Hunter ducked into the closet before Mrs. Abernathy could catch a glimpse of him. The blackness curled around him, and the clutter of aged textbooks and outdated curriculums made the already small corridor even tighter. “Go into the yoga room, enter the closet on the far side, and go down […]
A man stands in the desert. His skin is big bright white. Brighter than normal, a sharp sort of glowing white like lit up cellophane. This is the past to his present and he is not human. Across many sand dunes, a line of cammels walks slowly towards the sun.
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It was early January when Jack walked through the large ornate doors of Lucky Sevens Casino and Hotel. It was a cold morning (or what passes for cold in Las Vegas anyway), and he took a deep breath of warm air as he stepped inside. He was immediately overcome with
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“Inspired by a true event a friend once told me…” When you hear stories of things that go bump into the night. You get that cold shiver that goes down your spine. The feeling that someone.. Or something watching you. What you also get is that tiny hit of energy
I remember the house from my childhood. I remember it being my uncles’. I remember the rather odd fashion the house lied in – ruins. And I remember my father telling me not to talk to my uncle, that he was a poor role-model. I never saw my uncle after
I’ve always been a creature of the city. The cold, hard streets. The tall, luminous sky-scrapers. And the people. All self-absorbed in their own little stories to be concerned with person next to them on the subway, or the person they just rammed into trying to get where they needed
Jack Mckay huddled in the cold midnight street with a pale green sleeping bag encasing his lower half. Spindled trails of light reflected off the gleaming roads from damp lampposts. But the cold wasn’t what gave Jack his nightly jitters—not by a long shot. The small flame bewitched his green
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Laura pulled her cellphone out of its storage compartment and queued up the first video before wondering if she really should watch it again. They had, technically, only been in space for eight hours with another seventy-two yet to go and she’d already viewed the three-minute clip close to a hundred times. The little voice in the back of her head that said she would tire of it if she continued at her current pace was quickly silenced, however, once play was pressed…yet again.
A week ago, if you had asked me if I believed in things that went bump in the night, I would have looked at you as if you’d just escaped the nearest psychiatric ward and given you a terse, derisive response. “No.” I’ve never believed. Not in ghosts, vampires, werewolves,
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“Better Run Through the Jungle” My name is Michael Hasford. I am seventy-two years old and I have terminal bowel cancer. I haven’t told anyone this story in nearly fifty years, the last time being before I was made to sign the State Secrets Act and bound to silence by
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The sun dipped under the hills of the Nevada desert, illuminating the hot sands and my even hotter car in a distinct orange glow. Wind rushed in to the stolen car due to the laid down convertible top, my wife, well, for all intents and purposes, ex-wife, always had
I think it was 1998 when my family visited my mother’s sister and her kids in North Yorkshire, England for a week. My family lived in Ohio, but my mother’s side of the family was from the UK. It was a fun trip, checking out the local sights and hanging
Hershel King had been driving a big rig since the age of eighteen and that was nearly thirty years ago. He liked to tell people that he didn’t know how to do anything else but anyone that knew him worth a damn saw right through that. The truth was he
Fang of the Mountain A foray into Horror by Stormy Strider There are things in this world, dark things. Things that the mind cannot fully process, and so it blocks it out, or fills in the gaps. Things that terrify us to our deepest foundations. These things are the
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1. As a young man, my job took me to some interesting places. Selling houses for a living; you never knew what you were going to encounter from one day to the next. From crumbling stone cottages hidden down forgotten country lanes, to derelict farmhouses perched upon lonely hillsides, I
I’ve never really considered myself to be much of an explorer or even a particularly brave man, however that hasn’t seemed to stop me from getting in the predicament I’m in now. It was around 3 months ago that my girlfriend of 4 years left me for another man, and
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My son has reached the age at which he can enjoy my stories. By now, his friends have gathered that I am “the guy” who wrote those books and Creepypastas that they have read and listened to on YouTube. Sometimes, when they are over the house, we’ll sit out around
On certain quiet nights under the watchful gaze of a full moon, one could hear surreptitious moans, half manlike and half swine, in the dead air of Barangay Kampigan in the hill regions of Buena Vista near the border to Inabanga, both townships in the province of Bohol. It is
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The girls were adamantly opposed to the move. This, of course, was no surprise; most children hate having their lives upheaved and relocated. Especially at the ages of eight and eleven, like Mary and Sarah were. Sarah, in particular, had a very difficult time leaving her best friends in the
Chapter 1 It was a cold and lonely night as I drove mile after mile on barren roads that seemed to drag on forever and lead to nowhere. I had been driving for hours since i left home and ran away with my dad’s car. I don’t know what i
It was cold. Morgan woke up shivering, his breath coiling in the air before him. Why was it so damn cold? Key West was known for a lot of things but its frigid mornings weren’t one of them. Quickly pulling himself from the sheets and throwing on his robe, which did
Kevin felt the all the air leave his lungs; somehow every time it happened it caught him off-guard. He had been going to school with Aria May Pearson for nearly four years now so it wasn’t like this was the first time he had ever seen her but, coming back
The competitors of the thirtieth annual “Super fish” tournament sponsored by the Angler Warehouse could not have asked for a better day; seventy-five degrees and not a cloud in the sky. The competition was open to just about every type of fish that Lake Michigan had to offer, but when several large Pumpkinseeds or Rock Carp counted the same as an average sized Sturgeon or Catfish, the fishermen were always on the hunt for “the big one.”
Doctor Smith has requested that I tell my story as part of my rehabilitation. I couldn’t find myself able to speak it, so, he had me write it down instead. I have chosen this diary form as it is able to most easily draw out my memories without breaking me
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