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r/TwoSentenceHorror 5 yr. ago AlexDalcourt I like to flap my hands and vocalize- sometimes I do it in public. "Reports coming in that an Autistic child was killed by police for suspicious behaviour and resistance of arrest."

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 6 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ The sounds Plankton makes shift again. "Skrink, skrink." Karen's eyes light up with understanding. "It's his brain's new way of saying 'I'm okay'," she whispers. "It's a 'stim'." Chip looks at his dad, his curiosity piqued. Plankton's antennae wriggle, his eye glazed over. "Skrink, skrink, skrink." The sounds are soothing, almost hypnotic. "It's like he's playing a tune," Chip murmurs. Karen nods. "In a way, he is," she says. "It's his brain's symphony." The room is bathed in the glow of Plankton's stims, his autism's unique melody. "Dad?" Chip asks tentatively, his voice a whisper. Plankton's head tilts slightly, his antennae still. "Skrink skrink skrink," he repeats. It's like he's in a trance, lost in a world only he understands. Plankton's eye flickers. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen whispers. "You can keep making your sounds." And then it happens. Plankton's voice shifts, echoing Karen's words. "It's okay, Plankton," he murmurs. Chip looks at his mom, his eyes wide. "Is he... is he okay?" Karen nods. "It's his way of processing," she says. "It's called 'echolalia'." Chip nods, his gaze never leaving his father's. "It's when his brain mimics the words he hears to make sense of them," she explains. "It's like when you repeat something until it feels right." Plankton's antennae twitch in time with his echoes. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice a mirror of Karen's soothing tone. Chip smiles. "It's okay, Plankton," he repeats, trying to enforce his dad's calm. But Plankton thinks Chip's making fun of him. His antennae shoot straight up, his eye wide with hurt anger at Chip. "It's not a game, Chip!" Plankton snaps. "It's not something to tck tck... to mock!" Karen sighs, knowing this conversation needs to be handled with care. "Sorry, Dad," Chip says, his voice shaking. "I just... I thought it would he-" "It's not for you to think about!" Plankton cuts him off. Karen puts a hand on Chip's shoulder, her gaze on Plankton. "Chip didn't mean anything by it," she says calmly. "He just wants to understand and connect." She turns to Chip, her screen filled with compassion. "I know it's hard to see Dad like this," she says. "But remember, his autism is part of him, and we need to respect it. He doesn't like it when you mimic his sounds like that." Chip nods, feeling a wave of guilt. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispers. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, but he doesn't look at Chip. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soothing. "We're all learning here." Plankton's hand starts to move again, tracing patterns on the blanket. Karen watches. "It's his 'stimming', Chip," she says. "It's his way of self-soothing, and these movements and sounds help him to cope." Chip nods, his eyes still wet. "But why did he get so mad when I do it?" he asks. Karen sighs. "Because it's his own personal language, his way of understanding the world," she explains. "When you address it, he feels like you're invading his space, like you're not taking his feelings seriously. It's something his brain does for himself only." Karen smiles gently. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers. "Chip's just trying to understand everything. You can keep making your sounds." Chip wants to help, but he doesn't know how. "Just let him be, Chip," Karen says, her voice soothing. Plankton shifts again, his eye teary. "It's okay, Plankton," he murmurs, echoing Karen's words from earlier. Chip clenches. He didn't mean to upset him, seeing his dad's eye welling up with tears. Karen's hand finds Plankton's, squeezing it gently. "It's okay, Plankton," she says. "You don't have to hide it from us." Plankton's tears spill over, tracing a silent river down his cheek. Karen's eyes never leave his. "You don't have to hide, Plankton," she whispers. "We're here for you." Chip watches. He doesn't know what to do, his mind racing. "Mom," he says, his voice shaking, "What can I do?" Karen turns to him, her expression gentle. "Just be here," she says. "Just listen and learn." Plankton's tears stream down. "It's okay, Plankton," he hears his wife say again. The words echo in his mind, a comforting mantra. "It's okay, Plankton," Plankton murmurs, trying to mimic her tone. But it sounds forced, wrong. He swallows hard. "That's right, Plankton," Karen says, smiling. "You're okay. You're safe, Plankton," she repeats. "You're here with us." Chip watches his dad, his heart breaking. "Mom, why is he...?" Karen's eyes are filled with pain. "It's his way of telling us he's okay," she says. "He's using my words because right now, his brain can't find his own." Chip nods, his eyes on his father. Plankton's hand is still moving, tracing the patterns on the blanket. "It's okay, Dad," Chip whispers. Plankton's crying intensifies, his tics becoming more pronounced. "Tck tck tck," he murmurs, his antennae flailing. Karen reaches for him, but he flinches away. "It's okay, Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "We're here." Chip watches, his own screen wet with tears. He's never seen his dad like this before. He feels like an outsider in a conversation he's always been a part of. "You don't have to hide your tears," Karen whispers to Plankton. "We're a family." Plankton's sobs become louder, his tics more pronounced. "Tck tck tck," he says, his body convulsing slightly. Karen's hand is firm but gentle on his back, offering silent support. "It's okay," she murmurs. "Let it out." Chip watches. "Why is he...?" his voice trails off. Karen looks at him, her screen full of love. "It's his way of saying he's overwhelmed, Chip," she whispers. "When he repeats my words, it's his brain trying to find the comfort it needs." Plankton's cries become louder, his tics more erratic. "Tck tck tck," he sobs, his body shaking. Chip feels helpless, his mind racing. He wants to make it stop, but he doesn't know how. "Just be here, buddy," Karen says, her voice calm. "Sometimes, that's all he needs." Plankton's tics morph into full-body shudders, his cries now muffled by the blanket. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen whispers, her hand still rubbing his back. "We're with you." Chip watches as his father's sobs echo in the room, each one a heartbreaking testament to the weight he carries. "You're not alone," he whispers, his voice tiny in the face of Plankton's distress. The words tumble from Plankton's mouth, a mix of Karen's soothing tones and his own raw pain. "It's o-okay, P-Plankton," he repeats, his voice broken. "It's o-okay." Karen's eyes well up too, but she remains steadfast. She's seen this before. "Tck tck tck," Plankton says, his body convulsing with each sob. "You don't have t-to tck tck hide it-t." Karen nods, her thumb brushing away a tear. "It's okay," she whispers. "We love you just as you are." Plankton's sobs turn into hiccups, his antennae twitching. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice mimicking hers. Karen's hand moves in gentle circles on Plankton's back, her eyes never leaving his. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen says. "You're safe here." Plankton's sobs subside slightly. Karen nods. "That's right," she whispers. "Your sounds, your tics, they're part of you." Chip watches. He's never seen his dad so vulnerable. "But... but why?" he asks. Karen takes a deep breath. "His autism, Chip," she says. "It's like his brain has its own language, and when he's overwhelmed, it comes out." Plankton's tics become less erratic, his breathing even. "It's okay, Dad," Chip says, his voice trembling. "You're not alone." Karen smiles sadly. "He knows that, Chip," she says. "But sometimes, his brain just needs to speak its own words." Plankton's eye meets his wife's, the panic receding slightly as Chip watches.

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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.

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 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...

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

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‧"

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.

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.

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/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.

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.

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/

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?”

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

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

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.

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."

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

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

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..”

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.

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."

🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍

@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/

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.

r/shortscarystories 4 yr. ago RVKony Join The Blind Child "Stãbbing." 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 cûrsêd 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 lįfe 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."

ᴍʏ ᴍᴜᴍ (𝟾𝟸ғ) ᴛᴏʟᴅ ᴍᴇ (𝟷𝟸ᴍ) ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪsʜᴇs (𝟷𝟼) ʙᴜᴛ ɪ (𝟷𝟸ᴍ) ᴡᴀs ᴛᴏᴏ ʙᴜsʏ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ғᴏʀᴛɴɪᴛᴇ (𝟹 ᴋɪʟʟs) sᴏ ɪ (𝟷𝟸ᴍ) ɢʀᴀʙʙᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟʟᴇʀ (ᴅᴜᴀʟsʜᴏᴄᴋ 𝟺) ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜʀᴇᴡ ɪᴛ ᴀᴛ ʜᴇʀ (𝟷𝟹𝟾ᴋᴘʜ). sʜᴇ ʜᴇᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴅɪᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ (𝟷𝟸ᴍ) ᴡᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀɪsᴏɴ (𝟷𝟾 ʏᴇᴀʀs). ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ɪɴ ᴘʀɪsᴏɴ ɪ (𝟷𝟸ᴍ) ɪɴᴄɪᴛᴇᴅ sᴇᴠᴇʀᴀʟ ʀɪᴏᴛs (𝟹) ᴀɴᴅ ᴀssᴜᴍᴇᴅ ʟᴇᴀᴅᴇʀsʜɪᴘ ᴏғ ᴀ ɢᴀɴɢ ʀᴇsᴘᴏɴsɪʙʟᴇ ғᴏʀ sᴍᴜɢɢʟɪɴɢ ᴅʀᴜɢs (ᴄᴏᴄᴀɪɴᴇ) ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛʀʏ. ɪ (𝟷𝟸ᴍ) ᴀʟsᴏ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀssᴀssɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ sᴇᴠᴇʀᴀʟ ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀɪᴛɪᴇs (ᴍɪᴄʜᴀᴇʟ ᴊᴀᴄᴋsᴏɴ, ᴇʟᴠɪs ᴘʀᴇsʟᴇʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴇғғʀᴇʏ ᴇᴘsᴛᴇɪɴ) ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ ᴀ ᴛᴇʀʀᴏʀɪsᴛ ᴀᴛᴛᴀᴄᴋ (𝟿/𝟷𝟷). ʀᴇᴅᴅɪᴛ, ᴀɪᴛᴀ?

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.'"

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.

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 kíss 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. “Happy anniversary, honey” purred Stephen’s voıce from behind me. I whirled around, my heart aflutter and a wıde, joyful smıle on my face. “Oh Stephen, you did remember! And with a personal touch, you shouldn’t have.” Swooning, I ripped the gag off our helpless victim. “Stephen, Janice…p-please let me go!” Dr Faulkner gasped in sweaty confusion. “What are you doing?!” “He’s been in there since yesterday,” Stephen informed me. “I knew you’d find your anniversary gift eventually.” “Anniversary?!” yelped Dr Faulkner. “I-isn’t your wedding anniversary in November!?” 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?

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 hurt̸ and I fałł over. The alley is go̕ne. 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 bødies 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 agøny. 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. D͜oçtor̡ 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.

C̹ͬ̂̒̽̉o͛ͥͤ͐͒ͮ͏̗̳͖͍m̷ͣ͊ͫe̥͙͍͑̇͑,̧̣̼͙̭ͩ ͈̬̫̜̞̝͑͌̑A̹ͨͮͨͬ̆̾è̘͚͕̱̯b̖͔̠̦̈o̗͎̱͕̰͔ͧ̿̉̑ͣ́̕ͅṅ͎̠͔̩̯͈ͩa͙̯͉͔͍̗ͬ̒͊͌̽̊̚ȁ͒ͦͨ͋̚͏̹͉͚s͆͊ͬh,͍̲̙͓͕̯̈́́͑͊ͬ́ ͗ͫ̎ͨ͋ͯ͆͘l͉̰̻͎͔͎ͅẹ͎̬̞̣͖͊̂͗͋ẗ͉͉̲̬̫̙̼̍ͯ̀ ̖̜͎̞̮̰̄̎̾̓͢u̯̯̠̬̐̌̍͢s҉̱̖̤̠ ̎̈́ͤ̊̌҉s̭̣̮̼̖̽ͭͤ͐ͯ͟é̥͖͓̄̔͆̎̀ͅe̺̫̗͕̩͋̊͗͢ ͖̐͛͋̓ͬ̅̇í̷̯̤̲̠͙̖̣̂̃̈̌͗ḟ̈ ͯ́y̷̭̬͖̠̪͓͖̎̔ͮǫ̙̟̦͍̀u̴̬͍̙̘͋̓̔͛̇͑ ̙̌̀̋́aͩ̿̂ṟͣͮe̖ͧ̈́͌̊̋ͧͧ̕ ̟̲̳͚̗̉ͩ͒ͬͪͬ͋a̗͇͓͖̟͉͗ͭ͐ͣ̏̐ͪs̘̞̐̇ ̫̯̠̈́̋͐̉ͦ͛͢p͍̤̬͉͍͖ȓ͙͎ͅë̠̩̮́̇ṱ̫͇̩͖̗̻ṭ̨͔ͩy̅̾̏͂ͭ͆ͩ ̺͕̈́̐ͫͧ̆ï̳͕̯̥̝̹̺͒n̢̤͚̲̩̑ͨ͆ṣ͖͕ͩ̔̋ͨ̉ͯ̐i̝̫d̖ͮ̃ͯ̈ė̶̻̲̤͇̼͖͋̑͆ͅ~̦̘̤̺̮̱̍̾ͥ̅̚~̡ͮ

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 na͠me 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 sm͢art, or as talented as my siblings. I had nothıng to offer my famıly. I wanted to earn their lòvè, but all of my attempts just drove them further away. I had almost given up h̴ope. 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 cøld 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 attacks‎ all over again. I remembered the bloodƴ 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.

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 h̴ouse. 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 “natural way”. I barely come near my own child. I know now that we have some curse kılling our babies, and it wont st̸op 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 fíght off the increasing urge to crush my two-month-old daughter. Just like I did with Amy and Elise.

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 gîrl 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 nơw. Years later my mother diεd in her sleep, leaving me alonȩ 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 cøld; 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 woŗry̕ ....Why did I just hear the front door open?

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?

ᴮᴵᴿᵀᴴᴰᴬʸ ᶜᴬᴺᴰᴸᴱᔆ ᵇʸ ʳᵉᵈᵈⁱᵗ ᵘˢᵉʳ ᶻᵉⁿʳʸʰᵃᵒ ᵀⁱᵐᵐʸ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵃʳᵈᵉˢᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵇˡᵒʷ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠⁱᶠᵗᵉᵉⁿ ᶠˡⁱᶜᵏᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᶜᵃⁿᵈˡᵉˢ‧ ᴴᵉ ʰᵘᶠᶠᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖᵘᶠᶠᵉᵈ‧‧‧ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗᵒ ⁿᵒ ᵃᵛᵃⁱˡ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵍˡᵃⁿᶜᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʷʰᵒ ʰᵃᵈ ˢᵖᵉⁿᵗ ʰᵒᵘʳˢ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵃᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗⁱᶠᵘˡ ᶜᵃᵏᵉ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉʳ ᵉˣᵖʳᵉˢˢⁱᵒⁿ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ʰⁱᵐ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵘⁿᵇᵉᵃʳᵃᵇˡʸ ᵍᵘⁱˡᵗʸ‧ ᵀⁱᵐᵐʸ'ˢ ᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ˢᵗᵃʳᵉᵈ ˢᵃᵈˡʸ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵘⁿʸⁱᵉˡᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᶠˡᵃᵐᵉˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵇᵃʳᵉˡʸ ᶠᵃˡᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵃᶜᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵀⁱᵐᵐʸ'ˢ ᶠᵉᵉᵇˡᵉ ᵃᵗᵗᵉᵐᵖᵗˢ ᵗᵒ ᵖᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵒᵘᵗ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵇˡⁱⁿᵏᵉᵈ ᵃ ᶠᵉʷ ᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ᵗᵉᵃʳˢ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᶠᵃˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ʰᵉʳ ᶠᵃᶜᵉ‧ ᵂʰⁱˢᵖᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ "ᴴᵃᵖᵖʸ ᴮⁱʳᵗʰᵈᵃʸ ᵀⁱᵐᵐʸ⸴" ˢʰᵉ ᵇˡᵉʷ ᵃ ᵍᵘˢᵗ ᵒᶠ ʷⁱⁿᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵃⁿᶜⁱⁿᵍ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗˢ ᵈⁱˢˢⁱᵖᵃᵗᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵖᵘᶠᶠˢ ᵒᶠ ˢᵐᵒᵏᵉ‧ ᵀⁱᵐᵐʸ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ ʷʰʸ ʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵈᵒ ᵗʰᵃᵗ‧ ᴵᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿˢ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸ ʸᵉᵃʳ; ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵇᵃᵏᵉᵈ ᵃ ᵖᵉʳᶠᵉᶜᵗ ᶜᵃᵏᵉ⸴ ʰᵉ ᶠᵃⁱˡᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵇˡᵒʷ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵃⁿᵈˡᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢʰᵉ ᶜʳⁱᵉˢ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶜʰᵃⁿᵍᵉᵈ ʷᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵘᵐᵇᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵃⁿᵈˡᵉˢ‧ ᵀⁱᵐᵐʸ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵒ ʰᵘᵍ ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ‧‧‧ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗᵒ ⁿᵒ ᵃᵛᵃⁱˡ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵐᵉʳᵉˡʸ ᵈʳⁱᶠᵗᵉᵈ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ʰᵉʳ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵉⁱᵗʰᵉʳ‧

Tʀᴜɴᴋ-ᴏʀ-Tʀᴇᴀᴛ /sʜᴏʀᴛsᴄᴀʀʏsᴛᴏʀɪᴇs GᴜʏAᴡᴋs Tʀᴜɴᴋ-ᴏʀ-Tʀᴇᴀᴛ “Is ᴛʜɪs ʏᴏᴜʀ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛʀᴜɴᴋ-ᴏʀ-ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ, Jᴀɴᴇᴛ? Yᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ sᴏɴ Eᴅᴅʏ ᴀʀᴇ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪᴛ!” Mʏ ɴᴇɪɢʜʙᴏᴜʀ Yᴠᴇᴛᴛᴇ ʙᴇᴀᴍs ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴀᴅᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪɴɪsʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜᴇs ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʙᴡᴇʙs ɪɴ ʜᴇʀ ᴍɪɴɪᴠᴀɴ’s ᴅɪsᴘʟᴀʏ. Aʟʟ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴋɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴛ ɪs ᴀ sᴇᴀ ᴏғ sɪᴍɪʟᴀʀ Hᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀ ɪɴ ᴄᴀʀ ʙᴏᴏᴛs, ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴀs ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟᴇᴅ ᴀs ʜᴇʀs. “Yᴇs” I ᴀɴsᴡᴇʀ, ᴀᴅᴊᴜsᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʜᴏsᴛ ᴅɪsᴘʟᴀʏ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄᴀʀ ᴛʀᴜɴᴋ. “Mʏ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴅ ʜᴇʀᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄɪᴛʏ.” “Oʜ ɪᴛ’s sᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇɴɪᴇɴᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʀɪᴄᴋ-ᴏʀ-ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ. Iɴsᴛᴇᴀᴅ ᴏғ ᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴋɪᴅs ᴅᴏᴏʀ-ᴛᴏ-ᴅᴏᴏʀ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴀɴᴅʏ, ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴇ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴀʀs ɪɴ ᴀ ʟᴏᴄᴀʟ ᴄʜᴜʀᴄʜ ᴘᴀʀᴋɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴛʀᴜɴᴋs. Lɪғᴇ’s ᴀʟʟ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴀᴅᴀᴘᴛɪɴɢ.” Eᴅᴅʏ ʙᴏʙs ɪɴ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴍᴏɴsᴛᴇʀ ᴄᴏsᴛᴜᴍᴇ. Eᴀɢᴇʀ, ʜᴇ sᴇᴛs ᴏғғ ʀᴜɴɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏᴡᴀʀᴅs ᴛʜᴇ sᴘᴏᴏᴋɪʟʏ ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴍɪɴɪᴠᴀɴs ᴀɴᴅ ᴋɪᴅs ʟɪɴɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ғᴏʀ ᴄᴀɴᴅʏ. “Tʜɪs ᴅᴏᴇs sᴇᴇᴍ ғᴜɴ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪᴅs, Yᴠᴇᴛᴛᴇ” I ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍʏ ɴᴇɪɢʜʙᴏᴜʀ ᴡʜɪʟsᴛ sʜᴇ ᴘᴀssᴇs ᴏᴜᴛ ᴄʜᴏᴄᴏʟᴀᴛᴇs. “Bᴜᴛ ʜᴏᴡ sᴀғᴇ ɪs ᴛʜɪs? Wɪᴛʜ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀs’ ᴄᴀʀs…” “Hᴏɴᴇʏ, ᴛʀᴜɴᴋ-ᴏʀ-ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ ɪs ᴍᴜᴄʜ sᴀғᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʀɪᴄᴋ-ᴏʀ- ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ!” sʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀssᴜʀᴇs ᴍᴇ. Sᴜᴅᴅᴇɴʟʏ, I ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴇ sᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴀ ᴄᴀʀ ʙᴏᴏᴛ sʟᴀᴍᴍɪɴɢ sʜᴜᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴ ᴇɴɢɪɴᴇ ʀᴏᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʟɪғᴇ. Tʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ SUV ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴋɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴛ ɪᴍᴍᴇᴅɪᴀᴛᴇʟʏ ʙᴇɢɪɴs ʀᴀᴄɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀʏ. Eᴅᴅʏ ɪs ɴᴏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ sᴇᴇɴ. “Hᴇʏ!” I sᴄʀᴇᴀᴍ. Eᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ sᴘɪɴs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ I’ᴍ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ SUV ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛɪɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪɴᴅᴏᴡs ᴇʀʀᴀᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ᴘᴜʟʟɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ. Wɪᴛʜ ᴀ sᴄʀᴇᴇᴄʜ ɪᴛ ɢᴏᴇs ᴛᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴘᴀsᴛ ᴜs. Aᴛ ᴏɴᴄᴇ, ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜɴᴋ-ᴏʀ-ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛs ʙᴇɢɪɴ sʜᴏᴜᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɢɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴄʜᴀsᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍʏsᴛᴇʀɪᴏᴜs ᴠᴀɴ ᴀs ɪᴛ ғʟᴇᴇs, ᴀʟʟ ᴡʜɪʟsᴛ ғʀᴀɴᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ ᴀʀᴇ sᴀғᴇ. “Is ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴍɪssɪɴɢ?!” Aᴍɪᴅsᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɴɪᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴄʜᴀᴏs, I ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ Eᴅᴅʏ ʀᴜɴɴɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ. I ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ɪɴ ʀᴇʟɪᴇғ ᴀɴᴅ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴀ ʙɪɢ ʜᴜɢ. “Aʟʟ ᴅᴏɴᴇ—ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇᴅ ᴀ ᴛʜɪɴɢ” ʜᴇ ᴡʜɪsᴘᴇʀs ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ғɪᴇɴᴅɪsʜʟʏ. I sᴍɪʟᴇ ᴀ ғɪᴇɴᴅɪsʜ sᴍɪʟᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ. Tʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴇᴘᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴠᴀɴ, ᴅʀɪᴠᴇɴ ʙʏ ᴍʏ ʜᴜsʙᴀɴᴅ, ᴡᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀғᴇᴄᴛ ᴅɪsᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. Iᴛ ʟᴇғᴛ ᴍʏ sᴏɴ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴀᴡʟ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀʀs ᴘᴀʀᴋᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʙʀᴀᴋᴇ ʟɪɴᴇs. Tᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ, ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ʜᴇʟᴘʟᴇss ғᴀᴍɪʟɪᴇs ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ’ʟʟ ғɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍsᴇʟᴠᴇs sᴍᴀsʜɪɴɢ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʀᴇᴇs ɪɴsᴛᴇᴀᴅ ᴏғ ᴅɪɢɢɪɴɢ ɪɴᴛᴏ sᴡᴇᴇᴛs.

You are not funny. In the expansive and virtually boundless universe of attempts to weave the tapestry of laughter, wherein the intricate threads of humor intermingle in an elaborate dance across the vast canvas of comedic expression, and where the kaleidoscope of comedic endeavors unfurls like an ever-expanding cosmic saga, one, in their unwavering pursuit to elicit the coveted echoes of mirth and amusement, finds themselves inexorably navigating the labyrinthine corridors of jest and wit, driven by an undaunted determination, and yet, paradoxically, it is with a degree of almost supernatural consistency and an almost mystical regularity that their forays into the comedic abyss inadvertently manifest as a poignant reflection of the elusive and capricious nature of laughter itself, whereby, in a scenario as confounding as the enigma of the cosmos, the gravitational pull of humor, rather than drawing forth the anticipated crescendo of laughter, assumes the peculiar role of an unseen force repelling the very essence of amusement, thereby rendering their comedic offerings, with an unintentional but undeniable flair, as poignant testimonies to the uncharted depths of the unfunny, creating an immersive experience within the comedic realm where the anticipated reverberations of laughter conspicuously wane, and the expected comedic brilliance, instead of ascending to the zenith of hilarity, languishes in the shadowy recesses of a comedic void, thereby painting a vivid tableau of a comedic landscape where the echoes of laughter remain conspicuously absent, establishing them, albeit unwittingly, as an unwitting sentinel at the periphery of joviality, a singular entity in the vast expanse of amusement whose comedic resonance, or lack thereof, serves as a symbolic and unintentional testament to the unpredictable, enigmatic, and, at times, elusive nature of humor itself, whereby, through no fault of their own, they assume the role of a denizen of the comedic void, forever poised on the edges of amusement, forever in pursuit of the elusive echoes of laughter that remain tantalizingly out of reach in the vast and intricate cosmic ballet of comedic expression. 🙄

I ✊ just 😖 put 😶 my ✊ newborn 👶 son 👦 into 👇 a 😹 blender 👋👋

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

The End From Redditor u/MrCookieCutter: For the first time in recorded history, no humans died today. Granted, that's because the last one died yesterday.

r/TwoSentenceHorror 5 yr. ago LifeIsContrast I ̼ͨͪj̱͉umpé̞d̊̐ fro̞̜m̲̐ the ed̰ͫ̀ġͪe̩͐ and̝͍ͭ ͉̾̈́pl͖͓̂u͇ͩ̋n̏̔g̯ed͓͎ͦ͂ t̹̅̀o̹͇w̆ards thͤe d͎͛ͤe̬̰p͔̂t̻h̟̓ͫs̘̩͊̑.͓̰.̰ͭ͐.̑.̭ p͔̻̥̮̒͒l̗͙̦̩̪̪͙̯͐̂̚ĕ̻̝̳̣͈͖̞̎̿̊͊͋̈́͒̑a͚̣̹ͮ̌͆̇̾s̠̘̰͙̰̐͑̋e͇̰̳͓̥̊̂͌͐̍͑̂,͚̘̜̉ͯ̒ͤͬ ̖̭̲̟̥͍̹͎ͧ͒ͯ͒ͨ͗̉F̭͎̌̇͑ͣḬ̑̃ͥͥͧN̗̰̎̓͗D͓̠͎̂̿ͨ́̉͐ ̘̤̤̠̘̺̼͖̩̓̆͒̔ͭ̆ͯ̚M̲̫̙͙̏ͦ̀̑E̺̗͈̣̹ͯ́̚ ̬̤͎̪͔̤̤̯ͧ͌ͭ̌̿ͩA͎̗͉͕̯̲̤͓͒̌ͪN̫̥͎ͯ̈̎͌͊͒D̠̬̮͆ ̬͇̫̠ͩ͒K̞͕̙̮̫͇͎͉ͤ̈́̿͒ͧ̽̐ͤͅI͉̒͗ͥL͍̤͚͖͚̆ͯ̎̽̑L͓̣͎̗̾ͯ̈́̚ ̣͎̱̪̝͉̈́ͣ̂̓̆̂̋ͤͫM̙̙̼ͩ͗͋ͣͫE̮̔̌͑̊!̳̖͉̺̾ͅͅ

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 “this is not the end” before walking away. Then Maddie’s hand moved. Her eyes opened and looked at me. “Daddy? What happened?” 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 fatallƴ hit a phone pole. The same car that hït 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 “the angel” had done it. She spoke of a figure that had approached her after her accident. It had said “not yet” 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 “incidents”; 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. “Jack! It’s Maddie! She’s not breathıng!” “WHAT I’m on my way!” 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/TwoSentenceHorror 14 hr. ago Art_Detective A blood-covered kıller was staring into my soul as he stood over the bødy of his victim... Until I notıced the crack in the mirror.

r/TwoSentenceSadness icon Go to TwoSentenceSadness r/TwoSentenceSadness 2 yr. ago TransParentCJ I had never understood how everyone else seemed to ignore the buzzing g sound of electricity everywhere they went; it was deafening to me. The doctors sent volt after volt of that same loud, excruciating electricity through my brain now, in some attempt to "cure" me.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 1 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴀ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Chip was adopted at birth by Plankton and Karen, who raised him. But Plankton's autistic, which he only shared with Karen. He managed to 'mask' or hide some of his neurodivergence from Chip, who's got no idea his dad's neurodisabled. Chip walks in the door to his parent's room is slightly ajar. He peeks in, expecting to find his mom tidying up or his dad fiddling with one of his inventions. Instead, he sees his dad sitting still on the edge of his bed, his eye glazed over, his body stiff. "Dad?" But Plankton doesn't move, nor does he acknowledge his son's presence. Chip takes a step closer. He tries to shake him, but Plankton is like a doll, unresponsive. "Dad, are you ok?" Chip's voice cracks, fear starting to creep in. The room feels eerily silent, sans the steady tick of the clock on the wall. Chip tries to recall if he's ever seen his dad like this. It dawns on him that he might be hurt. "Dad?" he whispers again, his voice trembling. The only response is the persistent tick-tock of the clock, echoing in the silence. Chip's mind races, trying to make sense of the unexpected scene before him. Plankton's absence seizure had always been a closely guarded secret, shared only with Karen. But now, Chip's the one who's stumbled upon it, and he doesn't know what it is, nor what to do. He reaches out to touch his father's shoulder, his hand shaking, but Plankton doesn't flinch, despite his discomfort. His eye is open, yet unseeing. The realization hits Chip like a ton of bricks. Something is wrong, terribly wrong. "Mom, you need to come to your bedroom. Something's happened to Dad!" Karen rushes in, a look of concern etched on her screen as she takes in the scene. She quickly assesses Plankton and knew exactly what was going on. She knows Chip has never noticed Plankton's autistic traits. They kept the autism a secret from Chip as per Plankton's request. "It's ok, sweetie," she says calmly, placing a gentle hand on Chip's shoulder. "Your dad's just having a little... episode." Her voice is soft, but firm, trying to ease his panic without causing alarm. She's seen this hundreds of times. And she knew Chip doesn't have the faintest idea of his dad having a condition. "What do you mean?" Chip's eyes are wide with fear, his hands still hovering over his father's unresponsive body. He's never seen his dad so lifeless before. "It's like he's not even there," he whispers. Karen takes a deep breath and sighs. "Your dad doesn't know it's happening, but he'll be fine soon." Chip's eyes dart around the room, his gaze returning to Plankton. "But why?" he asks, voice shaking. "What's going on?" Karen's eyes are filled with a mix of sorrow and determination as she explains, "Your dad's brain does things differently from other people's, and this is one of those times." Chip's confusion deepens. "But wh-" "Remember how sometimes you get really focused on a video game and can't hear me right away?" Chip nods. "Well, this is like that, but his body goes still and he's not really aware of what's around him.." Chip watches as Karen carefully helps Plankton to lie down, placing a pillow under his head and covering him with a blanket. Plankton's eye remains open, but it's not looking at anything specific, just glazed over. Chip's fear turns to curiosity, questions racing through his mind. He's seen his dad in his 'work mode' before, where he's so focused on his inventions that it's like he's in another world. But this seems different. This is scary. Karen sighs. "We'll talk later, ok?" Chip nods, yet his curiosity overpowers his fear. He watches as Karen sits by Plankton's side. "It's ok, Plankton," she whispers, stroking his antennae. "You're safe here; I'm here." Karen's screen never left Plankton's face, her gaze filled with love and understanding. She knows his silent battles, his secret world of challenges. "Plankton, it's me, Karen," she says gently. "You're safe. I'm right here." She speaks softly. Chip, still hovering, can't help but notice the tenderness in her touch as Plankton's body remains still, his eye unblinking. Suddenly, Plankton speaks. "Must...the...yes." Plankton mumbles in a tone that's distant. The words make no sense to Chip, but Karen nods as if she understands. "It's ok Plankton," she soothes. "You're right here with me." The sight of his dad talking to himself sends a shiver down Chip's spine. He's seen Plankton mumble things before, lost in his thoughts, but this is different. It's as if he's in a trance, his eye seeing something only he can perceive. Chip feels his own anxiety spike, wondering what could be going through his dad's mind in this state. "Dad?" "Let him be," Karen says softly. "Sometimes he talks like that when he's coming out of it. It's part of his... process." Plankton continues. "The... ...has to be..." His words are fragmented, his voice trailing off as if his thoughts are racing faster than his mouth can keep up. "What...what is he saying?" Chip asks Karen. Karen's eyes stay locked on Plankton, her expression both concerned and calm. "He's not really talking to anyone," she explains. "It's just something that can happen during these episodes." Plankton's mumbling turns into a murmur. "The... the... it's all..." Karen leans in closer, her voice soothing, "It's okay, sweetheart. You're okay. Just let it happen." Karen knows from experience that the words are not for them, but rather a cerebral dance he has no control over. Chip, on the other hand, is utterly bewildered. The room seems to shrink around them, the air thick with unspoken questions and a palpable tension. Karen's hand never leaves Plankton's antenna, her thumb brushing it gently. "You're safe, Plankton," she repeats, her voice a lullaby. "You're here with me." "The... the... it's..." Plankton says. Chip can't help but lean closer, his hand reaching. Karen's hand shoots out to stop him. "Chip, no!" she says firmly. "Don't. It could make it worse." Her eyes are filled with a knowledge that Chip lacks, a fear that he's only just beginning to understand. Karen sighs. "It's just his brain... recalibrating." The silence stretches out, stifling. Chip watches his father, his mind racing. He's seen his dad's inventions come to life, but this... this is a mystery he can't solve. Plankton's antenna starts to twitch slightly, the first sign of movement since the episode began. "It's over, love," she whispers. "You're okay." Plankton's eye blinks, once, twice, and then focuses on Karen. Recognition slowly dawns on his face, confused. "Whaa-" "You had a moment, Plankton," she says gently. "It's okay." Plankton looks around, spotting Chip. "Chip? K-Karen, what's going on?" His voice cracks with confusion. "What's wrong? Did I...?" Chip feels a surge of relief seeing his dad's eye blink and his dad's voice return to normal. But the question in his dad's voice tells him that Plankton doesn't remember.

r/TwoSentenceSadness 3 yr. ago PistachioPug People say I'm not disabled, I'm neurodivergent. Somehow the fancy label doesn't make me feel any better about all the things I wish I were able to do.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 2 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴀ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ "You had a little episode, sweetheart," Karen says, her voice warm and reassuring. "It's okay, just another one..." "Karen, wh-what is Chip doing here? Did he se-" Plankton's question is cut short as he notices Chip's expression, and he realized Chip must've indeed seen the whole thing. How long did it last? Embarrassment washed over Plankton. He'd managed to keep his condition from his son for so long, but now the secret was out. His heart raced, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. "Chip," he stammers, "I-" But Chip's eyes are wide. "What was that, Dad?" he asks, his tone innocent. Plankton's never talked about his autism to anyone other than Karen before. He's not sure how his son will react. Will Chip look at him differently now? "It's nothing, Chip," Plankton mumbles, avoiding eye contact. He wishes he could just sink into the bed and vanish. Chip, however, isn't one to back down easily. "No, Dad, what happened?" He insists, his voice still shaking from the fear that had just gripped him. "You were just sitting there, not moving or anyth-" "It's nothing," Plankton insists, his voice a bit more firm now. He doesn't want to admit it, but he feels a twinge of embarrassment at having been found out. He's always been so good at hiding his autistic traits from Chip. But now, his son is staring at him with a mix of curiosity and concern. Karen sighs, knowing it's time for Chip to have 'The Talk'. "Chip," she starts, her voice careful, "Your dad sometimes has moments like this. It's part of who he is, something he can't help." Chip's screen shifts to Karen, his eyes searching for understanding. "What do you me—" "It's NOTHING Chip," Plankton repeats, his voice more insistent. "Just... just DROP IT, OKAY‽" The sharpness in his tone surprises Chip. He's never heard his dad snap like that. He takes a step back, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. "I just wanted to know if you were okay," he mumbles. Plankton's eye darts to Karen, silently pleading. "It's okay, Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "We can talk about it." But Plankton shakes his head, his cheeks flushing even more. "No, no, not now," he says, his voice smaller, almost defeated. The silence in the room stretches taut like a wire. Plankton's antenna starts to twitch erratically. It's a familiar sight to Karen, a tic. She's seen it before, yet never when Chip's been around. The tic again manifests as a twitch, his head jerking to the side in a small, rapid movement. "Dad? What's going on?" Chip's voice is smaller now, fear creeping in. Plankton's always been self-conscious about his condition. But now, his son looks at him with those innocent, questioning eyes. He swallows hard, trying to keep his anxiety in check. He doesn't know how to explain the tics and the stims that accompany his autism. He's always been so careful around Chip, hiding them as best as he could. "It's... it's just a... nothing," Plankton stammers. But Chip's curiosity is piqued. "What's happening to yo-" "CHIP!" Plankton's voice is sharp. Chip jumps back, his eyes wide. He's never seen his dad this upset. Karen's hand moves to Plankton's, her grip tight. "Plankton, it's okay," she says, her voice steady. Chip's eyes follow Plankton's head as it jerks slightly to the side again. "What's happening to your head?" Chip asks. He's never talked about his autism with anyone other than Karen, and certainly not with Chip. Plankton's antennae twitch in agitation. "I told you, it's tck tck nothing, Chip," he says, his voice strained. Karen squeezes Plankton's hand. "Let's just sit and talk, ok?" "I'm sorry," Plankton says to Karen. Karen's screen filled with sympathy. "You don't have to apologize, Plankton." She knows how much Plankton has struggled with his autism, how much he's worked to fit in and keep it hidden from Chip. "But he's going to want to know," Plankton says, his voice cracking. "I don't want hi-" "I know, love," Karen interrupts gently. "But we'll explain it to him. He's a smart boy. He'll understand." Plankton nods, his antennae still twitching. He takes a deep breath, preparing to face the reality that his secret is no longer safe. He looks at Chip, who's still hovering at the edge of the room, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "Chip, come here," Karen calls, patting the bed. "Your dad has something to tell you." Chip approaches cautiously, his heart thumping. Plankton looks up at him, his eye shimmering with unshed tears. Karen takes a deep breath, and then starts to explain. "Chip, your dad's brain is special. It does some things differently than ours. Sometimes, it can get overwhelmed and he needs a little time to... recalibrate." Plankton's gaze shifts to the floor, his antennae twitching. Chip can see the shame etched on his father's face, the fear of rejection. "Is that why you just moved your head like that?" he asks tentatively, pointing at the twitch. Plankton sighs, his body tense. "Yes," Karen admits, "that's part of it. And sometimes, he has moments where he just... zones out. It's like his brain goes to another place and can't come back right away." Chip's eyes are glued to his dad. "But why?" he asks her. Plankton's antennae twitch again, a silent plea for her to handle this. Karen's eyes soften. "It's called an absence seizure," she says. "It's part of his condition." Chip frowns, "What condition?" Plankton's gaze snaps up to his son, his heart racing. He's always been so careful to keep his autism hidden from Chip. But now, the moment of truth is here. "I'm... I-I-I-I…." Karen gives his hand a comforting squeeze. "It's called autism," she says. Chip's brow furrows. "What's autism?" His voice is small, his eyes searching his mother's face for answers. Plankton's heart feels like it's in a vice. He's avoided this conversation for so long. But now, the truth is out, and he's not sure if he can face his son's reaction. Karen smiles gently. "It's a way of being," she says. "Some people's brains work differently. They see the world in a unique way, and they have to deal with things like... episodes." Chip looks from his mother to his father, trying to comprehend. "But Dad, aren't you okay?" he asks, his voice small. Plankton's throat tightens. He's never felt so exposed. "I'm fine," he forces out. Plankton wishes he could just hide, disappear into the wallpaper. But he's trapped under the spotlight of his own son's curiosity.

https://www.reddit.com/r/BabyNameLab/comments/vvdp14/my_partner_is_pregnant_on_our_first_child_and_we/

r/shortscarystories 1 day ago CBenson1273 My Aunt Tried To Protect Me From My Mother My childhood was a nightmare. My mother hated me and took every chance to show it. Nothing I ever did was good enough. ‘B’s on report cards were because I was stupid. Unfinished chores were because I was lazy. Any beatings I got were because I deserved them. And my father was just as bad. Fortunately, her sister was my refuge. When things got too bad, I could go over there to escape for a day or two. Perhaps that was why my mother didn’t like Aunt Lisa. The feeling was mutual. So I was surprised when my aunt told me she’d invited my parents over for tea tomorrow. “Why would you invite them here? The whole reason I come here is to get away from them!!” “I know,” she replied. “But that all ends tomorrow. I’m going to have a talk with them; they aren’t going to mistreat you anymore.” I knew in my heart they’d never change, but she was determined to try. The next day, I sat in the corner as my parents entered. “There you are, you wretched child,” my mother said. “Come home this instant and stop causing trouble!” “Now, now, Lydia,” replied my Aunt. “That behavior is exactly why I called you over today. It’s quite enough.” “HOW DARE YOU TELL ME HOW TO RAIS—!” “Do calm down, Lydia. All that screaming isn’t good for your blood pressure. What’s say we all relax, have a nice cup of tea, and discuss this like adults?” My mother still looked furious, but she took the proffered cup and retook her seat. “How you treat Annie isn’t right. It needs to stop.” “You have no say in what I do in MY home. And whatever MY daughter gets, I can assure you it’s deserved.” “So you aren’t open to change, then?” “Absolutely not - that girl’s gotten exactly what she deserves.” “Very well, then. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this.” “Come to wh—“ my mother started when she suddenly began to foam at the mouth and grasp at her throat. “Don’t mind that,” my Aunt said. “Just a bit of poison I placed in your cups. I was hoping you’d agree to change your ways, but clearly you never will. Goodbye, sister.” After my parents had collapsed on the floor, I looked over at my aunt. “What did you do?” “What needed to be done,” she replied. “But what if they’d agreed to stop?” “Then I’d have given them the antidote I was keeping in my purs—“ A look of shock crossed her face as her throat closed, replaced by panic as she rifled desperately through her purse. “Looking for this?” I asked, holding up her syringe. “But…. why?” my aunt asked as she collapsed. “Remember all those times you saw my bruises and scars and sent me back there anyway?” “But I loved you like a daughter,” she gasped with her final breath. “Then you should’ve done better,” I said

Open menu Log In Expand search Expand user menu Back Go to shortscarystories r/shortscarystories 1 yr. ago Bleerb ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ My beautiful little girl A beautiful little girl from the moment I first saw her. Her brown eyes framed by thick dark hair. Her fair skın in stark contrast to it. I had waited long for this girl. I kissed her soft forehead and rocked her in my arms as I sang her the songs my mother would sing to me. I was soon sent home, she needed to stay a little longer, but they convinced me to make everything ready for her to come also. My husband barely helped. He was very cøld towards her; I know he'd rather have a boy, but he couldn’t ignore her! Two days after bırth a doctor came and asked if we were ready for her to come home. I confirmed as quickly as I could, I had not thought of anything else but holding my girl. The doctor advised me not to take her outside and other standard newвorn stuff, I know all of that already. The next day I watched as my husband came up our driveway. I ran downstairs so I could welcome our daughter. My husband reuttered what the doctor said. I said I'd listen. He had to go back to work the next day. It was a wonderful day for mid-April. It was sunny out. I figured I could take my baby to the store just around the corner. She wouldn't be out long. How much harm could that do? As I entered the store people would curiously look into the stroller. I had been warned about this. “They all wanna see her. It is uncomfortable at first but be proud! You made that!” I was proud, They're right! I could hear the people whispering about her and smiling at me as I walked by. At first, I thought they loved her as much as I did. After only three more days of showing her off, I was kicked out of my first establishment. I wanted to feed my child since she seemed to be fussy. I could see she was hungry by her face, she didn’t even have to cry. I hadn't even started when the manager came up to me and told me that people were uncomfortable, I had to leave. I'm outraged! This happened again, I thought my town was more open-minded then that! When I returned home, I found the polıce waiting for me. They told me they had to take me and my daughter to the bureau, my husband was already there waiting for us. I figured he had done something st̴up̕id. They wanted to talk to him alone after I had spoken about what happened that day. I was sent back to the waiting room and held my baby close. She slept in my arms, and I could barely make out what they were talking about. Something about being stillborn, and postpartum dépression, delusions. I didn’t mind as long as I had my daughter.

to give a little Background Info, i Love watching YouTube Shorts. i Binge watch them all day. on everage, i Spend about 8 hours DAILY watching Shorts, its my guilty pleasure. No one knows about this, as i keep it a good Secret. one day, when i was meant to be at school, i was watching some Shorts, my Mom came in and she was shocked, so i Hid my Phone under my pillow, and told her to leave since i was having a WANKY. i got away With it, but the next day i was around my girlfriends House, i was watching Shorts the whole time and i was so sneaky, she didn't notice. she was trying to make advances at me and Put her Hand on my thigh, i didnt Thing much of it and keept scrolling, after a while she noticed i was watching YouTube Shorts, when i was watching "skibidi toilet 66 - Fan Made" and suddenly my phones valume when Up to the Maximum and she Put her Hand Off my thigh and screamed "ARE YOU WATCHING SKIBIDI TOILET?!". im currently sitting on her porch pooking my eyes Out. im Not Sure If i'll ever be able to Recover from this, but atleast i have skibidi toilet.😭😭😭😭😭😭

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PrinceJustice237 • 2y ago As a fan of hurt/comfort/whump, I realised that I put my favourite characters through so much because I want to see their friends comfort them and help them through the aftermath. It’s good old fashioned catharsis, plus drama is just entertaining. A pure, fluffy, happy story where nothing bad happens works great for a oneshot but it’s harder to sustain 20+ chapters of that, you need drama and conflict and that requires stakes. That usually involve someone suffering to some degree.

• 2y ago Honestly, a huge reason why I torment my favorites is so that when the comfort comes along (because it always does in my case), their friends/found family can show them how much they are loved.

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Yk what fk it Regretevator has the gayest ahh fandoms of all time bru , I can't take a step without seeing a gay horizontal threesome. So yk what? Fk it. Fk gnarpy , fk bive , fk split , fk poob , especially fk pest , or fk pest twice I hate that MF , fk Dr retro , fk it all. Oh except for lampert , he's the only chill MF

r/TwoSentenceHorror 1 day ago CenturyCoal I pressed the stuffed teddy bear's chest to hear it's voice box the bear should have said 'i love you' not 'let me out'

Jessica by reddit user Breakevencoast5 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↓ˢᶜʳᵒˡˡ ᶠᵒʳ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ↓ My soul mate left me today. All that's left of him now, is pairs of sock that probably fell out of his suitcase, and a note labelled "Read Me" that I found on the kitchen counter, picked it up and started to read. “just can't take it anymore. Jess, you know love you, and I always will, but over the last few months things have gotten bad for me. Yes, it's her. She's following me again and I'm scared that if she found you she'd kill you. I'm sorry, I wish I could go into more detail, but you be home in a few minutes, and I don't want to have to tell you any of this to your face. It would destroy me to see you cry. - David.” Suddenly the front door creaked open. Instinctively, grabbed a knife off of the knife rack and ran into the pantry. "Hello?" Called a woman from the entrance way. I didn't answer. Instead, I cracked the pantry door open just enough to see the note on the counter. "Anyone in here?" She yelled, walking closer to the kitchen. "I'm not going to hurt you." She stepped into the kitchen. There was a small Swiss army knife in her hand. She picked up the note and started to read. Within seconds she started crying hysterically. The woman fell to her knees and dropped the knife. lignored every logical though in my brain, kicked the door open and thrust the knife into her stomach. "Welcome home Jessica" I said, twisting the knife with a bright smile on my face.

1 day ago u/Sticky_Cheetos He handed me a box and said, “If you press this button, you get $100,000, but it takes one year off of your lįfe.” I pressed it once, and everything went dark̵.

r/TwoSentenceHorror 1 min. ago AcrobaticTransition4 “My lower back hurt” I told the chiropractor Then I heard a snap and then all the pain has been permanently alleviated as i bent slumped over feeling nothing...

r/TwoSentenceHorror 13 hr. ago drforged ↓ “Have you ever seen a monster?” My son asked, as I tucked him in “No” I answered, as I looked into his many yellow eyes...

r/TwoSentenceHorror 9 mo. ago Jellycaine The aliens invaded planet earth, and the human never seems to notice. A thousand years later and they already think shadows are a natural occurrence.

r/TwoSentenceHorror 2 min. ago derf_vader The crack in the wall was only wide enough for a shadow to pass through. I didn't know once it went in I would be stuck here in the wall along with it, unable to leave, and unable to cry out and warn others.

r/TwoSentenceHorror 40 min. ago derf_vader "Hello Darkness my old friend..." I sang the familiar lyrics as I passed by the dark alley. "I've come to greet you at the end," the Darkness sang back softly creeping, as it enveloped me in the sounds of silence...

ʳ/ᵗʰʳᵉᵉˢᵉⁿᵗᵉⁿᶜᵉʰᵒʳʳᵒʳ ᵐʸᵈᵃᵈˢⁿᵃᵐᵉⁱˢʰᵃʳᵒˡᵈ ᵀʰᵉ ⁿᵉⁱᵍʰᵇᵒᵘʳˢ ᵃʳᵉ ʰᵃᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿ ᵉᵃˢᵗᵉʳ ᵉᵍᵍ ʰᵘⁿᵗ⸴ ʲᵘˢᵗ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᴵ ᵉˣᵖᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ‧ ᴵ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ᵏⁱᵈˢ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖˡᵃˢᵗⁱᶜ ᵉᵍᵍˢ ᴵ ʰⁱᵈ ˡᵃˢᵗ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ‧ ᴵ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇˡᵃᶜᵏ ʷⁱᵈᵒʷ ˢᵖⁱᵈᵉʳˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃⁿᵍʳʸ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉᵍᵍˢ ᵍᵉᵗ ᶜʳᵃᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ‧‧‧

whoever said "guy stop f-ing saying this web needs to be a f-ing app like what the f-k there lots of f-ing beef like do you guys have brain cells of a d-k sh-t like get a life if you care about f-ing 8 year olds then dont make this a f-ing app if you f-ing do more little kids will get draked like what the skidi bro get a f-ing bro°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･" please chill out like multiple people have said this is a website where little kids come on here to find cute combos so please be respectful ౨ৎ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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please dont put gross stuff here ! keep it to yourself or post it elsewhere, their is kids around 9 and a few years up here just trying to find cute symbols !! this is a safe space ^^ spread the word please :3

⠀⣴⠛⠛⣦⠀ ⠀⣿⠶⠶⣦⠀ ⠀⠻⣤⣤⠟⠀

⠛⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⢶⣦⣶⣶⣤⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠙⠻⣿⣿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠻⣿⣿⣇⠀ ⠀⠀⢤⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⢸⣷⡄⠀⣁⣀⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣆ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⠏⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠿⠇⢀⣼⣿⣿⠛⢯⡿⡟ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠦⠴⢿⢿⣿⡿⠷⠀⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⣶⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣦⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢐⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁

⡡⢣⠘⡰⢈⡒⢌⠒⡌⠴⣈⠒⡌⠒⡌⠴⣈⠒⡌⠒⡌⠴⣈⠒⡌⠒⡌⠴⡈⢆⡑⢢⢁⣲⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣦⣅⡒⡌⠰⣁⠒⣰⣦⣶⣶⣶⣶⣴⣂⠜⡰⢈⠆ ⡑⢢⠡⣑⠢⠜⡠⢃⠜⡰⢠⢃⠬⡑⢌⠒⡄⢣⠌⡱⢈⡒⢄⠣⢌⡱⢈⢆⡑⠢⠜⡠⢃⣿⣿⡿⢁⠆⠭⣙⢛⡛⢿⣿⣷⣷⣤⣿⠟⡋⠔⣂⠒⡌⡙⢻⣿⣆⠥⢊ ⡅⢣⠒⡄⡓⢌⡱⢌⢊⠴⡁⢎⡰⢡⢊⠱⡘⠤⢊⢅⠣⡘⠌⢆⠣⡰⢉⠆⠬⡑⢊⡑⣾⣿⣿⢃⠎⣘⠒⡰⢂⡜⢠⢂⢍⣿⠏⡡⢊⠔⡡⢢⠱⢠⡑⢢⠹⣿⣎⠆ ⡜⢢⠑⡰⢉⠆⡔⢊⡔⢢⢉⠆⠴⡁⢎⠱⠨⠜⡡⢊⠴⣁⠫⢄⠓⠤⢃⠎⡱⢈⠥⣼⣿⣿⡏⠆⡜⡠⠍⡔⡡⠜⡰⢈⣾⣷⢈⠔⡡⢊⡔⢡⠊⠥⡘⣰⣿⣹⣿⢈ ⡜⢠⠃⡜⢂⢎⡘⠔⣨⠒⡌⠜⢢⢉⠆⣩⠑⣊⠱⣈⠒⠤⢃⠎⡌⠓⡌⡜⢠⢃⢼⣿⣿⣿⠣⡘⠤⡑⣊⠔⣡⠚⡄⢃⢿⣿⣇⢊⠔⡡⠘⠤⡉⢆⣡⣻⡿⣿⣿⠂ ⡌⡅⢎⠰⡉⢆⠸⡘⢄⠣⡘⠬⣁⠎⡘⡄⢣⡘⠤⡑⢊⡑⡊⠴⡉⢜⠰⢌⠒⡌⣾⣿⣿⡏⡔⢡⢃⢒⠡⣊⢄⠣⠜⡨⢘⢿⣿⣧⡊⠴⣭⣶⣷⡿⣟⣿⣿⣿⠏⡌ ⡒⢌⠢⡑⠜⣈⠦⡑⢊⠴⣁⠣⠢⠜⣡⠘⡔⢨⠒⣉⠆⣡⠑⡆⣉⠦⡉⢆⠱⣸⣿⣿⣿⢃⠜⢢⠘⡌⡱⢠⢊⠜⢢⠡⢃⡌⢛⢿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣾⣽⣿⣿⠟⡡⢊⠔ ⡑⡊⡔⢩⡘⠤⢒⢡⡉⡒⠤⢃⡍⠲⣀⠧⠨⢅⠚⡄⠚⡄⢣⢐⠂⢆⠱⣈⢆⡙⣿⣿⡿⡈⠜⡠⢃⡔⢡⠢⢡⠚⠤⡙⠤⡘⢢⠘⡌⢛⡛⢟⡛⠛⠭⡐⠬⡐⠣⢌ ⣃⠣⡐⢄⡰⢠⠚⡄⢠⠃⠆⡜⢠⠢⡀⠔⢢⠘⠤⣐⣢⣴⣤⣾⣶⣾⡶⠿⠾⠷⠿⠿⢷⣷⣶⣷⣤⣴⣦⣴⣂⣔⠄⢣⡐⢠⠂⡔⠰⢠⠐⡄⡐⡒⢄⠣⢄⠓⡰⢀ ⢆⡱⢈⠆⡔⢡⣊⣴⣡⣎⣵⣌⣆⡱⣈⣮⣴⡿⠾⠛⡍⡩⢉⠔⡠⢂⠔⡉⢆⠩⢌⡑⢢⠐⡄⠢⢌⠩⡉⢍⡙⡛⠿⣷⣾⣤⣷⠾⠷⠿⠿⠷⣶⣷⣬⣖⠉⢆⠱⣈ ⢆⢂⢣⣸⣴⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⡿⢛⠋⡅⢢⠑⣡⠒⡡⢊⠴⡁⢎⠢⡉⢆⢃⡒⢌⠂⢇⡸⢁⠎⡔⠡⢆⢢⢁⡃⢆⡉⢛⠻⣿⣬⣱⢈⠱⢠⢉⠛⣻⣿⣮⡔⢂ ⢌⢢⣾⣿⠟⢋⠡⢂⡱⣸⠾⡛⢡⠘⡄⢣⠘⡤⠩⢄⠣⠔⡃⢆⠱⡈⢆⠱⡈⢆⡘⢄⠋⡔⠤⢃⠜⡠⢋⠔⢢⠡⠜⡠⠜⣠⠃⡔⡙⢻⣷⣕⠢⢌⠒⠤⡙⢿⣿⡆ ⣸⣿⢟⠡⢊⠔⡡⢣⡞⢅⠣⡘⢄⢣⠘⠤⢣⠐⠣⢌⠒⡡⠜⡠⢃⠜⡠⢃⠜⡠⠎⡌⠜⡠⢃⠎⡰⣁⠎⡸⢄⠃⢎⠱⡘⢄⠣⠔⡡⢆⡘⢻⣿⣤⢉⠆⡱⢈⣿⣿ ⣿⡿⣈⠱⡈⠦⢡⠛⡰⢈⠆⣑⠊⠤⡉⢆⣡⢊⡱⢈⡌⠱⣈⠱⡈⢆⠱⢌⠢⡑⠬⡐⢣⠑⡌⢢⡑⢄⢊⠔⣨⣘⣢⠑⡌⢢⢉⠒⡡⢆⡘⢄⠚⣿⣧⢊⢔⣥⣾⣿ ⣿⡇⢆⠱⣈⠑⢆⡱⢂⡱⢊⠤⡉⢆⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣬⠑⡄⢣⠘⡄⠣⢌⠒⣡⠒⡡⢆⠣⢌⡡⠘⡄⣊⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⠊⡜⡐⢢⠑⡌⠒⡌⢿⣯⣿⣿⣺⣿ ⣿⡇⢎⣰⢆⡉⠆⡔⢡⢂⠥⢂⡱⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠘⡄⠣⢌⠱⡨⠘⡄⠣⢔⡈⠖⣨⠐⡅⢲⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢆⠱⡈⡜⢨⡑⢌⡘⣿⣿⡞⣿⣿ ⢹⣿⡄⣿⠤⡘⢰⠘⡄⢎⠰⢃⠔⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢃⠌⣑⠊⡔⢡⢃⠬⡑⢢⠘⡔⢢⠑⡌⣹⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⡿⣿⡏⢄⠣⡘⢄⠣⡘⢄⠒⣸⣿⢭⣿⠏ ⢌⠻⣿⡯⢐⢡⠊⠴⡈⢆⢃⠎⡰⢙⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣷⣿⠏⡌⠒⡌⢢⠑⡢⢌⠢⡑⢢⠑⡌⢢⠱⡐⢌⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢃⢌⠢⡑⢌⠢⣑⠊⡜⢰⣿⡏⡅⢊ ⡌⢢⢹⡇⠎⠤⡙⠤⡑⢌⠢⠚⡄⢣⠘⡛⠿⠿⠿⢛⡉⠒⡌⢱⠈⡆⣑⠒⡌⠢⢅⠣⡘⢄⡃⠖⡡⢊⠔⡛⠿⠿⠿⠿⢋⠱⡈⢆⠱⡈⢆⠱⡠⢃⠜⡰⣿⡗⡨⢡ ⡜⢠⢻⣿⠈⢆⡑⢢⠉⢆⡑⢣⠘⣄⠣⡘⢄⠣⡘⠤⡘⢡⠜⢢⠑⡰⢂⡱⢈⡱⢈⠆⣑⠢⣘⠰⣁⠣⡘⢄⠣⡘⢄⠣⡘⠤⡑⢌⠢⡑⠌⢆⡱⢈⠆⣱⣿⡧⡑⢂ ⡜⢠⠚⣿⣏⠰⡈⢆⢩⠂⡜⢠⠣⢄⠣⡑⢊⠴⣁⠒⡉⢆⡘⢢⢉⠴⡁⢆⠱⢠⠃⡜⢠⢃⠤⢃⠆⣡⠱⡈⢆⠱⣈⠒⣡⠚⡄⢣⠘⡌⠜⢢⡐⢡⢊⣼⣿⠇⣌⠡ ⡜⢢⢁⠻⣿⣷⡁⠎⠤⣉⠴⡁⠎⠤⢃⠬⢡⠒⠤⠹⣖⣴⣈⠆⡌⢢⠑⡌⢊⠴⡑⢌⠒⡌⢢⠡⢊⢔⣢⣿⢃⠒⠤⣉⠔⢢⠘⡄⢣⡘⢌⡡⠘⣄⣾⣿⠟⡰⢠⠃ ⡜⢄⠪⠔⡹⣿⣿⣮⠰⢄⠢⡑⢊⡱⢈⠆⠣⠜⢢⠑⠬⢻⣿⣿⣶⣧⣜⣠⢃⠒⡌⢢⣑⣌⣦⣵⣾⠿⢋⠔⡨⠘⡔⢢⠘⢢⡑⠬⢡⠘⡄⢂⢇⣾⣿⢋⠆⣑⠢⣉ ⡜⢠⠃⢎⠰⢌⢻⣿⣷⣮⡐⡡⢃⠔⢣⠘⡡⢍⢢⢉⠆⡡⢂⠜⡙⡛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢛⢛⠫⡁⢆⡘⠤⢊⡔⢩⠰⡁⢎⢡⠘⡄⢣⠘⣄⣷⣿⠟⡡⢊⠴⡁⢖⠠ ⡈⡁⡌⠸⢄⡈⢄⠸⢿⣿⣿⣄⣇⠸⡀⢇⠡⡈⠄⡌⡈⢡⡈⢄⠡⡈⢄⠉⡈⣁⠉⡄⣁⠌⡠⢁⠤⡈⠤⢁⠸⡀⢇⠸⡀⠌⣠⠸⣀⣿⣿⡿⢁⠌⡠⢁⡄⠡⠌⡠ ⠥⡑⢌⠱⣈⠲⣈⠦⢡⠙⡻⢿⣿⣿⣶⣌⣢⠑⠬⡐⢡⠒⡌⢢⠑⠬⡘⢌⠱⣀⠣⠔⠢⠜⡰⢡⠒⡡⢃⠍⢢⠑⡌⢢⣁⣧⣶⣿⡿⢛⠅⣊⠔⣊⠑⡆⢌⠣⣑⠢ ⠣⠜⡠⢃⠆⡱⢄⠚⡄⡓⢄⠣⡘⣙⠻⢿⢿⣿⣷⣷⣦⣵⣈⣆⡉⢆⠱⣈⠒⡄⢃⠎⡱⢈⡔⢡⢊⣔⣡⣮⣶⣷⣿⣿⠿⢟⠛⡡⠜⢢⢉⠴⡘⢄⠣⠜⣈⠖⡠⢃ ⣃⠣⡑⠬⣘⠰⢌⡑⢢⢉⠆⠥⡑⢄⣳⣾⣿⠯⢹⡟⡛⠻⠿⠿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⢿⣿⣦⣉⠆⡱⠌⡜⠢⢌⢢⠑⣊⠜⡌⠴⣈⠱⣈ ⢆⡱⢈⠖⣠⠃⢎⠰⡡⢊⠜⡠⢃⣾⣿⡿⢉⠆⡹⠕⡨⠑⡌⠒⡄⢆⠢⡐⠿⠟⣿⢻⢯⡿⣽⣯⣿⣽⣿⡘⣿⣇⠻⣿⣿⣎⠔⡡⢌⡑⣊⠤⢋⠔⡌⢢⡑⢢⠱⢠ ⠆⢆⠣⡘⠤⣉⠆⣃⢒⠡⡊⢴⣿⣿⢏⠰⡁⢎⠰⣁⠲⡉⠴⡉⢔⠊⡴⢁⠎⡔⠢⢌⠢⡐⢅⠢⣉⠙⣻⡇⢽⣿⡕⡨⣿⣿⡎⡔⢢⠑⡤⢚⡐⡊⠴⢡⡘⠤⠓⠤ ⡍⢢⠑⡸⢐⠢⠜⡰⣈⠱⢨⣾⣿⠏⡄⢣⢘⡤⢃⠤⢃⠜⠤⡑⢊⠜⡠⢃⠜⣠⠙⡄⠣⠜⢢⠑⡤⢃⠌⡓⠤⣿⣧⠑⡸⣿⣿⡰⢁⢎⠰⡁⠦⣉⢒⡡⠜⡰⢉⠒ ⡌⣅⢊⠱⣈⠱⢊⠱⣀⠣⣽⣿⢏⠰⡈⢆⣺⠡⢊⠔⡡⢊⠆⡅⢣⠘⡄⢣⠘⡄⠣⢌⡑⠪⢄⠓⠤⡉⠦⡑⠢⢼⣿⢡⠒⣹⣿⡇⠎⣄⠣⡑⢆⡡⠒⠤⠓⡌⡱⢈ ⡒⠤⢊⠔⣡⠊⣅⠣⢄⠣⣿⣿⠌⢢⠱⣲⡇⡱⢈⠆⡱⢈⡒⢌⠢⡑⢌⠢⡑⢌⡑⠢⢌⠱⡈⠎⡔⡑⠢⢅⠃⢞⣿⢆⠱⣈⣿⣿⠐⢢⡑⢌⡒⢰⠉⢎⠱⣐⢡⠊ ⡑⡊⢅⠪⢄⠣⡄⢣⠊⡔⣿⣿⠘⡄⢓⣸⡇⠰⣁⠚⡄⢣⠘⡄⢣⠘⠤⠓⡌⢢⠌⡱⢈⠆⡅⡃⢆⠱⡉⢆⠩⣘⣿⠎⡰⠄⣿⣿⢈⠥⡘⢄⠎⣡⠚⡌⢒⠌⡢⢑ ⠥⡑⢊⠔⢣⡘⠰⣁⢃⡒⣿⣷⢡⠘⠢⢼⡇⠣⢄⠣⡘⢄⠣⡘⠤⣉⠒⠥⡘⢄⠚⡄⢣⠘⠤⡑⢌⠢⢱⢈⠒⢬⣿⠃⠴⡁⣾⣿⠠⢒⠡⢎⠰⡁⢎⠰⡉⢆⡱⢈ ⢣⢘⠡⢊⠆⡜⢡⠜⡠⢆⢹⣿⡢⢉⡑⢺⣏⠱⡈⢆⠱⡈⢆⠱⠌⡤⢉⠆⡱⡈⠖⣈⠆⣩⠂⡕⡨⠜⠢⢌⠊⣴⣿⠉⢆⠡⣿⡿⡐⣉⠲⣈⠱⡘⢌⠱⣈⠖⡠⢃ ⠣⢌⠒⣉⠒⣌⠒⡘⡔⠨⡌⢿⣷⡡⢌⠩⣷⢂⠱⡈⢆⠱⡈⢆⠣⡐⢣⠘⠤⡑⡘⡄⠎⡄⢣⠰⡁⢎⠱⣈⠒⣼⡟⢌⠢⣩⣿⢃⢆⡑⢢⢡⠚⠤⣉⠒⡔⡨⢑⠌ ⡃⢎⡘⠤⣉⠤⣉⠒⠬⡑⢌⢂⠻⣷⣮⣴⣿⡌⢆⠱⡈⢆⠱⡈⢆⠱⢂⠍⡢⢑⠢⠜⡰⢁⠦⡑⢌⡂⠇⡄⢣⣿⣧⣮⣴⡿⢃⠎⡰⢨⠡⢆⡉⠖⡨⡑⡰⢁⢣⠘ ⡑⠦⡘⡐⢆⠱⡠⢋⡔⡉⢆⡊⢱⠈⡍⢩⢹⣿⢀⠣⡘⠤⢃⠱⡈⠦⡉⢆⠱⡈⢆⠓⡄⡃⢆⡑⠢⠜⡰⢈⣭⣿⠩⠩⢍⢂⠣⡌⣑⠢⣑⠢⣉⢒⢡⠒⣡⠉⡆⢩ ⡑⢆⠱⢨⡘⡰⢡⠒⢤⠉⡆⠜⡡⠚⣌⠢⠌⣿⣆⠱⣈⠒⡉⢆⡑⢢⠑⡌⢢⠑⡌⢒⠌⠴⠡⢌⠓⡌⠰⣡⣿⣷⠡⢍⢂⠎⡱⢐⠢⣑⠢⡑⠔⡊⠤⠓⡄⡓⢌⠢ ⠑⠊⠴⠁⠦⠑⢢⠉⠆⢣⠘⠌⠡⠣⠄⠣⠉⢿⣿⡇⠤⠉⠒⡌⠴⠁⠎⠰⠁⠎⠰⠉⡜⠰⠉⠆⠱⠈⠑⣾⣿⠏⠘⠤⠉⠆⠑⠊⠱⢠⠃⠜⢡⠊⡅⠓⡌⠔⢣⠘ ⣃⠣⢄⠣⡄⢣⠊⡜⣐⢊⠱⢨⢡⠒⣌⠢⣉⠼⣿⣷⠠⡉⢆⠱⣀⠣⢌⠡⠚⡄⠣⢌⡑⢢⠑⡌⢢⢉⣼⣿⣿⠌⡱⢠⠓⡌⡱⢉⢆⢊⠜⠤⡉⢆⠍⣢⠑⡒⢌⠒ ⢆⠱⢊⠔⠬⣁⠞⡰⢠⡉⢆⢃⠦⡑⠤⢃⡔⢂⢿⣿⡆⠱⡈⢶⣶⣥⣊⢌⠱⣈⠑⣢⣘⣤⠿⢒⠡⣲⣿⣿⠃⡜⢠⢃⡜⢠⡑⢊⡔⢊⠜⢢⢉⠆⡚⢄⠣⠜⣨⠘ ⢎⠢⢅⠚⣐⠢⡘⢄⠣⡘⣐⠊⡔⢡⠊⠥⡘⢄⣺⣿⡧⢃⠜⡠⣾⢿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣟⠫⣉⠤⢃⠎⡰⣿⣿⣇⠜⡠⢃⠦⡘⡰⢨⢡⠘⡌⠜⢢⠡⠚⣄⠣⢊⡱⣀⠣ ⡊⡔⢊⢼⣤⣳⣧⣎⣔⣡⣂⣣⣜⣢⣭⣦⣵⣾⡿⢋⠴⡁⢎⠰⢸⣿⣾⡧⣿⣿⡇⡒⢄⠪⠔⡌⠰⡉⢿⣿⣧⢒⠡⢢⠑⢢⠑⢢⡉⠴⡉⢆⡱⢉⠤⢃⡱⠰⢠⢃ ⠱⡈⣜⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢀⠃⢆⠱⡈⠦⡑⢌⠹⣛⣿⣿⣇⡜⢠⢃⠚⡌⠱⡈⢆⢹⣿⣇⣣⣥⣊⣅⣪⠡⡘⠤⠓⡌⣐⠣⡘⢢⢁⠧⢡⢂ ⢣⠑⡌⢩⠑⣂⠒⡄⡒⢄⡒⡐⢢⠉⣍⣩⣽⣿⣮⣘⣄⢣⡘⣤⣑⣼⣾⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣦⣬⣒⣌⣱⣈⣦⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⢛⠩⡑⢢⢑⠬⡑⢌⠤⢃⠥⢃⡌⢆⠃⢆ ⠣⠜⡠⢃⠚⡄⢣⢘⠰⡈⣔⣥⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⡟⢛⢋⣭⣿⣿⡿⠿⢟⣛⣛⣯⣭⣴⣾⣷⣾⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⢇⡘⡰⢊⠌⢆⠣⡘⡄⢋⠤ ⣃⢣⠑⡌⠱⡈⠥⢊⠔⡙⡛⠭⠩⠍⡍⢡⢃⠒⣐⠢⠌⠥⡙⢌⠱⢌⠒⣬⣾⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠟⣛⠛⡛⡩⣽⣿⣿⣿⣵⣦⡽⠾⠼⡖⢡⠒⡡⠚⡌⢒⠡⠜⡡⠒

DAMN!! That's the most 🍑 GYATT-SLAPPING, 🤯RIZZ-tingling thing I've ever heard! Now can you PLEASE tell me more, because I'm SO HOOKED into this [topic name here]! Most people might say I have an unnerving obsession with it, but I deny it. Like, is it really weird how I'm obsessed with it? There's billions of other people in the world who probably have other weirder interests then mine, ok? If you 🫵🫵🫵 object then you might be one step closer to achieving world destruction like hitler, buddy. Do you really want that? Think about your actions. 🤔🤔🤔

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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. “Apakah semuanya baik-baik saja ?” Kasir itu bertanya dengan santai. “Mm..hmm” 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

.☘︎ ݁˖𝓐𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓮𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝓉𝓎𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 s<𝟑 ¢σσкѕ˙✧˖°🍳 ༘ ⋆｡˚ вяєαкfєαѕт˙ ✩°˖🫐 ⋆｡˚꩜۶ৎТм ~ḊḕḕẒ ṆṳṮẒ

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY ix (Autistic author) Plankton's smile flickers back to life, his eye lighting up slightly. "Good," he says, a monotone echo. "Friend." Sponge Bob nods, his smile genuine despite the sadness still lingering in his eyes. "Always," he says, his voice filled with warmth. "Well, what should we do now?" Plankton's gaze shifts to the book, then to Sponge Bob. "Movie," he says, his voice picking up a hint of excitement. "Friend watch movie." His hands flap in a pattern that seems to mirror his thoughts racing. Sponge Bob's smile is a mix of relief and excitement. "Movie?" he repeats, his eyes lighting up. "Yeah, let's watch a movie! What do you want to see?" Plankton's eye dart around the room, his hands flapping in a flurry of indecision. "You choose," he says, his voice a monotone. "You know me." His antennas twitch with anticipation. Sponge Bob's smile is filled with understanding. "Okay, then," he says, his voice calm. He scans the bookshelf, looking for a title that might spark Plankton's interest. "How about this one?" he asks, holding up a DVD case with a picture of the Dirty Bubble on the front. Plankton's antennas perk up, eyelighting up at the sight of the villainous bubble's grinning face. "Yes," he says, his voice a monotone. "Dirty Bubble." His hands flap in excitement. Sponge Bob's heart squeezes with love and concern for his unique friend. "Alright, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "Let's watch 'The Great Dirty Bubble Heist'." He pops the DVD into the player, the machine whirring to life. The two of them settle on the couch, Sponge Bob's arm draped protectively around Plankton's shoulder. Plankton's hands are still, his gaze fixed on the screen as the movie starts. The TV flickers to life, casting a warm glow over the room. Sponge Bob feels Plankton's body relax slightly against his side, his eyes never leaving the colorful bubble of the Dirty Bubble's latest escapade. As the movie plays, Plankton's flapping subsides, his gaze transfixed by the screen. The sounds of bubbles popping and laughter fill the room, a stark contrast to the silence that typically accompanied their stakeouts at the Chum Bucket. Sponge Bob feels Plankton's body relax further into the couch, his shoulder leaning into him. He notices Plankton's antennas twitch slightly with every joke, his eye flickering with understanding at the slapstick humor. It's a small sign of connection, but it's enough. The movie's plot unfolds, and Plankton's chuckles echo through the room, his laughter a comforting reminder of their long-standing friendship. Sponge Bob smiles, watching Plankton react to the familiar beats of the film's storyline. It's clear his friend's love for the simple pleasure of laughter hasn't changed. As the film progresses, Plankton's chuckles grow softer, his eyelid drooping as he's nestled against Sponge Bob. He's falling asleep, his mind finally at ease in the comforting embrace of his friend. His head lolls to the side, his antennas coming to rest on Sponge Bob's arm. His mouth has fall open slightly, his breaths even and deep. Sponge Bob's heart swells with tenderness, watching Plankton's face. He gently shifts his position, adjusting the small blanket over Plankton to keep him warm. The TV's light continues to flicker across their faces, casting shadows on the walls. Sponge Bob doesn't want to wake him; instead, he takes the moment to study his friend's newfound peace. Plankton's antennas, usually a blur of activity, are still, his breaths deep and rhythmic. Sponge Bob notices the slightest tremble in his friend's hand, now resting on the couch cushion. He gently takes it in his, intertwining their fingers. Their friendship remains a bastion of comfort and acceptance. The TV echoes in the room, punctuating the silence between them. Sponge Bob feels Plankton's body relax further into the couch, his head now resting heavily against his shoulder. Plankton's laughter has turned to soft snores, his antenna twitching with each breath he takes. Karen peeks into the room, and sees Plankton asleep against Sponge Bob's side. She goes closer, wanting to make sure Plankton is ok. She feels warmth seeing their friendship unchanged by his diagnosis. Sponge Bob, ever the caretaker, has his arm around Plankton, his hand over Plankton's, their fingers intertwined. Karen smiles softly with pride. This moment of peace, despite the turmoil, shows their unyielding bond. "You guys okay?" she asks, her voice a gentle whisper. Sponge Bob nods. "Yeah, Karen," he says, his voice low. "We're just watching a movie." Karen's smile is filled with warmth as she steps closer. "I can see that," she whispers. "How is he?" Sponge Bob's gaze shifts to her, his smile a mix of relief and sadness. "Different," he says, his voice soft. "But still Plankton." Karen nods with understanding. "He's been through a lot," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. "But he's strong, and he has his friends." She sits down on the couch, her hand reaching out to rest on Plankton's leg. Her touch is light, comforting. Plankton's body twitches slightly in his sleep, his antennae stirring. Sponge Bob squeezes Plankton's hand gently. "You're ok, buddy," he murmurs, his voice a soft reassurance. Karen sits down beside them, gaze on Plankton's serene expression. "I'm here," she says, her voice soft. "Always." She reaches out, her hand resting on Plankton's knee. The touch penetrates his subconscious, his antennae twitching slightly in response. Sponge Bob nods. "Thanks, Karen," he whispers, his voice filled with gratitude. "I'm still trying to get used to this new Plankton." Karen's expression is one of quiet understanding. "It's ok," she says, her voice a soothing balm. "It's a lot to process, but you're doing great." She looks down at Plankton, his small form snuggled against Sponge Bob. "He's lucky to have you," she whispers. Sponge Bob nods, his voice thick with emotion. "But it's hard to see him like this." His eyes well with tears, his grip on Plankton's hand tightening. Karen's gaze is filled with compassion as she looks at Plankton. She reaches over, her hand gently brushing his cheek. "He's still the same Plankton," she whispers. "He's just learning to navigate a new part of himself." Sponge Bob nods, his eyes still fixed on the TV. "I know," he says, his voice tight. "But it's so...different." His eyes flicker with unshed tears. Karen's gaze remains on Plankton's peaceful face, her hand still on his knee. "It is," she says, her voice soft. "But different isn't bad, Sponge Bob." She looks at him, her eyes filled with a gentle wisdom. "It's just new. And sometimes, new things take getting used to." Sponge Bob nods. "I know," he says, his voice a whisper. "It's just..." He pauses, his thoughts racing. "It's just that I want to be there for him, you know?" His voice cracks, his grip on Plankton's hand becoming stronger. Karen nods with empathy. "I know you do, Sponge Bob," she says, her voice soft. "And you are." She reaches over, placing a comforting hand on Sponge Bob's shoulder. "You just need to be patient with him, and with yourself. We're all learning together." The TV laugh track fades into silence as the movie reaches its end. Plankton's snores remain steady, a testament to his sleep. Sponge Bob sighs, his eyes finally leaving the screen. He looks down at their joined hands. "I'll be patient," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "For you, Plankton." His eyes meet Karen's, a silent promise passing between them. "I know you will," she says, her voice a gentle encouragement. "You've always been a good friend." The room is quiet, save for Plankton's soft snores. Sponge Bob's eyes remain on the TV, his thoughts spinning. Karen's words echo in his head: different isn't bad, just new. He looks down at Plankton. He tries to imagine a world where Plankton doesn't have autism, but the thought feels wrong. This new version of his friend is still Plankton, still the same in so many ways. Their bond is strong, their friendship unchanged. He squeezes Plankton's hand, his thoughts racing. "I'll be there for you," he whispers, his voice a promise. "We'll figure this out together." Plankton's snores hitch slightly, his antenna twitching in his sleep. Sponge Bob's filled with a newfound determination. He'll be there for Plankton, no matter what. His heart swells as he leans down, his lips brushing Plankton's forehead in a soft kiss. The room is a cocoon of quiet, their friendship a beacon in the stillness. Karen watches them, her heart heavy but hopeful. "Let's get him to bed," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. Sponge Bob nods, his movements careful as he lifts Plankton into his arms. Plankton's eye flutter open briefly, his gaze confused but quickly calming at the sight of Sponge Bob's smiling face. "Tired," Plankton murmurs, his voice sleepy. Sponge Bob nods, his smile gentle. "Come on, buddy," he says, his voice a warm whisper. "Let's get you to bed." They're careful not to jostle him to much. Plankton's eye droop closed again, his body limp in Sponge Bob's embrace. Karen leads the way to the bedroom. The bed is made with fresh sheets, the room organized with care. Plankton's favorite gadgets line the shelves, each item meticulously placed. Sponge Bob lays Plankton gently on the bed, body is heavy with sleep, his snores a comforting lullaby. Karen pulls the blankets up, tucking them around his small form. "Thank you," Plankton mumbles. Sponge Bob's smile is warm and reassuring. "You're welcome, buddy," he says, his voice low. "Sleep tight." Karen watches the scene with affection. "I'll be right outside if you need anything," she whispers. Plankton's antennas twitch, his eye opening slightly. "I lo-ove you.." "We love you too, Plankton," he says, his voice cracking with emotion. He smiles at Karen, who nods in understanding before they slip out of the room, letting him sleep.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 4 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴀ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Karen, ever the calming presence, moves closer to Plankton, her movements slow and deliberate. She knows his triggers, his signs of distress. She whispers, "It's okay, Plankto-" But Plankton's body doesn't seem to hear. Only his arm shoots out, his hand slapping as he tries to grasp something, anything, from the bedside table. Karen's eyes dart to his hand, and she knows exactly what he wants. She reaches over in to the bedside drawer and pulls out a box of sensory needs. She gently hands him a fidget squishy before putting the sensory box back into the bedside drawer. Plankton's movements slow slightly as he compresses it in his grip. Karen knows Plankton's autism like the back of her hand. She's studied his tics, his stims, the way his body reacts to stress. It's been a silent dance between them for years, his unspoken needs met with her quiet understanding. But now, Chip's in the picture, and he's curious. Plankton squeezes the fidget squishy in his hand, his breaths coming in short gasps. Karen watches his antennae, the way they twitch with each inhale, slower with each exhale. It's a pattern she's come to recognize, a sign he's coming back to them. "It's okay," she whispers. She knows his limits. Chip watches, his eyes wide with wonder. He's never seen his dad this way before. Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's. She can read his every move, his every tic. She's his anchor. Plankton's antennae start to quiver, his voice murmurs. "Must... the... yes... it... it's all..." Chip doesn't understand what's happening, but he knows his dad's in distress. Karen's voice is a soothing balm. "Just let it pass, Plankton," she whispers, her hand steady. She's seen this before; she knows. The words continue to tumble from Plankton's mouth, disjointed and disconnected. "The... the... it... has to be... must... yes..." Karen watches with a mixture of sadness and determined calm. She's been his rock through these episodes countless times, his safe place when the world gets too loud. But now, screen sees the fear in her son's eyes, the questions he's too afraid to ask. She knows it's time to explain. Plankton's antennae stop twitching as he squeezes the fidget squishy tightly. The words come out in spurts, a jumbled mess. "The... the... it's okay," he says, his voice barely above a murmur. "Just... it's okay." Chip watches his father, his mind racing. What's happening? Why is he saying these random words? Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's, her screen filled with understanding. "It's part of his autism," she whispers to Chip. "Sometimes when he's overwhelmed, words just tumble out." Chip stares at his dad. "But what does he mean, 'the it'?" Chip asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's not about us, Chip," Karen says, as more nonsensical words spill out. "The... it... no... must... yes..." Karen sighs. "It doesn't always make sense," she admits. "It's just his brain trying to process everything." Chip swallows, watching his dad with a mix of curiosity and concern of his neurodivergence. Plankton's eye is glazed over. "The... it... not... can't," he whispers to himself. Karen's hand is warm against his. Chip is watching, his curiosity piqued. He's never heard his dad's voice like this, so soft, so... lost. Plankton's tongue flaps in his mouth, his brain trying to form coherent thoughts, but all that comes out are jumbled syllables. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen soothes. "You're okay." The room feels like it's spinning around him, a whirlwind of sounds and colors. Plankton's eye is unfocused, but he feels their presence. "Tck tck," he says quietly, his head bobbing slightly. Karen's hand tightens around his. "Just let it come," she whispers. "D-Dad?" Chip stammers. Plankton doesn't respond. "It's okay," Karen assures Chip. "He's just... dealing. It's like he's stuck in a loop, trying to make sense of things. And he does that with sounds, sometimes. But he'll come back to us." Karen's seen this before, the way his mouth moves, forming sounds of wording that don't quite match up. The room is a symphony of Plankton's tics, the tapestry of his neurodivergence. "Tck tck," he murmurs, his eye flickering. Chip watches. He's never seen his dad so vulnerable. "Why does he do that?" Chip whispers, his voice shaking. Karen takes a deep breath, ready to explain. "Because it helps his brain cope with the world, Chip," Karen says. "Sometimes, his brain can get overwhelmed. And these little movements, these sounds, they help him find his calm." Chip's gaze remains on his father, who's still lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to the conversation happening around him. "But why can't he just... stop?" Chip's question is innocent, but it cuts deep. Karen looks at him with patience. "It's not something he can control," she explains. "It's like his brain's way of expressing itself." Chip nods, but the questions keep coming. "Does he even know he's doing it?" he asks, his voice low. Karen shrugs. "He's aware of his tics, but sometimes they just take over." She pauses, her gaze on Plankton, who's still lost in his own world. "It's like when you get really focused on a video game, and you don't notice anything else around you." Chip thinks about it, his mind racing with questions. "But what's the point of the sounds?" he asks. "Is he... will he even know we're here?" "Sometimes he does, sweetie. Sometimes he doesn't. But it's good to be here for him." Plankton's tics subside slightly. He's coming back. "It's like a... a pressure valve," Karen tries to explain. "When his brain feels too full, the tics and sounds help to release some of that... pressure." Plankton's antennae twitch again. He's aware of them now, watching him. Karen's gaze is soft. "It's just a sound he makes, Chip. It's not for us, it's for him to release tension. He may not even know he's doing it right now, nor may he later recall what's been said or happened." Chip nods, trying to understand. Plankton's eye finally focuses on them. "What's... what's going on?" Plankton's voice is groggy. Karen smiles gently. "You had an episode," she says. "Do you remember?" Plankton's antennae droop. "I don't know," he says. Karen nods. It's not unusual for him to forget. "Chip was worried about you," she adds. Plankton looks at his son, his heart heavy. "Chip grabbed my hand, and it was too much. I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely above a whisper as he puts the fidget squishy back. "It's okay," Chip says, his voice small. "I just..." But Plankton cuts him off. "Just leave me alone!" Karen sighs. This is the part she's always feared. The moment when Chip would find out, and Plankton's fear of losing him would spike. He's always been so good at hiding his autism, but now his son has seen it in full force. Chip takes a step back, his eyes wide. "Dad?" Plankton doesn't look at him. "Please, Chip," Plankton says, his voice sharp. "Just... just go." The sting of his words is like a slap in the face. Karen sees the hurt in Chip's screen, but she knows Plankton's just trying to regain control. Karen puts a hand on Chip's shoulder. "Let's give Dad some space," she whispers. But Chip's eyes are still glued to Plankton. "But I..." he starts. "Chip," she says firmly, "now's not the time." Plankton's body is still, his antennae drooping. He looks... broken. It's a sight that makes Karen's ache, but it's one she's seen before. Chip nods reluctantly, his gaze never leaving his father's. He takes a step back, his eyes still full of questions. Karen sits beside him. She knows he doesn't mean to push Chip away, that his fear of being seen as less than has always been his greatest burden. Plankton's tic starts again, his head nodding. "Tck tck," he says. Karen knows that for Plankton, it's completely normal for him to tic like this after such seizures. Chip watches, his curiosity melding with fear. Karen sighs. "It's just his brain, Chip," she says, her voice steady. "It's his way of coping. The tics are okay, and he might continue to tic for the rest of today." Plankton sighs. "Chip, you better not blabber about this to anyone," his voice is low and gruff. Karen nods understandingly. "He won't," she says, turning to Chip. "It's our little secret." "I won't," Chip whispers, watching Plankton's bobbing head. "It's a tic, Chip," Karen explains, her voice soft. "It's like when you have to scratch an itch that just won't go away." Plankton nods, his eye still unfocused. "It's something his body does when he's trying to calm down," she adds. "There's nothing wrong with it. The tics are with his head movements and his tongue clicking, which is how he tics." Chip stares at his dad. "Why does it... why does it happen?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. Karen's eyes are filled with sorrow. "It's part of his autism," she says, her voice gentle. "When he's stressed or anxious, his brain sends mixed signals. And his body has these... involuntary responses." She takes a deep breath. "It's like... it's like his brain's doing a little dance to keep up. It's not in his antennae, nor his limbs. Only his head and sometimes mouth tics, being the jerks and sounds. It's something involuntary." "But why can't he just... not do it?" Chip asks, as Plankton's head continues to nod, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. Karen's eyes are filled with patience. "It's not that simple, Chip," she says. "These tics are like... reflexes. You can't just turn them off. It's part of it."

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xvi (By NeuroFabulous) "Could Dad feel anything?" Karen's gaze is filled with compassion. "No, sweetie," she says gently. "That's the point of the medicine. He didn't feel anything." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton. "What's it like when Dad woke up?" he asks, his voice a soft curiosity. Karen's voice is a gentle narrative, her words painting a picture of Plankton's recovery. "He was a bit confused at first," she says, her eyes on Plankton. "But he quickly understood where he was." Chip's eyes are a mirror of his mother's, his curiosity a living entity. "But his mouth?" he asks, his voice a quiet probing. Karen's smile is a soft reassurance. "They gave him something to make it numb," she says, her words a gentle explanation. "So he couldn't feel the surgery." Chip's eyes are a swirl of understanding. "What was it like when it was over?" he asks, his voice a whisper of fascination. "Before he awoke from it? After they finished while you waited for him to wake up, what'd his face and mouth look like?" Karen's gaze is a silent answer, her eyes a soft story of the surgery's aftermath. "His cheeks were a bit puffy," she whispers, her voice a gentle narrative of the scene she'd witnessed. "And there was a bit of blood, but the doctors cleaned him up. As he slept, I could see his chest rise and fall, and I knew he was okay." Chip's eyes are wide with interest. "And then?" Karen's voice is a soft narrative, her words painting the picture of Plankton's recovery. "After they took his teeth out, they put in stitches," she says. "And now his mouth needs time to heal." Chip's eyes widen, his mind racing with images. "Stitches?" he repeats, his voice a mix of fascination and horror. "How'd they put in stitches while he was sleeping?" Karen's smile is a gentle explanation. "They're very careful," she says, her voice a calm lake. "They use a special thread that dissolves so he doesn't need to come back to have them removed." Chip's eyes are a mix of wonder and concern. "How'd he not bite the dentist?" Karen laughs softly, a warm sound in the quiet room. "They gave him more medicine," she says, her voice a gentle guide. "So his mouth was completely relaxed." Chip's eyes are wide with wonder. "How did it feel to wake up?" he asks, his voice filled with innocent curiosity. Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, his eye opening to look at his son. "It was... strange," he murmurs, his voice a distant echo of his experience. "Everything was blurry, and my mouth felt funny." Chip nods, his eyes wide with interest. "But it's better now?" he asks, hope coloring his voice. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "Mmh," he mumbles, his voice a hoarse affirmation. "It's okay; still healing.." "How about we watch a movie?" Karen suggests, her voice a gentle distraction from the pain. "Something fun, to take your mind off it?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his interest piqued despite his discomfort. "The Dirty Bubble?" he murmurs. Karen's smile is a nod, her eyes filled with the promise of distraction. "Yeah," she says, getting up to grab the remote. "It's about the underwater world's biggest heist," she says, her voice a gentle coaxing. "I think you'll enjoy it, Chip." Plankton's antennae twitch with slight interest as he sits up more, his body protesting with a soft groan. Chip moves closer, his eyes on his father. Plankton's antennae twitch. Karen and Chip sit on either side of him. The movie's sounds fill the room, the images dancing across the television screen. As the film progresses, Plankton's eye grows heavier, his head slowly tilting towards Chip. Chip, lost in the story, feels the slightest pressure against his shoulder. He looks down to see his father's antennae quivering, his head leaning closer. Plankton's body is a silent admission of his exhaustion. He's trying to stay alert, but his eye keeps slipping shut, his antennae drooping slightly. The movie plays on. Chip feels the weight of his father's head, a warmth that spreads through his body. Plankton's antennae are a quiet whisper, his breathing even. Karen's gaze flits from the TV to the two of them, her heart swelling with gratitude. This is progress. Chip feels his dad's antennae brush against his arm, the sensation a soft reminder of his presence. The movie's end credits roll, the room bathed in the soft glow of the TV. Sandy's hand is warm on the remote, turning off the film. Chip then hears a gentle snore against his shoulder, his dad's antennae lying limp beside him. He looks down to see Plankton's eye closed, his head resting heavily. Karen's smile is a quiet celebration. "Looks like he's asleep," she murmurs, her voice a soft whisper. Chip's eyes are wide with surprise. "On me?" he asks, his voice filled with disbelief. Karen nods, her smile a warm embrace. "It's okay," she whispers, her eyes on Plankton's sleeping form. "He's just really tired." Chip's heart swells with pride. It's the first time his dad's ever fallen asleep on him, a silent testament to the trust building between them. He carefully shifts his shoulder, making room for Plankton's antennae. Karen's eyes are a gentle nod of understanding. "Let him sleep," she whispers. The room is a soft symphony of Plankton's snores and the distant hum of the refrigerator. Chip watches his father, his expression one of wonder.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 5 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Plankton's nods become less frequent, his tongue clicks slower. "I don't... tck tck, I don't mean to be tck tck... to be like this," he whispers. "It's okay, Dad," Chip says. "I won't tell anyone." Karen smiles sadly. "You don't have to hide it, Plankton," she says. But Plankton looks away. "I can't help it," he murmurs. Chip's never seen his dad so lost, so vulnerable. "Dad, you can tell me anyth—" "No," Plankton snaps. "It's none of your business, Chip." Karen's eyes flash with sorrow, but she remains silent. She knows Plankton's pride. The tic starts again, his head jerking slightly. "Tck tck," he murmurs. Chip watches, his eyes wet with unshed tears. He doesn't understand why his dad is pushing him away. But Karen does. She's seen it before, Plankton's fear of being seen as weak, as different. "Chip," she says gently, "it's not something he can help. It's part of his autism. Sometimes, his brain just needs to... to tic. He's aware when it happens." The room is silent except for the faint click of Plankton's tongue. "But why?" he whispers, his voice cracking. "Why does his brain need to do that?" Karen looks at him with a sad smile. "It's his brain's way of communicating, Chip. Sometimes it just needs to... move, to make sounds. It's like his way of saying, 'We're ok, Plankton, you're here'." Chip watches his dad's head nod slightly. "But it looks so... painful." Plankton's eye finally meets his. "It's not painful, Chip," he says, his voice strained. "It's tck... tck it's none of your concern." Karen's eyes are filled with concern as she looks at Plankton, who's visibly tired. She knows he's trying to regain control, to keep his walls up. "It's okay, Plankton," she says. "Chip just wants to understand." "I don't want him to think I'm... tck tck, I don't want him to think I'm weird." The desperation in his voice mirrors the erratic movements of his head. "You're not weird, Dad," Chip says, his voice firm. "You're just... different." Karen nods. "That's right, Chip. And different is not wrong, it's just part of who your dad is." "You're the best dad ever." Plankton's head nods slower now, the tic subsiding. His eye flickers as he looks at his son, his antennae drooping. "Tck, tck," he whispers. "I just tck... tck I don't want Chip to tck, tck think I'm broken." "You're not broken, Dad," he says. "You're just... special." Karen swells with pride. That's her son, trying to find the right words, trying to comfort his father. Chip's hand reaches for his dad's, but Plankton flinches. The simple touch feels like fire against his skin. "Dad," Chip says, his voice full of concern. "Please, let me he--" But Plankton can't handle it. He jerks away. "No, Chip," he says, his voice tight with anxiety. "Your touch is tck... it's too much." Chip's eyes fill with tears. He's never felt so lost, so helpless. He just wants to comfort his dad, but his dad won't let him. "But..." Karen sighs, taking Chip's hand instead. "Your dad needs some space right now," she whispers. "He gets triggered by sudden movements and sounds, and your touch can be too much." Chip nods, his eyes brimming with tears. "But why doesn't he want me to help?" he asks. Karen looks at Plankton, who's lying down with his body twitching slightly. "Because his autism makes it hard for him to communicate how he's feeling," she explains. "Sometimes, his brain gets overwhelmed, and all he can do is tic." The room is quiet, the air thick with unspoken understanding. Karen knows Plankton's pain, his fear of being seen as less than. She knows his tics are his way of navigating a world that's too loud, too bright. And she knows Chip's hurt, his need to connect with his father in the only way he knows how. But Plankton's walls are up. His antennae twitch, his body still. He's retreated into his own mind, trying to find his calm. Karen watches, aching. She's the only one who truly gets him. She's seen his tics, his moments of overwhelm, his quiet battles. And she's always been there, his rock, his sanctuary. "Tck tck," Plankton murmurs, his tongue flicking against his teeth. Chip's eyes are wide with worry. "It's his way of trying to find his balance," she whispers. "Just let him be." Plankton's tic changes, his head bobbing again. "Tck tck tck," he murmurs. Karen can see the storm brewing in his eye, the internal struggle. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers. "You're safe. Just let it out," she soothes. "It's okay." Chip watches, curiosity piqued. "What are those sounds, Mom?" he asks. Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's. "It's his brain's way of releasing pressure," she says. "Like when you hiccough, it just happens." "But why doesn't he say actual words?" Chip's question is filled with innocence, his mind trying to piece together the puzzle of his father's condition. "Sometimes, Chip, our brains can't find the right words, so it makes sounds instead," Karen explains. "It's like when you hum a tune without knowing why, it's just something that happens. It's his brain's way of talking without words," she says. "It's his autism." Plankton looks at the blanket and rubs his hand over it. Karen knows he's listening. Karen nods. "It's his way of saying he's okay," she says, her voice calm. "It's his brain's shorthand." Plankton's tics continue, his head bobbing, his antennae twitching. "Tck tck tck," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. Karen smiles sadly. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers. "You don't have to explain." Plankton's body relaxes slightly. The tic subsides, his head still. He looks at Karen, his antennae drooping. "Thank y-you," he says, his voice filled with relief. The room is quiet, except for the soft click of his tongue. "It's... it's just..." he starts, his voice trailing off. Karen nods. "I know," she says. "It's your brain's way of talking to you." Plankton nods, somewhat absent mindedly. "It's like when you're trying to think of a word," Karen says, "but all that comes out is 'uh' or 'um'." Chip nods. Plankton's antennae twitch, his body still. "But these sounds," Chip says, "what do they mean?" Karen looks at Plankton, who's lost in his own world again. "They're just sounds," she says, her voice soft. "Like when you tap your foot to the beat of a song. It's his brain's way of keeping rhythm." "Tck tck tck," Plankton says, his voice a quiet murmur. Karen nods. "It's his brain's way of saying, 'I'm okay, Plankton.'" Chip's eyes widen. "But... why doesn't he just say it?" Karen's smile is sad. "Because his brain doesn't always work the same way ours does," she explains. "The sounds are his brain's language, his way of talking to itself." "But what about the... the random words?" Chip asks. Karen looks at Plankton, his antennae twitching slightly. "Those are called 'echolalia' and 'palilalia'," she says. "It's when he repeats words or phrases. Sometimes, it's to help him process what's happening. Other times, it's just his brain's way of filling the silence." Plankton's head nods slightly. Karen smiles. "Sometimes, it's just his brain playing back a something he's heard," she says. "Other times, it's like he's trying to find the right words, but they just don't come out right." Plankton's eye flickers. "Tck tck, yes, yes," he murmurs. Chip looks at his mom, his heart racing. "Does he know what he's saying?" he asks. Karen shrugs. "He's aware of it, Chip. It's just his way of... coping." The sounds change, morphing into a gentle hum. "Mmm mm," he stims. Chip looks at his dad, his eyes full of questions. "What's he doing now?" he asks. Karen smiles gently. "Sometimes, he'll make sounds that aren't words," she says. "It's his brain's way of soothing itself. Some call it 'stimming'," she explains. "It's a way for autistic people to find comfort, to self-soothe." Chip nods, his eyes on his dad. "Mm mm," Plankton whispers. Karen's hand finds Plankton's, giving it a gentle squeeze. "It's his way of saying, 'I'm ok, I'm here,'" she whispers. "It's his brain's way of letting him know he's safe." "Does everyone with autism do this?" Chip asks. Karen shakes her head. "No, sweetie," she says. "Everyone's autism is different." Plankton's humming turns into a soft, rhythmic "bub bub." Karen's smile widens. "It's like his brain's version of a lullaby," she says. Chip nods, his curiosity outweighing his fear. "But why does it change?" he asks. "Sometimes his brain needs different sounds to find its calm," Karen explains. "It's like how you might prefer one song over another when you're sad or upset. His brain is just choosing what it needs in the moment." Chip watches, his eyes glued to his dad's. "It's like he's talking to himself," Chip murmurs. Karen nods. "In a way, he is," she says. "He's reassuring himself that he's okay."

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 7 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Suddenly, Plankton's mumbling becomes a torrent of unorganized wording. "Bubbles, bubbles, bubbles," he repeats, his voice rising and falling in an erratic pattern. Karen's grip on his hand tightens. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers. "You're just talking to yourself." Chip's eyes widen in concern. "What's happening, Mom?" Karen's voice is calm. "It's his brain's way of processing stress," she says. "He's trying to find his calm." Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his tics slowing. "Bubbles, bubbles," Plankton murmurs, his eye flicking around the room. "Karen, Karen Plankton, Karen, Chip, tck tck tck." The words roll off his tongue like a wave, crashing against the silence. Karen nods. "It's his brain's way of categorizing," she says. "It's how he makes sense of the world." Chip's eyes are wide as he listens to the strange litany. "But why now?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen sighs. "Sometimes, stress brings out his 'stims' more," she explains. "And seeing him upset can be overwhelming for his brain." Plankton's antennae twitch erratically. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen whispers. "We're still here." Chip looks at his mom, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "It's okay, buddy," she says, her voice soothing. "Just let him be." Chip nods. Plankton's phrases shift again, now a jumble of nonsensical sounds and words. "Karen, Karen, bubbles, Chip, bubbles, tck tck tck." His body rocks slightly back and forth, his hand flapping against the blanket. "It's like he's trying to organize his thoughts," Karen says, her voice calm. "It's a form of self-regulation." Chip nods, trying to understand. "But it's so... random," he says. Karen smiles gently. "Karen, bubbles, tck tck, Chip, okay, okay." Plankton's eye darts around the room, as if searching for something he can't quite see. Karen's hand is steady on his shoulder. "It's okay," she repeats, her voice a soft lullaby. "You're safe." "Mom, what's he saying?" Chip whispers. Karen's eyes are filled with compassion. "He's just talking to himself," she explains. "It's his brain's way of sorting things out." Plankton's phrases change again. "Mo-mo number one, says I say, dun?" Karen's smile is sad. "It's his way of asking for reassurance," she says. "His brain's trying to make sense of the world." Chip nods, his mind racing to keep up with the changing words. "It's okay, Dad," he whispers, his voice trembling. "You're the best dad ever." Plankton's shakes ease slightly, his antennae still. Chip nods, trying to keep his voice steady. "It's okay, Dad," he says. "We're all here for you." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye focusing on his son. "Bath," he says, his voice a mix of comfort and exhaustion. Karen nods. "He's just trying to find his words," she says. "It's part of his process." Plankton's hand stops moving, his antennae still. "Shs-shs-shs," he whispers. "Bb-bebe, hads." Chip's screen dart to Karen's. "What's he saying?" he whispers. Karen's expression is one of deep understanding. "It's a way of being kinda in his own little bubble," she explains. "His brain's way of interacting as he's in his own world, like daydreaming almost, but not necessarily thinking of any thing in particular. Like when you don't pay attention in class." Plankton's phrases change again, now a mix of words and sounds. "Wrap, tie knot, let, shwish shwish," he murmurs. Karen nods gently. "It's like his brain's doing a little dance," she says, "just to keep itself comfortable." Chip watches as his dad. "Can dad hear us right now?" he asks, his voice small. "Yes, he can," Karen says. "He's just focusing on verbally stimming." Plankton's phrases evolve. "Fwip fwip, splash, splash, oh so quiet, splish splash." Chip's eyes follow the patterns his dad's hand makes on the blanket. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen whispers. "You don't have to hide your sounds." Plankton's eye flutters slightly. Karen smiles at Chip. "It's his brain's way of creating a safe space," she says. "He's talking to his 'stims'. But I think he's getting tired, as sensory bombardment can take it's toll." The stimming came again. "Fweee." Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's. "It's ok, honey," she says, her voice steady. Plankton's antennae droop exhausted. "Tck tck tck, tck t---" "Do you need to sleep, Plankton?" Karen asks, her voice a gentle caress in the quiet room. Plankton's eye flits to her, then back to his patterns on the blanket. "It's okay if you do," she says, her tone soothing. "Sleep can help reset your brain. It's late." Plankton's stimming pauses, his body still. "Sleep," he murmurs. The word hangs in the air, a question wrapped in a sigh. "Yes," Karen nods. "Sleep." Karen stands, her movements slow and deliberate. "Let's get you comfy, Plankton," she says. He crawls under the blanket covers, now facing his pillow. Chip watches, his eyes full of uncertainty. "Does he always do this?" he asks. Karen shakes her head, her voice low. "Sometimes, when his brain's had too much, it just needs to reset." She tucks Plankton in, her movements careful and precise. "It's like his brain's battery is running low, and sleep is how it recharges." Plankton's body relaxes slightly as Karen's voice lulls him. "K-Karen," he whispers, his antennae slowly drooping. "It's okay, Plankton," she says. "You can go to sleep." The room is filled with a tension that only Chip seems to feel. "Sleep," Plankton echoes, his voice fading. "Sleep." Chip watches his dad, his heart heavy with the weight of understanding. He's never seen his hero so vulnerable. "Mom," he whispers, "What if I do something that makes it worse?" Karen turns to him, her eyes full of love. "You won't," she says. "But if you're ever unsure, just ask me or him. We're in this together. Now, you get some rest yourself; we'll need it after such a day. Tomorrow we can see if he's back to usual and go from there. Goodnight, Chip.."