They are going to kill you. You just know they are. You sit here, in the back area of the white van. It’s devoid of anything, except the chair you sit in, and a white, metal floor with a screwdriver laying lazily near the wall. A fluorescent bulb hangs on the ceiling nearby, casting an erie white glow around the place. There are no windows, and everything not illuminated by the bulb is pitch black. You can’t move anything.
Solid metal bands hold every one of your limbs in place, their hard, sharp surfaces digging into your skin despite your clothes covering it. They cover every area where a joint would be, restricting your movements, forcing you to keep the limbs straight. The bands are even around your fingers, one for each knuckle you have. Including the little knuckle that’s near your fingernail. The joints of your wrists, elbows, knees, hips, ankles and toes, completely kept in place. Everytime you try to move, the edges of the bands dig into your joints, cutting them. It’s a futile effort. You can hear screaming. A person’s voice can be heard, just outside the double doors of the van. They’re screaming and you can hear laughter.…
I awoke to the sound of my cell phone ringing. I opened bleary eyes to see it was still very dark outside. What time was it?
After about 5 or 6 rings, the caller gave up. I was tired, but sleep would not come again. Annoyed, I decided I might as well see who it was that was bothering people at this time of night. The number was not one I recognized. I sent a simple text message asking “Who are you?”
Almost immediately, I got a reply. But it was not my original caller. It was the automatic mailer daemon telling me that my message was undeliverable. The reason was because the number I tried to send it to wasn’t a real phone number. What did that mean? I was about to try actually calling, when my phone rang again, shocking me and making me jump. The identity of the caller was the same as the one my phone just told me didn’t exist. It rang once, twice, and then fell silent.
Though the thought crossed my mind, I knew better than to believe I might be getting a phone call from the beyond or some silly nonsense like that.…
2 Thessalonians 2:11- and for this cause God shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie:
I am Robert Hall- a twenty year old journalism major at the University of Louisville. Ever since I was a child I’ve dreamed of being a writer. I used to carry a pad and pencil everywhere with me to conduct interviews with the neighbors. I used to interview everyone from older couples bringing home groceries, to the parents of the children I was friendly with. I even interviewed the ice cream man a few times, all in the name of a somewhat fictional newspaper of my imagination. This behavior was initially encouraged by everyone around town: shop owners and the local barber didn’t bat an eye at being asked if they had a few minutes to answer some questions.
As I got older the passion for writing never wavered. I wrote myriad of well received essays and stories all throughout grade school. However my penchant for scribing left me virtually friend-less. I didn’t really mind, except for the nights when I found myself the victim of writer’s block and had no one to hang out with. I often thought to myself that it was all part of the sacrifice.…
I want to start off by saying, I didn’t plan on coming here. My gambling tendencies got the best of me. Before I get ahead of myself, let me elaborate. On New Year’s Eve me and a buddy got really drunk and he started telling me about Aokigahara, or more well known as, the Suicide Forest in Japan. He went on to tell me the horror stories of all the deaths, and hangings and I just figured he was full of shit. When I told him so, he didn’t seem to pleased and bet me $600 that I couldn’t last a month in the forest. Against my better judgment, I agreed and took the next flight to Japan. I was also told that I have to keep a journal with me at all times. He made it very clear that he wants an entry for everyday his exact words being, “write your heart out! But don’t loose your head!”. I hate to tell him that if nothing interesting happens, he’s not getting an entry. Besides, the deal was that I last a month. Anyway, along with this journal I packed a month’s worth of bottled water and canned food for my trip as well as all the other camping essentials.…
“So what’s your story, morning glory?” he asked her, staring into her big brown eyes. They were like two magnets pulling him in. Of all the juke joints in town, he had to walk into this one. Where he would see this exotic gold skinned beauty in a dress that could cure cancer. It was a red dress. One that had seen its share of blood and lives fucked up beyond redemption. If dresses could talk, this one could write an encyclopedia of misery.
He hadn’t given any of this the slightest thought. He just wanted to wet his whistle (and something else) that night. Seeing this kind of beauty in a place like this had to be a fluke of some sort. Maybe she’s married or just feeling lonely tonight and just needs to get laid, he thought. Why else would she be in a place like this? This is one classy woman!
Joseph couldn’t break eye contact with the woman. She had him under her spell, whatever sort of who-doo it was. She never uttered a word, just looked into his eyes and then down and away, occasionally with a hint of sorrow for decoration. This only added to her mystique and beauty.…
Why is this happening to me? I’m not a bad person! I’ve never hurt anyone; hell, I’ve never even cheated on a math test! So, why is it here? Why did it choose me?
I’m in the hall closet on the second floor, while that “thing” wanders around my home, searching for me! It’s the only place I can hide, the only place I feel safe! I don’t plan on staying here long, just long enough for it to pass me by. Then, I’ll make a run for the front door downstairs!
I’d only heard bits and pieces of this thing! This killer! I heard about it on the news, but never thought I’d ever come face to face with it! But here I am, sitting in a closet, hiding from it! But why? I didn’t do anything! It’s not fair!
Oh god, I hear it coming up the stairs! Heavy footsteps followed by a loud echoing thud! It’s upstairs, at the end of the hall! Please, I don’t deserve this! I hear slow footsteps and something dragging against the hard wood floor, heading in my direction.
My heart feels like it’s going to pound out of my chest! My breathing is so heavy that I have to cover my mouth to keep from making a sound.…
A scream rang out. As I traced the auditory source of evident horror, I was led to my daughters room. I looked around quickly as I caught my breath from the reacting sprint, but nothing seemed out of place other than that tearing of a child under the bed. As I glimpsed at what might have caused any of this I noticed her new doll, limbs contorted, across the room.
Going over to the bed to console her, “Honey what’s wrong?”
Still sniffling, she managed to utter while shaking her finger towards the direction of the doll, “Its gonna hurt me!
I bent over to the doll causing her to turtle more under the bed and gave the doll a funny glimpse. It seemed to have a tidy set up, but the face gave an emotionless disheveled appearance. I walked over to the bed and got on all fours to reach my daughters face and held the doll next to me and gave it a shake
“See? Nothing’s wrong. It won’t hurt you honey. She just wants to play” I said with a grin, pulling my daughter out handing her back the doll in her shaking hands.
“Now be careful honey, and as for your friend, you wouldn’t hurt my precious girl, right?” I said jokingly and gave the dolls hair a rub.…
I live in a small village in the Western Countryside of England though I better not tell you which, for your own safety above all else. A lot of this won’t make sense at first but bare with me, theres a lot I need to say. Let me just start from the beginning.
My village has a population of 178 people at the time of writing this, the oldest being my grandfather. Now he isn’t just well known around the village because of that, he is also the only living person in the village alive when ‘Fantasmo’s Funland’ was still open. ‘Fantasmo’s Funland’ was a Carnival open between 1956-59. The reason the Carnival closed after only 3 years of service was because one day in June of ’59 Fantasmo got up and left, without warning, well according to my Grandfather anyway. My grandfather was six at the time, the first and last time he went to that Carnival. His mother had terminal cancer and only had mere months to live, while his father was lost at sea when he was just mere months old. His mother wanted make every last second with her son a memorable one, so she took him to ‘Fantasmo’s Funland’.…
The cops had everything about the kidnapping of Joey wrong. Their prime suspect, Scooter the Clown was a well known children’s entertainer in town. He performed at parties, like Joey’s all the time.
At the precinct I am an insignificant ant flailing for the attention of titans. Finally, a cop turns to me and says, “Are you lost little boy?” On cue, my silence held no longer.
“The balloons with the ransom note, they were filled with helium right?” I asked. “Scooter never had a helium tank there that day. He blew everything up by hand. Check his truck and you will see I am telling the truth.”
The officer smiled and left, only to return 10 minutes later ghost stricken. He got down on his knees and rattled “I don’t know how we missed that kid, but you just did that clown a service. ”
I beamed as I walked home, knowing my hero was safe not ever dreaming he would thank me in person. When I saw him a block from home my jaw dropped.
“Someone’s been a good little detective. I have a special badge for you,” Scooter said.
He reached into his pocket, grabbed a balloon in the shape of a badge and then blew it up in front of me.…
Thoughts of Thai food from the place around the corner cluttered my concentration as lunchtime crept ever closer. No one makes hotel reservations in December. By now, virtually all rooms were booked and the best rates were a Summer memory. Still, there is always a chance for a last minute booking so I waited, at the ready, for anything resembling a call.
Two clear tones signaled an incoming call. I glance at the clock. “Of course, just before I clocked out,” I thought to myself.
Putting on my dressiest phone voice I responded to the call. “Thank you for calling the reservation center, this afternoon. How may I help you?”
“I’m at the front desk of the Towers and they say our reservation has a problem” the woman explained, with a hint of desperation.
Forgetting about the proximity of lunch, I lept into action. “I’m terribly sorry about the issue. Please tell me your name and the location you booked a stay at.”
“I’m Sandra Henshaw and I’m staying at The Bainbridge Towers and Resort,” She replied.
Unsure of the location, I did a quick search in the computer. “Are you sure that the location you are staying at is one of our hotels?…