Welcome to Crappypasta! This is the companion site to Creepypasta.com, and here is where you’ll find stories that we deemed not quite ready for the big leagues. If I believe that a story has potential but just isn’t quite there yet, I’ll post it here with some tags explaining my reasoning. The community at large can then offer their feedback and constructive criticism to aid the author in fully realizing their story’s potential.

However, if the community is in agreement that I made an error in judgement and the story should be accepted for the main site as-is, they may upvote the Crappypasta. If a story hits the (undisclosed for obvious reasons) correct ratio of positive to negative votes, I’ll move it to the primary Creepypasta archive, complete with a note of my taste fail!

You may read a more in-depth explanation of this process here.

I use the categories to give succinct feedback on each story posted. Rather than write out comments on every pasta, I make my feelings known via the categories that I assign to each specific post. This is done manually and on a per-pasta basis, so if you received a certain category on your story, that is my feedback to you.

You may read full descriptions of each category and how to interpret them as feedback/criticism here.

Note that due to how the sites have evolved, many categories are now outdated. In the dawn of this website, I didn’t get nearly as many submissions as I do now. As such, I was able to post and categorize every single eligible rejected story, even stories that I personally felt had a snowball’s chance in hell of being moved to the main site.

Nowadays, however, this would be an unrelenting sea of nonsense – most open-submission days garner well over a hundred submissions, and it’s statistically likely that only one or two of those will be more than a short, low-effort, all-lowercase paragraph. To prevent a flood of slush, I now only post stories that I believe have potential to be rewritten or upvoted to the main site.

All this is to say that some categories will almost certainly be archive-only from now on, simply because I can’t imagine a situation where I’d actually be posting a story that would deserve the “THIS IS STUPID” tag – it just doesn’t match up with how the site operates anymore.

The most frequent issues raised by new visitors are those of intended meanness and author permission. Please be reassured that if a story was posted here, it was submitted to me directly (I don’t go trawling the internet for stories to mock) with the author giving EXPLICIT permission for me to post their work here if it didn’t make the cut for the main creepypasta archive.

While we do allow comments that dabble in snarkiness as long as they are still entirely constructive criticism, the mod team will not approve comments that contribute nothing to the refinement of a pasta. Likewise, this means that comments left simply to be nasty or bully the author will be deleted. In cases where a commenter continually attempts to leave abusive comments towards authors, they will likely be banned entirely. This website is, first and foremost, about helping people succeed with their writing projects. Unnecessary nastiness does not help us accomplish this goal and, as such, has no place here.

That said, there will always be people who do not grasp the site’s function and leave comments accusing everyone leaving even benign, helpful feedback of bullying. Such comments are at each individual mod’s discretion on whether or not they will be approved, but if a comment section gets completely derailed due to misunderstanding-based white knighting, I will likely remove the comment chain in order to get the post back on track: we are here to give feedback, not argue with people who can’t be bothered to read this very blurb!

There are several ways for the community to contribute their constructive criticism to the works here:

  • Comments: If you want to leave an overall review of one of the pastas posted here, you may use the most traditional method – the comment form. We use DISQUS, so if you want to be an active and recognizable member of the Crappypasta community, I do recommend registering a free account, however commenting without an account is allowed. The comments are moderated, and all commenting guidelines from the main site are in effect here as well.
  • Sidenotes: If you want to leave your feedback in a more fine-tuned fashion, please use sidenotes. Sidenotes (also called annotations) should be familiar to anyone who has visited Rap Genius (now Genius) – you can highlight a portion of the story and leave specific feedback for the highlighted portion. You can also simply click the speech bubble after each paragraph to leave your feedback for that paragraph. Sidenotes are only shown and available on the pasta’s individual page, so you will need to click through a pasta’s title in order to access this function. If you wish to retain a consistent identity when leaving sidenotes, you can sign up for a Livefyre account within the sidenote UI.
  • Star Voting: This is pretty self-explanatory, I think. Just like on the main site, you can give a pasta a star rating from 1-10. 1 being the worst, 10 being the best.
  • Upvote/Downvote: Use the upvote (thumbs up) if you believe a pasta is good enough, in its current, as-is state, to be posted on the main site. Use the downvote (thumbs down) if you believe the story needs more work before it’s eligible for moving to the main site.
  • Emoji Response: If you’re on mobile or just don’t feel like typing but still want to give slightly more nuanced feedback than the stars and up/downvotes, you may also use the emoji feedback options. These, like the sidenotes, are present only on the pasta’s individual page, and can be found in between the pasta and the comments section. Eventually, we will be able to display content lists based on these reactions, much like do presently with the up/down and star ratings, so please use this function!

March 2016 – Crappypasta Overhaul

Well, I’m sure most of you noticed that Crappypasta went totally dark for a few months. Basically, I’ve been plotting to rebuild the site somewhat, add some new functions, but didn’t quite have the time and energy to see it through until now. I...
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Comments Undergoing Upgrade (99% Finished – Feel Free to Comment Again)

UPDATE 9/19: The automatic upgrade didn’t work, so I ended up having to export the comments in small batches. At the time of this update, the upgrade is 99% complete. Only a few comments should be missing, and hopefully they will show up soon enough. By and...
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Admin Post: Crappypasta Changes Announced

Okay, guys. After giving myself some time off from Crappypasta to clear my head (I can’t even express the level of burnout I’ve been experiencing), I’ve finally created and posted the new Crappypasta guidelines over on the main site. I’ve...
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Ask Walkers

Ash Walkers

Have you ever thought you saw something, out of the corner of your eye or off in the distance, something you had no explanation for and it seems so small or unimportant you go on to dismiss it as unreal or the impossible? While in the back of your mind you aren’t so sure. You can’t get what you think you saw out of your mind and it drives you mad. You start to hope your eyes were just playing a tricks on you and when you look again….what if the impossible is still there, staring back at you. In our limited existence we perceive to we know what is and isn’t real. The reality is, we don’t know a damn thing. I was never a superstitious man; I lived in a small town in northern California. I kept to myself; I went to work at one of the many steel mills. Made good money and didn’t have much I really wanted in life. After my parents past away they left their house on the outskirts of town to me being as I was their only son. It was a medium sized two bedroom wood built house my father, a very proud man, built from the ground up. He built it with a good sized deck and a wine cellar he later turned into a woodshop. It was a big house for me, I wasn’t married nor do I have children of my own, but none of that really mattered to me. I am perfectly happy living on my own. I always enjoyed the peace and quiet of my home….or at least I use to.

Life was relatively normal until May 18, 1980; which if you know your history is when Mt. St. Helena famously erupted, one whole side of the mountain exploding causing 57 deaths and 1.1Billoin dollars in damages. The ash cloud from the eruptions rose over 12 miles into the air and covered a wide area and the effects could be seen in Organ, Nevada, Wyoming, Montana, and of course California. It covered everything its dirty grey soot and due to health concerns many business shut down for the duration of the clean-up. The police, firefighters, and medical responders worked around the clock as large piles of soot would cave in roofs on buildings. They encouraged people to stay inside and if you absolutely needed to go out, such as to shovel soot off your house, to wear a mask, safety glasses and to be out now long than forty-five minutes to an hour at a time. That was fine with me, as I said I kept to myself mostly and did not have need to leave the comfort of my home.

It looked eerie…the sun wasn’t even visible for almost two weeks, everything covered in a dull grey. I spent most of the time listening to the radio but because of the ash I had dust off the antenna on my house just so I could continue to stay up to date on the news. It had gotten tedious and annoying but with work closed and soot still falling I didn’t have much else to do. After the first few days I gave up trying to keep ash off the antenna and found myself staring out my window into the distance. Ash steadily and gently fell from the sky like grey snow. My mind wandered and I daydreamed for a long time perhaps I may have even nodded off from boredom. When my eyes opened again I saw…something. It was barely visible and didn’t seem important at that moment but there it was among the trees at the edge of the woods. It was pretty far off …. Yet it stood out. It looked like figure….not even a figure more of a silhouette in the distance. I strained my eyes trying to see better but it was too far away and fuzzy. I rubbed my eyes, yawned and brushed it off, figuring if it was actually something it was most likely just an animal. It was unlikely someone would just be standing out in the woods giving the condition out there, and crime was minimal where I lived so I wasn’t really worried. It was stupid. So for lack of better things to I swept up the ash that found itself inside and retired for the night, I had become suddenly very tried. I planned to wake up early the next day to brush all the soot of my roof and truck the next morning to prevent any damages, but even as tired as I was I found sleep very elusive that night. What sleep I got didn’t feel restful at all. I tossed and turned but it seemed no matter how hard I tried to shake it, that figure in the woods would creep back into my mind. Was it really their? If so why? Dreams I had I could faintly hear…whispering. It was low and I couldn’t make out the words but it was all I could hear.

Dull light shown thru my window signaling the morning and I decided I would try and sleep later. After an extra pot of coffee I threw on my coveralls, gloves, safety glasses from work and tied a bandana to cover my face and headed outside. Soot had completely covered my truck and it must have gotten into the engine or clogged the starter because it refused to start. I sighed knowing it would be a pain to fix but there was nothing that could be done with the stuff still falling. I was stranded at my own home, and it was miles to town but I wasn’t terribly worried. If I had to I could walk, I had done it many times before a child. Giving up on the truck I took a ladder, and shovel from the shed and went up to the roof. I brushed of the antenna yet again and began shoveling piles of ash from the roof. It was pretty heavy and I could see how if left unchecked it could do damage too house. Sweat formed on my face and it soon felt as if I had heavy clay plastered on my face. I took a break resisting the urge for a cigarette, figuring there was enough shit getting in my lungs, and sat on the roof. The light from the hidden sun was descending now as twilight approached, I lost track of how long I had been working out there .Then…. it caught my eye again thou…. the silhouette from the day before…but it was different…it was closer. I froze. How long had it been there? I could see it a little clearer now, and this time there was no denying it was real. It seemed to be in the shape of a man but a little taller maybe, and it was dark, black, standing out in the grey. I shook my head, but it didn’t go away, it stood there still. My mind simply could not processes what my eyes were seeing….and the worse part about it was the longer I looked…the more figures I saw. Soon I saw them everywhere, they were dotted among the trees…all of them looked alike, fuzzy, unclear man shaped…things. \

I quickly got off the roof nearly slipping headed inside; I quickly locked all the doors and windows…still thinking to myself. “It can’t be real, it just can’t.” I wanted so badly for it just to be my eyes playing a trick on me …but every time towards the forest…they stood there still, unmoving. I attempted to call the police but phone lines where knocked out by the ash. Still to this day I have no explanation for what I saw…or what I heard. What little sunlight there was fading and darkness came quickly the shadowy figures fading into the rest of the darkness. I shook my head again cursed at myself. My thoughts ran to my father when he was still alive, nothing scared him and he would flip in his grave if he could see how I was acting now. I grabbed a flashlight I had also taken from work and my wood chopping ax and stormed out the front door. I had to know, looking at it now I should have left but pride and maybe stupidity pushed me to find out who or what was out there, and why.

The beam from the flashlight didn’t penetrate the still falling ash very far. I walked towards the woods holding the ax tightly. My heart pounding in my chest so hard I could feel it in my ears. I walked a fair distance and saw…nothing, I walked a little farther and still nothing out there. I called out, not sure if I wanted to get a response or not but I was met with silence….I stood at the edge of those woods for almost thirty minutes, calling out a few more time. This was about where the figures stood…I had thought but there was nothing to suggest anything had been here. My grip on the ax lessened and I scanned once more before I turned back. I remember I felt slightly more at ease as I made my way back…but that was a brief moment and this is a night that still plagues my dreams to this day….I had made it about halfway back to the house when a stray flake of ask made it past my safety glasses and straight into my eye. It burned pretty bad and I cursed out loud dropping the ax and covering my face, tears streaming down my cheek turning the soot to clay, I rubbed vigorously my eyes trying to regain my composure.…then the silence was broken, suddenly I heard incoherent whispers, low at first but all around me. My head shot up and I flashed my light into the darkness, and even threw blurred vision I saw them….closer than ever, dozens of them just standing there, black shadows in a grey haze. The whispering increased in volume until it sounded as if it filled my skull, I screamed, and ran towards the light coming from my porch, leaving my ax behind. I didn’t care if I couldn’t see well, I just ran. The whispering got even louder filling my ears.

Once I made it inside I slammed and barricaded all the doors and windows with everything I could find. I thought about fleeing out the back and running to one of my neighbor’s houses as soon as I went for the window I saw more of them, they were everywhere, unmoving black man shaped figures surrounded my home. To this day I have never known the same, blinding terror. I threw open the cellar and locked myself inside. For the rest of the night I sat in the dark room with only the little light my dying flashlight provided. I could still hear the voices, muffled but still loud, I curled into a ball under the work table as the last bit of power from my flashlight died….

I don’t know when I fell asleep or for how long….I awoke to a pounding on the front door. Needless to say I just about shit myself at the sudden banging. Light filtered in thru the floorboards, bright sunlight. I heard a male voice call my name, and it sounded human enough. It took a few minutes to crawl out from under the table and make my way out of the cellar to peak out the window. It was my neighbor from down the road and his son. I pushed everything out of the way cracked open opened the door, the unfiltered sunlight was warm on my face and stung my eyes a little.

“Jesus Hank you look like hell! I heard you screaming last night are you ok???” He said looking with wide concerned eyes at me. It took me a minuet to reply, my throat felt extremely dry and I am sure I looked very ragged. “Yea. I just……I”, I started to speak but was cut off by an excited yell, his son.

“Dad come look!”

The three of us walked over and what I saw made me tremble all over again. Footprints, hundreds coming from many directions out of the woods….all towards my home ending abruptly. They looked human in shape yet, they were different. The shape was consistent with a normal foot but….with no toes, and slightly more curved, with no drag marks as you would normally see with someone who was walking thru the ash. We all stood there for what felt like a long time, the sun climbing higher into the now clear sky. My neighbor started to speak but his words were lost to me as my eyes followed one set of track. Somehow…I knew it was from the very first one I saw. The tracks lead closest to my home, moving around the side….stopped just in front of outside cellar door. A cold sweat came over me as I realize that during my panic last night. I never locked the outside cellar door….

Credit: Shawn M A Miranda

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The Intersection

I was never a particularly bad person. My criminal record wasn’t extensive, I never took a life, nor put my hands on someone I shouldn’t have. Maybe I didn’t give enough to the needy, didn’t volunteer enough, or didn’t subscribe to a particular religious ideology I ought to have. Just couldn’t put my finger on why I was stripped of what I had and placed in the situation I’m in now.

I’ve never been much of a religious woman, but for convenience reasons, I’m going to describe what I now experience as “hell”. I obviously didn’t go to a heaven, or some sort of purgatory…hell simply best describes it. But it isn’t what you’ve been told it is during your Sunday morning church sermon. Nor is it a prison in which to rot, or a fiery pit of pain. It’s a psychological test which I can only assume leads to ultimate freedom. A redemption to appease whoever or whatever made us. But that last part is just an assumption…maybe this test goes on forever, varying in difficulty and in punishment. However my firm grasp to hope remains, that someday this will all end.

To avoid further confusion, I’ll lay out a bit of atmosphere. Whatever happened in the brief moments before I became conscious of my surroundings is a mystery, but it felt like awaking from a nightmare with a quick shiver. Suddenly I could see, feel, hear…all of my senses heightened as compared to what I could remember before my death. I was situated in a seemingly abandoned house, the floor below my feet littered with debris and household items. I stood on the second level of the house; in front of me a hall which lead to a balcony overlooking the first floor living room. The furniture was badly tattered and incredibly dirty & the photos and paintings that once decorated the room now lied face-down on the floor surrounded by shattered glass. On the far end of the living room was an open door frame that led directly into the kitchen, who’s counters were matted in brown stains and rat shit was rampant. To the left of me, the stairs that led to these two ground level rooms, an elegant wooden staircase with a slight bend. Down the hall in front of me and before the balcony were two doors on the wall to the right, both doors were heavy oak & were shut at the time of my awakening. To my right side was a smaller hallway with one door to the left, a bathroom, and at the end of that hall, a slightly ajar door leading to a room I never had the privilege to enter. And right behind me, a large window that overlooked the backyard and open country that seemed to endlessly spread on past the fence bordering the property. No other house is visible from this view, nothing but prairie and thicket blanketed by the light of a full moon.

When I awoke, there wasn’t much time to look around my immediate surroundings before I noticed it. The feeling of shock felt from suddenly being in an unfamiliar place soon faded to fear and dread when I noticed I wasn’t alone. In the backyard entering the wide-open gate was what looked like a person. It hobbled about slowly, a sort of deformed limp as it went, black and deep eye sockets fixated on the house. Very tall and bony in stature, but not unrealistically so. It carried nothing and wore nothing except for a messy and ripped white dress. I stared it down for five or so seconds before realizing that it was female. Hair shoulder length and incredibly thin, an elongated face with a very narrow jaw. Mouth slightly open, head tilted a little to the right. I wanted nothing but for it to be as far away from me as possible. When it reached a mere 15 foot-ish distance from the house, I stepped back in fear it may see me through the gaping window, my foot atop the littered glass shards that the window once held. At once my weight shifted, and a crunching sound was made that alerted the thing. It stopped dead in it’s tracks and snapped it’s head upward as if it knew exactly where to look.

Panic set in that made the brief moment feel like an eternity. The thing in the backyard let out a gurgled shriek and then – it dashed. Faster than I’d ever seen any human move before. The freakiest swaying run, swiftly and with it’s arms dangling near the sides, moving sporadically. Acting fast, I bolted to the nearest room, the bathroom, an utter mistake…there was no door to shut. I stood in the corner of the room with eyes agape as I listened to the thing stumbling quickly up the stairs. And straight into the bathroom it came, arms stretched toward me, in full sprint. No hesitation. It didn’t even need to search for me. How did it know exactly where I was? And as it was within arms reach, I shook. Right back to the beginning.

The cycle repeated itself. In a flash it seemed I had gone back in time. I was standing at the intersection once more. The hallway was just as it had been, the stairs to my left, the rooms to my right, and the window behind me. Trembling, I turn to see that the thing was in the position I found it, hobbling across the backyard and toward the house. Knowing I had a few moments to act, I remained conscious of what I was stepping over and took a chance – the staircase. I quietly crept down, shifting my weight ever so carefully and testing each stair with a trial step in case it was broken or creaky. A few were, I stepped over those, and made my way into the living room. Slight success. My fear faded a little. The living room doorway which it came in the first time had no door to shut. But that’s the last thing I would have done. I slinked my way behind a large sofa near the centre of the room and waited. A lanky shadow cast as it approached and thumped with each step before it ducked slightly to fit though and peered around the room, as if already searching. Fuck. I watched in a heedful manner as the thing slowly staggers and totters toward the staircase. Yes, go for it, I thought. But instead of a continuation of it’s search on the upper floor, it halted as it reached the first step, turned with cracking bones, and looked straight at me. I was paralyzed. One giant stride and a leap, it reached me.

Just like that I was back at my scene. Stairs, hall, bathroom, door, window. Thing. By now I had figured out that the thing can’t touch me, that this test wasn’t about pain or suffering. My mind was fixated briefly on attempting to muster up a possible solution, but this was futile.

Remembering I only had a short time until her & her awfully postured walk made their way to the front doorway, I silently ushered myself downstairs, ducked and crawled past the couch that was recently the location of my demise, and tip-toed to the kitchen. This was my introduction to doing things in a timely manner, learning from my mistakes, trial & error. After a quick scan of the room I was in, I leaned over and peered toward the doorway where it usually arrives. No lanky shadows. No thumping footsteps. Is it really taking this long? Damn, how fast did I get downstairs? Questions clouded my mind as I continued to watch and wait. A good 30 seconds passed. There’s no way it wouldn’t have been here by now. What the fuck? Where did it go? Any confidence I had of escape was now drowned out by a flood of fear. I wanted to – I needed to know where it was. My eyes shifted toward the floor as I sought out something with a bit of weight. Reaching down carefully, I clasped a shard of glass loosely in my hand and prepared to chuck it into the living room. One more glance to make sure I was alone & I threw the shard. It made a loud thud and slid on the hardwood floor until it came to a halt against the wall near the stairs. A moment passed and still nothing. I checked my surroundings one more time. It wasn’t at the usual doorway. I wasn’t being ambushed. It was time to move.

Carefully I moved across the kitchen, between the wall and the island in the center of the room, past the kitchen table & chairs, and I neared the back doorway. This one actually had a door, half-hinged and mangled though it was. Slowly I clicked the handle, ease thus far. And creeeaaaak went the door. Called it. So loud. I paused. No sign of the thing. A little more creaking. Safety still upon me. Just my luck however, the door got stuck just as the exit was almost wide enough for me to slip my slender frame through. Frustrated, I gave it a good yank, and…the whole thing came tumbling down. I slammed against the floor, the door following in quick succession. Even after that sort of ruckus, no sign of the beast. Insane. I was no longer being quiet as I picked myself up off the floor and exited the building. Into the yard outside the kitchen. I traversed the broken fence and exited the property, not taking a single look back as I dashed into the open field. Freedom at last. I chuckled to myself as confidence returned to my mind and I continued my steady pace. In the distance, a roof above the thicket. Civilization, possibly. My hope would be rewarded. I just wanted so badly to see another human face, for this fear to end.

Shifting gear back to caution, I fumbled through the thicket clumsily. It’s thorns ripped at my clothing, it’s branches bashed my legs. But I made it through. Had I beaten the first test? I haven’t re-awoken. This is good. Stumbling slowly toward the yard I went, past the opened welcoming gate, and approaching the familiar building. My head shifted in confusion as I swept my sore legs across the ground. A sound caught my attention. The crunching of broken glass. I snapped my head toward the source of the sound, and through the second floor window saw the only innocent face I’ve seen since my death; my own.

Credit: D. L. Miller

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Come and Eat

The trip started with great expectations. Matt, Steve, Joe, John, and myself were all avid hikers. We had all planned a winter hike through the hills of northern Michigan that border Canada. We were going to camp, ice fish, and see the sights along our trek. We were a week into our journey without any incident and spirits were high as we left civilization behind.

“Hey ladies are you even trying to keep up?” Matt yelled from a distance up the trail. No one answered except John who was the youngest eager to prove his worth on his first hike with us. “Yeah, yeah we’re coming!” He said quickening his pace and then tripping on a exposed tree root. Steve caught him. “Be more careful man, you break your ankle out here we may just have to leave you.” He joked trying to convey the importance of being alert this far from humanity. I dropped to the back of our group taking the sights in and snapping pictures as we approached a cliff at a bend in the trail.

The view was amazing. The distant rivers and mountains coated in a slight coat of white shining in the sun with a foreground of green pine trees. No civilization in sight which only added to the regal beauty of the remote landscape. “I think I have a blister. Can we stop for a little while?” Joe finally spoke up. “Jeeze man, that again?” John said disapproving of his complaint. “Yeah, that again! It hasn’t gone away since I last mentioned it.” Joe snapped back. “It’s alright I’m getting tired too. Let’s set up camp here” I said quickly to defuse the situation. Everybody agreed save for Matt who quickly gave in anyways.

The camp was up and ready after only a short time due to our combined efforts. Then we all decided to explore independently looking for firewood and such. I carried my camera and fishing gear through the trees toward the bottom of our cliff hoping to catch some food for us all. After a few hours of fruitless fishing I decided to break out the fifth of crown royal I had snuck into my pack without the others knowledge. A few drinks in I was greeted by Joe looking depressed. “What’s wrong man?” I asked offering him the bottle. He took it and drank. “Shawna said we were through before we left”. “Oh” I replied finally knowing the reason for his withdrawn attitude that hung over him for the majority of the trip. “Things will get better man, you will see.” He seemed a little relieved by my sympathy as we sat talking with snow beginning to fall from the grey skies.

It took a little bit of time for us to hike back to the camp. Luckily the campfire was built high and roaring illuminating the otherwise pitch blackness of the surroundings. Approaching it we reunited with our friends who were already boiling ramen noodles. We all ate and shared stories of our day to day lives. The worsening weather forced us into our respective tents for the night. Slipping into the warmth of my sleeping bag I removed the bottle of Crown Royal from my pack and had a few sips before resting my head on my pillow and nodding off.

” venir … venir” a voice jolts me awake in a cold sweat. It echoed into my waking mind in multiple octaves but all at once. I rubbed my eyes and noticed the tent shaking as rabid winds pelted its thin walls. Drowsy I reach for a bottle of water and after taking a large gulp I drop the open water to the floor of my tent in shock. Outside I heard a blood chilling scream. Throwing open the flap to my tent I’m greeted by a maelstrom of white. The crazed winds caressed every inch of my body as I crawled into the open to see Joe’s body laying face down in the snow.

One by one my group of friends emerged from their tents to assist me pulling Joe back into his tent. As his shoulder met my chest he let out another scream of pain. Then I felt it. Warmth running down my chest. Joe’s shirt was shredded and he was bleeding out. Laying him down on his stomach I looked in horror at the wound. His skin was gashed in the shape of a giant hand print. Far to big to be human bordered by the tale tell signs of frostbite.

“What the fuck happened!?!” Exclaimed Matt upon seeing the wound. “I don’t know what happened! His yelling woke me up!” I frantically replied looking around at everybody. “Do we have anything to put on that? ” Steve asked “It looks like it’s infected”. “It can’t be” I said back to him “it’s ..fre…” I stopped mid sentence noticing the inky black veins on his shoulder. I bolted out of the tent to fetch my booze to pour in the gashes but a step from my tent I was stopped in my tracks by the horrible voice that had woken me. ” venir … venir” boomed from the trees seeming from every direction. Ignoring it I dove in my tent and grabbed the liquor. Returning to the tent i doused Joe’s shoulder and cleaned it. He had already passed out so together we all remained in the tent until Steve’s watch sounded its alarm signaling morning had come.

Joe had fallen silent, his wound smelled of decay and his tent was filled with the horrible smell. The black veins had crawled up from his back to his neck. The alcohol did nothing to slow the infection feeling the urgency we gathered and debated our next move. Almost immediately we were divided on the options. Matt and John both fought to head back the way we came carrying Joe but we didn’t have the food or energy to trek back three days worth of trails in the deep snow. After much deliberation we all decided on one course of action. Matt and John would take most our remaining food and push forward to get help while Steve and I would keep a fire burning for its smoke all while caring for Joe.

Not long after they departed it became clear Steve and I had stayed put in vain. In only a day Joe quickly fell into a coma and stopped breathing. We had quickly exhausted our food after that even resorting to cooking the worms I had bought for fishing. Starvation was setting in and even though we were in the wilderness it was devoid of life. we might as well have been in a barren desert.

The words echoed in my head and for the sixth night in a row I wake up in a cold sweat “venir … venir” I repeated out loud then I noticed I had woken Steve who was on the other side of the tent. “You can’t sleep either?” Steve asked weakly. “No I’m so hungry it hurts. We have to go we are going to die here man.” I said to Steve grimly. He shook his head. “They are sending help. Matt and John have to made to town by now.” “What if they haven’t Steve!” I quickly interrupted “we are waiting here to die!” There is nothing to eat, nothing but…” Steve’s face twisted “no, he’s our friend. I’d rather die” he exclaimed showing that he had at least had the grim thought himself before I put words to it. “Then it’s clear we got to go. We aren’t going to last another night like this.” He nodded “after my watch sounds we will go.”

After hours of uneasy rest the alarm came. Without much talking Steve and I gathered our things and set off. The once beautiful forest seemed only to force dread and exhaustion down on us even more. Hours of dragging our feet through the hard packed snow we started seeing signs that Matt and John had taken the path we were on. Then we rounded a cliff side. There hung John almost crucified on a thick pine tree. His arms broken backward and secured by tent posts driven through his wrists and into the great tree. His corpse was ripped to pieces, frostbitten and signs of the same infection that killed Joe where everywhere. Matt’s trademark hat blood soaked laid only feet away.

The sight was too much. I wept falling but my weakness forbid me from standing up. I was too hungry and had no strength left. Then a familiar voice rang from the trees “venir … venir manger” followed by the crunching of snow behind me. Steve’s eyes grew wider than I’ve ever seen another person’s get. Turning my head I finally saw the owner of the voice that had been torturing me in my dreams.

It stood over seven feet tall, black and blue frostbitten skin gnawed to the bone in places all draped in rotten deer hides, capped off by a elk skull forced on to what was a once human head deforming every facial feature it once had. The horror of its appearance was
Only bested by its foul smell. It stepped over me looking down and smiling revealing its rancid, rotten teeth. It knew I couldn’t run or even defend myself. I was no threat and it knew it.

In one swift motion it lunged at Steve pinning him to the ground and tearing through his coat and the layers under as if they were made of paper finally holding its bloody hand on his bare flesh as the skin under its Palm blackened and died from what looked like frostbite. With a final pained scream Steve’s eyes closed and he passed on. Seemingly pleased by its own handiwork the creature stood up smiling at me again as if looking for my approval and started walking back toward me. I closed my eyes and braced myself but it stopped directly over me.

“venir … venir manger” it said again in its demonic voice. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted it to kill me because there was no way of escaping or fighting. so I yelled as loud as I could. “Do it! Do it you twisted motherfucker!” But to my surprise it just stood the studying me. looking up my eyes met the monsters crusted, yellow, bloodshot eyes and it smiled again. Reaching both arms down it lifted me like a ragdoll and placed me on my feet. It studied me once more and smiled taking its gnarled nails and jamming them into my chest.

An explosion of pain was immediately followed by nothing but cold. Like something had replaced all the blood in my body with liquid nitrogen. The all to familiar blackness traced my veins. My stomach ached like I had been shot and a hole had been blown straight through it but I didn’t collapse. I felt stronger than I ever had in my life. Only cold and hunger were left in my body as the beast stepped back to examine its work again with its ever present toothy smile. It left me standing returning to Steve’s body and eagerly tearing into his skin. After a moment it turned back to look at me saying ” venir … venir manger” again while motioning to the body with an outstretched arm and bloody smile. At that moment I finally understood its words without knowing the language it spoke….. “come… come and eat”

Credit: David keys

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11 Miles Ritual Performance

I’m a married man with four daughters. I’ve never been one of those weirdos who tries to summon demons or ghosts or anything. Even in my teen years I was never into that sort of stuff. I was more of a sports guy. I wish more of my kids were. I only heard about this…thing through one of my daughters. I’ll be honest, they’re all kind of freaks.

I spend a lot of time with my youngest, who’s on a soccer team in school. It gives me a way to connect with her. My two older girls used to be in soccer too, but they moved on to softball and the like after middle school. My middle daughter is the only one we never got into sports. Which could be why she’s the most overwight out of all my children.

I guess she’s the odd one out of the family. Which is how I heard about this “11 Miles” thing.

See, my two oldest are just a year apart. They’re older than my next daughter by six years and seven years. My middle daughter is older than my youngest by three years. So, my daughters have kind of split in half. They all get along, but they definately have chosen their favorites. Everyone loves my youngest the most, my wife and I included, but I think she’s chosen my middle daughter as her favorite. The one I found out about this from.

My relationship with my wife went through a particularly rough patch when she was young. Maybe that’s when she became so quiet and isolated. When my youngest was born, we hit another rough patch. I guess we kind of neglected the both of them. I think that’s why they become so close.

So, I found about this because my middle daughter is really into the occult. Something I’m ashamed to say it took me almost years to realize. I thought the black clothing and dyed hair was just a phase, and that she would grow out of it if I just let her. She straightened her hair more often, with I did like. Anyway, she apparently visited this weird creepy-something website all the time, because it was in her search history everyday. I didn’t mean to go through her personal stuff, I found it on accident. My computer died, and I really needed to do some work. So, I logged onto her laptop (after three failed attempts at guessing her password, which was her favorite anime character’s name), and she had apparently forgotten to close the tab. I didn’t want to snoop into her personal searches, but I also didn’t want to let her know I’d been on her laptop without her knowing. So, I opened a new tab and got my work done.

After that, I looked at the time and saw I had a few minutes before either of my younger daughters got home from school. My oldest two have graduated high school, my middle is now a senior, figure out where my youngest fits. My oldest is at college out of state, and the second oldest spends most of her time at work and out with friends. My middle spends most of her time at home in her room, which is why she’s visited so many pages on his site, I guess. She usually got home first, since my youngest spent a lot of time with friends.

I closed my work tab and ended up reading a little of what was on the page. It was, you guessed it, about the 11 Miles ritual. I only got through the first few paragraphs before I heard my daughter open the front door. I immediately closed her laptop and put it back in it’s place. I didn’t read anymore about it until that night.

My wife and I got into another heated argument that night. It was one of our worst that month. I ended up slamming the door on our bedroom in the middle of it and spending the night in my office. I think my youngest left her tablet in there, as it was unlocked and she’s pretty scatterbrained. I sometimes think she may have ADHD or something, but raising four daughters hasn’t exactly left money left over for psychiatric visits.

I was angry and trying not to do anything violent. For whatever reason, I found myself thinking about that “11 Miles” thing I’d started reading. I figured it’d get my mind off thing, so I looked it up on my youngest daughter’s tablet and read it completely.

I was…surprised.

Why was my quiet, soft-spoken daughter reading about a ritual like this? A ritual about driving through a road that didn’t exist unless looked for, and an increasing drop in temperature, passing the souls of people who’d failed to complete the ritual, listening to their whispers and screams, and ending with getting something she “relentlessly desires”?

Was she thinking about trying it? What could she want badly enough to look up some occult ritual that claimed to grant it?

Or maybe she was just surfing the site and happened to click on it because it sounded interesting.

Was there something she could want that badly? I really don’t know much about her intrests. I know she likes that Japanese stuff, and art. Maybe she wanted a scholarship to an art school, or a trip to Japan, or some piece of merchandise.

No, she wouldn’t go this far for something like that.

But, as my thoughts went back to my wife, I started thinking about it more and more.

I thought about it for three days.

I made up my mind on the third day, laying next to my wife in bed after another one of our fights. We’d made up this time, though, and were actually sharing the bed again. I can’t remember what we were always fighting about. It could’ve been money, or just some dumb thing neither of us could let go of. But, laying in bed next to her, I’d made my mind up.

I was trying the ritual.

The only thing in my way was the matter of when. What excuse could I use to go out alone at night for an unknown amout of time? Could I say I was going on a late night grocery run? Going out to rent a movie? Maybe I could make up something about meeting up with my friends for a guys night out? I wanted to follow the ritual as close as I could, so I was wondering if it would be effected by my having other objects in the car.

I saw an oppurtunity the next Saturday. My youngest wanted to stay the weekend at a friends house for a sleepover. I could rely on my second oldest to be out until about three in the morning. My middle girl would be content alone in her room, so I could probably make up anything to leave and she’d believe it as long as she could stay home.

The only problem would be my wife. I wanted most of my children to be preoccupied, so I could search for the road as long as needed without neglecting them any more than I already had. My wife, however, would want an airtight alibi. As if she thought I was going to meet some woman behind her back.

It was as if she thought I was stupid. Like I didn’t know about the man she saw at least once a week. The stupid woman thought that I wouldn’t realize what was going on.

She was pregnant. We hadn’t had sex in weeks. With all our other children, she’d shown signs within two weeks. It made me sick. It made me sicker to think that she was going to pretend it was mine. It was just the kind of idiotic thing she’d try.

It took another argument just for me to be able to leave the house. All it took from my daughter was a six sentence long conversation.

“Hey, I’m going to pick up something from the super market, do you want to come?”

“No thanks, Dad.”

“Well, do you want me to bring you back anything?”

“Uhh, some gum, please.”

“Okay. I’ll be back. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

And that was it. But no, my wife needed specifics. What I going to get? Which super market was I going to? How long would I be gone? Was that all I was planning to get? Because we needed bread, apparently. And herbal tea, which only she drank. And probably a dozen other things I didn’t bother to remember.

Thankfully, I did eventually get out of my house. I felt like my head was going to explode, just from dealing with my wife. I got in my truck and drove off. First thing I did was go to the closest gas station and filled up completely. The ritual said it would be best to go on a full tank. I had studied it over the days leading up to this, and I felt I had nearly memorized it.

The only detour I took was to the super market. I got my daughters gum and I think some bottles of soda.

At almost nine thirty, I drove out to the most wooded area I knew. It took nearly twenty minites to get there, and by that time I expected everyone to be either gone, or to deep to interfere.

I drove around the wooded paths for what felt like an eternity. Since what I wanted was, in a way, revenge, I figured that like it said, I would become more hot or angry the closer it got. Well, I was getting irritated, that was for sure. Just what was I doing, driving around, alone at night? What for? What exactly was it that I was doing this for?

It would never work. Not with me like this. My mind started to drift.

I thought about my oldest daughter. I wanted her to succeed. She was like a shining beacon in my life all throughout her school years. Getting terrific grades, doing fantastic in sports, making lifelong friends. She was exactly the kind of life I wanted for all my daughters.

I thought about my second oldest daughter. She did well in both school and sports, but nothing like her older sister. She’d graduated with honors, but my oldest had graduated with a 4.0 average. She was going to a community college and working part-time at an ice cream shop. Like I said before, most of her time was spent with friends. Or that skinny loser she calls her boyfriend. Ugh, what did she seem in him? My wife approved of him, of course. Keeping her daughter close to home instead of out in the world.

I began to feel hot.

My thoughts turned to my middle daughter, who’d turned down my offer to come to the store with me. I had wanted to do this, but she just spent all her time in her room on her computer. I didn’t think I’d met or even heard about any of her friends. Her grades were…unstable, to put it lightly. Sometimes she would get A’s, sometimes C’s or lower. She usually had one class every year that she almosted failed completely, narrowly pulling out a decent enough grade by finals week. What were her plans after she graduated? Had she and I talked about it at all? Had she talked about it with her mother? What had they decided without me? Did she know about the man? She hardly left the house, it was possible that she’d overheard something. Would she tell me if she did?

I swear I felt my forehead veins pop out from under my skin. That ball of rage in the pit of my stomach was forming quickly. I didn’t see any road on either side of me, though. But I must be getting closer to it.

I must.

I thought about my youngest daughter. God, what a trainwreck she was. Failing most of her classes, bad at soccer, not even any sort of talent or hobby to make up for her lack of brain power.

My middle child at least had a real, performable skill. She could paint. She used to do it all hours of the day when she was younger, but now that’s she’s in her teens she’s hardly touched her old brushes and paints.

My youngest, however, had nothing. I had tried everything. Martial arts, music lessons, creative writing, even make up tutorials to try and find something she could occupy her time with. My wife seemed to want her to quit soccer as well. What was she thinking?! We had to keep her in something, and that sport, as bad as she was at it, was something where she at least had made enough friends to keep her tied in.

I’d gotten both of our oldest daughters involed in something and they’d both at least found something productive. My wife convinces me to leave our middle daughter out of any sort of organized club and she’s barely amounted to anything. She at least has a skill and potential for when she graduates. I wouldn’t make that same mistake with our youngest.

My wife, dear God my wife! I really hated her. The more I pictured her face the more I wanted to just destroy it. Just punch it and kick it and I don’t know stab it? Just make it so I’d never be able to look at it and recognize her.

And the baby she was carrying? I didn’t much care what happened to it. It wasn’t mine, that was for damn sure. And this…I don’t even remember his name, but this asshole who was it’s father, I wanted the same for him.

I found the road, right before it felt like my head would explode.

Before I offically started down it, I stopped my car like the instructions said and made sure I checked everything I needed to. For those of you unfamiliar with the ritual, here’s a short list of things to make sure of before driving down:

1. The radio is off. And it cannot be turned back on at any time during the drive.
2. You must not use a phone at all, reception will be cut off anyway. In an attempt to be a good dad, I wanted to send my daughter a text. Something like “Traffic is bad, don’t know when I’ll make it home.” But I didn’t, in case it messed with the ritual. Sorry, precious, daddy’s busy at the moment. I ended up turning my phone off completely, just in case she or my wife tried calling.
3. Make sure the windows are closed, and do not open them at any time during the trip. But, if it’s a bad as it says, why would anyone?
4. Decide right now if you’re going through with this. If not, you can’t get out of your car at anytime after. Not sure what would happen, but it can’t be good.
5. Make a mental note to never go past thirty miles per hour. Unless you are desperate to make it to the next mile.
6. Lastly, of course, buckle up. I myself have a bad habit of not doing this. Rest assured though, I fastened my seatbelt before proceeding.

According to the instructions, time will stop completely once I begin the ritual. But guess what? It didn’t stop in the time I searched for it. I was still going to be pretty late getting home. Can’t blame traffic for everything.

Never mind any of that now. I had begun driving down the first mile.

Like it said, there was no change aside from suddenly being able to see stars in the night sky. I live in southern Cailfornia, and even on clear nights it’s hard to tell if stars are even what you’re actually seeing. The woods were nice to look at. I did feel slightly cold, but not enough to warrant putting my heater on just yet. The instructions recommend turning it on around this time, so I did, but on it’s lowest setting.

I was going about twenty miles an hour, when I felt it get colder. Alright, first mile down, ten to go. The road got kind of curvy and twisty, but there were no other changes.

Third mile, the silhouettes appeared between the trees on both sides of the road. It was hard not to look at them. They reminded me of some creepy monster I think I overheard my middle daughter telling my youngest about. I didn’t like that she did that, but what could I do to stop her? Something about some tall, skinny man who hid in the forest and stalked children? You all probably know, and could tell me all about the Whatever-Man, but I don’t care to know, I was and am more concerned with what I was experiencing that night.

Since the story mentioned this around this time, I will too. If you decide to try this, and try to turn back after starting, the road will never end. You will (supposably) drive on endlessly until you run out of gas and freeze to death. I never turned back, so I cannot confirm this.

Fourth mile, I guess, since I started to hear the whisperings in the back of my head. They came a little farther out of the tree line, and I could see more of them. I tried not to, as much as I tried not to focus on thier inane mumblings.

That’s something that bothers me about my middle daughter. She mumbles all the time. Not under her breath, but in the middle of conversations. It drives me crazy. Not as crazy as the thought of my wife giving birth to another child and trying to pass it off as mine. Would probably be another mumbler, with my luck.

Thankfully, it seems that thinking of my daughter’s annoying habit being passed on to my wife’s child with another man blocked out their noises. Lucky me.

I reached a clearing, so I assumed I had reached the fifth mile. The voices left, along with the tree line to my left. The moon on the lake was even more spectacular than it had been described. It was really hard not to gaze at it. It seemed like something my daughter would like. The rest of the mile was pretty uneventful. I just tried to keep my rage within arms reach, if that makes sense.

I left the clearing, and the stars left me, too. Like the love in my marriage. I mildly cheered myself up by thinking I was more than halfway finished with the ritual. And soon enough my wife would be suffering, I would hope.

I had to tun my heater up here, I just couldn’t take the cold anymore. This is also where my headlights started to flicker. My truck wasn’t in the best condition, it was a couple years old. It was supposed to do this regardless of condition, but I was still unnerved.

This was also where my radio turned itself on. And, much like the ritual itself says, it started talking about my worst fears. I don’t want to go into detail, and I tried not to listen to much, but I heard my wife’s name, all of my daughter’s names, the baby, and even a few of my dead family members and old girlfriends.

I sped up to twenty eight miles per hour, and after a few minutes I heard the voive fading out. But not before it made a snarky comment on my current state on life. I was glad to feel the temperature drop again.

I vauguely remember begining the drive on a gravel road. Sometime, when I didn’t notice, it turned into a dirt road.

Seventh mile, the silhouettes returned. Their whispering turned to screams, which grew closer every second. The scariest thing was when I heard one in my car. I desperately resisted the urge to turn around, or look it the rearview mirror. I remembered that these were supposed to be people who had failed at completing the ritual, and now exist to try and stop others. And that they couldn’t physically harm me. That wasn’t comforting to me when it started to scream in my ear though. Eventually, it did leave my car. Shortly before I reached the eighth mile.

Eighth mile, Eminem reference! I turned my heater up all the way, not that it did anything. I had to slow down here, as the road led to some very sharp turns here. My headlights flickered more. Whenever they did I braked, but did not completely stop, as instructed. They followed my car at this point. Banging on my windows and doors. But I didn’t look. I didn’t even want to look, with the sounds they were making. But, it was hard.

Ninth mile reached, satisfaction not felt. My car stalled. It stalled while they were following me. While they were banging and clawing at my truck. Everything shut off and the small amount of heat I had left me in the freezing cold.

Like the ritual said, I closed my eyes and tried to start up my truck again. It took a few tries, but as soon as I did they backed off. Good thing, it sounded like they’d cracked a window or two. So, I also did was the ritual said, and floored it for all I was worth. I didn’t even look at the speedometer until I noticed that the beings were less noticable and the voices were gone. Totally gone.

I thanked God for allowing me to continue with my dark arts dealings.

Tenth mile, almost there! The beings were following me, I presumed. I still felt that they were there, and I’d be able to see them if I looked. Things were smooth, I slowed down to thirty, and I began to see the figures standing back in the tree line again.

I tried preparing myself for the eleventh mile, but how could I have prepared myself for what awaited?

Like the ritual said it would, my truck comepletely shut off, like it did at the ninth. But it didn’t stop. It was still moving, but much slower. I say the red light I read about in the distance as it grew steadily closer. I was freezing near to death, and almost looked forward to the promised heat that awaited. How stupid of me!

I covered my eyes, and I did not uncover them for anything I heard or felt.

The noise was maddening. A thousand times louder and more unhinged than the silhouettes. It felt searing hot. I felt like my clothes were melting and mixing with my flesh. Like the car was slowly melting and soon the rubber tires would be too deveastated to move the car. Like my hands were melting off my wrists, and that I would be unable to cover my eyes. I fearfully thought about what if my eyelids melted? Then what? How would I survive?

It was only supposed to last thirty one seconds, but I will never believe it was that short. Half a minute? No way, it was at least three full minutes, maybe more. No one will be able to convince me of anything else.

Thankfully, I was able to keep my eyes closed the entire time.

Power returned, and I fumbled to turn the heater off while keeping my eyes closed. I wasn’t ready to see my surroundings just yet, but it was like an oven in there. I opened my eyes after a few seconds, and got my surrounds. The screams faded, and I turned the key again and drove forward.

I reached the dead end quickly. I was relieved and glad to be nearly over.

Like I was supposed to, I closed my eyes again and thought about what it was I’d done this for.

To be honest, it had never been entirely clear even to me. Not until I had reached the end of my journey and was forced to reasonably think about what’d I’d gone through this night for.

I thought about my wife. All our arguments, all our hate for each other, about the child she was carrying that belonged to another man. I even, for a reason I can’t understand or explain, started thinking about my middle daughter’s mother.

To be honest, I don’t know who she was. I found her as an infant, to my wife’s shock and displeasure. But, I couldn’t just leave her alone as she was. I never found out much about my daughter’s background, but it was clear that her mother had been either a drug addict or an alcoholic. Or maybe just homeless, for some other reason. I loved my new daughter, and I wanted to give her everything I’d been able to give my own biological daughters. My wife had been against it, never truly warming to our adopted daughter. My two oldests accepted her fine, and my youngest probably has no idea she isn’t blood related. I’ve never told her, but maybe my wife has.

My last thought before opening my eyes was wanting my wife to suffer. I wasn’t specific how.

I slowly opened my eyes and found myself back at the begining of the road where I started my ritualistic journey. It was odd, but not surprising. I was expecting this, but it still gave me chills.

Since what I wanted was nonmaterial, I was supposed to go back to where I came from and find it waiting for me there. I grinned to think of it.

I went straight home, trying desperately to get rid of the lingering noises of the eleventh mile in my mind. I turned the radio up loud, sang along with songs I knew well, mumbled along with ones I didn’t, probably annoyed everyone I stopped next to at a red light.

When I got home, I was greeted by a dark house. The light was on in our bedroom, I could see it from the stairs, but I didn’t feel like going to bed. My daughter was either asleep or listening to music through headphones. I put the groceries I got on the kitchen counter and slept on the couch.

I had nightmares, but I don’t remember anything aside from the noises. They didn’t even wake me up. I was woken up Sunday morning by my daughter shaking me awake roughly around our usual breakfast time, which is around seven or eight. I was still groggy, but she seemed really scared about something.

“Dad, Dad, please wake up!” she whispered in a worried tone of voice. Why was she whispering? I reminded me of the silhouettes and I wanted her to stop.

“What, what?” I mumbled. I couldn’t help it, I was still tired.

“Dad, someting’s wrong with Mom.”

“What?” The drowsiness left me quickly. I tried my hardest not to grin at this, especially with my daughter’s ovbious fear.

“I don’t know what happened, I went into the room and the bed was covered in blood. I think I can hear her crying in the bathroom.” She was almost crying. Poor girl, I didn’t mean to scare her so badly.

“I’ll go see what happened, you stay down here.” I grabbed her by the shoulders gently, and sat her on the couch. She nodded weakly, and I nearly skipped up the stairs to the room my wife and I shared on occasion. I tried not to smile in front of her, I didn’t want to scare her any more than she already was.

I shut the door behind me, so I could smile to my hearts delight. I saw the bedsheets indeed covered in blood. It made me so happy to think of what might’ve happened while I slept last night. My daughter was right, I could faintly hear my wife sobbing in the bathroom.

I knocked on the wooden door with my knuckles and said in a faux sorrowful tone, “Honey, are you alright?”

“No…” she sobbed out, to my delight.

“Oh, what happened?” I asked, trying my best to sound concerned for her well being.

“I…I was waiting to tell you…there’s something…”

“About the baby?” I interrupted. “Or about it’s father? Because it sure as hell isn’t mine.”

I heard her gasp. Oh, how much terror she must be feeling.

“I’ve made up my mind,” I told the door. “I’ll be filing for divorce. I’ll be taking my daughter, of course. Full custody, you will never see her unless she wants to see you. Why she would, I have no idea, but you’ve nearly ruined her. I’ve got to work extra hard to set her on the right path now.”

Still nothing from my wife aside from low sobs and gasps.

“As for our two daughters, well, I’ve decided you can keep them. If they want to see me I’m free on weekends, and maybe a few days out of the week.”

She started to say my name, but I cut her off.

“No no no, not yet. I’m going back downstairs to tell my daughter the truth. You haven’t already, have you?”

She said my name again, and again I cut her off.

“I’ll take that as a no. Good, it’ll give us something to talk about.” I was tired of having nothing but small talk with my daughter.

“Goodbye, my damn dear wife.” I said as I left. “I’m leaving shortly, so you may want to clean up.”

I went back downstairs and told my daughter about her being adopted. She had no idea, and of course had many questions. I cut her off quickly and told her about my plans to divorce my wife, her adopted mother. She actually was supportive of it. Considering all the fights we had, she said she thought it was for the best. That gave me a warm feeling in my stomach.

I asked her to leave our house with me, and stay with me at a hotel tonight. I planned to call one of my friends and arrange a move-in for a few months. She agreed, and we left in my truck together, with nothing but the clothes we were wearing, our phones, and a pack of gum and some soda.

Leaving my soon-to-be ex-fucking-wife to wallow in her stillborns blood.

Credit: Allison Snoopy

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The Hitchhike

One day I was driving home from my dorm as every Friday. It was already dark and the clouds covered the moon, the stars and any other possible source of light. Being not very wealthy student I had to count every coin and I never had a reasonable amount of fuel in the car. I don’t even remember if the fuel gauge ever showed more than half of a tank.
I was hoping that I could get home before I ran out of fuel, but it turned out I couldn’t. I was left on a dark road in the middle of a forest, where you have bigger chance to see a unicorn than meet another car. So I decided to walk. The weather wasn’t exactly warm and before me was a path, that could take hours to walk, but I had no other chance.
Suddenly I heard a sound of an engine and saw a pair of headlights coming towards me. I immediately stopped and sticked up a thumb hoping that the driver would take me to the next town. I didn’t have much chance as it was very dark and I wore a black jacket, but he stopped next to me as if he had seen me long ago.
The car was a pickup truck, a bit old and completely black, but clean and perfectly polished.
“Good evening, young miss,” said the driver quietly. “I suppose you would use a ride.”
“Hello. Would you please take me to the next town?”
“I certainly would. Take a seat.”
I got into the car and we drove off. I looked at the driver. He was wearing black trousers and black sweatshirt and didn’t express any emotion. “It’s not safe to hitchhike here,” he said.
“I had no other option. My car ran out of fuel.”
“Have you heard about the murders?”
“No,” I said in surprise. After a while I continued: “I know about some disappearances. But no murder.”
“It’s clearly a murder. Two young girls don’t just disappear in the middle of the forest road. The first one disappeared almost three months ago not far from here. And the second one just one month later. The woods around aren’t large enough for someone to get lost for such a long time.”
It sounded reasonable. I silently stared out of the window, trying to sort out my thoughts, when the man continued: “They both were hitchhikers. Soon someone will find their bodies, strangled and raped.”
“And what are you doing here?” I tried to change topic.
He paused for a second: “I am here to pick up a client. Nothing important.”
After a silent while he spoke again: “He still has one of the bodies at home.”
A silent thought that appeared in my head suddenly seemed realistic. While nobody around here didn’t know about any murder, this guy knows too many details and takes hitchhikers in the middle of the night. I was probably sitting in a car with a murderer and I couldn’t do anything. I could only hope to get home safe as I finally saw first lights of my town in the distance.
“Your parents ought to be happy to see you tonight,” his voice was still the same, but it suddenly felt cold.
The car stopped under the first streetlight in the town. I was shaking and I grabbed the door handle as soon as the car stopped. “Wait a moment,” his voice froze me in place. I didn’t dare to turn my face to him. “Tonight there were only two cars on this road. One is mine and the other belongs to the creep I was talking about. I just want you to know that I saved your life tonight. Goodbye.” Then I left the car.
As he was passing me, I swear I saw an old massive scythe on the bed of his truck.

Credit: Atlas

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White Shrouded Torso

White Shrouded Torso

Imagine being on your porch late at night. When all of a sudden you start to feel a severe tightening in your chest, breathing becomes arduous like someone is squeezing you, and there’s this humming numbness swiftly spreading from your shoulders down to your digits. And then, with the purest element of shocking spontaneity, it simply appears. A white shrouded protrusion in the shape of a human figure breaks the silent night air like a close range gunshot.

I used to laugh at people claiming to have strange experiences like this. Nothing ever scared me. Anymore though, I’m a little uneasy when I have to step outside at dark. And, I make sure my phone is out and ready to video. Also, I’ve searched. I haven’t found any other people on the internet who’ve experienced a gowned body suddenly standing on their lawn.

I have seen it three times and the best I can describe in recreating this image for the reader’s sake is to visualize the upper torso of a mannequin, its head bent down, draped with white silk window dressings.

There appears to be no distinct pattern in its occurrences. In fact, the intervals between my last two visitations have had over a full year lapse between them. Each time, despite my running inside of the house as quickly as I can to get my wife to look, I have been unsuccessful, and remain the sole witness. Also, this white shrouded torso has never appeared in the same spot in my one acre lot.

It was January 2013. I was the only one still up in our house, half asleep, finishing a movie when reception was lost. There seemed to be no legitimate reason for this loss of service. I remember being so perturbed that I considered calling our provider despite the late hour. I glanced out the living room window. I saw no signs of the typical wind or precipitation interference. In fact, the cold winter night was clear and crisp, the air still. I thought that perhaps some ice had frozen over the satellite dish. I had to chip ice away once or twice before to regain signal. I grabbed a flashlight and a broomstick and went around back to check the satellite. The dish appeared clean and dry, but when I turned around I saw a silhouette that did not really appear human. I quickly shined my flashlight. As soon as the beam illuminated the heaping clump of white, I felt the onrush of heart-attack-like symptoms, and then bolted straight into my house. Despite the alarming fear, I convinced myself that my mind had played a trick on me.

On August 9th 2014 the air was heavy and humid. Our family enjoyed a little night swimming until about 9:30. After getting dry clothes on, feeding the kids a late-night snack, and tucking them into their beds, I realized that I had forgotten to turn off the pool pump. I sat on the couch and mulled over leaving the damn thing run all night. However, it burning up from running so long seemed senselessly negligent, so I got up and walked out my front door. I stopped and scanned my yard squinting into the darkness. There was nothing there. I walked over to the pool, and again apprehensively searched the grassy surface before bending down to unplug the pump. There was nothing at all on my lawn. As soon as the pump went silent, I turned to head back into the house. The shrouded torso stood, about fifteen feet away, on the very path I had just traveled, between myself and my house. The heaving in my heart started into the familiar convulsions. The pressure was so intense, I couldn’t scream even if I had wanted to. I leapt around the thing and ran like it was chasing me. Once I returned to the safety of my own home, I looked out the window to see if it was still there, and it was gone.

On November 30, 2015, I unplugged the three outdoor floodlights that typically accentuate our window Christmas wreaths. As soon as the lights went out, hunched on the green of my lawn, was the white shrouded figure. I stood and watched it this time. It remained completely motionless, as did I. I battled the clutching in my chest while I stared at this motionless thing near the edge of the wood’s line. It was deadly silent out, and the moonlight was nearly illuminating through its sallow translucence. The thing was so incredibly pallid against the dense forest backdrop that one could not, not notice it. I got my phone out of my pocket to try to snap a photo, and possibly text my wife to look out the window. I needed to glance down for a second at the illuminated screen to switch to the camera. When I looked up once again, the white shrouded torso had vanished. I got up the next morning and went right to the spot where I had seen it. The only thing I noticed was that the grass had been pressed down similarly to where a deer would bed in the woods.

After three appearances, it occurred to me that this white figure was not the result of some neighborhood joke or prank, based solely on its ability to mystically appear and disappear. I came up with another theory. Perhaps this white shrouded figure is angelic, and here to watch over me and my family. Perhaps it is like some safeguard over these grounds, or this house. I strongly considered walking right up to it next time, and unsheathing it, or perhaps just shouting “hello” or “thank you,” that is…until the nightmares began.

For several months, my dreams have been dominated by the white shrouded figure. Most of these night reveries are proof to me that this thing is not a peaceful angel here to protect anything. In each night terror, I cautiously approached it. I never spoke a word. I simply lifted up the white meshing. With each dream, a new combination of horror was unveiled. Once there was a knotty mound of undulating snakes. On the serpents’ surfaces thousands of centipedes raced around the slower millipedes.

In another reverie, I lifted the gown and saw fleshy heads and bits of carcass churning, rotating in a clockwise motion and covered in oozing blood and maggots. The human remains were making squishy sounds. I actually woke up from this dream with a vulgar stench of death fixed in my nostrils, decay on my tongue.

Last week I had a dream that I pulled up the white gossamer and there was nothing there. It was just blackness. But then, when I peeked up under a little further, two glowing red eyes bore down on me. I sprung from my burning bed, my skin soaked in a cold, clammy sweat.

In each and every nightmare, I’m awakened as soon as I release the white garment.

While typing this, I noticed that an acronym for the monthly sightings fall right in order for the common first name. J-A-N.

I realized it was a stretch, but after researching online, I did discover that there may be a possible connection. A woman by the name of Jannah Abuhamda went missing near my Overlook Park, Kansas area in February 2012. Haunting coincidence or not, if this white shrouded figure manifests in my yard again, I don’t know whether I should try to contact it by this possible name, or bash it with a ball bat.

Credit: Brandon Swarrow

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El Cadejo

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