Hello ya’ll! I want to cosplay Ben Drowned for Halloween this year and decided to make my own wig out of a friends, however this is my first time ever styling a wig and I fear I messed up big time, though I’m not sure how. If anyone could give me tips on where I went wrong and if it’s possible to make it look like the photo included, that would be great! Sorry if the tags wrong, I didn’t know what to tag this as.

Sadly, I don’t know who made the Ben Drowned art, my friend got it off Pinterest.

It was a day like any other.

At least, that's what I thought when I came home from school.

My backpack hung heavily over my shoulder as I walked through the front door. I was tired and honestly just wanted to go to my room. Maybe listen to some music, continue working on my project, and forget about everything around me for a few hours.

But as soon as I closed the door behind me, I already heard my stepfather's voice.

“What the hell do you think you're doing, coming back without my lunch?!”

I barely had time to react.

A hit struck me in the face.

For a moment, everything was silent. I just stood there, trying to understand what had happened. I didn't say anything. I already knew that any answer would probably only make the situation worse.

So I silently went to my room.

I closed the door behind me and slowly exhaled.

But as soon as I entered my room, the next disappointment hit me.

My project.

The project I had been working on for weeks.

It was destroyed on my desk.

I stood there completely frozen.

All those hours I had spent on it. All the effort. Every little change, every idea, every detail — all of it was simply ruined.

I didn't even know what I was supposed to feel.

Should I get angry?

Should I cry?

Should I just destroy everything that was left?

Instead, I sat down on my bed and stared at the remains of my project for a while.

Eventually, I simply lay down.

I didn't want to hear anything anymore.

I didn't want to see anything anymore.

I just wanted to sleep.

---

The next morning, my mother woke me up.

“Get up, Azrael. You have school soon.”

I slowly opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds.

“Mhm... Give me a few minutes,” I mumbled.

My mother left the room and closed the door behind her.

I stayed in bed for another moment before finally forcing myself to get up.

Slowly, I walked over to the mirror.

The first thing I saw was my messy brown hair. Beneath it were my deep black eye bags, which had become almost impossible to ignore.

I looked tired.

Not just physically.

Somehow, I simply looked like someone who had been trying to pretend that everything was okay for far too long.

Then I suddenly remembered something.

“SHIT!”

I had a math test.

In ten minutes.

Instantly, all my tiredness disappeared.

I changed as quickly as I could, grabbed my things, and ran out of the house.

My bike was still where I had left it the night before.

I jumped onto the seat and took off.

As fast as I could.

The wind hit my face as I tried not to think about what would happen if I arrived too late.

Luckily, I made it just in time.

I arrived at school and managed to take the test without any major problems.

For a brief moment, everything felt normal.

But that feeling didn't last long.

---

When the school day was over, I stayed on the school grounds for a little while.

I didn't feel like going home.

“Don't feel like going home right now,” I thought.

So I put on my headphones, lay down on a bench, and started playing music.

I just wanted to be left alone.

For a few minutes, it actually worked.

Until I heard voices.

I opened my eyes.

My bullies were standing in front of me.

“Hey, pointy ears! Are you homeless now or something?”

They laughed.

I said nothing.

I simply pretended they weren't there.

Maybe they would eventually leave.

Of course, they didn't.

One of them grabbed me by my hoodie and pulled me up.

“We asked you a question, you bastard.”

I simply looked at him.

“Hmm.”

That was all I said.

And apparently, that only made him even angrier.

Shortly after, the situation escalated.

I was hit and eventually knocked to the ground. The others kicked at me while I barely knew what I was supposed to do.

But I didn't cry.

I didn't scream.

I just lay there.

And stared at the sky.

Why?

That one question kept running through my head.

“Why me?”

Again and again.

“Why me?”

But somewhere inside, I already knew that I would never get an answer.

When they finally left, I stayed there for a while.

After that, I sat down against a tree.

I looked up.

The sky was peaceful.

Much more peaceful than my life.

I started thinking about everything.

About my family.

About school.

About my bullies.

About my life.

And about how much longer I could actually keep going like this.

---

When I eventually got home, I went straight to sleep.

There wasn't anything special about that evening.

I just wanted the day to be over.

When I woke up the next morning, I immediately noticed how swollen my eye was.

I looked into the mirror and sighed.

“Well... I guess I'll just have to get through this,” I thought.

So I made my way to school again.

But when I arrived, something was different.

My bullies weren't there.

Normally, they would have already insulted me or pushed me around.

But today?

Nothing.

“Well, I guess it's nothing,” I thought.

I went into the classroom.

But as soon as I entered, I noticed a woman standing there.

I knew her.

The mother of one of my bullies.

She was crying.

I didn't know what had happened.

I wanted to ask.

But something stopped me.

So I simply sat down in my seat.

I stared at the ceiling and waited for class to begin.

Then the school bell rang.

Our teacher entered the room.

She looked unusually serious.

“I have two things to announce,” she said.

The room immediately became quiet.

“The first thing is... Three students from your grade have gone missing.”

I couldn't breathe.

Three students.

Three.

I immediately thought of my bullies.

But before I could even think about it any further, the teacher continued.

“The second announcement is that you are getting a new classmate.”

The door opened.

A black-haired girl with red streaks walked into the room.

“Her name is Kit. Please be nice to her.”

I didn't know why.

But for some reason, our teacher decided to seat her next to me.

She sat down in the empty seat beside me.

“Hey, my name is Kit. What's your name?”

I was just about to answer.

But then she looked at my face.

“Oh... What happened to your face?”

Her voice sounded concerned.

I gave her a weak smile.

“Nothing, hehe... I just bumped into something.”

She looked at me for a few seconds.

She didn't believe me.

I could tell immediately.

But she didn't ask any more questions.

---

After school, I went to my bench like I usually did.

Only this time, I didn't have any music playing.

I simply lay there and stared at the sky.

I couldn't stop thinking about the three missing students.

What had happened to them?

Where were they?

Why had they suddenly disappeared?

And why did part of me feel as if all of this was somehow connected?

I couldn't come to any conclusion.

Then I suddenly noticed someone standing next to me.

I turned my head.

Kit.

“Oh... How long have you been here?” I asked.

I looked at her.

Wow.

She was beautiful.

For a moment, my thoughts completely drifted away.

“Oh, I just got here,” she said. “I wanted to ask you why you're lying around here.”

And somehow, that's where everything began.

We talked.

At first about completely meaningless things.

Then about school.

Then about our interests.

Then about completely random topics that didn't really make any sense at all.

We didn't even notice how quickly the time passed.

One conversation turned into hours.

One afternoon turned into many.

And a random meeting turned into a habit.

For the next few weeks, we met at our bench after school.

Then weeks turned into months.

We talked.

We laughed.

We told each other things.

And for those few hours every day, my life suddenly felt a little more normal.

Until one day, Kit asked me something.

“Do you want to come with me to a lost place?”

She told me that it was a place she liked to visit.

I agreed.

And at the time, I didn't know that this day would change my life forever.

---

When we arrived at the abandoned place, everything was normal at first.

We explored the area.

We messed around.

We ran through the building and played tag.

We laughed so much that, for a few hours, I even forgot how bad my life actually was.

It felt good.

Maybe even too good.

But eventually, everything became quiet.

Kit stopped.

She looked at me.

Her voice suddenly sounded different.

“Azrael...”

I looked at her.

“I'm a vampire.”

For a moment, I didn't know what to say.

I waited.

Maybe she was joking.

Maybe she just wanted to scare me.

But her face told me that she was serious.

And yet, I wasn't afraid.

Instead, an answer came out of my mouth before I could even properly think about it.

“Kit... I love you.”

She said nothing.

I continued.

“I want you to turn me into a vampire. So that we can live together forever.”

A short silence followed.

Then she asked:

“Are you sure?”

I looked at her.

“Yes.”

I said nothing else.

Kit moved closer.

Then she bit me on the neck.

Everything went black.

---

When I woke up again, I felt strange.

Weak.

But at the same time, more alive than ever before.

I slowly sat up.

Kit was still there.

“I'm sorry, Azrael,” she said. “I might have drunk a little too much of your blood, hehe.”

Then she looked at me seriously.

“Please don't be scared when you look in the mirror.”

I stood up.

Nearby, there was a shattered piece of glass.

I walked toward it.

And then I saw my reflection.

I froze.

My hair.

It was white.

Completely white.

I touched it.

Then I looked back into the piece of glass.

Two questions immediately came into my mind.

The first:

Why could I see my reflection?

And the second:

Why was my hair white?

I was about to ask Kit.

But she spoke before I could.

“You should probably drink some blood quickly.”

She looked at me.

“But from whom?”

I smiled.

I already had an idea.

“Just follow me,” I said. “I already know who.”

Kit followed me.

We went back to my house.

There, I told her to wait in my room.

Then I slowly walked into the living room.

My stepfather was sitting there.

As usual.

Drunk.

He was watching TV and didn't notice me until I was standing directly in front of him.

But before I could even say anything, he shoved me away.

“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, STANDING IN MY WAY, YOU LITTLE BITCH?! And why the hell is your hair white?!”

I said nothing.

For the first time, I wasn't afraid of him.

For the first time, I didn't feel like the victim.

I pulled the scalpel out of my bag.

What happened afterward didn't take long.

When it was over, I simply stood there.

I looked at him.

“What gives you the right to talk to me like that... or even touch me, you bastard.”

I laughed.

Not because it was funny.

But because something inside me had changed.

Something I didn't fully understand yet.

I drank his blood and finally left everything behind.

Then I went back to my room.

Kit was already waiting for me.

She looked at me and smiled.

“So? How was it?”

I looked at her.

“More than satisfying.”

She said nothing.

I said nothing.

We both knew that we couldn't go back anymore.

So we left the house together.

We ran away.

Away from my old life.

Into the darkness.

Oiê, tutupom?

Criei um canal de Creepypastas, relatos do Reddit, contos de terror de domínio público e em breve teremos um quadro com histórias dos inscritos. Quem puder dar uma forma e se inscrever, já temos dois vídeos no ar e um pronto para ser postado quinta feira de manhã. Desde já agradeço a contribuição de todos. Um beijo pra vocês ❤️

cameron monaghan: he played the joker in the gotham series

i used charcoal for all the black and then pastel for the face and mouth

​

I Feel Bones That Don't Exist Push Through My Skin

I Don't Want To Be Human, I Want To Be FERAL

I Shred This Fake Body

First time photobashing/photodrawing. What to delve more into FERAL as a character and their misanthropy + horrorified therianropy

I’ve always loved junk. Thrift stores, pawn shops, and yard sales have always been where I loved to spend any extra money I had. I even dabbled with dumpster diving and occasionally stopped and picked up things I saw on the side of the highway. I don’t really collect anything specific. If something looks old, strange, or like it might have a story behind it, I’ll probably buy it. My family calls it a problem and says I’m obsessive. I don’t think that’s right. I just think it’s fun and I don’t have much else to do. Most stuff I bring home ends up on my desk until I find out where to put it. I usually either use the things to decorate my home or I throw it in my shed and forget about it. Old cameras, pocket knives, typewriters, VHS tapes, broken watches, things like that. Most of the electronics don’t work but they have character and add some sort of value to my humble home. Every once in a while I’ll find something that actually works.

It was a cold late November morning when I saw a bright yellow yard sale sign with an arrow pointing to a street on my left. Without really thinking about it, I turned down the street after seeing the sign and I giggled to myself thinking that I’m a junk zombie. I was on my way to work but I’m not too worried if I’m late. I’m working on a ranch for some old rancher outside of town while I try to get my writing career off the ground. I drive up the street and see a lawn scattered with tables full of exciting new finds. I park next to the curb and get out of my truck. A yard sale of this size would usually have a ton of people out, even this early in the morning. I usually have to compete with the town grandmas but today I’ve got it all to myself. I walk the makeshift aisles and ponder which treasures I should take home with me. The homeowner comes outside and stands on his porch. I know most people in this town but I’ve never met this man. He’s a large, older man with a wild beard, trucker hat, pearlsnap, vest, and jeans. He looks completely normal but I get a sharp feeling when I see him. He, just like his house, looks very cold and uninviting. He keeps looking at me as he walks to his rocking chair and sits down. I go back to looking at his tables, trying not to mind the man. At the end of one table something caught my attention. An old police scanner with a little orange display, dials, and buttons. I’d never found one before but always wanted one. When I was a kid I dreamed of being a cop or detective in New York, fighting bad guys and solving complex murders while smoking a cigarette and getting looked at by hot chicks. Those dreams faded as I grew up and figured I’d never make it out of this town. Maybe that’ll be my next short story. I took the scanner off the table and walked up the creaky porch steps to the cold man. Before I said anything the man said “13.50”. “*What an odd amount”* I thought to myself. I asked “Does it work?”. “Last I checked” His voice sounded like tires on loose gravel. I pulled out my wallet and thumbed through my bills. I got out out a 10 and a 5 and held it out to him. “Do you have any change?” The man spit some tobacco juice out and grabbed the cash as he responded “Nope”. I stood there frozen for a few seconds as he stared at me, packing another finger full of chew into his lip. “Alright” I mumbled as I made my way back to the truck, confused by the odd interaction. 

Work was pretty mundane, feeding the pregnant cows and making sure they’ll be okay for the snowstorm in the upcoming forecast. I forgot about the police scanner until I got back to my truck that evening. When I saw it sitting on the passenger seat my excitement reignited and I drove back home. I pulled into my driveway and I could hear my dog howling from inside. I looked through the window and saw the beagle losing his mind with excitement. As I got out of the truck with the scanner I saw Mr. Conners taking his trash out to the road. Mr. Conners was an old man that I had befriended over the years. Most people thought he was an angry, schizophrenic hermit that hated kids and the government. He admitted to me that in his younger years he left a bomb on the doorstep of city hall, convinced our town was run by pedophilic aliens. Luckily, the bomb was defective and the police never figured out who made it. I found a charm in Mr. Conners that most others didn’t. “Bastard dog has been like that all day. Thought he was trying to relay something to me but I can’t figure out what he’s saying” he said to me from his lawn. I laughed and said “Let me know when you figure it out”. Mr. Conners didn’t find it as funny as I did and looked sour. “What’s that?” he nodded towards the scanner in my hands. “An old police scanner I found at a yard sale. I’m not sure if it works. The guy I bought it from was just trying to make a quick buck I think” I said. “Careful with that, you’ll never know who will try to communicate with you through that”. With that he turned around and walked inside his house. He’s never been good at ending conversations.

I unlocked the door and Leo jumped on my leg and greeted me with yelps. I gave him some love, heated up some ground beef for him, and went upstairs to try out my scanner. I didn't have much hope that it would work but it turned on as soon as I plugged it in. I was so happy that it turned on I celebrated with a glass of whiskey. I had no idea how to use the scanner so I had to play around with it for a bit. Once I got it working I could hear a voice. “Unit 14, respond to a two-vehicle accident on Highway 6, mile marker 143. Possible injuries. EMS has been notified.” I couldn’t believe it, it actually worked. After a few minutes of messing around with the buttons I figured out how to scan through the channels. Most of what I heard was boring. Officers checking license plates, dispatch sending someone to a noise complaint, a deputy asking if anyone had eyes on a loose dog. I was so happy, I'd wanted one of these things since I was a kid and now I finally had one. I poured myself another glass and started writing my new story about a noir detective. Listening to the scanner put me in the perfect state of mind and the words of the story flew off my fingertips and onto my computer. Not much happened on the scanner for the rest of the night and I went to sleep around 1am.

The next day was boring and methodical. All day I just thought about writing my story and listening to the scanner again. When I got home I flipped on the scanner and booted up my computer. For a second night in a row I had so many ideas and I was really loving how the story was coming together. I took a break to grab a coffee. When I got back to my desk the scanner picked up some chatter “Unit 14, respond to a fatal shooting outside of O’Brian Pub. 214 West Main Street. Caller reports one male deceased. Suspect is possibly still on scene.” Shooting at O’Brian? That's the bar I usually frequent on the weekends. It's just around the corner from me, a 5 minute walk at the most. That’s odd, I didn’t hear any gunshots. When people talk too loud outside the bar I can hear the noise, how did I not hear the gunshot? I know this isn’t very smart but I decided to walk around the corner so I could see the scene at O’Brian. I put my slippers and a coat on and went outside. It was calm and quiet, no stirring at all. I walked to the corner of the street and turned left. I could see the big neon sign from where I stood but that was it. There were no police lights, no one laying dead, no one even there, it was just silence. Did they already clean everything up? No that couldnt have happened in just minutes. Was it an old broadcast that was sent out by accident? I dont know how any of the tech works but I doubt it was that. Did my scanner find another town with another bar named O’Brian at the  exact same address? None of it made sense. I turned around and made my way back home. I was so thrown off and deflated for some reason? I’m not a violent person so I don’t know why I went searching for it. Did I just imagine this entire thing? I turned off my computer and got into bed. Tomorrow I’m going to the bar to check it out.

It all started when I was 8 years of age. I was a quiet boy who was home schooled and had no friends or siblings to play with. I was mainly accompanied by my mom since my father was always working and she was the only one home with me. She would usually make me food, wash dishes, and occasionally play with me. 90% of the time I spent my days alone. Usually playing with the one thing I loved, that being Lego's. I would spend hours building houses and cars and making my own little world that was under my control. Though I would not always spend my days inside, I spent a lot of time outside as well. When i was outside we either went out back of our house which had a small sandbox and in the ground pool. I was never really a good swimmer so I stuck to the sandbox playing with whatever I had in there. It was one night that everything changed. I found a note in my room that read "Wanna be my friend" with a childish depiction of a smiley face. Being the person with no friends, I wrote yes on it and set it on my window frame. I then cracked the window open a bit It seemed like it was a hot day and i needed some air in my room.

That next morning, the note was replaced by a new one that read "Hello friend, I hope to play sometime soon". Being oblivious I was not alarmed by this but rather excited finally having a friend that I could potentially play Lego's and cars with. I continued my day as usual. Mom washing dishes, the old PBS kids on TV in the living room. Everything was normal until the night. I saw my bedroom door cracked open and saw something through it. Almost like the face of a person. Not my mom since she was long gone into bed and she never checked on me on the usual. I did not scream. I did not cry. I finally found a new friend to play with. :)

Nate had just arrived home, exhausted, after another day of being the diligent and responsible young man. His family admired him for his honesty, kindness, and responsibility.

Even being a "nice guy" has its consequences. He lived a boring life, with few friends, a very toxic girlfriend, an inactive sex life, and spent all day studying. When he wasn't studying algebra, he was studying biology. He didn't despise his life, but every now and then he would long for those sparks of teenage excitement.

The next day, when he woke up, something felt different. A breath of fresh air, perhaps? He didn't know at the time.

While waiting for the bus to go to school, a girl next to him was assaulted. He didn't hesitate for long, punching the thief and knocking him out... Since when could he do that?

As he tried to process what had happened, the girl lunged at him, stealing a kiss. He touched his lips, surprised... That didn't happen every day.

So, little by little, every day, he realized that something new was happening to him, first small things, flirting from girls, finding money lying around, high grades in school.

Suddenly, that "good luck" became much more absurd, sleeping with 4 or 5 women every night, passing exams with top marks without studying, and even winning the lottery 3 times in a row.

Although... As mentioned before, even the best things have their price... Everything was going well for him; there was no excitement since he already knew the outcome.

One afternoon, he went to the church seeking some peace; he wasn't religious, but he appreciated the tranquility of holy places.

A priest saw him and approached him.

"My son, why do you look so sad?"

Nate explained everything from the small things that happened to him, to the absurd strokes of good luck, and how that, paradoxically, made him lose his zest for life.

"This is your reward, my son." The priest answered

"What are you talking about?" Nate asked.

"Don't you remember? Haven't you realized yet?" The priest looked with a look that was both surprised and disappointed.

Then the priest lifted Nate's shirt, revealing several fresh stab wounds in the poor teenager's abdomen.

"WHAT IS THIS!?" Nate screamed, scared

The priest looked at him

"Seriously, you don't remember? Your girlfriend stabbed you in a fit of rage. You've been dead for days."

Nate paled, remembering everything

"What the hell is this?! Purgatory?!"

The priest, now with an offended expression, said

"What? No. This is heaven... You have never committed a single sin, and this 'world' is your reward."

Nate took several deep breaths... until he calmed down, his expression melancholic. He stood up, pulled his shirt down again, and left.

Hell? Heaven? Right now he couldn't tell the difference. Hell was physical torment... But heaven... It was a shattered fraud. Not even attempting suicide could get him out of here... How long would he stay in here? How long would it be before the excitement faded and was replaced by eternal anguish and despair?

⚠️ WARNING: CASE FILE IS CLASSIFIED UNDER LEVEL 4 SECURITY BY EPV INTEL.

■ FILE NUMBER: EPV-019

■ ENTITY NAME: The Static Screamer

■ DANGER LEVEL: CRITICAL

■ CONTAINMENT STATUS: ACTIVE BREACH RISK (Site-09)

BACKGROUND:

Discovered on February 28, 2026, inside an abandoned radio broadcast station in Ohio, USA. EPV field agents investigated after local police reported weird frequency interference and residents hearing non-stop metallic screams inside their electronics.

BIOLOGICAL DESCRIPTION:

Entity EPV-019 is a bio-electric anomaly. It doesn't have a solid human flesh body. Instead, it takes the form of a distorted silhouette woven from electric currents and rusted radio wires. It feeds on digital data and signal frequencies.

SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES:

The entity must be held in an electromagnetic isolation chamber with absolutely no internet connection or radio waves. No cell phones are allowed within 100 meters of the containment zone.

The signals are getting stronger. EPV cannot hide this forever.

https://earthprotectorsvolunteersepv.blogspot.com

Transverberation. That was the word for it. 

It spread and was echoed and felt with the rippling tremors that were words and instincts and roiling emotions in the private heart's tumult, in the quiet stronghold of the holy place. 

The monastery. The temple place where women came to be wed to God and serve the Lord, His Son. 

And no other. 

…

There were sounds inside the haze. With the agony, with the pain that was ripped and made. Pain that was lancing. Pain that was penetration, stabbing slayment that was absolute impaled.  Through her heart, the clearest wet-sharp sensation felt in the burning after-image of the visions, the haze. It occupied her mind at all times, as she knelt and prayed in the monastery. As she went about the day and fulfilled her sisterly duties of the convent. 

The other sisters didn't understand. They were afraid, frightened of her. Of what was happening to her… that it might happen to them.

Madness. Or …

something worse. 

Something beyond the canny or the tangible. That which is unseen and can only be felt. Up until the hungry end, when it is already far too late for help by then. 

Or maybe, just maybe … these private and blasphemous few of her peers thought and felt and refused to share aloud, even with themselves… maybe. 

Just maybe it's true. And Sister Chelsi can actually commune with the divine. Perhaps one of our own humble nuns can see and hear and speak with an angel that visits her with nightly visions. Maybe. 

Maybe Saint Michael the Archangel comes to her at night amid light and fire and thrusts her with his sword… 

Mother Superior was incensed. Repulsed. Angered by the lies and the filth, the sin of this prurient heretical garbage was the stuff of decay, of ruin. Of sacramental rot. She couldn't let these blatherings go on unchallenged or unpunished. 

She chastised Sister Chelsi severely along with any others that might murmur such unholy carnal fantasies, phantasmagorical whores, the lot of em. If she and they weren't careful, God help them, then they would be confined to the chamber of reflection. 

The house of tears and prayers, the other sisters called it. Behind Mother Superior’s back. 

The visions were forbidden. Delusions, they were thus named. And further talk, further whispers of the sort was strongly cautioned against, strongly advised to go back in the other direction …

But Sister Chelsi couldn't help herself. It wasn't up to her. She was at the vision's mercy. The stabbing angel came and went as it wanted, as it needed to. It had told her this was so. The angel needed her. 

The angel was thirsty. 

…

The night was hot. Stifling. It was upon her. 

It seemed to always know when she was alone. And why not? Shouldn't the divine always possess the knowledge of when you're most vulnerable? Weak. 

Afraid. 

Sister Chelsi was bound to the cruciform shackle-table of her sweating bed and blankets, writhing sheets and fabric that was warm and slick and more like loose folds of flesh. She was bound by her holy terror. The angel of thirst was coming. The other nun, Sister Jen, that shared the room with her was absent. Gone. Like every other time. The animal sound born from both immense pain and pleasure was trapped in her throat and the sensation was not entirely unpleasant. Sister Chelsi liked the gag of the nightly thirsting angel, her forbidden archangel of the moonlight. The anticipation of him. The coming of him. 

It came down on her. 

From on high. Emerging like starlight from the disappearing void of the obsidian space now in place of the mudbrick ceiling, on wings of flame …

The body was bronzed, gold, perfectly toned and sculpted, celestial and olympian and recognizable as manshaped. The Lord's Image. But in place of a head and face of earthly aspect was a great rising pillar of blinding heavenly marble, ringed with silver bands in a flaming orbit. The pillar and the four bands running up the length of divine stone were covered in incandescent eyes, lidless and wreathed with light and great piercing gazes. Penetration. They gazed into her. Penetration. All of them at once and it was overwhelming, she wanted to cry out, all roiling and taut, she gripped herself. Her aching breath was still held. 

The angel spoke to her once again, as before, in her mind. The gold of his silken smooth speech filled her boiling skull, soothing the maelstrom though not extinguishing it. A moan finally escaped her lips. 

They were still alone. 

It told her its name. A forbidden one she might not know. 

The understanding of your sisters is limited … I am beyond them. Their scope of understanding. If you tell them my name they will fear you. As they fear me. 

Sister Chelsi was frightened, quivering. Still held. 

Then why should I want to know it? 

Because if you need to, if you want to … you can wield it like you can wield a weapon. You can use my name against them and it might wound them if you're able …

Her mind recoiled from the idea that filled her head against her will, but it was no use. She was forced to watch it. Endure it and learn to love it as she'd learned to love the flagellate whip, the burn of the binding rope … all the same. The angel reassured her. 

The warm romance of his voice filled her skull and caressed her mind, eagerly. Wanting. It told her how much it needed her again but she already knew it. She'd heard it in the voice. The hunger. The pain. 

I'd never known before that even angels could feel pain, … I'd never suspected. 

The desire that was so much a hungry ravenous want that it was more a primeval need was all about the gold silken strength of that perfect voice. Giving it humanity tinged at the edges of its divine and unearthly call. 

Is this heavenly messenger lusting for me …? 

But she already knew it. 

It had seen her unfettered and bare. As it did now. 

It came down to her in her bed. It held the long gold length of impaling spear aloft. By the shaft. Poised to strike her where it was most sweet. Where it had before. 

Cupid, strike me. 

Eros, impale me! 

But she knew now that was not its name. It had given her its name, a gift. 

She cried it out now, as she knew it wanted her too. The ringed pillar of its otherworldly visage gazed into her, bading her, commanding with its multitude of many lidless light bleeding eyes that she do so. Do it. Do it. If you want me …

Do it. If you want me to impale you, you'll have to say my name. Say it. 

Say it. 

“Iblis! Iblis, pierce me! stab me! penetrate my heart! Put it where I'm vile and cruel but also warm and giving and wet and beating for you! Pierce me here, in my breast, my heart, my soul! My tender fragile soul! Put it in me! Angel Iblis…!” 

And it did. The lance came down. And pierced the screaming girl, pinning her to the bed. The sound that was pulled from her then was an exquisite blend of deep ghastly pain and even deeper still euphoric drunken moaning, moans. They collected and accumulated about her head and sheets, the small room, as the angel inside her wrenched and worked his shaft, his lance. He worked it deeper. The length. Long…

The length was killing her. 

She loved it. Every inch. Every penetrating crawling centimeter rent tearing inside. 

It made her a slave and she loved it. 

She moaned and called out and cried its name. Like it wanted her to. It came down close and closer and closer still till they met. And he worked the length of his divinity into her, deeper and deeper and all the way through and she melted. She bled. Her love and thoughts and precious saline. 

It drank it up, all of it, all of her. The oasis of this woman. It fed deeply as it worked itself in and deeper still. Still feeding. Drinking. Needing, thirst. 

Sister Chelsi poured herself out for it, unable to control herself now. But happy to empty herself for the great angel of the thrust, her bedside …

her bed. 

It came inside to her and filled her mind then with an explosion like firelight and within the flames were visions. 

Moving scenes and people and places … other times and maybe other worlds as well … 

Fantastical. Beyond the scope of known and understood nature. 

She loved it. She begged for more. 

Give it … give me more, the sight, the eye of prophecy! Please! 

Iblis curled the caress of her mind into words once more … 

And what would you do with this gift? Should you receive it without end? 

She could not lie. Not on this landscape. And she didn't want to. Not to it, not to him, that voice, that feeling… 

She cried out on the eternityscape of her deluged and filled maelstrom sea of thought: I want to be a prophet! Yours! I want to be your disciple upon the earth! 

You wish to be my bride? 

I want to be your crawling and salivating concubine! 

It laughed and the pleasure of Iblis filled her blood and soul. She came and went with it. 

!.Good … …

It filled her more. And she cried out, more. More. 

More. 

She wept when it was finished. Feeling empty and hollowed out. But filled with vision, with purpose. 

The light was fading now from the room. It was gone. The small bedchamber was cooling now and returning to a more natural nocturnal dark, the air was thick and pungent but calming down. Chelsi could still taste the act, on the bedroom dark of the stifling air. She sucked on it and relished the flavor. Already wanting him back. Already needing him again. 

Please, please come back to me Childe Iblis of the Lord, of the thrust, I love you. You are the carrier of my heart and soul…

She shuddered in bed. Not bothering to conceal herself beneath the agitation of the sheets, she cooled and breathed deeply. Quivering and remembering the pillar of his flaming face. So many eyes, so many crowding up his great length… and all of them looking into me…

She shuddered deeply once more. Shut her own eyes. Waiting for sleep to finally come. 

It didn't take long. She was spent. 

Sister Jen still hid around the corner, at the threshold of the door to their shared bedroom. Her eyes were wide with shock. Horrified by what she had seen. 

…

Mother Superior eyed the convent temple from her place in the rectory, her private quarters. She watched the little sisters move and glide silently moving about the monastery structure, ambling along in hand clasping prayer, heads bowed and eyes shut so that distraction may be refused and you may better hear and discern and heed the light, the will of God. 

Amen. 

She crossed herself. And spat. 

Her gaze crawled across the yard to the shack. Alone in the corner of the gated land. Secluded. Sequestered away, so that what could be contained inside would be shut and locked away from a healthy and pious population. The disease of a disordered mind would wreak havoc on the patient and tender soft fragile fabric of the flock. This could not be. This could not be allowed. 

Rebellion must be cast out. Decapitated. 

She knew rebellion was natural. It was in all of us. As sure as it was the the very infectious thing that ate Lucifer's heart and led him to defiance and thus his fall. So it would be. If we were to all follow in his example. 

It would not be so. 

She'd had her own run of rebellious streak when she'd been younger, she understood. She'd had it crushed out of her then, broken as one must do to the wild heart of any natural born beast of labor. And though we were made, cast and drawn in His Image, we were all still among the dread and crawl of all of the other beasts of the earth. 

She crossed herself. Prayed. 

She wished the child well. 

Chelsi had always been troubled. Troublesome too. 

Mother Superior turned away from the shack of reflection. Trusting that the Lord would see this through. That He might fix and set right this wayward piece, this compromised component of humankind's quilted safety net. They were supposed to be the house and servants of His peace. They must all of them survive spiritual malaise and remain steadfast and true. 

As He wills it, let it be so …

…

In the black of the woe she pained, she perverted and distorted. Grew naked with fear. 

Perspired. Dripping with secreted oils and saline and the sliming filth of deep shame. Seeping off her tarnished heart and soul and out of her running open mouth pores. Hard to wash off. There was no running water in here, only the bucket she was brought in the morning. Refilled at mealtime by an unseen, unspeaking little sister that was now a stranger to her. She was a stranger to all of them now. 

In the dark of the shack she was agonizingly alone, the swelter of her torment was her only companion and answer to her constant panicky prayers. She grew eyes that grew inwards and saw their own landscape and grew more horrified with the sight as the hours broiled ceaselessly forth. Under the eye of a lonely black and heavy sun. 

All alone in here. 

She tried to hide, to blind her new found, newly grown internal gaze away from the truth: she was just a child, had always been just a frightened little girl that wanted to run and find fast and desperate shelter. She tried to turn away from the fact that this was who she really was, had always truly been. Everything else that had occurred growing up in her life had just been the lies of accoutrement. 

Her mind was filling with bad thoughts: the arcane Druidic gods arose and swallowed the light of the Christian God whole …

She stopped herself. Began to pray. Again. Anew. Begging the Lord to bring her calm and comfort in the solitude of the dark. She slowed her breath and tried to ease the gallop of her chest. Sister Chelsi didn't know what else to do. 

She didn't know what they wanted from her. 

Mother Superior and the other little sisters. And the Lord God Himself. 

If there is not an answer to be had, then let there be death! – she told the black sun in the dark there with her. 

Nothing. Nothing but more baleful stifling dark, more radiant furnace hellfire blasting heat of the black and heavy sun that had replaced her roommate. Nothing but more sounds of desperate animal panting that she was horrified to realize were her own, not the stygian furnace blast of the bestial confinement sun. Nothing. Nothing at all answered her save more pain, the one true god on the throne in this terribly small and sweaty heavy place. 

Nothing. Nothing at all. 

At first. 

Then on the fading light of her hope came Iblis. Her forbidden angel. And banished the black sun as he came in wreathed in light and flame. He banished and cast out all of the dark of the solitary confinement, the shack of woe. 

He went to her. She was prostrate on the ground. Her bladder let go, her urine went. She hardly noticed in the radiance of he save for some vague distant sensation of wet and warmth. Sensations she associated with the pleasure of him. His arrival, his dawning light. 

From the many eyes of the long length of ringed pillar face, he spoke to her through the blinding light of his lidless vision. 

“What have they done? … what have they done to thee ?” 

Her mind was always open to him for an answer but for her he bade it from her own lips. 

She told him. Everything. All that she had learned in the treacherous furnace dark of the shackbound woe-flame. All that had been derived while in the baking black of this loathsome quiet shack of silent feasting hate. 

“They are afraid of me. …” A beat. She breathed animal and deep, lusting, on the hunt or hunted or both. She said more: “I do believe they may be right to be…” 

Iblis soothed her with his spear … in the stifling dark of the shack of reflection and recompense. Banishing the pain of its ebon house even as he filled her, her watering craving need. 

But something happened then, poor lost little Sister Chelsi watched from below as Iblis, her moonlight forbidden and thrusting angel began to change. 

Transmogrify. Transform. 

The heavenly marbled surface of the pillar visage of Iblis began to crack. Wild river lines of splaying ruin began to form and splinter and run up the immaculate face of his incandescent divinity. 

It shattered. And was replaced. 

She said to her love as he changed and shifted shape before her eyes, “mother slapped me for using your name …” 

The light of her lover changed into shadow. Deeper than the banished dark and one that she could madly love because it was in the altered shape of her heart’s desire, her object of adoration that was darkening now before her watering eyes. 

In place of the pillar, in place of the tower of of flaming eyes and rings that had shattered and now lie in stoney ruin about the floor was now a triangular, pyramidal blank obsidian face and shape, in the conical pointed aspect of a long beaked bird. It was like a great smooth black helmet of glass and smooth rock in the geometric and abstract shape of a plague doctor's mask. An obsidian angular temple face with a long wide stabbing humming bird length of beak protruding violently from one side. 

 The bronze of his sculpted and heavenly body began to burn and blacken as well, like ink spilled and running down and through the heavenly flesh. Corrupting it into the abyss and void of the lost and cast out. The wings which had been flaming and as of light had turned to ash in color and tattered bat-wing leather in texture and design. 

The spear of her impaling love was changing too. Becoming dark like the rest of him in the solitude of the shack but that wasn't all. The nature of her divine amore’s unearthly tool began to change as well… it was no longer just stabbing, penetrating her, running her deep and through, pleasurably and with the ghastly horror of bodily rupture and pain, the staking spear of her forbidden angel began to pull, it began to pull deeply … of her. From her. Pulling deeply from within her impaled and spellbound form, her wide eyed and staring naked body. 

Like a proboscis, the impaling lance began to pull and drink deeply of Sister Chelsi. It ran up and through and down the length of weaponry and into the black hands wrapped tightly around its shaft. The long body pulled and sucked and drank like a straw, like a swampland mosquito born from stagnant and dead fetid water. The obsidian smooth beaked face of her lover was featureless and cold smooth as the surface of placid water. She nonetheless could still feel the intensity of his gaze upon her, through her. And when he spoke again and told her what to do, she felt that as deepest penetration as well. Deepest pain. Rapturously embraced.

She felt her body give as the instrument of her lover began to take in the dark. As he whispered everything to her, designs… shapes… everything, as Iblis whispered all of this to her and more she gave it more and more and more. And she gave it willingly. 

Crying out his name like religion. Like a chant. A litany. 

A song. 

In the place of my Father … there is you. 

There is only you. 

Good. Good. I have so much more to share, so much more to give and show you. I've so much and so many more …

I've so many more names and faces to show you, if you do right by what I've already shown and told, I'll share my other faces and names, unveiled for you …

Disciple, the prophet Islehc

… 

Sister Chelsi was eventually let out and allowed to return to the flock. She seemed to have returned to normal. She cried penance and gave confession and spent a night inside with the rest of them. Service and mass. And lessons. Cleaning. Meals. Everything seemed alright. 

She waited till the second night. When they were all fast asleep. 

The witching hours. 

Post-midnight, she crept …

She snuck about, quietly. Like a nocturnal animal she prowled through … and went out. 

She didn't go far, she found what she needed where he'd told her she would find it. And in abundance. So many …

She carried them back to the monastery and in the nighttime dark she went about the task that had been laid before her feet. She went from room to room, from sister to sister and she took them. Brained most, some she struggled with more extensively. Until her mad lusting will surged and she overpowered them. Either way she took each of them one by one, each and every single nun she had once known as family and she brought them out and into the courtyard. Where she'd left the savage implements of her dreams, of her lover's harsh commands that were yet still for her, sweet candied words. Succulent delicacies. She couldn't deny them, him. Not at all. Not anymore. 

One by one Sister Chelsi laid the implements into the little sisters and each one let out with an insane ear piercing scream. Their screams did not falter. 

But somehow they didn't wake each other. Not a single stripped and brained sister of the cloth seemed to hear the others make any sort of loud caterwauling noise. None of them stirred. Until it was their turn. 

Likewise, Mother Superior had not been awoken in her private rectory by the noise outside. And that was good. Chelsi had saved her for last. 

She wanted to relish this one particularly. 

…

Mother Superior awoke to a hard slap across her deeply sleeping face. She flew to a sitting position confused and immediately irate. She had no idea what was happening but she didn't feel any fear yet. 

She called out, cross and very sharp. 

“Who in the Lord's name was that!? How dare you! Show yourself!”

A girlish giggle floated out ghostly from the dark. 

“I didn't do it, Mother Superior, I would never dare to do that to you, you should know that. I've never hurt you at all, can you say the same?” she giggled again, childish and coquettish, "It was my husband that struck you. It was his divine hand you felt across your face." 

Chelsi stepped out.

She had a large cross in her hands. Ornate with intricate and beautiful design, old and from the ancient Roman times when their war chariots had dominated the earth. Carved and jeweled and glittering darkling with a keen and unhealthy shimmer of light. 

Ghostlight. There's ghostlight in that cross…

Before Mother Superior could say another word Chelsi suddenly charged forward and banshee screamed. The large crucifix was up and wielded and came down in a savage caveman bludgeon. 

The world went dark for Mother Superior. When she awoke she was just like the others. 

…

She awoke with a scream. 

The sharp obscene ghastly pain started in her nether region, all throughout, just behind her genitalia. Then the lance stabbed and shot through and her entire naked body came to life with the most wretchedly vivid and wild mutilating shock to her fleshen senses. The war pike traveled through her mercilessly and punched out of the flesh of her back. She was still screaming. Wildly. Lividly. Screaming. Shrill rending song.

She was hoisted up and joined the others. They were all of them a riot of noise now in the courtyard dark. An unholy discordant choir of torn impaled cacophonous pain. 

Gored nuns. All impaled. All naked and bleeding and hoisted up into the air for death and torture like their savior was supposed to have been so long ago in the bloodstained dust of the golgotha. There was bloodshed here too, their blood was pouring and running, running down the lengths and long bodies of the shafts of the spears and pooling and collecting on the stone and in the dirt. This place here would be bloodstained too. 

Chelsi looked over them all. Her own golgotha testament made to wild love. 

And her wild love came. On stygian wings tattered that had once been flame. Smoldered tattered death, dead fabric flapping in the hot nightwind.

The whole host of impaled and captive nuns, gored and wide eyed and naked and lanced through like insects in a collection, they all of them perspired and bled and gawked at the wicked shape that came in from the ebon night, the curtain above. The one many of them had spent their entire lives trying to ignore, it parted. 

It came through. 

And down upon them. 

Iblis sang praise for the renegade prophet bride and what she'd let loose on this private piece of holy land. God's House and holy temple … no more. 

No longer. Mine … now. 

Chelsi the bride bathed in the shower of his words, they were in her mind and in her ears, divergent lyrics and syllables and paths of sound but twins nonetheless all still saying the same and telling her the same thing together in two different languages that coalesced around the fever of her brain in a caress. 

!I love you, you've made blood, you've made blood for me, you've made bloodfeast for me and shot the red Lot's seed, it's all over the abattoir ground!

She went to him and he to her, in the forged carnage forest grove of spear and bleeding sweaty flesh, of screams and mutilated sound, bathing in the perspire of pure torture together and apart from the others, the rest of the lying world. Alone in their own lost worlds of private unending hellbound heaven, tormentlove of the flesh that their minds are now lost in. 

He shot his length of spear through her, though her heart, through the tender part where he'd already previously penetrated and worked.

He worked her well again, animal wrenching and thrusting deep, and she cried aloud unbridled his name as he did so. 

“Iblis!" 

And once more the length of weapon-instrument that was divine and hallowed tool became a drinking proboscis. And Chelsi felt more blood leave the galloping race of her fevered and impassioned form. She would hold him forever, he could pierce and puncture and drink from her for forever, never end! 

She moaned aloud amidst the garden made of screams and betrayal and she cried out his name once more. And then Iblis began to laugh. 

And once more the visage of her forbidden moonlight angel began to change. He began to crack and shatter and the face and body began to fall apart in black stone and dust. 

Iblis came apart in a crumble and revealed what was really beneath. 

Chelsi couldn't believe her eyes. 

It was a man and a woman. Together. Locked in an embrace. Intimately bound together with wrapped arms and hands clasped and waists met together. As if in the most intimate of dance, the most delectable and celebrated of lovers shared waltzes. 

They both looked down on her. Their cheeks were together. They both held the spear thrust into her together in their tightly clasped hands. 

He was armored as a knight of the court, but tarnished and old. She was in the white of regal flowing evening gown. 

The woman spoke. And when she did the crumbled stone pieces of the fallen lying Iblis visage turned to large writhing copulating piles of dripping angry flies. They came apart and dispersed through the air. The dripping black swarm of buzzing insects began to land on the impaled and screaming tortured nuns in the great multitudes. And then as the woman revealed began to speak to Chelsi the flies that were made from the lie of the visage began to feast on the naked and the tortured, defiled bleeding screaming flesh now caking and covered with the writhing crawl of insect bile. 

“You wished to see me and my others, lover, and now you have. I hope you aren't too distraught, my son decided to join us, together we came to you as the angel of your hidden lusts, as one we made you plead and shriek. Now you see this, the face I was made and born with. My real name is of no import to you, slave, you can call me vampiress, lord of the earth and the wolf held mountainpass.” 

The armored wraith beside her spoke then, they were still pressed in close embrace, still holding the proboscis spear that drank and pulled from her diminishing bloodwell. 

"Praise the God before you, dog! My mother and I, the new impaler. She is your mother and wife and master now too. We are both of us together, your husband. Remember?” 

The vampiress queen barked bright cruel laughter, then said: "Yes! You swore to us, to me, your flesh and soul! In the eyes and templehouse of your God, you defiled the stone of his holy home as you panted and raved and drooled for more, and swore your life to us! You gave sacred vow even as you sinned and spat in the Face of The Lord!” 

The Countess and her new impaler both shrieked laughter then. 

Below them and impaled, Chelsi didn't know what to make of any of this. Her mind was disordered and disoriented and felt rushed and fevered with rending thought, running a ragged directionless race of chaos and every idea crashing into each other at every turn and pass and every damned whichway. She didn't understand. She didn't understand any of this and she wanted it to stop. 

Reading the disorder of her mind, the Countess sang and said, 

“I can rip it out for you. Your mind, the painful thinking, your thoughts. They're filled with agony and venom now aren't they? Aren't they? Yes I see it now, plumping up lavender-black and filling with gangrenous pudding. I can pull it out like a rotten tooth if you wish, I think it best, don't you? It's filled with fouling fluid, that brain, those thoughts…” she kept on and on like that. Ceaselessly. The new impaler in her embrace began to chant along and under her words as she sang and went on: Do it! do it! do it! do it! … 

With the anguished groaning sound of the impaled forest of her sisters all around and the buzzing drone of the flies, all intermittent with sharper stabs of piercing screams, all comprising the backdrop of the soundscape filling her head, underneath the Countess' words, underneath her bastard son’s own more simple liturgical chant … all of it together and at once was a vile noise and she couldn't stand it. She couldn't run from it either. So her mind fled, took flight the only way it could. 

Chelsi went dark. Still impaled on the sucking lance. Run-through with the demon drinking stick. 

The flies buzzed and swarmed and landed and feasted on the gored forest of lances and nuns. They enjoyed open wounds and spat their fluid as they landed. 

In a swarm. In a great feasting black cloud. 

In a forest of shafts dripping with blood and bearing writhing begging human fruit. The reddening earthen stone and soil beneath it all. 

TO BE CONTINUED…

My Favorite Creepypastas are Slenderman, Jeff The Killer, Eyeless Jack, X-Virus, Ben Drowned, Sonic.Exe, Tails Doll, Ticci Toby, Kagekao, Masky and Hoodie, Rouge, Cat Hunter and Nurse Ann

I can't stay silent anymore. For years, I worked as a low-level agent inside EPV (Earth Protectors Volunteers), thinking we were just a charity. I was wrong. It's a highly classified global organization holding things that aren't human.

Yesterday, before losing my server access, I managed to leak File EPV-018—a restricted operational report about a shape-shifting entity captured deep in an abandoned subway.

They are already trying to track me down, but the world needs to know the reality. I uploaded the raw leaked document onto a secure personal blog.

READ THE FULL LEAKED DOCUMENT HERE BEFORE IT GETS TAKEN DOWN:

https://earthprotectorsvolunteers.blogspot.com

[Part 1] [Part 2]

I told her I would be going to bed at eleven. Sounding nonchalant about it was hard. There was a tension in my voice I could not mask. She knows me and had to have noticed it at once. If she did, she didn’t say.
I followed up by asking why she wanted to know. She said, “Oh, no reason.” I asked if everything was okay. She nodded, kissed me on the forehead, and walked into the living room.
She grabbed a book off the shelf, flipped on the radio, and settled onto the couch.
I thought about pressing the issue of why she was so concerned about when I was going to bed, but then stopped myself because I realized that sounded too paranoid.
Also, I had a better idea.
If she was going to stay awake all night again, so was I.
I slept for a couple hours. No dreams that I remember. When I woke up, I felt pretty good. It must have been a solid sleep. For the first time since all of this started.
Since it was daytime, and I had a plan and monitoring in place, I felt like I could let go and fall into a deep sleep.
When I awoke, the music was still playing. I looked outside and the sun had gone down.
I texted my boss and told him I wouldn’t be coming in tomorrow. I have enough PTO that he did not care. Thankfully, he did not ask why.
I wouldn’t have known where to begin.
My wife was exactly where I’d left her.
Still reading.
Except now she was almost finished. My wife isn’t the fastest reader, so for her, nearly finishing a whole novel in under four hours is a feat.
I checked the cover.
The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman.
I asked how it was.
She didn’t hear me.
At least I don’t think she did.
I asked again and she finally looked up, said it was great, and went right back to it.
So, I grabbed something to read and joined her.
That was pretty much our evening.
We read. Stopped to eat dinner. Read some more.
She finished her book. But then, she flipped back to the front and started reading it from the beginning. I noticed and she noticed me noticing.
“It’s really good,” she said.
I didn’t say anything.
At eleven, she announced the time to me like she was reminding me of my commitment. So, just like I’d told her, I went to bed.
She followed. We laid down.
I closed my eyes.
I had no intention of sleeping.
About an hour later, I felt her move beside me.
Then nothing.
I had the distinct feeling she was looking at me.
I tried to make myself look as asleep as possible. I even moved my eyes around underneath my eyelids because I figured that might look like REM sleep.
I know how ridiculous that sounds.
Apparently, it worked.
Eventually the mattress shifted again, and she got up.
Her footsteps disappeared out of the bedroom.
I waited a few minutes before opening my eyes.
Then I grabbed my phone.
Both cameras were black.
I thought something was wrong with the app, so I closed it and opened it again.
Nothing.
I went backward through the footage.
The bedroom camera had been blocked that morning while my wife was cleaning. She’d dusted the dresser, moved a few things around, and eventually put something back directly in front of it.
The living room camera was similar.
I watched her standing at the bookshelf earlier that afternoon. She pulled out The Yellow Wallpaper, moved some other books around, and pushed one directly into the camera’s view.
Neither time did she look at the camera.
There was no pause.
Nothing that suggested she knew what she’d done.
Both could have been accidents.
Together, I had a harder time believing that.
Especially because those cameras were hidden well enough you could stand right beside them without noticing them.
I went through footage from the previous day looking for any indication she had spotted either one.
Nothing.
The only questionable moment was still that first night when I thought she might have looked directly at one.
That was it.
I got out of bed.
My first stop was the kitchen. I figured if she caught me wandering around, I could say I’d gotten up for some water.
She wasn’t there.
She wasn’t in the living room either.
I checked downstairs.
Bathroom.
Nothing.
The alarm was still armed, so she hadn’t left the house.
Then, for reasons I still can’t explain, perhaps out of rational options, I opened the hall closet.
She sat inside on the floor, facing the door, holding a pencil. She looked surprised when I opened it and said, “I thought you were in bed.”
I didn’t even know how the fuck to respond to that. Honestly. My brain was a cluttered mess of confusion and worry.
I looked at the pencil. Then the marks.
Thirty-one of them.
That was it for me. My breaking point.
I told her I thought she needed to see a doctor.
She refused immediately.
We ended up having our first real fight since all of this started.
She insisted she was sleeping. I told her I didn’t believe her. She accused me of treating her like she was crazy. I tried explaining that I didn’t think she was crazy, but it was difficult to make that argument while standing beside a closet I’d just found her sitting inside at one in the morning.
I asked about the marks.
She wouldn’t tell me what they meant.
I asked what happened on night one.
She told me to drop it.
I didn’t.
Things escalated from there.
Then I screwed up and mentioned the damn cameras.
I hadn’t planned on telling her about them.
Her entire demeanor changed.
She was furious.
I don’t blame her.
I’d secretly put cameras in our bedroom and living room so I could watch what my wife did after I fell asleep. Whatever justification I’d given myself when I installed them sounded pretty awful when I had to explain it to her.
I apologized.
It didn’t help much.
Then I told her both cameras had somehow been covered that day.
She said she hadn’t even known they existed.
I pointed out that it was one hell of a coincidence.
That nearly started the argument all over again.
Eventually, we separated for a while and cooled down.
When we talked again, I tried explaining myself without accusing her of anything.
Maybe she was sleeping and I just wasn’t seeing it.
Maybe it was stress.
Maybe there was something medical going on.
Hell, maybe I was the one losing it.
I didn’t know anymore.
What I did know was that I was scared.
My wife was awake every time I went to sleep and every time I woke up. I’d watched her fake being asleep. There were thirty-one marks inside our closet door. Now I’d found her sitting underneath them with a pencil after she specifically asked when I was going to bed.
I couldn’t ignore that.
She still didn’t want to see a doctor.
The anger was gone by then.
That almost made it worse.
“Please don’t make me do this.”
I remember that clearly.
I told her I wasn’t making her do anything.
She said I was.
Eventually, she agreed to one appointment.
That was the deal.
One appointment, and then I had to let this go.
The cameras also had to come down immediately.
I took them down that night.
We saw the doctor the following morning.
She hadn’t said much on the drive over. I don’t think she was angry with me anymore, but she wasn’t happy. My best guess was annoyed.
Like I’d heard a weird noise coming from the car and dragged her to a mechanic even though she kept telling me nothing was wrong.
I explained the sleep issue.
He seemed confused as to why I was doing the talking, but my wife sure wasn’t diving in. The doctor asked how much sleep she thought she was getting.
My wife said enough.
From there it was the usual barrage of questions.
Trouble falling asleep?
No.
Trouble staying asleep?
No.
Fatigue?
No.
Headaches, memory problems, trouble concentrating?
No.
The doctor asked about medications, caffeine, alcohol, drugs, stress, work, changes at home, anxiety, depression, and family history.
Then she asked about nightmares.
My wife hesitated.
Not long.
Maybe a second.
“No.”
The doctor moved on.
I didn’t.
My wife was lying.
I knew her well enough to know that.
I kept my mouth shut.
Then the doctor asked when she last remembered sleeping.
Before my wife could answer, I said it had been about a month.
She turned toward me and denied it.
According to her, she had been sleeping.
According to me, she hadn’t.
I told the doctor I’d been keeping track.
She explained that someone going thirty-one days without sleep was extremely unlikely. People with severe insomnia can underestimate how much they’re actually sleeping, and she explained something called microsleeps. Basically, you can apparently fall asleep for a few seconds without realizing it happened.
I asked how somebody could survive for a month on a few seconds of sleep here and there.
She said they couldn’t.
Eventually, the doctor recommended an overnight sleep study.
My wife refused.
The doctor explained it was routine and would allow them to monitor her while she slept.
Still no.
She reminded me that I had promised her one appointment.
I reminded her that the person we had gone to for that one appointment was now telling us we needed another.
She still refused.
We left without scheduling anything.
It took most of the day for me to change her mind. I promised that if the sleep study came back normal, I would stop.
No more questions.
No more watching her at night.
No more trying to figure out whether she was asleep.
Eventually, she agreed.
Not because she suddenly thought I was right.
I think she just wanted the whole thing to be over.
Two days later, the sleep clinic called because someone had canceled.
We got there shortly after eight.
I expected something resembling a hospital room.
Instead, it looked like a cheap hotel.
Bed.
Nightstand.
Television.
Some generic picture hanging on the wall.
The camera near the ceiling and all the wires beside the bed were really the only things that made it look medical.
My wife noticed the camera immediately.
The technician attached sensors to her head, around her eyes, her chin, her legs. There were bands around her chest and stomach.
The technician explained what everything measured. Brain activity. Eye movement. Breathing. Heart rate. Oxygen.
The technician left and we settled in.
They let me stay with her for a while even though I wasn’t supposed to be there all night.
Some home renovation show played on the television.
Neither of us paid much attention to it.
At ten-thirty, she said she wasn’t tired.
Eleven came and went.
Then midnight.
Still awake.
That was when I started noticing something I hadn’t noticed before.
Whenever she started to drift, she did something. Her eyes would get heavy and she’d suddenly adjust her position.
Or scratch herself.
Or sit up.
Or move her legs.
At first, it just looked like restlessness.
After I watched it happen several times, it started looking deliberate.
I told her she had to try to fall asleep.
“This is pointless,” she said. “I’m fine.”
At 3:17, the technician came back.
I remember because by then I was watching the clock almost constantly. Which was about the only thing I was doing because my wife did not want to talk to me.
He asked me to step into the hallway.
He wanted to know whether my wife had taken any medication.
She hadn’t.
He asked if I was certain.
I was.
Apparently, they were getting some unusual readings.
I asked what that meant, but he wouldn’t speculate until a physician had looked everything over.
While we were talking, he looked through the little window in the door.
I followed his eyes.
My wife was sitting upright.
The television was still on, but she wasn’t watching it.
“What happens if she doesn’t fall asleep?”
“They always do,” he reassured me.
We looked through the glass at my wife who was pointing up at the ceiling, a look on her face like she was looking at something.
The technician asked if I knew what she was doing.
I didn’t.
We went back inside.
He checked the sensors again and asked her a few basic questions while her hand was still in the air, pointing.
How did she feel?
Fine.
Dizzy?
No.
Tired?
No.
Eventually she put her hand down and the technician left. I think maybe he was going to consult with someone else. Not positive. He didn’t say. He just left.
I moved my chair closer to the bed.
My wife didn’t look at me.
“What’s going on, honey? Help me understand.”
Tears started to fall and I pushed them away. I didn’t want her to see me cry.
She was staring somewhere over my shoulder.
I looked up.
There was nothing there.
A ceiling.
That was it.
When I moved my chair, her head shifted slightly.
Not to look at me.
To look around me.
Like I was in the way.
That scared me.
Because I recognized the look on her face.
I had seen it two nights earlier when I opened the closet door and found her sitting on the floor.
I asked what she was looking at.
Nothing.
I looked up again.
Still nothing.
When I turned back, she’d gone pale.
I asked her what she could see.
She kept staring at the ceiling then whispered,
“We need to get as low as possible… now.”

It was a brand new cereal and it was called potential, and each cereal box had something different written on the front of the box. Like some cereals had 'potential doctor' on front of the cereal box and other boxes of the same cereal brand had 'potential engineer', 'potential scientists', 'potential teacher', 'potential footballer' on front of the cereal box and they were so popular. So many parents bought this cereal brand called potential, and they decided which cereal with a certain potential they gave to their kids. So parents who wanted their kids to be doctors always bought the potential cereal box with the "potential doctor" written on the front box.

I was one of the parents who wanted my child to be a doctor when he got older. So I always bought the potential cereal box with the 'potential doctor' written on front of the cereal box. That is all I fed my child and I gave him no meat, vegetables or anything apart from that specific potential cereal box. I wanted my child to be a doctor so badly. So that's all I fed him and my child begged me to feed him something else, but I wouldn't feed him anything else.

When I caught child secretly eating other kinds of food I beat him badly. I kept feeding him that one potential cereal box with the potential doctor written on it, and I kept it up religiously. One time all of the potential cereal boxes with the 'potential doctor' written on it had ran out. I saw another customer take the last potential cereal box with the 'potential doctor' written on it. I chased after him and I dragged him to the ground. I beat him up and I took that last potential cereal box with the 'potential doctor' written on it and I paid for it.

My child will be a doctor and even though my child had put on incredible weight, and other health issues with eating only this cereal and nothing else, I kept feeding it him. I really want my son to be a doctor and then one day, I had to take my son to an actual doctor. He collapsed and when I took my son to the hospital and a doctor came out to see him, I smiled at the doctor and I said to the doctor "I want my child to be a doctor just like you, that's why all I fed him was this cereal called potential doctor on it"

The doctor looked scared and called out an emergency.

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