Most favorited stories

In the heart of the city stands an abandoned bakery. It is a high, sprawling complex of brick and granite, and its great smokestack still stands watch over the loading bays where fleets of gleaming trucks once began their journeys to supermarkets across New England.

I slammed the door shut and brushed the snot off my nose and the tears out of my eyes, then kicked my trainers off. They went sprawling over the door mattress and across the hallway floor. All of that for some stupid pills! My life these days revolved around my illness. I had a chronic seasonal allergy which lead to me snorting and sneezing for hours. Two weeks ago it was so bad that I stopped going to work because my condition became intolerable. My sinus thickened and my eyes were constantly…

I opened the messenger app. I hadn’t done much. It was my day off as I had submitted my assignment on the Duke of Wellington’s strategy at the Battle of Waterloo the day before. I was bored and in a bad mood. John had called me but missed. He had also left a message on my desktop. I read it:

The first thing my granny ever taught me about food was that you never, ever leave the house without a bit of bread in your pocket.

I never really did want to go to that Christmas party, but I have to say it turned out all right in the end. The Christmas party was to be held on the great stage at the Opera House downtown, and it was open to all employees of the law firm Goble & Mundorff and their immediate families.  That last part was a problem for my brother Henry and me, because our mom was a paralegal at G&M, and she’d made it clear that she expected us to put in an appearance.

Note: This is a story I posted on Reddit's nosleep around 2021. They removed it for being "not horror" but I disagree. Yeah, it's comedic. I was a comedy writer for several years and wanted to try writing something funny and creepy. I think it turned out well. -------- A weird thing happened to me recently, and I've struggled with how to talk about it. Basically, there's no way to do it without sounding bugfuck insane, so here it is: ALF spoke to me through my television.

Have you ever seen the flesh of a dead man so perfectly loose with decay that it may come off of his brittle old bones as easily as cutting soft cheese with a well honed knife? let me tell you son... it is a satisfying feeling that none have been able to replicate (at least from what I've seen in my years wandering this miserable rock we call home). now I know you will yelp on about some "oh but that's so horrible!" or maybe you will demand to know "what kind of fucked up mind thinks of such…

Once upon a time, back to when I was young. I played and laughed with the shadows of my room. A fall night, she came. late into the night, in her violet dress and veil; she spoked softly to me. "Little one, why still wide wake?" she asked. I didn't reply, I didn't speak. I stared at her.

I'm getting a headache, everything sounds painfully loud in an empty basement.

“Dad… is that you?” I don’t know why I asked. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the weight of everything tonight — too much, far too much. My father groaned. His voice was hollow. Raspy. I gripped the desk to steady myself, hands trembling, staring at the hood that hid his face. “How did you get up here?” My voice cracked. Living alone was a mistake. “Find. Your. Sister.” His tone was sharp, the same stern cadence he used when anger boiled beneath his words.

Have you ever been to any kind of club where alcohol flows and where parties can get out of hand? I have and I don’t really like going to clubs, but some of my long time friends seem to like it. We are all at that age where we get into fights and they love showing off how tough they all are in the hopes that some attractive female will like them. The one thing that goes with all clubs or night clubs I don’t know what you call them, are the bouncers or security guards that stand at the front…

I was quietly sleeping reminding myself of the ol boring school stuff. Nobody ever had a chance to get vacation as i did. We went to a nearby forest at alaska. I loved alaska and always wanted to visit it. Huge thanks to my dad who accepted it. My dad was a veteran animal hunter. My mom was a skiled nurse and self defense trainer. Im a loving artist. I love to draw and sing. The night felt big. Long. Shivered. Almost frozen. As my eye saw nothing but darkness. When i woke up. My body was unable…

Someone asked me, “Who are you?” I answered quickly, “I’m glory.” But they smiled. They looked into my eyes, not kindly. “No,” they said, “Who are you?” The question didn’t leave. It followed me home, sat at the edge of my bed. Who am I? Who is glory? I try to think. A depressed soul? Too easy. A tired one? That’s just the surface. Glory. Glory. Glory. I’m limited by my problems, That I can't see past them. Glory. Glory. Glory. Say it enough times,

Hi. My name is Rick Leave. If you are reading this, you are alive, or at least foolish enough to seek danger where it waits. That is appropriate. Curiosity can be fatal in my world. People called me insane, a threat, someone who should be locked away and discarded. They were right—only in that they never understood. They never understood the way my mind observes patterns, how life moves like clockwork when seen through careful eyes, and how fear can be orchestrated, anticipated, controlled.

Jason watched the hands of the clock ticking. The hour hand was moving to nine o’clock. The hour he dreaded so much. His eyes darted around the room. In the corner his blue lava lamp cast fleeting shadows that resembled dogs, silhouettes and long-fingered hands, prancing and clawing up and down the bedroom walls and on the window curtains. He clutched his beloved teddy, Bubbles, very tightly.

I usually don’t write my experiences down in journals like this. Typically, I’d prefer to just keep my unsavory memories in my head to let them rot away over time, which makes the pain easier to cope with. However, with everything that has happened to me recently, I’d feel guilty if I just let all those traumatic experiences simply be forgotten about, especially since they involve friends and people so dear to me… So, I shall tell the story of that godforsaken Airbnb and how it led me down a…

I have worn countless masks, but those most beloved is my mask of words. They refer to me as a play. A lie. A plague lay down in ink and breath. They tell me I am nothing more than a character within those pages of the volume, that yellow book whose words pour through comprehension. They are in error. I was not written. I wrote myself.

Honestly, I liked the drive. It was the scenic route and those beautiful country roads were part of the reason why I didn’t mind the commute. Driving became an escape for me. Cathartic even.

You wake up in a cramped, windowless room, and see blood on the walls. As you walk a little, you trip over something and look underneath… It's a small child's skull. Looking closer, you notice his clothes. You wake up from this terrifying dream… But you realize you're still stuck in the same place, and that it wasn't a dream. Blood is everywhere, and you've been sleeping next to your little brother's skull for about three weeks. You keep forgetting why you're there, how it all happened…

I’m writing this because I’m desperate to put an end to this monstrosity that’s been haunting me. Even if this reaches no one, I will be at rest, knowing I’ve done all that I possibly could to warn people, to stop this from continuing.