that it wasn’t the alcoholic couple living above me who’d been at it again. It seemed that by now they were fighting almost every day. She was worried that they’d cause a ruckus in the hallways again like a couple weeks ago. After that, she went on to tell me those weren’t the only things that worried her. There were the drug addicts on floor number five and there were all those shady people who visited the apartment next to hers. No, she said shaking her head, things had gone downhill before she excused herself and left.

Well, I thought, at least now I know who is causing all the trouble.

As the days went on the noise above had almost grown to a constant. There was no night without a fight. At times I heard things break and in my mind, I could see their empty liquor bottles flying through the air.

I even bought ear plugs to be able to sleep through the night. At one point I considered calling the police, but the noise stopped after only a few minutes

That was until a Friday at the end of March. I was in a bad mood, a seriously bad mood. The past week had been quite shitty. My girlfriend had broken up with me out of the blue. On Wednesday, my boss informed me that the company was going through some restructuring. They’d have to let me go at the end of the month, he said.

I’d gotten myself a couple of beers and decided to watch a good movie or two. I didn’t want to think about how things had gone downhill.

It was about midnight that the noises upstairs started again. I heard a woman yell something, then the sound of breaking glass, before yet another fight seemed to erupt. At that point, I had had it. I had enough of this shit. This had been going on for almost two weeks. Why couldn’t they give me one, single night without it?

I took out my phone and called the police. I told them about a disturbance going on in the apartment upstairs. The local station was nearby, so it took only about ten minutes for them to arrive. The doorbell rang and I opened to a group of four police officers. I told them that trouble had been going on in the apartment on the next floor. Things had somewhat calmed down, but there was still some noise. They nodded and made their way upstairs.

With that I went back inside, smiling a bit, waiting to hear the surprised curses of the drunks above.

Instead, I heard absolute chaos and only minutes later more people could be heard on the stairs.

I went towards the window and saw that more police cars had arrived, as well as an ambulance. An injured woman was brought out on a stretcher. What the hell had happened up there? Those assholes must have given the police quite a fight.

It was about an hour later, that my doorbell rang again. The police informed me that I needed to give my statement at the station.

After my testimony, the officer asked me for how long the ruckus had been going on. When I answered that it had been almost two weeks, he asked me why I never called the cops. I told him that noises were quite common in the area and had to admit that I just wanted to lay low and not get involved.

He frowned and I could see he was suppressing his anger. Then he showed me a picture. It was the lady who’d been at my door not too long ago.

When he asked me how I knew her, I told him about the day she came to my door.

“So what you’re saying is that she is a tenant there like yourself?”

The question confused me, but I answered, that yes, she was living there as well.

He nodded and then told me that this woman was responsible for multiple murders. I almost jumped from my chair in surprise and asked what she’d done.

That’s when he told me what they had found in the apartment upstairs.

It was the remains of three people. One of them was the original tenant of the apartment, the other two were still unidentified.

My eyes grew wide when I heard this. I couldn’t believe it.

Other than the culprit, they also found her newest victim, a young lady, who was lucky to still be alive.

Right away I remembered the woman on the stretcher. The officer told me that from her statement they were able to put together a story.

The lady must have shown up at the apartment one day. If she knew the original tenants, is still unknown. They are not sure what exactly happened. The corpse of the original tenant showed severe signs of abuse.

The noises and the screams I thought and felt sick.

After killing the original tenant, she continued to invite people to her apartment and murder them. The last person being the woman that was rescued.

I sat there not able to say a word. I thought about all those times in the past weeks that I’d woken up in the middle of the night. The angry, muffled voices I heard, the yells and things breaking. Only to curse at the people upstairs, assuming those damned drunks were at it again. In reality though… the implications were too much for me.

Suddenly it became clear to me why the lady must have come to my door. With one answer the officer affirmed that she’d not only been at my place. Instead, she’d gone around the whole place. She convinced everyone, that the noises were caused by drunk people or drug addicts.

There were enough harmless, drunk idiots living in the area and she used it to her advantage.

The officer asked me if I was never wondering about one of my neighbors going missing. I told him again that I didn’t know anyone and even if, people moved in and out all the time. You don’t see anyone anymore? They moved away. You see a new face? Maybe they just moved in.

The officer nodded.

In the end, he thanked me for the statement. As I got up to leave, he told me in a very serious voice, that if I ever heard similar noises, I shouldn’t assume it was just a bunch of alcoholics. If I’d call the police right when the noises started, those three people would most likely still be alive.

Days later I still couldn’t sleep. The only reason I’d even called the police was that I was mad, to fuck with people, not because I was worried at all. I felt like shit.

As soon as I could afford it, I moved to a different area. I couldn’t sleep in that apartment anymore. Every noise and every argument I heard made me question what was going on. I often spent hours listening to the noises around me, always with the phone in my hand. When I finally moved I was almost at my breaking point.

Looking back the worst thing is not what happened, but that it was possible to happen with so many people around…

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?

The town I grew up in boasted a small restaurant called Uncle John and Aunt Annie’s. It was your typical small-town dinner that served home-cooked meals and was run by a friendly older couple.

What made the place special, however, wasn’t the food, but the drinks. They served a variety of homemade beverages: juices, beers, and a variety of hard liquor.

The most popular amongst them was a reddish fruit liquor called Aunt Annie’s Ale. People were obsessed with it. The stock, however, was always limited, and only a few bottles were available at a time.

People came from all over the area, solely for a chance to taste the ale, because no bottles were ever sold, and it was only served during meals. It was quite a clever strategy.

Occasionally, customers pestered them about how the ale was made, or what ingredients were used to make it, but the couple revealed nothing. It was a family recipe; they used to say.

Things got so bad that someone even broke into the dinner one day, hoping to figure out the ale’s secret. It was crazy, considering it was all about a drink.

But who am I to talk? The ale is exactly the reason that brought me and my best friend back to my old hometown.

After years of saving up, we’d finally decided to fulfill our dream and open our own restaurant. While we worked on the menu, I remembered the ale, and told my friend about it. It didn’t take long before we made the decision to try to get our hands on the recipe.

After getting in touch with some local friends, I learned that Uncle John had died almost a decade ago, but Aunt Annie was still very much alive, living in the same building that had once housed the dinner.

When we arrived, I recognized the place instantly. The old display board was still there, but time hadn’t been kind to it. Its colors had faded, and most of the letters were gone by now, leaving what was left an indistinguishable mess.

While I parked the car, I saw movement behind one of the second-floor windows, and before we even reached the door, a tiny old lady opened it. Aunt Annie had been a crafty, boisterous woman, but now, in old age, she looked frail, and seemed to have shrunken to half her size.

For a moment, she just stared at us.

“If you boys are looking for a place to eat, I’m sorry, but this one here closed down a long time ago. You better try the new place down in…”

Her voice trailed off, and a half-empty look came over her face as she desperately tried to recall the name.

“But Aunt Annie, it’s me, little Jerry, don’t you remember?”

She leaned forward, examining my face before she beamed at me.

“My, Jerry, how nice of you to visit! Come in, come in!”

My friend eyed me curiously, brows raised, but I shushed him.

The moment I’d seen her, and heard her speak, I could tell her state of mind was as frail as her body.

She probably had no idea who Jerry was, but her brain must’ve conjured up the vague image of a random family member. It was sad seeing her like this, but what worried me the most was that she might have forgotten about the ale.

Once we’d made it to her living room, a relic of times past, full of musty air and old furniture, she motioned for us to take a seat.

She’d been talking ever since we’d entered the place, but I could barely understand half of it. I nodded, and agreed here and there, and that seemed to do the trick.

For almost half an hour she rambled on about the good old times, about old friends, before she finally mentioned the dinner. When she did, I lost no time, and asked her about the ale.

The moment the word left my lips, her head jerked in my direction and her eyes focused right on me. All her former drowsiness was gone.

“It’s all gone,” she hissed at me. “Every last drop of it!”

“What are you talking about, Aunt Annie?” I asked, my voice dripping with innocence. “I’m not here to get any of it.”

The old lady, however, didn’t react to my words. She was agitated and mumbled to herself.

“Aunt Annie?” I asked, putting my hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, Jerry… what… what was it we were talking about? I forget so easily these days… I’m so sorry, dear.”

I nodded, smiling, but wondered what had caused this sudden episode. Was it her frustration at people pestering her about it for years?

Then I told her that my friend and I were opening our very own restaurant, and that she’d promised me she’d hand us her recipe book.

“Oh, the book, the book. I’m so sorry, Jerry, I forgot all about it.”

“Don’t worry about it. How about you get it for us?”

She motioned for me to follow her and led me into a small kitchen.

“Now where did I put it again…?”

For the next minute, she just stood there, eying the kitchen, seemingly lost. Then she went to an old drawer and rummaged through it before she discovered a small, old notebook.

The moment she’d found it, she handed it to me with an enormous smile on her face. I flipped through it, but all I found were the recipes for various meals. There was no mention of any drinks.

Dammit, I was growing frustrated.

“Well, that’s nice and all, but what about Uncle John’s notes? The ones about the drinks that made the place so popular?”

Once more, her mood changed, and she began cursing to herself.

“What’s the matter, Aunt Annie? Why are you so angry?”

She just stared at me with wide eyes, but didn’t say a word.

“Is it because they all wanted more of that stuff?”

“More of… what, Jerry?”

The episode was already over, but by now my patience was gone.

“More of the ale!”

“There’s none of it left!” she spat at me. “Couldn’t keep making it, because, because…”

Her voice trailed off, and an expression of misery came over her face.

“Because of what?!”

“Because it was wrong, John! We can’t anymore! I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?” I kept pressing her.

My friend had come over to the kitchen, watching me with a sullen look on his face. I didn’t care.

“Because we used them!”

“Who are they?”

She was panting now, crying, her legs trembling, and had to hold on to the kitchen counter to steady herself.

“It’s wrong, John, all of it! We can never… we can never go down there again!”

“Down where, for Christ’s sake?!”

“The basement, John! It’s… it’s all wrong. Everything down there’s…”

She went on, but by now, she was sobbing so badly, I couldn’t make out her words anymore.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” my friend snapped at me.

All I could do was shrug before I made my way to the stairs.

“I’ll see what I can find down there,” I called out to him.

It didn’t take me long to find the basement door. It was at the back of the dinner’s former kitchen.

When I tried the door handle, I found it locked. My eyes wandered over the kitchen’s many drawers before I turned back around. Fuck it, I thought. After two kicks, the door swung open.

At first, I only stared down into the darkness, but then I hit the light switch and made my way down the stairs. Remembering her words, a strange feeling of unease washed over me, but I quickly shook my head.

Just get the damned recipe, and get out of here.

Yet what I found downstairs was nothing but a mundane basement, filled with old, rusty tools. Then I saw another door that seemed to lead to the basement’s second part.

“Bingo,” I whispered when I opened it, and found myself right in front of Uncle John’s old still.

Next to it stood an old desk, and a giant shelf covered by a heavy curtain.

On top of the desk, I found an old, worn notebook. A smile appeared on my face as I picked it up.

The first page contained the instructions for an herb liquor called Herby Herbert. As I leafed through the pages, I read on. Bobbies Berry Booze, Long Leg Larry’s Liquor, Old Odette’s Ouzo, and on it went, but no mention of the ale.

“Dammit, where the hell is it!?”

In an onset of rage, I threw the notebook across the room before I tore through the desk’s drawers. Once again, I found nothing of interest, but then I stumbled upon a small, hidden space at the bottom.

It contained a small stack of dirty pages, yellowed with age and covered in shoddy handwriting.

After a few moments of trying to make out the words in the basement’s low light, I returned to the dinner’s old kitchen and began reading them. The moment I noticed the word ale, I couldn’t help but grin. I’d finally found it.

Uncle John described how to prepare all the ingredients, and how to let them age, but also mentioned it was a slow and arduous process, mostly because of a so-called special ingredient that was difficult to procure.

As he continued on, the special ingredient was mentioned multiple times, but it was never mentioned what exactly it was. All he wrote was that it was put into a glass jar, let ripe for weeks or even months, depending on a few different factors. The process itself was described in excruciating detail, and as far as I understood, time was the most significant factor.

Once I was done reading, I checked the pages once more, looked for some sort of secret message, but I found no hint about what the special ingredient was.

“Shit!” I cursed to myself.

Then I remembered the covered shelf, and a moment later, I was back downstairs, and pulled the curtain away.

The entire shelf was filled with jars. Most of them were empty, some of them had old, stale liquid in them, but two contained something else.

At first, I didn’t know what I was looking at. Then the realization hit me. My eyes grew wide, and I stumbled back a few steps before my legs buckled and I fell to my knees.

This couldn’t be real, could it? It had to be some sort of sick joke! I blinked, shook my head, but everything was still the same.

I had finally found out what the secret ingredient was, and I was sick to my stomach.

Two of the jars contained a human fetus.

One was small, sprouting a name tag, identifying the fetus as Raphael. The other, however, was bigger, and apart from the fetus, it was filled with a variety of reddish fruits and berries.

I thought back to my childhood, to the times my family and I had visited the dinner, how people had always asked for Aunt Annie’s Ale, how they’d drank it, almost gulped it down, and…

I vomited right there on the ground.

Oh god, Aunt Annie’s Ale. Now the name made sense in the most sick and twisted way imaginable. It was made of something that was a part of her, and came out of here.

As I stumbled from the room, I realized why it was always so limited, and why they couldn’t keep making it. At a certain age, Aunt Annie couldn’t get pregnant anymore. Just thinking about it made me vomit once more.

My god, what must’ve driven them to create something like… that?

Then I thought about our town, its devoted Christian community. Abortions were frowned upon, condemned even. So they must’ve never talked about it.

And yet, why keep them? Why do… this? Animosity? Insanity? Or maybe to get rid of them?

As I stumbled up the stairs, I thought back to Uncle John and Aunt Annie. The boisterous lady, with her happy, stout husband. The thought of these people making a drink out of their own… and serving it to people…

Back in the kitchen, I would’ve thrown up a third time, but by then my stomach was empty, leaving me retching on the floor.

Then I made my way back to the notes, just as my friend appeared in the kitchen door.

“You found anything?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled, and got a hold of the notes, and crumbled them.

“Wait, what’s that?” he asked, eyes narrowing as he reached out for them.

Before he could, I shoved them into my pocket.

“It’s fucking nothing, all right?! Just some shitty drinks that aren’t any good.”

“Anything about the ale?”

I shook my head, not trying to meet his eyes. He stared me down for a moment longer, the frustration visible on his face. I thought he’d press me again, but then he noticed how sick I looked.

“You all right, man?”

“Yeah, just the musty air of that damned basement. Been down there for half an hour.”

We left soon after. I didn’t say goodbye to Aunt Annie. No, all I wanted was to get out of that godforsaken place. Hell, if I’d been on my own, I might have considered burning it to the ground.

—

Our restaurant started out well enough, but during the first months, our customer base slowly dwindled. It was tough competing with other, more established restaurants, and the big fast-food chains.

Even worse, my friend kept pestering me about the notes I’d supposedly hidden from him for whatever reason. He urged me to just try some of the ‘shitty drinks’ the old couple had served, but never wavered.

We fought repeatedly, him accusing me of hiding something from him, and me trying to convince him it was nothing.

It all ended in a falling out, leaving me tackling the heavy debt the restaurant had accumulated all on my own.

Then, one day, I stumbled upon the crumbled up notes I’d found in Aunt Annie’s basement.

I stared at them in disgust, and was about to throw them away, but then I stopped myself.

The restaurant was as good as done, and I was drowning in debt. Right here, in my hand, might be a way out, a way to get the place back on track.

In a small town, there’s only ever a limited supply of that special ingredient, but in a city with a population numbering in the millions, I’m sure you can get your hands on it much easier.

Desperation leads to bad decisions, they say, and I was more than desperate at this point.

I told myself I wouldn’t use them, and I was just going to read through them once more for anything useful. Deep down, however, I knew my decisions had already been made.

I wish to god, I’d thrown those damned notes away back then, because I knew, right now, there was no turning back anymore.