Most read stories

Ever since I was a boy, I have always loved the woods. Well, had might be better word, but I'm getting ahead of myself. As a child, I lived in a house right next to a heavily wooded area. Every day, I would go out into the woods with my friends. We covered nearly every inch of those woods. Hiking, camping, climbing trees, you name it. The woods were our playground and we controlled them. Or so we thought....

Have your ever seen something in your life that you just cannot explain? Do you feel like if you ever mentioned it to somebody else, they would look at you like a raving lunatic? I certainly do.

Jonathan Felix sat back in the chair after affixing the final electrodes to his skull. He is currently reclined in one of the most expensive private scientific investments in the world, and today was the fruition of his, and many others, efforts. The aim of the project was to open a human beings mind and allow them to perceive one of the spatial dimensions above the mediocre three.

12/02/11

The Nazi Fungal Infestation Testing, started before the war started. It was unique compared to other Nazi experiments. This could probably be one of their most sick and twisted experiments. The story you are about to read is 100% real. Experimentation

Let me guess, you're on here trying to freak yourself out or find a pasta worth sharing, right? Me too, but nothing seems to spike your interest or really sends a chill down your spine. Take a look at the videos too, yet still - there's nothing. You really are getting bored now, aren't you? To me, this ritual seems to happen quite a lot, what about you? An idea has probably just popped into your head - "why am I reading this?"

The bell rang and I lifted myself from my seat and headed out of second period. My back was killing me from sitting in the hard, plastic chair for the past hour and a half; I was ready to get out of there.

My legs and torso are bound by a series of buckled leather straps. The mask lets me breathe but I'm unable to call for help. My arms are secured at the elbow and wrist. The only thing my hands can reach is the combination lock dangling at my waist. I click it shut. We are go for launch.

If ever you should walk into a dark room inside your empty house and see a shadowy figure somewhere within, don’t turn on the lights. It’s better not to know. Don’t run to the bathroom, lock the door, and cower in your bathtub. Don’t hurry to a closet, lock the door, and hide underneath a pile of clothes. And especially don’t return to your bedroom, lock the door, and crawl into your bed. Because every other door in your house was already locked, and the figure still managed to get in.

May 18, 2011. My name is Greg, I just moved into my new house in Pennsylvania. Me and my Girlfriend have had the house for at least four months now and we've managed to mold it into what we've wanted for years. My Girlfriend, Carmen works almost the entire day so I find myself with the entire new house to myself with a lot of time to kill. But lets just cut to the chase...

You awaken from a hazy dreamless sleep. You hear laughter, deep and booming, as if the source of it is amused. You look to your left at your alarm clock on your nightstand. 6:04 In red digitized numbers.

My story takes place in a backwoods town in south-eastern rural Kentucky. It’s a small town that you’ve likely never heard of – its people sparsely peppering the mountainsides to-and-fro. It’s the type of town where it isn’t exactly uncommon to find neighbors bartering for goods with livestock and services, living off what the land provides, and generally making do with what they’ve got. It was here that my father was raised. It is here that my father raised his family.

The demon looked much as I expected it to. Standing at roughly twice my height, its skin was cracked and burnt as if it had been pressurized under heat high enough to charbroil humans and strong enough to snap metals like twigs. Though hunched over, its vestigial wings flapped futilely as it threw itself against the barrier of table salt I'd scattered around it - all eight of its compound eyes blinking in confusion, and finally - understanding.

MISSING

Out in the Arizona desert, there was a child who has never seen a human face, nor heard a human voice. She resided not on the surface, but beneath it, contained within a bunker. The reason for her situation all came down to a singular issue. The Existence of God.

In the fall of 2011, a man hung himself in a bottling factory of a popular over the counter sleep aide company just outside Chicago. The man worked as a quality control manager and had just been laid off to save the company money. In the morning, the cleaning crew found him swaying in the breeze from the air conditioning system with a note in his breast pocket that read “sleep tight.”

A little girl’s parents went out for a business dinner so they hired a babysitter to watch her. “Can I have some ice cream?” the little girl, Holly asked after supper. “Sure” the babysitter, Beatrice said. “Where’s the freezer?” “In the basement, so are the nuts, cherries and candy and stuff.” When she went down to get the ice cream, she looked out the window to see a little girl standing outside. This didn’t strike her as too suspicious and she simply brushed it off.

“I never was a huge fan of myths, legends or any folksy wisdom for that matter. Spooky stories to tell around a campfire had no value to me, except good entertainment of course. You know, a man can spend his whole life living in ignorance, maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be … but sometimes, one is yanked into the unknown without a reason, facing consequences larger than life! Would you call that fate doctor?”

Joseph sat slumped on the sofa, staring into the darkness beyond the patio windows. The only light source being a dim lamp on a side table. Any light would have done for him to ease the fear he had of ‘the Bad Man’. He had hurt Joseph’s neck, and when he had awoken the next night, Joseph wanting to do the same to others. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Smiling, he knew it would soon be time. Another few minutes.

I can taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. Feel it trickle down from the gash at my hairline. The heat is everywhere. With each breath I inhale hot ash. My throat is dry and scalded. The air around me seemed to burn my skin, biting more viciously at my open wounds and scratches. I stopped shaking a while ago. Now my hands are steady. I’m frozen in fear. I probably make easy prey, but I can’t think of anything else to do now. I’m out of ideas.