Creepypasta – Tyrek's Writing

The Shadow

They didn’t see him; nobody ever did. They sat around the dinner table, joking and singing or whatever, but Jack didn’t care, not now. There were 3 of them this time: a father, a mother, and a daughter. The parents were old, and the daughter was maybe 22 or 23, not that it mattered to Jack; he went where he was told, no matter what. A birthday party, perhaps, Jack wondered mildly, as he lazily strode through the kitchen toward the back door. He locked the door quietly before lazily looking for the light switch. The Change was Jack’s favorite part, the moment they went from joy to fear. The Change filled the room as Jack found the light switch and flicked it. Jack was quick with his duties, and when the lights came back on, the family was unrecognizable; bits of blood, hair, and flesh coated the walls and floors. Jack admired his handiwork. The Shadow would be pleased. Jack smiled once more before wandering back into the night.

Jack Rowe worked as a bartender, or at least he pretended to be every week for 40 hrs or more. It wasn’t something he liked doing. Matter of fact, he hated it. All those degenerates and heathens lit Jack on fire. If he had to hear one more story about how, this one got dumped for that one, while the other was screwing somebody else, he might decide to put an end to the whole affair in a very violent manner. Jack never got what he wanted, however, because The Shadow loved the bar. Young women were its prey of choice, and there was no shortage of them tonight.

“Jack, Hello”, Rose waved a hand in his face, “Earth to Jack.”

Jack blinked his way back into existence while turning to meet the gaze of his “boss”. If you could call her that, I mean, she was 20 years younger than him. A fact that wasn’t lost on him as his gaze slid from her face and down her neck, over curves and dips, and down to things only his imagination would ever see. Her deadly blue eyes shone in her pale face, as wild red hair framed her freckled cheeks. Rose was heartachingly beautiful, but far too young. Maybe he was just too old. It was only a few years ago when a woman like that would have been all over him, but now…

“Jack, the trash needs to go out,” Rose said, interrupting his thoughts once more. She shifted uncomfortably before shuffling out of the room. Jack didn’t blame her. With a sigh, he gathered the trash and walked out the door.

Jack dragged a trash can behind him, and he felt a familiar twinge in his neck. Jack didn’t flinch; he was used to it by now. One moment he was throwing a bag into the dumpster, and the next he was falling. Then he was still. The Shadow never really had a form other than glowing red eyes. The eyes were never the same. The size, the shape, the number. It changed from occasion to occasion. Jack noticed this idly as he looked around, for the eyes.

He found them to his left, and when their eyes met, he felt an image surge into his mind. A woman in a blue dress is sitting at the bar. She had been at the bar drinking her sadness away. Her boyfriend was a jerk or something, but it didn’t matter now. She was Marked. She would be his next victim.

When Jack returned to his post, the woman was there, sipping on something sweet, Jack never bothered to learn the name, and pouring out her soul to the woman next to her. The Shadow lurked in a corner, listening with glee as the woman described how her boyfriend went home for the holiday and hooked up with his ex. Three red eyes appeared in the corner of the room as she went on about how she found his second phone, the one with all his other girls. A fourth eye opened. Maybe it was a smile. Maybe not. Jack couldn’t care less about the woman or her crappy boyfriend, but this was part of the chase, and Jack always did what he was supposed to.

So while the woman talked, he listened, and when she got up to leave, he followed. Jack kept his headlights off as he drove behind her; he didn’t need them. His night vision had been extraordinary. When she drove up to an apartment building, Jack watched to see which was hers. Once he was certain of her apartment number, he drove off. The Chase was fun, but the rest was yet to come. He went around back, walking through an alleyway, a pair of glowing red eyes peering from the darkness. The fire escape was easy enough to climb, and the window opened easily enough. There were only two of them this time. The woman in the blue dress and a boy. Presumably the boyfriend. From the bedroom, Jack watched them argue in the kitchen. The moment wasn’t right for The Change to work; it had to be the right moment. Jack slipped out of the bedroom and into the living room.

They didn’t see him, nobody ever did, but he saw them. The fighting intensified, and Jack began to worry that the moment would never come. He would have to do it anyway; it just wouldn’t be as fun. Jack sighed. Well, if it had to be, it had to be. Jack had a job to do. A moan escaped the woman’s lips, and stopped Jack in his tracks. The fighting was morphing; they still yelled at each other, but only between breaths as they began to shed their clothes like the wretched animals they were. The yelling devolved into moaning as the woman’s back found the couch Jack had been standing by. He had escaped into the bathroom while they were… busy. Six red eyes watched as the man’s pants fell to the floor, and six more eyes watched as the woman continued her shrieks, for lack of a better term, of pleasure.

This was the moment. It was time for The Change. The breaker was easy to locate because he had already seen it on the way in. It was in the bedroom. Jack smiled, and with a push, the power was out. The shrieks and groans from the living room silenced, and Jack’s smile widened. It was even better than he had expected. He heard them whispering to each other in the living room, and Jack walked past them to the front door. He waited for a moment before locking it. He wanted to be sure they heard it. A gasp of fear from the woman confirmed it.

A laugh escaped his lips; he couldn’t help it. They couldn’t see him, he was sure, but they could hear him. He savored The Change in all of its glory, but all good things must end sometime. With a sigh, he brought up a shadowy hand, where he held his new weapon. A vase from the nightstand. Thirteen eyes watched as the vase cracked against the boy’s skull, and another laugh escaped into the void. The woman screamed and ran to the door, but Jack was fast. Jack’s tendril-like fingers grabbed her throat before throwing her back down on the couch. A shard of the vase lay at his feet. With a singular motion, he brought it across the boy’s neck. The woman was next. Jack’s hand found her throat again, and he squeezed, as her naked body squirmed beneath him. His joy could not be contained any longer, and he laughed. He laughed and he laughed and he laughed, until his eyes turned red.

When the lights were back on, Jack admired his masterpiece. The Shadow was pleased. Jack knew because he no longer saw the eyes. He was satiated for now, and so was Jack. He giggled to himself quietly all the way home.

“Jack, could you empty the trash again? I know you just did, but…” Rose’s voice trailed off as she left, not bothering to finish her sentence. Jack watched as she walked away, watching her hips sway side to side. Heartachingly beautiful was the term he had used, and his heart was aching for sure. She was the girl he wanted but knew he could never have. He thought about this as he felt the familiar twinge in his neck, one moment standing and the next falling. And then he was still. The eyes were uncountable this time, but he didn’t need to look at them to know who was Marked.

It was Rose, it’s always been Rose. Jack smiled. Maybe it was time to let her go. Or maybe he’d hold onto her for a little while longer. The eyes blinked in what could have been laughter, and Jack joined in for the last time.

Tommy isn’t Real

       I would consider my life to be normal. I’m 35 years old. I work a normal office job. I’m married to a beautiful woman named Sam, and I have a 10 year old son, named Tommy. My life is normal in every way, except for one small detail. Tommy isn’t real.
      For the life of me, I can’t remember him even existing until a few days ago. I know that’s crazy. Tommy acts like a normal kid, Tommy’s room is fully furnished, his toys litter the floor. It makes no sense, but I just can’t shake the thought. Tommy isn’t real.
       “Brian?” Sam’s voice shook me from my thoughts, “You’re staring off into space again.”
        “Sorry, just lost in thought,” I said. I had been getting dressed before stopping. I quickly dressed, embarrassed
        “You’ve been zoning out a lot lately, are you feeling ok?” Samantha asked, her voice full of concern.
         “I’m feeling fine, I’ve just been thinking a lot I guess.” I said, in an attempt at humor.
         “Ah, you’ll get used to it ,” Sam said with a smirk. She was much funnier than I was.
          I turned to give Sam a smile, before ushering her to the door.
         “Don’t you have someplace to be?” I said in faux annoyance, fashioning on a smirk of my own.
         “Yes, and I’m going to be there awhile, so don’t forget to pick Tommy up from school.”, Sam said, with a pointed look.
         Tommy. I wondered briefly, what would happen if I didn’t pick him up. Would he disappear? He wasn’t my kid after all. He wasn’t even real, but no, that would be awful. Regardless of who the kid is, I can’t abandon him. Besides Sam would just pick him up after work and then I would be in trouble.
          “ Earth to Brian, hello?,” Sam said, waving a hand in front of my face. “ Maybe you need to see a doctor, this doesn’t seem normal”

           I waved it off, “I’m fine. I’ll pick up Tommy, I promise.”, I said, shooing her out the door. “You’re going to be late if you don’t go now”
          “You just can’t wait to get rid of me,” Sam said playfully, “Don’t forget Tommy”
         “I won’t forget, I promise”, I said with a smile.
           She smiled approvingly before walking to the car. Shutting the door behind her, I headed back into the house, determined.
        Technically I worked from home, but I got the feeling that I wouldn’t be working today. I needed proof that I wasn’t crazy. I needed to prove Tommy wasn’t real. I headed to Tommy’s room to find evidence.
Tommy’s room was a mess. There were toys on the floor, paper strewn about, and crayons scattered about. I bent down to pick a toy up. It was an action figure from some TV show that Tommy liked. I never really got into it but I remember the day I came home with the toy. He had been so excited about it. I still didn’t really get it, He was some sort of soldier holding a gun, it all seemed pretty generic to me.
He was my son though, so I bought the toy, because he liked the show. I remember how his face lit up upon seeing it. The kind of joy only a child could have. It was a wonderful feeling, and yet something just wasn’t right.
I didn’t buy that toy. In fact, I never bought anything in this room. This room shouldn’t even exist, because Tommy shouldn’t exist. Yet it does and he does and I just can’t understand why. What does he want from me? Where are these memories coming from? Maybe I’m the crazy one, maybe he’s always been here?
My phone buzzed in my pocket, waking me from my existential trance. The time on my phone read 1:30 pm. I had been standing in the same spot all day. Maybe I was going crazy. The phone continued to buzz in my hand before I finally answered it.
“Is this Mr. Brian Dellinger?”, a female voice asked on the other end of the line.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“This is Andrea from Mandrake Grove Elementary. We are calling about your son Tommy. He got in a fight, and is being sent home for the day.”, the voice said.
     It took me a moment to realize that that meant she wanted me to come pick him up. “Oh, ok I’m on my way”, I said before hanging up.

I guess I’m picking him up a little bit earlier than I thought. I headed to the car. Maybe it would be good to spend some time alone with him, Even if he was a new addition to the family, he was my son, and that meant I was going to have to get used to him. As I walked out to the car, I realized something. Sam had taken the car to work this morning. But it was still in the driveway.
As if to answer my unasked question, Sam rounded the vehicle holding a grocery bag. I guess I hadn’t noticed her.
“The school called, they said they wanted you to go pick him up.” Sam said, giving me a quick kiss, before walking inside.
“You were already in the car, why didn’t you pick him up?”I asked, confused.
“I offered to, but they said something about me not being an approved guardian or something, apparently they don’t just let the kids just go home with anyone.”, she said from the kitchen.
That made sense, I had enrolled him myself, and had myself and my mother down as approved guardians. Thinking back on it now, I’m not really sure why. “ Ok well. I’ll be back”, I called, before shutting the door finally. Before getting in the car.

Tommy was sitting in the principal’s office, when I got to the school. He had his head down, looking like he had been crying. The principal sat across from him, and she nodded for me to sit down as I came in.
“Hello Mr. Dellinger, we need to talk about Tommy.”, she said. Her tone was worrying, as if she was really saying “We need to talk about you”
“How can I help?” I asked, sitting down next to Tommy.
“Well, Tommy has been acting out recently, he’s been angry, and brash. He got in a fight today, and he’s usually such a pleasant child. We were hoping you might have some insight into what might be going on outside of school. Maybe it will help us understand his behavior.”
“Nothing has been going on that I know of,” I said, defensively. I know they were just trying to help Tommy, but it really felt like they were accusing me of something, and i didnt like it, “Maybe, it would be best to ask his mother, she spends the most time with him.”
“Do you think maybe that’s the problem?” The principal asked accusingly.
“What are you implying?”, I asked, feeling the judgemental gaze of the principal burn into my forehead.
“I’m not implying anything, Mr. Dellinger. I’m saying maybe you need to spend more time parenting than doing whatever it is you do.”
The audacity of this woman, I thought as the anger bubbled up inside, I prepared to unleash a torrent of her, but was stopped when Tommy spoke.
“You’ve been acting weird, daddy”, Tommy said, a whimper in his voice. “ You keep staring at nothing, and you talk to yourself all day, and you don’t listen to me.” Tommy broke down crying, and I moved closer to put an arm around him
“I have been acting a little strange, I know. I’ll work on it, I promise.”, I picked Tommy up and headed to the door, ignoring the accusatory ire of the principal as I walked out. I hadn’t even thought about how my behavior would have affected him. Maybe he was just as confused as I was, and my lack of empathy toward him probably wasn’t helping. I decided then that Tommy was going to be my top priority. As long as he was with me, he would be my kid, and I would take care of him.
I put him in the backseat of the car, and buckled him up before getting in the car myself. Tommy had stopped crying, and was now just staring ahead blankly. I pulled out of the parking lot and as I looked in the rearview mirror I saw him looking directly at me. I felt bad for the kid. If i woke up in a strange house, with a strange man I would be crying too.
“I’m sorry ive been acting so weird, I’ve just been… confused, I guess,” I said, trying to comfort him. “We’ll talk about it more at home though, Mommy is waiting for us.”
“Mommy doesn’t live with us anymore, daddy”, Tommy said in a sad voice, “She’s in heaven, remember?”
Needless to say I was taken aback by that statement, I literally just saw her at home, right before I picked him up.
“Don’t say that Tom. Sam is at home. I just saw her a moment ago,” I said, fear tinged my voice, unsure of my words.
“My mom’s name isn’t Sam, you keep talking to Sam, but she isn’t real daddy”, Tommy said, tears began to well up in his eyes again.
My mind began to race, what was he talking about. Sam was at home, I just saw her. He must be mistaken.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sam is waiting for us at home.” I said in what I thought was a reassuring voice. It didn’t work though, because the kid broke down again.
“SAM ISN’T REAL, DAD. SHE’S NOT REAL. STOP TALKING TO SAM.”. Tommy screamed at me, as he screamed it finally happened. I remembered Tommy.
I remembered bringing him home from the hospital, I remembered his first steps, his first word. I remembered his first day of school, his first report card, everything. I remembered his mother, Linda. I remembered her fight with cancer, and I remembered her death. I felt a twinge of pain as it all came back. There really was no denying it. Sam isn’t real.
“What are you talking about Brian, I’m right here”, a voice said from the passenger seat, I turned my head, and stared in disbelief, as I saw Sam sitting next to me. A wicked smile across her face.
The look of surprise on my face must have been obvious, because Tommy spoke from the backseat. “She’s here again, isn’t she?”
“No, you’re right Sam isn’t real” I lied to him.
“Then what were you looking at ?” Tommy asked.
“What were you looking at, Brian” Sam mocked from beside me, her taunting grin still plastered across her face, I ignored her though.
“Nothing,” I lied again, “ Daddy isn’t feeling well, I’m going to drop you off at grandma’s house, ok?”
“Ok,” Tommy replied
“If only you had waited,” Sam said, her voice lilting as if singing a song, “I just needed a little more time”
“Time for what?”, I asked.
Tommy’s head shot toward, “She is here, you said she wasn’t”
“A little more time “, Sam giggled
“I’m sorry, I lied Tommy lied, but everything is going to be fine, I’m going to get rid of her,” Sam giggled again from the seat next to me,” Run inside and tell Grandma that i might be gone for awhile, I’m sorry to do this to you Tommy, and I’m sorry Ive been so strange, but I’m going to make it right I promise.”, I knew it was an empty promise, but my eyes pleaded with him to believe me.
“I love you, Daddy”, was all he said before hopping out of the car, and running inside.
“I love you too, Tommy,” I said to the empty chair behind me.
“I love you, Brian”, Sam said, laughing giddily as if that was the funniest thing anyone had ever said.

Sam giggled again from the passenger seat. She didn’t speak again, but her eyes followed me, the permanent smile, a freakish fixture on her horrible face. Her eyes bore into me as I drove quickly to the nearest hospital.
That’s where I am now. They did an x-ray and found what they said was some sort of parasite. They said I was lucky I had come in before it had done any real damage to my brain. They said that Linda’s death may have left my mind vulnerable to manipulation, and that the bug could sense it. They said that the hallucinations would fade over time, and I would go back to normal.
I dont understand any of it ,but even as I type this. I can still see her across the room. Her lips permanently parted in a sinister smile. Her eyes boring into my skull
“Just a little more time.”

Finding Your Spark: an Inspirational Story, by Matt Sterling

          My name is Matt Sterling, and I’m a horror writer. For the older readers among you, you might recognize the name. I had a brief moment, when my book, “Cries for Laughter,” was released in 2005. Since then I’ve been in and out of the spotlight as a teller of short stories. I’ve written a few good ones, I’ve written a lot of bad ones.
        I got a lot of attention for the bad ones. I think that says more about you than it does about me. Yet it all just felt so meaningless, because I just couldn’t find that spark.
       If you’re a writer yourself, you understand what I mean by the spark. That spark you get when the idea clicks just right into your mind, and you know it’s going to be a good one. That moment in Room 217, where you can see ” The Shining,” in full picture, and you hear the click as the idea forms wholly inside your mind. That’s the spark, and I had lost it.
       I’m no Stephen King of course, but that’s hardly the point. The stories just didn’t grab me anymore. I felt nothing more than the stroke of the pen, or the click of the keys. My writing had become lifeless, and soulless, and I couldn’t figure out why.
       When you search online you get the same advice from everyone. Change your location, change your writing habits, get rid of distractions, and all of that is fine. It works, I started writing, but the writing wasn’t the issue. It was the substance. The writing was hollow, and no matter what I tried it stayed hollow. That was until I met Mira.
        I’ll admit, I got a little depressed. I felt like I had lost my touch. I used to be this award-winning writer, but now look at me. Sitting in isolation, wracking my brain for a single inkling of inspiration. My friends invited me out every week and I always declined, but eventually I couldn’t decline anymore. Social pressure can be a pain.
         It was a dinner for my friend Dave’s birthday. The restaurant was nice, but I won’t bore you with the details of Dave’s party. The only important part of that night was Mira. I saw her from across the entire restaurant, and stunning was too mild a word for her. It was the kind of beauty you could only read about in fantasy novels.
          An Elven Queen perhaps, or a Fae princess. Either way, she walked over and the room vibrated with her presence. She spoke to us, and I was struck with confusion.
           She was the waitress, but that just couldn’t be. How could she be serving the likes of me and my compatriots? She was a Goddess amongst mortals, it seemed wrong to accept her service. It would make a good story though. And there it was… a spark.
             I left quickly, mumbling some excuse about God knows what. I had the spark finally. I felt whole again, I felt complete, I felt my soul returning to my fingertips, and I knew I had to strike fast. Everyone knows a spark isn’t enough to start a fire. You have to fan the flames, and that’s what I intended to do.
           I plopped down heavily behind my desk, laptop already open to a blank page, and I started typing. My fingers danced in delight, as for the first time in years I felt the joy that made me start writing in the first place. I frantically typed sentence after sentence, trying to keep the blaze alight.
           With every clack of the keys I felt it fade. The fire grew dimmer and dimmer, until it was gone. I had lost it again. The spark was gone. Everything I had written was nonsense. What a waste. I pressed heavily on the backspace, until I was met with a blank page once again.
           The next day, as I stared intently at the page, willing it to come to life on its own, I came to a realization. I knew where my spark was. It was with Mira.
          I decided to go back to the restaurant, but this time I had a plan. I would write down all of my ideas while I was there, that way I could never lose them. It seemed foolproof at the time, but looking back it might have been quite foolish. Not knowing that at the time though, I went to the restaurant.
          She wasn’t my waitress a second time, and I was fine with that. Who was I to make Aphrodite a victim to my whim? Instead I was intent to just watch. I watched her blonde hair cascade around her shoulders, her pale skin looked almost fragile to the touch, contrastingly her green eyes were sharp, deadly.
           I wrote it all down on my phone, as much as I could at least. As I was writing though, I realized that my phone had a camera. I could probably get a picture. I quickly fired off a shot, hoping nobody noticed. I wasn’t even sure if she was in the picture at that moment, but a few dirty looks were being thrown my way so it was time for me to leave.
           A story began to form in my mind, and I felt the excitement build as I raced home. I ran inside, and plopped down once more. Once I was situated, I checked my phone, and there she was. Even as bad as my phone was, she seemed to shine through it. She enhanced the quality of the photo, just by being in it. It was amazing. It was inspiring.
          Words began to flow quickly from under my fingertips. Loose sentences gave way to better, tighter paragraphs, and a spark became a blazing inferno. I had something,I finally had something and I was not letting go.
          Gleefully I wrote until the earliest hours of the morning, filling page after page with glorious sentiments. The ecstasy I felt was unmatched. It had to have been upwards of ten years since I felt this way, and I had forgotten how good it felt.
             I fell asleep on my keyboard that night, my dreams filled with words and phrases so poetic, they bring tears to my eyes even now. I finally got it back. The spark.
       I woke up with a smile on my face. I erased the damage my face had done to my manuscript, before continuing from where I left off.
         I felt the moment my soul began to drain through my fingers. The spark died again, and I was left in darkness. I looked at the picture, but it was dimmer than usual. It didn’t ignite the spark like it usually did. It wasn’t good enough. I looked at my unfinished manuscript in disgust.
       I had been so close. The words on the page felt so dull. They taunted me with their emptiness, daring me to find meaning, but I just couldn’t. They were meaningless. With a heavy heart I felt the backspace key under my finger again. The page emptied and my thoughts cleared, and I knew what had to be done.
         I went back to the restaurant. It was getting late, so there were a few people here and there but overall not many people around. Which was good for me.
           Side note: You can make your own Chloroform. I’m not going to tell you how, but you could look it up if you want to. Another side note: It doesn’t quite work the way I thought it would.
             She struggled against me as I held the rag to her face. It didn’t knock her out the way it should have,but she began to struggle less so I opted to shove the rag in her mouth as a gag before throwing her in the back seat of my car.
          I drove quickly away, before pulling into a backlot. In the cover of darkness I got some rope and tied her hands and feet. She tried to fight it, but the chloroform had made her weaker I guess. I’m still not sure how chloroform works.
            Having her in my home felt like an abomination. How could such a filthy, vile abode, contain an angel such as herself? I propped her up in a chair. I needed to see her.
             I felt the energy well up, as life returned to my hands, and began to flow into the keys. With every keystroke, a burst of energy rattled my bones. The room glowed in the presence of the goddess, and that energy flowed through me onto the page.
             I finally had it. I finally had her. My spark.
            And I am never letting go

The Man in the Mirror

I stared into the mirror, and a tall, dark skinned man stared back. His movements were sluggish, as if he were trying to predict my next move. His eyes glazed over, as if staring just a little too far into the glass. I reached out a hand, and so did He. Our fingers met on the glass, and we both stared at our fingertips. A red stain marked the glass, proving its existence, although I couldn’t see it. All I could see was the world behind it. The world where He lived.

He didn’t speak, but he looked down at the red stain streaking the glass between us. I took comfort in the fact that there was a divide between us. Why did He just stand there? Did he know something, I didn’t? Didn’t He know what was coming? If He did, He didn’t act like it. Frustratingly He smiled a demonic smile. The smile of a man with no remorse, a man with no soul.

A gun sat on the countertop in front of him, he only glanced at it momentarily before looking back into my eyes. He looked disheveled, as if he hadn’t washed himself in days. His shirt was torn, and bloody. He smiled, of course. That dreadful smile. Why did he smile? I looked deeper into his world for an answer and found more questions.

Blood. I saw blood covering the floor. A wall obscured my vision into the rest of the room behind him, but I saw long strands of orange-red hair swimming in a pool of amber. It was obvious what happened, even obscured as it was. Someone was dead, and the man had done it. I leaned to the side slightly, and so did He, to get a better look. I saw her face, and instantly I recognized her. Her name was Cara. We were together for a little while, although I hadn’t seen her in a few days. He had killed her, had I done the same?

Of course not. We had a slight disagreement, sure, but that was a while ago. I would never go so far as to kill her. Although now that He had done it, I found myself feeling ashamed. Not the shame of remorse but the shame that comes with the lack of it.

The man, reading my thoughts, smiled at me mockingly. I quickly looked down to the red streak. It was there. The mirror was still there. I breathed a sigh of relief, and he did the same. Smiling the whole time, as if to mock my movements. As long as He was on his side of the glass though, that was fine. The side of the glass with Cara’s body.

Cara. She was a lovely girl. A pretty girl. Funny, beautiful, kind, and considerate. A girl all men want. A girl that I had. All people have their flaws, I’ve had more than my fair share of them, but she was different. She was perfect. That’s what I thought at least.

I wonder if his situation was similar to mine. I wonder if He had dated her too, if He had fallen in love. I wonder if his heart was torn out, and ripped into shreds. I wonder if she looked at him with the same coldness she had looked at me with. I wonder if he watched that perfect facade crumble before his eyes, to reveal the serpent underneath

It’s enough to drive anyone mad, but I didn’t kill her, break ups happen often enough, and I deal with them and move on, but maybe The man didn’t.

Maybe He waited until the sun went down and she was asleep. Maybe he broke into her apartment, with the spare key he knew was hidden under the mat by her door. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t exactly as asleep as He hoped she would be, and they had fought. The fight would have been loud, and the gunshot would have been even louder.

The man in the mirror never stopped smiling. I hated that smile. I felt the anger bubble beneath the surface, as hatred burned into my soul. I hated that man in the mirror, and He knew it. That’s why he smiled.

He knew I couldn’t hurt him, on that side of the glass. The red streak between us serving as a reminder of our separation. He mocked me, standing beside Cara, and I hated him for it.

I did have something on him though. He wouldn’t move without me. I had the control. All I had to do was stand still, and He would never hurt anyone ever again. I laughed at the absurdity, and he followed suit. I couldn’t hear him, but his motion mimicked my own. I hated him for that too.

I heard the police open the front door to Cara’s apartment. They screamed and yelled, but I didn’t move. I held him in place, to meet his demise. I knew I could save him . All I had to do was lift my hands and do what the officer told him to do. He didn’t deserve it though. He deserved to stay right where He was. I looked at the red stain on the glass. He was still in his prison, where He would stay forever. This time I smiled, He mocked me with a grin of his own, as I reached for the gun, and fired.

The End

The Dollmaker

Thud woosh

The Dollmaker lived on the edge of town. He kept to himself most days, but that didn’t stop the rumors from spreading. Usually rumors are par for the course in a small town such as the one we find ourselves in , but what do you do when the rumors are closer to the truth than you know?

Thud woosh

There was nothing particularly odd about this man. He was a tall, dark skinned man, in his early 60s. He didn’t often speak, but when he did he spoke in a rich, baritone voice He did have one eccentricity though. One thing that lit the rumor mill ablaze. The Dollmaker, if you can imagine, sold dolls.

Thud woosh

Rumors don’t always have a logical source, and of course the old man at the edge of town is ripe for forming rumors. However the rumors weren’t about him. They were about the dolls. Life-sized dolls, of all ages, races, genders, If you could name it, he probably had it.

Thud woosh

Not only life-sized , but life-like. Silky hair caressed there heads, and the eyes. Don’t look in there eyes, they say the reflection could drive you insane. They looked so real, it was almost as if they were posing. One might expect them to, get up, straighten themselves out, and walk out the store, and if the rumors were true, they could.

Thud woosh

The rumors were not entirely true, as you can probably guess, but that didn’t stop them from spreading. They told stories of people who went into the shop, and never came back out. Only to be found in the display window by their grieving mother. No evidence had ever been found to back this claim though.

Thud woosh

His real name was Henry Hunnicker, and as long as anyone could remember he’d always lived in town. He was a husband, and a father, and he led a happy life.

Thud woosh

Even then he was a quiet man. Opting to be a more action forward member of the community. Everyone in town knew that if something needed to be done, he was the guy to call, and with little more than a grunt of affirmation he would get it done.

Thud woosh

That was until the night his wife died. He tried to continue to help the community, but when grief strikes, it strikes true. He withdrew into himself and with his son out of the state for college, Henry Hunnicker was all alone.

Thud woosh

Henry was a valued member of the town however, and the town would help him out however they could. Even his son would come to visit more often, to show some support. They helped him get a job at the local cemetery.

Thud woosh

Now you might not understand the logic of that move. Why would Henry Hunnicker work at a cemetery, especially the very cemetery his wife was buried in. The close proximity to his wife comforted him, in a macabre way. The towns people found it a little strange how much time he spent at her grave, but “We all grieve differently” they would say. They never knew how right they were.

Thud woosh

A shovelful of dirt arced gently across the night sky. Then another, then another before Henry hit the lid of the coffin. She was a little dirty, but he’d clean her. He’d preserve her, and keep her safe.

Thud woosh

Transporting her was easy. The cemetery was also at the edge of town after all. He brought her home, and made good on his promises. He cleaned her up, changed her clothes. He painted her face a pale pink, and although he wasn’t good with makeup, he tried his best. Setting her on the chair, he admired his work.
His lovely wife. His first doll.

Thud woosh

Henry waited. He had covered his tracks but surely he missed something. He was certain that at any second he would here a banging at the door, and the unwelcome cry of “Police!”, but it never came. The cemetery owner called to ask why he wasn’t at work. The owner hadn’t noticed anything either. Henry smiled for the first time in a long time.

Thud woosh

Henry found that he had a knack for doll making. After the first one he just couldn’t stop. He found the whole thing to be exhilarating. A sort of therapy. Looking into the face of death and bringing it back to life.

Thud woosh

Though he soon encountered a problem, anyone with a collection of life sized dolls might have. He ran out of places to put them

Thud woosh

Quitting his job, Henry opened up shop. Henry was now the Dollmaker. Henry, if you can imagine, sold dolls

Thud woosh

Rumors continued to spread, but the Dollmaker brushed them aside. Little did they know, the truth lay shallowly beneath those rumors, but as long as nobody found it, The Dollmaker didn’t mind.

Thud woosh

And on quiet nights like this, when the wind blows just right, you can hear the

Thud woosh

of the Dollmakers shovel.

Thud woosh

Searching for his next masterpiece.

Thud.

The Casino

Lonely lamps light a dark and dismal road. The man lurking in the shadows pays them no mind. Opting instead to walk within the darkness. The shadows had always been good to him, hugging him closely and diverting the glances of would-be prying eyes. He glided gently through the empty streets, and were it not for the tap tap tap of his cane on the road. You might not have noticed him at all.. No place in particular came to his mind but he was sure that he would find what he was looking for. He had a knack for being exactly where he was supposed to be. Without rush the man walked. Tap tap tap.

As bars go, the one that the man came to wasn’t a big one, Even still the silence when he walked in was deafening. Tap tap tap. The man’s features were no less ambiguous in light as they were in darkness, The hood of his jacket rested lazily on the top of his head. The man didn’t speak. He just sat. The man across from him, however, had more than enough words for the both of them.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this y’know”, the man said, a soft southern lilt coloring his voice. The man appeared to be in his mid-forties. Surely he was once a handsome man, but now his face was ugly, angry, contorted. He lifted a bottle to his lips and took a long pull.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this” he said, He gave a soft chuckle and then with a sigh,

“I really do love her, you have to understand that. You have to understand. I wasn’t always an honest man, you see. I have my faults like anyone else, Gambling is my vice. I’m sure you have your own. It began as small bets, trying to guess who’ll win next week’s game and things like that, but these things tend to spiral don’t they and they spiraled me all the way down to the steps of that damned casino.

Do you have a particular game you like at the casino? No I don’t suppose you would. I’m a poker guy myself. I’m not the best by any means, but I could hold my own. I realize I may be getting ahead of myself, so let’s back up a little,

My wife was never a fan of gambling, My ex-wife I should say. I did it in secret though. Just small things. I never thought it was a big deal, just some harmless fun to pass the time. I continued that line of thinking all the way up to the point where I lost my job, I lost my wife soon after. I went job hunting, but I missed the interviews, and with the debt piling up I needed money quickly. Lucky me, I know a way to make a quick buck, “ He lets out a small chuckle, “I lost custody of my kid next. I know, boohoo, after what I probably put her through, it’s less punishment than deserved. I know. A stronger man would have taken a good hard look in the mirror, but I was too scared to do that. I don’t much like the person who looks at me in the mirror anymore. I lost a lot, but in my head I only needed one big win and I would get it all back y’know. My money, my daughter, my job, my wife, everything. It really is a sickness y’know.

A sickness that seemed to spread, because not too long after, my daughter was diagnosed with a rare blood disease. Treatable, but expensive. You can probably see where this story is going. Straight to that damned casino. Now as I said earlier, I’m not the best at poker, but I’ve won my fair share. When it comes down to it, I could hold my own against the average joe, but this wasn’t that kinda crowd.

First thing you notice when you walk in is how dark it is. The lighting was sparse. In some spots there was hardly any lighting at all. It definitely wasn’t the kind of casino you see in tv shows. Dust and cobwebs covered almost every surface, like macabre decorations. I found the poker table easily enough, so I sat down to play. I told myself that I needed the money for my daughter, but I needed the money for many reasons. I was broke, and in debt, with no job, and the bills wouldn’t pay for themselves. I felt the weight of the cards, and felt like I was carrying the whole world on my fingertips.

The chips were in front of me. I was never told what the chips were for. Nobody ever spoke in that room. They looked dead, as if life slowly ebbed away with every push of a chip, Turns out I wasn’t far off. Cards shuffled into dead hands, instinctively I guarded my cards, but the others did not spare so much as a glance my way. They cleaned me out. I was sure whatever I owed them was twice what I had , but when I went to try and work something out. The dealer smiled.

His smile unnerved me. It wasn’t until he smiled that I realized I hadn’t really noticed him at all, It wasn’t until he smiled that I was able to even acknowledge his existence. His voice was crisp, and sliced through the silence like hot knife

“Your debt has been paid,” he said.

I left quickly then. The place gave me the creeps, and I would have never stepped foot in that casino again if it hadn’t been for what I found out next. I walked in the front door of my house to find my ex wife on the couch. Eyes red, head in hand, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened. My daughter was dead. My ex-wife began to tell me about how my daughter had been doing well, maybe even improving but a few hours ago she started to decline. Bit, by bit, by bit. The dealer had said “Your debt has been paid”, and I imagined him smiling as I pushed chip after chip after chip until there was none left. “ Your debt has been paid”

I ran back out of the house, the guilt eating away at my stomach. I ran back down the steps of that damned casino, The casino had a for sale sign on it. I pounded on the door, screaming and yelling, I begged to see that damned dealer’s face. The shop owner next door came out and told me that the place had been abandoned for a long time, but then the weirdest thing happened. His face went slack and he told me to come here to this bar.

That’s when I met you” The man looks up from his bottle and stares at the hooded figure.

And the man under the hood smiled, his unnerving, unearthly smile.

“I suppose you’ve come to make a deal, then”, the dealer said “Unfortunately that’s not how casinos work”

“What about a trade, you take me and my daughter comes back, no strings attached.” The man said.

The dealer smiled, and pondered for a second before settling on an answer.

“Interesting offer, but why would I take a tainted soul, over a pure one, no I’d rather keep it. Although you’re more than welcome to play again. One big win, just like you’ve always wanted.”

“I don’t want that anymore” The man scowled,

“But of course you do,” The dealer said with a smile “ I’ll see you at the table”
The dealer stands up, he’s in no hurry. The dealer walked out the bar. No place in particular came to his mind, but he was sure he would find what he was looking for. He had a knack for being exactly where he was supposed to be. Without rush the man walked. Tap tap tap.

Sixteen Days

16 days

Thats all it takes.

One thing the tv shows get wrong about the downfall of civilization , is just how boring it could be at times. Unless you’re some kind of hero, you spend most of your time sitting. Unfortunately for me I had just got home from college when the world decided to end, so I got to spend the apocalypse with my parents. I’m not really sure what triggered the end, but it sure was loud.

We sat watching the news in the living room. Or rather we sat in the living room while the news was on. My mom always liked to have it on. “You never know what’s going to happen” she would say. She’s always been a little paranoid. We sat and talked about something or another, it feels like a forever ago, I hardly remember what it was. I do remember what happened next. There was a loud bang, and then silence.

Absolute silence. The TV went out. The familiar hum of all the appliances went dead. The world outside seemed to stop, and then the gunshots.

A more curious person may have checked it out but my dad was not the curious type. My Dad’s ex- military instincts kicked in and before my mom or I had reacted he was back from the garage with two hammers and a bucket of nails. Yes, a bucket. Anytime he took nails out of something, from bedframes to swing sets. he would put the old nails in a bucket. “In case we need it” he had said. In 15 years we had never needed it, which made us wonder why he still did it. But in this moment, boy were we glad he did . He returned once more with a few wooden boards.

“Start with the windows, the doors will hold for now” he said to the room and that’s how the first few hours of the end were spent. My dad dragging planks of wood from the garage and my mom and I nailing them to the walls.

If I had had my druthers I might have checked the blinds to see what was happening outside but by the time I had even thought about it there were planks covering them.

We sat in candlelight. After boarding up the windows, very little natural light filtered through the wood. We just sat. What else was there to do. We couldn’t talk. What was there to talk about. The mundane things that bothered us before, weren’t worth thinking about anymore, let alone speaking.

That was Day One. Silence. Even the gunshots ceased there barking, and all that remained was silence.

By Day Four we realized that we couldn’t keep going without talking about what happened, so we did.

“We don’t know what has happened, but let’s assume that we will be in this house for a little while, which means we need food” , Dad said, he walked to the kitchen, turning the faucet. Water came out. ” The water works for now, start filling buckets and when there’s no buckets fill the sinks.”

He went to the garage and started grabbing buckets and pans, anything that could hold water. We filled them all the way up almost to the brim. The last thing we wanted was to spill any.

Day Four is also the day my mother began to cry. It was so soft it was barely detectable, but upon seeing her face there was no doubt.

” This war is no place for a little girl”, she had said. She had been referring to me of course, but I was not a little girl. Like I said before, I was in college,nor was there a war as far as I knew, but I didn’t correct her. I just hugged her tight, while she cried silently.

While we filled the buckets with water, Dad worked on getting the planks off the door.

We may have gone a little wild with the nails, but can you blame us, it’s the end of the world. He made sure to put them back in the bucket.

” Just in case”, the words fell almost unconsciously from his lips, “Just in case”.

When he was done , he opened the door, and what I saw was… nothing. Everything looked normal. A few things were torn through with bullets though, and as if spurred by the thought, bullets tore through the air once more, and the door was hurriedly shut and bolted. He didn’t put the planks back though.

” Tomorrow morning I go look for food”, Dad said. He went to say more but the ring of gunshots interrupted him. I wish I knew what they were shooting at.

” The war is no place for a little girl”, my mom said from where she sat, on the couch with her face in her hands.

Day Five was mostly uneventful. It was for me at least. When I woke up, my dad had left. I guess he decided to move under the cover of darkness. We worried for him but after a few hours of that, even that became boring. Instead we sat. My mother cried quietly but I could hear her through the silence. I refused to look at her face anymore. It was too painful. I looked at the ceiling.

A butterfly flapped around and around. The rustle of wings almost perceptible. He flew around the room before coming to land in the armrest of the chair. I decided then that he would be my new companion. I named him Marvin. I stuck out a finger and Marvin crawled onto my hand.

I must have fallen asleep because when I awake, My dad was walking through the door with a shopping cart full of canned goods and 2 cases of bottled water.

His shirt was covered in blood

We didn’t mention it.

On Day Eight, I noticed something weird. None of us ever spoke above a whisper anymore. It was as if silence was fragile, and breaking it could lead to harm. I noticed this because I woke up to what sounded to my ears like yelling. No not yelling, counting. I went to the garage and saw Dad with his hands in the bucket of nails, being careful not to poke himself he counted 1 by 1. I asked him why, and with no thought he replied

“Just in case”

I left him to it and went to go find Marvin. He sat on my desk. Yellow wings twinkling by sunlight. I stuck out my finger and he walked on to me and we went to the living room to sit like we always did. Everyday we sat. It was either that or lay in bed all day. Everyday Mom cried. I couldn’t remember what she looked like before the crying. I could hardly remember her face. But I wouldn’t look. I would never look.

“The war is no place for a little girl” she cried.

She must have looked at me when she said it, but I don’t know.

On Day Nine, I woke to loud banging at the door. I thought someone was knocking, but I quickly realized they were trying to break in. My Dad also came to that realization. Without hesitation he pulled out his gun opened the door and fired. He hit one and the others ran, carrying there wounded friend. I learned two things then. People had begun looting houses. We had discussed the possibility already, but seeing it in action was terrifying. The second thing I learned was, my dad has a gun. I asked him why he had a gun, but you can probably guess his answer.

“Just in case”

My mother cried a little louder after the gunshot. She was still on the couch. I wonder if she ever slept.

Marvin and I went back to the couch and sat. I let him fly around a little bit. He likes it. I watch him twinkle and flutter and then closed my eyes and fell asleep in my chair.

“The war is no place for a little girl”

When my mother was a young girl. She lived with her parents in Vietnam. At a young age she knew the cruelties of war. She had engulfed in it since birth. Her parents sent her away to the countryside. To live with her grandparents.

“The war is no place for a little girl ” they had said, as they bundled her up into the car.

They had spoke Vietnamese of course, but I don’t speak Vietnamese. My mother had smiled. If she had known this was the last time she would ever see her parents, she might not have bothered.

I tell you this so you know that what happened next, was not a malicious act, but the act of a desperate mother. I woke up on Day Ten looking into the crying face of my mom. She muttured as she cried “The war is no place for a little girl”. Even disoriented as I was it didn’t take me long to see the raised kitchen knife above her head.

I threw her off me and ran to my room, shutting and locking the door. She knocked on the door ceaselessly, not bothering to try and break it down. Her voice racked with sobs. “The war is no place for a little girl”

She hit the door with the knife a few times, and surprisingly the knife ate through the door piece by piece until there was a hole big enough to see through. She kept hacking until my dad came around the corner.

My Dad was a soldier, so when she attacked him next, he reacted quickly. Not quite quickly enough though as she slashed his leg he fell down, injured. She had fallen too from a shove , but she was back up now, knife poised to strike, and my father reacted to that too. With a bullet through her head. She fell down, and the crying finally stopped.

Through the hole cut in the door by the knife, Marvin fluttered to the living room to sit, just like we did everyday. Not noticing or caring about the things that had just happened. I joined him in the living room. Helping my dad to his feet before walking by my mother’s lifeless face. That night the crying started up again. It was my dad now.

Day Fifteen was the day I decided I needed to leave. My dad had cried for four days straight, and he was working on a fifth, but what actually bothered me was what I saw in the garage.

My Dad was in there counting the nails, like he normally does. He was no longer careful though. He plunged his hand in as if it were a bucket of water. Blood rolled down his arm and on to the floor. ” Just in case,” he muttered ” Just in case”. He saw me come in and he smiled. I don’t want to make assumptions, for all I know my dad is still alive and well, so all I’ll say is before he could move into the way I say a rope behind him. Tied off into a loop.

” Just in case”, he would say, if I asked, but I didn’t ask. I knew though that me and Marvin had to get out.

Marvin and I got up early on Day Sixteen. I could hear my Dad crying and counting in the garage. I guess he hadn’t slept. I took the shopping cart with me. I left some food and water for him and took the rest.

Outside was beautiful. Marvin flew so so high swooping and sweeping, twinkling and fluttering, feeling free from the confines of the house. We had to keep moving though. I wasn’t sure who had been shooting but I also didn’t want to know.

I found this place that I’m in now, but it’s not the best place to hide from looters. It’s Day 25 and they’ve attempted twice already. Luckily I stole my dad’s gun. It keeps them at bay

At least Marvin is happy. His beautiful yellow wings barely catching the sunlight. A beauty all but lost to the world outside. I hadn’t seen a single animal out there. Let alone a butterfly. You may ask why his name is Marvin. Marvin was the name of my college friend. The college from 25 days ago, that somehow feels like 25 years ago. Marvin was the philosophical type. “What is life?”, and crap like that. It was mostly annoying, but sometimes he asked a really good question.

One such day, we were sitting outside in the yard eating lunch, and out of nowhere he says.

“How long do you think it would take for the world to end?” , he blurts

“What?”, I said nearly choking on the food in my throat.

“Assuming the Earth doesn’t spontaneously explode, how long would it take for the world to end?”

Then I would have said, I don’t know, but now having experienced the end of the world, I could tell you

16 days, Marvin

That’s all it takes

“Daddy, Im Going to Kill You”

“Daddy, I’m going to kill you”

I looked up at my daughter who sat across the table from me. She didn’t usually speak at dinner, so the sound of her voice startled me.

“I’m sorry, what was that” I said, not sure if I heard correctly

“I’m going to kill you, daddy.”

” What are you talking about honey, why do you keep saying that?”, i said in annoyance

“Because I am, the voices in my room taught me how” she said, barely even looking up from her food. She seemed happy to be saying the words. ” What are you going to tell them?”

She must have seen me from the corner of her eye as I reached for my cell phone. “They won’t do anything, the police I mean, I’m only 6, I say all kinds of silly things”, she giggled at that, and ate her food.

I didn’t know what to do. What voices? Could she really kill me? No, that’s silly of course. She says silly things all the time.

“Honey, why do you want to kill me?”, i spoke cautiously

She didn’t respond, she just ate her food in silence. I went back to eating too, putting this odd conversation behind me.

“All your friends hate you, you know. They’re scared you might hurt them. If they could kill you they would, but they can’t. I can though”

“Stop this right now!” I yelled. Anger welled up in my stomach, and my fists clenched on the table. She didn’t flinch though, she smiled.

“ Are you going to hurt me daddy?” she said with a smile, that ungodly smile. “ Are you angry with me”

I didn’t respond. I wasn’t really sure what to say, she usually listens to me.

Angrily, I stood up from the table. “ You are in big trouble, you shouldn’t talk to your father that way, little girl”, I moved to step toward her. I don’t know what I was going to do, but she only smiled. She laughed and giggled and smiled

“ Sit down, daddy. You’re being silly.”

The lights flickered as the chair behind me rammed into my legs as an unseen force pushed me back down into my seat.

“Daddy, you know it’s only right. After what you did to mommy”, she said as she shoveled more food into her mouth.The words were like a punch in the stomach. Tears welled up as i remembered her crumpled form laying at the bottom of the stairs

“Mommy is OK, she just had a bad fall, sweetie. The doctors will take care of her” I said in a whisper. I wanted to believe that’s what happened but we both knew it wasn’t true

“ Mommy wont wake up because of you, you hurt her. You hurt her like you hurt all your friends. They want you to fall too, so they don’t have to be scared anymore, so they don’t end up like Mommy” , She was so nonchalant she could have been talking about what she was eating for dinner

“Look, Amaya, I know I have a drinking problem. I get drunk and-”

“YOU’RE NOT DRUNK, YOU’RE MEAN. YOU’RE MEAN AND YOU HURT PEOPLE AND NO ONE WILL MISS YOU AFTER I’M DONE”, she yelled

The sudden shift in tone startled me. She had never raised her voice at me before. I reached into my pocket and i pulled out my phone, and i hate to admit it but in that moment i was terrified of my daughter

“ Look, I’m calling the police, Amaya. Stop this right now”. I croaked feebly

“GOOD, CALL THEM. CALL EVERYONE. I WANT THE WHOLE WORLD TO KNOW THAT I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, THEY WONT DO ANYTHING. THEY MIGHT EVEN CHEER FOR ME. ALL YOUR FRIENDS WILL LAUGH AT YOU AS YOU DIE, THEY’LL ALL SCREAM “BEAT THE MONSTER LIKE HE BEATS HIS WIFE, LIKE HE BEATS YOU“ AND THEY WILL LOVE ME, BECAUSE THEY HATE YOU. I. HATE. YOU.”, She screamed the final word, her face twisted in an agonizing position, and then she giggled and laughed and howled in laughter.

Without warning she stopped, and she grinned from ear to ear

All the lights downstairs turned off at once and I ran. I ran upstairs as fast as I could. Away from my own daughter. Away from that demented grin. She didn’t flinch at all, she just smiled, and she sat there. Waiting for the right time

I called for help but nobody answered. This is my last resort, if you’re reading this, please help me. I could pay, I have a lot of money, and I’m desperate, please. When I ran away she said one last thing to me, it chilled me to my bones. She sounded so innocent but the words were ice cold

She giggled , “ Hey daddy, don’t you want to know how you’re going to die?”

I don’t, I really don’t.

The Man with the Briefcase

Folklore is a powerful thing. Cautionary tales that, at a glance seem unbelievable, but upon closer inspection the truth of the stories come out plain as day. Every culture has it’s folklore, from the well known stories of werewolves and vampires, to the lesser known superstitions of black dogs and wild huntsmen. All of them though pose a question and answer simultaneously. Why shouldn’t you trust the unknown? Because it’ll kill you.

And of all the stories in the world, my favorite one is the story of The Man with the Briefcase. Nobody can say who this man is, if it is in fact a man. Many have reported seeing a woman, similarly garbed in a black suit and red tie, holding a Briefcase and smiling. Gesturing for them to come over and chat.

As good sense would dictate, most people avoid the man. Walking on the other side of the street, or driving past in their car, mimicking the cautionary tales of hitchhikers on poorly lit roads.

While the identity of the Man is unknown, many names have been put forth. From small town heroes and villains all the way to the devil himself. None of it can be proven of course, and while nobody can agree on the age, race, or sex, of the man there is one thing they can all agree on, and that’s the contents of the Briefcase.

What is in the Briefcase, you ask? The answer is simple. Contracts.

Hundreds and hundreds of contracts. You see, those foolish enough to seek him out all do so with one purpose. To make a deal. He’ll offer you anything you want, money, power, fame, health, at a price.

Like most things, the price depends on what you’re buying, but it’s certainly not money. And it’s definitely not worth it. Because as this story goes,when you deal with the devil, you’re liable to get more than you bargained for.

From the outside looking in John Carlisle looked like an average man. He went to work every morning and came home and hugged his daughter every night. The girl’s mother wasn’t in the picture anymore, but that was no great loss, as she was hardly in the picture to begin with. John would cook dinner for him and his daughter, they would play games, watch TV, and anything she wanted.

Something about this picture just wasnt quite right though, and no it’s not that she was spoiled beyond belief, which, if you believe the stories, she absolutely was. No, you see, Though John loved his daughter more than anything on earth, there was one problem, John’s daughter was dead.

About a month prior, John was out for a walk with his little girl , when tragedy struck. The woman in her car was running a little late, and being a little reckless, but that’s ok she thought. She didn’t notice the little girl slip and fall off the curb and into the street.

John was a wreck understandably. He shut himself off from the world in grief, he barely spoke, he barely ate. He went to work most days. Clearly the company wouldn’t run itself, but even that became infrequent. We are left to assume that he didn’t tell anyone about what happened, although it’s hardly news that can be swept under the rug.

That’s when one of his more superstitious employees brought up the Man with the Briefcase.

“But you don’t want to go there.” He has said when John pushed him to elaborate,”Nothing good lies down that road”

Of course John didnt listen to that warning . While for most folklore represents an answer to our innate fear of the unknown, but to John it represented something else. Hope. Unfortunately more assumptions need to be made at this point, as there is really no information about John meeting The Man with the Breifcase, but if youll allow me Id like to embellish a little and give my own thoughts of how the interaction might have gone

John sees the man from a ways off.. He is standing in an alleyway. It’s unlit but John can see The Man clear as day. The Man smiles. He gestures for John to come meet him, and against every instinct he has, John obliges.

John stares at the man, unsure of what to say. Fortunately for him he doesn’t need to say anything.

The man sets down the briefcase.

“You want your daughter back”

” Yes” John said eagerly

“Alright then, Let’s make a deal”, The man said ” What are you willing to give?”

” Anything”

” Anything? Are you willing to give your life or soul, in order for your daughter to live?”

John was a superstitious man. I believe he would have been cautious about giving up his soul.

John spoke carefully, ” I would like to live with my daughter again”

“And you shall” The man slides over the contract,

John looks at the contract, he mulls it over unsure of what to do, but he decides to sign it.

I like to imagine the ink was red, and when he looked at his he saw a gash across it. While I did steal that from Harry Potter, many cultures have made a connection between magic and human blood. Signing a contract in blood is more than just putting your name down, you’re putting your very life on the page. And breaking a contract signed in blood is said to have dire consequences, and in some places it’s said to be impossible to break altogether.

I see it only fitting that this contract also be signed in blood.

“You have held up your end, and now I will hold up mine. Go home and your daughter will be waiting” The man picks up his briefcase and leaves.

Johns employees report that John was in a significantly better mood on the day in question. John had been in a good mood for 3 months now, and nobody knew why his demeanor suddenly changed.

His friends worried about him.

“Certainly this is a sign of psychosis” they would say amongst themselves. “He’s likely turned to drugs” others would say, but nobody could prove a thing. His friends and family decided on a home visit from a psychiatrist. John of course refused, but they decided to surprise him anyway.

Upon entering his house they were greeted by a deathly smell, and I sight just as terrifying. John was hugging his daughter. Many fathers hug there children, but something about this sight but bile to the throats of onlookers. You see, John’s daughter was dead.

Police were called immediately and John was taken to a hospital for psychiatric care. Johns daughter was laid to rest once more, her grave found to be dug up and headstone destroyed. I’ll admit, this case is perfectly explainable. John goes crazy, digs up his daughters grave, and lives with the corpse for 3 months before being found out. It’s a sad story of losing a child, and losing your sanity.

There’s one more thing though. One hint at the workings of The Man with the Briefcase. When they found John hugging his daughter, some onlookers swear she was hugging him back.

Annabelle

Hey, guys. This story might deviate a little from our usual paranormal/ ghost hunting content a little bit, as it is a bit sad, and also very scary, so if that’s not for you, that’s OK. Something happened while we were at this hotel for an investigation. Something unexplainable. Something that I will tell even though I know you won’t believe that it’s true. I’m not sure where to start this story but I’ll try starting from the time when we walked into the hotel. I won’t give the name of the hotel in this story.

It was just after 9 I think. We had checked in and we were making our way down the hall and one of the guys said

“Did anyone grab the keys”

“I thought you grabbed them”

“Why would I have grabbed them, you checked us in.”

The two of them went back to the counter and I went to follow when there was a tap on my shoulder. I turn around to see a tall woman. She was wearing a long sleek black dress. I don’t know much about dresses so I can’t really describe it more than that. What I can describe though is her smile. When people say ” her smile can light up a room” it really seemed that way. It was bright, happy, and full of life. Blissfully innocent. Or as I would come to learn, Blissfully ignorant.

“Do you know where I can check out? I feel like I’ve been wandering around forever” she said, laughing a little, as if embarrassed to have to ask for help.

“It’s just down this hallway and to the right.” I said pointing in the direction my friends had gone.

“Thank you, so much. It’s good to know there are helpful people around, what’s your name?”

“Isaiah”

“Like the prophet”

“I guess so”

I’ve never really been much of a religious person. I know, ironic, cuz I have a ghost hunting channel, but I’ve always leaned toward the idea that there’s a scientific explanation for paranormal activity. Things that are unexplainable now could be explainable later. All that to say, I don’t know who Isaiah the prophet is.

“What about you, what’s your name?” I countered.

“Annabelle”

“Who are you talking to?”

My friends had come back and were staring at me.

I point in Annabelle’s direction

“There’s nobody there dude.”

I turn to look and she’s gone.

I mentioned before that I’m a tad skeptical when it comes to ghost hunting. So when Annabelle disappeared I was shocked a little but I figured she must have just walked away. Even with all the ghost hunting I do, the idea that you could have a full conversation face to face with a spirit seemed far fetched. So I just said

” She must have walked away”

“Ok dude. Let’s go set up for the investigation”

I won’t get into the whole investigation here. If you want the whole thing you should check out our website. Nothing quite so crazy, but we caught a few things. Including a female voice saying “He’s Coming”. I won’t spoil the rest, go check out the full investigation on our website.

We finished up the investigation and went to sleep. We all slept in separate rooms. We are on the road together all the time so a little privacy is always appreciated. It was about 4 am when we went to bed, and at around 6am I heard a scream. I wake up with a start and am greeted with the face of Annabelle. The beautiful face I had seen earlier that evening now twisted in agony and screeching out the most horrific sound I’ve ever heard as I shot out of bed her eyes followed me. Her pale face barely visible in the dim moonlight. Her face appeared to have black streaks running down. She stopped screaming and looked me in the eye. More streaks forming from, I’m assuming, the top of her head and down her face. With a groan she only spoke two words. Two terrified words.

“He’s Coming”

I had been reaching for the light switch but I stopped. Thinking maybe she was hiding from someone. And whoever it was I didn’t want them in my room

“Who’s coming, Annabelle?”

“My Husband, he’s a rotten man, Isaiah”

“What’s happened?” I asked curiously

“He’s a liar. He made a mistake, he said. His mistake. But he made me pay for it. He wanted her instead of me, so he made me pay. Do you know where Hell is, Isaiah” she said, stepping closer to me. The streaks are on her face now dripping onto the floor. She never broke eye contact with me.

“You should. Because you’re standing in it”

This time when she screamed her eyes went completely white and I quickly turned the light on and she vanished immediately. I didn’t sleep that night. Not after that. There was one thing that scared me more than the disappearing though. When the lights turned for a fraction of a second I could see her in the light. The streaks that looked black in the darkness of the room were actually a deep, dark red.

As the panic sort of subsided. I thought about the incident for a little bit, In the lobby of course. Directly after the incident I had packed my things and sat down in the lobby. I decided to look up Annabelle and the name of the hotel because she didn’t give me a last name. Turns out there was an Anabelle that died in that hotel. There was virtually no media coverage. There was an article though about how a husband, who had been cheating on his wife, took his wife to a hotel, under the guise of a romantic evening.

He would go on to tell her about the other woman, someone I won’t name here. He says. “It wasn’t supposed to go this far, but now she’s pregnant and it’s mine” He says he’s sorry it has to be this way. Upset, she cries. She had only ever loved him after all, she deserved so much better. In the interrogation he never actually says what the last straw was, but he admits that the bedside lamp makes a good improvised club.

I don’t know how Annabelle is so lucid, I’ll admit that I probably don’t know as much about ghosts as i thought i did, but i truly believe that she’s trying to get out. She asked me if I knew where hell was, because she’s in it. Reliving her horrible, tragic, demise , over and over again.

Every time he tells her of the other woman, Every time he tells her of the pregnancy, Every night he bashes her head in with the lamp, and every night she dies knowing that it will happen again tomorrow.

The guy is in jail now, but after what I witnessed I’m not sure if jail is enough for him. As a paranormal investigator it’s easy to forget that monsters can be human. That is the story as I remember it. I’m sorry if it sounds a little scatterbrained, it has been just over a week since that whole experience, and i havent really had much time to write.

That’s all for this blog, if you read it all the way through thank you. This was definitely a life changing experience for me and I hope it was at least educational for you, about domestic violence or abuse of any kind. I hope you have a good rest of your day. Bye.