Unholy Hour

Perhaps you have heard the legend of the supposed “holy hour” that occurs on certain days of the year: Christmas, Easter, Good Friday, November 1, and the first of both February and August, each day between 7 and 8 am (not including Daylight Savings Time, mind you, because it is a human invention and supernatural entities do not observe it). When you were a kid, this was the hour in which you probably opened Christmas presents and started tearing apart your Easter basket after dragging your parents out of bed, and much to your parents’ chagrin refused to eat anything but leftover Halloween candy from the day before for breakfast; however, more than likely you had never gone into a darkened room in preparation for this ritual. However, perhaps you’ve heard others speak of it.

Go into a room with a mirror, preferably one without windows, between 7 and 8 am on any one of the dates listed above. You do not have to perform this ritual alone; if you have any friends, you may in fact want them to come in with you to help you perform specific tasks outlined that are difficult to do in the dark. (Important: The only light in this ritual must come from either a candle or a lighter – some tiny, flickering flame. Save for this light, you must be in total darkness – otherwise there is a strong possibility that you won’t see anything, hence the suggestion that you perform this in a room without windows. However, it all depends on your own sensitivity to the paranormal; when my friend performed this ritual last November 1, we had to shut all the doors in the hallway first because the light from the doorcrack kept distracting him.) Make sure that you perform this ritual in comfortable clothing – you want to avoid any unnecessary
discomfort.

Once inside this room, close the door and light your candles and/or your lighter. This/these flame(s) must remain lit until the end of the ritual, although I know of people who have chickened out and blown the flames out which instantly ends it and generally leaves them wallowing in their own cowardice for days on end afterwards. You may have your friend(s) hold or light the candles or lighter if desired, as long as the flame is reflected in the mirror. Now begin chanting some Christian prayer – any one will do, even the “Sinner’s Prayer” on the back of those Chick Tracts, as long as it mentions God, Jesus, or the Holy Ghost at least once – as you stare into the mirror. It must be the same prayer and, again, the number of times you need to chant this prayer varies depending on your own sensitivty to the paranormal, but generally twenty times is more than enough. (My friend chose Our Father, and he needed to chant it fifteen or sixteen times.)

When you have chanted for long enough, one of your flames will flare and then change color. (Ours turned red, but I’ve heard of flames turning blue, white, and even green and lavender before.) A few seconds later, an image will appear in the mirror of the archangel Michael – he looks a lot like the usual images of Christian angels, only he has this really nasty burn mark on the left side of his face. Also, he has really deep-set eyes.

Bow to Michael; again, it is important to make sure you don’t accidentally put out your flame(s) unless you wish to end the ritual. After you bow to him, Michael will ask you if you are entirely certain that you want to perform this ritual. I can’t really describe the voice, but it’s not the sort of voice you’d expect an archangel to have: it’s kind of scratchy and overall not very pleasant to listen to, and he has a faint accent of indeterminable origin.

After you answer yes, Michael will explain the conditions of the ritual: he will ask you seven questions, and if you answer at least four of them right, he will either allow or a conversation with a deceased loved one or give a living one immortality; however, if you answer three or fewer of them correctly, he will slit your throat and you will die right then and there. (I’ll admit that I actually do not remember any of the seven riddles from when my friend did this, but I do remember that they were rather arcane – i.e., not the type of riddles you would find in a riddle book – and he seemed to be fully aware of this. Also, if I remember correctly, each one consisted of seven words.) My friend never did well at riddles, so you can imagine that he didn’t get any right, which seemed to amuse the hell out of Michael, as by the end of the ritual he had this big, terrifying Joker-like smile on his face.

After you are finished answering the riddles (you only get one try at each, but he lets you think), Michael gives you the score. Again, if you answer three or fewer right, he smites you. While he smites you, he says something in the angel language – Enochian, I believe it’s called – and you’re left writhing on the floor in agony. My friend was screaming his head off when the ritual was over, and he started speaking in tongues; it was horrible and I’m currently in therapy for this. Really fucking horrifying.

But I digress. Anyway, the candles all went out, and the lighter he had me hold died at the exact same time. I left the room feeling dizzy, and passed out on my bed in my own vomit. Strange thing is I woke up eight hours later and went into the bathroom I performed the ritual in, and found no trace of my dead friend in there. Strange, I live alone and all my doors and windows were locked, there was no sign of anyone having broken into my apartment, the landlady was on vacation, and no matter how hard I looked in the bathroom I could not find a single trace of my friend’s blood anywhere.

A few days later, I got a call from his roommate, asking about my friend. According to his roommate, my friend disappeared on Halloween night and hadn’t been seen at all since. He had called all around, asking my friend’s parents, siblings, aunt, uncle, people like the guy at the convenient store where my friend bought his cigarettes, and even his old teachers from grade school if they knew anything about his whereabouts, only to get a resounding “no.” He decided to call me because apparently I was the only person out of the people both he and my friend knew that he hadn’t called yet. So I told him exactly what happened, down to my friend’s body mysteriously disappearing. He didn’t believe me, and reported me to the police, but, when the police came to investigate, they did not find any trace of my friend either, not even his DNA. It’s almost like he never came over my house and instead chose to fall off the face of the earth and leave his friends
behind.

On a side note, I’ve heard that someone in fact, by some miracle, did get all of the riddles right, and they wished for the immortality of whoever. However, the next day their loved one was not alive. They, much like my friend, were mysteriously spirited away, only this time on the wall of their room there was a message in some mysterious language, written in blood. Perhaps only God and the archangel Michael know what has become of the two of them.

Credited to M. Collins.

Last Will

This is my last will…I’m recording this now. I don’t have much time left. Well…not so much of a will, really. Everyone I know is dead, missing of seconds away from death.

I don’t know how it went so wrong. It was supposed to be something that would grant me eternal wealth, riches and longevity. Something that I heard was supposed to be how Caesar rose to power. Me being the idealistic man that I am, I decided to try it. The information was scattered far and wide. On top of Mount Everest, inside the 5001st paving stone on the Great Wall – everywhere imaginable. Everything fit together precisely and beautifully. This is how it works.

Go into the “slums” of your city and wait for midnight to strike. You must bring along three items – a coin that was made on the year of your birth, an object that holds music – like a CD, a tape or an MP3 player and the left eye from a two-week-old puppy. Stand on any street and wait exactly five minutes. If you did it correctly, there will be the sound of a single footfall behind you. You must then place the items on the ground, say your name aloud and then walk straight ahead for five minutes. Not sure what you’d do if there’s a wall or a bend in front of you. Follow the curve of the road or go around the obstacle maybe? Anyway, there’s no time to muse over the small details.

If you’ve followed those steps to the exact letter, you’ll get great power and life and all that in a couple of days. After that, you’re set for the rest of your life. If you didn’t…well, that’s where I am now.

Wait. Did you hear that? A sort of…squishing sound? Like wet…I don’t know. The mic on here probably isn’t powerful enough to pick up those sounds. After I didn’t get my wealth and power, I did some research on this particular ritual. It’s not some crappy internet meme like Candlejack or the strange Creepy Pastas on old rituals. It’s powerful stuff – old black magic. Old…as in really old. If what I’ve read is correct, this stuff was considered old when Rome was the only world superpower. Some of the reports have crude drawings of the thing that appears behind you. HP Lovecraft has nothing on those images. I’ve also read reports on what happens to those like me…the ones who fuck up.

Man, those are the worst Nightmare Fuel. Reports of people being found torn in half, their internal organs sucked out their eye sockets…and the reports of the people who are found alive. Their seemingly insane babblings and yells of unspeakable things. Of course, they speak them…rendering the whole “unspeakable” aspect a moot point. I don’t want all those to happen to me. That’s why I bought an old style revolver with me. It’s loaded with silver bullets coated with salt. The way I make it, if five bullets don’t kill whatever it is – the last one will go into my brain.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, I guess I didn’t follow everything to the letter cause I got no power. After the research left me a quivering heap in my apartment, I began to slowly accept my fate. All of my affairs are in order. All my family…shit man, strangely…all of them died a few days ago. I mean, I was on the phone with my father, just talking about life and where I was going – when he screams and gurgles. It sounded wet. Really wet. I kept listening – trying to hear the killer…five minutes later I got nothing. When I went over to his place to see for myself…police were all over the place. Questioned me for a bit and then got me to id the body. Or at least…what was left of it. Christ; my old man didn’t deserve to die that way. All this death for a stupid wish. All my friends? Dead, or dying. I just came from the hospital. Pulled the plug on my ex. Literally. She was pretty torn up – again, literally.

I’m preparing myself now. I’m going to place this recorder inside this dumpster and leave the lid propped up. Hopefully whatever it is will make some sort of noise. Anyway, I won’t say my name here. You’d probably Google it to the high heavens anyway. OK, goodbye to everyone who is listening.

Save yourself.

===

Full recording of a tape found in an empty street. The only sign of the individual (John Doe) was a rather large puddle of blood near the far wall. Further investigation found said revolver – unfired. The last five minutes of the tape are transcribed below.

JD: All right you son of a bitch, I’m here. I did everything and you didn’t deliver! What the fuck is wrong with you? What the hell are you anyway?

(Silence)

JD: What? That doesn’t make a lick of sense! You can’t be serious! Step out of the shadows! I wanna see who I’m dealing with.

(A single footfall is heard)

JD: Oh Christ.

(Silence, then a scream that trails off into wet gurgling. Crunching sounds heard for the remainder of tape)

Forensics have found tracks leading away from the pool of blood. the tracks do not match any known human or animal on record.

Credited to LordRex.

The Seven Springs

In the hills surrounding the town of Bodega Bay in California, there is a tree, sitting right in the crook of two hills.

Scattered 10 paces around it are 7 different fresh-water springs.

It is said that one of them cures any disease, another grants immortal life, 4 will kill you instantly and cause your body to dissolve into powder.

But the last spring is special. If you bottle water from this one and take it to a small cave hidden in the hills north of the tree, you will find a single large stone at the back of the cave.

If you then splash the water on the stone, it will dissolve, leaving you a baseball-sized red stone. As long as you have this stone in your possession, you will always be in the right place at the right time.

If you pour water from any of the other 6 springs on the rock, the cave will seal up, and you will be lost forever under the earth.

Don't Open Your Eyes

On the last day of every month, close the blinds or curtains before you sleep. If in the middle of the night, you hear a tapping noise at your window, don’t open your eyes.

If you’re one of the unlucky ones, you’ll hear that pebble sound at your window. It’s not a friend; just keep your eyes shut. The sound will get louder, the tapping will get faster and faster. Don’t let your curiosity get the better of you; don’t move. It’ll lose its patience, it’ll start thumping the window.

Your window will shake and shudder and the noises will only get louder. It will furiously pound the window and shake the panes; don’t worry, the window won’t break but for goodness’ sake, DON’T OPEN YOUR EYES. No matter how scared you are, no matter how badly you want to scream, pretend like you don’t hear, pretend you’re still asleep.

After a while, the noises will stop. Don’t fall for it, keep your eyes shut. Try to sleep if you can. Don’t get up, don’t open your eyes, until the sun comes up.

Those who do open their eyes…well, no one really knows what happens.

Gateway of the Mind

In 1983, a team of deeply pious scientists conducted a radical experiment in an undisclosed facility. The scientists had theorized that a human without access to any senses or ways to perceive stimuli would be able to perceive the presence of God. They believed that the five senses clouded our awareness of eternity, and without them, a human could actually establish contact with God by thought. An elderly man who claimed to have “nothing to left to live for” was the only test subject to volunteer. To purge him of all his senses, the scientists performed a complex operation in which every sensory nerve connection to the brain was surgically severed. Although the test subject retained full muscular function, he could not see, hear, taste, smell, or feel. With no possible way to communicate with or even sense the outside world, he was alone with his thoughts.

Scientists monitored him as he spoke aloud about his state of mind in jumbled, slurred sentences that he couldn’t even hear. After four days, the man claimed to be hearing hushed, unintelligible voices in his head. Assuming it was an onset of psychosis, the scientists paid little attention to the man’s concerns.

Two days later, the man cried that he could hear his dead wife speaking with him, and even more, he could communicate back. The scientists were intrigued, but were not convinced until the subject started naming dead relatives of the scientists. He repeated personal information to the scientists that only their dead spouses and parents would have known. At this point, a sizable portion of scientists left the study.

After a week of conversing with the deceased through his thoughts, the subject became distressed, saying the voices were overwhelming. In every waking moment, his consciousness was bombarded by hundreds of voices that refused to leave him alone. He frequently threw himself against the wall, trying to elicit a pain response. He begged the scientists for sedatives, so he could escape the voices by sleeping. This tactic worked for three days, until he started having severe night terrors. The subject repeatedly said that he could see and hear the deceased in his dreams.

Only a day later, the subject began to scream and claw at his nonfunctional eyes, hoping to sense something in the physical world. The hysterical subject now said the voices of the dead were deafening and hostile, speaking of hell and the end of the world. At one point, he yelled “No heaven, no forgiveness” for five hours straight. He continually begged to be killed, but the scientists were convinced that he was close to establishing contact with God.

After another day, the subject could no longer form coherent sentences. Seemingly mad, he started to bite off chunks of flesh from his arm. The scientists rushed into the test chamber and restrained him to a table so he could not kill himself. After a few hours of being tied down, the subject halted his struggling and screaming. He stared blankly at the ceiling as teardrops silently streaked across his face. For two weeks, the subject had to be manually rehydrated due to the constant crying. Eventually, he turned his head and, despite his blindness, made focused eye contact with a scientist for the first time in the study. He whispered “I have spoken with God, and he has abandoned us” and his vital signs stopped. There was no apparent cause of death.

Glitch

I used to use the computer a lot. I would stay up late just surfing the web, playing games I’d beaten long ago. I guess it became an obsession. It got so bad that I would stay up till midnight just doing nothing. I tried to stop. Sometimes I could manage to go to sleep early, but lately I’ve never been in bed before eleven.

It’s weird, I never feel like this during the day. I can handle not being on the computer in the morning. I get lots of stuff done; cleaning up, studying, pretty much being a productive person.
But now things have gotten worse.

I started feeling really bad after going to sleep. It would hit me while I was on the computer that my eyes were really burning. Only when they started tearing up would my gaze be broken from the screen and realize I hadn’t been blinking. Weirder things started happening when I blinked too.

It started out harmless. Web pages would load real slowly. My mouse would freeze. Programs would start ending randomly. Nothing actually out of the ordinary. I would just refresh the page, reconnect the mouse, and press end now.

But it got worse.

I got on the computer one night to find it was completely shut down. I always suspend the computer when I log off, so this struck me as odd. When it started up again, it entered safe mode. After fiddling with the settings, I finally got it working again. For maybe two weeks things went on without a fuss.
I was browsing a blog, just slowly reading and scrolling down when a picture showed up. It was one of those awful pictures of a dead body, like, someone who had been in a car crash or explosion. It wasn’t a pop-up or anything. It was part of the blog. I was a bit concerned, the blog made no mention of this and had never used pictures before. I scrolled down so the picture was gone, and the blog continued like nothing strange was up.

I stopped going on the blog eventually. More and more gruesome pictures were showing up. I commented on one entry about it and was met with confusion. No one else was complaining. I wrote it off as some in joke to get rid of all the noobs.

Other sites I frequent are taking up this shock picture trick. It’s becoming a real pain. I’m starting to fear clicking on every link.

I closed internet explorer today to find my background had been changed to another horrible photo. I couldn’t help but recognize this one. It was one I saw in drivers’ ed of a particularly gruesome drunk driving incident. After resetting my background, deleting the picture I had apparently saved to my hard drive, cleaning up and defragging my hard drive, I opened the recycling bin to get rid of it once and for all.

I was a bit stunned. My bin was full of all sorts of random things I knew I never saved. There were porn sites, illegal downloads, pictures, e-mails, and other files with extensions I wasn’t familiar with. I cleared them all and decided I get some outside help.

I started looking online for any similar incidents. With no results I called Geek Squad, my Dad, and even brought the computer in to major dealers for a check-up. One large bill later, no problems were detected. Most even commented on how well kept the computer was.

The pictures stopped appearing, but I almost wish they were still the problem. My computer now displays everything almost as it should be. But now, whenever a person is displayed, their eyes are gouged out. It looked like a crappy Paint job at first, but they became more and more real. I tried showing it to a friend, but the computer worked fine when he was around.

I finally let my friend have the computer. He always commented on what a great machine it was when he was over. I’m glad to be done with it. I had just bought a much more updated one and after starting it up, I was very happy to see everything working normally. I decided not transfer all the data from my old computer to the new one.

Happy to be done with it, I close the brand new model. It’s only nine thirty and I turn on the television, knowing that I can get a good night sleep after Futurama. I lay back and turn up the volume to hear the opening theme. I recognize the unique little blurb they have, like what they do with the Simpsons; this is the infamous “dog” episode. I get ready to feel sad when my heart jumps.

Fry’s eyes are missing.

Credited to Rad.

Eternal Dream

Have you ever wondered about what happens when you die?

Well, something does. Your body dies, but your conscience lives on.

The night you die, you will be in an eternal dream.

You will live that dream for all eternity, and it will be like reality.

Whatever you dreamed that last night will be what you are going to be “living” in for eternity, and you will never wake up again, in the comfort of your house.

Let’s hope you don’t have a nightmare that last night.

The Lilies Are Bleeding

My lilies are my most prized possession. Hand picked. I will only take the most supremely beautiful specimens.

They must be white as an angel’s wings, and so soft and delicate to the touch that you must be careful of the harm you bring to them.

Perhaps it is selfish of me to hoard them as I do. But as it is I who takes them first, it is I who shall enjoy them, their sweet, intoxicating scent and their soothing elegance.

To listen to the lily’s voice is to hear the sound of unrestrained magnificence, fine tuned to stir the soul into a passionate uproar.

It is for this reason that I keep my lilies, one dozen at a time, at all times. I must hear the cry of my recherché beauties, bear witness to their bleeding, revel in the need they have for me. At first, even I, pious as I am, questioned this desire, but finding the answer proved such a splendor in its own rite.

It is seeing my lilies weakened into such a state that I am all they have left, as they are all I have left, that I derive a satisfaction indescribable to one who has not experienced it themselves.

But nothing is perfect forever. One of my lilies has wilted. I must be off immediately to replace her.

Credited to Poizn.

Willkommen zu Der Dunkel

I’m trapped in a nightmare.

It’s dark all around me. Even though there’s a lamp shining next to me, I’m still suffocating in the complete darkness. I’ve never felt so isolated in my life, yet I know…

I know that I’m not alone.

Outside, the sun is high in the sky. It’s taunting me. Mocking me. I see it shining in the heavens, but somehow it’s still dark here. I can see so very little, no more than five feet in front of me. It’s as much of a curse as it is a blessing. Lights glow, but don’t illuminate anything. I can just barely discern the movement of something traveling on four legs from my peripheral vision.

I don’t know where to run. No sense of location is left in me. I’m utterly lost. A feeling of complete helplessness engulfs me. I wish I’d never woken up this wretched morning.

Trapped in oblivion. It’s repeated over and over in my head. I hear claws scrape against the pavement not far away. I’ve been wandering outside for god only knows how long now, practically welcoming my death. My only hope at this point is that whatever is stalking me makes quick work of my demise.

It appears I’ve stumbled into a dead end. Footsteps echo behind me. As I turn around, all I can make out is two luminescent glowing red eyes. I thought I couldn’t be any more afraid than I already was. My heart is beating so fast that my body feels hot.

Closer. It’s getting closer and closer, snarling at me, bearing what I’m sure are its teeth. Something is dripping from its maw. Finally it steps before me and I know my hell is soon to end.

The beast lurches forward and holds me in a god like vice. Cold blood runs from my neck, cooling my overheated body. The pain is indescribable, but I’m sure it’ll all be over soon. I clench my eyes shut as tight as I can, my teeth grind as I try to ignore the sounds of my flesh being torn from my body.

Suddenly I spring forward, my eyes still closed. Only a fragment of the pain remains, and I feel a familiar fabric in my gripping fists. It’s my blanket. Finally I can open my eyes. It’s still night outside, but I’m so joyful that the experience was all in my mind. I pull the switch on my bedside lamp, eager to bathe in light once again.

My heart sinks. The lamp glows, but my room is still dark.

I’m trapped in a nightmare.

Credited to Poizn.

The Fourth Wish

You awaken with a high pitched ringing in your ears. Gradually, the sound becomes softer, like the humming from your refrigerator, and eventually, it stops completely. Even after a peaceful night’s rest, your eyes are not ready to open. Your instincts urge you to KEEP THEM CLOSED, but you find no reason not to open them.

The florescent lights blind you as your eyes are adjusting to the brightness. You are in a perfectly square, white room with one door. One door. There is nothing strange about the door, yet you find it strange how the door seems so ordinary.

You are now sitting up in your own bed, in an unfamiliar room. You are not surprised. You don’t know why. But you are not surprised. Your gut is telling you to go back to sleep, telling you not to be so curious, telling you not to….. too late.

You notice an elderly man, possibly in his late 70's, sitting in the corner of the room. He is wearing a cheap brown suit and a pair of sunglasses. There are several pieces of cardboard signs, resting on his lap. He opens his mouth and begins to speak… he makes no sound.

After a few moments, his lips stop moving and he grins. He grins. It reminds you of the smile of a mischievous little boy, stealing toys from his siblings.

The man lifts up the first sign, it is written by hand. “Hello, my name is Micheal, do not be afraid of me. I will not hurt you.”

He continues to smile, showing his decaying teeth. He switches to the second sign. “I will grant you three wishes, if you want them. Any information I reveal will count as a wish. I will not hurt you.” He waits. You nod your head.

He switches to the third sign. “If you use up all three wishes, I will give you another three, but once you start to use the next set of wishes, you will have to give me something… valuable. I will not hurt you.”

You immediately want to know, “Tell me why I’m in this room.” Before your lips begin to produce any sound, his mouth begins to move. You notice his crooked yellow teeth. It keeps moving as though he is talking, yet he makes no sound. You feel somewhat frustrated and cheated by the mute man.

You get up and walk towards the plain white door. The man gets up, slowly feeling for the corners of the bed, he crawls under it, it is obvious that he cannot see. You approach the door, turn the knob, and open it.

After opening the door, you find that the door is still closed, and you are holding a piece of cardboard with your own writing on it. You read it. “You have one wish left, don’t open the door” You check on the old man, he is still under the bed. He is grinning again, this time, the grin stretches across his face. His decaying mouth begins to laugh. A soundless laugh.

You start to realize that the situation is hopeless. You want to go home. You want to wake up and realize that it was all just a dream.

You say to the old man, “I wish this was all just a dream and I won’t remember it when I wake up.” How stupid, you notice it only now. You are deaf. You will never notice this, but you used four wishes.

You awaken with a stinging sensation in your eyes. Gradually, the pain becomes less intense, like a wound starting to scab, and eventually, it stops completely.

Even after a peaceful night’s rest, your eyes are not ready to open. Your instincts urge you to KEEP THEM CLOSED, but you find no reason not to open them.

Your gut is telling you to go back to sleep, telling you not to be so curious, telling you not to notice the old man with the rotting smile, staring intently at you.

Brian Chua

The Visions

It’s a cool, calm night. You worked hard that day, and you feel ready for a good night’s sleep. You climb into your bed and turn off the light. You notice that, considering you live alone, it’s unusually quiet tonight.

Ever since the death of your next-door neighbor, the loud rap music woke you up in the middle of the night no more. The police were quite reliable in these parts, but you can’t help but feel a little disturbed that, for all the blood that was spilled and mess that was caused, the investigators still don’t seem to have a lead. You tell yourself not to worry, the community is on their toes, no sensible killer would go sneaking around this town.

You lay down and close your eyes. As you drift off into sleep, a clear view of the front of your house floats into your vision, lights off except for the television in the downstairs window that you must have forgotten to turn off. You sit up. What kind of dream was that? No, it was more vivid, more distinct than a dream. Strange. Oh, well, you think as you lay back down.

Not long after you close your eyes, you get a similar vision of your front door. Again, you wake up. What’s going on here? No matter. You left all your doors locked. Still, you feel a bit disturbed as you lay back down.

The stairs leading up to the upstairs hallway fill your mind. The picture at the top of the staircase grows larger as you seem to be moving slowly up the stairs. You try to remain asleep, but abruptly sit up when you hear the wooden steps creak outside your door.

Paranoia gets the better of you and you pull a small pistol out of your nightstand you kept around for self defense. Holding it doesn’t seem to give you as much comfort as you thought it would as the steps continue to creak slowly as whatever it is slowly ascends to the hallway. You get up and poise the gun at the door. The creaking stops.

A few minutes pass, and you decide that you really have gone crazy with paranoia. Now that you realize it was only your imagination, you tell yourself to go to bed and have it checked tomorrow. But what were those visions? A dream? A spiritual warning? Your own mind playing tricks on you? These thoughts pester you as you slowly close your eyes, still standing in the middle of the bedroom, facing the door…

You snap awake and you aim your pistol at the bedroom door, ready to strike at any moment. From the “vision” you just saw, whatever’s perspective you were telepathically receiving was standing right on the other side of the door. What do you do? How did it get in? Is this all in your head? Is it safe to return to sleep? No, then it will surely attack, while you’re off guard. You take a minute or so to gather up your courage, and approach the door.

You slowly grasp the knob, turn it ever so softly, then you kick the door open and pull the trigger… or so you almost do until you realize there’s nothing out there but a dark hallway. That was close, you almost caused a huge ruckus in the neighborhood, the last thing you needed for all this stress.

You take a deep breath to regain composure, close your eyes, stretch your tense muscles, and you see yourself from behind, staring out into the hallway.

Sleep Paralysis

It’s a simple enough thing. It’s all a part of the body’s sleep processes. Sleep Paralysis, right? No big deal, really. Your body produces a chemical that paralyzes your body during R.E.M sleep to prevent you from hurting yourself by thrashing about during your dreams. No big deal.

Okay, so, you opened your eyes and you can’t move your body. It’s the chemicals. Oh, you can keep trying to wriggle those toes, but it’s not happening. Forget it. Just relax. It’ll go away. It’s fine. It’s normal.

Oh, now there’s something pressing on your chest, real hard, it’s making it hard to breath. It’s heavy, so very heavy, whatever’s on your chest. Chemicals. It’s all chemicals. Stop trying to scream, it won’t work. Your throat muscles are paralyzed too. You still can’t breath.

You are staring at a blank ceiling, you can’t stare anywhere else. Shadows flit across your vision, forming shapes you try not to think about. A clawed hand, a flash of jagged, shadowy teeth. All images from your subconscious. A face forming above yours, leering through black void eyes. You think you hear sibilant whispering. Angry hissing, like a snake that’s been disturbed.

Suddenly, a sharp white light briefly flares in the room as a car pulls down the street, dispelling the shadows. The weight is gone. You can breath, your hands clench sheets.

You feel an eternity has passed by but it was all the work of a moment. You wriggle, just to prove to yourself you can. You sit up, take a deep breath and then laugh a little at yourself. Sleep Paralysis. Stupid.

You turn to shake your spouse awake, eager to share your experience. You feel paralyzed again, but it has nothing to do with Sleep Paralysis. You stare at the blood, the jagged wound in her throat, her wide, staring eyes, mouth opened in soundless scream.

You survived your Old Hag Syndrome.

She didn’t.

Credited to C. Noel Huff

Nightmares

A recent study by the National Psychiatric Institute in Boston, MA, concluded that no activity can account for the phenomenon known as nightmares.

Whereas many dreams come from unconscious desires, most nightmares seem to come from an outside source independent of the individual.

In fact, when subjects are asked to recall nightmares they are almost always found in the same memory section as actual physical memories, not the section where normal dreams are replayed.

In other words, those aliens and creatures you see at night in your “dreams?”

They’re real.

These Used to be Red

“Those used to be green!” the man said aloud, staring at the plants on the sill.

“I swear! They were green just yesterday!” he shouted to his wife, who was reading a book across the room.

He looked around. His eyes were unable to focus clearly for a moment, so he rubbed them. Looking around, he shouted again, “The walls! They used to be blue! We painted them blue just last month! Why aren’t they blue?” He was unable to control himself anymore. His wife looked over at him, surprised to see him in such a fervent uproar.

“Honey! Relax! You’ve just had a long day!” she affirmed. He wouldn’t have any of it though.

“Don’t tell me what I’ve had or haven’t had!” he commanded as he stormed out of the room.

Figuring her husband had possibly been drinking, the woman tried to continue reading her book. But her concentration was continually broken by the yells of her husband.

“This used to be orange!” she could hear him yell in the other room. “These used to be brown!” he yelled again. Several minutes passed, but finally he was silent. Content that her husband had calmed down, the woman continued reading.

However, moments later a loud crash could be heard in the kitchen. The woman sprang from her chair in surprise, and darted over to the kitchen to see what was the matter. As she entered the room, she let out an incredible scream. There lay her husband on the floor, drenched in blood, with his abdomen slit wide open. Holding his own bowels in his hands, he uttered one last breath, “…these used to be red!…”

The Growths

I’d had them ever since I was a kid.

I can remember being incredibly self-conscious about them, hiding them in my pockets under books and bags. The kids at school never said anything to my face, but I knew they were laughing behind my back.

I remember asking my parents to take me to the doctor, to get them checked out. The growths on my hands seemed to be the elephant in the room back then, since they’d just say I was fine and change the subject. But I knew better.

I had tried to remove them as a child, but without avail. Scissors, knives, potato peelers; trying to cut or scrape them off was always a lost cause because I couldn’t continue once the pain kicked in.

But today was different. It’s amazing how numb you can get with a couple of tourniquettes and a bottle of Jack Daniels. I was originally planning to use a sharp knife, but figured that trying to slice through the tough flesh of the growths would be too arduous in my drunken state. I opted for the slightly more technological plan B.

I had to hurry though. I was already pretty light-headed and was starting to feel dizzy. My hands and forearms, nearly blue from the lack of circulation, couldn’t wait much longer either. The whirring of the blender helped to put me in a sort of trance–ready to do what I had wanted to do since I first looked down at my strange deformities.

I shoved my left hand in first. The immediate sensation of sharp blades slicing through flesh was jarring, but I was surprised at how well the alcohol was working–I expected it to hurt more. I could hear the sharp metal churning and cutting, working perfectly as planned. I pressed my hand down harder. All those bad memories, all of the embarrasment–all of those horrible things were now nothing more than a thick red pulp.

Breaking from the feelings of ectsasy, I pulled out before the blades hit knuckle. I smiled, taking a good look at my new hand. As for the growths–well, five down, and five to go.

The Gurgling

I live in a small apartment by myself, on the fifth floor. One night, a while back, I heard strange noises coming from down the hall. They weren’t shouts and they weren’t banging noises and they weren’t people fucking. They were weird. They sounded like gurgling. Loud gurgling.

Normally I don’t give a damn about what goes on in the rooms around me; my stance changes when whatever is going on pisses me off. These gurgling noises were doing just that. So, I left my apartment and headed towards the door at the end of the hallway, which seemed to be the source of the sound. I banged on the door and shouted at whoever happened to be in there to shut the hell up.

I stayed in front of the door for a little while to see if the noises would stop. They didn’t. I banged again and shouted again.

I heard a door open behind me, but I didn’t turn around. I knew it was some other stupid tenant who was pissed at me for shouting. Well, I was pissed at the gurgling noises.

ENTER

I kept banging and banging on the door. I had given up shouting because if I hadn’t, I would be hoarse for a week.

Ten minutes, at least, after I had left my room, the noises were still coming from the room. By now, a few other doors had been opened. I could feel the people around me. I don’t know if they wanted the noises to stop as well or if they wanted the noises I was making to stop.

Nothing was working, and my hand was starting to get numb. I rested for a minute to let my hand get some blood flow. During that time, someone behind me started talking. “Sir,” the person said (I wasn’t paying attention to the voice, so I don’t know if it was a man or a woman), “I think-”

“I don’t care what you think!” I shouted at the person.

The commentator sent me over the edge. I stepped back a bit, nerved myself, and kicked the door as hard as I could.

The door burst open, and I walked inside.

ENTER

There was nothing. It was a bare room, completely devoid of furniture, curtains, pictures. Everything.

I ran all over the apartment, looking in all the rooms for something, ANYTHING, that could be causing the gurgling noises. All the rooms were the same, with nothing at all inside. I checked the sinks in the bathroom and kitchen, figuring some water problem could be making the noises, but I found nothing. Both sinks ran fine, and the noises didn’t seem to be louder around either sink. In fact, the noises weren’t louder anywhere in the apartment. The noises were the same volume all over the apartment.

I ran out of the room, planning to get on the elevator and check the apartments above and below the one I had just checked, figuring something could be in the ceiling or floor.

ENTER

I was stopped by the owner of the building as I ran out of the apartment. Two guys grabbed ahold of me and held me, keeping me from moving.

“What’s going, [name removed]?” the owner asked, a very worried look on his face.

I explained the noises to him, as well as how the entire apartment was empty.

The owner shook his head and turned around. I asked him what was wrong. One of the people who had gathered in the hallway while I was beating against the door said, “What noises are you talking about? There are no noises.”

ENTER

My mother and father came to get me a couple of hours later. I was tied to a chair when they came. The other tenants had tied me up so I wouldn’t hurt myself anymore trying to find the “noises.” It turned out that my hand was badly broken from banging against the door so much. I apparently hadn’t registered the pain.

I got started on electro-shock again shortly afterwards. It seemed to be working. I didn’t think of the noises for the longest time.

Recently, however, I am hearing them again. I know that they aren’t real. I remember the incident at the apartment (which I have just told you), and I remember a similar incident which had occurred years before that one. My brain is simply wired wrong. There are no noises.

I can’t get them out of my head though. They are driving me mad. I have to figure out where they’re coming from. I have to stop them. The goddamned things are driving me nuts.

Salutations (and Disclaimers)

Welcome, welcome, one and all to my labyrinth collection of stories, novellas, mini series, poems, poetry and prose I have collected during my years of online reading

We have mainly stories of creepy pastas and scary tales to keep you up at night, but we also have heartwarming, tear-jerking and fantastical stories for your reading pleasure.

Enjoy your journey through my labyrinth collection, and for those who read my collection of scary tales, don't say that you haven't been warned.

Disclaimer: I do not own the stories that have been posted in here. All of them are credited to their respective writers. I am just an avid collector of stories, especially those that go bump in the night