September 3rd, 1692 Northridge village stood as it always had, apart from most of the civilized world. It was a simple self contained community consisting mostly of farmers and the simple village folk. On this late afternoon bathed with the orange light of the setting sun the village looked like […]
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Lightning flashed across the sky. Jack wished it hadn’t. The revelation that it bestowed was terrifying. Large, fat rain drops spilled from above drenching the mighty creature standing under the hole it had created upon entry. It stood at an astounding eight and a half feet, skin a bright lush
I was discussing Creepypasta’s with my grandfather. He had never heard the term before, and kind of snickered at it. After I explained to him what they were, he said, “We used to just call them urban legends.” He wanted some examples, and I gave him a few of the
Have you ever heard the legend of Stingy Jack? No? Well, no matter. I’d never heard of him either, not until I had the misfortune of meeting the shifty bastard face-to-face. I encountered Jack, not realising who or what he was, and my ignorance almost cost me my life…Not just
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It was 3.00 AM on July 17th, 2004 when I found myself outside the site of the seventh murder in four weeks. My partner Jim McAllister and I had been the first responders to this particular incident, the first two to survey the carnage before the forensics team and clean-up
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They walked the path because they had always walked the path. This year there were nine children, swallowed in coats of gray, slogging through drifts of soft, powdered snow as the bald trees stood sentinel. They had come a long way, almost halfway up the mountain, yet still the path
Out in The Dives lies a place that does not exist – at least, not all of the time. It is a place with promises of euphoria and hedonistic pleasures, capable of allowing you to live through your wildest dreams and fantasies, free from the mundane and depressing constraints of
Emilie, Stan and I enjoyed our grandmother’s tales. During school breaks, Mom and Dad drove the three of us to her home in Plimmerton. It was a small coastal village, an hour’s drive north of Wellington. Everything about the place was tiny. It was simple. There were three cafes. There
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There’s an old, abandoned mission in the hills west of Tucumcari, New Mexico. It’s about a 3-hour hike from the nearest access point by car. It’s not marked on any map and there’s no clear trail to it, but if you had a day or two to spend searching, you
The roaring twenties became a different time for all of America as the economy took a massive plummet. The depression sank about every industry like a stone and families of every class felt the impact. Throughout the Hoovervilles set up around Riverbend, there was one man who seemed prosperous despite
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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 trail was too quiet. I knew she was watching me from somewhere either up the steep slope to my right or from the tangle of undergrowth to my left. I would have welcomed the snap of a twig to alert me to her position but she was the apex
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Peter Pan is not what most people think he is… or I guess I should say, would be, but honestly, he’s real. I have not only seen him, but have also… felt him. I met Peter Pan when I was about 11 years old. It had been a hard day
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Simza stumbled through the dark forest, tripping over indiscernible tree roots in the darkness. She sensed that something was wrong with the baby, and was afraid, but she had no one to confide in. She had wandered away from the camp when she started feeling the sharp pains in her
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
After a short time of exploring the Oklahoma territory where they were forced to go, a group of Native Americans stumbled upon a mysterious plant while hunting. This plant looked like a gnarled tree root, with so many twists and turns within its seemingly fragile length that one could barely
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“When is Miracle Girl coming?” I asked and got a stony look of disapproval from my uncle in return. If he read comic books, he’d appreciate my nickname for an immortal elementary schooler. Grandpa laid his good, gray eye on me. The filmy, unseeing one wandered off, like the old
We all have that friend who we wish we could have done more for. Who we wish could have done better. I’ve been thinking about that a lot recently. See, it all goes back to my friend Clark, and the horror we both encountered six years ago. Clark and I
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I grew up in a small town in the Midwest. Now when I say that it’s a small town, I mean other people from my state have never even heard of it. That being said, for such a small town it actually has a pretty dark history. In 1927, my
I found it three weeks ago, or rather, I found them. A knotted circle of fur, claws, and death. Six rats, tangled together by their tails, thrashed about my front lawn with little direction. Their shrieks pierced the air of what was normally a quiet street. I was going outside
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“I want to hear about the Spindler.” Logan listened as the voices of his three friends talked. He watched as the fire before him dwindled. “You sure you wanna do that, Lexi? In these woods?” Logan’s back was firmly set against the back of a broad, old oak; he sat
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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During nightly hours of yore, in a time of horror and war, I would sit on a dank oak bench with my eyes shut, calm and closure. Then, my eyes open when I sense a figure approach me with grace. One of nature’s eccentric frights perched itself above my shoulder.
Dear Mr. Valentine, As per your request, I’ve collected reliable morsels of information from the many and often incoherent accounts that detail the events which transpired in Merton on September 2nd, 1996. It is only with great reluctance that I reveal this information to you, for I fear for my
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