cameron monaghan: he played the joker in the gotham series

i used charcoal for all the black and then pastel for the face and mouth

It was a brand new cereal and it was called potential, and each cerial box had something different written on the front of the box. Like some cereals had 'potential doctor' on front of the cereal box and other boxes of the same cerial brand had 'potential engineer', 'potential scientists', 'potential teacher', 'potential footballer' on front of the cereal box and they were so popular. So many parents bought this cereal brand called potential, and they decided which cereal with a certain potential they gave to their kids. So parents who wanted their kids to be doctors always bought the potential cereal box with the "potential doctor" written on the front box.

I was one of the parents who wanted my child to be a doctor when he got older. So I always bought the potential cereal box with the 'potential doctor' written on front of the cerial box. That is all I fed my child and I gave him no meat, vegetables or anything apart from that specific potential cereal box. I wanted my child to be a doctor so badly. So that's all I fed him and my child begged me to feed him something else, but I wouldn't feed him anything else.

When I caught child secretly eating other kinds of food I beat him badly. I kept feeding him that one potential cereal box with the potential doctor written on it, and I kept it up religiously. One time all of the potential cereal boxes with the 'potential doctor' written on it had ran out. I saw another customer take the last potential cereal box with the 'potential doctor' written on it. I chased after him and I dragged him to the ground. I beat him up and I took that last potential cereal box with the 'potential doctor' written on it and I paid for it.

My child will be a doctor and even though my child had put on incredible weight, and other health issues with eating only this cereal and nothing else, I kept feeding it him. I really want my son to be a doctor and then one day, I had to take my son to an actual doctor. He collapsed and when I took my son to the hospital and a doctor came out to see him, I smiled at the doctor and I said to the doctor "I want my child to be a doctor just like you, that's why all I fed him was this cereal called potential doctor on it"

The doctor looked scared and called out an emergency.

​

I Feel Bones That Don't Exist Push Through My Skin

I Don't Want To Be Human, I Want To Be FERAL

I Shred This Fake Body

First time photobashing/photodrawing. What to delve more into FERAL as a character and their misanthropy + horrorified therianropy

If you like creepypastas narrations, and other horror related content consider subscribing!!

Hello ya’ll! I want to cosplay Ben Drowned for Halloween this year and decided to make my own wig out of a friends, however this is my first time ever styling a wig and I fear I messed up big time, though I’m not sure how. If anyone could give me tips on where I went wrong and if it’s possible to make it look like the photo included, that would be great! Sorry if the tags wrong, I didn’t know what to tag this as.

Sadly, I don’t know who made the Ben Drowned art, my friend got it off Pinterest.

tiktok @aijikii

It all started when I was 8 years of age. I was a quiet boy who was home schooled and had no friends or siblings to play with. I was mainly accompanied by my mom since my father was always working and she was the only one home with me. She would usually make me food, wash dishes, and occasionally play with me. 90% of the time I spent my days alone. Usually playing with the one thing I loved, that being Lego's. I would spend hours building houses and cars and making my own little world that was under my control. Though I would not always spend my days inside, I spent a lot of time outside as well. When i was outside we either went out back of our house which had a small sandbox and in the ground pool. I was never really a good swimmer so I stuck to the sandbox playing with whatever I had in there. It was one night that everything changed. I found a note in my room that read "Wanna be my friend" with a childish depiction of a smiley face. Being the person with no friends, I wrote yes on it and set it on my window frame. I then cracked the window open a bit It seemed like it was a hot day and i needed some air in my room.

That next morning, the note was replaced by a new one that read "Hello friend, I hope to play sometime soon". Being oblivious I was not alarmed by this but rather excited finally having a friend that I could potentially play Lego's and cars with. I continued my day as usual. Mom washing dishes, the old PBS kids on TV in the living room. Everything was normal until the night. I saw my bedroom door cracked open and saw something through it. Almost like the face of a person. Not my mom since she was long gone into bed and she never checked on me on the usual. I did not scream. I did not cry. I finally found a new friend to play with. :)

Is anyone able to find the original "Happiness for Sale"? I can just listen one Finnish translation but is the original floating around anywhere?

It started with a broken alarm clock. It was a Friday morning, and I had work at 9:45AM. I didn’t wake up until almost 11:45AM, and that was because my phone rang for the tenth time. My boss was furiously texting me, demanding where I was, and that’s when I realized I made a mistake. I checked my alarm, which wasn’t even on. “What?!” I cried, shooting up in bed. “Oh fuck me, man!” I took my phone out and answered it. “Where are you?” my boss demanded, his voice a mix of annoyance and confusion. 
“Sorry sorry, my alarm didn’t go off. I’m on my way now.” I heard my boss sigh. “Fine. Just hurry up.” I hung up and hurriedly brushed my teeth, changed into my work clothes, grabbed a couple of bananas and a granola bar, got in my car, and sped off. How the hell did this happen? I was never this late. When I finally got to work, my boss was understandably pissed, especially since it was an especially busy day for some reason. Luckily, he cut me a break since this hasn’t happened before, not like some of the other employees. We had a guy who, I’m not joking, showed up for work an hour before his shift was supposed to end. Needless to say, he didn’t last long. Kind of like my last relationship.
But anyways, other than an ass-chewing from my boss, it was a normal day. Still, I couldn’t understand why my alarm broke. It had never had any problems since the day that I had bought it. It’s never malfunctioned, and hasn’t even shut off unless the power went out. So why now? When I got home, I found that the cord was broken. Like it had been chewed through. “Oh you gotta be shitting me,” I groaned. A while ago, when I only lived in an apartment, there was a mice problem in the building, and the landlord had to lay traps all over the place. After about a month we must’ve had over two dozen. 
So, the next day I bought a bunch of mouse traps and laid them around the house, thinking that sooner or later I would get something. But for a whole week, nothing took the bait. They just sat there. But other things happened. 
About a week and a half later, I was almost late again because my car keys went missing. 
I overturned every couch cushion, went through my closet, dug through the shelves, but I couldn’t find it. After about a half hour, I gave up and ran a mile to the bus stop, where I showed up two minutes before my shift started. “Cutting it close again,” my boss warned. “I know, sorry. I couldn’t find my keys.” “Damn, first your alarm clock, now your keys. Looks like someone’s making excuses,” teased Blake, one of my coworkers. 
“Oh fuck off.”
I just chalked it up to bad luck in my head. Maybe I was just forgetting things and not paying attention. So, I ignored it. Until I got home. You see, when I came home, my keys were sitting on the counter, right there for me to find, as if it had never moved at all. I swore that I didn’t see them. The first place I searched was the counter and the floor. But it had never moved. Pissed off, I took my keys with me and left them by my bedside, with the alarm that was now my phone, until I could get a new one. 
I reminded myself that I should probably AirTag all of my stuff, so I could find them easier. But the next day was when things that I had only chalked up to coincidence began seeming like something different. 

***
I woke up the next day to screaming pain in my hand, as I looked up to see my fingers caught in a mousetrap that had been put on my bed. “AAUGGH FUCK!” I pried it open, my fingers throbbing with pain, my middle and index already turning black and blue. “Goddamn…” As I stood from bed, I narrowly missed another trap that had snapped close to my toes. “What the hell?” I picked up the two mousetraps, tossing them into a trash can as I began checking around the house. All the other traps had been left exactly where they were, with a couple of mice caught in them. I took a breath, relieved at first, but then I was reminded that someone or something had moved two of the traps into my room. 
I tossed all the traps out, frustration and pain brewing in me. What was going on? I iced and bandaged my fingers, and went to work, telling everyone exactly what happened, leaving out some details of course. 
My fingers hurt all damn day. Since I work at a place where I have to pick up and move things from time to time, that was not fun to work with. The whole time, I cursed whoever was fucking with me. But who was it? Some intruder. That couldn’t be right because there were no signs of a break-in. “Maybe it was a ghost,” said Blake with a smirk. “Dude shut up, I’m sure it's just some rodent or something.”
Maybe, I thought, But how many mice have you heard of that moved the mouse traps on their own? Unless we’re living in cartoon land, that just didn’t happen. After spending all day trying to manage my fingers, I made it back home, driving with one hand the whole way back. And was met with yet another mess. 
The entire pantry had been ransacked, and I mean just trashed. Open bags of snacks laid on the floor, with piles of crumbs scattered everywhere. Not just snacks though. It had gotten into the flour, the bags of bread that I had in there, even some of the canned goods. I don’t even know how that was possible. On one slice of bread that had been tossed aside, I saw that it had a large bite mark in it. The bite size wasn’t too big, and it didn’t look human to me. Just for reference, I took a picture of it as well as the mess that it made. Thankfully, the fridge wasn’t broken into, but I was fed up. I took the weekend off, and I called an exterminator, only telling him about the pantry incident and the mice in the mousetraps.  I figured if he found something off of that, then the other stuff would go away. 
Just off a hunch, I checked the alarm clock again. I hadn’t noticed it before, but the cords that went into the wall looked to have been chewed up. “Son of a bitch…”
To my dismay, the exterminator was just as stumped as I was. Despite a thorough check of the house, he couldn’t find any obvious signs of an infestation or of anything even in the house. The best that he gave was that it could be a raccoon or something, but he couldn’t find anything, not even when he checked the yard. After about a couple hours, I thanked him for his time, and he went on his way. Before he left, he advised me that I should get security cameras so I could document it in case whatever it was came back. 
So that’s what I did. I set them up in the backyard, the kitchen, living room, even in my bedroom, in case the little bastards decided to come back in there. 
I’ll get you fuckers, I thought.
Needless to say, I didn’t get them. They got me. When I woke up, everything in the house seemed fine. No problems whatsoever. The pantry was clear, my keys were where I found it, everything was just fine. Until I got in my car. When I turned it on, it was fine. When I pulled out of the driveway, it was fine. But halfway to work, in the middle of the road, my car ran out of gas and I came to a stop. Which would not have been that big of a deal, if I hadn’t filled up the tank the night before. When I checked underneath, I discovered that the fuel line had been cut. I was seething. Whatever the fuck was doing this, was going to pay. 

***

So, what started out as a normal day turned into another headache, involving getting my car towed to a repair shop, getting a ride to work, and then getting a ride back home. And as soon as I got home, more bullshit. Now, the garage door wasn’t working. Something had broken the springs. “Oh goddamn it!” I growled, pulling up my phone and checking the security cameras. They weren’t on. “What?!” 
Thankfully, they weren’t broken. They had just been unplugged. I tried reviewing the footage, but it picked up nothing, only picking up a brief shadow. I was at my wit’s end. This was getting ridiculous. What the hell was doing this, and why? If they wanted to kill me, then I would’ve been dead by now. Was someone breaking in, rodents, a fucking ghost? 
I’d heard a story about some guy who was stalking these girls by literally living in their walls and tormenting them until he was found by police. It could be that. But why? I sighed as I turned on the cameras again, made dinner with the stuff that I restocked the pantry with and made sure everything was locked up tight. If someone was breaking in, good luck trying. 
It was a particularly warm night, so I turned on the ceiling fan and opened the window. I was going to get an AC soon, but with everything going haywire in my house, I figured that I would just wait until it all calms down. But not even that was safe. I woke up in the middle of the night needing to piss. While I was in the bathroom, I heard a loud crash. When I came back, I saw that the fan had been cut and had fallen onto my bed. 
“Oh you gotta be kidding me!” I shouted looking around my house for whatever fucker was doing this. “What?! What do you want?! Are you trying to just piss me off! Well guess what, asshole? It’s working! So leave, or I will find you, and I will rip you into a million little pieces! This means war, motherfucker! I swear to god you will be sorry that you ever fucked with me! You hear?!”
Dead silence. Of course. So the bastard was a coward as well. Okay, well this was war then. I set the fan aside, and tossed and turned for the rest of the night, which sucked because I had work the next day. During my break, I began doing research. “How to get rid of pests”, intruders in homes, squatters, anything that could explain and help with what was happening. Finally, after about ten minutes, I came across something interesting. The thread read one sentence: I think there is a gremlin in my house.
I snorted. Gremlins? Really? Like the movie? Oh my god, maybe I was going too deep down the rabbit hole with this one.But, I looked anyway. Instead of some bullshit stories, what I got was countless stories of the same exact circumstances as mine. Things being misplaced, food being taken, some even reported sounds of skittering at night. Then it escalated to sabotage; TVs breaking, cars suddenly breaking down, sometimes the power being cut in the house. Strangely enough, in all instances, it was never fatal. The worst that happened was somebody breaking their arm from slipping on one of their kid’s building blocks and falling down the stairs. Her child couldn’t even go up the stairs on their own yet, but somehow one of their toys got placed there. In most cases, people were just inconvenienced to their wit’s end. And no matter what they tried, they couldn’t get them on camera. In one comment, it read, “Gremlins exist for the sole purpose of tormenting you. They will do it for as long as they can get away with it. If you want it to stop, you have to get rid of it. Most of the time, catching it in the act will chase them away. That was the case with mine.”
Get rid of them, huh? Okay, I could do that. After all, these things weren’t dangerous. Just vermin. Get rid of them. Got it. All right, you little bastard, your time is coming to an end.

***

After work, I got pepper spray, and an air horn, along with a baseball bat, in case this thing got aggressive. I was ready for war with this thing. It sounded like the gremlin was too, because when I came through the door, I stepped on a tack that had been left pointed upwards. The damned creature also made sure that the heater in my shower broke, so the water was ice cold. Which I didn’t know until it hit my back at full blast. 
When I got out of the shower, I realized that it took my phone right off the kitchen table, an empty bag of chips lying in its place.  “Ohhhhh that’s IT!! You fucking vermin!” I got dressed and grabbed the bat and bear spray. I was going to find this little shit if it was the last thing I ever did. I searched top and bottom for it, checking my closet, under my bed, in the back of the pantry, the basement, even the shed. But nothing, I didn’t have an attic so I didn’t understand where it could possibly be hiding.
It wasn’t even in the garage. But it was there, it made that pretty clear. I decided that tonight, I was going to wait for it.  I went to bed around midnight, put the bat and pepper spray by my bedside, and pretended to fall asleep. In reality, I was keeping my eyes and ears peeled, listening for any sounds. At first, it was crickets. Not a soul to be heard. Then, I heard something. It was coming from the ceiling. How was that possible? I didn’t have an attic. I remained still and listened. I heard it drop down onto the ground with a soft thud, and short footsteps towards my door. 
I guess it wanted to meet me directly this time. So be it. I laid still as a rock as I heard it jiggle the handle on my door and slowly push it open. What I heard next made me shiver. It laughed, like some kind of creepy goblin. A creepy, mischievous laugh. I gripped the bat under the covers as I waited to see what it would do. 
I felt it jump onto my bed, feeling its little clawed feet creep up the covers. Its breath smelled foul, like a wet dog who ate garbage. I heard it laugh again. Now was my chance. 
“Got ya you little shit!” I pulled the covers back and took a swing. The gremlin let out a shriek as it ducked. I flicked on the light, and was finally able to glimpse the demon that had been tormenting me. It was short, maybe three feet tall. It was covered in brown fur, with long pointed ears that jutted outwards, small beady eyes like a rodent, with little teeth to match. It had a long, naked rat tail that swished around almost like a dog’s. 
It hissed as the light came on before running out of my room on all fours. “Get back here!” I chased after it, passing a hole in my ceiling, with a chunk of it being carved out like some kind of access panel. “So that’s how you did it.” 
I searched every room and corner, bat in hand. It was there. None of the windows were opened, meaning it didn’t leave. I crept downstairs, turning on the lights. I heard it giggle, and I growled back in response. “Yeah yeah, keep laughing. Keep laughing…”
I heard rustling in the pantry, and I grinned. I tiptoed to the pantry, and gripped the door. I counted to three and pulled it open. “Gotcha-OWWW!! I was hit with an intense burning pain in my eyes and on my face as the gremlin squealed with laughter. It peppersprayed me! I swung the bat wildly as the gremlin jumped on my back and began pummeling me, its little rat claws hitting me like a toddler would hit his little brother. While it only tickled, the burning pain from the pepper spray created a painful nuisance as I furiously tried to fight it off. 
“Get…off…me…” I could barely talk, only coughing and spitting snot as the creature swarmed me like a furry mosquito. I finally threw it off, swinging my bat and connecting with its body. It let out a grunt as it slammed into the wall, faceplanting onto the ground like a cartoon character. I swear I heard it say “Ow” as it laid there. It shook its head and climbed back to its feet, shaking its fist at me. Through the pain, blurry eyes and snot, I chuckled. “Yeah I hope it hurts, asshole.” 
It grunted again and ran at me, jumping into the air, angling itself like a kung fu kick. “HIIIYAAH!” it cried as it connected right on my nose. My eyes stung again and my nose throbbed as it laughed at me and ran for the door that led to the backyard. “Oh no you don’t.” I know that I was supposed to let it go, but this was personal. I wasn’t about to let this thing get the last laugh. 
I followed it out there, throwing the bat straight at it. It connected with its back and it went sprawling onto the dirt again. I watched as it stood up, stuck its tongue out at me, then ran off into the night. My troubles had finally ended, sort of.

***

I had to sort things out with the police, since one of my neighbors called for all the noise. I told them that a raccoon had gotten into my house, and I accidentally sprayed myself trying to get in. I ended up having to get rabies shots since it turned out that the gremlin had scratched my face during our scuffle. 
I also had to work on getting everything else fixed in my house, including my garage door and heater, which was going to cost me. So that’s what I’ve been doing for the past couple of weeks. I found my phone eventually, tucked away up in that little space in the ceiling, along with some food and even things I didn’t even know were missing. Nothing else has happened during this time, at least not to me. I’m writing this because yesterday, my boss came to work riding a bike, explaining to us that he had car trouble seemingly out of nowhere. It was working fine all week, he had said, and now the engine was acting up. 
My coworkers joked that I had passed it on to him, but you know what, maybe I did. Maybe the gremlin’s found another house. So just a warning to you all. If you start having problems with your house, if you start losing things more often, it might not always be you. There just might be a problem with vermin in your house. A gremlin.

[Part 1] [Part 2]

I told her I would be going to bed at eleven. Sounding nonchalant about it was hard. There was a tension in my voice I could not mask. She knows me and had to have noticed it at once. If she did, she didn’t say.
I followed up by asking why she wanted to know. She said, “Oh, no reason.” I asked if everything was okay. She nodded, kissed me on the forehead, and walked into the living room.
She grabbed a book off the shelf, flipped on the radio, and settled onto the couch.
I thought about pressing the issue of why she was so concerned about when I was going to bed, but then stopped myself because I realized that sounded too paranoid.
Also, I had a better idea.
If she was going to stay awake all night again, so was I.
I slept for a couple hours. No dreams that I remember. When I woke up, I felt pretty good. It must have been a solid sleep. For the first time since all of this started.
Since it was daytime, and I had a plan and monitoring in place, I felt like I could let go and fall into a deep sleep.
When I awoke, the music was still playing. I looked outside and the sun had gone down.
I texted my boss and told him I wouldn’t be coming in tomorrow. I have enough PTO that he did not care. Thankfully, he did not ask why.
I wouldn’t have known where to begin.
My wife was exactly where I’d left her.
Still reading.
Except now she was almost finished. My wife isn’t the fastest reader, so for her, nearly finishing a whole novel in under four hours is a feat.
I checked the cover.
The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman.
I asked how it was.
She didn’t hear me.
At least I don’t think she did.
I asked again and she finally looked up, said it was great, and went right back to it.
So, I grabbed something to read and joined her.
That was pretty much our evening.
We read. Stopped to eat dinner. Read some more.
She finished her book. But then, she flipped back to the front and started reading it from the beginning. I noticed and she noticed me noticing.
“It’s really good,” she said.
I didn’t say anything.
At eleven, she announced the time to me like she was reminding me of my commitment. So, just like I’d told her, I went to bed.
She followed. We laid down.
I closed my eyes.
I had no intention of sleeping.
About an hour later, I felt her move beside me.
Then nothing.
I had the distinct feeling she was looking at me.
I tried to make myself look as asleep as possible. I even moved my eyes around underneath my eyelids because I figured that might look like REM sleep.
I know how ridiculous that sounds.
Apparently, it worked.
Eventually the mattress shifted again, and she got up.
Her footsteps disappeared out of the bedroom.
I waited a few minutes before opening my eyes.
Then I grabbed my phone.
Both cameras were black.
I thought something was wrong with the app, so I closed it and opened it again.
Nothing.
I went backward through the footage.
The bedroom camera had been blocked that morning while my wife was cleaning. She’d dusted the dresser, moved a few things around, and eventually put something back directly in front of it.
The living room camera was similar.
I watched her standing at the bookshelf earlier that afternoon. She pulled out The Yellow Wallpaper, moved some other books around, and pushed one directly into the camera’s view.
Neither time did she look at the camera.
There was no pause.
Nothing that suggested she knew what she’d done.
Both could have been accidents.
Together, I had a harder time believing that.
Especially because those cameras were hidden well enough you could stand right beside them without noticing them.
I went through footage from the previous day looking for any indication she had spotted either one.
Nothing.
The only questionable moment was still that first night when I thought she might have looked directly at one.
That was it.
I got out of bed.
My first stop was the kitchen. I figured if she caught me wandering around, I could say I’d gotten up for some water.
She wasn’t there.
She wasn’t in the living room either.
I checked downstairs.
Bathroom.
Nothing.
The alarm was still armed, so she hadn’t left the house.
Then, for reasons I still can’t explain, perhaps out of rational options, I opened the hall closet.
She sat inside on the floor, facing the door, holding a pencil. She looked surprised when I opened it and said, “I thought you were in bed.”
I didn’t even know how the fuck to respond to that. Honestly. My brain was a cluttered mess of confusion and worry.
I looked at the pencil. Then the marks.
Thirty-one of them.
That was it for me. My breaking point.
I told her I thought she needed to see a doctor.
She refused immediately.
We ended up having our first real fight since all of this started.
She insisted she was sleeping. I told her I didn’t believe her. She accused me of treating her like she was crazy. I tried explaining that I didn’t think she was crazy, but it was difficult to make that argument while standing beside a closet I’d just found her sitting inside at one in the morning.
I asked about the marks.
She wouldn’t tell me what they meant.
I asked what happened on night one.
She told me to drop it.
I didn’t.
Things escalated from there.
Then I screwed up and mentioned the damn cameras.
I hadn’t planned on telling her about them.
Her entire demeanor changed.
She was furious.
I don’t blame her.
I’d secretly put cameras in our bedroom and living room so I could watch what my wife did after I fell asleep. Whatever justification I’d given myself when I installed them sounded pretty awful when I had to explain it to her.
I apologized.
It didn’t help much.
Then I told her both cameras had somehow been covered that day.
She said she hadn’t even known they existed.
I pointed out that it was one hell of a coincidence.
That nearly started the argument all over again.
Eventually, we separated for a while and cooled down.
When we talked again, I tried explaining myself without accusing her of anything.
Maybe she was sleeping and I just wasn’t seeing it.
Maybe it was stress.
Maybe there was something medical going on.
Hell, maybe I was the one losing it.
I didn’t know anymore.
What I did know was that I was scared.
My wife was awake every time I went to sleep and every time I woke up. I’d watched her fake being asleep. There were thirty-one marks inside our closet door. Now I’d found her sitting underneath them with a pencil after she specifically asked when I was going to bed.
I couldn’t ignore that.
She still didn’t want to see a doctor.
The anger was gone by then.
That almost made it worse.
“Please don’t make me do this.”
I remember that clearly.
I told her I wasn’t making her do anything.
She said I was.
Eventually, she agreed to one appointment.
That was the deal.
One appointment, and then I had to let this go.
The cameras also had to come down immediately.
I took them down that night.
We saw the doctor the following morning.
She hadn’t said much on the drive over. I don’t think she was angry with me anymore, but she wasn’t happy. My best guess was annoyed.
Like I’d heard a weird noise coming from the car and dragged her to a mechanic even though she kept telling me nothing was wrong.
I explained the sleep issue.
He seemed confused as to why I was doing the talking, but my wife sure wasn’t diving in. The doctor asked how much sleep she thought she was getting.
My wife said enough.
From there it was the usual barrage of questions.
Trouble falling asleep?
No.
Trouble staying asleep?
No.
Fatigue?
No.
Headaches, memory problems, trouble concentrating?
No.
The doctor asked about medications, caffeine, alcohol, drugs, stress, work, changes at home, anxiety, depression, and family history.
Then she asked about nightmares.
My wife hesitated.
Not long.
Maybe a second.
“No.”
The doctor moved on.
I didn’t.
My wife was lying.
I knew her well enough to know that.
I kept my mouth shut.
Then the doctor asked when she last remembered sleeping.
Before my wife could answer, I said it had been about a month.
She turned toward me and denied it.
According to her, she had been sleeping.
According to me, she hadn’t.
I told the doctor I’d been keeping track.
She explained that someone going thirty-one days without sleep was extremely unlikely. People with severe insomnia can underestimate how much they’re actually sleeping, and she explained something called microsleeps. Basically, you can apparently fall asleep for a few seconds without realizing it happened.
I asked how somebody could survive for a month on a few seconds of sleep here and there.
She said they couldn’t.
Eventually, the doctor recommended an overnight sleep study.
My wife refused.
The doctor explained it was routine and would allow them to monitor her while she slept.
Still no.
She reminded me that I had promised her one appointment.
I reminded her that the person we had gone to for that one appointment was now telling us we needed another.
She still refused.
We left without scheduling anything.
It took most of the day for me to change her mind. I promised that if the sleep study came back normal, I would stop.
No more questions.
No more watching her at night.
No more trying to figure out whether she was asleep.
Eventually, she agreed.
Not because she suddenly thought I was right.
I think she just wanted the whole thing to be over.
Two days later, the sleep clinic called because someone had canceled.
We got there shortly after eight.
I expected something resembling a hospital room.
Instead, it looked like a cheap hotel.
Bed.
Nightstand.
Television.
Some generic picture hanging on the wall.
The camera near the ceiling and all the wires beside the bed were really the only things that made it look medical.
My wife noticed the camera immediately.
The technician attached sensors to her head, around her eyes, her chin, her legs. There were bands around her chest and stomach.
The technician explained what everything measured. Brain activity. Eye movement. Breathing. Heart rate. Oxygen.
The technician left and we settled in.
They let me stay with her for a while even though I wasn’t supposed to be there all night.
Some home renovation show played on the television.
Neither of us paid much attention to it.
At ten-thirty, she said she wasn’t tired.
Eleven came and went.
Then midnight.
Still awake.
That was when I started noticing something I hadn’t noticed before.
Whenever she started to drift, she did something. Her eyes would get heavy and she’d suddenly adjust her position.
Or scratch herself.
Or sit up.
Or move her legs.
At first, it just looked like restlessness.
After I watched it happen several times, it started looking deliberate.
I told her she had to try to fall asleep.
“This is pointless,” she said. “I’m fine.”
At 3:17, the technician came back.
I remember because by then I was watching the clock almost constantly. Which was about the only thing I was doing because my wife did not want to talk to me.
He asked me to step into the hallway.
He wanted to know whether my wife had taken any medication.
She hadn’t.
He asked if I was certain.
I was.
Apparently, they were getting some unusual readings.
I asked what that meant, but he wouldn’t speculate until a physician had looked everything over.
While we were talking, he looked through the little window in the door.
I followed his eyes.
My wife was sitting upright.
The television was still on, but she wasn’t watching it.
“What happens if she doesn’t fall asleep?”
“They always do,” he reassured me.
We looked through the glass at my wife who was pointing up at the ceiling, a look on her face like she was looking at something.
The technician asked if I knew what she was doing.
I didn’t.
We went back inside.
He checked the sensors again and asked her a few basic questions while her hand was still in the air, pointing.
How did she feel?
Fine.
Dizzy?
No.
Tired?
No.
Eventually she put her hand down and the technician left. I think maybe he was going to consult with someone else. Not positive. He didn’t say. He just left.
I moved my chair closer to the bed.
My wife didn’t look at me.
“What’s going on, honey? Help me understand.”
Tears started to fall and I pushed them away. I didn’t want her to see me cry.
She was staring somewhere over my shoulder.
I looked up.
There was nothing there.
A ceiling.
That was it.
When I moved my chair, her head shifted slightly.
Not to look at me.
To look around me.
Like I was in the way.
That scared me.
Because I recognized the look on her face.
I had seen it two nights earlier when I opened the closet door and found her sitting on the floor.
I asked what she was looking at.
Nothing.
I looked up again.
Still nothing.
When I turned back, she’d gone pale.
I asked her what she could see.
She kept staring at the ceiling then whispered,
“We need to get as low as possible… now.”

Nate had just arrived home, exhausted, after another day of being the diligent and responsible young man. His family admired him for his honesty, kindness, and responsibility.

Even being a "nice guy" has its consequences. He lived a boring life, with few friends, a very toxic girlfriend, an inactive sex life, and spent all day studying. When he wasn't studying algebra, he was studying biology. He didn't despise his life, but every now and then he would long for those sparks of teenage excitement.

The next day, when he woke up, something felt different. A breath of fresh air, perhaps? He didn't know at the time.

While waiting for the bus to go to school, a girl next to him was assaulted. He didn't hesitate for long, punching the thief and knocking him out... Since when could he do that?

As he tried to process what had happened, the girl lunged at him, stealing a kiss. He touched his lips, surprised... That didn't happen every day.

So, little by little, every day, he realized that something new was happening to him, first small things, flirting from girls, finding money lying around, high grades in school.

Suddenly, that "good luck" became much more absurd, sleeping with 4 or 5 women every night, passing exams with top marks without studying, and even winning the lottery 3 times in a row.

Although... As mentioned before, even the best things have their price... Everything was going well for him; there was no excitement since he already knew the outcome.

One afternoon, he went to the church seeking some peace; he wasn't religious, but he appreciated the tranquility of holy places.

A priest saw him and approached him.

"My son, why do you look so sad?"

Nate explained everything from the small things that happened to him, to the absurd strokes of good luck, and how that, paradoxically, made him lose his zest for life.

"This is your reward, my son." The priest answered

"What are you talking about?" Nate asked.

"Don't you remember? Haven't you realized yet?" The priest looked with a look that was both surprised and disappointed.

Then the priest lifted Nate's shirt, revealing several fresh stab wounds in the poor teenager's abdomen.

"WHAT IS THIS!?" Nate screamed, scared

The priest looked at him

"Seriously, you don't remember? Your girlfriend stabbed you in a fit of rage. You've been dead for days."

Nate paled, remembering everything

"What the hell is this?! Purgatory?!"

The priest, now with an offended expression, said

"What? No. This is heaven... You have never committed a single sin, and this 'world' is your reward."

Nate took several deep breaths... until he calmed down, his expression melancholic. He stood up, pulled his shirt down again, and left.

Hell? Heaven? Right now he couldn't tell the difference. Hell was physical torment... But heaven... It was a shattered fraud. Not even attempting suicide could get him out of here... How long would he stay in here? How long would it be before the excitement faded and was replaced by eternal anguish and despair?

Doodled my little trio’s ‘assigned characters’ as animals and I thought it could be a good first experimental post in this sub… idk how much my art fits in with what most people in this sub like but idk we’ll see!!!

I’ve been looking for this plush ever since I learned about it, and I want to add it to my makeship plush “collection”. Unfortunately all I’ve seen on eBay are bootlegs and resells at way too high prices. So I came here to ask if someone would be willing to sell me their Jeff for a reasonable price.

(This is mainly about Jeff but if you also have the Agatha plush and are willing to sell it to me then that’d be great too!)

Hi reddit. Things have been weird lately. I’m writing this to remember my story. It is starting to fade, and I’m worried that it’ll be gone by the time I’m supposed to do what I need to. It all began with my grandfather.

My Grandfather was an ordinary man. Nothing about him screamed for attention, and day after day, he quietly lived his life to his standards. He was often stoic and blunt, but he was always a good man. He fixed dinner at 5:30 pm every night like clockwork, brushed his teeth, and laid out his outfit for the next day. And despite my ardent protests, he liked to attend the early-morning church service.

At 7:30 am, he’d calmly wait at the back door for me, not bothering to look at his watch because he knew the time by the shape of the sun in the sky. It was a trick that he’d picked up from his time in the army. He never had to look, and his last Sunday morning was no different.

I walked into the kitchen, grabbed a handful of peppermints because I’d forgotten to brush my teeth, and made my way to the back door. He never said anything to me about my disheveled hair or wrinkled button-up shirt. He simply opened the door and gestured to the car. I walked through, feeling a pang of guilt for disrupting his schedule, and got into the driver’s seat.

Grandpa was ninety-six, couldn’t drive anymore because of his tremors, and could barely read the letters on a stop sign. Most people surmised that he’d lived as long as he did to take care of me. Sometimes I think they were right. And even though he needed my help, I needed his more.

I wasn’t exactly an easy child to raise when I came to live with him in Grenwich. He was my last stop before foster care, and I didn’t make it easy on him at all. I was troubled, mean, bitter, and angry. I took out my sadness and rage on others, treating the world as my punching bag. All I did was get into fights in my first week of school. Somehow, by the grace of God, my grandpa was able to convince the principal, time after time, to give me detention, extra classwork, community service, or a suspension. He wanted the best for me, even if I didn’t want it at first. Over time, I learned to respect him, and he taught me to be a man. To listen. To understand. To guard my heart. To grow wisdom… even in my pain. He taught me more than I could have ever asked for.

I was removed from my mom’s house at thirteen because booze and men are better company to keep than taking care of your son and daughter, but with the way this world works, my sister’s death was what finally got them to remove me from her care. It wasn’t fair, but my sister’s life paid for a better one for me. I talk to her sometimes, wondering if she can hear me. Doubt it, but it does make me feel better.

The drive to church was always quiet, but he wasn’t quiet on his last visit before his death. He rolled down the window and stuck his arm out the door, feeling the morning air on his skin.

Then, he turned to me and spoke slowly. “Preston, you’ve been a joy in my life.”

I stared at him in confusion. Breaking from his routine felt like a sin now, and it unsettled me. “Grandpa, what are you going on about?”

He shook his head. “I just wanted you to know that. I felt like I got a second chance to do better.” He patted my shoulder. “There’s a lockbox under my bed. It’s got everything you’ll need.”

By that point, I realized that something was wrong, hair prickling up on my arm and a familiar rush of warmth to my cheeks. “Are you sick? Why are you telling me all of this?”

He smiled, drooping eyes moist from wetting drops and bushy eyebrows half trimmed. “No… But I don’t want you to think I left you with nothing.”

That was our last Sunday together. He sat calmly in the pew, stole a peppermint from me, only stood for the singing, followed along in his large-print Bible that I’d bought him, and I forgot all about what he’d told me. I figured it was just elderly worries, stuff that comes as you steadily get older. But I was wrong. I came home from school at 4:30 pm that Wednesday to find him lying peacefully in his recliner. He’d passed in his sleep watching the news like he wanted. Who could’ve asked for a better way to go?

The days that followed were a blur: phone calls, funeral service planning, obituaries, flowers… All of it was overwhelming in quite a way, but I handled it. He had a life insurance policy and a funeral fund that went straight to me. Even if my mom was listed, they wouldn’t be able to find her. Who the hell knows where she’s ended up. But since I’d turned eighteen, I was legally an adult. I didn’t have to go into foster care. I didn’t have to go anywhere.

I was sad after he passed, but life carried on. I went to school. I ate supper at 5:30 pm. I got a job to pay the bills; I visited his grave every Tuesday after school. Everything was fine until one strange Tuesday.

I arrived at Salem Hill Cemetery much later than I usually did, taking the oldest entrance by the gate. The front of the cemetery was blocked off, and I was forced to go around to the back, where the oldest graves rested. They were very old. The names were worn off by erosion, and some were overtaken by the ground. The oldest year that I could make out was dated back to the 1800s.

The sun was barely a flicker in the sky as it grew softer and softer. I quietly walked to his grave, fingers tracing over the soft wisps and tendrils of long grass. Purple flowers speckled across the ground, beautiful and thriving, unlike any I’d ever seen. The aroma was intoxicating, but it was very strange that I’d never noticed them.

Near the flowers, a willow tree in the distance seemed to sway, dancing to its own life and breath. If it had been a woman, I imagined her more beautiful than any I’d ever seen.

With a shrug, I journeyed onward, seeing a wrought iron fence that separated one portion of the cemetery from the other. I rolled my eyes and climbed over, seeing my Grandfather’s gravestone in the distance.

“There you are,” I whispered, brushing my hands off on my uniform pants.

I found his grave, and with a sigh, I sat down in the now damp grass, listening to the loud croak of the frogs at the pond nearby and the low buzz of the cicadas in the trees above me.

“Hey grandpa,” I whispered, looking up into the darkening sky.

I continued to talk to him, slowly growing more and more tired. I don’t know when I lay down, and I don’t know when my eyes finally creaked shut, but I was lulled to sleep by the sound of the resting graves and sleeping corpses. Maybe being near him calmed my aching soul.

When I awoke, I sat up in confusion, smearing the grass off my cheek. And in disbelief, I realized that the graves on the other side of the fence were glowing. I rubbed my eyes, refusing to believe the strange phenomenon occurring around me. I slowly stood. I couldn’t decide if I was asleep or dreaming. In fear, I turned around to spy more and more stones slowly glowing to life. With each blink, more stones began to glow, mimicking the striking white of the moon and the glistening faces of the stars.

“My God…” I whispered, stepping back and nearly tripping over my Grandfather’s mound of dirt.

I swallowed hard, gathering my thoughts and jogging to the wrought iron fence. I climbed over to get a closer look at the glowing stones and nearly fell. On the other side, I stopped, seeing one of the purple flowers. It wavered for a moment, and for a brief second, I believed that I saw an eye blinking in the center. It gazed at me before shutting quickly. I shook my head and slapped my face, trying to wake up. I had to be crazy. I was having a psychotic break. My heart pounded in my ribcage, thumping wildly. What is happening to me?

And as if summoned by my terror, a blinding white light formed at the willow tree, shooting upward into the heavens as a beacon… a call that the dead nor I could understand. The tendrils began to whip back and forth. The beautiful curves of the bark and long branches rose to stand straight up. Then I saw her, a woman trapped within the tree. She was screaming as she gazed upward into the night sky, mouth gaping into a hollow, empty cry. Her limbs were quivering, held in place and pulled upward by the light.

A sound like thunder rocked the sky, and I collapsed in fear, clutching my ears. A moist and warm substance dripped down my neck, and I quickly realized that my left ear was bleeding from the deafening noise.

In terror, I grabbed my cellphone to call for help, but its battery was dead.

Each grave began to vibrate. The stones began to rock, grinding against the earth. Fearfully, I grasped onto the closest gravestone, feeling the quake of the rough rock beneath my palms. My body trembled, and I closed my eyes, refusing to believe what I was witnessing.

A loud crack echoed through the cemetery, and my eyes shot open. Another thunderous roar reverberated from the ground. A gravestone near me shot into the air, thrown by something it once contained.

A forceful wind swept across the ground, and it carried a horrible bellow from the grave where the stone was ripped away. A decayed old woman emerged from within. She was naked, born of the soil that dripped from her hair, marking her escape from death and emergence into life.

Her advanced stage of decay made my stomach churn. The old woman’s eyes were gone, deflated balloons of mush. Maggots and bugs writhed up and down her legs, still eating and feasting upon her. Her skin was saggy and barely holding to the bone. The horrible color was a mixture of black and gray, and I couldn’t begin to imagine what the smell was like. With each step, something sloughed off her, making a path toward the light.

As I crouched behind the stone, a man emerged from the white light. His eyes were as gray as the stones around him, lifeless and unenthused. His hair was dark, neatly kept, but antlers emerged from his head. They were adorned with linked chains of silver and sparkling gems. He was neither old nor young. His features seemed to morph as he waited for her to approach. But the man’s eyes and hair remained unchanged. His mouth, nose, and chin were slips and turns of features that I couldn’t describe.

He wore a suit and tie, leaning on a metal cane. He began to walk toward her, and with each movement of the cane and thump, the ground shivered and quaked. His command over the soil tethered me to the gravestone. I couldn’t move, bound and too frightened to think.

Ominous fog seeped over the ground, drifting aimlessly but called. It was not merely coincidence. This creature… This ethereal being of the night had conjured it as he’d conjured the woman from her grave.

Once he bordered the bright light, he stopped. He did not speak, merely gestured to the woman. And she followed his command, empty eyes agreeing to his terms without question.

I leaned a little farther to the side to see more, and I knocked the glass vase on the grave that once held flowers. The sound of glass breaking shattered the silence. Both the old woman and the man turned to gaze upon me.

Without command, the old woman began to run at me. I yelled in terror, cutting my hand on the glass as I leaped up to run. I bolted through the grass, lungs screaming and throat constricting as I breathed. I ducked behind an old crypt to catch my breath, and my bloodied hand smeared over the stones that marked the entombment slots of the dead.

I clutched my hand, breathing rapidly as fear overtook me. In the darkness, my only guide was the moon, but as I gazed up at her luminous cheeks and smile, she began to darken. The unholy shadow of antlers began to shift across her.

My heart dropped into my stomach, and every bone in my body began to shake. I didn’t think I was going to get out of this one alive, but I wouldn’t go down without trying. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to think rationally. I must live. I HAVE TO.

As I searched for the closest path to my car in the fog, something trickled down onto my shoulder, and I looked up to see the old woman peeking at me from the roof of the crypt. Her mouth was cracked into a smile; putrid-smelling saliva leaked down her chin as she savored the look of me.

“Nowhere… to… hide…” she hissed, taking a deep inhalation of me. Her voice sounded cracked and as withered as her body. No longer a human voice. Something horrible... Something sinister.

I slowly backed away from the crypt, but I was a moment too late. Hands tore through the stone graves behind me, pinning me. Their entombment meant nothing in the face of the entity’s cosmic power feeding life into their bones.

I cried out in terror, fighting against the many hands that were ripping into my flesh and tearing my clothing. Horrible cries and shrieks erupted from the graves, and through the cracks, I could see their gnashing teeth.

The old woman made her way to me, climbing down the side of the crypt like a spider. Her bones cracked and rocked, grinding into the sockets. Her neck clicked back into place as she crawled to me.

She reached up, fingers shaking fervently as she grazed my cheek. She tore through the hands holding me, freeing one of my arms. She snapped it without hesitation.

Pain erupted through my body as I screamed in agony. I could barely breathe as the pain swelled through me in waves, each nerve alerting the next of the broken bone hanging within my skin.

She wrenched my arm to her face, gingerly pulling my fingers to her mouth. She bit down on my pointer finger, crunching through the bone as one would eat a carrot.

Suddenly, she was ripped back, torn from me as if strings were knotted through her bones.

“Disgusting little beast, isn’t she?” A voice came from the darkness as it approached. “But the dead have never been known for their kindness… especially if they return to reap what they sowed as they did in life. And that specimen was evil… even before death.”

Tears poured down my face as I gazed at my mangled finger. The flesh was pulverized by her teeth, hanging off of the stump that should hold a finger. What was left of my finger barely resembled anything other than ground beef. It was a ground lump of fragmented bone bits and blood, minced as if placed in a blender. I shook violently as blood spurted out of my finger. I couldn’t stop it, and at one point, I became woozy just from the sight of it. I couldn’t comprehend what I was looking at, and I considered cutting the flesh off. It wasn’t worth saving anyway.

Slowly, the hands that held me slithered back into their tomb, not wanting to challenge the being as he walked to me leisurely. I collapsed, unable to stand, but it did not matter. He flicked his wrist, and my body rose, dragged to him through the tall grass. I plopped to the ground before him, unable to meet his gaze.

He squatted down to look upon me and clicked his tongue. “Now… this will hurt, Preston.”

He grabbed my broken arm and wrenched me up. Then, his grip tightened, and an excruciating burst of electricity filled my body. The pain was indescribable. It tore through my body like fire as he clutched me. A wail ripped out of my throat, cutting the vocal cords and searing the trachea. I could hardly think or breathe. And then, I was gone, drifting somewhere between dream and wake.

My body was floating, hovering, and drifting through the great sea of fear and peace. I was nothing for a moment, snapping into a brief lapse of time. I believed that I had died. Had death claimed me once and for all? Was it over? It had been so quick, easier than falling asleep.

When my eyes peeled open, I was lying in my bed. The smell of my home filled my mind, sending relief circling through my veins. It must’ve been a dream. I lifted my arm to look at my perfectly straight bone and expertly crafted finger. No sign of trauma or even a scar.

But I was not alone. I slowly looked up to view the shadow of antlers resting on the wall opposite me. The creature’s shadow was much larger, no longer resembling the human I saw in the cemetery. His clothing was jaggedly cut, clinging to his skin and billowing around him. It moved in such a way that it could have been wings, but I wasn’t quite sure. It twisted and writhed, unyielding to the eyes of a mortal man. I was not meant to gaze upon him, so I dared not turn, much less breathe or scream.

“Your grandfather was a good man,” he whispered, picking up the picture of him on my nightstand. “He greeted me as a friend, unafraid of death and welcoming of my spirit.”

I didn’t reply. My mouth twitched, unable to form a single sentence or coherent word.

“He spoke of you… You were his only regret. He didn’t want to leave you.” He put down the picture. “It was quite touching. Many do not often dare to speak of their life to me, but he’d seen enough horrors in his time to take my hand gladly. Most veterans carry their wounds until I come or dementia takes it first.”

He dragged his finger down the wooden post of my bed, fingernail scraping through the paint. “War is a dreadful thing, only fulfilling for the ones who showered it in the lives of innocents and won. A dreadful waste if you ask me… a dreadful… dreadful waste of blood and flesh.”

I still didn’t answer, and his shadow cocked its head to the side. “Do not fear me, human. I’ve returned you home and tucked you into bed. If I wished to harm you… You’d already be dead. It is still within my grasp if that is what you’d prefer.”

He raised his hand, and I saw the shadow of his long fingers, sharply pointed like fine-tipped needles piercing flesh. Maybe it was bone or wood, but I couldn’t be sure. His shadow obscured the fine details that might reveal the truth, and I definitely wasn’t turning to face him.

“No… I would not prefer that.” I took a deep breath. “Why… Why did you save me from that— that… woman?”

“Not your time,” he replied lowly, voice grating and shaking the room. His shadow elongated and stretched. “Even I have my rules… Just as you have your own clock to time your life and strike as it ends. You will certainly see me again. It is the way of things. Life and death come and go.”

I went quiet… too fearful to ask it another question, and yet I wanted to know what stood in my bedroom and spared me.

He simply chuckled as if he could hear my innermost thoughts, and perhaps… he could.

“I am what I am… I see, and I hear. I feel, and I know. I have many names… many from each star and planet and corner of the earth. Many have sought me out to bargain their claim to the lives I own, but you never did. You never asked me to return what I took from you. And you… You have lost so much as a young, budding man. Your life has barely begun.”

“My sister…” I breathed. “She shouldn’t have died. You should have taken my mother!”

“Ah…” he replied. “Maryanne… I remember her. Tiny little thing, not much older than you. Froze to death after your mother locked you two outside, and she used her body to protect you from the snow and bitter cold of the winter’s tempest. Cried when I took her hand. But as the embrace of death took her, she no longer felt the cold. I saved her from this place... from the monstrosity of man. Death was merciful and a gift unto her battered life. As it would be for you if it was time.”

Tears filled my eyes, but I refused to let them burn down my face. “You let her die…” I growled. “Why didn’t you take my mother instead?”

The shadow of his horns shook upon his head. “I cannot change what has been written. Your mother’s time will come, and for her crimes, she too shall pay a bitter… bitter price…”

He took a deep breath. “But know that something is brewing beneath the ground. A place within Grenwich has disrupted my laws for far too long… broken my venerated calling. Their relentless use of the cemetery cannot go unnoticed. They’re feeding something… a terrible creature within the ground that is only growing more powerful. And they shall be punished. You will be my herald. And you will know with whom to speak my message to when he returns. I will give it to you and speak with your tongue.”

“The cemetery?” I asked. “Why are you so worried about the cemetery?”

The creature stared directly at his shadow, and dark eyes formed onto the wall before me. I gazed into them fearfully, shaking and holding tightly to my blankets. I had transformed into a child again, terrified of the shadows that slipped and waltzed in the dark. Yet eyes had formed to gaze upon me, manifesting the threshold between dream and wake.

“A part of the cemetery is dangerous and planted upon a vat of poison. It is contaminated, and it can reverse my touch… my final judgment. The fence that you climbed over is the border. Anyone buried within the fence will return. Beings of the dark discovered the cemetery’s true nature, and now they use it to walk again and to wreak havoc upon the living once more.” He shifted, fingers clinking together. “Humans made their own portion of the cemetery when they realized their dead would return if they buried them within the gate…”

His eyes narrowed on the wall, growing more and more vast. They began to sparkle, glistening as if the cosmos rested within them. Darkness swirled through the irises, and lights danced from the world beyond. The infinite possibilities of his power rested within his eyes, knowing and seeing all despite his careful form. I could not look away. Our gaze was locked, immoveable and unbroken. Whatever he asked of me, I would fulfill.

I breathed out, noticing the puff of vapor and the chill in the air around me. Death was cold, but his embrace was warm. “So, my grandfather will not come back?”

The creature shook his head. “No… He was not buried in the bitter place. He will remain at rest… as will your sister. Life will not touch them again.”

Tears finally slipped down my face, and my heart ached bitterly, reliving the memories of my sister and my Grandfather. The only love I’d ever known was taken by the creature who stood inside my very bedroom. And now, I was to be his messenger and relay some coded secret to a stranger.

He spoke slowly once more. “Do not mourn the dead, dear boy. Mourn the living. They must endure the hour of the dark.”

A blinding light filled the room. “Soon, I shall come again…”

His voice was no longer human, exuding a command over my body that I knew not. His voice became loud and booming, shaking the walls. I covered my eyes, unable to see, as if gazing at the light of the sun. In a single clap of thunder, he was gone, and his departure shattered my windows, glasses, picture frames, and mirror. I could hear the soft tinkle of glass hitting the floor.

My eyes did not close until daylight poured into my room, soft fingers stretching onto the floor and touching my face. And finally, I rolled over, trying to decide what being had mended my arm and finger. I can only assume that the creature was some god of death, an unworldly being sent to claim humanity’s souls. But now, he is gone, and he left me as his harbinger.

As time passed since our meeting, I developed a strange sense within my soul. Sometimes I know things… things I’m not meant to see or know. And oddly, my finger burns if I drive too close to the back entrance of Salem Hill Cemetery. Sometimes, I think something is watching me when I visit my Grandfather’s grave. I never go through the back entrance or climb over the fence, but sometimes I stand on the other side, wondering and thinking and gazing at the woman within the willow.

And I still don’t know what man I am supposed to bring his message to. I’m still searching… And the memories of that night are becoming vague and dulled, sinking into confusion and doubt. Maybe I didn’t meet him at all. Maybe he never spoke to me… I’m not sure if it actually happened.

But I do know this. I hope I never see the god of death return to Grenwich until it is my time to leave… Until it’s my time to be a dearly departed soul.

I’ve always loved junk. Thrift stores, pawn shops, and yard sales have always been where I loved to spend any extra money I had. I even dabbled with dumpster diving and occasionally stopped and picked up things I saw on the side of the highway. I don’t really collect anything specific. If something looks old, strange, or like it might have a story behind it, I’ll probably buy it. My family calls it a problem and says I’m obsessive. I don’t think that’s right. I just think it’s fun and I don’t have much else to do. Most stuff I bring home ends up on my desk until I find out where to put it. I usually either use the things to decorate my home or I throw it in my shed and forget about it. Old cameras, pocket knives, typewriters, VHS tapes, broken watches, things like that. Most of the electronics don’t work but they have character and add some sort of value to my humble home. Every once in a while I’ll find something that actually works.

It was a cold late November morning when I saw a bright yellow yard sale sign with an arrow pointing to a street on my left. Without really thinking about it, I turned down the street after seeing the sign and I giggled to myself thinking that I’m a junk zombie. I was on my way to work but I’m not too worried if I’m late. I’m working on a ranch for some old rancher outside of town while I try to get my writing career off the ground. I drive up the street and see a lawn scattered with tables full of exciting new finds. I park next to the curb and get out of my truck. A yard sale of this size would usually have a ton of people out, even this early in the morning. I usually have to compete with the town grandmas but today I’ve got it all to myself. I walk the makeshift aisles and ponder which treasures I should take home with me. The homeowner comes outside and stands on his porch. I know most people in this town but I’ve never met this man. He’s a large, older man with a wild beard, trucker hat, pearlsnap, vest, and jeans. He looks completely normal but I get a sharp feeling when I see him. He, just like his house, looks very cold and uninviting. He keeps looking at me as he walks to his rocking chair and sits down. I go back to looking at his tables, trying not to mind the man. At the end of one table something caught my attention. An old police scanner with a little orange display, dials, and buttons. I’d never found one before but always wanted one. When I was a kid I dreamed of being a cop or detective in New York, fighting bad guys and solving complex murders while smoking a cigarette and getting looked at by hot chicks. Those dreams faded as I grew up and figured I’d never make it out of this town. Maybe that’ll be my next short story. I took the scanner off the table and walked up the creaky porch steps to the cold man. Before I said anything the man said “13.50”. “*What an odd amount”* I thought to myself. I asked “Does it work?”. “Last I checked” His voice sounded like tires on loose gravel. I pulled out my wallet and thumbed through my bills. I got out out a 10 and a 5 and held it out to him. “Do you have any change?” The man spit some tobacco juice out and grabbed the cash as he responded “Nope”. I stood there frozen for a few seconds as he stared at me, packing another finger full of chew into his lip. “Alright” I mumbled as I made my way back to the truck, confused by the odd interaction. 

Work was pretty mundane, feeding the pregnant cows and making sure they’ll be okay for the snowstorm in the upcoming forecast. I forgot about the police scanner until I got back to my truck that evening. When I saw it sitting on the passenger seat my excitement reignited and I drove back home. I pulled into my driveway and I could hear my dog howling from inside. I looked through the window and saw the beagle losing his mind with excitement. As I got out of the truck with the scanner I saw Mr. Conners taking his trash out to the road. Mr. Conners was an old man that I had befriended over the years. Most people thought he was an angry, schizophrenic hermit that hated kids and the government. He admitted to me that in his younger years he left a bomb on the doorstep of city hall, convinced our town was run by pedophilic aliens. Luckily, the bomb was defective and the police never figured out who made it. I found a charm in Mr. Conners that most others didn’t. “Bastard dog has been like that all day. Thought he was trying to relay something to me but I can’t figure out what he’s saying” he said to me from his lawn. I laughed and said “Let me know when you figure it out”. Mr. Conners didn’t find it as funny as I did and looked sour. “What’s that?” he nodded towards the scanner in my hands. “An old police scanner I found at a yard sale. I’m not sure if it works. The guy I bought it from was just trying to make a quick buck I think” I said. “Careful with that, you’ll never know who will try to communicate with you through that”. With that he turned around and walked inside his house. He’s never been good at ending conversations.

I unlocked the door and Leo jumped on my leg and greeted me with yelps. I gave him some love, heated up some ground beef for him, and went upstairs to try out my scanner. I didn't have much hope that it would work but it turned on as soon as I plugged it in. I was so happy that it turned on I celebrated with a glass of whiskey. I had no idea how to use the scanner so I had to play around with it for a bit. Once I got it working I could hear a voice. “Unit 14, respond to a two-vehicle accident on Highway 6, mile marker 143. Possible injuries. EMS has been notified.” I couldn’t believe it, it actually worked. After a few minutes of messing around with the buttons I figured out how to scan through the channels. Most of what I heard was boring. Officers checking license plates, dispatch sending someone to a noise complaint, a deputy asking if anyone had eyes on a loose dog. I was so happy, I'd wanted one of these things since I was a kid and now I finally had one. I poured myself another glass and started writing my new story about a noir detective. Listening to the scanner put me in the perfect state of mind and the words of the story flew off my fingertips and onto my computer. Not much happened on the scanner for the rest of the night and I went to sleep around 1am.

The next day was boring and methodical. All day I just thought about writing my story and listening to the scanner again. When I got home I flipped on the scanner and booted up my computer. For a second night in a row I had so many ideas and I was really loving how the story was coming together. I took a break to grab a coffee. When I got back to my desk the scanner picked up some chatter “Unit 14, respond to a fatal shooting outside of O’Brian Pub. 214 West Main Street. Caller reports one male deceased. Suspect is possibly still on scene.” Shooting at O’Brian? That's the bar I usually frequent on the weekends. It's just around the corner from me, a 5 minute walk at the most. That’s odd, I didn’t hear any gunshots. When people talk too loud outside the bar I can hear the noise, how did I not hear the gunshot? I know this isn’t very smart but I decided to walk around the corner so I could see the scene at O’Brian. I put my slippers and a coat on and went outside. It was calm and quiet, no stirring at all. I walked to the corner of the street and turned left. I could see the big neon sign from where I stood but that was it. There were no police lights, no one laying dead, no one even there, it was just silence. Did they already clean everything up? No that couldnt have happened in just minutes. Was it an old broadcast that was sent out by accident? I dont know how any of the tech works but I doubt it was that. Did my scanner find another town with another bar named O’Brian at the  exact same address? None of it made sense. I turned around and made my way back home. I was so thrown off and deflated for some reason? I’m not a violent person so I don’t know why I went searching for it. Did I just imagine this entire thing? I turned off my computer and got into bed. Tomorrow I’m going to the bar to check it out.

Okay, so if anyone is on tiktok, specifically the creepypasta fandom side, does anyone else get the proxy videos on their for you page as well, because the past few days I have been getting them and just yesterday I went swimming with my sisters, my best friend and my boyfriend. In the process of swimming I was feeling like I was being watched, mind you where we went there was trees everywhere around us, I told my friend and my sisters I felt like I was being watched and right after saying that I had a nosebleed. So I was wondering if there is any mind games that my mind was playing with me or if this could actually be related of some sort. If you have any answers please tell me.