Spiders

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After I dropped out of college, I found myself at the age of 21 with a complete lack of direction in life. Eventually, I started working in a small cafe called Daisy’s. It was a little, rustic styled place and the manager was a kind, older woman named Barbara. That cafe, I suppose, is where my story begins.

It was mid-winter, and it was raining really heavily outside. All the customers were gone and I was sitting behind the counter, when I suddenly got a really bad headache. I came on really quickly, just like that. I went to the men’s room and splashed my face off with cold water, but it didn’t help. The bright lights in the cafe were killing me. I was getting nauseous too; it was like a really bad hangover. I borrowed some pain pills from a coworker, but it still didn’t help even slightly. All I wanted was to go home and lay down. Eventually, I asked Barbara if I could go home early, she said that was fine, and seemed genuinely concerned about me. I was really pale, she said.

I had ridden to work on my motorcycle (my only mode of transportation), and I really didn’t want to drive it home in the rain. I thought about calling a cab, but my apartment was only a few blocks away, and I didn’t feel like waiting. I was feeling worse and worse by the minute. As I rode out of the parking lot, I noticed another weird symptom. I had a strange sensation under my skin. It was like something crawling around in me, all over my body. It was like thousands of tiny legs. I don’t know why, but for some reason, the mental image of spiders came to me. That was what it felt was under my skin, thousands and thousands of little spiders.

While I was riding home, the sound of the engine, and the rain splattering against my helmet making my head hurt even worse. I was almost home when it happened. A figure darted out into the road, right in front of me. They were moving frantically, waving their arms all about. The figure seemed to be a man, but it was tough to tell in the rain. They were wearing a long, dark coat that covered most of their body. They had dark hair which hung down and covered most of their face, but their mouth was visible, and that was the disturbing part. They were smiling. It was a huge smile; it seemed longer than a human being could possibly stretch their mouth. It had to have been painful.

I swerved quickly to avoid them, and I went skidding onto the side walk. My bike flipped over, and I landed on the cement. My vision started to go black, and suddenly, the feeling of the spiders was much, much worse, like they were trying to burrow deeper into me. As I lost consciousness, I realized what the figure had been doing, flailing about like that. They had been dancing.

I woke up in the hospital. I had never been hospitalized before, and waking up in that cold, white room was really jarring. I thought for just a few seconds that I had died, and this was some kind of afterlife. My doctor, a bespectacled man in his 50’s, explained the situation to me. I had a pretty severe concussion, and some minor internal bleeding. I was going to have to stay for a while. As he was leaving, I remembered the figure from the night before. I asked if anybody else had been injured in the accident, he said no. I also asked about the strange symptoms I had experienced the night before, but he seemed uninterested, and told me it was probably just a migraine. Then he went on a short spiel about how I should be more careful and how motorcycles are very dangerous, then he excused himself.

I was moved into a two person room, with a TV and a big window next to the bed. Barbara came to visit me once, but other than that my only company was my roommate, Malcolm. He was about 40, with a stocky build, and graying black hair. He had injured himself falling off a ladder apparently. I really just wanted to watch T.V., but Malcolm talked a lot. I mostly just listened.

Right off the bat, Malcolm gave me the creeps. He had a raspy voice, clearly he was heavy smoker, and when he talked it seemed almost like he was talking to himself and not me. He talked at first a lot about local sports teams, he was a big football fan apparently, and I mostly just nodded and pretended to be interested. I never cared for sports.

He also talked a lot about things he had seen on the news. One story that really interested him was actually a murder that had occurred in the next town over. The was a female high school student named Melissa Hayes, her throat had been slit. and her body had been left in a dumpster behind a church. . She had left her house the night before, telling her parents she was going to a friend’s house for a party. She never made it to the party though. They found her car a day later, abandoned in the woods at outskirts of the town. The strange thing was that somebody, presumably her killer, had carved designs all over the car. Random swirls and meandering lines had been etched into the paint, as well as the phrase “that’s that” on the hood. Her killer was never found.

That story brought up the subject of true crime, which was apparently another one of Malcolm’s interests. He said he had been reading a lot about a certain lesser-known serial killer lately. In Thailand, during the early 2000s, there had been a rash of killings by someone who was eventually given the title of “The Rainy Day Man”. As you can imagine he only stuck on rainy days, and though they were never caught, they were assumed to be a man, based on the fact the victims were all fit adult men. They claimed only 5 victims, but the nature of the killings made them stand out. From what the police were able to piece together, they were somehow able to break silently into the victim’s homes, and then kill them via strangulation with some kind of cord. Then they would pose the body somewhere in the house, in a normal position, like they were just going about their day. The first victim was found sitting in front of his T.V., the second sitting at his table, with a full bowl of soup sat in front of him, and a half empty bowl across the table, in front of an empty seat. The police think the killer at with his victims for a time after killing them, maybe talking to them, as if they were alive. The most peculiar thing about the case though, was the presence of small red marks all over the bodies. The police could not identify they cause, but guessed that they may have been made when the killer injected them with a needle.

Other than some more medical testing and meeting Malcolm, the first day in the hospital was pretty uneventful, but when I went to sleep that night, I had a very disturbing dream. I was in a parking lot. It was raining heavily, and I could barely see, but I could make out the neon sign for a laundromat in the distance. I knew where I was, the parking lot of a strip mall near my old college. I used to go there a lot to use the laundromat. I was actually mugged there once.

I was on my knees and soaking wet, and the feeling of spiders had returned under my skin. Something was moving around me in circles. It was a dark figure, the same one that had caused my accident. They were dancing around me in circles, still smiling that gigantic smile, even wider this time, impossibly wide. They had the whitest teeth, and they looked sharp. I knew I was dreaming, but I couldn’t wake up.

I could hear music playing. It was a song being played on piano, a frantic, upsetting song. It seemed like the player was alternating between playing a song and just randomly striking keys. It was giving me a headache, and the spiders started crawling faster. I wanted to run away, but I was afraid of the figure would attack me. Somehow I knew that the circle it was dancing in was a border, one that I was not to cross. The feeling of the spiders eventually got so bad I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I started scratching myself, but it didn’t help, so I scratched harder. I kept scratching and scratching, and eventually I started to bleed, but I kept going. The figure was laughing now, a deep, raspy laugh. I kept scratching and spiders began to pour out of my, skin thousands of them, along with the blood. My blood pooled around me, and the spiders tried to crawl back into, though my nose, my mouth, my eyes, it was hellish. The figure laughed louder and danced faster, skipping and twirling. My vision went black. Then I was awake.

I’m pretty sure I shouted upon awakening, but luckily it didn’t wake Malcolm up. I didn’t get anymore sleep that night, though. I turned on the T.V. with the volume off, but subtitles on. I watched sitcoms and a stand-up special until morning. I thought back to the time I had been mugged in that parking lot. The mugger had been a scrappy guy in his late 20’s brandishing a handgun. After I handed him my wallet, he punched me in the side of the head, hard enough to knock me down while he ran away. I gave a description to the police, but they never caught him as far as I know. I couldn’t see his eyes because he was wearing sunglasses, but I saw his most distinct feature, which was a tattoo of a spider web on his left hand.

The next day after some more tests, I was watching T.V. with Malcolm. I was flipping through channels, and Malcolm had me stop on a nature channel. A documentary about the world’s most poisonous animals  was on. Eventually they started talking about something called the Brazilian Wandering Spider, the most poisonous spider on Earth. They mentioned that, much like cats, the Brazilian Wandering Spider enjoys toying with it’s prey. I changed channels quickly, and Malcolm said “Hey, I was watching that.”

I said that I had a problem with spiders, and he said he understood. He said he loved them though. He actually kept pet spiders in his basement. Some were ones that he bought at specialty pet stores, like his tarantula and his camel spider, but some were ones he had caught. He had a lot of wolf spiders as they are easy to find as well, as a few of something he called “bold jumpers” which are apparently very common, an variety of different types of “orb weavers”, a few black widows, and a brown recluse. I found that knowledge somewhat disturbing, as it brought back some memories from my childhood. Before I had been born, my grandfather was bitten on the thumb by a brown recluse, and refused to be treated until the wound became very serious. When I was a kid, he often showed me a picture of the bite that they had taken at the hospital when he finally went. Because he had waited so long, there was a significant amount tissue loss. It really bothered me as a kid.

I told Malcolm that I could never imagine having spiders as pets. He told me that they were great pets though. Very clean, very little upkeep, but the best part he said, was watching them eat their prey. I didn’t want to hear about that, so to change the subject I asked who was watching his spiders for him. He just told me “Oh, they can take care of themselves.”

That night I couldn’t get any sleep. Just when I thought I was about to get to sleep, something happened. I started to get a headache, and immediately I knew what that meant. Soon enough the feeling of the spiders came back, was about to press the button to summon a nurse, but then I heard something, a noise from the window. I looked over and saw a dark figure outside.

The thing was out there, the thing that caused the accident, and then appeared in my dreams. It’s hand pressed against the window, wearing a plastic glove. It seemed like it was standing, but that was impossible, we were on the third floor.It was still in its dark jacket, and its hair still covered most of its face, but now I could see its teeth clearly. It had fangs, actual fangs, far too big for its mouth, and even though I could not see it’s eyes, I could tell it was looking straight at me.

My head was pounding like a drum, and I felt like the spiders were going to tear me apart inside.I decided to wake up Malcolm for help, but I didn’t want to move and risk and risk setting the figure off. I slowly looked over to Malcolm’s bed, he was lying there asleep. I quietly said his name to try to wake him, but he seemed to be out cold.

I decided to press the button and summon a nurse, but I realized I could no longer move my arms, the feeling of the spiders was starting to make my entire body feel too heavy to move. I struggled to lift my hand, but all I could do was twitch it. I decided I would just scream, and hope somebody arrived to time to save me, but my lungs seized up, and I couldn’t get any air into my lungs. I couldn’t even breathe. My vision started to go dark, but as I lost consciousness, I heard something, soft laughter.

I woke up screaming. It was bright out now, and the figure was gone, all I could see out the window was a bright sunny day.My screams had apparently woke Malcolm, and he asked what was happening. I tried to answer him, but all I could manage was an incoherent mumble.

I decided that I was done, there was no way I was staying there any longer, I was going home. I hastily got up, unattached myself from the machines, and put on some clothes Barbara had brought me. Malcolm just watched me with a confused look on his face. I muttered to him “Sorry, I have to go.” I as I walked out the door, I heard him say to me:

” You know, the little guy is probably more scared of you then you are of him.”

I barreled down the hallway, past the group of nurses who had come to investigate my screaming, I rushed out of the hospital, got in  my car, and drove home. I could call them later to sort out the bill and everything, I figured, but there was no way I was staying there in the same place as Malcolm.

When I got home, I sat on my couch, just going over what had happened to me in my mind. Eventually I decided to take a shower to clear my head. As I undressed, I noticed something in the mirror. I had red marks all over my back and chest, little spots than marked my body seemingly randomly. I spent a while trying to figure out what they could be. They looked like little red pin pricks, or maybe spider bites.

Colors

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This one isn’t as good as I think it could be. I will probably rewrite it in the future

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Colors
By: intestinal-parasit3

Did you know that there are colors we can’t see? I’m sure you’ve heard of ultraviolet and infrared right? There are also two colors, red-green and blue-yellow, that can’t regularly be perceived by human eyes. Though some people think damage to the corneas will allow you to see those two. They say the reason Manet’s later paintings were in such strange colors is because he damaged his eyes, and could see colors we couldn’t. The Mantis Shrimp can see a whopping 13 colors that we can’t.

I met Denny in art school. He was a weird dude, but I’m not the best at making friends, and beggars can’t be choosers. He was nice enough, but he always seemed a little off kilter. At first I thought he was autistic, but that wasn’t quite right. He was just, kinda, strange. He never made eye contact, and if he was outside, he would always be staring the sky. We were both kinda weirdos, so you would think we would be thick as thieves, but I just seem to lack the ability to really “connect” with people.

He would get really passionate talking about art, or philosophy and shit. He used a lot of big words I never understood. I never asked for clarification. Actually, I usually just tuned him out. He talked a lot about colors we can’t see.

I was never meant to be an artist, but Denny was. His paintings could be pretty disturbing though. He once painted a self portrait, but without any eyes. It really gave me the creeps.

We stayed in touch even after I dropped out. He was probably my best friend, which feels odd to say, considering I never really liked him that much.

A few days ago, I got a phone call from him. “I found a new color” he said. I asked what the fuck he was talking about. He told me I had to come over and see it. I told him I was busy, and hung up.

When I tried to call him the nest day, he didn’t answer. Or the next day. I was worried. I still didn’t really give a crap about him, but he was pretty much my only source of companionship. So I went over to his place. I knocked, but got no answer. I had his emergency apartment key, so I let myself in.

Everything in the apartment was the same as it had always been. The shitty TV, the Picasso prints on the wall, the lumpy couch. Denny wasn’t there though. I checked the bathroom: empty. Kitchen: empty.

All that was left was the bedroom. Denny wasn’t there either. But there were some odd things. There were two holes in the wall above the bed. They looked like somebody had punched the in. An empty easel sat next to the bed, and lying on the floor, was the frame of a canvas. The small metal waste bin was full of ash. Whatever Denny had painted, had been burnt to nothing. I went back to the living room and sat down on the couch. I thought for a long time. Then, I noticed something between the cushions. It was a sheet of notebook paper. I unfolded it, and I nearly shit myself.

There was a spot of dried paint right in the middle of the sheet. But, it was a color I had never seen. It was a new color. I can’t really describe it. All I can say is that it was a dark color. It made me feel sick to my stomach. It didn’t occur to me how famous I could use the page to become, before I stuffed it down the garbage disposal in disgust. Imagine seeing dog eating its own intestinal tract. That’s what looking at the color felt like. I left and later reported Denny as a missing person.

Ever since then, I keep getting this weird feeling. You know that strange sixth sense we all have? Being able to sense when someone is watching you? I get that feeling all the time.

I have a theory, just bare with me for a sec. If there are colors we can’t see, then there could be smells we can’t smell. Flavors we can’t taste. Sensations we can’t feel. And maybe, just maybe, entire living beings we can’t perceive. And, maybe they didn’t like Denny poking his nose where it didn’t belong.

When I was in the shower this morning, I got that feeling of being watched real bad. When I got out, nobody was there. But, written in the condensation on the mirror, was a message. “Don’t look for him, don’t look for us.”

I wish these things wouldn’t perceive me as a threat. I can’t connect with humans, but maybe I could connect with them. I’m sure there not happy about me spreading this information, but I have to do it to get their attention. Come on guys, you took Denny, you owe me a friend.

Puppetry

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More of a dark fairy tale than a horror story, but I think it turned out okay. This story has been narrated by TroveofTerror. Check it out here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nq6rl2sJnSs

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Puppetry
By: intestinal-parasit3

Summer has always been my favorite season. I’m glad it’s coming around again. I just love lounging by the pool with a glass of iced tea.

I remember that when I was a kid, my parents would send me to my grandmother’s house every summer. She lived way out in the boonies, so it was kind of an adventure. She had a huge house too, at least I remember it being huge, everything seems bigger when you’re a kid. I would spend hours playing in the big empty rooms, or crawling through the cupboards. It was kind creepy to though. The house was old, and sometimes at night, you could hear the sounds of a rabbit being caught by predators in the out in the woods. Those things can scream just like a human child.

My grandmother was kind of creepy too. I think she was already turning a bit senile. She tended to drift off in the middle of sentences, and she spent long periods of time looking out the window, or just staring the pictures hung on the wall.
She had great stories though, fairy tales and fables, stuff like that. I could listen to her for hours. She told long sagas of mischievous trolls, wise old spirits, and brave warriors. She never needed read from a book or anything, they were all just stored up there in her head. I don’t know how she remembered them all, especially considered she was probably experiencing the early stages of dementia.

There was one story though, that kind of bothered me as a kid. In fact, it still bothers me as an adult. She told me the story late one evening as the sun was going down. She was sitting in her old rocking chair, and I was cross-legged on the floor. I will recount this story to the best of my abilities.
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Many years ago, there was a puppeteer named Heinrich. He lived in a small mountain town, and his house beside the woods. He carved each one of his puppets by hand. His puppets were like his children. Whenever he felt inspired to add a new member to his family, we would go to the forest to gather wood, and then spend hours in his little house, carving until the new puppet was perfect.

Aside from his wooden children, Heinrich had one real child, a teenage boy named Johan. Johan, as you can imagine, resented how much time his father spent on his puppets. Heinrich was too frail to do any real work, which meant Johan had to provide for the both of them. He worked as a farmhand, spending every day in the cold and the heat to make ends meet.

While Johan toiled all day long, Heinrich just sat at home, playing and talking with his puppets like they were real. Overtime, Johan’s resentment off his father grew into a slow boiling rage. But he reminded himself off all the good times he and his father had when they were both younger. The memory he treasured most was the day Heinrich built a swing for him, in the tree beside their house. Those memories kept him from ever taking his anger out on his father.

One day, while working the fields, Johan cut himself badly on his scythe. The wound bled heavily, and Johan had to spend all his savings having it treated and stitched by the town doctor. That evening, when Johan made it home, he finally told his father how he felt about him. He told him how angry he was, how much he resented working so hard to feed his worthless father, how he hated the way his father ignored his flesh-and-blood son for a bunch of puppets. Heinrich just sat there silently, and then he fell, producing only a slight “thud” as he hit the floor. He was dead.

The whole town attended the funeral. A few cried, for Heinrich had been well liked by everyone. Johan didn’t cry though, he just stood by the grave, silent, barely moving. The townspeople were mortified by his lack of emotions.

A while later, people noticed that they hadn’t seen Johan since the funeral. One of Johan’s fellow farmhands, Bram, went to see if he was okay. As he approached the house, he noticed the old tree, the one Heinrich had built a swing for his son in, had been chopped down. When Bram entered the house, his heart froze. Sitting in front of the fireplace Johan, and next to him, a life size, wooden puppet of Heinrich. Surrounding them were all the puppets Heinrich had made over the years. Johan chatted happily to his wooden father, and his wooden siblings, controlling their strings to make them respond.

The townspeople had to drag the utterly mad Johan out off his house. He screamed all the way. During the struggle, Bram accidentally knocked over the puppet Heinrich. His wooden head shattered on the floor, and out poured real, human blood.
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I was the one who found my Grandmother, after she died. I had gone to her house to deliver her some groceries. I found her dead, in the same room where she told me that story as a child. It took me ten minutes to call the police. It was just, as she laid there on the floor, in the early stages of rigor mortis, I couldn’t help but notice how wooden she looked.

Unbelievable

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Probably the best thing I’ve written so far.

Please feel free to tell me what you think, and I hope you enjoy~

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Unbelievable

By: intestinal-parasit3

Several years ago, when I was a college senior, I participated in a somewhat unusual study. The last day before winter break, a psychology professor approached me in the hall. I had never met this man, and I didn’t take any of his classes. He said he had heard I was strapped for cash (which was true) and offered to pay me for my help in a study he was conducting. He wanted me to approach strangers on the street and ask them to tell me a story. Not just any story, but a true story they couldn’t get anyone to believe. I asked him why he wanted this. He simply said it was for a “personal project”. I was going to decline until he told me the amount of money  he was offering.

Over winter break I approached several hundred strangers, and asked if they wanted to participate in an anonymous study. Most of the stories were rather banal. The majority of people told me about times they met a celebrity, or achieved some amazing athletic feat when no one was around to see, banal things like that. Some told me about visits from angels or dead relatives. A small handful of people though, told me stories I found truly disturbing.

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Interview Location: A local coffee shop

Interviewee: A man who wore thick glasses and a heavy winter coat. He played with and bent his coffee stir stick while he told the story.

Story: When I was a teenager, I was in this hospital for a few days after a car accident. My roommate was a 12 year old girl, and she wasn’t much fun to talk to, so I was pretty bored. Anyway, on my last night in the hospital, I woke up at about 3 a.m. and I couldn’t get back to sleep. After a few minutes I heard a rustling sound to my left. It was coming from the air vent on the wall above my bed. Then, in the air vent, I saw a face. It was a man’s face, but its eyes were closed. Then a hand reached some fingers out of the vent and started shaking the slats. I could only see his face and hand, but his skin was all clammy and wet looking. Then he started to talk. He talked in a voice like someone who had strained their vocal cords real bad.” Let me out of here” he said. “You can’t keep me caged up like this. I’m innocent. You know I’m innocent. Let me out”. It kept going like that. I just closed my eyes and pretended I was asleep. After a few minutes it stopped, but I still didn’t open my eyes until morning.

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Interview Location: The sidewalk outside a fast food place

Interviewee: A teenage boy. His hair was dyed neon red. Was wearing a black hoodie with the name of some metal band.

Story: So dude, there’s these videos that just show up online sometimes, on lotsa different video sites. But they always get taken down right away. It’s always this same thing. This guy surgical mask talks at the camera in front of a black background. He talks at the screen in some language I don’t know. I think maybe it’s German. And there’s Japanese subtitles at the bottom of some of the videos. After he talks for a bit it zooms over to a person tied to a chair. It’s a different person each time, and they always seem like their drugged. They wiggle around but they don’t talk. Oh, and their always naked. Then the dude walks and cuts their throat with a scalpel, and the blood spurts everywhere. The most fucked up part is that, the people, they don’t die though, they just keep wriggling around and bleeding and bleeding. They keep the camera on them for like ten minutes, and they just stay alive. Then it just cuts to black. I know you think its special effects of somethin’ but it can’t be. If you could see one you would know it was real. I only saw a few of them, but I was talking to this guy on some forum, and he said there’s lots more. I thought about downloading one, so I could prove to everyone that they were real, but somehow, it just felt like a bad idea. I mean, those videos really fucked with my head. I kinda wish I just never knew about them.

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Interview Location: Mall food court

Interviewee: A woman with her hair in a ponytail. Wearing a black sweater.

Story: When I was a little girl my dad was the preacher at a really old church. The church had a tiny cemetery behind it, and I used to play there a lot. One day when I was about 10, I noticed something near the back of the cemetery. There was the rusty metal pipe sticking out of a grave. It was in the oldest section of the cemetery, and the writing on the headstone had been worn away. I looked down the pipe and saw this tiny, little grey stone room. In the middle there were 3 people huddled around an old gas lamp. They looked like people, but they were all rotten and blackened. They were clearly dead, but they were sitting there whispering to each other. I couldn’t make out what they were saying though. Suddenly one looked up and made eye contact with me. I ran away at that point. I never told anyone about it until I was an adult. About a year ago I went back, but the church had been torn down, and the bodies in the cemetery had been relocated.

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Interview Location: Local Library

Interviewee: A young man. Wearing a button up shirt.

Story: 2 years ago I was scuba diving in off the coast of Malaysia, when something really weird happened. It was the first time I was diving solo, and I had just reached the ocean floor. I was checking out some cool coral, when I saw something weird under the sand. I thought it was a flounder, but it was way too big. I brushed the sand off it, and I nearly shit myself. It was this cluster of human organs! Heart, liver, brain, stomach, intestines, all of it! But they were moving! The heart was beating, the lungs were moving up and down. They were all connected, and bunched up tight. The weirdest thing was though, was the eye. A little to the left of the things center, peeking out from between the intestines and the stomach, there was an eye. It was looking right at me! And then, it shot something at me! It shot this chunky slime right at me! I think it was vomit. It reminded me of the way a squid shoots ink. I was terrified. I shot up to the surface way to fast, gave myself the bends really bad. About a year, before that I met this guy in Australia, and he had a real similar story. He said he was diving once and saw something crawling across the ocean floor, it was this thing made of 4 human arms connected in the middle. I didn’t believe him at the time, but after what happened to me…

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Interview Location: Dive Bar

Interviewee: An older man. Wearing a denim jacket and a flat cap. Made me buy him a beer in exchange for the story.

Story: Back in my home country of China, I spent a few years as a sewer maintenance worker. I was down there one day, when I noticed something stuck to the wall. It was like a big see-through bubble. It seemed to be some kind of membrane and it was full of liquid. And right in the center, there was a fetus. A human fetus. I know it sounds ridiculous, but that’s what I saw. I didn’t have an umbilical cord though, and it wasn’t very big. It didn’t seem like it was very developed yet. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I reached out to touch the membrane, to see if it was real. But when I touched it, it popped. The liquid got all over me, it smelled awful. The fetus fell into the sewer water, and washed away.When I woke up the next day, I had this rash that itched like hell.

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Interview Location: Book Store

Interviewee: A man wearing a grey jacket and a fedora. Total hipster.

Story: When lived in New York, I had a really bad moth problem. I know they say everywhere in New York has roaches, but I never did. Just tons of moths, usually little brown ones. It was this really sketchy little apartment, and my landlord was this scary foreign guy who seemed like he didn’t like me. I asked him to take care of the moths, and all he did was give me a single roll of fly tape (which as it turns out, does not work on moths). One summer the problem got really bad. The moths had always been annoying, but now they were straight up driving me insane. Around that time, I started noticing the little brown ones were being joined buy some larger grey ones. They grey ones were big enough that you could see their freaky little faces, and if you smashed one it would leave a huge stain. I didn’t wanna piss of the landlord, so I decided to fix the problem myself. I had no money for an exterminator, and mothballs give you cancer, so eventually I settled on a bug zapper. I hung it from the ceiling fan in the living room. It didn’t help much. A few days later I got home from work, and the amount of moths was fucking insane. They were god damn everywhere. That was it. I called my landlord and demanded that he take care of the problem. He grumbled that he would get to it in the morning. I was sitting down at my computer later that night, but I could barely use it because moths kept crawling on the screen. I noticed one of the big grey ones fluttering in circle above my shoulder. I was gonna swat it, but when it passed by my ear I heard something. This soft, buzzy little voice said “You should leave”. I got the hell out of there. I went back the next day, and all the moths were gone. I asked my landlord about it, and he said he hadn’t done anything. Even with them gone, there was no way I was staying there. I was packing up my things, and when I took down the bug zapper, I noticed something weird. It didn’t smell right. The dead moths were giving off this weird sent. It smelled like blood.

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Interview Location: 24 hour diner

Interviewee: A guy who seemed like he had a bad cold. Wearing a flannel shirt. Had a tattoo of a snake on his left hand.

Story: Well, there was this story my Grandpa told me. I think I was the only one who believed him, but I know he was telling the truth, cause my Grandpa never lied. He served in the Navy during WWII, so he had tons of stories, but this is one he didn’t tell very often. He served most of his time on a landing ship, but near the end he was on a cargo vessel. Early one morning he went out on the deck for a smoke. There were a few other guys out there, but they were changing shifts so there weren’t a ton of people out and about. One of the other guys shouted something and pointed. My Grandpa looked, and there was a woman standing on the deck! She just kinda appeared while no one was looking. She was wearing a short white dress and had long black hair. She was barefoot. She had her back to the men, and she seemed like she was watching a flock of seagulls off in the distance. Grandpa called out to her, and slowly she turned to him. She looked exactly like his girlfriend back home! Every detail was identical! She slowly walked over to Grandpa, and brushed her hand against his face. Then she just fell over. One of the other guys took her pulse, she was dead. Definitely dead, no doubt about it. No one knew what to do. Eventually the whole crew came out to see. While they were talking about what to do, the dead woman started talking. Without moving anything but her mouth, she said “Look at the birds”. Then silence. They took her pulse again, still dead. After much discussion, they came to a solution. They tossed her overboard. Grandpa tried to talk them out of it, but their minds were made up. After that, everyone just silently agreed to pretend it never happened. My Grandpa didn’t marry his girlfriend when he got home like a lot of other vets did. In fact he only talked to her a few times before he told her it was over. He said she just wasn’t the same as she had been before he left. He met my Grandma a year later.

************************************

Interview Location: Another coffee shop

Interviewee: A woman wearing a black jacket and khakis. Had on mismatched winter gloves.

Story: I was living alone in this tiny house in the suburbs. It was nice, but it was always way to cold. On a shelf in the upstairs bedroom closet, the was a little metal safe that was attached to the wall. It had been there since I moved in, so I just assumed it was empty. It was locked, but I didn’t need a safe, so I never bothered with it much. Over the winter, I caught the flu. My friend brought me food and water, so I just spent most of my time lying in bed. I threw up on the floor one night, and there was a key in it. Really, I vomited a key. It was just a little nickel plated key with no markings on it. I don’t know why, but for some reason I tried it on the safe. It opened. There wasn’t really much inside. There were a few pages of sheet music with no titles, a little plain ring which didn’t look like it was worth anything, a pen knife, and a stack of photographs held together with a rubber band. Most of the photographs were of landscapes and buildings I had never seen, but the last photo was of me. It showed me standing in a courtyard that I didn’t recognize, and I was wearing clothes that I had never owned. I know it was me because of the tattoo on my ankle. In the picture, I was looking off to the side at something off camera. I threw away the key and everything in the safe, and I moved out as soon as I got well.

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Interview Location: Upscale Bar

Interviewee: A well dressed man. I think he had just gotten off work. Kept wringing his hands as he told the story.

Story: Okay so, I was just a kid when this happened, but I know it was real. I was pretty sure my little sister had taken one of my toys, so I was looking through her room trying to find it. Then I heard a phone ring. It was my sister’s toy phone! It was one of those little plastic rotary phones, you know the ones I’m talking about. So… I answered it, and I actually heard a voice. It sounded like an old man, and it spoke in this really friendly tone. “Is this Sarah?” the voice asked. I told it “No, I’m her brother”. The voice just said “Oh” and paused for a while. Then he asked “Well then, what’s your name”? I told it “Jeremy”. The voice said “Ah, Jeremy, that’s a nice name. There’s something I want you to know Jeremy, and I want you to always remember this. After you die, you don’t have any friends, you don’t have anybody”. Then there was just silence. I went back to my room and hid under the blankets, crying my eyes out.

************************************

Of course I have no way of knowing if any of these stories are true or not. Common sense and basic logic would dictate that they are completely false. However, when those random strangers were telling me their stories, I could clearly see that they believed them to be true. They didn’t their stories like they were trying to impress me with a fascinating tale, they told their stories like they were trying to get just one person to finally believe them.

By the time I had interviewed the amount of people that the professor required, winter break was over. On the first day of the new semester I met the professor in his office and gave him all of the information I had recorded.  He thanked me and gave me a check for the agreed upon payment. As I was leaving the office, I decided to go with a hunch I had. I turned back to the professor, and asked if he had a story that he couldn’t get anyone to believe.

************************************

Interview Location: A small office

Interviewee: A middle-aged man wearing thin-rimmed glasses and a sweater vest. Had terrible coffee breath.

Story: One morning, I woke up a bit early than I usually do because of this strange, tinny taste in my mouth. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. I went to the kitchen and made my self a bowl of cereal. I sat down at my table, and looked out the window. I watched some crows on the power lines for a while. The sky was still tinged red and orange. When I turned back around, there was somebody sitting in the chair across from me. It was myself, not just somebody who looked like me, but an exact copy of myself. He even had the same scar on his forehead. He as wearing khakis and a sweater vest. He had appeared in less than a second. He told me he wasn’t here to hurt me, he just had some questions. I began looking around the room for a weapon, but I was too frightened to move. He asked me a few questions, very general questions though. What was my name. How old was I. Did I have any family in the area. All I could bring my self to do was sit there and answer him. After a while, he said that he had all the information he needed, and began to get up. I managed to ask him why he wanted to know these things. “It’s research” he said “for a personal project”. With that he stood up, walked out of the kitchen through, the living room, and out my front door.

Wet

This is the first horror story I ever really finished.

This story has been narrated by Wondermeow. Check it out here: http://www.newgrounds.com/audio/listen/640428


water-815271_1280

Wet

By intestinal-parasit3

I attended a small university in West Virginia. I’ve always been a very high-strung person, so naturally college was a difficult time for me, particularly around exam times. To deal with stress I often found myself taking long walks around my neighborhood. During my senior year, I found myself taking one such walk in the early morning after a heavy winter rainstorm.

The sky was still a reddish orange, and very few other people passed me on the sidewalk. Everything was still soaked from the night before, and enjoyed listening to water drops fall from awnings and window sills to spatter on the concrete below. The smell of fresh rain in the air had a very calming effect on me. I decided to make a beat to a nearby mini-mart for a snack.

I left the mini-mart with a coffee and a candy bar. While I was walking away, I tried to open the candy bar with my teeth, since my other hand was holding the coffee. The candy bar slipped from my hand fell into a puddle on the sidewalk. Then the candy bar was gone… It didn’t make any sense, it was just a puddle, it couldn’t be that deep. The only explanation was that there was some kind of deep hole in the sidewalk, but that made no sense. I reached down towards the puddle, and the moment my fingertips broke the surface, something grabbed me.

It was wrapped around my wrist. It kept pulling until my whole arm was underwater. It made no sense, there couldn’t be a whole this deep in the sidewalk. The thing around my wrist kept pulling, it felt like a human hand. Then, with one powerful yank, it pulled so hard my I fell, and my head went into the water.

It kept pulling, almost my entire upper body was underwater before I was able to fail my free hand out of the water and get a grip on the sidewalk.  I couldn’t get my head out though. I opened my eyes and all around me was water. It looked like it went on for miles. The water was a murky, dirty, brownish color. But the worst part was the taste. It had this bitter, metallic flavor, like the blood from when you bite your tongue.

I saw things floating in the water. I couldn’t see them clearly, but they looked like human bodies. They swayed lifelessly, attached to ropes or chains that seemed to go downwards forever. Then I looked directly below me. I saw the thing that was pulling me.

It looked like a human corpse. It was bloated, and rotten. It was naked, and its pale flesh was covered in gashes and wounds. It had milky white eyes with no pupils, and its mouth hung open like it had a dislocated jaw.

I was running out of air, my lungs felt like they were going to burst. But seeing that thing, the pure, primal, fear it instilled in me, that gave the power to wretch myself free from its grasp. I tumbled back from the water and fell hard onto the sidewalk. The air rushed back into my lungs. I saw my coffee cup laying spilled beside me, and I saw the puddle still in front of me. I couldn’t believe what had just happened was real. I picked up the coffee cup and threw it at the puddle. It just made a small splash and then laid there. The puddle was just a puddle again.

I still have nightmares about that underwater hell, and about that rotten, dead thing that had tried to claim me. For months, every time I tried to drink water, it tasted like the murky, diseased water I had tasted in that place. I don’t go out after it’s rained anymore. I stay away from even small bodies of water. I know that thing is still out there, ready to drag me down to that horrible, bottomless abyss. And when I think about how vast that underwater world was, I wonder if that creature isn’t the worst thing that resides there.