Read this in dark and quiet place for better experience

A 2ch story from 2004, posted in the middle of a thread called “Post About Strange Occurrences Around You: Thread 26.” The poster was anonymous at first, but started attaching their name later.

For your convenience, #??? and Hasumi indicate posts made by the thread creator. #2ch indicates a post made by any other 2chan user, they are not all the same person.

Please enjoy this story.

???

This may just be my imagination… Can I post it anyway?

2ch

Go ahead.

2ch

What’s going on?

???

I’ve been riding a certain train for a while, but something seems off.

2ch

Hmm…

???

I always take this train to work. But it hasn’t stopped at any stations for the past twenty minutes or so. It usually only takes five minutes, seven or eight at worst. Oh, and there’s five other passengers, but they’re all sleeping.

2ch

Did you take the express train by mistake?

2ch

Is it a high-speed train?

???

Well, it’s possible I may have just missed my stop. I’ll wait a little longer. If anything else strange occurs, I might bring it up here.

2ch

Try going to the car on the end to see the conductor, maybe?

2ch

It would be really bad if the driver had an epileptic fit or something. You should check on the conductor!

???

Still not sign of stopping, so all right, I’ll take a look.

???

There were blinds or something covering the window, so I couldn’t see the conductor or the driver. The route is a private railway in Shizuoka.

2ch

Knock on the window?

Hasumi

I tried that, but nobody answered.

2ch

Can you see out the window?

Names of stations you’re passing, etc.

Hasumi

We came out a tunnel, so we’re dropping speed slightly. There usually aren’t any tunnels, though… It’s a train from Shin-Hamamatsu.

Hasumi

Looks like we’re finally stopping at a station.

2ch

You aren’t going to get off there… are you?

Hasumi

We’re stopped at Kisaragi Station. I wonder if I should get off. I’ve never heard of this place before.

2ch

Definitely check it out.

2ch

No, stay on until the last stop.

2ch

Oh, but it’s probably already departing now…

2ch

When did you get on the train?

Hasumi

I’ve gotten off the train. The station’s unmanned. I believe I got on the train at 11:40.

2ch

I’m not finding any information on Kisaragi Station…

And Hasumi, your train was going for over an hour?

Well, that’s really strange.

2ch

Yeah, I’m not getting any results for Kisaragi Station…

Hasumi

I’m looking for a schedule so I can get back, but I can’t find one. The train is still stopped, so it’d probably be safest to get back on… Well, it left while I was writing that.

2ch

Is there anyone nearby, or any buildings?

It’s cold out, so be careful.

Hasumi

I’ll look for a taxi from the station. Thank you very much.

2ch

Sounds good.

Take care.

2ch

Way past the last train, at an unmanned station…

Really questionable if you’ll have any luck finding a taxi there.

2ch

And so Hasumi became an inhabitant of the two-dimensional world…

Hasumi

There don’t seem to be any taxis anywhere. Hmm…

2ch

Call 110? [Number for police.]

2ch

Call the taxi company?

2ch

If there’s a telephone booth nearby, look up the taxi company in the phonebook and call.

Hasumi

I called home and asked to be picked up, but neither of my parents seem to know where Kisaragi Station is. They’ll look for it on the maps so they can come get me, but I’m getting a little scared now.

2ch

What about the others?

Are you the only one who got off the train?

2ch

I checked online too, and the name Kisaragi Station isn’t coming up.

Am I wrong in assuming it’s around Shin-Hamamatsu?

I’ll check Yahoo.

Hasumi

I looked for a public phone, but there’s nothing. And no one else got off, so I’m alone now. It’s definitely called Kisaragi.

2ch

Sometimes they have phones outside the station.

Hasumi

Looking into it, apparently it’s written with the kanji for “Devil,” but it’s read “Kisaragi”…

2ch

Devil Station…?

Yikes…

2ch

Are you a gaming nerd? ‘Cause a game comes up if you Google it.

2ch

Tell us the names of the stations before and after Kisaragi.

Hasumi

What do you mean, a game? It doesn’t say what the next and previous stations are.

2ch

Walk back along the track.

2ch

If you start running now, you might catch up to the train!

2ch

There must be houses around the station, right?

Hasumi

Yes, there are. I didn’t quite notice since I was panicking. I’m waiting for my parents to call while walking along the track. I tried checking town information on i-mode, but it gave me a “point error” or something. I want to go home.

Hasumi

There’s really just nothing around here. All I can see are fields and mountains. But I think I’ll be able to make it back if I go down the track, so I’ll keep pushing on. Thank you very much. Treat this as a joke if you will, but can I come to you if I encounter any more trouble?

2ch

Of course.

Just be careful out there.

2ch

Sure!

Just make sure you don’t run out of battery. Your phone’s your lifeline right now.

2ch

Don’t get lost.

And be careful in the tunnel.

2ch

Huh, you can get a signal out in the middle of nowhere?

I kinda think you shouldn’t stray far from the station…

2ch

All alone on a cold night, at a station with no attendants…

Soon the lights could go out, and it’ll be pitch black…

2ch

It really might be safest to wait for daybreak at the station, though…

2ch

Oh geez, this sounds bad…

Hasumi

I got a call from my father, and he had many questions, but simply couldn’t find my location. I’ve been told to call 110, which I’m a little opposed to doing, but I’ll try asking them to help me now…

2ch

I really think you should wait until it gets lighter out before you do anything…

2ch

Waiting all alone in the dead of night?

And in some ominous place, yikes…

2ch

^ Going through a tunnel alone in the dead of night?

And on some ominous train line, yikes…

Hasumi

I called 110 and tried my absolute best to explain the situation, but they thought it was all a joke and got angry at me. So I got scared and apologized…

2ch

Apologized for what?

Should probably give up for today.

Wait for the first train.

2ch

What’s it like around the station? What’s there?

Hasumi

I hear what sounds like a beating drum mixed with some kind of bell way off in the distance. Honestly, I have no idea what to do at this point.

2ch

Get back to the station for now, Hasumi.

It’s best to return to where you started when you’re lost.

2ch

Here’s where it gets going…

2ch

Are they having a festival or what?

Hasumi

You might think I’m kidding, but I’m too scared to look behind me. I do want to go back to the station, but… I don’t dare turn around.

2ch

Run. And don’t look back.

2ch

You can’t go back to the station now.

Run through the tunnel!

I’m sure you’ll find you’re not far.

Hasumi

Someone behind me yelled “Hey! Don’t walk on the track, that’s dangerous!” I looked around expecting to see an attendant, and saw an one-legged old man, but he vanished. I think I’m too scared to move.

2ch

I told you not to look back! RUN

2ch

Calm down and listen to big bro, okay?

Check out where that drum’s coming from.

There’s bound to be somebody playing it…

2ch

^ Where the hell are you planning to take Hasumi?

2ch

Why’d you know it was an “old man” if it was just a single leg?

2ch

^ …Uh, I think Hasumi meant an old man who lost one of his legs.

2ch

Must’ve been an old man who died and lost a leg after walking along the track.

Hasumi

I can’t walk or run any further. The drumming sound is getting a little closer.

2ch

Wait for dawn.

It won’t be scary in the daylight.

2ch

I’m glad I stayed on the train…

Hasumi

I’m still alive. But I fell and started bleeding, and I broke a heel, so I’m sitting still on the ground. I don’t want to die now…

2ch

It should be safe if you leave the tunnel.

Once you get out of there, call for help immediately.

Hasumi

I called home. Dad’s calling the police, but the sound keeps getting closer.

2ch

I hope to god that’s not the sound of a train…

But it might be too late…

Hasumi

I finally managed to make it to the front of the tunnel. The name says Isanuki. The sound’s still getting closer, so I’m going to leave the tunnel. If I’m safe once I get out of the tunnel, I’ll post again.

2ch

Good luck.

2ch

This is the end.

Forget about trains and stations.

Forget about going back.

Forget about someone chasing you.

The sound you’re hearing is just something you imagined.

Run out of the tunnel.

If you stop, you’ll only succumb to something which does not belong in this world.

Hasumi

I left the tunnel. There’s someone up ahead. It looks like all your advice was right after all. Thank you so much. My face is such a mess from tears, he might just mistake me for a monster.

2ch

Wait, Hasumi!

Don’t die on us!

2ch

Stop! That can’t be good!

2ch

Someone there? This late at night?

That’s suspicious…

Hasumi

He seems gentle, and was worried for me. He called for a train to take me to the nearest station. Apparently there’s some kind of business hotel there. I’m truly, truly thankful to all of you.

2ch

Hasumi, please answer me this one thing.

Can you ask that man what that place is?

2ch

Is he really gentle?

He sounds kinda scary from what you said…

2ch

That guy’s no good!!

Why’s he by the track at this hour?

He must’ve been a corpse or something!

Hasumi, RUN!!

Hasumi

I asked him where it was, and he said Hina. That seems extremely unlikely, though…

2ch

Hasumi, get off the train!

2ch

Excuse me, Hasumi? Where’s Hina?

Hasumi

We’ve been headed toward the mountains for some time. It really doesn’t strike me as a place where trains would go. And he’s stopped talking to me entirely.

2ch

Probably because you’re constantly messing with your phone?

2ch

Hasumi, oh no, oh no…

Did you contact your parents after you got out of the tunnel and received aid (?) from this guy?

2ch

Hasumi.

Please call 110.

This might be your last chance.

Hasumi

My battery’s almost run out. Things are getting strange, so I think I’m going to make a run for it. He’s been talking to himself about bizarre things for a while now. To prepare for just the right time, I’m going to make this my last post for now.

* Afterward\, “Hasumi” was never heard from again.

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Read this in dark and quiet place for better experience

My therapist, Dr. Raymond, has cleverly deduced that I suffer from mild paranoia. But what the simple doctor does not understand is that I am not paranoid, I am prepared. You see, it is all a matter of perception. Dr. Raymond’s reality was a linear one; he saw things in the first person, subjectively, in a straight line. I, on the other hand, saw reality in the third person, objectively, as the narrator, with a birds-eye view, scanning the entirety of reality’s infinite depth and possibilities. And that being the case, along with the knowledge of the sins in my past, my fear of being tracked down and plotted against was not one of paranoia, but of sound logic.

Much of that fear drives from guilt, I am sure. It is the little bit of human feeling left in me that clings to man’s etiquette, believing I should answer for the crime I committed. I saw a priest who told me that feelings of paranoia are signs of the guilty soul screaming for confession. But God has seen what I have done and on my day of judgment if He cannot see the reasoning to my actions, well, then He is just as short-sighted as Dr. Raymond.

Until that day I remain, Grant Hull–New York Times Bestseller. The author of “Held Up”, critically praised as, and I quote, “The most realistic depiction of the life of a bank robber in our time.” My book has given me literary recognition, public praise and wealth beyond my wildest expectations. Does this not prove even as we punish and imprison the thieves, rapists, and murderers that society secretly has a passionate yearning to swim in the dark thoughts of society’s most evil creations?

The publishing industry knows this and year after year they publish weak attempts to capture the life of society’s darkest. The books are penned by authors who pull their research from dramatic fiction or Hollywood movies. But when these “authors”, if that is what they choose to call themselves, draw upon inauthentic sources like Hollywood they produce an inauthentic story. Then, the game of broken telephone begins and author after author draws upon the inauthentic stories before him, creating an even more far-fetched attempt to capture the essence of the bank robber, the rapist, the murderer. But those books will come and go, making a small profit but quickly forgotten in the collective consciousness of society. I wished not to be just another waste of paper but one of the great writers of our time–Of all time.

If you look at the great authors of the past, such as Charles Dickens with Oliver Twist, or George Orwell with Down and Out in Paris and London; two undeniably honest commentaries on economic, social and moral abuses of the ruling class–these works only achieved such high levels of authenticity from the authors actually taking to the slums and living with the down and out characters they would eventually reflect in their books. To write great literature it is imperative that you know your characters intimately.

When I first created my protagonist, he was so far from my country boy persona I couldn’t relate to the character. Jimmy, my bank robber, was a down and out kid from the Bronx who could no longer stand his bottom-of-the-list place in society, and so, turns to a life of crime. I didn’t know a thing about city life or desperation–so I researched.

I read every book on bank robberies I could find, I watched every heist movie there ever was, I listened to every gangster rap album I could get my hands on. I learned much about the topic and it helped me to create much more depth and authenticity to Jimmy and the characters around him. For example, I had originally intended Jimmy to burst into the bank guns blazing, wearing a gorilla mask and telling everyone to, “Get the **** on the floor!” while shooting off a couple rounds into the ceiling. In the movies, this seemed pretty standard, but in real life Hollywood’s portrayal of the bank robbery is heavily flawed and out of date.

Bank security has come a long way over the years. Maybe in the 1920’s John Dillinger and his gang could burst into a bank with guns drawn and stick around long enough to shoot it out with police, but not today. In today’s banks each teller has a panic button under the desk, so it was imperative that at all times throughout the robbery the only person who knew the bank was being robbed was the single teller, and only when Jimmy was close enough to her to monitor her hand and knee movements. The best way to achieve that would be with a simple note handed to the teller once he was called from the line.

Do you see how much research helps create authenticity?

But these were things any and every author would do in preparation for their story. I didn’t want to be just any author. I knew I needed a more aggressive approach if I was to be remembered with the likes of an Orwell or a Dickens.

Over a scotch in a hotel lobby, I came to terms that the only way to capture the raw energy of a bank robbery was to actually rob a bank.

I chose a Royal Bank across town as the target. At first, I just stood in the lobby and watched. I watched the customers, I watched the tellers, I watched the cameras–I even watched the half-dead security guard habitually putter about back and forth before he eventually found peace in a plastic seat next to the front entrance.

Nowadays, banks don’t carry much cash in the drawers and I did not have the equipment or the manpower to try and successfully take the vault. But again, from my research on bank security measures, I knew that most tellers kept a “robbery bag” around that they were to give to the robber if ever faced with the situation. That’s what I wanted to leave with.

I knew the bills were marked but I didn’t care, I wasn’t going to spend any of it. It wasn’t for the money; it was for character research. I needed to witness the look of fear in the teller’s eyes when I handed her the note threatening to kill her if she did not co-operate. I had to document the doubts and second-thoughts that would race through my head just before handing her the note. I needed to experience the pounding heartbeat and surge of adrenaline I would feel as I walked out the front door with that heavy bag of bills.

And so, on a chilly day in September, I walked into that Royal Bank on Main St. and stood in line. I wore a hat, sunglasses, and a fake mustache to disguise myself from the recording cameras.

One by one, I watched the person in front of me break from line and approach the teller until, all too quickly, it was my turn to step forward. I kept my hand steady while handing her the note that warned her I was armed and would shoot if she made any signals or reached for the panic alarm. It instructed her to give me the robbery bag and everyone would be safe.

The moments from when I handed her the letter to when she gave me the bag under her desk were the most intense. The fifteen or so seconds it took seemed like an eternity. I thought my heart was going to beat right through my chest and land in her lap.

It was not so much the teller that had me so on edge, she was scared and I knew they were trained to co-operate. It was the customers behind me. I was sure one of them had seen me hand over the note and would attack me from behind, but I couldn’t look behind me without arousing suspicion from security and I couldn’t risk taking my eyes off the teller’s hands.

Finally, she reached over the kiosk and handed me the unmarked bag, holding in her tears to the best of her ability. I turned and, bursting with elation and disbelief, quickly walked through the front door, passing the senior security guard who may or may not have been taking a quick midday nap. I couldn’t say for sure, all I could see was the street outside–complete tunnel vision.

Once outside, I walked around to the back of the building where the taxi I had arrived in waited for me on a back street, completely unaware of what had just happened. He dropped me off at a McDonald’s a few blocks down where I disposed of my disguise in the bathroom garbage before hopping on a bus back to my neighborhood to count the score.

Now that I had experienced the rush of criminality I was ready to translate my recent enlightenment to paper and bring Jimmy from the Bronx to life. I understood him now.

As I wrote the novel I was constantly expecting the police to come to my work, or come to my home, and take me off to jail…but they never came.

Three months after the book’s completion, with a little luck and a great agent, “Held Up” became a New York Times Best Seller and I had hit the big time. I did not need to spend the cash from the robbery; I was selling millions of books. Why? Because readers recognize authenticity. They really do.

I had trouble during the book tour though. I was forced to grab a pushy fan by the throat to remind him of who he was disrespecting. I don’t deal well when dealing with the readers. The ones who read my story, living my experiences vicariously, never having enough guts to go out and do what I did. They used my experiences to escape their dreary, safe, and pointless lives. How I loathe them.

But it was this incident, during a book signing in Los Angeles, that my publishers came together and decided I needed to see a therapist, throwing Dr. Raymond, uninvited, into my life, to accuse me of this paranoia.

Things are better now that the book tour has ended and I am back in the comfort of my writing studio. Just the other day I received a call from my agent letting me know the publishers green-lit my next novel proposal.

With the recent popularity of the murder mystery genre, I have decided to create a story from the point of view of the killer. Genius, is it not? I am happy to say, I have already begun my research. And I swear, to both myself and my readership, that I will pen the most authentic look into the mind of a murderer that mankind has ever had the privilege to gaze upon…

Russian researchers in the late 1940s kept five people awake for fifteen days using an experimental gas based stimulant. They were kept in a sealed environment to carefully monitor their oxygen intake so the gas didn't kill them, since it was toxic in high concentrations. This was before closed circuit cameras so they had only microphones and five inch thick glass porthole sized windows into the chamber to monitor them. The chamber was stocked with books, cots to sleep on but no bedding, running water and toilet, and enough dried food to last all five for over a month.

The test subjects were political prisoners deemed enemies of the state during World War II.

Everything was fine for the first five days; the subjects hardly complained having been promised (falsely) that they would be freed if they submitted to the test and did not sleep for 30 days. Their conversations and activities were monitored and it was noted that they continued to talk about increasingly traumatic incidents in their past, and the general tone of their conversations took on a darker aspect after the four day mark.

After five days they started to complain about the circumstances and events that lead them to where they were and started to demonstrate severe paranoia. They stopped talking to each other and began alternately whispering to the microphones and one way mirrored portholes. Oddly they all seemed to think they could win the trust of the experimenters by turning over their comrades, the other subjects in captivity with them. At first the researchers suspected this was an effect of the gas itself...

After nine days the first of them started screaming. He ran the length of the chamber repeatedly yelling at the top of his lungs for three hours straight, he continued attempting to scream but was only able to produce occasional squeaks. The researchers postulated that he had physically torn his vocal cords. The most surprising thing about this behavior is how the other captives reacted to it... or rather didn't react to it. They continued whispering to the microphones until the second of the captives started to scream. The two non-screaming captives took the books apart, smeared page after page with their own feces and pasted them calmly over the glass portholes. The screaming promptly stopped.

So did the whispering to the microphones.

After three more days passed. The researchers checked the microphones hourly to make sure they were working, since they thought it impossible that no sound could be coming with five people inside. The oxygen consumption in the chamber indicated that all five must still be alive. In fact it was the amount of oxygen five people would consume at a very heavy level of strenuous exercise. On the morning of the 14th day the researchers did something they said they would not do to get a reaction from the captives, they used the intercom inside the chamber, hoping to provoke any response from the captives they were afraid were either dead or vegetables.

They announced: "We are opening the chamber to test the microphones; step away from the door and lie flat on the floor or you will be shot. Compliance will earn one of you your immediate freedom."

To their surprise they heard a single phrase in a calm voice response: "We no longer want to be freed."

Debate broke out among the researchers and the military forces funding the research. Unable to provoke any more response using the intercom it was finally decided to open the chamber at midnight on the fifteenth day.

The chamber was flushed of the stimulant gas and filled with fresh air and immediately voices from the microphones began to object. 3 different voices began begging, as if pleading for the life of loved ones to turn the gas back on. The chamber was opened and soldiers sent in to retrieve the test subjects. They began to scream louder than ever, and so did the soldiers when they saw what was inside. Four of the five subjects were still alive, although no one could rightly call the state that any of them in 'life.'

The food rations past day five had not been so much as touched. There were chunks of meat from the dead test subject's thighs and chest stuffed into the drain in the center of the chamber, blocking the drain and allowing four inches of water to accumulate on the floor. Precisely how much of the water on the floor was actually blood was never determined. All four 'surviving' test subjects also had large portions of muscle and skin torn away from their bodies. The destruction of flesh and exposed bone on their finger tips indicated that the wounds were inflicted by hand, not with teeth as the researchers initially thought. Closer examination of the position and angles of the wounds indicated that most if not all of them were self-inflicted.

The abdominal organs below the ribcage of all four test subjects had been removed. While the heart, lungs and diaphragm remained in place, the skin and most of the muscles attached to the ribs had been ripped off, exposing the lungs through the ribcage. All the blood vessels and organs remained intact, they had just been taken out and laid on the floor, fanning out around the eviscerated but still living bodies of the subjects. The digestive tract of all four could be seen to be working, digesting food. It quickly became apparent that what they were digesting was their own flesh that they had ripped off and eaten over the course of days.

Most of the soldiers were Russian special operatives at the facility, but still many refused to return to the chamber to remove the test subjects. They continued to scream to be left in the chamber and alternately begged and demanded that the gas be turned back on, lest they fall asleep...

To everyone's surprise the test subjects put up a fierce fight in the process of being removed from the chamber. One of the Russian soldiers died from having his throat ripped out, another was gravely injured by having his testicles ripped off and an artery in his leg severed by one of the subject's teeth. Another 5 of the soldiers lost their lives if you count ones that committed suicide in the weeks following the incident.

In the struggle one of the four living subjects had his spleen ruptured and he bled out almost immediately. The medical researchers attempted to sedate him but this proved impossible. He was injected with more than ten times the human dose of a ******** derivative and still fought like a cornered animal, breaking the ribs and arm of one doctor. When heart was seen to beat for a full two minutes after he had bled out to the point there was more air in his vascular system than blood. Even after it stopped he continued to scream and flail for another three minutes, struggling to attack anyone in reach and just repeating the word "MORE" over and over, weaker and weaker, until he finally fell silent.

The surviving three test subjects were heavily restrained and moved to a medical facility, the two with intact vocal cords continuously begging for the gas demanding to be kept awake...

The most injured of the three was taken to the only surgical operating room that the facility had. In the process of preparing the subject to have his organs placed back within his body it was found that he was effectively immune to the sedative they had given him to prepare him for the surgery. He fought furiously against his restraints when the anesthetic gas was brought out to put him under. He managed to tear most of the way through a four inch wide leather strap on one wrist, even through the weight of a 200 pound soldier holding that wrist as well. It took only a little more anesthetic than normal to put him under, and the instant his eyelids fluttered and closed, his heart stopped. In the autopsy of the test subject that died on the operating table it was found that his blood had triple the normal level of oxygen. His muscles that were still attached to his skeleton were badly torn and he had broken 9 bones in his struggle to not be subdued. Most of them were from the force his own muscles had exerted on them.

The second survivor had been the first of the group of five to start screaming. His vocal cords destroyed he was unable to beg or object to surgery, and he only reacted by shaking his head violently in disapproval when the anesthetic gas was brought near him. He shook his head yes when someone suggested, reluctantly, they try the surgery without anesthetic, and did not react for the entire six hour procedure of replacing his abdominal organs and attempting to cover them with what remained of his skin. The surgeon presiding stated repeatedly that it should be medically possible for the patient to still be alive. One terrified nurse assisting the surgery stated that she had seen the patients mouth curl into a smile several times, whenever his eyes met hers.

When the surgery ended the subject looked at the surgeon and began to wheeze loudly, attempting to talk while struggling. Assuming this must be something of drastic importance the surgeon had a pen and pad fetched so the patient could write his message. It was simple. "Keep cutting."

The other two test subjects were given the same surgery, both without anesthetic as well. Although they had to be injected with a paralytic for the duration of the operation. The surgeon found it impossible to perform the operation while the patients laughed continuously. Once paralyzed the subjects could only follow the attending researchers with their eyes. The paralytic cleared their system in an abnormally short period of time and they were soon trying to escape their bonds. The moment they could speak they were again asking for the stimulant gas. The researchers tried asking why they had injured themselves, why they had ripped out their own guts and why they wanted to be given the gas again.

Only one response was given: "I must remain awake."

All three subject's restraints were reinforced and they were placed back into the chamber awaiting determination as to what should be done with them. The researchers, facing the wrath of their military 'benefactors' for having failed the stated goals of their project considered euthanizing the surviving subjects. The commanding officer, an ex-KGB instead saw potential, and wanted to see what would happen if they were put back on the gas. The researchers strongly objected, but were overruled.

In preparation for being sealed in the chamber again the subjects were connected to an EEG monitor and had their restraints padded for long term confinement. To everyone's surprise all three stopped struggling the moment it was let slip that they were going back on the gas. It was obvious that at this point all three were putting up a great struggle to stay awake. One of subjects that could speak was humming loudly and continuously; the mute subject was straining his legs against the leather bonds with all his might, first left, then right, then left again for something to focus on. The remaining subject was holding his head off his pillow and blinking rapidly. Having been the first to be wired for EEG most of the researchers were monitoring his brain waves in surprise. They were normal most of the time but sometimes flat lined inexplicably. It looked as if he were repeatedly suffering brain death, before returning to normal. As they focused on paper scrolling out of the brainwave monitor only one nurse saw his eyes slip shut at the same moment his head hit the pillow. His brainwaves immediately changed to that of deep sleep, then flatlined for the last time as his heart simultaneously stopped.

The only remaining subject that could speak started screaming to be sealed in now. His brainwaves showed the same flatlines as one who had just died from falling asleep. The commander gave the order to seal the chamber with both subjects inside, as well as three researchers. One of the named three immediately drew his gun and shot the commander point blank between the eyes, then turned the gun on the mute subject and blew his brains out as well.

He pointed his gun at the remaining subject, still restrained to a bed as the remaining members of the medical and research team fled the room. "I won't be locked in here with these things! Not with you!" he screamed at the man strapped to the table. "WHAT ARE YOU?" he demanded. "I must know!"

The subject smiled.

"Have you forgotten so easily?" the subject asked. "We are you. We are the madness that lurks within you all, begging to be free at every moment in your deepest animal mind. We are what you hide from in your beds every night. We are what you sedate into silence and paralysis when you go to the nocturnal haven where we cannot tread."

The researcher paused. Then aimed at the subject's heart and fired. The EEG flatlined as the subject weakly choked out, "So... nearly... free..."