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I work the night shift at a local mom-and-pop convenience store at the front of my neighborhood. We sell snacks, drinks, milk, bread, all the normal stuff that people need but aren’t willing to make a traditional run to the grocery store for. There was talk about adding a gas pump out front, but it hasn’t happened yet.

It had been a relatively calm evening in the station until that moment. The day shift had drawn to a close, and the night shift had not yet begun, so I was alone on duty. If it were not for the portly, old figure of Nick the desk sergeant, I would have been the only soul in the station. Despite his plentiful figure and round, jolly features, he rarely offered good company and I found myself wishing that Scratch or Black Donald were about. Likely, roguish lads though they were, at least I could…

Often when my wife and I go to bed at night our dog ends up sharing the bed with us as well. He is a black dog that weighs about 100 pounds so you can imagine that he takes up a good portion of the bed at night when he decides that he wants to sleep with us. Since we have black sheets he tends to blend in with the bed making it hard to tell if he sneaks up there before us.

I am not feeling like myself anymore. I used to feel great whenever I did things for people. You know? But here lately, something inside just does not feel the same anymore. Even when I help others, it just leaves me empty and dead inside. I can’t explain it. I feel like a walking corpse, just void of happiness and any emotion. It’s like there are two people living inside me, the person that wants to help others, and the other person that just wants to watch the world suffer. Sometimes these…

A twenty something years old man enters a cafeteria. White skin, maybe a bit too skinny, straight unkempt hair, a beard of a few days, and bloodshot brown eyes. He was dressed with a blue shirt, blue jeans, and black shoes. The young man looked around and then walked to the furthest table in the corner and sat down in front of an older man. The older man lowers his cell phone and looks up to the young man. “What do you want, kid?”

As I sat on my couch watching a movie on the television, I found it difficult to concentrate. The noisy neighbors upstairs were at it again. I’m not sure exactly what they were doing, whether they were moving furniture, playing football, or tag. Who knows? All I know is that it was a considerable amount of noise and it needed to stop. My roommate mini came out of her room, frustrated, “Uggh!” she exclaimed, “They’re at it again?”

A few weeks, my wife and I took a vacation to Florida. We decided to drive, due to the price of airplane tickets around holiday season. On our way south, we passed through Tennessee as well as a large portion of Georgia. Unfortunately, there was a large accident that occurred on the turnpike, so we decided to take a short detour and then get back onto the turnpike after we passed all the traffic.

When I read the articles about him. I spent three weeks looking through my window. I was terrified by the thought of him being in the woods. I thought it was hunting me at first, trying to get me into a tragedy; it wanted me to suffer, but I was entirely wrong. I know, what a way to start, but I have been suffering from sudden explosive nosebleeds and migraines.

Not much is known about Dr Michael Kessler's past, other than he was born in Ohio around the 1970s and had graduated with outstanding accolades in all scientific fields, however his distant and cold personality mixed with questionable views and theories led to many scientific groups ridiculing him. He was laughed out of many colleges and other such establishments when he would ever bring up his main interest of study; the "paranormal".

"What does it look like out there, Félix?" "Just like here, everything is covered in snow. Have the others returned yet?" "No, you are the first to arrive. Eduardo came back for a few minutes to change one of his crampons, but he went back out immediately." Félix turned around and looked at the entrance of the mine.

His death was painfully slow. So slow, in fact, that he could see every single speck of his killer's features, as his eyes slowly started to become blurry. His brother's eyes. The colour of dark, dark coal. His friend's hair. The colour of a warm, dark brown layered with what he could have described as light browns here and there. His killer's lips. A pale rose tinted colour. The fact that those lips had folded back into a grin while his killer laughed maniacally had made him cry. Cry for his…

I’ve been thinking of him-er-her (it?) for the past week. I haven’t been able to sleep. I’ve barely eaten anything. I quit my job. Or stopped going to work is more like it. I assume I’m no longer employed there. My eyes are sunken in. I sit at my computer day and night mindlessly trying to keep myself entertained… or awake, more importantly. For if I sleep I’m afraid I may never wake up. I’m afraid he - she - or, it will get me. I don’t know what I mean by “get”. I don’t believe it was out to…

In 1347 the Black Plague had reached it’s peak. Across Europe thousands perished as this vile disease, festered in pestilence, showered the landscape with death. No one rich or poor, nor learned or simple, nor strong or weak were spare from it’s putrid touch. In the inner cities, so many had been wiped out that there wasn’t enough room to bury them all. Mass graves had become common as well as the unfortunate souls who had to collect the corpses. One such a man was Phillipe Deitre and this is…

"'Tis midnight, let us hit this," He said, after procuring the previously mentioned drugs. Wielding the ever-convenient Ziplock bag, he started to make his way into the room, abruptly falling down without the slightest grace as his already-altered motor skills abandoned his legs. He hit the floor rather loudly.

What actually happens when we die? It’s crazy to think that there is something else, and the biggest reason for that is…can you imagine your own mind being a totally different person? Is it scary to think that your mind, or your soul, could end up transplanted in a new body, with a new name, new life, but it’s still you? Even moreso, continuing in a new life like this, and still being you, but losing all of your memories, your experiences? In that way, I guess it may not be a big deal to some,…

As I lie in my bed, I allow my mind to drift into the depths of my personal despair. I bury my face beneath the sheets, stifling my sobs as they shudder through my body. I feel as though my heart has been broken and I can't think of a reason to live. Other than, of course, my own sad fear of death. I pull my knees to my face, willing myself to accept the ultimatum.

Have you ever heard the saying that Pens are sharper than knives? Well, they are... Pens of ink, bring life into a story... Pens of ink, create worlds upon worlds.... Pens of Ink, bring monsters and ghosts of old back to life.... Pens of Ink, create heroes and villains that fight to see which will stay and which will go.... Pens are Sharper the Knives.... Knives made wonderful meals, and end stories before their even finished. Knives are metal and always dull.... Always painful....

It was a cold, rainy day in December. There was less than a week until we got out of school for winter break. Usually my teachers don't give us work before a break, but my bastard of a History teacher decided he'd assign us a 2000-word report due the day before we got out. I knew I wasn't going to be there then; I was going up to the mountains in North Carolina to spend Christmas and New Years' in Lenoir with some old friends I hadn't seen since I moved.

Listen, this isn’t some random, creepy story. This is not a creepy pasta. This is serious. Call me crazy. Or superstitious, or whatever. I know what happened. And I wish I could forget. Okay, let me calm down and start from the beginning. First, my name is Carter. And I’m a pretty serious gamer. But, after a recent event with a certain game, I think I might have to change my habits.

“Whom the Gods would destroy, they first make mad” Prometheus, The Masque of Pandora