Most read stories

Mr. Angel sat next to me on the park bench. He is my best friend. I pointed to an old man that sat across from me. “What’s he doing Mr. Angel?” An unlit cigarette sat in the corner of the man’s mouth. His eyes were withered with age as he stared blankly at nothing. Mr. Angel leaned close to me as he whispered into my ear. “He’s looking for a woman he lost a long time ago.” He cooed. His words felt warm against my cheek as I smiled up at him. I liked his secrets; Mr. Angel knew everything.

What actually happens when we die? It’s crazy to think that there is something else, and the biggest reason for that is…can you imagine your own mind being a totally different person? Is it scary to think that your mind, or your soul, could end up transplanted in a new body, with a new name, new life, but it’s still you? Even moreso, continuing in a new life like this, and still being you, but losing all of your memories, your experiences? In that way, I guess it may not be a big deal to some,…

I'm glad you were able to return. Most would have walked away, chuckling to themselves at the notions I shared with you last time. It takes a special kind of obsession to ask questions and return, inquisitive and demanding. Well if you want more answers, this old man is going to need more libation. After all in this world, everything has a price. Including this conversation. I want your full birth name. Last time? That was advertising. You want my story, I want your name. What I intend to do…

I huffed and puffed under my breath as I stared into God’s Mouth. I felt like the Big Bad Wolf ready to interrupt the innocent little pigs as they hurriedly fortified their makeshift homes. I grinned at this thought and then turned my head to look for Margaret. She was a couple of feet down the hill from the entrance of the cave, holding a walking stick close to her petite breasts. “Hurry up!” I called down to her. I turned back to the cave, still grinning. An old, rotted sign outside read…

Very seldom does it happen that a young person enters a nursing home. Mostly we assume that nursing homes are for the elderly. Those who are too fragile or infirm to be without twenty-four hour care, those with a broken hip that won’t heal or with too many illnesses to count. A few who will recover and the rest left here as a last resort. But occasionally a child inhabits a room at a nursing home. Here is the tale of one such child, and the impression she left behind.

I’m not sure how much time I have left until he finds me, but I can assure you that it isn’t much. I know, I know, you want an explanation. Don’t worry, you’ll get one. But before I can give it to you, I must warn you: If you hear my story, he WILL get you. (Note: Anything preceded and followed by an asterix (*) is a realization I had as I wrote down my story.) ~~~

For me, collecting is more than a hobby - it is a way of life. To me, there is no greater thrill than that moment when you complete a set or find the one rare piece that has eluded antiquarians for years. I love things - cards, figures, dolls, puppets, watches. And as my desire to surround myself with material possessions grew, I found that I did not care for the things so much - but the thrill of collecting them.

Do you know about the monster under your bed? How it wasn’t there when someone would look for it? Or was your monster behind the curtain, suddenly gone when you asked someone to check behind it? Some of them used to hide in the closet and like all of these monsters, were gone when someone else tried to find them.

There was a loud bang on the door, followed by more equally loud bangs. The woman stood up from her couch and walked towards the door. She was watching the news which was reporting recent kidnappings in her area and was wondering when her husband would return home from work. As the woman walked to the door, she wondered who it could be at this hour. It was almost 10 o’clock at night. Could it be her husband? No. He would have come through the garage. Or even the back door. The woman reached the…

“Houston, come in. This is UN Space Station Libra. Come in, Houston.” No reply, just like every other time. I throw the receiver in disgust, the weightless environment causing it to float mockingly in front of my face at the end of its retention strap. I'm bathed in the soft red glow of emergency lights that serve to illuminate every inch of my tiny cell. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves before returning to fiddle at the maintenance panel. I've been in here for two weeks now.

Do you remember those old televisions that everyone’s grandparents had in their basements? Those old bunny ear t.v.’s that turned to static whenever there was a storm or even a little wind? I do... All too well. Children have very vivid imaginations. We all remember seeing things that our parents told us weren’t really there. The monster under the bed, the beady eyes in the closet that were really just your jacket’s reflectors, the ghost in your basement that would “get you” if the lights…

Guitar Lovers, sell and buy special guitars forum Search results for: ‘Signed’ ‘folk’ ‘guitar’ -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 04 November 2013 Dylan4r: Hey I got this cool signed guitar for sale, for 40 bucks you can come and pick it up. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 04 November 2013 Nathanmusic: Hey who signed the guitar, I’m willing to buy it.

If you are reading this, turn your lights off before you continue. They are attracted to light because they know someone is alive in the room.

I can't stand when someone is walking behind me or simply that feeling of being watched or followed. It’s not pleasant at all, and personally for me, it’s unbearable. Let me begin by saying that the reason I practically hate it is due to the fact that's how I felt that during most of my childhood. All of the events that I will tell you actually happened so you probably will understand that for protection purposes (yourself, my family and mine) I will avoid providing any names or locations.…

What is it about being naked that makes someone feel so vulnerable? I mean, really, are you suddenly stronger with clothes? Maybe if you’re the type who goes around wearing steel toed boots and Kevlar, but if you are, something tells me that even in the buff you probably know more than the average Joe about self-defense and would stand a good chance in a fight either way.

I'm a scaredy-cat. There's nothing that I hate more than being left alone at night in a dark, rambling house. In truth I usually do okay. Stay in my chair, on my computer... watch horror movies and shows. I'm a scaredy-cat, but I kind of like being scared.

I won’t say I was excited to be there. Excited is the wrong word to use when visiting such a dark piece of history, a place where so many souls passed. I had been granted unprecedented access to the camps where the Nazis had committed horrible atrocities. As a historian, I was excited, but as a human being, I felt an unexpected lump of dread mixed with the vague feeling of disgust.

Mad Henry was a hermit who lived alone in a decrepit mansion at the edge of town. Rumors were rife about the wild-eyed man. Some folks said that he was a magician who called upon the powers of darkness to wreck havoc upon his neighbors. Others called him a mad doctor who could restore life to foul corpses from the local cemetery. No respectable citizen in town had anything to do with Mad Henry

I'd like to tell you a disturbing story I heard from people I know or have met. I was living in the southern part of Sydney four years ago in a big house. One day, I advertised to share the house so I could save some money. The next day, a young Indian-looking guy around thirty came to the house. However, he wanted to leave quickly after I showed him the spare room.

Mandy watched the girl on the television run. She was about thirty minutes into Halloween and honestly she was unimpressed. Was this really what she was staying up past her bedtime for? Was this really worth the risk of her mother finding out that she was not in fact really asleep, preparing for the next day in which she would go to school and learn just like the good children?