For those pastas that are smelling less than fresh…

November 2, 2015
by derpbutt

The Spanish Voice

I am studying in a very old university. It was built during the 15th century and some of it’s finest structures are still intact. I’ve heard a lot of ghost stories in every building of the university. Of course, as a Psychology major, I did not believe those mediocrity. I had always thought that those people’s senses are just playing a trick on them.

However, that belief changed. And I was never so wrong in my whole life.

It was already dusk around that time. Our professor decided to dismiss us earlier for he already finished the last topic for that term. He asked some of my classmates to remain in the classroom for he was going to hand them some notes. My friends decided to go in the mall to buy some presents for the upcoming party we’re going to attend but I had already bought mine so they asked me to accompany them. I told them to go without me for I was planning to watch the whole season of Blue Exorcist.

After our conversation, I walked out the room and head to the nearest restroom. I always have the habit to check myself on front of the mirror before leaving the building. As I got in the restroom, I looked if there were other people in. I’m not particularly comfortable with people around while I’m checking myself out on front of the mirror. Satisfied to learn that I have the whole restroom for myself, I stood on front of the mirror and quiffed my hair.

That’s when it happened.

I was taken by surprise when someone suddenly started whispering. I couldn’t understand his words because his voice was so low and his accent was different. I used the reflection of the mirror to see if there was someone who came in before turning around to check. There was no one in there and it was quite odd for me during that time because the person was still whispering. What’s weirder is that he was whispering the same thing again and again.

“Hello?” I called. Instead of responding for my call, the person continued speaking and this time it was louder. That’s when I realized he was speaking in Spanish. I still couldn’t comprehend what he was saying because I don’t speak the language.

I checked each cubicle but there was no one there. I looked back and around and found no one. It had dawned to me that I am not the only person here and the other person is not human. Freaking out, I dashed out the restroom and ran back to the classroom. My professor and a couple of my classmates were still in there, and was confused with my sudden entrance. They also noticed that I looked as if I had seen a ghost. I quickly told them about the Spanish voice I heard in the restroom when I knew I was all alone. The professor asked what was the voice saying so I told him what I vaguely understood.

‘Son,” My professor said as he looked at me, his expression quite terrified. “The Spanish phrase, when translated in English, means ‘Look up.'”

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November 2, 2015
by derpbutt

The Blimps in Baltimore

Have you ever asked about the blimps? Yes the blimps? The blimps that “man” made. Those mocking clouds of ” mans” creation that float above us… Have you ever asked your mother and father about the blimps? Have you asked your friends? Your brothers? Your aunts and uncles? Anyone? Your bound to get a different answer from each person you ask. “Why?” I asked my mother one morning while church bound. “What do they do?”. She pondered for a moment. ” I think they tell us the coming weather or something…” She answered dully. Then silence. She dismissed the question with a half-hearted answer. She mentally refused to allow herself to think much of the balloons, she simply didn’t care. They just existed in the air watching us… Watching us live…. Eat…. Sleep…. Watching us struggle and fight… How carefree they seemed. Watching us bathe, love, read, learn…. Watching us die.

They’ve always been up above us, on their entirely different plain. They exist, and we exist. But we do not exist like they do. They see everything and won’t go away. How do I know this? Because they told me. They told me who they are and what they do, how they watch us, and how they laugh at us while we struggle here below. They aren’t here to tell us the weather. They aren’t here to protect us from the sweet fiery end other countries may send to us. They aren’t here to look pretty and make us feel happy. They are here to watch us and to learn about us.

Last night, I was ripped from my slumber. My house was dark, and my family was ignorantly snoozing in other rooms. I noticed a pool of red soaked into my pillow illuminated by the tv light. I screamed and cried until someone came.

The blimps were talking to me again. Sometimes when they talk to me I bleed. My family has never noticed because I’ve concealed the evidence, but this most recent time was excruciatingly painful.

My family thinks I’ve gone awry. They think I hurt myself and think I say silly, preposterous things. They think that I speak differently, they think I speak nonsense, but I speak the truth. Their lives, my life… What’s the point?

I sit in my room most days now, staring out of my window at the blimps. My family members knock on my door from time to time, asking me to come out. I do to go learn more of their lies, but I never say much to them anymore because they don’t know. My parents, my aunts and uncles, my friends. They don’t know. Everyone I know thinks I’ve lost my way, but they don’t know what I know. They think the blimps are here for good. They aren’t here for bad but also not for good. It’s not my friends and families fault they don’t know though. They were lied to. They were lied to by the people on the tv. They were lied to by the elders. The elders lied to us.

But I know, I know the truth because the blimps told me. They told me my friends and family wouldn’t listen to me. That they wouldn’t listen to the truth. I had to try and tell them the truth though so they’d know. But they’ve been trained to reject the truth. To hate those who don’t abide by the lies. It’s not their fault, and that’s why I forgive them.

I rarely leave my room now. I only go out after vicious fights with mother and father. They claim I’d dishonor us if I remain isolated. They claim that the elders would take me away, but I truly no longer care. I’ve been thinking about the blimps and what they told me. We’ve got life and living all wrong. But, even if everyone knew the truth, their is nothing anyone could do about it anyway. We would just have to live on the way we currently do, desperately trying to forget the truth. That is why I think I’m happy…. Yes happy… Happy my friends and family didn’t believe me. It is better that they don’t since their is nothing they can do to help themselves or anyone anyway. We will all carry on happily not knowing that we are just an experiment….

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November 2, 2015
by derpbutt

The Siren’s Song

Log 1: This is captain Morgan Higginson, today is Sunday, 24th of February 1946, She’s a beauty, isn’t she? The Siren’s Song, that’s what she was called, a remarkable ship made by the best of machinery, I had the pleasure of inspecting this beauty myself when she was being built, however there were times where I saw some strange hooded figures wondering about the ship, whenever I go and check, I find no one there, which was strange, but I gave it no great thought, but today is finally the day we set sail, I’ve been waiting for this ship to be built even before I was enlisted under her Majesty’s services during the war, how many times the building was halted, but none of this matters anymore.

Log 38: Captain Morgan Higginson, Today is 19th of May 1946, some of the men are complaining, what they had reported made me worried, strange hooded figures have been sighted and when they followed them, they were nowhere to be found, I did not want to tell them what I’ve seen before we sailed, if I do it would spread fear between the crew, I had to try convince them what they have been seeing was nothing more than just imagination, but how will I ever convince them if I myself am worried of the situation?

Log 51: Captain Morgan Higginson here, 2nd of August 1946, More sightings of hooded figures have been reported by my crew, the situation is getting more and more out of control, the compass is turning around in a strange manner, one of the men started acting weird, Seldom talk about a Lass with bewitching beauty appearing in the sea, singing… this is terrifying, I remember my grandmother telling me stories from the seas, about similar creatures…. Sirens… but this is impossible, such things do not exist, it has to be an illusion of some sort, I’ve tried to bring the man back to reality, but he seemed aggressive, fighting with his mates while shouting “She is mine, she belongs to me!”, we had to lock him for his own sake, the poor lad lost his sanity, we had checked with him the other day, what we had found was something none of had expected, he was decapitated, and his head was nowhere to be found, I had suspected that it would be one of the crew trying to cause fear amongst the men, but that would be impossible, the key was with me, and I lock the door to my quarters shut when I retire for the night, further investigations is at hand…

Log 89: Morgan Higginson, 29th of September, The same situation happened again, more men lost minds, becoming aggressive, after we lock them, their heads are lost, what in the bloody hell is happening? I’ve lost most of my men now and we are lost in the middle of nowhere, we cannot know where in god’s name are we right now, we’re considering using our life boats, the men started to say that this ship is cursed, as much as I hate to say it, but I think the lads are right…

Log 100: It’s Friday, 13th of October, it’s foggy, cold and silent, it felt like death… I’ve seen more of the hooded figures, we ran behind them, they were floating and went through the wall and vanished, the men and I have decided to abandon this cursed ship, when we went to the boat we had not found a single one of them, the men started to panic, I tried to calm them down but to no avail… we started to hear singing coming from everywhere for a brief, but it was all quiet after a few minutes. I went to my quarters to think about what the next step will be, after two hours it one of the men came to me reporting of a light… I go out and peer over yonder and I find a light that comes and goes, the ship is going towards it, as the ship comes closer, it was revealed to be a lighthouse, we had found land, the men would have rejoiced, but that island felt like it was no better than the ship, it was abandoned, no signs of life what so ever, we tried to enter the lighthouse, but the door wouldn’t budge, it’s rusty, heavy and it seems as it hasn’t been open for ages… how can the beacon be lit???

Log 101: I do not know if the day had passed or not, it felt like hours if not days had passed, Yet time looks frozen, the fog has not lifted, more men keep disappearing, while others out of despair, committed suicide, I’m all alone now, it’s very cold, and hungry, I decided to try to open the door to the lighthouse again, to my surprise, it opened without much resistance, strange, I entered and I heard it again, Singing, coming from the top of the lighthouse, I hurry up stairs and find the hooded figure standing in front of me, but I could not run, I’m too exhausted to do so, yet I was afraid, I look behind and there is another hooded one, they take off their hoods and there they were, women with unmatched beauty, never in my life have I seen such beauty..bewitching… they were singing with a voice that felt like magic, yet for some reason I had not felt their voices affecting me, but as they come closer, their faces become different, demons with large sharp teeth with the a mouth or more like a maw, that fits one head. I realize now how those men lost their heads, how those men have become desperate, I decided to use whatever strength I had left and run for my life, I had succeeded in running away and got to my quarters, but I knew that I had not much left to live for as I hear loud bangs on my door…. This is Captain Morgan Higginson, may the one who find those logs warns the world of this horror….

The Siren’s Song was found in the shores of Florida recently, the ship oddly was still in good shape, a crew went in there and found no one, and they went to the captain’s quarters, a fresh body was on the bed, time of death 2 hours ago, the logs were never found…

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November 2, 2015
by derpbutt

Charlie, Charlie

We’d seen the videos on the internet for days now, Rafael and I. “They look more like bad vines,” I remarked more than once as teens would watch the pencils move because somebody breathed too hard on them, resulting in the game’s participants fleeing the room in terror.

The game is played in this way. A paper is divided into four quadrants, with yes being written in two opposite corners, and no being written in the other corners. Two pencils were then balanced into a cross, leaving the horizontal pencil on top to, supposedly, be Charlie the demon’s mode of answering the players’ questions, by moving the pencil to point at yes or no.

I major psychology. I was immediately skeptical of the game myself. Gravity and heavy breathing were easy answers to why the pencil would point to “Yes” when the player chanted, “Charlie, Charlie, want to play?”

Rafael, however, tried to convince me otherwise. Most of his family was from the heart of Mexico, where the game had originated. He had grown up in a very religious family that feared ghost stories to be true. So when this game surfaced and the “hauntings” were told, he was not as easily convinced as I that no paranormal or demonic activities were actually occurring.

That’s how he challenged me to the game one afternoon.

We set up the board; on my kitchen table of course as his mother or grandmother would have a heart attack seeing us perform this “Satanic Ritual” of “releasing demons” into their home.

“If my theory is wrong, then lean back and breathe slowly. The pencil won’t move once you start talking.” I suggested.

Since Rafael was still nervous, I started the game myself. “Charlie, Charlie, wanna play?”

The pencil remained still. For 30 seconds. Then slowly the pencil drifted up towards the word yes. Rafael who had been holding his breath completely now shuddered and slowly released his breath. I on the other hand rolled my eyes.

“Alright, Charlie.” I straightened the pencil back to its horizontal state, leaned back and said, “Are you a child?”

We waited. No response for a minute. I looked to Rafael, shrugging. Then suddenly, the pencil moved, rather quickly, to the word no. Rafael looked at me, with a small fright in his eyes now.

“Hold your breath again.” I instructed. “Charlie, are you a demon like everyone says you are?” Once again the pencil was reluctant to move, but slowly it floated close to the word, yes.

“Are you evil?” Rafael said quietly, now leaning back more than before.


“Ok we need to stop, this is getting a little weird,” Rafael muttered as if something was listening. “End the game…or else.” He said conspicuously. “Everything online says you have to ask him if you can stop, or he won’t leave you alone.”

I aligned the pencil again. “Charlie, can we stop playing?”


Rafael jumped anxiously from his seat. “You keep playing…bye Charlie.” He said shakily. Turning before walking out the door, he warned me, “Don’t stop playing or else, he may come after both of us.”

I sat at the table, looking at the pencil. Raphael had to have been blowing on it the whole time, trying to scare me, trying to make me believe. Why else would he have left so quickly other than to shake my own nerves.

“Alright, it’s just you and me ‘Charlie’,” I started in my own. “Are you real?”

Holding my breath and feeling no draft I waited for the reply. The pencil swung to yes as if a wind had blown through the kitchen, but there was none that I could feel. The pencil fell off of its balance from being turned so quickly, the point being left on yes. I stood and backed away. My skepticism had its boundaries. I picked up the pencils and put them away. The paper I quickly threw in the trash.

Later that night I was sitting at my desk in my bedroom. It was quiet as I focused all of my concentration into a midterm paper for my biology class. Halfway through, I paused and left my computer on the 2nd page of my essay and went into the kitchen to get something to drink. I came back and seated myself back in front of the laptop. A new window was open. It was on a video of the Charlie Challenge. Another group of people were huddled around a paper board with two pencils.

I had not left this window here, nor opened it at any time tonight. This video caught my attention, reluctantly however. The teens around this game were doing something very different from the other videos. They each wore dark sinister cloaks that covered their bodies. Each person was holding a candle, all the flames lit and very still, showing no draft in the room, not even from the participants. It was as if they weren’t breathing at all. I noticed now these were not teens at all. The cloaked bodies were smaller, childlike. The hands were pudgy and tiny like children’s hands, wrapped around these tall white burning candles, the hot wax dripping down on their hands yet they seemed to not even notice.

I became paralyzed, fearing what I was watching on my screen. Every nerve in my body screamed to turn it off but I was completely entranced by fear by the image before me. Suddenly the children turned and looked at the camera as the pencil on their board moved to “Yes” their eyes were hollowed out, completely missing leaving nothing but empty holes in their head that were dripping blood. Slowly they started to separate, moving slowly towards the camera. Their eye sockets stared directly at me, their mouths started to move, clearly saying “Wanna play?” sinisterly, over and over again…

In the middle began to appear a boy in a white shirt and blue jeans with a rope around his neck. His lips were pale and blue.

I tried with every muscle to look away, to slam my laptop shut. My body still wouldn’t move, now as if something were holding me down.

“We weren’t finished…” The little boy in the middle sat up and said to me. The screen flashed a horrible picture of a sight I can never forget though it lasted less than a second. I can only describe it as a demon. It had no flesh, only raw burns and black scratches and drags on its body. It was skinny, arms expanded out to its sides, the whole figure straight…as a pencil. Except for its face. Its face was long, oval shaped, the smile curled up to its pointed ears on both sides, twisted and maniacal. Its eyes were yellow and piercing, as if staring too long would cause my own eyes to melt.

It disappeared and returned to the boy laying in the center of children with the rope around his neck. However, now it was no longer a boy. This was a teenager, much larger than the young children around him. Still dressed in the same clothes, still wearing the rope around his neck. The body levitated upwards, tilted forward and faced me, head drooping to the side. I now recognized the body.

It was Rafael.

“He didn’t finish the game!” Screeched the children in the most high-pitched scream that finally moved me to cover my ears and close my eyes. Even in my attempt at darkness, in my effort to block all of this terror out, I could see his body and the demon behind him, laughing like a young child.

I opened my eyes and saw Rafael’s hands spread wide like a pencil.

“Do you want to play?” Charlie whispered.

Credit: Sarah G. Raley

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November 2, 2015
by derpbutt
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The Shuffling Man

Night-time is strange. When the sun goes down and the world goes dark is when everyone becomes afraid. Most of the stores close, people stay indoors and go to sleep so that when they wake it will no longer be dark. But, why? Why is everyone so afraid of the night?

Even now my parents get annoyed if I walk home when it’s dark, but, most people are inside at night, so what is their to be afraid of? There are less cars on the road, it’s more peaceful at night. Surely it’s safer?

Last night as I lay in bed with my window open, I listened to the noises outside. At first, there was nothing. Not even the quiet hum of traffic in the distance. Then, I heard an owl somewhere nearby, screeching into the night. The sound of the owls cry echoing into the darkness was somewhat sinister – but I knew it was just an owl.

Then, on the street outside my house I could hear footsteps. They had a rhythmic sound, as if the walker was trying to make a tune. However, it was as if they couldn’t lift their feet off the floor because all I could hear was the sole of their shoe scraping against the concrete. Shuffling forward. I assumed it was just a drunken man who was on his way home from the pub, but when the footsteps got far away, they returned. The person making these footsteps must of walked up the street, only to pivot on one foot and shuffle back. Maybe he had gone the wrong way? No. He continuously paced up and down on the street outside my house for at least half an hour, then it stopped.
The whole time this was happening, I didn’t want to look out of the window. I was afraid that the shuffling man would pick up one of the loose bricks from my wall and throw it through my window. I was relieved when the sound had stopped. I closed my eyes and tried to get back to sleep, but about half an hour later, the shuffling returned.
He paced up and down the street again, this time slower. He eventually left.

Everything seemed normal in the morning. But I couldn’t help but wonder if the shuffling man would return. Who was he? What did he want? Does he only come out at night, when the world is dark and peaceful?

Credit: paranormalauraa

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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
1 Comment

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
Credit Link –

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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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