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unclebiggs · 7 years

Text

It began with M

It Began with M

Chapter 1: It Began with M

I have told this story for what feels like a hundred times. Anytime someone mentions hearing a ghost story, or tells of a experience they had in the past, hell even anytime someone asks "Have you seen the trailer to this movie?" I always responds with my personal dealings with the afterlife during my late teen years, still a boy but slowly becoming a man, in a 2 floor apartment in Chicago.

Recently some friends of mine suggested I write my stories down, turn it into a horrific tale of a truly spine tingling experience. A decision I have come to regret since that day.

I now spend every night, since I started writing, repeating the same routine. The same one I learned years ago when this story began.

"You don't belong here... You don't belong here. YOU DON'T BELONG HERE!"

I don't understand why it works, or if it works with every sitstuation, I just know, from what I dealt with, repeating those words, sternly, always pulled me back away from what lies in the shadows.

I guess a little back story before we begin would be best, without it, all of this would just come off as unstructured ramblings of a man crazed by paranoia.

The same month this story begins was the same month I was diagnosed with BP-1 or more commonly known as Type 1 Bipolar disorder. A manic episode in school and a few paranoid fueled delusions, was enough to scare my parents into secretly getting me help. Because hell, no one wants to admit their child may have some screws loose in their old noggin. I understood their fears though. One day out of the blue, I completely blanked out and lost my shit, and started screaming and attacking some kids at school. I don't remember what started it, nor do I remember how it ended. I went from sitting at my desk, bored to tears as my teacher lectured the class on the fundamentals of Algebra. "You will need to know this for every day life!" Was what she would yell at us, whenever she caught someone ignoring her teachings. It happened almost every day.

After that, the next thing I remember was my teacher crying, another students face scratched and bloody, and a 2 ton behemoth of a man pinning me down with this tree sized calf pressed firmly into my upper chest. Close enough to threaten the wind pipe in my throat, but far enough that I could breath. Barely.

For some months before this attack, I started to believe that I could feel the thoughts of students and teachers in my school. They were not pretty thoughts, not at all. Tortured and angry, they all hated me, they hated, the kid that always had a smile on his face. Or that's how I remember it at least. Honestly, these days its hard to even know what did and didn't happen. I guess I'm not starting any of this with a whole lot of confidence, makes it hard to believe a story when even the writer can't recall memories and suffers from delusions.

That's how it all works though with ghosts, or spirits, or phantoms, whatever name you want to give them, they don't like to be remembered. I have no clue as to why, what purpose does hiding from us serve them.

Most people are lucky enough to never remember any experiences or interactions that they had with the dead, but trust me when I say, we've all had at least one experience. Those moments are usually wiped from our minds or at the very least altered, leaving people confused as to what transpired. Sometimes though, clues are left behind, and with them, we rebuild our broken memories, that is if we choose to remember at all.

The easiest clues to spot are the chunks of time that seem to just vanish. If you ever had a unnerving feeling of an unseen figure, slowly creeping towards you from the shadows, or one that lurks in the corners of your eyes, like a hungry wild cat stalking it's next meal. That overwhelming presence that fills us with blood curding dread when we sit alone in a deafening silent room, chilled with malice intent. The sensation that causes the hairs on your arms to stand tall with teeth grinding trepidation, and then... nothing. Feelings gone, nothing in the shadows, no figure waiting in the corner, just you in a empty room and time lost in the unspoken commotion.

I feel like Hollywood has a small part to play for the unsettling and confused reactions we garner from these moments. Movies have tainted our minds with preconceived ideas of what dwells in the darkness. With an over reliance on special effects makeup and CGI, they have convinced generations of people into believing that the things, that go bump in the night, are tangible. Demons, monstrous creatures, paranormal activates, they all are given a face or a form.

As if they can be touched by our shivering hands when we cautiously reach out for a possessed porcelain doll, once a beautiful treasured item pain-stakingly created by a manic artist, now cracked and aged from years of neglect. Or as we reach for the rustic doorknob, loosely held by dull worn out screws, to a heavy and creaking wooden door. The only safety sitting in the pathway between us and a loud, wet cracking sound on the other side. Like bones crushing under the pressure of monestrous slobbering mandibles.

My first clue, my frist experience all started with the woman next door to the apartment I lived in. My parents owned the 2 floor building we lived in. We called the second floor home and my sister and her family lived on the first. The basement, which used to be where our family held parties, was now just a storage space for all the junk my family no longer wanted, but didn't want to toss away. Just tossed and forgotten in the cold and stale basement. For a while I used to enjoy chilling out down there after school. Even though it smelled funny and dead bugs littered the floor like bread crumbs leading to their nesting spot, it felt safe. I would clean up the area when I could, drop a few bug traps, I did my best to keep it maintained, but it was a never ending battle.

I can't remember her name, the woman next door, with every attempt to remember her, even when she was alive, the memories get revised. With every revision, comes a new name for her. Though, as odd as it may sound, her name in every version of this constantly changing history, always started with an M. Massiel, Michelle, Meghan, Misty, Miriya, Monica, Marisa, Maria, May, Martha, and so many others that I decided it was just best to call her M.

She was an older woman, but like her name, her age always varied, but her undeniable beauty never changed. M wasn't the most beautiful woman that I have ever come across, hell over the years I have come to meet plenty of woman that society would deem much more stunning. Still she had that alluring beauty, the kind that caught your eye and refused to let go. Especially when she smiled. When she did, you felt safe, her cheerful and honest grin felt familiar.

Then one day she changed. She used to walk the neighborhood all the time, her daily exercise, which she did around the same time. Early in the morning, and around the hours that I would head out to the public bus stop and wait for the green limo that gathered the bored and tired denizens of the morning routine, heading out to their daily grind. For me it was school.

Even on the cold winter snow filled days, she would take her daily stroll. Then they started to become infrequent, eventually she stopped completely. Still, since she also lived on the second floor, I would sometimes see her through her kitchen window that sat right across my bedroom window. Her smile was gone, face pale, the cheerful demeanor that she radiated was gone. Then a few weeks later she just wasn't there anymore, and then, unexpectedly one night she was.

I was in my bed with both my adorable but annoying chihuahuas, Nunuk and Mimi. After some time of tossing and turning, I was finally falling to sleep. It was in the moment between where the mind begins to drift into the warm embrace of a dream filled deep sleep and the slow decline from the bodies external senses, that I felt the sensation of someone sitting at the edge of the bed.

At first, it was just my legs that rolled slightly towards the incline, as the pressure of weight on the bed grew, more of my body began to tilt in it's direction. With every inch I turned towards the thing that was sitting at the edge of my bed, the further away I was pulled from the safe arms of my dreams and forced into the grips of a horrific realization. I was not alone.

I awoke from my sleep and sprung upright, eyes blurred, and too dark to clearly see, but I knew what was there or should I say wasn't. My dogs stood at the other end of the bed, their fur standing straight up, and ready to attack, though I wasn't sure exactly as to what they thought they were going to accomplish. I could barely open my eyes, especially my right eye, so there was no way for me to know for sure what was there by sight, something that over time I would learn was pointless anyways, but by instinct, intuition, I knew exactly who was there.

I could feel her eyes on me, and if the idea of her lifeless body sitting at my beds end watching me sleep wasn't enough to scare me, then her smile, normally filled with joy and compassion, was now overflowing with something much more sinister. M, who had now been dead for a few weeks, was in my room, sitting on my bed. I had to act, but for whatever reason I still couldn't completely open my right eye. The more I attempted to force my eyelids open the stronger a sharp pain would shoot down my eye, into my jaw, and finally work its way down my spine. I panicked with confusion and pain, and bolted out of the bed to turn on the light.

There was no one there, nor where there signs that anyone had ever been there. I could finally see again with my left eye, but my right still rang from pain. I turned to the door and stumbled my way into the bathroom to see what was wrong with my eye, thinking my ordeal with the presence of M was over with. As I stood in front of the mirror prying open my eyelids with my hands, a new dreadful sensation began and I could feel her pacing with a panic, back and forth past the bathroom's door way, like a scared and confused animal trying to escape a small room. I fought the urge to look towards her direction and just continued to stare straight ahead into the mirror. I thought to myself, if you can't see it, then it can't hurt you. At that moment, and only for a moment, I completely forgot about M. There, in the corner of my eye, resting in the bed of the socket was the tip of a small yellow string.

As I cautiously reached for it with my left hand while my right kept my eyelids open, I wholeheartedly expected M to walk up behind me, or even worse appear in the mirror in front of me, grinning her now dead and haunting smile. The second I felt the edge of the string in my finger tips, is when time began to slow. I pulled and pulled on that blood soaked string for what felt like hours and with every tiny centimeter that I pulled from my socket, a shot of pain worked it's way down every nerve in my body. My legs and arms shook from the constant barrage of pain, but I couldn't stop pulling on the tiny yet hellish string.

It was almost an addiction, I had to see just how long this thing was. At one point though, I began to wonder what was in my grasp, was this minute thing that made its way down my eye even a piece of thread? Could it be a part of me, a thread of flesh maybe, a fiber of tendon, or a collection of nerves? Was I slowly tearing the flesh of body from the inside out?

Finally, as my thoughts reached a feverish high of gore, one that I couldn't handle anymore, where I ironically thought that I had reached the end of my rope, the tiny rope in my eye fully came out, and in that exact moment, M's presence was also gone.

Back then, I believed M was the one who placed the string in my eye, but the more I think about it. The more my memory of that night gets revised, the more I belive, she was only there as a witness to the whole ordeal, maybe even a concerned one. As for the bloody thread that I pulled from my eye, the one that took forever to remove, was only 3 inches long.

The night was silent again, and as if I was in a drunken stooper, my recollection of the whole ordeal began to wain, even before I attempted to go back to my bed. My dogs, who were so scared and ready to attack were now fast asleep, as if nothing ever happened. Like the rising sun that was filling my room with light, it dawned on me as to what was going on. M or something else, someone else, wanted me to forget everything that had happened, but why? I had proof of my ordeal, something more than just a clue, one that I still have to this day. My reminder that I am not a complete crazed and delusional poor soul, constantly tortured by paranoia and fear. Regardless on how insane my story sounds, I still have the yellow 3 inch string now stained with the rustic color of dried blood.

Chapter 1: End

Chapter 2: Then came the Shadow

(I find myself once again repeating. "You don't belong here!" Usually only have to do it once a night, but the night is still young and this is the second time I had to push away the shadow. )

Three months had gone by since that first encounter, which is almost how long it took before I was able to sleep through a whole night, and not wake up in a cold sweat, at exactly 4:44 AM. I know such a cliche, such a sad "Hollywood" attempt of suggestive mania.

Not surprisingly, the first few days after M made her presence known, were the worst. I didn't sleep at all during that time. Every slight sound like the house settling in the cold night air became an muffled whisper, or the dance of lights and shadows caused by cars driving through the neighborhood, the bright beams from their headlights piercing into the house gave way to illusions of something making it's way to me. This constant fear kept my nerves on high alert and my mind racing. I was now always short of breath as my heart pounded, every night burst with overwhelming angst.

Worse, were the days at school. Lane Tech was a massive and bustling school, with over 4000 students walking the halls between class periods. Each of us rushing and bumping into each other, trying make it to the next class before the tardy bell played it's malefic song.

Before M, the sensation of having that many people around me all at once, never really took a toll on my mind. After M, every person I saw, that didn't exactly flow with the stream of the crowd, became a potential threat. Were they just an altered thought in my head, masking the true world around me, around everyone? Were they something from the otherside, watching me? Have they always been there, have they always watched us all, but now because of my recent experience, I see them too?

I wanted desperately to tell someone, anyone, what I had experienced, but how could I? Who would believe anything I would say? Fuck, even if I didn't take into account all of my other mental instabilities , I wouldn't belive my story of a woman who wasn't there and the time lost to the malicious acts of that horrible night.

Plus, chances were, if I had told anyone what I had saw, explained why my right eye was blood shot red and the lids surrounding it had become swollen and purple, franticly throbbing, they would have sent me to a loony bin.

Honestly, for a time, I contemplated the idea of being sent to a physic ward, and not just because of the one night, the idea crossed my mind several times, before and after M. Recently, with everything that has been happening, the idea has crossed my mind again.

It wasn't a bad idea either. I could get away from M and everything else that dwelled in what felt like the last stop before purgatory, aka my home. In doing so though, I would have to pretend that it was all in my head, that not one bit of it, actually happened. I would be letting the world win, by letting them think my bi-polar grew into something more, and I was now just another pill-popping nutcase.

The night I pulled that bloody string out of my eye, I convinced myself that I had proof of my story, in case anyone thought I was crazy. The next day however, I realized how silly that idea was. It wasn't enough proof to show everyone that spirits were/are real. Showing them the string would have brought the wrong kind of attention to myself. It would have just solidify my families worries for me. I needed hard evidence to show that M wasn't a bad dream, that my mind wasn't slowly losing itself to decay. Until then, I was on my own.

I'm currently back on sleeping medications. It helps better now then it did back then, which at the time only gave me a few hours of sleep but once the clock hit 3:33 AM, I was awake, usually in a cold sweat. As the months went on though, as the nights grew longer, I had less issues waking up in the middle of the witching hours. I eventually got off the meds, but I never really did learn how to have a full nights sleep again.

It was around that time, when I felt comfortable with living in constant fear of the night, that I learned spirits really don't care about the time of day. They are around us at all times, always moving, always phasing in and out of the realm of our senses, and altering perception and memory. It's hard to notice the small changes, names, dates, hell just numbers in general, so easily forgotten or confused. Which is how they get you to question things, like the small changes, because when you question the small things, then everything becomes... questionable.

The reach these spirits have too, how far they can influence a mind. That, as I learned was just as scary as any experience.

In the late 90's the new craze sweeping the nation was buying webcams for your personal computers. Now, no longer were people confined to communicating to friends, family, or complete strangers, with just AOL's instant messenger. With the advancement in both video and internet technology, people could communicate with the power of a web browser camera.

Being young and determined, meant I had to be at the cusp of technology, and I needed to get myself a webcam so I could chat with friends online. Being young and broke meant that I would be on the clearance section at the cusp of technology. It didn't matter though, I had met a very lovely woman on the inter-webs and she made some very.... Interesting suggestions... But only if we both had webcams.

Before you even think it, yes she was a real woman, and not some 55 year old, obese man, looking to lure a younger man into the back of his white windowless van. I watched America's most Wanted, I knew the signs and I knew what to look for.

The people who owned the building before my parents, turned the outside back patios of both the floors, into sunrooms. On the first floor, the room was connected to the kitchen, on the second floor, where I lived, it was connected to my bedroom. The bedroom itself was tiny, smaller than the sunroom, so small in fact, that I could barely fit both my bed and a dresser in it. So the sunroom is where I kept my TV and computer. It was a nice little setup, even had a futon in their facing the TV.

I had been home for about an hour or so after a long day of school, when Margret, the lovely woman from the internet, who was not a man, messaged me. I heard the notification bell my computer makes whenever I receive a massage. "Is now a good time? Are you parents around?"

Big honest smiles and vibrant red hair have always been my greatest weakness. I learned this as a young child, the night my parents forced my sister to take me along on her date with a not so suitable gentleman. My parents didn't trust her enough to be alone with this guy, but they trusted her enough to assume that she wouldn't take me to see an R rated film. Well she did, and the film she took me to see was Bram Stoker's Dracula. If you've seen the film, you'll understand my love for confident redheads.

Which is exactly how Margret was. Beautiful and confident in herself, definitely way too good for me, and yet for some odd reason, she found me attractive.

We met on some random chat room, it's been so long though, that I can't remember what chatroom it was, I just remember answering three simple questions "A.S.L". I guess something about being a 17 year old guy from Chicago, just did it for her, or at least enough for us to start talking in private chats.

She moved quickly and she wasn't the biggest fan of my hesitations. "Do you have the cam set up? Are your parents home?" She asked impatiently, as if we were in a do or die situation. I had bought a webcam the night before and mentioned to her. From that moment, she was ready to play the game of "I'll show you mine if your show me yours". Actually I was past due for showing her mine.

She was always honest with me, something that I truly loved about her, it made me feel safe, a theme you will notice with me. So early on she informed me that being nude in front of the camera wasn't new to her. There were other guys on the internet that she had shown herself too, it was a rush for her. I didn't care though, I knew nothing was gonna come from this, it was all just cyber fun, plus you know... boobs.

What wasn't fun was that my nerves were shot and my hands shook with the frantic speed of a humming bird's wings. I had never done anything like this before. I mean, I had been with one girl at that point of my life, but that didn't change the fact that webcam nudity was new territory for me, and I wasn't sure as to how to approach it. Still I had to do it, I told myself, I needed to man up and give Michelle a show she would never forget.

I reached for the keyboard, stared at the screen all while trying desperately to shake off my anxiousness, so I could respond "Almost, my whole family is about to head out and watch some movie, so I'm gonna tell them I have too much homework to do and that I can't join them. Once they leave is when we can start." My heart was racing, I could actually feel the blood coursing through my veins with increasing velocity. The blood flow made my head feel weak and dizzy.

After about an hour my family said their goodbyes and headed to the movies and dinner. "We won't be back til late." My mother Massy yelled as she walked down the stairs. My mother was a tiny little woman, with the typical old lady short curly hair. Yet she had the voice of a viking when ever she yelled.

It was now past show time, my family had been gone for at least ten minutes, and at that point I was just wasting time, sitting on my bed, scared to shit. What if she found my body to be unattractive? What if she made fun of, the things I had to offer? None of it mattered, I reminded myself. I had to do this, I had something to prove, so I took a deep breath and proudly proclaimed "Here goes nothing." The last words of dead men.

I turned on the web camera, and synced with her computer for a private event. We said our joking hellos, and she asked me if I was OK with this. She wanted to make sure that I felt comfortable, even if she was being pushy. I told her I was, but I needed a second, I wanted to check myself in the mirror one last time. She laughed "You're handsome, you have nothing to be nervous about. I get it though, I was scared to fucking hell my first time, so go ahead, we have all the time."

We really didn't though, eventually my family would return from the movies, but that was a technicality I wasn't gonna waste our limited time discussing. I quickly headed to the bathroom, not so much to make sure I looked fine, this was as good as I was gonna get, but more so for one last pep talk in the mirror. Get my head in the game, both of them.

Then it happened, with every step towards the bathroom came a step towards the oppressing feeling I had the night M came to visit, as if I was making my way to something massive and hungry, with me being the only meal. Why now? The sun, while red, setting into the horizon, still shun its light through the windows of the sunroom and settling softly into my bedroom. I had always believed it's comforting glow would keep me safe, like my mother, all mothers, used to tell their children.

Again, that gaze. The one I felt before, someone who wasn't there was watching my every move. The atmosphere became thick, it was hard to breath, I felt as if I was tumbling through, while gasping for air, between the crashing waves of a winding violent rapid. I reached for my chest to try and help myself breath deeply but quickly pulled it back when I felt my heart viciously hammering into my chest as if it would rather die then deal with what was up ahead.

"No!" I yelled to myself. "This was just anxiety from the cam show, it just finally got a hold of me." A desperate idea I attempted to use to free myself from my frozen drowning body.

It worked, briefly, I stood in front of my bedroom door, that lead to to the bathroom hallway and dining room, my words of encouragement gave me the strength I needed to reach for the door handle. It shook in my hand. The screws, dull and loose from years of abuse, barely held the knob in its place on the heavy wooden door.

I half expected to hear the sounds of something inhuman, waiting for me on the other side, as I turned the creeky rusty knob. My expectations were shattered.

"Hel...lo?" A fractured, electronic sounding voice, coming from behind me.

( You don't belong here.)

The hairs on my arm raised high, as if they themselves were trying desperately to escape the disjointed voice I heard coming from behind me, coming from the sunroom. Spine tinglingly chills weakened my knees. I didn't want to turn around and see what was transpiring in that room.

"Haha, you ... so adorable and f...ny! but I'm ... tell yo... uncle to have you ... your face to me. ...Have to see ... really are."

That voice, shattered and nestled in static.

"Now how do you ... that? You have ... even met ... before."

It took a moment to register, but I knew that voice, it was Margret's voice. Who was she talking too? I could barely hear her, but I couldn't make out any other voices. I started to think that she was just talking to herself or someone at her home, that was until I heard the creaking of the apartment's wood floors.

It came from other side of the door with the sounds being distant and muffled at first. A second creek, a third, and fourth, each one louder and closer than the one before it.

As the sounds came closer and closer to the door, it became clear that the old wood planks were being pushed upon by a heavy slow moving force.

Again the floors creaked and bent as something moved even closer, now it was coming from right across the door that I was standing in front of. The creaking became louder and the room started to sway back and forth, slowly.

With the movement of the room, the thickness in the air and the sounds of wood giving away to an unseen pressure I felt as if I were trapped in the bottom decks of an old wooden ship, aged by the unrelenting force of the ocean.

The heavy movements stopped for a brief moment and the room slowed in its rocking but still moved like a hammock in a slow breeze. It was then that I noticed the room becoming darker. I watched in both horror and fascination as a shadow, fluidly moved from under the crack of the door and began to fill the room around me. I watched as the light from the fading sun behind me, became buried under a endless void that would drive even the greatest minds to madness. As it slowly made its way closer to the sunroom, objects in my room began to lose shape, I could no longer see what was where, if it was even there at all.

Bile filled my throat as the darkness took hold of the world around me and movement of the room began to increase again. Then the sounds of wood snapping under some massive weight continued, but this time, the sounds were coming from my room, from right behind me!

"Scared? Well ... scared of t ... ... me, right?" Margret asked. Was she, and whoever it was that she was conversing with, talking about me? Was this silent voice telling Margret what was happening? Of how terrified I was at that very moment?

I felt a cold grip grab a hold of my soul, as I heard the creaking step behind me. . Not a malicious grip but one bursting with desire, a wanting for I had and for what it didn't. I began to understand what this thing wanted, it was obsessed with me, or more accurately it was obsessed with my essence.

My pervious thoughts of M were completely wrong. It wasn't her dead smile I felt on that first night. It was this... Thing! I knew I felt her presence sitting at my beds edge, that I never doubted, but when I felt her pacing at the bathroom door as I ripped that thread from my eye, it was because she was concerned, scared for me, and maybe for herself as well.

" Wait, ... Is M? ... he have ... girlfriend?" Margret asked hesitantly.

Margret mentioned M?! I knew now, for sure, that whoever Margret was talking to, that person was in my house.

The sounds became more like steps as it made it's way to the sunroom, and with each step, the room swayed even harder. I could feel the wood floors beneath my feet begin to give way to the weight of this thing. I nearly lost my balance as one of the wood boards snapped and disappeared into the shadows.

Every fiber in my body begged me to just run out the bedroom, down to the front doors and make my way outside. To never turn back, to never return to this ghost filled abomination I reluctantly called home. My mind though, wouldn't let me. It was now perverse by all of this, it had become an adrenaline rush, a drug. I pierced into another world and my mind needed to know more.

"Oh, is yo... ..cle coming back? Well it was nice talking.. ... Sam, maybe next time you ... Be... scared so I ... your face."

It seemed like the thing finally made it way to the doorway of the sunroom. The steps stopped and the room now jerked violently back and forth that I could barely stand.

"Sam? Who's ... talking? ... sounds angry! Sam?!" Margret's voice was now filled with nervousness and concern, her happy playful attitude from just seconds ago, were now washed away. What did she hear? Was it the sinister force which made its way across the room, that had changed her demeanor so quickly and deeply?

I had to make my way back to the sunroom. I needed to know what was going on, but I was still so scared. I closed my eyes, and stumbled as I turned my body towards the sunroom. Even though I knew I had yet to actually see a spirit, I was convinced that it was only a matter of time before I did. If there was a perfect time for a phantom to show itself, it would be at this moment.

"Just open your eyes. Just open your eyes." I angerly told myself over "and over. Just open your eyes."

Slowly I cracked open my eyes, one at a time and with a continuous flinch, until both were open fully, and ready to accept what lied before me, but just like before, nothing stood in front of me, and yet I knew something was there. I could feel it, and whatever this thing was, had a pull to it. The sensation of standing at the edge of a muddy steep incline, the ground slowly giving away to my weight, while this entity waited at the mouth of the drop with feverish hunger. It wanted something from me, but what I couldn't understand.

It didn't matter, I wasn't going to back down, I would learn all that I could while the opportunity was there. I gathered my nerves and cautiously took my first step. The floor now groaning to the extra pressure of my weight as I stumbled towards this thing. All light was now gone, I was in complete and total darkness, the air still filled my lungs like a thick liquid. I began to gasp for air, the room tossed and turned, I crashed into things in my room when either I fell towards them or when they shifted in the movement of the room.

My next step caused a loud pop in the floors causing me to fall completely, I was sure this thing ahead of me would notice my movements... nothing. I reached for where my bed should have been but the rocking of the room must have shifted it elsewhere. I couldn't get up and I could barely crawl. My breaths were getting more shallow and I was desperately fighting the vomit that continued to build in all the chaos.

I heard Margret's voice one last time, but this time it was clear, there was no electrical static. "Sam?! Oh dear God Sam?! What the fuck ... is that?!"

Then... Silence.

(You don't belong here)

Chapter 2: End

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