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I hear them every night: the screams.

"BRING THAT ONE UP!" A blinding light explodes in my eyes and a rough claw nearly rips my arm out of its socket. I am being dragged by my t-shirt over a jagged wooden floor, splinters ripping off into my calves, but I can't feel them. My vision starts to clear as I lift my hand to my head. I feel around and draw back a hand full of sticky blood. I hear a slam behind me and a voice shout out, "LOOKS LIKE WE'VE GOT A LIVE ONE!"

Danny was a necrophiliac, that was no secret to him.

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.

Sitting in the back seat of a station wagon, two sisters, ages 6 and 8 start bickering. One won't scoot over, the other is making annoying sounds. Typical car ride for this family. The parents up front try ignoring the children, but soon enough it gets to be too intolerable. "Girls, be quiet and look out your windows." Snapped their mom.

I woke up again last night after hearing the same haunting noise that has plagued me since my early childhood. This time however, is the first time I have heard it during my adult life. When I was younger, I called the noise “sideways static”, but now I don’t give it a name, as I am trying to forget that it exists.

It matters not which religion you claim to be, “God” has abandoned us. Without the threat of being sent to Hell, or being judged by the almighty creator, humanity has become chaos at its worst. No rules guide us through life. Nothing can stop the rampages and murders, the robberies and crimes of all natures. The only thing that can stop it now is the return of the “One true God”. Without “Him”, humanity will cease to exist.

The darkness. It's all there is. This deep, endless black that would make a moonless night seem blindingly bright. Never would I have imagined that such a darkness as this could exist. But it does, and now it's all I know. I stopped searching for the light a long time ago. It's kind of funny. . . Because I actually thought I knew darkness before. I was wrong. The pain.

His name was Dr. Zushioh, PhD. A scientific theory he had developed indicated that it was possible to create organic life. His idea was that if one gathered all of the essential DNA and organs needed then one could create an entirely new species. If he were able to succeed in this endeavor, he would be a god. All he needed were the pig organs he had ordered two days before, but they still hadn’t shown up and he was getting anxious.

They are always there. Always calling to me, at school, at parties, and even with my closest friends. "Come on babe," they'll say, "just grab that pair of scissors from your backpack, go to the bathroom, and we can play around for a little while." I try to remain focused on whatever the task is at hand, but they continue to seduce me. "You know you want to," they'll say. I tell them to wait until tonight to ease them, and as the stern voice weakens to murmurs, I can still hear them.

Growing up, no one had ever believe me. I knew it was out there; watching. Lurking. I could feel its eyes rest upon me like weights as I took to my daily on-foot adventures to and from various stores and school. But no one ever believed me. They thought since I was a kid, that I was just being irrational. They thought I was hysterical to believe in such a far-fetched, outlandish being. Hell, for a good portion of my life, I thought I was crazy. That was, until I had my first encounter with it.

It all started with a slight itch on the tip of my right middle finger. I absentmindedly scratched at it, and continued playing Minecraft. I soon forgot about it entirely, as a Creeper blew up the house I had worked on for an hour, as Creepers often do. I cursed and began to rebuild.

Ever since I was little, I knew there was something wrong about the storm drains that lined my road. They were stealthy and silent. However, there was always the thought that if I listened long enough I may hear something begin to whisper. I never lingered long enough to hear though, because I was terrified. I could hardly stand to walk across them. Most of the time I would keep a long space between the eerie enigma and myself.

The magician strides onto the stage, tall and elegant, wearing a bowler cap and a black blazer to match his pants and suspenders. He smiles, an empty smile. One that has been repeated every day for a different batch of little whiny brats. The magician raised his hands and the children continued yammering away. The twerps didn't even notice him. He hated going after the clowns. But this time, something is different. One child, a little girl wearing a dark dress stares intently at the magician.…

August 13th, 1921 Prof. Herbert Clayton Children's Ward St. Mary's Childrens Hospital Fife, Scotland Dear Professor, My trusted friend and mentor, I write to you in the hope that you may advise me on a matter of urgency concerning a patient of mine. Edward is a boy of just nine years who arrived with his mother six days ago with a disposition so positive that we did not at first admit him. This did not last long.

You wake up in the middle of the night. Your cat is cozily nested behind your knees and the weight of your blanket warms your tired body nicely. You sigh happily. When you are about to drift again into a sweet slumber, your cat hisses and runs frantically off your bed and hides behind the curtains.

It was a dark and rainy day in February when I was hit by a small red pick up. February 15th. I was told I flew 15 feet before landing smack on my head. Apparently the driver was drunk and didn't see me crossing. I don't remember that day at all. Four weeks I slept, in a coma that many feared I would never come out of. I was placed in a ward of children and teens with major bodily harm or disease. My roommate was a boy named Mason. I never did find out his last name. For the time in which I…

“Wake … up … you must … wa-“. That’s when it stopped. Those were the last words the tall, dark figure spoke to me when a white curtain fell over all that I saw, covering the previous scenery with an endless sea of snow.

Of course everyone claiming residence in Arthur’s Wake knows tales associated with the Wicker House. It seems that every small province plays host to some structure of ill repute which, as if by supernatural magnetism, draws rumor of ghosts and bogies, wrapping the timber and stone of its foundation in a shroud of darkness and horror. In Arthur’s Wake, the Wicker House fills this odious task.

Day 1: It hasn't been long since the outbreak began, it was originally simple. A few bad cases in Africa and Asia but then it seemed to spread into Europe very quickly. Being a new scientist I am to record the examinations and... Morgue reports of the victims who arrive and to discover what this virus might be. Since I was just invited to Europe they instantly quarantined me and are keeping me in this non-contaminated environment. The walls are a sterile white and the only exit I have is the…