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Most scary stories are two things: One, not real, and two, they take place far away from civilization, with one or two people. But real life isn't a story.
We feel safe at home. Our sanctuary, our safe haven. Our earthly heaven. I can promise you a "house" is none of those things. It is simply a cage.
Allow me to explain. You may call me "Travis," as I wish to keep my identity as safe as I can. Let me make this clear - you are in no physical danger. Nothing is coming to your abode to slay you in some macabre, grotesque way. Nothing is crawling in your walls. You are, so to speak, safe, for the time being. But how long that remains is not for me or you to decide.
Let me give an example of what they are. Think. Deja Vu. Forgetting why you walked in a room. Opening the fridge and suddenly not being hungry, or not seeing anything that appeals to you at the time. Those lapses in your brain. Scientists have tried to discover the meaning behind each. But the true reason is known only among a select few in, what this evil society calls a "cult." We know what they come from. It's the Vox. We call them the Vox for no better reason than that is the sound that they make when a hole closes. A sort of sound like your ear popping at high altitude, if I were to type it out, it would be Pvock. But back to the subject matter.
In our lives, we are subject to many changes, multiple things that can happen at any given moment. Say, if I should put a gun to my head, and kill myself, but in two hours, an elderly woman crossing the exact street at the exact moment I would have been walking across gets hit by a bus. Could I have saved her? There is a chance that I did, and a chance that I didn't.
The Vox control these realities. They come in the night, not with malice on their hands, but with prophecy. It is very rare to encounter one, much less even see it, but survivors from the encounters, the one or two of them that have retained any shred of their minds left have described them as thin, not emaciated or bony, but definitely not heavyset. They stand about six and a half feet tall, shrouded in ripped black-gray robes without a hood. Their eyes are a soft white, with yellow pupils. They are not violent, unless looked at. The unexplained deaths that you hear about, all manner of them, are most likely the work of the Vox. They like getting creative. Tied to a narrow portion of a train tunnel, where the friction of a train speeding by will remove your skin, slowly. Buried alive under a busy street, where you can hear the bustle of a city above you, but cannot cry out for help. No one would hear you through the pavement. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. If you don't look for them, they won't do any of those things. Don't go looking for them, as it will do you no good.
The Vox are the controllers of your life. They allow you to live. So fear them if you will, but respect must be given. That is what our order is based on. Respect and understanding of the Vox. We do not look, we do not seek. But we learn. And we beg for them to inform us. And they have.
They listen to us. They listen to everyone. Right now, one or two are keeping tabs on your breathing patterns. Don't worry, like I said, they will not harm you. But they study us. And should we do something they don't like, they will interfere. That is where Deja Vu comes in. In that exact moment, you had made a decision that was unpleasing to the eye of the Vox. They can change reality to any one they wish. They have the key to every single reality we can imagine, and more. I suggest that in a moment of Deja Vu, that you stop and think. Think about what you are about to do, and change it. Do not anger them twice. They gave you life, and can take it even faster than it was given. They gave you a chance in a world without any. That moment is your moment to change history. Do not waste it. Or maybe we will possess you as we did Mr. Morgan here. This message is for the world. A warning. We grow tired of your wasted lives. Your crumbling world. It is time to change. Take your chance, weigh your options. We will see them, and if you displease us, well, perhaps you will be my, or one of my comrades' experiments.