Part 1 It would have been so much easier just to keep telling myself the worst parts of my past were all in my head, and assure myself it wasn’t healthy for me to think too much about it. What took place in this story occurred a long time ago, and until recently, it was something I pushed back to the deepest, darkest part of my mind. I attempted to convince myself, almost, that it didn’t really happen at all, that all the chaos in my life and the psychological issues I was dealing with merged together into a horrible messed up delusion I used to process everything. I almost succeeded. So many years went by and I managed to…

I was jolted out of sleep when my 5-year-old son, Kevin, jumped on top of me. I let out a little yelp both from the shock of the impact and from being ripped out of a deep sleep. A little disoriented, it took me a few moments to figure out what was going on. Now jumping up and down on the bed, Kevin yelled, “Fuzzy came again! Fuzzy came again!” I sighed, rubbed my eyes, and checked the clock. It wasn’t even 6 o’clock in the morning yet. Kevin continued to jump ecstatically around the bed. By now, my husband was awake and very cranky. He looked over to the clock, and, seeing the time, released a frustrated moan. “Jesus,…

It was like any other day for Peter. He was going on an adventure with the lost boys, battling Hook, and catching dinner for the night. However, as they were gathered around the fire, he looked at his chosen family, counting them. Wait, Is someone missing? How long had they been gone? Peter rose from lounging in a tree. Now that he thought about it, the fairies had also made themselves scarce. Usually, they were hovering around them, chatting. Telling them he would be back, Peter went deep into the forest. It was eerily quiet compared to the usual sounds of insects and animals scittering or buzzing about. “Tinkerbell!” Peter cupped his hands around his mouth, calling out to her,…

The current date is the twenty-third of September 2004. I am Dr. Yankin of [REDACTED] company. Today we will be going through the research of the test subject known as “Ghoul”. SUBJECT: Soldier #3154 Private Peter Terrison. Now referred as “Ghoul” Age: Thirty years old The Private was a part of our 3rd company’s task force known as the “Cult watch”. They were tasked with the search and destruction of cult-like activities before they became too large or summoned something eldritch. This Private was believed to be “Dead In Action” several weeks ago after a failed attempt at stopping the “Risen Cult”. This Cult are known followers of an old god that wishes to turn the world into undead subjects.…

My story began as a simple cabin boy… There I was, manning the “Steamboat Willie” the feeling of content swayed through my body along with the sea waves crashing along the sides of the steel fortress I steered. It didn’t take long however for Captain P. to rear his ugly mug from the stairwell only to bark out orders to me. “Whaddya’ think yer’ doin’!?” He exclaimed, baffled as I was pulled by my backside now forced to stare at the captain. In silence I couldn’t respond, it felt as if my organs were misplaced/mismanaged by the sheer force of his pulling. I managed to pull myself back together somehow someway — he continued to bark orders. “Get back down…

“Well girls, which car should we take on our little road trip? Dad’s Chevy Nomad would be practical, but the Chevy Nova’s got a bit more flair to her. Of course, if it’s flair we’re going for, I don’t think anything we have can compete with a classic Cadillac,” James Darling said as he surveyed his automotive fleet with a sense of satisfied pride. The Darlings had acquired many vehicles over their long and nefarious career, more often than not stolen from their victims and repurposed into future instruments of entrapment and torment. James had kept their favourites running flawlessly over the years, modifying them as necessary with his own mechatronic inventions when conventional parts simply wouldn’t do. “That’s a…

“Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it.” — Matthew 7:13 Faith is a strange thing. An invisible current, tugging people toward something they couldn’t see, couldn’t prove, yet clung to with unwavering certainty. Some found comfort in it. Others, like me, found it incomprehensible—a construct built on nothing but hope and fear. A way to explain the unexplainable. A reason to kneel when the world felt too heavy to stand. I never thought much about it. Religion, faith, belief… they were like relics from another time, things people inherited rather than chose. I grew up watching others pray before meals, cross themselves in front…

Standing on the edge of the roof of that old building, the man could feel that he was standing on the rubble of his lost youth, that every step taken on those dirty streets had left memories that now formed piles of rotting and wormy corpses over which carrion birds flew. The cold winter wind chilled him to the bone, his back began to constrict and his jaw to tremble, his teeth chattering. A blizzard shook the branches of the trees and their black windbreaks, while tears slid down his purple face and fell on his white hands. Guilt-filled thoughts came to mind—his mother’s smile as she made him coffee in the morning, his father telling him his story while…

Rosemary Cain was known for being the best baker in the county. She would always win the first prize ribbon in every contest. One evening, while Rosemary was getting ingredients for baking, she saw her husband Bennie flirting with Charlotte Berry. How could Bennie cheat on her? Gripping the paper bag tightly against her chest, she went home. After entering the kitchen and dropping off the groceries, Rosemary returned to her garden. She hummed to herself, plucking a skeletal poinsettia. ‘Just a few petals will do,’ Rosemary thought as she returned inside—the kitchen filled with the scent of cinnamon and oatmeal. The door opened, letting the evening cool air into the unbearably hot kitchen as Bennie walked in. Rosemary pulled…

This is a story of a boy I met when I was still young. His name was James Elkin, and he lived in the house two doors down from me. We weren’t friends, but I did greet him a few times when I saw him. He always looked small for a nine-year-old and had long, uneven hair. I remember walking past his home on my way to school each day. Many times, I saw him out collecting insects. He never harmed them. He wasn’t very friendly, but he wasn’t cruel either. His parents were always very kind, often offering jobs to us younger kids so we could earn a little change for bubble gum or something we wanted. Because of…