#horror

“It’s going to happen, Jack. Nothing we can do about it. The wheels are already in motion. Higher-ups tell me I need to release the staff by the end of the week.” “Then ‘AM 640 - Talk of the Town’ becomes what, exactly?” Ron sighed. “Another DJ-less, auto-programmed, adult easy listening station.” “Aww, Christ on a bike,” I said. “They’re stealing the soul of this industry. Our Arbitron numbers grew last ratings cycle.”

There is nothing beyond our simple lives. This is what I'm told by mama and papa but I don't agree with them- they don't know this but I've already learned about the "Great Big Ones". Who are the Great Big Ones you might ask? well they call themselves "Humans" whatever that means... but to us they are akin to gods. Our lives revolve around them as much as it does food or water because they provide many things: shelter, food, water, and even protection against other bugs but with that comes a…

Once upon a time, back to when I was young. I played and laughed with the shadows of my room. A fall night, she came. late into the night, in her violet dress and veil; she spoked softly to me. "Little one, why still wide wake?" she asked. I didn't reply, I didn't speak. I stared at her.

It was just about half an hour ago since it happened. I had come to the decision that my house was in need of a rather intense cleanup. Starting with the living room, I took out all the junk and other stuff and then started cleaning. I glanced at the wallpaper, pained by how ugly it truly is without any of my stuff cluttering around it. This wallpaper had still belonged to the previous owners, it hasn't been too long ago since I had moved in and I hadn't really taken the time to change it.

Nineteen straight days. That’s how long this storm’s been sitting on top of us. The view outside my duplex is nothing but a grey smear, I can’t even make out the other houses. Roads are flooded, power’s out. It's just canned food and cold water now. They tried having us work from home at first, but that didn’t last long. Paid leave’s not the worst outcome, I guess even torrential storm clouds have silver linings.

James Locke had always been a quiet man, the sort whose presence barely registered in a crowded room, and he had grown used to it. There was a strange comfort in being unnoticed, in blending into the gray pattern of city life without anyone truly looking at him.

First, I need to describe my appearance. It's important because if you ever see someone who looks exactly like the person I'm about to describe, that is not me, and it is not human.

Two months ago, I almost died. When you imagine your death, most people think they're gonna go peacefully in their sleep at a ripe old age. Very few imagine you'll die because you slipped in an oil puddle in your driveway and cracked your skull on the cement. That's what happened to me, though. My car, an aging beater I had kept for longer than any rational person would have, nearly took me out before I had a chance to sell it. The betrayal cut me deep.

My name is Michael, I'm 30 years old. I live alone in a rented apartment. The silence is maddening. The rare hammering of new neighbors is almost pleasing — you know that feeling. I turn on the TV just so I'm not bored and at least I can hear someone's voice. One day I decided to visit my aunt. The road was long, but what can you do? Anything to not be lonely. I packed a small bag — just some clothes and a phone charger. I didn't even check if she was home. I just needed to drive.

In the early years of social media, there was a cult following or I’d prefer to say secret society of fast food coinsures. We’d scowler message boards and chat rooms to find the most iconic or rarest off menu foods, or better referred to today as “secret menu” items. When I first learned about this trend I was immediately hooked, I mean who wouldn’t be. At the time these were the first internet scavenger hunts that pushed in to the real world. And at the end of it all, you would either try the…

I used to think the worst part of my job was the blood. The stink of it, thick and metallic, clinging to my clothes, clogging my nostrils. It soaks into everything, wood, concrete, carpet, skin. You scrub it off, bleach the scene, pretend nothing ever happened. But doesn’t lie. It leaves stains, no matter how hard you try to erase them. It tells a story, even when no one don't want to listen. Yet, it's not the worst part, the worst it 's the silence.

This is a story about the brave little tractor. Let's call him John. John is a small tractor, but he loves helping out on the farm! John plows across the field with his little plow. It takes a very long time, and afterward, John is very thirsty and hungry. His metal begs for oil, but John loves serving and helping others!

I stand in a dark room. It is very large and I can barely see the black outlines of the walls. Around me are golden cages which hang from the ceiling by long chains. Peering into them, I see the most peculiar objects; much like the strange ornate cages, gold glints through many of the bars. There are crowns, golden bars, sceptres with emeralds and other gems embedded in their hilts, golden necklaces and lockets amongst other things. One has bronze weighing scales. Other cages have bones in…

Honestly, I liked the drive. It was the scenic route and those beautiful country roads were part of the reason why I didn’t mind the commute. Driving became an escape for me. Cathartic even.

Chapter 1: The Arrival My name is Emily Parker, and I've always been drawn to the mysteries of the supernatural. So, when rumors of a haunted mansion hidden deep in the woods reached my ears, I couldn't resist the pull of curiosity. Little did I know that my quest for answers would lead me into the heart of darkness itself.

After cleaning the shop, packing the last of my gear, and loading it onto my pickup. I closed up and locked the door. I made sure to hang a sign on the door that read, “Gone Fishing.” I was all set to leave. I took another look at the place, knowing I wouldn’t see it for at least a week. I loved coming here, to work, and to serve my customers, but I was headed on a long-overdue vacation.

The room smells like stale iron and wet earth, but I don’t complain. I haven’t complained since the funeral.

Content warning: child death 1

The morning came gently, the way it often did in late spring - without urgency, without noise, as if the world itself had decided to stretch before speaking. Sunlight spilled across the small street in soft, slanted lines. It touched the rooftops first, then the windows, then slowly made its way down to the pavement where it shimmered faintly like water. Somewhere in the distance, a bicycle passed, its wheels clicking in a steady rhythm that faded as quickly as it arrived.

Editor's note: The following pages were found on the laptop of Elena K., a doctoral student at the Art History Institute in Zurich, who has been missing since March 14th. Her advisor passed the file on to us with the request to publish it — maybe someone recognizes something, maybe someone comes forward. We have changed nothing in the text. The image related to her notes is shown above. Please look at it while you read, for better understanding. Aside from this file, only one other thing was…