(dramatic music)
- [Narrator] Monsters are real.
The story you are about to hear
was attempted to be verified by internet sleuths.
What they found only raised more questions.
(dramatic music)
There was no way Dylan should have survived the car wreck.
He was driving 30 miles above the speed limit,
passing up cars like he was on a race track
when he clipped the fender of a station wagon.
At normal speeds, the accident might have been a bad one,
but at nearly 95 miles per hour Dylan's Camry
might as well have been made out of papier-mache.
The elderly couple in the station wagon Dylan hit
were killed upon impact with a concrete wall.
Their frail bones had shattered like glass,
and their organs had ruptured to the point
where it would have been more appropriate
to say that they had exploded inside their bodies.
The driver of the SUV
caught in the aftermath of the Camry's rolling
was paralyzed when the steering wheel of her car
had rammed her so hard that it had crushed her spine.
But worst of all was what happened to the baby
in the backseat of the SUV.
It was too gruesome to recount.
Three fatalities, (dramatic music)
two people paralyzed,
and hundreds of thousands of dollars of damage,
but Dylan managed to pull himself from the wreckage
with only a small scratch on his left hand.
When I picked him up from the hospital,
I was surprised to find that Dylan had no remorse.
He was a spoiled rich kid willing to blame
every other driver but himself.
"I need a drink, man," he groaned
as we pulled up to his house.
"Come on in and let's get plastered."
I didn't think it was a good idea,
but I knew Dylan had just survived a traumatic incident.
So I agreed to hang out for a while to keep an eye on him.
We cracked open a cheap bottle of whiskey,
and after a few drinks he started
opening up to me about the accident.
"When it's your time to go," he told me,
"playing by the rules isn't gonna save your life.
"Those people were playing it safe, driving the speed limit,
"using their blinkers just like they were supposed to.
"Guess what happened?
"They're dead, and the guy doing 100
"got away without a scratch."
"How about the one on your hand," I asked?
I pointed to a peculiar crescent-shaped scratch
on Dylan's left hand.
"Did you get that in the crash?"
Dylan seemed surprised by the question.
He glanced at the little scratch
on the back of his hand and shrugged again.
"Don't know; first time I noticed it."
There was something uncanny about it
that I found unsettling.
I thought about how little Dylan seemed to care
about the deaths that he had caused and wondered
what could compel a person (liquid pouring)
to be so self absorbed. (man laughing)
I should have said something to him then, but I didn't.
Instead, we both got stinking drunk,
and I fell asleep on the couch.
I'm not sure what time I passed out,
but it was pretty late when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
(door opens)
"Did you hear that?" Dylan whispered.
"I think someone's in the house."
I told him that he was just drunk and paranoid.
I watched him start towards his bedroom
and I was just about to go back to sleep
when I saw him stop, suddenly.
He jerked and fell on the floor then started
scrambling backwards into the living room,
trying desperately to get away from the horror
that was in his bedroom.
His face had gone white, frozen into a petrified scream.
He looked as if he had seen a ghost.
The creature came crawling into the living room.
The most terrible thing I'd ever laid eyes on.
It was a towering, black monstrosity
that wore a crown of bones, with gaping, empty eyes.
I was too terrified to run, too terrified to scream.
It raised a long, bony hand towards Dylan
as if reaching out for him.
"Help!" He screamed at me.
"Help me!" (creature vocalizes)
But I just clenched my eyes shut and played dead.
I was too afraid that if I moved that
it would turn on me next.
Then came the sounds of bones crunching.
The sound of cartilage tearing.
Of tendons shredding.
And then the screams, too.
The horrible screams of Dylan begging the creature
for mercy, begging me for help.
All the while, I kept my eyes shut as tight as possible
and pretended not to hear him.
The crazy part is, I'm not sure if I ignored his pleas
out of fear for my own life or because deep down,
I thought he deserved what he was getting.
(screaming)
Eventually his screaming came to a stop,
and after a few minutes, I worked up the courage
to open my eyes.
I was sure that when I did, I would be greeted by
that thing staring at me through its big, empty
eye sockets, but the creature was gone.
And all that remained was Dylan.
Or rather, what was left of him, on the living room floor.
His body was a mangled mess.
Nearly all of Dylan's limbs had been snapped
and his skull had been caved in.
But what was worst of all was his face.
The petrified scream had remained,
a reminder of the horror we had both experienced.
It looked like the car wreck he caused
had finally caught up with him.
The wound on his hand, the peculiar crescent shape
that had been his only injury from his earlier accident
had changed as well and I found this to be
the most curious thing of all.
It had gone from a crescent,
to a perfect, bloodied circle.
I placed an anonymous call to the police
when I drove back to my place.
I'm worried they might trace Dylan's death back to me,
but even though I was there, I don't know how they
could convince themselves that I was the culprit.
The way Dylan's body was disfigured,
there's no way one person could have done that.
It would take two tons of metal traveling
at high speeds on the highway to maul a body in that way.
That, or maybe,
just the Angel of Death taking back a soul
that wasn't supposed to get a second chance.
(tense music)