Under the Radar

Photo by Andy Li on Unsplash

“The law of supply and demand is crucial for our understanding of the free market. If the price is too high, supply will exceed demand. But if it’s too low, demand will exceed supply. Remember, the market always seeks equilibrium. Any other questions?”

A female student Professor Ismael recognises from a previous class shoots her hands up in the air. She is one of three female students who wear the symbol of submission, the hijab, and proudly show their religious upbringing.

He waits for a few seconds before addressing her. He knows from his vast experience as a senior professor that students sometimes ask a question they already know the answer to and want to give her a few seconds to come to her own conclusion.

“Yes, you over there.”

“Isn’t the law of supply and demand too simplistic to explain real-world markets, sir? What about markets with monopolies or oligopolies?”

“Good question! The law, of course, helps us understand general trends, but it’s not meant to explain every nuance in every market. In monopolistic or oligopolistic markets, where there is one dominant seller or few sellers, the law of supply and demand can still apply, but it behaves differently. You’ll learn more about how these kinds of markets work in greater detail in your next class. Anything else?”

Silence. This is a good sign. The clock reads 3:57 p.m., and not only is he drained from having classes back-to-back, but so are the students at the University of Baghdad, who have had classes since early in the morning.

“All right, then, that’s all for today’s lecture. Please make sure to pack up your stuff and I’ll see you next time.”

A former fighter pilot for the Iraqi military during the Cold War and an honorary member of the Chair of the Board of Trustees, he is one of the most respected professors at the university. Adhering strictly to the rules, he is described as both “book smart” and “well-rounded” by his colleagues in the Faculty of Microeconomics.

After answering the remaining students’ questions about today’s lecture, he waits five more minutes until the last student finally exits the auditorium.

According to the schedule, however, he still has one more lecture left for the day in the same auditorium, so he briefly leaves his belongings and goes out to grab a cup of coffee before the start of the next class.

It is during this time that the fire alarm goes off.

Given the large size of the Microeconomics department and with no fire or smoke in immediate sight, he decides to return to the auditorium and take his stuff with him. Theft has been a huge issue over the past couple of years, and he can’t afford to lose his lecture notes and slides due to, what he assumes, is a prank at that point in time.

The alarm keeps ringing as he puts his laptop computer into his leather bag and sets off towards the emergency exit staircase, which leads to the faculty emergency exit grounds. But as he descends the emergency exit staircase, he notices a smell he recognises as sulphur from his time as a fighter pilot.

Now this isn’t a smell he’d pay any attention to on any normal day, but the unusual circumstances, coupled with the nostalgic inputs from his subconscious, make him follow the foul and sharp odour as he continues to descend towards the lab floor.

The first thought taking over his mind is a malfunction of the air conditioning system (HVAC) located in the utility room. But when he fails to unlock the room, he decides to return to the main floor and give maintenance a call.

As he inches closer to the emergency exit door, however, he realises that the temperature has risen too abruptly. This prompts him to return to the utility room and follow the sharp odour for a second time. It is also at this point that he notices something he missed the first time. The student lounge room, located farthest back in the corridor, is cracked open.

The student lounge room, as well as all other non-staff rooms, is part of a new system the university has employed over the last few years to ensure the safety of the students after a particular incident occurred back in 2003.

The previous safety system employed a one-way access protocol, where students had to physically bring a staff member, often the administrator or receptionist, to the student lounge to physically unlock the door. The staff were, however, required to register this in the safety log to prevent the system from setting off an “unauthorised access” alarm.

But they weren’t the only ones with a working access card – the professors, as well as all other staff members, also had similar access cards for obvious reasons. These, however, did not trigger the said alarms.

The safety protocols at the time of the accident did not consider these entries as safety hazards. But to err on the side of caution, the professors, as well as other staff members, were instructed to refer the students to the reception in case they requested entrance to the student lounge rooms or other kinds of group study rooms.

The new system, of course, now works vastly differently. Each staff member now has limited access to certain floors, rooms, and areas. A staff member with access to floor 1 thus has no access to floor 2 and needs access to that floor through another staff member’s access card.

What set off this new system, however, is a case that Professor Ismael only heard about through the grapevine in the professors’ office over the years. Although it is an incident that should never have happened or been allowed to happen, the aftermath of the entire ordeal now ensures that better and safer protocols are employed. As they say in the aviation industry, “every protocol and safety measure is written in blood.”

It is the 26th of October 2003, approximately eight years ago from today’s date.

Over the course of a few weeks, the weather has deteriorated severely, and it is the first day of the holy Ramadan. Due to these external factors, the university is unusually empty, and only a third of the students and staff members are present.

An undisclosed female student, referred to as victim K in the official police records, enters the Faculty of Microeconomics around 1:15 p.m.

This timestamp, as well as all others following this, is undisputedly correct. The investigators know this because the student used her student ID card extensively on the day of the incident.

Investigators also later discovered that the victim planned to enter the main auditorium, H134, via section B, after texting a friend that she’d lost her keys, possibly in the auditorium where she’d had a lecture the previous day.

This female friend becomes a huge lead later on and helps the investigators timestamp the victim’s last moments more accurately. But at the time all this happens, of course, neither the investigators nor the said friend knew this.

At around 1:29, the security camera in the emergency exit staircase captures victim K, shaken, as she descends the staircase and keeps going until she reaches the lab floor. Seconds later, the entire faculty goes into a blackout and all subsequent records perish.

The first message that establishes the victim’s whereabouts comes around 1:34. From this message, the investigators know that the victim is now hiding in the student lounge room and urgently asks her friend to call the police.

Half a minute later, at around 1:35, the female friend replies with something along the lines of, “Why?” and shortly afterwards, “You okay?”

To this, the victim does not respond for about five minutes. The time now shows 1:41. But the tone of the subsequent messages after this makes the investigators suspect the victim is no longer the one responding.

“I’m okay” is the victim’s second-to-last message, followed shortly by “Don’t call the police.” Investigators link this to the fact that, at that point, the perpetrator or perpetrators had gone through what the victim had sent to her friend and were beginning to panic.

At timestamp 2:56, power returns to the faculty. All working security cameras show no anomalies. The few people who have been trapped inside the building at this time, both staff members and students, now exit the faculty.

When the timestamp shows 3:18, another blackout occurs and is later noted by the security system as an “induced blackout,” disclosing to the investigators that someone has manually shut down the entire building. This second blackout lasts no more than two hours.

At this point, the victim’s parents contact the police and a missing person search is initiated – but only after seven more hours pass. Due to the faulty policies employed by the Baghdad police force at the time, a 24-hour policy is strictly followed, and no missing person report is accepted.

That’s when the victim’s exchange with her friend reaches the police officers, and a formal missing person report is filed. But it’s too late – by about three hours. The victim’s half-naked body, with her underwear stuffed into her mouth, is found by the dispatched team led by lead investigator, Detective Achmad.

A junior investigator is later reported to have said in subsequent interviews with the press that “the body had deteriorated way more than what it should have” considering the time of death and the time of discovery.

This discrepancy in the rate of deterioration, which the autopsy report describes as “non-normal swelling of the internal organs due to external factors,” leads the investigative team, particularly Detective Achmad, to consider one possible scenario.

The HVAC is now a major lead, and the investigative team sends the output and input data recorded in the system log to Forensics for further analysis. This takes approximately two weeks. The system log records abnormally high temperatures and manipulation of oxygen levels, which aligns with the reported hypoxia symptoms recorded by the dispatched team upon entering the lab floor.

The profile of the suspect or suspects is now clear to the investigative team. They are dealing with someone with vast technical knowledge, who can manipulate both the HVAC and blackout systems, while also having greater-than-average knowledge of pathology and the degree to which the body deteriorates in different scenarios and extreme external configurations.

A thorough background check of the entire staff and attending students available to the investigators at the time, however, does not yield the kind of niche profile they are looking for. The criminal profiler in the US, to whom the investigators sent the translated documents, states that none of the listed individuals could be the perpetrator or perpetrators.

As this lead goes cold, Detective Achmad now decides to focus on the staff and students who were inside the faculty building before and during the two induced blackouts.

They focus their investigation on suspect A, an employee who had been kicked out due to undisclosed reasons, and suspect C, a male student who is the last and only person the victim engaged with before the first blackout.

The investigators know this due to secured footage from the hallway of section B by the main auditorium, which shows the victim trying to unlock the door but fails repeatedly before suspect C appears on screen for approximately half a minute.

During his witness statement, suspect C is recorded saying he had had no interaction with the victim and that he wasn’t aware she was in the building at the time of the first blackout. But the footage shows suspect C engaging in small talk with the victim, which the suspect initially denies during the subsequent hearing – now as a prime suspect – before he finally confesses.

When asked by the lead detective why he denied interacting with the victim during the witness hearing, suspect C does not give an immediate reply and requests a lawyer instead.

This event prompts the press to announce in the local newspaper that the prime suspect is the perpetrator of the case and that the police are trying to secure more evidence to bring forth to the attorney in charge.

This is not an outcome the police expect, and as the public demands the prime suspect’s arrest and trial, this puts immense pressure on the investigative team, who are not wholly convinced suspect C is the one they are looking for.

But why do they think that? As mentioned earlier, the profile they are looking for is someone with an above-average IQ, a vast knowledge of different technological and mechanical systems, as well as an interest in pathology.

Suspect C, however, during his initial health check-up, is reported to have an IQ just below 90 and no other reported hobbies but football and video games, according to his two roommates and family members.

Things, however, are out of the investigative team’s control, and the authorities disregard Detective Achmad’s complaints about the lack of evidence. They now force the attorney in charge to issue a formal arrest warrant. The evidence required for such a procedure is manipulated, resulting in the arrest of suspect C on the evening of 18 November 2003.

Now, this is a time of massive public unrest, and only a few months after the invasion of the US troops to secure oil for Uncle Sam under the code name “Operation Iraqi Freedom” has come to a belated end.

It is in the ruling authorities’ interest to put down any public outrage, arrest the suspected perpetrator, and focus all leads on the capture of The Butcher of Baghdad who’s still on the run.

The investigative team, due to these circumstances, is now pressed to obey orders from their higher-ups, and suspect C is officially recognised as the prime suspect.

Detective Achmad, however, continues the investigation behind closed doors and through his own means. His close-knit team members, consisting of two junior detectives and one investigator-in-training, now focus on suspect A, who has not been interrogated formally as a suspect up until this point.

Suspect A’s witness statement and recorded hearing show high stress levels in his voice and body language, especially when the lead investigator asks about his relationship with the victim, to which he firmly denies having any relationship.

After sketching a timeline of suspect A’s proposed alibi and securing evidence of his whereabouts, they note something the first team of investigators missed – most likely due to the public’s ongoing outrage and demand for the death penalty, as well as the pressure from their higher-ups to conclude the investigation as soon as possible.

At around 1:27, two minutes before the first blackout is recorded on the security log, suspect A is caught heading towards the malfunctioning CAM03, near another emergency exit staircase that is not commonly used by students but is frequented by staff members.

This staircase is therefore not an uncommon route for the suspect in question to use. But the circumstances are abnormal.

Suspect A has been formally discharged from his service as a janitor due to undisclosed reasons by HR and is not supposed to have access to this part of the faculty at any time at this point.

But the system records show that he has used his ID card extensively, a whopping 15 times in the course of half an hour. This unauthorised use later causes the HR department to investigate their failed adherence to the safety protocols. This interim investigation later reveals that the Head of HR at the time of the crime is a friend of suspect A.

These findings prompt Detective Achmad to formally request an arrest warrant from the attorney in charge, but his requests are dismissed and the reasons recorded as “insufficient evidence provided.”

The lead detective, after complaining about this unfounded dismissal, is let go from his position as lead detective and demoted. His untimely transfer and demotion raise eyebrows within the police force, but no one comes forwards to defend the detective.

The case closes.

Until now.

As Professor Ismael enters the ajar student lounge room, holding his breath from the increasingly foul odour taking over, a horrific sight unfolds. A young woman, naked from the abdomen down and her hands bound together with duct tape, lies on the lino floor with her back turned to him.

That’s around the same time he experiences the first signs of low oxygen and the increased temperature that keeps surging. Startled, he storms out and ascends the emergency exit staircase close to the student lounge room. As he fumbles to pull his phone out and dial the emergency services, he forgets all about the fire alarm still blaring in the backdrop.

The entire faculty has been evacuated by the time he reaches the main floor. That’s when the power shuts off and he loses his grip on the phone. He runs towards the nearest exit, but due to the blackout, the automatic doors do not open.

He realises soon, as the sirens blare in the background, that he’s not only in a full-blown lockdown, but that the building is on fire and the smoke is now visible to the naked eye.

He knows from previous experience that it takes the firefighters ten minutes to get to the faculty, but this is not any normal day. It’s the last day of Ramadan and time moves slowly when it’s 33 degrees Celsius outside and with unusually high humidity levels from the Persian Gulf.

He figures soon that it’ll take somewhere between 20 to 30 minutes before the firefighters arrive. But with the heightened levels of smoke he sees, coupled with the low level of oxygen he just experienced, he figures that it’ll take no less than fifteen minutes for the concentrated Carbon Monoxide levels to knock him out.

And from what he observes, the fire originates from the second floor, which means the colourless smoke is more concentrated on the second and third floors of the building but will quickly spread uniformly throughout all four floors as it cools down.

This observation leaves him with two options. He either has to break the bullet-proof glass and flee in no less than fifteen minutes, or he must navigate to the lab floor where the oxygen level is manipulated and hope the firefighters arrive before whoever configured the oxygen levels returns it to a normal level and feeds the fire.

He chooses the latter option.

While this is an unorthodox choice by any means and one that is very much reckless by any normal standard, he knows from his time as a fighter pilot that Carbon Monoxide poisoning is more lethal and immediate than hypoxia.

The lab floor is just as vacant as earlier, only this time he sees that the utility room is cracked open. By then, however, he’s halfway down the corridor and closer to the student lounge room than the emergency exit staircase on the other side of the corridor.

But he doesn’t want to take any chances and decides to take the other emergency exit staircase when he notices that someone’s on the move in the utility room.

This prompts him to quickly enter the student lounge room rather than get caught by whoever is hiding in the utility room, which he now believes could be no one but the perpetrator himself.

After sneaking back into the student lounge room, now re-experiencing the returning symptoms of hypoxia, he studies the victim, whom he recognises as the female student who challenged the law of supply and demand earlier in his class.

But his surprise doesn’t end there.

The victim snaps her eyes open and screams.

He sits on her and covers her mouth, in a state of panic, as she slowly stops moving. Only when she’s completely incapacitated does he realise that he has smothered her to death in the chaos that broke out.

While this unfortunate outcome could’ve been prevented, he acknowledges that his lack of situational awareness is due to the low levels of oxygen as well as the fight-or-flight response of his body, but also due to what he now suspects is Carbon Monoxide poisoning coming in through the vents.

Covering the victim with his blazer, afraid of what his body is now capable of, he recognises that whoever did this to the victim in the first place is probably now approaching to check on her. With this still fresh on his mind, he sprints out of the student lounge room and into the restroom across from it.

But this relief is short-lived.

The blazer.

With his heart in his mouth, he returns to the student lounge room and takes his blazer with him, storming out of the lounge room without once looking back and locking himself into one of the stalls.

The first thing he hears seconds after this quick manoeuvre is footsteps. What he doesn’t expect at this point, however, is how abruptly they stop. He calculates that the perpetrator has stopped in the doorway of the student lounge room, not fully going in to check on the victim.

The footsteps move away soon afterwards and grow fainter with each passing second, until he recognises the thud of the nearest emergency exit staircase opening and closing.

This unexpected event sets off a lot of questions in his mind, and while trying to figure out what’s going on outside, he hears the emergency exit staircase door opening and closing for the second time. All these sequences of events take no less than three minutes in total.

Then, the emergency exit staircase door opens and closes for a third time.

A subtle click reverberates through the empty corridor, telling him that someone has locked the emergency exit door and trapped him in there.

But he has stopped feeling panic at this point.

His sanity deteriorates, and so do his erratic body movements. He recognises that he’ll soon lose all control of his body and needs to act fast.

As the first signs of outside help reach him from the vents, sending blares of sirens all over the vacant lab floor, he takes off his belt and secures it on the tap. It’ll take the Carbon Monoxide to off him somewhere between seven and ten minutes, and the hypoxia will render him unable to control his body in less than three minutes, but keep him alive much longer.

He feels his body stiffen and his lower extremities harden with the surge of blood increasing to his lower half.

After making sure the belt is fast and won’t break on him, he ties a knot around his throat and, after a moment of hesitation, lowers himself.

As the saliva drips down the side of his mouth, the first crack from his thyroid reaches his ears, the only organ now picking up signals. By the three-minute mark, he’s on a full-blown erection, and his body now fully reacts to the effects of the hypoxia before he loses all vital parameters that have kept him alive up until this point.

When the firefighters, the first to arrive at the crime scene, find the victim and Professor Ismael, they soon relay to the investigators in charge the nature of their findings and the semen they’ve found on the tiled floor.

However, due to the rapid and extreme deterioration of the victim’s body, no semen can be secured on her body, although signs of forceful penetration are noticed by the pathologist in the initial autopsy report. The cause of death is recorded as “loss of oxygen to vital organs leading to heart failure.”

When the identity of Professor Ismael as the prime suspect reaches the press, a witness soon comes forwards and recounts the events leading up to what the local press refers to as a “copycat of the sexually motivated rape and murder case of 2003.”

The witness is a reinstated janitor and former military officer who played a key role in leading the democratisation process under the U.S. administration during the 2003 invasion. He had unfairly lost his job that same year following accusations of improper conduct made by a female student.

The key witness tells the interviewing journalist during a TV appearance that he’s witnessed the crime in person and recounts his horrific encounter with Professor Ismael as “bone-chilling” and one which he does not want to “repeat ever again.”

He concludes the interview by saying he hopes “a day will come when the women of Baghdad can live without fearing for their lives at the hands of savage men,” – a statement that gains nationwide recognition and applause, prompting the international media to label the now 66-year-old as “the Guardian of Children and Women’s Rights for Liberation and Equality.”

Meanwhile, mass applause breaks out in a municipal police station outside of Baghdad, cheering as the 66-year-old receives a joint award from two of the most internationally renowned charity organizations.

Detective Achmad looks at the milling crowd of officers applauding all around him with a hardened look on his face before exiting.

This imposed democracy has once again failed to protect women, and instead of holding the perpetrators accountable, those entrusted with upholding the democratic system now celebrate them.

Pulling up a pack of cigarettes, he inhales the poisonous smoke before drawing a last drag and putting it out with his foot. As the cheers continue in the background, he pulls out his Glock 19 and puts the barrel under his chin.

010101-010101 Limited Edition itch.io

Photo by Carl Raw on Unsplash

Part I

What was supposed to be the last day of the weekend turned out to be more than that. I never saw it coming. Honestly, I don’t think any of us did. Who am I talking about? You’ll figure it out soon enough.

For now, don’t ask any questions and just listen to me. The things I’m about to recount, even I have a hard time believing them. It feels like a dream – a nightmare if you will – and one that feels too surreal to be true. But I assure you, it is. Every single word you’re about to hear. 

I sat on the sofa, scrolling through my ex’s social media page, when a notification popped up on the screen. Julie and I were engaged, and while preparing for our wedding she broke things off over text two weeks ago. 

She wouldn’t tell me why. It was driving me up the wall. Julie was the one. We hit off almost immediately the day we met through a mutual friend, and I really believed that she felt the same way about me. 

When I contacted who was supposed to be Julie’s bridesmaid, however, I finally found out the truth. Julie wasn’t in love with me – she never had been. That mutual friend I talked about? She was in love with him, not me. Like a piece of paper, she used me to get closer to him.

Want to hear something funnier? Those two got together the day Julie broke up with me. But I don’t believe that shit. I’ve been scrolling through her social media page for hours now and the bigger pictures only get clearer. How could I be such a fool?

Julie and that guy worked in the same department. Whenever she told me she was working late at night to finish a report, that guy was working too. Even their social media pages looked identical, as if they had planned it all out beforehand. 

“Hi, this is JackTheReeper folks! I’m live at 1:20 am! Y’all been waiting for this moment, amirite? Hit that notification button and let’s goooo!”

JackTheReeper was my favourite YouTuber. He played all sorts of games, but I subscribed to his channel solely for the horror content. Although he was easily scared and preferred RPG games, he’d still take on some horror games now and then. 

Since we were nearing Halloween week, he posted all over his wall that he’d be doing a surprise livestream a few days before October 31st. People kept suggesting the same horror games, such as Silent Hill, Resident Evil, Outlast, Ju-On, and Evil Within like way too many times.

At some point, however, a viewer called username103-ww345 suggested an indie horror game none of us ever heard of. I looked up this guy’s profile, but it didn’t look like he was actually a subscriber.

He had no videos or comments – no nothing. It seemed as if whoever created this throwaway account did it just hours after JackTheReeper announced his surprise Halloween livestream. We figured he was the creator of the indie horror game he wanted us to try in an attempt to promote it.

You’ll find a snippet of how this conversation went down below. For privacy reasons, I won’t attach the actual names of the other subscribers. These comments, along with the entire channel, have already been deleted and cannot be found on the Internet anymore.

[My Username]: Hell yeah! How long since it been, dude? I thought you’d quit playing horror games! 

[JackTheReeper]: Halloween special for my loyal fans only! You guys been telling me to play horror games like forever, lol

[Viewer 2]: Whatcha playing, Reeper?

[JackTheReeper]: Dunno, maybe Outlast? Did I ever finish the first one? Hey [My Username], what do you want? 

[My Username]: You kidding me, dude!? LOL Try something new! I heard there’s some good stuff on Steam from [viewer 4]

[Viewer 4]: Did someone summon me, lol

[JackTheReeper]: [My Username] did

[My Username]: lol 

[Viewer 4]: You doing live stream for Halloween, Reeper?

[JackTheReeper]: Not the day of, but yeah. You joining us, right? 

[JackTheReeper]: Suggest me some horror games! 

[My Username]: [viewer 4] knows some good stuff on Steam

[Viewer 4]: What am I, God of Steam? 

[Viewer 2]: More like God of Stream, if you know what I mean *wink*

[JackTheReeper]: [viewer 4] you doing OF, dude LOL

[My Username]: [viewer 4] logged out. 

[Viewer 2]: P*ssy

[JackTheReeper]: you guys trying to demonetize me or what? C’mon, suggest me some horror games! I’m open to whatever!

[Viewer 2]: So, there’s this dating simulator…

[My Username]: Where’s [viewer 3]? Seems like he deleted his channel 

[JackTheReeper]: dead

[Viewer 2]: *sweet dead child o’mine*

[My Username]: Like, I’m serious guys! His channel is like deleted or some shit 

[JackTheReeper]: Heard he dead

[Viewer 2]: as he should be. F*cking ass*hole he nuked my [redacted]

[My Username]: Heard that too, but like, is it true? 

[Viewer 2]: dunno

[Viewer 2]: i heard he played a cursed horror game

[My Username]: WTF, cursed? Lol

[JackTheReeper]: Okay, guys, shut the fuck up and lets get down to business, alright? 

[Viewer 2]: only if [My Username] shuts the fuck up first lol

[My Username]: play ‘who kills [viewer 2] first wins’

[Viewer 5]: Damn! late to the fun, again!

[My Username]: Reeper just got offline

[Viewer 5]: lol

[Viewer 2]: he’s avoiding [viewer 5]

[Viewer 5]: lol haha

[My Username]: he’s back

[JackTheReeper]: sorry guys! Wifey things lol *wink* Anyways… any suggestions [viewer 5]?

[username103-ww345]: 010101-010101 limited edition itch.io

[Viewer 2]: what the fuck is 010101-010101? Lol

[Viewer 5]: your mum

[JackTheReeper]: okay, I’ll check it out

[My Username]: no self-promo allowed [username103-ww345]

[Viewer 2]: says who?

[My Username]: fuck off asshole

[Viewer 2]: I’m genuinely asking asshole-you-too

[JackTheReeper]: okay looks good. Are you the creator [username103-ww345]

[Viewer 5]: hes not a subscriber

[My Username]: guys logged out

[Viewer 2]: Anywho, game looks lit! LIT

[Viewer 5]: looks like the game [viewer 3] played. the aesthetics I mean

[Viewer 2]: oh no it’s cursed! [My Username]’s gonna piss himself

[My Username]: *herself, asshole

[Viewer 2]: wait you a girl? why didn’t say sooner, sweety? Wanna hang out tomorrow? I’ve got a new bed

[My Username]: learn grammar first

[JackTheReeper]: Imma log out now guys! Keep it civil! Happy FUCKING Halloween!

Part II

The following conversation happened during the livestream itself. When I clicked the notification button and the stream flickered on, the first thing I saw was a drained JackTheReeper. 

He’d been talking about having some marital issues with his wife Rebecca for a few months now. I even gave him some pieces of advice about women to help him resolve whatever was going on with him and his spouse, but it seemed like things weren’t getting any better. 

I brewed myself a mug of black coffee while waiting for the actual live stream to start and made up my mind to focus on the present and shut off all other thoughts about Julie. It was easier said than done. 

JackTheReeper started the stream by introducing the game, briefing us on the theme, concept and main character, before actually playing the thing. I must admit that something about the vibe the game gave off arrested me in more than one way. 

The plot was crazy good, like it was so plausible. I like that sort of stuff. The more realistic it is, the scarier it is. Like a ghost haunting me is unlikely to happen, but getting chased by some fucked-up serial killer? Yeah, the chances of that happening were like way higher than the former alternative.

Here's a brief description of how JackTheReeper introduced the game. The home screen showed a wooded area shrouded in moving shadows and towering corn fields. Some eerie music played in the background but it was hardly noticeable. Through the corn fields, a narrow trail could be traced to god-knows-where. 

My first thought was that this game was about some scarecrow coming alive and chasing the main character. But as JackTheReeper began his introduction, I soon figured this wasn’t the case. Moreover, we learnt that this was indeed the game [viewer 3] played before disappearing from the face of the earth.

[JackTheReeper]: Whatssup guys! This is your guy Reeper at it again! Since you guys like to see me piss my pants, I’m back with another indie horror game!

[Viewer 4]: first

[My Username]: you playing that game? 010101- something?

[JackTheReeper]: Yeah wish me good luck!

[My Username]: Everything’s okay? You look down, man

[JackTheReeper]: I’ll text you after the stream

[Viewer 2]: [My Username] is ma girl, dude. Back off

[My Username]: Who called this fucker

[Viewer 2]: Your love lol

[Viewer 4]: What’s up with the flirting lol

[Viewer 2]: [My Username] likes me

[JackTheReeper]: Okay, listen up folks! 

[My Username]: Is this the game [viewer 3] played

[JackTheReeper]: Jaap 

[Viewer 2]: [My Username] you can hold my hand if your scared Imma protect you

[Viewer 4]: lol

[JackTheReeper]: so, here’s whats up: this game was created back in 2009. We don’t know who created it but it’s actually quite well known on Reddit. apparently it’s haunted

[My Username]: never heard of it before lol

[Viewer 2]: hello sweety whats your handle? Let’s talk

[Viewer 4]: it’s famous on Creepypasta.org too. [Another famous Youtuber]actually talked about it on his channel two years ago

[My Username]: Ah, the one who makes creepy videos?

[Viewer 4]: yeah

[JackTheReeper]: Anyways… so, we’re like searching for our sister who got lost on her way to some asylum

[My Username]: what’s the year?

[JackTheReeper]: 18…89? Yeah, something like that

[Viewer 4]: Doesn’t sound scary, though

[JackTheReeper]: We’re William and our grandmother sends us a letter saying our sister has gone missing. We know that shes supposed to arrive at this asylum in the countryside, but it never arrives. Police finds the bus two miles from the asylum near some woodland, where they find some footprints going deeper into the woods. 

[Viewer 2]: and then they meet Big Foot lol and die

[My Username]: So, like we’re on this trail looking for our sister or…?

[JackTheReeper]: No, from what I’ve read the game starts inside the asylum 

[Viewer 4]: now that’s creepy

[JackTheReeper]: but the asylum is abandoned. like, even if the bus arrived, all those patients had nowhere to go.

[Viewer 2]: But who alerts the police then

[JackTheReeper]: I dunno. Maybe a relative?

[My Username]: Okay, so we’re just going to search this asylum and find clues? Doesn’t sound half as bad as I thought.

[Viewer 4]: maybe its haunted

[Viewer 2]: someones got no balls lol ^^

[JackTheReeper]: Okay, so are you guys ready or what? Cause I’m not

[My Username]: let’s goo

[Viewer 2]: to my place or…?

[Viewer 4]: lol chill dude

[JackTheReeper]: Alright, here we go! 

Part III

The harrowing backdrop of a walled asylum enclosed by barbed wire appeared on the screen, along with a shot of JackTheReeper in the far-right corner.

Chilling sounds of grasshoppers doing their thing in the dead of night, hooting owls and whatnot were enough to send a chill down everyone’s spine. 

I drew the curtains and sank into the soft fabric of the sofa with a cup of black coffee.

Through the thin walls, the moans of my fornicating neighbours filled my bedroom, so I put on a pair of headphones Julie gifted me on my 30th birthday. 

When JackTheReeper finally unlocked the steel gates after looking for the clover-shaped key for more than half an hour, the echoing footsteps against the gravelled driveway blared so loud that I lowered the volume.

It was during this time that I thought I heard something come through from the kitchen. As I briefly put away the headphones, I perked up my ears to catch any sound out of the ordinary. 

Julie had a spare key. I copied my keys after she moved in with me because it was getting tiring to keep descending the stairs from the fifth floor to open the door for her. 

It wasn’t until I readjusted the headphones and turned the volume up that I found out where the noise came from. 

[JackTheReeper]: Did you guys catch that!?

[Viewer 4]: WTF was that dude

[Viewer 4]: think someones in there with you

[Viewer 2]: The door just unlocked on its own lol 

[JackTheReeper]: sounded like a whimpering cat or something

[Viewer 2]: cat? It was the door lol. How did you hear a cat?? [My Username] did you hear a cat or door?

[Viewer 2]: hello? [My Username]?? Where’d you go, lol

[Viewer 4]: Hey, try to open that door. The green one

[JackTheReeper]: only brown doors lol

[Viewer 4]: Are we seeing the same things? LOL

[Viewer 4]: Wait, you serious dude? You don’t see the green door? 

[Viewer 2]: I only see brown doors too, lol. He’s fucking with you Reeper

[JackTheReeper]: K, Imma head in

[JackTheReeper]: where’s [My Username]? 

[Viewer 2]: In my heart lol

[JackTheReeper]: [My Username]???

[JackTheReeper]: Omg did you hear that guys? The cat!

[Viewer 4]: isn’t it like a creaking door? 

[Viewer 2]: you call that a creaking door? Screaming door lol

JackTheReeper entered the cracked door. 

After pointing the flashlight all over the place, he settled on a redwood desk. There was a sealed envelope on it. The letter was addressed to William, the main character, and was handwritten by a nurse called ‘Madeleine’. 

[JackTheReeper]: whats this?

[My Username]: can’t see the letter, what does it say

[Viewer 2]: hi, pretty. Did you miss me?

[JackTheReeper]: it says something happened to the patients, but…

[Viewer 4]: Ayo spill the beans, dude!

[JackTheReeper]: weird

[Viewer 4]: ?

[JackTheReeper]: do any of you know someone called Julie? 

Coincidence. That was my first thought. But as the conversation continued and JackTheReeper carried on, I knew something was off.

[My Username]: what does the letter say?

[JackTheReeper]: I don’t know, man… like, wtf? Hey, who said this game was cursed?

[Viewer 4]: [Viewer 2] did

[JackTheReeper]: he’s not here

[My Username]: He logged out I think

[Viewer 4]: Hold on a sec, are you guys being real? Lol Hes in chat lol

[My Username]: no, he’s not

[Viewer 4]: He is. Hes literaly writing as we speak

[JackTheReeper]: cant see. what does he say?

[Viewer 4]: he’s not done. 

[My Username]: Like, we’re only 3 online are you sure [viewer 4]?

[JackTheReeper]: where’d he go?

[My Username]: we’re only 2 now. What did letter say, btw

[JackTheReeper]: you don’t wanna hear

[My Username]: C’mon dude

[Viewer 2]: omg sorry ‘bout that, lol! The wifi just went poof

Even though I asked JackTheReeper to clarify the content of the letter repeatedly throughout the game, he wouldn’t. 

It was first when we got enough clues and could head to the overturned bus that he opened up a little. 

The towering cornfields span several miles on either side in the distance ahead. As the makeshift trail through the field got narrower and the shadows deeper, we found ourselves in the middle of fucking nowhere. 

JackTheReeper saw what look like a scarecrow surrounded by cawing ravens and came to a sudden stop.

[JackTheReeper]: what…?

[Viewer 2]: why’d you stop, bro

[JackTheReeper]: I can hear them, like, literally IN MY FUCKING ROOM

[Viewer 2]: chill dude. Whatcha hearing LOFL

[My Username]: you okay Reeper? You don’t move.

[JackTheReeper]: can someone tell me who the fuck Julie is?? feels like I’mma go insane!

[My Username]: are those birds?

[Viewer 2]: ravens or some shit lol

[JackTheReeper]: hello who’s Julie??

[JackTheReeper]: like for real I’m serious guys! Who’s Julie

[My Username]: hey, it’s coming!

[Viewer 2]: What the hell is that thing!? Looks so real!

[JackTheReeper]: [My Username]

[My Username]: dude run! It’s literally in front of you!

[JackTheReeper]: [My Username]

[My Username]: ?? gotta run, dude!

[Viewer 2]: he’s gonna die lol not moving

[JackTheReeper]: [My Username]

[My Username]: you good Reeper

[JackTheReeper]: [My Username] is your name Madeleine?

[My Username]: ...

[JackTheReeper]: Madeleine where’s Julie?

I shut down the computer. 

For the record, yes, my name was Madeleine. My parents met in history class and hit it off because of their mutual passion for all things Victorian. My name reflected their silly attempt to return to the 1800s. 

I say ‘was’ because that’s no longer my name. After twenty decades of being made fun of, I legally changed my name and moved on with my life. Not even Julie knew my birth name.

Being an agnostic for over ten years and an atheist for five years, the last thing I wanted to believe in was some made-up fairytale about curses and whatnot. But how could I explain something like this just by reasoning?

JackTheReeper wasn’t exactly an Internet sensation at the time all of this happened, and his subscribers were just a little over 4,000. Even so, only a few of us actually watched his gaming stuff.

The rest subscribed to his horror story narration videos, which is what got him all the fame and money in the world a few years before this livestream.

I unsubscribed when his YouTube career skyrocketed. He stopped playing games altogether and focused on his narration videos instead. [Viewer 4] once asked during one of his last gaming live streams why he wasn’t playing horror games anymore.

He blocked him instead of replying and turned off all comments in his other videos before deleting them all and starting anew under a different channel name. 

Now that I think about it, I never saw what happened after I shut off the computer. Figuring [viewer 2] would be open to having a chat with me, I sent him a direct message, which he hasn’t read to this day. 

Fast-forward three years and I hear that the remains of [viewer 2] have been found near a sewer twelve miles from his home. It was all over the news.

His death was ruled as an unfortunate accident after a night out, although there was no trace of alcohol in his blood. The police found some empty bottles in the wrecked car and the forensics guys concluded that the body had been so decomposed that all traces of alcohol poisoning were no longer detectable.

But how am was so sure the guy they found is [viewer 2]? The police couldn’t identify him so they did a composite sketch of what he probably looked like before, well, he became liquefied. Although not exactly a carbon copy, the composite sketch looked almost identical to the profile picture still uploaded on [viewer 2]’s account on YouTube. 

I spent a good hour and a half studying the picture and comparing it to the composite sketch. It had to be him! The police even got the slightly uneven and awkward neck tilt right and the crooked teeth.

After sending messages to JackTheReeper over the course of several weeks after they found [viewer 2], he finally replied to me. The first thing he asked was whether everything was okay with me. 

Here’s how our conversation went:

[Reeper]: You sure it’s him?

[My Username]: I’d be surprised if it wasn’t. How you been?

[Reeper]: Fine I guess

[Reeper]: hey, theres actually something I always wanted to ask you

[My Username]: which is…?

[Reeper]: Why did you do that?

[My Username]: do what exactly? 

[My Username]: hey, Reeper, you there? 

[Reeper]: Nevermind.

[My Username]: No, tell me what’s on your mind

[Reeper]: you lied, remember? 

[My Username]: ?? no ?

[Reeper]: When we played that game, you told me to run

[My Username]: so? I didn’t lie

[Reeper]: then why did you log out? 

[My Username]: Because you kept saying stupid things!

[Reeper]: What stupid things? The two of us never chatted! You were the one who kept saying nonsense!

[My Username]: are yo u being real 

[My Username]: dude, you literally kept telling stuff about my private life!

[My Username]: Reeper, hello??

[Reeper]: No? 

[My Username]: Madeleine, Julie…? Those names weren’t about me?

[Reeper]: Your name’s Madeleine? Like, how the fuck am I supposed to know that!

[My Username]: then who were you talking bout?

[Reeper]: You said those things! You kept droning on about some envelope on the study room

[My Username]: yeah, the one you found?

[Reeper]: WTF you talking about

[My Username]: that’s weird, all this

[My Username]: it’s like everything I thought you did, you tell me I did

[Reeper]: was there even a letter to begin with?

[My Username]: you think it was really cursed, that game?

[Reeper]: if [viewer 2]’s dead then… maybe

[My Username]: you talked with [viewer 4] recently? 

[Reeper]: haven’t heard from him since that live stream

[Reeper]: he said he was gonna send you a dm and ask if you’re okay

[My Username]: Wait, you never blocked him??

[My Username]: hurry answer!

[Reeper]: Nope

[My Username]: But I saw him comment on your last live stream before you deleted your videos

[Reeper]: lol that wasn’t him. Imposter

[My Username]: Im… poster???

[Reeper]: yeah, some dude contacted me on Discord and, well, long story short, he wasn’t [viewer 4]. Now that I think about it, his name on Discord look kinda familiar

[My Username]: What do you mean

[Reeper]: hold on, I’ll go check it

That’s where my conversation with JackTheReeper ends. He never got back to me. Like the others, he disappeared from the face of the earth. 

I have a theory. 

Those who figure out who the creator of the cursed game is end up either getting killed or going missing. This is what keeps me from going down the same rabbit hole and exploring whatever the fuck is going on with this game and the mysterious account who suggested it. 

If I one day find myself in a similar situation or figure out the real deal with the cursed game by accident, I might post an update. But for now, I’ll end things here and carry on with my life. 

Sometimes, being in the dark is better than knowing the truth. I think this is the case here as well. Someone created that game for a purpose and I may never know what it was, but if you’re reading this and are in a similar situation, here’s a piece of advice: don’t let curiosity get the better of you. 

Gate of Hell – Part V [Final Part]

Photo by Gabriel on Unsplash

“They’re looking at us,” whispered Tom through gritted teeth as low as he could.

Edmund cast a look around the shadowy darkness where the faceless people watched their every move and didn’t tear their hollow eyes from them.

Why were they staring at them like that? It was so creepy. Had they done or said something, he’d understand at the very least, but those things just… watched.

“Hey, Edmund!”

“What is it now?”

They were halfway across a rickety bridge as dark as coal when Tom brought his attention to something he hadn’t noticed before. Then again, it wasn’t so strange he missed seeing and hearing it.

The wailing spirits in the crimson river screamed their heads off and tried to drown out all the other noises. Thousands, perhaps millions and billions of people, cramped in the bloody river and flowed to the current of macabre tunes.

“Look over there! Look!”

Edmund followed the boy’s gaze to the distance. There, through the pitch-black darkness blanketed in walls of fiery fire and drowned out by harrowing screams, a peculiar train emerged.

“What in the whole world…?”

“Do you know what that is? Edmund?”

“No, I…” Edmund briefly looked away. A thought dawned on him, one that he thought he had long since forgotten. He sought Tom’s eyes. “It’s… it’s that train!”

“What are you talking about?” Tom said in a hushed tone, acutely aware of the faceless people drawing closer now that they were reaching the other side of the bridge.

“It’s that train that took my mum with it! I- I’m sure!”

“I don’t understand. Edmund? You said she died giving birth to you. Hey! Edmund!”

Edmund averted his eyes. Thousands of questions spun in his dire mind and disturbed his thoughts. What was that train doing here? Here, in the abode of the damned!

Could it really be…?

Those nightmares of his mother screaming for help, could those really be real after all? But what if he was mistaken?

He… he had to investigate and find out the truth! But this was easier said than done. Had he come here all alone, he wouldn’t bat an eye and follow the train to wherever it went. But he promised Tom that he’d bring them both home.

“Tom, the thing is… I have these dreams, nightmares if you will, that I’ve had ever since we moved here…”

“Nightmares? What kinda nightmares?”

“That train… I keep seeing it. And then I’d hear my mum’s voice calling my name. I… I think she needs help.”

“How do you know it’s her, though?”

“Who else would it be?”

Tom cocked his head. “I dunno, the Devil Himself, maybe? Since we’re in Hell and all that circus – literally.”

“Why would the Devil lure me to Hell? I’m just a kid!”

Tom shrugged. “How would I know? You’re the one who hears and sees weird stuff. Allegedly.”

“You think I’m making all this up!”

“No, that’s not what I—”

Edmund raised his voice. “Look around you, Tom! Do you really think I’m some kinda weirdo, who- who makes up stuff just for the sake of it?”

“Geez! Keep your voice down, dude!”

“You know what? I shouldn’t have told you to come with me!”

“Edmund, for crying out loud! Keep your—”

They both turned in the direction of the booming voice.

“Humans…?”

Tom grabbed Edmund’s arm and hid behind him as the menacing cross between a demon and a werewolf approached. With its black fur and red eyes, it brought the suffocating darkness with it towards them.

“W- what’s that thing?” Tom whispered.

“How would I know?”

Tom was about to snap back at him when the hybrid creature beat him to it.

“Speak! Both of you! How did you get in here?”

Edmund wet his lips. “We… we…”

“Speak or I’ll cut your tongue!”

“We- we got in through that- that portal, sir! The one inside the shipwreck!” Tom chimed in as politely as he could, although anyone could see as clear as day that this thing was anything but a gentleman. It was a brute in its purest form.

“Shipwreck?” the demonic creature repeated. “What shipwreck?”

Tom was about to reply, but Edmund beat took over.

“Where’s- where’s my mum? I keep hearing her voice ever since we moved to Gaddon Township. She’s gotta be here!”

Tom watched with his mouth gaping wide. What had happened to the kid who was so antsy that he couldn’t even form sentences a second ago? But the brute didn’t seem to mind his dare-devil question.

“Gaddon Township, you say?” The creature looked away as if it was pondering something before looking around itself with two lines etched between its thick brows.

“Too many prying eyes here. You two, follow me.”

As soon as they crossed the bridge and followed the hybrid creature, the faceless people retreated to their shadowy hideouts and kept at bay.

Tom leaned in. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“What if—”

“We’re here,” the hybrid demon stopped dead so suddenly that they almost stumbled into it. “You two stay put and don’t go off anywhere, all right? Nod if you understand.”

They nodded in unison and watched the demonic creature enter what looked like a mighty building in the midst of the fiery pit surrounded by scorching magma.

“Okay, let’s make a break for it before it returns!”

Edmund, “It told us to stay put and don’t move, remember?”

“We don’t even know what that thing is! And you’re seriously gonna do as it says?”

“Well, do you have a better idea then, Mr know-it-all?”

“If you must ask, yes!”

Edmund knitted his brows, trying to figure out whether the blond boy was pulling his legs or being serious.

“Yes…?”

“Yes!”

“Y-es?”

“Yes!”

“So? You’re not gonna tell me what this ‘yes’ is all about or what?”

Tom flashed a proud smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Well, then? Go on…”

“See over there?” Edmund followed the boy’s finger to a group of people setting themselves on fire. “Those people, do you see them?”

“What about them?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Well, can’t you see what they’re doing?”

Edmund took another look at the strange crowd screaming their heads off while they turned themselves into liquid time and again.

“I don’t get what I’m supposed to see here. They’re literally setting themselves on fire, that’s all!”

“Not those people, dumb-ass!”

Edmund’s eyes became narrower.

When he finally spotted them, the faceless people, he couldn’t help but knit his brows and seek Tom’s eyes as wide as the absent moon.

“Can you please tell me what’s going through that head of yours? ‘Cause I’m lost!”

“They keep following us, don’t you see? It’s like… it’s like they want to tell us something! But as soon as that creature shows up, they just poof! disappear!”

“You ever thought they might want to hurt us, and not that demonic thing?”

“But they didn’t!”

Edmund couldn’t deny this. The faceless people did indeed have all the chances in the world to attack them. Even back when they were in the woods, instead of hurting them then and there, they let them pass without doing anything.

“That doesn’t mean they won’t hurt us later on…”

“Well, I’ll cast my vote for those faceless things. What do you say?”

He was caught between a rock and a hard place. Tom had a point, but something about those hollow eyes bothered him in ways no words could capture.

At the same time, he couldn’t fully trust that brute, either.

“Edmund? Please…!”

“All right. But how are we going to communicate with them?”

Tom shrugged. “I’m not sure…”

“But you’ve got an idea I hope?”

“Well, I thought that kid could lend us a hand.”

“Kid?” Edmund looked at the faceless people again. “What kid?”

“Oh, she’s not one of them… Honestly, I don’t think she’s a demon, either.”

“Who on earth are you talking about?”

“The one on that train! The girl with the sleek, long hair!”

“The tra—that train?”

“Hmm!”

“But we don’t even know where that train went off to!”

Tom stepped aside. Now that he no longer obscured the view, he noticed that the train parked only a few steps away from the gigantic building in front of them. Moreover, the undead passengers were all getting off.

Lo-and-behold! Tom was right. There was indeed a girl not much older than them departing the train among the sea of undead. With her sleek hair, fair complexion and white gown, she looked more like a fallen angel rather than a sinner sent to Hell.

“Hey, Tom! Hold on a sec!”

But the blond guy sprinted towards the passengers before Edmund finished his sentence. When he finally caught up to his new friend and the peculiar girl, they were already on great terms and laughing hard.

Did those two know one another?

He couldn’t tell even if they did. But it sure did look that way – so much so that a strange feeling grew in the pit of his stomach as soon as he noticed how their smiling faces turned expressionless as he closed in.

Was that girl really inside the train? Now that he thought it over, he wasn’t so sure anymore. He didn’t see her inside the train. And as far as he was concerned, she didn’t actually depart the train either, she just… she just was there all along and pretended to join the crowd of undead.

But that wasn’t all. The way Tom stared at him… It was so weird.

Now he recalled why the other kids back at Gaddon Township told him not to play with the blond guy. There was something strange about the way he stared at people.

It was almost as if he tried to pierce through their souls and read their minds with his sinister eyes.

He stumbled backwards without really knowing why.

“Hey, is everything okay Edmund?”

A subtle smirk played on the girl's mouth as Tom reached out to him with a concerned look on his face. Edmund pushed his hand away as gently as he could, afraid that the other would catch onto him.

“I’m… I’m doing okay. Don’t worry.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something…”

This time, the girl wasn’t even trying to hide the wolfish grin on her face. He grabbed Tom’s arm and pulled him away so that the girl couldn’t hear them.

“Do you… know that girl? Tom, you gotta be honest.”

Tom stared down at his feet. Edmund was right.

“Actually… I do know her.”

“H- how do you know her? Tom, look at me! How do you—”

A wicked grin crept on his face. Edmund stepped away, startled more than anything, as he tried to digest what he was seeing.

But as soon as he took a step back and tried to make a break for it, Tom snatched his arm with such speed and strength that Edmund couldn’t break free. This, he thought, was not a human being.

“Hey, Edmund, isn’t it?”

He glanced at the approaching girl.

“Who—what are you people?”

“Do you believe in fairytales, Edmund… Keyes?”

Tom, “You better do! ‘Cause you’re about to join one!”

“W- what are you—”

The steel gates swung open and the demonic creature exited the towering building. When it caught sight of them, its round eyes focused on Tom before shifting to the girl. Before he knew it, the demonic creature leapt forwards and paid his respects to them.

“My Lord, forgive this poor slave who failed to recognise your grace!”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Get up! How many times am I gonna tell you not to call me that in front of other people?”

“Forgive—”

“Enough already! You’re making our guest uncomfortable!”

The girl, “You just had to come and disturb the fun! We were just getting to the fun part!”

Confused beyond anything, Edmund observed the strange conversation going on, trying to make sense of how and when things got out of hand.

Tom dismissed the demonic being with a swift move and cleared his throat.

“You asked me why I believed in the Gospels, right?”

Edmund couldn’t even nod his head.

“But let me ask you one thing before I give you a reply. After all, nothing in this world is for free.”

“I…”

The girl, “Just answer yes or no, stupid human!”

“You stay out of this, Mary. I’ve got this.”

She dropped her head. “Yes, brother.”

Edmund briefly averted his gaze upon hearing the name of the peculiar girl.

Mary…?

Mary as in—he looked up.

“Mary Magdalena. You’re right, Edmund.” Tom paused before adding, smiling wide as if bemused by a sudden thought taking over his mind. “I thought you didn’t believe in the Gospels… but seems like you know more than you let on.”

“I…I…”

“You, what? You seriously thought the Gospels were a made-up fairytale? Come on, Edmund! You can do better than that!” He paused again, taking his sweet time and teasing. “You know who I am, don’t you? I bet you do…”

“You’re… you’re…”

“There you go. Come on, you can say it. Loud and clear, so everybody can hear. Say. My. Name.”

“You’re…”

“Yes! Who am I, Edmund? Come on, say it already!”

Edmund dropped his head with a peal of laughter, turning bright red and wiping the tears of joy away all at the same time.

Tom and his sister exchanged perplexed looks fraught with horror upon observing his maniacal laughter.

“If you so will, I’ll call you by your birth name, Lucifer…. my son.”

Tom and Mary fell on their knees, pleading with him for mercy, as did the demonic creature that observed them in the corner.

“What did I say about luring humans into Hell?”

“It won’t happen again, Lord! Forgive me—”

“And you, Mary, being punished for making foolish humans think you’re the Voice of God wasn’t enough?”

“Forgive me, Father! Forgive this poor spirit and grace her with your divine—”

“And here I was thinking my creations were going wild when it was your doing all along. But I gotta admit, son, opening the Gate of Hell in such a peculiar place, was a clever move indeed.”

Tom wet his lips as he took a gander at him.

“It- it won’t happen again! I- I swear, Father!”

“Since things have boiled down to this and what’s done cannot be undone, I’ve prepared something I think you’ll both like.”

Tom, “Please, Father! I- I won’t do it again! Father!”

“Neither will I! Please, Father, forgive our sins!”

Edmund turned his back to his son and daughter made of the finest fire. As he walked away, slow and deliberate, each step caused an earthquake and turned every nook and cranny into dust.

From their hideouts, the faceless people, once the youngest residents of Gaddon Township, stormed out of their hideouts and charged forwards.

Ripping Tom and Mary’s faces off and exposing their true selves, the faceless people regained their humanity one piece at a time.

When nothing was left of the two wicked siblings made of fire, and Hell no more, the angels descended to the heart of Hell and escorted the children to the only place they belonged.

Büyü – Part III [Final Part]

Photo by Alessandro Benassi on Unsplash

“Hello, hello. My name Mustafa.” The bookstore owner pointed at himself. “Not Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, best leader of Türkiye. You know Atatürk?”

The owner was in his mid-fifties. His round glasses were tinted and his Hawaiian shirt was something you’d expect to find in more tourist-populated cities like Antalya or Bodrum.

Kerem cracked a bitter smile. “I’m sorry, uhm, can I ask a question?”

“Tabii ki de! Ne istersen! Yes, anything you like! You ask, come on!”

“As far as I’m aware, the natives of Turkey are not known for their reading. But the bookstore’s open at night, nonetheless.”

“Türkiye,” he corrected me, leaning closer after making sure we were the only ones present in the bookstore. “Bir sır verim mi delikanlı?”

‘Want me to give you a secret, young man?’.

Kerem frowned upon hearing this. What secret? Wasn’t this just a bookstore operating at odd times?

As if the bookstore owner could read his mind, he retreated with a fake smile and said he was just joking in Turkish. Apparently, even the owner did not know why the bookstore had to be open at such a peculiar hour.

Mustafa was raised in Istanbul, Fatih, and had no real connection to Konya, Karapınar. The only nephew of an elderly couple, he inherited the bookstore along with the couple’s all assets and belongings – on one condition.

Anatolia had a rich history of folklore and myths. The elderly couple believed in ‘büyü’ or, in English terms, ‘magic’. While ‘büyü’ is recognised in the Islamic religion, it is not permitted.

That, however, did not keep the locals from engaging in it. Especially in these rural parts, where the majority were illiterate and superstition ran deep. It wasn’t unheard of to seek a ‘büyücü’, that is, a ‘magician’, when in need of non-urgent help.

The elderly couple had become rich overnight. From what Mustafa could gather, everything changed when they started opening the bookstore at night.

He followed the couple’s will at first and opened only at nighttime. When this became a tiring task and his wife complained about it, he switched things up.

Only one day later, he was on the brink of bankruptcy.

But since he was getting older and had no children of his own who could take over the business, he sought someone who could help him along. That’s where Leyla comes into the picture.

A distant relative of Mustafa’s wife, Leyla uploaded an announcement on social media about the cashier's job.

Someone unknown to both him and Leyla called two days later and told her that he would hit her up in a week.

In a week …

In a week …?

The guys from the headquarters hadn’t phoned him at that point, and Mia wasn’t supposed to be missing, either. What was this? Some kind of messed-up joke?  

Even as the bookstore owner left, he couldn’t wrap his head around what was going on. First, it was the uncannily similar fake ID, then this whole thing about the massacre, and now this?

Then a thought hit him.

Was Mia even missing?

He picked up the phone to call her when he realised that this analogue phone only permitted calls from within the country.

Why hadn’t he thought about calling Mark before he departed?

Then again. Would he be able to? Those people put a tail on him. He could neither return to his apartment nor bid farewell to his friends at the headquarters.

Moreover, was this whole talk about aliens and whatnot just made up?

No matter how hard he twisted and turned the matter in his head, there was no answer – not a plausible one, that is.

The bells rang.

He looked in the direction of the front door made of glass. Whoever had entered was no longer visible. The door closed.

It had only been some thirty minutes since Mustafa left. He hadn’t expected to see a customer for at least an hour.

The entire street was drenched by the downpour, and no one roamed around as far as his eye could see from where he stood behind the counter.

Ten minutes.

Fifteen minutes.

Twenty minutes passed by.

Kerem glanced at the ticking clock on the wall across him and counted the seconds. Apart from the slow and deliberate footsteps reverberating through the store, nothing else revealed the presence of the customer.

Thinking they might need help, he trudged from bookshelf to bookshelf, from aisle to aisle, in search of the customer whose footsteps kept getting fainter with each passing second.

When he reached the last bookshelf, he became acutely aware of one thing.

The footsteps never ceased or stopped.

It kept moving.

Everything plunged into darkness.

The lights switched off.

“Merhaba? Kimse var mı?”

No response. Maybe they couldn’t understand his heavily accented Turkish. He tried again.

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

Still no response.

This was getting ridiculous, he thought. After getting accustomed to the darkness, he made his way back to the counter and fetched a flashlight from the drawer.

Wheezing, he pointed to the flash of light wherever he thought he saw some strange movements. Even so, he failed to catch a glimpse of the person who kept on walking in this haunting rhythm that sent chills down his spine.

He jolted and lost his footing. The flashlight slipped from his grasp and rolled away.

Something emerged from the other side of the window beside him and scared the living daylights out of him.

A pair of youngsters broke into a peal of laughter, pointing at him and screaming their heads off. Relaxing his shoulders, he drew a deep breath before stumbling back on his feet.

The bells rang again.

The footsteps disappeared.

The lights turned on.

No one was near the closing door.

But that wasn’t what made him back away and open his eyes wide. ₺1,000, approximately $29 was rung up on the cash register. How many books did that translate to? More than a handful, that was certain.

As he was having these ruminations, his eyes drifted to the security camera in the corner. Recalling that the owner provided him with a notebook with important information, he rummaged through the drawers until he found it.

“8921…”

He turned on the computer, tapping his feet repeatedly and keeping his darting eyes on the front door. Come on! Open!

The monitor hummed back to life. Opening the computer was the easier part, he noted, than finding the software programme for the security cameras.

Although he wasted a few minutes trying to find it, he eventually succeeded.

“Shit!”

There was no record, only live footage. What kind of bullshit was this? Why in the world—the bells rang.

His eyes drifted from the monitor to the front door. There was no one there. Thinking he must be mistaken, he went through all the footage as thoroughly as possible.

Still, there was no sign of anyone here. Apart from the footsteps, that is.

The lights flickered, turning on and off in a deadly trance, and making a fool out of him.

Fumbling to fetch his phone and call the bookstore owner, he lost his grip on it.

As soon as he crouched down, the lights went off again. This time, however, something was a little different.

The footsteps were not becoming fainter.

Through the gap under the counter, he spotted a pair of red high heels that drew closer.

He held his breath.

The figure came to a standstill in front of the counter. As he stood there, too afraid to make a sound or confront whatever or whoever waited for him, he heard something he could only describe as someone wrinkling a piece of paper.

The strange figure headed for the front door. Only when the bells rang and the door closed did he get back on his feet.

Once again, a large amount of Turkish lira was rung on the cash register. But that was not the only strange thing. As he had guessed, a piece of paper rolled or squeezed into a ball was on the counter, too.

“Kaç.”

Run…? Why? He took a gander at the clock on the wall only to realise it hadn’t moved since an hour ago. Fearing the worst, he picked up his belongings and headed for the exit.

Above him, the flickering lights kept switching on and off faster and faster, almost in time with his racing heart.

When he reached the front door and grabbed the door handle, an invisible force pushed him to the ground.

Crawling backwards, the silhouette of a creature on four legs materialised from the thin air before him.

The lights went amok. The bookstore’s customers showed up on the other side of the windows, screaming in unison with their shrill voices, and placing their bloody hands all over the glass.

Among the sea of spirits, a familiar face arrested him. Mia…?

Her gaping mouth was hollow, her eyes devoid of a soul, and her limbs convulsing with rigour mortis.

The creature from outer space grew taller and taller before him until its head reached the ceiling and beyond.

When it lurched down to get him with unprecedented speed, Kerem noticed another strange thing among the sea of dead souls.

Some were engulfed by flames, others disfigured so that their limbs were all mixed up, and yet others had their stomachs slit open so that their guts were out in the open, hanging loosely.

Through the blazing fire, a man who looked identical to his deceased father showed up. He opened the door with his invisible hand scorched to oblivion, liquified beyond rescue and soundlessly begged him to hurry.

When the thing reached out its meaty tongue towards him, he rolled to the side and leapt forwards with all his might.

As soon as he snatched the door handle and stormed out, the downpour stopped and the darkness of night faded away.

Before him was a busy street during broad daylight full of people from all walks of life. Someone honked at him and cussed him off.

He stepped away from the fast-flowing lane and looked behind him.

The mysterious bookstore faded into the background only to be replaced by a haunting graveyard in the middle of the city.

“What the fuck…?”

“Hi! Kerem, isn’t it?”

Kerem followed the sound of the voice. It was her. Leyla. He wanted to ask a lot of questions, but nothing escaped from his mouth. Not because he lost his ability to speak or was out of words, but because the person before him melted into liquid.

Somehow, he was the only one rooted to the spot and watching the bizarre spectacle.

He must have looked quite out of it because two kids passing by mimicked his frightened expression and made fun of him.

He collapsed.

His feet gave way under him.

As the locals surrounded him and asked if he was okay, his deceased uncle reached out a hand with a reassuring smile.

When he returned home, none of his coworkers in the headquarters knew what he was talking about. Those people he met, they didn’t exist. At least, not in the sense either of them were familiar with.

Had he been subjected to some kind of black magic? What was it called, again?

Right.

Büyü.