The Wreck

My eyes snap open. I’m upside down. It takes a minute for my vision to focus. I look around at my surroundings. I’m in a car. I close my eyes to concentrate, but I can’t remember what’s happening or how I crashed.

I hear a dripping sound. I open my eyes to see a dark liquid pooling on the ground. I touch my head with my left hand and feel the wet, warm sensation of blood.

I shake my head and take a deep breath. I reach up with my left hand and undo my seatbelt, causing me to fall. As soon as I drop, I instinctively brace my fall with my right arm.

A loud crunch echoes through the car and a sharp pain shoots through my arm. I scream and turn my body to get the pressure off of my arm. I use my left hand to open the car door and crawl out. I stagger to my feet and look down at my arm.

In the pale moonlight, I see the cause of my agony. Mu humorous is sticking of my arm. The bone glints off of the light from the moon. I close my eyes and sigh.

A shuffling in the bushes makes me open my eyes. I look around, but even with the moonlight, it’s too dark to see anything in the brush.

I decide to ignore the noise and think back. Slowly, I begin to piece together what happened.

I was driving down a back road. The sun was just starting to set. I looked down to check my phone and when I looked back up, there was someone standing in the road. It was a little girl. She was bloody and her clothes were ripped and stained with splotches of dried blood. I swerved to avoid hitting her and crashed.

A loud bang coming from my trunk makes me snap back to the present. I walk to the rear of the car. As I get closer to the trunk, the smell of oil fills my nose. I put my hand on the bumper and bang my left fist against it.

The sound of sirens makes my heart jump. I can see the flashing lights of emergence vehicles swiftly approaching my location. I reach into my pocket and pull out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

I light a cigarette and take a few drags.

The paramedics begin questioning me. I tell them what happened and I say I was probably just seeing things because I was tired. They tell me that they want to take a look at my arm. I agree, but not before flicking my cigarette towards the car. I start to walk past the police and to the ambulance.

I expect to hear the sound of the car exploding, but a different sound makes my stomach drop.

“HELP ME!!!”

One of the officers immediately draws his gun and aims at me while everyone rushes to the car. While his attention is focused on the car, I grit my teeth as I reach for the knife hidden behind my belt buckle. I grip the handle of the knife, but a surging pain shoots from my arm up to my shoulder.

The officer yells for me to put my hands up. I don’t have a choice but to comply.

It isn’t long before they free the girl from the confines of the trunk of the car. I watch in silent anger from the back of the squad car. I look out the opposite window and see her standing at the edge of the woods. The little girl who made me crash. It doesn’t take me long for me to finally recognize who she was.

Suzie Daniels. My first kill from all those years ago.

I lean back in the hard chair. I can’t help but to smile.

Lethal injection doesn’t sound that bad anyway.

An Ode to English Plurals

We'll begin with a box, and the  plural is boxes, But the plural of ox
becomes oxen, not oxes.
One fowl  is a goose, but two are called geese, Yet the plural of moose
should  never be meese.
You may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice, Yet  the plural of
house is houses, not hice.

If the plural  of man is always called men, Why shouldn't the plural of
pan be called pen?
If I speak of my foot and show you my feet, And I give you a boot, would
a pair be called beet?
If one is a tooth and a whole set are  teeth, Why shouldn't the plural
of booth be called beeth? 

Then one may be that, and three would be those, Yet hat in  the plural
would never be hose, And the plural of cat is cats, not  cose.
We speak of a brother and also of brethren, But though we say mother, we
never say methren.
Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and  him, But imagine the
feminine: she, shis and shim! 

Let's face it - English is a crazy language.
There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger; Neither apple nor pine
in pineapple.
English muffins weren't invented in England. 
We take English for granted, but if we explore its  paradoxes, We find
that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square, And a guinea
pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.

And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing, Grocers don't
groce and hammers don't ham?
Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend.
If you have a bunch of odds and ends and Get rid of all but one of them,
what do you call it? 

If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught?
If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?
Sometimes I think all the folks who grew up speaking English Should be
committed to an asylum for the verbally insane. 

In what other language do people recite at a play and play at  a
recital?
We ship by truck but send cargo by ship.
We have noses that run and feet that smell.
We park in a driveway and drive in a parkway.
And how can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, While a wise man
and a wise guy are opposites?

You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language In which your
house can burn up as it burns down, In which you fill in a form by
filling it out, and In which an alarm goes off by going on.

And in closing, if Father is Pop, how  come Mother's not Mop?

An Egg

It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me. And that’s when you met me.

“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”

“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point mincing words.

“There was a…a truck and it was skidding…”

“Yup.” I said

“I… I died?”

“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies.” I said.

You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me.

“What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”

“More or less,” I said.

“Are you god?” You asked.

“Yup.” I replied. “I’m God.”

“My kids… my wife,” you said.

“What about them?”

“Will they be alright?” “That what I like to see,” I said.

“You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”

You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Some vague authority figure. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”

“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”

“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”

“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right.”

“All the religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”

You followed along as we strolled in the void.

“Where are we going?”

“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”

“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”

“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.” I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part or yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.”

“You’ve been a human for the last 34 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for longer, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point doing that between each life.”

“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”

“Oh, lots. Lots and lots. And into lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 A.D.”

“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”

“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”

“Where do you come from?” You pondered.

“Oh sure!” I explained. “I come from somewhere. somewhere else. and there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there but you honestly won’t understand.”

“Oh.” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If i get reincarnated to other places in time, could I have interacted with myself at some point?”

“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own timespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”

“So what’s the point of it all?”

“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? Your asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”

“Well it’s a reasonable question.” you persisted.

I looked in your eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”

“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”

“No. just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature, and become a larger and greater intellect”

“Just me? What about everyone else?”

“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you, and me.”

You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”

“All you. Different incarnations of you.”

“Wait. I’m everyone!?”

“Now you’re getting it.” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.

“I’m every human who ever lived?”

“Or who will ever live, yes.”

“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”

“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too.” I added.

“I’m Hitler?” you said, appalled.

“And you’re the millions he killed.”

“I’m Jesus?”

“And you’re everyone who followed him.”

You fell silent.

“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “You were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”

“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”

“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”

“Whoa.” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”

“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”

“So the whole universe,” you said. “It’s just…”

“An egg of sorts.” I answered. “Now its time for you to move on to your next life.”

And with that, I sent you on your way.

—

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

Mummy, Can I?

“Oh thank you so much for coming at a late notice,” the woman said as soon as she answered the door.

“No problem, miss. It’s my job. What can I do for you?” I replied naturally with a smile.

“Well my sink’s been acting up lately. I’ve tried fixing it myself but it’s no good. Please, come in. I’ll show you the way.” She stepped aside, making a gesture to invite me in. I nodded with a smile, ready to provide service as usual. She led me into the living room.

“My son is sleeping in his room. Can I ask you to try to keep it quiet?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll do my best.” I couldn’t help but notice that she was missing two fingers on one hand. Not wanting to be rude, I made no mention of it.

“That would be much appreciated. Would you like a drink? A cold soda or maybe just water?” she offered.

“Oh water is fine, thank you.”

“I’ll be right back then. Go on and take a seat.” She slowly made her way into the kitchen but not without glancing towards the hallway. I couldn’t help but notice how pale and weakly thin she looked. The poor woman wouldn’t have the slightest chance if a robber or a murderer happened to sneak in her house. I wouldn’t be surprised either. It truly was a nice house.

I turned my head to the hallway and took a deep breath. Then I noticed it, a faint odor. Whatever it was, it didn’t smell so inviting. I could tell though that an effort was given to cover the stench with air fresheners. I would know, I’ve done it before… I was making a move to get up when she walked back in with a glass of water.

“Here you are.” She placed it gently on the glass table and while doing so, revealed what looked like a small, ringed bruise on her forearm.

“Miss, is your arm okay? I thought I saw a bit-”

“I’m fine,” she answered hurriedly, retrieving her arm to her chest. “Would you like to see the sink now?” she asked- insisted, rather. I got up and followed her after sipping on the glass of water. We passed by the hallway and I heard muffled shuffling in what seemed to be the first room to the left. I saw two shadows on the foot of the door.

“…mommy? Can I have it?” a small voice asked softly behind the doors. The woman stopped in her tracks and turned with a bewildered look that was quickly masked by a smile.

“Honey go back to bed,” she said with a cold tone that didn’t match the smile on her face.

“Mommy can I have it? I’ll be good this time. Please?” her son, I assume, pleaded.

“Ma’am I think your child needs something,” I said, hesitant.

“He’ll get it in a bit,” she said to me then to her son, “sweetie just be patient. I’ll get it to you later, I promise.” Immediately, she walked away and I followed, a little uncomfortable now. There was scratching behind the doors.

“Was that your son?” I asked with caution when we arrived in the kitchen.

“I think it got clogged when I dumped some left overs there. I wasn’t thinking clearly and instead of putting them in the dispenser, I tossed the food down the drain. It was just cut up meat so I figured it wouldn’t be a big issue. I guess I was wrong,” she explained, completely ignoring my question. I decided not to push it.

“Well let me take a look.” She moved aside and I began taking out some tools. She stayed in the kitchen, leaning by the fridge, watching me. After a while she walked to one of the drawers and opened it, pulling out an item. I couldn’t tell what it was as I soon disappeared under the sink.

After a few minutes of silence, she asked, “You like helping people right? Isn’t that why you decided to go for this job?”

It was actually a lack of ambition and non-caring parents but seeing as I didn’t want to be rude, I merely nodded and even tried to play off as the good guy. “Yeah I like helping folks. Nothing better than knowing you’ve made someone’s life easier. Right?”

“Right. Yes. Service.” More silence followed, which lasted longer this time. I popped my head out for a bit and reached for a wrench in my tool box. She noticed the ring on my finger.

“I see that you’re married. Any kids?” she asked, hands behind her back.

“Two, yeah. My wife just gave birth to our youngest two weeks ago,” I answered with a genuine smile.

“That’s lovely. Congratulations.” She paused, opening her mouth as if to say something, only to go back into silence. With the look on her face, it seemed as if she was contemplating something in her head quite seriously, struggling for the right words. And then I saw on her face something I probably already did at the moment of our meeting but ignored. Exhaustion.

“Look, you seem like a nice man so-”

THUD

We both snapped our heads in the direction of the hallway. I was about to speak when another thud stopped me, louder this time. The woman looked at me with hesitation. After one lingering look at my ring, she stepped forward.

“You better go,” the woman said coldly, trying to ignore the sounds that now have much shorter pauses in between.

“But I’m not finished-”

“Leave. Right now.” I could see the unsettling look on her face so I obeyed and packed my things right away. When we passed by the hallway, the door to the boy’s room began to rattle wildly.

“Mommy please!! Let me out!! Can I have it now??!! I want it mommy!!”

“Goodness, you have your child locked in there??” I asked with such shock. She was pushing me towards the door now with the hand that was missing two fingers. I turned around sharply and she pulled out the knife she’d been hiding behind her back. My widened eyes met her frenzied ones.

“If you take a single step towards me, I won’t hesitate to hurt you. I’ve done it before. Done it plenty of times. Oh yes I’ve killed a lot of men. But I was just doing my job you see! Just doing my job… Isn’t it a mother’s job to protect her child? Huh?” I stood there, my feet frozen and glued to the floor, not knowing how to respond.

“ISN’T IT??!!” she yelled suddenly, causing me to jump. The door stopped rattling and returned to creating loud thudding noises. The boy was repeatedly throwing his body against it.

“Listen, let’s just be calm and talk about this. Put the knife down and we’ll-”

“No. No more. This has to end. No more of this. I’ve sacrificed enough. I’m tired…” She solemnly turned towards the hallway. Right at that moment, I could have easily disarmed her and turned the situation around. Things might’ve ended differently. But something in me was screaming to just run out and call the police. “I’m sorry sweetie. I’ve done my best…but I can’t keep doing this. It isn’t right. It isn’t right….” She turned back to me, knife lowered, eyes pleading. “Go home to your family.”

I bolted to the door without even thinking about it. I didn’t bother to close it either. With one last glance back, I saw her opening the door in the hallway, knife raised high.

“I’M FUCKING HUNGRY YOU BITCH!!” I refused to believe that it was the boy that said this. It couldn’t have been… Yet it was. Screams from both child and parent were heard.

I threw myself into the work vehicle and drove a couple of blocks before realizing I had to call the police.

———-

“Oh my goodness did you hear on the news?”

“About what?

“A plumber called the police after fleeing this one house he was working at, which is near the area by the way.”

“How exciting…”

“Let me finish geez! So the police arrive there and the first thing they see is a woman’s mutilated body on the living room floor. She was all chewed up! Her face was barely recognizable and her stomach was ripped open with the innards gone. They investigated the house and found a room with rotting corpses that were in the same condition as the woman’s body. A lot of them were workers like plumbers, electricians and whatnot. There was a broken chain leash right beside the pile of bodies.”

“Oh Jesus we’re eating… This is why I would never get a dog!”

“Oh no no it wasn’t a dog. They examined the woman’s body since it was the freshest, just died a little before they arrived apparently. She had bite marks on her limbs. Human bite marks. They were also pretty small. Too small to be an adult.”

“You’re not saying… No that’s messed up.”

“They found out that she has a son. A little boy. He’s missing.”

—
Credit to: Pandora

Don’t Go Into The Basement

You know, Mom, I remember now how it all started.

It was right after moving to the new house. How old was I? Four, maybe five? I was so young. So innocent. So unsuspecting.

The new house was beautiful, Mom. Do you remember how I used to run from room to room? You always laugh so hard when you recount those times. We were so happy. All of us.

The house was so big, much bigger than the old house. This one had two floors. The main floor had the living room and three bedrooms: Judy’s, Dad’s and your’s, and my bedroom, at the end of the hall.

Do you remember what I used to tell you about the basement though? I always told you to not go into the basement. You would brush it off. Wave away my fears. You probably don’t remember me telling you at all.

But I remember. I can never forget.

It all started with going downstairs on my own a few times. When I would go down there to get something, I would see things moving. Small, black things. In the corners, on top of the TV cabinet, in the hallway, in the laundry room, anywhere. They would move in and out of the corner of my eye. This would cause me to dash into the half-dimmed room and scurry upstairs. I remember one time Judy commented, “Oh, Kelsi’s scared again.”

I was scared of these beings, Mom. I was so scared. When you sent me down into the darkness alone, I feared for my life. I never knew what would happen when I was down there. I got to the point that I never went anywhere without turning a light on. A light switch would always be switched before going in any room, and then a frightening dash back upstairs. But I also didn’t want anyone to know I was afraid. I hid my fear the best I could, Mom. That was until seeing wasn’t the worst part.

It was not long after I began seeing them, that I started hearing them. Saying things in hushed whispers. Mocking me. Snickering. Moving objects in the basement. The small noises meant nothing to you and the rest of the family. You could turn your back to the sounds. You closed your eyes to the unknown living in your house.

I remember this one time; you found a handkerchief waiting for you on your bed. You laughed it off. You all laughed it off. The handkerchief didn’t belong to any of us, and it was just waiting there for you, almost like a warning. But you all thanked the beings for their kind gift, making a mockery and a joke out of it. Mom, why didn’t any of you listen to me when I told you to stop?

By the time I was eight, the voices were a constant occurrence in the house. I could hear every word they said. These creatures, which I called the Whisperers, talked about everything. They talked about new things to do to be nuisances, how much we amused them, how best to hurt the family living in their house. I had learned from you to put these things behind me and ignore them.

But that became harder and harder. I remember one night, laying in my bed, I heard the door creep open. I hadn’t been able to sleep well, so small noises jerked me up in the middle of the night quite often. But the Whisperers never moved objects so carelessly. They knew I was awake, and they knew the best way to frighten me. Loud movements were heard from the kitchen, and to save myself, I flung the blankets over my head. I wanted to cry for you like a toddler, Mom, but I didn’t want to put you in harm.

I heard a yelp from the kitchen. It was soft enough that no one else would be awoken from it. I know if you ever read this, Mom, you’ll yell at me for being so stupid, but I had to see what was in the kitchen. I had to know what evil was preying on my family.

The hallway felt eerily cold in the hot summer’s night. The light, being already on, hardly made my descent to the kitchen less terrifying. My feet shattered the silence as I struggled to creep as quietly as I could. I was so afraid, and the sweat from my body glued my clothes to my skin.

Mom, I don’t want to scare you with describing what was in the kitchen, but I’ll tell you best of what was there. A small creature, about 2 foot high, stood before me. It was pitch black and beady yellow eyes. This is the only way to describe the appearance of the creature, Mom. It smelt of a mixture of vegetable oil and that paving stuff that they put in the cracks of roads. It gave off this sound, like a crackling fire and constant murmuring whispers. The creature made me afraid, Mom. It was fear incarnate. This creature drove a stake right into my soul, making me cold and writhe in true darkness.

While I watched this…thing, it stared me down and opened its mouth, which was invisible at first glance. Its mouth was simply a whole full of razor-sharp teeth, and it snickered as I gasped at the pure horror of the scene. As quickly as it opened, the creature’s mouth closed, and it turned its gaze over to its right. I hadn’t noticed her, Mom. I hadn’t noticed Dino.

Dino, our poor hound, lie directly in the center of the kitchen underneath the countertop. A large butcher knife was nestled gently between two of her ribs. Dino whined one last time as she took in her last breath and died a painful death.

I didn’t know what to do then, Mom. I had no control of my body at that time. I cried. No, I screamed while tears fell from my eyes. I didn’t know what else to do, Mom. I couldn’t help it.

That’s when I heard them, down the hall again. Judy’s door and your door was open. Oh, God, Mom. I was so frightened. Without thinking about it, I ran into Judy’s room.

Judy was dead, Mom. I found her mutilated, but I know you wouldn’t want details about how your daughter was killed. Let’s just agree that she had not stood a chance.

I had no time to grieve. I had to check on Dad. Strangely, the light to your room was on, so I didn’t need to go too far inside to see Dad laying lying on the ground, in a distraught, disturbing way. Two butter knives were lodged into his neck, Mom. I don’t know how that was done.

You were not in the room. You weren’t there. Why weren’t you in your room? Did you hear it coming, the footsteps? Did you honestly think that running to the basement would be the best answer?

I knew immediately, Mom. I knew you were down there, trying to escape the evil that was upstairs. I ran down the stairs, hoping to beat the Whisperers to you.

I found you in the family room, Mom. The light was off. I found you in front of the TV. You had gashes in your head and your legs. You were losing so much blood. When you saw me, you screamed. You screamed so loudly. I didn’t understand.

But then I saw them. The Whisperers had beat me to you. And they were chanting.

Kill her. Kill her. We must kill her. We must kill her. Kill her. Kill her.

They were chanting at me, Mom. They were telling me to kill you. They were telling me that you had to die.

That’s when I looked at my hands.

They were covered in blood, Mom. Blood was staining my new nightgown. Blood was running down my arms. I was holding a knife. A knife from the kitchen.

When I looked back up, the Whisperers were gone, and it was just you and me.

I turned on the light and smiled. You screamed again. I advanced you, raising the knife in my hand.

I told you to never go into the basement, Mom. Why didn’t you listen to me?

—
Credits to: Rose

Anna

He liked to volunteer in the psych ward of his local hospital. His real job was as a stockbroker, but the stresses got to him sometimes and he needed an outlet. In the past he’d turned to booze to relieve the pressure, but that had taken him to places he hoped never to revisit.

He didn’t know why it helped him so much to be in the hospital. He didn’t particularly like the crazies they made him work with; in fact he thought most of them were beyond help. He supposed it was really Anna that kept him coming back. Anna was just a little girl, maybe ten or twelve at the most. She shouldn’t really have been in the ward with the adults, but his small town wasn’t wealthy enough to have separate housing for minors. He felt sorry for all the kids who had to bunk with these terminal wackjobs. Or he would, if Anna weren’t the only one there under 35. That just made it sadder, he supposed. He felt a need to protect this little girl from the frightening company she kept, so he had promised himself never to leave as long as she was there.

Anna was probably the least screwed up person in that hospital. She had terrible anxiety any time she left the building. They said if she left she’d probably die from the shock of it. The only thing that seemed to make her feel better was talking, so he’d talk to her for hours on end about even the most inane topics. He felt a need to know everything about her; a need that transcended what should probably have been suitable for their relationship. But Anna seemed so happy when he talked to her that he could never bear to leave her for long. The only subject they avoided was her reasons for being in the ward. He felt that if there was a reason, she would tell him in her own time, and that if he pushed her he might break the connection they had to each other.

Their bond had been growing stronger every day. They were almost close enough to be brother and sister, so close that he no longer pretended to be working with the hospital. He quit his volunteering gig and came in every day, just to be with her. He seemed to even be helping with her anxiety, until one day he found her curled up into a ball on her bunk, sobbing quietly to herself. When he asked her what was wrong, she finally told him why she was in the hospital. She and her mother had been in a car accident with a drunk driver. Her mother had died as a result, and she had had to be hospitalized. She hadn’t talked for months after that. In fact, she had only started talking around the time he had started at the hospital.

Touched by the idea that he might have had some part in Anna’s healing, he felt brave enough to ask her if they’d caught the killer. She told him that they hadn’t, that that was why she couldn’t leave, she was so scared he’d come after her. He tried to comfort her, tell her that a drunk driver wouldn’t even remember her, but nothing helped. Finally, in desperation, he promised to kill the driver if he ever managed to get close to her. That got Anna’s attention, and though she was shocked at the statement’s brutality, it at least got her to stop crying. The rest of the day went normally, but he decided that he would talk to Anna’s doctor before he left.

He hadn’t talked to the doctor before, but everyone at the ward knew him, so he felt no qualms about introducing himself. When he asked about Anna, the doctor seemed extremely keen to hear what she’d said. Apparently no one knew why she was in the ward in the first place, they’d just found her wandering, bloody by the side of the road. Surprised, he told the doctor Anna’s story. At the end, the doctor leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Richard, what you’re telling me is very serious. There isn’t anyone named Anna in this ward. You had a nervous breakdown recently, and have been coming to the hospital for psychiatric sessions. However, you’ve been getting worse, not better. For the last month you haven’t left the ward. Tell me, Richard, do you remember the lat time you were at work?”

It was a stupid question. Or course he…no, he’d taken some vacation time off to spend with Anna. How had he forgotten that? But the doctor shook his head. “You were forced to take psychiatric leave. We believe you had some sort of traumatic event, one that triggered your breakdown, and subsequent hallucinations. From what you just told me, I’m inclined to believe you were responsible for an accident while drunk driving.”

He sat their, frozen in shock. This was impossible. He’d quit drinking… right about when he’d started at the ward. No. No. He couldn’t have… but it was rushing back, the erratic light from the headlights as he swerved, the screech of rubber as he saw them, the one, frozen second where he saw a 10-year-old girl screaming from the back seat. When he looked back, the doctor wasn’t there. Anna was sitting in the doctor’s place, saying nothing, just staring at him. He stared back for a second, and then had to look down. He felt so guilty. So, so guilty. And he had made a promise.

Richard picked up the scissors.

—
Credits to: Hypodroid

It's Locked

About ten years ago I was recently divorced and living alone in a one bedroom apartment. The place was clean and the rent was decent. One of those places that had a doorman, I felt safe here. I was alone and loving it, focused on my career and not on my clingy ex-husband. Things were finally looking up for me.

At the time I was working pretty late at the office and would often stumble into my apartment sleep deprived in the early hours of the morning and wake up by 6:30, 7ish to start the day. I started noticing that in the morning my door would be unlocked sometimes, I usually dismissed this as my sleep dead brain thinking that the bed looked more appealing than locking the door. Another thing that I noticed since moving in was that I seemed to misplace things more than I used to, little things like a hairbrush or nail polish, that sort of thing. It wasn’t really that big of a deal, just enough to be a slight annoyance in my day.

The longer I lived there the more frequently I seemed to forget to lock the door, at first it was every once in a while then it seemed like an almost daily occurrence. More things went missing, things like pictures, shaving razors and most disturbingly, my underwear. This went on for long enough that I started to get a little paranoid. I started to take the time at night to make sure the door was locked, I got into a habit of every night after I locked the door to turn the handle three times and say to myself “It’s locked, it’s locked, it’s locked.” Time after time I would wake up and the door would be unlocked. One time I even tried staying up all night to watch the door, but I ended up falling asleep in my chair.

I decided that my mind was not reliable enough to stay up all night so I invested in a video camera. I went all out and bought the fanciest camera that I could get my hands on. So one night I set the camera up facing the door. I hid the camera under a pile of towels on the floor. I locked the door and went to bed.

When I woke up, my apartment looked normal. Nothing missing that I could see. I decided to check the tape. I fast forwarded through hours of footage, not seeing anything. I was just about to give up when I noticed the handle of the door jitter. Then it slowly crept open. A figure slid through the half opened door. And walked towards the camera. It paused. Looked around as if it was listening for something. Then walked forward into direct view of the camera. I paused the camera, the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck started to rise. I was staring directly into the face of the maintenance man of the building. I could see those big thick glasses and curly hair. I had no doubt who it was. I played the tape a little more. He looked comfortable as he walked around the apartment. Then he turned and walked towards my bedroom and out of the view of the camera.

I didn’t know what to do, sobbing I called the police. I tried to explain over the phone but couldn’t. Soon enough two officers arrived at my doorstep. I told them everything and showed them the tape. I remember seeing the blood drain from their faces. They promised me that I was safe, and that they where going to get this guy.

I needed to lay down, but didn’t want to be alone. One of the officers offered to stand outside my apartment door as I took a nap. As I was laying in bed unable to sleep but to drained to move, something kept nagging at me. I laid there for a few minutes tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable or rest. My mind was racing. Then a realization slowly washed over me and chilled me to the bone. We watched the tape, and saw the man enter my home…but we never saw him leave. I froze, then started shaking. I needed to get to the front door. I sat up and looked around the room. I couldn’t see anyone. I swung my legs over the side of the bed cautiously, my feet hit the cold wood floor and I felt warm breath on my ankles. I raced out of my apartment as fast as I could and to the safety of the police officer. He called for backup. They found the man under my bed, clutching a knife and a Polaroid camera.

To this day I cannot sleep alone.

Halloween Creepypastas Part 14

PRETTY GIRL
Pretty pretty pretty girl
Snow white skin and golden curls
She’s a vision sent from heaven
Break of dawn till half past seven
But with darkness things will change
She gets weird and she gets strange
Teeth grow long beyond proportion
Limbs will twist in mass contortions
Bile pours from her snapping jaws
Venom drips from six inch claws
Skin becomes a scaly mask
White hot flames shoot out her ass
Half a horror half delight
Just don’t take her out tonight
She is something in between
If tonight is Halloween

Credits to: charitytryst

— 

THE COSTUME
I look at my reflection.

I smile, admiring my beautiful appearance. A green bulb-like head with two big round eyes on it, coupled with an unnoticeable small nose and a lipless mouth full of terrifying yellow incisors that seem ready to bite through anything. The upper part of a suit covers my chest; I want to look fancy. Through the sleeves a pair of long tentacles pop out, and through the lower half of the suit 8 more tentacles appear. I love Halloween.

I wobble to the door— I’m not used to navigating my house this way. I go out, watching as all kind of people, grown and little, wander the streets. Some wear high-level costumes while others wear bags with carved eyeholes in them. As I walk around the street, people look at me with awe and I can’t help but smile widely.

I just love Halloween; It’s the only time of the year I can get out of my human costume without people screaming at me.

Credits to: Raisu444