Pitter patter, on the pane, Pitter patter, once again, Pitter patter, how I strain, Pitter patter, but no rain. What so does tread my halls, Humming low with crooning calls, Succubae or hellish thralls, Why for do they tread my halls? No creak yet disturbs this floor, No shadows flit […]
Is it silence where you are now, except for the whirring of your computer, or whatever your reading this on? Good enough. Tune out that noise. Listen. Very carefully. To the noise within your ears. Before you may have dismissed it as hissing static in your head, or a barely
Tuesday, October 11th Today, I drove my 7-year old son James into town to go Halloween shopping. I didn’t have to buy any candy this year because we live in a cul-de-sac out in the middle of a farming community on the outskirts of the city. I moved last year
I’ve tried everything I can think of. Enough is enough. I first noticed the thing when I looked up at my window after taking a short nighttime walk. At first, I reasoned that it was just my mom, putting something in my room. But as I came closer and looked
A few months ago, I’d been browsing Tumblr for interesting things. That was the day I found Zasphas. Zasphas had a normal looking blog at first glance. Typical vintage pictures, images of celebrities, food, etc. I followed her for some movie GIFs. But then, just last week, she posted some
I’ve locked myself in this room with my laptop. I…I don’t know when they’re coming, where they’re coming from. Hell, I don’t even know IF they’re coming. But what I do know is that they’re out there. They are right outside my door, in my backyard, hidden behind the trees
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December the 11th 2012 I need to write this down. I woke up in panic early this morning. A dream, it was only a dream. But it seemed so real. The earth shaking, a loud roar. It’s all blurry in my mind now. I sat on my bed. My alarm clock
I was fifteen when it happened. My sister was five. It started on her fifth birthday, when she received one of those dolls that’s supposed to look like the owner. It was a standard doll, the same height as my sister, red hair, freckles; it even came with an outfit
I know of an old Romanian fairy tale, highly unpopular even in its earliest iterations. It might be based on a particular event, or perhaps it is an extrapolation from existing Slender Man stories. The translation I’m most familiar with goes a bit like this: Once upon a time, there
Let me start by saying that Peter Terry was addicted to heroin. We were friends in college and continued to be after I graduated. Notice that I said “I”. He dropped out after two years of barely cutting it. After I moved out of the dorms and into a small apartment, I didn’t see Peter as much. We would talk online every now and then (AIM was king in pre-Facebook years). There was a period where he wasn’t online for about five weeks straight. I wasn’t worried. He was a pretty notorious flake and drug addict, so I assumed he just stopped caring. Then one night I saw him log on. Before I could initiate a conversation, he sent me a message.
I huffed and puffed under my breath as I stared into God’s Mouth. I felt like the Big Bad Wolf ready to interrupt the innocent little pigs as they hurriedly fortified their makeshift homes. I grinned at this thought and then turned my head to look for Margaret. She was
I was sitting in the upstairs office of the Museum with a cup of coffee when it happened. It had been a long day, and I’d set the work experience kid the seemingly unfuckupable task of dusting the exhibits- after repeating my warning, of course, that some of them must
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One There were originally nine of us scheduled for the spelunking expedition, but Murphy’s Law dictated that two of the group had to pull out due to various issues. It was a disappointment having fewer members to share in the experience, but then again, there were benefits – less logistical
The hitchhiker Andy picked up on that July afternoon was one of the stranger people he had met. She had, after warm thanks for stopping, and a moment or two of silence, proclaimed herself to be able to grant a wish. The conjuration she had performed in support of this
Sunday I’m not sure why I’m writing this down on paper and not on my computer. I guess I’ve just noticed some odd things. It’s not that I don’t trust the computer… I just… need to organize my thoughts. I need to get down all the details somewhere objective, somewhere
It’s your first night in your new apartment. Your stuff is still in boxes. Your furniture (with the exception of the mattress on the floor) hasn’t arrived yet. The utilities won’t be turned on until the next day, so you’re making due without. A flashlight and some candles will do
During my childhood my family was like a drop of water in a vast river, never remaining in one location for long. We settled in Rhode Island when I was eight, and there we remained until I went to college in Colorado Springs. Most of my memories are rooted in Rhode Island, but there are fragments in the attic of my brain which belong to the various homes we had lived in when I was much younger.
September 2nd 1868 Arrived in Cheyenne in the new Wyoming Territory early this morning on the new Union Pacific line. Has been three years since I rode the locomotive. Did not realize it would remind me so strongly of Atlanta. Spent the last day of the journey with the phantom
Last year, I moved into a middle class house right around summer time. The move went smooth, and it seemed like everything was just…working. Nothing broke during the cycle, I had plenty of friends to help me out, hell I even found twenty bucks in my couch! Beer money? Hell
It begins gently at first, softly falling like a child’s tears. It is a sad thing, but not so unusual and wholesome in its way. And the wind lightly blows, almost tenderly caressing your face. This will not last, but it’s nice isn’t it? In the beginning there were two
When thinking back to my earliest memories, nothing is concrete. A string of hazy images come to mind like random snapshots out of time, each one associated with certain feelings and emotions. They are imbued with a mystical dreamlike quality, a gift born of childhood naivety. The magic of every
I’ll tell you right now that my story doesn’t have any dramatic climax or any cathartic resolution. Don’t bother reading it if that’s what you’re looking for. My story is of one very specific moment in my life. One which, try as I might, I cannot negate as a trick
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They say that the hour of three A.M. is the time when spirits can become active, and I’m sure of that. My apartment was always a little too quiet for one in the city, especially at night. No drunk shouting in the street at that time, no sound of car
The freak meandered through a group of the undead. It was nearing nightfall, and he began to head back home. His pack had plenty of food in it, and he shouldn’t have to leave his house again for another week or so. Unless one of the zombie bastards punched its
