I always loved the flea market in my city.

It wasn’t because I needed anything; it was just nice to go there with a friend. We’d have a look around at all the things available, have a beer or two and enjoy the weather.

The best time to go was during the summer. The place was packed with people and merchants selling all sorts of things. You could find vintage LPs, old classical books, and a lot of strange memorabilia. It was a treasure trove.

Whenever I went, I was always on the lookout for weird things, things with a certain character. I’d bought strange figurines, weird books, old postcards or photographs, and many other similar things.

The last time I went there was half a year ago, and it was a visit that changed my life forever.

While my friend Martin, an avid collector, had a look at a stall selling old DVDs and CDs, I checked out the other stalls nearby. It wasn’t long before I noticed an old woman who’d propped up a little camping table. On it, she’d placed about two dozen keys.

How weird was that, something selling keys? I walked up to have a look almost instantly.

Most of the keys were old and rusty, but a few were strangely ornate, made of gold or other expensive materials.

While I studied them, my friend walked up to me. His eyes went to the table in front of me before he laughed.

“Who the hell’s going to buy a random key?” he asked.

“Oh, they are not random. They are special keys for special places,” the woman behind the table answered.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

With that, he walked off.

“Where are they from? Like those over there, they look really old,” I asked, pointing at one of the more rusty ones.

The woman leaned forward and explained.

“Well, those you just pointed at are from old buildings, houses that are long gone. Those over there,” she pointed at the more ornate ones, “are from old castles and forts. They were used to open certain hidden doors.”

My interest was piqued instantly. I don’t know why, but owning a key that used to open a secret door in a castle sounded amazing.

For a while, I had a look at all the old, ornate keys before I picked up one that seemed to be made of bronze. Its design was beautiful but strange, sprouting various little twirls and engravings that seemed almost too perfect, too deliberate.

“How much for that one?”

“Dude, are you really going to buy some stupid old key? What do you even want with it?”

I sighed. Martin was back to annoy me.

“I don’t know. It looks cool.”

The woman had lifted the key and was gazing at it.

“Now, young man, you’ve picked a very special one,” she said after a while.

I couldn’t help but laugh inwardly. I was sure she was going to tell me some long elaborate story about how it used to be the key to Ludwig XIV’s personal sex-dungeon in the depths of Versailles.

To my surprise, she told me no such story. Instead, she simply nodded.

“It’s yours for two euros,” she finally said.

“He takes it for one!” Martin, who loved to barter, cut in.

The woman eyed him for a second before she nodded.

“Well, for one then.”

I handed her one euro, and she handed me the key.

“You see, man, that’s how you barter. You always have to barter at the flea market.”

I sighed once more. Martin always went a bit overboard at the flea market. More than once he’d gotten into an argument over a price or walked off when a merchant wasn’t willing to chaff off another euro.

While he rambled on, I looked at the key once more. It sure looked special, with all the little twirls and embellishments.

We were at the flea market for another hour before we made our way home. It was two in the afternoon, but because of the summer heat, I was pretty exhausted.

The moment I’d made it back to my apartment, I took a nap. I slept almost all afternoon and only got back up in the early evening.

The first thing I did was to go through my backpack and sort through my newest treasures.

I’d gotten a strange picture book depicting the works of M. C. Escher, and other similar artists, a framed postcard depicting a surreal motif, and finally the ornate bronze key.

I eyed it for a bit and couldn’t help but laugh. You could find the weirdest things at the flea market.

I put away the book, hung up the framed postcard, and eventually connected the key to a chain and let it dangle from a small nail in the wall.

I considered going out to meet friends, but after spending a good part of the day at the flea market, I didn’t feel like it. Instead, I found a movie on Netflix and prepared myself for a slow, relaxing evening.

When I returned from the toilet at some point, my eyes wandered back to the strange key. The design. Why was it so strange? All those little twirls and embellishments. How’d this thing ever fit anywhere?

For a while longer, I sat there, turning it over in my hands before I got an idea. I walked up to my small storage room and pushed it into the lock.

“Huh, it actually fits,” I brought out in surprise.

Almost without thinking, I tried turning it, and realized I could. The lock clicked, then clicked again before the door sprang open.

I got a hold of the handle to close it again, but when I stared through the crack, I didn’t see my storage room, and the haphazardly stored boxes. Instead, I stared at an entirely different room. I pushed the door open a bit more, and my eyes grew wide. An icy shiver went down my spine, and my breath caught in my throat. What I saw was a much bigger, much wider space than my small storage room, or any other in my apartment.

I instantly threw the door shut. When I opened it again, the world was normal, and all I saw was a small room filled with boxes.

It had been nothing but the trick of the eye, I told myself, an optical illusion.

And yet, as I held the strange, twisted key in my hands, I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. It had been too vivid, too real.

‘You’re picked a very special one,’ the old saleswoman had said.

Almost in a trance, and with shaking hands, I pushed the key back into the lock. Once more, I turned it and the lock clicked once, twice, and the door opened again.

This time, I didn’t throw it shut right away, but peaked inside carefully. What I saw was some sort of grand hall. I saw a rich hardwood table, surrounded by hardwood chairs. The walls were clad in fine wood and sprouted ornate paintings. A huge, expensive carpet covered the floor. From where I was, I could see various gold figurines positioned on a small cupboard that stood against one wall.

What the hell? How could this room be here? This was supposed to be my storage room!

Then I thought back to what the old woman had said once more. Some of those keys used to open hidden rooms in old castles and forts.

So this was… some sort of hidden room in an old castle?

I couldn’t help but laugh. This was silly. No, this was insane.

Yet the room was right there, right in front of me. I could step inside if I wanted to.

The moment the thought crossed my mind, a strange sense of curiosity came over me. Could I really just… enter?

My eyes wandered back to the golden figurines on the cupboard.

For a few moments, I was unsure and wondered if this was some sort of trick. Maybe whatever this was, was trying to lure me in. I carefully took off one of my slippers, picked it up, and pushed it forward, past the door’s threshold.

I don’t know what I expected to happen, but nothing did.

With that, I dropped the slipper and put it back on before I reached out with my hand. Nothing. My hand continued on, touching nothing but air. There was no sensation or anything. This room was really here.

Once more, my eyes wandered to the cupboard and the riches on top of it.

Leaving the door open, I got a hold of a chair from the living room. Then I propped it against the door to keep it from falling shut.

Excitement washed over me as I pushed my foot forward and brought it down on the rich carpet. The air in the grand hall was thick and musty, carrying a faint, distant scent of incense, as if it belonged to a long-forgotten era.

My heart was pounding in my chest, and I could feel the blood rushing through my veins. My eyes darted left and right, expecting a door to burst open or someone storming at me.

When nothing happened, I hurried over to the cupboard. At first, I only looked at the gold figurines before I reached out for them. They felt real enough.

Once more, I hesitated, and once more my eyes darted around. Was someone there, watching me, waiting for me to steal them? With each passing second, I grew more restless, shaky, close to panicking. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I picked up the first one, then another, and finally an ornate, golden candle holder.

A few seconds later, I was back in my apartment. I stood there on shaky legs, panting, and my heart still pounding. I couldn’t believe any of this. Once again, I stared back into the grand hall before I threw the door shut in fear of repercussions.

I turned the key twice more and was happier than ever before to find only my old, dusty storage room.

A sigh of relief escaped me, and I quickly put the strange, multi-dimensional key back on its little nail.

For a moment, I couldn’t help but wonder if it had all been a dream, a flight of fancy conjured by reading too many fantasy novels. When I turned from the door, however, I noticed the gold figurines and the candle holder.

Almost by instinct, I picked them up and took them with me to the living room.

At first, I could only stare at them, wondering once more how any of this could be real. Then I realized what I’d done. I’d stolen them, taken something I wasn’t supposed to. For a second I couldn’t help but feel watched before I laughed and called myself silly. No one else was here, and no one else had seen it.

I began studying the figurines’ design and the intricate engravings on them. When I tested their weight, a grin appeared on my face. They seemed to be made of solid gold, and I was sure they had to be worth something.

At first, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t very well put them on eBay if I had no clue what they might be worth. No, I probably had to take them to an antique store.

For the next few evenings, I busied myself on the internet, reading up on historical figurines, their worth, and searched for a reputable store.

A few days later, I put the figurines and the candleholder in a box and went on my trip.

The antique dealer’s eyes lingered on the ornate carvings on the figurines for a moment too long, his fingers tracing their details. I could tell he was more than impressed, though when he spoke, his tone was carefully neutral, studied, even, to hide his excitement. He said they were centuries old, but not shoddy or cheaply made. When he asked how I’d come by them, I told him an elaborate story about my grandfather having been an avid collector of old items. I explained how I’d stumbled upon them by accident while cleaning his attic and thought they might be worth something.

The man eyed me for a moment, and I could tell he wondered about the authenticity of my story. Soon enough, his own greed pushed these doubts aside. He was quick to make an offer, one that was pretty good, but I’d also done my research.

I told him I’d looked at other stores online, and similar items went for much higher prices. His eyebrows went up when he heard my words. Then, frowning, he pretended to give the figurines and the candleholder a closer look. Finally, he gave me another, higher offer.

I was sure he was still ripping me off, but the four-figure numbers he gave me were too good to pass for someone like me. And so, I sold. Before I could leave, the man smiled at me, and told me if I found any other valuables amongst my grandfather’s collection, I should pay him a visit. He’d be more than happy to have a look at them.

I told him I’d see what I could find.

It is often said that money poisons people, and after my experiences in those past months, I wholeheartedly agree. The moment I had sold those figurines and that candleholder, the moment I’d tasted riches, I knew I’d open that door again.

When I was back inside my apartment, I reached out for the key right away. I turned it once, then twice, and when the door opened, I pushed the little box I was still holding between door and doorframe and ventured inside. My eyes darted left and right, back and forth, but not in search of danger, but of anything valuable.

I saw the paintings, some silverware, and an ornate dagger I hadn’t noticed before.

In a single swift motion, got a hold of the dagger and as much of the silverware as I could carry and dumped it back in the hallway. A few minutes later, I’d taken down all the paintings. I stared back, and for a moment, I even considered taking the rich hardwood chairs. Then I told myself this was enough for today. I’d have to sell the items first, anyway.

I soon found another reputable seller. The silverware turned out to net me a good price, and so did two of the paintings. The dagger, to my surprise, turned out to be the most valuable of all times I’d plundered so far, its hilt encrusted by an array of costly gemstones.

I couldn’t help but grin on my way home. This was crazy. I was freaking rich!

The third time I ventured into the grand hall, I found little of value left. I found a few smaller silver items I’d not taken before, and an ornate vase at the end of the hall, but that was about it.

Once I had closed the door again, I couldn’t help but frown at my measly yield. Maybe I should take some of those chairs after all.

Before I did, I wondered what else the key could do.

After a few, as I told myself, necessary purchases, I knew the money I’d gotten wouldn’t last. I guess the more you have, the easier it is to spend it.

The first thing I tried was my kitchen door. Once again, the key was a perfect fit. I turned it once, twice, and when it sprang open, I expected to find the same grand hall. Instead, I was greeted by what one could only call a small study. I couldn’t help but grin at the valuables I saw. There was an ornate oil lamp, a globe, and various other richly decorated items.

It didn’t take me long to plunder the room for everything it was worth. After that, I tried the key on my bedroom door. This time, it led me to a dark, musty room, most likely a cellar.

I cursed in frustration and threw the door shut again. Even after two more tries, the door never led to a different room.

I realized I’d just learned a valuable piece of information. This key could open doors to rooms in a different place and time, but a single door could only ever lead to one specific room.

Over the course of the evening, I tried all the doors in my small apartment. While some led to other dark, empty rooms, I discovered that my bathroom door led to a dressing room stacked with rich jewelry.

And yet, even with my living room table covered by rich, antique goods, I wanted more.

It wasn’t long before I resorted to using different doors. The first ones I opened were the doors in my apartment building’s basement. One night, at three in the morning, I descended and tried every single door I could find.

While some of these doors led to more valuables, others led me to different rooms, rooms similar to that old, musty cellar my bedroom door had led to. Others were stranger, creepy even.

One door opened to nothing but oppressive darkness. It wafted outside, in thick, heavy swaths, assaulting me with the heavy smell of rot, and something sharper, otherworldly. I froze when the outlines of some grotesque shadow stirred in the back. For a second, a pair of barely visible eyes came to rest on me.

In shock, I threw the door shut and stumbled back, my heart pounding in my chest. What the hell had I just stumbled upon!? Then I shook my head. No, this couldn’t have been real. I must’ve imagined it. And yet, as much as I told myself so, the image lingered in my mind.

At this point, I should’ve called it quits, but, of course, I didn’t. After all, only a single door could ever open to one specific room, right?

And so, only a few days later, all signs of danger and any fear of repercussions were forgotten. No, I told myself, even if I noticed something strange again, I could just throw the door and that was it.

Before long, I increased the scale of my operations. It wasn’t so much in terms of sales, but in terms of doors. I couldn’t just go around opening random doors. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed.

Airbnbs were the perfect solution. I could just rent them, and spent the night exploring each one of their doors with no danger of being discovered or seen.

Slowly but steadily, my stock of values increased, and before long, I had boxes upon boxes of untold riches in my small apartment. I was still careful in selling them. I never went to the same store twice, never sold more than a few select items, and always came prepared with a story.

Even though I was making more and more money, filled box upon box, my greed only increased. I wouldn’t stop. No, I had dreams and plans I’d already mapped out in my mind.

While Airbnbs allowed me to partake in my activities undisturbed and without fear of being discovered, there were only ever a few select doors available. It felt like I was wasting time, especially after I’d gotten unlucky two times in a row, when I ended up finding no valuables.

No, I needed more locations, more doors, and before long, I found exactly what I’d been looking for.

My city has a long and complicated history. Remnants of old companies can be found everywhere. Entire factory complexes and old office buildings lay rotten and abandoned on its outskirts.

Sure, they had been stripped of all valuables, but those were of no interest to me. What I was looking for were doors, as many as I could find. While some had been broken down, others were still standing, entire corridors of them.

Soon, I spent entire days and nights traversing these old abandoned complexes, mapping them out and hunting for doors and the riches behind them.

Yet the more doors I opened, the more often they led to different rooms.

More than once, I found musty basements and old attics. At one point, I even found myself in what had to be a torture chamber. The smell of blood and other body fluids hung heavy in the air. When I retched and covered my mouth, the rattling of chains and a quiet, broken shriek reached me.

At another time, I pushed open the door, only to be greeted by a small, otherworldly study. It was only alight by a few bluish candles, but even in this little light, I noticed its dimensions were wrong, warped. Yet it was the old man behind the desk my eyes focused on. When he saw me, he smiled and bade me to enter.

I didn’t move, for as I stared at him, I noticed certain peculiarities. His body was hidden under thick, heavy robes that seemed much too big, and he wore a pair of spectacles with no discernable eyes behind them. When he opened his mouth, I saw thick misshapen teeth that differed from any I’d seen before. His voice, too, seemed wrong, was almost too human, studied.

For a long second, he just sat there, smiling at me. Then, growling, and in one motion, he pushed himself off his chair and straight in my direction. His movements were animalistic, as if what was hidden below the robes was anything but human. I screamed in shock, threw the doors shut, and locked it.

I stumbled back, shaken and scared. What the hell was that? That man or… thing?

I told myself enough was enough. This was getting dangerous. What if I encountered something even worse?

I wondered why I kept going. Hadn’t I already gathered enough money? If I sold everything I’d plundered, I’d be set for life. Yet it felt like I wasn’t myself anymore. What started as the thrill of discovery, of the forbidden, and making a profit, had grown into something darker. In the past weeks, even months, I couldn’t stop. Whenever I emptied one room, I was already dreaming of the next, hoping for even greater treasures.

How long had it been since I’d met up with friends, or spent an evening relaxing? Had I done anything with the money I’d made? No, it didn’t matter. All cared about was getting more.

And yet, the next day, driven by an almost subconscious need, I was on my way to yet another complex. My mind was consumed by money, tainted by it, and I felt it clawing at my every thought.

After I’d pocketed another few handfuls of rich jewelry, I’d already forgotten about the man-thing I’d encountered.

The next door, however, changed everything.

As so often, I found a door at the end of a hallway. I turned the key twice and waited for the door to unlock. Then I carefully pushed it open.

An icy shiver went down my spine when I saw only darkness, darkness that wafted outside in thick swaths. The strangest sense of Déjà vu washed over me, when I was assaulted by the smell of rot and something sharper, otherworldly. I’d seen this before, hadn’t I, but how…?

Before I could finish the thought, a face pushed itself from the darkness and came to a rest mere inches in front of me. It was female, but it was all wrong, strangely elongated, and covered in thick greasy hair. The moment I saw it, I cringed back in shock. The same eyes, the same eyes I’d seen last time.

It opened its mouth, but at first only garbled, incomprehensive noises escaped its mouth, as if it was testing its voice. Yet with every second, it got closer to normal speech, and finally, I could make out its words.

“Mmm-yy… ah… I’ve beeennn wa-ndering whennn you’d… be back,” it brought out in a high-pitched, shriek voice that stabbed at my ears.

Every fiber of my body screamed at me to run, to get away, and I rushed forward to close the door, to shut it in front of whatever that thing was.

I clung to the old, half-rotten door, but before I could do anything, two giant, ghastly hands pushed themselves between the door and doorframe. With a single swift motion, the door was torn from my hands, and then the doorframe.

The face started giggling before it vanished into the darkness again. And yet, I’d never seen a body, and when my eyes finally got used to the darkness, I realized why. That face, that head, it was connected to an elongated neck.

Behind it, in the darkness, I saw the same grotesque shape, but now I could make it out for the giant, terrible abomination it was. I saw more faces, more mouths, more eyes, all connected to a single, bloated body, sprouting hundreds of arms and legs.

To the side of the creature, I noticed another door, and then another.

And as the giggling grew louder, as I heard it from an uncountable number of mouths, I understood my mistake.

A single door can never open to more than one specific room. But if a room has more than one door… Oh god, how’d I not thought of that? This creature knew, and it had waited for me, just to make this single mistake.

When the disgusting creature rose, I stumbled backward. Wet squelching sounds reached my ear, the sound of skin tearing, of flesh stretching.

As I dashed away and rushed down the hallway in sheer and utter terror, I heard the doorframe give way as the creature pulled itself through.

I only turned back once, only once. I saw dozens of heads on elongated necks, saw a disgustingly bloated body covered in thick slime, and patches of long hair. It moved in jerks, dragged itself forward on a multitude of hands and feet like some abominable centipede.

Then I ran. I ran and fled from the industrial complex as fast as I could.

Finally, as the creature escaped from whatever twisted dimension it had been trapped in, the entire building collapsed, leaving nothing but rubble behind.

For a few moments, I stared at the mess, hoping the creature was gone, and crushed below the rubble.

The next day, the massive destruction I’d caused was on the news, but I heard nothing about the ghastly creature I’d encountered.

When people started to go missing, I knew why. I don’t know what that creature is, and I don’t know how it stays hidden, but I know it’s because of my greed that it was unleashed on this world.

As I sit here, I can only stare at the key hanging on my wall, mocking me. I thought of taking it down, of hiding it or throwing it away, but the moment I touch it, I’ll fall right back into the same trap, the same obsession.

What then? What other horrors would I unleash? How many more people would have to die?

As I sit here, I finally realize that it’s nothing but human nature that drove me that far, drove me to do all this.

And I know, those things, those creatures out there, they just wait, they wait for us and what we’re willing to do, and for our nature to become our downfall.

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’m a bit of a loner. Even here, in the big city, I’m more torn towards walking the park than hanging out and socializing with friends.

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 the world. It was fun, and strangely relaxing to watch them.

Once I was back home, I did some research on ducks online, specifically about what to feed them. When I went to the park the next time, I’d brought along a bag of bird seeds. The moment I threw them on the ground, the ducks began swarming me.

I came to enjoy those little visits, and from then on, I’d often sit on that same bench, giving treats to the ducks.

A couple of weeks ago, he first showed up. Like so often, I was sitting on the bench, feeding the ducks, when someone sat down next to me. Well, it was a park bench, after all. While I was uncomfortable having a stranger sit next to me, I did my best to ignore him. From the corner of my eye, I noticed how disheveled the guy looked. His clothes were wrinkly and somewhat dirty, his hair unkempt and clinging to his head in greasy strands. The longer he sat there, quietly staring ahead, the more awkward I felt. Almost by instinct, I inched further and further away from him until I was sitting at the furthest edge of the bench. Thankfully, after only a couple of minutes, the guy got back up and continued on his way.

A few days later, the same thing happened again. It was strangely unnerving having this guy set next to me again. The first time had felt like nothing but a chance encounter, the second felt much less so.

Don’t let it get to you. Who knows, maybe he just enjoys sitting here watching the ducks, too. Suddenly, I noticed him staring at me. I almost jumped back when I saw his probing eyes focused directly on me.

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

“W-what?”

“Random duck-fact number fourteen,” the guy proclaimed with a bright smile, giving me a little wink.

Before I could say anything else or even react, he got up and went on his way. I was left there, flabbergasted, staring after him.

All right, what the hell just happened? 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 actually true. Damn, nature sure can be disturbing.

Yet I couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would go around spreading crap like this. The hell was wrong with this guy?

The next time I walked through the park, I couldn’t help but be apprehensive. What if that guy would be back? He didn’t seem dangerous, just strange, but it was enough to ruin the mood. I just wanted to relax a little after a hard day at work.

That day, he didn’t show up. Who knows, maybe it really had been nothing but a chance encounter.

It wasn’t.

A few days later, he was there again, and joined me the moment I’d sat down. I tried my best to ignore him, but after a few minutes, he was staring at me again. The moment I turned to him, to ask him what the hell his problem was, he spoke up.

“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, but kept staring at me.

“Eh, thanks,” I mumbled, growing more and more uncomfortable.

“Random duck-fact number two,” he said, giving me another wink before he left.

All right, this guy was clearly some idiot who was trying to mess with me. It was only a matter of time before he’d lose interest. As if to challenge me, the guy kept showing up every single time I went to the park, telling me another one of his random duck-facts.

“Did you know only three percent of birds have penises, and ducks are part of those 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 stared at me with the same wide eyes, but his expression was slowly changing. What had seemed a normal, albeit awkward, smile, had grown into a wide, sickening grin. The guy was clearly enjoying this, and I couldn’t deny that he was starting to scare me. Still, I wouldn’t give up on the park, the bench and the ducks just because of a random weirdo.

Yet whenever I was back, I couldn’t help but look around, scanning the area to see if this madman was somewhere nearby. I could never see him, though, almost as if he was hiding, only to come down the moment I’d made it to the bench.

One day, I had enough. As so often, I’d just arrived, only to see him shambling in my direction, his face already distorted by that huge, ghastly grin of his. Before he could sit down, I picked up the bag of bird seeds, and was about to get out of there. Fuck it, I thought, enough is enough. Not going to deal with this shit anymore.

I’d taken only a handful of steps when I felt a hand closing around my wrist.

“You can’t leave,” he brought out in an over-exaggerated, serious voice. “The ducks need to be fed!”

In shock and not a tad bit angry, I jerked around, only to find the guy leaning forward, his face co close to mine, our foreheads almost touched. His eyes were wide, staring deep into mine. For a second I froze up, but then I tore myself from his grip and stumbled away.

“Freaking hell, man! The fuck’s your problem!? Feed the damned ducks yourself!” I yelled at him and threw the bag of bird seeds in front of his feet.

As I walked away, however, I could feel the guy’s eyes digging into my back. As much as I told myself it was just my imagination, I couldn’t help but turn around. He was still standing there, staring after me, and hadn’t even touched the seeds. Just keep walking, I told myself, but I couldn’t help but turn around again and again. He was still there, still hadn’t moved, not even 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 visit to the park, I found a picture of a duck inside my mailbox. I couldn’t help but frown, and the first thing that came to my mind was the crazy man from the park. It couldn’t be, I told myself. He didn’t even know where I live, didn’t he? For a moment, my eyes darted around, half-expecting to find him standing nearby, grinning at me. When I saw nothing, I told myself it had to be a coincidence. Maybe it was a neighbor’s idea of a joke, or some sort of marketing campaign? And yet, as I stared at it, at the picture of a normal freaking duck, I couldn’t help but grow anxious.

A few days later, after I’d gotten up in the morning, and went out onto the balcony to have a smoke, I found it covered in bird seeds. I was back inside in an instant, throwing the balcony door behind me. This was no coincidence anymore! That’s the reason I didn’t want a freaking apartment on the ground floor to begin with!

When I found a note taped to my front door stating the ducks were hungry, I had it. The moment I was 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 what I could only describe as stalking. They eyed me curiously, but from the look on 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. If he shows up again, please give us a call.”

Well, thanks for nothing!

In the days to come, more pictures of ducks arrived, and other, weirder things found their way into my mailbox. One morning, I pulled out what had to be dozens of duck feathers, the next, I found a coupon for a special sale at the pet store inside. Every single time I found one of the guy’s weird presents, I threw them away. It was clear he wanted to get a reaction out of me. Yet I couldn’t help but wonder why. Why was he doing this, and why he was he doing it to me? Was it really just because I liked ducks? Either way, I told myself not to let it get to me, still hoping that he’d leave me alone, eventually.

He didn’t and when I found a dead duck on my balcony, it got to me. Next to it, I found a small note.

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

Stupid pictures and stupid messages were one thing, but dead animals, animals he’d probably killed himself, were an entirely different story. This time, the police took it seriously, and told me they’d station someone nearby, and keep a lookout for anyone fitting the guy’s description. With that, I thought the issue was settled, and for an entire week, nothing happened. No more pictures or weird messages, no more things in my mailbox, and nothing on my balcony.

Then, one evening, while I was watching a movie, I was distracted by strange sounds. At first, I thought it came from the apartment of one of my neighbors, but when I turned the movie down, I could’ve sworn it sounded like the quacking of a duck. An icy shiver went down my spine, and I rushed to the balcony right away, thinking the guy might have thrown a live duck on it, but I saw nothing.

When I listened again, I could still hear it. It was quiet and muffled. For a moment, my eyes darted around the apartment before 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 plastered over it.

This time, my fear was pushed aside by anger. I ripped open the door to see if he was still nearby. The moment I did, however, all my anger evaporated and was replaced by surprise and confusion. He was right there, in the center of the hallway, but he was wearing a freaking… duck costume. For a moment, a half-insane laugh escaped my mouth. Just what the hell was going on here?

When the guy saw me, he quacked again, flapped his fake wings and charged me.

“What the absolute-?!” was all I could bring out before his body crashed into mine.

I was thrown off my feet, and all the air was driven from my lungs when I landed on the floor. For a moment, dark spots appeared in front of my eyes. Then he was upon me, beating me with his fake wings in 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 up my arms to protect myself from his assault. When he stopped to catch his breath, I managed to push him off me, and retreated to the back of the apartment. Behind me, he began quacking again, flapping his wings and preparing for another assault. By then, I’d gotten a hold of an empty glass bottle, staring him dead in the eyes.

“Get the fuck out of here, or I swear, I’m going to-“

My voice trailed off when the crotch area of his costume popped open. What the fuck was he doing now? Was he taking out his…?

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

My thoughts were cut off by what I saw. It was madness, pure and utter madness. I’d thought he’d taken out his penis, that he was some freak of nature who was about to get naked, but I realized what I saw was some sort of machination that was part of the costume. In the half-light of the apartment, I could only stare at the corkscrew between his legs.

“The duckman cometh!” the guy screamed, thrusting his hips forward, and a moment later, the corkscrew shot out in my direction.

I threw myself aside, barely dodging the contraption that I now realized was some sort of rope gun. Having missed his attack, he quacked again, angrier now, his face contorted by 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 fell over.

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

It wasn’t long before the police arrived. Some of my neighbors had heard the commotion and 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.

By now, I’m still waiting for information on what exactly was wrong with him, and why he’d decided to come after me. One thing’s for sure, though, I can never look at ducks the same way again, and I never want to hear another thing about goddamn corkscrew penises.

Who would ever be afraid of postcards? After all, it’s just paper; it’s not like they can hurt you.

If you’d asked me a month or two ago, I would’ve laughed, but that was before all this began.

It started in April. I’d just returned from the grocery store and checked my mail, something I rarely bother with. All I ever find are fliers, ads, and the occasional bill. That day, though, I found something different. Amongst a handful of fliers and ads, there was a postcard.

After crumpling up the ads, I checked it out. The front showed a pair of cute kittens playing with a ball of yarn. When I turned it around, wondering who it was from, I noticed something odd. The postal stamp was there, as were my address and name, neatly printed in fine block letters, but no message. Instead, I found a crooked smiley face surrounded by ink smudges, as if whoever had drawn it was in a rush.

I stared at the card, more than a bit amused. Who would send me this? Without thinking, I pocketed it and went inside. After putting the groceries away, I pinned it up on the small bulletin board in my hallway, where I’d collected all the postcards I’d received over the years.

I would have forgotten about it, had not another postcard arrived a week later. This time, the motif was of a sprawling forest; the sun rising in the distance. When I turned it around, I saw the same thing. A stamp, my address and name, and again, the same off-kilter smiley face.

“What the hell, another one?” I laughed, shaking my head.

It didn’t end there. A few days later, two more arrived. One showed balloons flying through the air, the other a picture of what I assumed to be a popular sightseeing attraction. Both were just like the others: no message, no sender, and only featuring the same smiley face.

By now, I couldn’t help but frown. At first, it was amusing, but the lack of any message, and that weird smile face; it was starting to creep me out. This time, I didn’t bother putting them up. Instead, I threw them in the trash without a moment’s hesitation. I wondered what was up with this. Why’d anyone send those stupid cards?

When I found another batch a few days later, I wasn’t puzzled anymore. No, I was angry. I tore them apart and crumpled up their remains. I stopped and look around. Was this some kind of elaborate joke? Someone’s idea of a prank? I shook my head. It wasn’t worth getting paranoid over a bunch of postcards. They had a postal stamp, which meant they came through the mail.

Still, the next day, I found myself in front of the mailbox again. Even though I’d told myself not to let it go to my head, I checked it. Wouldn’t you know it, I found another one. The same was true for the day after.

Who the hell was doing this? How’d they gotten my address? Also, the cards, the shipping, it all cost money, didn’t it? I went through an imaginary list of names. It was short. I didn’t have many friends left, and I surely hadn’t shared my new address with them. The only nasty break-up I could think about happened almost ten years ago. As much as I racked my brain, no one came to mind. So why’d I become a target?

I went online and posted about it on Reddit, hoping someone would have a clue. The replies I got were almost entirely useless. One person suggested a marketing campaign, another a social experiment. Great, that didn’t help one bit. So much for the information age.

One afternoon, on my way back from the grocery store, I ran into the mailman. He’d just started his around on our block.

“Hello! Excuse me,” I called out. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

The man turned to me, surprised, but nodded.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Well, for the past weeks, I’ve been getting these weird postcards. Do you know what’s up with that? Maybe other people are getting them, too? Is it some sort of marketing campaign?”

He stared at me for a second before he shook his head.

“Haven’t heard anything like that, sorry.”

I sighed.

“Yeah, but the cards keep on coming. By now it’s three a day. They are like landscapes, animals, greeting cards, that type of thing.”

“All right,” he said, his voice a tad bit suspicious. “Do you live here?”

“Oh yeah, down the street, number sixty-eight.”

“Tell you what, I haven’t heard of any weird campaigns or postcards, but I’ll keep my eyes open.”

“Thanks,” I said, but I could tell how uncomfortable he was about the entire conversation.

He probably didn’t believe a word I’d just said. I watched him leave in frustration.

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. This time, I tore the postcards up right there and threw their remains down in front of the mailboxes. Once done, I noticed a neighbor, an older woman, staring at me in confusion. Great, I thought, I’m going to be known as the local crazy guy.

As I stepped back inside, another idea came to my mind. I should’ve just told the mailman to throw the damn things away. Yesterday, I’d met him during his route at about one in the afternoon. I tried my best to distract myself with my work, but I soon couldn’t concentrate anymore. Instead, I sat at the kitchen window, watching the street. For an hour, I busied myself on my phone, when I saw his bright-yellow delivery car. I jumped up and dashed outside.

I found the mailman sorting through his letters in the back of the car before he made his way toward the mailboxes. When he noticed me, he gave me an awkward smile. Shit, I told myself, now I’m not only the local crazy guy but also the guy who stalks the mailman. He tried his best to ignore me, but every so often, his eyes wandered back to me.

“Sorry,” I said, awkwardly stepping up to him. “You might think I’m a nutcase, but-“

“Is this about the postcards?” he cut me off, holding a stack of letters.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “I thought you’d be delivering more of them.”

“Well,” he said, shrugging, “there aren’t any today. Same as yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

“Yeah, after you asked me. See?”

With that, he showed me the envelopes in his hand. There were no postcards among them.

“Motherfucker,” I cursed, catching his concerned look.

Shit, now he definitely thought I was crazy.

“Sorry, not you,” I added, shaking my head. “It’s just… I found another batch this morning.”

He said nothing. Instead, he gave me a curt nod and hurried back to his car.

All right, so not the postal service. With that, the biggest question on my mind changed from why to who, and especially when. As I stood there, staring after the mailman, something gnawed at me. A strange sense of doubt washed over me. Had he really not delivered them? What if he was messing with me? In an instant, I tore open my mailbox, but it was empty.

Back inside, I hatched a plan. If the postcards were there in the morning, but the mailman hadn’t delivered them, someone else had to be behind it. I mean, they couldn’t just appear out of thin air. If I just waited at my kitchen window and kept an eye on the mailbox, I was sure to catch the perpetrator. A moment later, I found myself an interesting podcast, and began my watch. I sat there all afternoon, but all I saw were neighbors checking their mail. None of them touched mine. When the sun set, I prepared myself a can of coffee, but my eyes never strayed from the mailboxes.

When night fell, I was about to turn on the light, but then stopped. What if someone was watching me? A shiver ran down my spine. I hadn’t thought about that until now, but it was so obvious. The moment they saw me at the window, they’d sit today out. No, what if they’d already seen me? Dammit.

Still, I’d told myself I’d catch the one responsible, and I’d watch the damn mailbox. For the past weeks, the postcards had shown up every day, so I was sure whoever was doing it wanted to keep it up. Hour after hour passed, but nothing happened. Midnight crept into morning, each minute stretching on endlessly. By three, I nearly fell asleep. I slapped myself across the face, cranked up the podcast, and downed another disgustingly strong cup of coffee.

When morning came, I was tired, exhausted, but most of all, discouraged. No one had shown up. I could only laugh. What the hell was I even doing? Sitting here all night because of a bunch of stupid postcards? And yet, I stayed. Another hour. Then another. I couldn’t bring myself to stop. A voice in the back of my head told me, the moment I would step away, someone would rush to the mailbox, slip the cards in, and vanish before I could catch them. Then I started to think. What if they were waiting for exactly that? What if someone had seen me by the window, and now waited for me to give up, to falter? My apartment was on the ground floor. I’d be out there in moments. If I was fast enough, I might even catch them red-handed.

For a moment, I scanned the street, the sidewalk, and even the bushes. Just to be sure I wouldn’t miss a thing, I placed my phone next to the window, where it couldn’t be spotted, making sure it was pointed at the mailboxes and recording. Once I was sure everything was working, I stepped away, put on my shoes and hurried outside. My eyes darted around, searching for the perpetrator, for someone hurrying away. Suddenly, I noticed something nearby. My eyes grew wide, my heart was pounding in my chest, and I was ready to throw myself at whoever was messing with me. Then I noticed it was just a stray cat. It watched me for a few seconds before darting away. I sighed, and after a few more moments, I walked up to my mailbox. My fingers were sweaty as I slid the key into the lock, and my hand trembled as I turned it. Another noise behind me made me flinch, but it was only the trees gently swaying in the wind.

It had to be empty. It had to be! The lock clicked, the door swung open, and my stomach dropped. There they were. Three postcards. Cute kittens and puppies stared back at me, mocking me for my useless night-long watch. I flipped them over with still-shaking hands. The same postal stamp, the same printed address and name, and, of course, the same damned smiley face. As I stared at them, I wondered if someone actually slid them in and got away just now.

Well, I thought, as I made my way back inside, if they had, I’d have it all on record. Filled with a strange sense of glee, I picked up the phone, brought it as close to my face as possible, and pressed play. The recording began, showing only the lonely mailboxes.

“Now, where are you, asshole?” I wondered out loud, watching intently.

When I saw a figure, I thought I’d caught the culprit, but realized it was only me walking up to my mailbox. I watched as my eyes scanned the area. Suddenly, another thought struck me. What if I’d somehow been doing all this to myself? A shiver ran down my spine. My mind conjured an image, my face, but not my face, grinning at the camera before slipping the postcards inside. What I saw instead was me taking out my keys, opening the mailbox, and finding the postcards.

Relief flooded over me before it was replaced by frustration. I slammed the phone onto the kitchen table and laughed. Jesus, what the hell was wrong with me? Even though… how the hell had someone managed to slide them inside? I’d seen no one all night! Then I wondered if someone had dropped them in before I’d started watching the window. There’d been a few minutes after my talk with the mailman. Hell, what if the mailman was behind it after all? Then I shook my head, calling myself stupid.

The more I thought about it, however, the more it made sense. He could’ve pretended to be clueless, and the moment I left, he could’ve stopped his car, ran back, and slid the damned cards inside. Or what if it was my neighbors? Maybe this was some sort of conspiracy to drive me out? I’d never been a big part of the neighborhood community and never talked to anyone. Hell, what if I’d gone nuts and imagined the whole thing? I’d read about similar cases… In an onset of panic, I dashed to the bulletin board, but the first two postcards were still there.

“All right, stop,” I told myself. “You’re losing it.”

This was getting ridiculous. I sounded crazy, and I was definitely acting like it. This entire ‘let’s watch the mailbox all night long’ thing was weird enough, but all those scenarios were too much. I rubbed my temples and shook my head. Shit, I was exhausted, out of it, and it had all been for nothing.

After that day, I made it a conscious effort to ignore it. Whoever was behind this clearly wanted a reaction out of me. Maybe they’d seen me tear up the cards and confront the mailman. Was that what they wanted? To watch me spiral? Well, tough luck. If I stopped caring, they’d most likely get bored and move on. At least, that’s what I hoped. Deep down, however, a quiet, almost inaudible voice whispered: What if they don’t? What if this was only the beginning?

I’d told myself not to care, but whenever I was in the kitchen, my eyes wandered toward the mailbox. Just for a moment, before I moved on. As much as I wanted to rush outside and check it, I restrained myself. I only looked after an evening walk or during trips to the grocery store. Each time, I found postcards inside. They arrived in droves by now. One day, I pulled out almost three dozen.

It was the most bizarre, dumbfounding thing ever, but I showed no reaction. I just took out the cards, took them inside, and threw them straight into the trash.

A week later, my doorbell rang.

“I guess these are yours?” one of my neighbors asked, holding a stack of postcards.

I stared at him, then at the cards, and almost cringed back.

“No, those aren’t-“

“They all have your name on it. Every single one,” he interrupted me.

“Yes, but-“

“Then they’re yours,” he said and held them out for me.

“I… dammit, all right.”

With that, I took the stack from his hands.

“Wouldn’t hurt you to be a little friendlier, young man,” he muttered as he turned to leave.

I was about to retort something, but I told myself to calm down. He was just trying to help and be a good neighbor. He probably thought the mailman mixed things up.

“Sorry,” I called after him. “It’s just… there’s something odd about these cards.”

He paused, not understanding.

“Odd how?”

“Someone’s been dumping them in my mailbox for weeks, probably a month by now. Every day, there’s more of them. There’s no message, just stupid smiley faces. See?”

He frowned.

“Maybe it’s someone’s idea of a prank?”

“I don’t know.”

Then I got an idea.

“Hold on, let’s check the mailboxes.”

He was about to say something, but then reluctantly followed me outside. When I opened my mailbox, a flood of postcards descended upon me. The last few were crumpled up from having been jammed inside.

“I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

“That’s what I’ve been dealing with,” I said. “I bet the rest ended up in your mailbox.”

He scratched his head, baffled.

“That sure is something, but why’d anyone do that?”

“Honestly? I have no idea.”

The old man noticed my frustration and gave my shoulder a reassuring pat.

“Like I said, probably just a prank. Don’t let it get to you.”

With that, he walked off, leaving me alone with the scattered postcards. As I stared, I couldn’t help but shake my head. No, this wasn’t a prank, this was insane.

Over the course of the next week, things didn’t get better. More and more of my neighbors showed up at my door. The nice old lady from the third floor, a student from the sixth, and a mother from down the hall. Every one of them brought me stacks of postcards. As calmly as possible, I explained to them that someone was playing a trick on me, and told them to just throw the cards away. Most were sympathetic about my situation, but I noticed their expressions changing. First to confusion, then doubt, and finally annoyance. By now, the entire building must’ve been talking about this thing. That, and my involvement in it.

A week later, the mailman confronted me.

“This is becoming a problem, you know,” he said, pointing at the mailboxes.

“What do you-?”

I stopped mid-sentence. Half the mailboxes were overflowing with postcards. I gave a short nervous laugh, which landed me an angry glance from the man.

“I can’t deliver the mail like this,” he said sharply. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What am I…? What do you mean?”

“Well, they are clearly addressed to you.”

By now, another neighbor had arrived.

“Not again,” she muttered.

A moment later, more people arrived, all more than annoyed about the state of the mailboxes. Most of them just stared me down, but one of them came up to me and threw a stack of postcards down in front of me.

“This is getting out of hand!” he snapped at me.

Soon, more accusations were hurled my way.

“You think this is some sort of joke?”

“You’ve got to do something about it!”

“If it’s not you, then who?”

I tried to explain, but the shouting drowned me out. Eventually, I stormed back inside, slamming the door.

Back in my apartment, I pulled out my phone and called the police. My report was vague, and I told them someone was stalking me, and damaging the mailboxes. When they arrived, I explained the full situation. They listened, but I could see how they looked at me. Finally, I led them outside, and showed them the chaos. For a moment, both of them were quiet.

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

“About a month and a half. First, it was only one, but now…”

The two officers handled the situation professionally, but I could see how perplexed they were. They asked if I had any enemies, but I told them no. I’d tried to figure this out for weeks, but I had no clue. I even told them about my night-long watch. One of them handed me his card and promised they’d station someone in the area. They also took some postcards as evidence. With the police taking action, I was sure this would finally stop.

The next morning, however, I heard the neighbor’s curses before I even looked outside. Peeking out via my kitchen window, I saw the mailboxes were overflowing again. When one of them caught my eye, I ducked away.

Over the following weeks, the deliveries continued, and I slowly became the sole target of the neighbors’ anger. Whenever I left my apartment, I found myself under accusing stares and subjected to endless questions.

Soon enough, it wasn’t only me who was in contact with the police. My neighbors made it no secret they thought I was responsible. Eventually, one officer confronted me.

“All right, Mr. Jackson, we need to have a talk,” he started, his voice serious. “We’re getting complaints from half the building, and everyone thinks you’ve got something to do with this.”

“Hold on, are you-?”

“I’m not saying you are, but we had a look at those postcards. No fingerprints, no known postal stamp, and no manufacturer we can trace.”

“You’re trying to say they… shouldn’t exist?”

“That, or they’re self-made. Someone could print them at home, and use a fake postal stamp. We’d still be able to catch the perpetrator, but if they, say, lived in the same building, they’d have a much easier time doing all this without being seen. They’d just have to step outside and-“

“Wait, are you suspecting me?!”

“Of course not. But if there’s something you’re not telling us, now’s the time. It will come out sooner or later.”

I opened my mouth to retort something, but then, in anger and frustration, I just hung up. Why was everyone against me? Why would they think I’d do this? How could I even… there were hundreds, thousands of those damned postcards! It makes no sense! I pounded my fist on my desk, but there was nothing I could do, absolutely nothing.

Over time, I got more complaints, and before long, people dumped the cards right in front of my apartment. Occasionally, I’d hear muffled curses and found notes taped to my door. At one point, a neighbor even slid the cards under my door. I could only watch as stupid smiley faces popped out, one after another. A giggle escaped my mouth before I screamed at them to leave me alone and tore the cards to pieces.

I even got a call from the renting company. I assured them I had nothing to do with it, and was a target as well. They listened, quietly. I’d thought this was it, and they’d terminate my lease, but they had a different idea. A few days later, a maintenance team arrived, took down the mailboxes, and reinstalled them in the building’s entry hallway.

When I woke up the next morning, I rushed outside. A group of neighbors had already gathered. Some confronted me, daring me to do it again, but others were simply staring at the mailboxes. I pushed myself through the crowd, ignoring complaints and threats.

I couldn’t believe it; there were no postcards. I laughed, then sighed with relief. God, it was finally over!

Smiling and ignoring the stares I got, I went back inside. I hadn’t even had my morning coffee yet. Quick steps led me to the kitchen. For the first time in months, the world felt normal again, and all I wanted right no was a nice, hot cup of coffee.

The moment I opened the door, relief was replaced by sheer terror. My eyes grew wide, and my heart began pounding in my chest when I saw the impossible mess in front of me. Postcards had been crammed in every nook and cranny, an uncountable number. The kitchen table sagged under their weight, the floor was blanketed with them, and all the cupboards, drawers, and shelves were overflowing. Even my tiny coffee cup had a single, folded postcard inside of it.

I wanted to scream, to cry, to make myself heard. For a second, I was about to hurl the cup through the kitchen, but then, with a shaking hand, I pulled out the card to have a look at it. On it was a postal stamp, my name and address neatly printed in fine block letters, alongside the same smiley face.

I stared at it for hours, scanning it for a hint, for meaning… something. My fingers moved to the smile face, carefully brushing over it. As I did, I felt my lips twisting into a grin of my own, a mad and erratic one.

And then I laughed. It was a shrill, endless laugh. I laughed so hard, my chest hurt and I couldn’t breathe, so hard, my legs buckled, and I collapsed admits the postcards. I laughed. Because really, what else could I do?

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

“… don’t have all we need…”

“… the special dish…”

The back of his head was throbbing 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, and 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 to 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 air he’d hoped for, the smell of cooking reached him. The neighbors must’ve had 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 preparing, 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 listen in as they talked. A fresh argument started, and he heard the old woman pleading again. Her husband grumbled something 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, and encrusted dishes filled the sink. He wondered when he’d last cleaned, but the pain was still stabbing at his head. His hands were shaking when 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 trained 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 he heard that 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 fragrance of juniper stung in his nose and made his eyes water. He coughed, waved his hand to drive it away, but the more he fought, the stronger the smell became. He almost gagged, but eventually gave up and threw the window shut.

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 the neighbors were at it again. The same argument. It raged on before the husband set out once more. 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 couldn’t see the old man anywhere. Hurrying outside, he saw him across the road, entering the store. 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 to it, as if certain gestures and words were too studied.

“Not bad,” Matthew answered. “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. They’d been talking about nothing else ever since he’d woken up.

“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’re making,” he joked as he stepped up to the register.

The young cashier didn’t seem to listen to him. 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 mannerisms, too, were 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 his 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 mumbled 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 out 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 were they even making? All he could remember was the first argument that had woken him. If, he realized, it had even been the 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 turned 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 fists 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 mumbled.

There was no end to it. More and more leaked outside and drenched the carpeted floor of the hallway.

Suddenly, 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 yet another argument. What the hell was going on here?

When Mr. Schuster left 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 hand was covered in grease.

As he stared at it in disgust, the argument next door played out yet again. The old couple’s voices were more animated and strangely over-exaggerated now. When Mr. Schuster eventually opened the door, more soup spilled outside, 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 at it again. He lay on his couch, curled into a ball, and listened to the 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 once been Mr. Schuster, pushed itself from the door. His body had changed, warped itself into a bloated, blob-like creature. Matthew’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 now 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 normal grocery store entrance was now a gaping, looming maw, leading underground.

The inside was a labyrinthine mess of twisted, rotten shelves filled with the most nightmarish goods. Meat twitched and squeaked inside its packaging. Vegetables had become caricatures of themselves, and all everything else had warped itself into 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 the shelves, her bulging eyes followed his every step as he traversed the once-store.

Matthew watched in horror as one of the squirming pieces of meat crawled from its packaging and closed around his hand. When he felt the wet, sinewy flesh, its gentle, almost caressing touch, the trance he’d been under was shattered. 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 in hot waves before 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 for him from half-formed appendages. 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, quivering mess. Why had the world become like… 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 inside 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 goddamn special dish.

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

He 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 mass that had replaced it. He cringed back while the animalistic argument next door continued, undeterred.

“Be quiet! Shut up!” he screamed at them.

Then, other memories flooded his mind, other voices, the voices of former friends and acquaintances, of family.

“Be quiet!”

“Get lost!”

“Drop dead!”

Dead.

“Oh god, no,” he mumbled 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 the neighbors talking about it, 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 it hell? His very own private hell? What if he was dying right now, and a last surge of brain activity replayed his final conscious moments repeatedly? Maybe this 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 there I was, staring out into the night. Well, not like it really mattered. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d missed 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.

“Fuck,” 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 she 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 off when she repeated the same motion again.

“No. No, I’m all right, I think. I just want to go 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 ground 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 in 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 to 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.

Taking a hot girl home to my dorm room was the last thing I ever expected happening to me. I’m not the popular type, never was. I’m a freaking nerd.

Making out with her felt great. Her lips were soft, and her kisses felt sensual yet domineering. She pushed me onto the bed 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 for a few more moments before she moved back to take off her shirt and bra. Seconds later, she was completely naked.

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

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

“Y-yeah,” I answered in a voice much too shrill.

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

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

All right, condoms. Where are my condoms?

“H-hold on,” I muttered.

Then I turned around and rummaged through my cupboard. I pushed around all the useless clutter that had accumulated over the course of a semester, but the tiny pack of rubbers was nowhere to be found.

Dammit, where the hell are they? I redoubled my efforts, but they seemed to be just gone.

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

“Condoms,” I mumbled. “I knew I had some, but…”

My voice trailed off before I got an idea. I didn’t like it one bit.

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

“All right, wait here,” I blurted, signaling for her to stay in bed.

“I’ll be right back!”

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

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

My roommates, Rick and Barry, were still chatting in the kitchen. When I barged in, they both stared at me puzzled, but a second later, Barry’s face turned to glee.

“What’s the matter Jake? Did she run away?”

“What? No, she’s still there. Do you guys have any condoms? I can’t find mine, so…”

I looked at them expectantly, but for a moment, neither of them said a word. Then Barry burst out laughing.

“Holy shit dude, what?!” he asked, sprouting beer from his mouth.

My eyes turned to Rick, who sat there, not laughing, but with a more than amused expression on his face.

“Sorry, man, I’m all out,” he eventually said.

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

“Should’ve thought about that before you took her home,” Barry continued to lay into me.

“You know what? Fuck you guys!”

With their voices trailing after me, I hurried toward the front door. I threw on my shoes and was out a moment later. The late night store at the edge of campus should have some!

As I hurried past the dorms and over campus, I couldn’t help but curse about my roommates, especially Barry.

Why’d he always have to be such a dick?

Even today, he couldn’t stop pestering me while I was working on a project due next week.

“Whatcha doing, Jake?”

“You working on a project on Saturday evening?”

“God, you’re such a nerd.”

Well, some of us had to actually worry about their grades.

Yet even after I told him I had to finish my work, he didn’t leave me alone. Soon enough, I found Rick trailing after him, and the two of them suggested I’d join them on their night out. I knew damn well they only invited me to act as a glorified wingman.

Eventually, fed up with the entire thing, I told them I’d come along. With a sigh, I changed clothes, got myself a beer from the fridge, and set out after them.

On the subway, the two of them had their usual chit-chat, with Barry going on about his favorite topics of choice: parties, drinking, and girls, girls, girls. I knew at least half of it was bullshit, and even Rick seemed to tire of it after a while. Instead, he turned to me and asked me when I’d last been lucky, only to be cut off by Barry, who threw the word ‘virgin’ at me while guffawing.

God, why’d I even agree to this?

Not long after, 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.

Barry and Rick, however, were right in their element, mingling on the dancefloor and hitting on any girl unlucky enough to get too close to them.

I watched them for a bit before I propped down at the bar and ordered myself a beer. As I sat there, drinking in hand, I couldn’t help but sigh.

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

“Nah, it’s just,” I started, but couldn’t go on when I saw the woman sitting next to me.

To say she was gorgeous would be an understatement.

For a few seconds, all I could do was 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 answered.

She noticed the emphasis I put on 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 agree with her. When I asked her what brought her to the club, she told me she liked to mingle… occasionally. 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.

Rick introduced himself, but gave her a wink that said more than a thousand words. Barry, on the other hand, wasted not a second in an attempt to charm her. He threw out one of his pickup lines and flashed her his trademark smile, the one he probably thought was irresistible. The woman blinked before she put her hand on my leg and inched closer, pushing herself against me.

“Sorry, boys,” she started, “but I’m talking to your friend here.”

Rick and Barry’s jaws dropped in unison, and they soon left in search of easier prey.

“My, oh, my, those two are something else,” she said, amused, her eyes trailing after them for a few moments.

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

With my head on standby, I blurted out that my dorm room was a mere fifteen minutes away. I regretted it instantly, thinking of my cluttered and cramped room, but before I could make another suggestion, she already took me up on the offer.

The moment the two of us left, Rick and Barry hurried along, clearly intent on not missing a single moment and just waiting for me to fuck all it up somehow.

While we were on the subway, Barry tried once more to woe the nameless beauty next to me, but she ignored him.

The moment we made it back, she almost shoved me into my room, the room she was no still waiting in.

And I wasn’t in that room with her right now. No, I was on the way to the goddamn late night store.

Once I’d made it past the dorms, and had crossed two more streets, I could already see its dim lights. As I barged inside, throwing open the door, the cashier jerked up, staring at me.

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

God, why was this place so big?

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

Eventually, I hurried back to the cashier, who was now busy arguing with two guys who must’ve entered the store after me. Without thinking, I pushed myself past them to ask the cashier the one question that mattered.

“Excuse me, can you tell me where the-“

Instantly, I found myself face to face with the two of them, and could tell they were drunk.

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

“Shit, sorry, I just wanted to-“

“Oh, you’re sorry? You’re gonna be sorry once I’m done with you!” his friend joined in, who was clearly in the mood for trouble.

“All right, guys, cut it out. You either pay for your shit, or you take it outside, got that?” the cashier defused the situation.

Instantly, the two of them turned back to him, and began laying into him again.

“There’s no way I’m going to pay ten freaking bucks for that shit! I get it for five at the liquor store!”

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

“It’s freaking closed, asshole. That’s why we’re here!”

Another shrug.

“Guess you don’t want it then.”

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

“There you go, asshole,” he spat before the two of them turned around and made their way to the exit, not without elbowing me aside.

“Thanks. Make sure to come again,” he called after them with a grin on his face.

When I heard that, I couldn’t help but laugh. Instantly, the nearest guy turned around, staring me down as if I’d just insulted his honor.

“You think that’s funny?” he growled, already stepping toward me.

The cashier sighed.

“Knock it off, will you? I don’t mind calling the cops if you guys keep causing trouble, all right?”

“Yeah, fuck you, too, asshole!” one of them yelled before they slammed the door.

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

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

The dud couldn’t help but laugh.

“Big night, eh? They are over there, second row, left side, kinda hidden. See the sign for toiletries over there? Right under that, next to the toilet paper.”

In an instant, I hurried away, trying my best to follow his instructions.

When I finally reached them, I stared at the various packages in utter confusion.

I saw Rhino Rubbers, Strawberry Slippers, and at least a dozen others with similarly ridiculous names. What the hell was all that stuff?

After half a minute of staring at the mess dumbfounded, and trying to make sense of it, 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 at the moment.”

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

“Come on, man, can’t you write it up or something? I swear, I’ll be back first thing in the morning and give you the money. Hell, I give you a tip and-“

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

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

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

All right, calm down. The TI building is to the right of… shit. Where the hell was I even going?

I ripped out my phone to cross-check my location. Of course, I’d ran in a different direction.

Dammit, now it was going to take me another five minutes to get there! With the time it took me to go the store and now… Please, please let her still be there when I get back, please, I prayed to any and all gods.

As I ran over the campus, my lungs were burning, and legs felt as heavy as lead, but I didn’t stop. No, this was my chance, probably my one and only chance to finally get laid and stick it to that asshole Barry.

Following the directions on my phone, I made it to the IT building. I rushed past it, could see the bus station and finally the ATM.

I arrived a panting and shaking mess, giving the two guys at the station no notice as I inserted my card.

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

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

Ignoring the 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 trailed off.

“You’re that asshole from the store!”

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

When I finally turned around, I found myself face to face with one of the drunk guys from the store. Shit, why it’s got to be them!?

“Yo, Alex, it’s that asshole who made fun of us!”

“Look, I didn’t mean to-“

Before I could even finish my apology, he pushed me back against the ATM.

“Got something to say now, huh?” he asked, pushing his face in front of mine.

Instead of saying anything, I pushed the guy back, straight into his friend who’d walked over to join in on 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 that of shattering glass. My eyes wandered to the growing puddle of alcohol. Now I’d really done it.

“What the fuck, man!?” the guy screamed up.

“Shit, sorry, I can pay for the booze, but I really-“

Once more, I didn’t get to finish before I was hit in the stomach.

Pain shot through my entire body, knocking the air from my lungs. My legs buckled, and before I could catch my breath, another punch landed, and I hit the ground hard.

“Oh yeah, you gonna pay? I’ll make sure you fucking pay!”

As I lay there, receiving kick after kick, I could only wonder how it all had gone so wrong. Was this really what was going to happen? Being beaten to a pulp in front of an ATM on this night of all nights? God, this was too pathetic, even for me.

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

The two drunks turned around and started throwing insults at her.

While the three of them continued yelling at each other, I fought myself to my feet and booked it.

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

Man, I could get laid right now, and instead…

“Where do you think you’re going, asshole?” one of them called after me.

My entire body hurt as I rushed past the IT building, then towards the adjacent chemistry faculty. One look over my shoulder told me they were still in pursuit. Dammit, why the hell were they so goddamn fast?

Then, in one swift motion, I turned around a corner and hurried up the stairs that led to the chemistry faculty’s roof. 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, scanning the area.

“Where’d he go?” one of them asked.

The other was still looking around before he began cursing.

God, why aren’t they fucking leaving? Are they just gonna keep looking for me?

I watched as they walked around, trying to figure out where I’d vanished to. Twice, they looked in my direction, but they thankfully didn’t notice me.

Minute after minute passed, but eventually, they left.

I forced myself to wait at least another minute, counting down the seconds.

Once I was done, I jumped down the stairs and rushed over the campus back to the late night store.

The cashier looked up when I barged inside again.

“Well, wouldn’t you know it? You actually made it?”

I nodded, walked up to him, and handed him the money without saying a word. A second later, I held a small pack of condoms in my hand.

“Good luck,” he said, giving me a well-meaning nod.

“Thanks,” I finally said.

Once back outside, I couldn’t believe the night I was having.

I almost laughed when I looked at my phone and saw that more than half an hour had passed. Knowing my luck, she was probably gone by now. Hell, she probably thought I’d pussied out, or worse, decided to try her luck with my roommates after all.

The moment I made it back to the dorms, I noticed a lonely figure making their way down the street in the direction of the subway station.

The street was dark, almost unnaturally so, as if clouded in shadows that the nearby lights couldn’t penetrate. Yet I noticed the long brown hair, the tight dress, and sensual walk.

Oh god, no!

“Hey!” I called out and rushed after her. “Hey, wait up! I’m sorry!”

When I reached her and she turned around, I stopped in my tracks.

It was her, but also… not. Her hair was wild and disheveled, her clothes torn and stained. In front of my eyes, the beautiful woman seemed to warp into a hunched over, bird-like monstrosity.

When our eyes met, a ghastly grin appeared on her face, one that stretched further and further before she opened her mouth.

“My, oh, my,” a distorted version of her sweet, sensual voice said. “You actually made it back, lover boy.”

“Yes, I…”

Once more, I couldn’t continue.

Her mouth was wide open, the lower jaw dangling as if unhinged. I saw rows of long, pointy teeth, saw blood covering her lips and dripping from her chin. I watched as a thick, lolling tongue pushed forward to lick it away.

“It’s too bad,” she cackled before closing the distance between us.

Instantly, a sharp, exotic smell that stung in my nose assaulted me, but also something heavier, nauseating that made my stomach turn. The coppery smell of blood!

I wanted to run, to flee, but I was paralyzed as her hungry eyes stared deep into mine. Then she reached out to me with elongated, spidery fingers. I took a single step back before she got a hold of me. It wasn’t the passionate embrace from earlier tonight. No, this was a predator restraining its prey.

As she held me in her arms, her appearance shifted once more, as though she were made of liquid shadows. Limbs twisted and stretched unnaturally before her head snapped forward with a loud crack.

“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 her wide-open jaw and the needle-like teeth in her mouth.

“Maybe another time,” she said before she turned around.

As she walked off, I wasn’t sure what I was seeing. Right in front of my eyes, two versions of her seemed to exist simultaneously. One the beautiful woman in the dress, the other, the towering bird-like monstrosity, each form constantly bleeding into the other.

When she was finally gone, all the strength left my body, and I slumped to the ground in sheer and utter confusion.

Down by the dorms, chaos erupted, and I could soon hear the distant sound of police sirens. My friends, she’d said. The blood. Dear god, Rick and Barry, I realized.

Then I stared at the little box of condoms in my hand, the box that had caused me so much trouble.

And when I finally read the word protection written on it, I couldn’t help but laugh, and laugh, and laugh.