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I’ve gotten into some trouble recently, and I need to tell people about it. I need to know if anyone has experienced something like this. I don’t want to be alone in this. I’m really, really scared. Please, bear with me while I explain what happened to me. For the purposes of this, I’m going to remain anonymous, so I don’t complicate my situation further. You’ll find out why in a little bit. I really appreciate you taking your time to hear me out and help me.

Bloody and beaten from the journey you’ve had, you finally arrive. A haunting, immense palace of the long fallen kingdom comes into view. Crumbling staircases and ornate statues in every direction you look, each statue represents something, this kingdom… was built on fear. Fear of dying out. As you climb the stairs, you look at each engraving in the cracked stone walls. Horrific experiments displayed, various ways they have tried to impregnate their females, mutilation, torture, mutated…

The devil on the fiery porch. He was back again that year, the same as he had been for five years running, keeping the majority of Trick or Treaters behind an imaginary line of uneasiness drawn at the edge of the curb with his Hell-red grin and burning cauldrons. It was a scene from Faust, only this was no play; this was my neighborhood.

I must have been six or seven when I lived in Lebanon. The country was ravaged by war at the time, and murders were common and frequent. I remember during a particularly vicious era, when the bombings rarely stopped, I would stay at home sitting in front of my television watching a very, very strange show.

Ah, Ms. Smith, I presume! Welcome, welcome, please take a seat. You look stunning. What is that sweet aroma I smell, hmm? Lemon Glace? Vanilla Quartz? Oh…just soap, you say? Regardless, it suits you to a tee. We are overjoyed to have you here with us tonight.

You shuffle across the parking lot to your car, exhausted after working all morning, but excited because it was finally April 2nd. A friend is coming to visit. He drove from Gable Mel, Georgia, and you cannot wait to see him. Your boyfriend Lander has taken the day off and is waiting for you to get home. As you drive down the road in your busted car, you catch glimpses of your emerald eyes and the puffy white clouds in the rearview mirror.

My father's family home was just a little under two hours away by car from where we lived, a small village surrounded by farmland. I often stayed with my grandparents during my summer vacation and winter breaks from school, and they were always happy to play with me... but the last time I visited them was over ten years ago now, when I was still in my third year of high school. It was my Spring break and I had been invited to visit; and since the weather was good, I rode my bike out to their…

Have you ever searched for employment for so long that pretty much any offer looked like a dream job? That was me a few summers ago. Fresh out of college, broke as shit, and desperate enough to answer a CraigsList ad. Yes, people still use CraigsList. Yes, it’s mostly sketchy as Hell. The post was titled “WANTED: WATER SAFETY EXPERT. START IMMEDIATELY.” It sounded like an official title, something important… but then again, so do “Sanitation Engineer” and “Sandwich Artist”.

I was awakened by the sound of screeching car tyres and muffled dance music playing in the distance, I climbed out of my warm, comfy bed and headed to my window, the glass had frosted over, as I wiped the frost away I was greeted by the blizzard just outside my window and the glare of the headlights as a car came speeding by my house and into the night, as the unmistakable sound of DFG's latest CD, faded away. As I looked out through the thick snow, I could see what looked like a person laying…

I launched myself for the radio receiver, and jerked up the mouthpiece. I wiped away the film of sweat from my forehead before replying. “Receiving.” My throat was tight with a lump the size of a golf ball. “It’s good to hear your voice comrade.” “You too. How are you doing?” Leaning towards the porthole, I stared out into the cold void, hoping to catch some glimpse of the Soyuz capsule somewhere out in the twinkling stars. “All systems great. Amazing view of the Pacific right now.”

You know how Fox has a weird way of counting Simpsons episodes? They refuse to count a couple of them, making the amount of episodes inconsistent. The reason for this is a lost episode from season 1.

"Mister Germain told us he tripped and fell down the stairs" the doctor said. I thought it was weird, but I played it cool. "Is he okay?" "Yes, he is fine, he broke one arm and a few ribs, but he will be alright" answered the doctor. "I see, thanks doc" I followed the doctor to Germain's bed in the emergency ward. He was lying on bed still, the doctor gave him a prescription for painkillers and the report copy, then we got out and went back to my car.

Do not give into astonishment as you'd often hear the self-transforming machine elves proclaim as you enter their world through hallucinogenic drugs. That was a lesson I'd not too long forget.

I'm a rabbi, so you can imagine the kinds of conversation I have when I counsel my congregants. Family troubles. Marital strife. And sometimes, theology. The other day, one of my congregants―a young, sensitive woman with hair almost black and eyes just as dark―came in to see me. She was in the midst of a crisis of faith. "If only God would speak to me, or give me some kind of sign…," she was saying.

By now you may have heard about Blank Paige, maybe even from my posts about her on r/creepypasta, if you have you're probably wondering about how I met her, well I'll tell you, It was a few years ago, but don't let that give you the wrong idea about your odds if you meet her.

. The lullaby she sings isn't for me. It's to keep something else asleep. Based on the story of a terrified teen. — I don't know why I'm doing this. I just... I need someone to hear it. In case... In case something happens. . I stopped sleeping with the lights off when I was eight. That's when I first heard her talking to the hallway closet. Not angrily, not loudly. Just whispering, except the words weren't in any language I knew.

There's a misconception that sadness can lessen one's life. That a broken heart is the first step into the grave. We see it countless times where a true love is lost and the other follows not long after. Empty sympathies are offered, claiming the poor soul died of a broken heart. But what if I told you that broken heart was the key to everlasting life?

I Newcomer It was midday on a Sunday, and Johnathan Urbez was driving his dream car, an RX7. The engine was modified to be even faster; the tuned machine used a racing transmission, special brakes, suspension, and tires. The body was covered in all kinds of paintings and designs. After five years of hard work, dedication, and a lot of money, this beast was ready and John had to take it out for a ride.

“What’s got you in such a sour mood, Brandon? It’s payday!” my veteran colleague Vinson asked as the rusty freight elevator noisily rattled its way up towards the penthouse suite.

We had been sailing for months after departing from the port of Whitehill, and had left even the most remote hunting grounds of the whalers behind weeks ago. The charts put us northeast of the Forsaken Islands, but their bleak shores were not our destination. Our route led us farther north than most men had ever sailed, across the desolate black waters of the Northern Sea.