Most read stories

"The mind over matter is me" That was the quote that lingered in my mind. I saw it once—on a TV screen during a mental health awareness ad, which played after the show I was absentmindedly watching had ended. It stayed with me, I pondered how powerful our minds can shape our reality. The thoughts we think, beliefs we share, and our perceptions of reality aren't merely passive but actively influence how we experience and interact daily.

Many know Aleister Crowley for his famous work in the occult, but few know of his avid love of hiking, becoming an accomplished mountaineer. He always knew of the power and magic that lies in nature, and simply allowing yourself to get lost in the woods can bring strange and peculiar circumstances. It is said that, later in his life, during a very determined walk in the woods, he discovered a ritual that brings you the utmost truth to one truly desired question. Rumor has it Crowley yearned to…

We all knew Spirit Halloween, a store that is filled to the brim with the most messed up animatronics out there, ranging from screaming clowns, decayed zombies, demonically possessed children, and other stuff. Every year, they always push the limits with the level of gore and blood. But what if I told you that there was an animatronic that never made it to the shelves? Well, you’re in for a treat, so keep on reading.

I really like Mario games, and I still do to this day. I have so much love for everything in the games, but the Mario game I enjoyed the most was 'Luigi’s Mansion.' That game freaked me out at times, but it was very enjoyable to play, and it’s really cool to hear about it now after first seeing it.

Poster: DoomBathRoom033 Subject: Weird story (?) I found in my attic This is my first time posting on this part of the forums and if I'm breaking any of the rules please let me know! Quick background: my husband and I recently bought a house and we've been documenting our DIY adventures as we renovate it. Here's a link to the thread, check it out if you enjoy questionable design choices and photos of our superstar celebrity cat, Mr. Scratch!

Two people, a man and a woman, were deep in the woods, running aimlessly. Sounds of the blaring sirens were still in the distance, but the despicable duo had long since abandoned their weapons in the hopes of diverting the authorities from conducting further research into their whereabouts. They were deep in the woods when the sirens faded. The two breathed a sigh of relief.

I have to remind myself. I don’t want to forget. I can’t forget again. For a while now I don’t even remember my own name from time to time, and I forget who my mom was. And my brother. I have to write down everything that happened before I go back there. Back to The Chimes. My name is Sam. My older brother was named Marcus.

Ruby, crimson, scarlet. The colour of fire, of passion, of pain. Red. How I love it. It was beautiful. The boldness, the warmth of the colour stirred something deep inside me. It whispered to the very core of my being. Dark, seductive. Velvet promises of unrivalled pain and pleasure. It made me feel alive, but it was so rarely found pure and untouched. Red. Its essence, I could only behold it in fleeting glimpses. It always vanished before I could really appreciate that loveliness.

Deep in the core of a dull, lightless city, a man sat alone by a fire. He didn’t know how long the world had been like this, he didn’t remember what it was like before, He only knew that he woke up to this one day. From what he could remember, Just faintly in the back of his mind, the world used to be filled with other people, other faces, but after days of wandering, months of searching, there was no familiar face to see. For now, the only company he had was the fire, and a few cans of beans…

There's a quote I once read, buried in some forgotten philosophy book: "To peel away the layers of the world is to expose what hides beneath, and what hides beneath is not meant to be seen." At the time, it seemed like one of those lines people throw around when they want to sound profound, but they don't really know what it means. The kind of thing you hear at a party from someone who's had one too many drinks and thinks they're the next Nietzsche. I'd rolled my eyes at it then, thought it was…

I know, what a generic thing to talk about in a story like this, as stories about creepy dolls were shared around to death, but hey, surely someone on here will be interested in what I am talking about as I have something similar to share.

The autumn of 1944 was particularly cold in northern Romania, and Anselo found himself huddled very near the warm glow of his campfire on most nights. He had been traveling for months, trying his best to lead his new Soviet “comrades” through the mountains of his homeland, so that they may be able to help liberate Transylvania from Nazi control. Thus far all he had known was bloodshed and hardship, but it seemed that the Soviets were making ground, and he had heard recently that the Allies had…

. 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.

Jarren lifted the sheets up over Milli, tucking them in around her as she stared up at him. “Daddy?” she said. “Yes, angel?” “Can I have a song?” He sighed. “I don’t know any of the songs Mommy would sing to you.” “She would sing songs about going to sleep.” He took in a deep breath. “Well, I’ll give it a try. Um… let’s see. Go to sleep, goodnight, it’s nighttime little girl… go to sleep, you’re in bed…” “That’s not a very good song, Daddy.”

In case you’ve been following along with the events at the gas station on my blog, I apologize that my website was taken down so abruptly. For some reason, the city council found my public record of local events to be “troubling”--to the point that they hired a fancy Orwellian legal team to bury me in cease and desists. I tried fighting back, but as of last week, it looks like my entire site has been retroactively erased from existence. Presumably, these are the same guys who’ve been scrubbing…

It was rather late at night and I was returning home from a party. As exhausted as I was, I somehow stumbled to my car navigating my way through a dark route. Once there I popped my phone into the charger and set the map for home. I would say it was around one to two AM at this time, and I was ready to pass out, but I trekked on into the night. Listening as Siri told me, I got onto the highway that normally takes me home and prepared myself for the half hour voyage.

Everyone knew that Elias would die young. His life was cursed from the beginning. When he was only seven years old, his existence was already marked by death and chaos. He watched his mother Grace get murdered by his step-father Tim. He strangled the woman with his bare hands and when she was finally dead he picked up a large kitchen knife and proceeded to stab himself in the chest multiple times until he died of blood loss. Elias locked himself in his room and when he came out the police were…

“Hey y’all, it’s Red, White, and Ruin here with a new ghostbox urban exploration for you to watch from the safety of your home. Lucky you! Today, we’re walking through the dead Cherry Hill Mall. Let’s take a look, huh?” I said in my chipper announcer voice. I hit stop on the video I was recording and sighed. Being this perky all the time was exhausting. I sighed, took in my surroundings, and frowned. “Jesus, what a dump.”

Mr. Zimmer didn’t want his last Halloween to end like this, alone in a dark cold room, an invalid while children and parents alike roamed the streets outside asking for candy and dressed in costumes. He remembered when he was young and fit, and when he hadn’t shattered his spine by falling off a roof setting up spooky decorations. At his old age, and with what little money his family possessed, it was easier for everyone to toss him into a nursing home. Easier for everyone except Mr. Zimmer…

“How the hell am I supposed to memorize all of this?” I texted my girlfriend. Century-old floorboards creaked beneath me as I paced back and forth nervously. “It’s gonna be fine,” she responded. “You got this.”