 I don't like him." Liam says, staring a hole into the ground. Mr. Gallows hurt my sister, and he tried to hurt me too. The kid's young, younger than most subjects I've dealt with. He's witnessed an event, and not just any event, a serious one. It's something that could have massive implications. My bosses are calling it a situation, and they're telling me that I need to get his story, and I need to get it quickly, because people's lives are on the line. I'm an interviewer for an organization known as the Facility. I specialize in working with juveniles who have crossed paths with the supernatural. Liam Hainesworth is one such kid. He's just shy of 12 years old, but he looks worn down. His eyes are framed with heavy bags, and his skin is tight to his cheekbones. He's also missing at least three of his teeth. How did he hurt your sister? I ask. The room we're in is brightly lit, with cartoon animals nailed to the walls, and faded imprints of loony tunes on the carpet. It's designed to calm kids down. He pulled out her teeth. I write down his words on my clipboard. As I do, I record details about Liam, his expression, his tone of voice. It's all important in some way or another. All of it swims together to build a picture of whether what he's saying is true or false. Sometimes it's both, and the minutiae helps determine where reality ends and the lies begin. Why did he do it? I ask. Liam shrugs, rubbing his arm. It's an expression of discomfort, of nervousness. He's not sure he should be talking so much. He's not sure it's safe to say. You want to know why he pulled out her teeth? That's right. I already know Liam's sister is dead. She's been dead for several months, so it seems strange that he would fixate on the monster pulling out her teeth, as opposed to the murder. Do you know why? He shakes his head. There's something there, though, in his eyes. There's something that says he isn't telling me the full story, so I press him. Has he ever talked to you, Liam? This Mr. Gallows. He nods. He still won't look at me. But that's okay. Kids are nervous at the best of times. After what he's been through, I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't look at another person in the eye for years. What does he say when he speaks to you? Liam opens his mouth, his lips are pale, and they tremble. He tells me, I can't talk about him. That's okay, I say. I'm one of the good guys. I pull out my badge with a howling wolf inlaid in gold and I show it to him. See, I'm like a police officer, except for kids dealing with scary things. I can make that stuff go away. It's a line I've used a hundred times before. I'm not sure it's ever worked. I'm not a kid, Liam says, folding his arms. I'm almost 12, and I don't think anybody can make him go away. Liam's smart for his age, top of his class. According to my preliminary research and the discussion I had with his father, he's never felt at home around other children. They bore him, his father said. What if I can make Mr. Gallows go away though? I lean back in my chair and its legs creak under my weight. Don't you think that's worth a shot? There's a moment of silence between us, and I let it stretch into eons. Time works differently for kids. It feels longer, more tiresome, and soon enough, it stretches on long enough that it wears on Liam too. I guess so, he says at length. Good, I reply, swallowing my smile of satisfaction. I'm here to help, remember, it's my job. He chews his lip for a second, and behind his mop of black hair, I catch sight of him glancing at me. Okay, he says, I just want him to leave me alone. Me too. I run my pencil down the sheet of my clipboard, pausing under the heading that reads, Origin Apparatus. When did all of this begin? A year ago, pretty much, I was ten and a half. That's a long time for a young man. How often does he visit? Lots. Almost every night. Almost. I make specific note of that term. It's a throwaway line, but one potentially valuable. The first time he visited you. What happened? I was sleeping, Liam says. His hands are tugging at the strings of his hoodie, and he's staring at a smiling ostrich on the wall. It was winter. I remember feeling really cold. I had all of my blankets on, but I was still shivering. I got up to turn on the heat, and I noticed my window was open. I nod along with his words, my pencil scribbling across the form. The cold could have been a ghost or a spirit, but the open window is the more likely culprit. I try not to cast judgment quite yet. After all, my bosses seem to think this kid is the genuine article, and his mutilated mother does a good job supporting that. Still, I didn't get this far by cutting corners. Did you leave it open when you went to bed? I ask. I don't think so. I make a note on my clipboard. Please continue. I walk over to close it, Liam says, and his voice starts to stutter and die. And I see something on the other side. He's out there, watching me far away by the fence. Is your bedroom on the ground level? The house is just the one floor. He explains. My bedroom faces the backyard, and I see a man out there just past the garden. He's waving at me. Waving at you? Yeah, just like this. Liam raises his hand and slowly moves it side to side. His expression is deadpan, and his lips are twitching. It makes me uncomfortable, so I go to lock the window, and then the man shuffles forward a bit. I realize there's something weird about him. It's dark, so it's hard to see, but it looks like he's hunched over on all fours. Like a dog? Yeah. As he shuffles forward, he calls out to me. He tells me to wait. Don't close the window, he says. I have something for you. Then I want something for me. Something moves across Liam's face, disgust maybe, self-loathing. It's quick, whatever it is. I listen to him, Liam continues. I don't know why. I think it's because I realize he isn't human, or maybe I'm in shock. All I know is closing the window feels pointless now. It feels like it's more likely to piss the thing off and make it want to come in even more. I listen to Liam's words intently. His story is compelling enough, but his vocabulary is more impressive by far. It's no wonder the kids skipped a grade. Standable, I tell him. What happened next? Liam squirms in his seat. As he gets closer to the window, he reaches out a long skeletal hand. There's blood on his bony fingers, and now that he's only a few feet away, I notice he's wearing this burlap sack over his head with a little hole cut out for his mouth. Except his mouth doesn't have any teeth. He tells me he's hungry. He says he really needs something to eat. I'm scared. I've never seen anything like this before, and I don't know what to do. So I tell him I need to ask my mom. I tell him we have some leftover turkey in the fridge, and then I'll be right back. Liam pauses, and it's like his world is falling around him. His eyes are bloodshot, and I wonder when he last blinked. The man grabs me by the arm, and it hurts. He tells me my mom doesn't need to know. He says he came to my window for a reason. He pulls me closer, and his grip really hurts, and when he whispers in my ear, it aches. It feels like it's cutting the inside of me. He says I'm special. My eyes glance up to the camera in the corner of the room, and I raise an eyebrow. I know my supervisors are watching. Special, I repeat. Why? Liam shakes his head. He's back to tugging at the strings of his hoodie. I don't know. He asks me again if he can come in, and I tell him I have to ask my mom. But at this point, I'm not planning to ask her anything. I'm just gonna tell her there's a psycho out there, and we need to call dad and the police and wake the neighborhood up. He tells me if I don't invite him inside, though. He's gonna add my blood to his hands. Then he runs a finger across my cheek, and it's cold, searing cold. He asks me if he can come inside again. He says he's hungry, and he just wants a bite to eat, and then he'll leave. Promise, he says. Liam takes a shuddering breath. His eyes are closed. The smiling animals aren't working anymore, if they ever did. He's alone with his thoughts now. They're tearing at him, picking away at his mental state, and in his expression, I see the grimaces of grief and regret. You aren't to blame for this. I remind him what happened was gonna happen whether you were there or not. When he opens his eyes, they're soaked with tears. No, it wasn't. He snaps. It happened because I let him in. It happened because I told him he could get something to eat. I open my mouth and realize there's nothing to say. There are no words that will take away this boy's pain, so instead I look back to my clipboard. I busy myself writing down the details of the man's request and the boy's reaction. When I'm finished, I have to ask him to continue. I hate myself for it. I always do. He does. I tell him he can come inside, but he needs to be quick. I tell him not to steal anything either. He shakes his head. There's doubt in his eyes, disbelief. I thought he was telling the truth. I didn't think his words are lost in sobs. I thought he would leave. It's fine. I say in a soothing voice. I reach out a hand to touch his knee to comfort him, but he winces. So I pull my hand back. You're safe now. She's not. He says she's not and she'll never be safe again. I take a breath. It's hard, these interviews. They always are. Children are supposed to be the pieces of the world that are pure and untouched by the horror that humanity perpetuates. They're meant to be idyllic, fantastical, and too often they're not. I'm sorry to interrupt, I say. Go on. Liam sobs taper off into a frown and then a snarl. Rage replaces despair. That's when he told me his name, Mr. Gallows. He tipped his top hat to me and said, nice to meet you. And then he crawled up through the window. Liam reaches up a hand, wiping away the evidence of tears. It was gross-looking. His bones were snapping and twisting as he hunched over, lurching through the opening. The window's not that big, maybe large enough for me to fit through, or another 12-year-old, but not a full-grown man. And Mr. Gallows was much bigger than anybody I'd ever seen. Mr. Gallows. I mutter, staring at the name on the sheet. It's not an entity I'm familiar with. My preliminary research didn't come up with any leads either. Whoever this legend was in life, he certainly didn't make much of a name for himself. Once more, I raise an eyebrow to the cameras and my supervisors watching from the other room. I wonder why this event is so important to them. How tall was he? I ask. Tall enough that even on all fours, his back scraped along the ceiling. He had to crane his neck down to look at me, and I could just barely see his eyes through the burlap sack he wore over his face. He asked me to show him to the kitchen. So I did. I walked him to the fridge and opened it, and when the light came on, I saw Mr. Gallows was wearing this old, raggedy suit that looked like something from the 1800s covered in dust and moth holes. My hands shook as I pulled out the leftover turkey, but Gallows didn't notice. He was too busy humming. It sounded like an old song, a really old one. I don't remember the tune. Liam pauses before adding, I'm sorry. That's fine, I say, jotting it down onto the clipboard. These are interesting details. The intense cold antique apparel and out of date song certainly lead me to believe we're dealing with a ghost. Is the food to his liking? Liam shrugs. He looks uncomfortable again. He's shaking, shivering. There's something about him that's different, like he's having some kind of reaction. Are you feeling all right? I ask. He nods furiously. Yes, I'm fine. I I give him the plate of turkey and the man asked me how he's supposed to eat it. I tell him I don't know. Can't you just swallow it? He snarls, clacking over the kitchen tile and putting his face right next to mine. He tells me there's more room for blood on his fingers. Lots more. I'm whimpering and I tell him I don't know what he wants. He tells me he wants some teeth so he can eat. He opens his mouth and shows me his empty gums, swishing his tongue around some. Then he reaches up a hand and forces my mouth open. You've got a nice set. He says, I'm starting to panic. My legs feel wobbly and my head spinning. I think maybe if I can change the subject, I can bite my time long enough for my mom to wake up and then she'll see what's going on and call the cops or dad. I don't want to scream though or be too obvious because I think this guy, this creature doesn't have any qualms about murder. So I keep my mouth shut. Mostly I stick to safe topics. Like what? I ask. Like what he had for me. Ah, yes, I have something for you. Then I want something for me. These were among the first words Mr. Gallows spoke to the boy, a bargain, one innocent enough. Of course, to entities like Gallows, such deals are usually deceptions or a means to an end. They allow the creature to broker for horrors too terrible to put into words. What did he have for you, Liam? Tears slip down the boy's gaunt face. He raises a sweater sleeve, wiping them away before sniffling. He had a message. Liam's nose is running and he looks sickly, unwell. He said it was from somebody he never wanted to meet. How curious, I thought. What was the message? Ask some words. Liam's eyes stare at the floor and he crumples into a ball of hoodie and jeans. He wipes his runny nose on his knees and makes himself small. I, um, I didn't understand him. Some words. I let that roll around in my head for a while. It doesn't mean much now, but when you've been doing this job for as many years as I have, you learn pretty quickly that strange words aren't to be dismissed. Words have power. Were they in another language? I ask. Or were they too quiet to be properly heard? A different language, Liam says. He's squirming like crazy now. I've scarcely seen a kid look so uncomfortable in my entire career. Maybe Latin? He shakes his head. I only know French. That's all right. What happens after he says those words? Mr. Gallows gets angry. He tells me now that I've gotten what I'm owed. He wants what he's owed. I gave something to you, he says, and now I want something for me. I ask him what he wants, but I already know. He opens his toothless mouth, pointing at his gums with a long skeletal finger. I'll take some of these, I think. He laughs a bit and tips his top hat again, adding, please and thank you. He crawls up in front of me and pushes me against the wall. Open up, he says. I try to keep my mouth closed, but I can't. He's too strong and he forces it open. Then he reaches in and Liam gets quiet. His mouth hangs open and he reaches a hand up, feeling where three of his front teeth should be. He pulls them out. He just wanted three of your teeth, I ask. Moments pass and Liam's face looks tortured. His mouth is being pulled in every direction, oscillating between frowns and grimaces, and his eyes are blinking erratically. I nearly call a break to the interview, but he starts talking before I get the words out. He reaches back inside my mouth to pull out more, but the kitchen door opens. It's my little sister, Lacy. She's bleary-eyed and yawning, and then her eyes adjust, and she realizes what she's looking at. She realizes the nightmare she just walked in on. Liam swallows. She screams from mom, and in the blink of an eye, Mr. Gallo stampedes across the kitchen and wraps a hand around her mouth. Shhh, little girl, he says, using his other long arm to pet her hair. Then he puts his face close to hers, and he opens his mouth again, showing those toothless gums. He whispers to her to be quiet. He says as long as she doesn't scream again. He won't kill her. My pencil flies across the clipboard. This is likely the defining moment of the event, the moment that Mr. Gallo's murders Liam's sister. I keep my ears open and brace for the worst. He moves his hand from her mouth. Liam continues. Lacy silent, and so am I. Part of me is hoping that mom heard Lacy scream, but another part of me knows better. I think Lacy does too. Heck, even if dad were home, I doubted it would make a difference. Mr. Gallo's was too big. We needed a SWAT team. I offer a consoling smile. It's likely a SWAT team would have been equally ineffective. You did what you could, Liam, with what you had. You didn't want anybody to get hurt. It's very brave. He looks down. His expression is despondent, but he doesn't wait for me to prompt him. He keeps talking like I never said a thing. Mr. Gallo's opens Lacy's mouth. He slips a finger inside of it and feels her teeth. He's looking at her through that burlap sack, and he's mumbling to himself, but I can't make out what he's saying. Eventually he turns to me and says, these are new, aren't they? I know he's talking about her teeth. She's a year younger than me, but she's gotten most of her adult teeth by now. He taps on them, and it makes a clicking sound, bone on bone, and then he pulls away. He looks back and says, these will do. And then Liam goes quiet. His body quakes, his eyes bulge. It's like he's trying to contain something, whether it's a furious rage or tumultuous despair. Whatever it is, it's desperate to get out. He doesn't want it to. Mom appears in the doorway, wearing her nightgown. All the color is gone from her face. She's looking for me with my mouth full of blood and three missing teeth, to the monster standing over Lacey. She snaps, snatching a knife from the kitchen counter, and runs at Mr. Gallows. I chew on my pencil eraser. It's a foolish gesture, but one I can understand. As a new parent myself, there's very little I wouldn't do to protect my baby. Your mother attacked Mr. Gallows. Liam nods. It takes him a while to get the words out, like he's trying to do it without letting something else slip. I feel for him. It's difficult for children to keep their emotions in check, particularly when recounting traumatic events. She runs at him and starts slashing and hacking at him, screaming at him to let Lacey go or she'll call the police or the church or the FBI. Mr. Gallows grabs her by the hair and smashes her head down on the floor. It hits the linoleum with a thud, and then she gets really still. I remember thinking she was dead. Then he picks her up again and smashes her down a second time. And I hear something crack and blood starts pooling on the floor. Her leg is twitching. Liam takes a shuddering breath. I want to reach out and give him a hug, but he's already responded adversely to being consoled. Instead, I pay him a look of understanding. Talking about these things is probably tearing him apart inside. His mother survived, of course, but she was irreparably damaged. Mr. Gallows turns back to Lacey. He's crying and shrieking, and he puts his hand into her mouth and she starts gagging. He starts pulling out her teeth, jamming them into his gums one by one, humming as he goes. Liam leans forward and wretches, vomiting onto the floor. Yellow brown bile splatters my shoes. I shoot up out of the chair, indicating to the camera that we need a cleanup crew in here and that the interview is on hold. Liam hurls again and more throw-ups spews from his mouth. I crouch next to him, placing a hand on his back. It's okay. It's okay. You're safe. I say the words, but I don't know what they're supposed to do. How do you make a kid feel better after witnessing his mom's skull split open on the kitchen floor? How does anything make that go away? I whisper affirmations into his ear for what feels like hours, but must have only been minutes. It's not your fault. I say, you're a good person. A knock on the door interrupts me. I rise, unsure why anybody would be knocking. All employees with access should already have a key card granting them entry. Hello? I call out. Clean up, crew. A muffled voice calls back through the thick steel. Can you let us in? I frown, looking from Liam to the door. I move toward the video communicator on the wall, activating it and seeing two janitorial staff on the other side. One of them holds up a mop in exasperation while the other flashes her ID. Our key card isn't working, she says. Can you open it on your end? Nothing about the situation unnerves me, but I shake it off. We're in a secured government compound. Facility agents are swarming the premises. We're as safe as can be, so I disengage the manual lock. The door won't budge. I try again, repeating the process, making sure I did it correctly. Still nothing. I press the communicator. Sorry, I say. It looks like this room's malfunctioning. Can we get a tech team down here to look at it? I can't open it manually. They grumble and turn away, leaving their mop and bucket behind them. I look back to Liam. The smell of fresh vomit is thick in the air, but my focus is singular on him and on him alone. He said Mr. Gallows had visited him almost every night for the past year. That had only been the first day. Liam? I say in a small voice. He's sitting in the chair, head in his hands, weeping with bits of puke still dripping from his chin. I take a step forward. If Mr. Gallows gave you his message and then got his teeth, why did he keep coming back? Liam looks up and his eyes are murky, clouded. He wanted to say sorry. He lifts a sleeve to his mouth, wiping some of the bile off his face. He kept apologizing, I'm so sorry kid, he'd say, I didn't know. Sorry for what? I ask, killing your sister? A howl envelops the room and Liam breaks into quaking sobs. The lights in the room flicker. There's a clatter to the right of me and I look down and see toy building blocks shifting across the floor. On the wall, the cartoon animals aren't smiling anymore. They're slowly melting away. Liam's face is ugly now and he's crying as hard as I've ever seen. He didn't know who I was. He chokes out. He thought I was just another kid. My heart races as steam hisses from Liam's eyes and I realize the tears are evaporating even as they form, dying in the smoldering blaze of his pupils. A wind picks up in the room, tearing the posters from the walls and casting toys into a tornado of color. Hands behind me, I stumble backward and try the door again. It won't budge. I'm trapped. My eyes drift up to the camera on the ceiling, but the red recording light is off. I'm alone. It's just me now. I take a breath, inhaling the fumes of vomit and sulfur, and I wonder if death is going to be half so bad as all these monsters make it seem. Who are you? I ask, and I'm unable to keep the terror from my voice. Are you Mr. Gallows? Perhaps the kid is possessed. I've seen it before. No, Liam whimpers. I'm a bad person, though. I'm an awful person. Why did Mr. Gallows? I'm almost shouting now as the tempest rocks the entire room. Why did he feel the need to keep apologizing? Clearing blocks and toy trucks ricochet off the wall, narrowly missing my face. He was scared, Liam balls. He was scared I would hurt him if he didn't. Why? The gale stops. The toys fall with a clatter, and the animals on the wall aren't melting anymore. They're beaming with the same fake smiles they've always had. My breath heaves in my chest, my legs quiver, and my hair is a mess, but I'm alive. I'm okay. Liam sits quietly in his plastic chair. He's staring at Bugs Bunny on the carpet. His small hands are clenched into fists, and whatever fire once burned in his eyes is now extinguished. He's just a boy again. The broken, trembling boy. I promised I would save. I'm no longer sure I can. Liam? I say, taking a nervous step forward. Is it okay if we talk? He doesn't say anything, but he nods. Why was Mr. Gallows afraid of you? I do my best to maintain a calm tone, but my voice is all over the place. I can barely keep myself from stuttering. It'd have something to do with what just happened. Silence. He's whimpering again, and his hands are tugging at the strings of his hoodie like his life depends on it. Tears litter the carpet around him. I'm sorry, he says. I didn't mean to. It's okay, I say, moving closer to him. My legs feel like jello, and my mind's still untangling itself from what it just witnessed. I can tell you're a good person, Liam. Liam turns to me, and there's fear in his features. He closes his eyes, clenches them shut, and he wintzes in pain. It's hard, he says. It gets harder every day. I take a few more steps forward, and I'm back to my chair. I sit down in it, brushing hair from my face, and taking a deep breath. My eyes snap up to the camera. It's recording again, and I know they're watching. I wonder if they witnessed the scene that just unfolded. They probably already knew I'd assigned. They were expecting it. Liam, I say, in a careful tone. Why was Mr. Gallows afraid of you? His blue eyes appear one blink at a time. He looks small in his chair, and when he speaks, his words are faint. I barely hear them. He's afraid I'm here to kill him. A smile plays at the corner of his lips, and he grips his face with both hands. Agony fills his eyes, and his next words leave a mark that no response can fill. They crash around me like a carpet bomb. I'm afraid I'm here to kill all of us. Once more, my eyes dart up to the camera. Is this what my supervisors were after? Is this the real event? Am I the one experiencing it? What makes you think that? I say, and my words are clipped, breathless. Fear has warmed its way into me. I'm one of them. Liam says, clutching a fistful of hair, his eyes pulse with blood, and he groans. They told me so. His voice strains against something. It's jagged. Sharp. They told me I was one of them, that I was born to cast the earth into flame and ash. Who? Them, he says, raising his eyes to my own. The gods beyond the veil. He's different now. He's not the boy I knew, and I'm not even sure he's human. There's a darkness to him, a suffocating, mighty abyss that's pulling at me, begging me to join it. The eldritch, he says, and his eyes are crackling again with dancing flames. I want to run. I want to get out of here, but I know better. The only way out is through. Your sister, I say, in an uneven voice. Police had found Lacey Hainesworth in six pieces, her arm on one side of the house, her leg on the other. The home was a bloodbath. Liam's mother had witnessed all of it from her wheelchair, and the scene had driven her mad. A monster, she'd repeated. A monster killed my baby. Did Mr. Gallows kill her? I whisper, Liam's eyes flare, you tell me, he says, Agony replaces everything I've ever known. I feel my arm lurch to the side, and something invisible is pulling at it, heaving while some other force holds me in place. I shriek for help. I scream at Liam to stop. I do everything I can to move and run, but I'm stuck in place. There's a horrible sound of tearing flesh, and my world goes black. I come to a second later, and blood is pouring from a hole in my torso, where my arm used to be. The door crashes open, and six people in robes rush in, casting warding charms and backing Liam into a corner. Somebody jabs a needle into me, and another person starts wrapping me in gauze. A blinding flash fills the room, and then the world fades away. Darkness envelops my thoughts, my memories, my mind. There's nothing to see or hear or think about anymore. It's just the void. Unending. Ceaseless. I call out, but I have no voice. I'm drifting senseless through infinity. It's wonderful. It's terrifying. I open my eyes to the bright lights of the medical bay. I'm in a hospital bed. My body is covered in bandages, and there are doctors and people in suits discussing something near me. They don't seem to realize I'm awake. I try to open my mouth to speak, but it's too hard. So I just listen. He's the one then. The conclusion seems like it. Didn't expect him to go nuclear back there, though. Talk about teenage angst, a laugh, a woman. No kidding. Honestly, it's a wonder this guy survived. Word is, he was right beside the kid when it went down. Looking at him, I'm not surprised. Another voice. Male. I've never seen so much necrosis. You remember Jacob? The dickhead from public affairs? Oh yeah, don't get me started on Jacob. Well, he was by earlier giving us all the rundowns. If anybody asked that damage was caused by a gas leak, that's all, but he slips a few extra details. Oh, spill the beans. There's a clattering sound, steel on steel, surgical instruments being sifted through. I'm still too weak to speak, too weak to move. Apparently, they sent in warlocks to deal with the kid, and all of them ended up piles of salt. Now the compound's just a few bricks and a cloud of asbestos. A woman snorts, then laughs. Were they expecting as if warding charms could hold off an eldritch God? Technically, he's not a God, only a harbinger. A different man. This voice is casual, teasing. I strain my eyes and see the blurry outline of a black suit. The gods come later, Cheryl. More laughter. It's a damn shame. I read our patient's file here, and if you can believe it, he was the one who sorted out the boundless whispers. Smart guy. Great with kids, too. I suppose he wasn't smart enough. It's just like I've always said, most people at Compound 7 are inept. That's not fair, Dave. The woman tuts. They had some duds over there, same as we do here. They were doing important work, though. Pass me the scalpel, would ya? Of course. Thanks. Steel cuts into my flesh. It hurts, but I can't move. I can't speak. I'm too weak. Too absent. I should let the two of you get back to it, then. A man says, don't sweat it, Ryan. We're nearly done here, anyway. The steel digs deeper. A piece of me comes free. Anyway, I'm not surprised Compound 7 screwed everything up all over again. With the conclusion's power, we had a real shot at ending this invasion before it started, didn't we, Ryan? We really shouldn't be talking about this out in the open, Dave. I shouldn't even have mentioned it. My brain feels mushy. Slow. More pieces of me are sliced free. I hear the wet slap of my flesh dripping into a metal pan. This is hardly in the open, Ryan. We're well enough alone. Now, the kid is, too. He's lost in the wind, apparently. Oh, he's... Jesus, he's awake. There's hurried movement around me. I see the blur of a face, the white of a surgical gown. Figures swim in front of me. Two of them. A woman and a man. Doctors. Surgeons. They're saying things. They're telling me I've had a bad accident and that I've suffered terrible wounds. They're telling me they're going to give me some more morphine so that I can sleep. I try to tell them no. I try to tell them I want to know what's going on. My world goes dark. The next time I wake up, I'm alone. The hospital room is empty, saved for a desk in the far corner and the buzzing fluorescent light above. I feel stronger now, more conscious. I sit up with some struggle and my body feels different. Alien. It's as though pieces are missing. I glance down and memories flood me. My arm is missing. It feels like my legs are gone, too. I wiggle and squirm using my other arm to prop me up into a seated position. Weak-eyed. I look around for my belongings, for my phone. It's there, on my bedside table. I reach for it. It's too far. Oh, sweetheart, you're awake. I glance back and see my mom, her gray hair wistfully dancing and the air conditioning. She puts a hand on my face and her eyes are filled with tears. She keeps telling me she loves me. I'm sorry, she says. I'm sorry this happened to you. I tell her it's okay. I tell her I need her to hand me my phone. Why? Because, I tell her, I have to tell the world what I just overheard. I need to dictate all of this before I forget it. She's confused, my mother. She's asking if I'm feeling okay. She keeps talking about things that don't matter. Mom, I say. I heard something earlier that I wasn't supposed to. She gets quiet. She recognizes my tone and she knows I'm not feeling loopy or out of it. She listens. I need you to give me my phone. There's a boy out there with messy black hair, pale skin, and a blue hoodie. He's the most important person in the world right now, and if we don't find him, the world might not be around for much longer. She passes me my phone. I tell it my story. And now, I pass that story to you. I'm asking you to keep an eye out for a missing boy with black hair, a blue hoodie, and crackling pupils. His skin is pale, and his body language is small and nervous. He might be upset. He might be agitated. If you don't see him, don't approach, call the police, contact me here. Tell an elected official you need to get in touch with the facility. The boy is important. He's the conclusion to everything. And he'll write the ending to our story one way or another. Just know that if we don't find him, it won't be a happy one. Hey everyone, remember to like and subscribe if you enjoyed the video. And a special thank you to the author, Born Beach, for letting me narrate such a great story. Remember to check out more of the author's work, there will be a link in the description. If you'd like to support me further, there's a link to my Patreon in the description. And remember, if you see the boy, let us know.