My mother, my siblings and I moved into this awesome new house a few months ago. It’s a really cool plantation-style home out in what was once a rural area outside of New Orleans. By now the area is a little more built up, so it’s really more like a […]
I remember when I was about eight years old I had an imaginary friend. I never saw it, I only talked to it. I wouldn’t remember what, but I know we would have conversations about games and end up playing them. I soon realized that I was speaking to another
It seems strange, now, to recall that place. Almost as if it were a dream, or some imaginary tale I once heard as a child. But the evidence is damning, As much as I like to think it did not, It happened. I was a private investigator at the time,
Tiny goosebumps. Ice tingling up the spine. These sensations lingered; the only means of knowing that someone was watching. No, not watching… stalking. For how long? He didn’t really know, but he became aware of this presence not a few hours ago. In that little cafe, with the clever wooden
Arthur Willow lie awake listening to the rustling noise in his closet. He was fourteen, much too old to believe in the clichéd thought of a monster in a closet. Yet as he tried to force himself asleep for yet another time this month, the rustling grew louder than it
It was darkening, the end of the day. I walked a suburban artery that fed the middle class neighborhoods of Castle Rock. I quickened my pace, anxious to arrive at my girlfriend’s parents’ house. I walked purposefully, looking down to my remembered path. Suddenly, I was compelled to look up,
You Asked Me For My Name (Tales of Lilith) Read More »
I never ran past the stump. Never. The stump had been there for years, at the edge of where I turned around on my runs, right at that point where I knew I would have a hard time getting back without walking. Except for that day. Last spring, around noon
I have to say one of the things I hate the most is to have somebody walking behind me, doesn’t matter if it’s a friend or a complete stranger, I don’t like it. I feel insecure, watched and uncomfortable. You might call me paranoid but honestly, for me, it’s unbearable.
Visceroys and Artisans Read More »
Sarah’s Coulrophobia by Kiriakos Vilchez Ever since Sarah was a little girl, she was terrified of clowns. Fortunately for her pride, a lot of people harbored that same fear. The idea of a person being goofy and happy all the time, dressed up in a silly costume, made a lot
Sarah’s Coulrophobia Read More »
Monsters. Fucking monsters. Yeah, I know, they aren’t real. It’s always a dude in a suit or someone playing joke. Well, that is all bullshit. I saw one and I know it was real… cause it saw me too. Might as well start from the beginning. My older brother was
Beware, boys and girls; beware Brie Woods! It is no place for such young children; Monsters are lurking in its shadows, Big and small, wicked and kind. There are brothers that roam those woods, five of them, looking to either guide or slay its travelers. Heed my warning, and you
Every old house is bound to have a few rats, right? I bought the old house the year I graduated from college. It was startlingly cheap for such a big house – two stories, multiple bedrooms, three bathrooms; conveniences that seemed luxuries after my tiny college dorm. It was a
The basement. Gray. Concrete. Plain. Nothing special about the room at all, and yet. Lit by bare florescent bulbs hanging in an aluminum fixture, it wasn’t a particularly shadowy place, and yet. Shadows seemed to loom, just out of the corner of the eye. No matter how often the bulbs
It’s so easy to forget about what lies beneath the streets of the modern world. Towers that scrape the sky and estates that stretch on for miles, the urban sprawl we know so well. But a man who has seen what lies beneath the concrete can’t ever forget. Sewers. The
I’ve Plumbed This Whole City Read More »
I don’t like telling this story and most people don’t believe it when I do. It brings back too many painful memories, memories that I’ve been running away from since I was a ten year old boy. I’d been called a devil, a murderer, a child just desperate for attention.
The Birds Are Singing Read More »
I’m sure many of you won’t believe what I’m about to document, but in all honesty, I don’t really care what you think of me or what I am about to tell you. I’ll leave you to make your own decisions about it. I just need to write it down,
My father’s footsteps ringing distant from the hall was my lullaby when I was younger. In the dead of night, when my back was turned to the door, I would hear the familiar padding of his white and gray socks colliding with the hardwood floor outside my bedroom. The door
I haunted them and they never knew it. Mama, Papa, and my little brother Jacob; they always looked right through me, for two years never detecting even the slightest sign of my presence. Have you ever felt the bitter outrage that boils inside you when you’re being ignored? Well what
The Final Fate of Mary Ford Read More »
“So….” The voice paused. “What exactly happened here?” The rain had been beating down all day long. It was late by now and the weather reports had said that there was no sign of it stopping any time soon. Not only was it late, it was also wet and cold,
As I stride through the woods near my home, I feel a weird sensation, one of being watched. The path in front of me begins to narrow, and the feeling gets stronger. I become more aware of the sounds which are surrounding me; I hear the sound of an owl
I Picked Him Up in the Woods Read More »
The chill of the night air was bitingly cold against the exposed skin of my face. A graveyard is never really a pleasant place to be, but it’s an especially uncomfortable location on a cold, dark night. I had dressed warmly, but the ominous feeling of the graveyard that night
To: Jeremy Fuentes, Ph.D Professor of Cultural Anthropology University of California, Berkeley Jeremy – I assume you have heard about the strange discovery made at 918 E. 3rd Street – a converted warehouse located on the corner of 3rd and Weller Avenue, in the middle of the Arts District in
Three Friends Diner Read More »
Doctor Avraham Strauss was confused. In a moment of clarity, he questioned why and how he had come to be walking down this particular corridor, in this castle, at this precise time. Red corridor, Colditz Castle, the middle of winter 1942. How could he, as a Jew, even have considered
We all have that one story, don’t we? The one you grow up thinking about, but never actually grow the balls to tell anyone. Well this is my story. I don’t know what I’m hoping to accomplish by telling you. Maybe I’m looking for someone to tell me that I’m
