- [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)