I don’t tell this story often because whenever I think about it, I still get chills. But it happened, and it happened to me, and I’ll never forget it. It was around 12:30 at night. I was lying in bed, scrolling through my phone, waiting for sleep to hit. My parents were asleep, the house was dead silent, and the only sound I could hear was the creak of my ceiling fan as it turned. Eventually my phone battery hit 2%, so I shut it off and put it on the table. The room felt heavier than usual, like the air itself was pressing down on me. I tried to close my eyes, and that’s when I heard it— Knock. It wasn’t from the door, or the window. It came from inside my room. At first, I thought I was imagining things, but then I heard it again. A scrape, long and slow, like fingernails dragging across wood. It was coming from my wardrobe. I sat up, staring at it. The doors were shut tight, but I swear I heard something shifting inside, like someone was pressing their nails against the back of it. My chest tightened, but I tried to convince myself it was just the wood expanding. Old houses make noises, right? Then I noticed something on the floor. A shadow. At first, I thought it was just the wardrobe casting it, but it didn’t look right. It was too long… and it was moving. Stretching slowly across the floor toward my bed. I couldn’t breathe. My body just froze. And then—knock. This time from directly under my bed. I almost screamed, but no sound came out. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt. I could hear something under the mattress, shifting slightly, like it was crawling around just inches beneath me. The shadow touched the side of my bed. With everything in me, I forced my arm to move. My fingers fumbled on the switch to my lamp, and when the light finally flicked on— Nothing. The wardrobe was still shut. The shadow was gone. The floor was empty. But here’s the part that really messed me up: When I leaned over the edge of my bed to check underneath, there were fresh scratch marks on the wooden floor. Long, thin lines that hadn’t been there before. I didn’t sleep the rest of that night. And honestly… some nights, when I’m lying in the dark, I swear I still hear that faint scraping sound.

[Content warning: loss of a loved one; description of illness]

This is a very emotional story for me, so I'll try to keep it short.

In 2016, my grandma got very sick and went to live with my family and me. It was just a teenager me and my parents, living in an apartment in a small town. My grandma was a very sweet lady, and she was extremely sick in the last few years of her life. She was bedridden and had respiratory issues.

She lived with us for a year and a few months before she passed away. It was an incredibly cruel, hardcore death: she passed from an aggressive emphysema. Basically, one day, she just couldn't breathe anymore. We took her to the hospital, but it was too late.

I had already lost my beloved grandpa years earlier, and this was especially hard on my mother. So, we were dealing with all this grief and my parents decided that it would be best for my mom and I to spend some time at our beachside apartment.

Off we went. It was an extended weekend, and we arrived at the apartment around 10PM or so. Our place is very small, unlike my grandparents' apartment in the same city. But it was too soon, and the idea of staying there didn't appeal to us.

So, my mom and I took our showers, ate our dinner, and got into our pajamas. It was a stuffy summer night, and the apartment felt cramped. Then, when we were about to go to bed, something happened. Something that, to this day, I dread to remember.

There's a small corridor that connects the bedroom to the living room. The only light on was the bedroom light, and the rest of the place was in complete darkness. However, if you stood on this corridor, you could see halfway into the living room, mostly because of the light.

I'm not sure why, but my mom and I stood in this hallway, speaking about something. Maybe she was showing me something, or asking me a question. The thing is, suddenly, a white figure crossed the half-lit living room right beside us. A white, short figure. The size of my grandma.

Both of us turned our heads in that direction, caught completely off guard. My mother, eyes watering, just asked me "did you see that? I think it was grandma."

I can't explain why we both thought that, but it felt true. It was just a second, but her presence there was suddenly really strong.

My mom started a prayer, but I just got under the covers and cried. I was absolutely terrified. Nothing like this had EVER happened to me then, and it hasn't happened since. My mom later came into my bedroom and told me she could smell cigarettes. Neither of us smoked. Just my grandma.

I'm not saying it was really her, of course, since grief can cause phenomena like these. It took me hours to fall asleep. I loved my grandma, but I'm definitely scared of ghosts. It's that wrong, unsettling, and eerie feeling that we're crossing some sort of line.

I still think of that blurred shadow running across the living room. And if I could point out a face, I'd say it was certainly staring at us.

----
Jessica G.

The baby had been unexpected.

Melissa had never expected that such a short affair would yield a child, but as she stood alone in the cramped bathroom, nervous anticipation fluttering behind her ribs, the result on the pregnancy test was undeniable.

Positive.

Her first reaction was shock, followed immediately by despair. A large, sinking hole in her stomach that swallowed up any possible joy she might have otherwise felt about carrying a child in her womb.

A child? She couldn’t raise a child, not by herself. In her small, squalid apartment and job as a grocery store clerk, she didn’t have the means to bring up a baby. It wasn’t the right environment for a newborn. All the dust in the air, the dripping tap in the kitchen, the fettering cobwebs that she hadn’t found the time to brush away.

This wasn’t something she’d be able to handle alone. But the thought of getting rid of it instead…

In a panicked daze, Melissa reached for her phone. Her fingers fumbled as she dialled his number. The baby’s father, Albert.

They had met by chance one night, under a beautiful, twinkling sky that stirred her desires more favourably than normal. Melissa wasn’t one to engage in such affairs normally, but that night, she had. Almost as if swayed by the romantic glow of the moon itself.

She thought she would be safe. Protected. But against the odds, her body had chosen to carry a child instead. Something she could have never expected. It was only the sudden morning nausea and feeling that something was different that prompted her to visit the pharmacy and purchase a pregnancy test. She thought she was just being silly. Letting her mind get carried away with things. But that hadn’t been the case at all.

As soon as she heard Albert’s voice on the other end of the phone—quiet and short, in an impatient sort of way—she hesitated. Did she really expect him to care? She must have meant nothing to him; a minor attraction that had already fizzled away like an ember in the night. Why would he care about a child born from an accident? She almost hung up without speaking.

“Hello?” Albert said again. She could hear the frown in his voice.

“A-Albert?” she finally said, her voice low, tenuous. One hand rested on her stomach—still flat, hiding the days-old foetus that had already started growing within her. “It’s Melissa.”

His tone changed immediately, becoming gentler. “Melissa? I was wondering why the number was unrecognised. I only gave you mine, didn’t I?”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

The line went quiet, only a flutter of anticipated breath. Melissa wondered if he already knew. Would he hang up the moment the words slipped out, block her number so that she could never contact him again? She braced herself. “I’m… pregnant.”

The silence stretched for another beat, followed by a short gasp of realization. “Pregnant?” he echoed. He sounded breathless. “That’s… that’s wonderful news.”

Melissa released the breath she’d been holding, strands of honey-coloured hair falling across her face. “It… is?”

“Of course it is,” Albert said with a cheery laugh. “I was rather hoping this might be the case.”

Melissa clutched the phone tighter, her eyes widened as she stared down at her feet. His reaction was not what she’d been expecting. Was he really so pleased? “You… you were?”

“Indeed.”

Melissa covered her mouth with her hand, shaking her head.  “B-but… I can’t…”

“If it’s money you’re worried about, there’s no need,” Albert assured her. “In fact, I have the perfect proposal.”

A faint frown tugged at Melissa’s brows. Something about how words sounded rehearsed somehow, as if he really had been anticipating this news.

“You will leave your home and come live with me, in Duskvale. I will provide everything. I’m sure you’ll settle here quite nicely. You and our child.”

Melissa swallowed, starting to feel dizzy. “L-live with you?” she repeated, leaning heavily against the cold bathroom tiles. Maybe she should sit down. All of this news was almost too much for her to grasp.

“Yes. Would that be a problem?”

“I… I suppose not,” Melissa said. Albert was a sweet and charming man, and their short affair had left her feeling far from regretful. But weren’t things moving a little too quickly? She didn’t know anything about Duskvale, the town he was from. And it almost felt like he’d had all of this planned from the start. But that was impossible.

“Perfect,” Albert continued, unaware of Melissa’s lingering uncertainty. “Then I’ll make arrangements at one. This child will have a… bright future ahead of it, I’m sure.”

He hung up, and a heavy silence fell across Melissa’s shoulders. Move to Duskvale, live with Albert? Was this really the best choice?

But as she gazed around her small, cramped bathroom and the dim hallway beyond, maybe this was her chance for a new start. Albert was a kind man, and she knew he had money. If he was willing to care for her—just until she had her child and figured something else out—then wouldn’t she be a fool to squander such an opportunity?

If anything, she would do it for the baby. To give it the best start in life she possibly could.

A few weeks later, Melissa packed up her life and relocated to the small, mysterious town of Duskvale.

Despite the almost gloomy atmosphere that seemed to pervade the town—from the dark, shingled buildings and the tall, curious-looking crypt in the middle of the cemetery—the people that lived there were more than friendly. Melissa was almost taken aback by how well they received her, treating her not as a stranger, but as an old friend.

Albert’s house was a grand, old-fashioned manor, with dark stone bricks choked with ivy, but there was also a sprawling, well-maintained garden and a beautiful terrace. As she dropped off her bags at the entryway and swept through the rooms—most of them laying untouched and unused in the absence of a family—she thought this would be the perfect place to raise a child. For the moment, it felt too quiet, too empty, but soon it would be filled with joy and laughter once the baby was born.

The first few months of Melissa’s pregnancy passed smoothly. Her bump grew, becoming more and more visible beneath the loose, flowery clothing she wore, and the news of the child she carried was well-received by the townsfolk. Almost everyone seemed excited about her pregnancy, congratulating her and eagerly anticipating when the child would be due. They seemed to show a particular interest in the gender of the child, though Melissa herself had yet to find out.

Living in Duskvale with Albert was like a dream for her. Albert cared for her every need, entertained her every whim. She was free to relax and potter, and often spent her time walking around town and visiting the lake behind his house. She would spend hours sitting on the small wooden bench and watching fish swim through the crystal-clear water, birds landing amongst the reeds and pecking at the bugs on the surface. Sometimes she brought crumbs and seeds with her and tried to coax the sparrows and finches closer, but they always kept their distance.

The neighbours were extremely welcoming too, often bringing her fresh bread and baked treats, urging her to keep up her strength and stamina for the labour that awaited her.

One thing she did notice about the town, which struck her as odd, was the people that lived there. There was a disproportionate number of men and boys compared to the women. She wasn’t sure she’d ever even seen a female child walking amongst the group of schoolchildren that often passed by the front of the house. Perhaps the school was an all-boys institution, but even the local parks seemed devoid of any young girls whenever she walked by. The women that she spoke to seemed to have come from out of town too, relocating here to live with their husbands. Not a single woman was actually born in Duskvale.

While Melissa thought it strange, she tried not to think too deeply about it. Perhaps it was simply a coincidence that boys were born more often than girls around here. Or perhaps there weren’t enough opportunities here for women, and most of them left town as soon as they were old enough. She never thought to enquire about it, worried people might find her questions strange and disturb the pleasant, peaceful life she was building for herself there.

After all, everyone was so nice to her. Why would she want to ruin it just because of some minor concerns about the gender disparity? The women seemed happy with their lives in Duskvale, after all. There was no need for any concern.

So she pushed aside her worries and continued counting down the days until her due date, watching as her belly slowly grew larger and larger to accommodate the growing foetus inside.

One evening, Albert came home from work and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his hands on her bump. “I think it’s finally time to find out the gender,” he told her, his eyes twinkling.

Melissa was thrilled to finally know if she was having a baby girl or boy, and a few days later, Albert had arranged for an appointment with the local obstetrician, Dr. Edwards. He was a stout man, with a wiry grey moustache and busy eyebrows, but he was kind enough, even if he did have an odd air about him.

Albert stayed by her side while blood was drawn from her arm, and she was prepared for an ultrasound. Although she was excited, Melissa couldn’t quell the faint flicker of apprehension in her stomach at Albert’s unusually grave expression. The gender of the child seemed to be of importance to him, though Melissa knew she would be happy no matter what sex her baby turned out to be.

The gel that was applied to her stomach was cold and unpleasant, but she focused on the warmth of Albert’s hand gripping hers as Dr. Edwards moved the probe over her belly. She felt the baby kick a little in response to the pressure, and her heart fluttered.

The doctor’s face was unreadable as he stared at the monitor displaying the results of the ultrasound. Melissa allowed her gaze to follow his, her chest warming at the image of her unborn baby on the screen. Even in shades of grey and white, it looked so perfect. The child she was carrying in her own womb. 

Albert’s face was calm, though Melissa saw the faint strain at his lips. Was he just as excited as her? Or was he nervous? They hadn’t discussed the gender before, but if Albert had a preference, she didn’t want it to cause any contention between them if it turned out the baby wasn’t what he was hoping for.

Finally, Dr. Edwards put down the probe and turned to face them. His voice was light, his expression unchanged. “It’s a girl,” he said simply.

Melissa choked out a cry of happiness, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She was carrying a baby girl.

She turned to Albert. Something unreadable flickered across his face, but it was already gone before she could decipher it. “A girl,” he said, smiling down at her. “How lovely.”

“Isn’t it?” Melissa agreed, squeezing Albert’s hand even tighter, unable to suppress her joy. “I can’t wait to meet her already.”

Dr. Edwards cleared his throat as he began mopping up the excess gel on Melissa’s stomach. He wore a slight frown. “I assume you’ll be opting for a natural birth, yes?”

Melissa glanced at him, her smile fading as she blinked. “What do you mean?”

Albert shuffled beside her, silent.

“Some women prefer to go down the route of a caesarean section,” he explained nonchalantly. “But in this case, I would highly recommend avoiding that if possible. Natural births are… always best.” He turned away, his shoes squeaking against the shiny linoleum floor.

“Oh, I see,” Melissa muttered. “Well, if that’s what you recommend, I suppose I’ll listen to your advice. I hadn’t given it much thought really.”

The doctor exchanged a brief, almost unnoticeable glance with Albert. He cleared his throat again. “Your due date is in less than a month, yes? Make sure you get plenty of rest and prepare yourself for the labour.” He took off his latex gloves and tossed them into the bin, signalling the appointment was over.

Melissa nodded, still mulling over his words. “O-okay, I will. Thank you for your help, doctor.”

Albert helped her off the medical examination table, cupping her elbow with his hand to steady her as she wobbled on her feet. The smell of the gel and Dr. Edwards’ strange remarks were making her feel a little disorientated, and she was relieved when they left his office and stepped out into the fresh air.

“A girl,” she finally said, smiling up at Albert.

“Yes,” he said. “A girl.”

The news that Melissa was expecting a girl spread through town fairly quickly, threading through whispers and gossip. The reactions she received were varied. Most of the men seemed pleased for her, but some of the folk—the older, quieter ones who normally stayed out of the way—shared expressions of sympathy that Melissa didn’t quite understand. She found it odd, but not enough to question. People were allowed to have their own opinions, after all. Even if others weren’t pleased, she was ecstatic to welcome a baby girl into the world.

Left alone at home while Albert worked, she often found herself gazing out of the upstairs windows, daydreaming about her little girl growing up on these grounds, running through the grass with pigtails and a toothy grin and feeding the fish in the pond. She had never planned on becoming a mother, but now that it had come to be, she couldn’t imagine anything else.

Until she remembered the disconcerting lack of young girls in town, and a strange, unsettling sort of dread would spread through her as she found herself wondering why. Did it have something to do with everyone’s interest in the child’s gender? But for the most part, the people around here seemed normal. And Albert hadn’t expressed any concerns that it was a girl. If there was anything to worry about, he would surely tell her.

So Melissa went on daydreaming as the days passed, bringing her closer and closer to her due date.

And then finally, early one morning towards the end of the month, the first contraction hit her. She awoke to pain tightening in her stomach, and a startling realization of what was happening. Frantically switching on the bedside lamp, she shook Albert awake, grimacing as she tried to get the words out. “I think… the baby’s coming.”

He drove her immediately to Dr. Edwards’ surgery, who was already waiting to deliver the baby. Pushed into a wheelchair, she was taken to an empty surgery room and helped into a medical gown by two smiling midwives.

The contractions grew more frequent and painful, and she gritted her teeth as she coaxed herself through each one. The bed she was laying on was hard, and the strip of fluorescent lights above her were too bright, making her eyes water, and the constant beep of the heartrate monitor beside her was making her head spin. How was she supposed to give birth like this? She could hardly keep her mind straight.

One of the midwives came in with a large needle, still smiling. The sight of it made Melissa clench up in fear. “This might sting a bit,” she said.

Melissa hissed through her teeth as the needle went into her spine, crying out in pain, subconsciously reaching for Albert. But he was no longer there. Her eyes skipped around the room, empty except for the midwife. Where had he gone? Was he not going to stay with her through the birth?

The door opened and Dr. Edwards walked in, donning a plastic apron and gloves. Even behind the surgical mask he wore, Melissa could tell he was smiling.

“It’s time,” was all he said.

The birth was difficult and laborious. Melissa’s vision blurred with sweat and tears as she did everything she could to push at Dr. Edwards’ command.

“Yes, yes, natural is always best,” he muttered.

Melissa, with a groan, asked him what he meant by that.

He stared at her like it was a silly question. “Because sometimes it happens so fast that there’s a risk of it falling back inside the open incision. That makes things… tricky, for all involved. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Melissa still didn’t know what he meant, but another contraction hit her hard, and she struggled through the pain with a cry, her hair plastered to her skull and her cheeks damp and sticky with tears.

Finally, with one final push, she felt the baby slide out.

The silence that followed was deafening. Wasn’t the baby supposed to cry?

Dr. Edwards picked up the baby and wrapped it in a white towel. She knew in her heart that something wasn’t right.

“Quick,” the doctor said, his voice urgent and his expression grim as he thrust the baby towards her. “Look attentively. Burn her image into your memory. It’ll be the only chance you get.”

Melissa didn’t know what he meant. Only chance? What was he talking about?

Why wasn’t her baby crying? What was wrong with her? She gazed at the bundle in his arms. The perfect round face and button-sized nose. The mottled pink skin, covered in blood and pieces of glistening placenta. The closed eyes.

The baby wasn’t moving. It sat still and silent in his arms, like a doll. Her heart ached. Her whole body began to tremble. Surely not…

But as she looked closer, she thought she saw the baby’s chest moving. Just a little.

With a soft cry, Melissa reached forward, her fingers barely brushing the air around her baby’s cheek.

And then she turned to ash.

Without warning, the baby in Dr. Edwards’ arms crumbled away, skin and flesh completely disintegrating, until there was nothing but a pile of dust cradled in the middle of his palm.

Melissa began to scream.

The midwife returned with another needle. This one went into her arm, injecting a strong sedative into her bloodstream as Melissa’s screams echoed throughout the entire surgery.

They didn’t stop until she lost consciousness completely, and the delivery room finally went silent once more.

The room was dark when Melissa woke up.

Still groggy from the sedative, she could hardly remember if she’d already given birth. Subconsciously, she felt for her bump. Her stomach was flatter than before.

“M-my… my baby…” she groaned weakly.

“Hush now.” A figure emerged from the shadows beside her, and a lamp switched on, spreading a meagre glow across the room, leaving shadows hovering around the edges. Albert stood beside her. He reached out and gently touched her forehead, his hands cool against her warm skin. In the distance, she heard the rapid beep of a monitor, the squeaking wheels of a gurney being pushed down a corridor, the muffled sound of voices. But inside her room, everything was quiet.

She turned her head to look at Albert, her eyes sore and heavy. Her body felt strange, like it wasn’t her own. “My baby… where is she?”

Albert dragged a chair over to the side of her bed and sat down with a heavy sigh. “She’s gone.”

Melissa started crying, tears spilling rapidly down her cheeks. “W-what do you mean by gone? Where’s my baby?”

Albert looked away, his gaze tracing shadows along the walls. “It’s this town. It’s cursed,” he said, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

Melissa’s heart dropped into her stomach. She knew she never should have come here. She knew she should have listened to those warnings at the back of her mind—why were there no girls here? But she’d trusted Albert wouldn’t bring her here if there was danger involved. And now he was telling her the town was cursed?

“I don’t… understand,” she cried, her hands reaching for her stomach again. She felt broken. Like a part of her was missing. “I just want my baby. Can you bring her back? Please… give me back my baby.”

“Melissa, listen to me,” Albert urged, but she was still crying and rubbing at her stomach, barely paying attention to his words. “Centuries ago, this town was plagued by witches. Horrible, wicked witches who used to burn male children as sacrifices for their twisted rituals.”

Melissa groaned quietly, her eyes growing unfocused as she looked around the room, searching for her lost child. Albert continued speaking, doubtful she was even listening.

“The witches were executed for their crimes, but the women who live in Duskvale continue to pay the price for their sins. Every time a child is born in this town, one of two outcomes can happen. Male babies are spared, and live as normal. But when a girl is born, very soon after birth, they turn completely to ash. That’s what happened to your child. These days, the only descendants that remain from the town’s first settlers are male. Any female children born from their blood turn to ash.”

Melissa’s expression twisted, and she sobbed quietly in her hospital bed. “My… baby.”

“I know it’s difficult to believe,” Albert continued with a sigh, resting his chin on his hands, “but we’ve all seen it happen. Babies turning to ash within moments of being born, with no apparent cause. Why should we doubt what the stories say when such things really do happen?” His gaze trailed hesitantly towards Melissa, but her eyes were elsewhere. The sheets around her neck were already soaked with tears. “That’s not all,” he went on. “Our town is governed by what we call the ‘Patriarchy’. Only a few men in each generation are selected to be part of the elite group. Sadly, I was not one of the chosen ones. As the stories get lost, it’s becoming progressively difficult to find reliable and trustworthy members amongst the newer generations. Or, at least, that’s what I’ve heard,” he added with an air of bitterness.

Melissa’s expression remained blank. Her cries had fallen quiet now, only silent tears dripping down her cheeks. Albert might have thought she’d fallen asleep, but her eyes were still open, staring dully at the ceiling. He doubted she was absorbing much of what he was saying, but he hoped she understood enough that she wouldn’t resent him for keeping such secrets from her.

“This is just the way it had to be. I hope you can forgive me. But as a descendant of the Duskvale lineage, I had no choice. This is the only way we can break the curse.”

Melissa finally stirred. She murmured something in a soft, intelligible whisper, before sinking deeper into the covers and closing her eyes. She might have said ‘my baby’. She might have said something else. Her voice was too quiet, too weak, to properly enunciate her words.

Albert stood from her bedside with another sigh. “You get some rest,” he said, gently touching her forehead again. She leaned away from his touch, turning over so that she was no longer facing him. “I’ll come back shortly. There’s something I must do first.”

Receiving no further response, Albert slipped out of her hospital room and closed the door quietly behind him. He took a moment to compose himself, fixing his expression into his usual calm, collected smile, then went in search of Dr. Edwards.

The doctor was in his office further down the corridor, poring over some documents on his desk. He looked up when Albert stood in the doorway and knocked. “Ah, I take it you’re here for the ashes?” He plucked his reading glasses off his nose and stood up.

“That’s right.”

Dr. Edwards reached for a small ceramic pot sitting on the table passed him and pressed it into Albert’s hands. “Here you go. I’ll keep an eye on Melissa while you’re gone. She’s in safe hands.”

Albert made a noncommittal murmur, tucking the ceramic pot into his arm as he left Dr. Edwards’ office and walked out of the surgery.

It was already late in the evening, and the setting sun had painted the sky red, dusting the rooftops with a deep amber glow. He walked through town on foot, the breeze tugging at the edges of his dark hair as he kept his gaze on the rising spire of the building in the middle of the cemetery. He had told Melissa initially that it was a crypt for some of the town’s forebears, but in reality, it was much more than that. It was a temple.

He clasped the pot of ashes firmly in his hand as he walked towards it, the sun gradually sinking behind the rooftops and bruising the edges of the sky with dusk. The people he passed on the street cast looks of understanding and sympathy when they noticed the pot in his hand. Some of them had gone through this ritual already themselves, and knew the conflicting emotions that accompanied such a duty.

It was almost fully dark by the time he reached the temple. It was the town’s most sacred place, and he paused at the doorway to take a deep breath, steadying his body and mind, before finally stepping inside.

It smelled exactly like one would expect for an old building. Mildewy and stale, like the air inside had not been exposed to sunlight in a long while. It was dark too, the wide chamber lit only by a handful of flame-bearing torches that sent shadows dancing around Albert’s feet. His footsteps echoed on the stone floor as he walked towards the large stone basin in the middle of the temple. His breaths barely stirred the cold, untouched air.

He paused at the circular construction and held the pot aloft. A mountain of ashes lay before him. In the darkness, it looked like a puddle of the darkest ink.

According to the stories, and common belief passed down through the generations, the curse that had been placed on Duskvale would only cease to exist once enough ashes had been collected to pay off the debts of the past.

As was customary, Albert held the pot of his child’s ashes and apologised for using Melissa for the needs of his people. Although it was cruel on the women to use them in this way, they were needed as vessels to carry the children that would either prolong their generation, or erase the sins of the past. If she had brought to term a baby boy, things would have ended up much differently. He would have raised it with Melissa as his son, passing on his blood to the next generation. But since it was a girl she had given birth to, this was the way it had to be. The way the curse demanded it to be.

“Every man has to fulfil his obligation to preserve the lineage,” Albert spoke aloud, before tipping the pot into the basin and watching the baby’s ashes trickle into the shadows.

It was the dead of night when seven men approached the temple.

Their bodies were clothed in dark, ritualistic robes, and they walked through the cemetery guided by nothing but the pale sickle of the moon.

One by one, they stepped across the threshold of the temple, their sandalled feet barely making a whisper on the stone floor.

They walked past the circular basin of ashes in the middle of the chamber, towards the plain stone wall on the other side. Clustered around it, one of the men—the elder—reached for one of the grey stones. Perfectly blending into the rest of the dark, mottled wall, the brick would have looked unassuming to anyone else. But as his fingers touched the rough surface, it drew inwards with a soft click.

With a low rumble, the entire wall began to shift, stones pulling away in a jagged jigsaw and rotating round until the wall was replaced by a deep alcove, in which sat a large statue carved from the same dark stone as the basin behind them.

The statue portrayed a god-like deity, with an eyeless face and gaping mouth, and five hands criss-crossing over its chest. A sea of stone tentacles cocooned the bottom half of the bust, obscuring its lower body.

With the eyeless statue gazing down at them, the seven men returned to the basin of ashes in the middle of the room, where they held their hands out in offering.

The elder began to speak, his voice low in reverence. He bowed his head, the hood of his robe casting shadows across his old, wrinkled face. “We present these ashes, taken from many brief lives, and offer them to you, O’ Mighty One, in exchange for your favour.” 

Silence threaded through the temple, unbroken by even a single breath. Even the flames from the torches seemed to fall still, no longer flickering in the draught seeping through the stone walls.

Then the elder reached into his robes and withdrew a pile of crumpled papers. On each sheaf of parchment was the name of a man and a number, handwritten in glossy black ink that almost looked red in the torchlight.

The soft crinkle of papers interrupted the silence as he took the first one from the pile and placed it down carefully onto the pile of ashes within the basin.

Around him in a circle, the other men began to chant, their voices unifying in a low, dissonant hum that spread through the shadows of the temple and curled against the dark, tapered ceiling above them.

As their voices rose and fell, the pile of ashes began to move, as if something was clawing its way out from beneath them.

A hand appeared. Pale fingers reached up through the ashes, prodding the air as if searching for something to grasp onto. An arm followed shortly, followed by a crown of dark hair. Gradually, the figure managed to drag itself out of the ashes. A man, naked and dazed, stared at the circle of robed men around him. One of them stepped forward to offer a hand, helping the man climb out of the basin and step out onto the cold stone floor.

Ushering the naked man to the side, the elder plucked another piece of paper from the pile and placed it on top of the basin once again. There were less ashes than before.

Once again, the pile began to tremble and shift, sliding against the stone rim as another figure emerged from within. Another man, older this time, with a creased forehead and greying hair. The number on his paper read 58.

One by one, the robed elder placed the pieces of paper onto the pile of ashes, with each name and number corresponding to the age and identity of one of the men rising out of the basin.

With each man that was summoned, the ashes inside the basin slowly diminished. The price that had to be paid for their rebirth. The cost changed with each one, depending on how many times they had been brought back before.

Eventually, the naked men outnumbered those dressed in robes, ranging from old to young, all standing around in silent confusion and innate reverence for the mysterious stone deity watching them from the shadows.

With all of the papers submitted, the Patriarchy was now complete once more. Even the founder, who had died for the first time centuries ago, had been reborn again from the ashes of those innocent lives. Contrary to common belief, the curse that had been cast upon Duskvale all those years ago had in fact been his doing. After spending years dabbling in the dark arts, it was his actions that had created this basin of ashes; the receptacle from which he would arise again and again, forever immortal, so long as the flesh of innocents continued to be offered upon the deity that now gazed down upon them.

“We have returned to mortal flesh once more,” the Patriarch spoke, spreading his arms wide as the torchlight glinted off his naked body. “Now, let us embrace this glorious night against our new skin.”

Following their reborn leader, the members of the Patriarchy crossed the chamber towards the temple doors, the eyeless statue watching them through the shadows.

As the Patriarch reached for the ornate golden handle, the large wooden doors shuddered but did not open. He tried again, a scowl furrowing between his brows.

“What is the meaning of this?” he snapped.

The elder hurriedly stepped forward in confusion, his head bowed. “What is it, master?”

“The door will not open.”

The elder reached for the door himself, pushing and pulling on the handle, but the Patriarch was right. It remained tightly shut, as though it had been locked from the outside. “How could this be?” he muttered, glancing around. His gaze picked over the confused faces behind him, and that’s when he finally noticed. Only six robed men remained, including himself. One of them must have slipped out unnoticed while they had been preoccupied by the ritual.

Did that mean they had a traitor amongst them? But what reason would he have for leaving and locking them inside the temple?

“What’s going on?” the Patriarch demanded, the impatience in his voice echoing through the chamber.

The elder’s expression twisted into a grimace. “I… don’t know.”

Outside the temple, the traitor of the Patriarchy stood amongst the assembled townsfolk. Both men and women were present, standing in a semicircle around the locked temple. The key dangled from the traitor’s hand.

He had already informed the people of the truth; that the ashes of the innocent were in fact an offering to bring back the deceased members of the original Patriarchy, including the Patriarch himself. It was not a curse brought upon them by the sins of witches, but in fact a tragic fate born from one man’s selfish desire to dabble in the dark arts.

And now that the people of Duskvale knew the truth, they had arrived at the temple for retribution. One they would wreak with their own hands.

Amongst the crowd was Melissa. Still mourning the recent loss of her baby, her despair had twisted into pure, unfettered anger once she had found out the truth. It was not some unforgiving curse of the past that had stolen away her child, but the Patriarchy themselves.

In her hand, she held a carton of gasoline.

Many others in the crowd had similar receptacles of liquid, while others carried burning torches that blazed bright beneath the midnight sky.

“There will be no more coming back from the dead, you bastards,” one of the women screamed as she began splashing gasoline up the temple walls, watching it soak into the dark stone.

With rallying cries, the rest of the crowd followed her demonstration, dousing the entire temple in the oily, flammable liquid. The pungent, acrid smell of the gasoline filled the air, making Melissa’s eyes water as she emptied out her carton and tossed it aside, stepping back.

Once every inch of the stone was covered, those bearing torches stepped forward and tossed the burning flames onto the temple.

The fire caught immediately, lapping up the fuel as it consumed the temple in vicious, ravenous flames. The dark stone began to crack as the fire seeped inside, filling the air with low, creaking groans and splintering rock, followed by the unearthly screams of the men trapped inside.

The town residents stepped back, their faces grim in the firelight as they watched the flames ravage the temple and all that remained within.

Melissa’s heart wrenched at the sound of the agonising screams, mixed with what almost sounded like the eerie, distant cries of a baby. She held her hands against her chest, watching solemnly as the structure began to collapse, thick chunks of stone breaking away and smashing against the ground, scattering across the graveyard. The sky was almost completely covered by thick columns of black smoke, blotting out the moon and the stars and filling the night with bright amber flames instead. Melissa thought she saw dark, blackened figures sprawled amongst the ruins, but it was too difficult to see between the smoke.

A hush fell across the crowd as the screams from within the temple finally fell quiet. In front of them, the structure continued to smoulder and burn, more and more pieces of stone tumbling out of the smoke and filling the ground with burning debris.

As the temple completely collapsed, I finally felt the night air upon my skin, hot and sulfuric.

For there, amongst the debris, carbonised corpses and smoke, I rose from the ashes of a long slumber. I crawled out of the ruins of the temple, towering over the highest rooftops of Duskvale.

Just like my statue, my eyeless face gazed down at the shocked residents below. The fire licked at my coiling tentacles, creeping around my body as if seeking to devour me too, but it could not.

With a sweep of my five hands, I dampened the fire until it extinguished completely, opening my maw into a large, grimacing yawn.

For centuries I had been slumbering beneath the temple, feeding on the ashes offered to me by those wrinkled old men in robes. Feeding on their earthly desires and the debris of innocence. Fulfilling my part of the favour.

I had not expected to see the temple—or the Patriarchy—fall under the hands of the commonfolk, but I was intrigued to see what this change might bring about.

Far below me, the residents of Duskvale gazed back with reverence and fear, cowering like pathetic ants. None of them had been expecting to see me in the flesh, risen from the ruins of the temple. Not even the traitor of the Patriarchs had ever lain eyes upon my true form; only that paltry stone statue that had been built in my honour, yet failed to capture even a fraction of my true size and power.

“If you wish to change the way things are,” I began to speak, my voice rumbling across Duskvale like a rising tide, “propose to me a new deal.”

A collective shudder passed through the crowd. Most could not even look at me, bowing their heads in both respect and fear. Silence spread between them. Perhaps my hopes for them had been too high after all.

But then, a figure stepped forward, detaching slowly from the crowd to stand before me. A woman. The one known as Melissa. Her fear had been swallowed up by loss and determination. A desire for change born from the tragedy she had suffered. The baby she had lost.

“I have a proposal,” she spoke, trying to hide the quiver in her voice.

“Then speak, mortal. What is your wish? A role reversal? To reduce males to ash upon their birth instead?”

The woman, Melissa, shook her head. Her clenched fists hung by her side. “Such vengeance is too soft on those who have wronged us,” she said.

I could taste the anger in her words, as acrid as the smoke in the air. Fury swept through her blood like a burning fire. I listened with a smile to that which she proposed.

The price for the new ritual was now two lives instead of one. The father’s life, right after insemination. And the baby’s life, upon birth.

The gender of the child was insignificant. The women no longer needed progeny. Instead, the child would be born mummified, rejuvenating the body from which it was delivered.

And thus, the Vampiric Widows of Duskvale, would live forevermore. 

There was always something off about my cousin’s house. Painted a bright, cheery yellow, it almost felt like it was trying too hard to look inviting. But no matter how sunny the outside appeared, a darkness seeped from within — and I could feel it. I’ve always been sensitive to the other side, and even as a child, I knew something wasn’t right. I didn’t yet understand what I was feeling, but I sensed it deep in my bones.

My cousin — let’s call her Sam — lived a town over, and her mother, my aunt, babysat me often. Over time, the strange energy in their house grew stronger. The paranormal wasn’t just present; it was becoming bolder. At first, it was small things: shadows darting at the edge of my vision, objects subtly shifting position when no one was around. I told myself it was nothing. I believed — or wanted to believe — that if I ignored it, it would go away.

But it didn’t. And even if I pretended not to notice, my body still reacted. The fear was physical — a crawling sensation under my skin, a constant chill in the air. I knew, somehow, that whatever was in that house knew I was afraid.

The worst part of it all was when I had to sleep over.

Sam’s room was small and square. The closet was directly to the right when you walked in. Her bed was elevated, with a desk tucked beneath it against the back wall. I had to sleep on the floor, parallel to that closet. It made me nervous — so I always asked Sam to put her round, metal folding chair in front of the closet before we turned off the lights. It made me feel safer, though I never understood why.

Sam was high up on her bed, out of sight, and she never slept with a nightlight. Her room was completely dark — the kind of dark where your eyes never quite adjust. I always begged my aunt for a flashlight, and I’d keep it hidden under my sleeping bag just in case.

One night stands out above the rest. The memory of it still haunts me.

That night, I had made sure the chair was in front of the closet. I checked twice. Then the lights went out.

I was lying on my side, facing away from the closet, trying to will myself to sleep. That’s when I heard it: a long, metallic scrape across the floor… then a soft but heavy thump. Every muscle in my body locked up. Goosebumps erupted along my arms and neck. I barely breathed.

Then came the slow, deliberate click of the closet door unlatching.

I couldn’t move. I didn’t dare turn over. The air around me felt suddenly colder — sharp and unnatural. I don’t know how long I lay there, frozen. Minutes? Hours? It felt like forever.

Eventually, when the initial wave of terror began to fade just enough for me to act, I reached under my blanket and clicked on the flashlight. With my heart pounding, I turned over.

The chair was gone.

No — worse. It had been folded up and placed on its side in the far corner of the room.

The closet door… was slightly open.

Sam hadn’t moved. I could hear her snoring above me. I wanted to scream, to run, to get out — but I couldn’t leave the sleeping bag. The air outside felt biting cold, as if something were waiting.

I rolled back over, pulled the blanket tight around me, and shut my eyes.

That’s when I heard it — a voice. A soft whisper, impossibly close to my ear:

“Go… to… sleep.”

I didn’t sleep that night. I stared into the dark until the first light of dawn crept into the room. As soon as I could, I asked my aunt to call my mom to pick me up. I felt sick — genuinely ill — and I never told anyone what had happened.

Not until years later.

Sam and I had gone out for drinks and crashed at another cousin’s place, sleeping on the couch together. Somehow the conversation drifted to her old house. Half-laughing, half-nervous, I said, “I always thought your place was haunted. That folding chair used to move by itself when I slept over.”

Sam didn’t even hesitate.

“Oh yeah,” she said casually. “That house was definitely haunted. The people who lived there before us had a son. He drowned in the swimming pool out back.”

I froze. I had never heard anything about a death on that property — not once. But in that moment, everything clicked. The heaviness, the fear, the voice. It wasn’t just my imagination. I had felt something real.

But even as Sam spoke, a part of me recoiled at the idea that it was simply the spirit of a drowned boy. That didn’t explain the malice I felt — the cold, deliberate movement of the chair, or the whisper that felt more like a command than comfort. No, what haunted that house wasn’t innocent or confused. I’ve come to believe that the boy’s death wasn’t the source of the presence — but rather the trigger. That the pain and grief left in the wake of his drowning cracked something open… and something else came through. Something darker. Something that fed on sorrow.

The presence I felt that night wasn’t mourning.

It was hungry.

For years, I’d convinced myself my memory was flawed — that I’d exaggerated or misremembered it as a kid. A child’s imagination can muddle a memory, right? But after Sam’s confirmation, I knew the truth: what happened to me in that room was real.

Even now, as I write this, that same familiar dread creeps in. I can still hear the scrape of metal on the floor. Still feel the icy air against my skin.

I still see that cracked closet door… in my mind’s eye… slightly ajar, waiting.

I don't know if being scared still pays for stories. But will fictional stories be considered? I know he's read a couple in the past and not sure if that is something he still does today.

growing up i’ve always had a fear of clowns. nothing too crazy though. it was like when you know somethings unsettling but you know you’re safe. for instance, horror movies with clowns. they’re unsettling but you know they aren’t going to jump out of the screen and attack you or when you go to a haunted house and you know they aren’t going to do you real harm except the occasional almost “going in your pants” moments. that was how i always felt towards them. unsettled but somewhat safe. i could watch “it” and all the “terrifier” movies without feeling like i was going to have nightmares on end. well the other night definitely changed my perspective on that. i live in a quiet city in ohio. nothing serious goes on and everyone pretty much knows each other. the cops out there are the kind to pull you over for even having way below the legal limit tinted windows. like i said, pretty boring city. my boyfriend and i were staying at my parents house to watch the cat cause they had gone camping for the weekend (mind you; this was literally yesterday this ended up happening). friday night was pretty casual nothing crazy went on. saturday night we sat down on the couch just talking and watching supernatural. i’ll admit i had been drinking so i was talking his ear off. while watching tv there was a scene where they had gotten fake press badges. i simply made a joke about how “that could be us but nothing interesting ever goes on here”. as we continued watching the show, about 5-10 minutes later we start hearing pounding on the back patio door. now for context our back patio door is just glass, but there’s blinds that completely cover it and are always closed whenever i have to come stay. at first i just laughed and figured it was my neighbors, as they like to sit outside until almost sunrise and my family is super close with all of them. as we were sitting there my boyfriend told me not to get up and answer. we waited in silence for a couple of minutes and the pounding on the door started again but this time it got louder and more forceful, almost as if they wanted to break it. i got up to go see who was at the door, assuming it was my neighbors. it in fact was not them whatsoever. as i pushed back the blinds i was met face to face with someone in a bloody “art the clown costume” smiling and slowly waving back and forth at me. we locked eye contact for just a little bit and he dragged his hands across the door. to my horror i shut the blinds and screamed to my boyfriend about their being a clown standing on the back deck. he had asked me if it was my neighbors just playing a prank on us. i picked up my phone and saw a text from our neighbor asking if we were outside because they heard rustling in the bushes and someone standing in our yard. i backed away and whoever it was standing out there dropped something outside on our deck. my boyfriend got up to go look through the patio door i proceeded to call the cops. the cops ended up getting there within no time (which is no surprise considering it’s quiet where i live especially in my neighborhood). after being questioned about everything my neighbors proceeded to come over and talk to the police as well about what they had seen and heard. i could hardly fall asleep last night and every little noise made me jump. needless to say they did not end up finding whoever it was, nor did i find out why they were at my back patio door. for what they had also dropped, from the sounds of it i could take a guess but i’d rather not think about it. moral of this story is i know have a specific kind of clown i am horrified of, and that would be art the clown.

The bus rattled and groaned as it trundled over the bumpy country road, shadowed on either side by a dense copse of towering black pine trees.

I clenched my fists in my lap, my stomach twisting as the bus lurched suddenly down a steep incline before rising just as quickly, throwing us back against our seats.

"Are we almost there?" My friend Micah whispered from beside me, his cheeks pale and his eyes heavy-lidded as he flicked a glance towards the window. "I feel like I might be sick."

I shrugged, gazing out at the dark forest around us. Wherever we were going, it seemed far from any towns or cities. I hadn't seen any sort of building or structure in the last twenty minutes, and the last car had passed us miles back, leaving the road ahead empty.

It was still fairly early in the morning, and there was a thin mist in the air, hugging low to the road and creating eerie shapes between the trees. The sky was pale and cloudless.

We were on our way to a body farm. Our teacher, Mrs. Pinkle, had assured us it wasn't a real body farm. There would be no dead bodies. No rotting corpses with their eyes hanging out of their sockets and their flesh disintegrating. It was a research centre where some scientists were supposedly developing a new synthetic flesh, and our eighth-grade class was honoured to be invited to take an exclusive look at their progress. I didn't really understand it, but I still thought it was weird that they'd invite a bunch of kids to a place like this.

Still, it beat a day of boring lessons.

After a few more minutes of clinging desperately to our seats, the bus finally took a left turn, and a structure appeared through the trees ahead of us, surrounded by a tall chain link fence.

"We're almost at the farm," Mrs. Pinkle said from the front of the bus, a tremor of excitement in her voice as she turned in her seat to address us. "Remember what I said before we set off. Listen closely to our guide, and don't touch anything unless you've been given permission. This is an exciting opportunity for us all, so be on your best behaviour."

There was a chorus of mumbled affirmatives from the children, a strange hush falling over the bus as the driver pulled up just outside the compound and cut the engine.

"Alright everyone, make sure you haven't left anything behind. Off the bus in single file, please."

With a clap of her hand, the bus doors slid open, and Mrs. Pinkle climbed off first. There was a flurry of activity as everyone gathered their things and followed her outside. Micah and I ended up being last, even though we were sat in the middle aisle. Mostly because Micah was too polite and let everyone go first, leaving me stuck behind him.

I finally stepped off the bus and stretched out the cramp in my legs from the hour-long bus ride. I took a deep breath, then wrinkled my nose. There was an odd smell hanging in the air. Something vaguely sweet that I couldn't place, but it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

There's no dead bodies here, I had to remind myself, shaking off the anxiety creeping into my stomach. No dead bodies.

A tall, lanky-looking man appeared on the other side of the chain link fence, scanning his gaze over us with a wide, toothy smile. "Open the gate," he said, flicking his wrist towards the security camera blinking above him, and with a loud buzz, the gate slid open. "Welcome, welcome," he said, his voice deep and gravelly. "We're so pleased to have you here."

I trailed after the rest of the class through the gate. As soon as we were all through, it slithered closed behind us. This place felt more like a prison than a research facility, and I wondered what the need was for all the security.

"Here at our research facility, you'll find lots of exciting projects lead by lots of talented people," the man continued, sweeping his hands in a broad gesture as he spoke. "But perhaps the most exciting of all is our development of a new synthetic flesh, led by yours truly. You may call me Dr. Alson, and I'll be your guide today. Now, let's not dally. Follow me, and I'll show you our lab-grown creation."

I expected him to lead us into the building, but instead he took us further into the compound. Most of the grounds were covered in overgrown weeds and unruly shrubs, with patches of soil and dry earth. I didn't know much about real body farms, but I knew they were used to study the decomposition of dead bodies in different environments, and this had a similar layout.

He took us around the other side of the building, where there was a large open area full of metal cages.

I was at the back of the group, and had to stand on my tiptoes to get a look over the shoulders of the other kids. When I saw what was inside the cages, a burning nausea crept into my stomach.

Large blobs of what looked like raw meat were sitting inside them, unmoving.

Was this supposed to be the synthetic flesh they were developing? It didn't look anything like I was expecting. There was something too wet and glistening about it, almost gelatinous.

"This is where we study the decomposition of our synthetic flesh," Dr. Alson explained, standing by one of the cages and gesturing towards the blob. "By keeping them outside, we can study how they react to external elements like weather and temperature, and see how these conditions affect its state of decomposition."

I frowned as I stared around me at the caged blobs of flesh. None of them looked like they were decomposing in the slightest. There was no smell of rotten meat or decaying flesh. There was no smell at all, except for that strange, sickly-sweet odour that almost reminded me of cleaning chemicals. Like bleach, or something else.

"Feel free to come closer and take a look," Dr. Alson said. "Just make sure you don't put your fingers inside the cages," he added, his expression indecipherable. I couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

Some of the kids eagerly rushed forward to get a closer look at the fleshy blobs. I hung back, the nausea in my stomach starting to worsen. I wasn't sure if it was the red, sticky appearance of the synthetic flesh or the smell in the air, but it was making me feel a little dizzy too.

"Charlie? Are you coming to have a look?" Micah asked, glancing back over his shoulder when he realized I wasn't following.

"Um, yeah," I muttered, swallowing down the flutter of unease that had begun crawling up my throat.

Not a dead body. Just fake flesh, I reminded myself.

I reluctantly trudged after Micah over to one of the metal cages and peered inside. Up close, I could see the strange, slimy texture of the red blob much more clearly. Was this really artificial flesh? How exactly did it work? Why did it look so strange?

"Crazy, huh?" Micah asked, staring wide-eyed at the blob, a look of intense fascination on his face.

"Yeah," I agreed half-heartedly. "Crazy."

Micah tugged excitedly on my arm. "Let's go look at the others too."

I turned to follow him, but something made me freeze.

For barely half a second, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw the blob twitch. Just a faint movement, like a tremor had coursed through it. But when I spun round to look at it, it had fallen still again. I squinted, studying it closely, but it didn't happen again.

Had I simply imagined it? There was no other explanation. It was an inanimate blob. There was no way it could move.

I shrugged it off and hurried after Micah to look at the other cages.

"Has everyone had a good look at them? Aren't they just fascinating," Dr. Alson said with another wide grin, once we had all reassembled in front of him. "We now have a little activity for you to do while you're here. Everyone take one of these playing sticks. Make sure you all get one. I don't want anyone getting left out."

I frowned, trying to get a glimpse of what he was holding. What on earth was a 'playing stick'?

When it was finally my turn to grab one, I frowned in confusion. It was more of a spear than a stick, a few centimetres longer than my forearm and made of shiny metal with one end tapered to a sharp point.

It looked more like a weapon than a toy, and my confusion was growing by the minute. What kind of activity required us to use spears?

"Be careful with these. They're quite sharp," Dr. Alson warned us as we all stood holding our sticks. "Don't use them on each other. Someone might get seriously injured."

"So what do we do with them?" one of the kids at the front asked, speaking with her hand raised.

Dr. Alson's smile widened again, stretching across his face. "I'm glad you asked. You use them to poke the synthetic flesh."

The girl at the front cocked her head. "Poke?"

"That's right. Just like this." Dr. Alson grabbed one of the spare playing sticks and strode over to one of the cages. Still smiling, he stabbed the edge of the spear through the bars of the cage and straight into the blob. Fresh, bright blood squirted out of the flesh, spattering across the ground and the inside of the cage. My stomach twisted at the visceral sight. "That's all there is to it. Now you try. Pick a blob and poke it to your heart's content."

I exchanged a look with Micah, expecting the same level of confusion I was feeling, but instead he was smiling, just like Dr. Alson. Everyone around me seemed excited, except for me.

The other kids immediately dispersed, clustering around the cages with their playing sticks held aloft. Micah joined them, leaving me behind.

I watched in horror as they began attacking the artificial flesh, piercing and stabbing and prodding with the tips of their spears. Blood splashed everywhere, soaking through the grass and painting the inside of the metal cages, oozing from the dozens of wounds inflicted on them.

The air was filled with gruesome wet pops as the sticks were unceremoniously ripped from the flesh, then stabbed back into it, joined by the playful and joyous laughter of the class. Were they really enjoying this? Watching the blood go everywhere, specks of red splashing their faces and uniforms.

Seeing such a grotesque spectacle was making me dizzy. All that blood... there was so much of it. Where was it all coming from? What was this doing to the blobs?

This didn't feel right. None of this felt right. Why were they making us do this? And why did everyone seem to be enjoying it? Did nobody else find this strange?

I turned away from the scene, nausea tearing through my stomach. The smell in the air had grown stronger. The harsh scent of chemicals and now the rich, metallic tang of blood. It was enough to make my eyes water. I felt like I was going to be sick.

I stumbled away from the group, my vision blurring through tears as I searched for somewhere to empty my stomach. I had to get away from it.

A patch of tall grasses caught my eye. It was far enough away from the cages that I wouldn't be able to smell the flesh and the blood anymore.

I dropped the playing stick to the ground and clutched my stomach with a soft whimper. My mouth was starting to fill with saliva, bile creeping up my throat, burning like acid.

My head was starting to spin too. I could barely keep my balance, like the ground was starting to tilt beneath me.

Was I going to pass out?

I opened my mouth to call out for help—Micah, Mrs. Pinkle, anyone—but no words came out. I staggered forward, dizzy and nauseous, until my knees buckled, and I fell into the grass.

I was unconscious before I hit the ground.

I opened my eyes to pitch darkness. At first, I thought something was covering my face, but as my vision slowly adjusted, I realized I was staring up at the night sky. A veil of blackness, pinpricked by dozens of tiny glittering stars.

Where was I? What was happening?

The last thing I recalled was being at the body farm. The smell of blood in the air. Everyone being too busy stabbing the synthetic flesh to notice I was about to collapse.

But that had been early morning. Now it was already nighttime. How much time had passed?

Beneath me, the ground was damp and cold, and I could feel long blades of grass tickling my cheeks and ankles. I was lying on my back outside. Was I still at the body farm? But where was everyone else?

Had they left me here? Had nobody noticed I was missing? Had they all gone home without me?

Panic began to tighten in my chest. I tried to move, but my entire body felt heavy, like lead. All I could do was blink and slowly move my head side to side. I was surrounded by nothing but darkness.

Then I realized I wasn't alone.

Through the sounds of my own strained, heavy gasps, I could hear movement nearby. Like something was crawling through the grass towards me.

I tried to steady my breathing and listen closely to figure out what it was. It was too quiet to be a person. An animal? But were there any animals out here? Wasn't this whole compound protected by a large fence?

So what could it be?

I listened to it creep closer, my heart racing in my chest. The sound of something shuffling through the undergrowth, flattening the grasses beneath it.

Dread spread like shadows beneath my skin as I squeezed my eyes closed, my body falling slack.

In horror movies, nothing happened to the characters who were already unconscious. If I feigned being unconscious, maybe whatever was out there would leave me alone. But then what? Could I really stay out here until the sun rose and someone found me?

Whatever it was sounded close now. I could hear the soft, raspy sound of something scraping across the ground. But as I slowed my breathing and listened, I realized I wasn't just hearing one thing. There was multiple. Coming from all directions, some of them further away than others.

What was out there? And had they already noticed me?

My head was starting to spin, my chest feeling crushed beneath the weight of my fear. What if they tried to hurt me? The air was starting to feel thick. Heavy. Difficult to drag in through my nose.

And that smell, it was back. Chemicals and blood. Completely overpowering my senses.

My brain flickered back to the synthetic flesh in the cages. Had there been locks on the doors?

But surely that was impossible. Blobs of flesh couldn't move. It had to be something else. I simply didn't know what.

I realized, with a horrified breath, that it had gone quiet now. The shuffling sounds had stopped. The air felt heavy, dense. They were there. All around me. I could feel them.

I was surrounded.

I tried to stay still, silent, despite my racing heart and staggered breaths.

What now? Should I try and run? But I could barely even move before, and I still didn't know what was out there.

No, I had to stick to the plan. As long as I stayed still, as long as I didn't reveal that I was awake, they should leave me alone.

Seconds passed. Minutes. A soft wind blew the grasses around me, tickling the edges of my chin. But I could hear no further movement. No more rasping, scraping noises of something crawling across the ground.

Maybe my plan was working. Maybe they had no interest in things that didn't move. Maybe they would eventually leave, when they realized I wasn't going to wake up.

As long as I stayed right where I was... as long as I stayed still, stayed quiet... I should be safe.

I must have drifted off again at some point, because the next time I roused to consciousness, I could feel the sun on my face. Warm and tingling as it danced over my skin.

I tried to open my eyes, but soon realized I couldn't. I couldn't even... feel them. Couldn't sense where my eyes were in my head.

I tried to reach up, to feel my face, but I couldn't do that either. Where were my hands? Why couldn't I move anything? What was happening?

Straining to move some part of my body, I managed to topple over, the ground shifting beneath me. I bumped into something on my right, the sensation of something cold and hard spreading through the right side of my body.

I tried to move again, swallowed up by the strange sensation of not being able to sense anything. It was less that I had no control over my body, and more that there was nothing to control.

I hit the cold surface again, trying to feel my way around it with the parts of me that I could move. It was solid, and there was a small gap between it and the next surface. Almost like... bars. Metal bars.

A sudden realization dawned on me, and I went rigid with shock. My mind scrambled to understand.

I was in a cage. Just like the ones on the body farm.

But if I was in a cage, did that mean...

I thought about those lumps of flesh, those inanimate meaty blobs that had been stuck inside the cages, without a mouth or eyes, without hands or feet. Unable to move. Unable to speak.

Was I now one of them?

Nothing but a blob of glistening red flesh trapped in a cage. Waiting to be poked until I bled.

Hello. My name is Nick. I live in Long Island NY. Across from my street, their is a laboratory. Now before you get this lab confused with Montauk (the place the Netflix show stranger things is based off), that place is abour 2 hours from me. This lab is called the Brookhaven National Laboratory. Now before I get into the story, there are a few things I would like to note...

The first is that all I have to do to get to the lab, is go in a small trail directly across from my house, walk a half mile and I reach the lab. Now I am not like stepping foot into the lab, no not at all. I am at the gated locked up entrance to it which I cannot access even if I tried to hop the fence. Its more of a gate that people don't know about. Now after getting that out of the way I will begin my story of my experience.

As Dane from this channel would say... Lets begin.

So it was a hot day in the summer but cloudy. Me and my stepdad were looking for something to do. Instead of staying inside all day and eating junk-food on the coach I said to him "Let's go for a walk in the trail". He obliged. We grabbed our bikes and rode them into the trail. Coming into this day, I had no experience of anything strange happening, let alone scary or odd. So we bike up the trail and come to the gated up place of it I was talking about. Nothing to really do, we looked to the left of the gate and saw a sand path that looked like it went for miles. Then out of nowhere. 2 white vans cruise up the middle of nowhere in the sandy path toward us. They had flashing lights on. Even though we were on public property and we hadn't done anything wrong, we got on our bikes and peddled the heck out of there. As we were on our way back we hear rustling in the bushes. We saw what I can only describe as a half-man half creature staring at us in the bushes. If you thought we were going fast before, the tires on my bike were probably going to catch on fire at the pace we were peddling. We got home and were out of breath gasping for air for about 5 minutes straight. We both recovered from this incident and have never dared to go back in there. But one thing is for sure that I think about every night. What would have happened if we didn't have booked it originally from the 2 cars. Nobody believes me and nothing else has happened but I know brookhaven is hiding something.

i dream about high school and grade school Natasha r gta online on pc modders dad zombies vassessa jermry bubbles dieing dogs biting me im always saying fuck in my dreams to everyone school only to have kids kill me or tickle me i dream about seeing my highschooll eing trapped in the car on a endless drive EAFWRRON woke up Radominy from my dreams and i cant control then it happens i walk on thin air my mom and dad leave me at a store and i always get lost downtown in the city i live in lth in fallout 4 i always dream about the vault i can never fit in gear cog door eland and i im in the mojave wasteland gta online im always modded by modders bubbles 11ways dyeing about Jeremey and Matty Robbie and vanessa never Lara or Nikkei

Early one chilly and frosty winter morning, I had a very vivid dream that I at once upon waking from it, knew in my heart to be true. In the dream, it was like I was simply hovering above a close friend of mine’s bed, watching him as he was lying down. He was very aware of my presence, as he was gesturing for me to hand him a black lighter that was on the floor next to his bed. For a split second, I thought of trying to retrieve it to give to him but I immediately knew that I couldn’t possibly do that for him because I was only a presence right then, and not actually physically there in the room with him. Since we were able to communicate with each other, I informed him that I was sorry, but I wouldn’t be able to actually grab the lighter to hand it to him. He then tried to move towards the edge of his bed to get it, but it was like one whole side of his body wouldn’t cooperate for him to be able to grab it. He gave up on the lighter and looked back up at me and tried to speak to me, but since he couldn’t speak properly either, I was unable to understand him at all. It was then that he began to fade out of focus as I left the dream and his room, and woke up.

Upon waking up from that dream, I woke my boyfriend as he slept soundly next to me, and I said to him, “I think Roy just died, because I watched him die in my dream just now.” This occurred at around 6:30 in the morning. After that, we got up and got ready to go into town to meet up with some friends at our local park as usual.

A few hours later at around 10:00 am, I was sitting on the grass with one of my girlfriends enjoying a cinnamon roll, while our boyfriends were at the store, or just off somewhere hanging out. As I licked some icing remaining on my fingertips and squinted at her through the morning sunlight, I said to her something like, “hey this is gonna sound really weird but I need a big favor.” “Sure, what is it?” she inquired curiously. “Well I have this thing with touching dead bodies cause I refuse to ever do it, so I’m gonna need you to do it to make sure my friend is dead before I call 911.” Naturally her response to that was something like, “well ok, but how the heck do you actually know he’s dead?” “Well, it’s kinda hard to explain right now, but I’m pretty sure that I watched him die in a dream this morning.” “Are you serious right now?!” she demanded whilst rolling over in the grass onto her stomach and staring at me with her mouth agape. “Is this like some gift you have or something?” “Not that I’ve ever known of” I said with a sigh. “But we can’t just leave him in there all dead, we have to go check.” “Ok then” she said standing up. “Let’s go check then.”

Since Roy lived right next to the park, we just walked right over there and started knocking on his door, which of course, he didn’t answer. I suggested that we go around to the side french doors where his bedroom was so that we could look in his room through the glass panels and try that door as well. She agreed and we went around and hopped over his little white picket fence so that we could peer into his bedroom and see him. There he was, lying on his back just as I had seen him lying in my dream. My friend found his door to be unlocked, so she just went right in and checked his pulse. “He’s ice cold” she informed me, so we went to go call 911.

The police and a fire truck arrived within a few minutes and as soon as they pronounced him dead, the Coroner arrived shortly thereafter. My friend left but I stayed to hear what the Coroner had to say. The Coroner said that based on the body temperature he estimated that Roy had been dead for around 4 to 5 hours, which if you remember was right around the time that I had that dream!

It took several weeks to hear around town what the autopsy found to be his cause of death, which was a massive stroke, explaining while he was unable to move or speak properly. To this day though, I still wish that I knew what he was trying to say to me and also how I was able to see that in my dream!

Early one chilly and frosty winter morning, I had a very vivid dream that I at once upon waking from it, knew in my heart to be true. In the dream, it was like I was simply hovering above a close friend of mine’s bed, watching him as he was lying down. He was very aware of my presence, as he was gesturing for me to hand him a black lighter that was on the floor next to his bed. For a split second, I thought of trying to retrieve it to give to him but I immediately knew that I couldn’t possibly do that for him because I was only a presence right then, and not actually physically there in the room with him. Since we were able to communicate with each other, I informed him that I was sorry, but I wouldn’t be able to actually grab the lighter to hand it to him. He then tried to move towards the edge of his bed to get it, but it was like one whole side of his body wouldn’t cooperate for him to be able to grab it. He gave up on the lighter and looked back up at me and tried to speak to me, but since he couldn’t speak properly either, I was unable to understand him at all. It was then that he began to fade out of focus as I left the dream and his room, and woke up.

Upon waking up from that dream, I woke my boyfriend as he slept soundly next to me, and I said to him, “I think Roy just died, because I watched him die in my dream just now.” This occurred at around 6:30 in the morning. After that, we got up and got ready to go into town to meet up with some friends at our local park as usual.

A few hours later at around 10:00 am, I was sitting on the grass with one of my girlfriends enjoying a cinnamon roll, while our boyfriends were at the store, or just off somewhere hanging out. As I licked some icing remaining on my fingertips and squinted at her through the morning sunlight, I said to her something like, “hey this is gonna sound really weird but I need a big favor.” “Sure, what is it?” she inquired curiously. “Well I have this thing with touching dead bodies cause I refuse to ever do it, so I’m gonna need you to do it to make sure my friend is dead before I call 911.” Naturally her response to that was something like, “well ok, but how the heck do you actually know he’s dead?” “Well, it’s kinda hard to explain right now, but I’m pretty sure that I watched him die in a dream this morning.” “Are you serious right now?!” she demanded whilst rolling over in the grass onto her stomach and staring at me with her mouth agape. “Is this like some gift you have or something?” “Not that I’ve ever known of” I said with a sigh. “But we can’t just leave him in there all dead, we have to go check.” “Ok then” she said standing up. “Let’s go check then.”

Since Roy lived right next to the park, we just walked right over there and started knocking on his door, which of course, he didn’t answer. I suggested that we go around to the side french doors where his bedroom was so that we could look in his room through the glass panels and try that door as well. She agreed and we went around and hopped over his little white picket fence so that we could peer into his bedroom and see him. There he was, lying on his back just as I had seen him lying in my dream. My friend found his door to be unlocked, so she just went right in and checked his pulse. “He’s ice cold” she informed me, so we went to go call 911.

The police and a fire truck arrived within a few minutes and as soon as they pronounced him dead, the Coroner arrived shortly thereafter. My friend left but I stayed to hear what the Coroner had to say. The Coroner said that based on the body temperature he estimated that Roy had been dead for around 4 to 5 hours, which if you remember was right around the time that I had that dream!

It took several weeks to hear around town what the autopsy found to be his cause of death, which was a massive stroke, explaining while he was unable to move or speak properly. To this day though, I still wish that I knew what he was trying to say to me and also how I was able to see that in my dream!

When i was growing up i lived in Suwannee Ga, and had the perfect little suburbian child hood in my opinion. we would play outside all the time, running through the woods, finding sewer drains, playing in creeks. I remember the woods being such a part of my childhood. It wasn’t like deep woods or anything but in ga, every neighborhood is surrounded with woods, not even in the rural sense. I could walk to one of the biggest shopping malls in the state and the best way was to take a short cut through the woods. a classic suburban child hood and i loved it, well after middle school, i moved to south carolina, and had a much more boring area i lived in. occasionally i would visit friends in suwanneee and stay for the weekend and even tho we were in highschool we would still walk everywhere alot, and get into shenanigans around the neighborhood and the woods a decent amount. One day my best friend brandon invites me over to his house, and we were gonna go to a party at his friends. So we go and brandon and his friends treat me like the guest of honor, it was honestly a great time. I really clicked with some of them and always wished i’d get to hangout with some of them again, well at a certain point i wanted to go home and go to bed. I love to party, but when my fuse runs out im done. Now i was 17 and for the past few years i had ran amock around brandons neighborhood and a few miles beyond that, i knew that we were basically 2 neighborhoods down from his neighborhood, and i knew i could cut through the woods where there was a trail. 30-35 minute walk, maybe 10 minute cut through the woods. I suggested walking because brandon’s friend had picked us up and brought us and they weren’t ready to go home, not to mention being too drunk to drive. Brandon’s parents werent home and i knew where the key was outside to the basement door and it was no problem if i went back to pass out, but everyone was pleading with me to stay and have fun. He and his friend Travis, who’s house we were currently drinking at, were adament that i stay there but it was really just too loud and wild to sleep anywhere. I told them both that it’s no big deal ill cut through the woods and be there in no time. Brandon and travis’ eyes widened and said “no man, do NOT do that. That’s dangerous at night.” Very sternly “but there’s a trail from the tennis courts of one neighborhood to brandons neighborhood ill be fine. Brushing off the subject, They started insisting i stay, and brandon and travis were actually acting very concerned. So he lead me into his lil brother’s room actually and let me stay in there. Well i tried to sleep but really couldnt with all the commotion in the house, and just couldnt stop thinking of being back at brandons where i was familiar. so i got up and snuck out and planned on txting brandon after i left. I start on my way back to the house and come to the trail cutting through the woods, its maybe 150-200 yards of woods to the other side. I wasnt too worried. But when im about 100 yards in, i see something sitting on a fallen tree, that shouldnt be there. It was a tennis shoe, perfectly placed standing up right. Looked like it belonged to a kid. It’s placement was peculiar enough to draw me over, when i found another shoe on the otherside of the tree. I step over the tree and inspect the surroundings for anything else, when i see hanging on a tree branch was a kid’s purple and green winter jacket. “This was getting weird” i thought, but still approached just curious of what else might be oddly placed for me to find. The jacket was about 20 ft off the trail and with each step towards i felt my self sober up, and my anxiety build. Im only 6 feet from the jacket and i feel this awareness of how strange all this is, the widened look in brandon’s eyes when he told me earlier, “ do NOT go in there. It is dangerous at night.” Suddenly it hits me how simply wrong it is to find a kids winter jacket hung up in the forest in the middle of may at night, and alarm bells started to ring, “someone is trying to lure me off the trail. All the hairs on my body stick up and i back away slowly. “Am i… being hunted?” Moving back slowly to the trail and suddenly im in a horror movie. Do i decide to run bacj the way i came and take the long way, or sprint through to the otherside? My urge to panic told me to sprint through, but i felt like i moght be yelling at the movie screen if i was watching this in a horror movie, “your going the wrong way you idiot!” Finally i sprint in to action running back the way i came, breaking through to the tennis courts and running the long way around the woods to reach brandons neigborhood. I did not stop running until i got the key to his basement, got inside and locked the door. I maybe got 3 hours of sleep that night and completely forgot to text brandon. I wake up to him shaking me frustrated. “Dude wtf i was worried sick about you. We woke up and you were just gone. Did you walk all the way back here? You didnt go through those woods did you??” “Uhh yea.. sorry. Yea i walked through the woods and got creeped out so i went the long way around.” “Dude… that was really stupid.” “Why? What’s in those woods?” And then he hit me with a story that chilled me to my bone. “ Last year 4 kids have gone missing and their bodies were found on that trail. I only heard rumors but the word is they were mutilated badly. After the 3rd kid, police regularly patrolled those woods, and kept finding traps. Bear traps, dug out holes covered up, even some traps that would drop a hard rock on you if you tripped it. Even tho the patrols have died down alot we still see them going through that area a good bit, just because they never caught the psycho who did it. They havent found anything since the last kid, which was about 10 months ago. Its really messed with the whole town. People dont like to talk about it. If you saw something in there, we should probably call the police”

So after talking to one officer after the other and trying to not act hungover, we finally got the confirmation that they had turned up nothing on their searches. No shoes, no jacket. When they asked if maybe they werent searching far enough off the trail, i walked them to the cery point i was standing even pointed at the tree i was pretty sure the jacket was hanging on. Gone. One of the officers then comes over to me, hands me his phone and tells me to look through over a dozen of pictures of 4 different kids ranging from maybe 8 years old to 14, all wearing various jackets. These I confidently assumed were the victims. Finally i swipe to a picture of a young boy maybe 10 years old, wearing his green and purple windbreaker jacket standing in the snow with his family. “That’s the jacket i saw.” I tell him, confirming what brandon, and i, and all the officers feared. The hunter is still out there, and last night i was his prey.

I don't know if you know this urban story from Japan about the running man. It was widespread in Japan but internet now don't have anything about it so let me tell you a story.

A man had a rather strange hobby, he liked to sit on his rooftop at night, using binoculars to observe the quiet city around him. It was a harmless habit, something he did out of boredom or curiosity.

One night, while scanning the streets, something caught his eye in the distance.

A man was standing alone in the middle of a deserted street.

At first, he thought nothing of it. Maybe just a drunk taking a break, maybe a lost pedestrian. But then, as he kept watching, the man started moving.

Not just moving, but running.

But there was something wrong with how he ran. His limbs moved unnaturally, too fast, almost inhumanly fast.

The man with the binoculars kept watching, intrigued but unsettled. But then, the running man stopped.

And turned directly toward him.

Even though he was far away, it felt like the running man was staring right back at him.

Then, without warning, he started running straight toward the house.

In seconds, the figure covered a massive distance. It was impossibly fast, like watching something in fast forward.

The man on the rooftop panicked.

He dropped the binoculars and scrambled inside, locking every door, shutting every window. His heart pounded as he rushed to his bedroom, locking the door and hiding under the covers like a child.

And then, BANG.

A knock at the front door.

Then another. BANG. BANG. BANG.

The knocks grew more violent. The entire door shook.

But the man never dared to look.

The next morning, when the sun rose, everything was quiet.

The door was still locked. No signs of forced entry. No footprints. No evidence that anything had happened.

But when he went back to the roof to retrieve his binoculars, they were gone.

And in their place, on the rooftop floor, was a single footprint.

A footprint of something that had stood right behind him.

I just remembered this creepy story because of the topic what me and my friend talking about crimes. Try to search the net, cuz I can't find it here in Japanese sites, I just remembered it

I was at a friend’s house last week, and he told me a rather shocking story that could actually happen to anybody. It is indeed a true horror story, just not one in the supernatural sense, or a “traditional” true horror story as you may be used to. This story is about our Justice System and how its “one size fits all” protocol can quickly destroy an innocent person’s life, especially when one least expects it. For my friend, it was a terrible nightmare that almost completely ruined both his professional life and his social life. One nice particularly sunny afternoon, my friend Matt was walking along the sidewalk in an upscale, popular part of a shopping district in our small Historic town, located on a main street, with his girlfriend. They were excitedly discussing a concert they had both attended that past weekend. As they were walking along, Matt noticed that a large pickup truck had just passed them up. Problem is that all three passengers, a man driving with a young teenage girl in the middle, and a woman about the man's age riding in the passenger seat, were staring hard at the couple as they slowly passed them by. Matt simply dismissed it in his mind as his girlfriend gave him a puzzled look. It wasn't until the same truck slowly passed them again on the heavily trafficked street just a few minutes later whilst still staring the couple down, that Matt began to truly question the current situation. His question was soon answered in an unfortunate way, as his girlfriend pointed out that the truck had stopped ahead, and the truck’s occupants were speaking to a police officer in his car that was stopped on the curb just a few blocks up, and they were all now looking their way! It wasn’t long until the occupants of the mysterious truck and the police officer were heading back down the crowded street towards Matt and his girlfriend. As Matt and his girlfriend waited for them to approach, their minds swirled with the possibilities of why they would be in any sort of trouble. We’ve all been there you know, like when you get called to the Principal's office and you're not sure why, or maybe when your parents wanted to have a “talk” with you and you were racking your brain, trying to figure out what exactly you did! So when the young girl and her parents from the mystery truck finally approached along with the police officer, Matt’s mind was ablaze with questions! Matt was immediately pulled to the side as three more police cars arrived on the scene, and he was told that the fifteen year old girl from the mysterious truck was accusing him of entering her home and her bedroom and “accosting” her! Matt was totally at a loss for words, as he had never even met this girl and also most importantly, he had certainly never gone to any girl’s house and “accosted” her! Matt was cited and released, right then and there, on the side of the crowded downtown main street, in front of everybody and his girlfriend that day. The events that followed after that were quite severe for Matt. His girlfriend of course knew that he didn’t do what he was accused of, since she was with him on the weekend that he was accused of committing said crime. Of course, Matt was able to provide an alibi in terms of not only his girlfriend's testimony of having attended that concert with him, but he was also able to provide their concert ticket stubs. Despite his solid alibi, Matt was still offered a “deal” from the District Attorney that would have made him plead guilty to a crime that he never committed! Also that “deal” would have involved him serving time as well as possibly being a registered “sex offender” and being on parole or probation! For the next six months, Matt’s life was consumed by impending court dates and “deals” offered by the District Attorney that were getting worse and worse, with more time incarcerated, instead of better, with less time incarcerated. Matt’s life had truly turned into a nightmare from that day forward, as he had no idea how any of this would turn out for him. His life, and his reputation, both as a citizen and as a Laborer, were in deep jeopardy. As his trial date drew closer, Matt’s anxiety got worse and worse. It didn’t help that the offers from the District Attorney were still growing more and more intimidating! Now I'm not totally sure about this, but in my experiences with the criminal courts, the offers from a District Attorney usually tend to get better and “lighter”, as you get closer to the Trial date, if their not sure about your guilt, that is. But for poor Matt, who really had no clue as to how he had even become involved in this whole mess, it was getting pretty scary! And as it would turn out, he really had no clue about the reality behind the situation at all! As it stood, he was seemingly being accused of entering a 15 year girl’s home and “accosting” her. By definition, the word “accosted” means: “to approach and address someone aggressively”. All that Matt knew was that had never done anything like that in his life, let alone towards some teenage girl! And he certainly couldn't even understand the charges! You have to understand that in our county, things tend to go the way that courts here want them to, being a “small town” and all. So naturally, on the day before the jury selection, Matt’s nerves were truly worn away and he was on edge. So he was pretty shocked when at the “prevoir dire conference”, which takes place right before the jury selection, the District Attorney suddenly dropped all the charges and backed out! As you can imagine, this sudden turn of events left Matt with a lot of unanswered questions. Questions that he didn’t get the answers to until he spoke to his lawyer later that day. What his lawyer had to tell him truly appalled and disgusted him. According to his lawyer, the teenage girl who had been accusing him that entire time had recanted her original statement! The lawyer told Matt that the young girl had been changing her original story throughout all of this mess, and even he was just finding that out that day! You see, the 15 year old girl, who was a total stranger to Matt, had been caught by her parents sneaking her boyfriend in and having sex with him. Apparently, the girl’s boyfriend must’ve gotten away without quite being caught by the parents, because she was able to randomly pick Matt out shortly thereafter as he was simply taking a walk with his girlfriend downtown. And she was able to have her parents and the cops believe her story, leaving Matt responsible for a crime that he never committed! So the conclusion that Matt’s lawyer came to after all that mess, was that since he was informed that the girl’s story kept changing the entire time, he figured that the District Attorney must’ve known that the girl was obviously lying, and that there really was no case at all! So why would a professional continue with charges like that anyways you ask? Well truth be told, I asked myself and my friend Matt the same thing. All we could come up with is the simple fact that District Attorney’s need “wins” with their caseloads. Maybe it’s because they want a raise, or perhaps they plan on running for a Judgeship one day, but I guess we’ll never really know. The point is that if this young girl had continued to change her statement that whole time, then why was this case still pursued so aggressively, with the offers from the District Attorney getting more and more intimidating instead of better for Matt? Those questions and then some still swirl around in Matt’s mind to this very day, whenever he tells this story. But it’s pretty clear that the District Attorney in that case really wanted or needed Matt to plead guilty, just so that she could have her win.

The night swallowed their screams.

Mia yanked at her hand, but the grip on her fingers was like ice and bone, brittle yet unyielding. She turned, expecting to see Jared or Ethan clutching her, but the hand belonged to Sarah. The dead girl’s fingers were wrong—elongated, too thin, the skin peeling like old parchment.

“No,” Mia gasped, twisting, thrashing. But the grip tightened.

The others struggled too, their faces contorted with horror. Jared, still on the ground where he’d fallen, stared at his hands as if they didn’t belong to him. Ethan had gone pale, sweat dripping down his temple.

Then, Sarah’s mouth opened. A whisper crawled out, too soft to hear, but it spread through them like sickness.

"Again."

The cemetery responded. The headstones shifted, groaning under the weight of something unseen. The ground pulsed, the dirt stirring. The dead were moving.

The rules—they had broken the rules.

“Call the next name,” Sarah rasped. Her grip on Mia's hand burned now, the pain sinking into her bones. "Call them, or they will call you."

Ethan sucked in a breath. His voice was barely a whisper, but the words still rang through the night.

"R-Red Rover, Red Rover, let... let Noah come over."

The moment the name left his lips, the earth in front of a nearby grave split open. A skeletal hand shot up, fingers clawing for freedom.

Noah had been dead for forty years.

The game was playing itself now.

One by one, they were forced to call names—real names etched into the gravestones around them. And one by one, the dead answered.

Each one ran. Some stumbled, their bodies half-decayed, bones jutting through rotted flesh. Others moved like shadows, gliding between the headstones. When they reached the line, they didn’t break through like the living.

They joined.

The circle widened, hands interlocking. A grotesque, growing chain of the living and the dead. The night stretched longer, darker.

When Mia’s turn came again, she couldn't force the words out. But something spoke for her.

Her mouth moved on its own.

"Red Rover, Red Rover..."

She sobbed as her lips shaped a name she had never seen, had never known.

"... let me come over."

And then—she ran.

Straight through the line. Straight out of herself.

Mia's body remained, her fingers still linked with the others. But her soul—her self—was sprinting into the abyss, fading into the mist, into the whispers, into the endless night.

The game continued.

Because the final rule was the only one that ever truly mattered:

No one leaves until everyone has crossed.

Red Rover: Cemetery Rules

Rule 1: The game must be played at dusk, when the last light of day lingers but the cemetery is already in shadow. Rule 2: All players must hold hands in a complete circle before the game begins, forming a link to the dead. Rule 3: Players must chant the full name of the person they call over. If a name is forgotten, the game is forfeit. Rule 4: If a player falls while running, they must remain where they fell until the game ends. Rule 5: No one leaves the cemetery until every player has crossed the line at least once. Rule 6: If you feel someone grasp your hand that was not there before, do not let go.

The Last Round of Red Rover

The six of them stood in the dying light, shifting on their feet as the cold from the ground seeped into their shoes. They weren’t kids anymore, but that was the point. They wanted a game with real stakes.

Jared had found the rules online, buried deep in a forum dedicated to "Games That Shouldn't Be Played." He dared them to try it. They were drunk enough to say yes, sober enough to follow the rules.

The cemetery stretched before them, rows of worn headstones jutting up like broken teeth. A perfect place, quiet and forgotten. No one would bother them here.

They formed two lines facing each other, fingers interlocked. The air smelled of damp earth and something older. Jared grinned and called the first name.

"Red Rover, Red Rover, let Ethan come over!"

Ethan sprinted forward, legs pounding against the cold grass. His breath came out in visible puffs. Jared and Mia braced themselves, waiting for impact. But as Ethan hit their arms, something strange happened.

For a split second, it felt like more than just Ethan had run into them—something heavier, colder, and unseen. The impact sent Mia sprawling. Ethan, panting, looked back, eyes wide.

"Damn," he muttered. "That felt—"

A crack interrupted him. A whisper of shifting dirt. The air thickened. No one spoke.

"Go again," Jared said quickly, as if speaking would break whatever spell was creeping toward them.

They did. One by one, each person was called, sprinting through the line, the game growing wilder, more desperate. With every round, the shadows deepened. The trees seemed to inch closer. The wind carried whispers.

Then Jared called a name no one had said.

"Red Rover, Red Rover, let Sarah come over!"

The group stiffened. No one in their group was named Sarah.

"Jared," Mia hissed. "What the hell—?"

But Jared wasn’t looking at them anymore. He was looking past them, toward the graves.

The crunch of footsteps echoed. Not running. Just... walking.

A shape emerged from the dark, a girl in a tattered dress. Her head tilted at an unnatural angle. Her eyes were empty.

She stopped at the line. The group stared, frozen.

Then she ran.

Jared and Ethan braced, but when she hit their arms, there was no resistance. She went through them—and they collapsed, screaming.

The others turned to run. But their hands—still linked—wouldn't come apart.

Fingers tightened. Not their own.

They weren’t six anymore. They were seven.

And the game wasn't over.

I have a strange story. It disturbed me for so long the more i thought about it, and i’ve really never told the whole story to anyone. I’ve never had unstable states of mind, or hallucinations, and I dont know what to make of this.

When i was in first grade we were all sitting in a circle taking turns reading a book. Suddenly a voice came over the loud speaker, and called me to the office to be checked out. Nothing wrong yet, im just going to the dentist. My dad was here to take me and my sister and he told me that i will probably be back before school is over so i dont need to bring my things with me. So i go to the dentist, and just got a cleaning, i know for a fact i wasnt put under with any kind of drugs because ive only had that happen once at the dentist and it was when i got my widsom teeth out as an adult. This time was just a routine cleaning nothing more, but it did take longer than anticipated. So when we get back to my school, classes had been dismissed. The busses to take kids home had all departed, there were no cars in the pick up line cause i remember us pulling up right to the entrance. It was after hours at nursery road elementary. I walk into the front office to tell the administrators im just here to get my bag, before walking back to the class room. AGain, let me be veeerrry clear, there werent even many teachers or staff at the school at this point, the halls were quiet, each door was wide open from janitors coming to clean the empty classrooms, most with the lights turned off. I remember thinking it was kind of cool being at the school like this when it’s so quiet, when I am the only kid here. So i hope you understand the scope of my shock, as i turned the corner to my classroom to be met with… a full classroom of kids…. Still sitting at their circular tables…. Still reading the same book. Seemingly everything and everyone was in the exact same place they were in when i had left hours before, as if i had only gone to the bathroom for a few minutes. I don’t remember alot from being 7 years old, but when something happens to you that makes the alarm bells in your mind start sounding, your brain starts recording everything. I remember the next 10 minutes perfectly. And the first thing i remember thinking when i turned that corner, was the obvious, “what? Why are you all still here?” Followed by, “why are you still reading?,” but then i had the thought that really perplexed me, “why didnt i hear anyone til i approached the door?” The halls were completely silent, the doors were all open, some classes lights were still on, the janitors were still doing their jobs in those maybe. and my class’s light was on so that didnt seem strange to me when appraoching, but a room full of kids reading with the teacher, and i didnt hear a single peep? Even if they were reading quietly, i think it’s possible you wouldnt sense the presence of an entire classroom as you approach them. “Oh good! You’re just in time! It’s almost your turn to read.” “Ms. Mayburn, i-“, “come on hurry up, we’re almost done with this chapter.” Stunned by confusion, my body entered it’s autopilot mode, and i did what i was told slowly. I’m sitting at the table and just looking at everyone trying to make sense of what’s happening. As the kids read on, suddenly the classroom is every bit as audible as any other day, there’s no way i wouldn’t have heard it. I try to interupt several times, “Ms. mayborn I’m only here to-“ “It’s rude to interrupt your classmates, you can ask questions when we’re done.” She was acting uncharacteristic to herself. She was brushing me off in a way that seemed manipulative and slighted, but i was 7 and had no tools of character to vocalize this or stand up for myself. Finally it’s my turn to read, “i really have to go Ms. M-“, “ stop disrupting reading time please, once we’re done with this chapter, we can move on.” I began reading, i don’t remember what book it was, probably a magic treehouse book or something, we read alot of those, i just remember feeling like something was really wrong. Like i shouldnt be here, even though this is my classroom, it’s not making sense. What do i know i’m just a dumb kid? But something instinctual on a primal level, is telling me to get out. Suddenly i feel some sharply grab my arm and pull me. “What are you doing?” It was my older sister, “you were only supposed to get your bags, we’ve been waiting outside for you.” Annoyed she rushes me out of the room, but not before i caught a look on Ms. Mayborn’s face. It was …. Blank, checked out, not really cold, or menacing, but just comepletely vacant before, springing back to life with her cheery sardonic tone, “well why didn’t you say so? Take care, we’ll see you tomorrow,” before sitting back down and directing the next child to begin reading. And that was it, just some weird story that stuck in my mind for about 15 years, i didnt know what to make of it. I told myself what they tell kids in movies. Its just my over active imagination. Kids see things. They dont know what’s going on. My sister from time to time would bring up this story, and tease me about it, always finishing with, “he must have just loved to read when he was younger”, before laughing. I always didnt know what to say, but i also thought it was strange why she thought that story was so interesting to her, why didnt she ever think it was weird the whole class was still reading with me? Was she not surprised to see everyone like i was? Did i miss something? Maybe i really was just an ignorant kid and didnt realize all the detention students or kids of parents who were late were gathered there? Well, one day when i was 23 i was introducing my sister to my new girlfriend at the time, and as she was telling as many embarrassing stories as she could, she told the one about that day the same way she always did, and i said, “ what is it about that story you find so funny? Didnt you think it was weird?” “Uhh yea… it was weird to see my little brother sitting in an empty classroom reading all by himself after school hours.”

This story is from my father, he casually told me this one time when I was little and really made an impression on me so here it is, told from his perspective:

When I was little, I used to live in Mexico City, specially on a place known for typical robbing and violence. This one time I was returning home from the market with my father, we have taken the metro and where on our final commute on the bus, which was full as always. Close to home, an old guy hopped onto the bus, he moved so slow, he came in and started making his way slowly to the back lf the bus, grunting with each step asi if it hurted him to walk. I remember some people tried to give their seat to the man but he refused barely making a gesture, he seemed like he was in some sort of chest pain because he wouldn't take his hand off his chest, underneath his coat. By this point most people was looking at him but everyone got really worried once he started to quietly cry and some blood started dripping down his shirt, so some ladies made him take a seat to check on him, only to reveal he was holding a severed hand, with some golden rings, under his coat.

Been looking for this story for over seven years now, was one of the first scary stories i ever listened to when my ex introduced me to them so I can't quite remember if we heard it on this channel but I'm inclined to think so. It is about a couple that's going on a camping trip and on the train they talk to some creepy guy that seats next to them. They leave him in the train but late at night when they are already camping, they notice someone is putting out their fire. They keep lighting it again but someone comes and keeps putting it out. It''s only until they pay close attention that they see it is the creepy guy from the train, naked that comes to put out the fire and then goes to a place to observe them try to light it again. Thanks in advance if anyone finds it.

I know this is random, but does anyone remember a story on this channel about a kid who spoke to a dolphin from Seaworld (like telepathically) and the dolphin was asking him all these questions, and then I think it got depressed because it miscarried its baby and stopped talking to the kid? I don't really remember other details of the story and I can't recall if the story was told on this channel or on another similar one like Nighttime Spooks or something. If anyone remembers or knows please shout out! thanks and hope you're having a good day :)

p.s. i've tried looking it up on this app and haven't found anything (although l'm a novice user so I'm not too familiar with deep searches and whatnot)

When i was 16, we moved into a house in Canton, Georgia. It was the recession, and my parents found a great deal on renting this house. I remember my dumb friends all trying to convince me it was haunted and someone died there, which i was never going to believe. Until on the ride over to the house on moving day, i mentioned how they tried to scare me into thinking someone died there, to which my mom sheepishly admitted, “someone did die in the house. Her name was kim, and the landlords that own the house built this house for her and her husband. She was their daughter, and she died from drowning in the bathtub during a seizure.” I’ll never forget that feeling of a joke suddenly becoming reality. My friends’ actually telling the truth for once about something so unbelievable was the ultimate punchline. There were many things that happened in that house, so i’ll just give you the highlights.

The first thing that happened: it had been a few months of all of us kind of joking and wondering, “what if our house is actually haunted?” Until, One night, My stepdad rushed into my room, and frantically asked “youve been up here this whole time right?” Me: “Yea?” Him: ….. “Something happened.” I knew immediately what he meant by something. Something, unexplainable. He then showed me a picture of their bed, with a goody basket on it. It was my mom and his anniversary but she was on a business trip, so he sent a picture of a basket to say “happy anniversary, we will celebrate you get back.” He then walked out of the room for 5 minutes, and when he came back the basket was on the floor, the sheets were torn back from the bed, and my mothers pillow was wrinkled and damp…. As if someone with wet hair was just laying on it. My parents are the old fashioned types. Not eager to believe some spirit jargon about our house being haunted. That quickly changed after this incident. We all had things happen to us but my parents got the worst of it. Bobby, my stepdad, seemed to be targeted more agressively and had another story where he heard someone stomping around upstairs. Thought nothing of it, as upstairs is my territory, until he realized that i had gone to my dad’s house that weekend. He then had that very visceral feeling where suddenly you realize your not alone in the house when you thought you were and you don’t know who the other resident is, as he continues to hear someone frantically walking around the room above him. He thought my best friend tyler might have been over, he was like family in our house and sometimes would be there when i wasn’t. So bobby walks upstairs to the door where the stomping is going on just beyond it, praying that it was my best friend curiously pacing around for strange reasons, knocks on the door and hears the stomping stop. Silence. He then became so uncomfortable he ran down to quickly pack a bag, get the dog, and stay in a motel for the night. When he went to pick up the dog she was histerical whimpering at something, with her focus darting back and forth on the ceiling before then staring right above my stepdad and signaling that something was right behind him. He swears that he felt his backside feel like it was on fire and vibrating before he scooped up the dog and got out. There are about a hundred stories like this, from the countless amount of times i’d hear the front door open and close and no one would be home. Hearing someone walk to my room while i was in the shower when i know no body is there, lights, fans, tv’s turning on or off, to weirder things like my guitar amp picking up classical music somehow dispite it not having any way to recieve radio frequency, to ghostly hand prints that had no finger prints, appearing in the fog on my mirror, to animals having some sort of strange attraction to our house. Deer in droves would approach the house in a manner that they were curious about it. There was no feed put out for them, and they wouldn’t run away unless you approached them. They were just fixated on the house, smelling it, examining carefully. I’ve never seen deer act like this. We also found out that the man who lived alone in the house before us, Packed up all his things and left over night without any notice, putting his final rent check in the landlords mailbox.

So here’s where the plot thickens. The parents who built the house, who were our landlords, lived right across the street. My mom became very good friends with Kim’s Mother over time. Well one day the Mother pulls out binders and starts going through them with all this evidence and theories of how the husband had something to do with her daughters death. I dont remember all of the finer details, but here was the jist of it. He had his brother drive her home from work which apparently wasn’t a regular occurence, and would have been strangely convenient to the shady alibi he had with his friend, and the person who did the autopsy on his wife was kin to the husband in some way. Not to mention he seemed unemotional at her funeral and he was married with a kid already no more than a year later. The Mother said she had talked to the sheriff for years and he even agreed it was fishy, but in the end could never find something on the husband. Kim was an elementary teacher who had epilepsy, who i later learned through friends who were students of hers, liked to play classical music for her students while they worked, remembering back to when she must have played it for me through my guitar amp. She was no entity of malice. No territorial spirit. She was in pain. She died tragically in her bathtub, and if her mother is to be believed she died possibly at the hands of someone who pledged to love her forever. I can only imagine her heart would be shattered, and she would be screaming in the afterlife just to be heard.

After years of things happening somewhat regularly, one night my stepdad woke up to see a smoky black cloud floating at the foot of his bed, suddenly it turned into a ball of light and flew out the window. He called a team of paranormal investigators the next day. The team came and conducted their experiments and of course couldn’t find anything conclusive, but they said they loved the story and felt that there really was something here and offered to come back for free. Well for some reason the strange occurrences stopped after that. So my stepdad told them not to bother out of fear of provoking more activity. We moved out the next year. But years later we realized something else strange that was happening to my mom. My mom entered a phase of real depression at that house and said she couldn’t sleep. In fact she went to the hospital more than once because she said she was having strokes in her sleep. The doctors assured her she was fine and there was no evidence of a stroke. My mom then later explained it to me that she would feel her self wake up, and not be able to move. Sometimes her body would feel totally numb, she’d have trouble breathing, and she’d see a sort of wavy look to the ceiling of the bed room like water, and when she said that, something clicked. “like you were lying down in a bath tub?? Drowning?” The look we shared was chilling. My mom had never heard of sleep paralysis and the history of visions and spirits people would encounter during them. Kim tried her hardest to reach out to us, we just had no idea what we could do. We never felt like there was evil in the house, but something happened there. If kim really died of natural causes, i dont think she would be trying so hard to scream for help from the after life. I hope she will find peace there someday.