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“Whom the Gods would destroy, they first make mad” Prometheus, The Masque of Pandora

Those eyes, those. Horrible. Staring eyes. It took me a moment to re-gain composure and spin around to await the fate of my life, as I turn a piercing, tearing sensation fills the back of my neck, I cannot scream, I cannot move I am helpless, staring blankly with an expressionless face and in an instant the blade is twisted, I writhe in agony and then simply. I wake up.

I don't recall ever seeing an actual music box. I mean sure I'd seen them on television but have never actually held one. Why is this relevant you may ask? Well, what I have to say about some things I've experienced recently involve sounds that can only come from a music box.

“Leave the light on.” she said quietly, barely above a whisper.

Chad’s stomach growled. He knew the only way he could satisfy this new hunger was with nachos, as he had done so many times in the past. Each nacho was a piece of the hunger puzzle in his stomach, and the pieces always lined up perfectly.

He uttered a curse under his breath, as he had realized he left it at his friend's house. It was his phone, an iPhone 3G to be more specific and it was a device he used almost every hour. His friend's house was maybe three blocks away, and he had an important call he was expecting later that night. He would have to go get it, but there was one severe impediment preventing him from doing this. He had horrid achluophobia, fear of the darkness. It was about ten o' clock now, and it was almost…

Eli fell to the ground and the mud shot into the air and rained back down upon him. A thin layer of this brown liquid covered him from head to toe. He hoped and prayed this masquerade would help him escape. He lifted his head from the puddle and tried to slow down his labored breaths. The guards that were chasing him were nowhere to be found and he didn't hear any talking or crunching of twigs under someones feet. Was he really free? Was this it? The moon hung high in the sky and once he felt…

It was 9:30 P.M on a Sunday night and I had only just left work. There was a mountain of paperwork sat at my desk that had to be completed for Monday morning, but I knew that it couldn't be done. I'd already given up my entire weekend, so it was difficult to find the energy to worry. I had grown bored of my job now anyway, so I didn't really care what my boss said; I just needed a beer. I wandered out of the office doors, through the car park and made my way down the darkened road. Then like…

Monsters have just invaded and taken my house. I am hiding in the woods around it just trying to find a way to get them out and take it back. I'm afraid of them. I won't let them do this though. This is my house and no monster can keep it from me. Now I'm mad. They deserve to be scared like I was. To be as terrified as I was when I was walking back to my house from a nice walk around the area and I saw them entering. They have to pay. I will be the one who makes them pay.

The picture you’re staring at was taken sometime in the 70’s. It’s the only remaining image I have left of my son, and the artificial being known as "ANTRAN", whom we adopted into our family at the time.

Mary wasn't one to complain but on this morning there was gloom and rain. Her head ached and stomach cramped, But the harder that she fought the pain The harder down did pour the rain. So off to work, dear Mary went Body sore and temper bent. Though she should have stayed at home and let her coworkers be alone. But dear sweet Mary couldn't bare the thoughts deep growing beneath her hair.

Of course everyone claiming residence in Arthur’s Wake knows tales associated with the Wicker House. It seems that every small province plays host to some structure of ill repute which, as if by supernatural magnetism, draws rumor of ghosts and bogies, wrapping the timber and stone of its foundation in a shroud of darkness and horror. In Arthur’s Wake, the Wicker House fills this odious task.

Some people say that we only use 10 percent of our brains. The brain is a vast creation that still baffles all of mankind to this day. Scientists know less about the brain than we know about space. That leads us to Ronnie Bradbury, 62, who somehow became able to unlock her full brain power due to a mysterious jigsaw puzzle. October 2 4:04 PM:

You wish you had followed your instincts. If only you had not ventured down into the subway tunnel, in pursuit of the masked stranger you had unfortunately encountered less than forty-eight hours ago. You quickly become adjusted to the dim white light, as you look down the seemingly endless tunnel. All too quickly, you feel a quick push and then become aware of the cold rails beneath you. A blinding light gives your eyes cause to squint, as the stars that cloud your eyesight clear. A loud horn…

Lilleth stared up at the ceiling while bundled in her covers. Dimly lit with various band posters taped to the wall, it’s the room of a typical punk girl. She nodded her head to the beat, and softly sang along to the heavy metal playing on her speakers. She heard her mom calling over the music.“What!” Lilleth snapped, annoyed because she knew she would have to get up.

I lay down, getting ready to fall asleep. The only noises I hear are nearby wildlife, and my little child’s mobile playing a soft, tender tune. Until I hear my husband, calmly singing along with the tune and tending to our newborn. I felt good of his accomplishments, finally getting along and accepting her. Until dread pours inside of me, my husband left for his work a little bit ago. I glance outside to see if his car was parked in the area. Only my minivan was on the driveway and his car was…

I awoke that night to Echo, my dog, barking up a storm. He was perched on the edge of my bed, facing the door and yapping away like crazy. I scratched him behind the ear to get him to calm down and guided him to his usual spot on my bed. In hindsight, him barking was the first warning.

They are here, banging on doors, windows, pipes, walls, vents. They have nowhere else to go, no one else to torture, their only way left to get to me is to torture me slowly, until I cannot wait for death to release me, as I am sure they will do. I have very little time to type this, so let me explain as quickly as possible.

I hear them every night: the screams.

“I hope this thing is on. I still don’t know how to work it properly." *THUMP THUMPTHUMP THU-THUMPTHUMP* *BREATHING INTO THE MICROPHONE*