This is a story of a boy I met when I was still young. His name was James Elkin, and he lived in the house two doors down from me. We weren’t friends, but I did greet him a few times when I saw him. He always looked small for a nine-year-old and had long, uneven hair. I remember walking past his home on my way to school each day. Many times, I saw him out collecting insects. He never harmed them. He wasn’t very friendly, but he wasn’t cruel either. His parents were always very kind, often offering jobs to us younger kids so we could earn a little change for bubble gum or something we wanted. Because of…

When Jade was only twelve-years-old, her father came home one afternoon with his arms and legs covered in claw marks. Jade felt confused and excited about his appearance. While she didn’t like seeing her dad hurt, she wondered if he finally bought her the cat or dog she wanted. He wasn’t good with animals and she figured it must have attacked him on the car ride home. To Jade’s dismay, he didn’t bear hug her or call her his “little troll,” a nickname he gave her for the vibrantly colored hair extensions she always wore. He hurried into the bathroom and shut the door. “Second time. This isn’t good at all,” she heard him say through the door. “I have…

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.…

As a kid growing up in my neighborhood everyone knew about Farmer Fred’s, partly because it was an abandoned farm in the middle of the Pittsburgh suburbs, but largely due to the fact that it was haunted. A farm in my neighborhood was probably commonplace at the turn of the 19th century, but by the time I was a kid we were surrounded by strip malls, fast food restaurants and housing developments. That being said, there was and is still a good deal of green space, and at least one farm, albeit no longer operational. According to local legend, Farmer Fred had come from a long line of dairymen who had called our little patch of western Pennsylvania home. He…

It’s funny how tales like this cling to you, worming their way into your mind, gnawing away, festering like a wound. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but sometimes the stories we pass down—the ones we whisper in shadowy corners or over drinks at seedy bars—are more chilling and grotesque than any proven fact. This is one of those tales. A fable, sure, but one that sits far too close to reality. Told by those who find comfort in the macabre, and believed by those who understand that the scariest monsters are always human. Ever heard of Helen? The lonely, gaunt old woman who ran that ramshackle diner out on Highway 22—the one no one seems to remember until…

It’s funny how tales like this cling to you, worming their way into your mind, gnawing away, festering like a wound. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but sometimes the stories we pass down—the ones we whisper in shadowy corners or over drinks at seedy bars—are more chilling and grotesque than any proven fact. This is one of those tales. A fable, sure, but one that sits far too close to reality. Told by those who find comfort in the macabre, and believed by those who understand that the scariest monsters are always human. Ever heard of Helen? The lonely, gaunt old woman who ran that ramshackle diner out on Highway 22—the one no one seems to remember until…

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.…

As a kid growing up in my neighborhood everyone knew about Farmer Fred’s, partly because it was an abandoned farm in the middle of the Pittsburgh suburbs, but largely due to the fact that it was haunted. A farm in my neighborhood was probably commonplace at the turn of the 19th century, but by the time I was a kid we were surrounded by strip malls, fast food restaurants and housing developments. That being said, there was and is still a good deal of green space, and at least one farm, albeit no longer operational. According to local legend, Farmer Fred had come from a long line of dairymen who had called our little patch of western Pennsylvania home. He…

When Jade was only twelve-years-old, her father came home one afternoon with his arms and legs covered in claw marks. Jade felt confused and excited about his appearance. While she didn’t like seeing her dad hurt, she wondered if he finally bought her the cat or dog she wanted. He wasn’t good with animals and she figured it must have attacked him on the car ride home. To Jade’s dismay, he didn’t bear hug her or call her his “little troll,” a nickname he gave her for the vibrantly colored hair extensions she always wore. He hurried into the bathroom and shut the door. “Second time. This isn’t good at all,” she heard him say through the door. “I have…

This is a story of a boy I met when I was still young. His name was James Elkin, and he lived in the house two doors down from me. We weren’t friends, but I did greet him a few times when I saw him. He always looked small for a nine-year-old and had long, uneven hair. I remember walking past his home on my way to school each day. Many times, I saw him out collecting insects. He never harmed them. He wasn’t very friendly, but he wasn’t cruel either. His parents were always very kind, often offering jobs to us younger kids so we could earn a little change for bubble gum or something we wanted. Because of…

It’s funny how tales like this cling to you, worming their way into your mind, gnawing away, festering like a wound. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but sometimes the stories we pass down—the ones we whisper in shadowy corners or over drinks at seedy bars—are more chilling and grotesque than any proven fact. This is one of those tales. A fable, sure, but one that sits far too close to reality. Told by those who find comfort in the macabre, and believed by those who understand that the scariest monsters are always human. Ever heard of Helen? The lonely, gaunt old woman who ran that ramshackle diner out on Highway 22—the one no one seems to remember until…

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.…

As a kid growing up in my neighborhood everyone knew about Farmer Fred’s, partly because it was an abandoned farm in the middle of the Pittsburgh suburbs, but largely due to the fact that it was haunted. A farm in my neighborhood was probably commonplace at the turn of the 19th century, but by the time I was a kid we were surrounded by strip malls, fast food restaurants and housing developments. That being said, there was and is still a good deal of green space, and at least one farm, albeit no longer operational. According to local legend, Farmer Fred had come from a long line of dairymen who had called our little patch of western Pennsylvania home. He…

This is a story of a boy I met when I was still young. His name was James Elkin, and he lived in the house two doors down from me. We weren’t friends, but I did greet him a few times when I saw him. He always looked small for a nine-year-old and had long, uneven hair. I remember walking past his home on my way to school each day. Many times, I saw him out collecting insects. He never harmed them. He wasn’t very friendly, but he wasn’t cruel either. His parents were always very kind, often offering jobs to us younger kids so we could earn a little change for bubble gum or something we wanted. Because of…

When Jade was only twelve-years-old, her father came home one afternoon with his arms and legs covered in claw marks. Jade felt confused and excited about his appearance. While she didn’t like seeing her dad hurt, she wondered if he finally bought her the cat or dog she wanted. He wasn’t good with animals and she figured it must have attacked him on the car ride home. To Jade’s dismay, he didn’t bear hug her or call her his “little troll,” a nickname he gave her for the vibrantly colored hair extensions she always wore. He hurried into the bathroom and shut the door. “Second time. This isn’t good at all,” she heard him say through the door. “I have…