Vampires of Legends

Most stories are on the territory of Bosnia and Herzegovina and Serbia. The most famous are those of vampires and fairies. According to sources, the first and most famous vampire was in Croatia in Istria Juraj Grando in the 17th or 18th century. Once he died, he visited his wife and drank her blood every night until the locals were willing to come to his grave.

When they opened it they saw him watching them. They beat him and pierced his heart with a hawthorn stake. Since then fell silent, but appeared to be a new vampire in the territory of Serbia according to which the movie was shot, “Leptirica” (in translation, She Butterfly). The movie was filmed in a village Zelinje, near the river Drina, close to the city Zvornik.

An old miller hears strange sounds coming from the woods. While he sleeps, a millstone suddenly stops working and a strange human-like creature with black hands and long teeth and nails bites his neck.

After the opening scene, the film turns to a romance between a poor young man Strahinja and a beautiful girl Radojka. Radojka, the daughter of landowner Živan, refuses to allow her to marry Strahinja.

Disappointed, Strahinja leaves his village and goes to Zarožje. He meets peasants discussing the cursed mill and accepts their offer to become the new miller. He spends the night in the mill and survives the attack of the creature, finding out its name - Sava Savanović. The villagers visit the oldest woman in a neighboring village and ask her if there is a grave of somemone called Sava Savanović somewhere nearby. After finding the place where his body is buried, they nail a stake through the coffin and a butterfly flies out.

The peasants help Strahinja take Radojka from her home and bring her to Zarožje. During the night, while the villagers are preparing the wedding, Strahinja sneaks into his future wife’s room while she is asleep. As he undresses her, he discovers a bloody hole under her breasts.

Radojka opens her eyes and transforms into a disgusting hairy creature which climbs onto Strahinja’s neck while he is trying to run away. She leads him to Sava’s grave where he manages to take the stake out of the coffin and impale her.

The film ends with Strahija lying motionlessly on the ground and a butterfly in his hair moving its wings.
Now about Serbian vampire Sava Savanović:

Sava Savanović was said to have lived in an old watermill on the Rogačica river, at Zarožje village in the municipality of Bajina Bašta. It was said that he killed and drank the blood of the millers when they came to mill their grains. Although he is usually said to have been the first Serbian vampire, there are claims that he was pre-dated in Serbian folklore by Petar Blagojević from Veliko Gradište, who died in 1724. Petar Blagojević and the affair surrounding him came to European attention at the time, under the name Peter Plogojowitz, and represented one of the earliest examples of vampire hysteria.

For the last several decades the watermill associated with Savanović has been owned by the Jagodić family, and is usually called “Jagodića vodenica” (Jagodići’s watermill).It was in operation until the late 1950s.
After its closure, it became a tourist site along with other attractions in Valjevo and nearby villages.

In 2012, the mill collapsed. The municipal authorities issued a tongue-in-cheek public health warning, advising people that Savanović was now free to look for a new home.


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Submission by: http://i-have-a-wifi-and-u-dont.tumblr.com/

Photoslash

Sean’s house was covered from head to toe in family photographs. Some from family retreats to Ireland, others showing lost family relatives. Most of these photographs would include Sean in them, so it was only natural that he would look at them from time to time. However, one day he noticed something rather strange about the pictures.

His mother seemed to have a red face in all of the photos. Rather shocked by this, he immediately ran downstairs to ask if anyone had done something to the pictures. They all answered no; even his mother, whom was quite worried. Later that day Sean’s mother went to the hospital due to horrific 3rd degree burns caused by a grill catching fire for an unknown reason.

Sean’s father decided to stay at the hospital that night and thought it best to send Sean home with his older brother and little sister. As Sean walked into the house he caught glance of the family photograph in which he had noticed the change to his mother's face, and found that she was not in the picture.

He ran upstairs to her bedroom only to find that she was nowhere to be seen. Alarmed by these strange events Sean called the police. Sean informed them that his sister had been kidnapped and that someone was in his house, possibly vandalizing his family's belongings. The phone immediately went dead, and as Sean went to put the phone down he caught a glimpse of an animal in the corner of his eye. He rushed out of the safety of his room to go and find the beast, but what he found was far worse.

The mangled bodies of his family lie in the corridor in front of his room, their faces frozen in a state that almost made him vomit. And then it struck him. All the photographs had been removed from the walls, except for one which was a picture of Sean, with his face scribbled out.

The next day his two best friends went to visit him, because he was not answering his phone and was not at school all week. As they arrived, they noticed that the door had been left open. So they let themselves in, and were never seen again.

Hunting Grounds

I don’t really know how to start something like this, writing journal entries isn’t something I’d say I’m used to. Anyways, the doctors said it might help to get something down on paper so, it’s worth a try. I’ve been in this hospital for a few days now and, I haven’t really been able to do anything apart from write. They told me I had a near death experience, and say the traumatizing event triggered the memories and visions I’m now plagued with. After seeing the things I saw, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget them; I remember it all so vividly, every sound, every conversation, every feeling of terror, as if I’m still stuck in that nightmare. The events replay over and over again in my head without any end and, I haven’t been able to sleep. So, I’m writing down everything that happened, while it’s still clear in my mind. I’ll start from the beginning…

Everything happened about a few days ago when I was invited to go on a camping trip with my friends, Matt and Alex. Nothing over the top of course, we just wanted to spend a day or two in the wilderness, and I really just wanted to take a break from my busy work schedule. Matt suggested we check out the forest that surrounded the hunting cabin his family owned considering it was relatively close by and fairly easy to get to. Alex and I agreed, the idea seemed as good as any, and within the next day we all arrived at the property in Matt’s pickup. We didn’t waste any time and, after making sure everything was in check, we gathered our gear out of Matt’s truck and headed out towards the tree line, following a small path through the tall grass and up to the forest’s edge.

As we followed one another into the forest Matt took the lead, picking up a stick to walk with and humming the catchy tune of some infomercial. We headed north for about an hour or so, Alex cracked a few jokes which we laughed at but there wasn’t all that much conversation among us. It was still reasonably early in the morning and we mostly concentrated on walking without tripping over fallen branches and simply taking in the beautiful scenery that surrounded us. After a few hours, we stopped to rest and snack once or twice but continued our steady march into the wilderness shortly after. It wasn’t until later in the day when we came across something, out of the ordinary from the repetitive branches and foliage of the forest.

A worn path cut across our route, overgrown by tall grass and vegetation. It was barely visible, and we would’ve passed it if not for the break in the trees. We didn’t have a solid plan as to where we were going to set up camp for the night so, seeing as we weren’t in any immediate rush, we ended up following it. The path headed straight for quite a ways before it took a sharp turn to the right, reviling a clearing in the trees and an old, run down warehouse of sorts. We looked around for any sign or form of advertisement, but there either wasn’t any, or it had long since been swallowed up by the forest. I asked Matt if he knew about the building, but he denied it, just as surprised as me and Alex. I couldn’t blame him either, in retrospect Matt’s hunting cabin was barely used and the idea of there being some old abandoned building close to his property really didn’t surprise us that much.

I looked at my watch, it was 6PM and beginning to get dark. Matt must have noticed the time too and suggested we camp in the building for the night. I agreed, deciding sleeping on the flat warehouse floor would be more comfortable than the uneven forest floor. That and quite honestly, I was too tired to bother putting up a tent. Alex was less reluctant, being somewhat apprehensive about the whole idea, but soon caved after Matt told him he could sleep outside alone if he really wanted to. We walking up to the entrance and tried what was left of two battered doors that marked the building’s entry. They were already slightly open but stiff from being untouched for so long and we had to wrestle with their rusted hinges to gain entry.

The inside of the building was a barren shell of an old factory, broken and boarded windows, weathered paint, completely empty save for a few boxes and cobwebs here and there. We decided to set up a makeshift camp in the center of the main room and move the spare boxes around to sit on. We had been talking and joking around for a while, eating what food we brought with, when we heard a distant clash echo throughout the building. Our heads all glanced to the left where the sound seemed to have originated.

“You guys hear that?” Alex asked.

I shook my head, still listening, and Matt was about to say something when another clash echoed again, more faint, but unmistakably noticeable. Upon inspection, a small hallway branched off of the main room ending in a thick iron door with a small viewing window built into its center. The three of us headed towards the door after Matt and I each grabbed a flashlight from my bag, and waited, peering through the scratched window at a staircase leading down into complete darkness.

“Basement maybe?” Matt guessed, staring at the door.

A few silent moments passed before Alex stepped in, “Well whatever it was, it’s gone now, probably nothing lets g–”

Another clang cut him off pulling our attention back to the window. Again, no movement was visible in the darkness.

An unsettling silence fell over us…

“Let’s check it out” Matt said, already tugging on the handle, the hinges screeching loudly as the ancient door opened.

“Are you crazy!?” Alex exclaimed.

“Relax,” I said, “It’s probably just an animal, a raccoon maybe.”

“What, are you scared?” Matt teased jokingly. He laughed when Alex flipped him off and walked back towards the main room,

“Whatever, I’m going to bed, see you idiots in the morning.”

With that Matt began to slip through the door, “You coming or not?” he said, starting down the stairs. With nothing better to do, I placed a loose brick on the floor as a door stop and descended the stairs with him. When we reached the bottom, the air was, somewhat heavy, a musty odor hung around us that I could taste in the back of my throat.

As my eyes slowly adjusted to the absence of light, I could make out various pipes and vents that ran the length of the walls and ceilings. I shown my flashlight around us and found that we were in a small rectangular room about 15 feet wide. Three or four tunnels branched out of the walls in various directions and I aimed my light down the nearest one but saw nothing as the tunnel only stretched farther onward, seeming to go on forever.

“Which way do you think it came from?” Matt asked, staring into the darkness of the front tunnel.

“I don’t know man, does it even matter anymore?” I said flatly.

“What, you scared of the dark too?”

“No it’s just–”

“C’mon lets see what’s down here,” Matt called out before ducking down the passageway and disappearing in the darkness, the only thing visible being his own flashlight bobbing up and down. Being an idiot, I followed after him, keeping my eyes on the jumping light through the labyrinth of tunnels.

“Matt let’s just go back, this is getting ridiculous!” I called after him.

His words echoed down back to me, “Hey man I think I heard something over here…”

I saw the light dart to the left, likely another turn in the tunnel, and caught up only to find that his light was nowhere to be seen. I jogged forward a little more hoping to hear his footsteps or something just to point me in his direction. But there was nothing.

“Matt?” I called, “Matt you still there?” my voice bounced uselessly off the walls of the tunnel. I reassured myself it was probably just another one of his idiotic pranks, he always messed with me and Alex, but, something didn’t feel right about it. The feeling of dread grew in the pit of my stomach as I rounded yet another corner just to find more darkness, no light, and no familiar jump scare from Matt just, more tunnels.
Suddenly, the tunnel was filled with a bloodcurdling scream that seemed to come from everywhere around me, stopping me right in my tracks. But just as quickly as it started, it ended, as if cut short by an invisible force. I hesitantly called out to Matt again but there was no answer, only the occasional drip of water from the ceiling. It was at this moment, in this silence, when I heard it.

Footsteps.

I aimed my flashlight down the tunnel thinking it might be Matt running towards me. But as the sound grew louder, it seemed closer to something, running on all fours. Whatever it was, was coming towards me, and getting closer. Without waiting any longer, I dropped my flashlight on the ground and darted into the next passageway, hiding myself in the darkness. Moments passed and as the sounds grew louder I could hear whatever it was, panting and wheezing, seemingly more in pain then from exhaustion.

The flashlight on the ground illuminated the figure now at the mouth of the tunnel. I struggled to stay silent as I gazed at a horrid creature now only a few yards away from me. It was on all fours, its back twisted and bent at a grotesque angle to compensate for its longer back legs. Its skin was pale, bruised and battered, wrapped tight around its skeletal figure. Bones strained and cracked as it bent down to examine the light and it was now that I could see its face. What few strands of hair it had hung wet from its head and swayed as it breathed heavily through its crooked mouth. Unblinking eyes sunk back in its skull, and a glow hung in its pupils like that of a dog’s at night as it continued to study the alien instrument. It cocked its head slightly and the light illuminated more of its facial construction. You need to understand that this thing, was once human.

My heart raced and blood pounded in my ears so loud I prayed that it wouldn’t hear me, prayed those glowing orbs wouldn’t shift in my direction. Without warning it snapped its head upwards with such force an audible snap could be heard from within its neck. It listened for a moment, then let out an inhuman shriek that pierced my ears and echoed down tunnels in every direction, its neck and chest heaving to produce the disturbing noise. I shuddered as a faint echo of another shriek reverberated off the walls followed by another…and another…and another.

There was more than one.

The echoes were coming from everywhere, I couldn’t pinpoint where they were. The deformed being let out another shriek before taking off down the tunnel, leaving me more terrified than ever. I stayed in that corner for what seemed like hours, too petrified to move just listening, every so often hearing one of them howl far off down another tunnel. It was as if they were searching for me…Hunting me.

I had to get out of there, I had to escape. The thought of what these things would do to me if I was found chilled me to the bone. So I did the only thing I could do. I grabbed the flashlight, and ran. Finding my way back was useless, I was completely lost, all I could do was run and pray for an exit of some sort. I kept my eyes forward as I ran quietly down the tunnel, constantly terrified that I would hear the ragged breathed and footfalls of one behind me at any moment. I was about to turn the next corner when my legs snagged on something in front of me and I fell headfirst into a puddle on the ground. In the dim light I could see the outline of a crumpled mass. My mind told myself not to look but, curiosity got the better of me and I grabbed my flashlight, shinning it down to my feet.

I immediately wished I hadn’t.

At my feet lay the body of…Matt. What was left of his mutilated corps was torn open, practically ripping him in two. His organs lay scattered around him and thick blood coated the wall and floor. I shook violently but dared not scream, fear overpowering the sickening sight of my dead friend sprawled on the ground in a heap of blood. Looking away, I got up and sprinted down the tunnels as quietly as I could, turning the flashlight off so as not to attract any more of those, things, I didn’t want to end up like Matt.

I ran for as long as I could even after my legs burned but, eventually, I had to stop. I doubled over, sore and exhausted, covered in sweat and consumed with fear. I heaved as bile rose in my throat delayed from before. My shirt and pants were covered in Matt’s blood and I breathed heavy, trying to regain what ounce of strength I had, shaking as I rose to my feet.

A slight crack sounded from my right…

My hair stood on end and I tried to turn my flash light on but it refused to work.

Another crack sounded, slightly closer…

I panicked and hit the top of the light repeatedly until finally it sparked to life illuminating a thing composed of the stuff of nightmare. Glowing pupils constricted as its eyes widened, lips curled back into a snarl revealing teeth stained with blood and rotted with decay. I inched back in fear as it shifted closer towards me, its shoulder cracking with each stride as if dislocated. My mind screamed at my legs to move, to run, get to out of there as fast as possible, but it wasn’t until the thing threw its head back and screamed to its other pack members that I was released from my terrified trance. I sprinted down the tunnel, fueled with adrenalin. Its head snapped back to me when it saw my movement. It snarled and bounded on all fours with inhuman speed.

I sprinted as fast I could, taking rights and lefts in the disorienting tunnels but its enraged screams were always right behind me. I couldn’t outrun it, I needed to hide or find something to defend myself with, even if fighting was useless. My eyes turned to the wall where rusted pipes ran its length and connected to the ground. In a desperate attempt I grabbed the nearest one and pulled with all my might hoping it would come off the wall with ease. My heart dropped as it moved only slightly and my arms burned as I pulled ruthlessly on the rusted pipe, the shrieks and screams of it, and now others, growing closer and closer.

Finally it came free just in time as the creature crashed around the corner. It lunged at me, arms outstretched and clawing the air. I braced myself and swung with what energy I had left, feeling it collide with the creature’s jaw. A sickening crunch echoed in the tunnel, and the being shrieking in pain and confusion. In blind furry it swatted me away with its arm, knocking me back against the wall so hard I saw stars. It moaned again, its head bent to the left at an absurd angle from where the pipe had collided, before collapsing on the ground. Movement caught my eye behind it, more of these, people, streamed around the corner, their pale bodies crashing into themselves, shrieking all the while. I turned and ran as best I could, clutching my now mangled arm from where I had been hit, only turning back to see them feeding on their fallen comrade.

It’s screams of agony went unnoticed as it was now nothing more than food in their minds. It wasn’t long however, before they began to climb over each other to continue the chase, their wild eyes locked on me.
My vision blurred and blood pounded in my head as I ducked past another archway in the tunnel. I had long surpassed my athletic limits and was running on fear alone. I could hear their shrieks and cries just down the tunnel as they raced towards me, limbs and bone clashing as each one tried desperately to get the first bite.

I turned yet another corner and my heart stopped. A sliver of light illuminated the end of the tunnel, a drain pipe, just large enough for a child. There were only moments, seconds even, between me and the mass of deformed bodies that hurtled down the tunnel. There was no time to decide, I bolted for the opening and dived through the narrow space, crawling as fast as I could. It didn’t matter how much the hard pavement scratched and tore at my knees and arms, I was so close to escape but I knew they were right behind me clawing savagely for my legs, enraged by the instinct to feed.

Just as I was nearing the end of the opening, fingers dug into my ankle, bolts of pain shot up my leg and I screamed in agony. I felt something snap in my ankle as it snarled and drove its nails deeper into my skin. I yelled in anguish, struggling as I was pulled back down the pipe. With a last ditch effort I kicked as hard as I could with my free leg feeling it connect with something hard. It shrieked in more in anger than pain, only tightening its steel grip on my leg. I brought my foot down again and again desperately trying to free myself until it finally let go. I looked back to see a bloody tangle of arms and figures, savagely fighting to reach me as I pulled myself along the last remaining inches and fell…

This is where my memory begins to fade…

I remember hitting cold water and seeing the night sky. Too tired to do anything but lay in the water, I remember looking up to see glowing eyes staring back at me through the narrow opening before I welcomed rest, and blacked out…

I was found washed up on the side of a river half dead and suffering from hypothermia. My left ankle was broken and my right forearm completely shattered. I awoke later in the emergency room, doctors told me I was lucky to be alive and before long, police authorities came to question me. I told them everything but, my story was dismissed as a result of stress and shock. As I said before, I can’t sleep, every odd sound sends me into a state of panic, and I can’t deal with reliving every event of that day when I close my eyes. But the worst part, that terrorizes me even more, is that Alex is still there…and that door…


That door is still open.

—
Credits to: AStoryTeller

Boogey-man

My closet door slowly creeks open and out slips the monster that has terrorized me for the past week.

It slowly crawls on the floor, extending its twisted, broken limbs one at a time. In the twilight I can make out its naked, pale, translucent body twitching with blood pressure.

I think it believes I am asleep as it makes no attempt to silence its labored breathing. I can hear its saliva drip to the floor as it takes ragged deep breaths thick with mucus. It draws near my bed now and I feel its hand grab onto the mattress as it attempts to pull itself up from the floor.

I examine the hand in paralyzed horror, taking in every detail. It resembles a human hand on the most basic level, but it only has three fingers, each of them bony and twisted. The nails are hardened and thick; they have the retched smell of blood meal on them.

Its face suddenly jolts into view and I quickly shut my eyes. I saw its face though. Its nose is grossly elongated, and it is missing the lower half of its jaw. Its head is too tall for its face. Veins run through the entirety of its pale face, pumping dark red blood.

In the artificial darkness behind my eyes, I try to pretend it’s not there, but I can feel its wet breath on my face. I listen to its breathing for what felt like an hour. It suddenly stops. I cautiously open my eyes, expecting the welcoming sight of an empty room. The thing is an inch from my face, staring at me with its black soulless eyes. It attempts to form a sentence. I cringe as I hear it garble.


“Glad you’re awake, we’re going to have so much fun.”

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reddeath-in-roomzero

This is My Goodbye

Dear Reader,

When I was a little girl, I lived in a small neighborhood where everyone knew each other. You know the type: the suburban division of detached homes, each containing a mother, a father, and one to two little kids. It was that kind of a neighborhood, where the sun was always bright and even the snow-covered winters felt like summer.

I lived in one of the more generic, red brick homes at the centre of a T shaped intersection: there was a road to the left of the house, leading to a cul-de-sac, a road to the right, leading to a more complex network of inner streets, and one road that went straight ahead, starting in the middle of the other roads that had streets and homes branching off of it on either side.

When I was only five years old, I went to get a haircut at one of the neighbor’s homes. A family friend living in our neighborhood had recommended the neighboring hairdresser to my mom, and, upon hearing that the hairdresser had a young daughter around my age, I agreed to go.

Even though our neighborhood was filled to the brim with young children, that population was made up of a large amount of young boys, many of whom I didn’t get along with. One of the only girls in the area had moved away when I was four. Another girl I encountered had gotten quite close with me, close enough to snatch my toys out from under my nose. We didn’t speak after that. But, I looked at this haircut as an opportunity to finally have that best friend that Barbie had told me about at that age. I was more excited than I could comprehend.

The hairdresser lived on the right side of the centre road, making it very close to my own home.
In minutes, my mom and I reached the house.

We rang the doorbell and waited patiently for the door to open. Seconds later, it swung open to reveal the hairdresser.

The hairdresser was a young looking woman with healthy skin and a very warm smile. Her hair was the color of milk chocolate and her eyes were a deep honey color. She radiated kindness and hospitality, and it was almost too easy to tell that she had a loving husband and two kids. For security purposes, I’m going to refer to her as Helena.

Helena lead us into the house, then into the basement, a fully furnished space that smelled of flowers and stuffed animals. Just to the left of the staircase leading to the basement was Helena’s studio.

Entering the studio, a room with bright, golden lights, and the thick scent of hair product, Helena and my mom were laughing over something that bored me quite a bit, and I took that as a good sign.
Helena helped me up onto the stylist’s chair and began cutting my hair upon my mother’s direction. About twenty minutes later, I had neatly trimmed bangs and evened out shoulder length black hair, just how my parents liked it.

I thanked Helena as she helped me off the chair. I was anxious by this point. The entire visit I had been thinking about meeting a new friend, but I didn’t see said friend anywhere. I was worried, and as if on cue, Helena said, “You know, I think my daughter would like you.”

I looked up at her, my eyes probably huge. “Can I meet her?” I said, shying a bit behind my mother’s leg. I was never good with being the centre of attention, and even now, I still carry that trait with me.
Helena laughed and reached for my hand. “Sure thing, as long as it’s okay with your mom,” she said, glancing at my mom.

My mother smiled down at me and said, “Alright, but don’t take too long. We have to be at your Uncle’s house in an hour.”

Helena smiled again, took my hand, and led me upstairs, past the main floor, and to the carpeted second story of the house.

She led me down a hallway and to the second door on the right, where, amidst strewn Barbie dolls and Polly Pocket accessories, was a little girl. She was a bit chubby, with round cheeks and big eyes the same color as her mother’s. Her hair was golden brown and pulled back into a short ponytail. She looked like she could be my best friend.

I walked into the room, shyly, staring that the toys all over the floor. She watched me come in and sit next to her.

“Hi,” I said, nervous, but smiling, “I’m Sabrina.”

“Hello!” She said, obviously happy to see me, “I’m Sharon! Do you want to see my Fairytopia Barbie?”

I remember gasping when she asked me that. Not because I was making a new friend, but because she had the one Barbie doll that I couldn’t get my hands on at the time. Of course I wanted to see it.

“Yes please,” I said, still shy. Nobody had ever been so suddenly kind towards me, so the shyness I felt was a combination of nerves and cautionary instinct.

Sharon jumped up, giggling, and ran into her closet where she emerged with the toy. She handed it over to me and let me look at it.

It was then, that I found myself my best friend.

Sharon and I stayed close friends for many years, until the second grade, when her dad got a job in Newfoundland. She left in March of that year, and I was left behind as the loneliest girl at my elementary school.

I was terrible with making friends and nobody was willing to let me jump rope with them a recess, or sit next to them in class. It was like I would never have anyone to call my friend besides Sharon.

But, by June of second grade, Sharon called my house from Newfoundland, promising a visit over the summer. At that fantastic news, I waited, prepping my room and my belongings for the next month, when she would arrive. I couldn’t wait to see her again.

Sharon visited and called me for many years after that. Due to her father’s rocky vacation schedule, she didn’t physically visit often, but she called nearly every other week.

I made other friends in the years when Sharon left. I felt amazing. I had all these people around me who liked me for who I was, along with one friend who, though they were so many kilometers away, was closer than ever with me.

We sent letters, called, exchanged emails, eventually got cell phones and started texting, the whole nine yards. We talked all the time. She sent me photos and videos, and I did likewise. She got to know my friends from school, and I got to know hers. It was like she’d never left.

Then, out of nowhere, two years ago when I was in the ninth grade, she stopped calling. I was worried out of my mind. I tried calling her home phone, but nobody ever picked up. This led me to believe that they had disabled their landline. I called her cell, but I was sent directly to her voicemail. Text messages went unanswered, physical letters never came. There was no word of what had happened to my friend.

My friends from school tried to reassure me, saying that she’d changed her home phone number or moved again. I believed them, and I tried to move on. But, a part of me still held onto her, hoping that she’d call me back.

I worried that I’d offended her and caused her to dislike me. I kept thinking about the last things I’d said to her, but nothing remotely offensive came to mind. I was lost, and I didn’t know how to bring back one of the most prominent figures in my life.

This went on for about two months, until one day, I finally got a text message from her.

I lit up on the inside. I could talk to my oldest friend again. I felt complete once more. I don’t think I can truly describe in words how it felt to finally hear from her again. It was like the weight of the world had been lifted off of my shoulders. I could stand straighter, see clearer, and breathe deeper. I was truly happy again, after two months of worrying.

We talked about everything via text message. She explained that she had moved once again to another city in Newfoundland and hadn’t gotten a landline yet. She said not to worry about sending letters anymore since we had our cell phones. It made sense at the time, so I didn’t question it and continued to talk to my friend.

For the next little while, Sharon and I went on with our lives as usual. We stuck to texts as our method of communication, and we sometimes emailed each other. We talked about school, clothes, boys, everything.

One day, mid-March, about one month after Sharon had started texting me again, I got a phone call.
I recognized the area code to be from Newfoundland. Immediately, I thought that it was Sharon, calling to tell me that she’d finally gotten a landline hooked up. I felt my heart leap to my throat, and I answered the call.


“Hello?” I said, my voice semi-quivering with anxiety.

“Hi, Sabrina?”

It was Helena. I thought that maybe she’d called to tell me that this was their new number and that I could call Sharon any time now.

“Yeah, hello Ms. Stevenson,” I said, smiling. It was good to hear her voice. It was reassuring, that I could talk to Sharon soon.

“Hi there, sweetheart, how have you been?”

“Pretty good, ha ha, and you?” I said.

“We’re doing… alright, I guess. Sweetie, I called to tell you something that I should have called about right away when it happened. I had trouble finding your number, but I’ve got it now, ha ha. I know it’s a bit late, but better late than never, right?” Helena said.

I remember the glob of saliva that lodged itself in my throat. After Helena said those words, I suddenly had a very bad feeling about this call.

“W-What are you talking about, Ms. Stevenson?” I asked, my voice shaking for a whole different reason now.

“I am so sorry to tell you this, Sabrina, but, Sharon has passed away.”

“What?” I said, my voice cracking. I was drowning is disbelief. It didn’t seem possible. How could such an amazing, warm, beautiful person just die? I was in utter shock.

“When?” I asked. I was crying by that point, and I didn’t do a thing to try and hide it.

“This is why I’m so sorry, sweetie. She passed away three months ago today. She went for a ride with Derek (Derek is her brother) on an ATV. It crashed and she didn’t make it. It was terrible. I’m so sorry,” Helena said.

I froze up. I felt fear take over my body, fear and confusion. Fear, and denial.

I told myself that it couldn’t be possible. It didn’t make any sense. I’d been talking to Sharon via text messages for the past three months. It took me a while to bring myself to fully comprehend Helena’s information.

I was now more scared than saddened. I was worried because I’d been texting someone who was supposed to be dead for the last few months of my life.

This meant that someone else now had Sharon’s phone and was using it. But how? Wasn’t all of the data on the phone erased? How did they know about my relationship with her? I was purely terrified.

“Helena?” I said, my voice unwavering.

“Yes?”

“What did you do with Sharon’s phone?”

“Oh, we gave it back to the phone service provider, number and all. Why?” She asked.

“It’s just… It’s… I was just wondering,” I said.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Helena about the texts. Instead, I bid her a tearful and heart breaking goodbye and hung up the phone.

Then, as if prompted, I felt my cell phone vibrate in my pocket.

I felt my heart skip a beat, my stomach jump to my throat, and the hairs on my arms prick up.

Hesitantly and with my eyes full of tears, I pulled out the phone.

On the home screen was a bubble displaying, “Hey there :) Can I come visit you next week? For march break.”

The sender was Sharon.

I didn’t answer the text. I never do now.

It’s been two years and “she” still won’t stop texting me. I’ve blocked “her” number, but “she” changes it every time I do so. I’ve changed my number, but “she” some how finds out what I change it to.

Even worse than all of that is what “Sharon” sends me. It’s no longer friendly messages of well wishes or pictures of fresh baked goods. Instead, I see threats and curses, foul language and horrifying photos. “She’s” sent me pictures of people being dismembered, followed by the words, “you’re next if you don’t reply.”

I can’t take this. I don’t understand why this had to happen. I don’t know who’s texting me, but it’s probably some sicko from the middle of nowhere who somehow got their hand’s on a dead girl’s phone, preloaded data and all. I’m worried for myself, and for my family. I don’t want this. I didn’t ask for this. I just wanted a friend.

I’m writing this now in hopes that someone sees my laptop and uploads this somewhere. I’m running out of options.

If you’re reading this, it means that “Sharon” found me and I’m dead.

Tell my mom, dad, and brother that I’m sorry for giving up. I must have tried to fight back. But “they” found me.

I wanted a best friend. Instead, I got one that would unintentionally end up taking me with them beyond the grave.

I guess, as a final word of advice, I can just warn you, whoever you are, to seriously consider being careful of what you wish for, because sometimes you get what you want, and that can be the worst thing that can ever happen to you.

Please tell my mom, dad, and brother that I love them. This is my goodbye.

Love,
Sabrina

—

Credits to: Sabrina S.

Necrosis

I should tell you about it. Maybe you know it already—the rise of the number of suicides, the homicides, the murders. The crazy people. And then those shambling things that came afterwards.

I was there when we discovered the spores that started this whole mess.

In the 1980s, an independent group of Scientists—myself included, embarked on an expedition to Africa to search for a notorious, maddening substance only known to locals as waansin. Apparently, this substance was spread through beautiful blomme flowers, which were found around the area.

When inhaled, the waansin spores cause madness and/or dementia in the natives. The effects vary, though most of the time; they turn mad and seek a desire to murder others. I saw them stab themselves with spears and sticks and such, bashing foreheads as they went. They inflicted wounds into themselves. Some injuries were enough to kill them, naturally, but they still kept on moving.

We studied a victim in a lab west of Kijuju, sealing him in a plate-glass sealed room with one way mirrors. We left him adequate food and water and sealed him inside. From him we learned of the necrosis that was happening to his skin.

First, the skin pales—in this case, the native turned his otherwise dark skin into a dry, cracked gray. Blotches start to form, then sores. Through weeks of isolation, we saw the skin turn into a gray, cracked husk into greenish sore, blabbering on in Afrikaans.

Days later, the man self-terminated.

As he was being prepared for burial, we noticed that the corpse was twitching rapidly. It was too strange to be called Necrotic Twitching, it was as if the corpse still wanted to move. After a rapid succession of twitching, the corpse simply hung limp.

We attempted another experiment. Apparently, that led me to my second discovery. The spores induce mutations in the body if tissue damage was severe. Apparently the spores induced cellular reproduction within the bloodstream, creating cell-after-cell-after-cell. We knew something was wrong.

A heavily wounded man exhibiting the symptoms of the blomme spores started to grow an inhuman amount of muscle and tissue around the injured parts of his body. We sedated him and placed him in an isolation room for study. The results were astonishing.

The waansin spores regenerated parts of the wounded man’s body with a red mass that gave a red pigmentation on the person’s skin.

The infected showed signs of an intense wendigo psychosis—an insatiable desire to feed on a human’s flesh. As the days passed by, I started to get weary and tired. I was also frightened.

The other scientists were getting weary, too. When the screaming started, we were on to our knees.

The man screamed his ears out.

The screaming went on for days, until we woke up, heard nothing, and saw a bullet hole in his chest. The reddish man lay there. I asked Peters, our hunter, if he had done the euthanasia. “No.” he said. “Angel grabbed my gun when I was sleeping.”

We saw Angel, the researcher, curled to a fetal position in a corner of the lab, gun in hand.

She was sobbing and whispering. When we examined her for cuts and bruises, we saw a bite mark embedded in her arm.

“Itbitme.Itbitme.Ican’tbelieveitbitme.” she whispered. “I wanted to take a blood sample from him and he bit me. So I shot him. I shot shot shot him. Through the chest. That sick bastard. That sick sick bastard.”

We had taken every precaution not to get infected with the waansin agent, to the point of sterilization. Angel was obviously harboring the Stage One symptoms of the waansin complex. As we came closer to restrain her, she knew of our intent, and simply shot herself in the chest.

Not in the forehead, where the brain will forever slumber, but the chest.

After that incident, we decided to get the hell out of there.

We gave them proper burials, and left Africa. Due to my colleague’s Native American ancestry, we decided to name the condition as the Wendigo Complex.

But the thing was, the case was far, far from over. There was a final symptom discovered, and out of the four, this was the worst.

The Necrotic Twitching I spoke of before? It gets worse.

II.

A waansin—afflicted man was witnessed killing himself. As the coroner prepared his tools for the autopsy, he found the man shambling towards the door, ribcage exposed. The man, gray-skinned and pupil-less, let out a long moan before falling to the floor, viscera spread all around.

We were frightened with the news of the reanimated corpse. Frightened beyond comparison, to say the least.

But, I suppose, it was already too late for us.

Spreading the agent would only have one way: through inhalation of spores. But with the outbreaks of Ebola nearBlomme—infested areas, the spores…adapted—assimilated the characteristics of the virus, turning it into a deadly, agile weapon. The agent could now spread through the blood. As such, the occurrences of the infected were spreading, but the virus didn’t spread enough to gain people’s attention, until two months later.

Bizarre murders occurred around the region. People were apparently eaten. Sightings prevailed of groups of people eating other groups of people. It was mad. Insane.

To the few who knew about the Wendigo Complex, this was a depressing thought. Through the months until the revelation of the Massive Wendigo Outbreak, I’ve lost almost all my colleagues. They died by their own hands, guilty of the monsters they have become.

The first official sightings of the now-named Wendigo Men were in a small Floridian island, Casey Key, but by that time, the Virus was already spreading across the Americas, Europe, Asia, Africa through birds and the like. Innocent people around the world became insane.

The Wendigo Men didn’t stay for long, but their slow, shambling relatives took their place. We, the remaining scientists who first discovered the Wendigo Virus, hesitated to call them what they really were.

The Living Dead.

Just like in the movies.

The virus was smart. The whole purpose of the symptoms was to turn the person into those freaks. Apparently, the virus not only causes necrosis, but causes already-dead tissue to re-animate. The blomme-waansin spores were acting as some kind of reanimating reagent.

It was terrifying to think that almost everyone in the world was shambling stupidly, craving for the flesh of the living. But the virus was airborne, and the majority of the population had turned into the Wendigo Men.

I don’t know why I survived.

The surviving group of Scientists, I included, were escorted by the convoy of the President of the United States towards an underground bunker in disguise of a Farming Ranch. We huddled up there, waiting for a miracle.

I still remember the courageous, ambitious look on the President’s face, a decade ago. He was unfazed from all the horrors that happened around him. The soldiers looked up to him as a true leader of this band of Americans-that-were.

He’s dead now.

Every year, his strength waned. The moans of the living dead echoed through every night we spent under that concrete bunker. One half-baked soldier grudgingly placed a microphone towards a horde of the undead. The moans echoed through the military bunker. Every year there seems to be that one person that flips out, and our numbers were steadily decreasing.

Gradually, the beasts got in. The President, tired and weary, embraced the freaks with open arms. I killed him myself. He got a chunk of my flesh while I killed him, though.

Shit. I just coughed. Well. The necrovirus just spread through my lungs, I suppose. I wonder why I’m not going crazy.

Just remember. When one gets infected, he is not the same person as before. The person’s dead. This is just his body. Shoot him in the head. Be careful of the water, too. Drink bottled shit. The virus is waterborne in some parts of America.

What else?

Necrosis.

The Necrovirus usually causes Necrosis. I said that before. Just watch out for patches of skin that seem odd. Dry skin. Itchy skin.

If you read this.

If you read this…

I cannot tell you how common those words were. But I don’t know. I’m afraid to say the other lines. I can’t speak of them—it’s too horrible. I can’t. I just can’t. What I’m going to become is ten times worse than anything ever imagined in this world. I could feel it eating away my body now. I’m dying.

And I can’t whimper.

All my strength has gone to locking myself up—it’s all for you. I stocked the closet at the back with supplies—a week’s worth of food, my remaining boxes of shotgun shells, pistol clips, ammo, and ten days worth of gas. Drive as far as Mexico, whoever you are, because they’re going to spread. And then go to Antarctica.

As for me, I don’t know. Still, I’m dead. Deader than dead.

O pistol. You were always there for me.

Its muzzle was caked with blood. I tried to shoot myself in the head, just a few hours ago, but I decided not to. I’d shot one of those things in the face first, and when I pushed the muzzle against my temple, it was still hot that it branded the skin of my forehead with a penny-shaped hole. I winced a bit from the pain, though I thought of you, and I guess my pain didn’t matter anymore.

What mattered was the pain I’m going to cause to you.

I don’t know how you((Unreadable Text due to blood spatter))

There goes my uvula. Look at that thing. Throbbing its last. It doesn’t even hurt a bit, even though blood just wells inside my mouth. I just need a little water or something. I’ll wash that off.

I’m so itchy, damn it.

My right arm is all dry and patchy at parts. Wait. I have to scratch.

There. Itchy gone.

…

…

…

I mean, the itch is gone.

Maybe I’ll just sit here and wait for it to get me I can’t pull the trigger I want to die but I cant.

People.

Upstairs.

Not dead

I see.

—

http://fifteenhours-creepystories.tumblr.com/

Lights Out

Once again the story is boring and hard to read. You miss your fifth grade reading book already.
Try as you might, you just can’t stay awake any longer. Your eyelids begin to close all by themselves and the text on the page grows fuzzy. When you realize you’ve read over an entire sentence and remember not a word of it, you decide it’s time for bed.

The usual routines go like clockwork. Wash the hands, brush the teeth (lazily, to preserve that sleepy haze in your brain), swish with mouthwash. Fifteen seconds instead of thirty, like the label says. You don’t care. You’re tired. Spit once, twice. Seems like mouthwash always wants to stay for good. Three times. One last pee before lights out.

Into the bedroom. You dig out your best PJ’s, and clean underwear for sleeping. It’s been really hot all day and the ones you’re wearing have that disgusting moistness to them.

Mom pokes her head in to remind you it’s bedtime, lets out a surprised “Oh” when she sees you’re way ahead of her for once. She gives you a kiss and bids you good night before disappearing down the hall, turning out the bathroom light that you forgot to turn out, yourself.

Dad’s already in bed. Leno delivers his opening monologue from the TV in the folks’ room. He usually konks out before the first commercial break, then the TV will go off and the house will be silent for the night.

All the lights in the house are off except in your bedroom. The street light outside burned out over a year ago and no one’s bothered to fix it, so the neighborhood seems to have vanished into a black void. Somehow it makes the house’s shadows thicker than they ought to be as they creep up the hallway toward your bedroom. You find yourself noticing every night now.

You turn to your bed, eyes instinctively dropping to the dark slit underneath. Except for that blackness, the entire room always looks deceptively cheerful when the light is on. Funny how you used to be scared of the closet when you were five. Dad used to tell you all the time that there was nothing hiding in the closet, and he was right.

You reach for the light switch by the door, eyes still locked on the underside of the bed. Somehow it stares back.

Your hand stops. Better not just yet. You turn on the bedside lamp first, then walk back across the room and flip the light switch. The room dims, but a safe yellow aura envelops the bed.

It’s only three feet to the mattress. Last summer Mom insisted on rearranging the entire house, including your room. The bed used to be tucked snugly in the corner; now it rests near the center of the room, with only the headboard leaning against a wall. Sleeping in it makes you feel exposed. Stepping near the shadow under the bed fills you with the sensation of teetering on the edge of a steep cliff or stepping too close to a lagoon filled with crocodiles. When it was in the corner you could get a full running start and dive under the covers.

You take a step toward the bed, diverting your eyes to the pillows. Don’t acknowledge it. It’s nothing to be afraid of. A figment of your over-active imagination. That’s all.

You clear the next two feet with a graceful bound, landing square on the center of the mattress. Climb under the comforter, tuck the bottom under your feet so there’s no way to reach in. Wrap yourself like a burrito. Nice and cozy. Except now you’re wide awake.

The hum of the air conditioner is a slight comfort. It’s deep and gentle, almost animal-like, and hopefully the only sound you’ll hear tonight. Soothing ambience always helps you get to sleep better.
You have to pee again. Not a lot, but just enough to keep you from falling asleep straight away. It always happens after all the lights are out and you’re neatly tucked into bed, but hours before your eyes have had time to adjust to the darkness.

You could probably leap clear of the bed and make it to the bathroom with little incident, but then you’d have to hope it didn’t decide to follow you. And sometimes it’s not under the bed. Sometimes it’s somewhere else in the house. You hear it wandering around out there on rare occasions, when everyone else is asleep. You almost bumped into it on the way to the kitchen late one night. Since then you’ve never set foot outside the room after bedtime for fear of being ambushed.

You decide to tough it out. You don’t have to pee that bad. Pulling the comforter up to your cheeks, you close your eyes and try to focus on the hum of the air conditioner.

Then it shuts off. The hum dies with a deep sigh and a dull “kathunk”. Silence.

Outside not a single leaf rustles. Your ears don’t even ring from the day’s noise. You start to wish for a car alarm, or a catfight, or the distant blare of a passing train. The house is dead calm. All you can do is lie there, wrapped in the comforter ever-tighter, and try to focus on the darkness behind your eyelids until you pass out.

Maybe you won’t hear it speak if you go to sleep quickly enough. The few times it spoke, it called you by name — it’s known your name from the beginning — and when it was sure you were listening intently, it giggled. Then it was quiet the rest of the night.

It doesn’t stir often enough for you to get used to it. Once or twice every other month. Usually you just hear its voice somewhere in your room, laughing quietly to itself — a soft voice, almost a whisper but not quite. It always sounds like it’s coming from the entire room, but you know its origin is under there, in the shadows. The worst part is its unbearably motherly tone, like its desire to do unspeakable things to you has escalated to adoration.

Just the thought of hearing it talk sends chills up your spine. You pull the comforter over your head, curling into a fetal position, eyes tightly shut.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been lying there, curled into a pitiful and slightly painful little ball. Your joints ache. Has an hour passed? A few minutes? Will daylight never come? You want to peek out of your haven to check the time, but the fear of seeing the thing staring back at you freezes every joint in your body. But if it were standing at the side of the bed just now, watching you, it makes no sense that it would only wait until you’d seen it to pounce on you, and a lot of good the comforter would do for protection.

The house is so deathly silent…maybe a little peek won’t hurt…

Your eyes have fully adjusted to the dark. Peering through a small hole between the covers and the mattress, you can discern every piece of furniture in your room, and every poster on the wall.

The bedside clock reads…eleven-oh-oh. Less than an hour has passed since you went to bed, but it appears you dozed off at some point. The house is just as unnervingly still as it was when you slipped away. Maybe the stillness, itself, jarred you to waking.

No. No, that isn’t it. That isn’t it at all. The house isn’t completely still. Though the floor of your room is draped in blackness as far out as the hallway, you swear you spot a twitch of movement. Sudden and swift, like something darting out of view to avoid detection.

The voice whispers your name. You’re not sure you heard it at first — not because it’s so quiet, but because part of your mind is trying so desperately to shut it out. Your throat seals up. You feel all the blood drain from your face as you pinpoint the source at the foot of the bed.

“The hunger’s too much to bear,” it whispers.

Resistance is beyond you now: terror has taken control of your body. You stare down the comforter toward your feet.

It’s looking at you. Peering over the lumps in the sheets, staring with two sightless slits in a dry, shriveled, hairless head. Its mouth stretches into an insane grin, like those found on the embalmed faces behind museum glass. How long has it been watching you?

You want to scream and pull your feet back from the thing’s horrible face, but your legs ignore the command again and again, even as those ghastly fingers slither onto the mattress and take hold of the right foot. Even as it pulls your foot closer and stuffs it, still wrapped in the comforter, into that gaping, grinning mouth. It has no teeth. It has no teeth but its nails are like razor chisels. It has no teeth so it minces its food by hand.

With a horrified cry you break free of your trance and reel your legs in, ducking under the comforter. You scream again and again, calling for help, but all that comes out is sobbing incoherence. It’s climbing onto the bed now, clawing at the covers, its bony arms reaching inside, searching for something to grab a hold of. It’s going to drag you onto the floor, and from there you daren’t think. You swat its hands away frantically, screaming at the feel of its leathery skin, gagging at the smell of its cold, rancid breath as it whispers in your ears through the comforter, madly repeating with awful glee, “It’s too much to bear! It’s too much to bear!”

Light floods the room. Still sobbing and kicking, you suddenly realize you’re alone on the bed. At the door, Dad stands with his hand on the light switch and a concerned look on his face. He speaks, but what you hear is unintelligible at first.

Your eyes jump from one end of the room to the other. It’s nowhere to be found. Your skin still shudders from its touch, and that graveyard stench still lingers in your nostrils, but the moment you acknowledge either sensation it vanishes.

Dad’s voice draws your attention back to the door. Now Mom is there, too, asking about the noise. The moment Dad mentions bad dreams she’s sitting on the bed with her arms around you, kissing you gently on the head and asking if you’re all right.


You want more than anything to throw your arms around them both and cry. Instead, with a nod and a sniffle you play along, admitting your dreams haven’t shaken you up this badly in a while, but swearing that you’re okay now. Confident they’ve chased the demons off once again, Mom and Dad kiss you goodnight and plunge you back into darkness.

Monsters are never real to adults. They always find an explanation. Something you ate. Reading scary stories or watching scary movies before bed. Your overactive imagination. The solution is always attention or medication or visits to a psychiatrist. They’re never real.

Maybe it’ll get you someday, and it’ll be the grown-ups’ fault. Mom and Dad will come into their “imaginative” child’s room one day and find it mysteriously empty, or perhaps they’ll turn on the lights and find the thing there instead, sitting on the bed with a bloated belly and that horrible eyeless grin.

They may come up with an explanation for that, too.

You curl up under the comforter again, eyes closed, mind struggling to shut out the unnerving silence. Sleep may yet find you if your thoughts remain on mundane subjects, like school. Mom suggested it once when you were seven, and it always seemed to work. But now you may never sleep again.

The thing giggles.

You open your eyes partway to scan the floor for movement, but it’ll be hours before they adjust to the darkness again. Pulling the covers over your head like before, you curl into a ball and wait.

The room is silent the rest of the night.

—

Credits to: Mike MacDee

Astral Projection

Astral projection or OBE( out of body experiences) is a phenomena, in which we come out of the body and enter the “Astral Realms.

{C When we astral project we enter an “astral body”, which is separate from the physical body and allows us to travel outside of it.

The Astral Realm, or astral planes, is a world that is much like ours, but vibrates on different frequencies. Having levels that hold entities and beings that vibrate on a certain vibration. Lower vibrational beings live on the lower planes; these beings are negative. Positive entities live on the higher planes and vibrate much faster than lower entities.

We give out a vibration depending on our mood; if we are depressed, we give out a low frequency that will allow negative entities to see us, and may be drawn towards us to feed off that energy. If we are happy and confident, then we give off a higher frequency. So lower frequencies equal lower planes, and higher frequencies equal higher planes.

Anything that you can imagine is possible when you astral project. If you wanted to visit a different planet, you could. If you wanted to fly over cities, you could.

People experience astral projection either spontaneously by illness, sleep, surgical operations, sleep paralysis, or it is induced by practicing meditation.

People sometimes mistake lucid dreaming ( being aware that you are in a dream and being able to control what’s in it) for astral projection. The difference is that when you astral project, you are actually going to these places. When you lucid dream, you’re obviously still dreaming.

People astral project for many different reasons: for spiritual beliefs, to gain knowledge and interact with the other side, or some people may just be curious.

We astral project every night when we sleep, we are just not consciously aware of it

---
nightmarefuell

The Dover Demon

The Dover Demon is a creature sighted on three separate occasions during a 25-hour period in the town of Dover, Massachusetts on April 21 and April 22, 1977. It has remained a subject of interest for cryptozoologists ever since then. Cryptozoologist Loren Coleman was the initial investigator and the individual who named the creature the Dover Demon; it was disseminated by the press, and the name stuck.

The Dover Demon was first seen outside near a bar by three seventeen-year-old boys who were driving through the Massachusetts area when the car’s headlights illuminated it. Bill Bartlett, the driver, reported that he saw what he thought at first was a dog or a cat, but upon closer inspection realized that it was a bizarre, unearthly-looking creature crawling along a stone wall on Farm Street.

Bartlett continued to watch the creature, and he reported it to have a disproportionately large, watermelon-shaped head and illuminated orange eyes, like glass marbles. It had long, thin arms and legs with slender fingers, which it used to grasp onto the pavement. It was hairless and had rough, flesh-toned skin, described as tan and sandpaper-like. The creature’s appearance was very plain, with no nose or ears, and no mouth was seen. The witness drawings portray its head as having a skull shape, forming the contour of a circle on top with a more elliptical ending projecting down to include where the nose and mouth would be.


Other witnesses have claimed the creature had green eyes and seemingly smooth, chalky gray toned skin, three feet tall, and made a bloodcurdling noise, similar to a hawk’s screech combined with a snake’s hiss. But all witnesses say it had no ears, mouth, nose, or known sex.

The creature was sighted again an hour later, by John Baxter, 15, and Pete Mitchell, 13, as they were walking home. He said it was bipedal and ended up running into a gully and standing next to a tree. The next day, Abby Brabham, 15, and Will Traintor, 18, driving down Springdale Avenue, claimed to have seen a similar-looking creature from Traintor’s car, on the side of the road. Brabham’s description matched Bartlett’s and Baxter’s descriptions, except this time the cryptid had illuminated green eyes. She approximated its height as “about the size of a goat”. Investigators attempted to shake up Ms. Brabham by noting she said it had green eyes reflected by car headlights, while Bartlett mentioned orange eyes were reflected back to him by his automobile’s lights. Ms. Brabham was steadfast in her description.


Bartlett, Baxter, Brabham, and Traintor all drew sketches of the monstrous sight shortly after their sightings. On the piece of paper that includes Bartlett’s sketch, he wrote “I, Bill Bartlett, swear on a stack of Bibles that I saw this creature.”

---
theoverworld

The Cabin and the Dolls

I don't know what to do anymore.

I’m so scared and I can't trust anyone.

I went camping about 3 weekends ago in the Huntsville national forest in Texas. Me and 3 friends that came home for the weekend, they are all in college and usually we all get together at least once a year, old friends from high school.

For the camping trip we planned to go backpacking deep in the forest, live off of fish that we catch and animals that we can trap. We have been doing this for awhile in Texas and in numerous places, Arizona, Colorado (if anyone is familiar with the Spanish peaks there), New Mexico, so we‘re pretty much used to anything you‘d encounter out there.

It was my turn to pick where we went camping, so I chose Huntsville (more accurately it’s Huntsville/New Waverly). So we drive up there park our car in a camping park spot and start walking off into the forest. We had some laughs along the way, everyone catching up with each other's lives.

We walked until it started to get dark and set up camp where we stopped. Everyone gathered wood to make a fire and we set our tent up. And we do what we always do: try and scare each other with weird stories.

Around this time we started to smell something very faint. It was noticeable, but not overbearing. We couldn't put our finger on what it was, so we just carried on. Mike had to go piss and he walked off in the forest. A second later he come running back, piss all down his jeans like he’d missed really bad. Immediately we all crack up and throw some jokes at him.

Then we noticed that he was white as snow and trying to catch his breath. He starts screaming for us to follow him, and runs off.

We all get serious and go follow him, not knowing what the problem was. We start to hear a faint scream and crying in the distance, in the direction we were running. It was pitch black away from the camp and Mike had the only flash light (we left ours at the camp, he had his from his trip taking a piss), so at this stage we didn’t have much choice but to follow the light, which was frantically pointing here and there in front of him.

The scream gets closer and Mike starts to slow down. We then notice a ratty old cabin that looked like it was abandoned, except for a faint light that we could see from one of the old mildew covered windows. The crying was intense: whoever it was couldn't breathe enough to let out a full yell.

We all followed Mike up to the front door and we could all hear the crying from inside. As soon as he knocked on the door it stopped. We all waited and heard really heavy footsteps walking fast to the door. There was a giant slam against the door and the sound of a bolt unlocking. Then nothing. We waited for a bit, knocked a few more times, but still nothing happened.

We walked around the house (there was no fucking way any of us were leaving each other’s side) and noticed a window, which was a good way up. Alex took a deep breath and said asked us to give him a boost so he could see inside. Me and Mike lifted him up to the window. We watched him brush away dirt and webs from the window and place his face close to the window to try and see something.

There was a quick beat. Then suddenly he breathed in fast and let out a loud scream. Then he fell back from the window, screaming bloody murder the whole way. We all tried to calm him down but he was hysterical. We went to him but he started to shake, punch, kick, you name it, and then took off towards the camp.

None of us wanted to be separated so we all ran close behind him. We caught up to him and grabbed him and set him down. The fire was dying out so I grabbed some nearby wood that we collected added it to the fire. My hands were shaking and I had to do something. I went back to Alex and we all tried to calm him down. He wouldn't; he kept screaming and was breathing so hard that he eventually fainted.

All of us are terrified now, and we all kept the fire high until sunrise. Periodically Alex kept waking up, screaming just like before. By sunrise he was up and looked catatonic, just mumbling to himself and whimpering. Me and Mike decide to go look at the cabin now it was daylight.

We searched where we thought it was, except there was nothing there. Nothing at all. The indistinct smell from last night had now grown into a very strong smell of something dead, something stale. We headed back to the camping site. When we got there we found Alex had chewed into the sides of his face and swallowed so much blood that he was throwing up. John was at his back, and he looked like he was about to die from exhaustion. I guess we all looked that way, I just didn't notice until I saw his face. Alex said quietly that we need to leave. Now.

We all started to pack up the tent. It started to rain really heavily (it was about noon) and the sky started to grow really dark. Alex started to go into a panic. He went and grabbed a big stick and yelled at us to leave it and leave, now, or he‘d knock us out and drag us out of there himself. Mike started to yell at him, and they started to fight. We broke it up and finished packing, and then started to make our way back.

After a little while we arrived at a creek we had crossed the previous day, only it was flooded over, and the water was moving to fast for us to cross it. Alex started to scream again, yelling at Mike for taking his time packing up the tent when we could have gotten out of here. This went on for a while until we finally convinced Alex to calm down and tell us what happened.

He said as soon as he put his face to the glass, a face on the other side did the same thing, and started to smile really big. It had dark eyes and a dark mouth which was much bigger then Alex's, as the smile got as large as it could. A giant shadow behind it swung something down and sliced it‘s face off. The face was stuck to the window, and he said it started to laugh quietly as it slid down. Mike, still pissed off (and though he wouldn‘t admit it, beginning to get freaked out), started to argue with him again. We eventually started to follow the creek for a way to cross.

We then started to see toys floating in the creek. Really old toys, old Barbie dolls and baby dolls. This wasn't like any old trash floating in the creek, though… this was a lot of barbies, a lot of baby dolls. One washed towards the side and Mike picked it up. It had some kind of voice chip that was dying and started to say some gurgling words we couldn't understand, followed by it’s sad excuse for laughter. Then it sounded like it was whispering. We thought the batteries must be dying, he threw it down.

We kept going, and the sun was starting to set. Alex was freaking out more now, and was whimpering and breathing heavily. We all started to see shadows move behind trees, something we all called BS on until we all were seeing it. It was barely light out and we stop as we see the cabin right in front of us.

None of us knows what to think. Mike says “This is bull, I’m going in there.” Alex tries to stop him. We all do, all of us just wanted to go home. Mike says to all of us to fuck off, do our own thing, he doesn't care anymore, this is all bull.

We start to hear hundreds of the same sort baby doll as before, laughing, whispering and trying to sing. We start to move forward past the cabin, all of us, and kept pushing forward. We smelled something dead in the air, something stale. The same something as before.

We started to hear something crying, and something screaming. We kept on going. We eventually crossed the creek and left the woods. We get back to our vehicle and got in. Its pitch black, and we drive. We are about to get on the 45 to Houston but the road is under construction and can't be accessed. It points to a detour. As we head towards the detour it seems to be small, bumpy dirt road going into the woods.

We then see a young girl come up to us. She looks like she was in trouble, young and pretty. She approaches the passenger side door and she looks like she‘s really drugged up, or beaten up. Alex doesn't roll down the windows, nor does he open the door. She reaches for the handle and he immediately locks it. She puts her face on the window and starts to smile really big. We floor it, Alex starts to cry and scream and we are all breathing heavy.

We finally cut on a street that takes us to the 45 and we take it the whole way. When we get back to my apartment everyone doesn't know what to say and we all break apart and go our separate ways. Mike messages me later and says he is going to go back. I try to convince him not to and all he does is say it was our own minds that were screwing with us. I think he just went to prove to himself he wasn’t scared.

I can smell that stench everywhere now. I don't go out anymore, I just stay in and don't answer the door. Last week everyone I met was acting really strange, people that I knew for a long time and total strangers. My own dad, when I went to his place to eat supper with him he just watched me, strangely, when I was sitting down. He didn't say a word the whole time. I kept asking him “What’s wrong?” He just slowly shook his head.

When I was leaving to go home I turned to wave. He had black eyes and an open mouth like he was in pain. When I started to walk back he shut the door and bolted it. I stayed there knocking and knocking. Nothing. I called him, his phone was disconnected. I even called the police. Halfway through the questions they were asking me the connection started to fade into static. I could hear a faint mumbling, singing and laughing.

Mike has completely vanished. There is not even a record of him being alive. When I call Alex’s house they talk to me like I’m some salesman. They say they don't know any Alex and to please stop calling. The person who tells me that is Alex‘s mother. I can’t get ahold of John.

Someone knocked on my door and when I went to look I saw a face completely covering the peephole and a giant smile started to form. I called the cops again and instead of it turning into static they got really strange.

“Sir, are you affected by any drugs at the moment?”

“No.”

“Are you coming home anytime soon?”

“Excuse me?”

“Come home.” and the phone call ended.

My mail slot swings every now and then. Someone is sliding pieces of baby dolls through it. I try to call people now and all I can hear is static and bad baby doll noises and this crying and screaming. My TV is busted but when I go to piss I can hear it on.

I might be going insane.