I'm missing.
Not in the stereotypical way, or at least not yet. I didn't run away from home and crash at a friends house, nor did I flee to a city for new life. But I am hidden away in a government lab. And I'm not sure when I'll be found. It went wrong when knocking echoed through my apartment, and I made the mistake of looking.
Looking through the peephole, three figures in pressed black suits filled the hallway.
One raised his head—snapped it really, like a puppet on strings—and smiled directly at me. A perfect, practiced smile that never touched his eyes.
I stumbled back from the door, my heart hammering against my ribs. And I knew then it was time to disappear.
There's only one thing they could be here for, it's the old VHS tape I'd picked up from an underground auction site.
The reason I took It was the mystery vibes it gave, and the chance to turn it into a video for my corner of the internet. "Internet Mysteries with Hazel".
Just my voice digging into strange tales: lost media, haunted rumours, local legends.
It was always just entertainment. Even the name Hazel was a lie, my real name is Issy but I wouldn't just trust anyone that. My videos were supposed to be intriguing, yes, but they were supposed to be harmless too.
This one was supposed to be the same. I figured the tape might contain something quirky—maybe an obscure recording of some local ghost story, or some oddball piece of lost cartoon media that my subscribers could help identify. But then came the men. It was obvious they weren't police, didn't flash badges or demand anything outright, but the way they loomed near my door and scanned my building sent a chill through me. Something about them screamed official—UN Council, I would realize later.
The knock came again, harder this time, rattling the doorframe. My chest tightened as the peephole view replayed in my mind: those three men in suits, one with an uncanny smile. My instincts screamed at me to move. Grabbing the VHS tape and my phone, I flicked off the lights and pressed myself against the wall, letting the silence settle around me.
The sound of scratching metal sent a cold wave through me. My apartment's cheap deadbolt never stood a chance. It clicked open.
I ducked low, crawling into the shadow of my couch, heart pounding in my ears. The door creaked, and heavy footsteps entered.
One.
Two....
I strained to hear the third, but the apartment remained silent. He was still out there. waiting.
Biting my lip, I fought the urge to panic. I could make out the Two shadows moving across the living room floor. I held my breath, The air was so still it felt like even the dust motes dared not move.
It scanned the room in unsettling synchronization, Its polished shoes silent on the hardwood floor.
No time to grab my laptop upstairs, to much noise to call out for help.
My only chance was the door, the man outside be damned.
The moment the the men took one step away from the sofa, I bolted.
I didn't look, didn't stop. My bare feet slammed against the floor as I launched through the open door. The man waiting outside barely had time to react before my phone hit him square in the face.
His grunt of surprise was all I needed. I ducked low and dove beneath his legs, my shoulder grazing his knee as I slid past.
"Hey!" he barked, but I was already running.
The streets blurred into colours and motion.
I darted through alleys and shortcuts from my memory, avoiding the usual paths. My lungs burned, but I didn't dare slow. The weight of the tape pressed against my ribs as I clutched it tightly, as if it were a lifeline.
I had one destination in mind, the only place that felt even remotely safe.
By the time I reached the library's rear entrance, my legs quaked with exhaustion. I slipped through the emergency exit—a battered door with a broken sensor. It was one of the few secrets I'd picked up at my time working here, and tonight, it might be a life saver.
Once inside, my ear strained for any sound beyond my ragged breathing. I knew the front door was alarmed; if anyone followed me in the normal way, I should hear them. But yet, that comfort felt thin.
My thoughts raced; I didn't have a phone to call for help, and no way to warn my sister. What would happen to her? And what was on this damned tape that would send men after me?
It didn't make sense. This couldn't be worth all this effort, unless there was something truly ground breaking on it...
Other than safety, I chose this place for one other reason—the library still kept a relic of the past: a working VCR. My only hope of finding answers in whatever secrets the tape held.
I patched the VHS together, coaxed it into playing.
images emerged—faded, grainy, but unmistakably strange.
It showed the interior of what looked like a castle dungeon: stone walls lined with iron-barred cells, the flickering glow of torches casting distorted shadows.
Yet, it couldn't be medieval.
Figures in lab coats moved with purpose, while people in assault gear stood nearby, their weapons drawn, their faces hidden behind dark visors.
The camera shifted to one of the cells of the dungeon, revealing three figures within. Two women and a man, their features unnervingly human yet undeniably otherworldly. Their ears were slightly elongated, their amber eyes faintly glowing as they stared at the camera with unsettling intensity. Their presence felt dangerous, as though they didn't belong behind bars—but perhaps nowhere else either.
The camera didn't linger. It moved deeper into the dungeon, passing more shadowy cells, where indistinct shapes writhed or stood still, obscured by darkness. Each turn of the corridor seemed to press the air heavier against my chest, and I found myself leaning closer to the screen, unable to look away.
Finally, the camera reached a larger chamber. The room was stark and bright compared to the rest of the dungeon, its walls etched with strange symbols that seemed to shift when viewed from the corner of my eye. In the center sat a stone pedestal, and on it rested two objects: a delicate blue butterfly, glowing faintly as its wings pulsed with ethereal light—and a pumpkin.
The pumpkin looked ordinary at first glance, round and squat with a rough, weathered surface. But as the camera zoomed in, its carved face came into view. The grin was jagged and impossibly wide, its hollow eyes glowing faintly in the eerie light. It sat there, unmoving, yet somehow exuding a palpable menace that made my breath hitch.
Then it spoke.
"Hello," it said in a voice that was high and sweet, almost playful, yet laced with something unnatural. The sound seemed to crawl out of the screen, wrapping itself around the room like a living thing.
The pumpkin's grin deepened, though it didn't move. It simply stared, its carved face exuding a sense of knowing, as if it could see me through the screen.
The tape crackled, and a low, resonant hum filled the room.
Then the screen cut to black.
That's when I felt it—a hand on my shoulder.
I didn't turn around. I didn't need to.
The reflection in the now-dead monitor showed them: the men in suits standing behind me.
My time was over.
Not because I'd found truth.
Because they had found me.