《Wading Through The Dark》 The Eyes of the Clock I remember when I was younger grandad and me would always go see a movie whenever we got to visit. It didn¡¯t happen often; my parent¡¯s busy schedule and the drive were enough to make our little rendezvous a scarcity that only happened monthly. However, when all the planets had aligned and luck was in my favor, I got to watch a movie with grandad. The movies we went to see were if I¡¯m being frank, quite terrible. Being around eleven my grandad felt the need to take me to see age-appropriate films much to the detriment and annoyance of my younger self. But ultimately it was the time I got to spend with my grandad that was the most important to me, the film was just a bonus- like the cherry on top of an ice-cream shake. However, there was one thing that always seemed to way down the excitement of my visits. At the end of the hallway in grandad¡¯s house was an old grandfather clock that sat in the shadows of the corner. Its wooden frame reached to the sky just missing a collision with the ceiling. I can still remember the dark wood that it was neatly constructed out of, and I distinctly recall its angry metal face. I always wondered why they called it a ¡®face¡¯ when I could find no mouth, nose, or even eyes on it. Despite it having no discernable way to see me I could just tell the thing was looking at me. In the night the glistening metal face seemed to have the watchful eyes of a predator in the bushes waiting to pounce out and attack its prey. I was terrified of that grandfather clock, but worst of all was the noise that it would make. Gong! Gong! Gong! Every hour on the hour it would ring out diligently to scream the time to whoever dared to listen. In the bedroom where I slept, I recall being woken up every single hour to the cacophony of ringing and trying to muffle the noise by nearly suffocating myself with a pillow. But nothing would stop the machine from doing its designed duty and my sleep suffered for it. But I never really brought it up with grandad, I probably should have told him how much it bothered me. He was a nice man and would have done away with it if he had known the grief it caused me, but my young mind was too proud to admit my fear of such a silly thing. So, I ironically suffered in silence to the sound of time passing. But one night something was different. Me and my grandad had just gotten back from the theater, this time I had barely managed to convince him to take me to see a grown-up movie. I think grandad started regretting the choice after the second or third decapitation. But soon it was over, and we found ourselves tired and filled to the brim with popcorn. It was late so grandad decided to tuck me in and wish me goodnight before he journeyed off to sleep himself. I lay beneath the blankets of the bed, an old creaky thing that seemed to be on its last legs. I worried that one day it might collapse while I was still sleeping and I would be woken up to the sound of my bones breaking, but nothing dramatic ever happened like that- at least where the bed was concerned. As I slowly fell asleep, I heard the clock sound the hour off. In my head, I counted out each ¡®gong¡¯ just like I had always done before. ¡°Ten,¡± I thought to myself as I snuggled my head into the pillow. But suddenly I got a chill down my spine and my sleepy eyes opened with alertness I had never experienced before. I knew that grandad¡¯s house wasn¡¯t exactly new, and that cold air would often seep between the cracks to provide me with my share of shivers, but this wasn¡¯t that type of chill. It was the type of chill you get when you know someone is watching you, the knowledge that some danger was lurking somewhere in the dark. I lay on my side with my back facing the door, a terrible thought crossed my mind that maybe someone had silently snuck in without me realizing. If that were true then they would have to be standing over me even now watching, or perhaps waiting for some unheard cue. Everything inside me wanted to spin around and see if someone was there but in the back of my mind a little warning was sounding off. I had seen what my cat would do when they were playing with a toy or hunting some unfortunate creature, they would sneakily narrow their shoulders and lower themselves to the ground and wait for the thing to make a move before they would attack. I wondered with dread building in my chest if whoever was in my room was doing the same thing to me. Were they waiting for me to move or make a sound so that they could make me their prey? It was settled, the only thing that I could do was to stay still and pray for them to go away. I closed my eyes and tried to hold my breath the best I could, but I could feel something getting closer to me and it took all my resolve to not spin around and face them. Gong! Gong! Gong! The startle of the noise broke my concentration and in a fierce panic, I spun around to face my predator. In my mind I knew I was dead, I had moved, and now they had every reason to take their prey. But all that I saw behind me was my dark empty room staring back at me. My heart sputtered like the engine on a failing car as the feeling of danger in me subsided. But as I lay down to try to get back to my sleep, I came to realize that the chill, that awful warning of danger, hadn¡¯t gone away.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. Gong! Gong! Gong! I realized with confusion that the chiming of the clock had yet to stop. I had counted the gongs to myself, and they were well past eleven or even twelve, something was wrong. I stood up from the bed with some hesitation as I put my feet down on the painfully cold floor. I crossed my arms across my chest hugging myself in an attempt to calm my nerves, but it didn¡¯t work. I reached out to grab the door handle, but without any warning, the chiming stopped. At first, I was relieved, the nightmare was over, and I could return to bed. But something deep within me was curious, something wanted to know why the clock had chimed so long and why this feeling down my spine was still there. So instead of going back to bed, I opened the door. I peeked my little head out and looked left and right like my parents had taught me about crossing the street. But this was no street, this was a hallway that held something I certainly did not want to cross paths with. At the end of the hall sat the wretched thing, looking down at me like it had done many times before. With a shudder of horror, I realized that the feeling wasn¡¯t warning of anything in my bedroom. No, the hunter didn¡¯t lurk with me in the darkness of my room, they were out here the whole time waiting for me to come to them. I had moved and they were. Gong! Gong! Gong! The chiming began again as the face of the grandfather clock began to darken into a sickly black color. It seemed like something from behind the metal exterior had begun to melt and was now oozing out between the cracks and the seams of the old machine. It began to drip down the wooden exterior, droplets tip-tapping to the ground like water from a faucet. Soon a puddle started to form, and it slowly began to grow larger and larger. The dark sludge slowly slinked closer to me like a shadow being cast from afar. I stood unable to move, unable to think, and unable to cry out for someone to help me. The chiming of the clock seemed to rattle through my bones and up to my throat where something held my voice shut with a dark grip of force. I was helpless and that¡¯s exactly what they wanted me to be. The clock had now become hidden behind the dark waxlike ooze that had leaked from it and the shadows seemed to consume it into the black void of the hallway. Slowly something began to rise from the puddle, something that was rising to meet me face to face. It is difficult to put into words what my little eyes saw, thinking back to it nowadays everything here seems hazy like a dream that has almost been forgotten. But the one thing I distinctly remember, the thing that haunts my dreams and shames my nightmares, was the eyes. They were round and bright, almost glowing in the deep darkness of its body. Both looked at me with such glee and delight but even as a frightened child I could tell that there was no kindness behind those eyes. Those eyes only existed to witness the dread and terror that they would create and cherish every single moment of it. In my petrified state I couldn¡¯t help but realize, ¡°Oh no, these are the eyes of the clock.¡± Gong! Gong! Gong! For some reason, the sound of the clock ringing in my ears was enough to break me of my fear and the grip around my voice was released. ¡°Grandad! Grandad!¡± I shouted falling into a ball on the ground and covering my eyes with my hands. ¡°Grandad please! Help me, please! Make them go away! Make it stop!¡± Gong! Gong! Gong! I felt a creeping hand reach across my face. A slow yet forceful weight gripped both of my hands and yanked them away from me. I closed my eyes as tightly as I could and did the only thing that I felt I could do, ¡°Help me, please! It¡¯s hurting me! Grandad help!¡± Gong! Gong! Gong! I felt something slowly creeping around the edges of my eyes, trying to find some crevasse or some hold to force itself in. It found one when my eye¡¯s started to water from the intense tears that I began to cry. Slowly I felt my eye being peeled open and I screamed at the very top of my lungs. ¡°Oh my god! What¡¯s wrong?¡± My tear-filled eyes opened to see my grandad hovering over me with a look of absolute horror on his face. He had just found his grandson balled up and weeping on the floor of his hallway as he had come out of his room to get a glass of water. ¡°What happened? Are you okay?¡± He knelt beside me a took me into a big comforting hug and I had never been more pleased to see anyone in my life. It took me a long time before I could even say anything from beneath the blanket of tears and the strain the screaming had on my throat. ¡°It was horrible!¡± I explained. ¡°There was this thing! It was a monster, grandad, I swear I saw a monster! It tried to get me, but I screamed, and you came and scared it away!¡± Grandad held me tighter in his arms, ¡°Oh, it¡¯s alright now. You were just having a bad dream.¡± He heaved a deep sigh. ¡° I knew I shouldn¡¯t have taken you to see that movie, it must have scared you so bad. But we all have nightmares sometimes, kiddo, dreams that we think are real but they¡¯re only in your head. Grandad used to get them all the time when he was your age.¡± I shook my head, ¡°No.¡± I said defiantly. ¡°It was real! The clock was chiming like it always does at night, but this time it kept going so I went to see what was wrong! I was so scared, it tried to open my eyes and I couldn¡¯t stop it! Grandad, is it gone now? Please tell me you scared it away!¡± Grandad looked down at me with an expression that I had never seen him use in all my life. ¡°What?¡± He said, his voice dropping the tone of comfort that he had been using. ¡°What did you just say?¡± I sniffled and tried to answer, ¡°I came out of my room because the clock wouldn¡¯t stop ringing like it normally does, and there was a monster!¡± ¡°But you must be confused.¡± He said, a look of utter confusion and dismay spreading across his face. ¡°That clock is broken my dear, it¡¯s never worked from the day I got it.¡± Rattle Every night they waited, the somber hours of the night passing by as the held their breaths. The pale moon was raised and looking down on the small town that waited, glancing over them as the hours passed in darkness. Mothers held their children close as fathers peered through their windows surveying a dark fog for some glimpse past its thick barrier. Every door was locked as well as every window bolted, though this offered small peace for some, others knew this was futile. Just like the day turning to night, no one could stop what was coming, though many had tried. The only hope for salvation lay in the hands of God, but those who prayed found their cries for salvation often fell on deaf ears. Soon they would all hear it, the soft unassuming rattle growing closer ever slowly. It was a sound they were all familiar with, the clinking of keys against one another. They would hear the rattle pass slowly along the house, then as they looked on in pensive anticipation, they would view a shadow from beneath their door.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. The echo of metal against metal would ring throughout the house as the shadow placed its key inside the lock of their doors. Children would close their eyes and listen for the sound of the key twisting in the lock, for the sound of cylinders turning. They would listen and pray, knowing what dark fate would wait for them if they heard a click, if they heard the twist of metal. When the moon fell the people would gather outside in silent agreement on what must be done. They would go house to house and look for the one whose door was open, soon they would find it and quickly they would go inside to find what they always found. Fathers and Mothers holding children in their arms, paler than the moon, lifeless where they lay. Dead eyes of petrified tears still looking to their door, the door the shadow¡¯s key had fit. A Candle Made of Flesh You must take me at my word, for I know but a mere word is not substantially trustworthy enough to warrant your trust, but it is all I have. No pictures do I have on my person nor do I have any other unfortunate souls to attest to what I¡¯m about to tell you. I fear after one has read these words, they will deem me insane- a kook that belongs in an asylum. But write them I will, for I know with all confidence that what I have seen is not the specter of a madmen¡¯s deluded mind. It happened the first of this year which the lord seed to make also the time of my graduation. I had gone to the most honorable school available to one as lowly as myself- a glorious place called Czeslaw¡¯s School of Noble Students. It was a wonderous place, filled to the utmost brim with books of knowledge, competent teachers and fine students. But there was a fault I had with that place, one gleaming fault protruding from this structure of magnificence- Jeromy Bertrand. Bertrand, though excellent in his studies and a remarkable student, was corrupted by the darkness of arrogance and deceit. His tongue lashed out like a serpent whenever his status as the ¡®most gifted student at Czeslaw¡¯s¡¯ was questioned. It spilled lies like an overflowing basin if his score on an assignment was not to his liking, and where pray-tell does one wonder where this little devil¡¯s finger of guilt pointed to? Me. Yes it was I that endured the burden of obtaining the role of the little devil¡¯s roommate, so much of his deceit painted me as the culprit of his mis-failings. His tales paint the picture of me as a stuttering idiot whose only goal in life was to pester and annoy him- this couldn¡¯t be any farther from the truth! True God has given me the task to bare the troubles of my stutter, but to imply such vile acts of pure mal-intent is simply slander. Sufficient to say the higher-ups at Czeslaw¡¯s took his word as gospel, and my reputation was not one to grovel at. So it is with these acts that, late after the sun had disappeared and the moon had taken its rightful place in the heavens, I heard Bertrand knock on my chamber door and did not answer it. You see, though roommates, I did not have the displeasure of sleeping in the same room as the little devil and instead we had two small yet separate bedrooms that were separated by the main room- a place where our comings and goings took place the most in. As he knocked I flung the head-rest over my ears to muffle the racket. But when the commotion did not cease to stop, I yelled profusely at the door for him to go back to his bed-chamber- but he did not stop. Enraged I clambered to my feet and retrieved my bedside candle that I had so accustomed to keep beside me. Lighting the wick with a match I approached the door, yelling some ungodlike things in my anger as I did so. I reached for the handle- the racket stopped. This took me for surprise as I was caught off guard by the sudden stopping, now the room hung low with the sense of silence. Bertrand, you devil! I cry in anger. Must you make my life more miserable than you¡¯ve already have willed it to be? With that I opened the door to face my roommate...The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. My heart sank, for as I opened the door Bertrand¡¯s face was not to greet me but darkness there and nothing more. As my heart sank my brain went into full effect, whispering horrid ideas to my soul that caused me great distress. I realized with all the shock and horror of a man whose just been sentenced to hang that the little devil Bertrand was gone for the season and that I was alone. With the speed of God, I shut the door, I dare say I nearly broke it with the force I delivered. But now I had the most grievous of dilemmas, by shutting whatever was beyond the door out I had made myself captured in this room with no escape. I was grasped with fear and my soul sang out for help, but none would come to my aid. With the eyes of a gambler who had lost the final hand I yelled at whom or whatever the thing beyond the door to leave posthaste, for do they not have more important things to do? But the silence was no more for the door began to rattle and creak as the pounding began again, but this time slower as if to taunt me. Each knock sent ripples down my back like cold air in the winter, but I held my breathe and prayed to the lord for the sound to stop. But it kept going, the noise was driving me to madness! Fear washing aside me like sand on a beach I gripped my candle firmly and swung open the door! This my dearest reader is where my memories begin to fade, the fog of that night still lingers on my brain and soul, but I will try with all my human might to tell you what happened. Blood, that¡¯s what I remember, blood was everywhere. The tapestries had turned red as mud and the floor shared its experience. The air was thick with the smell of death that I¡¯ve only then but read of and I gasped for air underneath the stench. But that is not what caused me fear, no. There was a specter among the red, a pale face specter that none may look upon but I. His face was the image of fear for his eyes were like trumpets announcing the arrival of death- for around his neck there was a noose. Blood trickled down from where the rope met his neck- this was a rope so tight that it bleed him like a pig! But this wasn¡¯t the only horror that that night wished to show me, for in the specter¡¯s hand he held a candle- a candle made of flesh and blood. The wax was not but wax but melting flesh that fell to the floor like a falling star and mixed with the sea of blood below. Horror is the only thing I felt as my gaze fell upon mine own hand- to the candle I held in its grip. Realization fell upon my soul and tears of fear began to erupt from my poor eyes like Pompei. I pleaded to god to end this nightmare, to end it now and to take me somewhere far from this forsaken place- and mercy was granted. I opened my crying eyes to find the room back to it¡¯s original and proper state. But still the specter of silence haunted me as I grappled with what I had just seen. For but a split second I thought my mind had fooled me, that it was tricked- but my mind was changed as quickly as wind. For as I stood upon my feet once again my hand began to ache of pain, I looked to my hand once more to see that in my anguish I had neglected my candle. Now wax and fallen to my skin burning it, no, melting a small bit of my flesh. No, it was not a thing of my mind¡­ it was reality. The Moth is Silent He sat with his gaze up at the ceiling his eyes fixed on a strange insect. He stared so long that he forgot what reality was. He forgot everything, every school day or long field trip, every movie night or Sunday Service. He forgot everything, but the insect. "What are you looking at?" I ask my gaze following his. "It''s a moth." He says quietly, his lips moving only as much as they had too. "Why are you staring at it?" "Because it''s staring back." He raised his hand and pointed to the bug. "You see, it''s watching us. Studying us like we were books." He lowered his hand, but he did not break his gaze. I study the moth, it was so strange but yet so unremarkable. It was a moth, its wings had the pattern of a mask and its legs were as tiny as pencil leads. It was a moth, but yet I studied it. As he stared his eyes began to water, soon a waterfall began to erupt from his eyes but still, he stared. I stared too and the moth did not move. "He wakes," I say and he nods in agreement. The moth then opens its wings and the mask is shown to be true. "It''s beautiful," he says. "It''s awful," I say. There is silence as we watch. "I wonder where he''ll go?" We say. "He''ll go nowhere," he says. "He is trapped."You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. "We should open the window," I say. "There are no windows. Only doors without keyholes." The moth is silent. "Why are we upside down?" I ask. "Because he is right-side up." He says. The moth is silent. "When will we stop?" I ask. "When the moon is burning and the dark becomes a flame." He says. "It has moved," I say. The moth then begins to move, but only a bit. "Where has it gone?" He says. "You know where." The moth is silent. "Does Jolene know the stars are back?" "No," I say. "They are but phantoms passing her by like wind." "Jolene, I feel sorry for her." "As do I." The moth is silent. "Why are you staring at it?" He asks. "Because it wants to be admired," I say. "Why are we staring at it?" We say. "Because no one else will." The moth is silent. ... ... ... We are silent. ... ... ... We are silent. ... ... ... The moth speaks. "It is speaking." We say. "I can''t hear it." He says. "I''m sorry," I say. "Is it true?" "I do not know." "Does it matter?" "I do not know." "Will it end." "I do not know." "Does it matter?" "I do not know." The moth speaks. "Your eyes are flooding the room," I say. "The water is up to my knee." "Abigale is nothing but a mirror." He says. "Reflecting us both." "Who is Abigale?" "She is the dark." "Who are we?" "We are the flame." "Who should we be?" The moth speaks. "Does it ever end? "It does not." "I want to stand here forever and watch, watch until we drown." "I wish the moth would not speak- my ears are bleeding." "Does Henry know?" "Henry cannot know. Henry has no eyes." "Henry has nothing." We say. The moth speaks. "It has moved," I say. Then the moth does move, forever. "I want it to stay." He says. He reaches up his arm and grabs the moth. In the strength of his hand, the moth cannot move. "Let it go," I say. "It will drown with us." "I can''t let go." He says. "It will go away." "The blood is mixing with the water now." "I can''t let go." "We are drowning." "I can''t let go." "We are dying." "I can''t let go." ... ... ... The moth is silent. Twisted Lady There was a little house in a small town that resembled all the houses around it. Like in most houses there lived a person inside that also resembled all the people around him. Paul was of normal height and build, his dress sense was not daring, and he worked contently at an average paying job. People who knew him would say about him, ¡°That Paul is a pleasant guy, never had a problem with him. Spends most of his days in his house.¡± His neighbours would say, ¡°Lovely man, likes to keep to himself though. Never really seen him out anywhere.¡± But what the neighbours didn¡¯t know was that Paul was very much not alone and hadn¡¯t been for a very long time. In the little house that Paul resided in, he sat not alone but with company. He didn¡¯t know her name, but he thought it to be impolite not to address his company, so he began to call her Lady. Lady never talked, not even a whisper. She preferred to keep to the darker corners of the house far away from the windows or other sources of light. It is notable how very tall she was, her neck often bent as to not bump against the top of the ceiling. Paul had noticed during the first few days after she had appeared that the structure of her body was very abnormal, at least for human anatomy. From the bottom of Lady¡¯s feet to the top of her neck her body was curled around as if she were a washing rag being squeezed dry. The first time poor Paul saw her he was quite concerned and wondered if he should seek a doctor. But after a good long while he thought better of it, after all, she would not have such a wide grin on her face if she were in pain. Paul was unsure on how to treat his new guest, but he put up a good front. It was clear that Lady did not like the sunshine, her smile would always fade if Paul were to open a window and she would flee back into the shadows quickly. The next step for Paul was to offer her some food and drink, but he quickly came to realize that she would never speak, or for that matter, eat. Poor Paul was perplexed for quite a while, he had no idea the proper way to interact with his newfound housemate. Paul toiled away contently at his job with an occasional conversation with a friendly coworker or acquaintance. But for the most part, Paul stayed to himself and never told anyone about his guest Lady. He would come home every day and find her in a corner or sometimes even under a bed or in a closet. He would greet her with a pleasant smile and go about his business. At night Lady would move about throughout the house, but never in the bedroom where Paul slept. He had made sure to keep the door shut as to allow her to go about her business without the risk of disturbing his rest. Paul had taken the liberty of covering the windows with some plain but still tasteful curtains so that the moonlight wouldn¡¯t bother her.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. A very long time passed as Paul still lived in the same house and in the same town, but with new neighbours. He worked the same job and came home every day and greeted Lady with the same kind smile. Once one of his oldest neighbours, on the day they were set to move someplace else, asked Paul, ¡°Paul, you seem nice so please do not see this question as rude. But you have lived here for so long doing the same thing day after day. Don¡¯t you want to do something more? Go out and do something different?¡± Paul thought long and hard about the question that was posed. With a gentle smile, he simply responded with, ¡°No.¡± And that is when it clicked for dear Paul. That day when he returned home, he looked up at Lady smiling down on him. ¡°I believe I understand you now.¡± Said, Paul. ¡°I do not mean to pry, but you have been here for a very long time, and I must admit that I have grown curious of you. I often wondered why you came here and what might your intentions be. I never truly found a sound answer for that question, and I have become quite resigned to the thought that I never would. Until now that is.¡± Paul sat down in his chair and continued, ¡°I feel that people view me as some sort of sad case, of someone who has become stagnant like water. They look at me and say, ¡®how sad he must be, to live alone and not move about. How sad it must be to be like poor Paul.¡¯¡± With a knowing smile, Paul looked up at Lady. ¡°I must say I¡¯ve only now realized how similar we are, you and me. I wonder if that is why you came here. You too do not like to go out, I can tell the thought of that bothers you. You keep alone and never ever draw attention to yourself, but while that can make others feel unhappy, you seem content. I can tell by the smile on your face even now, this is where you are happy. I know that others may look at you and think how strange it must be to be you, how strange and twisted you must be. I figure that is one reason you may prefer to stay in. But it is not wrong to be who you are, dear Lady, it is not wrong to be happy.¡± Paul sat up from his chair with a spring in his step and walked over to the window. He pulled the curtain shut from where a little streak of light had been poking out and turned back to his companion. ¡°Personally, I like being ¡®poor Paul,¡¯ and if shadows make you happy then shadows you will have.¡± Cloudy with a Chance of Human Bodies It was a normal old regular type of day. People got up and made breakfast, some tiptoed around the house to avoid waking their kids too early, coffee was poured, and eyes were wiped clean of sleep dust. In the streets, car engines purred as the early morning rush hour began and shop owners turned their closed signs around to open. It was a regular morning, except if you found the raining bodies to be an issue. When the familiar grey clouds started to loom overhead people knew what was coming. Soon bodies would begin to pour down onto rooftops, sidewalks, and even the roads. They would land with either a splat or a giant crunch, depending on the surface but either way the noise was always present. But of course, gloomy weather was an expected part of life and people trudged on with their day without the warming presence of the sun. Naturally, this would cause some minor changes that needed to be made. The blood was easy, the power-washer cars would soon be out to clean up the scarlet sludge as soon as the storm was over just like a snowplough after a blizzard. The bodies posed more of a threat, driving over them was bumpy and could cause serious damage to any ordinary vehicle. Not to mention the huge amount of damage that was posed by a body crash landing on the roof of a car or heaven forbid a windshield. It was clear that something needed to be done, and many businesses claimed they had the perfect solution. Boulet Inc. was one of the first big companies to put out a potential solution to some of the issues caused by raining bodies. This life-saving product was creatively called The Boulet Inc. Deluxe Frontal Clearer but would soon come to be nicknamed by the general public as "Buzzsaw Bumpers." This extension of the car''s front would conveniently chop away at any stray body that crossed the path of the vehicle making travel much easier in stormy conditions. At first, consumers were not extremely thrilled with the idea of ground-beefing human beings, but as there was no alternative on the market at the time, sales soon began to skyrocket. Seeing the lucrative business opportunities other companies started to jump into the market. Raymond Car Automotive acted fast and patented a design of a reinforced car hull. It would become a must-have for all future carmakers and would be remembered for its signature catchphrase of "A Raymond Body for Raining Bodies!" Many more products were soon put to line, some caught on like wildfire while others sank into obscurity. Things like Wendy''s Reinforced Windshield Wipers, Fred''s Friendlier Sunroof, and the Disturbing Sound Muffler were all enormous hits. While things like Double Blade Wheels, The Body Net, and the infamous Human Funnel failed to find their niche. While the thought of hundreds to thousands of human bodies occasionally crashing down on the world may seem like it would be considered mostly a negative thing, some positives come from it. New jobs were opened up and people were able to find new employment as body cleaners and bodily-rooftop disposal men. Builders and construction workers saw a big upswing in work when the new laws called for every building to have a cover walkway installed so that people exiting their cars wouldn''t have to worry about being crushed by the weather. Still, though, one can''t help but wonder what life was like before the bodies started to rain.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. I hear it caused quite the ruckus when it first started happening. There was mass panic, which is funny to think about due to how ordinary and common it is now. Scientists, doctors, politicians, and everyone was rushing to figure out why the ''freak events'' were happening and how to stop them. At first, it was assumed that it was some freak act of terrorism and fingers got pointed in all directions, but mostly at Russia. After that was eventually ruled out, theories started popping up everywhere. A popular one was that all the bodies were just people from the future trying to perfect going back in time and failing miserably. It was a fun thought, but science showed that it was directly tied to some drastic change in the weather. Of course, we know that they never figured it out, and likely never will, but I hear some are still trying to put an end to it. Crime rates went unpleasantly low, which is something that is not normally said. Normally low crime rates have a good connotation, but not when bodies are falling out of the sky. It became slowly clear how easy it was to get away with a crime when it happened to be a rainy day. Murder someone? Just throw them in the street and wait for the cleanup crew to arrive. How did they die? A body fell on them. Where''s the evidence? Try getting a blood sample with the flood of it in the street. Over time this was just something people would have to accept would happen, and soon that became shockingly easy. People grew accustomed to the occasional crunch or splat, kids would play count the bodies on a long ride home from school, and some extremists tried to draw attention to the possibility of using the spare ''meat'' as an alternative to other animal products. It would cut costs and even potentially carbon emissions caused by giant cow farms and such. But this was ultimately struck down for the obvious reason- the mega-corporations running the meat industry wouldn''t allow it. However other uses for spare human parts were found. When a body would fall on a soft spot or some other lucky space, it was natural that its inner parts would go to some use. After all, it''s not like they''re using their vital organs anymore. Hearts, kidneys, livers, and any other spare part were all put to good use. Waiting lists became shorter and lives became longer, it would seem that this raining body thing was a splendid thing to happen after all. It''s funny, it''s strange to think of a world where this didn''t happen. It''s become so normal to everyday life that the dead stare on every splattering body is as remarkable as the lines on the road. Of course, there a times when I wonder, times when I lay awake at night and get a dreadful feeling that something isn''t right, but over time that feeling fades. It''s okay to have doubts about the world you live in, it''s only natural. But ultimately, it''s only cloudy with a chance of human bodies. But Yet, I Run I''m trapped in my head, locked within myself without a door or window to escape from. Trapped like a crow in a birdcage made of thorns, trapped like a fly in a razor-sharp spider''s web, my body bleeding from the wombs. I''m trapped here but I''m not alone, they follow me like shadows under the burning sun- chasing me down corridors of my thoughts and flights of memories I can''t forget. They never give up, and still, I''m trapped. There is a key if only I could reach it. It dangles off the side of a cliff, hanging so patronizingly close that I could reach it if only I had the will to jump. But if I did I would fall, fall down a rabbit hole of darkness and I don''t think I would ever hit the bottom. But yet, I would have the key, a victory among the pit of my failings. I want to get out, run free like deer in the forest. Away from my cage, away from my spider''s web. But they won''t stop chasing, like dogs with a bone thrown by my misgivings and lies. They won''t stop, so I run. But still I am trapped, I run but I am trapped. If only I had some way out, some way to break free of my bindings but no, there is no knife to cut my way out. No hammers to break these walls. No shovel to dig with. Just me, alone.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. They''re nothing but figures of my past haunting me as I run. Distant echoes reflect memories of awful times and bad choices from long ago. How I wish I could face them, how I wish I could turn and stop them with a mere glance. But no, if I look I fear they may kill me, so I run. My feet grow tired the more steps I take, my legs ache like burning coal. My heart beats out my ears onto the floor, but I won''t stop- though my lungs can''t take it. I breathe heavily, but yet I can''t breathe at all. My eyes are wax, and my feet are full of sores. I pass fields of flowers twisting into blankness and playgrounds weaving in and out of my blood-red hatred, but I do not stop and stare. There is no noise as I run, silence is a prison and God hath no pity. Faster and faster, slower and slower, quicker and quicker, I run. I am going in circles, my head''s a maze. I''m looking, feeling, searching for a way out, but there is none. This place is a prison I can''t escape from, but yet I run. Until It Hits Zero Number Twelve- That was my lucky number. How couldn''t it have been, it was on everything I owned and saw. From food orders to baseball shirts, it was always there, following me. Well, until I got a little bit older that was. My lucky number just seemed to vanish from my life, like it was never there in the first place. This wasn''t a big deal, of course, no one is ever too concerned with random numbers. But a couple of years later it began again, but it wasn''t the same. Now instead of lucky twelve, it was the number ten. I started to see it everywhere, from bus stops to school papers and even in my college dorm, it seemed to be everywhere I looked. I went online, trying to find some explanation of this phenomenon that was happening to me. I found some interesting things, dipping into Numerology and Astrology, but try with all my might I couldn''t find a good answer for the longest time. Until I found a forum with some people talking about seeing the same number over and over. Most of them saw numbers like 333, 444, or something like that, but nowhere could I find anything on what had happened to me. The numbers I saw had changed...Stolen story; please report. I decided just to ignore it, it was probably just a series of coincidences that could never really be explained, and so I did. I got out of school, got a boring desk job and that was that. Life was so bland for me. I was a middle-aged man working a desk job without any real friends. Until the heart-attack. I was rushed to the hospital after collapsing at work, I remember the sirens of the ambulance blaring as I went in and out of consciousness. I survived, of course, and woke up to the mildly relieved faces of the doctors tending to me. That''s when I saw it, the number four. It was everywhere, on the T.V, the room number, and everywhere I looked. Then I realized something. I''ve lived so long ignoring these numbers and what they''ve been trying to tell me, that I''ve been ignoring the truth. From Twelve to four the numbers have been counting down, like a clock. Growing smaller and smaller as I grow older and older, and only now I saw it. I saw my life play out before me, how I had done nothing with my time here. How easily I was to describe and how wasteful my life had been. Now the number I see has changed to a one, and I know I don''t have much time left. So please, use me as an example. Don''t let your life run out, don''t let the numbers hit zero without living first. They Have No Eyes On this earth, this sad, sad earth there is nothing more painful than losing a child. At first, you deny what¡¯s happening, surely there must be some mistake- this must be some cruel joke! But then reality sets in and you finally realize what¡¯s happening... Oh my god, I¡¯m losing him. The sound of the machine slowly beeping away was the only thing I heard. Beep... Beep... Beep, it went as the hours past. All I could think was that at any second the beeping would stop and he¡¯d be gone for good- my little boy. He was only twelve years old, too young to be laying in a hospital bed stuffed with needles and drugs. His red hair lay softly against the backdrop of his pillowcase, his soft green eyes hidden under the blankets of his eyelids. All I wanted was for him to wake up, I¡¯d trade anything, everything to make that happen. ¡°Baby, you need to leave.¡± My husband said, resting a strong hand on my shoulder. ¡°There¡¯s nothing more you can do.¡± ¡°He¡¯ll wake up soon, I know he will.¡± The hours passed as my husband returned home. I sat in that chair, seemingly designed to kill my back, as the same constant beep broke the long silence. But slowly my vision began to blur, I felt my body go limp as I closed my tired eyes. I woke up somewhere dark, somewhere unfamiliar and confusing. I wasn¡¯t anywhere but I felt the whole world around me spin. I¡¯m dreaming, I thought. It¡¯s just a nightmare, I have them all the time.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. Suddenly, as if on cue, I felt still. The darkness slowly became brighter, it was almost relieving. But the light wasn¡¯t the type of light that was cast from the sun or a light bulb, it was orange and red, a flickering light that only one thing can produce. I felt heat, a terrible heat all along my body. The sudden pain was unbearable, it was like I was melting where I stood. I screamed but only ashes left my mouth, I cried but only coal ran down my cheeks. I wasn¡¯t alone, I was but one in a row of millions of eyeless souls screaming out in pure agony. They all looked different, but they all screamed the same. I felt claws run down my face, sharp talons poked out my eyes and took them away. I heard them cried profanities, they begged on burning knees, they shouted for someone to end their pain. But through the cries of a hundred million people, all seemed so quiet. No one was listening, no one could hear us. No one was coming, no one would come, no one was going to end our pain. I woke up in a deep sweat, it was like I had just stepped out of a rainstorm. I was shaken beyond belief, I couldn¡¯t move from where I slouched in my chair for I feared my legs would give. Beep... Beep... Beep, went the machine reminding me of where I am. ¡°Mommy?¡± His voice alone brought me right back to reality. ¡°Honey, oh god, Honey I¡¯m here!¡± ¡°I can¡¯t see you, mommy, why can¡¯t I see you?¡± I grabbed him up into my arms and held him close. ¡°Just open your eyes, honey, I¡¯m here!¡± He paused for a moment, his eyes still shut. ¡°Where am I?¡± ¡°You''re in the hospital honey, you had a little accident, it¡¯s alright!¡± He went silent, a minute past as I held him even closer to me as if someone was going to take him away. ¡°Mommy.¡± ¡°Yes, Honey?¡± ¡°Why do they have no eyes?¡± From behind me, the machine emitted a long sound, a haunting sound I can never forget: Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Hes Up to Something I knew that something was up the moment he stepped through the door. After being married for so many years a girl gets to know how her dearly beloved acts and the way Howey was acting now wasn¡¯t like him. He had the air of someone who had just done something they knew they shouldn¡¯t do and was trying their best to keep it cool, like a druggy around a cop. I played my suspicions close to my chest and acted like I didn¡¯t notice the hint of bourbon in his breath, I¡¯m much better at keeping a secret than he is. It was stupid of me, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. He is my husband after all and what are marriages good for except turning a blind eye towards your lovers¡¯ issues. But the evidence kept piling and piling and so did my suspicions. At first, it was simple things like late workdays and unexpected meetings. Then it was the scent of perfume on his neck, the red smear of lipstick on his collar, and the not to mention what I found on his pillow. It was a strand of hair, long and blond unlike mine which was short and brown and there was only one answer to what it was doing on his pillow. I knew I needed to catch him in the act, as a defence attorney Howey knew how to plead his case. He would tell me to ¡®stop imagining things that aren¡¯t there and to ¡®trust him.¡¯ I would trust ya Howey, but that size 7 pump in the closet doesn¡¯t belong to me now does it? I told him I was going to work but secretly I had other plans. I rolled my car up with a nice view of the house and waited for my bastard husband to make the first move. Sure enough, out he went in his nicest suit and tie, a pair of clothes that I had bought him. I didn¡¯t follow him; I knew he would be coming back- how else would he get another bimbo¡¯s hair on his pillow?Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. I watched as his car rolled back into our driveway. Out stepped Howey closely followed by a tall, skinny blond girl with a waist the size of a soda can. I couldn¡¯t believe it; 8 years of marriage and I¡¯m getting pushed to the side like some bag of garbage, am I? I wasn¡¯t gonna sit idly by and watch it happen! I pulled a can of pepper spray out of my glovebox; a girl can never be too safe around here. I stormed into that house like a tornado tearing up a trailer park- but they were nowhere to be seen. Already in the bedroom, I guessed. I kicked in the door and held the spray in the air, waving it around and searching for my traitorous husband¡¯s face. But there it was, as plain as day. A woman was in the bed alright, but to my surprise, she wasn¡¯t breathing anymore. Howey stood fully clothed and drenched in blood, the woman¡¯s no doubt. In his scruffy hand, he held a knife that he swiftly plunged deeper into the blond¡¯s body. The bedsheet wasn¡¯t white anymore and neither were the walls, now they were stark red. The nice suit I had gotten for my husband now was ruined; I couldn¡¯t believe my eyes. I started to breathe heavily, I didn¡¯t even suspect Howey was capable of such a thing! ¡°What?¡± I stammered, nearly dropping my pepper spray. ¡°Honey,¡± He tried to reach out his hand in a feeble gesture at calming me down. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, this isn¡¯t what it looks like!¡± ¡°How¡­ How could you?¡± I exclaimed. ¡°What have you done?¡± He looked like a kid who had just been put into detention. ¡°I¡­ Couldn¡¯t help it.¡± I felt the urge to shoot the pepper spray straight into his stupid eyes, but I couldn¡¯t bring myself to do it. ¡°Baby¡­¡± I said, dropping the can to the floor. ¡°It¡¯s alright¡­ but we talked about this. I thought you promised me that you wouldn¡¯t kill by yourself anymore. And look, you¡¯ve ruined that perfectly nice suit I got you!¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°You better be!¡± I demanded, slowly rolling up the woman¡¯s body in the bedsheets. ¡°You¡¯ve gotten sloppy without me, you left evidence everywhere! Now help me move this thing, I¡¯ve gotta clean up the mess you made!¡± Please, Do Not Read Hello, I understand that with a title like ¡®Do Not Read¡¯ it is only natural to be curious. It¡¯s normal to peek in, crack the door ajar to see what mystery lies behind it- but believe me when I say that some doors are best left shut, that¡¯s why they make locks. If you know what is best for yourself, you will stop reading here. But of course, you won¡¯t trust me, after all, I am the one who wrote that title, I¡¯m the one who doesn¡¯t want you to read this so why listen to me? I¡¯ll tell you. If you keep reading this, I¡¯m very afraid you won¡¯t stop, and there¡¯s little I can do to change that. So please, do what I ask, and stop now. Still here? I suppose that¡¯s only to be expected, it¡¯s human nature not to follow directions. Take me for example, I guess I was quite like you in that way- rebellious and free-spirited. No one told me what to do and I never listened to anybody, my life was mine to make and nothing was going to hold me down. Another way that I reckon I¡¯m like you, dear reader, is that I liked to read. I consumed books like they were food, shoving down serving after serving and desperately searching for something new and exciting to thrill my palate. And on one particular day, I found something that was quite scrumptious looking. In a little shop, stuck in the corner of a busy town and hiding in the shadows, I found a library full of dusty books. I was enthralled and I immediately went about buying each and every interesting novel or series I could get my hands on. There¡¯s something about old books that really entice me. It¡¯s like smelling the popcorn at the theater, their aroma just begs me to buy them. As I filled my arms with countless volumes of pages, I noticed something sticking out between all the rest of the options. It was a short little thing, barely enough pages to be stuffed between a cover, with the title: Please, Do Not Read. I dropped everything, my curiosity taking control of me. I had to know what was in it, what hidden knowledge was contained between its pages. So, I didn¡¯t listen. I bought the book and left that little shop, and when I got home I immediately started to read. The book kept begging me over and over to not read it, I found it rather annoying. If they didn¡¯t want me to read it, why would they have written it?You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. Maybe because it was embarrassing? Had I found someone¡¯s journal? No, the person writing seemed to be directly talking to me like I was there in the room with them. It was a little uncomfortable, it was like they knew I wouldn¡¯t listen to their directions. But of course, they couldn¡¯t do anything to me, it was only a couple of pages I found crammed between some other stories. So, I kept reading on and on, despite having been warned. It was about a man who had discovered something incredible. A series of words, a string of letters and figures that could possess great power. They say that if you read these words in the right order, beginning to end, you would be forever trapped between the pages. Despite his better interests, the man kept reading and hasn¡¯t been found since. It was quite intriguing stuff, but of course, all of that was nonsense. You''re still here, aren¡¯t you? You are still reading; you want to see the end don¡¯t you? But believe me, you don¡¯t. I was like you, in the same way I¡¯m like the man in the story I found. I kept reading, I wanted it all. I just couldn¡¯t stop myself! There was no point in seeing the end, there was no point in reading the last few words, but I did, even after I read the warnings. I could¡¯ve just looked away but instead, I find myself here- with you. I¡¯m stuck here, dear reader, I¡¯m stuck, and I can¡¯t get out. I¡¯m here among the pages, I am here in the spaces between each and every letter and I see you. I watch you read this even now, and you''re still doing it even though I told you not to. I guess we are the same, I suppose we just won¡¯t listen to anyone or anything. But unlike me you still have a chance, you can go! Go now! Don¡¯t read the final words, just let them rot at the bottom of the page! Please, even if you don¡¯t believe me just do it, save yourself! But of course, people like us never listen to anybody, do we?