It was late September when I traveled north to the Great Lakes. It was one of the last stops for the last chapter of my book, starting with the eastern most part of Michigan and slowly making my way up to the Canadian border of...

Did you ever look a loved one in the eyes and not recognize what you see? The face is the same, but there’s something…else. Something that wasn’t there before. Something that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up, but you don’t...

The Journal of Tomas Wicker November 3, 1910 There are a thousand ways to die in the Colombian rainforest. I first gained this appreciation as a boy when, in a questionable bit of parental inspiration, father allowed me to accompany him to inspect our family’s South American holdings,...

Witch Based on True Events I guess I don’t know where to start. The beginning would be the obvious place, but I don’t know what the beginning was. The whispers? The shadows? Objects moving by themselves? Electronics going haywire? Or was it the first time I actually...

This was Peter's favorite time of year, late fall. Almost all the leaves had fallen from the trees and the crisp, cool temperatures made for almost perfect weather for him. Peter was a mailman in a somewhat affluent suburb of the city, doing one of...

I was never a believer in the supernatural. I didn’t care for all those illogical ghost stories, and I always mocked my friends for telling them. They aren’t real; they can’t be. At least, not until I figured...

This pasta was the first place winner of our Ghost Stories Creepypasta Writing Challenge. Congratulations! You may read the other winners here: Second Place: The Blaganschlor Third Place: The Tavern on the Borderlands Thank you so much to everyone who participated! A number of entries were not in...

This pasta was the second place winner of our Ghost Stories Creepypasta Writing Challenge. Congratulations! The first place winner will go live tomorrow. You can read the third place story here. “Have you seen the Blaganschlor Hung by rope composed of gore Who says his name and nothing...

My eyelids were heavy and sandy, and they begged me for sleep. The conditions were perfect for it. The overhead lamps in my living room were switched off and the only light came from the TV, which created shadows that shifted across the...

What are you doing right now? Are you slumped on your couch mindlessly flipping through the TV channels? Are you tiredly scrolling through your Facebook feed for the fiftieth time today? Well shut that stuff down, and get off of your lazy bum because we’re...

This was not here yesterday, Richard thought to himself as he stepped on the bulge in the hardwood floor. He leaned forward onto his right foot, placing as much force as he could on the raised area to test if it would give beneath...

Joan was not in the mood for the early shift. In a sleepy daze, without much (if any) mindfulness of what she was doing, she clutched her cell phone resting on her nightstand, and, after a few failed tries, dismissed the alarm that had been...

The three of us sit together in my backyard, beer bottles spread all around our little triangle. Leftover garbage from the sandwiches we ate earlier accompany those same beer bottles. I personally prefer Modelo, but all Santiago managed to bring us were some lukewarm, probably...

Summer camp was a memorable part of my childhood, but most memorable was that summer of '72. It was my last summer as a kid. I had just turned fifteen and was looking forward to starting high school in the fall with the...

“As the Wolf keeps count of the Deer so there is one that keeps count of Man.” - the Repokan In the winter of 1683, a frontiersman of Swedish descent sits in the light of a tallow candle, a raven feather dipped in ink quivering in his...

THE DEATH OF WILLIAM MCLOUGHLIN “It’s like something out of The X-Files,” I said, aghast. It was close to midnight and to my horror I’d been called out to investigate the death of a child, a seven-year-old boy by the name of William McLoughlin. The boy’s father,...

Cliff was finally upon the small Louisiana town of Crescent Falls that he had sought out. It was an unassuming, run down town that normally wouldn’t attract anyone. But Cliff was not just passing through, and he wasn’t your average traveler. Cliff had a penchant...