#madness

I was about twelve years old when my parents sent me to that shit hole. They were so determined to get me to camp. Not just that camp but really any camp. I took it as code for “We’ll-be-at-work-all-week-and-we-don’t-trust-you-alone”. My parents showed me the brochure, it actually looked kind of fun! The picture on the front of the brochure had slides, activities, and really anything that a twelve year old kid would want in a camp. It was pretty legit. The kids all seemed to be having fun in…

Everybody knows that if you surf the web long enough, you'll see some pretty sick shit. This is especially true if you intentionally dwell into the dark underbelly of the internet. I've seen quite a few things I don't care to admit to, but one thing that I'll always remember is a site called "normalpornfornormalpeople.com". The first strange thing about the site was that I didn't find it by actually looking for it. It was e-mailed to me by someone I didn't know. The e-mail was as follows:

Howdy. You can call me "Jack." It's not my real name, but that's what I'll go by for now. I reckon the time to tell my story has come. Believe it or don't, but here it is. I suggest you take away the lessons it teaches, even if you dismiss it all as bullshit like 98% of the other stories on the internet. But there's more truth in this story than any one of you could know.

I couldn’t take the calls any more. I just couldn’t take knowing. There was nothing I could do to stop them from coming through; I had to put an end to it.

I was always afraid of the lunch lady when I was a kid.  I don't know why; maybe it was the toxic stench of her breath, or the dead look in her eyes, or the unkempt hairs dangling off her chin.  No matter what the reason was, my palms grew sweaty and my heart pounded every time I passed her in the lunch line.  I never felt quite at ease until I had left the cafeteria, and even then I still was worried I would catch sight of her in the hallway between classes.

He never smiled I never understood why he cried. I would see him everywhere I went, he would cry over everything I did, he would always be sad.. like he just lost some one he loved. His hysterical sobs would fill my senses and I could never block him out. His woeful eyes, dull and glazed over would stare in my direction, but never directly at me as he heaved for breaths between his trembling tears.. he.. it... never smiles.

3:47 pm. August 4th, 1973. My name is Kevin Matthews. I am at the Matthews Lakeside cabin in Black Rock Park which I received in my dad's will. I'm writing this to document my odd findings of my family's lakehouse.

His face never changes. It's pale white. His eyes are grey, empty. Wide. So fucking wide. I can't take my own eyes off of them and because I can't, I feel them painfully dry up, just as his should. But they don't. He never closes them. He's always, always watching.

“Strange how paranoia can link up with reality now and then.” ― Philip K. Dick, A Scanner Darkly My name is Connor. Up until today, my life was completely normal... well, as normal as you can get. I’m your average 25 year old male who graduated from the University of Washington a little over 2 years ago. I was born January 23, 1989 in a small town in Maine called Belmont. Fewer than 1000 residents, but I loved the place.

4:23AM I didn't imagine it... I'm not fucking insane. My vision may have been distorted as a result of my excessive alcohol consumption, but I know what I saw. I know that it was real, I've been sat in a bath full of cold water for the past hour to try and shake the feeling of being covered in blood. Her blood. - 5 hours earlier -

There is a video on YouTube named Mereana Mordegard Glesgorv. If you search this, you will find nothing. The few times you find something, all you will see is a 20 second video of a man staring intently at you, expressionless, then grinning for the last 2 seconds. The background is undefined. This is only part of the actual video.

“Ladies and gentleman, members of the Board, I have two wonders to share with you tonight. First, allow me to present the next evolutionary milestone of our species – immortality.” Ever for theatrics, Dr. Monroe says this with arms outstretched, his burgundy dress coat flowing with every gesture.

Sally Gregory folded her arms across her chest. Her brother, Samuel Gregory, tossed his baseball from hand to hand, a devilish half grin on his face, while his grey eyes challenged Sally. Around him were his gang, a group of boys that went to school with her and Samuel, that were chanting, “Chicken! Chicken! Sally is a chicken!” Sally glared at her brother’s gang. Sally was not one to be made fun of. The name calling derived from the fact that she was a girl, and needed to prove her worth to…

It started with a whisper faintly appearing on the wind. ‘Psst.’ Larineth glanced around the field she was in, and after not seeing anyone, she went back to her task: picking the most beautiful flowers she could find and laying them in a basket. Today was her birthday, and she had proudly told anyone that she met that she was turning nine years old today, and soon she would be an adult just like them. ‘Psst.’

About five years ago I lived downtown in a major city in the US. I've always been a night person, so I would often find myself bored after my roommate, who was decidedly not a night person, went to sleep. To pass the time, I used to go for long walks and spend the time thinking.

My name was Private Charles Lee Locod, I enlisted back in ’67 for the U.S. Army. I traded my fiancée for a rifle, my home for a tent, and three years of my life for someone else. Some men kill to live; I was one of those men. Though I don’t think I ever actually killed anyone, at least I did my best not to. Then there are men who live to kill, men like Sergeant Stevens. He was a back woods Carolina man who took pleasure in each gruesome act. The last I saw him was a few days ago when he waved…

I could see its glow in the distant. The incandescent lights creating a luring haze. It was so far away, too far in fact. I missed it a lot. The concrete beneath my feet. The harsh air, the noise, the traffic. Most of all the people, the endless throb of people. Out here it’s only a sky, sky that’s way too big and empty. It makes you feel too small. A city may be big; you may feel meaningless but at least your part of something bigger. Out here you realise that there isn’t anything bigger. Just…

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.

I've never been a very sociable kid. To be completely honest, I've never really seen the point of it. People talk about the same things over and over again. Meaningless things. The weather. The weekend. Work. School. As I've gotten into my late teens, I've grown to loathe it. Whenever I hear the kids in my classes or in the halls talking about the same old crap and giggling my blood boils. People avoid me mostly, which can be expected. A few of the more brutish kids pick on me, but I just…

Dear Becky,