#horror

I’ve been a security guard at Somatic Self Storage for a few years now. I’d lost my previous job due to the first round of Covid lockdowns, and at the time, getting hired here seemed like a godsend. It pays more than double the average rate for a security guard around here, despite it otherwise being a pretty standard job. The only catch was that I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement regarding exactly what it was we were keeping in storage.

Blood of the Damned - Shadows over Riga - The Nosferatu Experiment © Andre M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved ( Nightscribe & Royal Road Edition ) Disclaimer: No warranties! Latvian Proverb: “Skopais maksā divreiz.” Translation: “The stingy one pays twice.” This proverb warns against being overly frugal or cheap, as it often leads to higher costs in the long run. Chapter 1: The Risky Summons

Fun fact: There was a time when I was, technically speaking, a “Twitter artist”. Not in the sense that I was controversial or “corny”, as some people put it, but I was an artist with a Twitter account, and I witnessed a lot of the petty drama and general fuss that came with being on art Twitter. I’ve long since deleted my account for a whole cocktail of reasons, but the incident I’m about to describe definitely helped me in making my decision to leave.

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…

“Aww, Mervin, did you break Daddy’s wine bottle?” Emily was washing dishes when she heard the sound of the bottle shattering. “It was Ed, not me!” insisted Mervin. Emily knew there was no way the three-year-old could open the middle shelf of the cupboard yet. Mervin had turned six last month, and he was just tall enough to reach it. “Now, now, I already know it was you. I saw you playing with the cupboard handles. Don’t try to blame this on your little brother,” said Emily.

Once, very, very long ago there was a traveller. His travels reached so far and wide, he had touched each edge of the world. His eyes had witnessed the beauty of nature. He had felt the warmth of the friendliest and kindest people. And yet, it all appeared not enough, for he would never stay anywhere for long. Village after village. Forest after forest. From one strange unknown to the other. It was as if he was searching for something, restlessly pursuing.

It was may 25th, 2005. me and my daughter Charlotte was heading to the park. she wanted to play on the play ground. i told here go ahead and that i’d watch from the bench. she went off and played with other kids. My neighbor and my daughter’s friends mom came to talk to me. we talked. i looked away from charlotte for 2 seconds…..i wish i hadn’t looked away…..i go to turn to see how charlotte was..but s..she was gone. omg i was so scared, i kept yelling her name “Charlotte! Charlotte sweetie…

THE BEGINNING Every American child is familiar with the Statue of Liberty. Green woman. torch. crown. Greetings to the bunched masses, and the exhausted. Since 1886, she has stood atop that pedestal, grinning at cameras, ships, and school groups that wave back. The sole, covert goal of Division 0 was to ensure that she stood on her place. On one unfortunate day, they decided they won't monitor The Statue of Liberty. Midnight struck upon the clock, Guards patrol without focus.

Silences are louder than the music on the radio.... Quiet, is the noise of white and light... The silences can be loud too, when the quiet gets noisy, and your mind starts to hurt.... When your mind starts to see danger wherever you go... Anxiety, dressed up in the hidden depths of your mind.... And it will never let you go... Depression, forms of smiles, and 'I'm Fine'.... Where your mind is your worst enemy, that another person can't hurt you with words...

DAY 1

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.

Takunda was just issuing out of the lavatory when he sensed that all was not right on the school premises. The siren had just wailed moments ago, signalling the end of lunch time. He didn't expect to find the hallway so cleaned out. Usually at this hour, he would've expected to find a few delinquent pupils lazing about the lockers and probably busying themselves with the latest school gossip.

Leonard pushed his face firmly into the crease of his elbow as another scathing blast of frigid air blew through the valley. The snow piled up at his feet while he stumbled up a small incline, struggling to keep his balance, the biting cold permeating his winter jacket. Shivering, he turned, baring his back to the icy downpour and staring across the barren fields of white before him. At the very crest of the blizzard, a single tent was cartwheeling, leaving a trail of tiny dents as each of its…

Ed was a night watchman at Mr. Mitchell’s company, a firm that manufactured engines for motorboats. He was 54 years old—tall, thin, and never without his glasses. His night shift usually followed a set routine: he would circle the warehouse several times and then spend the rest of the night either napping or buried in a crime novel.

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.”

I’ve been selling junk on eBay for years—mid-century lamps, Beanie Babies, even a taxidermy squirrel once. My weekends are spent prowling garage sales, looking for overlooked treasures. So when I saw the squat, ancient jar sitting in a patch of weeds at the back of a neighbor’s sale, I figured it might be worth, at the very least, a hundred bucks to some archaeology-obsessed collector. Honestly, it didn’t look like much at first. About as tall as my knee, thick clay, faded patterns spiraling…

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!

So I’m writing this as I go through this. I was sitting in my room reading creepy pasta’s and I’m not gonna make a sound right because I’m hearing moving at my window from the inside and it just so happened to be as I’m reading creepy pasta’s I don’t think so. The noises are crinkling kinda like paper and I haven’t open my certain yet but I will and if something happens I’ll try to wright it down but I’m hearing faint breathing now I’m like what the fuck I’m trying not to make noise but I’m…

In the early morning my liquored mind found sleep. It wasn’t restful, but drowning and cruel, as if my own body resented me for finding a moment of respite. I woke after what felt like hours, but found it to be only a few minutes since sprawling across the old, stained couch. I sat upright, and felt my legs protest to yet stand. I thought it better to find the Marlboro man tucked inside the pocket of my pearl snap shirt- the pack crumpled from my restless crash. My hands shakily flicked the…

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.