This morning, I cleaned out my closet to create space, and I discovered a plastic bin filled with childhood memories. Being sentimental, I removed the bin and began searching through it. The bin mostly contained artwork from my elementary school years, and the majority of them were scribbles or fingerpaintings on bright construction paper. In particular, a crayon drawing of my entire 3rd grade class drew my attention. I have to say that I must have been quite the artist back in the day because I actually recognized some of my classmates. It helped that I had tried to spell their names next to each stick figure, even if I misspelled them horribly. It just gave me that warm and…

There are stories that cling to the edges of reality, rumors whispered in bars by old sailors with trembling hands and distant eyes. Stories of ships that drift into the harbor with no crew, no signs of struggle… just eerie silence. But until last week, I thought they were just that… stories. The Nautica appeared in the mist on a quiet Tuesday morning. No distress signals, and no records of departure. A 70-year-old cargo vessel, long thought scrapped just… appeared. It was found adrift off the coast, slowly floating toward the docks with not a soul on board. No crew. No captain. Nothing. Naturally, the news caught my attention. As a freelance journalist, I made a living chasing down stories…

“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.” Stumped, I just stared at the phone for a moment. “Seriously?” My schedule had been somewhat chaotic lately, and I was more annoyed than surprised that I had mixed things up. “Yes, seriously,” Ralf said through the rain and what sounded…

I want your sickness. You see, I spend my time here, each hour of the day and night, I sit in the shadows just to watch. I study your every move. I know your routine well, in fact. You wake up each night at 03:00, still shuddering from a nightmare, and drag your tired body to the washroom. It gives me such a thrill, this routine, because what you don’t know is that it’s not a nightmare. I am, in fact, only inches away from you. My skinless hand caresses your cheek, I tilt my head to breathe in the warm scent of your neck, the rush of blood pulsing through your fragile veins filling my ears. I press my…

I’ve gotten into some trouble recently, and I need to tell people about it. I need to know if anyone has experienced something like this. I don’t want to be alone in this. I’m really, really scared. Please, bear with me while I explain what happened to me. For the purposes of this, I’m going to remain anonymous, so I don’t complicate my situation further. You’ll find out why in a little bit. I really appreciate you taking your time to hear me out and help me. It all started at school while I was taking a calculus test. The classroom door opened, and a police officer stepped inside. I remember glancing over to him, looking for an excuse to…

I consider myself a pretty average resident of Indianapolis, Indiana. I was born and raised here, went to school here, and I’m currently attending Martin University to earn my degree in Environmental Science. Just like my dad always wanted. I enjoy motorsports and home makeover shows, and I love me a good sugar cream pie. I’ve been called a ‘Midwestern stereotype’ more than once, but only by new acquaintances from uni. By people who don’t know I haven’t always been this way. Growing up, I was a weird kid. Not a wild kid, mind you. Quite the opposite. Parents, teachers, other kids – everyone agreed that I was laid back and easy to get along with. No tantrums, no ‘rebellious…

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…

I’ve been a security guard at Somatic Self Storage for a few years now. I’d lost my previous job due to the first round of Covid lockdowns, and at the time, getting hired here seemed like a godsend. It pays more than double the average rate for a security guard around here, despite it otherwise being a pretty standard job. The only catch was that I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement regarding exactly what it was we were keeping in storage. Maybe I was naïve to think that nothing nefarious was going on, or maybe I’m just a selfish prick who was persuaded to turn a blind eye for a few extra dollars, but up until recently, I honestly…

Hallucinations are a rare side effect of most of the psychiatric drugs I’ve taken. I’m by no means experienced in the field of pharmaceuticals, but after taking a whole range of serotonin reuptake inhibitors (fluoxetine, escitalopram, sertraline, etc.) I have collected my fair share of symptoms. In my opinion, hearing a skittering crawl outside my door or seeing a tall man looming in the corner is preferable to suicidal thoughts. Sure, the uncertainty of being unable to trust my eyes and ears took some getting used to, but at least I am capable of joy. Without my medication, relaxation and happiness are as elusive as a sunrise to a blind man. My hands may shake so badly that I struggle…

I have to write about this here because if I tell anyone in my life they will not believe me. I need to purge myself of these memories, I must share them with you. It began as I lay still and heavy in my old bed. It was not soft but I was drifting away to a place where I could dream. Then, the quite common unsettling occurrence happens where from my bed upon an ungodly hour, I could hear a loud screeching inhuman scream. A woman’s scream if it were to be replicated by a waterlogged and damaged robot voice box. A screeching as though a hoard of crows were to imitate a human upon their death. I feel…