We adopted Charlotte shortly after we got married. We always knew that we wanted to be parents and we were finally in a position financially to allow that to happen. We had so many plans and dreams for the person she might become–plans for what we’d teach her–an architecture for her entire life; blueprints stolen away from us less than a week after her first birthday.
Patient Name: Jensen, Sandra Age: 37 Gender: Female Diagnosis: Hemophobia, the fear of blood The following is the transcript of official statement of Michael [REDACTED], Wawa Shift Manager, at the store located at the corner of Myrtle St. and N Washington Blvd. in [REDACTED], Florida. Witness statement was recorded and transcribed herein.
I was 13 and Sarah was 10. The dark things arrived in the room where we sat, encircled in our protective salt. This was intended for we had summoned them to us in the magic of after-midnight. Silence and black had reigned in the gloomy dark of the drafty attic until we had broken it apart with our dark chanting. The chanting now complete, the silence was broken as the house rumbled to life.
I just got a new laptop–but they didn’t wipe the harddrive before they sent it to me. There is a really strange video on the desktop. I hope it isn’t real… When it begins, there’s a man out by his pool. It’s nighttime. The water is rippling behind him, lit from beneath like a calmly undulating blanket of blue. He’s attractive, in his mid-40s, average build. He’s dressed in all white and barefoot.
Name: Ansel, Donya Age: 20 Sex: Female Diagnosis: Thanatophobia; fear of death Apeirophobia; fear of eternity What follows are Dr. Blackwood’s incomplete files concerning Patient AD738075: patient journal, treatment logs, physician remarks and series of events that ultimately led to the patient’s current status. As per patient’s request, her diagnosis has been updated to reflect her current state. These files were received from [LOCATION: REDACTED] by Agent 77 and uploaded to Foundation servers. Treatment Journal of Ansel, Donya
I’m always curious about what people are up to when they think no one is watching. I see a lot of things. I have trouble sleeping most nights so I step outside for walks. I find myself out on one of these walks, the shadow of an oak tree shrouding my presence like a curtain, when I see my neighbor do something very strange.
My house is haunted but there is a logical explanation. This is not one of those stories where a tragic death happened inside. No one has ever died here. Still, tragedy surrounds the place; the two windows upstairs at the back gaze sadly out every day. No, this is not a story about a house built on an Indian burial ground. There is no one interred beneath the foundation…only in the yard. Rows and rows of tombstones stretch out past my back door to the tree line beyond. My haunted house stands in a cemetery. The cemetery to which I am now the caretaker. My great-grandfather Heinrick built this house 117 years ago. At the time, there wasn’t a cemetery within fifty miles. When this county was young, the thought of paying someone else to bury your dead as they died was an uncommon luxury. Most took care of their Read More …
My neighbor got a Tesla. If I’m being honest, I love the car and hate it at the same time. Because I hate Jim. He’s a real prig. He parks it in the driveway instead of his garage. He even has one of those supercharger stations you see downtown. Had it installed right on the concrete of his driveway last week. That stupid thing must have cost him as much as a house. How ostentatious can you be Jim? You fat bastard.
My dog and I found a body in the woods yesterday. Actually…we found several. The first one had to have been dead at least a month. She was naked. The sun cast an eerie living light down through the branches of the trees. Even before we approach it I can see her stomach undulating slowly. This is not a trick of the light. She is moving like a mold of gelatin. The kind with fruit inside.
I wonder what Nathan is doing right now. Nathan Wallows is my favorite singer. His voice is like a tormented angel pulled down to suffer in a tar pit. Haunted. He was fated to be trapped forever in my sticky black heart. Each song he sang resonated chords within me. It would be hard to convince me that each song he wrote and sang wasn’t written just so I could understand him better. That’s how much his body of work spoke to me.