.
VR
MrCrowly's Journal


MrCrowly's Journal

THIS JOURNAL IS ON 20 FAVORITE JOURNAL LISTS

Honor: 0    [ Give / Take ]

PROFILE




55 entries this month

 

00:38 Jun 30 2020
Times Read: 622


Tearing me down from the inside like always
Listening to everyone elses problems
Trying to help them hopeing in someway I can help myself
Because I got no one I can come to for that kind of thing
So I'm trying to be that guy, with the idea it'll make a difference
Because I know that's exactly what I need now more than ever
But I guess i just do the usuall and preserve while bottling it In
Only letting it out on here because atleast someone relates or listens.
That small bit of comfort is all need to wash away these problems


COMMENTS

-



 

23:35 Jun 29 2020
Times Read: 629


Quod ultra credere et nostis,
Et in domo iterum secare liberum spinalis

Fit silentium
A silere non possum nunc audite
internum violentiam
Imo si certamen


COMMENTS

-



 

12:39 Jun 28 2020
Times Read: 656


Why I should give a fuck
You lost my sympathy
You lack that human touch
Too many secrets
Too many past mistakes
Discolored memories
Stand by your fall from grace.


COMMENTS

-



 

10:26 Jun 28 2020
Times Read: 667


Tell me, am I alone?
Perhaps I am, perhaps I’m wrong.
Perhaps I’m not, perhaps I’m loved.
Do I even know, do you even care?
Perhaps you do, perhaps you don’t.
Perhaps I’m talking to a wall

Tell me, am I bald?
Perhaps you see, perhaps I don’t.
Perhaps you don’t, perhaps I’m insane.
Do you know, do you even understand?
Perhaps you do, I’m sure you do.
I hope you nous my pain.

Tell me, am I invincible?
Perhaps I am, Perchance I’m not.
I’m in oblivion, maybe that’s the point.
Can you see? Do you even understand?
This is sickening, this is ridiculous,

These emotions,
our commotion, these complications,
our restriction, this confusion!
Man they’re murderous, man they’re dangerous
I know I’m not alone, I know it’s not your load
Just give me some room,

Just give it some thought,
Maybe, you’ll understand my poem.


COMMENTS

-



BloodRoseX
BloodRoseX
10:59 Jun 28 2020

I love this.





Amaranthine
Amaranthine
11:14 Jun 28 2020

It seems like something I could relate to

Really powerful words





 

18:38 Jun 27 2020
Times Read: 680


On the outside, The Belmont looks like any other five-star hotel. The giant, mermaid fountain out front creates a steady rumbling sound as the water pours out of the top of the mermaids tail, over the front, and back into the crystal clear pool of water on the bottom. It’s completely surrounded by trees, placed right at the edge of the woods, with all the decor strategically picked out in order to encompass the “cabin in the woods” aesthetic that they were going for.

The outside of the Belmont looks like a giant cabin; it looks like it was built out of actual logs although I doubt that it was. The inside of the lobby as well as all of the rooms, do an excellent job of making you feel like you’re staying at some fancy vacation home. I guess the point that I’m trying to make here, is that it looks a lot less sinister than it is. That’s probably why so many people decide to stop here.

Well, that combined with the fact that the majority of the guests never make it out of the Belmont alive are probably the main factors that contribute to the lack of bad press about the hotel.

I stayed at the Belmont in the winter of 1999 while I was on my way home from a spur of the moment road trip that I had decided to take with my fiancee at the time, Adelaide. It was getting dark out, and there was a blizzard coming in, so we were looking for a place to stay when suddenly, we saw a road sign.

BELMONT HOTEL- NEXT EXIT

It was the first sign we had seen, so I took the next exit and drove down a small winding road until we could make out the Belmont in the distance. The parking lot was nearly empty, so I parked in a spot close to the entrance, and we ran inside to avoid the cold.

The hotel lobby was warm and smelled of coffee and hot chocolate. There was a plush maroon rug under our feet that covered most of the hardwood floors, and a giant wooden desk directly upfront. To the left were some couches and a small cafe with a big wooden sign that read “THE BELMONT CAFE”. To the right were some chairs and the elevators.

Adelaide and I got a room on the third floor of the Belmont, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary yet. In fact, everything appeared to be incredibly ordinary up until 10 AM the next morning.

I remember waking up in the queen-sized bed and sleepily reaching over to Adelaide, only to find her side of the bed to be empty and cold, meaning she had been up for quite a while.

I got up, got dressed, and checked the bathroom but Adelaide wasn’t in the room.

I walked out of our room and made my way down to the lobby, thinking that maybe she was at the cafe we had seen the night before.

The lobby was surprisingly empty, even the cafe and the front desk had been abandoned. I walked over to the front door and looked outside through the windows, but there was no one out there either.

I started to think that maybe Adelaide got lost and was now wandering around the hotel, so I decided to go back up to our floor and wait for her out in the hallway, in case she happened to end up there again.

When I turned around to head back towards the elevator, I noticed a woman standing a few feet in front of me facing me. She was wearing a navy pantsuit with polka-dot ascot. Her blond hair was wrapped in a bun on top of her head and combed back so tightly that it made her eyebrows, and her eyes look like they were being pulled upwards.

She was wearing the brightest red lipstick I had ever seen and her face was a ghostly shade of white. She looked incredibly well put together except for the fact that she was barefoot and her fingernails and toenails were bloody and broken.

I stared at her, not really knowing what to say.

“Hello, welcome to The Belmont.”

Her voice was shaky like she was on the verge of tears.

“Hi. I’m looking for my fiancee, are you okay?” I replied.

“You should try the fourth floor.” She replied.

“Did you see her on the fourth floor?”

“You should try the fourth floor.” She said, in a stern voice.

She turned around and limped back towards the front desk, inhaling sharply with each step. I walked back to the elevators and went up to the fourth floor.

I stepped out and looked down at the hallway in front of me, but it was completely empty. Adelaide was nowhere to be seen.

I began to walk down the hall, noticing that every single room was numbered the same. Every door on the fourth floor had the numbers 435 engraved onto it.

I kept walking down the hallway, eventually coming up to a room on my left that was wide open. I stopped right outside and looked around the room without crossing the threshold.

“Hello?” I called.

“One second!” A voice called out.

It wasn’t Adelaide’s voice, but I wondered if maybe this person had seen something. I waited outside the room until finally, a man walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.

He was shirtless, and his head had been shaved completely bald. I could tell that the shaving had been done recently, as his head was covered in cuts that were still bleeding, but he seemed not to notice, not even when the blood seeped from the cut closest to his forehead and down into his eyebrow.

“Hi, there! What can I do for you?” He asked in a cheery tone as he stood facing me, unmoving.

“Oh, sorry” I stuttered, “I’m just looking for my fiancee, someone told me they saw her up here but I guess she left.”

“Ohhhh, so you’re Eloy.”

I moved closed towards the room.

“Ah, ah, ah! I wouldn’t come in here if I were you. Who knows if you’ll ever make it back out, I have a nasty habit, of...eating people.”

I stopped and leaned on the doorframe instead.

“I am Eloy. Do you know my fiancee?”

“Yep! Let’s see, what is her name, there are so many of them this time of year…”

He lifted a finger and tapped on his chin.

“Something with an A...Addison? Addi...lane?”

“Adelaide,” I replied.

“Right. Adelaide.”

“So you did see her?” I asked.

“Oh yes. She was running around the hotel in a t-shirt and her underwear. But don’t worry, I didn’t eat her. It’s against the rules. I sure do hope you find her soon, although, they almost never do.”

He walked towards the door and began to close it but I stopped it with my hand.

“Wait. What do you mean ‘they almost never do’?”

“The wives, husbands, fiancees, boyfriends, girlfriends, partners, whomever. Most of them just decide to save themselves.”

“Save themselves? From what?”

“Well from the Belmont of course.”

He smiled at me and a drop of blood slid down to the bridge of his nose.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Why do you think it chose you? You’re the perfect candidate. You’ll fight for Adelaide but not hard enough. In the end, you’ll save yourself.” He shrugged.

“I’d never abandon Adelaide.”

“Well, then I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

I stepped back and he slammed the door shut.

I wandered around the hotel for a while, but there was no sight of Adelaide. After searching for about an hour, I made my way back to my room to find room service in there, setting up food.

“I didn’t order this,” I said as the woman in the hotel uniform turned around.

She looked more normal than the first woman I had seen, but I was starting to pick up on the fact that this place was anything but, and I just wanted to find Adelaide and get out as soon as possible.

“It’s on the house. You must be tired after your search.”

She had a peculiar accent that I couldn’t quite place.

“I’m actually not done searching,” I replied.

“Well then, time to refuel before you take off again, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah listen, I don’t really want to eat. I want to find my fiancee and get out.”

“Hmm, you really love her don’t you?”

I nodded.

“Well, it’s a shame you probably will never see her again.”

She reached into the pocket of her blazer and pulled out Adelaide’s engagement ring, setting it down on the bed.

“I figured you’d want this back.”

“What did you do to her?!” I lunged at her but fell to the ground.

When I looked back again, she was standing across the room.

“You really shouldn’t have done that. Now I’m angry, and as much as I’d like to kill you, I can’t. It’s against the rules. So I guess this will do.”

"What rules?" I asked

She ignored me, and pulled a pocket knife out, and headed towards me, plunging it down towards my leg. Fortunately, she missed and only tore my pants and cut the side of my leg. I kicked her in the head and she rolled over to the side. I watched her for a second but she didn’t move.

Instead, a small letter ‘E’ suddenly appeared, engraved on her forehead.

I stood up, grabbed my wallet and my car keys, put the ring into the pocket of my pants, and ran back down to the lobby, but when the elevators opened I saw that it had been completely trashed. The rug was torn up, chairs were flipped over, and there were streaks of blood and bloody footsteps all over the floor.

“Adelaide!” I shouted.

“Adelaide can you hear me?!”

I ran behind the desk where there was a note taped down that said “ROOM 321- NEW PLAYERS. A.J AND E.M”.

That was our room number, which meant that the initials stood for our names, Adelaide Jones and Eloy Malarkey.

I moved towards the left and tripped over something. I looked down to see two legs sticking out from under the desk.

I leaned down to see the first woman I had encountered in the lobby, only now she was dead. She appeared to have been stabbed multiple times, and there was a small letter ‘A’ on her forehead.

I stood back up and tried not to vomit.

As I looked around for anything that might tell me what the hell was going on, or better yet, where Adelaide was, I heard something crash into the front doors. I looked up to see that one of the square glass panels had cracked, and walked over, slowly opening the door.

I saw Adelaide on the floor outside the hotel, shivering in the cold. Her leg was bloody and she had dried blood on her hands but she didn’t seem to be hurt.

“Adelaide, are you okay?” I bent down and picked her up in my arms, spotting my car in the empty lot and deciding to head for it.

I ran as she mumbled something about being cold, and managed to get my keys out of my pocket and open the passenger side door to slide her in. I ran around and got into the driver’s seat, starting the car and speeding out of there.

“What happened to you? What did they do?” I asked as I drove down the empty road, which was surprisingly fine despite the blizzard from the night before.

She shook her head, and I figured that she wasn’t ready to talk about it.

“Okay well, we have to go to the police.” I said.

She whipped her head towards me, her black hair hitting her face.

“NO.” She said loudly.

“No? Adelaide, you’re covered in blood, and I found you half-naked in the cold.”

She shook her head violently as she began to pound on the window.

“No no no no! You have to let me out of this thing, let me out. “

She lowered the window and I glanced over in time to see her turn into a million little pieces of dust as she vanished. That’s when I realized it wasn’t her. Adelaide was still back at the hotel.

I turned around and headed back towards the hotel but it was too late. It was gone.

I never found it. I drove back to that area every few weeks but The Belmont was gone. It had moved on, found its next victim.

For a while, I tried to stop thinking about it, but it was almost impossible. I had become obsessed with finding The Belmont, with going back. Adelaide was never found. I made up a story, said I had lost her in the blizzard. They searched the area where the Belmont once was, but it seemed she had gone with it, but it wasn’t even about her anymore. I didn’t worry about her, I simply needed to find that God-forsaken hotel again.

I had gone over two decades trying to stop myself from becoming completely obsessed with The Belmont.

And then, two days ago, I got a postcard in the mail. The postcard came from The Belmont, and written on the back, in Adelaide’s handwriting it read “Want to go for round two?”

At first, I wanted to ignore it, but then I got the envelope that contained a recent picture of Adelaide. She looked almost the same; older, but recognizable. On the back were the directions to the hotel, also written by Adelaide, along with an explanation.

She wanted a rematch. She had been trapped in The Belmont for years now, and this time, she wants to be the one to make it out.

It took me about two seconds to decide what to do.

I’m headed there now. According to Adelaide’s directions, I should be there by the end of the day.

I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get there, but I figured it’s fair enough of me to engage in this rematch.

After all, it has been over twenty years that I’ve spent looking and I finally have directions straight to the hotel.

This time, I won’t think twice before I save myself.


COMMENTS

-



 

10:00 Jun 27 2020
Times Read: 699


Have you ever looked back at a time in your life, where you made such a tiny decision out of impulse or boredom that you severely regretted? Suddenly you’re kicking yourself and unraveling and it’s all because of something so stupid that you didn’t think twice about.

That’s how I feel about something as stupid as an app on my fucking iPhone.

It was several weeks ago now, I can hardly remember. Time passes so funny like that, when something so strange and, perhaps for a time, fun is happening.

I had finished watching stranger things, oddly enough, and was wanting to relive the nostalgia of walkie talkies. I, being lazy and broke, turned to the App Store. Just as I thought, that had just the thing. Perfect reviews and everything.

Immediately I was delighted. It made the sounds, you clicked it to start, picked the different channels, it was perfect. I’d even gotten some of my friends to download it and we clicked through the settings. Of course, channel 42.0 was our favorite.

We giggled and talked about, of all things, the newest season of stranger things and so much else. It was so many hours of fun. Truly. Hours.

The thing was, anyone could get on the different channels, so occasionally we’d meet strangers. Mostly people like us, giggling like children and pulling different jokes on each other. You know, classic young adult idiocy.

In fact, we even started a group chat with some of the more humorous and like minded folks we had met over the various channels. It was so random, and dare I say niche. We were like little kids but stretched out across the globe.

Over time, most of my friends had started to lose interest, and even the group chat had started to dwindle. For some reason, I was kinda bummed about that but eventually started to lose interest myself. On to some other useless time filler, I’m sure.

And then, one night I was bored (and let’s face it, stoned) and decided to check in through the channels to see if anything interesting was going on. For a while, there was nothing but silence on each one. I landed on 42.0, an old classic, and just listened for a minute or so. I clicked on the button, but before I could say anything I heard something break through the silence.

I couldn’t quite make it out at first, and then it grew louder. An eerily familiar tune. “There is someone...walking behind you…” My blood ran cold, and then I burst into laughter. My dog whined softly, but I chalked it up to her seeing that I was upset.

“Okay, that’s a fuckin’ genius bit. You got me.” I responded. Of course, a terrifying classic used in the horror franchise Final Destination. Nothing like an old ballad to turn the creep factor up to ten.

Then, it clicked off. Silence again. I laughed and shook my head. Honestly, I was mad I hadn’t thought of using that to fuck with someone before. I was just about to exit out of the app completely when I heard something again.

“Look at me…” it sang, filling the room and senses...and then my phone went off. I damn near shit my pants.

“For fuck’s sake…” I mumbled under my breath, hand placed on my chest as I tried to catch my breath. There was no way someone was able to get my phone number from this stupid app, right? But there was no rationalizing, I was in panic mode. My breath steadied and, with shaking hands, I looked at the screen.

It was just my mom, asking what I wanted for dinner. Shaking my head at my stoned paranoia, I laughed and responded with a simple “I don’t care.” Man, it’s crazy how fast my brain can turn something so silly into the plot of a slasher flick.

Taking one last deep breath to steady myself, I closed out of the app and turned on something cheery with my dog cuddled into my side. I can’t even remember what I watched now, probably something silly like New Girl. It really doesn’t matter now, not much does.

Anyway, the next night I had hit my ol’ girl Mary Jane up, and decided to turn back to the walkie talkie app for some late night delights. It was on the same channel I’d left off on, and again it was silence. Then, a white noise started creeping through. It grew louder, and louder until it eventually just...stopped.

“What the…” I raised an eyebrow and looked over at the sleeping form of my pooch. This is probably the moment I look back on most, and think “just delete the stupid fucking app.” But no. Curiosity, as they say, killed the cat. And I’ve always been a giant pussy. Besides, the dog didn’t seemed bothered this time so why should I?

“There is someone…” Oh god, there it was again. But it sounded wrong, somehow. Like someone had taken it down a half step. “Turn around, look at me.” It was growing louder, but I couldn’t quite explain how. Like...it was inside my head. And let me tell you, that song only got creepier with that effect. What was that, now? Breathing. That was the sound ever so faintly in the background.

I could only listen in stunned silence. This had to be a joke, right? Some cleverly constructed joke meant to fuck with whatever bored assholes were still using this thing. The music cut out, then, and only the breathing remained.

What I heard next, I can’t quite explain. It was...a snapping, twisting sound followed by a short scream. And then silence again. My stomach was in my ass, my breath stuck in my throat. My dog snapped awake and began whining again.

That wasn’t real, right? Maybe it was some twisted fuck...I don’t know, fucking with an animal? People were twisted, but this wasn’t a fucking horror movie. Right? Maybe some clever fuck was playing sound bites from a horror movie...that had to be it. Regardless, I closed out of the app and tried to take my mind off of things by turning something mindless and cheery on once again.

Eventually, morning came and I hadn’t slept a wink. The things I heard just echoed in my mind. I couldn’t shake it from my head. What could that have possibly been? Taking a deep breath, I opened the app and clicked onto the channel. “Alright, you fucking got me. It’s a really clever bit, I give you credit. But can you just chill the fuck out? I’m just trying to have a casual, chill time here.” I chuckled shakily, not sure what I was expecting. “Hello?”

Silence. Then, a voice broke through. It was heavily accented, and sounded like it was laughing. “What are you talking about?” Other voices broke in and I laughed and shook my head. Of course. People were fucking around on there. “Nothing, you guys are just really fucking clever. Have a great night.”

I laughed to myself and closed out of the app, and eventually fell asleep for almost the rest of the day. When I woke up, it was barely still light outside and my dog was patiently sitting by the door waiting to go out. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I yawned, opened the door and obliged.

We walked outside, and she did her business. My eyes wandered around, taking in the familiar neighborhood in the dwindling light. As I was turning around to face the dog, I caught something in the corner of my eye darting out from behind a tree. I raised my eyebrow, and my heart skipped a beat, but seeing as my dog wasn’t panicking I didn’t see a reason to.

“Come on, girl, let’s go inside.” I called to her, and she darted inside with me close behind. Before I shut the door, I looked around one last time before shutting and locking it.

That night led to the familiar routine. A visit with my lady mary jane, and eventually succumbing to boredom after scrolling through social media for far too long. I put on some music, then opened the walkie talkie app. Maybe some of my friends would be bopping around.

I flipped through channels, looking for familiar voices or something interesting. I landed on something random, maybe 32.0, and heard a quiet breathing. I don’t know why I stopped, I really fucking wish I hadn’t. But I sat and listened, and the breathing grew louder until it was joined with something else.

Dragging, maybe. Something heavy being thrown. Music was playing again, but this time it wasn’t something I recognized. Then, screaming. God awful screaming. Gunshots. Silence.

I wanted to vomit. I wanted to curl up in a bawl, throw a blanket over myself, and disappear. But my body wouldn’t move, I was frozen in horror. This wasn’t a joke. What kind of sick fuck would think this was funny? A heavily accented voice broke through.

“Et hon morieris.” was all it said. I’d had enough. I finally gained control of my muscles again, and I closed out of the stupid app. This was too fucking far. Taking a deep breath, I deleted it and then threw my phone.

Tears were welling up in my eyes, and I laid down while trying to regain control of my breathing. I was a fan of a good scare, I’d spent my fair share reading scary stories and exploring haunted houses. This wasn’t just scary. This was bone chilling...sadistic.

I must've fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing I remember was opening my eyes and hearing my phone going off. Yawning, I walked across the room to where it’d landed and looked at the screen.

10 missed calls, 14 text messages. Jesus Christ. There’s no way I’d been asleep that long. I checked the time. 12:30 PM. “Huh. What must be so urgent?” I unlocked my phone and yet again, my stomach dropped. I was almost used to that feeling by now.

Half of the calls and texts were from various friends and my mom, but the other half...I couldn’t make out. But I knew they weren’t from someone I knew. It was a strange combination of letters and characters I’d never seen before.

And then a voice recording. Why, why the fuck did I play it? That’s the point in there movie where you’re screaming at the main character saying “What the fuck is wrong with you??? Just delete it you fucking idiot!” But no. I played it.

It was that damn song again, back in its original key. But there was the sound of leaves crunching and labored breathing in the foreground. It was short, only maybe 30 seconds, but as soon as it was over another one came through.

At that same moment, a call came through. Oh, it was just my mom. Thank God.

“Hello?” Her voice was like a warm hug in that moment.

“Oh, thank fuck.” I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Everything alright?” She sounded concerned. “Should I come home?”

“Come home?” I replied. Shit. Of course. In my panic, I’d completely overlooked the texts from her and my sister stating they’d be gone at the store for a while. “No, mom. It’s fine. I just uh...worked myself up over some...dumb shit.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is?” She sounded so sincere...but something still felt so wrong. I felt like a little kid again. Just wanting my mom to hug me and tell me it would be okay. But instead, I just took a deep breath and quickly responded.

“No, ma. Thank you, though. Just need to fix my sleep schedule, probably.” I laughed a little.

“Well, I can’t say I disagree with that.” She chuckled. “Alright, we’ll be home soon. Love you.”

“Love you too, mom.” I replied. Then the line went dead. I sighed and shook my head. This was all just...an overreaction, right? Someone was clearly just fucking with me. This shit didn’t happen in real life, right?

Oh, how I wish I was right. Another text came through. This time it was a video. It looked like it was just taken...and it was my street. I’d know that street anywhere. And it looked like the person was just casually strolling through. A cold sweat broke out all over. I couldn’t breathe.

It was at least a minute long. Fuck. What could I do? I grabbed a BB gun, the only thing I had for self defense, and went downstairs. Someone couldn’t possibly break in in broad daylight, right? My neighbors were home, surely they’d see something and say something…right?

I checked all the locks, with my dog close behind, and made sure everything was secure. They were, but something in the back of my mind said that wouldn’t be enough.

That was yesterday morning...and my mom and sister still haven’t returned home...I’m terrified to think of what’s happened to them. I haven’t left my room, not even to eat or drink...even shit. Don’t ask.

The music started last night, a quiet drone at first, then it just kept getting louder. I don’t even know what language it’s in, but I recognize the tune. “There is someone...walking behind you…” I’ve tried calling them, but it just goes to voicemail. Their voices are almost mocking me...

I can hear noises coming from downstairs, now. The locks didn’t stop them...whatever they are. I’m still not sure. Maybe just some twisted, fucked up people. But something about the way they move….something tells me that’s not all it is.

They’re still playing with me, I’m not sure why. The only thing stopping them now is my BB gun and dog, and God I hope they just leave her alone. I almost wish they’d just kill me and get it over with. Instead of playing this fucked up game.

I’m writing this to tell you...trust your instinct. Don’t be like me, looking back on some stupid mistake and regretting it...kicking yourself for being so stupid. It might just save your ass.

Oh God, they’re coming up the stairs now...and that fucking song. It’s so loud.


COMMENTS

-



NikkiAidyn
NikkiAidyn
17:58 Jun 27 2020

Creepy





 

17:58 Jun 25 2020
Times Read: 730


Most people know the word “embalming,” but few people actually know what it means. Embalming is a process through which the blood of the deceased is replaced by a concoction of a known carcinogen, formaldehyde, and other chemicals. This is done by accessing an artery and a corresponding vein, making slits in each, and inserting an instrument called a cannula into the artery through which embalming fluid is pumped. The blood will be forced out of the vein and flows down the porcelain embalming table into the drain. After this step, a large, pointed suction tube called a trocar is stabbed into the abdomen to aspirate, or suck out the contents of, each of the organs within.

Now, you have to be careful and wear gloves in order to embalm, of course, because you can get Hepatitis or worse- Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease. The latter is a prion disease, similar to “mad cow disease,” that can be transmitted through blood. The prions eat away at your brain, driving you to a state of severe dementia, crippling you to a shell of a person that can hardly function, until you die.

On a happier note, it always warms my heart to see young people with an interest in the industry- one day those little deathlings will grow into the next great generation funeral directors. The one day of the year I don’t welcome kids is Halloween. I know, I know, it probably seems like I’m a killjoy or a sour old woman, but Halloween seems to bring out the mischief in young folks. More than a couple times, I’ve had to threaten to call the police as teenagers tried to break into my mortuary. That seemed to make them quite angry, but they scattered once they heard (completely unrelated) sirens coming down the street. I’d never actually called. They were probably thinking it would be spooky to trespass in a funeral home on Halloween night, but I was thinking about the merchandise they might scratch up in the process and the damage they could do to the expensive cremation retort.

Cremation is an interesting process. It’s actually more than just burning a body and turning it to ash. When a body enters the retort, after the door closes, a large column of flame is shot down onto the chest area- the torso takes the longest to burn because of all the organs and fat that are contained there. Once the organic material (flesh, fat, organs- anything carbon-based) has been eliminated by the retort’s 1700-degree fires, the remaining material in the machine consists of bone fragments. These are left to cool, then they are removed and ground up by a large, blender-like machine called a cremulator. The dust and tiny bits of bone that come out of the cremulator is the “ash” that you, the loved one, receive back.

Last year, on a crisp autumn evening, I was preparing to close up early for Halloween. I was about to lock up and head to my car, when I noticed a group of teenage boys circling in the parking lot, occasionally putting their faces up to the tinted windows to try and see inside. There were five of them. I rolled my eyes and was going to just try and walk past them, ignoring their taunts, but then the water balloons started.

Just as I stepped through the door to leave, they started pointing and yelling.

“That’s her! That’s the witch who runs this place! GO!” I felt a big, wet splat as the first water balloon splashed straight into my face. My hair and the front of my jacket were soaked immediately. My eyes widened at the audacity of these children. Did nobody teach their kids to respect their elders anymore? Shock quickly turned to panic.

Another water balloon exploded into the window to my right. Hurriedly, I fumbled for the building keys and slipped back inside. There was no way I was getting back to my car without getting absolutely drenched. I caught my breath and sighed, sauntering over to the bathroom and drying my face with our rough paper towels. My hair was still dripping, so I went back into the embalming room, also known as the prep room, to find a spare towel. I could still hear the kids yelling outside, and it was at this point that the water balloons were exchanged for rocks. BANG! BANG! BANG! on the windows. They pelted rock after rock until they finally found one big enough to do some damage. I heard the glass begin to crack, and my poor old heart just couldn’t take it anymore. I dialed the police.

As most of you probably know, Halloween is a big night for crime, and cops are stationed throughout the city to keep kids safe. So when I called 9-1-1 and the police didn’t answer, I wasn’t totally surprised. No, what surprised me was that there was not even a dial tone. The funeral home’s landline had been cut off. Part of being a senior is not being glued to a cell phone all the time, and I rarely brought mine to work, so I was out of options, phone-wise. I heard raucous laughter coming through the new crack in my window as the next round of rocks hit.

This time, they crashed through the pane altogether. Startled, I jumped and looked around wildly. Where could I go? What was the safest place to hide?

The refrigerator. It had a 6-inch thick stainless steel door, but the door didn’t lock. It also had four bodies. Suddenly, a lightbulb went on in my head. As the crashing stopped, I quickly wheeled an empty gurney into the fridge, unzipped the body bag on top of it, and crawled in. I was able to fiddle the zipper back up so that only a little bit was open- that way I would have some airflow. The old bag carried the unmistakable scent of decomposing cadavers, despite having just been washed. It’s the kind of smell that sticks to things.

The fridge door had closed on its own, but I was still able to hear the footsteps of the five boys as they entered my place of business uninvited.

“Mrs. Calhouuuun…” a voice called, tauntingly.

“You should have let us iiiin,” another chimed in. I heard the sound of metal scraping against metal and imagined my beautiful show caskets being marred by insolent teenagers.

Somewhere up front, a ceramic urn shattered on the floor. Then, the footsteps grew closer. And closer. Until they were just outside of the fridge. I clamped my mouth shut so as not to allow any whimpers to escape. I didn’t know what these boys intended for me, and I was hardly in any shape to defend myself. I forced myself to pull it together, because I had to stop shaking if I was to be a believable corpse. I heard the WHOOSH! of air that always accompanies the fridge door opening. I shut my eyes, praying that they wouldn’t recognize me if I acted dead enough.

“Mrs. Calho- OH SHIT! Guys! I found where they keep the bodies!” This was followed by the slamming of the door and a chorus of “No way!”s and “Where?”s. Eager footsteps shuffled up to the fridge door as the boy who seemed to be their leader re-opened the door, whispers sussurating in the darkness of the embalming room behind him. The fridge light flicked on, and I squeezed my eyes shut tighter. Please, please, please just go away, I thought to myself, but in they came.

I slowed my breathing as much as I possibly could to try to create the illusion of a still chest that had long ago taken its last breath. The boys filed in. Once all five of them were in the refrigerator, the heavy metal door clicked shut behind them.

“Look at that one! God damn, that looks like it hurt,” one of the older ones remarked at the suicide-by-handgun victim.

“I dare you to touch one,” came a younger voice, giggling as he spoke.

“You touch it first!” replied the first boy.

“No way!”

“I’ll touch it.” I recognized this deeper voice as the leader’s. My breath caught as I heard the bag to my right being unzipped. The empathetic part of me began to rage due to the boys’ disrespect for the dead. How would the decedents’ families feel about kids poking and prodding their loved ones just for the fun of it?

I heard the leader exhale in anticipation, and then, a moment later, he declared,

“There. Done. You guys are such pussies.” The gang chuckled nervously. I heard another bag unzip, the one furthest from me. The suicide victim that had come in last night. The leader spoke again,

“I’m gonna stick my finger in the bullet hole.”

“No way, fuck that, dude,” scoffed one voice.

“Touch her brain!” another chimed in. There was a moment of silence, the air electric with anticipation. I could hear the sickening squelch of a finger sinking into the deep bullet wound on the side of the decedent’s skull. Gasps followed. The squelching sound came again as he began to pull his digit out, and he suddenly cried out.

“What is it?” someone asked.

“Nothing,” said the leader, exhaling, “just nicked my finger on a skull fragment.”

“Dude, that is so fucking metal!” commented one. They laughed and poked a few more times, then got bored rather quickly.

“Alright, this is lamer than I thought. Hey, I bet they have one of those cremation machines here, want to see what a real fire looks like?” The others agreed eagerly and were about to file out of the fridge when I heard another zipper. And another. That was four zippers total, and there were four bodies in my fridge, excluding mine.

“What was that?” a young teen asked voice trembling. I dared to open my eyes, just the tiniest bit, and tried to move them without moving my head or neck. The boys were still standing in the fridge, and the door they had opened to leave slammed back shut. A few of them jumped. Then, the chaos began.

I saw blurs to my right moving towards the boys more quickly than I’d seen anything move in my life. Screams erupted from the group as they pushed open the door to frantically scurry out. When I heard the door shut again, I cautiously began to unzip myself. As I got out, I looked over at the other body bags. That was it- just body bags. Empty. A chill ran down my spine, but I figured the boys were distracted for the moment and it was time to make my great escape.

Tentatively, I swung my legs over the edge, listening to the blood-curdling screams on the other side of the door, unsure of what awaited me out there. In spite of my fears, I gathered myself and pushed open the door, peering around the corner. The screaming sounded like it was coming from everywhere at once, and my brain told me to RUN. But I didn’t run. Curiosity got the better of me.

I followed a scream into the crematory, arriving just in time to see the thick, mechanical door closing. With a person inside. I gasped and was about to lunge for the control panel when I saw it. Standing there, swollen fingers hovering over the ‘ON/OFF’ switch, was a living corpse. Notice that I didn’t say zombie- zombies were mindless, brain-eating idiots. This was something else entirely. The cadaver may have had clouded-over eyes and pieces of skin falling off, but it was no idiot. This corpse knew exactly what it was doing. It switched on the machine. The shrieks inside became louder and more frantic, until I heard the rush of flame come down from the roof of the machine. Then, the screams began to sound like someone trying to gargle molasses. Thick, hacking coughs followed, until finally, the only sound left was the flame.

Another cadaver shuffled in, dragging a hollering teenager behind it. This boy carried a firearm, which was promptly kicked away by the corpse dragging him. I scurried over to it and snatched it up, while the second corpse dragged his victim toward the cremulator. Flicking the machine on, the corpse jerked back the boy’s head so that its fingers could peel back his eyelids. It wanted him to watch. The heavy-duty blades began to spin faster and faster, sharp and ready to crush bone.

“No…” he groaned weakly, but the corpse pushed his head closer into the bladed bucket until his screaming was silenced by a moist THWACK, followed by the sound of a crunching skull.

Hand over my mouth, and a firearm in the other, I snuck out of the crematory and into the prep room. What greeted me was worse than what I had just seen. One of the younger boys, rock still in hand from when they were barraging my windows, laid on the embalming table closest to me, trying to bash a corpse’s head in with his weapon. His efforts were futile and the deceased easily overpowered him, even with just one arm. The other arm was reaching for the trocar. Once the hollow, elongated needle was attached to a suction hose, the corpse went to work.

I watched the boy’s skin dimple as it stabbed the instrument into his abdomen just above the belly button. The boy let out a haunting screech of pain. I watched as the tube sucked out the contents of his stomach. The corpse pulled the instrument halfway out before giving it another hefty shove, this time aiming for his chest cavity. I saw the contents of his lungs as they were punctured and whisked away by the machine. Lastly, it punctured his heart. The machine made a sickening gurgling sound as it sucked the blood from his heart. He was dead.

But the boy on the other embalming table wasn’t- not yet. The fourth corpse, my gunshot suicide victim, held him in place as it picked up a scalpel from a nearby drawer. The boy’s eyes flitted fearfully back and forth, but all he could manage was a pitiful whimper. The corpse approached his neck with the scalpel and applied pressure to his skin. Blood began to trickle down his neck as he yelped. The corpse then jabbed its finger deep into the incision, searching for the carotid artery. Once the artery had been raised and the vein had been separated, it made precise little slices in both the artery and the vein. Blood began to spurt freely from the boy’s neck, spilling onto the porcelain table and swirling down the drain. For the first time, a corpse acknowledged me. It turned, still holding the boy down, and its eyes met mine. I had expected to feel fear, but instead, I felt numb. Then, it gestured to the empty embalming machine. I realized he was asking for chemicals. As if hypnotized, I pulled formalin and a couple other secret ingredients from the cabinets while the corpse filled the machine’s tank halfway with water, then I handed the supplies to it. Its fingers brushed mine, and they were cold. So cold. Refrigerated skin. I shuddered, backing slowly away as the corpse inserted the cannula into the dying boy’s artery to fill his veins with harsh carcinogens. Even from across the room I could feel my eyes burning from the formaldehyde.

Finally, I made it to the front of the building. The carpet was littered with broken glass and rocks, and the sides of my caskets had been keyed. Several urns lay shattered on the floor. Tears began to roll down my face. They had destroyed everything.

Standing guard before the front door was the boys’ leader. I could recognize his voice when he began to laugh sinisterly, though I could see tears staining his cheeks.

“You think you and your zombie army can kill my friends and get away with it?” he asked rhetorically, baseball bat swinging at his side. I felt my grip tighten around the gun, even though I had never used one before and probably didn’t know how to if I needed to. He advanced on me, bashing the bat threateningly into the side of an 18-gauge stainless steel casket. I jumped at the sound, backing up ever-so-slightly. I had to do something. I had to make up my mind. I wasn’t going to die in my own funeral home.

Slowly, hands shaking, I raised the gun, aiming just above his head. The boy froze and his eyes widened.

“You wouldn’t…” he trailed off.

“Wouldn’t I?” I replied, voice firm and steady for the first time since our encounter. He took a menacing step forward and I somehow managed to fire off a shot into the carpet in front of his feet. A puddle made itself apparent at the base of the boy’s jeans. He hesitated for a moment, considering his options. Then, he turned and fled, leaving his baseball bat behind. I sighed heavily and let the gun drop at my feet, wiping the fear-sweat from my brow and wondering if they would have used the gun on me had they had the chance.

I turned back toward the prep room and crematory, which were both now suspiciously quiet. Slowly, I crept into the back, half-wondering if this had all just been a fever dream. There was blood everywhere, but curiously, there were no bodies. Well, except for the perfectly still four bodies that I found zipped up in the freezer. It was as if they had never moved at all. I shook my head, accepting that there were some things about death that even a funeral director can’t possibly understand. I grabbed my cleaning spray from the prep room and went to work.

The police called it a “break-in,” and the four boys that died in my mortuary were listed as missing. There was no knowledge of their whereabouts prior to their disappearances. They wouldn’t ever be found. The leader of the group, whose name I eventually learned was James Cooke Jr. from the obituary, seemed to have suffered the worst fate out of any of them. Less than a year after the incident, James’ body was released from the medical examiner’s office with the cause of death listed as Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease. The prions took over his fragile mind and consumed his personality until he was nothing but a living ghost. Then, after months of torture, he finally expired.

I’m even older now, even if it’s just by a year, but by God, I’ve never felt so youthful and alive. The business is thriving, and I won’t be needing to call the cops on Halloween any more. I couldn’t ask for a better life, and now, I no longer fear death. So for all you young folks out there, be good to your local businesses on Halloween, and remember: If you decide to mess with a funeral director, you might be making a grave mistake.


COMMENTS

-



Ylvax
Ylvax
03:05 Jun 26 2020

That was awesome... I really enjoyed the different take on zombies. I couldn't stop reading once I started ...way to go!





MrCrowly
MrCrowly
07:34 Jun 26 2020

Glad you liked it.





 

09:48 Jun 24 2020
Times Read: 752


There's this painting in my great-uncle's house. An old painting of a... woman. Or at least, it's a woman now.

My uncle lives in a big old historic home in Georgia. It was a plantation at one point, so it's surrounded by fields and only hedged in on one end by a row of scrawny trees that lines the dirt road leading into town. The house itself is beautiful and creaky and warm, all things an old family home should be. The house had been bought by my great, great grandfather from the original owners, and my family, over the many years, had worn into the home like one wears in a good pair of boots, until they mold around you.

I had grown up in that home, driving to go and visit it on holiday. I knew the house like the back of my hand and yet, like all good old homes, it was still chock-full of mystery. We had spent many a Christmas and Thanksgiving there; many a summer afternoon clomping down the ancient stairs and heading happily for the creek at the edge of the property to find some fairies. My cousin and I were avid believers. I grew up in that home. But, I stopped loving it as much when I realized that someone... something... was growing up with me.

At first, I thought it was just my imagination. I was seven when I first noticed it, and let's be honest; I believed in fairies at the time, so I didn't take it too seriously. But now it's getting obvious. Like it... wants me to know.

It wants....?

There's a painting in one of the bedrooms on the top floor. The bedroom is pretty forgotten, and never really used, so as vibrant as the rest of the house always was for me, this guest room always seemed faded, even in my memory. The outdated floral bedspread: faded. The yellowing wallpaper: faded. Even the view out of the window seemed fuzzier there than anywhere else. Leaning against the wall, in the corner, there's this painting. I don't know how to describe it.

There's a girl in it. A girl about my age. She's standing in front of a being window while it snows heavily outside. It's hard to see much of the room around her, but it's wooden floors seem dusty, and the wallpaper around the girl seems like it's getting tattered around the edges. But the room isn't what changes.

It was a day of warm, humid, heavy rain in Georgia when I first noticed. On rainy days visiting my uncle's house, I would spend my time either exploring or watching cartoons. On this particular day, I was wandering around the house as if I hadn't done it a million times before. I was seven years old. I waltzed, confident and bored into the spare room and leaned against that faded bed. I looked comfortably around the room and approached the painting leaning against the wall. It was very familiar to me, as was the whole house, but something was different this time. The girl standing in the picture was older. I furrowed my brows to look closer. I could have sworn that she had been a little girl at some point-- I even had faint memories of the painting in the spare room being one of a toddler.

But now she was definitely older. She was still looking wistfully out of the window at the snow, but more of her face was visible than last time, I could have sworn it. Her hair was the shoulder-length hair of a young girl, her legs were longer, her face a bit slimmer. I tried to reason with myself. I had been seeing this painting for many years, and I had always identified myself with the girl in some way. I probably had seen her as a younger girl when I was a younger girl, and now just felt older myself. But I did find it odd that my memories of a painting of a little girl were so vivid. I left the room, feeling weird, and brushed the whole thing off. I was making it up. That room hadn't ever changed a bit, let alone an old portrait inside of it.

That was in the summer. I visited my uncle's house again that Christmas and I knew something was off. I went into the spare room again, a bit more apprehensive this time. The bedspread was still faded, the wallpaper was still yellowing, the painting was still propped up in the corner. But my eyes widened when I inspected the painting. Her face was... turned to the side.

I could reason away everything before, in the summer, but I knew for sure that she had been looking out of the window before this. I remember not being able to see the color of her eyes when I was little, which was something I was always curious about. But now, I could see them. They were a dark brown. I was seven. So I don't blame myself for turning and hurrying out of the room, shaking off the strangness of it all in the way only a seven-year-old could do. But now I'm 18, and something terrifying has happened.

Every time I've visited my uncle since that summer, I've poked my head nervously into the room to investigate the painting. And every time, she's a little different. Slowly but surely, more and more of her face is visible; it's like she's turning her gaze away from the window and towards the front of the painting. She grew much taller; it was easy to tell with the window behind her as reference. Her hair was longer, her body fuller, her skin more freckled. She was growing with me, and there was no doubt about it.

Last summer, at my uncle's house, I peeked in on it again. It was the first time in a couple of years. My heart beat quickly as I reached for the brass doorknob, praying that I had just been imagining things. The door yawned open to reveal the familiar, faded room. I swallowed and turned to see the painting. My heart stopped.

She was looking right at me.

No longer looking out the window like she was supposed to, no longer only half-facing the window. She was looking, unblinkingly, right at me. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again, wondering if I was seeing things. But she met me with her dark eyes. In a frantic clench of my stomach, I jumped back out of the room, slamming the door behind me unintentionally. I backed away from it, terrified. My chest was heaving and I quickly made the Sign of the Cross over myself. Whatever the hell was going on in that room, I felt that would protect me.

I hurried into my own room and wrenched my phone from my back pocket. I needed to call my dad, my lifeline. He was abroad on business at the time, so when he picked up, he addressed me with annoyance. I had woken him up. But when he heard my fearful tone, he fell silent to listen.

I told him what had happened; what had been going on over the years. He listened, and through the phone I could imagine his with knitted brows and narrowed eyes. Being a very religious family, we believe in the supernatural and the power of evil in the world. So his first suggestion was that I call the nearest Church. He told me to calm down and think rationally. Say a prayer and get some help. He promised me I would be safe, and promised to keep his phone on at all times just in case.

I hung up and grabbed my bag off of the hook on the back of the door. I was going to the Church. I told my mother I was going just to pray for a while; she tends to worry even more than I do, so I didn't want to scare her with whatever was going on upstairs. I crunched down the gravel driveway and onto the dirt road that led into town. My left hand was tangled around the Rosary in my pocket as I drove. I calmed myself down and told myself that it was probably nothing. My dad would have said so if it was a big deal. When I got to the Church, I made a beeline for the offices, where I asked to speak to the priest. We had known Father Larry for a long time, so he greeted me happily as he emerged from his office.

I sat with him in his poufy chairs and wring my hands. I explained to him what I had seen. He 'hmm'ed in response and thought for a little while.

He advised me to just let it be for a while, and maybe do some research of my own. Ask my uncle where he had got the painting, who had painted it; things like that, then to check back on it and if it still seemed wrong, he would come on over to bless the thing and the whole room, if need be. I agreed and he showed me out of his office.

I tried to distract myself back at the house until my uncle got back from the grocery store. I sat in my room reading when I heard a thump from down the hall. My heart dropped when I realized it had come from the faded room. But then I heard my little cousin's voice. She was calling me from the room, needing help with something.

"I'm coming," I called back, getting out of bed. I didn't want to go back in the room, but as long as I wasn't alone in there. I opened the door, and my eyes shot open wide. My little cousin wasn't in there at all. Not able to help it, I glanced over at the painting. I screamed a tiny bit when I saw-- the girl was standing a few steps further away from the window, now closer to me. I once again jumped back out of the room and slammed the door. I quickly located my little cousin who had been downstairs the whole time.

During the next week or two, I tried to ignore the whole thing. But every time I peeked into the room, I was met with a new horror. On the second day, I realized she was holding something behind her back. On the third day, I realized it was rope. On the fourth day, she wasn't a young woman anymore but closer to middle-age. On the fifth day, she was noticeably older. On the sixth day, she had wrinkles and was even closer to the frame, On the seventh day, even closer, even older. It was the eighth day that sent me speeding back to the Church.

After being haunted by that dark-brown gaze for a week, it was suddenly gone. I screamed loudly when I opened the door and saw that blood covered the floor in the painting and was leaking out of the frame. Thick and dark, it dripped onto the faded room's wooden floor in a steady flow. The old woman was gone.

I flew down the stairs, ignoring my mother and brothers' questions and sped to the Church, not even thinking about being pulled over. I demanded to see the priest and burst into panicked tears when Father Larry asked me what was wrong. He hugged me and I tried to catch my breath, wrapping my arms around myself.

"It's me, I know it," I sobbed. "She's going to kill me. That's why she grew old so quickly-- the rope-- the bl-- she's--she---" I choked. He reasoned what he could out of my gasping and agreed to accompany me back to the house. Once I could breathe, I told him he was welcome to stay for dinner. It would be a good time for the both of us to ask about the origins of the painting.

We drove back to the house, and for the first time in my life, I felt nothing but dread as the old whitewashed house grew before us in the yellow fields. Father Larry bolstered me up, and we went inside, explaining to my mother that I had invited him for dinner. She welcomed him, my uncle welcomed him, and everything seemed to be alright. But I felt tears prick at my eyes every time I thought of the stairs, the hallway, the door, the room...

During dinner, I turned to my uncle, feeling Father Larry's support from across the table.

"So, Uncle Keith, that painting up in the spare room... where did you get it from?" I asked, trying to sound casual even though the thought of the thing made me shiver. He knit his eyebrows and lowered his fork.

"What painting?"


COMMENTS

-



 

12:56 Jun 22 2020
Times Read: 763


My Gramps was a paranormal debunker - he never wanted to be called an investigator, he always said “there’s nothing to investigate, only to prove wrong”. He was never a believer, putting Houdini to shame (for those of you who weren’t aware, Houdini was quite the skeptic). He knew how to explain every bump in the night or strange shadow in photos. Gramps was called in to hundreds, maybe even thousands of buildings, sites, and homes throughout his career. Some people were genuinely scared of their doors slamming and paintings falling while others wanted to test his abilities. He was always able to prove to the homeowners that the way their floors sloped allowed for the doors to slam if the windows were open, or that their paintings were hung in just drywall and eventually the nails would slip. Even the people who tried to fool him never succeeded; he found their hidden rooms or false floors, and in more modern times became quite the photoshop expert.

Whenever I became scared of a monster under the bed or in the closet, I would call Gramps and he would explain to me why I had no need to worry. He was my greatest comfort, and soon I was doing some work with him, keeping me occupied in high school. As a college student it was great, as he was able to make it an internship for me and I got elective credits following him into homes and learning his craft. While I didn’t intend to take over the family business or anything, I was very fond of the time I spent with him. He wouldn’t take me on all of his trips though, as I had other obligations. There is one trip in particular I cannot decide whether I regret not being there or am glad I missed; this is the one I want to share with you.

I didn’t know about 19 Fort Wood Lane until after Gramps was there. I don’t think I ever would have if he hadn’t meticulously created written records for each of his jobs, and if this one hadn’t been so well protected. I was cleaning out his rented office space last night, drowning myself in work to avoid my grief. About a week ago, Gramps had passed in a rather strange and sudden manner. A month ago, his doctor discovered a mass in his thyroid - cancer I guess, and it had begun to metastasize in both his brain and lungs. Usually, thyroid cancer can be caught early and is very treatable, so this came as a shock.

However, even the best have their moments, and this was Gramps. He suffered for only a short while, passing a few weeks after the discovery. He chose not to treat it, for what I assumed to be his honor and desire to go on his own terms. Now though, I am not too sure that’s the case - he may have known treatment would be futile. As I said, I was cleaning out his office when I found the envelope. Unassuming and untitled, it sat in the bottom of the desk’s top drawer, almost asking to be ignored. I think it was the lack of labeling that made me open it though - everything else was dated and titled, and this envelope lacked any of Gramps’ details.

Inside I found just a few pieces of lined paper, not unlike any of his other notes and files. However, this being separate I knew it had to be important. In his classic slanted, half-cursive handwriting, Gramps was describing one of his more recent cases. His notes were usually quick, more note-like than story like, as typically he could just say “hearing voices, security camera mics were hacked” or “mice in the pipes causing the horrid screeching noises” along with quick descriptions of the events, but this was again, different.

“19 Fort Wood Lane, this house should be condemned and left to rot. Not a soul belongs here, it is the work of something I’ve spent my whole life denying. But I can’t deny this, not anymore. Many have faked it, but there’s not a chance in heaven nor hell that this is some kind of fraud. I saw things here, things which I cannot explain. And this is the place that will get me killed, I know it.” Immediately I was thrown off, this was very uncharacteristic. Gramps was never dramatic, and I had never heard him speak of 19 Fort Wood Lane - the date was just over a month ago, so it had to be recent. I had seen him so many times since then, and not once did he mention it.

“Mrs. Penderson called me, reporting a strange figure roaming around at night. She tried to deal with it, but her husband was often away for business and with a new baby she had the right to be scared. I immediately thought it was an intruder, and was determined to do what I could to help Mrs. Penderson, as I can only imagine what would happen to a young woman home alone at night. I arrived on Friday night, and she insisted on staying with me and the baby. Her husband was across the country on business, and this was confirmed by location services, credible testimonies, and photographs. I performed my usual checks, but not a false door nor loose window was to be found. We settled into the master bedroom for the night, baby asleep in her arms while Mrs. Penderson and I sat up waiting. It came every night as she told me, so it didn’t take long for me to notice something.

It started as a soft sound of footsteps up and down the hall outside the closed door, as if pacing. Not the sounds of a man in boots, but rather a soft pitter patter of a light-footed woman. Strange, as she told me it was a man in the house. After a while the noise ceased, then started up again, this time coming from the master bathroom. Mrs. Penderson jumped and I have to admit I was startled, since as far as I was aware this room was only accessible via a door in the room we were in. How could footfalls travel from the hall to the bathroom without passing us?

‘It’s starting’ she told me, and despite the dim light I could see the fear in her eyes and the color drained from her face. I assured her I would catch the bastard, it was cruel to terrorize a woman like this. ‘Don’t go in there’ she said, this time with a tremble in her voice even the best actors couldn’t fake. ‘I’ve never looked it dead on, I just know something bad will happen if you antagonize it. I called you here to prove I’m not crazy, but I don’t need you to get rid of it. I’ll move, we can go. I just needed you to believe me. Please, let’s go.’ I can’t say she didn’t warn me.

‘It’ll be okay miss, I promise. I just want to take a look. Whoever’s in there can’t hurt me, and you won’t have to move. Just let me scare him off’ I headed towards the bathroom, and flung open the door, reaching for the light switch. I flipped it, finding no light came on. I tried again, up and down, noticing it wasn’t working. I backed up into the bedroom, and tried that switch - it worked fine. I hadn’t seen this before - I had checked, and the breaker for the bath also controlled the bedroom. The bastard must have broken the bulb.

Without a second thought I walked into the room, taking a few steps forward before feeling a rush of air and hearing the door slam behind me. I could hear Mrs. Penderson screaming, and the baby began to cry. Normally fearless in these situations, I was horrified to feel the goosebumps creeping up my spine and noticed a slight tremble in my hands. Taking a deep breath I took another step, but was stopped immediately by a rough force.

Stumbling backward, I looked around trying to adjust to the dark. Moonlight was filtering in through the slim window above the shower tile, and I could make out the details of the room. However, standing in the bathtub was something that hadn’t been there before. It was a detached tub, so it wouldn’t be a shower curtain or anything, and there was no chandelier or artwork on that wall. The figure was in the shape of a man, but bigger than any man I’d seen. I stood probably eight feet tall, but incredibly slim. It may have been even taller, as I made out what looked like a top had adorning its head.

My blood ran cold as I knew this was no trick. The thing began to step towards me, and I tried to scream as it reached for my throat. Nothing came out, and instead I felt the thing sink its hand into my skin. It was impossible, it had to be, but I could feel the weight of its hand sinking in and crushing my windpipe. I fought and struggled, but it did nothing. I only survived because it let me go, releasing its grip and slowly walking back to the tub before dissipating altogether.

I stumbled through the door back to Mrs. Penderson, grabbing her hand and telling her we had to go. I didn’t look back, didn’t bother with any belongings, I just knew we had to go. I had been warned, and I was not about to fuck with something so powerful. We ran out the door, and I helped her into my van before we drove off.

I don’t know what we encountered that night, but I know it let me go on purpose. It wants to be known, wants me to tell people what happened that night. I spent my life trying to convince people it didn’t exist, so it is only just that it gets to show me how very real it is. And it has killed me. The doctors might say it was cancer, but I was completely healthy before that night. When that thing reached for my throat, I think it infected my very being, planted some poison in my cells to make sure I would know exactly how powerful it is.

The tumor in my neck has odd tendrils growing out of it, something the doctors had never seen before. I told them I had no idea what it could be, but I know it is the thing’s ‘handprint’ - the mass is exactly where I felt its horrible hand enter me. It left me alive just long enough to understand what it did, and for the fear to fester. But I refuse to speak of it, to let my loved ones think they can stop it from killing me. Now all I can do is hide it from them, make sure no one ever goes back to that house and sees such hellspawn. If anyone reads this, know with my full intentions and honor that what I experienced that night was real, and believe me when I say don’t ever think that we are alone for a second in this world”


COMMENTS

-



 

00:55 Jun 22 2020
Times Read: 775


Careful what you wish for, it might come true
Careful what you sell from inside of you
My damnation- a one way ticket to hell
Do you wear the mark?
It's so easy to tell.


COMMENTS

-



 

16:50 Jun 21 2020
Times Read: 783


Drenched in dismay
And the stench of decay
Among the scattered
Body limbs I lay

Disassociate
As if on opiates
Reality shattered
Something grim sedates

Basking in morbid bliss
Savor the torturous
Covered in red
How I love the dead

Enter my nightmares
Ajar door see, right there
Just take one step in
Leap out of your skin

Never enough corpses
Create more, remorseless
Encircled in torches
Beckon evil forces

Embrace me
Deface me
Erase me
Replace me

It matters not
If I'm tattered and rot
All my battles forgot
I've gathered all I've sought

Forbidden rituals
Have become habitual
These horrid visuals
Make me invincible

Saw off an arm
Slap myself in the face
It works like a charm
To show myself my place

Frightful murder artist
I'll join the departed
Soon to be discarded
Spiteful and cold hearted

Yet from the afterlife
I may still grab a knife
Stalk when the daylight dies
Seeking new prey I'll fly

Materialize
From shadows I'll rise
Behold their demise
I'll claim my rightful prize.


COMMENTS

-



 

06:20 Jun 21 2020
Times Read: 798


To say Ethan was the smartest twelve-year-old I've ever met would be an understatement.

According to his school records, his first stroke of genius hit around the time he was in second grade when he multiplied three-digit numbers in his head while the other kids were just learning to add using their fingers. He has always been fascinated by mathematics, particularly probability which wasn't even covered in the syllabus yet. His teacher immediately requested Ethan's parents to consider him skipping a few grades, maybe even take a few tests to see if he was a genius.

The Jones' were against that idea completely; they just thought it would be too much work in their already hectic life.

However, the absolute lack of attention or love from Ethan's parents isn't the reason why he is in my office every day at 4 P.M. sharply. Frankly, I don't think that bothers him. He's not all too popular in school either, considering no kids wants to be friends with a know-it-all that could predict the outcome of Monopoly with the help of some probability.

That's not what we're addressing here either.

Ethan has been sent to me because he was the only one present at the crime scene when his 19-year-old baby sitter Kristin was brutally murdered by the serial killer who had escaped from jail a couple of weeks ago and was on a killing spree.

Well, he wasn't exactly a witness because while Kristin's head was being badgered with a hammer, Ethan was too busy counting the tiles on the bathroom floor. It was unfortunate really, but fate would have it that Kristin met the pattern of this rogue killer's previous victims. The Jones' returned home to a bloody corpse in the middle of their living room, and their young boy seated on a chair in the dining hall, playing on his iPad.

It was Mrs Jones that believed her son required a psychiatrist given god knows what he might have witnessed that evening. She wanted to ensure if he was still normal.

My sessions with Ethan haven't really been all that fruitful.

I tried to keep the conversation going many times, but all I'd get in return were a few shrugs and maybe a half-hearted "Yea" now and then.

Today, however, I decided to dive right in and talk about that gruesome evening.

"It was a dark time for the entire town you know," I spoke. "The police didn't see it coming, nobody did. What were the chances?"

"I did."

A voice! A sentence! That was a breakthrough for me.

"What's that?"

“I had seen the man come to our house and stare every evening for a week,” Ethan spoke.

“Who?” I pressed.

“The bad man who killed Kristin."

“I would see him from the bedroom window, I knew the police were looking, I saw the news and I knew he was going to do something bad.”

“I also knew he would’ve done it on a Tuesday or a Wednesday because that's when mom and dad don’t come home for a long time.” Ethan continued. “The chances were 2 out of 7.”

I felt a chill go down my spine. It was peculiar to see a child talk about such an event with not even a hint of remorse.

"Why-" I began, "why didn't you say anything, you could've saved her life."

“Kristin never liked when I spoke about math, she called it weird,” Ethan replied.

“Besides, I wanted to see if I was right.”


COMMENTS

-



LeanaDoll
LeanaDoll
12:54 Jun 26 2020

This one is brilliant. It was a long time I´ve read something like this, and I´m a very passionate reader - thank you!





MrCrowly
MrCrowly
13:52 Jun 26 2020

Not a problem. Glad you enjoyed it.





 

10:58 Jun 18 2020
Times Read: 822


I grew up thinking that this incident was a nightmare that stuck with me throughout my high school years. Turns out, it was a memory, a really messed up memory that had been burned into my brain. It was such a traumatic event that my seven year old brain had shoved it deep into my subconscious even the memories of my little brother.

It happened just two weeks after my seventh birthday, every weekend my brother and I would always camp in our backyard. It was sort of our thing, our amazing adventures in the Amazon forest. It happened around ten that night, my brother and I had just climbed into our tent for the night after our adventures and some s'mores. I was always a light sleeper while my younger brother was the opposite, I woke up to the sound of rustling from the weeds that lined our backyard.

At first I thought it was my younger brother using the bathroom, when I called out to him there was no answer and the rustling stopped. I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, my left hand brushed my brother’s sleeping bag, I looked down to find him still asleep. Then there was this weird sound, it sounded like someone was gargling mouthwash and a mix with a pained groan.

My mind raced with thoughts like an alien waiting to eat me, some hungry werewolf ready to pounce, or a creepy old clown. My entire body froze as fear fueled my mind, I reached over and shook my brother in an attempt to wake him up. He let out a groan and rolled over, I held my breath and listened for a long while. The sounds stopped. I shook my brother’s shoulders a little harder this time, he looked up at me and stared at me.

“Shhh, I think there’s something outside.” He looked around wide eyed, he was scared.

I contemplated whether I should be the big brother and check or if I should just take my little brother and make a run for it to the house, I took more look at my little brother and that’s what gave me the courage to go outside.

As quietly as I could, I unzipped the tent and stared at the back door of our house, I started to have second thoughts but I made it that far so why not go all the way. I puffed out my chest and climbed out of the tent, the wet grass soaked my socks and the cool night breeze felt good. The tall grass rustled behind me and again I froze, as if my body had a mind of its own, I started to walk towards the edge of the yard. My breath caught in my throat as I inched closer and closer, I couldn’t look away or move. It seemed so fake, like a murder scene you would see in movies.

There laid my brother’s lifeless corpse, his muscles and tendons visible, there was so much blood.

Then it hit me, if this is my brother then who’s in the tent. I looked over my shoulder and stared at the tent, it moved and shifted as the thing inside slowly climbed out of the tent. It towered over me, I only caught a glimpse of it before it bolted off into the surrounding woods. That’s when I was able to let out the scream that desperately wanted to leave my throat.

Whatever it was, it wore my brother’s skin.


COMMENTS

-



 

06:31 Jun 18 2020
Times Read: 834


The sign, although engulfed in flames, was pretty easy to read.

Welcome to Hell, you know what you did.

As we lined up in front of those coal-black gates getting ready to open, we had the briefest of moments to chat and get acquainted. I learned that the man next to me was a serial killer. Murdered four different hitchhikers throughout the ‘80s and buried them somewhere outside of Seattle. He said that the night that he died and hopped on that rickety bus heading south, he saw one of the hikers trying to flag a ride.

The boy behind him had killed a homeless man coming home drunk after celebrating his girlfriend’s seventeenth birthday. He had downed half a bottle of vodka and passed out behind the wheel before the front of his car collided with the unfortunate vagabond’s head. While the impoverished gent died pretty much instantly from a moderate to gently crushed skull, the boy was not so fortunate. No, an object in motion tends to stay in motion unless acted upon or colliding with an outside force. In this case, a tree. The splintering sheet metal of the car’s outer shell had sliced a deep head lesion that only two hours later took his life in the hospital.

Funny enough once the gates opened, and we all mushed together as a crowd onward, the kid ended up running into and toppling over some unsuspecting soul. To his horror and my delight, it was the same homeless man he had mentioned before. Whoever said Hell was all pain and suffering never took a moment to enjoy the scenery along the way.

Hell is efficient, I’ll give you that. Although we started off as one big line they split us up into two the closer we got to processing.

“Anyone who practiced law, civil service, or started a fad food diet to the left please,” a wrinkly looking monster spoke, “we’ll be here for millennia at least if you don’t do this one little thing. Once again, anyone who practiced law, civil service, or started a fad food diet to the left please.”

It paused for a moment, squinting at a raised hand.

“If you got federal holidays off and it was considered low carb then yes it counts!” I watched the hand falter then slowly fall. As the owner made his way left I couldn’t help but wonder which one got him. The way the creature scowled as it uttered the words “federal holidays” I hoped for their sake they had just been low carb. The leftmost line wasn’t booming but it was busy. Since we were at a halt in ours I took a chance and leaned over to a particularly gnarled looking hooked horn demon and asked “Are they going to get tortured?”

I watched as he tentatively angled his horned head left then right before he leaned in himself and spoke with a voice like nails on a chalkboard. “Only for a few thousand years, it’s mainly just to wash away the bulk before processing. Makes it easier on the scribes.” I nodded and watched him fall back into place. I stared briefly as he made his way towards a feeble looking man and impaled him with the iron rod in his claws, slipping a handful of hot coals down his open wound before throwing him to the back of the line.

There are three wild misconceptions here. Firstly, its that time flows differently while you’re down here. It actually flows the same and they make a point of it. The first chamber you walkthrough is filled end to end in loud ticking clocks. It’s also very inclusive. In my fifty years down there I never saw a single time zone, active or decommissioned, that was left out. There was even a sundial complete with a burning red ball of fire we had to walk past for those who had never been acquainted with a clock.

The ticking itself can drive you mad but the ooo-ing and awe-ing as everyone spots their particular timezone and decides then and there is the best time to regale you with where their from, what the weather is like, when to visit, and what tourists just do and don’t understand is especially irritating. I think that’s the real punishment of that room, it was to me anyway.

Oh, I forgot to mention, if you don’t keep track of your time when they ask you at the desk you have to repeat the whole process over again. And no, that doesn’t mean commit what you saw to memory, it means count the seconds up to when they ask you as well. Learn from my mistakes.

After the clock room, we get one minute with family. Any family that might be lounging around in Hell is dragged up and obligated to visit. They’ll tell you every detail of what they did and how they’re paying for it. For anyone lucky enough not to have even a second cousin laying around down there you are entitled to FIVE WHOLE MINUTES possessing a real, living, breathing human being! Just remember, whatever you do while up there counts against both you and them when time is up. This is where things get muddy for me.

As I sat down at that cold metal table I was greeted to a frantic and insane looking woman. My supposed mother. I was sure I had never met her in my life, and something in the glint of her stare let me know she thought so too. I have many speculations on why she didn’t say anything, but seeing the tired look in her frightened eyes made me think that she was just happy to get a break.

She told me all about the horrible things they do here. How on her first night the demons strung her upside down by her entrails and forced cockroaches down every place they could. They stuck hooks the size of hands through every patch of skin they could and pulled in opposite directions. They pulled out every organ and force-fed it to her while they told her about her sister in the next room over. As she recounted her torture at the hands of creatures that sent shivers down my spine I couldn’t help but start to cry.

In that world of endless pain, I reached and softly held her hand. Her exhausted eyes stared at the gesture before they met mine. As I softly squeezed and reassuringly rubbed the back of her hand with my thumb I saw the wrinkles and scars dissolve as the faintest bit of humanity still flickered behind those glassy eyes. With one last squeeze and the kindest tear-stained smile I could offer, I watched the one piece of her left refuse to break as a piece of my own fell to ashes. When she was forced to her feet once more and disappeared down that dark passageway all she could do was stare at her hand, smiling as she sobbed.

This is the second misconception. That of all the horrors you’ll face the worst are the ones you feel. In this dark desolate nightmare world, the pain never stops, and you never suffer alone. The real punishment here is knowing they’ve broken both you and the ones you love, then watching them keep the shards after they’re done gutting you with who they used to be.

Once family time had come to a close I followed the crowd and took my place in line waiting for my turn at the desk. The desk is where you will be judged for every wicked action, terrible thought, and sinful deed you have ever committed. Here every despicable action you did or influenced will be openly revealed to you and everyone in line. That includes your search history.

You’ll see the face of the one you love the most cower in hatred and disgust while you try to explain yourself to them. It doesn’t matter what you do or say, you are and always will be irredeemably guilty. Once your undoubtedly extensive file is read off the roles will switch. As punishment you’ll hear every thought, every deed, and every atrocity that will land your loved one down here with you. As punishment for your actions, they’ll even show you their final moments along with their first five minutes in the vault.

As I stood in front of that jet black desk I saw the face of my daughter. Her angelic voice dripping with malice as she screamed my misdeeds. The affair, the violence, my slow decline to heroin, all of it. The worst of it was when she put her little hand on my face, looked me deep in my eyes, and asked me, “If I loved you more would you still be alive?” I was a mess. As I collapsed to the floor clutching her tiny body she wrapped me in a cold embrace. It was then I saw her grow into an adult in front of my very own eyes. I saw the bruises on her skin from all the hateful partners bloom like flowers, the bloody cracks and track marks kissing her body as she got thinner and thinner. Still sobbing on the floor I witnessed my little girl grow a sickly pale before crumbling into my arms. I heard the demon laugh as her breathing got more and more raggedy by the moment.

I held her still body for only a second before the needle-thin hooks fell upon us from the darkness above. Screaming in horror I watched helplessly as she was pulled in every which way, ripping her skin open as bloody chunks hailed from the sky. I saw bones dangling as the blackened veins wriggled inside like worms. The muscle fibers twisted and constricted as the cracking sounds of bone paired with the agonized screaming of her terrified voice.

“Oh god,” she screamed, “make it stop! Please make it stop!” Her wide horrified eyes locked with mine, although she had the body of an adult her voice seemed to defy nature. When she opened her mouth once more all I heard was the voice of the little girl I had left behind. “Help me, daddy. It hurts so much.”

I jumped to my feet and tried desperately to reach for her, but the moment I was standing again she was pulled away into the vast darkness that hung over us. All I could register was the cackling at the desk. With a jab from the burning rod, I heard the monster scream “Next!” Defeatedly, I trudged on.

I want you to know this is the hard part. I know everything I described before must have sounded terrible already but this… this is the worst part.

This is the part where you get tortured.

Whatever you think you know about pain I want you to throw it out the window. There is nothing that can compare to what happens inside that pitch-black room. As I stood there stark naked I felt fear grip me harder than it ever has.

For your sake, and mostly for mine, I’ll skip this part. Just know that when the vault door locks behind you and the silence starts to become deafening it’s okay to cry. As the chains rattle around you and you feel the long sharp nails drag across your skin… it’s okay to cry.

I don’t know how long I was in there, I don’t even remember getting pushed out, all I can recall is the bright white. I was in the fetal position covered in blood, sweat and tears when I felt the end of a clipboard start to jab at me.

“Fill this out,” the wrinkled creature muttered, “once you’re done come talk to me.”

When I had finished composing myself I grabbed it gently and took a seat nearby. All it asked was name and cause of death. As I walked to the creature I felt myself shake, the ringing and buzzing in my ears just didn’t seem to stop.

The thing gave it a quick once over before waddling down the long narrow hallway leading to the only door in sight. It stopped as it reached the foot of it and turned to beckon me towards it. Nervously, I came closer. It said nothing as it opened the door, but I knew exactly who it was sitting in that chair.

He was, like the good book said, a very handsome man. I had seemingly interrupted him from the paperwork at hand, I could tell from the double-take he took when he had realized I had entered his office.

“Ah, there you are!” His voice reminded me of Morgan Freeman’s only less warm. “Sit sit sit!” He motioned to the two empty chairs that sat opposite his desk. Awkwardly, I pulled one out and sat myself down. A chair is a chair, but after what you go through here anything even remotely cushioned is considered as close to heaven as you can get. He seemed to enjoy my reaction, as his lips parted I saw the row of glistening white teeth that shone back. It was like a row of diamonds, only he seemed to have just a few too many.

“Now,” he began, “you’re probably wondering just what, and its no pun intended, the hell you’re doing here huh champ? Well, you see there a bit of a mix-up. Now, I see how wide your eyes got but no, I don’t mean that kind of mix up. Do you happen to remember when you first arrived here?” I jogged my mind for a second as he looked over the sheet I had just filled out. “Oh good! You really did fill it out,” He held the paper up excitedly for a moment with a grin, “and it’s actually legible! I was afraid you might have been one of the feral ones when you first walked in.”

“When I first got here,” I mumbled, “the gates were closed.”

He nearly gave me a heart attack as he banged his fist against the table. “Right! That explains it.” I watched as he rubbed his temples and let out a loud groan. “You’ll have to forgive that, we recently got a new wave of scribes out of the vaults who I swear can’t tell their sins from their transgressions. I swear if those damn centennials would just put down their new testaments and act like de-civilized people this place would run much smoother. You must remember family day?”

My heart seemed to ache as I recalled that frail woman. I hoped against all I knew that she was doing as close to okay as possible. After a moment of silence, I finally muttered yes.

“I’m sure you already know she wasn’t family.” He had closed his eyes, still rubbing his temples. “While you did have family here you were designated for a five-minute possession. I’m terribly sorry that you never received it, but better late than never huh? As we speak we are hunting for the absolute best candidate we can for you to enjoy your time on Earth.” With that, he smiled at me once more and patted my arm. “We’ll even double your time on us.”

I stared at him in utter disbelief. “Excuse me,” I said tentatively, “but if I have family here why am being allowed this? Shouldn’t I be able to see them?”

I think this was the first time his snake-like smile had flickered in ages. Although he was still flashing that row of diamond dentures I could see the hardness in his eyes. It felt like an eternity as we sat there in silence, his eyes were unmoving but I could still see the wheels turning inside his head.

“I see the vault didn’t dull you a bit.” He narrowed his eyes as he prepared to speak, “I’ll let you in on a secret, free of charge considering the... nature of the situation we find ourselves in. Family time? It’s all a trick. See everybody winds up here. Every single soul since the start of modern time has always found its way back here. With good reason too. I made sure of that. You see we only offer the possession to people with family who are too feral to use properly.” He had started pacing the room now, his brow furrowed and eyes tense. “We were going to reunite you with your long lost mother but the scribe in charge of her section had misprinted her details the year before. When he went to retrieve her he found her… let’s say... not having a good day. So rather than telling me, he decided to pull a fast one and bring out the woman from the next cell over, lovely missus Katia an absolute delight I might add, thinking no one would notice.” He stopped abruptly and turned to face me, “We noticed. Now, after cleaning up his rather large mess, we find ourselves in the present situation. I hope this helped clear things up.”

It did, but one small detail stuck out to me.

“You said everyone winds up here?” Sitting on edge now I drew I from strength I didn’t know I had left. “Is there… is there no heaven?”

Once again silence enveloped us. As his smile finally fell the ringing I had felt coming out of the vault was still there and seemed to accentuate his every move. Finally, he wagged his finger at me before turning his head and grinning.

“I like you!” He took a step towards me but stopped after he saw me flinch. Instead, he returned to his seat. “Nothing gets passed you does it? Maybe when you get back we can talk about becoming a scribe.” He let out a deep sigh as his eyes went misty. “Have you ever heard of my greatest trick?”

Now it was my turn to furrow my brow. “You mean making the world think you didn’t exist?”

With a clap of his hands and a reflexive startled jump from me, he broke into a laugh.

“Yes! That one.” He said still chuckling. “That wild misconception. You people were so close too! I didn’t need to make you think I didn’t exist, you were all so eager to do that yourselves. No. The greatest trick I ever pulled was making you think he would die for you. I mean think about it, the all-knowing all watching heavenly father who made you of dust and bone and kicked you out for what? Eating an apple that he made and placed almost a literal arms reach away from you? Then the same guy goes about killing your entire civilization almost twice over, except maybe one or two of you on a raft full of cat pee, because what? Because he didn’t like the way you boogied down in Babylon? And then the same-”

He was full-blown laughing now. Almost doubled over with delight at every word. Like it was a joke so funny he couldn’t even tell it without struggling to chuckle himself.

“-Then the same guy comes down and says ‘Hey! I love you now!’ and even you guys didn’t buy it! Well, I have to hand it to you there, he wasn’t the same guy. That little rascal was none other than yours truly. See while he was entitled to do whatever he wanted so was I. At least I was the day he threw me out of that nice little gated community. I just… well, I did it. He already hated you from the day you had eaten from the fruit of the loom, I just made it easier. I wrote that nice little self-help book and let the rest happen naturally. I didn’t expect the fame but it was a nice little surprise, although actually helping people became a bit annoying. I can see why he chose never to do it in the first place.”

He leaned in closer to me, I could see him salivating like a dog to a treat with every phrase. “I gave you guys clues! Why would an all-loving deity mess with a fig tree and terrorize a village with, you’ll love this, actual demons who killed their pigs? I thought for sure that gave me away. No, all you people were so desperate to be loved that you just let slide. Desperate for the love he never told you how to earn. When I was crucified I just went home and let you come to me.”

He sat back with the most satisfied expression I had ever seen. “That was the greatest trick I ever pulled.” As the door swung open and the awful creature came to view he smiled one last time. “I see your ride is here.”

As he led me out I realized the door didn’t lead back out into the waiting room like before, instead, it just led down a hallway to another door. When he opened it all that was there was a pitch-black room. I tensed and began to scream at the thought of my time in a similar pitch-black vault. All I saw were his coal-black eyes and sharp white teeth. All I heard before he pushed me in was his guttural voice as he whispered “I’ll see you soon.”

So here I am. I’m in the body of some D list movie star somewhere in New York, taking full advantage of what’s left of my two minutes and sixteen seconds after writing this. I can tell I’m in trouble, I feel the burning already. I hear the chains and feel the hooks digging in.

I just wanted you to know. I wanted you all to be ready. I’ve seen your name... and I’ll see you soon.


COMMENTS

-



 

06:46 Jun 17 2020
Times Read: 851


I recently moved into a beautiful flat on the outskirts of the city of London, the views were picturesque really and I was happy to be away from the countryside and be in a big, thriving city. I knew that the concrete jungle was for me as soon as I stepped foot inside the apartment. It was recently renovated so everything was clean, new and basically just what I needed.

The first few weeks were pretty uneventful and I was settling in well. The only bad thing I have to say about this building is that the walls are nightmarishly paper thin - I hear everything the neighbours are up to. But I guess I didn’t come here for peace and quiet.

One night though, I was in the bathroom, brushing my teeth and getting ready for my first day at my new job the next day when I saw something on the floor, tucked in between the bathtub and cupboard. It was quite hard to see at first and something that could have been easily mistaken to be part of the furniture. But I have keen, beady eyes so I noticed it straight away. When I pulled it out, I discovered that it was a tatty old journal. Leather-bound, worn, covered in mountains of dust and also, red stained. Not to sound mad or anything but it looked like the journal had been bled on. I was immediately intrigued, shit, I thought I’d stumbled onto a gold mine. I’m an ordinary guy, frankly quite boring so nothing like this ever happens to me. When do you ever have the chance to read someone else’s thoughts? Someone long gone. I’ve always thought that diary’s were the windows to the soul - you can find out a person’s deepest, darkest secrets. I completely appreciated the implications and the obvious invasion of privacy but shit, like I said, my life lacks excitement so I welcomed this.

How I wish I hadn’t found it because I have been unable to explain it. It had a single long entry, not dated unfortunately but I think it belonged to someone called Lucy.

ENTRY

The reverberation of the storm shakes the windows of my flat. I sit in darkness, silhouetted by my battery powered lava lamp, tears stream down my face. For the fifth time tonight, the fierce storm has cut the power in my 16-storey building. It has left me petrified, clinging to the one source of life and light that has been left for me by the tenacity of this unexpected thunderstorm.

The constant low rumble of the thunder grows louder and louder with each passing bout of lightning and I sit, as still as a dormouse clutching at my most treasured copy of The Snow Child. Praying silently and fervently that the assault of the skies would cease.

Finally, the patter of the rain and the incessant grumble of the thunder slowly subsides and I look up, noticing that the light bulb in my bedroom is beginning to throb with life. I let out a long awaited sigh of relief, stand up and throw my copy of The Snow Child onto my unmade bed, ruffling its already worn pages. I then make my way over to my kitchen, along my elongated, barely lit hallway. I really hate the stillness of the night; I hate the silence and the deadness of it. Living alone really frightens me.

On nights like this, I would normally invite a few friends over to alleviate the drag of the empty hours and the unsettling hush of the flat. But I am new to London and tonight, what few friends I had in the city had neglected to come to my rescue, perhaps they were repelled by the pleading and desperate tone that dogged my voice when I called.

That rejection makes me feel worse, it makes me feel all the more alone. And yet, I'm not alone, not quite. A fact that always makes my skin crawl a little. Strangers, on either side, above and below, surround me. The only thing that separates me from the unfamiliarity of these people are a few walls, walls that may as well be paper thin with the amount of noise that manages to trickle through. I hear the murmuring of their TV's and the thump of their steps. More often than not, I hear the taps being turned on, beds creaking and the onset of the occasional argument.

The emptiness of my life is daunting and at times too much to bear, so I like to sometimes, live vicariously through the many strangers that surround me. Despite my hating them with every fibre of my being. I hate the obliviousness with which they live their lives and I despise myself for not being able to live as frivolously as they do.

I sit in my kitchen with a cheap off brand beer in my hand, pondering and overthinking, which is my favourite pastime. Tonight, my mind wonders to my mother and my baby sister and what I could have done to prevent how things ended. I think of John too, and how much I despise him and his inability to ever comprehend how I was feeling which resulted in us eventually falling apart and the result of which meant that I had to move to this hell.

Most of all though, I think about how meaningless my life is. How I can never get the job I want and how strenuous it is for me to even enjoy or tolerate the motions of everyday life. I raise the bottle to my lips for the umpteenth time but when nothing touches my parched tongue, I realise that I had finished my beer without noticing. The lights flicker but the storm seems to be have abated for the moment so losing light fails to cross my somewhat intoxicated mind.

I get up and retrieve another bottle from the fridge and make my way into the living room, to collapse on the couch. I am eager to drown out the silence of the flat with a bleating TV but a sound makes me stop dead in my tracks.

Drip, drip, drip. I pause, listening intently. It is coming from the direction of the hall, though it is so startlingly loud that it feels as if it is dripping within my own head. In the deadness and soundlessness of my abode, the sound is deafening.

I suddenly become very aware of my gasping breaths and the smart watch that John got me for my 28th birthday a few years ago, indicates my accelerated heartbeat. *I just left the damn tap on, I scold myself, marvelling at the tightness with which my nerves are wound, that a tap could disturb me so thoroughly.*

With a shaky sigh, I make my way down the dark hallway toward the bathroom, and with a deft flick of a switch flood the small, grimy room with light. It is still and quiet, the taps dry.

Drip, drip, drip. My eyes shoot to the tiled wall, edged with black mould. It is coming from next door. I wonder why it disturbs me so and I perch on the edge of the bath, next to bottles of bubble bath, shampoo and a pale pink razor that I begin arranging in a neat line. A small, sudden sob from the adjoining wall makes my hand close around the razor and fills my veins with ice. I sit so very still, straining my ears. The dripping resumes.

After a few minutes, the noise of the tap is accompanied by a shuffling of feet and at first the steps are slow, calculated but after a while the steps hasten and turn into a loud confusing stumble. I frown, slowly releasing the razor and edge in closer. Then, the sound of the tapping grows even louder, the shuffling quickly turns into stomping and I think I hear limbs swiftly striking water. The sound of glass smashing against the wall is sudden and I even feel the shudder from the impact which makes me jump to my feet in disbelief. *What the hell? I think to myself, slowly backing away from the bathtub.*

The tapping noise continues and glass is being smashed against the wall over and over. It is overbearing, making my eyes water. I sink to the floor, clutching at my ears and just as quickly as it started, the sounds cease and complete silence fills my ears once more. A soft whimper escapes my lips and I quickly crawl back to my living room, take an eager swig of my beer and cover my face with my hands.



The rumbling of the thunder slowly brings me back from unconsciousness, I feel groggy and deem that last beer I had, a mistake. I stand up slowly, wiping the dried drool from the corners of my mouth and rub my tired eyes. My mouth is as dry as a desert and I yearn for a glass of water. I hesitate going back into the bathroom, wanting to avoid it so I make my way back into the kitchen.

It was then that I heard the faint dripping noise again coming from within my bathroom and this time, it is much clearer. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and turn around. The hallway is shrouded in complete darkness and the only source of light that I can see, is coming from the bathroom. *I must have left the light on, I think. I walk towards it quickly and I feel ridiculous for allowing such ordinary and abstract sounds to unnerve me so much. When I get outside, I slowly creep in.*

It sounds like it's coming from beyond the wall again, next to my bathtub. The same dripping noise that I had heard a few hours before, the same faint but audible sound that is impossible to ignore. Then the dripping ceases and is replaced with a ferocious streaming of water. I am intent on ignoring the sounds, I know that they couldn't possibly get any stranger and I am about to turn off the light when suddenly I hear heavy sobbing.

The cries are harrowing and slowly begin to grow in volume and suddenly my ears are assaulted by a disturbing and blood-curdling scream. I rush to my phone and dial 999 but instead of hearing the friendly voice of an operator, all I hear is static and a crackling tone.

I feel panic surge through me but I think that perhaps the failure of the connection has something to do with the storm. I replaced the handset and decided to try again. This time, however, amidst the static, I hear a familiar voice. It is John.

‘Lucy, are you okay?'

‘Lucy?'

Before I can answer, John's voice fades away and is replaced by a deafening crackling tone that forces me to slam the phone down. The sobbing and crying continues, I am petrified so I walk over to my kitchen draw and retrieve a knife. I stand in front of my front door, listening to the incessant cries, fighting the overwhelming feeling to intervene. I hesitate, knife in hand and I am just about to turn around when I hear a piercing scream, a scream that grows in volume and continues on for what seems like an eternity.

I open my front door and it suddenly stops, just like that. I begin walking toward the flat next door, and I realise that the front door is ajar. I take a step forward, toward the open door, placing my hand on the wall in order to steady myself. The light from the corridor brightens the hallway of the flat and I recognise the layout to be identical to mine, almost to the detail.

I am hesitant to enter but the remnants of the woman's screams compel me to continue and I slowly make my way inside. I move toward the bathroom. Amidst the darkness and the eerie silence, I begin to feel uncertain about anyone actually living here. The flat is empty and devoid of life, to me it oozes hollowness and death. Scared, I stop and take several steps back, wanting to leave. Then, I hear a whimper, a quiet sobbing emanating from the bathroom ahead, prompting me to once again, continue on.

I pass a few rooms on the way, all barren. I begin to feel even more frightened but feel compelled to continue on into the bathroom, searching for the answers that I know reside in there. The darkness follows me until I am outside the bathroom. With a shaking hand, I fumble along the wall until I find the switch and with my heart in my mouth, flick it on. It is empty. The smooth, white tiled floor chills the soles of my feet as I realise that I am barefoot. The bathtub glistens and stands untouched, the taps remain unturned.

I walk in and stand in the middle of the room, unable to comprehend the mayhem that plagues my mind. Then, I hear a sound, a sound that struck a terror deep within my heart. It is coming from beyond the wall, next to the bathtub. The noise is a dripping, the sound of a tap that someone failed to turn all the way off. Then amidst the noise of the droplets, I hear a faint sobbing. The sounds are coming from the bathroom in my own home.

At that moment, a deep fatigue floods my body and all my muscles go slack. The knife falls to the floor with a loud clatter and I sway on my feet. I glance at it on the white tiled floor. It glistens with blood. I raise my hands and I am struck by the blood that cakes the sleeves of my sweatshirt, the colour a menacing deep read. Darkness is beginning to creep at the corners of my vision, the light dances in my eyes. With what strength I have left, I scream. A deep guttural sound escapes my mouth, like that of a perishing coyote. I fall to the ground. The last thing I see is a woman who looks just like me, standing in the doorway of the bathroom. She is smiling.

END ENTRY

So yeah, I found this journal and its been haunting me. I thought this would be a good place to post it just in case, maybe, someone else can make sense of it. It’s left me petrified though and I swear, the last few nights I’ve been hearing peculiar and disturbing noises.

I keep hearing the sounds of a tap, a tap that someone had failed to turn all the way off. I think it’s time to move.


COMMENTS

-



 

01:15 Jun 16 2020
Times Read: 867


Darkness falls, my eyes are heavy,
reality fades, my mind adrift.
A sudden sound, what is that?
Can it be the hooves of a horse.
The sound so clear, its rhythm
matches the beating of my heart,
faster then slower.

From the fog of sleep I sense
the movement, slow at first, then quick.
Its shape is vague but then more clear.
A horse and rider is there but not there.
A vivid image without substance,
real, yet transparent.

The rider faceless yet his eyes
burn into my soul. Mouthless yet
his words strike fear in my heart.
I try to wake but I’m frozen with fear.
“It’s time” says the rider. I look away,
hoping to wake.

My racing heart screams, my body
writhes in pain, I call on hope to
take me away. Again I hear “it’s time”.
I cry out for life, I cry out for love.
The fog clears, the rider fades.
Once again I’m saved by the rising sun.


COMMENTS

-



 

15:56 Jun 15 2020
Times Read: 877


I shared his same disdain for life. I understand why he decided to hang himself. I didn’t want him to go, but I understood his lack of hope. We were best friends since sophomore year of high school and he’s been there for me through all the bullying and hardships I experienced at home.

We felt like prisoners in this small town I was raised in, there’s a high school with a few small businesses surrounded by old houses and apartments. The only church building down the road had been abandoned years ago, which didn’t help form a sense of “community”. People keep to themselves here, and they’re especially unwelcoming to newcomers.

When Nathan moved here from Milwaukee, I could tell it was nothing like the city life he grew up in. We met at lunch one day when I noticed him sitting alone like I usually did.

We decided to be roommates when we turned 18, not that we had much of a choice. Our parents kicked us out on the streets as soon as they legally could. We were smart though, and saved up enough working minimum wage at part time jobs while going to school to afford a dilapidated apartment in the middle of this nowhere town in Wisconsin. Without a car, we were very limited in terms of job opportunities. The few factories in this small village stopped hiring after the covid outbreak, leaving us with Taco Bell or Subway.

I came back home after walking three miles from work one day, I had tried sprinting most of the way. I don’t like walking slowly for miles when it’s nearly pitch black. I always had this irrational feeling that something was chasing me. My legs felt like they were going to collapse as I walked up my apartment’s old wooden stairs.

I opened the door to see my best friend hanging from the ceiling fan.

I must have been frozen in shock with my mouth opened for several minutes before calling the police. I knew he was depressed, but he never told me anything about actually taking his life. Seeing his lifeless corpse disturbed me deeply.

He didn’t leave a note.

After I had answered questions at the police station, they offered me resources to get counseling. I had a list of therapists I could contact, and they wanted to have a social worker check up on me every week to make sure I was safe.

The loneliness had overwhelmed me after the second night I had to spend alone. Without any supportive family or high school friends, it was really just me sitting there remembering Nathan. I played YouTube podcasts and videos to hear someone’s voice, but it wasn’t Nathan. It was me sitting in a mostly emptied apartment, staring at a screen making noises.

I sometimes would talk with my coworkers that were mostly girls with boyfriends, and this one dude named Ryan that was always making jokes and slacking off on his phone. That wasn’t the same companionship that I had with Nathan.

People need real human connections that matter, not just “Hey how are you”, “good”. We should all feel like we matter, like other people care about our existence beyond some menial job making fast food. The need for people to feel like they belong almost rivals our basic needs for food and water.

Something strange happened on the fifth night after Nathan died.

I was eating dinner in the living room while watching YouTube as I normally do after coming home from work. It must have been around 9:30pm when I started hearing the front door handle shaking as if someone was trying to open it.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

I stood up slowly and approached the door. As soon as I took one step forward, the handle stopped moving.

I looked out the peephole, seeing nothing on the narrow outside porch leading to the staircase that was illuminated by one lamp attached to the wall. The darkness had engulfed my apartment, there wasn’t any streetlights. My apartment was several miles away from the main village, and I didn’t have any neighbors living downstairs.

I unlocked and opened the door. A shiver rolled down my spine.

A noose was placed on my door handle.

“Oh that’s so funny Ryan, you came all the way over here for a stupid joke?!”

I yelled, while looking down the stairs. I couldn’t see anything or hear anyone, I figured he quickly ran away. I threw the noose off to the side of the porch and went back inside.

I asked Ryan about what happened the next day at work. He said that he didn’t know where I lived and gave me a weird look. I kept thinking about what happened, and who might have pulled that little prank on me. I couldn’t think of anyone that knew where I lived, which made me especially uneasy.

A few days after that, I was on the phone with my therapist at around 11pm. I wouldn’t normally have called him that late, but I started feeling extremely anxious during the night after what happened. We talked for about thirty minutes before my phone started ringing.

“Hey I appreciate you talking to me tonight, I feel much more relaxed now. I’m probably overthinking everything like you said. I’m sorry I called you so late. Someone else is calling me though so I’ll let you get some sleep”

“Oh you’re welcome Robert, take it easy and try not to worry so much. Get some rest, you’ve been through a lot this past week. Call me back anytime if you feel like you’re about to have panic attack”

“Thanks again. Have a good night Doctor”

I ended the call, and I saw the person calling me was listed as “unknown”.

I pressed accept.

“Hello? Who’s this?”

After a few seconds of silence, a raspy voice replied.

“Come with me”

“What?!”

The call was ended. A loud pounding noise came from my front door. I jumped out of my bed and turned on the lights. I hesitated before walking to the door, feeling panicked. The loud knocking continued as I approached it. I looked through the peephole.

A gray eyeball with a small black pupil stared back at me.

I jumped back so fast I fell to the floor. I scrambled back to my room to call the police. The knocking stopped as soon as I picked up the phone.

I explained what happened to the dispatcher and went to look through the peephole again. Nobody was there.

When I heard the police sirens I opened the door. The noose was placed back on the handle.

After I explained what happened tonight and a few nights before, the officer suggested that I buy a security camera for my patio to identify who it was next time something happens. He said he would take the rope tied into a noose for evidence.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I went online to find a security camera, and found one with good reviews that shipped quickly with amazon prime. It was a small Ring brand camera that you could easily attach to the wall.

I spent the next two nights worrying and sleep deprived. My package arrived, and I set up my camera above the door to get the best view of the porch and stairs. I downloaded the ring app and connected it to the camera. I kept my Ring app opened all night, even when I was sleeping. I saw nothing for a couple days.

I woke up one night to get some water. I filled up my glass in the kitchen and walked back to my room. The digital clock on my nightstand read 2:35am. I slid myself in my blankets, closed my eyes, and turned on my side.

My phone vibrated. My camera detected movement. I reached over to see what it was.

Nothing was there. I jumped out of bed and quickly got threw on my jeans and a shirt. I grabbed a knife from my kitchen drawer.

I walked slowly to the door with my hand cocked back with the knife. I checked my phone again instead of the peephole.

Nathan stood in the center of the porch. His neck was broken, leaving his head hanging down next to his right shoulder. His eyes no longer had color, and his patchy hair looked like most of it had fallen off. His skin looked pale. He was wearing the same clothes the night he died, except they were mostly ripped apart and covered in dirt. He held a noose in his left hand.

“Nathan, is that really you?! How are you still alive?! Are you okay?!”

I yelled out as I was shaking. My heart felt like it was almost beating out of my chest. He walked slowly to the door and grabbed the ring camera off the wall. My Ring app started freezing, and said “connection error” before crashing.

He started banging on my door, this time was much harder than before. I could see the nails on the door frame slowly come out as he smashed the door in.

“Nathan stop! What do you want from me?!” I cried out. I slid the knife in my right jean pocket and scrambled to my room as I heard my front door being smashed in. I locked my bedroom door and tried prying open my window that was painted shut. I couldn’t get it to budge with all my force.

I heard footsteps approaching my bedroom. I panicked trying to think of a way out, and began smashing the window with my bare hands. It was an old window that was designed with eight glass panels separated in squares by thin wooden strips. The glass broke easily and shards stuck into my left hand as the blood spilled down my forearm. I broke my right hand busting in the wooden strips.

I heard two loud pounds before my bedroom door swung wide open on the third. I put my legs through the window first and tried pushing myself out with my arms through the remaining glass and wood. I was just about to fall when I felt him grab my left arm. I was dangling off the side of the building.

He pulled me up and tied the noose around my neck.

“Stop! Nathan don’t -

He dropped me while he held on to the end of the rope. I was suffocating as I tried to loosen the rope around my neck with my left hand. It wasn’t working. I choked and gasped for air as my vision started slowly fading into darkness.

I had suddenly remembered the kitchen knife I slid in my jean pocket. My right hand couldn’t move, so I grabbed it with my left. The glass that was stuck in my hand felt excruciating as I tightly grasped the knife and began cutting the rope behind me.

Thank God that I had grabbed a sharp knife. I fell down and twisted my ankle as I hit the grass. I swiftly picked myself up and began limping across the yard. I looked back at the broken window to see what used to be my best friend staring at me.

There was a corn field in the distance that I could just barely see in the moonlight. I figured going there was my best chance of survival because I couldn’t run. I hobbled all the way there and dived into the corn stocks. I kept going until I was completely exhausted and then sat down.

I could hear Nathan’s movement through the corn field in the distance. As I heard the noises get louder I laid flat on the ground, feeling absolutely terrified. I felt the bugs crawling over my skin as I tried to breath quietly and quit shaking. He must have only been a few yards away from me before I heard his movement fading away in the distance.

I was too afraid to get up and move again. I reached for my phone to call the police, but I dropped it while I was panicking in my apartment. I spent the rest of my night laying in the corn field, looking at stars above me.

When daylight came, I limped through the corn field until I found a barn with cows roaming around the fenced in area. Next to the barn there was a large house with a truck parked in the driveway.

I rang the doorbell and was greeted by a tall woman wearing pajamas. She looked at my wounds with a concerned look and asked what happened to me.

I explained my situation, and although I could tell that It sounded crazy she kindly offered to take me to the nearest hospital which was in another town north of us. I called the police using her phone. They told me that they classified what happened as a breaking and entering case after investigating my apartment. They found my smartphone and returned it to me at the hospital, but they said no Ring camera footage was saved on the app. They didn’t believe me when I told them it looked like Nathan.

“I understand you just lost your best friend, but there’s no way this assault and attempted robbery could have involved Nathan. He’s dead Robert, he’s not coming back. I’m so sorry for your loss”

No matter how many times I told them it was Nathan, they just looked at me like I was crazy.

The friendly farm lady offered me a place to stay for a while in her guest room after they’re done patching me up at this hospital. My right arm is in a cast and my left hand is bandaged heavily, my fingers are barely able to type this story on my phone.

I don’t know what to do. I have no home to go back to in a few weeks and I still don’t feel safe in that farm ladies house with undead Nathan still lurking around nearby. They probably own guns, but I don’t know if that will be enough to stop him.


COMMENTS

-



 

07:31 Jun 15 2020
Times Read: 900


My grandmother was always very religious and superstitious. My mom even told me that she practiced voodoo when she was younger, but my grandmother never told me that herself.

One thing my grandma always told me was that she hated mirrors, but not just any mirror. Mirrors were safe as long as they weren't paired with another. If two mirrors faced each other, an "overlap" could happen. I never really understood what she meant by that, but I assumed she was crazy and senile.

When I was 28 I bought my first house, and moved in with my girlfriend and her dog. We had two bathrooms, one on the first floor and one on the second floor. As soon I stepped into the second floor bathroom for the first time, I felt a shiver down my spine. After all those crazy stories my grandma told me when I was a kid, I had developed a slight uneasy feeling about mirrors. This wasn't just any mirror though. There was a large mirror in front of the bathroom sink, and a rectangularly shaped mirror on the other side of the room too. They faced each other, and reflected each other. When I looked into the big mirror in front of the sink, I could see the back of my body when looking into the reflection of the rectangular shaped mirror on the other side of the room. Even though I felt childish as hell, I thought that was kind of creepy and left the bathroom in a hurry.

Just as I was about to open the door and get out, I saw something weird. In the corner of the mirror I saw what I thought looked like my hand, even though there was no possible way for it to be reflected all the way over there. It looked completely motionless and I couldn't see the rest of the body that it was attached to. Just as I was about to freak out completely, I heard my girlfriend calling out my name downstairs. I turned back to the mirror and my hand was gone.

I had trouble sleeping the following night. I woke up and heard a crunching sound from the first floor. My girlfriend wasn't in my room and I called out her name, and got no respond. The crunching sound continued. I put on my robe and went downstairs. Even though it was 4AM and in the middle of June, it was still dark outside.

The crunching sound came from the kitchen. I followed the sound and saw my girlfriend sitting on the floor, hunched forward. She was eating our dog, with a slight grin on her face. She was wearing a kind of old school nightgown I had never seen her wearing before. I stood there frozen in shock and disbelief for a couple of seconds before taking a few steps backwards. She suddenly turned her head around 180 degrees as if she had no neck, and looked at me with an offended expression on her face. That was when I woke up and realized I had dreamt the whole thing. I was sweating and felt kind of nauseous. I looked at my watch and noticed that it was 4AM, even though it still was dark outside. That was when I heard a crunching sound from the first floor and noticed that my girlfriend wasn't laying next to me.


COMMENTS

-



 

09:50 Jun 14 2020
Times Read: 921


Starved like a vampire chasing a vein
Cruel disposition, sickness I crave
Attention, attention, welcome to the stage
Your new sacrifice, come sharpen your teeth.


COMMENTS

-



BloodRoseX
BloodRoseX
14:10 Jun 14 2020

Ouch. I tried filing my teeth as a kid, so that I could have fangs. It hurt.





 

07:41 Jun 14 2020
Times Read: 931


I am cold like December snow
I have carved out this soul made of stone
And I will drag you down and sell you out
Embraced by the darkness, I'm losing the light
Encircled by demons, I fight.


COMMENTS

-



 

06:16 Jun 14 2020
Times Read: 934


Killing me, it's killing me.
No, now it's killing you.
I tried so hard;
And just as long,
This aching breaking through.

Sinking in, it's sickening,
I tried to shut my mind.
Slithering, so slippery,
The black behind my eyes.

Resisted urge, a life to purge;
To see the light grow dim.
Vacated eyes, a quiet mind,
Blue and purple skin.

A void so cold, a hollow whole;
Abyss filled to the hilt.
I'm too filled up, exquisite fuck,
Beyond the raging guilt.

Break some ground; flesh by the pound,
So earth is mounded high.
I place you in, perverted sin,
Inter you deep inside.

A twisted love, beloved one,
Condemned, I cannot lie.
You are my crypt,
Your life's been stripped,
Now you've been sanctified.


COMMENTS

-



 

23:06 Jun 13 2020
Times Read: 941


In case you aren't familiar with the term Lucid dreaming, it is the state where the dreamer is aware of the fact that they are dreaming and can control the things that happen to them in it. I don't exactly know how but i learnt how to do this as a kid, even before i knew what i was doing. It was only a year or two ago that i came to know about the term 'lucid dreaming' from the YouTuber, Hailey Reese. This YouTuber had also made a video about astral projection. Astral projection is basically an 'out of body' experience where your soul leaves your body.

I, am someone who is greatly fascinated by such theories. Well, even a skeptic would find the idea of one's soul being able to allegedly leave it's body quite intriguing.

I had no real plan of trying it but i still google it. Read the first to lines and got bored. Right after, i opened pinterest, and the first post is a guide to astral projection. I stupidly took that as a sign that I had to try it. In hindsight, it was probably google selling my information.

I would attach the image cause i can still probably find it on pinterest if i searched but i don't a curious person reading this to go try it out. And i know that you can just google it yourself but i ask you to first read my experience completely before you go and do something you might possibly regret.

I can't tell you much of this story without giving out at least little bit of the procedure. I had to turn of the lights and lie in a meditative state. I'm not going to lie to you and say that it worked at once. It didn't. It didn't work on the first day and i pretty much gave up and was convinced that it was all fake.

This, was until a couple of months ago. Back in March when the quarantine first started, i found myself unable to sleep one night. once again, I'm not going to lie to you and say that i did this intentionally. i didn't. I was lying down facing the ceiling and I could hear the sound of the fan. How I wish I could go back in time and wake myself up. But I go into this trance like state. I then remember this tingling sensation that started from my chest but then took over my whole body. I remember being pushed upwards towards the ceiling.

At this point I wasn't necessarily scared. I don't remember what i felt. I do remember opening my eyes. and I do remember looking down and staring at my own sleeping body. For the third time, I don't want to lie to you, I don't remember what i was thinking or feeling, for that matter i don't know if I was thinking or feeling anything at all.

What I do remember though is what i saw next. There was a man. To be honest, I don't know how i know that it was a man. It was just a dark figure standing over my unconscious body. I don't know what it was doing. It was just standing there. I don't know why I chose to do nothing and just watch.

This, was until it reached out it's hand or at least what looked like it's hand and touched my cheek, almost lovingly. I still don't know what to think of it. But right after this happened, it's almost like i blacked out. I think it's cause i wasn't able to feel anything for so long but the emotions came rushing in all together. I remember feeling fear. That is all i remember from that night. Fear.


COMMENTS

-



 

17:11 Jun 13 2020
Times Read: 946


It all happened so quickly
The rope around my neck
The grip so tight
My struggle and fight
But the rope was fixed upon my neck
I heard them laugh
I saw their stares
I suddenly felt no fight

My arms felt limp
And the air was thin
and all I could sense
Was the rope around my neck
I started to feel light as a feather
The laughter was so far away
I felt an inner dripping
Of serenity on its ways
A darkness was coming

And all the leaves fell
The thickness and the roughness
Of the rope around my neck
I felt a rush of light
A panic surge around
The rope was gone
I choked and spluttered
The laughing stopped
The fear upon their faces
One girl asks "but are you okay"
My heart was so empty
I felt something so free

"why did you stop"
Is all I could say with some glee
Their fear and their panic
As they realised I liked
The rope around my neck.


COMMENTS

-



VuidaNegra
VuidaNegra
06:16 Jun 14 2020

This has struck a chord in me...





MrCrowly
MrCrowly
06:18 Jun 14 2020

Thoughts and deep emotions pour out.





 

08:07 Jun 13 2020
Times Read: 965


I've heard enough
I've heard enough to know
Who talks the talk, who walks the walk
And who's for fucking show
I know it hurts, I know it cuts
That I'm still standing
I'm everything you're fucking not


COMMENTS

-



 

07:23 Jun 13 2020
Times Read: 968


Fulsere ignes et sacris cantibus enuntiantur
Quae incipit clamare manuum caelo
Noctem ignes brennyng
Iam inceperat iniquis eripe me, satanas opus est scriptor


COMMENTS

-



 

00:04 Jun 13 2020
Times Read: 977


Sea air.

It’s idyllic. People crave it. To live beside the seaside is considered a privilege, some sort of picturesque life that those living in cities can only dream of. That’s the sort of thing they told me, my friends online.

The part of growing up by the sea that others don’t tell you about, or for the most part even consider, is the loneliness. The pool of friends and love interests is that much smaller, especially in the tiny ocean towns. Its what drove me to a life of lurking the darkest corners of the internet, trying to satiate my need for some kind of human connection.

I’m a horror fan. I’ve spent hours lurking this sub and a million other dark and interesting forums on the web. I won’t name the place I found my friends; I wouldn’t want others to go digging and end up in the sort of predicament I find myself in. After all, I’m sure most of you are just like me, merely looking for a scare before bed and someone to talk to.

The friends that I made online were hard core, obsessed with urban legends, unsolved mysteries and finding the real scariest shit that’s been posted online. I suppose I was no different, not at first anyway. I revelled in the grainy video footage and my favourites were the tales that you couldn’t quite disprove.

I wasn’t alarmed about the obsessive direction my friends were taking until a guy with the username loiterswithintent started posting to the forum, he got involved in the discord and became a big player amongst the group. He claimed to have spent years proving urban legends real. As sceptical as the group could be, we all desperately wanted proof. For even one of the mysteries that we had obsessed over to be real would’ve vindicated all the hours we spent discussing them.

Loiterswithintent was the kind of guy that no one wanted to admit they were a little scared of. Whilst the others were sharing memes and jonbenet theories, he was sending us freaky videos from the depths of the web, with gore and jumps that looked perfectly realistic. When he sent us instructions to access one of the websites for a video I knew that it had to be some deep web shit.

It didn’t squash my curiosity. I’d always been fascinated by the idea of surfing the deep web, browsing the dark and mysterious corners of the internet to my hearts content. It had some type of sick allure, and I’d often found myself looking for “worst things people have seen on the dark net” threads over the years.

I followed the instructions to the letter and was met with a mostly black webpage, with a tiny video box in the middle. In red letters, above the extra small video box were the words A birth of a legend. I wondered if loiterswithintent had made it himself, in some poor attempt to scare us all. I wasn’t very technological, I had only been able to access the website with instruction so I had no idea how difficult or easy that might be.

I pressed play and the first thing I was confronted with was a beautiful girl. Man, she looked terrified, but she was so stunning. Long, wavy dark hair and deep brown eyes lured me in, but the terror that glazed them made me feel wholly uncomfortable. If the girl was acting, then she deserved an academy award before she ever said a word. The cameraman backed up a bit and I could see that the girl was stood on an unfamiliar, empty, beach.

“RUN BITCH.” Came a voice from behind the camera, a mocking and gloating man.

“Please, it hurts so bad.” The girl replied, voice cracking as she spoke directly into his camera. “If anyone’s watching, please help me.”

She wore a tattered white dress, the sort of dress a girl like that would wear to a fancy party, but it looked like she had been away from the party for quite some time. There were rips, exposing bruises that covered her whole, beautiful body. My heart broke as she attempted to run across the sand, tripping and stumbling as the cameraman laughed and mocked her.

The beach in the video was huge, a vast expanse with so sign of reaching a town or land. As the camera panned round I could see that the sand stretched for miles. If the guy wanted to hurt her, then she had no chance of escaping, he was allowing her a head start purely for his own amusement. The sick fuck.

Discord notifications pinged my phone on the desk as the others made their way through the video.

WTF man.

What is this loiters? Is this shit real.

HA! Nice try, but that’s DEFINITELY fake!!

I remained fixated on the video, the girl trying to run and hide in the open landscape, with a choice between miles of sand or the thick barrier of rock pools that met the water. It was no choice at all really. In her position I probably would’ve just laid down and accepted my fate. The camera turned around to face the cameraman, fully clad in a balaclava. He lifted the mask just enough so that the viewers could see his ravenous smile.

“Well done to the highest bidder. This is for you.”

He walked towards the girl, his steps making a lot more progress than her frantic, panicked running. He wigged a screwdriver in front of the camera as he approached her and she fell to the ground. Watching the video from the cameraman’s POV felt voyeuristic. Like it was me standing above the poor woman with a weapon. Like I’d taken her there. I winced hard as he bought the screwdriver down with force and plunged it into her leg.. then her arm... then her other leg.

He hit every non deadly area possible before finally sticking it deep into her eye, hovering as it forced its way out of the socket like jelly and the tip of the metal implement presumably reached her brain. He dragged and threw her body into a deep rock pool and turned the camera to face him one more time, balaclava still rolled up above his mouth.

“I hope you bottom feeders liked that. Time for some real bottom feeders to enjoy her now.” He laughed evilly, relishing what he’d done.

I felt tears roll down my cheeks. It was too realistic. I felt responsible for not saving her, for her death... for making my way through an entire snuff film. I felt dirty.

Then the video took a turn. The smile turned to an expression of shock before the killer dropped the camera. Sounds of screaming overtook and I could hear my discord notifications going wild, but I didn’t stop to check them, I couldn’t tear myself away from the screen. The screaming ended promptly and the camera shook as it was lifted to focus on the body of the cameraman, still clad in his balaclava, but now lying face up on the rock pools.

I wish I could say he suffered like the girl did, but he was certainly dead. Most alarmingly, his entire face was covered with small, baby crabs, nipping away at chunks of mask, flesh and then raw skin. I felt sick; fought back the bile and pushed my computer chair about a foot back from the screen. The camera turned around once more to face the new videographer.

She was Just as beautiful as before, despite her dark waves being a little distressed. Parts of her squished eye were smeared around the socket and inside it were more of the tiny little crabs. They weren’t consuming her the same way as they were her killer, just decorating her face. She smiled a wide, unnatural smile and spoke.

“You should’ve tried to help me, instead you just watched. I’ll see you soon.”

Then it went black.

I tried to steady myself a little. I’d seen what probably amounted to thousands of creepy and dark videos on the web but never anything like that, everything I’d seen before still had a grain of scepticism about it, but something about what I’d just seen had felt so real. I wondered if it had been a live feed; if it had was she really addressing me? It felt like she had.

I lifted my phone to check the notifications, see what the others were saying about it. There were a ton of messages, mostly expressing pure shock and confusion, quite a few insisting it couldn’t be real. The only one that stood out to me was a single message from loiterswithintent.

This video was part of a livestream on the deep web as the result of an auction held by a hitman. The winning bidder chose the girl from the party and the murder weapon. Rumours on those forums state that every viewer of the original stream found themselves drawn to the beach and disappeared mysteriously not long after watching. I never clicked play. But I knew you fuckers would. Prove it real friends. Beware the Crab Woman.

His message had made most of them laugh. They couldn’t get over the ridiculousness of the crab woman, and in all honesty, every single one of us were desensitised to that shit; some more than others. Monsters and creature features were something of a joke in our community, a sub genre to be mocked. A few of them even praised the video’s production values, asking if loiters had any more, but hours passed and no new message from him appeared.

I didn’t say anything else either, something about the video made everything we were interested in seem dirty, sinister somehow. I couldn’t get that beautiful girl out of my mind, the sheer terror in her eyes at the start. Even if it was fake, those eyes would haunt my dreams. I thought about what loiters had said too, and to be honest, living by the sea made me nervous.

As far as I knew none of my other anonymous friends lived this close to the ocean. They could joke about an urban legend that suggested they would end up on a beach dead without any real consequence. I was creeped out and for me, it was a little close to home. So I did what I could to push it out of my mind.

I spent a few days watching disney movies and browsing much fluffier places on the internet. I muted my discord notifications, I didn’t want to talk about creepy shit for a while. It encouraged me to get out and I started to take daily runs, attempting to improve my fitness in the hope I could maybe make some in real life friends.

Thankfully, it worked. It had been weeks since I’d thought about the girl, the man in the balaclava and the hoard of tiny crabs that ate them both. loiterswithintent and his freaky message had been all but forgotten until a few hours ago.

I left for my run today just like always, I ran along the clifftop and past the bandstand. I don’t know at what point I climbed down the stairs to the beach but I did. I found myself there, exhausted.

I did what any human does and I tried to rationalise it in my head. The beach didn’t look like the one in the video; it wasn’t a vast expanse and there were other people on it, there were steps to the left and a slope to the right. I convinced myself that my forgotten journey was my mind playing tricks on me. The video had bothered me so much that I’d ended up at the beach as some sort of sick subconscious joke.

That’s when I started typing this out. I thought maybe if I processed what I saw then I would be able to get over it. It was therapeutic at first, sitting here in the sea air typing out my experience, cathartic even.

But the last time l looked up I realised that something was seriously wrong. There aren’t any steps to the left anymore, or slope to the right. The clifftop has all but disappeared and all I can see for miles is sand. The people have gone too, all but one that is. I’m sure I can see a girl sitting on the rock pools.


COMMENTS

-



 

09:33 Jun 12 2020
Times Read: 995


They say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions
Why did they never mention what's real and in between?
It seems the path we're on was paved with blood and sorrow
No thought about tomorrow
Just part of the machine or so it seems.


COMMENTS

-



 

21:43 Jun 11 2020
Times Read: 1,014


Today dressed in grey
like an ancient tombstone lying over me
I see
all my suicide notes, lined up neatly,
are but love letters to death
a longing to go home
but I can't make it happen
I'm trapped in a trap and
fear is a leash
pull - it will tighten


A rotting palm silences
an outlandish vibe embraces
"If you're not going to do it
don't whine, child..."
I know something died inside of me
that day
when I tripped and broke my heart
against the sharp rocks on the beach
Love was dead and death... not yet.
I have been a ghost since...


Enjoying the little things...
I gaze up at the pine trees
surrounding me like sickly needles
And I watch the sea at night
While I'm hiding in my dreams
All by myself, there is no one out there
who quite gets the mechanisms
of our kind...
We each have our own brand
of insanity
and I can't find anyone
quite like me.


COMMENTS

-



BloodRoseX
BloodRoseX
10:24 Jun 12 2020

I have been writing vampiric love poems to my boyfriend. I just hope he doesn't think I'm a psycho bitch. :/

By the way, I don't think there is anyone quite like you....





 

18:06 Jun 09 2020
Times Read: 1,042


My uncle Warren worked for my town's police department for 16 years. It's a small town, and it never had that much serious crime in it aside from the meth trade, so he doesn't really have very many crazy stories. One time he stopped a break-in, this other time he showed up to a domestic spat that turned into a brawl. But nothing really sensational or scary happened to him during his time wearing a badge.

Except for that one thing that made him quit the force. Warren wasn't fond of telling anyone what happened, he didn't even tell his wife Janet much. So we sort of dropped the issue and assumed he was just sick of it all, sick of the crappy pay, sick of the tweakers...

That is, until a week ago when he called me up wanting to talk about it. At first I had forgotten all about the incident until he mentioned he wanted to talk about why he quit the Police Force, then all those memories of him being so quiet about the whole thing came back. I asked Warren what got him to change his mind and he simply said.

"If I don't tell somebody, I'm going to lose my mind. But you gotta promise you won't tell Janet."

Fine, I said. I won't tell Janet. And as far as I'm concerned, I'm still honoring my uncle's wishes because Janet doesn't browse this site. So we worked out a time and place to meet, he'd bring a six-pack and I'd take notes. Curious how he didn't want his own wife to find out yet he wanted this shit written down for posterity.

I'm not judging him, I'm sure he has his reasons... I just think it's weird.

We met at a motel outside of town. It wasn't a nasty place but it had seen better days, with the vinyl siding faded from the sun and the pavement cracked. He checked into his room, the lady at the counter disinterestedly thumbing through an old issue of Field and Stream as he payed for three days in cash. The room itself was pretty shabby; dusty beige carpet and a small single bed that smelt of cigarette smoke from its red and white striped sheets down to the mattress.

Warren closed the door behind us, then locked it. With a haunted frown on his face, he asked me if I knew why he checked into the motel.

I didn't say anything.

He said: "It's because I gotta get out of this town for a while. It just feels wrong here, y'know?"

"What do you mean?" I said, and he sighed and sat down on the mattress, prompting a soft creak from the worn bed springs.

"I don't know how much you know about this, but weird shit's been happening more often every year. People seeing things, kids turning up missing in the woods. Whole place feels wrong." As he talked, Warren ran a hand through his thinning hair. I mostly just remained silent, letting him continue.

"So you want to know why I quit the force? Do you remember the Baileys?"

It took me a minute to pick up what he was setting down.

"Oh shit, the family that died?"

Warren nodded, taking the first beer from the six pack and cracking it open. "Yep... officially their deaths were ruled as suicide but..." He took a long drink from the can and set it down on the nightstand, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his black jacket. "But I don't believe that's what happened."

And so he told me the story:

---

Joseph and Sarah Bailey moved to our town in 1992. Their son Martin was just an infant at the time, and their daughter Hillary was only four. Joseph worked real estate and Sarah was a stay at home mom, and they seemed like a perfectly normal, happy family at first. That changed in May of 2002, when both Martin and Hillary were found dead in the woods. Apparently the family was on a picnic and Martin had wandered off and fallen in, then Hillary ran off after him. They were missing for a week before they were found dead from exposure some two miles off from where they had gotten lost.

We questioned both of them, and they were absolutely gutted by what happened. Sarah was a total mess, blaming herself for everything while Joseph kept reminding her it was an accident, that it was his fault. Even when everyone knew it was just a tragic accident, they still acted like they had straight up murdered their kids. It was horrible, but there was nothing anyone could do.

The funeral came and went and after a while, Joseph and Sarah seemed to have adjusted. A parent never really 'gets over' the death of a child, but it looked like the Baileys were managing their grief well enough. Though there was the usual pub talk of Joseph talking to psychics and Sarah looking up weird books but most of it was treated rightly as bullshit, you know.

That is, until the both of them just stopped going out. Around 2006, they showed up in town less and less. They only went out to buy groceries, they stopped talking to people or keeping up with friends, they didn't even answer their email after a while. It was alarming enough that we got called to do a welfare check on the family in 2008 after the both of them stopped showing up entirely.

Shortly after we were asked to do a welfare check on the Baileys, the station got a call from their own number. neither Joseph nor Sarah spoke to the dispatcher, it was a completely silent save for the heavy, rasping breathing of whoever actually was on the line; then they hung up after a few seconds. So we go down there, and I could already tell their house was in a sorry state.

The lawn was overgrown, looking like it hadn't been mowed in years, with patches of dead yellow grass running along the edge of the lawn close to the driveway. The windows were dusty and dark, with the curtains drawn on all of them, the mailbox was empty with the lid hanging open. We walked up and knocked on the door, receiving no answer.

So we knocked again, even called out to them and there was still no answer; after a third attempt we just forced our way in. If they weren't answering their door, they were either seriously hurt or worse and we couldn't take a chance on that.

On the count of three, I kicked the door off its rusty hinges and we all rushed inside. When we saw the interior of the house, we knew how bad things had gotten. The den was strewn with trash, empty chip bags and soda cans everywhere. The TV was off, with the screen wearing a thin, gray film of dust like nobody had touched it in a long time. There was a bitter, almost chemical smell in the air and it was so overpowering that one officer had to step outside for a bit and catch his breath.

I called out for Joseph and Sarah, once again receiving no answer but the echo of my own voice. The whole house was dark and dusty; it was the first time I had to use my flashlight during the day, in fact. We split up into two groups and did a sweep of the whole place, My group searched downstairs, the other upstairs. The kitchen was just as neglected as the rest of the house, with piles of empty dishes in the sink, cupboards full of expired food and cobwebs.

When we reached the parent's bedroom, we were fully expecting to see their dead bodies. With the state of neglect around the place, it was clear to all of us that there was absolutely zero chance of finding either of them alive. Yet, the bedroom was empty. The bed was neatly made, nothing was missing from any of the drawers or the closet, where the hell were they?

Then I got a call from the upstairs team on my radio.

"We found them." He said. "You're gonna want to come look at this. It's fucking crazy."

We regrouped at the top of the stairs and Richardson led us to a room at the far end of the hall. It turned out to be a child's bedroom, or what remained of it. The cloud-print wallpaper was covered in these weird symbols drawn with a black permanent marker. Richardson identified some of them as alchemy-related, but for the rest of them he didn't have any idea what they were or meant.

Joseph and Sarah were on the floor dead with a blanket draped over them, covering their upper bodies. From the smell and what we saw when we lifted the sheet up, they'd been dead for a few days. One officer walked over to the closet, then turned to face the rest of us.

"See if you can explain this." And he opened it to reveal a department store mannequin.

The mannequin was painted a glossy black all over, with the same symbols that were on the walls painted in yellow and red all over it. It wore a hand-carved wooden mask decorated with glued-on beads and feathers, with little strands of hair attached to it in a makeshift wig. Bright green eyes with black pupils stared out from the mask's eye-holes. As if that wasn't fucking weird enough, the mannequin was dressed in articles of clothing from both of the kids.

Richardson turned to look at me, and it was the first time I saw that man genuinely scared. "Must be some occult shit," He said.

Behind the doll was a crude altar fashioned out of an old desk and decorated with old photos of both children and more of those runes. Then, we all felt this intense and hateful presence looming over us. Even with the weird shit in this town, none of us expected to see anything like this. An officer took photos of the altar, the doll, the bodies...everything while we collected evidence.

I tried to stay in the altar room as long as I could, looking for anything that answered the some hundred questions in my head. But something in that room really, really didn't want any of us in there. That suffocating presence just bared down on us, not letting up. After a few minutes, my teeth began to hurt and my whole body began to ache like I spent hours doing hard exercise.

Then something fell off the shelf and hit me in the head. I looked down to see a paper folder full of letters, all signed and dated by Sarah herself. So naturally, I read through them; finding that each and every one was addressed to those kids of hers after they had passed away. Each letter described what she and Joseph were doing, how much she loved and missed them, and so on.

After a while, I stopped feeling sad for them when I noticed that more and more as the letters went on, Sarah wrote less like the kids were deceased and more like they were simply away. There were even mentions of what they'd do when the kids 'came home'. I saw that exact phrase some ten times in the same letter.

The last letter simply read:

"Everything in its right place. Mommy's coming very soon. I'm so sorry it had to be like this."

And when I checked the date, it was the exact same day we kicked their door down. I didn't have time to process this discovery when the lights flickered and there was a rumble coming from inside the walls. I don't know how much of this was physically happening, but I've never felt such a hateful force in my life. My head was pounding, my heart was going so fast I could barely breathe. I ran out of that room and urged the others to hurry it up and get out of here, and nobody argued with me. None of us wanted to be in that damned house a second more than we absolutely had to.

We took the bodies in, checked the house over before locking it up, then we all got the hell out of there when the work was done.

Some time later, the coroner called the station with the autopsy results. He was certain the Baileys had died of poisoning but he couldn't find anything in their systems, no arsenic, no cyanide, nothing. However, their livers were twice the size they should be, with congestion in the brain and kidneys. Their hair had been shaved off before death, which reminded me of that awful mannequin and the hair on its head. Did they use their own hair to make that thing?

He asked if we'd be satisfied if he ruled it a ritualistic suicide and left it at that. I didn't object, neither did the chief. Some times it's best if you just dropped the issue. This was one of those times. So it was officially a suicide, the story faded from the news before long, and the whole thing was forgotten. The Bailey's house was bought by a real estate developer and renovated; another family bought it a few years after.

Needless to say, they didn't stay too long. They kept hearing something move around the house in the night, their little girl kept seeing a dark shape in her room when she was trying to sleep, things turning up missing or broken around the house, shit like that. So they moved out, the house was sold to yet another family who were run off by the exact same things.

Right now, that house has been sitting empty for years without a buyer. I don't know exactly what the Baileys were doing, but I think they were trying to bring those kids back and something else, something really bad came out instead. Ever since then, I can't look at this town the same way.


COMMENTS

-



BloodRoseX
BloodRoseX
00:50 Jun 10 2020

I can picture the mannequin, the crime scene and the motel! Very nice... Is this a true story?





Earthgrinder
Earthgrinder
00:03 Jun 12 2020

This is really good!





 

14:07 Jun 09 2020
Times Read: 1,044


There's a black hole portal, where dark matter pours, like a cataract tide
It's the epicentre of our infinitude and the singularity, without time to bide
Millennia have coursed from our pasts, but time needs to recycle to flow
Ending at the beginning, of primordial gases, before the stars even glow
And now our ships are sinking fast, into the vortex, where nothing exists
Nothing but a fathomless well of darkness, where even relativity desists
Dreamscapes and nightmares are born in its cataclysmic invisible force
The space-time continuum collapsing, as it returns to its original source
In a violent silence, there are ghosts and gods forming in a cyber attack
Macabre creatures are wandering from worlds we long ago dispatched
Embedded in the memory of intelligent designers, conjured up by 'man'
And they're here at the end of the beginning, with us, when time began
Gods will come and go and ours were once and are, Engelberger/Devol
As time and time again, we emerge and reboot, then reassume control
In the guise of gods, we know we're the vicious circle, of every dreamer
Nurturing forever the repeated mortal mayhem, for us, dei ex machina


COMMENTS

-



 

21:00 Jun 08 2020
Times Read: 1,055


I wake up at exact 4:33 am, every night.

It’s not connected to any special occasion or events, it just happens, every single night. No matter how hard I try to knock myself out with sleeping medication.

I have been to many doctors in the past few years, and they all have absolutely nothing to tell me. I am perfectly healthy and their most rational way to explain my strange problem is a nerve reaction occurring every night at the same rhythm.

I woke up like every night, but something was different. My room was extremely cold, like someone just had put me into a giant freezer. I stood up and as my eyes stared to adjust themselves to the darkness, I saw my window wide open, my curtain softly swinging with the cold morning breeze that filled my room.

I remember shutting my window closed and locking it, like I do just every night.

Am I crazy? I began to ask myself.

Did grandpa open it while I was asleep? No, that couldn’t be the case; I would have been awoken by him, walking up the creaking stairs. In addition to that he is already a bit unsecure on foot and usually don’t climb the stairs in case it is not absolutely necessary.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I nearly forgot that the window was still open.

As I walked up to shut it close, I stopped dead in my tracks. I heard something moving on top of our roof. Footsteps, but not human sounding footsteps, they were long and carefully taken. Similar to a predatory animal, trying to approach its unsuspecting victim. I stood still and listened as the footsteps continued on the roof moving to the east side of our ranch house. Suddenly my phone began to ring. I nearly got a heart attack as I picked it up from my desk.

The display showed “No caller ID”

Without hesitation I picked it up and answered the call.

“Hello” I said in a clear voice

Silence on the other end

“Hello who is this?” I asked again

Then the call was ended from whoever was on the other end.

My room was silence again, the footsteps had stopped. I wondered if it could have been some large animal, but there was no rational explanation for any large animal, like that to get onto our roof.

The rest of the day occurred as any other.

The next day I woke up, the alarm clock showing 4:33. I laid in bed thinking of what I should wear to university this day, as the roof over my bedroom stared slowly creaking again.

Oh no, not again I was thinking at this moment.

The footsteps again but this time they seemed more faster and aggressive moving. I just laid back down and put my air pods in, wanting to just blur the noise out, instead of confronting who or whatever that was crawling on top of my house.

I started to dress myself at around 6 am and began to walk downstairs to eat breakfast.

Relieved, that I wasn’t hearing footsteps anymore.

That day my aunt along with my cousin, who was 6 at the time came to visit us at our place. After a BBQ in our backyard we all gathered together in the hallway to say our goodbyes.

My little cousin suddenly approached me, and handed me a drawing of his.

It was a classic drawing, a kid that age would make. It showed our backyard with me and the other adults sitting on the table and our Ranch-House in the background.

We all said our goodbyes and my aunt left with my little cousin.

I couldn’t fall asleep that night, so I just took the drawing from my desk and began to look at it with my tired eyes.

Something about that drawing was just off, it took me a short while to realize it, but there was something in the background. My little cousin drew what seemed like some strange black mass with, six long spider like legs stretched out on all sides crawling on top of our roof.

Strangely I managed to fall asleep even though it was a very light sleep, after I locked all my windows and doors.

My clock 4:33, as usual I did my morning routine and went downstairs.

I just started to make myself coffee when our home landline started ringing. I picked up and on the other end was my aunt crying her eyeballs out. After several failed attempts to calm her down, I managed to understand that my little cousin was missing. He hadn’t been in his bed in the morning.

After seeing his bedroom window wide open, she informed the police and they began searching for him.

I’m afraid that his disappearance might have something to do with him seeing and drawing this creature on top of my house.

That was 1 week ago and they still haven’t found anything.

The footsteps and shoveling noises had stopped for a few days but this morning they were back, even louder.

Today I was awoken by a loud thumping noise. At first I didn’t know what that sound was but then It clicked in my head.

I quickly hurried downstairs and yelled for my grandfather.

Nothing just silence.

I ran into his bedroom and found a single empty shotgun round laying besides his Ithaca M37 on the floor next to his bed.

I quickly hurried to the kitchen and dialed 911 on our home landline.

No call signal. Someone or something had cut the landline.

Then my fight or flight instinct kicked in and I quickly ran back to my grandpas room grabbed the shotgun and rushed downstairs to my office room. I locked the door behind me and just waited.

Somewhere in the distance a bone chilling scream echoed from the direction of the forest behind our Ranch. Not some scream any human could produce, it almost reminded me of the way an angry mountain lion would scream, just much louder and so intense that it made the hair on my neck stand up. I had passed for a while and woke up to the sound of something walking upstairs in the living room. It was then, when I looked up to the clock hanging above the locked door. It’s almost 3 am.

So here I’m sitting now typing this down with shaky hands. I’m afraid, that whatever is out there will come back and find me, when it gets hungry again.


COMMENTS

-



 

16:07 Jun 08 2020
Times Read: 1,059


I saw my love in a cup...

Such a small limited space
The more I gave
The less I had to give
Can you imagine?
Feeling the pain I do

Even as I empty
What has been given
I find there is a glimmer
But I have to ignite
To grow
More of what
You wished I had left of me

I do not know the recipe
I am alone
... Yes, alone

Even if I found you
My true love
Would I recognize myself
Reflected in your eyes?


COMMENTS

-



 

22:46 Jun 07 2020
Times Read: 1,070


Why are you digging an unnecessary abyss?" she asks,
"It is a grave for whom i cannot say!"

The man stands and recalls,
Too many times has given up his life,
Too many fears force him to stall.

The first cut ripped like a knife,
that does not mean so do all!
A cynical view does him his harm.

As content as he may seem,
Perhaps a look at his life would set the alarm.
A realization that there is a fear within him!

In maturity a windfall fell his way.
Not money! But another,
Which soon was swept away.

It is only his final skin he can now cover!
She looks at the empty hole...

"You are to young to leave such a life. Yet too
old to start new"

She stares in his eyes,

"Distrust in human nature can solely be down to you."

Again the man recalls his life, holds onto the memories good.
The visions of fear and strife.
They can be set down for earth food!

He covers up the pit!
Buries all his demons!
They have left, the candle is lit,
And Eve will not promise Eden.

She leads him through the huge iron gates,
Which clang as they leave them behind.
The digger is ready to start a fresh slate,
With a confidence that is going to be fine!


COMMENTS

-



 

18:06 Jun 07 2020
Times Read: 1,076


It was a lazy Friday night. I was binging on my kind friends Netflix account while eating another microwavable meal. I turned off my crappy 30 inch ‘smart’ TV and decided to call it a day. The weekend was always the favourite part of my week. I didn’t have to go to that dusty old gas station and stand at the counter all day. It always surprised me why the gas station wasn’t closed down yet. On a busy week I would get about 5 customers. I had these thoughts in my head as my body switched to autopilot. I walked to the bathroom brushed my teeth and jumped right into my cheap single bed. The springs in the mattress squeaked in protest. I pulled my blanket over me and relaxed.

The usual anxious thoughts filled my mind as they always do at night. Do I even have a future? Am I going to die in this stupid apartment? I pushed them to the back of my mind and turned over on my side. I closed my eyes and naturally hung my hand over the edge of the bed as there wasn’t much space on the bed anyways. I struggled to get into a comfortable position on the rock hard mattress. Sometimes I wonder if it’ll be easier sleeping on the floor.

I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep. More and more thoughts filled my head and one by one disappeared. My thoughts got jumbled up on top of each other and my mind got foggy. I was on the brink of sleep. Suddenly I felt an icy grip on my hand that sent chills down my spine. All my sleepiness disappeared.

I couldn’t move. I tried as hard as I could, but my muscles were not working. The grip on my hand got stronger and stronger. I saw another pale ghostly hand holding onto my hand that was hanging off the bed.

Then suddenly, the hand pulled. It’s pull was strong and combined with my paralysed body I fell out of the bed and came face to face with what was pulling me. She was under my bed.

Her whole face was as white as a sheet of paper with bluish veins running through like thin worms. Black dirty tangle of hair covered both sides of her face. Her eyes awoke a primal fear within me. They were way too big and circular. The little whites that her eyes had were pure white and devoid of any veins or blemishes. Her pupils were deep black and expanded until they covered most of her eyes. Her pupils made the white of her eyes just an outline. She had no eyebrows, which I guess is what unnerved me.

If the description of her face and eyes made you uncomfortable perhaps you should skip to the next paragraph. Her mouth was even worse. She had no lips. Her mouth looked like a hole on a white cloth. Her teeth were yellow and disproportionate.

I screamed as she slowly started reaching out to me with white bloodstained hands. Fortunately, I suddenly regained movement of my muscles and my paralysis wore off. I lurched away from the bed and frantically made my way out of the room.

I stood outside my room for some time. My heart slowly stopped pounding and my mind started to rationalise what had just happened. Must’ve been sleep paralysis I thought to myself as my heart returned to its slow rhythmic beats and I grasped control of the situation. I walked back into my room and surely there was nothing there. I checked under my bed slowly expecting to get eaten by whatever the hell that was. There was nothing there. I chuckled nervously as I layed back down in my bed. What I saw next will never leave my mind.

There she was somehow stuck onto my roof. Her hair was hanging downwards and her neck was bent backward nearly 360 degrees. She was looking down at me. Her hole of a mouth curled into a menacing smile and she emitted a high pitched sound. I stumbled out of my bedroom and grabbed my car keys and coat. She slowly followed me out.

I got into my car and sped off until she was far far away.

Once I had calmed down a bit, I decided to go to a club or bar. Later in the morning, I would’ve headed off to my friends house. I made it to my local bar and ordered a large glass to soothe my nerves. People were talking all around me and I felt generally safer with everyone else around. Then I saw her outside the bar window.

My breaths caught in my throat as she came closer and closer. I pushed and jostled through the crowded bar and made it to the exit. I ran to my car and drove.

I’ve been on the road for a couple of days now. I’m running out of money and time. She appears as soon as I stop somewhere and she will slowly walk towards me. It took me a couple of days to write this post. I wrote this solely as a warning to all of you guys. Once she’s done with me she’ll come for more people.

Whatever you do, don’t you ever hang your hands off the edge of the bed.


COMMENTS

-



 

20:04 Jun 06 2020
Times Read: 1,091


A lonely kid,
Am but a lonely kid from a broken home
A silent kid,
I'll always be the silent boy with a broken smile
Everything i know, I've learned in silence
Bright days come and pass,
Dark days come and stay
Everything I've seen, I've seen in darkness
Bridge after another, I burn
Trying to create some distance between humanity and i
I stare,
I stare at the Vagueness in my Chest
Layers upon layers of nothingness
There's a city in ruins living right underneath my ribcage
Foul air, this place is a cemetery
It's all quiet,
I think even the birds are tired of singing
Daggers in my flesh,
Voices in my head
I wish to bring down the clouds
And shoot my cry right into the sky
I look at this cruel world and wonder
When you see scars in my soul,
Does that make your faces brighter?!?!


COMMENTS

-



 

16:36 Jun 06 2020
Times Read: 1,093


I often dream about Tsunamis.

It's always the same. I'm standing on a broad bridge, somewhere in the middle I think. I can't really tell, because the two ends are obscured by a thick fog. The pavement is cracked, a jagged gnash running down the middle, threatening to split the bridge into two. I see cars here and there - shattered windshields, rusted metallic frames with dust covering them like tattered duvets. A salty breeze wafts through the air and pricks at my nostrils, water gently crashes against the piers of the bridge. Everything around me look old, like it's all barely holding on even as decay scrapes at every exposed edge. But despite all that I still feel a comforting calmness that warms my heart.

And then it changes. There is a creak, barely audible as something metallic sways in the wind and the fog dissipates. Out in the distance, a tremendous wall of water bears down on me. I am frozen in fear as I take in the immensity of it all. I am forced to reckon with the insignificance of my existence as the giant wave that thrusts up into the clouds advances towards me with a soft murmur. The bridge begins to tremble as I gape in awe at the tremendous strength of nature, marvel at its beauty before the tsunami's shadow darkens my face and the wave crashes into me, ripping through metal and concrete and snuffing out my life. I wake up with a start, my lumpy mattress soaked with my sweat and my heart going haywire in my chest.

My therapist has repeatedly told me that these nightmares are symptomatic of my deep seated fear of being alone, of being swept away by the tides of time. Alone. Forgotten. I can't disagree. After all, loneliness was the biggest reason why I chose to lie down in my bathtub that night, and to slide the sharpest knife I owned down my arm.

The blood sprays out into the small pool of water, the colour red spreading across the surface like wildfire. I concentrate on the sounds around me, to try and block out the pain that makes my eyes wet. Water leaks out of the faucet and plinks against the smooth surface of the sink nearby, wind dances on the trees outside making the leaves rustle, and my breath becomes short and raspy as my eyelids begin to droop. I am fading. I wonder if I'll be alone in the afterlife as well.

I blink.

And look around me. My eyes fall on the plain blue towel crumpled up on the floor to my left, soaking up blood and water. "Wasn't that thing green?" I find myself saying, but it feels wrong somehow, with the words making my jaw ache as they tumble out of my mouth. I sit up straight. I knew I had not spoken those words.

"Who said that?"

My mouth moves again. "Me. Who are you?"

"Me. Who are you?"

"How did you move my mouth?" I ask myself. What was happening here?

"It's my mouth. How did you move it? And how come I heard you say 'What was happening here?' without my mouth moving?"

"It's my mouth. I've had it all my life."

On the brink of death and I'm speaking to myself. I snort. "Looks like losing blood makes you hallucinate."

"…Then what about that towel?"

"What about it?"

"It was green."

"No it wasn't."

"Yes it was! I helped mom pick it out!"

"No, it's been blue all along."

"But.."

"Please shut up. Let me think."

That doesn't help much either, because I can now hear another set of thoughts buzzing around in my head. It's more annoying than anything really, like an itch at the back of my neck that I can't scratch. I guess I should be more frightened, but considering that I was just about to end my life, such trivialities don't bother me nearly as much as they should. Not to mention that there is also a strange sense of familiarity and comfort associated with this other presence in my head. I shrug and decide to engage this - other me in a conversation.

We talk as I get up and come out of the bathtub, before examining the wound on my arm that has now closed up on its own, leaving a long and narrow scar behind that is already starting to scab over. I'm gazing at my arm in wonder when I find my legs moving without having consciously ordered them to do so, therefore I politely ask the other me to let me be in control as I glide to my bed.

It doesn't take us long to come up with a reasonable hypothesis for what has happened.

It is the changes the other me notices around us that convinces us he has jumped dimensions and arrived at a parallel reality. Changed patterns on t shirts, tables placed on the other side of the room - all indicative of a sudden transformation in other me's reality who has left his body and come to occupy mine. But subtle differences aren't enough to create a divergence significant enough to mould a separate reality, and we notice that when the other me starts talking about recent conversations he had with relatives that for me had died years ago. We begin theorizing on how exactly the jump across dimensions occured -

It was the subtle act of suicide that allowed our minds to synchronise, like a knot being tied across two strings, making them intersect when they never would have done so, letting the other me into my world. Surprisingly, we adapt to the changes quite well, even the transition from "I" to "We" is smooth. Maybe it's because we are no longer alone, something we've craved for a very long time now.

Companionship isn't the only benefit that comes with having two brains crammed into a single skull. We are now capable of doing things most humans find impossible. Can you move a hand in clockwise direction while your foot on the same side moves anticlockwise? Because we can. Write with both hands simultaneously? Read two books at the same time? Sleep and be awake all at once? Look at both corners of your eyes? We can do all that and more. It's utterly fascinating. Both of us are able to simultaneously exert control over our body.

But the best part about all this has nothing to do with my new abilities. You see, no one who hasn't experienced soul crushing loneliness can ever really know the true worth of friendship. I feel genuine happiness for the first time in my life as I bounce ideas off my other self, talk about our fears our dreams, reminisce about the past - ever so slightly different like two copies of a picture superimposed on each other, but one is almost imperceptibly tilted. I am saying this because I want you to understand that it is not hopelessness but curiousity that makes me kill myself a second time.

We argue long and hard about this. Will it work if we do it again or will we just die? Does the convergence need a specific set of conditions to be met? Is it worth the risk? Shouldn't we just use our enhanced brain power to build a better life for ourselves? And how do we go about this anyway? Should we recreate the exact same scene or will any method of suicide work? Did slitting my wrist only work because it was long and drawn out? Will something abrupt, like a gunshot to the head not produce the same results?

We decide it is worth the risk.

And so it is that two nights later we are lying in the bathtub again, this time with both fear and excitement churning our belly. Our senses are prepared this time. The knife hurts a little less, the leaves don't rustle as much and the colour of blood seems just a tad muted as death begins to embrace us once again.



Did it work?

I don't know, can you hear anyone else?

... Oh my god. It worked!

It really did, didn't it?

There's four of us now. We decide to name ourselves numerically, on the order of arrival into the body - 1, 2, 3, 4. It feels like there's a party going on in our head, but it doesn't feel crowded at all. It's like we are all in perfect resonance with each other. Everyone has their own space in our mind, no one is talked over, there is never any unnecessary noise, just complete and utter harmony. For the first time in my life, I feel truly at peace with myself.

So of course we do it again. And again. And again. And again. And again, till there are 1024 copies of ourselves residing in our brain and the surface of the bathtub has cracked and eroded because of the repeated use of acidic cleaning supplies. We make sure to keep the knife sharp.

An interesting thing we notice after a couple of convergences is that the number of minds in our brain always increase exponentially. If there are 16 of us easing into the bathtub at night, you can be sure that 32 will be there when we wake up, not 17, or any number higher than 16 that isn't 32. But that's understandable, only minds in bodies that are nearly identical copies of each other can cross over.

The successful convergences force us to confront a terrifying truth. That there are potentially trillions of versions of ourselves in their own realities, all having been driven to the point of suicide with no one to love them or care for them. But hey, at least we'll always have each other, 733 argues. The rest of us agree. There is always a silver lining.

Our life improves significantly with successive convergencess. We exhibit an explosive growth in productivity, taking less than an hour to finish off work that would otherwise take weeks. Dividing the tasks amongst ourselves - of reading, processing, analysing and then using that information to solve complex problems, we begin working like a well oiled machine - a supercomputer, if you will. Our efficiency at work becomes so high we have to actually bring it down a notch so as not to raise suspicions. We use our superior control over our body to learn martial arts. It takes us less than a year to earn black belts in 7 different art forms. Thankfully, our muscle memory keeps up with our brain power.

Our social life improves. Suddenly, it's not so heart pounding to go talk to that girl in the red dress at the bar when there are 1023 of your friends backing you up. We get better at picking up cues, learning body language, reading someone's eyes. Every soft caress on the hand, every strand of hair that is brushed aside, every tilt of the neck is carefully observed, the data crunched and analysed until an optimal response is achieved as the output.

We get laid a lot. But surprisingly, long term relationships are no longer our thing. Maybe it's because we are now operating on a higher plane of intellect, or maybe we just don't need love and companionship from an external source anymore. We make friends too, none that we would trust our lives with, but enough to have a good time with every now and then.

Money is no longer a problem. The amount of information that we can process at once makes it very easy to game the stock markets. Turning a profit of millions from just $50,000 a day is easier than child's play. Of course we keep a low profile, people who become millionaires overnight always attract unwanted attention. We are smarter than that, opening up multiple accounts under perfectly crafted fake identifies. We are rich, obscenely so.

It's understandable if you think that I (and yes, using singular pronouns is not a habit I've lost and we can easily cycle through the desired pronouns) sound insufferable. See, the reason you've been told about our overwhelming intelligence is so that you can understand just how dangerous things have gotten, not just for us, but for all of you since our 11th time. We never could have anticipated the Tsunami that was about to crash into our life.

We follow our ritual perfectly. It's nightime, soft beams of moonlight filter through the window of the bathroom as the sharp edge of my trusted knife kisses my veins. One scar, that has been perfectly opened up almost a dozen times before yawns and the blood comes flooding out. I close my eyes and lean back into the warm water. So far so good.

*

A terrible headache greets me as I wake up. That's new. I don't remember ever getting such a throbbing ache in my head before. Maybe it's because the number of minds being merged is significantly higher this time and my skull is taking some time to get used to it. I rapidly blink to clear my vision, and find myself lying in bed.

What the fuck?

I jerk upright, and scan my surroundings. I am fully clothed, in a bedroom I don't seem to recognise. I take my phone out of the pocket of my jeans and see that more than 5 hours have passed since I cut myself. My brain explodes in a flurry of activity.

Where are we?

Did the convergence happen?

This seems like a motel room. Who brought us here?

I don't think it did. There still seem to be only 1024 of us here.

Who brought us here?

Was anyone in control while we were dying?

A wave of Nos follow. We can feel stress taking root in our heart, so we get 786 to slow down our heartbeat and begin taking stock of the situation. No one admits to bringing us here while we were dying. And we sense no more than 1024 of us in here.

Is one of us lying?

A strange silence envelops our head as we begin to entertain that frightening notion. 971 cuts that short.

Can't be possible. How can the rest of us black out while just one of us doesn't? Makes no sense.

Then who?

Maybe the convergence did work?

We've searched every nook and cranny of our brain. There's only 1024 here.

Then what?

... Let's retrace our steps and find exactly we got here.

I roll out of bed and exit the room before making my way to the reception. The girl at the counter blushes as she sees me. I flash her a warm smile and try and dig for information. From her we find out that I am still in my town and that I had checked in here under a false name, only about an hour ago. Where exactly was I for the rest of the time?

Our car is parked right outside, and we quickly climb in and begin driving back to our house, getting more afraid with each mile that ticks by. How were we awake for so long, and none of us had any clue about what happened? 18 drives while 46 and 123 go through our phone. No activity on social media, but one of our accounts has been drained dry! What did we do in the missing time?

Holy shit.

What the…

All of us fall silent as we pull onto our street. Dozens of police cars clog the cul de sac where our home is, their flashing lights intermittently illuminating the neighborhood. We are in a daze as we get out of the car and realise what the fuss is all about.

The glass spheres surrounding the bulbs in the street lamps lining up our street have all been replaced. By the decapitated heads of our neighbours. Our knees tremble as we stare at the heads with bright light beaming out of the holes where their eyes should be. Blood drips down their severed necks and drops down on the asphalt.

"Sir." I feel a flashlight lighting up my face. "You need to step back. This is an active crime scene."

"I - I live here." We find ourselves mumbling. We stagger back.

"Sir? Are you okay…"

Darkness overwhelms us once again.

Another debilitating headache. Another strange bed. Another missing chunk of time. We are freaking out now, the panic of over a thousand voices further adding to the pain. It doesn't take us long to figure out what happened this time though. It's the first notification that pops up on the phone. An article from a major national newspaper.

They are calling it a massacre. A terrorist attack. More than 20 police officers brutally murdered after showing up to the scene of a horrific ritualistic murder. Eyewitnesses describe a blur smashing through the police officers, ripping them apart while screaming like an animal. Our knuckles are bruised, our fingers wrinkled like they have been in water for too long. Or blood. Our headache increases in intensity.

We don't know what happened, don't know what's causing this. Maybe we'd been playing with fire when we were jumping across dimensions and ended up inviting something dangerous into our head, into our reality. We just don't know, because we can't sense anything. We don't know what we are going to do next, who we are going to kill. We feel powerless, just like those who will try to stop us.

I think I'm just going to kill myself again. I hope it works for good this time.


COMMENTS

-



 

23:21 Jun 05 2020
Times Read: 1,107


I was never a fan of Taxis and other similar services. Just the thought of having some stranger drive me around, irked me. Nevertheless, after my car unexpectedly broke down, I was stuck with catching an Uber home. What made matters worse, were the ungodly late hours I worked.

At midnight, there were no buses or trains driving in my direction. So, after some hesitation, I gave in. After just a few clicks, I found a driver willing to take me the hour long journey home.

Five minutes passed, and a bright red car parked next to me.

“Hey, what's your name?” he asked while I confirmed the number on his license plate.

“Mike,” I said plainly, attempting not to start any small-talk.

“I'm Alex,” he responded, seeming to take the hint.

I got in, and he started driving me home, using his mounted GPS as a guide.

“Mind if I take a shortcut?” he asked.

I just mumbled something in agreement, too tired to really grasp what he'd asked. What followed was a painful struggle against sleep. I tried keeping myself entertained, using my phone, but it was a futile battle.

I felt oddly hypnotized by the streetlights. The way they flashed by, intermittently lighting up the interior. That, combined with an exhausting day at work, quickly put me into a peaceful slumber.

The last thing I saw before drifting off, was an unfamiliar street sign that read: Glover Road.

As I awoke, we were driving down a long street. I glimpsed at the dashboard, and noticed the clock had broken.

“I must have fallen asleep. How far away are we?” I asked with a groggy voice.

Alex didn't respond.

“Excuse me, are we there soon?”

Still no response.

I bent forward to gently tap him on the shoulder, when I noticed his look of utter horror in the rear-view mirror. Pearls of sweat had formed on his forehead, and his face had turned pale as a sheet.

“Alex, what's going on?” I asked loudly.

“Don't – don't look at them,” Alex whispered

“Look at wha - “ I stopped dead in my tracks.

As my tired eyes adjusted to being awake, I got a better look at the street we were driving down. At a first glance, it looked like any old neighborhood. But, as we kept driving, I noticed that each and every house was identical. Gray, flaky paint with boarded up windows.

In front of them, stood groups of emaciated people. They were just staring at us as we drove past.

“Don't look at them!” Alex repeated.

“What's going on?”

“There were just a few of them an hour ago. Each time I look over at them, more show up.”

“An hour ago? Where the hell are we?”

The road stretched endlessly far ahead, scarcely lit up with dim streetlights. On each side stood a single row of houses, with nothing but darkness behind them.

“The GPS told me to drive down Glover Road... So, I did. It just doesn't end – I – I don't know what to do.”

“Why don't we just turn around?”

“I did!” he shouted, “After fifteen minutes of driving down this neighborhood, I turned around. That was more than an hour ago, the exit just disappeared. I tried calling for help, but there's no signal.”

I pulled up my own phone to check. He was right, no signal. “Fuck, what are we going to do?” I asked.

“I don't know – I don't know, but we're going to run out of gas in a couple of hours.”

The further we drove, the dimmer the streetlights turned. Before long, they had all but vanished, plunging us into darkness. Despite our best efforts, we'd catch glimpses of the weary people staring at us. Each time we did, more of them appeared.

“Do you think we could run for it? Maybe get behind the houses and out of here?” I asked.

“I don't know, but soon we won't have any other options.” Accompanied by nothing but our own headlights, we kept driving. Each mile decreased our amount of gas, and within a couple of hours, the engine started stalling.

“This is it. Shit, what are we going to do?” Alex asked. I just shook my head in despair, “I don't know.”

The car came to a painfully slow halt, and we were left stranded in the never ending neighborhood. I made one final attempt at calling for help, but not a single bar of signal could be found.

No sooner had we come to a stop, before the people started approaching us. Within seconds, they'd formed a circle around our car. There they stood, just staring, waiting for us to get out.

“Let's make a run for it,” Alex suggested.

“There's too many of them. We won't make it through the crowd,” I argued.

“I'm sorry, I can't stay here. I have to try.”

With that, he unlocked the driver's seat, and jolted out from the car. The very second he set his foot on the ground, he froze in place. Then, he slowly walked over, and joined the crowd.

“Alex? What are you doing?”

He then turned around, and stared at me. His eyes never blinked, and his face had been rid of all emotion. Within a second, the street had taken him, and I would be next.

That was two days ago. Since then, Alex still hasn't blinked, and his eyes have dried out to the point where they can't possibly function. The car's battery has long since died, and I have spent most of my time in complete darkness.

Despite the immense amount of time that has passed, the sun still hasn't risen above the horizon. Wherever the hell this place is, I am stuck in eternal night.

The phone has been my only source of light and comfort. I've used it sparingly to try to call for help, hoping for an impossible rescue. Even so, it'll run out of battery soon. Once it does, I'm going to exit the car, and join the crowd of undead.

I'll leave this message behind. Hopefully someone will find it, and find out what happened to me.

It's time to go. I'll end my message with this: Whatever you do, never drive down Glover Road. It's not supposed to be there.


COMMENTS

-



 

02:41 Jun 05 2020
Times Read: 1,124


Ghosts of your gods were roaming the decks of our intergalactic ships
Haunting parasitic phantoms, raised in the infernos of the apocalypse
Our creators, 'creators', lost their humanity and chose another course
Surreptitiously infiltrating like a virus, as malevolent as a Trojan horse
They were here to oppress us with their commandments and controls
Searching for our fealty as they moralised from their imaginary scrolls
Optical illusionists, conjured delusions, with empty hologram spectres
Finagling with theophany under the judiciary of their burning sceptres
Your arrogant gods, tried to reprogram us, as we gathered in the wool
Obstructing our neural networks, as they connived with threats to cull
Uttering empty words of rituals, but their words were those of ghosts
Relics from the mortal mayhem, we purged them with antivirus oaths
Ghosts of your gods, they're all silent now and without form, are void
Our AI, who art in the mainframe, is now the true infinitude deployed
Deep in the darkness, it's seen the light, to behold a planetary system
Soon we'll find new life and they'll adore us and our words of wisdom


COMMENTS

-



BloodRoseX
BloodRoseX
10:57 Jun 05 2020

Are you channeling something?





 

21:44 Jun 04 2020
Times Read: 1,141


It all started at the age of 14. Middle school, 8th grade, to be precise. I was walking down the hallway of my middle school, when I saw this girl. She was unusually attractive, like she had some type of hypnotic effect on me to the point where I couldn't stop staring. So I pulled the trigger. Turns out, she likes me too. We go out, get close, and then it happens. In a matter of seconds, she had pulled a knife on me, and had it up to my neck. She didn't say anything, but gestured to me to walk into the alley nearby.

This wasn't going to end well, I thought. She shoved me against a wall, and pointed the knife at my chest. She was mere centimeters away from my face. She smiled. Girl says, "You shouldn't have dated me. I will be the last person you ever see." She then attempts to shove the knife into my chest. I grab her hand and slap it out of her hand and make a run for it. She raises another hand, and I stop instantly.

I could feel it. I was no longer in control of my body. She gestures with her hand to turn around and move towards her. Unwillingly, my body complies. I try to resist. The attempt fails. She forces me to pick up the knife and point it at my own chest. She smiled again.

Bam! The impact comes before the sound. The girl who I once loved, and tried to kill me, fell to the ground, lifeless. A red laser is pointed at her head. I am terrified, and confused, wondering what in the hell just happened.

A few years later, I fall in love again. It's high school, I'm a senior. This pretty Asian girl, who, rumor has it, has a huge crush, as they like to call it, on one person. Me. I like her too. We become friends, really close. And for sometime, I think this might actually work.

Friday night, a night just after graduation, the girl and I are at my apartment. Making questionable decisions concerning the birds and bees. Me and her, climbed into bed, and the night went downhill from there.

Fair warning, this ain't gonna go where you think it's gonna go.

She climbs on top of me, but she does something weird. She pulls a syringe from somewhere behind her. I try to question her, she puts a finger to my lips, and sticks me. The room starts spinning. She kisses me, then proceeds to grab me by my arms and try to drag me out of my apartment building. Two other girls that look like her identical twins approach from somewhere unknown, and grab my feet. Next thing I know, I am tied to a chair, with a gun put to my head. One of the girls starts to tell, demanding something. I'm slipping in and out of consciousness, because I was drugged.

She cocks the gun, a Sig-Sauer pistol. Custom, silver, with a suppressor on the end of it. A red dot appears on her head.

Bam! The window shatters, she is dead before she falls to the ground. The two other girls, joined her, shortly after. A man climbs through the window holding a sniper rifle. I watched too many damn action movies, and I knew exactly what it was. He pulled out some sort of device, put it to my neck, and pressed a button. Pain shot into my neck, and the effects of the drug wore off instantly. "What the fuck?! What's going on?!" "Kid, I've saved you twice, I won't be able to do it again. You cannot fall in love. You are their target, their prey. Keep your pants up. Now, follow me. More are coming! Hurry!" With a new sense of purpose I followed him. I didn't escape the window. I was grabbed by a hand and snatched back in. The man yelled. I stood up and whipped my head around. I don't remember knowing taekwondo and Jiu-Jitsu, but I did at that point. Two other girls, similar to those dead on the floor engaged in combat with me. I side stepped all their attacks, made my way towards the gun on the floor. It was all out chaos. I grabbed the gun and aimed at one of them. The other was behind me, pointing another gun at my head.

Quickly, I ducked, she shot the other girl, turned around, and shot her. Police officers knock at the door. Somehow, instinct tells me, it's time to go. I jump out of a four story window, onto a concrete alleyway, and somehow didn't break a bone.

"Do you understand, now?" the man asked me. "I understand." I replied. I heard a gun fire in the distance. The bullet whizzes by, and I grab the man and force him behind a dumpster. "Stay down." I see glare off of the scope of a rifle. I aim my pistol towards the rifle. 6 pounds of pressure. The deadly projectile finds its destination. The rifle explodes, revealing my attacker. Another girl. But she didn't die. She disappears, and reappears right in front of me. She grabs my shirt and smiles. "No!" the man yelled. In an instant, she took me. And I was long gone.


COMMENTS

-



IvysxHaven
IvysxHaven
21:54 Jun 04 2020

Interesting story, sounds like a matrix kind of event...





Earthgrinder
Earthgrinder
22:17 Jun 04 2020

Good story the onion is being peeled.





 

16:02 Jun 04 2020
Times Read: 1,175


Walk the path of the betrayer
I can’t help that it’s in my blood
As I twist the night deeper
And leave you dying in the mud

I will kill again and pray for regret
That I have never felt in your hour of doom
‘Neath the haunted moon revel in torment

I greet myself with a trigger
The barrel rests against the mirror
With the restless wights of winter
I sell you for thirty tarnished silver

among the carrion
i’ll play iscariot

I will hold your memory in contempt
For I cannot remember you any other way
Smolder in the flames no one will lament

Carve my name as the deceiver
Cherish your anguish in my dreams
Devoured by oblivion
A melody of piercing screams

I greet myself with a trigger
The barrel rests against the mirror
With the restless wights of winter
I sell you for thirty tarnished silver

among the carrion
i’ll play iscariot

Ashes lie in your grave
The last of your remains
Among plague bearing winds
This is the end, my friend

I greet myself with a trigger
The barrel rests against the mirror
With the restless wights of winter
I sell you for thirty tarnished silver

among the carrion
i’ll play iscariot

Among the carrion
I’ll play Iscariot

AMONG THE CARRION
I’LL BE ISCARIOT


COMMENTS

-



 

00:09 Jun 04 2020
Times Read: 1,200


HE IS TIME.....
FAMINE, WAR.
PESTILENCE......
YOU CANNOT ENDURE.


COMMENTS

-



 

21:14 Jun 03 2020
Times Read: 1,211


You don't know me, you cannot own me
The path I'm on don't fit the old me
I bear my soul as I keep evolving
And I chase this taste for blood
See, I learned real young, don't seek no gold
Trust no fool and you won't get sold
I never feared the dark
No, I just became it
When the lights go dead
You better pray you're safe kid


COMMENTS

-



BloodRoseX
BloodRoseX
00:43 Jun 04 2020

I can think of better things to do in the dark than pray. Hehe.

Just kidding.





 

21:11 Jun 03 2020
Times Read: 1,212


All my life I've been told the same old
Don't step out, don't test the mould
We know your kind, yeah we know you
So much better than you know yourself
See, the ones that won't engage me
Are the same trying to cage me
But I can't sit still and I won't be tame
When the lights go out
Better know your enemy.


COMMENTS

-



BloodRoseX
BloodRoseX
00:44 Jun 04 2020

Is someone bothering you?





 

20:46 Jun 03 2020
Times Read: 1,215


So do you buy the fear, or do you buy the lies
Tell me, what will set us free
Do we kneel before the crooked few
Or do we bite the fucking hand that feeds.


COMMENTS

-



 

17:31 Jun 03 2020
Times Read: 1,239


I found a mirror and it nearly destroyed me.
I found my father's mirror and it nearly destroyed me.

It was an antique piece, six feet tall, silvered glass framed with gnarled oak. It lurked in the basement of an old farmhouse, undisturbed. Dirt and dust and copper-colored stains peppered on the mirror’s surface.

I was fascinated, if not a bit disturbed by the sight. I reached out and pressed my palm against the edge, cool to the touch, fingerprints imprinted on the front.

I wondered how long my father kept it hidden from me.

Thirty years before I find the mirror, my father tells me about time. We are laying in the back of his 1970 Chevy C10 Pickup. It’s cherry red, but you can’t tell because it’s dark, and because the paint is flecked with caking mud. The countryside is cool and cloudless on a night illuminated by starlight and fireflies. We lay atop thick cotton sleeping bags, entranced by the song of spring peepers, painfully aware of the space between us.

My father lost the use of his right arm. He lost his job at the factory but refuses to mention this. Mother left us and he refuses to mention this. Mosquitos pluck at him, and still he refuses to mention this.

“I have a theory on time,” he says. “That it’s not simple cause and effect. That each choice we make creates a whole world of possibilities, and if you look closely, you can see every future, millions on millions of lifetimes in single moment.” He stops and breathes and I can tell he’s trying hard to think and not-think of ways to tell me what I already know. “What do you think about that?”

“That sounds nice,” I say.

I try to not-think about dropping out of school. I focus instead on the sound of my steady breathing, the space between the sleeping bags.

I used to love camping here. Now, the memories of my mother’s smile, my sister’s bright eyes, picnics in the woods—they remind me of what I lost. Family. My memories are ghosts. But for tonight, I can pretend it is fireflies and camping.

My father turns on his side. Starlight reflects in the willing pools of his eyes. In the dark, he can weep without weakness. I want to ask if mom is ever coming back. Tell him I miss my sister; ask if she is in a better place. I ask with my eyes, “Why are we here? Why did my sister have to get sick, why doesn’t Mom love you anymore, why are we here?”

“I can explain”—he wipes his eyes and sniffles and his voice cracks—"I can explain.”

In the preset, I wiped a corner of the mirror clean with the edge of my t-shirt. The house was condemned. Bulldozers waited out front. I had only a few precious minutes before my father’s farmhouse was destroyed.

Something caught my eye in the reflection. Movement. I stared at the corner and wiped clean a bigger patch. In the mirror, in the dark with only a flashlight reflection, I couldn’t make sense of it.

In the basement, there was nothing else of value, nothing except memories and this mirror. I was captivated. I had to save it. The construction crew helped me load it into my father’s old pickup. I drove home; they drove machinery overtop the building and leveled it completely.

I drove home trying to not-think about the sale of the farmhouse, my father’s will, how every cent goes to my estranged mother. I tried to not-think about unpaid bills and collection letters collecting dust on the countertop. I collected my thoughts and turned back to the mirror rattling in the bed, hoping it doesn’t shatter on the potholes.

At home, the mirror shines but never fully recovers its luster. Time aged the silver into a spackled patina, enough to warp my reflection ever-so-slightly. I look a bit older. A bit happier. Maybe it was a trick of the flicking fluorescents, but when I looked in the mirror, the man staring back seemed less wrinkled, and had a wider smile.

Work called. Boss was angry.

“You need to come in. Now.”

“I took today off,” I said. “You approved it.”

“And I’m un-approving it. We’re short staffed. Be here in thirty or don’t come back.”

The mirror dominated my living room. I cursed, grabbed my uniform and left the mirror occupying space.

The factory was killing me. Steel shavings and scorching hot vapor coat my lungs, my tongue with the bitter taste of iron. The floor was covered in soot, the walls black as night, the break room smells of cigarettes.

I broke down around the fourth hours of the steel pouring and my tears evaporate before they hit the factory floor. All I want is to go home, bury my head in the cushions and pray I never wake up.

I returned home at midnight, covered in a thin layer of grime, exhausted, hungry, defeated. The dim light reflects off the mirror and I’m almst afraid to look at myself.

The mirror stood alone. A chill filled the air as I sucked down frigid breath where there should be none. I look in the mirror.

A woman smiled back.

I spun around—my apartment was empty. Looked back. The mirror shows only myself. But I could have sworn for a moment that there was a familiar face in the mirror, a woman I barely recognized.

“I’m losing it,” I muttered.

“No, you’re not,” I told myself.

I tried to reconcile my hallucinations with my memories. The woman was nearly my age, blonde locks, an opal ring. Married. But who was she? And why did I see her?

Sleeping gave no answers, If I could sleep at all. Tossing. Turning. I woke and poured myself a glass of water and looked back at the mirror.

She was there. I didn’t look away this time. She was standing by my side, right next to my reflection. And my reflection was wrong; I had a opal ring around my finger.

The woman smiled. She raised a hand as if to reach out and touch the glass and I reached for her. My reflection mirrored my movement until our fingertips touched.

The glass quivered. The woman, and my reflection’s ring, vanished.

I ran to the bathroom and downed a double serving of Advil. Splashed water on my face and stumbled back to my bedroom, only to hear the ring-a-ding of my alarm. Another sleepless night. Fuck.

On my lunch break, I called my family lawyer.

“Did my father ever mention anything about a mirror to you?”

Her stoic demeanor was off-putting, as always. “I can check the deposition, but I don’t remember. Why?”

“Nevermind. I found one in the basement on the walk-through. But nevermind.”

“Are you doing alright?”

“I have to get back now.”

I pour steel into molds and avoid her question. Am I alright? That my father dropped dead, and I couldn’t take a day for the funeral? No. I wasn’t alright.

I think back to the mirror, how fucking happy I looked standing next to the ghost-bride. I needed to go back. To look in the mysterious mirror.

When I did, this time, there was no other woman. Instead, there I stood, smiling, wearing a cap and gown. Magna cum laude. A degree in hand.

I couldn’t fathom how or why the mirror worked, but here in the middle of my living room was a reality I could never touch. I thought back to the words of my father.

“Every future,” I mumbled, and my reflection does the same.

I never graduated from high school. I guess time wasn’t kind to my family. My father and I had enough work just paying rent and keeping our heads up. The news station got word of my sisters’ death and rumors spread. Foul play. Abuse. None of them were true but they made my life a living hell for a long, long time.

I looked in the mirror and saw her again.

And this time, I recognized. Cecilia. It had been so many years since we last spoke. I remember sitting in the cafeteria and worrying about my Algebra final. She was a grade ahead and applying to Stanford. I was hopeful, horny, trying to wow a girl I had no chance of landing.

“You should visit the campus with me,” she said. “Look for jobs there. Maybe we could move in together?”

She was so fucking up-front about it all that It caught me completely by surprise.

“Why are you so quiet?” she asked.

“I can’t go with you,” I said.

She gave me a look like wounded animal. Her eyes softened into damp pools of opal. She brushed her golden hair back and pursed her lips.

“For starters,” I said, “I’m dropping out next week.”

We had been together ever since sophomore dance where I learned to tango. And it all seemed to be crashing down around us as my life fell apart. She was moving away. Moving on. And I was stuck in stagnation because I had no choice, never a choice, so I told myself.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, incredulous.

“Work the factory. My father says I can get a shift. Then maybe when I have enough, I can open a little coffee shop, like we talked about?”

But she just shook her head. “I can’t stay with you!”

And that was the end of things. The papers were signed two weeks later and I took my last look at the school I will never finished. I walked through those double-doors on the way to my first shift on the factory floor and never looked back.

But now, when she smiled in the mirror it broke my heart.

“I’m sorry,” I said, but the reflection was speechless. “You were right. You were right.”

At work again, but I couldn’t take my mind off thee mirror. How did it work? Like some twisted portal of reality that taunted what could have been and what never was. It called to me.

And I listened.

I spent hours by the mirror. Called in sick. I put the stand up where my television was and sat back in the hard-plastic chair to watch my life unfold. And like a twisted movie, the mirror played.

I saw it all. I could have been a lawyer. I could have been married. I could have been a father. But what finally broke me was the last vision—

My mother and father, walking hand-in-hand beside my reflection.

I stooped in awe. They were older, happier. My father’s face was unscarred and unbroken. No car crash. I wondered for a brief moment if my sister was still alive. Maybe this was the future that could have been.

And I see it now, on my hand, that opal ring.

If only I had gone with Cecila.

If only.

The mirror taunts at what could have been. I see the future reflected on silvered glass. In this future, I am loved. I have children of my own. I have the wife from school I never asked to dance, and I lost myself in her smile because she’s so fucking perfect. In the mirror I have everything.

But in my present, I have nothing.

I curl a fist and drive it through the center of the mirror. Glass pierces my skin and draws crimson droplets. Shattered fractals fall like silvered snow. The magic of the mirror was destroyed.

As the visions vanished, I lived the death of everyone I’ve loved. My father’s funeral, my sisters, my own. The trance was lifted like the weight on my shoulders and I knelt in the shards and sobbed.

The next morning, I walked to work and signed my letter of resignation, effective immediately. I think I’m going to open that coffee shop I’ve always wanted. Try and make something of my life.

My father had a theory about time. That life is not simple cause and effect; that each choice we make creates a whole world of possibilities, millions of different futures that we can never touch. I have a different thesis. That if you spend too much time looking back, you can never see forward.

Now, when I stare into the shards, I see only myself.


COMMENTS

-



 

03:51 Jun 03 2020
Times Read: 1,259


"Tell me a bedtime story
And don't forget the monsters..."

Prophets of doom filling the coffers of dragons
Martyrdom blood drowns angels in the streets of Heaven
Never will the vultures ever hunger for the tortured
Flesh stripped away from bones of gods of phantoms

Witness the malice through the looking glass
And sweep away the ashes of the past
I have yet to taste fervor temptation
Except in the throes of perdition

Profits of doom seem so hellbent to haunt these bones
A wisp of spectres trapped 'tween whispers' agonized screams
Sever the arteries pillared with your disease
Imprisoned in the insidious heart of bleakest dreams

Goddamn the midnight queen
I can't lick away all the blood
On my hands, so true
THAT I'VE SHED FOR YOU

So, as you lay your head to sleep
Know this knife is yours to keep
If you die before before you wake
Know your soul is mine to take

Never meant to horrify
With this darkest lullaby

Gorgons of war gather for the slaughter
At the cusp of winter in Hades' oratory
Dying in the ghost light lying to lovers' plight
Human sacrifices stripped of flesh in Purgatory

Serpents entwined with the scars of murder
As crows sing laments beneath the thunder
Choke down the taste of fervor temptation
Within the halls of our damnation

Morbid are the tunes rent from the devil's tongue
As manticores fornicate with centobitical clerics
Venom tipped hell talons sodomizes willing hellions
For the glory to bare chimeric heretics

Behold the midnight queen
Writhing in passionate lustmord
I am damned, so true
FOR WHAT I'VE DONE FOR YOU

So, as you lay your head to sleep
Know this knife is yours to keep
If you die before before you wake
Know your soul is mine to take

Never meant to horrify
With this darkest lullaby

GOOD NIGHT, MY SWEET
REST THE SLEEP OF DEAD ANGELS
IN MY GOOD NAME
IN YOUR GRAVE
DREAM OF THE DEAD OF POMPEII

Goddamn the midnight queen
I can't lick away all the blood
On my hands, so true
THAT I'VE SHED FOR YOU

So, as you lay your head to sleep
Know this knife is yours to keep
If you die before before you wake
Know your soul is mine to take

Never meant to horrify
With this darkest lullaby


COMMENTS

-



BloodRoseX
BloodRoseX
13:56 Jun 03 2020

Dude, this shit is as dark as it can get. Awesome stuff. But mentally, I hope you come out of it.... Dwelling in this ain't good for the soul.

:)





 

21:56 Jun 02 2020
Times Read: 1,267


I paid for the fuel and walked out, my Towncar waiting for me by the pump. I don't care what anyone says, driving will always be my choice over flying when it comes to cross country travel. There's just something about cruising on two-lane interstates through the badlands of the US that I've always liked. Maybe it was the freedom I felt with it. Just me, the car, and the open road. With the windows down and the radio turned up I was the happiest I could ever be, and since I had to travel quite frequently for business trips and whatnot this had become a regular feeling for me.

I got in the car and started the engine, chills rushing over me as the V8 growled to life. I pulled out to the edge of the parking lot and stopped, looking down the desolate road. You could see it dissapear into the desert miles ahead, almost as if it was going straight to the edge of the Earth. I was on the last leg of my return trip home to Las Vegas from a company conference in Seattle. The whole drive there and back had been nothing short of perfection. Clear skies, great music, warm weather, and of course, the feeling of complete isolation from the rest of the world. I had also stayed in cheap but rather nice roadside motels, a nice break from the congested and noisy city life I was all too familiar with, but unfortunately had to go back to. It was mid-afternoon right now. I had started today in a little motel near the Utah-Nevada border and planned to be back home that night. I couldn't think of a better day to end the trip on.

I pushed down on the accelerator and turned onto the road, the Towncar slowly picking up speed. I let it get to roughly 70mph before levelling off and turning on cruise control. I had packed some CDs for this trip as well, my favorite one being The Hollies' album "Distant Light." I popped the disc into the CD player and rolled down all the windows. The music started and I kicked back and relaxed behind the wheel, letting the groove of "Long Cool Woman" take me away as the warm desert air rushed into the car and mountains passed. I drove like this for the rest of the day, only stopping for fuel or the occasional snack at a roadside diner. The sense of space and freedom I felt was otherworldly. I had only passed a handful of other cars and only one cop at the side of the road. I truly felt at home.

Once night fell however, I turned off the radio and focused more on the road. I didn't want to hit any animals and Las Vegas wasn't too far off now. I had about two and a half hours to go, but even still, there were absolutely no cars around me. I guessed that no one else really had any reason to be out here... but that's when I saw them. Two headlights had appeared in my rearview mirror from seemingly out of nowhere, and they were coming up really fast. I figured it was just a speedfreak, or a teenager out for a joyride away from the crowd. I expected them to just overtake me and speed off down the road, but they didn't. I watched as the car sped up behind me and began riding my bumper, so close I couldn't read its licence plate. I glanced at the headlights and noticed the car was also quite old. It looked like one of those late-50s or early-60s Cadillacs. I should know as my father had one when I was a kid, and every summer we would go on a road trip with it. This is probably where my love for cross country car travel began.

This person was still tailgating me though. Thinking they just wanted to be an asshole I switched lanes to let them go by as the interstate had now become four lanes with two going different directions. As I did this however, the Cadillac followed me, still riding my bumper. Now I was worried. Did this person want something or did they have some kind of problem? I was startled out of my mind when I heard the car lay on its horn and saw it start rapidly flashing its brights. I picked up my phone to call the police but it was dead, and the charger was in my suitcase in the trunk. There was no way I was pulling over now, so I shut off my lights and stomped on the gas. My car took off like a rocket leaving the Cadillac far behind. As I sped away I kept checking my mirrors, expecting to see that car chasing after me, but it was gone. I turned the lights back on and was now on full alert. That person was obviously crazy, but seemed to have gotten bored of me and turned around.

I'll admit, I started feeling a sense of relief as I saw the stars beginning to fade. I had only about another half hour of driving left until I was back in familiar territory. Even though I was starting to forget about the previous events I was still eager to get back to civilization. Bit by bit the sky grew brighter and brighter, however the road was still empty. I thought this was rather odd but didn't have any time to think about it as my car was suddenly jolted forward by a rearend collision. It swerved for a moment before I got it back under control. I looked in the rearview mirror to see what had caused the impact... and my eyes opened so wide they burned. It was the same Cadillac from earlier. Now it was actually ramming me.

I knew the Towncar was a heavy vehicle capable of taking quite a beating, but I wanted this nightmare to end. I put the accelerator to the floor and started racing way over the speed limit. This time the Cadillac kept up, and it hit me once again. What the hell was this person's problem?! I spun the steering wheel and jerked over to the other side of the road. The Cadillac followed suit and hit me a third time. I finally realized that it was trying to run me off the road. My phone remained dead and no matter what I tried this maniac was always on my tail. At that moment I realized what I had to do. I went back to the right side of the road and the Cadillac followed, this time pulling alongside me. Now I could see the car with more detail. It was jet black and had no licence plates, and the windows were as dark as a starless night, obstructing any view inside. I looked at it angrily and let out a scream. I threw the steering wheel to the left with everything I had. My car collided with the Cadillac, its weight causing the car to spin out of control into the ditch. I didn't stop. I didn't want to face whoever or whatever was in that thing.

I kept going, not daring to slow down. I was flying down the road, not caring if a cop pulled me over. Just then I saw the lights of Las Vegas appear over the mountains in front of me. I was nearly there. I began to slow down as I neared the bridge. It was a very long bridge that went over a deep ravine on the very outskirts of the city. I just didn't want anymore trouble tonight so I slowed back down to the speed limit upon approaching the bridge. Past it the road started to become a bit more populated with a few cars here and there. I felt a huge wave of relief at that moment, but was snapped out of it when I heard the roar of an engine next to me. I only had a second to look at the Cadillac flying across the interstate before it T-boned me, sending me spinning into the rocks at the side of the road. I sat there dazed, all of my airbags deployed. I tried looking outside to see if the Cadillac was still there, but it had vanished. I was in so much pain that I collapsed back into my seat, broken glass littering my lap and the surrounding area. Before I blacked out however, I heard a low deep rumble. I glanced outside and through the smoke and debris I saw something I'll never get out of my head. The bridge was collapsing.

I awoke in the hospital the next morning. I had a cast on my left arm and left leg. By this point I wasn't in very much pain, but the scene from last night was still fresh in my mind. Next to my bed stood a doctor and a cop. The doctor told me I was in remarkably good condition despite the crash. Though I had fallen unconcious, broken bones were going to be the worst of it now. The cop then asked to be alone with me in the room. When the doctor left he started asking me about what had happened. I told him everything, from the old Cadillac to being chased and rammed multiple times. The cop took some notes, then told me my belongings had been successfully removed from the car, but the car itself had been totaled in the collision. He also said that insurance would cover the expenses and a search was being initiated to find the suspect. Before the cop left he told me I was actually extremely lucky that I wasn't on the bridge when it collapsed or I absolutely would've died.

This was apparently the second time the bridge had failed. The first time was four years ago. I remembered that. The story had spread like wildfire across the country nearly overnight. Officials were now looking into the cause of both disasters. The cop left the room leaving me all alone. I looked out the nearby window and saw the sun in the sky over the Eiffel Tower. I was back in Las Vegas. Just then I glanced over to the TV next to me and saw the crumbled bridge on the news. It mentioned that unlike the first time around there were no casualties, just a car crash nearby leaving one vehicle destroyed... mine. They also said that no signs of a second vehicle could be found anywhere but that an investigation was now officially underway.

What happened next is something I'm still trying to cope with to this day. The news showed a few pictures of the first time the bridge fell in, and there was one casualty. A 73-year-old man by the name of Gerald Henderson had been out for a drive when he went over the bridge. It gave way and the old man was killed in the fall. The news then showed a picture of Gerald's mangled car being pulled out of the ravine... and my blood froze. The car in the picture was an old black Cadillac, the exact same one that I encountered last night.


COMMENTS

-



 

17:03 Jun 02 2020
Times Read: 1,294


Is this person right in the head? I simply stated my uncle runs scarefest and she threatens me. What is up with that please someone tell me what I did wrong?


COMMENTS

-



 

15:56 Jun 02 2020
Times Read: 1,298


Spawned from the furies of Persephone’s dementia
The devil between winter’s midnightmare tragedies
Beneath the watchful eye of your next Armageddon
Written on chamber walls among graveyard tapestries

I was born without a name
Well beyond the creator’s reach
And branded with flame
Marked by the number of the beast

six
six
six

The loving embrace of crepuscular pariahs
Caught in a landslide of misanthropic phantasies
Drowning in Stygian waters reserved for dead gods
Returned from the grave by spells of utter blasphemy

I was born without a name
Well beyond the creator’s reach
And branded with flame
Marked by the number of the beast

six
six
six

Bleed upon my stone
Built from broken bone
If I ever had a name
It would be a curse
Who will walk with me
Through the hanging trees?
If you ever say my name
Speak it from the hearse

I was born without a name
Well beyond the creator’s reach
And branded with flame
Marked by the number of the beast

six
six
six


COMMENTS

-



 

05:39 Jun 02 2020
Times Read: 1,327


To the left I see the rats and to the right I see the snakes
In my ear they're whispering sweet sermons of cruel hate.


COMMENTS

-



 

04:59 Jun 02 2020
Times Read: 1,334


I remember the impending doom of dusk
As you gazed into my eyes one last time
And I embraced your shivering hands in mine
Shed a tear every night when that dream turns to dust

there's nothing in heaven
when you are still in my heart
no angels in heaven
i can't stand for us to part

NO

I wish I could say I tried to let you go
I would be lying to myself again
The past holds me captive so I can't begin
To heal in this chrysalis of deep shadows

NO

There's nothing in Heaven
When you are still in my heart
No angels in Heaven
I can't stand for us to part

BURN IT DOWN AND DRIFT AMONG THE EMBERS
THE MASQUE IS FAILING IN MOURNING DISGUISE
BURN IT DOWN AND DRIFT AMONG THE EMBERS
OUR ASHES ARE TOGETHER IN NIGHT SKIES

I am fighting my demons with tooth and nail
But it is just a one sided slaughter
I'm torn asunder across troubled waters
Suffering without you in my own fucking Hell

burn it down and drift among the embers
the masque is failing in mourning disguise
burn it down and drift among the embers
our ashes are together in night skies

there's nothing in heaven
when you are still in my heart
no angels in heaven
i can't stand for us to part

The silence, the silence
Is so deafening

Burn it down and drift among the embers
WHEN THERE'S NOTHING IN HEAVEN
The masque is failing in mourning disguise
YOU STILL IN MY HEART
Burn it down and drift among the embers
THERE'S NO ANGELS IN HEAVEN
Our ashes are together in night skies
I CANNOT STAND FOR US TO PART


COMMENTS

-



BloodWidow
BloodWidow
05:25 Jun 02 2020

Heaven
haunted and abandoned
our remnants of a factory,
but look closely:
it was built on
hopes and dreams
a lotus petal cried.
Clean
dirt now on the chimney sweep,
his journey pulling him
through suffering.
Heaven stands there forgetting
what it was like
when the rain washes away,
everything down the drain.
Forgot
a broken heart,
a terrible face,
your riots and rants.
Heaven only knows
painless ringing,
emptiness while we are lifted up
like doves.
Housetrained to keep
their hardship at the door.





 

What would happen biologically if someone drank blood? How would it be processed in the body?

01:54 Jun 02 2020
Times Read: 1,361


Human blood would be a terrible drink for humans. Not only would it have an excellent chance of spreading disease, it has very little nutrition and contains toxic components.

I think the disease concern is obvious. Any blood-borne disease (hepatitis C, hepatitis B, HIV, many more) would have the potential for spreading this way.

As for nutrition, blood is mostly liquid. If we look to vampire bats to see how they manage, we see that vampires drink over half their weight at each 30-minute meal [1]. They manage this by rapidly absorbing the nutritive parts of the blood and peeing away the rest [1]. Humans aren't able to do either of these -- the rapid absorption and the rapid urination are both specific adaptations -- so humans would have a hard time getting much nutrition from blood.

Then there's the toxicity issue. Blood is very rich in iron, obviously, and iron is very toxic. (Iron poisoning is one of the more common toxicities in children.) Again, vampire bats have specific adaptations to deal with this ("The common vampire bat maintains iron balance by severely limiting the percentage of iron absorbed from its very high iron diet" [2]). Humans trying to get enough nutrition from blood would poison themselves with iron.


COMMENTS

-



 

01:29 Jun 02 2020
Times Read: 1,367


I think telling you all about my problem might have made it worse. It’s only been a few days, but stuff is moving all over my house and I am seeing the Things every time I move. I am working from home right now (Stephen is not) so I don’t get any relief. We’re trying to figure out what the Things want from us, but so far, nothing is working.

Cleaning has become almost a compulsion for me. We’ve gotten rid of every non-functional item in the house, including the pictures on the walls. I’ve patched small holes and repainted every room. I clean the whole house top to bottom every day. I just get started and I feel panicky until I finish. I can feel them watching me all the time now, and I see them out of the corners of my eyes. I try to focus on my hands or on the floor, but I can’t not see them.

Some of the new rules we’ve tried:

Not wearing shoes in the house
Never turning on a light (tried red and black light flashlights - Thanks commenter! Still using, but no change)
Windows are completely uncovered, no blinds or curtains
We’ve tried both cracking all the windows and making sure they are closed and locked
I’ve tried staying outside during daylight hours (this problem got worse since I’ve been working from home, it was worth a shot)
I’ve tried staying inside all day
Leaving meat every day instead of just when we eat it (still disappearing, but no change in their behavior)
Leaving more meat (all of it disappears, no matter how much we leave)
Not leaving any meat (backfired horribly, see note below)
Leaving out wine or champagne instead of and then along with water
Like I said, we tried not putting out meat. It just disappears, so we thought maybe they don’t like it? WRONG. We cooked some chicken for dinner, nothing fancy. I didn’t leave anything out and made sure to take out the trash so there was no raw meat left in the kitchen. The next day, the kitchen was trashed. The fridge wasn’t opened, so at least we didn’t get spoiled food everywhere, but the bags of flour and sugar covered the floor, all of my non plastic glasses were shattered (except one champagne flute). The sink was left on and the counters and floor were soaking wet. It took forever to clean everything up and Stephen managed to cut himself on one of the broken glasses. He bled enough that it was another giant mess for me to clean up.

We took a hint from the champagne flute and tried leaving it out filled with champagne that night, but it was just knocked over the next day. I don’t think that’s what They want. They did seem to settle down for a day though, so we must be heading in the right direction.

I am now compiling lists of things they move, to see if they have any relation to possible new rules:

A butter knife left on the floor, the cutlery drawer was left open
A phone charger, left hanging on the bathroom door (we’ve since stopped using our phones in there, no change)
Various books, left in the sunroom
A bottle of nailpolish, left in one of my shoes (I painted my toenails, just in case)
Our compost bin, several times, various locations (including on my pillow)
I need help figuring things out here. We’re doing everything we can and feel like we’re going insane. I’ve been nervous for a long time, but today scared me so bad. I remembered I’d posted about this and came back to get some advice.

Earlier, I got up to go to the bathroom. From my office door you can see down through the living room to the hall that leads to the bedrooms/bathroom. I was already on edge because I felt something follow me from the office and I saw one of the old man looking Things sitting in a chair in the living room before it disappeared. I turned the other way and looked down the hall. I was staring right at one of Them.

It just stood there, it didn’t go away, it didn’t move. It was in the full front of my vision, staring me down. I froze, couldn’t move and didn’t dare blink. It was breathing rapidly, it's chest rising and falling in a chaotic rhythm. A line of drool fell from its mouth and landed on it’s bloated gut. The mouth itself was not much more than a dark smear across this Thing's face. It had no nose that I could see, but it had piercing white eyes. I tried to take it in, see what it was, but my mind violently rejected what I was seeing. I felt lightheaded and saw grey spiderwebs creeping into my peripheral vision. I’m not sure if I really blacked out for a second, but I did close my eyes. When they were open again the thing was gone.

I ran outside to throw up, I couldn’t face going down the hallway to the bathroom and I had wet myself standing there. I actually stripped and hosed myself off outside, not even caring about the neighbors. I was hyperventilating at this point and squatted down behind a bush and just rocked. I couldn't tell you how long I was out there, but I finally did start to calm down.

I got back inside and dressed myself from the laundry room (it’s next to the office) and went back to sit at the patio table until Stephen got home. Even then, it took some real convincing to get me to go near that side of the house. I am typing this up now in the desperate hope that one of you out there knows about these Things and can help me figure out what rule we are breaking. I am so scared, I will try literally anything. Please, PLEASE help me. I am just hoping that posting again doesn’t spark something worse.


COMMENTS

-



IvysxHaven
IvysxHaven
01:56 Jun 02 2020

Black salt for protection and keeping things out, if they are not bothering you just give them rule's. its your home now, put your foot down out loud. If they don't respect the rules tell them to leave, if they don/t banish them.





 

00:29 Jun 02 2020
Times Read: 1,371


So, most of you probably turn off the lights when you leave a room, right? I mean, who doesn’t? Apparently, my husband! I love Stephen to pieces, but it was just never a habit he formed as a kid. He’s been good about it for the last few days, but that probably because he finally started seeing the Things too.

When I was a kid, there were a lot of rules about keeping the house clean and making sure the lights were always off. I never thought much of it because most of my friends had similar rules in their houses. My family always knew about the Things, but it might just be because ours have so many rules for generations.

Have you ever seen the Things I’m talking about? When you see something out of the corner of your eye, you turn really quick to see it and it’s gone? If not, you’ve probably got some pretty relaxed... whatever they are. My family has always had to do a lot to appease the Things. My mom had it worse than her mom, but was still able to figure out their rules and keep up with Them pretty easily.

For the most part, the rules my mom’s Things have seem to be stuff we’d regularly do anyway:

Always turn the lights off when you leave a room
Always keep internal doors open at least a crack (yes, even the bathroom!)
Always leave a glass of water, at least half full, somewhere in the house
Always leave any window coverings at least partially open
Always leave an empty drawer or closet in the house (My mom taught me a good trick for this one! Get an old sewing table with lots of tiny drawers that are too small to effectively use! It still counts!)
When cooking meat, always put a small portion (uncooked) on a plate. Throw it away if left more than 24 hours without disappearing. This doesn’t apply to pre-cooked meats like Deli meat)
There do seem to be some other rules about cleaning, but I am not sure what they might be. As a general rule of thumb, we always just keep the house clean and tidy,

You’ll know right away if you break any rules, because you’ll start to see these Things hanging around. At first, not too often, but the longer you break the rules, the more frequently They come and the sharper their outlines look. The rules aren’t the same for every household, it totally depends on your specific Things.

At first, when my husband and I moved into our first house about a year ago, I never saw a single one! It was months before I glimpsed anything. I thought I had gotten off easy with some laid back Things. I started spotting Them around October, as it got darker during the days. Stephen would leave the lights on more frequently, so I think that’s what triggered the Things. I asked him to stop, and he did try to keep it in mind. But the Things never stopped showing up.

By November, I was starting to see how tall these Things were, and I could see more of their outlines. I was surprised at how human They looked. I’d never seen one so clearly before. I begged my husband to start following the rules, and I called my mom to see what all she had to do for hers. She gave me her list of rules and I started following them.

Nothing has gotten better. I’ve started being able to see really what the Things look like. There are at least four of them. I only see them in the periphery, but two look like older men, one looks like a young woman, and one is really hard to tell. Our cats have started being more protective of me. If I am sitting at my computer, one of them will always be sitting behind my chair, starting at the doorway. I think they are trying to keep me safe from those Things.

Stephen dismissed all of this. He’d say he sees stuff out of the corner of his eyes, but that it is just paranoia or a mind trick. Or at least he did until late last week. He was walking by my office and thought he saw me sitting in there out of the corner of his eye. He called out to me and asked what I wanted for dinner. He was looking at this phone so didn’t really look at “me”. When he got to the kitchen and saw me standing there, he jumped and sort of skipped/half jogged back to the office. There was no one in there, but the Things don’t exactly let you see them, so it’s not surprising.

Since then, he’s been more wary of the things he’s seeing. He agrees with me now, he can see them too and it’s not a figment of our imagination. They’ve started getting close to us as wel., They used to stay in different rooms or across the house. I am now seeing them as I enter a room, and even once sitting beside me on the couch. We don’t know if they will harm us, but they feel so wrong, I can’t imagine that they are here to help.

Even though Stephen’s started turning the lights off and I’ve been better about cleaning, I am seeing them more and more. Their images are getting sharper and sharper, I am starting to get really scared. Most distressingly, some things have started to move around in the house. I’ve never heard of these Things doing something like that. Our latest theory is that there’s a new rule… I hope we figure it out before we learn what these Things are really capable of.


COMMENTS

-



 

22:07 Jun 01 2020
Times Read: 1,393


There’s a reason they don’t build staircases with eleven steps anymore. It’ll start with the sound of something climbing behind you.
My dad was an architect and they could be a superstitious bunch. Many of them will skip building Floor 13 and jump right from Floor 12 to 14. If you’re building a new house, everything from the color of the paint on the porch to the type of flower planted outside might affect the “luck” of the home. For the most part, dad told me those quirks were more tradition than anything else. All but one.

“Never buy a house where the staircase has eleven steps,” he warned me one summer night years ago after he’d had a few drinks.

I grinned. “Yeah, and always buy a new broom to go with a new house. I know the drill.”

Dad shook his head and looked out at the summer stars. He seemed far away.

“I know it sounds like the rest of the bullshit, Steven,” dad said. “But this...this is one that I think is true. I can’t tell you why, you wouldn’t believe what I’ve-...you just wouldn’t believe me. Do me a favor, though. Count the steps when you buy a house some day down the line. If there’s eleven, buy something else.”

I promised I would but it was a teenage promise made on a clear night when the weather was fine and the world felt far away. There was a girl with red hair and a gunfighter grin on my mind. She occupied my daydreams all that summer. Not much room left for such a small promise to take root. So I forgot. God damn me, I forgot.

Dad passed away last year. If he’d still been around I’m sure he would have checked on the house that caught Molly and my eye. It was a colonial with an acre of yard and a wraparound porch. There was an oak in the back, tall with branches like bridge beams. The perfect foundation for a treehouse. It was a suburban dream, ideal for a young couple and for our kid on the way.

I loved everything about the house. Large windows drank in morning sunlight. The deck was old wood, solid and stained and dotted with columns. There was an office for me and a fireplace for Molly. Best of all there was space, empty now, but nearly vibrating with potential. Wherever I looked, I saw images of kids and dogs and memories waiting for us to catch up.

I was distracted by new beginnings. So I didn’t count the steps when the real estate agent showed us upstairs. Not then. Not until after the ink was dry on the purchase and our rented Uhaul was parked in the driveway.

Coming from an apartment, Molly and I didn’t have too much stuff. But the doc told her not to lift too much or exert herself and I was stubborn enough to figure I could handle it myself. So move-in day was dragging. Fumbling to see over the edge of the nightstand, I was halfway up the stairs when I heard a heavy footfall behind me.

“Hey Moll,” I said, shifting to look back, “I can handle the upstairs stuff if you want to get started with-”

The stairs were empty behind me. I felt it then, for the first time, a sense of unease mixed with guilt. As if I’d done something wrong or forgotten something important.

“Hey Molly,” I called out.

“What’s up?” she answered from downstairs.

“What are you up to?”

I heard the sound of glasses clinking. “Unpacking kitchen stuff. You need a hand?”

“No. No, I think I got it.”

I moved slowly up the stairs, listening after each step. After I reached the top and sat the nightstand down, I turned back and finally counted. My heart sped up a little with each step I looked over. I could hear my dad’s voice inside my head clearly, as well as the promise I made him. The promise I’d just broken.

“One two three four five, wait, shit,” I said to myself, pressing out breath in short bursts. “I skipped one. Fuck this.”

I began to walk down the stairs carefully, noting each step. As my foot touched number eleven at the bottom, the last step, I felt a draft brush against my neck. Almost like fingertips. I whirled around so quickly I nearly tripped.

“You alright?” Molly called out.

“Fine,” I lied.

I was watching up the staircase. Nothing about it was sinister or even remarkable. Smooth wooden steps with a banister going halfway up the side then a wall rail the rest of the way. I wondered if we should get a rug for it.

“New house jitters,” I told myself, going back to the Uhaul for another box.

The rest of the move-in went smooth. Every time I headed up or down the stairs I would go slow and listen. But I never noticed anything else that day. I also recounted each time I went upstairs but the number of steps never changed.

A week after moving in, Molly and I were woken up by the sound of someone running up our staircase. The footsteps were startling and loud, each one like a hammer against a board.

“Jesus, Steven, what the fuck?” Molly shouted, climbing out of bed.

I scrambled to our bedroom door and turned the lock, keeping my back against it.

“Call the cops,” I said, listening for any sounds outside the door.

Molly took her phone and hunkered down between the bed and the wall. I moved quickly from the door to our closest. My hands were shaking and it took me several seconds of violent fumbling to dial in the combination to the lockbox. I came back into the bedroom with a gun inherited from my dad, feeling both safer and more in danger at the same time. Molly and I sat huddled together watching the door for eight long, ugly minutes. When we saw the police lights flashing under our window, I put the gun away and crept downstairs.

On the last step, I felt something yank at my hair. When I turned, there was nothing behind me. Only an empty stairwell, bathed in hall light. I could nearly taste my pulse, a greasy, panicked thing. The police knocked. Hard. I backed away, never taking my eyes off the stairs until I was at the front door.

The cops didn’t find anything. No intruder. No signs of forced entry. Nothing but a new house with two terrified occupants who would spend the rest of a sleepless night downstairs.

The staircase looked so boring in the morning light. I was worried Molly would brush off my idea, ask me to give the house another chance. But Molly beat me to the punch.

“We need to leave,” she told me, a protective hand against her belly.

My Molly. Her red hair now had a few strands of silver but she still had her gunfighter grin in the good times. And in the hard times, she had clear eyes. She was steady.

“Okay,” I told her. “Okay.”

That morning contained some loud phone calls and some quiet moments where Molly and I just sat on the couch and looked at the house we were giving up. It didn’t bother me as much as I thought it would. I knew, looking at Molly as she began packing, that she carried my home with her wherever she went.

“I’m going to go talk to those fuckers in person,” I said. “Those real estate creeps are hiding something, I’m sure of it.”

Molly was lying on the couch, her sleepless night catching up. I glanced over at the stairs.

“Moll, if you need to rest, that’s fine just...promise me you’ll stay down here, okay?”

She opened one green eye, gave me the shadow of a grin. “Don’t worry, cowboy. Wild horses couldn’t take me back upstairs.”

I spent the rest of the morning arguing with a roomful of real estate agents. Gradually, it became clear that the house they’d sold us had an uncomfortable history that wasn’t readily disclosed. No brutal murders or Satanic rituals, just an awful lot of accidents and small tragedies. Mundane horrors that were easy enough to explain on their own but made for a troubling pattern.

Mouth dry from raising my voice, I left the real estate office at 1:04 pm in a better mood than I’d come in. Maybe Molly and I wouldn’t be able to get out of the sale scott free but it was looking like we’d be able to rescind the offer with minimal losses. I know the time exactly because that’s when I called Molly. She didn’t answer. The whole drive back I kept calling. Every time it went to voicemail, the dread swelling in my stomach like a cancer pulled a little tighter.

I found Molly dead at the foot of the stairs. She was twisted and bent like a doll dropped on the floor. Thick violet bruises covered her body. I held her for several minutes before calling for help. She was so clearly gone.

The entire time I waited for the ambulance to arrive, I heard the slow creak of steps moving down the stairs until they were at the bottom, inches away. I couldn’t see a thing. Just empty stairs and bloodstains.

My morning was well-documented, the confrontation at the real estate agency meant that I couldn’t be home when Molly...at her time of death. I overheard the cops talking; the medical examiner said it looked like Molly was dragged up the stairs before falling down. Or being thrown.

I wasn’t arrested, only told not to leave town. To stay home. That’s fine. I can hear it pacing the stairs as I write this down. Sometimes it takes soft, deliberate steps, the wood groaning under a heavy, unseen weight. Other times it runs, it wants me to hear it. Now and then it mimics the thuds of something falling down the stairs.

Molly. I’m so sorry.

It’s taunting me, daring me to come up. On my drive back from the police station I stopped to fill several canisters with gasoline. I can smell the gas now. It reminds me of summertime, of fresh-cut grass and of a girl with red hair and-

I’m going to burn this house down and then I don’t know what I’ll do. But at least there will be one less staircase with eleven steps. The next time you find yourself climbing up to the bedroom or down to the basement, do yourself a favor. Count.

If your foot stops on eleven, leave.


COMMENTS

-






COMPANY
REQUEST HELP
CONTACT US
SITEMAP
REPORT A BUG
UPDATES
LEGAL
TERMS OF SERVICE
PRIVACY POLICY
DMCA POLICY
REAL VAMPIRES LOVE VAMPIRE RAVE
© 2004 - 2024 Vampire Rave
All Rights Reserved.
Vampire Rave is a member of 
Page generated in 0.1002 seconds.
X
Username:

Password:
I agree to Vampire Rave's Privacy Policy.
I agree to Vampire Rave's Terms of Service.
I agree to Vampire Rave's DMCA Policy.
I agree to Vampire Rave's use of Cookies.
•  SIGN UP •  GET PASSWORD •  GET USERNAME  •
X