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I ran straight to the super market when I heard about the nuclear strike. The government said that a deadly disease was spreading were I lived, and that the were going to eliminate anyone who had it. When I got to the store, I saw that almost all of the canned foods were gone, infact, almost everything was gone. I grabbed all of the cans I could carry, ran outside to my car, and realized it was not enough to keep me alive in my bomb shelter.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe because if I don’t, it will stay in my head forever, scratching at the inside of my skull like something that wants out. My name is John, and a few months ago I found something I should have left buried. It happened during a trip out west, far from any marked trails, in a place where the silence feels wrong, like it’s not empty but waiting. I came across an old shack, barely standing, hidden between dead trees and dry grass. It looked like no one had…

My life seemed like it was going pretty well. I had just received my bachelor’s degree at the state college, and received the fairly well-paying job as an office manager. The thing is, something felt like it was missing from my life… I wanted love. I wanted to have a wife to keep me company, but the only women I knew worked at the office—and were drop-dead ugly.

I never believed in cursed videos. I grew up when the internet was saturated with them—grainy clips passed through forums, chain emails promising death in seven days, mirrors that whispered your name if you stared long enough. None of it ever held weight. There was always a tell: an obvious splice, a cheap audio sting, a scream jammed in at the end. Fear sold clicks. Nothing more. So when the link began circulating again, I ignored it.

In Corona, California there once was a road known by most locals as the Never Ending Road. Specifically, the road’s true name was Lester Road. Now, over twenty years later, the landscape of Corona has changed, and the Never Ending Road is no more. However, years ago, Lester Road was an unlit road that people claimed became a never ending road when driven at night. The people who made such a drive were never seen from again.

((The following passage was found on an abandoned jump-drive two miles outside of Philadelphia. Though a somewhat longer passage, it has been passed on to, edited, and submitted by K.B. Miller. Original sources refused to disclose the exact location where such jump-drive was found. Therefore, certain names and events have been changed or redacted.)) **** I can't believe I'm doing this.

Ever since I was little I've always loved Disney, me and my twin sister Millie always loves collecting Disney toys and watching a movies,My family would always go to Disneyland every summer, one summer when my sister and I were 13 years old are parents sat us down in the kitchen and announced that we were going to Disney World,we were very excited, we've been to Disneyland before but never Disney World, we ended up packing our bags and we ended up going to flordia, when we were on our way to…

Something changed after the first broadcast, but not in a way people could easily name, and that was what made it dangerous, because without a clear shape, fear has space to grow into anything, and anything is always worse than something defined. The world did not stopnot collapse, did not react in any unified or immediate way, and that absence of visible consequence created a fragile illusion that whatever had happened during the night had been insignificant, forgettable, something that could…

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.

Everyone knew that Elias would die young. His life was cursed from the beginning. When he was only seven years old, his existence was already marked by death and chaos. He watched his mother Grace get murdered by his step-father Tim. He strangled the woman with his bare hands and when she was finally dead he picked up a large kitchen knife and proceeded to stab himself in the chest multiple times until he died of blood loss. Elias locked himself in his room and when he came out the police were…

Growing up, my family was like a bunch of nomads. We never settled in one place for long. Anytime my father’s job called for it, we would uproot our lives and head on to the next big thing. This meant ending friendships and enrolling in school time after time. It was frustrating having to repeatedly sever my ties with the friends I made, and the little nest I crafted for myself. But as a ten-year-old kid, who was I to complain?

I've always loved the dark. It feels warm and welcoming. Like a mask, hiding all the stress and emotion that the daylight shows so explicitly and replacing them with a sensuous feeling. The dark reveals your true nature and abolishes the facade you play during the daytime. Yes. The dark is good. You can be yourself in the dark and not feel judged or threatened all the while by being yourself.

The pain ended quickly. I rose and tried to find my body. Probably lying mangled underneath the metallic wreck. Dying in a road accident is definitely the worse way to go. "So! Had a nice life?" asked a voice behind me. I turned around to find a woman smiling. Since she could see me I was pretty sure she was a soul like me. She giggled, "You are taking it pretty well. I am Cindy by the way." I spoke evenly," What happens now? Hell? Heaven?" She laughed louder. Before I could say something I…

Sweat trickles down my forehead; I don't bother to wipe it away, and my eyes sting from staring at the monitor screen for far too long. The office room I had rented for the short amount of time I'm living in this city was cluttered, and the mess almost filled to the maximum capacity of the room--files and recording tapes everywhere. Stacks of loose paper and documents threatened to topple and create more disarray in the ridiculously small room. But my busy mind was focused on the bright screen:…

This is the story of Kelly Tristan, a 23-year-old woman who lived alone in a small house at 2605 Pine Road in the small town of Fairview, Oregon. Her disappearance had gone largely unnoticed until nearby residents started to go missing without a trace. When the police went to investigate the area, all the homes of the missing people were completely empty, as if no one had lived in them for quite a long time. Here is what happened… Sunday October 31, 2004

I need to be extremely clear to you that this is real. There is nothing fabricated in what I am about to tell you. There are what I can only describe as zombies out there, making their way to you right now.

"What do you mean, 'you're almost there'?" Ralf's voice was barely audible through the prattle of the nightly downpour. "Past the exit sign." I leaned closer to the phone holder. "I'll be there in 20 minutes. 30 at most." I tried to come up with a quick estimate how long it would take to unload the hodgepodge of furniture and crates from the estate sale, but Ralf cut me off. "It's Friday, Frank." A pause, then: "We said Saturday."

Have your ever seen something in your life that you just cannot explain? Do you feel like if you ever mentioned it to somebody else, they would look at you like a raving lunatic? I certainly do.

While honeymooning in Maine, my wife and I stopped in the picturesque town of Boothbay on a particularly dreary and rainy day. Since our planned picnic was out of the question, we sought shelter in a dilapidated little antique store near the harbour. While my wife inspected the large chests and side tables near the door, I eagerly examined the antique tools and seafaring equipment inside the glass sales counter at the back. Being a collector of optics and mariner’s instruments, I hoped to find…

I have to say one of the things I hate the most is to have somebody walking behind me, doesn't matter if it's a friend or a complete stranger, I don't like it. I feel insecure, watched and uncomfortable. You might call me paranoid but honestly, for me, it’s unbearable. Let me begin by saying that the reason I practically hate that is because of some occurrences during my childhood. All of the events that I will tell you actually happened so you probably will understand that for protection…