Atlas

While it is known by some that I have a keen interest in the uncanny - seeking it out on occasion - nevertheless it proved a decidedly unsettling experience to find such a strange event taking place just a few feet from my front door.

My fingers shake involuntarily as I slouch like a giant insect and type this on the computer. I don't want to write it, but I have no choice but to document what happened here. I could write it slowly, thoughtfully, and clearly, but I can't—I've never been a writer, and I'm in no position to turn this into a professional essay. After all, I have to hurry, we all have to hurry. The pieces of plaster that have fallen from the walls are starting to move like little cockroaches, which means I don't…

Eric, my precious little boy. Just look at those precious eyes! They're big and bulging out of their sockets, staring in opposite directions. He has such a nice face—sure, he's missing a nose, but there's nothing wrong with that. Now, look at that wide smile and those white, clean teeth. I helped brush them yesterday; don’t they look nice? They look nice to me!

I remember when the nightmares first started. I think it was ten, maybe twelve years ago. We had just gotten a new house, one of those old buildings that cracked and groaned when anything moved inside it, the ones they sell real cheap to poor families like mine instead of demolishing. I was only 16 at the time, and my dad thought that he, my brother, and I could use a rest start away from the city. Sometimes I wish we never started, I wish we never moved out of our old apartment, but sometimes,…

I had just graduated high school and was planning to head off to college that fall. I had done well enough in high school that I had a couple of different college scholarships at my disposal. However, not every school that I looked at was willing to give me a full ride. After much thought and delegation I decided to attend the University of Wyoming. Why would I apply to such a college you may ask? Well for one thing, the college is in the middle of nowhere! Literally, when you drive there, all…

I’d lived my whole life in the small, idyllic farming town of Harvest Hill, where the annual pumpkin festival is more than just an event; it’s a cherished tradition that brings the entire community together. Every fall, the townsfolk gather in the town square, surrounded by the glowing red and yellow of autumn leaves, to celebrate the season’s bounty and compete for the coveted title of the largest pumpkin. For years, I had dreamed of winning that prize, but this year my hopes were higher than…

When most people think about their childhood, they have happy memories of their pets, or the trips they went on, or the books, films, shows or games they grew up with. They always think that their current life is dull or bland in comparison. We have a tendency to forget that our childhood was always riddled with negativity. No one seems to recall that pets die, trips weren’t worth the grueling hours in the car and those media forms of entertainment weren’t as spectacular as you remembered. If…

It was a chilly October night, the kind where the wind howled through the trees and the moon cast an eerie glow on everything it touched. I had just moved to Willow Creek, a small town known for its quaint charm and haunted history. Halloween was approaching, and with it came stories of the old Wright house, an abandoned mansion on the outskirts that everyone whispered about.

Through these old records, I will inform you of the incident that occurred years ago in a small village named Crete. I am a scholar and investigator who will notify you of the research I have gathered about the local college in Crete. I will give the reader a brief overview of the school's origins. Built in the 1760s, the University of Crete became the village's first to offer academic programs. In 1765, it was built as a fully functional institution that the Board of Education authorized. The…

When people who died and come back to life say they saw a bright light, they are full of shit. It’s not necessarily their fault though. The mind has a difficult time figuring out things it has never experienced, therefore the mind cannot understand. I’m one of the special, select few who have experienced death and rebirth…often.

I’m sure that all of you on /r/nosleep are used to the cry for help type stories by now. Help me, help me, blah-blah-blah. I won’t bore you with another. Even if I wanted your help, you couldn’t give it to me, because your help is useless. Why? Because you’re not a member. I just wish that I wasn’t either. It all started innocently enough. With a phone call. I’d been up for a few hours, unpacking and cleaning, waiting for the plumber to call. I just moved into a cabin and the contractors fucked…

The village of Driftwood Cove sat at the edge of the world—or so it felt. Waves crashed endlessly against jagged cliffs, their spray licking the stones like hungry tongues. The cries of gulls mingled with the low whispers of old sailors' tales, carried on the wind like secrets best left unspoken. Here, the sea ruled everything, its storms a reminder of its unrelenting power, its rare moments of calm a fleeting grace.

We had been sailing for months after departing from the port of Whitehill, and had left even the most remote hunting grounds of the whalers behind weeks ago. The charts put us northeast of the Forsaken Islands, but their bleak shores were not our destination. Our route led us farther north than most men had ever sailed, across the desolate black waters of the Northern Sea.

“Can I tell you a story Boss?”

Pardon the sloppy handwriting, but I'm doing this on the move. We didn't mean for it to happen this way. Bottom line is, we made a mistake, but there's no going back now. The days, if you can call them that, have melted away into meaningless expressions of a life beyond our reach. Well, my reach. The others are gone now, leaving just me in this hell. It didn't seem like the best of ideas, sure, but in the moment it was pure curiosity that drove us to investigate the light coming from the…

For me, life was a whirlwind of lights and smoke, music and men. I lived in a beaten up shanty close to North Edsa, crammed in a closet-like room with a bunch of other woman. We slept on mats on the dirt floor and shared the space with mange-infested dogs, flea-bitten cats and cockroaches. My wardrobe consisted mostly of skimpy skirts, tank tops and the cheapest high heels you can buy in Quiapo.

I live in the middle of nowhere, far away from the rest of my friends. I have to wake up very early in the morning to catch my bus and I usually eat my breakfast as it’s bringing me to school. I don’t have any brothers or sisters; There’s just me, the Ziggy the cat, and my Dad. And then there’s Martha, the chronically pissed-off woman who insists that I call her my Mother. But lately I don’t feel so inclined to do so. She’s hardly ever around because it seems like she works every day of the…

I looked in the empty room for a sign that I wasn't alone. I didn't want to feel alone. Companionship has been lacking in my life for so long and I don't even know what it means to love someone anymore. I am a metal barred door trying to close but inevitably there is the door-stopper, never allowing me to get past.

You awaken from a hazy dreamless sleep. You hear laughter, deep and booming, as if the source of it is amused. You look to your left at your alarm clock on your nightstand. 6:04 In red digitized numbers.

“I never was a huge fan of myths, legends or any folksy wisdom for that matter. Spooky stories to tell around a campfire had no value to me, except good entertainment of course. You know, a man can spend his whole life living in ignorance, maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be … but sometimes, one is yanked into the unknown without a reason, facing consequences larger than life! Would you call that fate doctor?”

Long black hair draped down in twisted, wet tendrils, her head cocked to one side as the TV blared in front of her. "HEY!" I shouted again, trying to project my voice over the noise, "HELLO?!" Her head didn't move, not so much as an inch, just stayed utterly stagnant, facing away from me, her body sitting upright on my couch. "HELLO!?" I again cried, slowly setting down my keys in the entryway, yet keeping my shoes on as I began creeping forwards hesitantly. "WHO ARE YOU?!"

For the tenth time that day, Lucy's phone rang. She knew that, because she had been counting. And for the tenth time that day, Lucy ignored the shrill sounds of the phone. She didn't much care for it, it was if anything annoying and too persistent for her taste. What she had learned, was that persistence got you killed. Much like curiosity. And she would be giving into both those things if she were foolish enough to answer the phone.

I live in South London in a third floor flat in a five story building, two floors above, two floors below. Being that I live in London I’m used to seeing people act drunk, crazy or violent; Especially at night when the nutters come out. But what I experienced two nights ago shook me to this very moment, so I feel I have to write it down in case my situation becomes more weird than it already is. Why did he choose my door!?

My name is Carl Whitlock, 37, white male. Convict. It’s been my third month here. All in all, things could be worse. If anything, the guilt I feel is worse than these concrete walls, but what can I do about it now, eh? It’s all done, and I can’t take it back.

So, three friends and I decided we were going to camp out in this 30 acre sanctuary down the street from my neighborhood. It’s paralleled by railroad tracks and a road on one side, and then a small road on the other said. There’s a lot of forest and trails, but also these big sand dunes and a huge lake that is pretty deep. So deep we can’t see the bottom. And in Florida there’s always shit to worry about like mosquitoes at night and spider webs along the wooded paths. Snakes thankfully left us…