It’s been 25 years to the day since my friend Baptiste disappeared. Not officially. The date in the police record says ‘September 14’ because his aunt didn’t report him missing until three days later. I was the last person to see him though. I know when and where he disappeared, and I told the cops, but they brushed me off. I was just making things up to protect my friends, they said, and that I had watched too many horror movies. Baptiste and I were thick as thieves ever since first grade. To most people, we must have been an odd pair. The shy, withdrawn kid with the thick Haitian accent our classmates often made fun of, to a point…

There’s a quote I once read, buried in some forgotten philosophy book: “To peel away the layers of the world is to expose what hides beneath, and what hides beneath is not meant to be seen.” At the time, it seemed like one of those lines people throw around when they want to sound profound, but they don’t really know what it means. The kind of thing you hear at a party from someone who’s had one too many drinks and thinks they’re the next Nietzsche. I’d rolled my eyes at it then, thought it was all too abstract to have any real meaning. But now… now I can’t stop thinking about it. The words gnaw at me. They crawl…

June 17th, 2024 My therapist suggested I start writing my thoughts down in a journal, saying it will supposedly help me understand and process my emotions, and I’ll get to know myself better as a result. I am sceptical, but what the hell, I’ll give it a shot! I have never kept a journal before, so I have no clue how to start… Uhm, hello, I guess. I’m me and I’m writing this to myself… Do I introduce myself now? To whom? I already know myself, and I highly doubt anyone else is ever going to read this, except my therapist maybe. I’m just rambling about nothing to a bunch of pages now, I can’t really think of anything interesting…

When I was a kid I used to play down by the creek that was behind my house. I’d throw rocks, play with plastic army men, make little houses out of mud and sticks having them sink into the creek. On a particular hot day in July when I was about nine I was sitting by the edge of the creek. I had my feet in the water trying to cool down as the day was unbearably humid. I had my eyes closed and didn’t hear her walk up. “Hello” I heard an older voice say. I open my eyes and see a thin middle aged woman wearing a thin white dress, walking barefoot carrying a box under an arm.…

It was a quiet, cold, windy night in the cornfield I was in with my dog. My father told me to search through the somewhat small yet vast cornfield. My father was always scared of people that weren’t us in his field. We both grew up hearing stories of our family members encountering unexplainable shit in forests, old buildings, and that very cornfield my father sent me to search. I remember how my father used to tell me experiences he had in that field. Like seeing the stalks move on their own when the night was still and hearing sounds of animals like coyotes far or even close to him. Yet he’s with me sharing the story. I always take…

I saw it one night. A shape moving into my kitchen like it was afraid of the fact I saw it. Always I go to the kitchen to see if it’s still there in the dark or not. I’m always too slow to catch up to it. By the time I reach the kitchen it’s always gone. By the time the shape sees light it’s gone. Ducking behind the wall that covers the kitchen like if a neighbor got caught looking at your yard through his hedges. No matter what I try it always hides before I can reach it and curiosity slowly consumes me by the passing nights when I do see the shape. I can’t really make out…

There was nothing special about that morning. The sun was warm, and the breeze was cool, one of the first hints that spring was here to stay. It started off as a simple thought, just an idea. But I never could have imagined what that idea was capable of causing. I woke up early even though it was my day off. I yawned and glanced out the window thankful that the snow was finally gone. I debated for a moment what I was going to do with my day and couldn’t really decide. I figured I’d end up doing the same thing I always did on my days off, a morning walk followed by some TV and a few THC…

The mind is a complex thing that no one can truly hope to fully understand. You can study it all day long but there are things inside that defy all human logic. In a way we are all prisoners to our own thoughts, and some are hard to escape. I used to love riding my bike. I got my first one when I was ten and still have it at age seventeen. I rode it most days, basically any chance that I got. There was nothing like pedaling around in the nice weather with a cool breeze blowing in my face. We lived in a large neighborhood, and I always made a big loop completely around it. It would take…

Michael sat down on the bench, checking his watch as his leg nervously tapped the floor. The bus was running late today. That wasn’t good for him. He needed to make a good impression at this interview. This job could be a great stepping stone in his career—he had to get it. And if the bus didn’t hurry up, he wouldn’t! “C’mon, c’mon!” he murmured. “Let’s hurry this on up!” A car passed by nearly every second, but no bus yet. He was shaking, just a little. Just a little he shook. But he was anxious. He looked to his side to see an older gentleman sitting on the bench next to him, a tophat covering his eyes as he…

Everyone on the train was normal. Of course, Stuart didn’t care to notice that they were normal. When something is normal, the brain doesn’t pay it any mind. Why would it? It’s a waste of energy to notice the mundane. If it’s normal, it’s not a threat. It doesn’t need to be taken care of. Doesn’t need to be noticed, thought about, or given an ounce of consideration. When something is not normal, however, that is when the human mind begins to take notice of the details. Stuart wished so desperately that he had noticed the abnormality of the town when he first got off the train. If he had just paid attention right then and there, maybe he wouldn’t…

There’s a quote I once read, buried in some forgotten philosophy book: “To peel away the layers of the world is to expose what hides beneath, and what hides beneath is not meant to be seen.” At the time, it seemed like one of those lines people throw around when they want to sound profound, but they don’t really know what it means. The kind of thing you hear at a party from someone who’s had one too many drinks and thinks they’re the next Nietzsche. I’d rolled my eyes at it then, thought it was all too abstract to have any real meaning. But now… now I can’t stop thinking about it. The words gnaw at me. They crawl…

Michael sat down on the bench, checking his watch as his leg nervously tapped the floor. The bus was running late today. That wasn’t good for him. He needed to make a good impression at this interview. This job could be a great stepping stone in his career—he had to get it. And if the bus didn’t hurry up, he wouldn’t! “C’mon, c’mon!” he murmured. “Let’s hurry this on up!” A car passed by nearly every second, but no bus yet. He was shaking, just a little. Just a little he shook. But he was anxious. He looked to his side to see an older gentleman sitting on the bench next to him, a tophat covering his eyes as he…

June 17th, 2024 My therapist suggested I start writing my thoughts down in a journal, saying it will supposedly help me understand and process my emotions, and I’ll get to know myself better as a result. I am sceptical, but what the hell, I’ll give it a shot! I have never kept a journal before, so I have no clue how to start… Uhm, hello, I guess. I’m me and I’m writing this to myself… Do I introduce myself now? To whom? I already know myself, and I highly doubt anyone else is ever going to read this, except my therapist maybe. I’m just rambling about nothing to a bunch of pages now, I can’t really think of anything interesting…

When I was a kid I used to play down by the creek that was behind my house. I’d throw rocks, play with plastic army men, make little houses out of mud and sticks having them sink into the creek. On a particular hot day in July when I was about nine I was sitting by the edge of the creek. I had my feet in the water trying to cool down as the day was unbearably humid. I had my eyes closed and didn’t hear her walk up. “Hello” I heard an older voice say. I open my eyes and see a thin middle aged woman wearing a thin white dress, walking barefoot carrying a box under an arm.…

Everyone on the train was normal. Of course, Stuart didn’t care to notice that they were normal. When something is normal, the brain doesn’t pay it any mind. Why would it? It’s a waste of energy to notice the mundane. If it’s normal, it’s not a threat. It doesn’t need to be taken care of. Doesn’t need to be noticed, thought about, or given an ounce of consideration. When something is not normal, however, that is when the human mind begins to take notice of the details. Stuart wished so desperately that he had noticed the abnormality of the town when he first got off the train. If he had just paid attention right then and there, maybe he wouldn’t…

The mind is a complex thing that no one can truly hope to fully understand. You can study it all day long but there are things inside that defy all human logic. In a way we are all prisoners to our own thoughts, and some are hard to escape. I used to love riding my bike. I got my first one when I was ten and still have it at age seventeen. I rode it most days, basically any chance that I got. There was nothing like pedaling around in the nice weather with a cool breeze blowing in my face. We lived in a large neighborhood, and I always made a big loop completely around it. It would take…

It was a quiet, cold, windy night in the cornfield I was in with my dog. My father told me to search through the somewhat small yet vast cornfield. My father was always scared of people that weren’t us in his field. We both grew up hearing stories of our family members encountering unexplainable shit in forests, old buildings, and that very cornfield my father sent me to search. I remember how my father used to tell me experiences he had in that field. Like seeing the stalks move on their own when the night was still and hearing sounds of animals like coyotes far or even close to him. Yet he’s with me sharing the story. I always take…

It’s been 25 years to the day since my friend Baptiste disappeared. Not officially. The date in the police record says ‘September 14’ because his aunt didn’t report him missing until three days later. I was the last person to see him though. I know when and where he disappeared, and I told the cops, but they brushed me off. I was just making things up to protect my friends, they said, and that I had watched too many horror movies. Baptiste and I were thick as thieves ever since first grade. To most people, we must have been an odd pair. The shy, withdrawn kid with the thick Haitian accent our classmates often made fun of, to a point…

There was nothing special about that morning. The sun was warm, and the breeze was cool, one of the first hints that spring was here to stay. It started off as a simple thought, just an idea. But I never could have imagined what that idea was capable of causing. I woke up early even though it was my day off. I yawned and glanced out the window thankful that the snow was finally gone. I debated for a moment what I was going to do with my day and couldn’t really decide. I figured I’d end up doing the same thing I always did on my days off, a morning walk followed by some TV and a few THC…

I saw it one night. A shape moving into my kitchen like it was afraid of the fact I saw it. Always I go to the kitchen to see if it’s still there in the dark or not. I’m always too slow to catch up to it. By the time I reach the kitchen it’s always gone. By the time the shape sees light it’s gone. Ducking behind the wall that covers the kitchen like if a neighbor got caught looking at your yard through his hedges. No matter what I try it always hides before I can reach it and curiosity slowly consumes me by the passing nights when I do see the shape. I can’t really make out…

Michael sat down on the bench, checking his watch as his leg nervously tapped the floor. The bus was running late today. That wasn’t good for him. He needed to make a good impression at this interview. This job could be a great stepping stone in his career—he had to get it. And if the bus didn’t hurry up, he wouldn’t! “C’mon, c’mon!” he murmured. “Let’s hurry this on up!” A car passed by nearly every second, but no bus yet. He was shaking, just a little. Just a little he shook. But he was anxious. He looked to his side to see an older gentleman sitting on the bench next to him, a tophat covering his eyes as he…

The mind is a complex thing that no one can truly hope to fully understand. You can study it all day long but there are things inside that defy all human logic. In a way we are all prisoners to our own thoughts, and some are hard to escape. I used to love riding my bike. I got my first one when I was ten and still have it at age seventeen. I rode it most days, basically any chance that I got. There was nothing like pedaling around in the nice weather with a cool breeze blowing in my face. We lived in a large neighborhood, and I always made a big loop completely around it. It would take…

When I was a kid I used to play down by the creek that was behind my house. I’d throw rocks, play with plastic army men, make little houses out of mud and sticks having them sink into the creek. On a particular hot day in July when I was about nine I was sitting by the edge of the creek. I had my feet in the water trying to cool down as the day was unbearably humid. I had my eyes closed and didn’t hear her walk up. “Hello” I heard an older voice say. I open my eyes and see a thin middle aged woman wearing a thin white dress, walking barefoot carrying a box under an arm.…

There was nothing special about that morning. The sun was warm, and the breeze was cool, one of the first hints that spring was here to stay. It started off as a simple thought, just an idea. But I never could have imagined what that idea was capable of causing. I woke up early even though it was my day off. I yawned and glanced out the window thankful that the snow was finally gone. I debated for a moment what I was going to do with my day and couldn’t really decide. I figured I’d end up doing the same thing I always did on my days off, a morning walk followed by some TV and a few THC…

Everyone on the train was normal. Of course, Stuart didn’t care to notice that they were normal. When something is normal, the brain doesn’t pay it any mind. Why would it? It’s a waste of energy to notice the mundane. If it’s normal, it’s not a threat. It doesn’t need to be taken care of. Doesn’t need to be noticed, thought about, or given an ounce of consideration. When something is not normal, however, that is when the human mind begins to take notice of the details. Stuart wished so desperately that he had noticed the abnormality of the town when he first got off the train. If he had just paid attention right then and there, maybe he wouldn’t…

It was a quiet, cold, windy night in the cornfield I was in with my dog. My father told me to search through the somewhat small yet vast cornfield. My father was always scared of people that weren’t us in his field. We both grew up hearing stories of our family members encountering unexplainable shit in forests, old buildings, and that very cornfield my father sent me to search. I remember how my father used to tell me experiences he had in that field. Like seeing the stalks move on their own when the night was still and hearing sounds of animals like coyotes far or even close to him. Yet he’s with me sharing the story. I always take…

June 17th, 2024 My therapist suggested I start writing my thoughts down in a journal, saying it will supposedly help me understand and process my emotions, and I’ll get to know myself better as a result. I am sceptical, but what the hell, I’ll give it a shot! I have never kept a journal before, so I have no clue how to start… Uhm, hello, I guess. I’m me and I’m writing this to myself… Do I introduce myself now? To whom? I already know myself, and I highly doubt anyone else is ever going to read this, except my therapist maybe. I’m just rambling about nothing to a bunch of pages now, I can’t really think of anything interesting…

There’s a quote I once read, buried in some forgotten philosophy book: “To peel away the layers of the world is to expose what hides beneath, and what hides beneath is not meant to be seen.” At the time, it seemed like one of those lines people throw around when they want to sound profound, but they don’t really know what it means. The kind of thing you hear at a party from someone who’s had one too many drinks and thinks they’re the next Nietzsche. I’d rolled my eyes at it then, thought it was all too abstract to have any real meaning. But now… now I can’t stop thinking about it. The words gnaw at me. They crawl…

I saw it one night. A shape moving into my kitchen like it was afraid of the fact I saw it. Always I go to the kitchen to see if it’s still there in the dark or not. I’m always too slow to catch up to it. By the time I reach the kitchen it’s always gone. By the time the shape sees light it’s gone. Ducking behind the wall that covers the kitchen like if a neighbor got caught looking at your yard through his hedges. No matter what I try it always hides before I can reach it and curiosity slowly consumes me by the passing nights when I do see the shape. I can’t really make out…

It’s been 25 years to the day since my friend Baptiste disappeared. Not officially. The date in the police record says ‘September 14’ because his aunt didn’t report him missing until three days later. I was the last person to see him though. I know when and where he disappeared, and I told the cops, but they brushed me off. I was just making things up to protect my friends, they said, and that I had watched too many horror movies. Baptiste and I were thick as thieves ever since first grade. To most people, we must have been an odd pair. The shy, withdrawn kid with the thick Haitian accent our classmates often made fun of, to a point…