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Our lost, loitering kind paced in infinite death spirals within the confines of our grotty, ghetto pens. Enrichment was sorely that, as well as mumbling our mantras of madness to our audience of one. The BMs anchored to our decayed craniums were garbled with feedback and distortion, their tones bland, colorless, no soul backing them up. A blinding ruby radiance flashed from their cores every second on the second. It was the only manner to determine if we had succumbed to the glorious embrace of…

I remember the day because nothing about it felt wrong at first, and that’s what makes it stay with me. The normal days are the ones that rot the deepest when something inside them isn’t right. My name is William Marston, and I teach children how to put their thoughts on paper, how to shape fear into something harmless, something you can hold at arm’s length and say, “this is only a drawing.” I believed that. I needed to believe that. So when I told them that morning to draw a monster—anything…

18th January 2016 You: "Yeah men, I´m sure I´m here, in front of my apartment building." Charles: "But I still can´t see you Ray." You: [You sent a photo] "See Charles? I´m right here." Charles: [Charles sent a photo] "Look Ray, I´m on same spot..." You: "What... the actually... fuck...?" Charles: "Hey bro... I have an idea... Can we go to the Penn station?" You: "Ehmm... Okey, but only if we stay texting." Charles: "Of course. Im little scared too." You: "I did... never mind."

Subject: I think I found my living room on a Deep Web website, but the rug is the wrong color. Entry 1: Posted 3 hours ago. I’m shaking while I type this. I always been a digital explorer... another idiot who browses the Deep Web just to see the weird things people host. Mostly it’s just broken links or forums for people obsessed with 90s stuff. But tonight I found a site called The Staging.

I have worn countless masks, but those most beloved is my mask of words. They refer to me as a play. A lie. A plague lay down in ink and breath. They tell me I am nothing more than a character within those pages of the volume, that yellow book whose words pour through comprehension. They are in error. I was not written. I wrote myself.

There’s no way I could be alone in this. My family wanted to send me to the psych ward when I told them. And I am not delusional enough to believe that if evil existed in this universe or any other, it would only have eyes for me. So I'm throwing this out into the ether of the internet. If you have ever found yourself on the outskirts of the bends of Oklahoma and happened upon a similar place. Please, I’m begging you, share your story as well. I need to know I’m not crazy.

This account was not meant to be kept with the others. It was filed incorrectly at first, tucked between some water damage report and a handwritten inventory of seasonal decorations. No one noticed because no one ever looks too closely at Christmas. We prefer it softened, rounded at the edges, safe to touch.  There are entire kinds of damage that go unrecorded when they happen in December. It is a season built on reassurance, and reassurance has a way of smoothing over things that should have…

“Don’t let her fool you.” I tilted my head as I read my mother’s strange text. There was no context in a previous conversation or build up to warrant the strange cryptic message. I hadn’t texted my mother in a few hours and even then, it was to remind her to pick up dog food on her way home from church that night. “Who are we talking about?” I replied and waited… nothing.

“And of course, my wonderful and wunderbar blast furnaces are the heart of my Foundry’s operations,” Raubritter boasted proudly as he led the young and aloof Petra down across the factory floor towards the upstairs offices.

Everyone always says there not real there just a figure of your imaginations fairytales they say, but I know they exist I've never seen them, but I've felt their presence, eyes looking through the window staring, observing almost as if taking notes of humanity itself. The feeling was unreal almost as if it made me at ease. I was once one of them the non-believers I had thought it was dumb to believe in something you couldn't see it was like believing in unicorns or the end of the rainbows.

Hi my name is Anna Johnson I live in Brazil and go to Westville High not many people know me, I don't interact much but, because of that I met my best friend Catherine she was the complete opposite of me she would invite me to parties and I would usually say no cause I was scared but my life isn't boring especially since I have my high school crush with me Logan Walker.

Editor's note: The following pages were found on the laptop of Elena K., a doctoral student at the Art History Institute in Zurich, who has been missing since March 14th. Her advisor passed the file on to us with the request to publish it — maybe someone recognizes something, maybe someone comes forward. We have changed nothing in the text. The image related to her notes is shown above. Please look at it while you read, for better understanding. Aside from this file, only one other thing was…

I’m pretty sure most people have heard of the Appalachian Mountains. That place is a hotspot for unsettling encounters, yes, I know, how cliché, but yes, I found this location there while visiting the place for some sightings I wanted to capture and upload to YouTube.

> “There’s comfort in routine.” — Productivity Coach — I woke up with a crick in my neck and the taste of stale beer in my mouth. The room was dim. The light outside, dusky and gray spilled through the slats in the blinds like diluted blood. Not morning. Not night. That same, goddamn almost-evening glow. I blinked a few times, disoriented. My mouth was dry. The clock on the wall read 6:49 PM. “Wait… what the…?” I mumbled, but my voice cracked like I hadn’t used it in days.

I went to see the Five Nights at Freddy’s 2 movie as soon as it came out. I am not going to give any spoilers in case you haven’t seen it, and that’s not what this post is about. All I will say is it was a great movie, amazing for fans of the games, and it’s cool to see how far the series has come.

Both the best and worst kept secret of the generation is that the technology of the United States military is much more advanced than what is available to the public. It’s the worst-kept secret because everyone knows it. No one is walking around thinking they can buy all the parts of a B-2 and have it run with the efficiency and accuracy of the U. S. Air Force. However, it’s the best-kept secret because people don’t understand just how advanced their technology really is. Hell, even I don’t…

the first time you crossed paths, they were sitting alone at a bus stop, chewing the inside of their cheek as if trying to swallow themself from the inside out. shoelaces untied, coat a size too big, and had a look of something unfinished. you saw it in the way they held their shoulders; rounded, caving in, and in the way they stared past things instead of directly at them. the thought occurred to you that some people live like they’re already ghosts. you watched as they fumbled with a bag of…

I actually liked Albany. Sure, the town was far from Georgia’s finest. Far from having any recognizable achievements other than rampant poverty and an exaggerated crime rate. But hey, it beat Bainbridge. At least, there was shit to do here, you know. And Alicia and I were never bored.

The morning came gently, the way it often did in late spring - without urgency, without noise, as if the world itself had decided to stretch before speaking. Sunlight spilled across the small street in soft, slanted lines. It touched the rooftops first, then the windows, then slowly made its way down to the pavement where it shimmered faintly like water. Somewhere in the distance, a bicycle passed, its wheels clicking in a steady rhythm that faded as quickly as it arrived.

“Dude, SHUT UP!” “What?” “Yeah, he’s right so please shut up. You’ve been telling the same exact setup, it is always something like someone just hunting a guy down and then everybody dying. Be original for once.” My friend, let’s call her Lucy, said to Jake. I threw my head back and laughed as I put the melted marshmallow inside the s'mores, broke chocolate bars, and slid them inside of the graham crackers.