I Was Contracted to Help Conceal a UFO Crash (Part 3)

  

“If there was no UFO, then what was the point of the raid?”

“It’s simple,” the agent said. “To make it look like there was one.”

I’m not sure why I nodded. It’s not like I understood what was going on in the slightest.

“Think about it,” the agent continued. “The CIA conducts a clandestine operation that involves covering up a UFO landing. It goes horribly wrong, and all the agents die-“

“The agents?” I said. “My team were the ones that died.”

The agent nodded. “Yeah. And what uniforms were you wearing?”

I thought back. Suddenly, it made complete sense why they didn’t want us wearing our own uniforms.

“SAC gear,” I responded. “But that still doesn’t make any sense. Every agent should’ve been registered, right? We sure as hell weren’t.”

“That’s right,” the agent responded. “But it doesn’t matter,” he gestured towards an empty syringe sitting on the table. “Once the necrosis finishes, there would’ve been nothing but bones left. Nothing left to try and identify. It’s a real nasty concoction.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “So, the CIA backs a raid in order to conceal a potential UFO crash. The mission ends in disaster and everybody, including the cult members, die in an inexplicable way.”

The agent nodded. “The aftermath yields a burning question. Who… or what killed them?”

I sat back. The implication seemed so ridiculous it was comical.

“The aliens. The aliens liquefied everybody and escaped out into the world.” I responded.

The agent smirked. “Now you’re getting it.”

“I don’t I am,” I responded. “How do hostile aliens running amok benefit the CIA in any capacity?”

The agent poured himself some more liquor. “That part… I’ll admit it’s a bit complicated.”

And complicated it was. This is where his story veers off batshit territory. According to him, this whole debacle started years prior, with one man at the center of it all:

Jonas Kane

To the best of everybody’s knowledge, Kane was just a civilian. Not a former SEAL, Ranger, or anything to that effect.

In the span of just two months, he managed to gain the favor of a sizeable portion of the higher-ups at the CIA, effectively splitting the organization into factions. It didn’t take long for his side to start overwhelming the other. Stating that he essentially held the CIA in the palm of his hand wouldn’t have been a stretch.

So how does a regular guy manage to do all this?

Well, the why to that question was pretty obvious. The how was another story entirely.

“The 'antidote',” the agent said, holding up another one of the blue syringes. “I couldn’t tell you the scientific name, so we just call it the God Serum. Kane’s claim to fame.”

I half-scoffed, half-chuckled. “Read a lot of comics?”

“Still a teenager at heart,” he said. “That’s just my coping mechanism for all the atrocities I’ve committed, though.”

I couldn’t tell if that was a joke or not.

“So Kane developed this serum? By himself?”

The agent nodded. “That’s the way it seems.”

“Well what does it do exactly?”

Despite how dumb I thought the name was, it wasn’t terribly inaccurate. On top of immediately healing any injury or disease (like necrosis), the user essentially ascended into a superhuman state. How strong somebody could become depended on their own genetics. Their base physical attributes could be enhanced twenty-fold (at the minimum), all the way to a staggering fifty-five.

Slow-twitch muscle strength, striking power, speed, endurance, durability, you name it. It was the super-soldier serum on additional steroids. And from what they’ve seen so far, there haven’t been any discernible negative side effects.

Kane was also the only one who knew how to make it, and he wasn’t sharing his secrets. This gave him a stranglehold on just about the entire organization.

“Can’t the CIA just force the recipe out of him?” I asked. “You know, advanced torture techniques or something?”

“That’s an option, yeah.” the agent responded. “But… easier said than done. The upper limit of fifty-five fold enhancement only applies to the serum he’s giving us. Kane’s different from the rest of us. He’s on something else entirely. What I’m trying to say is… he’s unstoppable. Uncontrollable. Machine guns, snipers, explosives, tranquilizers, nothing does shit to him. If we’re Captain America, he’s fucking Superman. Nobody can force him to do anything.”

I shook my head. “This sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? Are you hearing yourself?”

“I don’t disagree. But as absurd as it sounds, it’s the fucking truth. And isn’t that what you wanted to know? The truth?” the agent responded. “Anyways, that’s the how of this whole story. Kane wasn’t a scientist either. Up until 2018, he was registered as a traffic court lawyer in Oklahoma. We don’t know how the fuck he managed to do any of this. But the worst thing about this whole situation is that we don’t even know what he’s trying to do. What his endgame is.”

The agent stood up, lit a cigarette and began pacing.

“But it sure as hell probably isn’t anything good,” he said. “Combine this with the fact he’s got most of the CIA wrapped around his thumb, and we have a disaster on our hands.. He’s gaining more and more influence by the day. If he continues to go unchecked… well, you get it, don’t you?”

If the agent was telling the truth, then this was indeed a nightmare scenario. Evil Superman as world dictator, forcing the world to believe we were being attacked by aliens for unknown reasons. What a bright future.

“So what are you then?” I asked. “Leader of the anti-Kane faction or something?”

“Not the leader,” he said, shaking his head. “Just one of many moles inside Kane’s faction. But we all have the same goal. I’ll do anything to take him down.”

“Well,” I said, standing up. “Sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you. Good luck. I’ll be heading out now.”

I knew he probably wasn’t going to just let me leave. I could tell that he was trying to recruit me for something from the get-go. But after hearing all of this, on top my entire team being killed…

Wait. I’d nearly forgot about that.

“My team’s dead, you know?” I said, giving him a death stare. “And you caused it. I don’t give a fuck if you’re a double agent or what. How the hell am I supposed to forgive that?”

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” the agent responded. “But this is bigger than either of us. Bigger than anything you could imagine. If Kane gets his way, I reckon your team would’ve been fucked regardless. You don’t have to forgive me. All I’m asking is that you work with me for now. If we succeed, I don’t give a fuck what happens next. You can strangle me in my sleep for all that I care.”

He began stepping towards me.

“If you want your revenge, then you can have it. But there might not be a world for you to come back to.”

He extended his arm, implying that I shake his hand in agreement.

“C’mon. You never dreamed about playing the hero when you were a kid? This might be your only chance.”

I swatted his hand away.

“What the hell do you want me for anyways?” I responded. “I can’t even stop my team from dying. What good am I gonna be?”

It finally came out. I didn’t blame the agent. I really only had myself to blame. A tough pill to swallow for sure.

The agent paused for a moment. I couldn’t even look him in the eye at this point. I knew he’d be able to see the weakness behind my own.

Eventually, he held out his arm again.

“If I thought you weren’t worth recruiting, then why the hell am I trying so hard?” he asked. “C’mon. Make the death of your team worth something.”

“I’m still not shaking your hand,” I responded. “But tell me the plan. You guys do have a plan, right?”

The agent grinned. “Well… it’s a work in progress.”

“It’s what?

Instead of responding, he tossed me a jacket.

“I knew you’d say yes. Bundle up now. We’re headed over to Russia.” 

---

Credits

 

I Was Contracted to Help Conceal a UFO Crash (Part 2)

  

Making it to Billings took me longer than I’d expected it to. As it turns out, hitchhiking on a remote road during the middle of the night isn’t the safest thing you could do. Go figure, huh? It was fine, though. Nothing I couldn’t handle.

With that said, my real problems were still ahead of me.

I didn’t quite remember what the agent who’d slipped me the paper looked like. When we met up, they were all already wearing gear. He was definitely white, though. About six feet tall. Fairly muscular build. Shouldn’t be too difficult to spot.

The paper also specified that he’d be in the lobby, so that’s where I headed once I found the motel. Once in, I looked around. The place was nearly empty, with only four people sitting around. An older couple, a single woman, and a single man. He was white. Tall. Probably in his thirties. Most likely who I was looking for.

“Tell me you’re the guy I’m looking for.” I said, approaching him.

The man looked up at me, as his expression morphed into one of confusion. He shook his head. “I think you’re mistaken sir. I don’t know what you mean.”

I muttered out something along the lines of “my bad”, before getting ready to walk away. But before I could, the man started chuckling. Yup. This was the guy.

“You looked so worried there,” he said, in between laughs. “Jesus, that’s funny.”

Safe to say, I was starting to get pissed off.

“What the fuck is going on?” I asked.

The agent wiped a tear from his eye as he calmed down, before checking the time.

“Twenty minutes left.” He said.

It was pretty obvious what he was talking about. Had it really been close to twelve hours?

“What the hell’s gonna happen in twenty minutes?”

The man grabbed his jacket and got up. “Nothing good. Follow me.”

“Follow you to where? I’ll kick your fucking ass if you don’t tell me what’s going right now.” I said, anger rising in my voice.

“Right here? In the lobby? That’s a bad idea. Come up to my room and do it there instead.” He responded.

Before I could say anything else, he was already walking up the stairs. I followed close behind, nearly fuming at how shady he was acting. Once he opened up the door to his room, I couldn’t stop myself from lunging in and grabbing his throat.

He didn’t fight back. But at the same time, it didn’t seem like he needed to. His neck inexplicably felt like a thick, steel pipe. The harder I gripped, the harder it hurt my hand. Soon enough, I just let go. I stepped back, a dumbfounded expression on my face.

The agent checked the time again. “You done now?”

I didn’t respond. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the mini-fridge and poured out two big glasses, sliding me one while downing his at the same time.

“I’d recommend you drink that quick.” He said.

I took a deep breath and calmed myself down. “What did you inject me with? What’s gonna happen to me?” I asked.

“Well you’re gonna find out if you keep asking questions,” he said. “And trust me, you really don’t wanna fucking find out.”

He opened up the closet and unlocked the safe inside. He took out a briefcase, flipping it open to reveal four syringes. This time, they were filled with a blue liquid.

“Drink up,” he said, gesturing towards the liquor. “Cause this is gonna hurt.”

“If you think I’ll let you inject me with something else, you’re a fucking idiot. Tell me what the hell is going on right now.” I responded.

He laughed obnoxiously. “You’re calling me an idiot? The same guy who put enough trust in the government to take one of the most blatantly sketchy jobs of all time is calling me an idiot? That’s rich. You guys should’ve jumped out of the fucking truck when you had the chance.”

I considered responding but bit my tongue instead. I really couldn’t argue against that. It certainly wasn’t my brightest moment.

“Doesn’t fucking matter,” I finally said. “You still need to tell me what’s going on.”

“Trust me, I will. But you need this first.” He said, holding up one of the syringes.

I shook my head. “No. What I need first is an explanation.”

The agent sighed, checking the time once again. “Ten minutes,” he said. “You really want to make this more painful than it needs to be?”

“I guess so.”

I wasn’t budging. Again, not one of my brightest moments.

The man shrugged, sitting back in his chair. “So be it. We’ll wait.”

The stern, confident face I was putting on certainly didn’t reflect how I was actually feeling at that moment. The agent had a stranglehold on me in just about every conceivable aspect. I hated that fact. I never could accept people having power over me.

I if were a smarter man, I would’ve jut listened. But here we are.

Ten minutes passed and nothing happened. I nearly breathed a sigh of relief until I felt my arm starting to itch. I scratched at it, only to feel my finger quite literally digging into my flesh. I looked down and nearly choked. It looked like my skin was rotting away. And it was spreading fast.

“So,” the agent said, holding up the syringe. “You want it now?”

“Fuck it!” I spat, catching it as he tossed it to me. The pain was starting to become unbearable. I stuck the needle into my vein and pumped the mystery fluid into my bloodstream. At that point, the rot had completely consumed my forearm. It was horrifyingly disgusting to look at.

In my mind, there was no fate worse than that shit spreading to the rest of my body.

“That’s rapid necrosis right there,” the agent said. “And you just injected the antidote.”

I felt immense relief immediately after. I watched as the rot slowly crept back down my arm, before disappearing completely. In that moment, a wave of euphoria washed over me. I’ve never done heroin, but I imagine the sensations would be comparable.

“Enjoy that feeling,” the agent continued. “Cause the hard part is coming up soon.”

I didn’t have to ask what he meant by that. It was as if a flip had suddenly switched. The euphoria was immediately replaced with the most excruciating pain I’d ever experienced in my entire life, even worse than when the rot was consuming my arm.

“This is why I made you a drink,” the agent went on. “The pain will only last ten minutes. Try and keep it down, though. We don’t need any noise complaints.”

Those ten minutes seemed like twenty hours. If you were to ask me exactly what I was feeling, I would’ve had a hard time describing it.

Hell. Simply put, it was sheer hell. As if every molecule in my body was being tossed into an industrial meat grinder before the remnants were dropped into molten lava.

I laid on the ground for a few moments after it had passed. To tell you the truth, I wanted to lay there for a lot longer. But then I remembered where I was. I leapt up, rushing back at the agent. If I was pissed before, I was about to explode now.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?” I screamed in his face, as I began trying to strangle him again.

It was strange. His throat didn’t feel like metal anymore. It just felt like regular flesh. I could even see his face starting to turn red. I grinned. I was finally getting the upper hand.

It seemed like the “antidote” had more than a few side-effects.

But that didn’t last long. He grabbed my arm and elbowed me in the face, before somehow managing to reverse our positions and mount me. From there, he put me in an arm-lock.

“Alright,” he said. “You got that out of your system? Can I explain to you what the fuck is happening now?”

I tapped the floor, signaling “yes”.

“Well, alright,” he said, letting go. “We can finally make some progress.”

He pulled up a chair and sat down. Still panting from our short grappling match, I did the same.

“Why’d you kill my team?” I asked. “If we’d told anybody about the UFO, nobody would even fucking believe us. Hell, why’d you hire us in the first place?”

“Slow down there,” he said. “One question at a time. The first thing you need to know is…”

He paused for a moment, almost as if an uncomfortable thought had just crossed his mind.

“There was no UFO crash. No aliens. That was all fake.”

I buried my face in my hands, trying to wrap my head around what the hell he’d just said.

”What?”

“Before I continue, you want that drink now?” He asked.

I nodded. It seemed like I was going to need it. 

---

Credits

 

I Was Contracted to Help Conceal a UFO Crash (Part 1)

 

“This is the easiest money you’re ever going to make. In your line of work, that’s a God-send.”

I stared at the generic, nameless Suit standing in front of me. He claimed that he worked for the CIA. Even flashed his badge and all. It didn’t matter to me whether or not I believed him. The only thing that mattered was the fact that he paid half up-front, promising the other half after the job was done.

I’m a part of a freelance mercenary group. Modern-day soldiers of fortune. We’ve been hired by Government agencies before, but mostly just ones in Africa and Southeast Asia. You can imagine the type of shit that we’ve been asked to pull off. Safe to say, ethics aren’t our primary concern. Now, I’m not blatantly immoral. If somebody offered us an exorbitant amount to oversee security for a human trafficking ring, I’d shoot them on the spot. But that’s not to say that we’re good people. Far from it, in fact. I don’t expect you to feel sympathy for me. I just want to get my story out there.

Something very strange is going on. Something that we should probably all be worried about.

The mission itself was presented as a simple one. But the circumstances surrounding it were more unusual.

“We’re staging a raid on a fanatical religious cult in Montana. Real psychotic bunch.” I remember the Suit telling me.

I couldn’t have imagined a better compensation than the one he was offering, so I listened intently. In all honesty, it was nearly enough to set my entire team up for retirement. Nevertheless, the whole situation unnerved me. We were caught completely off-guard when they contacted us. Somehow, they’d found our email address on the dark web. I knew what we were doing was illegal, but they didn’t seem to care. In fact, they never mentioned anything about our past crimes at all.

In reality, they probably could’ve smoked us at any point. It didn’t make a lot of sense why they chose not to, or why they chose to approach us at all.

I had my hunches, of course. Most of them to do with the fact that we were entirely expendable and operated under-the-radar the best we could. (Obviously, we didn't do a good enough job).

Whatever. It is what it is. We needed this payday. Our little operations couldn’t last forever.

“I know it’s not important for the job, but… what’s the purpose of this raid? These guys growing weed or something?” I asked. The question came out snarkier than I’d intended it to.

The Suit just grinned. I guess he had a sense of humor.

“Well,” he began. “I doubt you’ll be telling anybody, so I suppose you might as well know.”

He seemed confident in that assumption. Maybe a little too much so.

“These people stumbled upon something that they shouldn’t have,” he continued. “And then they tried to hide it.”

“Better not be something that’s moments away from exploding.” I said.

The Suit laughed this time. “It’s not so simple. Mr. _____ what do you know about the existence of extra-terrestrial life?”

I raised my eyebrow. What the hell was he about to tell me?

“You’re asking me if I believe in aliens,” I responded. I took a second to consider it. “Sure, why not?”

He went on to explain the real objective. It sounded absurd, but it was also coming out of the horse’s mouth. You tell me what I’m supposed to believe.

Apparently, a UFO had crashed on a farm in Southeastern Montana a few days prior. As luck would have it, this farm belonged to “The Church of Blissful Ascension”, the cult in question. Shortly after it landed, some cult members stumbled upon it, subsequently being ordered to drag it into the leader’s farmhouse, which was quite literally a mansion.

Not much was known about the leader, other than his epithet, which was “The Divine Messenger”. Yeah, that type of guy. In reality, the cult was just a front for the trafficking of various goods, which had brainwashed its members into doing a lot of the dirty work.

The most interesting part about this was the UFO itself. It was allegedly about twelve feet wide, three feet in diameter, and shaped like a pill. Before it landed, it’d been moving erratically, seemingly teleporting short distances every few seconds or so. After it landed, some kind of dark-green fluid began leaking out of it.

Now for the actual mission. We simply had to go in and assist a team of SAC/SOG agents in wiping out every single member. No survivors. No witnesses. No exceptions. What the CIA planned to do with the UFO afterwards was none of our business. Not that I really wanted to know.

We didn’t have much time to prepare for the raid, but it didn’t sound like we needed it. We were dealing with amateurs. Most likely just trigger-happy rednecks who couldn’t strategize or aim for shit.

I suppose “Raid” wasn’t the most apt way to describe the job. It seemed more like a slaughter than anything else.

My team of six met up with the SAC/SOG team (also six) at a small underground complex used by the CIA for clandestine operations located about thirty minutes away from the farm. There, we geared up, went over tactics, and were told to repeat the objective at hand. No witnesses. No survivors. After all that was said and done, we piled into a SWAT truck and drove off. We’d never worked with the CIA in the past, so we supposed this was standard procedure.

We suited up in black tactical gear provided by the agents themselves. This part was a bit odd to me. We had our own gear, stuff we’d been using for the longest time. Both sets were nearly identical, but the agents still insisted that we use theirs.

The atmosphere in the truck was also disconcerting. Maybe it was just in my head, but everybody seemed so… stiff. The agents clutched their rifles with iron grips while staring blankly ahead. My team tried talking amongst ourselves, but every word just felt awkward. I just chalked it up to nerves, which didn’t make any sense, cause I’d never felt nerves like that before.

After what felt like hours, we finally arrived, stopping some odd yards away from the farmhouse in order to remain undetected. We piled out, got into formation, and began. I was assigned the furthest flank position, so I stayed back as everybody else moved ahead. The closest people in front of me were one of my guys and an agent.

It didn’t take long for the strangeness to amplify. I noticed that the agent was gradually moving slower and slower. Eventually, I caught up to him. Well, it was more like I was forced to catch up. If I’d been moving any slower, I would’ve stopped. This agent had ruined the entire formation without anybody at the front noticing.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked, as I walked up beside him.

Without answering my question, he handed me a small scrap of paper. I took a quick glance at it, seeing an address and a date/time written down on it.

“Meet me. Don’t be late,” he said, no inflection at all in his voice. “Do whatever you can to stay alive.”

As soon as he finished saying this, he sped up, reclaiming his original position.

Obviously, that interaction was a cause for concern. I had to start wondering just what the hell I’d gotten my team into. I seriously started considering calling it off right then and there, but before I knew it, bullets were flying. The agents at the front had taken out the two guards standing at the front entrance. Soon after, we blew the door down and stormed inside. The agents shot down a few more guards stationed on the main floor, before we started heading towards the basement.

Once we got down there, ten more guards/cult members were waiting for us. As per the mission, I raised my rifle and prepared to fire.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t have been prepared for what happened next. The agent at the front raised his fist, signaling for us to stop. Surprisingly, the guards didn’t shoot at us. In fact, they didn’t even react. The agents began turning around, before aiming their rifles at us instead.

“There’s been a change of plans.”

We’d been set up. That much was obvious.

I didn’t even have time to curse before the shit went off the rails. I ducked, feverishly trying to avoid point-blank gunfire while firing off nearly-blind retaliatory shots. I managed to stumble my way behind some cover, but not before having two bullets graze my cheek and thigh. I peeked out, seeing the cult guards with malicious grins across their faces, also shooting at my team and my team only.

Amidst the chaos I could see Faisal, one of my men, rush an agent in an attempt to take him down to the ground. It was definitely a desperation move. But despite Faisal being substantially larger than the agent, his take-down was stuffed and he was subsequently thrown into a pillar.

I could feel rage washing over me. I raised my rifle, aimed at the agent’s head and fired.

…he didn’t go down.

My aim wasn’t the issue. I could see the bullets drilling into the side of his helmet. The guy even flinched. But he didn’t fall. Instead, he finished Faisal with a shot to the head and walked off.

My mouth fell agape as I started backing up. I guess I was pretty rattled, because I stopped paying attention to my surroundings. I felt myself bump into somebody, before spinning around to see another agent staring me down. I thought about going for my knife but before I could even make a move, the agent grabbed my arm and effortlessly Judo slammed me onto the floor.

I’d been thrown before, but this was by far the most painful one I’d ever experienced. It felt like I was being tossed by a gorilla, not by a man with a similar build to me. His strength was ridiculous. Once on the ground, he mounted me, before raising a fist. I knew with every fiber of my being that a single punch would pulverize my entire skull.

As I started preparing my soul for the afterlife, the agent hesitated.

“Play dead!” He whispered, his voice a familiar one.

He slammed his fist down inches away from my head and cracked the floor next to me, before flipping me face down.

“Don’t move, no matter what happens.” He whispered again.

The pressure blanketing my body soon disappeared. The agent was getting up.

I know what he said, but I didn’t want to listen. I wanted to help my team. I got them into this mess, so I was obligated to get them out.

But… I didn’t move. I knew it was useless. The basement had gotten quiet. No more sounds of struggle. My team was dead, and it was entirely my fault.

Moments later, somebody began talking, snapping me out of my self-pity session.

“Jeez. Job well done, huh?”

It didn’t sound like one of the agents, so I assumed the voice belonged to a cult member.

What the hell is going on? I thought to myself. Were they working together?

“Now, about the payment-“

His question was interrupted by gunfire. A brief bout of additional chaos followed as more bodies dropped to the floor. I counted about ten in total. I guess they weren’t working together after all.

“Alright, let’s make this quick.” One of the agents said.

I had to wonder what he was talking about. What more did they need to do? I listened to the sounds of scuffling boots as the agents went around doing something. I opened one of my eyes just a sliver, trying to make out what the hell was going on. I wish I’d just kept it closed. I was lying right next to Ricardo, one of my team members. As I stared at his lifeless, bullet-ridden body, I wanted to scream. I Forced myself to keep my mouth shut. I continued watching as the agents went around to every single body, both my team and the cult members, and injected some kind of dark-green fluid into their veins.

Soon enough, they got to me. I held my breath and laid stiff as I felt the needle go into my arm. Thankfully the guy didn’t check my pulse. I was losing my fucking mind at this point. Not just because I was playing dead while some mystery fluid was being mixed into my bloodstream. It was the whole damn situation. If this hadn’t been the worst day of my life, then it was certainly a contender.

Afterwards, I heard the agents mumbling to each other. I couldn’t make out much, but I did hear “12 hours” being said quite a lot.

Twelve hours? Twelve hours to what?

After about five more minutes, the agents finally left. I laid still for some time after that. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to seeing what the agents had left behind.

But I wouldn't be able to get to the bottom of this by wasting my time mourning. My entire body was in pain as I pulled myself up. Trying not to look at the massacre around me, I took out the piece of paper that one agent had given to me.

The address belonged to a motel in Billings, while the meeting time was in ten hours.

I stripped off all of my gear and made myself look as presentable as I possibly could before getting the hell out of the farmhouse and trying to hitch a ride on a nearby road. A couple of hours and $200 later, somebody finally agreed to give me a ride.

Luckily, Billings isn’t too far away from the farm, so I think that I’ll be able to get to the motel in time.

However, I’m not so sure that I’m going to like whatever’s waiting for me there. 

---

Credits

 

I Visited My Old Childhood Tree-House (Part 4)

  

I could feel myself starting to sweat. Calling it an uncomfortable situation would’ve been selling it short.

“Please don’t tell me you’re planning on shooting that fucking waitress.”

“Waitress?” he chuckled. “That’s not a waitress.”

“Well whoever she is, please don’t do some dumb shit.”

“Relax,” he said, zipping his jacket back up. “I’m just trying to give you peace of mind. Don’t you have a gun as well?”

“Of course I don’t. Do I need one?”

“More than you know.”

“Oh my God.” I said, burying my face into my hands.

“There’s a lot of heat in here.” Shawn continued.

I turned back around, seeing that at least five more of the restaurant patrons now had masks on and were staring over at us.

“Fuck, this is freaky.”

Shawn stood up and threw a crumpled twenty dollar bill onto the table. “Let’s get outta here.”

“And go where?”

“Take a guess.”

“What? How the hell am I supposed to know?”

Instead of answering the question, he just walked off.

We left the building and headed back onto the streets. I don’t know if it was just me, but I could feel a tension rising in the air. Almost like an invisible pressure on my body. It was weird.

“So let’s say that this cult hypothetically exists… what’s it got to do with us? And why don’t I remember any of it?” I asked.

Shawn smiled. “You should’ve asked that question at the beginning.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Anyways, it’s a bit complicated.”

“I figured.”

“And I’m not sure if I remember everything myself. But let me start from where I think the beginning is.”

According to Shawn, this is allegedly what had happened:

You see, we’d stopped using the tree-house much during the latter years of junior high. I don’t know, I guess we thought it was lame that age.

Nevertheless, we decided to go there one day, after months of not being there at all. This was in the August of 2008. The point where I stopped remembering anything. That day we went up there, we found a mask lying in the corner. One of those plastic theater masks. Shawn said that he remembered its expression being a disturbing one. So much so that he found it hard to look at. He couldn’t fathom why somebody would produce such a thing.

“And guess what you went and did with the mask?” He asked.

“What?”

“You put it on and tried to scare me, like a fucking asshole.”

I could believe it. I was a bit of a rascal back then. But what he told me next was a bit less believable. As soon as I put it on I apparently stopped moving. He thought it was part of my act at first, but I never dropped it. I just stood absolutely still, not saying a single word. Even as he tried shaking me out of my sudden trance, I wouldn’t budge. Eventually, he decided to get help. But before he went and climbed down the steps, he looked out the window and saw somebody staring up at the tree-house from the ground. A person wearing a mask, standing at the edge of the clearing. Stifling an instinctive scream, he crouched down and began observing. Soon enough, this person was joined by others. At a point, the masked people had formed an effective perimeter around the tree. This is when he started freaking out. He tried everything to get me to stir, but I wouldn’t budge. Eventually, he tried taking the mask off. But he couldn’t. For some reason, it was stuck to my face like glue.

We didn’t have cell phones back then , so he couldn’t just call somebody. He glanced back out the window but couldn’t see anybody there. He tilted his head down and figured out why. They’d all moved to the base of the tree.

He backed away and grabbed the knife and baseball bat he’d hidden in the floorboards. His only line of defense. He could hear the people beginning to climb up. He dashed over and swung the bat at the head of the person who made it up first.

To his horror, his swings didn’t seem to yield any effect. He watched as the person’s head violently rocked to the side upon impact, and he could hear something crack. But they didn’t stop. They just kept pulling themselves up into the tree-house. In a last-ditch effort, he took out his knife and stabbed them in the shoulder. Instead of blood seeping out from the wound, it was some kind of sand-like substance. That had no effect either.

Soon enough, three of the masked people had made it up. Shawn dropped his weapons and backed himself into a corner. They stood still for a moment before turning their heads towards me, while I was still unmoving. One of them reached out and put a hand on my head, before chanting out some inhuman dialect. This is when he supposedly passed out.

“This sounds like some fucking fever dream” I said, interrupting him. “I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered something like.”

“Let me finish the story.” He responded.

“Why? Does it get even more ridiculous. Let me guess, a fucking spaceship landed next.”

He sighed, sounding more frustrated than before. “You’re in denial. I get it. Looks like I’ll have to do something drastic to bring you back to reality.”

"Well that doesn't sound very promising."

He abruptly stopped in the middle of the street.

He looked behind us, and I followed his gaze. Two police officers were standing some distance behind us. They had also stopped in their tracks, staring intently at us.

Shawn took out his pistol and aimed it at them.

“Dude? Please don't-“

He fired a shot before I could finish my sentence, striking one of the officers straight in the chest. I put my hands up in horror.

“You’ve lost your mind," I said, starting to panic. "What the hell did you just do…”

“Look at them,” he said, nearly shouting. “Where’s the blood?”

Curious, I squinted. He was right. The shot had hit the officer close to point-blank, but there was no blood stain. Instead, some kind of yellow-brown substance had started leaking from the wound.

It almost looked like… sand.

But that wasn’t even the most disturbing part. The cops didn't react at all. In fact, nobody did.

The streets weren’t packed by any means, but there were a good dozen people in the vicinity. None of them even glanced over at us.

“Goddamn,” Shawn said, looking around. “It’s gotten worse than I thought.” 

---

Credits

 

I Visited My Old Childhood Tree-House (Part 3)

  

Now, I don’t know what you would’ve done in a scenario like this, but I kind of just froze. I’m not sure how long it lasted. Could’ve been a minute. Maybe ten. At one point, the bus stopped moving and I could see the driver putting on his own mask.

Not an ideal situation, to say the least.

After working up some courage, I decided to make a break for it. I bolted up and dashed down the aisle. Not really sure what I was expecting there. That nobody was going to try and stop me? One of the masked individuals that had gotten on was a large, burly guy. He grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me back before I could escape the bus.

His fingers dug into my flesh as he centered me towards him.

“Are you going to come back?” He asked, in a disturbing, monotonous tone. I didn’t answer. Instead, I shrugged away from his grip and ran off. He definitely let it happen. If he’d actually been trying to keep me in place, there’s no way I would’ve budged.

Thankfully, nobody followed me off. Instead, they just sat there, watching me as the bus drove away. Things had gone from annoying to downright horrifying. I didn’t get it. What the hell did they want from me? It clearly wasn’t money. They would’ve just held me there. My mind kept going back to the idea that this was all a prank. As absurd as that was, it still made the most sense. If that was the case… then I was beyond pissed at Shawn. This was not something that I needed right now.

I decided to walk to the diner. Thankfully, I wasn’t accosted by any more people in masks on the way.

I expected to enter the place and find a full camera crew waiting for me, and I was ready to chew them all out. But that wasn’t the case. Instead, I found Shawn sitting at a table alone.

Oh, I thought. I guess the grand reveal will come later.

I stormed over to his table and sat down, nearly fuming.

“What the hell is going on man? What the fuck is this?”

He looked up at me and smiled. A face I hadn’t seen in some time. I don’t know if it was just me, but it looked as if he’d aged about 20 years.

“Nice to see you too, David. Been a while.”

“You know, a normal friend would just stop by for drinks or something. But I guess I shouldn’t have expected that from you, you fucking psycho.”

I stopped myself from saying anything more.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

Shawn chuckled. “C’mon David. We never do this soppy bullshit. If I were you, I would’ve thought I jumped off the deep end as well.”

Before I go any further, I need to tell you about the last time I actually saw Shawn. It wasn’t exactly our best interaction. We were sitting in the same diner, and I stormed out on him after calling him crazy and other related synonyms. But I had a reason to do so. He’d been weird ever since high school had begun. He started talking to me less and less, and it peaked during the last few weeks of grade 11, where we never even exchanged a word. Then, he spent the entire 12th grade being home-schooled. I mean, I had no idea what the hell was going on with him. Whenever I’d go over to his house, his parents would just smile at me and say he was busy. All the damn time. Busy with what? I always thought that they looked nervous when they said it as well.

There was also a rumor floating around. Something about the cops finding him in the woods. I’m fuzzy on the details. I mean, it’s not like him or his parents would ever talk about it. In the summer before college started, they just moved away entirely. I don’t know where to. I thought that was going to be the last time that I’d ever see him.

Clearly, I was wrong.

Out of the blue one day, he called me over to the diner. I’d just finished my first semester of college on a high note, so I was feeling pretty good. It was made even better by the fact that my old friend had finally reached out to me. I was excited. Excited to know what had been going on with my best friend all these years. I wanted to know that things would be alright, and that everything would revert back to being normal with him, just like the old days. I wanted an explanation.

But I didn’t like the one that I got. It was like the plot of some bad horror movie. I don’t remember what he said verbatim, but there was something about a cult that both him and I had apparently encountered in the woods once. He tried so hard to convince me that it was all true, but I wasn’t having it. Eventually, I just stormed out. I mean, I don’t recall anything like that ever happening. Even now, it doesn’t ring a bell.

But I will admit… things are starting to get pretty weird.

“Do you believe me now?” He asked.

“About what?” I responded, knowing exactly about what.

“The cult,” he said. “The followers of the masked God.”

I scoffed. “Jesus Christ, Shawn. This shit again?”

“I understand why you thought I was crazy before, but c’mon. You’re still denying it now? After everything you’ve seen?”

“So you wanted me to see that guy in our tree-house? What is he, an actor? Just like the rest of these masked assholes?”

Shawn sighed. “And you think I’m the delusional one.”

I wanted to slam the table when he said that, but I calmed myself down.

“Ok,” I said. “Sure. It’s weird. All of it is. But there’s gotta be a better explanation than a goddamn cult.”

He just gave me a look of disbelief.

“Good grief, Dave. It sounds like you’re in fucking denial here. Why do you think I’m here? And where do you think I’ve been?”

I paused. It was a good question. One that I somehow hadn’t bothered to ask.

“I don’t know,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“I came back to save your ass. Like I said, this isn’t something we can run away from.”

“What do you-“

“Let me explain, alright? Do you remember the last time we actually went up into that tree-house?”

I began opening my mouth, but quickly realized that the words weren’t there. My mind was blank. I began recalling my childhood. All the time that I’d spent with Shawn. It was fairly clear, up until the summer before high school. I remembered what happened at the beginning. The camping trip where we both got drunk and our parents kicked our asses. Watching the dark knight in theaters. Meeting my ex-girlfriend Lindsey for the first time.

But… that was all in July. I couldn’t remember anything past that. What the hell had happened in August?

Shawn grinned at my likely confused expression.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” he said. “The fact that you can’t remember what happened that summer.”

“Is it though? It’s not like I remember everything that’s ever happened to me.”

“That’s true,” he continued. “Maybe that summer was so insignificant that nothing worth remembering happened at all.”

He paused, looking me straight in the eye.

“But you know that’s not true.”

Another pause. I wasn’t really liking where this conversation was headed.

“So what happened?” I finally responded. “And lemme guess, it has something to do with this masked cult.”

He sighed, almost sounding relieved.

“Glad we’re finally getting on the same page. What do you think?”

“I’m not sure what to think at this point.”

I could see his eyes wander over to somewhere behind me.

“Well make up your mind later. Looks like they’ve gotten more widespread since the last time I was here.”

I turned around, seeing that the waitress was standing absolutely still just a few feet away, holding an empty tray. And of course, she was wearing a mask.

The idea of the whole thing being a prank was becoming less and less likely.

I sighed. “I should’ve moved out of this fucking town.”

“Yeah. Probably,” Shawn said, nodding. “Looks like I’m not getting my coffee either.”

He unzipped his jacket, revealing a pistol on his belt.

“Are you serious right now?” I said upon seeing it. Kind of an unexpected sight.

“Of course I’m serious,” he said. “This nightmare has been going on for too long. It’s time to end it.” 

---

Credits

 

I Visited My Old Childhood Tree-House (Part 2)

  

I must have looked at the message for 20 straight minutes.

Did I see him? I sure as hell did. But I decided to play dumb for the time being, just to see how Shawn would react.

“Did I see who? I certainly didn’t see you there.”

In any case, his next message caught me off guard.

“You know what I’m talking about. I want you to answer me seriously.”

I waited for a bit before responding. This was getting… interesting. But not in a good way. This is how the rest of our conversation went:

Me: Who is he?

Shawn: So you did see him.

Me: Ok, sure. I did. So who the hell is he?

Shawn: You still don’t remember. That’s what I was expecting.

Me. Remember what? What the hell’s going on?

Shawn: Are you going to believe what I have to say?

Me: Depends on what you’re going to say.

Shawn: Meet me in the forest parking lot tomorrow at 6 PM. I know that you don’t remember, but I’ll help you do so. This isn’t something we can run away from.

That entire conversation had only created more questions than it answered. I mean, what the hell was I not remembering? And why was Shawn acting so fucking weird?

And most importantly… who the hell was the guy in our tree-house?

Shawn used to be my best friend, sure. But I wasn’t just gonna trust him like this. I decided to call June – a mutual friend of ours, in order to dig up some information. Unlike Shawn, I actually kept in contact with her. Here’s how that conversation went:

June: David? What’s up?

Me: June, do you remember Shawn? From junior high.

She went silent for a few moments.

June: David… what? This better not be some kind of sick joke.

Me: Joke? How would it be a joke? Listen, I just want to know if you’ve talked to him lately. If you know what he’s been up to.

June: Dd you see him?

Me: Yeah, I did. And he was acting real fucking weird.

June: David, you can’t go back.

Me: Go back where?

I thought June would act as a voice of sanity here, but that clearly wasn’t going to happen. The only explanation that made sense to me was that this was all just one elaborate prank that they were both in on. Ridiculous, I know. But so are the circumstances.

In the middle of our call, I got another text from Shawn:

“Don’t tell anybody about this. Especially June. Please don’t get her involved.”

I was starting to get fed-up with this whole mystery bullshit. I was ready to give Shawn a piece of my mind. I was going to ask, no - demand that he tell me exactly what was going on and what he wanted from me. But something caught my eye before I could send the message.

Somebody was standing in my backyard.

My heart nearly dropped when I saw it. My porch light was on, but they were standing in the farthest corner, so I could hardly make out any explicit details. It seemed to be a tall man with broad shoulders, but that was about all I could discern. I looked down at my phone and dialed 911, but when I looked back up, the person had disappeared.

Or so I thought.

I turned my head slightly and realized they were actually standing on my porch. I couldn’t stop myself from screaming this time. Now fully illuminated, I could see that this person was wearing a black tracksuit, and one of those white plastic theater masks with a grinning mouth. It was almost too small for his face.

The sudden sight of him petrified me to the point where I couldn’t move a muscle for the longest time. Eventually, the man lurched forward and smashed his head into my glass door, cracking his mask in the process. And then he did it again. And again. After the 4th time, it shattered. That’s when I started running. I could hear his heavy footsteps reverberating through my empty house as I barreled out my front door.

I wasn’t quite sure where to go, so I just ran into a nearby convenience store before dialing the police. My hands shook as I told them what had happened, and they said that they’d send somebody right over.

After calming myself down, I decided to call Shawn as well. Obviously, I was still kind of pissed at him, but I needed answers. And I needed them soon.

He picked up after the first ring.

“Shawn, can you guess what the fuck just happened to me?”

“…What?”

“Some asshole just broke into my house.”

“Was he wearing a mask?”

“What? I mean… yes. How the fuck did you know-“

“Did you call the police?”

“Obviously. No shit.”

I could hear him sigh over the phone, which pissed me off even more.

“Look, you want to stop playing this weird fucking game with me? I haven’t seen you in forever, and then you come back into my life with this kind of bullshit?”

He chuckled.

“They really did us dirty, didn’t they?”

“Say one more line of cryptic nonsense and I’ll report you to the police myself.”

“You can’t go back to your house now. They’ll be waiting for you. And don’t ask me who they are. I’ll tell you in person. You remember that diner we’d go to during our first year of college? It’s been open for a few weeks now. Meet me there ASAP.”

“Why there?”

“Cause I need beer and coffee. Also… I think they’ve figured out where I’m living as well. In the meantime, don’t trust the cops.”

He hung up afterwards. I stood there for the longest time, trying not to let the disbelief wash over me. About a minute later, I got another call. This time, it was the police.

“Mr. (my last name)? We’ve taken care of him. For now, we need you come back to your house and answer some questions. Come back.”

I told them that I’d be on my way, which was really the only response that I could give them. I thought about Shawn’s warning. If I trusted him and he really had gone psycho over the years, then I was in big trouble. But at the same time… there was something in the police officer’s tone that I didn’t quite like. Shawn sounded more genuine. I suppose he always had been.

After another few minutes of consideration, I decided to go to the diner. At least it was a public place. He wouldn’t kill me there, right? I left the store and began making my way over. I’d been standing in the chip aisle for a while and the cashier looked about ready to call the cops himself. Since I’d left my car back at the house, I was forced to take public transit, which I really didn’t want to do. Now I had the virus to worry about on top of everything else. The bus was empty when I got on, so I decided to close my eyes for a minute. It’d been a long day, and I thought I deserved some rest.

When I opened them back up a few stops later, four more people had gotten on.

They were all wearing those theater masks, all of which had varying expressions.

And they were staring right at me. 

---

Credits

 

I Visited My Old Childhood Tree-House (Part 1)

“Hi David. Long time, I know. Let’s fix that. Remember that tree-house we used to hang out in back in the day? Let’s meet up there. Have a few drinks or something haha. Write me back if you’re down.

-Your good friend Shawn.”

I could hardly believe the email in front of me. I couldn’t believe that Shawn Paul had contacted me. We were inseparable back in elementary to junior high. Drifted apart in high school. Hadn’t spoken since the first year of college. That was nearly 6 years ago.

At the risk of sounding like a dick friend, this was certainly out of the blue.

But… we were really good friends. And I’d always felt guilty about not keeping in touch. With that in mind, I decided to write him back. It wouldn’t hurt to see how he was doing, after all. Hell, maybe we’d be able to rekindle that old friendship. Ever since starting full-time employment, my life’s gotten kind of dry, so it might be a nice change of pace.

”Hi Shawn. Crazy hearing from you after all this time. Sure, let’s meet up! I’m free this weekend.

-David”

It felt weird signing my name off at the end there. Almost like I was emailing my boss or something.

I thought back to our times in the treehouse for the next few days. I couldn’t help but smile. Those experiences were the innocence of youth personified. I remember reading manga, watching movies on his iPod touch, and the one time we snuck up a few of my brother’s beers, just to see what they would taste like. (Not so innocent, I guess).

Sure, I was excited.

The weekend finally came, and I drove out to the local forest. When I moved out, I didn’t go very far. It was about a fifteen minute drive there from my apartment. We’d agreed to meet at 5 PM, so I arrived at 4: 30. On the way there, I began to wonder:

What were the chances that our tree-house would still be there? I mean… it was over a decade ago since we’d last gone up. Nevertheless, it wasn’t a huge issue. I was sure we’d be able to just sit by the river and drink if it'd been torn down or something. Still, I was curious. Curious to see what it might look like after all these years.

I still remembered exactly where it was. There are just some things you don’t forget. By the river, just right of the clearing. It also wasn’t a huge forest.

My eyes lit up with nostalgia as I saw it.

I suppose it looked exactly like how I remembered it. A bit worse for wear, but still intact. I put down my 6-pack of beer at the trunk of the tree. I recalled the makeshift door that we’d built. At the time, we thought it was some marvel of engineering for kids our age. It was a legitimate, functioning door, similar to one that would lead into an attic.

I grinned as I began climbing the wooden slabs that we’d hammered into the tree all those years ago. It was our attempt at creating a ladder, and it honestly worked well enough.

I was brimming with excitement as I reached the entrance. With a big smile on my face, I reached up and tried pushing the door open.

But… nothing happened. I mean, my hand just hit a wall of unmoving wood. I looked up and what I saw confused me to no end. Instead of the actual door that we’d made, one just seemed to be crudely drawn on with marker.

I stood there for a second, wondering what the hell was going on. I mean, was this the wrong tree-house? I looked around the forest again.

Not a chance. Like I said, there’s just some things that you don’t forget. I continued inspecting the space where the door should’ve been. It wasn’t as if somebody had taped or glued it shut. It was clean, unbroken wood.

I climbed back down and looked at the tree-house from the ground. Still the same way I remembered it. A little banged up after all these years, but still unmistakable. Vaguely cube-shaped, brown wood, two small windows on either side. But no door. Somehow, there was no door.

It bothered me so much that I began searching the surrounding area. Maybe somehowthis was the wrong tree-house, despite it looking the same and being in the exact same vicinity.

I searched for about 25 minutes without finding anything before calling it quits. I walked back to the tree-house and looked up at it again. It was a puzzling situation, to say the least. I looked at my phone, seeing that it had become 5 PM. Shawn should’ve been arriving soon. At least I’d have somebody to share my confusion with.

As I waited for him to come, I wondered why somebody would build a tree-house that you couldn’t enter. Hell, how did they carve out the window in the first place? My eyes began wandering around the forest and eventually back up to the tree-house. And then I froze in place.

Somebody was staring at me through the window.

They seemed to be standing a few feet back, so it was almost like looking at a shadow. I couldn’t make out any facial features at all. But one thing was for sure. It sure as hell wasn’t a kid. The broad shoulders gave that away.

I stared at this mystery person for about a minute before they stepped back and out of view. The hairs on my arm stood up as I began backing up myself. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel right at all. Soon enough, I was in an all-out sprint. I got back to my car and noticed it was still the only one in the lot. I took out my phone and texted Shawn, telling him I couldn’t make it and for him not to come himself. I waited around 30 minutes for a response before finally driving off.

I kept looking back at the forest the whole time. Looking for that… person in the tree-house.

I got home a few hours ago. Shawn hasn’t responded yet, which worries me. Maybe he got there even before I did.

Even stranger, I remember feeling a vague sense of familiarity when that person looked down at me. Almost like I’d seen them before, which was impossible, because I literally have no memories of anybody like that. I didn’t even get a good look at their face.

Shawn texted me later that night. My hands shook as I opened my phone to read it, and I wasn’t sure why. I mean, if I was getting a text from him, that meant he was safe, right?

This is the message he sent me:

“Did you see him?”

---

Credits