My parents live up North, and so every Christmas my drive to their house is defined by a lot of grey, brown and white, as well as bitter cold. Never liked the cold. I spent the first 18 years of my life in it, so I think I definitely have an educated opinion on it. I don’t like the passionless white-skied coldness, or the stark freeze of the deep dark night where you can see your breath billowing out from you like a smokestack, and I especially don’t like when the sky is a deceptive bright blue and all sunny, the rippled clouds all golden and hazy purple, and you go outside thinking it’ll be warm and it’s still fucking…

Chapter 3: The One Who Understands All Requiem looked down at his right hand carrying the claymore with thorned rosary binding them together. He let his blade drop next to him to hang freely by the rosary so he may use both hands to climb the vine. He dug his fingers into the vine making it bleed, and started climbing. His claymore dangled from the rosary causing it to shred his forearm while the claymore etched patterns into his legs as it swayed back and forth. Requiem climbed through the darkness covered in blood for what felt like an eternity. He climbed until the face of the iron mask clanked against a stone ceiling where the vine suddenly ended.   Requiem…

Chapter 2: One Hound’s Meal is Another Man’s Treasure He scanned the chamber for another door, but fell short. All while the holes in his chest and stomach began to glow with the healing white light. Requiem rested his claymore against his shoulder, then made his way to the door he had entered through seeing that it was the only way out of the chamber. The white light turned into his entrails, then muscles and finally his scarred skin until he was whole again. Pride’s blades pushed out from his back and side to the floor. Requiem pushed open the door to see another void. Without hesitation, he stepped through into a decrepit hallway with the door disappearing behind him…

Chapter 1: The Purity of Corruption A naked holy man stood knee deep in snow on frostbitten legs in front of a tower he did not believe existed. It was a tower of legend that was forever moving that sat atop of a snowy mountain scape for the time being, and was said to grant a wish to whoever reached the top. A gust of icy wind cut into his skin scar covered skin like the many blades that did the same during his holy crusade reminding him of his duty. The duty now halted by the seven window stone tower he had only heard from those he had slain. The holy man’s true name had faded from the world…

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. Okay so, I noticed my life had always been a little different than most of the kids growing up in New York at a fairly young age. Mother and Father were always pushing the whole, “don’t ever give out your true name,” or, “don’t share our teachings with anyone.” Not to mention being home schooled with the focus on botany and ancient literature that I’d doubt you’d find in any sort of classroom. Every single one of my summers were spent on our family’s private property. The home to a creepy shed I…

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 all too abstract to have any real meaning. But now… now I can’t stop thinking about it. The words gnaw at me. They crawl…

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. It started in the early days of October, when the air was thick with the promise of decay and endings. The traveling puppet show arrived without fanfare—no posters, no announcements. One day, there was simply a tent in the empty lot at the edge of town, its canvas tattered but grand, striped red and black like a bloodstained circus. Kids at…

I didn’t remember how I got there. One moment, I was somewhere ordinary—a grocery store, maybe my car—and the next, I was standing in the polished hallway of a sprawling mansion. The floors gleamed like polished obsidian under chandeliers that glittered coldly overhead. The place was immaculate, almost painfully so, but something about it felt wrong. It wasn’t the silence—no, the silence was welcome. It was the way the air pressed down on me, thick and humid, as though the house had lungs, and I was breathing what it exhaled. I wasn’t alone. My brothers were with me, talking quietly near the massive oak doors we’d apparently come through. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their presence was…

I hate pumpkins, I hate jack-o-lanterns, and I hate Halloween. I guess I hate Halloween mostly because it means I have to see those disgusting things all over the place. On every porch, in every yard, and at every store I see them. They leer at me with crooked grins and empty eyes. Empty eyes that somehow follow my every move. I break out in a cold sweat just thinking about them. Even now I can peer out my window and see one on my neighbor’s stoop. It sits there, still as a cadaver. God, it’s looking back at me, I can feel it. It’s drilling into my skull, my soul. You think they’re horrible too, right? Do you feel…

Welcome the Horrify, A Halloween, and October tales. Where monsters roam wilder, and demons pass through. There will be 31 stories to tell. Throughout October. We had begun with the Haunted series. The tale and horror of The Ballerina. Let’s begin and enter the shadows of night. Chapter 1: Tragedy A stage filled with people and lights. The shined of the lights makes the stage look like it’s made of gold.  A woman with long brown hair dressed in white. Feathers adorn her tutu in vibrant and various colors. She dances with the lights. With grace, and unknown gentleness that captures the audience. Unknown to all, what would come next would lead to her death and downfall.  A snap of…

I didn’t remember how I got there. One moment, I was somewhere ordinary—a grocery store, maybe my car—and the next, I was standing in the polished hallway of a sprawling mansion. The floors gleamed like polished obsidian under chandeliers that glittered coldly overhead. The place was immaculate, almost painfully so, but something about it felt wrong. It wasn’t the silence—no, the silence was welcome. It was the way the air pressed down on me, thick and humid, as though the house had lungs, and I was breathing what it exhaled. I wasn’t alone. My brothers were with me, talking quietly near the massive oak doors we’d apparently come through. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their presence was…

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 all too abstract to have any real meaning. But now… now I can’t stop thinking about it. The words gnaw at me. They crawl…

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. It started in the early days of October, when the air was thick with the promise of decay and endings. The traveling puppet show arrived without fanfare—no posters, no announcements. One day, there was simply a tent in the empty lot at the edge of town, its canvas tattered but grand, striped red and black like a bloodstained circus. Kids at…

That night, the words of my father lingered on… “Son, never allow wrongdoing without vengeance. Each time someone crosses you, don’t simply double-down, but make them pay threefold – they crossed you even if they didn’t have to!” …that night, after I finally found him…for so many years he’s kept himself hidden under a fake identity, a different address, with his wife and kids. Who would’ve even thought this man could live a life so familial, so ordinary, so fake? That night I entered a house; no one had heard me, nor suspected what I would do in the moments that would follow – he was upstairs, fucking his wife. Unnoticed, I entered the room and observed their act. He…

Interview held at West Hill State Hospital, Michigan. Documented on [07/09/██] Interviewed: Patient No.00129 [Natalie Ouelette] Interviewer: Dr. August Hooper Patient Notes: Patient No.00129 has been diagnosed with PTSD and Delusional Psychosis by Dr. Meryl Walker. Upon incarceration, Miss Ouelette had been criminally charged with five counts of murder. In court, Miss Ouelette pleaded insanity and was sectioned, and on the 6th of June was admitted to West Hill State Hospital for treatment. Miss Ouelette has several physical mutilations on her person, including a faded “Chelsea Grin” that has taken four stitches to close on either side. Patient is also missing her left eye due to heavy trauma caused by a stray bullet. Miss Ouelette has exhibited extremely violent episodes…

I hate pumpkins, I hate jack-o-lanterns, and I hate Halloween. I guess I hate Halloween mostly because it means I have to see those disgusting things all over the place. On every porch, in every yard, and at every store I see them. They leer at me with crooked grins and empty eyes. Empty eyes that somehow follow my every move. I break out in a cold sweat just thinking about them. Even now I can peer out my window and see one on my neighbor’s stoop. It sits there, still as a cadaver. God, it’s looking back at me, I can feel it. It’s drilling into my skull, my soul. You think they’re horrible too, right? Do you feel…

Bloody and beaten from the journey you’ve had, you finally arrive. A haunting, immense palace of the long fallen kingdom comes into view. Crumbling staircases and ornate statues in every direction you look, each statue represents something, this kingdom… was built on fear. Fear of dying out. As you climb the stairs, you look at each engraving in the cracked stone walls. Horrific experiments displayed, various ways they have tried to impregnate their females, mutilation, torture, mutated fetuses, birth, death, and so much more. You step inside the palace. There is an eerie silence. Deafening in a way as if the people of this kingdom are watching you.The only hint that people even lived here, however, is the bodies. Hanging…

My parents live up North, and so every Christmas my drive to their house is defined by a lot of grey, brown and white, as well as bitter cold. Never liked the cold. I spent the first 18 years of my life in it, so I think I definitely have an educated opinion on it. I don’t like the passionless white-skied coldness, or the stark freeze of the deep dark night where you can see your breath billowing out from you like a smokestack, and I especially don’t like when the sky is a deceptive bright blue and all sunny, the rippled clouds all golden and hazy purple, and you go outside thinking it’ll be warm and it’s still fucking…

Chapter 2: One Hound’s Meal is Another Man’s Treasure He scanned the chamber for another door, but fell short. All while the holes in his chest and stomach began to glow with the healing white light. Requiem rested his claymore against his shoulder, then made his way to the door he had entered through seeing that it was the only way out of the chamber. The white light turned into his entrails, then muscles and finally his scarred skin until he was whole again. Pride’s blades pushed out from his back and side to the floor. Requiem pushed open the door to see another void. Without hesitation, he stepped through into a decrepit hallway with the door disappearing behind him…

I sat in awe of the message in front of me, illuminating the wall behind my desk in unholy light. “Suspended from further work-related activities.” At first, I was shocked by the sudden change in employment status my life held. Next, I was apprehensive that this was merely a mistake from the Human Resources Department. I grabbed my phone and dialed the number with vindictive fervor, indignant by the way I was treated by the company I slaved away at for 17 years! 17! When the clerk picked up the phone, I began ranting about how unfair it was that I, a veteran of Georgina’s Automobile Company of 17 years, was given an email about the end of my career.…

Bloody and beaten from the journey you’ve had, you finally arrive. A haunting, immense palace of the long fallen kingdom comes into view. Crumbling staircases and ornate statues in every direction you look, each statue represents something, this kingdom… was built on fear. Fear of dying out. As you climb the stairs, you look at each engraving in the cracked stone walls. Horrific experiments displayed, various ways they have tried to impregnate their females, mutilation, torture, mutated fetuses, birth, death, and so much more. You step inside the palace. There is an eerie silence. Deafening in a way as if the people of this kingdom are watching you.The only hint that people even lived here, however, is the bodies. Hanging…

Interview held at West Hill State Hospital, Michigan. Documented on [07/09/██] Interviewed: Patient No.00129 [Natalie Ouelette] Interviewer: Dr. August Hooper Patient Notes: Patient No.00129 has been diagnosed with PTSD and Delusional Psychosis by Dr. Meryl Walker. Upon incarceration, Miss Ouelette had been criminally charged with five counts of murder. In court, Miss Ouelette pleaded insanity and was sectioned, and on the 6th of June was admitted to West Hill State Hospital for treatment. Miss Ouelette has several physical mutilations on her person, including a faded “Chelsea Grin” that has taken four stitches to close on either side. Patient is also missing her left eye due to heavy trauma caused by a stray bullet. Miss Ouelette has exhibited extremely violent episodes…

A smile covers my face as I look up to see Emily looking down at me as I awake from my nap. I never really took work seriously, something she always got after me for, but waking up to see her beautiful golden silky hair, her bright blue eyes resembling the waters of the Maldives, and well her figure wasn’t anything to scoff at either. This was enough to make me not care about napping on the job. “What is it this time honey?” I ask with a smirk She rolled her eyes before pulling me up from the chair “Come on it’s getting pretty busy now. I know we come in early but you are leaving me and Mathew…

It was just a normal day, except that’s what I thought… I was wrong. On February 24, 2024, I learned the truth, what goes on in this little town, Blue Springs, Missouri. It was about 5 days before my family and I were gonna leave to go on a trip up to Chicago, but some strange things started to happen…It’s hard to explain. I mean it’s not normal what happened to me, not at all. It was almost like I got a sense someone or something was watching me from afar, but it wasn’t comforting, you know? It was like that thing had the intention of hurting me and my family, god how I hated  that feeling. So it’s about…

Has anyone ever told you about the Night of the Emerald moon? It seems to be a tale passed on through generations in my hometown. Halloween originated in Ireland from our beliefs of a night that thinned the vail between our world and that of the spirits. The night of the emerald moon is known to thin the veil so finely that the more dark and deadly entities can have free reign among the town. The legend goes that the village council of Ballyfer deeply offended a lone traveller who was passing through many decades ago. This man was said to be involved in an incident at a game of poker one stormy night in Loftus Hall. Word had spread…

I didn’t remember how I got there. One moment, I was somewhere ordinary—a grocery store, maybe my car—and the next, I was standing in the polished hallway of a sprawling mansion. The floors gleamed like polished obsidian under chandeliers that glittered coldly overhead. The place was immaculate, almost painfully so, but something about it felt wrong. It wasn’t the silence—no, the silence was welcome. It was the way the air pressed down on me, thick and humid, as though the house had lungs, and I was breathing what it exhaled. I wasn’t alone. My brothers were with me, talking quietly near the massive oak doors we’d apparently come through. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their presence was…

That night, the words of my father lingered on… “Son, never allow wrongdoing without vengeance. Each time someone crosses you, don’t simply double-down, but make them pay threefold – they crossed you even if they didn’t have to!” …that night, after I finally found him…for so many years he’s kept himself hidden under a fake identity, a different address, with his wife and kids. Who would’ve even thought this man could live a life so familial, so ordinary, so fake? That night I entered a house; no one had heard me, nor suspected what I would do in the moments that would follow – he was upstairs, fucking his wife. Unnoticed, I entered the room and observed their act. He…

It was 10:13 a.m. on a gray Wednesday morning when the internet first went out. Initially I thought it was just the piece of shit app I was scrolling through, but after several failed Google searches I realized the issue stretched much further. I sighed and slammed my laptop shut before stumbling out of bed. I was on the tail end of an especially heinous bender and was feeling a little light on my feet. Life had been throwing me curveball after curveball lately and I was swinging and missing like it was my job. Yawning, I staggered out into the hallway and made my way over to the router. Nestled neatly between a stack of unread books, it blinked…

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. It started in the early days of October, when the air was thick with the promise of decay and endings. The traveling puppet show arrived without fanfare—no posters, no announcements. One day, there was simply a tent in the empty lot at the edge of town, its canvas tattered but grand, striped red and black like a bloodstained circus. Kids at…

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 all too abstract to have any real meaning. But now… now I can’t stop thinking about it. The words gnaw at me. They crawl…