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The babysitter kept checking the baby monitor. It was an old house, the kind where every step made the floor groan like it didn’t want you there. The parents had just left, smiling, saying their baby never cried at night. That should’ve been comforting. It wasn’t. At first, everything was normal. The baby slept peacefully on the monitor, curled under a soft blanket. The sitter sat on the couch, scrolling her phone. Then the screen flickered. Just once. She frowned and looked up.

I feel the cold object in the palm of my hand as it's being handed to me. A key. I've saved up enough for my own place and feel a sense of joy as the small object almost freezes my hand. However the temperature of it changes quickly as the warmth in my hand turns the object lukewarm. The old man before me, still seems a little on edge. "You remember what I've told you before right? You can still give back the key if you don't want this place."

I've always wanted to be a writer. I've always so desperately tried, to then always fail. I've written stories about dragons, stories about strange civilizations, and yet it seems to be that all my hard work has been for naught. I grasp to every chance to write something, be it a competition or just for others. And I always end up getting hurt, again and again and again and again and again. Perhaps they've been right all along, I just don't have any talent.

"Vincent, I got a job for you!" someone shouted from the other side of the bathroom door. "For me!? Can't you give it to someone else!?" "They asked for you, it seems to be one of your clients!" "Damn it, I want to go on vacation for once." His colleagues started to laugh. "That's the downside of being famous in the business" yelled one of them over the showers noise.

I don’t know how I wound up here in this place. I think it began when I was in Oklahoma travelling across the country in my van. I can’t be really sure though anymore.

Back when I was about 12 we used to live in an old farmhouse near the Tombigbee River. It was about a mile away so walking there was a regular afternoon pastime. There were a few ponds on the way and a couple of broken down older farmhouses and barns to explore. My friends and I explored them a few times.

Liber Kiffmet — An Occult Dream Of Sorts Gone Bad With Dope & Weed © Andre Michael Pietroschek (if you must, pronounce Pee-tro-shack), all rights reserved Disclaimer: No warranties! This story idea is fictitious, not real, and was inspired by some episodes of the Frozen Frights podcast. Meanwhile, me going nostalgia-lane on the young adult memories is part of this story's surrealism.

It's Christmas eve and I'm still working late, typing away at my computer. You shouldn't pity me, I chose to do so. I didn't really have any other plans and the extra pay seemed a lot better than sitting at a crowded dinner table with people I barely know. For a moment I stop and look out the window. Why does it have to be snowing now of all years? Now I kinda regret not staying home... I pull my attention back to my computer and continue my work.

I am not a professional at investigating anything paranormal; I am a nonprofit journalist who documents incidents, and I was told to investigate Luigi’s Shadow, something everybody thought was a joke until it wasn’t anymore. By then, all of the original bedroom attacks before the game release had been archived and usernames had gone inactive, but by this point, the reports weren’t by gamers anymore. There’s new information that nobody knew until now.

Before I start this story, I should point out that I believe in the paranormal. I have seen ghosts throughout my lifetime, and I even believe in aliens—I mean, I’ve seen UFOs flying around. My belief in them only grew stronger after hearing a story my dad shared with me. Let me just jump into this; I don’t want to ramble on.

The past is not dead. It is not even past." — William Faulkner • I don't remember who called me about the funeral. I assume it was Aunt Lillian's neighbor, or maybe someone from the church, but the truth is, I picked up the phone, I heard my name, and everything after that is a smear of static and vowels. Now I'm standing on the porch of my great-aunt's house, our family's house surrounded by pines, decay, and a smell I can't name but instinctively hate. The front door is already open.

Nineteen straight days. That’s how long this storm’s been sitting on top of us. The view outside my duplex is nothing but a grey smear, I can’t even make out the other houses. Roads are flooded, power’s out. It's just canned food and cold water now. They tried having us work from home at first, but that didn’t last long. Paid leave’s not the worst outcome, I guess even torrential storm clouds have silver linings.

There were plenty of games to play with. My favorite genre was Horror, which a horror movie titled The Exorcist introduced me to. A lot of those times, we were guests and had tix. There were a lot of enjoyable places and horror, too. However, I found a game called “RUN”, with an unnerving icon. The description explained how we spawn in a creepy forest out of nowhere, and if you find the skinwalker, you will die. It seemed a lot interesting to me, as I love horror so much, so I joined.

Do any of you know one of these old roblox games? That was called “HERE, where the world is quiet.” That was one of those old obscure games on the internet as you were scrolling on the Roblox website. It was made by an account, known to be made by one of the admins of Roblox. They were being claimed as a myth, but however, this has since been debunked. Now let’s get my experience going.

The Men in The Classroom His room is filled with spores. The walls have mouths with no teeth. Black tongues lick the lips. The ceiling has eyes with no retina. Parasites squirm in the white. His toys are clapping and laughing in frenzy. They swarm the floor beneath.

Within the dark penetralia of the human soul, where fear of the unknown festers and finds its deepest dwelling, there stood a town named Desdemon. Hidden among towering pines, shrouded in perpetual mist, its days were sunless, its nights without dawn. The air was frigid and damp, steeped with whispered tales of cosmic dread, as though even the churning fog carried secrets too terrible for the tongue.

To give you some context, I've been working for a large maintenance company for 10 years. In terms of our sectors of activity, we cover a wide range: industry, healthcare, agri-food, tertiary... We even work for private individuals and local authorities. In other words, we're always busy. For my part, I work in a subsidiary specializing in tag and graffiti removal.

My therapist told me that writing about things could help. She kind of looked away when she said it, so I’m not sure she believes that. If I’m honest, I think she just doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. It doesn’t matter though. I’m gonna write about it anyway. I’m gonna write about it because it DID happen, and it doesn’t matter what she thinks. At least if I post it here, someone might actually read it. If I post it here, maybe it can help. I should probably start with the move.

Two people, a man and a woman, were deep in the woods, running aimlessly. Sounds of the blaring sirens were still in the distance, but the despicable duo had long since abandoned their weapons in the hopes of diverting the authorities from conducting further research into their whereabouts. They were deep in the woods when the sirens faded. The two breathed a sigh of relief.

Day 1: It hasn't been long since the outbreak began, it was originally simple. A few bad cases in Africa and Asia but then it seemed to spread into Europe very quickly. Being a new scientist I am to record the examinations and... Morgue reports of the victims who arrive and to discover what this virus might be. Since I was just invited to Europe they instantly quarantined me and are keeping me in this non-contaminated environment. The walls are a sterile white and the only exit I have is the…