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April 14, 2014
by derpbutt

Logical Explanations

I awoke that night to Echo, my dog, barking up a storm. He was perched on the edge of my bed, facing the door and yapping away like crazy. I scratched him behind the ear to get him to calm down and guided him to his usual spot on my bed.
In hindsight, him barking was the first warning.
My brain, overactive as it is, was curious as to why he was behaving so oddly. Echo rarely barked at anything, so it was unlikely he was barking at nothing. Perhaps there is a skunk in the yard, I thought to myself. Seeing as how I was half-asleep at the time, that explanation seemed perfectly logical. Had I been more aware, I would have realized that any skunks in the neighborhood would be weeks into their hibernation this time of year. Even if they weren’t, the vicious snowstorm outside would deter them from wandering about.
I attempted to fall asleep after that, and how I wish that I did. Unfortunately, due to my habit of sleeping with my mouth open, I was becoming increasingly aware of how thirsty I was. I tried to stay in the warmth of my bed for as long as possible, but it wasn’t long before my tongue felt like sandpaper. It was clear to me that I wouldn’t be able to sleep without a glass of water.
I told Echo to stay and slipped into my moccasins. The air outside my nest of blankets was freezing so I put on my housecoat as well. When I left my bedroom, I noticed that the basement television was showing static. Mother probably forgot to turn it off after watching her murder mysteries, I thought. The TV’s playing static because of the storm outside. It’s just messing with our cable. Another logical explanation, which would be far less logical if I were fully awake. My mother, no matter how tired she was, would never leave the television on. She’s far too meticulous to do something like that. In my sleepy brain, however, it made perfect sense. I couldn’t find the TV remote, as the room was dark and I didn’t want to accidentally blind myself by turning on the lights, so I left the TV on.
I should’ve turned back, crawled back into bed and waited for morning.
I climbed the stairs to the landing, which was bathed in an orange glow, cast by the streetlights reflecting off of the clouds above. From up here, I could hear the wind battering itself against the house’s walls. I was starting to wake up a little bit. I noticed that the deadbolt on the door was unlocked.
That was my final warning.
My parents felt that it wasn’t necessary, what with the storm and all. The seeds of doubt began to form in my mind. I knew that that wasn’t the case. Some new neighbors have been suspected of breaking into people’s houses and stealing their liquor. My parents, being collectors of fine wines, have made it a habit to lock the deadbolt every night for the past few months, even when the act was completely pointless. My conscious brain was starting to wake up, starting to notice these things. A feeling of uneasiness began to pool in my gut. Still, after locking the deadbolt, I continued to the kitchen.
From the kitchen, I had a clear view of the living room, and while I filled an empty glass with water from the sink, I not only noticed that the television up here was also showing static, but that there was a figure seated on the couch. Don’t worry, I thought nervously, that’s just Dad. He’s been sleepwalking again. This time, I was fully aware of the flaws in the this ‘logical explanation’; the fact that the figure on the couch was bald and plump, while my father is lean and his hair is only beginning to thin. The fact that my father has been taking medications to prevent his sleepwalking. The fact that I could hear him snoring from my parent’s bedroom. I tried to disregard these thoughts, to push them to the back of my mind like I had done before. This time, it didn’t work.
I gently set my glass on the kitchen counter. My hands were cold and clammy, shaking in terror. My heart rate was increasing and my breathing was rapid. Even in the confusion of the moment, I knew that this wasn’t just some regular burglar, I doubted that the thing on the couch was even human. I reached for the phone to call 911, only to find out that I couldn’t get any service due to the storm. Frustrated and confused, I started randomly pushing buttons on the keypad.
That’s when I heard the thing move. The sound wasn’t loud, but it was enough to make my blood run cold and send clammy sweat down my back. It was the sound of bones popping, not just a few either; it sounded like an entire room full of people cracking their necks, backs and knuckles all at once. I turned from the useless phone to look at the creature for the first time.
It was now standing, facing me and illuminated by the orange glow from the living room’s window. It stood at about six feet tall, was completely naked and was rather plump. Its skin was a sallow grayish color and looked almost slimy. The creatures arms dangled as if they were boneless and at the end of each was a gnarled mess of fingers. The worst part about the creature, however, was its face. The thing had no nose, only two slits where its nostrils would be. Its eyes were hollow, white orbs that seemed too large for the rest of its face. As for its mouth, well, it didn’t really have one. It looked as if its entire lower jaw had been knocked clean off the rest of its face, leaving a swollen, pink tongue hanging against its neck.
The creature started walking towards me, making that awful sound with each step. It looked like it was trying to speak to me, but without its jaw, the tongue could only wriggle around helplessly as sinister moans escaped its throat.
I did what anybody else would do in that situation. I ran like hell.
When I got to the landing, I closed the door between the landing and the first floor. I had three options: I could surrender myself to the creature, I could run downstairs, which would eventually lead to a dead end, or I could run outside and face one of the worst blizzards of the decade. None of my choices were desirable, but I knew that I’d be dead anyway if I kept standing there. I didn’t get much time to choose though, as the door between me and the creature swung open, revealing that thing in all its grotesque glory. It began to descend the stairs toward me. I made my decision, and as stupid as it was, I wouldn’t be alive if I hadn’t done it. I unlocked the deadbolt and ran outside.
For the first few seconds, I felt absolutely nothing save for the adrenaline and fear surging through me. Looking back at the house as I ran, I swear I could see the creature looking at me through the kitchen window. It looked almost… happy.
By the time my house faded into the blizzard, the cold was starting to set in. Wearing only pajamas, slippers and a housecoat, it wasn’t hard to see why. I continued running, in fear that the thing would chase me, but I was starting to go numb. By the time I reached the highway, I couldn’t feel my fingers. By the time I noticed the approaching headlights, I couldn’t feel my toes. By the time the vehicle had stopped in front of me, everything was starting to go black.
I awoke several hours later to the sound of a machine beeping. At first, I thought the whole thing was a nightmare, that I was back in my bed and that my alarm clock was telling me to wake up and go to school. I began to regain consciousness and realized that I was no longer wearing my pajamas, rather I was wearing a hospital gown. There was a nurse standing above me, checking my vitals.
Apparently, a tow truck driver had found me on his way to a job. He did what anyone else would do if they found a teenager running like hell in the middle of a snowstorm at midnight and rushed me to the nearby hospital. I was admitted to the ER with severe frostbite and a moderate case of hypothermia. My parents were contacted immediately and at first, it seemed like I was going to go back home again. That is, until the doctors asked why I was outside in my pajamas in the first place. I told them the story as I couldn’t think of any excuse that sounded less crazy.
As one might expect, I was shipped off to the psyche ward. That is where I’m typing this now. See, the doctors can come up with any number of logical explanations. They can tell me that I was hallucinating, that I was having a nightmare, that I was over-stressed. With a medical degree, one can explain any unnatural phenomena with enough pills and prescriptions. But just because an explanation is logical, doesn’t mean that it’s true. At first I believed what they were saying, at first it all made sense. But something that happened later in the day changed that.
I was reading a book in my bed, starting to come to terms with what happened, when the TV in my room flickered to life. It was showing static. Outside the window, I could a gray figure outside the hospital. Even though I was on the fourth floor, I could tell that it was looking directly at me.

Credit To – InsanityUnderHats

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April 14, 2014
by derpbutt

All Things Must End

If you came to this site looking for a horror story about a ghost, a vampire, or demon, then you should probably continue scrolling. I’m not sure exactly what the individual I will descrbe to you today could be classified as. Perhaps he is just an extremely talented mortal; perhaps he is an angel, perhaps a devil. None the less, he is not scary, horrible, or frightening in any way. He isn’t cruel – in fact, he is exceptionally merciful. And most importantly, he has shown me the light. This man has shown me the truth.
It began at work – that is, my old work, Wendy’s, where I worked four years ago, manning the register. I had been there awhile; if you know anything about Wendy’s, they always promote from within, and the managers generally come off register, because to do register you have to have done every other position. At least, that’s how it worked in my area. One day, I got an odd customer. Well, I suppose that happened multiple times every day. “Do you have oatmeal? Are you sure you don’t?” No, bitch, let me check the back and see if anyone happened to bring in enough oatmeal to put it on the menu just for today. Anyway, this man was…different. I couldn’t place my finger on why until my general manager made a comment that he looked a lot like me in negative. He had my hairstyle, black to my blonde. Same body type as me, same height, blue eyes to my green, a teal t-shirt to my red work shirt, white shoes to my black work shoes…you can see how this goes. The only unique thing about him was his necklace. A silver chain with a silver and black charm; a yin and yang symbol.
Curiously enough, he ordered the same meal I get on my breaks: Two junior bacon cheeseburgers, add onion, add pickle, no tomato, and two six piece nuggets, one regular, one spicy. I’d never heard someone order the same meal as me. Maybe that’s the only reason I really remember him. No, that’s not true actually. The real reason I remember him is that my manager made a snarky remark about how maybe if he hired him, the two of us would add up to one decent employee. Any of my other managers, none of whom were working at the time, would’ve thought this to be incredibly rude to say to a customer, however indirectly. The man narrowed his eyes at my manager, squinting at him a bit. My manager had already turned his back. As I was placing the mans’ sandwhiches on his tray, wrapped up nice and neat so that the ‘hamburger’ label was on top, I watched him hold his yin-yang necklace between his thumb and pointer finger and say under his breath four slow, quiet words….”All things must end.”
Before I could react, he ceased his squinting and charm-pinching and smiled at me, thanking me for the food and sitting down to eat. I managed to forget about him for about a week. Two days into said week, my manager got a call from the DISTRICT manager, a semi-perverted older guy who won’t give any of the MEN we work with the time of day. Bill – the district manager, that is – told my manager, who I choose to leave nameless, that he had been randomly reviewing some of our security cameras. I don’t know exactly what he said but my manager went red. There was genuine fear in his eyes. He hung up the phone and went back to work like nothing had happened. Twenty minutes later, the police showed up, asking for my manager by name. The sort of chubby officer said “X, you’re under arrest for the sexual assault of Y. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say-” you know where that’s going. He was led off the site and our crew leader had to call in one of the resteraunt managers to come take over for the day.
Things unfolded pretty quickly to fill the gap of a GM. Jack, a pretty chill stoner who usually only does night shift and is a recovering alchoholic, got promoted from RM to GM. Kelly, a fun and perky if slightly annoying at times superviser took Jack’s spot as RM. That left an opening in Superviser; that fabled black shirt position that comes with a raise, all the perks of management, and the first promotion you get besides that stupid honorary Crew Leader title that comes with jack shit. Said position was offered to me.
Only after my first few days of transitioning to Superviser, a process that was rushed after the arrest interrupted the imminent firing of my GM for an unrelated reason, did I recall the not-me with the yin and yang necklace. At the time, I foolishly wondered if he was some sort of warlock or voodo priest who had cursed my manager. Now, of course, I know the truth; that he was merely a crusader of justice here to teach us all a valuable lesson that we should’ve learned long ago.
I probably would’ve went about my life normally from then on, if only slightly more receptive to supernatural rumors, had I not run into the man again. I was visiting a friend of mine in the hospital – she’d had a seizure and the doctors weren’t sure why. He was sitting in the waiting room, intently eavesdropping on conversations and watching the staff and patrons go about their work. I sat across the room and to the right from him, watching his eyes dart back and forth. Eventually, his gaze fell upon a completely bald patient in scrubs who seemed to have trouble walking. He slowly grabbed his necklace and I saw his lips move. I almost feel as if I may have heard his whisper right in my ear despite being twenty feet away…”All things must end.”
Remission. That was the word the doctors kept throwing around three hours later. The man came out into the lobby smiling, his family with him practically cheering. I heard the number 80% and I’m pretty sure the word dropping was thrown pretty close to it. His cancer was in remission and fading. The man with the necklace smiled and got up, walking down a hallway. I got up to follow him, intrigued by this display of his abilities.
He casually ducked into a bathroom. I almost chuckled; apparently, even wizards needed to void their bladders. I followed him into it, trying to seem casual. That faded from existence when I saw him standing facing the door, arms crossed, eyes level.
“This is not the first time you’ve seen me,” was his only comment. I was too afraid to say anything. “How did the cards play out for your manager?”
I stammered, “uhh, he he was..fired! No, arrested! Almost fired, the cops beat his boss to it I guess. Hehe..”
“You have no reason to fear me,” He spoke. “My name is Clay.”
“Luke, do you know what this symbol represents?” He pointed to his yin and yang necklace. I flinched. After a few more seconds of silence, he began on the speech;
“Some would have you believe that yin and yang represent man and woman or good and evil. This is not necessarily true. The two represent balance. They show that all things are balanced. Yin has a bit of yang in it, and yang, a bit of ying, but the two occupy the same amount of space in their world; granted, their world is but one circle, but they share it evenly. This is not their choice and they could not choose otherwise. It is the way things are. All things are balanced.”
“The second thing this symbol represents is truth and deceit. It is almost a cosmic joke; the irony of it is that all things are true. Deception becomes reality when it is believed, so it is as true as truth is. Truth, in and of itself, is its own deception as well, as mortals believe that what is will always be. Nothing will always be. But the two represent the constant dance that fact and fiction partake in. All things are true.”
“And finally, this symbol represents what I have showed you these past two meetings: Life and death. Creation and destruction. Beginning and End. Where yin ends, yang begins, and vice versa. Yin must always end to make room for Yang, and Yang must eventually cease so that Yin may begin anew. Such is the balance and truth of life; All things must end.”
I flinched again when he said that last line. Clay only smiled. “Perhaps you need to do some good yourself before you will see.” Without another word, Clay pulled his necklace over his head, put it around my neck, and clipped it into place. I didn’t resist; I was too terrified to. “You’ve seen me use it. You know how it works. Remember: All things are balanced. All things are true. All things must end.”
Clay stepped out of the bathroom.
I stared at the wall for a full three minutes thinking before I took my own leave from the restroom. I had personally seen this necklace enact great vengeance over a simple backhand insult. I had also personally seen this necklace cure an ill man of a disease that’s right up there with damnation on the list of things guaranteed to kill you.
I had the idea in my mind for a long time before I acted upon it. I actually had to go home and go back the next day because visitng hours had ended. But my friend Leslie had always been a good person. There was no way Karma would treat her badly. When I arrived to her room, she was asleep. I squinted my eyes at her, probably looking like a retard, until only her outline was in my blurred vision. I pinched the necklace with all my might and said aloud, “All things must end!”
The reaction was not immediate. I went back to the lobby so as not to draw suspicion to myself. After a few minutes, some of the staff were in a rush. This wasn’t unusual, but somehow I knew it pretained to Lindsay. I wondered if my work had been too good; maybe the doctors thought this miracle was a little too unbelievable. Even when I saw the syringe headed toward her room…I thought they just wanted to take a blood sample or something to try to replicate the miracle cure. The thrashing coming from her room could’ve been…a stampeding crowd? Why was the syringe full if…
“Call it. Time of death-”
NO. NO NO NO NO NO. THIS CAN’T BE, THIS CAN NOT BE, the necklace was supposed to cure her, NOT KILL HER! It didn’t even kill my scumbag manager! Lindsay was a great girl! This couldn’t be real!
I almost ran down the hall to her room, but an arm restrained me and held me back.
“Doctor, I need to see that patient!” I yelled to whoever was holding me back. Then I turned to face him.
It was Clay.
“You motherfucker!” I said to him in the middle of the hall. “You killed her! Why? Why would you kill such a nice and sweet young girl?”
Clay pulled me to the side of the hallway, not that anyone was paying US any attention, to a slight depression into the wall, occupied by vending machines. “I didn’t kill your friend, Luke.”
“Well it sure as hell wasn’t ME!”
“Yes. It was. And you should be happy. You have done a great good today.”
“How?” I shouted “Lindsay was an amazingly kind person. Why would Karma decide to kill her?”
“Karma is a fairy tale,” Clay said forcefully, so forcefully it caught me offguard. He made me look at him. “All the necklace knows is balance. It wanted only to right what was not as it should’ve been. Your friend should’ve died during the first seizure, or maybe three weeks ago, or maybe a year ago, or whenever, I honestly couldn’t tell you. But something kept her alive. Probably modern science. Prolonged her suffering. You ended her misery. And for that, you are a saint. An agent of balance. A great force of good.”
I was still shaking at this point until he said the words that made it all melt away; “She was going to die anyway. You only brought it closer so she wouldn’t feel so much pain in the mean time. Maybe she would’ve lived a week. Maybe a year. Maybe ten, maybe twenty. But at what quality of life? She’s better off feeling nothing than feeling that suffering. This is the true meaning of balance; life ends when it is no longer worth living. All things are balanced. All things are true. All things must end.”
I did not flinch this time. I had begun to see what Clay was talking about. Death, destruction…these were not evil things. They were simply the way things were. I understood now: “all things must end” isn’t a curse. It’s something that we all understand on some level. Most of us are aware of the fact that regardless of what action we take, we will die some day. We know that relationships can’t last forever, winning streaks can’t continue indefinitely, and parties have to stop when everyone needs to get some sleep. We simply lie to ourselves. Make ourselves believe on some level that there is hope for permanency. And that lie becomes true in our perception. All things must end. All things are true. All things are balanced.
These three phrases would change my life forever.
I haven’t seen Clay in years. Couldn’t tell you what the guys’ been up to. He left me with his necklace, claiming he could get another and that I was clearly a natural at knowing who’s wrongs needed to be checked by the celestial forces. I’ve experimented with the other two sayings. All things are balanced seems to result in a completely neutral result. All things must end results in either a drastically good, or drastically sad, result. Never an evil result; that isn’t the way of the world. Though some results may bring a tear to your eye, I take comfort in knowing that I have saved them some form of suffering. Lives ended no longer feel pain; Lives ruined can rebuild their lives anew the way they should’ve originally. I take pleasure in the sad results sometimes. Like when the mother lost her baby to social services for ignoring its crying while trying to sleep. Or when the bullied kid finally decided to take a baseball bat and crack his bullies’ skull and punch him in the stomach over and over while he bled out screaming some nonsense about lunch money and Magic the gathering cards and squeal piggy squeal. And then that same kid crying into the bullies’ dead chest before the police showed up and arrested him and tried him as an adult.
I haven’t figured out what All things are true does exactly. Haven’t seen any results despite tyring to use it. Frankly, I’m more interested in all things must end. My favorite result occured just a few days ago in a small town in Nevada; the necklace has a way of showing you somebodies true, dark, hidden side. I used it on a guy who had been fighting with his girlfriend. How did he react? He busted out a Desert Eagle, 50 cal, a ski mask, and black clothes and gloves, then went off and raped a 15 year old girl who had rejected his son, screaming about being good enough for his family yet while he made her suck on the barrel of his…gun. Things got messy when the girls 7 year old sister came in to see what all the yelling was about…then their parents, who’s corpses fell on top of the little girls. Strange they’d come in after hearing two gunshots and the splatter of brain matter. That kind of stuff would make me run. That is…had I not seen the light. I knew now that the death of this suburban family was natural. This man had saved them a lot of pain…oh, and himself! He shot himself two minutes later. If only I could save his girlfriend the pain of losing him…all well. That’s for another agent. Turns out there’re a lot of people like Clay and I running around.
If you ever meet one, remember these three things, as it will make your passage much easier, should the hands of fate deal you the fun cards:

All things are balanced.

All things are true.

All things must end.
Credit To – MysteriousManKyle
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April 14, 2014
by derpbutt
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“I’m cornered. It’s got me now.” I look out the dark damp alleyway to see the silhouette of the grotesque figure that’s been stalking me all night. It’s arms are twisted at unnatural angles and it’s head is cocked to the right like that of a curious animal. It sprints at me, it’s run is so awkward that it’s hard to imagine this thing could ever be as quick as it is. The figure comes into clear view as it passes under an outdoor house light. I almost vomit. It’s head, which appeared to be cocked slightly at first, is actually twisted almost 360 degrees around with the mouth wear the forehead should be. It’s mouth is agape and is open so wide it’s as if it’s jaw has unhinged. The eyes are nothing but holes in the creatures leathery tight face, which seems to fit the skull a little too snug. The greasy tangled hair of the abomination reaches halfway down the thing’s body to the tattered rags it’s wearing over it’s discolored bruised body. It’s inches away from me. A mysterious orange fuzz begins to fill my view as it moves it’s head back, and let’s out a disturbing, loud, unbearable….beeping noise?
The sound of my alarm clock snaps me out of the reoccurring nightmare I’ve been having all week long. 6:55. I’m late. I jump out of bed as fast as humanly possible and I rush to my closet. I put on the first somewhat nice clothes I find in the jungle, grab my briefcase, and zip out the door to my car. And that’s when I realize that to open my car, I need keys. I hurry back inside my house and when I look on my key hanger, of course, the keys aren’t there. I spend the next twenty minutes tearing apart my living room, kitchen, bedroom, and basement looking for the 2006 Nissan car keys. I finally give up my search around 10:30, I mutter a curse under my breath, and decide to call in sick for the day. I really don’t feel like going in to the office today anyway, it’s a crappy day outside. Dark grey clouds fill the dark grey sky and the dark grey pavement is wet from the lightning storm the night before. I call my boss at the firm and tell him I’m coming down with pneumonia. I hold my nose the entire call with one hand, and add some fake coughs in there for show. It sounds like the most staged sick call in the world, but he buys it. I plop down onto the couch and hear a small jingle sound come from my back pocket. I feel it and sure enough, my car keys are there. “Figures” I think to myself as I grab the TV remote from the coffee table. I pour myself a bowl of Rice Krispies and turn the television to Family Guy.
The dream I had last night keeps coming back into my mind. The image of the creatures terrible visage burned itself into my subconscious so that no matter how I may try, I can’t seem to get it out of my head. A couple times I even think I see it in the mirror out of the corner of my eye. But that’s impossible, it’s just a dream…right? Another loud beeping noise jolts me out of the state of deep thought and pondering. The smoke detector in my room just went off. I sigh, put my bowl of un-eaten cereal down, and get up off the couch. This happens all the time, the batteries in the smoke detectors are dying and I’m too lazy to go to Home Depot and buy some more. I go upstairs and walk down the hallway parallel to my room when my dress shoes slip and make a loud squeaking noise. I look down to see that I’m standing in water, and it seems that someone walked barefoot, soaking wet, from the top of the stairs, down the hall, and into my room. I didn’t take a shower this morning, there’s no way these footprints could have come from me. The beeping of the smoke detector suddenly stops, and a deafening silence engulfs the house. I’m feeling quite uneasy at the point. Instead of going into my room and facing whatever monstrosity decided to walk into my house, I go downstairs and get the only thing that all protagonists in horror stories seem to lack; a gun.
With my .44 in hand, I muster enough courage to go back upstairs and meet whatever was in my room. When I get to the hallway at the top of my second story, I notice that the footprints…are gone. I look down the corridor, and notice that all of the lights that were previously on, are off. In fact, it’s almost pitch dark in the area where I’m standing. The hairs on my neck stand on end, when a sudden brush of air flows across them. Then a pause. Then another gust of air. Then a pause, and another gust of air. Almost as if…someone was breathing on me. My palms begin to sweat as images of the creature that’s been appearing in my dream flood my mind.
I turn around the see it standing there just as I had thought it would be. Nothing in this world could have prepared me for the fear I felt at that moment. I felt my legs begin to get weak, and I felt myself beginning to pass out from what I presumed to be fear. The creature just stood there, menacingly. As I fell to the floor, a twisted, wide open smile crept across it’s disgusting face. An orange fuzz engulfed my field of view, and I sensed the faint smell of smoke, as I blacked out.

New Report 10/27/13

A man was found dead inside of his suburban town house on the 100 block of East Avenue. The house was engulfed in a mysterious fire, and by the time rescue crews got to the scene, the victim had already died. CSI reports that smoke detectors in the house were functional, and no signs of foul play were evident. In an unfortunate ironic twist, sixty-six years ago to the day, another fire had destroyed a house on this very lot, killing a young women, and leaving her body horribly disfigured. More on this story as it develops.
Credit To – Sam S.

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April 14, 2014
by derpbutt


September 19

To me, the forest has always felt much better than being indoors. I come from an entire family of tree fellers that’s been supplying lumber locally since Eldgebrook, Washington was first founded in 1762. It’s not very profitable when viewed as a business, but my family is the most trusted and respected in Eldgebrook, which comes with some unspoken perks. My favorite, naturally is the half-off discount on coffee at our Tim Horton’s anytime before six am, which is typically when I start the workday, anyway.

Nowadays it’s just me, my son, James, who is technically too young to work, so we pay him under the counter, and my cousin, Peter. I’m Ashton, named after the tree, which I suppose is just about as devoted as it gets. I’ve been working the same forest for thirty years. I’ve seen saplings planted at the start become full grown elms. However, that land is only about four acres, and we fell ‘em faster than they mature. My business manager and friend, Frank, advised me to check out a new ten acre plot ready for the buying.

We’re financially stable enough, especially since the land is going for about one third the cost of what it should be. Much of the time, people move up here and end up with more forest than they know what to do with, so they sell it to people like us. Usually us.

I have an appointment to visit in

September 19

So I was twenty minutes late for the appointment. However, it seemed as though it wasn’t too much of a bother, or perhaps, a very great bother, as no one was there to meet us, anyway. I let myself in through the unlocked and unguarded gate. The trees were good- nice and healthy hardwood trees. The trees were consistently thirty-plus feet, and I bet I could get a pretty penny for their wood.

Equally as important as the trees is the soil around them. The soil was good too. Nice and moist, despite it not having rained for a couple days now. That will ensure the next generation of trees grows well too. I didn’t see any clear problem with the land, so I made the executive and possibly impulsive decision to buy it on the spot.

There was a small wooden shack near the edge of the forest that looked ancient. A nervous looking old man that reminded me of a starving rat sat on a stool behind a barred window. I told him who I was- the one that wanted to buy the property. He nodded slowly and handed me the sale papers silently, staring me in the eye the entire time. I felt bad for the guy. He obviously was too old to use the land and probably was selling the land as a last financial option. Never the less, I signed the papers and a check and he handed me the keys to the gate. The whole affair must have taken no more than thirty minutes.

Just in time, I suppose: I have a tree that’s needed by tomorrow.

September 20

I’m not paranoid. I’ve never been paranoid. You could ask James.

September 20

Okay, I think I can actually do this now.

So we went to the new plot today, James and I, to fell a tree for a friend of mine over at the lumber yard- just as a favor. I unlocked the gate and immediately a gust of wind and fog tumbled out of the forest. It was a coincident. I have convinced myself on that. That is not the terrifying part.

We headed into the plot a good two acres until the forest was tall and the trees weren’t too big that a grown man and teenage boy couldn’t load it onto a truck. James walked up to a tree and made a remark about how the tree had two small knots side by side at eye level. As I surveyed the area, I noticed that all the trees had them. Strange I thought, but none the less, scouted out a fine looking hardwood tree.

I retrieved my chainsaw from the back of the truck and with the pull of a string, it roared to life. I lined up the saw teeth perpendicular with the trunk and eased the saw onto the bark. The saw began chipping away at the wood and when it made it about half way through the tree, I shut down the saw. “Timber!” I yelled as it began to fall to the right of me.

“Clear!” James replied as it swung at top speed towards the ground. It made contact with the ground. There’s was a usual quake, one that by now I’m able to predetermine the severity of based on just how big the tree is, but strangely there seemed to be a sort of gasp, a dying breath from the tree. I heard it. I heard it.

I stepped back and smiled, breathing in the scent of freshly cut wood and sawdust. “Okay, grab the canopy,” I said to James.

“Yep,” James replied.

I neared my end, the side towards the trunk, and almost vomited on sight of the recently cut trunk.


There was blood. Dripping from the tree. Red, human blood, like when you lacerate a human body.


I backed up as the blood began to pool on the ground, making the moss red and for lack of a better word, juicy.

I was dizzy. I was scared.

“James, let’s go. Now. Get in the car.”


“Get in the car! Now!”

The next stop was the police station.

As well as I could, I explained the incident to the sheriff. I would tell anyone who would listen. However, it’s not easy to calmly explain this without sounding like a traumatized psychopath. Which I’m starting to believe I actually might be.

I tried to go back to the forest with the sheriff and one other policeman, but they declared it a temporary crime scene, and until the whole mess is figured out, I can’t go back.

I’ll try again tomorrow.

September 21

i have to do something i cant i cant

September 21

I was nervous and anxious and I couldn’t keep waiting to hear from the sheriff about what the deal was so I went back. It was stupid but I went back. There was no sound and no movement. I went back to where we were before and it didn’t look like anything had changed at all.

But the car was still there.

September 21

But the car was still there but there was no one inside it. But there were trees inside it. Trees. Two full grown hardwood trees. With two knots at eye level. And they turned. All of them, the whole forest they turned to look at me with their eyes. I heard their whispers. I heard the people’s whisper begging to get out, begging to die. They whispered timber timber timber timber timber timber timber.

Then the grass tried to get me. It wrapped around my ankles and would have done the same thing to me if I didn’t run. I tried to set the forest on fire. Nothing happened.

Plot for Sale
10 acres

Credit To – Brickspace

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April 14, 2014
by derpbutt

Ghost Hospital

“Hello?” I called, my boots making a heavy thud with each footstep. I was in a foreign city, on vacation, but I had suddenly gotten violently ill after eating at a restaurant. The hospital I was in was the closest one to the restaurant, but I was unsure now whether it was reputable. The dark hallways and lack of people seemed to make it obvious that it wasn’t. But I had no idea where to find another hospital, and surely there were people here? The parking lot outside was full.

I abruptly grabbed my stomach, trying to find my way to a trash can so I wouldn’t vomit all over the admittedly dusty floor. I managed to make it a few feet away from one before my stomach exploded and a sour green puke erupted all over the floor. I moaned. Usually vomiting helped you feel better, at least temporarily, but now it just made me feel worse. I vomited again and again, too weak to move to the trash can, and unable to find a way around the puke in this state.

Quiet footsteps suddenly approached me. “Are you lost?” spoke a quiet voice. I looked up at the speaker and screamed. She was a young woman, with faint pink hair and green eyes. She was covered in blood, however, and she seemed only half there – I could see the hospital right through her body.

“Let me help you, Ma’am,” she offered, reaching down a hand to me. I tried to resist, but some force compelled me to place my hand in her palm, and she pulled me to my feet. I looked around frantically for a way to escape. “This way,” the woman offered kindly, smiling at me. I shook my head and took a step in the opposite direction.

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice shaking. “What – What is this place?”

“I am Lindia,” she said, still smiling. “This is Akubara General Hospital, one of the finest in the nation.”

What? Finest in the nation? I could not believe that was true. “I – I am Ina,” I stammered, hoping to placate her as I backed away. Lindia smiled at me.

“I know.”

She gestured for me to follow her. I shook my head, scurrying backward toward the entrance, but she caught my hand easily. “I don’t want any more puke stains on the floor,” she said cheerfully. I looked longingly toward the exit, trying to find a way to break free as I was pulled along. But I saw other people gathered there, seeming to chatter casually, but they were definitely blocking my only escape route.

“Come on,” Lindia said kindly to me. I tried to pull free again, but she firmly held my wrist. “Why did you come to a hospital if you don’t want to be treated?”

I whimpered but finally went along with her. I saw no way to escape.

As we walked, I began to hear the sounds of a normal hospital. Patients being wheeled around, doctors talking, patients laughing and chattering amongst themselves. But the lights were all dim, and I saw nobody. At last, we came to our destination.

“The doctor will see you now,” Lindia said cheerfully. She pushed the door open and she gently ushered me in.

The room was brightly lit, and it was filled with people who looked just like Lindia: smiling, kind-eyed, transparent, many covered with blood stains. Machines lined the walls, and photos of men and women being hanged, drawn-and-quartered, stretched by the rack, or chopped into pieces lined the walls. A man with only a few specks of blood on his clothing smiled and walked up to us.

“You must be Ina,” he said to me. I tried to smile and nodded.

“This way,” he gestured, pulling me over to a strange machine. “Just lie down in here, and it will discover all that is wrong with you,” he promised.

I was terrified, but all the people in the room were smiling at me encouragingly, perhaps even hungrily. I knew I had no choice. I climbed into the chamber, which was padded with some soft dark material, and I laid down with my head against one edge. The material seemed to shift and stretch itself until I was nested inside and every part of me was covered. Somehow I could still breathe, but I could not move any other part of my body.

“Sleep well,” the doctor said sweetly to me, and I could feel that he was smiling down at me. I heard some sort of pressure release and felt a breeze blowing past me. Then I began to choke, and in the midst of choking fell to sleep.

I do not know how long it was before I woke. I slowly sat up and stretched, then drew back, startled, as I saw the smiling faces surrounding me.

“You’re well again,” congratulated the doctor, and he reached down to shake my hand. I smiled confusedly, but took his hand.

“Um… Thank you,” I murmured. “If… If I’m better, I guess I’ll get going. Thank you very much.” I smiled and stepped past the doctor, but more smiling faces stopped me. Two very young-looking ones grinned wickedly and pointed at my shirt. Confused, I glanced down at it, and my heart skipped a beat. My shirt was covered in blood just above the heart.

“He helped you,” laughed one of the boys that had stopped me. The other nodded and kept his wicked grin.

I then looked down at my hands. They were see-through; glancing again at my chest, I saw that it also had become transparent. I rushed to a mirror, the only one in the room, and saw the room reflected before me, a faint outline of myself visible as well.

“What did you do to me?” I shouted. “What is this place?”

Lindia stepped forward to greet me with a smile. “We healed you,” she beamed. “At Akubara Ghost Hospital.”
Credit To – Bethany Stoddard

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April 14, 2014
by derpbutt

“Ain’t No Cure for the Summertime Blues!”

The subway train stopped, momentarily sending every loose object on it jolting forward. I lost my place on the page I was reading, and listened, yet again, to the monotone male voice that came over the intercom at every, single stop:

“The Blue Largo Line has arrived at the Maple Street stop. Please wait to exit until the train has fully stopped, do not board the train until all bodies who want to exit have exited, thank you.

(The train patiently waited for stragglers to board the late-night summer train)

“The doors are closing, please step away from the yellow strip on the sidewalk while the train is in motion, thank you.”

(The electronic doors slid shut, closing the gap between me and the outside world, again.)

“Next stop Lower Heath, E. T. A. 45 minutes.”

“God, that gets old after riding this thing for three years.” I looked up to watch the outdated electronic sign change its many circular, yellow-orange lights to the name of the next destination, only one more stop and I’ll be home, I thought to myself.

Before I could go back to reading my book, a man sitting a little ways down the aisle from me caught my eye. He had boarded at the last stop without my noticing. The man looked uncomfortable. He was very fidgety, not sitting still for more than a few seconds. It seemed to me that he literally had something in the seat of his pants. As my curiosity got the better of me, I silently watched the man from a distance and I pretended to read my book, which I had simultaneously lost interest in.

After a couple of minutes I noticed the man had started to perspire and scratch at his arms in a way that told me he was seeing something on them that probably wasn’t really there. His breathing became harsh and quick, and the look on his face told me he was starting to become frightened.

“Freakin’ tweaker.” I thought to myself, having seen all this crap before on my many nights on this subway train, my book became interesting again, and I ignored the man at the end of the aisle.

A sudden movement from down the aisle awoke me from the trance the boring pages and white noise of the train had put me into. I looked up to see the man had started clawing at his face more rigorously than he had his arms. His breathing had progressed from harsh to wheezy. I couldn’t tell for sure if he was having a hard time breathing or if he was just that scared. Then I noticed something that hadn’t been there the first time I noticed him. All over his arms were little bumps similar to over-sized mosquito bites. They reminded me of the hives I used to get as a kid when I didn’t realize that the food I was eating had mushrooms in it. You see, I’m deathly allergic to most kinds of edible mushrooms. If I accidentally eat them my throat swells up and hives break out on all over my face and body. It’s terrifying, and I always feel like my insides are going to explode.

“I wonder if he ate something he was allergic to.” I concluded that he might need an EpiPen®; I carried one on me at all times, Just in case I had a bad reaction to my unseen enemy of edible fungi. I decided to help him, even though my brain was screaming at me that it was in my better judgment not to, it told me that he was some meth-head that would kill me if I tried talking to him with a syringe in hand. To his “tripping-out” eyes I probably wasn’t trying to save his life or help him, but rather I was a half-liquid gorilla that was coming at him with a knife trying to take it. Ignoring my sixth scent, I got up and approached the man cautiously, paying a small amount of heed to what my head was trying to tell me.

“Hey man, are you ok? You look like you ate something you’re allergic to. I’ve got an allergy too. Here, I have something that’ll help.” I held up the small syringe in front of him and his eyes darted to it as he scrambled to steal it from my hand.

“I ate the blue…” He wheezed as he shakily took the EpiPen’s® cap off and stuck it directly into his neck and squeezed the trigger, releasing the enzyme into his bloodstream, hoping for relief.

As soon as he pulled the trigger his eyes went wide and he screeched. If there had been anyone else in the car with us that night they probably would have flipped out at the sound, but I was pretty confident with what I was dealing with, I only jumped a bit, just an allergic reaction after all. Judging by the way he was reacting, it was probably the first serious one in his life. I quickly leaned down to help him remove the syringe from his neck.

“It’s just a bad reaction, let me get this out and we will get you to a hospital at the next stop.” I was trying to sound reassuring, but I knew after riding this train for 3 years that the next stop was still 30 minutes away. I hoped the man didn’t realize that, panicking would only make his condition worse.

“I ate the blue… No cure.” He responded and looked into my eyes. He was scraping his pupils around in the part of my mind where I kept secrets that no one would ever or should ever know about. Such as the time I went on a camping trip and me and a few friends found an alligator snapping turtle, which we proceeded to throw rocks at and stab until it died. I wasn’t fond of the memory, quite ashamed actually, but there was no taking it back, so I hid from his all-knowing gaze.

I looked away from him and looked toward the car in front of us for help to see if anyone in those cars could help, a doctor, hopefully, or nurse, hell anyone at all would be a blessing, but there was no one. Then a thought occurred to me:

“What’s “The Blue”?” Jumping on the question like a dog on a piece of meat, I asked the man.

“What is “The Blue”?”

“The blue… Don’t ever eat the blue, he told me not to. I didn’t even know, don’-…” He stopped abruptly. My brain finished the sentence for him, though, it was quite obvious what he was going to say even given mine and his separate states of shock. What cut him short was the fact that an extreme sensation had hit him and he looked down at his outstretched arms and screeched again.

I hadn’t noticed it either, but the hives there had multiplied like rats and had gained in size. There wasn’t a spot on his arms or hands that hadn’t been raised at least a little. He lifted his shirt and lo and behold they were everywhere on his chest and abdomen as well. Still screeching he started to insanely claw at them.

“No! That’ll only make it worse.” I said and tried to grab for his arms but I was too disgusted at the thought of grabbing the wrong spot and having the pregnant hives pop in my hands.

He looked up at me, eyes watering, and that’s when I noticed even his face was now covered in hives, they were swelling over his every orifice. His nose had become a big bulbous blob; his eyes were almost fully sealed over, and his mouth was a small, dark, fleshy depth of a cavern.

“I’m gonna die…” He said and started to cough, it was a horrid noise.

I have heard people say that they were coughing up a lung and I’ve heard my 30-year smoking veteran of a grandmother cough, but this man’s coughing fit surpasses any cough I’ve ever heard in severity. It was wet, but at the same time it was very dry, almost as though he had corn syrup filling his lungs and the walls of his throat were 60-grit sandpaper that scratched together when he forced air past them. When he pulled it away from his face there was blood all over his bulbous hand, and I saw it leaking from the rounded corners of his mouth. Yet, he still continued to claw at his body.

At that point my fear came to life, the hives started to burst, leaking pus and blood everywhere on his body, as well as making a mess wherever they spurted. One by one they swelled and popped like over-filled water balloons. He gasped in pain and continued clawing and coughing.

When his hand had become so bulbous that he no longer had any fingernails to scratch with he leaned back and moaned with what vocal chords he had left. I saw that blood was coming from everywhere on his face. Both of his nostrils, his mouth, his ears, and even the tears streaming from his eyes had changed to a diluted ruddy color. Nevertheless, he started beating himself with his club-like hand trying to pop all of his sores like bubble-wrap hoping to rid himself of the god-awful pain.

Once he felt he had removed most of what covered his body he moved his bloody, pus-covered hands to his face. As he tore it apart piece by sore-covered piece, I felt myself become nauseous. I was finally realizing what I was watching. I turned and let my dinner hit the carpeted floor of the subway.

I got control of my stomach, and turned back to the still moaning man whose adulterated cries for help had become mere forced gasps for breath. What I saw next far surpassed everything that I had seen him do before.

The man was using his globular bloody fingers around his eyes, after he had managed to rid his face of most of the hives, he plunged his fingers deep into his eye sockets bringing out his punctured eyes on the end of them like the olives on giant toothpicks. I turned and heaved again hearing the man’s moans become a little louder and whinier as he realized what he had just done to himself.

He fell forward out of his seat and hit the ground of the subway, with just enough time for me to move out of his way. He tried to crawl toward me and I cowered away from his touch fearing my life. I hated myself for my cowardice in this man’s time of need, but I couldn’t help myself.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered without realizing no one was really listening, but myself.

I heard him gasp and choke more as his throat began to close. His body started to bloat, and he collapsed face first into my pool of vomit. He let one last breath of air escape his lungs before his internal organs imploded and careened out of his open mouth toward the opposite side of the train.

I heaved again and got as far as I could from the now lifeless body that lay before me. I started to sob, I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t sure if I was sobbing for the man who had just been betrayed by his own body, or if I was crying for myself for having to watch it all take place. I already guessed at the fact that nightmares would haunt me for a good time after this incident

After I finished crying I got my nerve up to call the police. They met with me at the next stop, my stop. They were immediately suspicious that I had played a part in the man’s brutal death, but I did my best to truthfully show them otherwise, after they questioned me, they had an officer escort me home so I could get some rest. They said they would contact me later that week to verify some things, but other than that they would take care of the rest, they closed off the scene stopped the train for the night and sent me home with a sheriff named Mark.

I was completely out-of-it during the entire drive to my apartment, as well as the walk up the steps to my abode. I unlocked it routinely, opened it and relocked every lock on the door, I have no idea why I locked all the locks, but I just did. Turning around and facing my dark palace of solitude I flicked on the lights and looked into the kitchen on my right. On the counter was a pan of mini blueberry muffins. Every single one of my friends and family members knew they were my favorite food! There was a folded note laying next to the pan, naturally, I picked it up and read it.

Dear Ben,

I felt the need to bring you some blueberry muffins today, I heard you really, really liked them, Hunter told me, When I dropped-by with some you weren’t here, so I just left them on the counter. Enjoy!

Yours truly,

“I’m sorry I missed you Sammy, I had a very… eventful night.” I chuckled at my adjective choice and made a mental note to go see her after work the next day so I didn’t have to ride the subway home again.

“It’s nice to have you around Sammy.” I made another mental note to find some way to return her affection.

I grabbed one of the mini-muffins and stuffed it into my mouth, I needed the comfort food and I didn’t really care how I looked eating it. I was alone anyways. The muffin was amazing, although cold from sitting out so long, they were still really, really good. I grabbed another.

“I wonder what her secret is.”

That’s when it hit me. How did Sam get in? I hadn’t given her a key. We had only been seeing each other for about 3 weeks. I didn’t know of anyone else who had a key to my apartment, my windows weren’t unlocked and even if they were I lived on the third floor. I hadn’t left the door unlocked either, I had just unlocked it myself.

I grabbed the note again as I swallowed the second muffin and reread it. I noticed I had missed something underneath her signature.

“Was that really there before?” I wondered aloud and read it.

(P. S. In case you were wondering, I added something different to the muffins to make them special just for you. It’s a mushroom sugar extract called Blue, everyone I know loves it, and they have no idea where it comes from! It makes things taste like heaven! See you tomorrow!”)

A thought echoed in the back of my mind from the man on the subway.
“Don’t eat the blue…”

At first I panicked and felt my throat tighten, and then an ironic song lyric ran through my head:

“There Ain’t no Cure for the Summertime Blues!”

…And I started to itch…

Credit To – @MichaelSwiftLTS and Michael Swift-Plaschka
Credit Link – and

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April 14, 2014
by derpbutt


Have you ever had that dream where you’re all alone? The emptiness you feel without anyone around is terrifying. You can’t laugh or cry or hate or love because…no one is there. The quiet scares you. you need to hear someone’s voice. You begin wishing anything could happen, but theres nothing. You need that annoying person, the bully that hurts you, youre parents that you thought you hated. Your dream stays this way until you finally wake up woth tears running down your face. running to your parents, you tell them that you love them and you feel safe. The only reason the dream scared, is that this could happen to you. *long pause* and you know it.
Credit To – Miavampirella

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April 14, 2014
by derpbutt

The Night of Halloween

It was the night of halloween, Sarra had just moved it to a mansion with her family. She got this strange feeling, a feeling that began to worry her…She got a vision, a strange vision, a vision that was like she was possessed. She wasnt in pain or anything… She was worried because when she went to her room to unpack, she heard a screeching noise, nobody was there. She went downstairs. Nobody was there. She was scared… It was 6:00p.m. She got dressed for Halloween. *SCREECH* She gasped. She yelled, “HELP! IM HAUNTED.” She went outside hoping to find someone, she found someone, someone to know about her house. She just screamed… She screamed and screamed. Later that night, she had a dream, a dream that she was getting possessed by a demon or something. The next day it was november 1rst, she passed out. She woke up after 2 hours and found herself in a dark room and she heard phsyco laughing… She yelled but nobody could hear her, the unknown person stabbed her in the stomach… and she was never heard from again…
Credit To – Mr.Creepypasta even if he didnt make this up
Credit Link –

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April 14, 2014
by derpbutt
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Lucid Dreaming

It’s the middle of the night, you find yourself sitting in the middle of your living room alone watching tv as your family is out. As you continue watching the show you find yourself drifting off to sleep. Everything around you begins to fade and your fight against sleep is lost as you give into temptation. You could hear the volume to the tv lowering and being replaced by a different somewhat eerie sound. Alarmed you get up to check what the sound is but find nothing, the sound you once heard is gone and you stand alone in your living room. The tv is now silent and everything is replaced by the ringing of silence your brain creates.
The eerie sound is back once again and you walk around the living room to try and locate the source of it. As you move closer to the tv the sound becomes louder and more audible. It almost sounds as if its saying some type of message or hymn. You lean in closer towards the tv and listen carefully to the disembodied voice. You are now inches from the tv trying to make out any clear message from the indistinct voice. Suddenly a deep raspy voice comes through, repeating something over and over again, “Pick up the knife. You know you want to do it. Pick up the knife. You know you want to do it.” This voice sings the same two sentences over and over making it sound like a chant in a ritual. Each time the voice repeats the sentences it gets louder to the point where he loses his sanity. You jump away from the television startled and knock over a picture frame above it causing it to break onto the floor. You bend over and pick up the picture examining it.
The picture is of you and your identical twin brother on a fishing trip standing next to each other, with his arm around your shoulder as you hold up a bluegill you recently caught. You are both smiling in the picture satisfied with your large catch of the day. You can’t help but reminisce of all the times you and your brother bonded, whether it was fishing, over the barbeque, or just at a family reunion. Then you remember all the downward spirals you two went through which were 2 times as worse than your best day ever. You two were inseparable but due to all the bad times you slowly started drifting apart causing your brother to hold a grudge towards you.
The disembodied voice is no longer chanting the same two sentences anymore but a new ones, it repeats, “That’s right, do it. Come on my child just finish the job.” His voice lowers once again to the point to where it’s just a mere whisper. You turn around and spot yourself sitting in the leather sofa you just got up from moments ago. You feel your body growing weaker and you no longer have control over your actions as the voice starts taking over your mind. You walk closer to the image of yourself sitting on the couch fast asleep. It indeed is you. You notice a shadow figure walking closer to you, it is a few inches taller than you and has its face covered by the darkness of its hood. You question as you stand there whether it is a dream you are living in or whether you have died in your sleep, another thing you ask yourself is who is this figure approaching you and if it is something you know that could answer your questions. As if the hooded figure can read your thoughts it speaks to you, “Yes. You do know who I am.” In its hand the hooded figure holds a butcher knife it balances it within its hand and grips the knife tighter. The shadow steps towards your sleeping body and leans over it. It then plunges the knife into your sleeping body causing it to spit blood and cough in its sleep. You sit there stuck in this parallel universe in horror as you watch yourself being killed.
Suddenly you jolt awake feeling relieved. You are sitting in your living room once again the tv show still playing in front of you. You look around at your surrounding and see a hooded figure at the corner of the room through your peripheral view. The figure starts walking towards you away from the darkness it prevails in. Just as your vision it has the knife in hand. You jolt awake once again and find yourself just as before still sitting in the same exact spot in the living room. Just as the last time the tv is still on and everything seems normal. Only this time in your peripheral view you see the hooded figure standing right beside you with its knife in hand. You look up at the figure and connect eye and eye with your twin brother. You then remember the picture of you and your brother on your fishing trip, and remember the last time you saw your brother as he stands in court with handcuffs on him the day he was sentenced to jail for attempted murder against your wife and family. He has a slight and twisted smirk on his face as he leans forward towards you and whispers, “I told you I’d be back” Suddenly you feel a sharp pain in your abdomen and look down to see the knife plunged into your side. Your brother chuckles and twists the knife inside you causing you to spit and couch blood. “Sleep tight little brother.” Is the last thing you hear as your last fight against sleep is lost once again and you close your eyes for good.

Credit To – Brandie Ramos and Marcos Pimienta

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April 14, 2014
by derpbutt


My name is James Roberts, I’m a detective for the the police station in southern Louisiana. Land of the swamps. My next job, a strange one indeed when I read the files.

-Drained of all their blood
-Skin is empty of color
-All near or one the farm of the old farmer, Jefferson.
-Most organs are missing, including heart, liver, lungs, heart, etc
-One survivor

-Rumor is that it is Farmer Jefferson. Even though his body has never been found.

-10 miles within Manchac Louisiana
-The swamp

When I was reading these, one though came into my head, how did these people end up dead, by what? I grabbed my things, phone, Snacks, and my standard pistol, but just in case I brought my home 12G shotgun. Stepped into my car and drove out to this house near the swamp. The first thing to bother me here is all the silence, the only thing I can hear here is the sounds of the wildlife and my tires on the dirt road. When I arrived to the house, all I saw was an old farm next to a lake house with a dock, I could not tell if it was day or night anymore the way this place looked like, green swamp, bright green water, dark green grass and tree’s. Walking through the dirt to the stairs, I squished a tiny, stupid, ugly, leech. No other police force or detective decided to come out here because they did not know where it was, only I did though. The steps made no noise, I could tell they were sturdy, the only that wasn’t was the door, as soon as I knocked on it, the door fell forward on the floor nearly crushing me. I took a deep breath, and stepped inside the damned house. So many leeches inside of this house, every few steps I could here the squishing and the wailing of the leeches. Eventually getting worse to the point of every step was disgusting horror. Empty cabinets full of cock roaches and rats, and rat shit. The smell was an ungodly amount of horror by the time I passed the living room. I couldn’t stand the squishing of the fucking leeches. Walking down the hallway to the master bedroom, I kept hearing the sound of moving, creaking, someone footsteps, not mine, I peaked through the door of the master bedroom only to see a figure, a figure of about medium height, overalls, a black trash bag over its head and leeches all over its arms and legs, and every where else, besides the cloths. Its skin was all leeches it turned around, I saw the eyes. Empty, black, squirming eyes. I ran to my car, stepping on every leech in my pathway. Opening my car door I saw it standing all ready at the doorway, only about 10 or more yards away from me. Ravaging through my bag, and I found my trusty Shotgun. Only a few feet away from me staring at me in the eyes, with its empty eye sockets. I Aimed, I shouted at the top of my lungs, STOP! All the wildlife seem to stop making noise. It stopped. The trashbag, wasn’t a trashbag at all it was its actual face black and empty. It opened its mouth and screamed at me. I could hear the gurgle of salt water and chuncks of meat in its throat. I quickly fired my gun blowing half of its face clean off. The thing just stood there, it put its hand on to the empty forehead, then it started regenerating from the other leeches, I fired again and again. Blowing off every limb that came back and other body parts. It ran at me, It stumbled and I kicked it in the face, causing to fall to the ground, making a shriek. I had my shotgun in my hand right up, touching its right temple. I pulled the trigger. The creature screamed then walked and stumbled to the dock. Grabbed my pistol, and just started firing while it walked away, I followed, and kept firing. It reached the end of its road, the end of the dock, It regenerated one last time, Smiled. I gave it a angry Grimace. Its smile faltered, and it jumped into the swamp fading from my vision. I walked up to my car, got in Drove back to my office at 3 A:M sat in my chair and relaxed. But, In the corner of my eyes I saw outside my window a figure, Medium height, Overalls, appeared to have a trashbag over, its, head.
Credit To – zelia

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April 14, 2014
by derpbutt

Deadened Eyes

It was December 22nd and cheer was in the air. I had several of my dearest and closest friends and family members over for a Christmas party. I was with my wife and we were engaged in conversation with our friends Ronny and Sarah. My daughter Amy was running around in the den with some of the kids my friends had brought over. I occasionally walked over and told Amy to keep it down a little. She always hastily agreed, but tonight, that did not bother me. Tonight was perfect; nothing could possibly ruin this wonderful night.

At about 9:30 PM there was a knock at the door, however I did not hear it because of all the noise already present in the house. Again, a knock at the door, I politely excused myself from the conversation I was in to get the door. I thought to myself, “John and Emily haven’t arrived yet. Hmmm, I bet this is probably them.“ When I was about ten feet away from the door. The knocking on the door became frantic and obnoxiously loud. I became a little uneasy, but I proceeded to the door anyways. I looked to see who it was before opening the door. The face that I saw outside of the door was terrifying. The man’s hair was short, messy and had these patches of little to no hair. His eyes, geez his eyes, His eyes had no cornea of which I could see. He had a tiny pupil in each eye, and his eyes were wide open, like he’d been shocked by something. His nose was shredded and was barely was recognizable as a nose. His mouth was opened to a slight smile, it was and awkward smile since his left jaw broken and was a bit lower that his right jaw. The only thing he was wearing was a long dark, black trench coat. As soon as my brain registered the man before me I jumped back. I looked at the lock. Good, it was locked, as well as the deadbolt. “Whatever was out there was not getting in here.” I thought to myself.

I got a chill down my spine when I heard the man speak. “IT’S SO COOOOLLLDDD… WON’T YOU LET ME IN?” The man said. I shuddered and ignored the request to come inside. I decided if I ignored him and simply went back to my guests, maybe it would get tired of waiting and just leave. “That makes sense right?” I said to myself. When I was back over with Ronny and Sarah, Ronny immediately sensed something bad had happened, most likely because of my pale looking skin and me not talking to him. “Hey, who was at the door man?” Ronny said. I didn’t hear him, I was too traumatized by what just happened to focus on other things. “Hey, didn’t you hear me?“ “Huh? Oh sorry, I didn’t hear you.” I said. “You’re right in front of me man, how could you not hear me? Is everything okay?” Ronny said. “Y-yah everything’s good man, I just was thinking about something.” I said. “Alright man.” I told my wife that I was not feeling too good and I was going to head to bed. She nodded with a look of disappointment in her eyes and continued her conversation about the newest Kardashian drama story with Sarah. I walked upstairs to my bedroom and collapsed into my bed. Surprisingly, I fell asleep almost immediately.

The next morning my mind was well rested and clear. I even managed to forget about that incident last night, for a little while at least. I stretched my arms into the air as I sat up. I then pushed myself out of bed and walked over to the window in my bedroom. A beautiful snowy, forested area stood outside my window. The sun was out so the snow glistened and sparkled. “Beautiful,” I thought to myself. I turned to look back at my wife in my bed. She was sound asleep, “A beautiful wife for a beautiful morning,” I thought to myself. I smiled and looked back outside only to jump and let out a screech to what I saw. There were dozens of animals absolutely mutilated outside painting the beautiful white snow into a sickening bright red. The animals ranged from various small birds and rabbits to entire wolf packs and foxes. What startled me the most was not dead animals, but the man who standing in the center of the mutilations. He had his back turned to me but it didn’t matter. That black trench coat was instantly recognizable; it was the man from last night. My wife was woken up by all the noise. She asked me, “What’s wrong babe?” I turned to her and said, “Come over here, quickly!” She got out of bed and quickly walked over to me. She then looked out the window screamed. Oh my gosh! How did this happen? She then began start crying to the horrible sight that she saw. I look held her close to me as I thought about what she said. Wait, what do you mean how did this happen? Don’t you see that man down there? She shook her head. I looked back outside and my eyes opened wide; the man had turned around without me even noticing. Even more he was holding a bloody rabbit in one hand and bloody knife in the other. He then slowly raised the knife up to where I was standing as if to say, YOU’RE NEXT.

My wife didn’t speak much the rest of the day. I didn’t blame her. Later that night I had to go out to buy a last minute present for my wife. It was that last thing I wanted to do right now. As soon as I walked out to my car I felt a sense of urgency, like I needed to sprint to my car. I ran to my car, despite the several inches I had to run through. I slammed my door shut, locked it and turned on the lights. “I made it,” I thought to myself. I didn’t think too hard about the gift I was going to give to her. I just went over to the local jewelry and bought something she’d most likely enjoy. When I got back I opened the front door to my home and called for my wife. I got no response, “Honey? You there?” I yelled. No response. My heart started racing and I became paranoid. “Where was she?” I thought. I looked in the kitchen, the garage and the den but I had no luck. “Hmm, she must be upstairs, yes she HAS to be upstairs,” I mumbled. I walked up the creaky wooden stairs, each step making me more and more uneasy. When I got to the bedroom my heart sank, my wife’s limbs were scattered across the room along with disturbing amounts of blood. However the most disturbing part was the fact the man had placed her head on the pillow of our bed. Except something was off about her face. I walked closer and vomited from the sight. Her eyes were rotted and dull. She had deadened eyes.

Credit To – Octane_Gular
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April 14, 2014
by derpbutt

The Summoning

Rough gravel claws at my shins and the tops of my feet as I am dragged. Darkness entombs my captors and I, and the misty stench of the cavern invades and fills me. My heartbeat echoes in my skull from the blow I received. I may have a concussion.
I can see a faint light growing brighter before me. We must be reaching the end. The muttering of a single person echoes off of the walls. Without him, there would be only silence.
The torches are now on either side of my guards. They wear crimson robes with hoods that cast shadows over their faces. Obsidian pendants of obscene symbols dangle from their necks. Their arms do not even falter in their task of holding me from under my arms, but my arms have long since gone to sleep for lack of bloodflow. I am but a lowly journalist of the occult, and I will not deny being overweight, but these fellows make me appear to weigh no more than their necklaces.
I can hear the mutterings form into a full on chant. A prayer from one sole man to a pit of faceless individuals. This man appears to be praying to a deity, though to one I am ashamedly unfamiliar. The symbol of their cult, the same one from the pendants my guards bear, hangs on the wall behind the preacher on his pedestal high up on a ledge. It is in the shape of a large dagger with each edge serrated raggedly and the hilt spiked as the stem of a rose.
The chamber is enormous. Hundreds sit in attendance, listening entirely to this one man, a blood-red sea. They all dress the same, no distinction between class, even the speaker. No differences whatsoever. Just unity.
I merely came here in search of a new story. I wished to see these newcomers in action. To study their ways and rituals and share their tale with the rest of the world. To bring awareness to them.
Then they said they would show me, and here I kneel watching this ceremony with an unhidden sense of dread begging me to flee.
Suddenly the leader turns his attention to me. He points at me with one finger, the other hand raised as if to direct the entire crowd to study me closely as he speaks with me.
He speaks only in Latin, and I know enough of this language to get the gist of his statements.
“Advocata nostra fruetu!”
Welcome to our summoning!
“Et sermones nostri, dicetur tenebris dominicam!”
With our words, we shall call forth our lord of darkness!
“Videte nunc, et custodirent eum surge!”
Heed us now, and watch him arise!
Returning his attention to the crowd, he began to walk down the steps at the side of the ledge and walked in the midst of the others.
Then they all began their prayer as one.
“Sanguinem vocat eim de abysso!”
Blood calls him forth from the abyss!
“Carne eius esse sustentat!”
Flesh sustains his existence!
“Mors vocat ad illum mittendum nos!”
Death calls to us to rejoin him!
“Itaque, fratres, iam eamus ad eum! Interficiat animam tuam, et revertamur ad abyssos!”
So my brother and sisters, let us go to him now! Cut your life away and return to the abyss!
At these last words, each person in turn takes hold of their pendant, the thorned hilts digging into their hands, and drives the glistening dark shards deep into their hearts. The scent of blood suddenly fills the entire cave. A metallic taste floods into my mouth and I drop to the floor gagging.
My captors lay on their stomachs on either side of me, their blank eyes gazing deep into me no matter which way I look. A sickness overtakes me and I allow my breakfast to spew out onto the hard stone ground.
The air is filling with the stench of death and rot. I stand up, swaying a bit from having no use of my legs for some time, and begin to take a step back towards the way I came. Whether I know the way back for certain I will only learn from trial and error. For now I simply know that I must escape this place.
Then, as my foot makes contact with the ground, I am thrown forward with the rumbling of the cave. The ground and walls shiver, and it almost sounds as though a deep roar is echoing from way down in the crowd and reverberating up through the walls. I dare to peek over the edge after crawling all the way there, and what I see makes me wish to vomit all over again.
The blood of the cultists has congealed into a pool in the center of the room and the bodies of those who stood there have been thrown into the mass of the others. A perfect circle has been formed within the wall of bodies, and the blood acts as a pond.
Right before my eyes the blood surges directly upwards about six feet then proceeds to morph into a human shape. The thing is not human as is apparent, for it has eyes of onyx and the external features of a mongrel, but as a biped and with the use of opposable thumbs, it is more human than animal and more demon than human.
The creature picks up one of the bodies from the pile, and, in one swift movement, swallows it entirely in its mandibles, which expand exponentially to accommodate the size of the object. It moves about the room in this manner, swallowing corpse after corpse, sometimes catching one with a loose joint that just snaps off with a sickening tearing sound. It does not care what it eats, only that it does. Its stomach does not distend from it’s engorgement. It only gains more height and begins to look more and more human with each bite. The doglike face is gone. Now remains a comely male human, standing nude amongst a room with only a dozen cadavers lying around.
I make a movement to turn away since I can no longer look at this horror, and I attract the attention of the beast who stares up at me, smiling, looking ready to hunt for fresher prey.
Seeing this look breaks my paralysis and I take off running as fast as I can, if not faster, and I can hear that thing’s laughter all the way to the entrance to the manor that sits atop the maze. I hurry through the door to the house then flee to the front entrance.
My heart is racing and my breathing is rough. I can still feel his presence even though I am far away by now. I reach out for the door handle and walk out.
He is standing there, the same grin on his pale face, his long flowing black hair dances with the wind. He wears the robe of his followers only with the hood stripped off. This is death, and he is waiting right here for me.
He stares deeply into my eyes, his eyes taking on the color of dark, flowing crimson, and he simply laughs as I stand there shivering at his presence.
“You fear me, yet you know not what I am. You are not even worth my time. As a feast you are priceless, but as a game you are nothing,” he says with a calm, deep voice. “Begone from here and never return, and write not of what you have seen or I will accept it as a challenge.” He laughs. “And I love a good challenge.”
He walks past me, the scent of vileness still upon him, and he enters his new home.
Now that I have told my tale he is certain to come for me. I entreat him to. I have nothing left to lose. Death is all we ever strive for. That is the meaning of the ritual.
Credit To – Shane A. Shulters

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April 14, 2014
by derpbutt

To Die For

“Ladies, we’ll be turning off the lights in five minutes,” the clerk said politely, masking his frustration. Diane and Rosie rolled their eyes, while Tammy nodded and said, “Okay, sir.”
The girls continued to sift through the dresses, laughing at the stranger ones and cooing over the ones they liked. Suddenly, the lights flicked out and the heavy locks clanged. Diane shrieked at the sound, and Rosie cackled. Tammy just shook her head nervously as her hands started quivering. She knew this was going to happen.
“Guys, I told you we should have left!” Tammy scowled at her friends. “We have to get out!” She didn’t have much longer.
“Why, now we have all night to find the perfect dress,” Rosie snickered. “I’m sure I’ll find something to die for.”
If only she knew how right she was.
“Guys, our moms are going to kill us!” Diane nearly shouted. “Rosie, we should have listened to Tammy!”
Damn right you should have. Tammy thought. But you two won’t live to regret it.
“Just tell them you’re spending the night at my house. My parents are out of town, so we’re golden.”
“I’m not allowed to spend the night away from home,” Tammy murmured. Marta knew what was wrong. They both knew she had to stay away from people when her time was up. When He took over. As long as she wasn’t near people, having Him in control wasn’t too bad. But when there were…
A loud crash woke Tammy from her thoughts.
“W-what was that?” Diane asked shakily. Her hands trembled as she hung the dress back up. A series of horrific ideas flashed through her head and she shivered. But moments later, the night lights flickered on, illuminating their surroundings in an erie, dim glow.
“Just the generators,” Tammy sighed.
“Well, then let’s try some stuff on!” Rosie squealed. After twenty minutes of modeling, Rosie found the perfect dress. She put it on and bolted around the the corner.
Oh god, Tammy thought. Not now. Please not now! Hold on! Just until I can leave!
But it was too late. Her eyes widened and her pupils dilated. She dropped to her knees and started dry heaving. Her breathing became shallow and quick, and she collapsed on her stomach. Her entire body began to shake and twist violently. She managed to flip herself on her back. It made the transition more comfortable for Him. He might not lash out as violently if he’s comfortable.
Diane was horrified at the sight before her. Tammy was on the floor, convulsing and quivering.
“ROSIE!” Diane shrieked. Rosie came running around the corner. She stopped dead when she saw Tammy wriggling on the ground.
“Wh-what?” Rosie asked, eyes wide and mouth agape.
“HELP!” Diane hollered as Tammy’s body suddenly went limp. Tammy’s eyes blinked and she smirked.
“Well, I made it. But Marta never lets me out no matter how much I scream.”
“T-Tammy?” Diane asked tentatively.
“Tammy’s not here anymore. She never is at night. She tried to leave but you wouldn’t listen. Thank you for that.” Whatever was in Tammy’s body stood up and brushed itself off.
“Normally, I would stalk you silently, but since we’re locked in here, there’s no need,” it smirked. “By the way, I’m Victor. Tammy’s alternate personality.”
Diane and Rosie quivered where they stood, now hugging each other tightly.
“Oh, and girls? You might want to change back to your own clothes. You seem to be the kind who are fond of your internal organs.”
Diane slid up the sleeve on the ruffled dress shirt she’d tried on. They shrieked, tearing the clothes off. Rosie and Diane stood their in their underdresses, and they in shock at each other.
Their flesh bubbled up on their arms and legs, and one by one the boils burst, spewing blood and and a sticky green substance over their discarded clothes. Immediately, a burning itch raced across the surface, and they bloodied their nails scratching off what little skin remained.
Tammy- or rather- Victor laughed, making Diane and Rosie’s blood run cold. He (if it could be called that) grabbed a metal pole from a clothes rack and broke it over his knee.
“I suggest running, ladies,” Victor cackled, sending shivers down the girls’ spines. They turned and ran, leaving bloody foot prints to mark their path. But it wasn’t enough.
Victor grabbed Rosie by her hair and dragged her to the floor.
Blood matted her blonde hair and tears streamed down her face as her killer brought the pole down on her stomach, over and over. Her cries dulled to whimpers as her last breath escaped her lips.
Diane looked back, and felt dead inside at what she saw. Rosie laid on her back in a pool of blood, the crimson liquid staining her white undergown and trickling out of the corner of her mouth, her dead eyes staring blankly beyond the smirking face above her.
Silent tears trickled down Diane’s cheeks as it hit her.
Rosie was gone, dead. Never to be seen or heard from again.
Victor’s hand on her neck woke Diane out of her trance. She tried to run away, but her feet left the ground before she could.
Victor was glad that he’d pushed himself to exercise while he was locked away. He was never going to let himself be locked up again.
Diane clawed at his hand, trying in vain to make him release her. Victor laughed at her futile attempts, strengthening his grip. Her eyes rolled rolled back in her head as her labored breathing ceased.
Her limp body crumpled to the floor, and Victor kicked her with his foot. She was still breathing.
Before he could go any farther, a blood vessel along Diane’s arm popped, washing Victor in blood. He sunk into the familiar feeling of the warm liquid on his flesh, and his grin grew, stretching from ear to ear.
He watched in fascination as each vessel and muscle took its turn. It would have been incredibly painful, had Diane been awake. Which, unbeknownst to Victor, she was.
Frozen with lack of oxygen and fear, Diane was paralyzed.
Victor noticed her mouth part slightly and her fingers twitch as her eyes flickered open.
“Time to die, sweet cheeks!” the alter ego cackled. He swiftly brought the pole to Diane’s head, shattering her skull with one blow. She didn’t even have time to scream.
Again and again, he bashed her head and soon, she wasn’t recognizable.
Victor dragged Diane’s body over to Rosie’s, laying them next to each other. Victor smiled. The fact that their flesh had fallen off made the next part a lot easier.
Scooping a handful of bloody organs, he lifted his hands to his lips, slurping the oh so familiar taste of human innards.
Taking his time, Victor ate the rest of the girls’ remains until there was light filtering through the windows. He could feel Tammy taking control. He knew that no matter how hard he fought for full control, there was no way to achieve it. He and the girl would switch off until the body died.
Tammy fell to the ground, shaking and convulsing like when she’d lost control.
When she was in full control again, Tammy curled herself into a ball, shaking and crying. It had happened again.
This had happened with her parents and younger brother. Now, she lived with her aunt, Marta.
A clang echoed off the pristine walls of the store, and the sliding glass door slid open, allowing the manager in.
The man found Tammy crying in a ball, covered in blood, and ran to call the police.

“Marta, I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore. Because of me, he was able to kill my family and my best friends. There was nothing you or anyone could do to change my mind. I hope that this will end this nightmare once and for all. Thank you so much for helping me through all my issues. I love you. Goodbye.
That was the note lying on Tammy’s desk when Marta found her swinging from the ceiling.

“We are gathered here today to remember the life of Tammy Roberts,” the pastor drawled.
Marta sat in the front row, a black veil hiding the tears streaming down her face. Silent sobs visibly racked her body, and the occasional sniffle or shaky breath could be heard.
The church was overflowing with friends, and the only color besides black was the white dress and red roses that decorated Tammy’s body. The coroner had done very successful job hiding the bruises around her neck.
The body’s eyes fluttered open, and Tammy sat up. Screams echoed and Marta rose slowly.
“No,” she whispered.
A booming laugh rang in the ears of those listening.
“Y-you’re dead!” a boy shouted
“Tammy is dead. By killing herself, she gave me full control over her body.” Victor smirked at the horrified faces before him. “And just a heads up. You’re all going to die.”

Blood stained bodies covered the floor of the church, and the once-white walls were splattered with the crimson fluid.
“Such a shame,” the woman behind the ticket counter said, looking at the gruesome news story.
“It is,” the pretty man said, masking the smile threatening to grace his lips.
“Well, here’s your ticket, sir. Welcome to America, Victor Roberts.”
Credit To – quincyisafroob
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April 14, 2014
by derpbutt

The Terrible Tale of Mr. 13

–Day 1 of My Investigation–

There’s been another odd murder today. It was… It was grizzly. The victims’ bodies were completely picked clean of anything on them. Nothing but bone and blood splattered about the house. Their clothes were missing and only family portraits to distinguish each skeleton. On the floor were two children, a boy and a girl. Next to them were their parents, and one of them had a handgun. There were bloody hand-prints almost everywhere in the house, mostly on broken mirror shards. Black cat fur and many raven feathers scattered all over. The only thing to hint us on the killer… was a number. The number 13 was written on the kitchen floor. No shoe prints around belonging to the killer. A diary was on the table. I flipped through the pages, and was shocked to find what was written inside. Something about a “Mr. 13” As I read on, he seems like a boogieman…but perhaps worse. There were clues as to how to tell he’s in the area, or when he’s found himself victims, or just one. They knew something was happening. He seems to kill people where there’s a significant amount of bad-luck. I don’t believe in such a thing, but the people in the neighborhood begged to differ. They wouldn’t tell who, other than “Beware of bad luck. He shows when there’s enough of it.” I shrugged off the superstitions, but something in my gut told me…. I was wrong.
–Day 3 of My Investigation—
I’ve read up more on this “Mr. 13”, and I’m more horrified than astounded. Apparently, it’s not just him that did the killing. Somehow, the nearby cats and flocks of crows and ravens gathered after they were slaughtered…and the victims…were devoured by the animals. Words on this page here saying “Beware of black cats. Do not let them cross your path.” The page had a page of a poorly drawn cat with blood in its mouth. What was going on? I turned the page and it said “Beware of Crows and Ravens. They are very intelligent.” Again, the page had a picture. This time it was of a black bird with blood on its beak. Then I flipped the pages and read them. Warnings and pictures of things I should look out for. I recall crossing under ladders, using an open umbrella inside a building, and breaking a mirror causing bad-luck. I didn’t believe in such things. Then the last page…it was of a shadowy figure with a large grin. I saw white teeth with blood dripping from his mouth. More so, blood dripping from what looked like his hair. Somehow my heart sank when I gazed upon this supposed monster. I-I’ll try finding out what I can about this guy.
–Day 5 of Investigation–

I looked at what this “Mr. 13″ is, and I wasn’t disappointed with the results. It seems there was someone fitting the description. Robert Thrumminger. Age 23, missing.
From childhood to early adolescence, Robert Thrumminger, an odd last name for a sweet and kind child, always was the face of an angel. He always strived to make himself happy, as well as make others happy in dark times. He offered a shoulder to cry on, moral support, and help for someone get through a bad day. He drew a lot of attention to him, both good and bad. He had a record of causing himself and others misfortune. He was always being teased for it, being called ‘Thrumming Thirteen’. Sure the boy was bullied quite a lot, even threatened to be killed a few times by his oppressors in each school he was transferred to. Of course, despite his generosity and gentleness on the outside…. one could almost tell there something to fear within him. It… It’s hard to explain. I’ve been reading documented files on this boy of his past many years. Somehow the doctors and psychiatrists refused to mention a whole lot about him, other than Robert was such a ‘nice boy’. The keyword being WAS. I looked at a few more pages of his records. All that was left in there was his abrupt disappearance and the death of his father after a blackout in his house. Something didn’t add up.

-Day 7 of my investigation-

It has come to my attention that the people who knew the missing boy… say it started with a blood feud. Both families despised each other to the point of wanting to kill each other. One person in particular, a Ms. Rosalind Dane, the great granddaughter of Elias Dane, told me that it all started during the misuse in hazardous chemicals in the early 1900s. She forgot the exact location. A few of their family members were already fighting it out the day the feud began. She said that it was after the illegal dumping of the waste products of the factories near their location…the fumes began to get so thick that it reached their houses and the people’s minds were chipped away. Ms. Crane said they experienced hallucinations, dementia, mood swings, even escalated to acts of savagery. Only a few people in those families knew better to move from that horrible place. But their minds were still withered away from prolonged exposure to those toxic vapors. Throughout the decades, in 1990, Robert Thrumminger was brought into the world. His mother was happy. His father, however, became a drug addict and a fiend. He drank very little, but he did a lot of illegal drugs. She said over the years, from what she’s been keeping track of, his mind too began to crumble under the weight of so much stress and druggy father. Then one day, Ms. Rosalind said, he disappeared without a trace after a one hour power outage. As for his father, there was no noise, no screams, nothing. He died in silence. She wouldn’t tell me anything other than that. Her hands were shaking violently. Her face…had the look of dread. What made this guy that terrifying? I was afraid myself but… I had to remain vigilant. I’ll admit it right now… deep down… I too was scared. I still am.

–Day 11 of my Investigation–

I forgot to update my logs but, there have been reports of 9 more murders in the last week. I’ve been going over evidence of this criminal and…. it makes my stomach churn to say… he’s been killing innocent and people guilty of crimes. Last night, I couldn’t sleep over the thought of this thing… somehow finding me. I hope it never comes to that. I want to be the one that takes this guy out! How would I go about finding him? Over the last week I’ve experienced an unusual amount of questionable events. Similar to the causes of bad-luck, I ended up going under ladders, cats crossed my path, and I also bumped into and broke a mirror. Terrible things began to happen to me soon after. My wife began to become violent, my two kids distant from me, and my boss even considered firing me if I didn’t solve this case. Is… Is this his doing? Mr. 13? Or should I say….Robert Thrumminger? I need to try and get some sleep…but how can I when the thoughts of him and those pictures keep flashing before me? My mind… it’s fading away. I need to stop him before I completely lose it all.

–Day 13 of My Investigation–

My mind it… My brain hurts to think about complex things now. I’ve decided to go out at night on Friday the 13th and hunt down Mr 13. He couldn’t have gone far. There were crows and ravens perched on mailboxes and phone lines. Black cats followed my every step. If I didn’t move, they would circle around me…staring at me with those glowing eyes of theirs. Wait…they were glowing? Oh…Oh my goodness…. Even the birds they… their eyes were glowing too. All of them were glowing red. I was surrounded. I tried to continue on my way through the dense night on my search. What the hell was I thinking? I couldn’t even answer that myself at this point. It hurt to think then. Before I could venture over to the next block…a cold shiver ran up and down my spine. The air got colder. I experienced a cold sweat. My body was shaking as my eyes beheld a thick fog rolling in from the darkness. It was him…. Mr. 13 himself. Dressed exactly as the witness reports say. Ravens perched on his shoulders and head, cats clinging to his pants and surrounding him like his obedient servants waiting for a command. Were those even his? It hit me… Those missing clothing… He was wearing them. He was wearing them like damn trophies!! All dressed in black and menacing to boot. He looked at me and grinned. Blood dripped from his mouth. It was fresh blood.

“Why are you doing this?” I shouted at him. I had to say something. My mouth wouldn’t say the words I wanted to say. I was replied with a deep, monstrous laugh.

“Why? I’ll tell you why…Herman.” he answered.

“H-how do you know my name?” I stuttered, slowly backing away but was stopped when I felt the gentle rubbing of the cats.

“One thing at a time.” He says, stopping right in front of me with a metal cane in hand. Those eyes… piercing through the glasses he wore… the same red glow. It was like looking into the eyes of a demon or a monster. I couldn’t move and felt short on breath. “I am doing this, because it makes me so…so very happy to see people suffer. Myself included.” His answer made my skin crawl. “It pleases me more when people are deserving of my special gift. The gift is of pain and misery. As for the question on how I know you?” He then slowly walked towards me…laughing at the same time. “I know because as of now, your family is no longer among the living.”

I heard those words, and I immediately jumped over the small group of cats and headed back to my house. I grabbed the doorknob only to find…it was unlocked. But how could that be? I locked it when I left! I slowly opened the door…..and my whole family…. fell down onto the stoop. They were dead, and covered in blood and fresh wounds.

“Enjoy explaining this to the police, Mr. Hathaway. As much as I’ll enjoy taking your life, it’ll be much more fun to watch you squirm and squeal like a pig.” Mr. 13 said as he turned around and stepped back into the fog from which he stepped from. The cats and birds followed him and disappeared. The cats on the ground around me followed suit. What they revealed made my heart almost jump right of my body. It was more terrifying than the encounter with Mr. 13. On the ground next to me was… a bloody knife. It was then after my eyes met the weapon that the police arrived to the scene.

–Final Entry–

I now am in an asylum…far away from it all. My only hope is that no one… and I mean NO ONE…ever end up meeting, or going after Mr. 13. My mind is gone, and my soul stained. At least in this cell…. I can find peace.

Wait…. Oh God…. Was that a blood covered raven just now by my window?

Credit To – John Kamm
Credit Link –

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April 14, 2014
by derpbutt

The Shadow on the Wall

I get up from my bed. I looked out my window. It was pure darkness, no stars, no moon. I smirked as soon as I saw a ‘zombie’. “Ha, people have such horrible costumes.” I say to myself. A few minutes later, I feel a cold hand on my shoulder. I turn around, only to find nothing but a note. I read the note and it says ; ‘I am haunting you for eternity. You’ll never know what or who I am. I am your worst nightmare. Now, turn around, pretty face.’ I shrug and turn around just as the note says. There was a strange dark figure on the wall. I thought it was my shadow, until the shadow, turned into a horrifying nightmare. The creature had a body, oozing demonic blood.It had a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. It whispers to me, “I am here. You are here. Now, let’s finish this.” I laugh at the beast. “Ha! People and their ‘scary’ pranks. Well, guess what? I know this is all a prank.” “This is not a prank!” The beast whispers a demonic tune and grows even more terrifying. It was horrendous. His smile started to fade, into a darker smile. His eyes disappeared, and his hands turned into claws. I squeeze my eyes shut and yell, “I WILL NOT DIE TODAY!!” I wake up. I soon notice it was all a dream. A BAD dream, that is. But I didn’t trust my eyes. I looked out the window, blinked a few times.. and saw the same thing I have saw in my dream. A pure dark sky. No clouds, no moon, no stars. I spot the same zombie I saw in my dream as well. I manage to scream a bit. I shut the window as quickly as possible. I start to panic and look behind me. And there it is, the note. I force myself to read it. I expected it to say the same thing it said before, but it didn’t. This time, it was just one word.. ‘SHADOWS.’. I was awfully confused. I ran downstairs and picked up my phone to call my mother. My mother works in Colorado, while I’m in Canada. She’s a great mother. She has just graduated from college a few years ago. I remember she said, “Call me whenever you need me. Remember that.” and I seemed to remember it. Once she picked up, there was a static sound in the background. “Mom? Are you there?” No response. “Mom? MOM!” No response, so, I yell out her name five more times. This time,someone (or rather something..) responded. “You have chosen the wrong choice.” It was a dark demonic voice. After that phrase, I heard my mother scream. I heard a chainsaw in the background. “No, that can’t be..” I whisper to myself. The call drops. “Oh, but it is..” I turn around. The demonic voice was recognizable. It was the same beast that had just murdered my mother during the call. “What do you..” The beast puts his finger to my lips. “Shh, this will only kill you.” I hear the chainsaw. The beast blindfolds me with a bandana. “Sweet dreams, pretty face.” I feel the chainsaw slowly cut through my neck. The pain grows fast. I scream for half a second, then close my eyes. “That’s a good girl.” Those were the last words I heard. I quickly died, without suffering. But I still have a few questions. Who was that? No, WHAT was that? But most importantly, WHY was that? I will never know.

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