I am Joshua L. Greene. And I am responsible for the fire that destroyed Briarwood Winery on October 19th. My reasoning for doing so will be explained in this confession. On the night of October 19th, I stayed at work late to help clean up after the tasting event. We had brought extra glasses up from storage in the cellar, and I was helping clean them so they could be returned to the dusty boxes they called home. My coworker, Sam, was rushing the dishes, leaving remnants of lipstick on the rims. “Slow down, man! Isn’t this paid overtime for you?” I told him. He paused briefly, turning his gaze to me. “You do know why it’s paid overtime, right?”…

I do not know this man. I do not know this man in the mirror. The one staring right back at me, moving his eyes to reflect wherever I look. He does every single thing I do. Makes every single face, pokes back at fingers aimed against the glass, and turns his back when I turn mine. To the untrained eye, it looks as any normal reflection does; behaves as any mirror is designed to do. There is nothing obviously out of the ordinary that would arouse suspicions otherwise. But as of a few restless nights ago, my rationality has flipped completely on its head. I cannot explain what changed in the span of those 24 hours. The mirror looks…

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…

The handwritten sign plastered to my door was not something I could miss. ‘Rent due on Monday: don’t be fucking late this time.’ Living with my best mate’s sister had been working out reasonably well, and to be fair, I felt terrible about being behind on rent so often, but I still wished Hazel would find a less passive-aggressive way of reminding me. If only my parents had bought me my own place after I’d graduated college, I’d get to be the one behaving like an overprivileged asshole, I reflected, before tearing the sign off the door and entering my bedroom. I flopped down onto my bed, exhausted after another morning of fruitless job searching. I knew I would have…

You shuffle across the parking lot to your car, exhausted after working all morning, but excited because it was finally April 2nd. A friend is coming to visit. He drove from Gable Mel, Georgia, and you cannot wait to see him. Your boyfriend Lander has taken the day off and is waiting for you to get home. As you drive down the road in your busted car, you catch glimpses of your emerald eyes and the puffy white clouds in the rearview mirror. The sky is turning grey as you pull into the parking lot of the Pinewood Village Apartments. You let your hand caress the gear shift and push it into park. When you swing open the door noises…

Chapter 1: The Arrival My name is Emily Parker, and I’ve always been drawn to the mysteries of the supernatural. So, when rumors of a haunted mansion hidden deep in the woods reached my ears, I couldn’t resist the pull of curiosity. Little did I know that my quest for answers would lead me into the heart of darkness itself. The forest around me was alive with the sounds of the night, a cacophony of rustling leaves and chirping insects that seemed to whisper secrets in the darkness. The moon hung low in the sky, its feeble light struggling to penetrate the thick canopy of trees that surrounded me. The mansion, a looming silhouette against the night sky, seemed to…

I remember that night all too vividly, as if the memories were etched into my very soul. It was a cold, moonless evening, the kind that sends shivers down your spine and makes you wish for the warmth and safety of home. But little did I know that home would offer no sanctuary from the horrors that awaited me. We were gathered around the campfire, a group of friends seeking refuge from the darkness that enveloped the forest like a shroud. The flames danced and flickered, casting eerie shadows upon the trees that loomed ominously in the distance. It was then that I first heard it, a faint rustling in the underbrush that sent a chill down my spine. At…

The handwritten sign plastered to my door was not something I could miss. ‘Rent due on Monday: don’t be fucking late this time.’ Living with my best mate’s sister had been working out reasonably well, and to be fair, I felt terrible about being behind on rent so often, but I still wished Hazel would find a less passive-aggressive way of reminding me. If only my parents had bought me my own place after I’d graduated college, I’d get to be the one behaving like an overprivileged asshole, I reflected, before tearing the sign off the door and entering my bedroom. I flopped down onto my bed, exhausted after another morning of fruitless job searching. I knew I would have…

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…

You shuffle across the parking lot to your car, exhausted after working all morning, but excited because it was finally April 2nd. A friend is coming to visit. He drove from Gable Mel, Georgia, and you cannot wait to see him. Your boyfriend Lander has taken the day off and is waiting for you to get home. As you drive down the road in your busted car, you catch glimpses of your emerald eyes and the puffy white clouds in the rearview mirror. The sky is turning grey as you pull into the parking lot of the Pinewood Village Apartments. You let your hand caress the gear shift and push it into park. When you swing open the door noises…

I am Joshua L. Greene. And I am responsible for the fire that destroyed Briarwood Winery on October 19th. My reasoning for doing so will be explained in this confession. On the night of October 19th, I stayed at work late to help clean up after the tasting event. We had brought extra glasses up from storage in the cellar, and I was helping clean them so they could be returned to the dusty boxes they called home. My coworker, Sam, was rushing the dishes, leaving remnants of lipstick on the rims. “Slow down, man! Isn’t this paid overtime for you?” I told him. He paused briefly, turning his gaze to me. “You do know why it’s paid overtime, right?”…

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…

I do not know this man. I do not know this man in the mirror. The one staring right back at me, moving his eyes to reflect wherever I look. He does every single thing I do. Makes every single face, pokes back at fingers aimed against the glass, and turns his back when I turn mine. To the untrained eye, it looks as any normal reflection does; behaves as any mirror is designed to do. There is nothing obviously out of the ordinary that would arouse suspicions otherwise. But as of a few restless nights ago, my rationality has flipped completely on its head. I cannot explain what changed in the span of those 24 hours. The mirror looks…

I remember that night all too vividly, as if the memories were etched into my very soul. It was a cold, moonless evening, the kind that sends shivers down your spine and makes you wish for the warmth and safety of home. But little did I know that home would offer no sanctuary from the horrors that awaited me. We were gathered around the campfire, a group of friends seeking refuge from the darkness that enveloped the forest like a shroud. The flames danced and flickered, casting eerie shadows upon the trees that loomed ominously in the distance. It was then that I first heard it, a faint rustling in the underbrush that sent a chill down my spine. At…

Chapter 1: The Arrival My name is Emily Parker, and I’ve always been drawn to the mysteries of the supernatural. So, when rumors of a haunted mansion hidden deep in the woods reached my ears, I couldn’t resist the pull of curiosity. Little did I know that my quest for answers would lead me into the heart of darkness itself. The forest around me was alive with the sounds of the night, a cacophony of rustling leaves and chirping insects that seemed to whisper secrets in the darkness. The moon hung low in the sky, its feeble light struggling to penetrate the thick canopy of trees that surrounded me. The mansion, a looming silhouette against the night sky, seemed to…

The handwritten sign plastered to my door was not something I could miss. ‘Rent due on Monday: don’t be fucking late this time.’ Living with my best mate’s sister had been working out reasonably well, and to be fair, I felt terrible about being behind on rent so often, but I still wished Hazel would find a less passive-aggressive way of reminding me. If only my parents had bought me my own place after I’d graduated college, I’d get to be the one behaving like an overprivileged asshole, I reflected, before tearing the sign off the door and entering my bedroom. I flopped down onto my bed, exhausted after another morning of fruitless job searching. I knew I would have…

You shuffle across the parking lot to your car, exhausted after working all morning, but excited because it was finally April 2nd. A friend is coming to visit. He drove from Gable Mel, Georgia, and you cannot wait to see him. Your boyfriend Lander has taken the day off and is waiting for you to get home. As you drive down the road in your busted car, you catch glimpses of your emerald eyes and the puffy white clouds in the rearview mirror. The sky is turning grey as you pull into the parking lot of the Pinewood Village Apartments. You let your hand caress the gear shift and push it into park. When you swing open the door noises…

I remember that night all too vividly, as if the memories were etched into my very soul. It was a cold, moonless evening, the kind that sends shivers down your spine and makes you wish for the warmth and safety of home. But little did I know that home would offer no sanctuary from the horrors that awaited me. We were gathered around the campfire, a group of friends seeking refuge from the darkness that enveloped the forest like a shroud. The flames danced and flickered, casting eerie shadows upon the trees that loomed ominously in the distance. It was then that I first heard it, a faint rustling in the underbrush that sent a chill down my spine. At…

Chapter 1: The Arrival My name is Emily Parker, and I’ve always been drawn to the mysteries of the supernatural. So, when rumors of a haunted mansion hidden deep in the woods reached my ears, I couldn’t resist the pull of curiosity. Little did I know that my quest for answers would lead me into the heart of darkness itself. The forest around me was alive with the sounds of the night, a cacophony of rustling leaves and chirping insects that seemed to whisper secrets in the darkness. The moon hung low in the sky, its feeble light struggling to penetrate the thick canopy of trees that surrounded me. The mansion, a looming silhouette against the night sky, seemed to…

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…

I do not know this man. I do not know this man in the mirror. The one staring right back at me, moving his eyes to reflect wherever I look. He does every single thing I do. Makes every single face, pokes back at fingers aimed against the glass, and turns his back when I turn mine. To the untrained eye, it looks as any normal reflection does; behaves as any mirror is designed to do. There is nothing obviously out of the ordinary that would arouse suspicions otherwise. But as of a few restless nights ago, my rationality has flipped completely on its head. I cannot explain what changed in the span of those 24 hours. The mirror looks…

I am Joshua L. Greene. And I am responsible for the fire that destroyed Briarwood Winery on October 19th. My reasoning for doing so will be explained in this confession. On the night of October 19th, I stayed at work late to help clean up after the tasting event. We had brought extra glasses up from storage in the cellar, and I was helping clean them so they could be returned to the dusty boxes they called home. My coworker, Sam, was rushing the dishes, leaving remnants of lipstick on the rims. “Slow down, man! Isn’t this paid overtime for you?” I told him. He paused briefly, turning his gaze to me. “You do know why it’s paid overtime, right?”…