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That thing has been there for almost a week. The figure in the window. It looks featureless, only skin on a human frame, and it’s pressing itself against the glass somehow. I don’t know how it got there, and I don’t know how to get rid of it.

The man's mind was a blank slate, a void where the memory of how he came to be stranded on this small island should have been. He had woken on the shore, his body battered and bleeding, with the ghostly echo of an incessant beeping ringing in his ears. When he closed his eyes, he saw flashes of fire and twisted metal, but the meaning behind these fragmented visions eluded him.

You are lying in your bed, the dull whirring of your air conditioner is the only thing separating you from total silence. You know, that particular silence that is so heavy, and so thick, it’s almost the equivalent of a loud noise itself? The kind of silence where you could hear a pin drop three rooms away in; the kind of silence that fills your ears with the sound of your own heartbeat as your ear presses against your pillow. That kind of silence.

She stopped as her legs ached from hours of walking. She had come far. Very far. The day and night seemed to intertwine; never being distinct if there could be said to be a circadian movement in the subtly shifting grey above at all. There did seem to be very occasional dim light patterns or movements in the misty sky, but she put it down to the trickery of her sleepy eyes. She closed and gently rubbed them before brushing a long strand of black hair out of the way. Determined to carry on, she…

I am from a small northern town in England. A place with a non-relenting gloom that surrounds the insignificance of the poor souls that live here. It always rains. The sodden clothes we wear only serve to weigh us down into an inescapable darkness, anchor us all into a depression so deep we are the only creatures living there. Life is heavy, life is unfair, life is grim.

It's all white... The room I'm in and the rest of this building is probably also all white. I don't know where I am. This cold blinding white, everything is this pale color, every object, all the furniture, every.... Everything. I'm all alone, in this unending place with only one color. At first, I didn't see it as much of a problem, I am quite introverted after all. Put other people in this room and I would find it all the more terrifying.

My name is Faith Bowman. I am a detective with the Louisiana State Police. At least… I am right now. Truth be told, once this story is out there, I will probably be fired. The higher-ups will know I was the one who leaked this story, name attached to it or not, but I refuse to stay quiet on this. I saw what happened to those children. People need to know the truth. The parents need to know. Something has to be done.

After cleaning the shop, packing the last of my gear, and loading it onto my pickup. I closed up and locked the door. I made sure to hang a sign on the door that read, “Gone Fishing.” I was all set to leave. I took another look at the place, knowing I wouldn’t see it for at least a week. I loved coming here, to work, and to serve my customers, but I was headed on a long-overdue vacation.

No word, uttered or inscribed, can claim that all they tell is true to the letter; in every slip and stutter of the human voice, every unspoken detail in fine print, a lie takes root and defiles the same soil that nourishes it, until it burgeons into a carnivorous parasite. Last summer, Rosenthal Manor snatched me away from my life with a bouquet of hopes and walled me into her cold, high corridors, where every step that falls on the marble floor, every voice whispered in its chambers, does so…

Here they come, around the corner, sliding into the driveway in their family sedan. They’re back from the market, the father’s pockets no doubt lined with fresh 50s. The tires roll easily along the gravel, and I pray that lying somewhere in that collection of pebbles and stones is a glass shard, or a rock sharp enough to pierce the tires.

“Where are my smoking glasses?”

“Relax, son. Close one eye and keep focused on your target.” My father spoke calmly from behind me. I tried to do as he said, letting my muscles relax. One eye closed, ending the double vision I had from having the rifle’s sight so close to my gaze. “That’s good.” He continued. “Now, when you’re ready, hold your breath. Don’t hold it for too long or you’re gonna start shaking. Just enough. Then, slowly squeeze the trigger down. Like you’re milking a cow.” I had to chuckle at that.

Beware, boys and girls; beware Brie Woods! It is no place for such young children; Monsters are lurking in its shadows, Big and small, wicked and kind. There are brothers that roam those woods, five of them, looking to either guide or slay its travelers. Heed my warning, and you might survive; Don't, and your death is almost certain.

There are some places in Texas I advise you to go to: San Antonio. Austin. Poteet. Dallas. La Vernia. Just to name a few if you want to experience real Texas in a breathtaking way. And then there's Kosciusko, Texas, a place that I would never bring up in normal conversation. It's a place you don't go to. It's a place you drive far away from when nighttime falls. It's a place where your car stops and stalls and you feel sweat beading down your neck as you try to jiggle the keys in fear.

I knew Susie since she was about three years old.

The complication that is involved regarding why I am where I am is far too great for me to try and explain but, to simplify things, it’s important to know that I am ‘stuck’. I use the term ‘stuck’ lightly as I am able to stretch my arms outside the barrier I’m held in. Unfortunately, in order for me to be fully free from this blank prison I’d have to grab hold of some sort of anchor point residing in the outside world. When I grab hold of it I’d have drag myself out, so the anchor point would…

I need to find Sabrina. Something bad has happened in this house that was once a home. This was no place for a child, especially for one that calls me Daddy. Within the darkness she lies. Where? I do not know, but I will find her. God help me, I will find her.

It has been six weeks since my first sighting of the wicked old hag. I woke up in the middle of the night and went to roll over, but my entire body was paralysed. I lay there, scared and helpless, contemplating my predicament when I became aware of a presence in the room with me…a presence that I can only describe as pure evil.

The following are transcripted entries from the journal of a Soldier that didn't survive the trip home from a deployment in Iraq. Content was provided via the victim's relatives. This might be disturbing for some people to see. Proceed with caution. - 17-MAY-2008 Fort Huachuca, Arizona -

I won’t say I was excited to be there. Excited is the wrong word to use when visiting such a dark piece of history, a place where so many souls passed. I had been granted unprecedented access to the camps where the Nazis had committed horrible atrocities. As a historian, I was excited, but as a human being, I felt an unexpected lump of dread mixed with the vague feeling of disgust.