A laptop computer was found in the city sewers on Monday, April 22nd of 2013, after screams were heard echoing from below. As far as authorities could tell, there was no owner. All picture files on the hard drive were corrupted, and forensics failed to reconstruct all but one of […]
“Come play with me.” That line…it’s a cliché for the horror genre, is it not? You all know what I mean, the unsettling apparition of a child, or maybe just the voice, beckoning to you. What is it about children that gives them the ability to be so damn creepy?
“It’s not too bad, is it, sweetie?” Humbly dressed and brown haired, Wilbert Snow smiled at his daughter, and Mary gently smiled back from the living room. Mary’s father, Wilbert, was searching for a home set on a few acres of land that he could potentially build a vegetable garden
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Author’s Note: This story is a part of the By the Fire’s Light series. Part One: By The Fire’s Light Part Two: The Wanderer of Blazes Detective Carl Rourke pushed his chair back from his desk and rubbed his eyes. The book he had been reading fell on the desk
In mid-July of 1991, when Sam was six years old, he was holding his mother’s hand as they walked barefoot across the baking hot asphalt of the neighborhood pool’s parking lot. He had his other arm through the hole of his inflatable black inner tube, and was gazing off at
I love jigsaw puzzles. So when I found one on my phone that allowed me to make any size puzzle I want with a snap of a picture I was hooked. I started by taking pictures of random shots in my room, clicked “cut” then “mix” and poof, I was
“I just wanted to say, none of you have any idea what you’re talking about.” “What’s that, lady?” “I couldn’t help but overhear—” “How hard did you try?” “Don’t give her a hard time. She looks like she has a story.” “I do. It’s not a story you’ll like to
Tales of the City, Part Five: God of the Fields Read More »
“That reminds me of a story.” “What does?” “What she just said about being late to catch the train.” “Me? I didn’t say anything?” “Well, I’m sure I heard someone mention it, and that reminds me of a story that scared the hell out of me. Do you remember that
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I’ve always been a night person. Even as a small child, I can still remember my stepmother affectionately referring to me as ‘her little night owl’ when she’d wake up to use the bathroom and find light pouring out from beneath my doorframe. This natural tendency towards the nocturnal wasn’t
Dr. Ellen Kennedy was just locking up her office for the evening when her phone began to ring. She paused at the door. It had been a long and grueling day and a ringing phone this late did not bode well. She sighed. While it didn’t bode well, it meant
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[The recording starts to play.] “My name is Annabelle, and I am fourteen years old. It was about a month ago that I started acting “strangely”, according to my father. Of course, I don’t remember a bit of it. “The first time it happened, I did something pretty weird. In
The murky fog made it difficult to see where the forest ends and the road starts. It was late dusk but the tree lined road had trees whose branches sheltered the road from any sunlight. Twilight was soon approaching so the walk became darker and darker. To the left of
I met Alex in middle school. He was always really shy. He usually sat by himself, at least a seat away from anyone else. After a few days of class I decided to sit by him. He looked discouraged, it seemed he had forgotten his book for that class. I
Harold had never been what most would call a responsible or reliable man. He meant well, he just made bad decisions. Between whiskey and poor choices in women, he had burned the first thirty years of his life away. But it all probably seemed like a good idea at the
The cold was the first thing I felt. Even before my eyes were open I felt a very deep chill in my core, a thousand spindles of ice sewn between my tissues. I blinked, my eyelids slowly bringing and stealing back the darkness, and with it the desire to keep
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I’ve spent a good portion of my life out in the Australian bush, enough time that there is very little left out there that can surprise or scare me. I’ve tussled with massive scrubber bulls and lived to tell the tale and I’ve even come across good sized king brown
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Nathaniel H. Jackson’s Journal November 11, 1911 I had never intended on venturing into that cave. That cave where no one ever dared to go near. I remember when I was a child how my friends and I would play around the property border. Back then, the cave was on
I always knew there was something wrong with my beloved grandmother. It started when she began rambling about a ‘creature.’ “It follows me,” she would whisper. Her grey skin would become infinitely grayer. “It talks to me,” Her pupils dilated. So, as any loving family would have done we assumed
The dark, wet alley was slightly illuminated by Sarah’s cell phone light, as she shined it every few seconds to see where she was headed. Her eyes scanned the darkness, and she shook crazily. What had happened to her last night was a mystery. She thought back, back to the
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You hate your brother. Dylan is a jerk all the time. Any opportunity to annoy or ruin your life he’d take with both hands and run. And running literally. As soon as he’d managed to get you in trouble, he would sprint, leaving you to stew. He is always watching
I’ve been thinking of him-er-her (it?) for the past week. I haven’t been able to sleep. I’ve barely eaten anything. I quit my job. Or stopped going to work is more like it. I assume I’m no longer employed there. My eyes are sunken in. I sit at my computer
I was always known as the weird girl; the one with no friends, strict parents, and strange habits. I was an outcast in part because I ate hot sauce sandwiches and sleepwalked. School days were long and torturous. There was nothing good about middle school. The worst part was definitely
“I gotta tell you, Connor, this is one amazing story,” Kurt said, plopping down on the couch next to him. “You’ve got me believing in the boogie man again. I actually checked under my bed last night.” Connor laughed, taking the manuscript back. “Well it did take first prize in
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We are all too familiar with creepy basements. We all know the feeling you get when you turn the lights off before running up the stairs, praying nothing will grab your ankle before the last step. As children, we would dread trips to the cellar, the cold room, and that
