Advertisement

childhood

The Candle Man

Over the hill and through the moor, the candle man comes walking, up to your door. He lights up a candle and walks to your bed, leaves the candle in the window, and leaves with your head. That’s the nursery rhyme my grandma used to tell me when I was …

The Candle Man Read More »

Clockwork: Your Time is Up

A little girl sat in her room. Her messy brown hair was put into little pigtails, as her hazel eyes stared at the door. She hugged her stuffed giraffe close to her little body and listened closely to the loud yells of her father and mother. “I never should have …

Clockwork: Your Time is Up Read More »

Bedtime

Bedtime is supposed to be a happy event for a tired child; for me it was terrifying. While some children might complain about being put to bed before they have finished watching a film or playing their favourite video game, when I was a child, night time was something to truly fear. Somewhere in the back of my mind it still is.

Jeff the Killer

Jeff the Killer Origins and History You wake at 3AM. Disturbed by some subtle shifting sound within the room, just on the edge of hearing. Propping up on one arm you survey the room looking for some source for the noise, hoping beyond hope that you won’t find one. At …

Jeff the Killer Read More »

Where Bad Kids Go

I must have been six or seven when I lived in Lebanon. The country was ravaged by war at the time, and murders were common and frequent. I remember during a particularly vicious era, when the bombings rarely stopped, I would stay at home sitting in front of my television …

Where Bad Kids Go Read More »

Mr. Widemouth

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.

1999 – Creepypasta

The year is nineteen-ninety-nine. That sentence brings me back to my senior kindergarten class when I was five years old, where we used to read out the date on the blackboard every single day. The year 1999 exists as a stain in my mind, however, as a memory that will not go away no matter how I try to forget it. 1999 marked the year I lost my first tooth, my first time on a plane, and unfortunately the early loss of my childhood innocence.

Scroll to Top