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Miracle City

November 30, 2012 at 12:00 PM
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I’ve never been a fan of watching the news. Usually, if the news anchors aren’t being overly dramatic about the weather or sports, they’re reporting on depressing things like car crashes, animal abuse, and child abuse. I find none of this entertaining, and typically flip the channel to an episode of South Park. Just recently, a news report caught my attention during a ritual of channel-surfing. If the anchorman hadn’t phrased it just right, I probably wouldn’t be alive right now.

I caught the tail-end of a news segment before the commercial break, and the anchorman Ross Cooper said, “Coming up, find out what local residents are starting to call a ‘miracle’. Our own Dan Aaron reports live on a slowly growing phenomenon happening in our city right after the break, stay tuned.” A line like that was enough to keep me hooked, so I chose to sit through the seemingly endless string of commercials. As usual you had your movie trailers, store advertisements, and those drug commercials that always show people frolicking in meadows while a narrator lists all the unpleasant side-effects. Commercials always last too long, but I feel it’s worth it for listening to this potentially exciting news story.

When the news returned, the face of Ross Cooper looked very worried as he reported that there was a breaking news story, and reporter Dan Aaron was on the scene. The camera cut to Dan standing inside a darkened home with several other people peering outside a window. It’s impossible to see what was happening outside, but shouts and screaming could be heard in the background.

“I’m reporting from a home deep in the heart of Los Angeles, where other survivors have taken refuge. The miracle that people have been talking about is false! To everyone in the area watching this report: Do not go outside! If you hear people calling your name, do not listen to them!” Dan started, looking both panicked and nearly ready to break out into tears. Showing concern, Ross asked him exactly what was going on. “Earlier today there was a giant flash of light that looked like a portal was opening up from the sky, and then these things came. I don’t know what they are, but they’re not human, and they intend to kill us all! Extermination has already begun!” Dan shrieked, trying his best to keep cool on live TV. Something inside of me said this was all a prank, but I had to keep watching.

“Now calm down, Dan. How can you describe these attackers to our viewers?” Ross asked, staying professional. “Well, a young man in our group described them as ‘shape-shifters’, and I believe that’s an accurate description. None of us here have seen their true form, but their appearance seems to change multiple times, completely at random. When one of these things looks at you, it’s like it can see into your mind, all of your thoughts and memories, and it uses this against you. These beings will take the forms of all your friends and family, even those that have passed on. They will mimic their speech exactly how you remember it, then they’ll beckon you to come outside with them. That’s when they get you! When their victims die, their bodies vaporize from this eerie light that shines from their eyes and mouth, and then you hear what they really sound like, and it’s horrible. I’ve seen so many people die today, Ross, and there’s nothing left of any of them.” Dan had completely lost his mind and was now trembling and sobbing into the camera.

“Dan, do you feel safe where you are right now?” Ross asked. “I don’t fucking know!” Dan snapped back, his sadness turning into rage suddenly. “The group that I’m with has guns, and the doors are bolted, but we have no idea what these beings are capable of. I don’t know if they’re aliens or demons, but their numbers are growing by the minute, and I think L.A. will soon be overrun. Everyone with me is in a bad mental state right now. We can hear our loved ones calling to us, begging us to go out and see them. I just saw my great-grandmother moments ago, and I want to run to her, but I can’t! This seems like the end of times, and I’m sure this is happening elsewhere and that the human race may be wiped out, but if we can just hang on and not let our emotions cloud our judgment, we will survive long enough for help to arrive. Call the military! Call everyone you can! We can’t let these creatures win!” Dan exclaimed, right before the signal started to die. The last thing I remember him saying was, “Oh God, I think a few got inside!” before he faded out, and a shocked Ross Cooper announced that his station would be going off the air.

An emergency broadcast signal started seconds later, and I just sat there on the couch in silence. I didn’t know if I should call everyone I knew, or wait and see if this epidemic would even affect my area. I felt the sudden need to look outside, and just as I did so I saw, of all people, my old gym teacher Mr. Moors, who had mentored me and helped me become the athlete that I am today. He called to me, reminding me how long it had been since we last spoke. Of course, I knew it wasn’t really him, and had I not watched the news report when I did, I would’ve gone out to talk to him, only to meet an agonizing death.

Behind him, approaching from a distance, was a mob of these invaders that were marching through my neighborhood. That’s the last time I glanced outside. Now I sit locked in a dark basement with only the glow of this computer screen. All the doors to my house are locked, and all lights that would attract attention are out. I think the mob has bypassed my house, as I can’t hear anyone else calling my name.

I’ve just heard screams of terror from my other neighbors, and I think they’re dead. It’s very quiet now, I’ve already warned everyone I can think of to stay indoors. I’m sure I’ll think of more people as the night goes on, but for now I’m just going to focus on getting this story out. I know the military will act, I’m sure they’ll be here any minute to get whatever this is under control, but if not, I have enough supplies to hopefully last a month or two at the most. After doing constant research online, I’m certain that this is now a global phenomenon.

Videos are starting to appear on Youtube shot by people who have barricaded themselves in either their homes or public places, and these videos feature footage of mobs like the one I just saw not long ago. One particular video comes from as far away as Tokyo, Japan. The video already has over a million views, and in the comments section, several people have claimed to have seen their own relatives in the mob that was filmed by a man from the fourth floor of his apartment building. I checked it out for myself, and sure enough, all the way from Japan, I saw my grandfather, my uncle, and my stepmom marching through the streets, and they seemed to be staring right at me through the computer screen. Videos like this are proof that we are now dealing with a force far beyond our understanding.

What exactly are they? How did they get here? Hopefully we can survive long enough to find out these answers. If I make it through the night, I promise to constantly update my tale of these catastrophic events. My name is Reagan Myers of Los Angeles, California, and I am a witness to the beginning of a new era.

Credit To: J.Stan Shocker

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November 30, 2012 at 12:00 AM
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That woman over there, in the corner of the room, is really a terrific tease. I don’t even think she means to be, but I’ve simply never encountered anyone like her. She’s got this breezy, powder-blue sundress on, and stylish ankle-strap sandals on her pedicured feet. A girl as pretty as she is would never be interested in a guy like me.

She’s wearing these great panties today, too. I caught a glimpse of the lacy fabric clinging to the inside of her thighs while we were getting her prepared. Her legs had slid apart almost imperceptibly, and I had subtly craned my neck to see as much as I could. Still, I don’t think anyone’s noticed my unprofessional behavior, or even how obsessed with her I’ve become.

In a different lifetime, maybe this woman and I could even be friends. I’m friendly and very pleasant once people get to know me, and she looks like the kind of girl who values a nice guy with a good attitude. I certainly think I could earn her attention. Oh well. She’ll be gone within the next hour or two – out of my life forever – and so there’s nothing to do except try and forget about her. It’d be easier, though, if she just didn’t look so damn beautiful.

Just outside the door, I can hear her family beginning to arrive. They’re asking why she’s not already out there and ready for things to begin; they really seem to want everything to go perfectly today. “It looks like we’re running late,” I remark. It’s the first thing I’ve had the courage to say aloud in her presence. There’s no response, but the soft smile on her lips fills me with pleasure. Muttering a shy “Goodbye,” I disable the breaks on her casket’s bier and wheel her from the embalming lab into the reception area.

Credit To: David Feuling

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Keep The Mask On

November 29, 2012 at 12:00 PM
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My father was not a famous man, but he should’ve been. He was the first person to break ground on that archaeology dig in Egypt you didn’t hear about. I go to see him once a week now. I tell him how things at home are, and he just sits there and rocks back and forth in his beige sleeveless jacket. He hasn’t said anything since the first day he was here, before the doctors began pumping the drugs into him that make him drool on himself. I’ll not soon forget what he said.

He looked at me, straining against the straight jacket that he’d willingly stepped in to. He winced as they tightened it. He looked dead in to my eyes, and I returned the gaze. I didn’t know yet. I thought he’d acted the way he did unprovoked. I didn’t know why he’d practically destroyed our house in a sudden fit of rage, screaming “Where are you?!” at the top of his lungs. I didn’t know why he thrown my mother down a flight of stairs and paralyzed her from the neck down.

But I now sat next to a broken mess of a man. Dried tears dotted my cheeks, and I looked at the man I thought was a monster and asked him, “Why?” He glanced up to me with those sad, brown eyes and smiled. It took all I had not to punch him his already swollen face. He simply said “Top drawer, right side.” before he looked back to the floor and closed his eyes. That was the last time he spoke to me.

I immediately rushed home. I parked the car and ran in, up the stairs and down the hall to my father’s study. I tried the knob and, as usual, it was locked. I was so angry, before I knew it I had broken the door down in three kicks. I strode to his desk and opened the drawer he had identified. It was empty save for a large, manila folder. I ripped it open and poured the contents on the desk, which consisted of a folder full of ruffled pages and a small post-it note. I plucked up the post-it and read it aloud. “45-34-21.” I set it aside and picked up the folder. I immediately recognized my fathers handwriting. I opened the folder and laid the pages out on the table. They were wrinkled, smudged, and horribly frayed, but I sat down and began reading. From the best I could tell, he had began writing these the day after he got home from the dig. He began:

“Just got home today. I decided to start this journal after a recommendation from a friend. Not really sure how to go about this. I brought back a birthday present for my 16 year-old son. It’s a small copper plate about 3 inches square. Found it just outside the dig site. Has a small hole punched at the top. Maybe he could put it on a necklace. Lots of strange carvings on it. They don’t seem to be a language. Small picture of a human figure etched in as well. It seems to be wearing a mask or helmet. I hope he likes it.”

That was all that was on the first page. I almost smiled at my dad’s writing style. Choppy, brief, and informal, just like dad. But I paused for a moment. My birthday was still a few days away, and I had heard nothing about this “gift”. I skipped to the next entry, which was dated to be the following day.

“Long night. Couldn’t seem to get to sleep. I swear I heard a voice last night. Couldn’t make out what it said. Just a whispering from down the hall. Maybe Josh was up late. I’ll ask today”

That piqued my attention. I remember him asking me if I had been up late, but I know I had been asleep. Odd. I read on to the next day.

“I had to write this down. No one will believe me if I don’t. The whispering came back last night. This time I heard what it said. Give it back. That’s all it said. Over and over. I looked out the door to the hallway and I’d swear I saw someone there. A short figure, hunched over. Heard a raspy breathing. Kept saying give it back give it back.”

I couldn’t believe what I was reading. Had my father gone crazy over night? I remember him behaving oddly the next morning, but I was in such a hurry for school, I thought nothing of it. I flipped to the next page, and immediately noticed a difference. The handwriting was smudged, scratchy, and uneven, almost like it had been written in a hurry. It said:

“Had my friend Buddy translate the words on the gift. He was confused by it. Said it was in Latin. Why did we find Latin lettering in an Egyptian dig? Buddy said it read ‘larva-umbra’ at the top, and ‘veniet’ everywhere else. When I asked him what it meant, he looked at me and said ‘Mask-Shadow. He will come.’ I asked him what that meant. He wouldn’t tell me. I’ll look it up tonight.”

I looked at the date. It was the day before he’d gone mad! Unfortunately, it was also the last entry. Exhausted from the long day, I sat down in my dad’s chair. I stacked the rest of the papers and began to slide them back in to the envelope when I noticed the sticky note I had set aside. I plucked it back up and read it again. “45-34-21.” I thought for a moment, then like a bolt of inspiration I remembered my dad always kept a combination-locked safe in the basement. I grabbed the sticky note and ran downstairs. I arrived at the small, stocky safe and quickly dialed in the three numbers. The door clicked, and I swung it open. There, in the middle of the safe, sitting upon a small handkerchief was what appeared to be a small piece of copper, about as big as a playing card.

I slowly reached in to pick it up. As my fingers brushed the bitingly cold copper, I felt a chill run up my fingers, up my arm, and down my spine. The room seemed to grow shockingly cold, and the lights flickered and glowed. The whole house seemed to be…whispering. Talking. A voice was resonating from the walls. A foul, wispy voice. An angry voice. At first I couldn’t quite make out what it was saying. But it steadily grew louder and louder, until I had to cover my ears in pain. “GIVE IT BACK”. The voice boomed so loud the windows rattled and the furniture seemed to be vibrating at the sound of it. Beneath the echoing din, I heard a light tapping. I forced myself to look up and at the end of the hall, I saw a dark figure. It was a short, hunched over figure, no taller than 5 feet high. It wore a dark hood and robe, so I could not see any distinguishable features, except for what was making the tapping sound. A long, thin arm was extended from the figure. The skin was a sickly greenish-grey, and appeared to be peeling back and falling off the bones. At the end of the gaunt arm was a horrifically large hand, with thin fingers and…claws? The booming voice stopped, but the horrible hand kept tapping the concrete wall. The lights flickered again, and I was plunged in to momentary darkness.

In the inky blackness, I heard what sounded like a shallow, raspy breathing, getting closer and closer. The lights flashed back on, and as my eyes adjusted, I saw the figure now loomed over me. The hand had seemingly disappeared back under the black robe. I tried to steady my breathing, and that’s when I noticed the smell. Like any boy, I had been around a few dead animals. Dead birds, rats, and even an opossum or two. But this smell was easily far worse than anything I had ever inhaled. It burnt my nostrils and made my eyes water. I hurriedly scooted away from the figure that stood over me. It made no move to stop me, but seemed to watch me scurry across the linoleum. With my back against the wall, I stood myself up. For what seemed like hours, we stared at each other. The figure would occasionally tilt its head in what seemed to be curiosity, but as I could not see its face, I couldn’t be sure. I heard a rustling sound coming from beneath he creatures cloak. As I watched, horrified, the ghastly arm emerged from the folds of his robe, this time accompanied by another. With slow, deliberate movements, the arms reached to where I assumed the creatures head was, and slowly pulled back the hood. The light fell upon the creatures brow, to reveal not a face, but a huge, clunky copper mask. The mask seemed to be bolted and spot-welded on to the figures head. There were no apparent orifices, except for two holes where the eyes would be. And there I saw, peering back at me, to dreadful eyes. They were completely white, with a sort of pus or dew at the edges. The eyes blinked, and more of the white pus oozed out of the corners. The horrible sight combined with the smell was enough to make me gag, and I retched upon the floor. The lights emitted a buzzing sound, and soon flashed off again. I sat in the dark for what seemed like several minutes, all the while hearing the raspy breathing grow louder and louder. The lights began to flicker violently, so I only caught occasional glimpses of the horrible sight before me. The figure had abandoned his dark robes, and risen to a massive height, uncoiling a horribly mangled body beneath his masked face. The skin was stretched tight upon a gaunt body, and was the same sickly green as the arms. The spine seemed to have a horrible twist in it, as the creature could not stand up straight. It now towered over me, and again the booming voice filled the room. I could not recognize what it said. It almost seemed to be in another language.

As I watched, the room around me seemed to burst in to flames. Smoke lunged upward from the now flaming furniture, and quickly filled the small concrete room. By pure instinct, I bolted toward the exit. I heard a laughing behind me, and no doubt that awful creature reclaimed what was his. Thank god I made it out in time. I have never encountered the creature, but I can’t help but wonder…now that it has what it came for, will it leave?

Credit To: Gage Seitz

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The Dog Stealer

November 29, 2012 at 12:00 AM
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I just wanted to thank you again for letting me use Grandpa’s house. Things haven’t really turned around since I got laid off, and being able to stay here has been a real blessing. Jen stops by to give me a lecture and make sure I’m still on my meds, which I am, and takes me to job interviews every so often, but nothing has worked out yet. It’s pretty quiet here, with no car, no phone and no internet, but that gives me the chance to perfect the lost art of letter-writing.

I think about Grandpa a lot these days, of course. And I don’t think we know the whole story.

A lot of people have been saying that he was getting old. And that the police couldn’t find any signs of forced entry, and they keep talking about footprints. But I saw him not even a week before he vanished and I’m telling you, he was clear as a bell. He didn’t just wander off.

I’m not sure if you’ve heard about all of the missing dogs around here. I know that Grandpa told the family that Bess’ liver went out and he had to put her down. But that’s not what he told me the last time I was here. Sorry for not mentioning it before. I should have trusted you.

Grandpa’s house is at least a hundred years old. A lot of the hallways are really narrow and the doors don’t fit exactly right. He kept the bones for Bess in a pantry across from his study where he read his paper. Grandpa said that Bess had a nightly habit begging for a bone while he was reading. The hall was so tight that Bess could put her paws up against the pantry and her butt up against the study door, and there was a gap under the door big enough for her tail to stick through.

Grandpa would tease her a little. He’d say, “Bess, is that you? Is that you, Bess?” and she’d wag her tail at the sound of his voice. Then after she’d proven her patience, he’d go and give her a bone.

So one night, he was reading his paper as usual, and he heard Bess scratching against the pantry and saw her tail pop under the door.

“Bess, is that you?”

Wag wag wag. Pant pant pant.

“Is that you, Bess?”

Wag wag wag. Pant pant thump. The tail fell over and went limp.

So Grandpa opened the door to make sure she was okay. But Bess was gone. All that was left was her tail, with a knot of dry gristle at the end, no blood or anything. And that was the last he ever saw of her.

So I admit, when I moved myself in here, the first thing I did was hunt for dog remains. Maybe Grandpa had really gone crazy. Maybe he was the Dog Stealer and all the neighborhood pooches were in a shallow grave under the tomato plants. But I didn’t find any dead dogs or any tails.

I thought I would when I checked the basement, though. His clothes were all over the place, neatly folded; a shirt here, some pants there, no piles, just individual articles of neatly folded clothing on the washer, the dryer, the dusty chairs, the floor. Not just his regular laundry, either. There were his good suits, his crazy paisley stuff from the seventies, some of Grandma’s old clothes. Some of the stuff lying around wasn’t even theirs, unless Grandpa became a hardcore AC/DC fan while we weren’t looking and started collecting tour T-shirts.

I had no idea what he could have been up to, but my first thought was that these were dog graves, so I basically tossed the place. No corpses or body parts. The only thing I found was a hole behind the dryer. It surprised me, because especially in a house this old, you’d expect moisture problems, but it was dry as a bone. Smelled a little…I dunno, spicy. It looked like it went pretty deep, but there was no blood trail or anything. So I figured that’d be the end of this. I left the clothes in a pile in the corner.

But they were back today. All folded in the same spots as before, perfectly neat. And right in front of the dryer was a was a new set, a folded up bathrobe and a pair of shorts. Also there was a weird little fleshy gray nub thing on top. No blood, looked mummified. And now I get that Grandpa’s never coming back.

Because Grandpa was born with a vestigial tail. He never mentioned it, but I know he had one, because I’ve seen Dad’s. Also I have one.

And whatever this thing is, it doesn’t like me.

But there’s nowhere for me to go. So I may vanish. If I was you I would sell this place. Don’t wait for my nub to show up.

It’s not like I was headed anywhere anyway. Give my love to the girls.


Credit To: Z.S. Davies

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November 28, 2012 at 12:00 PM
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My friends and I had just left a party at a local bar, and we were walking back to my house, seeing how it wasn’t too far away from where we were. On our way back, we happened to come across a small lot sandwiched between two apartment buildings that was filled with black garbage bags and piles of tires. Rich proposed going in, and after a few minutes of consideration, Dennis and I agreed. Obviously, there’s nothing special, or fun, about a rotten-smelling junkyard, but we were a bit drunk, so the idea seemed great at the time. We decided to play a game called “King of the Hill” on the fort of tires that stood before us. Basically, we were just pushing each other off of the top. After a while of climbing up, and falling down, a pile of tires in an idiotic attempt of having fun, we took a break by sitting against one of the dumpsters that stood near the entrance. As I tried to get a hold of my breath, I gazed around the small dump, and noticed something I failed to spot out before.

There was a white grocery bag hanging from the fence in the back corner of the junkyard. I figured that someone tried to throw it over, but it got caught on the fence on its way down.The bag seemed to be filled with something. It had blocky edges poking out from all sides. I know something as plain as a grocery bag isn’t much, but it still intrigued me.

“Hey,” I said as I nudged Rich, who happened to be sitting next to me,”Look over there.”Dennis leaned out behind Rich, and looked towards where I was pointing.
“So, it’s just a few rips. No one’s gonna care about whether or not the bags are torn.” Said Rich. He was pointing out the tears our shoes had left in the trash bags when we played our little game.
“No, the grocery bag hanging from the fence.” I said,
“Well, it’s filled with something.”
“And?” Said Dennis. I shrugged,
“Don’t you guys wanna know what’s inside?”
“No,” Rich chuckled, “It’s just trash, man.”
“What if it was something like jewelry?” I said as I stood, and made my way towards the grocery bag.
“You’re just gonna find a dead cat in there, dude!” Dennis hollered as I struggled to climb the mound of garbage bags that blocked my path. His sentence was followed by the two of them laughing. I didn’t really care what they had to say. I was just a bit curious, that’s all.
Once I made it to the other side, I reached for the grocery bag and grabbed it. Inside of it was a whole bunch of cassette tapes, and an old Walkman.
“No way, you guys gotta see this.” I called to my friends,
“Did you find the leprechaun’s gold?” Rich mocked,
“Hold on, I’m coming.” Hastily, I climbed the pile of trash and walked back to where they were sitting.
“Look at this.” I held the bag open, letting Rich and Dennis view it’s contents. I pulled out a tape and read it’s label,
“Journal entry one,” I pulled out another, ” Entry three.” I read,
“No way, it’s someone’s diary.” Said Dennis.
“I wonder why they threw it away.” I said,
“Probably because they realized how stupid they were for keeping a diary.” Said Rich.
“Whatever,” I dropped the bag on the ground,” It’s one in the morining, we should be heading back.”
“Woah woah woah,” Said Dennis, as he snatched the bag up from the pavement,” What the hell are you doing, man? Don’t you guys wanna listen to these?”
“Well, it could be a bit funny.” Said Rich
“Journal entry one,” Started Dennis in a stereotypical british voice,” I walked my dog, BonBon, today at the park and came a across a rather odd squirrel.”
I laughed, “Dennis, you’re such an ass. Fine, lets take them with us.”
We left the junkyard, and continued to walk down the street towards my house. I remember how excited I was to listen to those tapes. Stupid, I know, but the thought of listening to someone’s personal life sounded interesting to me.
Once we arrived at my house, I unlocked the door, and immediately walked towards the dining room. Dennis set the bag down in the center of the table and pulled out the Walkman, as three of us grabbed ourselves a seat. Eager to hear what it had to say, I siezed the first tape, put it in, and pressed play. I was suprised at what I heard. The voice wasn’t at all what I expected. It seemed to be a boy who sounded as if he was in his late teens.

Hey, my name’s Chris, and I’m a Junior in highschool. I don’t have many friends, actually, I have none. I guess it’s just because people don’t like me, or maybe because I’m just too weird. I’m not weird, am I? Anyways, that’s not why I’m here. It’s actually because my uncle gave me this Walkman and a few tapes. He said that the Walkman used to be his, and that he just didn’t have the heart to throw it away, because he used it so much as a kid. So he made it my birthday present. Well, I didn’t have the heart to let it catch dust in the corner, so here I am, using it. Maybe it’ll come in handy one day, I don’t really know. Should I go on with telling about myself? Well, my favorite class is science, and I’m extremely bad at math. Blue is my favorite color, and I prefer dogs over cats.

A door slams in the background, causing all of us to jump.

That was my mom. Her and my dad have been arguing alot lately for reasons I can’t even bother to figure out why. I know for one thing that my dad is thinking about calling a divorce, which doesn’t really bother me. It would bother anyone else, though, but it doesn’t bother me. That’s not weird right? I’ve been hearing alot lately that I’m a little ‘weird’. I don’t see why, though. I eat, drink, sleep, and live like a normal human being. That’s what I think, anyways. Maybe it’s just because I’m not as talkative as everyone else, or what if everyone was just making it up, so that they would have a reason to pick on me. Frankly, I can’t see why anyone would want to pick on me in the first place.

“What a loser,” Said Dennis, “I can see why people want to pick on him”. I shrugged,
“Let’s just play the next one.”

It’s January 14th, which is three days since I’ve made the last tape. I decided that I’m going to continue making tapes, and keep it as my journal. Who knows, maybe I’ll look back at these old recordings one day when I’m a bit older for a small dose of nostalgia. I’m making this a short one, because I have to leave in about five minutes. My mom’s taking me to some stupid jewelry party at one of our neighbor’s house because, according to her, I absolutely have to be there, or we’ll make a bad impression . So here I am, sitting in dress pants, a white button up, and a stupid tie. I don’t have dress shoes, so I just wore an old pair of Nike sneakers, which makes this situation about five hundred times worse. Maybe in the next tape I’ll talk about how the party went, hopefully it went well enough for me to talk about it.

We looked at eachother and laughed.
“Nike sneakers.” Rich muttered in an almost giggly tone.
“Should I seriously play the next one? I’m not sure if I can handle listening to this for another ten tapes.” I asked. Dennis and Rich nodded with giant grins on their faces.

January 16th, I was punched in the face at school today by a senior whose name is Jake. Honestly, I don’t even know the guy. To make my day even more wonderful, I ended up eating outside in the rain, because all the seats in the cafeteria were taken by the time I got back from the nurse’s office. I could’ve simply cleaned up the blood pouring from my nose by myself in the bathroom, but one of my teachers, Ms. Hoffington, insisted that I go see the nurse. While I was at the nurse, I managed to get a glimpse of myself when I passed the tall mirror that hung on the outside of the bathroom door. I was a bit amazed at the amount of blood that was smudged across my face. Actually, it was kinda cool. I felt a small amount of pride when I got a good look at my face. Probably because I’ve never actually spilt that much blood in my life before. Jake got suspended by the way. For a week to be exact. I think he should be expelled, so that I didn’t have to see him again. Oh yeah, and, uh,by the way, the jewelry party went well. No one noticed my Nike sneakers, and the food was good.

A small amount of shock appeared on our faces. “Damn, he got punched in the face.” I said,
“Well it serves him right. Someone must’ve known he was making stupid ass tapes in his bedroom.” Said Dennis,
“How can you even be happy about getting a bloody nose?” Rich added, ” What the hell is wrong with him?”
I shook my head,” I don’t know, man.”

January 20th, While fooling around on YouTube for about two hours, I came across a weird documentary on something called the ‘Slenderman’. It’s an odd creature with no face, wearing what looks to be a suit, that has tentacles, giving it a dark, spidery look. It’s said to lurk in forests, and that once you see it, it stalks you before actually claiming you as its victim. No one really knows what the Slenderman actually does to his, or its, victims, and that all we really know is that they go missing without a trace. I guess alot of people are creeped out about this, and I can see why. The photos that depict him look pretty disturbing, but what actually generates the most fear are the stories about him. Actually, I’ve been listening to them all night, and I’m not scared at all, just intruiged. Turns out, these stories come from a site where people just write, and submit a whole bunch of creepy stories, and not all of them about the Slenderman. I’ve heard a couple that talk about lost episodes of famous Tv shows that depict some disturbing, twisted version of the actual show. I’ve also heard stories about serial killers, ghosts, and whatever else that’s remotely scary. Some are more gruesome, while others are just a bit eerie. I, for one, have never found any of these stories to be scary. I usually find myself thouroughly mystified as I read.

We all glanced at eachother, a bit confused about what the Slenderman is. I guess the kid was a horror fan. I put in the next tape, and held my head in my hands, wanting to go to sleep.

January 26th, Did I ever mention the site where I found all these stories from? It’s called Yes, I realize that it’s an odd name because an Italian dish is in no way creepy, but if you’re interested, check it out. You know, now that I think about it, these stories have showed me how much darkness can exist in this world. You’re never actually aware of it until you start thinking about it. What I’m saying is not crazy, it’s true. Darkness lurks in the hidden corners of everyday life. Right here, right now as I’m saying this, a person is getting brutally murdered.

Immediately after he said that sentence, my head shot up and I looked at Dennis and Rich, bewildered at what I just heard. They shook their heads and shrugged.

Somewhere out there a person is dying. Could be a full grown man, or a child. You never realized it until you heard me say it just now. But, hey, that’s the real world for you. Lately, I’ve been noticing how everyone else at my school is so blissfully ignorant to the horrible things in this world, while I’m being constantly reminded of it. No one sees what I see. It kinda makes them all look a little bit dumb. Don’t they see? Don’t they notice what happens around them? They hear sirens echo down the road, and it could just be a plain car crash, but what if it was caused by something far from our reach? They don’t know that. Their eyes aren’t opened wide enough to notice. At least I’m aware of it.

February 2nd, Have you ever noticed how much death is involved in an average creepypasta. It’s almost as if death is a needed element in the story. You know, ever since I started reading these stories, I’ve become pretty comfortable with the thought of dying. Sometimes, I laugh at those poor, poor people in those stories. I guess they haven’t realized how much of a friend death could be, even when pain is the price you have to pay for meeting him. After all, aren’t we all going to face it one day? Sooner for some people, later for the rest.

There was a long pause before he spoke again.

I’ve been thinking about writing my own creepypasta soon. After reading everyone else’s, I figured I should try it for myself. It’s worth a shot isn’t it? I think I’m going to write one about the Slenderman, or maybe Jeff…Or maybe I’ll write a story about a man who goes crazy, and starts killing everyone he knows… That sounds like a wonderful idea.

February 17th, They didn’t accept my story. What was wrong with it? Was my grammer off? Was the spelling bad? All I wanted was for it to be out there for everyone to see. Hell, it was probably one of the greatest ideas they ever came across, but…

He voice became angrier and a bit frustrated, almost as if he was about to go off on a full blown rant.

But they turned it down. Are they too stupid to see the brilliance in what I wrote? On top of that, I found two assholes who decided to read it, and make a mockery of my hard work. Idiots, they’re just a bunch of idiots who can’t see the genius in one’s work.

A loud scream erupted from the speakers of the Walkman, and a hard thud was heard soon after. I figured that he had just thrown it out of anger. I wonder what his story sounded like, and why they turned it down. The next tape started, and we immediatly realized how angry he was. He spoke in a loud, irratable tone, which was almost terrifying.

February 22nd, Stupid people. Stupid, stupid people. They should all rot in Hell for all I care. I shouldn’t have to deal with them everyday. Once I walk through that school’s front door, I’m surrounded by them. My teacher gave me a detention for not paying attention in class. Why should I? We’re all going to die. We’re all going to die someday, and there’s nothing we can do about it, but no one around me is smart enough to see that. Why? Why can’t they just open their eyes, and pay attention to the horrible world around us? They’re too preoccupied with their lives, and what comes tomorrow, instead of what comes at the very end. Did I tell you that I was pushed down the stairs today? Ben Trinner. He did it, and this time, I’m not letting it go. I’m going to find him, and he’s going to pay. You might be wondering how I’m going to get out of the house without my parents seeing me. It’s okay, they’re already gone. Dad’s still at work, and Mom-

There was a short pause, and a slight chuckle arose from his voice.

Mom’s taken care of. He’ll find her when he gets home, and I’m not coming back. I don’t have to deal with them anymore.
“What, what did he mean by ‘Mom’s taken care of?'” Asked Dennis in a hushed tone.
“Do you think-”
“No,” Rich cut me off, “There’s no way in Hell that little fucker did that. Play the next one.”
I obliged and put in the next tape, a little scared of what I may hear.

February 24th, I found an old warehouse in the outskirts of the town, and I’ve decided that that’s where I’ll be living from now on. The lights still work in the rooms where they’re not broken, and the boarded windows keep out most of the rain. It’s not that bad of a place, really. I stole all the money from my mom’s wallet, so food is already taken care of. In one of the rooms of the warehouse, I found a really old Tv. It’s a black and white one, and it uses a dial to change the stations. The reception’s a little bad, but I could still make out what’s happening behind all the static and whitenoise. I decided to change it to the news channel, and I was greeted with a picture of my mom.

A loud, almost evil, laugh echoed from the speakers, which goes on for a few minutes.

They think I’m dead, which is good on my end, because they won’t bother searching for me. Oh, the glory I felt when they announced how she had been stabbed five times in the chest. It made me feel a little bit excited to know that I have done such a thing. It wasn’t easy, but it sure was satisfying in the end. And now I have to find Ben. He doesn’t know it yet, but tonight is his last one on Earth. Luckily for me, his house is a few blocks from here. It’s eleven at night right now, and I should be finished by one. Wish me luck.

I quickly put in the next tape, now a little bit more concerned with what was going on. Was he really going to kill that kid? It almost seems too real to just be a sick joke. But no matter how much I wanted to think it was just a joke, a frightening truth stood in the back of my mind, telling me that it was all true.

February 25th, I’ve never felt so happy before in my life. You can’t even imagine the butterflies I got when I saw him gurgling his own blood in a worthless attempt of fighting for his life, and no one heard a thing. I was able to open one of the first floor windows without a hitch, thank God. It took me about thirty minutes to walk up the stairs without making a noise. I had to be careful, for even the slightest of all noises can awake someone. When I got to his room, I was able to open the door without him waking up. And everything else that followed seemed to happen so quick, almost as if my memories of the event were a flip book. I quickly covered his mouth before I dragged the knife across his throat, severing his jugular. I wanted to laugh at his squirming body as he died, but I didn’t, out of fear of waking his parents. I pulled open his bedroom window, jumped out, and ran. I think I hurt something in my foot when I landed, but I didn’t care. All I could feel was the cold, bitter wind slicing across my smiling cheeks as I ran. I’m back at the warehouse now, and it’s 1:45 in the morning. I have the Tv switched to the news, waiting to hear about my newest accomplishment.

We all looked at eachother, still a bit traumitized from what we had just heard. An uneasy atmosphere hung in the room. He killed him, and no matter how much we didn’t want to believe it, we knew it was true. I hesitantly put the next tape in the socket, and pressed play. Immediatly, a loud, abrupt white noise blasted from the speakers, making us all almost fall out our seats. Even though that would be something we’d end up laughing about, no one broke a smirk. I grabbed the next tape and put it in, turning down the volume before I pressed play, fearing that there would be more static. I heard a faint voice, signaling me to turn the volume back up. This time, the kids voice sounded a bit huskier, pointing out that it has been year or two since his last tape.

January 17th, It’s been a while since I made one of these. Well, a few weeks ago I was kicked out of the warehouse. I had to move my location, since the police were planning to investigate the area on account of the recent murders.

He started to laugh again. The sound of it was almost sickening, and added a sense of dread to the atmosphere.

Seven, seven people have died since I’ve made my last tape, and each murder has become more gruesome and disturbing as the last. The last person’s eyes were gouged out, and their wrists broken. There was no rhyme or reason to why I did it. I did it simply because I HAD to. It’s just not enough. I need to kill. It’s the thing I find the most pleasure in. It’s even more fun to hear it announced to the public. Anyways, the police are investigating the area to find the body of another one of my victims. They suspected that it was the same killer as the last dozen, and they weren’t wrong. So, I’ve moved my location. I walked for quite a long time through the woods that bordered the southern part of my town, before I managed to enter the next town and take refuge there… It’s almost like those stories I took so much interest in. No, it’s exactly like those stories. What a dream to actually be part of my own Creepypasta, oh if only the rest of the world could hear about it.

The next tape was the strangest, and most horrifying that night. When I pressed play, all we could hear was static, but after a while we heard what sounded like screaming. There was a certain quality to it… It sounded panicked and strained, as if the poor person’s throat gave out from screaming too long.

January 22nd, You hear him. I know you do. That’s one of my newest… ideas. It makes me smile, seeing him beg and scream for help, knowing at this point nothing could save him. Why don’t you give up hope, my dear friend? You see, death is inevitable for you, and theres no escaping it now. But, hey, you shouldn’t have been walking around town so late. You know that there are terrors hiding in the corner every night, and that you should avoid them. But then you came across me.

He started to laugh again. The sound of it made me want to throw the Walkman at the wall, hoping to stop the evil laughter, but I knew I had to keep listening.

The best part is, he’s not even restrained. I broke his legs, making it impossible for him to walk. He should be proud to be the first one of my victims to die like this. I realized that every time I kill someone, I do it too quick, to the point where it’s not as… satisfying as I hope it would be. But by bringing him here, I’m able to see him struggle for his life before it actually ends.

Small bursts of static were heard, but even through all of that we could hear what was going on. We heard heavy, slow footsteps that faded away, as the distance between the Walkman and Chris grew. The screaming became louder, and more struggled. The sound of it alone made me want to puke. The screaming was then replaced with a horrible gurgling noise. Even through his blood filled throat, you can still hear him scream, begging for his life. I heard the familiar click and felt a bit relieved, but that quickly went away, as I realized that there was one more tape left.

February 5th, I have come up with the most wonderful idea yet. And it’s probably the best one. I figured that instead of just a slow and hesitant death, I’m going to let them rot and decay in their own fears. Should I tell you what it is?….It’s a surprise, and I would hate to spoil it.

The last tape clicked and we all looked at eachother with a grim look on our faces. We knew what we had just witnessed in the past ten minutes, but none of us wanted to acknowledge it, or believe it was real. After sitting in silence for what seemed like about twenty minutes, I spoke up,

“What do you think the suprise is?”
Rich abruptly sat up and pushed in his chair,
“I don’t know, man, and I don’t want to know,” His voice had an uneasy feel to it. It almost sounded as if he were a bit frustrated, “I’m leaving. I don’t want to take part in anymore of this.”
I stopped him,”Wait, you can’t go. What are we going to with the tapes?”
“Fucking burn them. Get rid of them. Pretend it didn’t happen. I’m leaving,” Said Rich
“Dude, calm down. We have to figure this out. We have to know who he is. He could still be out there.” I said. Dennis cut in,
“We should hand them over to the police. Maybe they could do something,”
“Really? And you know what else the police would do if we give these to them? Fucking nothing. We gotta figure this out on our own,”
“Oh yeah?” Started Dennis, “You wanna solve this big mystery? I know you want to know who he is, but you shouldn’t try messing with something that could kill you,”
“Sure, he might kill me, but he also might kill a shitload of other people. We have to figure out where this fucker is.”
“You’re not some kind of hero, Jake. I wouldn’t bother messing with it.” Said Rich
“I’m not trying to be a hero. What do you guys think I’m gonna do? Walk outside with a flashlight, and call his name like a lost dog? All I want to do is some research, that’s all.” We stood in an uneasy silence for a moment.
“Why were those tapes hanging on the fence in the first place?” Asked Dennis. He was right. Why were they hanging on the fence?
“Do you think someone had already found them and was trying to get rid of them?” I asked.
“Look guys,” Said Rich,” It’s, like, three in the morning. We’re all a bit tired, and we’re all a bit confused, so trying to figure this out now would be useless.” Dennis and I looked at eachother and nodded a bit sheepishly, realizing how true the statement was. Rich started to walk towards the door, and Dennis followed him soon after.

“I’ll catch up with you later, Jake.” Said Rich as he opened the door, making his way out. Dennis waved a goodbye at me and shut the door behind him. The sound of the door clicking shut gave me a sense of finality, and the silence that followed afterwards was almost sickening. I walked into the living room, and turned on the tv, hoping to uplift the heavy atmosphere the tapes have caused. I grabbed my laptop, sat on the couch, and turned it on. While it was starting up, I looked into the dining room, staring at the cassette tapes and walkman that still sat on the table until I heard the Windows 7 start up sound call for my attention. I immediatly opened up Google and searched for murders and deaths in this area, but nothing came close to what Chris had described. I tried looking for the school he went to, hoping I would get some clues, but that didn’t work either. I sat for a second, staring at the Google search bar, until I came across an idea. I clicked on the URL box and typed in ‘’

A site with a black background and white text came up, with the simple heading “”. I scrolled through the page, and read some stories and announcements.

“This is what he was obsessed over?” I muttered to myself. Sure, some of these stories are kinda scary, but it certainly wasn’t anything that can drive someone to kill. How long has this site even been up? It doesn’t seem that old. This was probably around since my Senior year. I shut down the laptop and turned off the tv. After I got up, I walked into the dining room, and shoved all the tapes back into the bag. I decided that I would hand the tapes over to the authorities the next morning.

I barely went to sleep that night, because I was still shooken up over what I had witnessed earlier. And as I layed in bed…it almost seemed as if there was a presence, like someone besides myself was there. I quickly shrugged it off as my paranoid mind causing me to feel things that weren’t even there, and fell asleep soon after. When I awoke it was around twelve in the afternoon. I had slept late, which isn’t suprising, considering I went to bed at around five. I didn’t even bother to eat or brush my teeth after I got up. I just got dressed, grabbed the tapes, and got in the car. The tapes and Walkman were sitting in the passenger seat. They seemed to emit some uneasy feeling throughout the ride, which only made me more eager to get rid of them.

When I arrived at the police station, I quickly grabbed the tapes and entered the building. I didn’t even bother to turn the car off. The building’s lobbey was vacant, and the only person who was there was the cop sitting at the desk, sipping coffee and filling out paper work. I dropped the bag onto the counter, causing the man to look up from his work.

“Can I help you?” He said in a somewhat irratable tone.
“I-I think I solved a few dissapearances.”
He raised an eyebrow at me, and glanced towards the filled grocery bag that sat on his desk.
“Those?” He asked. I nodded quickly. He sighed, grabbed the bag, and put it on the floor next to him,
“Alright, I’ll present it to the authorities when I can.”
“Aren’t you the authorities?” I asked, a bit frustrated at how little he was concerned.
“Listen, I only hand out speed tickets and search for lost parents at the mall. But right now, I’m doing this here paperwork, and when I get the chance I’ll hand them over to authorities.” I nodded with some dissapointment and left, relieved that I didn’t have to be close to those tapes anymore.

Once I got home, I grabbed my mail and opened the front door. As I made my way into the living room, I tossed the stack of bills onto the table. I was suprised to hear something hard hit the wooden surface. When I looked back I noticed that the manilla folder that layed among the white envelopes wasn’t filled with sheets of paper, but a small object. A bit curious, I went back and opened it. I cringed when I saw what the folder had revealed.

Inside the folder was a small, black cassette tape labeled, “Entry 15.”

No, this wasn ‘t possible. It had to be Rich or Dennis. There is no way another tape was sent to me. We were the only ones who listened to them that night. And I was certain no one saw us, except for a few cars that passed when we were walking down the street.

I wanted to hear what the tape said, but I remembered I gave the walkman to the police. I searched my basement for a radio, anything, that I could play this tape in. I had to know what it said. Finally, after searching for what seemed like an hour, I came across a box in the basement that had a small cassette player inside. Hastily, I grabbed the dusty object from the box, and ran back up stairs. As soon as I reached the table, I put the tape inside the player and pressed play, hoping to hear that this tape and the other’s were just a sick joke one of my friends had planned out. But once I heard the voice, my stomach dropped, and I felt as if I were going to puke.

April 12th, Hello Jake what did you think about my game? It took me a while to get it ready, but it was all worth it. I knew your curious little mind wouldn’t be able to help itself. I’m surprised at how smoothly this all went out, actually. You and your friends barely noticed me when I put that bag on the fence. And you went and grabbed it, almost as if it was on cue…Are you still surprised, Jake? I’ve been keeping a close watch on you ever since I killed Ben, but I never actually carried out anything ’till now. I knew I had to save the best for last just for you. And now that I think about it, the waiting was all worth it. I’m shocked, Jake. You seem like you don’t even recognize me at all. Don’t you remember punching me in the face back in highschool?

I started to hear the sound of leaves shuffling. It sounded as if he were walking through the woods.

You guys look pretty scared over what you heard in that last tape. I can see it right through the window.
Once the tape had stopped, slowly and unwillingly, I looked towards the window on the south side of the dining room. There was nothing there except for the bushes that stood directly in front of the glass.Terrified, I ran towards the phone to call the cops. When I heard a voice on the other end, I jumped into a panic.
“Hello!” I desperately asked the phone. As I spoke, I patrolled the house, making sure that all of the windows and doors were locked.
“Oh, it’s you again,” Said the policeman I met earlier, “Listen, I told you I would get to it when I ca-”
“Someone’s after me. I just recieved another tape in my mail, and there were threats directed towards me on it, I think it’s the same person who made the tapes I gave you. He’s going to kill me.”
The officer spoke in a bored tone, “Well make sure that everything’s locked up, first,” He paused, “Now, are ya sure it’s not just one of your friends trying to mess with ya?”
“I’m absolutely sure it’s not one of my friends. Please, send someone out here.” I pleaded
“Sorry, but all you can do for now is to make sure that no one can get in. Just go up to your room and quietly read a book or something.” I slammed the phone back onto the hook. He’s not listening to me. I grabbed my laptop, and headed up to my room. I didn’t notice before, but I was the Jake Chris had mentioned in one of his tapes. And now he was back to get me, just like how he had killed Ben. I shut my door behind me and locked it, hoping it would serve as an extra layer of defense.

I decided that I would document what had happened to me, and submit it to creepypasta, so that it could serve as a warning to everyone out there. And that’s how I got to here, typing desperately on my laptop. I just heard some glass break downstairs, and I’m becoming more terrified by the second. I’m going to try to finish this up the best I can.

Please, for everyone’s sake, if you happen to have a “thing” for scary stories, don’t get too obsessed, or you may turn into what you originally have feared. If not, then watch out for those who are vulnerable to becoming the monster that Chris is.

Chris, honestly, I hope you’re happy. You have your own creepypasta, and you live in what you admire so much. You were right, the darkness in a simple scary story is more real than I thought.

Credit To: TVATR

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Country Roads

November 28, 2012 at 12:00 AM
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Holy shit.

I don’t trust roads anymore. Fuck driving. I’m getting a hotel.

My heart is racing, but here’s why:

A couple days ago, I was driving down a long residential shortcut in Georgia back to my house. I was driving back from seeing my family members in Tennessee. When I was coming back, I didn’t want to go on the highway because I figured traffic is usually bad on Thanksgiving holiday, so I put in “shortest route” in my GPS.

My GPS always seems to be able to take me right through every single fucking ghetto that pops up along the way. The way I saw it is that if I didn’t stop, and it got me home faster, I didn’t care.

Something about the whole drive was just odd. The air was just in a different position than normal. I can’t really explain the feeling, but I just had this nagging ache in the back of my brain that was just telling me that something weird and disturbing was going to happen.

I didn’t really think about it, and just brushed it off. It wasn’t until about 2 hours in that I noticed something strange. I was on a two-lane road surrounded by trees, and not a single light except for my dingy, oxidized car headlights.

It was around seven o’ clock, and starting to get dark, and I was the only car on the road. Fuck. I figured I was only maybe an hour and a half away from my house and kept driving.

“In point five miles, turn left on Country Avenue.”

My GPS jolted me awake. I had only been subconsciously driving. It’s kind of hard to pay attention when you’re the only car on the road.

I turned left, and what I saw startled me.

There was an idling Toyota Camry parked sideways in the road with the lights on and all doors open. Two people lay still; a tall child in the shoulder, and a middle-aged woman in the road.

I just sat in my car. I had no idea what was going on, but there was no blood. The car wasn’t damaged at all. It looked as if they had almost parked their car, got out, and laid in the road on their own. Being an awkward teenager, I felt that it probably wasn’t in my best interest to help, and that if I just call the cops I could let them handle it.

I put my car in drive, drove around, parked again, and took out my phone and dialed 911. On the first ring I looked up into the rear-view mirror to see the child and woman get up and get back in the car. Another person also came out from the trees next to the shoulder and walked toward the car.

The 911 operator didn’t even have time to answer as I hung up my phone, threw my car in drive, and floored it. I looked at my speedometer. As it was rounding the forty-five and fifty tick marks, I checked behind me.


Those motherfuckers were gaining on me. Fast. I checked my gas gauge. Half full.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.

I kept the gas pedal floored. I was hitting one hundred and ten and they were still right on my ass. I took plenty of random roads, completely ignoring my GPS.

One hundred and twenty. I was still trying to find a form of civilization. A school. An office building. A house. Something. One hundred and thirty. They were still right on my ass, and mirroring every move I made to the tee.

My car has a built-in limiter that kicks in around one hundred and thirty three, so I stayed at one hundred and thirty, even though the Camry was practically in my backseats.

The road was literally just a straight road with absolutely no curves at all. I figured I would never lose them at this rate, and I was losing fuel fast. Thinking of anything, I did the only thing that came to my mind.

I veered over into the opposite late and instantaneously slammed on my brakes, flipped up my emergency brake, and drifted to the right, basically flipping a u-turn. I released the e-brake, slammed on the gas, and didn’t stop until I was certain I was at least ten miles away from them. I turned on a couple different roads so they wouldn’t be able to find me again, parked me car, and typed “I-75” into my GPS.

Thirty miles away on a quarter of a tank. Great. Just fucking great. Instead I tried to find the nearest gas station. There was one about 5 miles away. The feeling of relief was just absolutely the greatest feeling I ever had. The feeling was so good, I almost came. I drove about twenty five the whole way to the gas station.

After my car was filled up, I went in to go pay, but I didn’t trust leaving my car. Not in this shit-hole of a forest. After a couple minutes of seriously debating, I sucked up and went in.

Cashier: Evenin’.
Me: How’s it goin’?
C: Just alright. You lookin’ to get gas, mister?
M: Oh, yessir. Uh, pump number 3.
C: Alright, that’s gonna be about $43.25. You look white as a ghost, mister. Yallright?
M: Um, not really actually.
C: What’s goin’ on?
M: Some crazed mothafuckers just chased me for thirty miles!
He paused.
C: They wouldn’t happen to drive a Camry, would they?
M: How did you know that…?

He pointed outside. My heart dropped.

There they were. There they fucking were. They were at the pump adjacent to me, sitting in their car. Staring at me. Except they weren’t human.

They were silhouettes, with yellow, piercing eyes. Their eyes looked like LEDs in contrast to their silhouetted bodies. They weren’t saying anything, they were just watching me. I walked out, and slowly walked to my car. I was terrified, but their eyes didn’t follow me. They just stared blankly at the gas station.

I got in my car and got the fuck out of there. They didn’t follow me. I took the highway the rest of the night.

At around ten o’ clock I pulled into my driveway. I had a hard time sleeping that night, and for good reason. When I woke up in the morning, I went outside and got the paper. The headline almost made me shit myself.


It was the same gas station I was at.

I counted my blessings, and stayed home the whole day. Later, I logged in to Facebook to see a status update from the same aunt I had just visited the other day that said “That’s weird, I wasn’t expecting company. Does anyone know who drives a Camry?”

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