Hudson’s Gnomes & The Crack

Yet Tören, no-by-order-bu.

[MUSIC PLAYING] No. This is creepy.

“A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling”

and disturbing creepy pastors and urban legends in the world whether these stories truly happened. All of a simple publications is for you to decide. These stories make in team graphic depictions of violence and explicit language.

Listener discretion is advised. What's up, Galmy? Creatures of the night prowling around out there, or sitting in your cars, or doing chores, or whatever it is you're listening to this, but we've already addressed some of you.

How do you listen? I've been doing much more than going through all the radio station archives lately. More the same with lots of Lake Wobegon type stuff. Some less so.

Some more like to stuff the keeps bleeding through the feed on occasion. The more I hear it though,

“less I think it's some kind of performance art.”

There's no record of the audio ever actually going out over the air waves, nothing in the logs or schedules about anything other than the usually I am fair. And if you don't know what that is, you are younger than me and I don't want to take the time to think about how old I am.

The loan hole, I feel. But I do have to wonder. Exactly where did these come from? I mean, I have my own suspicions, but then I have to wonder

how they got them in the first place.

And who's playing them? Or are these questions of people getting paid minimum wage aren't privy to in an industry that could fire me at any moment? I mean, not as long as I haven't seen the matter.

AM radio forever. And podcasts. OK, podcasts first, then AM radio. Speaking of podcasts, first up,

“for my dear EMOTERO, and married by Heather Thomas.”

creepy presence, Hudson's norms. When people think of the Appalachian mountains, they think of Virginia and other southern states. Appalachia, but the mountain range isn't solely there. It extends from Maine to Alabama.

Parts of New York are well within the range, and the strangeness of the Appalachians does as well. There are many cryptids in New York and not just the sewer alligators or giant rats of the city. We have our own big foot, lake monsters, and more.

My entire life, I had seen nothing strange. No ghosts, no weird creatures in the woods, not even a sleep paralysis demon. My friend Carl was going to change that. There are obviously fake videos of things found in the deep woods

and waterways throughout the state. You could find them on Reddit, TikTok, and other various social media sites. But Carl believed there was a kernel of truth to them. His obsession was the cat skills, and it took a while before I knew his exact obsession.

The cat skill knows and the disappearance of Henry Hudson. Carl had this theory that Hudson didn't die in the Hudson Bay, but made it back into the cat skills with the aid of these norms. The genesis of this theory was a book he had found. The aphotic archive, which was wrapped in non-descript

to black Moleskin leather.

It had no title on the cover or spine, only on the first page.

There was no publisher, no author, and the table of contents didn't have page numbers. The book captivated Carl and all his indulgences. He told me of strange pumpkin rituals, cursed corn, murderous aspens, and what we wanted most of all.

Cryptids. I'm not sure why he focused on the noms. They didn't sound as cool as the lunar moth folk or the black-eyed children. Even the not-dear, Ickthians, human tongue-louse, snowgulls, keystone portals, or mind-control worms,

Whether or not it was bullshit.

“We left civilization trudging into low mountains looking for noms.”

I didn't think we would see anything. The mountains were beautiful, even if they weren't exactly what she would think of when you hear the word. There were no snowcapped peaks with massive rocky faces. These were soft rolling mountains covered in trees and foliage.

Streams drained into the Hudson from various springs and ponds. We ran into people casually walking on the trails. I was certain this was going to be another chase, with nothing to show for it.

The first night we camped at a lean two,

and we were not far out into the wilderness. I would assume any cryptid would not be far off the path, but Carl usually had some kind of plan, whether it was knocking sticks together hoping to summon a big foot,

“or using a wiki board to talk to spirits.”

I asked him about the story of these so-called noms, and he explained that Henry Hudson, on his expedition to find the northwest passage, came through the Hudson River. During that time, he encountered these small,

bearded, pig-eyed creatures who had forges and magical ale. These noms were part of the myth of the disappearance of Henry Hudson and his crew after a mutiny. He believed that these weren't European noms out here, but what some natives called Pekwajji,

a goblin-like creature that lurked in deep forest regions, and caused problems before disappearing. The aphotic archive called them, a forgotten race.

“Of course, he wanted to capture one on film”

and documented our entire journey, and I had to be the face of this, so he pointed the camera at me and gave me his little script. Hello, everyone. I said facing his camera.

Today is the first 4A into the cat skills,

looking for the mysterious cat-scale noms, or what we believe to be possible Pekwajji. We are deep in the wilderness, and so far have had no sightings, but we won't relent until we have captured one of these creatures on film.

I thought it was kind of cheesy, but his followers seemed to like it. He wanted to give a low-fi authentic feeling to his adventures, and wanted to ensure his audience that there was no faking, no AI, or any other nonsense.

We go to sleep, listening to the sounds of the woods and peepers in the distance. Later, I am awakened by a distant sound of music, and I see an ethereal glow in the distance. As I blinked with sleep-bleary eyes, it moved before vanishing, and the music faded as well.

I woke up in the morning, believing it was a dream. That day was when Carl decided we went off-trail. This wasn't something I like to do, even though we had decent cell phone service beacons and GPS with us. It was easy to get lost at these types of forests,

and even easier to get hurt. Then we would have to activate a beacon and wait to be rescued. And that's if we survived. Either way, I let him lead. He was the Henry Hudson of this expedition,

even if he was trying to be more of a molder. That made me, his scully. I got to follow along and be the wet blanket. He would stare at branches that seem to be stacked in certain ways, or mushrooms and rings, or any other various things that he swore wouldn't happen naturally.

I always had to rain him in, explaining that mushroom rings happened because of spores.

Branches fell like that a lot, and a leaf in a web wasn't a fairy trap. It was exhausting, but still entertaining in its own way. Carl stopped every so often to film random things like bits of nature. Some old foundations we found, and even me. He told me to talk about things we had seen, and I was honest.

So far on our expedition, we have seen beautiful forests, mountain ranges, and lots of birds and bugs. We kept moving the rest of the day, and Carl filled me in on some more puck wedgie lore. He explained that the stories regarding them were different among the different tribes. Some believed them to be harmless tricksters, while others thought them to be dangerous. They all described them as small human-like creatures with bullfish facial features.

All said to leave them alone and never annoy them.

“They would follow you, kidnap your children, or push you off cliffs.”

He also said that some stories told that they used to be friendly with humans, but something happened, and nobody knew what it was. Some believed it was jealousy for their love of other mythical figures, but nobody knew. The aphotic archive said the forgotten race was a source for many of these legends, and they were all over the world helping humans for millennia, with advanced technology,

and unrivaled metallurgy. Then 12,000 years ago, they vanished,

and there were few sightings, some were hostile, others friendly.

I thought for sure, one of those conspiracy nuts wrote this book. Later as we went further into the woods, I wondered if we could find our way back. Things grew strange. We saw a rabbit severed head pinned to a tree by its ears, with an ancient looking iron knife. Carl held up the camera, filming the grotesque sight, blood dripped into the leaves below,

and even though my gut boiled in my chest was heavy, I narrated.

“I think this is a warning that we have come into something's territory,”

and that we should probably leave.

Carl gave me a look and shook his head, so I continued. This won't scare us, though. We are seeking the truth, and we will find it. He nodded and walked forward. I couldn't take my eyes off the rabbit's head. The smell of blood was strong, and I knew it had to be fresh. Whatever did this was certainly watching us ignore their warning.

We found several trees that had strange carvings in them. Not like runes or any complex symbols, but just like exes, dashes, and a couple of circles.

“I don't know what they meant, but since that rabbit, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.”

Carl found the symbols in the archive and nodded, like it was all according to his plan. We made camp about two hours before dark. We used a propane camp stove to warm up some cans of ravioli as darkness descended upon us. I wished we had made a proper fire, but Carl didn't want to draw any attention. I was more afraid of us not being able to see what was out there, and I thought maybe a little fire would scare away any shifting nooms that wanted to mess with us.

I explained my concerns to Carl, and he shrugged and said we would be fine. An hour later, once the curtain of night was drawn, we climbed into the tent. As we lay in our thin sleeping bags, the sound of distant music came to us. It was barely audible over the cacophony of peepers, and I wondered if we wanted to hear it so badly our brains were fooling us. Then, the lights appeared. We opened our tents window flap and

watched as they bobbed and moved between the trees. We are not following that. I said to him, but he strained against me, wanting more than anything to chase down whatever held those flames. Instead, we filmed it, tracing the lights. He flipped through the archive and grinned. I thought Carl was excited because of the stories of the nooms having fires and partying at night, and he even saw that the puck wedgie used the lights to lure people into the woods.

He turned the book towards me, illuminating it with his phone. There is a drawing of flames floating between trees, and a strained box in front of them. The light was too dim for me to read the tiny text, but he whispered that it was the forgotten race. Carl wanted to get closer and was out of the tent before I said anything. I grabbed my flashlight and ran after him. Despite the nearly full moon and clear sky,

the woods were unbelievably dark. Carl didn't turn on his flashlight, and I chose not to either, hoping to sneak up on the source of the lights. After his initial bluster, Carl had slowed, taking careful steps rather than smashing through everything. Even though I couldn't see him,

The music continued, and fireflies flickered into existence as I got closer to the lights.

“It seemed like they were drawn to the revelry as well. Their blinks were almost entuned with”

the discordant music. Carl became visible, his form silhouetted by the ghostly light. Psst! Carl! I called out, trying unsuccessfully to get his attention. We were so close to the lights and music that I thought for sure we could see whatever creatures were responsible. The woods parted into a small glade, and the ghostly lights fluttered around

an object that seemed to be the source of the music. Carl left the safety of the woods and

approached the object. It looked almost like a gramophone. The floating lights moved away from him,

“and as I inspected them, they looked to be some kind of wind by a luminescent insect.”

Like a firefly, but significantly larger. The similarity of the drawing and this glade was far too familiar. My gut twisted, and bile burned the back of my throat. Carl got closer, looking left and right, but just before he reached the device, the ground vanished under his feet. He made a startled sound, and was gone. Carl! I shouted, but covered my mouth before I got his full name out. My hand shook, and I studied my panicked breathing before getting closer.

Then the ground gave out, and I plummeted into darkness. I spread out my arms and legs to grip the side of the hole. It slowed me enough that when the sides disappeared, and I hit the bottom, it only knocked the wind out of me. It took a minute for my breathing to get back to normal, and when it did, the smell nearly caused me to vomit. I covered my mouth and nose with my shirt and gropped from my flashlight. I clicked it on,

and the source became clear. Animal carcasses littered the ground. Deer, coyotes, even a few wild pigs, all torn apart, and left to rot. Carl! I staged whispered, and only silence answered. Carl! I said louder, and still, nothing. I looked up at the hole, and the luminous and creatures fluttered above. The top of the cave was maybe 15 feet up, and the surface about 20-25 feet up. I was lucky I wasn't hurt. A groan caught my attention, and I showed my flashlight towards the sound.

The cave narrowed into a tunnel that descended into the earth. My stomach sank, and I could taste bile. I knew I should stay, but the whole Carl fell through wasn't here. He could be injured and needing my help. So I walked slowly, trying to step as softly as possible. The possibilities of what was going on were running through my mind. What was that music? Was it to lure those glowing

“creatures? Or was it to lure us? Was this a trap? If so, who said it? The nooms? Puck wedgie?”

This forgotten race? Were those animals back there accidental or intentional? I kneeled down to look at a bone before I left the room. Bite marks dimpled the surface, and whatever chewed on it broke it in half. Opportunistic or purposeful. I continued into the cave, listening for the groan. It came again, but I couldn't be sure if it was

him. I wished I had more than my pocket knife on me. All my time in the woods, I had never once

been scared, never once encountered anything remotely threatening. And now I stopped thinking I had heard something. Only the entire cave was still. If it weren't for my flashlight, I wouldn't even be sure I was awake. The silence overwhelmed my senses. The percussion of my heart beat was so loud, I could barely hear the drip of water in the distance. I continued to walk just so that

clapping their teeth together. I continued stepping carefully, trying not to make a noise. The cave

“opened up into a vast space, and I thought I was back outside. I looked up and little lights twinkled”

above me like stars, but my flashlight beam ruined the illusion. Bioluminous and worms and mushrooms imitated the night sky. What my beam also discovered were strange structures built from a smooth black material. To my left was a large pillar of the same lustrous material. And when I pressed my hand against it, it felt like metal. Carl said that the nooms were metal workers, and even in

this bleak moment, I had a second of excitement. Elections were true. Then a wet rip brought me back

into focus. It was louder now, and I heard what sounded more like an animalistic moan than what I had heard earlier. It was coming from one of the metallic structures, and when I approached, I smelled blood. I turned off my flashlight, fearing discovery, and let my eyes adjust as the wet tearing continued.

“The darkness wasn't as black as I got closer. The metal was embossed with a fractal pattern”

that would have been beautiful under different circumstances. I peaked in, and the glowing fungus gave me a vague impression of what was going on. Two humanoid figures were ripping something apart, but it was too large to be Carl. The dark bloody lump looked to be the size of a deer. I sighed with relief, and walked away from the structure, only to knock a rock with a clumsy step. It clattered against the metallic structure, and the ripping inside stopped.

I turned, and two emaciated shapes emerged, without thinking I shown my flashlight on them. Their pale skin glistened in the light, and they shielded the slits where there should have been eyes.

They screeched in pain, and I ran. At first I thought it was the way I came,

“but the cave descended deeper into the ground. There was no hole leading to the surface,”

only more stone. They snarled and clacked their teeth behind me like rabid animals. My legs pumped acid, and my lungs were heavy, but the narrow cave opened up again. Instead of running across the space, I turned to the right and pressed myself against the wall. Hoping that they didn't have good enough eyesight to find me. Several of the humanoid creatures ran into the space, snarling and clacking their teeth.

They sniffed the air, and retreated into the tunnel they had come.

I waited, and as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I noticed the same biol luminescent fungus.

The space was a glow with it, and some of those flying luminescent creatures fluttered around as well. I still didn't dare move. The shadows were deep, and I was too scared to turn on my flashlight. So I stayed motionless. The shape of the room grew clearer as my eyes adjusted, and large structures became visible. Their black metal facades were darker than the surrounding stone walls.

Statues of humanoid figures made of the same black metal were lined up against the walls, and giant metal chandeliers hung from the top of the cave. What was this place? After some time passed, I ventured further in, investigating these statues and structures. I risked turning on my flashlight, and it was nothing like I had ever seen before.

The statues looked as if they were holding up the cave ceiling, and the structures were brutalist with their hard angles and flat surfaces. Yet every surface was embossed with symbols like hieroglyphics and relief all over it. The large central structure had what looked like a massive door at the top of a series of steps. I wondered how vast this tunnel network was.

If the gnomes that Hudson had seen were these creatures, this forgotten race. There was nothing like this mentioned with the Pukwaji either. That damn book was right. Where the hell did he find that thing? I approached the door and squeezed through.

Strange statues were scattered in the space, as well as what looked like sarcophagi.

“Some were busted open while others were still sealed.”

I showed my flashlight inside the broken tombs and found bodies that were adorned in silvery metals that still gleamed. Then something crunched under my foot. Bones. The place was littered with them, but these ones didn't look chewed up. Some had clean cuts, and others looked smashed.

Something clanked in the space, and I scanned the area with my light. Nothing moved, but I heard the whore of something mechanical.

Like a machine warming up or gear shifting.

Then a statue on the far side of the room emanated a faint glow as a luminescence traveled over its surface in a series of channels. The other statues did the same, and came to life. They clicked with gears like a clockwork automaton. I stepped back, and more bones crunched under my feet.

All the automaton shifted, their stoic face is turning towards me. High ran, squeezing out the door, and darted back towards the cave I had come from. Metallic footsteps followed and slammed the door open.

I looked back over my shoulder. The strange machine was coming closer,

blades extending from each arm. Others were still emerging from the door in various states of disrepair. This was why those things turned back. They knew what was down here. I kept running, even as I heard a mechanical clanking getting closer behind me. I ran into the tunnel as it swung its blade, and it sparked off the stone.

The cave forked off in different directions, and I did not know which was the route I had come from. So I guessed, and took the one that seemed to go up. I didn't have time to gather my thoughts, but the idea that I was running from some clockwork machine after running from some subterranean people made me doubt that this was real. I was going to wake up back at the camp with Carl, and we would continue our hike.

This couldn't be real.

“Carl, where was he? Did he survive his fall or was he eaten by these creatures?”

I heard a screech ahead of me, and the clockwork at Tomaton was getting closer. I couldn't afford to ponder on what ifs, turning my flashlight on, I could see that this cave was going to open up again, and I really hoped it was the whole I had come through. Not that I had a way to climb back out, but at least I would know where I was. Dashing into the space, I stopped shining the flashlight all around me, and pale humanoid

shapes covered their eye slits from the light. I took off to run along the wall, and then stopped when I got to a group of rocks, and turned off the light. The Atomaton clanked into the room and scanned the area, the pale subterranean creatures erupted into a course of house, plaques, and screeches. They charged the metallic men, but I watched as it cut them down with brutal efficiency. Each strike killed multiple of the creatures, and savage bloody arcs.

Their makeshift spears and knives clanked off the metal, not slowing it at all. I stopped watching and searched for a way out, but I didn't see any other way. Then the way I came. The room was filled with these creatures, and I shined the light around and found a shaft that was about six feet above the ground, and seemed to ascend. I knew this was my only choice, and I ran for it, scrambled up the stones and crawled into the hole,

but there wasn't enough room for me to climb. I tried to force myself further, but I couldn't move. Something grabbed my ankle in an iron grip, pulling me back into the cave. It flung across the room and skittered across the floor. The entire space stink of blood, and when I looked around, I didn't see any of those creatures still alive, only heaps of their bodies. The Atomoton walked closer, in jerking steps with its black blades dripping

“in blood and gore. I wondered how long these things had been down there. What was their origin?”

Were these creatures descendants of its builders? And why did they kill indiscriminately?

At that moment, I wished I hadn't tested fate. That I just stayed home and watched this kind of

stuff on TV and not go out adventuring. I wished Carl had never found that book.

And next, for my decreased effort to browse ski in nearied by Nicole Goodnight, creepy presence, the crack. A storm rained outside, drops drummed intrusively against the roof of the old one story house. Time and again lightning flashed, eliminating the darkness and bringing out the face of a terrified

“onya. She was 12 years old. Her parents went out for some important meeting with friends.”

She assured them that she was already big enough and knew how to take care of herself. And now everything happening outside made her increasingly fearful. Thunder's were the worst, not the flashes but those sudden rumbles. She was jumping up and down

anxious to make matters worse the lights went out. She recalled that in such situations,

her parents used to go down into the basement to fix it. Once she even accompanied her dad to do it, so she knew what it looked like. Before she turned away from the window, she heard the sound of a water glass tipping over on the table. She froze in stillness afraid to turn around. Is anyone here?

She muttered in a trembling voice, hoping that if it was a burglar, she would get scared in on a way, or he would kill. She shuddered. However, no one answered, so she carefully, slowly turned her head. She stared long and hard, but of course she couldn't see anything in the impenetrable darkness. It could flash now. She preferred to be afraid of thunder than

“of what could lurk in the darkness. Why not call her parents, she considered in her head?”

No, I won't make it after all. In the end, she decided to wait, and took the fact that nothing was happening as good fortune. Or maybe the glass was standing on the edge of something from which it just had to fall. Maybe all it took was some indisternable tremor from the lightning strike to make

it happen. Finally, there was the longed for flare, followed immediately by a second punching and

warping with elongated shadow shapes that were familiar. There were more than usually disturbing. That moment was enough for her to roll her panicked gaze around the room. She didn't spot anyone, but just after darkness fell again, something knocked over her chair. Something invisible. Oh God, a ghost? Her heart froze in half a beat because she saw no other explanation for the stranger currents. She rushed towards the basement door with all her might, eager to restore the

light in the house as soon as possible. It seemed like a savior in this situation. Admittedly, she wasn't sure if it would scare away the phantom, but at least she would feel better. She slowly and carefully started walking down the stairs. Although she felt like rushing had longed down the stairs. But that would probably be the end of it. So she preferred not to risk it. Moreover, surrounded by impenetrable blackness, she had the impression that she was being watched,

and the being watching her could be anywhere, both behind and in front of her. This impression made it very difficult for her to keep her panic and shack. I'm in no danger here, it has no body, it won't do anything, repeated to herself, to reassure herself. But while the glass and the chair were knocked over. Step by step, little by little, on shaky legs, soft as cotton wool, reflexively touching the cold stone wall with her hand,

she went down and down, and down. And the fear slowly yielded to darkness, because the longer she communed with it, the less severe it became, the longer. When she calmed down a bit, she realized that something was taking a long time to descend. And even doing it as slowly as she was now, she should have been at the bottom in the basement by now. With each step she hoped it was over, that there would be no more lying to herself that it was terror that caused such an effect in her mind.

And then she found that no, that she was fooling herself again, that something was very wrong.

“Should I go back? Flash through her head? No, too far away, or maybe it was actually because of this fear?”

And at that moment, she saw a patch of light somewhere down below. Again, she felt like rushing ahead, but again, she decided not to do so, even though it was difficult to do. She still felt apprehension, but on top of that, she was bursting with a curiosity that was hard to control. The closer she got to the place, the more she realized that she was in a strange space that might not be her home anymore. The stairs to the basement in the house end quickly after all.

Wherever she was, the light was reassuring. However, before she reached it, darkness fell again. She decided to keep going down, nacing the wall to feel the place from where it was coming out.

and a moment later she heard distant thunder. Storm. There's a storm out there. And if there's a storm, there's an exit. After what she had gone through lightning, thunder, and rain were no longer so impressive. On the contrary, she was glad to hear them.

When she finally approached the crack and saw what was on the other side, she was stunned.

She expected it to be an exit to the outside, or, despite everything, a basement with a window under the ceiling. But no, it was the house, who was in her parents. The same floor in the same living room with a large dining room, and it wasn't even that that was the most shocking thing. That as she walked through the crack, she noticed that it was as thin as a sheet of paper, which was some kind of absurdity, because the wall should be much thicker.

What shocked her most was that she saw herself from a few moments ago. Onya standing by the window, afraid of the storm. And I go on back in time. She did not have time to answer this question, because she inadvertently rubbed her hand standing on that table over glass of water. The one at the window just as she did then became motionless and then asked.

Is anyone here? Onya frozen stillness. But in a moment, she realized that the one at the window was her from the not too distant past, and that she had not noticed anyone then. Two flashes of thunder.

“Yes, she should see me. Maybe she can at least hear?”

Hey, it's me. She called out. "I mean you from the near future?" Nothing had changed. Oh boy, I'm invisible after all. It occurred to her only now, and she was so frightened that she took a step backwards,

cooking her foot on the chair at that same time. Well, yes, and I thought it was a ghost. She realized what happened then. While the one from the past in a panic attack threw herself toward the basement door. "Where am I, Ghost?"

Onya froze. Meanwhile, the one from the past disappeared behind the door. No, after all, I have a body and I even hook it to objects. So why can't she see her hear you? There was an unpleasant voice in her head that she had not known until now.

No sensible answer came to mind, making her feel a strong stab of anxiety. She decided to not give into it, and thought it best to follow herself from the past.

“Then we get to the rift, will we already beat three?”

She herself didn't know whether she was more afraid or rather curious about what would happen. It all reminded her of an episode of a bizarre series, like so many on the internet now. The one from the past must have sensed her, because she was restless and looked vigilantly to the sides and behind her despite the darkness. Plus, she was barely visible, and when she climbed a few steps, her faint outlined

disappeared completely from Onya's sight. "How about turning back?" She reflectedly turned around and was horrified to discover that behind her there was nothing but a wall blocking her retreat. On top of that, it was pushing against her, slowly moving.

At the rate at which the one from the past was coming down. It all looked as if the reality unnecessarily to that one had rolled up and limited its reach to some invisible field around the descending one. But it didn't reach Onya. She didn't ask herself these kinds of questions and didn't have these kinds of thoughts.

She was just a confused, lost 12-year-old girl who was terrified by the fact that a wall

that had never been here was slowly, because slowly, but nevertheless gliding at her,

pushing her off the step on which she was standing. Her legs trembled like aspins, but somehow she managed to go lower and turn around. There was no trace of the Onya from before, so she moved after her, not wanting to be left here alone again. She sped up as much as she could, following the principle of her is slowly,

and although she was convinced that she was going down much faster than that one, and should have caught up with her by now, nothing of the sort happened. There was still only impenetrable blackness and a dreadful silence in front of her. "Where are you?" She thought feverishly.

"Please don't leave me here alone. I beg!" "Onya!" She called out, but no one answered. "She can't hear me. I didn't hear anything either when I was coming down then." She recalled, and the transition to the house, to the past, it should have been there long ago, too.

Or maybe it disappeared when that one passed. There was nothing left for her to do, but to keep going down, hoping that maybe it would be possible to go out somewhere again. I maybe it will be possible with her. Maybe you'll descend like this for all eternity.

Again, that alien and pleasant voices if some gnome sat in her head and had an incredible laugh about it.

Ha ha ha, but funny. Normally, she would have felt silly talking into the void.

“But after all, no one could see her, and since it added to the fun, why not?”

She had no idea how long she'd been descending, but it was definitely too long, so long that she lost track of time, and there was still only that damn darkness, blackness, blackness, and more blackness as if she had gone blind.

The nomenar had cackled. "No, I haven't gone blind! Get off my back!" She shouted, "How can you be sure? How can you check?" She could have sworn she heard another disgusting, barely audible cackles somewhere outside her head. "Am I going crazy?"

She had always thought that only adults went crazy.

Is that how it happens?

“You have to be alone for a very long time and the dark can be too afraid?”

That's how you go crazy. She wasn't going to go crazy. "That's so in my head!" She said to herself as calmly as she could. And then she started down, step by step, inch by inch, down, down, further and further down.

She tried not to think about anything, just to focus on the next steps on going down on the slow rhythm of her body moving cautiously. It was calming, it calmed her down a lot.

Finally, she saw a faint light in the distance, but much brighter than last time, as if it were

daytime on the other side. Her heart beat faster. She felt joy and impatience. She wanted to get to the passage to the house as soon as possible. But she prudently stopped herself from rushing, and saw in her mind's eyes what would have happened

“if she stumbled and fell down. A motionless lifeless gaze, or one filled with the agony of death,”

and blood, more or less. There would certainly be a blood stain, and her arms and legs broken and bent its strange angles. And if things went badly, she would also have opened fractures, bones protruding from her torn body. "Brr." She shuddered at the very thought, and just like an adult, she thought that in such a situation she would rather be dead than dying agony,

or survive as a paralyzed cripple. She moved cautiously downwards, slowly, without haste. "What if it disappears?" The nomenar had sneered. "What if this is your only chance, and if you don't take it, you'll be stuck here forever?" "Oh, shut up already." She has to their clenched teeth.

"You just complained that I go blind, and I can still see." But indeed, the closer she got to the crack, the more she feared that this would actually happen. It didn't happen. She got there and the passage to the old world was still there, only it was a world from the future. She walked through the crack and found herself in her dining room. Everything seemed familiar just like before, but some objects had disappeared.

New ones had appeared instead. But what surprised her the most was the change in the appearance of her parents, who were sitting at the table eating in gloomy silence. They seemed to be the same as before yet different, and somehow older. "Mom, Dad?" She called, but of course they didn't respond. They couldn't, because they didn't see her either.

She approached her dad and understood what made them look different, subtle differences such as the first gray hair and his beard plus more wrinkles, a slightly more sagging face, and dark circles under his eyes, as if he had slept poorly. He ate while reading the newspaper, which was covered with splashes of soup every now and then.

He was known for that, and she always found it amusing that he could never manage to get it into

his mouth without spilling it from the spoon. The same thing happened to her mom, also small changes.

“But the worst thing was her eyes when she ate her soup pensively. They were filled with sadness.”

Onya understood that this was a much worse sadness than the one she felt when she got a bad grade, even though she knew everything, but the stress momentarily erased all the knowledge from her head. She felt then that the world was sometimes damn unfair, but those who didn't study were sometimes better than her. But her mother's sadness was much deeper, the kind that eats away at the soul, irreversibly changing a person. She was terrified. "Of course they're worried about my

disappearance. I wonder how much time is passed." She decided to let them know she was there. She reaped her hand in front of her mother's eyes. She hoped that maybe her mother would somehow sense her presence. Unfortunately, she didn't. Maybe she could touch an object? Yeah, that's a good idea. The salt shaker. She waved her hand once in twice, but it only passed through the object. How come it worked before? Perhaps it is because I'm in the future?

Then, when you frightened yourself, you were not as the cold voice of logic. Is it true? Yet it was very close to the future, while everything here indicated that a significant amount of time had passed. Perhaps that is why? I maybe you need to bump into an object by accident, but how to do it? Even if I started jumping around the room carefully, it'd still be a deliberate action, but maybe that chaos would be enough. She decided to try

she had nothing to lose. She started jumping and running, but nothing happened, and she would have kept trying for a long time because she didn't feel tired. If she hadn't noticed something that worried her very much, the crack had disappeared. Admittedly, the basement door was still in place, and she would certainly have been able to get their sooner or later, but she was in the future. So how was she supposed to return to the present? Where she was visible to everyone and could

but to go back down the stairs and see where it would take her this time. Her concern subsided

strangely quickly, replaced by acceptance. She thought that since her hands had passed through the salt shakers, she might be able to walk through the door without any problems. She looked back at her parents one last time and felt sad, but it was a strangely faded sadness as if it no longer concerned her, as if they were not her parents. My parents are in the past, some

“important meeting, and when I returned to myself, they will also return soon in everything will”

be as it was before. And what's happening here will not happen at all, so they will cease to exist here, and when time passes, and they reach the present, they will not be so terribly sad,

but normal, just as they always were. She moved towards the door. She paused for a moment in front

of them because she felt uncomfortable. She'd never walked through a door before. She didn't know what it was like or she would feel anything. "What have it hurts?" she wondered anxiously. She decided to do it slowly and start with her finger. She reached out her hand. It didn't hurt. She didn't feel anything. She had barely breathed the sigh of relief when another disturbing thought

“appeared. "What if there's something in there and it bites me finger off?" "No, I'm being silly."”

She criticized herself. "I've already been there and nothing attacked me. It's dark in there. I was in the dark and nothing happened to me. It's just the lack of light." She explained patiently to herself. Once that would have helped, she could have convinced herself for hours and still been afraid but not now. The fear passed surprisingly quickly. She had a fleeting, barely perceptible surprise and emerged herself in the matter of the door. And it was as if it wasn't there at all.

She just suddenly found herself on the other side. Unexpectedly, the late bulb hanging from the ceiling began to flicker. A dim yellowish light. She was surprised to see a few steps in the basement for this

“time. It's strange that sometimes normality seems strange at normal. Suddenly she realized she could”

see something else. A girl's leg. White tights like hers. She began to descend slowly but she felt no fear or surprise as if she were visiting some kind of virtual exhibition. When she was at the bottom, she saw herself flying in a growing pool of blood and realized that she was back in her present, that she had died, and was now a ghost. She felt no sadness or regret. She was completely indifferent to it all now. "So I was already a ghost haunting myself?" She thought and found it quite

amusing. "Well, what now? What next?" There's a quiet creek somewhere above. She looked up instinctively and saw that it was the basement door, slowly opening by itself. She wasn't surprised at all, nor was she shocked by the bright light coming through the crack. She felt no fear but rather relief and joy because it was good. And she felt as if she were returning home to her real home. She ran up the stairs no longer careful because as a ghost she could not die or break her

bones. She stepped confidently into the blinding light and the door behind her disappeared instantly.

She would never felt happier, but it only lasted for a moment. Because suddenly something

invisible began to bite her, it hurt terribly. "For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration, please visit creepypod.com. You can also follow us at creepypod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are done so through creative comments share a light licensing or with written consent from the authors. No portion of this podcast may be re-broadcast or otherwise distributed without the

express written consent of the creepypodcast production team and the story's author.