To whoever finds this letter: you must spread the word at all costs.

This is probably the last thing I’ll ever write. I’m scared, I’m in pain, I can barely hear my own thoughts or even breathe, but this letter might save lives.

Never, ever, accept a private message from WraithR3tR1buti0n on the Garden of Shadows chat. Don’t respond if he offers you a way to discover something “special.” He trapped me. Fuck.

It started three weeks ago. My girlfriend was preparing for her final exams for law school. I was between jobs, just taking my time to find something I’d really like. So, with her spending days buried under books and me with nothing to do but play video games, I felt... well, a bit lonely. I used to chat with opponents on video games. That’s when I got this private message, after a brutal defeat. I thought it was funny—it fit the theme of the game. But I should never have accepted his offer.

After telling him I was bored and felt lonely, the guy claimed he knew a trick (Now I see it was unfair to my girlfriend, and if she’s still out there, don’t think I did any of this to her. I swear. I loved her.) He said I had to draw a little circle of flower petals at the back of the garden, using specific types of flowers, arranged in alternating colors. I was supposed to leave it like that for two nights, so they could get used to it.

Then, he said, I could start leaving something to eat in the circle, like a cookie or a pastry. I did it on the third night; I didn’t expect it to work, but by morning, only crumbs were left.

I thought it was just animals. But when I left a glass of milk and a packet of candy, the next morning, they’d emptied the milk without spilling a drop and neatly opened the bag.

Eventually, I started to believe it was a person. A homeless guy. Or maybe even WraithR3tR1buti0n messing with me. I tried to find him in-game again, but his profile showed no activity for years - no matches played, no achievements, nothing. Even our chat history had vanished completely. It reminded me of those creepy stories about cursed antique shops that disappear without a trace once you try to return their haunted merchandise.

I’m starting to struggle to write. I may be in the only room where I’m safe, but I don’t dare look back. Flies are buzzing around me, and I hurt, I hurt so much.

I’ve never really seen them. I don’t even believe it’s possible to see them. Just shadows vanishing in the branches or skittering away when you turn your head. Little footsteps, the rustling of leaves. WraithR3tR1buti0n said they were goblins, but I know they’re demons.

Two weeks ago, we had to visit my parents for the weekend. I’d left a piece of bread in the flower circle, but I guess it wasn’t enough because, when we got back, the kitchen was wrecked. All the cabinets open, flour spilled everywhere, sugar jar shattered, jam smeared on the drawers, and a chunk of meat rotting on the floor.

When my girlfriend noticed tiny, human-like footprints in the flour, I had to tell her. And damn, I should have lied. I can still remember that fight. She was wearing those silly princess socks she has on now, except they were covered in white powder.

And that’s the mistake she made: I don’t know if she really believed me or was just mad, thinking I was playing some kind of prank. But she went out to the garden and kicked the circle of petals into pieces.

But it was too late : they’d already been invited. And they don’t take kindly to being shut out.

They started coming to our place at night. Even if you close every window, stuff towels under the doors, tape up the vents, they’ll find a way in.

At first, they played around, like children. Running on the walls and ceiling at night, shrieking and laughing in these piercing voices. Balancing objects to make them topple whenever I shut a door. Turning off the lights while I showered, or even turning on faucets upstairs when I was downstairs.

One night, I left a glass out on the counter. I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of breaking glass. I rushed downstairs and found the shattered glass all over the tile. Some pieces were smeared with this strange green substance. Around me, in the darkness, I could hear whispers—curses, like hissing cats. The next day, I realized that must have been their blood : one of them must have been hurt because, when I put on a sock, it was filled with tiny glass shards. I even cut the inside of my cheek because there were shards in my cereal box.

That went on for days until I switched to using only plastic cups.

But despite this gesture, they demanded more: I had to leave leftovers every night. I had to spend most of my day playing video games because they enjoyed watching. I could hear them laugh or gasp somewhere under the couch or above the cupboards. If I didn’t spend enough time, the next day I’d find the console already turned on, or the controller on my pillow, upstairs, right next to me. I tried to ignore them, but they simply removed every other distraction: they hid the power cable for my laptop, stole my car keys, tore pages out of my manga.

So I gave in. I stopped job hunting, stopped doing anything I used to do, just to keep them from getting even.

I could tell my girlfriend was on the verge of breaking. I even thought she was just waiting until after exams to dump me and leave. What an idiot I was. I hadn’t seen her for two days; she hadn’t left her study. She wasn’t even sleeping in our bed anymore.

And a week ago, things… I was going to say “things went downhill,” but that happened a long time ago. It happened when I set up the petal circle. Hell, it was when I first started playing those damn video games. When I complained about my girlfriend being too busy, WraithR3tR1buti0n had the perfect solution. It was like talking to... No.

I got up one morning, not fully awake, and when my foot hit the floor, I heard this screech, so shrill it still gives me chills. I looked down and saw a shadow dart across the room. Whimpering, whispering rose from all around me—fearful, frantic. Their pain didn’t take long to turn to hate. It didn’t take them long to show me what had happened.

At noon, I set a pot on the stove and turned to grab some oil. The pot clattered down onto my foot. I tried to open a high cabinet, and the door came crashing down on my head—the screws had been removed. These punishments went on and on, driving me insane. I needed to make it right. But how?

I set the first-aid kit out in plain view on the kitchen table, but they wouldn’t touch it. Instead, that night, they knocked my wardrobe over onto my bed while I slept.

The next day, I finally figured out what I needed to do. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, plain and simple. A little toy car was left at the top of the stairs. All I had to do was step on it, and I’d take a nasty fall. I could feel them watching me, like cold needles on my neck. I could almost hear them urging me on. Threatening me with all sorts of pranks if I didn’t set things right. So I put my foot on the toy car, and I let myself go.

I woke up a bit later. Five minutes? Two hours? I don’t know. But there I was, at the bottom of the stairs. My leg bent at a right angle. It was like I had a second knee, only this one was purple and swollen.

Then the pain hit.

I screamed for my girlfriend. No answer. “She must be working with her headphones in,” I thought.

My phone had been missing for days. I was alone. Well, not really. The goblins were back, and they were hungry.

I dragged myself to the garage—the first-aid kit was in the study, but I didn’t want to disturb her—and I put together a makeshift splint out of some scrap metal and old cloth. The pain was excruciating, and on top of that, I heard every jar in the kitchen shattering, like a bear rooting around for a recipe. I managed to crawl to the kitchen, but by then, it was chaos. The fridge door stood open, empty for days. I could feel and hear their impatience and anger mounting. I called my girlfriend one last time, to no avail, of course.

That’s when I felt a sharp pain on my forearm. Checking it, I saw it was bleeding. Tiny teeth marks. Then another sting at my ear. One of them had grabbed me by the hair and leapt away back into hiding. Then another bite on my leg. Another on my arm. I screamed, writhing as best I could, but they kept biting me from every side. Those voices, those taunts, and curses. No louder than mice, or insects, but they were flooding my brain.

“You deserve this!”

“Loser!”

“You did this! You have to pay!”

Instinctively, I took refuge in the only room they no longer entered. I closed the door behind me: even though I could hear them banging, hurling insults, none of them dared to come in. After a while, silence returned behind the door. I was in the office. And the silence there was worse than their screams. The heat and smell were suffocating. But I passed out there, and must have stayed for a while.

So here we are. Here’s where I stand, now that I’m writing these events as they unfold, now that I've caught up with reality. The heat and smell are unbearable. I can’t turn back: the goblins are behind the door. So I turn around. The office is exactly as she left it that night. Her law books scattered across the desk. Her half-empty coffee mug, now cold. Her princess socks, stained not with flour, but with dried blood. Her body, in the same position, swarmed by flies. On the screen of her still-lit computer, I see what’s open: an email to my parents.

“I’m worried about your son. His addiction to video games is getting worse. He lost his job three months ago and refuses to look for another. He becomes violent when I try to talk about it. I’m afraid he might…”

The email was never sent. In the reflection of the screen, I finally see the goblins. They’re all tiny versions of myself. Dozens of little me’s, grimacing, endlessly replaying the scene: my rage when she threatened to leave, my hands pushing her, her fall down the stairs. Over. And over again.

So is this letter I’m writing… a confession?

The goblins finally enter the room. They slip under the door, dragging a knife. So that’s it. WraithR3tR1buti0n, the wraith of retribution. My retribution. I know what I have to do now.