#paranoia

The Doorman

My cousin told me it happened in a very small village in Mexico, the one our grandfather grew up in. Late one night, a young man was leaving a friend's home. Despite the late hour, he insisted that he could walk home. After all, his own abode was only a mile away. Stepping out into the quiet streets, he started his journey. Breathing in the humid summer air, listening to the buzz of the street lamps mixed with the crickets and his own footsteps on the gravel ground.

Nobody in the street took the warnings seriously. Not until the insults started. It began just after midnight in a quiet neighborhood outside Cape Town. People were woken by banging bins, dogs barking, and a strange little voice yelling from outside. At first, Mr. Daniels thought it was drunk teenagers. He opened his window and shouted, “Who’s making all that noise?” Silence. Then from the darkness below came a raspy voice. “Go back inside, you old fool.” Mr. Daniels blinked.

The attic floorboards are thin, but the silence is thinner. I’ve been up here for three hours. The vibrating stopped, which is worse. Now, the only sound is a rhythmic thump-drag, thump-drag coming from the hallway directly below the attic hatch.

His friends kept calling out, but Sara was nowhere to be found. They decided to split up. Suddenly, Tom spotted a curious exhibit: a large, double-sided rotating mirror. At first, he saw only his own reflection, but a moment later... he saw Sara. "Sara, what are you doing? You gave us a real scare. We were so worried about you. We were afraid something had happened." "I’m sorry, but this is just so... incredible," she replied. "Ah, women," Tom muttered under his breath.

it all started on one day when i was in my room casually reading my story book " TERRIBLE DAY OF NIGHTS " then my mom called me from downstairs ''hey honey , come down your dinner is waiting for you mainly don't be late or else your dinner will get cool down so better come fast as you can " . I went downstairs and saw my mom and dad looking at me weirdly i asked them " why are you looking at me like im a ghost ?" , but they just nodded no nervously as i came to eat near dining table they…

I’m writing on here about a missed connection. I was at the Bernard Mall retro game store around 3 pm on Saturday. You were in the fantasy aisle. Your hair was a shining auburn that graced your gentle frame, and when you turned to me. Your eyes lit me up like the mystical northern lights. Their hazel flecks danced even in the dull lighting, and you smiled. And your blushed cheeks a shade of rose so sweet a hummingbird would confuse you for a bloom.

I think it all started when I dreamt of my own death. I was only 10. This isn’t the first time I’ve died in a dream. We've all felt the jolt of a fall or a hit. Shaking us out of slumber and into the dark comfort of our bed.

Last Tuesday, I noticed a new app on my phone called "Follow the Leader." No icon, just a white circle on a black background. Being bored and fourteen, I opened it. It was just a GPS map of my neighborhood with two dots: a blue one for me and a red one about three streets over. A text popped up at the bottom: “The Leader is moving. Keep up.”

I was quietly sleeping reminding myself of the ol boring school stuff. Nobody ever had a chance to get vacation as i did. We went to a nearby forest at alaska. I loved alaska and always wanted to visit it. Huge thanks to my dad who accepted it. My dad was a veteran animal hunter. My mom was a skiled nurse and self defense trainer. Im a loving artist. I love to draw and sing. The night felt big. Long. Shivered. Almost frozen. As my eye saw nothing but darkness. When i woke up. My body was unable…

The trip was fun. From what we could remember at least. Olivia and I had made the weekend trip down to St. Augustine, Florida with her younger brother John. The four hour drive from Albany, Georgia to one of America’s oldest cities was long and boring. The four-lane highways we traveled along were barren and isolated, surrounded by nothing but miles of impenetrable forest save for the occasional shithole rest stop.

The first thing you notice isn't the cold or the smell of damp concrete it’s the silence. When you finally blink your eyes open, the world is a blur of grey shadows and a single, flickering lightbulb hanging from a low ceiling. Your wrists ache, and when you try to reach for your phone, the heavy rattle of a steel chain snaps you into a cold reality. You aren't in your bedroom. You’re in a basement clean, organized, but windowless. There’s a plate of your favorite food sitting on a small wooden…

The PHEN-228 Incident (The Boiled One) In the late summer of 2003, a broadcast hijacking occurred in Southern Pennsylvania that would change the lives of 530 people forever. This is the story of The Boiled One Phenomenon, a terrifying example of a "cognito-hazard" an idea so dangerous that simply knowing it can destroy you.

Call me tasteless but I enjoyed running Southern Fried Murder. Growing up, I loved horror movies, especially slashers, but as I got older I became more drawn to true crime… To the real life monsters walking among us. Like most people, I was initially drawn to the sensationalized Bundys and Dahmers of the world but the local cases scared me more. I became more intrigued by the murders and vicious crimes that happened in my neck of the woods here in the American South. These were also the crimes…

1934 was a different time. Not just in Savannah, Georgia but in America. We didn't have many luxuries back then. Or much optimism, for that matter. Not when we were in the midst of The Great Depression.

Think about this for a second, when you delete a file, a video, an image, literally anything on the internet, where does it go? Is it technically still out there? Is it in the hands of someone else? Well, I sure as hell found out.

By WedgeOverPotato

By WedgeOverPotato "What do you seek? What do you hear? What do you fear? For fate is, my Witherin, inevitable to your undying likeness. That man's biggest creation is more of a brute than man itself. That we all clasp our hands together and prance around for mercy till the undying showers us with the pleasure of death, for it is we, whom shall not die." Witherin. For it is we, whom shall not die.

The moment the air dropped, everything went haywire. It felt like the room got smaller by the second as people dragged in empty breaths. A woman in diamonds tried to fan herself with a napkin and started crying when it ripped. The man beside her, in a bright velvet suit, clawed at his shirt until all the buttons flew off.

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.