The Edge

When I was growing up, I always thought life was like a video game. I did everything I could to keep up the illusion: doing homework was like completing a quest, talking with friends was like navigating branching dialogue trees with NPCs, and making it to the podium at graduation was like killing the final boss.

I kept these fantasies to myself and didn’t think much of them until little details started standing out. Sometimes I’d be walking along a trail in the woods and my eyes would gravitate towards a tree that looked just a bit blurrier than the others. Other times I’d be talking with my parents and the conversation would seem off, as if their responses were just vague enough to make sense if I had said something else.

“Mrs. Bainbridge gave us way too much work tonight!” I’d argue. “Homework is important, son,” Dad would say. “There’s no way I can finish this project on top of baseball practice!” I’d yell. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” Dad would say.

I grew skeptical. I started testing the universe to make sure it was real. One by one, the pieces of the puzzle that I thought I had solved became detached. One afternoon, I punched my best friend Aidan straight in the teeth. His face recoiled a bit, but then snapped back into place, his big smile unfazed.

“Want to play Smash later?” Aidan said immediately after, grinning from ear to ear.

The next day, I tried to get my parents to say my name.

“Come down for dinner, honey!” Mom called. “How was your day, sport?” Dad asked. “Elbows off the table, dear,” Mom said.

This went on for the rest of the night. I couldn’t remember the last time my parents ever said my name.

Looking back on it, I should have just accepted it. It wasn’t hard to live my life as the game intended. I could have been happy if I had drowned out all the red flags. It’s too late for that now.

Yesterday, or at least I think it was yesterday, I decided to push the game to its limits. Right before school I stole my mom’s keys, got in her truck, and drove. It didn’t matter where I was going, so long as it was somewhere new.

Eventually, the road got less familiar. I was entering the wilderness. In a half-hour, I had reached the city limits, beyond the thick canopy of trees that isolated our town from the outside world.

Except…there was nothing. The road ended there. The land just stopped. Everything was blue. Up, down, and out into the endless expanse. It was all blue.

I stood there on the precipice, wondering what my life had been up until that moment. I wondered what it could be. I took my first step into the blue unknown. I started to fall.

In those final seconds, the scariest thing I could imagine was living a life that someone else had chosen for me.

But now?

I’m still falling.

“Okay so I’m a massage therapist, I work for myself and frequently go to clients homes at night. Whenever I used to have a new client, I would bring my boyfriend with me as kind of a backup.

Anyway, the clients condo was in a really nice area in Chandler, AZ. It was around 8:00 when I arrived. Got out of my truck, grabbed my bag and started looking for the apartment because this was one of those mega complexes and of course the numbers were barely visible. As I was walking around,I noticed that every light I walked by would start flickering really quickly… like the light would be fine one minute and as soon as I walked by it would start flashing. I felt like someone watching me but I shrugged it off and found the condo as quickly as possible.

My session lasted 90 minutes, packed up and headed back to my truck.. except it wasn’t in the spot my boyfriend had parked it in. So I call him,he says he’s coming, that something happened so he had to move. I get in the truck and he was super pale.. and his hands were shaking. I asked him what happened. He told me that as I was walking towards the apartments from the parking lot he saw a girl behind me walking in tandem with me almost like a shadow. He said he after he bent down and lit a cigarette, neither one of us were in his line of vision anymore.. not too creepy right? About halfway through his cigarette, he saw someone walk behind the truck really quickly through the rearview mirror. He said it was the same girl. He was starting to feel a little freaked out but nothing too bad. He said he turned on his headphones and leaned the chair back.. to take a nap I guess when he felt a thumping under his feet on the floorboard.

He said he looked out into the parking lot and saw the girl like crawl out from under the hood of the truck and stand up, she walked backwards and stared at him the whole time.. and kind of disappeared into the shadows of the opposite side of the parking lot awnings.

So he peeled out and sat at the nearest gas station which was right next door for the rest of my appointment. Normally, I would have called bullshit, but this guy didn’t believe in the paranormal AT ALL and he was clearly freaked out. Never went back to that particular clients home after that. 

TL;DR: Boyfriend harassed by some creepy girl or possibly spirit that climbed under our truck.”

By: NurseNikky (Creepypasta are great, but does anyone have any good true creepy stories?)

Our Pet Monster

TW: Mentions of Pedophilia

When we moved to Pine Drive, I never expected to find a conspiracy among the kids there.

I was an only child and a loner, thanks to my parents always moving. My dad’s job had him hopping from state to state. It was a pretty tough going if you wanted to make friends. But he promised that we’d stay at least six months here, so I had a chance to make at least one friend.

And whadya know, on my block, there were a ton of kids to make friends with.

I didn’t even really have to try. Two days after moving in, the Langley twins Diana and David were pounding on my door, asking who owned that bike parked in the front yard and if they wanted to play. I was shy but the twins were ecstatic to meet me.

Apparently their group had an odd number before I moved in and they needed equal teams to play their games with.

There was Alicia, who was six, she was the baby but she was very sweet. The oldest was Fletcher who was thirteen but his social skills were a bit behind so he didn’t mind hanging out with a bunch of nine and ten year olds. I think there was about ten of us all in all.

But I learned soon enough that there was a secret each of them shared.

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The End Times

I was the first one to see a falling angel.

I was in my backyard stargazing, when a bright light streaked across the sky and a few moments later Gabriela smashed into my backyard.

She was really tall, I had to use two mattresses for her bed and move out most of the things in my living room to make room for her to sleep. She was very badly injured. Something had taken huge bites out of her chest, her eyes had been ripped out and one of her wings had been torn off. She spent most of her time unconscious and the rest gibbering in an unknown tongue.

She only spoke to me twice, once to tell me her name and the other time was to respond to a question I had asked her. “How did you get injured Gabriela?” I had asked. “War” she replied. She died a few hours after that.

In the following days, more and more angels fell from the sky. These angels however, were already dead, their bodies had been mutilated, sometimes so badly, that if not for their height and wings, we wouldn’t know for sure if they were angels. Surprisingly, while many people panicked, peace as a whole was kept and it only took a few days before the buses and trains were running on time again.

When the rain of corpses from heaven stopped, people were overjoyed. When huge cracks in the earth started to appear, they were less so. When fire and lava began to bubble up through the cracks, people rushed to monasteries, churches, mosques, and temples, anywhere they thought they might find answers. When the earth rumbled, and the cracks opened to spew out a horde of demons, we finally understood.

You see, the demons were all dead. Their bodies had been mutilated, just like the angels were. I thought that heaven and hell were in a war against one another, but they were actually fighting together. Against something else, something worse.

And it had won.

It was not as publicized, and I doubt people tumblr is talking much about it. Rest In Peace George S Irving, the man who had a long career of film, television and stage. He might be best known to some of you as The Heat Miser in the 1975 Rankin Bass stop motion movie The Year Without A Santa Claus. he is also known for narrating the audio books for Alvin Schwartz’s Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark, among many other things. George was 94 and will be sorely missed.

The Walls Would Sing To Me.

When I was young, the walls of my bedroom would sing to me at night. I found the mysterious phenomenon soothing, and looked forward to it every night.

At eight years old, I mentioned it to my parents, and they brought me to a doctor, who concluded I had a wild imagination. This reassured my parents, and prompted me to keep quiet about it in the future.

A few years later, my father had a heart attack in his sleep while my mom was away on a business trip. That night, I woke up suddenly and quickly noticed the absence of the walls’ singing. The silence felt weird, wrong.

It was broken by a lone, strangely familiar voice.

“Young giant, your father is in trouble,” the voice was whispered. It was breathy, like silk against silk, the voice of one of the singers.

Something tickled the skin right below my ear, then dropped down to my arm. When it reached my index finger, I brought my hand to my face so I could see my mysterious companion.

A small, black spider sat on the pad of my finger. Before I could make a move to shake it off, it spoke again.

“You father is very ill. He needs a healer,” the spider insisted in the same delicate whisper before launching itself off my finger into the darkness of my bedroom.

Sure enough, when I went to check on my dad, I was unable to wake him. Later, the doctor told me that my dad would have died if I hadn’t woken up when I did.

The next day, I whispered thanks to the spider that sang in my walls. They hummed in response, and I grinned, happy with my new friends.

My father died from another heart attack when I was seventeen, prompting my mother to spiral into mental decline until her hospitalization a year later. After that, I sunk into a deep depression and ended up in an abusive relationship.

I eventually told the spiders all about my suffering, and they murmured with sympathy from their perches in the walls. A large, brown spider dropped down from the ceiling onto the pillow beside my bruised face and asked me if I would bring my boyfriend over that evening.

“We will take care of you, young giant,” it promised.

So that’s what I did. He came over and settled himself before the TV. I stood at the stove in the kitchen, barely paying attention to my cooking as I waited eagerly to see what the spiders had in store.

He started screaming as the pasta finished. He had stopped by the time I had drained it and added the sauce. I ate my meal happily as I waiting for the police to arrive.

They said he died of a brain aneurism. Tragic, they said. Yes, I agreed, very tragic.

That night, I slept soundly, lulled by the gentle music as my friends sang from their homes in the walls.

Identical Twins.

Connie had been best friends with her twin sister Jessica since before she could remember, but never spent as much time with Jessica as she would have liked.

Connie didn’t understand why her sister was always being sent to the doctor. She didn’t seem sick, and doctors were for sick people.

Once she learned about germs, Connie had tried to catch Jessica’s sickness, so they could be together at the doctor. It didn’t work.

Connie had always felt protective of her sick twin, almost like a big sister.

So Connie never complained when Jessica got all the best toys. She tried hard not to be jealous of the attention Jessica received from their parents, who were so busy they barely had time for Connie. But Connie knew that they were important scientists who did important work.

Connie even kept her resentment in check when Jessica was sent to private-school.

It didn’t matter; she had friends at her public-school, and every evening she would be able to play with her twin.

Though their parents were furious, Connie was delighted when Jessica ignored her acceptance to a prestigious university so they could attend the same college.

When their parents died in a tragic car accident, Connie and Jessica moved into their family’s old house. With eachother’s support, they mourned their loss and re-entered the world. They graduated and found jobs; they dated men. They remained best friends.

On their 30th-birthday, the twins’ gifts to eachother had been plane tickets to Paris.

Applying for a passport, Connie requested her birth-certificate from the department of records and received a shock: the certificate listed no father, and a stranger’s name where her mother’s should have been. Worse, the certificate recorded only a single birth.

Connie knew it was a mistake. She called the records office and the hospital, but they denied any impropriety.

Connie felt uneasy. But, it was crazy; they looked exactly alike!

One night, Connie surreptitiously swabbed the rim of Jessica’s water glass. She paid the DNA-lab for rush analysis. The results showed their DNA matched: identical twins.

Connie was relieved, but deeply confused. The records had to be wrong. She would prove it: she would find her real birth-certificate.

Connie took the day off work. She spent hours going through her parents’ box-filled attic, finally locating a section devoted to family papers. It seemed that they kept every drawing, every piece of homework, and every report-card from the girls’ schooling. It was touching, but Connie kept digging. Eventually, she found a small fireproof lockbox.

She pried it open with a screwdriver.

Inside were some old papers and a Polaroid. Connie sifted through the papers, triumphantly locating the birth-certificate.

Her heart sunk.

It matched the one from the department of records.

Jessica’s was there too: their parents’ names printed in the appropriate fields, a single birth.

Tearfully, Connie looked at the Polaroid. They were newborns, both sleeping. She flipped it over and noticed an inscription in faded ink: “Jessica and control, 1986”



I finally did another voice over dub! I know tons of people have already done this comic by @jakei95 / @xtaleunderverse but I wanted to do it too cause it looked fun!

Cross belongs to @jakei95

Palette belong to @angexci

Goth belongs to @nekophy

I’ve used a highlighting filter on this particular picture so you can see it properly- The apparent story behind this one is that two brothers went exploring an abandoned building when the younger brother was spooked by something scratching above him. He ran out the room crying and called to his brother who comforted him (as you can see above). This image from a redbox security camera was supposed to catch such trespassers in the act, but this time it captured something far worse than a bit of breaking and entering: On the roof, there is a demon-like figure staring straight into the camera. This must have been what scared the young boy.


My Dad Kidnapped Little Girls

I don’t ever remember my dad being normal. He was always a little strange. The man was secretive and closed off, and all his attempts at acting like a father rose the hairs on the back of my neck. It seemed forced. I don’t think I ever got used to that. There was no need, because he didn’t keep that up for long. By the time I was 5, I didn’t have a dad. What I had after that was a boss. Maybe an owner. Definitely not a dad.

He fully opened up as a person around that time. He brought a little girl into our home. She was small, but she was older than myself, too. Maybe 7 or 8. Her face was red and raw with tears. “Sam, this is your new little sister, Maria.” Before I could react, she spoke up between small sobs. “No, mister. I don’t know you. My name is Claire. Please take me home to my mommy, I promise that I won’t tell.” By the time she finished what she was saying, she was barely forming coherent sentences. That’s when I saw my Dad stop being my dad. With one fluid motion, he swung his arm, hitting her in the face and knocking her back on her ass.

I jumped up, too afraid and confused to do much of anything, but still frightened nonetheless. I was young, but I’d seen enough television to know that normal families didn’t do these things. “Sam, you sit your ass down or I’ll put you in the ground, you hear me?” Thus marked the loss of my father. Later, as I listened to the quiet cries of the girl, now locked in the room next to mine, he sat me down and explained that he wasn’t my father. He told me things a 5 year old should never hear. My life changed forever. I was a mistake.

The little girl was with us for a while. My dad left me at home while he went to the mall, buying all kinds of nice things for Maria. Claire. Whatever. He probably blew $500. The weeks afterward were strange, disgusting, and violent all at the same time. At the best, she would play along with his games and he would be happy. At the worst, I would have to listen to her screams as he did unspeakable things to her in the next room. After, when the screaming would stop, he would come to me and give me the same speech.

“This happens because you aren’t right, you understand? You should have been born a girl. We wouldn’t have to do this. She’s going to die someday because you’re trash.” He would walk to the door and finish with “Remember, Sam. No one out in that world will ever love you. If you try to leave, I’ll find you and I’ll kill you.”

Maria died about three months after my dad took her. This day wasn’t her first attempt at escape, but instead it was her last. Truly, I do not know if my father meant to kill her or not. He became consumed in his rage and I fought back tears as he continued to hit her and hit her, over and over again. Her little light went out as she choked on blood, gurgling sounds coming from her throat. She was buried in our back yard, right next to the playset that my father bought a year before. After that, he became nervous to the point where he packed me up and we started off on the road.

We lived like that for years. Sometimes, we’d live somewhere as long as a year, but that was the extent of it. On a good year, he’d take two or three girls without so much as a second look. People didn’t necessarily suspect him, though. He was a psycho, but the man was smart too. He would falsify documents and references, getting himself jobs as close to children as possible. I remember, one time, he was hired on to be an ice cream truck driver. He snatched up a little girl he called Gloria right in front of her house. He somehow managed to finish his route, too. She only lasted two months.

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Strange Mysteries: The Flatwoods Monster

Friday, September 12th, 1952 - Flatwoods, West Virginia

It is 7:15pm on Friday, September 12th when two brothers, Edward and Fred May, and their friend Tommy Hyer see what appears to be a meteor streaking across the night sky. As they watch, the meteor comes to ground near the farm of local farmer G. Bailey Fisher. Excited at what they will find, they make the trek to Fisher’s farm along with Mrs May and a few other local boys: Neil Nunley (14), Ronnie Shaver (10), and Gene Lemon (17).

When they get there, they notice a strange mist that is described as giving off a “sickening, burnt, metallic odor”. They also notice two strange lights coming from what appears to be a nearby tree. Thinking them to be nothing more than the eyes of some nocturnal animal, Gene turns his flashlight in their direction. It is then that they see the creature that would forever haunt their nightmares: the Flatwoods Monster.

Scared out of their wits, they immediately run back to safety and into the annals of strange mysteries.

So what was the Flatwoods Monster? Unfortunately, we may never know.

How to Write Horror Guide

So I think I mentioned a while back that I’m writing a “how to write horror” guide. Here are some of the topics I plan to cover. Hit me up with your questions or suggestions for others – I’ll be putting together an outline and knocking out guides in the near future! 

Understanding Horror 

What makes things scary; universal fears; mining your own fears for material; the basic differences between written fiction and horror movies. 

Creating a Monster 

How to turn real-life anxieties into “monsters” (from ghosts to killers to actual beasts). 

Pacing and Suspense 

How to build suspense; horror’s unique plot structure; understanding and exploiting the element of surprise. 

Writing Gore 

How to effectively squick out and horrify audiences, if you’re into that kind of thing. 

Can you tell what's wrong with this picture?

I’ve framed the photo. It sits in my cubicle in the same spot it has occupied for the last two years. It’s a reminder for me to work harder. A reminder of all the pain that was caused by moving too slow.

Seventeen kids went missing that summer. Snatched from their bedrooms without a trace of who had done it. This case cut deeper than any I worked on before. Every day another parent would come to me and ask “why haven’t you found my baby yet?” And I would have to say “I’m trying. I promise.” After the sixteenth disappearance, we got a photo in the mail. There was writing on the back. Two words.

“clocks ticking”

If you didn’t know better, you might think the picture was kind of beautiful. It’s of an old gravel road that winds delicately up a hill. The picture is taken from the middle of the street, the lens aiming up its path. One side of the road is lined by a patch of bright autumn leaves that look like they’ve recently fallen. The leaves are matted down slightly, as if by a heavy rain. In the center of the road there is a small basket. The camera is angled so you can’t see inside of it. On either side of the road there are gigantic pine trees that cast crisscrossing, haunting shadows.

Our department was able to find this location but there was no evidence. No basket in the street. Nothing in the woods. They dismissed as a false lead, but something about the photo got to me. I kept it on my desk for the next year, just trying to figure out what it meant. All I wanted was to tell those parents what happened to their kids.

There was just something off about the picture. Something that felt really unnatural about it. I thought about it all the time. The basket. The leaves. The pine trees. Then one day it clicked. Fallen leaves and pine trees. Pine trees don’t have leaves. They have needles. Needles don’t turn those colors and they don’t fall off in the fall. The pile of leaves wasn’t natural.

After a year of staring at the picture, a year of telling parents that I couldn’t find their kids – I finally figured it out. I dug a hole where the leaves were in the photo. There was a basket buried underneath the dirt. It held a child’s skull. Dental records matched it to Michael Blasters. One of the children who had gone missing.

I ordered an excavation of the area. The other kids were buried nearby.

Only one complete skeleton was found. It was a child that disappeared only a few days before we got the photo. Unlike the rest, her body was in a coffin.

There was a note pinned to the front of her dress. The same handwriting as the photo.

“48 hours of air – you could have saved her.”

Above the Crawlspace

I blinked awake, squinting up at the light overhead. For a moment I couldn’t remember what had happened but when my eyes finally adjusted and the haze in my mind dissipated, I remembered. I remembered William coming at me before my vision went black. I was sure he would have killed me but here I was. I was alive and…God, I was in Anne’s house in a spare bedroom. I was sure of it.

Taking in a breath, I moved my limbs and was surprised as well as relieved to feel they weren’t tied down. That didn’t mean the door wouldn’t be locked. I didn’t go to it immediately though, I stayed where I was just to make sure Anne wouldn’t be coming by soon. I couldn’t be too careful.

I must have waited an hour before getting up and trying the door. It wasn’t locked. I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’d seen William and I know what he did. Why would she want me alive and able to roam free? Maybe this was a tease. Maybe she was giving me the illusion of freedom and I’d get downstairs to see she’d boarded up the windows and locked the front door and she’d have the key to it on her at all times. Christ, this was a nightmare. I shouldn’t have kept digging.

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