Beyond the Middle of Nowhere

I’m no stranger to rough travel. Having backpacked around much of the globe, I’m quite accustomed to reliance on even the sketchiest forms of public transport. So, finding myself sitting alone at a bus stop, outside of a dimly lit servo in Rockhampton City at 1am? That wasn’t at all outside of the realms of normal for me. There I sat, swatting away the incessant buzz of mosquitos, waiting on a Greyhound bus that may or may not even show up.

The journey so far had been hit and miss. After years spent exploring the wonders of Planet Earth, I thought it high time I get out and see a bit more of my own country. Beginning in old Sydney Town three weeks prior, I had, mostly successfully, navigated much of the sights around Australia’s south east, relying on nothing more than my Greyhound Whimmit pass. There had been a somewhat sketchy night during which I ended up stranded in Moree at three in the morning after my bus failed to show up, but luckily enough, I stumbled my way across a little pub just closing its doors for the night. The kind owners happened to have a spare room they could offer me. Other than that, though, things had been pretty smooth.

Admittedly from then on, I did opt for the more populated coastal routes. The journey ahead would be my first venture back into the inland stretches of the country, where the bright, bubbly lights of civilisation did not reach. Australia is crazy like that. You can be in the midst of vibrant, inner-city life one moment, then in the middle of nowhere within a few minutes. Not that this desolate bus stop was much livelier. As a flickering street light nearby threatened to blink out any minute, I heard dull footsteps approaching. A fellow traveller, finally!

A voice boomed from the shadows, “How ya goin’ mate?” A bleary eyed man about my age stepped into view.

“G’day mate how ya goin?” I replied.

And that was that. A common exchange among Australians. The question need only be asked, never answered.

We continued to sit there in the silence of the night, making random small talk back and forth. Where ya from, where ya headed, the usual stuff. My travelling companion’s name was Andrew, and he was headed back home after a four week stint at a local rendering plant. Of course. Rockhampton is the beef capital of Australia. It’s not the most exciting place in the world. Or the country. Or even the state for that matter. I had been here merely for a stopover. An overnight rest between bus services on my way up the Queensland coast.

The conversation dragged on. Drifting between mild interest and awkwardness, until finally, an hour or so later, the squeak of heavy vehicle brakes a little ways down the road caught our attention. Squinting through the foggy night air, I could just make out the big red bus headed our way. Yep, there she was. The word “Cairns” glowing brightly above the windshield. I wasn’t headed that far north. I was only going as far as Proserpine, and from there hoping to hitch a ride out to Airlie Beach.

The Greyhound screeched to a halt, and the driver jumped out to toss Andrew’s bags into the luggage hold.

“Roadblocks up tonight fellas. Might run a bit over schedule,” said the driver.

“She’s all good mate,” replied Andrew. “Give us more time for a kip,” he said, laughing.

I could not relate. I could never sleep on buses, trains, planes, anywhere that I couldn’t get horizontal.

I was curious at the time, however, what these supposed roadblocks were about. He couldn’t have been referring to roadworks. Not at two in the morning. It wasn’t uncommon though for roadwork barriers to be left up on weekends or occasionally overnight if the road was in too poor a condition to drive on. So, at the time, I just put it down to that and climbed on board, finding myself a seat up the back. Moments later, I heard the clomping boots of my new acquaintance stamping his way up the aisle and sliding into the row opposite me.

“Gonna be a long one by the sounds of it mate,” said Andrew, gesturing to the driver, who was chatting to a muffled voice on the other end of the radio. We couldn’t make out much. Detours, delays, and some talk about an accident somewhere up north.

“That’d explain the roadblocks then,” I said to Andrew, who nodded in response.

“Must have been a bad one,” he replied. “Wouldn’t block off the Bruce for nothin’.”

“Truck rollover maybe…” I suggested, and Andrew nodded in agreement, before pulling out a travel pillow and turning away.

“Gonna try and get some sleep," he said, yawning “Night mate.”

“Yeah, night bud,” I nodded in return. And with that, I reclined my seat and gazed out the window as the bus pulled out of the small side street and began cruising down the highway.

Along this particular stretch of highway, and many other inland roads, I am not exaggerating when I say that there is literally nothing to see, even by day. Australia’s beauty is something of a double edged sword. Long stretches of absolute nothingness are beautiful in their sheer emptiness, but of course, on the flip side, they are just that. Empty nothingness. The road north from Rocky cuts inland, away from the gorgeous Queensland coastline, into one of those huge stretches of barren earth, interspersed with random patches of small forests. It’s actually kind of eerie going through there late at night. You can’t see much, and the scenery you can make out tends to twist and morph into something far more sinister than it really is.

Time dragged on by, minutes that genuinely felt like hours out there. I didn’t mind. These long drives between towns and cities were my chance to just zone out and relax. Bitumen, guideposts, white lines and patches of scrub all blurred into each other. I watched as we passed by small townships, so insignificant in size that you could easily blink and miss ‘em. Eventually, about an hour or so into the trip, I finally found myself starting to drift into a semi-sleepy state. I must have actually blinked out for a while, because when I awoke to the sound of the driver responding to more mysterious voices on the radio, I looked outside to see the bright lights of a servo, where moments ago there had been nothing but trees. The bus swung a right into the service station, as the voice on the radio continued…

“Do not proceed” … “Detour West” … “Repeat” … “Do not proceed” … “Detour…”

Okay, I thought, we’re detouring west then. I raised my seat back up, rubbed my eyes and stretched. I noticed we were passing by Marlborough, as indicated by the road signs outside. The bus came to a halt right outside the servo, and everyone filed out to grab a quick snack or a drink, while the driver continued communicating with, I assumed, emergency services via the radio. There was some more talk about the highway still being closed, but I couldn’t make out much more than that.

As I was making my way off the bus, I noticed Andrew was still snoozing. I considered waking him up and letting him know we were stopped for a meal break, but I recalled him mentioning he wanted to get some sleep, so I decided against it. I made my way inside, grabbing a hot sausage roll and a Dare iced coffee, and proceeding to the cafe counter to pay. The guy at the cafe was a little weird.

“How’s ya night going mate?” I asked. No reply.

“Get many customers through the nights here or…?” No reply.

Okay… so the bloke’s not much of a talker. Whatever, I thought.

“$9.50” he suddenly spoke up. “You travelling on the Greyhound tonight?”

“Ah… yeah. Yes I am,” I said, handing him over a $10 note, which he grabbed a hold of while maintaining that weird blank stare straight ahead, or more like straight through me. He opened the cash register, placing the note inside and grabbing for a 50 cent coin.

“It’s all good mate… keep the change,” I said, before turning to walk out.

“There’s been an accident up ahead on the Bruce,” the guy called after me.

“Yeah we heard,” I said back. “Any idea what happened?”

The guy just kept staring, wordlessly. After a few moments, this got more than a little awkward, so I once again turned to leave.

“We’ve got a few rooms available out the back, if you wanted to book in for the night.,” he said, catching me off guard.

“Ah… yeah nah, I’m good mate. Thanks anyway.” And that was that. I walked out, as he continued to stare after me. Even once I was out the door and making my way back to the bus, I looked back to see his piercing eyes gazing through the glass toward me. Freaking weirdo, I thought to myself, but ultimately shrugged it off, thinking that anyone stuck working the graveyard in a desolate servo in the middle of nowhere probably would be acting a little strange.

Munching into my delicious sausage roll, I sleepily crawled my way back on board the bus, making my way to my seat. Andrew was awake by this stage, and as the last of our fellow passengers climbed back aboard, and the bus began to pull away, we struck up conversation once again.

“Where ‘bouts are we?” asked Andrew.

“Passing by Marlborough,” I replied, taking a sip of my coffee. “Highway’s still closed so, apparently we’re detouring.”

“Right…” Andrew said vaguely. Staring out the window. He looked as though he didn’t particularly like that idea.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Does it take a while to go that way?”

“Lot longer,” he again, quite vaguely, responded. “Bout the last place ya wanna be this time of night too…”

I didn’t quite understand what he was on about, so I just chuckled in reply, assuming he was joking about the infinite expanse of empty landscape around us. He didn’t join in with the laughter though, instead just staring straight ahead, a blank expression much like the guy in the servo. A troubling mix of fear and concern.

Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock…

The sound of the bus’s blinkers echoed through the cabin, as we swung a left onto a very worn looking highway, the faded, dull bitumen illuminated under the moonlight.

“Me old man was a trucker back in the day. We’d sometimes come past here and he’d point out to those mountains, tell me stories,” Andrew spoke up again.

“Yeah? What about it?” I asked.

Andrew turned to me. “It’s just a shit place to be at night. If ya can help it. Lotta stories about this road called ‘The Marlborough Stretch,’ Or the ‘horror stretch.’ Name don’t come from nothin’ mate.”

I stared out the window, watching as the random patches of trees began to increase in repetition, gradually thickening around us. The tall forms of the pines and gums lined both sides of this road now as the bus chugged along down the narrow road, which transitioned from bitumen to dirt sporadically. I watched those tree lines with a creeping sense of unease. When you’re travelling through the Australian outback you are, of course, acutely aware that all manner of bush animals and dangerous wildlife exist out there, just beyond the illusion of safety that is the edge of the highway, but it’s never more than a passing thought. This on the other hand, felt different. It was as though any supposed sense of safety began frittering away the minute we turned onto this road.

“The Marlborough Stretch hey?” I said. “That does ring a bell. I remember reading an article about it somewhere. Murders during the 70s and 80s, something like that.”

“Missing persons cases too,” Andrew interrupted. “Lots of ‘em. You don’t drive this road at night. You just… don’t. My Dad always said that anyway. Similar thing happened when he took me on a job down Brizzy way. Was told to detour but he refused. Parked up on the side of the road and slept it out ’til the Bruce opened back up.”

I noticed his leg was bouncing up and down, something I occasionally did myself when anxiety was creeping in. This made me feel uneasy. Not necessarily because I thought anything was genuinely wrong, more so because I was in close proximity of someone who believed that something was very wrong. People can become… unpredictable… in those situations.

I settled back in my seat, turning away from Andrew and watching out the window. Bumpity-Bumpity-Bump we went, the bus shaking slightly as it traversed down the clearly neglected highway of yesteryear.

“You got mobile service?” Andrew asked me abruptly. I pulled out my phone, and seeing no bars, shook my head a negative. “How ‘bout you?” I asked.

“Nah mate, nothin’,” He replied.

Just then, a baby began to cry from up the front of the bus, startling me, but not as much as what came next…

“KEEP THE KID QUIET!” barked the driver.

“Jesus Christ!” I said out loud. “It’s just a baby mate, calm down, she can’t help when it’s gonna cry…”

“Yeah ease up mate!” shouted Andrew from beside me, backing me up.

“You wanna be stuck out here if this bus crashes?!” the driver spat back. “I need to focus on the road!” 

Shit was getting bizarre. What a weird over reaction to a baby doing what babies do. What was weirder was that each time this bloke lost control of his temper, his foot seemed to press heavier on the pedal, the bus getting faster and faster as it hurtled down the road. Through the darkness. Through the tunnel of trees.

The mother tried desperately to calm the infant, but to no avail, the screams only got louder, and as they did so, the bus continued to speed up, and the driver continued screaming at the poor young mother, his voice twisting into sheer malice, spewing profanities toward her.

Andrew and I stood up from our seats. This bus was flying down the highway going at least 150 Ks an hour by now, and we both knew something was very wrong in this driver’s head, to the point someone needed to take control of that wheel before we crashed.

Too late.

BANG

…

Metal.

The scent of metal.

The taste of metal.

The sensation of metal… slicing into my collarbone.

Those were my first memories upon waking.

It’s not like in the movies, you know? There was no screaming. I physically and mentally couldn’t.

All I could do was slowly and calmly slide the sharp piece of broken seat frame out of my body and silently drag myself out of the crumpled wreck. I could see out the cracked and broken windows that the bus was on its side, lurched over an embankment. It wouldn’t be until much later that the sheer horror of the shredded corpses would hit me, their mangled forms mimicking the vessel which contained them. It is imagery which I still struggle to process, and I will not further impart that burden onto your own mind. In the moment, however, there was no time to even register it. I dragged my own battered body up and out of the doorway, before rolling onto the ground.

I staggered to my feet, getting a good look at my surroundings.

An endless road in both directions.

And trees. Everywhere. All around me.

Something howled from within that tree line, and a chorus of howls joined it. I knew that only one thing out there did that. Dingoes. And not all that far away either.

I knew I had to make a choice. I could stay with the bus, try to hide it out, or I could pick a direction and start walking. Dingoes, much like wolves, are pack hunters. On the one hand, if they surrounded me out in the open, I was done. On the other hand, if I stayed at the wreck, there was a better than even chance they were already being drawn to the noise and the smell of the fresh blood.

I still don’t know if the decision I made was the right one, but it was the best one I could possibly make in that moment. Without a second thought, I began to walk.

Every step was agony as I limped my battered body down that dark road, the rough blades of long grass clawing at my shins as I went. One step at a time, as the taunting howls of no doubt more and more dingoes continued to echo out from within the trees. Every so often I would hear a scatter of paws. Not far away at all, I thought to myself. A passing thought which should have sent dread rushing through me, but in the moment registered as little more than annoyance. I had to keep moving.

I don’t know how long I was walking, how far down that seemingly endless road I was, when I began to hear a different sound.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The noise emanated from over the other side of the highway, and was accompanied by a soft crunch and slosh, as though something was moving quickly through leaves and mud.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Getting closer now.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

And before I could entertain any thoughts of running or hiding, something exploded out of the tree line.

Six of them in fact. Massive kangaroos. At least 5 feet in height. Their eyes were glowing white, the moonlight reflecting off them as they stood there. And yeah, I do mean they just… stood there, staring at me. For many long minutes we stood frozen, locked in that standoff. I backed up, afraid that they might approach, knowing full well that kangaroos can be deadly if they choose to attack.

And then… In unison… They simply walked off.

Notice I didn’t say hopped. No, they walked off into the trees. Single file. One foot in front of the other. Walking, just as a bipedal humanoid being would.

For a few moments I stood dumbfounded. My mind not able to process what I had just seen. Kangaroos don’t walk! They hop! Sometimes they kinda crawl/drag themselves. But they DO. NOT. WALK. Before I could ponder this another second though, I near on jumped out of my skin at the sensation of a hand on my shoulder!

“Mate!” The familiar voice of Andrew came as a shock, but by God a welcome one.

“Jesus mate! I didn’t know anyone else made it out of there!” I exclaimed.

“Same here!” Andrew replied. “I tried to raise ya when I came to, but when ya weren’t moving, well I assumed the worst.”

Another series of howls from the tree line interrupted our exchange, and we opted to keep moving down the road.

“I’m not sure how far we are away from anything, but probably best we keep moving. Stay in one spot and we’re an easier target. Dingoes generally keep away from the highway so… We might be safe if we keep to the road.” Andrew said.

“Yeah, agreed.” I replied. “If they even are dingoes…” I trailed off.

“What are you talkin’ about?” asked Andrew, confused.

“Ah… Did you not see those kangaroos? You were right behind me, you must have seen what happened!” I exclaimed.

“Oh… the roos. Yeah, they can get a bit weird out here…” said Andrew.

I found this an odd response. That was not just weird. It was… uncanny. It was impossible. Andrew just kind of passed it off as though it was nothing.

“Did anyone else make it?” I asked him as we walked,“and where were you anyway? I didn’t see you at the bus when I left…”

The soft shuffling of our footsteps was all I heard in response.

“Andrew?”

He abruptly replied, “Yes?”

“I said did anyone else make it?” I eyed him questioningly as I said this, but he just stared straight ahead, his face turning blank. He looked pale, as though this troubled him deeply.

“Oh… yeah. A few people,” he finally responded.

“Well, where are they?” I asked, turning back to face the road. Andrew was struggling to keep up, it seemed. But I wasn’t slowing down. Not with those things out there in the trees.

“They went their own way,” he said, again a blunt tone in his voice. I didn’t know if he was just in shock or if he genuinely didn’t care, but that rubbed me the wrong way. Thinking back to all those poor people on that bus. That mother. Her helpless little baby.

“What the hell? What are you talking about? Did anyone make it out or not? You’re telling me you saw that they were okay and then just… What? Waved goodbye?”

“It is not my place to question their will.”

I stopped in my tracks. That… was not Andrew’s voice.

I spun around to look at him and…

That… was NOT Andrew’s face!

The face I was looking at was almost a blank slate, if not for the emotionless, minimal features in the centre of it. Something pale was standing there looking at me. Where Andrew had just been moments ago!

I backed up, tripping over my own feet and falling backward to the ground.

But it did not approach. It just… stood there. Staring.

Slowly, its face turned, its gaze drifting down toward where I lay helplessly in the middle of the highway. I began to scoot back, wanting only to get the hell away from whatever this abomination was which had seemingly replaced Andrew instantaneously.

I continued to drag myself backwards, off the road, into the grass. Again, slowly, its gaze shifted. Away from me this time, toward the trees on the opposite side of the road. Toward a sound I had not registered until then. Growling.

I could then see it clearly. Snouts, and accompanying bared teeth, appearing from the tree line across the highway. A pack of them, just as I had thought. Four… Five… Six… Seven. Too many to fight off. Way too many. I’d have to run, that was my best and only shot.

The pale thing which still stood in the middle of the road, which had until now showed no sign of emotion, suddenly began smiling, then grinning… Then laughing, as if taking pleasure in what was about to happen to me, and happy that it could be there to witness it.

I screamed at the thing! “What?! What the HELL do you want?!”

Its face went blank again. It turned its gaze to me, and ever so slowly lifted a finger to point at me. The air became dead still. Not a single sound pierced the silence of the night. And it was then that the dingoes stepped out from the trees.

Click… Click… Click…

The sickening sounds of twisting bones and ligaments accompanied the slow approach of the dingoes. Wild dogs indeed they were, dog-like in their movements, they were not.

Forearms outstretched. Hind legs straightened out.

Walking. Upright.

Click… Click… Click…

Their bones grinding against each other as they took stuttered, jerky steps out of the trees, their tongues hanging out, frothing at the mouth.

I turned and made haste for the tree line nearest to me, limping as fast as I possibly could.

Click… Click… Click…

I could hear them right behind me.

Click… Click… Click…

I moved quickly into the dark forest surrounding The MarlboroughStretch, not giving a second thought to what could be awaiting me inside, knowing only that these things were behind me, and I needed to be away from them.

Click… Click… Click…

The grinding of bones, the gnashing of teeth, seemingly surrounding me now, the beasts spreading out and encircling me. I continued limping, my already battered body copping ever more bashes, cuts and scrapes from the many trees, rocks and shrubs, for I could not see even two feet in front of me, save for the tiny slivers of moonlight cutting through the treetops.

And then… another sound. A yelp. Not the yelp of a creature in pursuit, the yelp of a creature in pain. I continued limping through the darkness, and suddenly another one! I quickly changed course, not knowing what these sounds meant, but wanting to put distance between me and whatever was causing them. A few moments later, another one! Then, right behind me, a squelching sound, followed by another pained cry.

Something was killing these… things.

I broke into an outright run. I pushed any physical pain to the depths of my subconscious, and I began to sprint through the forest. Branches and shrubs whipped at me as I went. Tall, coarse grass ripped the flesh from around my ankles, spiked plants tore into my arms, but I kept running, picking up speed, not wanting for a single second to slow down, when out of nowhere…

BAM!

I ran head first into… Something? Something solid. Something metallic or at least resembling it. I fell backward, slamming into the hard forest floor.

Something massive was right there in front of me. It took me a moment to regain my composure enough to figure out why I was able to actually see it in the darkness, but then it hit me… It was lit up. Very dimly, but the thing was covered in strips of lighting. The lights were absolutely dazzling to look at. Swishing and swirling in patterns unfathomable to my brain. And as I stared, it began to lift. Slowly, but powerfully. With a giant whoosh, this thing lifted up, further and further. It did not break the trees that surrounded it, despite it being situated amongst them, they simply bent further and further, seemingly warping around its massive form. As it continued to rise, the more transparent it became. By the time it reached the tips of the trees, it was practically invisible, save only for a faint outline, and the stream of barely discernible light that trailed after it, as it shot off into the sky.

I knew what I had just seen. Of course I knew.

I would have little time to sit in awe of the sight, however, as I looked back down to where it had been sitting moments ago.

Torches…

All around me… Lit torches. Stuck into the ground, and freshly ignited that very night, it would seem. I must not have been able to see them earlier for what had been sitting right in front of them.

All around, nestled in among the trees, were tents. Hundreds of them. Possibly even thousands, as I still could not see beyond where the lights were currently illuminating.

I pushed myself to my feet, ready to turn around and walk very slowly out of there, when I heard footsteps approaching. Three men wearing blue singlets were coming my way, two of them brandishing hunting knives, the other armed with a rifle.

“So you the reason they comin’ round here tonight…” said the man with the rifle.

“What? I just…” I stammered out.

“Ya ain’t ever heard them stories? Why ya don’t stay away?” said one of the men with the knives, wiping the fresh blood from his weapon as he spoke.

These men were… disgusting. I don’t just mean they were dirty, or the way they dressed, but their faces. They were clearly deformed. Birth defects… I pondered to myself and prayed my facial expressions did not reflect these thoughts.

“I… I’m sorry… my bus crashed! My… My bus crashed! People died! People are dead!” I frantically started rambling, shock obviously catching up with me.

The man lowered his rifle at this, a look of confusion, or perhaps even understanding coming across his twisted face. A moment later though, he lifted the rifle back up toward me.

Instinctively, I threw myself to the ground, as an almighty bang echoed through the trees! I covered my ears, obviously too late, now disorientated and confused. My ears hurt. My head hurt. I looked up, seeing the men walking toward me now. I braced… but they simply walked on past.

I staggered back to my feet, and turned around to face them… and to face what they were now standing next to.

It was huge. Its lanky, twisted form now lay lifeless on the forest floor, a gunshot wound clearly visible through what one might call a “head.” Whatever was trickling, or more like drifting out of the wound, however, was something I did not, and still do not recognise. I stood there, dumbstruck, staring at this massive thing. To say it was tall would be an understatement. This thing stretched over 12 feet, easily.

“I… I don’t understand…” I said.

“He was ‘bout ta get ya,” said one of the men, giggling to himself, as though my fear was amusing.

And that was enough for me. I reached out a shaky hand to say thank you, but the men took a defensive step back.

The one with the rifle stepped forward again.

“Now ya already know there’s scarier shit out here than us, but don’t get thinkin’ ya welcome back here. Don’t ya ever ever come back,” he said, before raising his rifle, and slamming me hard between the eyes.

…

The Doctors tell me it was 3 days. Induced coma. I was dropped outside the Townsville General Hospital at five in the morning and rushed into the intensive care unit after I was found by an off duty nurse. I was treated for my many injuries, and the Queensland Police had questions for me. Lots of people had questions for me. Nobody understood how I even got there, as the nurses who found me swear that no vehicle was seen. I was just… “dropped” there, almost 500km from where I had been. I have no idea. I can only go on second and third hand accounts that are being shared with me. As for my story? Yeah I’m familiar with the tropes. Apparently, I shouldn’t tell anyone what happened, because no one will believe me and I’ll end up in a psych ward, blah blah blah. Well, the human mind doesn’t work that way. Of course I told my story. Between the shock of it all and the effects of the morphine, I was very loose lipped about it.

Some brushed me off as a lunatic. And honestly, I don’t blame them. I’d do the same if somebody started blabbering to me about the kinda shit that I saw. They sit there and they entertain me, patronise me, comfort me, laugh at me, whatever their reactions happen to be. And some of them walk away still laughing, sighing, rolling their eyes, or otherwise unfazed.

But some among them don’t. Some become visibly shaken the moment I mention that all this took place on The Marlborough Stretch. Suddenly my story becomes more than the ramblings of some random bloke who hit his head too hard, and something far more tangible. Something they seem to genuinely believe, or at the very least, believe could happen.

I don’t take inland roads or detours anymore. I’ve seen enough of the outback. I’ve had my fill. I don’t know if there’s other weird places out there just like The Marlborough Stretch, but I know that place is something else. However, for everything I do know, for all the things I saw, it’s left me with far more questions than I’ll ever have answers to. And honestly? I’d rather not ponder those questions any further.

So, I’ll leave you with one final word of caution, dear readers. If ever you do find yourself travelling on that old forgotten highway between Rockhampton and Sarina, and you notice the daylight diminishing, it’s time to turn your car around. Go back to the nearest town and find another way to go. Or if it’s too late for that? If, God forbid, you find yourself too far away from civilisation as nightfall sets in, find what looks like a safe place to park, secure the vehicle, close your eyes tight, and ignore anything you might hear. Those rustles in the trees, those howls in the distance, those taps on your windows.

And if by chance you find yourself alone out there without shelter? Run. Run fast. And just pray that it’s the right kind of scary that catches you…

If you wish to narrate this story, please request permission in the comments or contact me at creepy_oz@outlook.com