#paranoia

“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.”

The listing said SLEEPS 2 in capitals, the way you write a warning before you understand it. Mira found the cabin. Four hours north, at the end of a gravel road that gave up and became a suggestion for the last half mile. No neighbours in any direction. A woodstove, a hand pump over the sink, and two mugs on the shelf. Two chairs at the table. Two plates, two forks, two towels folded to the same width. Two of everything, arranged like an answer to a question nobody had asked.

It was Halloween in the year 2015. I remember waking up at 7AM, feeling stoked for Halloween and watching Charlie Brown. I saw people from outside my neighborhood decorating at the last minute because a lot of people like slacking on Halloween.

We moved in on a Tuesday, and by Friday I had learned the house repeated me. Not everything. It was selective, like a bad line that only keeps the important words. I would be at the sink and hear, from the landing above, my own voice at low volume, finishing a sentence I had not started. The first time I thought it was a phone, a radio, a neighbour's television bleeding through the wall. We had no neighbours. The house was the last on the road and the woods did the rest.

The Bainbridge Ghost Tours used to be a tradition in my hometown around Halloween. It was always cheap and heavy on the schlock. Hammy tour guides, cheesy music, cheap decorations. Picture ‘Monster Mash’ as a two-hour ghost tour and you get the idea. But given the town's limited history and questionable urban legends, I couldn't really blame Mr. and Mrs. Wesley for going all out with their prized attraction.

Lainy held her cup of coffee to her chest, tried to trap its warmth inside her body. She should've dressed warmer. Autumn had arrived and it was forcing its chill through her body. Logan was twenty minutes late. She tried not to hold it against him, but her nose was starting to run. They had matched online, exchanged only a few messages before he asked her out on a date. It was bold but he was attractive enough, plus the cafe was filled with people. What could go wrong?

Xavier Truman drove with one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel, the other drumming against the door in rhythm with the radio. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the windshield, bathing the quiet neighborhood in a warm, nostalgic haze. The radio crackled softly.

It had been a while since I had visited my cousins. Believe it or not, it had been five years since I saw any of their faces. The last I time I saw them I was eight years old and had not yet learned that the world had no consequences. I skipped gaily around their two story ramshackle house joyously, singing my favorite songs and playing with the six year old twins. This playtime, however was constantly tainted by my Aunt Clarissa.

My brother could wear my voice before he could find his own. Our mother would call us down to dinner and he would answer in my throat, and she would set the table for one boy twice. At nine I heard him explaining me to our father. Not reporting. Explaining, the way you explain weather. He used my voice, and the words were mine, arranged the way I would never have arranged them, and he was right about every one. I asked how. He said, I listen. I am always listening.

In the late 18th century in upstate New York a pastor and his family; his wife, young daughter, maid and himself were all found dead inside their home. Cause of death was identified as quadruple suicide.

The Doorman

Open your closet, don’t turn on the light. Make sure you have one match with you. Step inside and close the door. If the lights outside of the closet are on, this will not work. Nor will it work if it is daylight. The only room you need is enough for slight mobility.

July 4th, 2028, the police are at their busiest on a hot Los Angeles summer evening. The station is fully staffed with officers going in and out on calls. All while Gordon sits at the front desk with his eyes going back and forth between his monitor and the front door. He was pretty pissed he had to work a double shift into the morning. Let alone miss the fireworks with his kids.

A beautiful August afternoon, with its gorgeously blazing sun, encouraged them to hit the road and abandon the comfort of their couches and armchairs. Out of the corner of his eye, Garreth admired the lovely surroundings of Woodblacke. • ​It's so beautiful here! - he said aloud to his travelling companions. ​Nick nodded in agreement. Susan had just woken up and began her ritual of stretching in the back seat. • ​We're almost there, just a few hundred metres more and we'll be at our destination…

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?…

My name is Edward Polist, and for most of my life I was a detective. People used to say I had a gift for seeing things others missed, that I could notice patterns hidden in chaos, that I could follow the smallest detail until it led me somewhere real. I believed them, maybe more than I should have. My work became the only thing that made sense to me, the only place where the world followed rules. Evidence led to answers, actions had consequences, and nothing simply happened without a reason.…

It is a new and so far prosperous day when we are called to the King's chamber and so we come with high spirits. Under the old king's watchful gaze we listened to his words with both eyes and ears as wide as the kingdom gates in which the people of the land came forth for their daily business. "Do not leave the kingdom walls after nightfall." Said his Majesty, eyes widened with terror "For if you are to go forth then I cannot keep you from the wild things in which will find you"

When I was very little, I met my very best friend. I was quite the fearless little child, so I wasn’t afraid of him. Though, I do think most little kids might’ve been. But, I was a boy, and by my logic that meant I wasn’t supposed to be scared of anything. Even if I was little, I was still a boy.

You don't know me. But perhaps you know my voice.

The clock was ticking. Like a pickaxe in my skull. It's now 2:45. Fifteen minutes until I hear your footsteps; not that bare feet can make much noise on that gravel road. Seventeen minutes until I hear your broken nails on the wooden door. Blindly scratching away, trying to find the handle. Twenty minutes until your voice is calling out to me. But it will be strangled, like always. It's hard to talk with maggots eating at your vocal cords.