Ever since I could remember, ever since I had been a child, I had been afraid of the dark depths of any sea or deep lake. Dark blue or green water had a nauseating affect on me, and seaweed dancing sinuously at the bottom of pools made me shudder. Worse […]
Hey, you. Yes, you at the bar there, the blonde. Want to hear a story? Well, all things considered you’re alone in a bar on All Hallows. Don’t look at me like that, that’s what today is called! But hey, if you want to hear one, I’d be the guy
How to Succeed in Publishing Without Really Trying Read More »
A man named Marty Foster was walking. He wasn’t quite sure where to; hadn’t been for some time. He had found that it was shockingly easy to lose his way in a world that only spun in one direction. Sooner or later he always wound up lost, staring at his
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 shops on the west side.
Related: Poisoned Oak Bassa was not unlike many of his neighbors in Glevum, a town in the Roman province of Britannia; men who were originally brought to this land by conquest, and who were now settling down to a new life as farmers. The town of Glevum had once been
Poisoned Oak — The Sacred Grove Read More »
If you’re just staring to read my experiences with this horror, you should read my other stories first. You can find them here: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Okay guys, a lot has happened since the last time I checked in. Lot of you messaged
The Story of Her Holding an Orange: Part Six & Link to the End Read More »
Formalities first: If you’re just joining my diary of horror, please read part one, part two, part three, and part four. I have become almost indifferent to what’s going on to me. Since my first story, so much shit happened/was discovered that I became dulled down to the point of almost not giving a
The Story of Her Holding an Orange: Part Five Read More »
If you haven’t read my previous posts, please read stories one, two and three. Hey guys, after many PMs asking for an update, I decided to bring you up to speed on whats going on. But first, here is the screenshot of the desktop picture that Rose/her cult put on my laptop. I haven’t been
The Story of Her Holding an Orange: Part Four Read More »
Anyone who hasn’t read my story should do so before looking in this thread. My first story had some updates to it too. My second story is my girlfriend’s account of the events. Hey guys, I promised pictures and updates, so here we go. I will also respond to some questions. So first’s things
The Story of Her Holding an Orange: Part Three Read More »
Before you read my girlfriend’s side of the story, you may want to read my first post that also contains last night’s unfortunate update. Here is the update copy/pasted: Okay guys, I realize I am a bit late with my girlfriend’s story, but when you read my latest update, you’ll see that
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Okay guys, before I begin, I gotta give you a fair warning. This story is absolutely true unfortunately. It is also very long. It goes back to my childhood, but it wasn’t as terrifying until very recently. Now I am completely lost in fear. I am an adult man, logical
The Story of Her Holding an Orange: Part One Read More »
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
Back in May of 2010, my best friend, Andy, and I wanted to make a video game that we thought was going to change virtual reality gaming and the horror genre forever. We were both out of the university, me with a degree in computer programming and him with digital
The Systelien Specter Read More »
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 the droplets
I was driving home from school for thanksgiving break. It was dark even though it was only 7PM. I always hated when it started to get dark so early. I always felt like I was missing out on the day when it would be dark by the time I got
Caught in the Headlights Read More »
I had managed to keep a healthy scepticism of ghosts, ghouls and all things supernatural until I was 28. I found most claims of such things to be dubious at best, and harmful at worst. I was very much in the camp of the classical sciences as I had studied
Forgotten Valentine Read More »
This all started with simple, little events. They were the kind of things that you question for a moment, and let pass without too much thought. I’ll start from the beginning: It was a warm Saturday morning in spring. Saturdays were always early days for me, since my daughter loved
Good Morning, Daddy Read More »
Well, here I am. 2 A.M on a damn school night. Lying in bed, unable to sleep again, on my laptop, writing this. I’m writing to get my story out, to let someone know what happened. Because lord knows I can’t speak about this to anyone around here. I live
The Wretch of Weed Park Read More »
You wake up startled, gasping for air, as you recover from a nightmare. It’s the same nightmare that has been repeating itself for weeks now. Every night, you helplessly watch as the same damn scene unfolds right before your eyes. There are children running around in a playground, as a
My mother, dead now these past eighteen months – may God rest her soul – was a fanatically superstitious woman. Her ancestry, a combination of strict Catholicism and Irish folklore, had resulted in a potent blend which caused her to view life as a series of potential transgression (some valid,
The wind brushing up against my face was common, but it never felt subtle to me. Never felt as if it was there to cool or comfort; only there to remind me of where I was. In my bed laid me – and in me laid my mind, which was
Then Again, But Maybe Not Read More »
Henry worked in an office. It was an ordinary office in an ordinary city where he was paid an ordinary wage to do ordinary things. For many this would have been tedious and frustrating, but not for Henry because he too was ordinary, and he enjoyed being so. Life was
“Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean.” – Maya Angelou I know of an anecdote, one about a little girl named Madeline. Little Maddie was seven years old, with dark chestnut hair and wide blue eyes. Everyone
In The Land of Black and White Read More »
In January 2006 in New York, the patient of a well-known psychiatrist draws the face of a man that has been repeatedly appearing in her dreams. In more than one occasion that man has given her advice on her private life. The woman swears she has never met the man
