Be warned, these stories are more than a little unnerving. Proceed with caution…
She wondered why she was casting two shadows. After all, there was only a single lightbulb.
There was a picture in my phone of me sleeping. I live alone.
Growing up with cats and dogs, I got used to the sounds of scratching at my door while I slept. Now that I live alone, it is much more unsettling.
My girlfriend asked why I was breathing so heavily. I wasn’t.
You hear your mom calling you into the kitchen. As you are heading down the stairs, you hear a whisper from the closet saying, “Don’t go down there honey, I heard it too.”
The wailing from the baby monitor just won’t stop. Problem is, my daughter is with her mother this weekend… over 200 miles away.
The last thing I saw was my alarm clock flashing 12:07 before she pushed her long rotting nails through my chest, her other hand muffling my screams. I sat bolt upright, relieved it was only a dream, but as I saw my alarm clock read 12:06, I heard my closet door creak open.
Yesterday my parents told me I was too old for an imaginary friend and that I had to let her go. They found her body this morning.
They delivered the mannequins in bubble wrap. From the main room I begin to hear popping.
They say practicing smiling in front of a mirror makes you feel happier. I wish my reflection would join along.
The grinning face stared at me from the darkness beyond my bedroom window. I live on the 14th floor.
The longer I wore it the more it grew on me. She had such pretty skin.
The doctors told the amputee he might experience a phantom limb from time to time. Nobody prepared him for the moments though, when he felt cold fingers brush across his phantom hand.
You get home, tired after a long day’s work and ready for a relaxing night alone. You reach for the light switch, but another hand is already there.
They celebrated the first successful cryogenic freezing. He had no way of letting them know he was still conscious.
For years, we heard the little voices and footsteps of the ghost children in our old farmhouse, and we got used to them. Then one day they went quiet, which should have been our own cue to leave.
I was having a pleasant dream when what sounded like hammering woke me. After that, I could barely hear the muffled sound of dirt covering the coffin over my own screams.
The funeral attendees never came out of the catacombs. Something locked the crypt door from the inside.
There’s nothing like the laughter of a baby. Unless it’s 1 am and you’re home alone.
Sleep did not come to me easily that night in the cabin in the woods, for the portraits on the wall only portrayed the deformed, the decrepit, and the damned. Sleep has never come easily to me ever again, for when I had woke I found no portraits, only windows.
I woke up to hear knocking on glass. At first, I though it was the window until I heard it come from the mirror again.
After so many years living alone in this large house I came to a startling revelation. In this time, I had closed far more doors than I had opened.
Day 312. Internet still not working.
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