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Have You Ever Had A Sibling That You Couldn't Stand All The Time And You Wish They Would Go Away Completely,Well Let Me Just Say That Wish May Seem Good At First,And Now Years Later I Regret Making That Wish,When I Was Kid I Had A Little Sister Named Abby Who Was An Absolute Pest Who Gotten Away With Many Things Due To My Parents Favoring Her Over Me,At The Time I was 13 and She Was 7,Being 7 Abby Would Always Cause Things To Make Me Mad By Going Into My Room And Taking My Things,She Would…

I was just finishing up an essay at midnight when somebody knocked on my door. My face twisted with confusion as I wondered why somebody would knock on my door instead of using the doorbell. Plus, it was MIDNIGHT. I stood up slowly and heard another knock on the door. Annoyed, I ran downstairs. Another knock. It was rhythmic, like the beat on a drum. KNOCK-KNOCK… KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. Feeling my dinner crawl up my esophagus, I opened the door. “Dude, it’s midnight. What are you d-”

5/22/-99999999999… ... A figure stands in a room unlike anything found on Earth. It is carved from ornate quartz and gold, its walls lined with massive pillars that stretch impossibly high, their peaks lost to a distant, hazy ceiling. Light drifts through the space without a clear source, catching along polished surfaces and scattering into a dull, colorless shimmer. The air itself feels heavy, as though it holds the vast weight of the universe.

The babysitter kept checking the baby monitor. It was an old house, the kind where every step made the floor groan like it didn’t want you there. The parents had just left, smiling, saying their baby never cried at night. That should’ve been comforting. It wasn’t. At first, everything was normal. The baby slept peacefully on the monitor, curled under a soft blanket. The sitter sat on the couch, scrolling her phone. Then the screen flickered. Just once. She frowned and looked up.

I have been playing for a long time, and I had a lot of friends, but I had discovered this one game that creeped me out, other than that one skinwalker game.

(Inspired by the The Zodiac Killer) The letter arrived on a quiet morning. Plain envelope. No return address. Inside, a message—neatly written, almost calm. “I like killing people because it is so much fun.” The newsroom fell silent. At first, they thought it was a prank. Until the police confirmed it. The details in the letter… only the killer could know. He didn’t stop there. More letters came. Each one colder than the last. Each one playing a game.

The night was calm. It rained in the afternoon, so the plants and soil were wet, the glow of the moonlight made the leaves flicker as the soft breeze started blowing, the remainder of the storm. I was standing in the middle of our kitchen. The heat of whatever Mama was cooking on the stove gave me the warmth I needed. I spent most of the day in the rain soaking wet looking for one of Mama’s new born goats. Our goat gave birth to two kids three days ago much to the delight of Mama. A fully grown…

After facing the Black Figure, the spirit of Genia Zianok was reborn in Dandy's World. He gained special powers over the virtual realm. At that moment, Genia's system file transferred into the DW game files. This made him more present to lure his target. The developers tried to erase the file to remove Genia's influence, but most of their efforts failed. A strange incident occurred when Genia invaded the BlushCrunch Studios Discord server.

My story started the same as so many others. The loss of a job, the breakdown of a five-year relationship, and the urgent need to find a new place to live, lest I end up sleeping in my car.

Mr. Pike arrived shortly after noon. I knew it was him before father said anything. There was something about the way the man approached the house that made him uneasy. Most visitors, as in would imagine, would look towards the farmhouse first. Not Pike. He looked straight to the woods. He came up the road in a dark green truck that coughed smoke behind it and rattled like loose bones. The truck stopped near the barn, but Pike didn’t immediately get out of the truck.

By the end of our first week, father had stopped talking about Boston. That was how I knew he was happy. Every morning he woke before sunrise, dressed without lighting a lamp, and went outside with an axe over one shoulder. By breakfast, he had already split enough wood to last us for several days. He repaired the barn roof. He cleared the weeds from the garden for mother. He even found an old plow beneath a pile of rotten boards and spent the better part of two days repairing it.

I was bored out of my mind at two in the morning, scrolling through random, dead forums on my phone, when I found the link. It was dropped in the middle of a five-year-old message thread on a public archive site, with no context other than a string of numbers that looked like coordinates. Curiosity got the better of me. I clicked it, and my phone automatically opened Discord, pulling me straight into an invite screen.

At ten years old my parents and I had moved away from my childhood home and into an underdeveloped city, within a quaint little cul de sac. Moving away from all of my friends, especially when we were off from school hit me pretty hard, and my parents knew that. One of the things they had tried to do to make up for it, was move into a neighborhood they made sure was full of other kids. What’s more, is that one street over from this new home there was a large park. It had everything: tennis and…

"Pass the coffee." Carl pulled away from the scope of his rifle, and grabbed the insulated container of coffee from a makeshift shelf to his right. Behind him, his father whittled away at a piece of wood, a vague animal shape just beginning to gain definition. Carl passed over the coffee, and his father took a swig from the stainless steel vessel. "Any deer? They should be getting up now." Carl peered out from the wooden shack that was their blind. "Looks like a few are making their way from…

She sits there, on the cold concrete ground, blood dripping from her nose and tears gushing from her eyes. She’s wearing a crisp white, now blood stained, button up shirt. Her blazer lays on the ground a foot away underneath the bullies foot. Her necktie hangs idle on her neck, swaying in the cool autumn breeze. A blue pleated skirt covers her knees.

10/11/2010 ...

The shining bright light of a VTOL passing by illuminates his apartment for just an instant through his shutters, the pitter-patter of the downpouring rain thankfully drowning out the deafening hum of its rotors. Still, the LED lights casting a bright blue hue throughout his entire home stir him awake, despite his best wishes not to be.

I used to believe that the worst thing that could happen at a restaurant was getting food poisoning. I was wrong. My name is Emily Carter, and what happened to me three years ago is something I still cannot explain without feeling like I am going to be sick. I have never told the entire story to anyone. Not my friends, not the police, and certainly not my father. Maybe writing it down is the only way I can finally get it out of my head.

First, let me introduce myself. My name is Anthony Salaria, and this is my story. I used to think the world was a big place. Now I know better. The world is only as big as the distance between you and whatever is trying to kill you.

The clock was ticking. Like a pickaxe in my skull. It's now 2:45. Fifteen minutes until I hear your footsteps; not that bare feet can make much noise on that gravel road. Seventeen minutes until I hear your broken nails on the wooden door. Blindly scratching away, trying to find the handle. Twenty minutes until your voice is calling out to me. But it will be strangled, like always. It's hard to talk with maggots eating at your vocal cords.