“Speak louder, please.” I put my hand up next to my ear from the back of the room, signaling that she would need to raise her voice. She took a deep breath. I could see anxiety turning her cheeks beet red, as strands of blonde hair began to fall out […]
Mommy Sleeps in the Basement Read More »
I’m a reporter in Southern Oregon. This is the story that you will never read in my newspaper. It starts with Georgina Hicks. Ms. Hicks lived in a trailer at the end of the pavement on Oak Street. Not the end of the road mind you, just the end of
The Forgotten Screams Read More »
When I became a father, my whole world started revolving around Marie. She was the most perfect, most treasured little thing in my world. We are kind of an unconventional family; my wife Taylor is a CEO, while I’m an artist and stay-at-home dad. Taylor and my parents are people
Everyone My Daughter Loves Goes Missing Read More »
Below are a selection of emails from Leonard Tomlins, a person of interest in two separate missing person cases in the North Sheffield area. It has been the conclusion of the writing officer, and his colleagues, that Leonard Tomlins has passed away since the writing of these emails. Until further
Give It Everything Read More »
I’m a grown woman, so it’s been years since I don’t live by my mother’s rules. But there’s one thing I will always respect: never go to bed with a wet hair. For my mother, it meant catching a cold, but for me, it was something else entirely. Last night,
My name is Oliver Stricc. I’m a 52-year-old biology teacher from a small town in northeastern Nebraska, and I have been for almost 14 years. I’ll be the first to admit that lecturing to a bunch of uninterested high school students wasn’t what I had planned to do after getting
My Students Are Disappearing Read More »
The first time I saw Bret, I was nineteen. I’d found a job working security at Dave’s Storage Unit. My duties included keeping vagrants and thieves from disturbing the 40 rental units that were laid out in five neat rows in the middle of downtown Atlanta and helping customers with
When I was 7, my best friend was a girl named Ava, who was my neighbor. Ava was a sweet kid; I didn’t realize it at the time, but her home life was pure hell. We would always hear her father screaming and breaking stuff. I was too young to understand
I Know Why My Childhood Friend Disappeared Read More »
The sun began to set over the horizon. The sky had been consumed by a bright orange tint with a touch of pink. That was the countryside for you. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been absolutely fascinated by nature. It was beautiful. From the amazing views of
Stay Inside the Car Read More »
Have you ever seen a photo reCAPTCHA? Instead of a checkbox, it’s a low-quality photo split into 16 square sections. It’ll say something like: “SELECT ALL SQUARES WITH STREET SIGNS,” and you have to click every square that contains a street sign. At 11 PM on Sunday night, I got one while
The reCAPTCHA Was Wrong Read More »
My neighbors are disappearing.. I’m not sure when this all started, but it seems that everyone in this town already knows. I moved here just over a year ago, it’s lush with green in every direction, townsfolk greet each other on the streets, and children play on every block and
My Neighbors Are Disappearing Read More »
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
The Terror of Kambigan Read More »
She gave him the key as soon as he had walked in the door. It had been in a small box, wrapped up with a bow. He tried not to show his concern as he was acutely aware she was waiting expectantly for him to say something. “Well, what do
Curtis held on to an unfulfilled joy for exploring. The prospect of discovering new places always enthralled him, and often, whether he was just lazing around at home, slacking off during a lecture, or just hanging out on a sober night with his friends, he would often daydream of traveling
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
10.7.2004 Jennifer, friends and family of Mark, As promised, here are copies of the correspondence I received from Mark over the course of the last month. For the most part, I have merely copied and pasted them from my email application. As you’ll read, he requested this, in hopes that
