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I would like to unburden myself a little, because I am very worried about this.To begin with, I don't know if you'll understand me when I say that we, as individuals, have a kind of 'vibe'—the thing that helps us differentiate and recognize people. It's like an aura, or maybe it's the soul. An example of this would be when you meet someone you haven't seen in a long time, and even if their appearance has changed, you still recognize them, like they have an inner spark that remains the same.We…

I was glad to be moving. I never liked my city. It was too loud for me anyways.

My wife has been buried in the old graveyard at Killevy, under Slieve Gullion, since the 9th of October 2025.

In the quiet of the night, I was not summoned. I was birthed the way mold takes root on bread—a silent growth feeding on whatever Clara left behind. The first thing I knew was the sound of her crying. It echoed through the house at three in the morning like a banshee's wail, filled with grief for her late husband, Mark.

I. The House With No Sound It began with a hum.

The knocking starts precisely at 3:14 AM. It isn't frantic, and it isn't loud. It’s a rhythmic, heavy double-tap—knock-knock—followed by a pause just long enough for me to take a breath, and then another double-tap. Knock-knock.

I never believed in ghosts because just the very idea of it sounded so stupid and unrealistic. My two friends billy and warren believed in ghosts and they would always force me to go with them into dark, old and large buildings. I also find souls and spirits to be an absurd idea and who ever even invented them clearly was trying to control people. I also find Halloween extremely absurd and stupid but there is the odd occasion I get scared by a horror film or even an urban legend.

“Hey Zsolt, you wanna hit?” Claud said. “Hit?” “Yeah, a hit of Red Sunshine?” he asked. “Red Shoeshine?” “No, ya’ dummy, Red Sunshine.”

During late June of 2023, reports surfaced from the southern United States about a strange creature. It once gained some attention in an obscure article before mysteriously being wiped off the face of the internet. Most sightings occurred in Georgia, with older reports dating back to March of the same year. Witnesses have described an unknown creature who had the appearance of a white bird-headed animal with empty eyes and a black lizard-like body.

Three weeks ago, my husband and I had our first baby. I have been dealing with terrible postpartum depression ever since. The weight of being a parent is unmanageable. And in the numb state of purgatory, I haven't been sleeping. I have started connecting the dots about my young adulthood. And my family. My therapist says this is a phenomenal breakthrough, as I haven't been able to remember much of the last year with my family. So, even though I’m going to sound crazy, I've decided to recount it…

Between December 2041 and February 2042, twelve isolated incidents of extreme violence were recorded across six states. Each case involved a first-time offender with no prior criminal record, no psychological instability, and no identifiable motive. The victims varied: spouses, colleagues, children, strangers. Yet the offenders’ demeanour during the acts remained disturbingly alike: calm, focused, deliberate.

In the time of the Pharaoh Shoshenq II, shortly after the end of the grandeur of Egypt’s New Kingdom, a time when the ordinary were ignored and their activities long since forgotten, lived a resourceful, scribal young man named Anseb; resourceful because the early death of his father, which had left the family poor, had forced the development of such traits and scribal because his still young, well-meaning mother, attractive though talentless, had managed to pay for her son’s education by way…

Adventure. Adventure is what I craved. I wanted to gain the fruits of life that I had so long been denied in my youth—and, in those days, those fruits could be found and plucked in the American West. But if I had a hint of what would happen to me and my boys when I found that adventure, it would’ve made me never want to leave civilization...

Sometimes, people get stuck somewhere in time. Hours pass, but the world seems like it’s already stopped. The second hand on your watch keeps ticking, the ice in your drink melts away and yet time refuses to move forward.

Chapter 5: Devoured by the Sands of Time Requiem rested his claymore against his shoulder before walking over to the crumbled beast. He scanned the chamber to see a vast emptiness accompanied by the mountain of corpses and himself. Requiem turned to the mountain seeing it was his only path.

Chapter 4: The Cry for Fairness The violent vibrations of the wails caused a portion of the wall to crumble, revealing a passage hidden behind it. The violet viscous oozed into the neighboring area as a breeze of air hit him with a refreshing touch. Requiem rested his claymore against his shoulder to continue his journey through the labyrinth. He lurched through the sludge to the next passage that was a skywalk. There were eight windows along both sides with an iron rod gate on the other end.

Chapter 3: The One Who Understands All Requiem looked down at his right hand carrying the claymore with thorned rosary binding them together. He let his blade drop next to him to hang freely by the rosary so he may use both hands to climb the vine. He dug his fingers into the vine making it bleed, and started climbing.

They say that only the truly desperate would invite the Devil for dinner. Not because of the meal itself, but because the entire ritual is a gamble—a dangerous game where the stakes are your very soul. If you play it right, though, there’s a chance you can walk away with exactly what you desire. The trick is in the details.

In the flickering light of the torch, the old gold shimmered with a mesmerizing allure, a testament to the treasures of a bygone era. At long last, the avaricious seekers had found their prize, their hearts consumed by an insatiable hunger for wealth. "We shall be rich beyond measure," declared Sir Hampton with a triumphant laugh, his fingers greedily digging into the mounds of golden coins.

May, 1689 Josiah’s boots christened against the granulated sand as he hopped off the launch raft. His head shot upward, taking in the sight once again. The beach was peppered with large palm trees, each either gray or brown. In the distance, he could see the various mountains peeking over the tips of the jungle foliage ahead. It was a wall of trees and bushes, and Josiah knew it would be a challenge to navigate through.