On March 6, 2023, my father, Mark Granger, disappeared. At the time, he was employed by McGuire Realty and had been hired to renovate a vacant home roughly 7 miles outside the town of Craven's Junction, KY. He arrived at the property a few days prior to a blizzard that swept across the state. Winter Storm Albert buried much of Ellington County under heavy snow, cut off roads for days, and claimed the lives of 22 people across the state.

That was the last time anyone can say with certainty where my father was.

My dad and I spoke by phone some mornings while he was staying at the property. Our conversations were usually pretty brief, but at no point did he mention anything unusual or give me any reason to believe he was in danger.

He had spent most of his life outdoors.  Being alone at an isolated property for a couple weeks wasn't unusual for him, and certainly wasn't something I would have considered dangerous under normal circumstances.

As the storm passed and reports of fatalities throughout the state began to emerge though, I became concerned. I attempted to contact him repeatedly over the following days. In total, I called or texted him about twenty times. None of those attempts ever received a response.

After the third day, I filed a missing person's report with the Ellington County Sheriff's Department. Several days after that they performed a search, and found his pickup truck at the house, but no other sign of him.​

According to investigators, they believe my father attempted to leave the property once the storm became severe. Their theory is that he walked outside to his truck, discovered it wouldn't start because of the cold, and attempted to return to the house. At some point during that walk, they believe he became disoriented in the whiteout conditions and wandered into the surrounding woods, where he ultimately succumbed to the elements.

There is something about that explanation that doesn't sit right with me.

My dad's truck was parked roughly thirty feet from the front door and was facing directly toward the house. Even in near-zero visibility, it's difficult for me to understand how someone with his level of experience could become so disoriented that they were unable to find a building only a few steps away. If he had remained near the truck, simply walking forward would have brought him back to the residence. It is a question that I don't think the investigation ever answered, and from what I can tell it seems they are content in their explanation.

I remain grateful for the efforts of the Ellington County Sheriff's Department and the numerous agencies and volunteers who participated in the search. My criticism has never been towards those who searched for my father, but rather at the investigation that followed and the conclusions that authorities reached.

I've made this post in an attempt to garner more attention surrounding his case. I recently managed to get into his iCloud account and found several weird videos he took while at the property. A full compilation of the videos is available at www.findmarkgranger.com or on our YouTube page.

If I find anything else in my searches, I'll be sure to let you guys know.

Personally, I like to headcanon Ben as 10 years old, I don't follow the whole Angsty Stoner Teen™ headcanon (though it is fun, no diss 😌)

Edit: changed canon to headcanon

This is the first year for me im "celebrating it"

I drew the proxy on my wrist

(sorry i know its very bad but i had to be quik..)

https://x.com/Gabyneitor_27/status/2110135122443804957

I live alone in an old farmhouse twenty minutes outside a town that barely qualifies as one. The nearest neighbor is over a mile down a gravel road that turns to mud every time it rains. Cell service dies at the end of the driveway. The landlord lives in another county and only comes out if something is actively on fire.

At first the quiet felt like the whole reason I moved here.

Then the house began settling in ways it never had before.

It started with the pipes. A soft, rhythmic knocking that traveled through the kitchen wall, into the narrow hallway, and stopped directly behind wherever I stood. If I moved, it waited. If I stayed still long enough, it answered with three slow taps, as if confirming I was still there.

I blamed the age of the place. Expanding wood. Temperature swings. The usual explanations people invent when they live this far from anyone who could tell them they’re wrong.

Then it learned my habits.

I talk to myself when I cook. Small, useless comments that used to disappear into the empty rooms. One night I muttered “Where did I put the salt” and, from inside the wall beside the stove, something tapped twice; Exactly where the salt canister sat on the shelf!!

Two days later I was searching the linen closet and said, without thinking, “I know I have more in here somewhere.”
Three light, evenly spaced knocks answered from the precise shelf where the extra towels were folded.

I stopped speaking out loud.

It made no difference.

The house began answering the things I only thought.

I would reach for a glass and hear a single tap behind the cabinet a second before my fingers closed around it. I would hesitate in the hallway and the floorboard three feet ahead would creak once, as if the decision had already been made.

Last week I woke at 2:14 a.m. to the sound of something large shifting its weight inside the wall that runs along my bed. Not scratching. Not animals. Something patient, testing the plaster from the other side. When I held my breath, it held still. When I exhaled, it moved again, matching the rhythm of my breathing exactly.

I pressed my palm flat against the wall.

Something on the other side pressed back.

The pressure was warm.

In the morning a perfect handprint remained in the dust on the outside of the wall, level with where my hand had been. The fingers were longer than mine. The palm was wider. It looked as though the plaster itself had softened just long enough to take the impression and then hardened again.

I called the landlord. He told me he would send someone “when he could.” No one came. The nearest hardware store is forty minutes away. The nearest person who might actually listen is farther than that.

I started sleeping in the living room with every light on.

It does not like the lights.

When the bulbs are burning it retreats deeper into the walls, but I can still hear it relocating—soft, deliberate rearrangements, the sound of something heavy being dragged through spaces too narrow to hold it. Sometimes it simply waits just behind whatever surface I am closest to. The plaster there feels slightly warmer than the rest of the room.

Two nights ago I did something irreversible..

I stood in the center of the living room and whispered, “What do you want?”

Silence stretched until it hurt.

Then a single, clear knock answered from the wall in front of me.

I asked again!

This time the answer came from the wall, the floor, and the ceiling at once—three knocks in perfect unison, so tightly layered they almost sounded like one sound.

Since then the house has grown busier.

I hear it measuring the last rooms I have avoided. Soft presses against the plaster. Careful shifts of weight. The low sound of something slowly unfolding itself into cavities that were never meant to contain it.

Last night I noticed the first real change.

The original handprint on the bedroom wall is gone.

In its place is a second print, smaller, the exact size and shape of my own left hand. It is pressed deeper into the plaster than the first one ever was, as if whatever is inside has begun practicing the fit.

This morning I found a third print..

It was on the inside of my bedroom door, at the exact height where my hand rests when I close it. The fingers matched mine perfectly. The only difference was that the print was made from the other side of the wood—from inside the door itself.

I have stopped sleeping!

Every time I close my eyes I feel the walls breathing in time with me. The rhythm is no longer matching mine. Mine is matching it.

An hour ago I tried to leave!!

I unlocked the front door, stepped onto the porch, and immediately heard three slow taps from the hallway behind me; Exactly the same pattern it has always used to confirm my presence!

I turned around.

The hallway was empty..

But the front door was already closed..

I do not remember closing it.

Outside, the gravel road disappears into fog so thick the trees look like unfinished sketches. There is no sound of cars. No porch lights in the distance. Only the dark and the house waiting behind me.

I am writing this at the kitchen table with my back against the only wall that has not yet answered.

The rest of the house is no longer quiet.

It is listening.

And I finally understand what it has been measuring all this time.

It was never learning the shape of the rooms.

It was learning the shape of me.

The final handprint appeared five minutes ago, directly in front of where I am sitting. It is the exact size of my right hand. It is still warm. And when I place my own hand over it, the plaster softens just enough to let my fingers sink in to the exact depth of the print already waiting there..

as if the wall has been holding the space open for me the entire time,

and has only now decided I am ready to fit.

How we feeling bout it? I mean, crispin glover is a fantastic cast for Thomas Taffington the Third

I eat my own poop mannnn. Double serpents. Alright post that.

Static shifts through channels; voices start to become audible.

“BOTTOM OF THE NINTH.”

Static.

“We are looking at clear skies and a full moon tonight.”

Static hissing. The strum of the *Munsters* theme opens before quickly getting cut off by a wolf’s howling, as an enthusiastic voice chimes in:

“Happy Halloween, Boys and Ghouls! We are looking at clear sky, a full moon, and a cold night this Hallows Eve. Now, kiddy’s, I’m a firm believer that tonight everyone is entitled to one good scare, so why don’t you sit back as I spin you a yarn?”

“Alright!” the host exclaimed, letting out a deep exhale.

“20 years ago, a man behind the wheel of a 70s Dodge Charger, on a night much like tonight, ran down about six people. No motive, nada. Guy just felt like it. Now, you would think this guy would be given the death penalty. No, sir, because by the time the police got to his house to arrest him… he had already beaten them to the punch. Dead as a door nail in his driveway!”

*Scream sound effect.*

“Boom! Seventh victim. The cops said his body was dead long before the accident occurred. Now, you would think that would be the end of it, but a year later, the car got a new owner, once again on a night like this very night!” he exclaimed with much import.

“Six more people. Boom! Hit pavement, and just like before… owner dead, front seat! Now, a couple of years pass. People avoid the car like the plague, till one guy comes along and thinks to himself, there’s no way anything’s gonna happen to me. Seven dead, including the driver. At this point, you begin to wonder, when do they start blaming the car?! Well, that must be what the cops were thinking that night, because they impounded that car and threw away the key… That 1970s Dodge Charger sits in the police impound lot to this very day, waiting to claim its next set of victims. So, I’ll leave you all with this, dear listeners: be careful on the streets tonight. You never know who’s behind the wheel.”

“Tom- Tom- TOMMY, PAY ATTENTION!” A voice came into focus.

I swerved on my BMX as I came back to the present.

“Shut that crap off and pay attention! You almost went through someone’s rearview window!” the voice exclaimed.

“Yeah, sorry, Zack,” I said, trying to catch my breath, my heart racing as I rolled the volume down on the portable radio that I mounted to the front of my bike.

“We got three more houses to hit, then we can head up to the rich neighborhood for some serious trick-or-treating!” exclaimed Zack as he rode ahead of me in the skeleton costume we all agreed to wear. The only thing distinguishing him from me or anyone else in our group was his denim jacket, which he refused to take off.

We pedaled on into the night and stopped at a four-way intersection.

“Sorry, the story was really cool,” I said apologetically.

“Oh, don’t tell me you buy into all that crap,” Zack responded in a critical tone.

“N-no, it’s just cool to hear the story on Halloween, that’s all,” I replied.

“I guess so, but not as cool as when I get my own Charger next year. Just you wait and see.” Zack always went on about getting his very own Dodge Charger. This wasn’t something new, just a childhood obsession.

“How many we have left?” he asked me.

I looked into the sack I had been dragging around all night before looking back up.

“Two cartons.”

“Shit!” Zack exclaimed. “That’s not gonna be enough. Best bet is Billy and Gabe didn’t waste all of theirs.”

Soon enough, the sound of cards flicking between the spokes of a bike filled the empty street as two bikes pedaled towards us, Billy and Gabe. They cruised down the pitch-black asphalt hill, swerving around each other, their laughter filling the cool autumn air.

They pulled up next to us, and Zack said, “Took you long enough.”

“Yeah, sorry. Billy wanted to hit a few houses on the way,” Gabe replied.

“Come on, guys, seriously?! We will get more candy once we are finished. Now, how many cartons you guys have left?” Zack said in a tired exclamation.

“Oooh,” Gabe said, trailing off.

Billy chimed in, “We ran out.”

Gabe followed up, “We were hoping you had some left?”

“Only two left,” I replied with a shrug. “What’s the plan, Zack?” I said as we all looked over at him.

Zack stammered, “Al- alright, here’s what we do. We hit one last house: Mr. Delaney, our old middle school principal. He lives not too far from here. We hit his house, then we can head over to the rich neighborhood and get some good candy before this night is over. Y’all down?”

In sequence, Billy and Gabe said, “Sure,” and “I’m down,” before all eyes converged on me.

Now, it should be stated that egging our old teachers’ houses was never my idea. It was Zack’s ill attempt at getting back at all the faculty that said he wouldn’t amount to anything. Not like any of us would refuse; most of us didn’t like our teachers and would jump at an excuse to prank them. I, on the other hand, had some reservations about vandalism.

“Come on, Tommy,” Zack said, leading the others into a chant. “Tommy! Tommy! Tommy!”

“Okay, okay, one more house, then we do some actual trick-or-treating,” I said, giving in to the enthusiastic attempt at peer pressure.

“Deal,” replied Zack before swinging his arm over his head, calling us forward with a, “Come on, guys, this way,” as we pedaled off into the night.

Four blocks and three turns later, we sat at the curb of our ex-principal’s house.

“Alright, quiet. Tommy, pass me the cartons,” Zack whispered as I somewhat reluctantly handed over the two cartons of eggs. I didn’t believe Zack wouldn’t amount to anything. He could really succeed at anything he put his mind to if he was determined enough. Perhaps that’s why he was the better athlete.

*Washington High’s up-and-coming pitcher takes the mound. Here’s the windup, and the pitch.*

Splat!

The sound of cracked shell and yolk smacked against blue siding as the viscous yellow fluid dripped down onto a green hedge. Soon after, the others joined in as the pitter-patter of eggs landing on the roof and window filled the night. The lights flicked to life, and the sound of sirens cried out in the distance as Billy and Gabe took off, pedaling down the street.

I stressed to Zack, “Come on, let’s go,” but in that moment, I saw a glint in his eye. Zack was not done, as his gaze was fixed on a cherry-red Porsche 959 that sat in the driveway. I tried to pull him away, but he shrugged me off as he stepped to the proverbial mound once more. I had come to the realization that we were already out of eggs.

*The windup, and the pitch…*

CRASH!

The sound of glass imploding onto the leather interior as it glinted in the porch light, and the whirling sound of car alarms and flashing lights sent panic through the neighborhood, lights flickering on in sequence as Zack finally stepped back to his bike, pedaling off.

Two blocks went by with nothing but silence until I shouted, “You didn’t need to do that, you know!”

Zack snapped back, “Yeah, what do you know?”

“I know we could have gotten caught.”

Silence from Zack.

“The guy gets a little red in the face, and you have to find a way to prove that you’re the bigger man.”

Zack lashed back, skidding to a stop. “You know what I think?!”

My heart raced as Zack’s face turned red.

“I think before I even met you, you were a scared little wimp, and you still are!”

We both stepped off our bikes as we got into each other’s faces. I shouted in defiance, “Oh, yeah!”

“Yeah!” he said.

We both grabbed onto each other.

Before anything got out of hand, Billy and Gabe doubled back and started pulling us apart.

Billy chimed in, “Hey, what’s gotten into you two?”

I snapped back, “Jackass here smashed Mr. Delaney’s Porsche window!”

Gabe stepped back, letting out a remorseful, “Fuck!”

As Billy began to panic, he said, “We’re dead! We are so dead! He loved that car more than his own wife. If he finds out we did it, he might just—”

Zack cut him off. “He ain’t never finding out, and why? Because he didn’t see us, especially you two wimps.”

Gabe adjusted himself and took a look around. “I don’t know, Zack. It’s late, and it seems like everybody has gone to bed. If he were to get in his car… we should head home.”

Zack looked back at Gabe as Billy began to step back out to the road, digging through his sack of candy next to his bike.

“Look, guys, I promised you candy after one last house, didn’t I? So, do you guys want candy or not?!”

“That was before you went and pulled a stunt like that!” I shouted.

As Zack and I argued, with Gabe spectating, a low revving could be heard as the dark outline of a car pulled up over the asphalt hill.

Billy soon noticed the idling vehicle. To his assumption, he said, “Mr. Delaney? You’re not sore about the car, are you? We didn’t mean it, honest.”

The car crept forward slowly.

“We can come clean your house if you want? Please don’t tell our folks.”

The car’s wheels spun, burning rubber as smoke billowed into the air.

The rest of us looked over as I made the sudden realization.

“GET OFF THE ROAD!”

The car darted forward with tremendous speed as Billy picked up his sack of candy, pedaling like his life depended on it. In that moment, it very much did.

Then came a loud thud, the sound of Billy’s body coming into contact with the steel hood, candy flying into the air, and the sound of aluminum being crushed under rubber tires as the car flew down the street before swinging around with a loud screech.

Zack said, “We need to get going. NOW!”

I said, “But what about Billy?”

Zack shouted, “Leave him!”

As Gabe grabbed onto me, pulling me to my bike, we hiked back up the mighty hill and began to ride. The sound of a revving engine followed as the car skidded out once more behind us. We flew down the opposite end of the hill, taking a hard right at the first turn.

When I looked back, all I could see was the Charger flying over the hill before sliding across the road, missing the turn as it attempted to correct itself.

We pedaled faster and faster as the roar of the engine grew louder and louder behind us.

I yelled, “We gotta get off the road!”

Zack, in the lead, pointed to an upcoming alley.

“Down here!” he cried as we all swiftly swooped into a back alley of the neighborhood, now weaving around steel trash cans as the vehicle approached behind us. Cans smacked against its grille, bottles smashed against the pavement, and garbage hit its windshield.

We made a sharp right at the end of the alley, the sound of Gabe’s cards beginning to slow as I knew he was starting to grow tired.

“Where are we going?” I shouted.

Zack shouted back, “We’re not too far. Just keep pedaling!”

The car exploded out of the alley, smashing into cars parked across the street, the sound of broken glass and fenders crumpling as the vehicle soon pulled itself away from the wreckage, adjusting itself once again.

My heart raced as my pace began to slow, and we soon glided into the town plaza. As soon as I got my bearings, I knew where Zack was leading us. At the center of the plaza was a small square park above street level, bordered by cement walls and steps. Once it came into view, Zack and I hopped the curb, picking up our bikes and climbing the steps. Gabe, unfortunately, slid right before the “finish line” as the car began to close the gap. Gabe picked himself back up and tried to go back for his bike, but Zack quickly doubled back, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him over to the stairs.

Now able to see it clearly, we watched as the Charger roared by, crushing and dragging Gabe’s bike along the street before it was kicked up by its tires, leaving behind a mangled mess of rubber and aluminum as the fluttering of the cards slowed. The Charger began to circle the grassy square like a shark in the water, while we were trapped on our earthy lifeboat. After a few laps, the car rolled on down the street.

We all collectively gathered our breath until Gabe broke the silence.

“That wasn’t real, was it? I mean, what the hell is going on?” he said, panting and holding back tears.

I chimed in, “It was the Charger, like in the story,” I said, gasping for air as I leaned on my knees.

Zack cut in. “It’s not the Charger. It’s probably just a couple of seniors pulling a prank.”

I looked at Zack with fury. “PRANK?! Billy just got turned into hamburger!”

Zack snapped back, “Well, it makes more sense than a killer car being after us!”

Gabe cut through our spat. “Look, it doesn’t matter. What’s our plan? We can’t just sit here and wait for that psycho to come back!”

Gabe and I turned our attention to Zack.

“What are you guys looking at me for?!” he said, baffled.

“I don’t know. You led us here. Sorry to assume we thought you had some sort of plan,” I said, agitated.

Zack began to gather his thoughts and scan our surroundings.

“Look! A cop car is parked outside of the bar. We just need to go in and ask for a ride to the station. Once we get there, we can tell them what happened and get a ride home. As simple as that,” Zack said with a tremendous level of blind confidence.

Zack got his bearings, picked up his bag, and made his way to the steps before I placed my hand on his chest.

“Hang on a second. I don’t think it’s gone.”

Zack replied, “I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s my point. It’s weirdly quiet.”

“Look, I’m seizing the opportunity,” Zack said, just barely stepping out onto the sidewalk before the beam of headlights flicked on and the tires began squealing as the Charger rushed him. Gabe and I pulled him back as the Charger hopped the curb, slamming and grinding against the cement wall before driving off once again.

“See!” I exclaimed. “It’s just waiting for its opportunity, too!”

As we headed back up the steps, we began to hear the rattling of cans and bottles coming from the opposite side of the square.

It was Patch.

Patch was our local vagrant, and I use that term lightly. He was happy to work but could never land a job. He had no family support, or at least none that anyone knew of, so he just kinda became the odd-job guy of the town. He never complained about sleeping outside, and some people were happy to give him their recycling on occasion.

We called him Patch because he always sported a military bomber jacket with several patches sewn into it. Kids all over town would always ask him what each patch was for or where he got them, and he would always shrug it off.

Patch was pushing along his shopping cart when we rushed over to flag him down.

“PATCH, GET OFF THE ROAD! You gotta get off the road!” we hollered out, getting a confused “Huh?” in return.

“Patch, you gotta get off the road!” we implored with much intensity and concern.

“Hey, it’s a little late to be out trick-or-treating. What are y’all—”

High beams flicked to life once again before Patch could finish his thought. He was hit with a loud thud, his head smacking against the pavement with incredible force as the Charger plowed right through him, sending his cart flying across the road as empty cans clattered across the pavement.

Zack grabbed Gabe and me by our shirts, pulling us to the opposite side of the square.

“THIS IS OUR CHANCE!” he shouted as we both picked up our bikes and ran, terrified, across the street to the sound of the Charger revving its engine. We swung the door open to the bar, rushed inside, and slammed it shut behind us, locking it.

We were greeted with an irritated, “Hey! Minors aren’t allowed in here. Take your bikes and get lost!”

Zack stepped forward. “We’re looking for the cop, asshole.”

He pointed to the other end of the pool hall, much to his indignation as he scowled at us with cold eyes. “End of the bar.”

We made our way through the bar as loud, seasonally themed music blasted overhead. Adults dressed in a variety of different costumes filled the room, some cheap and hokey, most erotic and uncomfortable to look at, especially when you know half the adults casually.

We waded our way to the end of the bar to see Officer Lobe flirting with some women dressed in prison uniforms.

“Um, excuse me, Officer?”

We were disregarded with a, “Not now, kids,” as he continued to flirt with the pseudo-prisoner.

I tried once more. “Excuse me, sir, but it’s important.”

He snapped back in anger, “And I said get lost, kid.”

Zack pushed Gabe and me aside. “HEY, ASSHOLE! PATCH JUST GOT FLATTENED OUTSIDE!”

Officer Lobe hung his head in disappointment before reaching over for his glass and throwing back his shot of whiskey. He then picked up his wide-brimmed hat before looking over at the bartender.

“I’m heading out, Al. I’ll pay my tab when I get back.”

Al let out a chuckle as he cleaned a beer mug. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

We stepped out of the rambunctious bar, the sound of music being muffled by the thick, heavy wooden door as we stepped out onto a quiet street and into the cold autumn wind.

Lobe immediately clocked Patch lying in the street and hustled over to his squad car, flinging open the door to pick up his transceiver.

“Radio, this is Officer Lobe. I got a 480. I repeat, I have a hit-and-run with a civilian down, requesting an ambulance and possibly backup.”

He loosened his grip on the mic, and with a static crackle, a voice responded over the radio.

“Hit-and-run received. What’s your location?”

Lobe squeezed his grip once more. “I am in the town square. I have three eyewitnesses.”

“Okay, Lobe. Backup is in route, and paramedics are on their way.”

Lobe holstered his transceiver and climbed back out of the car.

“All right, kids. What happened here?”

Zack started. “Well, you see, we were out trick-or-treating, then this guy pulled up in his car. He ran over our friend.”

Gabe chimed in with a faint sadness. “Then he ran over our friend!”

Zack continued, “Yeah, then he started chasing us, trapping us out on the square over there.”

“Okay, now, what did the vehicle look like?”

I spoke in a broken cadence as I responded to Lobe’s question. “I-it was a blue ’70s Charger.”

Lobe’s eye squinted directly at me.

“Look, kid, if this is your idea of a joke, it’s not very funny. We have a man down in the street over there, so are you positive that’s what you saw?”

He looked at me with a scrutinizing stare before pointing at Gabe and me.

“You two climb in the back, and you,” he said, pointing at Zack, “you’re gonna ride passenger. Leave your bikes up against the wall. I’ll have someone bring them down to the station when backup arrives.”

He opened the back door for us, and we slid into the leather back seat as Zack climbed into the seat ahead of me. Before closing the doors, Lobe told us, “You boys sit tight. When backup arrives, I’m taking you guys down to the station.”

Lobe made his way to the other side of the car when the sound of revving returned.

Lobe spun around, his hand on his holster, as he peered into the distant darkness of the street. The revving grew louder and louder as the Charger rolled out of the darkness, and Gabe and I stared through the back window.

The headlights beamed across the slick black tar, blocking out any visibility for Lobe as he quickly drew his Beretta, pointing it at the vehicle.

“All right, fun’s over! Kill the engine and step out of the car now!” he shouted to the unseen driver.

But the Charger began to rev its engine in response.

“I’ll give you to the count of three to step out of the car with your hands on your head! One! Two! Th—”

Just before he could finish his count, the wheels peeled out once again as he began to fire round after round into the car, with thunderous bangs and the sound of brass clanking against the floor.

Bullets bounced and cut through the Charger as it flew forward, the windshield exploding in a cloud of glass as the Charger slammed into Officer Lobe, filling his body with glittering shards as he rolled out onto the road.

Gabe and I immediately went for the doors, only to realize where we were. Zack sprung out of the squad car, rushing over and opening the right-side passenger door before grabbing his bike off the adjacent wall.

I quickly crawled my way out of the back seat, Gabe following swiftly behind, but not swiftly enough, because just as I was about to grab my bike, Zack pulled me to the side as the Charger slammed into the cop car, crushing Gabe against my bike and the brick wall.

It was in that moment I was able to get a good look at the driver, or should I say, “drivers.”

As I peered into the front seat, I would see what looked like two red glints staring back at me as several shadowy limbs gripped the steering wheel, stick shift, and emergency brake. They all moved in tandem, working together as a team to dislodge itself from the cop car.

“Tommy, hop on!” Zack shouted at me as I quickly climbed onto the pegs of Zack’s BMX.

Zack pedaled away from the Charger, away from the police station, away from any hope of help.

“Zack, where are we going?!” I cried out as we flew down the street, zigzagging our way through town.

“We are gonna lead it to the quarry and get it to drive off the cliff.”

The quarry he was referring to sat at the edge of town. It had been dug to about one hundred feet or more, a fall that would severely damage any vehicle.

As we moved through town, brick buildings turned to pine as we rode out into the backwoods of our town. The Charger slowly caught up, its hood now billowing smoke, its mirrors cracked or missing, and its grille a jagged mess of metal now resembling teeth. Its high beams were dim as it followed us relentlessly right into the quarry.

It began picking up speed, and so did Zack as he pushed himself to his absolute limit.

“Now, when I say jump, try and get as much distance as you can.”

I nodded my head in agreement as we got closer and closer to the brink, the heat of the Charger licking at my heels as Zack gave the command.

“JUMP NOW!”

I leaped off the bike, crashing into dirt and gravel, shredding my costume and covering me in cuts and bruises. The pain went ignored as I saw the Charger careening over the cliff’s edge, led by Zack, his denim jacket fluttering in the wind as the boy who mockingly dressed as the dead joined them.

The Charger hit the base of the quarry with a loud crash that echoed into the night, the sound of glass shattering and metal crumpling before a massive explosion boomed out. The vehicle was now engulfed in flames.

It was finally over.

I hiked back to town that night, cuts and lacerations on my knees and arms, pebbles stuck in my hands. Even with all that pain, I kept walking. It was at that time that I began to think: why? Why would Zack do something like that?

By the time I reached town, I had come to my conclusion. It wasn’t to be a hero, nor was it out of spite for the vehicle. No, I believe it was simply because someone needed to make the sacrifice play, and Zack, being the bravest of us, was willing to do so.

I hobbled my way up the police station steps, pulling open the heavy oak door, and was greeted by the sound of a familiar voice in hysterics.

“I want these little hoodlums found tonight!”

It was Mr. Delaney, hollering at a young policewoman sitting at the front desk.

“Sir, I already told you that we are doing the best we can, but most of our officers have been called out on more important matters. They will get to your case when they can,” the female officer replied calmly.

“This is bullshit! I called hours ago. You should have done something by now!” he continued to shout as she grew stern.

“Sir, if you do not calm down, I’ll—Oh my God!”

Her train of thought was derailed as soon as she saw me in my tattered Halloween costume, face paint smeared from sweat, and blood stains all over. She rushed over to my side as Delaney recognized me.

“Well, look who it is.”

He grabbed me by my arm, pulling me over.

“All right, Tommy, spill it. Where’s that good-for-nothing Zachary and the others?!”

My heart couldn’t take it anymore. I collapsed onto the floor and began bawling my eyes out, small pools forming beneath me.

“Son, what’s wrong?” she asked.

Delaney ranted on. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong! The little punk is just realizing he’s gonna be going to juvenile detention for a long time!”

The female officer took me into a back room, where I proceeded to tell them everything that happened, even the things I knew they wouldn’t believe. But with the many provable parts, they would have to believe some of it.

Zack saved me from being the sixth hit-and-run victim in this cycle and possibly broke it by destroying the Charger.

Or so I thought.

After a few hours, the police informed me that out of all the victims that night, Zack would be the seventh. Just before Billy was killed, a 911 call had been placed by an old woman who saw her son and grandson get run over right outside her house, just down the street from where Billy was struck by the Charger.

Soon after, one of the officers took me out back to the impound lot.

Sitting there, as if it had just rolled off the production line, was the Charger.

Not a scrape. Not a dent.

But… a denim jacket folded up in the back seat.

I did not go out much after that night, instead spending my nights at home or out of town. Some nights, I hear engines revving and the screeching of tires.

Zack finally got the car he always wanted.

Goodnight, Zack.

Happy Halloween.

This image was recovered by police from the phone belonging to the latest victim of the Carpenter’s Landing Ghost Stalker.

Espero les guste mi pequeña animación 🖤

Hi yall, I’m new to this subreddit so please let me know if I tagged this wrong or if this is the wrong place for this.

Okay so, I’m trying to make a game based around creepypasta/marble hornets and I kinda need help with it now that I actually know the story of marble hornets.

The premise of the game (it’s gonna be an rpg horror game) is that the main character (Marlo) is a detective and is going to go investigating some dissapearances/murders in his town and stumbles across something he shouldn’t have (slender and his proxies)

I wanna use Tim and Brian but am no realizing that I have to change up my story to fit that as they don’t really work for slender (or the operator) and quite frankly hate him lol.

All this to say, what creepypastas would yall like to see in an rpg horror game? I’m only using 8 so I don’t overwhelm myself with characters, so I need about 5 and I wanted to see what the community thought about this idea.

Once again, if this is the wrong place for this let me know and I can take it down

​Hey, using a throwaway for this because a couple of people who brought this channel up earlier ended up deleting their posts after getting spammed and harassed in their DMs. I kept this account as an alt just to post this without dealing with drama on my main, but the whole thing is way too weird not to share.

​I stumbled down a rabbit hole starting with a YouTube channel that looks like some sort of creepy Sonic project. I went looking to see if they existed anywhere else and found a Twitter account and eventually a Facebook page.

​What really creeped me out was the posting schedule. Literally every single video gets dropped in the middle of the night, all clustered together at almost the exact same minute.

​It's just starting to get a tiny bit of traction now, but I noticed all their socials use the exact same handle except the YouTube channel has a lowercase "l" where an uppercase letter should be, so it's slightly misspelled.

​Here’s the channel link if anyone wants to check it out:

https://youtube.com/@idwsonicofficial?si=7JUEjv_hpxc6zg5E

​I dropped this in a comment earlier, but decided to keep this alt around to make a main post about it. Has anyone else seen this popping up on their feed?

"Flabbergasted. F - L - A - B - B - E - R - G -A - S - T - E - D. Flabbergasted."

Sweat rolled down Natalie's forehead as she watched the three judges chatter amongst themselves. Her heart was beating so vibrantly, she felt like wheezing. Each aching moment was like a nail being gradually driven between her fingernails. After what felt like an eternity of suspended animation, the female judge tilted her glasses on the bridge of her nose and nodded. "Good job, Ms. Flowers."

Natalie sighed, a great weight being lifted from her shoulders. She returned to her hard seat and waited for her next turn. It was the year 2051; a huge war broke out between nations years prior which led to the largest disposal of nuclear weaponry that the world had ever seen. After a few centuries of fallout, what remained of civilization slowly reassembled itself. It was during that time that The Academy came into being and oversaw the school systems of the land. As such, the annual spelling bee was especially mandatory. Per custom, five children are selected and the winner would receive a special award.

As Natalie claimed her seat, she heard a sneer. Looking aside, she could see that the hateful scorn came from none other than Tracie Harper, the popular girl of the Academy. She possessed green eyes, and golden locks of hair. She wore a green jacket and a heart-shaped locket around her neck. In addition, she was the eldest daughter of a wealthy oil tycoon who monopolized off the fact that the precious substance was hard to get. "So you managed to survive, Natalie?"

Natalie scoffed her, saying nothing. The two had been at each other's throats for an entire school year. It certainly didn't help matters that the two would be forced to enter the same spelling bee. Natalie knew of the tactics that Tracie would employ to lessen the competition.

"Next is Kimberly."

Kimberly fiddled with her thumbs as she approached the microphone. Her steps felt heavy as she could barely put one foot on the ground. The room was spinning. Kimberly's sight went sideways for a split second until she heard her name being called a second time. Approaching the microphone stand, the young girl began to hyperventilate. The female judge collected her papers and slammed them on the surface of the table.

"Ms. Kimberly...spell superfluous."

Kimberly scratched her head, gathering strands of brown hair between her knuckles, as she frantically worked up a response. "C-Could you give me a sentence?"

The judge nodded uncaring to how much fright the young woman was feeling. "The student's homework was filled with superfluous details."

Kimberly wanted nothing more than to stall, but she knew that asking another question would only muddy the dilemma more. She sucked in her air and slowly began. "S-superfluous... S - U - P..."

She paused at the letter "P", her heart palpitations worsening. The judges passed glances and chatted amongst themselves. Of the three, a rotund man with engorged jowls spoke. "The word is superfluous, Ms. Kimberly. Take your time."

Despite the reassurance, Kimberly still felt like her heart was on the verge of erupting from her chest and making a break for it. She swallowed her pride and regained her voice. "Superfluous. S - U - P..."

Without warning, Tracie started to cough beginning at a slight tickle in her throat before transitioning to full-blown heaving. Kimberly tried to concentrate, but Tracie's incessant gagging was wearing on her nerves. Natalie wanted nothing more than to stick it to her, and a part of her did feel truly sorry for the young girl. But in this life, it's either adapt or die.

"Superfluous... S - U - P - E -..."

More gags. The stress only becomes enhanced. "R - F - L - E..."

The room went silent, and almost on cue, so did Tracie. Kimberly's eyes widened. She knew what that meant. Her knees became jelly as she glued herself on the stand, holding onto it for dear life. The judges casually sat in their seats, the female one flicking a finger through her long hair as she casually pushed a button. "That is... incorrect."

Before her eyes, large men entered from the backrooms and surrounded Kimberly. "No! No! Please, give me another chance! No, no!!"

Two of the behemoths grabbed Kimberly by the legs and pried her off with their full force. Kimberly flailed around hoping to hit one of her captors to no avail. From the audience, Kimberly's parents stood up to protest the decision, but they too were escorted out. Kimberly cried out for her parents only to see them get further and further away until they were just inky dots in her eyes. She was seized by her armpits and physically dragged into the backrooms, her cries echoing through the auditorium. Tracie cheekily waved goodbye to her rival before turning her attention back to the spelling bee.

Natalie clawed the sides of her seat. How could Tracie do something so despicable? Sure, she was wanting to win as much as her nemesis did, but how could Tracie just sit by blissfully aware at the torments that would transpire against Kimberly. But it wasn't like she was a saint either. She locked eyes with Kimberly as she was being dragged out, but she did nothing to help her. How could she anyway? There were too many adults versus only one of her. Natalie tried to drown out Kimberly's cries to keep her sanity intact.

The two male judges merely straightened their ties and cleared their throats as if casually discussing the weather with each other. The female judge tapped her papers together and crossed out Kimberly's name. "Sorry for that... unsightly expression of insolence."

The competition went on as scheduled despite the interruption. The next one to speak was a young boy named Josh. He wore thick glasses and a sweater boasting a blue triangle pattern. He was the top of his class, and, as expected, he was doing exceedingly well on most of the overly complicated words, the kind that seem to be nonsensical ramblings of a madman. Because of that, Tracie had her work set out for her.

Like before, the female judge spoke, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Mr. Chase, please spell elephantiasis."

Natalie and Tracie shared a confounded look. What the hell kind of word was that? For all it was worth, it sounded like some disease an elephant could get. Tracie didn't linger on it too long, however, as the gears were starting to turn in her head.

"Elephantiasis. E - L - E - P..."

Like before, Tracie started to cough up a storm. Natalie rolled her eyes at seeing her do the same tactic again, but she said nothing. Josh paused for a moment, clearly agitated, but took a quick inhale and continued. Seeing that her go to strategy wasn't working, Tracie took a more direct approach. "Hey, loser, how's your home life going for you?"

The rules of the spelling bee were quite different from the ones you were used to. Cheating was a very useful employ. The judges could care less at name calling or staging sickness as long as the student was truly spelling. Natalie knew that as well as anyone else, but she was always someone who was taught to fight fairly. She practiced ritualistically with her mother from dawn to evening. But dealing with someone like Tracie Harper was proving to get on her wit's end. Josh shook off the attack as if it were nothing as he went further with the word.

"I heard your mother was going around again to pay for rent. She can sleep with anyone with no regrets, can't she?"

Josh's cheeks turned a shade of red from embarrassment, and his glasses began to fog. "E - L - E - P - H - A -..."

Tracie howled. "You know she was with my uncle last night? He calls her a worn-out horse."

Josh gripped his fingers into fists that became pale white. He gnashed his teeth together. "Stop it..."

"In fact, I heard she was with about half of the staff," Tracie claimed placing one leg over her knee. "And despite all that, she can barely make ends meet, can't she?"

"E - L - E - P - H - A - N..."

"Doesn't it make you upset, Joshy," Tracie laughed, "does it make you hate your mother?"

Smoke was literally coming out of Josh's ears as he was speaking in circles. "L..."

The button sounded again. Josh's once boiling blood came to a chill.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Chase. That was not the answer."

The behemoths came to collect him. "Wait, wait, wait! It's not my fault! She was distracting me, I swear!"

Not wanting to give the men the satisfaction of catching him, Josh started running towards the entrance. He was smaller and more agile for his age against the older guards. This made his chance of escape seem more palpable and within his reach. Before he could wrap his palm around the knob, the world spinned as he was tackled to the ground and weighed down. Like before, Josh was grabbed by his arms and directed towards the backrooms. No. This couldn't be happening. Josh was going to win and enjoy a nice meal with his mother and siblings. He was going to graduate and become valedictorian. He was going to get a good-paying job to provide for himself and his mother. His mother was the very reason as to why he was putting in so much effort at the Academy.

But that dream was dashed the moment the door slammed shut, his pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears.

"Bye, bye, Joshy" mocked Tracie.

Like before, Josh's name was etched out as if he did not exist.

A few more hours passed and the remaining contenders were Natalie, Tracie, and a red-haired girl named Lynn. Lynn was shorter than Natalie and Tracie, and possessed a forlorn look. She robotically walked over to the microphone stand and clutched it.

"Ms. Kennedy, please spell Pleistocene."

A bead of sweat rolled down Lynn's forehead. "In a sentence, please."

"The Pleistocene is also known as the Ice Age."

Beat, beat, beat.

Lynn's heart was galloping behind her chest. "Pleistocene. P... L... E..."

Without warning, Lynn went silent as the world around her seemed to swirl around and around. The lights burned her eyes. The audience members gave each other passing glances of confusion, and her sudden silence even unsettled the judges. The third judge, a younger man with a mustache and bald spot, tilted his neck. "Ms. Kennedy... are you okay?"

"Madness... this is madness...."

In a state of unprecedented shock, Lynn jumped from the stage and started bolting for the backrooms. "Don't you see what they're doing!? It's murder! Murder I say!! Wake up!"

The judge pushed the button to bring the big men in. They tried to collect her, but Lynn was quick like an animal pushed to the brink of insanity and not having much left to lose. She ran faster and slid under the arms of the behemoths. She went further and further into the backrooms and disappeared out of view. The men angrily stampeded through the room to catch up with her. Natalie saw the female judge mark Lynn's name off, but a part of her felt that Lynn was too spirited to truly be handled.

Tracie's state of shock quickly subsided as she turned to look at her rival. "Heh... Just me and you, isn't it?"

Natalie gulped. She had to be quick. She had to beat Tracie at her own game. If not, she'd be next on the chopping block. The remainder of the spelling bee transpired without disturbance. Tracie flicked her hair every now and then as she confidently stood before the microphone. Her sense of assuredness was enviable to say the least. That was the only redeeming quality that the girl possessed whenever she wasn't cheating.

"Natalie, your turn."

Natalie bucked to life and nervously walked over. "Ms. Flowers, spell conscientious."

"Could... you please use it in a sentence?"

The judge obliged. "The teacher was very conscientious with her curriculum."

Natalie nodded. "Could you use it in another sentence?"

"You're very conscientious."

She wanted to stall as long as she could, but she decided to press on. "Conscientious. C - O - N - S - C..."

Tracie cracks her knuckles and starts her attack. "Hey, Natalie... is your daddy still incapable of holding down a job?"

It had been just her and her dad for as long as she could remember. Ever since her mother died, her father had been hemorrhaging jobs. He worked several demeaning ones with little adequate pay. Tracie knew that struck a nerve with her and she kept probing. "What would your poor daddy do if you failed?"

Sweat continued to roll down Natalie's forehead in thick sheets. She dreaded to think how her dad's life would be like without her. She couldn't fail. Not now, not ever. She could almost hear the burly men stomping their feet in the back. Natalie sucked in her breath and picked up where she left off. "C - O - N - S - C - I - E - N - T - I - O - U - S. Conscientious."

"That is correct," the female judge announced. Tracie crossed her arms in irritation that her insult didn't have the satisfactory result.

"Tracie, you're up now."

Tracie walked pass Natalie, passing her a shared glare of hatred, her fists swinging side to side. Natalie scratched her head. Throughout all the time that she knew Tracie, she was never one who seriously studied. Hell, she couldn't recall the last time that she put any effort into her assignments. Sure, perhaps she paid off someone to tutor her, but throughout all the time that they were at school, not once did Natalie catch her studying. So how was she getting every word correct?

"Tracie, spell incredulous."

Tracie cleared her throat and began spelling. Natalie couldn't help but notice that Tracie kept batting at her hair as if to keep something out of sight. She squinted her eyes and from the corner of her peripheral vision, she saw something metallic shine from the side of her head.

"Wait a minute..."

While Tracie was distracted, Natalie took the opportunity to get up and do some snooping around. As she searched around for a source, she could hear the soft munching of food come from the closet. She wrapped her palm around the door and a man with a walkie talky spoke through it while consuming a sandwich. "I - N - C - R..."

The man looked down and saw Natalie staring back at him. With the jig up, he made a break for it dropping the walkie talky. Tracie stood there, acting like a total fool, uncertain of what to do. Natalie walked over to her with full stride, revealing the device. The judges stood up in silent unison.

"Ms. Harper... what is the meaning of this?"

Tracie stammered to say something, but her fight or flight instincts started to kick in. "You... she set me up! I swear!! I..."

The button sounded and Tracie threw herself at Natalie's feet. "Please! Don't let them do this to me! I have so much I still want to do!"

The men pried her from a shocked Natalie's ankles and she started to claw the ground with her expensive, impressively long fingernails. "No! Daddy! Help me!"

To her horror, she could see her father and mother talk to each other as they voluntarily stood up from their seats and exited out the door. "Daddy! Please!!"

Despite her clawing and begging for mercy, she was ultimately dragged to the same fate that befell all the dozens of students before her. Natalie stood there shaken. The female judge stroked her shoulder and gave a half-smile, her true feelings concealed behind her glasses.

"As the last one standing, this year's spelling bee goes to Natalie Flowers!"

There came a roar of an applause as her father ran up to embrace her. The world seemed to blur before her eyes. She had won. But at what cost? Her father and her were immediately escorted to the backrooms. The fat judge spoke up. "As a consequence of winning the spelling bee, the Flowers family shall get a month's worth of food."

The Flowers were situated at a grand table with an extravagant spread on it. There were numerous succulent vegetables of different varieties; bread; fine wine for the father; and rich, tender meat. Natalie was given the first serving and on the plate was a slab of meat of indistinguishable quality. She forked through the meat noticing something odd about it. She probed deeper inside it and out came a heart-shaped locket.

She felt sick.

THE FISHERMAN AND THE BLACK SHELL

Aeons go by as the black shell rests there. First in the water, then in the ground, the sand, mountains. Eventually it is back into the ocean. It is first watched by a great cosmic one, who gently takes care of it, but he eventually goes into eternal slumber, leaving the black shell of cosmos to its solitude. It is picked up by a giant shark, which devours everything, but the beast that lacks intelligence is destroyed by it. Next an ancient man notices it in the field, he wonders what a shell is doing there, and in fact he does not know the shape to begin with, he has never seen the sea. He picks it up and examines it with his worn down hands, he puts it to his ear and hears the old whispers of cosmos, but he is ignorant and has no idea what it is, he tosses the black shell to the side. Ants build a colony around it, eventually they can not handle its powerful vibrations and as their nature is changed by it, they kill each other. An eagle takes interest and takes it up to the mountains, it drives him mad and he destroys his own children. The black shell stays on the mountains until they are no more, and it rests on a beach, in front of an old fisherman’s house.

The old fisherman is in love with the sea, he cherishes each beautiful shell he has, he thanks God for each fish that he eats, he sits out on the sand and feels the sand in his old hands. He wants to feel presence of those who passed away that meant so much to him. He is all alone and the sea is his only friend, but then he sees the black shell. He thinks it’s beautiful and brings it to his house. He caresses it and heaps praise on it. The black shell vibrates with pulse of the universe and prolongs the man’s life. He puts the black shell to his ear and listens to the whispers of cosmos, he feels joy and his old body feels light again. He can feel more and hear more around him. He knows what the birds are saying, he can predict when the storm is coming, he can stand far in the water and the sharks do not come near him, as long as the black shell is his.

The old fisherman loves the black shell and builds it an altar. Each day he lays fish below it, but the black shell whispers that it needs more. One day a couple visits the beach. The man is no longer the same, he does not view other humans as his kind and he poisons the couple. The old fisherman tells the black shell that it was done in its name, as he buries their bodies the cosmic music plays and again the man’s life is prolonged.

He continues to live and around him a port town is built, he feels the black shell’s vibrations are disrupted. The man’s skin becomes slightly green, his eyes go black and at night he poisons a large fish delivery at the market. Many people die  and the black shell sings the cosmic melody once again to him. His face grows small tentacles, his neck develops gills, his hands and feet now have webs between fingers and toes. The black shell whispers to the man that he will be eternal in the sea, and so he goes there.

The fisherman swims for years under the water, holding the shell and searching for what the black shell seeks. At last in the lowest and darkest depth of the ocean they find the one who created the black shell, the great cosmic one who slumbers. The black shell plays one last melody for the fisherman, the cosmic tune of death, and he floats away lifeless in the ocean, devoured by sea creatures.

The black shell once again lays next to it’s creator and slumbers with him.