A corporate communications piece produced by NATS Global Integration Group.
FADE IN: Upbeat synth music. The camera pans across a glass-walled boardroom. Executives in sharp-shouldered suits sit at a long table, eyes fixed on a towering wall of CRT monitors: Nine screens arranged in a 3×3 grid, flickering together as a single display.
Narrator (calm, authoritative): “In today’s fast-paced world, decisions need strong follow-through and guaranteed assurance. And the world’s most powerful companies don’t leave those decisions to chance.”
On screen, a chart labeled “Cognitive Compliance Metrics” climbs steadily.
A lead executive adjusts a cufflink.
The Narrator steps into frame.
Narrator (smooth, reassuring): “With NATS, our partners have perfected the science of efficiency. Seamlessly integrated, effortlessly optimized, NATS ensures that every decision delivers with absolute precision.”
CUT TO: A computer screen displaying real-time “Thought Stream Analysis.” A hand moves a bulky mouse, adjusting a slider under “Compliance Index.”
On-screen, a bar graph shifts. Below it, a note flashes: “Emotional Variance Corrected.”
Narrator: “NATS is now the exclusive systems integrator for all corporations within the premiere Trilateral Commission. Full-scale integration has exceeded all benchmarks. Delivering a future free of inefficiency.”
A digital stock ticker scrolls across a skyscraper’s facade.
Every arrow points up.
On the rooftop, executives raise whiskey glasses.
Narrator (continuing): “Across sectors, across borders, growth is no longer projected. With NATS, outcomes are guaranteed.”
CUT TO: A shipping warehouse. Workers move in sync, loading pallets of boxed goods labeled with major corporate logos.
Each scan lands on cue. No drift. No waste.
A supervisor watches from a glass booth above, arms crossed.
Narrator (continuing): “At scale, small inefficiencies once added up to massive losses. NATS has made unpredictability obsolete.”
CUT TO: A car dealership. Customers step into vehicles one after the other.
Each drives off within seconds of the previous.
Salesmen stand beside the exit, repeating the same wave and phrase: “Enjoy the upgrade!”
Narrator (continuing): “NATS reads intention before action. It aligns behavior with clarity. And it adapts in real time, eliminating the noise between thought and execution.”
CUT TO: A preschool classroom. Children color in smooth, steady strokes. Pages filled with bright colors.
A teacher moves between them, adjusting crayon pressure.
One child looks up. The teacher places a hand on their head and guides it gently back down, smiling.
CUT TO: A glowing vector map with thin neon lines trace city grids. Blinking nodes pulse along highways, shipping lanes, and data routes. In the corner, a green terminal text scrolls through behavioral logs and compliance stats.
Narrator: “The future is no longer predicted. It’s delivered. Business isn’t about reacting. It’s about knowing. Step into NATS.”
Tagline appears on screen: “Step into NATS.”
FADE TO BLACK.
AD SCRIPT: NATS. A Nation United
A government-issued broadcast produced in partnership with the Department of Public Integration.
FADE IN: An American flag waves. The color grading is slightly washed out.
Title Screen: “NATS: A Nation United”
FADE TO BLACK.
FADE IN: A suburban street gleams under the morning sun. An arrangement of strings and piano plays beneath the scene. Families step outside to raise flags and wave, smiling.
Narrator (trustworthy, reassuring): “Across America, life is changing. The economy is stronger. Productivity is rising. Citizens are focused like never before. And it’s all thanks to NATS.”
CUT TO: A bar graph fills the screen. Each segment labeled with a corporate sector: Energy, Shipping, Retail, Telecom. All rise in sync.
Narrator (continuing): “National productivity has surged thirty-seven percent in just five weeks.”
CUT TO: A police officer shakes hands with a smiling citizen outside a municipal building.
Narrator (continuing): “Crime is down. Trust in our communities has never been higher.”
CUT TO: In a bright classroom, children raise their hands at once to answer a teacher’s question.
Narrator: “Confusion? Gone.
Stress? Lower than ever.
And best of all? Every American now has the chance to think clearly, confidently, and for themselves.”
CUT TO: A former drug treatment facility. A worker removes a sign reading “Rehabilitation Center” and mounts a new one: “Community Optimization Hub.”
Narrator (calm, assured): “The War on Drugs is over. With NATS, dependency is a thing of the past. A future free from destructive habits.”
CUT TO: A doctor holding up a clipboard, as a patient, eyes clear and steady, signs a document labeled: “Addict Reclassification Notice.”
CUT TO: A church congregation. The pews are full. A pastor stands at the pulpit. The camera zooms in on his calm, knowing expression.
Narrator (soothing, reverent): “Faith has never been stronger. With distraction and doubt removed, every American can embrace purpose with unwavering devotion.”
CUT TO: A Bible being placed on a podium. The gold lettering on the cover reflects the light: “Holy Bible”
CUT TO: The President of the United States of America signs a policy document.
Narrator: “Now that NATS has been implemented into streamlining government policy, our safety, faith, and greatness are now guaranteed for generations to come.”
CUT TO: A waving American flag under a clear sky. The government seal fades in over it.
Narrator (reverent): “NATS. A Nation United in Thought.”
The tagline appears on screen beneath the seal.
Music swells. FADE TO BLACK.
FINAL SCREEN (in small white text): “This message has been made possible by NATS.”
Live Broadcast News Segment
ASN Nightly News Segment: “A New Era of Cognitive Integration – The NATS Effect”
[Opening theme plays. Graphic sequence: ASN Nightly News logo spinning into place, cut to wide studio shot.]
Control Room Director (over headset, sharp but calm): “Alright, we’re live. Eyes up, people. They’re all watching tonight. Stay tight.”
Anchor/Peter (in studio, directly into main camera):
“Good evening, and welcome to ASN Nightly News. I’m Peter Brannock.”
Control Room Director (calling shot): “Standby two. Ready two. And… take two. Go.”
Camera switches to tighter shot.
Peter (transitioning smoothly):
“Tonight, we bring you an exclusive look at how NATS has ushered in a new era of national stability, restoring order after the most violent and polarized threat to America’s sacred institutions.”
Control Room Director (into headset, focused): “Coming up on roll-in. Get ready to take the package. Peter, 15 seconds.”
Pause. Watching the delivery
“Annunciate, Peter. Keep your upper lip from hanging.”
Beat.
“Standby roll-in. Roll in on my cue.”
Peter (to camera, still composed): “Our very own Ted Gable returns to ASN Nightly News for this monumental occasion, helping answer your questions about the advanced technology and national impact of NATS.”
Control Room Director (quick): “Alright, roll the package. Fade out on two, take playback.”
The screen transitions to the pre-recorded segment.
Video Segment Begins
Voiceover (calm, authoritative): “You’ve probably heard it by now. In conversation. On the news. From the President. Even at work.”
Beat.
“So, what is NATS?”
Subtle music shift.
“Officially, it stands for the Neural-Adaptive Transmission System. And it’s not some distant vision of the future.”
Pause.
“The future is already here.”
Cut to Ted and Emery sitting across from each other. Light adjustment, mic check, chairs shifting slightly.
Voiceover continues: “We spoke to the Chairman of NATS Integration, Emery Patel—who previously led Integrity AI’s full-scale cognitive deployment across the Alaskan wilderness.”
Ted (leaning in, direct): “Can you explain what NATS is? You’ve been reluctant to go into much detail. That’s left the American public wondering if you’re actually doing any good.”
Emery (measured, practiced): “Well… NATS has increased economic stability by 37% in just five weeks. We’ve seen a 72% rise in national productivity. Crime is down 58%.”
Beat.
“Those aren’t projections. They’re real numbers.”
Ted (unmoved): “That’s all well and good. But throwing out statistics doesn’t answer my question. What is NATS?”
Emery (slightly defensive, still composed): “In a nutshell, NATS is seamless neural integration. There are no physical devices needed on the user end. The system is transmitted as a signal. It interacts directly with neural patterns and brain wave activity.”
Ted:
“That sounds frightening to anyone concerned about privacy… or basic agency. You’re talking about a system that operates inside the mind. That alone raises questions. And these numbers you cite… I’m sorry, but they’re just numbers.”
Emery (rehearsed): “Not at all. We have three separate independent boards, each built from officials across government, industry, and civil society. They oversee every phase of development. They have the American public’s safety top of mind. And if you’re not willing to take a chance with us. Well, I’m afraid that’s just not very patriotic.”
Control Room Director (into headset, sharp): “What the hell was that? We just lost sync. Get feed two back online. Feed two, now.”
Assistant Director (checking monitors): “Shit. Peter, standby. We may need to come back to you. Camera two, what are you seeing?”
The video stutters, then resumes. Emery’s voice returns mid-sentence.
Emery: “…In just five weeks, NATS has set a new gold standard for human potential. We’re seeing unprecedented clarity, cooperation, and economic alignment. It is, without question, one of the greatest achievements humanity has ever reached in such a short—”
Interference Signal (fragmented, distressed):
“…I repeat, total disorientation… minds compromised by unauthorized signal layers… people are drifting, unresponsive… hallucinations are overlapping with reality… no rest cycles detected… no sleep for days. People are wandering the streets… mindless drones in constant distress…”
Control Room Director (tense, voice raised): “Is that going through? Damn it, get us back live. Feed two. Peter, standby. Be ready on three.”
Beat.
“What the shit, guys. Where the hell is the feed? Bob, get camera two framed up and ready to go live.”
The interview continues to play. Visual is steady.
Ted (back on screen, composed):
“Critics of NATS say that you’ve undercut official guidelines and procedures, forcing your entry as the sole premier vendor for government and corporate partnerships.”
Emery (unfazed):
“Every partner we have sought us out. Not the other way around. That gives the impression we manipulated systems into adopting our technology, which couldn’t be further from the truth.”
Interference Signal (distorted, direct):
“Thousands are in acute psychological collapse. Self-termination is rising hourly. The children… All the children… Accidental death has gone viral. Hallucinations caused by NATS are being labeled as disorders. NATS is a violating poison from tyrants.”
Signal stutters, cuts abruptly.
Control Room Director (snapping): “Shit. Peter, you’re on. Peter! Go!”
Peter (on camera, caught mid-shuffle, not looking up yet):
Beat. He gathers himself, lifts his eyes to the lens.
“Umm… we apologize for the technical difficulties. We’re working to resolve the issue and will return to the segment as soon as possible.”
Control Room Director (frantic): “What the hell is going on? Where is the signal getting in? Joe, trace the uplink. Find which one’s being upended. Scramble the signal and re-encrypt the handshakes.”
Beat.
“What’s up with camera two? We’re stuck. Get back on three. Damn it, three! Three! Three!”
Peter (on camera, continuing) “Today in the nation’s capital, the President’s caravan was welcomed by the newly established Office of Public Integration, or OPI, ahead of this afternoon’s joint press conference. Both the President and OPI leadership announced major milestones in the national rollout of NATS…”
Assistant Director (snapping into headset): “Joe! Three! We need it back! What’s going on out there?”
Peter (glancing off-camera, distracted): “Our cameras seem to be having some issues too… You good, Joe?”
Control Room Director (furious): “Damn it, Peter. Don’t talk to Joe. Read your prompt!”
Peter (still on air, fumbling): “I don’t have a prompt ready. That’s how I tell the news…”
He looks down, rifling through papers.
“Umm… just give me a second…”
A sharp pop. Static. Then the feed warps.
The ASN logo flickers, then vanishes.
The screen glitches, dissolves into blocks of artifacted compression.
And then, something comes through.
Visual: A shadowed figure. Face obscured. Glitching in and out of frame.
Only 75% clear. The background is indiscernible. The resolution is low.
But the eyes, when visible, are locked forward.
Audio: Multiple channels bleed together. Feedback, voice, emergency tones struggling to sync. Then clarity punches through.
Shadow Figure (calm, distorted): “Do not go near NATS zones. Highly concentrated areas in impoverished sectors are collapsing from within.”
Beat.
“Chronic psychosis. Widespread hallucination. Coordinated disassociation. Full cognitive breakdown. The affected have no language left. No memory. They cannot describe or discern what’s happening.”
Beat.
“Exposure to NATS is not progress. NATS is systemic annihilation. It alters and replaces thought. This is not advancement. This is erasure. This is cognitive warfare targeting civilians.”
Beat.
“DO NOT go near NATS zones…”
The signal stutters. Image distorts again. Static crackles. A brief, high-pitched whine.
A hard pop.
The screen snaps back to the active broadcast camera.
Control Room Director (shouting over comms): “Where is that signal coming from?! Who let that through? Joe, pull it! Get me clean visuals, now! Wipe every feed if you have to!”
Peter (on camera, visibly shaken, looking in the wrong direction): He glances down, then looks off-stage. His eyes are unfocused.
“And the… the… office of Neural Advancement…”
(He catches himself. A beat. Swallows hard.)
“Excuse me. I mean… Public Integration.”
Assistant Director (cutting in, clipped and loud): “Peter, camera one! You’re on one! Cue commercial. Peter, send to commercial now!”
Peter (delayed): “… We’ll be right back.”
Control Room Director (full meltdown): “We just lost control of the feed. We lost the goddamn feed! This aired. That aired. They’re gonna pin this on me. They are going to pin this whole thing on me… I’m dead. I am fucking dead…”
Music Cue: The ASN news jingle begins, but skips midway.
On screen: The logo appears on screen, flickering as if struggling to stabilize.
The screen fades. Then flickers. Fades again.
A low hum remains, just audible.
What Are Overly Aggressive Affiliate Pages?
These pages operate like digital traps. Intrusive layouts, endless buttons, and messaging that lures people into clicking affiliate links. They exist solely to force interaction, often disguising themselves as helpful resources while delivering nothing of substance.
Analogy
Imagine stepping into a bustling market where every vendor screams at once. Each promises hidden treasures, yet every stall is the same. A jumble of broken goods and identical sales pitches. There is no escape. The noise is suffocating. The longer you stay, the more lost you become.
The Reality
These pages thrive on volume, not value. They churn out recycled content. They stuff paragraphs with keywords. They flood the screen with fake urgency and relentless calls to action. The goal is simple. Overwhelm people into clicking. But instead of building trust, they repel. The worst of them feel like digital hallucinations. Confusing layouts. Looping pop-ups. Traps disguised as buttons. You forget what you came for.
Google catches and devalues these pages within days of a major core update. If they escape immediate detection, their rankings often erode over weeks or months as Google reassesses content quality. The cycle repeats. New pages rise, but none last long.
Why It Is Sold
Businesses chasing easy money see these pages as shortcuts. They promise passive income. High conversion rates with minimal effort. Just pump out more pages, target more keywords, and watch the clicks roll in. But the quick win is an illusion. The model relies on churn. Once a page loses traction, another takes its place.
Why It Persists
Overly aggressive affiliate pages survive in the digital shadows. They target unmoderated platforms, low-competition search terms, and desperate buyers looking for quick solutions. They thrive in the gaps where no one is watching. Algorithms struggle to weed them out. The most persistent ones latch onto search results just long enough to cash in before vanishing and reappearing elsewhere.
RIP: 2019
Google’s March 2019 Core Update cracked down on thin, manipulative content, devaluing affiliate pages designed to mislead rather than inform. Sites that relied on aggressive linking, intrusive layouts, and low-value recommendations saw rankings collapse as Google prioritized trust and relevance.
Later helpful content updates reinforced the purge. Google’s systems identified and suppressed pages created solely for clicks, stripping them of visibility. Instead of outright penalties, the algorithm quietly buried them, making it harder for these tactics to survive. Those who refused to adapt faded into obscurity, their once-loud presence reduced to a whisper in forgotten search results.
A blinding overhead light shifted, casting a harsh glow on the ceiling tiles.
“Alright, Sylvan, we’re ready to begin,” a voice said nearby. “Just focus on your breathing. The anesthetist will take over now.”
“Are you comfortable?” the anesthetist asked.
“Yeah… I’m okay. A little cold,” Sylvan said.
“Let me grab another blanket. You should be feeling pretty relaxed now.” They returned, draping a thin felt blanket over Sylvan. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thank you.”
“Good. Now take a couple of deep breaths. Start counting backward from ten. You might feel warmth or a little tingling sensation. We’ll see you when you wake up… Sweet drea—”
—
A whisper of metal in the silence. Then clinking. Jangling. Hundreds of tiny locks rattling against one another in a restless wind. Cold. Damp. A faint scent of something burning settled in the air.
Sylvan shifted their legs, then pressed their hands against the ground to push up. The surface was rough stone, grimy beneath their fingertips. They opened their eyes. Blurry light flickered ahead.
“Huh? What… is this?” Their voice barely broke the quiet.
They rubbed their eyes and waited for the fog in their mind to clear. Slowly, the details sharpened. A hallway stretched before them, lined with old sconces casting a warm glow. The stone floor was gone, replaced by a long runner of red and burgundy hues. The air was no longer cold. It was warm now.
A loud pop. Then a thud.
A young man stumbled around the corner and nearly collapsed in front of Sylvan. He did not stop. Did not speak. He pushed himself up and bolted down the hallway.
He reached a door, grabbed the handle, and pulled it open. He ran through without hesitation.
His scream faded as he fell, disappearing into whatever waited below. For a brief moment, something inside that room shifted. A breath. A slow, deliberate movement. Then the door slammed shut. Sylvan, still dazed, propped themselves against the wall. “What a weird place.”
Another pop. Another thud. A second person landed nearby, gasping as they scrambled to their feet. They locked eyes with Sylvan for a brief moment an pun around frantically. “I have to get out of here! Now!” Their eyes latched onto a door. “That’s it! That’s it! Thank God!” They ran for the door, threw it open, and rushed inside.
The abyss swallowed another one, left with a scream stretching into the dark. The door slammed shut.
Sylvan found their footing and walked toward another door. It did not matter which door. What lies behind each door? What is it that waits in each room?
Sylvan approached one and stepped closer, planting their feet on either side of the doorframe. One hand gripped the wood, the other wrapped around the knob. They turned it. The door thrust open, and a powerful gust of air rushed past them, pulled into the vast nothingness beyond. Sylvan braced against the force, gripping the frame harder. No light. No walls. No end. A stench filled the air, thick and rotting. It slammed into their stomach. Their throat tightened. “Ugh—” A sharp heave forced its way up. The air was heavy. Smothering. Slimy.
For a moment, there was only silence. Empty space stretching forever. Then, something moved. Not close. Not small. Something unfathomably large. Sylvan could not see it, but they felt it. And it felt them. Carefully, Sylvan pulled the door shut. It clicked into place.
Sylvan heard something approaching from behind. Fast. They turned sharply, ears straining. A rustling of metal. The same clinking and clanging from before. Their eyes darted around. Stairs. Without thinking, they ran toward the staircase and hurried down. The steps had an ornate runner, snug against each step, leading to another floor. Sylvan slowed at the bottom, stepping carefully into the new area.
“I wonder what this room is?”
Before they could take in their surroundings, a sudden pop cut through the air. A middle-aged woman plummeted into existence and hit the ground hard. The impact knocked the wind from her chest. She gasped and coughed, struggling to catch her breath.
“It is okay. Keep breathing,” Sylvan said, crouching beside her. The woman’s eyes darted around, wild with confusion. “Where… Where is this?”
“I do not know yet. But listen. Do not walk through the doors.”
The woman froze, then shook her head. “No. No, I have to get out of here.”
“Wait! Don’t!” But she was already scrambling to her feet. It did not matter. The woman scanned the room until her eyes locked onto a single door. It stood apart from the rest, as if her name were written on it. She gasped, then sprinted toward it, threw it open and rushed inside. A look of pure relief washed over her face. She fell. She was gone. Her scream trailed into the dark, swallowed by whatever waited below. The door slammed shut behind her.
Sylvan remained crouched, staring at the place where she had disappeared. It felt as if the woman had been pulled away without effort, like a soft linen cloth slipping from someone’s palms.
A faint tinging echoed from a nearby hallway. “More doors… Get up, Sylvan. Get up.” The sound crawled along the walls, steady and rhythmic. Sylvan pushed themselves up and crept toward the edge of the hallway. They peeked around the corner and accidentally tapped the wall with their foot.
A massive figure, at least twelve feet tall, turned sharply in their direction. Its head was wide, covered in patches of black fur. Eight eyes, though a few were missing. A split mandible twitched at the center of its face. Two sets of legs. Maybe more.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
The creature lingered for a moment, then turned away and resumed its work. Sylvan steadied their breath and peeked around the corner, careful not to make a sound. The thing was focused, hunched over something, its movements slow and deliberate. A thick thread oozed from its lower abdomen as it raised a spiked arm to its mouth, coating it in saliva before pressing it against the thread. It repeated the motion, stretching and layering the strands with precise care. It was building a web.
The familiar clinking and clanging started again in the distance, drifting down the stairs. It was an uneven sound, like someone fumbling through an endless chain of keys. Sylvan peeked around the corner. The spider creature was gone.
Must have spooked it.
They pressed deeper into the shadows, forcing their breath to steady. The sound was getting closer and they needed to see what it was. Carefully, Sylvan leaned out.
A towering figure stood at the same door the woman had run through. Its back was to Sylvan, but even at a glance, they could see it was searching.
Four arms moved with unnatural speed, sorting through an impossible number of keys. The dulled pieces of metal clattered against one another as the figure plucked through one after another from its heavy cloak. A tangled mass of metal and lanyards draped over its form. One key found its place. A lock turned with a sharp click. The scent of burnt air filled Sylvan’s lungs. Acrid and metallic. The figure hesitated for only a moment, then drifted down the hall and disappeared.
“I have to check this out.” Sylvan scanned the area, searching for any sign of movement. No creatures. No shifting shadows. Nothing.
“Good…”
They moved carefully toward the door and stopped short. Something was off. The door was gone. Not just the door. The entire room. The entire space had shifted. Re-formed into something different.
At that moment, another unfortunate soul popped into existence and hit the ground with a hard plop. This one did not run. He a moment to gather his senses. Before Sylvan could say anything, footsteps echoed nearby. Someone else was approaching. The newcomer hesitated, then called out, “Hello? Is somebody there? Where is this?”
Sylvan eased back, letting the shadows conceal them. Their instinct said to stay quiet, to watch, not to intervene.
“Heh. Hehehehe. Hehehehe.” A slight chuckle drifted from around the bend.
“Hi, can you help me? Do you know where I am?”
A fragile old man appeared, moving slowly toward the newcomer.
Step. Step. Step. His smile stretched wide, gums bare where teeth should have been. His eyes were closed, yet his face beamed with joy. Every so often, the dim light reflected in something dark beneath the lids. Something sat inside those sockets, small and deep, catching just enough light in smiling eyes.
“Are you okay? Do you need help?” The old man lifted both hands and pointed to his stomach. There was nothing there. A gaping cavity had replaced everything that should have been inside him. Still, the old man chuckled.
“Heh. Hehehe. Hehehehe.” He took another step forward.
“Tell me, do you need help? Let’s get you out of here. You seem lost. My name is Theo. What’s yours?” No response. The old man kept moving toward him. Step. Step. Step.
Theo hesitated, then reached out. “Okay, let’s see if we can find you a—” Before he could finish, his arm was sucked into the void of the old man’s stomach. Theo gasped and yanked back, but the pull was impossibly strong. His other arm clawed at the air, straining, trying to push himself free. It did not matter. The pit had him.
His shoulder hit the old man’s chest, stopping him from being swallowed whole, until his neck twisted with a sickening crack. Sylvan clamped both hands over their mouth. Theo’s head turned too far, then his torso lurched after it, spasming in jagged, unnatural jerks as the cavity pulled him in, inch by inch. His legs kicked wildly, catching for a moment, but then they bent the wrong way with a wet snap. He vanished.
A single shoe remained. The old man chuckled. “Hehehe. Hehe. Hehehehe.” Slowly, he stepped out of the room. Step. Step. Step. His fingers still pointed to the empty space where his stomach should have been, over and over, his quiet laughter disappeared down the hall.
Once the old man walked out of sight, Sylvan ran. They grabbed the shoe without stopping and sprinted up another set of stairs.
Further down the hallway, just outside a grimy old bathroom, a tub sat against the wall.
Sylvan slowed their approach. Something was sloshing inside. A thick, gurgling and bubbling sound echoed from within. In between the noise, there were wet, strained gags that had a vague resemblance of a voice. “UGH. UHH. Ugh. ACK.” It was followed by burps and the slick slither of something moving, like skin rubbing against porcelain.
Sylvan inched closer. The sound quieted. Something was in there. Watching. Waiting. Slowly, they lifted Theo’s shoe and held it out. A fleshy tendril snapped from the water, wrapped around the shoe, and yanked it into the tub. A delighted gurgle rose from the mass beneath the surface.
“Oh. My. God!!!”
The thing in the tub was dark and bumpy, like a swollen loaf of meat with no bones to hold its shape. A flat mouth stretched across its surface, shifting as it absorbed the boot. A dead eye or maybe three floated aimlessly within the mass. Patches of thin, wiry hair clung to its skin. A flabby arm twitched. A row of mismatched teeth jutted from one side of its mouth. It settled, content for now, and Sylvan took a careful step back.
Someone grabbed their shoulder.
“Ahhhhh!” Sylvan screamed.
“Oh! I am sorry, I did not mean to frighten you,” a voice said from behind. A middle-aged man stood there, he wore a priest’s collar.
Sylvan took a step back. “Who the hell are you now?”
“I am you. You are me. We are… them.” He pointed at the tub. “All stuck here in this place. I am The Chaplain.”
“What is this place?”
“Ahhh… Yes. That is the ultimate question, is it not? Why am I here? Who am I? Why is there so much pain and suffering?”
“How long have you been here?”
“Well… Let us see… How long have you been here?”
“Like twenty minutes. Why does that matter? How do you get out of here?”
“Well… In that case, I have been here for about a… day? A week? A month? I am not entirely sure. As for your question about how to get out of here, I do know the way.”
“You know how to get out of here? How?”
“In time, my dear. We must first make sure everything is in order. But you…” He took Sylvan’s hands and studied their palms. “Yes… you will find salvation. We all have the option to be saved. You must first walk through the door. You must trust.”
“Trust what?”
“Him, of course. We must obey him.” The Chaplain closed his eyes in reverence. “We must give ourselves as a sacrifice to him. Others…”
“Like the tub guy?”
“Ohh hahaha. Him? That? He is a survivor. A particularly unique luring presence, don’t you think? Quite ingenious. Not much different from the likes of, say, Dr. Scalpels.”
“Dr. Scalpels?”
“Dear me! You have not had the pleasure yet. Ohh, you are in for a treat! She is… eccentric, that one. And quite a talker too, if you ask me.” He snickered to himself. “She is named appropriately. The good doctor wields great power over that particularly sharp tool. Swipe! Snip!” He slashed imaginary scalpels close to Sylvan’s face.
Sylvan shoved him back. “Get out of my face!”
“Ohhh! You’re a fighter!” The Chaplain grinned. “I like watching the fighters…”
Something caught his attention. He stopped, straightened, and turned his head, listening intently.
“What is it?” Sylvan asked.
“Shh! Quiet!”
The familiar metallic clinking and clanging returned, growing closer. The tall figure in the cloak of intricately designed keys appeared once more. It paused, sifting through its endless collection. Beneath the metallic shroud, its face was hidden, but faint rays of dark light seeped from under the hood. It turned its head, scanning both directions, then drifted closer.
The Chaplain softened his stance, pressed his hands together, and bowed his head. He muttered something under his breath as he sank lower to the ground. The tall being hovered past them.
“I’m getting the fuck out of here,” Sylvan said and ran from The Chaplain.
They sprinted past four hallways, each lined with countless doors, until they reached another wing of the building. As they stepped into the next corridor, they felt something behind them. A presence. From the corner of their eye, a woman in a blue medical uniform. A surgical mask covered her face. Her bright blue eyes locked onto Sylvan’s, framed by beautiful brownish-blonde hair.
“Shit. Dr. Scalpels…”
Dr. Scalpels snapped her arm out, and a scalpel shot into her hand as if drawn to her grip. She caught it with practiced ease, pressed the blade to the wall, and walked forward, letting it drag across the wallpaper.
“Leave me alone!” Slyvan screamed, taking off into the unknown wing.
The hallways filled with the sounds of more pops, more thuds, more gasps. Doors burst open. Distant screams trailed into nothing. The scraping grew louder. Rougher. Closer. Dr. Scalpels was gaining on them.
Sylvan turned the corner, and the massive spider beast from before dropped from the ceiling, slamming them to the ground. Its legs locked around them as it reared back, fangs snapping inches from their face.
“They have caught wind, my dear!” The Chaplain exclaimed further down the hallway. “A morsel of reward from them. A couple of tests for you! Hahaha!”
“SHUT UP!”
The hair on the massive spider beast’s head was sparse and uneven, like patchy hair plugs. Its eyes locked onto Sylvan, venom dripping from its fangs onto their face as they struggled. Oddly, the eyes were not like an insect’s. Sylvan could see the whites, shifting with strain as the creature fought to hold them down and strike.
The tall, mysterious being with keys appeared again, moving methodically as it visited and altered the doors of each victim who had fallen into this ghastly place. It floated from one to the next, sifting through its endless collection, finding the right key, then moving on.
The spider reacted first, backing against the wall, its body pressed low in submission. It bowed. Sylvan’s breath caught as they turned. Dr. Scalpels was doing the same, head lowered, body still, a quiet reverence in her posture.
“So… you think that’s God. That’s just great…”
Sylvan pushed themselves up and ran. The tall being drifted past them, unbothered, continuing its work elsewhere.
Then Sylvan saw it. A door. Their door. They stopped in their tracks. Their feet moved before their mind caught up. They reached for the knob, fingers curling around it, ready to run through. But they hesitated.
“What am I doing? Snap out of it!”
Their stomach twisted. It had been so easy. Without thinking, without questioning, they had almost thrown themselves into whatever was waiting behind that door. Just like the others.
The Chaplain emerged from the shadows, chuckling softly. “Ohh hohoho. Hehehehe. You are… You are a fun one, my dear.”
Sylvan turned to face him. “You said you provide the way of salvation? Cut the shit and tell me which door takes me back. Now.”
“Oh… okay. Let me tell you the secret. Are you ready?”
“Look. Please… just get to it.”
“Mmmhmmm. You are ready, aren’t you? You are nearly there.” He stepped closer, his grin widening. “You see… The door to the smallest closet is the ticket. The way out!”
His hands clamped onto Sylvan’s shoulders. “You have received salvation. Hallelujah!” His eyes fluttered shut as he lifted a trembling hand toward the ceiling. A slow, deep breath in. A slow, reverent breath out. His teary eyes opened again, shining with something too eager.
Sylvan swiped his hand off their shoulder, “But, first. You’re going to help me.”
His glow faded. “What would you need my help with?”
“Come on. Grab the curtain rod in there and let’s go,” Sylvan said.
The Chaplain strolled into the nearby bathroom. “This one?”
Sylvan nodded impatiently. He yanked it down, letting the curtain rings clatter to the floor, then handed it over.
“Let’s go.”
Sylvan grabbed the Chaplain’s shirt and pulled him toward an intersection of hallways, shoving him ahead. “Okay. Where’s the tub guy?”
The Chaplain pointed up and to the right. “He’s up there.”
“You go first.”
With a smirk, he stepped forward. Sylvan followed.
The tub was exactly where The Chaplain said it would be.
“Stay here and wait for my cue,” Sylvan said.
“What cue?”
“Just stay here…”. Slyvan walked cautiously to the tub.
The Chaplain nodded and stepped behind a nearby wall. “Okay. I will keep watch here then.”
People were still appearing throughout the building, plummeting onto the floors with sickening thuds. Some scrambled to their feet, running for doors that swallowed them whole. The slamming echoed through the halls.
Sylvan moved past the tub and found the Spider, hunched over fresh prey.
“Hey! Fuckface! Let’s disco.”
The Spider whipped around fast. It scuttled across the floor, shot up the wall, skittered across the ceiling, and then launched itself at Sylvan.
They raised the pole just in time, planting their feet and bracing for impact.
The Spider slammed into them, knocking them onto their back. Sylvan wedged the pole at the center of its massive body, using its own momentum to throw it over them and straight into the tub.
It immediately sprang back out, fangs bared for a final strike. But something caught it. A fleshy tendril shot up and coiled around its legs, yanking it back. The Spider thrashed, biting wildly in Sylvan’s direction as the sludgy mass pulled it in. Bit by bit. Bite by bite.
The thing in the tub tightened its grip, wrapping around the Spider’s lower abdomen and dragging it down faster. Its limbs flailed, claws scraping against the porcelain, hissing and screeching as it fought.
Then its head jerked. The life drained from its eyes. With one final crunch, it was gone. Chewed up to the last bit.
“Preacher! Let’s go!” Sylvan shouted toward the area where he was hiding.
The Chaplain emerged and hurried toward the tub, eyes wide with amusement. “My, oh my word. You are good. This way. The closet door is this way.”
They had just started in the opposite direction when The Chaplain froze. His eyes fixed on the stairs. “Good doctor, I was not helping the child. I…” He trailed off, nodding slowly. “Yes. I did show them Meatloaf.” He paused, listening to something Sylvan could not hear.
“Is she talking to you?” Sylvan asked.
The Chaplain did not turn. His head tilted slightly, as if straining to catch every word. “…Well… I need to tell you. It is not at all what it looks like. I am—” He stopped. His expression tensed. “Oh… Okay. Yes… Well. I have to say that is not true. Carolin… We have talked about this.”
A blade shot through the air. It missed the Chaplain’s nose by a thread, embedding itself into the wall beside him. He scrambled backward, pressing himself behind a column between the doors, peering out as Dr. Scalpels reached the landing.
“Was the Spider your pet? Huh?” Sylvan asked, not expecting an answer. Dr. Scalpels moved toward them, slow and deliberate. Her right hand, missing a middle finger, curled unnaturally, more like a chameleon’s grip than a human’s. She lifted a loose scalpel blade and pressed the sharp edge against the knuckle where her missing finger should have been. Without hesitation, she drove it straight through the flesh. Then she grinned. And then she lunged.
“Preacher! Now!” Sylvan shouted.
“Now? What!?” The Chaplain balked.
“Just get her attention!”
“Me? She would devour me! You know that? She would cut me up and wear me as a suit!”
Dr. Scalpels lurched forward, slicing deep into Sylvan’s arm with the first swipe. They stumbled back and winced at the intense pain, ducking behind a narrow space between the bathroom and a section of doorways. Dr. Scalpels, wide-eyed, slashed wildly at Sylvan’s face. The blade came close, but she could not quite reach.
“Now! Preacher!”
“Dr. Scalpels!” The Chaplain shouted from across the hallway.
Dr. Scalpels froze, her head snapping toward him in confusion.
Sylvan did not waste the moment. They drove a hard kick into her stomach, sending her stumbling back just long enough for them to slip past.
The mask had torn. Dr. Scalpels lifted her head, revealing what lay beneath. Her upper lip was missing, surgically removed. Her nose was impossibly small, as if carved away. Deep slits ran across her cheeks, exposing raw tissue beneath. Her bottom lip had been fused to her chin, locking her mouth into a permanent grimace. Her breath came heavy and wet. She slurped, sucking back saliva that had nowhere else to go.
“Carolin…” The Chaplain said softly.
She hesitated, her head tilting slightly. As if trying to understand why he would even speak her name.
This sicko.
Sylvan did not wait. They threw open a door beside her, slid past, and kicked the Doctor’s legs out from under her. Dr. Scalpels barely had time to react before Sylvan shoved her through the open doorway. The door slammed shut. From the other side, laughter turned to screams. Then came the crunching.
The Chaplain pressed a hand to his chest. “Oh, Carolin…”
“Hey. Hey! The exit! Where is it?” Sylvan demanded.
The Chaplain turned from the door, his expression unreadable. “It is… over here. Come, this way.”
Sylvan followed as he led them through a winding path. A hallway here, a gate there. Moving quickly, turning sharply, until they reached a small, unassuming closet door.
“Here is your exit, my dear. This is how you find salvation. Go. Now.”
Sylvan gripped the knob. Then hesitated. Their fingers loosened, and they turned back to The Chaplain. “Show me where the real door is!”
“This is it! This is it!” His voice pitched higher.
“I am not falling for your bullshit, preacher. Show me!”
The Chaplain reached past Sylvan, yanked the door open, and kicked them through.
A fierce wind howled as air was pulled from the building into the endless void beyond. Sylvan clung to the frame, struggling for footing, trapped between spaces. Their grip was slipping. The Chaplain stepped closer, silhouetted against the eerie light spilling from the labyrinth, his hair whipping wildly in the wind.
He kicked them again. Sylvan’s fingers scraped against the wood, barely holding on. Their feet dangled over the abyss. They caught the frame again. The Chaplain kicked harder. Again. And again.
“You’re.”
Kick
“Not.”
Kick
“Deserving.”
Kick
“Of sal—”
Kick
“Vation!”
The Chaplain drove his foot into Sylvan with all his might, trying to dislodge their hold. Their fingers dug into the wood of the frame until a split plank gave way, making the Chaplain stumble. Sylvan reached back in and grabbed him, using the momentum to pull themselves back inside while throwing him out through the frame.
The Chaplain caught the doorknob, clinging desperately. “It is time to be one with him now. I do not want to die!” The wind howled around him, his hair whipping back as he squinted against the pull of the abyss. Sylvan crawled down onto the trembling door. They reared back and drove a kick straight into his head.
He lost his grip. He fell. His body disappeared into the pit, the impact below sending a faint ripple through the darkness. No light. No sound but the Chaplain’s distant screams. The door slammed shut, throwing Sylvan back into the hallway.
Floating before them, unnoticed until now, was the Doorwardian. It was no longer searching for a key in its cloak of keys. Instead, it stared at Sylvan with an unsettling intensity.
They started to crawl back. “Please… don’t hurt me. I am not supposed to be here.”
The Doorwardian turned its gaze to the damaged frame of the closet door where the Chaplain had fallen. It seemed… displeased. But rather than act on it, the being reached into its tangled mass of keys and pulled out a gold medallion. The surface was covered in intricate designs, etched with the same strange patterns as the keys.
It placed the coin in Sylvan’s hand, then drifted toward the broken door. Sorting through its collection, it found the right key and inserted it into the lock. The scent of burnt metal filled the air once more.
Without another glance at Sylvan, the being moved on to another freshly used door. The one Dr. Scalpels fell into.
“What do I do with this?” Sylvan asked no one in particular. They glanced around and noticed a cigarette machine standing against the wall in a nearby lobby. It was close to the small closet door the Chaplain had led them to. Sylvan got up and walked toward it. A bright white light glowed from the coin slot. The machine, a Rowe vending model, sat unassuming. The medallion in their hand was glowing too. Instinct took over. Sylvan slid the coin into the slot and pulled the knob for “Wing Cigarettes.” A pack dropped into the collection tray below. They picked it up.
The smell of burnt metal returned. Everything went black. The scent of the old building vanished. The distant thuds of people appearing and falling through doors faded. Cold stone pressed against Sylvan’s back. A deep, frigid chill surged through their veins. They felt both frozen and burning, as if their blood had turned to liquid metal. The scent of burnt metal clung to the back of their throat.
Something gripped their face, pulling tight. A mask? No, a tube…
Another rush of liquid flooded their veins through the IV. Voices drifted in, muffled and distorted.
Huh… what’s going on?
The burning cold began to fade. A doctor spoke, but Sylvan barely registered the words. They responded, though they had no idea what they were saying. The light blurred. Other’s voices sharpened.
“See? It seems like no time at all. Just like I said. Now, let’s get you into recovery, and we’ll have you on your way in about an hour.”
They rolled Sylvan toward the door.
“Wait! Hold on!” Sylvan sat up.
The bed stopped.
“What do you need? Are you feeling bad?”
“No… I’m… Could you open the door slowly?”
The nurse hesitated. “Umm… sure.”
“I know… Just do me a favor and open it slowly.”
The nurse walked to the door, placed a hand on the handle, then turned back.
“Are you ready, my dear?”
The voice was wrong.
The door creaked open. At first, there was only a shadow.
Then something moved. Something stirred in the dark. Then it rose.
What are Doorway Pages?
In the story The Doorwardian, lost souls step through doors they think will lead to safety, only to find themselves trapped in an endless cycle of deception and doom. The same thing happens online with doorway pages.
Doorway pages are a deceptive SEO tactic where nearly identical pages target slightly different keyword variations, all leading to the same final destination. Instead of providing useful, unique content, they act as false exits, tricking users into thinking they’ve found exactly what they’re searching for, only to be funneled back into the same frustrating loop.
Analogy
Imagine walking into a grand, dimly lit mansion with dozens of doors lining the hallway. Each door has a different sign:
Authentic Sicilian Truffle Pasta – Handmade Daily
24/7 Late-Night Eats – Open Right Now
Candlelit Rooftop Dining – Best Romantic Views in Town
$5 Unlimited Pizza for Families – Today Only
Each seems to promise something highly specific and exclusive, an experience tailored exactly to what you were searching for. But the moment you step through, reality sets in.
The menu isn’t quite what was described. The rooftop view is just a stock photo. The “handmade pasta” is the same mass-produced dish from every other listing. No matter which door you choose, you’re funneled down the same hallway, leading to the same destination. The same menu. The same offer. The same realization that nothing here was truly different.
(Like Sylvan inThe Doorwardian, you’re trapped in a system designed to mislead.)
Why it is sold
Doorway pages were marketed as a shortcut to ranking dominance. Instead of earning visibility with valuable content, businesses could flood search results with pages designed for specific keyword variations, creating the impression of authority. More pages meant more clicks, and more clicks meant more potential conversions, or so the pitch went.
Why it persists
Even after Google cracked down, remnants of doorway tactics still linger. Some believe that slight tweaks to wording make each page unique enough to slip past the filters. Others assume sheer volume still has an advantage, despite repeated algorithm updates proving otherwise. The dream of easy rankings dies hard.
The reality
Today, doorway pages are more of a liability than a shortcut. Google’s algorithms can detect when multiple pages exist just to target variations of the same keyword. Instead of boosting visibility, these pages often get buried or even penalized. Beyond search rankings, the real damage is to trust. When visitors realize they have been funneled into the same destination despite different promises, frustration sets in. And in an online world where credibility is everything, a site that misleads users only erodes its own authority.
RIP: 2015
Google made its stance clear. Doorway pages were a violation, and enforcement followed. Algorithm updates and manual reviews targeted sites using them, leading to sudden ranking drops and even outright removals from search results. Businesses that relied on these tactics saw their visibility disappear overnight. While some competitors fell, others focused on building sites with real value, avoiding tactics that put them at risk. The mansion of false doors collapsed, leaving only those who created meaningful user experiences standing.
On a November day, a bus traveled through winding mountain roads during the late afternoon in Eastern Europe. A group of American travelers sat among a handful of locals on board. They were getting restless. The locals seemed just as eager for their departure.
The bus had passed small stone villages and caught glimpses of the bay’s dark, still waters along the way. The trip had been a blast so far. There had been the usual scheduling and travel hiccups, but each one had made the journey richer and their friendships stronger.
Now, their stop was approaching. The driver slowed the bus, and the group of Americans gathered their belongings. A single post on the roadside marked their stop: “Бока Которска.”
The bus came to a halt with a hydraulic pop and hiss.
The group of friends stepped off the bus, their bags rolling behind them. Before they could fully regain their footing, the bus pulled away, disappearing down the road. They started toward the village’s docks, less than a kilometer away.
“We’re going to be late!” Sheila said, nearly tripping over a rock and stumbling toward a ditch. “Nahhh, we’ll be fine,” Brad said. “They’re never on time, and worst case, we’ll just wait for the next one.” “You better be right… I swear, we’re always cutting it too close. We can’t just assume there will be another ferry!” “Relax,” Brad grinned. “The joy is in the journey. Another one will come along.”
They made their way through the small village, the old wooden docks visible in the distance.
“See? There it is. They are waiting for us now,” Brad said, picking up his pace.
The group followed, stepping through the quiet streets. The worn cobblestone, smoothed by centuries of footsteps, snaked through clustered buildings and homes. Their pale grey facades, topped with weathered terracotta tiles, streaked with moss. A cold mist rolled in from the harbor.
Wooden signs, their painted letters unfamiliar, hung from the old buildings. A few dim lights flickered from scattered windows, electricity was scarce in these parts.
“Woah… check out that antique,” one of them muttered. A figure stood near a building, watching them. He raised a single finger in acknowledgment, his expression unreadable. Some of the group hesitated, then offered small, uneasy waves in return.
The golden sun was setting behind the far-away mountains, fading into the fog. They heard the ferry preparing to depart and broke into a sprint toward the docks. “Wait! Wait!” they ran, waving and hollering at anyone on the dock to notice them. “Hold on! We are coming. Wait!” By the time they reached the edge, breathless and desperate, the ferry had already drifted away. “Come back! We have tickets!” A boat hand glanced at them, shrugged, then turned away as the ferry drifted toward the East.
“I TOLD YOU! We are stuck here now. In this… dumpy old, moldy pit,” Sheila said.
“I know… I know…” Brad said. “Let’s see if there is a schedule around here somewhere.”
“Ew. Gross. It smells like rotten death,” Julia muttered. She took a step back, covering her nose. “No wonder… Look at that.” She pointed to the sea wall on the far side of the docks, where foam, debris, and sludge churned against the old wooden pillars.
“DAMN IT!” someone shouted. “How the hell are we getting out of this one?!” They threw their bag down and sat on it, shaking their head while scraping layers of mud off from their shoes.
“Now look, we have pissed off Sammy,” Julia said.
“Ugh, okay… okay…” Sheila sighed and walked over to offer Sammy some support.
“Hey! I think I found something,” Lewis said. He was already wandering the docking bays.
He was standing at a different mooring point, separate from where the ferry had left. This section of the dock was older, the wood warped and splintered with age. He flicked open a lighter, its small flame casting flickering shadows across the surface. Strange markings were carved into the wood. The same language they had seen scattered throughout the village.
The dock planks creaked as the rest of the group caught up, their footsteps hesitant on the unstable boards.
“This might be the ticket,” Lewis said.
“Is it safe over here?” Julia asked.
“Why not? Feels fine to me.” As soon as the words left his mouth, a plank beneath him split in two with a sharp crack. He lurched forward, catching himself before nearly tumbling into the dark water below.
“What’s the sign say?”
“No clue.”
The sign read, “Не буди га.”
“Hey,” Brad called from further down the dock. He was carefully straddling two beams, holding something small in his hand. “What do you think this does? It’s a whistle!”
“NO. Absolutely not,” Sheila snapped. “I don’t want to know what the hell that thing conjures out of this wreck.”
“Come on, Sheila… It’s probably just some old fishing whistle or something.” He put it to his lips and blew.
Nothing. The sound was blocked, clogged with something thick. He crouched down, knocking it against the wooden post it had been tied to. Clumps of dark soot and mud tumbled free. He blew the airways free and raised it again. “Let’s try it now.” He blew.
This time, a sharp, high-pitched whistle rang out, cutting through the thick air. It was louder than it should have been, unnaturally clear, its tone holding steady with a sustained precision. The group flinched. Some covered their ears, wincing at the piercing pitch.
Even after Brad lowered the whistle, the note carried on. It lingered in the air, an echo that refused to fade. He frowned, turning the whistle over, puzzled as it lay in his hands.
In the fog to the northwest, something stirred. A deep horn bellowed from the distance, its sound rolling through the thick air in slow, deliberate blasts. The group fell silent, their eyes locked on the water. Waves slapped harder against the retainer wall. The tide shifted. Wooden boats began to bob against their piers, creaking with the rising movement in the distant waters.
Then, through the mist, a dark shape emerged.
At first, it was only an outline. Tall. Narrow. Something rising above its frame. A mast. A sail. No… the fog twisted strangely around it, playing tricks with its edges. For a moment, the shape billowed like fabric caught in the wind. Then, it sharpened into something rigid. Something metallic.
A blue light flickered to life at the front of the vessel, unnaturally bright. It cut across the dock in a sudden flash, washing everything in a ghostly glow before vanishing again into the mist.
The boat drifted closer.
“Look! See? We are going to catch a lift after all,” Lewis said, relief creeping into his voice.
“Thank. God.” Sheila exhaled.
Julia hesitated, her eyes still fixed on the dark water. “I do not know… I am not sure about this.”
“It is our only chance. I sure as hell do not want to sleep here,” Sammy muttered.
As the ship neared, its details came into focus. The rigid edges. The structure of a modern ferry. The fog had played tricks on their eyes. Maybe they really were saved.
“I told you. There is always another one,” Brad said, laughing. “And look at this one. Bigger than the last. First class, baby.”
A short horn blast echoed from the vessel, followed by a column of steam rising high into the air above it.
“C’mon, let’s get right on. I’m ready to get out of here,” Sheila said.
They regrouped, stepping carefully along the worn dock, between gaps and unsteady planks.
A figure stepped to the edge of the deck, preparing the mooring lines. With practiced ease, he threw loose Bollard Tie-Ups, securing them with precise timing and skill. His movements were a bit uneven, a slight limp dragging through each step as he moved to fasten the vessel.
He muttered something in a language they still didn’t recognize.
“I’m sorry, do you speak English? Engelsk? Vorbești Engleză?” Lewis asked.
“Ahhh, aye. To other side?” The man lowered the gate and extended the platform, motioning for them to board.
“Yes, we have tickets for the channel ferry service. And we just missed the other…”
“No. No ticket,” the ferryman interrupted. “You are very lucky. This is fast way. Very few know of this way. You will across quickly. Come, come. Let me help.”
He reached for Lewis’s bag. Lewis hesitated, then handed it over. The man set it aside and gestured for the others to do the same. One by one, they followed suit. The ferryman placed each of their bags in a designated area on the deck, and signed a net over them that was attached to the side of the ferry. The ferryman moved with the odd, dragging gait. He slipped off the platform, untied the Bollards, then reappeared on board with unnatural speed. He motioned toward the passenger area near the hull. “Sit. Relax. We leave now.”
Lewis rubbed his belly. “I’d kill for some chips. Or a sandwich… Hey! Umm, captain? Do you have a snack bar?”
The old man turned back, his expression unreadable. “Across. Across. Yes… Keep seated. No touch outside ship.” Then, without another word, he disappeared into the pilothouse.
Lewis watched him go. “Guess there’s good food on the other side…”
The ship rumbled and growled, its vibrations rattling through the deck. Slowly, it picked up speed, and drifted away from the dock.
Julia, Sheila, and Sammy sank into a row of worn passenger chairs inside the dimly lit cabin. The air was stale. Heavy. Julia turned back toward the village, but it was already gone. Just white nothingness. No dock. No land.
Outside, Lewis and Brad leaned against the railing on the observation deck, watching the water churn beneath them. The ship’s horn bellowed in long, heavy blasts, the sound swallowed by the fog as they pushed forward into the black water.
“Why are we in the fog? We need to head East,” Brad said.
“Good luck getting an answer from the captain… He’s a talker,” Lewis muttered. “Besides, he probably knows a better route through the area. That, or he’s steering us toward some little souvenir village. We’ll buy a creepy doll or something and be on our way. It’s the journey, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re right.”
Inside, Julia, Sheila, and Sammy swayed with the boat, the hum of the engine lulling them like a car on an empty highway.
Something hit the vessel. HARD. The sudden jolt threw them from their seats.
“Ow! Ooof!” Sheila groaned as she pushed herself up. They all checked for injuries.
“What the hell was that?” Julia asked, rubbing her arm.
Outside, Lewis and Brad scrambled to their feet. Brad touched the side of his head and pulled his hand away, blood smearing his fingers.
“Shit,” Lewis muttered. He ripped off a piece of his shirt and wrapped it tightly around the fresh wound. “Hold this.”
Sammy went to walk around the Deck to look for anyone else. The rest of the group met between the observation deck and the cabin.
“You all alright?” Lewis asked.
“Yeah,” Sheila said. “You?”
“Brad’s a bit banged up,” Lewis said, glancing at the makeshift bandage. “I’m gonna have a word with our sweet-talking captain.”
Lewis pushed through the cabin doors, following the same path the ferryman had taken earlier. His eyes flicked to the front window.
They were heading straight for a massive rock formation. Mounds and mounds of round rock. And they were gaining speed.
“This is too fast!” Julia said, her eyes locked on the land mass ahead. “We’re going to crash straight into them.”
Brad smirked. “Relax. It’s just a village stop. Probably a place to pick up some souvenirs before we continue the voyage.”
Everyone turned to him, confused.
“A village?” Sheila repeated.
Brad blinked, as if snapping out of something. “Nothing… forget it.”
Before anyone could press him further, Sammy came sprinting from the other side of the deck.
“Hey! You need to see this. Now.”
“What is it?” Julia asked.
Sammy hesitated. “I… I don’t know. Just come look. It’s on the front of the boat.”
They hurried to the front of the ferry, gripping the railing as the wind howled around them.
“Look at that,” Sheila whispered. “What is it?”
Beneath the churning water, something clung onto the bow. At first, it looked like a rope or a heavy chain, but it was wrong. It was not steel. It was not rope. It was something else. It pulsed. Fused into the metal, it tightened. Dragging the ferry forward with unnatural force. The vessel lurched, speeding toward the jagged rocks ahead. The group tried to maintain their balance at each violent thrust.
We have to stop it!” Sheila screamed.
Just then, a bright blue light pulsed from the wheelhouse above. Focused on the speeding vessel, they hadn’t thought to check on the captain until now. But when they looked up, there was no one there. The helm pulsed again, followed by a sudden, blinding flash.
Then, Lewis appeared right in front of them. Not walking. Not approaching. Just… there.
“Lewis,” Sheila whispered. “Oh no. Lou…”
His eyes glowed with the same unnatural blue light. His skin had gone pale, his mouth slightly open. His arms hung limp at his sides, motionless for a long moment. The light in his eyes pulsed in time with the ship’s glow. Then, with a slow, unnatural slide, he drifted toward them. The movement was wrong. It was not walking. It was not stepping. It was the same sluggish, dragging motion they had seen before. The same way the captain had moved when they first stepped onto the ship.
“Lewis!” Brad called out. “It’s us. Hey, bud.”
No response.
Lewis’s arm lifted slowly and pointed past them, beyond the front of the boat. The group hesitated. They did not want to turn around. But they did. And what they saw made their breath catch in their throats.
The large mound in the distance was moving. Not drifting. Not rolling with the waves. It was shifting. Rising. And they were getting closer. Too close.
“Oh GOD… what is that?” Sheila whispered.
“It’s… moving… why is it moving…” Lewis muttered.
No one had an answer.
Julia fumbled for her phone and snapped a photo.
The click of the shutter felt deafening.
The others turned to her, eyes wide with disbelief.
Then, as if drawn by the same unspoken instinct, they huddled together.
The object neared, rising and falling with the waves. Then, it began to open.
The blue light pulsed faster. The ferry jolted forward, yanked with a strong force.
The group clung to whatever they could, screaming with each violent pull.
“Oh… God…”
They stared in awe and horror.
A massive mouth yawned open beneath the creature’s head. A single tendril, the same unnatural material as the tether, slithered from its crown.
Somehow, the ferry beneath them was gone. They crouched on a pulsing, fleshy plate of cartilage.
The platform lifted. Then, with a sickening crack, it snapped.
The force flung them apart.
The tendril whipped again. One by one, it tossed them into the gaping maw.
Then, an ancient creature withdrew.
Satisfied.
Fed.
…
The fog rolled in, swallowing up the cursed thing once more.
Back at the dock, in the old village, a woman walked toward the old sign and whistle. She laid down a fresh basket of rustic bread and fruit. She started to walk back but then approached the old wooden sign carved with the words, “Не буди га.” She reached down on the dock and picked up a plank with the English translation:
“Do not wake it”
She held it in her hand for a moment, threw it in the black water, and watched it drift out of sight.
What is Manipulative Keyword Targeting?
Manipulative keyword targeting creates the illusion of SEO success. It involves ranking for no-search-volume keywords or hyper-specific long-tail phrases that look impressive in reports but drive no real traffic, engagement, or conversions. Like the Ferryman offering safe passage, this tactic promises results that seem meaningful but lead only to nothing.
Businesses may see keyword rankings improving, but there is no real audience searching for these terms. The destination is a dead end.
Why it’s sold
Marketers and SEO agencies use this tactic to show quick wins. Instead of targeting competitive, high-value keywords, they chase obscure terms with little to no demand. These rankings look good on paper. They serve as “proof” that the SEO strategy is working. But the traffic? The leads? The actual business impact? None of it exists. It is a shortcut to nowhere.
Why it persists
Businesses that do not understand keyword strategy often fall for this trap. When an SEO provider hands them a report showing they are “ranking number one,” it feels like progress. But without real search volume or intent, those rankings are meaningless. The Ferryman assures them they are on the right path. They only realize the deception when they reach the other side and see that nothing is there.
The reality
These rankings do not bring real business value. No traffic. No conversions. No credibility built. Just numbers on a screen. Real SEO requires patience, strategy, and expertise to target terms that actually matter. Keywords that people search for. Keywords that lead to real engagement.
A friend handed an unmarked can to him at a party. “Trust me, dude. It’s not on the market yet. It’s insane.”
The first sip was likesilk. It sent a ripple through his veins. He was electric and felt heady. An intoxicating effect, but it wasn’t alcohol. Something different. A lightness spread through his limbs, and for the first time in months, his mind felt clear. Euphoric.
Conversations that night flowed effortlessly. Everything he said landed. People laughed harder, listened closer, leaned in when he spoke.
He finished the can. So he had another.
And another.
The next day, there was a knock at his door. When he answered, no one was there. Only a case of the unknown beverage, waiting for him.
He drank one every morning. One in the afternoon. Then maybe a sneaky sip before bed for good measure.
And for a while, life was great. He felt more motivated and energized than ever, without the hangover or morning fog.
—
Then… the dreams began. Vivid. Strange. Unsettling.
They shifted from night to night. Sometimes he was in a field. Sometimes in a house with no doors and too many windows. Sometimes he was somewhere deeper, darker.
But always, always… there was the sound. Chattering. Gnashing.
“Cl-cl-cl-cl-cl-cl-cl”
Soft at first. A low, distant rhythm, like dry bones softly clicking together in the dark. It was there every night, in every dream.
“Tktktktktktk”
Each night it grew louder.
“Cl-Cl-Cl-Cl-Cl-Cl-Cl”
It moved closer and closer. Suffocating from the edges of each dream.
It had a pattern. A cadence. Like language. It shook and shivered his body.
“Cl-Cl-Cl. Clclclclclcl. Cl. CL-cl-cl.”
He would wake up drenched in sweat, the sound still ringing in his skull. But as soon as he opened his eyes, it stopped.
Despite the disturbing side effect, he felt compelled to drink more. Not because he needed it, just to keep the edge sharp. To stay in motion. To drown out the silence that made him feel like something was missing.
But the more he drank, the worse the dreams became. The more the clicking came.
A whisper at the edge of his awareness. A sound just beneath the hum of the world.
So… he quit cold turkey. It was the hardest thing he had ever done. His hands shook. His head throbbed. His body craved it, begged himself for it.
The first night without it, he woke up drenched in sweat. The second night, he didn’t sleep at all.
By the third, he heard whispers underneath the covers, when nothing was there.
He contacted the company. No reply.An email bounced back. Their phone disconnected. It was like they had never existed.
But they had. He knew they had. And he knew he’d been scammed. He blamed himself, his gullibility, his reliance. Yet the chattering still echoed in his sleep.
It took two weeks before his body began to feel normal. Another for the shaking to stop. His therapist said it was stress. His doctor prescribed something for the anxiety.
And slowly, the chattering stopped.
Finally, it was over. The doctor explained that mix of caffeine and another stimulant had triggered an auditory hallucination misfire. Unique to how his body processed the drugs.
He found his focus again. At work. With friends. After months of torture, he finally exhaled.
…
Then, heard it again.
Soft. Distant. Familiar.
A sound that should not exist in the waking world.
The Chattering.
At first, it blended with the city noise. The rustling leaves. The hum of passing cars. Thinking it was just in his mind.
Then it grew louder in certain directions. But he could not see it. He ran.
The Gnashing.
It grew closer. Closer.
He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, breath caught in his throat.
He squeezed his eyes shut, hands pressed over his ears.
The Ticking…
“No… not that…how?!”
It didn’t stop.
It was coming from everywhere. Behind him. Around him. Inside him…
He ran. Faster than he ever had. He cut through side streets, gasping, his heartbeat pounding like a war drum.
But it was always there. Always catching up.
His legs burned. His chest heaved. But it did not matter.
In the next turn, a dead end.
And then, they arrived. Figures, faceless, their heads wrapped in tightly stretched fabric. They stepped forward, their movements unnatural and too smooth
The chattering grew deafening.
His body locked in place, breath shallow, heart hammering against his ribs.
One of the figures stepped forward. Slowly. Deliberately.
Reached up. Began to unwrap.
The cloth fell away, revealing…
Teeth.
Chattering, cracked, and sharpened.
No lips. No tongue.
Just bone, clicking and gnashing in rhythmic hunger.
The sound filled his skull. It was in his bones, in his blood, in his breath.
The drink was just the invitation.
The real thing had been waiting for him long before his first sip.
Now returned to feed on its prey.
“CLCLCLCLCLCLCLCLCL”
What it is Keyword Stuffing?
Keyword stuffing is the overuse of repeated words and phrases in an attempt to manipulate search rankings. Instead of creating valuable content, it forces unnatural repetition, making pages clunky, unreadable, and frustrating for people. Like the Chattering Echo, it drowns out meaning, filling space with mindless noise that overwhelms rather than informs. At first, it may seem like a shortcut to visibility. More keywords should mean better rankings, right? But the more it repeats, the less effective it becomes. People leave. Engagement drops. And search engines recognize it for what it is, manipulation.
Analogy
This is like a melody that turns into a discordant loop. At first, it feels familiar and catchy. Then it repeats… and repeats… until it grates on your nerves, and all you want is for it to stop.
Why Keyword Stuffing Persists:
Some still believe in outdated ideas that more keywords equal better rankings. This myth stems from the early days of SEO when search engines heavily relied on raw keyword density to evaluate relevance.
Businesses desperate for quick wins or unaware of modern algorithms fall into this trap, convinced that filling pages with repetitive phrases will outsmart search engines. Unfortunately, this creates clunky, robotic content that drives people away.
Reality of Keyword Stuffing
Search engines, like Google, have advanced far beyond keyword counting. Modern algorithms can recognize when repetition is forced and unnatural. Instead of improving visibility, keyword stuffing now triggers penalties that bury pages in search results (Devaluation). Detection can occur within days at most, especially for sites that are frequently crawled, as Google’s algorithms and tools like SpamBrain are designed to spot manipulative practices quickly.
The real damage, however, is to people. Content that feels spammy, manipulative, or exhausting erodes trust and drives audiences away, sometimes permanently. What starts as an attempt to gain attention quickly becomes a means of alienating it.
RIP: 2011.
Keyword stuffing met its death with Google’s Panda Update in 2011, which penalized low-quality, manipulative content. Every algorithm update since has driven another nail into its coffin.
And yet, some still cling to this outdated tactic, hoping repetition will bring results.
But the Chattering Echo reminds us: once trust is broken, the sound of desperation only grows louder. Until the only thing left is the noise.
What You Need to Know About Google’s Indexing Reports and Crawl Efficiency
I recently had someone come to me, a bit worried. Their Google Search Console (GSC) account reported a ton of “Not Indexed” URLs, and they were concerned about their website’s online visibility on search engines. Were they missing out on traffic? Were important pages not showing up in search?
It is a valid concern. Seeing thousands of pages flagged as “Not Indexed” can make any site owner uneasy. But does this actually mean fewer people will find their content?
In this article, I will break down what “Not Indexed” really means in this particular scenario. I will also clear up common misconceptions.
Why “Not Indexed” Pages Seem Like a Big Deal
Their concern was totally valid. Thousands of pages flagged as “Not Indexed” in GSC raised important questions. Why were so many pages left out of Google’s index? Was their website’s visibility at risk?
It is reasonable to assume this is harmful, which is exactly what my client was worried about. They were concerned that a high “Not Indexed” count meant Google was ignoring their pages or that something was wrong with their site’s structure. But before jumping ahead of myself, I needed to dig in and see what was actually going on.
What “Not Indexed” Actually Means (And Why It’s Often Misunderstood)
Google Search Console’s “Not Indexed” status does not always mean something is wrong. It simply means Google is aware of these pages but has chosen not to include them in its index. Most of the time, this is intentional and works to your advantage.
What GSC “Not Indexed” Represents
There are plenty of valid reasons why pages are excluded from the index:
Redirects guide users and search engines to the correct page. This ensures that only the final destination URL is indexed and not the URL that redirects users to the destination.
Noindex tags intentionally tell Google not to include certain pages, such as admin login screens or thank-you pages. This is exactly what you want when setting noindex directives in your robots.txt file or meta tags.
Canonicalized pages consolidate ranking signals to a single, preferred version of duplicate content. This keeps your site organized and efficient.
404 pages, tracking URLs, and low-value system pages are filtered out because they add no real value to users or search engines.
For instance, if you see a URL with tracking parameters like ?utm_source=email in the “Not Indexed” report, that is perfectly fine. Google is already indexing the primary version of that page instead.
The Two Most Popular “Not Indexed” Categories
When searching for answers online about GSC’s “Not Indexed” reports, these two categories come up frequently. And for good reason:
Crawled – Currently Not Indexed These are pages Google has crawled but decided not to index. This often happens because the pages are thin on content, duplicate others, or simply do not provide enough value to rank in search results.
Example: A blog post that repeats information found on another page might fall into this bucket.
Discovered – Currently Not Indexed These are pages Google knows about but has not crawled yet. This is usually due to crawl budget limitations or because other pages on the site are prioritized.
Example: An e-commerce site with thousands of paginated product pages might see many URLs in this category, as Google focuses on more important pages first.
Does a High “Not Indexed” Count Send Negative Signals to Google?
Short answer: No. A high “Not Indexed” count does not hurt rankings or send negative signals to Google. Its system is designed to sort URLs into appropriate categories and filter out those that don’t belong in the index. It’s actually a good sign that Google is organizing your site efficiently.
That said, the real question isn’t about the total count, it’s about whether any important pages are being left out of the index when they shouldn’t be. If valuable pages like cornerstone blog posts or product pages show up in the “Not Indexed” report, that’s when you need to investigate.
What Really Matters: Prioritizing the Right Pages for Indexing
The key isn’t to focus on the total number of “Not Indexed” pages but to ensure Google is indexing the ones that matter most. Here’s what to prioritize:
Index the right pages: Focus on pages that provide unique value, like cornerstone content, high-traffic blog posts, or important product pages. These are the pages you want people to find in search.
Clean up GSC reports: Use tools like robots.txt or noindex tags to ensure irrelevant URLs, like tracking or system-generated pages, are categorized properly in the “Not Indexed” section. This helps you better understand how Google is handling your site and makes ongoing management more efficient.
Improve crawl efficiency: Ensure Google prioritizes crawling valuable, indexable pages by refining your robots.txt file, setting appropriate directives, and minimizing unnecessary system-generated or low-value URLs that waste crawl resources.
This sets the stage for Google to focus its resources on indexing the pages that truly matter, making sure the most valuable content gets the attention it deserves.
Why Addressing Crawl Directives and Canonicals for SEO and GSC Matters
When Google crawls a website, it does not index everything it finds. Instead, it processes and categorizes URLs based on how relevant and valuable they seem. This is where crawl directives and canonicalization play a critical role. They help control how Google interacts with a site’s pages, ensuring that its resources are spent on what truly matters.
Beyond just search engines, these directives help technologies such as AI models, content aggregators, and other web-based systems understand how to interact with a website. Robots.txt signals which pages are worth crawling, while canonical tags help determine the right version of a page.
As AI-driven search evolves, ensuring that the right content is indexed will be even more important. Whether a page appears in traditional search results, AI-generated answers, or content discovery engines, properly structuring crawl directives ensures long-term visibility.
By optimizing crawl directives, we can:
Prevent Google from wasting crawl budget on tracking URLs or system-generated pages.
Make it easier for Google to prioritize important content.
Ensure that reports in GSC accurately reflect the pages that should be indexed.
Canonical tags, on the other hand, help consolidate duplicate or similar content, so Google understands which version of a page should be indexed and ranked. Without proper canonicalization, search engines might split ranking signals across multiple URLs or index pages that are not intended to be found in search.
What to Focus on When You See ‘Not Indexed’
Not every “Not Indexed” URL is a problem. Seeing a high number of pages in this category can be alarming at first, but the key is understanding which URLs are being left out and why. Some should be indexed. Others are better off ignored. Here is how to tell the difference.
When to Worry
A “Not Indexed” report is worth investigating if:
Key pages are missing. If blog posts, product pages, or service pages that should be discoverable in search are not being indexed, that is a sign something may be wrong.
Crawl budget is being wasted. If Google is spending time crawling duplicate or unnecessary pages instead of focusing on important content, it could be hurting overall indexing efficiency.
In both cases, the solution is not to get every page indexed but to guide Google toward indexing the right ones.
When NOT to Worry
Not all “Not Indexed” pages are cause for concern. These exclusions are part of how Google maintains an efficient index and don’t indicate a problem. It is completely normal to see:
Redirected pages. Google will exclude pages that 301 or 302 redirect to another location because the final URL is the one that matters.
System-generated URLs. Internal search results pages, tracking links, and session-based URLs often appear here. These do not belong in the index anyway.
Canonicalized duplicates. If a page properly points to another as the canonical version, Google will index the preferred URL while leaving the duplicate out.
These exclusions help Google maintain a clean and efficient index. If these types of URLs are appearing in your report, there is nothing to fix.
What to Focus On
Instead of worrying about the total “Not Indexed” count, the goal is to make sure Google is prioritizing the pages that actually matter.
Prioritize indexing for valuable pages. Blog posts, landing pages, and service pages that drive traffic should be indexed and crawlable. Use tools like Screaming Frog and GSC’s URL Inspection tool to identify any important pages that are missing.
Ensure Google is focusing on content that matters. If a site has too many low-value URLs cluttering up crawl activity, work on refining robots.txt directives, canonicalization, or internal linking to direct Google toward high-value content.
A high “Not Indexed” count is not inherently bad. The real question is whether Google is skipping pages that should be indexed or just filtering out the ones that do not belong in search. Understanding this difference is what actually matters.
