
20 Jul The Contract
âThe Contractâ
Written by Shannon Higdon Edited by N/A Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/ACopyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).
đ§ Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
â° ESTIMATED READING TIME â 44 minutes
Teddy Wilson rapped one knuckle against the smoked-stained glass door adorned with the worn, white letters that announced, âMartin Croker: Editorâ before popping his head into the room.
âYou wanted to see me boss?â The man who served as his immediate supervisor for the last decade was on the phone with some unfortunate soul receiving the sore end of one of Martinâs verbal beatings.
âNoâŚthatâs inexcusable,â Martin cried emphatically into his IPhone before putting a hand over the microphone and motioning Teddy to the faded leather couch that sat adjacent to his massive desk. âHave a seat Teddy; this is almost over anyway.â Of course, whomever was on the other end of the line could still his words. Martin, who had been a stalwart in that office for nearly thirty years, was as close to being an expert in newspaper journalism as anyone could claim to be. In many regards, however, he was absolute dinosaur when it came to the current flood of technological advancements and it was little things like that which made him, much like the entire industry of the printed word, a dying breed.  It was only through Teddyâs tutelage that heâd been able to utilize the Apple device at all.
âI told you three days ago,â the grey-haired dynamo of intensity continued the call; âthat you had three days to get that article in.   If I recall, you said that would be the âvery lastâ extension that youâd need. Am I wrong about that?â Teddy quietly closed the door behind him and settled into the couch that often served as Martinâs bed on those nights when Jack Daniels overstayed his welcomeâŚwhich seemed more and more frequent as of late. Teddy would have preferred one of the three chairs but the couch was the only portion of the office that wasnât buried in random papers, folders and back issues; the entire sum of which couldâve fit on a single flash drive were the man not having to be drug kicking and screaming into the digital age.
âYouâve been on me for six months for bigger assignmentsâŚand now that youâve got oneâŚwellâŚletâs just say that this little shit-show isnât filling me with confidence.â An outside observer wouldâve cringed at the apparent awkwardness of the moment but for anyone who actually knew MartinâŚthat wasnât the case. The man had two gears: intensity and angerâŚand both were deeply seeped in sarcasm. It came part and parcel with a position at the South Carolina Sentinel and if you couldnât handle itâŚyou were probably shouldnât have been there in the first place.
âYou have until tomorrow. If I donât get four hundred brilliant effenâ words from you about the Councilmanâs scandal by noon tomorrowâŚyou might want to start on a new piece: your resume!â Martin slammed the cell phone down on the desk to end the conversation, obviously missing the satisfying crack his old rotary phone provided, and turned his steely gaze towards the roomâs newest occupant.
âIâve got a new assignment for you.â Teddy nodded, anticipating as much. When he first applied for his position ten years ago there was very little call for a âtechnology reporterâ and he was barely able to convince Martin of the need. Now, as both men were aware, the only reason the paper still held an audience was due in large part to their online presence and without TeddyâŚthat would never have happened.
âI want you to give me something good about the deep, dark web.â
âActuallyâŚâ As loath as he was to correct his boss, he just couldnât let it slide; âthe âdeep webâ and the âdark webâ are two different things.â
âOkayâŚfine,â Martin didnât seem as irritated as Teddy had expected from the comment. âIâm not asking you to explain it to me. I just want a solid lead out of it. I want somethingâŚjuicy.â Teddy sighed. âJuicyâ was Martinâs key word for salacious sensationalismâŚnot the kind of thing he normally expected from his resident tech expert.
âI donât know what it is youâre wanting from me Martin. I talk about computers, cellphones and new apps; itâs hardly what youâd consider âjuicyâ.â Martin shook his head and Teddy could tell he was most likely going to be unable to talk his way out of this one.
âIâve seen YouTube videos. This deep web or dark web or whatever the hell they call it is where the sick-shit takes place: the sex trade, drug sales, pedophilia and such. Thatâs what I wantâŚand if you give me something good enough itâll go as the weekend lead.â It was exactly what Teddy had been afraid of.
âMartinâŚthatâsâŚ. thatâs just not what I cover. Itâs like asking a carpenter to explain the activities that take place in a house after heâs built it.  I can tell you all about the construction and layoutâŚbut what the hell do I know about the criminals who moved in?â Martin seemed to consider the argument for a moment and Teddy felt the slightest sliver of hope before the older man bluntly brushed it away.
âI guess itâs a bi-line then. Tell Susan sheâs on the story with you. Youâve got two weeks; make it your top priority.â Teddy could feel his jaw falling to the floor in cartoonish fashion but was unable to do anything to stop it. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined being assigned to a story with Susan Collins, the Sentinelâs official âGossip Reporterâ. Having dubbed herself the âQueen of High-Societyâ, she chased minor celebrities and local socialites as the closest thing their little rag had to a paparazzi. Teddy never deceived himself into believing he was working for the NY Times, Washington Post or even USA TodayâŚbut he still had strong convictions about what constituted ânewsâ and Susan represented everything that didnât belong in a real newspaper. HellâŚeven her title was an oxymoron. How could one accurately report on gossipâŚa pretty was of saying âhearsayâ, ârumorâ and âinnuendoâ. The whole notion was just ridiculous.
He was just about to verbalize as much to Martin when he got the three words that ended virtually every conversation with the gruff man, whether one was finished with what they had to say or not: âWeâre done here.â Teddy wasnât really sure what would happen if he continued on past that pointâŚno one on the current staff was. If one were able to hunt down the previously employed Dawn Hinton, Mark Sheffler, or Jacob Gasby they might get the answer to that question. Needless to say, âweâre done hereâ meant weâre done here; and Teddy quietly shuffled out wondering just how in the heck he was going to explain this to Susan, who heâd not said more than a hundred words to in the five years sheâd been working there. While it was true they didnât really know each other, it was clear that they didnât really like each other. This couldnât have come at a worse time either; he was so close to finishing his piece on the new, upcoming Microsoft platform release. At this rate, his readers would be using Windows 15X before he could even tell them that it was coming. He would always have a tremendous amount of respect for Martin and all that heâd done in his lifetimeâŚbut in moments like these he could help but to feel like the man was a completeâŚ
âIDIOT!â Susan screamed a half hour later while Teddy sat in the only other chair her cramped cubicle contained. She was technically a âfield-reporterâ and field-reporters werenât really provided a lot of space in the old office building that sat in downtown Charleston; the thought process being that they should be spending the majority of their time out of the office, working their stories. Teddy was already anxious to get back to his own spacious office, the second largest behind MartinâsâŚthanks in large part to the Sentinelâs online advertising revenue. Martin would never say it out loud but it had long since exceeded what the subscriptions brought in and was, for the most part, what was actually paying the rent.
âWhy on Earth would that fossil put meâŚyouâŚus on this kind of story? Neither one of us has ever covered anything like thisâŚand what the hell does he even want from us?  PedophiliaâŚsex tradeâŚseriously Teddy, W. T. F.? How are we supposed to even start in on something like this?â The cadence of her voice was getting faster and her breaths were getting shorter. Teddy could see the anxiety pushing her towards hyperventilationâŚand it surprised him. For some reason he hadnât imagined her to be so susceptible to the stressâs influence. From across a room she always seemed so calm, collected and in control, radiating a confidence that bordered on cockiness.
Without realizing that he was going to do so, Teddy reached out one hand to her shoulder and squeezed it gently.
âTry to calm down. Weâll be able to figure this out. Itâs going to be okay.â She met his gaze, her brown doe-eyes just starting to pool with tears.
âYou really think so?â Teddyâs own blue eyes tried to convey a confidence he didnât actually feel, suddenly feeling quite protective of her obviously vulnerable emotional state. It probably had a lot to do with growing up with three younger sisters.
âYesâŚâ he lied; âI do.â
âI donât even know what the deep web or the dark web is?â Teddy pulled his hand back as her breathing began to slow and nodded his head; most people didnât.
âIâll try to keep it simple.â
âPlease.â
âTry to imagine the entire internet as a giant mansion.â He wasnât sure why he was keen to using so many architectural metaphors todayâŚjust that they seemed appropriate each time. âThe main floors and living areas are where everyday people like you and me go to when we use Firefox or Explorer. Itâs where your Facebook, Twitter and the like are found. NowâŚthere are some rooms upstairs that are owned by different governments, companies or techies that are locked to most people but if you have the right keyâŚyou can still get in. These are all the places that ninety percent of the online population go to. Are you with me so far?â Susan nodded.
âBut thatâs not the whole internet. Thereâs still a basementâŚitâs called the âdeepâ web; and the only way you can get down there is with special internet browsing software and a very specific idea of where it is you want to go. Otherwise youâd just be stumbling around in the dark. This basement was originally created by our very own government and the Department of Defense and itâs where they conducted the business that they didnât want the general public at large to know about: the kind of stuff that sparks conspiracy theories.
While they may have created that basement howeverâŚthe âdeep webââŚit didnât take long for the software to be commandeered by the generation born into the computer age. Not only did the Millennials seem to understand the way these things worked better than their creators, they were able to create changes that the government could no longer contend with.â
âI donât understandâŚwhat changes?â
âTrue anonymity. Itâs the key to what makes the deep web so compelling to criminals. Theyâve developed a method which bounces your connection off several random servers through the entire world making it all but impossible to track down the original IP addresses. Most people think theyâre anonymous when theyâre onlineâŚbut theyâre really not. In the deep webâŚthey are. And that brings us to the âdark webâ which is that part of the deep web where all of the perversity and criminal activity take place. Itâs the dungeon beneath the basement, that no moral person should ever want to visit. Do you get it now?â
Susanâs eyes were wideâŚbut no longer moist. In fact, the edges of a smile seemed to be pulling at the corners of her mouth as she nodded âyesâ. The anxiety appeared to be losing out to an odd anticipation; she was starting to get excited about the story.  Teddy wasnât so sure he was happy about that.
âWhat kind of âperversityâ are we talking about?â Teddy could only shake his head.
âHonestlyâŚI really donât know. I can only imagine that itâs the worst kind of stuff.â He paused for a moment of consideration before continuing; âI have a friendâŚwellâŚnot really a âfriendâ per say, but a contact Iâve used as a source quite a bit over the years. Heâs a high-level programmer, systems analyst and code breakerâŚof the independent variety.â Susanâs smile broke through completely. Too many Michael Crichton and Ernest Cline novels in her home library pushed the word from her lipsâŚ
âHacker?â Hector Luna chuckled the next day as the three of them sat in the living area of his studio apartment; âNoâŚI wouldnât call myself a âhackerâ. Thatâs more of Hollywood expression. In my particular field we tend to call ourselves âcrackersâ.â
âCrackers?â Susan prompted before taking a sip from the cold can of beer theyâd had no choice but to accept before being allowed into Hectorâs inner sanctum.
âThatâs right,â he confirmed; âKind of like a safe-crackerâŚexcept with complex security systems. I find vulnerabilities andâŚdepending on my actual goalâŚI exploit them.â Susan smiled, obviously impressed. Hector, who was known online as the infamous âMoon-Hexâ, turned his attention back to Teddy. âSo Big-TâŚwhat exactly can I help you guys with today? Let me guessâŚyouâre wanting some inside info on that Brown-hut Trojan that held up the Bank of America for three hours last Tuesday? Iâve heard that nearly two and a half million accounts were copied before they managed to shut it down.â
âYeaâŚâ Teddy agreed; âItâs crazy these daysâŚbut noâŚthatâs not it. I actually covered that day before yesterday. HonestlyâŚI feel kind of stupid even asking for your help on this one because we both feel like the assignment is coming from an area of ignorance.â
âMartin?â Hector asked with a small chuckle. Teddy and Susan nodded in unison and joined him in the laughter. Hector had come into contact with Martin on only a couple of occasions due to his relationship with Teddy, but heâd heard more than enough stories to have a fully painted mental approximation of the man. âDonât tell me he wants you to explain why no one uses floppy disks anymore?â SadlyâŚthis wasnât sarcasm. When it came to contemporary science and electronicsâŚthe man could be his own walking punchline. HellâŚheâd once asked for five hundred words on the differences between âthe internetâ and âthe world wide webââŚliterally.
By and large, however, and for the overwhelming majority of the time Teddy had been at the Sentinel, Martin didnât really give Teddy actual assignments. He tended to show a tremendous amount of faith in Teddyâs ability to continue to provide relevant content for an audience he knew nothing about. For the most part, this held true with Susan as well; Martin, much like Teddy, put very little stock in the type of events she covered as being important. Her online ânewsâ feed held the greatest number of subscribers, however, so he figured she was probably doing her job well enough.
This trend had been bucked somewhat as of late, it seemedâŚfor Teddy at least; and in a senseâŚit was his own fault. He was, after all, the one who introduced Martin to the world of YouTube in the first place. Like most newbies, the first few weeks saw him making little progress beyond scare-pranks and catsâ reacting to cucumbers; but, as of late, the man had found himself in the world of the unknownâŚfar-flung topics: ghosts, conspiracies, ancient civilizations, aliens and just about any other subject that sent him into the occasional mad-manâs rant.
In the last six weeks heâd given Teddy more, seemingly random, assignments than he had in the six years before then: Trans-humanism, Artificial Intelligence and the Mandela Effect rounded out the extreme ends of his requests. Teddy hadnât really minded too much; he just had to find that fine line that presented the topics in the light Martin had wanted them without sounding too much like an Alex Jones report on âInfowarsâ.  They were definitely extreme variations on his normal fare but his readers had seemed to enjoy the occasional break from the somewhat dry articles he was known for. Some of them even leaned towards being entertaining rather than what he normally shot for: informative.
âMartin wants the two of usâŚhis tech-reporter and hisâŚsocialâŚuhâŚexpert, to turn in something about the deep web and the dark web: something âjuicyâ.â Hector chuckled again; he knew of Martinâs key word as well.
âJuicy you sayâŚâ Hector shot-gunned the last of his beer before clamoring to his feet from the well-worn groove in his Lazy-Boy. âAnd you thought of me.  Iâm touched.â As he shuffled his more than a little overweight frame to the refrigerator in the corner kitchen area he motioned with the empty can to see if anyone else needed a refill; they didnât. âWellâŚthatâs about the vaguest thing that youâve come to me with so far. When your text said ârandomâ, you werenât kidding, were you?â Susan and Teddy shared a knowing look with each other, having already discussed just that topic on the taxi ride over. âPlease tell me,â Hector prompted, head partially buried in the fridge; âthat you guys have at least got some type of angle already?â The two reporters shook their heads with a meek symmetry; how could Martin have had no idea how far outside of their comfort zones this assignment really was?
âI wish we could.â Teddy finally answered once Hector had returned to his place in the seating area, fresh beer in hand. âI wish we could.â He paused to take a sip and contemplate which direction they could go in without sounding like some conspiracy website bloggers.
âObviously weâd like to find something unique,â Susan offered; âbut no oneâs shooting for a Pulitzer here. I think the sooner weâre able to put this one behind us, the happier weâll both be.â Teddy gave her a look of observable agreement. This was definitely right on the edge of what those in the industry called âfringe assignmentsâ.
âYeaâŚI bet. WellâŚâ Hector stroked an imaginary beard with his beer-free hand, the few straggly wisps of red hairs that were present running between his fingers. âYou could always go with the ease of access to illegal products route: order an eight-ball or an AK-47. Itâs not terribly original but itâll still be news to anyone whoâs never been on YouTube. Of course, youâll need to contact the authorities if you do that and coordinate through themâŚotherwise you might be looking at an arrest warrant the moment the story comes out.â
They had, actually, already considered going that way but, much as Hector pointed out, it wasnât exactly a hot scoop. Just about anyone who regularly utilized the internet, which were now the majority of their readers, knew about dark web black markets. Most folks had even heard of the âSilk Roadâ website at some point or another, the most notorious in the field before being shut down by the FBI in 2014. Teddy had covered that story at the time and although Ross Ulbricht, the infamous âDread Pirate Robertsâ, would be spending the rest of his life behind bars, his legacy continued to live on as thousands had sprung up in the space he left behind. The market-places were so vast, varied and exponentially producedâŚit was an impossible task to eliminate them entirely. The dark web was still the âwild, wild westâ and outlaws reigned supreme.
âWhat else you got?â Susan asked before accidentally letting a small beer-burp escape, turning her a dark shade of crimson as a result. âExcuse me,â she mumbled sheepishly causing Hector to laugh and release his own, much more resounding, exhalation of carbonated air which vibrated off the walls. The crude response had its intended effect and immediately comforted Susanâs, normally delicate, sensibilities.
âBetter out than in, my Shrek always says,â he announced before tackling her question. âAs for âwhat elseââŚitâs hard to say for the tone of The Sentinel. Everything else just gets darker from thereâŚbut thatâs not to say that thereâs not a huge area to mine. Just take your pick: thereâs live streaming pedophiles, crazy sex stuff, snuff and torture filmsâŚâ
âLike what?â Teddy interrupted him, although more out of morbid curiosity than any desire to follow up on that last one as a lead.
âLike whatever you can imagine. Thereâs some real sickos out there. Youâve seen the âSAWâ and âHostelâ movies, right?â  Neither of them actually had. It was quite apparently not Susanâs cup of tea from the beginning and, although heâd started both of the first filmsâŚTeddy hadnât finished them. He could distinctly remember thinking at the time that it probably took a really disturbing personality profile for someone to watch that type of graphic infliction of pain onto another person and consider it enjoyable entertainment at the same time. Sure heâd grown up as a fan of the âFriday the 13thâ and âNightmare on Elm Stâ movies and they were plenty bloodyâŚbut they also had jump scares, degrees of suspense and a fairly unrealistic display of the gore. These new types of torture movies were on a different level altogether, however. The degrees of realism in the violence and the reactions of the torturer and victim combined with the unrelenting focus of nothing more than the infliction of painâŚwellâŚit wasnât really his cup of tea either.
âOh manâŚhonestlyâŚanything you can imagineâŚmost of which you wouldnât want to. Either of you guys heard of âThe Doll-makerâ or âThe Chew-Chew Manâ âŚyou knowâŚspelled like âchewââ Hector chomped his teeth together a couple of times to emphasize his point; ââŚor even âMr. Plaintoesâ?â It was obvious from their expressions that neither of them had heard of any of his references as well as the fact that they were now at his completely enrapt disposal.
âOkayâŚwellâŚâ He stood, stretched and headed back to the fridge for another beer. Suddenly both Susan and Teddy were equally amazed at the discretionary speed by which their host could polish off a can. At this rate, heâd be on his second six-pack before theyâd even finished their first beers.   Not that either would say anything aloud. It was really more impressive than anything. âWhere to startâŚâ He tossed his empty into the garbage and returned with a total of three. For a moment they were both ready to say, âNo thank youâ when he squeezed them into the chair next to him and they realized that they hadnât been brought for them.
âSo âMr. Plaintoesâ is some kind of demonically written nursery rhyme that kills peopleâŚthink something like a cross between âThe Ringâ and âThe Babadookâ.â Hector paused for recognition but was only met with two blank stares. âYou knowâŚfor reporters, you guys are painfully ignorant of pop culture.â Neither of them could argue; if it didnât come in a âWiredâ or âCosmopolitanâ magazineâŚthey were âpainfully ignorantâ. âRegardlessâŚthat one reads more like a âCreepypastaâ than an actual occurrenceâŚbut supposedly itâs still out there for anyone who wants to test the urban legend. I know that wonât be me.â
âWhatâs âThe Doll-makerâ?â Susan asked. Having a sizable collection of antique dolls herself, she was extra curious the moment heâd said it although she knew full well that she wouldnât be liking that answer.
âOh manâŚthat guyâs a real piece-of-work. I tell you whatâŚI donât consider myself a violent manâŚbut I wouldnât think twice about putting a bullet right between his deranged eyes. This guy buys young women and girls and performs these elaborate surgeries on them before reselling them on the black market as living sex dolls.â
âSurgeries?â Teddy pressed, certain he didnât really want to know.
âYeaâŚnot good stuff,â Hector continued; âRemoves the arms and legs so they canât go anywhere. Removes the tongue so they canât speakâŚsometimes sews the mouths shut entirely. Even puts hooks in their backs so they can be hung on the wall.â He gave them a moment to process the disturbing image.
âHowâŚhowâŚâ Susan was stammering in shock; âHow do they stay alive?â Hector shook his head grimly.
âMercifullyâŚthey donât. I believe they have a pretty short shelf-life. Not that it deters some people of paying millions of dollars apiece.â
Susan picked up her beer from the end table and stared at the beads of condensation slowly streaming down its sides; sheâd never been more grateful for the safe and pampered life that sheâd lived thus far. It wasnât like she was ignorant to the fact that there were people, especially women, out there who had it a lot worse than she didâŚbut being presented with something as horrific as the nightmare those poor women had to live through by being maimed beyond human recognizability only to be violently raped to death. Just knowing that there was evil like this out there, lurking in the shadowsâŚright at that moment; it was enough to send a shiver down her spine and she set the beer back down without having taken a drink.
âAre you sure Martin said âSusanââŚand not âSamâ or âSarahâ or even âMarcusâ?â she asked for the fourth time in the last twenty-four hours and, while the joke was getting stale, Teddy still chuckled before pressing Hector onto the next subject. It was evident from the pall in the air that they were all ready to move past that one.
âIâm afraid to even askâŚbut what about the âChew-Chew Manâ?â When Hectorâs expression didnât brighten any, Teddy had the feeling heâd be sorry that he asked. Turns outâŚhe was.
âThat guyâŚjeezâŚanother evolved individual.â
âEvolved?â Teddy asked.
âItâs the newest form of our evolutionâŚdepending on who you askâŚa form of humanity thatâs supposedly evolved beyond the need for such trivialities as morals or ethics. I know it sounds crazy but there really are people out there who think that wayâŚthink thereâs no such thing as ârightâ and âwrongââŚonly âactionâ and âreactionâ, âas above so belowâ and all that bullshit. These are the type of people who are in the highest places: politicians, movie-stars and the generational wealthy. They see the general populace as useless eatersâŚa sheep-like population that needs to be culled more than anything.â
âThatâs depressing,â Susan sighed.
âYea,â Hector agreed; âIt kind of is. AnywayâŚthe Chew-Chew Man is most likely one of those generationally wealthy S.O.B.âs with more money than God. Iâm guessing heâs probably one of those secret society bastards as well, gauging from the number of masked sycophants he keeps around him. AnywayâŚâ Hector paused and sighed; âwowâŚI donât even like saying this aloud; I canât fathom how sick these people must really be. AnywayâŚthe Chew-Chew man has his own, very elaborately decorated, train station as well as his own railway engine car that looks like something straight out of âDeath Raceâ.â The reporters exchanged another, slightly baffled, look with each other and Hector sighed yet again, this time for an entirely different reason.
âSeriously guys? No âDeath Raceâ either? Not the original nor the remake?â He shook his head in disbelief. He was somewhat aware of Teddyâs lack of contemporary pop-culture knowledge and yet the depths to which it extended still managed to surprise him. In the chatrooms he frequented that type of ignorance would be unforgivable. âOkayâŚthis is just unacceptable; Iâm springing for a Netflix account for both of you.â The three of them shared a chuckle and sip of beer before allowing their grim expressions to return as Hector continued on with the story he didnât really want to tell and they didnât really want to hear.
âSo Iâm sure you can probably imagine where this is going from here. The Chew-chew man and his helpers strap several naked people to the tracks with specially built restraints. Then they all stand back and watch the carnage. Once the car clears the kill-zone, these masked men and womenâŚwho are dressed in expensive tuxedos and ball-room gowns, mind youâŚfall to their knees in the pools of warm blood and proceed toâŚconsumeâŚthe remaining mess.â
âConsume!?â Susan blurted out. âLikeâŚOh Dear LordâŚlike cannibals?â
Hector nodded. âYeaâŚlike cannibals.â A few moments of silence descended upon the room as the horrific thought wreaked brutal havoc upon their subconscious. Teddy, personally, had no qualms with ingesting a little Stephen King before slipping into a dream-state, but this was the kind of thing that would definitely keep him up at night. An authorâs imagination could be appreciatedâŚbut knowing that there are real monsters out there was just unnerving.
After allowing a full minute to pass, Teddy finally verbalized what theyâd all been thinking.
âUmâŚno. Thatâs definitely not our story.â Susan agreed and they became silent again before Hector snapped his fingers and proceeded to pull one of his many laptops from the coffee-table drawer in front of him.
âI think,â he began as he powered up the computer; âthat I may know of something youâd be interested in. FranklyâŚI donât know why I didnât think of this one before. I first read about this on 8Chanâs dot onion forum a few months backâŚeven did a bit of preliminary investigating.â
As Hector became quiet and put his full focus on the laptopâs screen, Susan turned to Teddy and asked, â8Chan dot onion?â
âDeep web message board,â he answered for her. âThe dot onion is like dot com, dot net or dot gov: deep web extension.â She nodded in understandingâŚor in feigning as much; and Hector piped up once again, apparently finding what he was looking for.
âA-ha! Here we go.â Returning his gaze to theirs and lowering his voice conspiratorially, Hector asked with a sly smile and an expression that wouldâve seemed just at home before a midnight campfire; âHave you guys ever heard of The Contract?â Immediately drawn in, they both shook their heads ânoâ, much as heâd anticipated.
âYeaâŚI didnât think so. This oneâs extremely obscureâŚeven for the deep web. Thereâs very little documentation to back it upâŚbut thereâs enough to start with, at least.â
âOkayâŚâ Teddy responded; âIâll bite then. Iâm familiar with a few different contracts; so what makes this one âTheâ Contract?â
âWellâŚagainâŚitâs not terribly well knownâŚbut in some circles itâs called âThe Devilâs Contractâ or âThe Final Contractâ and everything about it is just inexplicable.â
Over the next ninety minutes Hector proceeded to tell them a story that couldâve easily been an episode of âThe Twilight Zoneâ, and despite finishing off another eight beers in that period, he never once slurred his words. It was one of the longest periods Teddy had spent with the younger man and heâd never realized before what a raging alcoholic he was.
The Devilâs Contract was something of a deep web urban legend that, at least according to Hector, had some significant degrees of validity to it. He wasnât certain when the contract first popped up but the story had been online for a couple years now, thanks in large part to a man known simply as âJeff the P.I.â.  Jeff had been hired by a woman to find her missing brother and the investigation had led him to the story of the contract. When no one would believe the results heâd seemingly uncovered, he took the story online. The gist of which was this: somewhere a shadowy party of private benefactors somehow makes contact with individuals who could best be described asâŚdesperate. The secretive group then negotiates a payment, usually in the millions, for what Hector called âlife-controlâ.
According to the legend, once a price is reached they are sent a digital copy of the, supposedly legally-binding, contract, as well as a bizarre questionnaire. Once signed, the person has officially signed away their lifeâŚso to speak. It was a provision of the contract that the personâs life wouldnât be ended or even endangeredâŚonly that they would no longer have control over the way they would live the rest of it.
âIf they can no longer control their own lives,â Susan had asked at that point; âwhat good does the money do?â
âI thought the same thing at first,â Hector had answered; âbut the money doesnât go to them. One of the first questions included with the contract is to whom the money should be paid. But even that it just the tip of the weirdness of it all. According to Jeff at least, the payments are delivered through methods which should be all but impossible.â
âLike what,â Teddy had pressed.
âWellâŚlike the sister that hired Jeff to find her missing brother. The only way sheâd been able to hire him in the first place was because sheâd just won five million dollars in the Powerball.  Thereâs not a lot of examples to choose from but supposedly all the payments have been through means that shouldnât be possible to manipulateâŚincluding a government grant that was never applied for. If any of that is true, then the people behind the contract have a nearly inconceivable reach.â
âSoâŚâ Susan prompted this time; âif the contract was non-lethal in natureâŚwhat happens to the people?â Hector shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
âThatâs the real questionâŚisnât it? Iâve got theoriesâŚbut who the hell really knows? Could be slaveryâŚsex-stuffâŚtortureâŚany number of undesirable options. My personal opinion is that itâs probably some type of medical experimentationâŚgene-manipulation or some such shit. More than likely, these people are selling themselves into a state of permanent vegetationâŚa giant warehouse full of dangling bodies straight out of the movie âComaâ.  When both reporters nodded in recognition of his reference, Hector was more than a little shocked.
âAnd you actually believe that this is really happening?â Teddy finally asked once Hector had seemed to reach the end and he was answered with the same sly smile the computer expert had given them earlier before spinning his laptop around so that they could see the screen while saying; âOhâŚI know it is.â
It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the smaller print and then they found themselves looking at a PDF of what appeared to be an official document of some type; the first line of which read âThis is a legally-binding contract of consent.â Of course it didnât really say where it was legally-bindingâŚafter all, different countries had different laws.
âI told you that I did some investigating myselfâŚremember? It took me nearly a month to find this linkâŚand frankly, Iâm surprised itâs still up. I locked a tracer onto the link though and, other than myself, itâs never been accessed. ThatâŚcombined with the fact that some of the questions are very specific to my personal lifeâŚitâs almost as if this contract were written just for me.â
âHowâd you get the link?â Teddy asked.
âMore oddness. After a month of digging, it just showed up in my inbox one day.â
âCan we get a copy of that?â Susan asked this time and Hector shook his head again.
âYeaâŚI wish I could. By all outward appearances, this seems to be nothing more than a normal PDF fileâŚbut it doesnât behave like one. In factâŚit doesnât behave like anything Iâve ever encountered online. Its drowning in advanced encryptions unlike anything Iâve seenâŚand bear in mind, six months ago I cracked the Pentagonâs most advanced security systems in less than an hour. This thing thoughâŚâ Hector exhaled a loudly audible sigh. âThis thingâs on another level altogether. It canât be copiedâŚnot even a âscreen-grabâ. The coding behind thisâŚlegal documentâŚis the most advanced Iâve ever seen. Weâre talking about Bill Gates wet-dream kind-of stuff. I donât even know if D-Wave is using anything this complex with the Quantum computing.â
âSo just take a picture of it with your cell phone,â Susan offered while wondering why the supposed computer nerds didnât think of such a simple solution. Hector chuckled again and she found herself liking the sound. It made her smile reflexively each time.
âGo ahead,â he urged; âI think you should.â By that point she could tell that the idea had probably occurred to him but she was too curious to see what would happen to not at least try. Her new Galaxy cell-phone took amazing pictures and video, having long since replaced the Nikon and hand-held video camera sheâd kept by her side for so many years and pulling it out to snap a quick picture was second-nature muscle-memory at that point. Within a couple seconds she had taken a half dozen before rapidly switching to video mode for a few seconds of worth of an AVI. Hector watched in anticipation as she settled back into his leather couch to review the results. When her jaw dropped and her eyes widened, he couldnât help but to give her a slight âI told you soâ look.
Teddy leaned in close and examined his new partnerâs cell-phone screen before shaking his head with disbelief. Hector already knew what they were seeing.
âHowâŚâ Teddy stammered, his voice suddenly very uneven; âHow is this even possible?â He was of course referring to the series of bizarre symbols on the small screen that had replaced the perfectly legible ones from the slightly larger one. It was apparently an amusing moment for Hector even though heâd had very much the same reaction the first time heâd made the discovery for himself. Somehow it was easier seeing it unfold through someone elseâs eyesâŚnot to mention the cathartic nature of just being able to discuss the subject that he generally couldnât bring up without sounding bat-shit crazy. Sharing the story with Teddy and Susan gave it degrees of legitimacy that did wonders for his sanity.
âHonestlyâŚI have no frigginâ idea. This is well beyond what should be possible. My best guess is that thereâs some type of encryption overlay thatâs naked to the human eye but which somehow scrambles its output to other digital devices. Itâs only a guess though. Iâve never really heard of anything like that existingâŚand Iâm pretty up to date on most of DARPAâs âblack-budgetâ projects.â
âDo you know what those symbols are?â Teddy continued, unable to tear his eyes away from the tiny screen in Susanâs hands.
âItâs Sumerian.â
âSumerian!?â Teddy and Susan both blurted out in surprised unison.
It took Teddy several seconds to find a mental shelf were that oddly shaped fact could rest without bringing the whole thing down before he asked; âWhat does it say?â Hector could only shrug again.
âI donât read Sumerian,â he replied in a dead-pan tone; âbut itâs the oldest known form of written language.â
âWhat about film?â Susan broke in after shaking away the shock and this time she had produced an idea that hadnât occurred to Hector. âSurely something like that wouldnât affect a camera from the pre-digital era?â Hectorâs lips split into a wide grin as he nodded in amazed agreement. Unfortunately, it had been nearly two decades since heâd owned a non-digital camera and for the moment, their new investigation had come to its first roadblock. They decided to call it a night.
Teddy had asked for a link to the contract at first but Hector had informed him that it could only be accessed from that one particular laptop and generously allowed them to take the older model DELL with themâŚalong with a flash-drive that contained all the information heâd accumulated on the phenomenon up to that point. Given the fact that it was only one of the nearly forty different laptops in his apartment, it wouldnât really be missed.
After thanking Hector for being such a gracious host and sharing another cab ride back to the Sentinel, they made plans to pick up the investigation first thing in the morning with each of them having small overnight projects. Susan was charged with the task of digging up her late-80âs Polaroid camera from the depths of her over-encumbered attic, while Teddy was responsible for breaking down the information on the flash-drive into possible tangible leads.  The laptop itself was left in Teddyâs office at the paper. Although they wouldnât have admitted it aloudâŚneither of them wanted the device inside their homes. The entire subject was highly peculiar and could, quite possibly, turn out to be a fantastic story for the paperâŚbut at the same timeâŚit was a little scary. If there really were some illicit, shadow-group out there with the power to rig lotteries and control government subsidies as well as having access to technology that shouldnât technically existâŚwere they really prepared to unveil their activities? At very least it made the unease they each felt as they drove back to their respective abodes completely justifiable.
It was that same uncomfortable sensation of jangled nerves, with just a touch of paranoia, that kept each of them up well past the hour they wouldâve normally ended their day, allowing each of them to be aware of the same email they both received at 2:30 in the morning. Teddy had been sitting at his desk, joint in hand, still dissecting the flash-drive when the email announced itselfâŚwhich was unusual since he hadnât turned on any type of notification warnings. He had no way of knowing that Susan was hearing the same announcement from the IPad on her coffee table as she was settling into her flowered couch with a glass of Merlot, having just finished her extensive search. The camera had produced itself rather quicklyâŚthe box of unused film for the cameraâŚnot so much. It was finally found buried beneath decadesâ worth of family photo-albums.
The same sense of dread came over them both as they felt compelled to check the email with the subject line: THE CONTRACT, nearly simultaneously. When they saw who the sender of the emails was, however, the sensation ebbed considerably. Teddyâs had been sent by Susan and vice versa. Of course, this wasnât actually the case and upon opening the email, they quickly realized as much. Teddy grabbed his phone immediately and called Susan, oblivious to the late hour but before the call had an opportunity to be sent, she was calling him. He answered.
âTeddyâŚâ She didnât give him a chance to say âhelloâ. âYouâre not going to frigginâ believe this.â She sounded franticâŚscared. âI donât know if I do.â Instinctively, he already knew what she was going to say.
âI know,â he broke in; âI got one too.â He could hear the breath lurch in her chest.
âWhat the fuck is this shit Teddy?â She was scared. âDid Hector do this? Is this some kind of sick joke?â Teddy wished he could say that the same thought had occurred to him, but heâd quickly dismissed it. Hector was a unique characterâŚbut he wasnâtâŚmean. Despite being as brilliant as he was, his humor rarely ventured beyond fart-jokes.
âNoâŚno this isnât Hector. I canât pretty much guarantee that.â They were both silent for a moment.
âSo what does that mean? If this isâŚrealâŚthen whatâŚâ Susan stammered; âthâŚthâŚtheyâŚknow about us? What the hell are we supposed to do now?â Teddy didnât know what to sayâŚat first. Then the journalist in him took hold of the reigns.
âWe fill out and sign the contracts. Itâs the only way to fully investigate this story.â
âAre you insane?â He could hear her facial expression in the tone.
âHear me out. Thereâs absolutely no way this thingâs actually a legally binding document. Any lawyer would have a field-day with it. That being said, I say we fill them out with aliases. When it asks who the money should be awarded toâŚwe choose each other, the real version of each other. The logistics should work in our favor and we might end up with the biggest story of the year. We joke about winning a PulitzerâŚbut thisâŚthis actually could.â
âWhy send the money to each other?â Susanâs tone was beginning to settle and he could tell that the newsperson in her was waking up as well.
âWellâŚif, for any reason, the aliases donât work then they shouldnât be able to take both of us if theyâd be required to make the payment to each of usâŚtheoretically.â
âI donât get it.â
âThink about it. If they can only take me if they pay you and they can only take you if they have to pay me then itâs a stalemateâŚa âCatch-22â. If weâre smart enough we might be able to garner enough information in the process to put together a hell of a piece.â
âSo you want me to fill this damn thing outâŚexcept with a fake name?â
âYea.â
âAnd then defer the payment to you?â
âYes.â
âAnd youâll do the same?â
âThatâs correct. In the process, keep a record of the entire process. Run a live Facebook stream if you want to. Iâm going to stream on Twitch. Itâs not going to be exciting viewing for anyone, but at least thereâll be a record of it out there. Read each question aloud as well as your answers.â
âI donât know Teddy.â She was quiet again as she considered his request. âWhat about the money?â
âWhat do you mean?â
âWell Hector said theyâd negotiate a price but Iâll Iâm seeing here is an empty spot for agreed payment. What are we supposed to enter?â
âHmmmâŚâ Teddy thought aloud. âThatâs not much of a negotiating tactic. I guess we put in a crazy amount. How aboutâŚI donât knowâŚfifty-million? I mean, surely theyâre not going to spend a hundred mil on the two of us.â
âFifty-million?â she echoed.
âWhy not?â He could hear her sighing more and more and took it as an indication of reluctant acquiescence. They were, after all, both reportersâŚalbeit entirely different onesâŚfor a reason. It was in their nature to root out the stories no matter where they laid and share them with the world. As children their first words were âwhoâ, âwhatâ, âwhenâ, âwhereâ and âwhyâ; which made them extremely inquisitive, if not highly annoying, children.
âHave you read through some of these questions though? Some of them are pretty messed up.â Teddy hadnât actually read through the questionnaire portion yet, having picked up the phone the moment heâd realized what it was. âWhatâs your most commonly reoccurring nightmare?â she continued. âWhat part of the human body excites you the most sexually?  Whatâs your least favorite type of insect to see in the mornings? What is this crap, TeddyâŚsome kind of twisted personality test or something?â
Teddy couldnât answer. His eyes had locked onto one particular question that had his heart hammering in his chest and small tendril of sweat beginning to gather on his brow.
âTeddy? Teddy? Oh please GodâŚtell me youâre still there?â
âYea,â he muttered weakly, disbelief pulling at the hairs on the back of his neck. âIâm here.â
âWhat is it Teddy? Whatâs happened?â
âItâsâŚâ He wasnât sure he really wanted to tell her. This whole endeavor had suddenly become much more personal than heâd been prepared to deal with. âItâsâŚthis question.â
âWhat? Tell me what it says.â Her intense insistence compelled the story from his lipsâŚbut only after several long seconds of silence.
âIt says, Please describe the way you felt when you choked a cat to death?â
âIs that some kind of sick joke Teddy? I know we donât know each other that wellâŚbut I know you wouldnât do anything like that. Thatâs serial-killer shit there.â When more silence followed the concern became evident in her voice. âWhat the fuck Teddy? Please tell me you didnât do that.â
âI did.â His voice was barely audible and thick with emotion. âIt was horrible. It was like twenty years ago. It was the middle of the night and I was driving through a McDonaldâs parking lot in the middle of a town Iâd never been in. I felt a bump and then saw the poor thing flailing in my rear-view mirror. I wanted to help but it was too far gone. One of its eyes had popped out and it was in obvious pain. I cut off its air as gently as I could. It was the only thing I could do to ease its suffering. It was one of the worst moments of my life.â
âOh TeddyâŚIâmâŚso sorry. Thatâs just horrible. ButâŚhow did they know about that?â
âSusanâŚIâve never told anyone about that moment.  No one. I donât even like thinking about itâŚlet alone sharing it with anyone. I have no idea how they would know about that, but itâs a little too specific to be a lucky guess.â
This time they both fell silent and, after a minute, Susan asked; âSo are you still wanting to go through with this?â, feeling quite sure that she already knew the answer. When he finally repliedâŚshe was genuinely surprised by his reaction. Rather than drifting further into a state of panicked fear, that invasive question had pushed him in a different direction: he was pissed.
âYou bet your ass, I do.â
When Susan would reflect on this moment at a later date, it would be remembered as their first major mistake. They were both highly intelligent, university-educated adults who worked in the field of fact-gathering and information analysis. Their entire professional careers were based on their ability to properly discern which avenues to go down and which were dead ends. Hindsight, obviously, always provided the best viewing angle for the routes that shouldâve been taken, but in this particular instanceâŚthey shouldâve known better. By that point they already had more than enough information to know that they were in way over their heads on this one. UnfortunatelyâŚthey both fell victim to the biggest fatal flaw a reporter could experience: their emotions.
The second major mistake came forty minutes later and was Susanâs to own entirely. Having ended their call a half hour ago and filling out their respective contracts, it was nearly 4:00am; the adrenaline fueled fear they felt as they answered each question was more than enough to keep any signs of fatigue at bayâŚjust not enough to keep them from going forward with the poorly conceived plan. Had they both actually stuck to it then perhaps things mightâve turned out differently.
Susan hadnât planned on deviating from the strategy, and in all honestly, she wasnât really sure why she did. When the question of who the payment of fifty million dollars would be sent to, she did type in the name âTeddy Aaron Wilsonâ at first before pausing a momentâŚand then slowly holding one finger down on the âbackspaceâ key. The spot remained blank for another thirty seconds before the name âGinger Tara Collinsâ filled in the space, almost as though the name were writing itself.
Ginger was Susanâs younger sister who lived in Kentucky. She was a fan of country musicâŚwhich was fitting since her life couldâve easily been the lyrics to a country song. Shortly after giving birth to her third son with Autism, Gingerâs husband of ten years, Lloyd, left her for a college-aged bartender from Louisville and disappeared into that spot where all the âdead-beat dadsâ seem to find refuge. Ginger, herself, was a high-school dropout who was married and pregnant at the same time other girls her age were buying their prom dresses. The government provided some help and Susan sent money when she could, but to say that Ginger was âstrugglingâ wouldâve been the understatement of the century. She was the epitome of the uneducated, single-mother trope and the boysâ monthly medical bills alone were more than she could bring in. For years now, just about any thought Susan had about her sister any more was one of pityâŚand perhaps shame. If there were anyone in her life that needed a financial windfall more than GingerâŚthey wouldnât come to mind.
On every cognizant level, Susan knew that getting fifty-million dollars to her desperate little sis wasnât the real objective hereâŚespecially if it came at the expense of the rest of her life as she knew it. She loved Ginger and her sons immensely, but she loved having her own life more. No one could see that as selfishness; it was just human nature. Regardless, something much more subliminally motivated took control of her fingers to place Gingerâs name on the contract. If the absolute worst-case scenario were to come to fruitionâŚshe needed to know that something good could come out of it.  If this really was more than some sick joke and she was in the process of signing her soul away in some Faustian exchange, thenâŚfor Godâs sakeâŚplease let there be a happy ending in this for someone.
She wouldnât be able to help but to wonder later, if she had only stuck with the original plan, might things have ended differently for all of them? It wasnât exactly like Teddyâs quickly assembled idea was inundated with airtight reasoningâŚbut she had given his circular-logic loophole an out. If they took him, they still had to pay herâŚbut now the action was no longer reciprocal. For all intents and purposesâŚshe had just made Teddy an expendable piece in this insane puzzle which theyâd become entangled in.
At just past five in the morning, an exhausted Susan Collins collapsed into her bed and finally allowed her eyes to close, having just finished filling out the contract. An uneasy sleep was almost upon her when she suddenly remembered two things that still needed to be done and reluctantly forced herself back into an upright position. She still needed to send the contract back to whatever realm from which it cameâŚbut more importantlyâŚshe needed to use the Polaroid camera to make a copy.
It took an even greater degree of self-motivation to push her entire body back into motionâŚshe was so tiredâŚbut after a minute or two she was loading the âantiqueâ camera and quickly rolled through the entire package of ten. Forcing her eyes to stay open for just a bit longer, she clicked the âreturn to senderâ option on the contract and laid the pictures out at the base of her queen-sized mattress. Unfortunately, and due in large part to her digital-age induced Attention Deficit Disorder, she didnât have the patience to wait for the classic form of photographic history to fade into view and the weights on her eyelids won out. She ended up falling asleep at the edge of the bed, her feet falling off the side. It was the last time her life bared any semblance to what she considered ânormalâ.
When her cell-phone alarm clock woke her several hours later, she screamed a short stream of profanities and looked up at the digital clock on the dresser; it was only a little after 9:00 am and she had set the alarm for 11:00 am. It hadnât been her alarm after all: her phone had been ringingâŚit still was. The phone had fallen off the bed to the floor and she scrambled for several seconds to firmly grasp it before looking at the identification, fully expecting it to be Teddy and wondering if the man ever actually slept. It wasnât. It was MartinâŚand Martin never called her.
âMartin?â she answered finally.
âSusan? Susan Collins?â his voice was slightly softer than sheâd ever heard it before.
âYea MartinâŚitâs me. Whatâs going on?â
âListen SusanâŚthis is going to sound crazy but Iâm telling you upfrontâŚthis is not a joke. Iâm dead serious in what Iâm about to say. Do you understand?â
âUh-huh. Of course Martin.â This conversation was already starting to nauseate her and it had only just begun. âJust tell me what the hellâs going on?â
âOkayâŚlisten to everything before interrupting. Got it?â Talking to Martin sometimes was like talking to her deceased father againâŚand that wasnât a good thing.
âI got it Martin.â
âIâm at the downtown police station right now and we need for you to get dressed and come down here ASAP. Thereâs been an incident and they need to interview everyone at the paper.â
âAn incident?â she asked.
âI told you not to interrupt.â
âSorry Martin.â  She almost said âdadâ.
âIâm not at liberty to say too much until you get hereâŚbut there was an explosion at The Sentinel and, at least for the time being, the paper will be going into an indefinite hiatus.â Susan gasped and threw her fingers over her mouth to keep the disbelief from regurgitating Martinâs words back into his ears. âIt gets worse,â he continued; âSeemingly the explosion was due to an intentionally planted bomb. Fortunately, it happened around four this morning so the building was mostly vacant. No one diedâŚat least. The thing isâŚand this is where Iâm restricted on what I can sayâŚthe bomb was apparently set by Teddy Wilson.â
âThatâs bullshit!â This time she couldnât help herselfâŚbut Martin seemed to understand.
âI thought the same thingâŚbut the CIA, FBI, and even the Department of Homeland Security are all here saying that he was some kind of deep cover spy; theyâd had him under surveillance for a long time. âTeddyâ wasnât even his real name. It was something like âDimitri Volkoffâ.â
âA Russian spy? Are you frigginâ kidding me Martin? Thatâs the dumbest thing Iâve ever heard. What the hell was he supposed to be spying on? For Peteâs sake MartinâŚTeddy didnât even cover politics. This is just ridiculous.â
âI get it. That doesnât change whatâs going on here. You need to get down her quickly and then you can get all the answers you want. I have to go.â With thatâŚthe conversation had ended and Susan flung the cellphone down onto the bed in frustration. When the Polaroid pictures bounced up from the reverberation, they drew her attention and suddenly the entirety of the previous dayâs surreal events came flooding back: everything from being made partners with a man she barely knew to participating in a shared, secret pact that could be putting both their lives in jeopardy.
Torn by what to do, Susan first swiped her laptop back to life; The Contract was gone. From there she fell onto the bed and carefully examined the Polaroids. Her first impression was that her eyes were too tired and she wasnât seeing properly. A quick jaunt to the bathroom for some re-wetting drops and she was back at it. Unfortunately, her eyes hadnât been the problem and for several long seconds she struggled to comprehend exactly what it was that she was seeing. Once it did finally click, her stomach lurched and she found herself back in the bathroom depositing the three glasses of Merlot from the night before into the porcelain toilet. There were still words on the pages she recorded with the photographsâŚthey were just in a different language. One which she wasnât familiar withâŚand not the logographic form of Sumerian theyâd seen at Hectorâs earlier.
Once her stomach had settled and after several moments spent debating her next steps, Susan loaded the pictures into the printer/scanner and, while the older machine slowly scanned the photos, tried to call Teddy. After a couple of rings, she received the familiar, automated voice informing her that the number was no longer in service. For some reason, sheâd half expected as much. The scanner took its sweet time and she cursed herself for not having a newer machine but, before too long, she was looking up the images online. It was actually an odd combination of two languages: Arabic and HebrewâŚvery unusual.
Because the two alphabets were blended in such an unnatural way, deciphering it became tedious at best and borderline impossible. She managed to translate one sentence from one photograph and to the best of her limited abilities came up with the phrase: henceforth relinquish my vessel. It was more than enough to send a chill down her spine and when her phone rang she nearly jumped out of her seat. It was HectorâŚand she couldnât have been happier to see that it was.
âHector?â
âSusanâŚwhat the hell is going on? The NSA just called me about Teddy.â
âI know Hector. Iâm supposed to be heading to the police station now. Theyâre saying Teddy was some kind of spy and that he set off a bomb at the paper.â
âThatâs insane.â
âI know. Listen HectorâŚI know this is going to sound crazy, believe meâŚbut Iâm pretty sure that this has something to do with those damned contracts.â
âContractsss? Plural? What are you talking about?â
âOh HectorâŚâ Her voice was getting thick with emotion and she had to fight to stave off the tears. If she started crying nowâŚshe wouldnât be able to stop. âIâm so scared right now. IâŚweâŚboth were sent contracts last night andâŚohhhâŚâ she sobbed; âwhy did I listen to him? We filled them out and sent them back.â
âYou did what!?â It was true that Susan didnât know Hector that well, having only just met the day before, but it was the first time sheâd heard his voice with any kind of edge to it; she did not like it. âWhy in the holy hell would you guys do that?â
âI donât know Hector!â she snapped back at him. âIt was Teddyâs plan. He thought we could get a great story out of it. We were using fake names and then having the payments sent to each other so that they couldnât pay and abduct both of us if that was their end game. I was so tiredâŚit seemedâŚreasonable. I went along.â She didnât tell him the part about having her money sent to Ginger. âHe said something about recording himself filling out the contract and putting it online.â
âWhere online?â
âIâŚI canâtâŚit was something weird like âTwistâ or âTremorâ orâŚâ
âTwitch?â Hector interrupted.
âYeaâŚthatâs it.â
âOkayâŚI can find that.â
âThen Iâm coming over,â she informed him.
âI thought you had to get to the police station or something?â
âDammit HectorâŚIâm terrified and I have to know whatâs going on here. BesidesâŚyou might be the only person in the world that will believe me if this isâŚthem.â
As quickly as she could, she exchanged her pajamas and âfootiesâ for a track suit and tennis shoes and began hunting for her keys and purse. She figured, assuming she could avoid a speeding ticket, that she could make it to Hectorâs in just under an hour; and she was just about out the door when a familiar sound froze her in her tracks. It was that same damn email notification from the night before: the one that signified The Contract.
There was nothing in her being that wanted to go to her laptop and open the new email but she knew she had no choice; she was playing in a game she didnât know by rules she didnât understand. This time, rather than the sender being listed as Teddy, it was her own email address from which the email emanated. One reluctant sigh and a double-click later and she was reading the single sentence that made up the whole of the transmission: Contract accepted; owed funds deferred to next eligible candidate.
âOwed funds deferred to next eligible candidate?â she repeated aloudâŚand yet to herself. âWhat the hell does that mean?â Sadly, there was no time to stand there and ponder the odd communication so she grabbed the laptop, tucked it under her arm and headed out the door. Hopefully, Hector would be able to help with that as well.
Thirty minutes into her drive down the interstate, traffic came to a halt and became backed up in both directions as far as the eye could see. Most likely an accident much further down the highway. Through her Bluetooth connected car speakers, she called Hector to let him know that she would be running behind.
âI was just about to call you too.â He informed her.
âWhy? Whatâs up?â
âI found the video and Iâm watching it now. This is weird. Heâs reading off the questions out loud and guess what?â He didnât give her a chance to guess. âThe fake name he used was âDimitri Volkoffâ; sound familiar?â
âThat was his supposedly ârealâ Russian-spy name,â she agreed.
âWait a sec. What the hell is that?â She could hear his tone change dramatically, less âHardy Boysâ and more âScooby-Dooâ.
âWhat?â Susan urged; âWhat is it?â
âIâŚI donât knowâŚitâsâŚheâs got the camera at a bad angle to tell but it kind of looks like someone has walked into the room behind himâŚsort ofâŚâ
âSort of?â
âWellâŚI donât know how to describe it. It looks like a solid thing in the shape of a person but thereâs noâŚanything. Itâs like theyâre wearing one of those black body-sock things you see on certain idiots in the stands for NFL games. Completely blackâŚlike a solid shadow.â His breath froze for a second before, âOh shit.â
âWhat?â Susan screamed at her Prius. âWhat?â
âThereâs another oneâŚand anotherâŚand another. Thereâs a whole crowd of those fuckers standing behind him. How can he not see them? Canât he hear them?â
âI donât understand! What are you sayingâŚthereâs someone in the room with him?â
âYes dammit!â Hector screamed, nearly hysterical. âOh God noâŚdonât do it Teddy! Heâs about to send The Contract back! No Teddy! Please GodâŚâ Hector went completely silent and Susan suddenly realized that her cheeks were moist with salty, warm tears.
âHector?â Her voice was feeble, barely capable of producing syllables. There was nothing for a full ten seconds and Susan was afraid that heâd hung up when he did finally speak again.
âI had to pause the video.â Even though she knew he was a sizable man, he sounded, in that moment, as frail and weak as she felt. âI gotâŚsick. Too much beer, I guess.â He gave a weak chuckle, devoid of any real happiness. âOkayâŚso listenâŚat this point heâs just sent The Contract back and there are several sets of solid black hand taking hold of his shoulders. His eyes are wide with fear andâŚIâm sorryâŚI canât watch the rest.â
âYou have to!â she begged; âIâŚI have to know what happens next.â She could hear the man in her speakersâ sigh and it filled her tiny car with a resolute sadness.
âThis is the best I can do Susan. I will turn up the volume so you can listen and push playâŚbut Iâm not going to watch this; I canât. In factâŚIâm going back to the bathroom to throw up some more; thereâs at least a sixer left to come, Iâd estimate.â He didnât fake a chuckle this time as they both knew he was dead serious. Apparently neither of them had much of a constitution for this kind of business.
âThank you Hector. I understand.â  She did too.
âAre you still coming here?â he asked before leaving her to the remainder of the video. Something in his voice said that he needed her company right now as much as she needed his.
âIâm stuck in a jamâŚaccident or something. Iâll get there as quickly as I can.â
âOkayâŚgood.â He sighed yet again and she found that she hated the way its echo reverberated off her windows. âIâm going to leave the phone here next to the speaker and press play now. When itâs overâŚI guess Iâll be back. Please hurry.â With that he was gone and she could hear the clank of the phone being laid on Hectorâs desk, the click of a button and then suddenlyâŚthe volume was way too loud. She had to quickly adjust the difference with her carâs volume knob but not before Teddyâs fear stricken scream was penetrating her eardrums.
âNOOOOO!â He only barely sounded like the same man sheâd spent the prior day with, but rather a cartoonish version of him. It was as if someone were trying to do a âTeddyâ impression but werenât quite getting it. âI WAS WRONG! I was wrongâŚI was wrongâŚI was wrong!â She could hear the sounds of a struggle. Teddy sounded winded. Something crashes to the floorâŚhis chair? Heâs panting and then; âI take it back! JUST STOP! I take it all back!â His voice is audibly becoming further and further from the microphoneâŚas though he were being drug away. âPLEASEâŚIâM BEGGING YOU! I was so wrong!â Then a door slams and the audio becomes deathly quiet with a suddenness that makes it more penetrating than Teddyâs pleas had been.
Susan wasnât terribly surprised to find herself shaking uncontrollably in her seat and teetering on the verge of joining Hector in some more involuntary purging. She rolled down the windows, praying for just the smallest breeze that might help alleviate the sensation, but was only met with the oppressive and unnaturally hot morning air which only aided in making her swoon a bit more. She was just about to try her luck with the air conditioner, which, on most days, was about fifty/ fifty, when the tiny carâs speakers notified her of another incoming call. At first, not wanting to hang up on Hector, she wasnât going to answer it but when she saw who it wasâŚshe knew she had to. Hector would understand.
âGinger? Is that really you?â Susan hadnât actually spoken to her sister in over a yearâŚmore out of guilt than anything.
âHey Big-SisâŚhow are you?â
âWowâŚGingerâŚI really wasnât expecting to hear from you right now. ListenâŚGingeâŚIâm gonna need to call you back later tonight. Some crazy things are going on right now andâŚâ
âNoâŚâ her sister cut her off. âYou listen. You think you got crazy shitâŚBabyâŚyou donât even know. Guess what?â She hadnât spoken to her in over twelve months and within the first three seconds she was already becoming irritated with her younger sister.
âI donât know GingeâŚwhat?â She worked hard to keep the frustration from her voice.
âWeâre rich! Whooo hooo!â Ginger hooted so loud the windows vibrated in their frames.
âWhat are you talking about?â Susan was becoming more and more certain that this call needed to be ended sooner rather than later. HellâŚthe girl was probably still drunk from the night before.
âIâm talkinâ about that âPublisherâs Clearinghouseâ contest thingyâŚis what Iâm talkinâ about. I just won that shit. Weâre freakinâ millionaires now bitches!â  It wouldâve been laughable if it werenât so damn sad.
âListenâŚGinger please. This is not a good time for this. I love you Sweetie, but you got scammed. I promise you that you didnât win the âPublisherâs Clearinghouseâ sweepstakes. Now, Iâm really sorry butâŚâ
âOh yea,â Ginger interrupted yet again; âthen why did the TV crew just leave the apartment?â
âWhat the hell are you talking about Ginger?â
âTell you what,â her little sister had never sounded so smug, âIâll let you hear it from Big Joe.â
âWha? Who the hell is âBig Joeâ?â The frustration was coming through quite clearly now but Ginger was no longer on the line to hear it. Sheâd already handed the phone to someone else.
âMiss Collins?â
âYesâŚwho is this?â
âMy name is Joe Parlatano. Your sister has taken to calling me âBig Joeâ; I do not mind.â
âOkay Mister ParlaâŚâ
âTano,â the man offered; âJoe Parlatano. PleaseâŚcall me âJoeâ; or âBig Joeâ if you prefer.â She could hear her sister giggle in the background.
âOkayâŚJoeâŚwho are you and why are you at my sisterâs houseâŚand whatâs this about a âTV crewâ?â
âAll fair questions, Miss Collins.â He paused for a moment as if to give her a chance to say, âCall me âSusanââ. She didnât. âAnd Iâm happy to answer them for you. Iâm a professional finance attorney and Iâve been hired by your sister to aid her in all the taxation and legal matters that come with her winning the tremendous sums of money that she has.â
âWait a secâŚâ Ginger was never one for pulling practical jokesâŚbut this one was still hard to swallow. âYouâre tell me Ginger really wonâŚwhat the âPublisherâs Clearinghouseâ?â
âThatâs correct, Miss Collins. In point of fact, itâs the largest prize given in the history of the company.â
The blood began to freeze in her veins and, as if seeing it happen from outside of herself, Susan could hear her own voice asking in slow motion, âHowâŚmuchâŚdidâŚsheâŚwin?â In her heart, she already knew what the answer would be; it didnât stop her from praying otherwise, however.
âAfter penalties, taxes and legal fees, your sister will be receiving right at one hundred million dollars. It will actually be paid out in two lump sums of fifty million dollars apiece.â Susan began to struggle for breath. She could hear Ginger blurt out in the background, âTell her about the cool code-words.â When the lawyer spoke again, Susan could tell he wasnât speaking to her.
âAre you sure you want me to do that, Miss Ginger? Those are private words so that only you can officially claim the prize?â
âThatâs my sisterâŚâ Ginger informed him with no lack of conviction. âWhatâs mine is hers and that includes half the money. We have no secrets from each other.â  The guilt she felt for being so irritated with her little sister just a few minutes before was tangibleâŚbut it was still playing second fiddle to the apprehensive dread she was feeling, watching this surreal reality unfold before her from behind the wheel of a car she actually hated.
âVery well Miss Ginger. Youâre the boss.â Ginger giggled again. âThe payments are labeled under private code names which your sister seems to findâŚcool. The first payment is labeled as the âCarol Cline Donationâ and the one to come sometime later is labeled as the âDimitri Volkoff Donationâ. Iâm still at a loss as to why your sister finds them so amusing.â Without warning Ginger was back on the line, obviously having snatched the phone from Big Joeâs hands.
âCarol ClineâŚitâs crazy right.â There was a happiness in the younger womanâs voice that Susan couldnât remember hearing since she was a little girl and for a split-secondâŚit almost made her happy. âLike Momâs two favorites: Carol Burnett and Patsy Cline. Itâs almost like Mom made this happen from beyond the grave. Itâs too much to be a coincidenceâŚdonât you think?â
Susan didnât just thinkâŚshe knew; although it had nothing to do with their motherâs ghost. Ginger came to that conclusion for the same reason Susan had chosen that as her alias on The Contract in the first place and the revelation forced her stomach into her chest cavity. The whole world seemed to be slowing down at an exponential rate.
âGingerâŚâ Susan thought she heard herself saying. It was hard to be sure; the interior of the car had taken on a dream-like quality where everything shimmered with hazy edges. âI have to go now.â
âGo?â her little sis cried from a million miles away with a voice that seemed to be fading. âGo where? Weâre rich now. All we gotta doâŚâ
âIâmâŚhappyâŚforâŚyou.â The version of Susan still sitting behind the wheelâŚthe one she wasnât seemingly in control ofâŚended the call. For the first time in at least fifteen minutes she took in the environment outside of her vehicle. She was still sitting, bumper to bumper, stuck in trafficâŚbut something wasnât quite right. For startersâŚit was too quiet. There were no running engines, frustrated honks, frat-boyâs blasting their stereosâŚor even a chirping bird for that matter. Other than the gentle hum of her own carâs little motorâŚthere was nothing; and the windows were still down.
The âAuto-pilot Susanâ turned off the Toyota, grabbed her cellphoneâŚsome things were too ingrained, she guessedâŚand stepped out of the car. It didnât take more than a few steps to see that the other cars around her were all completely unoccupied.  A frightened, thirty-yard dash further down indicated that the anomaly seemed to continue as far as the endless line of cars did. The fear was intense and legitimate, but it did deliver the shot of adrenaline needed to put her back in control of her full facilitiesâŚeven if it did somewhat inhibit her ability to think as clearly as she surely needed to be.
Really, only one thought came through with any clarity at all: Hector. She needed to call Hector back. Maybe he could come get herâŚhelp herâŚsomehow. She brought her cell phone screen up to her face to verbally request his number be dialed when her own phone rang with a âface-timeâ call.  It was Hector; heâd beaten her to the punch. She swiped the screen and Hectorâs pudgy cheeks filled the screen from side to side.  His face was red and his eyes were blood-shot. It looked as though heâd been throwing upâŚor cryingâŚor both.
âSusan?â His voice sounded different than it did when he was speaking over the phone-line: tinnier. âI was worried about you. You hung up.â She tried to force a smile for the screen but there was nothing genuine about it.
âIâm sorryâŚIâm justâŚâ  She didnât know. âSomething really messed up is going on here. Iâm out here in this traffic jam but all the people have disappeared. Itâs just meâŚand the cars. Iâm more than a little freaked out here.â
âLet me see,â Hector asked; âTurn the camera around.â Susan accommodated and spun her cellphone around so that Hector could see the unreal scenario sheâd suddenly found herself in. Sheâd only waved it around for a few seconds when she could hear him screaming for her to turn the camera back around.
She was planning on saying, âMake up your mind,â but the instant she saw the unbridled terror in Hectorâs face, the sentence was all but frozen in her mouth; âMuah,â being the only sound that actually escaped.
âSusanâŚâ She could tell he was struggling to keep his voice even. âThose cars arenât empty. ItâsâŚitâs them. The dark people that took Teddy. Thereâs hundreds of themâŚtheyâre all around you.â Hectorâs face began to tremble in her hands as she fought to keep the device in her grasp. Her eyes were as wide as saucers but she couldnât bring herself to look up from the tiny screen. If she looked back upâŚshe would see them. They would be there, plain as dayâŚyet black and formless, living shadows that not even the morning sunlight could penetrate. Somehow she knewâŚshe just knewâŚthat looking back up would be the only catalyst needed for hell to engulf her; and yetâŚshe did. The phone fell from her hands.
Somewhere in another world, a voice was crying out in the distanceâŚsmall and inconsequential. âYou need to run,â it was saying; âSusanâŚYou need to run.â It mightâve been someone she knew in another life but that didnât really matter now; nothing like that was important anymore. âPlease SusanâŚOh God, not again!â The voice seemed so franticâŚso full of emotion; it made no senseâŚpointless. Why it was even telling a âSusanâ to run somewhere in the first place was just as baffling. That poor, tormented creature obviously had no idea that that ship had sailed. Susan was already gone.
đ§ Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
đ More stories from author: Shannon Higdon
Publisher's Notes: N/A Author's Notes: N/AMore Stories from Author Shannon Higdon:
Related Stories:
You Might Also Enjoy:
Recommended Reading:
Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).