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“I was fourteen at the time. I and my friend Leo Carper went to the Grizzly Rocks,” the storyteller hesitated as he stumbled on a thought, then continued: “I should have put it a different way, so I correct the error. Leo should have come first: of the two of us, he was the major figure, as it were. Daredevil is about him. Ringleader and photographer par excellence,” the storyteller paused and could not go on for a few minutes as he rode out his overwhelming feelings. “I thought back to his…

This Is How You Teach a Child to Die Slowly. "I exist in two places: here, and where you left me." — Margaret At wood. • There it goes again. It starts with a frightening silence. Then… slam! "Jesus!" my mother screams, like she's just realized how close she is to actually meeting Him. We run again. My brothers dive under the bed. My sister clings to my mom, as though she's thinking "maybe this time, she'd actually go, and I can go with her."

Last Tuesday, I noticed a new app on my phone called "Follow the Leader." No icon, just a white circle on a black background. Being bored and fourteen, I opened it. It was just a GPS map of my neighborhood with two dots: a blue one for me and a red one about three streets over. A text popped up at the bottom: “The Leader is moving. Keep up.”

5/22/-99999999999… ... A figure stands in a room unlike anything found on Earth. It is carved from ornate quartz and gold, its walls lined with massive pillars that stretch impossibly high, their peaks lost to a distant, hazy ceiling. Light drifts through the space without a clear source, catching along polished surfaces and scattering into a dull, colorless shimmer. The air itself feels heavy, as though it holds the vast weight of the universe.

I always found Baba Yaga as a concept, a rather disturbing idea. That witch from Russian folklore that would snatch bad kids away, never to be seen again, or a figure that would punish those that had wronged it. I always found those stories stupid. Not because I don’t believe, but because I know the truth: there IS something in the Russian forests, a cruel, inhuman being that is nothing like the way people paint it in the stories. I have seen Baba Yaga, and I know what it really is.

By WedgeOverPotato "What do you seek? What do you hear? What do you fear? For fate is, my Witherin, inevitable to your undying likeness. That man's biggest creation is more of a brute than man itself. That we all clasp our hands together and prance around for mercy till the undying showers us with the pleasure of death, for it is we, whom shall not die." Witherin. For it is we, whom shall not die.

One night, there was pure white snow, five feet deep, below my window panel as I looked outside at the winter wonderland in awe and fear, a pair of eyes watching me from across the street. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start with the bringing of this day, before creatures of snow and ice came to my doorstep. My name is Rose Winters, I'm 31 and I have dark red hair with pale blue eyes. I dress very girly and I never stop talking about something.... dear to me.... Let's start...

To sell your dream. Dreamselling Sold dreams Someone decides their dreams impossible and sells them to someone without dreams "I've had it!" I yell: "Mine is just simply unachievable!" My colleague laughs: "Some dreams just are that way, many people here sell them, here there's no need for them anyway. Dreams just get in the way of getting finished." We're sitting inside the grey lunch room of our workplace. I turn to him and lean back: "Did you sell yours?"

I thought it strange when I suddenly got an invitation from a friend of mine whom I had long lost contact with. We hadn't seen or been in contact with each other since our academy days. Apparently he had gotten married and had a young son. The reason why he contacted me was because he knew I had studied medicine and wondered if I could possibly help him with his sickly child. The same day as his letter arrived I wrote a response and sent it his way.

I woke up under the shade of a tree. I was tired and had a headache, and I didn't understand what was happening. There were police cars in front of me, and a large crowd of people were gathered around, but I still couldn't grasp what was going on. I walked a little way and saw my friend's car. I tried to grab the door handle, but I couldn't. I tried several times, and at first, I thought the car was locked, but then suddenly, I reached through the door.

Ghosting Hour - The Last Days of Raoul Makumbe Remake 2026 Copyright: Andre Michael Pietroschek Disclaimer: No warranties! I use Grammarly Proofreading, which includes AI that I cannot turn off, and a wonderful rephrase tool that explains to me, WHY Native speakers would never speak like us Non-Native speakers consider it to be!

Jacky's Prince Of Dreams 1.5+ Psychic Crime Fiction by Andre Michael Pietroschek Disclaimer: No warranties!

I've been such a coward. Never before have I stooped this low. Never before have I done something like this out of fear. Yes, it's all because of a fear that can thoroughly be explained and the reason is an understandable one. But somehow the feeling I got from doing it hasn't left me. It's like it's slowly rubbing my back, poisoning my skin. It has burned itself deep into my soul and the chills I got from that day still haven't disappeared in the slightest. I dislike this feeling.

I don’t remember falling asleep, and that’s the part that keeps scratching at me the most. There was no slow drift, no soft surrender into dreams, no moment where the world dimmed and gave me permission to leave it. One second I existed somewhere real—my room, I think, something familiar, something that should have grounded me—and the next I was standing on a sidewalk that stretched too far in both directions, like it had forgotten how to end. The sky above me was a pale, exhausted gray, not…

My name is Michael, I'm 30 years old. I live alone in a rented apartment. The silence is maddening. The rare hammering of new neighbors is almost pleasing — you know that feeling. I turn on the TV just so I'm not bored and at least I can hear someone's voice. One day I decided to visit my aunt. The road was long, but what can you do? Anything to not be lonely. I packed a small bag — just some clothes and a phone charger. I didn't even check if she was home. I just needed to drive.

I work as a night-shift moderator for a major social media platform. My job is simple: I watch the videos that the AI flags as "disturbing" before they go live, and I hit Delete or Approve. You see things that change you—car crashes, animal cruelty, the worst of humanity. But after six months, you go numb. Until last Tuesday. The AI flagged a video titled IMG_00042.mp4. It was only twelve seconds long. The thumbnail was just a dark room. I clicked play.

My name is Victor. I am a resident of a quiet village near which there was a forest, there were many stories and myths about it.

Once, very, very long ago there was a traveller. His travels reached so far and wide, he had touched each edge of the world. His eyes had witnessed the beauty of nature. He had felt the warmth of the friendliest and kindest people. And yet, it all appeared not enough, for he would never stay anywhere for long. Village after village. Forest after forest. From one strange unknown to the other. It was as if he was searching for something, restlessly pursuing.

Are you unsatisfied with your life? Are you unhappy with all the little things you own? Then come visit the underground store once. Here you can find a solution to every problem. We are eagerly awaiting your visit. A new store has opened in the shopping center near my house and I, having nothing better to do, decide to go check it out. In all honesty the recent ads have been freaking me out a bit, the shop's mascot just looks wrong.

Disclaimer: This is a retake of a pretty obscure classic creepypasta called America’s Funniest Videos Banned Episode by Owlbeseeingyou. If you’ve been watching TV on a Christmas night in 1992, you may have captured something weird; I know I did.