The Novella Life of Illuscia Nester Himawari

My name’s Charlie, and I’m 15-years old. I’ve lived in Chicago for just about my entire life before my entire family moved to the small town of ********* (I’m not going to name it for personal reasons). There’s been a story going around this little town, something about children getting taken away by these things called Takers when they misbehave. So basically what these Takers do is that they’ll climb through the window of the child in the dead of the night, and whisk them off to some unknown place. Nobody really knows what happens to these kids, and I highly doubt it’s true, but it’s been pretty effective in getting kids to behave relatively well. The more superstitious folk in here think that the Takers are real, mainly because of the few cases of missing children that have occurred in the last decade. But I know otherwise. The dense woods surrounding the entire town would have been a more plausible reason for the disappearances than some stupid rumor concocted by fright...

Version 1: It was 1AM on a Friday, and I was irritated at having been woken up by my friend, Joe, by a rude message. 'dude get to my room and bring me my guitar got a gig in half hour i need it' 'Idiot.' I muttered as I rolled out of bed and crossed the hallway to the dormitory room of Joe. He had always hidden a copy of his room key on the ledge above the door for situations like this and as I opened his door, a wave of despair swept over me. The room looked as if it had been trampled like an army of wild animals. 'Jesus, Joe. Where the hell is your guitar.' I made my way to the bed and rummaged randomly through the stacks of clothes on it, hoping that the guitar was somehow buried beneath them. I frowned as my hands closed upon a black, wooden box. Curiosity over-took me as I examined the box carefully. Nothing special, just a typical wooden, black box with a bronze clasp keeping it shut. I flipped open the clasp and found a rectangular metal box-like...

I’ve always enjoyed train rides- it gives me a great chance to sit and observe the other passengers in peace. I like to imagine situations for them, life backgrounds that matches their faces and dressing. It’s around 11pm, and I’ve just gotten onto the last train back home. The train was understandingly empty, and I managed to get myself a seat with a good view of the other passengers. There’s a pregnant lady sitting a couple seats down from me, and a couple of tough looking kids sitting a few seats down from her. I made a mental note to steer clear from them. Sitting directly across them is a guy in a suit clutching a briefcase, nothing out of the ordinary. But what really caught my eye is the guy sitting directly across me. I’ve only just realized he’s got no eyeballs. I think I’m going to get off at the next stop. Grabbed from Horror/creepy short stories

Despite my mediocre results, I was very lucky to have secured an internship position at a local banking firm upon graduation from college. I was assigned to the marketing team, which was okay, as marketing and advertising had always been a prime interest of mine. The only downside was the notorious reputation the company building had for being one of the most haunted places in town. Having being build above a burial ground, there were endless stories of apparitions, ghosts, and the like, parading the corridors of the building. Now I’ve always had a healthy skepticism for the supernatural, so this didn’t bother me one bit. However I must admit that it was rather unnerving at times, especially during over-time when most of the other staff had already gone home. The strange noises first happened during my second week of work. I was in the pantry, enjoying a hard-earned coffee break when I became aware of a low murmur all around me. It wasn’t loud enough for me to make out any...

It took me a month to figure out the pattern- the pattern It was using to kill us off. At first it was Jack, who was found dead, lying face-down and submerged in his own bathtub. His mother had been the one that found him, the poor woman. Her lifeless body was discovered a week later, after countless complaints from her apartment neighbors about a pungent odor from her apartment. After breaking into the home, the police found her hanging from a rope from the rafters of her bedroom. It went after Diane next. Diane, who had been a victim of dog mauling when she was just 5-years old, was discovered just a week after Jack’s mother was found. Her body, lying by the side of the forest surrounding the town, was practically ripped to shreds. There were countless bite and claw marks, courtesy of a pack of stray dogs that had been roaming the neighborhood for weeks. It went after Kyle a week back. I could tell that Kyle had suspected that something was wrong- his text messages to me g...

It was a quiet Friday evening and eight year-old Sarah had just returned from school. Elated by the lack of homework for that weekend, she wasted no time in pulling out her half-finished art project, a small wooden cottage made up of ice-cream sticks, from under her bed. There was a lot of cutting to be done though, and despite having being told not to use the pen-knife without parental supervision, she quickly took it from her father’s work-desk and proceeded to trim the edges of the ice-cream sticks. Due to the lack of experience in using a pen-knife, it quickly slipped from her grip and left a huge, bloody gash on her left arm. 'Daddy! Daddy!' Sarah's voice rang out from her second floor bedroom. 'I hurt my arm- it's bleeding really badly!' Sarah’s cries of pain were the first thing Carl heard as he entered through the front door. As he drew in a breath to yell out a call of reassurance, a figure outside the window caught his eye. It was a man, hol...

I’ve been a nurse for the past four years at the local hospital. Having being assigned to the Children’s Ward, my experience thus far has been a relatively enjoyable one. I’ve always loved kids, I love spending time with them, I love seeing those cute little angelic faces light up whenever I bring them gifts. Sometimes I bring books, sometimes chocolates, and the little one to one sessions I had with them were always the highlight of my day. I thought it was a joke at first when I saw the letter sitting on my desk a couple of days ago. TRANSFER, it had said, in big bold letters at the top of the page. Scanning through quickly, I realized that I had been transferred with immediate effect to another ward. To say that I was devastated was a severe understatement. Tossing aside the bag of chocolates I had brought for my sessions today, I made my way to the head nurse’s office and slammed the letter down onto her table. 'What is this?' I demanded. 'Who allowed this?!...

Coming from a poor family, my parents have always struggled to pay for my education. I decided to take some load of them when I got accepted into college and began scouring newspapers and magazines for part-time jobs to earn some money. However, finding a job was easier said than done- the employers all wanted workers who had a completed college education and substantial work experience- both of which I did not have. It was after a couple of months and countless failed interviews that I finally received a phone call. I could recognize the gruff voice on my phone almost immediately- it belonged to Harris, a tough, burly man who managed a private delivery service in a dingy old warehouse by the edge of the town. In his short, curt manner, he notified me that I had gotten the job and that I would start the following week. I was elated. The job paid relatively well and fitted in perfectly with my school schedule. The job would also provide me with a new bike, something that I ...

My favorite time of the day was always bed-time, because that’s the time daddy returns home from work. He’s a fireman and he’s saved lots and lots of people. 'Little Jack, my boy.' He always says when he reaches home. 'Come on, it's time for bed.' He would then scoop me up from the floor and carry me all the way to bed and tuck me in, and he doesn't leave my room til he reads me a bedtime story. One day, however, mummy got a call in the afternoon. She started crying when she was on the phone, I didn’t understand why. When she hung up the phone she came and sat down next to me. She was still crying and that made me feel very sad. 'Mummy,' I asked. 'Mummy, why are you crying?' It took her a long time to answer me, by the time she responded I had already returned back to playing my Lego toys. 'Jack, daddy's not going to come home for tonight.' I was confused. ‘What about my bed-time story? Daddy always reads me my bed-time story....

Ever since young, I’ve always been fairly interested in the way people think and how people make their decisions. But the type of people that I had always held great interest for was the depressed people, and more specifically, the suicidal people. What really drives them to kill themselves? Is it their depression? Is it from extreme levels of stress? Or is there some sort of external influence, perhaps an influence so subtle people generally don’t notice them? The possibilities are endless and I’ve recently embarked on a fact-finding mission of sorts to get a greater insight behind suicides. After hours of interviewing numerous depressed, suicidal people, I made a slight breakthrough whilst reviewing one of the tapes during the interview of a particularly disturbed lady. She displayed all the usual symptoms of any depressed person, but what caught my attention was actually during one of her frequent lapses of silence. She would tilt her head to her left, always to the same ...

As a single mother afflicted with short-term memory loss, life was pretty tough, what with having to juggle taking care of my son, Jerry, and having to remember to take my medicine on time. At the age of 15, Jerry was offered a football scholarship to study in an overseas university, one that he had so desperately wanted since young. It was tough letting him go, and he promised that he would skype me daily for a chat. Waiting for his skype became a daily highlight of my life. I would literally sit in-front of laptop for hours in anticipation of him. Finally, at around 3PM, I heard the all-familiar ding of the skype notification. 'Hey mum,' Jerry's face popped up onto my screen. He didn't look too happy, which was weird. He should be having the time of his life right now. 'Hello, dear, why the long face?' I smiled at my screen. 'I don't know, I'm not feeling too well right now…' He sighed and clutched his head in his arms. 'Been ha...

Ever get that queasy feeling in your gut? The kind you get when something’s wrong? Well, I had that feeling awhile ago, when I had just left my office building. There had been a sudden influx of work to be done, and it was almost 11PM when I had left. I had just gotten into my car when I felt it- an almost nauseating queasy feeling in my gut, accompanied with a tingling at the tips of my fingers. It was almost as if my throat had suddenly constricted, and I found myself desperately gasping for air. I was on the verge of passing out when the odd sensation disappeared, almost as sudden as how it happened. Confused, and a tad bit freaked out, I quickly opened the car door and sucked in the fresh air greedily. Fearing that I would have a sudden relapse, I climbed out of my car and peered around. Strange. There were almost ten other cars still in the car-park when I had left the building. Now, my car was the only car left. Well, there goes my idea of hitching a ride. All the lights in the b...

The rain reached its peak right after I left. It started as a slight drizzle during work, and gradually worsened along the way- the rain drops were practically hitting against the glass windows of the fried chicken joint I was working at. I remembered we had a particularly obese lady waddle into the joint, dripping all over the floor. ‘What the hell, huh, Scott? Any fatter and we’ll have to put her on a diet,’ my co-worker, McDoogle, had commented sarcastically. ‘If there’s anyone who needed to fatten up, it’ll be you, mate. You go any thinner and I’ll have to flash out my magnifier to find you.’ As the night went on, I had prayed for the rain to stop, but God clearly wasn’t listening, because by the time we had closed up, it had become a full-fledged storm out there, and the only thing I had for protection was a dusty black jacket that McDoogle had found in the lost-and-found box. I quickly zipped it on, and went on my way. I managed to squeeze onto the last bus with the re...

She lived deep in the forest in a tiny cottage and sold herbal remedies for a living. Folks living in the town nearby called her Bloody Mary, and said she was a witch. No-one dared cross the old crone for fear that their cows would go dry, their food-stores rot away before winter, their children take sick of fever, or any number of terrible things that an angry witch could do to her neighbors and their children. Then the little girls in the village began to disappear, one by one. No one could find out where they had gone. Grief-stricken families searched the woods, the local buildings, and all the houses and barns, but there was no sign of the missing girls. A few brave souls even went to Bloody Mary's home in the woods to see if the witch had taken the girls, but she denied any knowledge of the disappearances. Still, it was noted that her haggard appearance had changed. She looked younger, more attractive. The neighbors were suspicious, but they could find no proof that the witch ...

This is an old trick, one I am sure many of you have tried. Turn down the lights and stare into a mirror. Stare at your face, and let your eyes go out of focus. Your face, the face you've known your entire life, will start to morph, twist and become demonic before your very eyes. This used to be a fun party trick, especially if you were telling a scary story while it was happening. Something about watching your own face twist, it's just unnerving in such a deep, personal way. Don't ever do it. If you're reading this, just don't. I did it recently, on the spur. I was walking out of my kitchen, and my bathroom door was open. There was just enough light from the little kitchen light to see the mirror. I stared, and watched my face turn ugly. Same as always. Until it smiled back. At first I thought I smiled. No, the reflection did. I don't know much, but I know that whatever is on the other side of the mirror hates you. Maybe because we just see it as our reflection...

Hello there. My name is Jesse. I had heard that this site is where people would submit their stories that were well... creepy. I've read a lot here, mostly the stories that you would read about monsters, supernatural things, serial killers,  and even  haunted items. I've heard that most of these stories are actually true but I never did believe it. I didn't think stuff like that existed... well except for the serial killer part. My point is I always thought these things were hoaxes and just that. That is until The Mirror Man. You see I go to high school in suburban Massachusetts. It's really what you would expect a normal high school to be: regular classes, everyone has their own group of friends, y'know...the usual stuff. No, the school isn't haunted, no it wasn't built on a Native American burial ground, nothing like that. It's a completely normal school. But lately let's say about two maybe three weeks ago, a rumor had started floating around scho...

Her background story starts like any other. She was born into a money lacking family, always going to school in rags or clothes that never fit. Jessica was fourteen at the time. A boy, Trevor was his name, always teased her and bullied her until she sobbed and sobbed. Her only sanity was in her hand mirror. She would look in it for hours wondering if she was worth the life. She went to school with it, outside, and everywhere she went. Trevor was a lonely, low self-esteemed boy. He took his anger out on anyone who seemed lower in status than him. Such a sad decision for the boy. He took her mirror and hit her in the face. Her fragile, bony face tore open like a balloon as she fell to the floor lifeless, limp, full of broken dreams, and fifty-six pieces of glass. Now we all should know that a spirit can do anything it desires. Her spirit, craved revenge on all that wronged her. She wanted Trevor. Revenge is a worthless action and want, always hurting those in its way. Well, Trevor was go...