Nightgore Emojis & Text

r/TwoSentenceHorror 4 days ago chacde3 Halfway into our trip, the GPS arrival time switched from “Midnight” to “Never.” I was so distracted trying to figure out what it meant, I did not notice the truck veering into my lane.

Horror Short Story: The Accident In this horror short story, a man tries to cope with what he has done. Written by: Reddit user Minnboy Halverson sat in his dark living room. He hadn’t moved for over an hour. The accident earlier that evening kept playing over and over in his mind. The light turned red, but he was in a hurry and accelerated. An orange blur came from his right and in a split second there was a violent jolt, then the bicyclist rolled across his hood and fell out of sight on the pavement. Horns blared angrily and he panicked, stepping on the gas and screeching away from the chaos into the darkness, shaken and keeping an eye on his rearview mirror until he got home. Why did you run, you fool? He’d never committed a crime before this and punished himself by imagining years in jail, his career gone, his family gone, his future gone. Why not just go to the police right now? Then someone tapped on the front door and his world suddenly crumbled away beneath him. They found me. There was nothing he could do but answer it. Running would only make matters worse. Trembling, he got up, went to the door and opened it. A police officer stood under the porch light. “Mr. Halverson?” asked the grim officer. He let out a defeated sigh. “Yes. Let me —”I am terribly sorry, but I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your son’s bike was struck by a hit and run driver this evening. He died at the scene. I’m very sorry for your loss.

The Vanishing Hitch-Hiker Author: Jan Harold Brunvand This next eerie story is about a man driving home late in the night when he spots a girl asking for a hitchhike. The pretty girl is dressed in a beautiful white dress. The man offers her a ride and they strike up an interesting conversation. He drops the girl at her home. Next day, while driving for work he notices that the girl by accident has forgotten her sweater in his car. He drives towards her home to hand over the sweater. An old lady opens the door when he rings the bell. He narrates the incident which occurred last night and gives the sweater to the lady. The lady refuses to accept it, saying he is mistaken. The man is surprised and questions the lady again. He is dumbstruck and left in an unsettling situation when the lady says her daughter died in a car accident a couple of years ago.

Tuesday, March 31st, 2015 | I only go shopping at night The cashier swipes my items across the scanner as I stare at the floor. I find it easiest to get through my anxiety by avoiding eye contact with other people. That’s why I only go shopping at night fewer people to avoid. “Did you find everything okay?” she asks casually. “Mm-hmm,” I mumble to the floor. Her voice sounds nice. Pleasant. Curiosity wins over and I glance up. The cashier’s head is completely caved in on the left side. Probably a car accident. I snap my gaze back down towards the floor. After I pay she gives back my change in a hand so mangled I’m surprised it can hold anything at all. Thanking her, I grab my bags and turn towards the exit. Immediately I see a man looking through magazines at the store front. The skin on his face and hands is the consistency of a hot dog that fell into a campfire. Burn victim. I rush out the door as fast as I can. In my car I finally catch my breath as I lean my forehead on the steering wheel. Eventually I look up and see my familiar reflection in the rear-view mirror: my head is blown open in the back. Gunshot victim. Why did I ever wish for the power to see how people die? Credit to reddit user resistance1984

“I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. As I stood in- front of the mirror, there was no one staring back at me.” -Lucas Smelser

🕷🩸𝔅𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔰𝔲𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔯🕷🩸

. . ) . . . * . . . . . . .' . '. * . . ' .' . . __ . .' ______ __ | o' | | | | | | | | | | | |___| |_ __|_______________________|__. . - - ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ - - . /|\ / \ / | \ / \ \|/ / | \ / \ / | \

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶ ➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

💉 🩹 💉 🩹 💉 🩹 💉 🩹

🌳 👁️ 🌳 👁️ 🌳 👁️ 🌳 👁️

֗ ִ ۫ 🌙ˑ ᳝ ࣪ 𓄹 ⊹ ᳝🪐 ࣪ .

https://emojicombos.com/read-before-doing-horror

⁣⛅ ☁ ☁  ☁  🚁   ✈ 🏢🏤_🏬_ / |_\🏫🏢🌳🌳 _____🚋_🚗__🚕______ 🏡⁣🏥🏦  /   |🚖\ 🏠🌳🏡 🏡🏡🏪 /    | 🚘\ 🏪🏨 💒 🏨 /     |    \ 🏡🏩 ·

GENERAL ADVICE FOR USING SITE so we can keep it up NO DOXXING- leaking a specific person's residential address and who lives full name STORY TIME- don't leak a real person's full name when typing out a juicy gossip tea but you can change the first name or to remain anonymous instead. Otherwise go and create let writing flow! PREACHING- don't over fill with arguing on whether or not to promote, such as your discord server nor how to raise family age viewers must be. You can tag yourself tho.

https://emojicombos.com/how-to-write-horror

° :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　. ★ ° . .　　　　.　☾ °☆　 . * ● ¸ . ∩ │◥███◣ ╱◥███◣ ╱◥◣ ◥████◣▓∩▓│∩ ║ │╱◥█◣║∩∩∩ ║◥█▓ ▓█◣ ││∩│ ▓ ║∩田│║▓ ▓ ▓∩ ║

∵*.•´¸.•*´✶´♡ ° ☆ °˛*˛☆_Π______*˚☆* ˚ ˛★˛•˚*/______/ ~⧹。˚˚ ˚ ˛•˛•˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門｜ ˚* 🌷╬╬🌷╬╬🌷╬╬🌷╬╬🌷

. °. ♡ . ° 　 ＿♡ ⊂⊂ ・） 　/　 | ⊂＿__u

🌼╱◥████◣ 🦋│田│▓ ∩ │◥███◣ ╱◥◣ ◥████◣田∩田│ │╱◥█◣║∩🌹∩∩ ║◥███◣ │∩│ ▓ ║∩田│║▓田▓∩║ 🌺ঊٌ۝ঈঊٌ۝ঈ💐ٌ۝ঈঊٌ۝🌹

　　　　　　　　　　　　❄　　　　　❄ 　　　　❄　　　　　　　　　　　❄ 　❄　　　　　‏‎　C＜⁀⁀ヽ、 　　　　　　　‏‎ ‎‏‎‎　{i:i:i:i:i:i:i:i:} 　 ❄ 　　 ❄　　 　 　（　´・ω・） 　❄　　　（⁀⁀ﾉO::::::::：O 　　　　‏‎ ‎‏‎ ‎　 (二二二二二二)　 　 　　❄ 　 　　　　 ‏‎ ‎ |＿＿|＿＿|＿| ⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒|＿|＿＿|＿＿|⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒ 　‏‎ ‎‏‎ ‎‏‎ ‎　⌒　 　|＿＿|＿＿|＿| 　　　　　　　⌒⌒⌒　⌒⌒　　⌒

° ˛ ° ˚* _Π_____*☽*˚ ˛ ✩ ˚˛˚*/______/__＼。✩˚ ˚˛ ♡ ˚ ˛˚˛˚｜ 田田｜門｜ ˚ ˚

٠:I◥█████◣╱◥◣◥██████◣║║ ▓∩▓│∩⚀⚀⚀▓∩▓│∩║║●═════♥♥♥♥══════●♥♥♥✪♥♥♥●═════♥♥♥♥══════●

°_██_*。*../ \ .˛* .˛.*.★* *★ 。* ˛. (´• ̮•)*˛°*/.♫.♫\*˛.* ˛_Π_____. * ˛* °( . • . ) ˛°./• '♫ ' •\.˛*./______/~＼*. ˛*.。˛* ˛. *。 *(...'•'.. ) *˛╬╬╬╬╬˛°.｜田田 ｜門｜╬╬╬╬ . ¯˜"*°••°*"˜¯`´¯˜"*°••°*"˜¯ ` ´¯˜"*°´¯˜"*°••°*"˜¯`´¯˜" *° - ♥

．　　　∧＿∧ 　 ｒy´・ω・｀ヽっ 　　`!　　　　　i 　　 ゝc＿c_,.ノ 　　　 （ 　　　　） 　.∧＿∧.( (´・ω・ ∩ o　　 ,ノ Ｏ＿ .ノ 　.(ノ ━━

╱◥█████◣╱◥◣◥████◣▓∩▓│∩║╰✾╮⚄⚀⚁✿❥━━❥❀❥━━❥❀✿⚄⚀⚁╰✾♥♥♥

⁣⛅ ☁ ☁  ☁  🚁   ✈ 🏢🏤_🏬_ / |_🏫🏢🌳🌳 _____🚋_🚗__🚕______ 🏡⁣🏥🏦  /   |🚖 🏠🌳🏡 🏡🏡🏪 /    | 🚘 🏪🏨 💒 🏨 /     |     🏡🏩

☆彡★彡☆彡★彡

ⲯ﹍︿﹍︿﹍ 𝚢𝚊𝚠 ﹍ⲯ﹍ⲯ﹍︿﹍☼ 🤠🌵

can ppl stop asking 'where is the beef' because it takes up space on here use a different platform if you want to comment on others Even though most NSFW content is blocked, please limit it before bots and or moderators restrict and/or take down the submissions site please thx bye

( ) ( _ _._ |_|-'_~_`-._ _.-'-_~_-~_-~-_`-._ _.-'_~-_~-_-~-_~_~-_~-_`-._ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ | [] [] [] [] [] | | ____ ___ | ._| []. []| .| [___] |_._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._. |=|________()|__|()_______|=|=|=|=|=|=|=|=|=|=|=|=|=|=|=|=|=| ^^^^^^^^^^^^^ === ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ _______ === <_4sale_> === ^|^ === | ===

┏┓ ┃┃╱╲ in ┃╱╱╲╲ this ╱╱╭╮╲╲house ▔▏┗┛▕▔ we ╱▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔╲ follow 's rules ╱╱┏┳┓╭╮┏┳┓ ╲╲ ▔▏┗┻┛┃┃┗┻┛▕▔

🌼 ╱◥████◣ 🦋 │田 │▓ ∩ │◥███◣ ╱◥◣ ◥████◣田∩田 │ │╱◥█◣║∩🌹∩∩ ║◥██

∵*.•´¸.•*´✶´♡ ° ☆ ° ˛*˛☆_Π______˚☆ *˚ ˛★˛•*/________/ ~ ⧹。˚ ˚ ˚ ˛•˛•˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門｜ ˚ 🌷╬╬🌷╬╬🌷╬╬🌷╬╬🌷

888888888188888888828888888883888888888488888888858888888886888888888788888 . * * * . * . * . . . . . . * . * * ,_ * .-.-------. . . . __(_\ . //^\\ \ * . . * . ~( _ ) ___ \\_//_______/ .---------------.-. ^ // >>^^,/ _ )~ ^/[_=/]______]^^^^^^^^^^^^/ //^\\^^^^^^^ /_/< \\ /_(=/ (o) (o) \________\\=// ~ ~ ^^ [________[\__]\ ^^^ ^^ (o) (o)`\=)_\ ~ ~

ѧѦ ѧ ︵͡︵ ̢ ̱ ̧̱ι̵̱̊ι̶̨̱ ̶̱ ︵ Ѧѧ ︵͡ ︵ ѧ Ѧ ̵̗̊o̵̖ ︵ ѦѦ ѧ

/\ //\\ /\ //\\///\\\ /\ //\\ ///\////\\\\ /\ //\\ /\ / ^ \/^ ^/^ ^ ^ \/^ \/ ^ \ / ^\ /\ / ^ / ^/ ^ ^ ^ ^\ ^/ ^^ \ /^ \ / ^\/ ^ ^ ^ / ^ ^ ^ \/ ^ ^ \ * / ^ ^ \/^ ^\ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ____ ^ ^ \ /|\ / ^ ^ ^ \ ^ _\___________________| |_____^ ^ \ /||o\ / ^^ ^ ^ ^\ /______________________________\ ^ ^ \ /|o|||\ / ^ ^^ ^ ^ /________________________________\ ^ /|||||o|\ /^ ^ ^ ^^ ^ ||___|___||||||||||||___|__||| /||o||||||\ | / ^ ^ ^ ^ ||___|___||||||||||||___|__||| | | | / ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||oooooooooo| |ooooooo | ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

. * . . * -0- . . * - )- . * o . * o | . -O- . | * . -0- * o . ' * . o . . | * * * -O- . . * | , . o . - - - . = _/__~0_\_ . * o ' = = (_________) . . * * - ) - * . . .. : . . . . . . . . .. . . * * . .. . . . . : . . . . . . . . . . . . *:. . . . . . . .. . . . . . . ... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ... .. . . . . . . *. . .

ⲯ﹍︿﹍︿﹍ ﹍ⲯ﹍ⲯ﹍︿﹍☼

✸𓂃𓂃⾕𓂃ᨏ𓂃

Cats on a fence by Joan Stark * ,MMM8&&&. * MMMM88&&&&& . MMMM88&&&&&&& * MMM88&&&&&&&& MMM88&&&&&&&& 'MMM88&&&&&&' 'MMM8&&&' * |\___/| ) ( . ' =\ /= )===( * / \ | | / \ \ / _/\_/\_/\__ _/_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_ | | | |( ( | | | | | | | | | | | | | | ) ) | | | | | | | | | | | | | |(_( | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | jgs| | | | | | | | | | | | | | * ,MMM8&&&. * MMMM88&&&&& . MMMM88&&&&&&& * MMM88&&&&&&&& MMM88&&&&&&&& 'MMM88&&&&&&' 'MMM8&&&' * |\___/| =) ^Y^ (= . ' \ ^ / )=*=( * / \ | | /| | | |\ \| | |_|/\ jgs_/\_//_// ___/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_ | | | | \_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | * ,MMM8&&&. * MMMM88&&&&& . MMMM88&&&&&&& * MMM88&&&&&&&& MMM88&&&&&&&& 'MMM88&&&&&&' 'MMM8&&&' * _ |\___/| \\ =) ^Y^ (= |\_/| || ' \ ^ / )a a '._.-""""-. // )=*=( =\T_= / ~ ~ \// / \ `"`\ ~ / ~ / | | |~ \ | ~/ /| | | |\ \ ~/- \ ~\ \| | |_|/| || | // /` jgs_/\_//_// __//\_/\_/\_((_|\((_//\_/\_/\_ | | | | \_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | * ,MMM8&&&. * MMMM88&&&&& . MMMM88&&&&&&& * MMM88&&&&&&&& MMM88&&&&&&&& 'MMM88&&&&&&' 'MMM8&&&' * _ |\___/| \\ ) ( |\_/| || ' =\ /= )- - '._.-""""-. // )===( =\T_= / ~ ~ \// / \ `"`\ ~ / ~ / | | |~ \ | ~/ / \ \ ~/- \ ~\ \ / || | // /` jgs_/\_/\_ _/_/\_/\_/\_((_|\((_//\_/\_/\_ | | | |( ( | | | | | | | | | | | | | | ) ) | | | | | | | | | | | | | |(_( | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | * ,MMM8&&&. * MMMM88&&&&& . MMMM88&&&&&&& * MMM88&&&&&&&& MMM88&&&&&&&& 'MMM88&&&&&&' 'MMM8&&&' * _ |\___/| \\ ) ( |\_/| || ' =\ /= )a a '._.-""""-. // )===( =\T_= / ~ ~ \// / \ `"`\ ~ / ~ / | | |~ \ | ~/ / \ \ ~/- \ ~\ \ / || | // /` jgs_/\_/\_ _/_/\_/\_/\_((_|\((_//\_/\_/\_ | | | |( ( | | | | | | | | | | | | | | ) ) | | | | | | | | | | | | | |(_( | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | * ,MMM8&&&. * MMMM88&&&&& . MMMM88&&&&&&& * MMM88&&&&&&&& MMM88&&&&&&&& 'MMM88&&&&&&' 'MMM8&&&' * |\___/| /\___/\ ) ( ) ~( . ' =\ /= =\~ /= )===( ) ~ ( / \ / \ | | ) ~ ( / \ / ~ \ \ / \~ ~/ jgs_/\_/\__ _/_/\_/\__~__/_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_ | | | |( ( | | | )) | | | | | | | | | | ) ) | | |//| | | | | | | | | | |(_( | | (( | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |\)| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | * ,MMM8&&&. * MMMM88&&&&& . MMMM88&&&&&&& * MMM88&&&&&&&& MMM88&&&&&&&& 'MMM88&&&&&&' 'MMM8&&&' * /\/|_ __/\\ / -\ /- ~\ . ' \ = Y =T_ = / )==*(` `) ~ \ / \ / \ | | ) ~ ( / \ / ~ \ \ / \~ ~/ jgs_/\_/\__ _/_/\_/\__~__/_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_ | | | | ) ) | | | (( | | | | | | | | | |( ( | | | \\ | | | | | | | | | | )_) | | | |))| | | | | | | | | | | | | | (/ | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | * ,MMM8&&&. * MMMM88&&&&& . MMMM88&&&&&&& * MMM88&&&&&&&& MMM88&&&&&&&& 'MMM88&&&&&&' 'MMM8&&&' * /\/|_ __/\\ / -\ /- ~\ . ' \ =_YT_ = / /==*(` `\ ~ \ / \ / `\ | | ) ~ ( / \ / ~ \ \ / \~ ~/ jgs_/\_/\__ _/_/\_/\__~__/_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_ | | | | ) ) | | | (( | | | | | | | | | |( ( | | | \\ | | | | | | | | | | )_) | | | |))| | | | | | | | | | | | | | (/ | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | * ,MMM8&&&. * MMMM88&&&&& . MMMM88&&&&&&& * MMM88&&&&&&&& MMM88&&&&&&&& 'MMM88&&&&&&' 'MMM8&&&' * |\___/| /\___/\ ) ( ) ~( . ' =\ /= =\~ /= )===( ) ~ ( / \ / \ | | ) ~ ( / \ / ~ \ \ / \~ ~/ jgs_/\_/\__ _/_/\_/\__~__/_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_ | | | |( ( | | | )) | | | | | | | | | | ) ) | | |//| | | | | | | | | | |(_( | | (( | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |\)| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |

╰࿔𐂗╌ི̩͝╌྄ཻཾ┄──𐀣ྀཾ̥──┄╌྄ཻཾ╌ི̩͝ 𐂥ྀ࿔.╮

.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝

☆ﾟ. * ･ ｡ﾟ_/|\_☆ﾟ. * ･ ｡ﾟ

┣┓웃┏♨━❤━♨┑유┏┥

💙 💙 💙 💙 💙 💙 💙 💙 💙 💙 💙 👁️ 💙 👁️ 💙 💙 💧 💙 💙 💙 💙 💙 👄 💙 💙 💙 💙 💙 🌆 💙 💙 💙 🌆 🌆 🌆 ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

🌅ⲯ﹍︿﹍︿﹍ 𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙽𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 ﹍ⲯ﹍ⲯ﹍︿﹍☼🌄

( ˊ̱˂˃ˋ̱ )◞⸜₍ ˍ́˱˲ˍ̀ ₎⸝◟( ˊ̱˂˃ˋ̱ )

▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▄▄▄▒▒▒█▒▒▒▒▄▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒█▀█▀█▒█▀█▒▒█▀█▒▄███▄▒ ░█▀█▀█░█▀██░█▀█░█▄█▄█░ ░█▀█▀█░█▀████▀█░█▄█▄█░ ████████▀█████████████

∙ ، °◦ ∙۪ . ⁿŌ=ōﺣ ∙،°. ˘Ô≈ôﺣ ∙، ‾Ōπōﺣ » » »

╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤ ╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤ ╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤

horror story (plural horror stories) (fiction) A fictional narrative of distressing events. The film is based on a horror story by Edgar Allan Poe. (informal) A disturbing rumour. ▼ We've heard horror stories about people being attacked in the elevator. An unpleasant experience. ▼ It was more of a horror story than a vacation. Translations Chinese Mandarin: 恐怖故事 (kǒngbù gùshì) Dutch: horrorverhaal (nl) n Finnish: kauhutarina (fi) French: histoire d’horreur f, histoire d’épouvante f Hungarian: horrortörténet Spanish: historia de terror, historia de miedo f Swedish: skräckhistoria (sv) Uyghur: قورقۇنچلۇق ھېكايە‎ (qorqunchluq hëkaye) ghost story (plural ghost stories) A story about ghosts or the supernatural, often meant to be frightening. quotations ▲ 2012, Andrew Martin, Underground Overground: A passenger's history of the Tube, Profile Books, →ISBN, page 261: There are the books full of Underground ghost stories. An invisible runner pounds along the platforms at Elephant & Castle; children scream in the basement of what used to be the surface building of Hyde Park Corner, [...] Translations ▲±story about ghosts Catalan: història de fantasmes f Chinese: Mandarin: 鬼故事 (guǐgùshì) Finnish: kummitusjuttu French: histoire de fantômes f German: Gespenstergeschichte (de) f Hungarian: kísértethistória (hu) Irish: scéal taibhsí m Italian: racconto dell'orrore m Korean: 괴담 (goedam) Norwegian: spøkelsesfortelling Portuguese: história de fantasmas f Spanish: historia de fantasmas f, cuento de fantasmas m Swedish: spökhistoria (sv) Welsh: stori fwgan f, stori ysbryd f

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...

~ -creepypastastories- Monsters and Ghosts Monsters are real, also ghosts They live inside us And sometimes they win

Horror Short Story: The Accident In this horror short story, a man tries to cope with what he has done. Written by: Reddit user Minnboy Halverson sat in his dark living room. He hadn’t moved for over an hour. The accident earlier that evening kept playing over and over in his mind. The light turned red, but he was in a hurry and accelerated. An orange blur came from his right and in a split second there was a violent jolt, then the bicyclist rolled across his hood and fell out of sight on the pavement. Horns blared angrily and he panicked, stepping on the gas and screeching away from the chaos into the darkness, shaken and keeping an eye on his rearview mirror until he got home. Why did you run? He’d never committed a crime before this and punished himself by imagining years in jail, his career gone, his family gone, his future gone. Why not just go to the police right now? Then someone tapped on the front door and his world suddenly crumbled away beneath him. They found me. There was nothing he could do but answer it. Running would only make matters worse. Trembling, he got up, went to the door and opened it. A police officer stood under the porch light. “Mr. Halverson?” asked the grim officer. He let out a defeated sigh. “Yes. Let me —”I am terribly sorry, but I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your son’s bike was struck by a hit and run driver this evening. He died at the scene. I’m very sorry for your loss..."

‘Next Time You’ll Know Better’ by IPostAtMidnight Have you ever walked into a room, and found a vampire? The kind that snarls as you enter, like a beast about to pounce? Have you felt time slow as the creature crosses the room in the darkness of a blink? Have you shuddered with fear when it places one clawed hand atop your head and another under your neck? Have you then experienced a sinking, sucking blackness as you discover that not all vampires feed on blood—some feed on memories? Well, have you? Perhaps not. But let me rephrase the question: Have you ever walked into a room, and suddenly forgotten why you came in?

r/shortscarystories 3 yr. ago deontistic Unnatural Birth ᵀᵂ ᶜᵘᵗˢ 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 šhut everything down; I had to šhut 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 hãrd, 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 soñ . . . 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, eyès half øpened 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 look͘ed̛ 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 “Why don’t you go and grab us some drinks while I find us something to watch,” Sheila said. “Okay,” 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. “I forgot that was in there.” Sheila had come into the kitchen and was looking over Brett’s shoulder. “What is it?” Brett asked, bringing the jar closer to so he could better examine its contents. “It’s the lips of all the men who have lied to me,” Sheila replied.

r/shortscarystories 5 yr. ago [deleted] «ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵉᵗᵘˢ 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 “chemicals” 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/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. “Make a wish,” 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. “I made my wish!” 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. “Now the cake’s all for me,” said Stacy, dimpling anew. “Unless…do you want some, Mummy?”

https://www.reddit.com/r/FullEpisodesOfSB/

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/TwoSentenceHorror 6 yr. ago Lightuke After tucking my son into bed he says "check under it for monsters under my bed" I found my son hiding under it whimpering "Daddy, there's someone on my bed..."

r/shortscarystories 23 hr. ago captain-howdy2323 Unknown Stranger Oh my! I can hear him moving around down stairs. Can I remember if I heard him come inside? Idk. I must have because I've armed myself. I cower away in this closet. But I can't remember any of that. I must be in shock. Oh my heart is racing. I hear him coming up the stairs. It won't be long until he finds me. I can already see what everyone will be saying. "Man found in house", "The bloodbath". He's right outside the room. I'm breathing so heavily. I'm sure he can hear me. Please, stop shaking. Please, nerves calm down. He's opening the door. This is it. I'm so excited; I've been waiting in his closet for hours.

Guerrero de Dios KMApok "¿Si Dios existe, ¿por qué hay tanto mal en el mundo?" Es una pregunta común, pero está 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 ángeles más 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 cuántos 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 1 yr. ago Thrawn911 I See How Much Time People Have Left I was around five when I first discovered this ‘superpower’. I looked up at my mom and saw something floating near her head. “39 YEARS” I had no idea what it meant, I was a child. Then my father came home. “3 YEARS” Next year, it was only “2 YEARS”. Then only one. Then it was “11 MONTHS.” 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 “4 MINUTES”. 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. “5 DAYS” “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Nothing,” I answered. I slowly started panicking. “You know, I think I’ll come home a few days earlier…” 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 “1 MINUTE” floating above his head. He’ll probably get a heart attack soon. I looked at the person sitting beside me. “1 MINUTE” Everyone on the plane had “1 MINUTE” floating above their heads. Then the plane started to shake. “Dear passengers, it’s the pilot,” he said through the speakers. “The weather is quite bad here, there’s a bit of turbulence..”

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 cáncer took my Àngel 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 thoᥙghts, 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. “Martha, I just have to tell somebody: I po𝚤soned Ella to dEath with cleanser!” I was speechless. “I know it’s awful” she cries to me, batting her mascara-tinged lashes. “But I was so jeαlous seeing all the attention you got when Billy died.” “There’s no paın worse than watching your frıend bury theır own chıld.”

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.

Wanna search something specific her? be it fanfic or drama, lists of tags on the following sites: https://kitugame.com/tagging https://bestnickname.com/tags

ʚ♡ɞ 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧. 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 ༊*·˚

Go to shortscarystories r/shortscarystories 8 yr. ago EvantheNerd83 A Perfect Baby 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈: 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆 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.

‘Seeing Red (The First Day of School)’ by Zenryhao Everyone loves the first day of school, right? New year, new classes, new friends. I like the first day of school for a different reason, though. You see, I have a sort of power. When I look at people, I can…sense a sort of aura around them. A colour outline based on how long that person has to live. Most everyone I meet around my age is surrounded by a solid green hue, which means they have plenty of time left. A fair amount of them have a yellow orange tinge to their auras, which tends to mean a disease or fire; some tragedy. Anything that takes people “before their time” as they say. The real fun is when the auras venture into the red end of the spectrum, though. Every now and again I’ll see someone who’s basically a stoplight. Those are the ones who get in a car crash, or even a victim of crime. It’s such a rush to see them and know their time is numbered. With that in mind, I always get to class very early so I can scout out my classmates’ fates. The first kid who came in was basically radiating red. I tsk tsk tsk. Huh. But as people kept walking in, they all had the same intense red glow. I finally caught a glimpse of my own fading reflection in the window, but I was too stunned to move. Our professor stepped in and locked the door, his aura a sickening shade of green...

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/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.'

ʳ/ˢᶜᵃʳʸˢᵗᵒʳⁱᵉˢ ¹⁵ ʰʳ‧ ᵃᵍᵒ ᴰʳᵉᵃᵈ_ᴿᵉᵃᵖᵉʳ_ ᵀʰᵉ ᴾˡᵃʸᵍʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ᴵⁿ ᵃ ᑫᵘⁱᵉᵗ⸴ ᵃᵇᵃⁿᵈᵒⁿᵉᵈ ˢᶜʰᵒᵒˡ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵃᵘᵍʰᵗᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʳᵉⁿ ᵘˢᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵉᶜʰᵒ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵃˡˡˢ‧ ᴼⁿᵉ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ⸴ ᵃ ʲᵃⁿⁱᵗᵒʳ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ᶠᵃⁱⁿᵗ ᵍⁱᵍᵍˡᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵒˡˡᵒʷᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖˡᵃʸᵍʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ‧ ᵀʰᵉʳᵉ⸴ ʰᵉ ˢᵃʷ ˢʷⁱⁿᵍˢ ᵐᵒᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ᵒʷⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢʰᵃᵈᵒʷˢ ᵒᶠ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʳᵉⁿ ᵖˡᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵃᵖᵖʳᵒᵃᶜʰᵉᵈ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ˢʷⁱⁿᵍˢ ˢᵘᵈᵈᵉⁿˡʸ ˢᵗᵒᵖᵖᵉᵈ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʳᵉⁿ'ˢ ˡᵃᵘᵍʰᵗᵉʳ ᵗᵘʳⁿᵉᵈ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ˢⁱⁿⁱˢᵗᵉʳ ʷʰⁱˢᵖᵉʳˢ⸴ ʳᵉᵛᵉᵃˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʰᵒˢᵗˢ ᵒᶠ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʳᵉⁿ ʷʰᵒ ʰᵃᵈ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᶜʰᵒᵒˡ‧ ᵀʰᵉⁿ⸴ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ˢʷⁱⁿᵍˢ ᶜʳᵉᵃᵏᵉᵈ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿ⸴ ʳᵉᵛᵉᵃˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵍʰᵒˢᵗˡʸ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰᵒˡˡᵒʷ ᵉʸᵉˢ⸴ ʷʰⁱˢᵖᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ⸴ "ʲᵒⁱⁿ ᵘˢ ᶠᵒʳᵉᵛᵉʳ‧"

Jᴇʟʟʏ_Bᴇᴀɴ36 I ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴀʏ ᴡʜᴇɴ I ғᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴏᴜɴᴛᴀɪɴ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜᴛʜ ᴀs ɪᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀʀᴋ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴅᴀʏ ᴏғ ɪᴍᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟɪᴛʏ. Nᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ʀᴀᴄᴇ ʜᴀs ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴡɪᴘᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ I'ᴍ ᴀʟʟ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ.

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r/TwoSentenceHorror Deiun ...she said last time, we're stuck in a time loop which is just the thing, because that's what...

https://www.reddit.com/r/FullEpisodesOfSB/comments/1651tuc/comment/jybjno5/

"I wanted to scream, but I have no mouth."

r/shortscarystories 23 hr. ago captain-howdy2323 Unknown Stranger Oh my! I can hear him moving around down stairs. Can I remember if I heard him come inside? Idk. I must have because I've armed myself. I cower away in this closet. But I can't remember any of that. I must be in shock. Oh my heart is racing. I hear him coming up the stairs. It won't be long until he finds me. I can already see what everyone will be saying. "Man found in house", "The bloodbath". He's right outside the room. I'm breathing so heavily. I'm sure he can hear me. Please, stop shaking. Please, nerves calm down. He's opening the door. This is it. Finally. I've been waiting in his closet for hours.

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 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 na͠me. 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 kïlłers 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 cûrsêd. Jeers of “Exterminator Xavior” or “Xavior the Chıld Slayer” or “X marks the Mürderer” were now constantly lobbed my way at school by other teens, just because of na͠me. Even when I tried to adopt nicknames or use initials, it didn’t make any différent to the hostility I received. Whenever I gave my name to people, they’d clarify “Like the rampage kıller?” 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.

https://www.reddit.com/r/spongebob_piracy/new/

My family Story by Pansyk I died eight years ago. It wasn’t particularly tragic. Or unusual. Just a car accident. I don’t blame the man who hit me. He was speeding because his wife was in labor, and there was black ice on the road. He lost control of the car and I lost my life. It's not his fault. I know that. I’m not cruel. I am not vengeful. If anything, I’m the opposite.. ↓Keep reading ↓ 31ST OCT 2020 u/Pansyk I don’t blame the man who hit me. He was speeding because his wi҉fé was in labour, and lost control of the car and I lost my lįfe. It's not his fault. I am not vengeful. I’m the opposite. You see, I don’t have any family left and I had lost my few friends around that time. When it was time for my funeral, the only people who came was my boss and the family of the man who kılled me. The wi҉fé held her newborn daughter Lily close to her. I hated my boss, and the cemetery was awfully lonely, so I followed the family home. Lily may as well have been my own flesh and bľood. She was sweet, and bright, and oh so very small. She had trouble sleeping if someone wasn’t rocking her crib and her parents were so tired. After they put her to bed, it was easy for me to rock her crib for her. I didn’t get tired. I could help her. As the years passed, Jack and Lori realised that they weren’t alone in the house. It didn’t take long from there to make a connection between my funeral and when I had showed up. And I’d never been malevolent, so they weren’t afraid or angry. They started to burn candles on the anniversary of my dEath day. They left an empty chair for meals and holidays. I really felt like… A member of the family. Someone is trying to force the door. Its Lori’s ex. He’s obsessive. He’s angry. He’s going to hur͘t the family. My family. The thing about ghosts, is that the more offerings you get, the stronger you become. Id been enjoying candles, trinkets, and even the occasional food item for the past five years. I was strong from that. The kn1fe feels warm in my hand. A shock of heat against the ice of my skin. Lori, Jack, and Lily are my family. I care about them. And they’re not gonna join me yet.

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r/shortscarystories 4 yr. ago hyperobscura 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚂𝙴𝙴𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙼𝙰𝙽? 𝙴𝚇𝚃. 𝙰 𝙱𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙺 𝙱𝚄𝙸𝙻𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 - 𝙶𝙸𝙰𝙽𝚃 𝙿𝙾𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙾𝙽 𝚆𝙰𝙻𝙻, 𝙱𝙾𝙻𝙳 𝙻𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 𝚈𝙴𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶: ‘𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚂𝙴𝙴𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙼𝙰𝙽?’ 𝚆𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑, 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎. 𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝙴𝚡𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜? 𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚜? 𝙷𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚜 𝚊 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗. 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍𝚕𝚢. 𝚆𝙾𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝? 𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎? 𝚆𝙾𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎? 𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝚆𝙾𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝙰𝚗𝚍? 𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎? 𝚆𝙾𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝. 𝙼𝙰𝙽 ...𝚁𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. 𝚆𝙾𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝙴𝚡𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗’𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚙. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚡𝚎𝚍, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛. 𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝙸...𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝. 𝙲𝚄𝚃 𝚃𝙾: 𝙸𝙽𝚃. 𝙻𝙸𝚅𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙼 - 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙲, 𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝙴𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚈 𝙻𝙸𝚀𝚄𝙾𝚁 𝙱𝙾𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴𝚂. 𝚆𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑, 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜. 𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎...𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚗. 𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝚄𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚗. 𝙷𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚞𝚙 𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚕𝚢, 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚑. 𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚗. 𝙲𝚄𝚃 𝚃𝙾: 𝙴𝚇𝚃. 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚃𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙺 𝙱𝚄𝙸𝙻𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 - 𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙻𝚈 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚆𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚚𝚞𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍. 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚗. 𝙷𝚎 𝚒𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚜; 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚐𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚝. 𝙰𝚗 𝚎𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚜 𝚋𝚢. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛. 𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝚆𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗? 𝙷𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗? 𝙴𝙻𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙻𝚈 𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝙽𝚘. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚗’𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏𝚏. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑. 𝙰 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛. 𝙷𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚙𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝙲𝚄𝚃 𝚃𝙾: 𝙴𝚇𝚃. 𝙱𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙺 𝙱𝚄𝙸𝙻𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 - 𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴 - 𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙻𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙴𝙴𝚃 𝙻𝙰𝙼𝙿 𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚄𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝙷𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠-𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜. 𝙰 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚢. 𝙰 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜. 𝚄𝙽𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗? 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚓𝚘𝚕𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎, 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚌 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎. 𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝙽𝚘...𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗? 𝚆𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗? 𝚄𝙽𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗. 𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝙽𝚘 𝚗𝚘 𝚗𝚘. 𝙻𝚘𝚘𝚔. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚗. 𝙷𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚓𝚎𝚛𝚔𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚔. 𝚆𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚠. 𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚔. 𝙸𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎. 𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗’𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎. 𝚄𝙽𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚘𝚠. 𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗? 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗? 𝚄𝙽𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝. 𝚆𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍. 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝚆𝚑𝚘 𝚊𝚖 𝙸? 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙴𝙽𝙳 “It’s me dad,” 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. “Who is the man,” he just keeps muttering.

‘First Words‘ by alatus_corruptrix Any day now, she’ll say her first words. My wife and I have been playfully betting on what she’ll say first – ‘Mamá’ or ‘Daddy.’ I can hear my wife crooning over and over while she feeds her ‘Mama’s little girl! Mamá loves you so much!’ Sometimes, she’s not even subtle about it – ‘Say ‘Mamá!’ Come on! ‘Mamá!” I don’t mind it though. I still believe I’ll win. When we first brought her home, she would scream and cry and nothing my wife would say could calm her down. Ours must be a daddy’s girl. I sit her in her chair and my wife and I begin babbling like chickens – ‘Mamá!’ ‘Daddy!’ ‘Say Mamá!’ ‘Who’s daddy’s baby?’ I pull the gag from our little girl’s mouth. “P-please… what do you want from me? Please, let me go…” My wife’s smile falls from her face. With a heavy heart, I put the gag back in as the girl starts to scream. I take her back and dispose of her. When I return, I find my wife crying. “It’s ok, honey,” I tell her; “the next one will be better, I promise.”

“I came home from a hard day of work only to find my girlfriend holding our child. I didn’t know which was more horrifying, seeing my dead girlfriend and child, or knowing someone put them there.” -Edwin Reifer

https://emojicombos.com/read-before-doing-horror https://emojicombos.com/how-to-write-horror

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 mínd 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 throuģh the usual questions. My name, my age, my address. Then I got aņothe̷r call, so I put him on hold. “Ma’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.” “What’s going on, Officer? Is he in some kind of trouble?” There was a pause, like he was choosing his words carefully. “I’m afraid it’s more serious than that. I’m sorry you have to find out like this, but we just got the test̕ back. We’re finding out the same time as you. I’m afraid your son’s bødy was found three weeks ago.” “No, 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.” “Ma’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.” 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 sơn. 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, “I'm here҉, MoM.” The line went dead.

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.

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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 deἀd. I was the one that saw the lífe 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 lífe. 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.

ʙʟɪᴛᴢᴇɴᴋʀɪᴇɢ2194 • 1 ʏʀ. ᴀɢᴏ Tʜᴇ ᴍᴏɴsᴛᴇʀ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴅ ᴘᴏᴋᴇᴅ ɪs ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ's ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴍ. "Dᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴏʀʀʏ," ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏɴsᴛᴇʀ ᴡʜɪsᴘᴇʀᴇᴅ, "ʜᴇ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴜʀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ."

🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍

I destroy the monsters you don’t ever want to know about. by KMApok 'Why is there bad in the world?' It’s a common question, but it is misplaced. Light and dark. Without one, the other cannot exist. I roam the Earth, disposing of the bad wherever I find it. I destroy the ones you don’t even want to know about. I eliminate them completely so you can sleep at night. You people have no idea how many of you live because of the suffocating work I do. 'What about criminals, Mussolini, Adolph...' Well, those are the 'minor' ones I had to let live. For balance. The ones I suffocatingly destroy are too horrible and vile to even speak of... You see, I would wager you never have heard of me, specifically in any religious texts. Still I bet you have known of me. Some, for example, have their own name for me: SID's short for what you might call Sudden Infant Death Syndrome..

I NEED SOME BREAD AND CEREAL TOO June 7, 2017 @hellofinah You get a phone call from your Mum. Since her car has been in the shop, she asks you to go to the grocery store and pick up a few odds and ends for her. Bread, milk, cereal, and chicken... After writing down a small list you reluctantly get in the car and pick up the items at the store. Cashier makes an odd remark to you: “you know, we’re in no danger of a milk shortage...” Once arriving at mum's home, you knock several times. No answer. You decide to try the door. It opens. You place the grocery bag on the counter. Strange. There seems to be six other grocery bags, each with identical contents. In some bags, the chicken and milk have gone stale. You call out for mum, but no reply. You make your way through the kitchen and into the living room. Sitting on the couch, with her detached head neatly resting on her lap, is mum. Naturally you call the police who come over to investigate. They mention that she has been dead for nearly a week. Furthermore, the police psychiatrist is at the scene and talks to you after you give your initial statement. Sitting on the front steps, you overhear the psychiatrist talking with the crime scene investigator. “It’s not uncommon for people suffering from schizophrenia to get locked into series of repetitive behaviour” he says. You think to yourself, “They can’t be talking about me. Schizophrenia? Nah. Repetitive behavior? Do they think I did this?” Suddenly your cell phone goes off. “Hello?” “Hi hun, it’s me. Could you stop at the store and pick up some chicken and milk. Ohh, and I need some bread and cereal too.” “No problem, mum; I’ll be right over…”

People may like horror for many different reasons. Personification of non-human's, perspective, etc. There's some considerate guidelines to take in-to account. Of course, horror's meant to be scary, but not to frightening as to cause panic attack. Trigger warnings may give away the ending or some plot twist. Here are some tips: ~Profanity. Can say like 'oh dear' or something. ~Gore, avoiding unnecessary graphic detail. ~Animals. Can be something like 'the dog growls at presence of ghost' ~Self harm, etc. You can, however, have a character sacrifice oneself. ~Abuse (like exploitation, arranged marriage) although you can imply abduct, poison, etc. ~Stereotyping groups (portraying certain authorities, religions, cultures, etc. as disrespectful) You can use (with discretion) controversial topics (execution, foeticide, the double effect, etc.) lightly. You can mention potential topics (cannibal, baby death, poisons, apocalypse, etc.) in story insofar as it partains to the plot, but no glorifying trauma. You can have the narrator be the villain, victim, or bystander. Have fun writing, and heed your emotions!

@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/

Remembering the 1977 Evansville Purple Aces Tuesday, December 13, 1977 was a cold, rainy evening in Evansville, Indiana. Fog was moving in in front of a cold front, and wind gusts whipped across the prairie. The University of Evansville Purple Aces, the men’s basketball team, was preparing to head to a game at Middle Tennessee State University in Murfreesboro, Tennessee. But the team had waited over three hours at the airport before their plane arrived. It had been delayed due to inclement weather. The players and their new coach, Bobby Watson, were excited and anticipating this game, thinking it could be the beginning of the holiday turn-around games they were expecting to win... With a 1 – 3 record going into this game, the Aces wanted to prove they had what it would take to bring home a victory, and that their young, optimistic coach was right – in their first season of Division 1 competition they planned to be a force to be reckoned with come spring. And the City of Evansville staunchly supported them! But at 7:22 p.m., on runway 18 at Evansville Dress Regional Airport, all hopes for the team and their coach ended. Within 90 seconds after takeoff, the twin-engine Douglas C-53 (DC-3) chartered to fly the team to Nashville, lost control and crashed in a nearby field. There were 29 people on board, all of whom lost their lives… The hometown basketball team was gone. The horror of the crash rebounded around the city, the state, the Midwest, and the country. The official accident report listed the probable cause of the crash as "An attempted take-off with the rudder and right aileron control locks installed, in combination with a rearward centre of gravity, which resulted in the aircraft's rotating to a nose-high attitude immediately after take-off, and entering the region of reversed command from which the pilot was unable to recover.” The report also stated that the passenger baggage had not been loaded correctly, creating an improper weight balance in the rear of the plane. Of those who were, 14 were members of the Purple Aces basketball team, along with Coach Bobby Watson. Also on board were three student managers, three UE officials, the team’s radio announcer, two fans, and four members of the flight crew, along with the president of the airline. No survivors of the team left, save for one member of the Purple Aces had not been injured. Freshman David Furr, who also served as the team’s statistician, had been sidelined due to an infirmity and was not on the plane that night.. But two-weeks later, Furr and his 16-year-old brother were in a car crash after being hit by a driver. By the end of 1977, all of the members of UE’s Purple Aces were gone. Remembering those who lost their lives in the crash: University of Evansville Coach Robert (Bobby) Watson Purple Aces Players Kevin Kingston, senior John Ed Washington, senior Tony Winburn, senior Steve Miller, junior Bryan Taylor, junior Keith Moon, sophomore Warren Alston, freshman Ray Comandella, freshman Mike Duff, freshman Kraig Heckendorn, freshman Michael Joyner, freshman Barney Lewis, freshman Greg Smith, freshman Mark Siegel, freshman Student Managers Jeff Bohnert Mark (Tank) Kirkpatrick Mark Kniese University of Evansville Officials Bob Hudson, athletic business manager Gregory Knipping, sports information director Charles Shike, comptroller Radio Announcer Marvin (Marv) Bates Fans and Boosters Charles Goad Maurice (Maury) King Flight Crew Members & Airline Representatives Ty Van Pham, pilot Gaston Ruiz, first officer Pam Smith, flight attendant James Stewart, president of National Jet Service, Inc. Bill Hartford, charter flight manager

20 OCTOBER 2010 VIA LoveGivesMeHope lovegivesmehope: givesmehope: My best friend died in a car accident on his way to deliver me soup for my cold. Found in the car was also a bouquet of flowers and a card that read: “We’ve been best friends for the last 5 years. Now, let’s be lovers for the next 50.” Unforgettable LGMH

I see the death of everyone I meet. (Written by JJX2525, from Reddit) SHARED JUN 05 I see the death of everyone I meet. Once, when I was in kindergarten, I got booted out of class for telling the new girl Abigail that she smelt bad̳. I remember it vividly – a bloody-burny-boozy smell that hit me the moment she came in. Abigail burst into tears and I got a stern lecture on telling lıes. But it wasn’t a lie. My little nose had leapt forward ten years into the future, where a teenage Abigail would drunkenly plough her parent’s Mitsubishi straight into the front of an oncoming bus. When we met again in middle school I smelt it a second time, along with the song she’d be playing on the radio – five seconds of a generic disco beat. The last thing she’d hear. I know it’s bad҉ to say, but I think there’s something sacred about it. There’s nothing more personal then someone’s last̀ moments of lífe. I try not to take it for granted. It’s hard, sometimes, though, especially once I got older and better at it. Along with smells came sounds, sights, and even feelings, though that last one was rare. In this day and age most people go to their dEath with pastel colours and blinking machines and a faint whiff of hand sanitizer, their brains too fizzled to know what’s about to happen. There are exceptions. Like Abigail, or my middle school gym teacher, who was going to dıe with a deafening bang in a rush of mad courage. I couldn’t hear a word of his opening lecture because my ears were still ringing. Suıcıde will do that to you. Have I ever told anyone? Of course not. Can you imagine? Even if they did believe me, which I doubt, it wouldn’t be long before curiosity got the better of them. They’d want to know what I saw in them. Which is fine for the heart attacks and the quietly-in-their-sleeps, but what do you say to a m√rder? And no you can’t change it, don’t ask me because I already tried, I already tried and you can’t beat the system. You just can’t. I already lost someone to that. Her name was Phoebe and she was in my History class at community college. It was a prettɥ small place and I knew most of the other kids there – except for her. We weren’t on speaking terms because every time she came within a few feet of me I got the urge to vom1t. It was motion sickness, but also something worse – fear. Hers was the worst fear I’d ever felt in another human being. I could hardly stand to be in the same room as her. I managed to avoid her for a couple months, until one day when she arrived late to class. She apologised and looked around, before striding to the back of the room and sitting beside me. There was nothıng I could do. I felt it all. The nausea, the terror, and a vision too, of me stuck fast in my seat as I hurdles headlong flaming out of the sky – the ocean rushing up towards me – screaming, then – Smack. Nothıng. When I came to she was glaring at me. ‘What is your problem?’ she whispered. ‘What?’ I asked, the uneasiness subsiding. ‘I don’t –‘ ‘If you don’t like̢ me then just say so. Quit pretending to be ıll all the time.’ ‘Huh?’ I sat up, trying to get a better look at her. We’d never been this close before. She was pretty. I hadn’t thought about how I must look to her, running away every time she got close. ‘I swear it’s not on purpose.’ I said. ‘I’m sick͞ a lot. It isn’t you.’ ‘Sure.’ she said, looking back towards the front of the front of the class. ‘Honestly.’ I said. ‘Let me – let me make it up to you.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Seriously?’ And that was the start of it. Within a month we were official. It was the happiest time of my life. The sicknesses didn’t go away, but it subsided after a couple minutes, and she stopped taking it personally after a while. Dashing to the bathroom became part of the routine on dates. We did everything together, all the couple things – movies, dinners, walks. It was my first serious relationship. I convinced myself that her dEath – whatever it was – was still years into the future. For a while, anyway. At the start of the summer she told me she was going to visit her grandparents out of state. ‘The flight’s on Monday. I won’t be gone much more than a week.’ ‘Flight?’ I repeated. ‘Yeah.” she replied. ‘Hey, what’s wrong with you?’ I convinced her to take a road trip. I can’t remember the exact excuse I gave. Some nonsense about expenses, life experience, our ‘carbon footprint’. How it took me that long to guess it could be a plane crash I’ll never know. I was in too deep, I guess. But whatever it was I said she must have seen I was serious. She rented a red mini from the local garage and, after we’d packed it up, I kissed her goodbye and said it was the right decision. ‘Okay.’ She laughed. ‘Weirdo.’ Straight after she left I got the urge to call her, but I told myself I was being overprotective. I worked for a few hours, then flopped down in front of the TV. I watched bad reality shows until I got bored, then flicked to the local news station just in time to see the breakıng story of a twelve car pile-up on a suspension bridge, when a truck driver dozing at the wheel had strayed out of his lane, clipping the corner of a passing car which swerved into another, triggering a chain of collisions which ended tragically when – some viewers may find this footage disturbing – a red mini was forced over the side, plummeting into the ocean beloɯ..

ᔆʷᵉᵉᵗ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐˢ ⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾ ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵈᵉˢᵗʳᵒʸᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ⸴ ˢᵒ ʰᵉ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖⁱⁿᵉᵃᵖᵖˡᵉ ʰᵒᵐᵉ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ' *ᵃʷᵏʷᵃʳᵈ ᶜʰᵘᶜᵏˡᵉ* ' ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵒⁿ ⁱⁿ!" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵒᵖᵉⁿˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᵀʰᵃⁿᵏˢ⸴ ᵏⁱᵈ; ᴵ'ᵐ ᵗⁱʳᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵈᵉˢᵗʳᵒʸᵉᵈ‧‧‧" "ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵗᵃʸ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐᵉ⸴ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁿᵗ‧" ᴴᵉ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵈⁱᵈ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᵉˣʰᵃᵘˢᵗᵉᵈ‧ "ᴰᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵐʸ ᵇᵉᵈ? ᵀʰᵉʳᵉ'ˢ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ᵒᶠ ᵘˢ‧‧‧" "ᔆᵘʳᵉ‧" ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵖᵘᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵈ⸴ ᵖᵘˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵘᵖ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇˡᵃⁿᵏᵉᵗˢ‧ "ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒʳʳʸ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ‧‧‧" "ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵒʳᵏ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵇᵘᵗ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶠᵃᵘˡᵗ‧ ᴵ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃⁿʸ ʰᵃʳᵐ ⁱⁿ ᵐʸ ˢᶜʰᵉᵐᵉˢ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵃ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵇᵘˢⁱⁿᵉˢˢ ˢᵒᵐᵉʰᵒʷ ᵃⁿᵈ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ ˢᵉᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃˢ ᵐʸ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ! ᴱᵛᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ ᴵ'ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ˡᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵃʷᵃʸ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃᵗᵗʸ‧‧‧" "ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵐᵃⁿᵃᵍᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉʰᵒʷ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵈᵃʸ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ‧ ᴵ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵇᵉ ᵃ ˢᵘᵖᵉʳ⁻ᵛⁱˡˡᵃⁱⁿ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵇᵃᵈ ᵍᵘʸˢ ᶜᵃⁿ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ˢᵒᶠᵗ ˢᵖᵒᵗˢ‧ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ᵐʸ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵒʳ ᵍʳᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵉˣᵖˡᵃⁱⁿᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ⸴ ᵉʸᵉ ᶜˡᵒˢⁱⁿᵍ‧ "ᴵᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ᵃⁿʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵉˡˢᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵗᵃˡᵏ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ; ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵃˢᵏᵉᵈ⸴ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ʳᵉᵖˡʸ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ?" ' *ˢⁿᵒʳⁱⁿᵍ* ' "‧‧‧ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ᶠᵃˢᵗ‽" ᵂʰⁱˢᵖᵉʳᵉᵈ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵘᵖᵒⁿ ʰᵉᵃʳⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉ ˢⁿᵒʳᵉᵈ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ˡⁱᵏᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵃˡᵏ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ'ᵈ ᵍᵉᵗ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗᵐᵃʳᵉˢ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐᵗ ᵒᶠ ᴾᵉᵃʳˡ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʰᵃˡᵉ‧ ᴵⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ⸴ ˢʰᵉ ᵗʳᵃᵖᵖᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ‧ 'ᔆᵗᵒᵖ' ʰᵉ ˢᵃʸˢ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ‧ ᴾᵉᵃʳˡ ᵒⁿˡʸ ˡᵃᵘᵍʰᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿˢᵉ‧ ᔆᵘᵈᵈᵉⁿˡʸ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢʰᵒʷˢ ᵘᵖ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ‧ 'ᴴᵉˡᵖ ᵐᵉ!' ᴴᵉ ᶜᵃˡˡᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ‧ 'ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ʰᵉˡᵖ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ!' ᴿᵉᵖˡⁱᵉᵈ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗᵐᵃʳᵉ ˢᵗʳᵉˢˢᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵉⁿᵒᵘᵍʰ ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱᵐ ᵗᵒ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ʷʰⁱᵐᵖᵉʳ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧ ᴴⁱˢ ᶜʳⁱᵉˢ ʷᵒᵏᵉ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵘᵖ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ?" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃᵗ ᵘᵖ‧ ʸᵉᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿʷʰⁱˡᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ ᴾᵉᵃʳˡ ʰᵃᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗ ᵇᵘʳⁿ ᵒⁿ ᶠⁱʳᵉ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᶠˡᵃᵐᵉˢ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ⸴ ᵇᵘʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ‧ 'ᴳᵒᵒᵈᵇʸᵉ!' ᴾᵉᵃʳˡ ˢᵃⁱᵈ‧ ᴹᵉᵃⁿʷʰⁱˡᵉ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʳᵉᵃˡⁱˢᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷᵃˢ ˢʰᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ!" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃⁱᵈ⸴ ᵈⁱˢᵗʳᵉˢˢᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ˢᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ᵘᵖˢᵉᵗ‧ ᴴᵒʷᵉᵛᵉʳ⸴ ʰⁱˢ ˢᶜᵃʳᵉᵈ ᵛᵒⁱᶜᵉ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ʷᵃʸ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ‧ 'ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ!' ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᶜᵃˡˡ ᵒᵘᵗ ˢᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ᶜᵒⁿˢᵘᵐᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠˡᵃᵐᵉˢ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ‧ 'ᴺᵒ!' 'ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ‧‧‧' ᴾᵉᵃʳˡ ˢᵃⁱᵈ‧ "ᴺᵒ!" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶜʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ⸴ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ʷᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵘᵖ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃʷ ʰⁱᵐ ˢⁱᵗ ᵘᵖ‧ "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⸴ ʰᵉʸ⸴ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵇᵉ ᵘᵖˢᵉᵗ⸴ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ˢᵃᶠᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐᵉ‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ ᵇᵒᵇ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᴿᵉᵃˡⁱˢⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉ ʲᵘˢᵗ ʰᵃᵈ ᵃ ᵇᵃᵈ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵉᵐᵇʳᵃᶜᵉᵈ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ‧ "ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒʳʳʸ; ᴵ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐᵗ ᴾᵉᵃʳˡ ʰᵘʳᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃˡˡ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵉ‧" "ᴵᵗ ʷᵃˢ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵃ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ; ⁱᵗ’ˢ ᵃˡˡ ᵒᵛᵉʳ‧ ᴵ ᶜᵃʳᵉ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶠᵃᵘˡᵗ‧ ᴴᵒⁿᵉˢᵗˡʸ ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᴾᵉᵃʳˡ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵉᵃᵗˢ ᵐᵉᵃᵗ⸴ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ʷᵒʳʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ⁱᶠ ᵒⁿ ʰᵉʳ ᵈⁱᵉᵗ‧ ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʰᵉʳ‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᶜʳⁱᵉˢ ᵈʷⁱⁿᵈˡᵉ ᵃˢ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʰᵒˡᵈˢ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈ‧ "ᵂʰᵉⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᴵ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃ ᵇᵃᵈ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ ᴵ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᶠᵘⁿ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ⸴ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ʲᵉˡˡʸᶠⁱˢʰⁱⁿᵍ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵍᵃᵛᵉ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃ ˢᵐᵃˡˡ ˢᵐⁱˡᵉ‧ "ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ᵉⁿʲᵒʸ ˢᵘᶜʰ ᵃˢ ˢᶜⁱᵉⁿᵗⁱᶠⁱᶜ ⁱⁿᵛᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ⸴ ᵒʳ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᶜᵃᵘˢⁱⁿᵍ ᵛᵉⁿᵍᵉᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᵗᵒ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵉⁿᵉᵐⁱᵉˢ; ʷʰᵃᵗᵉᵛᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ ᵉⁿʲᵒʸᵃᵇˡᵉ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵐⁱˡᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ⸴ ʰᵘᵍᵍⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᴵˢ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵉᵃˢᵗ ʰᵉ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵈᵒ⸴ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ‧

December 13, 1977, Evansville Aces players, coaches, supporters and flight crew boarded a chartered DC-3 plane to travel to Murfreesboro for a game against Middle Tennessee. Just one minute after taking off, at 7:22 p.m. crashed, tragically taking the lives of everyone onboard. The only member of the Purple Aces who did not die in the crash was 18-year-old freshman David Furr; he was out for the season with some infirmary and thus was not on the plane that day. Lucky break? Well… Davis Lee Furr, weeks after the plane crash, and his younger brother Byron were killed in a car accident near Newton, Illinois, leaving the entire 1977 Evansville team dead.

🥀 🩸 🔪 🥀 🩸 🔪 🥀 🩸

ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ/ᴋɪʟʟɪɴɢ 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.

💜🕷✨💕🐮🖤🔗~ ~🔗🖤🐮💕✨🕷💜

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.