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“More red… it needs more red, there isn’t enough red.” “Where the hell is that stupid marker!? I just had it in my hand a moment ago!” “It must have fallen under the desk…” —I crouched down and started feeling around with my hand for the missing color from my pencil case palette.— “Ahhh, here you are.” —I picked up the marker from the floor with excitement, only to be met by the sour face of my homeroom teacher, staring right at me.—

Have you ever experienced the typical thunderstorm as your head lay sleepily upon your pillow as a kid? I believe we all have many a time. Were you scared? I’m sure a good portion of you were. Of what though? The gusting winds? The hammering thunder? The epileptic lightning flashes that seep through your windows blinding you as fear seeps into your mind from the unknown frenzy outside? Or maybe its...the tree branches. Rapping against your windows. Watching the dark cast its aura transforming…

They are going to kill you. You just know they are. You sit here, in the back area of the white van. It's devoid of anything, except the chair you sit in, and a white, metal floor with a screwdriver laying lazily near the wall. A fluorescent bulb hangs on the ceiling nearby, casting an erie white glow around the place. There are no windows, and everything not illuminated by the bulb is pitch black. You can't move anything.

His name was Dr. Zushioh, PhD. A scientific theory he had developed indicated that it was possible to create organic life. His idea was that if one gathered all of the essential DNA and organs needed then one could create an entirely new species. If he were able to succeed in this endeavor, he would be a god. All he needed were the pig organs he had ordered two days before, but they still hadn’t shown up and he was getting anxious.

Edwin was widely considered to be one of the better actors of his time. Some even called him the best overall. With a healthy, theatrical love for Shakespeare plays, he found any chance he could to get involved in one, a contestant among critics to be the finest Hamlet that there ever was, and ever will be.

I can taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. Feel it trickle down from the gash at my hairline. The heat is everywhere. With each breath I inhale hot ash. My throat is dry and scalded. The air around me seemed to burn my skin, biting more viciously at my open wounds and scratches. I stopped shaking a while ago. Now my hands are steady. I’m frozen in fear. I probably make easy prey, but I can’t think of anything else to do now. I’m out of ideas.

I could see its glow in the distant. The incandescent lights creating a luring haze. It was so far away, too far in fact. I missed it a lot. The concrete beneath my feet. The harsh air, the noise, the traffic. Most of all the people, the endless throb of people. Out here it’s only a sky, sky that’s way too big and empty. It makes you feel too small. A city may be big; you may feel meaningless but at least your part of something bigger. Out here you realise that there isn’t anything bigger. Just…

It was just about half an hour ago since it happened. I had come to the decision that my house was in need of a rather intense cleanup. Starting with the living room, I took out all the junk and other stuff and then started cleaning. I glanced at the wallpaper, pained by how ugly it truly is without any of my stuff cluttering around it. This wallpaper had still belonged to the previous owners, it hasn't been too long ago since I had moved in and I hadn't really taken the time to change it.

My eyelids shut themselves open with the subtlety of an old garage door. My first sight this instant is the ceiling, bleached of its colors by the darkness. I escaped dreamland as my mind was alerted by a rapid shift in temperature. My feet are icy. Which… can’t make sense… because… uh… Thinking hurts when you’ve just woke up. My neck, hurt from my marble pillow, swivels to the right to orient my head to the alarm clock, at just the right angle for my tired eyes to calibrate. 2:34 AM.

It was a dark, and stormy night when I write this journal, stating the horrific things I have experience just the other day..

Min-Jun awoke, gasping for air as he flailed in the shallow water. His vision blurred by the salt water, he flung himself ashore, and lay face first in the sand. He swabbed away the water from his eyes and attempted to open them. His eyelids fluttered until he finally was able to keep them pried. Min-Jun looked around at his surroundings.

Since around 1999, I’ve lived across the street from an old sawmill. It’s sort of assumed that the family who still own and operate the mill have owned the hundred or so acres it sits on since the beginning of time. The owner’s sons, now into their 30’s, have always sort of been “wild” boys. They like old muscle cars, dirt bikes, fireworks, things like that. They even built part of the largely-unused land behind the sawmill proper into a motocross track, just building up the dirt to make ramps,…

You know it was weird. Things like this always are actually. So when people die, they leave wills, and distribute their material things amongst others. Sometimes, strangers do it too, and you're left with a confused feeling. Everyone has that friend or something, and you promise each other your things when you die. Or it's your roommate's stuff that they left behind when they have no family. Stuff like that.

"Wake up! Wake up!" Your brain is trying to jolt you awake. However meek and disturbing your dream was, does not compare to what you will see when you wake.

Polybius is an urban legend about a rare arcade game released in 1981. The game was created by a mysterious company called Sinneslöschen (German for "Sense Deletion") and was a puzzle/shoot-'em-up somewhat like Tempest. It was only released in a few suburbs of Portland, Oregon.

“Oh look baby, the price of gas is a whole dollar cheaper at that gas station! Pull in and top off.” “Awe bay, it’s packed over there. It’s gonna take twenty minutes to just to get to the pump.” “So what? The money we save right now pays for your lunch tomorrow. Don’t be so lazy!”

I ran, I ran as fast as my legs could take me. The acrid smell building inside the hallway made it hard to breathe. I was getting more tired and tired as each ounce of air was released from my lungs. For I knew he was getting closer, I knew that he would eventually grasp my arm with tremendous force, smashing it. I needed to get away. I needed to leave. I woke up sweating with tears coming from my eyes, probably from the fear of my dream. I stood up and before I could even put on any close, my…

I'd like to tell you a disturbing story I heard from people I know or have met. I was living in the southern part of Sydney four years ago in a big house. One day, I advertised to share the house so I could save some money. The next day, a young Indian-looking guy around thirty came to the house. However, he wanted to leave quickly after I showed him the spare room.

My name is Harold Granderson, and I've been the director of the Cleveland Opera for 39 years. I'm sure that doesn't sound like much, what with the picture of Cleveland as a post-industrial wasteland deprived of fine culture, but I can assure you we don't harbor talentless hacks. I make sure of that. Admittedly, it's difficult to attract equally discerning ears. We live in the shadow of the Rock-and-Roll Hall of Fame, where the off-key caterwauling of drunken pseudo-poets is worshiped. Even the…

It's dark. An oppressive silence prevails. Only to those who live close to the ground, a loud rhythmic noise can be heard. This is of course exclusive for those like mice and creatures much smaller. Creatures with a good sense of hearing. To a cat or a dog it might still be audible, though they would probably only hear a soft tapping. Something tapping across the floor at an almost unearthly speed. Driven by something unknown to any breathing kind.