For those pastas that are smelling less than fresh…

July 29, 2015
by derpbutt
1 Comment

I Love Cherrie

My name is Clara. I am writing this story just after the death of my beloved husband, John. I chose to share my story here as I fear I would be judged harshly if I were to use any other site similar to this one. I feel it is often hard to judge whether a story here is real or fake so please take this story as you wish.

It was all John’s fault that he had died anyway.

My story begins just after John and I had gotten married and had also just moved into our new home. My home is a tri-level house painted light green with black accents on the outside but white and the same shade of green on the inside. I love my home.

John and I had jobs that paid extremely well considering the hours we did and the “work” we needed to accomplish. The job is really just making a diary for a different person every day. I love my job.

John and I have always wanted a child of our own, but, due to a surgery that I received as a child, I am no longer able to conceive. The thought of adoption was not quite open to us as my mother feels that any child we take in will soon develop issues regarding the fact that they were adopted.

I love my child.

At this point you may be confused as to why I suddenly have a child.

Her name is Cherrie. (shǝ ‘ree)

Cherrie came around when I had to go out of town for a weekend to attend a friend’s wedding and upon my arrival back home I saw John carrying a baby. He explained to me that just the night before he was woken up by our door bell around 12 am only to open the door to a baby in a pink blanket.

Obviously, he took the baby in and hasn’t had a problem since. I love how calm she is.

We decided to keep Cherrie and raise her as our own. She has blue eyes, blonde hair, and the most flawless porcelain like skin I think I have ever seen in all my years of life. She a fairly calm baby… Well that’s an understatement. She is the calmest baby; very rarely cries, and loves to sleep. I love how perfect she is.

I am obsessed with her. When she was new to us I had bought her everything a baby needed and so much more. John, on the other hand, wasn’t so enthusiastic. He rarely bought her things and, now that I look back on it, never really bonded with Cherrie. But that didn’t matter because all she needs is me and all I need is her. I hate how John didn’t understand.

As of today, Cherrie is three years old. She and I don’t celebrate birthdays because nobody understands. I have tried to have birthday parties for her but no one would come because “why would I have a party for that?” “That” being my daughter. Anyway stay just stay home and watch cartoons and eat cake. I love how close Cherrie and I are.

Cherrie doesn’t ask about her dad much but even if she wanted to see him she couldn’t. John is dead. It was all his fault. You see, when Cherrie turned two I wanted to hold a party for her but John starting acting up.
So I silenced him.

But I will always remember those last words.
I will always hear them ringing in my ears.
I loathe those words
“Cherrie is a doll.”

Credit To – 13

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July 29, 2015
by derpbutt


The rainfall paints its clarity
Against the cloudy windowpane
The clouds cry out their melody
In tune to life’s secretive game
Drip drop, thump thump, perfect sync
The clouds and life sing harmony
In life, we dance to rainfall’s beat
In sleep, the raindrops call to me

They say that as we fall asleep
The rainfall’s perfect harmony
Slows to a chilling stop
And the rhythm changes
And the drips and drops
Turn to misty drops
That sit upon the grass until the morning
Waiting for the lights to come back on
So that their perfect rhyme and beat
Can drum their drumming melody

Though they tell me the strangest things
About the sadness rain can bring
The rain tells me the strangest thing
About the rainclouds which drop them
The rainclouds are the messengers
And the raindrops are their song
They sing this song in warning tunes
And watch us with their morning dew

The raindrops warn us; one day soon
The clouds will cover up the moon
And they won’t go away
And the shadows of the night will stay
And the sun will dim
And the night sky will become the ground we walk on
But with no stars
And with no shining moonlight

We are painting our world gray
And the rain tries to keep it safe
By drumming down its perfect beat
And painting us with clarity
But the rain can’t do this alone…
The rainfall slows to a stop;

Credit To – SkybornWG

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July 29, 2015
by derpbutt




DELTA sits at her computer typing away at a College application. Just as she’s about to hit the send button her computer goes black. She tries turning the screen on and off until a message shows up on her computer saying that her computer has been seized. Delta is frustrated. She goes downstairs.


Her mother and father JANE and TIM are getting ready to go out.


Dad, my computer has a virus!




Yeah this screen just popped up saying that the computer has

been seized. I can’t get out of it. I was applying for Ryerson too.


Use my laptop till we get home Delta. Dad can have a look at it



It’s alright, I’ll do it later.

Delta goes into the living room, sits on the couch and turns on the TV.


Now Delta, the number for the party we are going to is on the

fridge. Call us if anything goes wrong.


Okay Mom…


Bye sweetie, love you!



Her mother and father leave. The window lights up as the car pulls out of the drive way.


Delta is watching TV when it suddenly shuts off. She tries turning it on with the remote. She hits the remote and tries again. She gets up and tries turning the TV on manually. It doesn’t work. She sighs as she sits back down on the couch. She picks up the lap top and opens it up to try applying to school again. Just as she signs onto the schools site the same message shows up, this computer has been seized. She slams the computer shut.


This sucks!

There is a loud bang that makes Delta jump. All the lights go off. She screams. She rustles around in the dark looking for her phone.


Delta feels her way to the kitchen table and finds her purse. She feels around through it until she finds it. She immediately holds it up to light the room. She looks around frozen. She notices the candles sitting on top of the fridge. She takes them down and lights them. As she sets them down on the table she looks out the window and sees that all the neighbors have lights. She grabs a flashlight off the fridge and goes to the basement door. She opens it and pauses for a moment before going down.


Delta slowly gets to the bottom of the steps and shines the flash light in every direction before stepping off the last one. She goes over to the Circuit breaker and tries switching all of them but nothing happens. Something brushes past her but when she turns around there is nothing there. She runs up the stairs.


Delta closes the basement door behind her and locks it. She goes to the fridge to find the number of the party. She looks for her phone where she left it on the table but it’s gone. She hears ringing from the front hall. She follows it slowly and sees her phone by the font closet. As she picks it up she sees another hand reaching for it. She screams and runs to her room.


Delta slams the door shut behind her and locks it. She pushes her desk in front of it and sits on her bed shaking. She types a number into her phone. It says she has the wrong number. She tries again with the same result. She tries again slowly with shaking hands. This time it rings. The sound echoes through the room. Delta stares at her closet door which is open a little. A clawed hand protrudes from underneath the bed. Delta screams. She disappears.

The phone stops ringing on the floor. Jane answers.


Hello? Hello?

The closet door is shut.


Credit To – MarylandLovely
Credit Link –

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July 29, 2015
by derpbutt


I haven’t had a neighbor in what feels like forever. Even when people used to occupy the other half of the manor I live in, they didn’t stay for long. I never knew why, the house is gorgeous. It’s a huge Tudor-style mansion with big glass windows. At some point around the early 1900’s it was divided down the middle into a duplex. My parents and I live on the right side, our neighbors on the left. Except now it’s just me. My dad is serving overseas in the war, and my mom is in Georgia with her sister who has tuberculosis.
The day that the new neighbors moved in, I was alone in my room. At first the sudden banging and opening of doors scared me. I wasn’t expecting anyone and the sudden noises in the supposedly abandoned side of the house gave me a shock.
My room is on the third and top floor of the house, technically in the attic. I have a few windows in my room which I can look out from to see the driveway and yard. An odd-looking truck is parked outside. A few men unload the back of the truck, carrying heavy furniture and boxes into the house. A younger man and woman watch the movers from the lawn.
I’ll wait ’til mother comes home to officially meet them, so for now I content myself just by watching until everything is unloaded. When the movers are done, the couple comes inside the house. I run down the old wooded stairs from my room so I can spy better. It’s not that I’m a snoop, I just have been bored all day with mother gone. It doesn’t help that the duplex is virtually in the middle of nowhere, making it impossible for me to visit friends without taking a car.
I walk into the living room where one of the doors separating my house from my neighbors stands. I put my ear up to the door and listen.
“This place is gonna take a lot of work,” says the woman.
“Well, we knew what we were signing for when we bought the house. It’ll be beautiful when we’re done,” says the man.
“We don’t even know what’s on the other side of the wall. We could be in over our heads here,” says the woman.
“We’ll be fine. Don’t worry so much Mina.”
“Alright, ok. I love you, don’t you know?” The woman says longingly.
I decide to give the couple some privacy.
The rest of the day my neighbors drag furniture over the floorboards, unpack boxes, and generally make a lot of noise. I try to keep my self entertained. First I toss my ball against the living room wall, something mother would never approve of. I consider getting something to eat, but I’m not hungry. I try to read, but I’m still so excited and distracted over the neighbors that I finally just decide to go back to playing ball.
A few times I hear the woman ask the man if he heard thumping coming from my side of the house. He denies hearing anything.
When night time rolls around I lay on the couch. I want to watch television, but I also don’t want to alarm the neighbors by making unnecessary noise. I climb into bed with a book and wait out the night.
I’m up bright and early in the morning, earlier than the couple next-door. I have nothing better to do, and I’m bored almost out of my mind, so I decide to try something new. I head downstairs to the basement where the other door to my neighbors’ house is. I reach for the door knob, pull back, reach again until I finally overcome my better judgement. I open the door as slowly and softly as possible, but despite my efforts the old hinges squeak loudly. I wince, but I don’t think the couple heard the noise.
The basement adjacent mine is cluttered with old junk, covered with spiderwebs and dust. I pick my way around old bits of furniture, broken toys, and boxes until I reach the staircase.
Here I take caution to step on the outside of each step, knowing that the old staircase would creak with the slightest weight. I reach the top without making too much noise, save for the occasional groan of decaying wood. The door at the top of the stairs leads into what I presume to be the living room. Cardboard boxes and furniture wrapped in some kind of sheer sheet of material litter the room.
On the other side of the room lies a leather football, almost entirely concealed in the darkness. I creep over and scoop it up. I toss it in the air a few times as I continue to investigate the house. It’s much of the same situation in the other rooms; wrapped furniture, tables, boxes, odd things lying about. I throw my ball again, but this time it slips and falls out of my grasp into a mirror sitting against the wall. The reflective glass slides down the wall, slamming flat on the ground. The pane of glass cracks and fractures into spiderwebs. Upstairs I can hear footsteps thumping, so I take that as my cue to leave.
I run for the basement door, knocking into tables and other furniture in the dark. By the time the man is on my floor, I’m running down into the creepy basement and back into my house.
The next morning I listen to the man and the woman as they investigate the damage I caused.
“I don’t know Mina. I checked the house, there was no one here,” the man said.
“Well how did the mirror break? Or what about the coffee table falling over three rooms away? That isn’t natural John,” Mina, the woman, says.
“The basement door was open. Maybe a raccoon got in,” the man, John, says.
I feel bad that I broke the mirror and I want to apologize, but I really don’t want to meet them until mother comes home. I listen to the couple argue for a little while longer before going upstairs to read.
At around noon I’m startled out of my book by banging coming from downstairs in my side of the house. I stalk down the steps, then I peek my head around the corner at the bottom of the stairs. Mina stands in my family room, gazing at the couches and television with a dazed expression.
“How odd,” she mutters to herself. She walks into the living room through the door to her left and I follow as silently as possible. Mina gazes out the window into the backyard. I look too from my hiding place behind an armchair. The backyard is overgrown with tall weeds. An old oak stands sentinel in the yard, several feet from the actual treeline into the forest which surrounds the house. From the oak a wooden swing gently sways in the midsummer breeze.
Mina sighs and starts to turn away from the window when something catches her eye. I think she’s staring at me, so I freeze in place, praying she doesn’t see me. Mina walks towards me. I’m almost sure she sees me and I’m about to run away when she stops at the end table only inches away from me. She grabs a framed picture of my family, then leaves the room.
I follow her until she leaves my side of the house, closing the dividing door behind her. Now I would have confronted her about trespassing in my house and for stealing had I not broken into her house and shattered a mirror just last night. I’ll just get the picture back and make amends with Mina and John when my mother returns. She said she wouldn’t be gone for more than a week; I can’t imagine she’ll be gone much longer.
After sunset I hear the couple talking again. I should really stop eavesdropping, but I can’t think of anything better to do.
“I looked through the other side of the house today. There’s some neat stuff over there,” Mina says.
“I’ll check it out sometime,” John says.
“I’ve been hearing things from the other side of the house John. Sounds like footsteps or something,” Mina says almost hesitantly.
“I’ll call the exterminator at some point tomorrow,” John says.
They don’t say much else after that. I decide to leave them in peace. That night I lay in bed trying to figure out why Mina would just come into my house today. Of course I had done the exact same thing, but I hadn’t stolen anything. I was just curious. Why would a grown woman just waltz into somebody else’s house?
In the morning I hear John and Mina scraping furniture into place in their house. Then I hear the divider door between our houses open, followed by more scraping. I jump out of bed and run down the stairs, stopping at the bottom to hear what the commotion was.
Mina stands with her back turned to me, a large strange looking armchair in front of her. She’s panting as if she were lugging a huge load, and I assume she must have just pulled the unusual chair from her side of the house. I can’t keep quiet any longer. I clear my throat.
Mina jumps and spins around, her hand on her heart.
“Excuse me,” I say simply.
“You scared the daylights out of me!” Mina says, still flustered.
“What are you doing in my house?” I ask, not threateningly, just confused.
“Your house? I wasn’t told anyone was living here. The realtor told us the house has been abandoned for at least seventy years,” Mina says.
“Well, you were told wrong. My mom should be back soon. I’m sure she can help settle any confusion,” I say.
“Alright. May I ask your name?” Mina says politely, though I can tell she’s still shocked to see another person in the house.
“Avery. Avery Jones,” I say.
“Nice to meet you Avery. I guess I’ll be headed back to my side then,” Mina says, then turns to leave.
“Nice meeting you,” I call after her.
That night I eavesdrop on the couple again as they eat dinner.
“He said his name was Avery,” Mina says.
“The realtor said this house has been abandoned since the forties,” John says.
“That’s what I told the boy. Apparently the realtor was wrong.”
“Well I’m going to have to run out tomorrow for some paint. Why don’t you call the realtor and ask about a family living in the other side of the house,” John says.
In the morning John does exactly as he said he would. I hear his car roll out of the driveway and zoom down the beaten path leading to the mansion.
About an hour later I hear Mina calling the realtor, but for once I give her privacy. I open the front door and walk around the house to the backyard. The lawn really needs to be cut; the weeds reach up to my shins. I trudge through the lawn until I reach the oak with the swing. I swing for a while in the cool morning. When mother comes home I’ll see if I can go for a hike with my friends in the woods. That’d be nice.
I’m starting get worried about my mother. She should be back now. Or at least I think she should. In not really sure how long she’s been gone with all the commotion with the new neighbors.
I make a mental note to try to call her later, although I know my aunt doesn’t have the most functional phone. I head back inside the house just as Mina heads outside from her front door. I don’t think she sees me, so I don’t stop to say anything. I’ve never been too comfortable with conversation.
When I get back to my living room I see that the divider-door is wide open. Mina was probably looking for me when I was outside. I peek my head in the door and take a look at my neighbors’ living room. Some of the couches have been placed and unwrapped from their plastic. A low wooden table sits on a soft looking rug. On the table lay a few books, as well as a few sheets of paper.
I take a look around to make sure no one is in the house before I creep over to the table. The books are ones I’ve never even heard of. The papers are printed with some strange font I’m not accustomed to. I pick up the small stack and begin reading.
“Autopsy Report, 1943.
Concerning the deaths of one Daisy Luella Jones and son, Avery Michael Jones.
Daisy Luella Jones, female, Caucasian, age 32. Suffered superficial bruising and scraping, as well as internal bleeding in the brain and lungs. Injuries sustained by automobile accident. Cause of death: Internal Bleeding.
Avery Michael Jones, male, Caucasian, age 16. Cause of death originally unidentifiable. After extensive examination of the body, a large trace of antihistamines was found in the digestive tract. Upon thorough review, it has been determined that Avery committed suicide by an overdose of prescription sleeping medication. Cause of death: Suicide by Overdose of Antihistamines.”
Credit To – Nefertam

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July 29, 2015
by derpbutt


I don’t know what to make of this. I’m just an ordinary man, with a nine-to-five job in some unremarkable town, so I’m not experienced when it comes to dealing with the strange and bizarre of our world.

It was about two weeks ago on a Friday afternoon. I was sitting in front of my computer, enjoying my day off, sipping on a cold beer while browsing the internet. With a small collection of imported lagers in the freezer, my plan for this weekend was to stay in and watch good and bad series on my computer, and the rest of the world seemed in tune with this plan: the sky had all but opened up, and the rain poured down relentlessly, tapping melodically against the window.

I had just watched some Swedish YouTube-gamer a friend told me about, when I heard an email drop into my folder. I clicked it up. The first thing I noticed was that the header was completely blank. No subject, no sender, nothing – except my email-address. There was no text in the rest of the email either. I was dumbfounded, but figured this was just some sort of bug and was about to close it down when I noticed there was an attachment to the mail. True to form, it had no name, but it was an mp3-file. Now I’m not the most tech-savy guy, but I know about viruses spreading through email, strange files, and what they can do to your computer. However my computer was old and I was planning on buying a new anyway, and that mixed with an enormous curiosity of what could be on that file ultimately shouted out the more careful voice of reason inside me.

I downloaded the file on my computer. Checking out its information revealed that it was 11 minutes long. With nothing better to do I plugged in and put on my headphones, just in case of any indecent or suspicious sounds, and started playing the sound file.

There was nothing but silence. I checked, and sure it was playing, but with no sound to be heard. Still, I continued listening, since I figured something might come along. Now silence is normally not a problem for me, but there was something strange with this silence; I can’t really put down in words why or how, but it just felt unnatural. I got the feeling it was forced, that somehow it wasn’t actual lack of sound, but that something made all sound just die.

After about half a minute of this, I wondered if the following minutes would continue in silence, when I noticed a sound. It was so soft that I wasn’t able to figure out just what it was that I was hearing, but slowly it gained in strength and volume. Soon I could hear that it was the sound of something breathing. Heavy, painful breaths, as if it was taking this things whole being just to continue. Soon the sound of the breathing reached a level where it was almost starting to hurt my ears. I was about to rip of my headphones to avoid any permanent damage, when it stopped. All I could hear then was rain.

My first thought was that the headphones had stopped working, but taking them off it became apparent that it was not the rain outside that I was hearing. Putting my headphones back on, I realized that I was now listening to a recording from inside a building, with the rain shattering itself against its windows. About a minute with nothing else followed, when the sound of soft conversation from afar became audible. It got closer, and revealed that it was a group of people, women and men – I’d guess about five to six people – talking and laughing. Suddenly a shout and someone falling into water could be heard, followed by roars of laughter. Obviously, this was recorded in some sort of bathhouse, or a rich man’s home.

They were all speaking English, and by their accents I would guess they were from the neighboring state. From their conversations about nightclubs, parties, and how someone made an ass of him- or herself, I could deduce they were fairly young – twenty-somethings all of them – and that money wasn’t a problem. The more cynical and envious part of me was betting on that they had inherited their fortunes.

All in all, this seemed to be some pretty basic people, and the banality of listening to them play in the pool and gossip about friends didn’t seem to mix with the strange start of the sound file. I became caught up in my own thoughts about whether I should pause and go fetch a beer, figuring that this was just some kind of experimental “art” by one of the spoiled brats, that I didn’t at first notice how the people had stopped talking and splashing about.

One of the women let out a nervous, fright-filled laugh. Nobody moved or said anything for a few seconds. Then of the men spoke up, asking someone who he or she was. No answer was given. The man asked one more time, sounding a bit more agitated, pointing out to whoever was asked that this was his house. A second time the man was denied an answer. He reacted by throwing several insults at his mysterious guest and repeating the question.

With that, things took a turn for the worse.

A woman started screaming, and I could hear the worried voices of men and women shouting out confused profanities, a man crying out a female name, the screaming woman answering with a man’s name, and then – a slam of something soft hitting the hard floor – silencing the scream.

What followed was utter audial chaos; people rushing up from the pool, shouting, crying out for one another, their wet feet slipping on the marble floor. After a while, they had stopped running, and were now begging for their lives. Somehow, they must have got stuck in the room, with whatever horror was now in control of their lives.

Then their pleads turned to terror-stricken screams. I’ve never heard this much anguish or fright from a person before! Then – one by one – the screams was choked by something, until all that could be heard was gargling and pitiful moans. After about a minute one after the other went silent, and once again rain was all I could hear.

I looked at the timer; a minute and a half was all that was left. I listened patiently, but there was nothing except the the rain outside. The seconds went by, passed a minute and I started to think I should just close it down.

But then I heard it.

A voice – I reckon that’s what it reminded me of, but in truth I’m not sure, for it defied comparison with anything I’ve heard before and after it. It started making sounds, at a very low volume at first, only to rise in strength, and I realized that it was rhythmically making the same sound over and over again, as if it was chanting some magical spell. Soon it had reached such volume that once again my ears started hurting, but it went beyond even that volume. I was just about to rip of my headphones, when it suddenly ceased. The timer had reached the 11 minutes mark.

And with that, it was over. Once again I could hear the rain against my own windows, reminding me that the world outside still existed. I was stunned by dread, and somehow I also felt guilty: As if by just listening to this, I had stained a part of my soul, which would haunt me to the end of my days.

I had no idea what to do with this; I was not sure if it even was real, though it had left me dreadful and scared. So I let it be, and continued on with my life. After some time it would probably been pushed back into the deepest parts of my memory, only to resurface on lonely, regretful nights. But then today happened.

I was meeting a friend returning back to town and we went for a couple of beers at our favorite watering-hole. My friend is a major horror-freak, and after he gone through his routinely defense of the first Evil Dead-movie, I was reminded of my own “ghost story”. I retold him the whole thing as best as I could, being pretty drunk, and asked I he would like to listen to it for himself. Sadly he had to leave town that evening, but he told me about a forum on the net were they discuss and investigate things associated with the paranormal. After we had said our farewells, I was a bit excited to finally maybe get some answers to what this whole thing was about, even if it would just turn out to be some strange form of art.

I came home, started up my computer, found the forum and made an account. I started writing on the beginning of my post, giving a quick enough retelling of the events leading up to me listening to the file, and then opened up the folder where I had saved the file.

But it wasn’t there.

I checked the name of the folder, and this definitely was the folder I downloaded it to, but now it wasn’t there anymore. I was confused, and wondered how it could have disappeared on its own, but didn’t give it much thought. Instead, I logged on to my email to once again download the file from the original blank email.

It too was gone. Furious, I started searching through my computer, checking every folder, the recycle bin, the different categories on my email – every possible place, to no avail. Somehow, I have no idea how, it had just disappeared from my computer.

As if this whole thing never happened.

Credit To – Movitz Ståhl

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