Something in This World Knows I Don’t Belong Here

was inspired by the hit TV show Dexter. These are just a couple of the dark true crime stories you'll hear each week on the crime hub podcast. In each episode, I dive deep into new disturbing true crime stories. Like the story of the religious cult, Heaven's Gate, a group who convinced its followers to commit suicide in order to reach a level of existence above human. Disturbing true crime stories like these are what make the crime hub podcast worth listening to.

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on YouTube and make sure you're subscribed with notifications on so you don't miss it. My lungs are burning, and that's a problem because my lungs should never be burning. I've run marathons worth of miles before without even breathing art, but this crap has me messed up. This world, the strangeness of it all, and it doesn't help that I have a shit ton of armed men on my ass. Who the hell are these guys? Who the hell is the SCP foundation?

Whoever they are, they are funded. That's for sure. Those guys tore into the motel and vehicles I

“have never seen before. Geared up like they were going to war. The real shitty part is that apparently”

they were going to war. War with me. And I don't blame them. I'm not from here. This isn't my home. And I'm not talking about whatever city I just passed through or whatever state this is. I mean the whole damn place, all of it. This world, not my home. I come from a place called The Infernal City, a city surrounded by the wastes, with a direct gate, or several, depending on who you ask, straight to hell. Hades,

the underworld. That land below where evil rules and cruelty is currency. This isn't any of that. This place, this land I have found myself in, it's far, far worse. The people, there are so many, and they are all the same. Human. Yeah, sure. There are cats and dogs and squirrels, but none of them talk. None of them appear out of alleyways or from sparkly tree limbs with prophecies to bestow on unsuspecting passers by. Now, all the animals are just that. Animals.

The humans are close to being animals themselves. I've seen ogres with greater patience than some of these folks. All they do is yell at each other, waving middle fingers in the air because of some slight or other. A car cut this one off. The person in line got the last donut. The light is turning green fast enough. Somebody is walking here. I'm walking here. It's nothing more than conflict after conflict. After just one night in the motel, I learned enough to never want to come back

to this nightmare land again. Of course, I have to get home first before I can truly vow never to

come back, which is why I am running. I made a call and got some advice. It was a call that shouldn't have gone through, but I forced it to. I made that shit happen. Thank you for calling AT&T. How may I assist you today? Um, yeah, I need Peyton. Connect me to Peyton right away, please.

“I'm sorry, sir. But I'll need more information. Do you have a last name in city?”

Last name? Uh, I don't know if he has a last name. I think Peyton might be his last name. In which case, I suppose he doesn't have a first name. That would make sense. I fully understand, sir. That is not a problem. What city does Peyton reside in? I can cross

search by first or last name. What city? I looked about at the shit hole world I had found myself in.

Why is the operator asking what city? How many cities does this hellscape hold? The only city. The infernal city. I am sorry, sir. But I don't have an infernal city listed in this state, which state is the city in? State? It's in a constant state of upheaval and political intrigue for what the newspapers say. It's also when a state of change and flux, if the sears are to be believed. It was silence for a moment. Sir, I am not sure I'm going to be able to help you

help. I dug into the front pocket of the backpack. I had brought with me. I always keep a backpack

full of essentials, like two changes of clothes, in case I rip through them during transformation. Three shrunken heads because of the theories and the wastes. A bottle of dragon piss, which doesn't need explaining, obviously. And six small coins. I put one of the coins into the slot on the payphone I was using. And believe me, it was impossible to find a payphone in this world. Connect me to the infernal city operator. Sir, again, I cannot. The operator's voice

craled off as the coin made its way through the payphone's innards. For he is of the land, and the

land is of he, and there shall be no separation between the two. Yep, that. Please hold as I connect you.

Thanks. I really appreciate it. My soul will burn for eternity. Please hold. I help. Okay. This better be good because whatever this call is about, this external connection is costing the city an arm and a leg. And I'm not talking some cheap, coupled arm and a leg here, Keith. I tell him the hell are you even calling from wherever you are, huh? What the hell did you do, Keith? Um, I need Peyton. Peyton, you think that louse of a PI is going to be able to

help you? You're outside the infernal city, Keith. You've gone past the wastes. You were way way out of bounce, Mr. and you want Peyton? He owes me a favor. Of course he does. The operator side. I couldn't tell if it was a helpful side because they were getting Peyton, or if it was a sad side because I was doomed. When Peyton is concerned, it can be a little of both. Okay, I'll connect you.

“What Keith? Yeah? How many coins do you have left? Five. Five? How on the hell did you get five?”

Or six, since you used one to call here? How did you get six? Um, down them? By a bench he's bleeding nipples, Keith. Don't say another word. Hang onto those coins, you hear me? If you want back home, hang onto them and only use them when the time is right. That's a lot of advice from an operator. Oh, I'm sorry. Would you rather I connect you to the freaking mayor? Is the mayor's advice worth more your time? Sorry. Sorry. You operators have your pulse on the city.

I'll show it up and listen. Nothing more to say. I'm connecting you to Peyton now. There was a loud click. A couple of screams, and then a raspy. Oh, Peyton, it's Keith. I need help. Keith? Which one? I know like four keys. You do? Um, I'm the wear wolf Keith. Yeah, I know you are. I'm just messing with you because you woke me up. It's the middle of the night, Keith. It is? I looked around the destitute area I was in. Huh? It's the middle of the day here.

“Now that you would know by all the clouds, pretty gloomy. A little depressing, really. Keith?”

What are you babbling about? Peyton's side? I could hear him lighting a cigarette, inhaling the next healing. Okay, lay it on me. Did you wolf out and need a down of pixies again? You gotta stop doing that, pal. That was one time, and it was brownies. I was on the toilet for 18 days. Brownies will do that to you. And what do you mean it's the middle of the day there? Where is there, Keith? Um, well, yeah. That's kind of what I need help with. It's sort of left this city.

Yeah, and turn around and come back. How far out in the weasts are you? Peyton golfed, and I could hear him stir. Oh, older water horses. How are you calling me if you're in the weasts? Last I checked, there are no phones in the weasts.

I never said I was in the weasts. I'm past them. I'm somewhere else. Pass the,

“are you kidding me? Is it some sick joke? How and all the hell did you get past the weasts?”

I walked. You walked, and I have some coins. Coins? Not the coins I'm thinking of, right? You said you'd never use those coins, Keith? I got bored. Damn where wolves. I swear to all that's unholy. I heard Peyton drag hard on his cigarette. Stay where you are, call you back. The line went dead, so I waited, which created a bit of a problem. Turned out that waiting in one place wasn't the best idea. Those damn SCP Foundation guys found me. I never got that call back from Peyton.

and my stamina and strength are far better than your average non-magic human. Don't get me wrong. There are plenty of beings faster than me. Pretty much all of the fey. Goblins, those suckers can book, paints, if they concentrate. Unicorns, of course, even leprocons. And while some might argue they are

“part of the fey, don't tell them that. You want a pot of gold up your ass? Because that's how you get a”

pot of gold up your ass. So conceivably, I should be able to outrun these SCP Foundation guys, leave them in the dust by ducking into side streets and then cutting across lots, followed by some serious hustling under highways and all that shit. Yet, every time I pop up somewhere,

the SCP is right there. How are they doing it? I never learned to drive so I can't steal a car.

Not that I'd know what to do with these weird cars in this world. All slick and shiny and small, so very, very small. Like plastic toys, sipping along the highways. And man, do they have a lot of highways here? Yeah, sure. The infernal city has highways, but they just loop around the city. Most times, they aren't even used unless you want to drive out into the waste. I do want to drive out into the

“waste. I know I shouldn't talk, but I walked into the waste. And I'm aware wolf. So soil between”

my toes is always a delight, even if that soil is cursed and possibly contains the dust of the bones of the ancient old ones. Still feels good though. So no car. Gotta keep puffing it.

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And you will. Now available in Canada too. Don't keep settling for clothes that don't last. Go to qu-i-n-c-e.com/dns for free shipping and 365 day returns. That's quince.com/dns. My stomach growls as I spot a park across the alley I'm currently hiding in. On the far side of the

“park, barely visible through the trees and bushes and play equipment is what I think is a diner.”

I could go for a double rubin with a side of fries, a side of onion rings, and two chocolate milkshakes. Rumbling even louder. My stomach agrees wholeheartedly. Plus, there's a pull. A feeling like there's something in that diner. Looking both ways, I see that the coast is clear, and I race across the street and into the park. I know I look awful. Three days and nights of running and hiding will do that to a man who was really a wolf, but at least the full moon here isn't for a few days. I checked.

If I were all wolfed out. Well, I might as well just drop to my knees, raise my hands, and give up. Parents, I'm ewarely, turning their children away from me when I draw tune here. A couple of the dads act like they're going to stop me, but they keep their distance when I give them my huge, bright smile. I may lengthen my canines a bit too, just for effect. But they don't stop clocking me as I hurry across the pristine grass and walk between picnic tables, then around a small gazebo,

until I'm on the far side of the park. I can smell the grease from here. Yes, I need this so bad, and it won't hurt to be in a public place. Let those SCP weirdos try to pull me out of a pack diner. I could tell when they tracked me down at the motel that maintaining a calm, professional front while in the public eye was their goal. It caused them to hesitate, which allowed me to slip away. I had no idea who they were at that point, but I knew they were trouble.

Also, as a werewolf, I have a sixth sense when it comes to being hunted. I can smell traps a mile away. I can feel violence on the horizon. I can hear the beating of potential captors' hearts. I can taste fear and hate and desire and malice. I had managed to slip free from the motel, but only made it a block before a huge vehicle jumped the sidewalk and cut me off. Armed men jumped out of the back of the vehicle, all shouting and pointing their strange rifles

Maybe the men themselves weren't evil, but they had been tainted by it. Most likely,

“due to some unfortunate proximity to a source. There was no way I could go with them.”

Not if they were taking me to the same place as that evil. I'd just left the infernal city and hiked through the wastes to find some place where evil didn't rule. I wasn't going to be locked up with it if I could help it. Turns out, this whole damn world is pretty evil. Not with a capital E like in the infernal city, but with a lower case E, which to me is way more insidious. Little evils everywhere quickly add up. I tore those SCP people apart, letting the wolf out

for just a few minutes. I destroyed them all, ripping them to shreds, rending them limb from limb.

They were good. They fought hard, but all the little evils they've dealt with made them softer than me. You don't know strength until you fought uppercase evil. I did keep one alive for a bit. He gave me some details about this SCP foundation. Mostly, so we could use his last breaths to mock me and tell me how dead I was going to be when I was caught. He pushed his look a bit too far and, well, I might have ripped his throat out with my teeth. Now, with my stomach rumbling,

I forced the past few days worth of memories down, crossed the street, and walk into the diner. Ready to get my grease on. My hope for a bustling restaurant that I can get lost in is dashed immediately. There are barely more than a handful of customers in the place. The majority look rather than I do, which is saying a lot. No wonder all those parents watched me like a hawk. This neighborhood must be the boundary between someplace good and someplace not so good.

Sit where you want, huh? I'll be right with you. The waitress is older. Not as old as me, mind you. But for a human, she's getting up there. A job like this must be brutal on her. I want your walk back into the kitchen. Then I find a booth in the back corner, which lets me view the front door. The waitress comes out of the kitchen, grabs a menu into coffee pot and heads straight for me. According to be vashes, the lunch special. Coffee? Yes, please. I flip my mug over and she fills it.

“She nonsurhead at the end of the table. Cream and sugar are right there. You know what you want?”

But you need a minute to look at the menu. Are you still serving breakfast? All day, every day. Great. Give me two tall stacks, six eggs scrambled with cheese, biscuits, a double side of bacon and an order of onion rings. Oh, oh, and two chocolate milkshakes. The waitress dares at me. You sure, huh? That's a lot of food. On cue, my stomach growls and the waitress takes a step back. I pat my belly. Um, yeah, I'm sure. It smells so good. I could eat it all up.

The waitress keeps staring at me. You got cash to pay for all of that? Cash? Um, yeah, I have coins. I dig into the pocket of my backpack and pull out my last five coins. Peyton was wrong. I didn't start with six. I started with seven. I had to spend the first one to get past the wastes. At first, the sphinx had wanted to challenge me

to a riddle competition, but puzzles have never been my thing. When I offered her a coin,

she gladly took it instead and shoot me on my way. Jingling the coins in my hand, I show them to the waitress. At first, she begins to argue, then her eyes glaze over slightly and she nods. Cash on the barrel head, yep, yep. She shakes her head and planks a few times,

“then rubs the back of her neck. I think I think I'm due for my break. I love, put your order in”

first. Be right out with it all in a jiff, hon. Thanks. As she walks off, I see the cook staring at me through the order window. He's an older man, older than the waitress, with carved lines in his face like he's a puppet come to life. I shiver a little. Living puppets give me the creeps. There was a whole gang of them living in an apartment a few doors down from mine. The cook keeps eyeing me, then the waitress walks into the kitchen and starts shouting my order.

Giving me one last lingering withering look, the cook disappears, ready to get back to his grill and get me my grub. With nothing else to do, I study the other customers. Two men are at the counter, both occupying schools at opposite ends of each other,

her age. Can't really say what she looks like. Brownish hair hanging down. I can see a little

“of her face behind that hair. Then I see her eyes boring into me from behind that curtain of”

brownish locks. I look away quickly. She reminds me of that old hag in the meadow and the groves back home. You don't want her watching you for too long, no sur. At a small table over by a side window, sit a young man and woman. They are eating sandwiches and fries, talking low and conspiratorial whispers. I catch the young man glancing about, his eyes taking everything in. The young woman keeps her eyes on the front door when the two aren't whispering.

That feels off. Before I can think too much about it, undistracted,

distracted by a path on ringing. All heads swivel toward a small hallway with restrooms stenciled above it. The ringing is coming from there. The customers heads swivel back to their coffee, their food, their business, but I can't ignore the ringing. Getting up, I enter the small hallway, noting the emergency exit at the back and the two doors to the restrooms. The payphone is hanging on the wall halfway between the men's room and the women's room.

It's strange being in a world with only two designated restrooms. In the infernal city,

we have men's rooms, women's rooms, winged creatures' rooms, hoofed creatures' rooms,

and rooms for the young dead and non-corporeal. My hand rests on the phone's hand, said, "I take a breath, then I answer." . "I just want to understand, I just want to study, job or to get up." "I'm tired, I don't want to be tired." "I'm tired, I'm tired." "Safe." With this pleasure.

That's a music for your ears. Videos are also released on vendors with Shopify, can't sit to an actual hit-beard. Start to test your health for your own own promo.

“Shouldn't have used them or shown them around. Where are you that you need at the coins?”

The diner. I was hungry. "Diner, eh? How is it? Is the food the same there as it is here?" "I don't know, I haven't had any yet." "Okay, well, you probably aren't going to." "Sorry, Bell. Need to." "Diner immediately." The connection crackled, and Peyton's voice faded in and out.

"Payton? Are you there?" "Wast. Use a payment in full. Payton? I can't understand you." The phone goes dead, and the downtown sounds unusually shrill in my ear. I put the handset back on the cradle, and returned to my booth. The other customers are exactly how I left them, except for the couple at the small table. Those two are jittery as hell. They're eyes flitting around the place, like they expect something to happen. Like they expect trouble.

“Ah, crap. Are they with this damn SCP organization, too? Are they plants? Am I being watched?”

If I am, why haven't they pounced? What are they waiting for? The cook shouts. The waitress makes an appearance, and starts grabbing my dishes from the order window. Here you go, Hunt. Cash on the barrelhead. Yep, yep. Your two stacks and scrambled eggs with cheese. Biscuits, onion rings, and double-sided bacon. I'll be right back with the milkshakes. But as she turns around, she stops in her tracks.

"I've got 'em right here." The old guy holds my two milkshakes each and one hand. The waitress motions to take them from him. What he pulls them back. "I got this, Barb. Looks like the two kids need more coffee." The waitress pauses, then shrugs, and fetches the coffee pot. As the cook sits down across for me, pushing both milkshakes my way.

"You sure are a hungry fella." "I haven't even touched my food yet. My eyes bore into his."

"I shove a piece of bacon in my mouth and chew slowly. My eyes never leaving his."

"You shouldn't be flashing those coins around. You'll attract the wrong attention." "I raise an eyebrow." "What attention is that?" "SCP attention. You're on the run, Argya. Found yourself to be a stranger in a strange land. And now you got heat on your tail." "My body goes rigid. And he must notice it. Because he holds up his hands."

"Not looking for trouble. I don't know your story. But the last time one of your kind made it here, the SCP sniff them out instantly. They have tools and people who can find us the moment we cross over." "Pushing my food away, I stand up." "No clue what you're blabbing about. The infernal city fool. What do you think I'm blabbing about?" "I sit my ass down. You know about the infernal city?"

"He nods and looks around." "Born and raised."

"I lean forward. Getting my arms messy. As I accidentally smear syrup from one of my stacks."

“"How did you get here?" "Doesn't matter what matters is that you can't be here. Then I'll track you."”

"For sure." "He looks around again." "If they haven't already." "I nod a few times." "How? How did they do it?"

"You ain't supposed to be here. That's how." "They know when something isn't supposed to be here." "I'm about to ask him another question. But the young couple interrupts us by jumping to their feet and pulling very large pistols out of their bags." "No one moves. This is a robbery. Move and you die!"

"My instinct is to wolf out and shred them. But why?" "As long as they don't have my coins, I'm fine."

“"Everyone empty their pockets under the tables."”

"Well, that's not going to work for me." "The cook reaches across the table and tries to grab my arm as I stand up. I feel the energy and violence build and spread through my body. I open my mouth, ready to show some serious teeth." "Then the front door explodes off its hinges, and it doesn't mean an tactical gear russian to the

diner. Their strange rifles whipping and all directions. The damn SCP has found me again." "The chaos solidifies and all rifles are pointed at the young couple." "What the guns down now?" "The two young people do not put down the guns. Instead, they switch their aim to the SCP operatives." "The big mistake. Following to the floor, I rethink going full wolf. I can take normal bullets

just fine. I mean, they hurt like a mother, but I'll survive. But I have a feeling that SCP know what they are doing, and the bullets coming my way will be silvert somehow." "That'd be very, very bad."

"The second my body hits the floor. All hell breaks loose."

"The young couple opens fire. The SCP operatives open fire." "Customer scramble to get down. But the diner is now a shooting gallery." "Bullets are flying in all directions at once. One of the men at the counterscreens, as he's obliterated by gunfire." "His body jumps in shutters at every impact, making him look like he's trying to dance or something.

Then a bullet catches him just above the left eye. And that is that. No more dancing for him." "The young couple has spared even worse. They are being pumped with so many rounds that they can't even fall to the ground. The bodies are forced up against the diner's wall as the SCP operatives unleash a leavened theory on them. "Come on, follow me." "The cook is on the floor with me, and he smacks my shoulder as he crawls by. I don't have to

think about it at all. I'm up on my hands and knees crawling after him immediately. We get to the counter, and I can see the waitress crouched down, hiding behind it, a broken pot of coffee in her hand. Her eyes are wide with terror." "Cash on the barrel head. Yep. Yep."

“"The cook shakes his head as we move into the kitchen." "What the hell, coins you got on you?”

Your fried barves brain." "Didn't mean to." "Once in the kitchen, the cook stands up, gesturing for me to follow him over to the walk-in cooler." "I didn't hear. I'll be right back." "The cook shoves me into the walk-in and slams the door. All I can do is sit and wait. So I plop down onto the cold, cold floor. The violence out in the diner's slows, then stops. And I wait."

"And wait. And wait. Damn. Maybe the cook got around in his dead?" "Carefully. I open the walk-in and peek out into the kitchen. There's no one there. But I can hear voices. So I slip free of the walk-in and follow my ears. I'm at the order window when I see the cook chatting with the SCP operatives. One of them pats him on the shoulder. It's a little too familiar for me. Doesn't feel right. Then an SCP operative picks up my backpack and finds the coins.

belly. As the SCP operative shows the others the coins, I let the wolf out. Scrambleing through

“the order window. I surprise them all. They don't even have time to lift the weird rifles before”

I have full fangs and claws slashing and slicing do body armor. Their screams are nothing to my ears.

Blips on the audio spectrum. Easily ignored. Their blood is everything to my tongue.

“I taste their fear and their regrets and their longings. I taste how one man was ready to go home to”

his wife and kids to celebrate a birthday. I taste the ambition of one and the addiction of another.

I rip through them like a bus saw with the tail. It takes less than two minutes. The cook

“covers in a booth. I fetch my coins, fetch my backpack, and grab the cook by the throat,”

lifting him in the air. Tell your recipe buddies that a new wolf is in town. And it'd be best if they just stayed away. The cook nods. I toss him across the diner. He's still breathing when I leave. So I know my message will be delivered. Outside the diner, I lift my snout and sniff for a sanctuary. Then I turn down the sidewalk and run because in this world, a wolf runs and doesn't ever stop.