I was a nurse fresh out of my program and eager to start working.
After applying to many different hospitals I was accepted by a prestigious private hospital specializing in obstetrics and prenatal care. The hospital was famous for its surrogacy programs and had global reputation of delivering the healthiest and genetically superior babies.
I was of course excited and couldn’t wait to see my new hospitals and meet my new coworkers.
I arrived at the famous ‘Blessed Wing Hospital’ at 9am sharp. I was greeted by several upbeat and cheery nurses and doctors, and my attending was just as wonderful. It didn’t take long for me to make friends and fit right in with the routine. I was of course restricted from full access to the hospital seeing as I was new and needed to earn my privileges.
The only thing that struck me as odd was the fact that I never saw any patients coming into the hospital or leaving. What I did see were many happy couples arriving to adopt their newborns. I never saw the surrogates, before or even after delivery.
My job was to tend to the many newborns and ensure that each baby was taken home by their proper parents.…
I’ve never been a very sociable kid. To be completely honest, I’ve never really seen the point of it. People talk about the same things over and over again. Meaningless things. The weather. The weekend. Work. School. As I’ve gotten into my late teens, I’ve grown to loathe it. Whenever I hear the kids in my classes or in the halls talking about the same old crap and giggling my blood boils. People avoid me mostly, which can be expected. A few of the more brutish kids pick on me, but I just ignore them. I spend my weekends alone, indoors. I like to play the piano in my spare time. It’s very… therapeutic. It’s like my meditation. When I’m playing it I usually think about life. I think about people, and my general dislike towards them, I think about the kids who pick on me at school and I think about the recent disappearances of kids in my surrounding area.
They were all kids of similar age to myself, mostly girls, some even from my school, my classes. There have been eight in total; I’ve been keeping track of them you see. I follow their stories in the newspapers quite closely.…
In 1988 an unknown broadcast overtook several UHF stations in the Midwestern United States for six consecutive nights. The broadcast would last for only a few minutes and consisted of white static with a gray silhouette of a person in the center of the screen. The shadowed figure spoke with a an androgynous but deep voice and always spoke in whispers.
Those who witnessed the unknown broadcast reported that the figure would make bizarre statements that would influence one person but not another.
It’s been confirmed by the witnesses that the figure had said the following: ‘Go to sleep’, ‘Don’t drink the water’, ‘Conceive’, ‘Don’t believe anyone’, ‘Don’t trust anyone’, ‘Save me’, ‘Use the knife’, ‘Bury him’, ‘Burn the evidence’ and ‘Find me’.
After the broadcasts hit the airwaves and massive string of criminal activities began manifesting throughout the Midwest: Burglaries, physical and sexual assaults, attempted murder, attempted suicide and arson plagued many towns and cities.
Those who were arrested all claimed that the were just following orders and that they had to listen because the figure’s voice gave them recurring nightmares. The nightmares only stopped after they committed the crimes.
The origin of the broadcast remains unknown and the purpose of the broadcast has never been determined.…
“The year is nineteen-ninety-nine.”
That sentence brings me back to my senior kindergarten class when I was five years old, where we used to read out the date on the blackboard every single day. The year 1999 exists as a stain in my mind however, as a memory that will not go away no matter how I try to forget it. 1999 marked the year I lost my first tooth, my first time on a plane, and unfortunately the early loss of my childhood innocence.
That one memory that refuses to be wiped, it all started with that new (or old) TV. At that time Pokémon was the latest fad to hit the school. Pokémon cards, games, stickers, and the most popular, the TV show. So of course every time I came home from school, I would stay glued to the TV until Pokémon came on at five. The only problem was that my dad watched the news at 5:30, and Pokémon episodes were back-to-back, which meant I had to miss an episode everyday, something I whined on and on about. My dad got tired of hearing me complain everyday, that must be why he went and bought another TV.
My dad put the TV he bought in my room, unfortunately it was just an old, small boob tube, with rabbit ears even.…
When I was young, I was always told the sounds I heard at night where made up. “It’s just a figment of your imagination” my Father would always tell me. But every night, as I layed tiredly on my stomach, covered from head to toe in blankets, I could have sworn I heard what almost sounded like someone tapping their fingernails across the floor of the attic above my bedroom. Whenever I heard it, (usually around the first night of every month) it would begin ever so quietly. It’d always start out with just a few taps, repeating themselves for hours some nights, and only seconds on others. That was usually enough for me to start jumping into my parent’s bed those nights. But, as I got older, my parents would start locking their bedroom door, insistent upon the belief that my imagination was just getting the better of me. But I knew something wasn’t right.
I usually would try to sneak out of my bedroom those nights. I’d wait silently under my covers listening until I heard the latch of my parents bedroom shut closed.
Then I’d silently sneak downstairs and sleep on the couch those nights, just to avoid the noises coming from the attic.…
10:00 A.M. (Tuesday Morning)
“When you’re workin’ in a way that I do you might be able to be called somethin’ like the King of Wall Street, the brand new Andrew Carnegie, that guy at your local bar who turned one dollar bills into cigars… When you go lookin’ for the scoop like I do for so long, you only get the deep and gritty stuff for a while, and then it dries up. It’s like being on a train drinkin’ some of that imported wine only to find some fat high-roller took the last of it while you were still in the middle of a cup; it’s like when you meet a nice girl for a short time, and after you order the lobster, the bill you pay makes the already-eaten lobster spill back all over the table! I tell you, if you wanna make it nowadays… you gotta play dirty. You gotta take the shots that no one else’ll take. You gotta dig down so deeply through the dark until you find the shining light at the end of the damn tunnel. And sometimes you should just probably stay where you are… considering you may end up deficatin’ yourself.”
The old man adjusted his red spectacles and threw down the papers in front of him in disgust.…
I was always afraid of the lunch lady when I was a kid. I don’t know why; maybe it was the toxic stench of her breath, or the dead look in her eyes, or the unkempt hairs dangling off her chin. No matter what the reason was, my palms grew sweaty and my heart pounded every time I passed her in the lunch line. I never felt quite at ease until I had left the cafeteria, and even then I still was worried I would catch sight of her in the hallway between classes.
One day I got into a fight with another kid named Jeremy, and we both received detention. It was his fault really. I had been passing him in the hall when he quickly stuck out his foot in front of mine and sent me sprawling to the ground, all my books flying through the air. Samantha, the girl I had a crush on, happened to be standing in the hallway when it happened, and she joined everyone else in laughing and pointing at me. My rage got the best of me, and Jeremy and I were soon throwing punches at each other. After the teachers broke up our fist fight, we were sent to the principal’s office. …
A dream of pale, flesh colored thread.
I blinked back the darkness encompassing my vision, revealing again the dusty room we had been biding our time in. I must’ve fallen asleep, and the Sun was now dead, the window revealing night blanketed over the countryside. The moonlight casted shadows of corpses of forests and dead verdure, the sheets of snow reflecting the light with a strange sheen.
The musty scent of moth-eaten chairs and aging wood was dry in my lungs as I inhaled it, causing me to sneeze. The noise was loud, echoing throughout the spacious living room, and the interruption reminded me of the silence of the place, a midnight graveyard filled with the absence of life. I got up off the wooden chair, scratching my freshly dyed blonde hair, and went over to my bag. I pulled out my vial of klonapin, and I could feel the dismay etch into my face as I realized it was empty. I subconsciously began picking the scab on my wrist at the thought, peeling it off before I realized I had even done it.
Fuck. Fuck, what was I going to do? The last dose was probably flushed out of my system by now, what if something happened?…
The unrelenting dirt road twisted and turned in front of James, small rocks popped under the tires and a cloud of dust billowed behind him as he drove on through the forest. He was visiting his brother over a long weekend of three days. A trickle of sweat fell over his brow and into the rims of his glasses. He was a city person, he had never been in the country for a day in his life, and, although the hot Italian sun and rough terrain was bothersome, he found a sort of peace in it that was unique and irreplaceable.
He remembered the words of the leering old man that had sauntered out of his old barn, his crumpled lips bulging with tobacco. James had asked the man “Ciao sir, Do you know how to get to Ridge End?”
That was where Wayne had gotten his new log cabin, the one he would only use for vacations.
The man had smiled, as if he was glad to see someone at his barn after years of loneliness (even if they were trespassing), and said through stained teeth, “Of course good sir, in about a half mile there will be a fork in the road.…
Hope didn’t like being home without her parents. All of her friends did, and they had all shared wild tales of what exactly they had done when their parents were gone. They all seemed to get a sense of satisfaction at disobeying their parents and defying their rules. Hope didn’t have a rebellious streak. It wasn’t that she was a goody two shoes; it was just that her parents had always been reasonable with her, and in turn, she complied with their wishes.
On this particular night, Hope’s parents had gone out for Dinner and a movie, and probably wouldn’t be back until very late at night. Hope flopped down on the couch and picked up her book. It was a novel by Stephen King. Before long she was beginning to grow a little nervous. Her eyes flitted around the room, seeing she was still alone, she relaxed a little, before noticing the open door that lead into the kitchen.
The light in the room was out, and the darkness was unsettling, Hope couldn’t shake the feeling that something inside the kitchen was watching her, perhaps leering with a sinister grin.
Hope tried to continue reading her book, but kept getting distracted.…