For those pastas that are smelling less than fresh…

August 14, 2015
by derpbutt

Liberty Memorial Academy

Now, you’ve just read the title to this, and you are most likely thinking “Fantastic. Another one of those ‘academy mystery’ things right? Wrong.

When I was eleven, I was recruited to go to Liberty Memorial Academy. This place was a military school in the middle of fucking nowhere. Now, I have to tell you that this wasn’t your average school for bad kids. Hell, I can assure you, before going to that school everyone there had perfect records, gifted students even. Anyway, it was really old and really big. The original school itself had been a monument to honor 19 civil war soldiers who had died. Every year, ten people from schools all over the country were picked to join. You had to display certain traits, to be chosen. Even after months of digging, I still haven’t found out just what those traits were.

At the age of thirteen, I was promoted to the position of student corporal. This was an honor which gave you privileges other students didn’t have, like leaving the school grounds, dyeing your hair, wearing a nicer uniform. It was great, and I fun with it, until I was called upon. One rainy day in the middle of April, we were out running drills when I was told to run into the mess hall and grab a sword that had been left in there by a higher-ranking officer. I did, but as soon as I ran in, I felt something was very, very wrong. The lights were dim, and the curtains were drawn. I looked around for the sword, not moving from directly in front of the door. I tried to rationalize the situation and willed myself to step further in the large room. I located the sword, lying on a rolled-up wrestling mat near to the back door. I turned on a whim, only to see the lights come on in the kitchen area, flicker, and stay on only long enough for me to view the silhouette of a man, dressed in black, but not any type of uniform. At this point, I was shaking, and I sprinted out the back, barely grabbing the sword. A friend of mine, another commander, saw me in utter terror and asked me if I was okay. I told her I wasn’t, but I knew how crazy I would sound, so I dropped the issue.

Things after this seemed to die down, only long enough for me to feel safe going places alone again. This time it was somewhere around two in the morning, and I had gone out to the roof with a few friends, just to hang out, as tomorrow was the day Night School would commence. Night School was when we would train and run drills all day, and do classes at night, sleeping when it was absolutely necessary. Anyway, we were up there, goofing off and being teenage idiots, when I heard a sound that haunts me to this day. It was a sort of creaking, groaning noise, almost as if someone was opening a huge ass old door and hacking at it with an ax. One of the girls screamed, and the two others held their hands over her mouth. I was the only one who had thought to bring any sort of weapon, but even then it was only my dagger. I motioned for them to move, and hide behind one of the skylights. The sound had come from the access door, and I knew we were pretty fucked. I walked stealthily towards it, barely breathing. Suddenly, I was violently pushed aside, and thrown across the roof. I landed hard, my head slamming into the concrete. My vision was swimming, my hands didn’t do what I wanted them to. According to Onyx, the girl who screamed, the only reason I’m not dead is because I hit the skylight, and was stopped from rolling off the roof. Another of the girls up there, Ellie, wasn’t as fortunate. The thing, whatever it was, grabbed her as she tried to shield Onyx and Lydia, and threw her off the roof. She lived, but was in ICU for an entire month. At the time Ellie was thrown, Onyx grabbed my dagger, and stabbed the darkening shape. There was a demonic scream, a gust of wind, and it was gone. Later, I found that this is because my dagger was pure iron, and that will do wonders to angry spirits.

After this event occurred, Onyx, Lydia, and I were called into the headmasters office. Assuming he wanted an explanation, I spoke. “Monsieur, what happened on the roof tonight-” he cut me off.
“I do not want an explanation. Let me guess. A dark shape, that of a man, attacked you with intentions to kill?” I was surprised at this, wondering how and why and what the hell was going on here.
“Yes, M.”
“You are never to speak of what I am about to tell you girls. If you do, you will be charged with insanity and attempted murder.” At this point, I was like ‘I want answers but do I really want to deal with this’, so I nodded.
“As you know, this institution was built in memorial to nineteen soldiers who lost their lives, fighting for the North in the civil war. What you may not know, is that there was a twentieth soldier who was supposed to be recognized. His name was Arthur Press. He was a valiant soldier who did more than his part in the war. But he was not recognized because of how he died. There was a fight that broke out between some of the soldiers in Arthur’s company. He attempted to step in, but was pushed out of the way. He stepped in once again, before on of the more irate soldiers knocked him out. Believing him dead and realizing the problem they had on their hands, they drug him out to the woods, and needless to say, he was dishonored.”

I know you’d like me to tell you I got out of that school, that things no longer went bad, but I’m running out of room and time. Something is making that same creaking-ax noise outside my door, my roommate won’t wake up, and I’m pretty sure my door won’t hold much longer, so thank you, and goodnight. And please, please, if you ever find yourself being told there is a school in the middle of nowhere that no-one you know has heard of, turn it down. Break your cell, leave your house, just stay the hell away, you don’t have to die.
Credit To – A friend, telling you to never join Liberty Memorial Academy

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August 14, 2015
by derpbutt

Cinema 13

I used to be an urban explorer. Someone who likes to explore abandoned places.

That stopped two years ago.

It all involved the abandoned Palace Multiplex on Lafayette Street.

This was a huge state-of-the-art theatre complex built in 2006. Twenty-one screens on two floors. It had digital projectors. A fairly new technology at the time.

The first floor housed the lobby, ticket area, a full-service restaurant, and a snack bar. There were also ten auditoriums on this floor, plus two sets of washrooms.

The second floor had eleven auditoriums with a snack bar, and two sets of washrooms.

You can imagine how big this place was.

Then, in 2012, only six years after opening, the place shut down. No warning, nothing. People went one night for a good night at the movies, only to find the place shuttered.

An interesting note about this complex. The builders were obviously not superstitious, because they had a Cinema 13.

However, they had problems getting people into it. Nobody wanted to watch a film in Cinema 13.

Management had a “cure” for the problem. They tried to scratch out or remove the “1″ and the “3″ from after the word “Cinema” on all the signs that referenced it. What they ended up with was, “Cinema 13″

Anyway, about two years ago, I wanted to explore this place so badly, since it had been abandoned for over a year.

It was on Lafayette Street just two blocks south of Wilmington Avenue. It was the only commercial building on that street, since all the others were warehouses and light industry.

It took the ‘18 Lafayette’ bus to the location.

It was just past 10 PM, and that was the last bus. Since the theatres closed, there was no more need for late-night bus service. I will figure out how to get home later.

I walked across the parking area, surprised that the building still had electricity. The parking area, and parts of the building, were still brightly illuminated.

There was graffiti all over the outside, and the main entrance doors were smashed.

That is a good thing. It will be easy to get in.

Upon entering the lobby and ticket area, the first thing I noticed was how immaculate the place was inside. It was so tidy. It looked like it was ready to re-open at any time.

There were still candies and chocolates in the display cases at the snack bar. I was surprised that the teenagers had not stolen it.

I looked up at the boards that display what films were showing. Twenty-one boards, for twenty-one theatres, including Cinema 13 .

They were still sort-of working. I mean, they were on, but the displays were erratic. Mostly displaying symbols and parts of letters and numbers.

One display board stood out, however.

It was the one for Cinema 13. It stood out because the time for the next show was an actual time, and not gibberish. As a matter-of-fact, the time displayed was 10:45, but the title panel above just displayed something in another language, “Lassen Sie en Dämon”.

I looked at my watch, and it was 10:36.

Interesting. This “movie” was starting in nine minutes.


The building did have an odd layout, though. To get to the second floor, you had to walk to the end of the first floor. That meant passing all of the ten auditoriums on that floor. I am not really sure of the reason for that.

That was fine, as I wanted to explore anyway. However, trying all the doors to all the cinemas, I found that they were all locked.

I found my way to the stairs, and headed up to the second floor, and to the other eleven cinemas.

I had found that these auditoriums were also locked.

When I was ready to pack it in, and turn around to go home, I noticed something ahead.

One of the auditorium doors was ajar.

I walked up to it, and noticed the sign above the door right away. It was Cinema 13.

Interesting how this was the only auditorium left open, and that it was the only one that had a start time. Which was in two minutes.

I thought the whole thing was kind of silly, but curiosity got to me. I wanted to see what was happening in that auditorium.

I slowly pulled the door all the way open, and walked in.

As I made my way up the ramp, I did not notice anything at all unusual about it. It looked just like your standard movie theatre.

As expected, there was no one else there, so I took the best seat. Right in the middle of the theatre.

After a couple of minutes, and right on time, the lights dimmed, and the screen came alive.

At first, nothing unusual. Some left-over ads and trailers from 2012. Probably accidentally left in the projector.

Then a “Feature Presentation” stinger came on.

After that, the screen went dark for what seemed a rather long time.

Then, suddenly, a picture came on.

It was…me…sitting there in the middle of the empty theatre. As if a camera was pointed directly at me.

Every move I made, was mimicked on the screen, as if I was looking into a giant mirror.

Then, I heard the door to the theatre open.

Too afraid to look at who was coming up the ramp, I stared directly at the screen.

What I saw made me jump half-way to the ceiling.

Making its way into the auditorium, was a large, dark creature, with glowing red eyes.

It was so dark, I could not make out its features. Except for those eyes. Those horrible red eyes.

The creature turned the corner, and started up the stairs, as if looking for a seat.

I had to look.

There was nothing there.

I turned my attention back to the “movie”, and there it was.

It walked slowly, and seated itself, in the seat right directly behind me.

Terrified to look, but I just had to.

Sure enough. There was nothing.

Then, I heard the door creak open again, and two more of there “things” entered.

They also found seats in the theatre.

They kept coming, and sitting throughout the once empty theatre.

Until, I was surrounded by them.

The theatre was now full of them, but only in the “movie”. When I looked around, I was alone.

Then I heard an awful scream,

lLoud. A woman. It was coming from all around me.

It was coming from the theatre’s sound system, Every speaker, was this horrible scream.

I had just about enough of this.

I took off out of that place as fast as I could.

I headed up the street to Wilmington Avenue.

There was an all-night bus I could catch that would get me…away from there.

After just a few minutes, the bus came, but it stoped about a half-block away from the stop.

The driver got out to get a coffee at the 24-hour coffee shop.

I figured I would walk over to meet the bus.

He had left the door open, so I just boarded. I had a pass, and figured that if he wanted to see it, he would ask.

The bus was empty, so I made my way to the back.

Relieved that I was finally getting away from there, I picked up a newspaper someone had left on the seat next to me.

Engulfed in an interesting article, I did not notice the driver re-enter the bus, but I did notice it start to move.

After about twenty minutes, we came to a stop that was close to my house.

I rang the bell, to indicate a stop.

The bus driver passed the stop.

I was a bit annoyed, so I started to walk to the front of the bus to ask the driver why he didn’t stop.

On my way, I glanced up at the driver’s mirror, and what I saw horrified me.

It was the reflection of a dark creature, with glowing red eyes.

I did make it home, otherwise I would not be telling you this now.

However, ever since that night, I have been seeing those creatures everywhere.
Credit To – Paul B.

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August 14, 2015
by derpbutt
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Another Lonely Night

Arizona isn’t a place where you would want to live. You would only go there if your family got new jobs there or if you couldn’t afford to live anywhere else. Ali Molina is an example of that. My father died in a car accident when I was six, and my mother has been depressed ever since. She went through years of therapy but it was all in vain. She would never be the same. Meanwhile my older cousin Felix decided to take me in. He just flunked out of college, but he was determined to get me all the support I needed.
My name is Todd by the way. Todd Burns. I have long, jet-black hair and green eyes. I play guitar from time to time but prefer reading. I was born in Vermont, but I don’t remember anything about it. My family and I only lived there for about three months anyway. I spent most of my life in Austin, Texas before the accident. And just two months ago my cousin and I moved to Ali Molina. Now, Ali Molina isn’t exactly popular. There are only 71 people (including ourselves) living here and most of the people live away from each other.
Ali Molina is unincorporated, so we have to fend for ourselves. Ali Molina is such a small town that it doesn’t even have a Wikipedia page. I know that anyone can edit it, but there’s a reason there isn’t one. And that’s because there’s nothing in Ali Molina. Nothing but run-down houses and desert mountains. My cousin and I live three miles away from our closest neighbor. But even so, he doesn’t like us. We call him Piss Poor Pete. That’s because he lives in a miserable shack and drank his own urine in place of water.
That was the only time we ever visited him. So I guess he doesn’t matter in our lives. Felix, my cousin, has a job as short order cook. Our car is a run-down Bentley that my aunt gave to him when he was 18. I’m 16 at the time and I sure don’t want it two years from now. So you may be wondering how the two of us get by without any other people around. Well my cousin has to take a 45 minute drive to the diner every day except for Sundays. With his job he’s pretty busy, so he can’t take me to school. The nearest school is 30 miles away and it seems like a mess from the internet.
I simply use a homeschooling website that only costs ten dollars a month. Most of the things on there are easy, so I just breeze through them and go on my way. I learn a lot more from all the books I have and videos on the internet than that website. Anyway, you’re probably wondering by now about why I’m talking about all of this. It’s not because I feel like getting it out or anything. It’s because of what happened that night. It was all fairly normal until that night. Another lonely night.
I didn’t have any friends other than my cousin. In fact, he was the only other person I had talked to for two straight months. That may not seem like a lot of time but it is in Ali Molina. Sure I played MMORPGS with other people on the internet, but that wasn’t much. I was lonely and depressed living in a desolate world with only books and a computer to pass the time. The only people I could rely on were my loser cousin and a faraway lunatic. In other words I was screwed.
I was so desperate for something to happen that I began praying. Ali Molina is a very sacred land by the way. It’s history is largely unknown, but the Native Americans believed it to be the home of some powerful spirit of sorts. When I first heard about this I was determined to finding out what it was and why it was so important to the natives. So I researched day and night but there was nothing. Not a trace of this mysterious entity. Nothing, I mean, nothing at all. And so I decided to research praying and native religion instead. I was so desperate that I figured using the ancient methods may just work.
And so I began to chant. I managed to learn bits and pieces of the ancient native language, just enough to help me with my mission. I chanted constantly with no one to hear it. I could scream to the top of my lungs with chanting. Surprisingly the chanting worked. I didn’t attract any spiritual figure but it made me feel different. I felt a strange satisfaction from the chanting. A freedom if you will. And this freedom was what allowed me to continue my search for the mystery messiah.
A week had passed and that night had come. My cousin Felix was leaving for work as usual when he told me something that changed my life. “Hey Todd, you haven’t been chanting at all have you?” How could he know when he was gone the entire time? I hid my surprise and asked him what gave him that idea. “Well, if anything happens, just play this message I sent you on your phone alright?” I simply nodded. The look he gave me before leaving was a look of sorrow and regret somewhat. It confused me at the time, but now I know. Now I know.
A little while later he gave me a call and told me that he would be a little late coming home. I told him that it was alright and I would just cook something for myself. He told me to make sure no one got into the house. That was the first sign of danger. Felix never said anything like that. There weren’t any people so there wouldn’t be any robbers, right? I told him that I understood and he hung up. I sat down on my bed and noticed that I was shaking. Felix wasn’t in trouble was he?
He had hung up so quickly that I couldn’t ask what was wrong. So instead I had that thought lingering in my mind. Haunting me. And then it happened. I was working on cracking the native mystery when I heard a loud crash. It was coming from the back of the house. I got up and crawled into the hallway. As I walked the lights began to dimmer. They kept blinking. On and off, on and off. Over and over again. And the lights burst and I was in complete darkness. Complete darkness that gave me the chills.
I looked around and tried to adjust my eyes. I pushed my long hair out of my eyes and my night vision kicked in. There were hard footsteps coming from the kitchen. My house was tiny, so it wouldn’t be difficult to find the intruder. I grabbed a baseball bat and snuck into the kitchen. I was hiding behind a counter, just on the other side was the intruder. I was nervous. My heart was pounding furiously, sweat was beading from my skin, chills ran down my spine. I knew that I had to act there and now. And so I leapt up and struck the intruder with the bat.
And then it happened. There was a sickening snap and I fell back in pain. My right arm was burning as though it had been stuck in lava. My ribs were numb and I started to scream with pure pain. The bat was on the floor beside me. It had shattered and the wood was completely splintered. It was then when I noticed the intruder. He was standing directly in front of me. He is nearly impossible to describe. If I were to attempt it, I feel as though the effect would be lessened no matter what. I guess I’ll leave it up to you to imagine him. But don’t imagine an ordinary man. No, imagine a demon. Something that gouges out eyes, something that would stab a thousand needles into your skin just for fun. Just imagine the epitome of all evil.
It looked at me with a pleased and curious expression. It was just as odd as the creature. It suited the beast. The pain was drifting away and I realized I had to take action. I had very little time to think, so I resorted to running. I leapt up once more and darted out the back door. I thrust my legs forward with each step. I could have beaten the Olympics with the speed I was going.
All I wanted was for something to happen. I sat through two straight months of staring at the walls. Counting all of the bathroom tiles. Listening to the deafening silence of this purgatory. I had had enough and needed something, anything to occur. And let me say this my friends. Be careful what you wish for. Thoughts raced through my head, faster than I was running. I knew that this creature was the mystery messiah that the natives found sacred. I had summoned him with the chanting of course. But I didn’t know anything else.
` This demon was after me and I had to get help. But Felix was missing and the only other person that came to mind was Piss Poor Pete. He was insane but also my only chance at survival. As soon as I came to this conclusion I noticed his shack in viewing distance. It was pretty far away, but at least I could see it. And that was when my legs gave out. Something had kicked me from behind.
The force of the kick sent me flying down the hill and onto all the rocks and shrubs. My skin was scraped and torn open in parts. Blood trickled, then poured from my many wounds. It was too much to take in at once. But then I turned around and saw the person responsible. It was Piss Poor Pete to my surprise. “What are you doing here city boy”, he demanded in a heavy southern accent. He had three teeth missing but that wasn’t relevant. I saw the creature coming down the hill and only pointed.
My hand quivered and my voice was feeble but I managed to give a warning. “He’s… coming…. To kill you…” My arm fell from exhaustion and I could only watch now. Pete turned around just in time to see the beast. He aimed his shotgun and fired. The bullet shattered the creatures left ribs and it howled in pain. My insides erupted with pain. Blood squirted from my ears and onto the hard dirt and rocks around me. Pete covered his, but blood trickled down his arms.
“Come on over here and fight me like a true man you filthy demon”, he cried as he took aim once more. It was all in vain. The creature then lunged forward and inserted his daggered nails into Pete’s chest. They stuck all the way through as Peter moaned. One swipe later and Pete’s head fell next to mine. A look of extreme pain and horror forever etched onto his face. My wounds worsened with every beat of my heart. It was like a time bomb set to explode at any given time.
They say in life-threatening situations that the human mind boosts its own intelligence no matter what. I can say that that statement is one-hundred percent true. I realized that I had brought the demon here via chanting. In my desperation I decided that in order to get rid of it, I would have to play the chanting in reverse. Then Felix’s words hit me. I pulled out my phone and managed to hit play recent messages before everything turned fuzzy. The last thing I heard was the reversed chanting. It was eerie and comforting all at once. It was confusing.
The last thing I saw before blacking out was the beast bursting with blood. Black blood splattered everywhere and onto me. It was warm and pulsating. Its feelings consumed me and I passed out on the spot.
I woke up in the hospital two days later. The doctors found my mother and we decided to move back to Vermont together. She had gotten a whole lot better from her therapy. She was ready to start a new life. We attended Pete’s funeral. It was depressing; we were the only ones there. Peter was a rather antisocial man who lived in that miserable shack for most of his life. Everything was better since then except for one thing. It was about Felix. When the police examined the crime scene, they saw a body in front of where I was. It was covered in black blood. It was my older cousin Felix. He was dead with a look of regret and sorrow frozen on his face forever.

Credit To – Regan J. Divar

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August 11, 2015
by derpbutt

The Photographer

There is a legend so they say on the dark corners of the internet. It is based on man, whose name is lost in the records of history. A photographer by trade in the 1950’s in Minneapolis, and not very successful. He seemed like a normal person with his dark suits, fedoras, and his camera; working odd jobs to feed his habit of photography. However, the story takes an odd twist as the photographer had a darker addiction with his photography.He murdered to fuel his desire to capture the essence of death. Leaving a city plagued by fear, and causing paranoia to cripple society. As instantly it started the murders and taunting photos disappeared. There is many theories that exist if the photographer simply died, vanished, or never existed. The photographer’s work displayed the primal of humans, and their relation with animals; each victim shared no connection to the original murders.

Yet, 65 years later from the original murders there still persist a fear. New murders have been occurring in the same matter by the photographer, and photos leak the internet. There is no connection between each victims. Most theorist come to terms with copycat murders because each murder has no geological location; for example one happened in Syracuse, New York as the next one took place in Boise, Idaho. Another theory that is floating out on the web is the photographer’s curse. The user states each photo has a curse attached to them, and will lead to death if you view the work. If a person views the work the photographer will slowly plague you with fear, and ultimately lead to death.

This user continues that the symptoms start with an intense sense of paranoia. The feeling of being watched and followed will be the first sign. Then it turns into seeing the photographer in your everyday life, and showing up in your personal life. He made an example about “Mary” from the mid 90’s that she saw a photo, and noted that the photographer would show up at her job as a secretary; he manipulated the situation and hide his true intention around everyone else. The photographer would blend into the scenery to snare his victim. The third sign would be the photographer interacting with your family,and taking pictures of them. Slowly by proxy your family and friends will be plagued by issues but not death. Finally after causing a great deal of stress and paranoia. The photographer comes at the time of 3:33 to collect your soul and your life.

Your life keeps the photographer’s curse continuing. Nobody knows if he is demonic, or a vengeful spirit. What seems eerie the fact he has never aged, but looks the same as he did in the 1950’s. What he is will never be understood or even explained. Avoid these photos, and do not allow curiosity to be your death. If you do succumb to your desire or infatuation do so at your own risk.

Credit To – A.T Lecy
Credit Link – [email protected]

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August 11, 2015
by derpbutt
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The Man with a Roosters Foot

This took place December 2007 In Guasave Sinaloa Mexico. Though I wasn’t present while this happened I was told about it almost a year after.

My grandmother use to visit once a year. Usually around the holidays. Traveled two days on bus, to come see us from Mexico. Now, let me start by saying that my grandmother isn’t into the whole “scary story” thing. I mean, even as kids when we left our toy snakes or bugs laying around you’d hear her scream to get these “things” away from her.

My grandmother told me this story; when she came that year. Being Mexican you would hear many ghost stories and folklore like “La Llorona” (The Weeping Women) and you grew up being scared of “El Cucuy”. Listening to my grandmother talk about this was different to me and has stuck to me since.

Two of my cousins spent a lot of time playing foosball at “Don Manuel’s” small store. Local’s loved this place because of his amazing “Raspados” (Shaved Ice), but both Emilio and Juan weren’t there for that or even the old foosball table. They were there because it was a great place for tourist.

Robbing tourist was there way to pay expenses. The small town knew what these two were up too when they approached an unsuspected tourist, but no one would say anything. They were fatal thieves, and it would never end well for a local that would interfere with their depredations.

a few days before Christmas, a man walked into “Don Manuel’s” wearing gold chains, rings on every other finger, bracelets on each hand, high-priced clothing, and expensive snake skinned boots. A major mark for both Emilio and Juan, but before they attempted anything they would have to observe the man closely. There was a high possibility being clothed in that matter, that he was a major drug trafficker or as we would call them “Malandrin”.

Sinaloa, being a home to one of the largest drug cartels in Mexico, it was not uncommon seeing such an appearance. But robbing a “Malandrin” would only get them killed, so my cousins listened mindfully as he talked to the locals. Discovering that he was not from here. According to the man he was on a business trip as his father was an owner of a large agricultural chemical company. Relieving for my cousins to discover this; it was also an opportunity for a wealthy abduction.

Though still very suspicious of the man’s appearance, my cousins approached him. They talked very little before he mentioned if they did “Foco”. The man was around my cousin’s age and asking about “Foco” was a very common request. “Foco” is a slang term for smoking Crystal Meth out of a light bulb and the most prominent thing to do at the time. My Grandma would tell me that most neighborhood houses would no longer have porch lights due to this growing obsession. Still apprehensive about this man, my cousins took this as an excuse to take him out of the store and into their home.

Walking the man out first from “Don Manuel’s, Juan would turn around to see if anybody was watching or following them. Like mentioned, everyone would mind their own when it comes to Emilio’s and Juan’s dealings, but this time everybody present was staring at their flaky exit with unease.

Getting into Emilio’s truck, Juan comments to the man that they were going to stop by a friends to get the “Foco” . The man acknowledges with a nod, and Emilio asks him if he would like to ride with them? Without hesitation he agrees once more. There was no sign of tension in the man’s voice when asked to do certain actions, made Emilio and Juan uneasy, but at the same time certain that this man was addicted to “Foco” building an easy and quite valuable hit.

My grandmother remembers watching Emilio’s truck pull up to her neighbor’s house. Juan, steps out and heads inside. The town is small and everyone knows each other, making it very hard for strangers to fit in. My grandmother’s neighbor was Juan’s grandmother. The man didn’t know that and was made to believe it was some local drug dealer’s house. He sat in the back of the truck waiting, as Emilio spoke to him.

My grandma sweeping the front, sees a man in the back of the truck. Before getting a chance to look at him, the man tilts his hat forward to cover his face. She stood still to conceive who it was, and with a loud “Pop” the light bulbs all around the house burnt out. She was not the only one to experience this. The moment the truck drove in with the man onboard the whole block was encountering this odd event.

Juan walks out with his older brother, and they both jump into the truck. Making it seem as a drug deal Juan’s older brother sits in the back. The drugs and the money are exchanged. Juan’s older brother begins to conversate and asks to join them, but the man quickly says “no”. Without a pause Juan’s older brother steps out of the truck and right back into the house. Not a second thought or goodbye before he got out the truck, leaving Emilio and Juan staring at each other from the unusual behavior.

By the time my grandmother walked back out from checking all the light bulbs, they were already gone. The man was now heading to Emilio’s house, where they planned to keep him hostage. They were both playing it very cool with him, but had their uncertainties as this was the first time they ever attempted something unstable. At that, the conspicuous man’s presence and behavior was not easy to bear with since the start. Sitting right behind Juan in the truck the man didn’t speak much, but both of them kept him occupied to keep suspicions they thought would arise low.

Most Catholic Hispanic and Latino families will have a mural of a religious figure at a corner of there house. Emilio had one for the ”Virgencita” The Virgin Mary. It’s a very praised mural and one of the most prevailing. When my cousins were walking into Emilios home the mural stood right by the door. Causing the man to stop at the front door. The man would rub his throat focused on the mural saying it’s “too hot” inside as his skin turned pale. Then says he would rather sit outside as he turns his back on the mural. Thinking nothing of it Emilio gives Juan a nod; Juan knew what it stood for and walked outside. Passing by the mural, Emilio slides his hand over it to make the sign of the cross, but stops as his hand is soaked in what seems to be water. Describing the abnormal sight as sweat running down the mural.

Juan and the man laugh and reminisce outside as they fill their lungs with Foco. Emilio steps out from the house and the man’s laughter stops as he sees him holding up a hand gun. Juan stands up off the chair dropping the Foco and slowly walks behind Emilio. The man tensley asks them to relax picking the broken light bulb off the ground as a nervous reaction. Emilio now shouting demands, blares to the man to stop moving or he will shoot. He hands duct tape to Juan telling him to tie the man down to the lawn chair, but Juan is terror-stricken at what he sees.

While attempting to tie the man’s feet first, Juan catches a glimpse of a roosters foot and the other of a goats. Trembling he falls back scrambling at the sight. Emilio is stunned, when the man slowly stands up altering his appearance. The gold chains he wore were now strings with teeth and flesh hanging from it, he’s bracelets on each hand were not made out of bone and fingers, the high-priced clothing he wore were worn and discolored, and the expensive snake skinned boots were replaced with a roosters and a goat’s foot.

Emilio and Juan were paralyzed at the man’s new manifestation. “Both of you don’t know me” said the man. His voice profound and darker. “But I know the both of you very well.” he said walking forward. “ I have watched the both of you for a very long time and I’m not impressed” . The man continued talking as he walked off of the property. Emilio and Juan were unable to move with nothing to do or say other then watch and listen fearfully at what the man had to say. “I will be back, in six years.” finished the man as he disappeared into the dirt roads.

According the Juan’s grandmother which told my grandmother the story they were both found a week later inside Emilio’s house facing down on the laminate floor. Both being hospitalized for what the doctors claimed as “overdoses”. Emilio was deaf for a month after that incident and Juan was kept in the hospital for seven months due to him going blind.

My grandmother passed away last year due to health complications. We all loved her and is missed very much.

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August 11, 2015
by derpbutt

The 10 Floors

I coughed into my sleeve. Cold night. My nose is super runny, my eyes are all watery, and on top of that i’m freezing. On nights like this, I really question myself on why I still work as a security cop for this hospital.

“Hey Scott” My walkie screeched.

I rolled my eyes, I already knew who it was. Don. My “fellow security guard”. its funny, he’s more like my over weight lazy child who never wants to do anything. Of course, I then have to do everything while he simply watches the cameras.

“What is it now, Donnie boy”

“I just got a complaint from a nurse on the top floor, she said her patient keep hearing crying from the roof. They said, it sounds like a little girl.”

“What?” I furrowed my brow. That didn’t make any sense. Nobody has access to the top roof except for the maintenance workers, and last I checked, none of them were little girls.

static blared through the walkie.

“Say again, Don”. I said into my walkie.

“Just ………*static* …. and *static* ,,,, “

I smacked my walkie. The walls in this hospital cause these walkies to barely work at all.

“forget it, i’m just going to check it out. I’m freezing my tits off out here in the front anyway.” I spoke into the walkie.

Nothing but static replied to me.

Call me crazy, but I could’ve sworn I could hear a little girl’s voice over the static. I couldn’t understand what it said, but It sure sounded like a girl.

I walked into the front of the hospital and immediately enjoyed the warmth of the hospital air. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that much warmer, but at this point, i’ll take anything i can get.

I pushed my way into the staircases that lead to the roof. Normally, I would take the elevator, but right now i need to get warmer somehow.

“I hate these stairs” I mumbled to myself as I opened the door. The door creaked open, showing the dimly lit staircases leading up to the roof. The stairs were dirty, smudged from all dirt on the bottom of people’s shoes. the railing rusted, and the walls were what I’d imagine the inside of a sewer pipe would look like. The dim lighting created an extremely erie feeling as soon as you walk in. The brightest thing in the path was the large “Exit” sign on the top of each floor entrances.

I began walking up the stairs, hearing every footstep I took. My dark gloves damp from the wet railing.

“That doesn’t even make any sense.” i had a confused look. “This railing shouldn’t even be wet.”

I peered at the number next to the door on the floor I just stepped onto, ‘Floor 2’

I turned to walk up higher, I hear a giggle. I instantly flipped around to see behind me. Nothing.

Maybe… I just heard it in my head. Yeah, that’s it. I just let what don said get to me.

I kept walking up the stairs, ‘Floor 3’.

The stairs… don’t feel right. They feel, curved. The railing feels taller. The staircase feels, smaller, more hallow. This cant be right. all I see is the exit sign. The dim, dark red, exit sign glowing in the distance.

I shook my head, this is just in my head, I probably just had too much caffeine from trying to stay warm.

‘Floor 4’,

My breathe isn’t right, I feel like i’m barely breathing correctly, it’s taking all of the energy I have to just breathe. The steps i’m taking on every step is wearing out on me. its dark. I can barely see in front of me. Where is the exit, WHERE IS THE EXIT?!

I can barely see the red. I don’t see any letters, just a blurred red, BUT WHERE IS THE DOOR?! I’m feeling all around the wall under the sign and I CAN’T FEEL THE DOOR!

I’m breathing extremely heavy now. All I can do is walk up, now. There is nothing left I can do. I have to get to the roof. I have to get to the roof, but THESE STAIRS. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE STAIRS!?

‘Floor 5’

I can’t see anything anymore. I’m weak. Everything is pitch black. these stairs are uneven, curvy, slippery. My mind is hearing things. I hear a little girl crying. I can barely make out a red light in the distance of what i can only assume is the exit sign. The handrail… I don’t even feel it anymore. I’m not even sure it’s even there. It’s too far away. I’m crawling up these stairs. my walkie is nothing but static.

… But that crying… God… that crying… help me… My only hope is the roof.. I need to get to the roof…

‘Floor 6’

I’m yelling for help but no one hears me.. My mind is gone.. my eyes cant see anything… This crying is so loud that it’s hurting my ears… The barely visible red… That exit sign… it looks like a red dot now… i’m not even sure if it’s the exit sign anymore.. It might just be my imagination…

I thought I might have been dreaming, so I started banging my head on the floor to wake myself up… I cant wake up! SOMEONE WAKE ME UP!!!!

‘Floor 7’

Blood.. So much blood… Behind me is a wall…. the wall moves forward as I move forward pushing me up these stairs… I’m bleeding all over from biting myself, pinching myself, My bottom lip is so injured that i can’t even open my mouth to breathe without pouring out a waterfall of blood.. my hands are so blistered from crawling up these stairs that i’m in unbearable pain from just placing my hands down to crawl forward any further.

This little girl crying… has now changed… Now she’s saying “La La La” to the nursery rhyme ‘Mary had a little lamb’. That voice she has, it’s so, angelic. WHY IS SHE DOING THIS TO ME?!

‘Floor 8’

“WHY?!” I gurgled. Blood pouring out of my mouth.

How long have I been on these stairs? How long have I been lamely scraping my body to the top of these stairs?

My eyes feel swollen, like if I had 2 black eyes. My hands bloody and bruised. I don’t think I can carry on.

leaning on the wall next to me. using all of my strength to lift my hand. I feel the ‘8’ signifying that i’m on the 8th floor. I feel as if i’ve been stuck here for months. Years. Decades.

This damn child won’t with her damn “LA LA LA”s i’m going mad. I’m pulling out my hair trying to get her out of my head. SHES SO LOUD. My ears feel as though they are bleeding.

“Just 2 more floors. Just 2 more floors” tears flowed as I cry those words out. I can’t stop now. I can’t stop. I have to get to the roof. I will live. It’s not as though i have a choice anyway, this wall behind me won’t let me go anywhere. I have nowhere to go but up. My throat is so dry, i need water. I need water.

‘Floor 9’

I hear laughter. Her laughter.

“Come on” She laughed. “You’re almost there.”

“AHHHHHHHHHH!!” I yelled angrily. She will not taunt me any more.

“I WILL MAKE IT TO THIS ROOF AND I WILL FIND YOU!” I point my now deformed fingers up at what I assumed was up, my swollen shut eyes following.

I now had a sudden burst of energy. 1 more floor. 1 more floor. I’m sprinting up these stair now. I will make it. I will live.

‘Floor 10’

I cried as I reached the floor. Tears fell harder and harder, I could barely breathe in between my stammering tears. I’m just bawling “I made it, I made it”

The exit sign is right there. Glowing. The ‘Floor 10’ sign right next to the door to the roof. That beautiful door.

There is a little girl in front of the door. head facing down, I can’t see her face. Her long blonde hair flowing down to the back of her knees. She’s standing facing the door, barely the tall enough to reach the door’s handle.

She giggled.

I reached for her. my arms, too weak to grab on. I just fell back down.

“Awe you found me” I can hear her saying.

I’m pushing myself to stand. Barely holding my own balance. I reach for her shoulders. Ready to beat the living daylight’s out of her. How dare she do this to me. How dare she ruin me. How dare she ruin my life, my mind, my spirit. She broke me. She will pay.

I grab her shoulders and I’m yelling “ARE YOU READY TO PLAY!?”

Her head then spun a full 180 degree’s to face me, her body not moving. Her eyes are bright read. Her teeth jagged and looked like shark teeth, her nose was nothing but 2 black hole horizontal to each other.

Her voice turned into a deep demonic male tone


I just woke up on a hard dirty floor. My eyesight is back. My hands are no longer deformed and blood.

I jump to my feet and I rejoiced!

My heart just dropped and My soul broke as I saw what was ahead of me.

A dark, dirty staircase, and dimly lit ‘exit sign’ with a door under it, the sign next to the door saying ‘Floor 1’.

Credit To – Drapt

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August 11, 2015
by derpbutt


I had remembered my childhood better than most normally do. Especially when I was eight years old. I felt like I was a normal child. The only thing that was different was my imaginary friend. I mean, sure. Everyone has or had imaginary friends, but not the same as mine. His name was Derrek, he was a little six or seven year old. He always wore black and had a mask on.

No matter how lonely I was, he was always more lonely. When ever I had gotten upset, he was more upset and angry. At the time I didn’t know what an imaginary friend was, I thought he was real. I thought all of them were real. It was also hard to understand when my teachers told me that there was no one there, but I always pointed them out. They were real.

It was a weird week overall. My family grew silent all the time, Derrek said that it was because the bad man took a friend of mine. At the time I didn’t understand what that meant. Was there a problem? Did he get lost on the way home and someone accidently got him? No one talked about it until school started again from Easter break.

School started with a substitute, Mrs. Granger. Everyone was careful around her, no one spoke up when they weren’t suppose too. We were quiet. That was until she brought up the boy that had been caught by the ‘bad man’. It was very confusing as to what she was saying. “He took him, like he did my nephew.” A tear slipped down her face. Even then I was surprised that Derrek was quiet.

Not only quiet. When I was watching him, his skin was whiter than chalk. His black clothes were changed into ripped up jeans and a button down shirt that had red stains on it. Jagged marks filled with dirt on his arms and legs. Rope tied around his neck. He was sobbing.

But it wasn’t a normal boy sob, it was a screech, followed by tears of what looked like blood. The longer it went on, the louder it got. The lights started flickering, a few popped and exploded, causing the other kids to scream. Mrs. Granger stared wide. “Derrek stop! This is too much!” I had to yell at him to stop.

Everything stopped, leaving a few crying kids. Derrek looked at me, eyes black. “Save him!” He yelled loudly, causing me to jump. Soon after, Derrek disappearing before he told me that the boy was in a basement on Dreary Street. Suddenly Mrs. Granger had gotten up, standing in front of me.

“Jacob… Did you just yell for Derrek?” She had calmly stated. It was weird how she had asked me. “Yes, he was yelling too loud and causing the lights to flicker.” She looked at me with big eyes and covered her mouth, almost like she had discovered something.

“What does he look like?” She had asked once more, as a response telling her to detail what he looked like.

“Jacob, Derrek died twelve years ago… He was kidnapped by a guy that still hasn’t been found.” I was terrified to know this. That I knew Derrek was real, but he wasn’t a kid? He was gone? It got to me.

“Jacob, do you know anything about Derrek’s kidnapper? Do you know anything at all?” She had almost been in tears. “Yes, he told me the boy and the kidnapped was in a basement on Dreary Street. Derrek yelled at me to save him.”

All I remember after that was that she called the police. The boy was found and the bad man was caught.

I haven’t seen Derrek since that day, but I experience rather odd phenomena every now and then.

I now have a family of three kids and a beautiful wife.

My son Jeremy often talks about a boy in black talking to him, almost like Derrek, but I don’t see Derrek anymore. So it has to be his imagination, right?

Credit To – Lauren Kepler

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August 11, 2015
by derpbutt
1 Comment

The Shadow In The Trees: Archangelus

It was five years ago, during the hot summer months in Texas. We were visiting my aunt in a rural area of the state maybe a couple hours to the northeast of Houston. I had lived in Houston most of my life, roughly fifteen years at that time, so the change in environment from large crowded city to a less densely populated wooded area was something I wasn’t used to. As much as I didn’t want to be there, I had to. This would have been the last time my family would get see her as she had grown gravely ill and there didn’t seem to be any chance of recovery. Though how she left this world is something that I will never forget.

The first Tuesday after school ended was when my mom received the call from my grandfather. Very soon after, it seemed like we were packed for a year-long expedition despite us only planning to stay a week. It was my parents, my younger brother Brandon, our overly-energetic Chihuahua, and me. My dad had to drive the entire way there as my mom was in no state to as she was beyond worried of losing her only sister. We probably traveled the entire way in only half the time it should have taken. Once we arrived, an ominous feeling shot over me. I couldn’t help but stare at the nearby tree line. I tried to push aside the unsettling feeling and brought my bags inside my aunt’s house, where we would be staying in the rooms down the hall from her. Even around family there was still a slight atmosphere of a haunting isolation. The closest house was a couple miles down the road. It was late when we arrived so I decided to try and sleep away this feeling. I shared the room closest room next to my aunt’s with Brandon, so I guess there was a little bit of comfort.

I laid down on what felt like the most uncomfortable mattress in the world. The springs felt like they were popping out of the cushioning and digging right into my back. The blanket was a carpet-like fabric, which personally I believe shouldn’t be made into any kind of blanket spread. And no pillow. The old house creaked and clicked, and just as I drifted into sleep the door flew open, suddenly jolting me awake. It was my dad. “You two come see your aunt real quick,” he said. My heart was racing from the sudden jump. I got up and walked out the room with my brother following and let him pass, but something made me turn around. Through the window I saw a shadow quickly rush by in the small amount of light shining through. Maybe a raccoon or something, I thought. Or maybe my imagination.

Through my aunt’s door my mom waved to me to come in. Seeing my aunt I could tell she really was hanging on by a thread. She was only thirty-six, yet she could easily be mistaken as someone more than double her age in this condition. She was almost pale white and her usually thick brown hair had become thin and somewhat transparent. In a weakened voice she called out my name. “Chris,” my aunt made out, “come here.” It took a moment, but I managed to take six or seven steps up to the left of her bed. There she said the usual ‘I haven’t seen you in however long’ conversation. While she was talking I noticed she was probably having trouble seeing me. Her pupils were cloudy and gray, and I really couldn’t help feeling very sorry for her. Even if I’ve never seen her much, she was still family.

After we were done with a small conversation, I returned to my room with Brandon and tried again at falling asleep. I finally found myself asleep but soon I awoke maybe an hour or two later. My dog was at my window barking his head off at something, with my brother right beside him. Still half asleep I asked him, “Brandon, why are you up?”

Still staring out the window, he answered, rubbing our dog’s head to try and calm him. “I haven’t gone to bed yet,” he said a little uninterested. “Mommy and daddy just left to go get Grandpa Mike from his house.” I didn’t think much of what he was doing, but before I told him to get back to bed, he said something that send shivers down my spine. “Chris, do… do you see the man standing over there by the trees?” In an instant, I jumped up from my bed and grabbed Brandon to get him out of the window. I took a peek at the edge of it and saw a shadow in the trees, and in that shadow were piercing white circles, I could only guess eyes, with an otherworldly presence coming from it. Then they disappeared and the man-shaped shadow quickly faded into the trees behind it. It had to be some kind of robber or insane man on the loose, I thought. Now there was an overwhelming sense of danger and we were in the middle of it. A fifteen year old, seven year old, a sick bedridden woman, and a Chihuahua. My first instinct was to close the curtains and then tell my brother to hide under the bed in case the mysterious entity tried to make a move.

I ran out the room and into my aunt’s. She was asleep and still breathing. That was good. What I did next was probably the most insane thing someone my age and situation could have done. I grabbed a flashlight and a large kitchen knife, and then stood by the door trying to build up courage. I would normally just block the door during something like this, there was something luring me to whoever or whatever was out there. I slowly opened the door and stepped out into the warm Texas night.

Before I could move, I saw it positioned right in front of me. It wasn’t a man like Brandon had thought. It looked right at me, past my eyes and deep into my soul. From a crouched position I saw this dark colored creature stand straight up, within fifty feet from me. It was a somewhat skeletal humanoid with dark gray, leathery skin stretching over it. I noticed the fingers were elongated with large overgrown nails that formed into jagged points. But the most horrific feature was its face. Along with the large white eyes, there was something of a smile stretching across its slender, scarred face, comprised of yellow stained shards of teeth with black gums showing. And the blood that flowed down over its face like tears. I was completely paralyzed with fear. I shut my eyes, hoping it was an illusion. But the more I kept them closed, the louder the footsteps got. I began to smell the strong iron stench of blood and hot breath on my face. I wanted to scream so much but was afraid to even form the most pathetic of noises. I opened my eyes again, fearing of what would come of me, as it stared at me just inches from my face.

It was hunched over but still a good foot above my height, who myself am tall for my age. It started making out sounds I could compare as a person loudly gagging mixed and a deep, demonic growl. Yet it didn’t make a move against me. At that point I managed to make out a simple question to see if I could invoke a reply. “Wha… What are you?”

I could see what could be jaw muscles in the scars on its cheeks start to move as it made out words in the same type of voice, “Archangelus.” I was astounded. Before I could make any kind of reaction, he disappeared in the blink of an eye. I was shocked with what I had just witnessed. It couldn’t have meant archangel, could it?

I quickly ran inside the house and locked the doorknob and chain. I went into the hallway, ready to hide away from whatever that was with my brother. But when I walked into the hallway from the living room, I noticed my aunt’s door open slightly. I was beyond worried. I was hoping Brandon ran was with her in her room, but that hope was shattered when I heard our dog whimpering in our room. There’s no way he would just leave him there. When I entered the room, I found myself a guest to whatever act this creature was performing. It sat there, perched on my aunt’s headboard, reaching down and wrapping its boney long fingers around her neck. Suddenly wings erupted from its back. Large but not exactly bat-like, and they soon found a place wrapped around both it and my aunt. Before my view of her was completely blocked, I saw her staring directly into the entity’s eyes, and by her lip movement I believed she had said “Angel.”

I soon saw a bright light and quickly fell unconscious, waking up the next morning in my bed. When I walked out of the door, I heard my mom crying in the room over. I turned to see what happened and I saw her by my aunt’s bedside with my dad comforting her. Over on the right as I walked in I saw Brandon with my grandfather. “What happened to Aunt Elizabeth, Grandpa?” He asked this as he wasn’t really familiar with a family loss, as he was still a bit young when our grandmother died. The only thing my grandfather answered back with was “An angel took her last night.” Before he began tearing up. This was the second person he lost, my grandmother three years prior. All I could think of that point: angel. Angel. Just repeating over and over in my head. Soon after I asked Brandon how I got into bed last night, hoping he would answer like he didn’t know what I was talking about to maybe explain it as just my imagination.

“I saw the tall man carry you into the room,” he said. “I saw it all from under the bed.” My heart stopped. So I did experience everything that night.

I never shared my experience with anyone until last year at my wedding. I saw my grandfather just before it started and took him to the side to share the events of that night. “So you’ve seen it too now?” he asked, astounded. “It was there when your grandma passed. I came back from the market and saw it right there standing on my porch.” So now I know whatever this ‘angel’ is, it’s involved with my family. I’m twenty-one now, and decided to try and put that behind me now. Yet today that all too ominous feeling is back. Since then I’ve moved to Los Angeles with my wife but right now I’m in Massachusetts with her at the airport, after visiting some historical sites. It’s time to make our way back, but I just can’t shake this feeling. I just hope we’ll make it home for my birthday tomorrow, September 12th. I’ve decided to type this down so my story will be known. Maybe you may find out you were once on the same plane as the ‘Crazy Angel Guy’ once this story gets released. I just need to catch my plane, Flight 11.

Credit To – Abyss Infinity

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August 11, 2015
by derpbutt


I woke up today at 4:30 in the morning, the same as every day. I hit the snooze button three times, then stared at the clock until I felt the cool touch of my two dogs’ noses on my mouth. The signal that I had to take them out. I knew my wife was awake, but it has been some years since we have both gotten up together.

There once was a time in our relationship when she would take the batteries out of the alarm just to mess with me. She would change the times so that I woke up an hour early. She made sure I was never late, but we used to have fun, usually at my expense. That used to be us. It isn’t anymore.

I came back in from walking the dogs and picking up crap just in time to make it into the bathroom after my wife had finished up. We slept together, lived together, and still managed to barely speak to each other or spend time in the same room. It was mostly work, at first: our schedules just never lined up. After a while, however, work just became the excuse.

It was as if magic slowly transformed the house every day. As soon as one of us would turn around, the other would switch this or that on, open those curtains over there, start cooking that part of the meal. I always turned the coffee pot on, but I was never the first one to grab a cup. We were both living separate lives. At some point in our marriage we stopped sleeping together and were instead simply sleeping in the same bed.

This morning I brushed my teeth, sat on the john, and rinsed off. Bathroom time has always been a private time. A time for meditation and a chance to wake up. I have always woken up half an hour before I have ever needed to, just so I can take my time in the bathroom. Janice always rushed to get out so we never had to be in there at the same time. It worked well. Even when our marriage was great, we never spent any time in the bathroom together. No brushing teeth, no washing hands. We absolutely avoided it. Some friends of ours would comment on how this practice seemed odd, but those relationships all ended in divorce and ours endured. The way I looked at it, spending too much time together was just as bad as spending too little.

Every three days was a rotation for food. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, bagels. Same three meals. I never complained about it, but breakfast had been just like every other part of our marriage: rehearsed and repeated.

I don’t know how any other marriage would have been for Janice. I always was predictable, much like all the other men in our town. I held a nine to five job, followed all the sports when their season came around, drank two beers a night at dinner unless it was Sunday night football or card night. Average, and stable.

If I compare myself with the other men I have met, I am certain that they would have faced the same as me if Jolene had married them. Women were all the same. Janice’s emotions were what let the marriage fall to where it was. She used to act differently, like she knew what she wanted. Back when we were dating, love felt like a game without rules. Anything was possible before the structure of a long term relationship set in. When we got married right out of high school, we were two kids playing grownups. We substituted youthful exuberance for worldly experience. It was silly, it was great, it was American.

These days, all the mysteries that made our early games worth playing have largely been solved. I know exactly how to make her happy. I know what her perfect day is. Her nightmares. What I can do to get under her skin. None of it bothers me any. Instead I feel almost a hollow feeling when I think about really putting forth the extra effort. Maybe that’s how I’ve changed.

Janice came from a rougher life than I did. Her parents weren’t the perfect inlaws, and we rarely visited with them. She was left alone a lot as a child and never really spoke about it. Seeing the way she grew into herself, I figured she always enjoyed being alone. She needed the space, so I gave it to her.

I’m about five years away from retiring from my first profession. I rarely think about work while I’m there. I mostly daydream about the next steps, finally going out to get the job of my dreams, with a pension under my belt. That extra security will really help with me continuing to build our garden in the back yard and I also won’t have to hold my cards so tight on card night. I’ve been on autopilot for so long that it comes easy now, and Janice is the same way. She makes breakfast for the five of us in less than five minutes, cleans the house by noon, and watches TV until the kids come home. Sometimes she helps them on homework. Sometimes she just fixes up dinner in five minutes and she’ll keep watching TV.

The American Dream. I go off to work, she raises the kids and keeps up our home. The perfect life. I told her a long time ago that I didn’t want her working. We have always lived in the same old-fashioned town and playing by old-fashioned rules has been important. Sure, she had a few things she wanted to do, but then we had kids, and life changes with children. Not in a bad way—she was always happy. She really was.

Today I came home and kissed Janice on the neck for the first time in over three months. Maybe the last kiss was Christmas. In any event, it had been quite some time since we had been intimate in any way. It was brief, though. She had to take care of the kids, who had started to get sick a couple weeks ago. Janice took them all to the doctor and got some medicine that the kids had been taking, but it didn’t clear anything up. If anything, they got a little worse. The blessings of having children.

So, I came home, ate dinner, and sat down on the couch to take a breather. The kids came to say goodnight and Janice took them upstairs to bathe them and tuck them in. They were a little old to take showers together, but they still insisted on it and so we never felt like stopping them. Some sort of bonding thing.

At least it saved water.

Weird kids, but I loved them. That’s what you’re supposed to do. We would go camping on the weekends when we could and we’d leave Janice at home so we could get some bonding time in: fishing, watching sports… Dad stuff. The kids had their quirks, like all people do. Janice was always insistent on not coming. She enjoyed her alone time.

I didn’t spend too much time downstairs. I could tell Janice was making the extra effort and I figured I would try to make an extra effort or two myself. She had cooked my favorite meal, and didn’t leave any dishes for me to clean. I could see all the vacuum lines in the carpet and the countertops were wet from the rags she used to clean them up. Perfect night.

I lit a couple candles and waited in the bedroom for her to finish up with the kids. She was always pushing me away. I thought that I would take the initiative for once. Be the man of the house.

I hadn’t seen a look of surprise on Janice’s face like that in years. It’s funny how things like that seem to not matter until you experience them again.

Then you wonder why it was never a priority.

I knew it had been a rough couple of weeks for her. We ended up showering together for the first time in our marriage. I don’t know why we had always avoided it. There was something deeply intimate about lathering each other up, sharing the water, trying to keep each other from getting too cold. It didn’t take much encouragement for either of us.

We didn’t even leave the shower. It was beautiful. The spraying water forced us to both keep our eyes closed, but we knew each other’s bodies well enough. We used half a bottle of body wash cleaning already clean bodies, over and over again. We took a break only to move to the bed, and we didn’t even bother toweling off.

The pleasure of that emotional warmth had never felt the same with anyone else, and it never would.

Is it possible to fall in love over time? To grow to love a person? Why not? So many secrets, but how many of those were actually secrets? As it turns out, none of them. You end up learning everything about a person. Everything, eventually. Hopefully before it’s the end.

Janice was crying.

I was always of the opinion that a person should marry their best friend over a romantic interest. You fall out of love, you fall back into love. There are the beats of a relationship, but you two move on. If you marry for love, you’ll get your heart run over. That’s why Janice and I could always take breathers. Get our space for a few months and then go back to each other. Because we were friends before we were partners. That matters.

Those breaks gave us moments. Real moments where we would connect and let it all go. Just forget the problems and we would be more than friends. We would reconnect and remember the reasons we dated all those years ago in high school.

We held each other so close. Janice knew about the secretary five years ago. It was OK. I told Janice I knew about the drinking. I forgave her. She told me about the foreman; I already knew. It was a one-time thing. Janice told me she loved me more than anything. I told her I would always love her. I would always be there for her.

We kissed for a long time. Like we were dating again. Kids. We were always just kids trying to figure out how to play grownups.

Then, under my lips, Janice started to buckle. Her lips tightened and I realized something was wrong. I didn’t want to believe it at first. She used to always joke like that, joke just to show me how much she liked me.

I couldn’t believe something was actually wrong.

She just kept saying that she was sorry. Over and over. She started spitting up blood and talking about fire. She wasn’t saying anything that made sense. I tried holding her down so she wouldn’t hurt herself. She flailed a lot. I grabbed a phone, but she had stopped moving by the time the operator picked up.


Our bed was a mess. An enormous pool of blood and dinner. The smell of stomach acid and whatever it was that Janice had drank to make herself go through what she had gone through.

Poison. She had done it right in front of me.

I held her until the paramedics arrived. She couldn’t be pronounced dead there, but I knew that she was. But that wasn’t the most horrible part of the night.

No, the most horrible part was finding the kids.

Credit To – Ashley Franz Holzmann
Credit Link –

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August 11, 2015
by derpbutt

I’ll See You Tonight

Take a walk down memory lane to your childhood. I bet you had that one childhood friend that you always had little adventures with, right? Right, and I’m no different. My childhood friend was a girl named Lindsey. Lindsey and I used to hang out together all the time. On weekends, she’d come to my house early in the morning and we’d hang out until my curfew, which was around 10:00 PM. On weekdays, I’d go to her house right after school and hang out with her until 8:00 PM, which was my curfew on school days. We did all kinds of activities together, such as riding bikes, hanging out at the park, trying to avoid the fictional ‘lava’ that surrounded us. All of the normal activities kids do, we did. We both had a blast, and we promised each other we’d be friends forever.

Unfortunately, we were forced to break that promise.

One day, in the spring of 2007, Lindsey had a doctor’s appointment and had to miss school. Her doctor was nearly two hours away from where we lived, so she killed those two hours in her mom’s Jeep by taking a nap in the trunk. Sadly, that was the last nap she’d ever take.

I was in my classroom when I heard the news. It was right after lunch, so not everybody in my class had returned yet. Among those people who hadn’t returned was my 3rd grade teacher, Mrs. Sanders. Usually, Mrs. Sanders would walk into the room and greet us with a ‘Welcome back, how was your lunch?’. That day was different, though. Instead of the usual greeting, she walked into the room oddly silent. She didn’t even trade a glance with any of us. In fact, she had her face turned to where we couldn’t even get a peek of it. She was obviously trying to hide something. It wasn’t until she sat down behind her desk that I discovered what that something was.


We immediately asked what was wrong, like any other normal 3rd grade students would do. That’s when she got up and announced the stunning news that would change my life forever.

Lindsey had died in a car accident.

The news shook the Hell out of me. My best friend, dead. My only best friend. My only friend! I remember running out of class to the restroom and crying my eyes out. I was there for the rest of the school day. I refused to leave. My mom was forced to get the janitor to come and carry me out. After the accident, I suffered from depression for about 5 months, until August 2007.

That same month, something quite odd happened.

I was sitting on a tree stump, about two blocks away from Lindsey’s house. It was around 8:00 AM, and I had just gotten up from bed. I was surfing through the memories of my adventures with Lindsey. The bike rides, the stick wars, the pranks. All the fun we had.

These memories were soon interrupted by an old man.

“Hi, my name is Steve.” he said.

He was a little old man. He was scrawny and stood at about 5 feet and 7 inches tall. He was somewhat bald, and his head shined in the morning light. He was wearing a dirty old green jacket. His teeth were yellow, and he looked like he hadn’t showered in a month. But what caught my attention the most was his eyes. Instead of white, his sclera was yellow and bloodshot, and his eye color was fading.

“You’re Tyler, correct?” he asked.

“How do you know my name?!” I asked him, worryingly.

“I’ll see you tonight.” he told me.

“What… what do you mean?” I asked him uneasily.

All he gave me was a grin. He then turned around and walked away into the wilderness that sat across Lindsey’s house. ‘What was that all about?’ I asked myself in my head. I quickly got up from the stump and ran home, obviously frightened.

That night, I heard a knock on the door.

My parents were asleep, so I was the only one up to answer it.

“WHO IS IT?!” I yelled out. No answer.

I thought about what the old man had said earlier that day, and a chill went down my spine. ‘This has to be him’, I thought. I knew this guy could possibly be dangerous, so I quickly headed to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. I hid it in my back pocket and prepared myself for a potential attack. I then set my sights on the door. I walked up to it, prepared myself in case he tried to make a move, and opened it slowly. What I saw startled me.

It was Lindsey. My old dead best friend.

My mind went into total shock. I was utterly speechless. My heart felt like it was about to beat out of my chest! She was wearing a white dirty dress. I could tell her hair hadn’t been washed in months. She had a sinister smile, showing her rotting teeth. But what caught my attention the most were her eyes. They were yellow and bloodshot.

Just like Steve’s.

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