Estimated reading time — 14 minutes

When I was 16 I murdered my best friend, and two minutes later he returned the favour. I remember that fateful night as if it were yesterday, and unfortunately those hateful events will be burnt into my memory forever.

Noah and I have been buddies since we were toddlers, and we’ve only fallen out once in all those years. Our dispute was over a girl. Lexi.

She was the prettiest girl in our class. We both had a crush on her and couldn’t agree who would get to ask her out. It’s so stupid when I look back at it now, but we were dumb teenagers driven by our hormones and romantic notions. The feud escalated over the course of several months, and ultimately it wasn’t about Lexi anymore.

Our fight became something deeper and more dangerous, as years of resentment and suppressed anger came boiling to the surface. A fist fight wasn’t going to cut it, so Noah and I made a pledge to settle our dispute through extreme violence. And when better to do so than during the bloody night of the ritual, when the normal rules of our community did not apply.

I recall trekking through the heavy snow on the edge of the forest, shivering even with my heavy winter clothes. The hunting rifle was in my gloved hands as I searched out my target in the dark, with the only illumination coming from the crescent moon and stars above.

I exhaled, seeing my own breath on the cold wind. There was a rustling and crack of a branch to my right-hand side, and I swung around whilst raising and aiming my rifle. I saw the dark silhouette of a figure just in front of the treeline.I didn’t know it was Noah, not for sure. But it didn’t matter. Anyone out after dark was fair game on ritual night, and it was a case of kill or be killed.

I pulled the trigger, the mighty bang filling the night air as I felt the kickback against my shoulder. I saw the figure drop and felt a mixture of emotions – a surge of adrenaline but also a twinge of regret, as the ramifications of what I’d done started to hit home.

Nevertheless, I moved forward, trudging through the snow and over to the fallen target. It was Noah. I could see his pale face under the moonlight and the dark blood pouring from the wound in his belly. Unfortunately Noah was still alive, bleeding heavily as he struggled with every breath, and his eyes were filled with shock and pain.

Noah couldn’t speak, but I knew what he wanted. I could see it in his eyes. My friend wanted me to finish the job – to put him out of his misery. I slung my rifle over my shoulder and reached into my utility belt, removing the knife with a shaking hand.

I kneeled down in the snow, feeling sickened by the prospect of what was to come. But I knew I had to do it. Killing Noah was the only way to end this.

I took the sharp knife and ran it deep across my friend’s throat, watching with horror and wracked with guilt as I watched Noah choke to death on his own blood.

I shed a tear when he finally took his last breath – feeling like I was living through a nightmare whilst I wiped the blood from my blade and collapsed onto a nearby rock, sitting and waiting.I knew straight away that I’d made a terrible mistake, but it was too late to turn back the clock. Looking to Noah’s bloodied corpse, I wondered where my friend was in that moment…not his physical body, which lay cold and lifeless in the blood-stained snow. What interested me was the current location of his immortal soul, as surely he was trapped between our world and the next.

I’d heard the stories, but I realised I’d find out the truth myself in the near future. I knew what was coming, but still it was a shock to see Noah rising up from the snow to confront me. My friend was dazed and shell-shocked, his face still a ghostly shade of pale. But his fatal injuries had miraculously healed, and his mortal body was repaired.

Noah looked uneasy as he stumbled through the snow, but his dead eyes lit up with a fiery lust for revenge once he saw me. He picked up the rifle from the ground and aimed it at my chest.

“Okay, it’s your turn buddy.” he snorted.

I stood up to face my bloodthirsty companion. My every instinct told me to run…or to beg. Anything to save my skin. But Noah and I had made a blood pact, and I had to see it through.

I felt the heavy impact of the bullet before I even heard the shot, and I fell backwards whilst experiencing an unbearable sharp pain in my chest. Noah was a better shot than I was. The bullet he fired pierced my heart and I was dead before my body hit the snow.

That’s when I had my out-of-body experience. Its difficult for me to describe the place where I ended up. I guess you could call it a waiting room of sorts. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all covered by the finest marble, and on the wall in front of me hung a gold framed mirror in which I could see my own reflection.

I looked well. In the peak of physical fitness – my cheeks red and rosy, and there was no bullet hole in my chest. In fact, I felt no pain whatsoever.I was sitting in comfort upon a chair of soft leather. Above the mirror, I noted Latin words etched into the rock. They read – ‘Lux in Tenebris’. I didn’t know what the phrase meant, not at the time. But what really captured my attention were the two doors – one on either side of me.

The door on my left was coloured the purest white, and on the right was a doorway of jet black. I was terrified by the thought of what lay on the far side of the black door. In sharp contrast, I was drawn to the white entrance. I wanted to walk through it so badly, even though I believed I wouldn’t come back.

But I couldn’t move from my seat, not in any direction. I know I was only dead for a minute. Sixty seconds…that’s all anyone ever gets. It felt like longer in that heavenly waiting room, but my experience ended as abruptly as it had begun.

Suddenly the room filled up with light, and then the floor disappeared from under me. Next, I was falling through the darkness…falling until I struck the earth with a heavy bump.

I exhaled heavily, my eyes shooting open as I rose from the snow. Feeling my chest, I confirmed that my bullet wound had healed. I stood up upon shaking feet, adjusting my eyes as I looked to Noah. There was a crooked smile on my friend’s lips but it seemed to be forced, and I noted the sadness and regret in his eyes.

“Okay then.” Noah said solemnly, “I guess we’re even.”

I nodded my head meekly, and the two of us walked back to town in silence.

Towns with hidden and shameful secrets are a strange phenomenon. I’ve read many accounts over the years, most anonymous and some discredited. Having grown up in such a place, I have my theories on what these towns are and how they came to be. But I’ll get to that later. First, I’ll tell you the story of my home town.This place was nothing special for the first one hundred years of its existence. A mountain town established in the late 19th century, suffering from harsh winters and pleasant summers. Our corner of the world was tranquil, picturesque, and very boring…that’s until the drifter arrived on a cold February day during the winter of 1984.

No-one knows exactly who the drifter was, or indeed what he was. He went by the name Jesse and was described as an elderly man dressed in soiled clothes, his appearance dishevelled, and his white hair and beard matted.

The sheriff at the time was a tough-as-nails old timer called Cosgrave. He had a zero-tolerance policy and was determined to keep the town clean and respectable. He didn’t want drifters or vagabonds and so warned Jesse to leave within 24 hours, threatening him with jail or worse if he refused.

The insult and threat was surely noted. But Cosgrave wasn’t the only town resident Jesse encountered during his short stay. A thoughtful widow named Mrs Tucker showed the drifter kindness – inviting him into her home, letting him wash, and providing him with clothes and food. Neighbours chipped in with donations and money, but others were not so welcoming.

Cosgrave showed up at the widow’s house with something close to a posse behind him. A stand-off ensued before Jesse acted as peacemaker. The stranger said he would leave the town voluntarily, but first he wanted to bestow a gift on the town’s folk as a thank you for their hospitality.

When asked to elaborate, Jesse explained that this date – the 16th February – would forever be known as ‘no death day’. No-one could die within the town’s boundaries on this date – a set of affairs that would remain in place until the end of time.

As you can imagine, the drifter’s announcement was met with ridicule. The crowd laughed, and all present thought he was insane. But then something horrifying occurred.

‘Jesse’ – or whoever he really was – suddenly exhibited impossible strength and speed, darting forward and grabbing hold of the sheriff’s throat before he could react. With one powerful motion, he snapped Cosgrave’s neck like a twig, allowing his limp body to collapse to the sidewalk.

A moment later, one of the sheriff’s deputies blasted the drifter at point blank range with a shotgun, blowing the man’s head clean off.

Pandemonium followed as the town’s folk reacted to the bloody carnage. This chaos continued for exactly one minute until the promised miracle occurred.

The sheriff rose first, frightened and unsteady but very much alive. And Jesse followed a moment later, his head miraculously restored to his shoulders. That was the start of it.

No-one quite knew what to do in the immediate aftermath of the incident. Jesse was allowed to leave the town in peace. I doubt anyone could have stopped him, even if they wanted to.

As for Sheriff Cosgrave – he was never the same after that day. A soul’s experience during their minute of death….it differs from person to person. Cosgrave never spoke about what he saw on the other side, but I think it must have been a particularly nasty afterlife. He quit the force soon after and turned to alcohol to drown his sorrows. Cosgrave died during the winter of ’88, slipping on the ice and cracking his skull open on the sidewalk.

More than four decades have passed since Jesse’s fateful visit to our small town, and people still can’t agree what he was. Some say Jesse was an angel, others say a demon. Likewise, the magic he delivered on our home is either considered a gift or a curse, depending on who you ask. As for me, I think it can go both ways. Whether ‘no death day’ is good or bad depends on us.

The first year after the incident was a time of denial. Rumours over what happened spread like wildfire through the town, but few believed the outlandish story. Even those who’d witnessed the miracle had their doubts, most believing they’d been tricked somehow. It became taboo to talk about the incident, like it was a dirty secret we all wanted to forget.

Still, there was a tension in the town in the lead up to the first anniversary, since deep down everyone sensed something was coming. But February 16th 1985 was not a day of fear and violence, but rather one of hope and joy…at least temporarily.

Our town has a small hospice – a quaint, three storey white stone building on the western side of the settlement. There were six patients living in the facility in February ’85, all of whom were terminally ill and in various stages of decline. But, at midnight on the 16th, the strangest thing happened.

All six patients were suddenly restored to near perfect health – their symptoms and pain miraculously gone. The staff were astonished and the doctor had no explanation for their sudden collective recovery. They tried to keep the six in bed for further tests, but the patients had other ideas.

It was like they knew their time was limited, because the half dozen chose to spend their day doing what they loved most – seeing family, walking through the woods, enjoying a fine meal…All returned to the hospice that night, and the next day their symptoms returned. All six died within the next couple of months.

The half dozen were the first of what became know as the convalescents, and the trend has been repeated every year since. On February 16th, those on the verge of death enjoy a day of lucidity and renewed energy, allowing them to experience one last burst of life before their demise. This is the good side of the ritual, and for forty years the day has belonged to the convalescents. The night however…that’s a different story.

February 16th 1986 – that was the year when evil reared its ugly head.

Steven Farmer was a man with a violent temper, especially when he’d been drinking. The assault on his wife wasn’t pre-planned. It was a drunken descent into violence following a heated argument.

Neighbours heard the fight and came to the woman’s aid. But it was too late, because Farmer had already strangled his wife to death. The police were called, but by the time they arrived, Mrs Farmer had returned to life – worse for wear, but uninjured.

The violent incident seemed to confirm what everyone had suspected for the past two years – that the drifter’s spell was real, and death could not occur on this day. That realisation raised a lot of difficult questions. But the immediate issue was what to do with Mr Farmer. He was a murderer after all, but his victim was alive and well.

There were discussions between the mayor, sheriff, and other town leaders over what to do with the killer. They were reluctant to press charges that would attract outside authorities to the town – outsiders who wouldn’t understand our town’s dark secret. But still, justice had to be served in some manner. In the end, the decision was left to the long-suffering Mrs Farmer, and the punishment she chose was exile. Steven Farmer was banished from our town and never returned.But now Pandora’s box was open and there was no going back.

Joseph Anderson is a man who will live on in the annals of our town’s history, for all the wrong reasons. Anderson was originally a high school RE teacher, but he became obsessed with the ritual of no death day and the extraordinary tales of the previous years.

On the relevant date in 1987 he decided to conduct a risky experiment. That day he invited three witnesses to his home and recorded the event with a VCR camera for good measure. With all those eyes on him, Anderson raised a revolver to his head and pulled the trigger, blowing his brains out on camera.

The film kept rolling and the witnesses remained relatively calm, and in one minute’s time Anderson rose up from the floor, his brains back in his skull and an unsettling smile on his lips.

Copies of the tape were distributed throughout the town and watched by just about everyone. Even those who’d denied the spell’s existence couldn’t explain away what they’d seen.

1988 was the year it all went to hell. Three murders were committed on the night of the 16th, with another three attempted. People had realised they could settle old scores or fulfil twisted fantasises. They wanted to kill without facing the consequences. And yes, it was a minority who carried out such atrocities, but the impact was felt throughout our town, and the small police force was unable to cope.

This was the year when the town’s leadership made a tough decision. They declared that the 16th would be a special day in the town’s calendar. The daylight hours would belong to the convalescents, who would be able to enjoy their time in peace. The night however…the darkness would be the time of the hunters. They would be able to hunt and kill their opponents in the knowledge that the victims wouldn’t stay dead, and there would be no legal repercussions.

And lastly there were the refuseniks – the silent majority who wanted no part in the bloodthirsty ritual and so would stay in their homes. But unfortunately their refusal to participate doesn’t always mean they’re safe.

Several changes to the ritual have occurred over the years, and sadly these have been the result of tragic incidents.

In ’91, two children sneaked out of their family home after dark, armed with a bow and arrows. Their names were Martin and Lucy and they were brother and sister, aged 11 and 9 respectively. Their family home was on the eastern perimeter of the town, far from the established hunting grounds. It’s difficult to know exactly what the siblings had planned, but its likely they thought they could shoot each other, come back to life, and return home before their parents realised they were gone.

And so Martin shot his little sister through the chest with an arrow – killing her. But there was a big problem. A minute passed and Lucy didn’t come back. Her body was lying cold and motionless on the frozen ground. The boy ran home to alert his parents and they discovered the horrifying scene. Young Lucy was dead, and she wasn’t coming back.

While the family grieved, the authorities began an investigation. Initially the town leaders believed the spell had been lifted. But there had been two other murders that night, and both victims had returned to life. The authorities were initially baffled until a clerk in the mayor’s office pointed something out on the map. The spot where poor Lucy had fallen was ten yards outside the town’s official boundary, and therefore the conditions of the spell did not apply.

From that year onwards, the council took the decision to set up markers around the town’s perimeter to prevent future accidents. However, this was scant consolation to the devastated family. Rightly or wrongly, most of the blame for the tragedy was put on the parents for losing track of their kids. But Martin had to grow up with the shame and guilt, knowing that he’d killed his baby sister. Ultimately Martin wasn’t able to live in the town. He ran away on his 17th birthday and was never heard from again.

Lucy’s death was a tragic accident, albeit one indirectly facilitated by the ritual. But the incident of ’94 was an act of planned evil. Joseph Anderson was the teacher who’d shot himself on camera in ’87, proving the existence of the spell and becoming infamous in the process. Over the next 7 years his behaviour became increasingly bizarre, which ultimately led to his firing from the local high school. Anderson wasn’t concerned however, as he’d now devoted his entire life to researching the spell that held sway over our town for one day a year.

The 16th February 1994 was when Anderson crossed the line. On that night, he took a former student of his out to the edge of town. The kid’s name was Colin and he had a learning disability which made him particularly vulnerable to manipulation.

Somehow Anderson persuaded Colin to stand just outside of the markers, and he promptly shot the kid dead with his revolver. Now, Anderson knew what had happened to Lucy, but he wanted to test out a theory. Right after the shooting, Anderson dragged Colin’s limp body across the dividing line and back into the town’s boundaries. Then he waited for a minute to see what would happen.

Well, Colin did come back, but he wasn’t the same. What he turned into was barely human, and instead the kid was reduced to a shambling zombie-like creature, incapable of communicating and showing no signs of human emotion or intelligence.

Both Anderson and Colin were apprehended shortly after the botched experiment. The town’s folk were united in their horror at what the former teacher had done, and the council were once again faced with a difficult dilemma.

It was agreed that Anderson’s crime was unforgiveable, and exile would not be a sufficient punishment. After a short trial Anderson was sentenced to death. That sentence was carried out by the sheriff and his deputies who formed an impromptu firing squad, and the murderer’s body was buried in an unmarked grave outside of the town’s borders.

As for the unfortunate Colin, it soon became apparent that he had no quality of life and was in constant agony. Within days, the town’s doctor reluctantly agreed to inject Colin with a lethal concoction which ended his suffering. Unlike Mr Anderson, Colin received a funeral attended by almost the entire community and was buried in the town’s cemetery.

And after ’94, a temporary fence was erected all around the town’s borders in time for the 16th, essentially imprisoning the population for one day a year.

The most recent tragedy took place during the winter of 2006. That was the year when a high school senior called Cassie Roberts shot and killed her ex-boyfriend. Such killings are by no means unusual during the ritual, but once again there was a problem.

Because Cassie shot her ex at 12:01am on February the 17th, one minute after the annual spell had ended. Cassie claimed that her watch was running slow, and this was later confirmed to be true. But still, another kid was dead. Cassie wasn’t executed for her mistake, but she was exiled from the town. And the decision was made to install sirens throughout the settlement to sound at midnight and mark the end of the ritual.

So, this is our town’s history, warts and all. But this brings me back to my own story. I never participated in the hunts again, not after the incident with Noah. I didn’t want to kill again or to experience the bizarre waiting room between life and death.

For all these years I’ve been a refusenik, barricading myself inside my home and waiting out the ritual. Noah and I are still friends, although we’ve never been as close as we were…not after that night. Lexi didn’t date either of us. She moved away for college and never returned.

As for me, I met the love of my life when I was 21. Tracy and I married and started a family together, and we’ve been happy, despite the dark cloud which hangs over our home. But even though I’m a refusenik, this doesn’t mean my family are safe from the hunt.

Five years ago, a trio of teenage hunters broke into my home thinking they could hurt my wife and kids. Unfortunately for them, I was armed and ready. I killed the three slowly to teach them a lesson. Once the trio came back, they knew better than to mess with me and my family again.

A lot of people will wonder why I just don’t pack up and leave, taking my family away from this town and its curse. Well, that’s a difficult one to answer.

It’s true that my roots are here – family, friends, my business. It wouldn’t be easy to start off somewhere new. But it’s deeper than that.

I often think about these cursed small towns, islands, and other isolated settlements. What links us together? Why are our places selected by whatever supernatural entities assign these gifts or curses? That, I cannot say. But I believe my town is a special place…a chosen land where – for one day a year – God’s number one law does not apply.

By living here, I believe I’m part of something bigger than myself. This is why I stay, and my story is far from over. One day, when my end is near, I will enjoy a final burst of life before my inevitable demise. And when my time comes, I hope to walk through that white door with my head held high.

Credit: Mark Lynch

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