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Gray

Estimated reading time — 3 minutes

The two men stood in the crisp, evening mountain air. The woodland that surrounded them on all sides was dense and deep. “So…” the first man turned to the other, straightening up his stab-proof vest. “Where do we go from here?” The other police officer clicked his radio off, and turned to his counterpart. “I think it’s a good idea to turn off our radios, this guy is probably a little skittish after all he’s been through.”

The Colorado mountains stood tall, so tall that in certain places the two officers could see the snow-capped peaks protruding into their view of the slowly darkening skies, where the canopy above them separated. “Really wish we could get search and rescue on this, this isn’t in my job description Rick,” one man grunted to the other, clearly upset with their task. “Yeah, well, we can’t. You know what the Sheriff said. He wants his own guys on this, not some tree-hugger with an SAR badge on his chest.” The men exchanged slightly bemused, somewhat anxious glances, and began to trudge towards the steep incline where the foothills of the Rockies began.

As the two men marched further into the thick woodland, they became hyper-aware. Every snap of a twig, every little animal that bleated, screamed and hollered in the still evening air became a foghorn, alerting them to the presence of everything with a pulse. “How far in do you think Gray chased this poor guy?” asked James. The other man, who was a little older than the first, and whose name was Richard, replied in a calm voice, “God knows, he was pretty pissed when this guy found out about the drugs. We can always ask him when we get back to the station. It’s not like he’s going anywhere.” James nodded in response, and continued the slow march with his fellow officer.

The night began approaching quickly, and the air grew colder and sharper. Every inhale felt like a knife in the throat, and the uphill struggle with their Kevlar vests and heavy boots didn’t help the situation.

Finally, as they crested a large verge, the older man noticed something. “You smell that?” he muttered. “Yeah, it smells like piss. Bad piss. Junkie piss.” The two gave each other a look. The older man began again, “Gray must have really scared this guy to get him to run all the way out here. We’ve gotta be like thirty fuckin’ miles from where we started, and at least 5 miles from the nearest trail.” The younger man shifted uncomfortably in his spot, his hand gripping the butt of his holstered pistol.

Richard noticed his younger officer’s anxiety and placed a firm hand on his arm. “Easy there, boy, no need for that. Just keep your eyes open. Sheriff won’t be pleased if this guy gets spooked and runs off, he wants to see him.” The junior officer nodded and removed his hand from the gun.

Richard led the way, slowly stalking through the woodland, the younger James following behind him cautiously. Suddenly, Richard signaled that he could see something in the distance, and James froze up. With renewed vigor, both men began to pick up their pace, but remembering to take extra care of how much noise they made. “No wonder Gray gave up chasing after this guy. Even if he did want him dead, the terrain out here is hell,” James thought to himself silently as they crept ever closer to what appeared to be a man huddled underneath a tree.

The man was shivering, and only wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He saw the two officers and his eyes widened, a trace of hope in them. “Oh, thank you! Please, you gotta help me! Some guy chased me up here! He wanted to kill me!” the man sputtered. Richard put his arm across James’ chest, to stop him approaching the man. He took a few steps towards him, one hand on his belt, the other splayed and held out in the direction of the man. “I know, son. We know. Just calm yourself down now, and we’ll get you out of here, don’t worry.”

“Oh my god, thank you! Thank you so mu-” The noise was deafening. The crack split the night air, and the flash blinded James. The man’s body slumped backwards against the tree, and clumsily rolled to the floor, blood gushing from the gaping wound in his forehead. James hadn’t even seen Richard pull his gun.

Richard stood with his gun still suspended in the direction of where the junkie once stood. He moved forwards and took a picture with his phone, which he removed from his pocket. He thumbed at his phone, sending a picture, and then made a call. “This is Norton. Put me through to the Sheriff, please.” He stood, slowly clipping the holster strap over the handle of his gun, which was now back at his hip. “Sheriff Gray? Yeah, we found him. I’ve sent you a picture. Was he the only one who saw you with the supplier? Okay, good. We’ll come back in.”


Credit: Gemini-IX (Reddit)

The post Gray appeared first on Creepypasta.

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The Empty Apartment

Reading Time: 6 minutes

I moved into my apartment complex two months ago.

I started hearing things a week later.

It was subtle at first. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I would wake up to a faint scratching sound from somewhere behind the walls. I thought it could be mice. Or rats. I have lived through enough shitty one bedroom apartments in Manhattan to recognize the signs. Small little turds on the floor. Tiny holes in the plaster. An unending scratching that sounds like a thousand little feet marching to the beat of my headache.

My symptoms fit the bill.

It had to be a mouse.

And so I put out traps. I invested in a little steel wool. The Internet says the best way to catch a rat is peanut butter. I slathered spoonfuls of the stuff all over a fresh Tomcat trap. Amazon’s best. I went to bed with the expectation that a fat rodent would be dead in my living room by the following morning.

I laid awake eagerly awaiting their demise. But it rained a lot that night. After I turned off the TV, I tried to listen for the sounds of my furry friends falling for the bait. But the storm overtook almost every sound. Cracks of thunder shook the glassware on my kitchen counter. Water got inside through the cracks and spaces between the window’s framing. I had to put a towel down. The dripping started to annoy me more than the rats ever did in the first place.

But, somewhere, underneath it all; I heard something else. Something a lot more frightening than rats.

A voice whispering “Help me.

I never really believed in the paranormal. I told people that a lot. I never saw signs, or spirits, like everybody else. Part of my subconscious felt like maybe this was my come-uppance. The ghosts on the street had heard me talking shit and now they were going to come for me. Maybe just to show me who is boss, so to speak. And I had nothing for protection. Nobody to verify my experiences. I lived alone in the middle of a lightly occupied sky-rise. A demon or poltergeist could fuck with me all they wanted.

And so I pulled the sheets up to my chin, while the scratching started to overtake the storm, along with my rationality. The constant repetition of ‘help me’ floated further through the walls. She started to get louder. More urgent. My fear paralyzed mind told me that she was getting closer. I knew that was impossible, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I got out of bed and marched out of my apartment, nearly stepping on the unoccupied rat trap myself. The building kept a guard on desk duty throughout the night. He needed to know about the voice.

I hopped in the elevator with sweatpants and no socks. When it opened on the ground level, a surprised security guard waited for me behind the desk.

Sir? Are you okay?

Can you check if the apartment next to me is occupied?

The tall Hispanic man furrowed his brow worriedly as he eyed my evening wear with distaste. He wore an official looking blue buttoned shirt with black slacks with a radio clipped to the belt.

We really should not divulge…

Somebody has been screaming ‘Help me’ all night. I think they are in trouble. But I have never seen anyone go in there.

The man looked worried as he pounded into the small laptop placed on the desk.

Okay, what apartment number…

522.

We haven’t rented many units up there since we took over…

That’s what I said.

Yup, 522 and 524 are empty. You have one other tenant at the other end of your floor. Maybe you heard his television. The walls here are very thin, sir, and we are actively working on the rodent issue.

I think we need to call the police.

The man flashed a smile that made the goosebumps on my skin slide up like candy dots. Like he was prepared for the accusation. Like he knew something that I didn’t. His cool expression placated onto such ordinary features made my stomach turn uncomfortably.

Like I said, the apartment is empty. Would you like to go and see for yourself?

I would.

My willing response definitely took him aback. He punched again at the laptop nervously. I had no idea what he was typing. After a minute’s hesitation, he walked past me towards the elevator.

Let’s go. 522 first. I’ve got the key.

I followed the guard into the elevator. Something about his demeanor continued to make me cautious. He seemed confident. Excited, even. At the time I chalked up the oddity to over interest in the mystery before us.

It’s possible some kids broke in. But I doubt it. These locks are pretty secure. I still think you heard a neighbor…

I nodded wordlessly. When the doors opened again, we marched together down the hall towards apartment 522. I waited patiently while he opened the lock and beckoned me inside.

It was empty.

Our voices echoed across the recently finished floors and furniture-less void inside the studio apartment. I paced around and checked the nooks and crannies. I waited a couple minutes and listened for the voice. I even called out to it. But nobody answered. The only sound I heard were the steady ricochet of raindrops against the windowsills.

Satisfied?

We still have 524.

My new friend started to look a little less confident.

Look, it’s late, and somebody has to watch the desk. Do we need to do this now?

I know what I heard.

He stared at me and studied my demeanor for a moment. I shifted awkwardly and tried to appear intimidating.

Okay.

The guard once again flashed a friendly smile as he gestured me out into the hallway and locked up behind us. We passed my own apartment on the way towards 524. I thought about going back inside and locking the door. Something about the situation made me squirm. But I didn’t.

My name is Michael, by the way, what is your name?

Matt.

Well, Matt, I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances.

I nodded and waited while Michael opened up the door. His casual attitude continued to make me uncomfortable.

524 wasn’t empty. Boxes upon boxes were stacked on the floor with neat little labels on each. Spare kitchen chairs made the studio tough to navigate. Once again, Michael waited by the door, while I navigated the junk and tried to investigated the other rooms.

The small corner kitchen contained the usual boiler plate electronics. The drawers appeared untouched and empty. A thin line of dust formed over the counter tops.

I moved onto the bathroom and found a recently renovated shower head sparkling against a fresh paint job. I started to get jealous, and let my guard down a bit. This place looked nicer than my own. I bet they would be renting it out soon. I was prepared to write the entire thing off as an odd experience, before a voice spoke to me inside the bathroom.

Help me.

It was closer this time. In the same room. I nearly jumped out of my skin, but tried to keep my cool around Michael, who was still outside creeping in the hallway. There was a closet in the bathroom. I opened it.

Sitting inside was a teenage girl.

She wasn’t wearing any clothes. She pushed her knees up to her shoulders and linked her feet together in a sad attempt to remain modest. Sweat poured down her brow. It caused her pretty brown hair to become matted and tangled on her forehead.

I covered her mouth and mine after she whispered again.

It’s him. He did this.

Footsteps approached from the hallway. I raised a finger, as if to tell her to wait, and closed the door in the poor girl’s face. Then I rushed over to the toilet and flushed the handle.

The footsteps stopped.

Everything alright in there?

Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just had to tinkle. This remodel is nice. Gotta get you guys to update my apartment.

I opened the door and was immediately greeted by a very suspicious looking security guard.

You know, I’ve got a leaky window frame. Who can I talk to about that?

Michael stared at me for about thirty seconds. At first he looked angry. Then he looked confused. Finally the suspicion faded from his wrinkled features.

Property owner. Not me.

I laughed awkwardly and pushed past him. I walked out into the hallway in a rush, never bothering to look behind my shoulder as Michael followed anxiously after. I could hear him locking the door to 524 as I jetted towards my own apartment.

You don’t want to check anywhere else?

I called out something back. I don’t remember what. The adrenaline coursed through my veins so quickly that my futile attempts at being casual dissipated the moment I got to my door. I fumbled for the keys in my sweatpants pocket. I clacked them awkwardly against the metal lock. Finally they found a groove and the door handle turned willingly against my hand.

Anything else I can do for you tonight?

Michael had caught up to me. He looked suspicious again. I could sense that he might try to stop me. I had to come up with something.

Sorry, man, that last trip to the bathroom didn’t cut it. Too much chili last night. Gotta go.

Michael guffawed over my shoulder as I opened the door and slammed it in his face. I tried to wait a few seconds before applying the chain lock. I waited for his footsteps to fade away first. I didn’t want to spook him. Only then I released my hand from the handle and collapsed to the floor.

* * * * * *

The first responders arrived about ten minutes later. I have to commend them for the speed. Part of me worried that Michael would try to run. Part of me worried he would go back for the girl. Part of me worried he might try to come after me.

He didn’t.

Police rescued the girl from the bathroom closet. Her name was Molly. She was sixteen years old.

And she wasn’t the only one.

Seven other women were rescued from empty apartments throughout the complex. Each identified Michael as their abductor. Apparently, he kept them drugged and locked inside various rooms inside the building. He returned to visit them every night. Some were tortured. Some abused.

One was already dead.


Credit: Matt Richardsen (FacebookTwitter • Reddit)

The post The Empty Apartment appeared first on Creepypasta.

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The Apartment Next to Me is Supposed to Be Empty

Reading Time: 6 minutes

I moved into my apartment complex two months ago.

I started hearing things a week later.

It was subtle at first. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I would wake up to a faint scratching sound from somewhere behind the walls. I thought it could be mice. Or rats. I have lived through enough shitty one bedroom apartments in Manhattan to recognize the signs. Small little turds on the floor. Tiny holes in the plaster. An unending scratching that sounds like a thousand little feet marching to the beat of my headache.

My symptoms fit the bill.

It had to be a mouse.

And so I put out traps. I invested in a little steel wool. The Internet says the best way to catch a rat is peanut butter. I slathered spoonfuls of the stuff all over a fresh Tomcat trap. Amazon’s best. I went to bed with the expectation that a fat rodent would be dead in my living room by the following morning.

I laid awake eagerly awaiting their demise. But it rained a lot that night. After I turned off the TV, I tried to listen for the sounds of my furry friends falling for the bait. But the storm overtook almost every sound. Cracks of thunder shook the glassware on my kitchen counter. Water got inside through the cracks and spaces between the window’s framing. I had to put a towel down. The dripping started to annoy me more than the rats ever did in the first place.

But, somewhere, underneath it all; I heard something else. Something a lot more frightening than rats.

A voice whispering “Help me.

I never really believed in the paranormal. I told people that a lot. I never saw signs, or spirits, like everybody else. Part of my subconscious felt like maybe this was my come-uppance. The ghosts on the street had heard me talking shit and now they were going to come for me. Maybe just to show me who is boss, so to speak. And I had nothing for protection. Nobody to verify my experiences. I lived alone in the middle of a lightly occupied sky-rise. A demon or poltergeist could fuck with me all they wanted.

And so I pulled the sheets up to my chin, while the scratching started to overtake the storm, along with my rationality. The constant repetition of ‘help me’ floated further through the walls. She started to get louder. More urgent. My fear paralyzed mind told me that she was getting closer. I knew that was impossible, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I got out of bed and marched out of my apartment, nearly stepping on the unoccupied rat trap myself. The building kept a guard on desk duty throughout the night. He needed to know about the voice.

I hopped in the elevator with sweatpants and no socks. When it opened on the ground level, a surprised security guard waited for me behind the desk.

Sir? Are you okay?

Can you check if the apartment next to me is occupied?

The tall Hispanic man furrowed his brow worriedly as he eyed my evening wear with distaste. He wore an official looking blue buttoned shirt with black slacks with a radio clipped to the belt.

We really should not divulge…

Somebody has been screaming ‘Help me’ all night. I think they are in trouble. But I have never seen anyone go in there.

The man looked worried as he pounded into the small laptop placed on the desk.

Okay, what apartment number…

522.

We haven’t rented many units up there since we took over…

That’s what I said.

Yup, 522 and 524 are empty. You have one other tenant at the other end of your floor. Maybe you heard his television. The walls here are very thin, sir, and we are actively working on the rodent issue.

I think we need to call the police.

The man flashed a smile that made the goosebumps on my skin slide up like candy dots. Like he was prepared for the accusation. Like he knew something that I didn’t. His cool expression placated onto such ordinary features made my stomach turn uncomfortably.

Like I said, the apartment is empty. Would you like to go and see for yourself?

I would.

My willing response definitely took him aback. He punched again at the laptop nervously. I had no idea what he was typing. After a minute’s hesitation, he walked past me towards the elevator.

Let’s go. 522 first. I’ve got the key.

I followed the guard into the elevator. Something about his demeanor continued to make me cautious. He seemed confident. Excited, even. At the time I chalked up the oddity to over interest in the mystery before us.

It’s possible some kids broke in. But I doubt it. These locks are pretty secure. I still think you heard a neighbor…

I nodded wordlessly. When the doors opened again, we marched together down the hall towards apartment 522. I waited patiently while he opened the lock and beckoned me inside.

It was empty.

Our voices echoed across the recently finished floors and furniture-less void inside the studio apartment. I paced around and checked the nooks and crannies. I waited a couple minutes and listened for the voice. I even called out to it. But nobody answered. The only sound I heard were the steady ricochet of raindrops against the windowsills.

Satisfied?

We still have 524.

My new friend started to look a little less confident.

Look, it’s late, and somebody has to watch the desk. Do we need to do this now?

I know what I heard.

He stared at me and studied my demeanor for a moment. I shifted awkwardly and tried to appear intimidating.

Okay.

The guard once again flashed a friendly smile as he gestured me out into the hallway and locked up behind us. We passed my own apartment on the way towards 524. I thought about going back inside and locking the door. Something about the situation made me squirm. But I didn’t.

My name is Michael, by the way, what is your name?

Matt.

Well, Matt, I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances.

I nodded and waited while Michael opened up the door. His casual attitude continued to make me uncomfortable.

524 wasn’t empty. Boxes upon boxes were stacked on the floor with neat little labels on each. Spare kitchen chairs made the studio tough to navigate. Once again, Michael waited by the door, while I navigated the junk and tried to investigated the other rooms.

The small corner kitchen contained the usual boiler plate electronics. The drawers appeared untouched and empty. A thin line of dust formed over the counter tops.

I moved onto the bathroom and found a recently renovated shower head sparkling against a fresh paint job. I started to get jealous, and let my guard down a bit. This place looked nicer than my own. I bet they would be renting it out soon. I was prepared to write the entire thing off as an odd experience, before a voice spoke to me inside the bathroom.

Help me.

It was closer this time. In the same room. I nearly jumped out of my skin, but tried to keep my cool around Michael, who was still outside creeping in the hallway. There was a closet in the bathroom. I opened it.

Sitting inside was a teenage girl.

She wasn’t wearing any clothes. She pushed her knees up to her shoulders and linked her feet together in a sad attempt to remain modest. Sweat poured down her brow. It caused her pretty brown hair to become matted and tangled on her forehead.

I covered her mouth and mine after she whispered again.

It’s him. He did this.

Footsteps approached from the hallway. I raised a finger, as if to tell her to wait, and closed the door in the poor girl’s face. Then I rushed over to the toilet and flushed the handle.

The footsteps stopped.

Everything alright in there?

Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just had to tinkle. This remodel is nice. Gotta get you guys to update my apartment.

I opened the door and was immediately greeted by a very suspicious looking security guard.

You know, I’ve got a leaky window frame. Who can I talk to about that?

Michael stared at me for about thirty seconds. At first he looked angry. Then he looked confused. Finally the suspicion faded from his wrinkled features.

Property owner. Not me.

I laughed awkwardly and pushed past him. I walked out into the hallway in a rush, never bothering to look behind my shoulder as Michael followed anxiously after. I could hear him locking the door to 524 as I jetted towards my own apartment.

You don’t want to check anywhere else?

I called out something back. I don’t remember what. The adrenaline coursed through my veins so quickly that my futile attempts at being casual dissipated the moment I got to my door. I fumbled for the keys in my sweatpants pocket. I clacked them awkwardly against the metal lock. Finally they found a groove and the door handle turned willingly against my hand.

Anything else I can do for you tonight?

Michael had caught up to me. He looked suspicious again. I could sense that he might try to stop me. I had to come up with something.

Sorry, man, that last trip to the bathroom didn’t cut it. Too much chili last night. Gotta go.

Michael guffawed over my shoulder as I opened the door and slammed it in his face. I tried to wait a few seconds before applying the chain lock. I waited for his footsteps to fade away first. I didn’t want to spook him. Only then I released my hand from the handle and collapsed to the floor.

* * * * * *

The first responders arrived about ten minutes later. I have to commend them for the speed. Part of me worried that Michael would try to run. Part of me worried he would go back for the girl. Part of me worried he might try to come after me.

He didn’t.

Police rescued the girl from the bathroom closet. Her name was Molly. She was sixteen years old.

And she wasn’t the only one.

Seven other women were rescued from empty apartments throughout the complex. Each identified Michael as their abductor. Apparently, he kept them drugged and locked inside various rooms inside the building. He returned to visit them every night. Some were tortured. Some abused.

One was already dead.


Credit: Matt Richardsen (FacebookTwitter • Reddit)

The post The Apartment Next to Me is Supposed to Be Empty appeared first on Creepypasta.

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Dead Arm

Reading Time: 9 minutes

I’ve been completely clean for about two years, now, and I owe it all to the last drug I ever took. It apparently goes by many names, and it’s not easy to get your hands on it. The people who use it only give it to close friends, or people who they mean to do harm. Nothing can prepare you for the experience, not even smack.

Myself, I did Dead Arm when I was a senior in college. Finals were getting rough. I had a group of buddies that I took things with. Not exactly the type of friends your parents hope you’ll make – none were students like me, just townies, all different ages from seventeen to almost sixty. None of us were alike in any way, except for the one thing we had in common: what we were putting in our bodies. We’d veg out, high as kites. Escaping the world. Escaping our problems.

The more pressure I felt in my “normal” life, the more I turned to smack to help me through it. I would never even associate with these other folks before I started using, but they were slowly becoming my only friends. There was this one dude whose house we went to that we only knew as “Moses”. He had a two-bedroom apartment but somehow we fit almost fifteen of us in there to chill at “parties” that he threw.

I hardly ever spoke to Moses but he took a liking to me for some reason. He’d share some of his extra-potent shit with me, at times buy me pizza and beer, and generally just acted cool. He must’ve been forty-something but never had a stick up his ass or anything. Very laid back.

One day I hit up Moses after failing a final and asked him if he was having a get-together that night. He texted back “No”, so I started making plans with other people. Like ten minutes later, he texts me again:

“Actually, yeah. But can u just come? dont bring anyone else”

Naturally, I head over to his place because I want to get fucked-up, regardless of who else is there. I knocked on his apartment door and he let me in. The place was empty.

“Woah, man. Where is everyone?” I asked.

Moses looked at me seriously, a look I had hardly seen on his face before. “Hey, [my name], listen. You’ve been pretty chill and level-headed at my parties, and I want to offer you something. I’m going to this dude Ted’s house tonight, he’s got some of this new shit that he’s super-exclusive with. He’s down for you to tag along, but you have to really keep it on the down-low. You in?”

“What is it that he’s got, exactly?”

“I…it’s just…you’ll see. But trust me, it’s out of this world. You in?”

Bitch, you serious? You might as well have just described a Thanksgiving feast to a starving man. Ten minutes later we had arrived at Ted’s apartment complex.

It was the dingiest shithole I had ever seen. Trash was lying around the front of the building, broken glass was scattered about, and the place just had a certain stink to it. Although I wanted to leave, my itch to get high was stronger. We went up to the third floor, where Ted’s apartment was. Moses had a brief conversation with whoever opened the door before we were let in, assuring him I was cool.

Ted’s apartment was even more disgusting than the rest of the building. Almost no furniture, just dirty blankets and towels thrown on the floor with like ten people laying around on them, still as corpses. In the corner, someone was having sex with another person who looked barely conscious. All of them were moaning in such a bizarre way, almost like a death rattle from The Grudge but a lot louder. It was freaking the fuck out of me, but I figured I wouldn’t care about it at all soon enough.

The doorman came to me and Moses.

“You guys ready? You know the deal, it’s a hundred-fifty for a hit.”

“I’ve got it covered,” Moses said, pulling out a small wad of cash. He gestured to me. “It’s this kid’s first time doing Dead Arm. Get him first.”

He handed the cash over and the doorman grunted in approval. He took a belt from off the only table in the place and from its drawer he conjured a syringe. It looked to be full of a brown substance that looked to me like liquid dirt. He wrapped the belt tight around my arm. Moses made conversation as the doorman got the needle ready.

“Where’s Ted at?” he asked.

The doorman replied, “In his room. Don’t fuckin’ bug him.”

“Fair enough. No Ben tonight?”

“Nope. Remember what happened to his arm last week? He’s too embarrassed to be seen like that, I guess.”

“Shoulda just cut it off.”

“No doubt, brother.”

The doorman approached me with the needle. I nodded at him and he stuck it into one of the protruding veins in my arm. I watched the brown liquid leave the syringe and make its way into the bloodstream.

As soon as the needle was out, I immediately and unwillingly dropped to the floor. My knees just stopped working. Everything stopped working. I couldn’t move my head, arms, legs, even my mouth was hanging open. Completely numb, completely paralyzed. My head started ringing terribly. It was terrifying. I started to try and call out, but all I could do was moan, and I realized with a jolt that the noise I was making was not at all unlike the noises everyone else in this room was making.

Then, suddenly, the ringing in my head stopped and was replaced with such a deep relaxation that I cannot even describe to you through words. It was unlike anything I had ever felt, almost otherworldly carelessness. My paralysis suddenly did not matter, my finals did not matter, nothing mattered. My muscles felt like they were being lightly tugged in every direction. It felt like my body was dissolving into a puddle onto the floor, and it was incredible.

Not long after, I saw Moses fall to the floor by my side. The doorman stepped over us both and put the syringes he had used on us away. Then he went back to standing by the door, playing on his cell phone.

An hour passed. Nothing but pure bliss and silence, apart from the moaning and the humping in the back. Soon, though, that latter noise stopped and suddenly, this bare-naked dude was standing above me, the guy who was doing the banging. He crouched down to me, this hungry look in his eyes. I didn’t care – I couldn’t care. All that mattered was that I was lying down, with my muscles being deliciously pulled by whatever this shit in my veins was. Unable to move. Unable to think. Only existing at bare minimum.

The naked stranger started whispering something to himself and licking his lips. He got closer to me, his face mere centimeters from mine.

“Hey!” the doorman yelled. The naked stranger was yanked off of me and thrown into the apartment wall. The doorman raised a fist to him threateningly. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You paid for that one in the back, not this one.”

“Come on, man! Let me have this!” the naked man screamed.

“Is this going to be a fucking problem? Do I have to bring Ted in here?”

I heard the naked man whimper in fear. He shook his head, hustled to grab his clothes, and then ran out of the apartment with them.

And still I was on the floor without a care in the world. Almost raped by a stranger, and couldn’t be bothered to give the slightest shit.

I lay there for another hour. Slowly, I felt myself coming back down to Earth a bit. Although I still couldn’t move or think straight, I started becoming a bit more aware. I wondered how long I would be like this. I wasn’t worried about it, it was just genuine curiosity. I also started to ponder about where this Dead Arm stuff could’ve possibly come from and what was in it.

Call it my inner conscience, call it God, or call it voices in my head, but something answered my bemusement:

Don’t worry about where I’m from. Just keep yourself still. You belong to me right now.

I could live with that.

Another hour gone by.

Discomfort started coming into my lower back. I still couldn’t move, but it was a bit of a relief knowing that my body was starting to respond to the things around it. Shit, even the relief itself was a relief.

Some of the other people around me who were on Dead Arm started to come out of it and stumble out of the apartment, thanking the doorman as they passed. By then it was like 2 AM.

At probably around 2:30, the doorman got off his phone and went out of my sight. I heard him knock on a door – most likely to one of the bedrooms – and call out, “Yo, Ted! I’m out, man. You still got six or seven out there so just a heads up.”

Although I could hear noises in response, I couldn’t exactly tell what was being said.

The doorman spoke again: “Yeah, alright, man. Have a good night.”

The doorman came back into my view, stepped over me, and walked out of the apartment.

Another hour passed when I heard one of the doors in the back open. At the same time someone came walking out. One of the people who had been high on the floor started coming to – a woman.

I heard her say to someone softly, “Oh! Hey, Ted. Thanks for the hit. Do you think you could help me to the door? My legs are still a little numb.”

The noise that replied almost completely killed my high. It was a mix between a scream and wet gurgle. If I had heard it a couple hours ago, I wouldn’t have cared, but I could feel myself coming down and I was suddenly absolutely terrified…but still couldn’t move.

Two pairs of feet started making their way towards the door. One after another, two people came into my line of sight: the first was a thirty-something blonde woman. She was stumbling a bit, using the wall as support before making her way out the door. Couldn’t recall exactly what she looked like.

But the second person I will remember until the day I die. He was a man, but unlike any person I have ever seen, before or since. His body looked like it had been stretched, pulled every which way like elastic. His arms were so long that his fingertips were touching the floor. His jaw was so wide open that the entirety of his mouth had to be at least a foot long, and it was full of jagged, broken and yellow teeth. The skin under his beady eyes was black and sunken. The hair on his head was grown in uneven patches. Brown patches were all over his face, arms, and legs, and they were disgustingly leaking a similar-colored liquid onto the floor – it looked quite a lot like Dead Arm.

This man was practically inhuman. Nobody in the human race, regardless of our breakthroughs in cosmetics, looked like that or was ever supposed to look like that. It was a fucking monster standing over me.

And even still I could not move.

All I could do was scream, and even then not very loudly. When I did, the wet, beady eyes of the monster-person looked down at me. The thing’s head cocked slightly and a look of confusion came over its face – as if it couldn’t understand why the fuck I was screaming at the sight of it.

It shook its head and walked out of my view, which terrified me more. I didn’t want to look at it, but I also didn’t want to be unaware of what it was. My mind was racing furiously, wondering what I should do, if maybe somehow I could roll myself to the door…

No. No. Just relax. You belong to me for now, remember? It’s not so bad. Just look at Ted.

That fucking thing was Ted?

I tried to fight the overwhelming urge to just lay there, but found myself just as helpless as before. The straining to move at least one of my muscles was fruitless and started paining me greatly. Suddenly my muscles weren’t relaxed, they were flaring up. It hurt so badly I didn’t even scream – I just passed out.

When I woke up, I was myself again. And I immediately started screaming as the memory of what went down last night came rushing back to me.

Moses, who looked like he had just woken up himself, was crouching next to me instantly.

“Dude! Get a hold of yourself!” he yelled. “Relax!”

I told him everything that had happened – from the naked stranger to the voices I had heard after taking the Dead Arm and the oozing monster that had come out of the back room. Throughout my explanation, Moses’ face fell.

He said, in a low voice, “You need to leave right now. Ted’s insecure enough as it is, and you’re not gonna help by calling him a fuckin’ monster. Thankfully for you he’s asleep right now.”

“What the fuck? Dude, he was stretched out, he didn’t even look like a person!”

“Side-effect of the Dead Arm, man. Ted knows how to party.”

“Are you fucking telling me that we could end up like that if we keep using that shit?”

“Dude, don’t you remember how good it felt? Are you telling me it’s not worth it?”

By the time he finished his sentence, I was already out the door. I got out of the apartment complex and turned my head. From one of the windows on the third-floor, I saw a glimpse of Ted, the monster-person, staring down at me with those tiny eyes, the impossibly-wide jaw still agape in a permanent state of relaxation.

I screamed and sprinted away. I couldn’t help it.

Ever since that night, I refused to touch another substance. I never spoke with Moses or the old crew again. And I never even once walked near Ted’s house. Not long after my night there, he was gone and I never got the invite to come back, and part of me was glad. He’s what I was afraid of the most.

Because I know someday I’m going to end up just like him.

I’m off drugs now because nothing can compare to Dead Arm. Nothing at all. I’ll find it again and will use it. This is one addiction that no amount of rehab can help. The relaxing helplessness, the stillness of the mind…

Oh, and that soothing voice, too. I hear it even today, all the time, whispering to me.

You’re still mine and I know you’ll come back.


Credit: Thaddeus James (FacebookReddit)

The post Dead Arm appeared first on Creepypasta.

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The Swing

Reading Time: 14 minutesWhat do people usually fear when moving out to live on their own? What sort of problems does one normally encounter when finally venturing from the safety of their parents’ home, into a place of their own? Perhaps it’s paying their rent on time, or having to do all the cleaning without any of mommy’s help. These were things I anticipated. I never could have predicted the events of the past week.

We had finally moved the last box into my new house. Single level ranch and only two bedrooms, but for a bachelor like me, it was a dream come true. The house was right in the heart of a great suburban neighborhood, with a two-car driveway and a pretty big backyard. When I had seen the yard, the first thing I thought of was all the parties I’d be hosting. I stepped onto the deck and took a breath of the fresh air while closing my eyes to imagine the endless nights of friends, booze and, of course– women.  I stretched my arms out and let out an exuberant sigh of relief.

As I scanned my surroundings, I couldn’t help but notice the elevated deck gave me the proper vantage point to see into my neighbor’s backyards. I figured since I hadn’t formally met any of them yet, I would try and guess now whom I’d have to worry about if my parties got to rowdy and the risk of 911 calls would become a harsh reality. To my right, I saw a vibrant garden, a grill and hammock. I figured it was a middle-aged couple.

“Hopefully they’re not too old and cranky,” I thought to myself as I turned my head to view my neighbors to the left. That’s when I saw… him. Under a large oak tree, adorned in colorful Christmas lights, was what looked to be a young boy swinging away on his play set. “Great”, I thought, “I bet his bedtime is a lot earlier than any party I throw would be ending.” I continued to look at the boy. His back was turned to me. He wore a hoodie and gloves, which I struck me as odd, since it was summer and pretty warm outside. I brushed it off and assumed the boy was sick.

I went back inside and began to unpack everything. With the help of some friends, we managed to put together all my furniture, hook up my entertainment system and more-or-less get the house in working order. “I just sent out the texts guys! Get ready to party tonight!” I exclaimed as I leaped off the couch and finished my beer. The guys all began to cheer and a round of high fives were exchanged. By now, the sun was setting, as it had been several hours since we first had brought in all my belongings.

My friend Dan was unpacking one of the last boxes as he eagerly looked out of the window. “Have you met your neighbors yet? Any fine young ladies gonna be comin’ around here asking to borrow some sugar?” he asked in a sarcastic tone as he turned to me with a lewd gesture.

Smiling and walking over I replied, “Nope not yet, but I don’t think I’ll have much luck in that department. From the looks of it, it’s just a bunch of normal families. One of them even has a kid.”

As I pointed to the house I had seen earlier, my face scrunched to show a look of confusion and surprise. The boy I had seen swinging earlier was still there. He was still swinging under the ambiance of the lit-up tree.

“Weird… that kid was swinging when we first got here too,” I said to Dan as he looked at his phone. Barely acknowledging my comment, he raised his hand up and mumbled, “Must be a Special Ed kid or something.” He walked off, calling more people to invite them to the house warming party. I turned back to the swinging boy. He couldn’t have been swinging this whole time… could he?

That night, as planned, we had my house warming party. It was such a great time. I greeted my friends and cousins as they arrived, handing them all the beverage of their choice. We were outside until around 3 or 4 in the morning when the weather suddenly got cool and it began to drizzle.  I would have been willing to stick it out until it passed but the girls all began to freak out, claiming their hair would frizz and all ran inside. Naturally, the guys followed, holding makeshift umbrellas over the girl’s heads. I laughed to myself at how hard they were trying to get lucky.

I took the opportunity to quickly clean up some of the trash that had accumulated before going inside. I scooped up a bunch of cans and bottles before I turned around and was left in awe. I guess we were all distracted by the music and alcohol to notice earlier but now, with everyone inside I saw it… the boy was still outside and on his swing. He was still in the same position and outfit I had seen in him all day, back turned to me, wearing the same hoodie and gloves.

I stood there for a minute, lost in thought when from behind me I heard a loud, “Hiya neighbor!” I jumped and did a quick 180, dropping the trash I had been carrying.

“Whoa, sorry about that, bud! Didn’t mean to startle ‘ya!” laughed an elderly man. He was wearing pajamas and slippers as he held his hand out, waiting for a shake on my end.

“Oh, hello, sir,” I said as I cleared my throat and shook his hand, recollecting my thoughts. He smiled and began to fumble with his hands.

“I hate to be that guy, especially since you just moved in and everything, but you think you guys can turn down the music a bit? The wife and I are pretty light sleepers and at this age, we tend to be early risers,” he said bashfully. I smiled and laughed as I put a hand to my face in embarrassment.

“Oh jeez, I’m sorry sir. I guess things got a little crazier than planned. I didn’t think people would stick around this long.”

I really did feel bad. I half expected the man to come out yelling, demanding us to keep it down, less he call the cops. His gentle demeanor was refreshing and I was more than happy to oblige.  I laughed and replied, “I’ll go let everyone know they need to stay inside and take it down a notch. I’m Peter, by the way.” I shook his hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, Peter. I’m Paul!” he said with a grin. As he smiled, his eyes drifted past mine and towards the swinging boy. “I assume you’ve noticed the Langer’s kid by now, huh?” asked Paul, as he cupped his hands and breathed into try and keep warm.

“Yeah,” I said as I turned to face him. “What’s the deal with him? He’s been on that thing all day.”

Paul shrugged.

“Not sure. No one really knows the story. He just swings and swings, until eventually.” Paul stopped and his eyes widened. “Wait, it’s happening! Check it out!”

I turned my around to find the boy had stopped swinging. He sat completely still for a moment before slowly rising from the rubber seat of the swing. He began to shake violently, falling to his knees and scraping the dirt below him. Even from where we were standing, we were able to hear his quick bursts of shrieking and gurgling. I became concerned. Was the boy okay? It looked like he was having an asthma attack or a seizure.

I started to run to the boy in order to help but stopped after a couple steps. His mother had run out. I looked at her, completely sober now from the adrenaline that was pumping through my body. It was not a pleasant sight. She was a frail, haggard woman, with a gray, knotted mane of hair on her head. Her skin was pale and her eyes had dark bags underneath. It looked as if she hadn’t slept or had a proper meal for ages. Mrs. Langer rushed out quick, holding a small, orange bottle– the kind one would receive from a pharmacist. After she reached her boy, she knelt down and poured several white pills into her hand. Before she could even finish offering the pills to her son, he had grabbed arm and buried his face into the palm of her hand, inhaling the pills.

Mrs. Langer pulled away and began to rub her wrist. It appeared the boy had hurt her, which did not really surprise me due to how skinny the woman was. Paul and I watched intensely, without uttering a single word. After a moment or two, the boy simply rose back to his feet, sat back down on his swing and resumed his leisurely activity. Mrs. Langer grabbed the now empty orange bottle and proceeded back inside, still clutching her wrist.

Paul and I were both shaken up. We had no idea what we had just seen. “Wow. I’ve seen the boy spas out before but never that bad. I bet whatever condition he has is getting more severe… poor kid,” Paul said as he rubbed the back of his head.

“What… what exactly is wrong with him?“ I asked, with my eyes still glued to the child.

“Like I said, I don’t know. No one around here does,” Paul replied, turning around and walking back his door, “Anyway, my wife is probably getting worried. You have a good night Peter.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, arranging my thoughts. “Nice meeting you, Paul.” We both exchanged a final wave and returned to our respective households. The party was dying down when I entered… and I was glad. What I had just seen took a lot out of me.

The next morning I felt like shit. The copious waves of alcohol I had carelessly consumed the night prior had finally caught up to me. My head throbbed and I was severely parched. I stood up and the arid sensation in my mouth and throat was quickly replaced by feelings of nausea. I shambled to the bathroom and dropped to my knees, clutching the porcelain for dear life. “At least I have the day off to recover,” I thought to myself.

I grabbed the sports drink I had strategically placed in the bathroom the day before in anticipation for my hangover and chugged it down in only a few gulps. I was no stranger to this feeling, and I knew what to expect. Within a couple minutes I began to vomit and immediately felt better; though, not enough to have a very productive day. I mentally prepared myself for a day of movies, video games and junk food.

After a couple hours of lying in my borderline vegetative state, I heard the mailman make his stop at my door. In no mood to get off the couch, I ignored it and continued binge watching the zombie show everyone was raving about. It probably was not the best idea to be observing such grotesque gore while it felt as if a war was being waged in my stomach. I sucked it up and continued to watch. Several episodes later, I made my way to the kitchen and popped in a giant TV dinner in the microwave. While it cooked I decided I would bring in the mail from earlier. I unlocked the front door and let in some much needed fresh air.

I stood at the door and scooped up the contents of my mailbox, sifting through the junk mail and bills, when I saw I had received a package. Without scanning the box for more details I brought the small box inside and cut off the tape. I opened it only to find a small orange bottle… like the one I had seen my neighbor holding last night. I was puzzled and searched for the mailing label on the box. The mailman had delivered it to the wrong house. Annoyed, I let out a big sigh. I was not in the mood to get dressed and leave the house for anything, let alone to awkwardly meet new neighbors in order to tell them I have the pills for their weirdo son. I looked out of my back window and saw the boy was swinging away, as usual. I heard my microwave go off, indicating my food was ready. With one last glance at the child, I told myself the pills can wait, as the boy had scarfed down several the night before. I tossed the bottle of pills aside and made my way to the kitchen. After eating, I felt fatigued, which caused me to fall asleep on the couch.

I woke up from my sleep to sound of commotion outside my home. The repetitive beeping of a large vehicle in reverse echoed through my brain. Nightfall had arrived and my house was engulfed in almost absolute darkness. The only light I could see was the dull gray from my now idle television… and the swirl of red and blue illuminating through my windows. The scene that I awoke to was almost surreal and I thought for a moment that I was dreaming. I got on my feet and looked through my front window. A crowd had gathered on my front lawn. They were facing the ambulance that was parked in the driveway of my Langer house. I threw on a light coat to hide my stained, most likely rancid smelling shirt I had been stewing in all day.  In the crowd, Paul stood amongst several other people, whom I presumed to be residents of the neighborhood.

“Hey, Paul,” I blurted as I cleared the phlegm from my throat. “What the hell is going on?”

With his eyes still glued to the scene that unfolded next door he replied, “We’re not exactly sure. We think something may have happened to someone in the house. Mr. Langer is speaking with one of the paramedics and he looks panicked.”

I saw the man Paul was referring to. Like his wife, Mr. Langer also looked as if his body was depleted and barren. He wore a loose tank top that showed just how skinny he was. His ribs poked through the pale, tight skin on his torso. He was pacing around frantically, covering his eyes and mumbling something to himself. I was still gazing at the distraught man when the soft murmuring of the crowd around me erupted into a frenzy of screams and cries. I turned to the door of the Langer house and dread began to fill my body. Two policemen exited the house followed by a paramedic who wheeled out a gurney. Atop of the gurney was the bloodied body of the seemingly lifeless Mrs. Langer.

From where we were standing, we were able to see the pale, bruised wrist of the poor woman hanging from the side, blood running down and dripping from her fingertips. It began to twitch and her head bobbed around as the paramedic pressed an oxygen mask to her face and hoisted the gurney into the back of the ambulance. I turned to Paul who was standing on the tip of his feet in order to see over the crowd. One of the policemen made his way over to our now frantic group of screaming men and women, ordering us to disburse and return to our homes. Everyone began to bombard the officer with questions, asking what happened and if they were safe.

“You have nothing to worry about people. It appears a group of coyotes attacked Mrs. Langer in her backyard. We have since located and neutralized the animals,” remarked the officer, avoiding eye contact with anyone before him. It was clear he was lying through his teeth.

I raised my hand and shouted above the crowd, “And what about the boy? Was he hurt?”

The officer shot me a look of irritation as he cleared his throat and hesitantly announced, “He was not anywhere near the scene of the attack. We assume he got scared and ran away for safety, and were in the process of locating the child. If anyone sees him, please call 911 immediately.”

With that, the officer turned his back to the less-than-satisfied crowd and almost ran back to his cruiser. I turned to Paul who bared a look of dismay. He turned and shot me an apathetic smile before patting me on the back and making his way inside. I stood there for a moment after the crowd slowly disbanded. Was this my fault? Did it have something to do with the pills? I quickly disregarded the paranoid thoughts that plagued my mind, and walked back to my home.

I slid through the front door that I had carelessly left ajar and shut if behind me as I slid down and cupped my hands around my head. There was a legion of emotions coursing through me as I pondered my next move. I knew I had to get the pills out of my house. Though the chances were slim, I did not want any blame being directed at me for not returning the pills sooner. Hell, I knew I had committed at least one federal crime when I unknowingly opened someone else’s mail. I decided I would anonymously place the box of pills in the Langer’s mailbox and dash back inside. I grabbed the pills from my couch and glanced out of the back window. The Christmas lights in the oak tree were bright as ever, illuminating the grizzly crime scene that lied just below. Blood and ripped clothing veiled the ground.

That’s when I saw them.

The boy’s gloves and hoodie were lying amidst the carnage. My heart sank. I was sure the boy was dead, or at the very least, critically injured. Tears began to fill my eyes as I banged my fists on the windowsill. The sudden burst of sound emanated throughout my home. I hadn’t made a peep since I entered. The sudden contrast in sound made the shameful silence that followed even more noticeable. In the midst of the grim silence, I heard it:  the low, spine tingling gurgle that flowed from my bedroom.

I froze. Barely breathing, I listened keenly for another sound. To my dismay, I heard it again… another disgusting gurgle, now louder and fiercer, almost like a growl. The lights in my home were still all off, aside from the weak aura that radiated from the idle television. I was frozen still. My body rebelled against my mind’s desire to move. Instinct began to kick in as my eyes adjusted to the darkness and fight-or-flight became a quick reality. I did not know what was in my house. All I knew was I definitely was going to choose “flight.”

I pulled out my phone and fumbled for the flashlight app as I took a step towards my backdoor. My eyes were glued to the short hallway that connected the main area of the house to my bedroom. That’s when I saw it. A small creature began to crawl from the hallway. I could barely make out any of its features. It looked human, but on all fours. The way it moved was eerie and awkward. The appendages moved sloppily and its head was to the ground. I heard the same terrifying gurgle from the creature and realized it was sniffing the floor. What happened next still fills me with dread when I look back. The flashlight app I had opened had finished loading up and powered on through the phone. The bright light pierced the darkness and lit up the monstrous figure.

I felt sick. Do you ever get the feeling in the middle of a nightmare where you start to suspect you aren’t in reality and you are begging yourself to wake up? That desperate feeling of despair coursed through ever fiber of my being. In front of me stood the Langer boy. Without all the layers of clothing he usually wore, I was able to see him for what he really was. This was not a normal child. His skin was tattered and worn out. Wrinkles and scars embellished his body. He slowly raised his head to the source of the light. Our eyes met. His eyes were worst part. However intense the darkness around his mother’s eyes were, they could not compete with the boy’s. The black around his peepers only worked to showcase his dilated pupils and the unnatural color of the irises.

I might as well have been made of stone. All my ability to move had completely ceased. I could only stand there and watch the situation unfold before me. The boy slowly turned his body in my direction and began to take steps closer and closer. He left bloody prints where his hands met with the wood grain of my floor. It was not long till he was less than a foot from me. For what seemed like an eternity, he did move. Neither of us did. My mind was warped in panic and I thought I would pass out.  Before I had the chance, the boy rose from his animal-like posture.

He was now standing on his feet, arms dangling to his sides. His eyes peered into mine. I stared back, still paralyzed with fear. He began to sluggishly turn his focus from my eyes, to my hand– the one that still clutched a bottle of the pills. As soon as he realized what I held, he broke the silence and let out a demonic shrieked, like that of a banshee. Only his mouth moved as his jaw dropped. This awoke me from my trance and I fell down, still facing the boy. He crouched so that his face met mine. His mouth was still agape, exposing his sharp, mangled teeth. The tiny razors still contained small shreds of, what I assumed to be, his mother’s flesh. He stretched his arm towards me and unraveled his blood stained hand. Instantly, I knew what he was after.

“You,” my voice trembled, “you want your pills, right?”

He continued to stare at me, unfazed by my question. I lifted up my hand and began to open the small, orange bottle. With shaking hands, I poured several pills into the palm of the child. I waited for a minute. I did not know time could move so slowly. I just wanted him to leave. Eventually, the boy’s mouth shut and curled into a faint smile. He turned and made his way to the backdoor. He shot one final glance over to me as he tiled his head back and consumed all the pills I had given him. With an audible gulp, he pushed open the door and wandered back to his sanctuary. I watched as the boy took a seat on his swing and began to sway forward and back like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I managed to shut the backdoor before collapsing on the ground.

It’s been a week since that night and I’ve returned the pills as planned. Mrs. Langer is still in critical condition and now her husband has taken over, feeding the mysterious pills to his son whenever he needs them. I was never questioned by anyone about what transpired that night. I did not report the incident. I plan to move out soon. Maybe to an apartment in the city, where there are no yards or play sets. The nightmares and fear from that night have run rampant in my mind. My backyard is still a mess from the party. I have not dared to go back there in order to clean things up. This is due to the fact that… since that fearful night, the boy makes sure to swing facing my home.

Whenever I even glance out of the window, I see his haunting eyes peering into mine as he smiles that horrid smile. The last I saw of the boy was his father coming out to give him another dose of the medication. Mr. Langer was down to his last bottle. That… was three, long nights ago. I am looking out of the window now to see what I expected to see… an empty swing.


Credit: Dan David (Nope Too Creepy YouTube Channel)

Click here to check out the Chilling Tales for Dark Nights narrative radio theater-style production of this story, as performed by Jeff Clement.

The post The Swing appeared first on Creepypasta.

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