For those pastas that are smelling less than fresh…

March 24, 2015
by derpbutt


This world is dark, and dangerous; unfit for innocent beings. It changes people into monsters, and doesn’t think twice. Not all monsters, however, are human. Take me for example. I was sent here for a reason unbeknownst to me or anyone else alive today. I reside in the shadows, searching for an innocent mind to inhabit. The only purpose I can find for my existence is to educate people on the disgusting ways of their world. I find the perfect person, and then I figure out a way to introduce myself to them without frightening them away. After that, I usually manifest myself in their dreams. Sometimes I’m a nightmare, but usually I’m something that the person finds wonderful, or soothing. Eventually though, the dreams have to become more honest about the world that both of us are forced to inhabit. Little by little, the dreams become darker, and more centered around the person’s greatest fears. Sometimes that means death, a natural disaster, or even a monster in their closet. Human’s fears all seem very cliché. I always found it amusing though, that the monsters in their dreams usually share a striking resemblance to my own image, or at least the image that I am forced to project when the time comes. After the dreams, come my lessons in reality. I don’t like to say that I make things happen, because humans act upon their own free will. I do, however, influence the decisions of those closest to my subject to cause isolation. This opens their mind even more to my lessons. When they are alone and vulnerable, I come to them in person. Generally speaking, I manifest myself as either a man or a woman depending on the sex of my subject, and what they find most appealing. The trick is to get them to invite me into their physical life. That’s when my lessons become more and more intense. Once I’ve been allowed into their home, I don’t leave until my lessons are finished. This part is difficult to describe, as it is different for each individual human, although it always ends the same way. Humans just aren’t built to process the raw truth that is life. When they are fully enlightened, it drives them mad. I have yet to encounter a human strong enough to handle the information I have to give. When I do meet that human, I imagine our partnership will be unlike any that has ever been seen before. Before I depart, I’ll leave this bit of information. I always give warnings to my subjects before I inhabit their minds or their lives. Sometimes the warnings are subtle; sometimes they are right in front of you.

Credit To – TheRadHatter

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March 24, 2015
by derpbutt

My Old Toy Phone

I remember when my sister and I were kids; we were pretty poor, and most of our toys were gotten off of craigslist or in shady antique stores. One year, for Christmas, I got this old phone. It was a rotary phone,and it still had its plug.

One day, while our mum was at work, we decided to try and plug it in and call someone. After we got it set up, we flipped through a phone book to find businesses to prank call. But before could call anyone, the phone rang. My sister picked it up and was greeted with a loud, shrill scream. We stared at each other for a minute before the phone rang again. I picked it up this time. There was a man, and he was muttering something inaudible. After that I slammed the phone down and unplugged it. My sister put it in our toy box and we agreed to never touch that thing again.

Around a week later the phone rang again. Our mom was at work at the time. I was too scared to pick it up, so we let it ring. And ring. And ring. After about an hour it stopped.

That night I went to a sleepover at my friend’s house. The next morning I was awoken up to find out my sister had been kidnapped that night. The only clue was a note that read: “Next time, pick up the goddamn phone.”

Credit To – EWR

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March 24, 2015
by derpbutt
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Always With You


I received my first camera when I was a senior in high school. I was about to go on a class trip to Eastern Europe – it was a Holocaust studies class, and the trip was a yearly recurrence. Only about 30 of the 150+ kids registered in the class were selected to go.

I was the first in my family to travel abroad (well, to Europe at least; my parents had taken a cruise once), so everyone pitched in and bought me a compact camera. It meant a lot – I rarely received gifts that big, so it became a prized possession. Quite a few kids on the trip had fancier cameras, but I loved my little point and shoot.

I read up on all the basics of photography: how to compose a shot, how to use flash effectively, how to freeze action in a single frame or blur it, giving a single image the appearance of life. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t slightly obsessed. This trip may well have been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. That’s a big deal to an 18-year-old who had only traveled as far as New Hampshire.

The Trip

We went abroad in the middle of February. Our first stop was Berlin, a thriving metropolis full of fresh architecture, a bustling arts scene, and a gruesome history from the period of around 1933-1945. Like I said, this was a Holocaust studies trip, definitely not Spring Break. Berlin never saw the horrors of a Camp, but there was plenty to learn at the head of the snake. We were brought to underground bunkers, tunnels, secret railways, and the Holocaust Memorial. I found it beautiful.

Our next stop was Krakow, Poland. It was in Poland that I would see my first Van Gogh, my first Rembrandt, and my first death camp.

By the fifth day of the trip, we were all pretty exhausted. We all knew that the fifth day would be the most taxing one yet. For those who have never studied the Holocaust in any depth, there are actually 3 camps that made up the Auschwitz network. The first – Auschwitz I – is preserved as a museum, each of the buildings is now a historical center curated by each of the Allied countries. It was primarily a concentration camp. It’s cousin, Auschwitz II – Birkeneau, is located a few miles away from it.

Imagine a space several football fields long, covered in a light coating of snow. The immense field is fenced in by age-old birch trees (I don’t speak German, but I’m told Birkeneau’s name is derived from these trees. They’ve borne witness to atrocities beyond compare). At the far end of the field, come spring, grass and flowers will emerge from what was a dumping grounds for the ashes of the “enemies” of the Third Reich.

Now imagine you’re standing here, at sunset, wolves howling in the distance, the temperature at maybe 15 degrees Fahrenheit. You overhear your teacher, normally a very cool and collected person, saying to another chaperone that the last thing she ever wants to do is be alone here at night. This is a woman who had led this trip at least a dozen times prior, each time visiting this camp. While the horror of a concentration camp may never subside, one would at least expect someone to get used to it.

Needless to say the sun set far more quickly than I would have liked it to, but we still had on our schedule the womens’ barracks. We plodded through the snow, the wind picking up, and ended up in a row of small wooden shacks. I was shivering, but not from the cold. Being in a place where monstrosities of that magnitude occurred after dark is kind of indescribable. I kept looking into the distance – it was pitch black. Snow blew in the wind. Birch trees rose stories above the small houses, white hands reaching from underground to a heaven so far from this place. We hurried to the bus. My camera died on the way home.

I looked through the pictures when we got back to Boston. There were my friends smiling faces in German and Polish restaurants. My face when I tried eating kangaroo. And of course pictures of the camps (I didn’t need them. The images are burned in your brain). There was one picture that was set apart from the rest. I didn’t remember taking it, but as soon as I saw it I knew exactly where it was.

The pitch black alley of row houses, buffeted by snow. I hadn’t taken this picture. I was sure of it. It terrified me. I sat there staring at it, jaw dropped, for several seconds. I felt an urge to cry, but I couldn’t muster any tears. But I couldn’t. The more I looked at it the more it It was almost comforting.

I showed my then-girlfriend, who was also on the trip. I explained to her that I hadn’t taken the picture. I must have looked pretty distressed, as she told me to go throw some water over my face. When I came out, she proudly informed me that she had deleted the picture from my computer. I didn’t talk to her for several days. Pretty soon, I had all but forgotten the image and life got back to normal.

Years Later

After my camera died I kind of fell out of photography for a while. I went to college, did the usual thing of not knowing what I was doing with my life, studied Philosophy and ended up getting a retail job at a local camera store after graduation until I got on my feet. The shop sold new and used cameras, and since I was an employee I got a pretty decent discount on the used gear. I picked up an old film camera in pretty decent shape. It had no brand name on it, but the lens that came with it was flawless. The light seals were in-tact and looked original. It was a steal.

To be fair, film photography was pretty new to me. So when the entire first roll of film came back looking either pitch black or overblown white, I wasn’t that discouraged. I kept them in a “neat” pile on my desk, planning to put them away at some point in the future when I actually figured out a place for them.

The next night was pretty cold and windy, even by winter’s standards. It didn’t shock me that when I walked into the house, the pictures blew off my desk. In a huff, I took off my boots and walked over to clean them up before my fiancée got home. When I stood over the pictures I froze.

The blacks and whites of the photos formed a perfect image of that photo I never took. A shiver went down my spine as a perfect recollection of that moment came back to me.
I’m not entirely sure I heard a knock, but I opened my front door anyways. There was nobody there. But I swear to God I heard a voice. It was hard to make it out. And maybe it was the wind. But I swear I heard a woman. In a warm, motherly voice.

“With you always.”

And that was it. Nothing more. And the wind bellowed, and the snow blew around in my wooded back yard and all I felt was warm.

“I walk with an angel on my shoulder, she keeps me warm on winters’ nights.
Kind and motherly is how she lived, black and barbaric was her final plight.
Even in places darkened with suffering, I vow to always remember true
That my motherly angel is with me there, and my motherly angel will guide me through.”

Credit To – JH

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March 24, 2015
by derpbutt
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A Late Night Visitor

Let me begin this by saying that I had always considered where I lived “safe.” I’m not sure how to describe it other than it was somewhere in between remote and accessible. I lived only a few minutes from the town I’m from, and just at two miles from my closest neighbor down the road. I know I’m rambling a bit, and I apologize, I’m just trying to organize my thoughts and give you an idea of my surroundings.

I used to be a pizza delivery driver and I often wouldn’t get home until 1-2 in the morning on really busy nights. The night that this happened was one of those late nights. I pulled up into my driveway a little after one in the morning and all the lights were off in my house. This wasn’t unusual, as I lived with a roommate at the time and he would often spend the night at his girlfriend’s house, leaving ours completely vacant until I arrived home. I was used to this, and had gotten into to a silly habit of sneaking into the house without any lights and silently creeping up to my bed, as I planned to do this time as well. By all appearances everything was normal at first.

My mind was quite….occupied as I pulled up and my headlights illuminated my yard and the hill in front of the house. It was a cloudy summer night with the moon peeking in and out from time to time, but I wasn’t thinking about the moon. I was thinking of a pretty co-worker, and only barely noticed a new stump up on the hill. My mind was a foggy haze of sleepiness, so I ignored it and shut off the engine and walked to my front door. I searched the darkness of my front porch for my small dog that we kept outside, but I could find her nowhere. I thought this odd, as she always came to greet me when she heard my keys but, once again, I was tired and just assumed she was asleep. I unlocked the door and stepped into the foyer without a sound.

I took my shoes off upon entry, as I always did, and walked into the living room. I stared out the window facing the hill with a slight smile on my face, still thinking of my female coworkers, until my eyes rested upon the stump. I could barely make out it’s shape in the dim light, but something seemed a bit off about it. It wasn’t shaped quite right. I reached up to scratch my cheek as I studied it, but froze as it dawned on me. This was no stump.

The clouds had parted for a span of ten seconds or so, and I saw it. It was a man. Well, I say it was a man, but with the outfit it was wearing, I can’t fully be sure, but I’ll refer to it as a “he” just to make this easier to relay. He was wearing a jet black leather suit that covered him from head to toe. The best I can describe it is a….gimp suit, minus the zippers and what not. I stared in shock as my mind flooded with fear. He had been watching me from the moment I pulled up. But what did he want? If he wanted to harm me, why didn’t he do it when he had the chance? My mind raced, filling with these questions and more, when suddenly he looked directly at me through the window. As soon as he did, the clouds drifted back over the moon and flooded the hillside with darkness.

I was still in a state of shock as I stood in front of the window when suddenly I realized something; I had forgotten to lock the door. I turned in what seemed like slow motion just in time for the moon to come back out and illuminate his dark figure walking up my porch steps. I sprinted towards the door, jumping over the coffee table and knocking over a vase in the process, but I slammed my body against the door and threw the lock just as the doorknob had started to turn. I backed away slowly, watching the doorknob all the while. It turned, ever so slowly twice, then stopped. All was completely silent. It was like the entire world had stopped turning for this brief stint of time. It was almost peaceful. Then, without warning, the door started shaking violently in it’s frame as the thing outside repeatedly threw all of it’s weight against it. I knew the door wouldn’t last long, so I ran as quickly and quietly as I could up the stairs to my second floor.

I had only just made it to the second story when I heard the door splintering below. I stopped and held my breath as I heard him slowly walk across the wood floors downstairs. It was pitch black so I dropped to my hands and knees to crawl to avoid bumping anything and making any noise and headed for my bedroom. I heard his heavy footsteps in the kitchen directly below me, and then the sound of cabinets being thrown open. The noise gave me cover enough to make it to my bedroom door, but I was still completely blind. When I got to the door I knew I had two options: I could A.) leave the door open, obviously making it easier to get to me but making it less obvious I was in there, or B.) close the door and risk it creaking and giving away my location. I heard the crunch of the vase under his boots, which gave me only seconds to make up my mind. With great hesitation I left the door wide open and crawled across the floor and under my bed just as I heard him at the top of the steps.

The top floor was carpeted, so once he stepped off the landing I could no longer locate him via the sound of his footsteps. I lay as still and as quietly as possible as I struggled to breathe beneath the dusty bed. The silence was deafening as I awaited whatever was next. I faintly heard the light squeaking of his suit as he walked down the hall and into the bathroom adjacent to my room. I heard the bathroom door creak open, followed by the sounds of him rummaging through the cabinet under the sink searching for me. A few seconds later I heard him re enter the hallway and make his way to my door. The squeaking stopped just at the doorway. He seemed to stand still there for a second, perhaps surveying the room, and then I heard the squeaking moving back down the hallway as he made his way back to the stairs. I let out a silent sigh of relief as I heard his footsteps back on the landing, and then on the first step. Suddenly he stopped again.

Dread and helplessness filled my very soul as I heard him back on the landing and squeaking down the hallway again, coming straight for my room. he stopped, once again, at my door, and then complete silence. I strained to hear his breathing, anything at all to give me an idea on his position, but I could hear only the crickets chirping faintly outside. And thats when I felt the mattress slowly lower and touch my nose. I nearly jumped, but somehow, and to this day I still don’t know how, I stayed completely stiff and still as he layed down on my bed.

I was completely trapped. My bed was in the corner of my room, leaving only one way in and one way out. If I tried to crawl out he would surely see me, and I would surely be dead. My mind was racing trying to find a solution when the room slowly lit with a dim light from the window.

“The moon must be back out for a minute,” was my only thought. I turned my head to survey the room for some sort of plan of action, but when I did I was face to face with that fucking thing. He was laying peeking under the bed with only his head hanging down. I was paralyzed as he stared at me and began to laugh a deep, sickening belly laugh. The room started to darken and I knew I only had one shot. Without thinking, I did the first thing I could think of. I shot my hand out and stuck my finger with all my might directly into his eye socket. I felt his eye explode into warm goo as I recoiled my hand and he screamed in agony. He fell off the bed, clutching his face in pain and anger, and I shot out from under the bed as fast as I could. I took the stairs in nearly one leap and ran out through my wrecked front door.

I ran through my yard, passing my car in my panicked state. I knew I wouldn’t have time to start that piece of shit in time before he came after me, this time with revenge on his mind. So I ran the full two miles to my neighbors house, barefoot and without stopping in what i swear felt like 10 minutes flat. The neighbor nearly came out with a shotgun when I banged on his door, which actually made me feel safer. I told him briefly what had happened and begged him to call the police. He did, and he sat in a chair in front of the door with the shotgun in his lap until the police arrived. They searched my house and the surrounding woods for days, but they never found any sign of that thing besides the blood in my room. I moved out of that house almost immediately, and I haven’t been back since. To this day I don’t know who he was or why he targeted me, and I never ever leave my door unlocked for any longer than it takes me to go in and out. I guess the moral of the story is this; be very careful of your daily routines, and make sure that locking the door is in there somewhere, because you never know who may be watching. Even if it is just with one eye.

Credit To – Drew Perry
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March 24, 2015
by derpbutt

Room 13

It was my Junior year as an art student in California, literally across the United States from my home town. I had always been a shy person, so you can imagine that my shyness was amplified times ten living in a completely new world with no friends. Except the few driven artist, like myself, who I’d met in the 24 hour shop, working on projects that never seemed to be good enough for us.
The Sunday before final exam week was a free-for-all in my dorm. Not really my scene. I don’t really drink unless it’s a craft beer, and I don’t drink to get drunk, I drink for the flavor. Kind of like a modern day classy woman. I also never did any drugs, although I was told it would enhance my artistic abilities.
Instead of partaking in the festivities, I planned on spending my Sunday in a nice quiet place, doing some last minute studying to make sure I kept my 4.0 GPA. My late night shop buddy knew of the dorm wide party that was taking place so she offered her couch to me for the night. She lived right across the street from the dorm in a little peach colored house with dingy white shutters. Nothing nice but it was a godsend to me. I accepted her invitation and was cozying up on her couch by 10:30, well assured that I would ace my exam the next morning. She, however, was a senior and would be graduating soon, so she stepped out of her comfort zone and attended the “Final Exam Summer Extravaganza”.
About fourty five minutes into a ‘Friends’ marathon, I dozed off, only to awaken to a surprisingly silent and black room. Feeling a little disoriented, waking up somewhere other than my room, in the dark and complete silence, I was terrified. But only for a few short seconds. After I remembered where I was, I slowly glanced around the room with one eye closed and the other slighly opened, looking for the time. Then there it was; a little green “3:00 AM” flashing on the cable box. Before I even had time to freak out, my eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I made out a shadowy woman figure in the 80 inch t.v. screen. It seemed to have been there the whole time staring at me and I just didn’t notice until this instant. I stopped breathing and kept my eyes fixed on her, trying to make sense of it. Just when I had convinced myself that it was my mind playing tricks, she showed her face just enough for me to see that she was in distress. She seemed to be gasping for air and mouthing out “help”. I quickly covered my head and brushed it off (the best I could), telling myself that I was dreaming and I would wake up any minute.
When the sun finally rose, it came in through the window, right in my face. I woke up confused and scared, but also relieved to see that the t.v. was still on, playing the morning cartoons, and the clock was a solid 6:47 AM.
Still a little shaken, I decided to head on back to my dorm and shower there. The air outside was thick and uninviting. It was sort of hard to breath, but the sun was out and that was all I cared about. Walking into the front doors of the dorm felt different than ever before. The air was even thicker in the building than outside, and there seemed to be something evil hanging in the air. I didn’t see anybody in the hallways. I didn’t hear anybody blaring music in their room, trying to wake up for the day. I didn’t hear any showers running or toilets flushing. It all seemed so unreal to me, like I was still in a horrible dream. As I approached my room, I convinced myself that it was just me; I was still shaken up from the nightmare and feeling out of sorts. It was all in my head.
Before opening my door, I took a long hard look at the black “13” that was painted half hazardly on it. I had never paid any attention to it before, the detail of it. But on that day it released a wave of relief over me.
I opened the door, expecting my roommate to be passed out in a puddle of her own puke, as usual, but she was nowhere to be found. That was fine with me, though. All I wanted to do was put on a record and break the silence that lingered in the building. So that’s what I did. The Rolling Stones’ “Sympothy for the Devil” filled the dorm room and I was feeling a little more at ease. I sat on the edge of my bed, trying to gather my thoughts. I needed to focus, my exam was in less than an hour and I felt as if I’d forgotten everything I had learned that semester. All I could think about was that nightmare. And the girls face.
Finally, I forced myself out of my deep train of thought, picked up only half the things I needed to shower, and headed out the door for the community bathrooms. I was feeling better every second. The record was still playing, I was humming the tune and even thinking about the exam. As soon as I opened the door, something else broke my concentration; there was a cell phone right at my feet. I don’t know how I had missed it before. My head was just so cluttered, I guess. I picked it up and noticed that it was covered in red paint. Not too surprising. My phone was also covered in paint. Comes with being an artist; everything is covered in paint. I thought to myself that I probably had a class with the person it belonged to since they were obviously an art student, too.
As I was walking into the bathroom, I was startled, at first, to find a group of five girls standing by the sinks. I didn’t know any of them, but was glad to see signs of human life so I gave them a warm, sincere smile with a little wave. They all gave me the death stare with their worn out makeup and dirty clothes from the night before. “Ok.. they’re hungover.. leave them alone.”, I thought to myself. I bowed my head as to say, “nevermind.”
Walking past them to the other side of the bathroom, trying to avoid them at all costs at this point, I pulled out the phone I had found to sort of “change the subject”. I began scrolling through the pictures to see if I recognized anybody, trying to find out who the owner was. The red paint smudged on the screen was making it hard for me to see so I licked my finger and tried to rub it off. I licked my finger again and wiped the screen a second time. I licked my finger a third time and wiped the screen once more. Then a tidal wave of realization hit me. My gaze was fixed on this one picture. The girls face looked so familiar to me. I recognized it right away. The look of horror. Her face blue from lack of oxygen. I heard a faint voice trying to pierce my thoughts.
“Hey… hey.. HEY!!! Where did you get that phone!?”
I looked up at the group of girls. They had been crying. Their makeup smudged on their faces. I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there, staring in disbelief.
One of the girls walked up to me, balling her eyes out. She took the phone from my hand, turned it over and rubbed the dried up, red paint to reveal a personalized case with a picture of two little girls. Best friends.
As the taste of iron set into my tounge, I realized that it wasn’t paint on the phone. And that what had happened the night before wasn’t a nightmare.
Every few seconds the girl managed to catch her breath over the crying and said this to me,
“This was my best friend’s phone….. her boyfriend killed her lastnight. We found her body in room 13.”

Credit To – Jessi King

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March 24, 2015
by derpbutt
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Sleep has never been something I’ve enjoyed. I always seemed to wake up in the mornings pale and shaken. It almost felt as if I had some horrible nightmare but couldn’t exactly remember what happened. At first it never really had any other effect, but gradually over time it started to become somewhat of a problem. I would wake up in mornings exhausted and feeling ill, as if I hadn’t slept at all. But again the problem failed to prompt me to take any action as this would wear off after an hour or so. This carried on until I was about 18; I was in university and had my girlfriend spend the night. Despite going to bed reasonably late I woke up feeling fine, no sickness and no feelings of dread. I was completely fine. I found it strange but never really thought too much of it.

Eventually after a couple of months I fell asleep on the sofa, my girlfriend asleep in the bedroom. In the middle of the night she woke me up worried. I felt awful, I was pale, sweaty and threw up a couple times. After a while I came to bed and drifted off again. I’d had enough of this weird problem that had taunted me for the past 7 years. I decided to go to the doctor to see if this was common and whether I could do something about it. He explored many possibilities such as PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) Sleep Paralysis (Night Terror) he asked about my diet and exercise patterns but found no links. He had never come across something like this before and decided to refer me to another doctor at the GP. The same process took place and he couldn’t come to a conclusion either. He suggested maybe visiting a psychiatrist to see if they could help or if there were no results then I should maybe go under observation for a night. I went to some sessions with a psychiatrist. It was draining to go through my whole life trying to find a cause. We spent hours in great detail talking about my life but he was stumped by the whole situation as well. I returned to my GP to explore more options. The doctor decided that maybe spending a night under observation would be best. I agreed as this seemed to be one of the only options left. I spent the night in a hospital. I was in an isolated room and was to be observed until I awoke naturally in the morning. I woke up fine so they kept me in a couple more nights. Eventually with no real evidence of my problem they told me there was nothing more they could do for me. They offered me therapy as they suspected it could be chronic nightmares however I declined as the problem seemed to have stopped. I was wrong. It continued again for months. It wasn’t regular either; there was no pattern or logical reason I could think off. It made it so much harder to cope with. It was awful, like torture.

After a few months the problems frequency had decreased and a pattern had become much clearer. If I were to sleep with someone or if someone were to be near me, then I would wake up fine. Only when I was completely alone would this happen. That scared me. I had to be alone to face this. It made me vulnerable. My girlfriend stayed at her place and I set up a camera on my night stand to see if I could find any causes for this problem. I was nervous. That evening was filled with dread and fear. But it was ridiculous. I’d had the problem years and it had never made me feel this uncomfortable. I didn’t even know why I woke up the way I did. It had been happening for years I knew I was in no danger. But the feeling lingered. Reluctantly I began to prepare for bed. I doubled checked the camera for battery and made sure it was on record. I watched television in bed to help relax. Eventually I managed to drift off.

In the morning I woke up with the same symptoms I had woken with for the past 7 years or so. I immediately went to my camera and played back the video. My heart was pounding in my chest. Some part of me didn’t want to see the recording. But I had to know what was causing this. It was unlikely that I would even find out from this recording. I was being irrational. I sat down and began to watch. The beginning of the night was event-less. I rolled around a bit but nothing out of the ordinary. But after a while something seemed wrong. It was about 1:30am in the video when I noticed. The audio carried on playing but I noticed the image had frozen; it was just a still image of me sleeping. Had the camera broken? I tried to think of reasons for this but it didn’t make much sense. It was quiet in the video. I had stopped paying attention and was trying to get the image back when the eerie silence was broken. The loud crash of my door slamming shut stunned me. It scared the life out of me. And then again silence. I was nervous now; thousands of ideas rushing round my head. The image was still frozen, and the same terror that I had awoke with kept me glued to the camera. It stayed quiet for a while and I began to calm down when the silence was yet again broken. This time by the sound of foots steps. I couldn’t tell whether they were coming from within the room or not. At this point I was panicking, suspecting an intruder. I rushed out of the apartment only with the camera. But I needed to know what happened. I stood outside my door in the security of the hall way, knowing people were only a door away calmed me down again. I carried on watching, the footsteps stopped. Nothing happened again for a while. Then a humming sound started, it was quiet but noticeable. It came to an abrupt stop. Anything could have been causing that humming but my mind was racing at a hundred miles an hour. I couldn’t understand what had caused that. It had been a while now and nothing else had really happened. That’s when I noticed. It suddenly occurred to me that someone else was breathing at this point. And by the sound of it they had to be standing right by the night stand. This carried on for a while. I was panicking now. Someone had been in the room with me last night. What did they do? Were they still here? The breathing became heavier and quicker. And then stopped. It only got worse. Gradually I could hear soft sobbing, it was childlike. It was quiet but sounded distressed. It was me. I couldn’t remember any of this. Was I awake at that point? Then the heavy breathing started again, except this time it sounded as if it was right next to the camera. I was terrified. What the hell was this thing doing? And then it happened. “Now why would you want to ruin our fun”? The voice immediately made me feel sick. It was raspy and cold. I knew that voice. The video ended there.

I was so confused as to what had happened. I was terrified. I recognised the voice but no name came to mind yet, I knew the voice. I didn’t know what to do. Who or what was that thing? I began to get angry. I wanted answers. I went back into my apartment and searched it. I found no one. I was going to call the police but I wanted to keep a copy of the video and upload it to YouTube. I hooked my camera up to my computer and opened the folder with the videos in but, it was corrupt. Empty video files. Except the one from last night. I was beyond care at this point and went to upload it to YouTube when. The voice. “Why would you want to do a thing like that…? Friend.”. Grasped by fear I froze. The voice had come from directly behind me. I didn’t think at that point. I ran. I went for the door but, it was locked. “Don’t you remember me?” I screamed for help smashing my door too scared to turn and meet this, thing. “Leaving so soon”? The voice sounded sinister, almost pleased by my fear. I was trapped. I could feel it behind me. I dropped the floor and shut my eyes. I screamed for help desperately hoping for someone to hear me. Then it spoke again, but it was right in my ear. I could feel its breath. “You can’t escape me”. Its voice was cold. It was playing with me. I was going to die.

Before I knew it people were asking what was wrong and trying to break down the door. I don’t really remember that much. I was freezing cold when they got in. I was so ill. They called an ambulance for me and searched my apartment for the intruder. Nothing. I was questioned by the police and they watched my apartment for any further intrusions. But again nothing came of it. The paramedics said I was in shock but I should be fine. They took me to hospital to rehydrate me as I had lost a lot of water and needed minor treatment. I laid in that hospital for what felt like a life time. I felt like I was chained to my bed by the drip in my arm. I was so tired, but couldn’t sleep.

Days later I returned to my apartment. I wanted to prove my sanity to my girlfriend. I grabbed my camera and looked for video but, nothing. Did that thing delete it? We hooked it up to my computer to look for it but it was corrupt like the others. But there was something. A video from the day I had my encounter. It was titled “Forgotten”. I couldn’t believe it. I opened it and what followed was scaring. It was my apartment later that day. Obviously after the police had searched the place, it was empty. It was dead quiet, or so we thought. Someone was breathing in the video. She finally agreed that something was wrong. My sanity proven to one person. I wanted to leave. Whoever or whatever that thing was obviously had access to my apartment and I had no intention of staying. I went to turn off my PC when… the voice sounded from the video. “Don’t forget I’m always here… waiting for you”. We both couldn’t believe it. I felt sick to my stomach. I knew keeping or copying the video would be no use. I didn’t want to keep it. I didn’t want to meet that thing again. I don’t know what that thing was but it wasn’t human. I hadn’t seen it but I knew. We left. I never wanted to hear that voice again. Would that thing follow me wherever I went? I was sure that it was the cause of my problems. I haven’t had my symptoms since that day. I feel safe again. One thing still bothers me though. I know the voice. But I have forgotten who it belongs to.

Credit To – Oliver Noyes
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March 24, 2015
by derpbutt
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Mr. Sharp

“Mommy, mommy! The monster is back!”

I was startled awake by the sound of my daughter’s voice close by my ear. I sat up groggily and looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand. The glowing red numbers stated it was 2 a.m. and Becky sounded terrified as she always did when she had her monster nightmare. “Honey, what is it? Did you have another nightmare,” I asked as I pulled her into my lap. Becky was 6 and had always had an active imagination, but ever since we had moved into our new home she had been plagued by nightmares of a monster who crept into her room in the early hours of the morning. I believed her nightmares were a result of her still being uncomfortable in our new home. My divorce from Becky’s father had been hard enough on her, but I knew moving into the old 2 story house 15 miles away from our old home was another unsettling change for her to adapt to. “Mommy, Mr. Sharp scares me, can I sleep with you tonight?” I couldn’t see my daughter’s face in the darkness, but she sounded upset and I relented to letting her sleep with me for the night. “You can sleep with me tonight, but honey, Mr. Sharp isn’t real. It’s like I told you before, a nightmare is scary, but it isn’t real,” I said trying to soothe Becky’s fears. “He is real, mommy. This is his house, not ours,” Becky mumbled sleepily. A chill ran down my spine and I cuddled Becky closer to me. “This is our house now, you’ll get used to it. You just have to give it a chance,” I replied. I waited for her response, but the only sound was her deep even breathing as she slept. Snuggling down into the covers I heard a faint scratching sound coming from the hallway. My last thought before I drifted into sleep was that I should probably buy some mouse traps.

The next morning was Becky’s first day of first grade. I dropped her off at her elementary school and watched her run towards her group of friends seemingly untroubled by last night’s events. When I returned home I decided to tackle unpacking the rest of our things. I felt guilty that I had not finished unpacking after 2 weeks at our new house, but I was determined to finish unpacking before Becky came home from school. The only boxes left to unpack contained the rest of my and Becky’s clothes and Becky’s toys and books. I carried Becky’s boxes of clothes, toys, and books up to her room and began unpacking them. I put her toys in an old toy chest that had been left behind by some of the previous owners and arranged her small collection of books on the small bookshelf under her window. Next I unpacked her clothes and began arranging them in her closet. Just as I was about to close the closet door a shirt slipped off its hanger and fell to the floor, so I bent down to pick it up. As I reached for the shirt I noticed a small door built into the wall of the closet which was about 3 feet tall and painted the same color as the rest of the closet. Curious about the door’s purpose I pulled it open to reveal what appeared to be a crawlspace that appeared to narrow the further it went back. It was empty, but the smell wafting out of the small space reminded me of spoiled milk mixed with rotted meat. Wrinkling my nose I shut the door and made a mental note to call an exterminator. I decided the smell was probably the result of a dead mouse or rat that had died somewhere in the odd crawlspace. The day passed quickly as I finished unpacking and cleaning the house and the crawlspace slipped my mind entirely. That afternoon around 3 I watched Becky clamber down off the bus and run towards the house with a cheerful expression on her face. She was eager to tell me all about her day and what her friends had done over the summer as she had a snack of cookies and milk. I listened to her attentively smiling with relief that she had had a good first day back at school and Mr. Sharp seemed far from her mind. That evening after we finished supper we played a few games of Candyland before it was time for Becky to go to bed.

“Go ahead and put your pajamas on and I’ll be up in a minute to read you a bedtime story,” I said cheerfully as I packed up the board game. “Will you come with me,” Becky asked. I glanced up to see a worried expression on her face as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Honey I’ll be upstairs in just a minute, go put your pajamas on please,” I said patiently. Reluctantly Becky climbed the stairs to her room as I checked to make sure the front and back doors were locked and all the lights downstairs were turned off. When I got upstairs to Becky’s room she had the covers pulled up to her chin and wore the same worried look on her small face. I read her 2 of her favorite stories before turning on her nightlight and giving her a kiss goodnight. “I’ll see you in the morning, sweetie. Sweet dreams, I love you,” I said as I pulled her door closed to just a crack. “Love you too,” she mumbled sleepily. I settled into bed getting warm and cozy beneath my thick comforter. Just as I was on the verge of drifting off I heard scratching in the hallway again, but this time it was louder and sounded like something weightier than a mouse or a rat. I sat up to listen, the scratching sound seemed to be moving down the hall towards Becky’s room. I jumped out of bed and ran towards Becky’s room terrified that a raccoon or some other animal had somehow got into our house and might end up hurting my daughter. I got out into the hallway in time to see a small shadowy figure slip into Becky’s room. I ran to my daughter’s room, pushing open the door to reveal the room empty of any living thing besides my daughter’s sleeping form. In the silence I heard a small click that seemed to come from Becky’s closet. I opened the closet door and tried tugging open the small crawlspace door. While the door had opened smoothly earlier today this time it refused to budge as if it were stuck or something was holding it shut. Disturbed by all I had heard and seen I picked Becky up gently without waking her and moved her to my bed. I didn’t feel comfortable with her sleeping in her room tonight with something lurking around the house. I resolved to nail the crawlspace door shut the next day.

After dropping Becky off at school the next morning I came home and nailed up the crawlspace. I knew it was illogical of me to nail the small door shut, especially if there was an animal trapped inside, but the stealth of the creature combined with the fact that something had been keeping the door from opening had disturbed me and I was eager to seal up the passage. As I turned to leave Becky’s room I thought I heard a faint scratching at the crawlspace door, but I elected to ignore it and chalk it up to my nerves being shot. When Becky arrived home from school she didn’t say anything about waking up in my room and even rushed upstairs after her snack to play with her toys. Relieved to have some time to rest and unwind I selected a book from my small collection and settled down on the couch to read. However, the peace and quiet didn’t last long. I was startled to hear Becky’s shrill voice repeating “No, no, no!” and I rushed upstairs to see what was wrong. I found Becky crouched in front of the crawlspace door franticly tugging on the handle with tears streaming down her face. “Honey what’s the matter? What are you doing,” I asked concerned by her frantic behavior. “Mr. Sharp is going to be angry, open the door mommy,” she screeched still pulling on the door. I pried her hands off the door knob and pulled her away from the door kicking and screeching. “Becky stop it,” I said sharply. “What’s gotten into you?” “He’s going to hurt us when he gets out! He told me, he said I better open the door or he would get me, then he would get you,” she sobbed. Her proclamation disturbed and frightened me and my next words came out more hatefully than I intended. “There is no Mr. Sharp! Mr. Sharp is not real and I’m calling an exterminator tomorrow to get rid of whatever is behind that door,” I snapped. Becky looked at me with tear stained eyes with a look that was too wise and weary for her young face. “Okay, mommy,” she murmured defeated.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. Becky was quiet throughout dinner and didn’t protest when I told her it was time for bed. I read her a few bedtime stories before retiring to my own bed for the night. It was hard to get comfortable. I kept hearing Becky’s terrified voice and seeing her franticly tugging on the door. An uneasy quiet had settled over the house and I knew it would be a long time before I settled down enough to sleep. I lay awake for hours, tossing and turning and checking the clock constantly. Just as I was beginning to feel sleepy I heard a loud bang that seemed to come from Becky’s room. Adrenaline rushed through my veins as I ran as fast as I could to Becky’s room. I flipped the light on and was terrified by what I saw. Standing in the closet doorway was the ugliest creature I had ever seen. It stood about 2 feet tall and was covered in wrinkly grey skin. Its head was topped with 2 tiny horns and its eyes were bright red and full of hate. It had a mouthful of sharp teeth and long claws on its hands and feet. Becky was sitting up in bed looking terrified and frozen in fear. I myself was rooted to the spot until the creature bolted towards my daughter letting out a long low hiss and reaching out to her with its long claws. I jerked into motion and without even thinking about it I pulled my foot back and kicked the creature as hard as I could. It flew across the room and hit the wall giving me time to snatch up Becky and run downstairs. I could hear the creature running behind me hissing in anger. “Run faster, mommy! You made Mr. Sharp angry,” Becky cried. I snatched my car keys off the kitchen counter and slammed the door shut behind me. I could hear frantic clawing from the other side of the door, but I knew Mr. Sharp would be unable to reach the knob. I got Becky buckled into the car and raced away from the house. I would get my ex-husband to come back in the daylight with me to collect our stuff. One thing was for sure, Mr. Sharp can keep his house. I’ll find a new one.

Credit To – J Cran

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March 24, 2015
by derpbutt
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I was born in a small town in Michigan located about an hour’s drive away from Lansing. When I was very little my family lived in a small apartment, but eventually we moved into my Grandma’s house after she had a stroke to take care of her. I don’t remember her well; she died when I was around two or three. The house was built by my great-grandfather, and it was the place where my grandma and mom both grew up.

The house had two stories, with the stairs leading to a giant blue room which we called the “middle room” because it separated my parents’ room on the right from my older sister’s on the left. The middle room was basically my domain: I spent almost all of my time up there and my numerous toys and Legos were spread over the carpet like a rug. I remember watching Gumby on a small TV that my parents had set up there, along with a small bed for me to nap in. All in all I had a pretty sweet set up.

But of all the memories I have of the middle room, the ones of my dog Sergei stand out the most. I don’t have the slightest clue where he had gotten his name, since no one in my family is Russian (that I know of), but Sergei was a giant, shaggy white dog that I would spend hours playing with upstairs. I would chase him around and hold onto his tail while he walked in imitation of Mowgli and Bagheera, and he would let me ride on his back and lick my face. He would always sleep beside my bed at night and while I napped, and every time I ran downstairs for food or to use the bathroom he would always be at the top of the stairs waiting for me. I loved Sergei.

Now this is where my memory of Sergei drops off. I don’t know what ever happened to him. I don’t know if we sold him or if he ran away, if he was hit by a car, anything. I apologize if it’s a little anti-climatic, but I simply don’t remember. Eventually our family moved out of Grandma’s house and away from Michigan and moved to warmer weather down south. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that house, but the memories of Sergei slowly began to drift away.

I haven’t thought about Sergei in many years. Life just kind of stacks new memories and stories on top of all the old ones until one day you dig deep enough at the bottom of the stack that you begin to remember. Well this day came two days ago when my mom and I were driving in the car and were talking about Grandma’s old house, and suddenly I had remembered everything about Sergei and the fun we had together in the middle room. I was overcome with the warm, nostalgic feeling of childhood and it made me really happy. But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered how I could have forgotten about Sergei after all of these years. He was my first dog and, really, my first friend. I turned to my mom and asked her about Sergei; where he came from, what had happened to him, and why on earth we had named him Sergei. And my mom just looked at me quizzically, as if she had eaten something bad.

“Trevor”, she said, “we’ve never had a dog named Sergei”.

The revelation rocked me. I had no idea what to make of it. I still don’t. “What do you mean we’ve never had a dog named Sergei,” I told her, “I see him as clearly in my head as I see you.” But she swore up and down that we’ve never had a big white dog named Sergei living in Grandma’s old house. At first I thought okay, we’ve had plenty of pets throughout the years, perhaps my mom’s memory is failing her as it sometimes tends to do. So I asked my older sister, who is three years older than me and would surely remember Sergei better than I do.

I was met with the same response from her.

Nobody else can recall Sergei, not my parents nor my older sister. As I write this, I’m confronted with more and more memories of him, and it upsets me that no one else can remember him. And yet it also scares me. I’ve thought about the possibility of Sergei being an apparition of some sort, which would explain why nobody but myself remembers him. Or perhaps he was a figment of my imagination, the product of a child’s overactive mind.

But I don’t believe that at all. Sergei was real. He is real to me.

I wish I had all the answers, some explanation as to why I’m the only one who remembers him. Maybe it’s because of the bond that he and I shared together. Maybe it’s because he never really left, that he exists only inside of my head. The more that I think about him the more I start to remember, and the memories that are almost two decades old are suddenly as fresh if they were yesterday’s.

I remember Sergei, after all this time. I don’t think I’ll ever forget him again.

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March 24, 2015
by derpbutt

My Other Half

My name is Luna Bell. I’m 16 years old, and ever since I can remember, I’ve always felt like there was a part of me that was missing. I’m an only child, living with my parents. Whenever I said I wanted a sibling, my mom and dad would just look at each other with sad expressions.

I later found out I had a twin sister. Her name was Stella. One day when we were both just about a year old, she wandered the house. She crawled over to a full-length door mirror, mounted “well” to the inside of our bedroom door. She pulled herself up and banged on it a few times with her tiny hands. It fell on her. As it fell, she did too. She hit her head on the floor behind her. The mirror broke as it hit her, and shards stabbed her in multiple places, mostly her arms and legs.

My parents never talked about Stella after that. I suppose it’s hard for parents to think about their lost children, let alone retell the story of how they are no longer with us.

I forgot about her for the next couple of years. Now as a 16 year old, it’s as if she never existed. I had my own life, my friends, school, and a part time job as a cashier at the McDonalds’ down the street. I had the normal life of an average teenager.

I enjoyed having sleepovers with my best friend Becky. She spent the night last weekend, and was coming back over today. We hung out as we usually did, locking ourselves in my bedroom, watching movies with lots of popcorn and soda. We watched a horror movie about Bloody Mary.

“People are always so stupid in these movies.” Becky said, stuffing a handful of popcorn in her mouth. “Bloody Mary is so fake.”

“Yeah…” I said, hugging my pillow. I was always a wimp when it came to horror movies.

“Hey Lu, I dare you to go in the bathroom and do the bloody Mary thing. I bet she’d attack you.” Becky teased, seeing how afraid I was.

“Bloody Mary is not real, Beck.” I stammered, obviously unconvinced of the words I was speaking.

“Then go do it!” She said mockingly.

“Fine! Whatever! I’m not scared of that stupid legend!” I stomped out of my room and to the bathroom.

“Don’t forget to turn off the light!” I heard her call in a sing-song voice from my room.

I closed the bathroom door slowly, my heart beating fast. ‘She’s not real, Luna.’ I thought to myself. ‘What are you so afraid of?’

I faced the mirror and turned off the light. I took a deep breath and whispered, “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.”

Nothing happened. I took another deep breath and laughed at myself. ‘See? There was nothing to be afraid of, smartie.’

I turned on the light and opened the door.
Well, I almost did.

I froze with my hand on the door knob as I looked at my reflection. It wasn’t mine. Yes, the face was mine, but everything else was different. Unlike my short, dark hair, my reflection had long, golden curls, pulled into pigtails. She was wearing a white outfit that seemed to be a dress. Her eyes were completely white, and her arms had shards of broken glass sticking out…mirror, surrounded by rings of dried blood.

I wanted to scream, but I felt like I had lost my voice. After staring for a few seconds, I could have sworn I saw a slight smirk appear on her face. I ran out of the bathroom and went back to my room, trying to seem as calm as possible.

“Good to see you’re still alive!” Becky giggled.

“Whatever,” I said, sounding annoyed. I decided not to tell her. She wouldn’t believe me, and I wasn’t sure if I would believe me either. “I’m tired. Let’s go to sleep.”

“But what about the movie?” Becky whined.

“Come on, Beck. We already know how all these movies end,” I said, turning off the TV.

That night, I had an odd dream. It was so different from what I usually dreamed about, yet it seemed so familiar. I was laying on something, my eyes closed. I heard someone walking around, but I couldn’t bring myself to look, I was too comfortable. The one thing that jerked my eyes open was the sound of a crash. I looked to my side through what seemed to be the bars of a crib, and saw a face down mirror on the ground, a pool of blood coming out from under it.

I woke up in a cold sweat, and could have sworn I heard a voice, but I wasn’t sure. ‘Welcome to my world,’ is what I thought I heard.

I tried to avoid mirrors the next day, but eventually, I realized, whatever I saw in the mirror could have just been my imagination. After all, I honestly stopped believing myself, and I really had to pee.

I entered the bathroom hesitantly, without looking at the mirror. I did my business, and after I finished washing my hands, I could no longer hold back the urge. I looked up at the mirror. There she was, my odd reflection.

I was frozen in place. Should I even trust my own eyes? I reached up, and so did she. It was MY reflection, it mimicked me. The face WAS mine as well, after all. I touched my head, just to make sure those curls were not actually on my head. All I felt was my normal head, no pigtail.

I rushed out of the bathroom.

The next day I woke up, I had a headache. I went to the bathroom again, deciding I couldn’t avoid it. I’d ask my dad later to take down the mirror. When I saw her, she was different. Her hair was different. It was MY hair color. As I watched her, her hair slowly started to shrink, in a way.

I didn’t know what was going on, so I decided to skip the bathroom. I went to the living room, and when I saw my dad, his eyes grew wide.

“Luna, what did you do to your hair?!” He stood up quickly.

“Huh? I didn’t do anything!”

“What do you mean, ‘You didn’t do anything!’? It’s blonde!”

“What?” I barely got the word out of my mouth before my dad took my arm and dragged me to the bathroom. When we got there, he pointed at my reflection.

“Now, why did you do that?”

I was confused. He was pointing at someone who was not me! How was he not startled? Was it really just my eyes playing games on me?

“I…I don’t see what you’re talking about…” I looked at the ground.

He jerked my hand up to my own head. I was startled by what I felt. It was longer. Not too much longer, but it was longer. And it was slightly wavy.

I locked myself in my room after that. I refused to go out. I didn’t eat, I didn’t go to the bathroom. I ignored the pain in my stomach, and laid in my bed, curled up in a ball. My parents came by my room many times, but I ignored them. They figured I’d come out eventually.

I did at night, when they were fast asleep. It had been three days, and I was very thirsty. I got some water, and I heard something. ‘Go to the bathroom. Look at yourself. You’re not you.’

Without thinking, looking at my self was just what I did. I went to the bathroom, and saw my reflection. But… it was me! I saw MY reflection! I was overjoyed. I went to the kitchen to get something to eat, with a great feeling of relief. I went to the bathroom and did my business. Then, went to sleep.

What I didn’t realize was that sleeping was what triggered the true battle that would ultimately consume me.

My dream was of dark colors, and that was it. Flashing colors. When I woke up, I couldn’t move. I started panicking, and tried to move as hard as I could but it was no use. I slowly felt like I was falling asleep again, but I wasn’t tired. I fought it for as long as I could, but I felt my eyes drag themselves down. As I gave up and let the drowsiness take over, I heard a faint voice, though it could have just been my imagination.

‘I had to. Forgive me.’

The next time I was awaken, it was by an unfamiliar voice.

“Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary!”

Credit To – Invader Alyakim
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March 24, 2015
by derpbutt
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I've never been fond of nature. Maybe it's because of the fact that I had close to zero contact with wildlife or perhaps it was my fear of all the things that come with it. Regardless of the reason, not much attracted me besides the computerized modern society I was living in. I always felt safest at home, sitting beside my computer, playing games with my brothers and listening to music. I was not much of an outside person, not at all, even now, when I'm writing this. Every time we were supposed to go visit my grandmother's house I would've tried to dodge the event in any way possible. Not because I didn't like my grandma (she's a good person), it was mostly because of the wild area she was living in.

It is a small village located far away from the city. Where it's pretty much secluded from civilization. It's a hilly area and there are only a few roads. These „roads“ are a combination of dirt, dust and gravel. It's still manageable to get there by car. Although, the only problem is when you reach the house. There's a small path, wide enough for a car to pass through it, that leads into the yard at a pretty big slope. To top everything off, the house is surrounded by a fence with barbed wires and only two gates that are on the opposite sides allow entrance to the yard. One gate is placed at the path that leads into the yard and the other one separates a large downward field from the yard. If you pictured this part well you should realize that this house is located on a small hill. There are trees around the house, enough to cover a large portion of the sky with leaves and branches. There's also a small cottage inside the yard. The house itself is in an L shape. The longer part contains 2 rooms; the first one you enter is more of a storage room that has a basement below it and one door apart is the second room where an old furnace is placed, a bed for one person, an old TV beside it and a single window. The shorter part of the „L“ is where only one room can be found. It's located at the very end of a small hallway filled with random things such as torn shoes, clothing and old machines. The room itself has 2 beds, a TV as well and just one window on which (decorative but sturdy) iron bars are placed.
One similar house is located right next to my grandmas house where the neighbors live. Although, their house is a bit larger and they are rarely seen at home so the house remains in dark most of the time being surrounded by a large yard of emptiness with a few trees inside it.
Apart from the occasional house and dirt road the outside areas are filled with forests and wildlife.

It was the start of autumn, around 18:00, the sun was setting in and the crimson sky filled the whole area with a dim light as it penetrated it's way to the ground through the branches and leaves. Even though the colors were warm, the surrounding air was chilly in every part of this secluded area. Everything was quiet, not a person, not a bird, a farm animal, nothing was heard, nothing was there. Everything was silent. You could only hear the leaves shift as the wind occasionally blew making a quiet howling sound as it traveled though the yard.

I found myself standing in front of the house, in the middle of the „L“. I felt a bit uneasy. Mostly because I had found myself at the most uneasy place to be. It didn't cross my mind how I found myself there or why. But there I was, out of civilization, somehow. The house wasn't locked so I checked every room trying to find my grandma. She wasn't there. I thought she might be in the field tending the plants, so I went outside to try and look for her. I stood there for a while as I was looking at this ominous setting, trying to understand what was happening. I realized I was without a phone or any form of gadget for that matter. I only had my jacket on, but it was still chilly as the occasional wind kept swaying the trees and shifting the leaves beneath my feet.

I started moving through the yard and towards the gate that led to the field. As I was passing the trees and the small empty cottage, I had an ominous feeling. Stories about monsters and urban legends crossed my mind. The wooden shelter that once protected animals was now an empty shell that made quiet creaking sounds every time the wind blew. It was getting colder outside so I put my hands in my pockets and picked up the pace. A small breeze washed over me and left the quiet howling sound as it passed. I got to the gate and started removing the locks on the top of the gate and the ones close to the ground. Suddenly, everything was completely quiet, there was not even the occasional wind anymore. I realised I was in complete silence and the sheer thought of hearing something perfectly, made a chill run down my spine. I was removing the lock on the ground, I raised the handle out of the ground, but at that very moment I heard something rustle. I thought it was my grandma because I felt somebody was looking at me. I looked around and said: „Hey ther…“ before I finished my sentence I realized that nobody was there. The area was the same as ever, nothing changed. I Knew somebody looked at me, but I saw nothing. A weak wind blew again and I noticed it was getting darker. I came to the conclusion that it was probably some squirrel or a bird and proceeded to close the gate after me quickly when leaving into the field.

Since the field was at a downward slope it was dangerous to run through the wild grass and vegetation. I was walking at a faster pace than before. I was moving on the right side of the field. I finally saw her, she was there, working with the plants. I felt a little relieved at first, but almost the second after I saw her, I heard the rustle again in the form of two steps behind me. Chills went down my spine, I was shaking, I looked behind me and nothing was there. The only thing I saw were footprints imprinted in the grass a few meters behind me. I was standing at the half of the large field, I looked around and saw something, hunched, standing there. It was standing to the utmost left side of the field halfway down. It stood on two legs, it was a little taller than an average human. It was bulky and had thick brown fur. The head was different… irregular. It was longer, the face was abnormally flat, completely black, it didn't seem to have a mouth and it had soulless, round, white eyes. Its head stood crooked to one side.

It was staring. Not at me, nor at my grandma. It was staring elsewhere. I felt the exact same chill run down my spine as before, but now much stronger and real. Fear overcame me and I started running towards my grandma. Since it was on the opposite side of the field I thought that even if it chased after me or my grandma I could still reach her in time. After around 15 seconds of running I looked if it was still there but it was gone. As instantly as it appeared, it disappeared. I turned back towards grandma but there it was, it stood hunched 5 meters from me, looking straight at me. I froze with fear. I didn't know what to do. It can disappear and appear so fast? How can I run from that!? It was definitely much stronger and I felt more helpless than I had ever felt. I couldn't see it properly anymore as my eyes started watering. I was afraid, afraid of dying, I ran. I felt my heart was going to burst when I remembered how I left my grandma down there alone. I was running towards the house as fast as I could. I turned back to check if it was still there. It was at the exact same spot as before, still looking at me. I reached the gate, I couldn't see it from here anymore. It was still down there, I hoped. I tried to open the locks as fast as I could hoping it would not appear when I raised my head again. I was looking around me as much as I could while removing the bottom handle. As I was crouched, almost instantly a large shadow appeared over me. It was standing right behind me. I could feel its demonic presence, I was shaking with fear, I thought it would lunge at me as I was trying to open this damned lock! I finally opened the gate and went straight for the house. I thought if I closed myself in, that it couldn't follow me. Again I was standing in the middle of the „L“ I noticed that it had gotten much darker. It was already late dusk, night was setting in. Everything will soon be left in darkness. I could barely see my surroundings, I turned my head over the edge of the shorter part of the „L“ to check if it followed me. It was there. It was standing, looking at me. I felt helpless. I wanted to cry. I wanted to shout for help but I knew nobody was there, I knew these God forsaken forests offered no escape or safety. I ran quickly inside through the small hallway, closed the door behind me and locked it with double locks. I stood there, behind that door, I closed my eyes and started praying that it goes away. I heard the leaves rustle again, it was coming closer and closer. I heard a "thump" on the window. When I opened my eyes it was staring at me through the small hallway window. Crying, I ran to the room, closed the door and remembered it only had a lock that requires a key. Then I heard footsteps. I was helpless. It was inside. I couldn't even escape through the only window inside the room as it was barred. It slowly pushed the door open, I turned around, shaking, crying, I begged it to let me live as I watched it come closer and closer. It grabbed me with unreal strength, let out a shriek and started ripping me apart in half.

I woke up.
Breathing heavily, looking at my hands drenched in sweat, shaking. I had to calm down, I pulled myself together. I was thankful that it was just a dream. I started feeling the sheets and pillows of my bed out of sheer happiness but… something was wrong. They weren't the same and the bed was larger than usual. I looked around and noticed that this wasn't my room. It was my grandmothers house.

A chilling breeze washed over me through the barred window

…and dusk, was setting in.

Credit To – Filip Janeš

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