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One day you will wake up and find yourself walking on a dirt road at what appears to be midnight. The road is extremely long, and will look like it could take hours of travel to get to civilization. The road consists of only dirt, dust and pebbles. At first, you will wonder how you ventured to such a place. You will also wonder how and why it is so dark, yet somehow illuminated with light at the same time. You will quickly come to the conclusion that you're dreaming.

In the summer of 1996, the town of Newport Bay was struck by an odd and gristly phenomenon. Earlier that year, the employees of a small animal shelter had been found mauled and eaten, by what appeared to be a rather large animal. The location and severity of the wounds added to the already powerful feelings of dread, fear and paranoia the residents were experiencing. Being eaten alive is often thought to be one of the worst ways to go, and while everyone has their own opinions on the worst ways…

By now you may have heard about Blank Paige, maybe even from my posts about her on r/creepypasta, if you have you're probably wondering about how I met her, well I'll tell you, It was a few years ago, but don't let that give you the wrong idea about your odds if you meet her.

On every college campus there is a hallway. Nondescript, tucked away, often on the top floor of a building or off of another hall where only a few classrooms have been placed. It melts into the background of every student’s life; drowned out by the music department or wedged between two lecture halls. Occasionally, a lost freshman will wander down it, running late for their first class. Should such a lost soul wander through that hall, all they will find is a single, empty classroom. This room…

This happened to me many years ago, but I just can't get it out of my head. Maybe writing it down will help, so here it goes.

Why Does My New Born Baby Have Memories Of My Dead Brother? Our baby, Lily, is barely two weeks old, but she's taken to crying at exactly 3:14 AM. It started on the third night in the hospital, a high-pitched keening that rattled the monitors and made me bolt upright. My husband, Jacob, sleep-shy but determined to comfort her, reached into the bassinet. When he came back, his face was pale. "She did it again," he whispered. "She sounded like…like Matt."

Of course everyone claiming residence in Arthur’s Wake knows tales associated with the Wicker House. It seems that every small province plays host to some structure of ill repute which, as if by supernatural magnetism, draws rumor of ghosts and bogies, wrapping the timber and stone of its foundation in a shroud of darkness and horror. In Arthur’s Wake, the Wicker House fills this odious task.

> “Smile for the camera.” — Unknown — - That night, I crashed on the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Across from me, Sam lay stretched out, one arm slung over his face. We’d been there for hours, maybe more. No words. Just silence thick enough to suffocate. “You feel it too, don’t you?” he said finally, voice barely audible. He didn’t move, just spoke into the dark.

“Time is a flat circle.” — Friedrich Nietzsche — - I hadn’t laughed like that in a long time. The van rattled as we bounced down the narrow gravel road, overgrown branches tapping the sides. Lexi was already filming everything with her phone, narrating in a mock-documentary voice: “Five survivors return to the place where all went wrong.” Jared howled in response, always being the loud one, and Elise shook her head, grinning, the wind tangling her curls.

Before my best friend's wedding, we rented a cabin in South Carolina from a company called Moose Estates. We stayed there a full week with four of our closest buddies who were the rest of the groomsmen. The cabin was situated near Redwood Lake, and a river named Cripple Creek fed into the lake about a half mile from the property. It really was a peaceful place. I remember lying in bed and being able to hear the river babbling along if I listened close enough. There was an eerie calmness that…

“Don’t worry! It’s just a scary story!”, “Yeah! What are you a pussy?” the two 13 year old boys said taunting Charlie, the latest transplant from San Antonio. Charlie was scared but didn’t want to look like a “Pussy” in front of the neighborhood kids. These were the kids who would decide if he was ok or not… they would tell other kids if he was cool…. or a big pussy. He just wanted to make new friends in this new place. He knew well enough that if he didn’t go in, and shout “Ole' Broken bones…

Lytle, Texas - August

My eyes shoot open as the tapping echoes throughout the room, scanning every inch of my dark bedroom for something that should not be there. Shit. No. No, no. Not now. Every shadow, every dark corner stands out in my mind as my imagination screams horrifying possibilities what could be lurking in the blackness. My entire body tenses. Closing my eyes, I try to force myself to calm down. Just ignore it, I internally whisper to myself. Just ignore it and it will go away.

I’m only a few years old, but I already know your name, date of birth, address, and the number on your government issued ID. I even know, to within the minute, the last time you used the bathroom. This isn’t difficult, and if you’ll give me a few minutes, I’ll explain how I know this.

No one knows that my affluent aunt bequeathed me her favorite thing in the world, the beach house she bought many years ago on the Florida Panhandle. I’ve been renting it out for years actually, though I haven’t visited it since I was a kid. She knew how much I loved her beach house and how overly giddy and thankful I was every time she took me on one of her vacations. My guess is that’s why she gave it to me; I may have been the only one in the family to love it as much as she did. I think she…

The parking garage was the epitome of lifeless urbanization—cold, sterile and emotionless. The cement walls were painted a drab grey with yellow horizontal lines along the walls. Fluorescent lights filled the four-story garage with a dull, pale light. The garage shook each time a car drove from floor to floor and the shaking became increasingly more apparent as it neared the ticket booth on the bottom floor. Inside the ticket booth, Trevor waited with a disinterested look on his face. He had…

Growing up, no one had ever believe me. I knew it was out there; watching. Lurking. I could feel its eyes rest upon me like weights as I took to my daily on-foot adventures to and from various stores and school. But no one ever believed me. They thought since I was a kid, that I was just being irrational. They thought I was hysterical to believe in such a far-fetched, outlandish being. Hell, for a good portion of my life, I thought I was crazy. That was, until I had my first encounter with it.

Hope. It really is the most powerful yet dangerous and cruel of human traits. It forces us to defy logic, sometimes at great cost. Other times it guides us through treacherous waters and back into the arms of our loved ones. We cannot live without being in its presence yet we can die tragically while being draped in it. It is truly a paradox.

The slight dripping sounds from the kitchen abruptly ended my post vacation buzz as soon as I opened the front door. Knots that I had hoped were lost somewhere on a Hawaiian beach returned to their home in the small of my back as I began the process of doing mental math. The last plumbing mishap relieved me of a month's pay and half of my comic collection. Judging by the competing tones of multiple drips, I told myself this was going to be an expensive plumbing emergency.

The Nazi Fungal Infestation Testing, started before the war started. It was unique compared to other Nazi experiments. This could probably be one of their most sick and twisted experiments. The story you are about to read is 100% real. Experimentation