For those pastas that are smelling less than fresh…

September 29, 2015
by derpbutt


Before we left the Soviet Union my family lived near Serveromorsk. Both my father and grandfather were in the navy. I was born at the end of the Soviet era but I fondly remember the cruisers and the sailors. This sparked my interest in nautical exploration and after we moved to a coastal town in England I founded a nautical exploration business. I took people out to sea to explore the more remote landmarks. Strange things began to happen as i took one group out.
The plan was simple. I took six people for a week to explore some shipwrecks and islands in the North Sea. Nothing was amiss to begin with. The team were a little quiet but it was natural to be uncomfortable with complete strangers. They boarded and we left with haste. The journey began as usual. The men crowded the controls asking questions about the sea and talking nonsense about ghost ships and cursed sailors.
Four men stood close to me. Two young men in their twenties were fascinated. Clinging to my every word as I spoke about the boat. There was a middle aged man who seemed vacant. Staring out into the waves in a trance. The older gentleman interested me the most. He seemed interested yet knowledgeable. He spoke of the merchant navy and their work moving supplies to a battered Britain during war time. The women on the other hand were in the cabin. Not many women signed up for the voyage but when they did most gave no interest to the boat or even the sea. Most were interested in the wrecks hoping to find a ship that was important to their family. Other’s had interested in marine life and I was happy to cater to all their needs.
The shipwrecks were always interesting and dangerous. We’d dive in and explore. The wrecks were mostly merchant ships downed by the kriegsmarine during the second world war. But something sparked my interested as one of the passengers pointed at the soviet star and “CCCP” branded on the side of a submarine’s carcass. It took me by surprise. What would a soviet sub be doing out here let alone be destroyed? My sleep was uneasy that night. My thoughts racing. Who was to blame?
This is when they started to act strange. Whilst sharing a few beers and a stories the older gentleman had told us he worked in the royal navy during the war and was interested in finding downed U-boats. He spoke about the Cold War and attempted to explain that Soviets would often probe defences by sending aircraft and boats close to the shores of their allies to prompt a reaction. He was proud to say that they never got far and that he never trusted them anyway.
The next surprise came a few days later when I was setting course to an old shipping lane that was used often to ferry weaponry during the war. I hear laughter coming from the cabin. They spoke in loud tones about odd topics. The younger man spoke about his criminal record and how he found it hard to work after an accident. It was strange really how they had bonded so quickly. I told them about the shipping lane and they ignored me, as if i wasn’t even there. After that they all went back to their beds early, leaving me alone in the communal area.
My sleep was once again broken by loud sounds coming from the farthest cabin. One couple would have loud sex every night. It wasn’t right. It was as if they wanted to be heard. In the early hours of the morning I lost it. I charged in there and screamed at them to shut up. He told me not to invade their privacy and I spent the night wide awake, staring into space.
The halfway point was an island. There was a small derelict chapel and lighthouse on the island and I would always take the passengers to the island and tell stories at a campfire about the ghost of the lighthouse and how he would turn off the light to purposely kill sailors and steal their loot.
I tied up at the old wooden pier and turned to see that no one was out on the deck. I jumped back onto the boat and found them in the communal space. I told them that we’d be spending the night here near the campfire and in tents but they refused to move. They told me that they wanted to go back. I laughed at them. It was only a wives tale after all.
It took some time to get them to dry land but they were insistent on sleeping in the chapel. I sat down close to the fire and spoke softly. My words echoed in the building and at first I thought the atmosphere was perfect. My words rang around the room. The lighthouse keeper’s dingy beard coming to life in the open fire. I finished the tale and was met by a light applause. The middle aged man laughed loudly and begged me to take him for a tour up in the light house. I thought he’d finally come around. I lead him over to the lighthouse. Shining my torch at the the ornaments frozen in time, untouched for many years. I stepped out to the balcony. I pointed at the chapel and was interrupted by his heavy breathing. I turned just in time to see him holding a shard of glass. I reacted quickly and swung him over the balcony and he fell to his death.
I rushed down to the chapel to get the people and get the hell back home. I got the the chapel and realized that the door was locked. I knocked and said it was safe to come out. They told me to go away. I pleaded that the man had died and that there was no harm in coming out. But they declined, calling me all sorts of names. I shook the door furiously and then went to the corpse of the man. He looked scared. His mouth jerked open brandishing a gold tooth. Blood was gushing from his right arm. A large rusty metal part lying next to him. I assumed the balcony had crumbled beneath his weight. He fell awkwardly so I straightened his corpse and closed his eyes returning to the chapel minutes later.
I looked through the windows and called many times. There was no answer. I had to save them and get off this island. I broke the lock easily and gasped at what i saw. The fire was roaring. It lay in the center of the chapel. I’d placed my things on the benches, spare clothes, a bag and so on. When I looked at the fire i could see that my things had been emptied out onto the floor and then thrown into the fire. I looked up and saw them at the alter screaming at me, holding my pocket knife. I was frenzied. I yelled at the top my lungs, calling them every name under the sun. I began to cry. My heart gripped with rage. I looked at them, fear in their eyes. I told them about the man and warned them never to do this again.
We went back to the boat. They rushed off ahead whilst I returned to the corpse one last time and apologised for what I had done. When i got near to the pier I could hear the boat turning over. I ran back to the boat and saw the elderly man on the deck hitting the controls furiously. I leaped aboard and swung him to the floor. We wrestled for a moment but his frail bones and worn muscles couldn’t hold for long. The younger men shot out to defend him but they were too late. I raised my knife and swung at them hitting skin and tasting blood. One man fell yelping loudly as he did so. The other backed away and pleaded for his life. I decided that I would maroon them on the island. I tied them to the pier and left the three men with enough food to last a week. It would be enough food to last till their rescue.
That’s why I came here. As we were coming home I realised why they’d attacked me on the island. They were the ones who destroyed the sub. The old man had done it when he was with the Royal Navy. The two young men wanted to know how to drive the boat so they could escape after they’d left me on the island and the middle aged man was plotting my murder. I left the women alive because they were used only as an alibi. A lot of couples take rides on my boat. They wouldn’t arouse any suspicion.
============================== Police Report ==========================
The captain of the vessel is mentally unstable. The women had stated that he seemed normal but believed that a vessel they found had ignited his rage. They said that after discovering the cold war era Soviet submarine he began grilling the crew. Accusing the passengers of destroying the Soviet Navy’s prize vessel. Later he accused them of talking behind his back and began to get agitated. Yelling that they were keeping secrets about an accident and were talking behind his back. Later that night he entered a couples room brandishing a knife and began yelling at them. Telling them that he had had enough of them desecrating his ship and that if he heard another sound he would kill them.
The women reported being nervous as he talked about an island and a lighthouse with a legend. They arrived at an island 10 miles from the coast. It was abandoned during the war and occupied by the Royal Navy forward operating base. The occupants never returned after this. He proceeded to talk about a lighthouse keeper who stole from ships and killed mercilessly. The captain proceeded to force one of the victims to the top of the lighthouse where he proceeded to preach about the glory of the Soviet Navy. The other passengers report watching him throw the victim over the balcony and into the dirt. He then burned his supplies, desecrated the corpse and marooned the men on the island in a fit of rage.

============================== Police Report ==========================
Credit: Bob Hope

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September 29, 2015
by derpbutt

Teacupful of Water

“Mia, there’s no shame in being poor.” I can’t tell you how many times my Nana has spoken these words since my arrival. It’s become her mantra. Previously, I was living with my sickly Mom in a commune-type setting on a God forsaken tract of land in West Virginia. I never knew exactly how ill she was. She made it her top priority to hide the sordid details from me. And then she died. I wish I had been prepared. But it really wouldn’t have changed anything. There was only one person on the face of the planet who had any interest in rescuing me, and that was my Nana.

She was employed as a cook/housekeeper by a wealthy CEO of an unnamed, suspect company. He resided on a palatial estate in Roland Park, Baltimore, Maryland. My room was a loft atop a garage. When I first saw it, I entertained all kinds of ideas on how to make it truly mine. I purchased the latest issue of “Decorating Small Spaces” and began putting together a wish list and making sketches of dream bedrooms. Nana tolerated my new pet project, but made it perfectly clear that designing a boudoir for myself took a backseat to my 11th grade homework.

I found school to be a living hell. I was the proverbial fish out of water. The majority of my classmates had their own cars. They sported the latest labels where clothing was concerned and received hefty allowances for doing squat. No need to work afternoon or weekend jobs. All their creature comforts were provided for. Nana could keep her opinions to herself. I wasn’t buying the old adage about beauty being from within. I would have killed to trade places with anyone of my fellow students.

My access to the internet was limited to trips to the local library. Normally, the computer use was monitored, but I explained my plight, all teary-eyed, to a rotund, be-speckled, pimply-faced librarian’s assistant, whose name tag read Remus, and he ignored the time restraints. I just hoped he wasn’t jockeying for a date. It was from Librarian Remus that I got a lead on the hot spot where to dumpster dive. He pointed me in the direction of a strip mall, where he promised an abundance of treasures. And best of all, there was a new & used computer store on site. I packed up my belongings, exited the library and went in search of a bus that would carry me to what I hoped would be the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

It wasn’t as far as I had anticipated. It was getting close to dusk and I decided the possibility of discovering a real find at the bottom of this dumpster was worth the risk of being caught on private property. I leaned my backpack against the dumpster and wasted no time in lowering my 110 pounds into the abyss. I was amazed as to how squeaky clean the dumpster and its contents appeared. Other than the lingering smell of chemicals, courtesy of the discards from the beauty salon, there was the absence of any odor of garbage.

And eureka, there wedged between a stack of what looked like water-damaged gardening books and a bolt of some florescent green fabric, lay a laptop. Curiously, it bore no visible make or model number. I lifted the top and it sprang to life, without a power cord. Three letters filled the screen: M – I – A. Immediately, I interpreted this as a sign – MIA spelt out my name. The next order of business was to concoct a believable story to explain the appearance of a seemingly new laptop for my Nana’s benefit. I had the bus ride home to mull over this dilemma.

You know when you feel someone’s giving you the hairy eyeball? I had that distinct feeling after I settled into a seat at the back of the bus. I made eye contact with a couple of passengers, who sheepishly looked away. It was then I put the brakes on. Had I been talking to myself? I’d caught myself doing this of late, just another idiosyncrasy to add to my growing list. Letting out an exasperated sigh, I pulled the sleeve of my hoodie down over my right hand and wiped the condensation off the window adjacent to me. My countenance looked more like a 13 yr old boy’s than an almost 16 yr old female’s. My strawberry blonde hair was cut in a style more severe than a pixie. I had done it myself. My large hazel eyes were probably my best feature, but smokey dark circles underscored them. My nose, identical to my dead mother’s, resembled a bird’s beak. My mouth was okay, at least the lips were a pretty bow-shape. But my teeth were destitute West Virginia trailer park = never seen the inside of a dentist’s office. I made a promise to myself, that as soon as I could get my hands on some real money, I’d invest in some regular dental appointments or at least some Crest dental strips. I delicately fingered my pride and joy at the tip of my elfish earlobes – real pearl studs that had belonged to my Mom. I imagine one of her male admirers gifted them to her for God only knows what she had to do in return. I was so stoked on the day of my move to Maryland when my Nana had entrusted them to my care. I vowed I’d go to my death wearing this most prized possession. This fleeting thought is more significant than you might think, dear reader.

I was caught in such a self-absorbed reverie that I nearly missed my stop. The trek in from the main road to my new digs was uphill and exhausting. I wish I had carried my skateboard along in my travels, but in all honesty it would just be one more thing to carry. I wasn’t accomplished enough to scale small mountains under my own steam.

“Mia, there are upper crust, hoity-toity leftovers from an afternoon tea if you’re interested,” my Nana offered, as I entered the well-appointed kitchen. “Thanks, but no thanks, Nana, ” I replied. I slipped my hand into my backpack to ensure that my new laptop was safely secure in between my chemistry book and American History text. All was well. Just as I was about to divulge my secret to my Nana, she beat me to the punch. “I sure wish we were allowed access to one of the computers in this house,” she sighed. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. “Why’s that, Nana, are you planning on exploring the senior citizen sites in search of a boyfriend?” “Not hardly smarty pants! My friend, Genevieve, told me about a virtual tour you can take of a property up for sale. Professor Mize, who I worked for prior to this job, is selling his Victorian house and Gen says you can take a look-see of every nook and cranny of his house online. I’d love to see how the old house looks after all the renovations the Professor was considering when I left his employment.” “Nana, what would you say if we could take a peek right here and now?” With a dramatic flair, I pulled the laptop from its hiding place and set it on the counter. “Where did you get that?”, Nana asked suspiciously? “There’s a kid in my class that has more money than God and he loaned this old dinosaur to me just until I can afford my own.” “Are you sure it’s alright with his parents, Mia?” “Nana, they’re vacationing across the pond and so Remus is now the ruler of the roost, barking orders to the minions on his parents’ house staff: a cook, gardener, chauffeur, housekeeper and his mother’s personal secretary. You know how the other half lives, nary a care in the world.” Nana just shook her head as she reached for the PC.

My Nana and I had no trouble logging onto a multiple listing site and locating Professor Mize’s property in an opulent neighborhood of Federal Hill in Baltimore. I clicked on the virtual tour tab and we feasted our eyes on a mansion worthy of gracing the cover of Architectural Digest. When the thumbnail of the study/library appeared on the screen, a pop-up message announced I had a private message. “Isn’t that sweet,” purred my Nana, “that young man must have a crush on you.”

I felt a chill shoot up my spinal column and had the overwhelming sense that “a goose walked over my grave”. I had cancelled my email during a prior visit to the library and had yet to create a replacement. After a few more minutes, Nana seemed to have had her curiosity satisfied and I retired to the loft, laptop in hand. I was unable to discover any private messages and returned to the house listings. Once I found the Professor’s house, I page through the tour until I came to the particular room where the notice had first appeared. At first glance, the page looked normal, a home office with wall to wall and floor to ceiling bookcases. Just as I was about to exit, a chat box opened with the following words: NOW THAT YOU’RE ALONE, I’LL GIVE YOU THE COMBINATION TO A SMALL FORTUNE. Projected on the computer screen there suddenly appeared a rough drawing, cartoonish in nature, of a safe and an arrow pointing to a painting in the corner of the room. Having taken a history of art class last year enabled me to immediately identify it as a Gainsborough print – The Painter’s Daughters Chasing a Butterfly. In an otherwise masculine appointed room, the hanging of the painting seemed to be an after-thought. My attention was diverted only a matter of seconds and when I refocused on the screen, there was now a combination scribbled across the front of the safe 48-55-16.

I scrambled for my cell phone and punched in Remus’ number, which he had forced on me earlier in the day. He answered on the first ring. I directed him to the puzzling page. “There’s nothing like what you’re describing on my monitor,” he said. “As luck would have it, there’s an open house scheduled for tomorrow and I intend to be there. You wanna join me?”, I suggested. “That would look mighty suspicious, Mia. What you do is follow behind a perspective buyer, like you’re one of the family, no one will be the wiser.” “Good idea, Remus. I’ll report back to you after I’ve cased the joint.” “You sound like a gun moll out of a B movie. Good luck!”

The following morning, a Saturday, I made my way to the open house. I stashed my skateboard behind a row of butter-yellow azaleas and lingered at the corner of the house awaiting a ready-made family. It didn’t take long before the street was lined with vehicles carrying prospective buyers. I followed on the heels of a yuppie-looking couple and made my way unchallenged into the foyer. Taking the steps two at a time up the spiral staircase, I easily came upon the study midway down the hall. The room looked almost exactly how it appeared online with one exception – there was no visible arrow indicating the whereabouts of the safe. I was just about to peek behind Gainsborough’s masterpiece, when I heard voices just outside the door.

I pretended to be reading the exposed book spines, as a young couple swept into the room with two snotty-nosed toddlers in tow. I thought to myself that they could only afford a spread like this one in their dreams. I exited the room without making eye contact and cut across the hall to what I supposed to be a guest bedroom. The focal point of interest was a king-sized canopy bed dressed in gold accessories. It sat upon a raised platform and a floor length bed skirt made for the perfect hiding place until the house emptied.

Some hours later, I awoke to a deserted house and could safely resume my investigating. I gingerly lifted “The Painter’s Daughters Chasing a Butterfly off the wall and there was the expected safe. I wasted no time. I pulled a pair of my Nana’s dish washing gloves from the back pocket of my jeans, slipped them on and held my breath while I spun the combination lock 48-55-16. With the opening of the Professor’s safe, my career as a safe-cracker was launched.

I wasted no time casting aside all sorts of papers, that at first glance I couldn’t make either heads or tails of. They were probably bonds, deeds, T-bills, etc., something I knew nothing about. I went straight for two stacks of bills – all hundreds, each probably six inches high. I stuffed them inside my backpack, slammed the safe shut and rehung the painting. As I bounded down the stairs and left by way of the service entrance off the kitchen, I couldn’t help but give thought to what my first purchase would be. I had an ongoing wishlist that I had begun when I made the move to Maryland. I decided my first priority would be a trip to the mall, where I’d get a makeover, so I might fit in better with my peers.

Luckily, the Relax Day Spa took walk-ins and I treated myself to the works: color, cut, blow-dry, mani/pedi, facial, waxing and massage. I was in heaven! As I exited the Spa, I stopped to admire my transformation in an ornate full-length mirror. I never imagined I could cleanup so well, but there remained a looming problem – my clothes were all wrong. I made my way to Forever 21 and traded in my skater threads for a strappy sunflower print romper, a sweater knit shift, an off the shoulder skater dress and a crocheted racerback dress, just to name a few. Next came shoes, lingerie and jewelry. I purchased an Apple 1Phone Plus, a $380 pair of Tom Ford sunglasses and a macadamia nut & white chocolate sugar cookie. I’d never felt such a high as I peeled off the hundreds and bought whatever my heart desired. I took a cab almost all the way home. Being the clever girl I was, I had the driver drop me a block away and I made my way undetected to the loft, where I hid my packages.

Time to tackle homework. I grabbed my American History book with one hand opened my laptop with the other. Written across the screen was the inquiry: WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? Not knowing how or where to respond, I began typing directly on the desktop page: Following up on your open house lead. GOOD GRIEF GIRL, YOU’RE REQUIRED TO REPORT BACK AFTER EACH TASK I ASSIGN TO YOU. DON’T LET THIS LAPSE IN PROTOCOL HAPPEN AGAIN. And then followed the address of a gas station, with three sets of numbers – the keypad # to access the backdoor of the establishment, the code to disable the silent alarm and the combination to the safe, which was located beneath the front counter. Also an added warning to go dressed in a hoodie and some kind of face covering. This break-in must be executed tonight. I answered with the lame excuse that I had homework to do. A split second later I read: WOULD YOU PREFER THAT I ABANDON YOU FOR A MORE GRATEFUL AND OBEDIENT GIRL? I dutifully copied the numbers for my next heist.

Later that night I collapsed on my bed and fell into a deep sleep having scored $2700. The filling station caper had gone without a glitch. I was awakened to a sound similar to wind chimes. I was able to track the origin of the tinkling to my laptop. Seems as though my mentor had upgraded my notebook with a new feature. On lifting the cover, a new message awaited me: NO REST FOR THE WICKED, MON CHERI! I was provided another set of numbers, just like before and the window of opportunity, Sunday evening. This would be after all the collection baskets from all the Masses were locked in an all-purpose room in the basement of The Cathedral of Mary Our Queen. The church was the largest and most affluent Catholic Church in Baltimore. With its regular parishioners and out-of-town guests, the haul would be sizable. My heart sank. This was my Nana’s parish. I couldn’t bring myself to rob the Church; why the heavens would open and I’d be struck by a bolt of lightening from above as I stepped through the doors.

As I cut across the front lawn of the church grounds, I heard a familiar melody coming from the pipe organ. I lingered on the sidewalk, eyes closed, basking in what was once my Mom’s favorite hymn, “On Eagle’s Wings”. I was lost in a peaceful reverie when I felt a tap on my shoulder. “It’s a heavenly song, isn’t it my child?” The pastor emeritus, who must have been pushing one-hundred, had appeared out of nowhere. I recognized him from attending Mass at my Nana’s insistence. “Hello Father,” I stammered. “Feel free to go inside for a spell dear,” spoke Monsignor Joseph. “The choir is practicing and they welcome an audience. Here, let me walk you in.” There was no escaping as the pastor took hold of my arm and lead me into “The House of the God”. He propelled me up the center aisle to a pew directly in front of the assembled choir. I noticed some members smiled while others nodded in my direction as they raised their voices praising the Lord. I completely forgot my intended mission as I was taken over by a feeling of peace and tranquility. I became mesmerized by the crucifix of Jesus hanging above the altar and the stations of the cross that adorned the perimeter of the Church walls.

Right then and there, I had an epiphany. As the Monsignor passed by me on his way to the sanctuary, I asked if he might hear my confession. On my knees in the confessional box, I bared my soul. We talked about the restitution demanded from me on this earthly plane and the forgiveness by my Heavenly Father. I left the Church a changed girl.

As soon as I arrived at the loft, I type a message to the devil himself. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought to just toss the laptop in the nearest dumpster. The response I received to my refusal to pillage any longer was a blatant death threat. I reasoned that with my now being in God’s graces I was safe.

I sent a text to Remus asking him if he had any tips on how to fall asleep as I was wired to the max. He suggested going on YouTube and finding a soothing rainfall video. I told him a funny story about my Mom never allowing me to play in the rain or jump in muddy puddles like Peppa Pig. My Mom had come very close to drownng when she was a kid and had a justified fear of water. She used to say you can drown in a teacup of water. I ended texting with Remus and promised him a date for Friday night. I poured water with a wedge of lemon into one of my Nana’s antique, hand-painted teacups and placed it on my bedside table along with the laptop playing “Rain on a Tin Roof”. I tucked my rosary under my pillow and assumed a sleeping position similar to a deadman’s float on my French Provincial daybed. Life was good.

Epilogue: The coroner ruled the death of 15 year old Mia Marlow a drowning. The only thing out of place in the otherwise pristine bedroom was a shattered teacup on the floor.

Credit: Ria Law

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September 29, 2015
by derpbutt

Sins of the Father

Ever since I was a little girl. Since I could speak really, people were sort of freaked out by me. I could see things that were not there, know things I couldn’t possibly know or understand, and predict things that hadn’t happened yet.
As I got older things I guess stopped for a while. However in High School I could accurately predict things again, but I didn’t realize I predicted them until as they were happening. It was more like I had already seen the event happening, like I dreamed it some how. At first I just blew it off thinking that it happens to everyone once in a while. But what was once in a while turned into once a month, then to once a week, then into daily. I knew about psychics. I knew this was a possibility and just dealt with it. I tried to hone my skill. But when I did that, only bad things would be shown to me. And again it only happened in my dreams. Thus the night terrors started.
I started seeing a therapist and of course when I spoke of all this I was listed as delusional given a million different medications and my dreams stopped coming. Ten years later I became a mother. And that is where the story begins:
My husband was working late one night and I was on the phone with my mother while I was cleaning my kitchen. The children were asleep when I heard a loud crash coming from their room which I could see plainly from the kitchen. I told my mother to hang on and went to their room. Upon inspection both my kids were still sound asleep yet every dresser door was opened with all the clothing thrown out of the dresser. The room was at least 10 degrees cooler than the rest of the house. I checked the girls individually and they both seemed unfazed by what had just happened, my youngest crib was secure and my oldest toddler bed rails had not been touched. So I closed up all the drawers and while I was still on the phone with my mom, when I heard the next crash, this time coming from the kitchen. As I ran to the kitchen I looked at the front door which was still locked, dead bolted and chained all from the inside. I got to the kitchen and every single cabinet drawer the oven, the microwave, and the fridge and the pantry door were wide open. That room was also very cool. I was in stunned silence. I started to close everything up trying to process what had happened. My mother was on the line demanding to know what was wrong and before I could even say what was wrong there was another crash from the girls’ room. I ran back to their room and the drawers were no longer even in the dresser but on the floor. I grabbed my children and left that room and locked it shut. I put my girls in my bed while my mom phoned my husband. I went into the kitchen to get a bottle for my baby and every door was open again. I went back to my own room and waited for my husband and when he got home we staid in a hotel for the night.
Another tidbit you should know about me is I am a Wiccan. So I called my girlfriends the next morning and we did a traditional cleansing of the house and I felt that was good enough to keep angry, mischievous, spirits at bay. So my family came back that night.
My husband took a few days off just to be sure.
About a week after the incident my oldest comes barreling into my room telling me about the nice new teacher who wants to teach her to “fly.” My curiosity piqued I followed her and asked to meet this teacher. She brought me to her room and said his name was Teacher Dan. And he lives outside her window and all she has to do it just step outside the window and she can fly. Which terrified me as a mother because we lived on the third floor. I asked her was Teacher Dan with us right that moment and she said yes but he doesn’t like you Mommy. The nails went into her windows that night.
Time starts to blur around this time frame because so much happened after that. Things would randomly break or be moved. My cat refused to go into the kitchen. There was once I felt strong arms holding me down when I woke up. It disturbed me so that once the feeling subsided I got up to wash my face and use the restroom. When I turned around There was the physical embodiment of a spirit. It looked to be a drowned soul, and it blocked my way. When I gasped in shock it literally growled at me and then I watched it disappear. Though the floor underneath where it was standing was still wet. I couldn’t take it anymore. I called a paranormal research group. They came out right away.
The night of the “lock down” my children stayed with my mother. We had cameras of all sorts throughout our home, and just about any paranormal device you could think of. We did numerous EVP or Electronic Voice Phenomenon sessions, and then finally a Spirit Box session. The purpose of the Spirit Box is to let the spirit answer you in real time. It scans radio frequencies backwards at numerous frequencies per second. We started getting hits almost immediately. Many times if spirits know someone is trying to make contact they will all come at once and try to communicate, but there was one voice that responded the most times, to our most direct questions. When asked “Why are you here?” to which the spirit carefully responded “E-Liz-A-Beth” the next question was “Why do you want Elizabeth?” The Spirit laughed and laughed. So the question was rephrased, “What about Elizabeth keeps you here”
The Spirit said “She’s is.” Just She is was his response. We tried for about an hour to get him to extrapolate off of that. Throughout the hour I was feeling weaker and weaker. Finally the paranormal researcher said “we are going to conclude this session What do you want with Elizabeth?” The Spirit said “To harm her” and this was followed by a menacing laugh. My husband was outraged. He slammed his fist down and said in a rage “You don’t get to hurt her you son of a bitch, she is my wife” The Spirit it seemed didn’t need the Spirit box for his final response of the night when he yelled back. “She is MINE”
I felt a strong energy force rush through me as that was said. And I became very very ill. That is the last thing I remember of that night.
I guess after the Spirit rushed through me I got sick, really sick. I was rushed to the hospital that same night. Connie, the lead paranormal investigator stayed with my husband. They spoke of getting me out of that house, to see if getting me away from that entity would improve my health, improve my state of mind, improve things for the family. Connie had told him no. It didn’t matter where we went, the entity would follow me, as it had since I was a baby. My husband didn’t understand. But Connie explained to him that I was a victim of something called “Sins of Thy Father” 1st Generation. You see, my father was a Satanist and he did some really evil shit. So three generations are cursed to pay for his sins. It’s a stupid rule, and certainly one I did not harbor, seeing as how I was a Wiccan. The man who haunted me was not even a man. He was a demon. He made me see things when I was little, nasty little ghosts to give a 2 year old version of myself nightmares, He made me know things I couldn’t possibly know, so I and everyone else would doubt my sanity, and the crème de le crème he messed with my children in the end.
As I am sure you’ve guessed I didn’t make it. The doctor’s failed at getting my body temperature up. My official cause of death was hypothermia. Odd if you think of it on a hot July night. My death can mean something. Now I am trapped for eternity with this demon. But I can protect my family. I can protect my children from my fate. They don’t have to die because of something stupid their grandfather did. Just as that demon was hell for me in life, I will be his hell in death. He will not claim another of my family. Not while I still have control of my mind.

Credit: Elizabeth Heagy

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August 14, 2015
by derpbutt

Mind Games

Something was different, off, as I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I shrugged it off as nothing important and went about my day, like usual. I drank one cup of coffee, black, just the way I liked it, and drove to my office job in the cities.

On the way there I decided to stop at a gas station and use the restroom, I’m not sure what compelled me to do this, but either way I did. I stared into the mirror once more and noticed that I had aged what looked like 30 years, and being a young, 20 something it scared the living shit out of me. I quickly felt my face, and noticing that it felt normal, once again went on with my day.

Once I got to the office I had the uncontrollable urge to run into the bathroom again and as soon as I did, I noticed that not only had my face aged what looked to be 50 years, my hair was now all gray and scraggly looking. Once again, I felt my face, normal. I was beginning to become more frantic and worried, I decided I wouldn’t let it bother me and went back to work.

I went to the bathroom seven more times that day to check on my appearance. Nothing had changed at first but the fourth or fifth time was different. My eyes began to cloud over and my skin had begun to start slowly peeling off. I became terrified and locked myself in one of the bathroom stalls for the rest of my 4 hours. It was finally time to go home once I came out again, I looked in the mirror one more time and was absolutely disgusted. The thing that was looking back at me didn’t even look like me anymore, it was a grayish, festering skeleton with a few strands of unruly gray hair here and there, and had maggots and other insects feeding on what little tissue from my face remained. I instantly became sick, losing all content from my stomach onto the white, tile floor beneath me. I rushed home and quickly checked my bathroom mirror, and the only thing staring back at me was, me. A normal me.

Credit To – Kaya Francel
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August 14, 2015
by derpbutt

The Green Book

I had just finished a long shift at work and was exhausted. I started climbing the stairs towards my apartment when I thought I saw something in the corner of my eye. I glanced in the direction but saw nothing there. I shrugged it off as a hallucination due to fatigue and continued to my place. Once I entered my apartment I locked the door. Too tired to do anything else I went straight to bed. Falling asleep the second my head hit the pillow.
After some time, something startled me awake from my deep sleep. I opened my eyes and allowed them to adjust to the darkness. It was then I first heard it.
“Can you read my story?” The voice squeaked.
I looked up and all I could see was a green book sitting on a table in the corner of my room. I resisted the urge to get up and retrieve it as every instinct told me something bad would happen if I left my bed. I put my head back down and closed my eyes to go back to sleep. Just as I was about to drift back asleep the voice returned.
“Can you read my story?”
I shot back up and looked directly at the table in the corner. This time a small boy with red hair was standing there holding the book in his hand. His back was facing me so I could not see his face but for some reason, I just knew I didn’t want him to turn around. I don’t know why I did it but I decided to talk to the boy.
“Ex-excuse me?” This was all I could stammer out.
“Can you read my story?” The boy questioned
“Uh…no. Go away.”
Acting like a child myself, I pulled my blankets up to my eyes and closed them hoping if I could just get to sleep he would be gone. Just when I thought I was safe, the voice returned.
“Can you read my story?”
I thought ignoring him was best at this point so I tried harder to fall back asleep. After a few moments the boys’ question returned.
“Can you read my story?” He seemed to be getting more demanding.
I felt something on my bed so I looked up. The red haired boy was now sitting at the foot of the bed. His back was still facing me and I still desperately didn’t want him to turn around.
“No!!” I shouted, the fear choking out the power of my voice. Like a coward I buried my face in my pillow, wishing the boy would just go away. I could feel him slowly crawl closer to my head. When he got halfway he spoke again.
“Can you read my story?”
“Just leave me alone!” I screamed
I pulled my blanket over my head and closed my eyes as tightly as possible. I felt the child come closer. I could almost feel his breath. Something hard touched my face just as he asked his question again.
“Can you read my story?”
My eyes shot open. His green book was touching my face. The boy was to my right only inches from my face. His back was still turned to me. I finally reached for the book making sure not to touch the boy. I don’t want to think what would have happened if I had touched him. I thought if I read his stupid story he would leave me alone.
I opened the book to the first page. It was blank. I turned to the second page, blank as well. The third, fourth, fifth, all the pages were blank till the last page. I read out loud what was written.
“The man in the bed is my friend. He makes me happy to watch him sleep. I don’t mean to scare him, for we are friends. The man must not be afraid of me. I promise the man I will not hurt him. The man is safe when I am here. Don’t worry mister. Don’t you worry your tired little head.”
When I finished reading I looked to my right and the boy was gone. I looked around the room and he had vanished without a trace. Disturbed by the book I had I read I threw it in the corner and finally went back to sleep.
I am not sure how much time had passed when I heard the boy’s voice again whispering in my ear.
“Can you read my other story?”
My eyes flapped open and I sat straight up. I saw no sign of the boy around me. Beside my pillows there was a new notebook. I looked exactly the same as the previous book except it was tan in color and the edges looked quite worn. Going against my gut feeling, I picked up the book and turned to the first page. It was filled with the same six words over and over written in red ink. The green book is a lie. The green book is a lie. The green book is a lie. No matter what page I turned to this was repeated again and again. The green book is a lie. The green book is a lie. The green book is a lie. Finally I turned to the last page and two words were written covering the entire page.
I did as the book commanded and I came face to face with the boy. He had a big smile that revealed his eerily white teeth that spread from cheek to cheek. His hair was still red but appeared more vibrant, almost like blood. And the worst part of all was his eyes. They were completely black. They stared directly into mine and chilled the very essence of my soul. No matter what I did I couldn’t stop staring at those evil black eyes.

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August 14, 2015
by derpbutt

The Mirror of Truth

The Mirror of Truth

We all get sad. We all get put down. Sometimes it’s just a little worse for others. Rose Greene had something lots of people don’t have, natural beauty. That made people jealous. They teased her and made her flaws seem like they were so much more than they were.

When her mother noticed that she was acting strangely, coming home with bruises and split lips, she asked Rose about it but Rose refused to engage. Although she knew her husband believed that when Rose needed them she would go to them, that she needed to take care of herself, the mother went to the Principal’s office, regardless. The principal brushed off her concerns as, “Children being children.” The mother left his office outraged.

When the mother returned home, Rose was in her room cleaning up her injuries. The mother tried to garner information once more, but Rose brushed past her and said over her shoulder, “I am going out for a walk.”

Her mother was hesitant to let her go, but called out, “Okay, but be back before six.”

Rose, tired from the day’s beatings, walked over to the cul-de-sac on the next block. She saw an elderly lady bringing in a table from a garage sale. The lady looked like she was having a hard time getting it to fold up. Rose jogged over to her and asked, “Can I help you, ma’am?”

The lady smiled and nodded. When they got the table in the lady said, “Go on, dearie, pick something from the leftovers for helping me.”

Rose tried to refuse the offer since she had not brought any money, but the lady was adamant that she take something. All that was left was a rubber band of toothbrushes that looked like they had been used or a mirror with an intricate flower and swirl design around the border. Rose picked up the mirror and the lady smiled, “Nice pick, dearie, now run along home. It’s nearly six.”

Rose looked at the lady strangely because she had never said aloud when she needed to be home. The lady gazed at her inauspiciously as she shooed her away with a crooked hand. Rose jogged all the way home and put the mirror in a box on the floor of her closet.

Days and weeks passed by and nothing changed; bullying by day, awkwardness at night. Rose had no idea how to explain to her mother what was going on, because she didn’t understand it herself. She was ashamed of being a victim and mortified to ask for help, even from her own mother.

One afternoon Rose returned home and found a note from her mother that said, “Honey, I went into your room and realized I don’t remember what color carpet you have. I am disappointed by the mess and I expect it to be cleaned up by this evening when I get home. I trust you to make your supper and PICK UP YOUR ROOM! Love, Mom.”

Rose grimaced at the idea of picking up her room and knew she needed to do it to avoid confrontation. She went upstairs and gasped in surprise as she entered her room: it was spotless. Her shock intensified she noticed a transparent-looking girl sitting on her bed. She was beautiful, despite being covered in cuts and bruises, the battle wounds of a bullied kid.

“My name is Sabrina, I am a lot like you. I was bullied for being beautiful, just like you are. I want to help you get back at them, everyone who has hurt you. I came from the mirror, the Mirror of Truth. If you were to look inside of this mirror then you would see yourself perfectly healthy and radiant. If someone unkind were to look into this mirror, then they would see themselves as ugly as they were on the inside and they would feel the pain of every thing they did to cause harm.”

Rose knew she should be horrified, not only that there was a spirit sitting on her bed, but also because it was talking to her. She wasn’t, she was intrigued by her, instead, and nodded eagerly. “Tell me how to do this.”

“Show them my mirror, then all the pain they have brought on you will be reflected back onto them. They will suffer as we have.” After her ominous parting words, Sabrina vanished. Rose put the mirror into her school bag and went to bed.

The next day Rose woke up and got ready in record time. Sabrina appeared at breakfast. Rose look from her parents to Sabrina and back again. She looked at Sabrina questioningly to which Sabrina said, “They can’t see me unless I want to be seen.” Rose nodded subtly that she understood.

As always, when Rose got to school the cheerleader, Ashley, and the football player, Lance, intentionally walked up to her, shoving her as they passed by. “You’re gonna get it later, freak,” Ashley said under her breath.

“Don’t listen to her. She’ll get what is coming to her,” Rose heard.

Despite getting through her school day with only a few discreet shoves, but nothing that would cause any bruising, Rose still looked for Ashley and Lance after school. Sabrina appeared in front of her and encouraged her to go follow them home, but she chickened out and went home herself.

When she got to her house, she switched her clothes into her black jeans and her dark red sweat shirt. Then she grabbed the mirror and was ready to go. Rose took her time walking through the woods to get to Ashley’s house. She didn’t knock she tried the door handle and it was unlocked, so she let herself in. She creeped up the stairs and tip-toed from room to room until she found Ashley’s bedroom where she was trying on clothes.

When Ashley saw her she hollered, “What are you doing here, freak!”

Revenge. “Revenge,” Rose and Sabrina said in unison. Rose put the mirror in front of Ashley’s face. The girl screamed in pain as her nose grew hooked and bulbous. The hair on her head grew longer, dry and brittle, while dark, coarse hair grew on her body. Her hands became gnarled while the bones in her limbs twisted and turned beneath her skin. Her teeth were pulled outward and turned towards each other. Her entire being was becoming as ugly as she was on the inside.

“Stop, please,” she pleaded of Rose.
“Did you ever stop for me! Did you ever listen to my pleas! I will not stop, you will feel the consequences of your actions.”
“Leave now, Rose, I will finish her. I will make her pay.”

Rose turned and walked away without even a glance back. Her torment was over. Her tormentor was done.

Credit To – Darien F.

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August 14, 2015
by derpbutt


Nobody talks about Redwood anymore. It seems as if everybody had forgotten about him completely. Most people believe it to be just another urban legend, but I assure you that Redwood is indeed real. It was in 2001 when sightings of Redwood had risen from the dead. It was all over the news and the Internet. They described him as being a tall man around 8 feet. They say he wore a long black coat and had a patch of hair hanging on his right side while his left was completely bald. Many people claimed that he had no face as it was seemingly melted, and that his mouth was sown shut. Many of the reports were determined to be false and that people had used an old urban legend for attention. There really is no telling if these people actually came across Redwood or not but I believe most of them had.

I’ve been fascinated by urban legends since I was a young boy and I know that most of them are really just urban legends but when I first heard about Redwood, I wanted to find out more about him. I found out that sightings of Redwood date way back to the mid 1800s and many photos were found that showed a tall man like shadow. Most of the sightings were being reported from Philadelphia. Many people don’t know about the origin of the tall man or creature but I know about it all too well.

The legend of Redwood started way back in the late 1800s. Words first spread about him in Philadelphia where people claimed they saw a tall man in a long black coat wandering through the city at late hours of the night. There were also a lot of strange murders happening at the time as well. Many people believe the murderer to be that tall man that’d been wandering the streets. He was finally given the name Redwood when a seventy year old man by the name of Charles Thelman noticed that the tall mysterious man shared striking resemblance to Edward. J. Thomas, a Philadelphia native who was murdered in 1828 after being ladled as an abomination for being 8 feet tall. They called the man Redwood as a reference to the Redwood trees known as the tallest trees in the world. The year at this time was 1887 so how can somebody who died in 1828 be wandering the streets in 1887 and brutally murdering people?

Many people wanted to find out more about Edward J. Thomas or Redwood. With Charles being alive at the time of Redwood’s death, he was able to tell more about him. Charles was eleven at the time so he didn’t remember much. The only thing that he remembered was that people in the city saw Redwood as being an abomination and an evil being from hell. Redwood was actually a great guy, beloved by a lot of people but there were many more who couldn’t stand to see him alive. One night, in late 1828 a group of people gathered together and brutally tortured Redwood, stitching his lips together, carving out his eyes and lighting his home on fire before leaving him to die. Redwood couldn’t get out of the house in time and he died in the fire, his body assumed to have been left in ashes. He was only 19 years old. Two years later, those who were involved in the killing of Redwood were found brutally murdered, including Charles’ father. Many people believed that Redwood had come back for revenge and from there on, the legend of Redwood started. It did eventually die off but in 1887, after strange murders had shocked the streets of Philadelphia, the legend and sightings had returned.

In London 1888, five woman were found brutally murdered, followed by 6 more through 1891. There were many sightings of Redwood being reported throughout the Whitechapel district of London and many people believed he had committed the murders but eventually a man who many people know as Jack the Ripper was arrested for the murders. So why were there so many sightings of Redwood being reported in London? And how can you explain the photo of what looks to be Redwood wandering the London streets that were all over the newspapers? Could it be that Jack the Ripper was wrongly accused and that Redwood is the actual killer? Some believed that Redwood had the ability to take over a human body and control him to commit the murders. I’m not so sure about that but I definitely wouldn’t rule it out.

After the London murders, sightings of Redwood decreased significantly throughout the next sixty-eight years until 1959 when a murder took place in a Boston home. A man and his wife were found decapitated in the basement of their home. Their daughter, eleven year old Sarah Wilson, claimed she saw an abnormally tall man wandering from behind the house and into the woods. From there, the legend of Redwood rose again from its grave, striking fear throughout the Boston area.

Throughout the years, there were thousands of unusual and unsolved murders that some people believed to be the work of Redwood. Redwood became the subject of many documentaries, showcasing true stories of people who had claimed they had seen Redwood. As I said before, I was really into urban legends since I was a young boy and something about Redwood stuck out to me. I didn’t believe in many of the urban legends but I believed in Redwood, even though I hadn’t seen him yet, but on December 13th of 2014, in Philadelphia, I had my first encounter with the real Redwood.

I don’t like telling this story, mostly because I know that nobody believes me. I’m not one of those attention seekers, I don’t care for money or fame. I just want the world to know that this thing, this man killing thing actually does exist.

I had just left my office and I drove home as usual. When I got there, I sensed that something was wrong and I searched the entire upstairs and downstairs of my home but there was no sign of my wife and daughter. I figured they must be in the basement. I screamed there names on my way down there, what I saw struck fear in my eyes and that dreadful sight, visits me every night in my sleep. They were decapitated. My wife and daughter were brutally murdered. I stood there in complete shock, puking out the terrible sight. I felt something there. Something was watching me. That’s when I saw him, clear as day. He stood tall in a long black coat, his face melted with his skin sagging down. He had no eyes, you could see right through his eye sockets. He had no nose and his left ear was melted while his right hung out of place. The only thing he had on his face was a stitched mouth…it was Redwood.

Nobody believed me when I told them what I saw. I just wish he had killed me. I really don’t understand why he didn’t. I was convicted with the murders of my wife and daughter and I now sit here in this empty room, taking pills I don’t know the name of and I will be here for the rest of my life. He still visits me, I don’t ever see him but I can always feel his presence.

I just want to warn everyone. Redwood is real and there is no telling who his next victim would be. I pray for the citizens of Philadelphia. Every night, Redwood is wandering their streets and they probably don’t know it now, but they will and when they do, it won’t be pretty. If you had ever or know someone who claimed they had seen Redwood, I’d love to hear about it. It will make me feel less insane. Redwood could be anywhere in the world. He could be in Paris, he could be in Canada or he could be standing right behind you as you read this. You may not see him at first but you will in time. He’s always watching and waiting for the right time to kill. I hope you never walk the streets alone or even stay at home alone because that’s when he’ll strike. When you’re alone, well…you’re not really alone.
Credit To – Clyde Jacobs

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August 14, 2015
by derpbutt


I saw you that day.
Walking down the street with a smile on your face,
not a care in the world.
You didn’t see me at first, but when I waved you,
you flapped your hand excitedly at my greeting.
Not a word was spoken during that first visit but nothing needed to be said.
You couldn’t stay long that day.
You Promised you would come back.
Then you were gone.

I saw you again.
You looked different somehow, like ages had passed but it was really no time at all.
Things were different this time, but we didn’t let that bother us.
We enjoyed each other’s company just like we used to.
Back when things were easier.
When we didn’t have to question what was real.
When we had no worries.
When we only knew what was right in front of us.
You seemed sad; almost as if you knew something I didn’t.
We parted ways not knowing if we would see each other other again, silently hoping
we would.

I saw you the other day.
I don’t think you saw me.
I would have waved, but I didn’t want to scare you.
I’m different now.
I still think of you often.
I wonder if you miss me like I miss you.
I think you think I forgot about us.
Eventually everyone gets forgotten, but I can’t forget you.
My invisible friend; my silent secret.
The world goes on around me, bustling and loud and hectic
yet here we stand, alone in a sea of faces.
I raise my arm to get your attention, but I stop myself mid-wave.
You’re gone.
I’m gone.
We were always so similar.
Like our souls were twins, separated by death.
So I can’t help but wonder…
were you the ghost, or am I?
Credit To – RaggDawl
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August 14, 2015
by derpbutt
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All this office work was killing her.
Jane rubbed her neck as she hunched over the desk. The light of the computer screen felt like it was burning her eyes, and she bit her lower lip, which had this morning been done up with lipstick. No longer was her make-up clean and neat; it had become mussed and smeared several hours ago.
At this point in the night, the office was quiet. Jane appreciated the quiet. During the day, the clacking of keyboards and obnoxious murmurings of her coworkers kept her from her work. For several weeks now, Jane had been unable to get much done during the typical work day. She’d started staying late to catch up on all the work she had fallen behind on. At first, the idea of staying late made her a little nervous. Jane wasn’t the nervous type, but she recognized how odd and potentially unsettling it would be to stay long after anyone else remained. Now, the late nights felt normal, welcoming, and comfortable.
Jane liked being alone in the office, with all but one light off. The only one Jane left on was the small desktop lamp in the corner of her cubicle. The warm glow seemed centered on her; it made her feel important and safe.
Jane brought her hand up to her mouth, chewing absently on her fingernails and cuticles. The ideas churning in her brain had trouble finding their way down into her hands and onto the computer screen. Jane was usually very productive in the empty nights, but tonight felt different. No- it had been different for several days now.
It had been quieter, darker, and warmer. It had felt less lonely, and more like home.
Jane had never been productive at home; a work space like an office was much more her style. And the night time office was beginning to feel like home.
For a few days, Jane had been drifting off at the office in her late nights. She awoke in the mornings when her coworkers were filtering into the office, a line of quiet grey drones. She could vaguely recall falling asleep in nights past, perhaps the last five? She couldn’t quite remember. The more the office became home the more foggy and unclear her memories grew.
Home was always like that.
Home was always comfortable and dark and quiet, but forgettable. In fact, Jane had trouble recalling the last time she had returned to the small apartment that was technically her home.
Before coming to this office, Jane had remained unemployed since her graduation from the community college. During her time of being unemployed, the apartment really had been home. Jane knew she must have spent days on end indoors, rarely leaving the cheap flat.
Jane could only barely recall those months. Months? Or was it years?
Jane’s memories of that time period were like swiping through television channels much too quickly: tiny spurts of sound, color, lights but none of it coherent and none of it correlating at all. There were some repeating patterns, Jane noted. Certain images that appeared more than once or twice, certain motifs that Jane knew must have consumed her home life at the time. Fear, paranoia, and did she detect notes of hysteria?
Jane shook her head slowly, rubbing her tired, red eyes.
Five days?
She couldn’t believe she hadn’t gone home in five days. That felt insane.
Hadn’t gone home. She murmured to herself a few quiet words.
“This is home.”
Jane knew. She knew that this was no longer the office; it was her office. It was her home.
So she stood, pushing the grey office chair away from her cubicle.
Despite the darkness of the office, Jane knew where she was going. She had the goal in her mind, and her feet moved as if on their own. The only noise in her office was the clacking of her low heels on the floor.
She pushed the door of the women’s bathroom open. The lights inside were on, just as she’d left them.
This set up, Jane remarked, was much more efficient than the one she used to have in her apartment.
It used to be such a chore to lure them into the shoddy living space she had. Here, in her office, women simply walked into the restroom she had set up shop in.
Four stalls.
Jane moved to the sinks, ignoring the sobs coming from one stall. She examined her sleepy face in the mirror. Her eyes looked quite sunken in, she noticed. She was looking a little more pale too. Jane shrugged and moved to sit on the counter-top the sinks were laid in.
All the stall doors were open so Jane could easily see her victims. She knew that she was home, because the image of those people, clinging to life and trying so hard to survive- it felt like home. It felt like the apartment once felt, it felt like the dorm room used to feel, and at the root of it all- it felt like the childhood home Jane had grown up in. Jane couldn’t wait to have a daughter of her own, a child to show her legacy just as her mother had shown her, and as she suspected her grandmother had shown her.
Thoroughly calmed now, no longer troubled by fear, paranoia, or the threat of unfinished work projects, Jane felt herself slipping into sleep. The gently sobbing from the third stall let Jane have the best night’s sleep she’d had in a long, long time.
Credit To – The Letter En

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August 14, 2015
by derpbutt
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EarthQuake: I Never Promised

“There was once a young Hispanic girl who went by the name of Saria Yusifana..” My uncle started, the fire cracking and popping, illuminating the night sky. He always liked to tell ghost stories, not that I really cared about them, the one he was telling he’d told a few times, but it was my little sister, Annie’s favorite. She was only seven, and could listen to the same thing over and over again.

I, of course, couldn’t care less about this stupid story. It was about some Hispanic chick that obsessed with promises or some crap like that, I mostly drowned it out, occasionally picking up a few things here and there.

I don’t know how much time had passed by the time I was brought back with the sound of Annie speaking. “How did you survive?” She squeaked, her blue eyes wide. I chuckled, she always asked that question. Even my uncle smiled.

“You see, when she was little, her father told her stories of the Chupacabras, and if she was bad…” My uncle paused, then jumped at Annie. “It would eat her!” Annie screamed and giggled at the same time. My uncle sat back down.

“Now, when I saw her, I pointed at nothing, and yelled “Chupacabra!” And boy did she leave fast, and I never saw her again. Good riddance I said.” My dad walked up, yawning.

“You two should probably head back inside, it’s pretty late.” He explained. Annie of course justified otherwise, but was overruled. We headed back inside, but then Annie tugged on my shirt. I spun around to face her big blue eyes, she had a pink envelope in her hand and handed it to me. I grabbed it, reading that the front said “Camron”. I opened the letter, trying to read the messy handwriting.

“Tea party at 7:00 tonight” I was able to make out of the letter. I glanced at my seven year old sister and smiled. “I’ll be there.” I said simply. Her eyes turned hopeful and bright.

“Do you promise?” She squealed. I grinned, rubbing her hair with my hand.

“I promise.” Annie giggled and bolted to her room. I retreated to room, flipping through the channels of my tv.

Time passed, then my phone buzzed. I put the remote down and checked my phone, I had gotten a text from my girlfriend Stacey. It said, “Wanna come over? My parents aren’t home.” I smiled, turning off the tv and leaving my room. I took my dads car since he was asleep, and my mom had the night shift at her work. I pulled out of the driveway, glancing at the cloak that said 6:47.

I arrived at Stacey’s house which took me around 13 minutes, where I was greeted by her hugging me. We went inside, talking about the usual stuff. Gossip, upcoming games, planning our next date, you know, the normal teenager crap.

I don’t know how long I was there before I left, feeling pretty tired when I pulled into driveway, the clock said around 3:02. Crap, if dad found out I was dead. I got out of the car and slowly opened the front door of the house, greeted by darkness. The only light was the moonlight glow coming from the window. Then, my heart stopped.

Annie was standing in the middle of the hallway, tears stroking down her face and falling down on her face with red puffy eyes and cheeks. “B-but you promised…” She whimpered.

“Annie…” I said, trying to reach my arm out but she pulled away and retreated to her room, crying.

I felt like a total jerk. But, why should I? It was just stupid little kid game, I was too old for it. She’d probably forget about it tomorrow.

I sighed, only to be interrupted by a shake. I hauled myself against the wall, holding on as a high-pitched shriek filled my ears. I shuttered, not knowing what was going on. I don’t know how long it was until it stopped, it went fast, maybe less than a minute. Once stopped, I peeled myself from the wall, stumbling once I tried to get my balance. It was quiet, why wasn’t my sister bursting out from her room with tears? Something wasn’t right, or I just imagined it.

Then, I felt something breathing on my neck. It was raspy and slow, I didn’t want to turn around. I wanted to run, but my curiosity got the best of me. I slowly turned around, only to be greeted by a pale face inches away from mine. I screamed, falling onto the hardwood floor. Pain jabbed in my elbow, making me yelp again. Then, I was staring up at a figure.

It looked like a girl, a few years younger than me. Despite being very pale, she looked Hispanic. She was covered in blood, from her Hispanic like clothing that was torn to shreds, her face, her legs and arms. Chunks of flesh were missing from all over her body, most of them showing bone and the one in her cheek showed her gum and teeth. Her left eye was dangling by a thread from the socket with blood coming out, the other eye was pure white with no pupil, and her right arm was bending a unnatural way with bone jabbing out. The hair was messy and black, with a deep bloody gash on the top of her head. She had a sad look on her face, frowning with no tension what so ever.

I was frozen in place, shaking, forced to listen to her raspy breathing. Despite not having pupils, I could see her starring at me with those unholy white eyes. We stared at each other, I wanted to run away. Wanted her to stop staring at me, but I felt like I was stone, stuck in place. It felt like hours had gone by, even though it had only been about two minutes before the silence of the raspy breathing was broken.

“I… Won’t…. Hurt…. You…..” The girl said, her voice was low, like someone with a cold. As she spoke, the open spot on her cheek moved, blood would ooze out and flesh shuffle. Not long after speaking, she slowly faded, until there was nothing but complete silence with me on the ground.

What had just happened? I was still frozen like stone on the floor, my face was pale and I was full of sweat. After a minute of silence had gone by, I started to laugh. I probably just imagined it, considering I hadn’t had much sleep lately. I stood up, deciding to just sleep it off.

I went to sleep that night, having a horrible nightmare about that… That thing. I was in a town, it looked classy, like maybe around the 30’s. It all looked peaceful, until the ground shook rapidly. Screams were heard everywhere and cries of children. The ground began to split, with me near it. I ran to the curve, only to be greeted by an explosion, pushing me back towards the gap. I grabbed the side of the gap, my feet dangling helplessly. I cried out for help, then froze. The girl was by my hands, her moccasins standing on one of my hands, causing a crunching noise. The girl bent over to me, smirking, but also a sadness look. She came closer to my ear, then said these words. “I… Never…. Promised…” Then pushed me off. The last thing I remember before waking up was the same shriek I had heard when I first saw her.

I was very quiet that morning. Annie had not talked to me, giving me mean glances as we ate our cereal. I didn’t talk, still having that awful screech repeating in my head. I got ready for school quickly, having the feeling of something watching me. I could see something out of the corner of my eye but when I turned to check, nothing was there.

I had math for first period, off in my own world as the teacher went on and on about stupid equations. I couldn’t get the image out of my head, no matter how much I tried. Then, something caught my eye. I looked to the dark corner of the classroom, meeting the girl, staring at me. She seemed more angry this time, not as sad as she was last night. I blinked, she was still there. I kept staring at her, the teachers shouting at me brought me back. I looked at him, his face furious.

“Y-yes Mr. Manhasset?” I stuttered. I heard people around the classroom laugh. The teacher gave me a long lecture about paying attention, then the bell rang for next class.

That was not the last time I saw her.

She was everywhere, no matter where I was, I saw her in the corner of all the rooms I was in, just, watching me. At lunch, my friends kept asking me what I was staring at, and I just shrugged it off. Though, I could not get her hatful glare out of sight.

It was the last period of the day, she was staring at me from the dark corner of the room. This time, it was different. She was starting to speak to me, just faint, raspy whispers in my ear, while she was no where close to me. Saying things such as “You made a promise. Why did you break it?” Or “How could you?” Or even the same, blood freezing words from my dream last night. “I. Never. Promised.”

I was furious by now, standing up in my chair and slamming my hands on the desk, turning to the girl in the corner. “What do you want?!” I screamed. Everyone’s face turned to me, most of them confused. The girl in the corner just had a curved smiled. The teacher faced me, furious.

“Mr. Pakins! How dare you interrupt this class with such nonsense!” She yelled. I pointed at the girl in the corner.

“It’s her! Why can’t you just see her?!” I yelled, justifying myself. The teacher glanced at the corner, then back at me.

“There’s nothing there Mr. Pakins.” She said then pointed at the door. “To Mr. Rassets office. Now.”

I did, walking out of the classroom and heading to Mr. Rassets office. I still saw her in the halls, she was everywhere.

At night, when I slept, I could still see her glowing white eye in the darkness of the corner, even some of her crumpled body. I had a different dream that night, I was in the same town of my dream, having the same old-time look. But, this time, not too far away from me, I saw a girl. She was maybe around 14 or 15, and she was beautiful. She had long black hair, brown eyes, brown skin, wearing Hispanic clothing. But then I blinked, which the ground began to shake, I heard the same screech. And the girl… Her bones started to cripple and stick out, her eyeball popped out of socket while the other one faded white. Blood dripped down the body like a waterfall, chunks of flesh ripping out of the girls skin. It was a horrible sight to see, then within seconds, I blinked, and the girl was just inches away from my face, screaming with pain. “Help me!” She shrieked in a raspy voice, full of pain and sorrow.

I woke up after that, shaking. The girl was not in my room, yet I could still feel her breathing on me. I watched the ceiling fan spin, thinking of what I had just seen. I sighed, hearing my dad call for breakfast. I got up, Annie was still ignoring me, which I didn’t really care about at the time. I decided I was going to talk to my uncle in the afternoon, I think this was her. The one he called EarthQuake.

After school, I walked to my uncles house, which was only about a block away from my house. Once in, he was confused why I was there until I told him about the girl following me. He immediately shut the door and locked it, dragging me into the living room.

“She’s following you?” He asked, keeping his voice low. I nodded.

“It’s been about two days now, and she’s everywhere I’m at. She’s not here at the moment… But I had this weird dream of her last night…” I explained. My uncle stared at me, deep in thought until he finally spoke.

“The one with the Hispanic girl?” He asked. I nodded. He then sighed, getting ready to talk.

“That girl you saw, was Saria Yusifana, or EarthQuake as we call her…” My uncle started. He was quiet before he started speaking again. “I don’t know that much, just from stories and what I’ve guess from the dreams. All I know that is that there’s a psychotic revengeful girl out there who died in the 1930’s from falling inside of a earthquake gap.”

“But, in the dream, why did she say ‘Help me’?”

My uncle almost went pale. “I don’t even know. But, that doesn’t mean you have much time left.” He said, standing up and starting to push me out the door.

After I left, the rest of the day I didn’t see her, until I fell asleep. I was in that same city block, except it wasn’t shaking. People were scurrying around, gas pipes leaked everywhere, sending smoke into the skies, buildings burning. But, the earthquake gap was still there. I saw a Hispanic woman, crying by the side of the gap. It seemed like all I could hear clearly, all the other noises were just blurry. Out of curiosity, I slowly peaked over the gap, only to see at the bottom of the pit, was the young Hispanic girl, her bones places awkwardly and surrounded by a pool of blood. Before I woke up, I heard the words “You lied.” In a clear, yet raspy voice.

That morning, my girlfriend broke up with me, saying I was going mad. I tried to explain everything to her, but she just laughed in my face and walked away. The rest of the day was still hell.

I never got away from the girls stare. It seemed a lot more angry, as if she were ready to tear my head off. I felt very uncomfortable.

My sister still hadn’t forgiven me, ignoring me and not even looking at me. I didn’t actually really care at this point, I had the psycho chick to worry about. I could feel her breathing on my neck as I slept, her cold, dark stare right on me all night. I hadn’t slept that night at all. Just, hearing the uneven, raspy breaths was enough.

I think I was starting to go mad. How was no one else seeing her! She was clearly there in the corner, whispering devilish things into my ear. She was everywhere I went, from one room to the next, looking more angry as time went by. I had fallen asleep by accident in science, which was my worst mistake.

I dreamed of being violently ripped apart, limb by limb, pulled right out of socket. My flesh pulling, snapping and blood flinging everywhere, disappearing into the darkness. Of course I screamed and yelled, cried out for help and for the unknown force to stop. I woke up short after, the teacher was right by my desk and everyone was staring at me, some looking concerned, some just laughing. The teacher decided to send me to the consular.

I decided to tell at least someone about the nightmares I’ve been having, but not about the girl. I didn’t want someone to think I was insane. Maybe I was, who knows?

She seemed disturbed about these nightmares, and called my parents, advising I should probably get some sleeping pills, and maybe lay back on the horror movies. I wanted to object, but it might help in some way. My parents decided to pick me up early from school, and we drove by the pharmacy to grab some pills to help me with sleep.

I took them before I went to bed, hoping they would help. It seemed calming, and I felt confident about not having nightmares. But, when I fell asleep, I found myself in a dark room, I couldn’t see walls or anything, just, darkness. I could hear crying, like a child’s crying. Plus even faint whispers, saying things I could barley make out. The ones I could, said things such as “Why did you let me fall?” Or even “It’s all your fault.” Even one that made me ice cold. “You will suffer.”

I could hear the sound of blood falling onto the floor, the crying became louder and louder as I walked. It echoed through the seemingly endless darkness, until I came upon a girl. The girl.

She was hugging her knees in the corner, I could see a red liquid dripping from her skin. Her crying suddenly stopped, and she looked up. I was met with a rotten, white eyed, bloody face staring at me. Before I knew what happened, she smiled at me and laughed. “I like promises.” She started. I seemed frozen into place. Then, she frowned. “Why did you break your?”

I woke up with a bolt, inhaling every scrap of air I could get. I saw the sleeping pills by my nightstand and threw it to the ground. Those wouldn’t work, I was pretty sure nothing would. I looked to the corner of my room, she was there. She usually wasn’t in my room, especially when I first wake up. I went on the day as usual, in the class I screamed in everybody stared at me, as if I were some supernatural life form. I’m not a freak. I’m not mad! I’m not making this up!

At dinner, I could tell my parents were concerned about me, considering they kept glancing at me. But Annie couldn’t care less about me. This was her fault! If she wouldn’t had invited me to her stupid little kid thing, this crazy girl wouldn’t be following me!

At night, I could barley sleep. My parents had made me take the pills, ignoring my justification. I did fall asleep, it all seemed normal though, except I was in that same black room. I couldn’t move, I was frozen in place as if something were holding me down.

I blinked, and the girl was screaming in my face, spit and chunks of flesh splattering onto my face. Her eye that was dangling out touched my cheek, her white eye was full of fury. “My turn!” She yelled into my face before I woke up. It was around 3 AM, and the girl was right beside my bed. No, not in the corner, by my bed. And she wasn’t mad, she looked completely pissed. Then, her face turned into a curved smile.

“I… Never… Promised…” She said. Before I could react, she reached her hand into my mouth, and grabbed my tongue. With a stabbing sensation of pain, she yanked out my tongue, blood immediately started to flow through my mouth. I screamed, despite my tongue being gone. She held the tongue to her face, and grinned.

“You. Will. Suffer.” She said, flinging the tongue to the wall. I sprigged up, running to the door as fast as I could but a force pulled me back, pressing me against the wall. I couldn’t cry for help, my parents weren’t home and I didn’t want Annie to get hurt. The girl stared at me, despite being apparently a ghost, she walked towards me and grabbed my arm, grinned at me while I pleaded. I knew what was going to happen.

She yanked off my arm, I heard the sound of the bone snapping and twisting, flesh tangling around the veins popping. I screeched, it almost sounded funny without my tongue. She dropped my arm to the ground, pain flew throughout my body by this point, blood flew out of my arm like a river.

Next thing I didn’t predict. She reached towards my face, and wrapped her finger around my eyeball. I looked at her, trying to plead, until she pulled it, yanking the eye from its socket. Blood dripped down my face, but it wasn’t the most painful.

I felt like I was only clinging onto life, the world was already turning black. I didn’t see this coming. She grabbed my hair, yanking it and pulling a patch of hair off. I screamed, the pain was unbearable. She grabbed my other arm, but instead of yanking it clean off, she slowly twisted it, the bone snapping and crunching. Pain slowly went to by brain, I flinched at every snap or bone. Then, it completely twisted off, releasing pressure and pain jolted through my veins.

She looked at me one last time, coming close to my ear, noticing I was almost gone. But, the door creaked opened, and I heard my sisters pitiful voice as she peaked in. I was at tears, my sister was seeing my like this, I didn’t want her to get hurt. She was quiet, but her eyes were wide. She didn’t scream, I wondered why. The girl still took no notice and whispered unholy words.

“You didn’t keep your promise… That’s a bad thing.” She said, and backed up to face me. I cried, tears stroking down my face. Then, she tilted her head to the side, and there was a loud snap. White light appeared after a quick bolt of pain to my neck.


“Camron?” Annie called out, seeing her brother bloody body beaten gruesomely. She could smell a funny liquid, the room was full of it. The girl turned around to face Annie, a smile on her face. Annie flinched at the girls face at first, then noticed she was walking towards her. She bent down on her knees to match the little girls face. She said words that Annie would never forget.

“Don’t make a promise if your just going to break it…”

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