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On the morning of Tuesday the 16th of December 2025, I took a dead woman off the stones below the Old Cross at Ardboe.

[Originally posted to a forum in March 2026 under the title "Anyone from Carrick remember what happened in January last year? I was there. This is all of it." Reproduced here in full.] My daughter says if I don't write this down she'll do it herself, and she'll put in the bits I'd leave out. She's eighteen now, and she means it, so here we are.

“Aww, Mervin, did you break Daddy’s wine bottle?” Emily was washing dishes when she heard the sound of the bottle shattering. “It was Ed, not me!” insisted Mervin. Emily knew there was no way the three-year-old could open the middle shelf of the cupboard yet. Mervin had turned six last month, and he was just tall enough to reach it. “Now, now, I already know it was you. I saw you playing with the cupboard handles. Don’t try to blame this on your little brother,” said Emily.

STATEMENT OF MICHAEL COLLINS Unnecessary sounds, such as “ums” and “ahs” have been omitted from the following statement for the purpose of making this statement easier to read. Det. Lori Denny: Mr. Collins, thank you for coming, I'm Detective Denny. I would like to remind you that our conversation will be recorded… With that out of the way, how are you doing? Need a coffee or water? I can get one for you.

My name is Marcus. For the past six years, my friend Jace and I have run a small urban exploration channel online, documenting the decaying remnants of closed theme park attractions. Most of the time, "abandoned" Disney properties are a disappointment—stripped down to bare concrete, scrubbed of anything interesting, and guarded by motion sensors that trigger local rent-a-cops within minutes. We thought Epcot’s Wonders of Life pavilion would be more of the same.

I have a teacher at school that teaches a variety of subjects and he is generally well liked, the only strange thing about him is that he doesn't call any student by their real names but by their future potential from his opinion. He comes in class and starts doing the register. "Potential murderer" teacher shouts out and Callum raises his hand as he knows it's him because the teacher always calls him by that name.

There were plenty of games to play with. My favorite genre was Horror, which a horror movie titled The Exorcist introduced me to. A lot of those times, we were guests and had tix. There were a lot of enjoyable places and horror, too. However, I found a game called “RUN”, with an unnerving icon. The description explained how we spawn in a creepy forest out of nowhere, and if you find the skinwalker, you will die. It seemed a lot interesting to me, as I love horror so much, so I joined.

Hi, my name is Paul Lipson. People used to call me Henry. As a child, I was born with a Siamese twin. My twin could not see me, but sometimes… sometimes he controlled my body or whispered thoughts into my mind. At first, it was subtle—a hand I didn’t want to move, a voice I didn’t speak—but as I grew older, the whispers became screams.

Summer in Colorado Springs was exceptionally hot that year. Jim, Jack, and their younger sisters, Judy and Jill, were spending their time carelessly, playing in the front yard. One day, their parents went out shopping, leaving the siblings with strict orders not to wander off and to watch the house. As the shopping took longer than expected, the boys grew restless and decided to go for a short walk in the woods. Their sisters followed them.

"So you're actually like that, aren't you?"One of my classmates approaches me as I try to distance myself from her, desperately trying to hide from her everpiercing gaze. Please don't look at me like that. I silently beg. But they don't listen to the screams in my soul and even more gather around, closing in on me. They all start asking me questions, speaking right over one another. I press my hands against my ears to shield myself from the noise.

It’s 3:00 AM. The house is quiet. My room is pitch black save for the blue light of my monitor, and my reflection is starting to look like a stranger. I’d heard about Megan Is Missing. Heard it was controversial, banned in some places, a found-footage nightmare that leaves you terrified to blink. Naturally, I had to see it. A torrent file, a quick download, and there it was: a murky, grainy file on my desktop, waiting.

I’ve been selling junk on eBay for years—mid-century lamps, Beanie Babies, even a taxidermy squirrel once. My weekends are spent prowling garage sales, looking for overlooked treasures. So when I saw the squat, ancient jar sitting in a patch of weeds at the back of a neighbor’s sale, I figured it might be worth, at the very least, a hundred bucks to some archaeology-obsessed collector. Honestly, it didn’t look like much at first. About as tall as my knee, thick clay, faded patterns spiraling…

5/4/2015 ...

We bought the house in March, which my mother always said was the worst month to make decisions. Too late for winter clarity, too early for spring hope. The month where you mistake exhaustion for certainty.

It's been a week since my wife died, and it was my fault—all of it. I still remember that day, detail for detail: the sound of metal and nature meeting, the smell of gasoline and pine needles meshing together, and the revolting taste of iron that danced on my tongue. I survived for one reason, a sickening reason: at the time of the crash, I was inebriated. As for my wife... she died on impact. I tried everything, pleading and even praying to God that she wasn't dead; I guess God ignored my…

I’m twenty-six, and I just realized something that I can only describe as deeply, agonizingly uncanny. I can’t remember who my best friend was in high school. It sounds mundane—a random gap in memory, right? But I was going through my old yearbooks from sophomore and senior year, and as I turned the pages, a strange, creeping panic set in. I was looking for him. We were inseparable back then. But he wasn’t there. I scanned every column, every row, my breath hitching, that nagging gut feeling…

The attic floorboards are thin, but the silence is thinner. I’ve been up here for three hours. The vibrating stopped, which is worse. Now, the only sound is a rhythmic thump-drag, thump-drag coming from the hallway directly below the attic hatch.

The sound of the rain was calming, but only the rain. Walking in the mud, making that squishy sound, as I take one step at a time. Looking around, the tree's length was high, the leaves covering the night sky, shaking  aggressively from the wind. The flashlight could only give so much light,  I could see, but only a couple feet from me. The rest, darkness. “JAKE!” I yelled, “JAAAKE! COME BOY!” Jake was the only reason I was out in this shithole, just trying to head back home from our little…

EVIL_BILLY57 AKA BILLIAM DALE EDWARDS IS AN ROBLOX HACKER BUT THE ONLY GAME HE WOULD HACK IS DANDY'S WORLD, HE HACK THE GAME IN AN WAY TO MAKE IT THAT 1 RANDOM TOON YOU'RE PLAYING WITH WIIL HAS AN HYPNOTIZED SMILE , CLOSED EYES AND AN SOMETHING USED FOR MURDER, THERE IS NO KNOWN WAYS TO SAVE THAT TOON FROM KILLING THEIRSELF AND WHEN IT HAPPEN, YOU WOULD HAS AN 5 STAGES VIRUS

[Originally posted as a reply in a thread titled "Irish folklore creatures that are actually terrifying," on a paranormal forum, January 2026. The reply was long enough that the poster later moved it into its own thread. Reproduced here in full.]