Beggars can’t be choosers, the old saying goes.

I’d been unemployed for weeks, when I learned that old Thomas Maier was looking for help around his chicken farm.

To be honest, I was weary. I never imagined myself working at a chicken farm, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.

There was also Old Thomas. I’d heard more than a fair share of rumors about him. He was said to be an eccentric, hard man who worked his farmhands to no end. Over the course of the past years, almost a dozen men had worked for him and none had lasted for long. Even stranger, none of them talked much about the old man and his chicken farm.

Yet I was out of options. I needed work, and I needed it fast and old Thomas chicken farm was the only option out here in the middle of nowhere.

I knew old Thomas wasn’t an industrial farmer, and he ran his place the old-fashioned way. No modern technology or machinery and none of that new, genetically altered chicken feed.

As I drove my car along the country road, I could already make out what was said to be his pride, his hatchery.

Multiple additions and various extensions had transformed what must’ve once been a barn into a huge patchwork monstrosity housing thousands upon thousands of chickens.

The moment I arrived, the old man was already waiting for me. I was nervous when I stepped out of the car and the old man’s probing gaze and deep frown didn’t help.

Before long, his demeanor thawed a little as he led me around the farm.

There wasn’t much to it. The garden his late wife had run was now almost completely fallow and what few fields he worked were used only for chicken feed.

Soon enough, he led me to his hatchery. A proud smile showed on his face as he led me inside.

I couldn’t help but gasp as stepped inside. The place had been huge from the outside, but seemed gigantic inside. Rows upon rows of nesting boxes were stacked upon another, reaching high above your head. As I followed him through one of the many aisles dividing up the place, I felt almost claustrophobic.

As we walked, Old Thomas described the basics of the job to me. The old man made sure his chickens were always well fed. For that reason, he filled the feeding troughs in the center of each aisle twice a day. Once around noon and once in the evening so the chickens would never run out of food.

“Only happy chickens lay eggs that make people happy,” he said with a smile on his face.

After that, he went to explain a few more of the ins and outs. He explained how he mixed up the different ingredients of his chicken feed, how to not disturb the chickens too much and how to get the eggs.

There were a lot of intricacies and some of his instructions seemed overcomplicated. I tried my best to listen and to remember it all, but there was just too much information.

Before long, the old man seemed to realize so himself. He sighed, gave me a pat on the back, and said it was only a matter of time till I’d get the hang of it.

I told him I hoped so, and that I’d do my best.

For the first couple of days, we took care of things together, but I could tell why the old man needed help around the farm. More than once I saw him wince when he picked up a sack of chicken feed and I could see him wheezing and panting as he filled the troughs. Old Thomas was getting too old for the job.

Starting the second week, I assured him I’d taken care of feeding the chickens by myself.

I regretted my decision almost instantly.

With the old man around, it had been nothing but work. Hard work, sure, but still only work. On my own, I couldn’t help but feel differently about the place. It was almost disorienting walking all these long aisles on your own. There was nothing but nesting boxes and chickens around you.

Occasionally, things felt a bit strange, and I could’ve sworn that an aisle seemed longer than it should be. While I dumped shovel after shovel of chicken feed into the troughs, I couldn’t help but feel as if the hatchery had grown in size.

In those moments, an image of the hatchery going on forever snuck into my mind. I imagined nothing but nesting boxes and chickens going on forever.

I always pushed those thoughts away with a laugh. The hatchery was huge, sure, but it was still just a place. All those weird thoughts and ideas were nothing but tricks of the brain or optical illusions caused by the mundanity of the work.

And yet, on certain, rare occasions, I couldn’t help but feel I was losing time in there and that work took me a tad bit too long.

Over the course of the entire week, these strange feelings persisted, but I shrugged them off. I was new on the job and I wasn’t used to the damned hatchery yet, that’s all there was to it.

And so, whenever the old man asked how things were going, I told them they were going well. At times I could feel him looking at me, as if he was waiting for me to say something else.

The hatchery felt always worst in the evening hours. After the sun fell, the ground was almost entirely deserted, and most of the chickens had retreated to their nesting boxes. From there they’d stare at me with half-open eyes, watching me as if I was an intruder, and they readied themselves to pounce on me.

During those late hours, I was always unnerved, slightly apprehensive even. I felt misplaced in this giant hatchery and as if the place was warping and changing all around me.

On Friday evening, as I pushed the wheelbarrow down the aisle, shoveling chicken feed into the troughs half-heartedly, a cold shower went down my spine.

When I looked up and stared down the aisle, I couldn’t make out an end.

I blinked, rubbed my eyes and looked again, but all I could see were nesting boxes and chickens seemingly going on forever.

I couldn’t help but laugh and shake my head. My stupid brain was acting up again. Just keep going, dump the rest of the chicken feed and get back out, that’s all there is to it.

The longer I stared down this never-ending aisle, however, the more I stopped trusting myself. After I’d dumped the last of the chicken feed, I left the wheelbarrow and shovel behind and continued on.

This was insane. The hatchery was huge, sure, but there had to be an end to it. There had to be! And yet, I just kept walking and walking and walking.

After long minutes, I stopped again. What the hell was going on here? Even if this was some sort of optical illusion, I’d been walking long enough to reach the other side of the damned farm! And yet, the aisle just continued on.

I took one more step, then another before fear washed over me, and I told myself to get the hell out of here. Something strange was going on, something extremely strange. The moment I turned around, however, it was the same thing. No end in sight.

Eventually, though, I set out. I kept my eyes open for the wheelbarrow and shovel I left behind, but no matter how far I walked, there was no trace of them. They were gone, just like the end of the aisles, and I realized the walls of the hatchery. All I could see were nesting boxes and chickens.

As I looked around, all I could see were the staring, half-empty eyes of chickens. These stares, they felt almost oppressive to me, as if the chickens were watching my every move, measuring me up and mocking me for being lost.

I continued on walking, intent on finding my way about. At first I was walking normally, but the longer the aisle continued on, the more unnerved I got.

I told myself that I’d just have to go a bit further, that I was imagining things and that I was almost out, but eventually, I couldn’t anymore. There was no end in sight, no walls, nothing! All there was were nesting boxes and chickens!

Before long, I was running, dashing past nesting boxes and the few lonely chickens who were still out.

I ran for long minutes, driving myself on faster and faster, desperately trying to reach the end of the hatchery, but nothing changed.

At least, that’s what I thought at first. When I stopped, panting and out of breath, I realized my surroundings had become more chaotic, bizarre even.

What had once been rows of meticulously constructed nesting boxes were now nothing but haphazard stacks that looked more like something that had grown than being constructed.

These strange constructions soon grew higher and higher, turning into towering monstrosities of impossible design. I laughed. How could something like that even fit inside the hatchery? But as I stared upward, I couldn’t see the ceiling anymore. Where once had been a wooden ceiling was now only a strange, colorless void.

The aisle I’d been following for so long deteriorated as well. Stacks upon stacks of nesting boxes sprouted from the ground here and there. It was as if all sense of order was gone.

I was confused, freaked out and scared, but my feet kept moving forward, kept dragging me deeper into this mad, bizarre world. And as I walked on, I stared at all of it with a horrible fascination and in an almost dreamlike trance.

All the towering stacks of nesting boxes around me were filled to the brim with chickens, chickens who were still staring down at me, still watching me.

And yet, before long, these chickens too were subject to bizarre changes. Some had bodies so bloated they almost didn’t fit into their nesting boxes, while others had long, dangling necks and strangely emaciated bodies.

I stared at these twisted creatures with a mixture of fascination and disgust.

More than once I turned around and tried to flee from my ever-deteriorating surroundings, but it didn’t matter which way I went. The longer I walked, the deeper I was thrown into the bizarre, further and further towards deterioration.

Eventually, the design of the nesting boxes made no sense anymore. What had been towering stacks before became physical impossibilities. They were leaning over one another, creating long bridges and wide arcs, constructions that could, no should, collapse at any moment.

As I stared ahead, I could see towers so high, so massive I couldn’t fathom them anymore. It felt like I was staring at distant cities, at a skyline comprising nothing but nesting boxes.

But it wasn’t just the nesting boxes, the chickens too continued to change. The further I walked, the stranger their forms became. At one point, a chicken with multiple heads and legs rushed past me. Others were flying high, souring through the skies on multiple wings, wider than should be possible.

The worst I saw was a chicken-centipede comprising nothing but chicken bodies, slithering around one of the nesting box towers. As my eyes trailed after it, I saw it slithering upwards before it vanished out of view.

Other chickens grew in size. From a distance, I could see a deformed chicken the size of a pig or cow, sitting in a nesting box the size of a garage.

As my eyes wandered around, I told myself there was no way a place like this could exist. A sound that should’ve been laughter escaped my mouth, but it was something different. I shivered when I realized it sounded almost like the cluck of a chicken.

I stopped, looked down at my body, lifted my arms and touched my head, half-expecting to find feathers and to having turned into some sort of chicken-hybrid.

But all was normal, no changes to my body and no feathers sprouting anywhere.

And yet, relief didn’t come.

This had to be a dream! Somehow I must’ve fallen asleep in the hatchery.

I closed my eyes, told myself to wake up and to get out of this nightmare. When I opened my eyes again, prying to find myself back at the farm, back outside, away from the hatchery, nothing had changed. I was still there, still in this mad and absurd chicken world.

Madness, however, soon turned into terror.

As my steps led me past another tower of nesting boxes, I noticed movement ahead. I stopped instinctively, wondering what sort of twisted, nightmarish version of a chicken I’d see this time.

What I saw made me freeze.

It wasn’t merely a deformed chicken. No, it was a chicken that looked like it had been twisted into humanoid form.

I saw chicken feet, feathers sprouting from a two-legged, upright standing body and a head sprouting a dirty, sagging cockscomb. Its wings weren’t so much wings, but feathered appendages, sprouting strange finger-like extensions in which it held a heavy sort of bucket.

The worst, however, was the creature’s face. It was almost human, except for the same empty eyes and the giant, beak-like growth sprouting from it.

I watched as the creature poured something wet and sticky from the bucket into a trough in front of it. A disgusting, putrid smell reached me and I had to cover my nose.

The creature, however, seemed undeterred by it, and I heard it cluck a few times. These sounds they were almost tender, almost friendly.

Mere seconds later a bizarre zoo of twisted, feathered creatures descended upon the trough, gorging themselves on whatever was inside.

As carefully as I could and driven by a mad sense of curiosity, I climbed on top of one of the nesting boxes nearby to get glance at it.

The moment I did, I stumbled back, falling off the nesting box and barely able to cover my mouth to hide the scream that had formed in the back of my throat.

That feed, it was flesh, the flesh of people. I hadn’t only seen a meaty, grounded mass, but fingers, hands, and feet.

As my eyes wandered back, I could hear the chicken-beasts feeding on it, saw a strange snakelike creature swallowing up what might once have been a hand.

A terrified yelp escaped my mouth, one I couldn’t silence in time.

At that moment, something stirred next to me. My eyes grew wide when they were met by the empty, staring eyes of another chicken-creature.

I was frozen in terror as I watched an elongated neck shot forward, further and further, towards me. The creature’s beak opened, and a strange, horrible, distorted cluck escaped it before it came for me. I barely avoided the creature’s attack, beating its head aside. A moment later, my hands, almost by instinct, closed around its neck and twisted it.

I gave it one jerk, then another before I felt something break.

In an instant, I was thrown aside as the creature’s body went wild. The now-broken, long dangling neck was thrown left and right while the creature’s huge wings flapped and beat against the nesting box. Within moments, the wood gave way. The creature went on, struggling for a few more moments before it lay still.

Its death, however, had been noticed, and I heard the concerned clucks of thousands of chickens all around me.

And then, terror washed over me anew when I saw the outlines of more of the strange chicken-hybrids in the distance who’d come to find the cause of the ruckus.

In that instant, I ran.

My feet pounded hard on the ground as I dashed past nesting box towers and abominable chicken-creatures. The sound of my steps caused many of these creatures to awake, to freak out, and to throw themselves from their nesting boxes. Soon I was running through a madhouse of feathers and twisted bodies.

I felt wings slap against my body, felt chicken feet scratching over my arms and legs, felt beaks tearing at my skin, but I continued on.

More than once, I had to wrestle something feathered from my body and throw it aside.

I didn’t know where I was running, didn’t know for how long, but all I wanted was to get away, to get out of this mad, surreal place.

I drudged on for what felt like hours, running, stumbling, before I tripped over a trough in front of me. Eventually, I fell to the floor and crashed hard against the wheelbarrow I’d left standing.

In an instant, I fought myself to my feet, tipping over the wheelbarrow before I realized where I was.

All around me stood the meticulously constructed rows of nesting boxes with chickens sleeping in them. To both sides, I could make out an end and the walls of the hatchery.

For long moments I stood there, in shock and disbelief, wondering what had happened. It had to have been a dream, a hallucination, but then I noticed the wounds covering my arms.

When Old Thomas put his hand on my shoulder, I cringed back, staring at him with wide eyes.

When he saw my quivering lips and the scratches and wounds all over my body, he led me from the hatchery and asked what had happened.

At first I was reluctant to speak, but then I told him I’d ended up… somewhere. I expected the old man to laugh, but he asked me where I’d ended up and what I’d seen.

As I rambled on, he merely nodded, and once I was done, there wasn’t much he said. Neither did he say much when I told him I was done working at his farm.

And yet, when I turned to get into my car and to leave his farm forever, there was something in his eyes.

I couldn’t make out what it was. It was a hidden secret, some hidden knowledge that sent yet another cold shower down my spine.

You know, throwing out old stuff can be strangely satisfying.

A few days ago, I decided to give my cramped little apartment the good old once-over and throw out anything I didn’t need anymore.

For years I’d succumbed to the strange habit of throwing nothing out. You never knew if maybe, eventually, at one point in time you might need a certain item again.

Let’s just say, over the years, I’d accumulated a lot of, what I had to admit, useless things.

When I started cleaning, I threw out a pair of old computer cables, but before I knew it, I threw out anything that wasn’t essential.

I didn’t know how many useless things I’d stored away over the years. I found old tools, two broken mp3 players, an old landline phone, a box of computer-parts from the mid-2000s, and an old Sony Ericsson phone.

It was from before smartphones were a thing and felt like a distant remnant of the past.

I couldn’t help but stare at it. Man, hadn’t I used this thing back in university?

A moment later, I was already digging through my gigantic box of cables. It took a while, but I soon found what I was looking for: the old Sony Ericsson charging cable.

I put it in and once I was sure the old phone was charging, I went back to cleaning.

It was already evening when I called it a day and to check on the phone.

I started it and was promptly asked to enter a PIN, and of course, I didn’t remember what it was. After some thinking, I tried my luck and entered my birthday. What do you know, it worked, and the phone was unlocked.

There was probably nothing interesting on this old thing, but I still decided to have a look, if only for nostalgia’s sake.

I recognized the menu and the apps almost instantly. Before I knew it, I’d started up a game of Super Real Tennis. I didn’t last long, and the game was over after only a few minutes. Still, I couldn’t help but smile and remember all the boring lectures the game had helped me through.

The next thing I had a look at was the music folder.

It contained a mixture of classic rock, some metal, and a lot of video game music. In-between I even found a few cheesier titles like The One and Only by Chesney Hawkes. I tinkered with it a little and played a few songs I hadn’t listened to in years.

After that, I remembered the phone might be old, but it still had a camera.

The moment I opened the picture folder, the faces of old university friends greeted me. I saw us at the cafeteria, at a team meeting for some sort of project and a party. Then I found pictures of me and a bunch of old high school friends celebrating New Year’s together.

Oh man, everyone looks so young in those pictures.

With a smile on my face, I continued to click through them.

Eventually, I came upon a picture that was different.

Gone were the bright colors and the smiling faces. Instead, I saw nothing but a dark picture taken during the night. I brought the screen closer to my eyes, but I couldn’t make out a thing. The next picture was much the same, but this time I could make out a sidewalk that led past a couple of trees. What followed were more pictures of dark sidewalks and random buildings.

I couldn’t help but laugh. How drunk had I been when I took those pictures?

As I continued though, I noticed that all that was left were similar pictures. I found nothing but dark sidewalks and empty streets. When I checked the details of one of them, I frowned.

The date wasn’t back from 2010 when I’d last used the phone, but from this year. From today, a mere ten minutes ago.

All right, this doesn’t make any freaking sense. I hadn’t used the damn thing in years.

Then I started to think. Maybe it’s because I hadn’t turned on the damn thing in so long? Who knows, it might be an error that scrambled up the meta-data and set them to today.

I shrugged and continued on, hoping to see more pictures of friends or university, but all I saw were more of these strange, dark pictures.

Then the strangest of feelings washed over me. There was something about those pictures. That bend in the road, the old building over there, the walk in front of it. I could’ve sworn I knew it.

I leaned in closer and studied some of them, and soon enough I realized what I was looking at. It was the way towards my apartment building.

I was more than a bit confused. No, I was unsettled. How in the hell were there pictures of this area on my phone? I hadn’t lived here back then. Hell, I’d been living on the other side of the freaking country!

I was about to throw the phone back into the box, right in the trash, but curiosity came over me.

Something strange was going on here, and I wanted to know why.

I exited the picture folder to check messages or missed calls or anything when I saw the video folder. I selected it, wondering if there was more of… whatever this was.

After pressing a few swift buttons, the video folder opened up, and I could see that there were about a dozen videos.

The first one was a shaky video of what I assumed to be university part. The quality was terrible. You couldn’t make out a thing, and the music was way too loud and scratchy. The next showed a view of campus from my dorm window.

The third one, however, sent a cold shower down my spine.

I pressed play, and all I could see was the walkway outside my apartment. Whoever had taken this video was walking. I heard hard footsteps and labored breathing as someone was walking towards my apartment building.

The next video showed a view of the apartment building’s entrance before it zoomed in on the doorknob.

When I checked the meta-data of the video, it was the same as with the pictures. The video had been recorded today and only five minutes ago.

For a moment, I stopped and took a deep breath. This didn’t make sense, no sense at all. Was this some sort of prank or elaborate joke? Had someone hacked my phone and was sending those weird videos? But how the hell would that even work without an internet connection!?

I told myself to let it go, to throw it away, but as if in a strange trance, I continued on. There was this nagging feeling, this urge to sit this through and to figure out what was going on here.

The next video was of the stairs inside my building. At least, I assumed it was. There was no light, and the video was all but darkness. The sounds, however, were there. I could hear the same heavy breathing and the sound of footsteps echoing through the empty staircase.

With each video I played, the steps seemed to grow louder, seemed to echo a tad big more.

Then I caught something else, some sort of… laughter or giggling. Whoever had been recording this was giggling as they continued on their way. And yet, it sounded so familiar, almost like a distorted version of my very own laugh.

The penultimate video wasn’t just darkness. Instead, it showed the hallway right outside my apartment. The camera centered on my apartment’s front door before whoever had recorded it walked towards it.

Hard footsteps echoed through the hallway and for a second I wasn’t sure if they were coming from the phone or if they were coming from outside.

Once they’d made it to the door, I saw a hand, a strangely twisted hand that reached for my door. It wasn’t touching the doorknob or holding a key. Instead, its fingers slowly moved down, and I saw long, yellowed fingernails scratching over the door’s surface.

In that moment I jerked up because this time, I knew the scratching wasn’t just coming from the phone. No, it was coming from outside, from right outside my front door!

I stumbled off my chair, clutching onto the phone with a sweaty, shaking hand. Fear washed over me as I tiptoed towards the front door. All was quiet now. There was no scratching, no giggling, nothing.

I stared at the phone. There was one more video.

I stood there, unsure, confused, and apprehensive.

Maybe this last video, this last little recording, would clear it all up. Maybe it would prove that all of this was nothing but a joke, a prank, or a silly trick that someone was playing on me.

And eventually, staring at my front door, waiting, hoping, praying, I pressed play.

Did you ever stare into a mirror for a long period of time?

I don’t mean for a few minutes, not to check out your body, but for a truly long time.

Try, for example, if you will, staring at your own face. At the beginning it might be normal, you might laugh because it feels silly. Soon, however, things will turn weird.

At first, the humor of it will go away. You might even get bored. But if you stick to it, things will eventually become creepy.

I started doing it after I read about certain urban legends online. When I first tried it, I couldn’t do it for long. Seeing my dumb face in the bathroom every morning was hard enough, but staring at it for longer than necessary was a chore.

The more I tried, though, the more I got used to it. I’d sit down in front of my bathroom mirror and stare at myself.

I told myself more than once that this was stupid, ridiculous even, but I liked creepy stuff and I enjoyed scaring myself. So I stuck with it.

It was one of the weirdest experiences I ever had. I laughed, I groaned, I yawned, but before long I started to study the intricate landscape of my face more closely.

Every once in a while, I stared deeply into my own eyes, scanning my pupils and my irises. Before long, I got the feeling that something was changing. I began wondering if I was the one staring at my reflection, or if it was the other way around.

What if it was the other way around? What if that person in the mirror wasn’t truly me?

And then, for the blink of an eye, I thought I saw my reflection wink at me. I scrambled back in shock, cursing at it before I started laughing.

“Jesus Christ, this is stupid!” I cursed at myself and the fear that had washed over me.

Still, when I looked at the mirror again, at my reflection, I wondered if it had all been my imagination or if something had actually happened.

I stepped up to the mirror again, pushed myself closer, and stared right into my reflection’s eyes.

“Did you just wink at me?”

Of course, I didn’t get an answer. No, all I got was my reflection mimicking my every move. His lips moved when mine did. He blinked when I did, and he laughed as stupid as me.

No, it had been nothing but my overactive imagination.

But then, in that moment, my eyes grew wide. My reflection did the same, but I didn’t care about it anymore.

My attention was drawn to a weird little object behind me. Resting on the bathroom floor behind me was a small black cube. What the hell, I wondered, as I brought my face closer to the mirror. Why’s there a-?

My thoughts stopped because the moment I turned around, it was gone.

I cursed, telling myself I was still imagining things and that my brain was acting up, but when I turned back to the mirror, I saw it again. It was right there, on the bathroom floor, close to the wall.

I pushed my face closer to get a better look at it, only to block it out.

When I turned around, though, there was still nothing there.

“All right, what the fuck?”

Slowly but steadily, I moved back, away from the mirror. I watched as I pushed myself against the bathroom wall, right next to the black cube.

Then I reached out to it with my foot, bringing it closer towards the object.

In reality, nothing happened. I didn’t feel the sensation of touching something. My reflection, however, began pushing the black cube to the right.

This was the weirdest thing ever. It had to be some sort of optical illusion. There was no way any of this was real.

Well, of course it wasn’t real, it was only happening inside the damned mirror!

With that I told myself to forget it and go to bed. It was getting late, and I’d have to get up early tomorrow morning.

But how do you ignore something as strange and fascinating as what was happening here?

Of course I was lying to myself and of course I couldn’t just forget about it. And so, I got closer to the object again. Or, to say it better, I brought my reflection closer to it.

When I leaned down, however, I wasn’t able to make it out anymore. My head, or better, my eyes, was too low to make out the reflection of the bathroom floor anymore.

I cursed, but got an idea. I stepped up to the mirror, making sure the cube was still there, and took it down.

Then I propped it up against the cupboard below the sink and turned it until I could make out the black cube again.

Finally, I went back to the wall. When I was there, I reached out for it once more, this time with my hand.

Once more I couldn’t feel a thing, but I watched as my reflections fingers got closer and closer before they eventually made contact with the cube.

I watched in stunned fascination as my reflection’s fingers brushed against it.

A cold shower went down my spine. What the hell was this? Was this really just an… optical illusion?

Before long, I had a rough idea of the cube’s dimensions. Each side was about an inch and a half. Then, with the most delicate of movements, I made my reflection close its hand around it. Then I lifted my hand.

I watched as my reflection held it in its hand. For a moment, it almost slipped from my hand before I got a better hold of it. This was the strangest sensation. I had no feeling for it, and yet I was holding something. Or better, my reflection was holding it.

With a few careful steps, my eyes glued to the mirror, I brought it closer towards it.

I carefully placed it in front of the mirror and began studying it.

It was nothing but a solid black cube. I stared at it from all dimensions, leaning left and right, standing up and laying down.

Just what the hell was this thing?

Then I brought my finger against it again, this time not delicately. Instead, I pushed it closer to the mirror.

For a moment I wondered what would happen if I kept it up.

The thought of it sliding through the mirror’s surface appeared in my mind.

I laughed, calling myself an idiot, telling myself again that this had to be some sort of optical illusion.

And of course, it didn’t slide through. Instead, it was pressed against the mirror, hard and slightly croaked together.

At that moment, I saw that its top was slightly pushed upward.

Did it mean that I could… open it?

Almost in a trance, I reached out with my other hand, my left hand. I couldn’t help but curse in frustration as I tried to make sense of the cube’s dimensions and my movements being flipped.

Finally, after two futile tries, I managed to push my fingernail into the small crack. Then I delicately began pushing it upward.

It took me another few tries before I succeeded in opening it.

Where I was, however, I couldn’t see a damn thing. So I stood up, brought my face close to the mirror and stared down at it.

That’s when I noticed that there was… something strange and whitish inside of it. My hand went forward again, getting a hold of it to lift it upwards so I could get a better look at it.

I closed my hand around the now open cube and lifted it, bringing the opening closer to the mirror.

At first I saw only white, but then I made out delicate red lines in it, saw its round form. A moment later, whatever was inside the cube started moving and turning.

I watched in stunned horror, and after a few seconds, I stared at an eyeball.

I screamed up in shock and disgust, scrambling away from the mirror and shaking my hand as if something had gotten a hold of it.

Inside the mirror, the black cube crashed to the floor. It bounced once, twice before it came to a rest. The eyeball, however, rolled out of it.

From where I was, I watched as it rolled closer to the mirror. I expected it to hit the surface, to bounce back, but it rolled on.

My eyes grew wide in shock and disbelief as the eyeball passed through the mirror’s surface. It rolled on and came to a rest right in front of me.

I cringed back, but I couldn’t stop staring at it. This thing… this eyeball. It shouldn’t, no, couldn’t exist, but here it was.

And as I sat there, slumped down on the bathroom floor, I couldn’t stop staring at it.

And as I stared at it, it also stared at me, and with each passing moment I felt it staring deeper and deeper into my eyes.

I used to love watching the ducks at my local park. Hell, I used to love ducks.

Not anymore, not after what happened.

I guess I’m a bit of a loner. Even here, in the big city, I’m the type of guy who’s more torn to walking the city park than to hang out with friends or go to clubs.

One day, when I came to rest on one of the many park benches, I noticed a flock of ducks nearby. They were loud, but happily going about their life, quacking and walking around without a care in their life.

It was fun watching them and relaxing.

Once I was back home, I did some research about ducks online, mostly about what to feed them.

And so, the next time at the park, I brought along a bag of bird seeds. I threw some of them down in front of me and wouldn’t you know it; it took only a few moments before the ducks swarmed me.

It was a lot of fun and from then on I’d often sit on that same bench, throwing them treats and watching them.

A couple of weeks ago he first showed up.

Like so often, I was sitting on the bench and feeding the ducks when someone sat down next to me.

Well, it’s a park bench after all. While I was uncomfortable having a stranger sit right next to me, I tried my best to ignore him and fed the ducks. From the corner of my eye, however, I noticed how disheveled the guy was. His clothes were wrinkly and somewhat dirty, his hair unkempt and clinging to his head in greasy strands. What I could see of his body was lanky, almost to the point of being emaciated.

The longer he sat there, quietly staring ahead, the more awkward I felt. Almost by instinct, I inched away from him further and further.

Thankfully, after only a couple of minutes, he got up and continued on his way.

When I was at the park a few days later, though, he sat down next to me again. I didn’t mind, but it was strangely unnerving. The first time felt like a chance encounter, but this second one felt less so.

Don’t let it go to you. Who knows, he might just enjoy sitting here and watching the ducks like you do.

Suddenly, though, I noticed him staring at me. I almost cringed when I saw his probing eyes focused on me and me alone.

“Did you know male ducks have corkscrew penises that can spring from their bodies in the blink of an eye?”

“W-What?”

“Random duck-fact number 14,” the guy said with a bright smile on his face, giving me a little wink.

Before I could so much as say anything or react to him, he got up and went on his way. I was left there, puzzled and staring after him.

All right, what the hell just happened? What a freaking weirdo!

When I made it home that evening, I couldn’t get the strange encounter out of my head. The same was true for what he’d told me.

It wasn’t long before I googled it and found out that it was true. Damn, nature can be disturbing.

The next time I walked through the park, I couldn’t help but be apprehensive. What if that guy would be back again? I mean, he didn’t seem dangerous, just strange, but that was enough to ruin the mood. I just wanted to relax after a few days of hard work.

That day, however, I was all alone. Who knows, maybe it really had been nothing but a strange coincidence.

It wasn’t, and when I stopped the next time, he was back again.

I tried my best to ignore him, but before long, he turned and stared at me again. The moment I turned and was about to ask what the hell his problem was, he spoke up again.

“Did you know a group of ducks can be called a raft, a team or a paddling?”

This time, he didn’t get up right away. No, he kept staring at me.

“Eh, thanks,” I mumbled, growing increasingly uncomfortable from this weirdo’s attention.

“Random duck-fact number 2,” he proclaimed, giving me another wink before he got up and left.

All right, this guy was clearly some idiot trying to mess with me. I was sure he’d lose interest, eventually.

As if to challenge me, he continued showing up every single time I sat down on the bench and each time he told me another random duck fact.

“Did you know only three percent of birds have penises and ducks are part of that three percent?”

“Did you know female ducks have corkscrew vaginas?”

“Did you know male ducks are notoriously aggressive, forcing themselves on females violently?”

Each time he told me these facts, he started at me with wide eyes, smiling at me. What had seemed a normal, albeit awkward, smile had by now grown into a wide, sickening grin.

The guy was enjoying this and I couldn’t deny anymore that he was scaring me.

Still, I wouldn’t give up on the park, the bench and the ducks just because of some weirdo.

And yet, whenever I was back at the park, each of my steps was filled with apprehension. I couldn’t stop looking around and scanning the area to see if this madman was somewhere around.

All seemed clear, and when I made it to the bench, I sat down and closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again, I could see him, nearby, on his way to the bench, already grinning.

Oh god, no, not today. I can’t handle that shit today. With that, I picked up my little bag of birdseeds and was about to get out of there.

I hadn’t so much as taken a single step when I felt a hand closing around my wrist.

“You can’t leave,” he brought out in over-exaggerated, serious voice. “The ducks will miss you and your food!”

In shock and not just a tad bit angry, I turned around and found the guy leaning forward, his face so close to mine our foreheads were almost touching. His eyes were wide, staring deep into mine while a crazed grin distorted his mouth.

For a second I froze, but then I tore myself from his grip and fled a few steps away from him.

“Freaking hell, man! The fuck’s your problem? Feed the damn ducks yourself!” I yelled at him, throwing the bag of birdseeds in front of him, and walked away.

With each step, though, I could feel his eyes digging into my back. As much as I told myself it was my imagination, I couldn’t help but turn around. He was still standing there, still staring after me, and hadn’t even touched the bag of birdseeds.

Just keep walking and ignore him, I told myself, but I couldn’t help but turn around again and again.

He still hadn’t moved, not an inch.

Only when I was out of sight was I able to calm down. Freaking hell. That’s it, no more park for me.

I’d thought this was the end, but it should only be the beginning.

A week after my last walk through the park, I found a picture of a duck in my mail box.

I couldn’t help but frown and the first thing that came to my mind was the crazy man from the park. But he didn’t even know where I lived. No, it had to be a coincidence. Maybe it was a neighbor’s idea of a joke or it was some sort of marketing campaign, I reasoned. And yet, as I stared at it, at the picture of a normal freaking duck, I couldn’t help but grow more anxious.

My eyes wandered up and down the street in front of my apartment building, but I saw no one.

A few days later, after I got up in the morning and went to have a smoke, I found my balcony covered in birdseeds.

I was back inside in an instant, throwing the balcony door behind me. This was no coincidence anymore! That’s the reason I originally didn’t want an apartment on the ground floor!

When I found a note taped to my front door stating the ducks were hungry, I had it. Enough was enough. The moment I’d fled back inside, I called the police.

I told them about the entire thing. The strange run-ins at the park, the weird way the guy had stared at me, and the continued stalking.

They eyed me curiously, but from their faces I knew what they were going to say.

‘There’s nothing we can do at the moment, but we’ll keep our eyes open.’

Well, thanks for nothing!

In the days to come, more pictures of ducks and other, weirder things flooded my mailbox. One morning I pulled out what had to be dozens of duck feathers, the other day I found a coupon for a special sale at the pet store.

Every single time I found one of the guy’s little presents inside, I threw them away. It was clear he wanted to get a reaction out of me and so I told myself not to let this shit get to me.

What got to me was the dead duck I found on my balcony a few days later. Next to it, I found another one of his notes.

‘This happens when you aren’t taking care of them.’

Stupid pictures and weird messages are one thing, but dead animals, animals he’d probably killed himself, are an entirely different story.

This time the police took my story seriously and told me they’d station someone near my apartment building and would be on the lookout for anyone acting crazy nearby.

With that, I thought the issue was settled and for an entire week, no weird messages or other things found their way to my mailbox or apartment.

Then, one evening, while I was watching a movie, I was distracted by strange sounds. At first I thought it was one of my older neighbors, but when I turned the movie down, I could’ve sworn it sounded like the quacking of a duck.

A cold shower went down my spine. What the hell?

Right away, I rushed to the balcony to check if the guy had thrown a live duck on it, but there was nothing out there.

When I listened again, though, I could still hear it. It was quiet and muffled. For a moment my eyes darted through my apartment, but eventually I could pinpoint it. Outside, in the hallway.

As quietly as I could, I tiptoed to my front door and checked the spyglass. Instead of the hallway or some crazy guy, all I saw was a picture of a duck that had been plastered over it.

This time my fear was pushed aside by anger. I don’t know what this guy’s problem was, but I’d had it!

I ripped open my door to see if he was still nearby. At that moment, all my anger evaporated and was replaced by surprise and confusion.

I found myself face to face with the crazy guy from the park, but he was wearing a freaking duck costume.

The moment he saw me, he quacked again and flapped his fake wings before he charged at me.

“What the absolute-?” was all I could bring out before he crashed into me.

I was thrown back, and all the air was driven from my lungs. For a moment, dark spots appeared in front of my eyes. Then he was upon me, beating me with his fake wings in a seemingly boundless rage.

“Did you know male ducks are notoriously aggressive, forcing themselves on females violently?” he screamed while he hit me with the fake wings again and again.

I cursed in pain and brought my arms up to protect myself from his assault.

Then, for a moment, he stopped, had to catch his breath, and I pushed him away and retreated to the back of my apartment.

Behind me, he began quacking again, flapping his wings and prepared for another assault.

By then, I’d gotten hold of an empty glass bottle, staring him dead in the eye.

“Get the fuck out of here, or I swear, I’m going to,” I started, but broke up when the crotch area of his costume popped open.

What the fuck was he doing now? Was he going to take out his…?

My thoughts were cut off by what I saw. It was madness, pure and utter madness.

“Did you know male ducks have corkscrew penises that can spring from their bodies in the blink of an eye?” he screamed at me.

At first I thought he’d taken out his penis, that he’d undressed and was some freak of nature, but then I realized it was some sort of machination that was part of the costume.

In the half-light of the apartment I stared at the corkscrew that was dangling from it, dangling from between his legs.

“THE DUCKMAN COMETH!” the guy screamed, thrusting his hips forward, and a moment later, the corkscrew shot out from between his legs.

I threw myself aside, barely dodging the strange contraption that I now realized hat to be some sort of rope gun.

Having missed his attack, he quacked again, angry now, his face contorted by a mad rage. This time, however, I was faster. When he charged me again, flapping his wings, I brought the glass bottle down on his head with all the force I could muster.

The guy staggered, still grinning.

“Did you know ducks,” he mumbled before he tumbled over.

For long seconds, I stood there, staring at his unconscious body, trying to fathom what had just happened.

It wasn’t long before the police stormed into my apartment. Some of my neighbors had heard the commotion and had informed them.

Thankfully, they remembered what I’d told them before and when I explained what had happened, they were quick to apprehend the guy.

I’m still waiting for information on what was wrong with this guy.

One thing’s for sure, however, I can never look at ducks the same way again and I never want to hear anything about corkscrew penises ever again.

Who’d ever be afraid of postcards?

After all, it’s nothing but paper, right?

That’s how I’d have reacted if you’d asked me that question about a month or two ago.

It all started back in April. I’d just returned from the grocery store and checked my mail. I do it less than frequently. The only thing that ever finds its way there are fliers, random advertisement or the occasional bill.

That day though, as I stood in front of the big outdoor mailboxes of my apartment building, there was something else. Amongst a handful of fliers that had accumulated over the past week and a half, I also found a postcard.

After I’d crumbled up the annoying advertisements, I checked the postcard. Its front showed a pair of cute kittens and a ball of yarn.

When I turned it around, wondering who it was from, I found a postal stamp, my address written in fine letters, but no message. At least I thought so until I saw a single smiley face drawn where one would usually find a message.

I stared at the card for a bit, more amused than confused, wondering who’d sent it.

Without thinking much, I pocketed it and went inside. After I’d put away my groceries, I added it to a small bulletin board in my hallway where I’d put up all the postcards I’d received from friends and family over the years.

I’d forgotten it soon enough, if not for another one that arrived a week later.

This time the motif was a sprawling forest with the sun rising in the distance. When I turned it around, it was the same thing. A stamp, my name and address, and another silly little smiley face.

“What the hell?” I brought out before I shrugged. Back inside, I pinned it to the bulletin board and went on with my day.

A few days later, another two postcards arrived. One showed a couple of balloons flying through the air, the other what I assumed to be an important historical building. Once again, neither of them contained a message. Instead, both of them showed the same lonely smiley face.

By now, I couldn’t help but frown. This was getting creepy.

This time I didn’t bother to put the cards up on the board. In the trash they went, without a moment’s hesitation.

And yet, I couldn’t help but wonder what was up with this. Why’d anyone sent me those cards? Why not add a message instead of that stupid smiley face? Was this supposed to be a joke?

I didn’t find any answers to my questions, but the next time I checked my mailbox, I found another batch of postcards inside.

They depicted random motifs, were all addressed to me, and each one sprouted another smiley face.

This time, I wasn’t confused or puzzled. This time I was getting angry. Who the hell was sending them? In my anger, I tore them to pieces right then and there and grumbled up the remains.

Then I stopped and looked around to see if the perpetrator was nearby. Maybe this was all someone’s elaborate joke to see how a random person would react to something like this?

Then I shook my head. It wouldn’t do me any good to grow paranoid about a couple of silly postcards. And they all had a postal stamp, so they’d arrived via mail, anyway.

And yet, the next day, I found myself in front of the mailboxes again, checking it even though I told myself to not let it go to my head. But wouldn’t you know it, I found another one. The same was true for the next day and the day after. Each day, a new, cute little postcard arrived, address to me and sprouting another random smiley face.

Who the hell was doing this? Those cards, the shipping, it all cost money, didn’t it?

That’s when I wondered who it could be. I didn’t exactly have friends and what few old ones I had I hadn’t talked to in years. The next thing that came to mind were past relationships, but I hadn’t dated anyone in years. The only nasty break-up I could think of was with Lin, and that had been almost a decade ago. No, as much as I racked my brain, no one came to mind.

I went online, asked about it on Reddit and other similar sites, but most of the answers I got were silly jokes. What few serious replies I got suggested it might be some sort of marketing campaign, a social experiment or someone tricking random people to see how they’d react.

Great, that didn’t help me one bit. So much for the information age.

Each day, I thought about the damned cards more and more and each day new cards arrived.

Eventually, on my way to the grocery store, I ran into the mailman who’d just started on his delivery on our block.

“Hello, excuse me, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

The man turned to me and gave me a puzzled look before he nodded.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Well, for the past weeks, I’ve been getting those weird postcards in the mail. Do you by any chance know something about it? Maybe other people receive them too and I was wondering if there’s some sort of, you know, promotion or something.”

For a moment, he stared at me again.

“Haven’t heard of anything like it.”

“Yeah, but those damned cards keep arriving. By now it’s two or three a day and I was wondering,” my voice trailed off.

“They are like, landscapes, animals, greeting cards, anything basically.”

“All right,” he brought out in a strangely suspicious voice. “Do you live here?”

“Ah, down the road, in number sixty-eight.”

“Tell you what, buddy, I’ve no clue if I delivered any postcards, there’s a ton of mail and even more mailboxes. I’ll keep my eyes open though.”

“Thanks.”

From the way he held my gaze, I knew he wasn’t doing anything like keeping his eyes open. No, I could tell he was uncomfortable about the entire thing and just wanted to get over with. I sighed, nodded, and went on my way.

The next morning, while I put on some coffee, the same curiosity overcame me again. I put on my shoes and made my way outside. Wouldn’t you know it, another pair of postcards had found its way into my mailbox.

In an onset of fury, I tore them apart, cursing to myself, and threw their remains down in front of the mailboxes.

Once done, I found one of my neighbors, an old woman walking her dog, staring at me, a worried expression on her face.

“Ah, sorry,” I mumbled, more to myself than to her, before I hurried back inside.

Great, fucking great. If this continued, I’d be known as the local crazy guy in no time. But really, what the hell was up with those cards?

I had talked to the mailman, of course, but by that point he hadn’t been at my building yet. And he probably didn’t give a shit about a random guy pestering him about postcards. No, if anything, I had to talk to him right here, while he was delivering the damned things.

Yesterday I’d met him at about one in the afternoon. So he’d probably be back shortly after noon.

I tried my best to distract myself with my work, but I soon couldn’t concentrate on it anymore. Instead, I found myself sitting at the kitchen window, watching the street and mailboxes outside, waiting for his arrival.

I sat there for more than an hour, busying myself on my phone, when I noticed the bright-yellow delivery car. In an instant, I jumped up, put on my shoes, and dashed outside.

When I’d made it, he was rummaging through the back of his car, sorting through letters and parcels. Then he made his way to my building with a stack of them in his hands. The moment he noticed standing by the mailboxes, he gave me an awkward smile.

Shit, I told myself, now I’m the guy who’s stalking the mailman.

He gave me a friendly nod, trying his best to ignore me, but every so often his eyes wandered back to me. The way I watched him clearly unsettled him. Shit, I had to do something about this situation.

“Sorry about that,” I brought out, stepping up to him.

He gave me a half-questioning, half-scared look.

“You probably think I’m a nutcase but,” I broke up and couldn’t help but laugh. “All right, shit, now you definitely think I’m a nutcase.”

He joined my laughter, but his had an awkward, hollow sound to it.

“So about the postcards,” I started, but he raised his hand to cut me off.

He went through the stack of letters right in front of me, showing me one after another and then the three parcels.

“Nope, no postcards, same as yesterday,” he eventually said.

“Yesterday?”

“Yeah, when you asked me.”

“Motherfucker,” I brought out.

He gave me another curious glance as he pushed letter after letter into their corresponding mailboxes.

“Sorry, not you. It’s just, I found another batch this morning, so I thought maybe today there were more of them.”

“Well, as you can see,” he said, shrugging.

“Yeah, all good. I’m just trying to figure out who’s sending the damned things,” I said, giving him a little smile.

He gave me another curt nod before he hurried back to his car.

All right, if those things weren’t delivered by the postal service…

And so the biggest question on my mind changed from why to who and especially when.

For a moment, the strangest feeling came over me as I watched the mailman at his car and opened my mailbox again. Maybe he was fucking with me and hadn’t shown them. But when I stared into my mailbox, it was empty.

Back inside, I hatched a plan. They were there every morning, and the mailman didn’t deliver them, so someone else had to be behind it. I mean, they couldn’t just appear there out of thin air. So if I just waited by the kitchen window and watched the damned mailboxes, I should catch the perpetrator.

I found myself an interesting podcast, sat down by the window, and began my watch.

I sat there all afternoon, but all I saw were neighbors checking their mail. None of them touched my mailbox at all. When the sun set, I prepared myself a can of coffee.

When night fell, I was about to turn on the light, but then remembered what I was doing. Whoever was behind this would see me in the window and would just sit tonight out. Hell, maybe they’d already seen me and decided to leave things alone for today.

Shit.

Still, I had told myself I’d catch the one responsible for this and that I’d watch the damned mailboxes.

And yet, slowly, ever so slowly, hour after hour passed. Soon enough it was midnight, then one in the morning. At two, I grew tired and downed yet another cup of coffee. At half-past three, I almost nodded off.

I slapped myself across the face, downed another cup of strong coffee, and turned the podcast a few notches louder until it sounded like someone was screaming into my ear.

Eventually, morning came, and the sun dawned. I sat there, tired, exhausted, but most of all, discouraged. No one had shown up, no one at all.

For a moment, I couldn’t help but laugh. What the hell was I doing? Why was I sitting here all night just because of a bunch of stupid postcards?

And yet, I kept sitting there, watching the mailboxes for another hour and then another. Somehow, I couldn’t stop. It felt like the moment I’d step away from the window, someone would rush to the mailbox, put the cards in and dash away.

Then I started to think. What if they were waiting for exactly that? What if someone had seen me by the window and was waiting for me to give up, to falter?

My apartment was on the ground floor. I’d be out at the mailboxes within moments. If I was fast enough, maybe I could catch them red-handed.

For a moment I scanned the area nearby, the street and the sidewalk, the bushes and trees, but I saw no one.

Still, just to be sure, just so I wouldn’t miss a thing, I put my phone up near the window where it couldn’t easily be seen. Then I made sure it was pointed at the mailboxes and started a recording.

Once I was sure everything worked, I stepped away from the window. I put on my shoes, grabbed my keys and hurried outside to the mailbox.

I was all alone. My eyes darted around for movement, trying to see if anyone was nearby or hurrying away. All was as quiet as it could be. No one was nearby.

Then I walked up to my mailbox.

My fingers were sweaty as I put in the key and my hand was shaking slightly as I turned it.

It had to be empty, I told myself, it had to be.

But the moment the small mailbox opened up, I could already see them, three postcards. Cute kittens and puppies stared at me from each one. When I turned them around, I saw the postal stamp, saw my address and name and of course the damned smiley faces.

As they stared at me, I felt almost as if they were laughing at me, mocking me. Had someone actually made it to the mailbox in the few moments it took me to get here?

In an instant, another surge of rage came over me and I shredded the damned things. Then I made my way back inside and hurried to the kitchen.

The phone was still pointing at the mailboxes, still recording.

I was filled with the strangest sense of glee, of curiosity as I replayed the recording.

I brought the phone as close to my face as I could, gazing at it. The recording began, showing me the lonely mailboxes.

“Now, where are you, asshole?” I wondered as I continued watching.

Second after second passed with no one showing up, with nothing moving.

Then I saw something and at first I thought I’d caught the damned asshole playing tricks on me before I realized it was me walking up to my mailbox. I watched as I looked around, as I took out the key and opened it and eventually tore up the postcards.

In frustration, I dropped my phone onto the kitchen table and laughed.

How the hell had someone put those damned cards inside? I had seen no one!

Then I wondered if someone had dropped them in before I’d started watching the window. There had been a few minutes after my talk with the mailman. Hell, what if I had actually nodded off and hadn’t noticed it?

What if the damned mailman was behind it? Maybe that asshole pretended not to know anything and the moment I’d left him, he ran back to my mailbox and put the damned cards in? What if…

All right, stop. This is getting ridiculous. You’re sounding like a crazy person. Hell, you’ve acted like a crazy person. This entire ‘let’s watch the mailboxes all night long’ thing was crazy enough.

I rubbed my temples and shook my head. Shit, I was exhausted and all that for nothing.

The moment I fell into my bed I was deep asleep.

After that day, I made it a conscious effort to ignore whatever was going on here. Who knows, maybe that person did it all to get a reaction out of me. Maybe they were watching me, and maybe they’d seen me tearing up postcards and talking to the mailman. Maybe if I stopped caring they’d tire of their antics?

Either way, I told myself I’d better things to do than to worry about freaking postcards.

Still, whenever I was in the kitchen, I found myself at the window, staring down at the mailbox for a little while before I moved on.

I checked my mail occasionally. When I went to the grocery store or when I returned from an evening walk. Every single time, I found postcards inside and every single time there were more of them. They had to arrive in droves by now. At one point, I pulled out over three dozen of them.

It was the strangest thing, dumbfounding even, but I forced myself not to show a reaction. I wouldn’t give whoever was doing this any sort of satisfaction. No, I took out the postcards, closed my mailbox and went inside where I discarded them.

It was about a week later that my doorbell rang in the late afternoon. When I answered it, one of my neighbors was outside.

“I guess those are for you, aren’t they?” he brought out in a slightly annoyed tone when I opened the door.

I stared at him and then at the stack of postcards in his hand. My eyes grew wide, and I almost cringed back.

“Wait, what? No, those aren’t mine, they are,” I broke up, shaking my head.

“Look, no, those aren’t mine, they are-“

“But that’s your name on them, isn’t it? Right here, on every single one of them,” the man cut me off, his voice now more annoyed.

“Yes, I know, but-“

“Then how about you take them off me?”

“I… fuck, all right!”

With that, I ripped the stack of postcards from his hands.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to be a bit friendlier,” he brought out, staring at me.

At first I was about to retort something. To tell him to go fuck himself. But then I told myself to calm down. The guy probably brought them here because he thought the mailman had messed up. He was just trying to be a good neighbor in his own way.

“All right, I’m sorry,” I brought out. “Look, there’s something odd about those postcards.”

The guy’s face didn’t change. Instead, he kept staring at me.

“Someone’s been dumping them into my mailbox for weeks. Hell, probably for a month by now. Every day I find those stupid cards inside. Look, there’s not even a message on them! It’s all just those stupid smiley faces. I don’t know why they put them in your mailbox, but maybe they want to fuck with other people as well.”

“Who are… they?” the man asked me in a half-concerned, half-confused voice once my rant was over.

“Shit, I don’t know! The ones who are doing this, who are fucking with me, fucking with you!”

By now the man had grown apprehensive and taken a few steps away from me.

“Look, I’m not looking for any trouble,” he said, raising his hands in a defensive posture.

At that moment, I got an idea.

“Hold on, let’s go back to the mailboxes.”

“Why’d I-?” the guy started, but after a few moments of standing there confused and lost, he followed me.

After a few moments we were back outside, me standing in front of the mailboxes and him keeping a safe distance from who he thought to be a madman. After a quick turn of the key, I opened my mailbox. A flood of postcards descended upon me. The entire mailbox had been filled to the brim. The last ones had been stuffed inside with such force they’d crumbled.

“What the hell?” the man behind me brought out.

“That’s what I thought,” I reasoned. “They probably dumped the rest into another mailbox, into yours.”

“Look, if this is your idea of a joke, then-“

“What the hell kind of joke would that be? Look, there’s got to be dozens in here, maybe hundreds. Why’d I buy all those postcards just to play a joke on you?”

“Why’d anyone?”

This time, I couldn’t answer.

For a few more moments he stood there before he shook his head and left me alone with all my postcards. As I stared at the filled up mailbox, at the postcards who’d rained down on my feet, I couldn’t help but laugh.

This was insane, this was just utterly insane.

Over the course of the next days, things didn’t get better. More and more neighbors showed up at my door. The nice old lady from floor number three, a student from floor number six, and a young mother from down the hallway. Every single one of them would ring my doorbell to hand me a stack of postcards addressed to me that had accidentally been delivered to them.

As quietly and as normal as I could, I explained to them that someone was playing a trick on me. I told them to just ignore any cards addressed to me or throw them away.

They all nodded, but I could see the puzzlement on their faces, the confusion and the apprehension.

I could tell they were all wondering if this was my doing, and I was sure they considered me the local crazy guy by now.

It wasn’t long before even the mailman rang my doorbell. He told me there was a problem, and he had to speak to me for a moment.

When he saw who I was, he frowned.

“You know this is a problem, don’t you?” he asked, pointing at the mailboxes.

“What do you-?” I started but broke up.

Half of the mailboxes were stuffed with postcards.

I couldn’t help but laugh nervously, which prompted an angry glance from the mailman.

“That’s got to be hundreds… thousands,” I eventually brought out.

“Yeah, and I can’t deliver the mail, thanks to them. What are you going to do about it?”

“What am I… what?”

“Well, they are all addressed to you. This is clearly related to you!”

“But, I don’t, ugh,” I broke up in frustration.

By now, another neighbor had arrived, staring at her mailbox.

“Not again,” she brought out as she opened her mailbox and tore dozens upon dozens of crumbled up postcards from it.

As I watched, as I stared at all those stuffed mailboxes, I knew this wasn’t a prank anymore. No, something strange was going on here, something extremely strange.

I pulled out my phone and called the police. I made my report as vague as possible, telling them someone was stalking me and damaging the mailboxes at my apartment building.

When they arrived, I told them about the full situation. They listened intently, but I could see the look on their faces.

The longer I went on talking, the more angry they seemed to get.

I was quick to lead them to the mailboxes and pointed at the general chaos. Their anger dissipated almost instantly and was replaced by confusion.

“And, how long has this… whatever this is, been going on?” one of them asked while his colleague stepped up to the mailboxes.

“I guess, about a month and a half,” I started. “At first it was only a single postcard, but then more and more of them arrived, and now it’s come to this.”

The two police officers did the best to handle the entire situation professionally, but I could tell they were as perplexed as I was.

They asked me if I had any enemies, but I answered I couldn’t think of anyone. I told them I’d tried to figure out who was behind this for weeks, but I had no clue. I even told them of my nightly watch.

Eventually, one of them handed me his card with a phone number on it. They told me they’d take some postcards with them and look into it and they’d have someone to watch the nearby area.

With the police here and them taking action, I was sure this thing would finally end. Stuffing all those mailboxes had to take time, and I was sure they’d catch whoever was responsible.

The next morning, however, I found all the mailboxes in chaos again. Mine was so stuffed, I was surprised the door was still closed. Almost all other mailboxes were in a similar condition.

As I stood there, I took out my phone and called the number on the card the police officer had given me.

He answered, and I told him it had happened again. The man listened, but he couldn’t tell me much. They had someone watching the area, but so far, they hadn’t been able to see anyone suspicious.

The weird deliveries continued, and soon I wasn’t the only one in contact with the police. And yet, they never found out who was behind it, saw no one.

Even stranger, though, were the postcards themselves. None of them showed any label or a hint of a manufacturer. The same was true for the stamps.

And yet, nothing could be done and postcards kept arriving.

Before long people began pressuring the renting company. Something had to be done about this absurd situation. I knew some of them wanted me gone from the building while others wanted them to hire a mailbox security who’d watch it at all hours of the day.

The renting company, however, had a different plan. One day, they sent a maintenance team that took down the entirety of the mailboxes and simply moved them inside into the entry hallway of the building.

When I woke up the next morning, the first thing I did was to check on the mailboxes. Other people did the same thing.

I think we were all expecting them to be filled to the brim once more. Instead, everything was normal. There were no postcards with my name and silly smile faces on them anywhere.

I could see the relaxed faces of people around me, could hear them sigh in relief and talk about how it was finally over. And I couldn’t help but join in. They were still wary of me, still wondering how I’d spawned that madness, but I didn’t care.

Instead, still smiling, I went back to my apartment. I hadn’t even had coffee yet, I thought to myself.

With quick steps, I made my way towards my kitchen.

For the first time in weeks, hell, in more than a month, the world felt normal again. All I wanted right now was a nice, hot cup of coffee.

All those feelings vanished and changed the pure terror when I opened the kitchen door.

Right there, on my kitchen table and on the floor all around it, I found an uncountable number of postcards.

With a shaking hand, I picked up one of them. On it I found a postal stamp, my name and address and a stupid little smiley face.

And as I stared at it, as I stared at that silly, stupid little face, I couldn’t help but smile myself, smile and laugh about the absurdity of this entire mad situation.

Matthew awoke to an argument. It was the couple next door.

“… don’t have all we need…”

“… the special dish…”

The back of his head throbbed and each word of the barely audible conversation caused a fresh jolt of pain.

“… making me go all the way there…”

When their front door opened, Matthew opened his eyes. The dim light of the early evening sun made him squint. The pain in his head persisted. When he got to his feet, he felt weak and shaky. After a labored, painful breath, tiny dark spots appeared in front of his eyes. He fell back on the couch’s soft cushions. For long minutes he rested, but breathing was still terribly hard. His throat felt impossibly sore and the air in his apartment was dry and sticky. Fresh air, he needed fresh air. He stumbled to the window and tore it open, but instead of the fresh evening air he’d hoped for, the smell of cooking reached him. The neighbors must’ve their kitchen window open. He wrinkled his nose at the heavy, spicy aroma. With a curse, he closed the window again.

While he wondered what sort of meal they were making, he heard the husband returning from the store. He sighed, the building’s walls were too thin. He didn’t want to, but couldn’t help listening in as they talked. A fresh argument started, and he heard the old woman pleading about her special dish. Her husband grumbled in answer, and soon Matthew heard his footsteps as he set out on another trip to the store. As he sat there, rubbing his temples, he wondered if something was wrong with his head.

He pushed himself up and made his way to the kitchen. He sighed when he saw the perpetual state of chaos. The trash can was overflowing and dirty, crusted dishes filled the sink. He wondered when he’d last cleaned it, but the pain was still stabbing at his head. His hands were shaking as he he picked up a glass and filled it with cold water. Back in the living room, he considered popping an aspirin or two. Aspirin, in the back of his mind a memory began stirring, one barely out of reach.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the neighbors again. It was yet another argument. Overcome by curiosity about the weird events next door, he strained his ears.

“But it won’t be my special dish without it. Can’t you go to the store and get it?”

“Making me go all the way there this time of the day.”

Hadn’t heard this conversation before?

He wrinkled his nose as the hint of a strange smell reached him. Was it their cooking? Cursing, he went back to the window and tore it open. The moment he did, the same heavy cooking smell hit him. It was heavier now, more oppressive. The sharp spices and the strong flagrance of juniper stung in his nose and made his eyes water. He coughed, waved his hands to drive it away, but the more he fought, the stronger the smell became. He almost gagged and eventually gave up and threw the window shut again. The smell, however, had already spread through his apartment and it wasn’t helping his head at all. For a second his world began spinning, and he quickly got himself another glass of water.

He’d barely emptied it when he heard the neighbors again. The special dish. They were always talking about that special dish of hers. Their argument raged on and soon, the old man set out again. By now, he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He’d had it with their strange behavior. He threw over a jacket, put on his shoes and made his way outside.

When he stepped into the hallway, he caught a last glance of the old man before the elevator doors closed. Cursing and with quick steps, he hurried down the stairs. Once he’d reached the ground floor, he was panting, but he couldn’t see the old man. He must’ve already left the building. He saw him outside, entering the grocery store on the opposite side of the road. Mere moments later, Matthew entered the store and approached him.

“Mr. Schuster,” he greeted him.

The old man’s eyes met Matthew’s. For a few seconds he didn’t seem to recognize him.

“Ah, the young man from next door, how are you doing?”

Mr. Schuster’s speech and mannerism had a certain edge, as if certain gestures and words were too studied.

“Not bad,” Matthew brought out. “How about you, Mr. Schuster, a few last-minute purchases?”

“You know how it is, just getting a few things for the missus. She’s cooking her special dish.”

Of course, he knew. All they’d been talking about was that special dish.

“Hope you find everything you need,” he said out loud instead.

Mr. Schuster smiled at him before he continued on his way through the store. As inconspicuous as possible, Matthew trailed the old man. He’d expected Mr. Schuster to get exotic spices, or certain special ingredients he’d forgotten during his earlier trips. Instead, he picked up the most mundane of things; two packs of meat, a few carrots, a bundle of celery and a selection of herbs. While Mr. Schuster walked to the register to pay for and pack his groceries, Matthew got himself a can of coke.

“Must be one hell of a dish they are making,” he joked as he stepped up to the register.

The young cashier didn’t seem to listen. She had spaced out and was staring at nothing.

“Hey, excuse me, do you know how often that old man’s been here today?” he asked, louder, and pointed at the leaving Mr. Schuster.

Finally, the tired eyes of the young woman met his, almost as if she’d only noticed him now. Then she gave him a shrug. Her mannerism, too, was slightly off.

“Sorry, my shift just started,” she answered in a monotonous voice before she rang up his coke.

After he’d paid, Matthew hurried back to the apartment building. Mr. Schuster was gone, and the elevator was already going up. When he’d made it upstairs, he saw the old man in front of his door, fumbling with his keys. Before long, he unlocked it and shuffled inside, bag of groceries in hand.

From afar, he could hear them again. First a mumbling conversation, then another argument. Even out here, he could hear the old woman’s agitated words. The special dish, the special dish she seemed to hiss. And finally, Mr. Schuster stepped outside again and shuffled past him on his way back to the elevator.

Matthew watched in stunned silence.

By now, the air in the entire hallway was heavy with the oppressive smell of their perpetual cooking meal. He returned to his apartment and threw the door. How long had they been at it? How much of that special dish were they making? All he could remember was the first argument that had woken him. If, he realized, it had even been their first. Before that, though, there was… nothing. He couldn’t seem to remember. His head was clouded, his thoughts hazy. The throbbing was back, and he wondered if it was related to their cooking, to its smell.

In an instant, Matthew returned to the hallway and stomped to their door.

“Excuse me,” he started and gave the door a knock.

When he got no reaction, he knocked again.

“Mrs. Schuster, do you have a moment?”

When the old woman didn’t answer, he grew annoyed, angry, and pounded his fist against the door. As if to answer him, a brownish, soupy liquid leaked from below the door. He stepped back, staring at it in disgust and confusion.

“What the hell…?” he brought out.

There was no end to it. More and more leaked outside and drenched the carpeted floor of the hallway. The ding of the elevator made him jerk. Out stepped Mr. Schuster with yet another bag of groceries in his hands. The old man gave him a friendly nod before he stepped right into the puddle of soup and unlocked the door. When he opened it, more of the brownish soup spilled outward, drenching his shoes and ankles. Mr. Schuster, however, entered the apartment undeterred. Matthew stood there, mouth agape from the surreal sight, the plethora of questions he’d wanted to ask still stuck in his throat. He laughed when he heard them argue. What was going on here?

When Mr. Schuster left the apartment again, more soup surged outside, washing over the floor and splattering against the walls around it. Once more, the old man didn’t seem to care, or notice it, and his wet, squishy steps led him back to the elevator. By now, Matthew didn’t just feel anger, wasn’t just disgusted or confused. He was afraid. Something was wrong here, very wrong.

He fled to his apartment, but found the air heavy with the same oppressive smell that wafted through the hallway. The walls in his living room looked different. He reached out his hand and found the wallpaper wet and sticky. When he pulled it back, his palm was covered in grease. As he stared at it in disgust, the argument next door played out again. The old couple’s voices were more animated and strangely over-exaggerated now. When Mr. Schuster went on yet another trip, he heard more soup spilling outside and washing through the entire hallway.

Matthew threw himself on the couch and pushed his hands against his ears to drown out the sounds outside. None of this made any sense. It couldn’t be real. It had to be a dream or a mental episode, a hallucination. After only ten minutes, they were arguing again. He lay on his couch, curled into a ball, and listened to their ever-repeating argument. Each time their voices became more agitated, more distorted, and more inhumane. Suddenly, the strangest of feelings washed over him. It wasn’t so much acceptance, it was indifference. If none of this was real, then…

More than an hour had passed when Matthew left his apartment again. He gave no heed to the soup that flooded the hallway or the sudden, derelict state of the walls. Next door, Mr. Schuster, or what had been Mr. Schuster, pushed himself from the door. His body had changed, warped itself into a bloated, blob-like creature. Matthews’s eyes grew wide, and a cry escaped his mouth. He cringed back, but to his surprise, the creature didn’t pay him any notice. Instead, it shambled through the flooded, derelict hallway and entered the rusty cage which replaced the once pristine elevator. In a feverish trance and strangely fascinated by the changes, he made his way through the liquid, distorted hell of the hallway. When he entered the staircase, it had turned into a twisting spiral of creaking, worm-eaten wood.

The world outside had changed too. The road had become an upheaved crater landscape, and the buildings had contorted into grown together monstrosities of brick and mortar. He stood, staring in wondrous horror, at the waking nightmare that played out around him before he followed the shambling, bloated thing. What was once a grocery store was now a gaping, looming maw, leading underground.

The inside was a labyrinthine mess of twisted, rotten shelves filled with the most nightmarish of goods. Meat twitched and squeaked inside its packaging. Vegetables had become caricatures of themselves, and all around him the shelves were lined with creations that defied explanation. The young cashier had changed into an elongated, impossibly thin version of herself. Her head was gigantic and reached high above the highest of shelves, and her bulging eyes followed his every step as he traversed the once-store.

Matthew stared in horror as one of the squirming piece of meat crawled from its packaging and closed around his hand. When he felt the wet, sinewy flesh, it’s gentle, almost caressing touch, the trance he’d been under evaporated. Gone were the feelings of wonder and curiosity, of acceptance and indifference. If he could feel it, didn’t it mean it was no hallucination, no dream? All of this had to be… real. Fear washed over him and terror gripped his soul. In an instant, he fled from the nightmarish and distorted reality back to the apartment building.

After he’d ascended the winding, spiral staircase, he found the hallway a raging torrent of gooey soup. He had to fight himself forward as the sticky, knee-high liquid washed against his legs. He noticed things drifting past him, staring at him from half-hidden eyes and reaching out for him. Screaming, he tore them off himself, pushed open the door to his apartment and threw himself inside.

For long minutes, he was nothing but a shaking, shivering mess. Why had the world changed to… this? The phone, where was his phone? He had to call someone, anyone, had to tell them… He stopped. The phone, he remembered something about his phone.

“Never call me again, you creep! Leave me alone!”

The words reverberated in his head, mocking him. A call no, a voice message. Emotions came flooding over him, embarrassment, sadness and finally despair. Matthew felt tears coming to his eyes without knowing why.

Next door, the neighbors were screaming at one another. Their voices had become distorted and animalistic, barely resembling those of humans. And yet, he still heard it, still heard the she-beast next door growling about her special dish.

“No one cares about your special dish!” he screamed at the greasy living room wall.

Matthew stepped forward to pound his fists against it, to make his rage heard, but instead of hitting a solid surface, his fists sank into the greasy mess that had replaced it. He cringed back while the animalistic argument next door continued undeterred.

“Be quiet! Shut up!”

Other memories flooded his mind, other voices.

“Be quiet!”

“Get lost!”

“Drop dead!”

Dead.

“Oh god, no,” he pressed out when he remembered what he’d done.

His anger dissipated and was replaced by apathy. He slumped down on the couch.

Finally, Matthew remembered.

The special dish. While he’d overheard his neighbors talking about their special dish, he’d prepared one of his very own. The aspirin, he remembered. No, not just the aspirin, any medication he’d found. He’d downed it all, his very own special dish, to end his miserable life.

But then, what was this world? Was this hell? His very own private hell?

What if he was dying right now and a last surge of brain activity was replaying his final conscious moments repeatedly? Maybe this nightmarish world was nothing but a cruel, never-ending mockery of Zeno’s paradox?

He sat in his hellish apartment. An apartment filled with heavy, greasy air that made his lungs hurt and his head throb. An apartment that was slowly being flooded by the disgusting brownish soup and the horrors that populated it.

If this was caused by his brain shutting down and his memories deteriorating, would each iteration of this hellscape become worse?

And as he sat there, Matthew hoped, no prayed for only a single thing.

That this endless loop would be over and the neighbors would finally finish their special dish.

Job hunting can be tough, especially if you’re an idiot like me.

Now, I wasn’t exactly an idiot, but I didn’t have much of a qualification to do, well, anything. Even worse, my CV was riddled with blank spots, unemployment time and questionable positions.

As you can imagine, my chances in the competitive job market were pretty damn low.

The ever-lasting pandemic didn’t help. After trying my luck at finding a job for a few months, I gave up and spent my days sulking in front of Netflix.

It was my friend Robert who came to my rescue. He’d recently become a department manager at a wholesale company. After lamenting to him one evening, he told me that his department was understaffed and looking for new hires.

I was psyched, to say the least. I went to the job interview the next day with high aspirations of making it in the business world. In my mind, I already saw myself negotiating big time contracts with companies such as Mercedes or Porsche.

The moment I arrived at the office, I was already skeptical. It was a giant, old building complex, but Robert’s company was restricted to only one of its wings.

Even though I made my way inside and, after some confusion, found myself in the recruiter’s office. The man gave me a friendly smile, but I noticed his probing stare.

“Well, glad to have you here, Mr. Gerhardt. Mr. Richter already told us you’re interested in a position as a janitorial assistant. Before we start, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Janitorial… assistant?”

“Of course, I was informed that Mr. Richter already discussed the details of your position?”

He gave me a questioning look.

“Ah, yeah, he did, sorry about that,” I brought out when I’d gotten over the initial shock.

Robert, that stupid fucking Robert. He’d told me he’d become a manger, but he hadn’t told me he was a freaking facility manager!

And of course, the dumbass I was, I hadn’t even bothered of asking him or checking anything about the position.

As I answered question after question, I considered more than once to just tell the man I didn’t want to work as a freaking janitor, but did I really want to go back to living on welfare? Did I want to go back to sitting in my shitty apartment day after day doing nothing?

No, I decided, and so I went with it and did the best I could. A few days later, I was informed that I’d been officially hired as a janitorial assistant.

I stared at the letter with a mixture of proudness and disdain.

When Monday arrived, Robert greeted me right in front of the building with a big smile on his face.

“Well then, Mr. Gerhardt,” he started in a pompous voice. “It seems you’re my new assistant, so how about I show you-“

“Cut the crap man.”

“Mr. Gerhardt, I like to inform you, that behavior like this is not acceptable.”

I sighed.

“Come on man, knock it off, just show me the freaking janitor’s closet so we can get to work.”

“You mean the facility manager’s office,” he corrected me.

I groaned, but followed him inside as he led me to our ‘office.’

Needless to say, the job sucked, and working with Robert wasn’t as fun as I’d imagined.

He was, for all intents and purposes, my superior, and he made sure I knew it. Even when I confronted him about it, he told me it was all for my own good and so I’d learn the ins and outs of the job. Yeah, sure, scrubbing toilets is really hard to learn. Fuck, Robert, and fuck this job!

Still, I had to admit it didn’t feel half bad to be doing something.

It was a few days into the job when I learned of the worst part: supply deliveries.

Once a week, the company ordered office and packaging supplies in bulk. Every Wednesday morning stacks upon stacks of printing paper, printer cartridges, boxes and other packaging materials arrived.

Robert was quick to inform me it was our duty to get it all up to the second and third floor offices.

“All right, where’s the elevator?”

Robert gave me a look of misery.

“What?”

“No elevator,” he said as he picked up the first of the many boxes and made his way to the stairs.

“Hold on, what do you mean, there’s no elevator?”

He shrugged. “Guess they never saw the need to install one.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I cursed.

It took us almost all morning to bring everything up to the offices and once we were done, the only thing I felt about my legs and arms was a throbbing pain. Even worse, it was barely noon, and we still had to take care of all our regular duties.

When I fell asleep that night, I was more exhausted than I’d been in years. Even my dreams comprised nightmares about endless staircases.

I’d been working as a janitor for two months when I made a discovery that both surprised and infuriated me.

It was Friday afternoon. I’d just finished cleaning the first floor and was getting rid of some garbage when I decided to take a peak in one of the other parts of the building complex.

I walked up to a door and found that the general key actually worked.

This wing of the building had once been used by a different company, but had been abandoned a few years back.

I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, I was just curious. As I made my way through a long, winding corridor and past empty offices, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

There was an elevator here, a fucking elevator!

“You’ve got to be freaking kidding me,” I cursed.

Well, there’s no way it’s working, I thought. The power had probably been disconnected a long time ago.

When I pressed the button, however, there was a loud ding, and the doors opened. I don’t know what I’d expected, but the elevator looked normal and in working condition.

I scanned the outside, then the inside, but there was no warning sign or anything. For all I knew, this building had a freaking elevator after all, and we’d been carrying boxes up the fucking stairs every single week.

After my discovery, I made my way back to the janitor’s closet to tell Robert about my findings.

I walked up to him and confronted him about the elevator, but he just started at me as if I was an idiot.

“What elevator?”

Instead of answering, I dragged him with me to the abandoned wing of the building and showed him what I’d found.

Robert looked at the elevator, then at me, and then shrugged.

“What’s the big deal? I bet it’s busted, anyway.”

Saying nothing, I pressed the button. The elevator’s doors opened with a ding.

“It’s probably busted anyway,” I imitated him.

“Fine, all right, it’s working. What’s the big deal?”

I sighed in frustration.

“Wednesday? The freaking supplies? Aren’t you tired of carrying that shit up the stairs every week?”

“Oh yeah, that’s actually not a bad idea. You’re smarter than you look!”

And you’re even dumber than you look, I added in my mind.

“So, you want to try it?” I asked.

Robert seemed apprehensive.

“You sure this is safe? We don’t know how long it’s been since this thing last moved.”

“Well, what’s the worst that can happen?” I asked.

“Only that we’ll crash down and die?”

“We’re at the ground floor anyway,” I said with a shrug and entered.

The elevator made no sound, the lights didn’t flicker, and all seemed normal.

“Come on, man.”

Robert stared at the elevator for another second before he joined me.

“I swear, if I die in here, I’ll freaking kill you!”

“That doesn’t even make sense!” I retorted.

“Hey, what’s up with all those numbers?” he asked, standing in front of the control panel.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s only three floors in this building. Why the hell does this thing go up to seven?”

I stepped up to him and couldn’t help but frown when I saw the various numbers and buttons.

“Might be a standard issue thing and they forgot to detach the other numbers?” I reasoned.

“Seen nothing like it,” Robert said. “Shit’s weird.”

“Sure is,” I said before I hit the number three.

The elevator went up with no problem, and we soon found ourselves on the building complex’s third floor. After we’d made sure a route to our company’s offices existed, we made our way back to the elevator.

As we entered, Robert eyed the various buttons curiously before he shrugged and hit the one labeled six.

“It won’t do a damn,” I started, but to my surprise, the elevator doors closed.

Soon after, it started to… ascend.

“Dude, what the fuck’s going on?”

Robert turned to me, looking at me in confusion.

“Haven’t gotten the slightest clue.”

“We both watched, as the elevator went up to floor number four, then five.

“Now many floors does-“

“Three!” Robert burst out, not even waiting for me to finish my question.

“So how the hell are we on our way to-?”

I was cut off when the elevator came to a rest and a loud ding announced that we’d made it to the building’s non-existent fifth floor.

When the doors opened, we found ourselves in an office, but it looked different from the rest of the building. The layout made no sense.

A giant, endless hallway spread out in front of us, one so long it wouldn’t even fit in the building.

There was an eerie atmosphere about it and a strange smell reached us. It was a mixture of sweat and an oppressively sweet odor.

As I looked down the hallway, my eyes hurt. The dimensions of this hallway made no sense. The same was true for the office doors.

It looked as if someone who’d never seen an office had tried to build one and had gotten it almost right, but at the same time, entirely wrong.

Suddenly, a muffled voice reached our ears. It was strangely high-pitched and indistinguishable. Robert almost jumped at the control panel and hit the button for the ground floor.

With each passing second, the voice grew louder and I could soon make out shuffling movements at one of the office doors in the distant. A twisted shadow pushed itself outside and began moving in our direction.

“Fucking close it already!” I cursed at Robert.

I shoved him aside and began hitting the button to close the doors repeatedly. Finally, with a ding, they closed.

“Freaking hell man, what the fuck was that?” Robert called out to me.

I slumped to the floor next to him and could only shake my head.

“No clue man, let’s just get the fuck out of this thing and never-“

My voice broke up as the elevator came to a halt on floor number five.

My eyes grew wide when the doors of the elevator opened.

This time there was no office. This time the only thing I saw was the grinning face of a man. It was so close to the doors, he must’ve pressed it against them.

This guy looked wrong. His eyes were wide open, his face comically long, and his smile was impossibly wide.

“A little room, friend?” he asked.

For a moment, I couldn’t do anything. I sat there on the floor, staring at the nightmarish figure in front of me.

With each passing second, his eyes grew wider and his smile seemed to grow bigger.

Then he pushed long, dangling arms into the elevator and saw him raise hands that were too bigger than any I’d ever seen. Their fingers were long and emaciated. He spread them out, pushing them towards me, and was about to touch my shoulders.

Almost by instinct, I pushed myself to my feet and retreated.

“Ah, yes, of course,” I stammered as I pushed myself against the back of the elevator.

The man was still staring at me as he pushed his lanky body into the elevator. He was wearing a tight suit, and I realized only now that he was hunched over. If he’d stand up straight, he’d be far taller than either of us, far taller than any normal person.

Once he’d entered, he turned his massive back to me and just… stood there in front of me, not doing anything.

In the back of the elevator, I clenched my mouth shut. In my mind I screamed at myself not to move, not to do a thing. For a second, I considered throwing myself at the man, pushing him outside. But after seeing how tall he was, after seeing those huge hands and his ghastly wide mouth, I just couldn’t move.

Eventually, Robert, who’d stood frozen in the corner next to the control panel, had enough. He reached out a shaking hand and was about to push the button to close the doors.

Before he could, though, one of the man’s giant hands shot forward and closed around Robert’s wrist.

He gave a terrified yelp, and I saw him pull back, trying to free himself. Yet, the man didn’t let go. Instead, he slowly turned his face towards Robert.

“I must insist, friend,” the man said, bringing his face ever closer to Robert before he pressed the button himself.

“Please, I don’t,” Robert started, but within a moment the man pushed his face so close to Robert’s they almost touched.

“Did you say anything, friend?” he asked.

And in that moment, his lips retreated, revealing rows of huge, misshapen teeth.

In the back of the elevator, I pushed myself as far away as I could. The man’s head, I saw now, was almost twice the size of Robert’s and for a moment I thought he’d attack him, tear him apart or bite his head off. And Robert, he just stood there, shaking in fear, his eyes closed. As the elevator descended, the only sound was that of Robert’s bladder emptying.

After what felt like an eternity, we arrived on the ground floor. The man was still grinning, but finally let go of Robert’s wrist.

His face turned from Robert to me before he spoke again.

“Thank you, friends, without you, I’d have never made it out of there.”

And with that he gave us the briefest of bows, stepped out of the elevator and skipped away down the hallway and eventually into the outside world.

As I stood there, I stared after him. His movement, his gait, his size. Nothing about him was normal. His legs moved jerkily, as if they had too many joints in them, and for the first time, I saw how long his neck was.

No, whatever was below that suit, it was no man, it wasn’t human at all.

And as I stood there, as I heard Robert slump down into a puddle of his own piss, I realized the most important thing.

It wasn’t what this thing was or where it had come from.

No, it was that thanks to us, it had been released into the world.

You know those nights, don’t you? The ones when life gets a bit too real and when you can’t sleep because your head’s heavy with questions.

What’s the meaning of life?

What am I even doing here?

Where do I want to be in ten years?

Yeah, those.

With a sigh, I lit a cigarette and leaned out my window, staring at the dark night sky. I drew on the cigarette, still deep in thought.

The dorms were all but quiet, and it seemed every other student was fast asleep. For a moment I was ashamed of myself. What was I even doing? I should be asleep as well. I had a math lecture in about four hours and here I was staring out into the night.

Well, not like it really mattered. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d miss that lecture, and it wasn’t like I’d miraculously understand differential equations of a higher order.

In sudden frustration I stumped out the cigarette, flipped the butt outside and was about to close the window again.

Suddenly, a quiet voice reached my ears.

“Hey.”

“What the hell?” I brought out, straining my eyes to find the one whispering, but there was no one out there.

“Over here,” I heard the voice whisper again.

Leaning outside, I turned left, then right to find a dark figure pushing against the wall mere meters away from me.

“Fucking,” I cursed in shock.

“Can you help me?” the voice asked. It was as quiet as before, nothing more than a whisper, but now I noticed it as distinctly female.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m lost,” came the answer.

I couldn’t help but laugh a little. How in the hell did you get lost on campus? She’d probably been out partying and was too high or too drunk to find her way home.

“Where are you trying to go?”

For a few seconds, there was nothing but silence.

“The dorms,” she finally answered.

“Which one?”

Another long pause.

“I, I’m not sure,” she pressed out.

Well, isn’t that great?

“Hold on,” I said.

I threw on my jacket, put on my shoes and made my way outside. It was dark, and it took me a while to see her. She was still in the same place, nothing but a shadow huddled against the wall.

“Yo,” I brought out as a little greeting. “So you’re trying to find your dorm, but got no clue where to go?”

A nod.

“Well, since you’re here, it must be one around campus, right?”

Another nod.

In the dark, I couldn’t see much of her. All I could see was shaggy, wild hair and a mousy face wearing thick spectacles. I’d thought she’d been out partying, but I could somehow tell that this girl was no party girl.

“What happened? How did you get lost?”

She stared first at me, then out into the dark. Her mouth opened, then closed again. For a moment, something was strange about her, about her face.

“All right, listen, I can help you find your dorm, but you’ve got to talk to me.”

“I don’t know,” she finally brought out. “I don’t know what happened.”

For a moment she was about to add something else, but then she shook her head. I gasped. Even in the dark, I saw how strange her head moved, how her neck jerked from side to side.

Shit, what the hell was wrong with her?

“Are you all right? Are you hurt? Want me to call an ambulance? Maybe you fell and,” but I broke up when she repeated the same motion again.

“No. No, I’m all right, I think. I just want to get home.”

“Well,” I started, thinking about what to do and how to help her. “There are only a couple of different dorms around campus.”

I had nothing else to do, and I sure as hell couldn’t sleep.

“All right, how about we walk to each one of them until we find yours, how’s that sound?” I finally suggested.

For a moment she seemed unsure before she gave me a weak nod and pushed herself from the wall she’d been huddled against.

In the night’s dark, I’d only been able to see her hair and her face. Now, as she moved, as she pushed her body forward, my eyes grew wide. There was indeed something wrong with her, entirely wrong.

A pair of dangly arms stretched out from her body. They were too long, way too long, and a second later they came to rest in front of her. Then another pair pushed forward and her body was lifted from the ground. Not arms, I realized, legs, two pairs of long, dangly legs.

I stumbled back, fell to the floor at the sight of the apparition in front of me. Her body was thin, but tall, way too tall, and I realized she must’ve been crouching near the wall.

As she stretched herself, I saw an elongated neck.

A short, high-pitched scream escaped my mouth.

“What’s the matter,” the thing brought out.

Her neck jerked into my direction and long spidery fingers reached out to me.

I threw myself backward, crawled away in shock.

“No! Go away! Go away!” I screamed at the thing.

For a moment its eyes met mine. I’d expected them to be hungry, to be wild, but they were filled with nothing but confusion.

We both froze, both staring at each other.

Then a light from one of the dorm rooms above flooded us.

In an instant, the creature’s hand jerked back. Its eyes grew wide, filled with shock and terror.

“Not right, this is not right,” the creature brought out, retreating from me.

Its voice was louder now, and for the first time I could hear how different it was. It was inhumane, distorted, almost gurgling.

“Not right,” the creature brought out once more.

Its mouth opened, unhinged like that of a snake, and an inhumane shriek, full of misery, cut through the night. A second later, the thing rushed away and vanished into the darkness.

I was left alone in the grass in front of the dorm building. Behind me, more lights were turned on, windows were being opened and angry voices called out at me to be quiet.

But I didn’t react, I couldn’t

Instead, I just sat there, staring out into the night with yet another question on my mind.

Bringing a hot girl to my dorm room was not something I ever expected would happen to me. I’m not the popular type, never was. Hell, I’m a freaking nerd!

Making out, however, felt great. Her lips were so soft, her kiss sensual, but domineering. She pushed me onto the bad hard, and I felt her heavy breasts on my chest.

For a moment, I tried to move so she wouldn’t feel how excited I was, but she merely giggled and pushed me down harder.

We continued, our tongues entangled before she moved back to take off her shirt and bra. Seconds later she was entirely naked.

When I sat there, ogling her body, she giggled again.

“Get naked,” she whispered into my bear, slightly biting my earlobe.

“Y-yeah,” I answered in an excited, almost shrill voice.

I tried to pull off my shirt so quickly, I almost entangled my arms. Then I tore down my pants.

“Come here,” she whispered, bidding me forward to join her in bed.

All right, condoms, where are my condoms?

“H-hold on,” I brought out, turned around and rummaged through my cupboard. I pushed around all the useless clutter that had accumulated over the course of multiple semesters, but the tiny pack of rubbers was nowhere to be found.

Shit, shit, shit, where the hell are they?

“Dammit,” I cursed up.

“What’s going on, lover boy?” she asked laughing.

“Condoms,” I brought out. “I knew I had some, but,” my voice trailed off before I got an idea. I didn’t like it very much, but…

In mere seconds, I’d put my clothes back on and rushed for the door.

“All right, hold on a second,” I blurted out, holding up my arms, bidding her to stay in bed.

“I’ll be right back!”

“Don’t take too long, lover boy,” she joked, while playing with a lock of her hair, giving me a seductive smile.

Shit, for a moment I wanted nothing more than to go for it, but then I left the room and raced through our small three-room apartment.

I could hear my roommates, Rick and Barry, already. The two of them were still sitting in the kitchen, each holding a beer in their hands.

They stared at me, puzzled, before their faces turned to glee.

“What’s the matter, Jake, did she run away?” Barry asked.

“Couldn’t get it up?” Rick joined in.

“What? No, it’s not that, she’s waiting. Do you guys, eh, have any condoms? I can’t find mine so,” my voice trailed off.

I stared at them expectantly, but for a few moments there was nothing but awkward silence. Then they both burst out laughing.

“Holy shit, dude, what?” Barry pressed out, sprouting beer from his mouth.

“Sorry, bro, I’m all out. Used them all up the other week,” Rick added, laughing himself.

“Fuck, come on, guys, she’s already naked and-“

“Should’ve thought about that before you took her home.”

“Shit! You know what? Fuck you guys!”

With their laughter trailing after me, I hurried to the front door. I threw on my shoes and was out a moment later. The late night store at the edge of campus, I was sure they sold some!

As I hurried past the dorm buildings up to campus, I couldn’t stop cursing about Rick and Barry.

Why’d they have to be such fucking dicks all day, every day!?

Even earlier today, they acted like total fucking assholes. While I was busy working on a project due in two weeks, they kept pestering me all evening.

“Whatcha doing there, Jake?”

“You working on your project on Saturday evening?”

“Why are you such a fucking nerd?”

Yeah right, I thought, not everyone’s got mommy and daddy paying for their tuition. No, some of us had to actually worry about their grades and rely on scholarships.

Yet, even after I told them I had to finish this, they didn’t leave up. They barged into my room repeatedly, annoyed me, and kept pestering me to join them on their night out. I knew damn well, they only took me along to use me as a wingman when hitting on girls.

I hate to say it though, but I eventually told them I’d come along. The condition was that they’d leave me alone all of next week, though. Of course they agreed, and of course I knew they didn’t mean any of it.

“Come on, dickweed, we’re going to be late!” Barry called out to me as I put on my shoes. With a sigh, I got myself a beer from the fridge and hurried after them.

On the subway they talked their usual talk. Parties, drinking and girls, girls, girls. Every once in a while, they pestered me about my experience with girls before they both started throwing around the word ‘virgin’ and high-fiving each other.

God, why had I come along again?

It wasn’t long before we found ourselves in the middle of a crowded club. The music was a mixture of shitty pop and over-tuned EDM. I hated it already.

Barry and Rick were right in their element, though, mingling on the dancefloor and hitting on girls.

I watched them for a bit before I propped down at the bar and ordered another beer. As I sat there, beer in hand, I couldn’t help but sigh. Once more I wondered why I put up with their antics.

“Bad night?” a voice spoke up from my right.

“Nah, it’s just,” I started but broke up when I saw the woman sitting next to me.

To say she was gorgeous would be an understatement.

For a few moments, I couldn’t help but stare at her. She giggled before she took a sip of her drink.

“You came here all by yourself?” she asked.

“Ah, no, I’m here with my, well, friends,” I brought out, “but they left me.”

She’d noticed how I’d mumbled the word ‘friends’ and eyed me curiously.

“Doesn’t sound like you’re too fond of those friends of yours,” she whispered conspiratorially.

I couldn’t help but sigh before I agreed with her. When I asked her what brought her to a club like this, she laughed and told me she liked to mingle, at least at times. We continued chatting, her talking all sensual and seductive while I was my usual awkward self.

It wasn’t long before my ‘friends’ noticed my new companion and joined us.

They plopped down to our right and left and outdid themselves in their attempts at charming her and excluding me from the conversation.

“You know, boys,” she started, “I’m talking to your friend here.”

With that, she put her hand on my leg and inched closer towards me, pushing herself against my body.

Rick and Barry’s jaws dropped at exactly the same time. For a while they kept up their spiel before they went on their search for easier prey.

“My, oh my, those two are something else,” she said amused, trailing after them.

It wasn’t long before she whispered sweet nothings into my ear and asked me if I’d like to get to a more intimate location.

With my head on standby, I blurted out that my dorm was a mere fifteen minutes away by subway. I regretted it instantly, thinking of my cluttered and cramped dorm room, but to my surprise she took me up on the offer.

Yet, it wasn’t so much my room that had me worried, it was Rick and Barry.

For a while now, the two of them had kept watching us. I knew it must’ve stung that I’d ‘gotten a girl’ while the two of them hadn’t ‘conquered’ any of their own.

The moment we went to leave, the two of them hurried along, clearly intent of ruining things for me.

While we were on the subway, they tried once more to impress the nameless beauty next to me, but she didn’t give them any attention.

The moment we’d made it back, she pushed me into my room, the room she was still waiting in.

And now, I wasn’t in that fuck room fucking, no, I was on my way to the goddamn late night store at the edge of campus!

Once I was past the dorms and had crossed two streets, I could already see the store’s dim light. As I barged inside, throwing the door, the cashier started at me.

“Ah, shit, sorry, I’m, never mind,” I stammered and began traversing the shelves.

Shit, why’s the place so big? Where the fuck are the condoms?

I moved past rows of cheap beer and equally cheap liquor, past microwave meals and canned goods, but I didn’t find any condoms.

“Fucking hell, where are they,” I cursed to myself, but in my erratic state I couldn’t seem to find them.

Eventually, I gave up and hurried back to the cashier who was busy arguing with two guys who must’ve entered the store after me.

“Excuse me, can you tell me where the,” I started, trying to push myself to the front, but found myself face to face with the two guys who were clearly drunk.

“Yo, how about you wait till it’s your turn,” one of them slurred at me.

“Shit, sorry, I just want to-“

“Listen pal,” the other one started moving up in front of me. “How about you shut the hell up and let us get our shit, all right?”

The other guy had already turned back to the cashier, laying into him about the price of a bottle of booze.

“…yeah man, no way I’m gonna pay ten freaking bucks for that shit! I get it for five at the freaking liquor store!”

“Then go there,” the cashier said with a shrug.

“Well, it’s fucking closed asshole, that’s why we’re here!”

Another shrug.

“Guess you don’t want it then.”

With that he was about to take the bottle from the guy’s hand, but he jerked it back instantly. Under a tirade of heavy curses, he brought out his wallet and threw the cashier a bill.

“There you go, asshole,” the guy spat at him before the two of them turned and made their way from the store. Not without elbowing me aside.

“Thanks, be sure to come again,” the cashier called after them with a grin on his face.

“Yeah, fuck you too, asshole!” I heard them scream from outside before they threw the door.

“So, what are you looking for?” he asked, turning to me.

“Oh, eh, I was wondering if you had any, well condoms,” I brought out.

The dude couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Big night, eh? They are over there, second row to the left, near the back, a little hidden.”

In an instant, I hurried to where he’d pointed.

The moment I reached them, I stared at the various packs in utter confusion.

It was a mesmerizing ocean of sparkling colors. Rhino Rubbers, one pack was called while the one next to them sprouted the term Strawberry Slippers. What the hell’s all that stuff? Fuck!

After a few seconds of staring at the mess in front of me dumbfounded, I grabbed a pack of the most vanilla looking ones and hurried back to the cashier.

He scanned them, called out the price, but when I brought out my debit card, he shook his head.

“Sorry, but our card reader’s busted, cash only for the moment.”

I stared at him in disbelief and began rummaging through my wallet, then my pockets, but I still came out short.

“Fuck, come on man, can’t you like write it up or something? I swear, I’m going to be back first thing tomorrow and give you the money, hell, I’ll give you a tip and-“

“Sorry, I can tell you really need those, but no write ups, store police. There’s an ATM behind the IT building, right next to the bus station though.”

“Behind the IT building? Shit, that’s like… fuck, all right, I’ll be back, okay?”

“Sure thing,” he said as I rushed from the store.

“Fucking goddamn fucking fuck!” I cursed as I ran past lecture halls and faculty buildings.

All right, calm down, the IT building is to the right of… shit. Where the fuck am I even going?

I ripped out my phone and cross-checked my location. Of course, I’d ran into a completely different direction.

Fuck! Now it’s gonna take me at least five minutes to get there! With the time it took me to get to the store and now this… fuck! Please, please let her still be there when I get back, please, I prayed to any and all gods.

Following the directions of the phone, I finally made it to the IT building. I rushed past it and I could already see the bus station and soon the ATM behind it. Thank fucking god!

Without giving the two figures at the station any notice, I hurried to the ATM and inserted my card.

My fingers flew over the screen while I cursed at the machine to hurry the fuck up and give me my freaking money.

“Yo, dude, you got a light?” someone called out from me behind.

Ignoring the drunk guy, whose voice sounded a bit too familiar, I punched my PIN into the keypad, shuffling around.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, I’m talking to,” the voice started, but broke up.

“You’re that asshole from the store!”

“What?” I asked, as I grabbed my money.

“Yo, Alex, it’s the guy from the store! The scrawny asshole who tried to cut in line!”

“Hey, sorry for that, but I’ve got to-“

Before I could even finish to apologize, he pushed me back against the ATM

“Oh yeah, you’re sorry?”

Instead of answering, I pushed myself past drunk guy number one, only to crash right into the second one who’d come to join in the fun.

The bottle of booze he’d been holding slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor. For a second, the only audible sound was the shattering of glass. All our eyes wandered to the growing puddle of alcohol.

“What the fuck man?!” he screamed up.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t,” was all I brought out before he hit me in the stomach.

Pain shot through my body and I stumbled back.

“What you gonna do about it, asshole? Eh!?”

Another hit and this time, I slumped to the floor. When I was about to get up, I was pushed down once again.

“Yo, I’m talking to you asshole!” he screamed up again.

Right at that moment, a window opened on a building nearby. A tired and furious woman demanded what all the ruckus was about.

The two drunks turned and started throwing insults at her.

While the three of them were yelling at each other, I pushed myself back to my feet and booked it.

It wasn’t long before the two drunks noticed and came after me.

Shit, how the fuck did it come to that?! I could’ve been getting laid right now, and instead…

“Where you think you going, asshole?!” one of them screamed after me.

I rushed past the IT building, then towards the adjacent chemistry building, but when I turned the two of them were still coming after me.

Then in a swift motion, I turned a corner and hurried up the stairs to the roof at the side of the chemistry building. Up there, I did my best to duck away so they wouldn’t notice me.

I saw them hurry on, past the stairs before they came to a stop and scanned the area.

“Where’d he go?” one of them asked.

The other was still scanning the area before a tirade of curses followed.

Shit, fucking leave already, assholes!

For a while they kept walking around, trying to figure out where the hell I went before they turned to leave.

I forced myself to wait for at least half a minute, counting down the seconds.

Once I was done, I jumped down the stairs and rushed over campus back to the late night store.

The cashier looked up when I barged inside again, panting.

“Well what do you know, you made it?”

I nodded, walked up to him and handed him the money without saying a word. He handed me the pack of condoms and my change.

“Good luck,” he joked.

“Thanks,” I finally brought out.

Once I was back outside, I couldn’t believe the night I was having.

I almost laughed when I looked at my phone and noticed that more than half an hour had passed. Knowing my luck, there was no way she’d waited for me that long. Hell, she probably thought I pussied out or god knows what.

“Fucking hell,” I cursed up.

Then, on my way from campus to the dorms, I noticed a lonely figure making their way down the streets.

From afar, I noticed the long brown hair, the tight dress and the sensual walk.

Oh god, no. Fucking no!

“Hey,” I called out and rushed towards her. “Hey, wait up, wait up, I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

Yet when I reached her, when she turned around, I broke up.

It was her, but at the same time it wasn’t.

Her hands and fingers looked different in the dark of the night. They were long, elongated and spidery. Her hair was wild and disheveled.

For a moment I cringed back, as she seemed to grow, seemed to become some hunched over, birdlike monstrosity.

“My, oh, my,” a distorted version of her sweet, sensual voice started. “You actually came back, lover boy.”

“Yes, I,” but I couldn’t go on.

Her mouth hung open, was distorted to a ghastly grin. I could see long pointy teeth, saw the blood covering her lips and dripping from her chin.

“It’s too bad,” she cackled as she stepped up to me.

I was frozen, paralyzed by fear as her hungry eyes stared deep into mine. Her long, pointed fingers reached out, and as much as I tried, I couldn’t escape her embrace.

For a moment, her appearance shifted once more. She seemed to grow, seemed to seep up all the surrounding darkness. Her head pushed forward, her lips brushing against my ear.

“You know, your friends weren’t all that bad, but I really would’ve liked to taste you,” she whispered before she sunk her fangs into my ear.

When I cringed back, cursing in pain, she giggled again. Once more I saw the long, needle-like teeth in her mouth.

“Maybe another time,” she said before she turned and vanished into the darkness.

When she was gone, all strength left my body, and I slumped to the ground in sheer and utter confusion.

When I heard chaos erupting down by the dorms and when I heard the police sirens, I knew whose blood she’d been covered in and I knew what must’ve happened to Barry and Rick.

As I sat there, I stared at the little box of condoms in my hand, the little box that had caused me so much trouble and that had ultimately saved my life.

And as I sat there, I couldn’t help but laugh and laugh and laugh.

When I was a little boy, my two best friends, and I loved nothing more than to sneak into Old Herbert’s barn.

Old Herbert had been a farmer all his life, one of the biggest in our small town. By now, though, he’d retired, and all that remained was an old farmhouse and the huge, old barn next to it.

This barn was our prime destination, during the scorching afternoons of a certain summer break years ago.

Of course, Old Herbert didn’t like the idea of some kids wreaking havoc in his barn and kept it locked all day, every day. We kids were crafty though, and the barn was as withered and old a thing as Old Herbert himself.

Small nooks and crannies were everywhere, allowing us to sneak in as we saw fit.

We loved to search through all the old tools and belongings inside, hoping to find hidden treasures, but our favorite was the giant haystack at the barn’s back.

It was there we played most of the time. We built little nests and huts made of hay, or dug into the outer layers of the giant stack.

Our favorite, though, was The Jump. The Jump was as simple as it could be. You’d climb up on one of the barn’s many beams, and from there you’d plunge yourself down into the giant stack of hay below.

It was exhilarating and I still remember how we’d all jump down there, screaming and laughing as if mad.

Old Herbert, though, wouldn’t have any of it.

If he caught us inside the barn, he’d curse at us and chase us out. Should he find us jumping into the hay stack though, he’d be furious, angrier than usual, and screaming at us, his tirade reminiscent of that of a sailor.

Thinking back, I don’t remember any of the insults he’d hurled at us. Yet, there was one thing he always spat at us in his rage. His rheumy, bloodshot eyes would be wide, saliva would fly from his mouth and his teeth would chatter in his mouth.

“One day, you’ll get lost in there!”

I remember how we’d laugh at that as we ran. How d’you get lost in a stack of hay? It was clear to the three of us that the old man, as we called it, was full of bullocks. All he was trying to do was to keep us from having fun!

Now, Old Herbert might have been old, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew what we were up to, even if he didn’t catch us, and so he tried his best to keep us out of his barn. Yet, for every nook he closed off and for every cranny he fixed, we found a dozen more. Even better, there were a lot of loose, old boards we could pull aside to enter.

One day my friend Robby and I were waiting at the local soccer field. Melanie, the third member of our group, was late, and we were getting annoyed.

When she arrived, a little boy was following her.

“This is Terrance,” she started. “He’s here with his parents over the summer and he wants to play with us.”

“City people,” I mumbled under my breath, repeating my father’s words.

City people were common in our small town. Countless people from the nearby cities had built small summer cabins and holiday homes near our small little town to spend the warm months of summer here.

Some locals weren’t too fond of those ‘rich folks,’ one of them being my father. As so common for kids, I soaked up his hate and his superstition, not understanding a thing. All I knew was that city people were to be scorned.

Robby, of course, was the same and seemed even less happy about Melanie’s little companion.

Still, it was Melanie who’d brought him along, and we were at this delicate age when we started to see her with different eyes. So, of course, we didn’t mouth up and grudgingly let the little boy come along.

“Hey Andy, how about we take him to the barn? You wanted to go, right, Terrance?”

The little boy nodded eagerly, but I couldn’t help but be annoyed. The barn was our place, our little secret hideout.

“It’s not for city people,” I mumbled to myself, looking over at Robby for support.

“Don’t be a poop, Andy! Just let him come along.”

Of course, both Robby and I eventually agreed.

We’d made it to Old Herbert’s farm a good ten minutes later. For a while we stayed on the lookout until we saw the old man sitting on a bench in his garden. The coast was clear and thus we rushed to our destination.

I quickly found a loose plank and pushed it aside. Melanie was first to enter, then Robby followed.

Terrance, however, didn’t move, and I turned around glaring at him.

“Isn’t that breaking in? My parents always told me I’m not allowed to-“

“Well, your stupid parents aren’t here, are they? But if you don’t want to come, that’s fine, we’ll just go on our own.”

He shuffled around a moment longer before he hurried past me and pushed himself inside.

“Oh wow,” I heard him gasp next to Melanie. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool, isn’t it?” she whispered to him.

Here’s the thing about the barn. It was huge from the outside, but the inside always seemed so much bigger. Now, of course, it wasn’t, but it seemed like it because of all the things the old man had accumulated in here.

For a while we snuck around as usual as Melanie laid open the many secrets and mysteries hidden inside the barn to our young visitor.

To be honest, I didn’t like it one bit. She even showed him the little hideout we’d made from hay bales at the right side of the barn.

After a while, I was too annoyed to just go along with this anymore.

“How about we do the jump?” I asked in a loud, excited voice.

“What’s the jump?” I heard Terrance’s high-pitched voice pipe up from inside the hideout.

“The Jump,” I started in the most official voice a twelve-year-old can muster, “is a jump from a beam into the hay stack over there.”

As I said this my finger wandered to the beam we usually jumped from, but then it continued on to a different one, the highest one near the roof of the barn.

“From the highest beam in the barn,” I added with a smirk on my face.

Robby answered me with a smirk of his own. “Yeah, a jump from the very highest one into the hay down below!”

“Hey that’s not-“ Melanie started, but I cut her off right away, relishing in my new position of leader.

“Anyone who’s part of our group has done it! It’s our official initiation! You want to be part of the group, you have to do the jump. Otherwise, you can’t play with us anymore.”

“Stop being a dick, Andy!” Melanie called out.

My eyes wandered to the little boy. He wasn’t listening anymore, instead he was looking at the hay stack and then further up. His eyes went higher and higher before they came to rest on the highest beam of the barn. I could see his eyes grow a little wider, could see him gulp, but then he nodded.

Getting up there was easy enough. We found one of Old Herbert’s huge ladders, propped it up against the beam and ascended.

It took no longer than five minutes for all four of us to make it to the top.

“You don’t have to do it,” Melanie whispered at Terrance.

I grinned. “Yeah, you can just go back home to your parents and stay with them at their cabin, no problem.”

Yet Terrance didn’t react. Instead, he stared down at the giant stack of hay below.

“Well, what’s the matter little baby, not gonna jump?” I called out to him with the biggest grin on my face.

He didn’t answer though, instead his eyes rested on the hay stack below and were growing ever wider.

“I don’t wanna anymore,” he said in a low voice. “It’s scary.”

“Oh my god, what’s the big deal?” Robby started. “There’s like a billion tons of hay down there! We’ve jumped into it so many times, nothing’s gonna happen!”

But Terrance was inching back from the edge of the beam. By now all the color had vanished from his face and I could see his lips quivering. He seemed to be in a state of panic.

“I don’t wanna, there’s something down there and, I,” but his words trailed off.

Robby had gone forward and given him a push, annoyed at his lack of courage.

For a moment Terrance was balancing at the edge, grabbing at the air in front of him before he fell backwards.

His scream cut through the air. It was a high-pitched shriek filling the entire barn. I saw his wide eyes, his terrified face before he was swallowed up by the hay. His scream cut off the moment he vanished and silence descended upon the barn.

Robby and I were laughing our asses off at his terrified expression while Melanie called us stupid.

Eventually our laughter ebbed away, and we kept staring at the hay below.

“Hey, where’d you go, city boy? Come on, you can come out now!”

“Terrance, are you okay?” Melanie called out as well.

“Good work, pipsqueak,” Robby added, still grinning.

Yet, all there was were our calls. No one answered them, and the giant stack of hay remained still.

Melanie hurried down the ladder and over to the stack of hay, looking around to see where he’d landed. At the same time we continued calling out to him from atop, telling him it had all been a joke. By now, we were getting worried.

Our worries turned to fear when the heavy barn door burst open and Old Herbert stormed inside.

“Now what did I tell you, you damn troublemakers? You’re not supposed to be in here! I dare you, if you don’t leave this instant, I give you the beating of a lifetime!”

With that he picked up a wooden stick and waved it around while his rheumy, angry eyes focused on each one of us.

Robby hurried down the ladder, making his way to where we’d entered from.

I was about to follow him, but then stopped, my eyes wandering to Melanie.

“He’s not coming out,” she mumbled, her eyes focusing on mine.

“Who is?” the old man demanded as his heavy steps led him towards us.

“The little boy,” she started.

“Terrance, one of the city kids. He jumped down into the hay, but he’s not coming out,” I added.

“Oh you dumb little… How many times did I tell you it was dangerous? How many times? Did you see anything sticking out of the hay from the top? A piece of wood or something like that? Anything he might have landed on?”

“No, Mister Herbert, nothing, it was all normal, just like yesterday and nothing ever happened to us then!”

At the word yesterday, he squinted his eyes, but let it slide a moment later.

“No, but he said, I don’t know. He said he saw something down there,” Robby, who’d snuck back, added.

The old man jerked towards him and a tirade of courses escaped his mouth before he rushed towards the stack of hay, beginning feverishly to search through it.

I don’t remember many of his words, of his mad, angry ramblings, cursing at us and the damned barn and the hay. Yet, I remember one thing he said as he tore it aside, throwing heaps of it left and right.

“… just like trying to find a goddamn needle…”

It wasn’t long before the old man realized he couldn’t do this alone. Old Herbert went out calling over his wife to help and he told us to head over to the neighbors to explain the situation.

Of course, we did as he told us, especially under the threat of being responsible for what had happened.

Before long almost a dozen people had gathered, us included, all taken away the hay and putting it outside.

The work continued for hours and the sun had already started setting when we’d cleared it all out and the back of the barn was finally empty.

Yet, there was nothing there.

There was no hint of the little boy named Terrance. There was no wood or rubble below the hay he might have hit, no trap door he might have fallen through.

All there was, was the barren, empty floor of the barn.