Scary True Stories Told In The Rain | Ep. 448

Summary

Scary Stories and Rain | Ep. 448 – Podcast Summary

Podcast: Scary Stories and Rain
Host: Being Scared
Narration by: Amanda Blackstone / Kendall / Jacob Evans
Release Date: August 6, 2026
Episode Theme: Unsettling true tales, told calmly against a backdrop of rain—crafted for sleepless or stormy nights.

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Episode Overview

This episode contains a series of chilling, true—or true-inspired—horror stories, imbued with an uncanny realism and often bleak psychology. Themes of family secrets, trauma, the supernatural, and the unknown permeate the stories. The delivery is gentle yet haunting, with measured pacing, atmospheric language, and evocative rain sound effects enhancing the tales’ lingering sense of unease.

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Key Stories and Discussion Points

1. “That’s Just Andy” — Family Secrets, Trauma, and Something Under the Cabin

[01:16 – 13:58]

• The Setting: The narrator recounts visits to a dilapidated family cabin, dulled by eerie scratching from beneath the floorboards. Childhood fears dismissed by a mother’s offhand: “That’s just Andy. He wants to come out and play. Just ignore him.”
• Tragedy Strikes: Post–high school graduation, a family car accident leaves the narrator’s parents dead in a grotesque, deeply graphic scene. (Notable for the raw description: “Her neck was sickeningly twisted in a direction that isn't possible… her face was staring directly at me. Her lifeless eyes were wide open, lips twisted into a silent, terrible scream.” – [03:15])
• Inheritance Mystery: At the reading of the will, the narrator learns of an unknown “Andrew”—a supposed sibling named alongside him as inheritor.
• Obsession and Revelation: Haunted by the “Andy” scratching, the narrator returns to the cabin in winter. Entering the crawlspace, he discovers a monstrous, pale, malnourished, vaguely human creature—Andy—scratching with bloodied fingertips, moving with bestial, reptilian fluidity.
• Escape and Legacy: Narrowly surviving the encounter, the narrator, now an adult, passes on the familial coping mechanism to his own son: “Dad, the scratching again.” — “It’s okay, pal… That’s just Uncle Andy. He wants to play. Just ignore him.” ([13:58])
• Memorable Quote: “I could hear a soft grunt as the creature hit the stairs only a few feet behind me…” ([12:48])

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2. The Blackstone Experiment — Family, Psychology, and a Stolen Identity

[14:01 – 44:25]

• Family Tradition: The Blackstone family have a long lineage as lauded psychologists; the narrator, Amanda, is pressured to continue this legacy.
• Patient in the Psych Ward: Amanda is summoned to see a mysterious, filthy woman in Ward B, who eerily asks for her by name. The woman’s eyes are “the same eyes I saw every day when I looked in the mirror.” ([22:45])
• Secret Files and Confrontation: Amanda finds handwritten files from her father about this patient, with dates spanning Amanda’s entire childhood.
• Shattering Revelation: In a tense, brilliantly written confrontation, Amanda’s father reveals a decades-old experiment: Amanda is actually Danielle, one of twin daughters. As infants, the family (at the grandfather’s urging) participated in a secret “nature vs. nurture” experiment, sending Danielle away to another family, while keeping her twin Amanda. Later, Danielle was pulled back into the “real” family, her memories replaced.
  • Quotes:
    • “You were the one we gave away.” ([29:00])
    • “Your mother and I have always known this day would come. I just wish I could have been here first to explain…” ([28:20])
• Twisted Resolution: Amanda, in a dissociative rage, attacks her sister with a pen in the psych ward, killing her. Her father calmly congratulates her for “solving the problem.” The trauma and horror culminate in Amanda’s chilling final thought: “Since the day my worthless sister left this family and I began my new better life as Amanda Blackstone. And he better never forget it.” ([38:58])
• Memorable Moment: The sister’s repetitive chanting of Amanda’s real name (Danielle) and pleads for freedom, culminating in her brutal death.

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3. Dolls, Phobias, and Haunted Houses

[45:56 – 64:14]

• Automatonophobia: The narrator introduces their severe fear of humanoid figures—especially dolls—tracing it back to a traumatic childhood experience involving an old eccentric woman, her doll, and a haunted house in their hometown.
• Exploring the Haunted House: Dared by a friend, the narrator explores the abandoned house, encountering increasingly disturbing dolls in squalid, rotting rooms. The suspense escalates on the second floor with a life-sized porcelain doll in a rocking chair, its head turning to meet the narrator’s gaze.
• Terrifying Escape: Pursued by the dolls, including a clown doll blocking the exit, the narrator flees through a room crammed with decaying figurines, all turning to watch. The escape is frantic and visceral, with “tiny footsteps” following.
• Epilogue/Aftermath: Years later, for their daughter’s birthday, the same haunted doll is delivered to their home. Through a nanny cam, the doll is seen turning its head to face the camera when unobserved.
• Quote: “Its face seemed to have changed into a glare, as if it considered me an intruder in its world.” ([59:30])

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4. The Perils of Resurrection – Regret Beyond the Grave

[64:45 – 83:01]

• Science Gone Too Far: Narrated by Jacob Evans, this story follows a pharmaceutical scientist whose company creates a substance capable of reanimating the dead.
• Personal Tragedy: After losing his wife in a car accident, he steals the sample, exhumes her, and attempts reanimation.
• Grotesque Consequences: His wife returns, but as a hollow, horrifyingly vacant imitation—cold, smelly, mute but for guttural groans, destructive and ultimately homicidal. Her condition mirrors those recorded in top-secret human trials: dead flesh, violent rages, uncontrollable behavior.
• Final Moments: Trapped in a closet as the reanimated wife searches for him, Jacob records his final message, urging others to “let the dead rest in peace.”
• Memorable Closing: “There’s a reason the dead don’t come back. No matter how much you want your loved ones back to life, trust me, you are better off letting them rest in peace.” ([65:00])

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5. The Haunted Apartment — Sleep Paralysis and the Residue of Murder

[85:01 – 112:15]

• Independence and Dread: Kendall, escaping overbearing parents, moves into a neglected apartment with leftover furniture.
• Rising Horror: Each night, Kendall feels watched and later suffers sleep paralysis. She experiences vivid horrors: an old man with dull, gray eyes at the foot of her bed, who grabs her, leaving bruises ([90:11]), and then, as she sleeps on the floor, a dead body appearing under her bed.
• Escalation: The dead man crawls on top of Kendall during paralysis, scratches her arms, and returns under the bed as she bleeds out and passes out.
• Rescue: Co-worker Jenna finds her, saving her life. It’s revealed that the last tenant was murdered in the room; the body’s stain is still in the floorboards.
• Quote: “His eyes are what scared me the most. There was no life in them, no hint of movement…” ([91:22])

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6. The Music That Only One House Hears — A Surreal, Lyrical Haunting

[112:16 – end]

• Family Ritual: After her 16th birthday, the protagonist listens to mysterious, entrancing orchestral music every Saturday, only ever audible at her family’s house.
• Foray into Forbidden Woods: A friend, Gina, notes the music is only heard at the protagonist’s house; the pair plan to sneak into the woods at night in search of its source.
• Consequences: Gina disappears, and the protagonist ventures into the forest, discovering a magical glade filled with pristine instruments. An inhuman, spindly man claims to have seen Gina, showing the protagonist a violin bow cracked identically to Gina’s broken arm—a chilling hint that Gina has been transformed into an instrument.
• Escape and Aftermath: The protagonist flees, rescued by her mother. The story ends with a final, haunting violin solo—implying Gina’s fate is sealed.
• Quote: “Would you tell me what you think of my latest instrument?” ([111:20])

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Notable Quotes & Moments by Timestamp

• “Her lifeless eyes were wide open, lips twisted into a silent, terrible scream.”
  — Main Story Narrator ([03:15])

• “I screamed, dropping the flashlight and scrambling up the staircase. I could hear a soft grunt as the creature hit the stairs only a few feet behind me…”
  — Main Story Narrator ([12:48])

• “Your sister isn’t the one we gave away. You were.”
  — Dr. Blackstone’s father ([29:00])

• “You did it. The problem is taken care of.”
  — Dr. Blackstone’s father, after Amanda kills her twin ([38:40])

• “Its face seemed to have changed into a glare, as if it considered me an intruder in its world.”
  — Doll story ([59:30])

• “There’s a reason the dead don’t come back. No matter how much you want your loved ones back to life, trust me, you are better off letting them rest in peace.”
  — Jacob Evans, Reanimation story ([65:00])

• “His eyes are what scared me the most. There was no life in them, no hint of movement…”
  — Kendall, Haunted Apartment ([91:22])

• “Would you tell me what you think of my latest instrument?”
  — Spindly man in the woods ([111:20])

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Memorable Moments & Emotional Highlights

• The unflinching, gruesome car accident scene sets the tone for the raw, emotionally charged horror to come.
• The twin revelation and nature-vs-nurture experiment probe the boundaries of familial love, morality, and the lasting legacy of psychological trauma.
• The atmospheric descriptions of the haunted house and haunted apartment stories evoke a slow-realizing dread, rooted in mundane detail.
• The tale of the reanimated wife stands out for its despairing tone and the moral to “let the dead rest,” blending classic horror with contemporary themes of scientific hubris.
• Several stories make strong use of childhood and intergenerational trauma, showing how “the scratching under the floorboards” can echo throughout lives and down family lines.
• The surreal, fairy-tale quality of the final story (“The Music That Only One House Hears”) closes the episode on a note that’s both magical and horrific—a chilling mix of beauty and loss.

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Overall Tone and Language

The narration is calm, direct, and personal, carrying a soft-spoken intimacy that intensifies the stories’ psychological horror. Emotions—fear, confusion, grief—are described plainly but powerfully. Most narrators speak in first person, deepening the authenticity and immediacy of each tale. Rain sounds gently reinforce the solitude and unease.

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Recommended Segments (with Timestamps)

• Family Cabin/Andy Horror: [01:15 – 13:58]
• Nature vs. Nurture/Twin Swap Horror: [14:01 – 44:25]
• Haunted Doll Story: [45:56 – 64:14]
• Reanimated Wife: [64:45 – 83:01]
• Haunted Apartment/Sleep Paralysis: [85:01 – 112:15]
• The Musical Woods: [112:16 – end]

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Conclusion

Episode 448 of Scary Stories and Rain delivers a masterclass in atmospheric and psychological horror. Through stories of family betrayal, supernatural monsters, haunted relics, and personal isolation, the episode explores what it means to be haunted—by secrets, guilt, trauma, and the sometimes thin barrier between the living and the uncanny. Set against the soft backdrop of night rain, these stories will linger unsettlingly in your mind long after listening.

Transcript

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[Main Story Narrator (Amanda Blackstone / Kendall / Jacob Evans)]

Hey, welcome to Scary Stories and Rain. Do you want to listen ad free? Just subscribe on Spotify for $2.99 a month. Now turn out the lights, enjoy the stories and enjoy the rain. I'll never forget the screams. It was a warm spring night in the late 90s and we were on our way home from our little cabin in the woods. It was old, musty and a bit dilapidated, but it had been in the family for generations and monthly trips were a well ingrained family tradition. My dad described it as a good place to unplug from technology and the world. And it was just that passing through that rickety screen door was like stepping into another era. Despite the lack of modern day comforts like plumbing or air conditioning, I had always enjoyed the cabin. If my family values one thing, it's tradition. The only complaint I'd ever had about the cabin was a hard time sleeping when I was younger. It wasn't necessarily the ever present chorus of wildlife buzzing insects, chirping birds, squirrels crashing through the underbrush. It wasn't my youthful imagination running wild with growling wolves, monstrous bears or mysterious Creatures crashing towards the flimsy walls of the cabin in the dead of the night. What kept me awake was the soft scratching I could always hear underneath the floorboards. It wasn't aggressive and it wasn't loud. It was persistent, the faint but incessant grinding against the grainy wooden planks. As a young child, I would call out to my mother at night, afraid. She would sit at my bed and run a hand through my hair reassuringly. There's no need to be scared, baby. That's just Andy. He wants to come out and play. Just ignore him. This had been a good weekend. The lake was warm enough for swimming and the fishing was great. This had been a special trip, my high school graduation celebration. We drove home under a bright moon and I was comfortably leaning my head against the cool glass window. My parents conversation fading into a dull drone as the street lights zipped by. I faded in and out, closing my eyes and drifting off. The blast of a horn and a devastating explosion violently ripped me from sleep and nothing would ever be the same again. I was spinning. Broken glass shards flew through the air, tearing, slicing. My mother was screaming. I will never forget those screams. There was blood. The car rolled into what felt like slow motion, finally smashing against a telephone pole and coming to rest. Then, with a gut wrenching finality, it was over. A dizziness overtook my senses and blackness blossomed everywhere. I was vaguely aware that I was bleeding and I felt an intense pressure in my head. It took me a few moments to realize that I was hanging upside down, held in by my seatbelt. I could smell the burning stench of deployed airbags and gasoline fumes. Call 911. The unfamiliar voice sounded like it was underwater. I could hear boots crunching against broken glass. Consciousness began to fade. Mom? My mouth was filled with copper, tasting blood, and I coughed. I couldn't quite comprehend what I was seeing. My parents lay motionless in front of me. My mom looked wrong. Her neck was sickeningly twisted in a direction that isn't possible. Her torso pointed forward, still neatly seatbelted in. But her face was staring directly at me. Her lifeless eyes were wide open, lips twisted into a silent, terrible scream. The car had crumpled in such terrific fashion at the driver's side that I couldn't see my father at all. There was thick, congealed blood and bits of hair that had been forced out of the twisted metal frame against the pavement. The best way I can describe it is if you'd set a tube of toothpaste on the floor and stomped on it. I could see shiny white bits amidst the carnage, and I tried to force myself to not recognize it as pieces of my father's skull. I stared at my dead mother's face for a long time. I couldn't look away. It wasn't until I could hear the screeching of the jaws of life sawing open the twisted wreck of the car that consciousness faded. There must be some kind of mistake, I said dumbly. I don't have a brother. The attorney shifted uncomfortably in his chair. I'm afraid not. And I do apologize for being unfamiliar with your family dynamic. However, the wording is quite clear. We sat in a downtown office suite that overlooked a main thoroughfare through massive glass windows. Can you read it for me again? My head was spinning. I desire that should I die, it is my wish to be buried according to the rites of the Roman Catholic Church and entered at Skip down to the next line. He cleared his throat. To my esteemed children, Ethan and Andrew, give the bequeath the following properties to witness our cabin located at he rattled off the address and continued to name bank accounts, the family house and other assets. An official sounding legal lease. I don't have a brother. I don't know who Andrew is, I repeated. The attorney looked sympathetic and slightly awkward as he adjusted his necktie. I understand, Ethan. My investigators are attempting to ascertain this Andrew's whereabouts. He set the papers down on his desk and stared at me. This isn't the first time I have seen an unconventional family dynamic. Why your parents chose not to tell you about your brother is a question I cannot answer. But surely there is a plausible reason. Andy, I muttered. My hands began to tremble as summer faded into fall and fall into winter. I began to obsess about the existence of of Andrew and my mother's explanation of the scratching underneath the cabin. That's just Andy. He wants to come out and play. I had to see it for myself. I had to know. I drove south under a full moon, clenching my teeth as I passed the mile marker where the crash had occurred those many months ago. I turned onto a small dirt road that held the cabin. Gravel and dirt spit behind my car.

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[Main Story Narrator (Amanda Blackstone / Kendall / Jacob Evans)]

Sprite into the darkness all the cabins were all empty at this time of year. No. 1 vacations in the dead of winter. Skeletal tree branches clawed and scraped the sides of my car as I pulled up the narrow driveway leading through the choked woods and up to the cabin. The small, squat log cabin had none of its charm that it held in springtime. In the dead of this cold winter night, illuminated by nothing but my Chevy's headlights, it looked menacing, haunting. I clicked on my flashlight and tucked it under an armpit. As I fumbled with the keys, my breath frosted in the frigid air. I unlocked the door and stepped inside. I stopped and listened closely. It was there, faint but present, soft scratching from underneath the floorboards. The hair stood up on the back of my neck, and my heart began beating faster. A heavy padlock secured the small door leading to the crawl space underneath the cabin. A little key accompanied the larger front door key on the key ring. It slid into the padlock easily. The little door groaned as I pulled inward, and the padlock clattered to the floor. A stench assaulted my senses and I fought to keep my lunch down. It stank of rotten meat. It stank of death. My heart beat even faster. The small flashlight cast a pitiful beam of yellow light into the inky blackness that stretched downward into the bowels of the cabin. The wooden steps crossed, creaked, and groaned under my feet as I descended underground, the beam of light now trembling wildly across the moldy walls and uneven dirt floor. Tree roots protruded in some areas. The ceiling of the crawl space was crisscrossed with thousands of shallow gouges and scratches. As I gagged on the foul odor, the beam of my flashlight illuminated the creature in a sickly yellow light. It sat on its haunches deep in the shadowed recesses of the crawlspace. I froze. Bile rose into the back of my throat and blackness ebbed into my vision as adrenaline dumped it softly scratched on the ceiling with bony fingers that were too long. Its skin, white as curdled milk and horribly smooth, glowed against the flashlight. It didn't seem to notice me as it continued its relentless scratching on the ceiling with bloody and worn down fingertips. Its ribs jutted out from malnutrition. It was vaguely human in composition, but at the same time totally otherworldly. Its eyes were completely white, like a cave dwelling beast. I gagged again, and that's when it noticed me. It snapped toward me, enlarged nostrils flaring angrily. I could hear a barely perceptible sniffing as it cocked its head and scrambled toward me at an astonishing speed. It used its hands as much as its legs in the cramped confines of the crawlspace as a gorilla would. The way it moved was all wrong. It was fluid but primitive, like some kind of reptile. I screamed, dropping the flashlight and scrambling up the staircase. I could hear a soft grunt as the creature hit the stairs only a few feet behind me and closing the distance fast. That thing was so terribly quiet. A cold, wet hand wrapped around my ankle like an eel. I felt another massive adrenaline dump and I lashed out with my free fall foot catching the creature in its head. I tumbled down the staircase silently, the blackness totally enveloping it. I plunged out of the crawlspace, slamming the door shut and leaning against it, breathing heavily. Dad. My son called me from the bedroom. It had been many years since my encounter with Andy, and try as I might, I simply cannot connect the dots as to why my parents had kept my deformity of a brother hidden away in a crawlspace imprisoned their dirty secret. I went to my son's bed and sat down, his little frame not even taking up half the bed. Moonlight spilled through the open window, illuminating the room.

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[Main Story Narrator (Amanda Blackstone / Kendall / Jacob Evans)]

I said as I ran a reassuring hand through his hair. Dad, the scratching again. He whined. It's okay, pal, I said. That's just Uncle Andy. He wants to play. Just ignore him. Besides, we're headed back home tomorrow. I got used to Andy scratching, and my son would get used to it too. He settled down and fell back to sleep. Quickly, I said, sat next to him for a while, listening to the soft scratching and smiling at the absurdity of it all. I think most people would have sold that cabin, or maybe burned it down to the ground, but I wasn't raised that way. I was raised with tradition and if my family values one thing, it's traditional. For as long as I can remember, I have been told psychology was in my blood. Every Blackstone from the past six generations have all been psychologists. I think my parents thought for a moment that I would be the Blackstone that would break that tradition. Both of them were titans in their field. My mother, a published author who was among the first to study PTSD in preschool aged children, and my father an award winning psychologist who established one of the largest inpatient psychiatric hospitals in the state. I, however, never had any interest in continuing in my parents footsteps. Growing up I pictured myself in the arts or doing something creative. I never seemed to fit in and always felt more comfortable around the outcasts at school. It really wasn't until my senior year of high school that I began to see what psychology meant to my family and how important it was that our legacy continued. So after years of studying, followed by years of hard work and building professional experience, I finally earned a spot on staff at my father's hospital. At first it was hard living up to his legacy. Everyone always expected nothing but perfection from a Blackstone in the psychology field. But after a few years I was able to step out of my father's shadow and he retired, leaving me to set and raise the expectations of our family name. Excuse me, Amanda. I mean Dr. Blackstone, a nurse said as she peeped peeked into my office. I sighed, lifting my head up from my laptop and tucked a stray strand of red hair behind my ear. Why does this woman never seem to knock before she just barges into my office? I cleared my throat and met her eyes. Yes. She stuttered nervously for a moment and looked away. It was amazing how after two weeks on the job she still couldn't look me in the eye. I was told to come find you. There is a patient on the way with special instruction to be seen by you only. I nodded and closed my laptop as I stood to my feet. It was likely one of my return patients that was coming back with some sort of relapse. Sadly, I had seen far too many patients leave, seemingly recovered and well medicated to only come back within days or weeks because they can't make it out in the real world. I silently picked up my large black notebook that I took with me whenever I saw a patient and gestured to the nurse to lead on. After four hallways and an elevator two floors down, we passed by the guard station to a secured section of the hospital where many of our worst patients stay. I didn't have many patients in Ward B I didn't have the kind of extensive experience some of the other doctors at the hospital had, and my father once told me that I was still at the part of my career where I could be more easily manipulated by the true psychotic masterminds that frequented these rooms. To have one of my previous patients end up on this floor was bad. My blue eyes darted around anxiously, making note of my surroundings and who was nearby. We stopped at a door and the nurse stepped back, looking at me like a lost child. I peered through the small window to determine who was in there, but all I could see was a small, petite figure with short, dirty red hair facing the corner of the room. Who is she? I asked. The nurse stuttered again, which only made me frustrated. Where is the file? I asked, this time with a more stern tone. There is none, she replied. It took me a moment to process what she was saying. What do you mean there's no file? Is the computer system down? No, Doctor. I mean I can't find one, she responded. I grew more frustrated and my voice began to raise. Then why did you bring me here if she isn't one of my patients, if she's new, get the doctor on call for this ward. I'm sorry, Dr. Blackstone, but when they brought her in, she said she had seen you and asked for you by name. I tried to pull up her records, but she wouldn't give me her name. So I thought maybe I could bring you here and you'd remember her. They checked for id, but she had none. I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned in closer to the door, still unable to see her face. Go back and talk to whoever brought her in. See if you can find any other information and come back. I want to know everything about what brought her here and why she is in this ward. The nurse nodded and quickly walked away, scrambling past the guards further down the hall. As I watched her disappear from view, I entered a code into the door and slowly opened it. I cleared my throat to ensure she heard me enter, but she did not look up from the corner she faced or even move an inch from her position. Hello, I'm Dr. Blackstone. No, you're not, she said in a whisper. I kept my distance, as I often do in a room alone with a patient. My eyes glanced to the camera in the corner of the room, knowing a guard could be there in moments if she attacked. I am, I responded. I was told by one of the nurses you asked for me. Have you been here before? Do you know where you are? I want to see Dr. Blue Black Stone. She whispered angrily. I watched her carefully and took note of her appearance. She was wearing green scrubs, as our patients often do to ensure they are not hiding any weapons in their clothing, but her skin was so caked in dirt it was difficult to determine any features on her face. However, even with how unclean she was, there was still something familiar about her. What's your name? I asked. She slammed her palm hard against the wall and growled, I want to see Dr. Blackstone. Her fingers began to bleed from the force to the wall and a guard quickly rushed in grabbing a hold of her, twisting her bloodied hand behind her. She screamed and resisted for a moment. Our eyes met and I froze. She smiled with a mouth of half rotted teeth back at me as she collapsed to the floor before another guard entered the room to take a hold of her, but she no longer resisted. I felt like I lost my breath and backed out of the room, going into the hallway. Her hair may have been different and her face may have been hidden behind dirt and grime, but her eyes. They were the same eyes I saw every day when I looked in the mirror. I leaned against a wall and tried to piece together what was happening as the nurse came rushing back into the hall with a folder. Dr. Blackstone, I think I found something. It's old, not even in our electronic files. I quickly snatched the file from her and opened it. There were pages and pages of handwritten notes, all in my father's familiar penmanship. I looked back inside the room at the lifeless creature on the ground that was now wrapped up in a jacket to protect her from hurting herself. In again. She laid the side of her head on the ground as the guard stepped away and walked outside the room and locked her inside. She saw me peering through the window and smiled again, letting out a haunting laugh before I quickly turned away and brought the folder close to my chest. Don't let anyone else in there, do you understand? She's dangerous and I don't want any other doctors seeing her right now. The nurse and guards nodded as I nervously rushed away making my escape to the elevator before I opened up the folder in my hands. Who is this woman? I asked myself as I tried to scan through page after page of notes written by my own father starting from 1983, the year I was born, to 2001, the year I graduated high school. For some reason the notes just stopped there, which seemed very odd for a long term mental patient. Did this person, whoever she was, move away? Did she suddenly disappear as the elevator doors opened. I stepped out into the hall and back to my office, flipping through pages in the folder and as I opened my door I looked up to see my father standing beside my desk. Dad, what are you doing here this time of night? It's 1am Something inside of me knew he was here because of whoever this patient was was down in Ward B. He moved behind me quietly closing my office door and gestured for me to sit. Eyeing the folder in my hands, I couldn't help but feel on edge. I loved and trusted my father, but what was he hiding? As I sat down behind my desk, I clutched the file closer to my chest. He frowned as he moved next to me and leaned on the edge, his tall slim figure figure towering over me. It still frightened me the same way that it did when I was little and getting ready to be punished. We sit in silence for what felt like eternity, but in reality was only a few moments. Finally he spoke. What is it that you think you found here? He gestured to the folder. I looked down. I had hardly any chance to read it before he showed up here, but I didn't want to give anything away until I knew what he was up to to Looks like a simple patient file to me. Someone who was in your care for a long time. He smirked like he often did when he caught me in a lie. You know there is no point in playing games here. Your mother and I have always known this day would come. I just wish I could have been here first to explain things before you just dove in and read about things you just can't understand. I looked up, meeting his eyes. And what is that supposed to mean? He laughed. Oh, I love that spark in you. It's going to be very useful in this situation. Won't you let me explain before you just jump to judgment? I am your father after all. I looked down and collected my thoughts for a moment. He's my dad. He would never hurt me. I've grown up with this man my entire life and he has never laid a finger on me, not even a spanking when I was a child. I laid the folder on the desk. Alright, go on, explain. He stood to his feet and began to pace as he often did when trying to work through a problem, thinking

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[Main Story Narrator (Amanda Blackstone / Kendall / Jacob Evans)]

few moments before starting I guess let's start from the beginning. 37 years ago, your mother and I, two fresh faced, naive newlyweds, had just recently graduated med school and were ready to take on the world. However, that all suddenly stopped when we found out she was pregnant. I rolled my eyes silently. I had heard this story a hundred times. What does this have to do with anything? He held his hand up to silence me before continuing. It was a difficult time. Your mother had a difficult time being taken seriously in the field. I was still trying to live up to my father's name. Your grandfather wasn't as supportive as I was. And just when we thought it couldn't possibly get any more difficult, it happened. He paused, almost hesitating to continue. I threw up my hands and leaned back in my chair. What? He met my eyes and walked toward me. We had our first sonogram and discovered we were having twins. I looked up at him, confused. He took my silence as an opportunity to continue. We couldn't afford twins. Not only that, but how would either of us be able to advance our careers with two children? It wasn't in our plans and we never had intended. He trailed off for a moment and looked at me sadly. Your grandfather always believed that each of us had to stand on our own two feet without any support. Support from the family we always had to prove our worth to him. So getting any help from him seemed hopeless until the NVN project. The NVN project? What are you talking about? I asked. Your grandfather suggested a deal. He would pay one family, one very different from ours, one not so fortunate to take one of our daughters, and in exchange would help your mother and I. He would make all of our problems just disappear. Of course at first we said no, but as we got closer and closer to the due date, things just weren't getting any better. Neither of us were able to get steady work and we just had no choice. He sighed and looked down. So I went back to my father and asked him what I needed to do. He explained that we would take this opportunity to do a long term private experiment that studied nature versus nurture. So what? You just gave my twin sister away? I can't believe you would do something like this. I yelled. Lower your voice. Do you want the entire hospital to hear you? Let me continue, he replied. No. I've had enough of this. I can't believe you would just give up my sister to some crazy, probably abusive family. And I bet you barely gave these people enough money to survive, right? Because otherwise it might taint your little experiment. Your sister isn't the one we gave away, my father replied. You were. I clenched my fists and stood up from my seat. Now you're going too far. Stop playing games, dad. He moved slowly toward me. Each year we would check in with the other family and pay them a small amount of money for for their participation and silence. It was difficult seeing you there. They obviously weren't using the money to take care of you. And they already had five of their own children. I don't think they treated you very well. He shook his head for a moment, almost looking ashamed. Eventually we began to realize we made a mistake. But it wasn't until you were both in high school that we decided that we had to get you out of this situation. I looked down trying to gather my thoughts. I had no memory of being anywhere else or any other life. I closed my eyes tightly trying to think through the last 20 years of my life. How could my entire past be gone like that and replaced with someone else's memories? When you came to us, it was tough at first, but you began to disassociate yourself from that previous life and eagerly take on any new good memories. We had to offer. It made no sense. How could my entire life be a sham? How could none of my memories from childhood be real? Every birthday, every Christmas, every family vacation. Seventeen years of my life never happened. And then it clicked. Something inside of me changed when I turned 17. I was once a creative, artistic outcast that had not a single, single interest in continuing in my parents footsteps. And suddenly that all changed. Why? You didn't do this for me, I replied slamming my hand on my desk. You did this for you. That girl, my sister, didn't live up to your high standards for a black stone, so you just traded her in for a new one. One that you could manipulate and twist into the perfect daughter. He looked at me. His once apologetic and sad expression quickly turned into one of anger. I saved you. Do you see that woman in that padded cell downstairs? That could have been you. Do you expect me to be grateful? I screamed. You separated me from my only sibling and treated us like lab rats. We are people. We're your daughters. His eyes widened and he patted his hands down.

[Hip Hop Narrator/Advertiser]

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[Main Story Narrator (Amanda Blackstone / Kendall / Jacob Evans)]

Calm down. We can figure this out. We can fix this. Fix it? I replied. There's no fixing this. Did you see my sister? You have destroyed her. She is in complete psychosis. He nodded and began to pace again. But she's in this hospital and she knows everything. She could easily, easily tell anyone what has happened here. I shrugged. And what do I care if your little secret comes out? They are your secrets too, he replied. Do you know what this would do to your career if people found this out to your life? Do you think your friends, your colleagues, your fiance would ever look at you the same? Derek, I whispered to myself. He would understand. He knows me better than anyone. But then I began to wonder. Who am I really? Almost my entire life is a lie. I barely know myself. How can I expect anyone else to? And what do you expect me to do father? Just lock her away forever like some kind of monster? She's a human being. Go talk to her. He moved to my desk and grasped the fold, putting it on top of my black notebook. You'll know what to do. He then put my fountain pen on top of the folder. It was a graduation gift when I finally became a doctor and was engraved Dr. Blackstone. Remember who you are, he said. I thought to myself silently and collected my thoughts. I owed it to her to at least talk to her. I nodded and picked up the folder, notebook and pen. Don't follow me. I don't think she will respond well seeing you. He nodded in agreement. I'LL stay here. You go and let me know how it goes. I glanced back at him and it was as if I was looking at a stranger. I turned and walked back to the elevator again, going to Ward B to visit the woman who had my face, my eyes, my past. I walked past the guards as they nodded, watching me look through the tiny window that looked into my sister's cell. She hadn't moved an inch from where I left her, still strapped to a jacket and still on the floor, her face pressed to the floor. I took a deep breath and punched in my code. Entering the room. I looked down at her, but she didn't respond, so I crouched down and gently moved her up. She didn't resist and allowed me to move her in a sitting position. I needed to see her face and look for something, anything, that remained of this person. My sister. She opened her eyes and met mine. This woman was my sister, a sister I never even knew existed. My mind still struggled to understand what and who I was looking at. So you've come to visit, Sister, she whispered to me. I took a deep breath. It hadn't occurred to me that she would be lucid enough to know who I am. She smiled softly and tilted her head as she stared back at me. I see our parents have treated you well. Nice hair, nice clothing. Nice life. It took me a moment to find my words. My mind couldn't comprehend what was going on or believe what I was seeing. I stared at her for a moment, trying to think of the right words to say. What happened to you? She frowned and shrugged her shoulders. They didn't want me. I didn't fit their perfect little family, their perfect little plan. She stood up. I instinctively stood up with her, unsure of what she might do next. She moved her head toward my shoulder and attempted to scratch her nose against my jacket. My intuition told me that she was harmless and that she didn't deserve to be here, so I unstrapped the jacket and freed her hands. She nodded. Thanks. She scratched her nose and neck and eyed me up again. I was lucky I didn't grow up with them. I looked at her, confused. She smirked at my unawareness. Henry, Judith, your parents, or whatever you want to call them. She scrunched up her nose and looked down to the floor. I only had to deal with them until I was 18. But you. You had them as mom and dad for the first seven years, years of your life, and I can't even imagine dealing with them as a defenseless child. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to Picture these people. For a moment I could see them and the feelings began to all flood back. Fear, pain, helplessness, hunger, anger, hopelessness. The abuse and torture they inflicted on me made my younger years terrifying and I began to understand why it was so easy for me to forget. She frowned as she looked at me, her face washed with sympathy. Don't let them control you, Danielle. We were forced into this by four evil people who didn't deserve to be parents. My eyes shot up and I stared at her. What did you call me? She chuckled and twirled around. That's your name, silly. You're Danielle and I am Amanda. She suddenly dropped to her knees and grabbed my legs. Danielle, you have to get me out of here. I'm your sister. You know this isn't right what they did to me. Don't let them find me. Don't let those people find me. Stop calling me that. I yelled and tried to push her off of me. But that's your name. And now that you're here, you can take your life back and I can take mine. It's been 20 years. Now it's my turn. She smiled and looked up at me and I felt a rush of pure hatred and disgust. Did she think she was going to trade places with me like some kind of movie? Get off of me. I screamed. She laughed and jumped to her feet. She twirled around again like a a child that had just found out they had gotten a puppy for Christmas. Beaming with happiness, she continued to chant Danielle over and over again. I pleaded for her to stop again, but she refused, her chants only growing louder. I don't know what I was thinking or what came over me, but I needed her to stop. I needed her to be gone. So I uncapped my pen and raised my hand, stabbing her in the neck. She screamed and I raised my hand again and again, stabbing her in the face. She tried to fight me, but she was weaker than me. Her bloodied hands grabbed at me, covering me with blood as her face dropped to the ground. I dropped the pen and stared at the disfigured face in front of me. Just as I stepped away, two guards came rushing in. What happened? They yelled as they scooped her up, trying to detect determine if she was still alive. I. I don't know. I stuttered in shock of what I just did. One of the guards looked down at the bloodied pen on the ground. Did she take your pen? Did this crazy woman do this to herself? I nodded slowly. I I don't know what happened. Suddenly there's Just blood everywhere. One of the guards radioed for help as the other looks me over covered in blood. You better get to the infirmary and make sure you didn't get hurt. We'll take care of this and come get you. I nodded again and slowly made my way out of the door as two more guards came rushing in. I stumbled into the elevator and pushed the button back to my office. As I slowly made my way back to where I left my father, I could see him waiting patiently at my desk. He seemed unfazed by the blood covering my clothing and hands. He leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk. You did it. The problem is taken care of. I nodded silently, unsure of what to say or how else to respond. Good girl. I knew I could count on you. I dropped to the seat in front of the desk and stared down at the blood on my hand. My sister's blood. A flood of memories began to flood back in my mind. Every moment of every day that told me how worthless and unwanted I was. It all came back to me and I felt nothing except pure resentment and anger. For 17 years I faced the horrors these people inflicted on me and I was never going back to that kind of life ever again. Now let's get you home. He stood up and went to my side, offering his hand. I reluctantly grasped it and allowed him to lead me out of the office, feeling completely numb from the inside out. As I followed him to the elevator, I could see three guards gathered around several monitors. As the elevator doors opened, I could see them rewinding back through camera feeds, obviously trying to figure out what happened in that room with my sister. I tensed up and my father grasped my arm. I'll take care of it. He whispered as he pulled me into the elevator. I didn't know how or what he would do, but I somehow trusted that he would take care of it because if he didn't, he knew what I was capable of. In fact, I think he was counting on it. Since the day my worthless sister left this family and I began my new better life as Amanda Blackstone. And he better never forget it. I was recently diagnosed with automatonophobia. That is a fear of human looking figures. Such as mannequins, wax figures, statues. You get it, the things that look human but are not quite human. Specifically, I have a fear of dolls. I don't mean like the Barbie lineup produced by toy companies, although they give me slight discomfort. I mean old creepy porcelain dolls. My phobia has become severe enough that I could never allow any kind of dolls into my house or let my daughter play with them. I'd buy her any toy she'd want, even if it's more meant for boys. But I'd never buy her dolls. Then suddenly, one got delivered to my house for my daughter's birthday. I found it sitting on the living room couch, staring at me like it had done that night all those years ago. My therapist has suggested that I should write down what happened to me so that I can start my recovery. I'm writing this down, not knowing if it's still sitting in the same spot or if it's moving and watching me. The story begins with an old woman who lived in my hometown years ago. She was, as my mom would politely describe her, eccentric. What made her that way was that she was always seen carrying an old antique doll everywhere she went. Sometimes she'd be seen carrying it over her shoulder. Other times she would push it around in an old rusty baby carriage. She would be seen around town and her house with her doll, not caring about the stairs or the things people would say. Sometimes she would be seen talking to her doll as if she thought it

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[Hip Hop Narrator/Advertiser]

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[Main Story Narrator (Amanda Blackstone / Kendall / Jacob Evans)]

Talk back One person described how they heard her yelling at her tiny, voiceless companion from her house as if it had broken some rule. No one believed she had a husband or children or any living family left to care for her, which explains why it took a couple of weeks before someone found her dead in her house. A kind neighbor came to her property offering to cut her unkempt lawn and help with much needed house repairs. Getting no reply after knocking, he opened the unlocked door and found her lifeless in the middle of the floor. I heard she had been found with a look of absolute horror on her face and her hand clutching her chest. The coroner decided she she suffered a heart attack, but with no one else with her, she couldn't be taken to the hospital. Her house just outside of town was left empty after she had been moved to the morgue. No one knew what happened to her doll that she carried with her. One day my friend and I were riding our bikes home after school and decided to check out the old woman's house. It was on the long way back from school. As far as as far as anyone knew, she never willed the property to anyone and the bank didn't own it either. So there it sat, with no one claiming it. But really, who would want it? The structure was a two story Bavarian style house that sat on a large lawn that had grown so out of control that it was rather reminiscent of a small forest with its own ecosystem of plant and wildlife. The house looked like it had been painted white at one point, but weathering and stains had stripped it of its brightness. Vines and moss had taken a foothold on the front wooden porch. All the windows facing us were cracked and even broken. A section of the pointy roof was starting to collapse. With nature seeming to reclaim some lost land, the one thing that seemed out of place was the baby carriage the old woman used. It sat in the front yard, rusted from disuse, leaves gathering in the inside and tears in the covering. My friend and I looked at the house from the sidewalk. It towered over us as it blocked the afternoon sun from its old pointed rooftop. I knew there was no one inside, but I had a nagging feeling that the house itself was watching us. My friend was recounting to me some rumors that spread about the house after the old woman died. They say her ghost still wanders the house, still talking to the doll he told me. He also told me how he heard that the doll still sits somewhere in the house. I meanwhile kept looking at the house and a movement caught my eyes. A curtain on the second floor window showed slight movement but looked like someone had parted it. I told my friend about it and he just made fun of me for seeing things. I bet you couldn't spend all night in that place. He accused me with a sneer. I could too if I wanted. I protested, always trying to be brave to my friend for some reason. Sure thing wuss. He said to me. You know the Back to the Future movies when Michael J. Fox got triggered when someone called him a chicken? Well, for me being called a wuss was worse. I took him up on his dare on the condition that I take pictures of the inside so he knew I wouldn't just run away. Later that night I waited for my parents to fall asleep before sneaking out of the house. I quietly exited my room and down the hall to the back door. As it was more silent and farther away from my parents room. I grabbed my bike and rode it out of the neighborhood and eventually outside of town. Before I reached the old house, it seemed more menacing. After dark, the old house was illuminated by the light of the moon. I placed my bike on the sidewalk and made my way to the old structure, observing the window on the second floor. The curtains remained still. I took my first pic of the house. I made my way through the large grass and finally made it to the front porch. My foot leaned on the first step, causing a large creak that echoed through the yard. I pressed forward to the front door. It had an old fashioned knocker in the middle. It had the shape of an eagle, its wings open in flight. It may have been bronze, but tomorrow time had rusted it to a dirty brown with chipping paint. I reached for the door handle and surprisingly it turned weird. I thought they probably would have locked this door. However, since no one would take this place, why would it be locked? I opened the door to see a darkened entryway. My phone had a flashlight app so I reached for it immediately to turn it on. The entryway led to a long dark hallway with an open room at the end of it. The floor was covered in dust and trash. My flashlight had exposed some rats and insects hiding in the filth. The part of the floor that wasn't covered in trash showered a flower patterned carpet. Its color had long since faded. To my left of the entryway was an ascending staircase. Staircase. To my right there was a smaller room that I think was the parlor. The room was empty aside from some closed windows and furniture that was covered. The floor wasn't as littered in here as it was in the hallway. So I could see another old flower patterned carpet. The exposed wood was old and splintered. I snapped a few pics on my phone. I walked out of the parlor and back into the entryway. I stood over the middle of the floor. This was supposedly the spot where the old woman was found. The silence of a lifeless house had surrounded me. I pressed forward down the dark hallway. There were several paintings on the walls. They looked like portraits. The old lady featured frequently in them. After a few steps, I found myself stepping on something hard yet flexible as it squished under my shoe. Then I heard a faint but very unmistakable high voice say one word below me. Either the word or voice caused me to freeze in place. I looked below me to see the source of the noise. I found a lonely baby doll lying atop the litter. It had synthetic blonde hair. Hair and a dirty pinkish dress. I picked it up to inspect. Was about the size of my phone. It had dirt and filth covering its face and clothing. Its pink dress losing color. The face had suffered the most damage. There was a large tear in its plastic face. The scar showing the hollow inside of the head. I squeezed it again and it gave out.

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[Main Story Narrator (Amanda Blackstone / Kendall / Jacob Evans)]

Another Ma. Ma. The voice box still operating but very faint and muffled. I placed the doll back on the floor after taking another picture of it further down the hall I went. The room at the end turned out to be a large kitchen dining room mix. The stove top was covered in a layer of dust and grease from never being washed. The table was covered in whole a white cloth with dirty dishes on top of it. I found another doll sitting in a chair at the end of the table. This one was wearing an old sailor's uniform. It looked more male than the first one I saw in the hallway. I walked to the sink to find pots and pans flooding it. There was a layer of filthy stagnant water underneath them from the amount of food matter and mold accumulating at the bottom. The pots and pans were never washed, food matter and grease being caked into them. The sink smelled terrible, like as bad as it looked. I took another picture of the room before leaving. Outside the kitchen I found a closed wooden door. I opened it to find an old very unclean bathroom. The tub and sink, both of which were supposed to be be white, had yellow stain and mold inside the receptacles. The worst thing however, was that the toilet looked like the stuff of nightmares. Dried fecal matter covered the inside as it was drained of all water. To this day, I can't use anybody else's bathroom without thinking about this mess. I quickly shut the door while trying to keep myself from vomiting from the ceiling. Sight and stench of that bathroom. I stood outside and waited for the feeling of nausea to pass. Then I heard a sound. The house itself was dead quiet until now, with nobody else but me here. But I could make out the sound of something creaking upstairs in a room above me. I know old houses make noises like creaky floorboards, drafty spaces, and maybe rats in the walls. This though sounded deliberate, like there was a rhythm to went back and forth. I walked back down the hallway toward the staircase, shining my light up to the darkened second floor. The creaking sounded much louder from where I was standing. It was coming from up there. I should have left at that moment and forgot the whole thing, but instead I pressed upward, trying to be brave. The carpeted stairs made a muffled creaking sound as I climbed up. Total darkness greeted me as I went up further. Not just darkness, but a pitch black void with no discernible shapes. I reached the top of the stairs and turned my light on to the second floor hallway. This was a lot shorter than the Mountain main hall. Downstairs there were three rooms with the first two being closed. The one to my right was slightly open and I could hear the creaking coming from in there. I began to tense and my eyes widened. My heart was thundering in my chest. I was beginning to think that someone was here. Maybe it was some homeless person or junkie who had no other place to go. That didn't seem possible because it looked like there were no signs of anybody living here. I started to have the idea that the old woman's ghost was in the room waiting for me. I apprehensively approached the open door. I got close enough to peer through the crack in the doorway. I peeked through the crack to see the source of the noise and my heart felt like it was lurching out of my chest. From what I saw, I could only make out the part of the room through the slight opening. I could see the window with the moon shining outside and an object moving back and forth across my sight as it sat in the front of the window. It looked like an old rocking chair moving on its own, the back facing me. I opened the door to get a better view and make sure my eyes weren't fooling me. Sure enough, it was a rocking chair that still looked in good condition with its smooth wood and paint that didn't peel. As the door opened fully, the rocking chair suddenly stopped, giving some slight swaying as its momentum came to a grinding halt. When it stopped, so did the creaking. I paused, debating whether I should approach the old chair. It looked like no one was sitting in it. How could a rocky chair move on its own? I walked towards the chair, bracing for whoever might be sitting in it. I didn't find a homeless person, a junkie, or a ghost, but it definitely wasn't empty. Another doll. This one was a porcelain doll about the size of a five year old. It had painted brown hair and painted freckles and dirt covering its face, which was illuminated by the moon. It was dressed in a small suit that had tears in it. I wanted to take a picture of it. I reached for my phone, but when I turned the camera on, the image kept getting fuzzy no matter how hard I adjusted it. Finally, I went in. To inspect was the creepiest thing I had ever seen. Its pale blue eyes, though motionless, seemed to have followed my face. The doll was utterly motionless. I thought there was no way that it could have moved the chair on its own. I poked it to feel what it was made of. The torso was stuffed with cotton or feathers. The porcelain head was the only thing that had any weight to it. Still not enough to move the rocking chair the way it moved. I decided to check out the rest of the of the room, trying to put that creepy doll out of my mind. This looked like a playroom. There were games all around, more toys than I've ever seen, and books filling a whole shelf. It looked like this room hadn't been used in years. To the far side was an old dresser with a mirror attached to it. The wood was painted a dark blue, but may as well have been black for the minimal amount of light it here. The mirror was covered in a thick layer of dust like it had snow all over the glass. I took my hand to wipe the surface of the dust. The room was a lot clearer in the mirror now. Then my eyes turned back to the rocking chair and I froze, fear coursing like an electric charge through my nervous system. My body became covered in goosebumps and my hairs standing straight up. There's no way it should have moved. There's no reason for it to move its head to face me. But that's exactly what it did. Its head turned to my direction to look in the mirror. Its reflection was looking back at me. I quickly turned around. The doll now directly facing me, the face seemed to have changed into a glare, as if it considered me an intruder in its world. Then I saw it moving again. The rocking was slight at first and silent. Then, as the momentum picked up, the creaking came back as the legs rocked across the rickety floor. This was the part when I decided to get the hell out of there. I looked to the open door to see how far it was. Only a few feet, but it may as well have been a whole mile. I moved my eyes back, back to the doll, making sure it didn't do anything else. As I got closer to the door, I got farther out of the doll's sight. Maybe I could leave without it moving. Or at least I thought I could, until the chair turned around, creating a loud screech that reverberated through the room. The doll looked directly at me again. I hurried out of the room and slammed the door behind me, shoving my body weight against the door to keep it from barricaded. My heart pounded as adrenaline and fear circulated in my blood. Sweat covered my forehead as my body heated up. I felt like I must run, but fear wouldn't let me. I was trying to recuperate when I heard the jiggling of rusted metal coming from my side. The doorknob. It was trying to open the door. It was unsuccessful at opening, but that's what it was trying to do. It continued for a few seconds before it stopped completely. I took the chance and got out of there. I ran down the stairs, nearly tripping on the final steps. As I ran to the door. It was blocked by another porcelain doll sitting in the entryway. This doll had a clown face with a hobo outfit. Fear had kept me from moving or kicking the doll aside to run out. My panic spiked again as I heard the door from upstairs open and the sound of tiny footsteps or running down the stairs towards me. I had to hide. But where? I frantically searched the darkened room for anywhere to hide. I found one door straight ahead. As I peered through the darkness, I bolted for it and slammed the door behind me. Pressing my head to the wood, I couldn't hear the footsteps. Footsteps. Silence. Sweet silence. I resolved to calm down and then find a way out. I turned my back to the door and turned on my light to see the room I was in. True terror filled my being as I tried to scream, but it ended up being caught in my throat. More dolls. Shelves and shelves of them. Various sizes, designs and colors. This was a whole storage room full of them. They were all in various states of disrepair. Some were missing eyes, limbs or heads. Others were covered in dirt and filth. The biggest one was another clown doll in orange clothes and blue hair with black eyes in front of me. I checked each of them until movement caught my eye. One of them turned its head toward me, then another. Then one with no eyes started looking at me. Then they were all looking at me. I ran out of the room to find some escape. I didn't remember seeing any other door going outside while exploring, so that left only the front door, which has the clown doll sitting in front of it. With no other way, I ran to my only exit, picked up the doll and threw it so hard I heard it break into pieces as I bolted out of the entryway and into the front yard. I got to my bike in no time and rode off. I swear I heard multiple footsteps behind me. I rode so fast I felt like I was flying, never once slowing down to catch my breath.

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[Main Story Narrator (Amanda Blackstone / Kendall / Jacob Evans)]

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[Main Story Narrator (Amanda Blackstone / Kendall / Jacob Evans)]

I'm Glenn Washington. This is snap judgment from KQED. When everything is falling apart, what do you do? Hurricane Helene shut everything down. No roads, no cars, no way through. But his daughter was getting married and somehow, someway, he was going to walk her down that aisle. All systems down. A new Snap Judgment miniseries from kqed. Tap to listen now. I didn't stop until I reached the stoplight on my block and then decided to brave one look behind me. Nothing. I wasn't followed by anything. I rode back to the safety of my house and locked myself in my room all night, always peering through the curtains. Daylight didn't come fast enough. I never spoke to my friend after that night, and I did not want to be around dolls for any length of time. I also avoided that house completely until the day it got demolished. Hopefully, so was everything inside of it. Even with that, I still had a sense of paranoia that one of those dolls would find me and show up at my doorstep. It turned out one of them did. It was my daughter's eighth birthday. A package came with her name on it, but no return address. It did have a plain card on it with only two words, Happy Birthday. She opened it up to reveal the same doll from the room upstairs all those years ago, its appearance cleaner than before, looking brand new. In fact, seeing that doll sent me right into an anxiety attack so bad I locked myself for two days in our bedroom. My wife, who used to find my fear of dolls as using now, showed genuine concern for me. She told our daughter to keep the doll in her room. I never saw it do anything after that, making me think that I had probably hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe if it weren't for one thing. I installed a nanny cam in our daughter's bedroom and I keep as close an eye on it as I can. It'll usually be facing the way wall, but whenever I turn my gaze away, even for a split second, its head turns towards the camera, looking at me through the other side of the lens. My name is Jacob Evans. I work for a of lot large pharmaceutical company. If you're reading this, if this account survives Then something has happened to me. This is my last confession and I want one thing to be perfectly clear. There's a reason the dead don't come back. No matter how much you want your loved ones back to life, trust me, you are better off letting them rest in peace. I brought my wife back from the dead and I regret what I did. I'll get to the point. My company has made a product that is supposed to restore brain and respiratory activity in dead subjects. I have seen it work in lab rats and other animals. To my knowledge, they did begin human trials, but I was never able to see any records. It was around this time that I was unsuccessfully able to check the reports that I got the news that my wife got into a car wreck. She had been rammed by an oncoming vehicle going twice or three times the speed limit. I tried to get to the hospital as quickly as I could, but I was too late. She had been declared dead just minutes before I got there. I had demanded to see her. Reluctantly, they shall showed her to me. And the damage she had suffered through shards of glass could be found in her chest, her face as well as her eyes. Her torso had been covered in bruises. The biggest wound was a gash going across her skull where a loose piece of metal had impaled her head. The large wound had exposed her skull and brain. It had been the toughest day for me when I buried my wife. She had been the best thing that ever happened to me and I couldn't let her go. After burying her, I asked my co worker and friend about human testing on reanimation. He had been working closely with them. He couldn't tell me anything as he signed a disclosure agreement. With no one able to tell me anything, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Before leaving work, I had managed to take a sample with me without being caught. The sample was an inky black substance with the consistency of watery mud. The smell it gave off was the mixture of smoke and tar fumes. Stealing the sample was somehow the easy part, despite putting myself in all kinds of trouble for it. The hardest part, at least physically, was going to the cemetery after dark to exhume my wife's body. It was a quiet street that night and far away from any house so I could sneak my wife out of there without being noticed. I drove us back to the house and I carried her down to the basement, which now served as the personal lab. I strapped my wife to the cold steel table with a single light bulb shining above her. The light reflecting off of her pale body. I hooked up an IV bag full of the concoction to her arm. I also hooked up an EEG monitor to watch for a sign of brain activity as well as a heart monitor. The only other piece of equipment that I had on hand was a defibrillator to restore heart activity. I began the procedure by injecting the liquid into her veins. Slowly but surely, it made its way into her bloodstream until the bag emptied. I took the defibrillator and tried to restore my wife's heartbeat. No signs on the EEG monitor. I had continued this for minutes and eventually hours, alternating between jump starting her heart and giving cpr. Three hours had passed. No sign of life came could be detected. No matter how much I tried, my efforts were rewarded with the unresponsive corpse of my wife, total exhaustion and despair. In my exhausted state, I went back upstairs into my lonely bedroom and collapsed onto the mattress. Sleep overcame me in an instant. I woke up to the sound of a metallic clang coming from the kitchen, followed by the sound of boxes dropping to the floor. Sluggishly, I got out of bed to investigate the noise and made my way to the kitchen. Switching on the light had exposed pots and opened cereal boxes on the floor. The sound of dry cereal crunching underneath my feet echoed through what I thought was an empty house. The next room was the living room darkness. With no lights on, I walked through the kitchen, making sure not to step on dried corn flakes and Captain Crunch. There were no discernible shapes in the living room except for the furniture in the window. I reached for the light switch. My wife was sitting on the sofa in a slouched position, still in the dress she was buried in. She didn't acknowledge the light turning on. I was overjoyed seeing my wife alive. I walked to her, meeting her at eye level to get her attention. I called her name, but she didn't respond. I gently nudged her and she finally met my eyes, the gash in her skull still visible to me. There were two things that caught my attention as she looked at me. First, the smell of decomposition and soil wafted heavily in the air. I could taste it. The smell seemed to have contaminated the air around her. The second detail I noticed was that my wife's eyes didn't have the lovely shine they did before. Instead, they were just two dull black holes devoid of any light. I asked her to say something and the only response she could give was a deep moaning sound, deeper than her sweet voice used to be. I decided to ignore all of this and helped My wife to the bathroom so I could bathe her. I washed her, attempting to wash the foul odor off her body. Her joints were stiff, her hand and forearm curling upwards. She needed some help getting in and out of the tub. Her body was cold all over like ice. Her hair was a tangled mess of dry blood. Her wound didn't heal. She was silent the whole time. I bathed her after her bath. I took her to bed with me. I couldn't get the stench off of her. I wanted to give her a kiss good night. But the smell was overpowering and stopped me from getting close. So I quietly turned around so I wouldn't have to smell her. As far as I could tell, she was still lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. I want to say that things went well after that. I want to be able to say she turned back into the woman I fell in love with. I want to say we had our happily ever after. I want to say that. But I can't. No, things didn't get better after that. In fact, things only got worse. I would find her sitting with her vacant expression at random spots throughout the house. When she did move, it was an awkward walk, like a choppy animation. Her limbs were still stiff with rigor mortis. Sometimes she'd be in our backyard looking at nothing. The police had come to my house to question me about my wife's gravesite. They told me her grave was dug up and her body was missing from the casket. When I answered them, there was a loud clatter coming from the basement. I told them sometimes my cat makes a mess of things around the house. The police took my statement and left while I checked downstairs. My wife had destroyed the equipment I used to resurrect her. She was also hard to feed. If I was trying to feed her, she would refuse anything I offered. I also bathed her every night, trying to get the smell off her. It never did. If she ever spoke, it would be her groans and grunts. Those were the days I could handle her. As the days passed, her behavior became more heroes erratic. Later I would start to find broken dishes and glass all over the place. The frames of our wedding pictures were busted. Not as disturbing as when I found her carving a scar on her cheek with a piece of our mirror. And that damn smell of death hung around everywhere she was, including on our furniture. It stuck there no matter how long I scrubbed it. One night I was trying to feed her and she was being belligerent. I asked her to please eat something, but she threw the plate of food across the room. I had enough of her acting out, so I left her in our room that night, locking her in like a child in time out. I hated myself for doing it, but I needed a break. Plus I just wanted one night of not being around that foul odor of rotting flesh. She was in there all night, moving around and clawing at the walls while I heard her noises from the sofa. She made a new noise that night, not her groans and grunts. She was laughing, which was more like a high pitched cackling that caused me to feel nausea at the unnatural tone. I went to work the next day to get answers from my work friend. I told him everything I did and everything that happened. He responded with a look of absolute horror. That was when he told me what happened during human trials despite his promise of never revealing the details. The subjects were a mix of convicts who died behind bars and psychiatric patients who likewise died. While the concoction did reanimate dead subjects, they displayed unusual side effects ranging from unresponsiveness to violent tendencies. Even those who were otherwise considered non violent in life had started attacking others unprovoked. Sometimes they even injured themselves, like my wife did. Another side effect which matched my wife completely completely was the constant smell of decomposing flesh around them. All subjects were deemed malfunctional and euthanized, and everyone on the project was either fired or signed disclosure agreements. The records of human trials were sealed away. This, he told me, is what I had to do to set things right. He gave me a glass vial of potassium fluoride, enough to stop my wife's heartbeat. I left dumbfounded. How could I kill my own wife? I had returned home to find my wife breaking another mirror in our bedroom. She turned to me with eyes that were once lifeless but now filled with intense homicidal rage. She screamed at me and charged at me with a large piece of glass. The poison I had in my hand dropped to the floor and the glass vial broke upon impact. I fled the room while she chased me as fast as she could on her stiff limbs. She was still surprisingly quick. I ran all around the house trying to give her the slip, but she was always on my tail. I tried going out the backyard and moving the patio furniture to block her way. It gave me a little time and I took I sneaked back in through the front door and found a hiding spot in our storage closet, which is where I am right now, recording this last message. I understand why the dead aren't supposed to come back. It's a traumatizing experience to forcefully come Back when you're supposed to rest in peace. I should have left my wife in peace. Now my wife. No. No. I have to stop calling that thing my wife. It was never her. That thing is stalking the house, looking for me. Each time she passes the closet, I fear she has found me, but moves on, clutching the large piece of glass. If this recording survives, I want everyone to know. Let your loved ones rest in peace. I should have. But I was too selfish. I broke the natural order. And now I'm going to pay the price. It's outside the door. It knows where I am. The door is opening. I'm sorry, honey. I'm sorry for what I did. Please forgive me. God, help. When I moved into my new apartment, I had been running away from my parents. They never understood my need for independence or desire to move out of my hometown. They were kind enough, but one wrong word or eye roll and I was confined to my bedroom, which would have made sense if I was 12. But I'm 20. There is no doubt I love my parents to death. But you can only take so much smothering before you know you need to get out. I needed to start my life, find real friends and maybe start my own family. But I couldn't do any.

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[Main Story Narrator (Amanda Blackstone / Kendall / Jacob Evans)]

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[Main Story Narrator (Amanda Blackstone / Kendall / Jacob Evans)]

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[Main Story Narrator (Amanda Blackstone / Kendall / Jacob Evans)]

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[Main Story Narrator (Amanda Blackstone / Kendall / Jacob Evans)]

this episode is supported by FX's the Shards, a seductive drama from executive producer Ryan Murphy. Set in 1980s Los Angeles, the series follows a group of glamorous, deeply entangled high school seniors drawn into a life of wealth, beauty, parties and excess. At its center is Brett, whose reality begins to unravel when the arrival of a new student coincides with a series of mysterious murders. FX's the Shards, now streaming on Hulu.

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[Main Story Narrator (Amanda Blackstone / Kendall / Jacob Evans)]

You have that under My parents Roof so I left. I had planned it for months and then the day came. I waited until my parents left for work, threw all I could in my bags and left. I had managed to find the place on a website for cheap, which was good enough for me because I just needed someplace to go. I had the place bookmarked for a while and always wondered why nobody took it, but I was desperate. The apartment wasn't far from my parents house in the end, but it was far enough to gain some space and make them realize I'm just not their baby anymore. That morning when I left my parents house I walked a few blocks and made it to my new apartment with all my bags slugged over my shoulder. I buzzed the leasing office from the outside as I dropped my bags for a minute. Are you Kendall? The voice buzzed from the intercom. Guilty as charged. I said trying to catch my breath. The door clicked and I dragged my bags in off the street. I took a breath and looked around at the building. It was old and smelled musty. The wallpaper had started peel in some of the corners exposing the brown walls. Behind it there was a wooden staircase leading up to the upper floors, although there were only two other floors above the first. I crossed over to the first few steps hearing the floor creak beneath me. I had just made it to look up the stairwell when I heard third floor. I whipped around to see the landlord standing by what was presumably the property of office. I guess he looked pretty typical for a landlord because he didn't seem to want to actually talk to me. Your apartment is on the third floor, unit 34 at the end of the hallway. He said as he held out the keys to me. If you need any help just holler. Thanks. I took the keys from his hand. The landlord turned and started to walk back to the office before he said, oh, I almost forgot to mention there's some leftover furniture from the previous tenant. If you don't want it, let me know and I'll come move it out. It's alright. What you're looking at is all I have right now. I held up my bags to show him. Did you have a fight with your boyfriend or something? He didn't look too concerned and I could tell that he wasn't going to take anything I said too seriously. He was just happy to have the room taken. Actually. I nodded and turned to the stairs, not wanting to stick around and talk. After all, I had just run away from home. I wasn't looking to let people know someone might come looking for me soon. The entire building seemed to creak as I moved towards my apartment. The hallways were dark but I kept walking through until I reached the end. I unlocked the door to apartment 34 and swung it open. I stepped in and coughed from the dust I had just disturbed. The dust was heavy and the air was thick in the room. I stepped from the door into the kitchen which was comprised of an oven, sink and refrigerator. There was barely any room for dishes or food. I laughed it off and kept walking through to the living room and dropped my bags on the floor. It was small and just as dusty as the kitchen, but it had a window in the far wall which I immediately opened, hoping to get some fresh air in the place. I pushed open the window and squealed as a few spiders dropped down to my feet. I jumped back startled, but soon regained my composure and turned to the bedroom. I hadn't seen any of the furniture that the landlord had been talking about until I walked into the bedroom. I swear that I could have cried. I was so happy because as I walked through the door I saw a bed sitting against the far wall with a rug underneath. I had fully intended to sleep on the floor for months until I could save up enough for a bed or a couch, but now I had a full bed all to myself. It didn't matter that someone else had slept on it. Anything was better than the floor. I would just need to get some new sheets and a pillow. The entire apartment was a shoe box at the very best, with a tiny bathroom and closet in the bedroom and just enough space to walk from room to room. The floors were old hardwood just like the rest of the building and they creaked beneath my feet as I walked. The walls were bare apart from the old stain here and there and some of the light bulbs needed to be replaced, but I didn't care how small, dusty and dirty it was. It was the first thing that was ever really mine and I Loved that. That evening I walked to the store around the corner to pick up some cleaning supplies, food and blankets for my bed. I had been careful not to stand out from the crowd just in case my parents were looking for me. I returned to my apartment, did what cleaning I could for the night, made up my bed, and fixed a ready made pizza for dinner. Dinner. I knew I would need to go out and look for a job the next day, so I went to bed just after 10. I snuggled down under the blankets trying to get warm, but the apartment was still cold as ice. I shrugged it off as part of the drafty apartment I had gotten, but I should have paid more attention. I tossed and turned that night and managed to sleep for a few hours. But I consistently woke up at the top of each shower with the feeling that someone was looking at me. I managed to turn over and ignore the feeling each time. I thought I must just be getting used to the new apartment and I would sleep soundly soon. I turned over in my sleep all night until the sun started to break through the windows the next morning. Once I got up, I made myself breakfast before heading out into town. For the next few days, I continued to have trouble sleeping. Sleeping in that apartment, waking up with the feeling of someone's eyes digging into my skull. I tried to shrug it off and go about my business, but each day it became harder as I felt the nights grew colder and much more violent. I couldn't explain how I know it felt angry, but I just knew someone or something didn't want me to be there. And it felt like they would do anything to get me out. I started sleeping less and less, but stayed in that apartment against my better judgment because I had nowhere else to go. I had never really been a believer in the paranormal, so it was easier for me to ignore the invisible presence in the room. Or it was until the night it wasn't invisible anymore. I had just come home from a long day at work at the diner down the road. It wasn't a great job, but it was all all I had at the moment. My boss had overworked me that day and made me stay a few hours late, so by the time I got home, I was ready to fall flat on my face. And so I did. I made my way to my bed and flopped down, barely staying awake to kick my shoes off. I fell asleep soundly for the first time since I had arrived. It must have been a few hours since I had fallen asleep, although I didn't manage to see the time. I woke up with the same familiar feeling that someone was watching me. But something else felt off this time. My eyes were open and I could look around me, but I was frozen in my bed. I couldn't move a muscle. I started panting, trying with all my might to move a muscle, but nothing worked. I was stuck on my back. I had no idea what to do and I was scared out of my mind. It took me a few minutes, but I managed to calm myself down enough to bring my attention to the room around me. I wish I had just closed my eyes. I looked around the room, searching for anything, and I gradually became aware that there was something standing at my feet. I didn't want to look. Everything in me screamed not to, but I knew I would need to look eventually. I took a breath and looked at the end of my bed. To my horror, I saw a man staring at me with dull eyes. I couldn't make out most of his features because it was so dark, but I could tell that he was old and I could tell he didn't like me sleeping in his bed. My heart started beating faster, but I still couldn't move a muscle. I watched the man as he reached down and crossed grabbed my ankle. I have never felt anything like what I did that night, but I'll never forget. Felt like he was trying to crush me when he grabbed my ankle so much that I was sure he cracked something. It looked like he was about to pull me off the bed, but as soon as he grabbed me, my muscles could move again. I shot up and screamed. I desperately looked around the room for the man, but he had vanished. I cried and tried to gain my composure as I sat on the bed. I had just managed to calm myself down a little, convinced myself it was all just a dream when I realized I was holding my ankle. I started shaking as I looked down to see my ankle swelling covered in very real bruises. I didn't sleep again that night. I barely made it to work the next morning Morning but managed to make it down the block after wrapping my ankle in an old shirt. I walked through the front door to hear my boss immediately start yelling at me. What do you think you're doing showing up looking like that? I don't pay you to look like you're hungover. For God's sake. Drink some coffee and get to work. Sorry, Mark, I said as I moved to get some coffee. I stepped behind the counter to find my apron and start the long day that was ahead of me. He's such a jerk, honestly. I turned over and saw my one friend Jenna pouring a cup of coffee before she slid it over to me from down the bar. Jenna was the kind of person that anyone could talk to. Everyone who worked at the diner loved her. Except for Mark I suppose, but that's to be expected. She was the only person at the diner who knew knew I had run away from home and she stepped in as a sort of mentor. She had helped me learn how to pay my bills and keep the power running in my apartment. She really was the only person in the world I had at that time. What's got you so tired today? Can't sleep or something more exciting? She asked. Just couldn't sleep. I thought I was getting used to my apartment, but it doesn't look like I really will. Thanks for the coffee by the way, I replied. She nodded. New apartments can take some time, especially when you know they've been lived in. I swear I thought my place was haunted for a year before I got over it. I heard creaks everywhere. I almost broke my lease months early. I paused for a moment and sipped my coffee. I hadn't even thought that my apartment could be haunted, but I had no idea anymore. I had never felt anything like that. I didn't really want to ask what I was about to, but I knew I needed to say something. Did you ever see anything or feel anything? I barely got the words out and started anxiously waiting for her response. Heavens no. She replied. But you know I am the biggest baby there is. I never would have stayed in that place if I had seen anything. Lord, I don't know why anyone does really. You should feel safe in your own home. And I she stopped speaking abruptly as she noticed me staring wide eyed at the floor. Good God, you look like you're about to faint. She walked over and guided me to sit down in the break room in the kitchen. What happened Kendall? She asked as we sat. It was all I could do to hold back the tears as I told her what had happened the night before and showed her my ankle. Sweet pea, we'll find a place for you. We'll get it sorted out. I started to cry as I nodded my head. I was so relieved to have her help. It might be a couple of days before we can get you moved, but I bet I can get some of the cooks to help you move. You'll just have a few more nights at the most. Will that be okay? She asked. I nodded. I can do a few more. I'll just try to stay busy. Thank you so much. I hugged her and she handed me a Damp towel to wipe my face. We had better get back out there before Mark notices, she said. I smiled as we both got up and went back to work. Halfway through the day, one of the other waitresses called out sick and I took up her shift. It was a long it was a long day, but I was glad to have something to keep me busy. I moved a little slower all day because of my ankle, but I still managed to get everything done well enough. I got back to my apartment more tired than I had been the night before, which I was glad for this time because it meant I had a shot of sleeping a little. I kicked my shoes off, turned to the bed and just stared at it for what felt like an hour before finally decided to just sleep on the rug next to the bed. I grabbed one of the pillows and blankets and settled down on the floor, just praying I would sleep a little. I shouldn't have even tried. It wasn't long before I woke up, just as I'd done the night before, stuck and staring into the darkness. I wasn't on my back this time though. I was on my side facing the bed. I started to panic immediately as I looked at the dark lump underneath my bed. It was large but still fit under the bed. I started to squint at it as I started to make out what it was. A body of a man. The body was on its back, but the face was turned towards me. He was older, with aging pale skin and dim eyes that lay open and staring back at me. His hair was dark and matted and matched his bushy beard. His eyes are what scared me the most. There was no life in them, no hint of movement or light to suggest anything behind them. The man in front of me was dead. I started to cry as I laid on my side without being able to move or even scream. All I could do was lay there and stare at the body and under my bed. So I did, and to my horror I watched as it started to move. The man slowly started to turn over in jerky movements as though he were fighting the rigor mortis. Eventually he had turned over to his stomach, but his dead eyes stared at me as he moved. I was crying uncontrollably. I shouldn't have come back here. I should have stayed on the street. Anywhere but here. I couldn't change that now. All I could do was watch as the man started to crawl towards me, dragging his head on the ground as he moved. He got right to my face, so close that I could feel the hairs on my face stand on end, as I became cold to my bones, I fought everything inside me that was telling me I wasn't dreaming, but I gave in as the man perhaps pushed me to my back and crawled on top of me. I thought I would have woken up or been able to move like I had the night before, but I remained frozen and I just stared up at the dead gray eyes now hanging above mine. Everything in me wanted to scream, but those muscles were frozen too and I could only stay still as the tears rolled down to the floor beneath me. I thought it must be over soon, but I was wrong. The man lifted himself from above me and started to scratch at me with wild motions. It felt like a hundred knives ripping down my neck and arms as he continued to stare at me with his huge gray eyes. There was not expression on his face as he tore at me, only the dead stare which he always had. It went on for what felt like hours as he scratched deeper and deeper into my arms. Soon I started to feel something hot on my arm running off and onto the floor. It was my blood. I still couldn't move, but I watched as the man now moved off of me and crawled back under the bed to the position I had found him in before. He had accomplished whatever purpose he set out to do and now I was bleeding out on the floor. I was staring at the ceiling now, but I still saw those cold gray eyes staring at me from the side. I fought everything in me which was not telling me to fall back asleep, but I could only fight for so long and the room started to go completely dark. I couldn't stay awake any longer and I fell asleep while the man stared at me. Kendall. It was almost a whisper, but it kept getting louder. Kendall, wake up. Kendall. Oh thank God. My eyes fluttered open to see Jenna standing beside me in a bright room. I blinked, trying to get used to the light and sit up. Oh no, honey, just take it slow, okay? Jenna said as she gently pushed me back in the bed. It took a few minutes, but I slowly became acclimated to the room around the me. What happened? I asked in barely a whisper. Jenna started to get choked up. Well, after you told me yesterday when you didn't show up to work on time, I ran to your apartment to make sure you were okay. I bet Mark loved that, I said. Jenna smirked. I had to get your landlord to open the door. He never responded. And then I found you, she said as she started to cry. You were just laying on the floor and your arms were all, well, shredded. I almost couldn't Take it. I thought you were dead for sure. But you're a fighter. I knew you were. She reached out and took my hand. We were lucky that the hospital had your blood type. You lost so much last night. You were so pale. She took a breath to to compose herself. We are going to be okay now. I went ahead and had Mikey and Jake from the diner take your stuff to my place so you can stay on the couch until we find you a place. I'm sorry I didn't think of it sooner. I started sobbing as I grasped her hand tighter. It's okay. Thank you. It was all I could manage to say at the moment, but it could never fully reflect my gratitude for her, and my relief didn't get out of that place. We sat for a minute, just thankful to have the moment to ourselves. Oh, jenna started. One other thing you should know. She looked as if she didn't want to say anything at all. Mikey told me that you should know, and I know you deserve to know after everything, but it's not easy to hear. I nodded and braced myself for whatever she would say next. Mikey and Jake started to move your bed out and pulled up the rug, but they found something and decided it would be best to leave both behind. It's okay. They weren't even mine, I said. What did they find? Jenna didn't look surprised when she found out they weren't mine as she sighed before she answered. They found a stain in the hardwood under the rug. Do they know what it that's from? I asked. Jenna nodded solemnly. It's from a body, Kendall. My heart dropped when she said it, but I couldn't say I was surprised, not with everything that had happened. The last tenant died in the apartment and they didn't find him until the neighbor started to smell his body. Evidently he was a very nice neighbor to begin with. Someone had come in and killed him about a year ago. The body was far enough gone that it stained the hardwood under the bed. Did they say what he looked like? I muttered. He was older, with dark hair, a beard, pale skin. But everyone talked about his eyes. Let me guess. They were wildly gray, I said. Jenna nodded. How did you know it was him? I said. He did this to me. We didn't say anything for a while after that. I guess there isn't much to say when you realize something like that has happened. The orange glow of the sunset began to disappear behind the horizon. The sounds of nature dwindled into silence. Not even a snapping twig decided to be the surrounding air grew cool, welcoming in the warmth of the summer, my thoughts were interrupted by my father's sudden grasp on my shoulder. It's almost time. I smiled at his statement. It was indeed almost time. I was always excited towards the dusk of Saturday nights. Especially this night. We had just finished cleaning up after my 16th birthday party. My mother walked my best friend Gina home. Her parents were more strict than mine. My father wanted to be certain I would have the best party this year. The last of the sunlight was swallowed up by the mountain range range in the distance. My body began to tingle in excitement. I closed my eyes in preparation for what came next. All I heard for a few seconds was mine and my father's breathing. A low hum flooded into my ears. I tried in the past to find the source of this sound, always failing too. The hum continued for a minute before the sound joined it. The coordinated sounds of many instruments joined in unison. Each new sound took its turn as they all came together, forming such a beautiful song I have never heard before. A tear ran down my cheek as I absorbed all of what graced my ears. It was as if an orchestra of music was performed for me on my special day. I was entranced by each each note, enraptured with every chord. I barely felt time flow by as quickly as it had. Within minutes, the song had faded into silence, only to be replaced by the sounds of nature once more. Every Saturday, I heard the music. It was never the same. My father confirmed this as well. Our home was passed down from my grandparents to my father. My family had owned this house since our ancestors moved here. Passing it down, the generations renovating it every couple of decades. I must have fallen while hypnotized. I remember my father picking me up. Cradling me in his arms. He carried me into bed and wished me good night. I dreamed of absolute bliss. Reliving the music in my subconscious mind. I awoke to birds chirping outside my window. The sun's hike had almost reached the peak of the mountain. The scent of bacon and syrup had graced my nostrils, causing me to jump out of bed. I raced to the kitchen, finding my mother just finishing up a stack of pancakes and bacon for her. My father and I. I started with a few of each, smothered them in butter and syrup. My stomach would regret this later, but I would let my tongue enjoy it. A half hour had passed by the time we had finished cleaning up after breakfast. When the doorbell began to ring. I answered the front door to find Gina. Hey, wanna go hang out? Turning around, I saw my mother waving me off With a smile as we left, I slammed the door behind me out of excitement. Quick, I said. Let's go before my dad begins to scold us for damaging his 200-year-old house. We spent the morning at the park shared by the neighborhood. After what felt like a couple of hours, Gina asked me a question that I found strange. Why is it that only your house has that music? What do you mean? I thought all the houses next to the woods could hear it. Yeah, right. I tried to listen as your mom walked me home last night. I stopped right after I walked off the grass. I didn't know how to answer her. I found it especially strange. Well, we could always go for a walk in the woods to find out what it is. Didn't your dad forbid you from entering those woods? She was right. Out of everything my father was overprotective about, those woods were on the top of his list. What he doesn't know won't kill him. We could head out tonight. I'll just sneak out through my window. Gina looked hesitant for a few seconds before she begrudgingly agreed. We ran about for another hour before I heard her mother calling for her. I'll knock on your window tonight. Stay awake, okay? She told me as she ran off. When I got home, my father gave me an earful of treating the house with respect. I pretended to listen as his lecture went in one ear and out of the other. My mind wasn't there until he said I was grounded to my bedroom for a week. I tried to protest, but he wouldn't hear it. I walked with my head towards the ground, towards my room. I sat in my bed for a couple of hours. When my eyes began to shudder open and close, my head collided with my pillow, causing my body to rest and relax. My slumber was interrupted by being shaken slightly. I opened my eyes to see my father looking at me with disappointment in his eyes. I'm going to possibly unground you if you sincerely apologize to this house. A smile crept onto his face. That's it? I asked, surprised at his generosity. Yes, but you're still grounded until lunchtime, okay? He extended his hand towards me. I grasped onto it, giving his hand a firm shake. The wait was long, but worth it in the long run. Once 12 had rolled around, I walked out of my room to the kitchen. A meal had been prepared by my mother, yet my father didn't join us. A few minutes later, I heard him coming inside quicker than usual, slamming the door behind behind him. He walked up to me quickly, standing for a few seconds to catch his breath. Deep concern filled his eyes as he spoke firmly and cautiously. Do you remember where you and Gina went yesterday? His question confused me for a second. I tried recalling the previous day, remembering hanging out with her. Yeah, we were at the park for a few hours.

[Narrator/Advertiser]

Okay.

[Main Story Narrator (Amanda Blackstone / Kendall / Jacob Evans)]

Where did you go after that? She walked home after her mom was calling for her. And you're certain that's what happened? Yes, I'm certain. Why are you asking? Did something happen to her? My mind began to race with the possibilities of what could have been. Her mother came to me a couple minutes ago. She was in a panic, asking if Gina was here. I told her no. It seems she's been missing since this morning. I recalled what she told me only the day before about her waiting for me so we could go look in those woods. I knew it wasn't a good idea to tell my father of where I suspected her to be. He looked towards my mom and nodded. Afterward, he left through the front door, letting it slam itself shut. My mom stood up and began to come clean up. The entire meal she made for us. I barely finished half my plate when she took it from me. I tried to protest, but the look she gave me was of absolute fear. I quickly made myself scarce and left to my bedroom. As she continued wordlessly, I began to hyperventilate. Trying to catch my breath, I stared at the woods through my window. It felt as though they were calling to me. The sun still held its position at the peak of the sky. I had a few hours of daylight left. At that moment, I would live to regret the decision of going into those woods. I grabbed my jacket, slipped it on quickly. Quietly, I crept to my window, sliding it open slowly to hide any creaks creeping outside. I made sure sure to stay low to avoid my mother's line of sight. Fear and apprehension filled my body as I made my way to the forest's edge. Eventually, I found the line where my lawn ended and the trees began. After a quick breath, I stepped forward. A mighty gust of wind flowed past me Once I stepped off my grass. Turning around, my vision was filled by a vast forest forest. Countless lush green trees as far as I could see. Looking forward again, a path of aged red brick formed a path quite a distance away. A very tall wall of hedge stood. Bracing myself for any other possible oddities, I walked forward. The sun had descended quite a distance from atop the sky. The temperature was dropping quicker than I had suspected it would. Looking down the path only a few more minutes walk away, I saw an arch carved into the hedge. The pathway led through it and into a cage of greenery. I walked a bit slower, a bit fearful of what may have hid behind the wall. I finally walked through the doorway and gasped. Within the outdoor cage was a setup that seemed sophisticated. What graced my eyes were immaculate, pristine white. Instruments of every kind. Pianos, violins, drums, trumpets. Every instrument was perfect. No speck of dust rested on any surface. No leaf. No forestry remained in the area. It felt otherworldly. The tuning of strings caught me off guard, making me stop. Spin towards the far back of the line of music makers. That's when I first noticed a man who had been standing there the entire time. His back was turned towards me. It looked as if he was fiddling with a device. He stopped suddenly, turning back slowly to face me. His face was oddly thin and pale, yet kind. He tilted his head and smiled. Ah, it seems I have a second visitor. Who are you, young one? I stuttered a bit. It's Sam. He was a very tall man, very spindly, as if his limbs were made of branches. Who else was here? Oh, it was a young woman. I don't believe I caught her name. What did she look like? Let me see. Blonde hair. Her eyes were very bright green. Almost as tall as you. My eyes grew wide. She had come here, and I basically abandoned her by falling asleep. Did you see where she went? I haven't been able to find her since last night. I'm worried something might have happened to her. Yes, I did see where she went. Let me think for a minute while I try and recall. Would you tell me which you think of my latest instrument? He turned around and plucked a smooth, shining white violin. He reached for the bow and showed them to me. I studied the craftsmanship of the immaculate musical tool. I looked at the bow. Something peculiar stood out to me. A crack ran down it, almost as if it had been split and put back together. A thought struck my mind. It reminded me of when Gina had broken her arm years ago. I looked closer. My eyes widened as I recognized every detail of the crack. My memory flashed to the X ray I had seen years ago of Gina's arm. A shudder escaped me. I started to walk backwards, away from the man. His smile never left his face. I turned and began sprinting down the path. The sunlight had almost completely faded into darkness. I kept looking over my shoulder to see the man chasing me. But I never saw anyone. The pathway had disappeared, leaving me in the forestry once again. I looked in the direction of the path once more. Yet it was gone. I was staring at the edge of the forest. Once more, I felt a pair of arms grabbing me and pulling me backwards. I heard my mother's voice as she sobbed, thankful that I had returned. My father held us both within his arms, never losing his grip. We sat there for a while, all of us weeping. The sunlight long gone. The sounds of nature had vanished. Once more, a familiar hum graced my ears. Instead of a collection of instruments, a solitary violin pierced the silence of the night. Caressing my pained heart. It sang its song. It's.