Last week's post https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1c9t9iy/roundup_ufos_kona_blue_unhidden_osmium_bob/
Archive https://web.archive.org/web/20240421213019/https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1c9t9iy/roundup_ufos_kona_blue_unhidden_osmium_bob/
Moon phase waxing gibbous, two days before full
Mars Right Ascension 23h 38m 14s
.1 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1c9tcxy/what_is_this/ photos, nighttime sky, at home, outside window, contemporaneous report, single light object, low over rooftop, stationary, duration 20 minutes, orange 🟠, photos show brightness change, it was as if the centre of it darkened for a moment and then returned to Orange., eye 👁, urban area, South Dublin Ireland 🇮🇪 , near an army aerodrome ., [GOODPOST], OP deleted, lost data
.2 https://old.reddit.com/Skydentify/comments/1c9kuxq/have_you_ever_seen_a_ufo/ discussion of sightings
.3 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1c9nfjh/ufo_sighting_sedona_412_810pm/ video, nighttime sky, urban area, Sedona Arizona, single light object, diffuse, friend said they saw two little lights behind the main large light too, smaller objects accompany it, two witnesses
.4 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1c9ys5c/weekly_mexican_and_peruvian_ufo_disclosure/ information, state of disclosure, Mexico and Peru https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cadymb/all_the_relevant_uap_updates_from_april_1521/ different OP, state of disclosure USA
.5 https://old.reddit.com/astrophotography/comments/1ca9rxb/caught_something_drone_bird_crossing_the_luna video, nighttime sky, single dark object moving fast, traversing the face of the moon,
.6 reference ISS https://old.reddit.com/astrophotography/comments/1ca7cxl/my_first_decent_picture_of_the_iss/ photo, international space station, ISS, nighttime, single light object, irregular shape, white ⚪️ light
.7 https://old.reddit.com/AnomalousEvidence/comments/1ca1bfh/an_experience/ dream description, entities, communication, They told me that they could see us but we couldn’t see them.
.8 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ca28gj/ufo_sighting_upstate_ny_19931995/ childhood sighting description, from car, nighttime, single light object, zigzag movements, I saw a light in the sky, moving in a perfect zig zag pattern. Like a "VVVVV" pattern. It was white, spherical. , Moira new York state, apathy in other witnesses,
.9 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ca4ln7/ufos_at_daytime/ video, daytime sky, repeat visitors, ongoing, threelights
.10 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cakyps/need_help_identifying_object/ video, nighttime sky, possible timelapse, moon?, from home security camera, OP is not the witness, single light object moving, descending
.11 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1camz3s/what_are_these_lights_in_the_chicago_night_sky/ video, nighttime cloudy sky, fourlights, diffuse, spotlights type, splitting and merging, from car, urban area, Chicago Illinois , repeat visitor, emotional reaction unease, What’s really weird is that a week ago I was telling someone about how might have seen a UFO when I was younger and I described them just like this video. This is the 3rd time I’ve seen these lights with this pattern in Chicago. And when I saw them again Saturday night, my heart sank a bit on how weird it was that they appeared not even a week into talking about it.
.12 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cakt3z/possible_sighting/ video and photo, nighttime sky, OP is a pilot, over central Kentucky , fleet, all different directions, moving erratically, formation change observed, forming shapes and maneuvering in reference to each other., duration 1 hour, [GOODPOST], photo shows triangle formation
.13 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cavgzg/any_idea_what_this_is_i_filmed_this_object_on/ video, nighttime sky, southwest Oklahoma, single light object moving straight, satellite?
.14 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cat6ss/first_sighting_meta_observations/ sighting description and discussion of apathy, contemporaneous report, daytime, two witnesses, fleet, overhead, duration 4 minutes, six silver things in the sky that were unlike anything I've seen before.,
.15 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cb8kez/seeking_other_constructive_opinions_as_to_what/ video, nighttime sky, threelights, triangle formation, stationary, from airplane, contemporaneous report, approach to Seatac International Airport, Seattle Washington, near water pacific ocean, video shows flareup, one object moving horizontally, possible light beams, landing lights?, two witnesses
.16 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cb240p/ufo_or_satellite/ long exposure photo, nighttime sky, single light object moving, trajectory change, Hampshire the UK 🇬🇧 , downvoted to zero, OP comments downvoted
.17 https://old.reddit.com/aliens/comments/1cazsm7/im_going_to_go_ahead_and_write_about_my_experience/ sighting description, at home, single object, V-shaped, approach, It was a open V with one side longer than the other. It had a red 🔴 shiny spot at the top of the long side. The short side had varied blues 🔵 and shiny white like diamonds . The frame was a metallic shiny green 🟢, moving and stationary, directly in front, splitting, sudden departure, All the sudden it turned into uniformed balls of white light in a spiraling motion. It was just gone after that., emotional reaction unease, I didn’t feel well afterwards for some time.
.18 https://old.reddit.com/aliens/comments/1ca3whk/i_could_have_seen_a_ufo_once/ sighting description, single light object, possible reaction to being observed, vanishing, California
.19 https://old.reddit.com/aliens/comments/1c9cg28/do_aliens_visit_me/ experience description, at home, audio description beeping sound outside the house. , repeat visitor, two witnesses, heard a beep coming from my room, and I whispered "they're going to leave," and then I fell asleep., She says when I said that, the beeping went away. , Sometimes when I was falling asleep when I was about 12 or 13, I heard some kind of celestial or galactic music outside my window.
.20 https://old.reddit.com/aliens/comments/1c9dxrw/green_ball_falling_down_fast/ sighting description, at home, outside window, single light object moving fast, descending, green 🟢, two witnesses, the Netherlands 🇳🇱 , has anyone seen?
.21 https://old.reddit.com/aliens/comments/1c963b2/fully_robed_aliens/ dream description, landed craft, entities, aliens that were tall and they were all completely covered in black robes like a niqab but even their eyes were covered.
.22 https://old.reddit.com/ufo/comments/1cap7gl/invertedv_no_lights_ufo_later_cloaked/ sighting description and reference image, V-shaped, has anyone seen?, at home, backyard, It was an inverted-V shaped UFO flying apex first. It had a weird clear bubble around the point or nose of the craft and it had water vapor pouring over the wings. I tried to draw that part in myself. It was banking when I saw it before it turned parallel to the ground and cloaked itself. The cloak looked similar to the cloaking style in the movie “The Predator.”, two objects observed, haze, orientation change, similar sightings in comments, [GOODPOST]
.23 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cbmj59/indepth_jason_sands_is_legitimate/ discussion of Jason Sands, OP is a member of the Intelligence Community, I am here to vouch for Jason Sands in attempt to support his credibility and encourage you all to also show support for him., OP comments downvoted, big debunker energy
.24 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cbpw5q/help_identifying_object_seen_today/ video, daytime sky, contemporaneous report, at work, Mojave California, powerlines, single object blackwhite, moving slowly, tumbling, approach, moving and stationary and moving, trajectory change to vertical, It was traveling against the wind. It came down into the field across the road and came close to ground level and hovered for a bit. After hovering for a bit it began to rise directly vertically until it rose out of sight., downvoted to zero, OP comments downvoted, big debunker energy
.25 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cbuu8n/fleet_of_lights_over_australian_beach/ sighting description, fleet, Far North Queensland Australia 🇦🇺 , starlink?, 20 to 30 anomalous lights all following the same flight path, all at the same height, stopped at 19:27., three witnesses, similar sighting in comments , downvoted to zero
.26 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cc658p/was_this_a_sighting_happened_a_few_weeks_ago/ sighting description, urban area, single light object moving and stationary and moving, jumpy movement, trajectory change, kind of stood there for a second, then reversed, and continued to drop a bit. Finally, it did a loopy ∞ shape, just before shooting "up" and disappearing., sudden departure upward, thought its behavior was sentient, dancing, downvoted to zero , information about UFOs in Peru 🇵🇪
.27 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cc98a6/ufo_sighting_in_cardiff_uk/ sighting description, contemporaneous report, Cardiff the UK 🇬🇧, nighttime, urban area, single light object, metallic sphere, solid silver orb with what I can only explain as white/orange 🟠 electricity or plasma shifting around the object., haze , reaction to being observed, vanishing, duration 15 seconds, emotion of fear, shock, evening cloudy sky
.28 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ccde77/orb_like_object_over_galway_bay_ireland/ video, nighttime sky, single light object, over water, Galway Bay Ireland 🇮🇪, stationary, pulsating, three witnesses, moving, looked to me like a grid pattern.
.29 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cce86y/thoughts/ photo, nighttime sky, Helensbay Northern Ireland the UK 🇬🇧, two objects, possible pyramid shape, multiple lights, splitting, She described the two objects as moving stars two and then both became three each.
.30 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ccf2p2/richmond_virginia_sightings_in_past_month/ photos, multiple events, repeat visitors, near water, James River, Richmond Virginia, similar sightings in comments, at home, nighttime, witness woke up, felt compelled to go outside, made three passes, directly in front, zigzag movements, The third time was just last week and the craft seem to move left to right three times in front of me.
.31 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ccfhon/nycwhat_is_this/ photos, nighttime sky, at home, outside window, contemporaneous report, fleet or single object multiple lights splitting, contemporaneous report, low over rooftop, urban area, NYC New York state, downvoted to zero, OP comments downvoted, duration 1 hour
.32 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ccftbw/i_finally_saw_something/ sighting description, downvoted to zero, contemporaneous report, Arkansas, nighttime, single light object moving, silent, two witnesses, perception discrepancy, other witness observed plane,
.33 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cctozw/high_speed_object_caught_near_airport/ video, daytime cloudy sky, single object moving fast, from airport, RHO Diagoras Greece 🇬🇷, near water, Mediterranean sea , OP is not the witness
.34 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cchu9a/saint_augustine_fl/ video, nighttime sky, urban area, st augustine Florida, single light object, pulsating, video shows stationary and moving, observed splitting, twolights observed , One bright orange light comes out, splits into 4,
.35 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ccop7z/unknown_flying_object/ video, nighttime sky, single light object, flareup, I was filming what I thought was a satellite but then this very bright flash happened, contemporaneous report, urban area, Quebec Canada 🇨🇦, very bright, golden to the naked eyes
.36 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ccoybi/weird_point_of_light_in_the_sky/ sighting description, contemporaneous report, nighttime, single light object, moon for comparison observed, duration 5-10 seconds, witness looked away and looked back, vanished
.37 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cczt88/sighting_in_minneapolis_42424_story_in_comments/ video, urban area, Minneapolis Minnesota, two witnesses, duration 10 minutes, threelights, flying in formation, reaction to being filmed, formation change, lighting configuration change, As I started filming on my phone, the 'lead' light moved out in front of the others and off to the side. Shortly after, the second light disappeared, leaving just one which hovered in place until we lost sight of it behind some trees., from car, nighttime, contemporaneous report, has anyone seen? , near airport, Minneapolis–Saint Paul International Airport.,
.38 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ccqc4l/strange_moving_lights/ video, nighttime sky, from car, woodland hills California, single object multiple lights, moving erratically, trajectory change, crossed directly in front, possible law enforcement response, a few cops with lights and sirens passed by quickly after.,
.39 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cc7mbl/ufos_what_is_this/ video, daytime cloudy sky, urban area, Groningen the Netherlands 🇳🇱 , contemporaneous report, fleet, flashing erratically, video shows appearing out of nowhere, horizontal trajectory,
.40 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cc6vqz/potential_sighting_in_london/ video, daytime cloudy sky, fleet observed, video shows single light object, orange 🟠, urban area, London England the UK 🇬🇧, made two passes, twolights, two witnesses, reaction to being filmed, vanishing, When I told my wife to record, four of them disappeared and only one remained. I then drove towards Highbury and Islington roundabout, and then two appeared after.,
.41 https://old.reddit.com/aliens/comments/1cd1cih/went_back_through_some_old_videos_i_took_last/ video, nighttime cloudy sky, diffuse light, low over treeline, anomalous to witness, at home, that night the land was glowing in a way we’ve never seen before, maybe I’m a crazy old lady but it looked like something landed there., electronic effects camera interference, Canada 🇨🇦 ,repeat visitor ,two witnesses https://old.reddit.com/aliens/comments/1cdfpty/tonights_blue_cloud_et_show/ more video, contemporaneous report
.42 https://old.reddit.com/aliens/comments/1cbn6cl/can_someone_identify_this_green_beem/ photo, nighttime cloudy sky, powerlines, single light object, elongated, vertical orientation, green 🟢, Atlantic island of st. Vincent part of the cape verde archipelago, near water Atlantic Ocean, stationary, duration 10 minutes,
.43 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cdmlce/maybe_caught_something_on_camera_nj/ video, daytime cloudy sky, single object, observed moving erratically, abruptly zipped back and forth as though under control., somerset new jersey
.44 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cdbxj2/what_am_i_seeing/ timelapse video, nighttime sky, multiple objects, trajectory change horizontal to vertical, Ontario Canada 🇨🇦, downvoted to zero
.45 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cdf2wc/what_is_this/ video, daytime cloudy sky, from car, powerlines, Gold Coast Australia 🇦🇺, contemporaneous report, single object blackwhite
.46 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cd59kz/ufo_i_personally_shot_footage_of_at_the_end_of/ video, at home, urban area, Miami Florida, possibly rotating, moving erratically, up down left right, duration 40 minutes, witness went to sleep, I got tired at some point and took a small nap, woke up it was still there, went to sleep, woke up again and it was gone. , downvoted to zero, OP comments downvoted, daytime cloudy sky, single dark object, elongated, horizontal orientation, stationary
.47 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cdm7hi/tracking_the_plasmoid_is_quite_difficult_as_the/ video, nighttime sky, through infrared camera, repeat visitors , downvoted to zero
.48 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cdpxba/just_saw_this_from_lambertville_nj_headed_west/ sighting description, contemporaneous report, Lambertville new jersey, daytime sky, single light object moving straight, plane for comparison observed, downvoted to zero
.49 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1cbk7rv/random_stories_from_the_life_of_a_boring_person/ experience descriptions, multiple events, ongoing, at home, two witnesses, single light object, approach, jumpy movement, blue 🔵, Almost like it zeroed in on us as soon as it knew that we noticed it., emotion of fear, witnesses left the area, similar sightings in comments
.50 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1ccbgls/strange_happenings/ sighting descriptions, multiple events, entity, Ohio, ongoing, multiple people saw a large creature standing in the woods between trees watching all these players, through night vision scope, humanoid, antlers, vanished, anomalous silence, footsteps, missing time , mimicking
.51 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1cddvg5/does_anybody_remember_being_an_energy_orb/ memory description, has anyone seen?, I remember I was part of a litter of lights with siblings all around me. A tribe of little stars with the background of the universe except all these galaxies and such were brighter.... I chose my parents....I was raising my legs, resting on the floor on my back while my diapers were getting changed. And I clearly thought, "Aww shit, here we go again."
.52 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1ccr8tq/7_tall_shadow_silhouette_in_my_bedroom_what_do_i/ sighting description, at home, nighttime, inside bedroom, entity, humanoid, shadow figure, witness looked away and looked back, vanished, it looked slightly hunched over and was staring directly at me, contemporaneous report, similar sightings in comments
.53 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1cd3tot/my_sighting_that_made_me_believe/ sighting description, Bibione Italy 🇮🇹 , daytime, over water, Mediterranean sea, single light object, metallic sphere, overhead, stationary, witness looked away and looked back, vanished, similar sightings in comments
.54 ➡️ https://old.reddit.com/ufo/comments/1cddyzb/interesting_object_near_langley_afb/ photos and videos, nighttime, from car, fleet or single object multiple lights, there was a string of lights and some blinking green lights., duration 45 minutes, stationary or moving slowly, video shows flashing in sequence, multicolored, near USAF, Langley Virginia, [GOODPOST]
.55 https://old.reddit.com/ufo/comments/1cdal29/unidentified_object_flying_over_san_jose_ca_today/ photo, daytime cloudy sky, single dark object, elongated, vertical orientation, contemporaneous report, urban area, san Jose California, two witnesses duration 1 minute, disappeared into clouds
.56 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cdv28y/what_looks_like_a_moving_star_that_moves_in_a/ sighting description, contemporaneous report, nighttime, single light object, moving and stationary and moving, overhead, jerky movement as it was constantly speeding up and slowing down in two second increments., at home, two witnesses, duration 3 minutes, Tartu Estonia 🇪🇪, similar sightings in comments
.57 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cdwhk9/ufo_sighting_westchester_ny_october_2023_at_2am/ photos, nighttime cloudy sky, at home, outside window, twolights, reaction to being filmed, sudden departure, Westchester new York state, over water, Hudson River, downvoted to zero
.58 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cdynoc/3_white_orb_ufos_over_carson_city_nv_april_24/ video, nighttime sky, threelights, urban area, Carson city Nevada, single light object stationary and moving, reaction to being observed, additional twolights, overhead,
.59 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cdynswhat_was_it/ video, nighttime sky, single light object, flashing erratically or jumpy movement, possibly rotating, repeat visitor, possible reaction to being filmed, Used to see them often and I haven’t seen them again since then. , similar sighting in comments , urban area, Las Vegas Nevada
.60 https://old.reddit.com/aliens/comments/1cdxz9j/i_guess_ill_just_throw_this_experience_out_there/ childhood experience description, entity, I just have this memory of running through what seemed to be a building. I was running away from someone, but I don't remember why, I ran until I came across this door that opened by itself and hid inside. Then this tan or brown colored "mantis" being appeared in the doorway. I don't remember anything after that., event amnesia
.61 https://old.reddit.com/ufo/comments/1cdw5ka/uniform_cloudgas_ball_with_bright_light_inside/ long exposure photo, nighttime sky, single light object moving, also seen by eye, Northern Arizona., two witnesses, powerlines,
.62 ➡️ https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ce1lmi/a_light_from_above_lit_my_friends_entire_house_up/ experience description, no craft, at home, nighttime, witness woke up, outside window, backyard, darkness bright as day, After he looked out the front, he said the light was everywhere, as if it were coming from above. , upstate New York, anomalous silence, he noticed everything fell completely silent. , apathy, witness went to sleep, he felt compelled to no longer search for the source of the light, despite spending a few minutes looking already., similar sightings in comments, [GOODPOST]
.63 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ce3snh/earliest_memory_is_of_an_owl_when_i_was_3_years/ childhood experience description, my earliest memory is of an owl, and me riding on its back to the back of my parents property, and then me walking back in my pajamas and climbing back in the window. , repeat visitors, downvoted to zero, Michigan
.64 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cdw4vl/by_the_facilitators_of_the_x_space_full_jason/ the Jason Sands interview, OP is the interview host
.65 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ceh0c2/strange_orange_light_silently_moving_in_unison/ video, nighttime cloudy sky, single light object, orange 🟠 observed, urban area, Sydney Australia 🇦🇺, recorded on 2 different cameras, flew overhead, emotion of fear, I felt a bit of fear and my legs started shaking as the lights silently moved above my head., fleet observed, two pairs of twolights, [GOODPOST]
.66 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ce8i3v/i_saw_my_first_ufo_i_think/ video, nighttime sky, near home, i noticed something very odd on top of a tree in my neighbor's front yard., single dim object, irregular shape, shape change observed, looked like some sort of net just floating there, it looked translucent., reaction to being observed, stationary and moving, vanishing and reappearing or second object, over the witness home, video shows diffuse object, elongated, horizontal orientation, felt as it was absorbing the light in the back yard and emitting a sparkly light., downvoted to zero, OP comments downvoted , near USAF, Lockheed Air Force Base, fort worth Texas, physical effects goosebumps, wtf_is_this
.67 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ceilz4/my_ufo_encounter_in_khartoum_2016_similar_to/ sighting description and drawing, Khartoum- Bahri Sudan 🇸🇩 , nighttime, single object, crescent 🌙 shape or manta, moving straight, possibly cloaked, silent, duration 30 seconds,
.68 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cedcsw/i_think_i_saw_a_ufo/ sighting description, contemporaneous report, nighttime, two witnesses, single dim object moving straight, This thing was barely visible with a few brighter white dots here and there, it was also absolutely silent.,orientation change, boomerang 🪃, approach, trajectory change, disappeared behind treeline, Australia 🇦🇺
.69 https://old.reddit.com/aliens/comments/1ce2bam/flying_over_detroit_at_the_draft/ video, daytime cloudy sky, single dark object, oval-shaped, tumbling, trajectory change, descending, low over rooftop, two witnesses, contemporaneous report, urban area, Detroit Michigan
.70 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ceptdd/mysterious_orange_lights_in_the_sky/ photo, nighttime sky, threelights, triangle formation, orange 🟠, at home, backyard, low over treeline, the UK 🇬🇧, They moved in really weird speeds and directions while one of the lights was stationary for a couple of seconds., similar sightings in comments
.71 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ces9bl/ufo_didnt_show_up_on_camera/ video, daytime cloudy sky, single dark object observed, electronic effects camera can't detect it, two witnesses, moving straight, possibly rotating or tumbling, The other odd thing is it looked like it had distortion around it., submission statement issues, removed, urban area, Philadelphia Pennsylvania
.72 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ceo8w3/truth_too_strange_for_public_consumption_old_man/ information, family story, father, worked at Wright Patterson air force base for over 20 years, aliens were not pacifists. As they had several battles one destroyed a planet beyond mars, then the battle moved to mars where they stripped the atmosphere with weapons and the survivors from the multiple races then came to earth as a last resort. Only ape men were here when they came.
.73 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cesul0/ufo_yesterday_upstate_new_york_jet_followed_5/ photo and reference images, daytime cloudy sky, single light object, elongated, trail or disk shape, angled from the horizon, plane for comparison observed
.74 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1ce5m5l/has_anyone_else_had_an_encounter_with_a/ sighting description and drawing, entity, cloaked, has anyone seen?, inside home, suddenly out of no where, A large being appears in front of me. It was tall and slim. It was like the silhouette of a man. It was, what I always described as, “see through.” , wavy edges, directly in front, physical effects paralysis, It then raised its right arm, witness felt observed, emotion of, witness left the area, similar sightings in comments, [GOODPOST]
.75 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cevkh8/today_around_230am_i_was_able_to_capture_some/ video, nighttime sky, fleet, multiple objects, Camargo Chihuahua Mexico 🇲🇽 , moving slowly, low over rooftop, urban area, very bright, satellites?
.76 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cf0nhn/uaps_spotted_in_central_alabama_april_5_2024/ video, daytime cloudy sky, Prattville Alabama, downvoted to zero, three witnesses, cylinder shaped observed https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cfd99y/uaps_spotted_in_central_alabama_april_5_2024/ slowed version, single light object moving fast, possible disk shape with dome or triangle 🔺️, horizontal orientation, smaller objects accompany it
.77 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cex9x8/possibly_true_ufo_story/ sighting description, family story, grandmother's father, Russia 🇷🇺, nighttime, from car, out of nowhere, there’s a massive floating disk in the sky, which flies right over them. My granny’s dad pulls the car over, and looks at this flying disc, which was still right above them, and a bright light beams out for a good amount of time (do not know the exact time) and just flies away at a unnatural speed, overhead, sudden departure, two witnesses, possible physical effects illness, colleague died of a sudden cancer a year later.
.78 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1ceid79/i_stumbled_into_what_i_can_only_describe_as_a/ experience description, hiking, At one point during my walk, I had an intense sensation of crossing some kind of boundary. , emotional reaction shock, The first thing I noticed was the branches, covered in fuzzy black things that moved like “electrical” or energy wisps. , audio description distant, deep, vibrating noise that undulated back and forth., physical effects paralysis, I saw what looked like a geometric pattern in the woods., temperature change, it had become much colder. However, I felt a warmth coming from behind me, light illuminating surroundings, emotion of fear, witness left the area, Blue Ridge Mountains Virginia, the cathedral - a complex vaulted structure that seems to underlay what we experience as reality. , similar experiences in comments
.79 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1ceo42v/central_florida_east_side_near_colonial_town_and/ video, nighttime sky, contemporaneous report, fleet, one following another, low below treeline, horizontal trajectory, urban area, central Florida, similar sighting in comments
.80 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1cex54b/dreams_where_greys_teach_me_how_their_engines_work/ dream description, entity, inside craft, a Grey alien took me onto his ship. While on the ship he taught me how their engines worked. The only things I remember specifically is that they have a "photon engine" and that it works like the large hadron collider., has anyone seen?
.81 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1cdrecc/hypnopompic_hallucinations_showing_me_the_words/ experience description, at home, nighttime, witness woke up, the words "syntax error" were written multiple times around a central anchor spot like a wheel of fortune spin thing., similar experiences in comments
.82 https://old.reddit.com/ufo/comments/1cf1he6/my_ufo_story/ sighting description, nighttime, near water, Prince Rupert British Columbia Canada 🇨🇦, two witnesses, underwater light, single dark object, exiting water, green red and blue 🟢🔴🔵, flashing in sequence, silent, approach, flew overhead, military response helicopter, the coast guard had dispatched a helicopter to follow it and it was really loud. It followed the UFO as it passed over the city sky, out of view. the USO began to sink into the harbour, and eventually disappeared., entering water,
.83 https://old.reddit.com/ufo/comments/1ce7a9c/i_observed_an_unusual_shining_object_in_the_sky/ sighting description, Chandapur Karnataka India 🇮🇳 , at home, nighttime, single light object moving fast, possibly elongated, similar sighting in comments
.84 https://old.reddit.com/Thetruthishere/comments/1cey4ce/i_think_i_saw_a_witch/ sighting description, la bruja, three witnesses, daytime
.85 https://old.reddit.com/Glitch_in_the_Matrix/comments/1cevddw/blue_plasma_ball/ sighting description, two witnesses, single light object, blue 🔵, nighttime, horizontal trajectory, low over ground, from car, similar sightings in comments
.86 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cf6osq/new_to_reddit_saw_tons_of_ufos_at_sessanta/ sighting description, moving stars, multiple objects observed, single light object moving and stationary, flareup, possible electronic effects monitors showing the stage glitched for a few minutes after that. , north Carolina
.87 ➡️ https://old.reddit.com/Glitch_in_the_Matrix/comments/1cbozwe/a_tear_in_space_a_glitch_in_the_matrix/ experience description, near USAF, Travis AFB northern California, daytime sky, plane for comparison, part of the sky started to glitch and warp like it was shorting out., a cloud-like structure started to form from nothing. It began to swirl horizontally., two witnesses, When he left that day. I saw the look on his face. He looked shattered., wtf_is_this, physical effects paralysis, As we kept watching, another part of the sky began to glitch., A long vertical line materialized., A huge battleship slowly appeared in the void on the other side of the tear., structure observed, stationary, duration 10 minutes, vanishing , got the feeling we weren't supposed to see this., [GOODPOST]
.88 https://old.reddit.com/Glitch_in_the_Matrix/comments/1cekl9g/the_light_disappeared_for_a_second/ experience description, flash of darkness,
.89 https://old.reddit.com/Glitch_in_the_Matrix/comments/1cf8n14/here_is_my_story_and_i_am_interested_in_hearing/ experience description, no craft, at home, witness woke up, audio description computer sounds, brief duration, physical effects paralysis, for a split second all the cats and myself froze in place.

Ages of everyone in case it is required here: I am 57, my friend is in her early 60's, and my mother is 79. I posted this as a "confession" on another sub but was told it should posted somewhere else as a question, instead. So I am taking that advice.
I met this lady like 2 years ago through a podcast she does, she came to my business and interviewed me and we became friends. I knew who she was and she's from a family my mom used to work for back in the day and who my mom always kind of hinted that they shunned us. She acted like they would never want to associate with us but this woman seemed unaware of that and she's kind of a nerd like me so we got along.
I just never mentioned who my mom was. The first thing this lady told me when we met is that I looked exactly like her dad. She apparently didn't think he did the best job as a parent but she still wanted to hang out with me after the work related thing, so we have been, and just lately she has been dropping big hints that she sees us as being together in a romantic type of way. I reminded her I look like her dad lol, and she said now that she knows me she doesn't really see the resemblance as much.
But here's the problem, my mom is elderly and isn't doing well health wise and she told me some crazy shit a couple months ago, and that is that, suspiciously timed before my birth, she had an encounter she insists was a case of mistaken identity on both parts, and she only wanted to tell me the exact details without adding any kind of direct accusation, but she implicated a guy who was this lady's great uncle in it, in the description she gave. (Basically, after I knew right away who she was trying to say it was, she added that both were very drunk at a party, and the guy was probably on pain pills, etc, as he died not long after - like when I was a newborn - from aggressive cancer no one knew he had, but he was sick at the time, and may have had no idea what he was doing at all if he was drinking too - my mom was blacked out drunk and thought it was my dad until she noticed something about his hand/arm being different).
She said that she had just started seeing my father, and just convinced herself it was surely his, as the other guy was old and in poor health. However, all the bullshitting must have been eating at her. I've been told I look like this guy by people who knew him before, she has to have noticed too, she worked for him for a couple years before this happened.
My mom stopped working to raise me, had my sister, and acted like there was some beef between our families keeping us from interacting. Then she tells me this, and she does not want me to tell anyone, ever, that is her wish. She has argued the merits of keeping it a secret and I agree, it could mess with a lot of people's lives, this guy had kids and grandkids etc., my dad's family would be affected, everyone, and I don't even know how this friend of mine would react toward me if I told her I'm so and so's illegitimate kid, at one point she said something not so nice about this guy. I think she was a baby when he died though so I actually went to my mom about it, knowing she worked with him, and she refused to corroborate and said he was some kind of saint. But if she thinks he's a bad person, that may affect how she sees me.
I think she believes I find her ugly, and to be honest, I don't find her romantically attractive because I know what I know. She's a pretty lady. I like her a lot, but if this guy is my real father, then she's my first cousin once removed. I looked it up. That's close enough to be gross. If you plan to advise me not to tell her, and you can think of a good excuse that makes her feel better about it, please share it. If I should tell her, please help me know how so I don't ruin a bunch of people's lives.

I (31f) am guilt ridden for hating the thought of taking care of my (55f) ailing mother.
EDIT**** It is a long read...
Long ass story and tons of rambling.....
Multiple paragraph reading a.k.a. If you're taking a s***, this is perfect for you.
I'm doing this on a throwaway account.
I was conceived during one of my mothers many short-lived relationships ( her words, not mine) she never intended to be permanently attached to my bio dad nor him to her. Which really didn't turn out to be a problem for him because I've only seen him a handful of times during my whole life. (he is a whole other thread)
My mother has made it her mission for my older sister and I's entire life to know that she really didn't want children, especially if they were going to be girls. The number of times throughout our lives, where we were told this or that wouldn't have happened if we were boys or things would have been better if she had never had children at all. Is outrageous. She reminded us often that the only thing we had going was pretty faces and okay bodies. That JJ needed to watch it with her weight, or she'd look like a linebacker. Mine was, that I wasn't academically inclined like my sister she probably could make it without a man, but it was life or death that I stay pretty because I was too dumb and lazy to work. Even going so far as to say, we stole her beauty, youth, and all her life opportunities from her. She believed that boys wouldn't have done that, they were easier to handle, more respectful, less demanding of material things, would grow to provide/ protect their mother and she wouldn't have worry about them being sexually misbehaved.
Any and everything was a competition between not only my sister and I but my mother between us. We weren't smart enough. We weren't feminine enough. Our hair wasn't perfect. Our clothing, the way we spoke, we weren't likable, lady like, and we would never get husband's being so opinionated/ un womanly. But when one of us did something that she liked, it was used against the other to "motivate" us to do better. By the time I reached my mid to late teens, I had my first sewer slide attempt. After many years of her mental badgering, an dealing with being sa'd ( I was told by mother that I wasn't the only girl who'd ever been touched I should be over that) had me in a bad place for a long time. It left me with scars up both arms, depressed, and paranoid, especially around men I didn't know..my mother " Now people know somethings wrong with you, and men don't wanna deal with that shit"
She was almost unhinged when my sister became old enough to decide which parent that she would like to live with and if she wanted to visit the other at all. She ended up living with her father for almost three years, and it was the worst. My mother began pulling me in tighter away from my bio dads family during this time, even though he wasn't around they wanted me to be. But her logic was that they were only doing that because they felt bad for me. That his mother was an alcoholic who should be around children anyway. After almost a year of avoiding then eliminating all contact with them, I didn't see them again. And to this day have no clue were are how to( I don't even know my father full real name she wont give it and has never told anyone who is still living I've tried all I get is a nickname ) She became obsessive with knowing all the inner workings of my sister father's home. Constantly reminding me that JJ abandoned her family for the man who mistreated her mother and I was to never be like JJ. Anytime my sister came home to visit was a s*** show of them arguing, claiming her father was brainwashing her to keep her from her mother.
She had no qualms about saying this to JJ and reliving the horror of being a teen mom to a black mans child in the south. How much she had to suffer because of her, and him being inattentive as a teenfather. How much their relationship was solely based on her getting pregnant. He only wanted to deal with her now that she was almost done being raised. Finally, that led to JJ not coming back for months at a time. During those years, I became my mother's little "buddy", informing her of where my sister was, how she was doing mentally, emotionally, academically and socially, especially if it had to do directly with her father. All of that continued even into my JJ, returning to my mother's home after her father got a traveling job and offered for her to stay full-time with her stepmother and stepbrother. But JJ wanted to come back to the city.
The real fun began, My older sister had years away from my mother to build walls, actually get a sense of what manipulation was and how to defend herself against it. And starting teaching me how. Like my mother wasn't gonna die if we stayed after school to join choir, rap music wasnt the devil, the gates of hell weren't opening because JJ wore a crop top, the world wasn't gonna burn down because I cut my bangs or either of us gained ten pounds. Again, all of this became hot ammunition for my mother. Especially the weight gain and appearance side of things, my mother didn't approve of me adapting my sister tone with her. I was tired of crying all the time and feeling absolutely awful about even being alive and allegedly ruining my mother's life and making her existence miserable.
We were developing and growing into women that she didn't visualize us being. My mother has been all about herself and what other people think about her from the moment she could understand the notion. She would an still does live beyond her means all the time to keep up the front that we practically she was better than everyo, e including family. So of course she couldn't have whatever nonsense we were up to.
The constant love bombing hate train continues, and we both had just learned to go with the flow. After graduating high school, my sister moved out the week after she stayed close in the neighborhood. I would hide out in my room when I'm not working to escape our mother when she is at home. Mynannies' place was where to be, I even lived there for a year after my sister left. I found a cool friend in my step-dad she married when I was entering middle school,who until I had graduated spend ninety-five percent of his time out of the house at work and had now gotten a real look at my mother the more time he spent with her. She blamed me personally when he remarried and had small children because I was being spoiled rotten to the point where he didn't want to have kids with her because "he" believed it would bother me. In reality, she had her tubes tied and burnt. We would go every weekend he was off to get books and coffee. It was like own little therapy from her. He eventually told me one weekend that he needed a break from it all. He left to stay with family after convincing from his mom, Grandma Gia. I don't blame him he was providing everyone with the healthcare, utilities, clothes, food, spending money, and whatever else we wanted or needed. While she was in charge of rent and her cigarettes. She asked for a divorce if he wasn't going to live with his wife. What was the point? He gave it to her.
He would still come see me and even took me on a trip during the divorce, which pissed her off good. After we came back in town, she couldn't hold it in. As I was getting my bags out the car she, starts screaming to where God and everybody outside in our neighborhood could hear about how he would rather spend time with her daughter, then with his wife and how it had always been that way that's why they ended up even filing for divorce. He never wanted to take her on trips or buy her favorite things. Then looked me dead in my face and said are you fucking my husband? Turns to him and says are you fucking my daughter?
That was the real start of me seeing blatantly, How demented, manipulative and just all around horrible she was. I was just shell shocked that's what her perverted brain could come up with the man that I saw is my protector an father figure during some of the most excruciating violating times of my life you accuse me of sleeping with. And that was the only reason you could come up with as to why he wanted be around me?
Skip around through my life where I got engaged at twenty two and was constantly harassed and got left threatening depressing voicemails of how I had forgotten I had a mother and didn't care if she died because I found a man to put a ring on my finger. That relationship did not last long after her constant calling and visiting his job to figure out my whereabouts. I had to return home after that relationship ended to get myself together financially. She told me that she had thought about committing suicide because nobody loved her. That I had gave her life purpose by coming home. Which blew my mind because Firstly, I was going through some of the most depressive months of my life, losing someone that I thought would be my husband and the father of my children because of my mother's constant harassment. Secondly my entire life you've told me how much of a burden I have been. I called my sister who I now know at the time was going through the worst domestic situation and she helped me get away from that quicker than I could have alone.
I got a well-paying job got my own place to stay my own vehicle. Thank whatever believe in.
And despite all of that, I still from a very young age even into my mid twenties desperately wanted a mother that wanted me and I could have a good healthy relationship with. I had friends that had loving Mother's, kind mother's , parents that wanted them around and participated actively in, their upbringing, so why not me? Even after I found out from relatives and my sister ( With the paperwork proof and photographs of my adoptive family who were there at my birth and named me) that I was originally to be aborted, but I was too late in term, so adoption was the other option. But she was guilted out of it by our family. I have offered to take her to therapy sessions. My therapist, having reached out to her with no response. She has no belief in it. She thinks it's for the weak minded and that there's nothing so wrong with our family. My mother is of the opinion that we were just unappreciative children because we could have had crack addicts for parents or she could have been a prostitute selling her kids for drugs. Or just left us with our fathers.
Now to present day, I am 31. My sister gone. I am her only hope of having someone take care of her in terms of children. She quit her job of 30 years of she could retire and travel. She was tired of working which is fine. And no, she did not have some nickel and dime job. She worked for the local government. Like my mom got presented with a seal of the city when she retired, they printed it in a news letter. She blew all that money. Gambling, traveling up-and-down the coast, going on shopping sprees, buying herself a new car. And of course, her expensive cigarette addiction. Again, all good and well, it's your money do with it what you want, you're an adult, but when you know you have crippling diabetes, a heart condition and suffer from chronic seizures, I would have saved that money for my health care.
She has now suffered from four strokes and is losing her ability to live on her own. Driving terrifies her, she can't stand up to go on a full grocery trip,she is on fixed income of disability and has medicaid. Now I am not completely heartless when she had her first stroke.I offered to move her out of her deteriorating home and in with me for free. Like everything free. She argued that she did not want to live with a roommate and in a rental. I told her that you need somebody taking care of you. You fall you have vertigo and spells of where you can't recall time. You need someone monitoring you. She still said no. I have gathered a community around her of family including her older sisters. They come and help take care of her.Make sure she is bathed.Gets to go to the grocery store.Covers that doctor's appointments when I can't be off work to do those things. One of her sisters is a full time stay at home wife and has offered her to come live out on her property that they own and have her own section of the house to herself. Just so that they know that she is being monitored all the time. I have even had some of her nieces and nephew's. My cousins offer her a home to live in and full-time. Healthcare with them all she has to do is stop smoking and take her medication the way she should. That is a no go for her. Of course, she has smoked my whole life, which I understand it is an addiction but when it comes down to your livelihood, I think she would want to make the sacrifice of keeping some of her ability to be independent while having the help she needs.The way she won't even go to the neurology appointments or physical therapy that she has been assigned.
Our latest blow up has been over in the span of two months I got into a relationship with my friend of three years turned boyfriend, I lost my job and the saddest part my close cousin lost his inner fight. This kicked up this narrative in her that I should be more appreciative of the family I have instead of trying to prioritize other people particularly men over my mother. The harassing phone calls and text messages have begun again. It's to the point where I just want to change my number. I'm a unloving child that I would rather be laid up under a man than with my dying mother. I'd regret not seeing my momma. The guilt would eat me alive before I realized I didnt have family anymore. You have tons of men and jobs but you got one mother don't waste it. I'm unemployed an have nothing better to do come see your momma you must not love me. See what happened to your cosuin thats why you need to be checking on family instead of being out and about( that part she said at the dinner we had before his funeral, her older sister quickly told her thats not a childs job to stay under their parent their whole life. Once several of her cousins and even my uncle who's son we are grieving agreed she was quite for a few weeks) the list of shit she has said goes on and on.
I've been unemployed for about 2 weeks now and got a job through one of my friends running his business while he's away on a trip. It's in my mother's neighborhood. So I stopped by there to check on her. The first thing at her mouth was. It's nice to know you remember you had a mother. Then she proceeds on a fifteen minute tirade of I must have been too busy getting dicked down to come check on her knowing that she has a ingrown toenail infection. My lease is ending soon. So I need to figure out if I'm moving home or not because she needs help. What was I going to do if they chopped her feet off? I tried to stay cordial and be as unaffected as I possibly could, by just reminding her that I couldn't stay long that I have been trying to get a job (I'm sure we all know life is expensive and I can't be unemployed for long even though my boyfriend has offered to take care of me. I still like being able to be independent.) I told her it was getting late and I needed to go balance his books before. It was too late to turn them in. She then screamed at me. It's not gonna kill you to sit down and rub my f****** foot. I did it and quite huffy too. I have not answered her phone calls since I left.
I feel so guilty that no one should have to die alone or feel like they are unloved. But with the same respect every time I come over to do anything for her even before she was sick. There would be something that I was not doing properly for her to be called out of my name to be screamed at to be mentally and emotionally punished. Because I am not in awe of my mother. I love her because she is my mother but if she were a person I met on the street and had to endure just a drop of the stuff that she has said done and will not take accountability for. I wouldn't want to speak to her for the rest of my life.
I have personally out-of-pocket. Paid tons of money for therapy just to get to the point of realizing that this isnt my fault. That has absolutely nothing to do with me, something or someone caused the breakdown of her internally.
Side note my mother's parents were phenomenal people. They contributed to the level of love and compassion that my sister and I were able to keep within ourselves. My Nannie and Pawpaw never met a stranger. When I say love was grown in my grandparents house. I mean it from the ground up. Every holiday, we would have about twenty to thirty people show up to participate and just being together because of my grandparents, sense of community and giving. I stuck by my Pawpaw like glue and JJ loved my Nannie to death.My Pawpaw passed from cancer right before freshman year of high school and Nannie was never the same she passed four years after I graduated. Really do credit them with being the foundation of trying to undo the nature and nurture of my mother.
I am truly sorry for being all over the place. I just wrote it out as it came back to my mind.
So aitah for not wanting to move home and take care of her?

I’m 29F, weight 60kg and I’m 160cm tall. I have ankylosis spondylitis but I don’t require treatment as I have moderate symptoms that come and go in a few weeks.
I’ve been having stomach problems and acid reflux since 2021. I have stomach pain, worse at night. Improves if I sit up. I have mucus all the time that I need to clear my throat to the point I’ve had thrush about three times now that is resistant to gel and I’ve had to take fluconazole pills or some drops which I’ve forgotten the name. I get iron deficient and sometimes dip into anemia. I take the iron supplements it goes up but when I stop comes down. Currently I can’t stomach the iron pills anymore and I can’t stomach the liquid iron supplement either.
I tested for celiac for stool samples and blood and also h. Pylori. I had h. Pylori and did the antibiotic treatment with omeprazole which I’ve been taking since 2031 anyways. Recently I tried to return to the liquid iron and just go a lot of stomach pain and nausea, I got chest pain from it. I couldn’t eat the day after taking the iron.
I can’t stomach alcohol, coffee, fast food, a whole bunch of stuff I don’t consume anymore. I haven’t lost weight I actually gained because I feel starving all the time and the days where I can eat I just can’t control myself.
I went to the GP recently and again was met by a different doctor but with my records. She feels for my abdomen and again there’s an area (which is different from last time) that hurts when pressed. She again sends me for a full blood count, h. Pylori and blood celiac testing. She talks to me about a celiac diagnosis but basically as if I have celiac. I don’t know anymore, why am I not referred to a GI doctor at this point. I can’t take iron, I’m always deficient, three years on I still have stomach pain and I had all these tests before.
Edit: forgot to add I can’t even take meds for my disease even if I wanted to because I can’t stomach paracetamol or ibuprofen or anything for that matter. I’m a chronic migraine sufferer that improves with ibuprofen and it’s always solving one problem and causing another if I am to treat a migraine.

I remember when I first heard the rhyme as a child. It terrified me. To me, the Crooked Man was some sort of boogeyman with freakishly long arms and legs that were twisted and broken in horrifying ways. I still have the rhyme memorized. It repeats in my brain like a skipping record.
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : stories (reddit.com)

I remember when I first heard the rhyme as a child. It terrified me. To me, the Crooked Man was some sort of boogeyman with freakishly long arms and legs that were twisted and broken in horrifying ways. I still have the rhyme memorized. It repeats in my brain like a skipping record.
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : stories (reddit.com)

I remember when I first heard the rhyme as a child. It terrified me. To me, the Crooked Man was some sort of boogeyman with freakishly long arms and legs that were twisted and broken in horrifying ways. I still have the rhyme memorized. It repeats in my brain like a skipping record.
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : stories (reddit.com)

I remember when I first heard the rhyme as a child. It terrified me. To me, the Crooked Man was some sort of boogeyman with freakishly long arms and legs that were twisted and broken in horrifying ways. I still have the rhyme memorized. It repeats in my brain like a skipping record.
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : mrcreeps (reddit.com)

I remember when I first heard the rhyme as a child. It terrified me. To me, the Crooked Man was some sort of boogeyman with freakishly long arms and legs that were twisted and broken in horrifying ways. I still have the rhyme memorized. It repeats in my brain like a skipping record.
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : mrcreeps (reddit.com)

I remember when I first heard the rhyme as a child. It terrified me. To me, the Crooked Man was some sort of boogeyman with freakishly long arms and legs that were twisted and broken in horrifying ways. I still have the rhyme memorized. It repeats in my brain like a skipping record.
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : mrcreeps (reddit.com)

I remember when I first heard the rhyme as a child. It terrified me. To me, the Crooked Man was some sort of boogeyman with freakishly long arms and legs that were twisted and broken in horrifying ways. I still have the rhyme memorized. It repeats in my brain like a skipping record.
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : mrcreeps (reddit.com)

I remember when I first heard the rhyme as a child. It terrified me. To me, the Crooked Man was some sort of boogeyman with freakishly long arms and legs that were twisted and broken in horrifying ways. I still have the rhyme memorized. It repeats in my brain like a skipping record.
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.
The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2] : mrcreeps (reddit.com)

https://www.reddit.com/yandere/comments/1cdlzd3/as_if_it_was_kismet_ch_2_yandere_vampire_and_wolf/
As If It Was Kismet Ch 3
Matthew sauntered out of the house and down the rockway that stood in for a driveway.
A few new people had come over from what he could first surmise of the situation. As he got closer it was obvious they were indigenous people. A couple of grown men…and a girl?
She was mousey. Maybe five foot. Hiding behind glasses and a big camo jacket that was far too big for her. It looked made for a grown man and the backwards trucker hat on her head kept her long black a beautiful mess of sorts.
She was cute in a way. A little androgynous but she had a cute energy to her. She reminded him of the more tomboyish Puerto Rican girls he had gotten into back in Florida. Given the deer corpses in the back of the truck….probably more dangerous to play with given the men in her family.
Small chatter passed between the adults when the girl noticed but turned away, trying to hide the tiny hint of a smile.
“Oh Mattie, this is Mack. He works with Dave at the sheriff’s department and John, he’s with fish and wildlife.” Matthew nodded at his mom’s words with some blankness as he looked at the deer the in the back of the pickup truck.
“Gale tells us you hunted with your dad some in Florida and Georgia.” Mack offered with a light hearted laugh camouflaged by his big simple and cheery but husky way he spoke.
Looking in the back of the truck he spoke. “We used lever action thirty-thirties and Mosin Nagants in seven-six-two-fifty-four-rimmed.” Mack and John whistled in an exaggerated fashion. Leaving Matthew to wonder if they were mocking him.
Mack spoke. “Well we just used thirty-odd-six in a custom gussied Garand.” That caught Matthew’s attention. “You have a Garand…” Matthew finally demonstrated interest in anything. “My dad has an SVT-40 and a Hakim 8mm but he always wanted a Garand but was too cheap to buy one.”
Gale, his mother, chimed in loudly. “Oh his Dad loved his guns but was such an odd duck about how he bought or why he bought them. Never made sense to me how he wasn’t a collector but he didn’t get the latest and greatest.” Gale laughed uncomfortably. At least it seemed that way to Matthew.
Matthew pointed to the girl with an underhanded pointing hand. “And who is this? A cute little mute mouse or does she have a name?” Dave and the other men laughed.
Mack again spoke. “Well you people call her Rebecca, she’s my adopted daughter.” Matthew was taken aback by what he heard. “You people?”
Rebecca kindly spoke with a soft but almost melodic voice as she struggled to maintain eye contact. “White people or rather not members of our tribe. It’s just easier to appease the colonizer kind of thing. Borrowed from when the Jesuit missionaries chased us up here.”
Mack stepped in. “It’s just easier to have white people names than have them try to say our tribal names. And we don’t want them shortening or Anglicising our names kind of thing.” Rebecca stepped back into the conversation cutting off her adopted father. “It’s an insult to our history basically.”
Matthew cocked his head sideways raising his eyebrows shortly before letting them drop. “Well as soon as I’m eighteen I’m out of here and back to Florida so I’m a sort of involuntary colonizer of sorts. So I won’t be taking any of your land from you. The Seminoles on the other hand are still shit out of luck.”
Rebecca’s smile caused Matthew to reflexively smile. Mack made the moment more awkward. “See Becca, I told you someone off the reservation would like you some. You just have to be creative.” Mack laughed in a chiding manner…Matthew presumed. He sensed that he was the butt of some kind of cultural joke. Like marrying a white guy was some sort of insult or mark of shame. That kind of thing.
Rebecca turning away from him was not something he had been expecting. Her then getting in the truck in a huff left the group in a silence for a moment.
Dave spoke to break the awkward silence. “Well just bring the truck to work on Monday and leave it for me to grab up.” Mack acknowledged Dave and they started to get off as Rebecca looked at Matthew for another instance. Matthew couldn’t look away for some reason as the two seemed to lock eyes for an instance.
Till Vicky and family seemed to come jogging down the road. While Matthew’s eyes diverted from Rebecca’s. Hers did not till she realized he was looking elsewhere. And her vision found Vicky and what had been a hint of smile on her face turned glum and disappointed.
Matthew did not look away from the vision of Vicky but instead of a starry eyed fool looking longingly. It was a baffled look. Well baffled for him, with his eyes drawn narrow and night with a focus.
There was something about her…he couldn’t quite put a name too. The way she appeared to him. One second brunette. The next second blonde or blonde like. As if the color appeared in her air and disappeared in fractions of seconds. Much the same way her body almost seemed to…shift…very subtly…smoothly. A nicer bum. Larger breasts. And then back to a simple and plain form. Feminine no doubt. Attractive. But not so…remarkable.

I yelled and woke with a start. Sweat dripped down my face. My breathing was hard and desperate. I could have sworn I had just been falling. The stickiness of sleep meddled with the cogs of my mind. Slowly my eyes adjusted to the gloom of my bedroom and I found myself alone, safe and warm. No danger here. My heart rate slowed and I chuckled nervously. Soon all fear had seeped from my mind and all memory of my dream had faded. I rolled out of bed and shivered. Quickly I pulled on a sweater and put on my furry slippers. It was cold in this cabin in the middle of the forest. Although internal plumbing and an electric generator had been added, there was still no central heating. This did not bother me much because I always enjoyed having an excuse to light the fire in the living room. I absolutely loved traditional fireplaces.
I was whistling happily in the kitchen, sipping on a glass of cold water as I poured fresh coffee beans into my electric grinder. The sound and smell of coffee being ground always left me feeling content. As my coffee brewed in my French press I cracked two eggs into a bowel and began to whisk. Fifteen minutes later I carried a steaming hot cheese omelet and large mug of coffee out onto my front veranda. I stood in the open doorway, surveying the beauty of the outdoors in the early morning light. The air was cold and fresh; pregnant with complex mixtures of pine and lavender scents. I looked up to see the sky was a deep blue and devoid of all clouds. The thin, dark silhouettes of the trees that surrounded the cabin stood silent and ominous in the soft half-light of the morning. White coats of frost sparkled and melted on the grass as the sun climbed and brightened. I could hear the distant sound of the stream and the call of morning birds.
I sighed deeply with satisfaction and sat down on my wooden chair. This is what I loved more than anything. More than the city that bustles and bursts with busy human lives. More than squeezing myself between strangers on the underground train. More than the sickening smell of the streets and the soulless lack of any natural sounds. In the city there were no crickets, no owls, no frogs. Out here there was an abundance of beauty. The trees were so patient and still. So very different from the rushed, ill-mannered commuters I had as my usual morning partners. I definitely preferred the trees. I took another deep breath. I blew on the steam that rose from my coffee mug and sipped cautiously. The coffee was rich and delicious and scalding hot. Perfect. I began to eat my omelet letting the serenity of nature continue to wash over me. My mood had not been so elated for many months and I was seriously thinking that I should move here full-time. Currently I was working as an English teacher and had decided to come out here to work on my novel and take a break from the city. From my life. Once my excellent breakfast was complete I walked back inside and decided to start a fire to warm up the cabin. As I stooped to check the small wicker basket near the fireplace, that should contain the dried firewood, my eyebrow arched when I found the basket empty. Huh? I could have sworn it was half-full yesterday. Puzzled but not at all alarmed I picked up the basket. Soon I put on my large, worn black coat and made my way outside.
The frosted ground crunched under my large leather boots as I waded through the woods. Finding dry branches for the fire would be fairly difficult at this time of day as most of the ground was damp by now. However, my plan was just to dry them out in the oven before I used them. After spending a few minutes stooping to inspect sticks of various sizes and dampness I finally filled the basket. “Ok, time to go home.” I muttered eagerly as I rubbed my hands together. The air was still cold enough to make my breath visible and I rubbed my hands together. Suddenly I stopped. My eyebrows furrowed. I did not recognize where I was. But how? I had been exploring the woods for days now and not one time had I gotten lost.
My eyes darted back and forth and my head swiveled in confusion. Very soon a creeping panic began to climb from my stomach up into my lungs. My heart began to thump loudly. I looked up at the sun, the voice of my old man ringing in my mind, “Learn to navigate by the stars and sun and you’ll never lose your way”. I smiled, remembering his warm eyes and loud laughter. I missed him. I closed my eyes, concentrating. “Ok, that must be East, so that means I should walk…” I stretched out my arm and hand, index finger pointed. I turned on my heel. “North. That way.”
After a few moments I found my path blocked by a sudden sheer drop. I was facing an enormous quarry. My face blanched. “What… where the hell did this come from?” Again, panic seeped into my blood. “There aren’t any bloody quarries around here!” I moved forward to peek over the edge and peered down. The drop must be at least fifteen meters! I looked from left to right and saw no stairs or bridges. How the hell was I supposed to get across? My confusion grew and grew. Suddenly I froze. There, lying at the very bottom of the quarry, just near the cliff’s bottom, was a mangled body. The light in the sky was still too young to properly illuminate the quarry’s depths, but I could tell it was a body! My eyes bulged and my mouth opened wide with astonishment. “Jesus! Hello? Are you okay down there?” I yelled. Nothing but cold silence pressed against my ears. Suddenly I noticed a path that I had not seen before. It started to my right and wound down the slope before me. Quickly I started hurrying down towards the person; maybe I could still help? Soon I was at the bottom and I ran up to the body that lay still on the ground. As I got closer and the sun grew brighter I stopped dead. The body that lay crumpled at my feet was – me. “No way. There is just absolutely no way!” I shouted. I trembled as I took a step backward. My foot slipped on a large stone and I felt myself begin to fall to the ground.
Suddenly I yelped and my legs kicked out. I blinked in the sudden darkness and found myself on my sofa in the cabin’s living room. “What the hell? It was just a dream?” I said out loud as I sat up. I felt the softness of the couch cushions beneath me, I could smell the citrus scents leftover from the wash I’d given them recently. I stood up, my breathing still fast. The large windows showed a stormy afternoon. Rain pelted the glass heavily and the wind howled loudly. “What the hell? It was just a dream?” I repeated. I checked my watch. It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon. I raked my brain, trying to figure out what was happening. But the details of my dream were fading. “I was in the forest looking for firewood. Then I found that body in that quarry.” It had been so real. I felt quite disoriented. Was I truly awake now? Or still asleep? And that body? What had been so terrible about it? The dream had already seeped away. I couldn’t remember.
Still confused I made my way quickly towards the front door. Just as I opened it there was a deafening peal of thunder and a bright fork of lightning lit up the darkling sky. My mouth dropped open. There, just beyond the veranda, as if it had always been there, was the quarry. That cliff! I closed my mouth. “But… how…” Ignoring the icy rain, I walked towards the edge and once again peeked over. In the cold light of another flash of lightening and rumble of thunder, I saw my own body twisted and broken on the ground below. I gasped. My mind reeled. My heart fluttered. “What is going on?” I yelled looking around for some sort of explanation. When I looked back down again my face turned white. The body, my body, was gone. Suddenly I felt the eyes of a stranger on my back. A feeling of dread crept up my spine. A twig snapped. I spun around.
I stood face to face with my shadow. But he did not look like me. Not exactly. Darkness coated his body like a skintight suit and I could not tell what he was wearing. He may have even been naked for all I know. I could see most of his face and hair, but his eyes were cloaked entirely in semi-circles of shadow which fell below each of his brows. He seemed utterly unconcerned about the storm. “You poor thing. You poor, wretched thing.” When he spoke, his voice was not mine. It was deep and commanding, yet gentle. His words came out slow and calm, almost lulling, “I caught you as you fell. You have made a half-choice. You can be at peace forever. But you must choose now.” He stretched out a tenebrous hand and pointed toward the edge of the cliff. Suddenly I noticed something new appear in his hands. It was a book. It was my book. The one I had been writing. Had I already finished it? Or had I just started?
He turned to one of the middle pages and read, “‘Life is the antithesis of peace. Death is the antithesis of suffering.’” He snapped the book closed and turned again to face me, “How trite. Yet, so often the plainest truths are. All you want is peace, is it not? You are right in thinking that life can never provide this.” A cold smile curled his lips. “Even the living forests you so admire are crawling with suffering and conflict. Even the trees that appear so peaceful, so still, are wordlessly fighting each other for light. Racing against each other to claim their own space. It is the nature of the living to struggle.” Confusion fought with terror in my mind. I stammered. “I…I don’t understand. What is this place? Who are you?” Suddenly the man robed in darkness leapt at me and clasped my wrist, “You know who I am”. Small crimson lights flared to life like ignes fatui in the depths of his sockets. He began to pull me towards the edge. “No! Wait!” I shouted, digging my heels into the wet grass. But he was too strong. He snarled, “Isn’t this what you wanted?” and before I could stop myself I was crying from desperation. Then with a strength that could not be human he lifted me above his head, and threw me over the side of the quarry. Lightning flashed as the air rushed through my hair. I screamed as I plummeted to my death.
I yelled and woke with a start. I heard the soft beeping of monitors. I felt the scratchy linens of a hospital bed beneath me. Pain followed swiftly and exploded through my limbs. My voice was croaky and dry as I spoke, “Where…what the hell…what happened?” A nurse rushed to my side. “It’s alright love, you’ve ‘ad a bit of a tumble. Doctor’s got you all sorted. Just rest now”. Her voice was warm and comforting, like a cup of tea.
My memory returned to me slowly. My family did not own any cabin in the forest. The day of the accident I had been jogging in the woods and took my usual route near the abandoned quarry. I remember exactly what had happened. For a long time, I have been overwhelmed with my work and underwhelmed with my life. I wanted nothing more than to finish my novel and bail on all my teaching responsibilities. My father had also recently died after a long and horrible fight with cancer and it was the first time I realized that at my age life stops providing and starts taking. I realized that soon all those things, all those people, I could once rely on were not going to last forever. An invisible fire was lit in my flesh and I felt my time was rapidly running out.
I jogged far, leaving the city limits. As I stood at the edge of that quarry, panting, my sadness hanging on me heavily, I had, for a moment, contemplated jumping. I had thought about it often before. As I stared down, I imagined my broken body at the bottom of the cliff. Then, like in all my low moments, I let the cold inhumanness of the universe fill me up.
With my eyes closed all I could hear was my mother crying over my father’s corpse. All I could hear were the endless calls from the funeral home asking for their money. All the constant knocking of debt collectors on our door. All I could see were the endless medical bills flooding the postbox. All I felt was loneliness. A horrible, unrelenting, unsolvable loneliness. I had no great love, no amazing career, and my writing would never be good enough to publish. All I could feel was the gaping hole my father had left behind. It hurt. For just a moment I convinced myself I did not belong here anymore. My lips trembled. I walked right up to the edge. I felt my sadness swell in my chest. I clenched my fists tightly. I imagined taking a single step forward. It would be so easy. I imagined the air rushing past me. Falling to my doom. I imagined the horrible pain of the impact. But I also imagined the peace that would come after. A peace I craved. I imagined a picturesque cabin in the woods. A beautiful fireplace. A shelter from the city. A place where I could rest. It was in that moment of contemplative despair, before I could fully commit to the act, that the old unstable ground of the quarry crumbled beneath my feet and I had slipped from the edge and fell. Only the shadows were there to catch me.
Recovery was slow. My mother and sister came to visit me multiple times and made the stay at the hospital bearable. How many dreams had I had? How much had I awoken and then re-awoken? Could I be sure I was truly awake now? As I pondered this I tried to remember. But all I could recall was that very last dream. Those dark horrible eyes. The terror of that very last fall. In that moment, I had realized what I wanted. Now I felt rejuvenated in a way I had not felt for many years. The exhaustion of my spirit had finally been ameliorated. I actually looked forward to getting out of bed. I actually wanted to go to school again. My passion for teaching was reignited. Soon after my recovery I even managed to get my novel published but did not make much money.
Many years have passed since my fall and I’m in my 60s now and retired and have never married. I now know that those dreams were not just dreams. That phantom I confronted has remained with me. Whenever the stresses of life pile up and I become fatigued, he comes to me. He still waits for me. He is real. I see his eyes covered in shadow. Tiny pinpricks of red-light flicker therein. At first, I only saw him rarely; glimpses in dreams. As time went on and I grew older and weary of the world once more I began to see him in the corner of my room every night. What’s worse was that in those moments when I feel the lowest I find myself craving the solitude of that cabin. The peace it brought with it. All this I craved despite the price.
Last week I attended my mother’s funeral. It was a small affair, most of her friends having died many years before. I saw my sister there with her husband and children. They are so happy and full of life. I feel a pang of jealousy but also relief. My life was always to be a solitary one. My sister and I cried during the service. When we chatted later we tried in vain to comfort each other. I returned alone to my home in London while she returned home with her husband and children to Edinburgh. I missed her a great deal too. I often thought about our growing up together.
Since the funeral I see him constantly now. Often his shadow-hidden hand stretches out and he holds a revolver. But he does not mean to shoot me. No. He holds the revolver’s ivory handle toward me. Sometimes he holds out a hangman’s noose. Sometimes it’s a long, ornate dagger. Most recently he holds out a canister of helium gas. And a plastic bag for my head. Each time he does this I resist him. Sometimes, when I’m alone, I even yell at him to leave. His face remains dark, stony and enigmatic.
None of this would scare me quite so much if I had not just realized one terrible detail. What turns my blood to ice from fear is that every time I see him he is infinitesimally closer. How had I not noticed before? Perhaps it was a kindness. Gooseflesh runs down my neck as I see him standing insidiously in my cold bedroom. He is near the edge of my bed now. He is patient and has respected my choice so far. Nevertheless, he holds out that same revolver. That same noose. That same dagger. I tremble with fright because I know I will not be able to resist him much longer. Perhaps soon I’ll know if this was all a dream too.

I yelled and woke with a start. Sweat dripped down my face. My breathing was hard and desperate. I could have sworn I had just been falling. The stickiness of sleep meddled with the cogs of my mind. Slowly my eyes adjusted to the gloom of my bedroom and I found myself alone, safe and warm. No danger here. My heart rate slowed and I chuckled nervously. Soon all fear had seeped from my mind and all memory of my dream had faded. I rolled out of bed and shivered. Quickly I pulled on a sweater and put on my furry slippers. It was cold in this cabin in the middle of the forest. Although internal plumbing and an electric generator had been added, there was still no central heating. This did not bother me much because I always enjoyed having an excuse to light the fire in the living room. I absolutely loved traditional fireplaces.
I was whistling happily in the kitchen, sipping on a glass of cold water as I poured fresh coffee beans into my electric grinder. The sound and smell of coffee being ground always left me feeling content. As my coffee brewed in my French press I cracked two eggs into a bowel and began to whisk. Fifteen minutes later I carried a steaming hot cheese omelet and large mug of coffee out onto my front veranda. I stood in the open doorway, surveying the beauty of the outdoors in the early morning light. The air was cold and fresh; pregnant with complex mixtures of pine and lavender scents. I looked up to see the sky was a deep blue and devoid of all clouds. The thin, dark silhouettes of the trees that surrounded the cabin stood silent and ominous in the soft half-light of the morning. White coats of frost sparkled and melted on the grass as the sun climbed and brightened. I could hear the distant sound of the stream and the call of morning birds.
I sighed deeply with satisfaction and sat down on my wooden chair. This is what I loved more than anything. More than the city that bustles and bursts with busy human lives. More than squeezing myself between strangers on the underground train. More than the sickening smell of the streets and the soulless lack of any natural sounds. In the city there were no crickets, no owls, no frogs. Out here there was an abundance of beauty. The trees were so patient and still. So very different from the rushed, ill-mannered commuters I had as my usual morning partners. I definitely preferred the trees. I took another deep breath. I blew on the steam that rose from my coffee mug and sipped cautiously. The coffee was rich and delicious and scalding hot. Perfect. I began to eat my omelet letting the serenity of nature continue to wash over me. My mood had not been so elated for many months and I was seriously thinking that I should move here full-time. Currently I was working as an English teacher and had decided to come out here to work on my novel and take a break from the city. From my life. Once my excellent breakfast was complete I walked back inside and decided to start a fire to warm up the cabin. As I stooped to check the small wicker basket near the fireplace, that should contain the dried firewood, my eyebrow arched when I found the basket empty. Huh? I could have sworn it was half-full yesterday. Puzzled but not at all alarmed I picked up the basket. Soon I put on my large, worn black coat and made my way outside.
The frosted ground crunched under my large leather boots as I waded through the woods. Finding dry branches for the fire would be fairly difficult at this time of day as most of the ground was damp by now. However, my plan was just to dry them out in the oven before I used them. After spending a few minutes stooping to inspect sticks of various sizes and dampness I finally filled the basket. “Ok, time to go home.” I muttered eagerly as I rubbed my hands together. The air was still cold enough to make my breath visible and I rubbed my hands together. Suddenly I stopped. My eyebrows furrowed. I did not recognize where I was. But how? I had been exploring the woods for days now and not one time had I gotten lost.
My eyes darted back and forth and my head swiveled in confusion. Very soon a creeping panic began to climb from my stomach up into my lungs. My heart began to thump loudly. I looked up at the sun, the voice of my old man ringing in my mind, “Learn to navigate by the stars and sun and you’ll never lose your way”. I smiled, remembering his warm eyes and loud laughter. I missed him. I closed my eyes, concentrating. “Ok, that must be East, so that means I should walk…” I stretched out my arm and hand, index finger pointed. I turned on my heel. “North. That way.”
After a few moments I found my path blocked by a sudden sheer drop. I was facing an enormous quarry. My face blanched. “What… where the hell did this come from?” Again, panic seeped into my blood. “There aren’t any bloody quarries around here!” I moved forward to peek over the edge and peered down. The drop must be at least fifteen meters! I looked from left to right and saw no stairs or bridges. How the hell was I supposed to get across? My confusion grew and grew. Suddenly I froze. There, lying at the very bottom of the quarry, just near the cliff’s bottom, was a mangled body. The light in the sky was still too young to properly illuminate the quarry’s depths, but I could tell it was a body! My eyes bulged and my mouth opened wide with astonishment. “Jesus! Hello? Are you okay down there?” I yelled. Nothing but cold silence pressed against my ears. Suddenly I noticed a path that I had not seen before. It started to my right and wound down the slope before me. Quickly I started hurrying down towards the person; maybe I could still help? Soon I was at the bottom and I ran up to the body that lay still on the ground. As I got closer and the sun grew brighter I stopped dead. The body that lay crumpled at my feet was – me. “No way. There is just absolutely no way!” I shouted. I trembled as I took a step backward. My foot slipped on a large stone and I felt myself begin to fall to the ground.
Suddenly I yelped and my legs kicked out. I blinked in the sudden darkness and found myself on my sofa in the cabin’s living room. “What the hell? It was just a dream?” I said out loud as I sat up. I felt the softness of the couch cushions beneath me, I could smell the citrus scents leftover from the wash I’d given them recently. I stood up, my breathing still fast. The large windows showed a stormy afternoon. Rain pelted the glass heavily and the wind howled loudly. “What the hell? It was just a dream?” I repeated. I checked my watch. It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon. I raked my brain, trying to figure out what was happening. But the details of my dream were fading. “I was in the forest looking for firewood. Then I found that body in that quarry.” It had been so real. I felt quite disoriented. Was I truly awake now? Or still asleep? And that body? What had been so terrible about it? The dream had already seeped away. I couldn’t remember.
Still confused I made my way quickly towards the front door. Just as I opened it there was a deafening peal of thunder and a bright fork of lightning lit up the darkling sky. My mouth dropped open. There, just beyond the veranda, as if it had always been there, was the quarry. That cliff! I closed my mouth. “But… how…” Ignoring the icy rain, I walked towards the edge and once again peeked over. In the cold light of another flash of lightening and rumble of thunder, I saw my own body twisted and broken on the ground below. I gasped. My mind reeled. My heart fluttered. “What is going on?” I yelled looking around for some sort of explanation. When I looked back down again my face turned white. The body, my body, was gone. Suddenly I felt the eyes of a stranger on my back. A feeling of dread crept up my spine. A twig snapped. I spun around.
I stood face to face with my shadow. But he did not look like me. Not exactly. Darkness coated his body like a skintight suit and I could not tell what he was wearing. He may have even been naked for all I know. I could see most of his face and hair, but his eyes were cloaked entirely in semi-circles of shadow which fell below each of his brows. He seemed utterly unconcerned about the storm. “You poor thing. You poor, wretched thing.” When he spoke, his voice was not mine. It was deep and commanding, yet gentle. His words came out slow and calm, almost lulling, “I caught you as you fell. You have made a half-choice. You can be at peace forever. But you must choose now.” He stretched out a tenebrous hand and pointed toward the edge of the cliff. Suddenly I noticed something new appear in his hands. It was a book. It was my book. The one I had been writing. Had I already finished it? Or had I just started?
He turned to one of the middle pages and read, “‘Life is the antithesis of peace. Death is the antithesis of suffering.’” He snapped the book closed and turned again to face me, “How trite. Yet, so often the plainest truths are. All you want is peace, is it not? You are right in thinking that life can never provide this.” A cold smile curled his lips. “Even the living forests you so admire are crawling with suffering and conflict. Even the trees that appear so peaceful, so still, are wordlessly fighting each other for light. Racing against each other to claim their own space. It is the nature of the living to struggle.” Confusion fought with terror in my mind. I stammered. “I…I don’t understand. What is this place? Who are you?” Suddenly the man robed in darkness leapt at me and clasped my wrist, “You know who I am”. Small crimson lights flared to life like ignes fatui in the depths of his sockets. He began to pull me towards the edge. “No! Wait!” I shouted, digging my heels into the wet grass. But he was too strong. He snarled, “Isn’t this what you wanted?” and before I could stop myself I was crying from desperation. Then with a strength that could not be human he lifted me above his head, and threw me over the side of the quarry. Lightning flashed as the air rushed through my hair. I screamed as I plummeted to my death.
I yelled and woke with a start. I heard the soft beeping of monitors. I felt the scratchy linens of a hospital bed beneath me. Pain followed swiftly and exploded through my limbs. My voice was croaky and dry as I spoke, “Where…what the hell…what happened?” A nurse rushed to my side. “It’s alright love, you’ve ‘ad a bit of a tumble. Doctor’s got you all sorted. Just rest now”. Her voice was warm and comforting, like a cup of tea.
My memory returned to me slowly. My family did not own any cabin in the forest. The day of the accident I had been jogging in the woods and took my usual route near the abandoned quarry. I remember exactly what had happened. For a long time, I have been overwhelmed with my work and underwhelmed with my life. I wanted nothing more than to finish my novel and bail on all my teaching responsibilities. My father had also recently died after a long and horrible fight with cancer and it was the first time I realized that at my age life stops providing and starts taking. I realized that soon all those things, all those people, I could once rely on were not going to last forever. An invisible fire was lit in my flesh and I felt my time was rapidly running out.
I jogged far, leaving the city limits. As I stood at the edge of that quarry, panting, my sadness hanging on me heavily, I had, for a moment, contemplated jumping. I had thought about it often before. As I stared down, I imagined my broken body at the bottom of the cliff. Then, like in all my low moments, I let the cold inhumanness of the universe fill me up.
With my eyes closed all I could hear was my mother crying over my father’s corpse. All I could hear were the endless calls from the funeral home asking for their money. All the constant knocking of debt collectors on our door. All I could see were the endless medical bills flooding the postbox. All I felt was loneliness. A horrible, unrelenting, unsolvable loneliness. I had no great love, no amazing career, and my writing would never be good enough to publish. All I could feel was the gaping hole my father had left behind. It hurt. For just a moment I convinced myself I did not belong here anymore. My lips trembled. I walked right up to the edge. I felt my sadness swell in my chest. I clenched my fists tightly. I imagined taking a single step forward. It would be so easy. I imagined the air rushing past me. Falling to my doom. I imagined the horrible pain of the impact. But I also imagined the peace that would come after. A peace I craved. I imagined a picturesque cabin in the woods. A beautiful fireplace. A shelter from the city. A place where I could rest. It was in that moment of contemplative despair, before I could fully commit to the act, that the old unstable ground of the quarry crumbled beneath my feet and I had slipped from the edge and fell. Only the shadows were there to catch me.
Recovery was slow. My mother and sister came to visit me multiple times and made the stay at the hospital bearable. How many dreams had I had? How much had I awoken and then re-awoken? Could I be sure I was truly awake now? As I pondered this I tried to remember. But all I could recall was that very last dream. Those dark horrible eyes. The terror of that very last fall. In that moment, I had realized what I wanted. Now I felt rejuvenated in a way I had not felt for many years. The exhaustion of my spirit had finally been ameliorated. I actually looked forward to getting out of bed. I actually wanted to go to school again. My passion for teaching was reignited. Soon after my recovery I even managed to get my novel published but did not make much money.
Many years have passed since my fall and I’m in my 60s now and retired and have never married. I now know that those dreams were not just dreams. That phantom I confronted has remained with me. Whenever the stresses of life pile up and I become fatigued, he comes to me. He still waits for me. He is real. I see his eyes covered in shadow. Tiny pinpricks of red-light flicker therein. At first, I only saw him rarely; glimpses in dreams. As time went on and I grew older and weary of the world once more I began to see him in the corner of my room every night. What’s worse was that in those moments when I feel the lowest I find myself craving the solitude of that cabin. The peace it brought with it. All this I craved despite the price.
Last week I attended my mother’s funeral. It was a small affair, most of her friends having died many years before. I saw my sister there with her husband and children. They are so happy and full of life. I feel a pang of jealousy but also relief. My life was always to be a solitary one. My sister and I cried during the service. When we chatted later we tried in vain to comfort each other. I returned alone to my home in London while she returned home with her husband and children to Edinburgh. I missed her a great deal too. I often thought about our growing up together.
Since the funeral I see him constantly now. Often his shadow-hidden hand stretches out and he holds a revolver. But he does not mean to shoot me. No. He holds the revolver’s ivory handle toward me. Sometimes he holds out a hangman’s noose. Sometimes it’s a long, ornate dagger. Most recently he holds out a canister of helium gas. And a plastic bag for my head. Each time he does this I resist him. Sometimes, when I’m alone, I even yell at him to leave. His face remains dark, stony and enigmatic.
None of this would scare me quite so much if I had not just realized one terrible detail. What turns my blood to ice from fear is that every time I see him he is infinitesimally closer. How had I not noticed before? Perhaps it was a kindness. Gooseflesh runs down my neck as I see him standing insidiously in my cold bedroom. He is near the edge of my bed now. He is patient and has respected my choice so far. Nevertheless, he holds out that same revolver. That same noose. That same dagger. I tremble with fright because I know I will not be able to resist him much longer. Perhaps soon I’ll know if this was all a dream too.

So, like the USS West Virginia being slammed by 7 surprise torpedoes at Pearl Harbour, out of left field, my sister has now entered the arena on my parents side and successfully put the nail in the coffin that was the relationship with my parents.
Backing up, my parents have always been chronic at wanting me to achieve, nothing I ever did was good enough for them, nothing I ever did lived up to my potential, nothing I ever did satisfied them.
Unless, of course, they could use my achievements as a way to further their social status with friends and colleagues.
Primary school they wanted me to qualify for a scholarship to a private high school, when I passed the test, but missed the limited number of spots, not good enough.
High school, well, you're gonna be ejected to the student council, you're gonna be president, you're gonna run the rockshow!
Nope, missed that one.
You're gonna finish high school and go to university to study computer science, or go become a doctor.
Nope, got a job, got a trade, and then that trade was made defunct a month before I got my certification.
Joined the Army, they were absolutely against that....until they realised the social clout that came with "our son is in the Army"
When I got posted to the other end of the country, not good enough, I needed to apply to be closer.
When I met my first wife, she wasn't good enough.
When I got cancer, I had to move back so they could support me.
That stress lead to the breakdown of my first marriage.
When I broke my leg, the Arny would look after me, but no, they'd sign me out of hospital and rehabilitate ne at home.
But my rehabilitation didn't go fast enough because I wasn't trying, google said different.
Then I met my second wife...so close after my divorce, I wasn't looking, my wife wasn't looking, we just found each other.
My second wife is predatory.
When we got married, we didn't invite their friends from my childhood to the wedding. That pissed them off.
Then when we lost our first child, it didn't count because my mother lost one later on in the term, and because it wasn't far enough along to need a funeral, it didn't matter.
No one cared about my mother's loss 30 years before, so no one can care now.
When we got moved away with the Army again, that was too far away, we didn't go visit them enough.
When I got cancer a second time, I didn't even put in to move back closer to them. I dealt with it. Me and my wife dealt with it.
Then when I got discharged from the Army....they decided to move to 5 minutes away from us, to "support me"
Except...I became on call tech support, I helped them find tradies, I helped them find businesses, they moved halfway across the country for me to basically babysit them and be their carer.
When I was told by a psych that I'm definitely ADHD, and I'm certainly on the Spectrum, they just said the psych was a quack and that "we would have known years ago" and "everyone has mental health, you have mental health, we have mental health, it's all mental health, but kids these days use it as an excuse"
I mean, I have no problems caring for my parents, but they swear black and blue that they don't need it....and then tell me I'm doing it wrong....but won't or can't do it themselves.
During this time I've been communicating every concerning interaction, dad shaking, mum forgetting things, twitches, medical concerns, with my sister.
Now for the majority of above, I would talk to my parents once a week....twice was an oddity.
Going 4-5 weeks was normal to not speak.
At points in the Army I didn't talk to them for 6+ Months.
Then after they moved up, I got a job. They thought I would sit on my shitty Army pension and be able to spend time with them. Never discussed until they told me later mind you.
Then we got pregnant with our second child, and suddenly it's 3, 4, 5 times a week my mother calling, but without asking any substance of conversation.
It was clear she was fishing for info, but wouldn't outright ask.
Now when we got pregnant, I made it clear to my mother that under no circumstances would we come over there when she was smoking (pack to 2 packs a day depending on how bored she is), meaning that we were happy to go to dinner out, or see them out as second hand smoke isn't great for pregnant women.
Anyways, the other night she calls up and says my father wants to talk.
My father then invites us to dinner.
I reiterate what I've said to my mother about her smoking.
Plus I add that it's been a very long week, we had the 12 week scan, appointments, worked in the office for 2 days, then did ANZAC day, which as a veteran is a fucking big day, and that we just wanted a weekend alone, we were done with people for a week.
Anyway, that was a trigger, she starts screaming at me down the phone

You want a relationship with us for your child, we aren't people, you push us away, you never want to talk, you don't want to see us, you don't want to come to our house, you can't accept me as I am, we aren't people and we just wanted a nice dinner

So...I hung up.
I messaged my sister, let her know about this moment, how it was like a switch being flipped, and is concerning.
20 minutes later, phone rings.
Every single message I had sent my sister for the last 12 months about my concerns for my parents my sister has screenshot, cropped out of context, and sent my mother.
My mother is screaming at me so hard that the phone is clipping and cutting out.
When she finally takes breath, I ask her

Mum, did you just call to yell at me?

She replied with a yes.
So...I hung up.
Then she sent me a string of abusive text messages, blocked me on Facebook, unfriended (but didn't block my wife)
So I removed them from our Google family account, cut them off all the services we pay for.
Honestly, I feel a bit free.
I'm sad that our kid isn't gonna have a relationship with his Grandparents. That's shit.
But likewise, I'm not gonna put up with their emotional abuse.
Now I can see that there are a few options:
1) Wait a few months, until the kid is born, and see if my mother will recognise her toxicity and apologise
2) Wait until the kid is born and extend an olive branch
3) Not talk to them forever. That's it. Done.
And that doesn't include what to do with my sister. She torpedoed this because she doesn't want to deal with, or recognise my parents decline with age (my sister is the type that ignores the house on fire until she gets burned)
At this point, she's a snake as far as I am concerned. I was worried about my parents, worried about their decline as they aged.
She's twisted that worry and presented it as me representing they are frail and dying and as a gripe that I'm their caregiver.
Should I cut her out of my life as well?
I'm just curious what to do moving forwards here.

Chapter 1 part 1
Alex
12/25/2045: word of advice, don't trust people on the black market
Perfect condition, they said. Just what you're looking for, they said. The last ship you’ll need on your trip, they said. Well, they were right about that, this will be the last ship I need because it will be the LAST ship I use!
I punched the scorched primary computer in a fit of anger at the thought of those two black-market salesmen who sold me this relic of a vessel
This ship didnt even last me three weeks before the computer set itself on fire and nearly took the rest of the ship with it. Not that it would have made things much worse than it is right now. I knew I was taking a gamble when I bought this from them, In reality, I was more pissed about the lack of progress I was making on my journey. Punching the busted computer again I took a deep breath as small splinters of the burned machine began floating off
Just relax, everything is under control. Sure the computer is gone and most other systems with it, but it's fine, I still have the backup battery and life support. Luckily they weren't nearly as damaged when the system overloaded so I managed to fix them relatively quickly. This meant I still had oxygen and heating as well as lights at least for the time being.
I had been left to drift through space for the last 5 days most of which I spent tirelessly fixing what I could. Now that everything was done I was ungodly board. With nothing left to do, I decided to look through my supplies again. It was all standard stuff for a long journey. I had food and water that would last me another few days, maybe a week and a half if I rationed it. I had a few books littered around, everything from mysteries and action novels to a heavily used manual on my magno implants, or as they are often called, telekinetic implants.
Despite their streat name, they don't exactly give you telekinetic powers. Instead, these implants utilize hundreds of small but powerful special magnets to allow people to push or pull themselves or objects in a low-gravity environment. The magnets use the small amount of electricity the muscles in your hand produce to power themselves. The more you tense your hand the stronger the reaction. The more skilled you are the more you can manipulate an object. These combined with implants that prevent muscle degeneration in space, and arguably the most important, a translater implant that allows for fluid communication with anyone you come into contact with, are all essentials of any exploration mission. But what was most interesting was that despite the translator being the most impactful tool to the human race since the founding of the internet, it wasn't developed by a human.
About 5 years ago humanity came to the stark realization that we weren't alone in the cosmos. An alien research vessel had been gathering data about known hostile worlds to add to the galactic map when they stumbled upon Earth. I can only imagine their shock when they not only found life but intelligence on a Category 5 deathworld. It wasn't long before we noticed them too and quickly tried communicating. Diplomats were put in contact with the vessel to try and engage in a dialog, but without a way to translate at the time, things were proving difficult. With talks going nowhere and not knowing why these visitors had come to earth, the longer they stayed the more fearful and hostel the people became. When it felt like things were about to boil over, an unknown man stepped up to help. Apparently, he had previously been abducted by and spent a considerable amount of time with similar researchers. He managed to be the link between the humans and the aliens, eventually calming down the people and helping them welcome their guests.
Since the aliens couldn’t visit the surface of the world due to the planet's natural hostility many scientists and world senators went to the vessel. During their visits, we would exchange knowledge and history from both our worlds. We learned about new technologies and sciences, as well as other species and their cultures. In total, there were 7 different races outside of humanity with 5 actively participating in the community and the rest preferring to be left alone. With their help humanity had hit another industrial revolution focused on the production of space-age tech which was used to colonize the rest of the solar system. A diplomatic center was built on Mars as a medium so any species could visit and more could be learned. However, after learning about humanity's… colorful history of meeting new races, along with the fear of having powerful deathworlders roam around unchecked, the galactic community requested that humanity restrict exploration outside human territory.
Agreeing to their request, both governments worked together to set up dozens of outposts to monitor the border. From here they could prevent a majority of people from leaving while also staging diplomatic and scientific explorations. Most humans were understanding of this arrangement and simply went on with life, but others felt drawn to the adventure the open universe promised. Many who felt this way were resentful of the imposed quarantine and resolved to find ways around it.
Those who didnt have many resources joined crews of explorers while others like myself just snuck out using illegal means. I planned to purchase a ship and travel to the furthest outpost, there I would pick up false travel documents and trade in my current shuttle for a smaller but faster model and more supplies. However, my plan was cut short by the very people I had purchased this shuttle from. Worse, I likely drifted past my target, so a rescue looked unlikely.
Shaking myself back to my senses I continued to look through my supplies. Putting the manual down I grabbed a toolbox next to the clutter of books. Taking the box over to a nearby bench I cracked it open to look Inside. A hammer, wrenches, screwdrivers, and a small leather notebook. Grabbing the book I gently caressed the patternless leather with my fingers as memories of an old friend drifted into my mind. Memories of him shoving the book in my face and telling me how he would fill this with his adventures. I opened the book and skimmed through the blank pages. Feelings of remorse started to overwhelm me as I remembered the day it was given to me as a final gift and unspoken request.
Stamping down the sadness I placed the book in my pocket before returning to the toolbox. Grabbing a screwdriver I gently tossed it into the air and let it float off. When it was a good distance away I raised my arm and gently tensed my hand. It slowly began to stop and then started moving back toward me. Straining my hand in different ways caused it to start spinning till it landed upright in my palm. I repeated the process a couple more times, spinning it faster and faster each time. Right as I was starting to get bored again I noticed the lights start to flicker.
Don't tell me the batteries are dying already. Forget the food problem, if the heating goes out then I may just freeze to death in here.
Fortunately, it didn’t seem like that would kill me either. a moment later I was flung off my feet and slammed into a distant wall. I was nearly knocked out by the impact, only managing to cling to consciousness thanks to a quiet buzzing emanating from the nearby hatch. Sparks began to fly into the compartment as I struggled to keep my eyes open. A sizable hole was cut into the door and a silver canister floated through. Without warning the canister started to spew a thick white smoke with enough force to start flying around the room.
The smoke quickly enveloped the whole area eventually consuming me with it. Everywhere it touched became numb. My mouth filled with the taste of ash and with every breath, I could feel my muscles relax till eventually, I couldnt move even a finger. When the smoke dissipated the buzzing started again. This time taking out the whole door and allowing it to drift freely.
Pushing past the broken door a dozen creatures flooded in. Short, about 5,8 and covered in armor, each wore what looked like a gas mask that covered half their face, still exposing the long ears at the side of their head. What little skin did show looked almost human if it wasn't for the wide range of different colors ranging from green to gray. Their long tails whipped around as they scanned the room. I flipped through a list of the known races till I found a match in my head.
Oh great, Pirate Rotis. On the bright side now I know im past the human territories. These cowards wouldnt be caught dead in our space
Rotis were one of the most prevalent races in the galaxy, making up most of the galactic population until humanity came along, outnumbering them 2 to 1. Despite looking like a weird species of goblin, they had little in common with the pest that plagued so many fantasy games. First off they evolved in a way that allowed them to absorb large amounts of information. The trade-off was that each could only master one skill in their lifetime. On their own they weren't much of a threat, but similar to humans they usually lived in large groups which gave them access to a wide range of skills. Not to mention any that chose to master a type of combat were not to be taken lightly.
I watched as one of the Rotis slowly surveyed everything in sight till eventually, we locked eyes. I couldnt be sure since their mouth was covered, but I could swear that this one was grinning at me. Without warning he motioned to the others and I was rounded up along with everything else they wanted and left back through the remains of my door.
Chapter 1 Part 2
Alex
The next time I woke up I was being dragged through a strange hall, my arms wrapped around two of the aliens who raided my home. My head was spinning, I felt that at any moment I could drift back into that darkness and not know when I would wake up next, if I woke up at all. Desperately trying not to black out again I focused on my surroundings. Large doors lined the walls, each filled with boxes haphazardly stacked throughout the room. Some of the boxes were even spilling over reviling their contents of paintings, jewels, and other valuables
Further down the hall the cells became less and less filled till we stopped outside one that appeared to have nothing in it at all. I could hear one of my guards say something into a panel on the wall but I was too tired to make out what it was. A second later I was thrown onto the floor, the cool metal welcomed me with open arms, the world became a haze as darkness set in till I could no longer resist.
I don't know how long I was out, but I guessed it had been a while. A dull static had replaced the utter nothing my limbs had felt. My mouth was dry and it felt like it was about to crumble to dust. Struggling I looked around the dimly lit room, looking for any source of water till I spotted what I hoped was my salvation. A long metal trough rested along the wall, the faint sound of dripping, amplified by the hollowed container.
My arms protested my attempts to move, shooting out sharp pains of static with every attempt. Pushing through the pain I managed to slowly crawl towards the wall where my salvation lay. Slowly I was making progress, now and then collapsing back to the ground under my own weight but always getting back up a moment later. Finally scraping the side of the trough I was getting ready to attempt to stand when a voice made me freeze
“Oh, You’re awake? Thought you would be out for at least a week”
I slowly gazed around the room again, trying to find where the voice had come from. Checking the shadows deeper in the cell I was beginning to worry that the voice had been in my head. That was till I spotted a hulking figure in the dark, remaining just out of sight.
“Can't sleep… have to… keep moving”
It was hard to speak, my mouth was as dry as the desert and my throat felt like I had swallowed razors
Failing to stand I resorted to trying to use the side of the trough to hoist myself up with little success. Hearing the jangling of chains I was surprised when I was suddenly sat on the ground, an arm pressed against my back to keep me up. A moment later the towering figure presented me with a tall cup filled with water. The cool liquid splashed over my cracked lips as I emptied the glass in an instant.
“Thanks,” I said as he filled it up again, straightening myself up as I slowly felt my strength return
“Who are you?”
Managing to sit up on my own I was able to catch a glimpse of my cellmate. He was massive, easily 7 feet tall, and his dark green skin was covered head to toe in scars and black claw mark tattoos. When he turned to face me I noticed a set of gleaming white tusks protruding from his lower lips, his long dark hair was rugged and unkempt as if it hadn't been taken care of in a month. But what gave his race away was the air of danger and emptiness that surrounded him, it was the kind of feeling soldiers gave off after returning from a battle.
This was a Rall. An orc-like race that was known even by humans as a particularly dangerous race. Unlike most races, Ralls didnt have a stable government, instead being broken up into hundreds of clans with the strongest taking the title of king. Though each clan acted insipiently, usually working as mercenaries for the highest bidder. if someone decided to threaten the Rall home world they would incur the wrath of the unified clans. Which was something no one could escape from unscathed
“My name is Nar,” he said calmly, giving me another cup which I downed immediately
“Alex, nice to meet ya” I replied handing the cup back, gesturing for more.
Obliging, he filled it once more and handed it back.
“Guess three days without a drink would make any creature thirsty”
I nearly choked on the water “Three days!? I've been asleep for three days!?”
“Uh yes, honestly it's impressive that you woke up this quickly, normally the effect lasts a week and a half, sometimes two”
“No, I do not have time for this. I need to keep moving” I tried to get up but stumbled as I got to my feet, bringing me back down to my knees on all fours
“Yes, you did say something about that a second ago didnt you? I don't think you quite understand your situation. You are in the middle of nowhere, on a ship filled with Rotis that shoot first and ask questions later, and held under lock and key. So take a breath, you have nothing but time right now”
He was right, even if I had full control of my limbs right now and I had a way out of here it wouldn't do me any good. I had no idea what I would face out there. Settling back down I took a look around our room. It was a fairly sized area, empty with the only exception being the water troff. The only light came from the blue hue of a ray shield that blocked our exit.
“See that's better, now it’s been quite some time since I had anyone to talk to. how about you tell me why you're in such a rush”
I hesitated for a moment but soon realized this may be my chance to gain an ally or at the very least gather some information
“I guess you could say I’m on a sort of pilgrimage. I am on my way to the planet Luminis, I have someone waiting there for me”
“Luminous? You have quite a long journey ahead of you. It's at least a couple of months' journey from the human territory if I’m not mistaken”
“I know, that’s why I don’t have any time to waste,” I said, slumping down under the weight of the task in front of me “What about you? I never would have thought even a whole crew of Rotis could capture a Rall, never mind take one alive”
His body went a little stiff and his face turned hard “I did what I had to to keep my crew safe” he said in a that’s all I have to say tone. Trying to pry for more information I continued to watch him, hoping that he would relent and tell me more. He stared at me for a long while till eventually, he cracked and let out a sigh, causing all his features to relax.
“Fine I’ll tell you the whole thing,” he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice “Stars above know I have nothing better to do” he plopped himself on the floor next to me, his chains rattling at the sudden movement “a few weeks ago my crew and I were on a resupply mission when we picked up a distress call. Seeing as it was on the way to our destination we decided to check it out. When we arrived the distressed vessel was annihilated. It had been torn apart by the high-impact shots that still riddled the few pieces that were left intact. Seeing the danger we attempted to leave but it was too late and the trap had been sprung. Out of nowhere, our rear thrusts had been hit, leaving us dead in the water. I went down to the cargo room to assess the damage and repair what I could while the others focused on bringing our engines back online. What I found down there was more than some fried circuit or a puncture in our hull, the Rotis had started cutting into our emergency airlock in an attempt to board us”
I noticed him tightly clench his fist as he continued his story, the events flashing past his eyes as if he was reliving it
“Locking the door behind me I rushed over to intercept them but they had already broken through. With no other option, I began to try and push them back, killing several in the process. My progress was suddenly halted when the sea of rotis split down the middle to reveal their captain who was holding a trigger remote in his hand. He claimed that with a pull of that trigger, he would reduce our ship to rubble like the one we had passed. Knowing how valuable a living Rall was he made me a deal, I could either keep fighting them and hope I could kill him before he pulled the trigger, or surrender and come with them without a fight and he would spare the rest of my crew” he dryly chuckled to himself “you can guess which one I picked”
“You just gave up? You easily could have beaten through them, maybe not before he pulled the trigger but I doubt he could do significant damage before you reached him and forced him to shut it off”
“The risk was too high, I couldn’t put their lives in danger when there was another option” his voice went quiet “I only hope they see it that way”
We sat there for a long moment in awkward silence, neither of us knowing how to continue the conversation. The effect of his decision still weighed on him. Eventually, I stepped up and broke the silence
“What’s with the chains,” I asked, pointing to his wrists “Seems like overkill if you ask me”
“They put these on me shortly after you arrived. It looks like they aren't taking any chances, I assume these along with more frequent guard patrols and an increase in the ray shield’s power are just a few precautions they are taking”
Taking a look at my wrists I couldnt help but notice the lack of chains of my own. Why is that? If they are being as cautious as Nar thinks then why haven't they put a pair on me yet? My thoughts went to something Nar had mentioned previously, about how I was supposed to be out for at least a week longer. But even if that were the case they have to know the poison would wear off or affect humans differently meaning eventually they would have to come back. An Idea began to form as I continued to ponder this line of thought. A moment later a large smile slithered across my face as a plan started to form.
Noticing my sudden mood change Nar asked me concerningly “Just what are you planning? Should I remind you that there is no way to get through the door”
“Oh, I don't think that will be a problem. They are going to open it for me”

46 yo female. About a year ago, I began to suffer from severe constipation. I was unable to go to the bathroom more than once a week without an enema or laxative. I went to my doc and have tried numerous medicines, regimes, none of which have been successful. She sent me for a CT scan with contrast and it showed wall thickening of the sigmoid colon and a colonoscopy was recommended. I saw a GI who did not want to do a colonoscopy because I had one a year and a half ago. 2 benign polyps were removed at this time. That colonoscopy was a 3 year follow up to one I had before in which polyps were removed. The GI had me try a few more medications which did not work. In the meantime, I began experiencing blood in my stool about 3-4 times a month. I was given a steroid cream for hemorrhoids (no other symptoms of them). This did not work. Upon follow up, I was sent for a colon transit study which came back normal. At no time has my doctor physically looked at me or felt my stomach. He said the wall thickening is normal and doesn’t indicate anything. I have gained 20 pounds over the last year. After eating, it looks like I am very pregnant and have even been asked when I am due. My current symptoms still included constipation, occasional bleeding, bloating, feeling like I am not fully able to go. I am miserable and feel like no one is listening. I don’t feel like it is normal to only go to the bathroom once a week on your own. I have had multiple abdominal surgeries so I think about adhesions and of course cancer (dad died from it at age 69). It is so hard to get into new doctors because they book you so far out. I was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s years ago and in October started on levothyroxine (88mcg). The constipation issue started in May of 2023. Last summer my thyroid was hyper for a bit before it went hypo. At no time did I suffer from diarrhea so my endo says it is not related. Any suggestions? Apart from going to the ER to see if they will do another CT, I don’t know what to do.

CURLS
Mary and her mother arrived at O'Leary's studio, their excitement palpable as they stepped out of the wagon. Mary's mother had just picked up a custom-fitted dress for her, complemented by ribbons, tortoise shell combs, and a bottle of perfume from France. Mary had meticulously prepared her hair the night before, using special curlers to set the perfect curls. "You have to suffer to be beautiful," her mother would always say, and Mary couldn't help but appreciate the truth in those words.
As they exited the coach, the driver kindly provided a step stool to assist them. Mary's mother generously tipped him, wishing him a wonderful afternoon. It was a fine spring day in April, and the air was filled with anticipation.
Mr. O'Leary greeted them at the studio doorway, his eyes widening in awe. "My my, God could not have created two more beautiful creatures," he exclaimed, genuinely impressed. Mary's mother chuckled and replied, "Mr. O'Leary, you certainly know how to flatter a woman."
Entering the studio, they found themselves in a room adorned with various backgrounds and props. Mr. O'Leary guided them with a warm smile. "Young lady, apples do not fall far from the tree. You have inherited your beauty from your mother," he complimented Mary. Blushing slightly, Mary thanked him for his kind words.
Mr. O'Leary arranged a small table by Mary's side, covering it with a luxurious black velvet cloth. Her mother rushed over, remembering to place her grandmother's cherished brooch around Mary's neck. She adjusted her daughter's curls one final time, ensuring every detail was perfect in the beautiful blue dress.
With precision, Mr. O'Leary positioned his head beneath the cloth cover of the camera, exuding confidence. He assured Mary's mother, "This is going to be a splendid portrait." Addressing Mary, he instructed, "Hold perfectly still for 10 seconds, and the picture will capture your essence beautifully. Try to think of something pleasant during that time." As he removed the cap from the camera lens, he began counting slowly to 10.
In those fleeting moments, Mary's mind drifted into a daydream. She marveled at the incredible invention of photography, capturing fleeting moments and transforming them into lasting memories. Thoughts of the theater filled her mind, an upcoming play called "Our American Cousin." She eagerly anticipated the possibility of seeing her friend Jenny and perhaps catching a glimpse of the rumored presidential appearance. After all, it wasn't every day one got to see the President.
Recalling her previous theater experience, a charming gentleman with a dashing mustache came to mind. His name eluded her for a moment, but then it clicked—John Wilkes Booth. Mary secretly hoped he would be among the actors performing that night. She couldn't help but smile at the excitement building within her.
As Mr. O'Leary's voice brought her back to reality, announcing the completion of the session, he placed the cover back over the camera lens. Mary felt a sense of contentment, knowing that a piece of this cherished moment would be preserved forever in the photograph.
After settling the payment, Mary and her mother boarded the waiting coach. As the door closed, the coach driver inquired, "Where to, madam?" Mary's mother confidently responded, "Ford's Theater." A surge of anticipation filled Mary's heart as the coach began its journey. She knew in her bones that it was going to be an utterly splendid evening.