Until It’s Too Late

I smile as I walk down the street, with my pocket knife, the weapon I use to slit their throats wide open.

The blade piercing the skin, the blood, the screams, look of horror in their eyes; my smile grows wider as I approach the house, pick the lock and silently open the door.

I walk through the house scanning each room for my target until I spot them, I grin as I watch my next victim, unaware of my prescience, oblivious to what I am about to do; I take the knife out of my pocket and walk closer, closer, until I am right behind my prey, I stand silently, waiting for the perfect moment.

You sit in your chair reading, in the comfort of your home; you may be getting nervous as you read this description of yourself, but you tell yourself that you are not in any real danger.

Are you?

They never find out, until it’s too late.

—
Credits to: S54321

A Walk In The Park

There is jingle of keys and my favourite two-legs walks in. He smells a little tired. A little sour. Has he been out having fun without me? I run over to the door and flop over on my back. My favourite two-legs rubs my tummy. All is well.

He goes into the kitchen and I hear the rustling sound that signals dinner. What strange animal is He feeding me? I never hear it except for when it’s time to eat. It smells fantastic and it’s in my bowl. I don’t take any chances. I only take breaks to breathe. Otherwise something terrible could happen. The food could get up and walk away. Or some other dog could get in the house and eat it. Or anything really. I cough to clear my throat. And I’m done.

He calls me to the door. I bounce off the walls while waiting for him to get his act together. There is a click as His strong hands close the collar around my neck. It’s definitely there to stop me from losing Him. He sinply can’t keep up with me. It’s time for our walk.

I’m normally happy as anything to be out in the park. It’s a great opportunity to pick up on the neighbourhood gossip at all my favourite pee posts and maybe catch up with a friend or two. Not this time of the year though. It’s the time of the year that I have to keep my favourite two-legs out of trouble.

I take a sniff at the first patch of green that we come to. It’s always nice to find out who’s been around. But my heart isn’t really in it today. Have to be alert. Ears up, nose ready. We’re less than halfway into the park when I see the first one. It’s a small one, a puppy two-legs, no more than half as tall as my two-legs. She’s in the bushes, staring. Her mouth opens and shuts, but no sound comes out. There’s a line of blood down from her brow, and when she turns her head, left and right, left and right, trying to fix her one good eye on the pair of us. I don’t smell the blood on her face. If I did, I’d be going crazy. That’s the thing about these two legs in the park. On the streets sometimes. No smell. They don’t have any smell. She just stands there, watching us, one eye bright and angry, the other one missing.

I tug my two-legs away from her. He makes a little noise, deep in his throat. Not a good noise. There isn’t much joy in the walk after that. I don’t know where these things with no smell come from, or why they appear when they do. They don’t like me, and I don’t like them much either. Worst thing is, they’re always trying to get around me to my two-legs. I’ve never let them. You can’t trust anything without a smell.

We’re halfway through the park when the next one appears. This one is in worse shape. It’s a big female. She’s a little more active, trying to reach out to grab my two-legs. Something’s been chewing at her fingers. The tips are gone, leaving nothing but soft looking red points. She can’t seem to move very far from her spot. I look back at my two-legs. He looks straight through her. In fact, he’s starting to veer towards her. The female two-legs with no smell bares her teeth. It looks like a smile, like my two-legs sometimes gives when he’s playing fetch. But she doesn’t look like she’s in a tail wagging mood. Not at all. It’s something in the eyes. Those eyes would smell hungry and excited, if they had any smell at all. But they don’t. There’s nothing that scares us more than something without a smell, I tell you. You can’t tell where it is, what it’s thinking. It makes me want to curl up and whimper, if only it wasn’t rapidly approachin the pair of us.

My two-legs shows no signs of slowing down. Does he see her? He doesn’t show it if he did. And I know his sense of smell is worse than a puppy with a snoutful of its own poop. This isn’t good. It looks like I’ll need to bust out one of my old tricks for this one. I tuck my forelegs in and twist before I hit the ground. He makes another sound of annoyance and starts yanking on my leash, while I wriggle my back on the scratchy grass, coincidentally getting that itchy spot that He always misses. He pulls a little harder. I take the opportunity to spring to my feet and rumble off in a new direction. Caught off guard, he loses the leash. Success! The grass rustles underpaw as I take off across the field, only glancing back to see the look of disappointment on the face of the no smell two-legs.

It takes my two-legs a while to catch me. In the end, I have to slow down and start running in little circles so that he manages to stomp on the handle of the leash. The bitter smell of irritation oozes from him. He tugs the leash a little harder than he has to. I follow, tail between my legs. He doesn’t look pleased at all. A romp through the grass is one of life’s great pleasures. Second to bacon of course.

He’s bringing me back the way we came, cutting short our walk in the park. I huff out a breath and droop my ears, glancing back to see if He notices. No, he does not.

The troubles aren’t over. Some of them are rousing in the distance, now that the light is fading. They’re getting more daring, more active. It’s not safe for either of us. We’re back on the path, heading home. We round the corner to cover the last stretch back home and there, in the middle of the path, is one more. This one’s been around for a long time. It has already started to lose its shape, like the lines of its face are going blurry. I can’t tell if it was a male or female. Its eyes were just black holes in its head. It gapes at us, starting to drag itself forward.

Dear two-legs is oblivious. He probably wants to get home and drop Himself onto the couch. I slow down, but He is having none of that. The leash tightens and I find myself being dragged forward. The thing with no smell is starting to get more animated. It’s raising itself up on its stumpy limbs. No hands or feet here, they must be long gone. It still has teeth though. They look sharp.

I dig my claws into the ground and tense up. A low growl comes from my throat. The thing hears me. It stops. It hesitates.

My two-legs has had enough. The collar starts to pull at the skin at the back of my neck. I’m a big dog, but He’s much heavier and He always wins this game. The thing senses victory. It’s getting closer. I’m getting a little scared now. I don’t want it to touch my two-legs, but my two-legs can’t see it. I know that if it touches my two-legs, something Bad will happen. And that would make me a Bad Dog. Not just any Bad Dog, but the absolute worst kind there is, the kind that doesn’t take care of the pack.

I must be strong. I must be brave, even though I am so scared that I may widdle myself like a small pup again. I must be brave for my two-legs. I can’t hold on much longer, the pressure on my collar is unbearable. I reach deep, close my eyes and summon up the biggest storm of barks that I can find. For that one moment, I am bigger than a scared dog on a leash, bigger even than the giant mastiff down the street. For that one moment, there is a little magic, something ancient and terrible in that bark. I open my eyes and the magic is gone.

My two-legs stops pulling me, he looks on in a mix of wonder and fear. I look back ahead of me. The thing with no smell has retreated far from the path. I see it quivering off in the distance. I hold my head up high and trot home with my two-legs in tow. He seems relieved that I’m not giving him any more trouble. If only he knew. Still, a pack is a pack, even if the leader can’t seem to take care of himself. And the pack has me to keep it safe, even if it’s just for a walk in the park. And I will do it all again tomorrow.

—
Credits to: Straydog1980

The Beam

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon. Amelia was making her typical rounds when she noticed a huge shadow forming above her. She thought it was simply a cloud or an eclipse until she saw a bright beam of light shining down, piercing the darkness. Instinct demanded that she needed to run for her life.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her friend immediately below the light, writhing in pain. She had heard stories of this horrific phenomenon many times over the course of her childhood, and it was enough to know that there was no way to save her friend. She kept running.

She could see her salvation; her home was in sight. She ran faster than she ever had before. Just steps from her entryway, she felt a searing pain on her back. She knew it was too late for her. With her dying thoughts, she remembered her friend and countless others who were just as unlucky as she; a single tear fell onto her now lifeless body.
——————————————————————————————————
A little boy sat outside on a sunny Saturday afternoon. He giggled to himself as he focused his magnifying glass onto the next helpless ant.

—
Credits to: DoraWinifredRead

One Isolated Incident

My fingers are still trembling. I have no idea what I should do now. How long has it been, maybe an hour and a half? All I know is, I can’t set foot in that apartment again. I’m typing this from the library. I have nowhere else from which to tell this story right now.

I’ve been living in that apartment for nine years now, by myself. There is a lot of stuff in there that I would hate to leave behind, but it may not be my choice anymore. Let me back up for a second.

I suffer from chronic sleep apnea. For those who don’t know, sleep apnea is a condition in which you stop breathing periodically throughout the night. Sometimes you go without oxygen for so long that your brain has to wake you up intermittently to force you to start breathing again. It is a deadly condition, or so I’ve been told, but I’ve been reluctant to see a doctor about it. What I wouldn’t give for a doctor right about now.

Last week, my curiosity got the better of me. I was well aware that my snoring was bad, so bad in fact that my two friends with whom I had been rooming at a hotel a few months back had to wake me up because they thought that I was dying. I decided then that maybe if I set up a camera and tried recording the sound of my own snoring, the shock of hearing said sound might be enough to make me want to see a doctor. Little did I know just what a shock awaited me.

After the first night of recording, I woke up bleary-eyed as usual, stumbled over to the camera and ejected the tape. I went about my usual morning routine of spreading butter over my soon-to-be-microwaved frozen pancakes. The tape finished rewinding a bit sooner than I had expected, so over the microwave buzzing, I proceeded to press the play button.

It was going to take some time to get to the point on the tape where I actually fell asleep after consciously pressing Record on the camera the night before, so I punched the fast-forward button. There was no need to watch the TV, as there would be nothing worth seeing. It was more the sound I was concerned about than anything.

The usual bars of distorted static danced across the screen in such a way that would soon be unrecognizable to a generation growing up in an age where VCR’s were all but extinct. In between the distorted bars, though, I could still make out the black silhouette of my body lying in the bed against the dark orange backdrop of the wall, which was slightly illuminated by a street lamp outside. I went about pulling the pancakes out of the microwave and set them on the counter with one hand, with Mrs. Butterworth’s ready to fire in the other hand. That’s when it caught my eye.

On the television, my silhouette was sitting up in the bed.

Mrs. Butterworth’s crashed to the floor, dispersing her contents onto my feet before I even knew what was happening. I hurriedly rushed to clean up the mess and get to the remote as quickly as I could. I punched the Rewind button, back to about a minute before the point at which my silhouette sat up in the bed. I shuddered at the thought of what I was about to hear.

I turned the volume up on my television and listened closely, having completely forgotten about my breakfast already. There was the usual “sawing of logs”, as my mother used to call it, accompanied by a few nasal snorts and what almost sounded like belching. In actuality, the sound was my swollen uvula resisting as I gasped for air. It was definitely worse than I had realized, but I was still waiting for that moment.

I’m not sure why I flinched when it happened. I knew it was coming. Yet still, I had no memory of having done it. I told myself, you don’t always remember what you do in your sleep. You are hardly even aware of it. The snoring subsided a little bit, no doubt because I had to have been regaining some slight consciousness. But the true shock had yet to come. The silhouette spoke.

“Can you hear me?”

The voice was unrecognizable to me. It was a low, gravelly voice that told a tale of cigarettes by the thousands. I haven’t smoked for five years. I could only imagine how bad things would have gotten if I had kept on. The silhouette spoke again, with more urgency.

“Can you hear me?”

Was I dreaming? To whom was I speaking? My ability to recollect the events of dreams had fallen by the wayside in recent years. There was little reason to believe this was going to make any sense.

“I see you listening. Answer me!”

I know it doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. Surely he wasn’t speaking to me, his future self. I had to have been having some kind of delusions in my sleep. That had to be it. There was no other explanation, I thought to myself.

“Oh there’s an explanation alright,” he responded. With that, the sound of the mattress shifting could be heard. He was turning to get out of the bed.

I stopped the tape.

I didn’t record anything for the next two weeks, nor did I manage to make time for the doctor. I threw myself into work. I stayed busy. I even managed to make it out to the gym a few times. I watched my eating more closely. I erased the tape. By the tenth or eleventh day, I had almost gotten to the point I was making it through an entire day without even so much as thinking about it. By the time two weeks had passed, life was pretty much right back to normal.

Unfortunately, as memories tend to pass, so do the emotions associated with them, and as my fear slowly dissipated, curiosity crept its way back in. I thought maybe the one night had just been an anomaly. Maybe I had just gotten up to go to the bathroom. That’s probably what woke me up to begin with. I had concocted all sorts of excuses and theories as to what might have really happened that night.

So for the second time, I set up the camera, pressed Record, and with surprisingly little trouble, fell into another wondrous sleep.

I arose the next morning and was quickly spurred to action, but not by invigoration. It was moreso the sight of my camera, which was lying on its side on the floor. The entire tripod was tipped over. Another overnight bathroom break perhaps? Whatever it was, I was anxious to find out.

With pancakes in tow (syrup already added) I sat down, a little apprehensive, but content that I had reasonably figured out what had happened last time. I reached the beginning of the tape, and started to fast forward through the first few minutes of me actually getting to sleep. The familiar dancing static bars, and my silhouette against the dark orange wall scrolled in vertical vertigo like stacked symbols on a slot machine. I heard a bloop on my computer nearby, and rolled over to give it a look. It was an instant message from my friend Jon about an upcoming get-together. I formulated a quick reply, and cut the first pancake with my fork. Just as I was putting that first piece into my mouth, I glanced over at the television.

My face was covering the entire screen, half obscured by the darkness. My eyes were wide open, teeth bared, a look of pure inhumane terror. My hands fidgeted at a hundred miles an hour as I struggled to press the “Play” button on the remote. The sound was almost as inhuman as the look on my face. I couldn’t tell whether I was laughing or in excruciating pain. The sound was much like that often heard by zombies in video games or on certain more popular television shows. I could hear every flap of the uvula as my other self growled at the camera. The growls slowly started to turn into words. At first it sounded like “Help me,” and then it changed to “I’m coming for you. I’m coming.” I was frozen in my seat. I couldn’t move. I was petrified. Just then, I heard a loud clunking from the bedroom behind me.

At this point, I sprung into action, but I couldn’t even tell you now that it was I who was doing what I was doing. I wasn’t acting on any logical sense of any kind, it was pure gut instinct. I opened the door to my bedroom just in time to see a completely covered lump in my mattress, about the same size as me. Suddenly, the covers flung wide open, but I could only just barely see it happen as I shut the door and ran past my still growling face on the TV screen, bare feet and all, straight out to my car.

All I know is, it’s a good thing I keep my keys in my car. Otherwise I’d be out there running somewhere with no shoes. I’m surprised they haven’t thrown me out of this library already. I only have about ten minutes left on this computer and about $45 in these pants. With any luck, I can make it out to my sister’s place in Eau Claire.

If anyone happens to see this, these are the events exactly as I recall them. I pray this is not the start of a pandemic, but merely one isolated incident.

—
Credits to: NintendoCapriSun

Weird Stuff Has Been Happening On The Night Shift

When you work in security, you might get moved around a lot.

Normally I work nights, and I’m a regular in one building. I’ve recently been put in charge of reading over the site logs for other buildings too. It’s pretty boring most of the time, but I got a dollar per hour payrise out of it, so I can hardly complain.

All a site log is is a registry of everything that happened on a particular shift. It’s normally just patrols, maybe a bit of damage a guard has noticed, a kid hanging about here or there. Nothing too exciting.

A few things make a log more difficult to get through. Fucking terrible penmanship is the worst one. But another issue is that many guards don’t speak or write great English, and it’s difficult for them to concisely explain events. You learn to get by with guesswork.

One guy was always hard to understand. His name was Saa. He was African, and a good guard, but even in person it was a struggle to understand him- and forget about reading his reports. They were always a headache but I liked the bloke and managed them as well as I could.

Saa mostly worked the night at one particular city office building, nowhere special. Just a regular place with cubicles and drinking fountains and people who hated their jobs. It was pretty cushy though. He had a booth office all to himself with heating and a radio and cameras of high enough quality that patrols were not necessary. He just had to chill in the booth and keep one eye on the monitors.

About a four days ago, Saa started noting a problem in his reports. Every time I read through them it said the same thing.

2000- onsite all ok
2200- meal break
2300- speak button scratch scratch again
0205- hallway again
0300- hallway gone
0800-Saa offsite off duty

After seeing this in the reports a few times, I called Saa to get some clarification.

First I asked him about “speak button scratch scratch”

He told me that ‘every night, scratch scratch on the speak button back door.’

I asked him if he meant the intercom round the back of the building

'Yes, every night scratch noise. Very bad'

I figured he meant that the intercom was playing up, probably picking up some kind of static. I made a note to report it and get it fixed.

I asked him about ‘hallway again’

He was quiet for some time.

"What’s wrong with the hallway, Saa?"

"Hallway camera. Every night something same time"

"What something? What do you mean?"

"Camera getting big black spot, it’s moving up camera hallway"

"Like, dirt on the camera"

"No. Moving spot. Arms and legs. Something inside."

"Ok, it sounds like some kind of distortion. It could be messing up when people walk down the hallway. I’ll report it"

"No people. Just me. First day one camera. Now one two camera a closer hallway"

Saa was starting to confuse me and I was tired. I decided to just request a tech to look at all the cameras. I told him I would get it sorted.

I’m pretty sure the tech went out the next day, but when I got the night report it said the same. “Speak button scratch scratch” “hallway again”

This went on for a couple more days, until my night off- about 6pm. My boss calls me. Saa didn’t rock up for work. He needs me to go in and cover.

I’m relatively familiar with that particular building and I could use the money, so I go in.

I start the night off by looking over the night before’ report, I hadn’t seen at yet and it would save me doing it later. Saa had been working.

2000- Saa onsite
2200- meal break
2300- speak button scratch scratch whisper
0205- Hallway again three camera closer
0800- no more. Saa off duty

The log book is spotted with drops of water, and Saa has dug the pen in so hard on the last few sentences that it’s ripped the paper. I’m concerned and call his mobile

He answers.

"No shift" he says immediately

"No more work. Another building"

"We can move you Saa. I can handle this place for a bit"

Saa is quiet again.

"You are there tonight?’

"Yes, Saa. I can cover your shifts"

He hangs up.

I try to call back, baffled and thinking his phone must have cut out.

He doesn’t answer.

I decide to just talk to the boss about it tomorrow. I settle in with my snacks, a book and all of Reddit to browse over the long shift.

My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Saa.

Go Home.

That’s it. Nothing else. I try to call him again but he doesn’t pick up. I’m a little concerned for his health, thinking he’s had some kind of breakdown, or maybe is sleep deprived (it happens a lot when you do such long late shifts, we try to be vigilant about it)

Again, I decide it’s just best to bother the boss with it tomorrow and settle in.

It’s been a few easy hours. Nothing much had happened, the building has emptied out. The cleaners had finished and the under-appreciated cubicle staff have finally done enough unpaid overtime. I get to be chill as I want now.

The intercom rings. It won’t be staff at this hour. The building is right in the city so it’s probably just stupid teenagers out late and playing silly buggers.

I click the ‘speak’ button.

"Can I help you?"

Nothing

"Hello"

Scratching. Soft scratching like somebody running their nails lightly over the speaker. It sounds nothing like static.

I figure it’s just some weird fault and hang up. When I log it I notice it’s 11pm. The exact same Saa experienced the issue.

This actually reassures me, everything in the booth is connected and on a timer system- so that the system knows when to auto lock doors and arm alarms etc. if it always happens at the same time it’s probably just a technical glitch.

I note it all down and go back to looking at pictures of cats. I remind myself to look closely at the cameras at 2am to see if they’re still faulting too.

The time comes. I’m staring at the monitors looking for anything abnormal. I see nothing at first.

Then I catch it, hallway cam 001- it’s in the hallway that leads down from the rear door to the front lobby of the building, where my booth is located. The hallway has three cameras along it because it has several sharp corners. There is also a PTZ (a pan-tilt-zoom- you can control these kinds of cameras with a joystick and look around)

At first it looks like a bug or something on the screen. Just a little dark smudge.

Slowly it starts growing.

Not growing. Moving forward. The black smug he moves closer and closer to the camera. It moves very slowly.

It’s so indistinct, I have no idea what it could be. I watch it get slowly closer to the first turn in the hallway. After an hour it moves out of Hallway 001s field of vision. I look over to hallway camera 002.

Nothing.

I’m not the panicky type. I didn’t hear a thing, no alarms were triggered and cameras do weird shit sometimes, I decide it has to be some kind of fault.

I pull the footage from hallway 001- and rewind back to 0205.

The black smudge is there. I play it back and fourth a few times, but can see nothing else. I extract the footage and put it on the desktop. I figure I can show it to the techs when I call them back to actually fix this shit.

The rest of the night is uneventful. I get some reading done and OD on red bull.

Come 8am my relief shows up. I hang back ten minutes for the building manager to come in too. I tell him we need the techs back out to look at the intercom and the hallway camera.

I pull up the footage to show him.

There’s no smudge. The hallway looks normal. Just an hour long recording of nothing.

I don’t understand. I played back the footage fine that night. It was there only hours ago. I explain a much to the BM. “Maybe you ripped the vision from the wrong date, or maybe you names it wrong. This stuff happens. I’ll still get the techs in and we will sort it”

I decide to blame it on tiredness, and head home to bed. I had another shift that night in the same building.
I slept and came back at 8. Went through all the sane motions.

11pm came.

The intercom buzzed. Scratching again. Louder this time. More insistent.

I was confused and maybe a little scared. The techs were meant to have fixed this for sure.

It occurred to me it might be the work of some dedicated pranksters. I pressed the ‘talk’ button down
"You kids better bigger off. I don’t have a problem calling the police"

The scratching stopped. I figured I had solved that mystery. I went back to killing time.

2am came. I didn’t immediately look at the cameras this time. Why bother staring at a glitch? If it was even still playing up.

A few minutes in, the movement still caught my eye. I looked up at hallway 001. The smudge was back. It seemed to move a bit faster this time. I watched it glide down hallway 001. It left the first cameras line of sight again. I figured that was it for another night.

It wasn’t.

Hallway 002 flickered with motion. The smudge was there. Now I felt uncomfortable.

The PTZs line of sight stretched to hallway 002. I decided to use it. I swung it around in the direction of the smudge.

It was there. A lump formed in my throat and my stomach felt heavy. What the fuck was that?

Part of me wanted to get up. Leave the booth and look down the hallway, try to make sense of this. The other part of me said ‘Fuck That’ I twisted the top of the PTZ joystick, engaging the zoom function. I zoomed into the smudge.

My stomach leapt into my throat. I tasted bile and lost my breath.

The smudge was deep blackness, but it flickered with something… I looked closer. I was shaking like a leaf but I didn’t want to look away from the thing on the screen. It had arms. And legs. And faces. Not in any logical places and not all showing up at any one time. Just flickers of limbs and eyes moving at incredible speed. Almost vibrating.

I couldn’t comprehend it. My brain just emptied itself and rejected what I was looking at. I felt frozen in place, staring at the thing. I don’t know how long I stared as it came closer and closer to the end of hallway 002. Closer to me.

It reached the end of hallway 002. Suddenly I was aware again. I felt movement come back to my limbs and I sprung up and locked the door to my booth. I sat low in a corner, hidden from outside view. I clutched my phone and I stared at hallway 003- I waited for that impossible thing to show up on the screen.

It didn’t.

I looked at the time.

3am. It was gone. I studied every camera. Nothing. I couldn’t bring myself to go over the footage again. I just sat at the desk wondering what to do. Who do you call for something like that? Am I going crazy? Maybe I was sleep deprived now?

It was 8am again before I knew it. I only tore myself away from my thoughts as the sun started shining on my face through the glass front door. It made me feel safe.

Whatever that thing was, whether it’s real or not, it was coming closer. I’m supposed to work again tonight.

What do I do?

—
Credits to: Nightshifter91

The Village of Nine

In Karawang, Indonesia, you can find a village called Kampung Salapan or Village of nine. This village is located away from the city crowds, secluded and it doesn’t even have any electricity.

The village of nine consists only of nine family living in nine modest houses. The only other objects forming the landscape of this village is agricultural land in the form of rice fields and occasional vegetable gardens.

Village of nine is currently inhabited by 27 people, consisting of 13 men and 14 women, 20 adults and 7 children. If you ever come to the village of nine and opt to stay for the night, the villagers will politely ask you to leave, even going as far as offering themselves to escort you to the nearest neighboring village. It’s not that they hate outsiders, it is because they care about them.

In the village of nine, you can find a tenth house. This tenth house occasionally harbors the tenth family. I said occasionally because no family will be able to stay as the tenth family for more than a month.

The first family who built and lived in the tenth house moved out after the family was wrecked by divorce, they stayed for three weeks.

The second family moved out after the father hanged himself in the porch, they stayed for a week.

The third family moved out after the mother committed suicide after her child got involved in an accident, they stayed for sixteen days.

Urban legends like this, of course, invited hordes of self-proclaimed shamans or mediums to the village of nine.

Some claimed that the village of nine is a gate to a kingdom of supernatural beings, a few even goes as far as to claim to be followed and attacked by such beings while staying in the village.

Others claimed that the souls of those who died in the village of nine never moved on to the netherworld, not being able to leave the village, unable to even leave the house they died in.

You are not welcome in the village of nine.

—
Credits to: shouenga