The Novella Life of Illuscia Nester Himawari

I’m sure you’ve heard of the Ronald McDonald House charity. They provide housing for families of sick kids when they’re in the hospital. Seems pretty innocent, right? Well, there’s another side to the charity. There’s another type of Ronald McDonald House, one that not many people know about. There’s one in most big cities. You won’t find it by looking for it. It doesn’t have an address. It doesn’t have a sign above the door. It doesn’t even have windows. No, the only way you’ll find it, is if you’re taken there. That’s how I found it. I’ve never met my real parents. I’ve been in and out of foster families and group homes here in Detroit since I was a kid. I’m 15 now, and I’m what they refer to as a BAD KID. Always causing trouble, always getting thrown out and placed with another unsuspecting do-gooder who thinks they can help me. I always prove them wrong. My caseworker sat across the black metal table, looking weary and frazzled. On the table between us was a thick letter-sized bro...

A couple was sitting in a movie theater watching a scary movie, and the female of the group wasn’t having a good time. She’d obviously been bored out of her mind. It’d been a late showing, so there was practically no one there and the room was dead silent except for the screening. About an hour into the show, she feels a drop on her hand. Ignoring it, she quickly shakes off the feeling and continues to watch the movie, trying to enjoy it. Another drop lands on her hand and furious now, she hits her boyfriend, thinking that he’d purposely been messing with her, be it spitting or throwing water on her. He doesn’t move. She pushes him harder this time, throwing in some obscenities, and to her horror, a red line that she hadn’t noticed until now, starts to seep red and then his head falls off. Horrified, she lets out a silent scream and that’s when she feels the drip again. Looking at her hand, she can barely make out the color of the liquid, but it’s red. Nervously, she looks up and is sh...

They say that somewhere in western America, some say in Utah, others say on the California coast, there’s a certain small motel on the side of the road. When you go inside, it’s decorated in very common hotel decor, with the ornate paneling and old-fashioned key-lock doors. The thing is, there’s a room in there for everybody. Everybody has a reservation for exactly when they show up, and the number of rooms available is always one more than the number of people there. One person to a room, that is the rule. Some say that the song “Hotel California” is based off this motel, though you  can  leave this particular motel. I wouldn’t advise looking at a mirror for at least a month after doing so, though. --- fuckyeahspookyshit

"I can’t help it, doctor. They’re fucking everywhere. Nobody knows but me." “Knows what, Larry?” “About the demons! They’re everywhere!” “Tell me about the demons, Larry. What do they look like?” “Leathery, shiny black skin. Spindly limbs with single claws for feet. Wings like reaper’s cloth. And the eyes!” The man on the couch shudders. “What’s wrong with their eyes, Larry?” “They’re huge. They take up half of the face. They don’t even look like eyes, they’re like a million eyes clumped together. And they’re red!” “Okay, enough about what they look like. What makes them so terrifying to you personally? Do the demons have an attraction to you? What is it you don´t like about them?” “Well, I know all kinds of things about them. They go into graveyards and crawl into the earth and feast on the flesh of corpses at night. They get into food and poison it with their own vomit. They eat rotting carcasses of animals right off the side of the roads. They float around people who don’...

Sirens blared through the still night sky. In a haze of flashing red lights, I slowly opened my eyes, thoroughly confused about what was going on. I was in my car, the windscreen in front of me shattered to bits, my head throbbing something awful. I looked beside me and there she was, knocked unconscious, or worse… dead. It all came back to me in a flash. The mis-steer, the car smashing into the side of the building. I tried to remember what I had tried to avoid which caused the fateful swerve, but my mind drew a blank. Ambulances had already arrived at the scene, there were a couple of paramedics prying the passenger side door loose, pulling her out and placing her onto a gurney. I stumbled out of the car myself, relatively un-injured by the crash, it seemed. Besides the head ache, I didn’t seem to have any other major injuries. She was rushed to a nearby ambulance in a haze of frantic EMT activity and general medical mumbo jumbo. I tried to overhear what her situation was, but could...