October 30

The world hasn't gone back to normal.


The cold woke me on the couch. Must've dozed off, but when I came to, there was no daylight—no, there was no daylight at all. I peeked through the curtains to find that eternal twilight still lingering. The Blood Moon hung like a massive eye, frozen at the horizon—neither rising nor setting. No sun. No day. Time seemed stuck in this nightmare moment.

Panic crashed over me. I rushed to the TV and hit the power button, but got nothing but static and white noise. Checked my phone—no bars. I was completely cut off. My home wasn't a sanctuary anymore, just a lonely island in a sea of blood.

Just as I was losing it, my phone screen suddenly lit up.


That "Unknown Number" again.

"Close all curtains. Block the door gaps."


My heart clenched. This wasn't a warning anymore—it was an order. Why? What the hell was out there? I hesitated, feeling rebellious. Why should I obey some anonymous texter?

"AHHHHH!!!"

A piercing scream—not even human-sounding—suddenly tore through the air from across the street. It was filled with such agony and terror that it made my ears ring. Then it cut off abruptly, like someone had flipped a switch.

I didn't hesitate another second. Fear gripped my throat with icy hands but also kicked my body into gear. I raided the storage closet for duct tape and old towels, then frantically sealed every crack in every door and window. Like a terrified animal, I reinforced my burrow against whatever horror lurked outside.

When I finished, the house was plunged into total darkness and silence. All I could hear was my own ragged breathing and that endless humming from the basement.

I lost all sense of time in the days that followed. I lived on canned soup and crackers, only risking the desk lamp when absolutely necessary. Mostly I just sat in the dark, listening. Besides occasional scratching sounds and distant, muffled crying, it was dead silent outside. Our neighborhood—usually alive with traffic and kids playing—had become a graveyard.

The isolation ate at my sanity like acid. I started talking to myself, to the walls, to anyone who wasn't there. I was losing it. I needed to know what was happening outside.

The urge to look grew like a poisonous weed in my mind. I knew it was dangerous—the texts had warned me. But sometimes not knowing is worse than knowing. Finally, during what might have been afternoon (who could tell anymore?), I couldn't take it anymore. I made my decision.

I crept to the living room window on tiptoe, heart hammering in my chest. With shaking hands, I peeled back a corner of tape and created the tiniest gap in the curtain. Then I pressed my eye to it.

I saw it.

God, I wish I hadn't.

In the blood-red moonlight, the street was empty, but the air felt thick and wrong somehow. On Mr. Harrison's lawn stood their golden retriever, Buddy—usually as gentle as a teddy bear—balanced on its hind legs. Its body was twisted at impossible angles, spine seemingly broken in multiple places. Its front legs… Christ, they weren't legs anymore. They'd stretched and warped into something like human arms ending in black-clawed hands.

It was using those "hands" to methodically tear at something on the ground. Something wearing the floral dress I knew was Mrs. Harrison's favorite.

My stomach heaved. Just then, the thing that used to be Buddy sensed me watching. It stopped what it was doing and slowly raised its head.

Its face… Jesus, I can't even describe it. That once-adorable dog face had melted into a writhing mass of flesh. No nose, no mouth—just eyes. Eyes with no pupils, just twin flames of dark red fire that matched the moon above.

And it was looking right at me.

A needle-sharp pain shot through my eyes, like that blood-colored gaze had burned them. I screamed, letting go of the curtain, which fell back into place. I collapsed to the floor clutching my eyes, tears streaming down my face with a burning sting.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but that image was branded into my brain. Buddy, who used to lick my hand and chase frisbees at sunset, had become… that thing. And Mrs. Harrison…

I couldn't hold back anymore. I fell to my knees and heaved, but nothing came up except bitter bile.

Now I understood. I finally got what the text meant. "Don't look directly at it" wasn't just about the moon—it was about everything under its light. That light was poison, twisting and corrupting everything it touched.

My house was both sanctuary and prison. And I was the only inmate.

November 2nd (I think)

The basement is getting colder.

This isn't just a temperature drop. This cold has presence—it seeps through the cracks of the basement door, crawls across the floor, turning the entire first floor into a walk-in freezer. I'm wearing my thickest sweater and coat, but I'm still shaking.

The strangest thing? The freezer's hum has stopped.

In its place is a continuous, impossibly deep humming. Not mechanical—more like the throat-song of some massive sleeping creature. Long, steady, with an odd rhythm. It terrifies me, but also induces a strange… hypnotic calm.

I've run out of canned food. Just a few packets of cookies left. Hunger claws at my insides like a beast. I have to go to the basement. Dad kept a backup food stash down there—frozen pizzas and steaks. My last resort.

It took forever to work up the nerve. Baseball bat in one hand, flashlight in the other, I inched toward the basement door. Each step felt like walking on broken glass.

When I turned the knob, an arctic chill bit into my hand. The door swung open, releasing a cloud of white mist laced with that strange scent, driving me back. The smell was stronger now—like a hundred winter herbs burning at once. Sickeningly sweet but with an untouchable, sacred coldness.

I pointed my flashlight down the stairs. Frost coated every surface—walls, ceiling—sparkling in the beam like some fairy-tale ice cave. The freezer itself was completely encased in thick, sculptural frost. Not random patterns anymore, but intricate, symmetrical designs like giant snowflakes or ancient runes.

Light came from the freezer itself—a soft red glow filtering through the ice layers, making it look like a massive, beating heart.

The humming came from within.

I stood frozen at the top of the stairs, hunger and fear forgotten, filled only with a kind of reverent awe. It was… growing. Changing. Reshaping its environment in ways I couldn't understand.

In the end, I didn't go down. I slammed the door shut and jammed a chair under the knob. I'd rather starve than get near that thing again.

My sanity is unraveling. Loneliness is the cruelest torture. I've started talking to the freezer. I know it's crazy, but I can't help myself.

"Mom?" I whispered against the cold door, my voice barely audible. "Are you in there? Are you cold?"

No answer. Just that low, hymn-like humming.

"I'm scared, Mom. Outside… there are monsters outside. I saw them. Mrs. Harrison, she…" My voice broke. "What should I do? Please tell me."

Like a lunatic, I was talking to a door, begging help from a freezer containing my mother's corpse—possibly transforming into God-knows-what. But weirdly, after speaking, the weight crushing my chest seemed to lighten.

This one-sided conversation became my only comfort in my dark prison. I started talking to "her" daily. I told "her" how hungry I was, about the strange sounds I heard, even sang to "her"—the same lullabies she once sang to me as a child.

Meanwhile, the mysterious texter kept sending instructions.

"Don't make loud noises."

"Count your heartbeats."

"Sing. Using the same tune."

Like a devoted disciple, I followed every command. I walked on tiptoe, kept my breathing shallow. In the darkness, I counted my heartbeats endlessly, feeling that faint pulse of life. Every day, I hummed the same lullaby in a monotone at the basement door.

Me, my mysterious text "guardian," and "Mother" in the freezer. The three of us formed a bizarre yet harmonious family unit in this broken world under the Blood Moon.

I'm not afraid of the humming anymore. Sometimes I think it's responding to my lullaby.