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From: —— @ —— .com Re: entries/information requested re: compiling psychological profile Written below are the journal entries of Christopher Young, brother of Daryl Young, found saved as individual files on his personal computer, with file names Prologue.doc, Ch1.doc, Ch2.doc, etc. Apart from being compiled into one document, they have not been altered in any way. — Prologue

Good day. My name is not important. What matters is what I found… and what I was never supposed to find. This document comes from archived police records dated back to the late 1980s. I discovered it by accident while going through old, partially damaged files. At first, I thought it was just another closed case, something routine, something forgotten for a reason.

I wasn't sure how long I'd been suspended in the room. I couldn't remember the last time light had elucidated these claustrophobic confines, nor exactly when I realized I was trapped within them. Vague outlines surrounded the silhouettes of objects filling the room, slightly blurred and perfectly still. These things themselves were not strange, but when I saw them, my mind whispered dissimulation: "This is a dream." And as I listened to it, figures of shadow formed within the depths light…

The sound of the gentle tapping of the rain on my window awakens me. Just by glancing over at the window I can see the dark autumn sky even though it must still be around noon. Slowly I get up from the couch, I must have dozed off for a minute or so. I walk over to my kitchen to see if there is anything to eat. Opening all the cabinets and finally the freezer, I discover that I'm all out of food. Damn, I forgot, it's grocery day today... and I still have to go out with this shitty weather.

Important Reminder: This Post Has Been Deleted The following content consists of Facebook posts made by the deceased Zhang Yaxin in the past few days. To prevent causing panic, these posts have been deleted. The copies you see now have been processed. Image: A fortune teller's face with one gold and one blue eye, wearing vintage glasses, a prominent nose, slightly curly hair at the ends, looking about 24 years old.

Thursday morning. I awoke to the sounds of a siren blaring down the road. Great, another accident. The traffic was the last thing I wanted in the morning while going to work. Still, I had another hour before heading off, so I started my morning routine of taking a shower and brushing my teeth before heading downstairs for breakfast where I saw my son, Michael, eating cereal before breakfast. I grabbed a bagel and sat down on the couch, grabbing my iPad to read the news.

The old storage sheds along the tracks were abandoned shortly after the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad was built, and it wasn't long before the poor folk of the area moved in. The sheds provided shelter - of a sort - although the winter wind still pierced through every crevice, and the small fireplaces that the poor constructed did little to keep the cold at bay.

I'm sure we've all heard of Disney, right? That adorable Mouse and all the other lovable characters. Well, when I was a child my favorite was Pinocchio. He had always appealed to me. The simple fact of him wanting to be a boy was charming and yet strangely unsettling. I mean, what would he do to become a boy? I also found his growing nose amusing. Apologies, my name is Brian, and I used to live in a little town in Oklahoma that was know as, Vieille Ville, which is French for 'Old Town'.

Okay, let me make this easy by explaining how I did what I did. In Layman’s terms, of course. I like to experiment. Metals, wires, chemicals, those kind of things. I’m not super, super serious about it. I go to college for linguistics, I’m pretty normal. My favorite things to work with are things that the public aren’t really supposed to get ahold of. I did a comparison via microscope of a Cuban cigar to one from Nicaragua, and was actually able to spot some key differences.

A few weeks ago, my parents were driving up to see my cousins. We always visit them during the summer. On the way there, we drove through a little village. Some church by the road was having a car boot sale. A massive banner told us it was in aid of charity.

For the longest time I’ve turned to ASMR to help relax me. ASMR stands for Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response. It’s basically a brain orgasm that is triggered by personal attention, tapping sounds, deliberate tasks, ear or microphone covering— well there’s a multitude of things that can trigger that sort of response. It’s been my go to for anxiety for the last couple of months. You can find these videos easy enough on youtube. I usually listen to MassageASMR before bed.

If you have ever been in a near-death experience, you may have seen your life "flash" before your eyes. I've asked several people about this. They said that it was like they went through their whole life in a second. That's not too far fetched. Your brain likes to avoid stress, so that it does not have to deal with facing death. So if your brain was to think you were going to die, it would go to the easiest way to escape: memory. So when it comes close to the end, your brain turns on every…

Here’s your story with proper paragraphing and a few minor grammar fixes: Together, as of today, we would never be apart again. We will always be together…

My cousin told me it happened in a very small village in Mexico, the one our grandfather grew up in. Late one night, a young man was leaving a friend's home. Despite the late hour, he insisted that he could walk home. After all, his own abode was only a mile away. Stepping out into the quiet streets, he started his journey. Breathing in the humid summer air, listening to the buzz of the street lamps mixed with the crickets and his own footsteps on the gravel ground.

Hi, my name is Mandy, and ever since I was little, I’ve loved Barbie dolls. Honestly… I still do to this day. One time, when my parents went on vacation and I had to stay home alone, I got really bored. At first it felt nice, but after a while there was nothing to do. So I started browsing the internet, searching for random things, just trying to pass the time.

“As Mark Twain famously never said; buy moons – they’re not making more of them,” the spryly old man said as he fanned out brochures advertising Lunar Real Estate in front of me. Orville’s Old-Fashioned Oddity Outlet was one of Sombermorey’s more infamous tourist traps, shelling out all manner of alleged paranormal paraphernalia. Whether it was clairvoyant goggles, haunted paintings, or possessed Halloween masks, you were guaranteed to find something out of the ordinary whenever you stopped in.

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....

I do not know this man. I do not know this man in the mirror. The one staring right back at me, moving his eyes to reflect wherever I look. He does every single thing I do. Makes every single face, pokes back at fingers aimed against the glass, and turns his back when I turn mine. To the untrained eye, it looks as any normal reflection does; behaves as any mirror is designed to do. There is nothing obviously out of the ordinary that would arouse suspicions otherwise.

In 1988 an unknown broadcast overtook several UHF stations in the Midwestern United States for six consecutive nights. The broadcast would last for only a few minutes and consisted of white static with a gray silhouette of a person in the center of the screen. The shadowed figure spoke with a an androgynous but deep voice and always spoke in whispers.

The noises had started around two in the morning, and while the house tended to make noises during such frightful snowstorms as this current one, these noises didn't sound normal for a shifting house. I lay awake in bed, not daring to move. The sounds were not scaring me, let me get that straight. I am not scared by much. No, the sounds were confusing me, that was all. I wasn't sure what to make of them. They seemed to be getting closer, so I silently got out of bed and picked up a knife I keep…