anotherstrangetale

[anotherstrangetale]

It Came During the Eclipse

In all honesty, the trip wasn’t supposed to be anything special. I had heard rumors, stories about strange noises, shadowy things in the trees, some local Lady of the Lake tale. The usual kind of folklore. As far as I knew, there was nothing worth writing home about. Nothing that screamed David Paulides-level strange.

That was part of the reason I had no problem camping there. I needed time away. Time to detach from the clamor of city life. I had grown up in the quiet countryside of Oklahoma before moving to the suburban sprawl of Washington. It lacked the suffocating noise of the city but still pressed in from all sides. The lake, isolated and empty enough, seemed like the perfect escape.

I told myself I was going to reconnect with nature, ground myself, breathe better air. Everyone says that like it means something. Like standing in the woods for a few days can undo whatever slow rot the world has buried under your skin.

The drive was long but peaceful. The final hours were the kind of beautiful that makes you question if you imagined it. Nothing but winding roads, trees thick enough to swallow the sky, the occasional sliver of mountain peak watching from a distance. I didn’t play any music. I usually don’t anymore. Some people find that unnerving, but I crave the silence. The noise in my head is so loud that any chance to hear nothing feels like a gift. I still listen to things now and then. Lordi, that Finnish monster rock band. Lorde too, actually. I had just caught up on Welcome to Night Vale. So no, I was not totally off-grid, just mostly.

The quiet here did not feel unnatural, not yet. It felt like a lake surface without a single ripple. The kind of silence that waits for something to disturb it.

I checked in around four and picked up the RV around five. I know someone is rolling their eyes already. Yes, I rented an RV. I thought about tent camping but it was too cold this fall for me to care about proving anything. I was here to relax, not relive humid nights in Oklahoma pretending I knew how to pitch a tent without swearing.

The RV had a small generator, barely enough electricity to keep my phone alive. Before you judge, it is easier to read digital books than haul a stack of paperbacks. The signal here was garbage, so no scrolling through social media, no Netflix, no temptation to vanish into my screen. Just the woods and the wind.

The first night passed without anything strange. I had forgotten there was supposed to be a lunar eclipse. My phone pinged with a calendar reminder just after dinner. That should have been the first sign. It never felt eerie though. Not yet.

Other campers were out there, a mile or two in either direction. I could hear them laughing, splashing, maybe kayaking. The sounds faded in and out with the breeze, broken up by bird calls, the whir of insects, the occasional animal cry. A coyote. A mountain lion. Maybe a bear. The noises were always distant, swallowed by the trees. If it got bad, I could always go inside.

Mostly I sat outside with a book and snacks. Sometimes I dozed. Sometimes I just listened. The lack of suburban sounds felt almost holy. No engines. No sirens. No neighbors yelling through thin walls. Just nature. A living kind of quiet, not the dead kind.

It scared me a little how much I liked the absence of people.

I knew I wouldn’t survive if I got lost. I was not a survivalist, despite what I remembered from Campfire Boys and Girls Club. I knew the rules. Stay put, ration water, conserve energy, but that is very different from actually doing those things when it matters. So I stayed close. Took a few short trails, always within view of the lake. I had heard how compasses can act up out here. Something about iron deposits. Whatever the reason, it would happen to me.

The weather was beautiful. The leaves were just turning, all fire and rust. It felt like autumn should. When dusk arrived, I returned to the RV and stayed inside once the cold settled in.

I sat by the window and watched the last smear of sun fade behind the hills. I read for a while, then drifted off.

I woke up with a jolt.

Something had hit the window.

Not hard, but sharp enough to stir me out of sleep. Could have been a bird. A squirrel. I rubbed my eyes and stared into the dark.

In the distance, I saw movement.

A shape. A mass.

At first, I thought it was a flock of birds, but that didn’t make sense. It was too late for that. Maybe bats. I was far enough out for that, I thought. Did bats hibernate? The questions started piling up, scattered, disconnected. None of them felt right.

The shape moved strangely. Like a smear of ink dragged through water. It dipped and twisted above the lake, climbing and diving. I squinted, trying to catch some detail, but there was nothing clear. Just the sense that it was getting closer.

And then I heard them.

A screech. Not high, not low. Somewhere in between. Familiar, but also completely alien. A sound that did not belong in any field guide.

Then came the thuds.

Two at once.

Hard enough to rattle the glass.

I leapt back as something slapped against the window. Winged shapes, round and fast. Small, but heavy. With teeth. They looked like bats. At least, that is what I wanted them to be. I told myself they were.

They kept hitting the window. Over and over.

I shut the lights. Pulled the curtains. Tried not to breathe too loud. I told myself it was normal. A swarm. A seasonal migration. Something scientific. Something safe.

It lasted for hours. The sounds came and went, but never stopped. Mixed in were the cries of other animals. Sharp, panicked sounds. The forest did not go silent.

That might have been worse.

I fell asleep somehow, wrapped in the sound of fear. No dreams. Just a black ocean and the weight of being dragged under.

When I woke, the sun was pressing against the curtains and a needle of pain ran down my neck. I had fallen asleep by the window like an idiot.

Then I saw it.

Red streaks down the glass.

Thin, but bright. Still wet.

I stared, not sure what I was seeing.

Then I picked up the phone.

I called the rangers.

Something had happened here.

Something I was not prepared to understand.

It only took the park rangers thirty minutes to arrive. They brought a cleanup team with them. Calm, methodical, not even surprised. They told me it was nothing to worry about. Just an invasive bat species, recently introduced from some rainforest. Carnivorous, yes, but not a threat to humans. Not directly.

They were too casual about it.

They said the bats fed on small animals. Unfortunate, but not uncommon in transitional ecosystems. They told me to go inside if I heard the swarm again. The RV might get dinged up, but the creatures could not get in.

I wanted to ask about the campers in tents. The ones I had heard laughing the night before. But the rangers were already walking away, saying they had to check on other sites.

Then I was alone.

Again.

The forest still sounded alive. Birds, wind, insects. No sign that anything had happened. But the blood on the RV and the trees told a different story. There was no way something as mundane as a bat swarm could do that. At least, not something I had ever read about.

I stared at the trees for a long time, then told myself I could handle a few more days. I was supposed to leave Monday morning, and I doubted I would get a refund. I told myself to make the best of it.

I should have left.

I should have listened to the part of me that felt the shift. But I convinced myself it was nothing. People rarely run when they should. Especially when money is involved.

I kept to my routine. Read. Ate. Took a short walk. The only difference was that I avoided sitting by the window for too long. I told myself the bat things had only gone after small animals. That I was fine. That it was nothing.

That night, I fell asleep again while reading.

I woke with a jolt.

This time, it was not a sound that woke me, but a feeling. A change in the air. The forest still made noise, but it felt wrong. Heavy. Like the trees were holding their breath.

I looked out the window.

In the distance, something was moving.

That same black mass.

But it was bigger.

Thousands of them. Maybe tens of thousands. They filled the sky like ink poured into water. They swirled above the lake, and the moon behind them flickered like a dying bulb.

I moved away from the window.

That was it. I was done. I was going to get dressed and get the hell out of there. I figured I could at least find a cheap motel for the night, deal with refunds later.

I stepped into the back of the RV to grab my coat.

That is when I felt it.

Something was in the room with me.

Every instinct screamed at once. My breath caught in my throat. My eyes scanned the corners. And then I saw it.

In the far right corner, something moved.

A black mass, darker than the shadows around it. No texture. No detail. Just void.

The air around it was cold, wrong, almost buzzing. My limbs locked. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

Then I heard something outside.

A new sound. Low. Vibrating. Deep enough that I felt it more than heard it. Whatever was in the room with me didn’t like that sound. I turned, slowly, to look out the window.

The entire room began to hum.

Static filled the air, thick and pulsing. Out of that static, I heard a word.

D͖̟͎͎̽̍̇ó͖͎̹̱͓͓̙̾ͧ͌ͭ̂ͧ̊n̬̺͉͉̲̦̩̞͆ͨ̈ͦ̉̒̈'͉̫͖̩̭̝͔̜̔̿t͕͕̥̱͈̦̟͊̍

I froze.

I didn’t get the chance to move again. Black tendrils wrapped around my arms and torso. The touch burned, sharp and hot like electricity. My skin felt like it would blister. But I didn’t scream. I couldn’t. The thing pulled me across the floor toward the corner, and I was helpless to resist.

And still, I could not look away from the window.

Something was happening outside. Something worse than what was in the room.

That was the moment I felt it.

A tremor.

Not from fear.

The ground shook.

At first I thought it might be an earthquake. But then I realized it was not the earth. It was footsteps. Something enormous was walking through the forest.

The swarm outside moved with more urgency now, like it sensed what was coming. The shrieking grew louder, more frantic. And through all of that, the thing in the corner held me still.

It stood over me, not fully human, but wearing something like a suit.

Yes. A suit.

It shut the flimsy RV door with one of its tendrils. Then we were both in the dark. The static in the air dropped to a low hum. The shaking outside grew stronger. I could hear water rushing up the shore.

I could move my arms slightly now. Enough to feel that whatever had me didn’t want noise. Or light. Or movement. I looked up.

Even in the dark, I could see it had no face.

Just a stretched, featureless white where a face should be.

I thought of the stories. Urban legends. Slender Man. That faceless thing that drove people mad, that snatched up children, that tore through reality.

But this one didn’t feel aggressive. Not like the stories said.

It felt… agitated.

Afraid.

Whatever was outside, it feared it more than I feared it.

And that chilled me to the bone.

Why wasn’t it fleeing? Why hide in here with me? Why not kill me to stay silent?

A thought slid into my head, unwanted but logical.

If it killed me, that would still make noise.

And it didn’t want attention.

Outside, the shrieking continued. I could hear screaming now. People.

The other campers.

It hit me all at once. The tents. The voices I had heard yesterday. They were out there.

And they were being torn apart.

Terror slid through my chest like ice. They were screaming, begging, probably running in circles, trying to escape. But there was no way out. Not from that.

And somehow, I knew I might not be in much better condition once this was over.

If I was lucky, I would pass out before it got to me.

The heat of the tendrils dulled to a throbbing ache. My body felt weak, drained. I muttered under my breath, more out of habit than anything else.

“I should have gone home.”

The thing behind me answered.

B̨̠̭̿ͯ͌̆͑̾ͨȗ̫̱͖̱̠̹̦ͮͪͅt͓̫̳̗̯ͩͣͧͬ̓̀ ̸̪̯̰̟͕͎̯͔̞͑̈́͆̊͆͡y̮̱̗̟ͦ̃͆ͅo̸̞̺̯ͨ̕ú̡̫͐̽̌̇̈ͣ͌ ̱͔̮̠͍͓̜̖ͬͧ̈́ͮd̛̤͉ͦ͑͆͆ͥ̅i̛͎̗ͬ̽ͯͦ̊c̺̱̮̲̻͛͆́͠ͅn̶̲͌̀̋ͬ͠'͓͙͎̳͖͔̓̒ͭ̑t̤̘͕̱̫͚͓̪̏̊͋̔

I clenched my jaw, willing myself not to react. Not to speak. I wasn’t going to get into an argument with something that belonged in nightmares.

It was then that the RV began to rock.

Water was reaching the wheels now. I realized something horrifying.

The lake was rising.

And if the RV was swept out into the water, there was nothing stopping it from tipping. From sinking.

And I would be trapped inside.

I tried to control my breathing, but then I noticed something worse.

Silence.

Everything outside had stopped.

The shrieking. The screaming. Even the sounds of the trees.

No birds. No animals. Not even the sound of the wind.

It was dead silent.

I couldn’t even hear my own heartbeat.

And then, a sound erupted.

Not a scream. Not thunder.

Something else.

A keening howl that scraped across reality itself.

It was organic, but also mechanical, like a machine breaking inside a living creature. It did not belong here. It did not belong anywhere.

My stomach turned. I felt like my organs were crawling upward, trying to escape through my throat.

“I… I… sick,” I choked.

The burning tendrils flared to life again.

I felt the static rise in the air.

The voice returned.

S̞̝͙̗̩̗ͭ̉̾̔̍w̷̴̠̘̭̦ͧ͐ͪ͐͋a͎͈̰̖̱͈̤̺̾̒̍ͥ̇̓l͎̮̝͉͇̯̞̟̈ĺ̨͖̥̖̮̩̈́ȍ͙̹͉̍͛͢ͅw̝͎̲̲̗̄ͩ͟͠ ̼̝͆ḭ̷̲̯̮̮̋ͮ̒ͮ͋ͭ̆͢t̢̨̫͎͚̏̆́ͬ̔ͨͧ ̷͙̝̮͕̹̩͕ͦ͗͝d̨͚̬̳̮̔͟ͅo͉͇ͩ̓̍̀͂ͪ͠͞w̷̱͇͉͈͈̺̎̐̆͘ͅṅ̝̱̮̬̦̰̝̅̊̌͟͠.͖̤̮̯̱̟̤͊͛̋ ̖̮̮͍̗̗̈ͬͫͪͅN͖̘̱͍̹͈ͪ̽̎̏͌̒ͯ͌͝ȏ̶̮̻̜͔ͣ͗w̻͔̞̼͚ͯ͐̄̓͟.̲̱̺͉͖̰͑ͮͨ̀̀͝ͅ

I gagged.

But I swallowed it down.

The nausea. The horror. The scream.

I swallowed everything.

Because I understood now.

I had to stay silent.

I had to stay still.

Because whatever was outside, whatever made this thing hide in a corner and wrap me in heat and static and pain…

It was hunting.

And it could feel fear.

The pain was unbearable, but it anchored me.

Whatever had wrapped itself around my body was keeping me tethered to the here and now. It burned under my skin like hot wire, but it also kept my mind from unraveling.

Because it wanted me conscious.

That much I knew.

And outside, something was moving.

Not walking.

Not anymore.

It was slipping in and out of the world like static between stations. The thudding footsteps had become irregular. Each one came with a ripple of wrongness, like reality was protesting its presence.

The water slammed harder against the RV. It rocked more violently. The entire frame groaned.

I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached.

Somewhere in the chaos, I started screaming. I don’t remember when. It just started, bubbling out of me, hoarse and raw. My throat tore with the effort.

The presence behind me flared with heat.

The static in the air erupted.

Then came the voice again, this time seething, ragged, furious.

S̗̦̖͍͓̬̮̽ͭͮ͗͂̓́͂i͍͎͈ͮ͊͗́l̪̝̻̹̘̯̮ͪ͝e̛̻̍̍̿n̳̰̘̐ͪ̓̉̅̾c̯̫ͤ͟ë̛͇̟̈́̾ͯ̊ͬͬ͊́ I͉̱͍̋ͥ̀t̪̤̩̙̮̖̤͍̎ͨ͗̓͌̌̈́ͬ w̸͓̙̺̙̑̓i̟̙͔͙͛̕ͅļ̹̜̽l̪̪͖̫̳̆ͦ̌ͧ̄ͬ͝ͅͅ c̷̱͈̋ͬ̾̓̅ͦ́o̠ͤ̍̂̐̈́ͤ͌̐͝m̖̈̂̋ͬ̒ę̩͉̺̞̭͍̹ͤͦ͒̾͒͠ I̯̠͋͋̄̐̒͢T̯͍̥̰̟̽͒̆̾͂͗̽̕ W͍̤̮̰ͫ̊͆ͣͅĬ̸͈̱̬̻̼̏̈́̃̌Ḻ̺̱̥͍ͣ̈́̋̎̅ͨ̓L͓͔̬̰̞̯̎̋̿͐ F̺̰̮͎̬̙͆̓ͯͪ́E̝̘̭̭ͦ͂ͫ͋̏͞E̥̯̼͗ͦ̈́̑̿̽ͪͫL̜̗͍̙̮̥̱͗͞͞ Y̷̫̩͔ͩ͒̈́ͥͬͅO̞͕̦͖̙͚͐ͪ̒Ȕ̳͙̯̪̟̀͗̂̿̑̊Ȑ̖̳̤̼͐́͠ͅ F͈ͧ̄ͅE͇̫̹͎̍̕A̗͙̳̻͖͆̈̀ͧ̊̅R͍̠̠̥͎̆͊͑ͯ̊̉̓ I͖͎̙̞̜̱͂ͤ̐̔͋͝T̰̘̭̫̤̿͐͛̎͛̄͆̚S̴̡̪̯̬̠̜̿͆̒̓̇̏͆ Ư̞̦͕̞̖̠̬ͮ̿ͫ̐ͯ̿̋N̘̙̞̞̖̼̎ͫ͂͋̚S̛͖̤̖̼͖̘̩̅̈E̛̻̘͚͔̳͒̅̽E̯̞̗̦͚͓̞̍̑͒͊̽͌I͉̼̦̼̓̎̈́̀N̪̺̝̻̽̏͊̒̇͋́G̰̙ͨ̍̿ͬ̾ E̷͍͆ͦ̃ͣͩ̔͛̌͡Y̵̲͚̙̯ͥ̋ͮ̿ͯ̒Ẻ̷̝͓̙̳̪̒ͥ̍̐̀ W̗̝̹̮͈͉ͪ́I͇͕͎̦͈̪̫̺͋L̜̘̞̙̯͍̱̭ͮ͒͒̿̅̍̍̔L͆̅̍͏͏̙̩ Ḑ̸͎̞̹̱͙̟ͪ̾ͩ͛͂͒ͅḘ͇͋ͮͤ̈́ͫ̿̄̔̀̕V̶̷̪̦͉͎͎͇̗̇͐ͬͪͤ̓O̝̠̯̙͒̊ͪ̐͐̑ͥͮ͝U̡ͥ̇̓͒͏͓͚̪̗̘̥R̶̢̺͙̙͚͈̙͉͕͗ͫ F͈̝̏̅̌̽͐͂͐͢R̸̤̜̒̃́A̡̻̠̭̩̘̩̽̑̆I̷̱͊ͥ͆L̮̠̻̓̋ͮ͡ M̛̭ͩ́̓̋E̖͉̠̠̼͆ͯ͌̈́̏̇̊͗Ą̵̜ͯ̔ͅṪ͇̫̫͕̝̠̟ S̗̭̹͖͇̲̑́ͥ͊̐ͅU̢̲̗̼̻̻̜ͮ̇͢I̻̲̺̼̱̗ͦ̂ͩ̓̽͊̓͢T̪̭̗͕͚͙̭ͯ

The sound split through my mind like a blade. The pressure in my skull threatened to burst my eardrums. The buzzing inside my head rose like a thousand flies crawling against my brain.

And then, just like that, it all went black.

Not like sleep.

More like being unplugged.

I did not wake with a start.

I surfaced.

Like drowning for hours and finally breaching air.

I gasped, lungs aching, throat raw. For several seconds, there was no sound at all. Only the throb of my heartbeat in my ears.

I thought it had been a nightmare.

But when I opened my eyes, I was still in the RV.

And something was wrong.

The light felt off. Dim, even though morning had clearly come.

I pushed myself upright, every muscle screaming. It felt like I had been hit by a truck. My limbs moved with slow, clumsy effort, and my hands trembled with every twitch.

There was no sign of the entity.

No tendrils. No burning sensation. Just aching skin and the distant echo of static in my teeth.

I didn’t have long to think.

There was a knock at the door.

It startled me so badly I nearly screamed. My legs buckled as I staggered toward it, dizzy and disoriented. When I opened the door, a park ranger stood there, knee-deep in floodwater.

Behind him, the campground was wrecked.

Trees splintered. Picnic tables overturned. Shredded tarps and snapped tent poles scattered like bones. The waterline had risen halfway up the hill.

The ranger smiled.

“It’s a good thing you were the only one camping along this side of the lake, ma’am. There was a landslide just down the way.”

My mouth went dry.

“But there were othe—”

He cut me off gently, but firmly.

“You were the only one here last night. Lucky for you. I’m sure it was a traumatic experience with the sudden rush of water. The RV rental company has already been contacted. You won’t be held liable for the damage. If you’ll pack your things, we’ll get you back to your car. It was parked safely outside the flood zone.”

I didn’t argue. I couldn’t. I numbly gathered my things and left.

The drive home passed in a blur.

No one mentioned it on the news.

No headlines. No missing persons.

Nothing.

As if it never happened.

The only proof I had were the nightmares that followed and the buzzing that never quite left my ears.

And sometimes, when I close my eyes, I hear it again.

Y̼͐͌ͬ̔̀͘o̪̘̯̫͙̰̦̺̊̏͞u͍̭ͥ͌̈́̆̇͟ n̷͈̖̝̳̓̓̇e̜͓̭̼ͮ̍ͣͮͥͬ̋̾͝a̳̬̞̭̾ͪ̍ͬ͊̿ͯṙ̳̖̫̰̭̂̀̉l̛̹̟͈ͫ͊ͦͮ̏͞y̸̛̭ͪ̿̑̀̏̂̐ͤ c͈͖̤̖͓̞̽͌͐̂ͦ͜ò̈́̍̋ͧͣ͏͈̫̹͉͚̳̱s̻̬͚̞̬̱̙͍̿͐̅t̵̰̗̊̂̌̅e̞̽̑ͫ͛̉d̪ͭ̿̇̋́̀ u̪̼͎̭̻̜̗͕͐͐͆̍̊̆͗͞ş̴̦̦̉ͭ͊ e͇̗͚̰ͩv̗̜̘̻͇͚ͩ͐̽͢e̢̧̟̞͕̗̮͂ͥ̉ͯ̉́r̵̤̯̱̺͋̑͑̍y̡͚̰͇̞̦̺ͮ͌ͪ̒ͮͪ̏͒ţ͓̭̝̘̥̝̒̔̏͘ͅḩ̧̠͍͉̘̩̖̼̒̂ͨi͍͍̫͒͌̓͐ͫ͒́͜n̜̼͉̹͓̅͛̐͗ͤ̀ͮͅg̷̸̙̮̝̩ͤ̾ͤ̇̄ͯ̊ ĩ̸̺̐n͉̟̈́ͦ͛͠s̖̦̿̿̔͗͠ǐ̗̲̺̱͒̔̔̔͆ͭ͢g̡̟̪̺̦̱̫͆n̤̩ͤ́ỉ̮ͯ̇̍̀͞f͖̟̼̼̘͖̱̀̀̓͛̀̾͗͘͢ỉ̵̵̼̮͚͔̄̀͒c̸͈̯̤̠̳̗̝͌͞a̶̩̠͉͚̩̜̰͛̇͒̅͒͞n̗̞̓ͧ̎͋͂͆͗́t̸̢̪̬̰̞ͮͮ̈̽̀̂ͅ į̠̩̺̬̔ͬ̿̅͐̕n̘̄̓ͦͣ̃̓͢͠ș̖ͪ́e̸͚͎̱̟̭̅̏̄ͩ͊͞c̴̝̰̹͎͉͑̉̐t̷̡̩̘̺͗.

[anotherstrangetale]

Nails

Note: Light Gore Warning

Nail biting. I hated it.

Hated it with a passion that made my skin crawl. There was something unspeakably irritating about it. The sound, the twitch of fingers against teeth, the wet snap of enamel against nail, it made me feel like there were bugs crawling beneath my skin.

I almost hated the people who did it. Especially in public. It was disgusting. Unsanitary. You really expect me to shake your hand after your mouth has been all over your fingers?

Absolutely not.

After years of wrestling with that hatred, I decided to turn it into something useful. Why not become a self-help teacher? Help others break the habit. Poor souls, chewing away at themselves like rats against drywall. Sometimes we all need a little push.

I ran small classes. A few days to a few weeks, depending on the group. Every batch was different. Some broke the habit easily. Others required a bit more effort.

I must admit, I enjoy the difficult ones. There is something soothing about breaking down the stubborn ones. Like snapping brittle branches with your bare hands. It is therapeutic.

After all, nail biting spreads disease. The world already has enough infections and parasites. No need to help it along. Clean hands are sacred. They touch everything. Everyone. They are how we explore the world after we outgrow the tasting stage of childhood.

But that is another story entirely.

Today’s class was one of the tougher ones. We were only a few days in, but already the tension in the room had begun to ferment. That sweet, sour smell of denial and dread. I walked in with my materials and placed them gently on the table. Most of them were already seated, staring down, eyes flicking upward when they thought I would not notice.

Good. They were learning.

"Now, class," I began cheerfully, "I know the last few days have been difficult. That is normal. Change is never easy. But do not feel bad if you think your progress is not where it should be."

I smiled as I counted heads. Most were still here. Some would not be for much longer. You learn to spot the ones who are never going to make it.

"Let us begin with affirmations. The first step to changing action is changing thought. Repeat after me. 'My fingers are an extension of myself but not an extension of my mouth.'"

The room echoed in dull murmurs.

I moved among them, listening, watching. Some were robotic. Some were earnest. And then there was Ted.

Poor, dumb Ted.

His head lolled to the side, mouth open, eyes rolled back like he had short-circuited.

How dramatic.

I cracked his thumbnail with the rock hammer.

"Ted, pay attention. How will you ever improve like this?"

He wheezed. A gurgle. A sound like wet cloth dragged across teeth.

"Meeh... fiiingeres... arrrre... an... exxxtension... of... meehself... buh... not... an... exteeension... of... mehh... mou..."

There was whimpering, but he finished. Improvement.

"Very good. Keep going. You are doing so well."

Ann was next. A model student. Her eyes jittered as she chanted the mantra over and over, her entire body trembling. She was practically vibrating.

"Excellent work, Ann."

Her head twitched with joy. Beautiful response.

I crossed to the other side of the room, where the more resistant students sat. I grouped them together. Easier to manage. Easier to isolate.

"There is always one or two," I said with a soft smile. "Always someone who insists on making things harder than they need to be. But that is alright. I am very patient. You will all get through this. One way or another."

Jenna scowled at me from her chair, muttering through clenched teeth. Something about this being illegal. Something about human rights. How tedious.

She had such a mouth on her. I would need to do something about that later.

"Jenna," I said gently, "you still have time before I have to take more direct action. There is still hope. You can be better. You can be clean."

I returned to my desk and retrieved the pliers.

The trick is to avoid damaging the nail bed completely. They grow back better that way. Accidents happen, of course. Too much pressure. A slip of the hand. I am not perfect. But I try.

I sat down beside her. She trembled.

"Breathe," I said. "This is for your own good."

I took her pinky.

Pain is a wonderful motivator. Messy, yes. But essential. You must be cruel to be kind. There is no lesson in numbness.

She began to scream. Of course she did. She tried to struggle, but the cocktail I had given them left them sluggish but awake. Aware. Feeling everything.

"If only you were more like Ann," I sighed. "You are the one making this difficult. Not me."

I pulled.

The nail peeled up with a wet crack. Blood pulsed from beneath, streaming down her hand. A little mess was fine. It made the lesson stick.

One nail. Then another.

Five total, all from her right hand. They lay like damp petals beside her. I let her bleed for a while before wrapping the wounds. Infection was counterproductive.

She sobbed, still cursing me. So full of fire. I would give her a few more weeks before moving her to the other class. The one for students who refused to change.

I turned back to the room and smiled.

"Now that we have completed our affirmations, who would like to share why they feel they are or are not progressing? I would also love to hear why you now understand that nail biting is a filthy, filthy habit."

They stared at me. Eyes wide. Pupils dilated. Broken or about to break.

Most of them made it through the program. A few relapsed. But that is what the three-strike policy is for.

I always knew where they lived.

I always remembered their routines.

I always came back.

"Class dismissed," I said sweetly. "Wonderful progress today. Three hours well spent. Tomorrow, we will take things even further."

I packed my tools, my affirmations, my notes. Several of them were crying. A few were begging.

They never wanted me to leave.

They just could not get enough of me.

But alas, I had a date tonight. Hopefully he would not be like the others.

If he was...

Well.

I had a special class for people like that.

[anotherstrangetale]

Sound Clip: https://soundcloud.com/lisa-soren-calho ... in-the-sky The sounds starts about 26 seconds in Well I don't know if any of you know about the strange sounds being reported all across the world. Apparently people think this all started about 2007 or something of that nature. But I'm here to tell you much differently, I've been hearing this sound since I was a good living in a small town in Oklahoma. I always asked my mom and dad what that sound was but they always said it was the oil wells not too far from us making that sound. But...I always believed differently, I have no idea what that sound is or why it is starting to come around more often...apparently a few months ago it was heard in Oregon. I live in Washington now but I've always had this strange fascination with the sound. I haven't heard it since I was kid, at least not in person. My mom who is bad with technology was actually able to record the sound, which in itself is a miracle. But I'm wondering if anyone else has had any of their own experiences with this sound. Any thoughts or theories?

[anotherstrangetale]

A Bloodless Disease

Note: Trigger Warning

Artist: Me

The light poured into the room, bathing everything in a soft glow. Morning had broken once more, stretching its pale fingers through the window. There was a radiance to this day, a sacred stillness, because something wonderful would happen tonight. She could hardly wait for school to end.

A soft smile touched her bare lips. She lay there for a moment longer before rising, her feet gently meeting the floor. Her delicate frame moved across the room with grace, pretending, just for a moment that she was in a ballet studio. The audience did not matter. It was the feeling that mattered. That freedom in movement. That fleeting illusion of weightlessness.

The daydream faded as she reached the mirror.

The reflection that stared back was only slightly above average. Not divine. Not luminous. Just a girl. The light poured into the room, bathing everything in a soft glow. Morning had broken once more, stretching its pale fingers through the window. There was a radiance to this day, a sacred stillness, because something wonderful would happen tonight. She could hardly wait for school to end.

A soft smile touched her bare lips. She lay there for a moment longer before rising, her feet gently meeting the floor. Her delicate frame moved across the room with grace, pretending—just for a moment—that she was in a ballet studio. The audience did not matter. It was the feeling that mattered. That freedom in movement. That fleeting illusion of weightlessness.

The daydream faded as she reached the mirror.

The reflection that stared back was only slightly above average. Not divine. Not luminous. Just a girl.

Today she would need to look exceptional. Today was the day she would become an eternal flower—a rose frozen in time. A new trend, a quiet reverence growing among those her age. Only the most beautifully afflicted could take that path. The chosen. They were admired. Envied. Remembered.

A shadow of a smile touched her face as she began to paint it. Every brushstroke was deliberate. Every detail flawless. Her black hair had been straightened the night before, framing her pale skin like ink bleeding into paper. Nothing could go wrong today. Her parents would make sure the morning and afternoon were unforgettable.

She glanced around her room one last time. Everything was perfect. Spotless. Every corner cleaned with microscopic precision. She had stayed up most of the night preparing it for today. The closet, the desk, the bed. All in place. All part of her kingdom. She felt like royalty.

It was a shame she had no servants.

Dressed in her favorite crimson dress, she floated down the stairs. The fabric shimmered in the light, catching with every sway, like fire on silk.

“Today is your special day,” her mother said with a smile. Something flickered in her eyes, but it passed too quickly to catch.

“What day is today? It’s your birthday, what a great day for a birthday!” her father boomed from the kitchen. The scent of her favorite breakfast drifted through the air.

Chocolate chip pancakes with strawberries. Arranged in a smiley face on the plate. She beamed at him. Her father—the giant with calloused hands who cooked with care—smiled down at her with a love that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat. She was his world.

Both parents treated her with gentle reverence. Their only child. Never left wanting. Never made to feel anything less than cherished.

“Better eat up. You don’t want to be late,” her mother said, sipping coffee, eyes always watching.

Today, school ended early at two o’clock. Afterward, they would head to her favorite restaurant. If she behaved, her father might even let her have a drink.

When she arrived at school, it seemed to gleam under the morning sun. The windows flashed with light, blinding and ethereal. Laughter echoed through the hallways, rising like smoke into the air. It felt right that everyone around her should be happy today. Even if she wasn’t exactly popular, she was accepted. She knew the trends. She kept up with the gossip. She knew how to fit in.

She moved through the hallway with quiet poise. She thought of those who were not part of her circle, those who would never be chosen. They would never understand what it meant to be part of something eternal. They would never know what it meant to matter.

A few winters ago, Ann Marie had taken the journey. Nobody had expected it from her. She was a quiet girl. Strange. Gothic. Skin like snow. But there had been something about her. Something striking. The others were annoyed at first, but they came to accept her. Her place among the eternal was secured.

For a time, the birthday girl had rejected the idea. She did not believe she was worthy. Only the most extraordinary were chosen. Only those with the right kind of beauty. When Ann Marie had done it, she had raged in silence. How could someone like her be remembered?

But time passed, and her anger faded. She adopted the group’s way of thinking. They had a standard. A code. And she would meet it.

Tonight, she would join them. She would be remembered. She would become one of the beautifully afflicted.

The thought made her stomach flutter. Everything today had unfolded perfectly. Even the world around her seemed to recognize her significance. It was more than a birthday. It was a rite of passage.

She carried herself with grace throughout the day. She smiled. She listened. She did not eat lunch. She was saving her appetite for dinner. Her favorite restaurant. The special one they only visited on rare occasions. Maybe she would get a drink, depending on her father’s mood.

She sat with her group at lunch, but their conversations blurred into noise. She had more important things on her mind. Her thoughts stayed close to her chest, a sacred coil of excitement. She had worked so hard to make this day hers. Every choice, every moment, had been calculated.

October had always been her favorite month. Not because of her birthday, but because of the weather. The wind carried a kind of sadness, soft and patient. The trees turned to fire. The world felt like it was ending, but gently.

Only one more class to go.

Art. Her final class of the day.

She was not good at it. But she liked the way it smelled. Paint and paper and dust. The last hour passed slowly. She sat at her desk and let her thoughts drift to what came next.

When the bell rang, she ran home, her dress catching the sunlight like a flame. The sun was warm on her skin. It felt like a blessing.

She touched up her makeup before they left. They went to the restaurant. Her favorite. There was laughter. Smiling. Photographs. The flash of the camera like frozen lightning. She imagined how the pictures would look later, how her smile would linger in each one like a ghost.

Photographs were proof. They said, “This happened. This moment existed. This girl lived.”

When they returned home, she went to her room and checked everything one last time.

It was ready.

The room was perfect. As it should be.

A letter waited on the desk. Folded. Signed. She had rewritten it many times. Every word chosen with care.

There were no second chances to become one of the beautifully afflicted.

She gathered what she needed and left.

The park was not far from her home. It had always been a sanctuary. As a child she had played there, lost in fantasy. It only made sense that this would be the place.

She laid out her favorite blanket. The leaves whispered overhead. The trees painted the sky in gold and amber. The wind was soft and kind.

The light filtered through the branches in quiet shafts, casting the whole path in an orange haze.

It felt right.

The tools of the rite were not tools at all. Only a bottle of sleeping pills. A bottle of water.

There was no group. No secret society. No whispered invitation.

Only an idea.

A dream that had grown in her like a seed.

She took the pills. She drank the water.

It worked quickly.

She stretched out on the blanket and looked up at the canopy above her. The sky beyond the trees was pale and endless. Her body felt heavy and warm. A soft numbness took her fingers first, then her limbs, then her chest.

She smiled.

Sixteen years old.

She would not grow older.

She would become an eternal flower.

Frozen in time.

Remembered.

Beautiful.

And gone.