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'Love.' They say it's the purest form of giving without expecting anything in return. To be unconditional, understanding, and patient. Love can be the sweetest thing of all, but it can also be the most dangerous weapon in the world.

8/13/2015 ... There is a land somewhere, one of vibrant grass and ornate architecture, the kind of place where joy isn't performed, but is a natural byproduct existence. The light isn't sure what to call it. A dimension, perhaps? Another world? Whatever it is, it’s beautiful. Even now, at night, there’s a soothing calm to it. But the light doesn’t care about any of that. He's only just found this place, and finding it took long enough that he's in no mood to admire the scenery.

It was a cool midsummer night when me and my friends start to head home we both split of from each other until it was just me I still had a mile to walk so I kept me head down but when I was walking I kept hearing strange cracking and jingling like bones from the woods around me you see we lived on a dirt road no houses for around a mile out I got home around dinner time mom and I had a good meal dad often wasn't there he was a trucker so he had to stay on long trips away from home but me and…

“Wanna hear about the weirdest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen in the ocean?” Harvey, the old salt who lived at Neptune’s Net, asked me one night. “Buy me a sip of Cutty Sark, and I’ll tell you something only a handful of people have ever heard, and all of them are dead,” he said, jabbing his finger for emphasis. His gravelly voice gave the ancient mariner a gravitas you wouldn’t expect from a drunk at the end of the bar.

Orson had a mind like no other. He could be shown a craft once, just once, then repeat it with a precision that startled his mentors. The carpenter on Ellis Street had only to demonstrate the carving of a dovetail, and Orson’s hands would shape that exact cut as though he’d been doing it his whole life. The carpenter peered over his shoulder, frowning. “That’s some fluke,” he muttered. “Took me months to cut like that.”

There resides a local legend in Salem, Alabama. One tucked far away in the corner of rural America, far off the beaten path, and far from even the middle of nowhere. A legend that rears its head only once a year: Pope's Haunted Farm.

As darkness fell and the researchers at the Michigan laboratory finished their work and prepared to leave, something was happening that none of them were aware of. In one of the electric crucible furnaces, where they had been experimenting with creating new, extraordinary substances, something was bubbling restlessly. It seemed to have spiraled out of control, yet no one noticed. Almost all the staff had already gone home, leaving only Mike, who was notoriously slow and phlegmatic.

Mama was holding the goat by the horns while wearing garden gloves, still avoiding touching the horns with bare skin. “Untie those,” she said referring to the rope used to tie the goat to the column. I began to unfasten the rope from the goat’s neck. It started to jerk its head, uncomfortable with how she was being handled. “Don’t touch the horns,” her voice stern but low.

{A simple injury dragged me into a living liminal nightmare: That empty concrete city became my trap, those unnatural children my sadistic observers, and the videos of reporter Stavros Ioannidis my weird companion… I still wonder if all this happened because I gave it space. }

{ In Rekteia, a small (fictional) town on the Greek island of Evia (Euboea), Nature plants the seed of horror among the ashes of burned ancient trees. What lies deep in the sacred soil seeks vengeance against human greed, using a child and a mysterious rabbit as accomplices. }

{ Isolation in Minnesota countryside and an unexpected snowfall in the heart of Spring set the scene for a nightmare of vast whiteness. } “Do you wanna hear a strange story?” K. asked me one winter evening. He did not even wait for my answer, because he knew how much I loved talking about unexplained cases.

Don’t go in there! It’s all a trap." Josh was a 25-year-old hotel receptionist in Black Stone, a town in northern Pennsylvania. He had started the job shortly after graduating from university in Michigan. He was a quiet, down-to-earth kind of guy who always tried to find a rational explanation for everything. But that night, something happened at the hotel that put his sense of reality to the ultimate test.

Cry Baby Lane (or JosephTheSnail’s Cry Baby Lane, as titled on Spiral Nightmares) is a thriller creepypasta that retells the 2011 creepypasta of the same name while correcting many of its flaws, most notably the defamation of the real-life director Peter Lauer by replacing his role with an unhinged character who gradually proves to be even more deranged than initially believed, alongside the disturbing, never-before-mentioned-until-now “actual” (not really) history of a goofy Nickelodeon horror…

“You’re gonna give me a hundred dollars to sit inside this cardboard box for two minutes?” I asked, feeling the booze slosh around my brain. “It’s that simple,” the street performer said with a cocksure grin. “You last two minutes inside the box, you get a hundred dollars.” “What if I don’t make it two minutes?” “You don’t get a hundred dollars.” “What’s inside the box?” The street performer opened the top of the large refrigerator box and, true to his word, it was empty.

The GoPro came on the way it always did - a two-second boot tone, a flash of menu, then the wide-angle lens settling on Lance Harmon's garage in Brandon, Mississippi at nine-fourteen on a Saturday morning in September, the light outside already thick and honey-yellow the way Mississippi September light gets when it's warming up for something unpleasant. Lance was doing what Lance always did when he was nervous-excited about a ride - talking.

The night was calm. It rained in the afternoon, so the plants and soil were wet, the glow of the moonlight made the leaves flicker as the soft breeze started blowing, the remainder of the storm. I was standing in the middle of our kitchen. The heat of whatever Mama was cooking on the stove gave me the warmth I needed. I spent most of the day in the rain soaking wet looking for one of Mama’s new born goats. Our goat gave birth to two kids three days ago much to the delight of Mama. A fully grown…

One day, my mommy and daddy decided to buy a new house so we could move out of our apartment. Mommy had just given birth to my baby sister, Anna. She was nine months old, and I was five. My name is Leon.

Note: This is based on an actual nightmare I had back when Momo was popular. Before we start, I’m not going to make any attempts to call Momo or do the Momo Challenge. I’m not here to do that, as it’s incredibly dangerous, and I’m not trying to get myself or my family hurt. I’m just here to share a nightmare I had a long time ago, back when the legend was popular.

Have you ever searched for employment for so long that pretty much any offer looked like a dream job? That was me a few summers ago. Fresh out of college, broke as shit, and desperate enough to answer a CraigsList ad. Yes, people still use CraigsList. Yes, it’s mostly sketchy as Hell. The post was titled “WANTED: WATER SAFETY EXPERT. START IMMEDIATELY.” It sounded like an official title, something important… but then again, so do “Sanitation Engineer” and “Sandwich Artist”.

There was a time before history. Before words. Before sanity.