Most read stories

. 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.

When I was a kid I used to play down by the creek that was behind my house. I'd throw rocks, play with plastic army men, make little houses out of mud and sticks having them sink into the creek. On a particular hot day in July when I was about nine I was sitting by the edge of the creek. I had my feet in the water trying to cool down as the day was unbearably humid. I had my eyes closed and didn't hear her walk up. "Hello" I heard an older voice say. I open my eyes and see a thin middle aged…

I found an old Polaroid camera at a yard sale. It was even still loaded with film. Excited, I just took a picture of myself in the living room. However, when the photo was developed, there was a shadowy figure standing behind me, its hollow eyes staring straight into the camera lens. I was home alone.

I used to walk with her, now I walk alone. We used to marvel at the beautiful houses together, now I look down at my feet. Each home we pass, a grain of salt in the wound, each house a reminder of what I lost. Even though it hurts, I still find myself continuing our walks. Sometimes pain is good. It reminds us that we are still living. I’d rather feel the pain of her passing, than not feel her at all.

"Are you looking to bring sparkle and pizazz to your life? Are you looking for a brand new ambiance? Well come join us at Shadow Haynes' Circus this Saturday! Watch death defying feats that will simply amaze you! Laugh with the clown acts! See our contortionists, magicians, living statues and more! You won't believe your eyes! Come one, come all!"

Any child born and raised around the end of the 90s and early 2000s will probably know what place I’m talking about. If you live outside of the town of Radcliff or, hell even outside of Kentucky, this place may be foreign to you.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Rain fogged up the window. A soft crackle sounded from the fireplace. It was supposed to be a cold, comfortable night. But I couldn’t help the chill that ran down my spine. My day was spent with powdery mountains and snowboarding and hot chocolate. It was supposed to be a day for me to forget. Tap. Tap. Tap.

I remember that night all too vividly, as if the memories were etched into my very soul. It was a cold, moonless evening, the kind that sends shivers down your spine and makes you wish for the warmth and safety of home. But little did I know that home would offer no sanctuary from the horrors that awaited me.

I can honestly say this has been the hottest summer I have ever experienced. Not just in Pittsburgh, where I live, but throughout the entire country. Sweltering heat to the point where even the most avid outdoor enthusiasts such as myself have either had to shelter inside the comfort of an air conditioned home or find times to get outside when one wouldn’t expect to literally melt. A couple of nights ago, against my better judgment I decided to go for an evening run in the heat.

“I consider it useless and tedious to represent what exists, because nothing that exists satisfies me. Nature is ugly, and I prefer the monsters of my fancy to what is positively trivial.” -Charles Bauldelaire

It started suddenly. Autumn was coming to an end, the weather was rapidly deteriorating. Busy streets turned into canals filled with icy water and debris. Thin streams ran along the dirty walls and mixed with the long-term patina of rust. An atmosphere of decay, a thick, viscous feeling.

I used to think grown-ups always knew what was right. They seemed to have all the answers, like they were in control of everything. Back then, I thought there were rules for how things worked, even in little moments—like the way someone should look at you, or how a touch was supposed to feel. But nobody ever explained what it meant when something felt… different. When a look lingered too long, or a hand stayed where it shouldn’t.

Like most people of my generation, I'm a huge SpongeBob fan. Back then, the internet was relatively new it was 2010. I was browsing through SpongeBob related stuff when I suddenly saw a strange link. I don't remember the exact details, but I do remember the website's logo; it was red, and the link read: "SpongeBob Episode “This Is Not Hell."

I had always been a traveler; a rambler of sorts. I had never stayed in one place for long. I had to be on the go, exploring and studying out of the way places and interesting and odd things. The small village of Sneeuqfognik was one such place. The village may have been just a dot on the map, but it was home to a museum with over a million abnormal findings from all across the universe. A cursed museum.

I have to write about this here because if I tell anyone in my life they will not believe me. I need to purge myself of these memories, I must share them with you.

Like me, if you were born during the 2000s, you probably grew up watching Cartoon Network, and if you watched Cartoon Network as a kid, then you most definitely watched "The Amazing World of Gumball." This story is about what my best friend and I saw when we went to visit Elmore. If you google "Gumball house IRL," you can actually find the address of the real-life house. In fact, every building in Elmore is real. Gumball’s house, the mall, and the school—they’re all there. But in the pictures,…

One night a child heard crying from somewhere in the house. She wandered the grand manor, in search of the source. Her little bare feet barely made a sound on the old, creaking wooden floor. In each room she looked, she found nothing—nothing but moonlight seeping through thin moth-eaten curtains or illuminating chipped porcelain sinks. Down hallways that had become galleries for pictureless frames. But still the wails persisted, muffled behind doors and walls.

The small town of Ravenswood was plagued by a terrifying creature, known as the Dogman. It was said to be a creature that was half-man half-dog, with glowing red eyes and razor-sharp teeth. It was a creature of legend, but the people of Ravenswood knew it to be all too real. It had been attacking and killing their livestock for months, and the town was in a state of crippling fear.

A magician came to our town one dreary day after a large thunderstorm. He carried a briefcase that he claimed was filled with people's hopes and dreams. The briefcase was large and wrapped in an exotic coating. Many witnesses described seeing it move under the magician's grasp.

This morning, I cleaned out my closet to create space, and I discovered a plastic bin filled with childhood memories. Being sentimental, I removed the bin and began searching through it. The bin mostly contained artwork from my elementary school years, and the majority of them were scribbles or fingerpaintings on bright construction paper. In particular, a crayon drawing of my entire 3rd grade class drew my attention. I have to say that I must have been quite the artist back in the day because…