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“I remember when you were just a little girl. Your mother and I tried our best to give you a home where you couldn’t be hurt, since we lived in a bit of a… shady part of town. When you were just a toddler, you would always follow me around the house with that cute little smile of yours, showing me that you still loved me, even after what I had done to the family. Maybe you didn’t know that I divorced your mother and took custody of you because of your undeveloped brain. No, a child naturally…

The feeling of a lingering presence during solitary moments… Everybody gets that feeling. I’m sure you have too. What you probably haven’t done is try to explain its occurrence.

"So tell me Mr. Harold, what ha-.." "M-Marcus is fine.." The psychologist was interrupted by the shaken man in the seat before him. He was shaking, head pointed towards the floor, staring into space with wide eyes as his clammy sweaty palms were clasped together tightly. "Ok, Marcus then. Can you tell me what happened on the night of April 23rd, 2014?" The psychologist finished his sentence and fixed his gaze on Marcus. Studying his body language.

I must have been six or seven when I lived in Lebanon. The country was ravaged by war at the time, and murders were common and frequent. I remember during a particularly vicious era, when the bombings rarely stopped, I would stay at home sitting in front of my television watching a very, very strange show.

Min-Jun awoke, gasping for air as he flailed in the shallow water. His vision blurred by the salt water, he flung himself ashore, and lay face first in the sand. He swabbed away the water from his eyes and attempted to open them. His eyelids fluttered until he finally was able to keep them pried. Min-Jun looked around at his surroundings.

In the United States of America, in the state of Ohio, about forty-five minutes North West of Cincinnati, there is a large, but sparsely populated farming community known as Oregonia. Some of you who have an interest in motorcycles may have heard of it before, as the community is famous for its hills. So famous, it holds the annual “Devils Staircase Hill Climb,” where motorcyclists ride their bikes up a very steep hill hill. It's a lot more fun than it sounds, and it brings in a lot of money…

In the United States of America, in the state of Ohio, about forty-five minutes North West of Cincinnati, there is a large, but sparsely populated farming community known as Oregonia. Some of you who have an interest in Motorcycles may have heard of it before, as the community is famous for its hills and holds the annual “Devil's Staircase Hill Climb”, where motorcyclists ride their bikes up a very steep hill. It's a lot more fun than it sounds, and it brings in a lot of money and excitement to…

They are here, banging on doors, windows, pipes, walls, vents. They have nowhere else to go, no one else to torture, their only way left to get to me is to torture me slowly, until I cannot wait for death to release me, as I am sure they will do. I have very little time to type this, so let me explain as quickly as possible.

When Felix Agnus put up the life-sized shrouded bronze statue of a grieving angel, seated on a pedestal, in the Agnus family plot in the Druid Ridge Cemetery, he had no idea what he had started. The statue was a rather eerie figure by day, frozen in a moment of grief and terrible pain. At night, the figure was almost unbelievably creepy; the shroud over its head obscuring the face until you were up close to it. There was a living air about the grieving angel, as if its arms could really reach…

Annabelle was the focus of a case that famed paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren took part in during the early 1970s, and is highlighted in the book The Demonologist. It has been stated that this is one of the most unusual cases of a possessed object on record.

If you venture deep into the forests of the Appalachian Mountains, you must wear tight-fitting clothes at all times. Make sure that your pant legs are tucked into your socks, and be sure to wear heavy boots. This is very important. Because what many don't know, is that there is something stocking these mountains. A creature with a voracious appetite, for human flesh. They hide all around you; in bushes, under rocks, or in the branches of tall trees. Their dark eyes leer out from under their…

I've been working at a police station in Massachussets for the past ten years. No, I'm not an officer but rather a First Responder. It's...not such a big job, or at least to me anyway, because my family lives in mid-sized city. Average 20,000 people. The most important calls I get include robberies and house fires. And then there are the pranks that teenagers play on Halloween and such like that. I'm recording all of this. The reason why is because I'm scared like hell. Still scared.

I haven't been sleeping much anymore. My two room apartment has a window right next to my bed. I’ve started to notice something odd about the people going by. Have you ever seen how video game characters don’t seem to walk? They just glide forward while doing a walking animation, like a reverse moonwalk. That’s what they do, they don’t tip forward with each step, and they keep their torsos completely straight and legs moving beneath them while drifting past my window.

A lot of these stories start off with, "I don’t know why I’m writing this." Well, this isn’t one of them tales. In fact, I knew full well I should be writing this, even though I was told not to. I can’t in good conscious not tell this story.

Polybius is an urban legend about a rare arcade game released in 1981. The game was created by a mysterious company called Sinneslöschen (German for "Sense Deletion") and was a puzzle/shoot-'em-up somewhat like Tempest. It was only released in a few suburbs of Portland, Oregon.

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…

Chad’s stomach growled. He knew the only way he could satisfy this new hunger was with nachos, as he had done so many times in the past. Each nacho was a piece of the hunger puzzle in his stomach, and the pieces always lined up perfectly.

Those eyes, those. Horrible. Staring eyes. It took me a moment to re-gain composure and spin around to await the fate of my life, as I turn a piercing, tearing sensation fills the back of my neck, I cannot scream, I cannot move I am helpless, staring blankly with an expressionless face and in an instant the blade is twisted, I writhe in agony and then simply. I wake up.

The sun was dancing on the horizon, shadows lengthening and the light beginning to fade. Inside the pure white room, only a table and two steel chairs furnishing it, stood a girl no older than sixteen in a shirt and pants the same hue as the room.

"Same as always Sir?" I habitually queried of the wispy man at my counter. The deep blue flannel look was new, but everything else about him was carved from a solid block of routine. The same haircut that failed to cover the bald spot on his head, the same muck encrusted work boots, and the same patient smile hid behind his oxygen tubes all adorned him neatly.