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It’s been three years since the day I fled from that abandoned building and discovered the truth about the hanging shadow glitch in Luigi’s Mansion, witnessing that disturbing cutscene. I haven’t been able to sleep at all recently. For those wondering, yes, it was me—the original person who wrote about the shadow.

It's been 25 years to the day since my friend Baptiste disappeared. Not officially. The date in the police record says 'September 14' because his aunt didn't report him missing until three days later. I was the last person to see him though. I know when and where he disappeared, and I told the cops, but they brushed me off. I was just making things up to protect my friends, they said, and that I had watched too many horror movies.

When I was eleven years old, my family lived in a small, blue, relatively remote house in northern Sweden. The rear of the house had a small deck facing a dense old-growth pine and spruce forest, while the front had a garage, a shed for firewood, and a fairly large lawn. My little brother, Oskar, had just been born about a month prior, and my parents were beginning to settle into their new routine. On the day in question, my father was away shopping for groceries, while my mother was inside…

My mother was wanted across the universe for her ingenuity. Couldn’t expect any less from a woman who was feared and known for building ships and weapons for the lowest life forms in the universe, from smugglers to warlords. She wouldn't build just for anyone though. The only things you needed to have her grant you an audience was not only bottomless pockets, but be in possession of the rarest tech or material for her to build whatever her heart desired. All with one thing in mind, go big or…

Three years. It has been three years since that incident. Three years since I put myself out there and got into the dating field. Despite it being years since I met her, I hear her voice any time I’m alone, and I often felt her touch on my skin whenever I laid restless in bed. Not a day would go by without me reflecting on the past which I agree is unhealthy, but it was a force of habit. I feel that I owe you all an explanation.

I Newcomer It was midday on a Sunday, and Johnathan Urbez was driving his dream car, an RX7. The engine was modified to be even faster; the tuned machine used a racing transmission, special brakes, suspension, and tires. The body was covered in all kinds of paintings and designs. After five years of hard work, dedication, and a lot of money, this beast was ready and John had to take it out for a ride.

The Sinking House by Tristan Mason Colt was only thirteen years old when he rowed as fast as he could away from Benji and Caleb, the most menacing boys in Troop 0172.  It was the dead of night and only the faint orange moonlight lit the narrow path for Colt’s tiny canoe, which was starting to overflow. Benji and Caleb, whose kayak was much bigger and rowing skills were far superior, were gaining on him, shouting from less than fifty away.

Hello, I’ve been expecting you! I can see fear and confusion in your eyes. It’s okay, I don’t blame you. Clearly I have some explaining to do.

The current date is the twenty-third of September 2004. I am Dr. Yankin of [REDACTED] company. Today we will be going through the research of the test subject known as “Ghoul”. SUBJECT: Soldier #3154 Private Peter Terrison. Now referred as “Ghoul” Age: Thirty years old The Private was a part of our 3rd company's task force known as the “Cult watch”. They were tasked with the search and destruction of cult-like activities before they became too large or summoned something eldritch.

“Well girls, which car should we take on our little road trip? Dad’s Chevy Nomad would be practical, but the Chevy Nova’s got a bit more flair to her. Of course, if it’s flair we’re going for, I don’t think anything we have can compete with a classic Cadillac,” James Darling said as he surveyed his automotive fleet with a sense of satisfied pride.

“Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it.” — Matthew 7:13

My name's Missy, and I’m a 32B. When I turned 30, I felt it was time to boost my health, so I decided to take up jogging again.  I’d been on the track team in high school and looked forward to savoring the boost of “runner’s high” and the pride of achievement as my physique grew stronger.

My therapist told me that writing about things could help. She kind of looked away when she said it, so I’m not sure she believes that. If I’m honest, I think she just doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. It doesn’t matter though. I’m gonna write about it anyway. I’m gonna write about it because it DID happen, and it doesn’t matter what she thinks. At least if I post it here, someone might actually read it. If I post it here, maybe it can help. I should probably start with the move.

After discovering the lost episode of Gilligan’s Island, I started thinking about finding an episode of another favorite show of mine, The Three Stooges. According to a source I found, the episode was called Ghost Encounters. It was supposed to be shown in movie theaters and on television (as episodes were being aired on TV as well and released on DVD, of course). This episode was cut for being disturbing, but before you roll your eyes and think I’m going to talk about characters dying in…

It gets dark very early this time of year this far north.

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…

Eric, my precious little boy. Just look at those precious eyes! They're big and bulging out of their sockets, staring in opposite directions. He has such a nice face—sure, he's missing a nose, but there's nothing wrong with that. Now, look at that wide smile and those white, clean teeth. I helped brush them yesterday; don’t they look nice? They look nice to me!

My therapist suggested I start writing my thoughts down in a journal, saying it will supposedly help me understand and process my emotions, and I’ll get to know myself better as a result. I am sceptical, but what the hell, I’ll give it a shot! I have never kept a journal before, so I have no clue how to start… Uhm, hello, I guess. I’m me and I’m writing this to myself… Do I introduce myself now? To whom? I already know myself, and I highly doubt anyone else is ever going to read this, except my…

This whole story started three days ago. I was on the bus, listening to music, when I spotted a black umbrella on one of the empty seats. At first, I hesitated to take it. It may sound strange, but I always feel a little guilty taking something that doesn't belong to me, even when it's abandoned. However, it never lasts very long and I end up taking it home. If I don't get it back, who will? I grabbed it as I got off the bus. It was a bit of a windfall. That day, it was pouring with rain and,…

I never thought much about puppets. They were relics of another time, something my grandparents might have found amusing before the age of screens. I'd seen them in dusty attics and antique shops, their faces painted in stiff, eternal grins. They were lifeless, inert things that didn't deserve a second thought. But that was before it came to town.