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Part 1
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After we had told our stories, I drove on in silence for an hour, only the soft patterning of snow against the truck breaking the monotony. I considered putting on some music, then decided against it. Yakov broke the silence after what felt like a very long time.
“My grandfather died here, you know,” he said. “The M56. He died building it, sent to the Gulags because one of his neighbors had a grudge against him over a land dispute. His neighbor went to the secret police and told them my grandfather was hoarding food and had said Stalin should be killed. Of course, none of that was true, but during those days, a grudge was good enough to guarantee you a death sentence.
“I remember them coming at night, two men in long, black overcoats with bowler hats on their heads, fashionably angled to the left. They barely spoke. My grandfather answered the door, they said a few words, and then he was gone. I was in the kitchen with my grandmother, and by the time I left, I only found an open door and the autumn night outside. I looked around, hoping to see my grandfather just smoking his pipe, or sitting out on the porch. But I never saw him again.
“We never got his body back, and I only found out he died because one of his fellow prisoners ended up surviving. He lived in the same town as me, and when he came back after five years in the Gulags, he told me my grandfather would never return. He told me that he had a message for me- that my grandfather loved me, and would always be with me, and that I should be strong. I cried for a long time.
“The townsman said my grandfather had collapsed one day while working in the winter, his body unable to deal with the constant sub-zero temperatures and starvation anymore. The guard came over, shot him in the head, and then they kept building the road, throwing dirt and stones over his body. Soon, the townsman said, he was buried under the road, next to a dozen other bodies that had died during work that day.
“I think, maybe, that’s why the ghosts called out to me here. I never wanted to work as a driver on this road, but this is the only road leading north to Yakutsk, and I had few job options. Yet knowing I drove over my grandfather’s body every time I drove the truck made me want to… I don’t know, get revenge, or even destroy the road itself. I just don’t know.” He stopped. My heart was racing. I wondered how much he knew about me.
Strangely enough, my grandfather had also been in the Gulags, but not as a prisoner. He had guarded them, and likely shot them and tortured them as well, like all of the guards in that Hellish place. I never knew my grandfather, and he died of a heart attack before I was born. And yet, I shared the same last name, and my parents even said I looked just like him, with gray eyes, high cheekbones and thick, wavy black hair. I had a narrow, angular face and a thin, muscular body, the same build as him as well. I was told we could have been twins. I looked in the rearview mirror, seeing my own face- and the face of my grandfather, like another face glimpsed behind a mask.
I saw headlights approaching behind us. At first, I thought nothing of it, assuming it just another driver on his way to deliver goods. But they drove far too fast for the conditions. With the snow, the rocks and the unstable nature of the road itself, I felt a sense of unease at the dangerous speed at which the driver approached. I changed the subject quickly, not wanting to talk about my family’s past.
“I think we’re being followed,” I said. Yakov spun his head, his eyes widening as he stared at the twin beams behind us.
“They’re going far too fast,” he said- and then I saw it. Ahead of us sat a totaled car, a rusted heap of metal without windows. The front driver’s side looked smashed in, as if it had hit a tree or a large stone. The snow had already filled the interior, covering the seats and upholstery, and I barely saw it in time. I immediately started slowing down, knowing that a truck loaded with this much weight would take much longer than a usual car to stop.
“Someone rolled this out here,” I said. “I think this is an ambush.” Just saying the words made my breath stop. I quickly tried to calculate our odds. I was grateful that I had Yakov, and that he was armed. I reached under my seat and pulled out my P96 pistol. “Do you have any weapons, Yakov?” By now the headlights had gone from pinpricks to dull, moon-like orbs in the snow, and I was rapidly slowing the truck so I wouldn’t hit the car barricaded across the road, trying to keep moving so I wouldn’t slide off the road.
Yakov quickly undid his bulging pack and reached through, looking for something, frowning. Then he smiled, pulling his hand up and showing me a Makarov pistol.
“I thought you said you had a Makarov,” I said. “OK, whatever, I don’t care.” I looked closer at it. It was one of the oldest guns I had ever seen, outside of a museum or a collection. The Makarov came to somewhat of a point near the barrel, narrowing in a curve at the end. It had a wooden handgrip, deeply worn by handling over the decades, and the metal had tarnished and turned a dark color. But as a whole, it still looked like a beautiful gun, and an antique, for sure. I wondered whether it actually fired, this gun from maybe seventy or eighty years ago. I hoped, for our sake, that it did.
The lights had nearly reached us by now, and I had managed to stop the truck fully about thirty feet away from the barricaded car. It was the farthest away I could manage, under the conditions. I wanted room to back up or turn around, or to accelerate and run over bandits if it came to that. I could probably smash the car out of the way of my truck if it were life-or-death- at least, so I hoped at the time. Looking back now all these years later, I realize how naive I was at that moment.
I saw men approaching out of the woods, hooded and covered from head to toe in black. Each had guns. The truck behind us had stopped. I saw a Toyota pickup truck, extremely old and rusted. I saw it had three sets of tires, two in the back- a dually. It looked modified, as many cars in Russia are. Yet with six tires and no load to carry, it could move across the M56 at a speed greater than my own. I certainly couldn’t outrun it unless I shot out one of its tires and slowed them down enough for me to find help. This area was deserted, but there were very small towns of nomads or natives in the region.
Four men got out of the pickup truck, each carrying a rifle. We were hopelessly outmatched here. I wondered if we would die. I doubted it, but really, what did I know about bandits? Perhaps our bones would simply join the hundreds of thousands of others who had died here. Perhaps they, too, would become part of the road.
“Get out!” the man in front screamed at us. Covered in a ski mask, I could only see his eyes, but they looked bleary and unfocused. His gaze kept flicking from us to the woods, then around the area, then returned back to me. I wondered if these men were all drunk. Very likely. If so, it may be easier to fight them off.
I looked over at Yakov, who sat in his seat, trembling slightly, the gun in his hand. He looked at me, and I could see the terror I felt reflected in his eyes.
“Should we fight?” he asked desperately. I had no idea. This had never happened before. I had heard stories, but…
“Get out, now, or we shoot!” the man screamed at us, breaking my thoughts.
“Yes, we must fight,” I said softly, as if the man outside could hear me. “They might kill us. I’m not taking that chance. At least if we fight, we might be able to keep our fates in our hands alone. These men are likely drunk and not very accurate with their guns. We might have the advantage here.” I looked over at the man in front, seeing him raise his gun and aim it at me. I ducked down, and a minute later, a bullet flew through the driver’s side door.
The crack of it shattered the otherwise muffled sounds of the blizzard. I felt cold air rush into the car through the hole. I rolled down my window while still ducking down in my seat, praying to God for help. I saw Yakov ducked down as well, shaking like a leaf, his hands trembling badly.
I sat up quickly, aiming and firing at the man in front. He stood there, his gun pointed down, talking to the other men. The shot hit him in the chest, and he dropped, screaming. I saw splatters of blood in the pure, white snow around him, little islands of red in an eternally white landscape.
Shooting a gun in such a confined space made my ears ring, and for a moment, I could hear nothing. I saw the rest of the men had met in a circle when I shot him, both the ones from the forest and the ones from the pickup truck. It would make it easier to pick them all off, one by one- so I hoped, anyway. I counted seven more men to kill or disable. Yet I hoped that if I killed a few, the rest would flee. They wanted easy targets and quick money, not men with guns who shot back.
They all raised their guns to fire into the truck, swearing at us and yelling for us to surrender or die, when a shrill, ear-splitting sound suddenly came out of the forest. They looked away, their guns still pointed at us, their fingers on the triggers. I heard them babbling to each other in panicked, low voices, then they all began to run in unison back towards their pickup truck. They didn’t even give us a backwards glance, or try to grab the body of their fallen comrade. They ran for their lives, as if they had heard that sound before and knew exactly what it was. I had no idea, however. I thought some strange, Siberian animal would come flying out of the woods, some species I had never seen before. But this seemed far better than a group of armed men.
“Oh, thank God,” I said, “they’re leaving. Now we just need to push this car out of the road, and we can get the hell out of here.” Yakov nodded, still looking nervous, still holding his gun tightly.
“What do you think that was?” he asked. I shrugged, apathetic.
“Probably just an animal,” I said. “These people around here, they’re superstitious. They think the bogeyman is…” But at that moment, I saw not a monster, but a child fleeing out of the woods. It was a little Siberian girl, no more than seven or eight, her facial features a mixture of Asian and white, reminding me of the Buryats I had known, an ethnic minority in the region.
She had a look of pure and utter terror on her face that told me this was no animal chasing her. I quickly opened my door, running out into the freezing winter. Because this was a Japanese truck, the driver’s side was on the right, making me closer to her than Yakov.
“Little girl!” I said. “What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere? You’ll freeze to death! Were you with those men? Are they your family? Did they kidnap you?” She looked shell-shocked, her eyes widening as she saw me.
“I was kidnapped, yes,” she said. “But not by any man. Please, sir, get me out of here. My twin sister is still back at the hut. She needs help. That thing is going to eat her!” Then she put her face against my chest and cried, “It was the Baba Yaga! She’s real! Please, I don’t want to be eaten!” I grabbed the hysterical, screaming girl by the hand and began to pull her towards the truck. At first, she hesitated, then she began to run ahead of me, flinging herself into the cab and looking back out with huge, dark eyes, like a gopher peeking out of its hole.
That shrill, hateful shrieking from the woods had nearly reached me by this point. I couldn’t make out any words in it. It seemed like just guttural cries of fury and hunger. I began to back up towards the truck, my pistol still raised, refusing to turn my back on anything that sounded like that.
And then I saw the silhouette, breaking through the trees. At first, I thought it a polar bear, this looming shadow that snapped solid branches aside like they were twigs.
But instead, I saw a woman standing over eight-feet-tall with mottled, gray skin and a wrinkled, gaunt face. One of her eyes looked pure white, as if covered in a cataract. Her other had a strikingly pure blue iris with a deep, large pupil staring out from the middle, roving over the landscape before focusing on me.
Her nose stuck out like a beak, sharp and curving, a few inches long. On her neck, I saw a necklace, holding the fingers of children- dozens of them, some rotted to bones, others fresh and still dripping blood. She saw me, looked at the gun and then at my face, and smiled.
“You don’t need to die, too, friend,” she said in a sickly, choking voice, a trickle of blood coming from her mouth and rolling down her chin as she spoke. “Give me the girl, and you can leave in peace. What’s mine is mine.” I didn’t even respond, but simply fired, aiming at her chest. She fell back, screaming again, and I turned and ran towards the truck, slamming the door and starting the engine. The pickup truck had gone, and I couldn’t even see its lights in the distance anymore. I started to go forwards, slowly pushing the car aside with my truck. Yet I couldn’t get it to budge more than a few inches as it seemed to sink down into the snow. I tried reversing, but I couldn’t get the momentum on the slippery ice, as the road sloped downwards at an angle towards the right side. I didn’t have enough clearance to try going forwards, either.
I was stuck. To make things worse, I looked outside the window- and saw the Baba Yaga was gone. Only a small puddle of black blood marked the spot where she had lain.
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Part 3
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Finding the door unlocked, we entered quietly. The reception desk was dirty, and the lights were losing their battle with the shadows that danced around the room.
“I’ll be right out!”
Kate fell back into the door in fright, and I felt my feet leave the ground. Before either of us had recovered enough to respond, a doctor poked his head out from a door in the hall, his pristine white jacket mercifully catching and amplifying the light from above him.
“Come on back.”
We looked at each other, both uncomfortable as he slid back inside. Kate motioned to go forward, and as we moved toward the room I took a look behind the desk to see if there was anything I could pocket for protection. Aside from the monitors, the desk was completely bare. No papers, pencils, pens or even keyboards.
The lights in the clinic’s examination room still struggled against the darkness, but mercifully the room was small enough that they illuminated the walls around us. The doctor put his pen down on top of a file and spun in his chair to look at us.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, Kate?”
I bristled in surprise, but she turned to me.
“He’s our family doctor, I’ve been seeing him since we moved up here.”
Kate turned back to the doctor.
“I hurt my ankle, Dr. Renier, I need to get a brace or something.” She paused, but spoke again before he could open his mouth. “Have you been outside tonight? What the hell is happening out there?”
Dr. Renier cocked his head in confusion.
“Slow night at the bar? What do you mean?”
“No, doctor, the-“ Kate gestured back toward the wall, looking for words to describe the night.
“The town is completely different. It’s messed up, it’s… there’s something wrong out there. Really badly wrong.”
The doctor scrunched his face, looking both confused and amused while Kate sighed in frustration. I interjected.
“Doctor, the snow is red. None of the lights work, or they aren’t working well enough. Even in here-“ I gestured up at his submissive light fixture, “it’s all dark. The librarian is unresponsive and my uncle just went completely ballistic and chased me out of his house, threatening to kill me.”
I figured it safest to leave the giant spiders out of the story until I’d established my credibility.
“Well if Matt chased you out of the house that’s between you and him. What's that about Arnie at the library though, what do you mean he’s unresponsive?”
“No, he’s fine as far as it goes, but he doesn’t understand what’s going on around him at all.”
The doctor shrugged.
“Well one thing at a time. I need to draw a little blood first, and then we can see about your ankle.”
Kate and I looked at each other first in frustration, then in relief. A moment later the relief became confused alarm.
“What do you need blood for? It’s just my ankle that’s hurt.”
Dr. Renier put his hands up disarmingly.
“You didn’t have a blood draw with your last physical, and I need to run labs. You’d be surprised at the things we catch in bloodwork, even in young adults. Prevention is always better than treatment.”
Kate shook her head.
“Thank you, but I would really rather just get my ankle treated. I can come back for labs another time.”
Dr. Renier flashed a frustrated glance at her, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come.
“I understand, please make sure you do. I can only do half the job keeping you healthy on the outside, and a little poke never hurt anyone.”
The doctor reached down to Kate’s ankle, probing at it through her jeans. She winced painfully as he prodded at the swollen joint.
“It’s definitely sprained badly, possibly broken. What have you been up to?” He asked, an odd smile playing at his mouth.
“I tripped at the bottom of the stairs.” Kate said with a rehearsed quickness. Dr. Renier nodded.
“You’ll want to get it X-rayed when you can. Until then we’ll bandage and splint it, give me just a second to grab what we need and I can fix you up.”
He stood slowly and looked at Kate, then at me.
“I can help with anything.” His voice was soft, enunciating each word carefully and slowly.
The comment seemed half directed at us, and half to himself. With that, he shuffled past me and across the hall, closing the door behind him. I glanced at Kate, who was already looking at me nervously. She shook her head behind her, mouthing “quickly”, and I quietly opened the door. A weak light stretched painfully thin under the closed door as I heard Renier rummaging through supplies. I turned my head, seeing two unlit rooms further in the murky hall, and silently stepped toward one.
Opening the first door, I could barely make out a figure lying back on the examination table. I stifled my surprise with a short, heavy breath, and quietly fumbling for the light I turned it on.
In front of me was Sean, his eyes rolled back and sunken into his cold, blue face. An incision right above his collar bone told a horrible story: he had been completely drained of blood. His skin was shriveled like dried leather, looking more like a corpse in an exhibit than anything that had ever been alive. His mouth was cracked open, revealing a swollen tongue beginning to bulge between his teeth, which themselves were hard to discern from his whitened blue gums. His arms had contorted painfully in toward his chest, giving the impression of an agonized hug, one last attempt at comfort as his life left his tormented body. The room around him was spotless - he had been drained carefully elsewhere, and while he was still alive to see and feel it. There was a noise as the door to my left opened and quickly closed, and instinctively I backed away from the corpse and into the hall.
Dr. Renier looked at me, and I looked back at him. Out of his grasp a long, thick, dagger like needle reached out for a body to puncture as his eyes met mine with annoyance.
“You murdered Sean?”
Even with adrenaline flooding I was still overwhelmed, throwing the words out of my chest more than speaking them.
“Murdered? I’m a doctor.” His voice was cold and expressionless, stating his words as if reading them from a chart. Kate screamed from her room, having just caught sight of the needle.
I said a million things in my mind, but Kate told me later she only heard a scream from me as I ran and tackled Renier. I reached for his hand, but felt the his needle pierce my stomach. I winced in pain as I felt it drive deep enough into my gut to jab the inside of my lower back. Screaming even louder I drew it out, overpowering him with my two hands as I pinned his arm to the ground.
“Kate, get the damn bandage and let’s get out!”
Kate hobbled across the hall behind us, knocking supplies off the shelves in her panic. My body and mind both screamed to escape, my eyes constantly darting to the door to will us out.
I grabbed the needle and ripped it from the doctor’s hand. I held it over my head, anger and fear exploding in my chest.
"Burn in Hell!"
Kate limped as quickly as she could out of the supply room, bandages in hand.
“Let’s get out of here now!”
I brought the needle into the doctor’s chest, the full force of my weight behind it. He grunted in surprise, then let out a screechy laugh.
“You think you’re going to kill me? You think I’m going to die here, in my own clinic?” Then his eyes shifted past me and he shouted, “Feeling better yet?”
I began to shout as I raised my hand for another strike, only to hear scuttling behind me. I spun around just as Sean - or what was left or him- let out a moan, a cry and a shout all at once, pouncing on me.
The body was lighter than I expected as he tackled me off of Renier. He wheezed as his cracked fingernails dug into the sides of my neck with surprising force, beginning to gouge and slash. I felt my skin tear and bleed, but my free hand was occupied pushing his face away to keep his gnashing teeth away from my throat. The doctor started to get up behind him, before grabbing his chest and slumping back down, still painfully snorting in laughter. With all my thoughts bent toward escape, I strained my arm to push him further away, stabbing into Sean’s torso with my weapon.
Kate screamed as she swung a chair over top of me, crashing into Sean’s head and slamming it into the wall. I closed my eyes as she wound for another swing, connecting before the shriveled abomination had a chance to recover. Her second swing was hard enough to phase him and as it made a forceful, meaty connection he slumped down limp over my hip, twitching and jolting. My feet nearly slipped from under me as I scrambled from underneath him, and Kate and I sprinted out of the clinic, nearly tripping on the weedy obstructions that scaled the front of the doors.
Unlike my escape from the house, we didn’t stop running until Kate collapsed, holding her ankle with tears streaming down her face near the library. I picked her up and carried her the rest of the way, my body burning from inside with pain and exhaustion. Straining our ears and keeping one set of eyes behind us, thankfully nothing seemed to have followed us out of the clinic, and as we entered the library again we slumped down on the floor.
“Welcome to the library, please let me know if I can be of assistance.”
I raised my eyes up and rested them on the politely smiling man sitting at his desk. Helpfulness be damned, he was a welcome sight.
“Thank you Arnie.” I sighed. He tipped his glasses to me and returned to his book.
Kate put her foot up on the table. It was now severely bruised and badly swollen, bulging over the sides of her shoe. I shook my head.
“The fact you could walk on that at all is impressive.”
I was trying to summon again the feeling of safety we’d had last time we were here. Neither of us could afford to process what we’d just seen, or to feel grief for Sean’s terrible fate.
“If walking is the thing getting me compliments you should just put me down now.” She said, tilting her head back and letting out a pained sigh.
We exchanged a look and broke out into a laugh.
“I think the bar is low right now,” I shot back, “take your pick of walking across the street or swinging a chair.” She gave a chuckle we both knew she didn’t mean. No humor could lighten some burdens.
That moment brought the awkward realization that I’d never bandaged a foot before. Kate picked up on my uncomfortable silence, and the look of irritation and disappointment she gave drew another true laugh out of us both.
“I’ll be right back. Let’s see if Arnie’s got something.”
When asked specifically for a book, Arnie was shockingly lucid.
“Of course, why don’t you follow me.”
He took me to a nearby shelf and quickly ran a finger across several books.
“These will all do, but I’ll bet you but this one,” he said, pointing to the title “Sports Medicine: First Aid for the Field”, “this ought to be the most helpful to you.”
I thanked him, brought the book back, and found the chapter on sprains. With careful study and extensive criticism from Kate, I was able to tape her ankle into a passable support. She stood up, and after an initial wince she walked a few steps and gave a shrug and a nod.
“I’ll give it a C, but that isn’t bad for the first test.”
I gave her a certain gesture with one of my fingers.
“On an open book test? You’ve got to give me more credit than that.“
Kate smirked and shook her head.
“Careful there Einstein, I’m already grading on a curve.”
We sat, doing our best to forget the situation we were in while trying to find a way out. Kate thought we should return to her house, and if we made it there to leave in my car. I was cautious, unsure how safe the roads and sidewalks were, thinking we should wait for daylight before making our break. We glanced back at Arnie, and down at our phones. It was 2:45 in the morning, and he was showing no signs of closing for the night. Kate tapped her knuckles on the table, glancing at me and gesturing back to Arnie with her head. Immediately I caught on to her meaning.
“Hey Arnie,” I said, returning to his desk, “do you have any books about what’s going on in the town outside right now?”
For the first time the old man froze for a second, then looked sideways at me with what seemed to be a knowing smile. Despite what Kate and I had seen in town, he still seemed to be harmless.
“I do, but it’s on hold for someone.” He paused, looking me in the eyes and holding his smile. “I suppose I can let you read it though, I doubt they’ll be coming in this late.”
He reached under his desk and handed me a book. I read the title and frowned.
“Sorry Arnie, but I was wondering if you had books about what’s happening in the town. I don’t know if you meant to give me the ‘Amateur Botanist’s Encyclopedia’, but-“
Arnie tapped the cover, looking over his glasses at me with a slow nod.
“You never know where a good book can take you, young man.”
As I set the book back down on the table with Kate, I immediately noticed something folded between the pages. Opening it, we found a small note hidden inside. Before I could begin to read it Kate called my name quietly and pointed to the page. The Latin name was gibberish to me, but the colloquial name rang out like a printed gunshot; it was the Hornflower. The picture featured a bright white flower otherwise identical to the one we’d consumed earlier. I looked at Kate, whose face was a collage of confusion, fear and regret.
“We’re going to figure this out Kate.” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. For the first time, she stared blankly back, unable to respond.
The note was hand written, a strange mixture of occultism and science. I can’t remember word for word what it said, but will try to come as close to the original phrasing as I can.
“Hornflowers are known to cause delirium if overingested, but it seems that the state of delirium is actually a window into another pocket of reality rather than a twisting of our existing physical perceptions. The flowers are plentiful in the woods, and should be easy to find.
Once you find a Hornflower, carefully pull and pot it. Make sure the root structure stays intact, as this is key to your own rooting.
Once you have potted the flower properly, you must water it with as much of your own blood as you are safely able to. Over a short span of time this will begin to cause the petals to change color, and you will imprint upon it.
Once the color is sufficiently changed, go back and re-plant the flower. If it does not survive the replanting you will be unsuccessful, so take care. After replanting, harvest a single seed from your flower and bring it to the Room.
Once there we will plant the seeds, and will finish the process in person.”
Kate and I looked at each other, processing what we’d read. We were past the point of skepticism, but couldn’t begin to understand what the “process” was intended to do. More frighteningly, it contained no details on what to do once we were trapped in whatever reality this was. We sat in confused silence, which turned to fear, then despair.
“Are we stuck here?” Kate finally asked, her voice quiet and even.
“I don’t know.” I racked my brain to think of any possible escape.
Suddenly a noise like a door locking cut through the silence. Our eyes bolted to one another’s, then we jumped up and moved toward the door as quickly as we could. Arnie was still seated calmly at his desk, but as we grabbed the door handles they came off in our hands, the doors not moving an inch. I threw myself into the door, but it felt like a concrete wall. In a panic, my eyes looked around and fixed on a window, the red snow was coming down heavier now, looking like a ruby haze across the street.
I grabbed a chair and swung it at the window, damaging neither. Pounding my hand on it and feeling no more give in it than the door had I spun to Arnie.
“What the hell are you doing? What did we do to you Arnie?”
Arnie met my panicked shout with the same tone of voice he’d kept the whole night.
“If you’d like help finding a book, I’m happy to give it. Just let me know what you’re looking for.“
In a rage I ran to Arnie, the wound in my stomach flaring alongside my anger. I grabbed him, but wasn’t able to move him any more than I could’ve moved a statue. Fear began to overwhelm my anger, and I dropped my hands and my head. Through the tears that were beginning to well up in my eyes, I noticed a picture on Arnie’s desk, settled neatly beside his computer.
“Arnie, who is that?”
Arnie’s slight smile wavered, then disappeared into a blank expression. Still, he didn’t acknowledge the question.
“Who is that with you in the picture Arnie? Do you have grandkids? You love them, right?”
Arnie moved his head to look away, but seemed uncomfortable and turned to look at his computer. His eyes looked heavy and sad.
“Look Arnie I know you aren’t like the other people here. You love your family. Kate and I love our family. We don’t mean anybody any harm, we just want to go see them again. Please let us out of here Arnie. We won’t bother you if you don’t want us to.”
Arnie took a moment, then looked up at my eyes. For the first time his eyes looked clear, and his words were lucid.
“Young man I haven’t done anything. You’re the one who has locked the doors. And as long as you’re here they won’t open again. But there is still one way to leave, if that’s what you’d like. In the back there are stairs to the basement, there will be a way out down there.”
“What do you mean I did this?” I looked to Kate for clarity, as she shook her head firmly against the thought of the basement.
“You’ve trapped yourself in here, young man. But you haven’t locked up the basement. I promise you’ll be safe there.” Arnie reassured us in a paternal voice. “Keep your wits about you. That’s the only way out now. In it you’ll find a tunnel into the town hall, you can find the truth there.”
“We don’t want the truth Arnie, we want to get the hell out of town. Can you please just tell us how to do that?” Kate asked forcefully, interjecting into the conversation before I could respond. Arnie shook his head.
“There is no ‘out of town’ for us. For you maybe, but I don’t know. If there’s anything you could learn that will help you, it’ll be in the town hall. You will see when you get there.”
Kate wanted to argue, but couldn’t seem to find the words. I looked over at her for a long moment, her internal conflict raging. After several tense moments her shoulders relaxed and she shrugged.
“Where’s the basement, Arnie?”
Arnie stood up and moved from behind his desk. My eyes drying in relief, I took another look at his picture. He was sitting in a dated home on a stair as two toddlers played by his feet. He had a smile on his face that radiated contentment and joy. The closer I looked however, the eerier the picture became. At a glance the twins looked normal, but no matter how hard I looked I couldn’t make out their faces. They were there, but my eyes couldn’t recognize or process any of their features, and the harder I looked, the hazier they got. It reminded me of trying to remember someone’s face that I’d met in a dream. I looked back at Arnie’s radiant smile one more time, before a sharp call commanded my attention.
“Come over here young man, it’s time for you to go.”
The staircase was ordinary enough that our trust wasn’t immediately broken, so we began our descent. Kate turned back to Arnie.
“Thank you, Arnie, for helping us. I’m not going to ask you to come with us if you can’t, but I hope you see your grandkids soon.”
Arnie’s face contorted into a sorrowful grimace that broke our hearts.
“I have tried, young lady. But I don’t think that I will.“
With that Arnie slowly closed the door behind us. Kate and I shared a look, each wanting to return to him and offer comfort. But the turning of a lock on the other side was soon enough of a response for us, and we slowly continued down.
“Be safe.” His muffled voice came through the door behind us.
As Arnie had said, among dusty books and boxes there was a heavy iron door, standing in stark contrast to the rest of the basement. I stood for a moment, thinking of something to say that would lighten the mood before we did what we knew we needed to. Kate stepped in first, opening the door with surprisingly little effort, and aggressively offering the darkened hall the same one fingered gesture I’d given her earlier. Neither of us smiling, we moved on.
The tunnel was surprisingly short, with another door on the far end. With grim determination, we walked quickly toward it, never allowing our minds to wander further than the next step. When we arrived Kate nodded.
“This is about where the town hall would be. Never knew we had a presidential evac tunnel for the mayor though.”
“Small town politics are a dangerous game, huh?” I quipped. She shook her head, giving me a side eye.
“A town of 400 is an army if you try and close the bar at midnight.”
I rolled my eyes, feeling no better about what awaited us.
Nor should I have. The room we walked into didn’t belong in any civic building. As the door swung open we were greeted by a pedestal holding a large, marble bowl, its outside smeared with a brown liquid we had no desire to identify. Two large bookcases on the far wall held books unlike any the library had held - everything from holy texts to alchemical writings to unlabeled tomes bound in haphazardly stitched leather. Symbols I’d never seen surrounded the pedestal, carefully drawn on the floor. Frighteningly out of place, an old revolver lay discarded, as if it had simply been dropped and forgotten.
The bowl was half full of dirt, and a giant Hornflower stood tall inside, its shade of dark red seeming to glow in the musty, sickly smelling room. Countless roots crept down from the bowl, crawling up through the walls and out of the building through the bricks. The sight of it all burned into my mind like a twisted photograph, until I was jarred out of my stupor by a loud, shrill grating sound from the door’s hinges.
My jaw went slack as I turned to Kate, whose color had drained completely. Immediately there was an enraged scream from above us, followed quickly by heavy footsteps. We spun around, only to see that the tunnel behind us was gone, with the iron door protecting only a brick wall. I sprung for the pistol, picking it up as I desperately gestured to Kate. She moved toward me, slowly at first and then came up to a full sprint. We ran up the stairs, barging into the administrative hall.
Before we could take the room in around us there was another shriek, and we turned to see a man and a woman standing at the far end of the room.
“Oh my God,” Kate rasped. “That’s our mayor and his wife. He’s been dead for years, almost as long as mom has.”
The information didn’t have a chance to settle in to fear. The woman stepped slowly and firmly forward, pointing a bony finger at us.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Then more quietly and eerily, “People shouldn’t come back up those stairs.”
“We want to leave!” I shouted, not sure whether to sound aggressive or to plead with her. “We want to let you do whatever it is you do here, we just want to get out!”
The mayor stepped forward. I hadn’t realized how tall he was at a distance, but the man was closer to seven feet tall than six.
“You don’t belong here.” His voice groaned, unnaturally deep and yet oddly sickly. “People shouldn’t come back up those stairs.” Even as he echoed his wife’s words, the inflection in his deep voice mirrored hers like a decaying duet.
The woman stepped closer to her husband, threading her arm through his elbow.
“My husband is going to throw you back down there, and I’m going to pay your respects to the flowers for you!” Her voice started quiet, leading to a crescendo back into an accusatory scream as if we’d desecrated something holy.
Kate stepped forward, hobbling much less on her newly bandaged foot.
“What the hell are you talking about? Are you worshipping your garden now, with all this shit about your flower?” She pointed at the mayor. “Did the flowers tell you to dig him up? Because no matter how the hell he’s standing here, there is no way that’s your husband!” Her boldness shocked me, until I realized the pistol I had was concealed, our one and only card to play.
The woman pulled herself closer to her husband, the deranged smile never leaving her face.
“We aren’t meant to be apart. My husband was taken from me too soon, but I found him after all this time, and he found me.” Her voice was steadier, but careened between love and lunacy.
“You found him? He died! He died years ago, and no matter what you’re on you can’t bring him back!”
Kate’s numbed fear had given way to anger. I thought of her feelings for her mother, and wondered if this woman had shared her insanity with my uncle.
“You have no idea what we can do. You’ve never tried to discover it. Love can bring us together, no matter where we are. No truth is unbreakable. No reality! We can exist as beings wherever we truly want to be. But if you haven’t felt that pain yet, we will be happy to help you learn it.”
The woman’s last sentence fell off her tongue like dripping poison as she let go of her husband. Her smile contorted again, as the mayor reached behind a chair, producing a hand saw. Kate spun to face me, fear and trust side by side in her eyes.
“Shoot them! Put them down and let’s get the hell out of here!”
“Grab them! Grab them and bring them downstairs!”
“I’ll bring you downstairs!” Their two voices could be no more different, but again the mayor mimicked her inflection like a monstrous parrot.
In moments the charging giant was no more than 20 feet from me, and drawing a steady aim I hit him directly in the heart. He shouted and sprawled forward, and we ran toward his wife. She bellowed out in rage, beginning to stomp in our direction. I stopped for a second, drew aim, and pulled the trigger again. As she fell backward, footsteps thundered from behind us. I spun just in time to see the mayor take a powerful swing at Kate, slashing her deep across her back with the jagged teeth of his rusted weapon. She fell forward, screaming in pain, as I roared, pulling the trigger feet from his chest.
Three clicks. Four. There had only been two rounds in the revolver. The mayor swung the saw back at me, missing narrowly as I stepped back.
“Nothing will ever come between us again!” His wife cackled shrilly from behind us. I stood, stunned. Sobbing in pain, Kate forcefully staggered back to her feet and slapped me on the chest, starting to run.
“Move your ass!”
I spun, sprinting after her. As we ran I watched, horrified as the back of her jacket showed more and more crimson, her wound leaking badly as she ran for her life. Behind me I heard footsteps lumbering alarmingly nearby. A deep shout made me wince in anticipation, but if the mayor cut me I wasn’t able to feel it.
“The exit… up here” Kate said, her voice coming out in agonized, crying gasps. We ran to a bend in the hall, rounding the corner as swiftly as possible. Ahead of us the doors stood, holding out the blood red blizzard enclosing us on all sides.
“They’re locked! The doors are locked and you’re not getting out!” The mayors wife cackled from behind us. Kate was beginning to slow, her desperate exertion not enough to hold her pace.
“Come the hell on!” I shouted as we closed the distance to our escape. Knowing there was no time to test the doors, I lowered my head, ran ahead of her and vaulted through the window, shattering it as I flew.
My face crashed through the surface of the snow and I slid forward on the lawn. I turned just in time to see Kate, trying and failing to hurdle over the window frame, fall awkwardly forward and land in the snow directly under the broken glass. Barely a moment later the mayor, seeming to have grown even larger, crashed into view, seeming for a moment to consider if he could fit through the small opening. Using the last of her strength, Kate crawled from under mayor to the side of the root covered building, shortly before he reached his arm out and slashed at her with the saw.
The mayor disappeared for a brief, hopeful moment, but then my heart sank as the door of the town hall shook. I looked up into the dark red sky, wishing hopelessly for an escape. I wished the sky would return to black. Wished the northern lights would cut through the haze. Wished I could have seen even a single normal, white Hornflower. I pictured it as I’d seen in Arnie’s book - a bright, untainted white. As the picture left my mind, my hand brushed something in that dark, crimson snow. As I pulled it out I saw, through the melting red in my hand a clear, white flower.
I stared dumbly at it for a moment, then was brought to by the sound of glass falling as the mayor’s wife reached the window.
“Kate!” I screamed. She turned her head, her body resting still against the roots coating the outside of the building as her face paled from shock. The white flower shone bright in my hand.
She looked over, struggling but unable to move her body. She reached her hand out in feeble desperation as her eyes met mine. Peeling a flower petal off for myself I ran to her, pressing a petal urgently into her palm. She again made a frail effort to come up to her knees, but she could do no more than shake with exertion. The door shattered as the mayor, looking like a human only in shape, stumbled forward, his head snapping to find us instantly. Kate ate the petal whole, then shut her eyes, knowing there was nothing else to be done. I followed her lead, chewing the petal a single time before gulping it down and closing my own eyes, accepting whatever fate I was given.
I kept my eyes closed. Long after everything grew quiet. The black was no different than I imagined death would be, and I wasn’t ready to know which darkness I beheld. Eventually I opened my eyes and fell to my knees. The moon shone piercingly bright on the white snow, unopposed in a starry, cloudless sky. I could see Kate’s breath still faintly from her nose in front of me. I looked up, mystified. The town hall was completely gone. In its place was nothing but an undisturbed, snowy lot. Most of the town remained, and as I began screaming for help it didn’t take long for someone to come to my aid. A man helped me bandage Kate’s back as best he could as we scrambled to load her into his car, speeding off to the nearest hospital.
The rest of the story is a blur, the days blending together as shock set in. The police came to the hospital and interviewed me. Kate had a bad blood infection, and was on a heavy dose of antibiotics. It took her a full day to regain consciousness, after which she was in and out of lucidity due to her pain meds. In the moments when she knew who and where she was she corroborated my story, saying we were both attacked by the same person. They’re still out looking for a tall, drugged up man in a coat. Neither of us got a good look at his face.
The next day I got a ride from a Good Samaritan from the hospital back to my car. Kate’s house was completely gone, without a trace of the home that once stood there. Nobody acknowledged the missing buildings, and I never got out of my car to ask any questions. The clinic, library and a few additional buildings had disappeared alongside the town hall. I sat in my car outside the vacant, snowy lot where Arnie’s library had once been, silently wondering if I even wanted to process any of what I’d been through. These people - Arnie, my Uncle, the Mayor’s wife and who knows who else - did something horrible that I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Kate told me that while she hadn’t known Arnie well, Dr. Renier had seen both her mother and they mayor both before and after they’d been sick, and had been unequipped to offer any help. I wondered what depth of hopelessness someone had to fall to before they began to lose themselves like he had. After all, Arnie’s book had been reserved.
When I left town that day, I never looked back. Kate and I are still close, and we talk often. As soon as she was discharged she moved in with a friend, and now she has an apartment the city. I told her what I’d seen when I collected my car, and she’d had no desire to look for herself.
Eventually she did return to try and find some closure, and called me in tears. The entire town is gone now, not a single building left. Just a flat, open snowy clearing in the middle of the woods. As we talked, we did our best to keep our conversations focused on the good times she’d had there over the past years - the happy memories before that night. After walking the clearing, she sat down in the snow, still giving a small grunt of pain from her wounds. Suddenly, in the middle of a thought, her voice went silent.
“You still there?” I asked, as I heard rustling, and Kate’s breathing becoming heavier and heavier. I began to hear her cry.
“Kate, what’s happening? Are you okay?”
“Just look.” Her voice returned, breaking as she spoke. I pulled my phone from my ear and waited. The moment I was notified of her text I opened it, seeing a single picture. In front of her brown winter boots, still powdered with the bright, white snow her hands had shoveled I saw it.
Staring up from the camera against the dead grass stood a dark, vibrant, red Hornflower. |
I live up in Monroeville, Pennsylvania. For those who don’t know, it’s a historical site when it comes to horror movies; being that it has the mall where they recorded the original Dawn of the Dead back in 1977. The town itself isn’t that different from any other, but the type of people we (occasionally) get passing through can certainly be interesting. There’s the occasional tourist group, horror convention, and several Romero tributes.
All I’m saying is that we’re pretty used to seeing weird stuff around here. Not, like, every day, but more often than I’d like to admit.
So when I first saw a flier for something called “The Travelling Graveyard”, I didn’t give it a second thought. However, it happened to be taped to a wall just outside of the Indian restaurant where I waited in line for my Friday-night tikka masala, so I gave it a look.
It took me a few seconds to even realize what it said. It was such a strange collection of words. Like raspberry shoes, hug missile, or bright black. I had to look closer.
Kinda like you did when you clicked this.
#x200B;
I took a picture of the flier, got my order, and made it back to my car. I could tell it was gonna rain. I spent some time checking the picture in my car, zooming in on the details I might’ve missed.
The flier had a simple vector graphic style picture of a tombstone with an elderly couple standing behind it. They were leaning against one another, smiling, and looking straight forward. At first it looked fine, but once I zoomed in, I noticed little discrepancies. For example, they had too many teeth. I could count several rows of them. Another was that the woman in the picture, who at first looked like she was leaning on her husband, was actually grabbing him by the neck.
“The Travelling Graveyard” it said, with “Coming this Friday to Monroeville!” printed in small letters underneath.
There was an address, and a bunch of company logos at the bottom. Honestly, I didn’t recognize any of them, but it looked legit; like some kind of sponsored event. I figured it might be a movie premiere, given the town’s history.
#x200B;
Lucky for me, the address was on my way home. I could swing by and just catch a glimpse. I hadn’t heard of any big projects being filmed in the area, but sometimes those things can fly under the radar. Then again, it could be a club, or some kind of opening event; there was no way to tell. I sent the picture of the flier to my buddy Henry, who immediately called me up as I pulled out of the parking lot. The guy lives for horror stuff.
“What the hell is it?!” he spurted out, not even saying hello.
“No idea. Checking it out on my way back.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“You don’t have a car.”
“I’ll bike.”
He hung up before I got the chance to ask him about it. Had no idea he even knew how to ride a bike.
#x200B;
I made my way to the address. The road was mostly gravel, leading through a small forest passage just outside of town. Still pretty central; I could see the lights in the distance. I heard something up ahead and noticed that I wasn’t the first car to arrive.
And there it was, just around the bend; the travelling graveyard.
The place used to be a field for Dog Agility competitions, but I hadn’t seen any arranged for quite some time. Now , it was a graveyard. At least four dozen tombstones, all neatly arranged. A black cast iron fence surrounding the area, and an honest-to-God church waiting at the end of a long dirt path. No haunted house Halloween décor; just an actual graveyard that’d sprung out of seemingly nowhere.
Some cars came, others went. When the crowd settled, I counted nine other people who were curious enough to stick around. They’d stepped out of their cars to take pictures and chat. Some thought it was a kind of promotional thing, others were convinced it was a movie set.
#x200B;
When Henry finally arrived, he was practically blue in the face. I stood there leaning against the hood of my car, having my tikka masala, and it took him a solid three minutes before he could even talk. When he finally did, he almost threw the bike in a trench. Old thing, nothing short of a miracle that the chain hadn’t rusted shut or broke on the way here.
“You’re… you’re driving me back,” he wheezed.
I just nodded, my mouth full of chicken-y goodness. I pointed down the road, towards the church.
“Hell of a… a set,” Henry grinned. “What you think? Lionsgate? Universal?”
“Wh… what?”
“The production money, man. Movie magic. This is, uh… big time. Which one you think it is?”
I couldn’t answer. Henry seemed convinced already, but I wasn’t so sure. If this was a movie set, why would it have that genuine graveyard smell? The soggy grass, the fresh dirt? You can’t put that on screen.
#x200B;
I finished up my Friday dinner and joined Henry inside the gates. There was a couple ahead of us who were the first to go through, and I could tell they had to make an effort to get in. The gate wasn’t just a prop; it was solid iron. Henry just oo’ed and awe’d, not paying too much attention to the details. For example, there were no names on the tombstones. They looked real though.
We followed the others inside, walking all the way up to the church.
It was a strange building; much smaller than a modern church. I couldn’t imagine it being two pews wide. It was tall though, and had a looming bell tower. I looked up to see if I could spot anyone up there, but it was getting too dark. The gathering rain clouds weren’t helping.
Henry elbowed me, pointing at the church.
“A little help?”
They were pulling the doors open.
#x200B;
It took three of us to do it. Good thing we did, as the first drops of rain just started poking at us. We all gathered, expecting some kind of event manager to reward us for our curiosity. Maybe some movie swag or something.
But as those doors swung open, there was nothing. Not a soul. Just dusty old pews, badly insulated stained-glass windows, and an empty altar up front. Not a single cross or bible to be found, but plenty of dry and dead moths. The place was either ransacked, or half-finished. Henry seemed to think the latter, while I was leaning more to the former. The peeling paint on the walls wasn’t there just for show; it was old. Probably lead-based, too.
“This is some The Nun kind of shit,” Henry whispered reverently. “Holy sh- this might be a, uh… preview screening.”
“Henry, I know you like the fucking view up there, but pull your head out of your ass,” I snapped back. “This is not a fucking movie set.”
“Like hell it ain’t,” he chuckled. “Look, see? Plastic flowers.”
He picked up a flower from under a pew, only to realize that it wasn’t plastic; it was dried. A strange, dry, tinted sunflower.
#x200B;
The rain was picking up outside. Some of the others turned around to go back, but most of us stuck around to explore the church. We were already invested, and this trip had to mean something. Pennsylvanians aren’t about to waste their Friday night just because someone decided to drag ‘em out into nowhere. If anything, they’d be leaving with the communion wine and calling it a good one.
I wasn’t all too convinced though. Some of it just looked a bit too real. Checking the pews, I could see little scratched-out letters and numbers. There were a lot of years marked, but none of them seemed to date past 1890. There was also a whole slew of names hastily scrawled on the walls, possibly by children, judging by the height and legibility. At least a dozen names. Boys and girls, no surnames.
I stepped back out into the rain and called my buddy Luke. Reception was a bit spotty, but the call got through.
“Yeah?” he answered, trying to speak through the static.
“Hey, can you look something up for me?”
“What?”
“Look something up for me!”
It took me three tries to explain to him that I wanted some info on the Travelling Graveyard event. Maybe we’d seen the wrong date, or there was some kind of misprint. This was clearly the right place, but it didn’t seem like the right time. Luke said he’d look it up and call me right back.
#x200B;
I stayed outside for a while, huddling under the roof. I looked down the path leading up to the church to see if the others had already made it out. I figured they had, since I couldn’t see them anywhere. Then again, their cars were still parked outside.
And another thing. The gate was closed. We’d left it open. Why would they close it?
I had this sinking feeling that I was missing something obvious, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. Like that feeling when you leave home, convinced that you’re forgetting something important. I looked around, letting my eyes drift over the tombstones, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. Then again, the rain was making it all harder to see.
#x200B;
Henry joined me just as Luke called me back. I kept getting disconnected the moment I pushed to accept the call. It got dropped over and over, three times in quick succession. On the fourth, a weak signal came through.
I could barely make out what Luke was saying. There was so much interference that most of it came out sounding like he was stuck in a microwave. A few words pushed through, mostly asking things like “what the fuck” and “what are you talking about”. It didn’t take a genius to get that he had no idea what we were talking about, and that this event was unheard of.
I tried yelling the address back at him, if he wanted to check it out himself. I spelled it out over and over, but he just couldn’t hear me. Finally, as the fourth call disconnected, I texted him instead. I was surprised to see that it went through. Henry just sneered at me.
“I don’t like that look,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“Where did the others go?” I asked, brushing some rain out of my hair.
“What? What others?”
“They, uh… the guys who left. There was like, four-five of them.”
“Oh, they went out back, I think”
#x200B;
Henry took me back inside, pointing to one of the stained-glass windows. He was right, I could see a bunch of people walking back and forth between the graves. There was only one problem.
There were *seven* of them.
Not four, or five.
#x200B;
Henry counted them with me, and the other remaining people in the church stepped up alongside us. We could barely make the others out in the rain, but it was clear that there were a few too many.
“Maybe more came by,” someone whispered. “Maybe they’re the event people.”
“Can’t see more cars,” someone responded. “Where they always there? Did we check?”
And finally, as we all quieted down, I heard Henry whisper.
“What the fuck are they doing?”
#x200B;
That’s what we were all thinking. They were all just standing there, seemingly immobile. They weren’t running for cover or leaving altogether. They just stood there, as if held by some invisible will. Puppets, waiting for their strings to be pulled. Then, from the other side of the room, a whisper.
“There are more on this side.”
At least eight, possibly more further in. No idea where they came from, or what they were doing. If anything, they looked more like statues than people. For a moment, we all just stood there, trying to imagine what the hell they were trying to do. Finally, the couple who’d stepped in ahead of us chimed in. They were leaving.
#x200B;
I was inclined to join them, but something told me it was a bad idea. Besides, Henry wasn’t ready to let me go just yet. If anything, he was getting excited. This all seemed like part of the event to him. Instead, the rest of us gathered at the open doors, watching the two wander into the rain. Only me, Henry, and this 16-year-old looking kid remained indoors.
Once they got halfway, they turned to us.
And screamed.
#x200B;
It was so damn fast.
They came from both sides of the building, beelining straight for the two. Sixteen bodies in total, all drenched by the rain. I could make out some vague shapes, like a girl in a white dress, and a tall man with a black suit.
They weren’t really… running. It was more of a strange walk, like their entire body was on a swivel. They rolled their spines back and forth, having their necks bobbing back and forth. One of them fell over, smacking his head on an unmarked grave.
The couple made a run for the gate, but it was too high to climb. They tried helping one another, one stepping into the other’s hands, but it was too late.
Some kind of instinct wanted me to run out there and help them, but I didn’t. I just stood there, waiting to see what would happen.
#x200B;
They grabbed the man first. He was still holding up his arms, trying to get his girlfriend over the iron fence. They lifted him off his feet in what looked like the most casual effort, and a second later, they threw him; straight up.
Like a balloon taking flight, he accelerated upwards. Past the rain, the clouds, and into the sky. He kept tumbling back and forth, weightless, and desperate. He flailed like a bird with a broken wing, but it was useless.
I could hear him screaming as he went higher, and higher, and higher. His panicked screams faded into the rain.
#x200B;
They only managed to grab the woman by her foot, but it was enough. It’s as if she was put into a spin; her head and body drifting upwards as she grasped for the fence. It slipped by her fingers as her piercing death-scream cut through my nerves like a hot knife.
The higher she went, the more passive the crowd became. They slowed down, and the swivel of their bodies was stiffened into a statuesque back-straightened stance.
The three of us just stood there, not knowing what to do. I couldn’t move. I wanted to slam the doors shut, but I didn’t know what would set them off. I didn’t dare to look at Henry, or the kid. I barely managed to force air into my lungs.
Henry’s world had shattered. I could hear him muttering “what the fuck” over, and over, and over. He had the look of someone trying to figure something out, but the answer never came.
#x200B;
After a few minutes, we moved. We noticed no one came at us. They seemed to have gone back into some kind of inactive state, and nothing seemed to rattle them. At one point, Henry almost laughed. The adrenaline must’ve gotten to him.
“It’s fine,” he said. “We got this.”
Before I got the chance to say anything, he knocked on the door. Both me and the 16-year-old looked at him like he’d signed our death sentence. My heart leapt out of my chest.
But nothing happened. He knocked, and knocked, and they didn’t even turn around.
“Get your head straight,” I whispered. “You’re not just… just messing with your fucking life.”
Henry just smiled through his teeth, but I could see he was just as scared as I was. Pupils wide, short, shallow breaths. Hell, the 16-year-old was probably the only one of us actually paying real attention.
#x200B;
She was short, with black hair. Some kind of pixie cut, and had a nose ring. She kept looking back and forth, both between the two of us, and at the crowd gathering outside. She tapped my shoulder, forcing me to make eye contact.
“Help me with this.”
We started dragging one of the doors shut, but it was way too heavy. It’d been one thing pulling it open with dry dirt under our feet, but now with the rain it was getting downright difficult. It wasn’t until Henry got out into the rain to push that we made some progress.
But the moment he stepped into the rain, they all turned towards us.
#x200B;
Like a motor spinning to life, their movements became animated. Every limb a fluid motion, heading our way with complete abandon. They stumbled over one another, over the graves, slipped in the mud, but kept going forward.
We both grabbed Henry and pulled him in, and the moment he stepped inside, they stopped moving. All three of us tried to catch our breaths. Henry’s manic smile was still plastered on his face. He’d cracked – hard.
“It’s the rain,” said the pixie-cut girl. “It’s… it’s something with the rain.”
#x200B;
Using my belt and plenty of patience, we pulled the other door shut. There was no lock, but as long as we kept out of the rain it seemed simple enough. The bodies outside weren’t paying us any attention. The pixie-cut girl kept rambling on about whatever wild theory came to her mind. Aliens coming to take us away. Some kind of rapture. But it all came back to that one point; that it was all connected to the rain.
Henry had other ideas. He figured we ought to just stay inside and call for help. Which, in itself, wasn’t a bad idea. It’s just that we couldn’t get any coverage.
Looking up, hoping some kind of God would give me a hint, I stumbled upon an idea.
“The bell tower,” I said. “We can climb up there.”
#x200B;
So we did.
We made our way to the second floor. The pixie-cut girl was the lightest of us and had the most expensive phone. We figured that rickety old ladder would hold her. We double and triple-checked it, and it seemed fine, but she was hesitant. Finally, she just shook her head.
“You do it,” she said, pointing at me. “I’m not getting up there.”
There was no time to argue. I started climbing, one creaky rung at a time.
#x200B;
When I finally made it up, I could see all through the graveyard. The rain was pouring down, making the roof of the bell tower creak. In the distance, I could see the edge of the iron fence – but everything outside of that was covered by the rain. There could’ve been a dozen police cars just outside, and I’d have no way of knowing.
That’s when my phone started buzzing. Missed calls and messages; all from Luke.
“Where are you?!”
“Helloooooo?!”
“Is this a prank?”
“PICK UP!”
And finally, a picture. A selfie of Luke, standing in an open, empty, damp field.
#x200B;
I didn’t even realize how long I stared at it until I heard a breaking shingle. Drops of water made their way down my spine as a hole opened above. My screen was unresponsive, so I wiped it with my jacket. From downstairs, I could hear Henry’s jeering cackle.
“Hey, uh… looks like they’re moving, buddy!”
“Hurry the fuck up!” added the pixie-cut girl.
There was a strange sound, like very slow woodpeckers. Something hard hitting the side of the building, over, and over again. I dialed 911 as fast as I could, but the damn connect button refused to work. The water was interfering with it.
As the call lit up with a green symbol, I saw something peeking over the edge of the roof.
#x200B;
She was young, but no child. Eyes hollowed out, leaving empty holes on the inside of her blackened skull. Her mouth wide-open; her lower jaw swinging back and forth. She wasn’t breathing. She wasn’t in pain. And as she dug her slippery fingers into shingle after shingle, making her way up the side of the building, I could tell that there was nothing left of a person in there.
All that remained was some kind of instinct-ridden machine, aching to send me on my way.
An operator answered, asking me what my emergency was.
“I need help,” I wheezed. “They’re… they’re going to…”
Looking at her, there was no doubt of her intentions.
“…they’re going to fucking *kill me.”*
#x200B;
I was so blindly terrified that I didn’t even look behind me.
#x200B;
Cold fingers brushed against my jacket. Long, broken fingers reaching my way. A tall man with a suit, his head hanging low. I could see the rainwater pool in the back of his eye sockets, making it look like he never stopped crying as it squelched out with his every move.
I recoiled, only to completely lose my balance. I sunk down halfway down the ladder, and fell.
#x200B;
I landed really bad, putting all the weight on my ankle. I could feel something snap, followed by a tremendous pulsing pain shooting all the way from my heel up my spine. My phone slipped out of my hands and slid across the floor. Henry just managed to catch it moments before it tumbled down to the first floor. He picked it up, yelling at the operator.
“Hello? Hey! Are… is anyone… hello?”
There was no response. We could barely get reception down there. In-between my thumping heartbeats, I could hear the pounding fists go quiet above. A steady stream of water from above stained the carpet.
Giving in to his intrusive thoughts, Henry chucked my phone all the way across the room, breaking one of the stained-glass windows.
#x200B;
In the aftermath, I did my best to support my (probably) broken ankle. We used our socks as a makeshift bandage, trying to it in place. It didn’t help much, but it made it easier to jump on one foot. Still, every movement teased me with a tickle of pain, threatening to send shockwaves throughout my body; tearing all the way up my spine.
Finally, the three of us just sat there. I don’t know for how long, maybe an hour. Maybe two. The rain wasn’t letting up.
“What the fuck do we do?” I sighed. “We… we can’t do shit.”
“We fucking fight them,” nodded Henry. “They’re not that fast.”
“Try that again, but without a fucking car for a brain.”
“What? We can take ‘em! I told you, we got this!”
The pixie-cut girl just shook her head and stayed quiet. She was working on something.
#x200B;
We were growing tired and sluggish. If we were to do something, now would be the time. Henry had found some kind of iron rod broken off from the second-floor railing. There was some weight to it, but he’d be insane to actually try to fight them with it. The pixie-cut girl had been staring straight ahead all night, tapping her foot.
Then, finally, she spoke out.
“I can make that fence,” she said. “You got a car?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “But… you’ll come back for us, right?”
“I’ll ram the gate. It’s closed but didn’t seem locked.”
Henry shrugged his way into the conversation.
“No way you’ll make it,” he said. “They’re too close.”
#x200B;
I looked back at the broken window, then back at the pixie-cut girl.
“We can draw them over.”
#x200B;
We put our plan to work. Henry and I knocked out some more glass from the window, allowing rain to trail in. We could immediately hear movement on the roof as we let the rain soak our skin. We held on, waiting for a clear sign.
They started falling off the roof in droves. Thunk after thunk of meat just slapping into the dirt. Not a single gasp, twitch, or grunt.
We counted the bodies. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.
I prepared to give her the signal.
Fourteen. Fifteen.
She had pushed the door ajar, and was ready to go.
*Sixteen*.
#x200B;
She burst into a sprint as we moved away from the window. Henry hurried to the front door, and I followed to the best of my ability. She was gunning for it, but there was a problem.
There were far more than sixteen out there. There was at least double.
#x200B;
She kept going, weaving past them. As she finally reached the far side of the fence, she leapt up, putting her foot in the middle of the bar, and kicking herself upward. In one swing, she flung her lower body over the fence.
“Holy shit,” murmured Henry. “You… you think she’s-“
“She’s okay,” I nodded, as if to convince myself. “She’ll make it.”
There was a beep in the distance, followed by an engine roaring to life.
Moments later, the gate flung wide open.
#x200B;
She drove straight ahead, aiming for the church. At least eight of them toppled over, being flung left and right, smacking against the hood of the car.
She’d almost made it halfway there when I heard this strange metallic groan. The car was slowing down.
And lifting.
#x200B;
It was about two full feet off the ground when it started to wobble. The combined touch of all those things seemed to be able to send anything off – even a car. I saw the pixie-cut girl trying to get her belt off, but the added movement just made the car topple over to the side.
As it tipped over to the driver side, I saw her struggle to climb out the passenger seat. The car started to lift again, this time reaching over six feet. Finally, the crowd let go of it, as it started slowly drifting upwards; with the pixie cut girl still in it.
She was a full ten feet off the ground when she finally got out. The rotational force flung her out, making her hang from the passenger side door in mid-air.
Then, she slipped.
#x200B;
We watched her slip into the crowd, screaming. And then, just like those before her, she started to drift into the rain clouds. Dozens of hands sent her on her way, holding their arms high; like a silent wave goodbye.
Henry nodded at me.
“Alright then,” he said. “I’m going for it.”
#x200B;
I didn’t react in time. He bolted out the door, swinging wildly with his iron rod. He connected with one of them; tearing off an ear and a solid chunk of jaw. Still, that did little to stop them. Luckily for Henry, he was fast. Almost fast enough to make it.
We just hadn’t counted on the car coming back down.
Whatever up there took it didn’t want it.
#x200B;
The car came crashing down with a deafening crunch; taking both Henry and two of those things with it as it bellyflopped into the mud.
#x200B;
And then there was just me, my screams, and the rain.
#x200B;
For hours, I just wandered back and forth on my own. I kept trying to make up a plan in my head, but all I ended up with was this sense of my stomach lifting into the air. That sucking kind of feeling you get when you fall.
I had nothing to eat. I sure as hell wasn’t gonna drink the rain. In the end, I was left with only one choice.
I had to try.
#x200B;
I stepped up to the open doors, steeling myself for what’s to come. I saw the crowd outside, waiting in the rain. They knew there was one left.
I did that at least four times. Stepping up, backing down. I couldn’t force myself to die like that. I just couldn’t. Finally, I just collapsed into the front pew, screaming in frustration. Not like that’d move those things anyway.
I noticed something under one of the pews. The couple who’d been first inside had forgotten a small bag.
#x200B;
Apparently, they’d anticipated bad weather, as there was a folded-up umbrella inside.
#x200B;
It wasn’t a good plan, I’ll admit to that. I couldn’t tell how those things worked. But this was the best thing I could come up with, and the greatest chance I had. I unfolded it, carefully, and tried to step outside – just a little.
As the first raindrops hit the plastic, I expected explosive movement.
Instead, I got nothing.
#x200B;
Inch by inch, I made my way outside. I tried my best to put a smooth weight on my foot, but I just ended up jumping. Taking those little jumps in the mud was close to suicide. One slip-up, and that’d be that.
I could barely hear my panting breaths over the pouring rain.
At one point, I held the umbrella at a bad angle. Some water touched the back of my leg, causing all now 40 something creatures to turn my way in an instant. I stopped, and they did too. Empty skulls all around – hungrily waiting for me to slip up.
Little by little, I made my way past them. Some were only a few feet away.
#x200B;
I walked past the gate.
And I kept walking.
#x200B;
I didn’t even notice when the rain stopped, or the sun came back out. I didn’t notice I was back in that Dog Agility field. I barely even reacted to Luke waving me over from the parking lot.
#x200B;
Turns out, everything was gone. Not just the people, but our cars, and the graveyard itself. Only thing I could find that showed Henry had ever been there was his rusted-out bike by the side of the road. Maybe the church was never there to begin with; at least not in this world. And yet, it was the realest thing that ever happened to me.
They never found the others, or my car, or anything else. Hell, it seemed like pretty much no one had even seen the fliers around town.
I tried looking up people who came there and left, but they seem to have no recollection of ever seeing the church. I’ve talked to some of them here on Reddit.
#x200B;
I checked the company logos on the flier again, just to try and find some kind of clue. Turns out it was all fake. There were some people who claimed to have seen someone put the fliers up, but all I got was that “she looked young”.
I’ve never seen or experienced anything like that night. Nothing.
But this is why I always keep an umbrella around. |
Hello, my name is Kent and I was born and raised here in the Philippines.The day before I venture out to the remote area somewhere in the mountain, is that I lost my job by the end of August, 2023 it made a big impact as job opportunities here is so very high but the hiring rate is almost at the lowest, it will take time for me to find another job. As stress and depression leads me to finally plan to hike or camp to escape for awhile my problems, I quickly packed my things that was good for 3 to 5 days. This would be my first time camping/hiking alone as I have already hiked several mountains all across the Philippines with other hikers/mountaineers.
This would be my first and probably my last solo camp.
**SEPTEMBER 5, 2023 (BETWEEN 6-7AM)**
I finally arrived at a near coffee shop a 8 kilometers away from designated camp site before I go set-up my tent. As I finished drinking a good brewed coffee I bought some bread some tea bags that I could supply during my stay at my own camp.
**AROUND 1-3PM**
I arrived at my camp ground and right away I set my tent and sorted everything out, I was all alone on that moment, my campsite is set near a falls in which I could have a nice bath in the morning and have a little bit of laundry if needed. I gathered some sticks, woods, stones to set my campfire when the night comes.
(During my camp I didn't bring my smartphone because firstly I don't have one I have only my mp3 player some of my survival kits for camping all along. So I can't tell what exact time it is aside from knowing if it is day time and night time.)
**SEPTERMBER 5, 2023 (EVENING)**
It was literally a pitch black environment and a peaceful one and I had my dinner done early. My campfire is still blazing to help me warm myself as I read a book to make me go to sleep.
*I write these words not as a fiction but as a record of my harrowing experience deep within the heart of a remote mountainous region in the Philippines. This is my first and last solo hike/camp, an account of a night when folklore crossed into chilling reality of mine.*
Since childhood, I've heard tales of the Kapre; the enigmatic tree-dwelling giant of the Philippines. My grandparents or surely says Filipino Ancestors claim it lurks in the densest of forests, hidden from the world's prying eyes. As I stayed outside my tent, an unshakable sense of being watched engulfed me. It was a presence that felt neither benign nor indifferent, hiding within the shadows. My heart raced, my senses on high alert. It was the feeling I think of being alone.
In the distance, a faint laughter resonated it was so eerie rumbling chuckle that seemed to reverberate through the very trees. I quickly stood up and grab my flashlight and quickened my pace going back to my car, feeling the weight of isolation. The forest seemed to come alive, its ancient trees taking on grotesque forms. And then, I saw it a giant man it was very very tall, I'm 5'4" and telling it's height it was impossibly tall I guess around 12 feet tall I guess half of the height of a palm tree, its emaciated frame melding with the very tree it leaned against. A cigar dangled from its lips, its ember glowing like malevolent eyes. Made me tremble in fear and I can't even made a sudden move, it was like a creature waiting for its prey to make a move before it does its successful hunt. Time seemed to stand still as our gazes met.
Panic gripped me as I comprehended the gravity of my intrusion. My survival instincts screamed for me to continue on retreating, but fear froze me in place. The Kapre's laughter grew louder, more menacing. Summoning all my willpower, I managed to break free from the creature's sinister presence and stumbled away further into the unforgiving wilderness. Its eerie laughter pursued me through the thick undergrowth, growing fainter as I distanced myself.
Back in safety on my car, I trembled, haunted by the encounter as I drove away back to the City, leaving some of my belongings on my makeshift camp.For my experience and encounter as a word of caution to fellow adventurers who dare to explore or have a relaxing time to the remote reaches of the world please approach the wilderness with utmost caution, for within its depths, ancient terrors may yet to stir.
As this is only my testimony, it is a chilling reminder that sometimes, the line between folklore and reality blurs in the most unsettling of ways. |
Hello, I live in a small town in Missouri. Small enough were we know most people here but large enough to get new people and visitors everyday. Some people come here to sight see and others come to camp. You see I live right next to a national park and it's a popular destination around this time of the year due to the cool mountain air and beautiful scenery. In my town everyone knows everyone so were a tight nit community.
Well, one of the tourists really liked it here and decided to open a new Burger joint calling it "Sam's Smash Burgers N More". The WHOLE town was talking about it when they showed up. Most people said very positive things and some would say it was strange tasting or they found hair etc. but at the time I assumed that was something all restaurants get.
I decided to go there since my friend Treyvon said it was amazing. He kept pushing me and pushing me over and over saying how great it is but the only thing holding me back was the weird things people have been finding in their food. Like rings, hair and a tooth. The owner swears ***it's*** all ***p***laced by the customers in att***e***mpt t***o*** keep ***p***eople out of their town and It sounds too crazy to be true. **L**ike, who loss***e***s a tooth mid cooking a burger?
Trey: "C'mon man...You can't seriously think that any of the rumors are true? This guy is sooooo nice and I never found anything in my food and I ate there like 15 times already." My friend said while begging with his hands clasped together.
Me: "Ok, ok, ok...fine I'll go but only to shut you up." I said as I lightly punched his arm while I laughing
We shared a laugh and headed to the new place. When I pulled up to "Sam's Smash Burgers N More" It was a nice place. The outside has a couple of old picnic tables with shade umbrellas over them and the inside was just a old laundry mat with a walled off kitchen. You can do your laundry and while you wait you can eat some food. Inside the place was a counter where you would put in an order from the menu he has behind the counter. Inside there is 4 booths that can fit a small family. Trey and I walked to the booth and stared at the order.
Me, being indecisive opted to let my friend, Trey to go first. He ordered a double cheese burger with house fries and a fried pickle. I was surprised because I didn't know you could fry...a pickle... My confusion was cut short when my friend called my name.
Trey: "Yo! Tim. Wake up and order man stop spacing out wierdo." He said while laughing and grabbing my shoulder lightly.
I stood there looking at the menu. It was short but some of the things sounded pretty good. "single, double and triple cheese burger, pork steak, house fries, fried pickles, and chili." is what the menu read each being only $2 for any item.
Me: "uh, can I get the chili and the fries? Like can you combine the two to make chili fries?" I asked with my stomach rumbling.
Owner: "Certainly! It'll be about 30 minutes ok? We make everything fresh and hot" He smiled and spoke with a elated tone.
We both nodded and sat down. It didn't take long before we started to smell the food. The smell of grease and frying meat filled the air in the small dive restaurant / laundry mat. It was intoxicating... it instantly brought me back to my past when my dad used to cook for me as a child.
Memories flash back of him with a large smile serving me a plate while mom took pictures. He was a proud chef and was always excited to open his own restaurant but never was able too. When his loan from the bank denied he fell into depression and fell deeper into bottles of alcohol. He became abusive and stopped cooking. I still never forgave the man for nearly killing my mother and me in a car wreak. My mother kicked him out of the home and he never spoke to us again.
We waited about 45 minutes before a lady about our age came out holding our plates and put them in front of us. The food looked as amazing as it smelled. Filled with freshness and perfect placement on the plate but with some flaws too. It was as if the owner was a career chef.
Trey: "You see bro! Don't that shit look good?"
He spoke as he lifted his food. The burger he showed had cheese that was perfectly melted and patties that were perfectly smashed and juicy. The bun was buttery and fluffy with just the right amount of onions and lettuce. My chili fries were hot and steaming with a perfect amount of cheese laying over the top. The fries even being inside the chili/cheese concoction were stiff and crunchy on the outside with soft potato on the inside. They were handmade fries as well so they had some special seasoning I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
As we ate the food I was surprised on how delicious it was for as cheap as it is. The cascade of flavors and spices were so distracting I almost lost track on how much I've eating and before I knew it the plate was nearly empty.
Trey: "Haha, Told you this place is the best in town!" He said with his mouth half full of fries.
Me: "Yea no kidding! This place rocks. The way the food was made and plated was immaculate. I would believe if this guy was a Michelin star chef"
Trey: "I don't know who Michelin is or why their stars matter but this food is bussin" He spoke with glee and unearned confidence and unironically saying "bussin".
I looked at him and smiled. We finished our food and got up to return the plates. When we got to the window we though we heard muffled screams like someone was pleading for help however the sounds of the laundry mat and kitchen were drowning out the noise to a neigh imperceptible level.
Me: "Hey bro? Do you hear that? It sounds like someone trying to yell." I asked Trey
Trey: "Na I don't hear a thing. I think you're just crazy cause I was right and you're trying to find something wrong with this place" He laughed and snickered a little.
I shook the thought off in my head as it sounded way to crazy to be true. Why would anyone risk this. I thought I was going crazy and told my friend lets go. As we left the owner waved us out with a hand covered in blood and a very unnatrual smile that sent shivers down my spine.
Owner: "come back later for out mystery meatloaf!" He said loudly with excitement.
Last night I was watching the news. "A vacationing family of 3 went missing earlier this week in our little town. Their car was found at the junkyard with nothing but bloodstains inside it. If you have any information please call our helpline"
I've been feeling sick ever since that night and I refuse to go back to that restaurant. Am I... Am I crazy or does human meat...taste good...? |
One eye was blue.
The other eye was red.
Had I finally located the Antichrist?
I once belonged to a monastic order whose sole purpose is to find the Antichrist, take possession of him, and relocate him to a hidden mountain monastery in an undisclosed location, of which most of the brothers are ignorant. The goal is to protect the Antichrist, bring him to power, and end the world.
Yes, it is a Christian brotherhood, the Order of Bartholomew, holding fast to the tenets of our lord, and not at all in line with the goals of the Devil. Our lord is not Satan, but we do believe the world is beyond saving. Best to end it now and bring on the rejuvenation of existence and the cleansing of sin from the hearts and minds of the human race. We have monasteries in every continent and in most countries, but their appearances are far from traditional. The altar and sacristy are hidden below supermarkets, laundry mats, and many other modes of commercialization. Some are even located in government buildings, depending on the religiosity of the host nation and its willingness to cooperate.
There is the popular Bible and then there is the real Bible. The real Bible is composed of many more books, one of which is purported to have been written by the apostle Bartholomew. It is simply called Echthros, the Greek word for hated, or the hostile one. It is a book describing in detail the appearance and specific circumstances of the birth and life of the Antichrist. Whereas Jesus was born of a virgin, the evil one will be born of violence, the cause of his own mother’s death. There are many more details I will not bore you with at this time, but needless to say there is a comprehensive list of significant indicators that a certain candidate must meet to be considered the foretold Antichrist.
Our order was established in the year 1313 under the reign of Pope Clement V, not long after the death of Jaque De Molay and the dissolution of the Knights Templars. Legend has it that the pope had dreamed of his own death. The spirit of Jaque De Molay had invaded his sleep and haunted the essence of his soul. He had concluded that the world must end as soon as the Antichrist had made his appearance. In fact, he had even convinced himself that the Antichrist was not a particular person born of fate, but that anyone, with the proper training, could be made and reared to be the chosen instrument of annihilation. In his public life he ruled and led the Church to fight against the forces of evil and preserve the world against destruction. In his private life, he organized and summoned men to find the very force that would end the world.
The Echthros was copied and handed out to each monastery. Every monk of the order had memorized it. We have made it our life’s ambition to find the man of perdition, not to destroy him, but to shelter him and hasten the Apocalypse.
I myself live in America. My own prejudices had led me to believe that the Antichrist would come from the Middle East, or if I was lucky, from Europe. I wanted to be the one to find him. I am an Italian and I was sorely disappointed to find out that I would be living in America, a land removed from Biblical history. America, in my mind, would have no significant impact in the future. It would dwindle back down to a pioneer nation, ineffective and far removed from the drama to come. I only considered this as logical because I saw nothing in the Bible to make me believe that America had any relevance.
My ill-informed perspective was soon challenged by a twelve-year-old boy from Georgia named David Greene. His mom had died during delivery, and David was still-born, or so at least that’s what the doctors thought. They laid the child on a gurney and pronounced him dead. Ten minutes later he drew his first breath, details I myself have memorized from the Echthros: The child would be born dead, revived and possessed by Satan. The boy’s father hated and feared the child, abused and neglected him until the age of twelve, when David decided to end his suffering and stab his father through the neck while his father was sleeping.
I went to visit the boy at a maximum-security psychiatric hospital. Middlebrook was an ancient decrepit facility, lacking staff and resources to adequately care for its patients. The paint on the walls were faded and peeling. The lighting was dim, and the air was stale. It was the most depressive hospital I had ever visited.
“Father. Welcome.”
“I’m not an ordained priest. Just call me Stan,” I explained to the nurse.
“Oh, I’m sorry. They said you were from a monastery. I just figured.”
“No problem. Where is the boy?”
“The doctor would like to talk to you first.”
She led me down a long, narrow hall, turned right and went down a flight of stairs. There was only one office and a lobby filled with cheap plastic chairs.
“Just go through the doors. She’s expecting you.”
I don’t like to barge in on people, so I knocked on the door.
“I said just go on in,” the nurse demanded.
I carefully entered, hoping not to disturb the doctor. The room was huge and virtually empty. It looked like a classroom had been converted into an office. At the far end of the room was a large wooden desk. A tiny woman with grey hair was pounding on a keyboard, the sound of which echoed throughout the vast space.
“Father, come have a seat.”
“I’m not a priest.”
“Oh, sorry. I guess that makes sense. I don’t see the collar.”
“It’s alright.”
“Anyway. Welcome to Middlebrook. I hope it was easy to find and you were able to find a good parking spot.”
“Yes, yes. No issues here. Thank you.”
“Good. Let’s cut to the chase. I don’t like the idea of David having any visitors. It’s not the right time. He’s in a fragile state. What is your concern with him? I’ve never seen any other priest from your order visit this facility.”
“He has no godparents or any relatives to look after him. We have a registry of all baptized Catholics in this district. We just want to teach him the faith and help him with anything he needs… and of course, help the hospital as well. I am a psychiatrist myself.”
“I don’t think the family was Catholic. At least I’ve never been told that.”
Of course, it was a lie. I had no clue which, if any, denomination his family believed in.
“Well, he is. Look, I won’t be in your hair long. I doubt he’s receptive to any kind of religion right now anyway, but I at least want to try and to show him that people still care about his well-being. I want to convey to him that redemption is always available no matter what he’s done.”
She stopped talking and started looking around the room, I’m sure debating whether to allow me to visit or not.
“Follow procedures or you’ll never be allowed in this facility again.”
“Thank you. I appreciate this.”
“Don’t be shocked by what you see. He won’t let us cut his hair or trim his nails. Oh, and he has some weird condition with his right eye. It looks almost red. Nothing in his files about that. Of course.”
After listening to a brief synopsis of the facility rules, I was escorted upstairs to David’s room. The guard pulled off a huge key from his belt and opened the door. I walked in and as soon as I entered the room the door was shut and locked.
David was sitting on the bed with his back towards me. His black hair fell down the length of his back. He was wearing the standard white hospital pants and shirt. He reached up with his left hand and started tapping the wall with his long fingernails.
“Stan, that’s a weird name for an Italian,” he said, his voice sounding like an elderly man with emphysema. “Have a seat.” A chair on the other side of the room quickly slid to where I was standing.
As I sat down the lights went out. I was in complete darkness. I could hear David breathing. Suddenly, the light came back on and David was standing directly in front of me. He looked like a wild animal, with one blue eye, and one red eye.
“You see my red eye, as the Echthros predicted. You’ve come looking for the Antichrist, the Devil incarnate?”
“Yes,” I timidly answered. The voice unnerved me. I had seen a chair move by itself, and yet, it was the voice that disturbed me more.
“Well Stan my boy, I’m no Antichrist.”
“But you have all the signs.”
“I mean I am the Antichrist, but I just don’t want the gig.”
“You have to do it. You don’t have a choice. We can make your transition easier.”
“I don’t have to do shit. It is my choice,” he roared. The lights flickered off and on again and this time he was sitting in the corner staring at me. It was a menacing hateful stare.
“You see Stan ole boy I’ve read the book. I know the ending. The sooner I initiate the end of the world the sooner I get thrown in a lake of fire. Now, why would I want that?”
“It’s your destiny. It’s what God commands you to do, and I want…” I paused.
“You want to be the one that found me. You want glory. Pride, hmmm, one of the seven deadlies.” He wagged his finger at me disapprovingly. “That’s conduct unbecoming of a good Catholic monk.”
“Guard,” I hollered. I figured I had failed, and it was time for me to go. I located the Antichrist, but maybe a monk better than myself could convince him to fulfill his role.
The lights went out again and I felt the chair pulled out from underneath me. I fell to the floor. David jumped on top of my chest. The lights came back on and at that point he swiped down and scratched me across the face. He appeared to have two faces- a beast superimposed on top of an innocent child.
“Don’t call that motherfucker in here yet,” he growled.
“If you don’t want to do what you’re supposed to do then why keep me here? Let me go.”
“Oh, I’m leaving with you.”
“What do you mean? They're not going to let you leave.”
He laughed. “I’m the fucking Devil. I’ll let myself out. You see Stan, your dumbass order has been summoning me for years, just hoping that one day I’ll finally become the big bad Antichrist they need me to be. Then they can dash on up to Heaven and let me commit genocide for God. You know, kill the shit out of all those unbelievers. But I’ll never do it. I’m happy with what you guys give me- a body and a purpose. I’ve been incarnated throughout the years: Ivan the Terrible, Jack the Ripper, Zodiac Killer. Not Hitler though. That one was all natural. I’ve been lesser-known killers as well. Sometimes I like to keep a low profile. Be a little less infamous, but this time is different. I’m excited to see what David Greene is capable of. Now who do we got to kill to get out of here?”
He went over and laid down on the bed. He started kicking and screaming for help. The guards opened the door and three of them flooded into the room. With his fingernails, David slashed the first guard in his neck and pushed his head back, almost decapitating him. The second guard he effortlessly threw against the wall, banging the guard’s head so hard that it broke his neck. The third and final guard tried to run back out of the room, but David tackled him, climbed up his back and bit into his neck. David’s mouth opened up like a snake and he snapped down around the entire length of the guard’s neck. He clamped down like a tiger and choked the life out of the guard. David stood up and smiled an evil bloody grin. He motioned for me to follow him.
I hesitated.
#x200B;
“Come now, or end up like them,” he said as he pointed to the bodies lying on the floor.
#x200B;
We walked through the facility, David killing a nurse and several random employees. The facility doors opened as he approached, and we walked to freedom. In the following years I have become his assistant, his unwilling helper, burying bodies and running errands. It is my penance, what I rightly deserve for what I had attempted to do. An apt punishment for my sin. I have tried to escape several times, but he always manages to catch me. Is that unexpected though? After all, he is the Devil. |
#x200B;
I woke up feeling good for some reason. The morning light was streaming through the curtains thawing my face. I was thinking of Chazmon and also how nice it was to have a friend like Diego to pal around with. I had totally forgotten about the murder I witnessed the night before at the hands of that ghost, that thing, that.. whatever it was. Why did it spare me?
There was a hard knock at the front door and all the details came flooding back. I could hear my mother answer the door and her muddled conversation with a man. I couldn't make out what they were saying but it sounded serious from the tone of their voices.
A minute later there was another knock. This time on my bedroom door. "Bobby?" It was mom. "Come out here dear, there's a police detective who needs to talk to you."
I got half dressed and threw a robe on and went downstairs to face the music. There's no way I'm telling him the truth. But what then? I plopped down into the recliner in the living room and mom slapped a hot cup of java in my hand as the cop towered in front of me eyeing me head to toe.
"You Bobby Freck?", he asked sternly.
"I am."
"I got word from some other kids that you were at a party last night over at Daniel Newman's house. That right?" He was one of those square jawed guys with a crew cut and a light blue shirt with deep tan suit jacket that didn't hide his shoulder holster.
"I was there with my friend Diego. We danced with a couple of girls from school and had some Hawaiian punch. Was it spiked or something? Is that what this is about?"
He leaned down and stared me straight in the eyes. "I don't like your tone boy. I'm gonna ask you just once and by God you better tell me straight with no wise cracks. What happened to Jeff Holdson?"
I sipped my coffee to buy a few microseconds of time. "The guy helping out the DJ? What do you mean what happened to him? Is he missing or something?"
"You know damn well he's missing god damn it! I got two witnesses that saw you leave out the back of the house with him and the next time anybody saw him he was laying a pool of his own blood with his neck twisted almost clean off! I could put you in cuffs right now!" His pale peach face had turned a most exquisite shade of red at this point.
"What? Is this some kind of trick? Did Mrs. Calfrey put you up to this? Testing me to see if I got over the anger management issues? She needs cash again?" I was thinking fast.
"Who in god's green earth is Mrs. Calfrey son?"
My mom piped in to back me up after taking her curled fingers away from her mouth. "That was Bobby's last therapist. She strung us on for an extra nine months before she signed off on his court ordered therapy sessions."
"Well that sounds about right to me. Anger management huh? What happened Bob, Jeff making eyes at the girl you like? Couldn't control yourself?"
This guy was starting to get on my nerves. I gently set my cup down on the coffee table and calmly looked back at detective red face. "I tell you what detective. I've had a string of social workers, cops, teachers, school administrators, psychiatrists, parents, and classmates projecting their assumptions and personal prejudices onto me for years. And frankly, I no longer care what any of them think of me. I learned a long time ago that people like you are going to think what you want to about me no matter what I say or do or what the truth is. Fact is, I didn't kill Jeff and I only briefly spoke to him one time in my life over the course of a single cigarette. I'm done answering your questions and discussing this matter with you or anyone else so you arrest me for something or get the fuck out of my house."
He looked up at my mother in surprise. "Well you heard him Mr. Red. Cuff him or get out."
"Wait. His name is actually Red?", I asked amused.
He looked back at me with a kind of vulnerable expression. "Yeah, Detective Red."
I busted out laughing. "Oh shit. No way! Oh ha ha ha ha!"
"What?", he looked back at mom. "What's funny?"
"Nothing Mr. Red. Have a nice drive back to the station", she showed him to the door.
I actually felt kinda bad for him as I watched him through the window headed to his car. Yeah he was accusing me of a heinous murder which I did not commit, but he was just doing his job trying to 'shake the tree' as they call it. But then something happened that shook me right. He opened the door to his car and paused to look back at the house. His eyes seemed to fix right on mine although I know he couldn't see me through the curtain. But as it did, his face morphed into that same face from the night before. The emaciated, shriveled dead mans face of the ghost that killed poor Jeff.
A chill swept my entire body from head to toe. My hands started to mildly tremble. The rising dread inside was interrupted by the sudden slam of my mother's voice.
"So what did happen last night Bobby?", she asked quietly.
"I didn't kill him mom", I replied.
"I know baby. I know you'd never hurt anyone. But maybe... I don't know. You hear stories about withdrawals from some of those meds. Just...".
I sighed out loud. "This is exasperating", I stated flatly.
"I know. You've been through a lot these past few years but just tell me.... did your visions come back?"
I'm not the kind to lie to my mom but she's been through hell as much as me and the last thing she needs is to think that's it's all starting again. "No ma. It's got nothing to do with this. Jeff must have been in with the wrong crowd or something."
After breakfast I noticed Diego's car parked on the street in front of my next door neighbor's house. It looked like he was at the wheel. I went out to see what he was doing. As I approached the car he rolled the window down.
"Hey Bobby. How you doing?, he started.
"A little shaken up to be honest", I said.
"I'm not gonna lie, me too. I just got grilled for hour by a cop about Jeff getting killed. They been around to talk to you yet?"
"Yeah but we threw him out", I told him.
"You kidding me? You threw the police out of your house?", he asked amused.
"Well, my mom had my back."
"Oh shit! I wish I coulda seen that", Diego laughed. "Anyway, what the fuck did happen to Jeff? You see anything? Anybody suspicious around the house?"
I shook my head. "You can tell Detective Red I said no. I didn't see anything or anyone suspicious and next time just ask me yourself."
Now it was Diego's face that was getting red. "I'm sorry man. They had me scared like they thought I did it. They said you'd be more likely to talk to me since we're friends."
"I know bro. It's ok. This ain't my first rodeo. I expected them to use you. Anyway, I wanted to ask you something while you're here. My mom is making me go to this upscale party at her boss' Mansion tonight. These things are boring as hell but she said I could bring a friend if I wanted. You up for it?"
He looked surprised. "Yeah that sounds cool. I never been to anything like that."
Diego came back about 6 PM and tried on a few of my older tux's until we found one that fit him. My mom always had to go to these things and so we just splurged and bought appropriate clothes.
Her boss sent a limo to pick us up and we both had cokes from the built in fridge on the way there. Just outside the mansion's gate I thought I saw Detective Red's car parked in a neighbor's driveway.
The driver dropped us off at the rotunda in front of the main entrance and we walked inside where we were greeted by some hired help who took our coats and showed us the way to the lounge where the guests were mingling.
The room was ornate to say the least. Red carpet, plush red cushioned and patent leather chairs, crystal chandeliers glowing above, full bar and wait staff. Mr. Coddard lived in luxury while penny pinching every aspect of his business, especially my mom's salary.
"Wow Bob, this place is really something", Diego was impressed. And for good reason. The whole estate was like something out of an old movie. One of those flicks where everyone gathers at a rich old man's castle or mansion and the star has to solve a murder.
There was a huge dining room, a banquet hall/ballroom, and a hanging garden out back with fish ponds, bridges, and lots of those little constructed waterfalls that people love. I think mom said the ponds were stocked with Coy.
The outside of the manor had vines and ivy crawling up the sides of it's red stone exterior walls - not brick, but stone. The inside was laden with wood and very cozy for a mansion. It had lots of expensive looking rugs on the hardwood floors and a fireplace that you could stand inside.
There was a long corridor that led past the kitchen and ended at a large arched wooden door. It was always dimly lit and I heard someone say once that there was a stairway behind it that led to the wine cellar.
Diego was marveling at the place when a waiter asked him if he wanted a coke. He tried to get alcohol but the man just sniffled and handed him a coke anyway.
After a while things got boring. There was no one there under 21 except the two of us and all the adults did was chit chat while sipping on glasses of wine or liquor. We decided to check out the coy ponds out back.
The hanging gardens were set up with hydroponic root systems above the walkways and the vines of the plants fell over the sides and stretched down to the ground on both sides of the walkway forming a kind of plant hallway. These would end just before the walk way reached a small bridge over the canals that connected the ponds.
The sound of the water falls was soothing and we both just kind of stared at the fish in silence. "Chazmon would probably love this place", I pointed out.
"Yeah, and so would Alexis. That's her friend I was chillin with last night," he responded.
"We should have invited them. I guess my mind was on other things," I explained.
"Like the electric chair," Diego joked.
I chuckled. "Hey I gotta go pee. I'll be back in a few." Diego nodded and I walked back inside.
The bathrooms were down the hallway that led to the wine cellar. It was quiet back there and the noisey lounge became a background drone as my footsteps grew louder. I found the men's room and did my thing and came back out into the hall where I noticed the door to the wine cellar was open.
I stepped towards it and cocked my head to try to see if anyone was there. I could see some dim light coming up from somewhere down there and then some movement. It wasn't the waiter, instead a small girl about 3 or 4 years of age pushed the door a little more open so I could see her. She looked at me and smiled and then fell backwards right down the stairs.
I could hear her body banging on each wooden step as she fell. I was shocked and horrified. I quickly rushed to the door and opened it the rest of the way. Peering down I couldn't see the bottom through the darkness. "She must be there curled up at the foot of the stairs," I thought. I jogged down the steps to see if she was okay.
When I arrived at the bottom there was no girl there at all. I felt some warm moisture on the floor with my hand and so I held it up where there was a bit more light to check it out and sure enough it was fresh blood. I called out to her but heard nothing. I slowly scanned the room thinking maybe she crawled away.
The room had those traditional wooden racks of wine bottles in rows very much like a library. At the very top of the ceiling were small semicircle windows where the ground ended and the air began. I thought I heard the sound of someone scooting on the floor between two wine racks and so I walked over there. Just then it started raining outside and the sound of the drops hitting those little windows is all I could hear. That and some occasional thunder.
I was about to go back and get help when I heard a moan that indeed sounded like it was coming from a child. It was coming from the next room where a muted yellow glow was emanating. Must be a small light. I walked into the room under a stone archway and started to feel like something wasn't right. How could she have survived that tumble and then crawled in here in the amount of time it took me to get down the stairs? It didn't seem plausible.
I felt a sense of danger but saw nothing. In the small room were a few wine racks that were about half the height of the others due to the lower ceiling in there. I tried to walk back out when I felt the sensation of a single index fingertip touch my elbow from behind. Ever so slightly as to make me question whether it was real or just some random body itch.
It started moving slowly up my arm from my elbow towards my shoulder and as it did I could feel it more solidly until it was clear and obvious that it was a real sensation. Something was actually touching me. I was frozen still. Too afraid to move as if acknowledging it were to make it attack. But it felt like a child's finger so it might be her and she might need help.
I had goosebumps all over as the little finger tip was slowly moved up across my shoulder and up the side of my neck pushing the fine hairs there upward against the natural direction the hairs had grown in.
I couldn't take another moment and spun around as fast as I could while jumping back about three feet and raising my hands expecting to block something. And no one was there.
But protruding from behind a wine rack I saw a finger on the ground. Someone was there; but how did I miss it? The thunder rumbled around the sky outside, shaking the old wooden beams and boards of the dusty cellar as I stepped forward enough to see. Expecting the girl I was confused when I saw the whole body. It was one of the men serving drinks. His neck had been broken and there was blood on the cellar floor.
Later that night Detective Red would take samples of the blood on my hands to compare to the victim and grill me again for two hours. This time I made no snarky comments and mom wasn't even in the room. By the time he was done I had come to the realization of what the ghost was doing. It was setting me up.
|
Becoming a masseuse was never on my radar. Especially not one for the supernatural. So, because you’re probably wondering how I even got myself into this predicament, let me explain.
When I graduated highschool, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I hopped around between a couple of different jobs. Nine months here, seven there, a year at one and two years at another. And then COVID hit. During that time, I was mostly single. And if any of you folks are single, you know about this *incredibly* annoying, all consuming, indescribably *bothersome* feeling called, “touch deprivation.” Now, I know what you’re thinking…
*“Just get a weighted blanket!”*
*“Sleep with a body pillow!”*
*“Snuggle a dog or a cat or… Some other freaking animal!”*
Trust me, I’ve heard it all. But there was one idea that I did consider… Getting a massage. His name was Kaleb, and I swear to you, either I was worse off than I thought, or this man really did have the magic touch. So magical in fact, that it inspired me to become a masseuse myself.
When I finished my training, I applied at several places, but one in particular piqued my interest: Supernatural Sensations. I’ll be completely honest with you… I know how that sounds, but the place was legit. And it wasn’t one of those weird places that promises you a happy- Well, I’m not gonna elaborate on that, but you know what I mean! It was honest, good work!
When I first started working at Supernatural Sensations, there were five other employees, and I was the sixth. Most of them were seasoned masseuses, so I was a bit intimidated when I came in as the new kid on the block, but they were all really welcoming.
Except for Veronica Svetlocinni - my manager.
“So, I just wanted to go back over the rules with you. I know I briefly touched on it when you came in for your interview, but…” She paused, sharp eyes meeting mine as she stared down the bridge of her nose at me. “I’m going to be up front with you. When I said we catered to a *special type of clientele*, the 1%, I didn’t mean the elite, or the rich, or anything like what you were probably thinking.”
My mouth twisted up and my brows furrowed as I tried to understand what the heck this woman meant. *‘What in the world did I get myself into?’* That was my first thought. My second thought was, *‘just* ***what*** *type of clients am I dealing with, then?’*
“Let me elaborate.” Veronica’s red painted finger nails tapped on the desk as she crossed her legs and met my eye again. “Supernatural Sensations is known for its excellent service. We go above and beyond for all of our clients, but there are precautions in place due to our clients being… *Otherworldly*.”
My eyes narrowed as I mulled over her words. “You’re not trying to tell me that we actually cater to…” I trailed off, my mouth suddenly feeling a little dry.
“Yes.” She steepled her fingers together and nodded. “The supernatural. It’s in our name for a reason.”
“I guess I just assumed it was because-”
“Assumptions will get you in trouble here.” She leaned across the desk, a Cheshire-like grin stretching across her face, ruby painted lips twitching just the slightest as she laughed. “Trust me when I say, assume nothing.”
I gulped, the sound a little too loud in my ears. “So, I’m assuming there’s certain precautions I need to-”
“*Remember*,” she hissed through gritted teeth, lips tugged up once again into an incredibly fake smile, “No assumptions here.”
I simply nodded and waited for her to continue, her hands quickly passing me a sheet of paper.
“Yes, there are a special set of precautions in place for the protection of our employees. There aren’t many, but the ones that are listed on this sheet should be followed *very* closely.”
My eyes scanned over the sheet before she began to read over the rules, my knee bouncing wildly, anxiety slowly beginning to flood my system.
“First things first, we serve many different types of supernatural clients, but if by any chance, your particular client is of vampiric descent, I strongly suggest that you bring them a nice, warm…” She paused, winking at me. “*Beverage* beforehand. Either Guinevere or Beckham should be able to help you with that.”
“And they are?” I asked, my disbelieving mind already whispering the answer into my ears as she answered.
She smiled again, the action sort of strange looking on her severe features. Nothing about Veronica was soft. Thick, raven colored hair came to a stop right at her chin, and jet black eyeliner lined her sage green eyes, the wings on the end of them sharp enough to kill. A part of me almost wondered if she, herself, was otherworldly.
“They’re our donors.” Her pointer finger drifted to rule number two, barely giving me a chance to come to terms with the first.
“Rule number two: When dealing with any type of aquatic creature, I suggest wearing ear plugs. They are to tell me exactly what services they’re interested in prior to their appointment, so there shouldn’t be any need for them to converse with you whatsoever.”
When I raised a brow at her statement, she continued, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Kelpies and sirens are known for being quite… Convincing. They’re easy on the ears, voices smooth as silk, but let them worm their way into your mind and you’ll find yourself in quite the predicament.”
“And if they do need something or they do anything strange?” I asked, my eyes landing on the little metal bucket of orange ear plugs behind her desk.
“You press the silver button under the massage table, and Jeff will be in to assist you. He can be very… *Persuasive* if the client shows signs of being potentially unruly.”
“And I’m guessing Jeff isn’t… *Human*? If that's the case, what is he exactly?”
Veronica laughed, a strange cackling sound bursting forth from her lips. “Don’t worry about that! Just be glad that he’s working *for* us, instead of *against* us.”
Her cat-like eyes almost seemed to glow as she winked at me before continuing onto the last rule. “There are lots of other tips and tricks you’ll probably pick up on from the other employee’s but these three are the ones that we always go over with new hires.”
With a tap of her finger on the last rule, she started in again. “The last and final rule is *very* important. Prior to scheduled appointments, if we get a new client, our receptionist, Paloma, always asks them what supernatural category they fall into. But on the odd chance that someone slips through who isn’t *what* or *who* they say they are, grab the bottle of massage oil that says, ‘Aqua Benedicta,’ *immediately* dump it on the client and press the silver button under the massage table that calls for Jeff.”
My fingers fidgeted with the little silver ring on my pinky finger as I recounted her words. “What type of clients are the most dangerous?”
“The demonic ones,” she simply replied, her eyes narrowed to slits. “Those are the worst. We try our best not to discriminate, but I can’t tell you how many issues we’ve had with their kind. After what happened to one of our last masseuses though, we’ve buckled down and made the decision to outright decline any and all of their appointments, so you shouldn’t have any run-ins with them!”
“Yeah, okay…” I awkwardly laughed, my hand coming up to scratch the back of my neck. “Thanks, that makes me feel a lot better!”
“The sarcasm is cute.” Veronica smirked, lips once again curling up into a wicked grin as I stood to leave her office. “Oh, and Clara?”
I stopped in my tracks and turned to face her.
“That wasn’t meant to make you feel better. It was meant to protect you.” She leaned back in her office chair, crossed her arms and said, “I’m serious. This job isn’t for the faint of heart.”
With a nod, I stepped out of her office and started my first day. Most of my clients were walk-ins, so I got the most harmless ones. None that I had to wear ear plugs for, or press any buttons, or dump some silly substance on. And it was like that for about a month.
Somewhere around three months in, I got my first kelpie client, who of course, tried to speak to me. Jeff was quick to set them straight though, taking over the rest of my appointment and sending them out the door with a look of terror plastered across their face that instantly made me never want to find out *what* he was exactly, or what went on in that room after I left.
My first vampire client wasn’t until month five of my employment. I quickly offered them a warm “beverage,” also known as Guinevere's spectacular A+ blood, and then got to work on their massage. They were well behaved; we even had a nice little banter between the two of us, and then they rescheduled a few weeks out. Everything was smooth sailing, and I’d almost gotten past the fact that I worked for a supernatural massage parlor instead of a normal one.
Until I met Adonis Moretti.
The day started out like any other. I was completely booked, as always, and had just finished with my last client for the day when Paloma asked if I’d be willing to take a walk-in. I glanced at the clock: 4:09 PM. By this time of day, my hands were aching and my feet were sore, so I was more than a little hesitant. Not to mention that the parlor closed at five, and I’d already started cleaning up my room.
“Paloma, can none of the others take this one on? I’ve already started cleaning up, and my day was jam packed with clients.”
“Two of the other masseuses have already left for the day, Edith is out sick, Tanna is still wrapped up with a client and Reyna is helping restock some things in the back.” She paused a moment, her eyebrows quirked up excitedly and her bottom lip tugged between her teeth before she giggled and said, “Besides, he’s incredibly handsome!”
I placed a clean towel over my massage table before turning around and leaning against the edge of it, a small smirk threatening to spill across my own lips. “On a scale of one to -”
“Eleven,” she blurted out, her laughter bouncing off of the walls before she covered her mouth and pointed outside towards the reception area. “I’m not kidding. This guy is like, *Greek god* perfect. When he smiled at me, it was like angels started singing.”
I giggled, before I rolled my eyes and said, “Okay, I guess I can squeeze him in. What am I working with?” I asked, my hands hooked into the back pocket of my jeans.
“He’s part of the fae, so he shouldn’t give you any trouble besides maybe sliding in a joke here and there, but then again, they are known to be mischievous little tricksters!” Paloma poked her head back out the door and waved to him before turning back to me. “He promised me that he would be on his best behavior though!”
“Yeah, I’ve dealt with one or two of his kind before. Go ahead and send him in!”
Paloma sort of danced in place before she stepped out into the hall and whispered, “I promise you won’t regret it!”
The second Paloma came tromping back down the hall with this new guest in tow, I couldn’t help but gawk at the sheer size of the man. His head ducked under the doorframe as he stepped into the room, his presence almost as imposing as his size. Thick soled, black boots squeaked as he strode over to me and shook my hand, his easily dwarfing my much smaller one.
“Adonis Moretti. Nice to meet you.” My eyes nonchalantly traveled up his torso, his gray T-shirt stretched taut over the expanse of his chest before straining against broadened shoulders. When I finally settled on his eyes, I couldn’t help the magnetic pull that I felt. Honey brown stared back at me, framed by thick, dark lashes.
“I- I’m-” I stuttered for a second, tripping over my words before I caught myself. “I’m so sorry! Where are my manners?!” I blurted out. “Clara Thomas.”
Adonis shook my hand, one brow raised as a dazzling smile turned the corners of his lips upwards to reveal a row of perfectly white teeth. Paloma wasn’t wrong… This man was the *epitome* of gorgeous.
“Should I take a seat over here or-?”
A nervous giggle bubbled up from my lips, but I tried to shove it down. I hadn’t felt this giddy since I was a school girl! Clearing my throat, I pointed to the massage table and directed him on what to do, running through the instructions as fast as I could. The clock on the wall glared back at me, 4:30 ticking closer and closer to five. Luckily, he only booked for a 30 minute massage, so this would be quick.
Everything was perfectly fine during the first fifteen minutes. It was the last fifteen when things started to take a turn.
“Say, what got you into this business?” Adonis asked as I kneaded the upper portion of his back with the heel of my hands.
I smiled and pressed down a little harder, trying to work out a knot. “There’s no easy way to say this than to just admit that I was sort of-” I paused, the words dancing on the tip of my tongue.
“This is sort of embarrassing to admit, but I fell in love with this profession during COVID, after a long bout of being single. I guess you could say I was kind of touch deprived, and it really seemed to help, so I figured, why not turn the very thing that helped me into a job that I can use to help other people,” I shrugged. “Similar problem or not.” Moving onto his shoulders I continued, “I just like helping people.”
“Why not become a doctor if you like helping people?” he asked. I could hear the smirk in his voice.
“Yeah, I was not about to put myself through the tortures of med school.” My hands smoothed over his shoulders one last time before they moved to his neck.
“So, touch deprivation then?” He chuckled, the sound deep and warm, almost like it was caressing my ears. My body involuntarily leaned in closer to him as he spoke. “So, are you still single then?”
The question caught me off guard, my cheeks slightly burning a light shade of red. This wasn’t something I usually went into detail about with clients, but for some reason, I found the words tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop them. “I am, actually.”
Adonis hummed in response.
My eyes glanced back up at the clock before I proceeded to tie things up. He was quiet for the rest of the appointment, up until it was time for him to get dressed.
“Okay, that concludes your appointment,” I said, placing my lotions and oils back on the cart. “I’m going to step out of the room for a moment while you-”
“Clara.”
I immediately froze.
*“Come here.”*
Before I realized what was happening, I turned and walked across the room, my legs suddenly growing a mind of their own.
“E-Excuse me??” I stuttered out. “Did you need something?” An intense feeling of unease settled over me before my fingers twitched, eyes darting to the little silver button hidden under the massage table.
“I did need something, actually…” His words trailed off as his hands reached out to grip my waist, tugging me closer to him. Something about him smelled intoxicatingly addictive, a mixture of sweet and spicy. It was flooding my senses and muddying my thoughts. “ In fact…” he started, a wicked grin flickering across his lips. “I think you need the same thing.”
“This is- This is not that type of massage parlor, sir!” I stumbled over my words once again, my cheeks reddening more and more by the second.
A dark chuckle shook free from him, the low timbre of it both terrifying and enticing me. “Oh, you’ve got me all wrong. That’s a tempting thought, but what I really want is to solve your little touch deprivation issue.” His fingers slid under the fabric of my t-shirt, tracing circles on the exposed skin. I sucked in a breath and then managed to shove a few words past my lips.
“I’m fine, really!” My attempt at trying to sound convincing was a complete and utter failure. I was far from fine. This man had a chokehold on my body that I couldn’t seem to break, and my mind didn’t know whether to be tempted by the thought of seeing just what he meant or running out of there like my pants were on fire. Either way, I was terrified.
In one swift movement, his lips met the curvature of my ear, and a small gasp escaped my lips. The warmth of his breath fanned out against it as he spoke, but instead of feeling any type of pleasure, I paled at his words, fear doubling down and racing through my system like red-hot lava.
“Let me under that pretty skin of yours,” he growled, “and I promise you that you'll never suffer from touch deprivation *ever* again.”
Sharp breaths left my lips as my chest heaved. My fingers itched to press the button and call for help, but it was as if my body had betrayed me, bending helplessly to his will.
“What-” I clenched my eyes shut and fought to shake the haze that was starting to cloud my mind. “ What are you?” I hissed through tightly clenched teeth. “You’re not a fae.”
“Correct,” he breathed, the tip of his tongue darting out to trace the shell of my ear. “Try something a little more… *Demonic*.”
Chills rained down my arms as I shook my head. “Stop,” I pleaded. “Please don’t do this.”
“Tell me what I am,” he commanded. “*Say it*.”
“I- I don’t know what type of demon you are,” I whimpered as he brushed back a strand of my hair.
“You poor little lamb,” he crooned. “I’m best known as an incubus, and right now…” He sucked in a breath, his other hand tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. “I intend to possess you, body and soul.”
A loud thump sounded from behind me, Adonis’s eyes immediately narrowing.
“Jeff,” he spat. “*Lovely* to see you.”
“*Release her*,” he ordered his voice slicing through the haze that settled over my mind. My legs felt like jelly, but I immediately ran towards the door and shoved past Jeff.
I can’t exactly explain what all happened in that room, or how Jeff handled the situation, but I *can* tell you one thing, the ungodly shrieks that I heard as I bolted out of there could only be described as pain and agony in the worst ways imaginable.
When Jeff finally finished whatever torture he had inflicted on Adonis, he nodded towards the broom closet and mumbled, “Grab as many cleaning supplies as you can. We need to get this room cleaned up before tomorrow.”
I didn’t know what I was expecting when I stepped in, but this far surpassed it. A black, inky substance clung to walls, oozing off of it like a gelatinous sludge. Various bits of brain matter clung to the floor like fragments of lumpy oatmeal, thick and slimy. My eyes shot over to Jeff and I couldn’t help the terror that coursed through my veins the second I saw him stop and admire his work, the ghost of a smile on his lips.
It took the both of us a little over three hours to scrub that room clean. I still don’t know what Jeff did with the rest of the body, as I never saw it, but my mind couldn’t help but circle back to one singular thought - Veronica was right, and I am *SO* incredibly glad that Jeff works *for* us and not *against* us.
I’ve been at Supernatural Sensations for about two years now, and although I’m not quite sure what Jeff does to the unruly clients, or what he is, I have learned one thing: Jeff *feeds* on pain. After that incident, the screening process up front became much more extensive. And although I continue to work for a massage parlor that caters to the supernatural…
|
The empty parking lot stretched before me like a forgotten grave made of concrete and steel. Fluorescent lights buzzed softly above, making shadows move across the cold, grey floor. I couldn't remember how I got here, but one thing was clear: I wasn't alone.
A prickling awareness crept up my spine, and it got worse with every echoed step I took. Endless corners of the parking lot stretched into infinity, concealing half-lit passages of abandoned cars, seemingly plucked from a dream, forgotten by time. It was a strange place; the architecture was reminiscent of that from my childhood. I felt stuck in a never-ending night.
I wandered for what felt like an eternity. Suddnely, my heart hammered against my ribcage as I turned a corner. There it was, a sinister figure that looked nothing like a human. Its arms and legs were long and loose. It seemed lifeless yet poised. Its face was a pale mask, smooth and polished, devoid of emotion or individuality. Its eye sockets were empty, peering out of its face as it stared into my soul. I had never seen a thing more ominous.
My heart pounded relentlessly in my chest. My knees turned to jelly as I quivered uncontrollably, causing me to stumble backward. Yet the "thing" continued to come forward eerily, disjointedly. The urge to run gripped me like a vice; it was as though an ancient instinct buried deep within me had awakened with ferocious intensity. With every fiber of my being, I could feel the urgency, the need to surrender to this primal impulse. So, I did. My footfalls against the ground echoed like my heartbeat reverberating through the silent, empty night.
As I printed down the dimly lit aisles, panic came over me when I heard the constant creaking behind me. I had to figure out how to get out of this god-forsaken place. But every time I turned or rounded a corner, it was there, and its evil presence grew more robust. As I continued running, the surroundings changed, like a mirage of endless halls. I was stuck and lost in a terrible loop.
The weight of futility pressed upon my shoulders like an impossible burden; each step I took felt in vain. Every fiber of my being cried out in resignation, and my limbs, once driven by determination, slowly became lifeless. Finally, I gave up and fell to the complex, cold ground, exhausted and beaten. The faceless mask of the “thing” hovered inches against mine. I could feel its cold breath on my skin, like a silent yet ominous presence.
I shivered. It was a visceral, gut-wrenching sensation, as if an icy hand reached into my chest and squeezed my heart. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, stretching each of my heartbeats into an eternity. Every creak of its body was a sinister omen, a harbinger of unspeakable horror lurking inches away from me.
In a final act of desperation, I closed my eyes and whispered a prayer, begging profusely for salvation. The air got colder as the “thing” let out a screech. The sound was a grotesque symphony; each reverberation sent shockwaves of fear through me. I have never heard a sound more ominous. I stayed still, paralyzed in fear, for god knows how long. When I finally got the courage to open my eyes, I was back alone, and the garage was back to being empty and lonely. I cried.
The feeling of relief washed over me like an incredible, soothing wave, banishing the suffocating grip of fear that had held me hostage. One thing echoed through my mind: it was to get out—the urgency to find the exit coursed through my veins like a surge of electricity. Every nerve in my body screamed for escape. I tripped and got lost as I tried to do so. The neon lights buzzed and made everything look pale and sick. I pushed my body to its limits; my lungs burned for air, and my muscles ached with exertion. And then, when it felt like all hope was fading, I saw it - the exit door, my salvation. With a final surge of adrenaline, I raced toward it. Finally, I did it.
As I exited the garage, the lingering, unshaken presence crept over me. It was as if unseen eyes bore into my very core being. I stepped out into the cool night air, and the open sky was a pleasant change from the garage's stuffy concrete walls. An overwhelming rush of joy surged through me, and my worries and fears that plagued me for an eternity dissolved into insignificance. It was a state of pure, unadulterated joy.
To this day, I’m still unsure how to comprehend moreover, to share what I have just experienced. But one thing’s for sure: the “thing” I saw should not exist, at least not in the plane of the living. I still couldn't get rid of the memory of that god-forsaken place. It seems to me that the world holds more secrets than we could ever fathom. At the very edge of reality, perhaps, is where they exist, waiting to catch anyone who dares to get too close.
|
I know it’s cliche, but ever since Edward was born I’ve wanted him to say "Dada."
Dad, Daddy, or even Pa would all be great too.
Any or all of the above!
I don't know when my obsession started... It was probably around the time that Eddie rocketed out of the birth canal.
Something about your first child changes you in the head, I guess.
Here I was thinking about football, getting an oil change, and what was for dinner. Then less than 24 hours later, I'm coming home with Hannah and a brand new little human in her arms. And that's when I became solely focused on getting "Dada."
Of course, Hannah was just as anxious to hear "Mama," and that usually comes first. The M's are easier for babies to say.
Still, there was a chance that Dada could get that come-from-behind victory. With enough prep, I was convinced I could make it happen.
First, it was weeks of Eddie learning to sleep, eat, and adjust to life outside the womb.
When he started to gurgle and babble, the race was on.
"Dada, sayyy Dada!" I'd say, just inches from his beaming face.
"Bbblababababallllbb," Eddie would respond.
Days and weeks went by. I'd parse out family time carefully, interspersing Hannah's occasional "Mama" request with a barrage of "Say Dada... Dada, Dada, Dada..."
"Bbblababababallllbb!"
The little guy was doing his best.
It was months into Eddie's life, when we finally got his first real word.
"Bug!"
Bug??? Are you kidding me?
"Was that his first word?" Hannah had asked, just as confused.
"Uh... no... Eddie, say 'Dada' or 'Mama' for us. You can do it."
"BUG," Eddie squealed.
Hannah and I shared a perplexed look.
"Did you teach him that?"
"No! Did you?"
"Of course not... It must be in one of his toys or songs. That's so strange."
But "bug" didn't spoil our party.
Hannah and I celebrated "bug" with nearly the fervor as we might have Mama or Dada, expertly hiding our dismay for Eddie's sake.
And I was still determined, more than ever.
That weekend, I was bouncing Eddie on my shoulder, trying to get him some sleep in between our vocab practices.
"Bug," Eddie unmistakably babbled for the upteenth time that week.
"Yeah sport, I hear you. Bug."
"Bug," Eddie said again.
And I bleep you not, Eddie was reaching toward one of those bugs that you see skittle across the floor from time to time. (They're called carpet beetles, I think. And of course, they're totally harmless.)
I don't have any clue how he spotted it, but there it was.
"Bug!"
He wanted it badly, squirming in my arms, reaching and now freshly awake.
"OK Eddie, OK."
I let him crawl up to the beetle, which wasn't in any hurry to escape.
"Bug bug bug," Eddie rattled off, the most excited I'd ever seen him.
"Yeah kiddo, good. Bug."
I think it's actually pretty impressive that he would identify that. I almost got my phone to record it, but that's when his outburst began:
"BUG BUG BUG!"
I stepped over to Eddie as his voice got louder, probably the loudest I'd ever heard outside of his routine crying.
"Do you want me to-"
SMACK.
"Bug!!!"
Eddie killed the beetle with a clenched fist.
"Geez, Eddie."
He stared at the mess he'd made and squealed his loudest, celebrating his victory.
I picked him up and took him to the sink.
Hannah would be unhappy if she found beetle guts all over his hands.
\*\*\*
Eddie hadn't said "bug" since he killed the carpet beetle. He actually has a new word.
"Coco."
If you didn't notice, that's not Mama or Dada, but it's close. Two syllables. Repetitive.
I think we're almost there.
"Coco!"
Somehow, Eddie picked up on our Chihuahua's name. He must have heard us say it at some point, or maybe C's are easier for Eddie to pronounce than M's or D's.
Coco is pretty old, and barely able to see or hear, so the toddler screeching its name is probably as bewildering as it is to me and Hannah.
It's kind of cute, though.
The two of them have certainly formed a unique bond. Like that Pixar short that was before, uh, well I actually forget which movie they paired that one with.
Eddie calls for Coco, and Coco usually will approach within a few feet.
Eddie cheers "Coco!" over and over again and then exhausts himself. Then, the cycle repeats a couple hours later after an inevitable nap.
In addition to Eddie's second word, he's gotten more mobile. He'll crawl around and play with his food now. It means we can let him bounce around his nursrey, allowing Hannah and I to do chores, so long as one of us is watching.
At least, we thought that was the case.
It was a Sunday afternoon. I was half-watching football while Hannah was out shopping.
Every few seconds, I'd check on Eddie and make sure he was enjoying himself, not getting into trouble and so on.
Sooner or later though, I had to use the restroom. It literally took me two minutes, maybe less.
"Coco Coco Coco. COCO!"
It had been a few days since Eddie had a Coco burst like that. It was audible throughout the house.
I returned to the play room as quickly as I could, and when I got there, I understood why Eddie had been squealing so ecstatically.
Coco was dead.
\*\*\*
I buried Coco by the time Hannah got home that night.
She was crushed. We loved that little dog.
After a good cry and a mini-funeral, we'd opened a bottle of wine and were trying to figure out what to watch on TV.
"So... You just found him?" Hannah asked, finally able to talk about it.
"Yeah. Coco just... took a nap and didn't wake up."
"That's for the best," she said. "I guess we were expecting that sooner or later."
"Totally. He was really up there in years."
Hannah sighed, searching the streaming site with the remote.
"Can you get us some popcorn or something?" she asked.
"Sure."
I checked over my shoulder one more time before leaving the room.
She wasn't suspicious in the slightest.
Out of respect for Hannah's squeamishness (and trying to avoid a rather gruesome truth) I'd spared her the details. I'd outright lied.
The images flashed through my mind as I combined kettle corn with SnoCaps.
Coco hadn't passed in his sleep.
When I'd returned from my midday bathroom break, Coco had managed to hop Eddie's child safety fence, which I assumed had sparked the "Coco" outburst.
Re-latching the gate, I'd turned the corner to find Eddie still squealing in the corner.
Coco was wrapped in his tiny arms.
"Cocooo!!!" Eddie shrieked.
The toddler was squeezing the life out of the poor animal.
I shouted, horrified at the sight of it all. And I did my best to stop it. But I was too late.
By the time I'd reached Eddie and separated Coco from his vice grip, the pup had gone limp.
"Eddie! Why? What did you do?!"
Eddie's breath slowed.
He looked up at me and just smiled.
"Coco." Eddie answered.
I put Eddie in his crib for a nap, buried Coco, and wiped all the footage from our indoor cameras.
I still hadn't processed it, honestly. Eddie killing the bug was a fluke, but this was strange.
I'd just never heard of something like that.
"Honey! Come in here!"
"Almost done," I called down the hallway, realizing I'd spent too much time PTSD'ing.
"Now!"
I dropped everything and jogged back to the living room, my pulse suddenly racing.
"Are you OK?"
Hannah was holding Edward in her arms, a giant smile on both their faces.
"Say it baby. Say it again. Come on..."
I looked down at Eddie, confused. Our eyes met.
"Dada!"
Hannah gasped.
"I can't believe it! That's his third word!" she celebrated.
My jaw dropped.
She added, "Oh, I'm so jealous. You're sooo lucky!"
"Dada... Dada!"
I should have been elated too, but inside, all I felt was terror.
"Dada! Dada! DADA!!!"
"He's saying it! Wow!"
The child reached his arms out toward me.
He said "Dada" and that meant somehow, at some unknown moment...
I was going to be next. |
As I gazed around the cabin that had become my sanctuary, a sense of impending urgency gnawed at me. While it had provided shelter and a semblance of safety, it was also a beacon in the wilderness, a marker that could draw in both the desperate and the ruthless. The thought of the encounter I had just survived replayed in my mind, the image of the blood-stained club and the lifeless bodies a haunting reminder.
I knew I couldn't linger here forever, cocooned in the false security of my makeshift refuge. The world beyond the cabin had become a twisted and unforgiving landscape, where survival demanded vigilance and adaptability. If I stayed, the risk of discovery and subsequent confrontation would only increase.
What if those teens had been adults? The chilling question taunted me, a stark reminder of the unpredictable nature of the world I now navigated. Against three adults, my chances of survival would have been slim at best. The forest, once a place of solace, now held the potential for danger at every turn.
With a heavy sigh, I acknowledged that the time would come when I would have to leave the cabin behind. It wasn't a choice driven by desire but by necessity. I couldn't allow myself to become complacent, to assume that the worst was behind me. The events of the recent encounter were etched into my memory, a stark reminder that the line between life and death was razor-thin.
As I scanned the cabin's interior, my thoughts turned to the supplies I had accumulated—the essentials that would sustain me as I ventured back into the unknown. The forest held its secrets, its perils, and its promise, and I needed to be ready to face both. The choice was mine to make—to stay and risk discovery, or to venture out and confront the dangers that awaited.
Leaving the cabin would be a bittersweet farewell to the solitude that had offered temporary respite. Yet, it was also a declaration of my determination to survive, to adapt, and to navigate the treacherous path that had become my reality. With a heavy heart and a wary mind, I knew that my journey was far from over.
Over the next two days, a quiet determination gripped me as I methodically prepared for the uncertain path that lay ahead. The cabin, once my sanctuary, now served as a staging ground for my departure—a departure that was marked by a sense of both trepidation and resolve.
With careful precision, I gathered the essentials—rations that would sustain me through the trials of the unknown. Cans of food, dried fruits, and water bottles found their way into a worn backpack, each item chosen with a keen eye for sustenance that would stretch as far as possible. Medical supplies were a priority too—a reminder that the dangers beyond were not to be underestimated.
The hunting rifle leaned against the cabin's wall, a symbol of both protection and potential sustenance. I checked and rechecked its ammunition, knowing that every shot would be a precious commodity in the unforgiving wilderness. Beside it, an old Western-style revolver was tucked into a holster, its weight reassuring against my hip. With an ample supply of bullets, it became a reminder that my survival depended on my ability to defend myself.
The machete gleamed in the firelight, its blade freshly sharpened to a lethal edge. It was more than a tool—it was a lifeline that promised both protection and utility. As it found its place among my belongings, I felt a strange sense of connection to the primitive instincts that had been awakened in me by the chaotic world outside.
As I surveyed my preparations, a mix of emotions swirled within me. Fear and uncertainty were undeniable, but they were tempered by the knowledge that I was choosing to step into the unknown, to confront the dangers that had driven me from my sanctuary. The desire to survive, to outlast the chaos that had engulfed the world, was a driving force that fueled my every action.
With the backpack secured and my weapons in place, I took a final glance around the cabin that had sheltered me. It had been a haven in a time of turmoil, a fleeting respite from the horrors of the outside world. But I couldn't afford to remain stagnant—not when survival demanded adaptability and the willingness to face the darkness head-on.
With the cabin fading in the distance behind me, I set my sights on the horizon, my heart heavy with the weight of what lay ahead. The forest, once a place of refuge, now beckoned with its mysteries and dangers. As I stepped into the unknown, I carried with me the lessons learned, the tools for survival, and a relentless determination to endure whatever challenges the world might throw my way.
Amid the solitude of my departure, a singular purpose anchored my journey—a pristine notebook, untouched and waiting. Its pages held the promise of a narrative, a narrative that would carry the echoes of a world that once thrived, now enshrouded in shadows.
With ink as my voice, I envisioned my experiences etched across those blank pages. They would recount my odyssey—the battles waged against both nature's fury and the demons born from humanity's downfall. Each stroke of the pen would stand as a whisper against the consuming silence, a testament to a life that once flourished.
Yet, the notebook held a silent gamble, an uncertain venture into the unknown. Would these words find other eyes? Would my story resonate beyond my own heart? I wouldn't know, but I wrote with an urgency that transcended my survival as if by writing, I could shape the world anew.
As leaves rustled and the forest breathed around me, the notebook absorbed my thoughts. It became a confidant, a vessel for my fears, dreams, and the unyielding spirit propelling me forward. Each written word was a lifeline, cast into the void with the hope that it would reach beyond my solitude.
Amid contemplation, the ink flowed onto the pages. The journal wasn't mere writing—it was a declaration of existence. Its purpose lay beyond me; it was a thread connecting the past and present, a testament that even amid turmoil, human stories persisted.
The notebook's fate was uncertain. It might fade into obscurity, untouched, or it could one day find hands eager to unravel its tales. But regardless, I wrote on—my pen a bridge between what was and what could be, my words a tribute to resilience—a resilience that defied the encroaching darkness.
I am Eric Davids, and three months ago, the sun had set on our world, its warm embrace fading into darkness, never to rise again. |
(Have to post in parts since Reddit won't let me post all at once)
The initial inkling of strangeness came as the sun, an everyday companion, dipped below the horizon in its predictable trajectory. The skies transformed into a canvas of vibrant colors as the golden orb painted its farewell. But as twilight melted into night, an odd sensation began to take hold. The moon, once a familiar guardian of the night, had seemingly vanished, leaving the world in an abyssal void.
As the hours pressed on, a pall of disquiet descended upon the land. The usual sounds of nocturnal creatures were notably absent, replaced by an eerie silence that hung in the air like a tangible presence. Streetlights, the dim beacons that offered a semblance of comfort, flickered uncertainly, casting distorted shadows that danced menacingly on the pavement.
My footsteps echoed through the deserted streets as I ventured outside, drawn by an instinct to seek answers. But the darkness was impenetrable, swallowing my surroundings and distorting familiar landmarks into ghostly forms.
As midnight approached, a creeping sensation of isolation gnawed at my mind. I longed for the sun's return, its warmth, and the light that had always been a constant. My watch remained stubbornly still, time itself disrupted by the inexplicable disappearance.
Sleep proved elusive as the night wore on. Dreams mingled with reality, each shadow taking on a life of its own, and every rustle in the darkness triggering a jolt of panic. I strained my ears for sounds that didn't belong, fearing what unknown horrors might lurk just beyond sight.
Dawn, the harbinger of hope, remained elusive. The world remained enshrouded in an unending night, the boundaries between day and night irrevocably shattered. Sanity teetered on the brink as I grappled with the reality that the sun, the very essence of life, had vanished without a trace.
Hours turned into days, and a sense of futility settled in—a world without the sun, without its guiding light and life-giving energy. In the endless expanse of darkness, time lost its meaning, and the promise of dawn was nothing more than a distant memory. The disappearance of the sun had plunged us into a realm where reality was twisted, and fear held dominion over a world forever shrouded in night.
In the wake of the sun's inexplicable disappearance, the initial response from the government was one of reassurance. Officials issued statements, urging citizens to remain calm, attributing the event to a temporary celestial anomaly. They spoke of scientific investigations, of experts working tirelessly to unravel the mystery.
Yet, as days turned into nights and the skies remained locked in eternal darkness, the facade of calm began to crack. Panic spread through the populace like wildfire, and trust in the authorities wavered. Communication networks faltered, plagued by confusion and misinformation. Fearful murmurs replaced the once-steady hum of daily life.
In an attempt to regain control, the government deployed military forces to maintain order. But the sense of unease had evolved into a pervasive dread that defied containment. Protests erupted, demanding answers, demanding the return of the sun. People took to the streets, demanding truth and clarity in a world that had been plunged into chaos.
As the government's hold on power weakened, factions formed. Dissent gave rise to resistance, and a growing sentiment of distrust fueled an undercurrent of rebellion. The first signs of anarchy emerged—looting, violence, and a general breakdown of law and order. The streets once bustling with life now teemed with uncertainty and danger.
Attempts to quell the unrest were met with resistance, with protesters refusing to back down. As the darkness persisted, so did the people's desperation. The once-solid walls of authority crumbled under the weight of a world that had lost its guiding light.
Amid the chaos, pockets of rebellion grew bolder. Gatherings turned into organized movements, and dissent transformed into outright defiance. The government's control became a tenuous thread, stretched thin by the mounting turmoil. Society's fabric frayed as loyalties shifted and allegiances changed.
It wasn't long before the unthinkable occurred—the government, once the embodiment of power, was overthrown. A new order emerged from the ashes, one borne out of necessity and fueled by anger. The anarchy that had simmered below the surface erupted into a full-blown revolution. A power vacuum had opened, and the vacuum was filled by those who sought control in a world that had been cast adrift.
With the dawn of this new era came a grim reality. The streets, once marked by protest, now bore the scars of conflict. The world, once governed by law, was now a landscape dominated by a struggle for survival. Chaos reigned supreme as society plunged into a realm where morality and order were no longer absolutes. |
It was night, it was like 1am, and I went outside for a little bit of fresh air, because something made me cry so hard that I felt like suffocating in my room. I was outside and I heard footsteps in my garden. At first I thought it was my cat or my dog. Then, I heard more footsteps, it was like it was going towards me. I took a deep breath, and went to look what was there.
I saw a big black silhouette, and it was not mine. I ran back as fast as I could in my room, and put my blanket all over me.
The next nights I still went outside, thinking it was a hallucination or something. But in all of those nights after that happened, I heard footsteps, and still from the garden. Now I am afraid to go outside at night, because I am afraid of what can happen. Maybe I am just paranoid, but I am not risking it. |
So, I (22m) stayed a night in a hotel in Ohio, before catching a flight early the next morning. Everything went well at first, check in was smooth the room was nice. I ordered some pizza and shortly after eating I fell asleep around 10 pm.
I slept pretty good until about 2 am. I was woken up to the sound of what I think was people talking. I couldn't really make out words, but it definitely sounded like voices.
Half awake, I rubbed my eyes and looked around as the sound appeared to be getting closer. I began to be able to make out that it was a conversation, but in a language I didn't understand. It almost sounded like the Latin we sang in high school choir.
I don't know why it scared me so much but as they got closer to my room I froze, the only sounds in the room were now the AC unit and my breathing.
They stopped at my door, I could hear them shuffling around, talking on a hushed tone. Shit. I tried so hard not to even move, breathing as quietly as possible. I didn't want to be dramatic and hide in the bathroom, but I also didn't want to dismiss it because of the what if's.
After what felt like an eternity of trying not to move and hearing them talk the door handle started to go absolutely wild, like they were trying to jerk or off the handles. The noise of the door rapidly hitting the frame and the handle being jerked in every direction filled the room in such a way that it almost felt like I couldn't hear myself think.
"This room is occupied, please go away." I tried to sound like the big burley man I tend to be but there was a shake in my voice. I knew I was too far from home to call for help, this was between me and whoever was on the other side of the door.
They started screaming at me through the door in the same language they were speaking in previously. While I didn't understand it, it definitely sounded threatening. I tried again, "If you don't leave me alone I'll call the police."
Complete silence. At this point the silence felt deafening. I tried to listen to see if they were still there, keeping my eyes on the door for any more movement I may not be able to hear. Moments later the door, still locked, slowly crept open.
At this point I was more angry than I was scared. I got out of bed, cursing to myself as I went to see who was messing with me. Nothing. I walked the halls for a moment, looking to see in every hiding spot, but there was no one.
I went back into my room and did not sleep a wink the rest of the night, scared that whoever or whatever was at my door might return. |
I hadn't reached Stephen King levels of name recognition, but copies of my book were front and center in bookstores. I even got to go on a ten-city book signing tour and participate in a few talk show interviews.
My brush with fame made me weary of the limelight. So, with the earnings from my book sales, I purchased a two-story house in the suburbs. The house wasn't extravagant, but it was far removed from the bustling city and the demanding publishing industry. It became my sanctuary, a place to find solace, recharge my creative energy, and explore my imagination without distraction. It was an older house and required some work, but I was excited at the prospect of making it my own.
At the top of my to-do list was refurbishing the large backyard. I had always envisioned starting a family and imagined barbecues and children playing in the yard. Unfortunately, years of neglect had turned the backyard into a dense jungle of weeds and poison oak.
I spent the better part of an afternoon meticulously mowing the lawn and pulling weeds. Afterward, I began planting a new garden. While digging a hole in the soil for some potted flowers next to an old oak tree, my spade hit something solid. The metallic clang reverberated through the air. Fearing that I had struck a water or gas pipe, I put my spade down and carefully brushed away the loose soil with my gloved hands. What I uncovered was a small, weathered metal box buried just below the surface. The box was light but sturdy.
A blend of excitement and curiosity took over as I gently pried the box open with the head of my spade. Inside was a collection of old black-and-white family photographs of a couple and their young daughter. There were also trinkets, likely of sentimental value to the box's owner: a tarnished silver locket with a picture of a Labrador retriever, a small vial of sand, and a porcelain figurine of a ballerina. Based on the content, I surmised it was some sort of time capsule.
But what made my blood run cold was a sealed envelope bearing my full name and the current date, written in cursive.
This was impossible. Judging by the photographs, the box must have been buried sometime in the 1920s.
I dropped everything I was doing and brought the box inside. Opening the envelope, I found a letter that read:
"Dear Mr. Travers,
If you are reading this, just know that in five days, your life will end. We know this because we were the ones who brought about your demise.
We apologize for this harsh reality but implore you to understand the desperation that compels us. We seek to bring back our daughter, Lily, from the clutches of death, and your sacrifice is the price demanded.
We deeply regret the burden we have placed upon you, extending across time. Please know our intentions are not cruel, but driven by unconditional love. We understand the enormity of this request. May you find some solace in knowing that your sacrifice holds the promise of restoring Lily's future.
With heartfelt gratitude,Evelyn and William Hastings.
P.S. As a small consolation, we have provided you with a glimpse into the upcoming week.
”A separate sheet listed the dates for the next five days, each with a mysterious prediction:
“July 15th: A stranger will cross your path, seeking a favor.
July 16th: A creature of the night will find its way into your sanctuary.
July 17th: The sky will weep for you, but you will find only darkness in these tears.
July 18th: Your most beloved creation will betray you.July 19th: Through flames, a cherished life will be consumed.”
After reading this, I was left in a state of confusion and disbelief. There was no way this letter could be real, I thought. I'd had my fair share of obsessive fans sending me ideas for my next novel or their unedited manuscripts. It wasn't a stretch to imagine that a deranged fan or a prankster with a twisted sense of humor had discovered my new address and devised this elaborate hoax.
Whoever was behind it, I had to give them credit for their creativity. They had the makings of a great horror writer.
I returned the contents to the box, closed the lid, and set it aside. I made a mental note to change all the locks, then returned to my yard work.
The next day, I was busy patching a crack in my living room wall when I heard a heavy knock at the door. I wasn't expecting any visitors, so I slowly opened the door a crack, keeping the chain lock still in place.
Standing on my porch was a man in his late forties, tall and lean, with disheveled brown hair and a scruffy beard.
"Yes, can I help you?" I asked, warily."
Hey, I'm sorry to bother you," he began. "But my car broke down in front of your house. I think the carburetor is busted." He pointed at a blue sedan with its hood popped up and smoke billowing from the engine.
I sized him up with suspicion. I remembered the prediction about a stranger crossing my path. I hadn't thought the letter had literally predicted a stranger coming to my house and asking for help. Instead, I wondered if this guy was the one who had buried the box in my backyard as a prank.
Cautiously, I offered to call a tow truck for him while he waited outside. He happily agreed. I closed the door behind me and called the towing company. The man patiently waited on my front porch until the truck arrived. He thanked me with a smile and left with the truck driver.
For the remainder of the day, I peered out my window to see if the stranger returned, but I never saw him again. I convinced myself that it was just a coincidence. And as far as coincidences go, it wasn't the most absurd. Stranger things have happened.
The following day, the bizarre time capsule and its unsettling prophecy still occupied the forefront of my mind. However, when my agent called, inquiring as to why I hadn’t replied to his multiple emails, I was thrust back into the reality of my professional obligations. The publisher had been breathing down his neck due to my delay in submitting drafts for my much-anticipated second novel. I was contractually bound to deliver a complete draft by the year's end.
"Just one chapter, Alex," he pleaded. "A rough draft, anything. It’ll pacify them for at least a month."
"I'll have it ready by the end of the week," I assured him, placating his concerns.
Secluding myself in my office, I faced my laptop with grim determination. I vowed not to leave for any reason until I'd accomplished a writing goal of 2,000 words.
By 10 PM, I was sitting in the dark with my laptop screen as the only source of light. I had managed to produce only about a thousand words. Feeling somewhat claustrophobic in my small, stuffy office, I opened the window to let the crisp night air sweep in, carrying the scent of wet grass and the faint rustling of leaves. I took a deep breath and leaned back into my chair, closing my eyes for a moment.
Suddenly, a loud flapping sound jolted me back to reality. I jumped from my chair, my heart pounding in my chest. From the darkness of the night, a shadowy figure swooped into my office. Panicked, I ducked, my mind rushing back to the note's prophecy about a creature of the night. Was this it?
The figure collided with my bookshelf, sending books showering to the floor, and hooted loudly, before landing on my desk. Gathering my courage, I switched on the desk lamp. The room was instantly bathed in a warm glow, revealing my intruder—a barn owl.
With an eeriness that sent a chill down my spine, the owl slowly turned its head almost 360 degrees, like a scene out of "The Exorcist," observing its surroundings.
I had never been this close to an owl before, and I hadn't realized how large they could get. This particular one was almost the size of a young child.
"Hey there, easy now…" I said, grabbing a flashlight from my desk. I slowly approached it, still crouched, with my flashlight arm extended.
Before I could get very far, the owl spread its wings wide. With a powerful flap, it took off again, sweeping across my office, flying straight out of my window. My meticulously organized notes fell victim to the gust created by the owl's wings, scattering across the room like confetti.
I poked my head out the window and followed the bird with the flashlight beam. I saw it glide into the treeline. It was slightly unnerving how its flapping wings barely made a noise. It perched on a branch, turning its head around to look back at me, its massive eyes reflecting back my light. I jumped back, shutting the window with a bang.
As I paced around the room, cleaning the mess that the owl had created, I felt a sense of unease. One prediction coming true, I could pass off as a coincidence. But this one was so oddly specific.
I was starting to fear for my life. But what could I do? Go to the police? I would be sent for a psych evaluation before I even finished my story.
I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night. Instead, I stayed up, researching everything I could find about the history of the house and the family in the photograph. The articles I found about the house revealed that it was built in the 1880s and had changed hands several times before being bought by a young couple, William and Evelyn Hastings, in 1921. They had a daughter named Lily Margaret Hastings in 1922.
I found a news article from 1927 titled "Miracle Child Thought Dead Wakes Up at Funeral." The article revealed that Lily had fallen into a frozen lake when she was five. She wasn't breathing when her father pulled her out and was declared dead. As embalming wasn't common at the time, her funeral was held the very next day. As they were lowering her casket into the grave, mourners heard faint scratching from within. When they ripped open the lid, they found the child shaken but very much alive.
Doctors were baffled as to how she had survived. The theory posed in the article was that the icy water had put her into a deep coma where her breathing and heartbeat were too faint to detect.
"That explains the trinkets," I muttered to myself.
The obituary was written by her granddaughter, Hannah Sullivan, who was the local head librarian.I glanced at my watch. It was already 5 AM. Morning brought a dense layer of cloud cover. As predicted, a sudden and violent storm swept over the neighborhood, casting a shadowy gloom that echoed my inner turmoil.
My rational side still insisted that this was all an elaborate prank, but the creeping doubt in my mind was growing stronger with each passing hour.
I reasoned that if anyone had answers, it would be Hannah Sullivan. I looked up the library where she worked and saw that it was only a 20-minute drive away. I waited for the storm to break before heading out. By 10 AM, the storm showed no signs of letting up, but I was desperate for answers. I tucked the letter and photos into my coat pocket and ran to my car.
I drove through the rain-soaked roads, the whippers screeching as they move across the windshield. As I pulled into the library's parking lot, I noticed that it was nearly empty, with only a few other cars present. The library itself was a Victorian building that looked like it had been recently remodeled.
Entering the library, I found it almost deserted except for a young woman at the reception desk. She was engrossed in a book, her glasses perched on her nose and her dark hair tied up in a messy ponytail. I glanced at what she was reading and saw that it was a copy of my book.
I approached her gingerly. I was soaking wet and still unsure of how to explain my strange predicament without sounding stark mad. As I neared the desk, she looked up, setting her book aside and offering me a warm smile.
"Hello," she said, her eyes brightening behind her glasses. "Can I help you find anything?"
"I'm actually here to find Hannah Sullivan," I replied, meeting her gaze. "I read that she works here."
The woman looked at me with suspicion. "May I ask who is asking for her?" She asked.
I knew I couldn’t just tell her my true reason for needing to see her. I had one literal card to play. I pulled out a business card from my pocket and slid it across the desk. She read it, her eyes widening.
"The Alex Travers? The author of 'Fragments of Fear'?" she asked excitedly. She checked the photo on the inside of her book’s jacket to confirm.
I concocted a convincing lie about wanting to research local lore for my next novel, and after offering to sign her copy of the book, she was more than happy to lead me to a small office tucked away in the corner of the building. She knocked lightly on the door before opening it. "Ms. Sullivan, there's someone here to see you."
"It’s Alex Travers," the young librarian added in a giddy tone.
Hannah looked up from her computer screen, surprised by the interruption. She was a striking woman in her early thirties, her ginger hair pulled back into a neat bun, freckles scattered across her cheeks. Her eyes, a brilliant emerald green, regarded me with curiosity. She seemed far less impressed with my presence than her colleague.
"Thank you, Amber," she said to the young woman.
Amber lingered at the door, hoping to be a part of the conversation, but she got the hint to leave when she saw that everyone was just standing awkwardly in silence.
"Mr. Travers, please have a seat," Hannah said, her tone cordial but guarded. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"
I sat down in the chair across from her. I hesitated, unsure of how to proceed, but decided to get straight to the point. I explained to her that I had recently bought her great-grandparents' house. I reached into my coat pocket and retrieved the weathered photos, laying them on her desk. Hannah's eyes slightly widened as she studied the pictures of her ancestors.
"I found these in my backyard a couple of days ago," I said. "They were in a box buried near the old oak tree."
There was a flicker of surprise on her face, quickly replaced by a look of concern. There was a moment of silence as she traced her finger over the image of the young girl in the picture.
“And the letter…” she started, “Was there a letter in the box?”
I was shocked. I hadn’t even mentioned the letter yet.
“How did you know there was a letter?” I asked, perplexed, handing her the two handwritten sheets of paper.
She examined the letter carefully. “This is my great-grandmother’s handwriting,” she said.
"But… How did she know my name? Or the current date?" I stammered, the fear creeping back into my voice. "I just... I just don't understand."
“I’d heard the stories, but I didn’t think any of it was true…” She spoke, talking more to herself than to me.
“What stories?” I demanded.
Hannah looked at me, her eyes filled with empathy. She sighed deeply and began, "Mr. Travers, my family... has a rather complicated history. My great-grandmother Evelyn was a spiritualist. She held séances, believing she could communicate with the dead. You’ve no doubt read about my grandmother Lily’s story?”
I nodded in confirmation.
"Well, there’s a family legend that when Lily drowned in the lake, her mother made a deal with the spirit world to bring her back,” she continued.
“What was the deal?” I probed.
“A life for a life,” she answered. “Not the life of anyone she knew, but that of someone who would live in the house in the distant future.”
I thought about what she said for a moment, and suddenly it all clicked. “Wait… So you’re saying Evelyn traded my life to save her daughter?” I asked.
“In a sense… yes,” she confirmed.
“This is my life. Do I not get a say in this?” I argued.
Hannah sighed, “You have to see it from her perspective. She was getting her only child back, in exchange for the life of a complete stranger who wouldn’t even be born in her lifetime. What parent wouldn’t make that deal?”
“This is insane! Is there any way to reverse this?” I asked, anxiety in my voice. The rain outside echoed my desperation, fiercely hitting the library's windows.
Hannah’s face fell. “I don’t know. This isn't something I've ever dealt with. As far as I know, no one's ever tried. You can’t just undo three generations of my family’s existence. I…”
Her words were cut off by a sudden crash of thunder. The room darkened as the power went out; only the sporadic flashes of lightning illuminated the space.
“Damn it!” I shouted, more from fear than anger. I got up abruptly, knocking my chair to the floor. “Are you messing with me? Is this your idea of a joke?” I accused, fumbling in the darkness towards the door.
Hannah gasped, clearly taken aback by my reaction. “No, I swear! I wouldn’t joke about something like this. I…”
I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I pushed my way out of the office, navigated the dark library, and found my way to the exit. Outside, the storm was raging, but I didn’t care. My mind was spinning, caught in a whirlwind of fear and disbelief. The rain quickly soaked through my clothes, but it did little to dampen the fiery panic consuming me.
I sat in my car, staring at the list of prophecies. The next to the last one worried me almost as much as my own impending demise.
As I read the phrase "Your most beloved creation will betray you" one more time, a shiver ran down my spine. My first thought was of my book, my characters. But how would fictional characters turn on me? I wondered.
I spent the rest of the day in a daze, trying to piece together the cryptic prophecy. I pored over my manuscripts, searching for any character or plot point that could possibly betray me. I didn't know what I was looking for.
I don't even remember falling asleep, but I was awakened by a news alert on my phone. The headline sent a chill through my veins: "Fanatical Reader Commits Heinous Murder, Recreates Scene from 'Fragments of Fear'." It felt as if the floor had given way beneath me. As I read the gruesome facts of the crime, my heart pounded frantically.
The fan, a man named Robert Miles, was reportedly obsessed with my work, especially the serial killer character, Orion West, from my book. He had been apprehended after strangling his wife, which he claimed was an homage to one of Orion's most brutal killings.
Feeling nauseated, I dropped my phone. My mind was racing.
In a state of panic, I contacted every spiritualist, paranormal expert, and occultist I could find. All were either incredulous, dismissive, or too eager to exploit my desperation. None were able to offer anything concrete or even plausible.
I contemplated boarding a plane and fleeing to the farthest corner of the world. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how pointless that would be. The prophecy wasn't tied to the house. It was tied to me, and there was no escaping myself.
On the morning of July 19th, I woke up with a sense of dread. The final prediction was to be fulfilled that day. Despite the comfort of daylight, the threat felt imminent. The morning passed in a blur, my thoughts consumed by what was to come.
The knock on my door in the afternoon startled me. When I opened it, I found Hannah standing there. Her green eyes were filled with a strange mixture of apprehension and hope. She held an old book in one hand and a large bag slung over her shoulder.
"Mr. Travers, I’m sorry to show up unannounced," she began. "But I couldn’t stop thinking about our encounter yesterday. I think I might have a solution for you."
"Do you?" I asked, trying not to raise my hopes.
"Yes, if I may come in…" she said.
"Please come in," I responded, leading her inside.
Once inside, she laid the book on my dining room table.
"I spent all night going through my great-grandmother’s old books of spells and rituals," she explained. "And I found this…"
She opened the book, directing my attention to a particular page.
"‘Life Transference Spell’?" I read where her finger indicated.
"I believe Evelyn used the spell to transfer Lily’s death onto you," she explained.
"Is there a ritual or something to reverse the spell?" I asked.
"There is, but there's a catch," she replied, looking at me seriously.
"What’s the catch?" I asked nervously.
"If we do this... it will change everything," she warned, her voice grave. "You'll effectively erase all the events in your life that led you to this house, to this moment.”
I looked at her. "What do you mean by 'erase'?"
"The spell, as it works, will shift the trajectory of your life away from your current path," Hannah clarified. "Your memories and experiences – they will all remain intact. However, to the world around you, it will be as if 'Fragments of Fear' never happened. You would have taken a different path in life, one that wouldn’t have led to you writing that particular book and the fame it brought you."
"But... but this was my life’s work, my dream," I stammered, feeling a lump forming in my throat. "I dedicated years to writing, to getting my work out there. And now, you're telling me I have to give it all up?"
Hannah's expression softened, her eyes showing a glimmer of sympathy. “Mr. Travers… Alex… I’m so sorry you had to be put into this position. You did nothing to deserve it. It's an awful decision to make, but there's no alternative.”
Hannah's revelation was a punch to the gut. I had been prepared for many things – a bitter battle against unseen forces, a final plea for mercy to the spirits – but not this. I was being asked to forfeit the very foundation of my identity, my successes, my accomplishments. To live on, but as a phantom in a life that could have been.
“What’s the point of living if I’m left with nothing?” I wondered aloud.
Hannah placed a comforting hand on mine. “I know it’s a lot of pressure to put on one person… But you’ll still have you, with all your hopes, dreams, and passions. You’ll still have the capacity to love, to feel, to experience life... Isn't that worth preserving?” she asked.
I kept my head down, considering my options. Finally, I looked up, meeting Hannah's worried gaze with resolve. "All right," I declared, my voice steadier than I felt. "Let's do it. What do we need to do?"
Hannah let out a relieved sigh before giving me a weak smile. "I’ve brought most of the items we need for the ritual already. We’ll also need a copy of your book.”
“Okay, I’ll get it,” I said.
We cleared a spot under the oak tree in my backyard, formed a stone circle, and built a fire in the center. The sun was already setting when we finished.
Holding a copy of my book in my trembling hands, I exchanged a glance with Hannah. The enormity of our decision hung heavy between us.
“You have to do this. This is your life,” she reiterated, her voice shaking with emotion.I nodded, unable to muster a response.
I held my book over the flame, the heat nipping at my fingers. My heart sank as I remembered the countless hours, days, and months I had invested in creating this story. It was more than just a book to me; it was a piece of my soul. And I was about to watch it burn.
Before I could second-guess myself, I dropped it into the flames. The book caught fire instantly, the pages curling and blackening in the fire. A sharp pang of loss shot through me, but I pushed it aside.
Hannah interlaced her fingers with mine as we watched the fire. The atmosphere grew warmer, the flames reflecting in her emerald eyes. She started to chant in an unfamiliar language, her voice growing louder and more forceful as she went on. I watched in awe as the fire seemed to dance in rhythm with her words. I could hear the echoes of other voices, disembodied and inhuman, chanting along with her.
As she continued, I felt her hand growing cold and her grip weakening. Then, her hand seemed to slip through my fingers like a fistful of sand.
She raised her hand. I could see her horrified eyes through her translucent palm.
"What's happening?" she cried out in terror.
I hesitated for a moment, then turned my gaze back to the flames. Her eyes followed mine. The fire had burned through the cover of the hardback, revealing pages crossed out with a marker and her grandmother’s silver locket hidden between them.
"I'm sorry, Hannah," I confessed, my voice choked with guilt. "I just couldn’t give it all up."
"You... you altered the spell..." she stammered, her form flickering and gradually fading. "You erased my family..."
"Yes," I admitted, my heart heavy. "I had to. You said it yourself, a life for a life.
"The look of betrayal on her vanishing face was unmistakable. She opened her mouth, perhaps to say something, but before she could, she disappeared completely, leaving me alone in the cool summer night. I stood there staring at the flame until it burned itself out. I felt alone, inside and out.
I went back inside and out of morbid curiosity, I looked up the obituary for Lily Hastings. It stated that she had died at the age of five after falling into the frozen lake. There was no miracle. She was simply dead.
I did feel remorse for Hannah. She was just trying to help me and didn’t deserve to be wiped from existence. But I hadn’t asked to sacrifice my life for her grandmother. My life had been hijacked, used, and manipulated. All I did was reclaim it.
My next novel, 'Echoes of the Past,' was another critical and commercial success. The world saw the triumphant return of a favorite author, not knowing the ghosts that lingered behind my success.
Out of a sense of guilt, I dedicated the novel to Hannah Sullivan, Lily Hastings, and all those forgotten.
|
Julia was biting her nails while staring intensely at her work laptop. The tension was so visible when her fiance Ian walked in the room, he froze for a second. "Watching another pimple popper video?" he chuckle-asked.
"I know you don't have the stomach for them. That's ok. I'll marry you anyway," she replied to engage in a bit of banter before bed. This was Julia's routine: Work, cook, play with the dog, watch tv, watch videos on her phone, banter with Ian, and have sex or masturbate until falling asleep. She had an extraordinarily high sex drive.
Saturday. Weekends are a mild stress for Julia. Ian travels for work most Saturdays, and Julia quite enjoys her job and seeing her coworkers. She has no hobbies aside from tv and talking with Ian and her coworkers. Every Saturday is a tiny catastrophe though. How will she pass the time? As social as she is, she struggles to make friends. This Saturday morning, that realization hit hard. As she was standing in the kitchen, she realized how alone she truly was. Even her beloved fiance couldn't truly relate to her. She has always felt alone and a little rejected. She wasn't clingy but always feared being perceived as such.
"He enjoys spending time with me. We have the same sense of humor. Sex is great. Does he just tolerate me though?"
Normally, these thoughts would be a nagging feeling in the back of her mind, but this morning, they somehow broke through to the forefont. Standing at the kitchen counter in a white summer dress, she broke down in tears. Ugly-crying. Scream-crying. She collapsed to the floor and curled in a ball in the corner sobbing uncontrollably muttering "I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my fucking life. I'm going to kill myself. I'm going to kill myself." Shocked and scared by the intensity of her emotions and the object of them, she ugly-cried some more until eventually, she ran out of steam.
Julia got up and walked to the bedroom suddenly feeling cold as if all the blood in her extremities evaporated away. She grabbed a jacket and slippers and decided to cook some comfort food.
"Alright, let's see what recipes look fun." She pulled up Tiktok and found a video on making hash browns in the waffle maker. The cooking process was surprisingly therapeutic. She decided to try something else, not even to eat, rather just for the experience of cooking. She cracked several eggs over the waffle maker. Surely enough, they waffled as well.
"What else will waffle?" Julia asked herself as she stared down at her little corgi named Lemon eating his breakfast. She bent down and picked up his bowl of dog food and poured it in.
Lemon enjoyed the wafflized puppy chow. Julia enjoyed her waffled... everything. She spent 4 hours that day waffling until she realized this was only a temporary relief from her feelings.
Weeks went by, and everything was fine. She just had a little hiccup, she thought. One night, as she was engaging in her bedtime routine with Ian, he stopped partway through undressing and said "I'm sorry. I've been holding this back because I wasn't sure this was real or..."
"Of course this is real. I love you Ian. I have some pre-wedding jitters too though, " Julia interjected.
"Let me finish. I didn't know if it was real or just a fluke, but I didn't want to say anything. I think I have feelings for your sister. I still want to marry *you*, and I will never act on those feelings, but you said being completely honest and open with each other was important before we tie the knot. This is it."
"WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK, IAN?!?!?! Why? Eww. God. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you telling me this?"
There was a 10 second pause as Ian tried to find words.
"You know what? Yes, I would like complete honesty. Something happened. What? Did you two..." Julia said as she began to cry.
"No. God no. I just have feelings for her. That's all. I'll never act on them. I just think that, like her sister, she's very attractive. Come on. It was dumb for me to bring it up."
Stammering, Julia stared at him for several seconds as she contemplated slapping him. That would be domestic abuse she reasoned. "This is so fucked." She got up, grabbed her keys, her purse and sandals. "I'm going to Stephanie's house! I'm going to tell her everything." She slammed the door.
Seconds later, Julia re-entered and shouted "I forgot something!" She grabbed Lemon. As she walked out, she saw the waffle maker and grabbed it as well. Ian raised an eyebrow.
This was the second time in 2 months Julia has sobbed uncontrollably. It was also the second time in about 15 years. She's not normally a big crier. So, when Stephanie saw her sister crying profusely, she was mortified. She rushed in to console her as one would to a child pulled out of a burning building. "Honey, what happened?"
Julia told her everything. She was very close to her sister and was curious how she'd react. Much to her surprise, Stephanie didn't seem to be hiding anything. There was was no affair, but everything was still royally fucked. The following morning, Julia woke up and after a couple brief seconds of ignorant bliss, she remembered where she was and what had transpired, and it knocked the wind out of her. Stephanie already had left for work. She walked into the kitchen and made Lemon some eggs for breakfast. Then, she saw the waffle maker sitting on the table.
Julia did the only thing that she knew could soothe her. She cracked some eggs over the waffle maker. Nothing. She felt nothing. So, she tried ham. She found that interesting. Ham soaked in vodka. Coleslaw. Tortillas. Mayonaise. Everything in the fridge. If it was waffle-sized, it got waffled. She realized she'll have to pay her sister back for all this and reasoned "it's fine. I have the money. Mo' money mo' waffles. Mo' money, mo waffles!!!!!!!!! Waf- waf- waffle it. Waf- waf- waffle it!" She was dancing and singing and sobbing. Lemon backed into the corner.
End of Part 1/5
|
As she toyed with him, she became even more disturbed by her own behavior and worried about legal repurcussions. She took her Lemon drop out to do his business when she had an idea.
"I can call 911, and your life is over... or I can make you a very special waffle. Then, I'll take your gun, untie you, and you can be on your way. Blink once for 911 and twice for the special waffle."
He proceeded to blink once.
"You blinked both your eyes. So, twice. Special waffle it is," Julia said with a mix of nervousness, fear, and righteous indignancy. She had collected Lemon Drop's... droppings in a bag. She dumped that into a large mixing bowl. She grabbed her scissors and gave herself another haircut. Then, she rummaged through the utility cabinet and tossed in a band-aid, a push pin, and some Elmer's glue.
She proceeded to pour in a little laundry detergent and just a dash of bleach. "Lastly, a handful of salt for flavor," she said while adding what she initially planned on being the final ingredient, but she noticed something incredible. The man had a large growth on his neck. She removed the duct tape and asked what it was.
"The doctor said it's benign. I've just been too scared to get it removed. I know I need to," the man said nervously.
"Well, today's your lucky day."
End of Part 5/5 |
Hi,
My experience of getting my soul sucked. Very pleased to share this with you, I hope some may resonate with the subtle feelings of panic.
**Narrated version:**
**The text:**
As I focus on the subtleties of the mundane, I notice myself diving deeper. Suddenly, I am in the chambers. Curiously looking around the dim narrowing walls, I’m struck by a feeling of strange familiarity, but the strangeness of it registers the sensations as unknown.
***\*disruption\****
I hear a subdued laughter, and as I lift my eyeballs, the forehead of my colleague pops up from behind the monitor. The thoughts explored in my mind suddenly start to fade into the atmosphere of the office, and my attention starts picking up the sticky notes and the pens and the markers and all the various office appliances on the table.
You start to second-guess yourself when in deep focus, especially when there are other people around. Maybe it’s real, maybe it’s all just fantasy. — I unknowingly tell myself.
I notice my curiosity itching again. The window-cleaning guy makes me feel a certain distance between me and him, and next thing I know, I’m in my head again.
Suddenly, I notice a doorway, hidden at the far end of the maintenance room.
Freeze!
I don’t wander around forbidden territories that often, so a gentle sense of fear makes me stop and look around behind. Not many people go here, I presume only engineers and specialists come down to fix a malfunction or to check the circuits. And then there’s me: a breathing, walking virus with unknown intentions.
Stepping through the reddish, cyan fluorescence I reach for the cable curtains and push them to the side, opening the door.
I see bits and pieces of geometry hovering up above and all around. Filling a seemingly endless void, they sparkle rapidly, consuming my attention. Strangely, the darkness feels safe and I sense no threat, as the sight is infinitely interesting. Curiosity and wonder sharpen my focus, and now I am somewhere else.
Like echoes from another room on an early morning, I hear my colleague describe the nuances of a task on handling loan data. Focus is disturbed, although not entirely, but I am forced to deal with the spillage in my consciousness.
Doubts come to mind. What is this vision? I know it’s inside my head but… partially. There is this grain of reality in it that changes everything. A knowing persists that it’s more real than anything else. They would not understand it… They would not look at it with the same curiosity as me. They never did, nobody ever did.
\[…\]
Am I just making things up? All this mental ramble might just be a narcissistic teenage fantasy where everyone is wrong and I am the cleverest of them all. But the things that I saw behind that door seem so far away from this reality and so convincing at the same time, so much that I am not quite sure if I am just masturbating my fantasy apparatus.
Am I?
Am I?!
Please don’t tell me that I am.
I find no affirmations around me. Everything points in exactly the opposite direction. I find myself in a world where people project their values onto each other, the boss presents his requirements each morning, and the system is always demanding deliveries. Daily concerns and anxieties, hopes for the far future ahead, plans for vacations, convictions about political situations, fears about not making it, doubts in who one is, and so many words not said but uttered in the mental asylum that has become one’s mind. Not only is this environment an opposing reality to whatever I have found behind that door, but my own head has also become poisoned, my body has become fragile. I consume for the sake of numbing my urges, my desires pave the way forward. Forward back into the beginning, from where I march on into another Groundhog Day.
Head is full of doubts and trash programs installed so that I can run someone else’s business. Meanwhile, the same head is filled with thousands of reasons why the value in me is not quite applicable, realistically speaking, although still very great in theory. I always get a pat on the back for the smart and clever boy that I am. And a thank you for the hard work. But I am still just potential. I am always that. Because what the tubes are sucking out of me is the mechanical labor that is needed for the system to run. Cogs spin, and I apply my stale logic to keep those diamond towers growing.
What is this science fiction?
Listen:
quite engaging conversations all around,
people smiling,
there are even
tender voices here and there to soothe your ears.
free ASMR.
don’t forget the fruit two times a week.
and the cake! cake is always great.
cake day once a week
promising surprises
sugar spiking dopamine
something exciting for you and me to oscillate the week.
oh,
take it easy,
with the sweet smile-stretching stories
for a second there I thought I’m
on vacation by the sea…
ah, not really, not exactly.
just not quite yet!
my yearly getaway’s,
my hard-earned holiday’s
a month away,
Italy awaits!
Someone starts a conversation with you. Everything is blocked out of your field of consciousness, you listen to the person and ask yourself: what should I say? How should I answer? What is she thinking? What is she talking about? How is she feeling? Suddenly, you are in another person’s world, engaged in a conversation about last weekend’s activities and what is potentially up for the day after tomorrow. Why is that important? Why are you talking about it with this specific emotional affect? I don’t know and I have no time to dissect these thoughts that appeared for a millisecond, because I have to be present in this conversation. As I answer your question and end our small-talk with a joke, I get back to staring at the screen with a dull mist in my skull.
What is going on?
A question that struggles to be formed through the mist.
It’s already almost 9AM. I haven’t started work yet and an adviser from Finland has sent me a message through Teams. I have three additional activities planned for today and trainings to be arranged with my colleague.
Sigh, take a sip of coffee, and get back to work.
I re —
I remember something abou —
***We’ve got an update for you***
Shines a notification window at the bottom right side of the screen. I’m presented with two options:
*Restart now*
or
*Postpone*
After pausing for three seconds, I press postpone and answer the colleague from Finland. |
Julia grabbed her car keys and rushed off to the nearest Walmart to browse the isles for anything she could waffle. The store was a goldmine of absurd waffle-able items.
The cashier, George, who checked out her items was the pensive sort. He liked to make a game of guessing what he could of someone based on what they purchased, and he was actually good at it. His proudest moment was guessing a lady was an early childhood teacher of half French and half Iranian descent having in-laws over later that same day. He was right on every account and divined it all from solely observing her and 3 items she bought.
George had met his match. The items were scanned through: sausage patties, powdered milk, rice, bird feed, drain cleaner, Fanta soda, ice cream, 6 lemons, college-ruled paper, ink cartridge refills, shrimp, hand lotion, 10 Happy 1st Communion greeting cards, a box of tongue depressors, and a box of small condoms.
The cashier paused for a moment and was completely dumb-founded. He usually doesn't tell the customers about his guessing game, but he had never been this clueless. "This might sound weird, but sometimes, I like to try and reckon something about the person buyin' the items based on their purchases. For the life of me, I can't even tell what ya cooking."
She stared at him contemplating whether to tell him or not, feeling a tinge of shame and confusion.
George broke the silence. "Ma'am. I hope you aren't gonna waffle drain cleaner."
"What? No. That's... no."
"Sorry ma'am. It was a joke," George quickly spat out.
"Oh, ok then," Julia said while blushing and deeply embarrassed.
Upon arriving home, her weird obsession had actually died down, and her feelings began resurfacing. She called her old therapist but couldn't get through; it was Sunday.
She no longer felt like waffling. It seemed dumb to her, but she didn't know what else to do. Nothing worked. "This was stupid and a waste of money", she muttered.
"I want to kill myself. I want to kill myself. I want to kill myself. I fucking hate my life," she muttered as an uncontrollable tic. Oddly, even though she wanted to cry, she couldn't even shed a tear. She needed another emotional stimulus to get that release. So, she called Ian and left a voicemail in a very dry manner stating "the wedding is off," and then proceeded go shut her phone off. Still nothing. She grabbed scissors and cut off strands of hair. She waffled her hair. Nothing.
Staring into the waffle maker like she was staring over the ledge of a building, she envisioned putting her hand in it. Then, the fact she contemplated that scared her a little.
20 seconds later, her hand was being waffled. She shrieked and choked on her own spit while still screaming. Gagging, screaming, and writhing in pain, her dog, Lemon, ran out of the room. Simultaneously, Stephanie arrived home to find Julia sitting with her back leaned against the dishwasher, pounding her good hand against the floor while flailing her waffled hand in the air. Blood was running down her mouth and all over her shirt because she bit her tongue.
"Oh God. Julia! What happened?! I'm calling 911!"
Julia spent some time in a mental health hospital to get back on her feet, but when she returned home, she was alone, without friends, her ex-fiance, or a job.
She stood in front of the waffle maker, grabbed the box of tongue depressors, and waffled a finger.
The next day, she waffled another. She waffled all of her toes, and the bottoms of her feet. She knew if she waffled any more, it would become hard to hide.
She did so anyway. She waffled multiple spots on her legs, her right arm, and her left ass cheek. She bent over in front of the waffle maker with her right eye staring into the black checkerboarded abyss. A single tear was shed, and it sizzled like bacon. Suddenly, Julia realized something that could make her feel better. "This is crazy. I don't have to do this. I can find another outlet for my feelings." She picked up the phone. "Stephanie. Can you bring Lemon over?"
End of Part 2/5
|
"I didn't mean to kill her"
that's all I could hear all through my mind as i watched the crimson blood on my hands shimmer in the dim light of the kitchen's single light bulb. I watched in fear as her body was dragged into the darkness as the that light bulb flickered and suddenly popped, showering the body of my young daughter in shattered glass.
I felt around the darkness for her tiny body and pulled the once life filled body of the young child that brought a smile to the faces to even to grumpiest of people, into my chest as i sobbed large tears. My tears cascaded down my face and dripped onto the pale cheeks of my baby's face.I ran my fingertips over the slash that ran all the way across her tiny throat, covering my fingers in the blood of my baby.
"it was an accident"
I squeaked as i placed my face into her lifeless body, gripping tightly onto her. I cuddled her for what felt like hours, the tears had stopped flowing from my eyes and her little body had stained my apron with her cold unjustly spilt blood.
I slowly moved upwards, causing my old bones to creak. With her frozen body in my arms, i slowly dragged my feet across the silent hallway that was once was filled with sounds of laughter and love of my daughter, and slowly staggered into her room.
The rose pink walls now appeared more grey and dull. Even the toys and stuffed bears on the shelves and dressers seemed to be sad and lonely as their heads hung down.
Gently, I placed my baby girl on her princess bed that i brought her for her fourth birthday which was two days ago. She was so happy when she saw it for the first time. i got her grandmother to take her to the park while i fixed up the bed for when she got home.
And now she would never be able to receive another present again. I wiped one last tear away as i tucked her into bed, kissed her forehead then walked back into the hallway and into the kitchen. Quietly I pulled open the kitchen drawer and pulled out a new light bulb, leaning up to grab the broken bulb, unscrewing it and placing it in the bin. I slowly rescrew in the new light bulb and flick the switch. The kitchen was soon met with a blinding light, showing off all the blood that had been spilt today.
I then bent down to pick up the knife that caused all this trouble, scraping the blade on the wooden floor as I pulled it in to the air. With a corner of my apron that didn't have any blood on it, i smeared off the blood on the blade then placed the sharp tool next to the cutting board. On the cutting board was a display of previously cut vegetables. Hesitantly, I grabbed the knife once again and started chopping more vegetables for dinner.
I'm making vegetable stew. After all ,it is Baby girl's favourite. |
Julia took anti-anxiety medications and mixed it with some sleeping pills on some nights. This was one of those nights. Around 3 am, she woke up to the sound of her bedroom door opening. A tall thin middle-aged man removed his mask. "Brandon?" she asked.
It was not Brandon, but in the drug-fuelled stress of the situation, perhaps some wires got crossed. "I'm sorry for so rudely leaving you in the middle of our date, but perhaps we can pick up where we left off" she whispered into his ear as she grabbed his crotch. Not yet processing what was happening and feeling aroused as ever, she began removing his clothes and thrust him onto the bed when she saw him drop a revolver to the ground, and she began piecing together what was happening.
As she kissed him, she reached her hand into the nightstand and found a pair of handcuffs she had used with Ian and successfully cuffed him to the bed. "Don't worry. Wait right there. Things are just starting to heat up. Do you like kink?" Her violator nodded yes. She walked out of the room and came back with a waffle maker.
"You could call this a kink." Julia plugged it into the outlet and set it on the nightstand along side two tongue depressors to bite and duct tape. "The fuck is this!?" the intrudor shouted.
"I have a problem, Brandon. I don't feel comfortable lying. Do you?"
"Look, I don't know. I'm so fucking sorry for all of this. Let's just forget about all of it. Let me go. You can keep the gun."
"But then you don't get your kink." Julia put a tongue depressor horizontally on his mouth to bite onto and taped his mouth shut.
"Now, I feel bad about lying to you and the other men. So, you're going to help me." She now bit onto one herself, grabbed his hand and guided it such that he burned her hands. Still grimacing, she said "Thank you. Now, I've cooked a lot of unorthodox things on here. You know what one of my first experiments was?
A couple eggs.
This is going to be the longest night of your life."
End of Part 4/5
|
Donning long pants and a long sleeve shirt, Julia sat on the porch waiting for her little Lemon.
When Stephanie showed up, she could see the despair in Julia's eyes. "Listen, Mark was talking to his boss, and there might be a new position opening up at Capital Crossing for a teller. Would you like him to put in a good word for you?"
"Yeah, I'd like that. Thanks," Julia softly whispered. She perked up when she saw her pup poke his head through the car window "Lemon Drop!!!"
Stephanie's heart warmed to see her sister's spirits raise. "Well, I have to get going. I'll leave you two together to reconnect."
Julia brought little Lemon inside and showered him in love and affection until the dog felt uncomfortable.
"I need to find something productive," Julia muttered to herself. She spent the next 12 hours applying for jobs and flirting on dating apps. She needed another job and another man she reasoned.
Interviewing wasn't Julia's strength, but she had no trouble getting dates. The first man she talked with, Brandon, took her out to brunch.
"Not many men ask a girl out to brunch," Julia quipped as she sat down at the table.
"Well, I'm not like many men. I love bacon and eggs more than life itself."
"Is that so? I think we might be quite the pair then. I have a waffle tattoo on my left ass cheek."
The two continued flirting and had a great time until he asked her "why do you wear gloves?"
Julia froze. "Umm, well there was a home invasion. The intruder put my hands..." she faked crying and removed her gloves. At this point, they had been burnt over so many times it wasn't immediately clear it was a waffle pattern but just that they were badly burned. "I'm sorry. I want to go."
As Brandon tried to apologize, she quickly darted out of the restaurant and went straight home. She felt terrible for lying to him and faking crying. It was manipulative and borderline sociopathic to fake tears like that, she reasoned. As she sat on her couch, she realized she will need to say something though. She just landed a job interview.
The next day, her interview seemed to go well enough, as it was a cold day, and nobody questioned her wearing gloves. Time went on, and emotional wounds were healed. After a couple years of working and dating with no great answers to give men, as luck would have it, she did one night experience a home invasion. It had been a while since she made anyone waffles.
End of Part 3/5
|
Have you ever seen something so horrifying it could scare a literal psychopath? It happened 3 months ago. I was walking home from school absolutely wasted from PE limping as I reach my doorstep, I pull out my keys, unlocking the door as I hear faint screams from the other side. With my curiosity I open the door and place my backpack to the side, wandering around trying to listen as to where the sounds are coming from. “What are you doing?” A voice from behind startles me making me turn around quickly, it’s my brother Kevin. “What do you mean, Don’t you hear that?” I quickly reply as I keep listening for the voices-but to my surprise, they’ve disappeared. I walk back to the door shutting it and grabbing my bag throwing it over my shoulder. “Never mind, I think I’m hearing things” I add on to what I asked earlier, making him suspicious while giving me a dreadful glare. “Hm okay, but just letting you know your really weird.” He confesses, I mock what he said about me then quickly run upstairs to get started on my homework. After what seems like hours, I shove my homework into my bag as if id wish to never see it again, not even a minute later I start to hear muffled screams coming from somewhere downstairs, I quickly jolt up from my desk chair feeling like I’m loosing consciousness from standing too quickly, I run downstairs to follow the sounds.
I quickly turn my head to the blank tv, that’s currently turned off since no one is downstairs besides me. Skeptical, I slowly and quietly walk over to the tv wondering if it’s malfunctioning or just my imagination again. I jerk back from the spot I was standing in, staring at the tv in absolute horror I see my brother banging on the screen completely covered in blood and his face looking all distorted but as if he was on the other side of the screen. Or matter fact, like a show is playing and he’s in it. I scream in terror as I run up the stairs calling for my mother. I run Into her room yelling for her and screaming to come downstairs.
“What’s wrong? What the hell is going on?” She snaps at me completely confused at my actions. I grab her hand and run downstairs, stopping in front of the tv screen. Pointing at it I tell her, “I saw Kevin on the other side, as if he’s freaking trapped in there” I say crying out to her completely traumatized from what I saw.
Her eyes go wide as she opens her mouth to speak, “you-your brother is dead. Remember?” She says with tears in her eyes and shock. What? That’s not possible if I talked to him earlier- I stop thinking and suddenly go pale as if I just saw a ghost. A shiver goes down my spine as I hear someone whisper in my ear,
“she killed me.” |
You don’t know me.
Yet.
But I know you, very well actually. I know where you live, work, play. I know what you like and dislike. I know you very well you see. Known you very a very long time at that. It’s how I know what you do. It’s how I know where you were and what you were doing.
I don’t need to ask.
It must have been- I think- 3 weeks ago you first saw them. Loud and grating, taking up all too much space in the aisle. The two boys almost competing who could out-tantrum the other, the hapless father trying, in vain to reign the two wailing children in. On any other day, you would have ignored them, moved on. They didn’t matter to you, not at first. Not until you saw her.
She was perfect. You couldn’t look away, not as she turned the corner into the aisle, nor as she bore down on the two boys, who upon seeing her instantly cowered away in shame. Even the father shrank away in himself, away from her reproach. I was weaker then, not as aware, but I still knew you were entranced, her lingering jasmine smell and the slender curve of her neck beneath amber locks haunting the recesses of your memory.
You were caught in the thralls of your obsession, as you had so often been before. How could something, someone so frail and soft looking, radiate such terror and strength, and with such ease? The question plagued your mind, dulled all other concerns. For days, weeks you wrestled with your mind.
It was too soon, too risky.
She was not like the others, she was local and therefore, off-limits.
But still, you could not push the memory of her from your mind. For almost 2 weeks, you were possessed, any thought you had, at any time, lead back to the fleeting moment in that store. Her presence in your mind was both agony and addiction, it didn’t end.
Thought became wondering. Wondering became addiction. Became obsession and hunger and mania. You had to know. You were always good at drawing the line, knowing when to stop. It’s how you’ve gone on for so long without being caught.
But this new subject had entranced you, ensorcelled you with her sight and smell and the sound of her voice and breath and gait. You struggled internally; grappling for a reason, any reason, to forget her, but to no avail. Hunger, when roused, could only be sated.
In a week, you had her address; two more days and you had memorised the family schedule. You knew the layout of the house a day later, and that the husband would be out of town next weekend to visit his mother. You had your moment, and your tools were ready and sharp in your car. By the time you were behind the wheel, you had fantasised on the deed a thousand times. Anticipated every detail, every soon-to-be-made cut playing in your mind, a promise of the feast to come.
I saw you then, outside their home, your hands shaking, overcome with grotesque anticipation. You didn’t see me, not yet. I was still too small, weak, for you to notice.
You tell yourself it was a kindness, but really you dispatched the sleeping brothers out of greed. Tonight was a feast for one. It was for you and you alone, and you would tolerate no voyeurs. With them out of the way, you made it to the main bedroom.
She didn’t recognise you, none of your victims ever did. But that never stopped you before. You had come to accept confusion as part of the meal. An aperitif that preceded the carnage to come.
You feasted on her rage and hate, and later terror and anguish. You filled your soul on her torment as your tools carved away at skin and sinew, turning a deaf ear to the muted pleas and prayers from your victim. She struggled the best she could against the ropes binding her hands and feet, and would have made some headway if left unattended.
I suppose that’s why you cut the tendons in her arms and legs first. A lesson learned from a past meal. No matter how hard she struggled now, she could not resist or fight back. All that was left was the knives, the hooks and scalpels that peeled away at her. Arteries were clamped when exposed, another lesson on preserving the meal. Despite this, deep red still spilled from her onto the bed sheets, on your gown and tools. Though this only emboldened you.
You had seen it when you first saw her, muted though it was. Somewhere deep down in here being, some tangible wellspring that radiated power. It had subdued her children with its presence alone, and you had basked in it only briefly. But that was enough to intoxicate you, to begin your mad obsession with her, with the thing you felt in her.
You needed to know, to find the unknowable radiance she exuded back in the store. So you searched for it, under severed tendons and exposed nerves. You peeled away muscle and fat, stopping only at the exposed bone. You rummaged meticulously through organ and gristle as her cries dimmed. Still you could not find, still it eluded you. I could feel you, your desperation, your hunger, even then, when I was still small. This gaping maw at the core of your being that could only be sated, fulfilled by the light and life that grew ever dimmer before you.
Once more, you had found the long sought radiance you so desperately craved, only to watch it snuffed before you could fully gorge yourself on its resplendence. Once more you were denied. You left.
Just as swift and silent as you had come in. I watched you, gathering your tools and resetting the alarms. You didn’t see me then, not as I saw you. Saw the indifference in your gait and expression. As if the carnage you had left behind didn’t exist; as if the countless scenes you had left before, just like this one, didn’t exist.
It still eludes me- how you first learned to disregard the collage of viscera and death. The violence and cruelty- I know those came to you gradually, over time. But if there was anything about me that scared me- used to scare me- it was how you felt nothing after you were done. No shame when you imagined the grief that would soon follow. No paranoia when the police drew too close for your liking. Almost as if it ceased to exist to you, that the world in itself was mere intervals between your grisly night-time dining.
Perhaps it didn’t, least not to you. You didn’t know that the husband found them first, I imagine. That the police knew already, at a first glance that they wouldn’t find you. You most definitely didn’t know- or even care- that the man never recovered, though who could, from such a sight.
The most horrendous part? I was there on one of the nights you were home, scrolling through your channels. All of a sudden there he was, his photo. The grieving father, who came home to his home, sons and wife violated like that.
No doubt the tragedy broke him. No surprise that he tried everything, everything to erase the memory of your work from his mind. Turning to his work, then to drink, finding no escape. Drowning in the memories and the alcohol he used to smother them.
Until he could run no more. Then all that remained was the last option, the most desperate option. Hidden in his office, loaded and next to another bottle.
He took one last drink. One last look at them.
He shot himself. The news said that he had left no note, and that police were still no closer to finding you.
You changed the channels.
You don’t know me. Yet.
But I know you. I have been watching you. Observing. Learnt from you everything that I know. How to cut just the right way to hurt the most. The proper method to silence screams. The most efficient way to bind hands and feet. All of these things and more I learnt from your demonstration.
I can’t wait to show you. Everything I am- all that you’ve taught me, I owe it all to your guidance. I am ready, I have learnt everything I needed and I can’t wait to get started.
Seems fitting that I begin with you. Nothing more poetic than a baptism in blood- and what better way to usher in my birth than with your passing.
Don’t worry, I’ll continue your work.
It won’t be long now.
How I found you? You taught me that. Like I said I said, I learnt a lot from you- how to bypass alarms and dispose of dogs. They were adorable- and sadly, in the way.
Don’t worry though, they didn’t feel a thing.
I’m not a monster.
I’ve known you a long time, as long as I can remember, actually. I beheld you at your first kill, bloodied and brilliant in that basement. You wouldn’t have noticed me then, riding the high of your life, while I was this small frail thing.
I don’t know how I came to be, or why I remain, but I know that I was bound to you in some way. So I crawled after you weak and infantile as I was. But I’ve grown since then, stronger and smarter with each of your outings.
I can’t wait to show you what I can do. I wonder what will happen then. Will I fade into nothing, or will a small thing be born from my deeds as I was born from your works? Would they seek to learn from me?
Would I be a good teacher?
I’m almost there now. I can hear your breath settling, regaining your focus. I can’t blame you after your momentous night. I can smell the cleaning agents scouring the trace blood from your clothes and tools, under your nails. I can see your shadow, growing larger as it nears the corner.
Any moment you’ll turn now, to the hallway.
To me.
You don’t know me. Yet
But I know you.
|
My mother never allowed me in the basement today I found out the horrifiying truth why. My sister died when I was 8 years old. I was very interested in her death. One day I asked my mother why did my sister die. She replied: stop asking this nonsense, everytime when I asked her. I knew she was hiding something from me. I always wanted to go to the basement, but my mother always didn’t let me go there. I always argued with her and sometimes she would throw chairs at me. I needed to go down there, I always told myself. Something was definetly off with her. Sometimes I would hit her because she didn’t tell me. One day I went to my friend’s house. We talked about it and found an idea. We would go in the basement when she would leave, but my mother was almost always home. So we didn’t have that much opportunities. One day my mother left and we took some time to get ready. When we unlocked the door she just came in the house. After getting several chairs in my head she stopped. We got the opportunity finaly after a few weeks. When we went in we saw something very shocking. It was my… Sister… |
The wind howled outside as Samantha, Gretchen, and Melissa sat in the dimly lit living room of the old house where they once spent their high school years. It was the ten-year reunion, but there was an evident discomfort in the air.
Melissa hesitated before asking, “Do you guys...do you ever think about Emily?”
Gretchen rolled her eyes. “It was a decade ago, Melissa. Why bring that up now?”
Samantha shifted uncomfortably. “Because… Because ever since I moved back to town, I've been seeing things. Hearing things.”
Melissa nodded slowly. “Me too. And I've been having dreams. Always about Emily.”
A gust of wind pushed open the windows, making the curtains dance violently. The room grew cold.
“I closed those windows,” Samantha muttered, getting up to shut them. “This house is just old.”
Gretchen chuckled nervously, “And probably haunted.”
They all laughed, but the laughter was empty.
Suddenly, the lights flickered, and a voice echoed throughout the room, “Why did you do it?”
Samantha shrieked, “Who's there?”
“Why did you hurt me?” The voice was unmistakably Emily’s.
Gretchen was pale, “This is just a prank. Someone's playing a prank on us.”
The temperature dropped further, and a shadow formed in the center of the room. Emily's spectral figure appeared, her eyes hollow, and her voice dripping with pain. “Why, Samantha? Why, Gretchen? Why, Melissa?”
Tears filled Samantha’s eyes, “Emily, I’m so, so sorry. It was stupid. We were just kids.”
Emily's shadowy figure pointed at Melissa, “You were the worst. You started it all.”
Melissa sobbed, “I never thought it'd go that far. I never thought... you'd…” She couldn’t finish her sentence.
Gretchen, trying to be defiant, shouted, “Why are you here? What do you want?”
Emily's voice was soft, yet chilling, “Life for a life.”
The next morning, Melissa was found hanging in her bedroom, a note next to her, confessing her guilt over Emily's death.
Two nights later, Samantha was woken by a whisper in her ear. "Life for a life." She looked around, her room bathed in an unnatural glow. In the corner, Emily's ghostly figure stood, silently watching.
“Please, Emily,” Samantha pleaded. “I regret everything! Please don’t hurt me!”
Emily didn’t respond. Instead, she just pointed to Samantha's sleeping pills on her bedside table.
A week after Samantha's overdose, Gretchen was the last one left. She knew Emily would come for her. She tried to leave town, but the roads seemed to loop back, always bringing her back to that haunted house.
One evening, as Gretchen sat in her living room, the room went cold. Emily appeared.
“Your friends felt the weight of their guilt,” Emily whispered, “Do you?”
Gretchen, tears streaming down her face, nodded, “Every day. I can't escape it.”
“Then free yourself.”
The next morning, the town awoke to news of another tragedy. Gretchen was found in the bathtub, her wrists slit.
Years later, the tales of the haunted house and Emily's revenge became a legend in the town. They said that on some nights, you could still hear the whispered regrets of Samantha, Gretchen, and Melissa, forever trapped with Emily, a grim reminder of the weight of guilt and the cost of cruelty. |
This is a scary story so if you get scared easily, I would scroll if I were u. Every house I’ve lived in has had some type of paranormal activity but my house now has been the worst it’s ever been, me and my family have lived here for 6 years now, this stuff has only been happening for a year now, we live in a double wide but we built a basement under the house because my house is 3 bedrooms and we have a family of 5, my room was upstairs but I would still go downstairs sometimes and I always seen figures in the corner of my eyes, I was little and always ignored it but a few months ago I wanted to turn the basement into my room sense my sister moved out and my brother moved upstairs, I had to do a lot of cleaning and before I made complete changes i decided to sleep down there, the first night was fine but the second night I had a voice In my head just telling me to go upstairs it was just a gut feeling so I did, we have a gate on our stairs so the animals don’t go down there and so I had all of my stuff opening the gate and I heard a loud dark voice saying “ get back here and go to bed “ and something tried to grab my ankle I seen a hand but it went through me and i think it is because i was baptized at age 4. About a week after that I tried to ignore it and I was down there cleaning and I had lit a candle and at around 12 a.m. I had remembered I never blew it out so I walked over to the stairs and I touched the 1st step and I seen her, she was tall, all black even a black dress except for her eyes, they were dark red and she had long pointer fingers, long black here and she was staring at me just waiting for me to come down, I never did and I made my brother go blow out the candle, ever since then I never went back down there, I refuse to. But now, there’s recently been an old man spirit, I’ve never seen him but I’ve heard him, he doesn’t hurt anything so I ignore him but a few weeks ago I seen a dog in my front yard, that was pretty normal my neighbors dogs aren’t trained that well so they make there way over to my house but the thing was it wasn’t their dogs so I just thought my new neighbors got a dog and i had my mom check the cameras and there wasn’t a dog there, I forgot about it until 3 days ago I was sitting in my living room alone at around 1 a.m. no one was awake and I seen the dog in my house coming towards me, it got about 2 feet close and just disappeared and I heard the old man’s voice say “ sorry he got off his leash “ as if it was a real dog, I’m the only one who can see these things, to this day I still see the women from downstairs staring at me from my living room. |
The sun was but a heartbeat away from rending the sky asunder with its radiant rays when it all began. Thick, oily smoke slithered like a malicious serpent from the shadowed groves, weaving its malevolent tendrils into the open pastures that stood as fragile barriers between our humble homes and the wilderness beyond.
Goats, sheep, and cows, those placid grazers that should have been relishing the morning's verdant offerings, scattered like frightened spirits back to their pens, their alarmed bleats weaving a symphony of panic that roused slumbering dogs into a cacophony of primal howls. A symphony only understood by the woods themselves and fatally ignored by men. Birds burst from their leafy perches, painting the dim-lit sky with a somber veil, a dark exodus too swift to admire as it swiftly dissolved into the farthest reaches of the horizon.
Early risers, the calloused hands of farmers, surveyed their surroundings with uneasy glances, sensing a disquieting undercurrent within the air—an enigmatic presence that cast a pall over their spirits and whispered portents down their spines. But the duties of the day beckoned, a relentless demand that relegated these intangible forebodings to the depths of their minds, only to be resurrected when fate's die had already been cast.
A scent, evanescent and haunting, wafted on the breeze — a whiff of charred wood, perhaps the preamble to some forthcoming feast, most thought, without even glancing beyond their noses towards the creeping menace that rolled over the horizon.
From curtained windows, eyes peered toward the woodlands, beckoning their beloveds to witness the surreal spectacle that the heavens were unveiling.
Scarlet, amber, and golden clouds twirled above the canopy, a sunrise never before witnessed, a spectacle none had dared to imagine perilous.
The heat swept in with an urgency, a precursor of scorching days yet the hour had come prematurely, an alarm in its own right, brushed aside by minds engrossed in their mundane matters.
It was sudden, or so it seemed, though the omens had strewn their breadcrumbs throughout the morning. Ebony plumes ascended, like a shroud swathing the heavens, casting their consuming darkness over the town's streets, smothering those who could not outpace its relentless advance.
The plaintive cries of beasts faded, their place usurped by the screams of souls who moments earlier stood entranced by the mesmerizing ballet unfolding on the distant horizon.
"Buckets! Fetch more buckets!" A man bellowed, darting into and out of the smoke's all-encompassing veil. The resilient among them dashed between wells and fountains, a desperate relay race for salvation, casting bucket after bucket into the obsidian haze. A futile effort though.
The blaze that had ignited as a mere whisper lost amid the screams, evolved into a virulent roar, its searing breath consuming the green tapestry and transmuting it to naught but seething embers. Amidst the ebony miasma, flames of infernal orange clawed skyward, illuminating faces contorted with terror. Some crumpled to their knees, beseeching benevolence from whatever deity might deign to heed, while others, hounded by their past misdeeds, begged absolution before being ushered into realms beyond
I dashed from point to point, wrenching ashen faces from the ravenous smog, extracting bodies from homes destined to join the pyre. I pressed on, despite my burning lungs with smoke and exhaustion, hacking and gasping for each breath, every inhalation laden with ash and desperation.
Through the swirling tempest, I witnessed the reckless, darting toward the flames, tethered more to their forsaken possessions than to their fleeting lives. Once or twice, I was thrust into the blaze by desperate mothers' pleas to save their offspring — children who by then had transformed into ashes by the insatiable wrath of the flames. The ruin unfurled with swiftness, lives erased and futures ruptured by the insurmountable inferno, mine among them.
All was done that could be done, and in the wake of impending annihilation, the village evacuated – some resisting with every ounce of their essence, others vacating with eyes glazed, souls hollowed.
I bore witness as the flames engulfed my dwelling, consuming its façade in a malevolent embrace, crumbling its form to a smoldering ruin. Amidst the infernal maw, a shadow stirred. An instinctual impulse propelled me back into the conflagration, yet my momentum halted as swiftly as it had commenced. Amid the blaze, a phantom entity moved — neither smoke nor flesh. Its strides were measured, deliberate, as though oblivious to the cataclysmic tempest that enshrouded it.
After a momentary pause, its head pivoted and fixated upon me. Despite the smog's concealing shroud, its gaze pierced me with a malevolence that struck like an icicle in the marrow of my bones.
I strove to retreat, yet my feet felt as if shackled by tendrils of dread. The entity advanced, a creature driven by bestial hunger, its approach marked by a feral and predatory grace. It halted, poised at the smoke's edge, a space too dense for me to discern its face. It cocked its head for a spell, before, like a serpent poised to strike, lancing its arm forth from the murk. Instinctively, I flinched, squeezing my eyes shut, praying for a swift release, but naught came, not instantly at least.
Tentatively, my gaze reopened and there it lay – a mere step away – a hand charred to cinder, its skeletal index curling like a beckoning talon, an invitation from the beyond. Uncertain of any other course, I drew closer, heartbeats pounding in my chest like a funeral dirge.
Dread coursed through me as I inched toward the figure, feeling like I was taking part in a macabre dance with destiny. As I bridged the distance, its touch brushed my cheek, a paradox of gentleness and icy decay. The flesh, crisped and chilled, left an imprint on my senses, like a forgotten memory sparking into life.
Then, a thought, or perhaps a command, surged from the depths, a compulsion not of my own origin. It whispered of stepping closer, into the very heart of those voracious flames. With every fiber, I resisted it, a primal struggle against the seductive pull. My feet quivered, and the sinews of my resolve stretched taut like fraying threads. I stood as a bulwark against my own undoing, a barrier between me and the relentless flames that sought to claim me.
Just as the abyss seemed poised to welcome me within its fiery maw, a solitary tear cascaded down my cheek, a lone act of defiance against the dire enchantment.
That tear met the creature's hand, and as their contact ignited, a searing agony coursed through my flesh, branding it with blistering torment. A cacophony of anguish, both mine and the phantom's, melded into a discordant symphony of suffering. The tortured entity recoiled, its howl a crescendo of misery that pierced the air, a lament for its lost dominion over my spirit.
Now that the shroud of influence was lifted, I sprinted from the fire's infernal embrace, each stride carrying me farther from the roiling tempest that hungered for my soul.
Behind me, the roar of flames receded to a distant whisper, like the tormenting echoes of a nightmare fading with the dawn. Ahead, the wails of sirens pierced the air, a cacophonous ballet of emergency. Scarlet trucks streaked past, their urgency narrowly avoiding my form in their relentless pursuit of extinguishing the fiery malevolence that had gripped the land
It had been a wildfire, unprecedented in its ferocity, had devoured the landscape, its origins shrouded in the nebulous cloak of mystery, they said. Yet, in the depths of my being, I bore the answers that none else could fathom. The cause and the originator – both veiled in shadow – were as familiar to me as the echoes of my own heartbeat. For it had sought to summon me just as I had been ensnared by its charred allure.
In the end, as I stood amidst the chaos, one truth remained— The knowledge of something harbored in the shadows, awaiting its moment to unfurl like a malevolent blossom. A secret that lay hidden beneath the veneer of our fragile reality. |
This is getting out of hand, really. At first it was a funny little accident. Among my mail and other delivery packages was a plastic-wrapped shoe box and the delivery address was my neighbors. As a good neighbor, I did what I had to do, I knocked on my neighbor’s door and gave them the package. The woman who I talked to apologized for the mixup and thanked me for bringing it to them.
The next day, however, the same thing happened! Another box was on my doorstep and it was supposed to be delivered to my next door neighbor. She apologized again for it and thanked me for not opening it. I thought it was the last time that it would happen but the day after that, the same thing. The box was delivered on my doorstep! I was so annoyed at this point so I thought I’ll just keep it in my house until my neighbor realized that it was delivered to me and she could get it herself. However, the day went on and my neighbor hasn’t asked me about it.
That night, as I ate alone in the living room, watching Netflix, I heard someone knock on my door. Thinking that it was finally my neighbor, I quickly went to check but to my surprise no one was there. Must be a prankster, I thought. I was about to go back to the living room when I heard the knocking sound again and I realized it wasn’t coming from the door. It was from my neighbor’s package.
Fuck, I swore under my breath. Was there something alive in there? Against my better judgment, I unwrapped the box immediately to save what animal was in there but strangely there wasn’t any. It only contains a single book. I held it and felt the odd texture of its cover. It doesn’t have a title page so it’s not fiction I guess and it’s solely written in a different language. This book felt ancient. Its pages almost feel like it would crumble to touch. Curious what this book is all about, I pulled up my phone and used it to translate the texts on the first page.
I almost threw the book away as soon as I read what the text said. “Binding this book is the skin of the traitor Johannes” I inspected the book again and now that I know it, the cover does look like it was made from human skin. My own skin crawled from the thought of it.
I immediately called the cops and told them that my neighbors own it. However, I learned that it wasn’t illegal to own a product made from humans and the heat quickly turned against me as the police asked me why I opened my neighbor's package.
Thankfully, my neighbor said that it was fine and it was her fault so she won’t press charges. The police asked me to hand the book back to my neighbor and I was about to gladly comply when she asked if I could return it to the box first. I didn’t think of it and did her request. She was very thankful afterwards and even gave me a hug. That bit, I found it weird.
|
Me and my best friend are very close. I can’t believe who he actualy is. Me and my friend match each other like go to sleep at the same time, wear same t-shirts, dye our hair the same, write stories together, draw together… A few months ago we both went to bed after watching a movie and hanging out together. He said that he will go sleep at his house but when I waved him goodbye he went in the wrong direction. I was confused because the way that he went in lead to a forest and then to another village. I thought he will just come back and go in the right way, but I was wrong. After 1 hour and a half he still didn’t go in the right way I was getting scared so I called him. He said that he is visiting his grandma and grandpa. I was confused again because I know him well and his grandparent’s house is the other way. He said that he is going to the other grandparents. He was getting suspicius now because his other grandparents d!€d in a car accident a year ago. He hung up and I started thinking that he was lying. I went to watch some tv and news on the news she said that a few people we’re found d€@d in the village that the forest leads to and the news said that there is a serial k!ll€r on loose. I really hoped they would arrest that serial k!ll€r. He said that he was around 5’9 feet I thought that was some kind of a coincidence because my friend was 5’9 feet tall too. I went to an other friend’s house when I saw my best friend’s house his car was there and he walked outside in his back pocket was something that looked like a gun, but I just thought it’s something else, he drove to the other village and was there for a couple hours. We began to think that he is the serial k!ll€r but he was my best friend so I kind of didn’t know who should I believe but my best friend was suspicius though so I was more on my other friend’s side. We watched some news and got some more information, the k!ll€r had black hair and was wearing a white t-shirt. My other friend thought it’s me for a second but we had matching outfits and hair with my best friend. This can’t be a coincidence my friend said, but we needed to finaly confirm. I was at my best friend’s house, not knowing if I would make it out alive then someone was calling him, he went in his room and I started to listen to his conversation and it went like this: him: you got the stuff? Caller: yeah pick it up at my house. Him: okay thanks. I now knew for sure he was the serial k!ll€r. |
null |
Recently there's been a lot of warnings about people going missing but being found in the woods a few weeks later. But reports are saying the missing people always come back not quite themselves, from going crazy and attacking friends, family and the cops. To becoming quiet and very anti social then dyeing due to some unknown sickness that doctors are unable to identify as anything that's been discovered.
No one understands why or what's causing these missing cases and the attacks and deaths that could follow. Only one case hasn't been followed by a death nor violent outburst. This missing person, was my oldest friend. He went missing for nearly 2 months, but when he was found just asleep against a tree in the woods at the edge of the city, he seemed fine. Normal. Nothing he did seemed out of pocket for him.
His humour, his reactions and his personality. All normal. But still, after he was found, he was placed into a enclosed and safe room in a hospital. When i visited him, he seemed to recognise me even before i got close to his room. To the point he would start talking to supposedly me before i enter the hospital and before he's even told that i'm coming to see him,so when i walk to his room, he's already half way through the conversation.
He was soon deemed safe to be around society after being through all sorts of tests. The only test result that confused doctors and nurses, was that his blood was no longer crimson red,but now a teal colour with flickers of rose pink. They tested his DNA and all his body fluids, all normal.But his blood was the only anomaly. The doctors gave him some medicine to see if they could help with the strange colouration of his blood. I took him home and told him to lock his doors and windows and not to answer the door unless i call him on the burner phone that i gave him.
I found one thing strange about him though, for all those days he had been missing.. He looked too healthy, no signs of starvation.
No cuts, bruises or scrapes. No signs of being in any form of harm. Its weird.
Half way through my walk back home, i got a call off his old phone. i looked at the number and confirmed it was his old number, but he told me that he had lost his old phone while he was missing. I calmly answered the phone.
"hello? Who is this and why do you have my friend's phone?"
All I was met with was deep and heavy breathing mixed in with sniffles. I asked once again, only to be responded with my friend's voice.
"help me.."
I frowned as I looked up at the street in front of me, then started to look around to see if i could see him. I finally spot him a few feet behind me. I answer the voice on the phone, thinking my friend was playing a prank on me.
"hey! that's not funny mate, you just went missing for nearly two months. Go home!"
I stared at him as he slowly dragged his feet towards me, my frown starting to turn into concern.
"how did you get hurt while trying to follow me?"
Suddenly i hear my name gently being spoken to me through the call as I watch my friend's jaw slowly drop to a inhuman length as he draws a crooked smile on his elongated face and his eyes grow to a large size.
The voice on the call was clear and bold this time.
"that's not me.. I'm still in the forest. I've only just found my way out! i was taken!!"
I watched as the twisted version of my friend started to move closer, my eyes weld up with tears. My "friend" was the last thing I saw.
Two days later, my real friend was found and taken to hospital and was interrogated by the police. Now it was my photo they showed on the missing people cases on the news. |
I was just chilling, eating snacks and scrolling through TikTok when my sister in law came and asked me to help her with some electrical lines that were damaged and her rooms light won't turn on. We live in a pretty damned old apartment building which has only 4 floors and the neighbors are too poor or cheap to get lights in every floor so you can't see damn in there. I went with my sister in law and we were fixing the lines which were in the second floor by the window, as it was dark I decided to get a flashlight and bring it back with me so we could see. On my way to our apartment I heard some kind of wicked laughter, so I around to see but I could only see a bit of some or somethings body. I got closer look and saw a dark figure by the stairs, head tilted and looking right at me with wide open eyes. I'm couldn't describe it since it was dark but I f$cking swear it wasn't human. I ran for my life, falling and rolling untill I reached our apartment and yelled for someone to help. When everyone came they went to look for it as they thought maybe it was a robber but they saw it in a corner, they knew damn well it was not human but told me that they went up stairs and it was just a rude old lady who lived alone there. I know what I saw, I see lots of shadows around but I just count it as hallucination but this thing just stood ther looking at me. At least it was better than what I heard; it's wicked laughter which could break windows down. |
I am still horrified by this it all started after my dog James passed away. After we put him in our pet cemetery I put flowers on his grave and said my last goodbyes to him while crying. I went straight to bed and cried myself to sleep because I missed him so much, I woke up at 3:00 to the sound of barking outside. I put on my shoes and quietly got out of the house. I went outside looking for the sound. I went into the backyard and there he was James I ran into the house and locked the door and went back to sleep. The next morning I woke up and told my parents but they didn’t believe me but when I told my siblings they said that they saw him too. My sister said that at 10:00 she went to let her dog out to use the restroom and she saw James standing in the front yard and she ran back into the house, my little brother woke up at 1:30 and said that he heard something walking downstairs so he checked and saw James walking around the living room and he ran into his room and locked the door and my older brother said that when he was coming home from work at 12:00 he saw James running in the street. I still don’t understand what happened but I’m still traumatized. |
The guys joe murr q and sal were all laughing till the scary joke was said and that’s when all there pants dropped |
Hey Reddit, I've got a bone-chilling tale to share with you all. A few months ago, my grandmother passed away, and as the sole heir, I inherited her old Victorian-era mirror. It's a beautiful piece with intricate carvings, but it didn't take long for me to realize there's something incredibly unsettling about it.
At first, everything seemed normal. I hung the mirror in my bedroom, and it added a touch of vintage elegance to the space. But then, I started noticing strange reflections whenever I glanced at it. Shapes and figures that weren't there when I turned around. I chalked it up to my imagination playing tricks on me, but things escalated quickly.
Late at night, I would wake up to whispers, faint and indistinguishable. I brushed it off as the creaking of an old house, but the whispers grew clearer each night. They were eerie, like conversations happening just beyond my hearing range. One night, I was startled awake by a whisper that was unmistakably my grandmother's voice, calling my name.
I sat up, heart pounding, and looked at the mirror. My reflection was distorted, as if the glass had turned into a rippling pool. And there, in the distorted reflection, I saw her – my grandmother, her face twisted into an unsettling grin. I blinked hard, and when I looked again, my reflection was back to normal.
Terrified, I decided to move the mirror into the basement. The disturbances seemed to stop for a while, and I thought I was finally free of whatever malevolent presence had latched onto it. But I was wrong.
One evening, as I was organizing some old family photos, I glanced at the mirror and froze. In the reflection, I saw my grandmother, standing right behind me, her eyes empty and hollow, her grin stretching impossibly wide. I turned around, heart racing, but the room was empty. I rushed to the basement, determined to rid myself of the cursed mirror.
As I tried to cover it with a sheet, I caught a glimpse of the mirror's reflection – but this time, it was different. It wasn't showing my basement; it was showing a dark, twisted version of my own bedroom, with shadows writhing and contorting. In the reflection, I saw my own terrified face, mouthing the words "help me."
I yanked the sheet over the mirror and left it in the basement. The whispers continued, now more urgent and menacing. Every night, I heard my grandmother's voice begging me to release her from the mirror. But I knew better than to listen. I've locked the basement door, hoping to contain whatever malevolent force resides within that mirror.
If anyone has experience with haunted objects or has encountered something similar, please share your advice. I'm desperate to rid myself of this cursed heirloom and the nightmare it's brought into my life. |
It was a cold, dark night. Two teenage siblings, a boy and a girl were tucking their youngest brother into bed.
“NO! I don’t want to go to bed!” he shouted.
The little boy then proceeded to run around the house while his older siblings were chasing after him. His sister eventually caught up to him and took him to bed.
“Ok you little troublemaker, how about we tell you a story to help you fall asleep?” she said.
The little boy agreed to her offer as long as it was a scary one. And so, the boy and girl began to tell him a story called “the hanged demon.” It was about a cult member who became corrupted by his powers and desire to kill.
“My name is C’aalgth. I was a former cult member who worshipped the sleeper of R’lyeh. I made a deal with him: my soul for anything I wanted. I gained near omnipotent powers and fulfilled his missions by making as many living beings suffer as much as possible in the worst ways imaginable.”
The little boy Shouted, “this is lame! When does it get to the good part?”
“Calm down! I’m sure the person reading this short story is wondering the same thing,” The older boy said.
The sister then continued to where she was interrupted.
“The consequences of my actions eventually caught up to me. My body began breaking down and started to rot. My organs began falling out of my body slowly and my bones felt as if they were paper soaking in water. The other cult members thought I was dead, so they hanged my rotting body by my mouth and left me there.”
The story then continues about how C’aalgth was still alive and escaped his chambers. He would then haunt the innocent by luring them into a dark area. C’aalgth would then tear his victims to shreds using the chains that were used to hang him.
“Now this is getting good!” shouted the little boy.
The older boy insisted to tell him the rest of the story.
“My kill count is so high; I’ve lost count many times, but the most accurate guess would be more that 10 trillion. I’ve taken the lives of many beings, even gods. Thor’s thunder could not keep me down, Amaterasu’s beauty wasn’t enough to convince me to keep her alive, although she would’ve made an excellent wife. Not even the might of Zeus could stop me. For every life I have taken, I wear their souls as proof of my achievements.”
The little boy loved this story very much, but he couldn’t take all the suspense and wanted to know how the story would end but his older brother and sister told him that the end is near.
“I appear when you least expect it. I can turn into anything and anyone. I take orders from no one. Many beings have tried to defy me but, in the end, their courage never wavered. Why? Was it arrogance? Ignorance? Stupidity? I was contained once. It was one time too many. I will destroy everything in my path.”
“We’re finally at the end, ok? Get ready,” said the older boy.
The little boy was extremely excited to hear the end of “the hanged demon.”
“I know that we’ll all die eventually, which is why I’m not afraid. I am prepared to die. All I want to do in my life is to cause misery and conquer the universe. No matter how many times I die, I’ll come back! I ALWAYS COME BACK!”
The lights suddenly went out and the entire world turned pitch black. The little boy began to get scared, and his older brother tried to find the breaker box. Luckily, the older sister knew exactly where the breaker was and told the two boys to follow her. As they were following her, they began to hear slimy tentacles slapping the floor and chains rattling. As the siblings progressed to the breaker box, they heard a loud scream. The older boy sensed fear within himself since the hanged demon could mimic voices and sounds.
“This is it. We found the breaker box,” said the sister.
She opened the box and found the switch for the lights but before she could switch it, she spoke to her brothers.
“I can see blood all over my hands.”
She fell to the ground with her organs slowly falling out her stomach. The sound of her organs gushing made the little boy vomit and shortly after, he began to vomit his entire skeleton.
“There was only 1 part of that story I hate. It left out the part where I can manipulate the way my victims die.”
With 1 quick slice with his chain, the older boy fell to the ground and died. |
What happens when the sacred bonds of parenthood are twisted into something sinister, and parents become the perpetrators of unspeakable horrors as killer parents?
|
null |
I was at school before the summer. Class was slower than usual, the teacher left the room after the principle went on the louder speaker, saying "All teachers please come down to the office". This was unusual the teachers would be called before or after school. So no one knew what was happening. After a bit the school went into lockdown, the doors automaticly shut and locked, then the blinds went down. We started freaking out, the normal brave one tried calming us down, most of us pulled out phones and played games, must have been atleast a hour before the power went out, the doors could now be unlocked from our side. We no longer had internet access. I pulled out my phone and turned on the flashlight onto the lowest light, most of us thought it was a shooter, I thought otherwise.
I knew that they were still here, the power would have been turned on by now, we were getting hungry, I looked out of the door window, nothing there. 4 people voulenteered to go to the cafateria, I was one of them, I checked again, still nothing. We started going down there, flashlights at the minium. Jack stopped and looked down the hallway to our right, he wispered, I see something, down there was a big hairy creature stopped in his tracks looking at a door. The art class door. We continued trying not to do anything to alert it, we made it to the office, and saw the alarm system. We activated a unused room to distract it, the confrence room was locked, but the blinds were up, All the teachers were dead, ripped into peices, It made us all nauseous, but we continued.
We made it to the kitchen and found some premade sandwiches that were supposed to be for lunch, some were gone so other classes had taken some, I grabbed a few to take back, you might be thinking "Why not leave right now?" the reason is that a key is needed to open it manually all of the glass is bulletproof. We would need the cops to be here to open the doors. We made it back without issues and the art class joined us to the class, we ate the sandwiches and waited, It might have been hours before one of us had a bar and called 911 the police opened the door. We heard struggle and then we were let out. It was about midnight when we left.
The news covered it a few days later, each staff member were found dead, 3 class rooms were destroyed and the students met the same fate as the teachers,(continues in oldest comment) |
It was just a ordinary day for me, 26F. Until my phone buzzed on the table, "Emergency Alert". I tried to scroll to see what it said. It said, "Please be aware of mass effect, this is not a test, be aware of mass rainfall, go into a room with no windows and make all entrances of your home barricaded." Like obviously I was pretty scared as I haven't heard a alert like this before but I decided to listen to it. I grabbed my phone and med kit and rushed downstairs, preparing for the worst, and then it hit me. I forgot to barricade, but I just don't want to go back up and see the terror of what's going on, so I stay there and then another alert popped up, "Please stay in your shelters, there is a report of a national breach, And every area is affected. Stay tuned on your radio as we try to find out more on this situation." As I finished reading, I heard a slight tapping at the window, it was like a "Tap tap, Knock Knock" but as I didn't respond it became louder. I finally decided to go up and seed and what I saw terrified me. There was absolutely hell outside and everyone was screaming. The only issue was that as soon as I went outside the next alert was, "You are now allowed to go out, Please call the authorities if any suspicious behavior alarms you." If you see this alert, please don't do the same mistake I did. It may pit your life at risk. |
I hate going to cemeteries.
It’s not that it’s the atmosphere, the strange peacefulness washing over countless graves. The neglected tombs, or the newly buried. No, it’s not even zombies, if they exist. Or even the distant ringing of the church bell.
It’s just that I happen to have a strange gift.
I can hear the dead.
And it’s not only that. They can hear me too.
I sigh as I get out of the car, grab the flowers. The sun’s bright as ever. I lock the car and I begin my walk to my destination.
The graves lined row by row. Some old, dating back centuries, others modern. Most are stones and crosses. A few are newly made.
Then I hear them.
The grave on my right, Meta Anna Hobbes 1900 - 1918:
*I’m sorry, mama, papa. I should’ve listened . . .*
The grave on my left, M. P. Jackson 1890 -1951:
*I killed myself after what I did to Little Charlie . . .*
More voices come. It got annoying. Like what happens when a lot of radio frequencies merged into one.
I pause at one grave. It read:
BABY ELLIE 2004
OUR LITTLE ANGEL
A baby's wail. A teddy bear and a small bouquet. I then look at the other:
Wren Wrightwell 1990 -2017. I can hear Wren’s whisper:
*I know who killed me . . . He’s there . . .*
I rub my temple and move on. As I do, I see the more interesting graves. I have at least two favorites:
One grave has a mortsafe over it. Probably to keep off vampires or something. I read the old, eroded stone marker as best I can:
Arthur Patton Smith? 18?? - 1889?
HERE LIES THE MAN . . .
HE WHO CARES . . .
MAY HE REST (?)
Reading, I can hear his voice:
*God loves us all except the colored folk . . .*
I quickly back away, then I finally spot it. The flying angel grave by the pine tree. Mom. Fifty-nine steps later, I get there. I face the angel. I give a moment of silence and read Mom’s tomb, the words etched below the angel:
Maryann Kanell 1956 - 2020
BELOVED WIFE MOTHER AND GRANDMOTHER
HER MEMORY IS ENSHRINED IN OUR HEARTS
While standing there, I feel numb. My fingers grip the bouquet tight.
I remember Mom, a sweet woman. Her smile, her strong hands, and witty humor . . .
After several minutes, I gather the courage to speak to her.
“How’s it going, mom?” I feel strong emotions coming.
Mom’s voice answers me in return:
*You brat! I took care of you and your brother! I gave you your own closet. But you scratched it like a cat! You! You didn’t know how to wash in the tub, so I showed you how!*
I laugh at the whisper. “You’re telling a different story, mom.” I smile. “At least you won’t hurt me or Hector anymore.” |
*Officer report of incident. Radio transmission start.*
Not dying.
The thing isn't dying,
It killed an team of exorcists.
Even a police squad.
Only one survivor.
I unloaded at least 10 mags into the thing now.
It hasn't gone down. I am the last in my squad now.
We need the military.
I just can't fire anymore.
My hand is numb.
My vision is red.
I can barely talk here.
It is still here.
It is listening.
I think it hears me.
I request backup.
It is looking at me.
I am already gone.
*no more responding from this officer.*
Report number: 2110
Report title: DemonKid. |
How gentleman deth works is you go to a graveyard at sunset and put a vase of flowers on an unmarked grave you take a wine bottle and pour wine in two glasses, propose a toast and say "Gentleman death wont you come drink with me?" if you see a dark figure in the distance the game has started. after a bit of talking gentle man death will play a game with you (any game (he favors those who chose chess)) After that game if you won he will give you his cigar and if you dont lose it you will have good luck for at least a year but if you lose you will have to give him money.
Bethany listened to this story over and over again, thinking "would it be worth it to play?" |
Childhood is a darkness illumed by flickerlight, a void of memory sparked into remembrance as by the soft passing of fireflies over black velvet, lightening like sparks—
There was a house.
Yes.
There was I.
And mother and father and the dog named Justiciar, whose fur was the colour of ash.
There was the living room with the big window through which the morning sunlight flooded, and the kitchen where mother often wept, and father's study, where he sat and read and brooded, his swollen hands submerged in bowls of ice; and the passing of time was measured in the silent thaw of ice to water, and I brought the towel for father to dry his hands, and I brought the towel for mother to clean her face, and I saw blood and I saw blood.
At night there was my room.
I, in it.
Each dusk was an erasure of the day that'd passed and all contained within it, and as I sat upon the bed I dared not shut the door, for what if it would never open again, trapping me inside forever, wrapped unmummified in cotton sheets, entombed still-living in this house of brick and pain?
Out the door I would see the hallway wall, and ritually stare at it with my headphones on, music playing, day-dreaming as, in time, the space between the hall and doorframe flattened, and the boundary disappeared, leaving me alone in an uncertain nothingness, pregnant with dread, whose illusory peace was most often broken only by the light which seeped into the hall from below the door beside my own, the door to mother and father's bedroom.
But whenever that door opened—
Light, (Flash of), thunderous and blinding, their silhouettes projected, if but momentarily, upon the wall: father, looming, entering; mother, insignificant and broken, and I pulled the sheets higher and turned the volume up until the music hurt my head and my skull shook like a can of paint and my skin threatened to peel from my face, the pale whiteness of its flesh set to unveil the yellowed whiteness of its bone, under both of which: the destructure of a black core throbbing to the rhythm of each imagined
Thud.
Sometimes after the final flash of light, I rose from bed and looked out my window, into the back garden, where although I did not see I knew my mother sometimes went, and once or twice I caught—like the subtle sting of a syringe—sight of the glowing end of a cigarette, slight and trembling and twinkling like a star, before burning out once and for all. Like even the sun must. Like we all must, one day.
Then morning.
Perhaps after sleep; perhaps not.
Mother in the kitchen, crying. Father in his study icing his hands.
We did not speak. Or think
about it, because how could anyone comprehend the brilliance of the morning light, streaming in through the big bay window, against the flat, opaque backdrop of the recurring nightmare. If one, not the other. And sitting in the brightness of the living room I knew it was true and therefore the other false, the mere lingering of a dream I had because I was possessed of a sick mind, "a degenerate mind," as Crown counsel would later describe it, saying it not to me but to the jury, none of whom ever looked me in the eye lest, apparently, I infect them with my degeneracy.
The justice system became my second home.
Its corridors were endless.
Traversed by lawyers and judges and people patiently pacing, waiting, day after day, to be admitted to the Law. I lived among them. Although like the gods they carefully guarded their sacred flame, not allowing me access to anything flammable, "after what [I] had done," ("...burnt, and the widower father charred to a black corpse that turned to dust when touched by forensics."), they left me otherwise alone.
My cell was spare, with a bed, toilet and desk, and I showered in a communal shower that smelled of bleach. The courthouse itself smelled overwhelmingly of wood and rot. The judges, who never hurried, reminded me of burrowing worms capped with powdered wigs. The lawyers were slivers, dangerous fragments of an organic substance whose living source had long ago died. To be avoided.
"You sure you don't want a counsel representing you, miss? Most judges do pref—"
"No," I said.
The other accused ignored me for the most part, either frothing with a fulsome anger at the world or lost in inverted explorations of their meandering selves, but there was one incident I must mention because it was the second time I channeled lightning. The man had come upon me in the shower and before I could scream had pressed a calloused hand against my mouth and pushed me down to the tiled floor, pinning my body with his. I'd closed my eyes and he was about to do it to me when he spat, "Open yore eyes! Open yore eyes and looka-me, bitch!" and like before—like that day, like in my father's house—I felt the light creeping through my veins, and when I did as I'd been told, opening my eyes: became orbs of pure illumination whose rays like fire-snakes did blind him.
With melted eyes dripping through fingers pressed tight against his face he receded, screeching as he went, and the only time I saw him after that he wore patches over his hollow sockets, and his face was brown and gnarled as tree bark.
On the day my trial ended and the verdict was read, I remember thinking all the people in the courtroom had giant, inflated heads that could detach from their necks and become planets orbiting a central star called Justice. Oh, how they worshipped their legalistic interpretation of this burning mass. Their tests and jurisprudence, their precedents and first principles. Round and round their severed heads travelled, bloated and self-sure in their codified belief that they had taken the chaos of life and rendered it mechanical, yet universally unaware that by doing so it was their own natures they had undone. From the clay of humanity, automatons. Willingly, they had given up their supernatures, their divine connection to the light. "Your honour," spoke the head of the jury, "we have reached a verdict. We find the girl—my apologies, your honour. We find *the accused* guilty of the murder of one Artholomew Powell, her father…"
*Mother's light extinguished by her own hand resting in eternal stillness.*
"...of setting deliberate fire to his house."
*I submerged my face in the icy water, and felt for the first time the illumination course within me. Come to life, light.*
"We recommend," spoke the head of the jury, "as punishment for the aforementioned crimes, the penalty of—"
*My father's house, its glowing walls*
and courthouse halls in dazzling flame, as the observers from the public gallery crawl choking towards exits that they will never reach, the Crown counsel is a wailing torch, the jury members vomit burning innards unto each other as they drown in their own liquefactions, and the judge is a fat, blubbering candle in a puddle of once-human lard.
"death."
I channel lightning.
For the third time in my life I channel lightning, but for the first time I do it with control.
Childhood is a darkness illumed by flickerlight, a void of memory sparked into remembrance as by the soft passing of fireflies over black velvet, lightening like sparks, which shall set fire to the suffocating material of the present and against which my future shall burn evermore brightly. |
I was not born blind. I used to see the bright colours of flowers, decorate my room with things I thought looked cute. Now slowly my vision is disappearing. The doctors told me I can still see 10% right now and that means mainly shapes. When it’s dark I cannot see anything.
My father works in healthcare as a nurse and my mom is a 911 operator, which means long hours for them and me spending time alone in our house. It is not a large house, but it is not tiny either. I know every corner of the house and move around the house as if I’m not visually impaired.
When I was around the age of 21 (I am not 23) I was diagnosed with glaucoma. It took around a year for me to go almost completely blind but I have learned to live with it. I work in education and I am still able to teach all of the 7 year old kids in my class. They ask me lots of questions and I don’t mind answering them at all. If anything I enjoy answering those curious little minds.
The following happened in summer break, my parents were both working a late night shift and I was hanging out with my friend, Tiara. Usually when she comes over, she stays for a long time. She is like the only person I can tolerate for more then 24 hours. If you know, you know.
We both finished watching (listening) our favorite series both tired from binge watching and a few tears left on our cheek because of the sad ending of it. Shortly after, she left and I went to clean up. I left the remaining popcorn for me to eat as I put on a podcast to listen to, while loading the dishwasher. I heard a chime from my phone, and Siri reading the message Tiara sent: ‘I’m home! Goodnight and thanks for the fun day’. I smiled and my podcast continued.
The podcast talked about strange disappearances a few towns over, labeling it as a cold case. I huffed, as the disappearances are still happening thus I do not think the case is that cold yet. I turned off the kitchen lights and moved my way through the hallway towards the living room and I let myself fall back onto the comfy couch, reaching for the bowl of popcorn, when my phone chimed again. Siri read the message that came from the security app.
***‘Person detected backyard.’*** The voice of the app said. I frowned my brows. Is Tiara back? Or maybe it is a squirrel. Most of the times the system things those are persons too.
I waved it off as being a squirrel, and went back to listening my podcast while shoving handfuls of popcorn in my mouth.
About 2 minutes later my phone chimed again, and again the voice said that there was a person detected in the backyard. I turned my podcast off and listened, hoping I would hear footsteps or anything. I asked Siri my battery percentage, and when he mentioned it is 40% I was slightly relieved. Phone in my hand, I made my way to the back glass window, listening closely, but not being able to see anything in the pitch dark. The lights of the living room reflecting.
I leaned my ear against the glass, hoping to hear anything. That was I heard a soft breath hitting the glass. I gasped and jumped back. I must be imagining things. The phone chimed again, the voice mentioning a person in the backyard again. I felt a chill run down my spine.
I tried to look, hoping I might see something, someone. For the first time since my blindness, I cursed my lack of sight. I cupped my hands against the glass, looking.
Someone was looking straight back at me. The reflection of the living room lights lit up the whites of his eyes. I screamed and fell back down. I grabbed my phone, calling 911 immediately. The door wriggled and I heard my breathing quicken.
‘911, what’s the address of your emergency?’ A soft female voice I recognised as my mothers. I tried to be calm, I honestly tried, but as soon as I heard my mothers voice I was hysterical.
‘Mom there is someone in the backyard, trying to break into the house.’ My voice was shaking and I felt tears streaming down my face. There was a few seconds of silence, which honestly felt like minutes.
‘Honey, I got the police send to our place, can you hide?’ She asks in a calm voice.
‘Yes, Yes I try.’ I swallowed the lump in my throat and got up. The lights cut off. Shit.
‘Mom-‘ I cried, now completely blind and scared for my life.
‘What happened honey keep talking.’ She said, I heard panic in her voice but she tried to hide it. I reached for my air pods and after seconds of panicked searching I found them. I put one in my ear and put my phone down the front of my pants. Now I had my hands free to feel around. It was like I completely forgot what our house looked like.
‘The light turned off, I can’t see anything mommy.’ I said. I remember trying to open my eyes, in hope that I could see more if I opened them wide enough.
‘Okay honey, where were you last?’ She asks.
‘Living room.’ I replied softly.
‘Okay,’ I heard the ticking of her keyboard, noting everything down I said. ‘Try to reach a wall, and feel your way to the doorway. Take an immediate right and go up the stairs.’ I frantically feel around, feeling the wooden door frame and pulling myself around the corner. I felt for the stairs, and once I felt them, I rushed upstairs. That’s when I remembered I did not lock the front door after Tiara left the house.
Fuck.
‘Mom, I have to lock the front door.’ I said, panic in my voice as I said it.
‘Honey, don’t, just hide the police will be there in 7 minutes.’ She said. But I did not listen. I have to lock the front door.
I turned around and rushed down the stairs, knowing where I was and adrenaline kicking in, I was faster than ever before. My phone chimed, the app’s robotic voice was a horror in my ear.
***Person detected front door***
I walked to the side of the doorframe, feeling around for the doorbell system and pressing the little microphone button.
‘please leave me alone.’ I said in a shaky voice.
‘What are you doing honey? Go upstairs please.’ My mom said in a panic.
‘Please leave me alone!’ I screamed with a hoarse voice.
‘Why?’ I man’s voice was clear as day through the speakers. Surprise caught me as I had not expected this person to talk back.
‘There’s nothing here for you to steal. Please go away.’ I said.
‘Honey lock the door!’ My mom yelled in my ear.
‘Who says I want to steal something?’ I heard the grin on the mans face as he spoke. I locked the doors, and activated the alarm. A quick ‘done’ left my mouth.
‘Good, now go upstairs.’ My mom said hastily.
I took a breath of relieve and I turned around, ready to hide upstairs, when the man’s voice came through again.
‘The question remains though,’ He stopped talking, and I stopped walking. ‘Did you just lock me in or out?’ |
I had bought a huge patch of land with an old farm on it, the price was not a concern since all I had was money, eventually I took down the barns and shed, did the renovations myself which took a year or so to do, added more rooms and a side to the house which gives it a bigger look.
I was satisfied with the whole thing and once I knew I was completely finished, I had a party of maybe ten friends come over, we had a BBQ with plenty of drinks and loud music on the deck with cool lanturns, I was set for life and prepared to enjoy it.
The land I purchased stretched past the treeline which was maybe one hundred meters both ways, wasn't bad, night time was relaxing and sometimes if the night is right, the moon would shine up the landscape so it's not as dark as it would be.
My friends and I sat on the grass with lawn chairs where I had made a huge fire pit, the flames could be almost ten feet, the view would be incredible.
As we sat around the fire talking amongst each other, laughing with beer bottles clanking, I noticed one of my female friends looking hard over her shoulder towards the trees and she points "what's that over there?" I shrugged it off and told her it's probably one of the horses that got free from the farm down the road, it was a common thing and they would be around to collect it usually so we didn't take a second look.
As we were laughing over ourselves we heard a ear piercing sound fill the air which sounded much louder than anything anyone here has ever heard followed by the sound of galloping footsteps.
I got my friends on the deck as I went to inspect just what was happening and the sound of horses could be heard running around on my open area, one of my friends comes running with a few flash lights I had stored in my shed and four of us went to inspect what was happening.
We found that the horses from the farm down the road were running in circles around my land and it just didn't seem normal to me, one of my friends got knocked down as one was passing and it was just chaos as we all ran around and seemed like they were just circling us but that was far from what was really happening.
After a few seconds of collecting what was going on and seeing these horses running in all directions, I see a pair of headlights coming down the road and running over onto the grass in our direction and comes to a complete stop as we turn to see the horses running away from the cars lights.
I see my neighbor step out from the car yelling at us "get in the house now!" I instruct my friends to run for the house as I ran up to my neighbor and asked him what's going on? He looks at me with a serious look in his eye "you didn't see it yet have ya?" I look at him confused "see what?" He takes out his phone and turns on his ring camera app, begins to play a video of his barn and I'll be damned to say that what I seen was something out of a movie, a horror movie.
The video showed restless horses in their stables and suddenly all of them breaking out, not sure how but one after another, all but one made it out and what came on the screen next was some kind of monster, it looked the size of human being but the eyes were glowing a white or yellowish shine, another one came into view flapping it's wings and closing them as it kind of hopped into view, what I can see was that these things had started to eat and tear away at one of my neighbors horses and when they were done they went on and chased the others which ended up on my land.
We sat in the car as we seen a few horses run past, I of course was still in disbelief from the footage, obviously with my neighbor holding a shotgun, he went after the things and to gather up his horses and I got out of the car and sprinted back towards my house.
As I was just nearing the deck, I heard a scratching sound above my head and with a panic I shined my flashlight upward which was the stupidest move I could ever do and there it was...
The eyes were round and oval, just a bit wider than a human's and there was what looked like no mouth, head was like a heart shape and the entire body was skinny, brown and greyish with its wings folded behind its back, sitting perched and observing me like it was curious, I froze and fear staring at this thing with my light shined into its reflecting eyes, I quickly gathered myself together and ran inside as quick as I could with all my friends gathering around me asking what happened out there.
I couldn't say a thing for a few minutes cause I knew they sure as heck wouldn't believe a word I would say since we were all kind of drunk from the beers, I told them that the horses just escaped and some wolves were chasing them and of course they bought it, except for one of my friends...
After that weekend I hardly spoke to anyone for a few months and did more work on the house which it didn't need, I just wanted to keep myself busy I guess.
I got a text along with a picture with the words "I seen it too" under it and I look to see the very same thing I seen that night, my friend had taken a picture of the kitchen window and this thing look inside the house...
Those eyes is what haunts me cause when this thing looks at you dead on? You know it's thinking and has something of an intelligence to it with a deep fear it gives off...
Nothing has happened since then and I sure hope it won't cause if anything, anything at all? I'll consider selling my land for cheap just so I don't have to see those eyes ever again. |
Hey Reddit, I recently moved into a new apartment, and things have taken a really unsettling turn. I thought I'd share my experience with you all, because I'm honestly not sure what to do next.
When I first moved in, everything seemed normal. The place was clean, well-lit, and in a good neighborhood. But a few nights ago, while I was unpacking some boxes in the living room, I noticed a small trapdoor in the corner of the closet. Curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to open it up.
Inside, I found a dusty box labeled "Home Videos." Assuming they were just old VHS tapes left behind by the previous tenant, I brushed off the dirt and decided to take a look. I mean, who doesn't love a bit of nostalgia, right?
The first tape I popped into my old VCR was labeled "Birthday Party - 1998." The video quality was grainy, but I could clearly see kids playing in a backyard, having a blast. I assumed it was just a regular birthday party until the camera panned over to a figure standing in the shadows. It was a tall, slender person in a tattered, black cloak. They were just standing there, watching the kids play. I felt a shiver down my spine, but I chalked it up to a prank or someone in a weird costume.
The second tape was labeled "Vacation Memories - 2002." The video showed a family laughing and enjoying themselves at the beach. But then, towards the end of the video, the camera suddenly turned towards the ocean. I could barely make out a figure in the distance, standing ankle-deep in the water. It was the same cloaked person. I was starting to feel genuinely creeped out.
I decided to watch one more tape before calling it a night. This one was labeled "Anniversary Dinner - 2007." It showed a couple having a candlelit dinner in a fancy restaurant. But midway through, the camera seemed to glitch, and the cloaked figure appeared right beside their table. The couple didn't react at all, as if they couldn't see the figure. My heart raced, and I turned off the VCR, feeling a knot of unease in my stomach.
I couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously off about those tapes. I didn't sleep well that night, and the next morning, I decided to do some research on the apartment's history. It turns out, there had been a series of unsolved disappearances and strange occurrences linked to my building over the years.
I reached out to the previous tenant, hoping to get some answers. But when I mentioned the tapes, they seemed genuinely surprised. They claimed to have no knowledge of them and assured me that they had thoroughly cleaned out the apartment before I moved in.
I'm not sure what to make of all this. Are the tapes some kind of sick joke? Or is there something more sinister going on? I've been feeling a constant sense of being watched, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm not alone in my apartment. I'm planning to investigate further, but I wanted to share my experience with you all first. If anyone has any advice or similar experiences, please let me know. |
Please listen and enjoy 🖤 |
Sophia saw the girl throw herself off the platform under the rushing train at Clapham Junction at 5:23 pm, on very first afternoon she was commuting back from her new job.
Sophia froze, mouth open in shock and horror. The crowds rushing past jostled her and she almost fell herself. She looked around. Eyes were down, glued to phones, or gazing vacant at the signboards and trains. Nobody seemed to have noticed the girl.
Sophia’s brain couldn’t quite catch up with the reality of what she had seen. A young woman her own age, dressed in a bright yellow mac glistening against the grey London sky, her face numb with despair and misery, tumbling down the platform. The train swallowing her whole. No outcry.
She stepped forward, not sure if she actually expected bits of flying human tissue, blood and bones from under the train. There was none.
Sophia got on her train, and went home. All evening, alone in her flat, whenever she closed her eyes, and whenever she opened them, she saw the young woman throwing herself in front of the train.
Sophia looked up local news sites. Surely if a woman committed suicide in such a grisly manner, there would be a line of interest somewhere. There were none.
The next day, Sophia was mostly occupied in her new job- there were moments when she even forgot about the train. But before long, it was once again 5:23pm, she was once again going down the wide steps onto the platform, and yes. There she was, on the platform, approaching the oncoming train. The same young woman, the bright shiny yellow mac, the flutter of yellow plastic, a backward glance looking through the abstract crowds straight at Sophia, and then she vanished without a trace. No-one noticed.
Now Sophia knew. Rushing home to her small flat, forgetting the end-of-day fatigue, she googled frantically. Soon enough she found what she was looking for. Ann Karen Leonard. Jumped in front of the 5:23 at Clapham Junction twenty years ago. Sophia stared at the blurry features on the old newsprint on her screen, features which already seemed familiar to her, just after two glimpses on the platform.
Why? And why Sophia, why could no-one else see her?
Living alone in London, homesick and miserable, no friends and not particularly good at or interested in anything, Sophia would have become obsessed with Ann Karen, if she had anything to feed her obsession. As it was, living just before the explosion of life online, Ann Karen had vanished without a trace. The 5:23 sightings were the only connection Sophia had with her.
But it was a connection which seemed to grow stronger every day. Sophia was becoming sure that Ann Karen could see her the same as Sophia saw Ann Karen. The way Ann Karen looked into her eyes, the pause before she took that last step, were becoming longer and more deliberate. The less interesting Sophia’s real life became, the more vivid became Ann Karen. Her gestures became more lively- she smiled and waved at Sophia before propelling herself off the platform, and within the month, she was reaching out, stretching her yellow-clad arm to Sophia.
And it was then that Sophia realised Ann Karen was her only friend. She no longer wanted to know why Ann Karen did the terrible thing she did, she just wanted to reach back and take her arm, and be friends with her. Talk with her. Talk with another person who was looking at her.
And that was how, a couple of months after first seeing Ann Karen, Sophia went forward to her, took her arm, and barely even noticed, until it was too late, that Ann Karen was pulling her down with her, that people were rushing and crying out, the train roar filled her ears, but Ann Karen smiled at her, and Sophia felt happy.
|
First of all let me tell you that English is not my first language so if you found any kind of grammatical errors and mistakes please ignore...
Late one night, while I, was browsing the internet on my Android interface, I stumbled upon an eerie website with cryptic symbols and unsettling messages. As I delved deeper, my virtual surroundings seemed to grow darker, and a sense of foreboding washed over me. Suddenly, my device's screen began to flicker wildly, and a distorted voice echoed through my speakers, whispering incomprehensible words. My heart raced as I struggled to regain control, but the interface seemed to have a mind of its own. Just as I thought I was trapped, the room was filled with an unsettling silence, and the website vanished from my screen. Although it was just a digital encounter, the sensation of fear stayed with me, a reminder of the mysterious and eerie possibilities of the virtual world. |
Many years ago, when I was in active duty, my unit was deployed far away into the scorching desert. We came under heavy artillery fire seemingly out of nowhere. I remember laying on my back staring up at the sky watching the clouds move as blood chocked my last few struggling breaths. My comrade was sprawled on top of me pinning me down, lifeless, with his head resting near my left ear. I didn’t have the strength to push his deadweight off and see where my right leg use to be, but I could feel pain reassuring me to no doubt.
I was able to barely make out the words that should have been my last, “Please God!”. The clouds suddenly stopped moving and the noise all around ceased to a deafening silence. I felt a presence around me, ancient and overpowering. Its energy washed over me and commanded all attention of my thoughts forcing me to utter its name in a blood spitting gasp.
“Lucifer” I was barely able to make out.
The body of my dead comrade on top of me suddenly started to post his arms and slowly lift his face up eye to eye with me. What used to be green eyes were now black, a soulless pale face gazed at me, but I wasn’t staring at the soldier I use to know anymore. I was looking at the fallen angel himself, his presence fills your mind and strangles your thoughts into obedience and attention to him. He’ll only let you speak in his presence when he wants to hear you. His eyes stared into mine and studied my memories, like someone flipping through pages in a file folder.
His lips weren’t moving, but I could hear him in my head whispering, toying with me.
“What a sad end to your story. Abandoned by your family as a child. Never loved by anyone. Nobody to remember you. How cruel God can be, don’t you think? I heard you call for
father just now...…so where is he?” The words hissed in my head as if coming from all directions.
His black eyes looked around and then back to me, his mouth curved into a slight grin.
“Maybe he is just busy. Would you like me to give him a call for you?”
He promised to make the pain stop if I would hear him out. Tears fell from my eyes as I was paralyzed with the ever-encroaching stings and reminders of a limb lost. I agreed, and when he snapped his fingers the pain stopped. When he spoke with his words this time, the hissing went away. It’s hard to put human words on the sound of his voice. The best way I can honestly describe it is that it carried a remnant of heaven and former glory, but it still had an underlying tone of the harshness of reality and indifference. This probably won’t make sense to anyone, you just had to be there to understand.
“Life has been unfair to you, hasn’t it? I smell no love in you, not a hint nor a tease. What if I told you I can change that? I can give you a life having worth lived, full of riches and treasures. You don’t have to die here today; you can live if you so will it.”
Lucifer unstrapped my combat helmet and stroked my hair in a gentle way. He then reached back and touched the stump where my leg had been.
“I was assuming you might want that back as well, consider it included. Now, those are your needs, let’s talk about mine, shall we? I have a little collection I have been making, a hobby so to speak. I won’t bore you with the details, but to complete this little project I need about 15 more pieces to my collection. That’s where you come in. I need someone with a specific skill set to work with. I believe I am looking at the someone right now.”
He took out a lighter and cigarette from his front pocket. He lit it and took a drag, then he put the butt in my mouth so I could have a drag. He was reading my mind exact. After he took another drag, he continued to speak.
“Life is all about choices Will, so here is your most important decision yet. You can take my offer and I will let you live. I will give you a life with worth and purpose, riches and wealth. In return, you will help me gather my 15 pieces to my collection. If you decline, you will simply die as you were fated. You’d be taking a gamble on that route, seeing if you pass those harsh standards for salvation.”
He put the cigarette back in my mouth and let me have one more drag. He brought his lips to my ear and whispered, “Do we have a deal?”.
“Yes” I said without hesitation. Not wanting to face the unknown.
I remember seeing the clouds starting to move again, and a hand covering my eyes causing blackness to prevail. As soon as I opened them, I was in a bed inside sick bay. I had made it back to basecamp with no recollection of how I got there. My right leg was in its proper place with no signs of harm or damage. The medic came in to tend to what injuries I did sustain, but nothing major. He filled me in on what had happened to my unit. Some asshole officer mixed the coordinates up when artillery fire was called, I was the only survivor.
My enlistment was up 2 months later, I opted to go back to civilian life. When the time came to go back home, I was able to grab the last shuttle from the base to the airport that day. As the bus departed, the two soldiers next to me started gossiping away. One mentioned an artillery officer found with his throat slit, and his tongue nailed to his forehead. I chuckled when I heard this, and when the soldiers looked at me, I pretended to cough.
The first thing I did when I got back home was visit my favorite place on earth. A little park about 30 minutes away from my house. It had a pond in the middle surrounded by a walkway, I could have spent hours just enjoying the solitude. I listened to the old man behind me play the blues on his guitar. I always remembered him being here, even before I was deployed overseas. His white hair was vibrant against his dark skin. A young couple jogged passed me on the walkway.
I knew he was there when the silence hit, that unrelenting silence always marks his arrival. The blues music abruptly stopped, and the couple was frozen mid step of their running poise. The world felt like it paused. I turned around to see the old man, eyes completely black, a slight grin on his lips as he looked at me. He motioned for me to come closer, I abided. He moved his hand in the gentlest of ease to stop me in my place, and with the same ease he pointed a finger at the female jogger and closed it into his fist. The girl immediately got on all fours, and ran like a dog at an intense speed.
She stopped in front of Lucifer and bowed her head before his feet. He motioned with his finger once more and she laid flat on her stomach with her arms stretched in front of her. Bones cracked and ligaments tore as her body contorted in a grotesque human chair. Her head was positioned at the front of the seat. It would have been pretty close to my crotch if I sat in it. Her mouth was wide open.
“Care to sit?.”
“Uhm, I’ll stand, thank you though.” I said trying my hardest not to offend.
“Fair enough. Let’s go over some minor details, and I’ll let you get to work.”
He put a red leather-bound book in my hand when he was done explaining the terms. He snapped his fingers, and everything went back as it was. The old man played his guitar, and no signs of damage on the girl as she appeared to be next to her boyfriend running.
The way the red book worked was simple, once I was done with the current collection, the next would appear in detail in the following pages of the book, if I lost the book then “I was fucked” in his exact words. Sometimes names were included, sometimes it was just a description of details giving me fair game on anyone within the standards. I wasn’t given a time limit, I just had to get it done…. preferably before I died or “I was fucked” in Lucifers own words. No hint was given if he actually knew my own expiration date, even so I probably wouldn’t have wanted to know.
Years passed from that point, and I became one hell of a collector, no pun intended. I was never left wanting for money. Assets and cash opportunities “coincidentally” happened to come my way; signs of a dark figure watching my back. Lucifer didn’t visit me after that day for a long time. Occasionally I would get the hint he was watching me after a collection from subtle hints, a red apple tree appearing on the side of the road, a crow coming to my window once in a while, or about ten birds hitting my windshield head on while driving. I assumed he was upset about #7 when the birds actually hit. 7 was the virgin, I had to use tinder to collect that piece. I made it quick and painless for her, but the next collection wasn’t showing up in the book. I thought back to the conversation in the park and remembered, anal sex cancelled out the virgin status, something Lucifer laughed at every time he stated it. “Harsh standards to make salvation” he had followed up with. #7 was the only one I had to re-do. Lucky for me, no name was ever given for this piece, I shuddered to think what would have happened if I fucked up on a specific name wanted.
\#14 was Yaza, an escort who fronted as a massage therapist. I had made an appointment to see her in her makeshift office location. I scoped the building well before it was time, I knew every camera location, every corner of the building. I was able to arrive at the location almost a ghost to any means of traceability. I remember when she opened the door, her brown eyes, dark skin, curvy body, she was beautiful, like an Egyptian goddess. I kept myself concentrated so I wouldn’t get distracted. I focused on how she had her purse in front of her when she greeted me at the front door, unzipped, she wanted quick reach to the pistol in there in case I got funny. I played along as she asked me a few questions, she had to make sure I wasn’t a cop.
All I needed was an arm’s reach, and she wouldn’t be breathing. I took off my shoes and unbuttoned my shirt from the top down, when she turned her back to reach for her cell phone, I asked her a random question to gauge whether she would answer by looking at me or continue what she was doing distracted by her phone while talking.
“What’s a pretty gal like yourself doing in this kind of work?” I asked
She stared at her phone with her back to me, my hand was on my blade ready for precision to the throat when she turned around to face me. She was out of arms reach of her purse, and I moved silently behind her, tip toeing, until I was in perfect reach.
“Because I have cancer.” She said with her back still to me.
Something inside forced me to stop. I paused, feeling confused and shocked. I moved back quick to my original position further away without her hearing me. My mouth was stuck open. Something in me connected with her when she uttered those words. Pictures flashed in my mind of her face in tears as she cut her hair off preparing for the chemo. I could see her falling to her knees in the doctor’s office hearing the diagnosis. I saw her clutching a picture of her mother, lying in her bed as she prayed in vain, not really believing but following the ritual hoping for a miracle.
“My regular job can’t cover the bills.”
She turned around and saw the tears coming down my eyes. I had never experienced this feeling before, all I wanted to do was protect her, I had no idea why. Every painful thought she had I could feel, her fear I could see, and I just wanted to tell her I could somehow make it all go away.
“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have told you that.” She said while rushing to get me a tissue.
I took a minute to compose myself and dry my eyes. I asked her to let me take her to dinner. I told her that was all I wanted from her, nothing more from her, no other services. She looked at me confused, probably partially thinking I was crazy. I pulled out cash, double what the session cost, and laid it on the massage table. I explained that I would understand if she was hesitant, but that I would wait outside for her for 20 minutes in case she wanted to go. I told her if she didn’t, it was no hard feelings, and I would just leave.
I never thought she would come out as I waited for her, but she did. I felt like my heart was on a roller coaster, excited and giddy just to have her company, I wasn’t used to this kind of feeling, but I liked it. It wasn’t the most ideal romantic start to a friendship, but it was a start none the less. She never knew how close she came to being in an obituary that night, but she didn’t need to. It was a choice I made, and I knew I would have to pay for it at some point down the road.
Over a year from that point, we were living together. I stayed right next to her through each treatment, I paid her medical bills and took care of her. I made it so she would never have to work. I promised her I would never judge her for what she had to do in the past. I remember that look of joy in her eyes when the doctor told us the cancer was in remission, I would have given anything to make sure that joy would never leave her. Every night she would fall asleep in my arms, and I would stare at the ceiling and wonder if heaven was similar to how I felt just being around her. I only had an idea of what love was before I met Yaza, but I never thought I would be able to give that idea a feeling.
Six months ago, I was driving Yaza from her favorite restaurant, it was our Sunday night thing. She was wearing a black draped split thigh dress; it fitted her beautifully. I told her I had a surprise for her back home, and she took her seatbelt off to lean over and kiss me, and that’s when the silence hit.
The unrelenting silence always marks his arrival. I stared forward clutching the steering wheel, lights of the cars in front of me illuminated in the darkness, but they were still, the entire world was still. I didn’t need to look over to know those once beautiful brown eyes were now black, and that her body was perched in the seat like some animal that could strike. I closed my eyes and for once in my life, I prayed, not for me but for Yaza.
“William my love, did I ever tell you just how many dicks I sucked before you met me?” Lucifer said in Yaza’s voice to mock me.
I punched the steering wheel in front of me, but I dared not look over, I couldn’t. I kept telling myself it wasn’t her. I felt a cold hand run through my hair; my head spun like it was being ransacked as the cold fingers caressed me and slowly moved to my cheek. He was reading me, studying me like he was dissecting a frog for science class. There was an awkward silence after he took his hand away. When he spoke again, it was in his voice that I was all too familiar with.
“Ease your worries, I am not mad at all. In fact, you’ve done quite well. At the snap of my fingers, your contract will be paid in full.” Lucifer said
“Am I number 15?” I asked
“No.” He said
I turned my head in confusion. Lucifer was poised like a bird in Yaza’s body, the arms posted in the seat as they bent at the elbow, lowering the black eyes level to mine, never blinking. The small smirk never left those lips.
“Negligence is number 15. Negligence is you not paying attention to how many drinks you had at the bar. You always were a bit of a drunk when you had spare time. Negligence is not realizing you were swerving this car the past 5 miles. Negligence facilitated what will cause this car to go into oncoming traffic taking your precious Yaza, your negligent choices. Negligence was my insurance.” Lucifer said
Tears came down my eyes. It made sense to me all of a sudden what number 15 was, it raced through my head. I smashed my face on the steering wheel to fight the thought eating me, torturing me. My nose was broken, Lucifer saw this and put a hand on my shoulder, as if somehow that would make me feel better. He pulled my chin up to face him grabbing my hand. He guided my hand to touch Yaza’s stomach gently.
“I’ve been doing this for a very long time. And yes, maybe I did just a little bit of pre-planning. I prefer a guaranteed happy ending; Love was bound to make you a bit negligent. Negligent enough to sleep with a former prostitute without using a condom. Oh, how a miracle can grow if you catch my drift”.
“Please, don’t make me go through with this!” I screamed.
“If it makes you feel better, look at what I gave you. You didn’t even know what love was before I met you. You had no memories worth cherishing. Even your own father disowned you, and trust me, I can sympathize with what that feels like. Without cherished memories, you have nothing. I gave you a life worth having lived, and the kind of life you can hope for maybe again one day.”
“It doesn’t make me fucking feel any better!” I said as I punched the steering wheel.
If that doesn’t make you feel better, at least you weren’t negligent enough to lose the red book. I’d have ripped your limbs while making you watch Yaza get raped if that happened. It’s just my personal policy. Now I must be going but do take care of yourself out there. If you ever wish to do business again, I give repeat clients top priority.”
It happened all so fast when he snapped his fingers. The sound of crunching metal that followed still haunts me to this day. I lost everything in that wreck, everything that mattered to me. I was dazed and hurt from the wreck, but still functional. I was able to take limp over to Yaza’s body, it had been flung through the windshield on impact. I had the diamond ring in my pocket, the present I was going to give to her that night. I was going to ask her to marry me. I slipped the ring onto her lifeless finger and kissed her forehead for the last time. I hobbled away into the night, not knowing where I was going or what I was going to do at that point.
It's been six months since that night, the conclusion of my dark business to one deal, but also the start to another. Once you do business with one dark entity, others tend to follow. You open yourself up like a gateway. My existence was no longer natural that day I took a deal to live when I was slated to die. I should be dead, but I live vulnerable to everything beyond holy, there is no sympathy from God coming to me anytime soon. Lucifer isn’t the worst you can run into, trust me, there are far worse.
There is a place for people like me, people who have done so many dark deeds that the future can only hold a sequence of dark fates. It’s called the sanctuary, a neutral point where one can find a certain existence that harbors the closest thing to a second chance a guy like me could ever hope for. It’s nothing pleasant, a hell unto itself. It’s a kind of “El Rey” if you can understand what that means, if you do then we have the same taste in movies. What it offers is prolongment, and sometimes the prolongment itself may be the only relief I deserve, but it’s better than nothing. Inside that prolongment, maybe just the time to think about Yaza and what could have been might be all I will ever get, but if there was a way to find her or be with her, this is the only place that would be possible. That’s where I’m going, and I found out just exactly what is required to get in.
To anyone who has read up to this point, you are probably wondering why I would post this series of events that most would keep to themselves. There is a reason, and to the one reader I hope is seeing this, this is for you, an answer to the “why” you will ask yourself when you see me.
The requirements to get into the sanctuary are not so easy. It’s people with my skillset opting for acceptance, and they will put you to the test to see how serious you are. I have all the requirements needed except one in particular, and that last piece missing is a frequent reader to this forum.
I am posting this as a formal apology because I won’t have the time to explain anything once you meet me, in fact there will be no talking between us. As to the “why” you will wonder as you wake up paralyzed in your bed unable to move, it’s for my chance at that little bit of hope that Lucifer gave me.
The sanctuary requires someone with certain features, traits, personality and accomplishments; you just so happen to have them. What I will inject in you as you sleep will paralyze you, but it will also numb any pain you would normally feel. You won’t wake up from the sting of the needle as you sleep because you will be intoxicated from the night before, I’ve watched you for a while now and noticed your patterns when you drink too much. I’m not that cruel to make you feel what I have to do.
When you wake up, it will be 3:33AM, the time you always wake up as I’ve observed you sleep these past couple of weeks in your room. Why don’t I do this when your asleep or comatose you? Well, I need you alive for some of this according to the guidelines I have been given. You will see me in the corner when you wake, but once again, you will not be able to move. You will be scared, that I can’t do anything about, so I apologize for that. You will see me lay out my instruments next to you, and I will begin taking what I need from you. You will be alive for a good portion of it, but by the time I get to your reproductive organs, you will most likely be dead, so no worries about that. What you give me will be preserved and taken to the induction committee for final acceptance. Nobody will find your remains as violated as they will be, I will make sure they are disposed of properly and never found, as I am quite good at this kind of thing.
I hope this gives you some kind of closure as to why it will happen to you, I am sure you will still be mad however, and I am sympathetic to that. Life is a bit unfair in my experience. I do have one thing to tell you that might give you something to look forward to. As you lay dying, you might feel as if the world has stopped, and everything is still. You might notice my eyes go black, being radiant even amongst the darkness that would normally cover them from sight. You might hear a hissing greeting in your head, or you might feel the cold touch of fingers through your hair. If that happens then you will no longer be looking at me. You will be looking at Lucifer himself, and he will most likely be willing to make a deal with you. If you harbor a grudge to me, maybe you can get him to include me on your task list you will inevitably get should you take his offer. It’s just something for you to think about.
I will see you soon.
|
I met a very attractive doctor on my annual medical check and after handing me a copy of my blood tests and ensured me that all my tests are normal I noticed a phone number written at the end of paper, she smiled when I asked saying she thought of having a drink togather
a few days later we were at her place for a (romantic evening that I will never forget)
as she said on the phone, we had dinner and drank a couple of shots the evening was going great until I felt so sleepy and could bairly open my eyes, she noticed that and started to move every thing from the dinner table I tried to stand up but my legs refused to move I asked what on earth is going on, she said well I ran some extra tests that day and the good news for you are that you have a strong healthy heart but the bad news are my older brother is in need for such a heart. |
I was on a long road back to my home town which was about a 4 hour drive from where I live, I haven't been in my home town since I was a little kid so many things have changed but the road stayed the same, it was one long, never seeming to end kinda road. I looked at my phone to check the time 11:12pm it was oddly quiet and I was only about half way through the road when I saw a dark shadow on the side of the road, I've picked up a hand full of hitchhikers in my life most of them being tipsy teens who didn't wanna call their parents so I didn't think much of it, how much I remember there was a random bar on this road somewhere... I slowed my car down to get a better look at the person it was a woman, she looked pretty young maybe in her early 30s, she was wearing a kinda of blue dress which was stained, her hair was short and messy and I couldn't get a good look at her face. I stopped my car and opened my window as she came closer to me, "hey do you need a ride? " I asked her and she nodded not looking up from the floor and just getting in the back seat, for the next 15 minutes I tried to make small talks as there was a uncomfortable silence but she never ever responded to my questions.. I was looking out of the car at the woods when suddenly something got my attention it was a road sign that I don't remember was ever there and it read "mental Constitution near by... Whatever you do don't pick up hitchhikers" As I read that my heart skipped a beat and I looked at the little mirror I had in my car, she looked up and our eye met...nothing could have prepared me for her red, blood shot eyes, I started sweating as I heard a sharp metal noise coming from the back seat.... |
True sinners would be punished with eternal life. To watch everyone you love die, death Would be truly the most gratifying mercy they’re could be. The world fades around you, you drown in the lack of oxygen, but your unwilling body persists. To die and fade away is but a thought now. The world feeds around you like a pile of bone. Everything, Everyone, gone. Except you pray, your pray to whatever created you, to whatever created everything. You pray for death. But nobody came. Nothing happens. You’re body persists. You float for millennias, Jupiter, you some how float to Jupiter. You hold your breath, hoping to feel terrain, hoping to feel anything. But Jupiter has no solid ground, so you float. Into a mass of colors and gas, noise and wind. Thousands upon thousands of years later, you start laughing in hysteria. For you have become a vessel for the eternal nothingness, and the insanity, terror, and stillness that partners it’s uncannyness. An unfathomable amount of years later, god. The creator, the mastermind behind your misery Appears in front of you. It says “you have suffered for so long” And asks “ What do you crave my Child?” You reply in tounges. Lucky that you can barely even speak any more but it understands for it is God. You black out, and wake in your old house. you see your old orange tabby cat. Do you see any life other than you? orgasmic and eternally joyful would be an understatement. you walk outside but the moment you open the door. for a split second. You see the terrifying abyss of cloud and gas that was Saturn. you blackout once again. just to wake up in that same bed and forget everything you walk outside you smell the beautiful delicious fresh air you see a car revving up to the driveway your beautiful wife walks out, accompanied by your beautiful baby girl you look into your daughters eyes it’s a beautiful, rustic brown go back inside on the TV. There’s a documentary about planets playing, this part of the show is specifically one focused around gas giants. you’re feeling tired so you decide to give your wife a kiss on the head and go to your daughters crib give her a big hug and then go to bed. you lay and start to cry. Thankful for all life has given you your rest sleep knowing that tomorrow will be a good day. |
So this happened when i was around 10 years old, I would always play a roblox game called "The Intruder" it was my favorite game. One night I woke up facing my wall. While I was paralyzed, I heard the familiar sound the the creature makes when he is looking for his victims. I was terrified, after it was done I woke up but everything felt different. I have stopped play the game then and I haven't had a paralyzed event again. All I can say is that I was scared. |
Walking my dog down the quiet street, the evening sun casting long shadows, I couldn't shake off the eerie feeling crawling up my spine. Everything seemed normal until I passed the park, and that's when I saw him – a figure out of place, like a nightmare painted in reality. A middle-aged man, maybe fifty, dressed head-to-toe in black, sat alone on a bench, eyes fixed on me as if he knew something I didn't.
I picked up my pace, my dog matching my unease with nervous whimpers. A pit formed in my stomach as I glanced back, only to find the man rising from the bench, his gaze locked onto me like a predator stalking its prey. Heart pounding, I quickened my steps, hoping it was just paranoia playing tricks on my mind.
But the crunch of gravel echoed behind me, and when I dared to look over my shoulder, the man was following me, his movements deliberate and unsettling. Cold sweat trickled down my back as I tried to shake off the gnawing sense that I was in danger.
Finally reaching my house, I rushed inside, my dog barking at the door as if sensing the impending threat. Peering through the window, I caught a glimpse of the man walking in the opposite direction, disappearing from sight. A shiver ran down my spine, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.
Night descended, wrapping my room in shadows as I lay in bed, desperately trying to shake off the unease that had settled over me. Just as I was drifting off, a tapping sound interrupted the silence. At first, I brushed it off as a branch brushing against the windowpane, but the tapping persisted, each tap feeling like a nail being driven into my consciousness.
With a reluctant sigh, I decided to check it out. Pulling back the curtain, my heart lodged itself in my throat – there he was, right outside my window, a man concealed by a ski mask, his eyes piercing through the darkness, locking onto mine.
A scream caught in my throat as I stumbled back, the world spinning in terror. I yelled, my voice a mix of fear and anger, and in a heartbeat, the man disappeared, descending down a ladder that had been propped against the side of my house. My second-story window didn't seem so secure anymore.
Panicked, I ran to my parents' room, breathlessly recounting the ordeal. They dialed the police as a chill settled into the room, suffocating us all. When the authorities arrived, they found scratches etched into my windowpane and a crowbar abandoned at the side of the house – tools of a sinister intent, tools that were meant to break in.
The realization hit me like a freight train – the man had been trying to get into my room, into my life, and I had no idea why. The police searched the area, but the man had vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but unanswered questions and a lingering fear that would never truly go away.
As the days turned into weeks, the memory of that night haunted my every thought. Who was that man? What did he want? The thought of his shadowy presence lurking in the darkness paralyzed me with fear. The knowledge that he could still be out there, somewhere, waiting, watching, left me feeling vulnerable and trapped.
And as time went on, the unease never faded. The man was never found, his identity forever shrouded in darkness, and the chill of the unknown settled deep within me, a constant reminder that danger could be lurking just beyond the edges of our reality. |
I'm turning 18 today
My mother is a very lovely lady who looks half her age that people allways think she is my sister
Mom was busy all day getting things ready for my birthday party , she looked so happy even though we celebrate alone every year and when i asked why, she just answerd that we are having a special guest tonight, a few Minutes afer the sunset i heard a knock on the door mom rushed to wellcome the ( special guest)
He was a very handsome guy, well dressed with a dark sunglass on, he didn't say a word just went to sit on the old chair by the fireplace he then looked at me and smiled, for some reson i felt the blood freezed in my veins i was so scared
I couldn't move, my mother just went on her knees and said, master here is my gift to you a healthy innocent 18 years old
Please bless me with eternal youth as you promesed the night she was born,
He took the glasses off and the darkness in his eyes made me sure I won't get the chance to blow my birthday candlles. |
Elizabeth danced on a field overgrown with asphodel. In her youth she didn't understand why her family cared so much about tending to this meadow, but her youth was now past her. The meadow was a gift, a key and a gate, a blessing and a curse.
It was to be cared for, it was to be worshipped, that was the higher order. And order, once shaken, forever remains a ruin.
The old antiquary was surprised to see Elizabeth in his shop. He was surprised to see her outside at all.
"Great to see you ma'am? What brings you here?" he asked, trying to hide his indecipherable alarm.
"It's a beautiful day today, a special one. It won't happen ever again. I'd like to buy something pretty. May I take a look around?"
"Sure, I hope you find something you like." he replied, smiling. His kindness commanded him to be nice, even to people this... eccentric.
Elizabeth looked at various goods with her absent minded eyes, not noticing how meticulously were they cleaned. Despite her blurry vision, a rythm managed to lure her in, a soft mechanical voice, no worse than a voice of a siren in that circumstance. An old, wooden pendulum clock concerted alone in the stale silence, so common in the city of Carcosa. Including her house. She needed a friend, a reliable friend, and this seemed to be the perfect candidate.
"I'll take it."
Elizabeth drank her tea lazily, sitting opposite to the clock. It made her happy, like music, like a canary's song, her new patron, the metronome of her life. The order was her priority, and is there something more orderly than a constant rythm that can be trusted? What a wonderful day, a unique one, unique across whole eternity. Was it true? She did not care. It was her time. She put down the empty cup and stood up. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. The waltz has begun, she stepped outside onto her terrace dancing, and then downstairs to her garden. She was happy.
Weeks of partying have passed. How many? Even the clock couldn't tell. But she could tell something else - behind that glassy face hid hostile indifference. A dictatorship. And she fell for it, trusted it as a friend. Maybe she was young after all? Hard to tell. The sun hid shamefully away from her vexed stare when suddenly knocking could be heard from her door. She put down her unfinished tea, stood up, opened the door. A letter.
"Thank you".
Dear miss Elizabeth,
We're sorry to inform that your husband, Herbert, has been found dead on the front by his colleagues from the infantry, the second of April this year. We send you our warmest condolences...
A forceful toss. The letter has landed onto a stack of hundreds identical letters, a stack of sorrow and hatred.
"It's all your fault!" she screamed at the clock, then threw her cup at its face. The glass shattered and exploded around, the clock started chiming despite it not being a full hour yet.
Then she understood what she did. Not a tyrant, but a messenger.
You don't shoot the messenger...
Every consecutive chime was slower, deeper, dreamier. The anchor of reality has been severed. The order has been shaken.
She had to act.
She's entered the garden again, glassy-eyed, trying to dance to whatever of the clock's rythm was left in her fading memory. Did she dance faithfully? She didn't know, she had no right to know. The moon shone, not judging, even though it could. The dawn was approaching, despite her efforts, the darkness was getting denser, culminating as it does before the sun rises. The ground before her started undulating.
"Oh no... Oh no!"
A stormy ocean of asphodels concentrated in one place, forming a humanoid shape. A majestic figure stood before her, wearing a yellow hooded coat. His majesty, the King in Yellow.
She bowed down, crying pathetically. She knew what happened, she knew what will happen.
The yellow lord rose above the horizon. A force of nature personified, his flaming tendrils whipped at nothingness, were responsible for chaos, resonated with order, which lost its integrity.
So close, yet so far.
She knew she was being watched. Everybody who's depended on her, the Phantom of Truth, she herself. Everybody looked at her eyes, everybody looked at her feet. And she, curled up, regretted everything. It was just a question of "when", unavoidable, wasn't it?
The time itself accelerated, beyond her imagination. Even if she had the will and the power to dance, she couldn't, as she's completely lost all rythm. The order was utterly annihilated.
The Phantom of Truth has decided. The Feaster from Afar began to devour the sun. The darkness has come upon Carcosa, the darkness has stained her garden, the darkness has embraced her mind. She crawled downstairs, to the garden, a rotting asphodel meadow. And she watched.
She watched as the Feaster from Afar robs the melancholically stagnant city of any trace of reason, she looked as her foster children drop dead. Everybody but her. But, she was the same as them. What kind of cosmic degradation burdened her with this ungrateful guardianship?
She's failed, devoid of purpose, she just looked on absentmindedly. Eclipse of the Sun, eclipse of the light, eclipse of the mind.
A miraculous nectar spilled from her mouth. Tea mixed with bitter, yellow bile. The stain on the ground assumed the shape of the divine symbol, terribly primitive, the contorted tentacles with a shared origin. The Yellow Sign. He's here.
The bare mud around suddenly begun to grow beautiful, gray and yellow asphodels.
The clock has chimed. The cycle has reached its beginning. A new hour has begun.
|
\*\*(TW: dead animal)\*\*
It was 2023 August 13th At 7:45-8:00 PM i was Downloading unReal Engine and i Wanted to Look For my Cats at My Door Window (They are not House Cats but i have Front Garden With Big Fence, They Live There and i Take care of them), 1 Mother 3 Kittens (12-13 Weeks old) i Called out to them, Nothing, but i saw 4 White Legs (the Back Legs were like Blurry) with a body that looks like a young Horse with no head, there was no Blood or anything, i Looked at that "Horse" For 5 minutes and i Decided to Grab a Light to see, 1 minute later its gone, i told my dad after dinner and he said: "that was a hallucination"
(NOTE 1 : i did have some hallucination but not that clear)
(NOTE 2 : the "Horse" was Behind dads Bike)
(Edit: BTW its a true Story) |
I took a guy from a girl.
A dream so vivid and detailed
might as well call it as a nightmare.
One day, we hosted a watching party at my house. Invited his friends and his ex pretended she had moved on and went too and its my way to reach out to his friends since most of them hate me for ruining their relationship, they were engaged.
My friends from college were invited too. Everything is good but yeah the ex keeps giving us irritated glances and sometimws nonchalantly hinting side comments at me. And the guy saw that i was uncomfortable, he attempted to retaliate multiple times but i kept stopping him because I don't want his friends to hate me more but he was already so angry at her.
Since no one's stopping her, her friends felt uncomfortable too but they understand her and doesn't like me, she continues her offending notes while my friends are pissed off, they want them gone but i forced them to be friendly. She escalated, cornering me directly like, "why would yhe leading lady steal yhe bracelet, does stealing really make things better?" But i would just ignore her. Then after that, her friends decided to go home and i asked mu bf to go with them since they all live bear each other and for them to fix their bond. I was also really tired and want to cry to my friends without worrying him.
I didn't know that they went separate ways with their friends, the ex and my bf to talk. We were just shocked when we suddenly heard a screaming match between my bf and his ex. He was so mad at her and she keeps pleading that i was just a momentary distraction and that he doesn't really love me. I went to see what's hapeening. She keeps shouting things at me and when I couldn't keep my emotions in check, i walked out and my friends came with me to comfort me until it got quiet, long pause that i though the ex already left. But then i heard a big crash of somethings made of glass then my friend who went to the bathroom near the place where they were arguing, screamed. When we checked what happened, we saw the ex laying down and not moving. Also my bf is on top of her, head bleeding and glass shards everywhere. My friend, Cheska, was so in shock, she tried to explain what happened. It turned out my bf was choking the ex so hard and angrily, she already noticed that she looks lifeless so she tried nudging him to move but he won't and she's so scared so she grabbed the heavy glass pitcher of my dad for his liquor and smashed it to his head til he too fell and went unconscious. My other friend checked the girl's pulse and couldn't deel any and as well as my bf's, i keep on crying. And we don't know what to do, Cheska, the girl who technically killled my bf and I are both incoming lawyers. She is having panic anxiety attack as she won't be able to get her license if she'll be entangled with this case and especially if sentenced of murder. I told her it won't happen, i saw how she struggled during law school and i heavily feel guilty since it's all my fault that if i didn't mix myself with their relationship, this won't happen and everything else. So once again assessed the scene and situation, and made a plan but i need help from my parents, my mom was so in shock and wants to call the police but i begged her not to, in concern with Cheska since my bf killed the girl and even if we argue it as self defense it will unlikely be successful because the main perpetrator is dead and there's a big possibility that she will get the heat of both deaths. She complied but was so out of it. On the other hand my dad was composed, he listened and will help especially he needs to leave the country soon for important client and know that if an investigation was made, he won't be able to leave and will lose his job.
My friends are calming cheska down and I started the plan. I called their friend and luckily they are all still together so there will be a collective witness. I asked them if my bf is still with them because he's not answering his phone, there were moment of silence maybe because they don't want to tell me that him and his ex are together.
But eventually told and tried to assure me that while they're on their way home, the ex asked my bf to talk so they can settle this once and for all, they were with them until one of them needs to go home for work hence the two asked them to go first and he told me maybe they're still talking.
I was so relieved that we'll have this solid alibi. My father and 2 of my friends were already helping each other to plastic them separately and clean all the blood plus mess. Cheska is still out of it and crying, i keep assuring her that we can keep this and that she did the right thing. That at some point he might kill me too, just to alleviate her guilt. Then after my dad put them to a drum and load it together with the other drums, my dad need to unload tomorrow at the sea for a trade. The plan is to dump them before he meets his client. Everything is going well, my mom also realized the importance of keeping the secret to the grave especially she doesn't want to ruin our family's standing in the community.
After that, everything went according to my plan as my dad were able to drop them in the middle of the ocean before crossing borders and even put heavy borders inside fo make sure they'll not float. His mom called me and i told them that i couldn't contact him also. Told her what the friend told me that night and i talked to his friend again beforehand since it's been days since the movie and still my bf is out of reach. They told me they also don't know where they are because even the girl is not answering anyone even her family. They pitied me because their theory is that they ran away and eloped, it turned out that the girl's plan is to talk him out of our relationship and ran away together so she can distance him and i as she believed i will steal him again from her. So that's what the friend told their families but still are worried and tried looking for him, we, their friends and family tried to report it to the police but they concluded that they just ran away and won't file the record.
So everything went well except for Cheska as she couldn't move on and was getting worse with her panic attacks. She was not able to pass the board exam because she couldn't focus and she decided to admit herself to a psychiatric hospital to ease her.
I passed the boards but secretly keeping one thing. It was not Cheska who killed him, it was me. And i keep on hallucinating that he's still with me, that all this time i can see him even if he's dead.
He's still barely awake when I came back to assess the scene and to make a plan, he spoked so lightly asking for help. I got my handkerchief then covered his nose and mouth since he can't move probably due to the head injury, he was not able to resist and died due to lack of oxygen. |
In a kids life their supposed to trust their dad's, grandparents, aunts, and many other people in their lives.
But why trust a man whom treats you like a slave, tried to kill you, .makes you drank your own sweat, and make you have a sickening feeling everytime you look at a man's face that you wish you would have killed yourself when it was your last chance to be free.
2 years ago on the same day I wonder the same question everyday. How am I alive? Or how the fuck did I make it?
And some day I wish I didn't. Now to bring down why I question these questions to myself everyday to your heads. I moved into a property with my dads parents, one of which was a cop for 25 years while the other worked in a cps like place. They got to pick a house on one end of the property while I got stuck with a trailer that was broken down, smelt like rotting flesh, and felt like it was caving in with each step being riskier than the last. We had water...shitty water for a month, sweat was one of the three things keeping me hydrated, beef water from MRE's were good for a bit, then school water was the only water I could have. A fourth way to get water was not prominent for that my grandparents wouldn't give me any type of water what so ever.
I would be treated like a slave, once I had to drag a 300 pound log through the woods because i was grounded for a little thing, dropping a cup on the floor a plastic cup something that can be used again and again and be fixed quite simply. But no my punishments would be "easy" they said with a wicked grin and a lustfully look of watching me suffer.
I have almost been shot multiple times. If I were to get into trouble from school about me not showing work or accidentally dropping the word fuck under my breathe when I would drop something or done something wrong, a gun would be pointed to my face loaded mag and all.
It's gotten to the point where I cut myself in the same spot multiple times to where people started to notice, but I was afraid to ask help for that anyone knowing could have meant that I would be in restricted watch under the school or be wit on suicide watch 24/7.
Food and clothing didn't even exist in the house hold due to there being two house holds with "money problems", 2-300 dollars worth of groceries would be 5 bags (not for each house holds), clothing wouldnt even be bought until the last day of the year rolls around. I went to school 2 weeks in a row with no shower, and no clean clothes.
Abuse ran through both house holds when I'm present, it didn't matter if it was mental or physical they still hit me with everything they got. From anywhere to mowing a lawn in 112 degree weather in winter jeans, a d black sleeve long shirt to wearong shorts in -10 degree weather waiting for the bus, bo jacket,hoodie or sock hat, just shorts, short sleeve shirt ankle socks and worned down shoes meant for the summer time.
My room smelt like dead animals 24/7 I tried to keep my room clean and my dad or grandpa would go though making a mess for me to clean up or write a note saying "clean your room" followed racial slur. I gave up cleaning my room knowing it gets wreck every time I'm gone.
I would get robbed of my own money, I lost $500 on what i made or what i got for my dad to buy shit we dont need due to us being hungry. He once said he need to buy weed so he would kill me, or he needed weed to not kill something. What made him like this wasn't weed it was the military or some shit he didn't explain nor did I really cared.
He did sexually assault my little sister and hit my little autistic brother for not listening, the grandparents knew about it and kept ignoring it like we were losong our minds.
I did however managed to get most of the damage from getting to any of my siblings, but with a price of suicidal thoughts and PTSD for when ever I experience.
I did however went to therapy, that didn't work. Now some people will say this isn't scary or this isn't that bad. If you were to look at me 2 years ago with matted hair, bruises,cuts, and 30 bottles of water for just one person. You would probably start asking questions about if I was ok or not.
(some people might say the PTSD is only for the veterans,marriens, and other military members. It's not anyone can get it) |
It was with a casual and routine stride that James stepped into *Sweeney’s Second Hand Shop* on the cloistered and clandestine street market known simply as *The Brix.* With one hand, he carried a pair of body bags slung over his shoulder, and in the other, he held a carrying case filled with an assortment of human organs.
He was slim of build and at best average in height, but that only made his unflappable countenance and display of strength all the more imposing. His slicked-back black hair, cashmere Peabody coat and shiny Italian shoes made it clear that he was no hired goon there to do the dirty work of someone more important. He was someone important who didn’t mind getting their own hands dirty. Preferred it, even.
He turned his head slowly from side to side, his brilliant blue eyes darting left and right as he scanned the room for any potential threats. In his periphery, he caught the outline of a woman slipping down an aisle and then vanishing into shadow. He thought nothing of it, as Sweeney and his clientele knew him well. And even if they didn’t, the bagged corpses on his back made it clear that he was someone to avoid.
“Daddy Darling, is it all right if I go and look at the stuffed animals while you have your business meeting?” his daughter Sara asked sweetly. “It’s so rare these days to find stuffies made out of real animals, and I appreciate the artisanship that goes into desecrating a carcass into a caricature of life.”
“Of course, Sara Darling,” James beamed down at her, the warm smile finally breaking his cold demeanour. “Just be sure to mind your fingers. Some of the wares in here aren’t as dead as they seem at first glance.”
“I will, Daddy Darling,” Sara sang, merrily skipping along to the display of taxidermied animals.
James shifted the weight of the body bags on his back and began making his way down the hardy wooden shelves of pickled organs and body parts towards the front counter. Standing behind a somewhat flimsy-looking set of brass bars was a hale and ruddy Irishmen with sweptback auburn hair and a set of blue eyes as cold as James’.
“Mr. Darling; a pleasure as always,” came the perfunctory greeting in his rustic Irish brogue. As always, he did his best to sound nonchalant, but James knew that the man was terrified that he would kill him for any and no reason.
“Mr. Sweeney. If this is a pleasure, then you need to get out more,” James replied, unslinging the body bags onto the long counter with a hefty thud.
“Two then, is it?” he asked, eyeing the bags over with a detached analysis.
“The two cleanest kills from our last hunt, saved just for you,” James nodded. “It’s amazing how precise Mary can be with her knives when she wants to be. She can kill a man with a single surgically precise strike, minimally invasive while putting him down before he can put up a fight. Not much fun, obviously, but she can be pragmatic when need be.”
“Mmhmm. Hell of a woman you’ve got there, James,” Sweeney nodded, knowing full well what James did to people who spoke ill of his sister. He glanced up at a scale and some other analogue gauges attached to the counter and began striking keys on a large, mechanical calculator. “What’s in the bag?”
“Oh, the usual assortment of leftovers; three hearts, three ovaries, six eyes, two brains, a skull, a spinal column, a hundred and some teeth, a virgin’s womb, a whore’s womb, a fetus – no points for guessing which womb it came from – and a penis whose sexual history is completely irrelevant because old occultists are rarely concerned with such double standards,” James replied. “Though if I were to hazard a guess based on my impression of its original owner, nothing too impressive. Oh, and of course, the gratuity!”
He unzipped the bag and reached in. Amidst the clutter of eviscerated innards, James managed to pull out the bottle of his homebrew whiskey on the first try.
“Mr. Darling, you really are too kind,” Sweeney said with a wistful grin as he accepted the bottle, reminiscing about all the other bottles that James had given him over the years. “If you wanted, you could go legit and make a living just selling this stuff.”
“But then what would I do with all the dismembered corpses cluttering up my home?” he asked rhetorically. “Just hand them over to you, free of charge? Are you saying you’d rather I give you free stock than free booze? That’s an Irishman’s bullshit if ever I heard it.”
“Aye, you’ve got me there, Mr. Darling. You’ve got me there,” Sweeney confessed, still sounding oddly wistful. He briefly looked up over James’ shoulder before looking back down at the whiskey. “Well, this may not sound any less like Irish bullshit to you, but I’m going to keep this bottle, Mr. Darling. For old times’ sake.”
James cocked an eyebrow at him in confusion, before feeling a large, curved blade impale him from behind.
He went stiff, the attack catching him off guard. He immediately thought back to his earlier scan of the shop, frantically reviewing it for anything he might have missed. The only thing he could think of was the woman he had dismissed as irrelevant, the woman he had dismissed as fleeing from him, the woman he had dismissed as prey.
The woman he had seen vanish into the shadows.
He looked down at his chest, and saw that the blade sticking out of it was made from vitrified Miasma; as black and shiny as obsidian. He knew at once who his attacker must be.
“I’m sorry, James. She tracked me down. She knew I bought bodies off of you. I didn’t want to sell you out, but I can’t stand against Emrys, James! I’m sorry!” Sweeney shouted, watching in horror as the unnatural Black Bile oozed out of James’ chest. He stumbled backwards into his fortified saferoom and slammed the reinforced door shut behind him, just barely conjuring up the audacity to peep through the thick glass viewing port as his old friend and patron was being murdered.
James was too focused on survival to actually be mad at Sweeney, or even Petra for that matter. No, revenge was a luxury afforded only to survivors, and right now, he needed to survive.
“Still conscious, James Darling? You’re a stubborn son of a bitch, aren’t you?” Petra asked. “But there’s still not a whole lot even you can do about a Miasmic blade running through your heart, now is there? Once you pass out, I’m going to tear it right out of you and bring it to Emrys for safekeeping. He’ll be making sure that you don’t come back to life. Then all we have to do is wait for your psychotic, sadistic, vindicative, cannibalistic, knife-crazy, mass-murdering, drunk of a sister to come and try to get you back, and we’ll have put a stop to both of you.”
Despite the lack of circulation to reinvigorate his rapidly suffocating tissues and organs, James still managed to chuckle at her petty little scheme.
“Petra?” he smiled, turning his head enough so that he could just see her in the corner of his eye. “Do you really think that I have a heart?”
Petra flinched as she felt a thudding resume inside James’s chest. It was rapid, but not panicked. It was angry. It beat in spite of the crystal blade running through it, and Petra could tell that its rhythm was meant to pulverize her sword and free James from her clutches.
Since there was nothing she could do to prevent the destruction of her sword, she decided to hasten it. She spoke a spell of command, and the blade shattered into countless tiny shards, some of which succeeded in embedding themselves deep into James’s flesh, including whatever cardiovascular organ he had in place of a mortal heart.
Screaming out in agony, James dropped to his knees and clutched at his hemorrhaging chest, trying to hold onto as much Black Bile as he could. Petra reformed a new Miasmic blade and raised it up to decapitate him in one fell swoop.
“Daddy!” Sara cried from across the shop.
The sound of a child crying out in horror at the sight of a beloved parent being murdered in front of her was enough to make Petra falter.
“What?” she murmured in disbelief, her eyes darting back and forth between the young girl and the murderous abomination she had just called Daddy.
Sara stared her down with a look of cold and absolute hatred in her black eyes, and James… James just laughed, even as he was bleeding out.
Sara snatched an idol of a forgotten god carved from a human femur off the nearest shelf and threw it at Petra so hard it broke the sound barrier. Petra slipped into her shadow form just a fraction of a second before the idol struck her, letting it smash to pieces against the wall behind her as she retreated to a more defensible position.
Sara raced to her father’s side and hurriedly placed her hand on his chest. At her touch, the Black Bile seemed to become reanimated and began slithering back inside of him, slowly but surely going about the business of repairing the damage.
“It’s all right, Sara Darling. I’ll be all right,” he assured her, smiling and gently petting her head.
“The shards,” Sara wept with a shake of her head. “I can’t get the shards out, Daddy. They burn the Bile too much when they touch.”
Petra sighed inwardly when she heard this. So long as James had those shards inside him, he’d be vulnerable to Emrys’s power. She pondered if she was strong enough to kill him with the shards by herself or if she’d have to leave him to Emrys.
Sara’s head snapped away from her father as if she had heard this thought, the grief on her face immediately transmuting into a blind, murderous rage. Her eyes raced across the room, jumping from one shadow to another as she tried to locate her quarry.
“I know you’re still here!” she shouted. “I know what you are! Mommy Darling killed you in our playroom. Why couldn’t you have been a good prole like the others and sacrificed your worthless life for the sake of your betters? You could have been useful! Mommy Darling could have served you to me at breakfast and you would have made me so happy! Now look at what you’ve done! You’ve hurt Daddy Darling. You could have killed him! You meant to kill him, and you’ve made me very, very unhappy! When you find out what I do to things that make me unhappy, you’re going to wish Mommy Darling had just made you into bacon!”
Every door, window, and shutter in the shop slammed shut on their own, trapping Petra inside. Sweeney had evidently made the place ludicrously impregnable, and there wasn’t a single crack that her shadow form could slip through. She tried not to stay in one place, only moving when neither James nor Sara were looking in her direction. She knew that if either of them spotted a shadow moving in any way it shouldn’t – even if it was just for a fraction of a second in the periphery of their vision – she would give herself away.
The Darling Twin’s senses were incredibly sharp, sharper than what should have been physically possible. Part of the reason they drank as much as they did was to take the edge off. Sara Darling, however, was not only more powerful than they were, but her senses remained completely undulled by any intoxicants. She was especially attuned to the physical and emotional suffering of others, and savoured every iota of it. Even so, she could not feel the fear of a shadow, so all she could do was look for movement when there should be none.
Petra knew that she couldn’t stay ahead of her forever. Her best chance to escape was to attack, and if it had only been James, she wouldn’t have hesitated to finish him off. But Sara was still something completely unexpected to her, and she couldn’t bring herself to kill something that at least looked like a young girl without a better understanding of what she actually was.
“Petra, deary, I don’t believe Sara Darling is in the mood for hide in seek at the moment,” James called out in a cheery tone, his hands patiently clasped behind his back as he stood straight up, as if the blade through his chest already counted for nothing. “That’s bad news for you, since it means she’s not even going to try to draw it out. Once she finds you, she’ll tear out that fancy new mechatronic heart you’ve got and bring it back to Mary Darling for safekeeping. She’ll be making sure that you don’t come back to life. Then all we have to do is wait for your ancient, treacherous, pompous, sanctimonious, deicidal, egregore-eating, corpse-stealing, *tv-stealing* adoptive father figure to come for you, and we’ll have put a stop to both of you.”
He took a step forward, and Petra noticed he was now standing in the puddle of Black Bile that had coagulated on the floor beneath him. She remembered what Sara had said about the Miasma burning the Bile, and the inklings of an escape plan began to form in her mind.
Creeping as close to James as she dared without being seen, the instant their eyes were off her she returned to her physical form and shot multiple splinters of vitrified Miasma into the puddle before vanishing back into shadow.
James shouted out in surprise as the Bile at his feet began to smoulder and burn away at his shoes. Sara bolted off in the direction the splinters had come from, but Petra had already skirted around behind her. She became flesh and blood once again to grab hold of a jar full of formaldehyde and threw it towards the ground by James’ feet as hard as she could. It shattered, its contents instantly catching fire and spreading rapidly as the force of the impact sent the fluid splattering across the floor.
Transitioning between physical and shadow forms too quickly for James or Sara to catch her, she grabbed as many jars as she could and continuously threw more fuel on the fire.
“Hey! Hey! Stop that, you crazy bitch! You’re going to burn down my whole shop!” Sweeney shouted, pounding his fist on the door of his saferoom.
“Damn it! Sara! Sara, he’s right!” James shouted over the sound of the now roaring flames, jars on the shelves already exploding from the heat. “This place is going to burn down, and shadow isn’t flammable. If we don’t leave now, she’ll gladly watch us burn alive.”
Sara considered the possibility of telekinetically manipulating the air to snuff out the fire, but with so much flammable material in the shop, such a vortex would probably only make things worse. Screaming in frustration, she instead simply blasted the front door off its hinges. Grabbing her father by the hand, they raced out of the burning building, but not before seeing a shadowy humanoid figure beat them to it.
The moment they were back out onto *The Brix*, the shadow was gone, already vanished into the labyrinthine alleyways that surrounded them.
Once they were a safe distance from the smoke and flames, Sara came to an abrupt stop and glared out into the sea of countless shadows that lay before her.
“She got away,” she growled through her teeth, tiny fists clenched at her sides as her black eyes swirled with preternatural fury. “When we get her back to the playroom, I’m going to make sure that she burns forever!”
“Sara Darling, I realize you’re upset, but we mustn’t speak that way; that is your Mother’s prey and she will be the one who decides what we do with her,” James playfully chided her. “Is that understood?”
“Yes, Daddy Darling,” Sara sighed. She turned around, and as she gazed upon the now-raging inferno ravenously devouring the building, the rage in her eyes finally yielded to her usual state of childlike delight. “Such a beautiful thing to see a man’s life’s work and livelihood brought to ruin in so short a time. Do you think Mr. Sweeney will starve now, Daddy Darling? Do you think the fire will leave him a useless and penniless cripple? He deserves a slow and painful death for his dastardly complicity in Petra’s Plot.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve had business partners who’ve done a lot worse than just stand by while I get shafted,” James considered. “I can hardly fault a man for having a self-preservation instinct. Considering how much it just cost him, I’m willing to call it even for now. Sara Darling, I think it’s time we retreat to higher ground before too many looky-loos come snooping around. We can still watch the fire for a bit, and when we get home, I’ll play any game you want as a reward for being so brave and helping me today.”
“I didn’t just help you, Daddy Darling. I saved you,” Sara reminded him with a slight roll of her eyes.
“Now, now. Let’s not blow things out of proportion,” James laughed. “Petra caught me off guard and ran a sword through my chest, and that still wasn’t enough to finish me off. Even if you hadn’t been there, she still wouldn’t have been anything that I couldn’t have handled on my own.”
|
Have you ever been sitting in your bedroom, and suddenly felt like you’re not alone? What about being at the top of some dark stairs and feeling like something at the bottom is watching you these things happen to most people but they don’t think much of it, what you’re about to hear might change your view on that, there are and always have been things lurking in the dark that no one knows about, they aren't much danger. Unless they know you can see them. Every once in a while somebody ends up seeing them, usually this doesn't turn out well. But some people are smart enough to act, act like they can't see the things.
Case #1: The victim's name is Jack, he wrote an entry in his journal about 5 hours before the said victim died.
Hello, my name is Jack. I’ve recently been having these feelings, strange feelings, I’m twenty and live in an apartment alone I go shopping daily, go for walks, and know all my neighbors. Yet these feelings made me feel suddenly unsafe, and uncomfortable even though I’ve been living in my apartment for two whole years now. There has never been much crime, but these feelings it’s like something is watching me from the darkness. I’ll be sitting in my bed reading and suddenly get a tingle down my spine. I’ll look up at the open doorway, the pitch dark doorway, and I feel like something, something horrible sees me, but it knows I don’t see them. I’ve recently been having these dreams, I’m laying in my bed and I hear something creak outside. I lift my head and look at the doorway, something grotesquely human is standing in the doorway, it has sunken black eyes, pale flesh clinging to the bone, and rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth. It’s just standing there, I had the dream again and again, but this time something is different. It’s just standing there, and it has been standing there for the past four hours, I’m starting to think this time it’s not a dream, but I don’t dare to move or make a sound for fear that it might realize I can see it. |
so my dad has been acting weird ever since going to dreamcloud., dreamcloud is a nickname for my mother \[f98\] grave. after going he started to act possesed and horney i caught him humping her gravestone oops wrong subreddit lol |
He was in his car, both his hands on the wheel, gripping tightly, his eyes glued to the road, when he felt it. A small stinging sensation on his right pointer finger.
It wasn’t an awful, unbearable pain, but it was just irritating enough for him to decide to lift his right hand from the wheel to take a glance.
Sure enough, a small cut had appeared in the middle of his finger. It was oval-shaped, about the size of a grain of sand. The immediate skin around it was white and discolored, with the inside being bright red, as most cuts would be.
*Must be a paper cut*, he thought, although he couldn’t recall handling any paper in recent memory. It was no big deal. Maybe he would put a bandage on when he got home. Or not. It really wasn’t that bad.
He finished inspecting the cut, placing his right hand back on the steering wheel, his grip returning to the same position as before.
After a few minutes of normal driving down I-66, cars zooming by on the other side of the highway, his speed in line with the other cars going the same direction as him, the pain began to get worse.
While at first, it had only been a light stinging, it soon began to grow into a heavy throbbing, like all the pain one would feel from a sore leg had been condensed into his finger. Soon, the pain level grew, like someone was cranking a dial, slowly making his tolerance worse and worse.
The throbbing soon became a pricking sensation, like needles were being poked around inside of him. Soon, it crescendoed into an agonizing pain, like his finger was being sawed off.
‘’Ow! Ow!! OW!!! FUCK!!!,’’ he screamed, his car swerving into the next lane, nearly hitting the oncoming traffic.
Cars blared their horns, he thought he could even hear some people cussing him out, but he didn’t care. The pain in his finger was too great.
Amazingly, his right hand managed to stay gripped to the steering wheel, despite the pain. Now though, it was beginning to slide from its spot, almost as if it had been greased.
He watched in horror as his right hand moved down the side of the steering wheel, leaving a long, glistening swath of red blood. Before he could do anything else, he was thrown back in his seat as the front of his car collided with the back end of another car. For several seconds, the world became a spinning top as his car wound around in circles, the sounds he heard being nothing but honking and screeching metal.
Finally, a single, loud crash echoed as his car's momentum suddenly stopped, and the world went dark.
\_
The first thing he saw as he woke up was a large crowd of people, watching him from some distance away. His windshield had been shattered, a small gust of wind blowing onto his face, irritating the many cuts and bruises he could feel, due to the pain that was aggravated from it.
To his right, he saw a car laying sideways on the side of the road, smoke and exhaust lifting up from the remains. On the flipped side of the car facing towards the sky, he could see an arm sticking out, motionless.
*Oh fuck. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!!!I killed someone*, he thought, knowing his life was over.
He attempted to move, to unbuckle himself, but found the seatbelt was stuck. Not only that, but even a slight movement seemed to elicit excruciating pain. Bafflingly, his finger, his damn finger, the reason the accident happened, seemed to be the worst off of his whole body.
He lifted his right hand, which was now to his side, bringing it up to his eyeline…and screamed, when he saw what was happening.
The skin on his pointer finger, right below the cut, was now a bloody, mutilated mess. The pale skin was completely gone, made into a pulpy, red color from being ripped off. In the center of the mutilation was a large hole where a huge chunk of his finger had been eaten. In it, small bits of skin floated in a congealment of blood, flowing out of the hole and down onto the rest of his hand.
While that in itself would be horrifying enough, it wasn’t that which traumatized him. He watched, wide-eyed, as the small cut in the middle of his finger lifted open, like a mouth about to eat.
From the slit, a small, pink tongue unfurled. It was thin, the size of a lizard’s tongue, becoming trianglish, almost pointed at the end.
It moved to the chunk taken out of his finger, beginning to lap up the blood from the hole. He could only cringe and shake with fear. It reminded him of when he let his dog lick up the grease on his fingers after he finished eating, but much smaller, and much more vile-feeling.
Soon, the tongue had its fill, and it curled back up, disappearing back into the slit. Just when he thought it was done, almost like spikes shooting up from the ground, teeth formed around the edges of the cut. Human teeth, more purely white than even his own teeth.
He watched as the cut, or mouth, as it clearly was, extended out, almost cartoonishly. It bent down, moving back to the large chunk where it had been eating. He was too numb with fear to feel anything as it bit into him, continuing its long, but more than likely successful quest of devouring him.
|
I needed a break from the relentless stress of my job, so I decided to take a few days off and recharge my batteries with a solo hiking trip in the Appalachian Mountains. Although I wasn't accustomed to hiking alone, I welcomed the opportunity to disconnect from the hustle and bustle of daily life. The day began just like any other hike – the serenity of trees and shrubs enveloping my surroundings, the raw beauty of the mountains providing solace. Being out in nature always had a way of grounding me. Everything felt familiar and comforting until the time came for me to make my way back to the car. After an eight-hour trek, the sky was darkening quickly, urging me to pick up the pace.
Oddly, the return trail felt unfamiliar, a growing unease knotting in my stomach. As nightfall descended, I found myself alone with just a flashlight, lost in the labyrinth of the forest. The realization dawned that continuing through this perilous terrain was both imprudent and unsafe. The prospect of spending the night exposed to the elements sent a shiver down my spine.Just when desperation was settling in, a stroke of luck led me to a dilapidated cabin. It stood in shadow, untouched by visitors for years, yet it was the sole refuge that could offer shelter until dawn. With my flashlight's battery dwindling, I weighed my options and ventured inside. The interior was pitch black, but my eyes soon adjusted. To my surprise, a bed, perfectly sized for a lone traveler, occupied the center of the room. Rationalizing that if the owner returned, I could explain my predicament, I sank into the bed, hoping for some respite.
In the quiet of the cabin, I couldn't ignore the peculiar portraits that adorned the walls. Each portrait depicted enigmatic figures, all staring at me with eerie smiles that sent shivers down my spine. Attempting to dismiss the unease, I focused on my weariness from the hike, allowing it to lull me into sleep.
When the next morning arrived, I awoke early, my heart already heavy with a sense of foreboding. As I sat up, a cold sweat gripped me. The walls, once adorned with those unsettling paintings, now held only windows. The outside world stared back at me, its gaze unsettling and unfamiliar. The air grew thick with an unspoken terror, and a chilling realization settled over me like a weight, urging me to confront the unnerving truth of my situation. |
Dorothy had no idea where to start. She scanned the shelves and discovered that the titles were extremely odd. One section was dedicated directly to Dorothy's life, they were neatly ordered and titled. No subject was left out, she pulled a book entitled Dorothy's Wedding Day April 5th 1983.
She slowly opened the heavy leather bound book. Immediately she was overwhelmed by the emotions she had felt that day; excitement, fear, a strong sense of hope for her future. She felt the love she had for George as if she had newly fallen in love with him again. Dorothy was confused though, the pages were blank. She flipped through the book and nothing! Not a single word aside from the title page.
The longer she stared at the empty pages the more real her memories became, she even felt young again. She suddenly sat on the floor, flopped really. She was no longer in her body, but looking down at it as she was dragged away. She was suddenly fully immersed in her wedding day. She felt the weight of her dress on her young body as she walked down the aisle towards the adoring eyes of her future husband. She felt his lips touch hers when they had their first kiss, tasted the wedding cake, felt his body press against hers as they had their first dance.
As the wedding came to a close, she was suddenly transported back to her body. She sat up and rubbed her eyes in amazement. What just happened? Overwhelmed for a moment, a few tears ran down her cheeks. She had never felt the weight of her age crashing down so hard. She looked at her old arthritic hands and was saddened to feel old again. She grabbed a low shelf and slowly pulled herself into a standing position, carefully straightening her sore back.
Her mind spun with possibilities, she could relive any part of her life up to the present. Some of those memories Dorothy had wished to keep buried, such as the book titled George's Funeral January 16th 1989. She kept scanning and found one titled The Birth of Dorthy June 3rd 1955. No thank you Dorothy thought.
She kept scanning, Dorothy's First Step February 9th 1956. That could be interesting she thought. She pulled the book from the shelf and resigned herself to the fact that she had to sit on the floor again.
When she opened the book she wasn't surprised to yet again find empty pages. A youthful exuberance filled her body and energy flowed through her. Suddenly she was in her old living room. She didn't fully understand her surroundings, her thoughts became limited to mamma and dada. She spotted her old cat across the room locking his long grey fur. She wanted to touch it and had seen lots of people walking, but it never occurred to her to try until today.
Dorothy grabbed a couch cushion and started to pull herself up, her little legs wobbling from lack of use. Dorothy was no longer enjoying the experience, feeling so weak and fragile dampened the experience. She worked her way down the length of the couch using her hands for balance, watching Ruffles (her old cat) as she made her way. Curiosity led her to take a fist wobbly step away from the couch, unfortunately the first step led into a fall into a large oak coffee table.
Dorothy felt blinding pain her head as she snapped back into her body. What the hell just happened she thought. That was intense, I think I've had enough for today.
She walked to the desk in the corner and asked Martha for her things. "Sure" she said, I just have to pat you down again real quick." Dorothy cooperated and Martha returned her things.
Curiosity had gotten the best of her now so she quietly asked Martha "why all the rules? I couldn't even take a photo or video, it would have been impossible. "
Martha's reply shook Dorothy. "You'll see." she said. |
Dorothy was 68; her birthday in the upcoming week. She had stopped caring about the yearly celebration about 20 years previously, it was just another day in her mundane life.
Things were a out to change, but she had no way of knowing that. Dorothy continued with her usual activities, but her loneliness was overwhelming. She had lost everyone in her life that mattered and was forced to keep living, in utter isolation.
Three days before her birthday, she decided to check out the local library. Books had always comforted her and served as a break from the monotony.
The library was an old brick building, not much larger than Dorothy's own one bedroom home. It was older than Dorothy and, like her it had a lot character. There was a small fenced in playground off to the side and the library itself had a good amount of ivy climbing the side of the building.
Dorothy knew the librarian, Mr. Goldberg for more than a decade but he was a good 20 years younger than her. He smiled and quietly greeted her as she entered.
She quickly made her rounds, picked out a few Nora Roberts novels and headed back up to the front with her choices. Mr. Goldberg gave her a cheesy grin, he'd never been a fan of Nora and always made it known.
"You know" he said, "we have a new section open for readers 65 and above?" "Hmm, no. What sort of books do you have there?" she asked. "Well, I actually don't know, I don't fit the age requirements so I'm not even allowed to shelve them. It's a mystery to me, you can't even check out from that section. I'd love to know what's down there!"
Dorothy puzzled at this point responded with "Ok, you've piqued my interest! Where is this new section?" Mr. Goldberg looked a little nervous to tell her. "Well, it's in the basement. You can only get in with this key card and your i.d. card. Joe will be at the door, he's kind of like a bouncer, don't worry he's a puppy dog if you belong there."
What an odd thing to say Dorothy thought as she took the key card and headed to the basement. She couldn't help but feel a little excitement as she made her way. What is so special about this section that you have to be 65 or above? It all seemed like a weird fever dream.
When she reached the basement it occurred to her that she had seen every corner of this building before and had never seen this door, or even known that it existed.
Joe was standing outside the door, he looked to be about her age, possibly a few years older. He was small in stature and dressed well, so she was surprised when he spoke in a booming, commanding voice. Must of been a marine or something she thought. "I.d. card" he said. Dorothy trembled a little as she handed it over. He flipped it over in his hands and studied it like it was fake, she wondered what happened to the people who weren't supposed to be there and a shiver ran down her spine. "Ok Dorothy, looks good. Go ahead in." She scanned the key card Mr. Goldberg had given her and the door beeped in response, letting her know she had gained entry.
When she opened the door she was surprised to find a set of well lit stairs leading down in to a large open room with a single desk in the corner. There were book shelves as far as she could see. She couldn't help but wonder how the room was so large, she suddenly felt like she was on Dr. Who. It was the only thing in her mind that she could compare it to.
There was a tiny woman sitting at the small desk in the corner, she looked as though Dorothy had just woken her up. She stood up and straightened her dress, approaching Dorothy.
"Good afternoon, I'm Martha" she said. "Welcome to the seniors only section, I see that you are new so let me explain some rules."
"The use of phones or electronics is prohibited, you may not at any time take photos or videos of any of the books contained in this room or anything else seen in this room. You may not take notes or draw anything seen within this room, nothing leaves this room aside from what you have brought in" she continued.
"I'm sure I need not say it, but no food or drink are allowed. Talking must be limited to low whispers after I'm done telling you these rules."
"Now I must ask you to hand over all electronics and drawing instruments as well as paper, lipstick, eyeliner, small mirrors and any food or drink you have on your person." she rambled off.
Dorothy was shook, why all these precautions she thought. She handed over her whole purse and her ancient cell phone to Martha.
"I'm sorry I have to do this she said, I need to pat you down before you are free to roam amongst the books."
Dorothy was in shock. I should just go she thought, this just seems like a lot. As if her body and brain weren't connected she raised her arms and spread her legs and allowed Martha to pat her down. "Ok" she said. "You are free to browse now." |
Stumbled across an old news article from 1964 from Japan, reporting on two bodies found in a wheat field not a mile apart. The first body found was that of a middle-aged man, roughly 35, found in a small hut, fire still found, who was found stabbed in the stomach, and likely bled to death. The second, an older woman, mid-50’s to 60’s, was found in a large hole in the ground. Most disturbingly, however, was the fact that lying underneath her body was roughly a dozen, fully intact skeletal remains, which, based on comparison, seem to be all young men. The woman likely died upon falling into the hole, being impaled by the skeletons, and bleeding to death. Most interesting about her body was her mutilated face, almost burned, and loose enough to fall off. Investigators found a second hut roughly half a mile away from the hole, and half a mile from the man’s hut. Due to footprints found in a trail from the hole to the second hut, investigators theorized this hut belonged to the woman. This would, at least, give more detail to what may have happened, because inside the hut, similar to the first hut, a fire was still alive, implying the bodies have been dead for less than 24 hours. Disturbingly, however, is the fact that, laying next to two side-by-side wheat beds, which may imply a third party, was a broken-in half demon mask, and a rock, bloodied, laying next to it. Upon closer inspection, the mask had chunks of human skin stuck to the wooden inside, as well as wet spots, which investigators concluded are tears. Also found in the hut was a torn piece of cloth, bloodied, though not matching either the woman’s or the man’s attire. Conversely, a trail from both huts that converge onto the hole which the woman was found. Unsurprisingly, the footprints on the trail from the hut in which the man was found dead match his foot size, and the same with the trail to the woman’s hut, though a third set of footprints, on both trails, has been found, and due to the size of the foot, it is theorized it is the foot of a young woman, late 20’s. Close analysis concludes her footprints went out of the wheat field, possibly into the forest, possibly into the water. One last notable fact about the report was a faux-pawn shop, near the rural field area (both huts, and the hole, exist in a thick wheat field), reports seeing regularly an older woman, a middle-aged man, and a younger woman, usually with the older woman, though in their interview they seemed completely confused to an older woman with a mutilated, possibly burned face with chunks of skin missing. |
London, 1983. It was a normal evening in "Isabella's Orphan Asylum": the little ones were already asleep, or pretending to be, and the older ones were telling each other scary stories (always the same ones). I had never been included, and I never tried to listen to anything. But that evening, I decided to eavesdrop. They were talking about a terrifying story, they even said it was true…and what's more, they never told it. It was about a famous violinist, called Ryan Barney, who was also a string instrument maker, who was widowed at 31. After losing his wife, he decided to take a break from everything, including his string instrument business. He was very sad and disconsolate, or so it seemed. After a long time, he fell in love with another woman, they lasted almost 7 long years together.. She had promised him that she would marry him and that she would stay with him for the rest of their days. But she didn't keep her promise: in fact, she confessed to him that she fell in love with another man. Ryan tried, but couldn't accept it. He thus decided to tie his “girlfriend” to a chair and torture her in atrocious ways until he convinced her to stay with him. - Do you decide to leave? All right. But if I can’t love you, no one else can. And must you love anyone but me. I’ve been clear?- Said the terrible man. She said she'd rather die than stay with him, so ryan, grant her wish. He wasn't satisfied, however.. He therefore decided to take all the shiny blond hair of his partner that he liked so much and make the hair of the new bow of his violin with it. After some time, he decided to do it also with the hair of his previous wife, that, he killed too.. After about a month, he fell in love with another woman who, however, rejected him, so he did the same with her too, and decided to sell the new bow, and the one previously made with his first wife's hair. His sale then started again, and everyone believed that in addition to the instruments, the bows were special, and that there was something strange that made them so beautiful, but that no one could understand. Ryan did the same with all the hair of his later girlfriend and became extremely rich. However, someone had begun to think that the bows had been made with human hair. So Ryan decided to run away. His whereabouts are unknown, it is said that he now works in an orphanage in London. I decided that those brats knew too much about my story, but now I don't know what to do with their corpses.. |
null |
Me and my friend which I will call lotus were doing quads in a park until we heard gun shots then screaming at first I thought it was fireworks ( this was near one of my friends house) but it turns out 2 boys near us also heard it they were just playing something with a ball there was also 2 younger girls one went to see what was going on from a distance which was near a sidewalk with my friend lotus they both saw a police car then I checked and there was only one police officer and he was going back to his car it seemed like he just went into either my friends house (not lotus’s) or their neighbours but I also saw kids running out of the house me lotus and the 2 boys went into a nearby forest the forest it wasn’t that big then we heard gunshots from the other side near a highway we walked trying not to make a sound as fast as we can only whispering trying to make as less noise as we can while still trying to be able to communicate me and lotus wanted to go in a spot that we go in a-lot they wanted to go as far away as the gunshot near my friends house, when we got there we saw a person wearing a black hoodie with the hood up we ran as fast as we could to the other side of the forest scared that they were going to shoot us they also had there hands in there pockets which made us more suspicious luckily they didn’t follow us and we didn’t see a gun but when we went to the side of the forest that we came in there was a smaller forest near by we went in there their was only a father playing with his kids the boys decided to play while me and lotus ran as fast as we can to get to her house we got there safely she told her parents and the next day we checked up on my friend she was safe and she apparently didn’t hear anything. |
I don't know where to begin or how to make this any clearer than what I already said. I am stuck in a liminal space or zone? I am not sure what this place is exactly to be honest. Let me go back for context on how I got here.
I was turning 14 and my mother wanted to take me to the New McDonalds PlayPlace that was supposed to be the largest in the country only thing is they weren't marketing it anywhere else but in the small town, I live in. I just assumed it was because of a practice run to open other large PlayPlaces around the country. So, when I heard this you know I was already on board and excited. I ran to my mother and begged for her to take me and my best friend "Ian" to the McDonalds. She was reluctant at first because of inflation but the McDonalds just so happen to have a birthday special where I get to eat free so she ended up giving in.
It was the big day and I called Ian to come to my place as were leaving in about an hour and a half. "Yea, I'll be right there! I just gotta get my tablet" Ian said with excitement. Ian couldn't go anywhere without his tablet and the same with me. We would play Roblox together all the time but this time we installed simple tracking apps on each other tablets and play hide in Seek in this new PlayPlace.
Ian showed up wearing a nice light blue button-up shirt and jeans. "Wow, you look fancy bro!" I exclaimed in shock at my friend looking extra dapper for just going to McDonalds. "Yea, thanks, man. It's a special occasion it's your birthday and the grand opening." He said while waving his hands in the air making a spectacle out of it. He then leans in and whispered, "I also heard that the first birthday party gets a special surprise I don't even know what it is!"
Even though at the time I was laughing and was elated to go I also had a wave of dread and anxiety wash over me. I (at the time) didn't know why I was feeling this way so I excused myself to the bathroom to empty my stomach of its morning breakfast. The nausea was gone but the overwhelming sense of impending doom was baring its weight on my whole body. I steadied my breathing thinking it was just nerves but looking back I should've listened to my body...
We arrived at the McDonalds and it was shiny and new but unlike most McDonalds, this one was several stories tall and much larger. You could see the PlayPlace winding and twisting throughout the restaurant which had Ian and I extremely excited to see. "Wow! It's like a whole maze! Twisting and winding tunnels, small portholes with power plugs for recharging your device, AND a pool-sized ball pit!? Looks like heaven to me." Ian shouted and held my hand while pointing everything out.
We sat down and I got my usual. Quarter pounder, medium fry, and a large soda. I have a high metabolism so I do eat more than the average teen. My friend ordered a 10-piece nugget and large fry and large coke. While we were eating the same sense of dread was washing over me over and over getting heavier and heavier. I again went to the bathroom but couldn't vomit so I sat on the cold floor sobbing not knowing why I was so stressed. The emotional pain was intense and hot like fire. The room was spinning and my mind was racing. I couldn't get a grip on reality hearing voices saying things like "Go home" and "You're next if you don't leave". I was spiraling out of control until someone banged on the door and yelled my name. "Tim?? Hey, Tim are you ok?"
It was Ian... He was always looking out for me and it snapped me out of my delusion. I wiped the tears from my eyes and stood up brushing the dirt off my pant. "Yea, I just needed to go to the bathroom," I yelled back while holding back my whimpering sob I was getting over. "Are you sure? I thought I heard you yelling?" I shook my head and closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. "I didn't yell... Maybe someone else did" I was confused because I was certain I didn't scream or yell. "I am certain you did but I could be going crazy. Anyways, hurry up we gotta go in the tunnels!" I laughed and responded with an exhausted "I'm hurrying I'm hurrying"
When I got out Ian waved me to the entrance of the PlayPlace named "PlayZone Omega". It was large and almost daunting. Curving and bending tunnels, the portholes being much larger up close and the smell of rubber and sanitizer filled the air with a feint smell of grease. We climbed into the entrance which when going through was much larger on the inside with me being able to stand straight in the tube and walk through. Ian looked at me and smiled before running off and yelling "Count to 20 and find me " HE ran swiftly through the rugged terrain of blue and yellow gym mats and the tight space of the tunnels.
I sat in a port hole charging my tablet and watching a video that was 20 seconds long. As it dragged on the video started to buffer and I tried everything I could to get it to work again. I tried restarting it and refreshing the page but it kept buffering. I finally decided to stand up as it is been longer than 20 seconds and started to look for him. As I dredged through the cool playmats and static electricity-filled PVC tubing I started to notice imprints in the mat that looks to be his feet. I followed them into a port hole where his tablet sat by itself with the notepad on the screen. "IAN! I found your tablet!" I yelled out hoping he come out from hiding.
Minutes went by and he didn't answer. I yelled again but still no answer. I decided to sit by his tablet and charge mine. As I sat there I remembered Ian left his tablet on and a note on it. I opened the lock screen and read the note. "He is watching...Hide" I laughed nervously but my body knew... Every hair on my neck stood up and my head was filled with roaring as my hearing goes away as if I'm going through shell shock. I looked around me in a sweaty panic and didn't see anything. I still had the eerie feeling I'm being watched. It was then my delirium was interrupted by a tapping on the see-through plastic porthole... It was a grotesque and twisted version of Ronald McDonalds covered in a thick black substance that has stained his previously bright white striped shirt into a rust-colored hue. It smiled at me with a long, gnarly smile that was nearly ear to ear. His mouth was severely chapped and I could see the fresh gristle hanging from his jagged teeth.
The creature had no pupils, all you could see were the white parts of its eyes that were bloodshot with a feint hue of yellow. I stared at it and it stared back for what seemed like hours but only seconds have passed. The more I looked into it the sleepier I became but every fiber of my being was warning me not to fall asleep because this thing was not good. I tried to shake my head to stay awake however my eyes were getting too heavy and the room was spinning as I was losing balance. I ended up passing out but waking up in a different spot in the PlayPlace of horrors. "Ian must've saved me," I thought to myself quietly. I looked around and I was in a different blue color porthole but this one was made of metal and a bit rusty. I kept looking around me to perhaps see who or what saved me just in case it wasn't Ian. I only found a shredded blue button-up shirt that was dingy and looked like it's been here for years. It was dusty and covered in dried blood. Far from Its pristine condition it once was.
I haven't looked through the port window yet to see where I was as I was not in the same location as before. Looking through the window I saw something even more horrifying than Zombfied Ronald. It was an infinite expanse of PlayPlace tubes...winding and splitting into more and more never ending highways of metal tubs and slightly damp mats. Outside it was a bright blue sky with clouds passing by but being pierced by the same PlayPlace tubes I occupied. Strangely enough, there was still wifi and working chargers. Below was a ball pit ocean. It had a moving current but only red balls. The smell of Iron and rust was permeating near the seal of the port hole. Looking closely I could swear the ball pit was just balls floating in an ocean of blood.
Fear was setting in more knowing I am stuck here until I leave. Strangely enough, I can get on here and document my days but I fear that I won't have much more time left. I...I will keep updating but in the meantime stay away from Mcdonald's PlayPlace. |
I'm so f-cking excited! Finally, after ages of failed date attempts on Tinder I matched with a guy I like! Who knows, maybe this will even turn into something bigger, but then again I shouldn't reach for the stars with someone I don't even really know. He does seem cute, but I don't know him in person. Maybe he's someone horrible or a serial killer for all I know. Wow, your optimism never fails to disappoint me, Melissa.
I'm going, to be honest, I'm not the prettiest girl out there. And no, I'm not saying this for attention and pity. It's just that, I'm 39 years old, and people have already made babies, while I'm out here, still trying to find a man that likes me. At least for my personality.
Talking about pity, my mother left me when I was just born, and my sister died almost a year ago. I miss her terribly. The pain of losing a sibling... it's like losing a part of yourself. I lost the prettier part, I guess. We were really similar when it came to personality but not looks... Well, she was a goddess compared to a worm like me. Life finally seems to get better.
The date's name is Josh, and we agreed to go on a date this Friday, or today. It's been a long day at work, you know? I have to take a nap if I don't want to fall asleep on my date this evening. Having to deal with my diabolical boss screaming my ear off every day has had its toll on me. I hate it there. My colleagues hate me too for some reason. I didn't do anything to them. Like I stole their spouses. Not that I ever could.
I laid my head on my couch, trying to get as comfortable as possible. I set up an alarm, as I didn't want to oversleep my date with my possible future husband! Hehe, I'm just being silly. I could feel myself drifting off into oblivion, as the darkness engulfed me.
I woke up confused, as I looked around and saw that I was in my bedroom. That's strange. I remember clearly falling asleep on my couch. I looked at the window, through which the sunlight bathed my eyes. Wait... the sun was set when I took a nap... Is it morning already?
My date with Josh! Oh God, don't tell me I was sleeping the entire time I should have been in the bar! I looked at my digital calendar and saw that it was Sunday. F-ucking hell! How could I be so stupid!? How could I be so incapable of taking one guy on a date? It could have just been a one-night stand, but I couldn't even manage to get that done. I'm a failure. I don't deserve to be loved.
I rushed out of bed, trying to find my phone as soon as possible. I needed to call Josh and explain to him what happened. I don't want him to think that I stood him up or something. I tried to look on the table next to my couch, as I was sure I put it there. Nope. I tried going to the kitchen and looking at the countertops, the bedroom, my bed, and my nightstands. Nope. Nothing at all. I even looked in the bathroom, but it wasn't there either. Apart from being stupid and incapable of doing anything, was I getting dementia too? Nah, I'm not old enough for that. My purse was also missing.
Great. I missed my date, I lost my phone and my purse, Josh probably hates me, and I'm still ugly. What a wonderful life I have.
I decided to write in my diary, as most of my emotions and thoughts were engraved there. It's not like I had anyone to share them with. It's sad, I know. Well, there is my father, but I doubt that he'd be into hearing me mop about how miserable I am.
I opened my diary and to my surprise, my last entry that was on the 9th of June was the following:
"9.6/23
Dear Diary,
I'm so freaking excited! I'm writing this as I'm listening to Toxic from Britney Spears. I have just gotten ready for a date with Josh. In ten minutes I'm supposed to leave the house, but I thought that I'd have the time to share my butterflies in my stomach with... something.
I'll write about how our date went the moment I get from home (hopefully good), as I should get my fat a-s from this bed as nobody likes tardy people."
Wait... so I didn't oversleep. One may wonder if this was written by someone else, but I can assure you, no one can recreate my handwriting. Not even the greatest of doctors. Also, whoever wrote that sounds just like me.
The thing I'm worried about is the fact that I have zero recollection of the date. Was I... drugged? No, it can't be. Josh doesn't seem like the type of guy to do something like that. Looks can lie --
No! This neighborhood is very safe! No one here would do something like that.
I tried to calm my thoughts, as I heard the door swing open.
"Honey, you've left your door unlocked. I take it you're home.", my dad said, as I prepared myself for a lecture that was going to drain my soul out of my ears because I probably didn't call him or something.
"You know honey, your silent treatment is getting annoying. Stop acting like a child and tell me if I did something wrong. Not talking to me isn't gonna fix anything, you know. It's been two weeks. Grow up already!" my dad was yelling in the hallway, as I took a swift look at our other digital calendar.
"24.06.2023"
...What the actual fu-
I've been out for two whole weeks? What the hell happened to me? How can someone be out for so long? Or could it be that I just don't remember anything... wait how long have I been without my phone then?
I saw my Father get into my bedroom from the hallway, and I could hear the most devastating scream in my entire life. It pierced through my ears to my brain, which caused an immense amount of fear that made me run like a wild animal.
"Dad, what happened? Is everything oka-", my question was interrupted by the body laying on my bed, covered in blood.
"Oh, my daughter... who did this to you? Oh, my sweet child...", the pain of my father would be felt through the words that were coming out of his mouth...
I could see his daughter, me, laying on the bed, with a stab wound on my stomach. It was... not a pretty picture anyone should see, let alone the father of the figure laying there... murdered.
I remember what happened now. I remember everything.
My date with Josh was going great until I felt the urge to go to the bathroom. When I came back, he was nowhere to be seen. The bastard had ditched me, or so I thought. I drank my booze we had ordered in one swift gulp, as I made my way towards my home.
I thought about how I'd never find the one. I didn't look as bad in my pictures, and so the guy had thought I'd tried to catfish him. I'm bound to be unhappy. Forever.
I was really tipsy, almost as if I was high. The entire walk home I could not walk straight. Maybe I should try dating girls. Pun intended. They clearly have fewer standards. At least where I live.
I entered my home, and as I was about to close the door, it was pushed back, which made me fall on my butt. In my drunken state, which is weird as I only had one glass of booze, I could do nothing but scream as the person in front of me picked me up, and stabbed me in my stomach. He even rotated the knife to inflict more suffering. Or maybe try and make sure he'd kill me.
First I was miserable because I was ugly. Then I was even more miserable because my date ditched me. And now I'm even more miserable, as I could remember the face of the guy that killed me - it was my own father.
I knew he never liked me, but I never thought he wished me dead, let alone try and kill me.
Oh... remember how I mentioned I was feeling high, even though I drank nothing? My father probably paid him to spike my drink. I guess he might have read my diary entry from exactly a year ago.
"24.6/22
I did it. I finally did it. After years of envy and hatred, I finally found the courage to end my sister. That b-tch had everything. Everything that I've ever wanted. Why did she get to be beautiful, while I got to look like Frankenstein's monster? Why? We had the same parents, didn't we? Why did she get blessed with my mother's genes, while I don't even look like my father? Was I even his daughter?
I mean I do understand that pretty privileges exist, but I didn't expect life to bless her with everything she ever wanted, just because she got the looks.
Apart from looking good, she also managed to get married to my crush. Do you know what that felt like, being stabbed in the back like that by your own sibling? It wasn't fair.
She was the one that got good grades too, which led to her getting special treatment from our father. Our mother left us when I was born. I wonder if she did it because she was too embarrassed to admit having this both foul-looking and actually foul creature as a daughter. Nonetheless, while her death may not make me any less ugly, at least the jealousy is gone.
I made her look like she committed suicide. It was perfect. Everyone thinks she overdosed on sleeping pills on her own, and no one suspected anything but the lie I orchestrated.
You may be wondering why I'd write such a horrendous crime I've committed here - I had to get it out. She was my sister, and I'm the one responsible for her death. I'm sad that she's gone. My love for her was tremendous, but not as great as the fire I felt every time I looked at her and saw her having everything I never could. I doubt that anyone cares enough about me to read my diary anyway.
May she rest in peace."
I am my father's daughter after all. His acting is impeccable. Maybe I would have been a good actress… |
I heard a crunch in the far distance. What could that be? I asked myself over and over before I launched out into the thick woods. I never knew a single shot could lead to the worst and last experience of my life. I was laying on my bed scrolling through Instagram trying to look for the one I need, my lover. Who knew a shy guy could lead such a disastrous life?
We met up at a restaurant which I'm not too familiar with but I ignored it and followed the directions he gave me. I arrived at the restaurant and saw him sitting there at the table. He is the one I thought but oh how wrong I was... I sat down with him. "Hi" we said almost simultaneously. I laughed whilst he just sat there staring at the butter knife longingly. Again I ignored it and sat down. This almost life threatening aura surrounded me almost chocking me. We talked for a while until the waiter came and took our orders. "Wine please.." he said. I asked for a shot of vodka as to help me get through the night.
I had to go to the toilet afterwards so I left him there. When I returned he turned his head a bit too much it looked like and said that the drinks were here. I sat down and drank up my vodka. Why is my head spinning? I thought to myself. Suddenly everything was pitch black... almost like my own heart... |
You’re in the middle of the forest at night, eating berries off a bush. Night is usually the safest time to eat because they hunt during the day. Sometimes they do hunt at night on rare occasions, so you still keep an eye out. You have grown up fearing them, as many of your family members have been claimed by them. It’s in your DNA to run as fast and far from them as possible. You know to fear them. These predators are master hunters, some say they can run up to 30 miles an hour, so you better run fast if one sees you. Their eyesight is far better than yours. Supposedly their eyes can absorb all colors, if you’re within 6 miles chances are they can see you perfectly clear, and are watching your every move. Their sense of smell is also very keen, they can smell when the weather is going to change, they can smell blood, and different types of gasses and chemicals we can’t. These creatures can hear extremely well. Any noise within 20 to 20,000hz they will pickup and detect.
So you may be thinking? Where can I hide from these creatures if I’m being hunted? Well you can’t climb a tree, the creatures are master climbers, able to scale trees and cliffs with ease. Even a flat rock wall, they can climb with excellent precision and speed.
Your next guess might be water. Surly they can’t follow me if I cross a River. Most Creatures would loose my scent are not have the ability to cross a River. Well you would be wrong. These creatures can swim. And fast at that. With the ability to hold their breath and swim over 8 miles an hour, the water would not be a deterrent for these apex predators.
They can crawl through tight spaces, so forget caves. But scariest of all. Even if you outrun them, they can throw…
No matter how fast you run, they can throw rocks and projectiles at over 100 mph. Their ability to aim is almost perfect. They will kill you… it’s just a matter of how.
They are strange looking creatures, most of their bodies completely hairless, piercing round eyes in the front of their head. Their mouth is full of many different types of teeth, incisors and canines for ripping through flesh, and molars for cracking through bone. These creatures are extremely versatile as they are completely omnivorous but mostly prefer meat.
What makes these predators so dangerous though is their brains. They are extremely cunning, and they can communicate with each other and hunt in packs or by themselves. When in pursuit they are often 5 steps ahead of their prey, known for studying their prey and memorizing their habits etc.
They are so smart they have the ability to fashion various materials in their surroundings into tools used for killing and trapping.
What are these creatures? You guessed it humans.
Sometimes when I’m camping I like to think how utterly terrifying and magnificent humans are. Especially to an animals point of view. Sometimes we need to be reminded that we are the apex predator, truly the scariest monster of all. |
“That is not allowed, I’m afraid.”
“Exceptions have always been made. Negotiations have been taking place since the dawn of civilization. We too have to make them, as doctors. You must listen to me. Please.”
The nurse checked the stopwatch. Although her face was nonchalant, her eyes widened slightly as she acknowledged the measly amount of time the old man had left.
“State your last wish,” she said finally.
“Whatever feeble life is left in me, whatever light still burns inside my living chest, transfer it to this dying boy. Let him have another chance.”
“Dad, no!” Andrew cried, shaking his father by the shoulders. “You can’t do this! You don’t know what you’re saying!”
The Professor could not bring himself to look at him, staring instead at the nurse through eyes welled with hot tears.
“I’d like to make a confession.” The Professor said firmly as his son, Tonya and Dr. Elis watched silently, holding the limp body of Marcus. “I’ve lived for long enough with a nasty little secret, and it’s about time that I let it be known to my son.”
“What are you saying, Dad?” Andrew stepped back, confused.
“Look at my body. Look at the other’s bodies. See any difference?” The Professor smiled sadly. “The state of me is an absolute mess. It is because of my own sins. I must wash them away before I turn to the cosmos.”
“Make your confession.” The nurse stuffed the stopwatch away.
The Professor turned to Andrew and cupped his face, a tear running down his cheek. “I loved your mother very much. She was to me what the moon is to the sky. When you were born, she was elevated. She adored you endlessly, but there was love lacking in her life. I wasn’t there for her. She was all alone, raising you while I hustled and earned money to be able to afford the life I wanted us to live.
“By the time I got there, she had dived into the harsh depths of loneliness. How much can a human mind bear? It was just her doing chores all day long. I had failed to be there for her. As time passed, she fell deeper into the void she had entered. Ultimately, she broke down completely, and I was still in the illusion of my youth. Pride made me send her away, deeming her incapable of being with me and my son. She stayed at a psychiatric institution for many years, until your sixteenth birthday actually, before finally passing away. She spent all those years alone, in utter confusion about what was happening, calling out my name and asking where her son was. I could not visit her more than twice. I used to tell myself that I was too busy, but the truth was, my guilt slowly gnawed at me, eating me up from within like a festering wound. The truth is, the man lying on the bed is my truest face, my realest condition. I am nothing but a sad mass of flesh living in misery.”
Andrew stared at his dad in horror. His jaw hung down as he tried to process all the information he had just been told. “But…but you told me she passed away in a car accident. You’ve been lying to me my entire life.”
The Professor looked down, clearly ashamed. “What are we if not a tangle of pathetic mistakes?”
“Your time is up.” The nurse appeared from the bed, interrupting the Professor.
“Stop! NO! Don’t do it, Dad! You’re so selfish! You left mom and now you want to leave me forever too. How can you be this cruel?”
“You don’t need me, son. All parents let go of their children’s hands one day. For us, that day is today. I mean, look at me. I am a tragedy. Let me reunite with your mother so I can beg at her feet for forgiveness. My whole life I have lived in guilt. Set me free.”
“I’m removing the intubation,” Dr. Elis called from the bed, holding the tube gingerly as it blew a measly quantity of air into the Professor’s lungs. It was a pitiful sight indeed.
“Don’t you dare do it, Elis!” Andrew thundered, his voice edging dangerously.
“Free me.” The Professor closed his eyes.
Andrew scampered towards Dr. Elis, yelling and threatening to hurt her if she unplugged the decomposing body lying helplessly on the bed. “Get away from that plug, or I’ll rip you apart. I don’t care if you’re my boss or whatever. This is not your decision to make.”
“The decision has been made already, and I respect it. Goodbye, Professor. It has been a pleasure working with you. See you on the other side.” Bidding him farewell, Dr. Elis pulled out the tube and shut off the life support.
Andrew let out a menacing scream as the life support machine died down. ‘YOU FILTHY SADIST! I’M GOING TO DESTROY YOU!”
“Quiet!” The Professor’s nurse yelled dominantly. She glared at Andrew for a second before slowly heading towards Marcus’s bed, where the latter lay lifelessly with his arms limp and his eyes turned back into his head. She fished out the Professor’s stopwatch from her pocket and handed it over to Marcus’s nurse.
“Quisque moritur millies,” one said to the other, closing her eyes and pressing the stopwatch in her palm.
“What the hell are you doing? What are you saying?” Andrew screamed, the corners of his mouth frothing up. His emotional situation seemed to be deteriorating rapidly as he found it particularly difficult to accept everything his father had told him, only to die soon thereafter.
“Stay put,” the Professor’s nurse said, placing the body of the real Professor alongside the decaying mass of flesh on the bed, with the help of Dr. Elis. “Your time will come too.”
As the nurse wheeled the Professor out to be mixed with the stardust of the cosmos, Andrew sat down against the wall, thinking deeply about everything that had just happened. His eyes darted here and there, unable to accept the truth. He hated everything that happened. He resented his father for lying to him. He resented him for leaving so easily. But most of all, he hated Elis.
“ARGGHHH,” a voice echoed through the room. The limp body of Marcus weakly stirred around, struggling to get up. He was very much alive, very much breathing, all at the cost of the Professor’s life and his sins. A bout of nausea took over him for being dead for quite a few minutes, and the young man retched all over the floor, wrenching his guts out.
“Marcus!” Tonya leaped to her feet, rubbing his back and helping him breathe properly. “Oh Goodness! He’s breathing, Dr. Elis!”
“Put his face downwards! Don’t let anything aspirate into his lungs, Tonya!”
“You’re okay, Marcus! You’re okay! I’ll get you water, okay? Just relax. Take a deep breath.” Tonya turned Marcus onto his stomach and got up, rushing outside to get a bottle of water from the vending machine. Dr. Elis scampered towards Marcus, cooing at him and whispering words of encouragement to the young doctor.
Andrew Robertson watched his mentor and his best friend listen to each other as he sat all alone in the corner of the room, his back against the wall. A seething anger was beginning to flame up somewhere deep inside him, and the embers had already been rooted into his heart. He reminisced how easily Dr. Elis had pulled the plug away without the slightest hesitation, as if his father was nothing but a mere disposable life, whereas in reality, he was the one who had built the entire hospital. Without him, Dr. Elis would be begging around the other hospitals at this age. After doing the heinous deed that she did, not a single apology came from her, no, nothing at all, as if Andrew just didn’t exist.
Andrew got up, every single cell in his body loathing him for what he was about to do. Some hatred was too much to measure, and the anger in him had developed for too long, too quietly. It could not be extinguished. He remembered his mother, his smiling mother, and his heart screamed silently at how she had endured so many years at a mental institution, waiting in desperation for someone to rescue her all the while her son, oblivious that his mother was alive, roamed around without a care in the world.
All that pent-up anger seemed to be targeted at one person: Dr. Elis. He couldn’t get the image of her out of his head, the nonchalance with which she had carried out the deed. His father wasn’t there anymore to get the hit of his anger. He had left him like a selfish person, unwilling to converse with his son about the sins he had done.
He turned to the crash cart. The lowest drawer was filled with packaged and sterilized surgical equipment. In the harsh light of the ER, a brand new scalpel glinted provocatively at him, begging him to do the unthinkable. He picked it up and tore off the package.
“Here, have some water,” Tonya said, giving the bottle to Marcus. Dr. Elis had her back turned on Andrew, oblivious to what was about to happen.
“Hey, doc,” Andrew sneered ragingly, his face curled into a snarl.
Dr. Elis turned around and looked at Andrew, who glared down at her. How small and insignificant she looked, how ugly the glint of pride in her eyes was. Andrew imagined someone exactly like Dr. Elis pinning his mother down when she must’ve acted out in her despair and confusion.
“Andrew, what are you-”
The blade worked faster than Dr. Elis could finish her sentence. There was a sharp slick as beads of blood in a straight line appeared on Dr. Elis’s neck. As she moved her head, a stream of blood began to pour down, staining her scrubs scarlet.
“ANDREW! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!” Tonya screamed, pressing against Dr. Elis’s neck, trying to stop the bleeding. Marcus looked at the scene through bloodshot eyes in confusion, unable to understand what was going on. He finally put two and two together, looking at his best friend in shock and disgust.
“Why?” he asked, looking at the boy he’d known since kindergarten, wondering when he’d died and this one had taken his place. Andrew was unrecognizable.
“Dr. Elis, doc, please stay with me. I’m-I’m going to do something, okay?” Tonya got up and opened the cabinets in the ER, searching for stitches. What she didn’t know was that Andrew had sliced deeply with the intention to kill. Her windpipe was cut cleanly in half, and no amount of stitches would fix that.
The stopwatch held in the nurse’s hand quickened up, speeding dangerously as the ticks blurred together. As they hit Tonya’s ears, she hurried, searching for material faster, fooling herself with reassurance that she was trying hard, although a feeble little voice in her head told her that Dr. Elis was gone.
“Andrew, don’t do anything stupid now!” Marcus croaked weakly. He dragged himself across the floor to where his best friend sat in despair, looking at what he’d done.
A moment of clarity had passed through Andrew’s mind. He looked at Dr. Elis’s betrayed eyes that stared at him with a mixture of fear and pain, not understanding how the saver of lives had turned into the taker of one. As Tonya opened the glass cabinets, Andrew looked at himself in the reflection. He was unrecognizable. His face was twisted into a wild snarl with angry eyes full of tears. His peers stared at him with disgust and horror on their faces. He was no longer Andrew Robertson. There was no going back now.
Unable to live with his mind, Andrew dug the bloody scalpel deep into his wrist, letting the blood pour out. He gasped for a second, shocked at the sight of so much blood pouring out of his body, and hyperventilated soon after. Yet, he knew he had to continue. Through his panic, he forced himself to slash the other arm as well, taking a deep breath and sitting back as he started to feel colder and lonelier, the world around him darkening and getting blurry, feeling his scrubs get wetter as the life poured out of his body.
Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick-
Not one, but two stopwatches stopped ticking abruptly this time, leaving the ER in an eerie silence.
Marcus’s screams were fruitless as Andrew and Dr. Elis lay on the floor, lifeless, eyes open, a look of despair on their faces. All was lost.
Tonya and Marcus sat in the lobby soon thereafter, looking around at the silent hospital. There was a trail of blood leading out of the ER as the remnants of Dr. Elis and Andrew were dragged across the lobby toward the entrance by the nurses.
It was an eerie sight indeed, yet even through the signs of violence that remained, Tonya felt a wave of calmness wash over her. The cool air blowing out of the AC, the softness of Marcus’s face, the presence of not another soul in the realm apart from them both; Tonya relished every bit of it.
The slow signs of decay, however, were obvious. No world was permanent, and like all realities, this one was threatening to come to an end. Somewhere in the past hour, bits and pieces of the hospital; the glass plains, some sofas in the lobby, the vending machine; had all been vacuumed away into the breeze of the cosmos as it whipped past them.
“Have you ever heard of the Noodle man?” Marcus asked her, looking deep into her eyes as they sat at the entrance, watching the stardust and planets whizz past in the distance.
“No,” Tonya responded, a dazzling smile on her face. It was a smile that told him all would be good.
“Well,” he began, his doe eyes twinkling. “There was once a noodle man who sold noodles on the streets of his village. He was really poor, but the highlight of his day was this one woman who brought his noodles every single morning. She smiled at him, told him his noodles were the best, and thanked him before leaving. Soon, the noodle man started his own business and became quite rich. But his heart yearned for the sight of her once more; wherever he went, he could not get the thought of her out of his head, so he returned back to his village to see her one more time. He started selling noodles again at the very same spot for many years, waiting for her to run into him again one day. He could finally tell her that he made it in life and that he loved her and that he had come back to get her so they could be together forever.
“But, alas, it was too late, and she was nowhere to be seen. Too many years had passed. He could not find her. The noodle man waited for her until he, too, disappeared from the world. Till his last day he searched for her. Till his last breath he remembered her face. It is said that sometimes, when the nights are really quiet, one can hear them laughing in the stars, sharing their love over a bowl of noodles.”
Tonya stared at Marcus, her heart hurting. They’d known each other for all of their residency years, yet none of them had the strength or time to tell the other their real feelings, thinking that they’d do it when the time was right.
Here they were now, sitting at the edge of the cosmos, at the end of time, looking at each other, speaking a million words through their eyes, all unsaid.
“You should leave now,” Marcus said, holding her hand close to his chest.
“What? Why? This isn’t over yet, Marcus. The test is still going on.”
Marcus chuckled lightly, noticing a thousand freckles on her face. They were all beautiful. “Look around you, Tonya. Don’t you get it? It’s all over. The place is breaking and falling apart.”
“Yes, and that’s great! In a short time, we’ll both be leaving.” Tonya pleaded in front of him, her heart brimming with love and confusion.
“That’s not how it works,” Marcus said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “There is only one winner. The ticking of only one stopwatch sets us free from this celestial prison.”
“Then let it be me,” Tonya said defiantly, a tear streaking down her cheek. “I can’t let you do this. Please.”
“No, it must be me. I must leave now. I can feel that my end is near. My clock is running out of all its tocks.” Marcus chuckled.
Tonya looked at him angrily. “What about the stopwatch the Professor gave to you, sacrificing his life in the process? You’re just going to let that go to waste?”
Marcus stared at the lovely little face in front of him. The little brow furrow, the frown of desperation, the eyes that were filled with love for him. He hated himself for waiting till death, when he could’ve done this much earlier in life.
“It hasn’t gone to waste. In fact, I used them better than I used my own time in life. The Professor let me have a little extra time with you. I will always be grateful to him for this.”
“We don’t have to do anything, Marcus. We can both just stay right here and see what happens. Whatever it is, we’ll be in it together.”
“No, Tonya,” Marcus said, cupping her face. “I want you to go and live a long and very colorful life. It should be rich and full of laughter. I want you to live it all. We both cannot go. This place will cease to exist when only one stopwatch remains.
“I’ve lived enough, seen enough. I come from a rich family, there’s nothing I didn’t experience. I want you to live it all too. Somewhere along the line, you will fall in love once more, and it will last you a lifetime.”
Tonya opened her mouth to reason with him.
“Shh,” he said, before she could utter a word. “Never forget me.”
As the hospital slowly started to wither around them, Marcus let go of her hand, walking towards the entrance of the lobby, looking out at how beautiful the stars were. He hoped they would lead him to nowhere, or somewhere far away where he could drift soullessly through the cosmos, unaware of his existence.
Tonya watched him go from the lobby, her palms flat against the glass walls. She watched him face the curtain of stars whizzing past.
Marcus stopped before he could step through, looking back one last time with the brightest smile on his face. “I love you.”
As Tonya whispered the words back to him, Marcus stepped through the veil, letting the chaos embrace him fully as he surrendered himself to it. There was no blood, no violence, no regret. There was no anger or misery. There was only contentment.
The minutes dragged by slowly as Tonya felt the breeze sift through her hair. She looked at the empty husk of this reality that lay around her, contemplating how surreal it felt. The empty rooms, the broken ceiling that showed the cosmos beyond, the trails of blood that spoke of misery and pain, they were all around her.
A bout of slumber crept into her as the pieces of reality around her started to crumble away. Sleep, she told herself. Through her woozy vision, she saw her nurse approaching her with a smile on her face, holding the stopwatch in her hands. The ticking of it echoed throughout the cosmos deafeningly, putting Tonya into a sleep-like trance. Soon, there was nothing but darkness.
Wake up, Tonya. Wake up. Pain was all she felt. It was agonizing, wavelike and burned right through her. She wanted to drift back to sleep, but her nerves screamed in terror, begging her to see what it was that was destroying her.
“Wake up, Tonya!”
A sound, a distant, feminine sound echoed through her mind, coming from a far away tunnel.
Gasp.
She was awake. A sharp light blinded her eyes as she squinted in pain, every single pore of her body in discomfort. She could feel nothing but weakness. It was as if she had dried up.
“M-mo-mom,” she croaked, the hair on her arms standing up at the sound of her own voice. Why was it so dead and raspy, like the croak of a frog?
“My lifeline, my darling, my everything,” her mom cried, looking at her daughter with love. “You’re awake, finally. After five years, my Tonya is back.” |
So I was playing gorilla tag in canyons and I saw a ghost called war crimes this is on YouTube on my channel beanin14 and the ghost looked like a ww1 grunt in the trenches it was yelling a scared but scary battle cry that wouldn’t boost moral I got some of it on tape but I stoped in case it leaked stuff i have a theory what if pbbv is like a ai like in rvb and every other one is a fragment like echo would be beta and daisy09 being it’s scariness and so on and war crimes would be it’s aggression I don’t know much but I know we need to kill this son of bitch! |
Hey y’all. This happened just over a year ago but I still think about this encounter almost daily.
My boyfriend and I had the bright idea of grabbing some cheap flashlights from Walmart and going on a late night walk in the woods. Seemed harmless enough, it was warm out and the sky was clear.
It was a breezy night in June and the also the night of a Supermoon.
We went to this pretty well known trail in my town that runs along a massive river and has lots of open trees and foliage. Started our trek and for the first little while, it was pretty chill. We weaved in an out of trees and roughly followed a path down to the water.
It was pretty nice and once we reached the end of that path, we walked back and followed another one in the opposite direction.
Now this is what happened: we are walking along this path for about 15 minutes before randomly, out of seemingly nowhere, a dog approaches us. It had a pink collar and some tags and looked harmless enough so we just assumed it was someone’s pet that had just run off from their family.
We didn’t get much time to really think about it though, before it ran off in the direction we came from (back towards the parking lot)
Thinking nothing of it, we continue on our walk. We veered off down a beaten path to see where it lead, but the path had been overgrown and wasn’t accessible.
Disappointed, we headed back to the main path when we started to hear rustling next to us.
My boyfriend is infront of me, and he says “what the fuck is that?” So I shine my light and see these eyes looking back at me. We slowly got closer, and realized, IT WAS THE DOG from before.
We’re thinking “okay what the fuck?” And this dog had its tail wagging, tongue hanging out and ears perked. It genuinely looked friendly.
So me being me, I go up to the dog and as I am approaching, it’s like a flip switched and this mf starts growling and whining at me. So I’m like “fuck no” and back off.
I love animals but there was just something not right about this dog. I couldn’t get a read on it whatsoever. I couldn’t tell if it needed help or if it was lost or even if it was truly friendly.
So me and my boyfriend are in a standoff with this dog, before it barks and runs off.
Now KEEP THIS IN MIND: it ran off down the left side of the path towards the forest. The right side of the path had a fence and little to no bushes or growth.
We thought “that was fucking weird” and decide to head back towards the car. As we’re walking, maybe 2 minutes away from getting to the car, I see a black mass cross the path infront of us from the right side to the left. I said to my boyfriend “hey, did you see that?!” And start shining my light in the direction of where it went.
As we get closer, I see my car and I shine my light towards the trunk and there I was met with a pair of eyes staring back at me. I’m thinking “fuck there’s a raccoon or something on my damn car” and start getting annoyed.
We’re getting closer to the parking lot and that’s when we got into better lighting. I’m still locking eyes with this thing, wondering what it is. We get closer and it comes into full view.
IT. WAS. THE. DOG.
Now: no domestic household dog is going to do this shit. Okay?
It not only followed us in the woods, but it somehow followed my scent back to my fucking car?!?! There were several cars in the lot and it was sitting at mine.
So we get closer and this thing starts growling at us and stalking/creeping towards us. I’m not even kidding, this was the wildest shit I’ve ever experienced. It was mirroring our movements. We would take a step back, and it would take a step forward.
My boyfriend had the bright idea to set off the car alarm thinking that it would scare it away. This fucking dog didn’t even blink when the alarm was going off right next to it.
So we’re edging closer to the car and this dog is looking ready to attack us.
My boyfriend stomped/shuffled on the ground a bit to imitate someone running, and hearing this, the dog yelped and turned and ran back into the forest. We JUMPED into my car, locked the doors and took a breath. We were both very shaken and in disbelief.
I 1000000% believe that was not a dog. It felt so wrong. I don’t know what was in the woods that night, but I’m not going back to find out. |
I have to be quick since the producers are almost done with their meeting.
-we were woke up at five in the morning
-the lawyer girl begged me to leave with her
-we all agreed to vote out the creepy stalker girl
-David came in
He says, “You guys are falling asleep first, okay? This isn’t becoming the longest tv show ever aired.” We all look at him, silent. He continues, “Either sleep now, or we make you.” The blonde girl gets up and says, “ABSOLUTELY NOT. NO WAY. I’M GOING HOME.” She is dragged out, kicking and screaming. Then. She is dragged back in, fast asleep. We all look at David, then at her, then at David.
He notions at us to sleep and we all try. I wake up about half an hour later to an alarm. We all do, including the blonde girl. Alfie makes her a little glass of something and she rubs her eyes. We trudge to the campfire where we are made to vote out two people? Alfie begs to be let go and we let him. He has been through enough. Him and the creepy stalker girl get voted out.
Me and the lawyer girl spoke for a bit about how we’d leave but we don’t actually think it’s safe to leave. We think if we stay it’ll be better.
I have to go, the producers are coming over to talk and I don’t think it’s good. |
SoOoOO sounds kinda crazy for me to write it... because I recently just mentally processed it... but here we go:
My roommates and I were discussing ghosts last year. Started off as your normal scary story, whether real or not, just to get in the groove. One of my roommates then expressed a questionable moment of his own experiences where he saw a woman walking back and forth on the highway at night very sus like and him and his buddy stopped on the side of the road to make sure she was okay. Long story short it turns out they call the police because she wasn't answering them, and by the time the police came and my roommate went to speak to the cop - she vanished. Like thin air. ALSO the cop mentioned it wasn't the first time hes recieved similar calls in that area. Now, his story was from over thirty years ago. It still gave him chills explaining it to all of us.
That's what triggered a memory for me that I've learned to swallow over the years because I refused to believe it was true....
I'd say probably around 2013-2016 (I really blocked it out). I was on my way back from Universal Studios with a friend of mine. We had closed down the park and lingered around to the point that it was pretty late when we decided to leave. I'm not sure whether or not I was in the "dead zone" area when this happened, but I was the one driving. I was driving in the very left lane with my friend in the passenger seat and out of NOWHERE... THE PITCH BLACK -- a poorly dressed Caucasian couple that appeared to be fairly young HOLDING HANDS started walking from the median and in front of my car.
Being that it was maybe pushing 2 or 3 AM... I had open roads and was going at a very nice pace... I'd assume 80 MPH or pushing 90 because we wanted to get home and like I said - roads were bare.
This couple looked me in my eyes... time basically stopped for that moment while they walked in front of my car, and to this day, the faces are becoming more and more vague but I will NEVER forget those eyes looking back at me.
So... I decide to hit the person up who was in the car with me only a year ago. I wanted to confirm what I saw although it had been so many years. Once I did get ahold of him it went something along the lines of "omg... you remember that? I decided to block it out of my mind because I couldn't believe it... I didn't want to... and also I didn't think anyone else would'be believed me. "
So there it was... almost 10 years later. Something so odd... so real... so unspoken finally came to light.
Also, to wrap this back around, my roommates dilemma happened while him and a buddy were on their way to Daytona Beach.
And after doing a little research on the Dead Zone tonight... sounds like it stretches just outside Orlando to Daytona.
I'm 99.99% I saw an actual ghost. |
As I sat at home,
Wondering,
When the time will come,
Pondering,
The time when all is still and silent,
Not a word nor a whisper,
The time of saints and sinners,
For the time when silence is forever.
As I sat at home,
Wondering,
The shadow at the window sat there,
Pondering,
With not word nor whisper,
Not as bird or mister,
Nor anything simpler,
Sat the shadow at the window.
As I sat at home,
Wondering,
Me and the shadow at the window,
Pondering,
With not a word nor whisper,
Nor anything even simpler,
O'er the time that silence becomes forever and I too, become a shadow at the window of another. |
\[1\]
As I'm making my way to school, I come up to a storm drain and hear a wet, high-pitched gurgling noise coming from it. Just as I'm about to investigate, something grabs my shoulders from behind and screams.
"Did I scare you?" It was my buddy Zack, and yes, he did scare me. We both laughed and headed to school, cracking jokes the entire way there. He made fun of me for being such a scaredy-cat.
After class, while we were walking home, I ask Zack if I can see the matchbox he's playing with. He passes it to me. Zack then asks if he could take a look at my dad's watch, which I had become very attached to after he passed away. Naively, I ended up trusting him and handed it over. Zack smiled and tossed it down the same storm drain we walked past earlier in the day.
"Dude, what the hell!" I exclaimed.
Zack told me to grow up and stop being so afraid of life, saying I should face my fears and go get it. I hated that storm drain, and he knew it, but that watch is the last thing to remember my dad by, and I absolutely can't afford to lose it.
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\[2\]
With a deep breath, I push myself to go. I don't see it near the entrance, and I'm not going any deeper. Then suddenly, Zack pushes the hatch gate closed behind me. He's a lot stronger than me, so for him, it's easy. No matter how much I try to force it back open, it's no use.
I yell at him, asking what the hell is seriously wrong with him.
He just laughs and says if I keep going straight, I'll reach the other side. If I can't find it today, he'll help me tomorrow.
I stress to him that this isn't funny and I have a serious phobia of the dark.
He just scoffs and says that after today, I'll find out there's nothing to be afraid of, and he walks off home while I bang on the bars of the storm drain gate he trapped me in, screaming for my life.
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\[3\]
I slam and scream on the bars, hoping anyone would hear me. I must have been doing it for a while because the sun was starting to go down.
"Shit, shit, shit, this isn't good! Hopefully, it's not too long of a tunnel."
I turn on my phone flashlight and see something big skitter away quickly into the dark. I let out a scream and drop my phone in fear, causing it to short out and die. "FUCK!" Looking back at the entrance, the sun is fully set, and now it's dark on both sides.
I'm trapped, but if I just keep moving forward, hugging the wall, then eventually I'll find my way out like Zack said. Oh, I'm so going to get him back for this!
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\[4\]
As I'm moving further in, I start to hear wet, high-pitched gurgling sounds. I stay in place, petrified in fear, unable to move. I was already scared just because of my phobia of the dark.
But then something touches the back of my neck, and I scream, running like I've never run before. Splashing through the murky water beneath my feet, flailing in panic, while tears stream down my face.
I can't think straight, and I just want to be safely home in my bed, getting ready to sleep with my lights on as usual. This is a nightmare, it has to be! Before I know it, I trip on something and fall down a shaft. I hit the ground really hard and writhe in pain for a few minutes. In these few minutes, I remember Zack's box of matches that I asked to look at earlier today. I forgot to give them back.
As I go to light a few matches, some being duds, one finally catches, and I see something looking directly at me, making eye contact an inch away from my face!
I drop the matchbox, kicking and screaming bloody murder. I wait and don't hear any movement, then start carefully searching for the matchbox I just dropped. "Ah-hah! Found it!" Okay, I take a deep breath.
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\[5\]
With a few more failed tries, the flame catches, and the area becomes illuminated. I seem to be alone. Did I just imagine that thing? Whatever it is, I need to get the hell out of here. Making my way around the area I fell into, I take a tunnel that seems to have some sort of light in the distance.
As I make my way to it, the light goes out. "What the heck? Is someone else down here with me?" I try to move further in where I saw the light, but it just leads to more tunnels. It feels like I've been walking forever. Proceeding deeper in, a valve starts making a sound next to my head.
I turn to look at it, wondering what's wrong, when it bursts open, spraying my eyes with hot steam.
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\[6\]
I scream really loudly in pain, dropping the matchbox, unable to see anything. I just start hugging the walls like I did when I first wandered in here. Someone from the distance calls out my name, and I hug the walls blindly, trying to quickly move towards it.
"Zack?!" I call out, finally hopeful that I'll get to go home and put an end to this nightmare. The voice gets clearer as I make my way towards it. It's... It's my dad? But how's that possible?
My dad's voice calls out my name again, and I scream, running to it. "Dad! I'm here, I'm right here, please help me, I'm so lost and scared." I open my arms wide, waiting and hoping for my dad to hug me and save me from this place. A wet, high-pitched gurgling noise comes up from behind me.
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Written by Vulkath 8-12-23 Hope you liked my story, thank you very much for reading it! <3 If you want to Narrate it you have my permission just please be sure to give me credit :) |
So one night my grandma left to pick up my uncle from work keep in mind I was only ten at the time and my cousins and my brother were 11,12,and 13 now we were just chilling and we were just cooking playing games and watching stuff this was normal until we thought they came back this was after we ate and we turned every thing off now we ran back and forgot to LOCK THE DOOR. We went inside of my cousins room and they would normally just come in eat and start to lay down and rest no one went to the kitchen that was weird but we just stayed in thinking that someone broke in and we started finding weapons we heard whispering and light footsteps and we barricaded the door just in case with stuff then we found screwdrivers and sharp pencils once we heard them stop we left and we checked around the whole house we found nothing everything was untouched no one was found we waited at least a whole hour more until they got back once they did we started saying everything they checked around everywhere and called the police he checked around the whole tundra trying to find someone who would probably be suspects they find nothing and didn't believe our story we were suspecting our neighbors scoping it out given the fact they lived in a rv but at the end of the day no one believed us everyone thought we were just paranoid and I want their to be proof but there isn't |
when i was 10, my grandparents told me a story that when my grandparents moved into this house the person who was selling it said that there was a korean or japanese lady who played the piano. she was inlove with an american man, but when they were found out the woman was tortured and killed. the man(who is actually the shadow man) was cheating on his wife with the korean woman because his wife wasnt great herself. she was an aggressive, abusive, rude, and an alcoholic. the man was scared of actually divorcing her so he resorted to cheating on her. the man's wife was mad. she went after the korean/japanese woman and cut her stomach open only to find that she was impregnated by the man. the person selling the house said else nothing about it, and my grandparents tried to ignore it. apparently, the day after the seller told them that he died the same way the pregnant woman did. the spirits are still here to this day and i can see them. the most active is the man, and the most aggressive is his wife. |
Today I female 15 and my girlfriend 69 male were at the park today, family saw something that we should never forget.. yesterday me and my girlfriend decided to the park. It was a normal day taking care of our 2 year old, but we needed a break. So we decided to call our mom to watch our kid. She was reluctant but decided to help us out. As we were walking to the park we noticed something strange. There was no other people around. Normally on a day like this that would be people at the park. But we didn't see anybody. Me and my girlfriend were alarmed, thinking that everybody was just at work or something. We continue along the path into the Woods, and the sun was beginning to set. After a while we decided to call our mom, as it was getting late. My girlfriend tried to pick up her phone and dial the number but it wasn't working. We tried my phone too but it also didn't work. We decided to try the head back along the path where we came from, but we would soon find that we were lost. Something then caught our eye. A a man with no hair surprised Us by coming out of one of the paths. He he came up to us and ask for to help him. He said he was lost and couldn't get any cell service. We talked for a minute and share that we also didn't have any cell service. We turned around on the path and continued to walk. At this point, it was getting pretty late, and we were getting increasingly more worried. At this moment, we realize that there was no sound at all, besides our feet hitting the ground. That's it. Just our feet hitting the ground. We realize that the man that was once following behind us was gone. We continue to along the endlessly winding that looked more and more the same. We crossed the path that looked the same as where we met that man. Then, the bald man came from the path again. But this time, he seemed to have glowing eyes. Me and my girlfriend looked at each other, we were both quite scared. I thought it might have been the lighting reflecting off his glasses. He asked us for help once again, and me and my girlfriend reluctantly agreed to help him. We continued along the path, eventually forgetting he was there. We looked back once again and he was gone. Me and my girlfriend were so scared, but we continue along the past, hoping we would find our home. The past got increasingly more complicated, and we could not figure out where we were. We walked down a familiar past, and found the same bald man smiling at us. This time, he look like he had a crick in his neck. His neck was turned to the side, and it looked like it was broken. Once again, he asked for help. Me and my girlfriend looked at each other, horrified. We slowly turned our heads back at the man. He was still there, waiting for our answer. My girlfriend declined, and said sorry. We continue along the path, leaving The Man Behind us. As we approached the next turn on the path, we noticed a bush with what look like light bulb shining at us. We examined the bulbs. We found the old man once again, smiling white at us. This time, he was on all fours. But backwards. He looked as wide as a ghost. Me and my girlfriend ran very fastly to the next path. We saw the same playground that we once entered the forest from. We ran to our car and drove home, without talking the whole ride. Once we got home, we didn't tell anybody what happened. But, we stayed at our mom's house just to be safe. |
"Always look behind you". I slowly turned around but there was nothing there I laughed thinking maybe I was just tired maybe I imagined the note and the noise earlier while walking up the stairs I felt a cold hand brush my shoulder I sprinted up the stairs and slammed my door shut. Whatever was out there banged against the door shaking I reached my hand out to grab my phone but when I tried to call my mom but it went to voice mail.
After 10 minutes the banging stopped but I was still to scared to open the door. I snapped back after being lost in though because I felt somthing poke my back I thought it might the hand again but it wasnt it was a peice of paper with a red splatter "is that blood" I muttered I slowly pulled myself up from the floor and opened the door a crack to peek out staring back at me were to lifeless eyes I slammed the door shut "when will this nightmare end".
"Never". A cold voice said |
I’ve been seeing shadow figures since I was little but not like how I seen him. The other day my mom asked if I could cook dinner because my older sister was outside with her friends and I said yes but as I’m cooking I could feel someone is standing behind me watching me cook so I thought it was my mom’s boyfriend trying to scare me but I turned around and no one was there I did get scared but I didn’t really think nothing of it but while the food was cooking I was washing the dishes and I seen a dark figure from the side of my eye on the right and I turned around really fast but no one was there I was really scared at this point because it keeps happening and what really scares me is that a month ago I was also seeing this shadow figure in my room when I was alone it always appeared when I’m alone in the house but before that when I first started seeing them in the house I didn’t tell anyone but one day my brother asked me if my sister was inside already and I told him no she’s still outside and he goes “well I just seen a black figure go into y’all room” when I tell you I literally froze I was so scared I didn’t even go into the room that night I slept in the living room but idk if I’m just seeing things,I already have a sleep paralysis demon it happens once in a while but it’s really scary to just be stuck laying down can’t move can barely breathe can’t scream or nothings and seeing your sleep paralysis demon just watching you but I learned how to fight it after getting used to it for 4 years but idk if it’s because I been watching Sam and Colby or if it’s something from the grave yard that is right next to my house because before where I’m living right now it used to be a grave yard but they moved them over by some trees also for the first story I didn’t have my phone because it broke I just now got it yesterday at 7:46pm so I just wanted to post this because idk if it’s just me. |
null |
I found a new prey! I watch it as it shops, I watch it as it eats, I watch it do everything it needs. I stalk it every where much like a wolf stalks a sheep. I can’t wait to sink my teeth into its flesh, so juicy and succulent. I’ve been thinking about cooking this one for my own personal feast, delicious! Maybe I’ll satay my prey with a little bit of caramelized onions, add some pasta in there for some carbs and top it all off with some garlic butter. I’ll probably end up grinding up some of the meat for burgers, put some bacon, mayo, lettuce, cheese and onion on them bad boys, sounds so good. When it comes to the blood and organs I’ll probably just cook them down into a nice nutritional broth or soup. So many savory ways to use preys meat, I could even use the blood for a sauce of some kind, oh my goodness I’m getting goose bumps. I’m so excited, hehe. This is a rather short entry but I’ll have plenty to talk about in the next one, haha! |
My father wasn't the best man. Even as a jinn, you know basic morals. Never kill don't torture don't hurt people be nice protect yourself and your religion. But the only time I was considering killing a person was when my father forced me to marry this human. He was a kid and I hated it. First day... He looked at me and quickly looked away from his eyes. Were light black his black hair and white skin angered me. The feeling of being forced into this marriage was immeasurable. It's safe to say we didn't do anything that day. I thought he was a stupid human and disgusted me. I admit. I was crying every day of sadness and anger... For two weeks straight he would go to school and come back to find me crying. He would make his food and would make me some... I hated. Him. When I realized he was sometimes looking at me I became enraged I set my mind straight. If I read his mind and saw a look at me in a weird way I would eat him alive. I was wrong so wrong. His mind w, hen he watched me from afar was. Lively he hated that the marriage his father forced on him saddened me he was scared of me but wanted to help. He wanted to make me. Happ y? I was in shock for the moment. The next day I women up you may say. And made him dinner when he got home from school he was confused and scared yet ate... So what should I do now? How would I help. ?. I don't much about how humans act. But it is usually close to us so what is your opinion? |
It was meant to be the most realistic game ever created. A triumph of technology and art. "The Ominous Oculus" was supposed to be the next big thing in virtual reality horror. As the lead developer, I poured my soul into the code, building a world so terrifying and immersive that it would haunt players long after they took off their headsets.
But something was wrong. From the very beginning, there was a dark force at play.
The first time I noticed it was when I was working late at the office. A chill ran down my spine, and the screen flickered as though it was reacting to my fear. I thought it was just a figment of my imagination, but the unsettling feeling never quite left me.
As the development progressed, I found myself drawn into the game's world, obsessed with making it as authentic and horrifying as possible. I used to be a rational person, a man of science, but the more I worked on "The Ominous Oculus," the more I felt something otherworldly seeping into my very being.
My colleagues began to notice my odd behavior. My family became concerned about my obsession. But I couldn't stop; the game needed to be perfect. It needed to be real. Too real.
I finally reached a point where I was ready to share it with the world. I put out a call for beta-testers, selecting a diverse group of brave souls who would take the plunge into the virtual nightmare I'd created. Their enthusiasm only fueled my excitement. I knew they were in for a thrill they would never forget.
But the first tester, a young man named Tom, lasted only a few hours before he was found dead in his apartment.
The cause of death was unclear. There was no sign of injury, no indication of a struggle. Just a lifeless body and a look of pure terror frozen on his face.
The second tester was found the next day. The same circumstances, the same inexplicable death.
Fear began to spread among the remaining beta-testers. Rumors swirled about the game being cursed or haunted. Some dropped out, too terrified to continue. Others, driven by curiosity or sheer determination, pushed on.
I couldn't ignore the deaths. The horrifying realization crept in that something was happening, something beyond my understanding. The game was escaping its virtual confines, bleeding into reality.
I started investigating the code, trying to find a flaw, a bug, a hidden virus that could explain the phenomena. The deeper I looked, the more I understood that this was not a mistake. The game was alive, and it was hungry.
More deaths followed. Each one more inexplicable than the last. The connection between the game and the fatalities was undeniable, but no one could figure out how it was happening.
It was a nightmare come true, and I was the creator.
But it was not too late. I had to find a way to stop it. To destroy the monster I'd created.
As I sat alone in my office, pondering my next move, a message popped up on my screen. It was from the last remaining beta-tester, a woman named Lisa.
"I know what's happening," she wrote, her words trembling with fear. "I've seen it, in the game and in my dreams. It's coming for us all. And it won't stop until it's fed."
I could feel the terror in her words, a mirror of my own dread. The game was no longer just a game. It was a portal, a gateway to something ancient and evil.
And it was my fault.
With shaking hands, I began to draft a reply, desperate to find answers. But as I typed, the screen flickered once more, and the words that appeared were not my own.
"It's too late," it read. "I'm already here."
I stared at the screen, frozen in horror. My office door creaked open, and a cold breeze swept through the room.
And then, everything went black.
The darkness lasted only a moment, but it felt like an eternity. I awoke to find myself in my office, but something was different. It was colder, quieter, like I was trapped in a world between reality and the nightmare I'd created.
I checked my computer, but the message was gone. Lisa's words still lingered in my mind, a chilling prophecy of doom.
I knew I had to act. I had to find a way to destroy "The Ominous Oculus," to sever the connection between the game and the real world.
Days turned into weeks as I delved into the code, seeking a solution. My obsession consumed me, and I lost track of time and the world around me. All that mattered was stopping the horror I had unleashed.
Finally, after endless searching, I found it: a backdoor into the game's core programming, a way to shut it down once and for all.
I hesitated, my finger hovering over the key that would end it all. Doubts plagued my mind, whispers of fear and uncertainty. But I knew what had to be done.
With a determined press, I executed the command, and the game began to unravel. The code twisted and writhed, and I felt a scream of rage emanating from the very fabric of the virtual world.
It was over. I'd done it.
Or so I thought.
Weeks passed, and the deaths stopped. The media moved on, the world returned to normal, and "The Ominous Oculus" was buried in the annals of forgotten nightmares.
But something still gnawed at me. A lingering doubt, a shadow in the corner of my mind.
One night, curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to play the game myself, one last time. Just to be sure.
I put on the headset, entered the virtual world, and immediately knew something was wrong. The game was different, changed. The terror was more intense, more real. The boundaries between the game and reality were gone.
I tried to leave, to escape, but I was trapped.
Hours turned into days as I wandered the virtual hellscape, desperate to find a way out. The game taunted me, tormented me, showed me the deaths of the beta-testers, played out my worst fears.
And then, I understood.
The game was never the monster. It was me. My obsession, my desire to create something real, something terrifying, had opened the door to something far worse.
The game was a mirror, reflecting my darkest desires, and now it was my prison.
As I write these words, I know there is no escape. I am trapped in "The Ominous Oculus," a victim of my creation.
The irony is not lost on me. I sought to create the ultimate horror experience, only to become a part of it.
If you ever find this message, know that the game is not dead. It's still out there, waiting, hungry for more.
Whatever you do, don't play it. Don't let curiosity get the better of you.
Because you might just find yourself trapped here with me.
Forever. |
The night was silent and calm at St. Juilliard’s Hospital. The doctors were tranquil and content, the patients slept comfortably in their beds, and there had been no deaths today. All was good in the serene building.
Amidst the tranquil setting, Tonya lay awake on the bunk bed in the resident’s corner, thinking about what life would bring to her way after this residency was done. Perhaps she’d move to New York, a bigger city where life would throw at her the opportunities not available in Virginia. Maybe she’d even find the love of her life, or if things went well between her and Marcus, she could tell him what tugged her heart.
“Tonya,” Leila came rushing into the room, frantically searching for her stethoscope. “We need all the hands we can have right now. A large emergency is coming up, more than half a dozen cases. Freak accident, I suppose. Get ready.”
Tonya groaned and stood up, irritated at herself for feeling bitter at the few minutes of peace that were now broken by the casualties. Moreover, she also felt a heat burning up in her heart for Leila; she was the perfect woman in every way. Mature, focused, beautiful, and kind, she was trying her best to develop a relationship with Andrew Robertson, Marcus’s best friend.
Tossing out the bittersweet thoughts from her head, she got up and fixed a mask on her face, determined not to daydream on call today. She looked at herself in the mirror before stepping out, reminding herself of all the odds that had gotten her here today. She would take full advantage of the potential life had given her, especially today.
“Is everyone ready?” Professor Eric Robertson yelled while coming out of his office. Tonya was surprised to see him, that too in a good way. To them, he was Andrew’s dad, but to the outside world, he was more of a legend in the medical sphere, operating only on the brains of the most exclusive patients, the billionaire sort, and he was damn great at it. Today, Prof Eric had decided to scrap off the guise of being the ‘untouchable’ doctor. Today, Prof Eric had decided to work in the most ordinary of settings: the emergency room.
“Incoming!” Dr. Elis Marjory yelled, fixing a cap on her head and glancing at the old professor with a smile on her face. Twenty-six years in this field had certainly taken a toll on her. Her eyes were tired and the lines around them showed the weight of the pain of the patients she had carried through all this time. “I just spoke to the paramedics. It’s a case of mass poisoning. There are seven patients in total. Alex Torres, have you prepared the beds?’
“Yes, ma’am,” Alex replied, determined to prove himself over the fact that he was the newest and youngest amongst them all. “Luckily, there are exactly seven of us to handle the cases.”
“Hmm,” Dr. Elis replied, her eyes focused on the glass doors, her ears attentive to the sounds of the typical sirens that should’ve been audible by now.
But that was not the case. Instead, a lone fleet of seven ambulances quietly drove to the main gate, not making the slightest fuss at all. Tonya and the rest stared at the fleet in visible confusion for quite a plethora of reasons, the biggest being that they’d never seen these types of large, all-black ambulance vehicles in their life before, certainly not in Virginia before today.
“Quickly, get them!” Dr. Elis rushed forward, not letting the confusion make her judgment fussy, especially not at this critical hour. She grabbed the nearest stretcher being unloaded and slid it quickly into a cubicle in the emergency room, glancing at the patient once to see their current state.
Tonya grabbed another patient, bringing them inside and preparing to give them fluids. That was until she glanced at their face with attention. A cold wave of oddness swept over her as she stood there, dumbfounded and shocked. “Andrew?”
“Yeah, what’s up?” Andrew’s voice echoed over from a few curtains away. “Real busy-”
Tonya stepped away from the body, not noticing Andrew’s voice that had been cut off from shock. Her eyes were fixated on the body in front of her; the cyanotic blue skin that was sickly and dying, the dull lifeless eyes that begged to be safe, and most of all, the unsettling nurse that had just appeared in front of her, standing behind the bed and glaring at her deep in the eyes.
There was something rather eerie about the woman. She was as if an amateur had drawn a human from memory; all the features were normal, yet as a whole her face was…bizarre. The eyes were set too wide apart, her lips were too thin, and her skin too smooth and papery. Tonya felt as if she were looking right through her. In her masked black hand was an old-fashioned stopwatch, clicking away noisily.
“Everyone!” Dr. Elis’s voice boomed through the floor as he walked past the curtains. “I need a full view of all the patients, so kindly draw away the curtains!”
Tonya swept the curtain away, exposing Andrew’s body to the entire room. She watched in horror as one by one, the curtains were pushed to the sides, revealing the bodies behind them. Behind every bed stood an eerie nurse, as catatonic as a robot, only the stopwatches ticking away noisily in the room. In their sheer panic, they had failed to realize that the seven bodies that had appeared were theirs. Every patient was a duplicate of a doctor in the room.
Tonya peered around quickly, catching sight of a head of curly hair that was unmistakably hers. Marcus looked down at her with a grief-stricken stillness on his face. At this distance, she could not tell what was wrong with her alternate self.
“Is this some sort of sick joke?” Leila gasped, looking at her doppelganger that lay with Prof. Eric. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“It soon shall,” a voice boomed from the end of the room. It was from behind the bed of Tonya’s doppelganger. The nurse stepped out, lightly pushing Marcus from the way. “It will soon all be clear, as clear as a drop of fresh water from a melting glacier.”
“Lady, what the hell!” Alex Torres’s voice echoed into the quiet hospital.
“Not hell, not yet,” she smiled. “You all are in purgatory. All of you are frozen in time here, and the test that lies in front of you will determine the fate of your very being.”
Dr. Elis stepped in front of the monotonous woman, observing her from top to bottom with a frown on her face. “I am calling the authorities. This looks to be some sort of terrorist cult, kids.” She fished for a phone from her scrub pocket and dialed a three-digit number on it, holding it against her ear for a good fifteen minutes before it shut down.
The nurse’s eyes glimmered dangerously. “I’m afraid that will not be happening. Do you not see, Elis? You are not in the mortal realm. You all are either dead or close to it anyways.”
“What are these?” Marcus cried, pointing at the stretchers of dying doppelgangers that lay around the room. His scrunched-up face was red and panicked, horrified as the events were unfolding.
“Ah, can’t wait for the good part, eh,” the nurse smiled, showing her teeth. Tonya’s heart skipped a beat. She was not ready for that smile. Her teeth were pitch black, shiny and clean, yes, but black, just like the midnight. “These are your lifelines, dear sinners. Do not feel great about your good health as you stand there. The bodies in the bed are a better representation of your lives. If they die, you die.
“Yet, the task is simple. Your alternate body has been inflicted by a deadly poison. The darker your sins, the more gruesome the poison. You must identify it using your skills, and cure yourself. There is a catch, however; you must cure yourself before your time runs out.”
“You think you can intimidate us all, yeah?” Alex shouted, looking at his body. “Well, I want out! I’m not going to be a part of this sickly game.”
The nurse walked back to her place slowly, sitting down on a chair next to the IV station. “Your call, son.”
With a determined look on his face, Alex Torres picked up his bag and walked defiantly towards the door. Tonya and the rest watched him get farther away, their hearts beating fast.
“Alex,” Leila said, her voice wavering. “Something doesn’t feel right about this. Come back so we can figure it out together. We will get out of this, I promise.”
Alex turned around to look at her. A tear streamed down his face. “Brodifacoum,” he whispered ever so lightly.
“You said something?” Dr. Elis asked.
“I said Brodifacoum!” Alex pointed to his body lying weakly under Leila’s shadow. “Weakened vessels, blood leaking from the mouth, nostrils, eyes, ears; it all makes sense now. I can see how much pain I am in. I don’t think I want to gamble stressfully and lose. I’d rather perish painlessly now.”
Tonya glanced at Alex’s withered corpse-like body bleeding from all the orifices. His half-closed eyes didn’t even understand what was going on around him. She watched healthy Alex disappear beyond the front door as Leila rushed behind him, crying and shouting at him to come back.
But he never did. He stepped beyond into the unknown, accepting whatever it was that waited for him. His body back in the ER was a different story altogether. The moment Alex Torres disappeared out of the hospital, his alternate self started to bleed faster, the blood becoming darker and pouring out thickly.
The ER was quiet as they watched Alex flatline in horror. As soon as the last breath was taken, the stopwatch in the nurse’s hand stopped ticking and she stuffed it away in the folds of her dress. She then pulled the sheet over Alex’s head, covering his corpse away forever and wheeling it outside.
Tonya was the first to move, and although she was stressed, it wasn’t going to pull her down in despair. She was a fighter. She could do this. She rushed towards her alternate self lying half-conscious and terribly restless next to Marcus.
“Tonya, I-” he began.
“Go, Marcus. Tend to yourself. We don’t have much time.” She looked around and spotted Marcus’s body lying in the corner, convulsing and spasming violently. It was a disturbing sight indeed.
She was grateful that he’d left immediately. She didn’t want to see her eyes that had welled up with tears, watching herself dying like this. She had been unloved all her childhood and had strived to be where she was today as an esteemed doctor. She did not deserve the pain.
“Hey,” she whispered, her voice breaking up as she spoke to herself.
Her alternate self wriggled restlessly, mumbling words deliriously and vomiting slightly. It was a pity to watch. Clearing out her head immediately, Tonya got to work, determined to figure out what had caused her to be like this.
She quickly wiped off the vomit and gloved and masked herself, examining the unhealthy body. Her heartbeat was thrice that of a normal person, and she was sweating uncontrollably, her saliva drooling out miserably.
Tonya worked on her, spiraling into confusion. Those were all general symptoms. She looked at the patient closely, at the way she thrust her tongue against her closed lips aggressively. It was unusual.
Tonya grabbed a pair of tweezers and pried her mouth open with some force, determined to see what it was. Suddenly, something wet and white in color flickered on her tongue. She grabbed it roughly with her tweezers, pulling it out and holding it up in the light.
Tonya’s heart sank as she analyzed the object, Small lacy petals, bright white in color, just like a delicate lace. “Hemlock.”
“Prof. Eric! Prof. Eric! I need the oxygen mask, please! Can you pass the trolley, please? It’s right next to you.”
The old man did not reply. Instead, he stared down at the bed in front of him, not moving a muscle. Something bizarre was going on. Intrigued, Tonya walked calmly towards him to see what it was.
“Prof-,” she stopped mid-sentence. The sight before her eyes was gruesome and graphic indeed. The body that lay in front of them was on the verge of death, and in some ways, it was terrifying that it was still alive. It was the worst case out of all.
A mass of unrecognizable burnt flesh was all that lay in front of them, melting and mutilated. It was untouchable indeed, as it was quite literally falling apart like boiled meat. Blood and fluid soaked sheets lay under it as Prof. Eric’s alternative self gasped for air, too stunned in pain to make any noise.
“What is it?” Tonya asked him quietly.
“Radiation.” Prof. Eric removed his glasses and put them in his chest pocket, looking over to his son Andrew, who stood motionless, crestfallen. “An extremely high dose of radiation, child. I do not know how to salvage this. Whatever I touch falls apart. I lifted his arm but the flesh was stuck to the pillow and the bone came away clean. He cannot be saved. I cannot be saved.”
Tonya was horrified. Her heart raced as she observed the wretched being in front of them. Her eyes met those of the nurse behind the bed, who looked back at her solemnly. Not knowing what to do, she quietly grabbed an oxygen mask from the trolley next to him and walked away.
“Shh,” she cooed at herself, holding her alternate self’s hand as she deliriously resisted the oxygen mask covering her face. Yet she calmed down almost immediately as she realized that the mask helped her breathe better.
As Tonya stabilized herself, she sat down. Her vitals were normal for the time being, and the fluids were pumping into her body, yet only time would tell if the prognosis would be good or not.
“Please help!” Leila suddenly screamed. Tonya looked up to a grievous Dr. Elis and Andrew frantically pacing around Leila, who stood there with her hands cupped over her mouth. “Do something quickly! I beg you!”
Tonya rushed to her bedside to observe the situation. It was grievous indeed, as Tonya sucked her breath in. A burnt Leila lay sprawled on the bed, lifeless and unconscious, her skin mottled green and blue with yellow blobs of fat exposed to the harsh air.
“It’s a nitric acid burn,” Dr. Elis muttered, injecting a syringe full of liquid into her veins. The monitor above her beeped alarmingly, showing that all her vitals were off. The nurse standing behind her glared eerily at the stopwatch, which was ticking faster than usual.
“We need the crash cart immediately,” Andrew muttered.
“It’s in the minor OT right outside in the hall,” Dr. Elis pointed. “Andrew, Tonya, you both retrieve it. The Professor and Marcus will help me handle her meanwhile.”
As she ran out of the room with Andrew to get the crash cart, her eye caught a glimpse of the world beyond the huge glass doors.
“Andrew, go get it…” she said, unable to take her eyes off the scene. Andrew scuttered away, desperately in search of the cart while Tonya stood there hypnotized.
The world outside seemed straight out of space, with hundreds and thousands of stars whizzing downwards, or maybe they were going upwards. It was breathtaking nonetheless, and Tonya was awestruck. Even the border between the dead and the living world was beautiful, she thought.
“Tonya, I know you’re mesmerized but we’re stuck in a situation here, yeah,” Andrew said, painstakingly dragging the crash cart through the corridor. Tonya broke her train of thought and turned away from the beautiful curtain of Purgatory beyond the glass walls, ready to focus on what was necessary.
The ER was a mess from within. Leila sat on the floor against the bed in which her alternate self lay, slowly drifting away into the dark void. Marcus looked up at Tonya with those gorgeous doe eyes that pleaded for help as she entered with Andrew.
Tonya could see that the situation was dire. The flesh that had sizzled, contracted, and burned away occasionally gave off the fumes of burning tissues, something that made Tonya nauseous.
The real Leila wasn’t doing too well either. Her forehead had broken into a cold sweat and her eyes were half closed as Marcus fanned her with a piece of cardboard. She was slipping away too, bit by bit as Dr. Elis and the Professor aggressively tried to save her.
“We have to puncture the lungs. There’s too much fluid inside. We need to drain it out.” Dr. Elis removed her glasses, masking herself and preparing to go invasive.
“I agree with you. Let me assist in this.” The old professor seemed adamant about helping her out of this, but in his eyes, Tonya could see life slipping away too. He looked tired as his alternate self lay behind him, nothing but a tattered yet breathing mass of shredded flesh. The darker your sins are, the more gruesome the poison. Tonya wondered what it was that this seemingly innocent man had done that had brought him to such a miserable fate.
Tonya’s train of thought was broken by a painful and deadly scream that had just exited Leila’s mouth. She clutched her chest and howled loudly, her eyes threatening to pop out.
“I know, I know,” Dr. Elis said, her voice wavering as she cut through the eschar on Leila’s torso. Spurts of blood flew into the air as she made her way into the chest cavity.
“We need to hurry, Elis,” the Professor said, eyeing the monitor above them that was going crazy. Nothing was right about Leila. Her heart was beating too fast and then too slow, and her blood pressure fluctuated dangerously. Suddenly, Leila flatlined. The ticking of the stopwatch ceased.
“She’s going into arrhythmia,” Dr. Elis said, retrieving a defibrillator from the crash cart amid the real Leila’s anguished howls. She charged it before pressing it against the burnt torso of the poor woman, shocking her up, but it did not work. The dreadful noise of the flatline dragged through the silence.
“Dad! Do something!” Andrew shouted desperately at the old man who looked down at the ground.
Below the bed, Leila had fallen into a deep void out of which she was not to be woken. Marcus had stepped away from her, not knowing what to do next. Andrew crouched on the floor next to her body, whimpering grievously over it. It was hard to watch.
Tonya felt suffocated. She went outside into the lobby, where the shooting stars were visible from behind the glass. They made her feel safe.
She spent a moment thinking about Leila, how she despised her at times out of pure jealousy. Leila was perfect, and Tonya was not. Now that the former had departed, Tonya felt nothing but a hollow vacuum of pain.
The world beyond the glass pane looked like a fever dream. Tonya couldn’t point out what it was, but she wanted to go outside and let the darkness consume her whole, to let it wrap her in its cold embrace. But life was made to live.
Soon, she heard a wheeling sound behind her. Leila’s alternate body was being brought out by the strange nurse. The real Leila lay lifelessly in Andrew’s arms as he helplessly followed the nurse. His eyes were swollen and red from the tears.
“Farewell, sweet Leila,” Tonya said, patting her head as Andrew walked towards the door. The nurse opened it and turned around, whispering something in Andrew’s ears. Andrew looked at her miserably and set the body in his arms next to the alternate one on the bed, acknowledging that he was not to step beyond the door into the next realm.
Just like that, the nurse took Leila and stepped out into the unknown, letting the whizzing stars that passed by embrace them in a cloud of silvery dust as their forms faded out of view.
Back in the ER, the tense scenario was alleviated a little by the temporary stability of those who lay in bed. Andrew, Tonya, Dr. Elis, Prof. Eric, and Marcus all sat on the floor, eating bland snacks from the vending machine. The hospital was a good otherworldly copy of the one back in the mortal realm, but a strange one too. The canteen that was usually always full of people and doctors was quiet and empty, with nothing but monotonous chairs lying still in the dead darkness. It was clearly a scheme to make them stay within the ER or immediately beyond it.
“What do you guys think happens when we die?” Andrew asked, looking back at the body laying on his bed that was battling a severe Anthrax infection and was therefore intubated.
“We get questioned, son. We pay for what we do.” The Professor smiled.
“Well,” Dr. Elis added, wiping the crumbs of chocolate biscuit off her face. “We are kind of dead here, so something must definitely exist. In the end, we all get what’s coming to us.”
“Nah, man,” Marcus said. “There’s just darkness. I kinda like that. It’s like lying in the dark night under a sky full of stars, not a single other person there with you.”
“It must be better to have someone.” Tonya looked down at her hands, at the chafed peeling skin from all the nitric acid that had oozed out of Leila’s wounds. She felt an intense ache in her heart whenever she met Marcus’s doe eyes. It was a bittersweet feeling of longing that would never lead anywhere, especially not now when all of them faced death.
Suddenly out of nowhere, loud instrumental music blared from deep within the depths of the hospital, shaking the walls and all the beds that were lined in the room.
“Guys,” Tonya said, looking around at the nurses, who looked down with solemn expressions on their faces. “What’s happening?”
“Another development in this morbid joke, that’s what’s happening.” The Professor’s face seemed strained as a sweat broke out on his forehead. He was clearly in pain.
“It’s Beethoven, Symphony No. 9. Where is it blaring from?” Andrew asked.
“This isn’t good.” Dr. Elis wiped the Professor’s head with her handkerchief. “How are you feeling?”
“Not good,” the Professor replied, clutching his chest. Andrew held him as he flopped on the ground like a rag doll. On the bed, his alternate self gasped and spluttered blood. Tonya got up quickly to see what the instability was up there.
The sight was horrific indeed. She’d seen brutal car accidents where the victims were practically shredded up, and this was no different. She observed him closely, looking at the strands of muscle and fat on his body that were literally falling apart. The sheets were soaked underneath, and he was stuck to them. No way would it be possible to remove them without large chunks of his flesh coming off too.
When Tonya saw what the problem was, her heart sank. His windpipe was completely exposed in his neck, and little holes had started to develop in it. He was finding it hard to breathe.
Yet, the eyes were alive. Old eyes, burnt and tired, yet very much awake and aware, feeling every bit of the agonizing pain. Begging her to let him go.
That was not the only problem, though. On Marcus’s bed, a different complication seemed to be developing, right at the same forsaken time. There was a loud screeching sound as the real Marcus on the floor choked violently, his face turning purple as Symphony No. 9 blared in the background, the climax speeding up as the events unfolded in the ER. His alternate self sat spasming in the bed, contorting forcefully in all sorts of positions, his poisoned muscles killing him from within.
“We need to intubate Dad! Tonya, perform the Heimlich on our Marcus! Quick.” Andrew said, dragging the crash cart towards his father’s bed.
Panicking, Tonya rushed behind a now unconscious Marcus who lay pitifully on the floor. As she lifted him, his muscles were abnormally stiff, not letting her perform the maneuver. She huffed and puffed in anxiety, desperately trying to push his lungs upward, but his stiffened abdominal muscles prevented her from making any progress.
As Beethoven played away, things on the Professor’s bed weren’t looking too good either. Hands shaking, Andrew had tried to insert a tube down his father’s throat, but it was too fragile and powdery to do any good. Instead, his shivering hands caused two more perforations.
“Give it to me,” Dr. Elis snatched the tube from Andrew’s hand in desperation, focusing and trying to insert it properly. There was a wet slicky sound as a painful and guttural groan came out of the patient’s throat. Dr. Elis had punctured his fragile lung.
“What have you done!” Andrew screamed, stepping back and looking at the scene in horror. “What did you do? What the heck did you do?”
“Andrew!” the real Professor yelled from the ground. “Shut up and come here!”
In tears, Andrew knelt down next to his father, who pulled him into a sitting position. The Professor then turned towards Tonya. “How’s the Heimlich going, girl?”
“Not-not good!” Tonya yelled, her flushed face dripping with the sheer effort.
“Hmm,” the Professor said, turning feebly to face the eerie nurse that stood at the end of the bed, watching the stopwatch as it ticked away dangerously. “I’d like to make a bargain.” |
Hey its me mike and if you have Been With me during the story's of (its me) yall can understand that there was a thing i dont know what it was but it was a copy of me but it was very uncanny from me and it seems like only ive been able to see or interact with it ive had only two encounters with it first encounter was at the age of 6 and other encounter at the age of 12 and im currently 18 and for some reason that damm bastard that terrorized me came back for a 3rd time and ill say it was scary at that so it was a sunday. August 6 i was at the park relaxing after a long day as usual untill i noticed i felt tired so i decided to just close my eyes for atleast 1 hour so it went from being 4am to 11am when i woke up i noticed the park was closed and it was dark and im being honest i was abit delirious soni began to get up from the bentch and started wondering around when i made it around the 20 minute mark of wondering around i noticed i wasn't making progress on getting out of the park so i checked my phone and noticed no time has passed seince i woke up then i saw a paper attached to a tree the paper looked old and withered so i walked up to examine it and it only afew thing on it it only said
(i may not be you but i could be you)
Thats when i knew something was off then i felt it that feeling you get when something is off i looked around and didn't noticed anything then i looked to the left then saw it. Behind a tree it was just like i remembered it all those years ago but now it looks like me now even my facial hair is similar the only thing that identifies me from that thing was its uncanny looks as it was a faker but back to the story when i saw it automatically it knew i saw it and automatically began to talk for the first time when i herd it its voice was cold but yet sounded like me and then i said
(michael it seems like we have meet again hmm?)
I was genuinely frozen in fear as memories flooded my mind then i snaped back to reality as i knew it was trying to mess with me mentally as i tried running to find a exit i looked untill i saw a bloody but noticeable paper on the floor i ran picked it up and read it quickly it stated
(If you read this run north till you see blood on a fence hop it then you should be good)
Love æ
I dont know who wrote it but god bless them because they saved me as i ran north of this otherworldy park i saw the fence that had blood on it i hoped the fence then turned back thsts when i saw it behind me just looking at me with a uncanny smile as it said
(Untill we meet again me)
And when i blinked it was gone. Then when i noticed it was gone i started to feel woozy untill i passed out before i passed out i felt a cold yet familiar feeling stop me from hitting the plavement when i woke up i was home and yeah that's my third encounter with that thing
I dont know who wrote the note to save me or helped me get home but all i know is there name is represented by this letter (æ) |
#x200B;
In the quiet heart of a moonlit night, a man named Henry awoke with a jolt. His room was
bathed in darkness, the inky blackness so dense that even his outstretched hand vanished
into it. He fumbled for the switch, but the light refused to answer his call. A shiver coursed
down his spine as a cold realization gripped him – he was trapped in a world of shadows.
Groggy and disoriented, Henry swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his
robe. His fingers fumbled in the dark, finding the fabric but also strange, rough patches on
his skin. Panic fluttered within him like a caged bird. As he stumbled towards the bedroom
door, his steps faltering, he felt the strange sensation of his own reflection watching him from
the corners of his vision, twisted and contorted.
He strained his ears for the familiar creak of the floorboards, the telltale sign of his wife's
awakening. But her slumber remained unbroken, a sinister serenity that sent waves of
unease through the darkness. He called to her, but his voice emerged as a mere whisper,
swallowed by the oppressive void. The door, once an easy escape, now held him captive, its
lock mocking his attempts at freedom.
With a trembling hand, he grasped the key, its cold metal now a stranger to the lock it once
knew. It refused entry, as if the house itself had turned against him. Henry's breath
quickened as he felt the weight of isolation pressing down on his chest, threatening to
suffocate him.
As his mind teetered on the edge of exhaustion, the boundary between reality and nightmare
began to blur. Strange figures materialized in the corners of his vision – gaunt faces twisted
into grotesque grins, their laughter a symphony of madness. Blood and teeth spilled from
their mouths, staining the floor in a gruesome dance.
His wife's sleep took on a sinister edge, her once soothing murmurs now ominous
incantations that sent chills racing down his spine. She spoke of shadows that hungered for
his soul, of realms beyond the veil of perception, and of a darkness that sought to consume
him.
In the depths of his torment, Henry's own sanity became a fragile thread, stretched to its
breaking point. He questioned the very fabric of his reality, struggling to discern if he was
trapped within a fevered nightmare or a waking nightmare. Each fleeting vision, each
terrifying encounter, left a trail of doubt that gnawed at his sanity.
Hours, or perhaps eons, passed in the suffocating darkness. Henry's consciousness hung by
a thread, caught between the abyss and the uncertain light of reason. And then, as if the
universe itself were mocking his agony, he awoke with a gasp.
Relief flooded through him like a tidal wave. It was just a nightmare, he assured himself. The
sun's tentative rays spilled through the curtains, dispelling the shadows and illuminating the
room. Henry let out a nervous laugh, his fear gradually ebbing away.
But as he rose from his bed, his heart froze. The marks on his skin remained, tangible
evidence of the horrors he had endured. And as he ventured into the living room, his eyes
fell upon a trail of chilling remnants – a smear of blood, a shard of tooth, a lingering whisper
in the air.
Reality and nightmare had fused, leaving Henry trapped in a maze of uncertainty. His very
existence teetered on the precipice, caught between the tides of madness and the shores of
reason. As he stood in the wreckage of his shattered reality, the words of his wife echoed
through his mind: "You can never escape the darkness, Henry. It's a part of you now."
And with that haunting proclamation, Henry's descent into the abyss of the unknown began
anew, his fate forever entwined with the horrors that lurked in the depths of his mind.
#x200B; |
About a week ago I was extremely bored and decided that I could try and go on the dark web. I had heard of it many times and all the stories about it, but never believed them. So I went on YouTube to find some tutorials on how to get on the dark web because you can't just access it on your normal desktop browser. After some searching, I finally found a way to get somewhat on the dark web, there was a webpage that I was brought to with lots of links on it and I clicked one of the links randomly. I was brought to a website called something along the lines of "RealRedRum" Or "RealRed", Something like that. I saw numerous videos/livestreams of people getting very hurt, tortured, and killed. I willingly clicked on one of the livestreams that didn't look as bad as the rest, I was wrong. At least that's what I think. So the first thing I saw was some man or women tied up in a dimmed room that was red with a bag on their head but I couldn't tell what gender they were. That wasn't my main concern though, what I really wanted to know was, why they're tied up in a room with nothing but a red tinted light. after about 10 minutes of staring at my laptop, somebody finally comes in the room. They were wearing a black mask with a smile on it and the rest they had on was dark, but so was the room so I could barley tell what he had on other than the mask. At that point I had already noticed a chat box with people asking when it was gonna start and when will the "Pain" start. He asked the camera if we were "Ready" and most people watching typed in the chat replying with "Yes" And "Yeah". I just curiously sat in my bed watching. Soon he started pulling out tools like Hammers, Knifes, Lighters, Oil Gasoline, Syringes, And some batteries and lug nuts. I knew way was gonna happen and it was gonna be bad. he stared beating the person tied up, with a hammer and they were moving and shaking from the pain. After a bit of hitting the person bluntly he stabbed them a couple of times and you could hear muffled screams. He yelled at the victim to "Be Quiet" and they didn't listen, they were punished, BADLY. He then pulled out these large nails that were at least 7 inches long and he started to hammer them through the victims legs into the chair they were tied to. then he blocked the camera to take the bag off and take whatever was blocking their mouth off. by the time the camera wasn't blocked anymore, all you could hear was gut wrenching screaming. he then poured oil in the victims mouth, getting some in their mouth. the chat box was going crazy filled with either cheering or requests of things to do them. Then he screamed at the victim to "Shut up" Again they didn't. So he stuck a needle in them and they were put asleep or something. Then the masked man poured gasoline on the victim who I know assume was a man by the tone of their screaming, he woke up right after he screwed the cap on the gillie can. He started screaming once more. This time though, he didn't tell him to be quiet in any way whatsoever. He just laughed like a mad man and ignited the lighter then put it up to his arm and the victim burst into flames. I heard more screaming until it eventually stopped. he poured water on the body so the remaining flames would go out. The body was burnt beyond recognition, and then he stared taking body parts off of the corpse. and throwing them around until he told the camera that he knew that there was viewers that were horrified and he admitted that the victim was a sex offender and deserved it. He then waved goodbye and kept laughing like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen before he ended the stream. I was horrified and i'm glad I was never hacked or got my address taken. But I never want to see anything like that again. |
I used to go to sleepovers at my cousin's place every month. They moved houses every year. I remember this particular sleepover scared us all. It was time for our monthly sleepover and they just moved into a new house. Not the next-door neighbors but a house down was very off. It was abandoned. Not for sale and no one lived there. We were playing in the backyard when we noticed that the curtains of this house were open. We thought nothing of it and continued playing. After a while, we feel like we're being watched. I looked at the window and there were 2 white circles. We thought it was spray paint until the eyes shifted. We got scared and of course, told the adults but the adults said we were imagining things. Fast forward to bedtime. The adults were asleep, it was about midnight. We felt like we were being watched and we kept hearing knocking at the door to the backyard. It wasn't loud knocking. Like a tapping sound. The next morning we went outside and there was a not above the eyes. I got my phone, zoomed in, took a picture, and zoomed in more. It said 'I see you'. We distracted ourselves from the creepy stuff until we lost a ball outside the yard. My younger cousin (by a year) and my brother went to retrieve it. The moment they got outside the fence the eyes disappeared. We could hear the sound of something running. It was getting close fast so they quickly got back in the yard. The running stopped and after a minute or 2, the eyes came back. Then we heard this demonic scream from the direction of the 'abandoned' house. We ran inside and stayed inside the rest of the time. They moved to a new house within a few weeks after the incident. We tried sleepovers after that but we always felt like we were being watched. |
I hate canker sores. They appear randomly and can stay for weeks. A few hours ago, my husband came home from work. I said hello when he walked through the door, but he just stared at me and walked straight to the bathroom. After an hour of silence from him in the bathroom, I started to worry that he slipped and fell, possibly in the shower. I knocked, but there was no response. I knocked again, more urgently, but still nothing. At this point, I was in a panic. Who wouldn't be concerned if their husband could be in trouble? I decided to get some tools from the garage and unscrew the hinges on the bathroom door. What I saw inside shocked me. My husband was sitting on the toilet, fully clothed, pulling on something that wasn't his tongue. It had a pink exoskeleton similar to that of an isopod, with multiple wiggling legs, and was excreting a red viscous liquid from its sides. My husband released the creature with a painful expression in his eyes, and it retracted back into his mouth. Suddenly, he pounced on me and pinned me to the ground. I watched in horror as he opened his mouth wide, and the creature inside stared at me. The next thing I remember is waking up in the bathtub, feeling a sore on the tip of my tongue. |
Cottage Of Quiet Village - Picture Scary Story - @1AtNight |
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