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My dad shared with me a story that happened a long time ago. I apologize if some details do not make sense; my dad was younger back then, so details may be a bit fuzzy.

Spending time in jail isn't fun, like at all. It may be one of the worst experiences you could ever face in your life. If any kid out there is listening to this? Please understand that jail isn't cool. One minute you get yourself arrested, thinking it will make you look cool in front of your friends, showing that you're some sort of badass. Next, you'll be shivering in a jail cell, with other prisoners around you that either want to hurt you physically, or worse. But, when I was arrested, I…

I didn’t really like either of the sons-of-bitches. The only problem was I was married to Ed. At thirty years old, I’d gone from Sharon Wilson to Sharon Wam. I know. Changing to such a silly last name was only an awful beginning to an awful marriage. Unlike me, Ed didn’t like going out much. He much preferred to drink at our little house on East University Street. The married months weren’t kind to us. Ed’s curly golden hair was always a mess, his good-looking face hindered by constant anger.

The drinks had been flowing for three hours by the time we started telling stories; otherwise, I doubt all this would have happened. My lab-colleagues and I had just submitted our yearly grant-request to the National Science Foundation. We were all on edge: if Uncle Sam rejected our request, our lab would be bankrupt and we'd all be out of work. So to boost our spirits, our lab's leader, Leo, invited us all out to the local bar and grill -- his treat.

9/01/2015 ... I always wondered what causes people to picture things in their head a certain way. Whether it's emotion, or memory, or something harder to name. What interested me most was why it changes. You imagine something one way for years, and then one day, without any warning, it's different. And you can't go back to the way it was before, no matter how hard you try.

'Love.' They say it's the purest form of giving without expecting anything in return. To be unconditional, understanding, and patient. Love can be the sweetest thing of all, but it can also be the most dangerous weapon in the world.

8/13/2015 ... There is a land somewhere, one of vibrant grass and ornate architecture, the kind of place where joy isn't performed, but is a natural byproduct existence. The light isn't sure what to call it. A dimension, perhaps? Another world? Whatever it is, it’s beautiful. Even now, at night, there’s a soothing calm to it. But the light doesn’t care about any of that. He's only just found this place, and finding it took long enough that he's in no mood to admire the scenery.

It was a cool midsummer night when me and my friends start to head home we both split of from each other until it was just me I still had a mile to walk so I kept me head down but when I was walking I kept hearing strange cracking and jingling like bones from the woods around me you see we lived on a dirt road no houses for around a mile out I got home around dinner time mom and I had a good meal dad often wasn't there he was a trucker so he had to stay on long trips away from home but me and…

As darkness fell and the researchers at the Michigan laboratory finished their work and prepared to leave, something was happening that none of them were aware of. In one of the electric crucible furnaces, where they had been experimenting with creating new, extraordinary substances, something was bubbling restlessly. It seemed to have spiraled out of control, yet no one noticed. Almost all the staff had already gone home, leaving only Mike, who was notoriously slow and phlegmatic.

Mama was holding the goat by the horns while wearing garden gloves, still avoiding touching the horns with bare skin. “Untie those,” she said referring to the rope used to tie the goat to the column. I began to unfasten the rope from the goat’s neck. It started to jerk its head, uncomfortable with how she was being handled. “Don’t touch the horns,” her voice stern but low.

{ Isolation in Minnesota countryside and an unexpected snowfall in the heart of Spring set the scene for a nightmare of vast whiteness. } “Do you wanna hear a strange story?” K. asked me one winter evening. He did not even wait for my answer, because he knew how much I loved talking about unexplained cases.

Don’t go in there! It’s all a trap." Josh was a 25-year-old hotel receptionist in Black Stone, a town in northern Pennsylvania. He had started the job shortly after graduating from university in Michigan. He was a quiet, down-to-earth kind of guy who always tried to find a rational explanation for everything. But that night, something happened at the hotel that put his sense of reality to the ultimate test.

“You’re gonna give me a hundred dollars to sit inside this cardboard box for two minutes?” I asked, feeling the booze slosh around my brain. “It’s that simple,” the street performer said with a cocksure grin. “You last two minutes inside the box, you get a hundred dollars.” “What if I don’t make it two minutes?” “You don’t get a hundred dollars.” “What’s inside the box?” The street performer opened the top of the large refrigerator box and, true to his word, it was empty.

The night was calm. It rained in the afternoon, so the plants and soil were wet, the glow of the moonlight made the leaves flicker as the soft breeze started blowing, the remainder of the storm. I was standing in the middle of our kitchen. The heat of whatever Mama was cooking on the stove gave me the warmth I needed. I spent most of the day in the rain soaking wet looking for one of Mama’s new born goats. Our goat gave birth to two kids three days ago much to the delight of Mama. A fully grown…

One day, my mommy and daddy decided to buy a new house so we could move out of our apartment. Mommy had just given birth to my baby sister, Anna. She was nine months old, and I was five. My name is Leon.

Note: This is based on an actual nightmare I had back when Momo was popular. Before we start, I’m not going to make any attempts to call Momo or do the Momo Challenge. I’m not here to do that, as it’s incredibly dangerous, and I’m not trying to get myself or my family hurt. I’m just here to share a nightmare I had a long time ago, back when the legend was popular.

There was a time before history. Before words. Before sanity.

Behind the unsteady glow of a flickering candle, Gideon, a man of pallid skin and restless eyes, sat slumped in his painting chamber. He would spend his days withering away here as he grappled with the monstrous quiet of an unraveling mind. He was known to be a brilliant portraitist, capturing the essence of his subjects with confident, precise strokes. In his hands, even the smallest nuance became a revelation, bringing to light the hidden beauties within every visage.

Thunder booms in the distance as his hand brushed against her soft cheek, his callous hand a rough contrast against her skin. Rain pelts down onto their bodies as they meet each other's gaze, for what could be the final time. He cups her cheek and lets out a breath, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear. “My love...” He starts, his voice shaky and broken, just like his heart. “Don’t.”

Katies life was never easy. She would often get bullied at school and even by her own father at home with no one to stop it. Her life would become worse when her mom died of cancer and she changed schools where the kids would become violent towards her. Even her sister moved out because she couldn't stand the abuse from their father... Katie would now the main target of her father and that meant the abuse would get worse for her too. The only comfort in her misrable life was her cat names…