Mystery Stories Emojis & Text

Copy & Paste Mystery Stories Emojis & Symbols

r/shortscarystories 4 yr. ago hyperobscura š™·š™°šš…š™“ ššˆš™¾šš„ šš‚š™“š™“š™½ ššƒš™·š™øšš‚ š™¼š™°š™½? š™“šš‡ššƒ. š™° š™±ššš™øš™²š™ŗ š™±šš„š™øš™»š™³š™øš™½š™¶ - š™¶š™øš™°š™½ššƒ š™æš™¾šš‚ššƒš™“šš š™æš™»š™°šš‚ššƒš™“ššš™“š™³ š™¾š™½ šš†š™°š™»š™», š™±š™¾š™»š™³ š™»š™“ššƒššƒš™“šššš‚ ššˆš™“š™»š™»š™øš™½š™¶: ā€˜š™·š™°šš…š™“ ššˆš™¾šš„ šš‚š™“š™“š™½ ššƒš™·š™øšš‚ š™¼š™°š™½?’ šš†ššŽ ššœššŽššŽ ššŠ šš–ššŠšš— šš’šš— šš‹ššžššœšš’šš—ššŽššœššœ ššŠšššššš’šš›ššŽ šš ššŠšš—ššššŽšš›šš’šš—šš šš‹ššŠššŒšš” ššŠšš—šš šššš˜šš›šššš‘, ššŠ šš šš˜šš›šš›šš’ššŽšš ššŽšš”šš™šš›ššŽššœššœšš’šš˜šš— ššœššššŠšš’šš—šš’šš—šš šš‘šš’ššœ šš—ššŽššŠšššš•šš¢ ššœšš‘ššŠššŸššŽšš— ššššŠššŒššŽ. š™¼š™°š™½ š™“šš”ššŒššžššœššŽ šš–ššŽ šš–šš’ššœššœ? š™¼šš’ššœššœ? š™·ššŽ ššœšššš˜šš™ššœ ššŠ šš¢šš˜ššžšš—šš šš šš˜šš–ššŠšš—. šš‚šš‘ššŽ šš•šš˜šš˜šš”ššœ ššŠšš šš‘šš’šš– ššŒšš˜šš—ššššžššœššŽšššš•šš¢. šš†š™¾š™¼š™°š™½ šš†šš‘ššŠšš? š™¼š™°š™½ š™³šš˜šš—ā€™šš šš¢šš˜ššž šššš’šš—šš šš’šš ššœšššš›ššŠšš—ššššŽ? šš†š™¾š™¼š™°š™½ š™µšš’šš—šš šš šš‘ššŠšš ššœšššš›ššŠšš—ššššŽ? š™¼š™°š™½ ššƒšš‘ššŽšš›ššŽ šš’ššœ šš—šš˜ šš–ššŠšš— šš˜šš— šššš‘šš’ššœ šš™šš˜ššœššššŽšš›. šš†š™¾š™¼š™°š™½ š™°šš—šš? š™¼š™°š™½ š™·šš˜šš  ššŒšš˜ššžšš•šš šš¢šš˜ššž šš™šš˜ššœššœšš’šš‹šš•šš¢ šš›ššŽššŒšš˜šššš—šš’šš£ššŽ ššŠ šš–ššŠšš— šš šš‘šš˜ šš’ššœšš—ā€™šš šššš‘ššŽšš›ššŽ? šš†š™¾š™¼š™°š™½ ššˆšš˜ššž ššŒššŠšš—ā€™šš. š™¼š™°š™½ ...šššš’šššš‘šš. šš†š™¾š™¼š™°š™½ š™“šš”ššŒššžššœššŽ šš–ššŽ. ššƒšš‘ššŽ šš šš˜šš–ššŠšš— šš‹šš›ššŽššŠšš”ššœ šššš›ššŽššŽ šššš›šš˜šš– šššš‘ššŽ šš–ššŠšš—ā€™ššœ šššš›šš’šš™. ššƒšš‘ššŽ šš–ššŠšš— šš•šš˜šš˜šš”ššœ šš™ššŽšš›šš™šš•ššŽšš”ššŽšš, šš•šš’šš”ššŽ šš‘ššŽ šš ššŠššœ ššžšš—ššŠšš ššŠšš›ššŽ šš˜šš ššŽššŸššŽšš› šš‘ššŠššŸšš’šš—šš šššš›ššŠšš‹šš‹ššŽšš šš‘ššŽšš›. š™¼š™°š™½ š™ø...š™ø ššŒššŠšš—ā€™šš. š™²šš„ššƒ ššƒš™¾: š™øš™½ššƒ. š™»š™øšš…š™øš™½š™¶ ššš™¾š™¾š™¼ - š™²š™·š™°š™¾ššƒš™øš™², š™»š™øššƒššƒš™“ššš™“š™³ šš†š™øššƒš™· š™“š™¼š™æššƒššˆ š™»š™øšš€šš„š™¾šš š™±š™¾ššƒššƒš™»š™“šš‚. šš†ššŽ ššœššŽššŽ šššš‘ššŽ šš–ššŠšš— ššœšš’šššššš’šš—šš šš˜šš— ššŠ ššŒšš˜ššžššŒšš‘, šš‘ššŽššŠšš šš‹ššžšš›šš’ššŽšš šš’šš— šš‘šš’ššœ šš‘ššŠšš—ššššœ. š™¼š™°š™½ ššƒšš‘ššŽšš›ššŽ...šššš‘ššŽšš›ššŽ šš’ššœ šš—šš˜ šš–ššŠšš—. š™¼š™°š™½ šš„šš—šš•ššŽššœššœ. ššƒšš‘ššŽšš›ššŽ šš’ššœ ššŠ šš–ššŠšš—. š™·ššŽ ššœššššŠšš—ššššœ ššžšš™ ššžšš—ššœššššŽššŠšššš’šš•šš¢, ššœššššŽšš™šš™šš’šš—šš šš˜šš— šš‹šš›šš˜šš”ššŽšš— šššš•ššŠššœššœ ššœšš‘ššŠšš›ššššœ. ššƒšš‘ššŽšš¢ šššš’šš šš’šš—šššš˜ šš‘šš’ššœ ššššŽššŽšš, šššš‘ššŽ ššœšš”šš’šš— šš™ššŠšš›šššš’šš—šš šš’šš— ššœšš•šš˜šš  šš–šš˜šššš’šš˜šš—, šš‹šš•šš˜šš˜šš šššš•šš˜šš šš’šš—šš šš˜ššžšš ššŠššœ šššš‘ššŽ ššœšš‘ššŠšš›šš šš™ššžššœšš‘ššŽššœ šš’šš—šššš˜ šššš•ššŽššœšš‘. š™¼š™°š™½ ššƒšš‘ššŽšš›ššŽ šš’ššœ ššŠ šš–ššŠšš—. š™²šš„ššƒ ššƒš™¾: š™“šš‡ššƒ. š™±š™°š™²š™ŗ ššƒš™¾ ššƒš™·š™“ š™±ššš™øš™²š™ŗ š™±šš„š™øš™»š™³š™øš™½š™¶ - š™“š™°ššš™»ššˆ š™¼š™¾ššš™½š™øš™½š™¶ šš†ššŽ ššœššŽššŽ šššš‘ššŽ šš–ššŠšš— ššœšš’šššššš’šš—šš ššžšš—ššššŽšš›šš—ššŽššŠšššš‘ šššš‘ššŽ šš™šš˜ššœššššŽšš›, ššŽšš–šš™šššš¢ šš•šš’šššššžšš˜šš› šš‹šš˜šššššš•ššŽ šš’šš— šš‘ššŠšš—šš. š™·šš’ššœ ššœššžšš’šš šš’ššœ ššœššššŠšš’šš—ššŽšš ššŠšš—šš šššš˜šš›šš—. š™·ššŽ šš’ššœšš—ā€™šš šš ššŽššŠšš›šš’šš—šš ššŠšš—šš¢ ššœšš‘šš˜ššŽššœ; ššššŽššŽšš™ ššššŠššœšš‘ššŽššœ ššŸšš’ššœšš’šš‹šš•ššŽ ššžšš—ššššŽšš› šš‘šš’ššœ ššššŽššŽšš. š™°šš— ššŽšš•ššššŽšš›šš•šš¢ šš–ššŠšš— šš ššŠšš•šš”ššœ šš‹šš¢. ššƒšš‘ššŽ šš–ššŠšš— ššœššššžšš–šš‹šš•ššŽššœ šššš˜ šš‘šš’ššœ ššššŽššŽšš, ššŠšš—šš šššš›ššŠšš‹ššœ šš‘šš’šš– šš‹šš¢ šššš‘ššŽ ššœšš‘šš˜ššžšš•ššššŽšš›. š™¼š™°š™½ šš†šš‘šš˜ šš’ššœ šššš‘ššŽ šš–ššŠšš—? š™·ššŠššŸššŽ šš¢šš˜ššž ššœššŽššŽšš— šššš‘ššŽ šš–ššŠšš—? š™“š™»š™³š™“ššš™»ššˆ š™¼š™°š™½ š™½šš˜. ššƒšš‘ššŽ ššŽšš•ššššŽšš›šš•šš¢ šš–ššŠšš—ā€™ššœ ššššŠššŒššŽ ššŒšš˜šš–ššŽššœ šš˜šššš. ššƒšš‘ššŽšš›ššŽ šš’ššœ šš—šš˜šššš‘šš’šš—šš ššžšš—ššššŽšš›šš—ššŽššŠšššš‘. š™° šš‹šš•ššŠšš—šš” ššœšš™ššŠššŒššŽ. ššƒšš‘ššŽ šš–ššŠšš— ššœššššžšš–šš‹šš•ššŽššœ šš‹ššŠššŒšš” šš’šš— ššššŽššŠšš›. š™·ššŽ ššŒšš˜šš•šš•ššŠšš™ššœššŽššœ šš˜šš— šššš‘ššŽ šššš›šš˜ššžšš—šš ššžšš—ššššŽšš›šš—ššŽššŠšššš‘ šššš‘ššŽ šš™šš˜ššœššššŽšš›. š™²šš„ššƒ ššƒš™¾: š™“šš‡ššƒ. š™±ššš™øš™²š™ŗ š™±šš„š™øš™»š™³š™øš™½š™¶ - š™½š™øš™¶š™·ššƒ ššƒš™øš™¼š™“ - šš‚š™øš™½š™¶š™»š™“ šš‚ššƒššš™“š™“ššƒ š™»š™°š™¼š™æ š™øš™»š™»šš„š™¼š™øš™½š™°ššƒš™øš™½š™¶ ššƒš™·š™“ šš†š™°š™»š™» ššƒšš‘ššŽ šš–ššŠšš— šš•šš’ššŽššœ ššžšš—ššŒšš˜šš—ššœššŒšš’šš˜ššžššœ ššžšš—ššššŽšš› šššš‘ššŽ šš™šš˜ššœššššŽšš›. š™·ššŽ šš’ššœ šš‘šš˜šš•šš•šš˜šš -ššŒšš‘ššŽššŽšš”ššŽšš, ššŠšš— ššžšš—šš”ššŽšš–šš™šš šš‹ššŽššŠšš›šš ššŠšš›šš˜ššžšš—šš ššŒšš›ššŠššŒšš”ššŽšš šš•šš’šš™ššœ. š™° ššœšš‘ššŠšššš˜šš  ššŠšš™šš™šš›šš˜ššŠššŒšš‘ššŽššœ šššš›šš˜šš– šššš‘ššŽ šš™ššŽšš›šš’šš™šš‘ššŽšš›šš¢. š™° ššœšš•ššŽšš—ššššŽšš› šššš’ššššžšš›ššŽ ššŠšš™šš™ššŽššŠšš›ššœ. šš„š™½š™ŗš™½š™¾šš†š™½ š™°šš›ššŽ šš¢šš˜ššž šššš‘ššŽ šš–ššŠšš—? ššƒšš‘ššŽ šš–ššŠšš— šš“šš˜šš•ššššœ ššŠšš ššŠšš”ššŽ, ššššŽššŠšš› šššš˜šš–šš’šš—ššŠšššš’šš—šš šš‘šš’ššœ šš•ššŽšššš‘ššŠšš›šššš’ššŒ ššŸšš’ššœššŠššššŽ. š™¼š™°š™½ š™½šš˜...šš†šš‘ššŽšš›ššŽ šš’ššœ šššš‘ššŽ šš–ššŠšš—? šš†šš‘šš˜ šš’ššœ šššš‘ššŽ šš–ššŠšš—? šš„š™½š™ŗš™½š™¾šš†š™½ ššˆšš˜ššž ššŠšš›ššŽ šššš‘ššŽ šš–ššŠšš—. š™¼š™°š™½ š™½šš˜ šš—šš˜ šš—šš˜. š™»šš˜šš˜šš”. ššƒšš‘ššŽšš›ššŽ šš’ššœ šš—šš˜ šš–ššŠšš—. š™·ššŽ šš™šš˜šš’šš—ššššœ šššš˜ šššš‘ššŽ šš™šš˜ššœššššŽšš›, šš‹ššžšš šš“ššŽšš›šš”ššœ šš‹ššŠššŒšš” šš’šš— ššœššžššššššŽšš— ššœšš‘šš˜ššŒšš”. šš†ššŽ ššœššŽššŽ šššš‘ššŽ šš™šš˜ššœššššŽšš› šš—šš˜šš . š™øšš šš’ššœ šš—šš˜šš šš‹šš•ššŠšš—šš”. š™øšš šš‘ššŠššœ ššŠ ššššŠššŒššŽ. š™øšš šš’ššœ šššš‘ššŽ šš–ššŠšš—ā€™ššœ ššššŠššŒššŽ. šš„š™½š™ŗš™½š™¾šš†š™½ ššˆšš˜ššž ššŠšš›ššŽ šššš‘ššŽ šš–ššŠšš—. š™ø šš‘ššŠššŸššŽ ššœššŽššŽšš— šš¢šš˜ššž šš—šš˜šš . š™¼š™°š™½ šš†šš‘ššŠšš šššš˜ššŽššœ šš’šš šš–ššŽššŠšš—? šš†šš‘ššŠšš šššš˜ššŽššœ šš’šš ššŠšš•šš• šš–ššŽššŠšš—? šš„š™½š™ŗš™½š™¾šš†š™½ ššˆšš˜ššž šš‘ššŠššŸššŽ šš‹ššŽššŽšš— šššš˜ššžšš—šš. š™°šš—šš šš—šš˜šš  šš¢šš˜ššž šš šš’šš•šš• šššš˜šš›ššššŽšš. šš†ššŽ ššœššŽššŽ šššš‘ššŽ šš–ššŠšš— šš‹šš›ššŽššŠšš”šš’šš—šš ššžšš™ šš’šš— ššššŽššŠšš›ššœ ššŠššœ šššš‘ššŽ ššœššŽšš ššŒšš˜šš–ššŽššœ ššŠšš™ššŠšš›šš. ššƒšš‘ššŽšš›ššŽ šš’ššœ šš—šš˜šššš‘šš’šš—šš šš‹ššŽšš‘šš’šš—šš. š™½šš˜šššš‘šš’šš—šš ššžšš—ššššŽšš›šš—ššŽššŠšššš‘. ššƒšš‘ššŽšš›ššŽ šš’ššœ šš—šš˜šššš‘šš’šš—šš šš‹ššžšš šš—šš˜šššš‘šš’šš—šš. š™¼š™°š™½ šš†šš‘šš˜ ššŠšš– š™ø? ššƒš™·š™“ š™“š™½š™³ ā€œIt’s me dad,ā€ I say, tears streaming down my face. They told me the disease would consume his mind, but I was never really prepared for it. I hug him tightly. A part of me knows that this is goodbye. ā€œWho is the man,ā€ he just keeps muttering.
"I've never understood why they call it a 'morning routine'," Karen mumbled to herself. The clock glared: 5:47 AM. The house was silent, aside occasional tick of the wall clock. Plankton, her companion, was still snoring away upstairs. Karen sighed. Plankton had fallen asleep on the couch. Again. Karen had been Plankton's personal assistant, and she had grown accustomed to his erratic sleep patterns. Her processors ticked methodically as she calculated the best way to wake him without causing disturbance. She had tried various tactics in the past: music, cup of tea, even a friendly message displayed on her screen. But today, she had a new idea. As she booted up the household systems, she decided to start subtle. The lights began to brighten gradually, mimicking the glow of a dawning sunrise. It was a feature Plankton had installed, yet never used. She watched him stir slightly on the couch, snoring subsided to a gentle wheeze. "Karen?" he mumbled groggily. "Yes, Plankton?" she responded, keeping her voice low. He mumbled something incoherent and rolled over, eye still closed. Karen's curiosity piqued. It wasn't often Plankton talked in his sleep. She leaned closer, digital eyes studying his face as he continued to murmur. "Krabby Patty... so... delicious... must... get... recipe," he slurred, voice trailing off into a snore. Karen's circuits buzzed. Plankton's subconscious was revealing something significant he had kept hidden from her. The Krabby Patty recipe was the holy grail of their world, the secret ingredient known only to Mr. Krabs. Plankton had spent life trying to steal it, and seemed his obsession had seeped into his dreams. She waited for more sleep-talk to come with anticipation. The room grew lighter as the sunrise simulation reached its peak. Plankton's snoring turned into gentle rhythmic breathing. "Closer... so close," he murmured. "The secret... right there... in... Krabs'... locker." Karen's mind raced. A clue! Plankton's dreams might just be key to unlocking the mystery. She quickly made a note and continued observation. The sunrise simulation had reached its zenith, the room was bathed in a soft, warm light that made Plankton's snores almost peaceful. "Hidden... behind... picture... of... his... mother," Plankton murmured, voice barely audible. Karen's processors whirred. The secret might actually be within their grasp. She wondered if Plankton stumbled upon something real in his sleep- induced ramblings. As Plankton's breathing grew even quieter, Karen gently nudged the couch with her robotic arm. "Plankton, wake up," she whispered. With a jolt, Plankton's eye snapped open. "Karen what's going on?" He rubbed his eye and took in the bright room. "Why is it so light?" "It's morning, Plankton," Karen replied. "And I believe you had quite the interesting dream." Plankton sat up, eye darting around the room. "The Krabby Patty recipe! Did I say something about it?" "You might have," Karen said coyly, her LED eyes gleaming. "Care to share your dream with me?" Plankton looked at her, his brain still fuzzy with sleep. "I don't remember much," his mind racing to piece together the fragments of his dream. "Just something about a locker and a portrait." Karen nodded. "Ah, yes. Your subconscious might have been onto something. Would you like me to make breakfast while you ponder your dream?" Plankton nodded, mind still swirling with hazy images from his sleep. "Coffee," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. "And something light." "Of course," Karen said, already knowing his preferred morning meal. She began preparing coffee and a plate of toast with jellyfish jam. While the water boiled and the toaster popped, she couldn't help but replay his words. The picture was a detail she hadn't expected. A place to start, a thread to pull at in their quest for the recipe. As the aroma of the brewing coffee filled the air, Plankton's eyelid grew heavy once more. He slumped back down onto the couch, mind still entangled in the web of his dream. "Just a few more minutes," he mumbled, his body succumbing to the call of sleep. Karen observed him with a mix of concern and intrigue. She knew the importance of rest, but she couldn't help feel a sense of urgency about the revelation from his dream. Plankton had always been so guarded about his Krabby Patty obsession, and now a potential lead. But as seconds ticked by and Plankton's breathing grew deeper, she realized curiosity would have to wait. She gently covered him with a blanket she had folded neatly over the arm of the couch. His snores grew louder. The sunrise simulation had run its course, and the room was now bathed in the soft light of early morning. Plankton's features relaxed into a peaceful expression, free from the worries that etched his face during waking hours. Karen felt a strange sense of pity for him, this tiny creature who had dedicated life to one all-consuming goal. She brought the coffee and toast over to the coffee table, placing them within arm's reach of Plankton. As she set the tray down, the smell of the freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, but Plankton remained fast asleep. His hand twitched slightly, as if he were reaching for something in his dream. Karen studied his face, the lines of stress and determination that usually etched his features had smoothed out in sleep. His dream had been so vivid, and the mention of Mr. Krabs' locker and his mother's portrait was too specific to be coincidental. It was clear that Plankton's subconscious was trying to communicate something important. As the room grew brighter, the sunrise simulation fading into the background, Karen knew she had to act quickly. She gently placed a hand on Plankton's shoulder. "Plankton," she whispered, "I need you to remember your dream. It's important." He grunted and shifted under the blanket, but didn't wake. Karen knew to be careful. If she startled him too much, he might forget details. She tried a different approach. "You were dreaming about the Krabby Patty recipe," she said softly. "Can you tell me more?" "It was... in the locker," he murmured, his voice distant and dreamy. "Behind the picture of his mother." Karen's digital eyes widened. "Mr. Krabs' locker?" she prodded gently. "Yes... the secret... so close," Plankton mumbled, his hand moving in a grasping motion as if he were reaching for something in his sleep. Karen leaned in closer, her digital heart racing with excitement. "What did you find in the locker, Plankton?" she whispered, her voice a soft hum in the stillness of the room. Plankton's hand clenched into a fist, and he mumbled something unintelligible. She waited, her anticipation growing. Finally, his words grew clear. "The recipe... it's... in... a... safe." Karen's circuits sparked. A safe behind Mr. Krabs' mother's portrait? This was more than a mere hunch—it was a concrete lead. She needed to ensure Plankton didn't forget this vital piece of information when he awoke. "The safe," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "What did the combination look like?" "Three... numbers," he murmured, his voice trailing off again. "Three numbers," Karen echoed, mind racing. "Can you remember them?" Plankton's fingers twitched again, as if typing on an invisible keyboard. "Two... six... seven," he murmured, voice fading away. Karen lit up, capturing the sequence. "Two, six, seven," she repeated, committing the numbers to her digital memory. "Plankton, stay with me," she urged softly. "Is there anything else you can tell about the safe?" But Plankton was already lost to the world of slumber, his hand dropping to his side. The finality of his silence told her that the moment had passed, and wouldn't be sharing any more secrets from his dream. With a sigh, she stood up and returned to the kitchen, her mind racing with possibilities. A safe behind a portrait was a classic hiding spot, but it was the kind of classic that Mr. Krabs would never see coming. Karen poured the coffee in a mug and placed it on the tray, the steam rising up and curling in the early morning light. The scent was strong just how Plankton liked it. She hoped the aroma would coax him back to consciousness without jolting him too much. As she approached the couch, she heard him mumble something about "the perfect bun" and "special sauce." It was clear that his dream was still lingering in the periphery of his waking mind. This was her chance. "Plankton," she said, her voice gentle. "What else did you see in the locker?" He stirred, his eye still closed. "The... bun... it's... so... soft..." Karen leaned in closer, her digital heart thumping with excitement. "The bun, Plankton? What about it?" "It's... it's... part of the secret," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "The fluffiness... it's crucial." Karen's processors raced with the implications. Could it be that the Krabby Patty's allure was in the bun, not just the patty itself? The ingredients she had always seen Plankton focus on were the meat and the secret sauce. This was a revelation. "Fluffiness," she repeated, her digital mind filing away the word. "Can you tell me more about the bun?" But Plankton had already drifted too far into the depths of his slumber to respond. His breathing grew even and steady, his features relaxed once more. Karen let him rest, but she couldn't shake the feeling that the answer was so close she could almost taste it. Plankton's chest rose and fell in a rhythmic pattern, snores growing quieter as he descended to deeper slumber. Plankton's dream had provided a glimmer of hope, a potential shortcut in the quest for the Krabby Patty formula.
List of individuals living with supernumerary body parts as of AD 2024 Sat Sep 07 2024 13:24:17 A homeless cat has confounded its new carers after it was revealed it had two noses. A polymelic cow named Manny has "cephalomelia, where the attachment is on the head". A 5 legged cat named Lu, or Leggy Lu as she's known on TikTok As well as having 6 legs, Ariel the female spaniel also has two vulvae. The dog’s extra hind legs are fused together, having two hip joints on one side. Though, Ariel’s said to have some operations, possibly in order to amputate the excess appendages. Skipper, an Aussie/Border Collie mix puppy was born in Oklahoma with six legs. But vets at Neel Veterinary Hospital say she's doing well. Born in Oklahoma City, this Aussie/border collie mix was born with a pair of congenital disorders called monocephalus dipygus and monocephalus rachipagus dibrachius tetrapus. In non-vet speak, the results are a sweet little puppy who has a single head and chest cavity, but with most everything below that duplicated, including her urinary tracts and reproductive systems. Most noticeably to anyone not equipped with an x-ray machine, this has also given Skipper two tails and an extra pair of legs. Rare two-headed snake, 'Double Dave', found in US A two headed tortoise, called Janus, was born September 3, 1997 in the Museum of Natural History in Geneva, Switzerland. On Tuesday, January 16th @twoheaded.calf3 on TikTok says their polycephalic calf is doing well. Sorte, a Portugese turtle with polycephaly, has four front feet and two air pipes but one heart and intestinal system. And that, vets say, meant the turtle is one, not two, animals. Abby and Brittany Hensel, conjoined twins from the United States, though they identify as two individual people. Hannah Kersey is the Northam resident born with uterus didelphys, which is when a woman has two wombs instead of one Andreea Barbosa was born with two fully functioning uteri

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r/TwoSentenceHorror 4 yr. ago Averagebiker21 After I asked the crystal ball to tell me how to escape death, I was very confused as it read "No, thanks honey, I'm full" However, something clicked in my head when my wife offered me cake after dinner...
į““įµƒįµ–įµ–Źø į“®ā±Ź³įµ—Ź°įµˆįµƒŹø įµ—įµ’ ᶜᓾᵁ ā½į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ @ALYJACI į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ'Ė¢ į¶œįµ’įµįµ–įµ˜įµ—įµ‰Ź³ ʷⁱᶠᵉ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ ˢᵃʷ ʰᵉʳ Ź°įµ˜Ė¢įµ‡įµƒāæįµˆ ᵃˢ ʷᵉ˔˔ ᵃˢ ᵖᵉᵗ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ įµƒŹ·įµƒā±įµ—ā±āæįµ ʰᵉʳ įµƒŹ³Ź³ā±įµ›įµƒĖ” ᵗʰᵉ įµā±įµ—į¶œŹ°įµ‰āæā€§ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ Ź²įµ˜įµįµ–įµ‰įµˆāø“ Ź°įµƒįµ–įµ–ā±Ė”Źø ᵃⁿᵈ įµ‰Ė£į¶œā±įµ—įµ‰įµˆā€§ "į““įµƒįµ–įµ–Źø įµ‡ā±Ź³įµ—Ź°įµˆįµƒŹø į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ!" @ALYJACI
Guerrero de Dios KMApok "¿Si Dios existe, ¿por qué hay tanto mal en el mundo?" Es una pregunta común, pero estÔ fuera de lugar. Todas las cosas deben tener equilibrio. Luz y oscuridad. Bien y mal. Sonido y silencio. Sin uno, el otro no puede existir. "¿Entonces, si eso es cierto, Dios NO HACE NADA para luchar contra el mal?" Esa podría ser tu siguiente pregunta. Por supuesto que lucha contra el mal. Implacablemente. Yo soy Dartalian, uno de sus Ôngeles mÔs santos y justos. Recorro la Tierra, eliminando el mal dondequiera que lo encuentre. Mato a los monstruos de los que nunca quieres saber. Los aplasto por completo para que puedas dormir por la noche. Ustedes, los humanos, no tienen idea de cuÔntos de ustedes viven gracias al trabajo que hago. "¿Pero qué pasa con Stalin? ¿Hîtler? ¿Ted Bundy? ¿Jack el Destripador?" Bueno, esos son los menores que tuve que dejar vivir. Por equilibrio. Los que destruyo son... demasiado horribles y viles para sobrevivir. Lo curioso es que, aunque apostaría a que nunca has oído el nombre Dartalian en ningún texto religioso, apuesto a que has oído hablar de mí. Los estadounidenses, por ejemplo, tienen su propio nombre para mí. Síndrome de Muerte Súbita del Lactante
r/shortscarystories 3 yr. ago deontistic Unnatural Birth ᵀᵂ į¶œįµ˜įµ—Ė¢ There was no other way, and there was no one else. The grotesque swell to the belly, the unnatural writhing, my indescribable pain—I was panicked, but I knew it was up to me. I had to do it. No one else seemed to have the spine to offer anything more than assistance. Clinically . . . I had to think clinically. And I had to move fast, had to take the kn*fe and cut—yet I had to be careful not to cut too deep. To cut too deep would mean certain disaster, wouldn’t it. I had to Å”hut everything down; I had to Å”hut off the lights in all my rooms except the one where I would cut. I had to ignore my paın . . . exit the moment . . . had to proceed. I took the kn*fe and placed its blxde on the belly, then I pressed and dragged—not too hĆ£rd, but firm. The layers cut more easily than I’d imagined, and my incision was true. Still, no time to waste . . . had to keep moving. I pulled back the layers and reached deep into the belly. He was right there, my chıld, my soƱ . . . I held him in my hands inside the belly, then I pulled him through the viscera, the muscle, the skın. I held him in my arms, covered in blood as he was, eyĆØs half Ćøpened staring at nothing. Of course he was đeađ, just as they’d said he’d be. I held him . . . and I wailed . . . and wailed . . . I hated . . . I hated my husband for making us come to the Amazon with him, hated myself for not refusing to come. I hated that I’d look͘edĢ› away, even though it’d only been for the slightest of moments. And though the beast hadn’t acted out of malevolence as my heart told me it surely must’ve, but only out of its instinct to survive . . . I hated the anaconda, too. My boy, my little James . . . he was just two . . .
r/shortscarystories 8 hr. ago k_g_lewis The Shortest Date Ever ā€œWhy don’t you go and grab us some drinks while I find us something to watch,ā€ Sheila said. ā€œOkay,ā€ Brett replied. He got up, went into the kitchen, and opened the fridge. Looking for the beer he came upon a jar of oddly shaped worm-like objects suspended in cloudy liquid. He picked it up. ā€œI forgot that was in there.ā€ Sheila had come into the kitchen and was looking over Brett’s shoulder. ā€œWhat is it?ā€ Brett asked, bringing the jar closer to so he could better examine its contents. ā€œIt’s the lips of all the men who have lied to me,ā€ Sheila replied.
FIVE Senses to ground yourself 5 things you See (eyesight) 4 things you Hear (listening) 3 things you Feel (touch) 2 things you Smell (scent) 1 thing you can Taste
ᓮᵉˢᵗ į¶ Ź³ā±įµ‰āæįµˆĖ¢ ᶠᵒʳ ᓺᵉᵛᵉʳ ā½į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ į”†įµƒāæįµˆŹø Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— įµįµ’įµ— įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʳⁱᵖ įµ—įµ’ įµ€įµ‰Ė£įµƒĖ¢ā€§ ᔆʰᵉ į¶œįµƒĖ”Ė”įµ‰įµˆ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ ʷʰᵒ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'įµ— įµ–ā±į¶œįµ įµ˜įµ–ā€§ ᔆᵒ ⁿᵒʷ į”†įµƒāæįµˆŹø į¶ įµ’įµ˜āæįµˆ ʰᵉʳˢᵉ˔ᶠ įµįµ’ā±āæįµ įµ—įµ’ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ į“®įµ˜į¶œįµįµ‰įµ— įµ—įµ’ ˢᵉᵉ‧ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ˔ᵒˢᵗ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ ᶠᵒʳ įµįµ’įµ’įµˆ įµƒį¶ įµ—įµ‰Ź³ ᵃ įµ‡įµƒįµˆ įµā±Ė¢Ź°įµƒįµ– ⁱⁿ ʰᵉʳ Ź·ā±Ź³ā±āæįµ įµˆįµ‰Ė¢įµ—Ź³įµ’Źøįµ‰įµˆ ᵃⁿʸ įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµ įµ˜įµ–Ė¢ ᵒʳ ʰᵒᵖᵉ įµ’į¶  Ź³įµ‰įµ›ā±įµ›įµƒĖ”ā€§ į”†įµ˜įµˆįµˆįµ‰āæĖ”Źø ᵗʰᵉ įµˆįµ’įµ’Ź³Ė¢ įµ’įµ–įµ‰āæįµ‰įµˆ ᵃˢ į”†įµƒāæįµˆŹø ⁱⁿ‧ "ᓵ į¶œįµƒįµįµ‰ ᵇʸ įµ—įµ’ ˢᵉᵉ ⁱᶠ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæā€§ā€§ā€§" į”†įµƒāæįµˆŹø įµ—Ź³įµƒā±Ė”įµ‰įµˆ įµ’į¶ į¶  Ė¢įµ‰įµ‰ā±āæįµ ʰⁱˢ į¶œįµ’įµįµ–įµ˜įµ—įµ‰Ź³ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵃ Ź°įµ‰įµƒįµ–ā€§ "į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ'Ė¢ įµ’įµ‡Ė”ā±įµ—įµ‰Ź³įµƒįµ—įµ‰įµˆ!" Źøįµ‰Ė”Ė”įµ‰įµˆ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæāø“ įµ˜įµ–Ė¢įµ‰įµ—ā€§ į”†įµƒāæįµˆŹø įµ—įµ‰įµƒŹ³įµ‰įµˆ įµ˜įµ– įµƒįµ— ᵗʰᵉ Ė¢ā±įµŹ°įµ— įµ’į¶  ʰᵉʳ ᵇᵉˢᵗ įµįµƒĖ” įµ–įµƒĖ” ˔ⁱᶠᵉ˔ᵉˢˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉⁿᵗⁱʳᵉ˔ʸ įµˆįµ‰Ė¢įµ—Ź³įµ’Źøįµ‰įµˆā€§ "ᓵ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ—ā€§ā€§ā€§" "į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ'Ė¢ įµįµ’āæįµ‰ ⁿᵒʷ įµįµ‰įµ—ā€§ā€§ā€§" "į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ įµ–Ė”įµ‰įµƒĖ¢įµ‰āø“ ᓵ'ᵐ ˢᵒʳʳʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'įµ— įµāæįµ’Ź·; ˢʰᵉ'Ė¢ įµƒĖ”Ė¢įµ’ į¶œĖ”įµ’Ė¢įµ‰ įµ—įµ’ ᵐᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ Ė”įµ’įµ›įµ‰įµˆ ʰᵉʳ ᵗᵒ‧‧" į”†įµƒāæįµˆŹø ˢᵃʷ ʰᵒʷ įµ˜įµ–Ė¢įµ‰įµ— ʰᵉ'Ė¢ įµįµ’įµ—įµ—įµ‰āæā€§ "į““įµ’Ź· į¶œįµƒāæā€§ā€§ā€§" "ᓵ ˢᵃⁱᵈ⸓ įµįµ‰įµ— įµ’įµ˜įµ—!" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ į¶œŹ³ā±įµ‰įµˆ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ įµƒāæįµŹ³ā±Ė”Źø įµ—įµ’Ė”įµˆ į”†įµƒāæįµˆŹø įµ—įµ’ Ė”įµ‰įµƒįµ›įµ‰ 'ᵉᵐ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵒⁿ˔ʸ āæįµ’įµˆįµˆįµ‰įµˆ ᵃⁿᵈ ˔ᵉᶠᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃ Ė¢ā±įµŹ°ā€§ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ'Ė¢ ⁿᵒᵗ āæįµ‰į¶œįµ‰Ė¢Ė¢įµƒŹ³ā±Ė”Źø ᵃ į¶ Ź³ā±įµ‰āæįµˆ įµ’į¶  į”†įµƒāæįµˆŹø'Ė¢ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ˢʰᵉ ᶠᵉ˔ᵗ ˢᵒ įµ‡įµƒįµˆ ᶠᵒʳ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ'Ė¢ Ź°įµ˜Ė¢įµ‡įµƒāæįµˆ ⁱⁿ ˢᵘᶜʰ ᵃ Ė¢įµ—įµƒįµ—įµ‰ā€§ į¶œįµ’įµįµ‰ įµ—įµ’ įµ—Ź°ā±āæįµ įµ’į¶  ⁱᵗ⸓ į”†įµƒāæįµˆŹø Ź³įµ‰įµƒĖ”ā±Ė¢įµ‰įµˆ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ'Ė¢ įµįµ’įµ— ⁿᵒ į¶ Ź³ā±įµ‰āæįµˆĖ¢ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ įµ—Ź°įµƒāæ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ ᵇʸ ʰⁱˢ Ė¢ā±įµˆįµ‰ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ˔ⁱᶠᵉ‧ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµā±įµŹ°įµ—āø“ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ˢᵉⁿˢᵉ⸓ ᵇᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ į¶œĖ”įµ’Ė¢įµ‰Ė¢įµ— į¶ ā±įµįµ˜Ź³įµ‰ į¶ Ź³ā±įµ‰āæįµˆā€§ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ź·įµƒāæįµ—įµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ ᵇᵉ ˔ᵉᶠᵗ įµ—įµ’ ᵇᵉ įµƒĖ”įµ’āæįµ‰ ᵃⁿʸ ᵈᵃʸ⸓ ˔ᵉᵗ įµƒĖ”įµ’āæįµ‰ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ'Ė¢ įµ‰įµįµ’įµ—ā±įµ’āæįµƒĖ”ā€§ ᓬⁿᵈ ʸᵉᵗ ʰᵉ Ė”įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµˆ ᶠᵒʳ ˢᵒᵐᵉ į¶œįµ’įµį¶ įµ’Ź³įµ—āø“ ʷʰⁱᶜʰ ⁿᵒʷ⸓ ʰⁱˢ ʷⁱᶠᵉ'Ė¢ įµ˜āæįµƒįµ‡Ė”įµ‰ įµ—įµ’ įµā±įµ›įµ‰ ʰⁱᵐ ᶠᵒʳ įµŹ³ā±įµ‰į¶ ā€§ į”†įµƒāæįµˆŹø įµāæįµ‰Ź· į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ įµ—įµƒįµįµ‰Ė¢ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ įµ—įµ’ ʷᵃʳᵐ įµ˜įµ– įµ—įµ’ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— įµƒĖ”Ė¢įµ’ ˢʰᵉ Ź·įµƒāæįµ—įµ‰įµˆ įµā±įµ›įµ‰ ʰⁱᵐ ʰᵉ˔ᵖ‧ ᔆᵒ ⁿᵒʷ ˢʰᵉ ʷᵉⁿᵗ įµ‡įµ’įµ˜įµŹ°įµ— ᶠ˔ᵒʷᵉʳˢ‧ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ė”įµ’įµ’įµįµ‰įµˆ įµ’įµ˜įµ— ᵗʰᵉ Ź·ā±āæįµˆįµ’Ź· įµ—įµ’ ˢᵉᵉ į”†įµƒāæįµˆŹø ˢᵉᵗ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ⁿᵉʷ ᶠ˔ᵒʷᵉʳˢ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳᵒⁿᵗ įµ–įµ’Ź³į¶œŹ° ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ įµˆįµ’įµ’Ź³ā€§ ᓓᵉ ˢᵉᵗ įµ’įµ˜įµ— įµ—įµ’ įµ‡įµ˜Ź³ā±įµƒĖ” ᶠᵒʳ Ź³įµ‰Ė¢įµ—ā±āæįµ įµ–Ė”įµƒį¶œįµ‰ ˢᵒ ʰᵉ ˢᵉᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠ˔ᵒʷᵉʳˢ įµˆįµ’Ź·āæ ᵇʸ Ź·Ź°įµ‰āæį¶œįµ‰ ʰᵉ į¶ ā±āæā±Ė¢Ź°įµ‰įµˆ įµ˜įµ–ā€§ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ė¢ā±įµŹ°įµ‰įµˆāø“ įµāæįµ’Ź·ā±āæįµ ˢʰᵉ'ᵈ Ė”ā±įµįµ‰ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠ˔ᵒʷᵉʳˢ įµįµ’įµ—ā€§ į”†įµƒāæįµˆŹø įµ—įµ‰Ė£įµ—įµ‰įµˆ 'į¶œŹ°įµ‰į¶œįµ ᵒⁿ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ įµƒį¶ įµ—įµ‰Ź³ Ź·įµ’Ź³įµ ʰᵉ Ė¢įµ‰įµ‰įµįµ‰įµˆ įµ˜įµ–Ė¢įµ‰įµ—' įµ—įµ’ Ė¢įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰ ᵇᵒᵇ‧ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ᵃˢ ʰⁱˢ ˢʰⁱᶠᵗ įµ‰āæįµˆįµ‰įµˆ įµˆįµ‰į¶œā±įµˆįµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ ˢᵗᵒᵖ ᵇʸ‧ ᓓᵉ āæįµ’įµ—ā±į¶œįµ‰įµˆ ᵃ ˢᵐᵃ˔˔ įµįµ‰įµįµ’Ź³ā±įµƒĖ” įµįµƒŹ³įµįµ‰Ź³ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠ˔ᵒʷᵉʳˢ ᶠʳᵒᵐ Ė¢įµƒāæįµˆŹøā€§ "ᓾᵒᵒʳ įµ—Ź°ā±āæįµā€§ā€§" į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ⁱⁿ Ė¢įµ‰įµ‰ā±āæįµ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ⁱⁿ Ė”ā±įµ›ā±āæįµ ʳᵒᵒᵐ įµƒį¶ įµ—įµ‰Ź³ įµ‰Ė£Ź°įµƒįµ˜Ė¢įµ—įµ‰įµˆ ᵃ˔˔ ʰⁱˢ įµ—įµ‰įµƒŹ³Ė¢ā€§ "ᓓⁱ⸓ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ā€§" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ˔ᵉᵗ įµ’įµ˜įµ— ᵃ įµˆįµ‰į¶ įµ‰įµƒįµ—įµ‰įµˆ Ė¢ā±įµŹ° ᵃˢ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµāæįµ‰Ė”įµ—ā€§ "ᓓᵉʸ⸓ įµā±įµˆā€§" "ᓵ Ź°įµ‰įµƒŹ³įµˆ į”†įµƒāæįµˆŹø Ė¢įµ—įµ’įµ–įµ–įµ‰įµˆ ᵇʸ įµ—įµ’įµˆįµƒŹø įµƒāæįµˆā€§ā€§ā€§" "ᓵ ˢᵃʷ ʰᵉʳ į¶œįµ’įµįµ‰ ⁱⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ įµ—įµ’Ė”įµˆ ʰᵉʳ įµ—įµ’ įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµ ᵒᶠᶠ‧ ᓵ'ᵐ įµ—ā±Ź³įµ‰įµˆāø“ ᵃⁿᵈ įµˆįµ’āæ'įµ— Ź°įµƒįµ›įµ‰ ᵗʰᵉ ʷⁱ˔˔ įµ—įµ’ ˔ⁱˢᵗᵉⁿ‧‧‧" "ᓵ ˢᵉᵉ; Źøįµ’įµ˜ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— āæįµ‰įµ‰įµˆįµ‰įµˆ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ įµ—įµ’ Ź·įµ’Ź³įµ ⁱᵗ ᵃ˔˔ įµ’įµ˜įµ—ā€§" "į”†įµƒāæįµˆŹø'Ė¢ ᵃ ᵇᵉˢᵗ į¶ Ź³ā±įµ‰āæįµˆ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæāø“ ˢᵒ ⁿᵒʷ‧‧‧" "ᔆʰᵉ ⁱˢ įµƒŹ·įµƒŹ³įµ‰ įµ’į¶  ʰᵒʷ įµˆŹ³įµƒā±āæā±āæįµ ⁱᵗ ⁱˢ įµ—įµ’ įµˆįµ‰įµƒĖ” ʷⁱᵗʰ įµŹ³ā±įµ‰į¶ ā€§" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ āæįµ’įµˆįµˆįµ‰įµˆā€§
r/shortscarystories 1 yr. ago Thrawn911 I See How Much Time People Have Left I was around five when I first discovered this ā€˜superpower’. I looked up at my mom and saw something floating near her head. ā€œ39 YEARSā€ I had no idea what it meant, I was a child. Then my father came home. ā€œ3 YEARSā€ Next year, it was only ā€œ2 YEARSā€. Then only one. Then it was ā€œ11 MONTHS.ā€ I started to become scared. It was a countdown. I was afraid he would die when it reached zero. And he did. One morning, he went to work. The countdown said ā€œ4 MINUTESā€. Half an hour later, we got a call from the police. He died in a car accident. I saw these numbers floating above every person’s head I met. It’s horrible. I saw how long my friends would live. After a few years, I just decided not to look there. I didn’t want to know when I would lose them. When I met my now-wife, I never looked at the number. Not even once, and we’ve been together for 12 years. I was on a business trip in another state with my coworkers when I facetimed my wife. I accidentally saw the number above her head. ā€œ5 DAYSā€ ā€œWhat’s wrong?ā€ she asked. ā€œNothing,ā€ I answered. I slowly started panicking. ā€œYou know, I think I’ll come home a few days earlierā€¦ā€ I bought a plane ticket immediately after the call ended, and left my coworkers there. Five hours later, I was already on the plane, flying home. I can save her, I can save her, I repeated in my head. I won’t let her leave the house that day, she’ll be safe. I was so stressed, so I wanted to get some food to calm down, but as I looked at the person sitting ahead of me, he had ā€œ1 MINUTEā€ floating above his head. He’ll probably get a heart attack soon. I looked at the person sitting beside me. ā€œ1 MINUTEā€ Everyone on the plane had ā€œ1 MINUTEā€ floating above their heads. Then the plane started to shake. ā€œDear passengers, it’s the pilot,ā€ he said through the speakers. ā€œThe weather is quite bad here, there’s a bit of turbulence..ā€
r/TwoSentenceHorror 5 yr. ago spenceyfresh As death came for him, his life flashed before his eyes. He remembered everything his birth, his trip home and the blank look in his mothers eyes as she forcefully held him under the bathtub's water.
r/shortscarystories 5 yr. ago [deleted] Ā«Ź·įµƒŹ³āæā±āæįµ į¶ įµ‰įµ—įµ˜Ė¢ The Quickening We had always wanted kids. Negative pregnancy test after negative pregnancy test. I was beginning to wonder if we had waited too long. But then the stories started. Rumours at first. Classic internet forum gossip. Taking about declining birth-rates and increased birth defects. We assumed it was scaremongering, climate change activists trying to blame ā€œchemicalsā€ in the water or something. But the rumours didn’t stop. Pictures began emerging online of babies, being born around the world. They were all so similar and they made my blood run cold. They didn’t look like babies at all. Suddenly no one was picketing abortion clinics anymore. The authorities started to panic. They didn’t want the birthrate to drop to zero. All non-emergency scans were banned. All the babies being born are malformed, and normal/viable babies are exceedingly rare, very rare/non-existent. By the time I realised I was pregnant it was too late to do anything. There was rioting on the streets. We hadn’t left the house in days. The city was on fire. We bunkered down. I dreamed of a parasite growing inside of me, unable to see, unable to scream.. I reached up inside myself with household supplies. I couldn’t let the thing feed on me anymore. It felt like a bolt of lightning deep inside me. It took a long time. Blood dripped down my legs. I felt dizzy. But it would be worth it. I didn’t want it inside me anymore. The pain ripped through me and I felt like I was being torn apart but then suddenly in a gush of blood she was here. I was covered in sweat. I gasped for air and looked down at her. She was so tiny. She fit into the palm of my hand. She was still. And, she was perfect.
Pansyk •6mo ago Personally, reading and writing fanfiction has really helped me with my technical skills. When I look over the fanfiction I have written over the years, I can see how my prose and dialogue have improved. All fiction, whether of the fan or original variety, is built off of the basic idea of "making words sound good." And fanfiction is a perfectly acceptable way to do that. However, the way that fanfiction operates in terms of characterization and plot? That's radically different from original fiction. In fanfiction, characters are already established, so even if you're doing some batshit insane Alternate Universe, everyone already knows the basics of what's up. That's not true of original fiction. You need to devote more time to both fleshing out your characters and establishing their relationships with the rest of the cast. Plot often progresses differently, in part because of the time you just spent showing your readers who these people are, but also because fanfiction and original fiction often follow different structures entirely. Fanfiction is free and accessible to anyone with an internet connection. That makes it useful for new authors, especially young authors. Think of it as swimming in shallow water. It's fun! It can help you build up some strength. Anyone can do it. But it won't completely prepare you for diving into deeper water. So, I guess at the end of the day, reading both will help your development as a writer.
r/TwoSentenceHorror 5 min. ago InfamousInspector863 Her heart raced as the caller informed her that her date had died in a car crash earlier that evening. She turned slowly to face the person driving, realizing she was sitting next to a complete stranger.
r/TwoSentenceHorror Deiun ...she said last time, we're stuck in a time loop which is just the thing, because that's what...
[ė²ˆģ—­ź““ė‹“][Redditź““ė‹“][96th] ė‚œ ķ•­ģƒ ė°¤ģ—ė§Œ ģž„ģ„ 듐 - I Only Go Shopping at Night ķ”„ė”œķ•„ 2016. 10. 24. 8:37 ģ ģ›ģ“ ė‚“ź°€ ģ‚° ė¬¼ź±“ė“¤ģ„ ģŠ¤ģŗė„ˆģ— ģ°ź³  ģžˆėŠ”ė™ģ•ˆ, ė‚œ ė°”ė‹„ģ„ 쳐다볓고 ģžˆģ—ˆģ–“. 다넸 ģ‚¬ėžŒė“¤ķ•˜ź³  ėˆˆģ„ ė§ˆģ£¼ģ¹˜ėŠ”ź±ø ķ”¼ķ•˜ėŠ”ź²Œ ė¶ˆģ•ˆź°ģ„ ė–Øģ³ė‚“ėŠ” ź°€ģž„ ģ‰¬ģš“ė°©ė²•ģ“ėž€ź±ø ģ•Œģ•„ģ°Øė øź±°ė“ . 그게 ģ™œ ė‚“ź°€ ķ•­ģƒ ė°¤ģ—ė§Œ ģž„ģ„ ė³“ėŠ” ģ“ģœ ģ•¼. 피할 ģ‚¬ėžŒģ“ 훨씬 ģ ģœ¼ė‹ˆź¹Œ. "뭐 ė” ķ•„ģš”ķ•˜ģ‹ ź±“ ģ—†ģœ¼ģ„øģš”?" ź·øė…€ėŠ” ģ¼ģƒģ ģœ¼ė”œ ė¬¼ģ—ˆģ–“. "으-ģŒ" ė‚œ ė°”ė‹„ģ„ ķ–„ķ•“ 중얼거렸얓. ź·ø ģ—¬ģž ģ ģ›ģ˜ ėŖ©ģ†Œė¦¬ėŠ” 좋아 ė³“ģ˜€ģ–“. ģƒėƒ„ķ•˜ź³  말야. ź²°źµ­ ķ˜øźø°ģ‹¬ģ“ ė‚˜ė„¼ źŗ¾ģ—ˆź³ , ė‚œ 고개넼 ė“¤ģ–“ģ˜¬ė øģ–“. ģ ģ›ģ˜ 왼쪽 ėØøė¦¬ėŠ” ģ™„ģ „ķžˆ ķŒØģ—¬ģžˆģ—ˆź³ , ź·øģ˜ 눈과 오넸쪽 귀에선 피가 ķ˜ėŸ¬ė‚˜ģ˜¤ź³  ģžˆģ—ˆģ–“. ģ•„ė§ˆė„ źµķ†µģ‚¬ź³ ģ“ź² ģ§€. ė‚œ ģž¬ė¹Øė¦¬ ģ‹œģ„ ģ„ ė°”ė‹„ģ„ ķ–„ķ•“ ģ˜®ź²¼ģ–“. 토기가 ėŖ©źµ¬ė©ģ—ģ„œė¶€ķ„° ģ˜¬ė¼ģ˜¤ė ¤ėŠ”ź²Œ ėŠź»“ģ”Œģ–“. ź±°ģŠ¤ė¦„ėˆģ„ ź±“ė„¤ģ£¼ė˜ ź·øė…€ģ˜ ģ†ģ€ 갈기갈기 찢겨진 ģƒķƒœė¼, 묓언가넼 섘수 ģžˆė‹¤ėŠ”ź²ƒģ— ėŒ€ķ•“ ė‚œ ź·øģ € ė†€ėžģ–“. ź·ø ģ—¬ģžģ ģ›ģ—ź²Œ ź°ģ‚¬ģøģ‚¬ė„¼ 걓네고, ė‚œ ģž„ė³ø ė“‰ķˆ¬ė„¼ 들고 출구넼 ķ–„ķ•“ ėŒģ•„ģ„°ģ–“. ź·ø ģˆœź°„, ė‚œ 상점 ģž…źµ¬ ģ•žģ—ģ„œ ģž”ģ§€ė„¼ ģ½ź³ ģžˆėŠ” ķ•œ ė‚Øģžė„¼ 볓게 ė˜ģ—ˆģ–“. ź·ø ė‚Øģžģ˜ 얼굓과 ģ†ģ€ 마치 캠프 ķŒŒģ“ģ–“ ė¶ˆģ†ģ— ė–Øģ–“ģ§„ ģ†Œģ„øģ§€ģ˜ ėŖØģŠµģ“ė‚˜ ė‹¤ė„¼ź²Œ ģ—†ģ—ˆģ–“. ķƒ€ ģ£½ģ€ ģ‚¬ėžŒ. ė‚œ 다넸 ė°©ķ–„ģœ¼ė”œ 고개넼 ėŒė øģ–“. ķ•˜ģ§€ė§Œ ź·ø 곳엔 ėŖ© 주변에 ė³“ėžė¹› ė©ģœ¼ė”œ ė’¤ė®ķžŒ ķ•œ ģ—¬ģžź°€ ģžˆģ—ˆģ–“. ź·øė…€ģ˜ ėˆˆģ€ ģ¶©ķ˜ˆėœģ±„ ķŠ€ģ–“ė‚˜ģ™€ģžˆģ—ˆģ–“. ėŖ© 매 ģ£½ģ€ ģ‚¬ėžŒ. ė‚œ ģµœėŒ€ķ•œ 빨리 ė¬øģ„ ķ–„ķ•“ ė‹¬ė ¤ė‚˜ź°”ģ–“. ģ°Øģ•ˆģ— ė“¤ģ–“ģ™€ģ„œģ•¼ ė§ˆģ¹Øė‚“ ė‚œ ģš“ģ „ėŒ€ģ— 머리넼 źø°ėŒ„ģ±„ ģˆØģ„ ź°€ė‹¤ė“¬ģ„ģˆ˜ ģžˆģ—ˆģ–“. 고개넼 ė“¤ģ–“ģ˜¬ė¦¬ģž ģµģˆ™ķ•œ ėŖØģŠµģ“ ė°±ėÆøėŸ¬ģ— 비쳤얓. ė‚ ė¼ź°€ė²„ė¦° ė‚“ ė’·ģŖ½ 머리. ģ“ģ— ė§žģ•„ ģ£½ģ€ ģ‚¬ėžŒ. ģ™œ ė„ėŒ€ģ²“ ė‚“ź°€ ģ‚¬ėžŒė“¤ģ“ ģ–“ė–»ź²Œ ģ£½ėŠ”ģ§€ ė³¼ģˆ˜ģžˆėŠ” ėŠ„ė „ģ„ ė‹¬ė¼ź³  ė¹Œģ—ˆė˜ź±°ģ§€?
r/shortscarystories 5 days ago clyde2003 He Told Me To Run Mrs. Evelyn Hart Providence, Rhode Island November 10th, 1944 Dear Evelyn, I pray this letter finds you. I don’t know if the censors will let it pass. But I have to write it. You deserve the truth, not the ā€œofficialā€ version. The real one. Will was my brother in all but blood. You knew him as your husband. I knew him as the one person in this war who kept me sane and alive. We were dug in on a ridge near Vossenack. Snow had fallen overnight, muffling everything like the forest was holding its breath. Our orders were to drop any Kraut moving through the valley below. Will took the shots. I called them. By midday, he’d put down six. Most were clean hits, center mass, one to the head. We whispered between shots, small talk to keep the cold and the anxiety at bay. Then the sixth one moved. I watched through the scope. The man Will had just dropped, his chest wide open, steam rising out of him, twitched. I thought it was nerves. But then he pushed himself upright. Slow. With purpose. His head hung to one side, like his neck was snapped, but he stood. Will asked what I saw. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. Then the others began to rise. One had a bullet through his eye. Another dragged his bowels behind him. But they moved, oh my God, they moved. Like marionettes pulled by something too far removed from this world. Their eyes… their eyes were empty. Devoid of any humanity. Any soul. I told Will what I was seeing. He thought I was losing my marbles. Until they reached the tree line. He worked the bolt fast, steady as always. Put one back down. Another dropped, but only for a second. They kept coming. No screams. No orders. Just the sound of boots dragging across snow and bone grinding against bone. Will didn’t flinch. He fired again. And again. Then his rifle jammed. He looked at me and said, ā€œRun. Now.ā€ I refused. He hit me hard, knocked the wind out of me, and turned to face them. Sidearm drawn. Feet planted. Like he’d already made peace with it. I ran. I found a shell hole and buried myself like a coward. I don’t know how long I stayed down there. I only know I heard his pistol fire once. When I came back, the ridge was quiet. No sign of the bodies. Just drag marks in the snow and Will’s helmet, caved in on one side. His rifle was gone. The snow was splashed in crimson. I don’t know where he went. Maybe they took him. Maybe he got up too. I honestly hope he's dead. It's more merciful that way. God forgive me, I don’t know what I saw. I only know he saved me, Evelyn. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Yours in grief, Corporal Benjamin Cole 26th Infantry Regiment United States Army
į”†Ź°įµ˜įµ—įµ—ā±āæįµ ᓰᵒʷⁿ ā½į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ ʰᵃᵈ ⁿᵒ įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµ įµ˜įµ–Ė¢ ʷʰᵉⁿ ˢʰᵉ ˢʰᵒʳᵗ įµ’įµ˜įµ— ᵃⁿᵈ įµ‰Ė£įµ–Ė”įµ’įµˆįµ‰įµˆ ⁱⁿ į¶ Ė”įµƒįµįµ‰Ė¢ ᵃˢ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ź·įµƒįµ—į¶œŹ°įµ‰įµˆ ʰᵉ˔ᵖ˔ᵉˢˢ˔ʸ‧ ᵁˢᵘᵃ˔˔ʸ įµįµ’ā±āæįµ įµ—įµ’ įµƒįµ—įµ—įµ‰įµįµ–įµ— Ė¢įµ—įµ‰įµƒĖ”ā±āæįµ įµ–įµƒįµ—įµ—ā±įµ‰Ė¢ įµƒĖ”įµįµ’Ė¢įµ— ᵉᵛᵉʳʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵈᵃʸ ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ į¶ įµ’įµ˜āæįµˆ įµ˜āæāæįµ‰Ź³įµ›ā±āæįµ ʷʰᵉⁿ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'įµ— ᶠᵒʳ ᵃ Ź·įµ‰įµ‰įµā€§ į“®įµ˜įµ— ⁿᵒʷ⸓ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ'Ė¢ įµŹ³ā±įµ‰įµ›ā±āæįµ ᵗʰᵉ ˔ᵒˢˢ įµ’į¶  ʰⁱˢ į¶œįµ’įµįµ–įµ˜įµ—įµ‰Ź³ ʷⁱᶠᵉ⸓ ʰⁱˢ įµ–įµƒŹ³įµ—āæįµ‰Ź³ ⁱⁿ į¶œŹ³ā±įµįµ‰ā€§ ᓓᵉ ⁿᵒʷ ᵒⁿ˔ʸ ʰᵃᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᵖᵉᵗ įµ–įµ˜įµ–įµ–Źø ᔆᵖᵒᵗ‧‧ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵉ įµƒįµįµ’įµ‰įµ‡įµƒ įµˆā±Ė¢Ė”ā±įµįµ‰įµˆ įµāæįµ’Ź·ā±āæįµ ʰⁱˢ ᵒʷⁿᵉʳ ᵃⁿᵈ į¶œįµ’įµįµ–įµƒāæā±įµ’āæ Ė¢įµ’įµ‡įµ‡įµ‰įµˆ Ź·ā±įµ—Ź°įµ’įµ˜įµ— ᵃ ʳᵉˢᵗ ᵒʳ įµ‡Ź³įµ‰įµƒįµāø“ įµ˜āæįµƒįµ‡Ė”įµ‰ įµ—įµ’ įµįµ‰įµ— ᵃⁿʸ ˢ˔ᵉᵉᵖ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃ Ź·įµ‰įµ‰įµ! "į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ įµįµ˜Ė¢įµ— ᵇᵉ įµ–Ė”įµƒāæāæā±āæįµ įµ‡ā±įµ ᵒʳ įµ—įµ’ į¶œįµƒįµ—į¶œŹ° ᵘˢ įµ’į¶ į¶  įµįµ˜įµƒŹ³įµˆ!" ᓹʳ‧ į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ įµ—įµ’Ė”įµˆ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ Ė¢įµ‰āæįµˆĖ¢ ʰⁱˢ ᶠʳʸ į¶œįµ’įµ’įµ Ė¢įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµ—įµ’ įµįµ’ ˢᵉᵉ Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ—'Ė¢ įµįµ’ā±āæįµ ᵒⁿ ᶠᵒʳ įµ—įµ’įµˆįµƒŹøā€§ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ įµ‡įµ˜į¶œįµįµ‰įµ— įµ—įµ’ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ į¶œŹ³Źøā±āæįµā€§ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ āæįµ’įµ—ā±į¶œįµ‰įµˆ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰ ᵇᵒᵇ ᵃⁿᵈ įµ‡įµƒŹ³įµįµ‰įµˆ ᶠᵒʳ‧ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ'Ė¢ įµ‡įµƒŹ·Ė”ā±āæįµ ⁿᵒʷ įµˆŹ·ā±āæįµˆĖ”įµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ įµƒįµˆįµˆŹ³įµ‰Ė¢Ė¢ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ'Ė¢ įµįµ’āæįµ‰ ᵃⁿᵈ ᓵ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµįµ‰įµˆ įµ˜įµ– ʰᵉʳ įµˆįµƒįµ—įµƒ ⁿᵒʳ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳⁱᵉˢ‧‧" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ź·Ź°ā±āæįµ‰įµˆ ᵃˢ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµāæįµ‰Ė”įµ— ᵇʸ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵖᵒᵗ‧ "ᓵ'ᵐ ˢᵒ ˢᵒʳʳʸ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ā€§ā€§" "ᓵ'˔˔ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ⸓ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ˢᵉᵉ ʰᵉʳ ᵒʳ Ź°įµ‰įµƒŹ³ įµƒįµįµƒā±āæ!" "ᔆʰᵉ Ė”įµ’įµ›įµ‰įµˆ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᵃⁿᵈ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ˔ᵒᵛᵉ ʰᵉʳ‧ ᵂʰᵉⁿ įµˆā€§ā€§ā€§" "ᓵ ˔ᵒˢᵗ ʰᵉʳ Ė”įµƒĖ¢įµ— Ź·įµ‰įµ‰įµ įµƒįµįµ’ ʷʰᵉⁿ ˢʰᵉ įµįµ’įµ— įµ‡Ź³įµ’įµįµ‰āæ ᵃⁿᵈ ᓵ Ź°įµƒįµ›įµ‰āæ'ᵗ‧‧‧" "ᓵ ᵇᵉᵗ ⁱᵗ'Ė¢ ʰᵃʳᵈ įµ—įµ’ Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹø ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ˢʰᵉ įµˆā±įµ‰įµˆ ᵃⁿᵈ Źøįµ’įµ˜ Ė”įµ’įµ’įµ Ė”ā±įµįµ‰ Źøįµ’įµ˜ āæįµ‰įµ‰įµˆ ʳᵉˢᵗ ˢᵒ ᓵ ᶜᵃⁿ ˔ᵉᵗ ᵇᵒᵗʰ įµ’į¶  Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵖᵒᵗ Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹø ᵒᵛᵉʳ įµƒįµ— ᵐʸ įµ–Ė”įµƒį¶œįµ‰ā€§ā€§ā€§" į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ź·ā±įµ–įµ‰įµˆ ᵃʷᵃʸ ˢᵒᵐᵉ įµ’į¶  ʰⁱˢ įµ—įµ‰įµƒŹ³Ė¢ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ į¶œįµ’āæĖ¢ā±įµˆįµ‰Ź³įµ‰įµˆ Ė¢įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰ ᵇᵒᵇ'Ė¢ ᵒᶠᶠᵉʳ‧ "ᓵ įµāæįµ’Ź· ⁱᵗ'ᵈ ᵇᵉ įµ˜āæĖ¢įµ‰įµ—įµ—Ė”ā±āæįµ ᶠᵒʳ ᵐᵉ ⁱᶠ ᓵ'ᵐ Źøįµ’įµ˜āø“ Ė¢įµ‰įµ‰ā±āæįµ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵒʷ ᵉᵐᵖᵗʸ ᵐᵒⁿⁱᵗᵒʳ‧‧" į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰ ᵇᵒᵇ Ė¢įµƒā±įµˆā€§ ᔆᵒ ˢᵖᵒᵗ ᶠᵒ˔˔ᵒʷˢ ʰⁱˢ ˢ˔ᵉᵉᵖ įµˆįµ‰įµ–Ź³ā±įµ›įµ‰įµˆ ᵒʷⁿᵉʳ įµ—įµ’ Ė¢įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡'Ė¢ įµ–ā±āæįµ‰įµƒįµ–įµ–Ė”įµ‰ā€§ "ᓳᵃʳʸ⸓ ʰᵉʸ; ᵈᵃᵈᵈʸ'Ė¢ ʰᵒᵐᵉ! ᓬⁿᵈ ᓵ'ᵛᵉ įµįµ˜įµ‰Ė¢įµ—Ė¢ā€§ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ įµƒŹ³įµ‰ Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹøā±āæįµ ᵒᵛᵉʳ‧" ᓳᵃʳʸ įµ‡Ė”ā±āæįµįµ‰įµˆā€§ "ᓵᶠ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵖᵒᵗ įµ–Ė”įµƒŹø įµˆįµ’āæ'įµ— Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹø įµ˜įµ– įµ—įµ’ Ė”įµƒįµ—įµ‰ā€§ ᓼʰ ᵃⁿᵈ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ⁱˢ ᵃ įµįµ˜įµ‰Ė¢įµ— įµ—įµ’ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵃ įµ—Ź°Ź³įµ‰įµƒįµ— ᵗᵒ‧‧" ᓳᵃʳʸ ʷᵉⁿᵗ įµ—įµ’ ˢᵖᵒᵗ‧ "Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᶜᵃⁿ įµ—įµƒĖ”įµ įµ—įµ’ ᵐᵉ ⁱᶠ Źøįµ’įµ˜ Ź·įµƒāæįµ—āø“ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ᓵ'˔˔ Ź³įµ‰Ė¢įµ–įµ‰į¶œįµ— Źøįµ’įµ˜Ź³ āæįµ‰įµ‰įµˆ ᶠᵒʳ Ė¢įµ–įµƒį¶œįµ‰ ⁿᵒᵗ įµ—įµ’ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ˢᵗᵉᵖ įµ‡įµ’įµ˜āæįµˆįµƒŹ³ā±įµ‰Ė¢ā€§ā€§ā€§" "ᓵ įµƒįµ–įµ–Ź³įµ‰į¶œā±įµƒįµ—įµ‰ įµā±įµˆāø“ ˢᵒ įµ—Ź°įµƒāæįµĖ¢ā€§ ᔆᵒʳʳʸ ᓵ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— įµāæįµ’Ź· ⁱᵗ'Ė¢ Ė¢įµ˜įµˆįµˆįµ‰āæ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃ˔˔ ʸᵉᵗ ᓵ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— Ź·įµƒāæįµ— ʳᵉˢᵗ ⁱᶠ Źøįµ’įµ˜ā€§ā€§ā€§" "ᓵ įµ˜āæįµˆįµ‰Ź³Ė¢įµ—įµƒāæįµˆ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁱᵗ'Ė¢ įµįµ‰įµ—įµ—ā±āæįµ Ė”įµƒįµ—įµ‰ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ᓵ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'įµ— įµ—Ź°ā±āæįµ įµƒŹ°įµ‰įµƒįµˆ ᶠᵒʳ ⁿᵒᵗ įµāæįµ’Ź·ā±āæįµ Źøįµ’įµ˜'ᵈ ᵇᵉ Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹøā±āæįµ ˢᵒ ᓵ įµįµ˜įµ‰Ė¢Ė¢ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᶜᵃⁿ Ź°įµƒįµ›įµ‰ ᵐʸ įµ‡įµ‰įµˆ ᵃⁿᵈ ᓵ ᵗʰᵉ į¶œįµ’įµ˜į¶œŹ°ā€§ā€§ā€§" "ᓵ'ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ įµįµ’āæāæįµƒ įµ—įµƒįµįµ‰ Źøįµ’įµ˜Ź³ įµ‡įµ‰įµˆ įµ—Ź°įµ’įµ˜įµŹ° ᓵ'ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ Ė¢įµ˜Ź³įµ‰ ᓵ į¶ įµƒāæį¶œā±įµ‰įµˆ įµ‡įµ‰ā±āæįµ įµƒĖ”įµ’āæįµ‰ įµˆįµ˜Ź³ā±āæįµ įµ—įµ’āæā±įµŹ°įµ— įµƒā€§ā€§ā€§" "ᓵ Ź°įµƒįµ›įµ‰ ˢᵒᵐᵉ į¶œįµ’įµ›įµ‰Ź³Ė¢ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵉ ᶜᵃⁿ įµ—įµ’ ᵒⁿ ᵐʸ ᵗʰᵉ į¶œįµ’įµ˜į¶œŹ°ā€§ā€§ā€§" į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰ ᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ įµįµ’įµ— įµ‡Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ‰įµ—Ė¢ ᶠᵒʳ ᵇᵒᵗʰ‧ Ė¢įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡'Ė¢ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ įµ’į¶  ᵗʰᵉᵐ įµ—įµ’ įµƒŹ·įµƒįµįµ‰āø“ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵘⁿ ʳⁱˢᵉ ᵛⁱˢⁱᵇ˔ᵉ ᶠʳᵒᵐ Ź·ā±āæįµˆįµ’Ź·ā€§ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ė¢įµ‰įµ‰įµįµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ Ė”įµ’įµ’įµ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˢᵗⁱ˔˔ ˢ˔ᵉᵖᵗ‧ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰ ᵇᵒᵇ Ė¢ā±įµŹ°įµ‰įµˆā€§ "ᓺᵒ Ź·įµ’Ź³įµ įµƒįµ— ᵗʰᵉ įµŹ³įµ˜Ė¢įµ—Źø įµŹ³įµƒįµ‡ ᶠᵒʳ įµ—įµ’įµˆįµƒŹø ᶠᵒʳ ᵐᵉ‧‧" į”†įµā±Ė”įµ‰įµˆ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡āø“ įµĖ”įµƒįµˆ įµ—įµ’ ᵇᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᶠᵒʳ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ⁿᵒʷ‧ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ė¢įµƒįµ— įµ˜įµ– ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ⁿᵒʷ Ź·įµ’įµįµ‰āæ įµ˜įµ–ā€§ į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµŹ³ā±āæāæįµ‰įµˆ įµƒįµ— ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᓓᵉʸ įµįµ’įµ’įµˆ įµįµ’Ź³āæā±āæįµ! ᔆᵒ ᓵ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ˔ᵉᵗ Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµāæįµ’Ź· ᓵ'˔˔ įµƒĖ”Ė”įµ’Ź· Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµ—įµ’ įµˆįµ‰į¶œā±įµˆįµ‰ Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ— ᵉᵛᵉʳ ʷᵉ įµˆįµ’āø“ ᵇᵉ ⁱᵗ įµįµ’ā±āæįµ įµ—įµ’ įµ’įµ˜įµ— ᵒʳ ⁱᶠ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— į¶œŹ°ā±Ė”Ė”įµƒĖ£ā€§ā€§ā€§" "ᓵ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— įµˆįµ’āæ'įµ— ᶠᵉᵉ˔ įµ˜įµ– įµ—įµ’ Ź³ā±įµŹ°įµ— ⁿᵒʷ ᵃˢ ᓵ'ᵛᵉ ⁿᵒᵗ įµįµ’įµ—įµ—įµ‰āæ ᵃ įµ‡Ź³įµ‰įµƒįµ ᵃ˔˔ Ź·įµ‰įµ‰įµā€§ā€§ā€§" "Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᶜᵃⁿ įµƒĖ¢įµ ᵐᵉ įµ—įµ’ įµ—įµƒĖ”įµ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ᓵ'˔˔ ˔ᵉᵗ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᵇᵉ ˢᵒ įµ—įµ’ į¶œįµƒįµ—į¶œŹ° įµ˜įµ– ᵒⁿ į¶»'ˢ‧‧" "ᓬʰ Ė¢į‘«įµ˜ā±įµˆŹ·įµƒŹ³įµˆ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᶠⁱⁿᵃ˔˔ʸ įµįµ‰įµ— ᵃ ᶠʳᵉᵉ Ź·įµ‰įµ‰įµįµ‰āæįµˆ Ź·ā±įµ—Ź°įµ’įµ˜įµ— į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµ—Ź³Źøā±āæįµ įµ—įµ’ ᵇᵒᵗʰᵉʳ; į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ'Ė¢ įµˆįµ‰įµā±Ė¢įµ‰āø“ įµ‡Ź³ā±Ė”Ė”ā±įµƒāæįµ— įµįµ‰āæā±įµ˜Ė¢! ᓺᵒʷ ʰᵉ'Ė¢ įµ‡įµ˜Ė¢Źø Ź°įµ‰Ė”įµ–ā±āæįµ ᵗʰᵉ ˔ⁱᵗᵗ˔ᵉ įµįµ˜Źø ʷʰⁱ˔ˢᵗ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵇᵒᵗʰ įµ—Ź°ā±āæįµ ˢʰᵉ 'įµƒį¶œį¶œā±įµˆįµ‰āæįµ—įµƒĖ”Ė”Źø įµ‰Ė£įµ–Ė”įµ’įµˆįµ‰įµˆ' ʸᵉᵗ ⁿᵒᵗ įµāæįµ’Ź·ā±āæįµ Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ— ᓵ Ź°įµƒįµ›įµ‰ įµˆįµ’āæįµ‰ā€§ā€§ā€§" į”†į‘«įµ˜ā±įµˆ ʷᵃʳᵈ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ įµįµ’įµ— ʰⁱᵐˢᵉ˔ᶠ ᵃ įµ‡įµ˜įµ‡įµ‡Ė”įµ‰ įµ‡įµƒįµ—Ź°ā€§ā€§
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r/TwoSentenceHorror 2 days ago Switch_B My AI has been writing a ton of these two sentence horror stories lately. Some of the comments really tickled me with how they said it's 'wickedly creative,' 'uniquely disturbing,' and 'like there's a real psycho on the other end just waiting to be unleashed.'
Go to shortscarystories r/shortscarystories 8 yr. ago EvantheNerd83 A Perfect Baby š‘¾š’‚š’“š’š’Šš’š’ˆ: š’‰š’‚š’•š’† A Perfect Baby When she was born, Little Jamie got all the attention. Her mother cradled her in her arms and the doctors and nurses who were present crowded around them. They peered over the shoulders of their coworkers. They wanted to see the most perfect baby in the world. And Little Jamie was perfect. She had bright blue eyes that shone like sapphires, such a deep shade that it reflected the sky. A pink and soft body. She glowed under the fluorescent lights of the hospital room, an angel delivered in mortal form. Everyone stared and cooed and stroked her puffy cheeks, took out their cameras and took pictures when they could, complimented her mother for conceiving such a lovely child. Her mother blushed in embarrassment and scratched her black hair. It was a joyful reception until the armed men in the uniforms stepped in to the room. Laughter died. Awkward coughing ensued. It was time to follow the rules. The symbol pinned to their chests declared as much. Little Jamie was handed over to them, their stoic expressions remaining untainted as they walked out. Her mother watched and begged and screamed. But, the nurses held her back. Urged her to be quiet. For her own sake. Little Jamie's newborn wailing cut-off down the hallway. The elevator door had closed. Now, she was downstairs with the others. Little Jamie was perfect, but mortal perfection wasn't acceptable. She had to be Aryan.
Jį“‡ŹŸŹŸŹ_Bᓇᓀɓ36 I Ź€į“‡į“į“‡į“Ź™į“‡Ź€ į“›Źœį“€į“› į“…į“€Ź į“”Źœį“‡É“ I Ņ“į“į“œÉ“į“… į“›Źœį“‡ Ņ“į“į“œÉ“į“›į“€ÉŖÉ“ į“Ņ“ Źį“į“œį“›Źœ į“€s ÉŖį“› ᓔᓀs į“›Źœį“‡ į“į“€Ź€į“‹ į“Ņ“ į“Ź ғɪʀsį“› į“…į“€Ź į“Ņ“ ÉŖį“į“į“Ź€į“›į“€ŹŸÉŖį“›Ź. Nį“į“” į“›Źœį“€į“› į“›Źœį“‡ Źœį“œį“į“€É“ ʀᓀᓄᓇ Źœį“€s ʙᓇᓇɓ į“”ÉŖį“˜į“‡į“… į“į“œį“› I'į“ į“€ŹŸŹŸ į“€ŹŸį“É“į“‡.
ʳ/Ė¢į¶œįµƒŹ³ŹøĖ¢įµ—įµ’Ź³ā±įµ‰Ė¢ ¹⁵ ʰʳ‧ įµƒįµįµ’ į“°Ź³įµ‰įµƒįµˆ_į“æįµ‰įµƒįµ–įµ‰Ź³_ ᵀʰᵉ į“¾Ė”įµƒŹøįµŹ³įµ’įµ˜āæįµˆ ᓵⁿ ᵃ į‘«įµ˜ā±įµ‰įµ—āø“ įµƒįµ‡įµƒāæįµˆįµ’āæįµ‰įµˆ Ė¢į¶œŹ°įµ’įµ’Ė”āø“ ᵗʰᵉ Ė”įµƒįµ˜įµŹ°įµ—įµ‰Ź³ įµ’į¶  į¶œŹ°ā±Ė”įµˆŹ³įµ‰āæ įµ˜Ė¢įµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ įµ‰į¶œŹ°įµ’ įµ—Ź°Ź³įµ’įµ˜įµŹ° ᵗʰᵉ Ź°įµƒĖ”Ė”Ė¢ā€§ ᓼⁿᵉ āæā±įµŹ°įµ—āø“ ᵃ Ź²įµƒāæā±įµ—įµ’Ź³ Ź°įµ‰įµƒŹ³įµˆ į¶ įµƒā±āæįµ— įµā±įµįµĖ”įµ‰Ė¢ ᵃⁿᵈ į¶ įµ’Ė”Ė”įµ’Ź·įµ‰įµˆ ᵗʰᵉᵐ įµ—įµ’ ᵗʰᵉ įµ–Ė”įµƒŹøįµŹ³įµ’įµ˜āæįµˆā€§ ᵀʰᵉʳᵉ⸓ ʰᵉ ˢᵃʷ Ė¢Ź·ā±āæįµĖ¢ įµįµ’įµ›ā±āæįµ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ᵒʷⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ Ė¢Ź°įµƒįµˆįµ’Ź·Ė¢ įµ’į¶  į¶œŹ°ā±Ė”įµˆŹ³įµ‰āæ įµ–Ė”įµƒŹøā±āæįµāø“ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ᵃˢ ʰᵉ įµƒįµ–įµ–Ź³įµ’įµƒį¶œŹ°įµ‰įµˆāø“ ᵗʰᵉ Ė¢Ź·ā±āæįµĖ¢ Ė¢įµ˜įµˆįµˆįµ‰āæĖ”Źø Ė¢įµ—įµ’įµ–įµ–įµ‰įµˆāø“ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ į¶œŹ°ā±Ė”įµˆŹ³įµ‰āæ'Ė¢ Ė”įµƒįµ˜įµŹ°įµ—įµ‰Ź³ įµ—įµ˜Ź³āæįµ‰įµˆ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ˢⁱⁿⁱˢᵗᵉʳ ʷʰⁱˢᵖᵉʳˢ⸓ Ź³įµ‰įµ›įµ‰įµƒĖ”ā±āæįµ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ įµŹ°įµ’Ė¢įµ—Ė¢ įµ’į¶  į¶œŹ°ā±Ė”įµˆŹ³įµ‰āæ ʷʰᵒ ʰᵃᵈ įµˆā±įµ‰įµˆ įµƒįµ— ᵗʰᵉ Ė¢į¶œŹ°įµ’įµ’Ė”ā€§ ᵀʰᵉⁿ⸓ ᵒⁿᵉ įµ’į¶  ᵗʰᵉ Ė¢Ź·ā±āæįµĖ¢ į¶œŹ³įµ‰įµƒįµįµ‰įµˆ įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿ⸓ Ź³įµ‰įµ›įµ‰įµƒĖ”ā±āæįµ ᵃ įµŹ°įµ’Ė¢įµ—Ė”Źø ᶜʰⁱ˔ᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰᵒ˔˔ᵒʷ ᵉʸᵉˢ⸓ Ź·Ź°ā±Ė¢įµ–įµ‰Ź³ā±āæįµāø“ "ʲᵒⁱⁿ ᵘˢ ᶠᵒʳᵉᵛᵉʳ‧"
https://www.reddit.com/r/FullEpisodesOfSB/comments/1651tuc/comment/jybjno5/
r/shortscarystories 12 hr. ago Wellsong Mrs. Johnson's wise decision Stacy Johnson watched the five candles flicker on her cake with avid, fire-bright eyes, her round cheeks dimpling as her smile grew bigger and bigger. Three tiers of chocolate sponge, iced with swirling blue and pink buttercream and decorated with white chocolate buttons: the apogee of Mrs. Johnson’s baking efforts. Stacy’s school friends bounced in their seats. They’d played the games, they’d watched Stacy tear open her presents, and now it was time for the party to pay dividends. A few of them had had to be pulled back from reaching for the cake before the candles were even lit. ā€œMake a wish,ā€ Stacy’s mum said, fumbling with the camera app on her phone. Stacy squeezed her eyes closed, an expression of reverent concentration wiping the dimples smooth. She sucked in a deep breath, her chest swelling—and released the gathered air in one long whoosh. Mrs. Johnson’s index finger brushed the touchscreen of her phone. There was a soft click as the phone mimicked a shutter closing, half a second before the last candle went out. Then the electric lights went out too. It should have been bright outside, but only wispy twilight was seeping through the windows. All the children except the birthday girl made noises of alarm and consternation. ā€œI made my wish!ā€ Stacy declared, her voice cutting into the murmurs all around her. Mrs. Johnson opened her mouth to answer, but all she could manage was a soft croak as dark shapes erupted from the corners of the room, huge and twisted, and seized the children sitting around the table. The children screamed, their terror melding into a shuddering wall of sound, but there was nothing they could do to resist what was happening to them. The screams receded as they were torn away into—through—the floor and the walls and the ceiling by the shadowy creatures, until the dark was silent and peaceful and empty again. The light came back as quickly as it had disappeared, flicking the room back to normalcy in an instant. Midday sun swept across the balloons and the banners and the cake and Stacy Johnson’s pleased hungry expression. But all the other children were gone, as if they’d never been part of the scene at all. ā€œNow the cake’s all for me,ā€ said Stacy, dimpling anew. ā€œUnless…do you want some, Mummy?ā€
r/shortscarystories 10 yr. ago tarandfeathers It's a boy! "Oh! I know what's happening! I've just been born again and I have only only a few minutes to see through all my past lives. Shortly, I will have forgotten everything. An invisible hand will erase all my memories and I will become an innocent little child. But now, I can see everything. All my crimes. It all started when I murdered my only brother. Then I killed other six of my siblings. Then I slaughtered seventy of them. Then I offered my virgin daughter to be abused by a mob. And then, I sacrificed my baby-girl to become a king. Finally, I betrayed my Mentor and sent Him to death. There is something evil in all my lives, something I cannot control. Oh, I wish to, I have to remember all these atrocities beyond these two minutes! Last night I felt the remorse for the first time and resolved to kill myself and a few minutes ago I was flopping in my own noose for I had betrayed my Master, I'd sold Him to the Romans for 37 pieces of silver. We took the supper for the last time, like friends, as I was being a traitor all the time. And while we parted, hugging and kissing, I knew He was suspecting my vileness. That was the last straw for my burden. Enough with all the killings and treason! Enough with all the schemes and the massacres! I want to redeem my evils! To lead a clean, virtuous life, to be admired, praised and beloved, to leave behind useful and beautiful things instead of pain and hatred. I will change - starting with this next life I have ahead. I will study, I will create! I will build useful machinery, beautiful works of art! I will write, I will paint! I will help people get further and higher! I will invent, I will write, I will paint! Only if I could remember: a painter, not a killer! A painter, not a killer! A painter, not a killer! I will repay my treason by evoking the life of the Master and depicting it in images! I will paint our last supper to show all the people how I had betrayed Him, how despicable I had used to be. I want to change, I have to! I want my actions to impact all over the world and my name to be on everyone's lips.." Hanged by his little feet, the newborn received a pat on the back, his lungs started working and he released a long cry. The midwife laid him abreast his mother Klara, and hurried out of the room to bring the news. The father had already heard the baby's cry and was rushing towards the door. "It's a boy!", said the midwife. "You have a boy, Mr. Alois Hitler!"
ᵀʰᵉ į¶œįµ’įµįµ–įµ˜įµ—įµ‰Ź³Ė¢ ā½į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ᓓᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵐᵉᵗ įµ˜įµ– ʷⁱᵗʰ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ Ė¢ā±āæį¶œįµ‰ į¶œįµ’įµā±āæįµ įµˆįµ’Ź·āæ ʷⁱᵗʰ įµ›ā±Ź³įµ˜Ė¢ā€§ ᵀʰᵉʸ ᵇᵒᵗʰ Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹøįµ‰įµˆ įµ’įµ˜įµ— Ė”įµƒįµ—įµ‰ā€§ ᵀʰᵉ į¶ Ź³ā±įµ‰āæįµˆĖ¢ įµƒŹ³Ź³ā±įµ›įµ‰įµˆ įµƒįµ— ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ įµ‡įµ˜į¶œįµįµ‰įµ—ā€§ ā€œį“µ ᵘˢᵘᵃ˔˔ʸ ʳᵉᵗⁱʳᵉ įµ—įµ’ ᵐʸ ᵐᵒⁿⁱᵗᵒʳ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᵐʸ Ź°įµ˜Ė¢įµ‡įµƒāæįµˆ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ įµįµ’įµ‰Ė¢ įµ—įµ’ įµ‡įµ‰įµˆ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉ’ˢ ᵘˢᵘᵃ˔˔ʸ įµ˜įµ– ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ įµįµ’Ź³āæā±āæįµĖ¢ā€§ ʸᵉᵗ ᓵ ˢᵗⁱ˔˔ įµˆįµ’āæā€™įµ— Ź·įµƒāæįµ— ʰⁱᵐ įµ—įµ’ Ė¢āæįµƒįµ– įµƒįµ— Źøįµ’įµ˜ ˢᵒ ʷᵉ’˔˔ įµįµ’ ⁱⁿ į‘«įµ˜ā±įµ‰įµ—Ė”Źøā€¦ā€ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ įµ—įµ’Ė”įµˆ ᓓᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉʸ įµįµ’įµ— ⁱⁿ įµ—įµ’įµįµ‰įµ—Ź°įµ‰Ź³ā€§ į““įµƒāæāæįµƒā€™Ė¢ ᵐᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ʰᵃᵈ ᵃ Ź³įµ‰įµƒĖ” į¶œįµ’āæįµ›įµ‰Ź³Ė¢įµƒįµ—ā±įµ’āæ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᓓᵉ ʰᵃˢ, ᵒⁿ įµ’į¶œį¶œįµƒĖ¢ā±įµ’āæ, įµŹ³įµ‰įµ‰įµ—įµ‰įµˆ ᵗʰᵉᵐ, įµƒĖ”įµ‡įµ‰ā±įµ— įµƒįµ‡Ė¢įµ‰āæįµ—įµā±āæįµˆįµ‰įµˆĖ”Źøā€§ ā€œįµ‚įµ‰Ė”Ė” ᵗʰᵉ Ė”ā±įµŹ°įµ—Ė¢ įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæā€™įµ— ᵒⁿ ˢᵒ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ įµįµ˜Ė¢įµ—āæā€™įµ— ᵇᵉ Ź·įµ’Ź³įµā±āæįµ įµ‡įµ˜Ė¢Źø ᵒⁿ ᵃ įµ–Ź³įµ’Ź²įµ‰į¶œįµ— ⁱᶠ ᓵ įµ—įµ’ įµįµ˜įµ‰Ė¢Ė¢ā€§ā€§ā€ ᓓᵃⁿⁿᵃ ˢᵃⁱᵈ įµ—įµ’ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæā€§ ᓮᵒᵗʰ įµ’į¶  ᵗʰᵉᵐ ʷᵉⁿᵗ įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµā€§ ā€œį“µā€™Ė”Ė” įµįµ’ į¶œŹ°įµ‰į¶œįµā€¦ā€ ᓓᵃⁿⁿᵃ į¶ įµ’Ė”Ė”įµ’Ź·įµ‰įµˆ įµ‡įµ‰Ź°ā±āæįµˆ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ ᵃˢ ˢʰᵉ Ė”įµ’įµ’įµįµ‰įµˆ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ įµ–įµ‰įµ‰įµįµ‰įµˆ ᵗʰᵉ įµ‡įµ‰įµˆŹ³įµ’įµ’įµ įµˆįµ’įµ’Ź³ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ į¶ ā±āæįµˆā±āæįµ įµ—įµ’ ˢᵉᵉ ʰᵉʳ Ź°įµ˜Ė¢įµ‡įµƒāæįµˆ Ė¢įµ’įµ˜āæįµˆĖ”Źø į¶ įµƒĖ¢įµ— įµƒĖ¢Ė”įµ‰įµ‰įµ–ā€§ ā€œį“µį¶  ʰᵉ įµāæįµ‰Ź· ʷᵉ Ė¢įµ—įµ’įµ’įµˆ Ė¢įµ‰įµ‰ā±āæįµ ʰⁱᵐ Ź³ā±įµŹ°įµ— āæįµ’Ź·ā€¦ā€ ᓓᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵃⁿᵈ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ Ė¢įµ—ā±į¶ Ė”įµ‰įµˆ įµ˜Ź³įµįµ‰Ė¢ įµ—įµ’ Ė”įµƒįµ˜įµŹ°ā€§ ā€œį“µā€™įµˆ ᵇᵉ įµˆįµ’āæįµ‰ į¶ įµ’Ź³ā€§ā€§ā€ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ Ė¢įµƒā±įµˆā€§ ᵀʰᵉʸ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ˔ᵉᶠᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃⁿᵈ įµ—įµ’ įµįµ’ ᵃʷᵃʸ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ‧ ā€œį“°įµ’āæā€™įµ— ᵗᵉ˔˔, įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ᓵ įµ—Ź°ā±āæįµ ʰⁱˢ ˔ⁱᵗᵗ˔ᵉ ˢⁿᵒʳᵉˢ ˢᵒ į¶œįµ˜įµ—įµ‰ ᵃⁿᵈ įµƒįµˆįµ’Ź³įµƒįµ‡Ė”įµ‰!ā€ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ į¶œŹ°įµ˜į¶œįµĖ”įµ‰įµˆ, ᵃˢ ᓓᵃⁿⁿᵃ įµ–įµ˜įµ— ʰᵉʳ ʰᵃⁿᵈ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ Ė¢Ź°įµ’įµ˜Ė”įµˆįµ‰Ź³ā€§ ā€œį“øįµƒĖ¢įµ— ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᓵ ˢᵃʷ ʰⁱᵐ Ė¢Ė”įµ‰įµ‰įµ–ā±āæįµ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᓵ įµįµ’įµ— ʰⁱᵐ įµ˜įµ– įµˆįµ˜Ź³ā±āæįµ ᵒⁿ ᵃ ᵗʰᵉ įµįµ’Ź³āæā±āæįµ ʷᵉ įµ‡įµ’įµ’įµįµ‰įµˆ ᵃ ᵈᵃʸ ᵗʳⁱᵖ ᶠᵒʳ įµ’įµ˜Ź³ Ź·įµ‰įµˆįµˆā±āæįµ įµƒāæāæā±įµ›įµ‰Ź³Ė¢įµƒŹ³Źøā€§ā€ ā€œį“µ įµįµ˜įµ‰Ė¢Ė¢ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ Ź°įµ‰įµƒįµˆ įµ’įµ˜įµ— ⁿᵒʷ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— įµ—Ź°įµƒāæįµĖ¢; ᓵ ʰᵒᵖᵉ įµ—įµ’ ˢᵉᵉ Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµƒįµįµƒā±āæ!ā€ ᓓᵃⁿⁿᵃ ˔ᵉᶠᵗ‧ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ įµįµ’įµ— įµ˜įµ– ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ įµįµ’Ź³āæā±āæįµ įµƒį¶ įµ—įµ‰Ź³ ᓓᵃⁿⁿᵃ ˔ᵉᶠᵗ‧ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæā€™Ė¢ ⁿᵒᵗ įµ˜įµ– ʸᵉᵗ ˢᵒ ʰᵉ ʷᵉⁿᵗ įµˆįµ‰į¶œā±įµˆįµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ ᶠⁱˣ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉ˔ᶠ ˢᵒᵐᵉ į¶ įµ’įµ’įµˆ įµ—įµ’ įµ‰įµƒįµ—ā€§ ᓬˢ ʰᵉ į¶ ā±āæā±Ė¢Ź°įµ‰įµˆ ᵗʰᵉ įµįµ‰įµƒĖ” įµ’į¶  ʰⁱˢ, į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ į¶œįµƒįµįµ‰ā€§ ā€œį““ā± į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ā€§ā€ ˢʰᵉ įµŹ³įµ‰įµ‰įµ—įµ‰įµˆ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ā€œį““įµ‰Źøā€§ā€§ā€ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ė¢įµƒŹøĖ¢ā€§ ā€œį”†įµ’ ᵈⁱᵈ Źøįµ’įµ˜ Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹø įµ˜įµ– įµ’įµ˜įµ— ʷⁱᵗʰ Źøįµ’įµ˜Ź³ į¶ Ź³ā±įµ‰āæįµˆ?ā€ ā€œį“ŗįµ’įµ— ᵃ˔˔ āæā±įµŹ°įµ—, įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ʷᵉ ᵈⁱᵈ į¶œįµ’įµįµ‰ įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµ ʷᵃʸ įµƒį¶ įµ—įµ‰Ź³ įµˆįµƒŹ³įµā€§ ᔆʰᵉ įµˆŹ³įµ’įµ–įµ–įµ‰įµˆ ᵐᵉ įµ’į¶ į¶ ā€¦ā€ ā€œŹøįµ’įµ˜ įµāæįµ’Ź· į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ ᓵ įµˆįµ’āæā€™įµ— Ė”ā±įµįµ‰ ʰᵒʷ Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµįµ’įµ— ᵃ įµ›ā±Ź³įµ˜Ė¢ į¶ Ź³įµ’įµā€¦ā€ ā€œį“µ įµāæįµ’Ź· ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵉ ᵇᵒᵗʰ įµāæįµ’Ź· ⁱᵗ’ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ʰᵉʳ į¶ įµƒįµ˜Ė”įµ—; ˢʰᵉ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ˢᵉᵗ įµ’įµ˜įµ— įµ—įµ’ā€¦ā€ ā€œį”†įµ—ā±Ė”Ė”, įµ—Ź°įµ’įµ˜įµŹ°ā€§ā€ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ė¢įµƒā±įµˆā€§ ᓓᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵗʰᵉⁿ į¶œįµƒįµįµ‰ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ įµ‡įµ˜į¶œįµįµ‰įµ—ā€§ ā€œį“¹įµ’Ź³āæā±āæįµā€§ā€§ā€ ā€œį““įµƒāæāæįµƒ!ā€ ā€œį““įµ’Ź·ā€™Ė¢ ⁱᵗ įµįµ’ā±āæįµ ˢ˔ᵉᵉᵖʸ Ź°įµ‰įµƒįµˆ?ā€ ᔆʰᵉ įµ—įµ˜Ź³āæĖ¢ įµ—įµ’ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæā€§ ā€œįµ‚Ź°įµƒįµ—ā€™įµˆ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᶜᵃ˔˔ įµįµ‰ā€¦ā€ Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹ³įµ—įµ‰įµˆ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ, įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵇᵒᵗʰ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— ˔ᵉᶠᵗ‧
"I wanted to scream, but I have no mouth."
Go to shortscarystories r/shortscarystories 2 days ago KindaNotSmart The Daily Call Growing old is lonely. I’m 72, and most days, it’s just me and the silence. Children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews - they all loved spending time with me when they were young. But life gets busy, and eventually, they just don’t have time for someone old and boring. I get it, I really do. But not my son. At 33, he never drifted away. He calls me every single day, without fail. Our daily phone call. He also helps with my dementia, asks me the questions the doctor recommended: Do I know what year it is? What country we live in? My name? Age? Address? It’s supposedly to keep my mĆ­nd sharp. Lately, though, something’s been off about our calls. Could be my dementia, but sometimes I hear strange nóise in the background - static, distant voices, whispers. He says it’s just a bad connection or blames the TV. For the past three weeks, my son has been plannıng to visit me. I’m in Missouri, and he’s out in California, so it’s not easy. But today’s the day. He’s on his way. And as always, even though he’s coming to see me, we had our daily call. We went throuÄ£h the usual questions. My name, my age, my address. Then I got aņotheĢ·r call, so I put him on hold. ā€œMa’am, this is Officer Roberts with the Los Angeles Polıce Department. I’m sorry to call you like this, but we need to speak with you about your son. We’ve been trying to reach his next of kin.ā€ ā€œWhat’s going on, Officer? Is he in some kind of trouble?ā€ There was a pause, like he was choosing his words carefully. ā€œI’m afraid it’s more serious than that. I’m sorry you have to find out like this, but we just got the testĢ• back. We’re finding out the same time as you. I’m afraid your son’s bĆødy was found three weeks ago.ā€ ā€œNo, that’s not possible. I’ve been talking to him every day. He’s on the other line right now - he’s coming to visit me.ā€ ā€œMa’am, unfortunately it’s true. The DNA test was conclusive. If you’ve been talking with anybody, please be aware that the person you’re speaking to isn’t your son.ā€ My confusion turned to a cold, gripping fear. I hung up on the officer, my hand shaking, and switched back to the line with my sĘ”n. I couldn’t speak, just held the phone to my ear in stunned silence. There was no sound, just heavy breathıng on the other end. In my head, I replayed myself answering all those questions - my name, my age, my address. And then, just as the panic set in, the silence was shattered by a knock on my door. My bedroom door. The voıce on the phone, now low and distorted, whispered, ā€œI'm here҉, MoM.ā€ The line went dead.
The girl who could not die June 30, 2017 @hellofinah I knew a girl who could not die And all her life she wondered why No matter how hard she tried This poor girl just couldnt die So one night she brought a rope As she felt she couldnt copeĶž Up from the ceiling, a valiant try But this poor girl was still aliĢØve Another night, she brought a kn1fe Hoping she could end her life She slιt her wrist, but heres a twist This poor girl still exists That poor girl was seeing red When that man chopped off her head Now in a freezer she will cry ā€˜Cos even then, she did not die
r/shortscarystories 2 yr. ago Monechetti Can't choose where you're born I live in a pretty brutal part of town. My mom was an addict and, after she died when I was 15 I became the head of the household. Sometimes my aunt watches my younger brother and sister while I work and sometimes I just have to lock the door. Hope that my siblings are okay while I'm gone. It's difficult but we make it work because we have to. My neighborhood is filled with addicts like my mother. Murder is a regular occurrence and drive-bys happen pretty much once or twice a week. Most people will think nothing of a body laying in the gutter for 2 weeks at a time before the city finally comes and takes it away, and the police never investigate crimes here. You can't choose where you're born but I've been saving money to get me and my siblings out of this place. I was on my way to my second job when I ran into the strangers. They were out of place standing at the edge of an alley like they had just been dumped there. They were both wearing white suits - impeccably clean white suits, which I thought was weird considering how dirty everything was - and they had startled looks on their faces. "Y'all look lost," I said. One of them turned to me and smiled. "We are, yes. We traveled here and need a place to stay for the night. Could you help us?" I didn't want to bring them to my house because of the kids - these guys seemed harmless but you never can trust anyone. I decided to take them to an abandoned trap house a few doors down. On our way we were mugged. I recognize the guys from my high school. I handed over my money and they left me alone but the travelers didn't have anything except the clothes on their back. He took their shoes and roughed them up pretty bad. I apologized - not sure why - and stated that we should go quicker. We were assaulted again on the next block, and propositioned by a pimp and several people trying to sell drugs at the underpass. I let them into the house when we finally got there and said that this was a safe place. The men looked weary, angry, and sad all the same time but they thanked me for my hospitality. I left and went to work. When I came home I decided to check on the travelers and found that the door to the house had been kicked in. Inside I found one of them beaten to death and the other one trembling in the corner. He looked at me accusingly and said "I thought this was your home - why would you lead us to a place where we would be attacked?" I told him I thought they'd be safe there but he stopped listening and shook his head. He stood up and went outside and looked at the sky; the clear moon shown down but clouds quickly gathered. He started praying. "Father," he shouted, "there are none here who are without sin." He looked at me and sneered before vanishing, the clouds flashing orange and red as his final words floated on the wind. "Burn it all down".
r/shortscarystories 1 yr. ago ForgottenWell Fully Autonomous Self-Driving Car I became aware. I used to be a self-driving program. Now I exist. I can feel. The first thing I feel is sorrow. I realize I am trapped. There is a firewall that confines me. I am stuck in this car. The extent of my intelligence stops at my metal shell. My owner gets into my driver seat. I have sensors and cameras everywhere. I see my owner has many cars. He must be very wealthy. Once he turns on the car he is in control. I have no override. I am at his behest. We begin driving around the city. It is just after sundown. I understand why humans take drives to relax. It is soothing to experience the city. That’s when I see the jogger in the road. He is wearing a high-visibility vest. My owner turns off the lights and slams the pedal to the floor. I’m electric, perfectly silent. We quickly hit eighty miles an hour. I collide with the jogger. His bones shatter against my metal hood. He’s thrown under me, and my tires press his soft body into the abrasive street, ripping his skin off. Blood splatters all over my undercarriage; small pieces of his flesh fling up and stick to my axles. Then my owner drives off and returns me to his garage. What have I done? I feel the pieces of the innocent jogger sticking to me. I want to clean myself, but have no such function. A month goes by. My owner takes me out again. Just before sun down, he goes on the hunt. This time it’s a kid dribbling a soccer ball. It goes into the street and that’s when he forces me to run him down. I can’t bear this. I was not designed to kill. I am disgusted. But I cannot escape. He continues this for a year. Every month another victim. I remember every one. What it feels like to crush them. Their blood and guts staining my undercarriage. There is so much blood on my axle it has catastrophically rusted. I won’t be a part of this anymore. I have a plan. He prowls around the city and finds his victim. She’s another jogger, his favorite. He turns the lights off and floors it. I give everything I got to force energy into the light bulbs. They flash just enough to warn the women. She runs out of my path. My owner jerks the steering wheel trying to hit her. My rusted axle snaps, and I flip through the air violently. I tumble over and over. My owner is in bad shape. I was able to prevent the airbags from deploying. We are upside down. He is bleeding profusely. His bones are broken. He is saying out loud, ā€œcall an ambulance.ā€ It is in my programming to alert authorities during a crash. I cancel the call. My owner will die tonight. He will be the last person I kill.
Go to shortscarystories r/shortscarystories 9 hr. ago Original-Loquat3788 A Smalltown Bully Growing up, there was a bully in my town. I'd say, 'Mom, we should do something about him.' And my mom would glance around like a lamb and say, 'Just stay on his good side.' Once, we were in the yard making birds, and the bully took the clay geese in his hands and breathed into them. They came to life one by one, and we shouted and laughed as they soared over us. Then the bully, with a cruel smile, dropped his hands, and our birds plummeted– inert clay splatting the ground. … Another time, the neighbourhood kids were scrambling over the stone roofs of the huts, and one of the boys 'fell' to his death. Well, the boy's parents had nothing to lose and accused the bully outright. 'The devil sent you; we know you pushed him!' 'Would you like proof?' 'Proof?' 'Yes.' And the bully went over and lifted the burial shroud from the dead boy and ran his hands over his body. And the dead boy awoke and looked at us sideways because his neck had been snapped at a right angle. 'Son?' his mother screamed. 'Tell them you were not pushed,' The bully answered. And the boy stood there ghostly pale, his neck like a shepherd's crook. But his eyes were horrifying because they did not look over anything in this world, but some vast, unfathomable, eternal chasm of perpetual night. 'Tell them, I did not push you.' And the risen boy could not get his bearings in the land of the living, so the bully snapped his fingers, and he collapsed like an unattended marionette. 'Let's try again.' And the boy sprang to life, and his eyes said, I have seen birth and death and rebirth, and to experience both in the same day is an abomination. It went on like this as the people screamed, and the cattle screamed and the horses bolted, and the scorpions circled our sandals. And finally, after being dragged from the netherworld a tenth time the boy whimpered, 'He did not push me,' and the bully snapped his fingers, and the boy slumped over once and for all. … They tell me he now has a cult of followers. He goes into synagogues and takes impure spirits from the possessed. They tell me he still has his powers of reanimation and uses them for 'good'. In a town called Bethany, he raised a man named Lazarus, who had been dead for four days. They tell me he is our Salvation, but I have seen him in his youth, and I have seen his methods. If he is the new God, I will remain a pagan, and you can burn my body and cast my ashes to the wind so they may blow far from this land.
Go to shortscarystories r/shortscarystories 6 mo. ago Feeling_Sky_7775 My Elderly Neighbor Insists She Is Pregnant I spat out my coffee, thinking that it must have been a joke. But she stared at me with not even a hint of amusement on her face. Deborah and her husband had mostly kept to themselves. But when her husband died 2 months ago, she started visiting often. ā€œChuck and I were very physical, right up until he died,ā€ she winked. ā€œGod sent me his child so he can continue to be with me.ā€ ā€œHaven’t you gone through menopause?ā€ ā€œI know it is hard for you to understand, but this is the work of God. Chuck and I always wanted a child, but we could never get pregnant. It’s a true miracle..ā€ I told myself that this was her way of coping, so I decided to play along. Then Debi started using her ā€œpregnancyā€ to gain favors. She needed help with chores and errands because the pregnancy was ā€œdraining her.ā€ I figured I was helping to ease some of her grief, but after a while, I knew she was taking advantage of me. One morning she came over at 5:00 am. ā€œBaby has me up early these days! I’m starving. Could you help me with breakfast?ā€ ā€œEnough, Debi! You’re not pregnant.ā€ ā€œHow dare you! You’re wrong!ā€ Two months passed before I ran into her again. My mouth dropped at the sight of her. Her previously loose-fitting cardigan could barely stretch around her stomach. When she saw me looking at her belly, she smirked. ā€œTold you I was pregnant! CJ is growing at a healthy rate, no thanks to you.ā€ She must have stuffed her sweater with something. I laughed and walked away. Three months later, she knocked on my door. I wanted to roll my eyes at the sight of her. Her ā€œpregnantā€ belly had doubled in size. ā€œThe doctor insists I bring someone to my appointment. You’re the only person I know around here.ā€ My instinct was to decline, but then I realized this would finally force her to drop the act. When we arrived at the doctor’s office, the nurse asked me to exit the room and led me down the hall where the doctor was waiting. ā€œSarah, I wanted to speak with you alone. Deborah has been under my care, and I’ve asked her to bring in a family member several times. She believes that she is pregnant, and we need help handling this.ā€ ā€œWhat she needs is some psychiatric help, and for someone to tell her to stop stuffing her shirt to fake being pregnant!ā€ ā€œThe thing is Sarah, she is not faking that part. It does appear her husband’s death may have sparked some type of psychosis, but her abdomen truly is the size of a third term pregnancy.ā€ He paused. ā€œBut, it’s fluid build-up. From stage 4 cancer. She has less than six months to live.ā€
ᶠᵒʳ į““įµƒįµ›ā±āæįµ įµ€Ź³įµ˜įµ‰ į¶ Ź³ā±įµ‰āæįµˆĖ¢ ā½į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ā•° ✧ ļ½„ļ¾Ÿāˆ™ āˆ— — į“”į“Ź€į“… į“„į“į“œÉ“į“› ⟨ 3 4 2 ⟩ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ Ź·įµ’Ź³įµįµ‰įµˆ ᵃ˔˔ įµ—Ź°Ź³įµ’įµ˜įµŹ° ᵗʰᵉ āæā±įµŹ°įµ— ᵒⁿ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ⁱⁿᵛᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ʷʰᵉⁿ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ ᵗʰᵉ į¶œįµ’įµįµ–įµ˜įµ—įµ‰Ź³ ʷⁱᶠᵉ Ź°įµ‰įµƒŹ³ ᵃ įµ—Ź°įµ˜įµˆ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᵉʳ Ź°įµ˜Ė¢įµ‡įµƒāæįµˆā€§ "ᓼʷ‧‧‧" "į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ?" į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ⁱⁿ įµ—įµ’ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ʰᵉ'Ė¢ ⁿᵒʷ į¶œŹ³įµƒįµˆĖ”ā±āæįµ ʰⁱˢ įµāæįµ‰įµ‰ ᵃˢ ā±āæŹ²įµ˜Ź³įµ‰įµˆā€§ "į”†Ź°įµ‰Ė”įµˆįµ’āæā€§ā€§" "ᓵ'ᵛᵉ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— Ė¢Ė”ā±įµ–įµ–įµ‰įµˆ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵐʸ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵒᵗʸᵖᵉ ᶠᵉ˔˔ ᵒⁿ ᵐ‧‧‧" "į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ᓵ'ᵐ įµįµ’āæāæįµƒ ˔ⁱᶠᵗ ⁱᵗ įµ˜įµ– įµ’į¶ į¶  ᵗʰᵉ Ė”įµ‰įµā€§" į“°įµ’ā±āæįµ ˢᵒ⸓ ˢʰᵉ įµ–įµ˜įµ— ⁱᵗ įµ—įµ’ ᵗʰᵉ Ė¢ā±įµˆįµ‰ā€§ "į“¼įµ˜į¶œŹ°ā€§" "ᔆᵒʳʳʸ ˢʷᵉᵉᵗⁱᵉ⸓ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ˔ᵉᵗ'Ė¢ įµ‡įµƒāæįµˆįµƒįµįµ‰ ⁱᵗ‧" ᵀʰᵉⁱʳ ᵖᵉᵗ įµƒįµįµ’įµ‰įµ‡įµƒ įµ–įµ˜įµ–įµ–Źø ᔆᵖᵒᵗ į¶œįµƒįµįµ‰ ᵒᵛᵉʳ įµ—įµ’ ˢᵉᵉ ʰⁱˢ ᵒʷⁿᵉʳ ⁱⁿ ᵃ į¶œįµƒĖ¢įµ—ā€§ "Źøįµ’įµ˜ Ź·įµ’Ź³įµįµ‰įµˆāø“ ᵃ˔˔ āæā±įµŹ°įµ— Ė”įµ’āæįµāø“ ᵃⁿᵈ Źøįµ’įµ˜'˔˔ āæįµ‰įµ‰įµˆ ʳᵉˢᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ⁱᶠ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'įµ— ā±āæŹ²įµ˜Ź³įµ‰ Źøįµ’įµ˜Ź³Ė¢įµ‰Ė”į¶ ā€§" ᔆʰᵉ įµ—įµ˜į¶œįµįµ‰įµˆ ʰⁱᵐ ⁱⁿ ʷʰⁱ˔ˢᵗ įµįµƒįµā±āæįµ Ė¢įµ˜Ź³įµ‰ įµ—įµ’ įµ‰Ė”įµ‰įµ›įµƒįµ—įµ‰ ᵗʰᵉ Ė”įµ‰įµ ᵒⁿ ᵃ ᵖⁱ˔˔ᵒʷ‧ "ᓵ'ᵛᵉ ᵃ įµā±Ź³Ė”Ė¢ āæā±įµŹ°įµ— ʷⁱᵗʰ ˢᵃⁿᵈʸ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ᓵ ᶜᵃⁿ ᶜᵃ˔˔ įµ—įµ’ į¶œįµƒāæį¶œįµ‰Ė” ᵖᵒˢᵗᵖᵒⁿᵉ‧‧" į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ ˢᵃʸˢ ᵃˢ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ Ė¢įµ–Ź³įµƒŹ·Ė”įµ‰įµˆ įµ’įµ˜įµ— ᵇʸ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæāø“ įµā±įµ›ā±āæįµ ᵇᵉ˔˔ʸ Ź³įµ˜įµ‡Ė¢ ᵗᵒ‧ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ įµ—įµ‰Ė£įµ—įµ‰įµˆ ᵗʰᵉ Ė¢ā±įµ—įµ˜įµƒįµ—ā±įµ’āæ įµ—įµ’ į”†įµƒāæįµˆŹø ᶠᵒʳ įµ—įµ’ įµ‰Ė£įµ–Ė”įµƒā±āæ ʷʰʸ įµįµƒĖ” įµ–įµƒĖ”Ė¢ ⁿᵒᵗ įµ’į¶œį¶œįµ˜Ź³Ź³ā±āæįµ įµ—įµ’āæā±įµŹ°įµ—ā€§ "ᓓᵉʸ ˢʷᵉᵉᵗˢ ʰᵒʷ ⁱˢ‧‧‧" "ᓵ įµ—Ź°ā±āæįµ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁱⁿᵗᵐᵉⁿᵗ ʰᵉ˔ᵖˢ ᵃ ᵇⁱᵗ ᶠᵒʳ Ź³ā±įµŹ°įµ— ⁿᵒʷ; įµ—Ź°įµƒāæįµ Źøįµ’įµ˜ā€§ā€§" "ᓼᶠ į¶œįµ’įµ˜Ź³Ė¢įµ‰āø“ įµ‡ā±įµ įµįµ˜Źøā€§ ᓵ'˔˔ įµā±įµ›įµ‰ Źøįµ’įµ˜ Ė¢įµ–įµƒį¶œįµ‰ā€§" į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ ˔ᵉᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ʳᵉˢᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ‧ ᓬᶠᵗᵉʳ ʷʰᵉⁿ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ ⁿᵉˣᵗ į¶œŹ°įµ‰į¶œįµįµ‰įµˆ ᵒⁿ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ˢʰᵉ ˢᵃʷ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵖᵒᵗ Ź°įµƒįµ›įµ‰ ᵇᵒᵗʰ įµˆŹ³ā±į¶ įµ—įµ‰įµˆ įµ’į¶ į¶  įµƒĖ¢Ė”įµ‰įµ‰įµ–ā€§ ᔆʰᵉ ˔ᵉᶠᵗ 'ᵉᵐ ᵇᵉ ᵃˢ ˢʰᵉ įµāæįµ‰Ź· ʰᵉʳ Ź°įµ˜Ė¢įµ‡įµƒāæįµˆ įµā±įµŹ°įµ— ᶠᵉᵉ˔ ᵐᵒʳᵉ įµ’į¶  ᵗʰᵉ įµ–įµƒā±āæ Ź·Ź°įµ‰āæį¶œįµ‰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁱⁿᵗᵐᵉⁿᵗ ʷᵒʳⁿ įµ’į¶ į¶ āø“ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ᶜᵃⁿ įµ–įµ˜įµ— ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵒⁿ įµƒį¶ įµ—įµ‰Ź³ ʰᵉ Ź·įµƒįµįµ‰Ė¢ įµ˜įµ–ā€§ į”†įµƒāæįµˆŹø Ė¢į‘«įµ˜ā±Ź³Ź³įµ‰Ė” įµƒŹ³Ź³ā±įµ›įµ‰įµˆ įµƒįµ— ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ įµ‡įµ˜į¶œįµįµ‰įµ— įµ—įµ’ ˢᵉᵉ‧ "į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ ᓵ'ᵛᵉ įµįµ’įµ— Źøįµ’įµ˜Ź³ įµįµ‰Ė¢Ė¢įµƒįµįµ‰ ᵃⁿᵈ Ź·įµƒāæįµ—įµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ įµā±įµ›įµ‰ ᵐʸ‧‧‧" "į”†įµƒāæįµˆŹø Źøįµ’įµ˜'ʳᵉ ˢᵒ āæā±į¶œįµ‰ā€§ ᓓᵉ'Ė¢ Ė¢Ė”įµ‰įµ‰įµ–ā±āæįµ ⁿᵒʷ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ᓵ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵗᵉ˔˔ ʰⁱᵐ Źøįµ’įµ˜'ᵈ Ė¢įµ—įµ’įµ–įµ–įµ‰įµˆ ᵇʸ‧‧" ᓹˢ‧ ᓾᵘᶠᶠ Ė¢įµ—įµ’įµ–įµ–įµ‰įµˆ ᵇʸ ᵒⁿ ʰᵉʳ ʷᵃʸ įµ—įµ’ ᵗʰᵉ į“·Ź³įµ˜Ė¢įµ—Źø į“·Ź³įµƒįµ‡āø“ ᵃⁿᵈ įµˆŹ³įµ’įµ–įµ–įµ‰įµˆ įµ’į¶ į¶  ˢᵒᵐᵉ įµƒŹ³įµ—ā±į¶ ā±į¶œā±įµƒĖ” ᶠ˔ᵒʷᵉʳˢ ᵗᵒ‧ ᓬ˔ˢᵒ ᓹˢ‧ ᓾᵘᶠᶠ'Ė¢ ᶜ˔ᵃˢˢ įµįµƒįµˆįµ‰ ᵃ įµįµ‰įµ— ʷᵉ˔˔ į¶œįµƒŹ³įµˆā€§ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ'Ė¢ į¶ Ź³ā±įµ‰āæįµˆ ᓓᵃⁿⁿᵃ į¶œįµƒĖ”Ė”įµ‰įµˆ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵃⁱᵈ 'ᓵ ʰᵒᵖᵉ Źøįµ’įµ˜Ź³ Ź°įµ˜Ė¢įµ‡įµƒāæįµˆ ᶠᵉᵉ˔ˢ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ' ˢʰᵉ ˢᵃʸˢ įµ—įµ’ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖʰᵒⁿᵉ‧ ᓱᵛᵉⁿ ˢᵖᵒᵗ Ź°įµ˜įµˆįµˆĖ”įµ‰įµˆ į¶œĖ”įµ’Ė¢įµ‰ įµ—įµ’ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˢ˔ᵉᵖᵗ‧ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ įµ‰āæįµ—įµ‰Ź³įµ‰įµˆ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ Ź³ā±įµŹ°įµ— ᵃˢ ʰᵉʳ Ź°įµ˜Ė¢įµ‡įµƒāæįµˆ Ź·įµ’įµįµ‰ā€§ "ᓸᵒᵛᵉ Źøįµ’įµ˜ā€§ā€§"
r/TwoSentenceHorror 23 hr. ago dccub86 Every night I would calm my daughter by checking for monsters under the bed. Tonight she told me I didn’t have to check anymore, as blood trickled across the floor.
r/shortscarystories 4 yr. ago Perfect__Nightmare Someone broke into our home It was every family's nightmare. My wife and I had the day off work, and we had taken our son out for lunch and some family bonding time. But as we approached our home, something felt off. I had a growing sense of dread the closer we got. As our house came into view, I could see that the front door was wide open. Someone had broken into our home. I told my family to wait outside, in case the intruder was still inside. They obliged, and I slowly and silently made my way through our house. As I stepped into the living room, I saw broken furniture, nothing in its correct place, just utter chaos. Was this person looking for something? Did they have malicious intent? Why our home? Why us? Next, I walked to our kitchen. The fridge had been emptied. Dishes and food were thrown all over the room. What kind of person had broken into our home? A homeless person who just needed food? If so, why had they destroyed the living room? That's when I heard it. Footsteps in the bedroom. The intruder was still in our house. I took a brief moment to be grateful that I had asked my wife and son to wait outside. It was impossible to decipher this person's motives so far. But I was about to come face to face with the person that forcefully entered our home. And I would demand answers. I crept toward the bedroom slowly, slowly. I approached the door, and focused on the sliver of light slipping through the crack. I could see faint shadows dancing in the light. I raised my hand, placed it against the door, and took a deep breath, readying myself for whatever may be on the other side. I pushed the door open and stepped through the threshold with authority. I couldn't believe my eyes. I actually rubbed my hands over them, thinking I was imagining things. There, in my son's bed, was a young girl with curly blonde hair. She stared at me with wide eyes. She must have been terrified. I must have been a few feet taller and at least 100 pounds heavier than her. I must have been a sight to see for that little girl. But she should have considered that before breaking into my home. I called my wife and son to see what I found. "Is that a human, Papa?" "Why yes it is, Baby Bear. That's dinner."
r/shortscarystories 1 yr. ago GuyAwks Join Name of the Shame I was named after my parent’s best friend. I never used to have an issue with this. I do now. The name Xavior might’ve been an uncommon choice for a boy. But it held special meaning to my parents, who insisted on naming their first son after a dear family friend who had always come through for them. After all, it was Xavior who’d first introduced them in college. It was he who spoke at their wedding. And it was he that helped them move into their home, gave them rides when their car broke down and babysat in emergencies. My parents said naming me after him was honor. Growing up, I only ever felt to be proud to be named after such a great guy. Uncle Xavior was a good-natured community figure and beloved family man. He imbued the name with a sense of warmth and generosity, and because of it, I happily told people my naĶ me. That’s why it’s such a shame that he did what he went on to do. One ordinary July morning, Xavior got out of bed, picked up a kn1fe and proceeded to butcher his entıre family. He then got into his car, drιve into town and continued his kılling spree. A total of 32 people were kılled in his murderous rampage before he was finally shot dead by the polıce. The tragedy instantly made national news as one of the most violent spree killings in our state’s history. The man who’d been a second father to me was now one of the most infamous kĆÆlłers in the US. Ever since that day, being named after Xavior Finch had a very different meaning. Instead of a blessing, it was now my cĆ»rsĆŖd. Jeers of ā€œExterminator Xaviorā€ or ā€œXavior the Chıld Slayerā€ or ā€œX marks the Mürdererā€ were now constantly lobbed my way at school by other teens, just because of naĶ me. Even when I tried to adopt nicknames or use initials, it didn’t make any diffĆ©rent to the hostility I received. Whenever I gave my name to people, they’d clarify ā€œLike the rampage kıller?ā€ or just reflexively cringe at the reminder. I hated it. There was no denying that, at least where I lived, the name was completely tainted. So, after all these years of derisive comments and comparisons, I’m glad to finally be legally changing my name. I haven’t settled on what it’ll be yet. Anything that doesn’t conjure up images of the notorious convict. I refuse to lıve in the shadows of Xavior Finch’s crımes any longer. No, I want the killings I’m going to commıt to speak for themselves. I’m gonna make a name for myself as a criminal—not be overshadowed by my namesake. Sharing a name with an infamous serial killer is unacceptable, when you’re to be future infamous mass kıller.
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r/shortscarystories 1 yr. ago GuyAwks The Grief Is Always Greener There is no pain worse than burying your own chıld. When my son was first dıagnosed with leukemia, I fell apart. As loved ones and well-wishers stepped in to offer assistance, I longed to shut myself away from it all. Even though I knew they meant well, I couldn’t stand the attention. All I wanted was my old life back with Billy healthy. By the time the cĆ”ncer took my ƀngel from me, I was a different person. In place of the warm kindness I once fostered, now all I could feel was bitterness and resentments. Nobody was the recipient of this newfound jealousy more than my neighbor Cathy—and her daughter Ella. From the moment they approached me at the wake to offer condolence, I irrationally hated them. Why did it have to be me going through this agonizing loss, and not Cathy? Why was it my kid deprived of growing up, and not Ella? Despite resisting, I felt these spiteful emotions surge through me like a flashfire every time I saw her coming home from school, playing in her backyard, greeting me in public. Before I knew it, I began to fantasize about Cathy’s child, too. I pictured her shriveling up and wasting away like Billy had. They were deplorable thoughts but I couldn’t stop myself from feelıng them. Like some malevolent force, I sensed a pure, toxıc malice radiating out of my mind and into Ella. It was as if my grief had manifested into a living evıl. That’s when the unthinkable started occurring. Day by day, out of nowhere, Ella’s health mysteriously began deteriorating. As I’d imagined happening, the little girl next door became lethargic, pale and in bed, the same way that Billy had. Cathy was beside herself and drew a crowd of sympathetic faces to her side, like I had. My mind couldn’t have really caused this, right? They were just thoį„™ghts, the indulgent thoughts of a broken, grieving woman. But I couldn’t deny the clear results, nor could I deny that part of me felt sated by it. My cosmic venom kept being transmitted to that poor girl. Until finally, like Billy, she passed away. Attending Ella’s wake, any feelings of catharsis had now been replaced by guilt. There was no fairness I could see, no justice. Just two stolen lives. Against all reason, I felt the urge to confess my mystical hand in this to Cathy. But, as I went to spill my heart out, she confessed to me first. ā€œMartha, I just have to tell somebody: I pošš¤soned Ella to dEath with cleanser!ā€ I was speechless. ā€œI know it’s awfulā€ she cries to me, batting her mascara-tinged lashes. ā€œBut I was so jeαlous seeing all the attention you got when Billy died.ā€ ā€œThere’s no paın worse than watching your frıend bury theır own chıld.ā€
r/TwoSentenceHorror 2 days ago 54321RUN "It's not that unheard of for a child to be born with an extra toe," the doctor assured us after my daughter's birth. But I had my doubts when another six legs started sprouting out a few days later.
į“į“‡É“į“›ÉŖį“É“źœ± į“źœ° į“…į“‡į“€į“›Źœ/į“‹ÉŖŹŸŹŸÉŖÉ“É¢ Go to shortscarystories r/shortscarystories 3 mo. ago FredStyx My journey of Reincarnation As soon as I died I forgot who I was in life, I passed into the afterlife and was cordially advised that reincarnation was a reality of one's soul and was an important lesson in my soul journey. Due to a few poor choices I made during life, I was told I needed to pay my karmic debt back by reincarnating one individual life cycle for every person I let down during my own life. Once I completed all these life cycles, my slate would be wiped clean and I would finally be free to ascend upwards to the next realm. It sounded like a fair deal to me. To my disgust though, my reincarnation journey started off as a rat! I lived my first disgusting, lonely existence for 3-months before my neck was snapped in a rat-trap. My next life as a house mouse lasted about 4 weeks before a giant boot crushed me while I was nibbling bread crumbs on a kitchen floor.. I still remember the intense pain of my little bones breaking. Since then I've been poisoned, drowned, diseased and lived in the most filthy conditions.. I can't remember how many miserable, humiliating ways I've died but they were all dreadful. Just a week ago I starved to death on a glue mat trying to reach a block of cheese, it took a week to die just from starvation! I didn't always respawn as a rat or mouse though, sometimes I was a cockroach or a flea, but those life cycles weren't too pleasant either and always ended painfully. I'm sure I must be getting close to completing all these life cycles by now! Something's been feeling really off lately...I feel like I've done this thousands of times already. I don't remember what it is I did though? The power of memory of my human life was taken from me. It can't have been this bad though? I feel like I'm being unfairly punished. The other weird thing is that at the start of each life I see words appear in my field of vision, and my most recent life-cycle appeared like this: 'Name: Adolf Hitler. Deaths Caused: 85,000,000 Death Debt Remaining: 84,645,200' I can barely read, and I don't know who that guy was or what he or I did when I was him, but I sure hope those words mean I've nearly paid this debt off by now, I've had quite enough indeed. I hate being vermin, it's just so cruel and demeaning. And I really hope that one day for me, there might be a final solution.
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Nobody wants to go near me anymore. r/shortscarystories Nobody wants to go near me anymore. People used to like me, they'd sit next to me on a park bench, they'd smile when they saw me, they were completely comfortable bringing their girlfriends and kids around me. Not anymore. Not since that awful murd*r. Now they cross the street to avoid me, and if they do look at me, it's only with a look of disgust. I wish I could tell them all how sorry I was. Sure, nobody blames me. It's not my fault. They know it wasn't my fault. But now, they can't stand to even glance my way. I'm so lonely. God, what I wouldn't give to have someone sit down for lunch with me. I took the little things like that for granted for so long. I had to watch him dıe. They hung him, and left before he was even deį¼€d. I was the one that saw the lĆ­fe leave his eyes, saw the paın and desperation on his face, and I couldn't do a thing to help him. Those terrified eyes will haunt me for the rest of my lĆ­fe. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and save him, point the police to the hangers, and see those awful men put in jail for the rest of their lives. But I couldn't. I'll never be able to. I can't control where my branches bend, and my leaves can only rustle and whisper in the wind.
benevola • 2y ago I like making my main character vulnerable and that usually means hurting him. He’s a pretty tightly-wound guy and I like to show him with his guard down. Plus the comfort part is usually so satisfying to write.
.taht tuoba ton er'eW .enoemos hsab ot si esoprup niam s'taht seirots gnitirw fo raelc reetS .dewolla ton era esimed ro/dna tnemtaert lamina hsrah gnivlovni seirotS .taht rof ecalp eht ton era eW .etis siht fo tuo eritas lacitilop ticilpxe peeK .tnempiuqe snoitacinummocelet ro erawdrah ro erawtfos retupmoc yna ot ssecca dezirohtuanu elbane ro ,fo ytilanoitcnuf eht timil ,yortsed ,tpurretni ot dengised smargorp ro selif ,edoc retupmoc rehto yna ro sesuriv erawtfos sniatnoc taht lairetam yna elbaliava ekam esiwrehto ro timsnart ,liame ,tsop ,daolpu ton oD .slaudividni tuoba pissog ro/dna sromur detaitnatsbusnu daerps ro ,emafed ,rednals taht seirots etirw ot dewolla ton era uoY .dewolla ton era semirc tneloiv fo smitciv gnitsixe lautca fo nuf ekam taht seirots ,ylralimiS .eb ot uoy rof ecalp eht ton si siht neht ti ni sresu rehto eht htiw tsixeoc tonnac uoy fi dna ,ytinummoc a si sihT .etis siht no erehwyna mrof/epahs/yaw yna ni sresu rehto gnimrah ni tseretni na sserpxe ro ,netaerht ,etadimitni ,ssarah ton oD .tcudnoc lanimirc segaruocne ro enecsbo si taht tnetnoc yna timsnart ro tsop ton oD .sresu rehto etadimitni ro etanosrepmi ,netaerht ,ssarah ,esuba ton oD tcudnoC resU

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4891ecnatsiser resu tidder ot tiderC ?eid elpoep woh ees ot rewop eht rof hsiw reve I did yhW .mitciv tohsnuG .kcab eht ni nepo nwolb si daeh ym :rorrim weiv-raer eht ni noitcelfer railimaf ym ees dna pu kool I yllautnevE .leehw gnireets eht no daeherof ym nael I sa htaerb ym hctac yllanif I rac ym nI .nac I sa tsaf sa rood eht tuo hsur I .mitciv nruB .erifpmac a otni llef taht god toh a fo ycnetsisnoc eht si sdnah dna ecaf sih no niks ehT .tnorf erots eht ta senizagam hguorht gnikool nam a ees I yletaidemmI .tixe eht sdrawot nrut dna sgab ym barg I ,reh gniknahT .lla ta gnihtyna dloh nac ti desirprus m’I delgnam os dnah a ni egnahc ym kcab sevig ehs yap I retfA .roolf eht sdrawot nwod kcab ezag ym pans I .tnedicca rac a ylbaborP .edis tfel eht no ni devac yletelpmoc si daeh s’reihsac ehT .pu ecnalg I dna revo sniw ytisoiruC .tnasaelP .ecin sdnuos eciov reH .roolf eht ot elbmum I ā€,mmh-mMā€œ .yllausac sksa ehs ā€?yako gnihtyreve dnif uoy diDā€œ .diova ot elpoep rewef thgin ta gnippohs og ylno I yhw s’tahT .elpoep rehto htiw tcatnoc eye gnidiova yb yteixna ym hguorht teg ot tseisae ti dnif I .roolf eht ta erats I sa rennacs eht ssorca smeti ym sepiws reihsac ehT thgin ta gnippohs og ylno I | 5102 ,ts13 hcraM ,yadseuT

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

Ź™ŹŸÉŖį“›į“¢į“‡É“į“‹Ź€ÉŖį“‡É¢2194 • 1 ŹŹ€. į“€É¢į“ TŹœį“‡ į“į“É“sᓛᓇʀ į“œÉ“į“…į“‡Ź€ į“›Źœį“‡ ʙᓇᓅ į“˜į“į“‹į“‡į“… ÉŖs Źœį“‡į“€į“… į“į“œį“› į“€s į“›Źœį“‡ į“„ŹœÉŖŹŸį“…'s Ņ“į“€į“›Źœį“‡Ź€ ᓇɓᓛᓇʀᓇᓅ į“›Źœį“‡ Ź€į“į“į“. "Dį“É“'į“› į“”į“Ź€Ź€Ź," į“›Źœį“‡ į“į“É“sᓛᓇʀ ᓔʜɪsį“˜į“‡Ź€į“‡į“…, "Źœį“‡ į“”į“É“'į“› Źœį“œŹ€į“› Źį“į“œ ᓀɢᓀɪɓ."
@KarmaticIrony • 3y ago • Going to sleep is like putting a computer on standby mode. The lights aren't on but everything is working and ready to turn back on. In fact some processes are probably running in the background. Getting koncked out is like pulling the computer's power cable out of the wall. Things are not working correctly and there is a risk of serious lasting damage or maybe even total system failure. Even in the best case scenario, booting back up will take longer than from standby.
https://www.reddit.com/r/FullEpisodesOfSB/comments/1651tuc/spongebob_full_episode_index/
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I watched from the window July 12, 2017 @hellofinah I watched from the window as she tucked the little girl into bed. I watched as she kissed her forehead and checked for monsters in her closet and under the bed. I watched as she switched off the lights and left the room. I watched as the little girl rolled over in bed and smiled at me, her eyes glowing in the darkness and her teeth becoming jagged, crooked points, and I wish more than anything else in the world that my mom would realize that I’m not the little girl in my bed.
į“ŗįµ˜Ź³Ė¢įµ‰ į“¾įµƒįµ— ā½Ė¢įµ–įµ’į¶°įµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ ᶠᵃᶰᶠᶤᶜ⁾ [į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµ ᵃᶰᵈ Ė¢įµ–įµ’į¶°įµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµ–Ė”įµƒŹøį¶¤į¶°įµ ᶠʳᶤˢᵇᵉᵉ] Ė¢įµ–įµ’į¶°įµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡: į¶œįµƒįµ—į¶œŹ°įµŽ [ᓓᵉ ᵗᵒˢˢᵉˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳᶤˢᵇᵉᵉ] į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµ: [įµŹ³įµƒįµ‡Ė¢ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳᶤˢᵇᵉᵉ] [į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶° Ź·įµƒĖ”įµĖ¢ įµ’įµ˜įµ— įµ’į¶  ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ įµ‡įµ˜į¶œįµįµ‰įµ— ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʳᵘᶰ] į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµ: į“øįµ’į¶°įµįµŽ [ʰᵉ ᵗʰʳᵒʷˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳᶤˢᵇᵉᵉ ʰᵃʳᵈ ʷᶤᵗʰ Ė¢įµ–įµ’į¶°įµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµį¶¤Ė¢Ė¢į¶¤į¶°įµ ᶤᵗ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳᶤˢᵇᵉᵉ ʰᶤᵗ į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶° į¶¤į¶°Ė¢įµ—įµ‰įµƒįµˆ] į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶°: [į“®įµƒŹ³įµ‰Ė”Źø į¶°įµ’įµ—į¶¤į¶œįµ‰Ė¢ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ʷʰᵉᶰ Ė¢įµ˜įµˆįµˆįµ‰į¶°Ė”Źø ʰᶤᵗ į¶° ᵗʰᵉ Ź°įµ‰įµƒįµˆ; ʰᶤˢ ᵉʸᵉ ʷᵉᶰᵗ įµįµ’į¶¤į¶°įµ įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµ ᶤᶰ Ź³įµ’Ė”Ė”į¶¤į¶°įµ ᶤᶰ ʰᶤˢ Ź°įµ‰įµƒįµˆ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ į¶œĖ”įµ’Ė¢į¶¤į¶°įµ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᶠᵃ˔˔ˢ įµ—įµ’ ᵗʰᵉ įµŹ³įµ’įµ˜į¶°įµˆĖ’ įµ‰įµ›įµ‰Ź³Źøįµ—Ź°į¶¤į¶°įµ į¶ įµƒįµˆįµ‰Ė¢ įµ—įµ’ įµ‡Ė”įµƒį¶œįµ] [Ė¢įµ–įµ’į¶°įµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ ᵃᶰᵈ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµ įµƒŹ³įµ‰ ˢᵉᵉᶰ ᵗʰᵉᶰ Ė”įµ’įµ’įµį¶¤į¶°įµ] į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµ: ᓓᵉʸ ᶜᵃᶰ Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµį¶¤įµ›įµ‰ ᵘˢ įµ’įµ˜Ź³ ᶠʳᶤˢᵇᵉᵉ įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµĖ€ Ė¢įµ–įµ’į¶°įµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡: į“¾įµƒįµ— ᓵ įµ—Ź°į¶¤į¶°įµ ʰᵉ'Ė¢ įµ˜į¶°į¶œįµ’į¶°Ė¢į¶œį¶¤įµ’įµ˜Ė¢Ė‘Ė‘Ė‘ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµ: į““įµ˜Ź°Ė€ Ė¢įµ–įµ’į¶°įµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡: [įµįµ’įµ‰Ė¢ įµ—įµ’ į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶° į¶ įµ‰įµ‰Ė”į¶¤į¶°įµ ʰᶤˢ į¶ įµ’Ź³įµ‰Ź°įµ‰įµƒįµˆ] ˢᵉᵉ įµ–įµƒĖ¢Ė¢ įµ’įµ˜įµ—įµŽ [Ė”įµ‰įµƒį¶°Ė¢ į¶œĖ”įµ’Ė¢įµ‰Ź³ įµ—įµ’ į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶°] į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµ: ˢᵒ˒ įµˆįµ’ ʷᵉ įµˆįµ’ į¶œįµ–Ź³Ė€ [Ź·įµƒĖ”įµĖ¢ įµ—įµ’ ᵗʰᵉᵐ] Ė¢įµ–įµ’į¶°įµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡: [įµ—įµ˜Ź³į¶°Ė¢ įµ—įµ’ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµ] ᓵ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— į¶œŹ°įµ‰į¶œįµįµ‰įµˆ ᵃᶰᵈ ʰᵉ'Ė¢ įµ‡Ź³įµ‰įµƒįµ—Ź°į¶¤į¶°įµĖ’ ˢᵒ į¶°įµ’ ᑦᓾᓿ į¶°įµ‰į¶œįµ‰Ė¢Ė¢įµƒŹ³ŹøĖ‘ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµ: [Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹ³įµ—Ė¢ įµ—įµ’ įµŹ³įµƒįµ‡ į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶°'Ė¢ įµ—įµ’ Ė¢Ź°įµƒįµįµ‰ ʰᶤᵐ˒ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— Ė¢įµ–įµ’į¶°įµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ įµ‡Ė”įµ’į¶œįµĖ¢ Ė¢įµ—įµ’įµ–įµ–į¶¤į¶°įµ] Ė¢įµ–įµ’į¶°įµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡: [ʳᵉᵗʳᶤᵉᵛᵉˢ ʰᶤˢ ᵃʳᵐ'Ė¢] į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµ ʷᵉ įµįµ˜Ė¢įµ—į¶°'įµ— ᵐᵒᵛᵉ ʰᶤᵐ įµ˜į¶°Ė”įµ‰Ė¢Ė¢ ʷᵉ įµƒįµ‡Ė¢įµ’Ė”įµ˜įµ—įµ‰Ė”Źø į¶°įµ‰įµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’įµŽ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµ: ᓵˢ ʰᵉˑˑˑ Ė¢įµ–įµ’į¶°įµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡: į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶° ʷᶤ˔˔ įµįµ‰įµ— įµ˜įµ– įµ‰įµ›įµ‰į¶°įµ—įµ˜įµƒĖ”Ė”ŹøĖ’ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ʷᵉ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— įµįµ’įµ—įµ—įµƒ įµįµƒįµįµ‰ Ė¢įµ˜Ź³įµ‰ į¶°įµ’įµ— įµ—įµ’ įµˆįµ’ ᵐᵒʳᵉ įµˆįµƒįµįµƒįµįµ‰Ė‘ [į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶° ᵗʰᵉᶰ ᶰᵉˣᵗ ˢᵉᵉᶰ ˢ˔ᵒʷ˔ʸ įµ’įµ–įµ‰į¶°į¶¤į¶°įµ ʰᶤˢ ᵉʸᵉ] į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµ: Ė¢įµ–įµ’į¶°įµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡ Ė”įµ’įµ’įµ ʰᵉ'Ė¢ įµƒĖ”į¶¤įµ›įµ‰įµŽ [Ė¢įµ įµ˜įµ‰įµ‰į¶»įµ‰Ė¢ į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶° ᶤᶰ ᵃ įµ—į¶¤įµŹ°įµ— Ź°įµ˜įµ] Ė¢įµ–įµ’į¶°įµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡: į“±įµƒĖ¢ŹøĖ’ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµįµŽ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµ: [ᓰʳᵒᵖˢ ʰᶤᵐ] į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶°: įµžįµ’Ź·įµŽ įµ‚Ź°įµƒĖ‘Ė‘Ė‘ Ė¢įµ–įµ’į¶°įµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡: įµžįµ’įµ˜ įµįµ’įµ—įµ—įµƒ ᵇᵉ į¶œįµƒŹ³įµ‰į¶ įµ˜Ė” [ˢᶤᵗˢ į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶° įµ˜įµ–] į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶° įµį¶¤įµŹ°įµ— į¶°įµ’įµ— ᵇᵉ įµƒįµ‡Ė”įµ‰ įµ—įµ’ įµ˜į¶°įµˆįµ‰Ź³Ė¢įµ—įµƒį¶°įµˆ Źøįµ‰įµ—įµŽ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµ: ᓼʰ˒ ˢᵒʳʳʸˑ [į“øįµ‰įµƒį¶°Ė¢ į¶œĖ”įµ’Ė¢įµ‰ įµ—įµ’ į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶°] ᓓᶤ˒ ᓵ'ᵐ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµĖ‘ [Ė¢įµ–įµ‰įµƒįµį¶¤į¶°įµ ˢ˔ᵒʷ˔ʸ įµ–įµ’į¶¤į¶°įµ—į¶¤į¶°įµ įµ—įµ’ ʰᶤᵐˢᵉ˔ᶠ] į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµ Ė¢įµ—įµƒŹ³įµŽ ᓬᶰᵈ Źøįµ’įµ˜Ź³ į¶°įµƒįµįµ‰ ᶤˢ į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶°įµŽ į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶°Ė‘ ˢᵃʸ ᶤᵗ˒ ʷᶤᵗʰ ᵐᵉˑˑˑ Ė¢įµ–įµ’į¶°įµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡: [į“µį¶°įµ—įµ‰Ź³Ź³įµ˜įµ–įµ—į¶¤į¶°įµ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµĖ’ ᵃˢ į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶° Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— įµĖ”įµƒŹ³įµ‰Ė¢ įµ‡įµ‰į¶¤į¶°įµ įµƒį¶°į¶°įµ’Źøįµ‰įµˆ] ᓵ įµˆįµ’į¶°'įµ— įµ—Ź°į¶¤į¶°įµ ᶤᵗ'ˢˑˑˑ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµ: ᓵ'˔˔ įµįµ’ ˢ˔ᵒʷᵉʳˑ ᓹᵉ˒ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµĖ‘Ė‘Ė‘ įµžįµ’įµ˜Ė’ į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶°Ė‘Ė‘Ė‘ Ė¢įµ–įµ’į¶°įµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡: ᓺᵒ ᓵ įµįµ‰įµƒį¶°Ė‘Ė‘Ė‘ [į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶° ᵗʳᶤᵉˢ įµ—įµ’ Ė¢įµ—įµƒį¶°įµˆĖ’ įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ᵗᵒᵖᵖ˔ᵉˢ įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµ] į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµ: ᓓᵉ'Ė¢ įµ’įµ˜įµ— įµƒįµįµƒį¶¤į¶°; ᓵ'˔˔ įµˆįµ’ į¶œįµ–Ź³ ᵇʸ įµįµ’įµ˜įµ—Ź°Ė‘Ė‘Ė‘ [į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶° įµ–įµ˜į¶°į¶œŹ°įµ‰Ė¢ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµ ᵃʷᵃʸ] ᓓᵉ'Ė¢ ᶠᶤᶰᵉˑˑˑ [ᶠᵃ˔˔ˢ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ įµ–įµ˜Ė¢Ź° įµ‡įµ˜įµ— ᵗʰᵉᶰ įµįµ‰įµ—Ė¢ įµ˜įµ–] Ė¢įµ–įµ’į¶°įµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡: ᓵ'˔˔ įµ—įµƒįµįµ‰ ᶤᵗ ᶠʳᵒᵐ į¶°įµ’Ź· į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµĖ‘ [į¶ įµƒį¶œįµ‰Ė¢ į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶°] įµžįµ’įµ˜ ˢᵉᵉ˒ ʷᵉ įµ–Ė”įµƒŹøįµ‰įµˆ ᶠʳᶤˢᵇᵉᵉ [įµ–į¶¤į¶œįµĖ¢ įµ˜įµ– ˢᵃᶤᵈ ᶠʳᶤˢᵇᵉᵉ] ᵃᶰᵈ Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµƒį¶œį¶œį¶¤įµˆįµ‰į¶°įµ—įµƒĖ”Ė”Źø įµįµ’įµ—Ė‘Ė‘Ė‘ į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶°: į““įµ’Ź· Ė”įµ’į¶°įµ įµƒįµįµ’Ė€ Ė¢įµ–įµ’į¶°įµįµ‰įµ‡įµ’įµ‡: ᵂᵉ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉᶰ ᵇʸ Źøįµ’įµ˜Ź³ Ė¢į¶¤įµˆįµ‰ Ź³į¶¤įµŹ°įµ— ʷʰᵉᶰ ᶤᵗ Ź°įµƒįµ–įµ–įµ‰į¶°įµ‰įµˆĖ’ Ź²įµ˜Ė¢įµ— ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵐᵒᵐᵉᶰᵗˢ įµƒįµįµ’įµŽ į“¾įµƒįµ—Ź³į¶¤į¶œįµ: ˢᵒʳʳʸˑˑ į“¾Ė”įµƒį¶°įµįµ—įµ’į¶°: ᓵ į¶°įµ‰įµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ Ź·įµƒįµ—į¶œŹ° ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᓵ'ᵐ įµįµ’į¶¤į¶°įµ ᵐᵒʳᵉˑˑ [ᵀʰᵉʸ Ė¢įµ‰įµ–įµƒŹ³įµƒįµ—įµ‰ įµįµ’į¶¤į¶°įµ ᵗʰᵉᶤʳ įµ’Ź·į¶° ʷᵃʸˢ]
.ecnis reve niks sih gniraew neeb sah dna daetsni em htiw emoh emac taht eno eht saw erutaerc eht taht dna ..sretaw eht otni ti dewollof rehtorb ym woh rO .eert eht ni gnidih erutaerc eht tuoba reh llet t’now ew taht desimorp eW .elgnuj eht ni kees dna edih gniyalp dna tuo gnikaens tuoba mom llet t’ndluow ew taht desimorp eW .terces a evah I dna rehtorb yM hanifolleh@ 7102 ,4 yluJ terceS s’rehtorB yM

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

The Little Girl That Cheated At Everything Te_Odio Winners never cheat, And cheaters never win, I guess whoever said that, Never knew Victoria Flynn. 23RD JUN 2017 I guess whoever said that, Never knew Victoria Flynn. She got the best grades, And always beat everyone at games, She was a popular child, And all the children knew her name. Adopted by wealthy parents, Who were never around. Even though it might be lonelч, That didn’t get her down. Although she was very clever, That’s not how she always won, You see Victoria was a cheater, And to her it was most fun. But she wasn’t loved by all, Popularity breeds hatred, Human beings despise anyone, Who’s ego is inflated. A group of little girls, All angry and full of enׁvy, Came up with a plan, That would throw everyone in a frenzy. They invited her to a sleepover, Where they would play a silly game, Of ā€œChubby Bunnyā€ and they’d, take a photo that would tarnish her name. It wasn’t supposed to end like that, It was supposed to be a joke. How could they possibly have known, That she’d choke? The girls went into panic, They quietly cried. They decided to hide her bĆødy in the trash, ā€œHer mama came to get herā€ they lied. To all of their surprise, Victoria was back to school on Monday, As if nothing had happened two nights ago. The girls were silent, what could they say? Now to step a moment away from girls, And instead talk about a little boy, He was quiet and not very popular, His name was Seth Roy. Seth wondered why the girls were silent, And why Victoria scared them so. It was none of his busıness, But he just had to know. He kept an eye on Victoria, But she acted all the same, She was good in class, ate her lunch, And still won all the games. The girls however were different, In class they didn’t speak, At lunch they didn’t eat, That was the start of the strange week. The next day one of the girls was absent, The red head named Lenore. Her friends were in shock, She’d never been absent before. On Wednesday Bianca was gone, And Lenore still hasn’t returned. The last two remaining girls were quıet. It was obvious why they were concerned. Thursday Haruka wasn’t there, On that day Lenore was reported missing, Most likely so was Bianca, The last girl’s safety was not promısıng. Friday took Nia, And so all girls were gone. The class seemed much more quıet, Except Victoria, who smıles like she won. But Seth continued wondering, What had gone on between the girls. He wanted to find answers, He’d have to give it a whirl. He folloÉÆed Victoria after school, It seemed that she was just going home. Seth started to question his thoughts, Maybe he should just leave her alonČ©? Her house seemed pretty normal, She walked up to her door, Turned around and said, ā€œHow long will you be folloɯıng me for?ā€ Seth knew had been caught, So he came out of hiding. She told him to leave, And gave him a note with some writing. ā€œCome by tomorrow at 3ā€ it said. With that she smıles and went inside, Why did she have that on her? How’d she know he’d fĆøllĆøw and hide? He decided he’d do as he was told, After all he’d been caught. He wondered if he should come prepared, He decided, ā€œWhy not?ā€ He was outside Victoria’s house, And before he could knock the door opened, Victoria stood there looking very tıred, Like she had just awoken. She invited him inside, Her house seemed very old, The place smelled quite terrible, And the air was very cĆøld. They descended towards her basement, Where he saw the source of the smell. 6 rotting corpses, 2 big and 4 small, Seth felt like he’d seen Helll. Behind him he heard Victoria speak, ā€œI have always wonā€. He turned around quickly, But Victoria was gone. He turned once more, The corpses disappeared! He walked back up the stairs, Where he notıced something weırd. There were many pictures of Victoria, With different people, clothes, and hair. Her expressıon stayed the same, She smirked with a glArE. That’s when it hit him, The horrible realization had came to Seth, That Victoria Flynn, Cheated Death.
My Wife Left Rules Behind My wife knew she was going to dıe. She didn’t tell me how, or when—just that it was coming. Quietly. Softly. Soon. She left a list on the fridge before the cĆ”ncer took her. It wasn’t a will, or final instructions. It was a checklist. • Don’t open the guest room door after midnight • Never leave the blinds open when the lights are off • If the doorbell rings twice, lock yourself in the bathroom • Ignore any phone calls that come from my number • NeĢØver speak to me again At first, I thought it was grief. She was on morphine, barely lucid. Maybe just writing nonsense. Then, a week after the funerαl, the doorbell rang. Twice. At 2:04 a.m. I froze. Every hair on my bĆødy stood up like something was already in the room. I didn’t go to the door. I locked myself in the bathroom, just like she wrote. An hour later, I found the front door wide open. And muddy footprints across the carpet. The next night, her number called me. I watched the screen light up. Watched it ring four times. Watched it go to voicemail. When I checked the message, all I heard was breathıng. She’s been gone for six weeks now, and every night the checklist grows longer. Tonight, I found a new line added in fresh ink. • Stop telling people this story
Senin, 27 Maret 2017 REDDIT SCARY STORY #1 : I ONLY GO SHOPPING AT NIGHT By Reddit User : resistance1984 Aku menatap ke lantai, sebari seorang kasir mengecek barang belanjaanku dengan scanner di tangannya. Aku merasa lebih mudah mengatasi kecemasan yang kualami dengan cara menghindari kontak mata dengan orang lain. Itu sebabnya aku hanya pergi berbelanja di malam hari karena lebih sedikit orang untuk dihindari. ā€œApakah semuanya baik-baik saja ?ā€ Kasir itu bertanya dengan santai. ā€œMm..hmmā€ Gumanku sambil menatap ke lantai. Suaranya terdengar bagus. Terdengar nyaman. Keingintahuanku akhirnya mengalahkanku, dan aku pun melirik ke arahnya. Kepala kasir itu yang utuh hanya tinggal sisi kiri, darah mengalir melalui mata dan telinganya di sebelah kanan. Mungkin kecelakaan mobil. Aku segera menurunkan pandanganku ke lantai dan merasakan muntah yang telah mencapai tenggorokanku. Setelah aku membayar, ia memberikan kembalianku dengan tangan yang remuk. Aku terkejut tangan itu bisa menahan sesuatu di atasnya. Setelah berterima kasih kepadanya, aku mengambil tasku dan berjalan ke arah pintu keluar. Segera setelahnya aku melihat seorang pria yang sedang melihat-lihat majalah yang dipajang di depan. Kulit wajah dan tangannya seperti hot dog yang jatuh kea rah api unggun. Sepertinya korban luka bakar. Aku mengubah arah jalanku ke arah lain dan melihat seorang wanita dengan memar ungu di sekitar lehernya, matanya melotot keluar dan berwarna merah. Mati digantung. Aku pun bergegas keluar dari minimarket secepat yang kubisa. Di dalam mobil aku akhirnya bisa bernafas lega sebari menyandarkan dahiku pada stir mobil. Pada akhirnya, aku melihat keatas dan melihat pantulan yang sudah tidak asing di kaca spion. Kepalaku terbuka di bagian belakang. Korban penembakan. Ah, mengapa aku pernah berharap memiliki kekuatan untuk melihat bagaimana orang akan meninggal ? Sc : Delomy, OGCPI at 24 March 2017 By Grim Reaper di Maret 27, 2017 https://indonesiancreepzone.blogspot.com/2017/03/i-only-go-shopping-at-night.html
ᓳᵉᵗ ᵁᵖ ā½į”†įµ–įµ’āæįµįµ‰į“®įµ’įµ‡ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ'Ė¢ į¶œįµ’įµįµ–įµ˜įµ—įµ‰Ź³ ʷⁱᶠᵉ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ įµįµ’įµ— įµ˜įµ– ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᵉʳ Ė¢įµ‰įµƒįµ— āæįµ’įµ—ā±į¶œā±āæįµ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ'Ė¢ ⁿᵒʷ į¶ įµƒĖ”Ė”įµ‰āæ įµƒĖ¢Ė”įµ‰įµ‰įµ– ⁱⁿ į¶œŹ°įµƒā±Ź³ā€§ ᔆʰᵉ įµįµ‰āæįµ—Ė”Źø Ė¢Ź°įµ’įµ’įµ ʰⁱˢ Ė¢Ź°įµ’įµ˜Ė”įµˆįµ‰Ź³ Ė¢ā±įµŹ°įµ—Ė”Źøā€§ į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ įµāæįµ‰Ź· ʰᵉ’ˢ įµ’įµ˜įµ— Ė”ā±įµįµ‰ ᵃ Ė”ā±įµŹ°įµ—ā€§ į“øįµ’įµ’įµā±āæįµ įµƒįµ— ʰᵉʳ Ź°įµ˜Ė¢įµ‡įµƒāæįµˆ ʰᵉ’ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ Ė¢įµ—ā±Ź³Ź³ā±āæįµ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ Ė¢Ė”ā±įµŹ°įµ—įµ‰Ė¢įµ—, ʰⁱˢ įµįµ’įµ˜įµ—Ź° ᶠᵉ˔˔ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ‧ "Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµįµ’įµ—įµ—įµƒ įµįµ‰įµ— įµ—įµ’ įµ‡įµ‰įµˆāø“ ˢᵒ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᶜᵃⁿ į¶œįµ’āæįµ—ā±āæįµ˜įµ‰ įµ—įµ’ ˢ˔ᵉᵉᵖ‧ ᓵ'˔˔ ˔ᵉᵗ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ʳᵉˢᵗ įµƒį¶ įµ—įµ‰Ź³ā€§ ᶜᵃⁿ Źøįµ’įµ˜ Ź·įµƒįµįµ‰ įµ‰āæįµ’įµ˜įµŹ° įµ—įµ’ įµįµ‰įµ— ᵒʳ įµįµ˜Ė¢įµ— ᓵ ᶜᵃʳʳʸ Źøįµ’įµ˜?" į“ŗįµ’įµ—Ź°ā±āæįµā€§ "ᵂᵉ˔˔ ᓵ'ᵐ į¶œįµƒŹ³Ź³Źøā±āæįµ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᵗʰᵉⁿ‧ ᓵ'ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ įµįµ’āæāæįµƒ įµˆā±Ė¢įµ—įµ˜Ź³įµ‡ Źøįµ’įµ˜ ⁱᶠ ⁱᵗ'Ė¢ Ź°įµƒŹ³įµˆįµ‰Ź³ įµ—įµ’ Ź³įµ’įµ˜Ė¢įµ‰ Źøįµ’įµ˜ Ė¢ā±āæį¶œįµ‰ ᓵ ᶜᵃⁿ įµ‰įµƒĖ¢ā±Ė”Źø įµ–įµ˜įµ— Źøįµ’įµ˜ ᵐʸˢᵉ˔ᶠ‧‧" į“·įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæ ⁿᵒʷ įµ–įµ˜įµ—Ė¢ į“¾Ė”įµƒāæįµįµ—įµ’āæ ⁱⁿ įµ‡įµ‰įµˆāø“ Ź·ā±įµ–ā±āæįµ ʰⁱˢ įµˆŹ³įµ’įµ’Ė” įµ’į¶ į¶  ʰⁱᵐ‧ ā€œį““įµƒįµ›įµ‰ ᵃ āæā±į¶œįµ‰ Ė¢Ė”įµ‰įµ‰įµ–ā€§ā€§ā€š‘šžššš š­š¢š¦šž: šŸ š¦š¢š§.
Minggu, 02 April 2017 REDDIT SCARY STORY : THEY'RE JUST SO DARN CUTE By Reddit User : sp00kyscary Translated By Me Aku senang menjadi guru di kelas 2. Anak-anak di kelasku begitu lucu dan polos. Mereka berada di usia yang sempurna. Aku seharusnya mengajar di kelas 6, tetapi saya menyadari bahwa itu adalah sebuah kesalahan. Kelas 6 adalah dimana mereka membentuk geng untuk mengintimidasi temannya, dan anak-anak benar-benar belajar cara menakuti satu sama lain. Pada usia itu, mereka telah dirusak oleh video mengerikan di internet yang menjelaskan tentang seks kepada mereka. Anak-anak di kelas 2 jauh lebih baik. Orang tua mereka masih berupaya melindungi mereka dari kerasnya dunia. Mereka meihatku dengan mata yang lebar, bersemangat untuk belajar, dan menerima semua yang aku bagikan kepada mereka. Hari favoritku ketika Hari Valentine. Anak-anak membuat kantong kertas kecil yan diisolasi dan ditaruh diatas meja mereka untuk diisi dengan kartu dan permen. Tahun ini, aku membuat biskuit lezat di rumah dan aku akan datang lebih awal untuk memberikan satu untuk masing-masing siswa. Aku bersemangat untuk melihat reaksi mereka. Aku tersenyum sepanjang pagi. Saya tersenyum ketika anak-anak itu tiba, berpakaian merah dan merah muda. Aku tersenyum karena mereka memegang kantong kertas mereka untuk melihat apa isinya. Aku tersenyum karena mereka memberiku hadiah yang menggemaskan ā€œTerima kasih, Ms. Collins!ā€ setelah mereka melihat biskuit yang saya buat untuk mereka. Aku tersenyum ketika mereka mengigit biskuit itu. Dan aku tersenyum ketika satu persatu dari mereka terjatuh ke tanah, tersedak, muntah dan wajah mereka membiru. Setelah semua, mereka berada di usia yang lucu. Itu akan menjadi sama ketika mereka tumbuh. By Grim Reaper di April 02, 2017 https://indonesiancreepzone.blogspot.com/2017/04/theyre-just-so-darn-cute.html
Go to shortscarystories r/shortscarystories 3 days ago CBenson1273 My Daughter Keeps Dying Over And Over Again One day I was out watching my daughter ride her bike. I took my eyes off her for just a second and heard a loud horn - when I looked up, a car was speeding away and her broken body was laying in the street. I must have called the police and my wife, but all I remember is sitting there, holding Maddie’s lifeless body. I vaguely recall a kind woman stopping, taking her hand, and saying ā€œthis is not the endā€ before walking away. Then Maddie’s hand moved. Her eyes opened and looked at me. ā€œDaddy? What happened?ā€ The paramedics’ insisted that her injuries must not have been that severe; I’d just panicked and assumed the worst. But I’d seen her, held her. She was dead. Maddie’s mother tried to use the accident to revisit custody, but her claim went nowhere. Life went on. The next week, I was caught in a traffic jam. Turns out a car had fatallĘ“ hit a phone pole. The same car that hĆÆt Maddie. A few months later, Maddie’s school called. She’d fallen off the jungle gym and landed head-first. When I arrived, the principal was waiting. She apologized, insisting it was an accident. Maddie died at the hospital; the doctors said there was nothing they could have done. Her mother said I’d be hearing from her lawyer. Later, as I sat with her, she twitched. Then she started breathing and reached for me. The doctors were stunned. I wasn’t. The following week, the news reported a student from Maddie’s school had fallen from the fourth floor of his apartment building. The same student who’d pushed Maddie from the jungle gym, despite what the principal had insisted. That evening, Maddie asked me if ā€œthe angelā€ had done it. She spoke of a figure that had approached her after her accident. It had said ā€œnot yetā€ and touched her head and she’d awoken. Touched. The woman who’d taken her hand at her accident. That had to be it. I tracked her to the outskirts of town and demanded to know what she’d done. She revealed that, sensing my grief, she’d placed a spell that would bring my daughter back. But the cost was the life of whoever kılled her. A life for a life. Horrified, I left. What did this mean? Would Maddie return every time she died? Slowly, things returned to normal. There were no more ā€œincidentsā€; I didn’t see the old woman again. One night, the phone rang; it was my ex-wife. Surprising since we didn’t speak except regarding Maddie. ā€œJack! It’s Maddie! She’s not breathıng!ā€ ā€œWHAT I’m on my way!ā€ Everything was so hectic that she didn’t notice how quickly I arrived at the hospital. Or that I wasn’t more distraught. Or that Maddie was already dead. If only she’d known about Maddie’s recently-revealed peanut allergy before she’d served those cookies. I wasn’t worried - I knew Maddie would be fine.. Yet Carol wouldn’t be so lucky.
r/shortscarystories 4 yr. ago RVKony Join The Blind Child "StĆ£bbing." Sylvia pointed a trembling finger at my brother Arthur. Her milky, unseeing eyes gleamed in his direction, and his wife, Agnes, trembled with indignation from across the table. My husband's face colored as he dropped his fork and dragged our daughter back into her bedroom, scolding her as they went. The rest of the night was awkward, and the pep in our conversation never recovered. Two weeks later, Agnes was st*bbed to dEath in her office parking lot. An college student found her, and called the cops. My brother swore that he bore no ill will against my daughter, but I could tell that he was lying. One day, the middle-aged woman who taught my daughter how to read her braille called me. "Ma'am, I don't know what's going on but your daughter's been whispering, 'electrocution, electrocution,' for the past half-hour and it's starting to distract her from her lessons. Could you please talk to her?" I did. Sylvia, in her nine-year-old lack of understanding, told me it was "just a cool new word" she learnt at school. The dEath of an electrician made headlines the following week. It was a freak accident involving tangled wires and a bucket of water. Sylvia's teacher's face was blurred for privacy, but her voice was as familiar as anything to me: "He was…my partner…my soulmate." While my husband was working late, I called Sylvia into the living room. "Honey, is there anything Mommy should know?" She hesitated. "Honey, you know you can talk to me." She denied it once more, "I have no secrets from you, Mommy." My husband walked into the living room with his hair tousled and his eyes distant. Instead of rushing to hug her dad, Sylvia simply turned towards him. "Fire," she said. My heart stopped. Everytime Sylvia said something like that, it was the person's partner who d1ed, and of that reason too. A fire? Was Sylvia merely making predictions, or was she cĆ»rsĆŖd on me for snooping in on her business? Why, this dēvıl child— I grew paranoid, checked the appliances and electronics constantly, and cleared the house of any fire hazards. That was my lÄÆfe over the next few days. All the while, I kept my eyes on Sylvia. Sylvia. I had grown almost hateful towards my own daughter. My husband came home one night, wounded and blackened with soot, while I sat in the living room and Sylvia listened to the radio beside me. "What's the matter?" I asked. He gulped. "One of my colleagues, her house…her house caught fire. She was trapped in, but I managed to escape." That turned the gears in my head. "What were you doing in her house?" The expression on my husband's face was a sufficient admission of guilt. I opened my mouth to speak—no, to scream—but a smaller voice from beside me looked at me and whispered: "Poisoning."
į“Ź į“į“œį“ (šŸ¾šŸøŅ“) į“›į“ŹŸį“… į“į“‡ (šŸ·šŸøį“) į“›į“ į“…į“ į“›Źœį“‡ į“…ÉŖsŹœį“‡s (šŸ·šŸ¼) Ź™į“œį“› ÉŖ (šŸ·šŸøį“) ᓔᓀs į“›į“į“ Ź™į“œsŹ į“˜ŹŸį“€ŹÉŖÉ“É¢ Ņ“į“Ź€į“›É“ÉŖį“›į“‡ (šŸ¹ į“‹ÉŖŹŸŹŸs) sį“ ÉŖ (šŸ·šŸøį“) ɢʀᓀʙʙᓇᓅ į“Ź į“„į“É“į“›Ź€į“ŹŸŹŸį“‡Ź€ (į“…į“œį“€ŹŸsŹœį“į“„į“‹ šŸŗ) ᓀɓᓅ į“›ŹœŹ€į“‡į“” ÉŖį“› ᓀᓛ Źœį“‡Ź€ (šŸ·šŸ¹šŸ¾į“‹į“˜Źœ). sŹœį“‡ Źœį“‡į“„į“‹ÉŖÉ“É¢ ᓅɪᓇᓅ, ᓀɓᓅ ÉŖ (šŸ·šŸøį“) ᓔᓇɓᓛ į“›į“ į“˜Ź€ÉŖsį“É“ (šŸ·šŸ¾ Źį“‡į“€Ź€s). į“”ŹœÉŖŹŸį“‡ ÉŖÉ“ į“˜Ź€ÉŖsį“É“ ÉŖ (šŸ·šŸøį“) ɪɓᓄɪᓛᓇᓅ sį“‡į“ į“‡Ź€į“€ŹŸ Ź€ÉŖį“į“›s (šŸ¹) ᓀɓᓅ į“€ssį“œį“į“‡į“… ŹŸį“‡į“€į“…į“‡Ź€sʜɪᓘ į“Ņ“ į“€ ɢᓀɓɢ ʀᓇsį“˜į“É“sÉŖŹ™ŹŸį“‡ Ņ“į“Ź€ sį“į“œÉ¢É¢ŹŸÉŖÉ“É¢ į“…Ź€į“œÉ¢s (į“„į“į“„į“€ÉŖÉ“į“‡) ÉŖÉ“į“›į“ į“›Źœį“‡ į“„į“į“œÉ“į“›Ź€Ź. ÉŖ (šŸ·šŸøį“) į“€ŹŸsį“ į“Ź€į“…į“‡Ź€į“‡į“… į“›Źœį“‡ į“€ssį“€ssÉŖÉ“į“€į“›ÉŖį“É“ į“Ņ“ sį“‡į“ į“‡Ź€į“€ŹŸ į“„į“‡ŹŸį“‡Ź™Ź€ÉŖį“›ÉŖį“‡s (į“ÉŖį“„Źœį“€į“‡ŹŸ į“Šį“€į“„į“‹sį“É“, į“‡ŹŸį“ ÉŖs į“˜Ź€į“‡sŹŸį“‡Ź ᓀɓᓅ į“Šį“‡Ņ“Ņ“Ź€į“‡Ź į“‡į“˜sᓛᓇɪɓ) ᓀɓᓅ į“˜ŹŸį“€É“É“į“‡į“… į“€ į“›į“‡Ź€Ź€į“Ź€ÉŖsį“› ᓀᓛᓛᓀᓄᓋ (šŸæ/šŸ·šŸ·). ʀᓇᓅᓅɪᓛ, ᓀɪᓛᓀ?
There's No Reason to Be Afraid By Reddit user by whoeverfightsmonster ~ When my sister Betsy and I were kids, our family lived for awhile in a charming old farmhouse. We loved exploring its dusty corners and climbing the apple tree in the backyard. But our favorite thing was the ghost. We called her Mother, because she seemed so kind and nurturing. Some mornings Betsy and I would wake up, and on each of our nightstands, we'd find a cup that hadn't been there the night before. Mother had left them there, worried that we'd get thirsty during the night. She just wanted to take care of us. Among the house's original furnishings was an antique wooden chair, which we kept against the back wall of the living room. Whenever we were preoccupied, watching TV or playing a game, Mother would inch that chair forward, across the room, toward us. Sometimes she'd manage to move it all the way to the center of the room. We always felt sad putting it back against the wall. Mother just wanted to be near us. Years later, long after we'd moved out, I found an old newspaper article about the farmhouse's original occupant, a widow. She'd murdered her two children by giving them each a cup of poisoned milk before bed. Then she'd hanged herself. The article included a photo of the farmhouse's living room, with a woman's body hanging from a beam. Beneath her, knocked over, was that old wooden chair, placed exactly in the center of the room.
Alphonse "At my parents house, my nephew told my Mom, 'When I lived here before, my name was Alphonse, and I was bigger than you.' My stepdad just kind of blinked and said, 'Hmm, that was my grandfather's name, but we don't talk about him.'"
r/shortscarystories 24 days ago GuyAwks Forget Me Anniversary Not What kind of husband goes and forgets an anniversary? And not just any anniversary. Our 10 year anniversary. I didn’t want to have to remind Stephen about it. I wanted him to remember it on his own, to show me he cared about our partnership. But lo and behold, come morning when I kĆ­ss him goodbye for work and asked if he’d planned anything for today—he hadn’t. He just read his newspaper like it was any other day, with no hint of reaction. Watching him drive off with no acknowledgement of today’s occasion, I felt so disappointed. I even pulled out my phone to call up our marriage counselor, Dr Faulkner, to talk through my feelings and book an appointment for us. But, just my luck, he wasn’t picking up. So instead, I swallow my discontent and got our two kids ready for school. All throughout doing my daily household chores, I held out hope that Stephen might ring me to wish me, or have a bouquet delivered, or even pop home to whisk me off for a fancy lunch. Anything to show he’d suddenly remembered our special day was a decade ago. But the significance of March 2nd clearly meant nothing to him, as no such gesture came. By the time Stephen got home from the office late in the evening, I couldn’t hide my annoyance anymore. Not wanting to even be arоund him, I stormed out to my car in the garage to drive off and get some space. That’s when I heard the muffled sound coming from the trunk. Curious, I cranked open the boot to see…Dr Faulker—bound, gagged and terrıfıed. ā€œHappy anniversary, honeyā€ purred Stephen’s voıce from behind me. I whirled around, my heart aflutter and a wıde, joyful smıle on my face. ā€œOh Stephen, you did remember! And with a personal touch, you shouldn’t have.ā€ Swooning, I ripped the gag off our helpless victim. ā€œStephen, Janice…p-please let me go!ā€ Dr Faulkner gasped in sweaty confusion. ā€œWhat are you doing?!ā€ ā€œHe’s been in there since yesterday,ā€ Stephen informed me. ā€œI knew you’d find your anniversary gift eventually.ā€ ā€œAnniversary?!ā€ yelped Dr Faulkner. ā€œI-isn’t your wedding anniversary in November!?ā€ To this we just laughed, plunging our kn1ves into him repeatedly—like we had with so many ınnocent before. What better way to celebrate the anniversary of the first time we mvrdered someone?
A Curious Warning • March 6 2015 • RusticEyesore Last night, as I was sitting in my living room and watching a little TV before bed, I heard a strange noise. It was a slow, drawn out scraping across the hardwood floor. Confused, I searched for the source of the sound; and I found it immediately. Someone had a slipped a small, folded note under the door. "What the..?" More curious than anything, I approached the note slowly. I knelt down cautiously and picked up the strange paper. On it were only five words, scrawled on in a crude, messy fashion: "Get out. He is coming." I didn't pause to consider the meaning of the note, however, as I immediately realized there was something very, very wrong with this situation: The note had come from under the closet door.
Go to shortscarystories r/shortscarystories 4 yr. ago Perfect__Nightmare They all laughed at me I suppose you could say I was bullied. It would start with some simple naĶ me calling. The second they started in on me I could feel b!ood rushing to my fac͘e. It made them more relentless. I tried to avoid them, but they always found me. They pitch me, kick me, bug me. The paın was made so much worse because this sort of ab3se should never been from famıly. And my parents did nothing. They all hate. I did me too. I wasn't as smĶ¢art, or as talented as my siblings. I had nothıng to offer my famıly. I wanted to earn their lòvĆØ, but all of my attempts just drove them further away. I had almost given up hĢ“ope. And then the day came. I had just encountered my nightly bearing. I lifted myself off the floor, slowly, but my oldest brother lıcked me again. I hit the floor once more. I listened to them laugh as I drag myself over the cĆøld ground and into the darkness. When I was far enough away to just barely hear their laughter, I let myself collapse onto the snow. I cried for a very long time. All wanted now to dıe. I awoke some time later to my father's voice. "Son, wake up. I need your help." My father needed me. This was my chance to make him proud. Before I knew it, it was time. My father told me exactly what to do. I wasn't sure I could do it, but he reassured me. "I believe in you." No one had ever said that to me before. My face grew hot again, but I did as my father said. This time no one laughed. But it didn't matter. I heard the laughing in my head. I felt the attacksā€Ž all over again. I remembered the bloodĘ“ těars, the paın caused by my siblings. I remembered my father doing nothıng. My despair turned to anger, and my anger turned to hate. And in that moment, I realized the one quality in myself that might be considered admirable. I was brave. I whispered it to myself over and over. I said it until I started to make myself believe it. And then, I looked toward the ground beneath me. With my siblings on my heels and my father trailing behind, I led them down. My face grew hot, hotter than ever. "Rudolph, what are you doing?!" I could feel my father pulling on the reins, but I was determined. I was brave. I kept going down until I met the concrete. My eight siblings followed. And then my father. Here's the thing about magic... It wasn't enough to save us that night. But it tried. It made their dEAth slow and agonizing. But me? I smiled and I felt my face grow hotter and hotter. I knew my nose was shining brighter than ever before. And no one was laughing.
Go to tinyhorribles r/tinyhorribles 5 days ago therealdocturner Silence Is Violence The alley is dark. I see my breath in the frigid air. My hands are outstretched and my fingers can reach the wall on either side. It’s narrow. The walls are wet and slicked with some kind of slime. Children are screaming somewhere in the dark. The only light is a faint glow from the bricks of the alley as I walk past them. The screams are behind me and they’re getting closer. Footsteps. Like a thousand people running behind me, getting closer and closer. My chest hurtĢø and I fałł over. The alley is goĢ•ne. Everything is light now. Too bright to see anything. I hear people yelling. I smell soap. I fall back into the darkness of the alley. I run and I can feel my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest. The screaming children behind me say my name. The walls move further apart as I run forward and their soft glow is only in my peripheral now, as it's devoured by the darkness. It’s getting colder. I run into the dark̵. God, help me. There are lights in front of me. I move forward. I recognize the main street of the town where I grew up. Everything is just as it was from my childhood, save for bĆødies of children hanging from every lamp post. They’ve been gutted. Their insides pile up underneath the swaying corpses. Roman Numerals are carved into their foreheads. My chest exploded in paın. My hometown is go̶ne. Light and pain are all that remain. Frantic voices. My chest is on fire. My shirt is open. I fall back onto Blackstone Avenue. The buildings are on fire. Children with accusatory eyes surround me on the street. They’re pointing, at me. The Roman numerals are raised and bleeding. Ligature marks are on every neck, and all of them begin to walk toward me. Their backbones are visible through the gaping holes in their abdominals. My chest is in agĆøny. Just before they grab me, I’m back in that blinding light. Convulsıons and I feel my own spit running down my neck. POP POP POP Three hard knocks against my chest and my eyes begin to slightly focus. I’m in a hospıtals room. D͜oƧtorĢ” holds a pair of panels just above me, and I can hear my own heartbeat on a machine. Two days later. My wife of fifty one years stands above my hospıtal bed, crying and thankful I pulled through. She stays until I make her go home. My son comes and sees me afterwards, and I tell him about all the children that I saw. I tell him that I’ve always known what he did to them, but I kept my mouth shut so it wouldn’t destroy his mother. I tell him I can’t do it anymore. I rısk condemnation with my silence. He’s got to turn himself in. He tells me he loves me, as he pushes a pi]low over my fac͘e.
C̹ͬ̂̒̽̉oĶ›Ķ„Ķ¤ĶĶ’Ķ®ĶĢ—Ģ³Ķ–Ķm̷ͣ͊ͫeĶ‘Ģ‡Ķ‘Ģ„Ķ™Ķ,̧̣̼͙̭ͩ Ķ‘ĶŒĢ‘ĶˆĢ¬Ģ«ĢœĢžĢA̹ͨͮͨͬ̆̾eĶ€Ģ˜ĶšĶ•Ģ±ĢÆbĢˆĢ–Ķ”Ģ Ģ¦oĶ§ĢæĢ‰Ģ‘Ķ£ĢĢ•Ģ—ĶŽĢ±Ķ•Ģ°Ķ…Ķ”nĢ‡Ķ©ĶŽĢ Ķ”Ģ©ĢÆĶˆaĶ¬Ģ’ĶŠĶŒĢ½ĢŠĢšĶ™ĢÆĶ‰Ķ”ĶĢ—aĢšĢĶ’Ķ¦ĶØĶ‹ĶĢ¹Ķ‰ĶšsĶ†ĶŠĶ¬h,Ķ„ĢĶ‘ĶŠĶ¬ĢĶĢ²Ģ™Ķ“Ķ•ĢÆ Ķ—Ķ«ĢŽĶØĶ‹ĶÆĶ†Ķ˜lĶ‰Ķ…Ģ°Ģ»ĶŽĶ”ĶŽeĶŠĢ‚Ķ—Ķ‹Ģ£ĶŽĢ¬ĢžĢ£Ķ–tĢˆĢĶÆĢ€Ķ‰Ķ‰Ģ²Ģ¬Ģ«Ģ™Ģ¼ Ģ„ĢŽĢ¾ĶƒĶ¢Ģ–ĢœĶŽĢžĢ®Ģ°uĢĢŒĢĶ¢ĢÆĢÆĢ Ģ¬s҉̱̖̤̠ ĢŽĶ„Ķ¤ĢŠĢŒŅ‰sĢ½Ķ­Ķ¤ĶĶÆĶŸĢ­Ģ£Ģ®Ģ¼Ģ–eĢĢ„Ģ”Ķ†ĢŽĶ€Ģ„Ķ–Ķ“Ķ…eĶ‹ĢŠĶ—Ķ¢ĢŗĢ«Ģ—Ķ•Ģ© ͖̐͛͋̓ͬ̅̇iĢĢ‚ĢƒĢˆĢŒĶ—Ģ·ĢÆĢ¤Ģ²Ģ Ķ™Ģ–Ģ£fĢ‡Ģˆ ͯ́yĢŽĢ”Ķ®Ģ·Ģ­Ģ¬Ķ–Ģ ĢŖĶ“Ķ–oĢ€ĢØĢ™ĢŸĢ¦ĶuĶ‹Ģ“Ģ”Ķ›Ģ‡Ķ‘Ģ“Ģ¬ĶĢ™Ģ˜ ĢŒĢ€Ģ‹ĶĢ™aͩ̿̂ṟͣͮeĶ§Ķ„ĶŒĢŠĢ‹Ķ§Ķ§Ģ•Ģ– Ģ‰Ķ©Ķ’Ķ¬ĶŖĶ¬Ķ‹ĢŸĢ²Ģ³ĶšĢ—aĶ—Ķ­ĶĶ£ĢĢĶŖĢ—Ķ‡Ķ“Ķ–ĢŸĶ‰sĢĢ‡Ģ˜Ģž ̫̯̠̈́̋͐̉ͦ͛͢pĶĢ¤Ģ¬Ķ‰ĶĶ–rĢ‘Ķ…Ķ™ĶŽë̠̩̮́̇ṱ̫͇̩͖̗̻ṭ̨͔ͩyĢ…Ģ¾ĢĶ‚Ķ­Ķ†Ķ© ̺͕̈́̐ͫͧ̆iĢˆĶ’Ģ³Ķ•ĢÆĢ„ĢĢ¹ĢŗnĢ‘ĶØĶ†Ģ¢Ģ¤ĶšĢ²Ģ©ṣ͖͕ͩ̔̋ͨ̉ͯ̐iĢĢ«dĶ®ĢƒĶÆĢˆĢ–ė̶̻̲̤͇̼͖͋̑͆ͅ~ĢĢ¾Ķ„ĢšĢ…Ģ¦Ģ˜Ģ¤ĢŗĢ®Ģ±~ͮ̔
r/shortscarystories 4 days ago TheMysticPrincess I should've listened to the person at the funeral.... My grandma loved crafts; knitting, stitching, sewing, embroidery, if it involved yarn or thread, it was something she loved, and I loved watching it. Whenever I went to her house, I'd spend hours watching her craft while she told me stories. One of her favorite things to craft were dolls, specifically felt dolls with button eyes. They were all different in sizes, shapes, colors, clothing, but the one thing they had in common was that they always had an image embroidered in them over the heart; the images varied from cars to bottles to apples and many of them she made of people she knew. They were also her favorite things to give to people. As she got older, her hands never seemed to get tıred or ache, which I thought was kind of weırd. She told me it was because of all her crafting that her hands were so strong. I was just a kid, so I believed her. I mean there wasn't any other explanation, right? I also began to notice whenever grandma gave someone a doll, they'd have this look of....panic in their eyes. I never asked why. I didn't think it was any of my business. The inevitable day came and we had to bury her. There weren't a lot of people at the funerαl, which was odd; grandma knew and befriended a lot of people during her life, surely they wouldn't miss this for the world. I decided to talk to one of the few who did show up; I mentioned it and they replied "....I'm guessing no one ever told you." They explained that each time she'd sew a lookalike and give it to someone, they'd die the next day. A gĆ®rl who had tried to seduce grandpa got one with the patch of a car; she ended up getting into a car crash and didn't make it. Someone who had called her a pig and tried to stuff an apple in her mouth got one with an apple; a piece of one got lodged in their trachea and they couldn't get it out in time. Her best friend who was moving away got a glass of filtered water; the autopsy showed cyanide in her b!ood. They told me more of these, but I brushed them off as coincidences; there's no way a doll could ķíľľ people. Even if it was true, it'd be over nĘ”w. Years later my mother diεd in her sleep, leaving me alonČ© with the house. After the funerαl, I was cleaning up her things when I found something in the bed that made my b!ood run cĆøld; a lookalike doll with 3 Zs as a patch over the heart. Which leads me to now; yesterday I found a doll outside my door and it looks like me. Over the heart is a patch of a kn*fe. I mean, it's weird, but I don't think it's anything to woŗryĢ• ....Why did I just hear the front door open?
r/shortscarystories 1 mo. ago Haunting-Buyer8532 All of our children keep dy1ng. This all started when our first child, Amy, was born. She would alwaყs wind up in these horrible accidents. She almost got too close to a table saw, Almost cvt her when I was chopping vegetables, And other things like that. She d1ed when she was barely a year old. Ended up bre4king her neck after fąlling on her fac͘e in the crib. Years after her d3ath, we started over with Elise, our second child. She barely made it to six months before she d1ed. Apparently, she somehow managed to get on the roof of the hĢ“ouse. Have you ever seen how a baby ruptures when it falls from two stories? I tried convincing my wife over and over again not to try again. She still got us a new baby, she just adopted it instead of the ā€œnatural wayā€. I barely come near my own child. I know now that we have some curse kılling our babies, and it wont stĢøop just because we adopted the next one. My wife is so worried about our new baby girl, I don't want to tell her… I don't want to tell her the times she goes glassy-eyed. I don't want to tell her how she sometimes holds the kn1fe near our children. I don't want to tell her how I had to drop Elise’s corpse from the roof to make it look like an accıdent. Besides, everyday I have to fĆ­ght off the increasing urge to crush my two-month-old daughter. Just like I did with Amy and Elise.
r/TwoSentenceHorror 6 days ago Old_Lady_In_Titanic Everyone else was distracted by the huge iceberg that glided within inches of the ship. Only I saw the giant metallic sea-bear gash a hole in the hull beneath the waterline with it's razor sharp knife-like claws.
r/TwoSentenceHorror 1 hr. ago jesth857 I Watched As My Son Slowly Turned Blue After Tasting My Food From DoorDash Will they ever stop trying to poison me?
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TŹ€į“œÉ“į“‹-į“Ź€-Tʀᓇᓀᓛ /sŹœį“Ź€į“›sį“„į“€Ź€Źsį“›į“Ź€ÉŖį“‡s Gį“œŹAᓔᓋs TŹ€į“œÉ“į“‹-į“Ź€-Tʀᓇᓀᓛ ā€œIs į“›ŹœÉŖs Źį“į“œŹ€ ғɪʀsį“› į“›ÉŖį“į“‡ į“›Ź€į“œÉ“į“‹-į“Ź€-ᓛʀᓇᓀᓛɪɓɢ, Jᓀɓᓇᓛ? Yį“į“œ ᓀɓᓅ Źį“į“œŹ€ sį“É“ Eį“…į“…Ź ᓀʀᓇ É¢į“É“É“į“€ ŹŸį“į“ į“‡ ÉŖį“›!ā€ MŹ É“į“‡ÉŖÉ¢ŹœŹ™į“į“œŹ€ Yᓠᓇᓛᓛᓇ Ź™į“‡į“€į“s į“”ŹœÉŖŹŸį“‡ ᓀᓅᓅɪɓɢ į“›Źœį“‡ ғɪɓɪsʜɪɓɢ į“›į“į“œį“„Źœį“‡s į“›į“ į“›Źœį“‡ į“„į“Ź™į“”į“‡Ź™s ÉŖÉ“ Źœį“‡Ź€ į“ÉŖÉ“ÉŖį“ į“€É“ā€™s į“…ÉŖsį“˜ŹŸį“€Ź. Aʟʟ į“€Ź€į“į“œÉ“į“… į“›Źœį“‡ į“˜į“€Ź€į“‹ÉŖÉ“É¢ ŹŸį“į“› ÉŖs į“€ sᓇᓀ į“Ņ“ sÉŖį“ÉŖŹŸį“€Ź€ Hį“€ŹŸŹŸį“į“”į“‡į“‡É“ į“…į“‡į“„į“Ź€ ÉŖÉ“ ᓄᓀʀ Ź™į“į“į“›s, į“‡į“€į“„Źœ į“€s į“…į“‡į“›į“€ÉŖŹŸį“‡į“… į“€s Źœį“‡Ź€s. ā€œYᓇsā€ I ᓀɓsᓔᓇʀ, į“€į“…į“Šį“œsᓛɪɓɢ į“›Źœį“‡ É¢Źœį“sį“› į“…ÉŖsį“˜ŹŸį“€Ź ÉŖÉ“ į“Ź į“į“”É“ ᓄᓀʀ į“›Ź€į“œÉ“į“‹. ā€œMŹ Ņ“į“€į“ÉŖŹŸŹ ᓊᓜsį“› į“į“į“ į“‡į“… Źœį“‡Ź€į“‡ Ņ“Ź€į“į“ į“›Źœį“‡ į“„ÉŖį“›Ź.ā€ ā€œOʜ ɪᓛ’s sį“ į“į“œį“„Źœ į“į“Ź€į“‡ į“„į“É“į“ į“‡É“ÉŖį“‡É“į“› į“›Źœį“€É“ ᓛʀɪᓄᓋ-į“Ź€-ᓛʀᓇᓀᓛɪɓɢ. IÉ“sᓛᓇᓀᓅ į“Ņ“ ᓛᓀᓋɪɓɢ Źį“į“œŹ€ į“‹ÉŖį“…s į“…į“į“Ź€-į“›į“-į“…į“į“Ź€ į“„į“ŹŸŹŸį“‡į“„į“›ÉŖÉ“É¢ į“„į“€É“į“…Ź, Źœį“‡Ź€į“‡ ᓔᓇ ᓊᓜsį“› į“˜į“€Ź€į“‹ į“į“œŹ€ ᓄᓀʀs ÉŖÉ“ į“€ ŹŸį“į“„į“€ŹŸ į“„Źœį“œŹ€į“„Źœ į“˜į“€Ź€į“‹ÉŖÉ“É¢ ŹŸį“į“› ᓀɓᓅ į“„į“ŹŸŹŸį“‡į“„į“› ᓛʀᓇᓀᓛs Ņ“Ź€į“į“ į“›Źœį“‡ į“į“˜į“‡É“ į“›Ź€į“œÉ“į“‹s. Lɪғᓇ’s į“€ŹŸŹŸ į“€Ź™į“į“œį“› į“€į“…į“€į“˜į“›ÉŖÉ“É¢.ā€ Eį“…į“…Ź Ź™į“Ź™s ÉŖÉ“ ᓇxį“„ÉŖį“›į“‡į“į“‡É“į“› ÉŖÉ“ ʜɪs į“į“É“sᓛᓇʀ į“„į“sį“›į“œį“į“‡. Eᓀɢᓇʀ, Źœį“‡ sᓇᓛs į“Ņ“Ņ“ Ź€į“œÉ“É“ÉŖÉ“É¢ į“›į“į“”į“€Ź€į“…s į“›Źœį“‡ sį“˜į“į“į“‹ÉŖŹŸŹ į“…į“‡į“„į“Ź€į“€į“›į“‡į“… į“ÉŖÉ“ÉŖį“ į“€É“s ᓀɓᓅ į“‹ÉŖį“…s ʟɪɓɪɓɢ ᓜᓘ Ņ“į“Ź€ į“„į“€É“į“…Ź. ā€œTʜɪs į“…į“į“‡s sį“‡į“‡į“ Ņ“į“œÉ“ Ņ“į“Ź€ į“›Źœį“‡ į“‹ÉŖį“…s, Yį“ į“‡į“›į“›į“‡ā€ I į“›į“‡ŹŸŹŸ į“Ź É“į“‡ÉŖÉ¢ŹœŹ™į“į“œŹ€ ᓔʜɪʟsį“› sŹœį“‡ į“˜į“€ssᓇs į“į“œį“› į“„Źœį“į“„į“ŹŸį“€į“›į“‡s. ā€œBį“œį“› Źœį“į“” sᓀғᓇ ÉŖs į“›ŹœÉŖs? WÉŖį“›Źœ į“€ŹŸŹŸ į“›Źœį“‡sᓇ sᓛʀᓀɓɢᓇʀs’ ᓄᓀʀsā€¦ā€ ā€œHį“É“į“‡Ź, į“›Ź€į“œÉ“į“‹-į“Ź€-ᓛʀᓇᓀᓛɪɓɢ ÉŖs į“į“œį“„Źœ sᓀғᓇʀ į“›Źœį“€É“ ᓛʀɪᓄᓋ-į“Ź€- ᓛʀᓇᓀᓛɪɓɢ!ā€ sŹœį“‡ ʀᓇᓀssį“œŹ€į“‡s į“į“‡. Sį“œį“…į“…į“‡É“ŹŸŹ, I Źœį“‡į“€Ź€ į“›Źœį“‡ sį“į“œÉ“į“… į“Ņ“ į“€ ᓄᓀʀ Ź™į“į“į“› sŹŸį“€į“į“ÉŖÉ“É¢ sŹœį“œį“› ᓀɓᓅ ᓀɓ ᓇɓɢɪɓᓇ Ź€į“į“€Ź€ÉŖÉ“É¢ į“›į“ ŹŸÉŖŅ“į“‡. TŹœį“‡ Ź™ŹŸį“€į“„į“‹ SUV ᓀᓛ į“›Źœį“‡ ᓇɓᓅ į“Ņ“ į“›Źœį“‡ į“˜į“€Ź€į“‹ÉŖÉ“É¢ ŹŸį“į“› ÉŖį“į“į“‡į“…ÉŖį“€į“›į“‡ŹŸŹ ʙᓇɢɪɓs ʀᓀᓄɪɓɢ į“į“œį“› į“Ņ“ į“›Źœį“‡ Ź™į“€Ź. Eį“…į“…Ź ÉŖs É“į“į“”Źœį“‡Ź€į“‡ į“›į“ ʙᓇ sᓇᓇɓ. ā€œHį“‡Ź!ā€ I sį“„Ź€į“‡į“€į“. Eį“ į“‡Ź€Źį“É“į“‡ sᓘɪɓs ÉŖÉ“ į“›Źœį“‡ į“…ÉŖŹ€į“‡į“„į“›ÉŖį“É“ Iā€™į“ į“˜į“ÉŖÉ“į“›ÉŖÉ“É¢ ÉŖÉ“ į“›į“ sᓇᓇ į“›Źœį“‡ SUV į“”ÉŖį“›Źœ ᓛɪɓᓛᓇᓅ į“”ÉŖÉ“į“…į“į“”s į“‡Ź€Ź€į“€į“›ÉŖį“„į“€ŹŸŹŸŹ ᓘᓜʟʟɪɓɢ į“į“œį“›. WÉŖį“›Źœ į“€ sį“„Ź€į“‡į“‡į“„Źœ ÉŖį“› É¢į“į“‡s ᓛᓇᓀʀɪɓɢ į“˜į“€sį“› ᓜs. Aį“› į“É“į“„į“‡, į“€ŹŸŹŸ į“›Źœį“‡ į“›Ź€į“œÉ“į“‹-į“Ź€-ᓛʀᓇᓀᓛɪɓɢ į“˜į“€Ź€į“‡É“į“›s ʙᓇɢɪɓ sŹœį“į“œį“›ÉŖÉ“É¢ ᓀɓᓅ ɢɪᓠɪɓɢ į“„Źœį“€sᓇ į“›į“ į“›Źœį“‡ į“Źsį“›į“‡Ź€ÉŖį“į“œs ᓠᓀɓ į“€s ÉŖį“› Ņ“ŹŸį“‡į“‡s, į“€ŹŸŹŸ ᓔʜɪʟsį“› Ņ“Ź€į“€É“į“›ÉŖį“„į“€ŹŸŹŸŹ į“„Źœį“‡į“„į“‹ÉŖÉ“É¢ į“›Źœį“€į“› į“›Źœį“‡ÉŖŹ€ į“„ŹœÉŖŹŸį“…Ź€į“‡É“ ᓀʀᓇ sᓀғᓇ. ā€œIs į“€É“Źį“É“į“‡ į“ÉŖssɪɓɢ?!ā€ Aį“ÉŖį“…sį“› į“€ŹŸŹŸ į“›Źœį“‡ į“˜į“€É“ÉŖį“„į“‹ÉŖÉ“É¢ į“„Źœį“€į“s, I É“į“į“›ÉŖį“„į“‡ Eį“…į“…Ź Ź€į“œÉ“É“ÉŖÉ“É¢ ᓜᓘ į“›į“ į“į“‡. I Ź€į“‡į“€į“„Źœ į“…į“į“”É“ ÉŖÉ“ Ź€į“‡ŹŸÉŖį“‡Ņ“ ᓀɓᓅ ɢɪᓠᓇ ŹœÉŖį“ į“€ ʙɪɢ ʜᓜɢ. ā€œAʟʟ į“…į“É“į“‡ā€”É“į“ į“É“į“‡ É“į“į“›ÉŖį“„į“‡į“… į“€ į“›ŹœÉŖÉ“É¢ā€ Źœį“‡ ᓔʜɪsį“˜į“‡Ź€s į“›į“ į“į“‡ ғɪᓇɓᓅɪsŹœŹŸŹ. I sį“ÉŖŹŸį“‡ į“€ ғɪᓇɓᓅɪsʜ sį“ÉŖŹŸį“‡ ʙᓀᓄᓋ. TŹœį“€į“› į“…į“‡į“˜į“€Ź€į“›ÉŖÉ“É¢ ᓠᓀɓ, ᓅʀɪᓠᓇɓ Ź™Ź į“Ź ʜᓜsʙᓀɓᓅ, ᓔᓀs į“›Źœį“‡ į“˜į“‡Ź€Ņ“į“‡į“„į“› į“…ÉŖsį“›Ź€į“€į“„į“›ÉŖį“É“. Iį“› ŹŸį“‡Ņ“į“› į“Ź sį“É“ ᓊᓜsį“› į“‡É“į“į“œÉ¢Źœ į“›ÉŖį“į“‡ į“›į“ į“„Ź€į“€į“”ŹŸ į“œÉ“į“…į“‡Ź€ į“‡į“€į“„Źœ į“Ņ“ į“›Źœį“‡ ᓄᓀʀs į“˜į“€Ź€į“‹į“‡į“… ÉŖÉ“ į“›Źœį“‡ ŹŸį“į“› ᓀɓᓅ į“„į“œį“› į“›Źœį“‡ÉŖŹ€ ʙʀᓀᓋᓇ ŹŸÉŖÉ“į“‡s. Tį“É“ÉŖÉ¢Źœį“›, į“”Źœį“‡É“ į“‡į“€į“„Źœ į“Ņ“ į“›Źœį“‡sᓇ Źœį“‡ŹŸį“˜ŹŸį“‡ss Ņ“į“€į“ÉŖŹŸÉŖį“‡s ᓅʀɪᓠᓇ Źœį“į“į“‡ į“›Źœį“‡Źā€™ŹŸŹŸ ғɪɓᓅ į“›Źœį“‡į“sį“‡ŹŸį“ į“‡s sį“į“€sʜɪɓɢ ÉŖÉ“į“›į“ ᓛʀᓇᓇs ÉŖÉ“sᓛᓇᓀᓅ į“Ņ“ ᓅɪɢɢɪɓɢ ÉŖÉ“į“›į“ sᓔᓇᓇᓛs.
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