I loved old black-and-white photographs from the day my mother showed me the old photo albums of my grandparents.

These tiny images were like windows to a different time, a different world even. With fascination I marveled at the huge old farmhouse my family used to live in a century ago, and I laughed at my grandfather’s grumpy face on his first day of school.

As I grew older, I often found myself leafing through those old albums, taking in the memories they contained.

It was only natural that I used black-and-white photographs for an arts project at university. Our professor had thought it was a good idea to give us free rein over what we wanted to create, and so I decided on a collage of photographs.

For weeks I gathered any and all old photographs I could find. My favorite place to indulge in these treasure hunts was my city’s weekly flea market. The place was huge and more reminiscent of a fair than a yard sale.

I loved wandering from stall to stall and scanning all the things that were for sale. From the newest movies and games, over phones and clothes to obscure tools and forgotten family memorabilia, you could find almost anything there.

The stalls I came to stop at the most were those that sold old postcards and photographs. I didn’t care for the postcards, but I’d look through every single stack of old photographs to see if I’d be able to find something interesting.

One Sunday morning, I stumbled upon a very peculiar photograph that stood out among the rest the old man at the stall was selling. The caption on the back was as simple as could be.

Family in Black-and-White.

The backdrop of the photograph was an old farmhouse. In front of it, more than a dozen people had gathered, all standing there in a single line, next to one another, smiling brightly at the camera. Yet, as my eyes wandered from one to the other, I couldn’t help but find those smiles a bit overdrawn, almost comically happy. There was something strangely intriguing about this supposed family, and the vibe it gave off made me buy it.

I strolled the flea market for another hour, but I shouldn’t find anything else of interest.

The moment I arrived at home, I was quick to return to my work in progress. The enormous canvas was already half-filled with different photographs. My eyes wandered over them before I pinned my newest treasure to a point near the center. I put it right next to a photograph of an elderly couple and below that of a group of children playing out in the sun.

I took a step back and nodded to myself. That place there in the center was more than fitting, I decided.

For a moment I was about to continue working on the collage when I remembered I was supposed to meet up with a group of friends. So, after a quick lunch, I set out again.

When I returned it was already late evening, and I was more than tired. As I walked down the hallway of my small apartment, I stopped in front of the living room for a second. There at the back was the collage, I’d wanted to work on, but I spent all day hanging out with friends. I sighed as looked at it in the dim light of the hallway. As my eyes wandered from photograph to photograph, they came to rest on the newly added family in the center. As I stared at it from afar, I could’ve sworn I saw something. It was the smallest of movements, but it looked almost as if one of the people in it had… winked at me?

As an icy feeling washed over me, I hit the living room light switch. Quick steps led me over to it before I called myself an idiot and cursed at an imagination fueled by way too many horror movies.

“Just go to bed, you idiot,” I mumbled to myself.

Sunday went and came, and for the first time in a while I made some actual progress on the collage.

During the next week, however, there was no hope of working on it. Group projects and exam preparation already took out a sizeable chunk of my time, but there was also my new part-time job. What little free time I had left, I spent away in front of Netflix, catching up on the latest seasons of Snowpiercer.

It was only on Friday, my only weekday off work, that I could finally get back to it.

It was already late afternoon, and I could feel the toll the week had taken on me. So I prepared myself a strong, hot cup of began going through the stack of photographs I still wanted to add to the collage.

Once I’d found a few and I turned to the collage, a strange feeling washed over me. As I looked at it, I knew something about it was different, I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was.

At first I thought one of the pinned photograph might have fallen down, but no, they were all still there, right where they belonged. Before long, my eyes found their way to the strange family at the center. This really was one extensive family, I thought. My eyes wandered from person to person before they came to rest on the youngest member of the family procession. A little boy standing in front of the rest. His smile seemed oddly different from the rest. It wasn’t as comically overdrawn as that of the rest, it was almost forced.

My eyes wandered on to the photograph of the elderly couple next to it and then to the boys playing in the field. Yet, that strange feeling was back. As I stared at it, I couldn’t help but wonder if something was different about it. Three boys playing in a field, I thought. Had there always been… three?

“All right, stop it, Laurie, you’re acting silly,” I scolded myself. “Of course it’s always been three, it’s not like a photograph can change!”

I shook my head and laughed at my silly, overactive imagination.

After a deep sip of my coffee, I went back to sorting through the remaining photographs.

I spent most of Friday evening working on the collage and continued through all the way to Saturday afternoon. That’s when my friend Lizzie dragged me to some silly dorm party.

At first I wasn’t in the mood to party, but the moment we arrived, I had to admit that I needed to unwind a little. After a few drinks though, it wasn’t just about unwinding anymore, instead it was about having a blast.

We stayed at the dorm part for a while before Lizzie and I made our way into the city and went barhopping. We hit one bar, then another, and when I was on my way home, it was already early in the morning.

When I woke up the next day, I felt terrible. Cursing at Lizzie, I lay in bed for almost another hour.

The moment the world had stopped spinning, I got up to prepare myself some coffee. As I made my way down the hallway, I stopped for a moment.

Something scratched at the back of my mind, the hint of a memory. I saw myself throwing open the front door to my apartment and almost crashing to the floor as I entered. As I stumbled down the hallway, I turned and looked at the… collage. There was a single thought, a single idea.

“Where the hell are all the people?”

For a moment I was confused, almost scared. Shit, had someone broken in and destroyed… no, they were all still there. As I stumbled toward it, I could see the smiling faces right away. No, not smiling, grinning faces, I thought. And for the first time since I’d bought the photograph, it wasn’t intriguing anymore. It was unnerving.

I reached out my hand and unpinned the photograph. For a few seconds I studied it before I cursed and threw it to the floor. First, coffee. No use thinking about, well, anything right now. This hangover was killing me.

For the rest of the day, which wasn’t much considering I stumbled out of bed at three in the afternoon, I did nothing. I wasted away on the couch and coursed at myself for agreeing to hang out with Lizzie. Why’d we even gone to that last bar? Why’d I ordered all those shots? God, what had I been thinking?

It was already evening when I finally felt like a normal human being again. As I prepared myself a cheap meal, I checked my planner, only to be remembered how busy this week would be. Instead of doing anything else, I settled in front of my laptop, put on another episode of my show and ate dinner.

It wasn’t that late yet, but after last night, I knew I could use all the sleep I could get.

I was woken up in the middle of the night. At first I didn’t know what was going on, but then I heard some strange noises. For a moment I tried to ignore it, but then I couldn’t help but listen.

I hit the light switch and got out my phone. It was two in the goddamn morning! What was even going on? As I listened, though, my anger was replaced by worry. Where were those noises coming from? It sounded almost as if they were coming from inside my apartment.

As quietly as possible, I slipped out from under my blanket before I tiptoed towards the bedroom door and listened. Once more I could hear it. It was the sound of footsteps, quiet, soft footsteps. It was over as quickly as it had started, but was enough to scare me. Clutching onto my phone, I continued listening, but all was quiet.

Finally, I opened the bedroom door inch by inch, trying my hardest to not make any noise. For a moment I stared at the darkness ahead, waiting to see movement out there, but all was still. When I hit the light switch, all was normal. There was no hint of an intruder, the front door was still locked and nothing was amiss.

For the next minutes I checked every single spot in my entire apartment, but I found nothing out of the ordinary.

As I made my way back to the bedroom, I cursed to myself about whatever neighbor must’ve caused the noise and had woken me up. Whatever they’d done in the middle of the goddamn night had just cost me a good night’s rest.

The next week started off as bad as the last one and only got worse the longer it lasted. Apart from studying and project work, I was even asked to fill in for a sick co-worker at my part-time job. Knowing how much I could need the money, I agreed, but it also meant saying goodbye to all free time this week.

My evenings comprised nothing more than getting home, preparing myself a quick meal before I fell into bed, exhausted.

What made things even worse were the damned neighbors who continued their ruckus. Multiple times during the week, I was woken up in the middle of the night by their damned footsteps. I thought about confronting them about it, but I was too exhausted to do anything. Instead, I tried my best to ignore them and go back to sleep.

I don’t know how long it had been since I’d been so excited for a weekend and to get some well-earned rest.

When I awoke on Saturday, it was already noon, but for the first time in days I didn’t feel tired. After some breakfast at one in the afternoon, I took care of some well-overdo chores around the apartment before I went for a brief walk.

I’d barely made it back home when my phone rang.

I answered and who else but Lizzie was on the other line and of course she wanted to go partying. As nicely as possible, I told her I didn’t want to go out and get drunk this weekend and instead wanted to have a quiet evening.

At first Lizzie didn’t budge, but eventually she gave up on the partying and suggested she’d come over for the evening.

I opened my mouth to say no, but I gave in. Who was I kidding? Hanging out with Lizzie was always fun.

It was not even an hour later that a bouncy Lizzie greeted me.

“Well, slowpoke, how are you?”

“I’m all right,” I said, laughing a little and invited her in.

“Look what I brought, wine!”

With that, she triumphantly held out two bottles of wine for me to marvel at.

“Eh, I think I’ll pass. Last weekend was terrible.”

“You really are no fun,” she said, pouting on her way to the living room.

“Oh wow, is that your project?”

I joined her and nodded. “Yeah, but I’m not done yet. You know, since I like old photographs, I thought to make them into a collage. Putting together all those old memories into one, giant big view of a different time.”

“That’s so cool, Laurie! It’s way more interesting than mine!”

“What did you do?”

“Oh, just a sketch of Leo.”

“A sketch of your cat? That’s your entire project?”

She shrugged and went through the photographs on the collage.

“Hey Laurie, this one’s pretty weird,” she said after a while.

“Which one?” I asked, but I was sure I knew which one she was talking about.

“This creepy family here! Just look at them! The way they smile, it’s just… weird. It’s so unnatural. Seriously, what’s the matter with them? Looks like something out of a horror movie.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of odd, but it’s because of that, that I,” my voice trailed off as I stared at the photograph. Something was wrong. This time I knew it, this time it was more than just a little feeling. My eyes wandered over it, the row of people, the four little boys in the front and the elderly couple behind. Wait, was there always an elderly couple-

“Hey, stop spacing out! So you want to watch this movie?” Lizzie called out from the laptop.

I hadn’t even noticed her moving to the couch, much less talking to me. For a moment I stared at the strange photograph again before I shook my head. Stupid thing, Lizzie was right, it was creepy!

With that, I settled down on the couch next to her and we embarked on our adventure to find a movie to watch. It took us almost half an hour before we’d settled on an art-house movie that Lizzie was dying to watch and I was sure I could suffer through.

We’d barely finished the movie when I found myself drifting off.

“Hey Lizzie, I’m sorry, but I think I’m going to head to bed.”

“Oh, it’s all right Laurie, don’t worry about it.”

“You okay here on the couch? There’s a blanket over there and some pillows in case you-“

“It’s fine, it’s fine! I’ll figure out it, just go to bed already!”

I gave her a sleepy smile and set out on my way to bed. The moment I stretched out below the blanket, I felt myself drifting off to sleep.

What woke me up were the same strange sounds I’d heard before, the same quiet footsteps hurrying along somewhere nearby. This time, I got up, this time I’d had enough. I’d barely thrown aside my blanket and hit the light switch when I heard something else.

It was a muffled voice. No, a muffled, barely audible scream. It was Lizzie!

I grabbed the first blunt object I could find, the night lamp, and rushed toward the bedroom door. Outside the footsteps continued, but this time they were accompanied by giggling laughter, the laughter of people, of children.

What the hell was going on!?

The moment I burst from the door, the sounds had already stopped. All was quiet.

“Lizzie?” I called out. “Lizzie, are you okay?”

Nothing.

Quietly, my heart beating heavy in my chest, I made my way to the living room. In my mind I could already see her on the couch, as scared and confused about the neighbor’s weird sounds as I was.

“Lizzie, you all right?” I tried again.

When I stepped in the living room, though, there was no one there. All I could see was her blanket, on the floor in the middle of the room.

“Lizzie, where are you?” I called out, but once more I got no answer.

In sheer confusion, my eyes wandered all over the room, trying to figure out where she’d gone.

“Lizzie, if this is a joke, it’s not funny!”

Then I noticed something. Right there, on the floor, in front of the collage, I saw a black-and-white photograph.

I reached out with shaking hands, but even before I’d picked it up, I knew which one it would be.

I saw the same farmhouse, the same family, the same four boys in front, the same elderly couple in the back.

But then, furthest to the left, I saw a young woman. She wore the same antiquated attire as all the rest, but her face was entirely different. She wasn’t smiling, no she was screaming and looked utterly terrified.

But even with that expression, even in black-and-white and even in the old, grainy quality of the photograph, I recognized her instantly.

It was Lizzie.

Do you ever wonder why children see the world so differently? Why can they be so enchanted by the simplest and most mundane of things?

I never bothered with things like this. Childhood was a thing of the past, and all its incredible sights had been replaced by logic and rationality.

All that changed after my visit to The Bizarrie of Monsieur Delancey.

I first heard about it in passing at a bus station. A group of students talked about a weird foreigner. The man had bought an old barn at the edge of town and was refurbishing it into some sort of attraction.

I couldn’t help but laugh a little. Why anyone would come here and set up shop was beyond me. Ours was a small town in the middle of nowhere with only a few thousand inhabitants.

Yet, the strange man’s appearance soon became the talk of the town. Most people were ridiculing him and laughing at him, some were showing open disdain and a select few were curious about him.

He hadn’t been in town longer than a week when he started posting fliers all over town.

It wasn’t much in terms of design and shoddy work at best.

“Want to rekindle your imagination?”

“Want to see fantastical and magnificent creatures from around the world?”

Those and other phrases covered the front of a flier. Above them all and written in bright letters, was the name of the attraction: The Bizarrie of Monsieur Delancey.

The back of the flier showed a man clad in a dark, faded mantle. He was standing in front of a painted, wide-open barn door. As I stared at it, I couldn’t tell what the man was supposed to be. A magician? A circus director? Something else? And what about this Bizarrie?

Either way, I didn’t care and so I threw the flier away, just like everyone else did. Well, almost everyone.

Some were more curious or had it out for the strange old man.

One of those was Arthur Miller, a local teenager, and troublemaker.

One weekend, shortly after the Bizarrie opened, he and his friends got drunk and Arthur decided to mess with the old man and wreck his shitty place, as he called it. Yet, when they arrived there, in the early morning hours, the man was waiting for them. He bid them to enter and to marvel at sights they wouldn’t believe. And so Arthur went in.

No one knows what happened. His friends had been waiting for him outside and after only half an hour he stumbled from the place before he ran home in a state of utter terror.

Rumors spread, but most of them were about Arthur. The kid used to call himself a ‘tough motherfucker’ who wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone. Yet, he ran from what everyone thought was nothing but a shitty haunted house.

Arthur changed after his visit. He was jerky, jumpy, his eyes darting here and there as if he was searching for or looking at something. Whenever someone asked him or teased him about his visit, he’d say nothing. He didn’t laugh, didn’t make excuses, and didn’t even lash out at those who ridiculed him.

Half a week after his visit, he walled himself off in his room, refusing to leave it.

This, however, only worked in Monsieur Delancey’s favor and more people began talking about The Bizarrie. And soon someone else visited the place.

She was the type who never moved on after her high school days. She was in her mid-forties now, still unmarried and perpetually lonely, latching on to any fun or excitement she could find. So, on a whim, she’d decided to find out what all the fuss was about.

Her experience must’ve differed from Arthur’s. The look of depression that had so marked her face was exchanged by one of bliss and sheer wonder. She didn’t react to people talking to her, didn’t answer questions, she just stumbled through town. She walked on and on and still on when night fell.

The next day, however, she didn’t show up at work, didn’t leave her home, and similarly to Arthur, walled herself off from the outside world.

This got people talking, of course. They grew weary of the place and hushed whispers about having to get rid of the damned place.

After what happened to Clint Milford, they weren’t just whispers anymore.

Clint is one of our town’s drunks. I guess every town has them. Still, he’s not a bad guy. Just a fifty-something-year-old guy that life wasn’t too kind to. Lost his job, his wife left and took the kids. From then on he spent most of his days drinking away his measly welfare money at the local bar.

I knew Clint from when I was a kid. He used to teach at my local middle school before his life went down the drain.

I see him every once in a while when I’m having a beer or two of my own. The day before he went, he was hanging with a group of younger people. Local busy boys who’ve got nothing better to do than to ridicule a broken man. Their topic that day was none other than the Bizarrie. At first, it was simple jokes, but before long they pressed old Clint to go.

At first, he was against it, but at the prospect of free alcohol, he finally stumbled for the door. I thought about stopping him from going. I wish I’d done it.

It was four hours after his visit to the Bizarrie that they found his battered body at the riverbank. Suicide, the authorities concluded, after someone reported seeing him jumping off a bridge.

The authorities, who’d been watching the place with disdain ever since Arthur’s visit, got involved. Monsieur Delancey was taken in for questioning and his Bizarrie was turned upside down.

Yet, they found nothing. It was a cheap old barn, divided into a multitude of different rooms, each featuring an assortment of cheap scares and equally cheap wonders of the world.

There were no hidden mysteries, no catch, and no danger at all.

One thing caught my interest, something the old man said during his questioning:

“It’s not what’s on display, it’s the imagination that does the trick.”

In the end, they had let him go but forced him to close the place down. After all, a man had died, and two other people had shut themselves off from the world. Our town, they concluded, didn’t need this sort of trouble.

Still, all of this spurred a plethora of new rumors and many went to the place to see it for themselves. Monsieur Delancey sent them all away. The exhibition was closed for good and he’d soon move on.

And that’s how I came in. I work for our local newspaper and eventually our boss wanted a story about the mysterious place and its enigmatic owner.

My curiosity about the place had grown like everyone else’s but what made me volunteer was to find out the truth about what had happened not only to Arthur and Clara but also to old Curt.

So that same day, I set out for the edge of town to pay Monsieur Delancey and his Bizarrie a visit.

When I arrived the old man was sitting on a chair next to the door, reading from an old, yellowed book. He looked up when he saw me walking towards him.

His face was old and wrinkled, the skin a map showing the passing of decades upon decades. Yet, his eyes didn’t seem old at all. They were of bright blue color and gleaming as brightly as the sky above us.

“Monsieur Delancey, I presume?”

“None other than that!”

“So, that’s it then,” I said more to myself than to him as I stared at the half-rotten barn behind him.

“Indeed it is.”

I walked up to the door, but them was quick to spread out his arm.

“Afraid I can’t let you in, young man, the place’s closed.”

“Well, I’m not a customer, I’m with the local paper, a journalist you could say.”

Monsieur Delancey’s eyes focused on me.

“A man of the pen, I see. And you’re here to write about the Bizarrie, I presume?”

“Yeah. So, how about you give me a tour? Of course, not a regular one, but I’d like to learn a thing or two about what you… do here.”

As I said the last thing, I couldn’t help but stare the man down. He didn’t seem to notice my disdain at all. Instead, his eyes darted left and right, almost comically, as if to see if someone else was around.

“Now how about this, you’re not a customer as you said, you’re here to write a story, right? After all the doors are closed, and you’re only here for a brief interview.”

I nodded quickly. “Yes, exactly!”

The old man rubbed his chin, in what I could tell was a studied gesture. Then he nodded at me.

“Well then, come on, Mister,” he started giving me an expectant look.

“Stevenson,” I answered.

“Well then, Mr. Stevenson, welcome to The Bizarrie of Monsieur Delancey!”

With that, he led me forward, not to the front door, but a smaller one, hidden at the side of the barn.

“They told me to keep the entrance shut well and good, but this here,” he said, grinning. “Ain’t no entrance.”

The man rummaged through a pocket in his giant mantle before he produced a key ring. There had to be a dozen keys on it, and I couldn’t help but wonder how heavy the damn thing must be.

With curious eyes, he went through the keys until he found the right one and unlocked the door.

We entered a small hallway divided up from the rest of the barn by a cheap, wooden wall barely high enough to keep you from looking over it.

“This here’s where I bring in all the specimens. Those magical creatures and wonders of the world we’re displaying here at the Bizarrie,” he said as he led me forward.

After a few meters, he stopped again in front of another door. I watched as he went through his keys once more. When the door finally sprang open, he invited me in with a gesture of grandeur.

“Well then, Mr. Stevenson, welcome to The Menagerie du Monde Magique, the very first part of the Bizarrie. Here you’ll find creatures from all around the world, mythological and fantastical, the likes you’ve never seen before!”

I had to fight the urge to laugh, not only at his acting but at what he was proposing. In front of me was nothing but a huge, dirty, rectangular room. Cages lined the walls on both sides, some visible, others covered by blanks. Each one had a sign above it that told visitors what sort of creature they were supposed to be staring at. They were all cheaply made, giving the impression of crude scribbles on cardboard.

I read through some and found one with ‘Cockatrice’ written on it. When Monsieur Delancey noticed me staring at it he walked up to my side.

“Ah, the Cockatrice, a most terrible creature. A single glance from its eyes is enough to kill you, hence we had to cover them up.”

A quick check on my phone told me what a cockatrice was supposed to be or look like. It’s essentially a mixture of a snake and a rooster.

I leaned forward and stared into the cage in front of me and almost burst out laughing.

What I saw was a rooster, a rooster with what I assumed to be a rubber tail. Its body was covered in plastic scales and his eyes, as Monsieur Delancey had said, were blindfolded.

“Interesting,” I brought out, not able to hide the little giggle that followed.

Monsieur Delancey smiled and waited for me to go on.

The next cage I stopped at was a bigger one with a crude sign that said ‘Unicorn’ above it. I already knew what was waiting for me.

“The Unicorn, one of the most beautiful creatures in the entire world. This specimen here was caught in the far-off regions of the Caucasus,” he began explaining. Instead of listening to his ramblings, I stared into the cage.

The Unicorn was what I’d expected. A white horse with a cheap plastic horn glued to its head.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumbled to myself.

I continued on and stared at a few other cages. There was one with the sign Jackalope above it, containing a rabbit with a pair of cheap, plastic horns on its head. Another one was supposed to be a griffin. It was nothing but a cat glad in plastic wings and its face half-covered by a plastic beak. The poor thing stared at me with a miserable expression on its face.

“Do you ever take all that stuff off or do you keep them like this all day long? Didn’t you say the place was closed down, anyway?”

“What might you be referring to, Mr. Stevenson?”

“The costumes,” I started, “the poor cat looks miserable.”

Monsieur Delancey just smiled at my remark but chose not to answer. I made a mental note to include animal cruelty in the article.

I continued on, past other cages, but stopped in front of a tank that said ‘Mermaid.’

“The mermaid, a most prized possession. Unique to only the Bizarrie.”

As I peered inside, I saw a young woman sitting in waist-high water. She smiled at me seductively. I smiled back at her and my eyes wandered down. A cheap fish costume made of rubber hid all of her lower body.

“She’s sitting there all day?” I implored the old man.

“Well, where else would she be? She can’t survive out of the water, Mister Stevenson.”

This time I didn’t bother to hide my laughter. “All right, sure, whatever.”

I had seen enough of his Menagerie du Monde Magique and ignored the rest of the cages. Instead, I continued on to the end of the room where a row of doors awaited me.

“You sure put a lot of work into this,” I said with a nod at the door. “What’s behind them?”

“That, Mr. Stevenson, is a secret. You can only choose one of them.”

Yeah sure, I bet they all lead to the same room anyway, I thought shaking my head. To humor Monsieur Delancey, though, I pretend to reflect upon my choice. I walked up and down before I decided on the third one.

“All right, let’s go with this one.”

The old man stepped forward and took out his key ring once more. When he’d finally unlocked the door, he led me inside. We entered another corridor, this one more constricted than the ones before, leading us around various corners. When we’d made it to the end, he began tinkering with his keys once more. I sighed. By now, the entire ordeal annoyed me. I was sure the old man thought it was part of the mystery, but I found it ridiculous.

Finally, he pushed open the door and was about to go on another tirade about the mysteries that awaited me inside. Before he could as much as start, I pushed myself past him and stepped into the room. This one was smaller than the first one, much smaller.

“It seems your curiosity has overtaken you, Mr. Stevenson,” the old man said, laughing as he followed me.

“What we’ve got here in this room, are two creatures that couldn’t be more different,” he said with a low voice.

There were two cages in the room. One small, covered by a blanket, the other huge and hidden behind a curtain. I sighed at the prospect of seeing more animals dressed in plastic wings and cheap props.

He stepped up to the smaller one and pulled away the blanket. Inside, I saw a small humanoid creature, barely the size of my hand.

“What we’ve got here, Mr. Stevenson, is a chthonic, earth-dwelling spirit, one of the little people or what might you know them at, gnomes.”

I leaned forward and the little thing stared at me with wide eyes before its mouth opened and it squeaked at me in a voice I didn’t understand.

As it spoke I could almost hear the cracking of a small speaker hidden in its mouth. I saw its mechanical movements, could imagine the turning of cogs and gears as the small animatronic wobbled towards the front of the cage. When I focused on its face in the low light of the room, I was sure I saw stitches and seams.

“Very good, it looks almost real.”

Once more Monsieur Delancey said nothing and threw the blanket back over the cage. The little voice squeaked a few more times before it grew quiet.

“Be careful now, Mr. Stevenson, I can only present you this creature for a mere moment,” he said with a serious, foreboding expression on his face.

“Sure thing, show me,” I said.

He opened the curtain and for a moment I could hear the rattling of chains in its back. As I peeked inside, someone jumped forward. I cringed back in shock when I saw the terrible costume the man was wearing.

“Jesus Christ, you stupid asshole,” I yelled at the man and kicked against one of the bars of the cage. The man inside didn’t react, instead, he shuffled forward, mourning and grunting. When his eyes met mine, he began straining against the chains. Monsieur Delancey quickly closed the curtain again.

“A ghoul, Mister Stevenson, a rare specimen from the southern deserts of Arabia. It was found in the ruins of the once-prosperous city of-“

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, it’s a freaking zombie. Well, you scared me, all right. Is that what sent Arthur Miller running away screaming? Was this what drove old Clint to jump off the bridge?”

“Oh no, Mr. Stevenson, you have it all wrong. You’re the very first visitor to set foot into this room. There are many more things at the Bizarrie, many that no one’s seen yet.”

“Hah, all right. What do we do now? Do we go back and try one of the other rooms?”

“I’m afraid there’s only one room left for you, Mr. Stevenson. The last and final attraction of the Bizarrie.”

With that he stepped up to the wall at the end of the room and got out a single, golden key, and opened a door I hadn’t even noticed before.

This time there was no hallway. All that awaited me was a huge, dark room.

“What’s this now?” I asked, staring at the old man.

Unease washed over me as I stared into the darkness. Was there something… dangerous here?

“Don’t be alarmed, Mr. Stevenson, there’s but a single thing here.”

With that, a beam of light appeared in the room, shining on a small podium in its center.

My eyes wandered around, trying to see if there was anything else hidden in the darkness. I remembered the investigation though, they had found nothing dangerous. It had all been fake, I reminded myself.

Still apprehensive, I followed the old man, almost waiting for someone dressed up as another horrible creature to jump me. Yet, all was quiet, except for our footsteps, and I saw nothing but Monsieur Delancey and the small podium.

“This, Mr. Stevenson, is the most prized possession of the Bizarrie,” he said, pointing at a small vial resting on the podium.

I stared at it and then back at him, puzzled.

“And what’s that supposed to be? A magical drink? Some crazy drug? Look, if you’ve got some Ayahuasca shit here or something, I’m not interested in-“

“You’re not too far off, Mr. Stevenson,” he cut me off, “yet, you’ve still got it wrong. What we’ve got here is the water of the Fountain of Youth.”

This time the laughter burst from my mouth in unrepressed waves.

“All right, that’s a good one, the best one yet. You start off with all those Jackolups and Mermaids and Ghouls and now you’ve got some shitty water here spiced with God knows what. Yeah, this is all bullshit. I think I’ve seen enough of-“

“Why don’t you try it, Mr. Stevenson? This vial was prepared specifically for our last visitor. For you.”

Once more I laughed.

“What’s it going to do? Make me a little boy again? Add then years to my life?”

“Oh, you’re mistaken, Mr. Stevenson. You see, the legend of the Fountain is wrong in many ways. The water doesn’t have an effect on your body, but on your mind.”

I shook my head. So, I was right, it was drugs. Monsieur Delancey, though, went on to explain.

“Do you ever wonder, why children see the world so differently?”

Here he paused for a moment, waiting for me to interject something, but I was quiet, waiting for how this entire charade would play out.

“It’s their imagination. As children, our brains can see the world how it truly is. When we’re very young, we aren’t restricted by logic or rationality. No, children can see all the wonders of the world. When we grow older, this ability becomes dormant and is pushed aside by our needs to adapt, to understand, and to make sense of things. Yet, there are ways to reawaken it, to gain back the ability to see the world with the eyes of a child.”

“Let me guess,” I said laughing, “this water will do the trick, right?”

When I said this Monsieur Delancey grinned. It was the biggest grin I’d ever seen on anyone’s face.

“Indeed.”

“And let me guess, Arthur, Clara and even old Clint drank it.”

The old man didn’t answer; the grin on his face didn’t waver. Instead, he just stood there, staring at me expectantly.

I scoffed again and shook my head. Then, reluctantly, my eyes wandered to the small vial. For a moment it seemed to glister in all the colors of the rainbow, becoming a cascade of innumerable colors. Against my will, almost subconsciously, I reached out to touch it. When my fingers brushed against the glass, it began glowing faintly and the colors intensified, growing warmer and brighter.

I picked it up and stared at it with wondrous eyes.

“How are you doing this?” I asked, impressed for the first time.

“Well, Mr. Stevenson?”

I looked at him again before my eyes studied the vial again. It was barely a mouthful of water.

“Don’t you want to get back your imagination? Don’t you long for a world of wonder?

And as he said this, there was an almost supernatural pull, almost as if something in my brain was longing for it, as if it was reawakening.

For a moment, a memory popped back into my head. I was a child again, staring at the few trees behind our house. Yet, at the time, they’d seemed like a giant, grand forest to me. The small dirt track leading past them a road to adventure and mystery.

How big the world had seemed then, I thought, how exciting.

Without even knowing it, I’d popped open the vial and a second later I spilled the strange liquid into my mouth. For a moment I held it there, tasting it, but it was entirely tasteless.

Then I swallowed it.

And right at that moment, the surrounding darkness exploded into a kaleidoscope of colors. My eyes grew wide, my mind filled with images and visions. There was not just color here, there was more, feelings and impressions, ghosts, and shades. It was as if this room encompassed the entire world, a sea of beauty and imagination.

When I turned to Monsieur Delancey, he wasn’t an old man anymore. He was a mythical wizard, clad in a robe of liquid colors. His face was a mask of radiant, glowing beauty. I screamed when I saw him, backed away, and toppled over my legs.

“Now you see, Mr. Stevenson, for the first time you can truly see.”

“What the hell’s this? What did you do to me?” I brought out in a shaking voice.

“The Bizarrie of Monsieur Delancey, but now, you’re finally able to see it for what it really is!”

I was overwhelmed and had to close my eyes from all those radiant colors around me. I squinted, opened them again, but the ghastly, beautiful vison was still there and so was the radiant figure of Monsieur Delancey.

Drugs, it had to be drugs, I told myself as I turned towards the door. Freaking hell, why’d I drank it? Why the hell had I drank it?

“Thank you for your visit to the Bizarrie of Monsieur Delancey!” the radiant figure thundered from behind me.

I stumbled through the door and crashed right into the cage containing the small animatronic. It shook hard, the blanket fell aside, and once more the little thing began playing its squeaking sounds.

Yet, when I stared at it now, there was no hint of it being animatronic. There was no crackling speaker, no cogs or gears, no stitches on its face. As it rushed for the bars of the cage, there was no hint of its mechanical, tumbling movements.

Instead, the tiny figure moved as if it was real. Its tiny hands closed around the bars of the cage. It squeaked at me, an expression of misery on its face. When our eyes met, I knew this creature was alive. It was real.

I cringed back in terror, screaming, and stumbled away from the room, down the hallway, and into the Menagerie du Monde Magique.

I’d barely taken a single step when I froze. What had been nothing but cheap fakes and silly illusions before were now real. There was no doubt each, and every creature was real.

The mermaid was beautiful, the iridescent scales glimmering in the water. Coyly, giggling, she splashed a bit of water against the walls of the tank.

The griffin I’d seen before was bigger now, terrifying even. It hissed at me in a guttural mixture of bird and cat. For a moment it stretched itself and I could see its muscular wings spread out.

I bathed in the glow of the unicorn’s horn and stared into its endlessly beautiful, sad eyes.

The Cockatrice was less a cock and more a serpent now, a slithering terror with a scaly body, sprouting colorful feathers.

In a mixture of wonder, I stumbled from cage to cage, staring at the beasts from mythology.

I went back and force, trying to take in as much as I could of the fantastical sights all around me.

Eventually, the radiant figure of Monsieur Delancey entered the room.

“I’m afraid it’s time to leave Mr. Stevenson,” he said with a smile on his face.

“But,” I stared, about to protest, but his face had changed to a stern expression of seriousness.

“You’ll find other things to marvel at,” he said in a consolatory voice. “The Bizarrie has to move on, to a different place, to share the marvels of the world. But fear not, the world is visible to you again, visible in all its marvel and beauty.”

And with that, he slowly, but resolutely pushed me towards the small hallway and eventually outside.

The world that awaited me was a different place. It was ripe with colors, colors so bursting with life I couldn’t help but stare at everything with wide eyes.

When I looked at the sky, it was of a blue so full, so bright, I’d seen nothing like it. Birds flew past me, their feathers bright and beautiful.

Everything looked different, felt different.

As I walked back to town, I came upon other people. I almost grew angry when I saw them trudging on, eyes downcast, or right ahead at whatever destination they were going to. None of them looked at the beauty and wonder all around them.

I don’t know for how long I walked, for how long I stumbled through this magical place the world had become. Here and there, I noticed small, mysterious creatures. Strange animals that buried into the underbrush as I walked past them, and tiny people hurrying away when they saw me.

Sundown was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. It was as if the sky was aflame, alive with color. The golden light of the sun was like liquid gold that slowly cold down, first into orange and then a deep red as it swept over the horizon, an endless flood of dark crimson.

Finally, as the glowing ball of the sun vanished, the crimson color was replaced by the night sky. Yet, as I stared at it, I noticed for the first time how innumerable the stars were. It was almost as if the sky was filled with marbles of white, orange, and blue. I stared and stared and stared until someone stepped up to me.

“John, you all right?”

It was an acquaintance of mine, Mike Schmidt.

“You’ve been staring at the damned sky for what must’ve been a quarter of an hour. Saw you standing there, staring up when I went into the grocery store and now, you’re still here, doing the same damn thing.”

“Isn’t it beautiful, Mike?” I brought out, looking up again.

He, too, looked up for a moment before he turned back to me. “It’s the damned sky, what’s so beautiful about it?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but then I shook my head and walked away.

Even though my house was nearby, it still took me almost half an hour to get home.

Yet, as I walked in the dark, staring up at the night sky, I noticed… other things.

The darkness of the night seemed darker than usual. The shadows between the houses seemed a bit too jagged, a bit too distorted.

A few times I even thought I saw them move, stretching out from an alleyway before they retreated again. I shivered, and did the same thing I’d done as a kid, I told myself there was nothing there.

Yet, as an adult, the lie didn’t work so well anymore, wasn’t so easily believed. I knew that I couldn’t just close my eyes and will whatever I’d seen to go away. It’s because I knew, deep inside, that something was there.

And so, when I made it to my house, I looked over my shoulder once more.

What looked back at me was a creeping, shadowy figure. Long, black tendrils of purest darkness streamed from the small alleyway it was hiding in, greedily stretching out towards the buildings on either side of it. For a moment it stopped, and a pair of dark, red eyes came to rest on me.

I jerked around in terror, got out my keys, and with shivering, sweaty hands, unlocked the door and rushed inside.

As I stepped into my dark hallway, I knew I wasn’t alone. I saw the wallowing, moving darkness that washed through it. I noticed a multitude of small, glowing eyes staring at me.

In an instant, I hit the light switch and blasted the hallway in bright, burning light. The shadows retreated, crawled back to the furthest corners of the house where the light wouldn’t reach them.

I inhaled, exhaled, and stood there, shaking. Each room and each part of the house seemed to be filled with these shadowy creatures. They were lingering between furniture, hiding under the bed, and sitting atop shelves and wardrobes.

Only when I’d turned on every single light in the house did I feel safe, or at least safe enough.

There were still spots the light didn’t reach, and there I saw them crouched together, staring at me and watching my every move. I tried the childish trick again, telling myself I was alone. Yet knowledge is a powerful thing. As a kid, you can tell yourself you’re just seeing things, that it’s nothing but your imagination. But as a rational, logical adult, you can’t anymore. You know they are real.

I didn’t sleep that night, I couldn’t. I forced myself to stay awake until the sun dawned. Only then did I collapse on the bed.

When I awoke it was already late in the afternoon.

The moment I stared out the window, I almost screamed at the sight that awaited me. Then the memory of the day before returned. Terror became wonder, and I marveled at the fantastical sights and saturated colors, colors so bright it almost hurt to look at them.

Yet, even now, as I looked outside, I saw those other things. Terrible, misshapen creatures, hiding in dark corners and staring out from ghastly basement windows. They were there even during the day, waiting for the dark of the night when they could emerge.

And then something happened. As I stared at it in abject wonder, the eyes of a disgusting spidery creature focused on me. At first only for a moment before they trailed on, but then they jerked back, staring at me, probing me. In terror I watched as the thing pushed itself outward until it barely touched the sunlight, staring at me with wide, hungry eyes.

I realized what must’ve happened. It had noticed me. Not just my existence, but it had noticed that I could see it.

I jumped back and threw the curtains shut.

That day I ventured outside again. While I marveled at the beauty and all the mysterious wonders that awaited me, the more I saw of them too. The dark, hidden horrors of the world that had scared me as a kid. Those monsters under the bed, outside the window, and in our closets.

And all of them noticed me too, noticed that I saw them, and they grinned at me in a mixture of anger and anticipation. For they knew that I could see them, that I knew they were real.

I didn’t last under their oppressive eyes and before long I fled back to my home. I locked the door, turned on every single light, and retreated to my living room.

Yet, even as I sit here, even as I’m typing this, I knew they are there, and I know they are inching closer. I can see them behind the windows, vague shapes pushing against the glass. I can hear them under the couch, can see them in the dark corners of the room, and can almost feel their dark, shadowy tendrils reaching out for me.

They know I can see them and know that I understand what they are. As kids, we ignore them, pretend they aren’t real and so they move on, for they have no power over us. Yet, I, Arthur, Clara, and even old Clint, know they are indeed real.

For we are adults, we’re logical and rational beings. We know what’s real and what isn’t.

And those horrors, those horrors hiding in the shades, they don’t like it. They don’t want to be seen, don’t want to be acknowledged.

I know they are coming for me. I can hear them skittering around the room. I can hear their spidery legs, their shadowy tendrils.

It’s only a matter of time before they’ll get me. Just like they got old Clint, and just like they will get Arthur and Clara and everyone else who ever tasted that godforsaken water.

Be glad, you’ve lost your childish vision, be glad your imagination is gone. There’s wonder out there, yes, but beauty always comes with horror, with darkness, and it’s a darkness that will swallow you.

When grandpa died, everyone cried.

When grandma died, everyone smiled.

“Grandma’s a goddamn bitch,” dad used to curse about her. No one ever said anything against his words that so defiled his mother.

He was right though, grandma was a mean, old woman. That’s something everyone agreed on, even her husband, my late grandpa. I still don’t know how he ended up with her, considering that he was the nicest and jolliest man I ever knew.

Grandma was his total opposite. She wasn’t just a stern old lady, but a sadistic one. She enjoyed beating her children and her grandchildren. That’s why I could never visit her and grandpa.

I remember going there on my own one day. Grandpa led me inside but told me I couldn’t stay for long. I still remember her, how she looked at me that day. The enormous grin on her face, the vile words she whispered my way and the way her hands opened and closed in anticipation.

Grandpa pushed me back towards the front door, telling me it wasn’t a good time. When I protested he told me he’d get me a little present.

The moment he left to return to his living room, grandma rushed towards me.

“Oh, little Mark, how nice of you to visit. Why don’t you come in and spend some time with your grandma?” she laughed at me. With that, she started to pull my arm, pulled it so hard I thought she’d rip it off.

I struggled, but one slap was enough to break all the resistance I could muster. Thankfully, I never found out what she’d planned for me. Grandpa stormed back into the hallway when he heard my cries.

At that moment grandma grinned at both me and her husband before she let go of me. As I hid behind my grandpa I was prepared for him to yell at her, but he didn’t say a single thing. Grandpa was a huge man, a hard man, but in front of his wife, he seemed to be as scared as I was. He didn’t move, didn’t say a word until she was gone, vanished down the hallway.

He handed me my little present and told me to never come back to their home.

The moment I was outside I looked back once and there she was again. At the back of the hallway, staring at me with her wide, reddish eyes, grinning.

Even back then, even at only nine years old, I knew there was something different about her, something evil.

Grandpa died a year ago. His funeral had been big. He was well known in town and well-liked by everyone.

Grandma’s funeral on the other hand had been small, nothing more than a family affair. There’d been only me, mom, dad and Uncle Thomas. It was no surprise that we were the only ones there.

When I left the house, dad and Uncle Thomas were already talking, cursing at one another for having to go through this entire ordeal.

“We might as well burn her here and now and be done with it?” Uncle Thomas cursed and spat on the ground.

“And what about the neighbors? What if it,” he broke up when he noticed me and mom.

Uncle Thomas spat again. “All right, you have something in mind?”

Dad nodded and entered the car.

Even as a boy I knew something was wrong when I saw the dirty old coffin in the back of Uncle Thomas’ giant pickup truck.

Mom pushed me into the back row, gently but determined.

Once we’d all taken our seats, Uncle Thomas started the truck, and we went on our way. When I noticed that we didn’t drive towards the church, I was confused.

“Aren’t we going to the church?” I asked in an quiet voice.

“No, son,” dad answered in a hard voice, “your grandma doesn’t long there anymore!”

“But, Dad,” I started but was quiet when mom grasped my shoulder.

As I sat in the back of the car, I thought back to the last time I’d seen grandma and shuddered.

It had been a few nights ago. I woke up by some noise outside and when I looked towards the window I saw her out there. She held onto the window frame with her long spidery fingers, grinning at me as she pressed her face against the glass.

I screamed in terror, but when mom and dad came into the room, she was already gone. Not for long though because the night after she was back, sneaking around the house and scratching against the walls before she vanished again.

As I sat in my seat, I listened, afraid I’d hear her scratch against the wood of the coffin in the back of the truck.

The drive was no longer than half an hour, but it felt much, much longer. Everyone was strained; everyone was afraid. Dad held onto the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles were white. Uncle Thomas next to him smoked one cigarette after another.

When we finally stopped, it was in the middle of nowhere, far out of town and on an old dirt road.

Dad and Uncle Thomas were the first to leave the car. They both went to the back and got a shovel each.

“Right here?” Uncle Thomas asked to which dad nodded.

The two of them started to dig, panting and wheezing as they worked on the hole. It took them more than an hour before they were done with it. All the while mom next to me holding onto my hand while eying the dirty, old coffin behind us.

Finally, the two of them got a hold of it and carried it towards the hole.

They’d only made it half the way when the coffin in their hands started shaking and rattling. Mom next to me screamed and cringed.

“Quick son, the hammer, the nails!” dad screamed at me and I hurried back to the truck to get them.

They threw the coffin to the ground, pushed themselves onto the top and held onto it for dear life while the vile curses of grandma sounded from below.

When I handed them the hammer, they hammered the nails into the top of the coffin, sealing it shut.

It was still rattling and shaking when they pushed it into the hole, and still when they closed it up.

“You think this will work?” Uncle Thomas asked.

Dad nodded, and I did too, but no one was sure.

Mom stood next to me and prayed, and soon everyone else joined her. Not for grandma, but to whatever God was out there.

Because this wasn’t grandma’s first funeral. And we all prayed that this time, she wouldn’t come back.

We never celebrated Easter in my home village.

When other parents hid Easter eggs for their kids, mine would lock our doors and made me stay inside for the duration of the holiday.

I never understood why. When school started again after the Easter holidays, all the other kids talked about their Easter presents and their hunter for Easter eggs. All I could do was to listen in abject jealousy.

The motive wasn’t religious, for all I knew. Our small community was a Christian one, always had been. Still, Easter was banned.

As a kid it felt strange to be stuck indoors during Easter. Worst of all though, everyone pretended the holiday didn’t exist.

When I asked my parents about it, I was treated with solemn silence. They told me that’s just how things were supposed to be and how they always had been.

I remember rushing to my grandma when I was five years old and Easter was just around the corner. I was crying and asked her why we could never celebrate Easter and told her how unfair I thought it was. She gave me a stern look and told me we couldn’t. There were things out there, she said, things that only came out once a year. They’d play tricks on people and hide away bad little boys who went outside and hid them away in Easter eggs.

I stopped crying and even laughed a little at her words. It was obvious, even to a five-year-old, that she was joking around and trying to get me to behave. Yet her face showed not an ounce of merriment.

This strange tradition was a big topic between me and the handful of other kids in our village. We were sure our parents just didn’t want to get us any Easter presents. It was nothing but a conspiracy by the adults. Looking back, I can only laugh at how silly we all were. I guess we were just trying to make sense of things.

I tried to sneak out of course, but only once. The front door was locked, but I discovered that a window in the living room wasn’t. To this day I remember my father’s face when he found me on the window sill, prepared to jump outside to uncover the mystery that haunted my childhood. I got in serious trouble that year and when I say serious; I mean it.

There was one other boy, though, who made it out during Easter. My friend Johannes.

He was the eldest of his single mother’s five children and the craftiest twelve-year-old I knew.

Each year he told me he’d make it outside and figure out what was going on. The year he did it was 1992, and it was the year he vanished without a trace. All they found of him was a single shoe, lying near the bushes at his home.

Even worse, no one made any effort at finding him. Sure, everyone talked about it, calling what had happened a tragedy, but no police were involved and no search was started. For all I knew, they simply abandoned him.

As I grew older, I accepted that this was how things were supposed to be. I didn’t care much about Easter anyway, and even less about leaving the house. I was happy enough to just sit in my room and play video games all day.

Once I was an adult, I simply went along with everyone else. I went about my life and accept that for two days the outside world didn’t exist.

At twenty-six I left my home village behind and moved to a nearby town. It was there that I met Cathleen. We started dating, got married a year into our relationship and before long our son Eric was born.

We lived in the same town for a couple of years, but neither of us enjoyed life there all too much. It was too loud, too crowded and too dirty.

By the time my thirtieth birthday came along, we decided that we had enough. When I suggested that we should move back to my tiny home village, Cathleen was all for it. During the few times we’d visited, she said, she’d grown to love the place.

I’d never told her about our Easter tradition though if you could call it that. When I fianlly did this February, she laughed, taking it as nothing but a silly joke. After a while, though, she realized that I was serious.

“All right, but why?” she asked, rolling her eyes.

I wanted to tell her why, but I didn’t know what to tell her. No one had ever told me the reason. I reiterated my grandma’s story, which only resulted in her laughing even more.

When I told her about my friend Johannes though, her laughter ebbed away.

“Did they ever find out what happened to him?”

I shook my head. “No, nothing. He was simply gone.”

“That’s terrible, why did no one search for him?”

I shrugged. “God if I know,” I said in a low voice.

With that, I thought, the issue was settled.

The problem was our son Eric. He was four by now, and his favorite time of the year was spring. In the town we’d lived in, there wasn’t much to it. But out here, the meadows were covered in early bloomers and you could almost taste the fresh air of spring. Even worse, though, his favorite animals were bunnies. So, of course, Easter was his favorite time of the year.

I’d trusted Cathleen to believe me, I trusted her to heed my warning and this should be the worst mistake of my life.

The moment I woke this morning, I knew something was wrong. It wasn’t unusual for Cathleen to be up already. This morning, though, the house was too quiet. Normally I’d hear Eric playing with his toys and Cathleen preparing breakfast. That day, I was greeted by nothing but silence.

I was up in an instant and rushed into the living room, then the kitchen, but there was no hint of them anywhere.

No, she couldn’t have, I told myself!

The moment I made it to the front door when I found hers and Eric’s shoes missing, I knew they’d gone outside.

I called myself stupid, screamed at myself for not locking the door. Oh, god, how could’ve been such an idiot. What was normal to me must’ve sounded like nothing but superstition to her.

Yet, what was I so worried about? What exactly was I afraid of?

I told myself this entire thing was just that, dumb superstition and nothing but a dumb urban legend. Hell, I’d probably find her in the garden and Erik happily searching for his little Easter eggs.

There was nothing to be afraid of, I told myself again and again as I put on my shoes and jacket and rushed outside.

“Cathleen? Eric? Where are you?” I called out but got no answer.

I rushed from the front door to our small garden behind the house.

The moment I’d made it around the corner, I saw it.

It was a giant… thing. At first, I thought it was a person in a costume, but it was way too big and too different to be a human. The thing was covered in filthy, gray fur, hunched over and busying itself with something. I saw a giant, clawed paw reaching up to his back, to a sort of leather pack. For a moment it rummaged through the contents before it took out something big and round and continued on his work.

“What the fuck,” I pressed out.

At this, the creature turned towards me. Its face was twisted and bloated, a disgusting caricature of a rabbit’s. It sniffed the air for a moment, its whiskers moved and then its deep red eyes focused on me. It opened its mouth, and I saw a pair of long, stained front teeth that had to be as long as my forearms. A long, high-pitched squeak escaped the creature’s mouth.

I was frozen, staring in utter disbelief at the absurd horror in front of me. There was another squeak, this one sounding much too human and almost like a giggle. For a while, the creature kept staring at me before it dropped what it had been holding and rushed off.

“Cathleen? Erik? Are you there?” I started in a shaky voice.

I stumbled into the garden and saw right away what the creature had dropped. A quick laugh escaped my mouth when I saw an old, wooden egg laying in the grass.

For a while, I just stared at it in bewilderment, but then I saw the blood on it. With shaky hands, I picked the thing up and after a bit of work the lid popped open.

When I saw what was inside, I screamed up and dropped the egg from my hands.

Stuffed into the egg were my wife’s head and her two hands.

I fell to the ground crying and screaming in despair.

“Eric? Oh my god, Eric, where are you?” I called out as I stumbled through the garden.

That’s when I saw them. There were more, more of the strange wooden Easter eggs. Some were out in the open, others were hidden between bushes and under the grass. All of them were covered in blood.

It’s the afternoon now. I still haven’t found all of them. There are still parts of my family that are missing.

I don’t know what this thing, this creature was. There was one thing I know though, the reason we’re never allowed to leave our homes during Easter.

The first time I met Karen, I instantly knew something was wrong with her.

She was a mousy girl with wild, dirty hair. The moment she saw me, she hurried past me in the hallway with her eyes downcast.

“Nice to meet you, too,” I called after her in a low voice.

For a short moment, she turned around. Her eyes were as wild as her hair. She seemed terrified about the prospect of social interaction.

She only mumbled a short “Hello,” before she hurried up the stairs.

I stood there, looking after her before she vanished. What a strange woman, I thought.

I’d been living in this apartment building for a month now, but I’d never seen her before.

If not for the occasional sounds above, I’d have thought I was living here all by myself. At least now I knew who the other tenant was.

It was almost two weeks before I saw her again. I was about to check my mail and almost ran into her in the hallway. She was carrying three giant bags of groceries, and the moment she saw me, one of them slipped from her arms. The contents of the bag scattered all over the floor.

“Jeez, sorry about that,” I called out and hurried to help her pick everything up.

“No,” she started in a low voice, “it’s alright I can-“

“Just let me help you real quick,” I cut her off.

We spent a minute in complete silence gathering everything up. Once done, she was quick to pick up the bags again.

She staggered forward and almost dropped one of the bags again as she tried to make her way upstairs.

I sighed. “Alright, hand me that,” I said and grabbed one of the bags.

“It’s fine, really,” she protested, “I can just,” but right then she lost grip of another back. Thankfully I was right next to her and caught it.

After that, she relented and let me carry the bag. She seemed so scared and out of it. What was wrong with her?

I sighed and made my way upstairs. She hurried after me, mumbling to herself.

“You really don’t have to, just leave it by the door and-“

She was cut off by screaming from inside the apartment. It was a high pitched voice rambling unintelligible.

“What the hell,” I said out loud in surprise.

“Sorry about that,” she mumbled, shuffling around in front of the door. “My mother, she isn’t doing so well, so,” she broke up again staring at me.

I waited for her to open the door so I could help her carry the bag inside, but she didn’t move at all. She just stared at me with wide eyes, and her mouth was nothing but a hard line. I could see the grocery bag trembling in her arms.

“Well,” I finally said after a while, “I got to go, so take care.”

She didn’t say anything to me. Even as I walked away, the only sound I could hear was the rustling of the grocery bag in her shaking arms.

Only when I was on the stairs did I hear her unlock the door.

Back downstairs in my apartment, I could hear the high pitch voice of who I assumed to be her mother. The woman was screaming and yelling for what seemed to be minutes.

For a moment I sat there brooding, but whatever was going on up there had nothing to do with me.

After this encounter, I didn’t see Karen for a long time. I’d have thought her and her mother had moved out if not for the occasional argument from upstairs.

One day I realized why. I’d worked overtime and got home much later than usual. It was already late evening. I was about to unlock my door when I noticed her coming in with a bag of groceries. Had she only gone out shopping that late to avoid running into me?

She looked as tired and scared as before, but much scruffier.

I could see the bags under her eyes as well as a swollen and split lip. The moment she saw me, she stepped back, hiding around the corner.

Only when I got out my keys and unlocked the door did she try to sneak past me.

I turned towards her to greet her but broke up when I noticed a long gash on her arm.

“Hey, is everything alright?” I called out to her.

Right at that moment she turned around and glared at me. At first, I mistook her expression for anger, but no, she stared at me almost pleadingly. What the hell was wrong with her?

Right then, I heard the shrill voice of her mother from upstairs again. “What are you doing down there you little whore? Are you talking to him again?”

She winced and closed her arms around the bag tightly.

“No mommy dearest, I’m going to be right there, just hold on a moment!”

With that, she hurried up the stairs, taking two at a time.

Soon after she was gone, the noise upstairs started anew. This time it wasn’t just yelling. This time I could hear the sounds of an actual fight and the shrill shrieks of her mother.

I had the phone in my hand and considered calling the police. I’d entered the number already, but then I put the phone away. It has got nothing to do with me, I told myself again.

That night, long past midnight, I was woken up by low knocks against my door. At first, I thought it was the lingering memory of a dream. When it didn’t stop, I got up.

I sneaked towards the door and looked through the spyglass. It was her, as I’d expected.

I cracked the door. “What is it?” I asked her sleepily and not a bit annoyed.

“Please call the police,” she said in a hushed whisper.

“What is,” I started but broke up when I saw her condition. There were scratches on her cheeks, and I could see the dark marks around her throat.

“Holy shit, what happened,” I called out in shock. Karen winced, her eyes grew wide, and she started shaking violently. Her mouth opened and closed again. When the screams upstairs started anew, her face lost all color and changed to a mask of terror.

“Where are you, Karen? Don’t you dare make me come down there and get you! You hear me, girl!? Get up right here, right now, your dear mommy needs you!”

For a moment, she stared at me and whispered the word ‘please’ once more. Then she hurried away.

I called the police then and there and told them there was a case of domestic violence in the apartment upstairs.

It didn’t take long for them to arrive, and I quickly explained the situation.

I watched as they went upstairs and soon I heard a serious commotion. Shortly after the paramedics arrived and I could see them carry a body outside.

“Jesus Christ,” I cursed and hurried outside. Why didn’t I call them earlier? Why didn’t I do anything to save her?

When I saw Karen, I stopped. She was led to a police car by two officers. The moment she noticed me, she beamed at me. It was almost as if she was in a state of bliss when she entered the police car.

“Freaking insane,” one of the paramedics mumbled behind me.

“Was it self-defense?” I asked the man.

His face was riddled with disgust.

“Self-defense? How the hell is stuffing a body self-defense?” the man cursed and turned away retching.

“What the hell?”

At this moment, one of the police officers hurried over to me. He thanked me for calling them but quickly led me back to my apartment. In a serious voice, he instructed me to stay inside and not to disturb them anymore.

I learned about the whole case from the local news a few days later.

The reporter talked about one of the weirdest cases in recent years. They called Karen The Taxidermist. What the police found in the apartment that night had been a young woman and the old, stuffed body of her mother.

I listened in disbelief. This story made no sense at all.

The reporter continued that the mother’s remains were old and that she must’ve died years ago. It was suspected that the daughter couldn’t cope with her mother’s death and had decided to preserve the body.

Years ago? That made no sense at all. I’d moved in only a couple of months ago. I’d heard the mother scream after her, hadn’t I? How in the hell was any of this possible?

For weeks I tried to make sense of the whole thing. Yet, I couldn’t. The story was too absurd.

I started to search for more about it online, but I didn’t find much. The case had been settled already, and Karen had been admitted to a mental ward in the city.

The decision was a quick one. There was only one way to get answers.

A few days later, I arrived at the mental ward. I explained to the staff that I was here to visit Karen Schubert and that I was an old family friend.

I was still a bit too early for visiting hours, so while I waited, I talked to an older nurse. She explained Karen’s condition to me.

Karen suffered from a severe case of schizophrenia and an identity disorder. When I asked what it meant, the nurse told me that Karen was thinking of herself not only as Karen but also her mother. At times she was playing out conflicts and talks between the two of them. It was clear from Karen’s history that mother’s death had affected her deeply. After it, she’d preserved the body and talked to herself as if her mother was still around. Eventually, coupled with her other issues, this developed into an identity disorder.

I listened intently, but it still made no sense.

“But I heard her mother speak,” I protested.

“It’s not seldom the case that each personality has their own distinct voice and speaking patterns. What you’ve heard is most likely-“

“No, that’s not what I mean! I heard her from upstairs and,” I broke up when I noticed the stare the nurse gave me. If I told her what I’d experienced, she’d think I was crazy as well.

I shook my head. “I guess, it’s hard to handle these things. Karen always seemed so normal, no one would have guessed,” I mumbled.

The nurse went on for a bit longer and explained to me how to best talk to Karen and which topics to avoid.

Finally, she led me into the visiting area where Karen waited for me. The young woman looked as scruffy and awkward as she’d always done. Her face, however, was beaming, and she welcomed me with a radiant smile.

“Hey there,” I greeted her and took a seat opposite her.

“Oh god, I wanted to thank you again for so long! I don’t know how I can ever thank you!” she rambled on. She even took one of my hands into hers before she realized what she was doing.

“What’s going on here?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you here? Schizophrenia? Identity disorder? I heard your mother from-“

At these words, Karen’s eyes grew wide, and in a moment, she jerked forward, pressing her hand onto my mouth.

“No, don’t talk about it! Never mention anything about that!”

I nodded. “But really, you don’t belong here, right?” I whispered.

Once more, she glanced around alarmed. Finally, though she nodded but leaned forward.

“But I want to be here! If they find out I’m not sick, they’ll put me back out there!”

“Yeah, but why do you want to be here? This place it’s-“

“It’s safe!” she hissed at me.

“Safe? From what?”

“From her! If they lock me up here, she can’t get to me. Not ever again!”

“Who?” I asked.

“Mommy Dearest, of course!”

And with that, she leaned back, closed her eyes, and smiled. Soon enough, she started giggling and laughing in her happiness.

I sat there and watched the woman opposite of me. She was in a state of complete and utter bliss.

When I got up to leave, I didn’t look back. I didn’t understand a thing she’d just told me. I didn’t want to. There was much more hidden here than just an identity disorder. For long minutes I sat in my car shivering and shaking at the absurdity of the situation before I was able to drive off.

I never looked up anything regarding Karen Schubert or her mother ever again. I never went back to that metal ward to talk to her. And I never spent so much as another thought on that story.

Living at the dorms is always an experience.

Since my first semester, I’ve lived in one of the oldest dorms on my university campus. There are no individual apartments here. Instead, each floor of the building is one giant apartment that people use together. In my case, I lived with thirteen other people.

Everyone living here has their own room, but everything else is shared. There are a kitchen, a common room and two bathrooms including showers.

To be honest, living here isn’t exactly great. The building is old, as I said, and hasn’t been renovated in years. The worst though is the number of people that are herded into one place together.

Showering is often an awkward affair since you never know who might barge into the bathroom while you’re in. The worst though is the shared kitchen. There’s always chaos. At least one person is stealing other people’s food. The pans and pots are in almost perpetual use. Worst of all though, half the people don’t bother cleaning up after themselves. The dishwasher doesn’t help at all.

That’s why I always look forward to the semester break. Almost everyone leaves to go home and to visit their parents. I on the other hand always stay. Let’s just say I don’t get along with my parents all too well anymore.

Having the whole place to myself is fantastic. I can shower whenever I want, I can use the kitchen however I see fit, and I never have to worry about my chicken nuggets going missing.

One morning though, when I got ready to leave for my part-time job, I heard one of the showers running.

I was slightly annoyed because I’d hoped I’d have the place to myself for at least a couple of weeks. I decided to wait for whoever else was here to finish showering and made myself a cup of coffee.

While I sat in the kitchen drinking my coffee and preparing breakfast, I could still hear the shower. By now it was almost twenty minutes. Hurry the fuck up, I cursed to myself, some of us have things to do!

After another ten minutes passed, I started to get seriously annoyed and decided to check things out. When I entered the shower and called out I got no answer. Once more I called out, but still no reaction. Finally, I’d had it and went forward to confront the person only to find an empty shower with the water still running. You got to be kidding me! Whoever was in here just left and didn’t bother to turn the damned thing off. For all I know, they could’ve been out ages ago. Great, and now I’ve got to hurry to make it to work in time.

For the next couple of days, similar things kept happening. At times I heard the water running in the bathroom, at others I heard someone rummaging in the kitchen. Whenever I went to check things out though, I saw no one.

I started to get a bit unnerved at this point, but I told myself that whoever it was, probably avoided me. Most likely they had hoped to have the place to themselves and weren’t too fond of interacting with me. God knows we’ve got our share of weirdos here.

In the evening I decided to hang out in the kitchen and see if I could catch a glimpse of my sneaky flatmate. I prepared myself a nice meal, put on some music, but even after almost two hours, there was no sign of anyone.

I sighed, but before I left I put out a little note saying ‘Hello, how about a chat tomorrow evening?’

It was a few days later when I returned from work that I met someone on the stairs. It was a Chinese guy, who I assumed to be an exchange student. When I greeted him, he nodded and hurried to leave.

Could it be this guy? Nah, there’s no way. Each floor has different locks, there’s no way for him to get in.

“Hello!” I called out when I entered, but I got nothing but silence for an answer.

“Hey, I know someone else is here, how about we have a talk?”

Still nothing.

I cursed again and went to the kitchen. My little note was still there, on the table, right where I’d left it. I was about to throw it away when I noticed a frowny face below my message.

“Oh come on,” I mumbled to myself. This was getting ridiculous. I’d had it with this. I went from room to room, knocking on every door. Hell, I even listened, but everything was quiet.

I started to get a bit crept out at this point. Before I went to bed that night, I made sure to lock the door to my room.

Things took a turn for the worse the next morning. I was busy preparing breakfast when one of the cups from the cabinet behind me came crashing down. With a loud clang, it shattered to the floor. My heart skipped a beat, and I jumped back. How in the hell did that happen? Hadn’t I closed it? Cups don’t simply fall down like that, do they?

I quickly gathered my coffee and my cereal and hurried to my room. This was starting to get more than a bit creepy.

That evening, when I returned from work, I heard the shower running once more. I turned it off and called out again, but I was still all alone.

From then on other things kept happening. At times I found the items in the bathroom misplaced. At others, I heard the toilet flush or the water running, yet I never saw who actually did it.

After a week this really started to get to me. Was someone playing a trick on me? But how in the hell did I never see them?

I decided to wait around in my room and the moment I‘d hear anything I’d rush out and confront whoever was out there. When the shower was turned on once more, I barged from my room out into the hallway. Whoever you are, I thought, I’ve got you now.

“Okay, you can come out now. This was funny for a while, but enough is enough,” I called out.

No answer as expected.

“Alright, that’s it.” With that, I ripped open the bathroom door.

I had a ‘Got you’ on the tip of my tongue, but all I found was an empty room. I checked the showers, but there was no one there. How the hell was that possible?

I felt goosebumps all over my arms. Someone had to be here, this made no sense.

Only after a while, I saw it. It was a note lying on the bathroom floor. I went forward and picked it up with shaking hands. It was the note I’d left in the kitchen. On it was my message, the frowny face and a ‘Hurry Up.’

I rushed back to my room right away and locked the door behind me. Fuck this, seriously, fuck this!

I reasoned with myself and tried to find a logical explanation, but there was none. Someone had to be in the bathroom. There was no other way. A person can’t just up and vanish, can they? We are on the third fucking floor!

Then a new thought slowly crawled into my mind. I went to my computer and looked into the history of the building. All I found on the university’s page was the date the building had been constructed.

When I started to search around on Google though, I found a thread on an old university forum from the early 2000s.

Young woman found dead in her dorm room

I shivered. There’s no freaking way.

As I read through the thread, I learned that in 2001 a young woman, named Lisa Richter had been killed by her then-boyfriend in one of the rooms in this building. The body was only discovered by accident and showed severe signs of abuse. As I continued reading, I learned that the perpetrator had kept the victim in her own room for days before he eventually murdered her.

The murder happened in one of the rooms on the first floor of the building.

This can’t be. Something like ghosts can’t… My thoughts were interrupted when I heard a ruckus in the kitchen yet again.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit! What the hell is going on here!?

The noise subsided as soon as it had started, but there was no way I’d go out there. For the rest of the evening and the night, I sat huddled together on my bed. Over and over I repeated my mantra of ‘Ghosts aren’t real’ to keep myself from panicking.

Only when the sun finally came up was I able to muster up the courage to actually leave my room.

Step by step I carefully walked down the hallway towards the kitchen. It was in utter chaos. All the cupboards were open, and cups and plates had been shattered on the floor. In the middle of all that I saw a small piece of paper.

When I went forward, I saw that it was the same note yet again. The same freaking note that I’d written a few days ago and that I’d found in the bathroom last night.

There was my message, there was the frowny face, there was the ‘Hurry Up, and now there was a ‘Room 1-7’. The note fell from my shaking hands.

“No freaking way,” I mumbled, “this shit can’t be real.”

“W-What the hell do you want?” I brought out in a shaking voice. Nothing. Fuck!

“Leave me the hell alone! I’ve got nothing to do with any of that!” I finally called out in desperation.

I could almost feel a presence behind me. I jerked around and then I saw it. All over the walls, I read the same thing:

Room 1-7

I screamed up in a panic, rushed from the apartment, down the stairs and out of the building.

Only once I was out in the open was I able to somewhat calm down. I couldn’t stay there anymore. There’s no freaking way I’d stay any longer in a freaking haunted building.

After a while though, reality came back to me. I couldn’t just leave like that. All my things were still there and… Fuck!

There was no freaking way that I’d go up there again. At least not on my own, I told myself. What could I do though, everyone I knew was gone for the semester break!

After long minutes I mustered up the courage to step back into the building. I took a deep breath and was about to make my way back up when I saw the emergency board in the entry hall. It had the number of the dorm‘s caretaker on it, in case anything urgent, like a burst pipe, came up.

I felt like the biggest freaking pussy on the planet when I took out my phone and called the number.

“Emergency line, how can I help you,” I heard a grumpy voice on the other end of the line.

“Sorry for the early call, but there’s well, a problem with the showers in my dorm,” I lied. “It might be a problem with the pipes.”

“Goddamnit, that again? What floor are you staying on?”

I quickly told him that I was living on the third floor and made up a problem that I hoped was convincing enough. It was about fifteen minutes later when an older man with a toolbox arrived. When he saw me, he eyed me for a moment.

“You the one that called?”

I nodded and followed him upstairs. Once more I felt like a freaking idiot for calling this guy out here. In my mind, I already prepared an excuse once he found out nothing was wrong. Well, nothing except the freaking ghost haunting the place.

I opened the door, and the two of us stepped inside.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he cursed when he saw the ‘Room 1-7’ markings all over the walls.

“Oh that, I don’t know,” I started, but the guy turned towards me and confronted me.

“You high, son? Is this some sort of stupid prank? I dare you to-“

“It was here last night when I got home! No clue who did it. Maybe it was the guy staying on the first floor. I might have left the door unlocked and-“

“You goddamn young people, if I find the one who did this,” he started and made his way towards the stairs again.

„Wait, where are you going?“

“Well, what do you think? I’m going to see if anyone is actually downstairs and you are coming with me. If not, then you’re in for a lot of trouble!”

With that, he went down to the first floor and unlocked the entry door.

“Anyone home?” he called out as he stepped inside.

He walked through the place, cursing under his breath at the general mess it was in. I slowly followed him. Wasn’t that Chinese guy living here?

He walked through the hallway and started to knock on each individual door calling out again.

While he did that, I suddenly started to hear something else. It was a sort of wailing or crying.

“You know, I don’t care what kind of-“

“Shush,” I motioned for him to be quiet. Then I started to walk into the direction where the noise was coming from.

“Now what? I’ve got no time for any of your bullshit!”

I didn’t listen anymore. Instead, I strained myself to hear where it was coming from.

Finally, I stood right in front of room 1-7. As I put my ear against the door, I could make out muffled crying and sobbing.

“Hey, everything alright in there? What’s going on?”

“What the hell are you,” but the man broke off when a muffled scream reached us.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he cursed and stepped towards the door.

He took out the master key and unlocked the door.

At first, we didn’t really see a thing since the room’s sole window was closed off by black curtains. Once our eyes got used to the darkness, we saw that the room was in utter chaos. Everything inside was trashed.

None of that didn’t matter though. What mattered was the gagged and bound Asian girl in one of the corners of the room. Her eyes were wide, and she was shaking.

“Jesus Christ,” I said and went forward to help her.

While I was busy to remove the gag and the rope that bound her to the heater, the caretaker called the police.

It turned out that the girl was an exchange student from China and the actual tenant of the room. What had happened was that a fellow student was recently kicked out of his dorm. When he had no place to stay, she offered to help him out and let him stay with her until he found a new dorm room. After a while though, the guy started to get violent. When she tried to leave and get out, he tied her up and locked her inside of her room.

It turned out that she was in a very similar situation to me. Apart from her and her supposed friend, everyone else had left. No one would’ve noticed her.

If the caretaker and I hadn’t stumbled into her room by accident, then the worst might have happened.

When the police asked me about the ‘Room 1-7’ all over my walls, I could only shake my head. I explained that it was just there one morning and I had no idea how any of it could’ve happened.

Deep inside though, I knew who had done it.

I always liked to have a more secluded lifestyle, reclusive even.

It’s not that I have social anxiety or anything, I guess I’m just not a people person. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate other people, but I’d rather not be around them. I like solitude and quietness.

When an acquaintance offered to rent me his family’s mountain cabin for a few months, I agreed almost instantly.

The truth is, I’d been looking for an opportunity like this for a while now. Just a few months, out in the middle of nowhere to work on my poetry completely undisturbed. Unfortunately, I’d never found anything that fit my rather tight budget.

The cabin itself was located in a remote area of the Alps. There were some tourist spots nearby, but nothing within walking distance. The place was ideal for someone who wanted to be entirely on their own.

It sounded absolutely perfect.

I arrived at the cabin about a month ago. It was beautiful. I loved it the moment I set foot inside. While I settled in, I started a small fire to heat up the place.

For the first couple of days, I had a hard time writing anything worthwhile. All the lines I came up with didn’t feel right. Instead of brooding over my work, I decided to explore the outside area.

The snow-covered plains, the mountains, and the many forests painted a beautiful panorama. Out here things were different, untouched. I wandered around for hours and tried to absorb as much of nature’s beauty as I possibly could.

Work went well after this little trip outside. Nature had always been one of my prime inspirations.

From that day onward I’d often spend a good part of the day outside, going on extensive walks. Only when the sun started to set did I actually sit down and work on my poetry.

Many times I discovered the tracks of animals outside. Some were small, most likely left by rabbits, others were bigger, hinting at deer.

I rarely stumbled upon signs of other humans. There were a few lonely tracks here and there. They were most likely left by hikers or mountain climbers passing through the area. My acquaintance was right, I was completely alone out here.

That was until two weeks ago. I set out one day for another walk when I stumbled upon many new tracks. They were clearly human, but it had to be a whole group. Their tracks were chaotic, going here and there as if they were stumbling into one another. I frowned when I saw them and hoped that they were already gone and on their way.

As so often, luck wasn’t on my side.

It was a day later that I found more of the same tracks. They were as chaotic as before, but now they were much closer. Whoever they were, they seemed to linger around the area. Maybe they were camping out here for some reason. Once more I frowned. I went out here to get inspired not to see their stupid tracks all over the place. Worst of all, they didn’t seem to care about nature at all. They had almost left a clear path behind on their way through the woods. There were markings on some of the trees and branches, and twigs littered their path.

For the next couple of days, I found more and more signs of this ominous group. It was a bit strange though that I never saw any of them. I shrugged it off and decided it was best to ignore them.

When the noises started though, things took a turn for the worse.

When you live in a city, noises are a normal part of life. You know that it’s your neighbor or kids playing outside. Out here in the middle of nowhere, it was an entirely different story.

It was about eleven in the evening when the noise started. I sat at my desk with a mug of hot tea working on my latest poem. Suddenly I heard something outside. It was distant, but I could clearly make out voices outside.

I put my pen down and went to one of the windows. I cracked it and listened, but I couldn’t understand a word. They were yelling and shouting. What the hell were they up to?

For a moment I thought about yelling out in the night, but then I decided it was better to lay low. The noise went on for a while longer before it thankfully died down.

The next day I realized that the group hadn’t been out in the woods alone as I’d thought. No, the moment I stepped outside, I saw the many chaotic tracks right in front and all around the cabin. I couldn’t help but be crept out. Why had they come here? Had they watched me?

A bit unnerved I scanned the area and the woods around the cabin. Was someone nearby right now? I quickly went back inside.

I didn’t go for a walk that day. For the first time since I’d arrived, I realized that I was completely isolated. There was no one nearby at all.

For a moment I thought about calling the police, but what would I tell them? That I found a bunch of tracks outside in front of the cabin? Yeah right, they’d tell me to call them again if something actually happened. No way they’d come up here because of a few random tracks.

I was antsy all day, but when the sun set, I started to get more and more anxious. I tried to work, but the thought of someone watching the cabin made it almost impossible. Instead, I paced through the cabin, eyeing the area outside from the various windows. I saw nothing.

It was late in the evening when I heard the noise again. Once more I cracked the window and listened. There were steps outside, many of them as if the group was rushing through the snow. They were so close to the cabin! A few times I saw someone move outside, but it was too far away, hidden by the darkness of the night.

As I listened to their yells and shouts, it almost felt as if they were circling the cabin. Were they trying to find a way inside?

I rushed to the front door, making sure it was locked and then checked all the windows. During all this time the frantic movement and the shouting outside continued.

Finally, I’d had it and called the cops. I told them exactly what was going on and that I was scared they might break into the cabin.

It was about half an hour later that I saw the distant headlights of the police car. As soon as the car got closer, the shouting stopped, and the footsteps turned into nothing more than a faint echo.

The annoyance of the two police officers was evident as soon as I opened the door. I could imagine they weren’t all too happy to be out here in the middle of the night. I invited them inside and poured each of them a cup of tea. They didn’t touch it at all.

I carefully explained to them what had happened. The two of them listened, and I could soon see that their annoyance shifted to concern.

After I’d finished I led them outside and with their flashlights they scanned the area. There were so many tracks here by now. It was almost as if all the snow around the cabin had been flattened.

I could hear one of them grumbling something about damned tourists before they told me they’d have a look around the area. I thanked them multiple times and returned back inside.

It was an hour or so later that the two of them returned. They told me they’d found nothing but more of the same tracks. They led in circles through the forest, but there was no hint of the group I’d described.

It was most likely a bunch of tourists trying to cause a bit of trouble. That type of thing had happened before. Most likely some college kids who were out here drinking and having a bit too much fun. Once someone calls the police though, they know it’s time to knock it off.

They told this was most likely the end of it. The group was most likely on their way and wouldn’t disturb me anymore. Before they left one of them handed me his number and told me to give him a ring should they be back.

Once again I thanked them, but somehow their words didn’t feel too reassuring. Somehow I felt as if they were just trying to convince me nothing was wrong, so they could finally get out of here. I was up for hours after they’d left. Only when morning came did I feel comfortable enough to go to sleep.

When I got up, I thought about packing my things and leaving. Then I told myself that this stay here had been something I’d looked forward to for years. Should I really let a bunch of stupid college kids ruin it for me? No, I decided to stay.

By now I wish I’d left. I really wish I had.

For the whole day, I went from window to window watching the woods outside. Eventually, I ventured out myself to have a look around the cabin. Who knows, maybe they were hiding nearby. The only thing I found was the tracks from last night. By now they were almost completely buried under the new snow.

I couldn’t even think of my work anymore. My mind was entirely absorbed by watching the area outside.

As day turned to night, I hoped that the police had been right. Time passed and soon midnight arrived without any noise. The police must have scared them off.

I’d finally calmed down and was about to heat up some tea when I heard something. It was the sound of footsteps in the snow. There were so many of them, as if dozens of people were out there. How big was this damned group?

I was about to call the police when something heavy hit the cabin. What the hell was going on out there? What were these assholes doing?

I rushed to one of the windows, but only caught a glimpse of someone staggering off into the darkness. I waited to see if they’d be back, but soon there was another loud bang from the other side of the cabin.

The shouts started again, or better the screams. They sounded… different now. Before they had seemed excited, but now they sounded agitated almost terrified.

For a moment I stood there, shivering. What the hell was going on out there?

Once more I heard loud screams, this time it was almost as if someone was calling for help. Where they trying to trick me?

I went to the window and saw something again. People were moving outside, but I couldn’t see it clearly. Their movement looked strange, almost as if they were stumbling through the snow.

Shit, I couldn’t see a thing in the darkness.

Finally, I opened the window and called out to whoever was out there.

“What’s going on? You alright out-” I broke off as the source of the noise revealed itself and started moving towards me.

The phone slipped from my hands, and I stumbled backward. What was out there was indeed a group of people or something resembling one. There were too many legs, too many arms. It was a twisting, writhing mess of human limbs and bodies all entangled into one another. For a moment I saw stitches all over it, fusing bodies and limbs together into one giant abomination.

Then I saw the faces. Theirs were blind, sewed shut and their mouths wide open. Once more they started screaming at me. No, those had never been screams of excitement, those were screams of pure terror. I was on the ground, staring at the window in front of me in sheer disbelief.

Moments later the group, no the thing, crashed against the wall of the cabin. A rain of glass exploded over me, and I saw dozens of arms reaching out for me.

“No! Leave me the fuck alone!” I screamed as I frantically crawled backward.

All the things heads turned right into my direction. Again the thing pressed itself against the small window opening. I saw hands clinging to the window frame, and the wall as the creature tried to push itself inside. The mouths opened once more screaming in terror again, and for the first time, I understood their words.

‘Help us.’

I could only watch as the thing continued its struggle more and more. Arms reached inside, pushing, twisting, ripping skin and flesh apart as the thing desperately tried to get inside. Then it suddenly stopped moving. Moments later it let out another bloodcurdling scream before it rushed off into the darkness.

I don’t know how long I sat on the floor. I was so utterly terrified that I just couldn’t move.

When I finally got to my feet, my legs were weak and shaky. I’d barely taken a few steps before they gave way. What the fuck had this thing been? How the hell can something like that even exist?

For long minutes I lay on the floor, shaking, as the images of the abomination haunted my mind again and again. And its screams.

Oh dear god, what the hell was this?

When I got up, I was nervous and restless. I had to walk through the cabin to keep the panic at bay. Every once in a while I scanned the window for any signs of the creature, but it was gone. If for good, I couldn’t tell.

After a while, I started questioning myself. Had, no, could this even be real? Maybe I was suffering from cabin fever or whatever people out here get. What if my paranoia had conjured up this twisted creature? As I turned around to the window though, I saw the proof right there.

The pieces of glass on the floor, the broken window and the scratches all over the cabin wall.

At this point, I remembered my phone. I looked around in confusion before I saw it right below the window. I took a step towards it but then froze. What if that thing was still around? No, it had run off, I told myself. Once more I anxiously listened for noises outside. All was quiet.

I rushed forward, closed my hands around the phone and almost threw myself back.

“Oh thank god,” I said out loud when I saw it was still working.

It was right at this time that I heard the sound of distant steps again.

I dialed the cops right away and told them that something out here was after me. I must’ve sounded like a total nutcase. They asked me if it was those college kids again. Instead of answering, I pleaded with them to come out here and save me. They told me to calm down, to stay indoors and that they’d be here as quick as possible.

Waiting was pure torture. I listened to every sound. Even the snow falling from the roof was enough to send another surge of panic into my brain. I still couldn’t stand still. Once more I paced through the cabin.

Where the hell are they? What takes them so long? Goddamnit! When I checked my phone, I saw that it hadn’t even been half an hour yet, but to me, it had felt like an eternity. Shit, can’t they hurry up? What if that thing comes back?

Those steps outside, they were getting closer. They weren’t those of multiple legs. They weren’t frantic and chaotic. No, they were slow and deliberate. Oh please tell me it’s the police, please.

Suddenly I heard something on the wall of the cabin again. It was as if something metallic was slowly scratched alongside the wall outside.

I almost flipped out when I heard it. This was not normal. I cowered in fear at the sound and closed my eyes. Make it go away, please make this thing go away.

I was ripped from my terror by a knock on one of the intact windows of the cabin. The police, they finally made it! When I turned towards the window though, the blood froze in my veins.

Two huge, yellow eyes were staring at me, and long bony fingers were still knocking against the class. This was no police. This was no human. It was a giant, hulking figure that leaned down to look into the cabin. When I saw its face, I was reminded of the masks of plague doctors, but it was no mask. It was a grown together mess of skin, flesh, and bone.

For a moment the creatures head moved away, and I saw that it was holding something long and thin in his hand. Was that a… giant needle?

Suddenly I heard a car driving up to the cabin. In an instant, the giant figure crooked its head at the source of the noise and with heavy steps it walked into the direction of the police car.

Moments later the frantic sway of the headlights reached the front windows of the cabin. I stumbled forward as I heard the screams of the two police officers.

Gunshots cut through the night, followed by the crunching of metal as the giant figure peeled the two men from the car. In horror, I watched as it scooped them up in his hand. I waited for it to crush them, but instead, it smiled and brought the needle to its mouth. Moments later it pushed it into the flesh of the first man.

When the screams of agony and terror reached my ears, the figure started to giggle. It was a high-pitched distorted sound. For a moment the terrible face turned and smiled towards me. Then it quietly walked off into the woods, sewing the two men in its grasp to one another.

This was an hour ago.

Since then I started writing this all out to keep myself from giving into utter despair. This was supposed to be a little getaway to work on my poetry, but it had turned into an absolute nightmare. Countless times I thought to make a run for it, but that thing is still out there. I can still hear its steps as it circles the cabin. There’s still the screams of the two police officers.

I know that this damned monstrosity is teasing me. Preying on me. Watching me.

The night is still long, and before it’s over, I know that this thing will be back.

I’ve always loved the snowy plains of my home area.

It’s so different here. There’s a sense of vastness to it.

Each year my brother Markus and I take the long trip back. It’s become a sort of tradition to us. We go on a long hike to the cabin and spend the weekend there. We usually reminisce about childhood and play our old board games.

When Markus asked me if he could bring his girlfriend Melanie along, it took me a while before I obliged.

Melanie had been enthusiastic at the outset. After an hour on the long hiking track, that had all changed.

“Ugh, couldn’t we just drive there?”

“And miss all that?” I said spreading my arms in a wide arc.

“It’s just snow, Steve! I don’t get what the big deal is.”

“Come on babe,” Markus interjected, putting his arms around her. “Isn’t the view nice?”

“I guess so, I’m just so tired of walking,”

I couldn’t help but laugh to myself. I’d warned her that it was a long trip to the cabin, but of course, she hadn’t listened.

“We can take a break once we reach the resting area, okay?” I tried comforting her.

“And how long is that?”

“About another half hour or so.”

As she sighed behind me, I heard Markus laugh.

While the two of them were teasing each other, I went ahead a bit and let my eyes wander over the white plans around us. It was so beautiful and quiet. How often had we played out here as kids I wondered for a moment?

“Hey, what’s that over there?” I heard Melanie ask from behind.

I turned back to find her and Markus looking over at a forest at least half a kilometer away from us.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“There’s someone over there.”

I couldn’t make out much, and it took me a while before I saw who she was referring to. There was a person at the edge of the forest. Must be another hiker or one of the forest workers.

“Look! He’s waving at us,” she exclaimed before she raised her own arm to return the greeting. “Hello over there!”

“I doubt he can hear you,” Markus said.

“It doesn’t matter! I’m just nice!”

For a while, the figure continued to wave, and Melanie waved back a few more times. After a while, whoever it was seemed to be satisfied and vanished between the trees again.

We continued on, and about ten minutes later Markus walked up to me.

“So did you read it yet?”

“Eh, what do you mean?”

He rolled his eyes at me.

“You know what I’m talking about, dad’s novel!”

“Well, I started it, but I haven’t gotten far yet,” I admitted.

“Come on, Steve, he worked so hard on it, the least you can do is read it, okay?”

“Guys? I think he’s following us.”

“Who is?” I Markus asked turning around.

“That guy from before. I just saw him over there!” With that she pointed to a stretch of forest to our left.

“You sure it’s the same guy? It could be just another-“

“Yes! It looked exactly the same, and he was waving towards me again.”

“Well, that’s what you get for waving at strangers.”

“That’s not funny, Markus! Seriously, what if it’s… I don’t know some psycho or something?”

Both Markus and I started laughing.

“It’s probably another hiker,” Markus said trying to calm her down.

“Yeah or it’s someone from the village who thinks it’s funny to fuck with people,” I continued. “God knows Martin would do this exact thing, right?”

“He so would,” Markus agreed.

“What? Who’s Martin?” Melanie asked, staring at us.

“Just a friend from our childhood. One of the weirdest guys we ever knew.”

As we continued on, Markus and I started to tell Melanie a bit more about our adventures with our friend Martin. Soon enough we’d all forgotten the mysterious person who’d been waving towards us and were laughing and joking around again.

I’d just started another tale when we reached the small resting area. It wasn’t much, nothing more than a bench under a wooden overhang. By now we could already see the small, forestry hill on which the cabin was located.

“My legs are killing me,” Melanie complained as she slumped down on the bench next to me.

“Well, we’re still only halfway there,” I joked. She gave me a ‘You can’t be for real’ face. When I saw it, I burst out laughing. “It’s only about twenty more minutes, we’re almost there.”

“Fuck you, Steve!” she yelled at me and started to hit my shoulder before she started laughing as well.

“I totally believed you, idiot,” she yelled. Suddenly she jumped up from the bench. “Oh my god guys, look, deer!”

With that, she rushed back to the path, took out her phone and started taking pictures.

“So much about her legs,” Markus whispered.

“She’s a nice girl,” I finally said smiling at him.

“Yeah, I’m glad I met her.”

I asked him how exactly the two of them had met. Markus had barely started the story when Melanie came running back towards us.

“He’s back again!”

This time we didn’t need to ask who she meant.

“He was over there, ahead of us, near this old ruin or what it is!”

Markus was by her side in a moment. “Are you serious? Over there?”

I stepped towards them and looked ahead. On the foot of the small hill there were the remains of an old building. That’s where she’d seen him?

“Come on, it’s probably nothing. Maybe he saw us resting here and decided to give us a last greeting. Maybe he thinks we’re from the village, too.”

“I don’t care! It’s creepy, that’s what it is!”

“If he comes near you, I’ll beat the shit out of him,” Markus promised her in a serious voice.

“Come on, let’s get going. No reason to wait here and argue about it. Whoever it is might be long gone anyways.”

Melanie said nothing. Only once we’d gotten closer to the old ruin I heard her again. Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

“It can’t be. There’s no way…”

When I turned towards her, I saw she’d stopped in her tracks. Her face was a mask of disbelief.

“Babe, what is it?”

“How can he be this tall?” she almost screamed, pointing at the walls that remained of the ruin.

“He was way taller than these! I thought the walls were only a meter or so tall, but, but…” she broke up.

I looked at the old ruin. The two walls that were still standing were almost three meters tall.

“You probably saw it wrong, we were so far away, so-“

“I know what I saw, Markus! He was standing right here!”

I couldn’t help but wonder what she’d seen. It had to be an optical illusion or something. What else could it be? Still, I started to feel a bit unsettled about the whole thing myself.

“Let’s go to the cabin. If there is someone following us, we’ll be safe there.”

For a moment Melanie wanted to say something, but then she merely nodded.

It wasn’t much longer before we arrived at the cabin. I saw that Melanie’s eyes were still daring around, scanning the trees, searching for some giant figure.

Two twists of the key and the door sprang open. The place was exactly the same as Markus and I had left it a year ago.

“It shouldn’t take long before the place warms up,” I said as I stepped to the fireplace.

While I was busy to use what few logs were inside to start a fire, I heard Markus speak to Melanie in a low voice. I saw her nodding a few times before she began to sort through her things.

As I heated up some coffee, Markus went upstairs to look for our games.

When I brought Melanie a cup of coffee, I found her on the phone, browsing through Facebook.

“Really?” I asked her. She looked up at me for a moment before she put her phone away. “Fine, I put it away, there’s no internet out here anyway.

For a moment she pouted, but then she started laughing and took the cup of coffee from my hands.

A few minutes later Markus came back with the huge box that held our old games. Most of it was the simple board games we’d played as kids, like Monopoly.

There was one other game though, the one we’d created ourselves. It was a sort of Dungeons and Dragons board game. It was nothing fancy. You just moved over a board, battled monsters and who defeated the final boss first won.

Still, even as adults, the two of us loved playing this silly thing. Even Melanie was eager to join in. It wasn’t the game itself that was interesting, it was the stories we had about it.

After the first round was over, I decided to go outside and get a bit more firewood. There had only been a few logs left next to the fireplace, so if we wanted to keep the fire going, I’d to get a few more.

I put on my thick winter cloth and boots and went outside.

It had gotten dark outside by now. During the day the area was a beautiful winter wonderland. At night, it was nothing short of creepy. I pushed the thought that we were completely alone out here as far to the back of my mind as I could.

With quick steps, I hurried to the stack of firewood next to the cabin and started to pick up log after log. I couldn’t help but look around every once in a while and listened to the sounds of the night. There was a slight breeze that gently shook the trees back and forth.

Just as I picked up the last of about a dozen logs, I heard a crunching sound nearby. It sounded almost as if someone was walking through the snow. I jerked around and looked, but no one was there. It was most likely an animal. Or hell, maybe some snow had fallen off a branch nearby.

I walked back toward the front door. I was halfway there when I heard it again. As I turned around this time, I could have sworn I saw a shadow between the trees. I felt the hair of the back of my neck stand up. For long seconds I watched the trees to the left of the cabin.

“Need any help?” Markus suddenly called out to me. I almost jumped up, and half the logs tumbled off my arms.

“Jesus Christ! Don’t do that!” I yelled.

Markus started laughing and walked over to pick up the ones I’d dropped. “You’re always so scared in the dark, it’s hilarious.”

I was about to tell him what I thought I’d seen when I noticed Melanie at the door behind him. I shook my head and decided to drop the target. It must’ve been my imagination or the light from the house playing a trick on me.

“I warmed up some mulled wine,” Melanie said as we stacked the logs next to the fireplace.

“Great, thank you!” I said as I took off my boots and rubbed my hands against each other.

The mulled wine was almost too hot to drink, yet I took a big sip. It warmed me up in an instant. I’d always loved the stuff.

For a while we sat together, talking and joking before Melanie said she was getting a bit sleepy.

“Guess it was all that walking today.”

“Come on, I’ll show you our room.” With that Markus led her upstairs.

While the two of them went up, I walked back to the small stove. I heated up a bit more of the mulled wine and refilled my cup. Suddenly I heard a noise again. It was muffled, but it sounded almost as if something was scratching against the side of the cabin. Must be the branches of the trees, I thought.

As I stood at the stove with my cup, I started to wonder. Wasn’t there only a slight breeze? This was a bit too loud, wasn’t it? I felt the same sense of dread wash over me once more. What if there was someone out there?

“I hope you heated up some for me as well,” Markus called out to me from the stairs.

“Not going to join her in bed?” I asked grinning at him.

“Nah, maybe later,” he answered, “there’s something I want to talk to you about, something important.”

“I know, I know, I really should read dad’s book, it’s just-“

“No, it’s not about that, it’s about the cabin. Dad wants to sell it since no one is using it anymore except for us.”

“Wait, what? This place is our cabin! We’ve spent so many winters here, and he wants to sell it like this?”

“Well, we’re only ever here once a year, so I get where he’s coming from.”

“That’s not the point!” I almost yelled at him. “What about all our memories!”

“Hey, calm down,” Markus said raising his hands, “but dad’s got a…”

He trailed off, and I saw him look around. I’d heard it too. The sound was back again, this time it was louder. It was almost as if something or… someone was scratching along the wood outside.

“What the hell’s that?”

There it was once more.

“I’m going to have a look,” I said. Markus was right by my side, putting on his shoes as well. “You’re not going out there alone!”

I nodded and picked up the old, iron fire poker. Then we tiptoed to the front door. A quick look out the window showed us nothing but the dark of the night and trees slowly shaking in the wind.

“Shit,” I cursed.

A moment later we stepped outside.

Had that guy been stalking us and sneaking up on us in the middle of the night? Fucking hell! This was seriously creepy. I raised the fire poker, ready to beat down on any deranged asshole trying to jump me.

I’d barely taken a few steps when I saw something move near the corner of the cabin. It was gone as quickly as I’d seen it, but I knew someone was there.

“Shit, that’s right below her window,” Markus whispered.

“Go and get her! If it’s really that guy again…”

For a moment he hesitated, then he nodded and went back inside.

“Who’s there?” I called out. “What the hell are you doing here?”

No answer.

There it was once more, the crunching of snow, the scratching on the wood.

My hands were shaking as they clutched onto the fire poker. I jumped around the corner, ready to yell, only to stop dead in my track.

There was something there. It was no man though, and neither was it an animal.

It was a giant, hulking figure, leaning forward against the house. It must’ve been at least four, if not five meters tall. I saw long, claw-like fingers. They were almost digging into the woodwork as the thing pressed its face against the window.

I stood there, staring up at the impossibility in front of me.

“What in the…” was all I could bring out.

Right at that moment the thing’s head jerked in my direction. Its face was simple, too simple. It looked almost as if someone had sewn a face on a piece of cloth or a bag. The lower part ripped open, and the creature let out a high-pitched scream.

It raised its arms before it brought them crashing down against the woodwork and the window. Wood and glass exploded under the force.

I heard chaos erupt inside of the room above. I heard Markus’ and Melanie scream up in terror. In a second the thing’s arms vanished inside the gaping hole that had once been a window. I heard Markus yell something before his screams cut through the night. They continued only for moments and culminated in terrible blood curling wail. Then everything was quiet again.

I couldn’t do a thing. I was frozen in terror. I took a single step forward but then cringed back. The fire poker slipped from my hands as I slumped down in the snow.

For a moment the thing looked over at me. It didn’t seem malignant anymore, it looked almost… happy.

Finally, it turned from me towards the trees. Within seconds it had vanished again.

Before it was gone though, I’d seen that it had been holding something in his giant hands.

It had been Melanie’s limp body.

Oh, the farmer’s markets. They have a charm of their very own.

In times of industrialized farming, giant supermarket chains, and online stores, they feel like a remnant of the past.

At a farmer’s market, you can still interact with traders face-to-face and buy fresh produce as well as homegrown vegetables.

It was one curious flyer that drove me to such a market last summer.

It was a flyer of the ‘Annual Bonfire Market’. It was supposed to be held at a small, rural village. When I checked Google Maps, I saw that it was about an hour and a half away from my home.

The flyer didn’t specify much. It mentioned the date and location and that it was supposed to start at five in the afternoon.

Two things caught my interest. First how professionally the flyer was made. Second, that at least a hundred different market traders were attending. It seemed to be quite the event.

After thinking about it for a while, I decided to take my chance and attend.

You see, during the summer my sales usually plummet. There’s not much you can do about it. What most people are looking for are cold drinks or other refreshments. People like me, who are selling meat products, are out of luck.

There are a few events that can still net you a profit, even in summer, but those are few and far between.

So whenever I find out about a new event, I at least attend it once to see if it’s worth the effort. This ‘bonfire’ event made me think of meat and barbecue, so it sounded promising.

When I arrived at my destination, I was quite a bit confused. It had stated that the event was held in a small village, but I saw nothing but a single building: a huge, old farmhouse.

Was this the place? I double-checked the address, but I was, without a doubt, in the right place. My confusion only left me when I noticed the other cars and sales-vehicles nearby.

I parked my truck near the farmhouse and started to search for the organizer. I’d had no way to call or register beforehand, so I wanted to make sure that they allowed newcomers to attend as well. I was pretty sure they would. In all my years as a market trader, I’d been sent away only a few times.

There were quite a few people around, some as lost as me, others busy with preparations.

It didn’t take long for me to spot a stout, balding man, walking from group to group, gesticulating and giving instructions. I was sure I’d found who I’d been looking for.

“Hey there, my name’s Meier. I’m selling salami products. I’m not a registered participant of your event, but I’m sure you still have a place for me available, right?”

The man measured me up and down with his tiny, bead-like eyes before a sly grin appeared on his face. He licked lips once, twice and then, opened his mouth to speak. I saw blackened, rotten teeth.

“Oh, not registered yet, well, you’re not alone my friend,” he said, almost slurring every word.

I don’t know why, but his way of talking and his whole demeanor was pure weird. I’d seen quite a few strange characters over the years, but no one like him. He rubbed his hands almost constantly and I could see that they were sticky. His cloth, too, stuck to his greasy body. It was nothing short of disgusting, and I had to fight the impulse to inch back.

“Now, now,” he finally said, “I’m sure we’ll find just the place for you.”

With that, he led me towards a nearby dirt path and ushered me forward. I did my best to always be a few steps ahead of him so he wouldn’t touch me.

“Well, why don’t you put up your stand right over there, next to one of our other newcomers?”

He pointed at another man who was busy setting up a market stand a bit further down the path.

“Eh, okay, thanks. What about the car? Do you have a designated parking area or something?”

For a moment the man looked at me a bit puzzled, as if he didn’t understand my question, then he shrugged.

“Should be fine if you park it next to the market stand,” he answered disinterested before walking away.

For a moment I looked after the guy, shuddering as the image of his disgusting teeth and greasy skin popped back into my mind.

“The hell’s wrong with that guy,” I mumbled to myself.

Once I’d driven down my car, I started to unpack. The owner of the market stand next to me was quite a few years older than me. He greeted me with a handshake and introduced himself as Martin.

“You never been here either?” I asked him as I unloaded my truck.

He shook his head. “Found out about the whole thing a couple of weeks ago. Wouldn’t even have come here if it wasn’t for the wife. She said I should go and try and, well, here I am. Guess we better make the best of it.”

I nodded. “Well let’s hope any customers show up at all. Feels like we’re in the middle of nowhere… I thought it was supposed to be in the middle of a village and not a random farm?”

“Hah, thought the same thing,” he started, “tell you what, I thought I’d gotten the wrong address. Drove around in circles until I gave up and asked someone.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t follow the wrong damned dirt path and end up in the middle of the forest like me. Was pure luck that I found my way back out. Damned Google Maps didn’t help me one bit!”

When I stood there, in front of him, cursing like that, he burst out laughing.

We kept up the chit-chat for a bit while we both readied our market stands and put up our goods for display.

As I kept looking around, I noticed that there were only about two dozen traders here in total. The flyer had promoted it as this grand event with at least a hundred. Where was everyone? What I saw here was barely at the level of a small weekly market. How could this be a special, annual event?

I wasn’t the only one who seemed to have doubts. Many of the other participants looked as skeptical as me.

Once I’d set up everything I decided to have a quick look around and find out where the toilets were.

When I arrived back at the old farmhouse, I saw that people had been quite busy. There was now a massive bonfire in the center of the yard. Next to it was an on open meat smoker, on which various, different pieces of meat were presented. Some seemed smoked already, others were still raw.

As I made my way around, I noticed the stares I got from a tall, lanky guy. He’d been busy cutting apart a chunk of meat when he saw me and eyed me curiously. I tried to smile at him, but his empty stare was a bit unsettling. As I walked on, I could tell that his eyes were following me.

I was about to enter the door of the farmhouse to look for the toilets when I almost ran into the organizer.

“May I help you?”

“Oh, I just had a look around. You’ve got quite the selection here,” I started, “but I was wondering where the toilets are.”

“The toilets,” he said in a pensive way, almost as if he’d trouble to remember. All the while the skinny butcher kept looking over at us.

“Tell you the truth, my friend, we’ve got a bit of a problem in the back. It’s all clogged up at the moment, you see. If it’s not too much to ask, why not go over there, by the trees?”

I waited for him to reveal the joke, but he didn’t say anything else. All I saw was the same grin he’d shown me before.

“To tell your market participants to piss against the trees,” I lamented to Martin once I was back at my market stand.

The older man thought it was the most hilarious thing in the world. He kept telling me it would’ve been much worse if I’d to take a shit instead. I couldn’t help but join in with his laughter.

To be honest, I wasn’t bothered by taking a piss outside, I was a guy after all. It was the lack of organization and the disinterested behavior that dumbfounded me. None of it was normal.

Time moved on, soon it was five and soon a quarter past five. Wasn’t the event was supposed to start at five? Where the hell were the customers? Was this whole thing a bad joke?

It was another couple of minutes later when I saw a group of people walking down one of the many dirt paths. Did they walk here? We were in the middle of nowhere. There are no houses anywhere nearby as far as I could tell.

As they approached my market stand, I greeted them and present them my samples, but they didn’t even look at me. It wasn’t just my stand though, they ignored all of them. Instead, they made their way straight to the farmhouse and soon vanished out of sight.

“They sure have great customers here,” Martin joked next to me.

As the hours ticked away a few more groups arrived, but they all went straight for the farmhouse. We got a few stares, but that was about it.

I saw that one of the other traders was about to start packing things up. Within moments the stout organizer was next to him, pleading with him.

“Things only really start when the bonfire is lighted, my good friend. Most people won’t even arrive before the sun set. Come, stay a bit longer! I promise you won’t regret it!”

From my market stand I watched the spectacle and listened. I sighed and took a look at my phone. Sunset was in about an hour. Might as well wait a bit longer.

As the sun slowly set the whole place seemed to become completely engulfed in darkness. There were no street lights or flood lights around. The only sources of light I could see where the few market traders who’d brought their own.

This twilight created the illusion that the whole place was shrouded in darkness. It felt almost as if this entire area was now isolated from the rest of the world.

Because of this, the arrival of new people came almost as a surprise. The organizer seemed to have told the truth, things only got going now, that it was dark. Before it had only been a handful of people who’d trickled in, now dozens if not hundreds arrived.

As I stared at these groups I thought I saw a few weird things here and there. A few times I caught glimpses of shrouded, hunched over figures. In the dark, it was almost impossible to make out how tall they were. For a moment I thought the outlines below their shrouds were shifting.

It wasn’t only these shrouded figures that were a bit strange. The people, in general, seemed to be a bit… different. Their faces, their demeanor, almost everything made them appear as if they were inbred.  It was almost as if they were a step lower on the ladder of evolution. As bad as it sounds.

After a while, I shook my head. It must be the lights which were playing tricks on me. Hell, I’d been to a ton of village fairs and markets and to be honest, people in rural areas are always a bit different. Not that I ever minded it, they were still friendly and jolly people.

Here things felt different. I don’t know what it was, but the atmosphere felt strange. It was almost as if there was an odor of insincerity in the air. As if you know that all those people here were just pretending. What it was they were pretending though, I couldn’t say.

My thoughts were interrupted by a noise coming from the farmhouse. Moments later I saw how light erupted from the yard in front of it. They must have lighted the bonfire. As if to prove me right I heard how loud laughter and the sounds of excitement and exuberance cut through the air.

It was clear enough that I’d not sell anything right now. There were only a few lone stragglers that still arrived, but those too hurried to the bonfire.

It was soon that my curiosity won me over. I told myself I’d have a quick look around and go watch the bonfire as well.

Making my way to the yard was quite the feat. The whole area was utterly overcrowded with people. Once I’d made it, I took a glance towards the bonfire, but I couldn’t see much. There were way too many people in front of me. The only thing I saw were long, wooden sticks that were held towards the flames, roasting big chunks of meat.

I watched for a while, but then I saw the open door of the farmhouse. Not going to piss against a tree again with all those people around. I was sure they’d unclogged the toilet by now.

I had a look around the small entry room, but it was almost entirely empty. Haphazardly I decided on the hallway to my right to look for any sign of a toilet. As I walked on, I saw nothing. There were a few rooms, but their doors were either locked, or they were empty. Finally, the hallway led into a vast, dark area. I couldn’t see a thing though.

After a short while of fumbling around the walls, I found a light switch. The moment I hit it I realized that I was in a storage room for the meat. All around me carcasses dangled from meat hooks. The smell of flesh was almost suffocating. I was about to turn around and leave the room when my eyes focused on something that shot ice through my veins.

There, right at the back, dangling from a huge meat hook was without a doubt a human torso. I saw the bloodied neck, the shoulders, as well the stumps were the legs would’ve been.

I stood there, frozen, telling myself this must be a joke. It was a prop to scare the kids or play a trick on trespassers who snuck in here. There was no way this could be real. I looked through the room to convince myself. It was clear that all the other pieces of meat in here were animal carcasses, right?

They were not.

There was another torso to my left, a lower body at the far right and a bit down the row dangled a lonely leg. Did this mean all those other chunks and pieces around me were the same as well? Were they all… human?

Dear god, what was this place? What had I stumbled upon here?

I couldn’t think. All I could do was stare at the horror around me in disbelief. There was no way, was there? This had to be-

“Goddamnit, who the hell’s in there? Is that you Rainer? I thought I told you if I ever saw you nibbling on one of them again, I’d beat the living shit out of you!”

Oh god, someone was coming! What the hell do I do? I almost rushed towards the exit of the room but realized I’d run straight into whoever was coming. I took a few steps back into the room, then a few more, then I hurried to the back.

I couldn’t see any other exit, no doors, no windows, nothing. I had to hide. But where could I even hide? Right then I saw an old, metal cabinet. Within moments I ripped at the doors and thanked God when they opened. I was inside in a second and closed them behind me again.

It didn’t take long for someone to step into the room. From the small slit between the doors, I could see who it was. The skinny butcher who’d measured me up before.

“Now where the hell are you…?” he asked with not just a bit of malice in his voice.

As he looked around and scanned the room, I didn’t dare move. I didn’t even dare to breathe, afraid he’d hear it. I felt like an animal in front of a headlight, like prey in front of a predator.

The empty eyes of the guy wandered from carcass to carcass, and he slowly started to step into the room.

Oh god, please don’t let him notice me, I prayed. Please don’t let him notice me. I repeated this over and over in my head. Then a new thought popped into my mind. Did he know I was here?

He stepped further and further into the room, pushing the meat, no the bodies aside as he did. With each step, he got closer to the cabinet. Any moment now, I thought, any moment now.

I almost screamed out, almost jumped from the cabinet in blind panic, when I was saved by a boy. He suddenly stumbled into the room. The skinny butcher jerked around, walked towards him and slapped him across the face.

“Didn’t I tell you to turn the damned light off in here? What are you even doing back here? If you did grab a bite again, I dare you…”

“But I did-” the boy started.

He didn’t get to finish what he was going to say because the organizer’s booming voice was heard from the hallway.

“What’s the hold-up, we need another one, quickly, a woman this time!”

“Right away,” the skinny butcher answered. “Get this one over there,” he yelled at the boy, and when he didn’t move right away, he slapped him again.

Still sitting in the cabinet, I watched as the boy took down part of a female body and carried it out of the room. The skinny butcher stayed for a bit longer. He looked over the bodies, counting them.

“Not too many left, guess it’s time for the main event soon.”

With that, he turned off the lights and left the room.

I can’t say how long I sat inside the cabinet. I was shaking, shivering and trying my hardest not to hyperventilate. Any moment now, I thought, the lights would turn back on and I’d see the butcher’s face right in front of the cabinet. Or the stout organizer would drag me from it with his greasy hands to sink his black, rotten teeth into my flesh.

For long minutes I fought to keep the fear at bay and to keep myself from panicking. Only once I’d calmed down and had made sure no one was around, did I dare open the doors of the cabinet.

With light steps, I made my way back into the hallway. I’d barely crossed the first few meters when the same boy from before came running into my direction.

He stopped and stared at me. His eyes were wide and almost empty. I could see that his head was hard at work trying to decipher the situation. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, which made my heart skip a beat.

“Men are to the right, women to the left, got that?” I said in as hard a voice as I could muster.

For a few nerve-wracking seconds he stared at me, thinking, but then he seemed to give up, nodded and ran past me.

I almost dropped to the floor as the strength left my legs. I slumped against the wall, breathing heavily.

I couldn’t rest though. I had to go on. I had to get out and stumbled onward.

Outside the noise rose up again. It became jubilation as I heard hundreds of voices scream up with excitement. It turned into a wild cacophony before the sounds of utter chaos erupted from outside.

I was back in the entry room. I took one step towards the door, but they’d see me, wouldn’t they? No way could I risk that.

Instead, I stormed down the other hallway. There had to be a different way out! I went for the first door I saw, but it was locked. The next one I tried led me into a room that was trashed and almost entirely covered in blood. I almost vomited at the sight.

I almost threw the door shut again when I saw the butcher in the entry area. I almost jumped into the room, hoping he hadn’t seen me.

At that moment I saw something. Lying on the floor in the room was an old, dirtied jute shroud. The same type those figures wore.

I’d no idea if it would even work, but there wasn’t anything else I could do. I picked it up and quickly shrouded myself into it, hoping I could trick them and get out of here.

“Who’s over there? I dare you, Rainer, if you’re fooling around again, I-“

He broke up when he saw me. His face distorted for a moment and he inched back a step.

“Oh, I didn’t… it’s served outside, there’s nothing in here anymore,” he said in an almost scared tone.

I didn’t say anything. Instead, I pulled the jute shroud as close around me and hurried outside.

I stopped in my tracks when I actually saw the horror that was going on. I’d seen the bodies, sure. I’d heard the organizer call out. I knew what must be going on. Yet seeing it for real was different.

I saw the wide eyes and open mouths of the visitors. I saw how they stared at the body parts and chunks of meat roasting on the long wooden sticks. Human body parts and human meat.

The bright fire revealed the true nature of their faces. I’d thought of them as inbred, but they couldn’t possibly be human. Their mouths were too wide, their faces too different. Those people, no, those creatures here, were something entirely different.

They pushed against each other, reached out into the flames to get the glistering piece of meat. I felt nauseous watching as they gorged themselves on human flesh. They smiled in ecstasy as grease and blood ran down their misshapen mouths and faces.

Some looked more like humans, while others were caricatures. They had long mouths with giant teeth and swallowed arms and legs whole. A few were as small as children, and yet others reminded me of beings from myths and folklore.

Worst though, were the things hidden under the shrouds. Only once did I catch a glimpse of one of them. I saw a disgusting, leathery face with a beak instead of a mouth. Just for a short moment did the one eye of the creature focus on me, before it turned back to the chunk of meat it was holding.

I had to get away from here. It was only a matter of time before I’d get noticed!

As best as I could, I made my way through the cannibalistic monstrosities around me. I squinted my eyes, to not see what was going on and focused only on the edge of the crowd. That’s where I had to go. That’s what I had to reach.

Each step was worse than the one before. It meant pushing on against nightmarish creatures and new surges of terror. I desperately held on to the shroud, which had been ripped away almost twice. I ebbed forward step by step, but as I reached the edge of the crowd, I realized that the nightmare wasn’t over.

Guess it’s time for the main event soon.

That’s what the butcher had said. As I saw the area around the farmhouse, I knew what the main event must’ve been. I had been us, the traders.

As I looked on, I saw the remains of market stands and sales vehicles. The whole area must’ve been overrun by the frenzied mob due to its thirst for human flesh.

The air was heavy with a stench that I wouldn’t dare to describe. For a moment I couldn’t fight the urge to vomit, then I forced my body to move on.

Here and there I saw a few stragglers. Creatures feeding on the few pieces that remained of the market traders.

I heard screams from nearby, proof that someone else must still be alive. I didn’t dare to look.

It wasn’t long before I found the remains of my market stand.

My breath was ragged, coming out in hard intervals as I dragged myself towards my car.

It looked as if it was still undamaged. I prayed that I was right, I prayed.

A quick look around revealed that there were only a few creatures around. They were searching through the nearby meadow, most likely for the one market trader that hadn’t been around, me.

Finally, I reached the car. With one swift motion, I hit the key to unlock the door, ripped it open and jumped inside.

It took me only a moment to start it, but I’d already been noticed. The first of the creatures rushed towards the car and hit the door right when I locked it. In berserk fury the thing beat down at it. There was the heavy creak of metal before the glass window exploded into a thousand pieces.

I hit the gas, but for a moment the car didn’t move, then monstrosity outside had to let go.

I exhilarated the car and sped down the dirt path. I was past the remains of the market stands, then I was at the farmhouse, then I was past it. I was about to thank god for having made it, when I saw something standing next to the road ahead.

It was one of the shrouded figures. Within a moment the shroud flew up into the air. I heard a bloodcurdling scream of rage and fury. Before I closed my eyes and hit the gas, I saw it. I saw the nightmarish truth of what lay hidden under these shrouds. It was a giant, hulking mixture of human, bird and something else. There were too many limbs, there was scared, bulging flesh and feathers. Eyes closed and high on adrenaline, I floored the gas. I heard the scratching of claws, the tearing of metal and for a moment I was sure that was it. That the thing had caught me in its grasp.

But I wasn’t stopped. The car rushed on, and I heard the thing rage behind me. I didn’t dare to look back.

I didn’t look back for as long as I drove on. It was long past midnight when I finally dared to stop the car. Via the navigation system, I made it to a nearby petrol station. It was from there that I called the police and reported the whole incident.

I’m not sure what I’ve told them that night. I must have been a nervous wreck, babbling and yelling about cannibalistic murders.

I can’t remember for how long they questioned me.

When they finally went to check on the farmhouse, they found it completely abandoned. Nothing was there. No people, no cars, no market stands, nothing. Worst of all, no proof that anything had happened.

For the past half year, I’ve seen a shrink. He’s been trying hard to convince me that my story can’t be true. What I thought I saw that night hadn’t been real. He’s telling me there were no creatures and no murders. It was all in my head.

I really want to believe him. I want nothing more than to accept that it was all just my own delusion, a hallucination conjured up by my own mind.

I can’t anymore though. Now that the new year started, I decided to attend markets again.

It was just yesterday that I saw a stout, balding man who was giving out fliers. The moment his small-bead like eyes focused on me, I knew who he was.

The moment he gave me a sly grin and revealed his blackened, rotten teeth, I knew he’d recognized me as well.

I’m sure you’re well acquainted with wind farms. They’re quite popular here in Germany, especially in the more rural areas.

One of them isn’t too far away from my small home village.

The first of the giant wind turbines was built more than a decade ago. Throughout the last years more have been added.

At night, you can always make them out due to their bright, red, obstruction lights, even during the sickest fog.

To be honest, I haven’t looked at them or their lights in the longest time. As a kid, they were the most impressive thing in the world, but the more they added and the older I got my interests shifted. Once I was a teenager it was all about parties and girls.

The past weekend I went out there by myself once again. For the first time, I looked up at the turbines. What I saw and realized at that time sent me home within utter, terrible fear.

You see back in summer and early autumn my friends and I used to hang out near the wind farm a lot. It’s one of our favorite spots to hang out all by ourselves.

There’s really nothing there. The turbines are constructed on small hills. The meadows surrounding them aren’t used by anyone. You can be all by yourself out there. It’s an ideal spot in the warm months to hang out, put up camp and spent a few nights out alone.

It was in the middle of June that I, my best friend Tom and our buddy Mike went out there. We’d haphazardly decided to spend the weekend camping out there and drink away the memories of a, particularly hard work week. On Friday evening we went out with two tents, our sleeping bags and enough booze to last us a week.

We didn’t do much on Friday. We had a few drinks, played some cards, but didn’t stay up too long. We were all pretty exhausted anyway.

On Saturday we got up soon after dawn. Tom and I had a slow morning, set up the grill and had a hearty breakfast, Mike start the day off drinking.

I didn’t mind at all. I was the last person to judge him on these things. What I wondered though was if it really was all about fun or if it was due to his recent break-up with his girlfriend.

By early afternoon Tom and I decided to join in with Mike, who was already pretty hammered at the time. He’d put on some music, was dancing by himself and seemed to have all but forgotten about us.

It wasn’t even an hour later that he’d fallen asleep in the middle of the grass.

While he was sleeping off his drunken stupor, Tom and I had a great time, relaxing and chit-chatting. That was until early evening when the weather suddenly changed.

It had been a hot and humid day, and the sky had gotten cloudier without us noticing. We only realized the change when it started to downpour.

We’d hoped to spend the evening outside, but instead, we were forced to retreat into our tents and wait for the rain to stop.

It didn’t take long before we heard some heavy cursing from outside and saw Mike stumbling around. It took him quite a while to understand what was going on before he finally found his way into a tent as well.

His cursing wasn’t only directed at the weather but also at us for just leaving him out there. By now though Tom and I were pretty drunk ourselves and had a good laugh at the whole thing.

I jokingly asked Mike if he wanted a beer as well, but he only grimaced, shook his head and rubbed his temple. Well, that’s what you get for your head start, I thought.

The rain continued to fall. While Mike was trying to overcome his hangover, Tom and I kept drinking.

It took almost an hour before the rain stopped. Dusk had already fallen, and a layer of mist engulfed the gentle, early evening.

The moment I went outside to rinse off my chair I noticed how thick the mist actually was. Everything that was more than a few meters away was completely hidden. The only thing I could make out clearly were our tents, the chairs and the bright, red lights of the wind turbines nearby.

If I’d been sober, I’d probably have found the whole scenario eerie and a bit creepy, like Mike. Instead, I opened my sixth beer and made fun of him for being unnerved.

We’d just rinsed off the table and started another round of cards when Mike interrupted us.

“Do you guys hear that?” he asked, his face serious.

“Yeah,” I answered, “I hear a dumbass asking stupid questions.”

“Oh fuck off, Eric,” he yelled at me before he started to listen again.

“What if it’s a wild boar or something? Don’t they come out into the meadows after downpours like that?”

“Jesus Mike, shut up, nothing is going on, and we’re trying to play our game,” Tom said annoyed.

In the end, Mike shrugged, but I could see he was agitated by something.

“It’s just the wind turbines,” Tom yelled at him after a few more minutes and threw an empty beer can into his direction.

When Mike winced, we both broke into loud laughter.

By now he was clearly annoyed at us, almost angry. Moments later he walked off and vanished out of sight.

For a bit, I wondered where he’d gone before my attention went back to the game. We finished one, then a second and then the third game without Mike around.

“Where’d he go? Think he left for good?”

Tom shrugged, took another sip of his beer and then started to deal the next round. As I picked up my cards though, I started to hear something as well. It was a low, distant rumbling.

“You hear that?” I asked.

“Oh come on, not you, too.” Tom cursed.

“But there’s something over there,” I protested and pointed at the area behind our tents.

“Yeah, wind turbines,” Tom laughed and pointed at the bright, red lights above us in the sky.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” I said and got up.

Tom groaned as I walked towards the tent ignoring his curses for me to come back and continue the game.

“If this is because you’re losing, then-” Tom started, when the tent a few meters away from me began to shake suddenly. It was as if someone was pulling at the guy ropes. Surprised I took a few steps back.

“See, I told you there’s-” I started as I turned around, but broke up when I saw something moving behind Tom.

Tom looked over at me and before he could even react a figure appeared out of nowhere and rushed towards him. The figure threw itself at him, holding something in his hand, grunting and moaning.

Tom screamed up in shock and surprise, dropped his beer and toppled over his chair, trying to get away.

I took the first few steps towards him when the figure burst out laughing. Seconds later Mike took off the stupid mask he’d been wearing.

“That’s what you get asshole! Hah!” he yelled at us.

Once Tom had gotten up he started to run after Mike in anger. The problem was, Mike was much too fast and most importantly, much too sober.

Finally, after a couple of minutes of this idiotic chase, the two of them settled back in their chairs. Mike finally decided to get himself another beer, but this time he drank it slowly.

While he sat there, with a triumphant smile on his face, Tom gave him the stink eye.

As I sat there, I couldn’t help but feel as if I was missing something. I tried to remember what it was, but couldn’t. The bottle of beer in my hand seemed to make fun of me and I gave up once more. Then something came back to me.

“Mike, how’d you shake the-” I started, but Tom cut me off right at this moment.

“Yo Eric, you lost the game, right? You know what that means!”

“Wait, no way, the game wasn’t over! It’s because Mike jumped out all of a sudden and scared you!”

“Hey, Mike,” I called out to him, but I saw that he was busy with something else.

He’d taken a sip of his beer before he turned his attention back to something else.

“Thirteen… Fourteen… Fifteen…” I heard him murmur to himself before he shook his head and started again.

“Hey, asshole, the hell are you doing?” I called out to him once more.

The moment Mike noticed that I’d been watching him, he shook his head.

“Nothing,” he answered, “just something that was on my mind.”

After that we just sat out there, chatting for a bit longer. It wasn’t long though before Mike decided to go to sleep.

I sat out there with Tom for a while longer, opened another beer and leaned back in my chair to relax with a last beer.

The next time I looked over at Tom, I saw that his chair was empty. As I sat there, I realized how uncomfortable I was. My clothes were wet, and I felt cold, freezing.

The moment I looked at my phone I realized that it was long past midnight. I must have fallen asleep in my chair. Freaking hell, I cursed at myself.

I was about to join Tom in our tent when I got an idea. Sure, I could go and sleep out here in my wet clothes, or I could make my way home. It was not even a half an hour walk, more like twenty minutes. Back home I’d have my warm bed and most of all, dry cloth. In my drunk state, I thought of my idea as ingenious.

Sure, Tom and Mike might be mad at me tomorrow for leaving them out here, but I really didn’t care about that at the moment. By now, my sole goal was to go and get home.

I picked up another beer for the trip, and after a slight detour due to the fog, I arrived home. Only a few moments later I fell into my bed.

It was the next day that all hell broke loose.

I woke up with a splitting headache, and at first, I’d no clue why I was at home and not out camping anymore. Only after a while did I remember my nightly walk home. I wondered how mad Tom and Mike were when they noticed I wasn’t around anymore.

When I checked my phone though, I saw that none of them had sent me any messages yet. Guess they didn’t mind I’d run off? Or where they still asleep?

Either way, I didn’t care. A freaking headache was killing me, and I tried my best to get back to sleep for the time being.

It was in the late afternoon that someone called my landline.

“Oh my god Eric, do you have any idea where Mike is?”

It was Mike’s mom. She seemed to be out of it for some reason.

“What do you mean, Mrs. Kadner?” I asked, “Hasn’t he gotten home yet? Are they still out there?”

“No! They aren’t! We’ve checked the site, it’s in total chaos! There’s no hint of him or Tom! What the hell were you doing out there?”

“Wait, what the hell are you talking about?”

I was suddenly wide awake.

“Mike didn’t get home and Tom neither! Tom’s dad went over there because Tom said he’d help him with the car. When he got there though, everything was destroyed!”

“Destroyed?”

“The tents, the chairs, the grill, everything!”

I sat there, not sure what to say. I explained to her that I had no idea since I left in the middle of the night. She didn’t listen and kept asking me over and over again if I knew where Mike was.

After I’d hung up, I started to worry as well, but knowing the two of them, I was sure they’d turn up eventually. Hell, it might indeed have been a boar that ran into the camp, and they booked it.

When Monday came around, and they were still missing, I grew a bit more worried.

By the end of the week, a police investigation was started. A month later, they gave up. Mike and Tom stayed missing. No hint of them was ever found.

I’ve been to the area around the wind turbines countless times, even long after the investigation had ended. I keep telling myself deep inside, that there must be some sort of hint that could explain it all.

I wish I never found anything.

When I was there on the weekend, I looked over the small meadows once more. It was a bit too late already. The sun was setting, and I knew I’d to give up my search.

It was at this moment that I looked up at the giant wind turbines next to me after so long.

I thought back to that summer night and remembered Mike. He’d been counting something, hadn’t he?

I began counting the wind turbines one by one. I came up at thirteen. Thirteen bright, red lights, shining high above me in the night sky.

And at that moment it hit me. I felt goosebumps all over my body and started shivering as I remembered something. Mike hadn’t counted to thirteen that night.

No, he’d counted to fifteen.