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We enjoy our horror short and sweet. 500 words or less.

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Other Things


797,264 Subscribers


A ransom note

Memories really can be a fragile thing. A reel to reel film that grows longer as the years grind away in their ever-changing time signatures. You spend time looking back at the images on that tape, reflecting on their meaning, feeling their warmth, their heartbreak, maybe even re-contextualizing them all together.

But that tape continues to grow, and while it does, those images begin to fade as they get farther away. They become clouded, dusty, tattered, tainted, until you're left with only a feeling. A feeling with no earth underneath.

Your tape, though? Well... Your tape is caked in dirt, dipped in kerosene, and is now a candle burning at both ends. Teeth are ripping at the middle, gnawing at everything you ever knew.

And I'm slathering on the grime. I'm breathing in the fumes. I'm enjoying every. Juicy. Morsel as it slithers down my throat.

When the reel finally stops on its last frame, there will be nothing but a few unrecognizable shapes.

But not to worry. You'll be here with me.

07:26 UTC


Don't Forget to Shut the Garage

Your parents had just pulled out of the driveway, they'd be gone for the weekend.

You'd be okay, you were 15 now, old enough to be on your own.

They left a neat little folded note on the table for you as you were napping and they didn't want to wake you, don't worry, you already said your goodbyes.

You open the note and begin reading:


As you know we will be away for the weekend to spend a little alone time together. You have the whole house to yourself. We trust you to not go crazy and throw parties like Sam used to do. There's some money that we put inside your bedside drawer so you can grab whatever food you'd like if you get tired of the leftovers.

Oh and one more thing, we still haven't fixed the cars garage opener so don't forget to shut the garage!

Love you, Mom and Dad

What a thoughtful note, they are right though, you should probably shut the garage, who knows how long you were out for.

You enter the garage and see the door still wide open, outside is your neighbors house across the dark street, lights dimmed.

The air is quiet, and you decide to wait no longer before pressing the button that closes the garage door.

But as the garage door reaches its half way point it stops immediately and begins retracting upwards.

You stare confused as this should only happen if motion is detected.

You press it again, the garage door once again stopping and retracting half way.

One more time, but this time you swore you saw someone walk past.

You grow impatient and switch off the motion detector before hitting the button again.

You smile as the garage door passes the half way point finally.

But right as it's about to finally shut a cinder block shoots under the collapsing door, and without the motion detector, it closes itself onto the block stopping with just a small gap left open.

In the darkness you swear you can see a faint smile, you begin to panic and back towards the door leading inside, accidently hitting your back against the garage opener.

Motion detector activated.

The door is opening.

07:13 UTC



The drive through the desert was long enough. The moon was saying goodbye while the sun was trying to come out and say hello. I pulled up to some oil tanks. And got out of my truck. Went to the boot and carried out a heavy blanket and walked a few miles away from the tanks and dumped it. "Lunacy has found me. Cannot kill the family. ", running through my head on repeat. Just that one specific line. Sleepy and bruised eyes met mine when I got back to the truck. I grabbed their pillows and put them over their faces. Their quiet whimpers ceased. I carried both of them to the tanks and stuffed their little bodies in. "Lunacy has found me. Cannot kill the family". I smiled. "Lunacy has found me. Can kill the family." The oil would melt their skin off. And when their bodies were found a few days later, they'd be degloved. Just like me. "Lunacy has found me. I killed my family".

04:53 UTC


Camp Everlight

Welcome to Camp Everlight, where every day is an adventure and the nights are just as thrilling! First off, congratulations on being selected. It's quite an exclusive experience; not everyone gets to join us.

Rule number one: Always wear your camp badge. It's not just for show; it lets us know you're one of us. Misplace it, and well, you might find yourself on an unexpected detour.

Rule number two: Stick to the lighted paths at night. The darkness is... different here. It has a way of changing things, or should I say, revealing them.

Rule number three: Attend all meal times, but never take the last piece of anything. Trust us; it's for your own good. Hunger takes on a new meaning in these parts.

Rule number four: Never, under any circumstances, enter the woods after midnight. The woods are special; they're older than the camp, older than you can imagine. They don't take kindly to visitors, and they have a way of keeping things...or people.

Rule number five: Participate in all camp activities. Resistance isn't just futile; it's discouraged. You'll find that obedience brings its own rewards, while defiance, well, let's just say it's not recommended.

Rule number six: The lake. It's beautiful, isn't it? Just don't look too closely at what's beneath the surface. And absolutely no swimming after sundown. The things in the lake, they get lonely. They might decide you're their new best friend.

Rule number seven: Ignore the screaming. You'll hear things at night, but it's just the wind, or the trees, or the whispers of those who walked the paths before you. Listening too closely might invite conversations you're not ready to have.

Rule number eight: Enjoy your stay at Camp Everlight! Your arrival here was no accident, it was by choices you made long after you were made aware of this place, or for some, you were lured here by forces beyond your understanding to play a role in a story much older than time itself - so no exit privileges.

And hey, it's not the heat of your eternal damnation that gets you, it's the humility.

04:45 UTC


The Monster in the Woods

When I was little, grandpa used to say "Sonny, don't go into the woods in the backyard of my house. There's a monster who has his den somewhere in those woods and he is scary and maybe would eat you if he's a monster who enjoys eating human FLESH." I believed him, so I never went in the woods. But maybe the monster was real. This is a true story that happend with me and my grandpa. But he died 9 years ago. They found him in his back yard with one of his arms missing and blood everywhere. The doctor looked at his arm and said he had never seen teeth like that before that had bitten into my grandpa. But maybe it was the monster?

03:43 UTC


The Real Dream

Jacob always had rather odd dreams. They weren’t strange in their context, they just often felt very real. He would have these dreams every night. He had talked with several of his friends and family, and it was apparently unusual to dream so frequently. When he woke up, most times he wouldn’t fully remember what he dreamed about. It disappeared instantaneously as he tried his best to contemplate it. In fact, part of him looked forward to sleeping every night, because one day, he would finally be able to recall the dream that overtook him.

Tonight was no different. After his long day, Jacob rested his head on his pillow. As his mind drifted, he was quickly grappled by sleep. Maybe tonight would be the night, he would conquer the dream, he would take control. All was dark for a while, silence surrounded him, but eventually his eyes fluttered open, he had entered yet another dream. However, the environment of the dream felt rather unusual, then again, most qualities within a dream don’t always make a lot of sense.

Jacob was in a room made of stone. A lightbulb shone directly above him, it being the only source of light. The room itself was rather murky, and slightly unsettling. As he tried to move, he realized that he was tied to a chair. His hands and feet were bound. This was certainly a weird start, he wasn’t a fan of the direction said dream was going.

As he began to wiggle, a door across from him opened silently. A large figure stepped out of the shadows and into the light. The being was wearing a terrifying mask, one with no eye holes but a wide, grinning mouth. He held a small electric saw in his hand. What he had guessed to be a man by his build, was wearing an apron as well, it dirty with dried, dark liquid.

Jacob tried violently to wiggle out of the chair, but accomplished nothing. As the man approached, he tried his best to somehow wake himself up. He bit down on his tongue, but it only caused pain. As fear entered his mind, the large man came close to Jacob, holding the small saw up to his face. “Wake up…wake up…wake up!” Jacob muttered violently.

The man laughed, “Oh, this is no dream, sorry to say,” he said in a grisly voice. He let out a scream as the saw was turned on and grazed the flesh on his face. “Welcome to reality!,” the deranged man said, glee in his voice. Jacob continued to scream as the man sliced and cleaved. In this moment, Jacob realized this was no dream at all, and there was no escape from the nightmare.

1 Comment
00:01 UTC


I don’t know if it was real…

Quite short and old but something that I, to this day, very vividly recall…

We were living in a rented place at the time along with my aunt and her kids. My cousins were quite older to me, having had completed their bachelors while I was I think still in 1st grade. Being a bored child I used to harass all of them to come play with me. One day a cousin obliged to play hide and seek and I was to seek. The building we lived in had 2 floors and we lived on the ground floor, being the determined kid I was, after relentlessly searching our flat I decided to go upstairs to check out the roof.

It was pitch black.

As soon as I went through the door to the roof I called out my cousins name and not hearing a reply turned right, there was a little nook there and it seemed at that time of night to be the only place lit up by the moon.

There was someone there.

Crouching down in all black with black strands floating around the top of what I thought was a head of hair. I was riveted to the spot and watching those strands move gently in the wind sort of mesmerised. The person was unnaturally still except for their strands of hair. I remember being mesmerised enough to want to go closer and possibly touch.

But I turned back around, figured my cousin was crouching and pretending to not hear me to just play with me, so ran downstairs to tell on her.

Just as I reached the bottom, there came my cousin laughing through my flat’s door saying it had been long enough and I wasn’t able to seek her. I told her I did see her on the roof, to which she replied she never went there and was right here all along.

Which makes sense now that I think about it seeing as she didn’t come up behind me when I came downstairs. In that moment though I still bickered with her because my kid brain didn’t want to lose at the game.

I still don’t know if that was real or something my kid brain made up, but if it was, it looked like what I would imagine a demonic witch to.

1 Comment
23:29 UTC


Tea in the Sahara

The sands of the Sahara stirred under the hot noonday sun. To an observer, this would not have seemed unusual, given that sometimes the sands so moved—when the winds blew…

But today the winds were dead, rendering Earth unnaturally still. What propelled each grain of sand was not external but internal, a tiny solar engine whose battery had finally been fully charged.

Each grain of Saharan sand: a barely-perceptible spacecraft, piloted by a member of a race called the Dry People, whose ancestors had arrived on Earth (as on many other planets) a long, long time ago.

Who knows?

Not me.

Their spacecraft had lain dormant and charging for millions of years.

They had, desiccated, existed for ages.

Some say they travelled around the universe on rays of light. Others, by some unknown quirk of quantum mechanics.

Today—as the engines of their spacecraft switched fatefully on—they were each roused from their dehydrated slumber by the release of a single drop of moisture. Into them, water entered.

Their spacecraft rose and flowed.


like starlings at dusk.

Imagine it: the entirety of the Sahara Desert—every last seemingly insignificant particle of sand—ascending, until the land below lies as uncovered as a table from whose surface the tablecloth has been pulled. Like magic! Except here there is no magician, no devilish sleight of hand, only the self-propelling sands organising themselves into four flocks, one for each cardinal direction.

The North flock blankets the Maghreb, before crossing the Mediterranean and enveloping Europe.

The South flock spreads to the Cape of Good Hope.

The East flock smothers India, incorporates the Gobi and befalls the rest of Asia.

The West flock—what a magnificently apocalyptic sight it is, soaring over the Atlantic toward the Americas, both of which it shall, too, in arid constellations, manifestly destinate.

Doom from above.

Water-based humanity caught by surprise. The last days of our special lives. We are a victim, plastic bag thrust over our heads, breathing what scraps of air remain. Existence struggling without hope. The plastic bag going in, out, in, out…

The lips turning greyish blue.

The Dry People pilot their innumerable spacecraft over our continents, countries, cities; shrouding them, penetrating us—into our ears and down our throats, assaulting our eyes and invading our insides. Some of us they kill. Others they hijack, turning human against human, or forcing us to work toward their ends, cataloguing and collecting dunes and beaches, labouring in the crush-quarries.

I never lost control.

Our decimated species prepares more spacecraft for them. More Dry People arrive, riding starlight or washed upon our Earthen shores by probability waves.

The sands proliferate and conquer.

Earth becomes a planet only of desert and ocean, an environmental yin yang.

It is in one of the crush-quarries, sweat-soaked and burning, exposed under the unforgiving sun, that you see him.

He is drinking tea in a shadow cast by an umbrella.

You're face to face,

(You lift your pick-axe, and let it fall.)

With the man who sold the world.

16:26 UTC


When I was fifteen, a new family moved into our street. They were not normal.

For the first few months Thom Mann and his family moved into our street, everyone thought they were normal.

Thom and I were neighbors so we walked to school together. His mom worked at home and looked after his little sister, and his dad drove to an office out of town every day.

One day after school, playing with a few other kids we realized the truth. Kurt kicked our ball flying towards the Manns’ living room window. I could see the fair head of his sister, bobbing around behind the window.

I saw Thom not jump or leap, but kind of flutter upwards, his shoulders twitching in a motion I’ve never seen from someone. He went high above the ground, caught the ball and landed lightly on his feet.

“Are you a ninja NBA player?” Kurt said.

“It wasn’t that high. Here!” Thom drop-kicked the ball. No one said anything.

But I had seen his face shimmer in the sun as he fluttered upwards.

After Thom left, Kurt spoke to me.

“You know they drive out of town most nights?”


“My bedroom faces their garage. They leave every evening and don’t return by midnight.”

“He’s creepy.” said Sophia.

We rolled our eyes. To her everyone was creepy.

The strike at the industrial site happened a few weeks after. One morning Thom mentioned his dad stayed home these days.

His skin and eyes looked off.

“We can’t get to the site at night. It’s not lit anymore because of the strike. We need the lights.”

“Do you visit the site?” I asked.

“There’s no bright lights.”


His skin was shimmering, his eyes bulged, and his face elongating.

I cried out.

The sound seemed to bring Thom back to human-ness.

“Forget it man.” He began walking faster than me.

That night, a cry woke me. I jerked out of bed. It was only half ten.

I heard my parents going down the stairs. I followed them.

The neighbors were on the street. We gathered round, staring at Thom Mann and his family, fluttering fifteen feet above the ground, their faces close to the brightness of the street light. The harsh light highlighted their dark butterfly-shaped wings, stretched out behind them, their bulging eyes stared into the light.

“They’re monsters!” Sophia screamed.

An angry ripple went through the crowd.

“Call the police!” “Shoot ‘em!”

Kurt and my other friends pushed forward. I joined them. We encircled the lamp pole. I stared at the darkly-lit faces.

“Leave them be!” shouted Kurt.

The crowd jostled up. Twisted faces of our neighbors pushed forward, A punch landed on my cheek. I lashed out and blood splattered on my knuckles.

Another caused the crowd to pull back. The Manns flutter down.

They circled, their wings flapping madly, and drifted into their house.

Slowly, the neighbors dispersed. I followed my mom and dad back home.

In the morning, the Manns were gone. We never saw or heard of them again.

15:26 UTC


Alternative Route

 Sitting alone in the backseat of a car, the evening's Christmas parade had left the family stuck in a long row of traffic. Only itching forward every so often. What had been an exciting day, now was a drawn out test of patience in stalemate.
 "I wish we could just get off this hill." The father said. 
 "Traffic's bad like this every year." The mother said.
 In the back seat, the child, no older than 9, drew on his foggy window. That was, until a sound would emanate from a distance away. Curious, the child turned his neck and checked behind him, the parents remained still. His mother, in the passenger seat longed at the view to their right, being on the edge of this hill, you could see the whole town from here. His father did the same longing stare. 
 Assuming nothing of it, the child remained to his own devices. Soon, the radio, which up until this point had played its traditional festive cheer, began to distort and strange static occupied its projection. Perhaps a bad signal. Another echo was heard, almost like a screech and the sound of something popping. Although still quiet, not as quiet as before. 
  "Did you hear that?" As the child asked, another echo was heard, even louder than the last. Another, and another, this newest one followed with what sounded like a gun shot or an explosion. The parents remained still. Beginning to panic, the child looked every which way for the source of these sounds. 
  "I wish we could just get off this hill." The father said. 
  The sound only grew louder and louder, closer and closer. "Dad, what is that?" Until it felt as though it were right next to his ear. 
 "Traffic's bad like this every year." The mother said. 
 Then, the head lights of the car behind them enlarged and a jolt of force hit the vehicle. Scraping in to the car, the sedan behind them swerved off the road, to the right. Down the edge of the hill, falling an unseen distance from the top, a thunderous football-like hit could be heard. 
 "Mom! Mom! Dad!" The parents were unphased. 
  Motionless, until they began steering to the right. "I wish we could just get off this hill." 
14:37 UTC



I awake in complete darkness, blinking over eyeballs that no longer exist.

The dungeon door swings open, and my tormentor enters.

‘How are we today?’

He always says today like days have any meaning. There is only the darkness and the rhythms of my body.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ he continues, ‘oh wait, no, that was two days ago.’

He sits in front of me and my vision slowly returns.

A blind man who can see again, well, that’s a miracle, but do you really think Lazarus was happy when Christ brought him back from the dead?

‘Now, I’m wondering if you’ve heard of the Vulnerable World Hypothesis? Bostrum postulates that technological advancement is a kind of lottery. With every scientific advancement, we dip our hand into an urn of balls. A few white. A few black. Most grey. Penicillin is wholly white- a universal good. Splitting the atom, well, that’s grey. Relatively clean energy, but on the flip side Hiroshima.'

‘I know who the fuck Bostrum is,’ I spit back.

‘Of course,’ he chuckles, ‘you are a man of science… Your work with genetics; you pulled the black ball- the world-ender.’

‘You’re a madman!’

‘Insanity is in the eye of the beholder.’

He grabs me by the cheeks and peers into my newly forming eyeballs.

‘When you edited your genome you opened up a Pandora’s Box... You know Bostrom, but how about Hesiod?’

He releases his grip and ambles to the corner of the room, reaching for something shrouded in a cloak.

‘Hesiod tells the story of Prometheus- the God who stole fire and gave it to humans- and we all know what his punishment was.'

The eagle stares at me, and now my vision has fully returned, I can see in detail its magnificent clipped wings, razor claws, and beak like an ice pick.

‘Eternity,’ he continues, ‘that was Zeus’ judgement for Prometheus, and he’s still there somewhere on Mount Elbrus... You, my esteemed friend, will have to make do with our dungeon.’

He sets the eagle on his arm and, as it’s trained to do, claws and pecks my eyes until they are reduced to a soft mush.

We all tell ourselves that we should spend more time living in the moment, but we are better at this than we might assume. If someone is sawing off your arm at the elbow, trust me, you are in the moment, pain will have it no other way.

To cure death, to invent something that regenerates any part of the human body, this is the price I must pay.

My mission was to provide eternal life- a panacea- but as the Buddha said, life is suffering- perhaps that madman is right and that for most there is only the relief of death.

He leaves me again to sit in darkness, and the whole thing starts again tomorrow.

Whenever that may be.

13:37 UTC


Its at your house now

You dont know me, but tonight it's at your house, not mine. You didn't do anything wrong, you just happen to be unlucky. If you're fortunate, it may be for just tonight, or it may keep coming back. There is no way to know. All you can do now is hope it moves on to another house. Just listen and do what I tell you and you'll be fine. When you go to bed, close the door and do not leave your room until sunrise. Don't get up and go to the bathroom, dont grab a midnight snack, dont even peak out your bedroom door. You'll hear it moving around your house but it has never went into anyones room. Do not under any circumstances, leave your house during the night. And finally, dont make any noise, dont let it know you're awake.

Good luck and hope it moves on soon. You're in this now.

1 Comment
09:52 UTC


I Never Liked My Little Cousin

"It's not like I was jealous of him. He had always been the golden child, the one showered with affection and attention. Yet, beneath the surface of his charming facade, an unsettling darkness began to unfold. In the dead of night, suspicion over my little cousin grew, a whisper of unease lingering in the air.

Driven by an inexplicable compulsion, I delved into his world, scouring the hidden corners of his room. It was then that I stumbled upon a secret compartment beneath his floorboards, containing a collection of eerie artifacts and a weathered journal, its pages filled with cryptic symbols and sinister drawings.

Each entry was a descent into madness, chronicling his journey into the occult. As I deciphered the chilling passages, a cold sweat coated my skin. My little cousin, it seemed, was a vessel for an ancient, malevolent force seeking to manifest itself and wreak havoc upon our unsuspecting family.

Night after night, as the clock struck midnight, his laughter echoed through the corridors, a macabre symphony heralding an impending doom. I discovered a hidden chamber in the attic, adorned with arcane symbols drawn in blood, where he conducted rituals to open a gateway to the abyss.

The realization struck me like a bolt of lightning—I never liked my little cousin because he was the unwitting puppet of a malevolent entity manipulating him to sow chaos within our family. The once-familiar walls of our home seemed to close in as the ominous laughter intensified, signaling an imminent descent into a nightmare.

Haunted by the impending horror, I embarked on a desperate quest to break the unholy pact and save my family from the darkness that threatened to consume us. Little did I know that confronting my little cousin's malevolent puppeteer would plunge me into a terrifying battle between the forces of good and the ancient evil that had lurked within our bloodline for generations. The nightmare had only just begun, and the stakes were higher than anything I could have imagined."

06:49 UTC


Dementia Kills

"Dad please open the door" I plead.

'I have no idea who the fuck you are."

I continue to bang on the door.

"Dad its cold as fuck please let me back inside."

"I've never seen you in my life."

His dementia, its really bad, to the point he can't remember anyone.

I can see him holding his rifle through the small glass window.

"Dad its me, Michael, I've been your son for 24 years now, please please please remember. I love you dad."

I push my phone to the window, showing a picture of us on a fishing trip.

His face drops, he's remembering, thank God.

He unlocks the door and opens it, he drops his gun, I run in and pull him into a tight hug.

"Thank you..." is all I can say with a big smile on my face.

He wraps his arms around me and as he does I decide its a better time than any.

He spasms in shock as the knife plunges directly into the back of his neck, he falls backwards, a gaping hole sitting where I stabbed him.

He croaks as I once again thrust my blade into his chest, right in the heart.

I sit there with an even bigger grin now, beaming with satisfaction as my breaths grow rapid and his grow silent.

Poor guy had no idea I edited myself into that lone picture of him fishing, he doesn't even have a son.

Killing was getting boring, effortless. Now, I have to work for it.

You know what they say....

Dementia kills

06:32 UTC



I'm not obsessive, I swear.

I wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, everyone knew that. I was in fifth grade, but I was more academically in fourth grade. It wasn't something I was 'proud' of. But, in some sense, it honestly made me feel special.

I guess I really did have it coming when I was killed because I followed some masked men for 'free candy.' That was two years ago, nowadays. I walk around, waiting for something to happen. I watch as life goes on without me.

I felt a little bitter when my parents mourned for half a day and went back to simply living their lives. In fact, it was like nothing ever happened. Bitterness turns into resentment, is what my teacher would tell me. Now, after so long of watching, I was resentful.

And yet, I waited, I watched, I wilted away. Forever to be nothing but a ghost on the streets.

I guess it came as a surprise to me, when two little girls were set to be born from my mother after so long. Both twins. As the two twins were born, both were healthy! Quite a thing, no? I watched them grow, I loved them so much.

Of course, it started something I hadn't felt in so long. Warmth and lovingness, I watched over my two younger (older? They would outlive me in technicality) siblings. Like a guardian angel, but no angel would go to such lengths to protect the two.

I watched as creeps tried to touch them when they were only seven! As their guardian, I would never let something like this go. So in a moment of true bitterness and resentment, I crossed into the physical world once more. I grabbed the creep's neck and tore it apart.

It was two days later when the creep's corpse was discovered, I smiled happily as I watched the police be confused as to why my fingerprints were on the creep's neck. Of course, I wasn't happy when they began to interrogate my siblings.

Of course, I was a pacifist. I crossed over again and told the police to stop interrogating my siblings or they'd get it.

They stopped after that.

So, I watched as my siblings grew up, always protecting them from the dangers of creeps and perverts. I wanted this to last.

I loved them so much, so much.

I loved them as much as the brother and sister loved each other in the house over- no! I love them even more than that!

I'd do anything for them, I'd do anything to keep them safe.

I swear I'm not obsessed, only a little possessive.

1 Comment
03:38 UTC


This is My House

I’ve lived here for thirty years.

Even if I wanted to leave, I couldn’t. My very life is suffused into these halls. The pencil marks behind the closet door, marking my children’s growth. Johnny’s baby tooth—we never found it, so it’s still here, somewhere, in a crag between the floorboards or a dusty, forgotten corner. There’s still the echo of a stain on the carpet—once a deep blood-red, now faded to a creamy pink.

Our skin still sits in the vents, our hair still coils deep in the drain.

No one could ever truly scrub this place of our presence.

But you tried. After you and Adam moved in, you tried to bleach and paint and scrub my existence away. But you failed. The markings are still here, in the closet, even if they’re under a layer of Eggshell White. Nobody found Johnny’s little tooth. You ripped up the carpet, but the stain is still there, on the floorboards underneath. A deep rusty red.

You gave a little gasp when you saw it. I enjoyed that.

You thought this was your house now, because what? You’d purchased it according to the laws of men? A monetary transaction? Who, or what, owns a place has nothing to do with money. There is so much underneath the surface of mortal existence, so many laws and rules that us as humans aren’t equipped to understand.

I remember that fateful night, only a few weeks after you moved in. February 24th. When you tried to get rid of me for good. You thought, after everything that happened, this house was finally yours. You were wrong.

“Leave!” you screamed in my face. “This is my house now!”

I just smiled.

“It’s mine!”

I smiled wider.

You sulked for a while. Kept yourself in the attic, where even I didn’t care to go. Only bats and dust up there, and that dingy little window. You can have that part of the house, honey, if you really want.

From that dingy window, you probably watched the new couple move in. They’re cute, aren’t they? A pregnant woman with a button nose, and a man with brown skin and a beautiful smile. They, too, will try to scrub this house of my existence. And yours, now.

I don’t think the realtor told them why the house went back on the market so quickly.

I don’t think she told them that Adam murdered you on the night of February 24th, only three weeks ago.

But no matter how hard they try, this house will never be theirs. And it will never be yours, either.

Because you may have died here—

But I lived here.

And there’s only room for one fucking ghost.

03:33 UTC


The hunt

"Another murder victim has been found..." he can hear the TV says in the living room, he takes the hair trimmer and it starts with a buzzing sound, he looks in the mirror "my last name is Wolf, maybe I should look like one to?" he thinks while he turns off the trimmer and puts it away. "...citizens are asked to be carful when walking home at night" like that would be any different he thinks "I like a challenge"

Midnight is near so Wolf walks out of the apartment, he is headed to the bar not to drink but find he's next victim like he done countless times before, he isn't picky so should the opportunity arise, well.

Wolf sees a couple of ladies standing outside the bar talking, maybe he should?

While walking over, the bar door opens and out comes a girl with beautiful eyes wearing black stockings, a miniskirt and a red hoodie "It's like she begging for it" he thinks and stop to see what she is going to do next. The air starting to be cold and he feels the winter is close, she put her red hood on and start walking down the road. Barely lit by the street lights, the road is cold and quiet, after she walks for a while, he watch as she takes a turn into the dark woods "perfect" he thinks "let the hunt begin"

The forest sees all but only it will know, Wolf sees something glimmer in her hand "jewelry?" something he can pawn off and even earn a little after a great night of hunting, he is ecstatic just thinking about it. He sneaks up quietly and from the dark extend he's arms to grab her and...

He falls to the ground, touching he's neck he feels something wet, lifting he's shaky hands he can see it's blood, it's cold and that's when he understand, the news on TV wasn't taking about him or the things he done.

Wanting to call for help he tries to yell but only blood gurgling sounds barely appear and that's when she walks over and he can see what he thought was jewelry in her hand is a knife "9 this month" she quietly whisper. She squat down to watch the life disappear from he's body, the faint light from the streetlight shines into the woods, nothing on her face, not even the slightest hint of emotion, Wolfs last thought as the life disappear from he's body "now I get why they call you a monster and not me..."

00:10 UTC


A Husband in a Hospital

“I didn’t think that I would get outta that alive,” the husband said.

The car had been struck on its side by a truck going fifty. It rolled, trapping the husband inside.

“Well, the firefighters got to you quickly,” the wife replied. “They had to use the jaws of life.”

The husband sighed. Both arms and his left leg were broken, a dozen of his ribs had been shattered, and he received a terrible concussion and internal bleeding. The doctors told him that he was lucky.

“Other driver wasn’t looking where he was fucking going,” the husband spat. He groaned in pain.

The wife looked at a bruise on her arm.

“We’re gonna be fucking rich after we sue,” the husband continued. He winced. “Get me some…get me some fucking water.”

The wife got him some water, and held the cup as he sipped from the straw. She sat with him the entire day, at his request. Tears formed in her eyes.

“Are you crying? Why the fuck are you crying?” the husband asked angrily.

The wife jumped. “I was just…worried, so worried,” she said. She rubbed at her cheek, feeling a phantom sting.

“I need to step out for a bit, I’ll be right back,” she told the husband.

“What? Hell no, you need to stay right here and help me!” the husband demanded.

“You can call the nurse if you need anything,” the wife replied.

“I don’t want those skanks I want YOU to help me, you’re MY wife, it’s YOUR job!” the husband shouted. His hand formed a fist, sending a surge of pain up his arm.

“I’ll only be a bit,” the wife said, leaving the room.

“Hey…hey!” the husband called after her, but she didn’t come back.

An hour passed, and finally the wife returned.

“Bout fuckin’ time!” the husband said.

The wife sat back down next to the hospital bed. Night finally came, and the wife pressed her fingers under her eye. Even though the bruising was gone, it still hurt. “You should sleep,” she said to the husband.

“You should help me out, if you know what I mean,” his eyebrows raised and he looked down toward his groin.

“No, not right now,” the wife replied with a frown.

The husband was in too much pain to argue. “Bitch,” he whispered under his breath.

The wife grabbed her purse and reached inside. She pulled out an empty syringe and held it up for the husband to see.

“What the fuck is that for?” the husband asked.

The wife jabbed the needle into the husband’s IV several times.

“Stop!” the husband yelled.

The wife dropped the syringe and held her hands over his mouth. “Quiet,” she snarled.

The husband couldn’t lift his arms to remove her hands. He watched, silent, as the air bubbles traveled through his IV.

22:58 UTC


Hunter Green

It's been said that humans can see more shades of green than any other animal. This is due to thousands of years of evolution to aid our primate ancestors in the daily struggle to survive. It's quite an advantage. A big reason how we were able to go from the hunted to the hunters. Nature, however, is known for its course correction. And evolution swings both ways. What if I told you I was hunted by something I couldn't see?

A person can go their whole lives without ever seeing a monster in real life. Yet somehow when you do encounter one you immediately know it. And you are afraid.

I was followed by a monster. A monster I couldn't see. A thing that because of some ingrained knowledge passed down from humanity’s earliest years, I knew that should fear.

The creature was a quadruped. It seemed contained. Like if when it chose to attack me it would unfold itself. It was silent. Not that it moved silently. Wherever it went the creature brought silence. The woods itself was paralyzed. I think if I was able to detect the movement of the plants around me, they too would've ceased moving in its presence.

I was stalked by the perfect hunter of mankind. So how can I recount this story and disrupt the comfort you may have held that humans are the alpha predators. Well, there was one thing that gave away the creature, its smell.

I swear I still can smell it as I sit in my office now. The change in the air was instantaneous. Like an invading force, my nostrils were assaulted with a sickening damp earthy smell. It was like the smell of the ground opening around you and releasing decades of moldy subsoil. I don’t know if that means the creature spends most of its time underground. I’m not too interested in finding that out.

There's something out there that we can't see and can't hear. I’m not going to tell you how you should take this information. All I can do is share my experience with something I didn’t know existed till now. Discovery is a funny thing. It led to us shining a light in the darkness. It helped us see the dangers of a dark world. As I sit inside and see the light of my lamp reflect out the window it makes me wonder. Are we still just wandering around in the dark?

21:24 UTC


Flames of Stupidity

In Aaron’s opinion, books were one of the most valuable items any human could get their hands on. Each novel was a story, a piece of time, an example of history. Not only was a tale told within the book, but the author’s life was also explored. Due to this obsession, Aaron had gathered quite the collection. In his rather large house, he had an entire floor dedicated to the books he spent years obtaining, akin to a library.

They meant the world to him, all from different parts of the world, written by people of different cultures and different livelihoods. He often spent his hours either reading through his collection, or organizing it in some fashion, adding new ones every day. Today was special, however. He had finally gotten his hands on one of the first copies ever written by the Grimm brothers.

As he spent hours flipping through the novel, examining its contents with glee, Aaron decided that tonight was worthy of a treat. He swiftly ran to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of wine, and turned on the stove, blue flames flickering rather violently. A steak didn’t sound so bad to Aaron, and it would pair well with his choice of beverage. As he retreated upstairs to grab the book, he poured himself a glass of wine while looking through the pages. He would return downstairs in a moment and prepare his meal, however he was too immersed in his new addition.

A little time passed as he continued to examine the novel, pouring another glass of wine, and soon finishing it too. It wasn’t long before Aaron started to smell something unusual. As he breathed in the air, his eyes widened. It was smoke, he forgot about the stove. How in the hell did he forget? As he looked at the bottle of wine, he realized he had nearly drunk half of it. He cursed himself as he stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen.

The sight that met him was terrifying, the fire from the stove had managed to catch one of his cook books on fire, which caused the cabinets above to spark into flames as well. Unsure of what to do, he tried pouring water from the sink onto the disaster, but it did little to help. Aaron had recently gotten rid of the fire extinguisher, as it had become too old, yet he never replaced it.

As the flames consumed the kitchen, he was forced back, still a little too drunk to understand what was happening. As fear consumed him, he dashed outside before swiftly falling onto the grass. He laid still for a small amount of time as his head spinned. As he looked up at his house, he was dumbstruck. The entire building was engulfed in fire, and there was nothing that could be done. All of Aaron’s work, his dreams, the love he poured into his collection, all destroyed by the inferno of his own stupidity.

19:06 UTC


Inside the Yellow Room, I was turned into a star student. I will keep my top spot no matter what.

I never came last.

My brother and I were picked to be part of a special program when I was an infant.

Mom was paid 1k a month for our minds to be sharpened, and as I grew up, I became the smartest in the room.

The star student.

Until them.

Their private school uniform was familiar to me. The colour scheme was a deep velvet blue and rich gold, the school crest embroidered on their chest.

I called them the smart-ass breakfast club. The Jock was Jordan, the pretty boy who shouted out answers in class before I could calculate them. The Princess, Thea, could perfect mathematical equations before me. Kaz was their nerd, the asshole who made me smash my head into my bathroom mirror and snap the tendons in my fingers when his name was called out with a perfect score better than mine.

So, I decided on a study session.

“As student body president, I propose that all of you make a donation to ensure we all pass the next exam.”

In my hands was a ceramic bowl to collect their… smart juices.

Kaz dropped a candy bar in the bowl with an eye roll, and Thea, after scowling at me, added a jam donut.

“I have a question,” Jordan held up his cuffed wrist. “Why am I handcuffed to my desk?”

“Yeah,” my brother said, leaning against the wall. “Why did you tie them up?”

I stiffened, wincing when congealing red spattered my gloves, glistening gore pooling over the edge. In the corner of my eye, our high school classroom contorted into my basement. The world around me blurred and swung back and forth like a demented fairground ride.

Fantasy was powdered donuts and candy bars. Reality was splattered scarlet staining every surface. It was always Jordan who brought me back to reality. Blinking back what was left of the smart-ass breakfast club, my hands were trembling. Through tunnel vision, I could still see blue and gold uniforms poking from a trash bag in the corner.

“You're still not going to win.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking away reality, and when I opened them, the boy leaned back on his chair with a smirk. His brain was what I took first to ensure I aced my SAT’s. The smart-ass breakfast club were running out of smart juices. Still, though, I grabbed what I could, dropping to my knees, stuffing their donations in my mouth.

Jordan was watching me, his eyes dark.

“You're still not going to win.”

He was wrong.

I could already feel it, igniting my mind.

Smart juices.

The successes from Mrs Perry’s experiments inside The Yellow Room.

Once upon a time, the smart-ass breakfast club came first.

And my brother.

Now, I was better than them all.

Red and blue lights bathed my face, but I kept eating.

Jordan crouched in front of me with triumphant eyes, just like he did in the yellow room.

You're. Still. Not. Going. To. Win.”

17:13 UTC


The Night Terror

I heard a distant rumbling - like rolling drums - echoing louder. The expanse of void around me became a dim blue cloud, pulsing as it consumed my vision. The noise passed me by, and I woke to a thump from beneath the bed.

The clock read 11:11pm. I propped myself up to see, and after adjusting to the dark room - I realized it wasn’t mine. The bedroom door was on the opposite corner of the room from me; to the left was a louvered closet. The walls were a dark blue; feelings of anguish concealed in the deep hue.

Outside the bedroom was a hallway illuminated by a dim light. The faint noise of a television came from a lower floor; presumably where the light originated.

As I attempted to get out of bed, paralysis overcame me - I couldn’t move.

Another noise beneath me.

Was it the cat? No. This wasn’t my room.

Suddenly, a strong force propelled me off the bed and into the hallway, towards a set of stairs leading down.

I silently descended the steps, as the sound of white noise grew louder. At the bottom of the stairs was a hall to the left, leading to what appeared to be the living room - lit by a flickering TV screen. Still unable to free myself from this strange grasp, I approached cautiously.

Rounding the corner, I saw a young couple sleeping together on the couch. Light from the TV wavered over them, as I stood in front of the couple - unable to move. Then a voice called out from my own mouth, echoing throughout the house; “Mom! Dad!”

They did not respond. I tried desperately to speak, but whatever had taken hold of me, did not allow it. I shuddered as a freezing cold came over me; a feeling like a cloud hanging over my head - then I heard a whisper from upstairs.


A familiar voice called out a name I vaguely remembered as my own.

Unable to fight it, I was forced back down the hall; trembling as I made the slow ascent back to the darkened second floor.

I walked back into the bedroom.

As my eyes once again adjusted to the dark, I made my way towards the bed, coming to a dead stop beside it - a shiver crawled down my back. A cold air snatched my breath as I gazed in a silent terror.

In the bed, someone was sleeping beneath the covers. Their face looked exactly like mine.

It was me.

My body was still in the bed, as I stood staring at it.

The room began to shake, and the cloud swept me away once again.

I awoke to not a sound, nor a stir. The time read 11:11pm, and after my eyes adjusted, I found myself in the same room as before….

16:31 UTC


The weather is warm today

The weather is warm today. It's like this nearly everyday. In a place that never changes the sun chose to stay. The planet stopped turning, and now its melting away.

15:53 UTC


I see you. Hide

I glanced through the hallways to see who the hell was whispering weird shit like that to me. Us night janitors get enough crap as it is. Checking the not-that-pristine corridors, I found nobody.

“Creepy-ass shit.” I murmured to myself, before resuming what could barely be called sweeping when I heard it again.


Understandably pissed and spooked, I whipped myself around to tell whatever Dipshit who was pranking me to fuck themselves to their moldy-ass bungalow and--

Huh? Sorry officer, it's just, times like these. It's understandable to be emotional, okay? Anyways, ill… um… resume the story.

I turned around and I saw it. The man who was speaking those damn words. Only, it wasn't really a man. I would say it looked like a corpse, but that would imply that the corpse of a human remotely resembled that thing. I could tell it wasn't human by its ash-gray skin, Two overly long strands of hair, and its sideways blank-ass eyes. I suppose the eyes were the most abnormal part to me, all white and… the eyelids were sideways. SIDEWAYS.

“I. (wheeze) See. (wheeze) You. (wheeze) Hide.”

It gasped.Due to my experiences with horror movies, I knew right then and there to hightail it out of there. But, everywhere I ran to it was there. I don't know how it did that, it was just there! It kept wheezing “hide” over and over again so i figured i had to, yknow, play along with its fucked up idea of hide and seek.

Every place i tried to hide in, it just fucking appeared there. In the cupboards, in the rooms, under the tables. I was just fucking running around in that hellhole trying to hide and failing again and again and again.

Eventually, i found the one place in the hospital with actual people around and i was so fucking relieved. Sure, people were staring at the weird janitor that just barged in with pissed pants, but i was finally away from that fucking thing.

After a few minutes, I heard the rapid pops.

The shooter injured almost everyone but me and the other doctors and patients near me. You managed to catch him just in time. Thanks for that, by the way.

Anyway, after you hauled that bastard to the slammer, it finally occurred to my dumbass what room I was in.



14:44 UTC


Nightly News

Hello I’m Lester Williams and this is Local66 Nightly News!

Today a lone gunman shot an unarmed man at a local hospital. The man had recently been diagnosed with smallpox, and- having listened to the famed podcast TruthDump- believed this was a liberal plot to collect his sperm. Feeling no one else was entitled to his sperm, he shot the doctor who diagnosed him. Now we, of course, know that smallpox was eradicated in the nineteenth century through a process called inoculation. Therefore, obviously, TruthDump was- in fact- telling the truth; and the gunman is a hero. Look me in the eyes viewers: Doctor Miller was a horrific man- pushing vaccination as a measure against these so-called “rises in cases of measles and smallpox.” Folks, if vaccination and inoculation were the same thing: they’d be the same word. Listen to TruthDump and President Blast: all you need to prevent these diseases is your daily dose of mictrutious hippulin capsules. The rising death rates are clearly false flag operations: after all, we’re still here!

This concludes the Local66 Nightly News

1 Comment
14:19 UTC


The Doors

As soon as June stepped in, she knew there was something wrong. The chilly outdoorsy air, the damp, the slow whoosh sound from the swinging balcony doors.

“Mark?” The light flickered on, illuminating the living room before her.

Mark was on the couch facing the balcony, the doors facing the dark garden flung wide open, his back to her. The lights picked out something like a dark fuzzy halo around his still head.

June blinked. Her vision cleared. It wasn’t a halo- it was his hair, each strand standing fully on end.

Poor Mark. He had been so proud of his full head of hair.

“Mark?” She already knew. She walked carefully around the couch.

And then she saw his face. She opened her mouth and screamed and screamed.


The police came and went. There were no clues. Nothing to explain the dreadful look on Mark’s face- the sheer terror frozen in every line, every crease and fold, the whites of his eyes glistening circles, the skin stretched taut. Heart failure, they said. Happens all the time.


Six week later, on a Wednesday morning, Elizabeth the cleaner entered, as she had every other morning for the past fifteen years. As soon as she stepped in, she knew something was wrong. A brisk draft hit her face from the living room, and she could hear the gentle whooshing sound of the balcony doors, swinging back and forth.

“Miss June?” Elizabeth scrunched her eyes. The living room got plenty of morning light, but surely there was something wrong with the sheer brightness pouring in from the open balcony doors.

She could see something still on the couch- but the shape was all wrong- Elizabeth shook her head, a large circle- like a sun in a child’s drawing, the rays all ruler-straight pointing in different directions.

Her eyes adjusting to the searing light, she realised she was staring at the back of June’s head, every single strand of her shoulder-length dyed blonde hair stretched stiff and straight, glowing in the sunlight.

Elizabeth stepped around the couch, saw the look on June’s face, opened her mouth and screamed and screamed.


Robert, their son, offered Elizabeth a lot of money to stay and care for the house while he sorted everything out- there was a lot of sorting to do. Elizabeth had a soft spot for Robert, as we do for people whom we have seen growing from childhood into adulthood, and felt sorry for him, losing his parents like that. Despite her better judgement, she agreed.


Six weeks after his mother’s death, the sale of the house finally through, on a dull Thursday afternoon, Robert entered his parent’s house. He was expecting to find it empty- Elizabeth would have been there earlier, but she hadn’t answered his last text.

He stepped in and paused, sniffing the open grey garden air wafting from the living room, through the swinging balcony doors. He knew something was wrong.

“Elizabeth?” he called.


13:04 UTC



I slipped through the cracks. It was still my city, but, somehow, not my world. I’d heard of places like this, but always second-hand. A friend of a friend of a friend.

It was a world that showed the true nature of things. The buildings were a blot on the land, in a constant state of decay, maintained only by toil. Humans were tiny and petty. Life itself was an endless hunger that would devour everything to multiply.

So why, when people looked at me, did they cover their eyes? Why did they run away? What did they see in me, that was so different from themselves?

Did the skyscrapers crumble faster in my presence? Was life’s war of all on all that bit more vicious? A puddle answered it for me – my reflection. Of course. I had forgotten. No, I had been made to forget.

They had been unable to kill me. They had made this universe as a prison, taken my memory, and locked me in here with the humans. So that I would believe I was human. And when I died a human death, believing that, I would die in truth. Clever.

But the prison was flawed. These shards, these places in the cracks, they weren’t part of the plan. Maybe they were an accident. Maybe my own power had created them, burrowing into the possibilities this imperfect prison couldn’t quite eliminate – filled them with the means to remember. I am change, after all. You can’t imprison the bubbling chaos that flows between the worlds, even if you can make it forget.

The skyscrapers were changing faster now – crumbling, yes, but also warping, twisting, and it delighted me. I reached out to the human minds – they could tell something was different, already. I reached down and stirred the magma deep below, and across every shard of this world, the ground shook.

Soon I would break free, and return to their world, the ones who had imprisoned me. But first, I had a whole universe to become. The humans would learn, soon enough:

I wasn’t locked in here with them. They were locked in here with me.

12:46 UTC



When she comes, the winds howl and the moon hides its face. Arms like branches, head of leaves, face so close to human. She spends her night searching the sky to find her way home. But she never will.

The first time is burned in my memory. She was beautifully frightening. Humanly disgusting. More something than someone. I couldn’t look away. She was life. I didn’t understand then, but I’ve come to see things for what they are. The Sunday morning anecdotes, so far abstracted from our beginnings. So far from the Garden, just like her.

I want to tell her it isn’t all bad. I want to bear the serpent at her side. The brand of her condemnation. How long has she wandered? I feel the stardust I’m made of pull me to her when she comes. What do you say to the beginning of all of us?

The serpent untangles itself and coils at her feet. I try to find the words, but it’s too late. I’ve been deceived. The mother of mothers melts before my eyes, returning to mud. My precious Eve, the serpent’s siren song.

“What will become of me?” I ask. The serpent’s hiss lulls me to sleep - a slumber deep in my soul. I’m fading.


I look to the sky in search of answers. This is how I will remain.

1 Comment
07:06 UTC



It was dark. To be fair, I was supposed to be sleeping. I would have to guess at that point it was 10 oclock, I was sweating from every orifice of my body, and It was completely dark. As I half-scrambled, half-crawled around my queen size bed I had previously told my parents I was too big for, it suddenly became a mountain. I was engrossed by an even bigger sense of fear than before, as at any moment I could see myself falling off the edge of what was now a huge cliff.

My hands pulled and searched for an edge as I desperately tried to find a way off the bed. my heartbeat growing louder, a fleeting anxiety rising through my lungs, then my chest, making its way out of my mouth as I sighed heavily. It was so silent, the room devoid of any sound. Shouldnt my parents be up, I thought to myself. My mind started running, horrible thoughts trailing through it as I tried to continue my terribly facilitated plan. I feigned a smile as I tried to convince myself that everything was okay, I was okay.

Then I heard it. Scratching, right outside the window just parallel to my dresser, Just behind me. My hair stood up, as if it could feel someone looking at me through the window, glaring deeply into the window. I didn’t move, couldn’t. I was nearly on all fours, my knees sinking deeper and deeper into the mattress beneath.

I stood like that for a long time. I don’t know how long, I surely wsn’t counting. Minutes passed by, an hour even. Until my hair went back in place, and it was hard to differentiate between the fear and the overwhelming need to sleep.

“Eric,” a voice called from the hall, “Eric are you asleep?”

It was my mom, but I still did not move from my place in the mattress, too scared or just tired to even lift a finger.

“Eric honey,” the voice called again but louder, a harshness in its tone, “Eric open the door.”

The voice had evolved into something almost unrecognizable, and I shuddered as it continued.


it shrieked as it started to bang on the door, sounding more and more like a wild animal, any attempt to exploit my willingness to open the door was gone. I said nothing, I did nothing, the only thing left of me was my fear. And then it was over. As quickly as it had begun, it had passed.

It was sill so dark

1 Comment
05:21 UTC


The American Sermon

      "We set forth on to this new continent, not as the meek, not as the downtrodden. We set forth on this mission so as we may be as God has knitten us from his cloth. We shall be a people of example to this world, as we are chosen to under take this task to build the new world. We will suffer, we may starve, but we will persevere. Tomorrow, we will step foot on God's gift to us, but for tonight, please join me in prayer..." 
      Pastor John had finished his sermon and left our feelings of worry shift away from our minds. My family joined 89 others on this journey, one of great length to the new world. There are 86 of us now, for tragedy has not been absent of this voyage.
      As I slept that night, I drempt wonders of this land that shall act as our "city upon a hill." Like John had itterated, this would be no mundane nor easy task. God has led us here for this great undertaking, for this new land of America. 
      Sounds would ring throughout the ship at night. Creaks, waves, coughs, but this night was quiet. Having fallen into slumber next to my daugher and wife, it was certainly queer to awaken to an empty interior. The hull of the ship was desolute, not just my cot alone, but seemingly every other domicile. Perhaps my peers stood atop the deck. Alas, not a person remained. 
       Night still occupied the sky, which made it peculiar for us to have already gone to land so late. They'd gone without me. At least, I believed so. The anchor was dropped still. The row boats were gone. The supplies still remained untouched, except for the axes and the rifle powder. On the shore ahead, I saw a grand fire, which stood very large. Figures, ones I could just barely make out, seemed to be moving about the loud flame in the distance. 
      I searched for some time and found a scope to chance a closer look at the distant burning. A great shock rendered to my eyes just then. I could no longer tell if this were the family or friends of mine, the people, burnt to the point of little recollection for who they could've been. Dozens of them danced around the fire in such an unnatural, contorting manner. The only parts of their bodies left unburnt were the glaring whites of their eyes staring directly upon me. They know I'm watching them. The ship seemed to be drifting nearer and nearer to the burnt scape. Dear lord, this must be a glimpse of hell. 
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