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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."

Parkside Inn was a small Bed and Breakfast hotel in the town I live in. It was barely twenty-three rooms in total. I had passed it many times, as it sat in the heart of the city. Its location was its strong point. Across from the hotel was a big park, the one that gave it its name. Cafes and restaurants ringed the park, keeping the area busy. And there, amidst the families and the children playing under the trees, stood this colossus of concrete and steel.

I uncapped the red pen and added another "X" to our calendar. A small one, as not to take up more space than needed. After all, the box already had three others inside just like it. Who knew how many more we would have to add?

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 want to tell you about what happened with my sister and her boyfriend.  It was a long time ago now, but I still feel like someone ought to know. My sister’s name is Diffie.  I mean, her real name is Eugenia, but no one calls her that.  You know how it goes.  When this all happened, she working part-time at the Food Ministry downtown and living upstairs in our parents’ big old farmhouse.

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.

Blood of the Damned - Shadows over Riga - The Nosferatu Experiment © Andre M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved ( Nightscribe & Royal Road Edition ) Disclaimer: No warranties! Latvian Proverb: “Skopais maksā divreiz.” Translation: “The stingy one pays twice.” This proverb warns against being overly frugal or cheap, as it often leads to higher costs in the long run. Chapter 1: The Risky Summons

It was just past midnight as I walked down the road. I might have been a bit tipsy as I had been drinking since about 6. We had just closed a deal on the Tanner account and were celebrating. I was not drunk enough to hinder my walking, though. I had gotten a bit cold even though it was still early autumn. I walked quietly along thinking of my day ahead and how I shouldn’t have stayed so late. There was a light mist covering my way. As I approached the woods I noticed a figure up ahead about…

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 never saw the faces of the men who kidnapped me. I'd been too busy working when the gang of them burst through the front door. Like smoke from an explosion, the kidnappers spread through the entire building. They demanded victims and turned our world upside down searching for them. They didn't speak outside of grunted demands and language so blue that if you could see the words spilling from their mouths, it'd be a dam breaking.

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.

“Creeeee….KLUNK”, the door of the old pickup groaned in protest as I swung it closed. The truck was far past its expiration date, having rolled off a Ford line in 1962. And now that we were coming up to the new century, it stuck out even more as a relic, just like its owner. “Go’on, git the feed outta the back” my Pa ordered, stepping down from the vehicle. A tall man at 6’3”, he was of slight build, his blue overalls hanging somewhat loosely around his frame. His skin resembled the pair of…

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.

Supernatural Horror Part 1 I hoped Rockwood prison would be my golden ticket: a paid internship as a political science major and a front-row seat to Warden Britanthony Snow's grand experiment, rehabilitation over punishment. A few years ago, I had made a drunken and reckless mistake. I drove my car into the concession stand of a skating rink injuring my boyfriend, his little brother, and the girl he was cheating with.

When I was a child, I recall a show called Fear the Devil; it was something that my parents allowed me to watch. They thought it was just another biblical show in a similar vein to content like VeggieTales and The Beginner’s Bible. It was created in 1999 and ran for thirteen episodes before it was pulled from the air. Private schools and churches refused to play it, and anyone who discussed it in too much detail risked being kicked out permanently.