We weren’t planning on this at all. Something is stopping us from leaving our house. We don’t know what it is and we don’t know why it’s happening. No one picks up the phone when we call. Not even the police for some reason. No one has answered any of the texts we’ve sent either. We don’t have a good explanation for anything right now. We don’t know how long we’re going to be in here for.
It began one Thursday morning. We did our usual morning routine. When it came time for my sister, Jessica, to go outside to wait for the school bus, she walked up to me and told me she couldn’t walk out the door. I was confused as to what she meant. Before I could respond, she offered to demonstrate it for me. She took a step into the doorway. As she did so, she was unable to move her foot through, as if there was something in the doorway stopping her from going outside. She then casually walked right into the doorway, only to slam into something. Something that wasn’t visible.
It had to have been a prank, I thought. She didn’t back away from the doorway at all. Instead, pushed herself up against whatever was there. Two seconds into doing so, she was forced backwards, slamming into the wall behind her with a thud. It was as if an invisible force had pushed her, but it still didn’t look like anything was there in the doorway at all. I was concerned.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Kinda,” Jessica said as she picked herself up off the ground. “Am I going crazy?”
I tried it myself. I went up to the open door, then I took a step into the doorway. My foot wouldn’t budge forward. There wasn’t a screen or any sort of transparent object in the doorway. My foot just wouldn’t go through. I kicked a couple of times. It felt like kicking a soft gym mat, but nothing was visible. Whatever was there was invisible. I could see the outside world as usual. The houses were the same. So were the trees. The view from the doorway was the way it always was. I put both my hands into the doorway. The force stopped my hands from moving through it. The force didn’t have a texture. It was just a force. An invisible barrier. I couldn’t nudge through it whatsoever. I stepped back. Jessica and I exchanged looks with each other.
We both told our Dad we couldn’t exit the house. We both demonstrated what happened when we tried to step outside. After we did so, he had a deep look of confusion on his face. He tried it himself. He jumped as he hit the invisible wall, then he stumbled back a foot. He walked up to the doorway, then he pressed himself up against the invisible doorway wall. He pushed for a couple seconds, then he was pushed back into the wall behind him. At least that’s exactly what it looked like. A force I couldn’t see had pushed him. This began to unease me.
Our mom tried to step outside as well, only for the same thing to happen to her. We all exchanged looks in silence. I did some reality checks to see if I was dreaming, like second glances to see if text changes. I made sure the text was actual text too, so as not to trick myself into falsely believing I was awake… in case I was dreaming. None of them checked out. I wasn’t dreaming at all. I tried to crawl out of my window, only to slam my face into an invisible wall that was there as well. My Mom told us she’d call the school. Seconds later, she told us they weren’t answering the phone.
“Well I guess we’re taking a sick day today,” she added.
I switched the TV on to see if the news was reporting anything like this. When I put the news on, they were beginning to report about a murder that had happened the previous night.
“… 20 year old Brendon Hayes was stabbed ten times…”
I thought it was a coincidence when the name and age of the victim happened to match mine, but then they showed a picture of me from my Grade 12 yearbook. Why are they showing a picture of me? I wondered. Then they showed the exterior of the house I was sitting in. The number on the house was the same, the white car sitting in the driveway was the exact same model with the exact same license plate… then they showed a few pictures of me with multiple wounds, without giving out any kind of warning about graphic images. That wasn’t usual for the news to do. As for the images themselves, I was surprised at how realistic they were. They looked like any images of bloody stab wounds, rather than some realistic photoshop. I thought that if it was photoshop, it was the most well done photoshop I had ever seen. My stomach sank. The report was about me being murdered. I wanted to assume it was a prank, but why would the news prank people with a fake report? Especially one about a murder? No murder had taken place at the house at all.
I sarcastically took a look under my shirt to show myself that I wasn’t murdered. I expected to see nothing concerning, however there were some light scars on my chest. I didn’t recall anything happening to me that would’ve given me any sort of scar. Also, the scars were in the exact same places they were shown to be in in the pictures on the news. I looked back at the TV. The reporter was reporting live outside the house. Police tape was wrapped around the perimeter. I looked out the window and saw no news crew or police tape anywhere. I called out for my sister, Jessica.
“Jessica!”
“What?” she shouted.
“I’m on the news,” I said. “They’re saying I was murdered. I don’t know if it’s a prank or not. It shouldn’t be a prank since it’s the news.”
Jessica stepped out into the living room. As she watched the news coverage, she had a deep look of confusion on her face. When the reporter said my name and showed my profile, I turned towards Jessica.
“They’re saying I was murdered, and they’re reporting live from outside the house, but no one is out there at all in actuality,” I said.
“No? They’re saying I was murdered,” Jessica said.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “They’re saying my name and showing my picture.”
“No? They’re showing my name and picture,” she said. “What are you doing? What is this?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said. “I don’t know what this is about. It’s just saying I’ve been murdered. I don’t know why.”
She had a deep look of confusion on her face as she stared at the TV. I stared back at the TV, watching the reporter talk about my murder. He showed multiple images of my dead body. Pale and cut up. A pit of nausea formed in my stomach. It began to feel like a slideshow, rather than a news report. A pit of dread formed in my stomach. Even though it wasn’t real, it was still clearly directed towards me. I began to wonder if it was a warning. I didn’t want to know, so I reached for the remote to turn the TV off. As I did so, Jessica picked the remote up. With a look of disgust on her face, she turned the TV off.
“What… why… who’s doing this? Why are they saying I’m dead?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” I said.
Jessica stepped out of the living room. It was weird. It was as if the reports were directed at us. On top of that… we each saw the report differently. I was confused as to how. I wanted to take a picture of the part of the news report where my picture was shown, then have someone look at it. I wasn’t going to press Jessica about it, so I asked my dad instead. I turned the TV back on. The reporter was still reporting live outside the house. Once my dad walked in, I asked him to tell me what he saw on the TV.
“Our house?” He asked. “Or a house that looks like ours. No wait, the number and the ornaments are the same.”
I waited for what I assumed would be a detailed dive into a murder that didn’t seem to have happened. I looked at his face as he watched the coverage. He adopted a look of confusion.
“Me? Is this some sort of prank?” he asked.
I went cold. This wasn’t normal at all. I held my phone up to the TV screen. Once they showed my picture again, I snapped a picture. The picture wasn’t what I expected it to be. In the photo I took, the picture on the news looked like four different pictures collaged into one. But that wasn’t all. The time shown was random symbols, the traffic camera on the bottom right was a glitched out mess, although I could see a face with an intense stare peeking through it. Chills ran straight down my spine. The weirdest thing though was the headline on the bottom left was a random sequence of numbers, rather than a worded headline. I typed the numbers up in case they weren’t as random as they seemed. They had somewhat of a pattern to them. Also, they showed up in the picture, but not in real life.
44-11-63-79-60-18 44-11-52-79-11-05 43-98-93-79-45-86
The picture was very different from what I expected it to be. I looked at the TV screen in real life. The report about me was still going as normal. No glitchiness, no numbers, no face… I showed the picture to my dad. He told me it looked like I put it through a filter. I insisted I didn’t. He didn’t respond. He stared at the TV in silence. I was almost frozen with an overwhelming feeling of dread. How was this happening? Why are these reports directed at us? Are they a warning?
My dad sat down on the chair. He continued to stare at the news. A couple of hours later, I stepped back out into the living room. Dad was still staring at the news. Although I noticed he didn’t seem to be moving at all. No light movement, not even any light breathing. Although, I could hear his heart pounding. It was pounding in an irregular pattern. I asked him if he was okay, but he didn’t open his mouth or even bat an eye.
The next morning, I decided to try to leave again. When I neared the door, Jessica was standing in front of it. The door was boarded up. She asked me if I knew when it had happened. I told her I didn’t know. I couldn’t recall hearing anyone hammering nails into anything since the last time I noticed the door. As I wondered, I stepped into the living room. Dad was still staring at the news. The news was still reporting about me having been murdered. I started to feel concerned about Dad. He was sitting in the exact same spot he was sitting in on Day 1. I never heard him moving or speaking at all since then either. I went back into my room to take my mind off of the whole ordeal. An hour later, Jessica asked me if my phone was working.
“The time on my phone is frozen, and I’m not seeing anything new anywhere on the internet. No one is responding to my messages either,” she said.
I checked the time on my phone. It was 9:04 AM. I checked Instagram, Twitter, then certain subreddits. All the posts were from before 3 AM. I went to popular subreddits, then I sorted by new. The newest posts were all from before 3 AM. Of course, the websites were still about to load. I was still able to open posts without getting an offline message. I double checked the wifi. It was working fine, according to the phone. I chalked it up to a glitch I didn’t understand, as to save myself from getting the creeps thinking it had to do with whatever was happening outside my room.
On Day 3, it was the same routine. In bed all day, looking at stuff on my phone. No new posts were showing up since the previous morning, but at least I had the old ones, I thought. My Dad continued to stare at the news. That day, it was reporting about people I had never heard of before having been murdered in the same way I supposedly was. The reporter was still standing outside my house, reporting live. However, every part of him below his head was frozen. The creases in his suit were still, he wasn’t gesturing with his hands, but his head still moved as if he was gesturing. It was all unnatural. Background movements, such as trees swaying in the wind, were happening just fine.
Later in the day, the reporter’s head was frozen as well. Only his lips were moving as he spoke. The trees behind him continued to sway in the wind as normal. Something was up with the reporter. It was uncanny the way he just stood there, frozen, looking like he was frozen in time, yet his lips still moved.
On Day 9, I walked out of my room in the clothes I had been wearing for a couple of days. Before I could begin to walk down the hallway, Jessica stormed past me. She looked just as frustrated with this whole trapped situation as I was.
“Follow me,” she said.
Jessica stormed into her room. I followed her.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Everything is too weird now and I can’t take it anymore. I’m going to climb out of the damn window no matter what,” she said.
She opened her window. She pulled herself up onto the window sill, then she stuck her head outside.
“Hey!” She yelled.
Jessica continued to lean out of the window. As she did so, she stopped moving. She leaned forward a tiny bit more, then she pushed herself backwards, landing on her floor with a soft thud. She crawled back from the window, until she was sitting beside where I was standing. She stared into my eyes with a look of shock. Her face was pale white. It in turn gave me chills.
“It’s over,” she said.
“This… whole thing?” I asked.
“No,” she said. Her breaths quickened, getting louder each time. Tears began to run down her face.
My fear turned into anger. I walked up to the window, climbed up onto the window sill, then I poked my head outside. I took a look around for anything off. No trees were missing, no houses looked different all of a sudden. Everything was normal. But then, I felt a tightness in my head. A flash, which felt like a memory, of me walking down a trail on an island. Heavy rain was pouring down. To my left, a canoe sized poisonous centipede sat on the edge of the trail. Someone had told me it was poisonous, but I couldn’t pinpoint who. Nausea formed in my stomach as I observed it. I thought it was impossible for any insect to be the size of a canoe.
I walked up the trail. As I strolled, a silhouette formed in the fog meters in front of me. As I got closer, his head came into view. It was just a clump of wires. Five cords popped up from his head. My heart rate sped up. Before I could turn around to run, the cords lunged at me. Once they touched me, I was choked with an amount of pain I could’ve never imagined before. Once the electrocution stopped, I sprinted away from him. I tried to think about something else, but everything in the vision got more vivid in response. Every detail became 10 times clearer.
As I ran back down the trail, a fleeting feeling that something was wrong overcame me. A sense of dread strangled me to the point where I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Knowledge of the island, along with the wider area around the island, which included other similar islands, began to pop into my head. I jolted my head back into the room. I fell onto the floor. With great relief, the vision stopped.
I was confused as to what the vision was all about. What the point of it was. I didn’t want to know anything more about that dark gut wrenching place, so I decided not to look out that window again.
After that, I accepted the routine. How long would the whole thing go on for anyway? I wondered. “Maybe it will stop soon,” I thought. I could take certain odd things anyway, like light voices I couldn’t recognize coming from the basement despite no one having lived down there, arrived before the house locked us in, or came upstairs from the basement. My Mom went down into the basement to find out who was speaking. I didn’t want to feel any more fear than I already did, so I stayed upstairs. For all I knew, it could’ve been another trick by whatever was showing us horrible news reports about us that only we could see, with realistic looking images of our fates included.
It was Week 2, Day 5. Mom hadn’t come back upstairs at all, which just validated the fear I had of something being down there. Whatever that something was, I wasn’t going to be dumb enough to go check it out.
At the end of Week 2, we ran out of food. We still had water though, at least. Despite any optimism I had, I started to get anxious about the idea of starving. My stomach rumbled for hours. At one point, the hunger turned into an ache. I chose to blindly hope that climbing out of my window would be different from climbing out of my sister’s window. I opened my window. As I poked my head out of my window, the vision of the dark island came back, along with the choking dread.
“It’s just a trick,” I told myself out loud. But then I saw… it. A person with a clump of wires for a head. His clothes had multiple holes in them. His hands were a mixture of green, grey, and brown. They looked disgustingly rotted. Within the holes of his clothes, I saw more of his rotted-looking flesh, along with some more wires. He stood in the backyard, only meters away from the window. I froze. Five cords poked up from his head, each aiming towards me. He began to take steps towards me. My breaths sped up. I pushed myself backwards onto my bed. I sat up, then I reached for the window. I slammed it shut. I looked out the window, noticing the wire head was gone.
Despite his disappearance, the dread inside me remained. My heart was pounding. I knew I wasn’t going anywhere from that point on.
I alternated between a dreadful pit in my stomach and a light aching pit in my stomach. At one point, the dread seemed to have overcome the hunger for the most part. I knew I was going to starve to death as long as I was trapped in the house. I didn’t want to go through death. Especially not a long excruciating death, if starving counted as one. I began to have multiple panic attacks. It felt like I was falling into hell. Intense dread, cold sweats… I needed to at least get some food or else my death would happen. I needed to get out of the house.
My Dad continued to stare at the news. This doesn’t sound possible, but he hadn’t eaten anything since he began staring at the news. He should’ve starved by the end of week three, but he didn’t. It was weird. I checked his heart rate again. It was still erratic. It was just so unnatural. At the end of the week, he began to look frozen in time like the news reporter. I looked at the TV, noticing the reporter was still frozen as he spoke. Background movements, such as trees swaying in the wind, were still normal. The reporter was just too… off. Chills ran down my spine as I wondered what was going on with him.
On Week 4, Day 4, I realized I hadn’t spoken to Jessica for a little while. I knocked on her door. She told me I could come in. When I opened the door, I saw her room in a state I never thought I’d see it in. Demon-shaped symbols had been drawn all over her walls. Weird symbols were drawn on sheets of paper and on torn out pages from novels which were spread out all over the room. Her TV was laying on the floor, beside the TV stand. The screen had a dozen holes in it. The wires were cut. On her TV stand was a symbol that looked like it was scratched right into the wood of the stand. A circle with a horizontal line running through the center of it, with three downward pointing arrows within the middle of the circle. A word was etched above the symbol:
“Woodward”
“What did you do in here?” I asked.
“I’m going to accept this situation. You should too. We’re the ones who won’t get out,” Jessica said.
That didn’t sound like something I could accept, however.
“What’s Woodward?” I asked.
“He’s a person. His last name is Woodward. I keep having flashes of him,” Jessica said.
“Do you know who he is?” I asked.
“No, the flashes feel like vague memories. Some of the memories pop up for a couple seconds, but then they disappear and I can’t recall them,” Jessica said.
“You got his last name though,” I said.
“At least,” Jessica said.
I was confused as to whether or not she was being serious. It looked like she was performing a satanic ritual in her room. I kinda thought she was being sarcastic, but it went on for a couple more weeks, which was enough time for me to worry.
My boredom intensified throughout Week 5 as I began to lose hope that whatever was keeping us in the house would ever let us go. My friends hadn’t responded to any of my messages since Day 2, everytime I tried to talk to Jessica about anything fun, she would stare at one of the symbols she drew, without responding to me at all.
At the end of Week 9, I was almost convinced I was dead. My hunger disappeared during Week 4 as my dread continued to linger. By Week 7, I rationalized it as dread and nausea having distracted me from my hunger. I was still confused though. We can go 20 to 60 days without eating before we starve. At the end of Week 9, I had gone 77 days without food. It wasn’t possible at all. I should’ve had some serious medical issues by then at best. I wasn’t dead at all. I didn’t even feel dead. My body just felt… neutral… if that makes sense.
Week 9, Day 3. I took a look at the news again. It was the last time I was planning to look at whatever was on there. The live report was still going, but the reporter was gone. The house visible in the background during the report was on fire. Flames engulfed the entire building. I watched, weirded out as my home burned down. Of course, it wasn’t actually happening. I was in my home, which wasn’t burning at all. But since the news reports were different for whoever watched them, I had the feeling it was some kind of warning. That the video footage was directed at me. The pit in my stomach remained. An echoing booming noise came from somewhere off camera, then the TV switched off. My Dad grunted.
I still had no idea what was going on with him. I could faintly hear his heart beating erratically from a meter away. His vains were visible, somehow moving around in a swaying motion. Looking into his eyes filled me with dread. It was like looking into a void filled with endless rage. With how weird this whole being trapped situation has been, I began to believe demons were real. Dad stood up.
“It’s time to go down,” he said.
He walked into the kitchen. I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t want to stand there to find out immediately though. I decided to go back to my room. As I took steps down the hallway, all the lights in the house turned red. I looked back into the living room. Outside the living room window was a white void. It was empty. It looked like it went on for miles and was a close up wall at the same time. It seemed as if I was outside of time. That’s the best I can describe it.
As I stared at the void, I heard quick erratic footsteps racing around in the kitchen. Before I could get a good look at what was going on, my Dad stepped right out of the kitchen. His eyes were ten times more intense. His veins were all jet black. I froze. The adrenaline inside me started to go up. My dad didn’t look like my Dad anymore. He walked over to the basement door. He pulled the door open and slammed it to the side. It seemed like it was about to break. He then grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me towards the stairs. I gripped the railing to stop myself from tumbling down into the basement. Dad walked out of the kitchen. Seconds later, Jessica sped walked into the stairway, nodding her head on the way. Dad caught up to her. He shut the door, then he locked it. My heart was pounding.
I stared at the door for a minute. Jessica walked down to the basement while frustration built up inside me. “This is stupid,” I thought. “This is weird. None of this should be happening.” I punched the door. I wanted to break it down. I knew it wouldn’t be easy though. I turned around and stepped down into the basement.
When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I noticed three unfamiliar people were sitting up against the wall in front of me. The one on the left looked to be in their 90s, the one in the middle looked to be in their 70s, and the one on the right looked somewhere above 100. I’m taking a guess to describe him anyway. He looked older than anyone I had ever seen. One other thing I noticed was the sheer amount of scars all over each of them. Some looked fresher than others. I had never seen them before. They weren’t downstairs neighbors. Nobody came into the house while the doors were locked or boarded up. I made eye contact with each of them.
“Who are you?” I asked.
The one on the right introduced himself as Ron, the one in the middle introduced herself as Betty, then the one on the left introduced himself as John. It kinda spooked me. I had never heard anything coming from down there before. I wondered how there had been people down in the basement the whole time without anyone noticing. Before I could ask them any questions, Ron asked me a question.
“That your mother?” He asked, gesturing to a space to my right.
I looked to my right. My Mom was sitting down at the right end of the basement, staring up at something written on the wall.
“We’re out of defenses. Wicked and ravaging demons”
I looked back at Ron.
“Yes. What’s she doing?” I asked.
“She came down here weeks ago,” Ron said. “She looks… catatonic all the time. She wrote that thing on the wall. It looks like a quote from some novel but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was real based on all the wicked things I’ve been through. I have no idea where those rampaging demons are, and she won’t tell us! Probably just her imagination. Well… hopefully.”
“How have we never seen you before?” I asked.
“I like to insist that we’re in hell,” Ron said. “We kicked the bucket without being aware of it and now we’re trapped. I mean, that might sound silly to you, but there’s no other way we’ve been able to live on without food for all this time. We should’ve starved after the fifth week. We haven’t eaten anything since the second week.”
“We’re not in hell,” Betty said. “We’re probably just in a space. A different one than the one we’re used to.”
My stomach sank. This whole thing has happened to other people as well. People who were just as confused about this thing as I was. The world around us had gone weird. I wondered how big this thing was. Based on the small number of people here, I wanted to assume this wasn’t some mega scale thing. So I chose to assume it was only happening at this house or maybe at two or three other houses. Because who knows, right? We can’t be the only ones. This situation seemed too unique for me to assume it was happening at more than one or possibly two houses. I didn’t want to imagine how this situation would go down at an entire school or the White House.
I had no idea what else to say. This was too confusing. It was unrealistic, unless we really are in a place outside of time, like how it has felt. If we are, that still doesn’t explain how we are still alive without eating for so long. I decided to find out if Ron, Betty, or John knew more than I did about this situation. I walked up to them.
“Do any of you know why this is happening?” I asked.
“We don’t have any clue,” Ron said. “Everything just stopped working. We couldn’t leave the house, family members started acting all possessed, then they locked us down here in this basement. What happened to you?”
“The same things,” I said. “With fake news reports included.”
“Fake news reports?” Betty asked.
“Yes,” I said. “On the news, it showed live reporting outside of the house that clearly wasn’t happening when I looked out the window. The reports were psychologically directed towards my family and I.”
I then recalled the voices I had been hearing. I realized they must have been coming from the people who were down here. The voices matched. However, I only noticed those sounds when what happened to them was happening to me. Now my family is down here too, locked in the basement just like they were. With that, I assumed the house would go back to normal, then no one would hear us rotting down here. I felt cold thinking about it. At least, some people would notice us down here whenever the house ended up witching out on them, but I don’t want this cycle to keep going.
I looked over to my left, away from everyone. I needed as much of a break as possible. A pit formed in my stomach when I noticed it. A bone covered in blood laying up against the wall at the end of the basement. I turned my head back towards Ron.
“Where is that bone from?” I asked.
Betty and Ron exchanged looks.
“Sometimes, people come down here,” Betty said. “Families. They get locked down here by a fellow family member. They don’t always make it though. At least they found some way out. A way that doesn’t seem to work for us. They’re the lucky ones. As for the bone, don’t feel too concerned about it or about any of the other ones.”
I wanted to scream. Were they being serious? Their tone sure sounded serious. Also, the scars all over them… and what they said about them not being able to find a way out… also what they said about the bone… and the other bones…? Also, the fact that one bone was sitting there all by itself? I almost threw up. I wondered if there was any way I could communicate with the outside world at all. I needed to get this out more than ever. I knew I only heard the sounds from the people down here while the weird stuff in the house was happening, so I wouldn’t be able to get anyone to come down here. My Dad didn’t seem like an option at all either. I checked my phone to see if I could access the internet. I found I could access the internet if I stood at a certain place against the back wall of the basement. Things were updating just fine on there, which was a plus. I knew right then I could get this story out.
There was a catch, however. The internet changed every couple of hours. Many web pages would change appearance completely, some websites I had never heard of before filled the search results… the time stamps on articles changed too. Sometimes article dates would all be from before 2010. Other times, articles would be dated to 2024 - 2027. At certain times, all the apps on the phone would disappear for a couple hours before returning. Occasionally, the phone would shut off. No matter what the battery was at. I wouldn’t be able to turn it on at all for a couple hours. I found the glitch to be weird and disruptive. Was it a trick to throw me off? Was it a legit time skip? I was ready to believe anything at that point.
With the glitch, I could only type up any documentation in my notes app, so that’s what I began to do. I checked an online calendar. It said it was July 22, 2004. I didn’t have any registered accounts back then. I was only 3 years old, and Jessica was only born that year. I waited a couple more hours, then the date changed to November 23, 2025. I was confused. I thought I might as well post in the present. It took a day of waiting, but the calendar day changed to May 3, 2022, which was the day I thought it currently was. I had counted the days throughout this whole ordeal. 82 days had gone by so far. It began on February 10th. That means May 3rd has to be the present day.
Before I did anything else, I wanted a better time frame for how long the cycle had been going on for so far, especially so I could include it in a documentation of this experience in an internet post, so I asked Ron, Betty, and John how long they’ve been in the basement. I was hoping it wasn’t too long. My phone battery was down to 30% so I needed to put this documentation into a post sooner than later.
I wish I hadn’t asked.
“I was 15 when the house trapped my family and I inside. I might be about 90 now, but I’m not too sure,” John said.
“I was 22. I’ve never been so great at counting, but John insists I’m around 75 now,” Betty said.
“I was 19. I gave up counting the days at around 65,” Ron said.
“John could t-tell you,” I said.
“John and Betty only made their way down here when I was around 75 to 85,” Ron said.