I never wanted to go on that stupid hike in the first place. Yet there I was, allegedly enjoying nature and getting healthy exercise while hiking from “cabin to cabin” in the Norwegian mountains with the devil spawn otherwise known as my class. Woohoo, right? For a misanthropic misfit like myself, it was a nightmare. Within half an hour of walking on the uneven path over the heather, I was at the back of the group.
The top half of Councilman Jones’ body hung by a steel cable looped around his neck and tied off to an old oak tree on one end. It was still dripping blood, bones and veins and torn bits of intestines dangling down where the legs should start. The cable was stretched through the air, over to an ash tree ten yards away from where the other half of the body was hanging by the legs.
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The soggy heathland hugged itself underneath a dome sky. Tracts of mire lay sunken in some places, valleys of soft earth unable to withstand the oppressive atmosphere above it, while other acres were crumpled against the high rock beneath them. Dry and tender grass creased by an icy warm wind,
I ran as fast as I could. My heart was racing and I could feel my side cramping up. Don’t look behind. I told myself. And so I kept running. I could hear movement behind me. Faster and faster until I felt excruciating pain on my ankle. I screamed and fell on the ground, allowing me to be face to face with my enemy. A python. It looked at me almost as if it knew me. And I stared right back. I could feel it’s hatred. I’ve done nothing to you. I said in my mind. The snake shook its head and moved behind me. I felt paralyzed. As the snake made its way around me, it hissed in my ear.
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When you are met with the sort of anxiety which, ultimately, is there to make you consider the possibility that your own memory is a lie, it is only natural to face difficulty in recalling even things that happened a short time ago. If I was open to undertaking so thorough an examination of this then I am confident that I would identify a good few reasons for the acute nervousness I feel; even so, it should go without saying that I am not inclined to accept my emotion as fully justified: it undoubtedly rests on some sinister delusion.
I am currently sitting in front of my computer, scared witless. Any moment now I am going to be killed. Today a friend of mine told me a story. His aunt had taken care of him since he was a small boy, and she told him last night about how
As I entered John Kirowan’s study I was too much engrossed in my own thoughts to notice, at first, the haggard appearance of his visitor, a big, handsome young fellow well known to me. “Hello, Kirowan,” I greeted. “Hello, Gordon. Haven’t seen you for quite a while. How’s Evelyn?” And
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John Woodford in his first moments of returning consciousness was not aware that he was lying in his coffin. He had only a dull knowledge that he lay in utter darkness and that there was a close, heavy quality in the air he breathed. He felt very weak and had
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Nurnberg at the time was not so much exploited as it has been since then. Irving had not been playing Faust, and the very name of the old town was hardly known to the great bulk of the travelling public. My wife and I being in the second week of our
When I was a little boy I once went with my father to call on Adrian Borlsover. I played on the floor with a black spaniel while my father appealed for a subscription. Just before we left my father said, “Mr. Borlsover, may my son here shake hands with you?
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There’s always something inherently eerie about living in the forest, in complete isolation. You almost always assume the worst when you’re on your own surrounded by the thickly wooded area, it’s almost like time doesn’t pass the same as it would anywhere else, like the edge of the woods was
I. Without, the night was cold and wet, but in the small parlour of Laburnam Villa the blinds were drawn and the fire burned brightly. Father and son were at chess, the former, who possessed ideas about the game involving radical changes, putting his king into such sharp and unnecessary
I recently discovered the most amazing resource to help those dealing with mental illnesses and personality disorders, and I want to share what I’ve learned with as many others as possible. Since I know so many struggle with these problems, I hope you find this information useful. But first, I’d
I’m lying in bed next to someone who I’ll call my wife, but tomorrow, I know there will be someone different waking up next to me. My current wife will be dead by tomorrow afternoon and I will end the evening dying in a fiery car crash. I know this
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“Thank you for calling the law offices of Mr. Henry S. Murray, how may we be of service?” The blonde woman in her mid-20s impatiently tapped a pencil’s eraser on the desk as she answered the phone. She sat with her legs crossed neatly behind a solid-oak desk in the
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As Julie began to regain consciousness, she knew something wasn’t right. She started to panic as she realized she was strapped to a table. A big bright light beamed down onto her face, blinding her, as silhouettes moved silently around her. The silhouettes began to whisper. “She’s perfect, daddy, thank
Before I take my life tonight, I need to write down what brought me to this point. Just for my own sanity, just as a catharsis. If I’m feeling brave I’ll post it on the Internet when I’m done. And if I do – if I’m actually talking to some
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Craig Brockwell was found by his wife, dead on their living room floor, a plastic garbage bag tied off around his neck, and an empty bottle of Xanax on the kitchen counter, next to a suicide note. My initial external examination of the body revealed no indications of a physical
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Part 1 I am often asked how it was that I first became interested the true crime genre. It’s the sort of question I frequently get at conventions, book signings, panel meetings, and interviews, but the actual answer is fairly mundane. What I find more interesting is the source of
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One of my least favorite parts about being a middle school history teacher is the bullshit “Living History” assignments we give at the end of every school year. Kids are supposed to sit with their grandparents and video tape, voice record, or transcribe their oldest memories for posterity (and for
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I’ve never posted like this before. But I suppose I’ve never needed to. If you’ve read the title, you know what to expect, and you can move on if you’d like to avoid the topic. I’ll understand. Grief is a funny thing. Professor Farina taught me that in the first
My Son Committed Suicide, and My Wife Blames Me Read More »
The two men stood in the crisp, evening mountain air. The woodland that surrounded them on all sides was dense and deep. “So…” the first man turned to the other, straightening up his stab-proof vest. “Where do we go from here?” The other police officer clicked his radio off, and
You know those stories where a woman walks into the bar, meets a stunning man and gets pregnant, then finds out she’s bearing the offspring of Lucifer? Well, this is not one of those. My mother had me at a young age so, by the time I was 16, she was
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“What the hell is her problem?” I thought to myself as I sat in my cubicle. Angela, one of my co-workers, was staring at me. More accurately, she was gawping at me. At my face. I wanted to scream at her, flip my desk over and demand what the fuck
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