My Daughter Can’t Sleep

It’s always two in the morning when I would usually wake up because of my blanket shifting beside me. I would open my lamp to check but before I could, her little arms would start to hug me.

”Mommy, I can’t sleep again.”, her voice was so scared and sleepy at the same time that I hug her back and hum her favourite tune until she would finally fall back to deep slumber. This has been happening for a few weeks and I actually got used to it.

I would open the lamp then and check if everything was okay with her, like I did every night. I’d caress her face, kiss her on the forehead and then she’d wake up. ”Something wrong, honey?” I’d ask her and she would gently shake her head and stand up.

She would walk out, stop at my door and wave goodbye with her golden hair, still braided with red ribbons and that pink flowery dress she was buried in, last month.

—
Credits to: faindyvargas

Strange Fruit

The fruits are everywhere.

On every tree; every branch even.

I stick my hand into one nearby and pull out a soft seed.

I massage the mushy and decaying mass in my hand.

The squishy substance slips out of my fingers.

Red juices stream out of the fresh hole in the skin.

I cut the thin stem fibers and heft one over my back. Perhaps this is a new species.

—
Credits to: IntoTheCosmo

Please Come Home

Martha (1:03): I need you to come home right now please

David (1:05): What?

Martha (1:05): Please, please, I’m begging

David (1:06): I’m at work, what’s wrong?

Martha (1:06): I can’t find her anywhere

David (1:07): Who? Lily?

Martha (1:07): YES! She was on the couch watching Sesame Street. I was on the sofa across form her. I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up she wasn’t there

David (1:07): Are the doors locked? Are any windows broken?

Martha (1:08): NO! That’s the thing. Everything seems fine. I feel sick to my stomach. Please come home, I can’t deal with things like this without you.

David (1:08): Check her closet. She likes to hide there sometimes, when she doesn’t want to put away her toys.

Martha (1:08): Right the closet. Ok. Hold on.

Martha (1:10): She’s not there… David please just come home now, please.

David (1:13): Are you sure you’ve checked absolutely everywhere?

Martha (1:13): YES! I have. Please just come home. I can’t deal with this alone.
David (1:14): Alright, I’m on my way. Give everything one more look.

Martha (1:14): Ok I will.

…

David (1:20): Any luck?

Martha (1:21): No. Where are you?

David (1:22): I’m about to pull into the highway.

Martha (1:22): Oh god, David please, I need you to hurry.

David (1:22): I’m trying. I can’t fly over there, now can I?

Martha (1:23): I’M HONESTLY SICK TO MY STOMACH. STOP BEING SO SARCASTIC. OUR DAUGHTER IS MISSING.

David (1:23): I’m sorry I’m on my way. Do you think maybe she crawled under the dining room table or under the bed?

Martha (1:24): I’ve checked everywhere. I’m so confused.

David (1:25): Maybe she heard the ice cream truck and slipped out the door? Ask the neighbors if they saw anything.

Martha (1:25): Good idea. I’m going right now.

David (1:30): What did they say?

David (1:34): Martha?

…

Martha (1:39): I’m so confused.

David (1:40): What happened?

Martha (1:41): I heard the Petersons come downstairs. I think it was Sofia. I swear she looked through the peephole, but she wouldn’t let me in.

David (1:41): The Petersons were always sort of a “don’t bother us” family. What about the Rogers?

Martha (1:41): They didn’t even answer. I don’t think they were home.

Martha (1:41): I looked up and down the streets and around the block. She’s not there.

Martha (1:41): How far along are you?

David (1:42): I’m stuck in traffic. Where are you now?

Martha (1:42): I’m home. I’m trying hard not to cry.

David (1:42): Don’t. It’ll be ok. You know how 5 year old kids are, always trying to explore the world.

Martha (1:42): I’m terrified. I’m shaking. You know those crime shows where the killer always does inhumane things to the child. I just can’t… Please just hurry.

Martha (1:43): How bad is the traffic?

David (1:43): It’s a little heavy, but it should speed up soon.

Martha (1:44): I just heard a knock…

David (1:44): Maybe there’s someone outside with some news, look through the peephole. Be careful.

Martha (1:44): It’s not coming from the door

David (1:45): What?

Martha (1:46): I hear the knock again, but it’s not coming from a door or even a window.

Martha (1:46): It’s coming from inside the house.

Martha (1:47): Oh god, I’m so scared. Why aren’t you here? You are never here.

David (1:47): I’m literally on my way. Just keep calm. You’re a strong woman, who isn’t afraid to handle anything and that’s one of the reasons I married you. It’s probably Lily. Just follow the noise.

Martha (1:48): I’m shaking…

Martha (1:49): I just yelled out LILY. No response.

Martha (1:50): The knocking is getting louder.

Martha (1:51): Oh god David, it’s getting so loud. Oh god.

Martha (1:51): Hurry please, come home. I love you please. Come home.

David (1:52): I just got out of traffic. I’m 10 minutes away.

Martha (1:52): It sounds like a hammer, banging.

Martha (1:52): It’s coming from our bedroom.

Martha (1:53): David

Martha (1:54): It’s coming from inside the mirror

David (1:55): What?

Martha (1:55): There’s someone inside the gigantic mirror in our bedroom.

Martha (1:56): They’re knocking

Martha (1:56): There’s blood on the floor

David (1:57): I’m calling the police.

Martha (1:58): So much blood.

Martha (1:59): There’s broken pieces of glass on the floor.

David (2:02): Hang in there. I am on our block.

David (2:03): Martha?

David (2:04): Martha? The police are on their way.

David (2:05): Are you all right?

David (2:06): Please respond.

David (2:06): Hello?

David (2:07): Don’t do this to me.

~~~

NEW JERSEY TIMES

WHAT REALLY HAPPENED ON BROOKSTEAD AVENUE
By Danish Seejoul

At approximately 1:57 P.M. David Carsely (35/m) called the New Jersey State Police stated his daughter, Lily Carsely (5, fm) was missing and that his wife, Martha Carsely (32/fm) was home alone and reported blood in the house. Officers arrived at 2:10 P.M to find a frantic David on the steps of the home, banging on the front doors. Officers pushed down the front door. Officers discovered the body of Lily Carsely and of Martha Carsely in the master bedroom, drenched in the pool of their own blood. According to neighbor Sofia Peterson, she heard shouting coming from the house at approximately 12:50 A.M, around which time Lily Carsely reported to be asleep according to David’s text. Ms. Peterson heard the voices of a “deranged women” shouting indiscernible words, and the cries of a young girl.

She reported that the cries got fainter and that she heard a gigantic shatter. She said that approximately 1:33 P.M, Martha came around to her house and knocked on the door. She didn’t open the door because she thought she “smelled danger” and noticed Martha was drenched in blood. Autopsy reports reveal that the body of Lily Carsely was strangled, and that her face was repeatedly smashed against the bedroom mirror. Martha Carsely doesn’t have a criminal record and has never had issues with mental health before. But hairs found under Lily Carsely’s fingernails as well as scratches on Martha Carsely’s arms reveal that she may have just been the culprit. The cause of death of Martha is just as bizarre. There are deep cuts on her wrist that seem self-inflicted.

Dr. Jacklyn Daniels of New Jersey Shore Hospital says “Something snapped in Martha Carsely’s mind that day, something that caused her to do something so horrible, that her own psyche erased from her mind. It seems as if the guilt came back to her as she heard “knocks from the mirror” when texting her husband. It seems to me that when reality was flung back to her, Ms. Carsely couldn’t live on with such a heavy sin. What caused a seemingly ordinary young mother to commit such a heinous crime is beyond me”

--

Grabbed from Horror/creepy short stories

Coulrophobia

Do you know what it’s like to be scared? No I mean really scared? To have a completely irrational fear, a fear that should not belong in your everyday life, a fear that others would ridicule you for having? Something so deeply disturbing that you feel forced to seek professional help? It’s that type of fear that haunts my dreams, screaming myself awake drenched in cold sweat. I have a fear of those red-nosed, white faced, ridiculously clothed, goofy haired, demons which the rest of the world calls clowns. Others giggle and laugh at their antics while I tremble in fear, trying to put on a brave face to hide my secret shame. Seltzer bottles, tiny cars, huge shoes, little dogs, boisterously loud laughter; all tricks of their trade that I envision as sinister implements of torture.

---

I think it’s the eyes; windows to the soul as I remember from some old proverb. No matter how you dress up these creatures in silly outfits and comical makeup, the eyes never lie. Those painted-on smiles never touch those malicious eyes that stare deep into my soul with their promise of pain and blood. “Soon” those eyes tell me when they lock with mine, “soon”. Lately though it has gotten worse. I no longer need to see them emerge from a tiny colorful car, or at a child’s birthday party, to recognize the evil intent of those eyes. Now I can pick out that insane gaze of clowns on my daily commute with them hiding in plain clothes. That look is unmistakable, and I know they see me watching and shivering with spine-tingling fear. And they smile…

---

Never ending visions of those sinister smiles lead to so many sleepless nights. They say that’s the problem with a phobia; once it takes root, your mind cannot recover. And believe me I’ve tried everything; support groups, doctors, meditation, hypnosis… Even the pills prescribed only help until they wear off, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life living in a hazy medicated state. You know how it is once you have something like a new car in mind, and then you start seeing that type of car everywhere you look? They have always been there, but it is only now that it is on you mind that you take notice? Clowns. Are. Everywhere! Not just the obvious places like fast food restaurants and advertisements, but even existing in places you would never have noticed unless you were really looking! It’s like I can no longer go anywhere without seeing clowns hidden in pictures or brand labels or even popular music beats!

---

You know how sometimes you imagine you hear noises as the house settles at night, or think you hear someone calling your name while walking down a busy street? I hear that too, but for me those noises range from a clown’s laughter to that insane calliope music that often accompanies them. It has gotten to the point where I cannot even block out those random sounds, no matter how high I turn up the music through my headphones everywhere I go. How I must look to others now! Trudging down the street with my headphones in, staring at the tops of my shoes to avoid seeing those eyes, those menacing smiles… I know it’s pathetic, but it’s the only way I can get through the day without feeling like a prisoner in my apartment!

---

Months go by, and I find it harder and harder to leave the safety of my home to make the journey to work. It is not easy living in constant fear that you will catch a glimpse of a hellish creature in the reflection of a store window, or hear that familiar nightmarish music playing in a passing car. I almost lost it one day when I looked up at a crosswalk to see a clown in full get-up handing out balloons to passing kids to advertise some new store opening! I could feel its eyes on me as I turned to take an alternate route when I could not work up the nerve to pass by even though my office building was only a block up the street. It knew, and I could hear its seemingly innocent laughter following me even once I should have been out of earshot. And when someone had balloons delivered for a co-worker’s birthday? I hid in a bathroom stall for twenty minutes crying when I could swear it was part of the same bunch of balloons the clown on the street corner was holding.

---

Then, last week, it hit me. How do you know who it is hiding beneath the makeup? It could be some psychopath hiding in plain sight, like that Gacy guy, or it could even be someone you know! It could be anyone! And I am beginning to suspect they know I have made this connection. That new barista at my favorite coffee shop had that look in her eyes when she brewed my “regular”, and that smile she gave me when she handed me my drink? And that man who smiled at me when he held the door open when I left the office for the day yesterday? In fact just this morning the guy in 4-B said hello to me when I was checking my mail. He has never talked to me before, and that smile he gave me; a smile that I swear did not touch his eyes, his dark menacing eyes. His expression did not even change when I screamed and ran back to the safety of my apartment! I know he only smiled bigger when I ran, did that smile grow larger than should have been possible? I had to call into work that morning, I was afraid of being watched when I left the building; afraid of those people who I know can only be clowns in disguise.

---

It’s been a week now since I have left my apartment. The lack of sleep is taking its toll on me, it must be the reason I have heard whispered laughter coming from the heating vents. They know they have broken me, and now that I am imprisoned here in my apartment they know they have a captive audience for torture. There are knocks at the door that I am too afraid to answer, afraid when I look through the peephole I will see nothing but a bright red rubber nose coupled with insane laughter. I don’t answer the phone any longer, ever since the ring tone on my iPhone changed itself to that goofy mind-bending carnival music. The last time it rang with those sounds, I threw it out the window in a rage. I have cried until it seems like I have no tears left, have screamed my throat raw, and still they do not stop pounding on my door at all times of the day, and laughing at me with those high-pitched voices. I think even my building manager is in on the joke as I heard his voice outside my door too, feigning concern at my scream-filled nights with words I know are slipping through an inhuman smile.

---

I feel helpless and hopeless, but what recourse do I have? I can’t go to the police, they would laugh me right out the door. Before this week my doctor stopped taking my calls, believing me to be faking a condition to scam pills from him. I can only imagine what my boss must be thinking since I have not shown up for work all week, though for all I know he could be working with them at this point. They are probably all celebrating my absence, laughing and enjoying the office decorated with brightly colored balloons delivered by smiling faces. In another week, I am sure they will have all forgotten that grumpy gal who wasn’t “on board” with company’s new “Happy Workers, Happy Workplace” policy. For all I know, they are all involved.

---

It will all be over soon though. I heard the music again this morning, louder than before, coming from outside my window on the 8th floor of the apartment building. Unable to help myself, I threw back the curtains, squinting in the sunlight, to discover the source of the disturbance. Opening the window, I was blasted with the overpowering cacophony of a passing parade below on the city street. Even from this height I could make out the colorful floats and performers, easily recognizable as those involved in a visiting circus troupe. And there, between the marching band filling the air with music piercing my sanity and a group of trained elephants, was a whole group of them. There was no mistaking twenty or so clowns for what they were, all dressed in their finest garish outfits and painted on faces. All with their funny shoes, bright red noses, squeaky laughter, multi-colored wigs, ridiculous outfits, and all staring up at me. Incredibly I could make out each and every gaze and smile of each and every clown on the street below. It was like a scene from my worst nightmare, and as I stepped out on the ledge they all pointed at me in unison. I could hear their shrieks and screams coupled with the wind rushing past my ears. Finally, at the end, I joined in with their insane laughter.

—
Credits to: lordcarnage