YouTube is a pretty vicious place. Many violent and dreadful things are put up on YouTube for the whole world to watch, but there is a particular YouTube channel with a few million subscribers – all of its videos are of people being hurt and beaten, and some are even eaten alive by predatorial animals and cannibals. It’s disgusting; how and why does this YouTuber record these events instead of helping the people in danger? How does he find people in these deadly situations over and over again? And how does YouTube never manage to remove his videos? These questions have been circling in my mind ever since he touched my life.
I must admit that I have watched many of his videos, but I am sure that some people have tried to charge him. He is clearly sadistic, but I would think that anyone would feel ashamed to gain so happily from other people’s suffering. The weirdest part, though, is that some of the people he records survive through their trauma, and they end up in another video of his. If they continue to survive, then they get to be in more of his videos, so some people think they are all actors and everything is planned.…
My friend and I always used to walk through a wonderful, spacious park when we were younger. It was full of tall trees, and it was very nicely maintained. In this large park, there was an abandoned mansion – I can’t really say how long it had been there, but on that day, the front door of the mansion was wide open. The two of us decided to check out what was inside the place. As we inched through the door, the very first thing we noticed was that the mansion’s floor was littered with crumpled up pieces of paper. We looked at each other and observed that there was no furniture, nothing except for those wrinkled balls of paper. The mansion had six rooms on its main floor, and every room we entered bore more and more scrunched up pieces of paper.
We decided to open up one of the paper balls to see what was inside – our curiosity got the better of us. I picked up a single wrinkled piece, and, as my friend picked up another, I unfolded my paper, smoothing out its bends and dents. At that moment, it was almost as if a piece of a rainbow emerged before our eyes, and I was suddenly standing next to a large window in one of the upstairs rooms of the house.…
The digital clock read 3:15 am. I was lying awake, restless, in my bed. There was nothing I disliked more than a long, dreary, and silent night. I sighed, recalling that the nights prior to this one shared a common dullness. I adjusted the sheets in an attempt to cover my exposed feet from the biting cold that the night brought with it. Everything was pretty mundane, until I heard a knock in my room.
“Knock, knock”. I turned over to face the window, opposite to the door. Nothing. “Knock, knock”, it sounded again. It came from the door. Without thinking, I said, “Go back to bed Johnny, there are no monsters in your room”. I sighed, due to the fact that my younger brother was subject to nightmares.
“Knock, knock”. At this point, I began to grow infuriated with Johnny’s antics. I got up from bed, and sauntered towards Johnny’s rooms with gritted teeth. It sounds harsh, but for goodness’ sake, it was well past 3:00 in the morning and I was trying to get some sleep. I approached his door and pushed it open with a slight creek coming from its hinges. I peeked in the resulting crack, only to find, to my surprise, Johnny still sleeping.…
Based on personal hallucinations.
How cliche to be sitting here in the study of my Tuscan inspired home, alone and listening to the tapping of heavy rains against the glass windows. It was reminiscent of Edgar Allen Poe’s The Raven, only, I have no chamber door or the gentle rapping of a raven to distract me. Only the rain and the crackling of the warm fire in my hearth. A cold and wet winter’s night; it was unusual Arizona weather and even more so unusual to light a fire in addition to central heating.
I turned the page of my book and adjusted accordingly in my chair so the light would illuminate every inch of the page and spare me the strain of reading in the dark. I don’t know why I read this way, with only a bar lamp on the coffee table nearby and a fire. I suppose the environment is calming, maybe too calming…
The roar of thunder does not phase me and the lightning flickering across the black skies adds mere seconds of additional lighting. For a moment I look upon the fireplace and see that the starter log I placed is slowly diminishing and the flames will need to be fed again soon, lest I read in near darkness.…
June 24th, 2011
Finally found a job working with Zach at his uncle’s place. A salvaging company, digging up boat parts and other junk from the river to make it safer, stuff like that. It’s not really my thing, but it’s a job and I’m grateful for it. Met his uncle earlier today, his name is Walter, really jovial and built like a concrete mixer. We got to talking for awhile, ended up liking me and gave me a position as a diver for his crew. Told him I never dived a day in my life, but he said he will give me lessons over the weekend before I start on Monday. Only weird thing is I have to keep these journals. For company purposes, Walter says. I guess it’s in order to track our work ethic and personal health on the job or something. Anyway, I haven’t done anything like this since grade school, so maybe it’ll be good for me.
June 25th, 2011
We went out on the river early in the morning, just me and him, in this small fishing boat. And before that we spent a couple hours going through equipment, making sure everything worked. We must have spent an hour on the tanks alone.…
“I remember when you were just a little girl. Your mother and I tried our best to give you a home where you couldn’t be hurt, since we lived in a bit of a… shady part of town. When you were just a toddler, you would always follow me around the house with that cute little smile of yours, showing me that you still loved me, even after what I had done to the family. Maybe you didn’t know that I divorced your mother and took custody of you because of your undeveloped brain. No, a child naturally loves his or her mother more… Right?
Anyways, remember that time at Jack’s 10th birthday party when you accidentally tripped and fell face first into the large cake? You were so embarrassed and you felt so sorry, but everyone was laughing. Not at you, but with you. I washed your face off, but then you started crying. You asked me why you were such a mess up. I told you that you were just nine and still making some mistakes, but mistakes help make you a good person. You countered my question almost instantly with another question. ‘How does falling into a cake make me a better person?’ We both snickered and moved on, but… You asking me why you thought you were a mess up surprised me.…
The feeling of a lingering presence during solitary moments…
Everybody gets that feeling. I’m sure you have too. What you probably haven’t done is try to explain its occurrence.
See, here’s the thing: I had this feeling a few nights ago when I was in my room trying to go to sleep. I laid down, curled, facing the wall which my bed is positioned next to. I slowly, but surely, felt something stand behind me, as everybody does at some point in their lives. It felt like it was lording over me and staring at me to no end.
The funny thing about the human psychology is that it absolutely HATES unknown things, which would be why we try come up with an explanation for seemingly enigmatic events. So, being the creative wizard that it is, my brain tried to associate this figure with a face. Unfortunately I was somewhat terrified so my brain, as any brain would, decided to combine the figure and the sense of fear together to give the figure a face that would warrant such fear.
The brain can’t create faces so it copies and pastes any face you’ve see from anywhere. But given this context, it’d usually the most nightmare-inducing face you’ve ever seen.…
It was a cold winters afternoon, soft flurries of snow were gathering on the boys window sill, much of it piling in a clump on his timbered bedroom floor, unfortunately his window panes, which were designed to keep him from catching a flu, had been shattered.
He wore a cheap-looking, dark blue hoodie, except, it wasn’t much of a ‘hoodie’ because the sleeves had been cut short fraying slightly at the ends, and the actual hood was absent, his mother had bought this for him from the second-hand store which explained alot. Gray tinted skinny jeans concealed his thin legs and dark navy blue colored sneakers covered his feet. The boy had hazel brown eyes, with the same shaded hair.
“Almost done” he whispered to the small doll sitting patiently on his desk.
He gave a long weary sigh, then delicately slid the tip of his sewing needle through its frayed fabric. The boy continued the careful motion, looping the thread in circles down its exposed side, watching as the fabric was forced together, holding all the stuffing perfectly in place. Tying a small knot completed his work, and he placed the doll down in-front of him.
Next to the figure rested another, with long threads of brown silk for hair and an untidy grey dress.…
Ever had a fear of monsters under your bed? Like you could have sworn you saw what seemed to be a shadow moving down there, or freaked out when you heard a noise under the bed and was scared to look?
I don’t expect anybody to believe me on this, nor do I care anymore. I’ve told this to anyone and everyone I’ve ever known but none believed…not even my best friend. Not even my therapist. At this point I’ve given up, and just tell this as a scary story to my “friends”, and would like to show it to the world. For the record, yes, this has happened to me. Believe if you want to.
So it started back when I was about six years old. My family had moved to a new house in a new neighborhood, but still close enough to my friends. I still slept with my parents at that age and was horribly scared to sleep alone. On restless nights, I had a habit of looking at the closet, seeing the clothes hanged, and imagining the silhouettes of those clothes forming monsters. Sometimes it looked like dark eyes watching me, sometimes just scary shadows. I would think anything was scary at night.…
“So tell me Mr. Harold, what ha-..”
“M-Marcus is fine..” The psychologist was interrupted by the shaken man in the seat before him. He was shaking, head pointed towards the floor, staring into space with wide eyes as his clammy sweaty palms were clasped together tightly.
“Ok, Marcus then. Can you tell me what happened on the night of April 23rd, 2014?”
The psychologist finished his sentence and fixed his gaze on Marcus. Studying his body language.
“I… As much as I r-really dont want to.. I-I have to..” He stuttered.
“Talking about it is the only way we can help you get through it.” The therapist stated.
“Please don’t phrase it that way doctor.” Marcus directed his gaze into the eyes of the psychologist as he spoke.
“Oh..uh..” The doc cleared his throat and apologised before prompting him once more to continue.
“I had j-just clocked out at work when my phone rang.. My initial reaction was well.. Who the fuck would be calling me at 2AM? I checked my blackberry and saw my wife was calling from the house phone. Or at least.. That’s what I assumed..” He paused for a moment.
The psychologist looked up from his trance of constant note taking and questioned “is something wrong?”