Katie took the bus back home today from high school. She bought a bag of fruit snacks from the gas station convenience store on the way. She reached home. Mom and dad accidentally forgot to unlock the door. So she had to knock. She waited a minute and then crawled through the living room window. Mom and dad were watching tv, sprawled on the sofa with a box of pizza. “Hi, I’m home” Katie said. “Oh, ok” said dad, lifting his head up briefly. Katie scarfed down the fruit snacks and tossed the plastic wrapper into the trash.

She then went to her room and shut the door. Today was yet another dreary day. Nothing to look forward to with her parents at home. No asking how her day was. No dinner. No help with homework. Katie just wanted to go to bed early. She didn’t know why but she really enjoyed sleeping. She just knew she had amazing dreams at night. Each morning when she woke up she didn’t remember any of the dreams. But she did remember there was a wholesome warm feeling, in stark contrast to what the rest of her day would be like. Katie changed out of her tight stuffy school clothes and put on her soft old pajamas. She lied down in bed.

This whole time I was also there, under her bed. I knew this routine very well for the past several years. As she dozed off and the sun began to set, I began my spooky actions.

I reached my slimy thorny purple tentacle out from under the bed. I passed it through the bedsheet covers making its way to Katie. With the very tip of my tentacle I tapped her armpit. She laughed instinctively at the ticklish sensation. Her eyes opened and she realized in horror what it was that was touching her. “Aah!” she screamed. She was wide eyed and completely awoken from her sleep.

“Boo!” I uttered in response. Waving my tentacle. Like I had done for the past 16 years

Katie trembled in fear. “Wh-who are you?”

I speak in a sinister tone, pronouncing my horrible name. “I’m Valtrixa the Demoness of the Night”.

Katie looked a little perplexed. “Hold on, Valtrixa, that name sounds familiar”. It triggered some memory deep down. Not a scary memory but a warm memory. Something Katie vaguely remembered years and years ago.

“Yes, I am the monster under your bed. I haunt you every night” I continue, trying to sound spooky.

“Every night?”

“Yes, every night. Yesterday, day before, day before that. The thing is every morning your memory of what happened at night with the monster goes away. That is how bedtime monsters work in general, I can’t change it. All that is left is a vague emotional memory, that is it”

Katie is still trying to process this. Her heart is racing. She has a mix of apprehension at this speaking creepy tentacle, and some inexplicable instinct that this will be ok.

“Katie, why don’t you come on to my realm”, I tell her. “Just crawl under your bed. It will be amazing”. I know it will be. She has done this thousands of times.

Katie decides to do as my monstrous voice tells her. She throws away her bedsheet, gets onto the floor, and crawls into the space under the bed. Three years ago she could slip through the seven inch gap easily. Now she struggles to fit but slowly worms her way through. I anticipate that in a month or two she won’t be able to fit at all, and at that point our nighttime adventures to the happy place will have to end. The under-bed realm isn’t built to accommodate grownup-sized people and Katie is nearing the limits. But I hope to at least enjoy what’s left of our our time.

Once Katie is entirely under the bed, I begin wrapping my tentacles around her, passing them through the narrow space. Then I let all my thorns vibrate. There is an audible low hum.

Before she knows it Katie finds herself in a bright sunny front yard of a home. It is actually her own home. Except her parents are not there. Instead there is a caretaker, dressed in a purple gown. That is actually my physical manifestation in the happy place.

I explain to Katie for at least the two-thousandth time what this place is and who I am. Then I place a covered plate on the table before her. She opens it. It is custard rolls. Her favorite snack. I baked it for her. She looks delighted. Never in her memory has anyone taken the time to make food like this for her. She pops them into her mouth and relishes the taste.

We go inside and I offer to help her on her homework. She pulls out her math workbook. Now it’s honors precalculus. I’ve had to learn a lot to keep up with her. But I go through the worksheet with her and explain it in a way that’s fun. She loves math. Never in her memory did anyone take interest in subjects she liked.

Now it’s play time. Today both of us decide to enact a skit. Katie writes the dialogue. She is really good at this. Very imaginative, very funny. I have my cell phone record it as both of us enact all 34 roles she came up with. Of course, the cell phone recording will vanish as soon as the night ends and Katie goes back to bed. But at least in the moment, we can see our video. It is awesome. It probably would get a million likes on youtube if it was possible to send it from the happy place to Katie’s normal life. But that is not possible. I have tried a hundred times.

Then we dance. Katie always wanted someone to teach her to dance. She had to learn all the way from the beginning, although she does have some muscle memory from the past few hundred times that lets her pick up the steps quickly. Either that or she is just naturally good.

Soon it is almost time for the night to end. “Tonight was awesome” says Katie. “Thank you demoness, I love you”

“I love you too” I say.

“I want to do this tomorrow night too. And the night after. And every night” she says.

“Of course”

“I don’t want to ever stop. I don’t like mommy and daddy. I don’t want to ever leave you,” she says.

“Of course” I tell her.

“You promise?”

“Yes” I say. I will keep making the same false promise for the next month or two. “Are you ready to go back to start your day?”

“Yes” she says. I hug her. She witnesses me transform into my hideous purple monster form and watches her surroundings turn into the tiny space under the bed in which she is squeezed lying down. She slowly crawls out of the bed, and as she does her memories fade rapidly. She climbs back onto her bed, pulls the sheets, and finishes her sleep.

I decide this is too strange. So I decide to send a modmail to WritingPrompts. "Hi mods, what's going on, why is it that several comments seem to be hidden?". As expected I don't get an immediate response so I go do other stuff in my life.
The next day I open my reddit and find I have a message. It's from the mods. The message reads
"We are a subreddit dedicated to inspiring people to write!".
That's it. Ok, strange. Maybe I wasn't clear in my question. "Why is it that some stories are totally visible, but other stories are not visible to anyone and just make the comment count go up?"
Two days later, I see the orange dot of a response. I eagerly open it.
"We are a subreddit dedicated to inspiring people to write!"
Again the mods sent this message. Now I'm starting to get a bit annoyed. I type to them "Ok seriously, why do some people's posts never show up?"
Four days later I read their response.
"People have souls"
Interesting, it's something new. Still it's going in the direction of being farther from the question I asked, not closer. I know I won't get any further clarification. Now I just type "What??" , because that's the reaction in my head.
Two seconds later I get a response from the mods.
"Fast Sol. Sunday. 14:41. We have answers."
Ok, now there's something that has more promise of being helpful despite making the least amount of sense. Especially Fast Sol, what is that? Is it like an inside joke or reference in the subreddit that only the most active users get?
I message Cathy to ask her "what is Fast Sol". I haven't seen anything she posted since I last talked, even though she's already back home.
"omg Fast Sol I love it it's the central main attraction of Wisney Dorld everyone walks through it to get to everywhere else it's great it's breathtaking also i'm really sorry I lashed out at you last week lol it's just I have a lot of feelings you know I wrote a story dedicated 2 u on WritingPrompt to express my apology no hard feelings lol we shd hang out"
--
On Sunday, I make my way to Wisney Dorld. Fortunately, the tickets to the theme park are free for the public, unlike the case at some similarly-named expensive ripoff theme parks. So I show my free ticket, push through the turnstile, and find myself in the wonderland. It truly is breathtaking. The time is 2:30 PM. I sit there for 11 minutes seeing the view. There is a giant carousel in the center, on top of which is a bright globular radiant giant yellow ball. I have never seen such architecture. All this for free. No wonder this place is so popular, and more and more of my friends and acquaintances are visiting. It is increasingly rare to encounter people who haven't visited.
Promptly at 2:41, a short hooded figure in a cloak comes up to me. "Do you know why this place is called Fast Sol?" asks the figure.
"I think it's because the carousel goes really fast, and the ball on top looks like the sun, which in Latin is sol?"
"You are wise, good guess but not correct. It is what happens when you take the "you" out of Faust Soul."
"Ohh," I say, sort of getting it but not really, "Yeah I know that book, by Goethe, where Dr. Faust sells his soul. Wow, I didn't know this theme park is designed to attract well-read visitors"
"I wouldn't exactly say well-read," remarks the cloaked figure. "Visitors do not even read the form they sign to get the free tickets to come here. That is indeed how this place stays in business"
I realize that the cloaked figure is probably right. I myself did not read the fine print. "Haha, true, why, what's written there?"
The cloaked figure immediately reaches his arm out of his oversized cloak sleeve. In his hand is the printed form, specifically the one with my electronic signature. It is as if he was ready the entire time to show it to me. Now for the first time I read it. "Visitors pay for entry with their souls in lieu of money. Upon entry, the soul of the visitor is automatically removed. No refunds."
I ask the cloaked figure, "so, what is this supposed to mean?"
"Well, basically anyone who comes here gets their soul removed"
"Including me?" I ask.
"Yes, including you, including me" says the cloaked figure. "Now to be clear, that does not mean your body dies. Your body still functions like it did before and goes through all the motions of a person. It's just that there's no soul, no consciousness."
"Ok so when does this happen," I ask. It sounds like the premise of an interesting sci-fi fantasy adventure, I like it.
"It already did" the figure says.
At this point I realize something. My body starts to tremble, as it would if I was in fear and shock. I realize am not conscious. My brain still thinks. My brain can analyze the world around it. My brain can even create thoughts and say sentences in my head that I'm supposed to feel. But I'm not actually conscious. I don't feel anything. No emotions, no sensations, no vision. It is hard to describe in words what is going on. But I definitely am not alive. I am not any more of a person than a computer that is transmitting signals within itself to carry out programmed tasks.
"Wait, where is my soul," I ask
"There," the cloaked figure points to the giant radiant glowing ball. "It provides the energy to run this theme park. It is a smart business model. Basically we have taken the 'you' out of you, and stuffed it into this generator. This allows the owner to run the park for free. Then the park just makes a lot of money off of advertising, which the mindless automata go buy after they leave the park. After all, the mindless automata still function the same way as people, so it's like society still goes as normal but the park gets a free resource. A win-win if you ask me."
I continue looking, my brain continuing to try to process what is happening. But this much is clear: I am not alive, I am not a person, and I can no longer post comments on WritingPrompt because WritingPrompt is for people only.

I was going to just go about my day but now this phenomenon is interesting. Why do some people post a lot of stories and some people can't post any? It's not even based on the account, it's based on who actually is writing the story. I decide to message my friend Cathy. She's actually at Wisney Dorld right now with her boyfriend, so I'm not sure if she'll be free. But she is another person with a knack for creative writing.
"Hey have you ever heard of a subreddit called WritingPrompts?" I type to her.
"OMG I love that sub I write in it every day like ten times a day it's so amazing omg [insert string of emojis]" is the response I get from her, classic Cathy texting style. Another text message "go check out my stories, u/cathythecreativeperson". Obediently I scroll through the reddit comment history. It is amazing.
"wow cool. I can't wait for you to get back from Wisney Dorld so that I can see your next story"
"wdym"
"Like, you were posting stories every day until four days ago when you left with your boyfriend on your trip. So I'm guessing you two are too busy there and you don't have time to write". After a pause I get the following rather unexpected response.
'wtf no. ur saying i'd abandon creative writing? never. even worse you're insinuating my adorable bf would pull me away from creative writing? no he would never, how dare you talk about him like that. I've been writing ten stories every single day even while I'm here. go see for urself, will you"
"I actually do not see any of your comments on this sub after four days ago". About simultaneously when I sent this I got this response
"and i'll have you know, my boyfriend is not just some ordinary lousy scum like ur making him out to be. he's u/cathythecreativepersonsbf and he writes amazing stories on WritingPrompts basically everyday. They're about beautiful topics, like strawberries. Just before posting his comment he'll show it to me. He'll ask me if it's good. And everytime I'll tell him it's perfect the way it is. Because it is. Just like him. And then he'll hit 'comment' while I cheer him on. It's the most romantic thing ever. Maybe you don't understand. But it is. Idk if you're jealous or what. So just shut up, ok? Stop slandering the love of my life, ok? Just leave me alone! I'm not gonna waste any more of my awesome super trip texting negative people like you, sorry".
Now I'm thoroughly confused. Not because of Cathy's interpersonal skills, that's just Cathy being Cathy. No, it's that when I go to u/cathythecreativepersonsbf and see his comment history, there's absolutely nothing in WritingPrompts. Well if I scroll really far back there's a few from three years ago, but that's it. It's by no means an inactive account. He's active on other subreddits. Plenty of recent posts and comments on r/relationship_problems, r/cheating_advice, r/hot_girls_in_the_city_cathy_lives_in_who_arent_cathy, r/smoking_hot_girls_in_the_city_cathy_lives_in_who_arent_cathy, and plenty of others. His post from three years ago, where he brags about how he went on a date at Wisney Dorld with a random girl who had a fever and uses cigarettes and isn't Cathy, did get 27.2k upvotes. And just yesterday his post about how he's being forced to make a story about strawberries got 144 upvotes. Now all this stuff is expected, it's just he has nothing in WritingPrompts. He has posts talking about how he writes comments daily in WritingPrompts, but for the life of me I cannot find those comments themselves.

Wow, a prompt with 14 comments! Some of these stories are sure to be good. I click on it. The top story: "welcome to the prompt!....". And that's it. Strange. Where are all the 13 stories?

This isn't the only post like that. In fact, I check that all of the posts have fewer stories than the stated number of comments. I know reddit is weird like this for reasons that I don't know or care about. But recently it has been getting rather extreme. The other day there were "56 comments" but not a single one visible.

I try typing out a story to test what's going on. Just a simple, mediocre story to meet the word limit. I click submit. It is there. I go on an incognito tab and check that yes, my comment is visible. Now I'm one of those weird people who's actually public about my reddit usage with my friends. So I call my friend Hannah and ask her to make a story. Hannah loves stories. So she writes one. She tells me she has submitted. I see it. As expected. I feel a little bad for wasting her time, but then again she loves stories. I tell Hannah what I'm doing and she's intrigued, way more than I am. She asks her entire family to do it.

I call back, "yep, I see three more stories from your family, all under the account u/hannahswholefamilysharesthis." Her whole family shares her account.

"Wait, three? Not seven?" asks Hannah.

"Um, yeah, I'm sure it's just three"

"Well there should have been a story about a goat, a story about a pencil sharpener, a story about a mannequin, a story about anguish, a story about everyone's legs, a story about a blender, and a story about Oklahoma. You don't see them?"

"I only see the legs and the goat and the Oklahoma" I reply.

"Hmm, weird. ", says Hannah. She even checks on incognito for herself.

Just then I hear crying from a shrill annoying voice. It is Hannah's little brother Carl. He has been overhearing parts of our conversation. "Waah! The story about the blender is missing?" he wails. "Why did they take away my story? My beautiful story! My beautiful blender! Waah!"

I hear Hannah consoling him. "No, it's not just you. It's also mom's story, grandpa's story, and uncle's story didn't get posted. I think they just randomly let some comments show and not others. Maybe try writing another story and it will come " Carl seems a bit quiter now, maybe his 8 year old brain is comforted that it's not something about him. I hear his sound over the phone diminish as he leaves the room.

"Ok, anyway," I resume over the phone, "What have you been up to?"

"Hmm, nothing much," says Hannah. "Last week my mom, my uncle, grandpa and Carl went to Wisney Dorld. Wish I could have gone but I had errands to do. Just hung out at home with dad and my aunt and Joey." Joey is Hannah's older brother.

"Wow, Wisney Dorld sounds fun. Sucks you didn't get to go. Hope Carl liked it". I glance at my computer screen. On a particular post I see the number of comments has gone up from 2 to 6. But I still do not see any stories there.

"Yeah, he did, he's so lucky," says Hannah. Just then I hear Carl's voice as he barges into Hannah's room. "I'm the most unlucky person in the world!!!"

"Carl, what are you talking about," says Hannah.

"You said try writing another story. Well I did. I wrote about a strainer, I wrote about a funnel, I wrote about an avocado slicer, and I wrote about a pan. But none of those stories are showing up!" Why! Oh why!" Carl gets angry and begins punching Hannah in a rage. This is a regular occurence. Their parents come and ask what is going on. Hannah explains.

"Carl, stop bothering Hannah. Hands to yourself, I'm telling you for the hundredth time. And don't worry about writing prompt, that website doesn't even work for anyone," says Hannah's mom. "Trust me, I submitted eight stories already, not a single one has come up. So cut it out. You're whining over a website that doesn't work, just grow up"

"Wait, hold on," says Hannah's dad. "That website definitely works. Did you guys not see my story about the goat? I got so many upvotes on it that I wrote another story about a goat but this time wearing roller skates. And I got 10 times as many upvotes on the one with roller skates. It's a great website. A great boost to the account's karma too."

While eavesdropping on Hannah's family drama, I scroll through the subreddit and see that yes indeed there are three stories one after another on various goat adventures, raking up a total of 1900 upvotes, all written with Hannah's username.

"Waah, I want lots of upvotes, waah, why does dad get to post stories and get upvotes but not me, its not fair". Carl who had been gradually calming down became wild again after hearing of his father's illustrious achievements and internet points. Hannah's mom makes her hang up the phone after realizing I've been listening this entire time. I think to myself, it's good Carl doesn't yet know about what his brother Joey has done. A story on legs with 1200 upvotes, and that's followed by a story on hips with 1800 upvotes. Even his aunt is churning out stories, now there's one on Kansas.