They find a book written in Latin… one guy doesn’t take Latin and doesn’t want to mess up the pronunciation. The girl is studying Mandarin. Another guy recommends sticking it into Google Translate but that’s likely to land them with gibberish. They leave it alone.
The car won’t start. They call an Uber.
The vampire captures the girl and insists that she wears the gown to dinner. The gown is actually hella cute. Only problem is it’s not in her size. Oh, it only comes in 2’s and 4’s? Sorry, vamp, you want me in that dress you contact the goddamn company and tell them to get their shit together.
“How did you possibly know that? It saved our lives!” “I’ve got two degrees and I spend way too much time on Wikipedia.”
They encounter a spirit that gains power the more people believe in it. One girl makes a vine and uploads with, “fakest ghost ever!!! Right??” Twenty minutes later the spirit is destroyed.
The circus is in town tonight. Except she’s lived her whole life here and the circus has never come before… it’s also in a pretty sketchy part of town, not somewhere you’d want to walk alone at night. She goes to a movie instead.
“You’d need an ARMY to fight this evil!” “Okay. I’ve got 20,000 followers, lets see how many can make it.”
The Evil Whispery Voice of Doom tells the jock that it’s going to kill his pretty blonde girlfriend. The jock gets offended because, excuse me, Cindy and I are just friends. However, Marty over there is my boyfriend and I’m not saying you should kill him, just stop making assumptions yeah?
“This spirit tried to convince me it was Jerry when it texted but its texting style is COMPLETELY DIFFERENT so yeah that didn’t work.”
We could have easily gotten lost and ended up at some creepy cabin in the woods, but luckily we all had functioning GPSs. Beach party, we’ve arrived!
“We have to find a way to destroy it! We—what are you doing?” “Looking up ‘exorcising demons’ on Google. Oh look, first hit.”
The child she bares will be the devil’s spawn. Good thing she doesn’t want kids. Or if she changes her mind she can always adopt.
“How can we possibly outwit this serial killer…” “… There’s gotta be an app for that. Lemme look.”
Only the virgin will survive… Turns out they’re all virgins. One is asexual. One wants to wait until marriage. Two just haven’t found the right person yet. One is meh about sex. So we all survive, yeah?
The girl does not fall. She was on varsity track.
“Quick! We need someplace to hide the artifact. And then decoys to confuse the beast! What have we got?” “… I’ve got a hundred plastic bags stuffed into another plastic bag.” “PERFECT.”
CHILLING TALES FOR DARK NIGHTS: HORROR STORY MASTERPOST
Chilling Tales for Dark Nights is my favourite YouTube channel. It has some wonderfully creepy stories read by the most fantastic narrators. I’ve made a masterpost of all my favourite stories from them, but there are so many more aside from these. (Warning: some of these are pretty damn scary and contain triggers such as murder, violence, bullying, eating disorders and abuse. There are no screamers.)
This photograph is the subject of several urban legends that have emerged online over the years. One of the more terrifying stories is that the little girl was sick over Christmastime and ended up in hospital, where she was kindly entertained by these mystery men in suits: two clowns and Father Christmas, who seems particularly transfixed on the creepy doll. Legend has it that this girl completely disappeared and the photograph was left on her hospital bed. It was suspected that the three men in costumes kidnapped the girl and killed her, although no certain proof of this has ever surfaced.
Mommy told me never to go in the basement, but I wanted to see what was making that noise. It kind of sounded like a puppy, and I wanted to see the puppy, so I opened the basement door and tiptoed down a bit. I didn’t see a puppy, and then Mommy yanked me out of the basement and yelled at me. Mommy had never yelled at me before, and it made me sad and I cried. Then Mommy told me never to go into the basement again, and she gave me a cookie. That made me feel better, so I didn’t ask her why the boy in the basement was making noises like a puppy, or why he had no hands or feet.
The Old Mossbeard: this one isn’t so much as a work of fiction as it is more of a cryptozoology type thing, still very interesting, and the documentary linked in it is definitely worth a watch
Visiting Mrs. Burnage: First installment of a three part series that will have your moth open the entire time
A Sketchy Interview: This is the kind where you know what is happening exactly, yet it somehow manages to surprise you in so many ways (note: with this link you have to scroll down pretty far to get to the story)
Proxies: If there is one thing I wont be doing after reading this story, is walking around after dark. Even with a group of people.
Halloween is right around the corner. There’s no better way to celebrate than by reading books that will scare you to pieces! Here’s a lucky thirteen list of our favorites (all featuring diverse characters or by diverse authors):
Half World by Hiromi Goto – Melanie Tamaki lives with her mother in abject poverty. Then, her mother disappears. Melanie must journey to the mysterious Half World to save her.
Vodnik by Bryce Moore – Sixteen-year-old Tomas moves back to Slovakia with his family and discovers the folktales of his childhood were more than just stories.
The Immortal Rules by Julie Kagawa – Allie Sekemoto survives by scavenging for food by day. She hates the vampires who keep humans like cattle for their food. Until the day she dies and wakes up as a vampire.
Liar by Justine Larbalestier – Micah is a liar; it’s the only thing she’ll tell you the truth about. But when her boyfriend Zach is murdered, the whole truth has to come out.
Battle Royale by Koushan Takami – A group of junior high school students are sent to an island and forced to fight to the death until only one of them survives.
172 Hours on the Moon by Johan Harstad – Three teenagers win the vacation of a lifetime: a week-long trip to the moon. But something sinister is waiting for them in the black vacuum of space.
Anna Dressed in Blood by Kendare Blake – Cas Lowood is a ghost hunter, called to Thunder Bay, Ontario to get rid of a ghost the locals call Anna Dressed in Blood, who has killed every person who has stepped foot in the house she haunts.
I’ll say it right now, I grew up in a broken home. Dad drank. Mom drank. That might be why I’ve never touched a drop. But I’m getting on a tangent here.
Most of you already know where this story is going. Dad used to get drunk and blame mom and I for all his problems. Mom used to lock me in my room while he… while you knock what aggressive drunks do when they’re upset. i’d say more often than not my mother’s screams and my own sobs were what rocked me to sleep.
Then my mom started drinking and became numb to the whole thing. First dad kept hitting her and left me to cry in my room. I guess he got bored eventually. Three days after my fifth birthday dad came up to my room for the first time. He had never done that before. Mom had stopped him. He broke my nose that first night. We went to the hospital and I told the doctor I fell down the stairs. He seemed to believe me.
It was clockwork after that. Mondays dad worked late and we rested. Tuesday nights and Thursday nights he was at the bar until well after my bedtime. Wednesdays were the worst. Fridays were normally insults, an occasional slap. Weekends he drank himself to sleep around four in the afternoon. But Wednesdays. He’d come up to my room and do his business. It I blocked the door, it was a dozen rounds with the belt. If I cried, it was a slap for every tear. But if I was quiet and let his knuckles crack against my jaw and let him pull my short hair, I’d never have to make up stories at school. I was an adventurous boy and no one looked twice when my hands were scraped or I had a bruise on my cheek.
I lived for two years fearing that one night dad would hit me two hard and I’d end up with the angels. Death scared me. One Wednesday, I was sitting in the corner when I saw him. A tall man in my corner.
At first, I thought it was a woman. It looked like a black dress fell from a black face. I realized after a moment that it was a robe. A cloak, but I learned that word years later. I knew what I was looking at. I’d watched TV. I’d read books. I knew what Death was supposed to look like.
But I couldn’t cry. Dad would come in. I’d get the belt and Death would take me away. But for all the pain in my life, I knew that I wanted to live.
That night I fell asleep on the floor, huddled in the corner of the room with a halo of moonlight coming from the window resting around my feet. Death simply stood in the darkest corner of my room, behind the door leading to the hall.
He was there every bad night after. Always Wednesdays. Some Fridays when dad was in his worst moods. Every night he got closer. After two months, he would sit on the toy box at the end of my bed, sitting with his back against the wall, turned sideways so I always caught the profile of the shadowy hood. “Why are you here?” I asked him one night. He stared at me from the toy box, knees pressed against his chest and arms curled around his shins, almost a fetal position, though there was no fear in the position, just boredom. “TO WATCH” He told me. I swallowed at those first words. I had expected a quiet rasp, like on TV. Death’s voice was something more. It was a burly man’s confident and strong. It was a caring mother’s nurturing tone. a mad man laugh and a child’s giggle. It disturbed and comforted me.
“To watch what?” I asked. He simply look at me. I saw his eyes for the first time that night. I had always expected soulless pit there. Instead, I found blue orbs in a bleached skull. Those orbs held galaxies, eternal and nonexistent. everything and nothing lived in the shadows of his cloak. Those contradictions comforted me.
“OVER YOU CHILD” Death responded. I had though he lied to me and I grew upset. I asked him why he never stopped my father. “IT IS NOT MY PLACE TO INTERVENE.” He told me. I asked him what he meant. He told me that he couldn’t stop my father if he tried. He simply was there to guide me if my nightmare ever came true.
After that night, Death was more of a father to me in the way my own never was. The next week, he brought a thick leather bound book. Within were fairy tales, dark and light themes in countless languages. He told me stories in the voice of my grandmother, who died when I was four. When I got older, he stopped bringing the book. Stayed up until the crack of dawn talking. I asked him about the afterlife and why things were the way they were. He always answered vaguely, telling me that I’d understand one day. He stayed with me and comforted me until dawn peeked over my neighbor’s roof. Then the sunlight would touch his black robe, turning it into blinding white. Then he was gone. He’d be back next week and I’d get ready for school. I never tired when Death spoke to me.
Life went on. When I was twelve, my doctor fixed my nose for the third time and started asking questions. Within three weeks I was taken from that home and put into an orphanage. In a Hollywood moment, my family doctor, who had heard about what had been happening from a friend at the hospital, adopted me. He and his wife had been trying for a child for years. They never did. I lived a happy life after that. I never forgot what happened to me in my youth though. I followed in my “father’s” footsteps and became a physician. Sadly jobs were tight and I took a role in the morgue. All those years around Death helped me work with my new job and I enjoyed it.
My heart broke when my “mother” was in an accident. I was the one who put the tag on her toe. I had to take the rest of the week off. But death was there that day. He stood in the corner of the storage room when I closed the drawer. Holding his skeletal hand was a little girl with green eyes and chocolate hair. I had seen my mother’s family pictures and knew this was her, around seven years old. It hurt me but Death nodded to me and I knew that he would take care of her.
In my lifetime, I’ve closed the drawer on four parents. Dad drove into a storefront while driving drunk. I had to leave the room when they wheeled him in. I would’ve spat on his cold husk of a body if I didn’t. Mom drank herself into an early grave a year later. I pitied her when I closed the drawer. He had broken her soul and she died in pain. Though my mother left that morgue the same way my “mother” did, I still remember the screams when Death dragged my father through the floor, a red hot chain and metal collar strapped around his neck.
My father, the man that saved my life, died four years ago. He went quietly in his sleep. I volunteered to close the drawer on him. When I did, Death arrived and took a little boy with dark hair and blue eyes. You may wonder why I’m writing this. In truth, I’m not quite sure myself. I guess I want to tell people not to fear Death. He’s a gentle being with a crappy job. And he saved my life.
With the life he gave me, I’ve married, I’ve raised three children, two girls and a boy who look just like their mother. I have nine grandchildren and two great-grandchildren with a third one the way. I lost my wife last year to a heart attack. It hurts me to think about it but I know she didn’t fear Death. She knew my story, the one I’m telling you now. And she went in her sleep, holding my hand. As I write these final thoughts, I look to my window. Out there I see a figure in the street, snow blowing white on black robes. a moment ago I opened the window and invited him in. When you live as long as I have, you learn to treat a guest right.
Now he’s standing in the corner, patient as the day I met him. When I’m done this post I’m going to turn off my laptop, put the little girl he brought with him into my lap and close my eyes. My wife will close her brilliant blue eyes and rest her crimson locks on my chin. I’ll take one breath and fall asleep. When I wake up, I’ll be with my family. I’ll see my mother and father again. I’ll see my mom, happier than she was in life. I’ll see the four dogs I’ve had in my lifetime too, hopefully.
“MORTIMER” Death calls from the corner. I sigh and type faster. If I can say one last thing, I’d like to quote Blue Oyster Cult: “Don’t Fear the Reaper” because after all, people are the real monsters.