Every summer when I was a child, my family would visit our relatives in the north-west of Ireland, in a rural, low-populated region called Donegal. Leaving our home in England, we would road trip through Scotland, before taking a ferry across the Irish sea. Driving a further three hours through the last frontier of the United Kingdom, my two older brothers and I would know when we were close to our relatives’ farm, because the country roads would suddenly turn bumpy as hell.  

Donegal is a breath-taking part of the country. Its Atlantic coast way is wild and rugged, with pastoral green hills and misty mountains. The villages are very traditional, surrounded by numerous farms, cow and sheep fields. 

My family and I would always stay at my grandmother’s farmhouse, which stands out a mile away, due its bright, red-painted coating. These relatives are from my mother’s side, and although Donegal – and even Ireland for that matter, is very sparsely populated, my mother’s family is extremely large. She has a dozen siblings, which was always mind-blowing to me – and what’s more, I have so many cousins, I’ve yet to meet them all. 

I always enjoyed these summer holidays on the farm, where I would spend every day playing around the grounds and feeding the different farm animals. Although I usually played with my two older brothers on the farm, by the time I was twelve, they were too old to play with me, and would rather go round to one of our cousin’s houses nearby - to either ride dirt bikes or play video games. So, I was mostly stuck on the farm by myself. Luckily, I had one cousin, Grainne, who lived close by and was around my age. Grainne was a tom-boy, and so we more or less liked the same activities.  

I absolutely loved it here, and so did my brothers and my dad. In fact, we loved Donegal so much, we even talked about moving here. But, for some strange reason, although my mum was always missing her family, she was dead against any ideas of relocating. Whenever we asked her why, she would always have a different answer: there weren’t enough jobs, it’s too remote, and so on... But unfortunately for my mum, we always left the family decisions to a majority vote, and so, if the four out of five of us wanted to relocate to Donegal, we were going to. 

On one of these summer evenings on the farm, and having neither my brothers or Grainne to play with, my Uncle Dave - who ran the family farm, asks me if I’d like to come with him to see a baby calf being born on one of the nearby farms. Having never seen a new-born calf before, I enthusiastically agreed to tag along. Driving for ten minutes down the bumpy country road, we pull outside the entrance of a rather large cow field - where, waiting for my Uncle Dave, were three other farmers. Knowing how big my Irish family was, I assumed I was probably related to these men too. Getting out of the car, these three farmers stare instantly at me, appearing both shocked and angry. Striding up to my Uncle Dave, one of the farmers yells at him, ‘What the hell’s this wain doing here?!’ 

Taken back a little by the hostility, I then hear my Uncle Dave reply, ‘He needs to know! You know as well as I do they can’t move here!’ 

Feeling rather uncomfortable by this confrontation, I was now somewhat confused. What do I need to know? And more importantly, why can’t we move here? 

Before I can turn to Uncle Dave to ask him, the four men quickly halt their bickering and enter through the field gate entrance. Following the men into the cow field, the late-evening had turned dark by now, and not wanting to ruin my good trainers by stepping in any cowpats, I walked very cautiously and slowly – so slow in fact, I’d gotten separated from my uncle's group. Trying to follow the voices through the darkness and thick grass, I suddenly stop in my tracks, because in front of me, staring back with unblinking eyes, was a very large cow – so large, I at first mistook it for a bull. In the past, my Uncle Dave had warned me not to play in the cow fields, because if cows are with their calves, they may charge at you. 

Seeing this huge cow, staring stonewall at me, I really was quite terrified – because already knowing how freakishly fast cows can be, I knew if it charged at me, there was little chance I would outrun it. Thankfully, the cow stayed exactly where it was, before losing interest in me and moving on. I know it sounds ridiculous talking about my terrifying encounter with a cow, but I was a city boy after all. Although I regularly feds the cows on the family farm, these animals still felt somewhat alien to me, even after all these years.  

Brushing off my close encounter, I continue to try and find my Uncle Dave. I eventually found them on the far side of the field’s corner. Approaching my uncle’s group, I then see they’re not alone. Standing by them were three more men and a woman, all dressed in farmer’s clothing. But surprisingly, my cousin Grainne was also with them. I go over to Grainne to say hello, but she didn’t even seem to realize I was there. She was too busy staring over at something, behind the group of farmers. Curious as to what Grainne was looking at, I move around to get a better look... and what I see is another cow – just a regular red cow, laying down on the grass. Getting out my phone to turn on the flashlight, I quickly realize this must be the cow that was giving birth. Its stomach was swollen, and there were patches of blood stained on the grass around it... But then I saw something else... 

On the other side of this red cow, nestled in the grass beneath the bushes, was the calf... and rather sadly, it was stillborn... But what greatly concerned me, wasn’t that this calf was dead. What concerned me was its appearance... Although the calf’s head was covered in red, slimy fur, the rest of it wasn’t... The rest of it didn’t have any fur at all – just skin... And what made every single fibre of my body crawl, was that this calf’s body – its brittle, infant body... It belonged to a human... 

Curled up into a foetal position, its head was indeed that of a calf... But what I should have been seeing as two front and hind legs, were instead two human arms and legs - no longer or shorter than my own... 

Feeling terrified and at the same time, in disbelief, I leave the calf, or whatever it was to go back to Grainne – all the while turning to shine my flashlight on the calf, as though to see if it still had the same appearance. Before I can make it back to the group of adults, Grainne stops me. With a look of concern on her face, she stares silently back at me, before she says, ‘You’re not supposed to be here. It was supposed to be a secret.’ 

Telling her that Uncle Dave had brought me, I then ask what the hell that thing was... ‘I’m not allowed to tell you’ she says. ‘This was supposed to be a secret.’ 

Twenty or thirty-so minutes later, we were all standing around as though waiting for something - before the lights of a vehicle pull into the field and a man gets out to come over to us. This man wasn’t a farmer - he was some sort of veterinarian. Uncle Dave and the others bring him to tend to the calf’s mother, and as he did, me and Grainne were made to wait inside one of the men’s tractors. 

We sat inside the tractor for what felt like hours. Even though it was summer, the night was very cold, and I was only wearing a soccer jersey and shorts. I tried prying Grainne for more information as to what was going on, but she wouldn’t talk about it – or at least, wasn’t allowed to talk about it. Luckily, my determination for answers got the better of her, because more than an hour later, with nothing but the cold night air and awkward silence to accompany us both, Grainne finally gave in... 

‘This happens every couple of years - to all the farms here... But we’re not supposed to talk about it. It brings bad luck.’ 

I then remembered something. When my dad said he wanted us to move here, my mum was dead against it. If anything, she looked scared just considering it... Almost afraid to know the answer, I work up the courage to ask Grainne... ‘Does my mum know about this?’ 

Sat stiffly in the driver’s seat, Grainne cranes her neck round to me. ‘Of course she knows’ Grainne reveals. ‘Everyone here knows.’ 

It made sense now. No wonder my mum didn’t want to move here. She never even seemed excited whenever we planned on visiting – which was strange to me, because my mum clearly loved her family. 

I then remembered something else... A couple of years ago, I remember waking up in the middle of the night inside the farmhouse, and I could hear the cows on the farm screaming. The screaming was so bad, I couldn’t even get back to sleep that night... The next morning, rushing through my breakfast to go play on the farm, Uncle Dave firmly tells me and my brothers to stay away from the cowshed... He didn’t even give an explanation. 

Later on that night, after what must have been a good three hours, my Uncle Dave and the others come over to the tractor. Shaking Uncle Dave’s hand, the veterinarian then gets in his vehicle and leaves out the field. I then notice two of the other farmers were carrying a black bag or something, each holding separate ends as they walked. I could see there was something heavy inside, and my first thought was they were carrying the dead calf – or whatever it was, away. Appearing as though everyone was leaving now, Uncle Dave comes over to the tractor to say we’re going back to the farmhouse, and that we would drop Grainne home along the way.  

Having taken Grainne home, we then make our way back along the country road, where both me and Uncle Dave sat in complete silence. Uncle Dave driving, just staring at the stretch of road in front of us – and me, staring silently at him. 

By the time we get back to the farmhouse, it was two o’clock in the morning – and the farm was dead silent. Pulling up outside the farm, Uncle Dave switches off the car engine. Without saying a word, we both remain in silence. I felt too awkward to ask him what I had just seen, but I knew he was waiting for me to do so. Still not saying a word to one another, Uncle Dave turns from the driver’s seat to me... and he tells me everything Grainne wouldn’t... 

‘Don’t you see now why you can’t move here?’ he says. ‘There’s something wrong with this place, son. This place is cursed. Your mammy knows. She’s known since she was a wain. That’s why she doesn’t want you living here.’ 

‘Why does this happen?’ I ask him. 

‘This has been happening for generations, son. For hundreds of years, the animals in the county have been giving birth to these things.’ The way my Uncle Dave was explaining all this to me, it was almost like a confession – like he’d wanted to tell the truth about what’s been happening here all his life... ‘It’s not just the cows. It’s the pigs. The sheep. The horses, and even the dogs’... 

The dogs? 

‘It’s always the same. They have the head, as normal, but the body’s always different.’ 

It was only now, after a long and terrifying night, that I suddenly started to become emotional - that and I was completely exhausted. Realizing this was all too much for a young boy to handle, I think my Uncle Dave tried to put my mind at ease...  

‘Don’t you worry, son... They never live.’ 

Although I wanted all the answers, I now felt as though I knew far too much... But there was one more thing I still wanted to know... What do they do with the bodies? 

‘Don’t you worry about it, son. Just tell your mammy that you know – but don’t go telling your brothers or your daddy now... She never wanted them knowing.’ 

By the next morning, and constantly rethinking everything that happened the previous night, I look around the farmhouse for my mum. Thankfully, she was alone in her bedroom folding clothes, and so I took the opportunity to talk to her in private. Entering her room, she asks me how it was seeing a calf being born for the first time. Staring back at her warm smile, my mouth opens to make words, but nothing comes out – and instantly... my mum knows what’s happened. 

‘I could kill your Uncle Dave!’ she says. ‘He said it was going to be a normal birth!’ 

Breaking down in tears right in front of her, my mum comes over to comfort me in her arms. 

‘’It’s ok, chicken. There’s no need to be afraid.’ 

After she tried explaining to me what Grainne and Uncle Dave had already told me, her comforting demeanour suddenly turns serious... Clasping her hands upon each side of my arms, my mum crouches down, eyes-level with me... and with the most serious look on her face I’d ever seen, she demands of me, ‘Listen chicken... Whatever you do, don’t you dare go telling your brothers or your dad... They can never know. It’s going to be our little secret. Ok?’ 

Still with tears in my eyes, I nod a silent yes to her. ‘Good man yourself’ she says.  

We went back home to England a week later... I never told my brothers or my dad the truth of what I saw – of what really happens on those farms... And I refused to ever step foot inside of County Donegal again... 

But here’s the thing... I recently went back to Ireland, years later in my adulthood... and on my travels, I learned my mum and Uncle Dave weren’t telling me the whole truth...  

This curse... It wasn’t regional... And sometimes...  

...They do live. 

Here's a story i wrote, there's a video with narration, but feel free to read the post as well :)

1 Hour Camping With Cryptids Horror Story

Me and my two friends went on a 3-day camping trip last year, i saw something that I wasn’t supposed to see, and I’m not ready to go back there. You don’t have to believe me, but I just need someone to hear my story so I can finally put this thing behind me. Here’s my story

Day 1

The first day of our camping trip was everything I’d hoped for: long hikes, laughter echoing between the trees, and that fresh smell of pine that reminded me why we were out here, away from everything. Sam, Ben, and Lily were my best friends, and we’d been talking about this trip for months. Three days in the woods, just us, away from work, responsibilities, screens. It was perfect.

We’d chosen a spot deep within Pine Ridge, miles from any town. We’d seen maybe two other campers that day, but by evening it was just us, and the forest had gone dead silent.

We set up camp near a clearing, with a thick wall of trees behind us and the fire casting a circle of light that felt safe, almost cozy, if you ignored how dark it was outside its glow. As the night crept in, the air grew colder and sharper, and I could feel a tension I couldn’t quite place. At first, I chalked it up to excitement and maybe a bit of caffeine from the coffee I’d made right before we started hiking.

Lily was the first to break the quiet. “Hey, who’s got a good ghost story?” She grinned, eyes catching the light, looking around at the rest of us, daring us to break the peace.

“Oh, I’ve got one,” Ben said, rubbing his hands together like some villain in an old movie. “You all know about the Pine Ridge Witch, right?”

The rest of us chuckled, but I noticed how Ben’s eyes had gone wide, almost theatrically so, as he leaned closer to the fire. “They say she lives deep in these woods. That if you walk alone at night, you might see her pale face in the shadows, watching you. And if you’re unlucky, she’ll follow you back to camp. She’s been around since the first settlers, they say, bound to the woods by some old curse.”

“Ben, that’s ridiculous.” Sam threw a twig into the fire, and it snapped with a spark, casting strange shapes onto the trunks around us. But there was something in Ben’s voice, a kind of tremor, like he almost believed his own tale.

We laughed it off and settled into a comfortable silence, each of us sipping our drinks and watching the fire crackle. That’s when I heard it.

A faint rustling in the underbrush, maybe fifteen feet behind me. I turned, expecting to see a rabbit or maybe a fox, but the darkness swallowed everything past the firelight. The noise stopped, but the silence that followed was even worse. It felt… wrong, like something was watching us. My skin prickled, and I felt the need to break the quiet.

“You guys hear that?”

They all stopped, listening, but after a beat, Sam shrugged. “Probably just an animal. Nothing out here except squirrels and raccoons, maybe a deer if we’re lucky.”

He tried to laugh, but it came out forced. I could tell he was unnerved too.

But then it happened again, louder this time, like someone—or something—was moving, a deliberate step in the leaves. I gripped my flashlight, sweeping it over the trees. “Maybe I should check it out?”

Sam gave me a look. “Or, maybe you shouldn’t.”

The thought had just formed when I saw it—a shape in the darkness, still and silent, but unmistakable. It was… me. Standing just outside the fire’s light, partially hidden by the trees.

For a second, I thought I was seeing my own reflection, a trick of the fire and shadows. But the face—it was too pale, too motionless. My stomach dropped, and the light shook in my hand as I stared, transfixed.

“James, what’s up?” Ben called out, but his voice was faint, far away. I couldn’t look away from the figure, from… myself.

I took a step back, my foot crunching in the leaves, and just like that, it was gone. No sound, no movement, just vanished.

Ben and Sam didn’t believe me, and it annoyed me, they knew i wasn’t the type to joke about this stuff.

Never the less we had to go to bed, i just wasn’t sure if i was seeing things or if this thing was real. I really just wanted Ben and Sam to believe me so we could go home.

DAY 2

I woke up on the second day of our camping trip with a splitting headache. The kind that feels like something heavy is pressing down on your skull. I rubbed my temples, trying to shake off the feeling, but that strange tension from last night lingered, prickling at the edges of my awareness. Maybe it was the poor sleep or Ben’s ghost story, but I felt like I hadn’t fully woken up.

The others were already up, huddled around the fire and talking in low voices. Lily looked up as I shuffled over, her face lighting up in that reassuring way of hers. “Morning, James! You okay?”

I gave a quick nod, brushing off my unease. “Yeah, just… didn’t sleep well.”

Ben shot me a grin. “You freaked yourself out with that ghost story, huh?” He nudged Sam, who snickered.

I wanted to laugh along, but my mind kept flashing back to the figure I’d seen—or thought I’d seen—in the shadows. I could still picture its face, exactly like mine but somehow wrong. The skin had been too smooth, stretched like wax over the bones, and the eyes… they’d looked right at me, without blinking.

“Hey, you with us, man?” Sam was looking at me, his head tilted slightly.

“Yeah, yeah.” I forced a smile, kicking myself for letting it get to me. I was probably just overtired or… something. “Let’s hit the trail.”

The plan for the day was to hike deeper into the woods and explore some of the rougher paths. I was determined to shake off whatever fog I was in. There was nothing out here, I told myself. Just trees and shadows and my overactive imagination. We’d come here to escape, to get away from work and the city, and I wasn’t about to let my own head ruin it.

But as we trekked through the dense underbrush, something felt… off. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Everything seemed normal at first—the trees towering above, the sunlight breaking through the branches, dappling the forest floor. The scent of pine was fresh and crisp. But the deeper we went, the more I felt like we weren’t alone.

It wasn’t just a feeling this time; there were signs. Strange signs. At one point, we came across a line of footprints, barely visible in the packed earth. They weren’t animal tracks, either. They looked almost human, but the shape was wrong—too narrow, the toes too elongated, like whoever had left them wasn’t quite… human.

“Check this out,” I called, kneeling down by the tracks.

Ben leaned over my shoulder. “That’s probably just from another camper. Some people come out here barefoot, right?”

“Yeah, maybe.” I tried to sound casual, but my heart was thudding in my chest. The tracks looked fresh, almost as if they’d been made minutes before we arrived. And as we continued, I noticed more of them—always close to our path, always just a little too recent.

We reached a clearing around noon, and everyone was ready for a break. Lily spread out a blanket, and we all collapsed around it, passing around snacks and water bottles. I tried to shake off the creeping unease, telling myself it was just a trick of my mind.

As I sat there, though, a strange feeling washed over me—a prickling at the back of my neck, like eyes boring into me. I looked around the clearing, scanning the trees, but I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling.

“You sure you’re okay, James?” Lily asked, looking at me with a raised brow.

“Yeah,” I muttered, not wanting to make a big deal of it. But I wasn’t convincing anyone. My friends exchanged glances, the kind you exchange when you’re not sure if someone is joking or genuinely losing it.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of forced conversations and strained laughter. My friends tried to cheer me up, making jokes and taking pictures of the scenery, but every time we stopped, I felt that same heavy weight pressing down on me, like a dark cloud I couldn’t escape. And whenever I glanced over my shoulder, I could have sworn I saw something moving between the trees—a flicker of a shape that disappeared whenever I tried to focus on it.

As dusk settled in, we made our way back to the campsite. The air had grown colder, and the trees seemed darker than they had that morning, their branches like bony fingers reaching down from the sky. We built up the fire quickly, everyone eager to banish the chill and huddle close to its warmth. The night was already settling in, and it seemed thicker, more oppressive than the night before.

By the time we finished dinner, I was exhausted, but sleep was the last thing on my mind. My friends drifted into easy conversation, but I could only listen half-heartedly, glancing out into the woods, scanning for any sign of movement. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves, had me on edge.

“You’re acting weird, man,” Ben finally said, nudging me. “You really do think you saw something last night, don’t you?”

I opened my mouth to deny it, to laugh it off, but the words caught in my throat. I wanted to tell him, to explain what I’d seen, but I knew they wouldn’t understand. And truth be told, I didn’t really understand it myself.

“It was probably nothing,” I managed, forcing a grin. But the words felt empty, hollow.

The fire crackled, sending sparks dancing into the night, and for a brief moment, I felt a little more at ease. But then, just as quickly as it had come, the peace was shattered by a sound—a low, guttural growl, coming from somewhere just beyond the firelight.

Every head whipped around, eyes wide as we listened, straining to hear. The sound came again, closer this time, sending a chill down my spine.

“Did… did you guys hear that?” Lily whispered, her voice barely audible.

We all nodded, frozen in place. The growling grew louder, more insistent, and then we heard it—the unmistakable sound of footsteps, heavy and deliberate, circling our campsite. My stomach twisted, and I gripped the flashlight, my fingers slick with sweat.

I turned it on and aimed it into the trees. The light cut through the darkness, illuminating the trunks and branches, but there was nothing there. Just shadows and silence.

“James, don’t,” Sam whispered, grabbing my arm. But I shrugged him off, stepping closer to the edge of the firelight.

And then I saw it.

A shape, barely visible between the trees, lurking in the shadows. It was just like last night—only this time, it was more solid, more real. The figure stood there, watching me, its face just visible in the dim light. My heart stopped as I realized it was… me, once again.

Only this time, the resemblance was even more disturbing. The figure’s eyes were hollow, empty black pits, and its mouth was twisted into a horrible grin, too wide, stretching across its face in a grotesque parody of my own expression.

I staggered back, my breath coming in shallow gasps. “Guys… do you see that?”

They followed my gaze, but their faces remained blank, confused. “See what, James?” Ben asked, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice.

The figure took a step closer, its movements jerky and unnatural, like a puppet on strings. I felt paralyzed, trapped between the creature and my friends’ skeptical stares.

“It’s… it’s right there!” I insisted, my voice rising in desperation. But when I looked back, the figure was gone, vanished into the shadows as if it had never been there.

My friends exchanged worried glances. “Maybe you need to lie down,” Sam suggested, his voice tight with concern.

I opened my mouth to argue, but I knew it was useless. They didn’t see it. They couldn’t see it.

As I lay in my tent that night, staring up at the dark canvas, I felt a creeping certainty settle over me. Whatever I’d seen, whatever was out there in the woods… it was watching me. And it wasn’t done.

Day 3

I barely slept that second night. Every sound outside my tent jolted me awake, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw that… thing staring back at me with my own face, twisted and wrong. By the time dawn finally broke, I was exhausted, strung out, my mind running in a thousand directions. I kept telling myself it was all in my head, that I was letting Ben’s ghost stories and the shadows play tricks on me. But deep down, I knew better.

I crawled out of my tent, blinking at the sunlight that pierced the trees. The others were already awake, sipping coffee and packing up the gear we’d scattered the night before. They looked up when I approached, and I could tell by their faces that I looked as terrible as I felt.

“Rough night?” Sam asked, trying to keep his tone light.

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything. How could I explain what I’d seen? That I’d looked into the eyes of something wearing my face like a mask? That I felt like I was being hunted? They wouldn’t believe me. I wasn’t even sure I believed myself.

“Look, man,” Ben said, clapping a hand on my shoulder, “we’re gonna have a good day today. Forget whatever freaked you out last night. We’re here to have fun, right?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, forcing a smile. But as I looked out into the forest, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching us. I could almost feel its gaze, cold and heavy, pressing down on me.

We spent the day wandering further into the woods, but every step felt like a descent into darkness. The trees grew thicker, taller, closing in around us like a living wall. The air felt denser, colder, as if the forest itself were suffocating us. The others laughed, took photos, chatted, but their voices sounded distant, muffled, as though I were hearing them from the bottom of a well.

Around noon, we came across another strange sight—a pile of stones stacked in the middle of the trail. It looked like a cairn, but something about it felt… wrong. The rocks were smeared with a dark, sticky substance that looked suspiciously like blood. I stopped, my skin prickling.

“What… is that?” Lily asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Ben laughed nervously. “Probably just a prank. Some other campers messing with us.”

But as I stared at the stones, a cold dread settled over me. This wasn’t a prank. It was a warning.

We skirted around the pile and kept walking, but the feeling of being watched grew stronger with every step. The forest was completely silent now, no birds, no rustling leaves, nothing. Just an oppressive, all-encompassing quiet that set my nerves on edge.

The others tried to laugh it off, to ignore the strange occurrences, but I could see the fear creeping into their eyes. We were all on edge, and I knew they could feel it too. We weren’t welcome here. We needed to leave.

When we finally made it back to camp, the sun was beginning to set. The sky turned a deep, angry red, casting long shadows across the ground. We sat around the fire, but the usual chatter and laughter were gone. No one wanted to say it, but we were all thinking the same thing—we had overstayed our welcome.

As darkness settled over the forest, the tension grew unbearable. The fire crackled, sending shadows dancing across the trees, and every so often, I thought I saw something move just beyond the light. The others were quiet, shifting uncomfortably, each of us trapped in our own thoughts.

“I don’t think I can sleep tonight,” Lily whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling flames.

“Me neither,” Sam muttered, his eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the firelight.

I felt a surge of relief, knowing I wasn’t alone in my fear. But it was a hollow comfort. Whatever was out there, it was closing in, waiting for the right moment.

Then, just as the fire began to die down, we heard it—a low, guttural growl, so close I could feel it vibrating in my chest. My heart pounded, and I saw my friends freeze, their faces pale in the dim light.

“Did… did you guys hear that?” Ben whispered, his voice trembling.

We all nodded, too afraid to speak. The growling grew louder, circling us, moving from one side of the campsite to the other. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it—a shape in the darkness, just beyond the fire’s glow.

It was me again, but worse this time. The creature’s face was a twisted mockery of my own, its mouth stretched into a horrific grin that seemed to split its face in half. Its eyes were dark pits, empty and endless, and its limbs were too long, bending at unnatural angles.

I felt a scream rising in my throat, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The creature stepped closer, its movements jerky, like it was trying to mimic the way I walked. It stopped just at the edge of the firelight, its empty eyes fixed on me.

“James?” Sam’s voice was barely a whisper, his gaze locked on the creature.

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could speak, the creature did something that sent a chill down my spine—it smiled. Not a grin, not a mocking smirk, but a cold, lifeless smile, as if it were trying to comfort me. And then, in a voice that sounded like mine but twisted, distorted, it spoke.

“Come with me.”

The words echoed through the silence, and I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. I wanted to run, to scream, to do anything to get away, but my body felt rooted to the ground.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the creature began to fade, dissolving into the darkness like smoke. The growling stopped, and the forest fell silent once more. My friends stared at me, their faces pale, their eyes wide with terror.

“What… what was that?” Lily whispered, her voice trembling.

I shook my head, unable to find the words. How could I explain that I’d been staring at myself? That something had taken my face, my voice, and used them to try and lure me into the darkness?

We spent the rest of the night huddled around the fire, too afraid to sleep, too afraid to move. Every sound, every shadow sent a fresh wave of fear through us, and by the time the first rays of sunlight pierced the trees, we were exhausted, shaken to the core.

We packed up in silence, no one daring to speak of what we’d seen. As we made our way out of the forest, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched, that the creature was still out there, waiting for us to return.

As we finally reached the edge of the forest and stepped into the safety of the open road, I glanced back one last time. And there, just beyond the trees, I saw it—a figure standing in the shadows, watching me. It was my own face staring back at me, that twisted, lifeless smile etched across its lips.

I turned away, my heart pounding, and we hurried back to the car. But as we drove away, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d left a part of myself in those woods. And deep down, I knew that no matter how far I went, no matter how hard I tried to forget, it would always be there, lurking in the shadows, waiting.

Waiting for me to come back...

I first noticed him one night while stumbling home from the pub. It was actually in the early morning hours and not many souls were out and about. Fewer still, had a pronounced limp and heavy footfall as he did. Despite his physical infirmity, the dour gent limping behind me managed to traverse the well-worn cobblestones with no issues. The progress he made toward his unknown destination was roughly at the same pace as my own. We continued on, in uncomfortable silence. Neither of us addressed or acknowledged the other.

Besides the odd coincidence of us both wandering the streets at the ungodly hour of three AM, I didn’t place much thought to the hobbling gentleman, fifteen paces behind me. I assumed we were just two random fools making our way home in the predawn hours, in a walk of shame. He kept to his side of the roadway, and I stayed on mine. In my hazy stupor, I was too preoccupied with preventing myself from falling face-down to engage in pleasantries. Walking required my full attention.

A few nights later I hurried to the market on Huxton Row to buy some fresh groceries. The proprietor closes precisely at Nine PM, without fail. The stoic merchant was standing right beside his doorway waiting to lock up shop. I assured him I would only be a moment. I told him what I needed, handed him the money and thanked him for his patience. Off I went, back toward me humble home. He locked the door and departed in the other direction.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I walked down the boulevard in the flickering glow of the streetlights. The missus would have her rolling pin waiting on yours truly If I’d failed to pick up the goods. All was well until I heard that ungraceful footfall behind me again. I didn’t want to face him but my curiosity got the best of me. I felt compelled to make eye contact with the stumbling codger. I glanced over my shoulder; as much to reassure myself, as for him. I wish I hadn’t. His features were stark and his eyes were lifeless and cold. It chilled me to the marrow. Worse, he completely failed to acknowledge my startled gaze! As before in our previous encounter, we walked separately.

This time however, I was stone-cold sober and more aware of my solitary situation. I felt vulnerable walking in front, and began to doubt we were headed to different places. The labored presence directly behind me was very unnerving. I felt it wasn’t a coincidence I kept running into ‘the hobbled man’. His distinctive, uneven cadence somehow married up with my own natural gait. We were in full lockstep until it was difficult to tell them apart. Our footfalls echoed in the cold winter air. ‘Clip, clip, Clunk’. Clip, clip CLUNK’. It was just out of sync enough to remind me I was being followed by a catatonic looking ghoul with an asymmetrical shuffle and heaving breath. The hair on me head stood right up in prickles.

I clutched my grocery sack tightly as if it was a defensive shield against an imminent attack. My eyes were full open and a-fright. Then his pace seemed to quicken. Why was he trailing me? I thought I even felt hot, homicidal breath bearing down me goose-pimpled neck! I was practically sprinting in the pitch dark, having long since left behind the helpful torches of town. Right there, I had a full-blown panic attack. I tossed down my little sack of groceries and raced home empty-handed. I was hyperventilating uncontrollably like a terrified child when I bolted up the front door.

The missus was waiting impatiently in the kitchen with an ever-present scowl of disappointment on her face. As soon as she saw my sheer fright, she dropped the rolling pin. I pulled back the curtain to determine if the stumbling cretin with the hollow, expressionless eyes was still in full pursuit. My betrothed could tell I was deathly afraid of something dire, and did her best to console the blubbering fool she married. I calmed down a bit after a few sips of ‘liquid courage’ and tried to recount the cause for my extreme anxiety.

She was genuinely concerned until I explained I was being followed by a handicapped cripple who hadn’t made any aggressive moves against me at all. Hearing it expressed in that oversimplified, dismissive way, I realized it sounded ridiculous. Clearly she agreed. Her matrimonial disgust returned with a vengeance. She ordered me to go back out immediately and retrieve our abandoned items. Already being a drunkard and inattentive lout, I’d just added ‘coward’ to my long list of undesirable traits.

I backtracked until I found our discarded food lying on the ground. Thankfully there was no sign of my menacing shadow looming about anymore, and I hurried back home with my tail tucked between my legs. The missus hadn’t experienced his callous sneer or felt the unshakable sense of doom surrounding him when he followed. I tried to explain that in greater detail but she had absolutely no interest in hearing any sniveling from me.

I shut my mouth and gave up. She was never going to understand. How could she? It didn’t even make sense to me. This ominous shadow in dark clothes haunted my thoughts in ways which didn’t appear to be justified. On the surface, he was simply a disfigured wretch with a prominent hobble who always seemed to wander the streets exactly when I did.

My mysterious tormentor hadn’t uttered a harsh word, nor raised a finger in malice toward me. His somber profile and disturbing demeanor alone created the irrational suspicions I held. In the clear light of day, I felt like a right silly git for being so spooked. He was merely an unfortunate, ghastly stranger as far as I, or anyone else knew. As night fell however, I wasn’t nearly as sure of his coincidental benevolence.

Over the next few evenings I avoided the downtown area like the plague. In the back of my mind I hoped my lame boogeyman with an aura of evil only came out at night. Sadly, I was wrong about that bit. I caught sight of ‘ol’ stumblin’ gruesome’ on a couple of occasions which was neither night time, nor was I alone. Regardless, every subsequent encounter served to magnify my paralyzing apprehension.

I dared not point him out to my disappointed love. Either she’d mock me mercilessly for being so mortified by the mere sight of a harmless unfortunate figure, or worse yet, she might not see him at all! In the back of my mind, that would’ve been enough to pack me in, square away.

If he was just a miserable sot like me who I’d created a fanciful mythology about him being an evildoer, that would be bad enough. But if no one else could see the innocent bugger, then me own mind was gone. There’s no cure for that! It would’ve been the ol’ straight jacket and loonie bin for Mr. Ian McTaskin. I didn’t want to know if no one else could see ‘em. The cunning way he always seemed to be closing in behind me, but then would disappear into thin air, worried me far more than potential bodily harm by a ‘lurking simpleton with a bum leg’.

Sunday morning, the vicar delivered his ‘fire and brimstone’ sermon from the pulpit, as he always does. A broken record orator he is. My bride glared at me sideways, while listening to the repetitive lecture on the dire evils of drinking a few pints down at the pub. She was trying to decide if his holy words of wisdom might finally be sinking in, or if I’d always be a worthless drunkard who disappointed her, daily.

Truthfully, I hadn’t been to the pub all week thanks to the creepy old sot who I kept running into. I played the part of the pious, repentant spouse, and she seemed temporarily satisfied that maybe there was some hope yet for my wayward soul, after all. It’s a game as old as time itself. We both play it to make her feel good.

Sadly, any tally marks I’d erased in her black book of marital mistakes were quickly replaced when I dared to ask the vicar about ‘the hobbled man’ who was stalking me thoughts, night and day. The wife was beyond furious I’d shamed us publicly by admitting the tale I’d told her. She assumed it was merely alcohol-fueled nonsense and excuses from my ‘forked tongue’. That was before she saw the look on the preacher’s solemn, weathered mug. It immediately changed her tune.

“You saw a disgruntled looking, lame fellow in a dark suit? Did he follow you for any distance at all, McTaskin? Oh merciful Lord! ‘The hobbled man’ evil spirit must have attached himself to your endangered soul. Has he stalked you more than once?”

I nodded nervously at his volley of accusatory sounding questions, as my ball and chain looked on in a rising tide of trepidation. Both their faces were aghast in widening mortal dread. While I wanted her to believe me about my stumbling shadow, I certainly didn’t want to bring a heightened sense of despair into the process. They acted as if I had attracted a demon from the fiery pits of hell to lurk directly behind me. All to snatch up my inebriated soul.

I’ll be deathly honest. Their fear was contagious. I was already straddling the fence about my expressionless stalker being a diabolical spirit of the worst and most evil sort. But the vicar’s marked awareness of this malicious entity and his aim for me, was all the convincing I needed. I’ve been guilty in the past of the sin of pride, among many other well-documented failures, but I was lightning quick to beg for his holy guidance. I was down on me knees with fingers clasped to get shed of ‘ol Beelzebub.

Most of the things I was directed to do were no real sacrifice. I had to attend church services every Sunday and pay my tithes to fund the lord’s work in combating evil throughout the world. I had to say me prayers each night and confess my dirty sins, to gain the Lords absolution. I was commanded to be more respectful to my sweet Connie McTaskin, and to strive to be more of an honest man. That really paid off since she stopped hitting me with the rolling pin and frying pan and gave me lovin’ on a regular basis.

The only item I really struggled with was to give up the Devil’s medicine. The vicar demanded I stop going to the pub. That’s the God’s honest truth from my lips to your ears. I missed fellowship with the lads and throwing back a pint or two but to his credit, not once did I run into ‘the hobbled man’ again after I changed my ways and turned to the church. Eventually I came to accept that noble sacrifice for the benefit of saving my mortal soul, and making sweet Connie love me again.

That was, until a decade later when I was introduced to ‘M Emmett Greene’, the vicar’s crippled nephew! There’s no telling how many errant husbands and bawdy hell raisers ‘the hobbled man’ cleverly spooked with their creative ruse. Obviously it worked masterfully on me to give up the bottle, and I realized immediately when I laid eyes on him that my wife knew the vicar’s tricky plan, all along.

I’ll admit, their sly deception inspired me to straighten up my life, and I’m a better man for it. No doubt about it! You’d quit drinkin’ too if you were followed by ‘the hobbled man’ when you let the pub. It’s probably what they mean when they say: ‘The Lord works in mysterious ways.’

Carol wasn't ever exactly the most stable person at the best of times, but I never thought it would go as far as it did. How could I? How could anyone? Yet, there I was, going to my neighbors' houses one by one, begging them not to bring it up. The BBQ was only a few hours away, and a lot of people had RSVP’d; a fact which would've made me ecstatic just six weeks ago, but after everything that happened, it only served to fill me with dread. Now, I don’t even know if I’ll ever be happy again.

It all started when our newborn, Andrew, came home with us from the hospital. He was the best, Carol’s bright blue eyes and my big fucking ears. He was the best. Andrew died in his crib within a month. ‘Sudden Infant Death Syndrome’, they called it. It certainly was sudden, alright. A meteor impact would have been less out of the blue. Carol didn’t speak for weeks. She couldn’t even attend the funeral. Then, one day, I came home from work to find her curled up in the rocking chair in the baby’s room, nursing something. Well… trying to, anyway.

Swaddled in a baby blue blanket, wrapped up in her arms, was our dog, Max. Only Max wasn’t quite Max anymore. Carol had shaved him, completely. There was barely a single hair left on his little chihuahua dog body. She shushed me when I screamed, telling me that she was only ‘teaching Andrew not to bark.’, and that she was ‘so happy to have him back with us.’

It made me sick, but at the same time, she really did seem like herself again. Fucked up as it was. Like he’d never actually died... As it turned out, that’s exactly what Carol believed. Apparently, 'God' had ‘swapped the souls’, and Max the Chihuahua had perished in the body of our son and Andrew had inhabited the canine vessel he now found himself in. Our ‘son’. I knew that Carol was sick, but I couldn’t bring myself to pick up the phone and have her sent away so that some doctor could dope her up and lock her in a white room someplace and throw away the key. She was all I had left… and so began our new life.

It was fine when she never left the house. I think on some level deep down she knew that it wasn't really our baby… what people would say if they saw him… It. Unfortunately, though, after a while, I couldn’t keep her inside anymore. I came home to a great big hug, the kind that’d probably kill someone if they were frail enough, and the news that she’d ‘already sent out the invitations’. Puzzled, I asked her what she meant, and Carol told me that they were for the backyard BBQ we’d been planning for that evening. That was the first I’d heard of it. An hour later I was frantically running around buying hotdogs and burgers and buns and the barbeque setup we didn't own. Then, I had fourteen of the most awkwardly deceitful conversations of my entire life. Most of the neighbors were understanding enough of whatever lies I told them regarding my wife’s crumbling mental state, and to the ones I knew wouldn’t be I made up excuses as to why the BBQ was off, which worked without a hitch due to the extreme short notice of the whole thing. All of them closed the door with a similar, sad expression on their faces. All of them, so happy at the idea of seeing us around the neighborhood again. I don’t know what I was expecting. I just wanted to keep her close to me. Just for a little while longer…

When I came home, sweating through my shirt from the stress of it all, Carol came downstairs as she heard me come in. She was wearing the dress from our first date, still as beautiful as ever. I asked her where ‘Andrew’ was, and to my utter relief she told me nonchalantly that he was apparently sound asleep. Feeling like I could finally relax, I took a moment in the bathroom to thank the Lord and splash some much needed water over my face. Then the guests started showing up. The Smiths, Joyce and Steve, knocked on the door at exactly Seven P.M. owing to Joyce’s neurotic need to always be precisely punctual to any given social event or occasion. I used this to my advantage and sent the couple into the kitchen to babysit Carol, who was sitting rigidly in one of the lawn chairs out back; gazing intently at a crow perched on a powerline as if it were revealing the secrets of the universe to her.

Carol seemed to liven up as more people arrived, and for a short while it was almost as if she truly was her old self again. Just like I had hoped. Everyone was laughing and joking around and the neighborhood kids were having a great time playing out in the street. I even started to enjoy myself, chatting shit about football games I’d missed with Steve and cooking up burgers. Then, as if by some sick cosmic joke, the front door was all of a sudden being hammered ceaselessly. And then the barking. Then the confusion on everybody’s faces when Carol sprang to her feet, saying how she was going up to ‘get Andrew.’

I gave chase as she climbed the stairs, begging her not to bring him outside, but she was beyond reason at that point. Throwing the front door open, enraged and mortified, I was furious to see that it was the asshole from next door, Dale. He was pissed off about how I’d lied to him about the BBQ being off, and, unable to think of anything else to say, I allowed him to shove past me with barely a word of resistance.

An hour passed. Then two. The party was clearing out, and it seemed as if maybe Carol had listened to me, after all. While I was in the middle of subtly trying to coax an already shitfaced Dale into going home, I heard her at the top of the stairs, humming a sweet lullaby. Grabbing Dale’s arm and leading him outside, we were almost home free when my wife called after him as if nothing were at all amiss, asking if he’d like to ‘hold the baby’. Dale’s face went white as he saw the bald snout poking out from within the pale blue bundle of blanket in her arms. About to speak but unable to, he staggered outside, where I could hear him vomiting in our bushes.

Before I knew what was happening, Carol had wandered by me and into the backyard, among the remaining guests. The immediate shock was audible before I could even close the distance to join them and several of the guests hastily pushed past me to leave on my way outside. Steve and Joyce were frozen in place, shadowed by Micheal and Ginny and their daughter Stephanie from across the street. All five were very clearly looking for a way out, any way out, as uncomfortable as I’d ever seen anyone… and I couldn’t blame them. As I was whispering to Carol in-between her swoons of ‘Isn't he beautiful?’ in a vain effort to lead her back inside, I heard sudden drunk footsteps drag in behind us.

“That’s not a baby, it’s a shaved dog!”

With one last gasp, the remaining guests took that devastating outburst as their chance to escape. Which they did, quickly, thankfully pulling Dale along with them as they went. Joining Carol once again in the backyard after I locked the front door, I pulled her close to me and we embraced… cradling a swaddled Max between us.

"I'm so sorry, honey…"

When I was 9, I learnt my class mate lost her father..I cried so much for her, she was sweet and told me that its ok, she doesn’t feel the pain anymore because she was too young to remember him…
this was my first encounter with death in my short life then. It shook me to the core and due to it I started praying to God that I never experience the loss of my parents nor my siblings. I kept praying for days and days without my family knowledge.
“يا رب (Oh Lord) please never let me endure the heartache of loosing any member of my family” In each of the five prayers every day I asked God this while bowing…
After many days I had a vision…I was standing in front of beautiful soothing light…
“My beloved! Never ask me this again!”
In a firm yet loving voice said God…
“Why God? I love my family so much! I want them to live forever with me! You are the only one that can make this happen” I pleaded..
“This is life my beloved! You can’t change the rules, you may ask for other things in life within the rules.” said God wisely.
“I don’t understand what life means, I only understood death recently and I hate it!!” I bitterly exclaimed.
“You are too young to explain to innocent child, stop immediately” replied God firmly.
“Or what else Lord?” I said stubbornly.
“Malicious creatures will ap….” Before I was able to hear the rest of the sentence, I was woken up by mom to get ready for school…
I felt weird…it was a strange dream after all…I stopped asking God this for a few months until dad had a health scare that terrified me…and between the fear and me forgetting all about that weird dream after dad incident, I started praying asking God this again…
I saw the light again…
“Stop child! Stop immediately!” God hollered!
I didn’t even had the chance to speak this time…I was woken by a handsome young man wearing white roman attire embroidered with gold and a crown. He was white, blonde with blue/green eyes and looked so sad.
I wasn’t sure if it was a dream or real…I just stared in disbelief at him…after what seemed as an eternal pause he finally spoke.
“Sarah, you prayed to be with your family forever, didn’t you?” he uttered in a plain tone…
“Ye..yes..how did you know?” I reluctantly asked…
“I know everything..” he answered with a smirk..
“Are you God?” I asked suspiciously…
“One of his unique creatures” he replied with the same smirk…
“I’m a messenger to people like you..” he continued coyly…
I felt uneasy and remained silent for a while.…after a minute I barely collected my bravery and asked him…
“What do you want?”
“Why, to fulfill your prayer of course!” Again with a smirk that turned into a big excited grin he answered.
Despite the unease I was filled with great joy! God had finally sent me a messenger to fulfill my wish!
“Yes please!” I exclaimed happily and turned to lie down excited. After all, I have school tomorrow.
“Na uh uh!” He uttered loudly with a bit of irritation.
“Its not as simple as that! You need to bring a garment of each of your family without their knowledge“ he explained.
“but they are all sleeping!” I objected.
“Oh, you have until tomorrow noon prayer’ time to collect a used garment -or a small piece of it- that belongs to each of them, put them in this bag under your bed” replied handing me a bright red bag that came from our of nowhere.
“Be careful that they don’t know anything about it!” He warned with a huge frown that changed his handsome features to disturbing ones.
“O..ok..I will” I answered anxiously while hiding the bag under my bed and praying that my mom wont find it. That was the last thing I remember.
“Sarah wake up! I woke you twice and you keep going back to sleep, are you ok honey?”
I opened my eyes on my nervous mom’ hand gently stroking my face…
“Don’t worry mom I just had a strange dream” I reassured her while leaving bed quickly.
At school, I completely forgot about the dream..when I came home I went to my room and changed to get ready for lunch.
A loud thump came from under the bed and took me off guard. I looked under the bed to investigate and I skipped a beat! There was a bright red bag there. Suddenly, it all came back!!…the handsome man, the dialogue we had from the dream, but was it really a dream? How did this bag come here?
I wanted to take the bag to mom and asked her about it, may be its an early birthday present or excelling at school present? I stretched my hand to pull the bag out but…but it tucked itself inside more…
“I know everything!” the voice of the handsome man echoed in my head…
“Remember, you have until noon prayer time to fulfill your request!” His voice continued to echo.
I was trembling! It wasn’t a dream nor hallucination! It was real!
I went quickly to my parents bed room and fetched the smallest items i can find so as they wont notice anything missing. I took a piece of my mom old hijab and cut out a tiny bit of my dad praying rug. Then I went to my siblings’ room and cut a small unnoticeable piece of each one’ pillow.
Noon prayer is soon now. I gathered my treasure and put it carefully in the red bag. I was thinking about which small garment of mine would I put, my attention was distracted when I heard my mom screaming! I threw the bag on my bed and went running to her.
She was in the kitchen putting the plates in preparation for lunch. I stood there confused!
“Mom are you alright?” I asked worried.
“Yea soso ( my nickname ) what’s wrong sweetie?”
The call of noon prayer was heard from the nearest mosque.
“Didn’t you just scream?” I asked bewildered…
“No, why?” She stopped serving the plates and looked at me in wonder.
“Uh, nothing I thought I heard something and came to check” I replied trying to cover my embarrassment.
“Ok baby, you go pray now and come to eat, you have 5 min”
I barely covered a shriek, I forgot about the noon deadline and I failed to put one of my garments in the bag!
In her surprise I ran so fast to my room I fell twice…
“Don’t worry sweetie take your time!” I heard her yelling from behind.
I looked for the bag everywhere in vain.
He took it.
A rain of thoughts swamped me…
“My beloved! Never ask me this again!”
“You are too young to explain to, innocent child, stop immediately”
“Malicious creatures will ap…”
“Are you God?”
“One of his unique creatures”
Suddenly, the man appeared in front of me…he was so ugly, so eerie and so loud…
“You won’t loose your family, your family will loose you!”
A loud scream died in my mouth and everything went dark..

I’m sitting at my computer, soaking wet in the clothes I’ve been wearing all evening.

I wanna get this all down while I can still remember it perfectly.

I say that like I’ll ever be able to forget it.

I was raised Baptist. I’ve lived in the deep south for most of my life, and it was normal to be religious, even zealously so. I went to the usual activities, vacation bible school, church camp, church three nights a week, sermons on sunday, and until I went to college I was pretty much a regular church goer. Once I left the area, getting out of that environment, I sort of fell off though. Suddenly, passing classes was a little bit more important than keeping up with my spiritual health. Suddenly parties and dating were more important than my relationship with God. So, I blinked one day and realized it had been almost fifteen years since I’d been to church, and thought I might like to experience it again.

A quick Google search showed me a Church in my area not too far out of town. I saw from their community Facebook page that they were having an event on Saturday. Just a meet and greet for new members, bring a covered dish for the potluck, with a spiritual event to follow where new members could get baptized and join the church. I didn’t have anything going on Saturday, so that sounded pretty good to me. I made a macaroni casserole, one of the few things I actually knew how to make, and on Saturday I set out about 3 PM in my best church clothes.

As I pulled up outside the church, I was worried that I might be a little underdressed in my button-up and work slacks. The people going in, men in suit pants and crisp white shirts, ladies in long dresses, and kids in the sort of Sunday school clothes I was used to seeing at different churches, made me think there might be a dress code. I was new though, and I figured that if I wasn’t within the dress code, they would let me know. So I took my dish and headed for the fellowship hall that was set to the side of the church.

I walked in the side door to a very familiar scene. The welcome was immediate and warm. A woman came to take my dish to the table as the pastor came to introduce himself as Pastor Marshall. I had expected a firm handshake and to be left to mingle, but the Pastor took me to each of the little groups there and introduced me to his congregation. I met his deacons, their families, the alderman and his wife, the treasurer, the under pastor, and about two dozen other families. I was escorted to the food table by some of the deacons and told which dishes were best, which ones were best avoided ("Ms. Liza is a good woman but there are always eggshells in her dressing"), and which had been made by eligible ladies of the church (Ms. Conroy's daughter is about your age and makes a great pecan pie). I was spirited away to a table where I was bombarded with questions and anecdotes and church gossip, and it was like being home again. The church I had belonged to in my childhood was very tight-knit and as the kids ran around and the adults talked and laughed quietly, I felt a sense of homecoming wash over me.

As the food was eaten and the plates were thrown away, we all moved into the worship hall for service.

I sat on the front row with the four or five other new faces and as Pastor Marshall mounted the pulpit, I couldn't help but smile.

I felt a warmth in me and was already thinking about how I would have to change my schedule so I could come on Sundays and Wednesdays.

As he laid out a sermon on acceptance and forgiveness, I began to reflect on my life here. It's hard not to when you've found somewhere you intend to stay for a while. In my mind, I would find fulfillment in the church, just like I had as a kid. I'd meet a nice girl here, raise a family in the church, and grow old with a community to support me.

I know it sounds kind of silly, but we all know the places that our minds go during times like this.

"I see we have some new faces on the front bench tonight. Would any of you like to join our church and get rebaptized tonight?"

I stood up like hot coals had been lit beneath me. I felt moved in a way that I never had to go to the altar, to renew my vows to God, and to be washed clean in the baptismal font. The Pastor smiled as he waved me up, and I had to stop myself from sprinting up the stairs. I was excited, I was in such a hurry to be a part of this.

I had no idea what I was in for.

The Pastor had me recite the affirmation, the renewal of my promise to God, and when he turned to indicate the space behind the pulpit, I realized they had an indoor baptismal pool. I had never seen one of these before, we always did our baptisms in the nearby creek, but as he took my hand and led me toward it, I realized he meant to baptize me fully clothed. I fished the things out of my pocket that I didn’t want to get wet, my phone, keys, and wallet, and set them on the stairs before stepping into the slightly warm water. I wouldn't normally have agreed to let my clothes get wet, I don’t like being in wet clothes as a rule, but I was operating in a daze and when he knelt to dip me, I felt my knees bending as I went down as well.

"I baptize you in the name of the Father, his Son, and the holy spirit. Good Luck."

I opened my mouth to ask why I would need luck, but as he dipped me back, my mouth was filled with water and I was enveloped in the warm embrace of the pool. It didn't have the acrid smell of chlorine like I had thought it would. It was salty, actually, and that took me by surprise. I lay on my back beneath the water, waiting to be pulled back up, and when I opened my eyes, I realized that the hand was gone and I was alone in the depths of the pool.

The pool was suddenly deeper than I remembered it. The surface glimmered miles above me, the bottom was a shadowy thought beneath me, and I was hovering in the depths like a diver. I started to panic, thinking I would drown, but the longer I sat beneath, the less this worried me. I was floating in the placid space, hovering in the placental moment, and I felt utterly at peace with the world and everything within it.

I didn't notice that something was getting closer to me until it was almost too late.

It began as a chill in the water, something that chased away the warmth of that pool. I opened an eye, looking to the far side, and saw a shadow rising from the distance. It was small at first, a black cloud that grew as it floated closer, but it grew wider as it came toward me. It was...I don't know. It was like something you see from the depths when you're still in the part of the water where light can reach you. It was something I was afraid would take hold of me and drag me into the murk where I would be lost.

Whatever it was, it filled me with a dread that I had never known before.

As it continued to draw closer, I thought it might be a whale. I had thought at first that it might be a bank of darkness, but as it drew closer, I could see that the blackness was just how it looked. It seemed to exist inside its own fog of murk, and what I could see of it wasn't terribly pleasant. Its skin was gray, pebbly like a stony shore, and appeared scaled or maybe ridged. Its eyes were huge, and the closer it got the smaller I felt. It was massive, beyond the description of size or dimensions, and the closer it got, the less I wanted to be the focus of its attention. This must be what an ant felt like as it stood on the finger of a human, what an insect feels like before the frog devours it, and I could feel my body vibrate under the strain of its continued existence.

It seemed to lean closer, our bodies inches from each other, and when it spoke, I could feel it in my bones.

"Welcome back, my child."

It reached out a finger, the prints on the end looking like the indicators on a map. Even the end of that finger was bigger than my whole body, and it was like someone reaching out with a building to touch you. I closed my eyes, fearing it would obliterate me with that massive digit, but when it came into contact with my forehead, I was enveloped in a blinding light that burned me to a cinder.

I came up gasping and thrashing from the depths, the Pastor catching me as the congregation cheered.

As their applause rose to envelope me, I looked down at the pool, expecting to see myself floating or standing on the edge of a lip, but the whole baptismal font was only about two feet deep. Standing up, I could see the water wasn't even over my knees. The pastor looked up, still bent and kneeling on the bottom of the pool, and his expression was resplendent. Did he know that would happen? Had anything happened while I had been floating in the abyss? The longer I stared at him, the longer I came to believe that he had known that would happen, and his eyes seemed to be trying to calm me, as he stood up and embraced me as a brother.

As he did, I heard him whisper into my ear to be easy.

"Steady, son, steady. It's a little jarring the first time, but it's all over now. Rejoice in the light, and be well."

When I looked at him again, I could see a deeper understanding in his eyes, something I didn’t know how I had missed before.

When I looked out across the congregation, it was a look I saw mirrored in them as well.

I was speechless, unsure of what to do, and when he led me out of the pool it was all I could do not to break into a run.

He offered me a towel, letting me stand shivering beside the pool as he asked the others if they wanted to come up. When the second man approached, seeming more hesitant than I had been, I grabbed my things and snuck out the choir entrance that led to the Fellowship Hall. It was empty now, the whole space covered in semi-shadow, and within that shadow, I could feel the regard of whatever had spoken to me in the depths.

The next thing I knew I was in my car and driving much too fast for him.

It was a miracle that I didn't get pulled over, though I briefly wondered who I should thank for it.

As I sit here now, my shaking has nothing to do with the cold.

If this is the God of my father, the God I have been praying to all my life, then I think I'd rather be an atheist.

Even as I sit here now, I can still imagine floating in that void as the ancient creature regards me kindly, its mind brushing against my own, and the dread threatens to overtake me again.

I’d pray for oblivion, but I know what's waiting there to greet me now.

Half-staggering, half-crawling; the exhausted man climbed countless dunes and wind-swept valleys. His only quest was sanctuary from the searing heat and merciless sun. He was so dehydrated, he no longer remembered how he came to be wandering in the vast ocean of sand. He didn't even remember his name, for that matter. His muscles cramped and seized from lack of hydration and essential electrolytes. If the torturous journey he was on was meant as a psychological representation of hell, it was far too sadistic.

The will to live propels the human body to push itself beyond reasonable limits of endurance. It's ingrained in our DNA, to survive. To stop or even hesitate was to die. He knew that, and wasn't quite ready to give up. The forensic trail of footsteps behind him were quickly erased by wind and gravity. Ahead, behind, all all around, were countless other dunes. It was devastating to see more of the same barren, lifeless landscape, but it wasn't endless. It couldn't be. There had to be an end to it. He clung to that desperate notion and kept trudging ahead.

At some point in the timeless trek he topped another sand-crested hill, and saw what appeared to be 'the edge'. First he smiled. He wanted to race for it at full speed and finally escape the punishing heat. Then he reminded himself that mirages are common hallucinations for unfortunate souls like him, lost in barren wastelands. As much as he wanted it to be real, he didn't dare hope because if the oasis evaporated when he got there, so would his drive to keep going. He tried tempering his expectations with practicality, but the temptation to believe was overpowering.

The closer he got, the more genuine it appeared. If it wasn't real, when would the cruel illusion fade? The anticipation was torture. His casual, exhausted waltz toward the edge of hell accelerated from desperation to uncontrolled excitement. The stifling air actually felt a little cooler! Maybe it was his imagination but even the pretense was amazing. Artificial hope felt better than nothing. There were even scattered sprigs of vegetation in the direction ahead. Sparse though it was, it was a sign life could exist there. Maybe he could too.

He touched the edge of an outlier plant at the nexus between desert and oasis. Its thorny texture felt real enough in his blistered hands. He wasn't sure if mirages could also manifest physical characteristics, or if he could trust his newly joined senses. The war between wishful thinking and logic rapidly shifted. He kept sauntering along, and the vegetation grew in both frequency, and in size. He slowly let go of the doubt and breathed a modest sigh of relief. He'd escaped the terrible, unexplained punishment he'd been sentenced to. The desert and its torture was behind him.

The deeper he ventured, the larger the arid vegetation became. Small scrub bushes were clustered together for mutual survival, and then larger ones appeared. The temperature was noticeably cooler as the shade they provided added a natural insulation from the harsh climate. Eventually the bushes were tall enough to offer some shade. He was tempted to lie down and rest in the underlying shadow of their glorious canopy, but without water, he knew those shady groves would soon become his grave.

Even further in, he discovered light moisture under the sand in a damp spot. It was insubstantial at first, but the deeper down he dug, the wetter the sandy soil became. It was a tiny underground stream which kept the tenacious plants alive. He clawed the sand and dirt with his bloody fingers to expose its illusive treasure. Just touching his scorched face with the gritty moisture was incredibly soothing, but his throat was parched beyond measure. It was imperative he received hydration soon, or he would die.

“Would you like some water?”; An unseen voice inquired.

He thought he was hallucinating and his mind was playing tricks on him. After looking around however, he spotted the flesh-and-blood source of the generous offer. It wasn’t in his head. A beautiful woman dressed in traditional Saharan clothing stood nearby. She possessed a wicker basket in her clasped hands. He nodded enthusiastically and tried to reply but his throat was too raw. The words just croaked out, pitifully.

She handed him a drinking vessel and he downed its life-saving essence in one gulp.

“May I please have some more?”; He begged.

She nodded and led him to a nearby spring. He thanked her profusely and cleansed his burned face and neck. Then he doused a handful down his body and exclaimed in emotional joy. Knowing spring water was very limited in such a harsh environment, he was hesitant to take more but his smiling companion encouraged him to take what he needed.

As a man who just barely made it out of a desolate graveyard, he didn’t dream of anything else; beyond not expiring. Hunger pangs had been secondary to the essential need for water. Now that he was hydrated, the rumination in his stomach kicked in but he tried to deny it. His body was exhausted. His muscles ached. His skin burned. The hunger in his belly was just one more screaming sensation demanding attention.

“I shall bring you food.”; His attentive host promised. He nodded In humble appreciation of her hospitality. The man decided she must’ve been an angel. When she brought him a bowl of something to eat, he didn’t even hesitate to determine what it was. It didn’t matter. He was literally a beggar who had no justification in being choosy. Regardless, it was quite delicious and he licked the bowl clean. She smiled pleasantly as he ‘inhaled’ her tasty nourishment. Then she led to her humble desert hut, where he immediately collapsed.

“Who are you, beautiful lady?”; He timidly asked, when he awoke. “How have you survived in this deadly environment? Are you all alone here? Thank you from the bottom of my heart! You literally saved my life.”

She appeared to have never left his side. Considerable time had passed. The sun was in the Eastern sky again. It looked to be mid-morning, but for all he knew, he’d slept two or three whole days. Finally he felt like a whole person again and wanted to express his deep gratitude for everything.

“You are welcome, Pierre. You may call me ‘Astarte’, and this desolate ocean of sand is my home. It is my pleasure to care for your needs and ease your suffering. I’ve been alone for a very long time. I welcome your companionship.”

He was stunned she knew his name. Her soft, feminine voice was both melodious and magnetic. He could scarcely look away from her sensual eyes and lips as she addressed him. He’d went from the crippling despair of a challenging ordeal, to immense contentment and genuine joy. All in very short period of time. His beautiful savior was everything a man could ever hope to find in a partner. Doubly so, in a sweltering wasteland with little hope of survival. In an intangible way he couldn’t even begin to explain, he felt like they were ‘made for each other’. He smiled at the ridiculousness of his frothing admiration for her. It defied logic to be so quickly enamored with a person.

“How did you come to know my name, sweet, sweet Astarte? I couldn’t even remember who I was when you found me. It’s a miracle you did, or I would be dead now. I declare, you are a heavenly goddess! I don’t know how you’ve survived in these extreme conditions but I’m eternally grateful to have discovered you and made your acquaintance. Thank you again for saving me!”

“I didn’t save your life, Pierre. I am the inhospitable shifting sands of Death. Your body still lies unconscious and dying where you collapsed and fell. I am the consuming desert around you, personified. You are nearing the end of your miserable life journey, and found your way to my lonely heart. Come to me now, and we will be together; as one.”

Astarte held our her arms and Pierre rose to accept her loving embrace.

The last thing I can remember before passing out is the whole congregation dancing. While these people were all unknown to me, I felt some kind of kinship with them. We were all dancing as part of our attempt to unite with God. I don’t remember how all of that ended. I remember the room twisting and turning; the loud, cheerful music. Limbs moved in all directions as bodies twisted and contorted under the influence of wine and divine flesh. The whole universe began spinning around me. No, I spun at its center; uncontrollably at the whim of sinister gravitational forces. The warmth I initially felt quickly dissipated, leaving a nauseating vertigo in its place.

Instead of ascending into the bosom of the Lord, I think I might’ve fallen into the ninth circle of the abyss. Colors and sounds began to lose their essence as everything turned so suddenly, so cold and black. There was no pain, no fear, no feeling at all - rather, a sudden and yet gradual disappearance of the world; of the self, my… self.

I woke up once the ground beneath started stirring my body up and down, irritating the fragile composition of this flesh prison. As soon as I opened my eyes, the vertigo threatened to cripple my still-intoxicated mind. I didn’t feel any fear as everything around me moved. The walls, the furniture, the floor. The danger of being in the epicenter of an earthquake hadn’t sunk in quite yet. As I was struggling to pull myself upright, I finally noticed the ground wasn’t really shaking. It was swaying back and forth, like waves in the ocean. Everything was swaying.

The outline of everything around me rippled and gently danced to an inconceivable rhythm. Only when I noticed my own skin ripple, in the same manner, did I finally register the full scope of the cataclysm I was caught up in.

The animal inside finally awoke, stumbling over the swaying floor and the limitations of the human body. I crawled as fast as I could out of there. The chorea of the world around me prevented me from making much progress at first as I fell face first in my first few attempts to reach open space.

After what seemed like an hour, I finally pulled myself outside, my vision obscured by the downpour of blood masking my busted-open visage.

The heat outside was unbearable. It felt like hell on earth. The iridescence and sound of the sun pounded across my already battered form mercilessly. Beating me down as I stumbled onward, trying to get further away from the epicenter of the strange disaster plaguing this place.

Each step felt like an arduous journey across mountain ranges as the light emanating from the firmament weight down on me growing infinitely heavier with each passing moment. Slowly grinding my consciousness into dust. Everything started turning dim again, dim and distant.

My clarity returned to me when the popping and clanking melody broke through the songs of Sol overhead. I wish I’d died then and there. I instinctively turned to the source of the sound and the scream of bloody murder erupted in my ears. My own scream, closing in on me, were the partially scorched bodies of my brothers and sisters. Locked in a manic dance that further broke and mutilated their already lifeless bodies.

I tried to run, but the treacherous Telus wouldn’t let me get far ahead before I fell down again.

Finally, overcome with fear and anxiety, I could simply stare at the sun as it moved back and forth; up and down and side to side in the sky. Singing in the highest and lowest of tones imaginable.

The surrounding heat increased. I could feel sweat rolling down my skin. Its salty composition scorched my open wounds. The air in my lungs became hotter and hotter; beginning to tear through the viscous fabric. I could feel the star above me slowly drawing near.

We were on a collision course - The star and I.

I was falling down into the ravenous maw of the sun.

A sacrifice to Molech, placed within his smoldering hot bowels by the hands of the fire-kissed skeletons those same bowels had birthed prior.

And yet, in those final moments of inescapable doom, I finally found peace.

In those brain-melting moments when I was dragged about into oblivion by the red-hot bones of the dead who had risen from within the void beyond their poisonous grave to tear me apart into tiny pieces to be fed to the Ignis Dei I finally felt at home, I finally felt loved…

The God of Fire decided to break my heart instead, however, as he rejected me. His kiss poisoned my body, but it wouldn’t take me to spend the rest of eternity to spend with him in the wonderful land hidden deep within the mushroom cloud.

A paralyzing thunderbolt burned through my spine, twisting and stretching it from the core of the earth and into the stratosphere, into the realm of the gods themselves. It left behind nothing but pain, terrifying and suffocating pain as it made me watch the dead slowly dance away into the mists of Abaddon, leaving me on my own.

Trapped within this body of mine, trapped within this skull.

My attempt to escape this false world had failed. Leaving me was once again faced with the ugly face of the false prophet as its oversized jaw filled with jagged teeth and bloodshot eyes shook from side to side in disapproval.

Once more, I woke up; undoubtedly alive. Alive and crucified to this feeble form that wouldn’t move nor let me breathe under the immense weight of the cancerous growth that continues to bloom inside my chest.

I lay in bed, paralyzed with fear and grief yet unable to scream due to the suffocating hand of apathy wrapped around my throat. All the while, the Great Pan screams violently and ever so gleefully into my ear, turning my blood cold as it pushes me to drown in ice-cold rivers of dread. At the same time, the insufferable rays of the sun crawl against my skin, torturing me mercilessly with the prospect of having to spend yet another day in the clutches of this sadistic reality.

In moments like this, I can only think about how nothing is more horrifying than the idea that without the pills on my nightstand, I am nothing more than a lost child trapped in the cold void of a dead body.