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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 By then, all of the original bedroom attacks before the game release had been archived and usernames had gone inactive, but by this point, the reports weren’t by gamers anymore.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.

I naturally fell into babysitting around the age of 14. As the oldest of two older siblings, I was used to watching younger kids a fair amount of the time. So through friends and family, I got leads for babysitting to score some cash, which definitely beat having to work at a restaurant. The job had its ups and downs, but overall it wasn’t a bad gig at all. Yet, as many good experiences as I had, they were all eclipsed by one night.

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.

“Can you sign for this?” the impatient UPS driver said after handing me a small box. “I’m not expecting anything. Who’s it from?” They shrugged. “I just deliver ‘em, man. Maybe somebody out there wanted to surprise you with a gift.” I signed, and they headed to their next stop. I looked down at the box in my hands. There wasn’t a return address. Despite its size, the package was heavy.

We all have a story about how we ended up where we are. The details change. They soften, blur, rearrange themselves like furniture in a room you haven’t visited in years. The more times we remember them, the less we do. Parts get polished smooth. Others wear thin. Still… the core of it usually survives. At least that’s what I’ve gathered from the people I now call my neighbors. I’m hardly the right man to tell their stories. I probably will anyway,

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.

Two Days Before the Harvest Festival Sky’s End Annual Harvest Festival Fall, fun, and tradition! Join us for the annual March to St. Asbeel Stay for the bonfire! - flier in Sky’s End “It’s a church,” Mom said, staring at the stained glass windows of Jesus hanging on the cross. Her narrowed eyes and pursed lips told me she was clearly holding back additional commentary. “It was a church,” I said. “Now it’s a bookstore. My bookstore.” “What?” “I bought it! That was the surprise!”

“That’s my childhood house.” I wasn’t turning down the street I grew up in. I wasn’t standing near the large oak in the front yard of the house where I’d lost all my baby teeth. I wasn’t sitting inside the kitchen, where, on my fifteenth birthday, I accidentally dropped the cake my mom had baked, which made my family laugh so hard that we shed tears. No. I was holding an oil painting at a Goodwill on the other side of the country. “That can’t be possible,” my husband said.

I can’t remember the exact age it started, I can only remember that it was summertime. I can remember that it was summertime because my family had just returned from the beach. So, I guess I can’t remember the exact age it started, but I can tell you exactly what started it.

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.