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Welcome, friend. Follow me. We're going where nightmares are born. Most people would never dare enter these woods. There's no telling what horrors we'll find, the disturbing terrors will uncover. Don't say I didn't warn you. Unsettling creatures lurk here. Be careful, they might follow you out. Or maybe they're already inside you, in the spaces between your thoughts, or under your skin. Are you afraid? Good. Now you are ready to enter the warning woods.

Dust fluttered in dusky sunlight, landing on a hardwood floor in desperate need of refinishing, scattered with ash and empty energy drink cans. One half Vulcan sat upright beside the forest green couch, recently placed there by a twenty six year old man squinting at the T V six feet in front of him. Derek Hodge jerked his PS4 controller back and swore. He let the controller fall in his lap and reached for the can again.

Ha, you're dead again, teased another male of similar age as he clumped down the dusty stairs. Hmm, grunted Derek between gulps. Really? Sleeping dogs again? asked his roommate Austin. Derek played Sleeping Dogs, released in twenty twelve a full decade ago, so often Austin sometimes heard its soundtrack while falling asleep.

He'd noticed Derek tended to pull the old game out whenever life had him down. Sometimes it was work. He wasn't hitting the types of numbers he wanted. Sometimes he'd play it after being dumped or cheated on again. This time Austin already knew he was hearing that familiar music thanks to Derek's numbers. It just always made him laugh to think about how many times Derek had been dumped and cheated on.

It was kind of a shame because he was such a sweet guy, but in the crowds they ran in, being sweet got you eaten. You know a violent rattling from the back fence cut Derek short. Austin said, Who's Thick fists hammered the back door. Come on, guys. Open up open up now Rocky begged in a whispered shout. Let him in, man, said Derrick, returning his focus to the screen. Austin, hurrying to the door, said, You should shut that off, man. This is probably gonna be bad.

How come? asked Derek. Austin didn't bother to answer. Rocky continued to knock and plead until Austin cracked open the door, leaving the chain on and peered out. What's up, Rock? he asked. They got Searcher Man. They're tossing his place right now, Rocky replied, trailing breathlessly at the end. You ran all the way here? asked Austin. Cops blocked my car in, said Rocky. Wasn't gonna ask him to move.

Was this place dirty? asked Derek, appearing behind his roommate. Will you guys just let me in? Rocky begged. Cops after you? asked Derek. Rocky looks down. Yeah, man, but they didn't see which way I went. If they got Searcher, they're gonna learn about your place soon anyway. Was Searcher's place dirty? demanded Derek.

No man, no, said Rocky. He keeps his stock in his schizo dad's attic. He had those guns though. They're gonna get him on those stupid guns, dude. I told him so many All right, fine, get inside, Austin ordered. He undid the chain and practically pulled Rocky through the door. Wait, said Rocky. If you didn't remember where the stock was, do you remember any of the protocol? Yeah, scoffed Derek, just making sure he didn't have a personal stash.

Rocky shook his head. Surger? No, he's clean, man. He's in it for the money. Anyway, we gotta move quick. Plan is he'll stall him for at least an hour, but we gotta move all those pills before that in case they break him. Now? Derek asked. Austin said, Yeah, dude, the cops could get a warrant for his dad's house any minute. Then, half to Rocky, and half to himself, He's a felon. What the hell was he thinking with those guns? Rocky said, I know, man, I know.

Alright, get your shoes, get your masks, let's go. Oh, gloves too. Collecting these items from the front closet, Derek shouted, What about the dad? He the kind of crazy that's gonna end up killing us if he sees us in there? No idea, Rocky shouted back. Kay, Derek replied. Austin drove them to a farm road, a quarter mile from town, and hid his car behind a tractor parked there. With the sun setting behind it, the tractor provided better cover than you might think.

On the far side of the empty field sat a two story brown house. That's Searcher's Dad's place, said Rocky, pointing. How are we gonna run all the way back to the car if we get caught? This whole street's gonna see us running in this big empty field, said Derek, glancing down to make sure Austin at least remembered to remove his license plates. He'd even taped the in transit paper in the rear window.

We're probably still ahead of the cops, whispered Austin. Yeah, probably, so let's go, urged Rocky.

Dressed head to toe in black, they looked like shadows running across the open field. They hoped Searcher's father was asleep because they looked like burglars from a cartoon. Derek noted a patch of trees to his right on the south side of the field, If forced to run, he knew the trees would provide better cover than the field, even though he'd have to divert widely from the direct line to Austin's car.

At Searcher's dad's back door, Rocky winced. Right, I got it, said Austin, crouching to run thirty paces back to the rotting shed at the corner of the property. Lashed the door and stuck his hand up, feeling along the interior frame. He stiffened, nodded once, then returned with the brass key in hand. Quiet now, said Derek. Austin turned the key in the door. It groaned when it opened, but no one inside seemed to stir.

I'll keep watch out here, said Rocky. Austin said, Fine, Derek? He tilted his head toward the door, telling his roommate to lead the way. They found Searcher's father passed out on the living room couch with a Netflix show neither recognized blaring from the TV. Austin said, I'll watch him, man, you get up to the attic. Derek eyed the red oak staircase.

Austin whispered, What, you scared man? Let's go. Yeah, yeah, shut up, Derek replied. He tested the first stair. The aged wood groaned, punctuated by a sharp pop. Surger's father stayed asleep, though. Just go fast, whispered Austin. Derek nodded. Stepping delicately but still taking two stairs at a time, he managed to ascend with minimal noise. Then he had to find the attic. Fortunately when he was a

When he located the door in the hallway ceiling, he found a string attached to it that he could reach on his tiptoes. The ladder nearly struck the top of his head when it slid down automatically. This created an echoing clatter, which prompted him to check in with Austin. His roommate gave him a thumbs up from the base of the stairs before rolling his hand over and over, gesturing to hurry up.

Searcher kept a single duffel bag with his entire inventory right inside the attic entrance in case of such an occasion. Derek grabbed it and, just like that, became responsible for about 20 grand's worth of benzos, oxys, xanox, clonopin, vacuum. And Valium and God knew what else Searcher kept in that bag. Carrying it put Derek square in felony territory. Inarguable, indefensible felony territory. And as he carefully crept down the stairs with it.

Someone strong pounded on the front door. Police department, a voice announced. Go, go, go, mouthed Austin, waving his hand. On the couch, the father stirred. Cory searcher, the cop on the other side of the door called. Please come outside. We have a search warrant.

Hey, stop, searcher's father Corey bellowed with a crusted voice. Austin and Derek made it out the back door before he rose from the couch, but they heard his booming footsteps running toward them. They wasted no time with locking the back door or rehiding the key. Cops! Austin hissed at Rocky. Rocky swore. All three of them lunged into sprints.

Hey, runners, a voice bellowed far behind them. Austin swore too. Derek, tall and thin, but never the most athletic in the group, quickly fell behind. He tried to signal to his partners, but their sole focus was getting to the car. So, on his own, flopping duffel bag over his shoulder, Derek branched away, steering toward the trees. A cop built like a pro wrestler tore through the field at quite possibly double Rocky and Austin's speed. He shoved Rocky.

Down and kept running until he reached Austin and threw his arms around his middle. Get that one! The enormous officer shouted to a colleague, catching up as Rocky attempted to rise. Derek stopped watching after Rocky bucked the officer off. He heard the crackle of a of a taser but did not look back. He just kept running for the trees. He knew he wouldn't become invisible in them, but at least nobody could catch him by simply running faster.

Even thin as he was, the trees required him to weave on his way back to the car. He heard sirens nearby, backup for the muddied cops who likely had his colleagues in cuffs by then. He stayed focused on the car. He felt guilty for leaving Rocky and Austin behind, but shoved the duffel bag into the passenger seat and started Austin's car. He kept the headlights off. The cops weren't deaf though. He guessed they'd be on their radios, calling in about a car headed toward town.

If Austin could keep his mouth shut, they wouldn't have an accurate description of his vehicle until they discovered it missing from his possession, and that could take hours. Or at least long enough for Derek to drive far from town. He drove almost 70 miles, swerving on and off various highways before the gas gauge dipped into the bottom quarter.

Knowing he'd need to stop soon anyway, he started looking for somewhere to lay low for the night. Somewhere that looked like they might accept cash or alternative forms of payment. He found just the place in Greg's motor lodge. One building, twelve units, one with a door broken in and cardboard over the windows. Other cars sat in the parking lot, neither looking like they belonged to anyone who would willingly speak to a police officer unless their own life depended on it.

One of those battered cars belonged to the front desk clerk. A good omen for Derek. Help you? the half-awake attendant asked. His beard scruff barely moved. I need a room, said Derek, the duffel bag slung over his shoulder, only just becoming aware he was still dressed like a burglar. Kinda figured, said the attendant. How many's it for? Just one night, Derek said. The attendant rolled his bloodshot eyes. How many staying with you? Derek said. Oh, uh just me. Sixty, said the attendant. Dollars.

You serious? asked Derek. Yup. I got Derek slipped out his wallet, glad he'd grabbed it before leaving the apartment. All I got's forty-two. Those cards don't work? asked the attendant. I need to pay cash, said Derek. He had a feeling the gaunt man slumped behind the counter wouldn't press him. The attendant vindicated him with a single lazy nod. Derek slid the duffel strap down his arm. There is another way I could pay, he said. Gotta say, man, you look like you could use a pick me up.

What you got? the attendant asked, seeming interested for the first time. Derek said, Name it. That night, lying on the floor next to a bed he wouldn't want his corpse laid upon, he received a text from Rowdy for the second time in his life.

The first was a hasty welcome to the team text when he'd first been recruited by Searcher. Back then it was just weed, but with cannabis being legal in half the country and close enough in the rest, Rowdy started pushing all of them towards selling pills instead. Rowdy was the boss. He scared Derek, which is why he always used to appreciate having Searcher between them in the hierarchy.

With Searcher locked up though, Rowdy had texted Derek, Congrats on the promotion. It comes with a bonus. Keep 30%, sell out the whole store. Gotta stay closed a while for bad weather, Derek texted back. He received a phone call from Rowdy in response. Spine rigid, he answered. Weather's just gonna keep getting worse, Rowdy said without greeting. Trust me, you don't wanna have any inventory left when it gets to you.

No way I can sell out that fast, said Derek. Whispering, he asked, You hear they got? I heard, said Rowdy. You putting in your notice or what? Derek, shaking, said Yeah, man, I'm done. I should just lose the inventory behind a truck stop or something. You're not gonna do that, and I'm gonna tell you why, Rowdy replied, dropping his voice to sound like a growling dog.

That stuff didn't come cheap, D. And I got people I'm not quite square with. People who make me look like a fluffy little bunny. Got it. Those people don't get paid, they're gonna come after me, and I'm gonna send them right to you. Trust me when I tell you, you'd rather deal with the weather than them. A tornado would leave you in better shape than these guys. So you're gonna sell out, right?

How? Derek asked. Not my problem. I got bigger ones if you believe it. Derek did. Alright, man, I'll sell out. Fasty. Got it? You're not home, right? No, I'm Don't say it stupid. Just don't go home. Your roommate's probably talking already. Yeah, said Derek. The feeling of betrayal made him feel even worse about leaving Austin behind. No matter what Austin said to the cops, Derek knew he was the bigger traitor.

I won't. You have a car? My roommates, no plates. After a pause, Rowdy said Lose it. Sure.

Don't call me, don't text me, sell out and disappear. Rowdy hung up. Derek told the guy at the front desk to let his friends know he'd be in town for a few days. That earned him a slow trickle of customers, mostly wanting Xanax and perks. No one in town seemed interested in the rest of what he offered, but somehow he needed to offload those too. He brought a portion of the profit to a pawn shop. He scanned the locked rack of laptops ranging from dusty two inch thick dinosaurs to MacBook Airs.

Most of the modern laptops far exceeded Derek's budget, but he noticed one perhaps decade-old Dell for only$49.99. Which one you want? The clerk asked after Derek flagged her over. Why is that dell in the middle so cheap? Derek asked. The clerk reached into the case. This one? Uh, let's see. She examined the tag, flipped the laptop over in her hands, then finally opened it.

Oh, that's right. See here? She pointed to the screen's upper left corner. A previous owner had carved four N T O K into the screen. Derek laughed. You ever get on friend talk back in the day? I don't know what it is, said the clerk. Oh, it's just or it was one of those old message boards, pre social media stuff.

You say friend talk? Like friend? Here I was thinking it meant foreign talk. Derek said. That was a common problem back then too. Probably part of why friend talk died off after a while. Anyway, so it works? After the clerk showed him the laptop operated smoothly, Derrick paid and went back to the motel. At the front desk he told the attendant to tell his friend's last call. He planned to move on in the morning.

He spent the rest of the evening answering his door, counting cash and pills, and washing his clothes in the bathroom sink with hand soap. He'd try to find a thrift store when he hit the road in the morning. Then he needed to find somewhere he could lay low for a while. He couldn't keep risking driving Austin's car around.

He found a place called the Stay and Go Motel that looked only slightly more savory than Greg's motor lodge. He assumed correctly he couldn't pay for his stay and pills. However, a benefit to stay and go was its proximity to a warehouse zone with large Large, seemingly camera free parking lots. He ditched Austin's car in one, leaving the keys in the glove box.

He hoped someone would come steal it. He didn't know how he was going to make it back to Rowdy with the money once all was said and done, but he still had to rumple Stiltskin a bag of pills into a bag of cash before he could worry about that. Back in his room, he fired up his new old laptop and connected to the stay and goes free Wi-Fi.

You get what you pay for, he thought, waiting for the Google homepage to load. The carving in the upper left corner wasn't too noticeable with the screen turned on, Ignoring it was well worth the money it saved him. And, after an hour of delicate but fruitless research, the carving actually gave him an idea.

WWW dot friendtalk.com had been the favorite online message board at his middle school. People mostly used it, as its confusing name had intended to imply, to talk to friends. Some threads encouraged and enabled people to make new friends. while others were reserved for groups who already knew each other or had something in common. For example, going to the same middle school.

The ability to view everyone's posts on any thread is what made friend talk fun for Derek. He and his friends often spied on rival school's chats. Although never athletic himself, the spying helped him befriend many of the athletes. He shared drama from whatever school they were playing against right before the game, so the players could attack with informed trash talk. Derek considered himself a ghost on the field, aiding the outcome even though he never attended a game.

The memories of those frivolous times were not exactly what excited him, though, but rather his knowledge of what friend talk eventually became after people like him left it for Myspace. By the time Facebook really got popular, message boards like Friend Talk that weren't dedicated to a specific niche died sometimes sudden deaths. Friend talk was one of those casualties. Unlike others, the address stayed live though.

After a couple years wasted as a post graveyard, some enterprising individuals returned to the site with a new purpose: illicit capitalism. Derek had never used friend talk for anything but social purposes. Since his start in the industry, he'd been a local player. Now that he'd been uprooted, though, he wondered if anyone still used the message board for sales. The familiar homepage loaded ten seconds later than it should have.

Man, they didn't have great taste in colors back then, Derek muttered. Fren Talk's teal background looked like a moat around the sand-colored center on which black text read, Welcome, Fren. Find your community below or press Ctrl F to search. Keep it classy. Derek forgot how people used to type that.

Phrase sarcastically to one another after a dirty joke posted on the board. Some kids' signatures depicted butts or genitalia drawn with symbols on their keyboard and keep it classy typed beneath. Derek scrolled down to the message board itself. Sure enough, The top thread said in pixelated font, Last post 32 minutes ago. The thread title, Pain Management.

Below that, another thread titled, How to Sleep Better, had been posted in two hours before. Anyone could read right through the thread titles, but Derek supposed that was necessary for the potential customer's sake. A board posted upon almost Entirely in code speak needed to be browsable somehow. About halfway through posting his goods, he received a hit. A user with the name TC Hugs 92 replied to his post in the recovering from surgery thread for morphine.

Derek had posted, Mom's recovering from hip surgery. She didn't use all her morphine. Anyone know how I should dispose of the leftover pills? She's got sixty left. A discerning person would have realized the insane quantity he claimed to have left over far surpassed what any doctor would prescribe to a patient. T C Huggs had replied, Sorry to hear about your mom. Hope she's doing better? Derek punched the bed and wrote back Thanks, but know how I can get rid of these pills?

TC Hugs92 wrote back, Most police stations and hospitals have special bins you can drop unused prescriptions in to dispose of them free of charge. Derek didn't reply. Apparently some ignorant users still thought this was a friendly message board. Then he noticed TC Hugs92 had left replies on all of his posts.

Each of the replies followed a similar vein to the first, responding to his foe scenarios with a genuine reaction. I've heard Tramidol doesn't work well for everyone. It's a good idea to get rid of it if it's not working for you. Good call. Benzodiazepin is tough to kick. Good for you getting off them. I've heard horror stories about people trying to quit.

To make things worse, TC Hugs ninety two gave each of his posts a star, which in its original form had been Friend Talk's version of liking someone's post. Its current users used the star to mark deals as pending. Derrick had no way to remove T C Hug's ninety two's stars, therefore no one else bothered to reply to him. Friend Talk didn't offer any type of direct messaging. Derek had no way of communicating with TC Hugs ninety two except publicly.

He chose one of their replies at random, and wrote back Stop sharing my posts. Stop replying to me or I'll report you. To whom? T C Hugs ninety two replied. Whom? thought Derek. Who talks like that online? No, who talks like that at all? He wrote back. Moderators, I'll tell them you're stalking me. Now delete your replies in stars. After almost 10 minutes, TC Hugs92 finally replied, I'm trolling, bro. How much you got total?

Post says it, replied Derrick. His teeth squeaked near the back. What kind of a joke was this? It wasn't even funny. T C Hugs ninety two replied. I mean total all medicines. Derek thought, then answered. Check other posts for types slash amounts. Twenty K worth. Looks more like fifteen K, T C Hugs ninety two replied a few minutes later. Maybe seventeen, wrote Derek. He'd have to give up a portion of his share, but at least he'd get to walk away.

Where can I send a get well card? replied Teasy Hugs ninety two. Derek wrote back. Make sure it's long enough to cover the medical bills, seventeen K. TC Hugs 92 replied, It will. Send a thank you to the return address when you get it. There's no way, thought Derek. This guy's just gonna mail me 17K and expect me to follow through? It's gotta be a trap.

But if it was real, it was an opportunity he couldn't afford to miss. Every day he spent huddled inside the stay and go would be another day he might get caught red handed with the duffel from Rocky's dad's house. He'd go to prison for sure. He hadn't fully considered

The process of selling drugs online when he started posting on Friend Talk. He hadn't considered how long it would take to mail cash and goods back and forth, but he supposed the mail was probably still faster than trying to sell all those pills in town, and a couple of days would be a good time.

Waiting meant a couple of days laying low, not drawing attention to himself. He didn't want to give up his real location, so after a brief internal debate, he posted the address of his childhood home. His parents still lived there, so if a package showed up for him, They would call him. Hopefully they wouldn't open it. It'd be tough to explain why someone was mailing him seventeen thousand dollars cash.

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The second day after posting on Friend Talk, Derek lay in bed sucking on a vape he'd picked up from the gas station across the street. The TV in his room was broken, so he'd been watching shows on his phone whenever he wasn't sleeping. He periodically checked the local news too. He found a short article about three members of a local drug ring being arrested, but there was no mention of any search for him or the missing drugs.

Derek guessed the police decided not to mention the one they let get away. He knew better than to let his guard down, though. So focused on his own interests, he failed to absorb the top headline on the paper's website. Overnight double homicide, local couple slain at home.

Mid-morning, the third day, Derek's nerves started to unravel. He figured TC Hugs 92's package must have arrived at his parents' house by now, which meant it was probably in his mother or father's hands. He still hadn't concocted a convincing explanation.

For why someone would send him so much money in case one of them opened it either by accident or out of nosiness, but nonetheless, he called them anyway. As the phone rang, he rehearsed his first line. Hey, sorry I haven't called for a while. Did you guys get a package for me?

For me? Or maybe, hey, just thought I'd call. I've been so busy, time's just flown by. Let them mention the package if it's there. And if not, if it showed up that afternoon or the next day instead, they might believe his call in the package. The package were unrelated coincidences. The phone continued to ring and ring. His parents still used a landline and apparently didn't have voicemail set up. Finally, The tone cut short mid ring, and Derek heard a rustling on the other line. Hello?

Spoke a deep voice he didn't recognize. Uh hi, Dad? Who is this? The deep voice demanded. Who's this? Derek asked back. Am I speaking to Derek Hodge? asked the man. On the other end. Derek's throat seized. The formality of the question made the room seem darker. A mild metallic scent of blood filled his nose as his head began to throb.

I want to know who I'm talking to first, he squeezed out. Mr. Hodge, this is Sergeant Snyder with the Rockland County Sheriff's Investigative Unit. Are you calling to speak with your parents? Yeah, Derek answered, sweat emerging on his forehead. forehead. He couldn't feel his hands, but he saw his right shaking in his lap.

Mr. Hodge, could you tell me where you are? Snyder asked. Oh God, thought Derek. Mom and Dad opened the package and called the cops. He had not prepared for this scenario. Not until you tell me what's going on, he said. It's about your parents, Mr. Hodge. What about my parents? You haven't seen the news this morning? Derek gripped his phone, resisting the urge to chuck it at the window, see which would shatter. The duffel stared at him from the floor.

Brought him back to reality. He was talking to a cop, an actual cop, without context or a lawyer. He needed to stay cool. I haven't. Could you just give it to me straight, Sarge? Sergeant Snyder cleared his throat. Mr. Hodge, Derek, I'm sorry to be the one to inform you your parents were killed yesterday. Every part of Derek's body retracted. If physics had allowed, he would have collapsed into a single atom. You okay, Derek? Snyder asked, sounding far, far away.

How? asked Derek. Snyder said. I'm afraid they were murdered, sir. Who did it? asked Derek, choking on the swelling behind his tongue. We're still trying to figure how? How were they killed? Derek cut in. The dam in his throat broke. All his emotions spouted up into his sinuses, his eyes, and started pouring out. Snyder sighed. His mouth made a smacking sound.

Look, Derek, this is really a conversation we should have face to face. You in town? We've actually been wanting to talk to you about your roommate. I'm assuming you know what happened to him. Derek wiped his eyes and nose and improvised. Austin? No, I haven't talked to him. I've been on a trip um on vacation for like almost a week. Will you please just tell me all my parents were murdered? Austin's been arrested, Derek. I don't care about Austin. Tell me about my parents.

The line stayed quiet. His laptop dinged and he automatically tapped the trackpad to wake up the screen. He read the notification, an email from Friendtalk that someone responded to one of his posts. In his ear, Sergeant Snyder said, I really don't want to tell you this over the phone, Derek, but unfortunately the details are already in the news, so some kid reporter with a drone caught a shot of the crime scene. I wouldn't recommend looking it up.

Derek, somebody someone decapitated your parents with a power saw. Derek couldn't speak. He barely even heard Snyder, whose words failed to sink in. The email stole most of his attention and weighed his tongue to the floor of his mouth. It read, User TC Hugs92 replied to your comment. Tell me. His eyes dried of tears and blackness entered the corners of his vision. Distantly, the sergeant said, Derek. I'm sorry. You there? You alright? Yeah.

Here, Derek muttered seconds later. Okay. Well, guess it goes without saying if you know anything that might help us figure out who did this. I'll let you know, Derek finished. Snyder, over-eager, asked. Do you? Do you know anything that might point us in the right direction? Is there any connection to the stuff Austin's tied up in? Derek wiped his eyes and sniffled. The tears had returned. Fearful, helpless tears this time. No, I have no idea.

Snyder said. Uh huh. Listen, we need to meet. When can you get back to town? Derek said, I can't, then immediately hung up. Tell me where you really are this time. TC Hugs92 beheaded his parents. What else could that mean? And apparently Derek was the original target. It also occurred to him like a separate conversation in another. Room that he'd wasted two days without selling any inventory. Now the cops were looking for him for two reasons. Now murder was involved.

What would that mean? State cops? Federal? He probably wouldn't be able to run much longer, and he still had hundreds of pills to offload. His phone buzzed against his leg. An unknown number had sent him a link, preceded by the words: check this out. Derek automatically categorized it as spam but noticed these words hyphenated together at the end of the link. Rockland woman decapitated uncensored. Don't do this, he thought to himself even as he tapped the link.

It opened a scammy-looking website covered with jumping ad banners and a video player in the middle. In the freeze frame beneath the opaque play button, he recognized the aerial view of his childhood home, surrounded by yellow tape and emergency vehicles. The play button covered the shot's focal point. He didn't stop to question who sent him the video of the crime scene or whether it was wise to watch it. He just clicked play.

The drone started at the end of the gravel road he grew up on. He recognized the intersection immediately from the dead, Y-shaped tree that stood in the northwest ditch. Police and medical vehicles, local, county, County, State, were parked along the road, pointed in various directions. Uniformed men and women swarmed all over the yard, some going in or out of the house, all wearing bright blue gloves. A state trooper noticed the drone and pointed. Then everyone started waving it away.

But the drone continued. A deputy saw it coming and ran to warn a group of men wearing dress shirts instead of uniforms. They were all standing around something on the ground, and before they heeded the deputy's warning and hid the object with their bodies, the drone caught a few clear frames. Derek saw his. Mother's bathrobe, the same she'd worn for a decade at least, soaked with blood.

Though it was hard to tell from the angle and video quality, his mother, presumably, was still wearing it. But where her head should have been was only a pool of black in the grass, and a few feet away, between two Two of the plainclothed cops lay her head. Her white hair turned pink near her scalp and black near the ends. The most regret Derek felt from watching this video came from the surprisingly clear expression.

He saw in his mother's twisted face when the drone operator zoomed in. Her eyes were both wide open, rolled back. Her jaw jutted to one side, pried open by the swollen mass of her tongue. An officer suddenly entered the frame holding something Derek couldn't make out until an orange stream covered the camera lens. Pepper spray. Blinded, the drone pulled away and the footage ended. A second text had appeared beneath the link when he closed the window. Tell me where you really are this time.

How did you get my number? Derek texted back. I found it in your mother's handy little address book. I hope you don't mind if I hold on to it. It's full of useful information, replied T C Hugs ninety two. Why kill them? texted Derek. Standing, pacing now. When he passed the duffel bag, he gave it a hard kick. It rattled like a chorus of maracas.

How dare you be upset after putting so many families through the same grief? TC Hugs 92 replied, followed by, people like you took my whole family from me. What the hell are you talking about, man? Derek typed back. Man? An almost instant response said. A photo followed, a selfie appearing to have been taken inside a vehicle. The selfie taker moved.

Moved or dropped her phone just as the photo was taken, causing her face to blur. Yes, her face. TC Hugs92, if actually the person in the photo, appeared to be a middle-aged woman, though it was hard to be. The motion had stretched the woman's eyes vertically, making them appear gleefully menacing. And, likely because her eyes had been focused on the camera as she moved her head, her pupils were captured in perfect focus, the only clear part of The image.

Derek copied the picture into Google Reverse Image Search to see if it yielded any results that would prove the texter stole the image from the internet, maybe from a creepypasta thread or even someone's friend talk profile. But the image yielded no results. I'm gonna give that to the police, Derek replied. TC Hugs92 responded, Can we skip this part? We both know you won't because you're also guilty. Three more texts in a row, all in capital letters. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.

Derek shoved his phone under a pillow and opened his laptop to read the article about his parents' murder. He heard his phone buzzing faintly behind him, but ignored it until he finished reading and spent half an hour alternating between sobbing and beating the duffel bag. Yeah. When he finally retrieved his phone, he saw too many messages to recount.

Two consecutive texts summed up the sentiment of all of them. First, tonight, destroy every pill you have in front of me. Second, I know it will ruin you. It will make you join me in hell on earth. Derek typed, no way, then deleted it. Who was he kidding? Like she'd known he wouldn't turn her into the police, T C Hugs 92 knew he would obey her.

Her barrage of unanswered texts contained copious references to his mother's address book and mentions of his extended family members by name. She had their phone numbers, emails, and, most disquieting, their physical addresses. She knew where to find his grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, family friends basically anyone to whom his mother would have sent a Christmas card. Whom? Now that word was stuck in his head.

Where do I meet you? he asked. He prayed Austin's car was still parked behind the warehouses. She replied, 7 p.m., 4719 Howard Drive. Not my address. Do not send police. Any sign of police, someone dies. Loud and clear, Derek replied. A fit of despair took over him, and despite the bed's many stains he curled up on it and lost himself to his emotions.

At one point he felt he might spontaneously fall asleep and set an alarm for six thirty. Enough time to walk to the car and drive to forty seven nineteen Howard Drive, which, according to his phone, was some sort of manufacturing facility.

His prediction came true, and he woke to his alarm at 6:30. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, adjusting to the darkness he found himself in. A little light from the parking lot found him through the single sheer curtain, tracing the room in blue white outlines. He looked at his phone, feeling a now familiar anxiety. But he saw no new text. Searching for his shoes, he headed toward the door. He thought about what he'd do if Austin's car wasn't where he'd left it.

Walk, he supposed. According to his phone, it would take thirty two minutes to walk to the address from the motel. He could shave a few minutes off by jogging. The concept of crossing this unknown town with a duffel bag full of pharmaceuticals scared him as much as the psycho he needed to bring them to, though. Shoes on, hand on the doorknob, he saw headlights flash into the parking lot through the curtain.

He stepped to the side of the window where he could peer past the curtain without disturbing it at the moment a second vehicle turned into the lot. Oath marked police. Derrick swore under his breath. He crumpled the duffel bag as small as it would go and shoved it into a dresser drawer before returning to the window to watch the officer's movements.

The first got out of her car and hustled to the office, while the second stayed put, keeping watch with his headlights pointed directly at Derek's door. Derek was trapped. It took more effort than he expected, almost too much, to move the dresser.

But he managed to slide it against the door. He peeked again. Whoever was at the front desk must have sold him out. He'd used a fake name, but the cops probably showed his picture, and now both officers were swaggering to his door with a man he didn't know in tow. He slid over the dresser, intentionally falling between it and the wall. Police, open up, the first officer commanded. Derek stayed low and quiet.

She knocked again. Derek Hodge, we know you're in there. Open up. Think he's home? The second officer asked. Derek saw his shadow move across the room. Should be. We have his car, the first officer said. Derek's hopes sank. He reached for his phone to check the time. His pocket was empty. He'd left his phone on the bed. He prayed the cops wouldn't be able to see it through the curtain. It was conceivable he would have. left without his wanted car, but not his phone.

The first officer spoke again. Mr. Hodge, we just want to sort out what's going on, okay? If you can help us, it'll go a long way. Got the key? The second officer asked. A new voice, one thin and gruff like the man who'd followed them, said, Yeah, I got it. But do you guys got a warrant?

We're working on it, the first officer replied. No warrant? asked the new voice. Well, I don't want any problems, so I'll unlock the door, but if you want to go in there and tear the place apart, I'm gonna need to see that warrant first. Sure, said the second officer. Every time you guys search one of my rooms, you make a pretty big mess, you know that? said the voice Derek now presumed to be the motel's owner. Neither officer replied. Derek heard a key enter the lock and turn.

The doorknob turned. But thanks to the heavy dresser, the door didn't budge. Must have put his own lock on it, said the owner. Hate to say it, but we'll have to break it down then, said the first officer. Not without a warrant, you won't, said the Said the owner. Derek knew he was only sticking up for his property, but felt grateful nonetheless.

Okay, said the first officer. I'll bring it back in a bit. You good to sit and keep an eye on this? The second officer said. Yep, just freshened up my coffee. Great, said the first. I'll be back. Derek heard the first officer drive off. He could still see the second's blurry shadow stretched across his room.

For over half an hour he lay behind the dresser waiting for the officer to move away from the window, listening to his phone buzzing on the bed, hopefully softly enough to keep from the officer's ears. A few minutes later his phone went silent. TC Hugs ninety two must have decided he wasn't coming. Derek's fists couldn't tighten far enough. While he hid, it dawned on him.

How had she selected a location so close to him? He hadn't told her where he was, and nothing in the address book could have given a hint. He didn't know anyone in this town. How had he not questioned this sooner? Stress? Grief? Terror? Certainly all could have played some role in his blindness. He couldn't see a clock, but after what he guessed was another twenty to thirty minutes, he heard the officer outside say into his radio, ninety-two to sixty four.

Go ahead, ninety two. The voice of the officer who had left replied. Got an ETA on the warrant, the officer asked. A moment later he received Negative. Still waiting on the judge. He said. Copy that. I need to step away for a minute. Anybody nearby? After many seconds of silence, a different voice on the radio said. Yeah. Probably needing to pee, Derek thought. The officer finally moved away from the window. His shadow disappeared.

Derek crawled out from behind the dresser, then to his bed to grab his phone before sneaking to the window and cautiously peering outside. He saw the back of the officer entering the office. Without looking at any of the messages he'd received, he yanked the dresser away.

Away from the door, snatched the duffel bag out of the drawer, and slipped through the door, squinting at the headlights of the parked police car across the lot. He assumed a dash cam was recording his escape, but that concern barely registered in the moment. He couldn't get the picture T.

Hugs 92 sent him out of his head. Only, in his forced imagination, her blurred face moved, laughing at him with those gleeful, stretched eyes. He set his sights on the gas station across the street, but then looked beyond. Beyond it. Across an empty patch of grass, he saw a dark train yard. That's where he ran, his duffel rattling loudly on his back. He spent the rest of that night huddled in a boxcar. He scrolled through TC Hug's 92's messages, mapping her escalation from anger to vitriol.

She autopsied his failure to show up, identifying what it said about his character, his intellect, the size of certain body parts. She came unhinged. Frankly, Derek expected to see more threats, not indignant jibes, but He texted her explaining what happened with no apology. T C Hugs92 did not reply. As Derek accidentally drifted off to sleep, she stayed awake, preparing a reply that would make him drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness.

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Amen. Derek's Aunt Belinda lived with her wife Jules in a trailer park by the river. He used to call her in high school when he got into situations he didn't want his parents to know about. Once, he and a group of friends, including Rocky, rolled his car onto its side in a ditch. Aunt Belinda showed up with her jeep to pull it out. She took him to the junkyard to find a new side view mirror and helped him install it while telling him stories of times she'd secretly wrecked.

The first and only time he'd been arrested, caught with a misdemeanor quantity of bad weed, he called Aunt Belinda. She paid his bail without question and never asked him to pay her back. He always meant to, but always put it off. She didn't exclusively help him cover mischievous activities, she helped in other ways, like giving him her uniquely qualified dating advice. As someone who not only dated women but was one.

Aunt Belinda shared insights he couldn't hear anywhere else. She instilled a respect and appreciation for women in him that his peers only claimed to possess when they talked to girls. She'd inadvertently made him one of the most popular boys at school his senior year, especially amongst the girls. She introduced him to bands he still listened to, showed him movies he was definitely too young to see but loved anyway, and that morning, when Derek woke in the cold train car.

While it was still dark outside, but the birds had begun to sing, his phone contained a photo of Aunt Belinda's severed head, her hair and eyes soaked with blood from a lumpy trench on the top of her skull. Derek dropped his phone, rocked forward, and heaved. He gagged, but nothing came out. Everything inside him felt empty, too tired and angry to cry. He crawled back to his phone.

Good morning, a new text read. A second photo popped into the chat. This one of his Aunt Jules. Whatever weapon TC Hugs92 split the top of Belinda's head with, she used a cross. Jules's face. The bottom of her nose hung like a strawberry over her curled lips. The weapon dislodged many of her teeth. one of her eyes totally obliterated, the other squeezed tightly in a permanent wince, forever frozen in the moment just before the end. I'll kill you, Derek replied, too furious to feel grief yet.

His screen suddenly changed. TC Hugs92 was calling him. He did not realize when he answered that she'd called him with FaceTime. A dark but familiar image appeared. He recognized his aunt's. Living room. He knew the couch, the kitchen behind it, the two headless bodies propped up, sitting on either side of it. A broad woman shuffled away from the phone, which must have been propped against his aunt's TV. She giggled like a pitched down child as she ducked behind the couch.

Derek barely paid any attention to her, though. The open necks of his aunts, their blood-soaked pajamas already turning black, made him question whether he'd really woken up or was trapped in a nightmare. His Aunt Belinda's head rocked forward from behind the couch, stopping a couple of inches off-center on the stump of her neck. T C Hugs spoke with a high, cooing voice, jerking his aunt's head like a puppet.

Oh, hello, sweet nephew. How's the drug dealing going? Murdered anybody yet today? He couldn't speak. Still in that high voice she growled, Answer me. Go to hell, he said. His aunt Jules's head rocked onto her neck almost perfectly. T C Hugs 92 used a slightly lower voice for her. Jules's mouth flapped, rattling grotesquely with too many moving parts. Derek didn't know what to say.

Let's try this. These words behind Aunt Melinda's shaking head, her open eye bobbling. Both heads vanished behind the couch with a violent jerk. They reappeared on opposite sides, hovering above their spouse's corpse. Derek's gorge rose even before his tormentor planted the heads on the wrong bodies, twisting them into place. There we go she cheered. He'll listen now, won't you, nephew? Unable to help staring into his aunt's sagging purple face, he said, I'm listening.

You'd better tell your friend Tammy where you are so she can come pick you up. She won't make the mistake of waiting for you next time. At least she found a way to pass the time. T C hugs ninety two, or Tammy, apparently, Lost her grip on Jules' slick hair. Jules' head tumbled off her chest, bounced off her knees, and fell out of picture. Tammy rose, letting Aunt Belinda's head fall between the bodies. Your name's Tammy, huh? said Derek. Tammy walked around the couch and picked up her phone.

Her heavy breathing tested its microphone. She left the room as if concerned his aunts might overhear her. You're in a train, she said. He felt the urge to point the phone away as the screen filled with one of her wild eyes. Instead, he held his phone closer to his chest to hide his background. Tammy held a finger to her lips, making an angry face as she listened. Not moving, she whispered. Her eyes narrowed and she said, Share your location with me. No, said Derek.

Share your location with me right now or I'll hang up and go kill someone else. Derek tried one more time to get the upper hand. If I share it with you, I'll be gone by the time you get here. And I know where you are. You're over two hours away from me. I've got your face, and now I've got your name. And I Tammy reached into her purse, which she'd actually hung on his aunt's coat rack like a guest. Behind it, Derek could see the broken in front door.

Tammy showed him his mother's address book. And I've got your family, stupid. So how about you sit tight until I come take you somewhere to get rid of your nasty pills once and for all? And you'll stop? Derek asked, beginning to realize defeat. Tammy said. If you're a good boy and do exactly what I tell you, starting with sharing your My location, yeah, Derek finished. He tapped his screen a screen a few times there. Thank you. Tammy replied.

Her greedy eyes lit up. She raised her phone closer to her face as her grin widened. Ha! Traineard. I knew it. Now you stay there until I come find you, got it? If you disappear on me, more heads will roll. Derek considered for a moment before saying, Fine, I'll watch for you. Just look out for cops. You see one near the rail yard, you do not stop here. Got it? Just text me and I'll meet you somewhere nearby. Yeah, yeah, you know.

No, I'm not the idiot who ruined my whole family's lives, Tammy said. Derek repeated. I'll watch for you, and hung up, before a wave of delayed sorrow knocked him over.

The floor of the boxcar was so cold. A deep blue Chevy Silverado rusted around its fenders, slowed on the road between the rail yard and motel just under three hours later. Knowing the police were likely sitting in the motel parking lot watching, Derek texted Tammy to come around

The other side of the rail yard. It took her ten minutes to circle around. Derek slid out of the boxcar and rolled under it, then wove between cars until he reached Tammy's truck. She signaled him to get in, but stopped him halfway. Way up. That the stuff? she asked, pointing to his bag. Yeah, he replied sarcastically. It goes in the back, she said. Derek asked. In the bed? Yep, said Tammy.

When he still hesitated, she rolled her eyes. I'll keep an eye on it in the mirror, she called after him while he tossed the duffel into the bed, which otherwise contained only a mounted tool chest. Not sure why you care, though. You know we're on our way to the door. destroy that garbage, don't ya? Yeah, yeah, he said, climbing into the cab. That wasn't his plan. He would watch for his first chance to subdue Tammy, steal back the duffel and address book, and run.

Tammy started driving. Looks less suspicious if we get pulled over anyway. Oh, where's your computer? Derek said. In my bag, back there. I uh probably should have taken it out. Wait, how do you know I have a computer? Same way I know what's carved into the screen, Tammy said. Derek felt a sensation like a fish hook catching the back of his neck and recoiled. Tammy laughed. It used to

To be mine, that old thing. Then it was Wayne Ferret's. You know about Wayne Ferret? Derek shook his head. Tammy said, He's a fella who got murdered a few towns over about three years ago. Somebody took off his Head. She winked and giggled. Then that computer belonged to Kira Hansen. You know about Kira Hansen? Guessing somebody chopped her head off, Derek replied. Tammy laughed harder than ever. She He was just a baby when friend talk was popular.

Then it became mine, Derek asked. Ding ding, said Tammy. And you're Who. I'm glad it's you, because I gotta say, to be honest, Kira left me feeling a bit sad. She was just so young. You're young too, but oh I hate you. I hate you so much. I hate your guts and everything about you. That's true what I said about my family and drugs. People like you, ooh, I just hate you.

But you're not going to chop my head off, right? I just have to get rid of the pills? Derek asked. Tammy froze. She gave him an awkward smile, looking at him instead of the road for a dangerous amount of time. She finally turned back, saying, No, no, of course not. Derek, unsure of which of his questions she was answering, pretended to check on the duffel through the rear window.

Tammy said, I always knew whoever got the laptop next would end up on Friend Talk. Wayne, Kira, they did the same thing as you. Saw the carving and just had to check it out. She gave a tittering laugh. I left posts for For Wayne to find. I said somebody stole my laptop to sell it, and it had friend talk carved into the screen because I loved it so much. Wayne couldn't travel because of some surgery, so I offered to come get it from him and she tittered again. I gave him a little surgery.

Of my own. Don't know why I did it, really. Just had to scratch a niche, I guess. Derek remained silent, staring straight ahead. And Kira? Oh, she was so much easier. That's part of why I feel so bad. But I'm not worried,'cause I'm gonna write the scales with you today, yes I am. They didn't drive much further before Tammy said, Perfect, and drove off the shoulder. Derek fumbled for grip as the truck tried to toss him, his seatbelt automatically tightened to hold him down. They finally stopped.

On Derek's side, A dry cornfield. On Tammy's, a single set of train tracks. In front of them, thick woods that ran along both sides of the tracks. Come on, bring your bag, Tammy cheerfully commanded as she kicked open her door. Where are we going? asked Derek. She ignored him. He got out anyway. She was rooting in the tool chest when he went to the back for his duffel. She pulled out a battery powered circular saw, spattered with dried blood.

Charged this baby up at your aunt's last night, Tammy said in the same cheery tone. And boy, I tell you it was just about dead. Barely got the job done, if you know what I mean. I get it, Derek grumbled, hoisting his bag out of the pickup bag. Head and slinging it over his shoulder. He made no expression to give away his inner rage or show how much she tormented him.

We're going for a bit of a walk, said Tammy. Truth be told, I've never been here before. Seeing you in that train car gave me this idea. She chuckled and snorted, shrugging at him like, Can you believe it? Derek, feeling no autonomy, carrying the weight of his own dead will, said, Lead the way.

Tree roots knotted the ground right up to the gravel beside the tracks, making their walk treacherous. In places they couldn't proceed without stepping onto the tracks. Not long into their journey, a train whistle called through the trees. Small bits of gravel shifted as the tracks began to hum. The unkempt woods prevented.

Prevented them from sinking more than a couple of feet deep. While the freight train passed, Derek felt warm air blowing him back and trying to suck him under its wheels at the same time. The gaps between its cars flashed like a strobe light. Derek had always He'd always heard trains from inside the safety of his car and from at least five times his current distance. He'd no idea how loud their screeching wheels actually sounded.

He'd never felt how they made the ground rumble. So many moving parts, all with the ability to kill him in an instant if he got too close. No warnings, no second chances. Instant evisceration. by a soulless beast that would chug on without a care.

When the train finally passed, he felt cold and sort of feverish. He felt like part of his brain had turned into a balloon swollen with emptiness, incapable of processing what he felt. It was like his mind finally accepted his predicament and abandoned him with nothing. Nothing but the ability to follow Tammy further along the tracks.

Every now and then he would ask Tammy again if she planned to kill him. Eventually, she stopped answering, only tisked and shook her head before saying something like: We'll be done soon. When she finally told him to stop in a spot no different than any other, he felt no relief whatsoever. His hollowed out, obedient mind prompted him to ask, What do you want me to do?

Thanks for asking, she said. Though sweaty and smeared with dirt from wiping said sweat away from her eyes, she never let go of her cheerful demeanor. I want you to open up that bag, Derek. Open it up and take a look at those pills you've been carrying. Really, take them in, okay?

I know you know how much money they're worth, but I want you to look at them and imagine each one of them is a life you're going to ruin. He set the duffel bag on the gravel and found two places for his knees soft enough to support his weight. He opened the bag. And started taking pill bottles out while Tammy continued. Now think about how each of the lives you hold in your hands is linked to so many others. Think about your mother's address book, how many people you're scared for because I have

Have it. Each of those pills represents another address book full of people they'll impact. Do you get it, Derek? Does it make sense, or do I need to keep explaining? I get it, but no butts! Tammy shouted, flashing momentary anger before collecting her hands and And rage at her heart. Derek said, I get it, and left it at that. Now, said Tammy. One at a time.

open those bottles and place each pill along the rail. All in a row. Each and every pill. Better hurry, because another train could come any minute now. Derek said, Look, if you want me to destroy the pills, I could just put the bottles Tammy bent over to scream directly in his face. Each and every pill, you moron. I want you to hold them in your fingers. I want you to feel just how many lives you would have affected if I didn't stop you. Using a friendly place like friend

Talk no less, a place built for friendship. Disgusting. When the train comes, you'll watch them all get destroyed. You would have been that train, Derek. Maybe you don't see it yet, but I'm saving you from so much pain. Derek crawled with a bottle of Xanax to the nearest rail. He cupped his hand on the still warm metal and poured the pills out. Tammy stepped behind him. I'll take that. Can't have you littering while I'm turning your life around, can I?

He gave her the empty bottle. He tried shaping the pills into a line with the edges of his hand, but too many slipped off the rail, forcing him to line them up one by one. That single bottle took him nearly three minutes to line up, and he had dozens. Yeah. He developed a productive rhythm that dug him to the bottom of the duffel bag. Now only three bottles remained, and he'd built a 30 foot line of pills along the rail. Twenty grand, ready to be crushed in a fraction of a second.

The whole time Tammy sporadically commented on the beauty of their surroundings. She played so childishly innocent that Derek had to keep reminding himself she'd murdered his parents and aunts with the very circular saw she kept waving around. He'd just opened the second to last pill bottle when a train whistled through the trees.

When the tracks started to vibrate, some of his neat pills shook into the gravel. He hurried to empty the bottle. When he finished, he heard the train again. This time it sounded mean. He picked up the last bottle and tried to stand, to retreat. Two teeth of Tammy's circular saw bit into his back. He dropped back to his knees in surprise, looking back at her to yell, What the hell? I'll finish after the train passes. No?

No, you'll finish now, she stated. I want to see them all destroyed at once. I'm gonna get hit, Derek argued. He could see the train now, moving as fast as the last one. Tammy's eyebrows bounced upward as she dismissively flicked her wrist. Unscrewing the safety cap, Derek muttered.

You're sick. Tammy revved the saw. It sounded surprisingly quiet against the oncoming train. Derek dumped at least fifty oxies into his other palm and began herding them onto the middle of the trembling rail. More pills down the line slipped. Slid off.

It's impossible he shouted. Tammy struck his lower neck with the buzzing saw, releasing its thumb switch a hair's breadth from his shirt collar. The teeth still cut through, scraping his skin before he fell forward, his face striking the rail in the middle of his disorganized row of pills. At that moment, he understood. She wanted him to fail. She was, at her core, a killer. Maybe her self-perceived righteousness on this killing spree had inspired her to set up the

Impossible game, but her intention had always been to kill him. He knew that now. As he scrambled away from the tracks, he saw the glee in her eyes, her smile, as she brought the worrying saw down. The train shook the ground beneath them. Its burst of hot air knocked Tammy back a step. Derek rolled to the side, scraping his forearm on rocks. Tammy kicked him in the stomach.

Her thumb slipped off the safety switch but quickly found it again. She dove at his head, wielding the saw in both hands. The blade guard struck his forehead, cutting him and spilling blood into his eyes. Tammy fell onto him, pinning him to the ground and causing.

The vibrations to fill his guts. Stupid thing! she screamed inches from his ears, yet barely audible. He could not move beneath her crushing weight even as she rose to a seated position on his lower chest. Then he couldn't even breathe. She planted the blade guard on his sternum and started rolling the saw forward, drawing back the guard, exposing the spinning blade as it neared his throat.

Mustering as much air as he could, Derek drew in and spat over the saw, landing his bubbly slime just to the right of Tammy's nose. This was meant to be his final act of defiance against the self-righteous maniac. He did not expect her to record. So violently she lifted the saw enough to reset the guard. Her screams contained words he could not make out.

He grabbed at the dead saw in his chest while Tammy wiped away the spit under her eye. When she tried to rend it from his grasp, her hips shifted slightly, allowing him one big gasp, enough to send some power to his knees. He kicked them up, hammering. them into Tammy's lower back. She fell forward. Her palms landed in the rocks on both sides of his head. The saw landed somewhere Derek couldn't see. He extended his left leg, his strongest, then jerked it up again.

Tammy caught herself, but not before some blurred part of the train caught her flopping ponytail. Most of her hair tore out or broke instantly. What little clung to her head yanked her forward. She may have still prevented her fate. If not for a second kick from both of Derek's legs. She did not scream. She hadn't the time. Her warm blood sprayed over Derek's entire body as he rolled away from the tracks. He threw his hands over his head and lay face down until the train finally passed, unaware.

of the life it had just swallowed and spat back out. He lay that way as the ground stilled and the rumbling faded. Remained still until the train issued a final, distant whistle. He lowered his hands from his head. One fell limp to the ground, lifeless in front of him. With a low gasp, he shot up and rubbed his hands over one another, for some reason also rubbing them on his chest. Both hands. Still attached. His view widened from the severed hand and the grasp.

to include other body parts severed at various points from the pulpy torso still lying beside the train tracks. Not that he tried too hard, but he could not find Tammy's head. The twisted and soaked pages of his mother's address book protruded from Tammy's exposed innards. He ignored the impulse to take it back from her as he began the long teleportation back to the road.

When he arrived back at Tammy's truck, he wasn't alone. A farmer sitting on the back of a red Ford F-250 at the edge of the cornfield, talking on the phone, waved to him excitedly when he emerged from the trees. Hey, this your truck? The farmer called to him. Derek shook his head. Know whose it is? asked the farmer. Derek nodded.

Into the phone, the farmer said. There's a bloodied up kid here who says he knows who it belongs to. No, kid is in he's probably twenty something, young guy. Then to Derek he shouted, Hey, rest there a minute, okay? Police are on their way. A weak impulse attempted to shock Derrick into action. But action to what end? What was left for him to do? Where was left for him to go? So he did as the farmer suggested. He sat, he rested, he waited.

Roughly 45 miles away, a train slowed to a crawl in preparation to round an aging bend. A quarter mile behind the engine, a boxcar crawled through a lowered crossing. A mother leaned forward, squinting at something dangling above the car's wheels. Behind her in his booster seat, her son screamed.

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Follow me on Instagram at the Warning Woods to stay up to date. And when you feel ready, meet me here for another journey into the Warning Woods. Thank you for listening. Oh please, not that music. That music gives me nightmares from my childhood. Could we get something a little bit lighter? Some lighter music here. Are you a fan of true crime TV shows?

And what about Unsolved Mysteries, the show that jumpstarted all of our love of true crime? I'm Ellen Marsh. And I'm Joey Taranto. And we host I Think Not, a true crime. Comedy podcast covering some of the wildest stories from your favorite true crime campy TV shows all the way to unsolved mysteries. Baby. True crime in a whole new way and you'll also ask yourself New episodes of Not are released every Wednesday with bonus episodes out every Thursday on F. And every Monday.

Our True Crime Rundown, where we go over the top true crime headlines of the week. So come and join us wherever you listen to. There are vampires out there. Heading home, going. I have grown used to it. I am the first one. And that is a dangerous thing to do. Those who came before me, elders of all stripes, they do not want to see. Yeah. That hangs above our heads. Yeah. He will use it.

he sees fit. Who do you look to when things are at their darkest? From the creators of Parc Del Hunt comes way those you want. Season two arrived.