#creatures

I was only 12 at the time. I was playing in the scrap yard with some of my best buddies. My father was good at all different kinds of things, but flourished on vehicles and motorized machines of any type. He was always hauling in a new broken down truck, or an old busted up washing machine, and had no problem with letting my buddies and me play in the scrap piles that lay in the back yard. We were out one day just messing around, shooting Jon's new BB gun, which he had just been given for his…

The following dialog was found written on a scrap of paper in the cell of a now missing John Doe.

It was 2:31 a.m. exactly; I remember that from glancing at the clock on my nightstand just before I grabbed the revolver from beneath my mattress. My girlfriend, Ashlyn, was startled by some noises she’d been hearing from the kitchen, so she woke me up to check it out. “Cullen, there’s something in the kitchen!” I remember her whispering to me, like whatever it was would hear us. I let out a sigh, and, not sure what to expect, I crept downstairs, my weapon ready.

There was three of us that night; James, Daniel and I. We had spent an entire month planning our Holiday in the Hoia-Baciu Forest. We've read stories, upon stories regarding the paranormal shit that has occurred within the locality, and we somehow considered it a fascinating idea to venture out there as a camp-out experiment. I was nervous nevertheless, but it didn't intimidate me whatsoever, and there was also three of us. Nothing could go wrong... as I thought.

BOOM! Kaitlyn bolted up in bed in a cold sweat. She nearly fell out in a panic, and then managed to right herself. After catching her breath, she managed to calm down and glanced at the clock. 12:30 AM. Fucking great. She knew that she always took at least an hour and a half to get to sleep, and she had to be to work at 4:30.

Nightfall.

Ever seen dead bugs on a windowsill? Of course you have, it’s quite common, especially in the countryside. A still ladybug, a pile of flies, or maybe a spider curled up in a ball, it doesn’t matter. You can see them anywhere. You knew that. But here’s something you didn’t know: whenever you see dead insects or arachnids of any kind on the window sill, it’s a sign. It means you will have many restless nights, full of nightmares. It may not happen immediately, it may even takes months or years…

The dust was whirling behind their car as they sped down the gravel road. Dust and dirt swirled behind them like a dark cloud gaining on the small car. David glanced at the dash board to see how fast he was driving and it showed sixty-eight. He wasn’t sure why he was driving so fast; they weren’t exactly in a hurry. He and his friend, Ryan, were heading across the state after fall break to their school. They were both freshmen at Crestwood University.

Rose Hill Place April 11th Rose Hill Place was a rather indefinable place, all things considered. Nothing about it made it stand out to passersby, nothing in its halls to make it appeal to those who came and visited. It was exactly what it appeared to be: a single-floor complex with over a hundred rooms and three dining halls, enough to fit all who lived there and the occasional guest.

Far beneath the Sinnoh region, there lies a vast area of tunnels. If you're a resident of the region, chances are you've already heard the stories. Most people know it as a place of entertainment and adventure; a place where you can experience your very own treasure-hunt. Because of this, the darkest secrets of the tunnels are overlooked, and sometimes even forgotten by everyone not personally affected by it.

Hey guys, my name is Martin. I got something to get off my chest, something that has been clawing at me since it happened. It has changed my life and I was so damn lucky to get out of it, let alone Scott free! I was only 15 when it happened, I lived in the bad side of Chicago, a place that is so crime ridden, corrupt, and destroyed, that the Police won't drive here unless they muster up the courage or they just have to. Our house was the thing that stood out the most from my memory. It was a…

Our trip started in late February as my three friends, John, Steve, Max, and I drove in my truck deep into the backwoods of Boxwood Gulch to follow the North Fork of the South Platte River. Steve owns a cabin up in the backcountry so we left my truck there and began our 57 mile hike into the wooded terrain following the river.

“…Victims of these horrific crimes were reported to have their limbs either extremely mutilated or completely sawed off. He or she is targeting only women so far. The culprit still has not been caught and is still on the rampage…”

NOTE: This story involves the racism encountered by African Americans in the rural United States, particularly during the 19th and early 20th centuries. As such, this story may be offensive to some. Please proceed with discretion.

The unrelenting dirt road twisted and turned in front of James, small rocks popped under the tires and a cloud of dust billowed behind him as he drove on through the forest. He was visiting his brother over a long weekend of three days. A trickle of sweat fell over his brow and into the rims of his glasses. He was a city person, he had never been in the country for a day in his life, and, although the hot Italian sun and rough terrain was bothersome, he found a sort of peace in it that was…

James had just moved to upstate New York and he knew no one except for a few flaky work associates. One night during a January blizzard, he heard a faint “meow” emanating from the nearby alleyway adjacent his apartment. He ventured into the snowstorm and found a half frozen, gaunt kitten in the alley next to his apartment.

I hate my life. I just made some new friends at this stupid school, and now I have to move again because of my father’s stupid new job. We're moving to the other side of the country. I just wish we could stay in a town for more than a few months, but no. Every job just gets better and better, so we have to move. I’d been doing some research on the new town we were moving into. I’ll just say that there are some pretty messed up headlines for this place. Most of them about kids going insane, some…

There it is! In between the static. It's faint, at first, buried deep in the hiss, but after you hear it, after you know it's there it becomes so loud you want to cover your ears and scream. I can sound the words out for you, but that's it. We never got the romanization down. It sounds like: Ip thoc ko ial preg iad tow dez vago tet.

“So what’s your story, morning glory?” he asked her, staring into her big brown eyes. They were like two magnets pulling him in. Of all the juke joints in town, he had to walk into this one. Where he would see this exotic gold skinned beauty in a dress that could cure cancer. It was a red dress. One that had seen its share of blood and lives fucked up beyond redemption. If dresses could talk, this one could write an encyclopedia of misery.

I owed it to him, I suppose. He was my best friend, after all, and he had always been there for me when I was in trouble. Six months ago, Mike's uncle had died after a year or so of illness. Mike took the news hard; the man had been like a father to him. It had taken him those six months to build up the courage to head round to his uncles old place in the country, and get his affairs sorted out.