The Splendor Man

April 1, 2014 at 7:00 PM
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If there is one day in my life that has defined me it has to be back when I was a younger lad. I must give a bit of background though. I started seeing things moving out of the corner of my eye. Now seeing something slightly move out of my line of sight didn’t really bother me that much. Even the noises while I was trying to sleep didn’t throw me off that much. My upstairs neighbors are some of the weirdest people I have ever meet. One edited his apartment to be able to practice Javelin and another one was a Peruvian flute player. I’m getting a bit off track now.

So after three days of these things, moving out of the corner of my eye. I start seeing things completely move out of my vision of sight. One time during work I was standing in my cubicle talking to Fred in the next cubicle over. I looked up over at the hallway that lead from the office to the stairs. The wall blocked view of the stairs. As I looked over I saw a purple blur, move from the side of the hall down the hallway out of view.

My heart nearly stopped. I saw this a few more times coming to the conclusion a weird guy in purple was stalking me. The noises at night got louder and more terrifying. After a week or so of that, I started hearing a voice at night it was quiet and heavily mumbled. Using what left of my sanity I came to the conclusion that it was just my weird neighbors being weird. Until the second night of whispering. It said my name!

In a deep voice that location could not be found said “Paul.”
It was faint the first night but, after that it got louder and louder. After the fifth night of whispering I went to my friend’s house where some of my friends were going for a small party. My five nights of no sleep was obvious to my friends. They were worried about me. I assured them that it was just some stress. I was trying to make myself not look as crazy as mine friends already knew I was.

After a bit of drinking and our extreme D&D match(I kicked ass that night) with them. I looked out the window. There standing was this purple fuck who kept fucking with me. It wore a dark purple suit with tons of dots on the suit. Though their colors I couldn’t figure out, but it wasn’t his suit that caught my eye it was his face. Or lack of it. As I blinked he was gone. I jumped off the couch. My friends were able to calm me down after a bit. I was able to fall asleep that night there was no noise. Not a creak, scratch or whisper.

After waking up on my day off I realized I needed some groceries. I walked down to the Wal-mart. As soon as I got there I was surprised to see that there weren’t any people there. The parking lot was full as usual, but inside no one was there. Though this should of sent off red flags for some reason my brain came up with the conclusion.

“Yeah, no stupid people to deal with.”

As I went about my myself; grabbing everything on the list as my usually day of shopping goes. It wasn’t till my last item my body started realizing something was off. I started sweating and my heart was pumping really fast. In my haze of stupidity I just passed it off as being hot. It wasn’t until I was one isle away from my last item, that my brain started working.
“Wait it’s a Saturday! This place should be packed! And it’s the second day of the month!”

I grabbed my last item(Sauerkraut) as adrenaline started kicking in. I ran as fast as I could down the rows of food until I ran into something. Hit it like a brick wall. I went flying back into a nearby rack of toys. As I waved about trying to defend myself I grabbed a handle and started swinging the item that had fallen on me as a weapon. As I started knocking things away. I thought I had defeated the monster. But, when I opened my eyes there was nothing there. And I was holding a wiffle ball bat and the monster I thought was attacking me was some toys that I knocked out of the way in the confusion. I stood up and looked at the exit. There was the doors that led outside as normal, but I couldn’t see anything outside. It was pitch black.

My brain came to the quick conclusion that probably meant death. My feet figured out the same thing as I was running down the rows as fast as I could to the tools in hope to find some sort of weapon. I heard the same voice as I had heard during my sleep. Deep, low, terrifying and this time echoing loud. It boomed across the whole store.

“Run as fast as you want Paul, but you’ll never escape!”

I started to hear footsteps from behind me and I started feeling breath against my neck. I was only one or two rows away from the tool section. When I finally reached the row I slid down to the middle of the row and grabbed the first thing that survival horror games had taught me was a weapon. A crowbar! I turned around and swung the crowbar as hard as I could. Hitting my target hard.The hit made hands sting in pain I dropped my weapon.

I feel back to the ground as I looked up upon my nightmare fuel. It stood at around eight feet tall, in a purple suit. The purple suit was covered in different colored polka dots on his suit. His face being completely white from what I could see with his hat covering his face. His hand with it’s purple glove slowly moved up to his hat. As his hand hit the back of his purple hat with a band with the colors of the rainbow that held a single cartoonish red flower in the band. His hat tilted from being down so I could see his face.

His face was completely white with no facial features. Except on his face was drawn rather large black eyes and a drawn on mouth that showed no emotion. His long and slender body started to slightly move. His drawn on mouth and eyes started moving. He had pupils in his large black eyes. His mouth turned into a huge smile.

He looked down at me; frozen in fear from the thing that was well splendor. He then said in a rather high pitched voice.

“Oh, yeah.”

He then cleared his voice while holding up one of his long slender finger. After he finished he said in a louder voice.


His voiced echoed about the store. Then the candyman song started playing. Except candyman was changed from candyman to Splendorman.

“The Splendorman can!”

It went on for about 3 minutes until it finally stopped. He kept the same happy stare at me the whole time. After the song finished I was trembling covered in sweat and fear. I finally after a minute said.

“W-what i-is a Splendorman?”

He chuckled, grabbed me by the hand, and pulled me up to my feet. Looking at me with the same happy expression. Blackness slowly surrounded us. All I could see was his face. His voice dropped low. He said in an almost whisper.

“I’m your fears, your nightmares, and the darkest corners of the world!”

He then looked down at his hand. In his hand he was holding a 4×4 card. He then muttered to himself.

“Pause for dramatic effect.”

Swinging his arms up knocking me to the floor, yelled in his high pitched voice.


His voice echoed about the store…again. The Splendorman song started playing again. Suddenly I got rush of courage, stood up and yelled.

“What? The music?”
“Yes ‘Splendorman’ the music!”
“Are you not finding this funny?”
“Not really.”

He suddenly had a sad face. He then threw a taco at my face and hit me. I stumbled back and said.

“W-what the fuck!”
Splendor man was laughing his ass off. He then put his ass back on. I whipped away the taco and said.

“Why the hell did you do that?”
“Because it was random! And as any 7th grade girl will tell you that is the height of comedy!XD”(He literally made this face, not kidding.)

He finished his sentence with a twirl then started eating a flying pancake cat.

“Just because some teenage girls find it funny, doesn’t actually make it funny!”

He dropped his flying pancake cat thing out of his hands and mouth. Then his face turned into one of these fucking things.


He then slapped me. My weak and fragile body fell to the floor. He burst out laughing. I got up and brushed myself off. After a minute or so he stopped laughing, looked down at me, and made a look of disapproval.

“You don’t like slapstick either! What is wrong with you!?!”
“Nothing, but that’s beside the point. Where am I? What’s a Splendorman?”
“Well, I am the Splendorman a sort of demon thing that does the bidding of the devil. Maybe you have heard about my more popular brother Slenderman?
“Oh, yeah that shitty game nobody would stop talking about for a month then everybody forgot about.”
“Finally someone who agrees that Slender was a poo-poo game.”
“Why did you say poo, you know I don’t care. But where am I?”
In confusion I said
“What Wal-mart is Purgatory? That doesn’t make much sense.”
“Oh, but, Paulie it quit does.”
“Well it’s, ah? Well? It’s evil. Yeah lets go with that.”
“What so evil about it?”
“Gosh-dern-it Paulie, can’t you just enjoy the randomness!? Wal-mart is Purgatory that’s comedy gold!”
“Well I could see some good witty humor in that but, there’s no good writer who could exploit that.”
“Oh, Paulie you must like breaking the fourth wall!”
“Oh, no it was just an observation.”

Then a loud booming voice echoed.

“Did some mention breaking the fourth wall!?!?!”
I fell back to the ground starting to find it quite comfortable and easier to cower on. I then yelled in fear.
“W-who is that?”
“You dummb that’s the writer of this fair story. You ask too many question and stutter too much.”
The writer followed up with
“Yes I wrote him after all my fears of a gay Slenderman and my social anxieties!”
Splendor man replied. “I am ‘NOT’ gay. You donkey turd!”

As the Splendorman fought with the author I spaced out in his own little world. I thought about the situation. Why? Why was I here? Did I do something to upset god? Maybe not believing in him, but that wouldn’t upset him enough to stick me with an annoying gay slenderman. Would he?

I was awoken from my mind nap when Splendorman picked me up by my throat. He mumbled
“Lets get it over with.”
I chocked out “What?”
“Like I said Paulie you ask too many questions.” Now in a sadder voice.
Splendorman carried me all the way to the exit and then dropped me onto the comfortable floor.
“Paulie you are deader than a metaphor that the author is to lazy to make.”
Completely shocked I stuttered.
“Sorry, Paul but, you got hit by a bus on your way to the Wal-mart. Ha, you have became a statistic.”
“But, I can’t be dead.”
“Yes, you can you idiot! Apparently you were so low on the totem pole that I had to do the ‘job’ instead of either of my brothers.”
He then motioned for me to have some flying pancake cat.
“I can’t do a thing Paulie.”
Splendorman then slapped me.
“I can’t Paul.”
The booming voice returned.
“Ugh, I just realized we can’t kill him off.”
“Well he is telling the story. It wouldn’t make any sense.”
“But, this barely resolves it either!”
“Yeah I don’t know what to do with the plot so you guys wing it for a bit while I think this through.”

I was very happy at this. The fact I was going to live. I was smiling ear to ear. Splendor man then exploded.
“Fu- Must not swear must be kind and lovable! I just want to be random and be loved, but no my story get hijacked by some donkey-turd of an author!”
The author returned.

“Okay I figured it out.”
“Paul will be your proxy!”
Splendor man stood there mouth opened and shocked. The author then started again.
“Well, it makes sense. Since this is pretty much a self insert fan fic. It just makes sense.”
“But!” Splendor man replied angrily.
“Do you want to be loved my random 7th grade girls?”
“Fine!” Splendor man said in a sad voice.
I cut in “I get to live!?”
“Yeah. You get to live Paul.”
I was pretty damn happy.Splendor man gave me a face like this

“:/”(Once again it was like this. Not being lazy.)
Splendor man then snapped his fingers and we were on a rooftop overlooking the city.

“Will I get to learn how to that?”
“What? No! That is only for people who like random.”
“Oh, so that’s, how the British won World War II.”
“Never mind, so what is are first job.”

Splendor man pulled out a laptop out of his pocket. He opened it to a website called “Crappypasta”. He then said.

“We have to protect this amazingly, funny, and smart pasta called ‘Bloody Fruit Loops of Death’ from all these haters. Especially this dirty-birdie tytiger10.”
“Wait did you just make an obscure reference?”
“Yeah of course. Obscure references are hilarious. Not as much as slapstick or random, but you know still pretty good.”
I was about to disagree when he slapped me then burst into a long laugh. I got back up and he laughed for a good twenty minutes. When he stopped I said to him.

“Obscure references aren’t that funny because if people don’t get them they feel left out…”
“YOU NEED TO SHUT UP!!! YOU-YOU DONKEY POO!! Random and Slapstick and Obscure References are the height of humor!! You are just being a loser hipster hater who has no life!!”
“This is going to be a long eternity.”
“Same here Paulie, Same here.”

*This story was successfully rewritten after receiving feedback on Crappypasta – click here to read the original version.

Credit To – tytiger10 (Thanks go to YOU CAN”T HANDLE THE USERNAME and the crappypasta community)

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Yo, dude, do you own a dog?

April 1, 2014 at 12:00 PM
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“Yo, dude,” Brewster said, looking out the glass doors at the back of my kitchen. He pushed back his baseball cap and scratched his head. “…Do you own a dog?”
I looked up from my Pokémon game, frowning. It was about 2am and the neighborhood was as quiet as death, but leave it to Brewster to find my empty backyard more interesting than Pokémon. He was a textbook jock; an impressively tan lax bro with muscles the size of Texas and a brain the size of a tube of chapstick. I was a black nerd. Somehow, we were best friends. I paused the game to grab a fistful of popcorn. “Hell no, my mom’s allergic. It’s probably a stray.”
“It looks really sick, dude. It’s creeping me out.”
“Just close the blinds.”
“I don’t want to,” he whined.
“Jesus, Brew, we see strays every day!”
“I don’t know, now it’s like foaming at the mouth…” He cringed. “Ughh.”
I rolled up from the couch, grumbling as I dropped the Pokémon game and walked up behind Brewster. “Look, you moron, the—” I stopped as I looked out the door and into the darkness of my backyard, lit by a few garden lamps.
That was definitely not a dog.
That was definitely a naked gray bald man crouched in my backyard, drooling and staring at us.
My face screwed up in confusion. Leave it to Brewster to think that some poor homeless man was a dog. “Aw, crap. I’m calling the cops. That’s not a dog, that’s a homeless guy. And he’s probably mentally ill, it’s not his fault.”
“But he growled at me!”
I was already dialing the Baltimore City Police Department, ready to explain that there was some naked guy in my backyard at 2am. Typical stuff for “The City That Bleeds”. The dispatcher clicked on the line.
“Baltimore City Police Department, state your emergency,” a calm female voice answered.
“Good evening, uh, I live at 126 Woodbird Drive.” I looked back to the glass doors; the homeless man was still firmly rooted on my property. “Um, there appears to be a naked man in my backyard.”
Static suddenly crackled to life in the background. “Could you give me your address, please?”
Frowning, I gave her my address again and waited for her to respond. Silence; except for static and an occasional pop. I thought that I had lost the call but there was still no dial tone.
“Hello? M’am? HELLO, M’AM?” I shouted into the phone. “THERE IS A NAKED PERSON IN MY YARD.”
“Where are you going?”
A loud pop echoed on the phone before the same tone repeated itself:
“Where are you going?”
“M’am, are you on drugs?” I asked, that being the only plausible explanation at the time.
“Come back.”
“…excuse me?”
“Come back.”
Suddenly, out of nowhere, the thick smell of rotting meat clogged the air. Both Brewster and I gagged; he stuffed his sleeve over his nose and looked back at me fearfully. “Why does it smell like hamburgers?”
“Hell if I know!”
His voice turned fearful. “It’s the dog!”
“Brewster, shut up!”
I turned my attention back to the phone, but the woman continued to repeat the same phrase over and over again.
“Come back.”
“Come back.”
“Come back.”
“Can you connect me to the Baltimore county office?” I asked.
The women was about to respond when Brewster let loose a high-pitched shriek; I whipped around to see the homeless man’s face pressed against the glass door, snarling. I gaped at the visage and my eyes bugged. My mind struggled to process the face. That was definitely not a naked homeless man.
The thing had hollow, black eyes and a canine snout; its curled lips revealed dozens of stained fangs. A few gossamer hairs grew on its emaciated head; the rest of the body gray and taut. Its spine stuck out on its back. At this point Brewster crumpled up on the ground, sobbing and repeatedly screaming “Mom”, as the thing brought a huge, bloodied claw up to the door.
I dropped the phone, the woman’s voice now only reduced to something that sounded like Latin, or Japanese, I’m not really sure. The phone clattered on the counter as the Naked Gray Thing and I stared at one another, I shocked and horrified, it evidently enjoying scaring the crap out of two pathetic high schoolers. After what seemed like hours, the thing’s face crept into a huge grin and it paused to rasp two single words. Although the glass door muffled the sound, I heard the two words as clearly as if they were whispered in my ear:
“Frederick Ellison.”
Brewster stopped screaming and jerked back to look at me in horror as the thing shot off back into the darkness. I swallowed.
Oh, shit.
That was my name.
Brewster and I both looked at each other and screamed. We hit high octaves of horror.
“WHAT DO WE DO?” he shrieked.
“I don’t know. Calm down.” I grabbed his shoulders. “My mom keeps a shotgun in her closet. Grab that and come back downstairs.”
He bit his lip, resembling a massive infant for a split second before running upstairs. I heard his footsteps banging above my head before they stopped abruptly. It didn’t sound like he stopped to open the closet— it was as if he was startled by something and froze in fear.
“Brewster?” I called hesitantly.
“Uh…dude?” His voice was high with fear. “Do you have an adopted Asian sister?”
I frowned in confusion before busting it up the stairs, bursting into my mom’s room to see Brewster frozen in the middle of the room, staring out the window. My mom’s room has a small balcony, and on the balcony stood a small, thin Asian girl. She was about our age with straight black hair and a face that could’ve killed someone. Her downy brows sharpened low over her dark eyes in a mask of rage.
I stared at her for a moment. How could she have accessed the balcony?
“Are you lost?” I shouted at her. “This isn’t your house!”
She continued to stare.
And then she took a step forward.
I’m not sure if it was her furious expression, the fact that a strange girl just appeared on my mom’s balcony, or the fact that a weird naked gray thing had just attacked us, but Brewster and I both rushed into the closet and jammed ourselves inside. I grabbed the shotgun wedged in the back and cocked it, aiming it at the closed doors of the closet.
“I’m scared,” Brewster whimpered.
“Shut up,” I muttered. “It’s just a random girl.”
I cracked the closet an inch to look outside.
Looking into the space was the girl.
My heart stopped and I fired the gun wildly, the base slamming into my shoulder as bullets riddled the room and smoke filled the air. Brewster screamed and jumped on me in fear, knocking the gun away. As the smoke cleared, the girl still stood before us, unharmed. We silenced immediately as her furious expression changed into a deep frown.
“All right, you idiots,” she said. “You’re in trouble, and I’m here to help. The name is Mildred.”
Mildred and I sat opposite one another in armchairs, Brewster cowering next to me. Mildred wasn’t as terrifying as before, now seeing her in the light— although she still had chronic bitch face. The clock ticked on the wall.
“Uh,” I said. “We’d really appreciate you telling us why you followed us, broke into my house and then told us that we were in trouble.”
She nodded, disinterested. “Yeah. Right. Okay. So.” She paused. “I hate to tell you this, but…you’re being hunted down by a monster who won’t stop chasing you until he basically rips you up and eats your dead body.” She paused again. “I’m sorry.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me?”
She sighed. “Let me phrase this another way.” She paused. “You’re screwed.”
Brewster and I exchanged glances. “Uh…what?” Brewster managed.
She steepled her fingers a la Doctor Evil, turning to me. “If Garden Tool says your name…” Mildred made a chopping motion with her hand. “You’re good as dead.” She paused. “Except for me. I attribute my survival to my intelligence and charm.”
“Garden Tool?”
“That gray thing that came up to your door.” She rolled her eyes. “The grand council of internet virgins uses the name ‘the Rake’ and writes fanfiction about him. I don’t know, it’s stupid.”
I blinked at her. I was never exactly a horror aficionado, but the fanfiction I read never involved Naked Gray Dog Men. That was a subject I did not want to touch.
Her eyes snapped to mine. “I live a few doors down from you. I heard the screaming and went to investigate.” She paused. “It was after me last week, but I suppose it has a new plaything.” She shrugged. “Now both of us are screwed.”
I threw my hands out. “You say that so casually!”
“It’s pretty easy to talk about death once you’ve accepted the inevitability of it,” she said cheerfully.
There was silence for a moment.
“I can try to help you guys out,” Brewster mumbled guiltily.
I turned to him. “Goddamn, Bre—”
The powerful stench of rotting meat hit me and I stopped; Brewster and I both registered it at once and turned to Mildred, our eyes tearing and sleeves over our noses.
“Yo, dude,” Brewster whimpered. “It’s that smell!”
Mildred wrinkled up her nose. “That isn’t good.”
“What the hell do we do?” I asked desperately.
The doorbell rang.
All three of us looked to the front door, still overpowered by the rotting smell. It was about 3 AM. My mom was on a business trip. Who the hell would be at the door at 3 AM?
Brewster jumped up from his seat. “I’ll get it—”
“Brewster, you idiot!” I grabbed his arm and pulled him back, picking up the shotgun from the side of my chair.
I inched to the door, looking through the peephole.
Darkness. Not the darkness of night, but pure black with a glass sheen. My mind worked to figure out what I was looking at, when I suddenly realized in horror what it was.
An eye.
“Oh, shit!” I scrambled back just as the door began crashing on its hinges, battered by something huge. Cracks raced across the wood and I cocked the shotgun, aiming it at the door.
“I have no experience shooting a gun,” I said, cowering behind my armchair. Meanwhile, I think Brewster wet himself.
Mildred sat up in her chair. “We need to leave. Now. Get a car; it’ll catch us on foot.”
The door was almost down. “I don’t have a car.”
Mildred looked at Brewster and he shook his head, trembling. “Mine’s in the front.”
“Shit.” She tried to knock the gun out of my hands. “Don’t even bother, that won’t work anyway.”
My eyes bugged at her. “What?”
“We need, like, holy water or some religious shit.”
“You tell me that now?” I shrieked.
The door fell down with the splintering of wood and a huge crash.
The three of us shot behind one armchair to hide, which was both stupid and ineffective. I heard claws scratch against the wood floor as whatever broke down my door walked into my house. There was silence for a few moments, coupled with wheezing, before I heard a familiar, rasping voice. I knew instantly what had just broken down my door.
“Meeeaatt…come outtt.”
Garden Tool.
When you’re about to die, you notice the little things in life. Like the fact that the kitchen faucet was dripping, carelessly left on by Brewster, or the sudden knowledge that you forgot to pick up beef jerky from the store. The little things.
Death was approaching, and I knew that in that moment, we weren’t infinite.
We were fucked.
I eyed Mildred, muttering to her. “Are you absolutely positive a gun won’t work against it?”
“Well, it won’t kill it.”
“I guess…”
“Commeee out, meattt…”
I shot up from behind the armchair and pumped lead into the monster, tumbling back from the shotgun’s recoil. I attempted to say something suave, like “This time, it’s personal,” but all I said was, “AUGGGG”.
As I fell back, Garden Tool did too, lurching back with the shots and splattering the room with black blood— but just as he rolled on he floor he rose again, bullet wounds filling up with flesh. The blood faded. That was definitely not normal.
I stood, paralyzed, as he stalked forward. The thing cracked a grin, revealing stained sharp teeth, black eyes narrowed. He knew that I was terrified.
“Guns don’t workkk.”
Suddenly, I heard a shout behind me:
Brewster came through for me just this once, hefting an armchair over his head with mighty roar and heaving it at Garden Tool. The monster tried to duck away but the chair was too large and it smashed into his body, trapping him back in a corner. Black blood began to pool around the chair and his twitching limbs.
The three of us stared at the bloodied armchair.
“Is he dead?” I asked.
The armchair moved and in a split second the three of us tore up the stairs while Garden Tool was incapacitated, stuffing ourselves back into my mom’s bedroom closet.
“Why the hell didn’t we run outside?” Mildred asked angrily at us.
“We can’t worry about that now,” I whispered. I turned to Brewster. “Bro talk. What do we do?”
“I don’t know, man,” Brewster sniffed. Tears appeared in his eyes. “I’m scared, bro. Guns don’t work. Chairs don’t even work.”
“Brewster, we’ll get through this.” I grabbed his hand. “Remember the power of friendship. I love you, brother.”
“I love you too, dude.”
“Okay. What do we do?”
“I got the keys to my car, we just need to get to the front of your house.”
“How?” Mildred whispered angrily, cutting into our heartfelt friendship fest.
“A distraction,” Brewster whispered. “How about I jump out, start flapping my arms and meowing—”
Garden Tool threw the closet door open, screeching in fury. I screamed and for once in my life, had a good aim— I shot him directly in the mouth; he jerked back from the force, screaming in pain and frothing blood.
“EVERYONE MOVE!” Mildred howled, pushing us into a run. We barreled to the front of the house, Garden Tool springing up and tearing after us.
I leapt through the busted front door and shot out into the winter night, stuffing myself into the passenger seat of Brewster’s car. Brewster and Mildred followed suite, Brewster taking the driver’s seat and Mildred tumbling into the back of the car. I cocked the shotgun as Brewster struggled to take his keys and stick it in the ignition, much like R. Kelly.
“Brewster, MOVE!” I yelled.
He blinked back tears. “I’m scared!”
I pulled him into the passenger’s seat, jamming the shotgun into his hands and shoving myself into the driver’s seat. I heard scrabbling outside the car.
Garden Tool leapt onto the front of the car and then smashed it’s head on the windshield. I gunned the engine and floored the car forward; Brewster blasted a bullet into the windshield, missing Garden Tool completely and blowing a massive hole in the car. Glass exploded everywhere; I threw my arms up to shield my face as Garden Tool forced his torso through the broken glass, screeching in my face.
HIs breath smelled like, guess what, surprise, that rotting meat smell that followed him everywhere. He was about to lunge at me when Mildred shot up from the back seat and threw something around his neck, pulling back.
Garden Tool shrieked, choking, scrabbling to untangle itself from whatever was choking it. I caught a glimpse of the rope for a split second, a crucifix charm dangling off of it. A rosary.
Mildred let go of the rosary and Garden Tool fell back from the front of the car. I rammed the gas and the car roared before shooting forward, running over the creature with a satisfied thump and roll of wheels.
We burned rubber onto the street, shooting into Baltimore city. Mildred looked back and saw Garden Tool for a split second, slowly rising from the ground. She flipped him off.
“MILDRED, DON’T TAUNT HIM,” I screamed back at her.
“Whatever, mom!”
I drove blindly, flashing past side streets and continuing deep into the city. The more people, the safer. “Okay, Mildred, where the hell do we go?”
“I’m kind of hungry,” she mumbled. “McDonalds?”
“You said that religious items hurt him? All religious items? Where’d you get that rosary?”
“My grandpa’s church. The Korean one out in the county.”
“Can you tell me how to get there?”
“Sure, but we’ll have to bust in.”
“I don’t care. If you think it’s safe, we’re going there.”
Mildred gave me a look that wasn’t the most confident thing I wanted to see, but I steeled myself and turned onto the highway, burning rubber the rest of the way.
Soon enough, we rolled up to a darkened church on one of Baltimore County’s smaller streets. A sign with Korean lettering stood in front of the church. The road was deserted.
“My grandpa’s church,” Mildred muttered. “I forgot how deserted it was.”
“Well, let’s get inside before that thing hunts us down…” I got out and slammed the car door behind me, tossing the keys to Brewster. I pulled on the church’s front door, armed with my shotgun. Locked, obviously. I had no clue how to pick a lock, let alone bust a door down, but I wasn’t going to look like an idiot in front of Mildred and Brewster. I had already shot a monster in the face; might as well continue my descent into badassery.
Brewster stood next to me at the door, frowning. “I don’t like this, bro…”
“I know, dude. But this is all we can do right now.”
He paused, eyes downcast. “This is all my fault. I’m sorry, Fred. I’m the worst bro ever.”
I punched his shoulder. “Hey, don’t be like that. You’re the best bro ever.”
“But you still condemned your friend to death,” Mildred chimed in, worming her way into the conversation. Brewster went back to looking depressed.
I turned back to the locked door and began using the shotgun as a kind of battering ram before Mildred shoved me aside. “Idiot. Let me do it. You’re not fooling anyone.”
I quailed away as she got busy picking the lock, finishing with a smug smirk and the click of an unlocked door. She cracked open the door, smile turning into a frown. “Jesus. I forgot what a dump this place was.”
The three of us piled into the church, locking the door behind us. Mildred flipped on some lights and the space illuminated in a disappointing array of empty chairs and a fake wooden podium. It looked nothing like the predominantly white-Catholic churches of Baltimore; it might have well been a multipurpose room. Bowls of what I assumed were holy water stood at random places in the church. A massive Jesus crucifix was poised behind the altar, weeping blood tears.
Mildred flopped down in a seat. “Well, here we are. Feel free to start praying. I don’t know.”
I paced the back of the church. “Okay, so, I propose that we create a gun filled with holy water and wine, call it the Baptizer 2000, and then—”
“Uhhh,” Mildred said.
I turned to her. “Uh, what?”
She paused before muttering, “I kind of lied about the power of Jesus thing.”
I frowned at her. “Excuse me?”
“The religion thing?” She avoided eye contact. “Actually, that was just a guess.”
“WHAT,” I screamed.
She thrust up the rosary she had used to choke Garden Tool. “My grandpa gave me this from this church, and that seemed to work. I threw a dollar-store crucifix at Garden Tool once and he laughed. I don’t know, okay?”
Brewster finally seemed to comprehend what was going on. “So…you drove us out here for nothing?”
“No! I know there’s something about this place that must work, it’s just…” she gave a little shrug. I saw her face sadden. “I was actually hoping you two could help me. You didn’t think I broke into your house just because I wanted to help you out, did you?”
“You don’t seem like the most charitable person.” I glared at her.
She matched my glare. “I’ll have you know, I donate—”
She silenced at a far off noise— the sharp, muffled ring of a telephone.
I scanned the room and saw the telephone perched on the far side of the room. I started towards the phone as Brewster yelped, “Wait, bro!”, but I caught the call on the last ring, answering with a hard, “hello”. I was getting tired of these games.
Static on the other end.
“This isn’t scary,” I said. “I live in Baltimore city, for God sake!”
There was a pop of sound, before:
“Where are you going?”
I shrieked like a small child and hung up the phone. Suddenly, there was a bang and the church lights cut to black. I froze, my voice taken away.
“Fred, bro?” Brewster’s far away voice called.
“What the FUCK,” I responded.
Something slammed into my temple and white-hot pain split through my head. I fell back, my mind going dizzy for a minute, the darkness and sudden sounds of shouting mixing together in my head. I figured that this was what a hangover felt like. I tried to get up but I struggled; after a minute I managed to stumble to my feet again. Something was strange.
The church was completely silent.
I steadied myself on the wall, pinching the bridge of my nose. My head pounded.
“Brewster?” I called. “Mildred?”
Silence; the pain in my head made it hard to think straight and I ended up stumbling backwards. I thought I was going to hit the wall but instead I fell back into a seat behind a heavy curtain. I panicking for a moment, feeling walls around me, but then I thought back to my church days— a confession box.
I rested my head in my hands, rubbing my head. “Jesus Christ…”
I looked up, eyes wide. That was definitely not the voice of Jesus.
That was the voice of Garden Tool.
“You are not Jesus!” I yelled in a random direction, blind in the darkness.
Garden Tool rasped a laugh; I realized he was on the other side of the confession box. The stench of rotting meat filled the air. “I have something that is everything to youuu…”
“What, the Pokémon game? I don’t care what you steal from me!”
“Return to this church at dawn and I will let him go.”
My heart dropped. “What?”
The lights suddenly flashed back on. I hissed and squinted before stumbling out of the confession box and throwing the curtain aside. Garden Tool was gone.
I cursed and suddenly remembered Brewster and Mildred before running to the front of the church. Mildred was just raising herself up off the ground, a hand at her bloodied head.
Brewster was gone.
“I feel like I just got hit by a truck…” Mildred mumbled, still groggy.
“BREWSTER!” I rushed past her, screaming Brewster’s name. At some point I tripped on a chair and tumbled onto the floor, but instead of getting up I just stayed there for a while. I knew my search was fruitless— Brewster was gone.
Return to this church at dawn and I will let him go.
I eventually got up, Mildred standing over me. “What the hell just happened?”
I swallowed. “Garden Tool took Brewster.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
I whipped around to her. “The religion shit didn’t work, Mildred!” I yelled, kicking a chair. “All of this is bullshit! He took Brewster! You took us here for nothing! NOTHING!”
“I didn’t promise anything.” Her voice was hard. “I could’ve just left you two to die. Instead, I try to help. You should be thanking me for even trying.”
She threw her arms up in huge movements to show all that she did for us, which added up to breaking into my house, forcing Brewster to cut up a pineapple, asking to go to McDonalds when we were being hunted down, and then taking us to a random Korean church.
I stormed away from her, and, having nowhere else to go, walked up to the altar. I sat down at the front of it and attempted to pray, but no matter how desperate I was, I was still an Atheist. I attempted to be proud of my mental fortitude.
I put my head in my hands and struggled to be calm. All I had to do was face Garden Tool at dawn and Brewster would be fine. Brewster would be fine. Brewster would be fine.
There was still a massive hole in my heart as I attempted to comprehend my own death at the claws of a monster. The fear was there, but no hesitation— Brewster was my main bro, my heterosexual life partner. I would take a bullet for him, let alone sacrifice myself to a monster. He would do the same. I looked up at Jesus hanging over the altar. I supposed that’s why people coveted religion so much— the feeling that someone had your back, no matter what.
A thought suddenly shot through my mind.
My eyes widened and I got up from my seat, effectively standing in awe of my own brilliant idea.
I knew exactly what to do.
Mildred puttered up behind me, giving me a skeptical look. “Are…are you okay?”
“…I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine.” I turned to look back at her. “Hey, Mildred?”
“Where’s the closest place we can buy dynamite?”
The sun peeked through the windows as I stood at the altar of the church, smoking a cigarette. The cigarette tasted disgusting, but I looked like an absolute badass so I was struggling through it.
The monster was due to appear any minute now, and I had my shotgun at the ready. If my plan worked, it would be the most epic day of my life. I could write all of my college essays about it. The birth of my first-born child would be welcomed with an apathetic nod, because nothing would be as beautiful as this moment. If my plan didn’t work, Brewster and I would both be dead.
You win some, you lose some.
There was the loud bang of a slammed door somewhere from within the church, and I whipped around to see Garden Tool slinking from the front of the church, black eyes shining. He wore a massive grin of needles. That hunched, gray form was nothing human or animal— and he dragged something along behind him in one of his claws.
He was dragging an unconscious Brewster behind him, my best friend completely out but otherwise unharmed. For a minute I thought he was dead, but then I saw the copious amounts of drool dribbling from his mouth.
As Garden Tool neared me, his eyes flickered and he noticed the shotgun in my hand. He hesitated for a moment before leaving Brewster behind on the floor and slinking closer.
“You never said no weapons,” I said nervously, as if using logic would appeal to a gray dog-human monster.
He hissed a laugh. “I fear no weaponnn. Prepare for deathhh.”
Garden Tool tensed, looking ready to pounce, and I released an incredibly pathetic whimper of fear. I caught myself, attempting to remain stoic.
“This isn’t a regular gun,” I managed, relatively close to peeing myself in fear. Garden Tool suddenly seemed to notice that I had modified my gun with something. Don’t ask how I modified it; I’m in AP Engineering. “I call this baby the Baptizer 2000. Not only does it shoot bullets, but holy water too.”
“Your pathetic religion won’t kill meee…” Garden Tool hissed with laughter once more, squinting in delight. He moved from his crouched position, and my fear dampened. He was amused.
“You know, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.” I paused to exhale smoke from the cigarette, attempting not to choke and start tearing up. “I’ve been contemplating life.”
“Sucideee?” he asked, hopefully.
“No. I’ve been thinking about all of the joys of life, and what makes all of our struggles meaningful.” You could’ve heard a pin drop; Garden Tool’s expression became slightly confused. “I know that religion might not hurt you…but you know what will?” I paused, letting it soak in.
“Love. Love will kill you.”
Although he tried to hide it, I saw his expression flicker into one of absolute fear, and then switch immediately back to an expression of amusement. “Love? Love? Emotion is nothingggg.”
“You keep on saying that things are nothing. You’re wrong. Love is everything. Back in my house? The shotgun and armchair hurt you because Brewster and I were protecting one another. Mildred’s rosary worked because her grandfather gave it to her.”
As I ended my speech, Garden Tool’s eyes widened. Damn, I should’ve written my thesis paper on that shit. It was pure gold.
“Garden Tool, you’re right. Religion won’t hurt you. But you know what will?” I cocked the gun. “This, and 100 pounds of explosives. Filled with love. Bro love.”
Garden Tool didn’t react; I knew that he didn’t want me to see his confusion. I cocked my head at the Jesus statue behind me. He glanced at the statue, its arms held out in a welcoming gesture— arms now full of dynamite, dynamite that I bought using my mother’s credit card at a shady downtown Baltimore weapons shop that Ray Lewis probably frequented. The dynamite gathered in a string that lead down to directly in front of me. Garden Tool couldn’t contain his shock; he whipped his head at me with an expression of pure fury. His nostrils flared.
He lunged at me, claws out and jaws agape, and I shot him square in the mouth with a combination of holy water and bullets. Garden Tool seemed to freeze and drop in mid-air like lead; crumpling on the ground and frothing from the mouth. An inhuman gargle ran from his jaws. He attempted to rise; I shot his back and he crumpled up, howling.
I stepped up to him, tossing my gun aside. I daintily held my cigarette in my fingertips. I was glad to stop smoking it, smoking tasted like shit.
“You’re reign of terror is over, Garden Tool,” I said. “Never again will you prey on random high schoolers.”
Through his gurgling and writhing, I saw something slip from one of his eyes, as clear as day. A tear.
My heart fell. I wasn’t as badass as I would’ve liked to think I was, despite the despicable nature of the creature. I blotted out the cigarette out on one of the chairs and aimed the gun at Garden Tool’s head.
“Au revoir, asshole,” I said. It was the best I could do.
I ended up pulling Brewster’s dead weight by his foot. I had to bump the church door open with my back and drag him through, but as I was doing so the door accidentally closed on his head and he woke his a start.
He held the door open, sitting up and blinking groggily at me. “Dude…?” He suddenly snapped back into consciousness and jumped up, crushing me in a massive hug. “BRO! YOU’RE ALIVE!”
We pulled back. “I’ve never been more alive!”
Tears sprung up in his eyes. “And you saved me, bro.”
We fist bumped. “Hey, Brewster. That’s what I do best.”
We walked out from the church and to where Mildred was waiting outside, leaning against Brewster’s car. After taking a tour through more of the unsavory parts of Baltimore, trolling for explosives, she wasn’t exactly happy with me.
She sighed and cocked an eyebrow. “So, did you kill him? I thought there was supposed to be an explosion and you walk out of the church triumphantly.”
“He’s dead, but no explosion.” I paused, shrugging. “I really didn’t want to blow up a church. Also, I guess I’m not one for theatrics and death in the same situation.”
Suddenly, the church exploded behind me, filling the air with a massive boom and an upward rush of smoke and fire. The three of us jumped behind the car, watching the church’s frame burn and crackle.
My eyes widened. “That wasn’t supposed to happen!”
Brewster patted me on the back. “Yo, dude, don’t worry about it. The Korean people can fix it.” Mildred glared at him.
We sat back against the car and all took deep breaths. I nodded at Brewster. “Well, buddy, everything turned out okay. Want to go back to my house and play some more Pokémon?”
“Most definitely, brother.”
So the three of us drove Brewster’s completely destroyed car back to my house, stepped through the busted-in front door, and sat down to play Pokémon. Even though our adventure amounted to several million dollars in damage and probably months of therapy for Brewster and I both, I had my friend by my side. And when it comes right down to it, religion or no religion, afterlife or no afterlife, good life or bad life, the people you love are all that matter.
At that moment, life was good.
I looked up from the Pokémon game for a moment to see Brewster on the other side of the room and looking out my busted up front door.
“Yo, dude,” he said, scratching his head. “Why is your neighbor wearing a suit?”


Credit To – Ellen Meny

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Maternal Instinct

March 30, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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I looked down at my children as they slept, the moonlight hitting their faces softly. They all looked so peaceful. They were my children, and I would do anything to protect them. That night I made a vow that I would never harm them, no matter what the circumstance. I was a good mother. A good mother never harms her children.

The days began to get more harried and more stressful, and my kids could see the dark circles that began to form under my eyes, and the wrinkles that creased my forehead. Work was getting harder and harder, and it had been difficult to work as a nurse on the late night shift to begin with.
My children remained blissfully unaware of the fact that we currently had a deadly pandemic sweeping the globe.

I never thought that the zombie apocalypse would actually happen. I was a rational and sensible person and the supernatural had never been a great concern of mine. However, when hospitals become flooded with corpses that have gone cold and suddenly start screaming again as they are wheeled to the morgue, what has occurred is a little difficult to ignore. The hardest part was seeing the children that were occasionally wheeled in, wailing in despair while trying to rip out the throats of the orderlies. As the doctors experimented and tried to find a cure, I sat with my fellow nurses as we plugged our ears and tried to block out the screaming. Only small patches of the world had been affected so far, so no extreme emergency measures had yet been taken. All we wanted was to return home and make sure our families were safe, but going home would lead to nothing but nightmares of grayed, decaying skin and white, pupilless eyes.

I tried desperately to keep up a semblance of normalcy around my children. I would come home, smile, tell them mommy had had another rough night at work. Yet I was terrified to sleep during the day, terrified that when I opened my eyes my own children would be staring at me with their jaws slack and white, unblinking eyes. When it came to work, the only thing that kept me awake anymore was the screaming. My stomach always turned over when I saw the children being wheeled to an incinerator. Surely a mother could never harm her children like that, even if she had lost all reason? Surely maternal instinct was stronger than whatever this disease was that had gripped our world like a vice?

In the morning light’s early rays, I got off the bus that sent me to and from work and collapsed onto my bed. It had been a long, hard night helping at the research lab. My husband fixed the covers over me and tucked me in more securely. I grunted in thanks. In the other room I could hear my children begin to wake. I wondered how long I could fool them into thinking that everyone was simply on a long holiday.

It had been obvious from the start that our little local hospital was doomed to fail. The bus no longer came for me. I simply stayed home and cared for my children, and admittedly I finally managed to sleep more comfortably when I could control my resting times. I couldn’t seem to shake my night owl habit though. Every night I would kiss my three year old goodnight, smooth back the hair from my nine year old’s forehead, and gently squeeze my ten year old’s hand. Then, I would softly close the door and go about doing some busywork, never taking my eyes off that door. I would ensure that my children slept safe tonight.

Soon the dead began shuffling to the door and pressing themselves against our windows. My children learned the truth the day my husband took out his rifle and shot two pallid, gray faces that had managed to stick their hands underneath the front door.

Something else was disturbing me. My right hand began to hurt something awful, and I started getting constant headaches. At the back of my mind a thread of doubt snaked out and whispered something truly chilling to me whilst I lay in bed trying to sleep, Maybe you were wrong.

I had offered to take part in an experiment which, if proven successful, could make me immune to the pathogen communicated by the undead. I was not entirely familiar with the plan that the doctors had described, but I realized that if this succeeded, I might be able to protect my family. If it failed, well, my incinerated ashes couldn’t do much to harm my family either. Obviously, in addition to injecting me with the serum the doctors had to see if it would actually work. I allowed myself to be bitten on my right hand, and when nothing happened, the feeling of relief overwhelmed me . The doctors were beside themselves with the euphoria of triumph. It was too bad that the very next day, one of the young doctor’s assistants got himself infected and destroyed the entire lab. I was the only person on the planet who could be bitten by this new adversary and survive.

Are you sure?


The next morning, I awoke. How strange. Instead of tucking the children into bed, I had opted for the first good night’s sleep in a while. I rolled over to look at my husband and gently tapped him on the shoulder. He turned on his side to look at me. White, pupilless eyes met hazel brown ones that swiftly widened in fear as I realized what had transpired.

My husband didn’t even have time to scream before I broke his neck and sank my teeth into his throat, feeling the warm gush of blood in my mouth. I feasted upon his innards, driven by an indescribable hunger and instinct akin to that of a tiger or a lion. Once my primal hunger was satisfied, I left his still-warm body on our bedroom floor and drunkenly shuffled into the room of my children. I looked upon all three of them as they stirred in their sleep. Strange. I felt no desire to break their bones or feast upon their flesh. Perhaps, no matter how primitive I became, I would not forget my children. Perhaps this restraint was maternal instinct.

After all, a good mother never harms her children.

I couldn’t say the same for their father, though, who had begun to stir from where I’d left him only minutes ago.

Credit To – Nini Li

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There Is a Man Behind You

March 28, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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My name is Robert Krandall, and I play a marginal part in the following story. I am attempting to post on this site for scary stories on behalf of the author, my friend Jonathan Tally. Jon is currently serving a prison sentence for manslaughter. I hope that seeing this published in a public forum will help ease his mind. His mental state has deteriorated considerably, as you’ll see. I am not a superstitious person, so I have no trouble seeing it as the hallucinations of a mentally disturbed individual. If you are superstitious, I recommend not reading it.

So here it is, reproduced, word for word, from Jon’s letters he wrote while in solitary confinement. He has pleaded repeatedly, almost desperately, to post it on some internet site where it will be read. As of last week, he has been threatening to kill himself if he is not able to see it published on the web. For the record, I did NOT do what Jon accuses me of at the beginning of the story. To Jon: you will see this soon, and I hope it brings you some measure of relief.


I should tell you now, dear reader, I’m writing this story from prison. Solitary confinement. I have been in solitary confinement for a few days now, and it is for the best. I only hope that this reaches as many people as possible. These are the events that happened to me leading up to the murder and my incarceration. Whether you believe me or not is your business, but it is the truth.

This is New York City. I’m getting back home late at night after a fine evening of friends and drinking. It starts to rain really heavily, but luckily I’ve just made it to the subway station. So I go down into the subway. I get into the car, it’s empty. One stop later, one person gets on and sits in the middle of the car, on my side. A young guy, early twenties. He is sitting with strangely straight posture, staring at nothing. Head slightly tilted. A kind of wild look in his hair and eyes, like he hasn’t slept in a long time. I put my earbuds in to listen to music on my phone. Led Zeppelin, nice!

Two or three stops later, I happen to glance up and notice strangely that the distance between this guy and myself seems to have lessened. He’s still sitting the same way, back completely straight, head tilted, eyes wide and staring at nothing. This is weird, but maybe I misjudged the distance before. I turn back to my phone. One stop later I look up and he is three seats away from me. Ok, now it’s getting creepy, and I know this guy was getting closer to me for some reason.

“What the hell?” I say. “Look dude, there’s plenty of seats on the train, I don’t want any trouble.” He turns to look at me briefly, there’s a wildness in his eyes, but he turns back, facing forward. I’m watching this guy closely now. Suddenly, I notice that his clothes are completely dry. He got on three stops after me, after it had started raining, and yet he had no umbrella and was completely dry. I could only conclude that he had not come from above — he had been down in the subway tunnels the whole time. At first I’m thinking he may be homeless, but his jacket looks too new, and he isn’t dirty. Oh well, it’s New York. Sometimes there are weirdos on the train. He is kind of thin and pale, and I’m confident I could take him in a fight, but man I don’t want this shit tonight, and I’m still a little dizzy from the booze.

Suddenly I hear a loud gasp, the guy turns, and stares at me with a horrified look on his face. “What?” I shout. Part of me is getting pissed off at this asshole, yet I feel a shiver down my spine. His face is locked in a tableau of fear, like the exact instant when something terrifying surprises you. This guy is not acting, he’s afraid. Seconds go by, feeling like hours. The guy’s face is still completely frozen in fear, and by now I’m sure he has some kind of mental issue. And then he whispers something hurriedly.

“This embind do.”

“What?” I say again.

“This embind do, this embind do, this embind you.”

His whispering is fast and insistent, but I still can’t make out what he’s saying. “Speak slower.”

He gets slightly closer and leans in, still looking afraid. “This embind you, this men bind you, this a man bind you.”

“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you!” I’m shouting now.

He grabs me by the shoulders, and my body shakes from an adrenaline rush.

“There is a man behind you.” The guy whispers in my ear and let’s go, leaning back. His face is still wild, but now it’s different. Like he’s no longer scared for himself, he’s scared for me.

I can’t help it. The incident is so weird, so creepy. I turn and look over my shoulder. Of course, there is nothing there.

And then I turn back, seeing nothing. The guy is gone! Completely! There is no one in the subway car but me, I am utterly alone. Somehow in the time I looked back, the guy must have ran into the next car. I hurry over and look, but all I see are two elderly ladies who give me a weird look. Shivering, I sit down and think.

Now, dear reader, I am a logical man. I’m not religious, I really need to see something to believe it. I don’t believe in the supernatural, in fact I’m sure most “supernatural” incidents have perfectly logical explanations based in reality, even if they have not yet been discovered. The problem is that people want to believe, and so they do. There is only one logical explanation for this vanishing wild-eyed person — someone spiked my drink. It was a hallucination, had to be. As soon as I get out of the subway and above ground, I call my friend Rob on the phone. He was at the bar with me, and he’s been known to be a joker. I wouldn’t have put it past him to slip me something.

“Dude, Rob, what the fuck?” I said as he answered. Rob pretends like he had no idea what was going on. “You give me some acid shit? I was fuckin hallucinating all the way back home!”

“Jon, man, I really have no idea what you’re talking about. I swear.”

Finally I consider the possibility that he’s telling the truth. There were other people at the bar tonight. “Fine, man, but if I find out you’re fucking with me, I’m gonna kill you.” And I hung up. I called everyone I knew who had been at the bar that evening. Finally, I call Dave. Of course, same old, deny deny.

“Are you sure? Dude, I trust you, but I don’t trust everyone else. What about what’s-her-name? Jessie’s girlfriend, she was there by herself, which was weird. Maybe they just broke up and she was looking to date rape some guy like me by slipping lsd into their drink.”

No luck. No one poisoned my drink, and there was no reason to suspect anyone did. Yet what explanation was there for a disappearing crazy guy?

For the next few days I didn’t think anything of it. Life slowly got back to normal. I didn’t really think of the creepy incident on the train. I hung out with friends, went to work, drank at some bars. I even was able to take the subway without remembering what happened just a few days prior.

And then the weird stuff started happening. Just a light brush against my body here, a soft whisper there, an occasional breath. It felt like there was someone behind me. But whenever I turned to look, there was no one. Each time it happened, I was reminded of the subway man’s declaration: “There is a man behind you.”

A few days later I’m walking home after buying some cigarettes. I not only feel a breath, but hear it, directly behind me, like someone’s face is only a few inches away from my neck. My arms jerk backward, expecting to push away some horrible creeper, but I find only thin air, and I whirl around to face an empty street. Terrified, I run straight home and get right to bed, too scared to think about showering or brushing my teeth. Thankfully the feeling is gone. I’m lying face up, and the mattress feels soft and safe against my back. I don’t dare turn on my side or back for fear that the man will come back, hovering over me like some ghastly, evil apparition you always see in horror movies.

For a few weeks after nothing happened, and I started to feel better. Annoyingly, I became the butt of some jokes, people thinking I’m doing acid again. I keep telling people, I don’t do that shit anymore. I took the stuff years and years ago, but only a couple times. And there’s no way it’s a fucking flashback, people ask me that so many times and it pisses me off. No one came forward saying they drugged my drink, so I assume it was some desperate lonely girl in the bar, hoping I’d become woozy and she’d be able to swoop in and “save” me. Bitch.

But then, I began getting this weird feeling that someone was watching me. Behind me, just staring at me. A man behind me. I would be walking down the street and swear that the man was following me, only to turn back and see nothing. The worst of these incidents was in a restaurant, with my date, Julie. Immediately after sitting down, I get that feeling again. I sense him sitting at the table behind me and feel his eyes burning holes in the back of my head. The man is here, in the restaurant, watching me with that cold, obsessive stare. That terrifying expression, half a grin, half a growl. He has bloodshot eyes, wide open and staring, and crazy, untamed white hair. He is wearing a disheveled vintage wool coat. Don’t ask me now I know this, for some reason I just do. Julie starts complaining about how I keep turning backward, and she “wonders aloud” why she isn’t entertaining enough to keep my attention. Finally, I whisper to her, “There is someone watching me. Some man, behind me that is staring at me. Do you see him?” And she frowns at me, and looks over my shoulder behind me. Looks directly into what I am sure is the man’s face, that horrible face. I nearly expect her to scream out in terror. Instead: “I don’t see anything.” She looks at me strangely. She thinks I’m crazy, and maybe I am, but I know the man is there. After this night, Julie never called me or sent me another message. Bitch.

Up to this point I had thankfully never encountered the man inside my apartment. It had always been on the street or in some public place. I began to avoid leaving my apartment, and this gave me some small measure of respite. I took off from work and went for days without leaving my apartment, and those blissful days I never felt the man’s presence. I began telling everyone that I was sick as an excuse to stay in the apartment. If people asked to stop by, I obliged but pretended I had a cough and runny nose.

Dear reader, everyone has a weakness. Some trait that becomes his or her undoing, the one thing that friends and foes alike know and can use to their advantage. For me, this weakness is beautiful women. Hot chicks. I am smitten, always. I’m not terribly ugly, I have good hygiene and a decent paying job, and I try not to be an asshole, so I’ve done relatively well in the dating game. But I am currently single, and most of my friends know this. So my friend Jimmy sends me a text and a picture (asshole, I won’t forgive you for this). The text reads:

“Dude, this hot girl wants to meet you.”

The picture, sure enough, is a smoking hot Italian chick, college age, my absolute fave. I text back: “She wants to meet me or she wants to fuck me? :)”

“Keep it in your pants, dude. She said ‘meet’. But maybe more, I dunno? I sent her your picture and she seemed really into you.”

“Ok, sounds good. Where should I meet her?”

“Come to my party! You’re both invited! 7pm tonight my place. :P ”

As it turns out, there is no fucking girl. Jimmy took the pic from some dating site and baited me into coming to his lame-ass house party in Queens. He tells me everyone has been asking why I’ve been so anti-social lately, but I’m too pissed off to care. I just want to go home. And as I turn to leave, that’s when I feel it. It hits me like a brick, oh so familiar and yet still so terrifying. The man is here. The man is behind me, somewhere, staring.

I turn, and I SEE him! Or, rather, I half saw him for an instant before someone passed in front of him. By the time the person moved, he was gone. But I swear I saw him, and I knew him instantly, even though I had never actually seen him before. Crazed, wild white hair, a head that was slightly too large and bloodshot red eyes, wide and insane. And his grin. An expression that could either be a grin or a growl, impossible to tell. He was of average height. Probably as tall as me.

Jimmy has been insisting for several minutes that I tell him about my problems, completely oblivious to the horror on my face. Finally, I say to him, “Fine, Jimmy, the reason is … I’ve been avoiding someone. And … and he’s here, at your party.”

Jimmy gives me a weird look and starts looking around, confused. “Dude, you know everyone here. WHo are you talking about?”

“A man. A crazy, white-haired man that just stares at me with this horrible grin on his face, I think he’s stalking me.”

Jimmy laughs. “Is it, like, some gay guy or something?”

This pisses me off. “No, Jimmy, it’s not some gay guy. I wouldn’t care if it were some gay guy. In fact, I’d love it if it were just some gay guy. No, this guy is like some psycho serial killer, man. He just looks at me like he’s hunting me, like he knows I can’t get away and all I have to do is leave the house and he’ll find me.”

“Ok,” Jimmy says, humoring me. “Let’s go find this psycho killer and at the very least kick him the fuck out of my party. He leads the way, room by room, noting every person we pass. I don’t feel the man anywhere, but I’m sure he is in the house somewhere. All of a sudden, I get the same overwhelming sense of dread. He’s behind me, I’m sure of it. I turn around, and I see a closed door.

“Dude, what’s in there?” I whisper, pointing at the door.

“That’s a fucking closet, Jon,” Jimmy answers.

“He’s in there, I’m sure of it.”

I look at Jimmy, and I can tell he knows I’m not messing with him. I’m genuinely terrified, and it’s making him really uneasy. He asks the people in the room if they saw anybody go in the closet, and everyone answers either no or they weren’t paying attention. Jimmy slowly creeps up to the door. As he gets closer, the rest of the party around me seems to fall away, as if there is nothing but me and Jimmy and the door. And the man. Jimmy gets within five steps, and I can’t help it. I freak out, I know that the man is behind the door and that he’s coming for me. He seems almost gleeful, like he’s been toying with me this whole time, but now he’s ready to come for me. For real.

I turn, and I run as fast as I can out of the house. I vaguely hear Jimmy screaming at me that there’s no one there, that the closet is empty, but it doesn’t matter. I know the man is there, and I know he’s coming for me. My lungs are nearly bursting as I reach the subway entrance. I hop over the entrance rail and just barely make it onto the train as the doors close a second behind me. I turn back, exhausted. The man has stopped. He’s above the steps, at the subway entrance, standing just out of sight. But he knows, and, more importantly, I know, I’ve escaped. For now, at least. I sigh, letting the fear drain from my body.

There was only one person on the train with me. A big burly guy, dark brown beard, mid 30s, probably had been to the gym every day since he was 15. Just on a whim, I went up next to him and said, “Dude, there’s a man behind you.”

He looked at me and his face scrunched up. For a second I felt like I was going to get punched, then he bellowed, “Fuck off, you crazy bastard.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. Yeah, it sounded so stupid. I threw my hands up defensively. “Sorry, man, I’m just drunk. Don’t beat me up.” I didn’t have a drop of liquor in me. Hadn’t had a single drink since that other night on the train with the other guy the night this whole fucking nightmare started.

When I get out of the train, a gust of cold wind blows past me as the door to the train closes. My brain screams in terror. The man is here. Somehow, he is here, and we both know that now I’m alone. I bolt up the stairs and into the night. I don’t dare look behind me for fear of what I see, but I know what’s happening. The man has given me a slight head start, but he is now running, sprinting down the street at an unnaturally fast pace. He is going to catch me, I can feel it!

I have my keys in hand as I make it to my apartment building and jam the key into the lock. I sneak a glance back. The street is dark, but I can see the hazy outline of his shape as he runs toward me. His white hair flapping up and down with each step. I finally get the door open, hurry in, and slam the door behind me. Relief washes over me so quickly that I almost black out. My heart is pumping a mile and a minute, and I’m gasping like a madman, but I can’t help but laugh. I feel safe. Looking out the window, I see him. Or, I don’t see him, but I know he is there. He is standing in the darkness, just slightly beyond the range of the nearest street lamp. If I focus hard, I can barely see the outline of his white hair.

After this incident I stopped pretending to be sick. I didn’t go out, and when people asked why, I gave them no reason. I took some phone calls, but I did not let people into my apartment, even if they visited and knocked on my door. Other people came and went, so I couldn’t prevent the man from getting into the building, but I sure as hell wasn’t about to let him into my apartment. If my friends insisted that I open up, I just got angry with them until they left.

Slowly but surely, the inevitable happened. I made it through everything in my fridge. Then all the canned goods I had stocked up. Then everything in the freezer. The last day before my hell really started, I had nothing but a bottle of whiskey. Whiskey is made from grain, right? It’s like eating a loaf of bread. I downed half of it. Didn’t help. I was still hungry as all hell.

I can’t help it, I cave. I order take out. After about half an hour, the Chinese delivery guy arrives, and I press the button to let him in the door. In less than a minute, I hear his footsteps. My stomach is grumbling in anticipation of getting some real, actual food. As my doorbell rings, I stare out through the peephole.

It’s an Asian kid. Either late high school or early college age. As I open the door, he gets a look at me, and gives a start. Suddenly I become self-conscious. I probably look like a mess, I haven’t really been taking care of myself. “Ten dollars and thirty cents,” he says.

I get a ten and five dollar bill and thrust it into his hand, and snatch my food. “Thanks, I don’t need change,” I say, eager to just close the door.

“Thanks, mister!” the kid says, smiling, and I smile back briefly and start to close the door. But then, just before it closes completely, I notice it. His smile. His grin. His growl. The man, he’s the man! I stare out the peephole, and my breath catches in my throat. There is no one there. I look down. I stare at my open hands. There is no food. Suddenly, my apartment is chilly.

The man is not here, but something still feels terribly wrong. Like some protective barrier has been broken, and I’m now at the mercy of the man. Like the lighting has changed. The sunset colors outside my window seem more pale and foreboding than usual. Cold and hungry, I lock both the locks on my front door and hurry into my bedroom. Under my covers, I sigh as a feeling of safety returns. I try to reassure myself. Even if the young delivery guy was the horrible man, he is still outside.

My sleep that evening is dreamless, but I still wake up with a start, drenched in cold sweat. It is now completely dark outside. I look at my clock, it’s 4:17 AM. And my bladder is completely full, like a tight water balloon that could burst at any moment. When I can’t stand it any longer, I leap out of the covers and hurry into the bathroom. I start peeing, and it is the most glorious pee I’ve ever had in my life. I stand there for nearly a minute even after I finish, sighing with relief. Finally I wash my hands, deciding I’m just going to go back to bed, screw the fact that I haven’t eaten anything today. I’m feeling slightly nauseous, and I realize it’s because I’m hungover from the whiskey. As I leave the bathroom, I notice that there is a weird light in my apartment, and that’s when I see — MY FRONT DOOR IS FUCKING WIDE OPEN. With a strangled yell I rush over and slam it shut with a ferocity that surprises even me. It’s no use. He’s here. The man is here, he is behind me. I turn on the light, but the man is … nowhere. He is behind me. No matter where I turn. He is always behind me!

Finally I catch my reflection in a mirror. I stare at myself. I can see the wild terror in my eyes, and my heaving chest as my breath rushes in and out. But I see behind me, and he is not there. Not there. For a moment my mind can’t resolve this conflict. I flip flop between this overwhelming mental sensation that the man is behind me, and the visual proof from the mirror that he is not. First the mirror is truth, then a lie. Then truth, then a lie.

This conflict is strangely comforting. I go right up to the mirror and look past my reflection into the room behind me. He’s not anywhere in the room, and yet, I know in my mind that he is there. That the man exists. If I can just make it to my bed, I know I’ll be safe. I dash away from the mirror into my bedroom and crawl under the covers. The relief I feel is short-lived. Even lying on my back, I know he is there. HE IS BURIED, UNDER THE MATTRESS, JUST UNDERNEATH ME, AND I FEEL HIS ARMS COILING AROUND MY RIB CAGE. Even though my head is against the pillow, I can feel his breath against the back of my neck.

I scream and jump out of my bed and into the corner of my room. The man stays buried in my mattress. Suddenly he sits up, staring at me with those same intense, angry eyes, and his mouth locked in a grinning growl. I can’t look up, I’m too scared, but I know what he looks like and what he is doing. He cocks his head slightly, and whispers:

“No escape.”

Dear reader, you may have felt fear before, but you don’t know fear the way I knew it in that instant. To have the man staring at you, and you knowing you can’t escape. Frozen in fear. I sat like that, literally, feeling like that for hours, but it might as well have been days. The man never moved, never said anything else, just sat there, half buried in my bed, head cocked, and bloodshot, angry eyes staring at me. There I sat, in the corner, my head down, completely paralyzed, cold sweat dripping from my forehead.

The sun came up. Something was weird about him, though. Like the light was different for him than it was for everything else in the room. As if the sunlight was not reflecting off him properly. Feeling overwhelming fear for so long, other thoughts finally started to creep through into my mind.

He is feeding off of my fear. Yet, he hasn’t really done anything. He has looked at me creepily, he has chased me down, but he hasn’t actually done anything physically to me. Somehow I find the courage to stand up and rush out of the room. As I do, I feel him behind me. Every step I take, he takes one too, in perfect lock step, always close enough that he could wrap his arms around me if he wanted.

I figure if I can just get my mind off him. Maybe if I can just ease this feeling that he is behind me. My phone is nearly dead, but not quite. Grabbing ear buds, I thrust them in my ears and turn the sound up as high as it can go. And I play a song. Anything, anything just to take my mind off the man behind me. Nothin’ But a Good Time by Poison starts blaring in my ear drums. By the time the lyrics start, it’s starting to take the edge off my fear.

Now listen
Not a dime, I can’t pay my rent
I can barely make it through the week.

By the time the chorus starts, I’m thinking this might work. I might actually just be able to take my mind off my fear. I start to become delusional, that I might be able to break the man’s hold on me with the power of rock and roll!

Don’t need nothin’ but a good time
How can I resist?
Ain’t looking for nothin’ but a good time
And it don’t get better than this.

And right as that line ends, my arm twists violently behind me, and I feel his clammy, dead hands on my wrist, and cold breath on my neck. “You think you can shut me out?!” comes a cold, reptilian voice. I scream as I feel the skin on my back splitting open. I whirl around, seeing a bloodied butcher knife on the table. To this day, dear reader, I try to argue that the slash on my back could not possibly be self-inflicted due to its angle. But physicians noted that my arm was twisted as well, allowing for the possibly that I slashed my own back myself. They don’t believe me, dear reader, that the arm twist and slash on my back were both inflicted by the man.

Still feeling the man directly behind me, I grab the bloody knife and whirl around, expecting the knife to cut into the man’s face. Instead I find air. Of course. Still holding the knife, I dash out of my apartment, not bothering to lock the door. I fly down the stairs and out the building. The man is right on my tail. I run out into the street, but he is right behind me. Every time I turn, he rotates with me, like some horrifying cartoon character that you can’t shake. I turn around fast, but he is faster, and still behind. I turn again, but he is still behind me. I turn one more time and stab downward – one of these times, I will catch him … and my knife sinks six or seven inches into an elderly lady’s eyeball.

So that is the story. I committed manslaughter. To this day, that is the part I regret the most. I regret that my fear of this man, whether or not he is a hallucination, caused the unintended death of another person. I am sorry beyond what any words can express …


… and I would like to once again convey my condolences to Mrs. Carpenter’s husband, and her son, and her son’s family. She did not deserve this, and if I could go back in time …


… I would turn the knife on myself instead of her. If it had been my death there instead of hers, it would have been better for all parties.

Now, dear reader, here I make an apology. Did you look? Or even if you didn’t, did you want to? Any slight doubt, any pang of anxiety? If so, then, like the young guy at the beginning of the story, I have probably disappeared from my cell. I am sorry for what you will go through, but please believe me when I say I just desperately need relief from the man behind me, even if it means passing him on to a stranger such as yourself. Remember that it starts with a brush here, and a whisper there. A slight sound, a footstep, passing breath. A rustling you can’t explain, a sudden prickle on your back. My only advice: DO NOT IGNORE HIM, IT ONLY MAKES IT WORSE. Good luck!

Credit To – SmileyJack

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The Candlewent

March 25, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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Author’s Note: This story was inspired, along with my fears of creepy old houses, by a very nice person by the name of ShadowScribe who posted a prompt in the prompt section, containing a creature that they thought might be cool (and frankly, YES! It is) called the Candle walker. I want to give a quick shout-out to them for giving such an awesome comment.
Thank you!


The walls were laid bare, revealing moss, other lichens and molds that had been festering under them for untold generations, exposed to the dark interior of the house.

It had been abandoned for 25 years, the beams eroding, the stairs falling into ruin, and all but the old stone fireplace being constantly besieged by time.

I stepped carefully and gingerly into the hallway.

Breathing… Down my neck…

I whirled swiftly, looking with terrified glances behind me.

A dank, shadowed room stretched behind me. The light of my pathetic flashlight barely served to penetrate the strangling dark. The dim forms of chair, at a time long gone, plush, comfortable, homely, but now foreboding, rotted, and empty were only just mistakable for the objects they were.

And then… there, just at the corner of the room, where the light could not, DID not reach, there was a glow…

Small…but…perhaps something…

I pivoted on my heels, my breath coming in ragged gasps, sweat continuing to seep out of my forehead and into my shirt. I was caught between a rock and a hard place, forced with choosing between the room, the room with the light of source unknown, or the hallway.

The hallway that seemed to stretch into the black, dankness forever.

I gathered what bare wits where available to me, and, with pent-up breath, and strained mind, took a step into the room.

The chairs and items became somewhat more visible, though with the rot and the mold, this only served to make the Empty House seem more…

lived in.

Each step was a dark guessing game, in which a wrong move would certainly mean death. There were holes, rotted away through the floor, which were big enough to had swallowed me whole.

The bare minimum of moonlight seemed to battle its way through the window, and the surviving strands perished in the stagnant air as soon as they were touched.

The light grew slowly closer.

Step by step, feet by feet, I had made my way closer to the light. I stood there, staring at it with an intensity known only to a scholar when presented with a new finding. It captured me. It shouldn’t be here. It has no right to be.

Out of the dark, a creak.

Something was coming.

I rushed back to the door, my footsteps pounding away on the empty, ancient floorboards. I stole a risked glance back towards the light.

It was gone.

Down the hallway I went, down, down, down… till I wasn’t even sure that I was in the same house anymore… it was a world that looped, strange, and menacing. The same wall tiles, over, and over, and over… the same knots in the wood of the floor, the same carpet, same and same again, till I thought in my mind that it would never end.

Behind me, I looked, that dreadful direction in which no one dare look.

A shadow of a thought passed through my terror-filled mind. A thought to run, to flee, to hide somewhere safe.

For This was the Thing in the Dark.

Its eyes were of hollow sockets, its hands were alight with flame, candle-wax dripping down the lengths of its arms.

And its mouth. Its mouth was the most horrible thing of all.

It was carved, shaped to be identical to a human’s, except on waxy skin, contorted in a way that broke the heart and shocked the mind, weakened the soul and twisted strength. It was aimed at me with a silent howl…

And I screamed.

Suddenly, with what I knew, I was outside.

I lay belly first on the grass… the soft grass… the soft, beautiful, fantastic grass!

I wanted to giggle and holler, I was so happy to be out of there, out of that terrible place. But all I could do was cry, for, a part of me, no matter how small, knew that something, everything was wrong…

Suddenly, I was back inside the house. The same one. I turned around.

And it was smiling.

Credit To – ShadowScribe for an awesome prompt, and Sammy Graceson for writing it, and crediting himself.

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Pale White Eyes

March 22, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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I would often wander around the lake during the night. It was so silent there; I would just sit at the base of the water and listen to the nothingness that surrounded me. My mind would drift into peaceful thoughts those nights, and I never expected to see anything in the lake other than the pure reflection of the shimmering moon. But there was one night that I’ll always remember in my mind. I began my walk to the lake on a cold autumn night, the wind was strong adrift and pressing on me. I held my head down to keep my face out from the gusts and walked as quickly as I could to my spot.

The lake was located within the forest so the many trees offered nice protection from inclement weather. When I finally made it there I slid off my boots and my socks and threw them to my side and I sat at the edge of the water, staring out into the empty crystalline form that the lake had taken. As my eyes sunk into the vast escape of the water I noticed a single flaw within it. I had stared many times out at the lake and never had I seen this form. At the center of the lake was some type of black lump popping out of the water. I looked closer at it and saw that it was moving ever so slightly.

It went around in a circle, almost as if it was dancing around from underneath. Whatever the lump was it had to be living, I had a feeling in my gut. I stood up and tried to call to it, tried to see if it responded. It did, the lump stopped moving, it seemed to turn to me and stay in place. I called to it again and was waiting for it to sink under the water. To my surprise the lump started to swim over towards me, I took a few steps back to be cautious but my heart sank when I saw it emerge. The lump began to rise from the water and I had the sudden realization of what I was looking at, the lump was the top part of a black head of hair. The hair belonged to a beautiful woman who now stood on the surface of the water looking in my direction.

Her skin was a white luminescent color that reflected the gorgeous moonlight off of itself. Her hair was long and black and stretched down all the way to her feet. As captivated as I was by her and her wholesome naked body I became distressed when I saw her lift her head up and part her strands that covered her face. Underneath the veil of black cords was a ghostly looking face, it was paler than her entire body and her lips were a cold blue.

Her eyes looked directly into mine and all I could see was an empty white abyss. She entranced me, and as she stood still atop the water I called out to her again and I began to hear a song. It rushed into my ears from the tress like the wind and echoed through to my soul. The song carried a heavenly key to it and made my body feel weak, my knees buckled where I stood and I fell down still looking at her. She opened her mouth to imitate the motion of singing and that was when the song stopped. The song along with every other conceivable sound ceased.

I could hear nothing, all that I saw was her standing a few feet from me mimicking the sounds of music that should be heard. Her eyes were like white pearls in an empty ocean and as she lifted her right hand towards me my throat began to close. My breathing was tightening and it felt like my lungs were being filled with water, I wanted to cough it up but the tightness in my throat stopped me. Her feet swayed towards me across the lake, and with every step she took my throat became tighter and I struggles to get even an ounce of oxygen into my lungs. Then, when she had stepped off of the lake and her foot touched the ground beside me all desires to breath left me. I no longer cared to struggle; I felt a peace that I had never experienced before.

I was like an unborn child still in the womb, before I knew what had happened I was at the bottom of the ripping cold lake holding her in my arms, the lady in the lake kissed me and my lips felt like they had frozen solid. Darkness followed her kiss, and then the light came along with my ability to hear. I was in my bed next to my wife; her warm body nestles against mine. She was still asleep, almost like an angel in my eyes. My clothes were soaking wet and it did not take long for the water to soak into the bed and reach my wife who woke up startled. Scared at first until she her eyes met my own and she recognized me. She hugged me instantly and started to cry while telling me I had been missing for weeks. Her voice began to faint from my ears and all I could hear was the calming singing again, all other sounds were static.

A sudden urge emerged from within my heart as I threw my wife down onto the bed. I got on top of her as she struggled and I wrapped my hands as tight as they would go around her neck. I could feel her attempt to swallow the blood and saliva building up in her mouth, the lump in her throat twitched repeatedly. The skin of her face went from a shade of red to blue in a matter of seconds and tears ran down her face. I could feel her nails dig into my arms but this made me only squeeze tighter.

I held onto her neck until she stopped kicking and all life had faded from her eyes. Rage and jealousy faded from my body as my arms and hands went limp. Her body was already losing warmth and sound was coming back to me by the time I had let go of her neck. I heard the birds and wind from outside and my own sounds of crying replaced them. Warm tears ran down my face and hit her cheeks as I clutched her lifeless body in my arms. I cradled her like one would to a baby.

Then I heard the whisper again “join me, I await your touch”. That night, under cover of the full moon my body lost all emotion. I was not sad, anger did not consume me, and fear was non-existent. All I had in my mind was the image of the lady in the lake and her pale white skin. At the edge of the lake is where I stood, she rose from the water at the waist and waved me over towards her. My legs started to move on their own as I stared into her cold white eyes. I sunk into the water as its frigid claws scarred my bones. Then, as my head was completely submerged under the water I walked to the center of the lake and she was there to greet me. The sound faded from my ears, the color from my sight, and the warmth from my flesh. One last time I looked into those eyes of hers, and everything faded away.

Credit To – Brandon Puff

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