I used to live in a small town called Fenter. It was a quiet place to grow up with one school, a doctors, a police station, a cinema (with films shown a month after the national release date), two restaurants and a host of local...

Related: Harlequin No.7 & The Kindness of Strangers “I ask him why above he crawls, scratching apart my bedroom walls. And he looks down through white eyes peeping, And says… I’m not crawling, I’m simply creeping.” -       Music & lyrics by Billie-Joe Kimble. The job of a mortician is...

Your mother had been sick for years. You never did know exactly what was wrong with her though. Countless doctors had examined her and all had to admit she was suffering some something they had never seen before. However, even though they could not pinpoint...

Silence is not quiet, its loud. It's a deafening roar. I've experienced quiet before; I always start work at 4am. Quiet is the gentle hum of the street lamps. Its the first songs of the birds, the last scream as the foxes return to their warrens,...

It's raining outside. I really hate the rain in this town. That's all it ever does, is rain. Drop. Drop. Drop. I looked over to my right at the nightstand beside my bed. The clock read 3:40am. This always seems to happen. It rains so hard outside that...

Dried husks scratched their arms as they squeezed through the narrow isles of corn. Finding the entrance was a miracle as the pathways are barely discernable from the rows of planted corn. Every year, Old Man Hanky builds a corn maze for the local kids, but...

Everything started out normal. It was just a simple nightmare, right? But the more I thought about it, the more unlikely that sounded. No nightmare could be that detailed, that gruesome. At first I thought I was alone in that dream, but I couldn't have...

At my young tender age, painting was the only psychoanalysis I ever needed to retreat to, or how common people call it therapy. Every hour in the morning until the sun rises, my brush strokes back and forth. It tells a part of a story...

This is based off a true story experienced by my mother. When my mother was younger, a teenager specifically, she was quite mischievous. She was a rebel, a non-conformist. She smoked, drank, and went out all hours of the night with her misfit friends. She often...

(Based on a real life premonition.) On the eve of his parents death Alex sat down at the dining table and poured himself a glass of crystalline red wine. He swirled it around in his mouth before swallowing and grimaced at sour grape-like taste that died...