CRAPPYPASTA

For those pastas that are smelling less than fresh…


November 11, 2014
by derpbutt
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Daughter of Eve

It wasn’t until I was six that I realized I was different. My parents really should have told me, but instead they just locked me away, withholding any chance of trying to be normal from me. They never really talked to me either. Once a day my door would be unbolted and a bowl of grain and a bowl of water would be placed down. Than quickly, the door would be shut and locked once again. The first time I heard my mother speak was when I was four. “She’s getting worse…. Her hands…” I didn’t really know what it all meant.

I lived in darkness. The only light I saw was when the door opened, and even than it was only from the light above the basement stairs. Faint at best. Some times Mother wouldn’t come for weeks at a time. I would feel hungrier and hungrier until finally I could do nothing but sleep. But always, without fail, I would never starve. I would always wake up just as a bowl of grains were placed in my room, and I would be sustained. When I was five I began to eat the rats in the cellar. I would use my oatmeal as bait and than bite off their heads. I don’t know if it was the growth of my powers, or the extra protein that the rats supplied but by six I could see my surroundings. The light from the door began to hurt my eyes. One day, when my mother came down to deliver my food and water for the day she was careless. Leaving the door open just a crack, she bolted it, not knowing that the bolt wasn’t secured. I went over to the door and opened it, to be greeted by a dark stairway. Climbing up it, I could feel the wood splintering into my feet and hands. They burned, but the new sensations were euphoric to me. New sights and sounds flooded my brain with information. As I stepped onto the slick tile of the kitchen, I could hear music coming from my parents bedroom. It was the first music I had ever heard, and I will never forget the song.

“Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream Make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen Give him the word that I’m not a rover Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over. Sandman, I’m so alone Don’t have nobody to call my own Please turn on your magic beam Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream.”

As the music played in the background, I clutched the doorknob, well above my head, and used my weight to turn it. I was grateful for the music, as it made quite the clatter. I entered a dark room, cluttered with boxes and clothing. In the center was a large quilted bed with a loud rumbling noise coming from it, at the time I was terrified of this noise, it sounded deep and predetorial. In retrospect, I realize that this was merely snoring. I crept along the side of the bed until I found an upturned laundry basket that I could easily climb on. When I rose atop the basket I could see that the bed was complete with two bodies shrouded in lightly floral blankets. The one on the right rolled over to reveal a man whom I had never seen before. He had a large, sloping nose, and a bushy black beard. I placed on hand tentatively onto the bed, getting my nails stuck in the mattress. The man began to rumble, and rolled back over. Panicked, I struggled to remove my hand from the mattress. I must have shaken the bed too violently, because the other figure sat up, revealing itself to be my mother. “Marcus?” she asked groggily. She turned to face me. “Marcus!” screaming, she shook her husband. “Marcus she escaped!” Marcus sat up and he too screamed.

He lunged at me with his pillow as my mother turned on the light, blinding me. The force of the lunge had released my hand from the mattress but had broken off three of my nails. Marcus was holding me down, pillow in face. I frantically swung my back claws, digging into his legs. Finally he gave and backed off. Scared, I scurried under the bed. In the darkness my eyes began to regain their vision.

“Where do you think he went….”

“I don’t know…”

“Do you think he’ll come back up”

“I don’t know…”

“Get the tank…”

“No we can’t do tha-”

“Just do it Eve!”

The room went silent, except for the racing of my heart and the panting from above the bed. Minutes later, I heard footsteps, and a heavy thud on top of the bed. “Go!” said the man. I could hear dripping from around the bed. Terrified but curious, I crawled over to the side of the bed, the dripping now on the other side. I licked up a small amount of the fluid that had collected, only to be greeted by a mouth full of stinging needles. Abruptly, the stinging stopped and was replaced by a dull numbness. I found myself unable to retract my tongue into my mouth, being forced to drag it along the piles of clothing underneath the bed.

The dripping stopped and I scouted out where the legs where. I found them in the left corner, close to the door. Blood dripping down them, I felt sorry for the man, I didn’t mean to hurt him, I was really just defending myself. If I lunged for them once again, I might be able to scurry out of the door and back down into my basement, back into my safety.

Just as I prepared to pounce, a wall of light surrounded the bed, obscuring my vision. Heat radiated from all sides of the bed, and the light was spreading onto the underside of the mattress. I could feel the hair on my hair and spine beginning to burn, and felt the sharp pain of burns on my ears and scalp. I ran out, through the flame, and towards the door. The fire carried with me however, burning away my hair and sizzling away at my skin. I ran faster and faster all around trying to extinguish the flames, but nothing worked.

The pain began to be too much, and I ran out of energy. I laid down where I was and watched the fire spread out of my body and into the surrounding carpet. I could see my mother and the man going around the house throwing cups of water on the fire but I knew they wouldn’t be fast enough. I decided it would be a perfect time to take a nap and fell into a deep dark sleep.

And than I woke up.

Surrounded by a mountain of ash and partially burnt logs. My nails had turned from a dirty red color into a deep ebony, and my fur had completely disappeared. Where my skin had used to be tight and fitting to my bones, the flames had seemingly relaxed it, allowing my to easily stand up and shake off the dirt. It was daylight outside, yet my eyes didn’t hurt. The light from the fire had somehow desensitized my eyes, allowing me to see perfectly in the daylight.

I realized that I was hungry, and began to scout out the nearby woods for wildlife. It wasn’t long before I found a rabbit hopping through the brush. I crouched onto the ground and lunged using my new found elasticity. I managed to jump over the brush and on top of the rabbit, easily impaling it upon my claws. In the years following, I found the forest to be my bounty and safety. Rabbits, Birds, Deer, Bears, all sorts of wildlife permeated the forest providing an endless supply of food. The dense foliage provided shelter, and a small Central stream provided fresh water. Although I was careless at first, I eventually became in touch with the wildlife and spirit of the forest.

It is my understanding that my duty is to protect this forest and the creatures within it. Although sacrifices must be made to sustain me, I have undertook the role of preserving the life within this forest. No man or machine can stop me, because even if I die, I will always wake up.

Credit To – Nevernewyear
Credit Link – nevernewyear.tumblr.com/tagged/storytime

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November 11, 2014
by derpbutt
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Dye Road

They say the devil drives a Coup deVille. If he does, people say he would drive it down Dye Road.

At first glance, its seems perfectly ordinary, even picturesque; a pleasant dirt farm road in the middle of miles and miles of beautiful farmland in Northern Texas, about five or so miles out of the community of Possum Kingdom. In fact, you could drive down it in the middle of the night or day, pick your fancy, and nothing remotely disturbing will happen to you. So why is this road so feared by the locals? Why is it that this peaceful lane of Texas called “The Backroad to Hell”?

Roads will take you many places, it turns out. And with Dye Road, its not about being on it, its where the road takes you.

I first heard of this unpaved horror while driving with a friend of mine, who will remain anonymous. We passed it en route to Possum Kingdom to meet another friend and go fishing. He pointed out the little dirt road and said in a solemn voice, “I’ve only been down there once.”

At the time, I had only been in Texas for about seven months, so I blissfull asked, “Whats down there?”

My friend laughed. “Not much,” he said, “Just an old airfield.”

Several days later, I did research on airfields in Texas, being an avid lover of aviation, but noticed that there were no designated airfields, civilian or military alike, in any records as far back as the 1950’s. This struck me as odd, for any airfield had to be registered to tender incoming and outgoing flights; even the infamous Area 51 is registered as an airbase, though of course, there is little to no information about it.

I began to ask the locals around, but strangely, no one wanted to talk about it. They would just brush it off and give sorry excuses like “Its just a patch of concrete,” or “no ones been there in years.” I could tell they truly did not want to talk about the place, and I was beginning to get unnerved. My friend, who was now taking flying lessons, learned that the whole area about ten miles in diameter around the field was a no fly zone for low altitude craft. We were both very puzzled.

Our little search seemingly lost, we got an unexpected tip from a man at a gas station who identified himself only as The Farmer. He told us that he had heard we were looking for answers about the field and said he could help, but only if we met him in person at the base. When my friend asked why, he simply replied, “I used to work there.”

Later that day, we found the man leaning against his truck waiting for us right outside the gate to an abandoned air field. From what I saw immediately, there was a crumbling old observation tower, an adjacent barracks and a newer, recently built hanger. It turns out that the Farmer used the field to keep his crop duster, which made sense to my friend and I; why let a perfectly good air field go to waste, right?

Except, the air field was almost completely overgrown.

The concrete was cracked and shattered, and to the left there was no runway at all, instead, someone had taken wire meshing and green paint, and turned the lot into tennis courts, now abandoned with the rest of the base. It now looked improbable for the man to use the runway and we told him this. He just laughed and said he would avoid driving on the concrete or even walking on it if he could manage it.

The Farmer, it turned out, was an ex-CIA agent, and the airfield was an old military testing facility for weapons in the Cold War era. the Farmer pointed out overgrown parade grounds, the now collapsed vehicle garages, and the testing observation stations. In 1954, the United States formally acknowledged that the Soviet Union was a mounting threat to US interests, and decided to counter it. The base was constructed to test a wide variety of weapons and experiments, all from the public eye, for back then, the airbase was the only sign of civilization for miles. “This place made Area 51 look like a public petting zoo,” said the Farmer when asked about the security of the base and secrecy.

The Farmer then had to leave and invited us to explore the base as much as we wanted, but before he left he gave us a very grave, stern warning.

“Odds are good you kids might come across a big steel door in the ground,” he whispered, “For Christ’s sake, DO NOT open it.”

“Whats down there?” my friend asked, to which the Farmer shook his head.

“Everything we left behind.”

Explore the base we did. We checked out the parade grounds, the observation stations and found some pretty awesome stuff; old fire extinguishers, one or two helmets, and moldy, moth eaten kit bags. What we really were looking for were old electronics and even weapons that the military left behind. It sounds stupid I know, but if you where given free reign over an old military base, don’t pretend you wouldn’t do the same. I personally hoped I could get my hands on a rare Stoner 63.

All the while, my friend and I guessed what the military might have left behind. Nukes, biochemical weapons, vehicles, jets that could travel faster than light, that kind of crap.

The first thing I noticed that seemed disturbing was in the control tower.

we climbed the rickety iron stairway, which was so eaten by rust it threatened to buckle underneath us at any moment. At the top, we saw nothing in the room. Nothing at all save for a single chair. There were no electronics, in fact, there were no wires. This was confusing, given that a control tower would at least, the very least, have a radio to contact the aircraft on the ground. But no. No lights, no switches, no wires, nothing. We examined the chair, which looked like a very uninteresting chair at first glance, until I saw claw marks in the arm rest and the cuff links where one’s wrists and ankles would usually go.

Neither I nor my friend knew what to make of this. My friend also noted the concrete area was too short to be a runway. From the top looking down, he was right. The entire concrete patch was no longer than at least four small lots lined up against one another. Every eight feet or so, we noticed that there were chain couplets in iron loops in the ground. We dismissed this for a helicopter landing pad and we decided to move on. The barracks were next.

We easily busted the lock and headed inside. The wood paneling on the walls had been eaten away by termites. Bed frames, covered in rust and falling apart, seemed to be piled messily all over the room in mounds. And all over the floor were small aluminum boxes. Rifle magazines.

We thought we had scored. Surely, some old military tech was nearby. We poked around some more until we found all the magazines and shell casings. We found Twenty Three empty magazines…and Twenty Three shells.

Now, one bullet wouldn’t normally do much, even a rifle round. The standard magazine for an M16A1 was usually 15 or 30 round boxes. But one bullet each? We guessed they could have all come from one loaded clip, but the magazines and the cases were all in separate areas; Where ever there was one shell, there was one magazine.

Just as I was thinking about this whilst pacing, I ran into a spider web and jumped in shock, pulling the silk out of my face. When I looked up, trying to find where the web came from, I froze. I could only stare open mouthed at the ceiling. My friend looked at me and looked up as well, and dropped the magazines he was holding in horror.

On the ceiling were 23 neatly punched holes in the tin and wood roofing. Every hole had a black spray encircling it like some disturbingly painted flowers decorating the paneling.

“My GOD!” I whispered.

Twenty three mags. Twenty three bullets.

Twenty three men…

We hurriedly exited the building, and noticed that it was quickly getting dark.

The Barracks definitely had us unnerved but the opportunity to explore the base had us eager to see what else was here. Unfortunately, other than Farmer’s hanger, which we didn’t touch, and a huge concrete wall down a little path, there was nothing.

We decided to cut our losses and take maybe a fire extinguisher or a helmet, maybe even one of those magazines from the barracks as proof of our visit. I was against the latter. I didn’t want to enter that place if I could avoid it. He went in and got one, and I chose a cool looking helmet, complete with goggles strapped to the iron. My friend, however, also handed me a book.

“Whats this?” I asked, taking it and inspecting the thin, rotting leather.

“Looks like a journal.” he said. He dug out a flashlight, the evening was fading quickly to night, and I read the first page.

“Hatcher wants them combat ready. We don’t have the means for this and even if we did, I don’t think they’ed be willing to cooperate. We keep running the same experiments but (ink blurred and unable to read, until a page later.) Number 3 has gone into cardiac arrest. This getting out of hand, but we are so close, so close, in fact, that I will put him back on the rig. I kills me to do this, but I (again, ink blurred. Five pages on.) All that matters is the research. I have been enlightened now, and I can see that morality has kept me bound like an animal. Well, I am animal no more. Now I am god! The experiments have proven immensely successful! Why can’t Hatcher see that? Isn’t this what he wanted me to (Ink blurred yet again. two pages on.) Hatcher used the submission drug on my precious subjects, and had them shoot themselves in the head. That son of a bitch! Years of research, a waste. My precious children were so close to perfection, and Hatcher couldn’t even grow the balls to kill them himself. No, he mocks me! He’ll learn, oh, yes, he’ll learn you don’t fuck with a god. Maybe I’ll (The ink becomes unreadable possibly due to the writers rage, and does not become coherent until the end of the journal) They are coming for me, I know it. I have been sitting in this abysmal room with what is left of my children, holding court with them and the flies. Oh, they’re very good listeners, trust me. I’ve told them stories, sent them to bed, they are my children after all. Wait, is that Hatcher knocking on the door? OH, GOD, NO! YOU’LL NOT HAVE THEM! YOU WON’T TAKE MY CHILDREN AWAY! YOU CAN’T!

THE RESEARCH IS INCOMPLETE!!!!!

My friend and I look slowly up and look at each other. We slowly realize.

“The barracks, the men?”

“The latch to the underground?”

“They left the doctor behind.”

We turn to the truck to get out of this place of madness, this hell hole of unknown horrors.

What was in the underground. We didn’t know, and we weren’t going to wait and find out.

We got in the truck and began to drive away.

That’s when we heard it.

“THE RESEARCH IS INCOMPLETE! YOU MUST FINISH IT!” I turned to see who had yelled.

It was dressed in a lab coat, with mangy flowing white hair. Its face. God its face. It was carved by a scalpel, covered in black bruises and mold. It never followed us, but stood there, glaring at us accusingly with empty sockets for intruding on its territory.

We belted out of there, our hearts slamming into our throats, even as we came to the crossroads to the main road. The Farmer was getting out of his truck, waiting for us.

The looks on our faces told him everything we needed to know. He shook his head.

“I’m planning on blocking off this road for good.” he said. “The Doctor doesn’t like visitors.”

“But the underground labs.” my friend choked, “We never opened them.”

“You’re lucky,” The Farmer said simply, “Last time it was opened, twenty four bodies were thrown in. Nothing ever comes out.”

“Twenty four?” I said, holding up the journal, “But there were twenty thr-”

“Twenty three children, its now time for bed.

When the Doctor tucks you in, you’ll wish you were dead.”

“Thats the story they used to say, The Farmer said, “The Doctor couldn’t leave his children alone, so he joined them in the labs. He’s still in there, or rather, its still in there, if you don’t think what ever that was constitutes as human.”

“But how did he get out?” my friend asked.

“Haven’t you been listening?” The Farmer said, “I don’t believe he’s human anymore. He’s as twisted as the monsters he calls his children. Be thankful you never saw them.”

I suddenly understood.

“You threw ordered the twenty three men to kill themselves, didn’t you Hatcher?”

The man froze and shook his head.

“I’ve seen horrible things in war. Even worse as a CIA agent. Death and close brushes with it, its all part of the job description. That said, after everything I have seen, nothing, I repeat, nothing, compares to the sickness I saw in those labs. There’s a reason, I believe, why those vaults are underground. So they could be closer to hell, where they belong.”

He shifted, scratched his nose.

“You’d best get outta here. I got one last chore to do.”

He pulled out a roll of paper toweling and some 409, and walked over to the Street Sign.

“He comes out here every night,” said Hatcher, “Some how, 50 years later, I’m still cleaning his messes.”

I soon saw what me meant.

The Sign no longer said Dye road.

Someone had written in blood, DIE road.

My friend and I have never been back there. Even now, what we saw haunts us to this day, and we are left with more questions than answers. Just how many children are in the Doctor’s labs? What is his research? How did he survive?

The man named Hatcher died several years ago, supposedly from senile dementia and acute paranoia. He had taken a butcher’s knife and stabbed himself in the stomach 23 times, writing The Research is Incomplete on the walls before bleeding out.

The man who held the dog’s leash dead, my friend and I now feel, with growing dread, that it is only a matter of time before the Doctor seeks new experiments to conduct, more research to do, more children to “raise”.

Today, if you drive down Dye Road, do not drive its full length, if you dare drive it at all. There is no doubt that evil that taints it and its final destination. And hurrying back, if your unlucky enough, someone, or something, will have gotten ahead of you. For on the asphalt you will see written in blood, THE RESEARCH IS INCOMPLETE and COME BACK, MY CHILDREN.

And be sure you have something to wash the street sign before you leave. It will always be spelled DIE ROAD.

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November 11, 2014
by derpbutt
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Walls

February 20th, 1997

The thing about walls is that they are created to keep things out. In some cases, they are created to keep things in. Either way, they are built for our protection. To keep the monsters out, the loonies in, to help us sleep at night. So what happens when something breaks through the barrier, into our safe cove?. Once we’ve barricaded our doors and barred the window, or maybe the room doesn’t have a window (no safe room would), the only option left is through the wall. It starts with a slight scratching, the thing outside is looking for a weak spot. Once it finds a good place, the thumping starts. The thing is breaking through the wall, slowly, because it knows it has time. Where could you go? If it is forced to go through the wall, that means you’ve made sure it can’t get through the door or windows, which traps you inside. The thumping will end when your hear a creak, or maybe a crunch, or maybe just the sound of drywall falling. It depends on your wall and how good your hearing is. When you hear that sound, you know it is inside the wall. Only one very thin sheet of drywall protects you. No one knows what happens after it breaches the last barrier, the victim’s body is never found, just a splash of blood that goes out from where there’s an outline of the body, framed by the stark contrast of an absence of blood while the closest wall and floor are covered in it. About a block away, chunks of flesh or clothing can sometimes be found, as if the thing got lazy, or ate the rest of the body. We just know that the body is completely drained of blood in a violent explosion before it is taken from the room, resulting in the blood tracing the edges of the body, leaving an imprint.

I’ve heard that a brick wall is no help at all, because this thing has claws that just slice open the mortar, then it just pushes the bricks in. I’ve also heard that the thing is heavy and strong, and will slam against the wall until it crumbles. No one knows, but hopefully the bricks will fall on your head and kill you so that you won’t be forced to witness the horror crawling through. Concrete is just as useless, the nightmare that is hunting you is patient, it is tenacious. It will chip away at the concrete or break it apart in any way it can, because inside is the delicious feast that is your flesh. It does not want to give that up.

Years of research have granted me this information. Years of slaving over documents, interviewing friends of the victims, or tracking down people who were in the same room but escaped before it broke through. Years of my life spent obsessing over a creature and I don’t even have a page’s worth of words to write about it. How can I explain to anyone my frustration with this creature, I know it exists, it has to. I’ve done everything in my power, save baiting the beast, in order to find it. But tonight that changes. I left it a present inside the wall. My doors and windows are barred shut, I can’t even see out of them. I set up a camera too, this will prove to everyone that I am not insane.

There’s scratching on the other side of the wall.

Maybe I’ll get my answers tonight after all. I shall add more to my journal tomorrow once I face this object of my obsession.

Credit To – Lydia O.

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November 11, 2014
by derpbutt
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Those Staring Red Eyes

THOSE STARING RED EYES

First of all, I would like to state that what I am writing is not made up for a cheap scare, nor in order to start out as a writer, I have no intention of becoming one. But I was hoping that there were other people out there who had experienced the same thing. It involves my brother and this story is pieced together after my own involvement, and after talking to other people who remember it, mainly family members. I have not sugar coated it or added anything, this is exactly as we remember it. I have left names out, as those involved do not like talking about it as it brings back haunting memories and nightmares.

I grew up in an ex-coal mining town in the north of England. To give a little more background, this town is located between the cities of Newcastle-Upon-Tyne and Durham, both famous cities in British history for Roman and Viking invasions. Our town is also located near to a village which is known as a hot spot for UFO sightings. If you are interested, the village is called Burnhope, County Durham.

This story goes back to when I was 9 years old, back in 1997. It was a normal childhood, and I used to help my mother babysit my new-born cousin who lived in the same street. On this particular occasion, a Saturday night for which I can’t remember the exact date, my brother had decided to come too. He was 8 years old at the time and a normal child in every sense of the word. However, what happened that night would change him forever.
The evening was going well, nothing out of the ordinary. My mother put the baby to bed around 8 p.m and we started watching a film. My father called to tell me that my mother had forgotten something in the house (I can’t remember what it was) and asked me to go to pick it up. I left and everything was still normal and I decided to stay with my father for an hour before going back. Then, the phone rang. I understand a phone ringing is not scary, but to call that late at night after the social cut off point (10.p.m) was a little off. I answered it as I was closest and it was my mother. She said in a concerned tone;

“Can you and your dad come to get your brother?”

“Why? What’s wrong?” I replied.

“He is acting strange. He has turned as white as a sheet and won’t stop crying”.

I passed the phone to my dad and he said we would come get him. We didn’t hurry, as my dad assumed he was just tired like an 8 year old child would be at that time of night. As we arrived, we found my brother on the couch, all white and crying with fear. My dad asked him what had happened, but he could only speak gibberish. However, he was able to say “I never want to stay in this house again…I want to go home”. My brother and I shared a room, and I still remember him crying all night. Needless to say, it was a sleepless night for the whole family. My brother never talked about what happened and true to his word, he never slept at my auntie’s house again.

Years later, when my brother was about 16, he decided to open up about what had happened that night as we were alone in the house whilst my mother and her husband (my parents had since divorced) were on holiday in Cuba. I asked him, just as it came back into my mind, and he immediately paused the computer game he was playing, stared at the pause screen and said “Mam (mother) sent me to check on our cousin (the baby), so I went upstairs. I didn’t turn the light on as the living room light was enough and I went into the baby’s room. Everything seemed normal at first. Then, I felt it. A strange presence, as if something was behind. It wasn’t a feeling that something was there, but rather, a certainty. A heavy breathing sound started and at first I thought it was the baby snoring, but it was too heavy, sort of like Darth Vader but more aggressive. I turned to the door slowly and saw a figure. It was dark but I could tell that its skin was green on its right side due to the glare of the street light shining in through the landing window. What scared me most were its glaring red eyes that just stared at me. I hid behind the door thinking that I was going to die. It just stood there, staring at me through the crack in the door, its head turning to keep track of me with its red eyes. Those red eyes just staring at me. It seemed to stay there for about 20 minutes and I didn’t move as I thought it would hurt me. Then, it just disappeared. I think it had opened the window and jumped out. I only realised it had gone when the heavy breathing stopped and the feeling of terror that was in the air disappeared.” Although my brother had claimed it felt like the incident lasted 20 minutes, he had literally been gone for one or two minutes.

I have to admit, that story was unsettling and I imagine that a lot of people reading this think its all made up. It’s quite a lot for an 8 year old to remember. But he claims as he got older, he was able to describe it better, as this night has always been on his mind. My auntie had never been told of this story, but one day I asked her if she had ever seen or heard anything strange in her house, to which she replied, “Once when your brother was a toddler, he fell down the stairs. When we asked him if he was OK, he replied that the man with the red eyes had done it”. Although he was very young, he remembers it clearly to this day. He recalls looking back up the stairs, to see a figure standing there, just staring at him with those glowing red eyes. So, it seems it wasn’t the first time he had encountered this being.

My brother also claims to have had dreams about this ever since the babysitting incident occurred. One dream in particular was that he was playing with our Labrador in my mother’s home office in the evening. Then, out of the corner of his eye he noticed a figure walk past the door in the dark. The dog went crazy, snarling and barking; with all of his hairs standing on end, like a dog does it when it tries to make itself look bigger when under threat. But looking out into the darkness to see what the dog was barking at, there they were. Those staring red eyes.

For years, we have tried to make sense of it, doing a lot of internet research, writing on forums and so on, but have never came to any conclusions to what it was. However, the tale does not end here.

About 6 or 7 years ago my mother got sick. This was a terrible time for us, but it wasn’t life threatening but she was basically immobile for about a month. She was practically bed bound so my stepfather cared for her. She said that one night when she was lying in bed, just staring at the ceiling as she couldn’t sleep, she heard the flapping of wings, like the wings of a big bird. She then told me that it got louder and louder, and then she could actually feel the gust of wind created by the flapping on her face. She then opened her eyes to see the silhouette of a being flying just in front of her, between her and the ceiling of her bedroom. The next thing she remembers is that it opened its eyes and they were dark red, and she could feel this being pushing down on her, pinning her to the bed. She said that after some time the creature went away, but she can’t remember where or how. She claimed at the time, and I quote “it was the Angel of Death, I am sure of it”. Now, I know what you are thinking, and it has to do with the excrement of a certain farmyard animal with horns. You have every right to think that. But let me give you some insight into this.

My mother was the head nurse on a cancer treatment ward at our city’s local hospital. Being in that position, she came into close contact with a lot of the terminally ill patients and they always got very close. You all know how cancer treatment works, sometimes its very effective, and other times the body rejects it and the cancer stays and eventually kills the patients. However, there were a number of times when my mother was present when people were in their dying moments. She noticed that in those moments, the doctors and nurses and in some cases family members were ignored by the patient, as they seemed to be looking elsewhere, generally ahead of them or up at the ceiling with gleeful or terrified expressions. On some occasions, the patients would call out things like “I am not ready yet, leave me alone!” or sometimes the exact opposite “I am ready” Soon after uttering these expressions, their vital signs would fade. Sometimes, the room would go very cold and it felt like something else was there.

Why am I telling you this? Well, it explains why my mother believes it was the Angel of Death. You can ask anybody you know who works in a hospital, and there is a large chance they have witnessed something similar. Although it could explain my mother’s visitation, could it explain my brother’s experience?

What if the heavy breathing creature he saw was something which followed my mother home from the hospital? What if it was the spirit of an ex-patient who had latched it on to my mother? Or was it an extraterrestrial, given the green texture that my brother could make out on its right side? That last one is a little far fetched. Of course, we will never know. All I can say is that my brother’s nightmares continue and even now at the age of 25 he can’t sleep in a pitch black room. I would like to end by quoting him after a recent conversation;

It’s haunted me time to time ever since.

I can’t be in a room without a light source now.

This is why I sleep with the TV on.

Staring at an alarm clock time… or using my phone until I fall asleep.

All of these help me stay away from dark places, because that’s where my mind associates it to live.

That’s where those staring red eyes live, in the darkness. In the end, aren’t we all scared of what might be in the dark?

Credit To – Jamhew

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November 11, 2014
by derpbutt
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The Skyhole

Even a child knows that a single object in space, no matter how vast its size, cannot be visible from all points on the globe at the same time. Yet there It was. It spanned all horizons. Astonished scientists quickly learned that there was no point on earth from which It could not be seen, no set of human eyes that could not share the exact same view simply by looking up.

How big It actually was? Impossible to say. Nor could anyone prove how far away. Though It was clearly outside the atmosphere, the space station reported that It appeared as relatively far above them as It did above us. But like the moon racing a moving car, It appeared to remain exactly overhead even if you flew supersonic from coast to coast. We know that because the Air Force tried early on, telling us nothing, really.

No record exists of any single individual noticing It’s appearance in the skies of Earth. We glanced up and It was simply…there. And for all Its sky-spanning colossity, It dimmed the light of the sun only slightly. It was truly a mystery upon a mystery.

Theories abounded but nothing was proven. No measurement known to our science produced any usable insight on what It was. All we really had to go on were seven billion identical descriptions.

It was ugly. Darkish, almost but not quite obscenely flesh colored, the central mass appeared as a craterous pit spoked by elongated, outward-radiating ranges of smoothed mountains and deep chasms, dwarfing Everest and able to hold the deepest of emptied seas.

Brief irregular spasms radiated from that center, convulsing the whole of It. And from a hundred points all around there extended the shafts of randomly curling filaments, each thousands of miles long with the visible diameter of a full moon.

It hung there for almost three weeks, doing nothing, when it began.

Life had almost started back on a normal track when the spasms increased in frequency and ferocity. With no more warning than a sudden extrusion of the central mountainous mass, an ebon rift cracked open dead in the center. The ground shook as a nine second subsonic BWAAAAA! rattled the globe, the ultrabass detonation circling the planet a dozen times as a unfathomably vile reek followed in its wake. But as quickly as it had come, the rift sealed itself and the spasms ceased. The unclassifiable stench dissipated within the hour, cleared out by the 35 mph winds that had accompanied it.

We thought…we hoped the worst had passed.

A day later, the mountains began to heave and shudder as the forest of black tendrils whipped and waved. The central mountainous mass pushed outward, extending in the space of a second hundreds of miles nearer the earth. The dusky abyss opened, revealing a heretofore hidden inner ring of garishly bright pink. And from within the circumference of that ring…the ultimate horror crawled into the light to finally make itself known.

Inexorably, tortuously, it protruded to a wailing chorus of billions of horrified voices, all raised in dread and despair and disgust at finally recognizing It for what It was and, far worse, what It was about to inescapably birth upon us all.

The more reckless nations panicked, launching their mightiest arsenals of missiles in vain as the vapor-laden cylindrical planetoid, dun colored, stinking, spelled certain doom as the world went to shit.

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November 11, 2014
by derpbutt
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Frostbite

Wrapped up tightly in a thick wool blanket, I huddled on the couch in front of the fireplace. Shivering, I clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering and resisted the urge to tell Zack to hurry up and light the fire. He was fumbling with matches; his big beefy hands had trouble enough, but he was shaking hard. Finally, he struck the match and flames roared to life.

“Ha! Who’s the king of fire?” Zack grinned, flexing his guns like some big shot.

“Not you,” I quipped. “How hard is it to light a stupid match?”

“Shut up,” he spat back, shooting me a glare so intense it could’ve started the fire quicker than that match. It was no secret he hated me. Well, no love lost there.

While he plopped down into his armchair and kicked his feet up on the coffee table, I watched the flames dancing in the fireplace, captivated. I always loved fire. A strange wind blew the windows open, sending a flurry of snow in with it. Quickly, I scrambled from the couch, flinging the blanket off to slam the windows closed. It was too late. The fire was blown out.

“Son of a bitch,” Zack swore furiously. I couldn’t help but laugh at him, and it was no surprise when he heaved his beer can at me. I dodged it easily, but the earful of bitching that followed was unavoidable. “Shut up, moron! Go get me some more firewood from the shed, like a good boy.”

“You get it,” I threw back, feeling bolder than usual. “I’m not your delivery boy.”

“My cabin; my rules. I can kick your sorry ass out in the snow for the night!” he spat, even more of a jerk than usual. “Go on, chop chop.”

I gritted my teeth but shoved my hands into my pockets, giving in for the sake of keeping the peace. “Fine,” I grumbled, hating how I was always the one being ordered around.

“That’s right, go fetch some wood,” Zack sneered as I angrily tugged on my boots and thrust my arms into my jacket. I decided to ignore him so I wouldn’t turn around and punch him in the mouth. I really hated him. He wasn’t my friend, just a friend of my brother’s who I got stuck with, when he ran off with chicks and left me here with this worthless jackass.

The cold bit into my cheeks and a gust of wind nearly knocked me over. I hunched my shoulders to brace against the gale, swearing under my breath. As my boots crunched over the snow, I tucked my hands deep into my pockets and looked around. The wind picked up again, shaking the branches of the evergreen trees violently. Snow fell in flurries around me, catching in my lashes. The cold seemed to pierce straight through my jacket.

This winter really sucked.

I was almost to the shed, when the wind tore my hat right off my head. The frigid air viciously bit my exposed ears and scraped across my close-shaved scalp. My arms flew up to catch my hat, but it seemed to dodge my reach with a mind of its own. It flew several feet away before landing in the clearing. I started toward it, when I heard a creaking under my boot. Under the snow, there was ice.

What looked like a clearing was really a pond. My hat laid in the middle of it; if I tried to retrieve it, the ice would certainly give way and I would fall into a watery grave. The sight unnerved me as the wind lashed my cheeks. It was like…like a trap. Of course, that was ridiculous. The wind couldn’t set a trap, because it was just wind; a mindless force of nature.

Shaking my head, I said goodbye to my hat and resumed my mission to retrieve firewood. At the shed, I swore, seeing the lock and realizing I forgot the key. I almost jumped into the frozen pond of death for being such an idiot. With a groan, I turned back to the cabin to grab the key. That’s when I saw her.

A girl not much older than me, around eighteen or nineteen, stood between me and the cabin. She was tall and slender, with long blue hair that whipped around her face in the violent gusts. Her snow-white dress cut off above her knees, the skirt flowing loose while the cinch tightly hugged her waist. Her bust was mostly covered, offering a small glimpse of cleavage. A leather jacket covered her shoulders and arms, unzipped, with silver spikes jutting from the shoulders and lining the collar. On her feet were black leather boots with spiked toes.

“Hey,” I called, taking slow, cautious steps toward her. “Are you okay?” She was shivering violently, her arms jerking and knees threatening to give way. That’s all I could see from where I stood, but as I got closer, her skin was pale. Deathly pale. “Oh my god! What are you doing out here? You’re freezing to death!”

The girl didn’t answer me. She just stood there staring back at me, shaking, but slowly her face came into focus and I stopped dead on my feet. Dread writhed like a grotesque parasite in my gut. Her skin wasn’t just pale, it was blue, like the corpse of someone who froze to death. Her face was beautiful but terrifying at the same time. Her large eyes were rimmed with black, with frost clinging to her thick lashes. Those eyes were blank white, devoid of an iris or pupil, piercing straight through me like the cold winter bite.

“Come here, handsome,” she called, her voice chilling and alluring at the same time. It seemed to carry on the wind itself, whispering right into my ear. An eerie smile captured her purple lips. The violent jerking of her body stopped. With a frostbitten black hand, she beckoned me and called, “Come give me a kiss.”

The piercing stare of her eyes chilled me to the bone. Somehow, I broke out of my paralyzed trance and turned to run faster than I ever ran in my life. The wind lashed my face like icy whips but I ran, compelled by fear and the sense of doom clinging to the atmosphere. She was behind me. I could feel her blank white eyes, peering straight into my soul.

I resisted the urge to look back as I hurtled over a log, but when I landed, a thick sheet of ice formed on the ground beneath my boots. I slipped, falling forward. My chest struck the ground hard and I rolled down the slope, crying out in pain when rocks and sticks stabbed and pounded my flesh. My thick winter clothes protected my skin, but the impact bruised and cracked my ribs. At the end of the hill, I finally rolled to a halt and laid there, in too much pain and too disoriented to move.

Then her face loomed over mine, materializing out of the snow as it drifted from the sky. Those white eyes peered deep into mine. Fear strangled me, making it hard to breathe, preventing me from calling out for help. As I stared up at the girl, I knew she was dead, and she was no longer human. She was something else. Something more powerful and sinister than I could ever comprehend.

Every breath sent a stabbing pain through me while tears leaked from my eyes, crystallizing in my short hair. The dead girl knelt down behind my head and leaned her face directly over mine, leaving me no choice but to look right into her dead white eyes.

“Why did you run, silly? ” she asked, peering down at me almost fondly. “I only wanted to kiss you.”

Her blue hair tickled my cheeks as she leaned her face even closer, so close I could feel the chill of her breath ghosting over my lips. “Here’s something to remember me by,” she whispered sweetly, before pressing her soft, cold lips to my cheek.

Then, a gust of wind made me screw my eyes shut. When I opened them again, the girl was gone, leaving me alone at the end of the hill. The pain of my broken ribs and sprained wrists became too much. The last thing I heard was an agonized scream before I slipped into blackness.

I woke up in a hospital bed. When my eyes opened, my brother leapt out of his chair immediately to stand beside me. “I’m so sorry, Danny,” he apologized, his eyes bloodshot and a little puffy from crying earlier. “I should’ve stayed!”

“‘S okay,” I slurred, even though I had no idea what he was talking about, doped up on pain medications. Then, slowly, a vague understanding dawned on me. I was in the hospital with broken ribs and severe bruising.

“No, it’s not okay!” my brother snapped, but he was angry with himself, not me. “Don’t worry little bro, we’ll find that sick bastard! He won’t get away with this. I promise.”

“Who? What’re you talkin’ ’bout?”

“The bastard that killed Zack! And who almost killed you, too.”

“Zack’s dead?” I asked incredulously. The news made me lurch upright, but I quickly fell back down as the motion jarred my broken ribs. My brother grabbed onto me and held me still.

“It’s okay,” he assured me, squeezing my hand as I rode out the pain the medication couldn’t numb. Then he told me all about what he found when he returned to the cabin.

He found Zack lying in a pool of blood in the snow outside the cabin. Icicles had impaled his body, four of them staking his arms and legs to the ground, while a large one pierced straight through his chest. His skin was pale blue and his eyes were open wide, his lips chapped and frostbitten a sickly black. When the clean-up crew had to pack him into a body-bag, he shattered like glass. His body was frozen to the core, as if he was freeze-dried in liquid nitrogen.

“There was a girl,” I blurted out, remembering the dead girl.

“A girl? You think she did that?” my brother pressed, eager to hear any details he could learn about the person who killed his friend. “Who was she?”

I held my tongue that time. The drugs pumping through my blood clouded my brain, but I realized that I couldn’t say anything else without sounding like a lunatic. It was already determined that I had a minor concussion. There was no way anyone would believe a word I said.

“On TV,” I said instead, deciding I’d rather sound scatter-brained than delusional. “Zack was going on about how hot she was, and the fire went out, so I went to get firewood…that’s all I remember.”

Watching the hope drain from his face, I felt guilty, but it wasn’t like I could send the police after a ghost or whatever the dead girl was. What was her name again?

Juliet Frost. The name came to mind and I almost heard her whispering it in my ear. Remember me. Absently, I touched my cheek where she kissed me before she disappeared. There, my fingertips felt it; the mark her frozen lips left on my skin. Quickly, I reached for the mirror on the table beside me and held it up in front of my face. There, on my cheek, was the dark mark of frostbite, in the shape of her lips. Something to remember her by…

Weeks passed and the mark on my cheek healed, fading away. The police searched, tearing the town and nearby forest apart in search of the mystery killer. They came up empty handed. They did, however, find a black truck broken down not too far from Zack’s cabin. It belonged to a girl named Amy-something; her purse and all of her identification were in her truck, but she had disappeared without a trace. Upon further investigation for this missing girl, the police discovered her body buried in the snow not too far from his cabin. The frantic search for his killer ceased.

I never saw Juliet Frost again, but I knew she never really went away. She was the frost that blackened fingers and toes. She was the harsh wind that pierced through the thickest coats. She was the ice that hid under the snow, waiting for the unsuspecting victim to slip and crack their skull. A dark part of me missed her and those piercing white eyes. On the coldest winter nights, I would wander out into the snow to look for her.

To my despair, I never found her, but she sure found me. My hands and feet belong to her, now. She kissed them black, the cold piercing so deep into my flesh the doctors had to chop most of my fingers and toes off to save my life. Despite all I sacrificed for one more glimpse of the frozen maiden, she had moved on. The night after my frostbitten appendages were removed, a man was rolled into the room and laid in the bed beside mine. Before the curtain was drawn, I saw it. The black mark on his cheek, where her lips gently pressed to his skin.

A stab of jealousy struck my heart like an icicle. When the doctors left, I listened to their footsteps fading away. The man was sleeping; I heard him snoring behind the curtain. Listening hard, I made sure no one was coming. Then, I rolled off my cot. My legs gave out underneath me, unable to stand with half my toes missing. Grunting from the effort, I dragged myself across the cold floor, underneath the curtain. There the bastard was, with his amputated leg and swollen fingertips.

Panting like a rabid animal, I grabbed onto the guard-rail of the bed frame and hauled myself up. I glared down at his sleeping face, where the black kiss mark stood out against his pale complexion, mocking me. Without thinking, I reached out to touch it. My fingertips brushed his cheek lightly, but the contact startled him awake. His eyes snapped open, glazed with confusion before they widened in terror. I was growling between ragged breaths, like a raging bull. By the look of fear in his eyes, my angry face must have been terrifying.

I was never a man of violence. But seeing the mark of her lips on his cheek drove me into a murderous rage. My hand clamped over his mouth to muffle any cries for help. He grabbed me, trying to fight me off, but his body was weaker than mine, especially after having his leg amputated. While I pushed my hand harder over his mouth, my other hand crushed down on his throat. That mark on his face! Something inside my brain just shattered, like an icicle on pavement.

His agonized screams broke free, alerting the hospital staff. I heard them burst into the room, crying out in horror before they rushed toward me. Strong arms pried me off the screaming man. But it was too late! I spat the chunk of flesh from my mouth and laughed, while blood gushed from the gaping wound on his face where her kiss had been. I didn’t fight as the strong men strapped me down to the bed and injected a sedative into my vein. The job was done. Now she’d know. She was mine, all mine, no one could have her kisses but me.

Credit To – Rissa Renee Wolverton
Credit Link – Facebook.com

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November 11, 2014
by derpbutt
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Company

We are all hoping for something. Weather it’s love, life, or hoping the next person we kill won’t get us caught. Another day is only a waste of my heart. Because what if there’s someone who isn’t hoping for anything, not the morning, not for the end. Are they just a freak of nature, outside of gods boundary. And we try to hold onto what we believe is right, our morals are what matter most. Strangers are just strangers, even if you get to know them. My hands are covered in blood, but it seems to be my own from my heart bleeding out for help. In the end a curse is a curse, and we all have one. The chains become rusted and unbreakable over time until we bury ourselves too deep in the thoughts. I can’t help myself, so why don’t you fix me?

It’s been sixty years since the epidemic, being a kid during this time was probably the luckiest thing ever. Though most of us didn’t know what happened back then, and most of our parents forbid us from even touching the history books that told us what went on. The curious ones of course would press on and on, and the teachers would become uneasy whenever asked. It was like not only did a sickness kill billions, but someone did mass murder. That’s how I’d describe them when a kid asked about the epidemic anyway.

I remember sitting in the first grade, when most of the children would ask innocent questions and the teachers would brush it off like they didn’t know what we were talking about. There was a game we would play on the playground too. Someone would pretend to be sick, and the others had to run in order not to get infected. You could call it a twisted version of Sharks and minnows if you’ve ever played that kids game.

By the time we were in fourth grade, the epidemic was like some sort of good book everyone read. Or a ghost story with no details to discuss. Don’t get me wrong, I was just as curious as the kids next to me, but my mind was more concentrated on why the parents and adults were so scared of this thing. In class we learned an epidemic is when a bunch of people get sick and die right? Well that happened all the time, I guess it shouldn’t as much with all the modern technology but still, it was like….they experienced a murder right in front of their eyes.

Looking back on it, we all figured we were idiots to treat it like it was. Hitting high school many had moved on from the idea of ‘the epidemic’. I even got a girlfriend in the process, but we never expected anything to go wrong in our lives. What fools we were.

There was this one kid, his name was Frank. Your average shy guy who sat in the back of the class, said nothing, and didn’t have many friends or any by the looks of it. By our second year of high school, we would play a game throwing rocks at Frank to see how he would react. Any normal guy would lash out, get mad, or just ignore and walk away in grimace. But Frank, Frank acted as if he wasn’t even there at all. When a rock would hit his cheek and the usual ‘oooo’ sound by the group happened his eyes would stare at the ground with a glazed over kind of look. Eventually a lot of the guys got creeped out and would leave him alone.

By our third year, I had gotten into a fight with my girlfriend over the epidemic. I had brought up I think my curiosity about the adults reactions, she told me that I was over thinking but when I thought deeper the teachers were also afraid of Frank. I hadn’t really noticed it until the fight but, whenever teachers passed out papers, or were patrolling the grounds during lunch they avoided him completely. Frank only spoke in soft tones and when he did adults would often try to cover their ears and mouth making sure to head towards their destination quickly.

What would make anyone so afraid of such a strange kid? I just thought he had some problems at home, and that no one wanted to help him. So I decided, I would talk to him. Plenty of the guys tried to tell me “Jake are you nuts, no one ever tries to talk to the zombie kid.” but I went up to Frank during Lunch anyway. As usual the kid was sitting in a corner, his hair looked like a muck green color, glossy and thick with grim. If you got closer on inspection his blue eyes stood out compared to the rest of him. His frame looked weak, and the bags under his eyes made his eyes look sunken in. I was surprised he didn’t break when I touched his shoulder, but he didn’t say a word or react when I did.

The teachers were all staring at me now, and I didn’t know why. Shaking them out of my head I returned my gaze to Frank. “Hey Frank, I’m sorry about throwing rocks at you. You know if you need a friend I’m here. I mean I may not be much of a friend but, I’m probably better than any of those jerks.” I laughed a bit. But after a few minutes, Frank was still quiet. I thought he was just ignoring me deliberately. What creeped me out even more though, was when he finally looked at me he didn’t move anything but his eyes. Those blue intense eyes peering at me through that dirty hair of his, once he had me in his sights his face grew into a grin. It was a inhuman, wide, grin and he started to laugh. Letting go of him, I looked at him wide eyed for a few seconds. “I-I’m sorry for disturbing you.” I muttered before moving away. Everyone was right, that kid had some problems.

I didn’t try to bring up Frank again, or try to talk to him. Peculiar as it was, a week later Frank would always be staring at me no matter what anybody was doing. Every day, he’d get closer to our table, closer to me. One day my girlfriend couldn’t take it anymore, she broke up with me and so did the guys leaving me alone at the table. I tried to tell them he was just playing a prank on us. That didn’t stop them.

Eventually I couldn’t take it, and trudged into the office demanding to see the principal. When I told him about Frank, and how he was following me and just staring at me, his eyes went wide eyed. He asked if I had touched anyone else after Frank, and I told him other than my girlfriend no I hadn’t. My parents weren’t one for much contact, they barely reached over to kiss each other. The principal shoo’d me out of his office and that was that, and he made it clear that I shouldn’t touch anyone else.

With a sigh I went home, telling my parents about the strange ordeal I had kept secret from them they too went wide eyed. After dinner they told me good night and left my plate on the table. Getting rather pissed off now I stomped up to my room and tried to get in a few hours of sleep seeing as I was having trouble sleeping.

The next day at school was miserable, I felt like shit. My head down I was starting not to give a crap about anybody or anyone around me. I just didn’t feel like it, and teacher avoided me like the plague. It got so bad that I was eventually in the bathroom convulsing every few seconds. Until there was nothing left in my stomach to convulse into the porcelain throne. sitting on the ground leaning against the bathroom stall I made the decision to confront Frank once more. He obviously had something to do with this. And I wanted to get to the bottom of it.

There he was in his corner, just like any other day. But this time he was looking at me, smiling, he didn’t shy away he simply starred. The teachers were starting to whisper to each other, I looked at them for a moment, and felt my heart skip a beat. Suddenly Frank was on top of me screaming and holding onto my throat. In a frantic flurry of limbs I managed to pry him off surprisingly anyway. Standing there panting he stood right up again and started to drool out of his mouth. Laughing and giggling like a mad man I turned and tried to run from Frank or yell out to the teachers for help, but they simply watched as Frank grabbed my ankle and pulled me down raking his nails into my hair and tugging it out.

The other students gasped, panicking they started to gather in groups when I noticed that my head was bleeding from the boy digging his nails into my scalp. Since no one wanted to help me, I had no choice but to defend myself. Turning around I lifted a foot and kicked Frank square in his chest sending him backwards and standing up feeling blood move down my face from my head.

“Why the hell aren’t you helping me” I yelled towards the teachers and students. “What is so fucking frightening about this!” well it was definitely terrifying, but weren’t adults supposed to support us and save us? In the middle of my little cry for help Frank had managed to get up and charged me again. He slammed my head into the concrete of the ground making it hard to get back on my feet. I grabbed onto his head and started to pull out that slimy hair of his in a frantic manner.

In what seemed forever of being locked like that I finally swung him into the wall. Head first I heard a crack and him slide down with gurgling sounds that sounded almost inhuman. I started to cough and hack. wheezing I came down to my knees and hacked up what looked like green gunk blood. One of the female teachers screamed and ran, while one of the male’s grabbed someone’s metal pail lunch box and threw it at my head as hard as he could. The blow was enough to knock me out because the next thing I knew I was seeing black.

When I woke up, I was in a large metal box, my mouth taped over and my head secured towards a screen. It was playing mindless, children cartoons of a mouse and a cat. With small letters on the bottom that said.

“We are sorry, we are trying our best to cure you. Please watch the video’s to your enjoyment. Welcome to epidemic treatment 101”
Credit To – Sarka Isokan
Credit Link – sarkaisokan@gmail.com

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November 11, 2014
by derpbutt
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Shadow People: A True Story

I have never seriously discussed these experiences with anyone other than the people involved. I will be submitting these stories with some background and in an entry-style format to try and cover the most notable events. The following happenings are not works of fiction and are still unexplained to this day.

Background Information: My friend Kyle and I have always been fairly open and interested in the paranormal, supernatural, etc. but it wasn’t long after staying at his house that I felt something was wrong. This house is one of the oldest in the entire town with photos in the local museum as proof. Everyone who has been in this house has had an experience to some degree that can range from totally dismissible to impossible to ignore. I’ve spent plenty of time in this place and can say I’ve had more than my fair share of strange occurrences.

I’ll attach a photo of the house as well as a general layout of the home so you can better understand these stories.

The House: http://i.gyazo.com/13283e02cdba55dc9cff61965ef69041.png (sorry for the tear, I had to find it on Google maps)

Main Floor: http://i.gyazo.com/e476b0a1304f8cc70110187993f555fd.png

Upstairs: http://i.gyazo.com/f27a60bdbda0e6dcd327d2e47583058e.png

Basement: http://i.gyazo.com/4539a90d5e3c2f25118dec87cecc6b1e.png

Event #1 – The Creaking Floors: The very first taste I had of paranormal activity was a vivid memory Kyle shared with me.
A couple years before we met in middle school he awoke in the middle of the night, around 4 a.m., to the slow creak of the floor boards. He slowly rose from bed and was too tired to question the noise and made his way into the basement which at the time was used for laundry, storage, and branched off into a bedroom his two step-sisters (Jane and Kate) shared.

He crept down the stairs and walked around the corner to see a punching bag swinging, very slowly, in the middle of what is now the rec room. He moved towards it with hands outstretched and stopped its movement completely before he quickly ran upstairs. Only after he had slipped back into bed did he realize what had just happened and then slowly, he could hear the groaning sound of the punching bag begin again.

He pulled the sheets over his head and forced himself to sleep as fast as he could.

Event #2 – The Shadow Man: Another memory he shared took place in his backyard while goofing around on the trampoline. After a few minutes he noticed a figure in the small window near the ground that looked into the basement. It looked about his dad’s size and his parents were going to start renovating soon so he made an assumption and continued what he was doing.

He began bouncing up and down again and then stopped cold. Waiting a minute, he then jumped again to see over his deck and through the glass doors to the living room on the main floor. His father and sister (Kim) were sitting on the couch watching TV. He instantly reassured himself that it must be his step mom looking for something downstairs. He came to a rest again and could still see the figure standing in the window, staring back at him. And only seconds later he heard a car pull up in front of the house on the street. His blood felt thick as he tried to jump one last time to see his step-mom and ALL three of his step-sisters get out of the car.

That accounted for every possible person in the house and when he looked back into the window the figure was gone. Hopefully; it’s gone forever.

Event #3 – The Abandoned Room: This was my first personal experience in the house and it took place in the shared bedroom in the basement. The older step-sister, Jane, was moving out so Kate decided to move into the room upstairs; leaving Kyle on the middle floor and the basement empty.

We decided to play miniature floor hockey with pint-sized sticks and a foam ball in the room because the only things that remained were a few boxes and a futon. We set up two goals with boxes and moved a couple of loose light bulbs on the window sill so they wouldn’t break. A few minutes passed of me getting my ass handed to me when we sat still to catch our breath after a violent exchange of stick-handling to make a save. In the middle of our conversation we heard a shatter and I looked behind me to find the remains of a light bulb. It had somehow fallen and hit the box behind me which was directly opposite the window where we had placed the bulbs… on the other side of the room. We dropped everything and ran.

We talked to Jane and asked if she had ever experienced anything downstairs and she told us that “sometimes, while we were asleep… the TV would turn on to static or when we would leave we would come back and the heater would be on or the closet door would be open when we knew that we had left it shut,” she hesitated before telling us the next part in fear of scaring us. “One night I woke up around 4 in the morning and I couldn’t move. Like, something was holding me down. Then I could see four dark figures standing over my bed. They didn’t move, or speak, or anything… and I think I just ended up fainting because I only remember waking up in the morning.”

We decided against ever going back in there.

Event #4 – The Spike and the Song: Fast forward a year to the renovation of the basement to create the new den/rec room as well as the new computer room which replaces Kyle’s room; leaving him the only room in the house, the basement. It was around this time that Kyle’s father had brought home the pictures of the house that the museum allowed them to keep. It shows the house surrounded by tall grass and trees with a rail road out front as well as a picture that showed the house when urbanization began. The third picture; however, was of a train tipped on its side only tens of meters in front of the house. It’s rumoured that several people had died in this crash from the impact and from broken glass. They still have that picture but only display the first two.

Down in the basement his dad is working hard; pulling walls apart and replacing old insulation. He began to tear down the wall in the corner I marked on one of the ‘blueprints’. Behind the panel of wood was a wooden stud with a metal peg hammered deep into the beam, with a rusted train spike hanging on it; the type that were used to nail the boards on a train track. Sending shivers down our spine, his father removed it and placed it with the picture of the train.
Later that night Kyle and I were playing a video game in the new computer room (his old bedroom) and Kyle had to step out to use the bathroom. Sitting alone and enjoying the swivel chair I looked out into the darkness of the living room when suddenly the radio beside me squealed through static before going to an old country song. I was so startled it took me a minute before I quickly switched it all off hoping Kyle would return soon.

Only a couple minutes went by before afterwards and Kyle returned. I explained what had happened and he immediately called “bullshit” even though he knew it could be true. We got back to the game and then something made my hair stand on end and forced my body to shoot up from the seat. The radio did the same thing as before but this time the radio upstairs turned on at the same time, on the same station, in the same way. Kyle and I swallowed our fear and quietly moved upstairs to shut it off and went to bed downstairs.

In the morning his step-mom complained that she couldn’t get any sleep because she could hear us running up and down the stairs all night.

We only went up those stairs once.

Event #5 – Shadow Man Returns: Now that the rec room was all finished up; the old computer along with a TV, couches, and an Xbox 360 were moved downstairs for family use while the computer room upstairs was for business. The computer was placed in a corner next to the doorway and the chair looked straight into the laundry room. Many people, but not everyone, have seen a shadowy figure moving through the laundry room while on the computer. This could very well be due to the peripheral vision that comes with human eyesight but what came next makes this an uncertainty.

One evening while Kyle was at home on the computer he heard a scream come from the top of the basement stairs. He quickly ran to see what had happened to find his step-mom crying in the arms of his dad. They went into the living room to talk and he could overhear their conversation. “I was coming up the stairs with the laundry and when I looked up I could see a person standing behind me reflected in the mirror in the bathroom,” she pressed her hands against her eyes to wipe away tears, “I honestly hate this place sometimes; these things have happened before and make me want to just leave… I’m scared…”

This was never brought up again in front of her.

Event #6 – A Dumb Joke and Bumps in the Night: Now I know that we all know that using an Ouija board can be a dangerous thing and is some bad mojo but every story I’ve read gets all dramatic with demons and instantly becomes hard to believe.

We only did this once and never again.

On a rainy evening the house was full with me, Kyle, his sister Kim and her friend, Jane, and Kate with her boyfriend. Kate suggested to us that we should play Ouija in the rec room because of all the creepy stuff that had happened and we all agreed because we had never done it before and didn’t really believe anything would happen. Even though Jane tried to be the voice of reason she went along with it anyway. We went downstairs, lit some candles and then needed a board. Kate brought a store bought Ouija board along with a cursor that we lost later that night.

It was all kind of a joke when we asked “Ouija, are you there?” and the cursor moved after a few minutes with obvious effort from Kate who was trying to scare her boyfriend. A few questions and obviously fake answers later the boyfriend was beginning to sweat and asked Kate if they could leave so the couple returned upstairs. Kim and her friend continued making up dumb answers until everyone was bored and soon they were asleep, leaving Kyle, Jane and myself.

Then we decided to play seriously. No more jokes and no more stupid answers. Jane and I put our fingers on the cursor and asked again, “Ouija, are you there?”, and about a minute later… it moved without any effort from either of us. We asked how many there were and they said four. We asked if there was a man among them and they said yes. We asked if we’ve seen him before and they said yes. We asked if he was with us right now and slowly they replied. Yes. I asked if he could make a sound to let us know he was present.

It was silent for a while and then a thud, followed by a slow rolling sound as though someone had dropped a bowling ball, came from the shadows of the laundry room. None of us could believe what we just heard so we asked again. “If that was you, could you please make another sound?” The same thud and roll as before sounded again and it was coming from the same place near the laundry room. None of us got up or moved to find out what it was. We asked who they try to talk to most often and the cursor moved to the side and then it kept going. Soon Jane had to let go as it carried my fingers off of the board and pointed towards Kyle. I asked them if they meant Kyle and the cursor didn’t move after that. Jane and I both felt a little sick so we stopped and put the board away.

We turned on the lights and couldn’t find anything in the room that could have made the sound we heard earlier and decided to just go upstairs for a drink and bathroom break. This was the moment things got really weird.

There are baby gates set up in the kitchen so their dog will stay put at night and sleep. Kyle and I stepped over the gate and his dog came over and was as happy as ever but then he noticed Jane and started growling and whimpering. She reached for him to calm him down because she had known him for a long time and she’s no stranger. She hopped over and gave him lots of love and then I noticed something. He was still growling and whining at the baby gate, staring in the place Jane was moments ago. He wasn’t scared of Jane; he was scared of something that was <behind her. Then Jane asked us if we wanted to see something.

Event #7 – Old Habits: The same night, Jane led us up to Kim’s room and showed us the old desk that sat in the corner. She pulled out the single drawer and when she turned it over, it was like the air went cold. It was a homemade Ouija board made with paint. She said that her and her sisters had used it before in their old room; Kyle’s new room.

She said it was always just a joke but a few times some weird things happened. It gave answers to things like the girls’ secret crushes and when they asked how it knew, it said that it followed them and that she was a young girl. Jane also told us that Kate had rushed into their room one morning and for a split second thought she saw a young girl sitting on their bed.

We dismissed this because it was late and because we had to sleep in that room.

Event #8 – The Closet: At school Kyle told me he didn’t get much sleep the night before. That in the middle of the night he woke up and as he was trying to get back to sleep he heard a slow moan of hinges that only his folding closet doors could make. They were too sturdy to open on their own and the carpet beneath them made it impossible for wind to have any effect. He was almost unable to check if it was really opened because of the growing terror he felt but he just had to look. One of the closet doors was opened a quarter of the way and, terrified that something might come out; Kyle was going to get up and close it. Except he couldn’t bring himself to move, no; he couldn’t move. He could only manage to move his eyes and slightly crane his head around the room and then his heart stopped. In the corner of his room next to his bed there was a figure of a man with no features, no skin colour, and no clothing. There was only blackness. He struggled with all his might until he could finally move his body and when he turned on the light the figure was gone and his closet door was still open. He checked the time and it was just after 4a.m.

I stayed over that weekend and we made sure the closet door was closed before we left to hang out in the rec room. We were researching what could have happened to Kyle the night before and came across the phenomena known as sleep paralysis. A state where your mind is conscious to your surroundings but your body remains asleep while you continue to dream. This gave us some comfort that it could just have been a vivid dream.

When it came to bedtime we cautiously opened his door, holding our breath. It was open. It was just barely open but it was definitely more open than when we made sure it was closed. We shut it promptly and went back to the Xbox to try and relax.

A couple hours later a loud, blaring song was coming from Kyle’s room. We ran to see what it could have been and stopped as soon as we went in. I almost cried in fear. His iPod dock was playing music at full blast and one of his closet doors was almost entirely open.

We slept in the rec room that night.

Event #9 – The Final Straw: We spent a Saturday afternoon in the new computer room finishing off one of our videos that we had spent months creating (This is that video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u8fN3NHduCg ). This time our friend Cole was present and had to record a voice over for the intro sequence. Except it was almost impossible cause we all kept laughing so Kyle and I decided to walk across the street to grab some food from the store and hoped Cole could calm down so they could finish.

We couldn’t have been more wrong.

We joked about possible things that Cole could experience while we were gone. When we were at the till and about to checkout I got a text. “Are you guys downstairs???” That was all he had to say and we ran home. He was waiting outside and said that he had heard a bang downstairs and thought it was us. Lucky for him, he was getting picked up in a couple minutes and left us to finish the video alone.

It was getting late and Kyle and I were the only ones in the house. There were some strong winds blowing outside but our playlists were doing well at balancing it out. We finally got to the point where we were ready to add Cole’s voice overs and began checking them over. They were all pretty crap because he kept making a joke out of it… until the last one. I went pale and I could see goose bumps on Kyle’s arms. The clip Cole had recorded before he texted us began normally like the other ones and then you could hear a loud thump and Cole’s voice stopped before turning to a whisper. “What the fuck was that…”

We had spent too much time working with and restarting this video because of bugs and errors; so we finished it. We began watching the final product and then I heard a barely audible thud come from what I thought to be the basement. I didn’t know if Kyle heard it so I didn’t say anything and played it off as the wind. Then a couple minutes later it happened again, louder this time, and the lights flickered slightly. Kyle was looking at me and we both agreed that we heard it the first time and definitely heard it the second time. We started playing the video again and as it began to rise in tension during one of the early scenes… it started again.

The thumping started quietly again but grew in volume like someone was running up the steps of the basement, getting closer and closer to the closed door just down the hall. The lights flickered one last time before a loud and almost deafening boom echoed through the house as all the power turned off. I could hear Kyle’s chair fly backwards as he got up in the darkness while I heard more banging downstairs; faster than before. The power came on for just a moment and I was able to navigate to the front door before it went off again.

I can’t say for certain, but as I left the room in the moment of light I recall the basement door now being completely open.

We ran to the street as fast as we could and turned to see one of the most dramatic displays we have ever witnessed. The door was flying open and closed because of the powerful winds and the lights inside were flickering on and off all while his dog was barking like a maniac in the backyard. There was clearly a storm going on because once we were standing on the sidewalk thunder began to boom and lightning streaked across the sky. Although we were caught up in the moment, we both swore we could see the shape of a shadowy figure in the window of the computer room we had just escaped. We turned around and ran.

After a while the sprint turned into a jog and then to a walk. We calmed down and noticed that the power was also out in some other houses. As soon as we collected ourselves we set back for the house. Immediately after we returned we lit candles, calmed the dog and said sorry to whatever or whoever we thought could be in the house and did so in every room.

A few hours later the power was back on and we decided to sleep on the main floor in the living room, just in case we needed a quick exit.

Through trial and error, we slept through the night.

Since then the experiences have been few and far between and Kyle feels much more comfortable than he did before. We both swear that there was something or someone else in that house and we still feel that way to this day.

Even now when I go to his house I have this feeling like there’s still something or someone watching me from the corner of the room. Sometimes I can still see what look like shadows moving through rooms or standing just out of sight. I always hope it’s just my eyes playing tricks on me but after all that had happened; I just can’t be sure anymore.

Credit To – Nick C

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November 11, 2014
by derpbutt
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Catch Me If You Can

Catch Me If You Can…

I wanted to be scared, to be frightened to the point where I can’t think anymore. I know how strange that must sound to those of you reading this but that’s really the kind of person I have always been. I was the kid you knew who’d seen every great horror movie by the time he was 8, knew the back story of every monster, and wasn’t afraid of bugs or the dark. When movies stopped scaring me I moved on to the games kids will play to scare themselves. I did the bloody Mary and Candyman challenges when I was 11, tried playing hide and seek alone a year later, I’ve even tried using a Ouija board but I never got any response. I’m not trying to make myself out to be some kind of badass, you understand, I’ve always enjoyed scary movies and games and now that I’m in my late teens I’m very hard to frighten.

On the day this story happened I was sitting alone in the living room of my house my parents were gone for the weekend attending the wedding of one of my father’s college friends. And not having many friends of my own I was set to enjoy a quiet weekend at home. For the better part of the day I’d been looking through a site I’d recently found where people could post stories about their paranormal experiences. Most of the stories were clearly fake, not that I was expecting them to be real in the first place, but even still they were interesting and if nothing else gave me an enjoyable way to kill an afternoon.

One story out of the bunch struck me as being different, it wasn’t very long or well written but… how do I put this? The way it was written gave me the feeling that I was reading something true, not fiction not even an exaggeration but complete and utter truth.

The writer began by claiming that the story was true and ‘Really did happen to him’, it went on to explain that as a child he always had nightmares about things in the dark chasing him but those nightmares had stopped as he aged. Recently though they had returned causing him to lose sleep and become impatient and easily aggravated. The story went on claiming that one night on his way back from work he heard something down an alleyway and noticed the street light ahead of him flickering, his mind flashed back to the dream and he snapped and began shouting into the alley as though he was shouting at whatever chased him in his nightmares. After a minute or two of letting off steam he shook his head and muttered bitterly ‘Catch me if you can’, at which point the light ahead of him suddenly shut off. The writer claimed that the noise he heard had gotten louder and he took off running. He ran all the way to his apartment hearing the whispering voices all the way there and once inside he locked the door and turned on every light. Even went so far as to flip his bed against the wall and open his closets so that there was no shadows whatsoever that they were could hide in. All through the night he stayed in the light but swore he could hear voices in the dark outside his windows. The story ended the next morning with the writer stating that when he’d left his apartment the words ‘Almost caught you’ had been carved into the bricks outside his 5th story apartment.

The story was good, not the best written I’d seen on the site but still better as I could almost feel the man’s fear dripping off every word he’d written. I was in the middle of writing a glowing review for his work when my cell began ringing, my mother calling to check in with the clear sounds of the weddings after party behind her. The conversation was brief just her telling me that they’d be back sometime tomorrow afternoon and to be sure I got myself some dinner. I put the phone aside and went back to my review, it was still too early for dinner so once I was done I looked through a few more stories and watched a bit of tv.

I eventually went out around 7 just as the sun was starting to set, a bit earlier than I normally eat but it would take a little while to get to town. Where I live is separated from the heart of the city by a small park, normally it’s pretty empty as it’s not much more than a field with some trees surrounding it. Tonight there were a few people here and there but what caught my eye was the field lights starting to turn on, a few of the bulbs flickering brought my mind back to the story and I couldn’t stop myself. “Catch me if you can.” I said looking up at the small collection of flickering bulbs, of course nothing happened and I laughed to myself as I continued through the field and into the trees.

I walked around town for about 20 minutes before making my way back a takeout bag dangling from my hand. I was nearly through the trees and into the field when I felt something smack against my hand and gasped jerking my hand up and causing the bag to hit a tree and rip in half sending my dinner flying out. That annoyance distracted me from the black welt growing on the back of my hand, I was pissed and that anger caused me to write off what just happened as a low branch being bent by my leg and snapping back.

Irritated I made it out of the tree line and into the field before stopping, the field light was off. Not only off but from what I could make out from the other light across the field the entire light pole had been ripped down and was now laying on the ground. I didn’t move for several moments, my eyes locked on the destroyed light as my mind tried to process this into something reasonable. That came to an end when I heard something behind me, like several voices all whispering at once, “Run.”

I took the advice, putting aside reason and logic I took off across the field as fast as I could, not even stopping as I felt something catch the leg of my jeans and rip part of the leg clean off. I didn’t hesitate to dive into the tree line on the other side either, rushing and ducking through the trees and branches, I heard more whispers but the blood was pounding too hard in my ears to make sense of them. I could nearly see the exit of the trees when I felt something grab my wrist and pull hard yanking me back and off my feet. I looked back for just an instant but saw nothing, not even the trees, just a wall of shadow that had hold of my arm. I pulled and twisted slipping my wrist from its grasp by letting it rip my sweatshirt off. I stumbled and rolled and crawled finally breaking through the trees and rushing across the street, nearly getting run over in the process. I slammed against my front door grabbing the keys from my pocket but dropping them, panic making my fingers clumsy. Grabbing the keys I chanced a look back at the part and nearly froze, darkness was seeping through the trees coming for me. I jammed the key in the door and unlocked it before getting in and slamming the door shut.

I went to turn on the porch light but it didn’t turn on, it was so rarely used that no one realized the bulb was dead. Swearing I rushed to through the living room turning on the three lamps and tv, the ceiling fan lights in the kitchen, the upstairs hallway, every bedroom. Soon everything that could cast a light in my home was on and glowing but as I came back downstairs intent on sitting in the light like the man in the story I saw the living room windows. With all of the lights on downstairs I should have been able to see the trees across the road clearly but there was nothing, only complete blackness covering the view. I could hear my heart pounding in my chest as I stared at the darkness before screaming and jumping, falling back onto the floor as I heard something hit the door hard, as though a person had thrown themselves against it. The sound of someone trying to break down the walls was coming from everywhere now along with whispers from the shadows and I couldn’t bring myself to get up from the floor. It was like my mind and body had turned off, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think I was just there seeing nothing and hearing things I couldn’t explain.

I don’t know how long I stayed like that but eventually I was able to stand, morbid curiously pushing me toward the window. I don’t know why I wanted to move closer there was nothing but darkness there, no shapes or faces, nothing to really see. My hand shaking I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell opening the camera and took a picture of the window, I hoped anyway as I was doing this with my hand alone, my eyes never left the dark glass.

As I starred at the glass something began dragging against it cutting into the window slowly, so very slowly, spelling out its message, ‘GOT YOU’. I wasn’t sure how to react but before I could do anything the front door burst off its hinges, the screws and dead bolt ripping right out of the wood and flying into the living room smashing two of the lamps. I screamed and jumped back as the window shattered as well, I felt pieces of glass hit me and I was sure I was cut and bleeding but fear has a wonderful habit of numbing you to pain. I scrambled away from the destroyed window toward the kitchen, sprinting to one of the cabinets I pulled out the two flashlights we own and turned them both on pointing them toward the living room just as something smashed the last lamp and the tv killing whatever light was left.

My entire body was shaking now as I moved under the three glowing lights of the ceiling fan and held the two flash lights pointed right at the living room entrance. Glancing at the windows I found the same message and the same darkness waiting for me, and I knew I couldn’t stay here for long before whatever this was figured out a way to destroy the light above me. Trying my best to force back my fear I ran toward the living room holding the flashlights in front of me hoping against hope that the somewhat feeble light the cast would be keep the darkness off me. That was quickly proven wrong as one of them was broken in half while still in my hand. I could feel my body being grabbed at, hands all over me grabbing my shirt my jeans my arms and legs even ripping at my hair. Somehow I managed to get to the stairwell at the edge of the living room and scrambled upstairs, the overhead lights still intact for now. I ran upstairs and into the bathroom slamming the door behind me as I collapsed to the floor. There were no windows or closets in this room, four light bulbs above the sink and another fixture glowing above the bath tub. Given the lights glowing against the white walls I hoped this would be my safe haven. I could hear what was going on outside the door. The whispers, the scratches, things being slammed and broken.

Eventually I must have passed out because what I woke up to weren’t strange whispers or breaking wood but police sirens and someone calling out asking if anyone was there. Pulling myself up I slowly opened what was left of the bathroom door, there were scratch holes on my side and as I stepped out most of the wood from the other side was gone. The house was trashed, every room had been turned upside down, lights all smashed, furniture shredded and tossed around, claw marks in the walls and doors. I stumbled downstairs finding several police officers in the living room examining the destruction, one of them actually gasped when they saw me standing there, my clothes shredded, patches of hair ripped out, cuts on my arms and face and dried blood everywhere. One of the officers helped me outside where I saw it carved into the outside of the house, deep gouges into the siding, ‘Almost Caught You’, and I passed out again.

When I woke up I was in the hospital my wounds were stitched up and there was a cop waiting by my hospital bed wanting to ask me about what happened. Realizing I couldn’t tell him what had really happened I jumped into the first lie that came to mind, I’d stumbled on some guys in the park ripping apart the light post and they’d chased me home. Any gaps in the story I attributed to my injuries saying my memory was foggy after they smashed in the door after me. It’s been two months since that night, me and my parents had been living out of a hotel while repairs were made but we’ve been back home for more than a week and nothing has happened so I assume whatever game I had started with those damned words ended at sunrise. The picture I took with my phone turned out to be useless, whatever had been covering the windows didn’t appear and instead I was left with a blurry picture of the street and trees.

I don’t know why I choose to share this with the online world. Maybe I wanted to warn people about what’s out there. Maybe I wanted to see if there are others who’ve experienced this. Maybe I just needed to get it all off my chest… I don’t know.

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November 11, 2014
by derpbutt
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Two Noodle Pastas

“Yes, I think we’ll somehow manage to get my ring back,” the married woman replied angrily to her husband’s insensitive question as they both stared at the ruby waters of the fish tank. “Piranhas don’t EAT gold.”

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“Its common knowledge a cigarette contains cancer causing arsenic,” the woman explained with a smile to her dying husband. “I just sped up the process by adding a bit more; I thought you’d appreciate faster results.”

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Melissa stared at her reflection in the mirror taking note of the subtle differences that aging had caused over the years as she began to brush out her hair. Her reflection’s arm, however, stayed still.

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After scoring the winning touchdown of the long awaited championship game, the quarterback collapsed onto his knees with his head lifted toward the night sky as if in thanks. Witnesses and medical examiners still argue to this day over the exact time of death.

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Throughout my childhood and teenage years, and even more so nowadays, I enjoyed the company of the people that surrounded me. My only wish, over the years, has been that everyone else could see them too.

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During the movie we watched, at the slumber party, we talked at length about if we would answer the phone if it were to ring three days from now with the killer on the other end of the line, like in the movie. Now, three days later, I sit here with the phone disconnected from the wall resting in my lap; it is still ringing.

-

They had told me over and over again as a child that I could do anything I set my mind to. Now, after six murders and one botched attempt, they keep saying that I can’t finish the job.

-

John had known that one day the extra chemistry in college would pay off. It was there that he learned about hydrochloric acid, his favorite body disposal tool.

Credit To – MistyBear

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