Link to part 3
https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/s/FB1RSavstK
We got Crow back, and every time I see him I think of how I screwed up and because of that a lot of people got killed and hurt. Last time I posted I talked about feeling messed up, well now I know the difference between feeling messed up and being messed up .
I hope no one reading this can relate, but anyone who can will understand what I’m talking about.
When you lose a piece of your childhood, you know it. You can feel the moment you stop being a kid about something.
I don’t like sleeping anymore. Nothing spooky, just good old fashioned nightmares. The kind that are bad enough I’d rather stay up with the one I live with.
Everything seems to be Crow related in my life lately. Kurt and Dan trying to find some way out of taking care of him, me following him through forests, buildings and everywhere else on earth in the middle of the night. It’s just all too much.
But that doesn’t matter, someone else doesn’t have Crow, I do, and I’m going to keep people safe.
I have a plan.
Now, I like you guys, but I don’t want to give it away just yet, so, until I figure things out, let’s just say, I’m getting together a sewing kit.
For this post, I’ll let you in on where I got some cloth, and how I found out there are some places even Crow can’t go.
“Didn’t sleep last night, why would tonight be any different? “ I say to Crow as I pack my backpack with a few essentials.
Crow things have become something I’ve gotten used to. I play it safe, and nine times out of ten, I don’t even know what was supposed to be scary about the place we went. Crow just wanders around, disappears for a while, then takes us home.
The tenth time? Usually blood, some things I shouldn’t see, and another scene for my next nightmare.
Crow looks sad, ever since coming back from Florida, I don’t see things the same. I don’t see him the same. I try not to let it show, but it does.
“What’s the plan for tonight? Bored to death or running for my life? “ I put on a pair of shoes, and recheck my backpack as I talk .
“Candy store. Silent night. Do not operate heavy machinery. “ Crow replies.
“The Candy factory was pretty boring, you think this will be the same? “ I ask.
Crow shrugs.
I always want to ask people what they see when I just show up somewhere, but usually anyone I end up meeting either ends up dead, or trying to kill me. I look around the place I find myself in the back corner of, just like Crow said, Candy store.
Expensive candy store would be my first impression. The shelves are made of nice, red wood. No plastic or cheap paint, and unlike most of the places I find myself in, in the middle of the night, everything is clean, new and in good shape. While I don’t know every candy brand, nothing stands out as creepy or evil.
Looks late outside, probably around midnight, so I must not be too far away.
The first person I see is an older guy, around my dad’s age, him and what I think is his girlfriend look nervous, and a little too old for their zits.
A group of six younger adults wearing suits and fancy dresses walk around filling nice wire baskets with a bit of everything. They’re loud, but in a friendly way, probably a little drunk. I don’t see a bride, but I guess they must be part of a wedding, maybe a graduation party.
The last person though, he seems a little, out of place. Not that I could think of a place he’d fit in.
He’s maybe 16 or 17, tall, and, I don’t quite know how to describe his face. Handsome doesn’t seem right, more, pretty.
Or he would be, without the faded, blurred tattoos below his eyes. They look like they were done with pen ink and could be either a triangle or a square, tears? Maybe clown makeup?
Either way, kinda gross.
He wears a Jean jacket covered in patches, and bits of, everything. Long, dark, fake-red colored hair sticks out from under a black toque.
“So that guy, right? “ I whisper, looking backward.
But, for the first time, Crow isn’t there. And for the first time in almost 2 years, I don’t feel him listening.
I want to be relieved, I’m not.
I want to think that Crow is just doing… whatever it is he does when I’m not around, and to reassure myself, I take the toy from my backpack. It’s there, but it feels cold, too still. Like any other toy.
My heart starts to speed up. With every passing second I like this place less.
“The fuck you looking at? “ The shady looking older man says, badly hiding something in his pocket.
“Nothing bro, calm down. Do I look like security? “ The kid with the bad tattoos says, “Keep boosting shit, not my business. “
The kid walks away, clearly not looking to start a fight.
“Like you aren’t? “ The older man says.
“No man, shoplifting, hasn’t been my jam for a few years now. But, you do you. “ The kid says, walking away from the man.
The older guy looks like he wants to follow, but his wife, grabs him by the arm.
“Hello! “ One of the well dressed guys yells, “ Got some purchases to make!”
His friends laugh, standing behind them, hundreds of dollars worth of candy in their baskets.
No mater how much I whisper I can’t get a word out of Crow, not even a twitch from the doll. After about 15 minutes I can’t take it, whatever can stop him from being where he wants, I don’t want any part of.
Panic sets in and I sprint for the door, I push the well polished brass bar, expecting to end up on another empty street in a town I’ve never been to. Maybe hear some screams behind me.
But what happens is kinda funny, assuming you aren’t me. The door doesn’t move, I slam my face off of the window, and hit the floor on my butt, blood dripping from my nose to my chin.
The old shady guy laughs and makes some comments I’m not going to put here.
“You okay kid? “, the tattoo guy says, he gives me a handful of tissues.
I grab my nose, it hurts, but it’s not broken. The guy in the toque smirks a bit.
“I’ll be fine. “ I say, slowing the blood with Kleenex.
The old shoplifting guy uses a word that no one has said in public since the 90’s, The kid in the Jean jacket starts to walk over.
“You want to cut that shit out? She’s a kid you fucking goof. “ The kid is tall, but thin, still he’s almost jogging at the old man.
“Anyone fucking work here? “ one of the folks in formal wear yells.
“Here’s the thing Joker, she is one. “ the old man shoves the tall kid as he walks by him, “ Because all you have to do is…. What the hell? “
The shoplifting man pushes the bar to open the door, and I can feel myself get embarrassed as now, it opens easily.
The kid with the red hair has something in his hand, and looks like he’s about to use it, but before he does, he sees the other side of the door too.
The three of us stand, everyone is shocked, silent.
On the other side of the door, is the same room, same shelves, same candy, same everything.
The wedding folks have given up trying to get service, and go to leave, but they see the same thing we do.
I look to my left, and right, and a small spark of fear turns into a bonfire.
Two more doors, just like this one.
They get opened, and on the other side, well, you guessed it, more of the candy store we’re already in.
Conversations start, everyone trying to make sense of the situation.
I quietly break off from the group, closing my eyes, and trying to hear anything from Crow.
“Come on, you have to be there. “ I say, I open my eyes, looking toward the ceiling, I see a skylight.
It’s dark, and the ceiling is strangely tall, but I think, maybe I can see Crow’s outline.
“Who have you been talking to? “ The tall kid says, I jump.
“I don’t even know who I’m talking to now. “ I say, trying to avoid the question.
He smiles, he’s keeping half his attention on adult’s conversation.
“Tyrant Zion Hunter. “ The kid says, shaking his head and laughing a bit, “ It’s the kind of name you get when your dad is an alcoholic Sovcit and your mom is a meth hippie.
Call me Mike, it’s my nickname. “
“No way that’s your name. “ I say, not believing him.
He pulls out a learner’s permit and a faded birth certificate.
“No one is making that up. Besides the reasons I left home. “ Mike says.
“ I thought a friend was going to meet me here, and he didn’t. The rest of it, you wouldn’t understand.
I’m Nada. “ I reply, still wary.
“You seen this kinda shit before, Nada? “ Mike says, turning to face the adults.
I can feel my face turn red, the question, point blank tongue ties me.
“I haven’t, in case your wondering. I’ve heard a couple of creepy stories, but when we opened that door I was as shocked as everyone.
Everyone besides you. You were scared, like you finally saw what you were worried about.
Why is that? “ Mike’s tone scares me, it’s not cold, or threatening, it’s the fact that it should be, but he makes it sound like casual conversation.
“Yeah, I guess I’ve seen stuff like this. “ I squeak.
“There we go.
So Nada, that tells me one of two things.
One, is that you’re a part of whatever this is. Telling me a half truth to get rid of this nagging feeling I have.
The second is, that you’re telling me the truth. In which case, you are the only one here who might be able to help me get out of here. “ Mike lets his statement hang.
“I’ve never been somewhere, “ I struggle to think of the word, “ liminal before. I mean, I guess I have, that’s the whole point, but I mean, like, this kind of place. “ I say, telling the truth and hoping Mike believes me.
I see what he was holding in his hand, he isn’t pointing it at me, or waving it around, but it’s a long, thin folding knife with a curving blade. He slowly opens and closes it with one hand.
Maybe it was the fear, maybe it was the fact that I started to get angry this spooky kid with a stupid name was making me afraid, but my tone gets his attention.
“You know what, if either one of us is part of this, it’s probably the creepy clown kid with the gas station knife. “ I don’t scream, but I’m not whispering at all.
Mike smiles, his teeth are clean and white.
“Fair point kid. “ He shakes his head, looking at his knife before putting it inside his jacket, “ The face tats, not my proudest moment. Was really into ICP when I was a couple years younger than you. Gave em to myself with an electric toothbrush and a diabetic needle. Turned out like shit, scarred up, and got myself in the eye like, three times.
So Nada, you think we can trust them? “
Mike points to the adults, who are talking less and less.
“ We have to.
I don’t think my friend is coming. “ I answer.
We both watch the adults, I don’t like what I’m seeing. Everyone is getting scared and on edge.
I don’t quite know what to think about Mike, but I watch him walk up to the group, and he kind of, herds them, it’s not that they’re following him, he’s not saying much of anything. Just stopping the worst of the shouting matches, and starting folks thinking about the situation.
I join everyone, names are shared, and we find ourselves at our first group decision.
“I say we check the door behind the desk before we do anything else. This could all just be some kind of prank or something.” Sal, the old guy who was pocketing snacks, says.
“Same vote, but without thinking this is a prank. “ Mike says.
Eventually everyone has given their opinion, most are in favor of checking behind the desk. But I’m kind of surprised when everyone looks to me. Didn’t think I’d get a say.
“No matter what, I think we’re going to have to try one of the exits, so maybe the office door? “ my voice sounds small compared to everyone else.
The office door wasn’t hiding another candy shop, but it wasn’t some YouTube prank team either.
For the most part it was what you’d expect, a desk, some papers, a water cooler. Just, an office, but one thing did stand out.
One of those old projectors, light warmed up, displaying a harsh rectangle of light on the grey screen in front of it.
“Whoa, this is all, 50’s, 60’s at the latest. “ Sal says, looking at the desks and cabinets.
Mike laughs.
“Worked at an auction since I was a kid. Family business. “ Sal says defensively.
We search the office, none of the paperwork gives much insight, besides confirming Sal’s guess. The dates on everything are 1952.
We start the projector, the peeling label on the side of the reel says “ Experiments 1-4”. One of the wedding party, Jose, checks it over, worried it could be some kind of trap, turns out he’s an engineer. But after a few moments he’s satisfied we won’t blow up, and the harsh light turns into a blurry card with the number 1 on it, and a date, June, 6, 1952, then, grainy, unsaturated footage of an old man.
He wears glasses, has long, but clean, grey hair. Not quite old enough to be a grandpa, but probably wouldn’t be the hippest uncle at the Christmas party.
He sits in this same office, on one side of the massive desk.
“My name, is Martin Greenfield. And I’ve lived a life devoid of any excitement.
When my father passed, my brothers and sisters Received their share of his estate. Me, I was given this albatross of a business. Hung around my neck and cinched tight with the yoke of guilt and shame.
My true dream was to be a man of science, and should I have inherited money, or assets, I could have pursued this long ago.
But recently I have been given a chance to change my situation. Given access to knowledge and means beyond that of most. “ Martin pulls a large kitchen knife from a desk drawer, “ I do not believe I’ve been taken by a huckster, but tonight I will find out. “
The old man lays out his pinky on the table, he’s scared, but you can tell he’s more sad than afraid.
There is a splash of blood, and for a second, the old man just looks shocked, then he grabs the stump of his severed finger and screams.
The footage cuts, another card with the number 2 and a date of September, 29, 1952.
The old man looks different now, calmer, more confidant. Like some giant weight has been lifted from his shoulders.
“I have seen what goes on in the shadows of the world.
I don’t have to hubris to think I’m the only one, but in a life without praise, it’s something.
My payment gained me a spot of my very own. A place that is mine, literally.
This path could become very dark, and I want these recordings to act as my breadcrumb trail, should I stray too far from the conventions of a moral soul. I want to remember what I was, should I ever forget what I have become.
The room is peace, the room is time. I can have a week’s rest in a minute, or, at least, it feels that way. Minor of a boon as it is, it still has it’s power over the mind, and the mind has it’s power over the body. “ Martin pulls out a scalpel, a needle and a very old looking vial.
“What the fuck? “ Cory says, a tall blond haired guy from the wedding party.
“I intend to document the anomaly, but not for some selfish occult need. I want to show the world what lies beyond the shadows. To be the first to lift that veil.
Tonight I will see if my benefactor is true to his word, or if his previous generosity was simply salting the pot, as it were. “ Martin injects the pinky on the opposite hand, this time the amputation is slow, Martin takes his time to do things as properly as he can.
When he finishes, he passes the digit off camera, and someone can be heard leaving the office.
3 April, 3, 1958.
The screen reads for a moment.
In a lot of ways Martin looks even better. He’s wearing an expensive suit, looks, healthy, maybe even a little younger. But in others…
One hand has a single finger and thumb, the other a thumb and two fingers. When he talks random teeth are missing, and he walks with a slight limp.
“The experiments have been a success, rooms upon rooms of my own domain. But what I find more interesting is how the world, seemingly adapts.
No patrons comment on my missing features or fingers. And even when pressed, seem to think nothing odd of it.
I seldom find myself working in the store, yet somehow, money comes in, bills get paid. If anything I’ve found myself more financially stable since I’ve began my scientific endeavor
We are at a crossroads now though. I’ve wandered as far down this path as I can go without devoting, literally more of myself to it.
While I can’t say I’ve grown bored of the rooms, I know there is more to gain, more to barter for.
So tonight will either be my last recording, or the first step to truly understanding the void. “ The look on Martin’s face as he talks scares me. Like he can see through the screen, see the rapt, horrified looks on the faces of the group.
4 December, 12, 1961
The image stutters and jerks, and as Martin comes into focus we see a gaping, red hole where one eye should be, the other is wild, his gap toothed smile should be sad, or gross, but there is a kind of, authority to it.
“Today a child wandered into the rooms, non-event really, I found him, and brought him out. But it made me understand this could happen. So I’ve decided to leave my recordings as a kind of roadmap for any that may find themselves lost. As well as taking more mundane precautions.
As long as the dates keep moving forward, you are closer to getting out. This place isn’t infinite, nor devoid of logic, you’ll encounter closed roads and pathways, simply avoid one, and take the other.
The eye, it was a chore, but once I gave it to Goodall, I instantly understood that I had no need of it.
Breaking the laws of reality, that is for Gods. But my payment has given me the ability to bend them, within my domain.
I have paradise, one of my own making. I wonder how long it will be before I crave more though? “ Martin finishes and we all jump as the reel starts flapping against the projector.
None of us want to trust Martin, but after another vote, we figure the only thing we have to go off of is the projector.
Time starts to get fuzzy as we walk from store to store, hours seem to go by, but every time I look to my phone, it hasn’t been more than 15 minutes or so.
Now, speaking of phones.
Yes, we tried them, and for the most part, they worked. But, for anything useful, police, family, friends, we got an strange, not-quite-silence.
That feeling of intent, and agency, the specific way we were cut off from the outside world. It made what Crow does look small, and insignificant. It feels like panic is running through my veins instead of blood.
We’re all tired, miserable, and have run out of anything to talk about when we first hear it.
Quick, frantic sounds, like clawed feet running. The noise comes from just beyond the doors of the exits, but every time we run over, hoping to catch what it might be, nothing.
Store after store, we find the door to the office won’t budge. I’m beginning to nod off as we walk, and it looks like everyone else is feeling about the same.
We decide to rest, sleep in shifts, and maybe see if we can come up with a better plan than just walking blindly.
Sal and his girlfriend sit near a door, Jose, and the rest of the wedding party, try to nap in the middle of the room, and I try my best to find a private spot behind some shelves to try getting in contact with Crow again.
Boredom, isolation, they can get scary. After what feels like hours walking from room to identical room, the sense of losing yourself, it’s overwhelming.
You know what is a lot more scary than that though?
As I come out from behind the shelves, Crow, cold and silent. I see Sal’s girlfriend, cracking open the door beside her.
Things weren’t subtle or repetitious now. They were sudden, violent, and confusing.
The door swings inward and what fills it, I’ll try my best to describe.
They aren’t Ghosts, but they aren’t totally solid either. Kids, I can’t tell how many, dozens, at least all with parts missing.
Legs, arms, all ending in smoke-like, wispy tendrils. Their bodies blend together when they get close, blurring, becoming indistinct, making them seem like one massive creature.
The door bursts open, and dozens of hands grab Sal’s girlfriend, leering, almost glowing grins hang from every angle, as if gravity on the other side of the door is only a suggestion.
Sal grabs her, and begins to try pulling her back into our room. Everyone else is standing in shock, the giggling, chittering crowd of mutilated, ethereal kids snakes more arms further into the candy shop.
Mike snaps out of it first, and without a thought runs to help. He stabs and cuts at the limbs, and while I can see wounds, they seem to have little to no effect.
As the seconds tick by Sal and Mike start to get entangled in the grasping, clawing mass. The guys are brave, but stupid. They’ve never encountered something like this before, they have no idea of how dangerous it is.
But I have. I might not be brave, but I’m not stupid.
Sal’s girlfriend is bleeding, hair torn, skin ripped and missing, her struggles and the guys help tear her more apart every moment.
No one notices me walk to the other end of the room, I run, as fast and as hard as I can, I throw myself into the door, it hits Sal’s arm hard enough to make him lose his grip on his partner.
“What the fuck! “ he screams at me as I push against the door with all my weight.
Sal tries to open the door, for a moment, Mike stands neutral, not understanding what’s going on.
I can’t hear what Mike says to Sal, the gibberish and laughter from the mass of entities is getting too loud. But whatever it was, Sal understands.
All three of us struggle to close the door, Mike slashing and severing fingers, leaving them crawling and twitching on the floor. We hear a click of the lock engaging, and take a step back.
The door rattles and shakes, glass begins to crack
“We need to get out of here. “ I find myself saying.
No one disagrees.
I guess that’s where I’ll leave things for now. Trapped, scared, and kinda being forced to be the leader of this group.
Plenty more trauma in the candy store to come, I’m hoping that maybe someone out there has had a similar experience? I know reddit is full of folks who’ve been to some kind of liminal space, let me know in the comments if you have any ideas.