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They used to tell stories about a man named Eddie Garnet. They say he was the only one to every rise from the dead since Jesus Christ himself. They never said anything about him being a savior or a messiah. In fact it was just the opposite. Eddie grew up with our parents. At first he was no different from anyone else. Like Daddy would say, “He put his pants on one leg at a time.” I never understand that saying because in my mind why would anyone do it differently.

I jumped and dropped my paint brush when I heard the front door slam shut. My nerves were immediately settled when I heard the familiar voice of my husband. “I’m home!” My painting could wait. I smiled and made a beeline to the front door. He wasn’t supposed to be back from his work trip till tomorrow. “You usually text me when you’re getting home early,” I commented as I went in for a hug. “I lost my phone. I’ll have to go get a new one tomorrow,” he replied.

You may laugh when you see a title like Night-Time-Vamps, you may just pass it over entirely, but that would be a tragedy, because you'd miss the warning about the Night-Time-Vamps. It was in Early summer me and my friends; Abby Carter, P. Skillet, and Tawanda Jones all went out to a camp site in a nearby national forest, to drink hooch and smoke pseudo legal recreational Marihuana.

I hate my life. I just made some new friends at this stupid school, and now I have to move again because of my father’s stupid new job. We're moving to the other side of the country. I just wish we could stay in a town for more than a few months, but no. Every job just gets better and better, so we have to move. I’d been doing some research on the new town we were moving into. I’ll just say that there are some pretty messed up headlines for this place. Most of them about kids going insane, some…

Coffee is a damned thing. I hate the wretched bitter stuff, it was never compatible with my mild palate - and yet as of late I've been up to almost four cups a day. Might as well stick a caffeine IV in my arm. In fact, I'd greatly prefer that. But right now my fondness of coffee is really the least of my worries. I have to stay awake.

It matters not which religion you claim to be, “God” has abandoned us. Without the threat of being sent to Hell, or being judged by the almighty creator, humanity has become chaos at its worst. No rules guide us through life. Nothing can stop the rampages and murders, the robberies and crimes of all natures. The only thing that can stop it now is the return of the “One true God”. Without “Him”, humanity will cease to exist.

That damn rain again.

Once upon a time. long ago. A kingdom of beauty and sirens were told. The royals were all fair, but a plague drew near. The people begged and screamed for the royals did not make a beep. Unknown to the people. The fairest daughter fell ill. The King journeyed far and away. A little doll was gifted to the fair daughter. She loved it so, the doll was odd to others, for it did not match the princess. The princess had hair of ocean blue. She wore dresses of vibrant hues. The doll, however; was…

There had been many rumors of a shooting that was supposed to take place today. All these rumors had me on edge all day and I was still fidgeting in my seat even though I knew it would be fine and nothing would happen. It was lunch time when the school shooting was supposed to happen and that’s where I find myself right now. All I can think is that a school shooting would be such a terrible thing...

"The best memories are made with friends." — Field journal, undated. 1985. — That morning began with brushing. I stepped into the hall and found Sam frozen mid-step, toothbrush in hand, eyes fixed on the bathroom. I followed his gaze. Ray stood at the sink, back to us, scrubbing his teeth in slow, mechanical strokes...up, down, up, down, as if he'd been at it for hours. Sam turned to me, brow knotted. "I just saw him outside," Sam whispered. "What?"

I remember I would wake up screaming and nearly drown myself in cold sweat. I'd try to turn on a light or get a drink of water, but I couldn't even move. It was only a matter of seconds until my eyes would turn into old sepia camera filters, and "they" would appear. You probably wonder what I mean when I say that. I mean, the figures that defined my childhood, and have stood the test of time. They appeared by my door like always, leaning slowly, stabbing me with those blank, obscured eyes. My…

Its been eight minutes since I sent my message. Seen, but no reply. Something must have happened. Maybe he's hurt? It's not unlikely that he tripped and hit his head. His apartment is a mess after all. Maybe he's simply ignoring me? No, of course not. He's not like that.

I am not going to talk about myself much and will just go straight into my story. I will keep my name brief; my name is Dennis, and I am nothing special. Now, with that out of the way, I will get to my story.

Hi, my name is Paul Lipson. People used to call me Henry. As a child, I was born with a Siamese twin. My twin could not see me, but sometimes… sometimes he controlled my body or whispered thoughts into my mind. At first, it was subtle—a hand I didn’t want to move, a voice I didn’t speak—but as I grew older, the whispers became screams.

Chad’s stomach growled. He knew the only way he could satisfy this new hunger was with nachos, as he had done so many times in the past. Each nacho was a piece of the hunger puzzle in his stomach, and the pieces always lined up perfectly.

There are times when you feel as if you’re being watched. Usually you are not, at least that’s what you think. Sometimes it is a pressure on your neck or an itch you can’t scratch away. “What could it be?” you ask yourself. “Nothing, I hope.” Is it the Boogeyman? Your childhood closet monster? A ghost? ...maybe. You tell yourself that none of those things are real, only mere figments of your imagination. You will continue to think so. That is, of course, until it’s too late.

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.

There is a village somewhere in England that has not been inhabited for over twenty years. It has long since been forgotten off of most maps, and only has one road in and out of it. If you manage to find it, it will seem a peaceful enough place, the derelict buildings being overgrown and nature taking back the land for herself.

I don't recall ever seeing an actual music box. I mean sure I'd seen them on television but have never actually held one. Why is this relevant you may ask? Well, what I have to say about some things I've experienced recently involve sounds that can only come from a music box.

3:20 in the morning. The cold pasty light of the computer monitor was splashed against the cheaply wallpapered walls of my dorm room, casting thick shadows that clawed at the corners of my eyes. My fingers gently ran across the keyboard in front of me. The biology paper was due for tomorrow, and I had foolishly decided to leave it until now. Desperate to finish, but equally desperate not to wake up my room mate, who was annoyed at me enough already.