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 pastor had been devoted to both the church and his family for years, when his behavior suddenly changed. His sermons began spreading fear and paranoia through the town as he claimed that the Devil and his demons had infiltrated the town. He even claimed to have heard the voice of the Devil inside his home, telling him to hurt his wife or to ‘touch’ his own child. The voice even told him to kill his neighbors as they were all two faced liars…

A single unfinished opera entitled ‘The Matinee of the Damned’ is an incomplete and cursed piece of music that has plagued the eyes, ears and hearts of those who bear witness to this piece and has taken the lives of those who dare to try and finish the ballad. The opera originated in France by the hand of Jean-Baptiste Lully. Said to have been inspired by the nightmare induced by a fever, Lully began composing the opera in 1686. A few months after he began the laborious task of writing the initial composition he began complaining of strange noises emanating from the walls and floors of his own home, which soon became a constant nuisance as the sounds began tormenting…

In 1976 a new roll coaster was unveiled in Kings Island amusement park in Mason, Ohio. The roller coaster was called ‘The Depths’ and was at the time the longest roller coaster ever built; and it was only to be operated during October to celebrate Halloween. Having an ‘annual’ coaster was the park’s latest idea of a holiday gimmick to keep attendance up during the chilly autumn season. Their big promotion and tagline for the coaster was: ‘While in the Depths no can hear you scream’. What made this coaster stand out more than the others, wasn’t just it’s incredible track length, it was the ingenious aesthetics that brought on sheer fright during the ride. Built in a relatively wooded…

Earlier in the month, I was sitting on my window seat and daydreaming, watching the sun disappear behind the Sierra Nevada mountains. I had been reading a crime novel when I recalled an old family tradition. During the holidays, my mother would light candles and place them on the window sill. As I was growing up, I never knew the real purpose of lighting these candles. I always thought they were a part of decorating our house for Christmas, and my mother insisted that the candles helped Santa Claus see our home as if our tacky Christmas lights weren’t enough. I became intrigued. The tradition of lighting candles dated back to 1171 when King Henry II conquered Ireland and persecuted…

There exists a website known as Parasites.org, and it’s claimed that when you first enter the website, it automatically asks for your name, bank account information, and other personal details like your address. Not providing this information doesn’t do anything, but if you do input your details, the following text appears: “Thank you, customer! Enjoy your parasites! ;)” You are then directed to the main part of the website, which is a shop that sells parasites of all kinds: ticks, bedbugs, tapeworms, and leeches, notably human parasites and each item is priced modestly, with the phrase “No Refunds!” prominently displayed at the top. The shop also offers an illegal drug containing an organ-eating parasite. Now, you can also use the contact…

I’d lived my whole life in the small, idyllic farming town of Harvest Hill, where the annual pumpkin festival is more than just an event; it’s a cherished tradition that brings the entire community together. Every fall, the townsfolk gather in the town square, surrounded by the glowing red and yellow of autumn leaves, to celebrate the season’s bounty and compete for the coveted title of the largest pumpkin. For years, I had dreamed of winning that prize, but this year my hopes were higher than ever. Nestled at the edge of town, my modest farmhouse is surrounded by meticulously tended gardens. Each morning, I wake at dawn, don my gardening gloves, and tend to my plants with the care…

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? It was like that thing had the intention of hurting me and my family, god how I hated  that feeling. So it’s about…

14th November 2015 Dear Diary, I do not know how long it has been since I’ve experienced my last surge of brilliance. You see, I’m an established author. Albeit a published one – renowned to most for my fictional writings in dystopian novels. I have published a whopping number of 23 books. TWENTY THREE, with my last book, my last ‘Child’ being God’s Rapture; arguably my best work and the one most questioned, discussed and sought after by reviewers around the world. Critics were bitter sweet, both harsh and well. And as much good attention as my last work had garnered, she’d drew enough bad ones to match. While I know that my the book, written based on the Bible…

Centuries ago there was a Demon named Pequezbo. It was nasty thing, neither male nor female, hatched from a dead volcano in Pre-Inca South America. What was overwhelmingly known about this unholy creature was how it reveled in shock. It fed on it. The kind of shock that bypassed fear and dread and instead struck with an immediate and pure terror. Tales tell that Pequezbo had scaly pale hands which were riveted to its face by rows of iron nails. These ghastly hands obscured any skin, eyes, nose or mouth underneath–if those were even there, for no one has seen the face of Pequezbo. Or accurately, no one has survived seeing the face of Pequezbo. What Pequezbo did is wait.…

Some are inherently blessed with the ability to spin words into tales, as a glass spinner creates iridescent globes and faerie wings from the thinnest strands of molten sand. They can take the small components and, with ease and finesse, lay them over one another time and time again until the moment that the masterpiece is complete. At this point the light catches on a single aspect, and sets the whole thing shining and sparkling to all who receive it. All in all, it is a beautiful thing. I myself am not equipped with such a gift, but one of my acquaintances some time back invariably was. The subject was of no matter to him: He could make even the…

Let me start off by saying that Peter Terry was addicted to heroin. We were friends in college and continued to be after I graduated. Notice that I said “I”. He dropped out after 2 years of barely cutting it. After I moved out of the dorms and into a small apartment, I didn’t see Peter as much. We would talk online every now and them (AIM was king in pre-facebook years). There was a period where he wasn’t online for about five weeks straight. I wasn’t worried. He was a pretty notorious flake and drug addict, so I assumed he just stopped caring. But then one night I saw him come on. Before I could initiate a conversation, he…

When I was in high school, my friends and I had a peculiar pastime. Like any teenage delinquent, we liked to cause trouble. We weren’t vandals, we didn’t deal drugs, and we certainly didn’t bully kids in school. No, we liked to scare the living shit out of new parents by “hacking” their baby monitors. We were insufferable little punks who thought we were too good to get caught, and that our little acts of mischief would go unpunished. One night; however, I learned my lesson, and realized that I wasn’t quite as bulletproof as my tremendous adolescent ego made me out to be. Dimitri, Kurt, and I went to the same school, shared many of the same classes, and…

Have you ever visited Edinburgh? Beautiful city, no matter what time of year you go. The castle that sits at the centre of the city is awe-inspiring, looking down on the surrounding area from the Mount. The peaks and valleys of the land have resulted in a city that flows with the landscape. Streets that surround can be steep, with the numerous sprawling alleyways even steeper. It is here that we find Fleshmarket Close. It could be mistaken for any other darkened causeway in the city. It sits among the shops and tourist traps, relatively non-threatening, and can be used as a short cut to get down to the station if you are in a hurry. The name has been…

My name is Andrew Erics. I lived, once, in a city called New York. My mother is Terrie Erics. She’s in the phone book. If you know the city, and you read this, find her. Don’t show her this, but tell her I love her, and that I’m trying to come home. Please. It all started when I decided, around the time that I turned twenty-five, that it was time for me to give up taking my backpack in to work. It would make me look more mature, I thought, if I weren’t lugging around a book bag everywhere like a high school student. Of course this meant that I had to give up reading in the subway in the…

Before I begin to relay the details of this ritual, I should probably explain that you need to be in a certain state of mind for it to work. I’m sure a lot of you out there will know what I mean, even though I am not the best person to be explaining human emotions. It’s a kind of churning, constant emptiness. A feeling that although you have no desire to die, life simply “takes too long” and you would rather another option. It is very important that you feel this way, when undertaking the ritual. Because ‘another option’ is exactly what we’ll gives you. The details are as follows. I have tried to make it as simple as possible,…

Do you have someone you hate? Someone you would do anything to hurt, pay any price for vengeance? If so, you may want to consider visiting Lightless City. To get there, go to any decent sized city and find a deserted alleyway at night. Go into it, and close your eyes as tightly as you can. Whisper “Lightless City”, and concentrate on the darkness. You’ve probably noticed that there are faint colors and abstract shapes you can make out if you try to focus your eyes when they’re closed, watch those images go by. After a few minutes, the images should start to get clearer and brighter. When this happens, they’ll start taking on detailed forms, images of violent murders,…

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 the picture. I kowtowed to the idea and eventually gave in. I remember it like it was yesterday. Camp Omega in the foothills Virginia in some small town. It was like…

The devil on the fiery porch. He was back again that year, the same as he had been for five years running, keeping the majority of Trick or Treaters behind an imaginary line of uneasiness drawn at the edge of the curb with his Hell-red grin and burning cauldrons. It was a scene from Faust, only this was no play; this was my neighborhood. It wasn’t just kids who lingered apprehensively in the street, but parents as well. In a place where the definition of Halloween was more like cardboard skeletons and plastic jack-o-lanterns, a guy with a penchant for fire and pitchforks could be extraordinarily scary. Really young children were hurried past the residence altogether via lawns on the…

NOTE: This story involves the racism encountered by African Americans in the rural United States, particularly during the 19th and early 20th centuries. As such, this story may be offensive to some. Please proceed with discretion. _________________________________________ My family could be pretty racist. I grew up in more modern times, and always considered everyone an equal. However, it was an attitude that I had to hide from my parents. I could never bring friends home who weren’t white. Through my childhood, this attitude gave way to a lot of stories about where my parents came from; Rural, isolated Southern Ohio in the 1950’s. I was born there, in a small town outside of St. Clairsville, but was quickly moved to…

Centuries ago there was a Demon named Pequezbo. It was nasty thing, neither male nor female, hatched from a dead volcano in Pre-Inca South America. What was overwhelmingly known about this unholy creature was how it reveled in shock. It fed on it. The kind of shock that bypassed fear and dread and instead struck with an immediate and pure terror. Tales tell that Pequezbo had scaly pale hands which were riveted to its face by rows of iron nails. These ghastly hands obscured any skin, eyes, nose or mouth underneath–if those were even there, for no one has seen the face of Pequezbo. Or accurately, no one has survived seeing the face of Pequezbo. What Pequezbo did is wait.…

The devil on the fiery porch. He was back again that year, the same as he had been for five years running, keeping the majority of Trick or Treaters behind an imaginary line of uneasiness drawn at the edge of the curb with his Hell-red grin and burning cauldrons. It was a scene from Faust, only this was no play; this was my neighborhood. It wasn’t just kids who lingered apprehensively in the street, but parents as well. In a place where the definition of Halloween was more like cardboard skeletons and plastic jack-o-lanterns, a guy with a penchant for fire and pitchforks could be extraordinarily scary. Really young children were hurried past the residence altogether via lawns on the…

When I was in high school, my friends and I had a peculiar pastime. Like any teenage delinquent, we liked to cause trouble. We weren’t vandals, we didn’t deal drugs, and we certainly didn’t bully kids in school. No, we liked to scare the living shit out of new parents by “hacking” their baby monitors. We were insufferable little punks who thought we were too good to get caught, and that our little acts of mischief would go unpunished. One night; however, I learned my lesson, and realized that I wasn’t quite as bulletproof as my tremendous adolescent ego made me out to be. Dimitri, Kurt, and I went to the same school, shared many of the same classes, and…

My husband and I loved each other very much, but just as most couples we would get into arguments. Out biggest argument always revolved around a single disagreement: children. I wanted children, he did not. As the years passed I had hoped he would eventually come around and warm up to the idea of having children, but he remained stubborn and wouldn’t change his mind. I reminded him that if we waited too much longer we’d never be able to conceive a child of our own, but he didn’t seem to care. I even suggested adoption and fostering children but he wouldn’t hear it. “You’re not fit to be a mother!” His cruel words burned into my memory. I loved…

Let me start off by saying that Peter Terry was addicted to heroin. We were friends in college and continued to be after I graduated. Notice that I said “I”. He dropped out after 2 years of barely cutting it. After I moved out of the dorms and into a small apartment, I didn’t see Peter as much. We would talk online every now and them (AIM was king in pre-facebook years). There was a period where he wasn’t online for about five weeks straight. I wasn’t worried. He was a pretty notorious flake and drug addict, so I assumed he just stopped caring. But then one night I saw him come on. Before I could initiate a conversation, he…

Do you have someone you hate? Someone you would do anything to hurt, pay any price for vengeance? If so, you may want to consider visiting Lightless City. To get there, go to any decent sized city and find a deserted alleyway at night. Go into it, and close your eyes as tightly as you can. Whisper “Lightless City”, and concentrate on the darkness. You’ve probably noticed that there are faint colors and abstract shapes you can make out if you try to focus your eyes when they’re closed, watch those images go by. After a few minutes, the images should start to get clearer and brighter. When this happens, they’ll start taking on detailed forms, images of violent murders,…

This is a game where the participants get the chance to meet the twin they’ve never known in life. It’s a simple game to play, but the repercussions can overwhelming. The twin is a reflection of who you really are, not who you pretend to be. If you’re a genuinely good person your twin encounter will be pleasant and gratifying. But if you’re a bad person, someone who bullies, lies, steals, cheats, manipulates or hurts other people, then your experience will be dark and painful. In order to play the game you require the following: an empty closet, a (lit) candle and a mirror. To start hang the mirror, any size will do, on the wall in the closet. Be…

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 the picture. I kowtowed to the idea and eventually gave in. I remember it like it was yesterday. Camp Omega in the foothills Virginia in some small town. It was like…

My name is Andrew Erics. I lived, once, in a city called New York. My mother is Terrie Erics. She’s in the phone book. If you know the city, and you read this, find her. Don’t show her this, but tell her I love her, and that I’m trying to come home. Please. It all started when I decided, around the time that I turned twenty-five, that it was time for me to give up taking my backpack in to work. It would make me look more mature, I thought, if I weren’t lugging around a book bag everywhere like a high school student. Of course this meant that I had to give up reading in the subway in the…

Before I begin to relay the details of this ritual, I should probably explain that you need to be in a certain state of mind for it to work. I’m sure a lot of you out there will know what I mean, even though I am not the best person to be explaining human emotions. It’s a kind of churning, constant emptiness. A feeling that although you have no desire to die, life simply “takes too long” and you would rather another option. It is very important that you feel this way, when undertaking the ritual. Because ‘another option’ is exactly what we’ll gives you. The details are as follows. I have tried to make it as simple as possible,…

Wipe your feet when you come inside. Cliché. Old school. Who does that anyways? Well, the shit your grandmother tells you isn’t always bad advice. Quite the contrary really. I’m about to tell you a story you won’t believe. A story that will never leave me. A story about what exactly happens when you don’t WIPE. YOUR. FEET. And please, whoever finds this, heed my advice. Read the story. It’s too late for me… It was a cold and wet Sunday afternoon; the sky was grey with post-storm clouds. I had just gotten off work at the town grocery store and was walking home. The roads were horrible. Mud lined the streets, caking on to my shoes and soaking through…