The Welcome to another edition of Nightmarefews and Peepers.

I'm Dan Cummins, and I'll be sharing another original short story of the fictional horror

variety, a little standalone entry this week,

a fittingly set in October.

I highly recommend noise cancellation headphones for the best experience.

Really hope you enjoy this new nightmare.

Time now for the tale of the judge.

It was just after 9 a.m.

On a crisp Monday morning in early October, the start of Lachlan Harrison's weekend.

He pulled his brand new volcanic gray Tycon, turbo electric Porsche, 8771 horsepower, and

656 pounds of torque that combined to provide a ride

like poetry in motion, as Lachlan himself had told the many people he had sold a Tycon to over the

years, into the gravel lot at the base of the Zephyr Connector Trail just outside of and above

Liberty Lake Washington. The sleek sports car looked wildly

out of place in the shadow of the forest, and Loughlin didn't mind that one bit. You don't drive a

$200,000 luxury car unless you want to be seen in it. Plus, it was good for business. He managed

the Porsche dealership just a 15-minute drive away from where he'd be hiking.

He also wasn't above keeping up with the Joneses, and not many of them had a car this

fucking sick. He wasn't ashamed to admit he was competitive with just about everything,

status included, and he loved the stairs he got from his new neighbors.

As he pulled his ride out of the driveway of the new house he had just

bought in the gated lakeside golf course community, he could almost see from where he sat.

...