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By the end of our first week, father had stopped talking about Boston. That was how I knew he was happy. Every morning he woke before sunrise, dressed without lighting a lamp, and went outside with an axe over one shoulder. By breakfast, he had already split enough wood to last us for several days. He repaired the barn roof. He cleared the weeds from the garden for mother. He even found an old plow beneath a pile of rotten boards and spent the better part of two days repairing it.

It started at 3:14 AM. I was working late in my home office, the blue glow of my monitor the only light in the room, when my living room television suddenly flickered to life. It didn't turn on to my cable box; instead, it booted directly into a static-filled, analog snow screen.

"Skin touched skin." "Speak!" "Hands touched a pink patch of skin." "Speak! Please speak!" "Hands touched a pink patch of skin—a swarm of interjections poured out as a pink rash and loud holes, meaningless holes in space." "That was in the beginning, right? In the beginning?"

it starts with the reporter Dan come to ask my story, a no name reporter who wanted fame for himself but nobody, even police believe him enough to give him my story, so he secretly came into my room in the asylum, pretending to be my relative Dan:*coming to the cell* hey, your the guy named Alex, the white haired with red scarf you always hold like a lifeline? I heard you were hard to the staff I was barely awake in my white room y-yes?

It started as a whisper in the static. I bought the old farmhouse on the edge of Blackwood township because the price was impossibly low, and the solitude was exactly what I needed to finish my thesis. Clara, my girlfriend of three years, was hesitant to move out there with me, but she eventually agreed, hoping the fresh air would do us both some good. We were wrong.

Autumn was just beginning in the city of Hynensborg, one of the darkest and rainiest periods of the year. It is also a time when young people look for ways to kill the boredom, often gathering together around a campfire to tell each other dark stories. A group of chemistry students and friends—Noah, Freyr, and Vidar—decided to spend one of the September evenings of the newly begun weekend in precisely this way... Free from the worries and cares of daily life, they decided to head to a nearby…

Hynensborgs Skogar Det höll på att bli höst i staden Hynensborg, en av årets mörkaste och regnigaste perioder. Det är också den tid då unga människor vill fördriva tiden med något, då folk ofta sätter sig tillsammans runt en eldspruta och berättar mörka historier för varandra. En grupp kemistudenter och vänner – Noah, Freyr och Vidar – bestämde sig för att spendera en av septemberkvällarna under den inledande helgen på precis det sättet... Befriade från vardagens bekymmer och oro bestämde de…

I was bored out of my mind at two in the morning, scrolling through random, dead forums on my phone, when I found the link. It was dropped in the middle of a five-year-old message thread on a public archive site, with no context other than a string of numbers that looked like coordinates. Curiosity got the better of me. I clicked it, and my phone automatically opened Discord, pulling me straight into an invite screen.

November 1756 Quebec Canadian Wilderness

There are plenty of abandoned places at Walt Disney World. Most people know about River Country. But there was another one. A place almost nobody remembers. Willie’s Fishin’ Adventure! It opened on February 16, 2002. Exactly four years later, on February 16, 2006, it closed. And that was supposed to be the end of it. It wasn't. I first heard about Willie’s Fishin’ Adventure! because of an old attraction list.

Most people know about Disney's famous parks. Fewer know that Disney has experimented with smaller attractions around Florida. These included traveling exhibits, promotional experiences, and temporary entertainment venues. Most were documented, but some quietly vanished.  Growing up in St. Petersburg, an older neighbor occasionally mentioned one place when Disney came up. Oswald's Play House. Whenever someone brought it up, the conversation always ended the same way.  "...It closed after…

A beautiful August afternoon, with its gorgeously blazing sun, encouraged them to hit the road and abandon the comfort of their couches and armchairs. Out of the corner of his eye, Garreth admired the lovely surroundings of Woodblacke. • It's so beautiful here! - he said aloud to his travelling companions. Nick nodded in agreement. Susan had just woken up and began her ritual of stretching in the back seat. • We're almost there, just a few hundred metres more and we'll be at our destination…

One day, four teenagers went to the mountains to have fun. One of the teenagers said, "How about we go to the Zagros Mountains, kid?" The teenagers suddenly panicked. One of them said in fear, "What about the Zagros Mountains? The natives there, the Lor people, believe that a demonic creature called Krazenglo lives there.

Julian Vance had always been the forgotten child. While other teenagers spent their weekends with friends, he spent his days in the basement restoring antique dolls and carving porcelain into lifelike figures that seemed capable of almost breathing. Every scratch of his tools hushed the noise in his head, a place where nobody could interrupt him. His younger sister, Chloe, however, always found a way. To her, breaking Julian's creations was entertainment, and to their parents, it was simply…

For anyone who's reading this story I just want to give the huge disclaimer and saying the story is written on a fictional perspective and written for entertainment purposes, this story also contains blood gore and is made for mature audiences, I've written the story around 20-22 and at the time I was into creepypastas, I basically wrote these stories for fun and I wanted to be on the creepy side so please sit back and enjoy the stories that I wrote.

First, I need to describe my appearance. It's important because if you ever see someone who looks exactly like the person I'm about to describe, that is not me, and it is not human.

Welcome to Part 2 of The Book of Broken Trust (Ash). This is a continuation of Chapter 10 through Chapter 20.T Hope you enjoy. ~ The hallway swallowed Hellen's footsteps the moment she turned the corner. The door to the judges' room remained shut, but the air around it fell thinner now, Like the building itself had leaned in to listen. Inside, papers rustled. A chair was scraped. Someone laughed too loudly, trying to force the sound back into something normal.

Samantha was a young, pretty, active girl with a positive outlook on life. Above all, she was down-to-earth, didn't believe in any ghosts, phantoms, or other such things, and had a very analytical mind. She loved long forest hikes, which relaxed and calmed her down greatly, allowing her to rest and escape from everyday problems. That day, right after finishing her lectures, she decided to head down to the river. She packed her backpack, put on a denim jacket, denim pants, and sturdy, heavy…

She opened her eyes when the car finally stopped. Ana had gone to bed late the night before, talking on the phone with Marina about nonsense, not remembering she had to wake up early for this…ritual as she liked to call it.

Once, was a legend, with rage of a thousand betrayed vikings. Statement begins. —------------------------ 1592, Hungary, Ecsed Castle. There lived a cruel mistress, rather favored by, rumored accurately, blood countess Elizabeth Báthory, and was to carry on her legacy of arcane dirty work, meant only for hellbound souls, willing. Days after barely surviving arduous birth, her mercenary husband unexpectedly passed away due to sudden incurable illness.