← Redwood Bureau
Redwood Bureau
"THE UNINVITED" - Redwood Bureau Phenomenon #5421
00:50:54
Sometimes the most dangerous thing in your house is the one nobody else reacts to. And sometimes, that’s because they can’t anymore.
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- [00:00]
Podcast Host / Advertiser
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- [01:02]
Agent Conroy / Narrator
Beware the Redwood Bureau. A secret organization which captures and researches creatures and objects that defy explanation. Their reckless procedures have led to countless innocent lives lost. I am Agent Conroy. I worked for the Redwood Bureau. But I have escaped them to leak their reports to the unsuspecting public. You have the right to know. If you follow these leaks. It's easy to fixate on the big cases. Mass casualties. Cities and towns wiped off the map. Things that feel too large, too ancient, too catastrophic to ever touch an ordinary life. And I get it. But if you'd seen what I've seen in the Bureau vaults, you'd know that death comes in every size and shape. The truth is, most anomalies don't arrive in chaos and destruction. They find their way into ordinary, everyday parts of life. People forget how fragile the reality of home really is. The Bureau has entire departments dedicated to domestic infiltration because the numbers are staggering, even without the supernatural angle. Last year alone, there were over 2.5 million wellness checks in the United States alone. Prompted by unusual household behavior. Over 600,000 missing person reports, the majority filed by family members who swore everything had been normal the night before. You'd be surprised how many of those calls involved the same repeating phrase. They weren't acting like themselves. The Bureau cross references those incidents with what we call point of entry anomalies. Events that begin not with an attack or a sighting or a disturbance, but with simple proximity. An unexpected visitor, a door left ajar. A new face in a familiar room. You'd think those would be the easy ones to contain, but they're not. They slipped through the cracks because people don't see the danger until it's already too late. And no one especially wants to believe it starts inside the uncomfortable reality is this. When something wants to get to you, it doesn't need claws or teeth or glowing eyes. It doesn't need to be fast or loud or powerful. It just needs you to trust your own routines and beliefs. Most people who disappear from their own homes don't leave signs of a struggle. They don't call for help. By the time they realize anything's wrong, whatever walked through their doorway is already part of the landscape, something their mind tells them must belong, because the alternative is too terrifying to accept. So here's my advice, for whatever it's worth coming from a man who spent his life fighting against the dark. If someone knocks and your first thought when peeking out the window is, I don't know who that is, don't open the door. If a new presence in your house makes your stomach twist before your brain can rationalize it, trust your body. If the people you love start answering you in a way that feels rehearsed, don't explain it away. And if you ever get the feeling that a stranger is waiting for you to acknowledge them unprompted, what you're about to hear isn't a history about monsters in the abstract. It's about how fast something can hollow out the place you're supposed to be the safest and how little it takes to let it in. To let it in.
- [05:04]
Teenage Son / Main Character
I had my headset on, the sounds of gunshots and raging 10 year olds filling my ears. That's how I play if my parents are home. A small compromise not to get my PlayStation taken away. The room was warm. The controller was slick under my palms after an hour or so of gaming. Even through my headset, I heard the three sharp knocks come from downstairs. I slid one of the ear covers off, listening to make sure someone else heard it. Dad's chair scraped against the wood floor from the den. His slippers made that soft sound they make when he doesn't lift his feet enough. He opened the door. He said, can I help you? I thought it was probably a delivery guy or one of the neighbors who always needs something. There wasn't an answer I could make out, but my dad had it handled. So I put my headset back on and focused my attention on the game. Hours went by as I won, lost, raged, and gloated before I thought to notice it. It was already dark out and my stomach let out a grumble to highlight the lost time. It was already 9:30. Weird. Normally mom would call up that dinner was ready. Dad would have told me to put the controller down and asked about my homework. The quiet was different from our routine, that it put me on edge in a way I couldn't quite describe. I set the controller on the bed and pushed my door open with my foot. The bedroom door creaked open an inch and the dull glow of the hallway light spilled in. I took the stairs slowly, listening for the TV or forks or anything. The stairway's creaky step groaned under my weight, echoing through the silent house. I came around the corner into the kitchen, calling out, mom. Dad. They were at the table, dad on the left, mom on the right. A man at the head. He sat very straight, hands folded on the wood, eyes forward. His hair was cropped close, gray at the edges, button down, dark pants. Nothing I'd remember if I saw him in a crowd. Nobody looked up until I was standing right there. Dad's eyes found me but seemed to look right through me. Mom's mouth lifted into a smile without changing anything else about her face. What's going on? I asked. Dad's jaw worked like he was about to yawn and changed his mind. Sit down, he said. Sit down, mom said. Same words just a half second later. The chair wobbled on the tile as I slid into it. I pressed my knee against the table leg to stop it. I looked at the man fully, his skin stretched tight across his cheekbones, waxy in the kitchen light. The corners of his mouth had a permanent downward crease. Ridges in his forehead extended into both sides of his dark, greasy shoulder length hair. His fingernails were cut so short they barely existed. When he finally blinked, it was slow, like it had taken him a great effort. A faint tremor ran through his left hand where it rested on the table. He didn't turn his head toward me or my parents, just gazed at some middle distance only he could see. I felt sick just looking at him. Who is that? I asked. My voice came out shaky and cracking a bit, making me realize just how uneasy I actually felt. Dad glanced toward the man first, like he was checking with him. My cousin, he said, but it sounded like a lie for a reason I couldn't quite put my finger on. Mom's smile stayed the same, and she didn't add anything. I waited for someone to say more, but no one did. The silence was so awkward it left my heart pounding. I defaulted to the only thing I could think to say. Uh, okay. What's for dinner? There was a pause. No one moved or exchanged glances. Then mom just stood up. She moved to the stove, turned on a burner, filled a pot, and set it to boil. She stood and watched the water. She didn't hum or make any extra movements. Dad and his cousin just looked straight ahead in their respective seats. I got up and set the table because doing anything was better than sitting there. I set four places with plates and silverware. Though my dad and the stranger didn't speak to or acknowledge me while I did, I couldn't pass the time fast enough. This had to be the most awkward situation of my life. I excused myself to the bathroom to wait out dinner and not be rude. Looking at myself in the mirror cemented a feeling that I was still trying to process. What was this? Should I call the police? I started imagining the trouble I'd be in for calling the police on Dad's cousin. Maybe one of Dad's relatives died or something and that's why everybody was acting like this. It wasn't until I smelled food that I decided to come out. I took a seat across from dad, trying not to meet his vacant stare. Mom tore the packet with the cheese powder and emptied it into a bowl with undrained pasta. She stirred it absently before walking over and dropping several scoops on each plate and then taking a seat herself. I stared at the plate of noodles sitting in a puddle of orange cheese water. It tasted terrible, but I stabbed my fork into as many noodles at a time as I could so that I could excuse myself as quickly as possible. Before I could stop myself, a nervous conversation attempt just came out. Dad, I didn't know we had I stopped. I didn't have the right word. A guest? Distant family. This person looked like he belonged on a wanted poster. The half asked question went ignored and I just cleared my plate without another word. No one else at the table had touched or even looked at their plates. I took mine to the sink and ran water in it and put it in the dishwasher. I'm gonna finish my homework and go to bed, I said. The room was silent and devoid of movement as I walked away. Good night, I called over my shoulder, my words again left unanswered. I felt so lonely and empty as I climbed the stairs. My parents were only a few feet away, but I'd never felt so alone. The pictures in the hallway seemed to stare at me like they knew something I didn't. Me in a Halloween costume with a plastic sword, mom holding a cake with candles, dad squinting in the sun on some beach I barely remember. The bathroom fan whirred when I flipped it on. I brushed my teeth and watched my face out of habit, checking for anything that didn't belong. But tonight that felt like everything. I closed the door to my room, locked it, and sat on the bed. The headset lay where I'd left it. My In Game character still stood in the same idle loop, the screen dimming and leaving him alone, too. I told myself dad knew what he was doing. If it was a family thing, he'd tell me when it was my business. People show up. That happens. When I lay down. I left the TV on because if I turned it off, I'd keep thinking and I wouldn't be able to stop. The house settled and the quiet pressed in, the weight stacking and stacking until I couldn't breathe. I watched the line under my door for a long time. No shadows disturbed it. I waited for sleep, but it didn't come. I woke up to the channel guide looping and my TV washing the room in blue. My neck hurt from sleeping wrong and my mouth felt dry. For a few seconds I lay there staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out why my chest was tight. Then last night came crashing back. The way my parents just sat there, the way that man didn't move, the way nobody said much of anything. The clock on my nightstand said 8:47. I'd blown through first period and half of second. Normally that would have sent me into an instant spiral. Missed assignments, attendance calls, lectures. But all of that felt far away. The only thing that mattered was what was happening downstairs. I shut off the TV and just sat on the edge of the bed for a minute, listening. The house sounded like it always did in the morning. The faint hum of the fridge, the heater kicking on. But there was no voices, no yelling that I was late to school, no threats of being grounded. I got dressed, pulling on the first clean clothes I could find. I thought about staying in my room and pretending to be sick, but that meant staying here the whole day. I walked down the stairs slowly, one hand on the rail. They were at the table, still. Dad on the left, mom on the right, the man at the head. The overhead light was on this time, making everything look a little too bright. The plates in front of my parents were empty, forks lined up perfectly beside them. Nobody was talking or interacting in any way. Morning, I said. My voice sounded rough. Dad looked up after a second. Morning, he said. His face didn't change much. No smile, no frown. Mom's eyes came up, then dropped just as fast. Morning, she said. Same tone. The man, Dad's so called cousin, sat like a statue. Same clothes, same posture, hands folded on the table. His hair hung in greasy strands. His eyes were open but not on anything, just forward, like he was staring through the wall into something only he could see. You guys sleep? I asked. You're still in the same clothes. We're fine, mom said. We're fine, dad repeated. I opened the fridge and grabbed the orange juice, more for something to hold than anything. I overslept. I'm gonna go in late. At least catch a couple classes. Nobody said I should hurry. Nobody asked why my alarm hadn't gone off. Mom didn't ask if I needed a note. Dad didn't say anything about responsibility or effort or any of his usual lines. You going to work? I asked him. He glanced at the man before he answered. We're staying here. We. Not I. Not your mom and I. Just we. Like the three of them were one unit and I was something else. I poured juice into a glass and drank it in three gulps. My hands were shaking. I rinsed the glass and left it in the sink because leaving it dirty would have started a whole thing any other day. Today no one even looked. I'll text you later, I said. I didn't mean it. I just said it to say something. Dad nodded once. Mom looked past me at the wall. The man didn't move at all. I grabbed my backpack and walked out. No one told me to have a good day or to be careful. School felt like somebody had hit mute on the world. The hallways were crowded and loud, but it was all background noise. I sat through the second half of math and couldn't have told you what numbers were on the board. In History. The teacher called on me and I stared at him until he sighed and moved on. At lunch, I picked at a slice of pizza until the cheese went cold. You seriously look dead, josh said, dropping into the seat across from me. What, did you stay up all night grinding again? Didn't sleep much, I said. It came out flat. He watched me for a second. You mad at me or something? No, I said. Sorry. Just stuff at home. Bad stuff or just annoying? He asked. I thought of my parents, empty faces, the man at the head of the table. Weird, I said. My dad's cousin is staying with us. Oh, old people drama. He rolled his eyes. Say no more. If I tried to explain it, he'd either think I was joking or insane, So I nodded, like that was it. The whole day was like that. People talked to me. Teachers gave assignments. The bell rang and rang again. I did everything on autopilot. Every time I stopped paying attention, my brain went back to the kitchen table, back to that man. By the time last period ended. The idea of going home made me feel sick, but so did the idea of not going home in the end. Where else could I go? The house looked normal from the sidewalk. Same white siding, same crooked mailbox. It was starting to get dark, and the front room light was on. From out here, it could have been any other day. I stood on the porch for a full minute before I worked up the nerve to open the door. Mom? Dad? I called. My voice sounded small in the entryway. No one answered. The kitchen was straight ahead. I stepped in. They were there. Same chairs, same positions. Mom's hands rested on either side of hers. Dad's fingers were laced together, knuckles pale. They lifted their eyes when I came in, like something had pinged them. Hey, I said. Dad nodded. How was school? Mom asked. It should have sounded normal. It didn't. Fine, I lied. You guys eat. I'll make something, she said. None of them moved. I set my backpack down by the wall. Do you want me to make it? I asked. Mac and cheese again? Yes, mom said. She didn't stand until I crossed to the counter and picked up the box. Then she got up, took it from my hand, and moved through the same steps as before. I grabbed plates from the cabinet and set the table the way I always had. When I got to the head of the table, I hesitated. The chair was empty. My heart started beating faster. I looked toward the living room, the couch, the tv. Nothing. Where'd he go? I asked. Your cousin? Dad didn't look around the room like a normal person would. He's here, he said. I turned toward the hallway. The man stood halfway down it, right where the light from the kitchen thinned out. He was facing the wall, shoulders square, hands at his sides, not leaning, not slumped. Just there. As if that was where he'd been told to stand. He hadn't been there when I first walked in. I replayed that in my head. I had a clear view of the hall from the doorway. There hadn't been anyone in it. I stared at his back, waiting for some sign he knew I was there. A tilt of the head, a shift of weight. Anything. He didn't move at all. Behind me, water started to boil. The sound made me flinch. I forced myself to look away and focus on the stove. I'm not very hungry, I said. I'll eat later. Okay, mom said. Okay, dad repeated. No one asked why or questioned me in any way. It was like my choices existed in a separate bubble from them now. I went upstairs and shut my door. This time I didn't bother turning Anything on the layer of normal noise just made it worse. I sat on my bed, hands pressed against my knees, and tried to breathe slow. Maybe Dad's cousin had some mental problem nobody talked about. Maybe my parents were trying to be polite and not make a big deal out of it. Maybe they were stressed and shutting down those explanations felt thin even as I thought them. You don't just sit in a chair all day without moving. You don't stare at walls. You don't answer everything two seconds late, like you're lagging. After a while, sitting still became unbearable. I told myself I was just going to get a glass of water and come right back. The house was dimmer now, shadows stretching across the hallway. I went into the bathroom, filled a cup at the sink, drank half of it. The cold felt sharp going down. On the way back to my room, I stopped at the top of the stairs without meaning to. The man was at the bottom. He stood on the last step, straight as a post, looking up. At least his face was pointed up from where I was. I couldn't tell exactly where his eyes were, just that his head was angled in my direction. My fingers clenched around the cup until the plastic creaked. For a second I forgot how to breathe. He hadn't been there a minute ago. I would have seen him. When I walked past the stairwell to the bathroom, I hadn't heard a single footstep. The stairs always complain when someone uses them. This time, nothing. We stayed like that. Me at the top, him at the bottom. Frozen. I could have said something. Anything. The words stacked up in my throat and went nowhere. I took one slow step back, then another. His outline stayed exactly the same. No flinch, no blink. Just that awful, patient stillness. As soon as I was close enough, I ducked into my room, shut the door, and turned the lock. Then I pulled my desk chair over and wedged it under the knob, legs digging into the carpet. I sat down on the floor with my back against the bed, facing the door. My heart was pounding hard enough that I could feel it in my shoulders. I kept waiting for something to happen, for the knob to rattle, for the wood to creak, for my parents to call my name. None of that came. The sky outside my window went from amber to gray to black. I lost track of how many times I checked the time. I stayed on the floor, staring at the door.
- [25:03]
Agent Conroy / Narrator
Warning Signal. Interruption Detect.
- [25:09]
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- [26:24]
Podcast Host / Advertiser
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- [26:56]
Agent Conroy / Narrator
Had the time of my life.
- [27:00]
Teenage Son / Main Character
Hey, I never felt this way before.
- [27:03]
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- [27:15]
Teenage Son / Main Character
And I owe it all to you.
- [27:18]
Podcast Host / Advertiser
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- [27:27]
Teenage Son / Main Character
I woke up with my cheek stuck to the carpet and my back screaming. For a second, I didn't know where I was. Then I saw the base of my bed above me and the chair jammed under my doorknob, and it all came flooding back. I pushed the chair away from the door and cracked it an inch. The hallway looked normal. Light from the window at the end made a pale stripe across the beige carpet. My parents bedroom door was cracked open. Last night when they'd been downstairs at the table, the door had been closed. I stood there, staring at the gap. Nothing moved inside. No sound. Mom. I called. I should have gone back to my room. Everything in me wanted to. Instead, I stepped into the hallway and went toward the door, heart pounding harder with every step. My hand shook when I pushed it open. They were on the bed. Both of them lay on top of the covers, side by side, shoes off, clothes still on. The curtains were half open, letting in a thin gray light that made everything look flat. The room smelled stale. Mom, I said. Her eyes were half open, not really focused on anything. Her skin looked pale, lips dry and cracked. Her hair was stuck to her forehead with sweat. When she turned her head toward me, it was slow, like it hurt. H hey, she croaked. Dad? I moved closer. What's going on? He stared at the ceiling a second longer before his eyes slid toward me. They looked smaller somehow, sunk in. There were dark smudges under them, like he hadn't slept in a week. We're fine, he said, but his voice was thin and breathy, and the effort of saying it seemed to take something out of him. They didn't look fine. They looked sick. Really sick. You guys look terrible, I said. My throat fell tight. Did you take anything? Do you need water? No answer. Mom blinked slowly. Dad swallowed but didn't sit up. Neither of them tried to move. Panic started to rise up in my chest. For a second the whole weird cousin in the house thing fell away, and it was just my parents, sweating and glassy eyed on top of their bed. I'm calling an ambulance, I said. This isn't normal. Both of them snapped upright at the exact same time, like someone had pulled strings attached to their shoulders. Their hands dug into the blanket. Their eyes locked on me, wide in a way I hadn't seen before. No, they said together. For a second, I honestly thought they were going to get out of bed and grab me. I stumbled backward until my shoulder hit the door frame. You need help, I managed. You're sick. You can't even no doctors, mom said. Her voice shook now.
- [30:43]
Podcast Host / Advertiser
No hospital.
- [30:45]
Teenage Son / Main Character
No, dad repeated, jaw clenched so hard I could hear his teeth click. They stared at me, breathing hard. Then, just as suddenly as they had sat up, their shoulders sagged. They sank back against the pillows, eyes half closed again. I backed out of the room and pulled the door until it was almost closed again. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. I went downstairs without really deciding to. My feet just carried me. He was on the couch, same clothes, same posture, sitting straight, hands resting on his knees, eyes aimed at nothing. The TV was off. The room was dim. He might as well have been a mannequin someone left there. Something in me snapped. What did you do? I said. My voice came out louder than I meant it to. What did you do to them? Nothing. He didn't flinch. Didn't look over. Didn't even blink that I could see. I moved closer. Hey, look at me. I stepped right in front of him, between him and whatever middle distance he was pretending to see. I know you can hear me. You show up and they start acting like this. They won't eat. They sit like zombies. They're sick and they don't want me to call for help. What did you do? His eyes seemed to be looking through my chest. Get out of my house, I said. Do you understand me? Get out or I'll call the cops. I stood there, breathing hard, waiting for some sign I'd gotten through. A change in his face, a turn of the head. Anything. He stayed exactly the same. The anger drained out of me as fast as it had come, leaving something worse behind. The silence felt thick. His stillness felt heavier than if he'd screamed in my face. I backed away slowly, not taking my eyes off him until I hit the edge of the entryway. Then I turned and went for the stairs, every hair on my arms standing up. At the last step I stopped and looked back. The couch was empty. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, directly below me. His head was tilted up just enough that our eyes met. I hadn't heard him move for a second. Everything went cold. My fingers went numb on the rail. I couldn't breathe. It felt like his gaze pinned me in place more than fear did. There was nothing in his face. No smile, no frown, no anger. Just that flat attention locked on me like I was the only thing in the house that existed. My foot slipped off the step behind me and I fell hard onto the landing. The impact knocked the air out of my lungs and broke that frozen feeling. By the time I scrambled backward on hands and heels toward my room, my heart was pounding so hard it hurt. I slammed my bedroom door, turned the lock, shoved the chair under the knob, then grabbed the side of my dresser and dragged it until it sat crooked in front of everything. I sat on the bed and realized I was shaking all over. For a minute I just stared at my phone on the nightstand. Then I grabbed it and dialed 91 1. I stared at the numbers with my thumb hovering over the green call button. I wanted to do it, but I couldn't bring myself to make the decision. What if I was wrong about everything? I instead pulled up my browser and typed in their symptoms. Nothing that came up looked right. Stroke? Drugs? Carbon monoxide? None of those fit. None of them explained the way they only reacted to certain words or the stranger on the couch or the fact that he just seems to be places, like he's a statue getting moved around. I looked up laws when you're allowed to call an ambulance for someone. How old you have to be to report abuse. What happens if your parents say everything's fine when it isn't? My parents weren't themselves. I didn't know who they were. I set the phone down, then picked it up again. Every search looped back to the same place. There wasn't going to be a page for this. Nobody online had advice for My dad's cousin showed up and now my parents look half dead and don't want help. It all started when he came. I knew that. And it was getting worse. I sat there in the dim light from my window, listening to the house breathe around me, and tried to work out which scared me. Staying or leaving. I must have drifted off sometime after the sky went dark. When I opened my eyes, my head felt heavy, like I'd slept underwater. The house was quiet. No movement, no voices, no clatter from the kitchen. I didn't want to leave my room. Everything in me said to stay put, but the longer I sat, the more the silence pressed in. I pushed the dresser away inch by inch, listening hard for any sound on the other side. All I could hear was my ears ringing like an alarm. My parents bedroom door was still cracked. I walked toward it slowly. Every step felt heavier than the one before. They'd probably just be lying there like before, maybe asleep this time. Or maybe feeling better. I moved toward it slowly. Each step felt like it took a full minute. My hand shook when I reached out to push the door a little wider. They were on the bed, both of them side by side, eyes closed, faces pale in a way I'd never seen outside of movies.
- [36:46]
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- [36:48]
Teenage Son / Main Character
Their breathing was incredibly shallow. Mom? My voice cracked. No reaction or movement. I stepped closer. Please say something. A faint creak as I pushed the door open wider made every muscle in my body lock. Something was standing in the doorway. I turned my head and everything inside me slipped at once. It was him, but not him. The man who'd arrived days ago. Except now he towered in the frame, body stretched. His clothes hung off him wrong, sagging around angles that weren't possible. His neck came forward from the center of his chest, thick at the base, then narrowing as it extended outward in a slow, sick bend. His head perched at the end, tilted sideways, watching me the way a predator watches movement. His eyes glowed faint orange, not bright, just enough to paint his pupils in the dark. His mouth hung open In a grin that didn't belong to anything living. The teeth were long, cracked and crowded. He didn't move. He didn't speak. He just watched me. I froze. I didn't even breathe. The fear hit so hard, I thought my body might shut down completely. My knees went weak first, then my vision blurred at the edges. I took a step back and tripped over myself, hitting the back of my head hard. The impact shot lights across my vision. My stomach lurched. I scrambled backwards, using my elbows and heels, trying to get away, but my coordination was gone. My head swam. Tears blurred everything. He didn't follow. He just stared. I crawled the last few feet into my room, half blind. I slammed the door shut and locked it, then leaned my full weight against it because that was all I could do. My breaths came ragged. My heartbeat sounded like it was punching itself out of my chest. My head swam in and out of focus. Then everything went black. I woke on my bedroom floor with a headache that felt like a crack running through the middle of my skull. The room was dark. For a moment I didn't know why I was there or why my heart was already pounding. And then everything I'd seen before blacking out snapped back into place. That thing in the doorway, the way it looked at me, the way its body stretched. That was no person, no family member. Fear hit so fast I nearly vomited. I pushed myself upright, holding myself until the room stopped tilting. I needed my phone. I needed to call the police. Screw what my parents had said. Whatever was happening to them was far beyond normal. But before I even got to my feet, a sound crept down the hallway. A wet, shifting noise, soft but deliberate, and underneath it, a faint human sound. One I recognized and didn't want to. I forgot the phone. I forgot everything except that my parents were down that hall and something was happening to them. I grabbed the chair, still lying on its side by the door. My hands shook so hard I almost dropped it, but I lifted it anyway, held it like a bat, and stepped into the hall. The noise grew louder with each step, sticky and rhythmic. Every foot I moved made my stomach clench harder, But I kept going because the alternative was standing still and listening to whatever was happening behind that half open door. My hand trembled as I reached it. The smell hit first, warm and metallic. My throat tightened, and for half a second I thought about turning back, calling the police, running outside. But my mom made a sound, a thin, broken exhale. An instinct cut through everything else. I kicked the door open and stepped through. For a second, the world didn't make sense. My eyes took in shapes that didn't belong together, colors that shouldn't have been on skin, movements that didn't make sense. My brain stuttered, trying to make it normal, trying to reshape it into anything human, but the truth snapped into place all at once. The thing was kneeling over them on all fours, except its limbs weren't limbs anymore. The human skin suit it had worn was torn open down the middle, revealing slick red tissue and boneless appendages pushing out through the gaps like worms trying to crawl free. The greasy haired human head I'd seen days ago was folded backward and hanging limply over the back of the neck on a long stalk, jaw gaping open. Eyes rolled back from the ends of the human arms and legs. More limbs extended, thin, red, flexible and reaching to floor, making it tall as it leaned down over them. Several of those appendages from its chest chest were inside my parents through a hole it had made in their stomachs, not just inside them, but working, pulling intestines out in long glistening ropes and funneling them upward into the creature's open abdomen like it was filling itself. My parents were still alive. My mom's eyes were open, unfocused, tears sliding down her temple. My dad made a small choking sound as the thing lifted something from inside him. Their bodies barely moved, pinned by pain or shock or whatever spell this thing had them under. I must have made a sound because the creature turned. Its body didn't twist, its neck did. The long stalk bent and rotated until the upside down human face dangled toward me. The mouth widened further than it had any right to, cracking at the corners. The eyes caught the light and gleamed faint orange. The fear that hit me wasn't like anything I'd felt before. It wasn't panic. It wasn't terror. It was something deeper, a kind of disbelief so pure it felt like I'd stepped out of myself for a moment, watching everything from somewhere slightly behind my own eyes. But one thought cut through the haze. I had the chair. I charged. Before I could talk myself out of it, the chair came down with everything I had, slamming into the folded human face. The skull collapsed with a wet crack, spraying dark fluid across my hands. The chair shattered in the same motion. The creature reacted violently by twisting and shifting so suddenly it was hard to keep track of its movements. The limbs inside my parents tore free in sudden jerks, ripping long wet lines in their bodies. Blood poured across the bed. Both of them screamed, their voices breaking. The thing turned on me. I stumbled backward and threw my arm up out of Instinct. Its torso split wider and a cluster of inner limbs shot forward, wrapping my wrist and elbow and dragging me in. Before I could react, the split closed on my arm. There was pressure, crushing, and then pain erupted in a white burst that swallowed everything else. I screamed so loud it tore my throat raw. I tried to pull away, but the creature held tight, grinding its teeth deeper till suddenly I fell backward so fast I didn't feel the landing. My brain shut down every sense except sight. I stared at the stump where my arm had been, red pouring onto the carpet. My heartbeat pumped each wave out of me like it was trying to empty itself. A sound behind me pulled my gaze upward. The human head dangled forward again, forehead half caved in, jaw hanging open and swaying loosely, eyes rolling until they found me. They settled into a vacant, delighted stare. I clutched the stump with my remaining hand and forced myself to my feet, stumbling down the hall as my vision tunneled. The stairs rushed up faster than I could handle, and I tumbled down them, slamming into each step until I hit the bottom in a heap. I pushed myself upright with shaking legs and staggered toward the door, slipping in my own blood. My fingers smeared the handle red before catching, and I struggled to open it, but finally got it open as the thing made its way to the stairs. I flung the door open and ran. I left a trail behind me that would have been easy for anything to follow. I made it to the first neighbor's porch and pounded my fist against her door, yelling for help, begging her to open up. Blood smeared in thick marks down the wood. I kept glancing behind me, knowing the creature would come crawling out the door any second. The porch light flicked on. Susan opened the door. Our neighbor, mid-40s, lives with her husband. Her face was slack and empty, eyes dull, mouth parted just slightly. And behind her, half hidden in the hallway, another man stood perfectly still. My stomach dropped into something like numbness. I turned to run, but my knees buckled and I collapsed into her yard, the grass soaking red under me. I rolled onto my back and stared up at the dark sky as my world flickered and shapes stepped into my vision, moving toward me in slow, deliberate steps. The last thing I saw was one of them tilting its head, studying me the same way the first one had. Then the dark took over.
- [47:56]
Agent Conroy / Narrator
Cases like this rarely leave answers the bureau can use. They leave fragments and a picture that gets worse the longer you try to line it up. What happened in that house wasn't unique, and that's the part people seem to miss when they hear the surface level information about these reports. Once the police sent in their request for federal assistance. The Bureau already knew what they were walking into. Not the exact form, not the exact biology, but the pattern. A family goes silent. Neighbors or relatives report strange behavior. Someone gives a statement that sounds impossible unless you know what you're dealing with. And the Bureau does. In the past 10 years, there have been over a hundred documented incidents that follow almost the same pattern. Different towns, different states, different victims, same core structure. An outside presence enters a home. The adults fall under some kind of influence, and the household begins to behave as if someone else is calling the shots. No forced entry, no disturbances, no struggle. Until the final moments. It works quietly, almost politely, right up until the bloody end. What the Bureau recovered from the scene confirms at least part of the boy's memory profile. The biological material they collected showed sequences that don't appear naturally in anything on record. The compounds detected in the paper parent's blood resembled a sedative and a hormone driven obedience trigger. Something that dulls decision making while leaving motor function intact. Very similar to scopolamine, only much more effective. Adolescents seem to respond differently to these suppressants. The exact reason isn't clear. They are still vulnerable, but not compliant. That difference is enough to severely hinder Hinder their decision making and thought processing, but not to make them subservient. The entity left the house before Bureau agents arrived and was never found. Security cameras from nearby residences picked up movement leaving the perimeter, but response teams could not track the location of the entity or others that had infiltrated nearby. Several neighboring houses showed signs of anomalous contamination, including remains that matched what was found in the first house. None had surviving residents. The Bureau presents itself as an organization that swoops in and stops these things before they spread. But most of what they file as containment is really just damage control. And the only reason they bother with damage control is to keep up appearances for government funding reports. A few people in positions of power only care about feeling good when they look at numbers on a curated review. So if you want a takeaway from this case, here it Pay attention to the people around you. If their words start sounding empty, ask why. If they look past you instead of at you, don't ignore it. And if someone or something new appears in your home without a reason, that makes sense. Sense the first time you hear it leave. By the time the Bureau arrives, what's left won't be worth saving. And sometimes what they do with you is worse than what you faced in the first place.
- [51:39]
Teenage Son / Main Character
As a raider scavenging a derelict world, you settle into an underground settlement. But now you must return. Return to the surface, where arc machines roam. If you're brave enough, who knows what you might find? Arc Raiders, a multiplayer extraction adventure video game. Buy now for PlayStation 5, Xbox Series X and S, and PC. Rated T for Teen.
- [52:08]
Agent Conroy / Narrator
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