Chapter 2: One Hound’s Meal is Another Man’s Treasure He scanned the chamber for another door, but fell short. All while the holes in his chest and stomach began to glow with the healing white light. Requiem rested his claymore against his shoulder, then made his way to the door he had entered through seeing that it was the only way out of the chamber. The white light turned into his entrails, then muscles and finally his scarred skin until he was whole again. Pride’s blades pushed out from his back and side to the floor. Requiem pushed open the door to see another void. Without hesitation, he stepped through into a decrepit hallway with the door disappearing behind him…

Max Burns is an amateur photographer. Though his profession is not photography, he does take photos as a hobby. On one of his days off, he received a call to take some photos of an abandoned house. The person who requested this of him was a friend named Violet Moss. She is a realtor who flips houses and resells them to make a profit. Max agreed and went to the address Violet had given him. Upon arrival, the house came into view. He had never seen something so unique. It was a cliff-anchored house; this type of home is only seen sometimes due to the frequent landslides in the area. Pulling into a makeshift parking space, he parked his car,…

Stephen Hillenburg is one of the better-known names in animation. Born on August 21, 1961, he was not only an animator but also a marine biology educator. He passed away on November 26, 2018. He is best known for shows like Rocko’s Modern Life and SpongeBob SquarePants, the latter of which continues to air to this day. What many people don’t seem to know is that Hillenburg once created an educational film featuring the Bikini Bottomites, using real-world sea creatures that resembled the characters from the show. This project was conceived long before SpongeBob SquarePants debuted in 1999. However, it never gained the same recognition as his 1989 comic book The Intertidal Zone, which later became the inspiration for the show. That’s because the film was…

The homunculus was a thin, flat, disproportionate thing that was too smooth, too round, and seemingly forever dissatisfied with its own ludicrous appearance. The first time I ever laid eyes on it, I had just arrived at my tech job, fresh from a stay of extended medical leave, mind already ablaze with the problems of yesterday’s virtual meetings. A semicircle of young and middle-aged colleagues surrounded and watched in hushed excitement as the thing changed. What I initially recognised as an absent man sporting a brownish complexion was moments later a shaved white girl. Then someone considerably older. Then someone else. It showed no signs of stopping. Blurry, smeared features sank and melted apart, continuously forming anew. Faces were perceivable,…

Chapter 1: The Purity of Corruption A naked holy man stood knee deep in snow on frostbitten legs in front of a tower he did not believe existed. It was a tower of legend that was forever moving that sat atop of a snowy mountain scape for the time being, and was said to grant a wish to whoever reached the top. A gust of icy wind cut into his skin scar covered skin like the many blades that did the same during his holy crusade reminding him of his duty. The duty now halted by the seven window stone tower he had only heard from those he had slain. The holy man’s true name had faded from the world…

I’m a rabbi, so you can imagine the kinds of conversation I have when I counsel my congregants. Family troubles. Marital strife. And sometimes, theology. The other day, one of my congregants―a young, sensitive woman with hair almost black and eyes just as dark―came in to see me. She was in the midst of a crisis of faith. “If only God would speak to me, or give me some kind of sign…,” she was saying. “Oh, Rachel,” I said, smiling, “God indeed does speak to us. But not with a voice―that would be too dramatic… too Hollywood. Instead, He speaks through coincidences. Haven’t you heard the saying? ‘Coincidences are God’s way of remaining anonymous.’” Rachel held my gaze. “Has God…

I’ve heard all about all of the little “games” from the internet, little rituals with beings that hunt you, games that people spread stories about, games that people get wishes for, I feel jealous of them, most of the time it’s just a prank, or if something does happen, at least they’ll more than likely survive. I find it annoying whenever I spot one of those clickbait videos, (PLAYING BLOODY MARY AT 3:00 AM!), because they mock the people who made these stories, or in my case, encounters. My name is Jonah, but I prefer to be called Jon, and I am here to document my account of the ritual game known as “The Candles” I guess I should start…

Blake Bowman just purchased his first home. An old gothic Victorian with the original interior still intact. While cleaning out the attic, he came across a few boxes of items left behind by the previous owners. While moving them out, a box he was carrying dropped something from the bottom, fluttering to the floor. Almost slipping on the item, Blake put aside what he held to bend down and pick it up. Examining the photo in his hand, he furrowed his brow, trying to understand what he saw. It was a photo of a man and a woman. Both sat beside each other, upright in their chairs, posing for the camera. The snapshot was old and a bit faded, but…

“The mind over matter is me” – – – That was the quote that lingered in my mind. I saw it once—on a TV screen during a mental health awareness ad, which played after the show I was absentmindedly watching had ended. It stayed with me, I pondered how powerful our minds can shape our reality. The thoughts we think, beliefs we share, and our perceptions of reality aren’t merely passive but actively influence how we experience and interact daily. It had me thinking, that despite everyone living in the same physical world, billions of individual realities, cultivated by billions of other people co-exist under one shared present, does that make sense? But what do I know? I was just…

I know, what a generic thing to talk about in a story like this, as stories about creepy dolls were shared around to death, but hey, surely someone on here will be interested in what I am talking about as I have something similar to share. I was four years old around this time, and I was never fond of dolls, nor was I the person to even own one. Not that I find them girly, not at all. I just hate them; I found them creepy to look at, and the horror movies I watched about them didn’t make my opinion on them better. However, in this story I am about to share, at no point am I going…