Welcome to

In the early 1990s, police in Germany found something strange at a crime scene. A trace. A tiny piece of DNA. At first, it meant nothing. Just another clue. But then… it showed up again. Another crime. Different place. Same DNA. Months passed. Then years. The same DNA kept appearing—at burglaries, thefts, and other serious incidents. Not just in one city, but across regions… even in nearby countries like Austria and France. Police started to realize something unsettling.

I’m writing on here about a missed connection. I was at the Bernard Mall retro game store around 3 pm on Saturday. You were in the fantasy aisle. Your hair was a shining auburn that graced your gentle frame, and when you turned to me. Your eyes lit me up like the mystical northern lights. Their hazel flecks danced even in the dull lighting, and you smiled. And your blushed cheeks a shade of rose so sweet a hummingbird would confuse you for a bloom.

I think it all started when I dreamt of my own death. I was only 10. This isn’t the first time I’ve died in a dream. We've all felt the jolt of a fall or a hit. Shaking us out of slumber and into the dark comfort of our bed.

The lily pad rocked like a small, stubborn idea—barely there, stubbornly afloat. I stood on it because standing felt better than sinking, because the pond was quieter than the house and quieter than the questions that had been circling me all week. The city lights blurred into a distant constellation; here, the world reduced itself to water, breath, and the thin green circle beneath my feet.

"Lady Valtin! Lady Rudova!" Béla, who had dozed on the steps of the gazebo, lifted his head and mustered a lazy bark toward the path. An elderly man, wearing a messenger's garb, stood past the bed of daffodils and looked around in confusion. The presence of my large hound didn't seem to concern him, or perhaps he sensed that Béla was not in the mood to cause any trouble on such a nice day.

4/14/2015 ... “No… No… No… Definitely not… No…”

This Is How You Teach a Child to Die Slowly. "I exist in two places: here, and where you left me." — Margaret At wood. • There it goes again. It starts with a frightening silence. Then… slam! "Jesus!" my mother screams, like she's just realized how close she is to actually meeting Him. We run again. My brothers dive under the bed. My sister clings to my mom, as though she's thinking "maybe this time, she'd actually go, and I can go with her."

A hard copy of the following document was discovered in a disused office suite on the outskirts of Manchester, New Hampshire. Extensive research has so far failed to turn up any information about the former tenants or the provenance of the “report”.  The investigation continues. – A. A. EXECUTIVE SUMMARY This after-action report recommends the complete and immediate abandonment of high-value target SODA BOTTLE despite the costs to be incurred by the Organization as a result. BACKGROUND

I have never been one to recount the fantastical, as it is in my nature to look towards the factual and tested, instead of resorting to the supernatural and guessed. John Byrne is a man of many things, but superstition is not one of them. But, it could be said since I have bore witness to the seemingly fantastic and weird happenings I am about to describe to you, that they are indeed no longer mere silly stories, and instead evidential and witnessed truths. To begin the story, we must go back…

Last Tuesday, I noticed a new app on my phone called "Follow the Leader." No icon, just a white circle on a black background. Being bored and fourteen, I opened it. It was just a GPS map of my neighborhood with two dots: a blue one for me and a red one about three streets over. A text popped up at the bottom: “The Leader is moving. Keep up.”

5/22/-99999999999… ... A figure stands in a room unlike anything found on Earth. It is carved from ornate quartz and gold, its walls lined with massive pillars that stretch impossibly high, their peaks lost to a distant, hazy ceiling. Light drifts through the space without a clear source, catching along polished surfaces and scattering into a dull, colorless shimmer. The air itself feels heavy, as though it holds the vast weight of the universe.

I'm going to die here, or maybe I can't. The only thing I have here is a pen that never seems to run out, and this book that has infinite pages and funnily enough is waterproof. I originally woke up in a strange room with yellow wallpaper, fluorescent lights that hummed, smelling the mold and mildew infesting the walls.

okay, so.. today I was playing the original 1989 super Mario land on a game-cube I got from a yard sale.. but, I started noticing some strange things like faces in the backgrounds of the levels, like.. weird large JAGGED grins. I tried searching it up on my phone to see if that's a known bug, nothing on reddit nothing on tik-tok OR you-tube.. just nothing, NOTHING. it was like the internet went dark or something aside from occasional emulators popping up here and there as that was the usual…

Growing up, my family was like a bunch of nomads. We never settled in one place for long. Anytime my father’s job called for it, we would uproot our lives and head on to the next big thing. This meant ending friendships and enrolling in school time after time. It was frustrating having to repeatedly sever my ties with the friends I made, and the little nest I crafted for myself. But as a ten-year-old kid, who was I to complain?

Mystery of the Courtyard is a horror and emotional fanfiction by Joseph Arrington (JosephTheSnail), inspired by the Super Mario 64 urban legend “L is Real 2401.” During Bowser’s attack on Peach’s Castle, Luigi is trapped within the courtyard fountain and left behind as Mario continues his journey to save the princess. Presumed missing for decades, Luigi survives in silence until his body finally gives out, binding his spirit to the fountain itself.

9/9/2010 ... [I.You.Me has entered the chat] I.You.Me: hi I.You.Me: hi I.You.Me: who are you I.You.Me: i am you I.You.Me: no i am me who are you I.You.Me: i am you I.You.Me: you are me I.You.Me: yes I.You.Me: then who am i I.You.Me: me I.You.Me: we are me I.You.Me: yes I.You.Me: we are you I.You.Me: yes I.You.Me: we are me are you I.You.Me: yes I.You.Me: we are one I.You.Me: no I.You.Me: we are not one I.You.Me: we are one but also two I.You.Me: how I.You.Me: i dont know

WELL! Turns out he was right, and now “Tilna McGleek” Means “to ever-so-quickly go nuts” – But I’m sure that you’ll find only things that you seek When you stride forth as Grayven McFutz!

I still have the book.  And, reluctant as I am to share it with anybody, I can see no other way. Very well, then. This is how it begins: The Knights are lined up all the way down the hall To be blessed by the Queen and the King, With their shields and their sigils and armor and guns And their magical-gagical rings! - They’ve come from afar and they’ve come from a-near To kneel down and mount up and fight, They’re strong and they’re tall and they’re brave one and all –

I was quietly sleeping reminding myself of the ol boring school stuff. Nobody ever had a chance to get vacation as i did. We went to a nearby forest at alaska. I loved alaska and always wanted to visit it. Huge thanks to my dad who accepted it. My dad was a veteran animal hunter. My mom was a skiled nurse and self defense trainer. Im a loving artist. I love to draw and sing. The night felt big. Long. Shivered. Almost frozen. As my eye saw nothing but darkness. When i woke up. My body was unable…

9/9/2010 ... Syrup1292: I think for our final we should go with just a normal trifold. Dangerturnip: Nah, that’d be so boring. Think about it. We’re competing with the bigwigs here. The straight-As are gonna go big. We need to stand out. Syrup1292: But it’s haarrrd. We need ideas. Dangerturnip: Maybe something performative? Syrup1292: We haven’t even chosen a topic yet. Dangerturnip: Well, do you remember anything we learned this year?