Storyteller Emoji Combos

i'm s0rry it's the liq0ur ▶▶ N0 IT'S NOT THE LIQOUR I H4TE YOU B1tch

🤥🫤🤨👺

𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰'𝒎 𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉. ~𝑺𝑫𝑷

₊✩‧₊˚ ཐི⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ཋྀ ˚₊✩‧₊

avoid writing about- ~animals ~unnecessary detail ~certain groups -in such stories

no- ~pets ~unnecessary detail ~crims -in said stories

avoid- ~losing animals ~excessive detail ~inaccurate portrayal of certain people ~making fun of groups

🪰 𝒞𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒾ℴ𝓅ℯ ~ 🪰

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

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

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

‧₊˚🐇𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐞𓆱

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

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

Basic OC Information Form: Name: Nicknames: Age/age group: Gender: Pronouns: Species: Dimension: Family: Friends: Pets: Love Interest: Likes: Dislikes: Extra:

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

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

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

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

It’s nice that my grandmother calls to check on me, but if she wants to communicate from the other side I wish she wouldn’t scream so much.

ᴰᵒⁿ’ᵗ ᵀʳᵘˢᵗ ᴵᵗ ᔆᵗᵒʳʸ ˡᵉⁿᵍᵗʰ⠘ ᴹᵉᵈⁱᵘᵐ ᴹʸ ᶠᵃᵗʰᵉʳ ⁱˢ ᵃ ᵍʳᵉᵃᵗ ᵐᵃⁿ‧ ᶠᵒᵘʳᵗᵉᵉⁿ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ ᵃᵍᵒ ʰᵉ ʷᵃˢ ˢᵉⁿᵗ ᵒⁿ ᵃ ˢᵒˡᵒ ᵐⁱˢˢⁱᵒⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ᵐᵃⁿ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ᵗʳᵃᵛᵉˡ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵃ ʷᵒʳᵐʰᵒˡᵉ⸴ ˡᵒᶜᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵃ ᵐᵃˢˢⁱᵛᵉ ᵈⁱˢᵗᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᴱᵃʳᵗʰ‧ ᴴⁱˢ ʳᵉᵗᵘʳⁿ ʷᵃˢ ᵘⁿᵍᵘᵃʳᵃⁿᵗᵉᵉᵈ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉ ʷᵃˢ ᵖʳᵉᵖᵃʳᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃᶜʳⁱᶠⁱᶜᵉ‧ ᴵ ʷᵃˢ ᵗʷᵉˡᵛᵉ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵒᵘʳ ᵖˡᵃⁿᵉᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵉˣᵖˡᵒʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᴳʳᵉᵃᵗ ᵁⁿᵏⁿᵒʷⁿ⸴ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷⁱⁿᵍ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵒʳ ⁱᶠ ʰᵉ ʷᵒᵘˡᵈ ʳᵉᵗᵘʳⁿ‧ ᴵᵗ ᵗᵒᵒᵏ ˢᵉᵛᵉⁿ ˡᵒⁿᵍ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱˢ ᶜʳᵃᶠᵗ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᵃᶜʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉᵈᵍᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳᵐʰᵒˡᵉ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵉ ᵖʳᵉᵖᵃʳᵉᵈ ᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᵛᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ʰᵉᵃʳ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ‧ ᴺⁱⁿᵉ ᵐⁱⁿᵘᵗᵉˢ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ʰⁱˢ ˢᵖᵃᶜᵉᶜʳᵃᶠᵗ ᵇʳᵉᵃᶜʰᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳᵐʰᵒˡᵉ ᵃ ˢⁱⁿᵍˡᵉ ᵐᵉˢˢᵃᵍᵉ ʷᵃˢ ʳᵉᶜᵉⁱᵛᵉᵈ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᵗʳᵃⁿˢᵐⁱˢˢⁱᵒⁿ ʷᵃˢ ᶜᵘᵗ⠘ “ᴰᵒⁿ’ᵗ ᵗʳᵘˢᵗ ⁱᵗ”‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᶜʳʸᵖᵗⁱᶜ ᵐᵉˢˢᵃᵍᵉ ʷᵃˢ ᵈⁱˢᵐⁱˢˢᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵖᵉᵃᶜᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵃᶜᵗ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᴵ ʷᵃˢ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ‧ ᵀʰᵃᵗ ⁱˢ⸴ ᵘⁿᵗⁱˡ ᶠⁱᵛᵉ ʷᵉᵉᵏˢ ˡᵃᵗᵉʳ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢⁱᵍⁿᵃˡ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵒⁿˡⁱⁿᵉ‧ ᴴⁱˢ ˢʰⁱᵖ ʰᵃᵈ ʳᵉᵗᵘʳⁿᵉᵈ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵇᵉʸᵒⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳᵐʰᵒˡᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵃˢ ᵗʳᵃᵛᵉˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵗᵒʷᵃʳᵈˢ ᴱᵃʳᵗʰ ⁱⁿᵗᵃᶜᵗ‧ ᔆᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵃⁿˣⁱᵒᵘˢ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ ᵐᵒʳᵉ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰⁱˢ ˢʰⁱᵖ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰᵉᵈ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᶜᵉᵃⁿ‧ ᴵ ʷᵃˢ ᵃˡʳᵉᵃᵈʸ ᵃ ᵍʳᵒʷⁿ ᵐᵃⁿ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁱᵗ ʰᵃᵈ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ᶠᵒᵘʳᵗᵉᵉⁿ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ ˢⁱⁿᶜᵉ ᴵ ˢᵃʷ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᶜʳʸᵒ⁻ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ʰᵃᵈ ˢˡᵒʷᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᵃᵍⁱⁿᵍ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉ ˡᵒᵒᵏᵉᵈ ᵇᵃʳᵉˡʸ ᵃ ᵈᵃʸ ᵒˡᵈᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ ˡᵉᶠᵗ‧ ᴴᵒʷᵉᵛᵉʳ⸴ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵉᵉᵐᵉᵈ ⁿᵒᵗ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʰⁱᵐ; ʰᵉ ʷᵃˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵃⁿ ᴵ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳᵉᵈ‧ ᴴⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉˢ ʰᵃᵈ ˡᵒˢᵗ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ˢᵖᵃʳᵏ⸴ ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰ ʰᵃᵈ ˡᵒˢᵗ ⁱᵗˢ ˢⁱᵍⁿᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ ᵍʳⁱⁿ‧‧‧ ᴬⁿᵈ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ’ᵗ ˢᵗᵒᵖ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗʳᵃⁿˢᵐⁱˢˢⁱᵒⁿ⸴ ʳᵉᶜᵉⁱᵛᵉᵈ ˢᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵖᵃⁱⁿᶠᵘˡ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ ᵃᵍᵒ‧ “ᴰᵒⁿ’ᵗ ᵗʳᵘˢᵗ ⁱᵗ” ᴹʸ ᶠᵃᵗʰᵉʳ ʷᵃˢ ᵃ ᵍʳᵉᵃᵗ ᵐᵃⁿ⸴ ᴮᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ⁱˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐʸ ᶠᵃᵗʰᵉʳ‧ – ᶜʳᵉᵈⁱᵗˢ ᵗᵒ⠘ ᵗʰⁱⁿˢᵗⁱᶜᵏ

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

----- Any stories involving triggering subjects must have a trigger warning -In addition stories, roleplay or jokes that include the mention of abusing Insensitive profiles are not allowed, this includes Nazi/ ww2 aesthetics that glorifies Ww2 and any profiles that glorify terrible points in history will not be tolerated including racism, harassment, etc. -In addition to this the use of slurs are not allowed Please respect and follow the rules, we want to keep the community nice!

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

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

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.🐑 ᑕᒪEᗰEᑎTIᑎE🐑‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒶𝓁𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝒶𝓇𝓅𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝒶𝓇𝑒𖡼.𖤣𖥧 ‧₊˚🌿 pro/nouns ‧₊˚🌿likes ‧₊˚🌿dislikes -ˋˏ ❀༺ ˎˊ-𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓅𝓎 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒, 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝒾𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹𝓇𝑒𝓃?‧₊˚❀ ༉ ‧₊ ˚.

‧₊˚🐑𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𓆱

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

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

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

-August 19, 2017 What seeing red looks like. EVERYONE LOVES THE FIRST DAY OF A NEW JOB, RIGHT? NEW COLLEAGUES, NEW FRIENDS. IT’S A DAY FULL OF POTENTIAL AND HOPE, BEFORE ALL THE DREARY DEPRESSIONS OF REALITY SHOW UP TO RUIN ALL THE FUN. I LIKE THE FIRST DAY OF WORK FOR A DIFFERENT REASON THOUGH. YOU SEE, I HAVE A SORT OF POWER. WHEN I LOOK A COLORED OUTLINE BASED ON HOW LONG THAT PERSON HAS TO LIVE. MOST EVERYONE I MEET AROUND MY AGE IS SURROUNDED BY A SOLID GREEN HUE, WHICH MEANS THEY HAVE PLENTY OF TIME LEFT, LIVING TO OLD AGE. A FAIR AMOUNT OF THEM HAVE A PEACH TINGE TO THEIR AURA WHICH TENDS TO MEAN A CANCER OR DEPRESSION. ANYTHING THAT TAKES PEOPLE“BEFORE THEIR TIME” AS THEY SAY. THE REAL FUN IS WHEN THE AURAS VENTURE INTO THE RED END OF THE SPECTRUM, THOUGH. EVERY NOW AND AGAIN I’LL SEE SOMEONE WHO’S BASICALLY THROBBING FADE. IT’S SUCH A RUSH TO SEE THEM AND KNOW THEIR TIME IS NUMBERED. WITH THAT IN MIND, I ALWAYS GET TO WORK VERY EARLY SO I CAN SCOUT OUT MY COLLEAGUES’ FATES. THE FIRST MAN WHO WALKED IN WAS BASICALLY RADIATING RED. TOO BAD, BRO. BUT AS PEOPLE KEPT WALKING IN, THEY ALL HAD THE SAME RAPIDLY FADING COLOR. I FINALLY CAUGHT A GLIMPSE OF MY OWN REFLECTION, SUDDENLY PLUMMETING TO A RED LIKE THE OTHERS. OUR BOSS STEPPED IN SMILING AND LOCKED THE DOOR, HIS AURA A SICKENING SHADE OF GREEN... ZENRYHAO

⚾ Go to TwoSentenceHorror 7 yr. ago LapizVGC I was wondering why the baseball kept getting bigger. Then it hit me.

“ᵂᵃⁱᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˡⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ ʳᵒᵒᵐ⸴ ᵐʸ ᵈᵉᵃʳ‧ ᴵ’ˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ʷⁱᵗʰ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᶠʳᵉˢʰˡʸ ᵇᵃᵏᵉᵈ ᶜᵒᵒᵏⁱᵉˢ!” ᴬˡᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ ᴵ ʷᵃˢ ᵖʳᵒⁿᵉ ᵗᵒ ˡⁱˢᵗᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ⁱⁿˢᵗʳᵘᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ⸴ ᶜᵘʳⁱᵒˢⁱᵗʸ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵉ‧ ᴵ ᵈᵉᶜⁱᵈᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵉˣᵖˡᵒʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵒᵘˢᵉ‧ ᴾʳᵒʷˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵃʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ⸴ ᴵ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜᵉᵈ ᵃ ˢᵗᵃⁱʳᶜᵃˢᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵘᵖˢᵗᵃⁱʳˢ‧ ᑫᵘⁱᵉᵗˡʸ⸴ ᴵ ᵗⁱᵖᵗᵒᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵉᶜᵒⁿᵈ ˢᵗᵒʳᵉʸ‧ ᴴᵉʳᵉ⸴ ᴵ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜᵉᵈ ᵃ ˡᵒⁿᵍ ᶜᵒʳʳⁱᵈᵒʳ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ˢᵗʳᵉᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ˢⁱᵈᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵒᵘˢᵉ‧ ᴬˡᵒⁿᵍ ⁱᵗ ˡᵃʸ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗˡᵉˢˢ ᵈᵒᵒʳˢ‧ ᴬᶠᵗᵉʳ ʷᵃˡᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᶠᵉʷ ˢᵗᵉᵖˢ ᴵ ˢᵃʷ ᵃ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ᵗᵒ ᵐʸ ˡᵉᶠᵗ⸴ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʷᵃˢ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃⁿ ⁱⁿᶠⁱⁿⁱᵗᵉˡʸ ˢᵐᵃˡˡ ᶜʳᵃᶜᵏ‧ ᴵ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵘᵖ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖᵘˢʰᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ʷⁱᵈᵉ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ‧ ᴵⁿˢⁱᵈᵉ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᵈᵉᵃᵈ ᵇᵒᵈⁱᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʳᵉⁿ‧ ᴱᵃᶜʰ ʰᵒˡᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ʰᵃˡᶠ⁻ᵉᵃᵗᵉⁿ ᶜᵒᵒᵏⁱᵉ‧

ᴿᵃᶜʰᵉˡ ᶠⁱᶠᵗᵉᵉⁿʰᵒᵘʳˢ⁻ᶜʳᵉᵉᵖʸˢᵗᵒʳⁱᵉˢ⠘ ᴹʸ ᴳʳᵃⁿᵈᵐᵃ ʷᵃˢ ᵃ ʰᵒᵃʳᵈᵉʳ‧ ᴵ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ⁱᵗ ʷᵃˢ ᵃ ᵐᵉⁿᵗᵃˡ ᵈⁱˢᵉᵃˢᵉ ˢʰᵉ ʰᵃᵈ ᵗʳᵒᵘᵇˡᵉ ᵈᵉᵃˡⁱⁿᵍ ʷⁱᵗʰ‧ ʸᵃʳᵈ ˢᵃˡᵉˢ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸ ʷᵉᵉᵏᵉⁿᵈ‧ ᴳᵒᵒᵈʷⁱˡˡ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵈᵃʸ‧ ᵀʰᵉʳᵉ ʷᵃˢ ⁿᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ˢʰᵉ ⁿᵉᵉᵈᵉᵈ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ⁿᵒᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ˢʰᵉ ʷᵒᵘˡᵈⁿ’ᵗ ᵇᵘʸ‧ ᴱᵛᵉʳʸ ᶜʰʳⁱˢᵗᵐᵃˢ ᵒᵘʳ ᵖʳᵉˢᵉⁿᵗˢ ʷᵉʳᵉ ʲᵘˢᵗ ʷᵉⁱʳᵈ ᶜᵒˡˡᵉᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ʲᵘⁿᵏ ˢʰᵉ ᵖⁱᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ‧ ᵀʰᵉⁿ ᵒᵘʳ ᶜᵒᵘˢⁱⁿ⸴ ᴿᵃᶜʰᵉˡ⸴ ʷᵃˢ ᵏⁱᵈⁿᵃᵖᵖᵉᵈ‧ ᴿᵃᶜʰᵉˡ ʰᵃᵈ ˡⁱᵛᵉᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᴳʳᵃⁿᵈᵐᵃ⸴ ˢᵒ ᵗʰⁱˢ ʷᵃˢ ᵃ ʰᵘᵍᵉ ˢᵉᵗᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵗᵒ ᵐʸ ᴳʳᵃⁿᵈᵐᵃ’ˢ ᵐᵉⁿᵗᵃˡ ʰᵉᵃˡᵗʰ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵘᵇˢᵉᑫᵘᵉⁿᵗˡʸ⸴ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵒᵃʳᵈⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴵᵗ ᵍᵒᵗ ˢᵒ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ʷᵒʳˢᵉ‧ ᵂʰᵉⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃˡᵏᵉᵈ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵒᵘˢᵉ⸴ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵉʳᵉ ʷᵃˡᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵘᵖ ᵃⁿ ⁱⁿᶜˡⁱⁿᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʳⁱⁿᵏᵉᵗˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵃˡᶠ ᵇʳᵒᵏᵉⁿ ᵗᵒʸˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ⁿᵒ ᵒⁿᵉ ʷᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ‧ ᴳʳᵃⁿᵈᵐᵃ ᵐᵒᵘʳⁿᵉᵈ ᴿᵃᶜʰᵉˡ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ʷᵉ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵈⁱᵈ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ʷʰᵒ ᵗᵒᵒᵏ ʰᵉʳ‧ ᵂʰᵉⁿ ᴳʳᵃⁿᵈᵐᵃ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ ˡᵃˢᵗ ʷᵉᵉᵏ⸴ ᵐʸ ᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ ˢᵉᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵃˢᵏ ᵒᶠ ᶜˡᵉᵃʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᵘᵗ ʰᵉʳ ᵒˡᵈ ʰᵒᵘˢᵉ‧ ᵁⁿᵈᵉʳⁿᵉᵃᵗʰ ᵃˡˡ ᵗʰᵉ ʲᵘⁿᵏ⸴ ʷᵉ ᶠᵒᵘⁿᵈ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ⁴ ᵃⁿⁱᵐᵃˡ ˢᵏᵉˡᵉᵗᵒⁿˢ‧ ᴹⁱᶜᵉ⸴ ᶜᵃᵗˢ⸴ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵉⁱᵗʰᵉʳ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᵃ ˢᵐᵃˡˡ ᵈᵒᵍ ᵒʳ ᵃ ʳᵃᶜᶜᵒᵒⁿ‧ ᴱᵛᵉⁿ ᶠᵘʳᵗʰᵉʳ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳ⸴ ʷᵉ ᶠᵒᵘⁿᵈ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵉˡˢᵉ⸴ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵉʳʳⁱᶠʸⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴿᵃᶜʰᵉˡ‧ – ᶜʳᵉᵈⁱᵗˢ ᵗᵒ⠘ ᵏʳˢʰᵃⁿⁿ

" I ᴡᴀʟᴋᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴀɴᴅ sᴀᴡ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴄᴀɴᴅʟᴇ ɢʟᴏᴡɪɴɢ; Mʏ ғᴏʟᴋs ᴡᴇʀᴇ sɪᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴘᴀᴛɪᴇɴᴛʟʏ, sᴛᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ɪᴛ. “Hᴇ’s ʜᴇʀᴇ, I ᴄᴀɴ ғᴇᴇʟ ɪᴛ.” Tʜᴇ ʟᴀᴅʏ ᴍᴜᴍʙʟᴇᴅ, ᴀs I ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ ʜᴀɴᴅs. " ʙʏ Eʟɪsᴇʜғᴀʟʟ2

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

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

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

As I played in the basement, Mother called me upstairs. From behind me, She whispered, ‘Don’t go up there.’ — CheckeredBag

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I Begged You “Please, I am literally begging you,” I warn, but the executioner only sighs and gives me a truly sorrowful look... The chaplain sits beside me. “Once he pushes the button, death will come soon after,” he explains, even though I have heard it so many times before already. “Any final words?” “Just, again, I tell you, begging you not to do this,” I say. clean conscience. That’s the thing, though; I haven’t murdered anyone. It’s been this way my The chaplain nods sadly, sorrowful that I do not face my executioner with a clean conscience. That’s the thing, though. I haven’t murdered anyone. It’s been this way my entire life. I don’t know why, but whenever I would accidentally hurt myself others near me would receive the wound. I once got a paper cut in class that caused the three people around me to bleed from their fingers. In high school, I was in a car accident, and even though my side of the car was hit, my girlfriend developed a broken leg. I’m always very careful. I take care of myself, trying to stay in the very best of health. But when I was mugged by that trio and he shot me in the face, theirs exploded, not mine. And when the cops came, they found me kneeling by their bodies, trying to figure out what to do and stupidly holding their gun. Around thirty seconds after the execution started, I see both the executioner and chaplain fall to the floor with a hard thump. “I begged you,” I repeat sadly. —stellarpath

I̵̱̓͆͘'̷̞̰̜̭͚̉͂̈́̌͗m̴͓̼̲͖̮̣̣͒͛̈́̑̿͘ ̷̛͓̖̯͎̱͇̓̉̔̿͝T̵̰̓͊̈́͛͆̀̈́̎̆͝e̶̞͔̤̟̒̋̽̍r̸̨̻̬̲̰̂͑̍̂̋͜r̵̨̫̓̄̀̀͊̔̽͝i̷̢̺͇̒͗́̈́̚͜͝f̸̛̦̱̱͋̾͊̔ị̵͇͙̥̭̜̒͒̆̃́e̸̬̺͉̩̘̬̟̥̊̾ḑ̵͇̪͚̻̾̉̈́̅͗̀̉̀͐͘ͅ S̵̨̛̙͉̈́̏ą̷͔̣̳̙͈̝̫͈͔͋̅̌̎̇̓̎͝v̴͉͙͈̺̖̖̠͉͛̔̆̔͌͑͝ę̴̠̓͊͑̈́M̸̱̠̞̲͗̑̓̉̇̾̋͜͝ͅȩ̶̳̻͚̣͈̱̤͔̩̽͂̽͗̃̈́̀̂̾S̶̨͓͔̠͚̒̍̽a̵̳̩͓̣̐͂̾̈͆́̑̕͘̕v̸̨͔̱̥̭̭̆͒͘ę̷̝̺̖̪̩̭̀̔̑͛̍̔̈́͘ͅM̴̯̮͓̠̘͚̦͚̔̀͂̈́͆͜ę̷̧͓͇̫̗̩͆̿͆̌́͝͠S̴̡̘͖͓̺͖̟͎̓͌͂̅̀̄̈̀͌̈́à̵̢̯͇͙͓̗̣̗͖̂͊̊͘͝v̵̰̟͎̈́̀͒͆͐̅e̵̱͕̰̯̬̹͋̋͐́ͅM̷̱̻̜͔̘̗̱̐͌͂ë̷͍͎̙̖̝̙̝̫͙́̓͜Ş̵̧̛͕̬̭̭͉̫̂̋͑̉̇͜ạ̷̧̯̲͍̠̦̤̞͗̀͌̍̈͋͝v̸̢̰̞̺̟̦̺̝͗é̷̢͈͚̟̙̠̽̆͛̉̃̚Ḿ̵̡͔͔̠̫͓̭͔͖̬͂̐̄̓̅͆͝ḙ̵̹̯͇̭̃̊͂͌͊̚̕S̸̩̒͝a̴̢̪͚̻̦͖͇͆͗̈́̏̈̽͆̔̚v̶̛̾͂̏́̀̉̚͜ẻ̶͕̖͂̀́̏̂͛͒͜M̵̰̭̟̯̩̻̘̭͐͑̋̔̎ȩ̸̛̛̹͉͓̿̈̽̈́͊ S̵̨̛̙͉̈́̏ą̷͔̣̳̙͈̝̫͈͔͋̅̌̎̇̓̎͝v̴͉͙͈̺̖̖̠͉͛̔̆̔͌͑͝ę̴̠̓͊͑̈́M̸̱̠̞̲͗̑̓̉̇̾̋͜͝ͅȩ̶̳̻͚̣͈̱̤͔̩̽͂̽͗̃̈́̀̂̾S̶̨͓͔̠͚̒̍̽a̵̳̩͓̣̐͂̾̈͆́̑̕͘̕v̸̨͔̱̥̭̭̆͒͘ę̷̝̺̖̪̩̭̀̔̑͛̍̔̈́͘ͅM̴̯̮͓̠̘͚̦͚̔̀͂̈́͆͜ę̷̧͓͇̫̗̩͆̿͆̌́͝͠S̴̡̘͖͓̺͖̟͎̓͌͂̅̀̄̈̀͌̈́à̵̢̯͇͙͓̗̣̗͖̂͊̊͘͝v̵̰̟͎̈́̀͒͆͐̅e̵̱͕̰̯̬̹͋̋͐́ͅM̷̱̻̜͔̘̗̱̐͌͂ë̷͍͎̙̖̝̙̝̫͙́̓͜Ş̵̧̛͕̬̭̭͉̫̂̋͑̉̇͜ạ̷̧̯̲͍̠̦̤̞͗̀͌̍̈͋͝v̸̢̰̞̺̟̦̺̝͗é̷̢͈͚̟̙̠̽̆͛̉̃̚Ḿ̵̡͔͔̠̫͓̭͔͖̬͂̐̄̓̅͆͝ḙ̵̹̯͇̭̃̊͂͌͊̚̕S̸̩̒͝a̴̢̪͚̻̦͖͇͆͗̈́̏̈̽͆̔̚v̶̛̾͂̏́̀̉̚͜ẻ̶͕̖͂̀́̏̂͛͒͜M̵̰̭̟̯̩̻̘̭͐͑̋̔̎ȩ̸̛̛̹͉͓̿̈̽̈́͊ S̵̨̛̙͉̈́̏ą̷͔̣̳̙͈̝̫͈͔͋̅̌̎̇̓̎͝v̴͉͙͈̺̖̖̠͉͛̔̆̔͌͑͝ę̴̠̓͊͑̈́M̸̱̠̞̲͗̑̓̉̇̾̋͜͝ͅȩ̶̳̻͚̣͈̱̤͔̩̽͂̽͗̃̈́̀̂̾S̶̨͓͔̠͚̒̍̽a̵̳̩͓̣̐͂̾̈͆́̑̕͘̕v̸̨͔̱̥̭̭̆͒͘ę̷̝̺̖̪̩̭̀̔̑͛̍̔̈́͘ͅ M̴̯̮͓̠̘͚̦͚̔̀͂̈́͆͜ę̷̧͓͇̫̗̩͆̿͆̌́͝͠S̴̡̘͖͓̺͖̟͎̓͌͂̅̀̄̈̀͌̈́à̵̢̯͇͙͓̗̣̗͖̂͊̊͘͝v̵̰̟͎̈́̀͒͆͐̅ e̵̱͕̰̯̬̹͋̋͐́ͅM̷̱̻̜͔̘̗̱̐͌͂ë̷͍͎̙̖̝̙̝̫͙́̓͜Ş̵̧̛͕̬̭̭͉̫̂̋͑̉̇͜ ạ̷̧̯̲͍̠̦̤̞͗̀͌̍̈͋͝v̸̢̰̞̺̟̦̺̝͗é̷̢͈͚̟̙̠̽̆͛̉̃̚ Ḿ̵̡͔͔̠̫͓̭͔͖̬͂̐̄̓̅͆͝ḙ̵̹̯͇̭̃̊͂͌͊̚̕S̸̩̒͝a̴̢̪͚̻̦͖͇͆͗̈́̏̈̽͆̔̚v̶̛̾͂̏́̀̉̚͜ẻ̶͕̖͂̀́̏̂͛͒͜M̵̰̭̟̯̩̻̘̭͐͑̋̔̎

Music, Arts, Crafts, Recipes and Fashion blogging from a Gothic/Dark Romantic perspective. Sunday 31 May 2015 Goth Is Not Inherently Satanic I got harrassed for being a Goth by a stranger professing the grounds of Christianity, and attempting to convert me away as reason to berate me. Yesterday, I was out busking in town, in relatively Gothic clothes, wearing my red wig, and playing my usual fare of traditional Scottish, Irish and other European folk tunes, and this middle-aged man who was clearly drunk came up to me, and started going about how I play "mystical stuff that goes back to the 12th century" (a reference to an incoherent comment he'd made about Greensleeves at me months ago; I'm surprised he'd remembered it, because I had forgotten about it) and then started going on about how I "don't have to wear black, and dye your [my] hair red" (I pointed out that I was wearing a wig, but he didn't seem to be listening) and then went on to get into my personal space and loudly and aggressively deride being a Goth as Satanic, and tell me that he's a Christian and that I should, to paraphrase him 'find my Saviour'. I tried my best to explain that Goths no religious affiliation and simply an aesthetic preference, but he kept insisting. As he later went on to inform that he'd been an alcoholic, and then "clean for 2 years" but had "done a runner three days ago", I decided that his words and actions were the product and not to take them to heart. He said he would pray for me, and I thanked him. I decided silently I would pray for him too, for that after 2 years clean and then relapsing, he finds his way back to sobriety, and get the help and support to do so, and find the inner strength too, because I know addiction is hard battle. Just as he left my Goth friends came up to me, saying they weren't sure whether to intervene, as he had harassed them too, condemning them. It was a complex situation, and even though he railed at us and condemned us, his actions were clearly a sign of his own struggles and I could not bring myself to be harsh with him, and he did give me a £5 note, so at least he was generous as well as religiously harrassing (not that giving me money ameliorates bad behaviour, and I do wonder if he thought giving me money was simply a way to get my time). I didn't know what to do about the situation; I felt cornered because busking generally means I have to stand with my back to a wall to avoid being in the way of pedestrians, and although people were walking by, nobody helped me and I could not see any security guards or police, although I did feel that they might just treat him as another obnoxious drunk, when he probably needed more nuanced help than that. This got me thinking that it is a common misconception that Goth is synonymous with Satanic, or at least that it is inherently Satanic, and I feel like it would be productive to break down that misconception. Goth is simply a subculture that is focused on having an appreciation for the morbid, dark and spooky in music, fashion, art and literature; it has no religious affiliation at all, and Goths come from all religions as well as agnostic and atheists. That is the short response, but does not really contain any nuance, not does it explain why Goths sometimes use Satanic imagery, or gives any differentiated understanding of how occult themes tie into the Gothic, and as such does little to shed light on how Goth is not Satanic even though it looks like it could be. Satanic imagery is used within the Gothic subculture for several reasons. Sometimes Satanic imagery is used for shock value, especially by those who feel constrained by a conservative cultural backdrop and wish to differentiate themselves as other, as part of something taboo, dark and frightening. Often it is teens who do this, and it is not representative of the wearer's/displayer's true religious or spiritual beliefs, but part of a more complex process of wishing to separate themselves and create their own identity. Often a passing phase - either because all interest in dark and spooky things is a passing phase, or because they mature into somebody more in the identity, rather than identifying themselves oppositionally to others. Some people carry this behaviour on adulthood, but usually a behaviour that people mature. Often, Satanic imagery used for is not used in a way that is coherent with the actual uses of those symbols within Satan or the occult, and is often mixed up with symbols from other religious and spiritual groups (I have seen symbols appropriated into this sort of shock-value pseudo-Satanism, but that is another matter.) Some Goths actually are Satanist, but they are a minority even within the Goth scene - these people will use Satanic symbols correctly, and tend not to advertise their Satanic affiliations. Most of the actual Satanists I know personally are not Goths; they tend to be more "nerdy" and less into the theatric and ostentatious aesthetics of Goth. Most of the I have met subscribe to a version of Satanist where Satan is an archetype of independence, hedonism and suchlike, rather than a deliberately Anti-Christ worship of the Devil. I have never met an actual Devil-worshipper, someone who subscribes to a Christian theology and cosmology, but looks to Heck and the Devil rather than to Heaven and Jesus - I am not saying they do not exist, just that such people must be quite rare, even amongst Gothic and Occult circles. Sometimes people mistake Neo-Pagan iconography and symbolism for Satanic imagery, for example confusion can arise over the use of pentacles and pentagrams (and their inverted variations), and this is exacerbated by the misuse of these. Neo-Paganism is a religion that has no concept of an adversarial dichotomy, with no Heck or Satan. Some people hold the belief that all things other than their specific religious path are Satanic or at least a distraction or deception from what they see as the truth, but outside of that belief structure, there is little in Neo-Paganism that could mark it as anything Satanist, any more than say, Buddhism or Hindoo; it is a completely different belief system to any of the monotheistic faiths. As Goths often have an interest in the spiritual, and are apt to look outside conventional spirituality for answers, there are quite a few Neo-Pagans within Goth, but again, not all Goths are Neo-Pagans, and not all Neo-Pagans are Goths (quite a few dress very 'mainstream' and others -a significant proportion- are more inclined towards Hippy and 'Bohemian' aesthetics.). There are some who feel badly hurt by Christianity, or who see it as a destructive force, and who use Christian symbols and anti-Christian symbols as a critique of Christianity and the power of organised religion; sometimes this falls into the territory of shock-value, and sometimes it is done with more refinement and nuance, but this is not unique to Goth, even though it does exist within the Gothic subculture, nor is it something you have to engage in as a Goth. Goths tend to be people who have been outcast by traditional community structures, and that can include the Church, and/or people who use Christianity as an excuse to harass (a bit like the man in my opening paragraphs) - as such, there are probably a greater percentage of Goths who do this than non-Goths. Personally, even as an apostate, I find this sort of thing can often be more harmful and rectionary than productive. I don't think religions should be beyond criticism or critique, but I do think that there ways to go about doing this, and there are ways that are just rude and mean, where the message is lost. There are, of course, more than these four contexts, but these are the four most common contexts and reasons for the use of Satanic imagery within the Gothic subculture. Sometimes it is used in the traditional way it was used within Gothic horror; as a symbol for various evils or villainry that a good person can come across, for example. The use of Satanic imagery is not inherent to Goth - the use of dark imagery is, but not all dark imagery has to come from the cultural/religious context of Heaven and Heck, God and the Devil - there are plenty more traditions to draw from, and a lot of Gothic imagery comes from European folk-tales, sometimes more entwined with Christianity. The imagery of death, decay, transience and similar are part of the human experience, and appear in different ways across all cultures. There is plenty of positive Christian iconography used in Goth as well - but that is a topic for different blog entry entirely (and something I would quite like to write about, and get some of my Christian Goth friends to write guest posts for, but that is for a different time). Not everything dark is Satanic even in a Christian context; the Bible is full of stories about people who had to overcome pain, suffering and violence, and the very concepts of martyrdom and Christ as crucified saviour involve death and sacrifice; not everything that is dark is inherently negative. Goths are not synonymous with Satanist, we are not a group who worship the Devil or are anti-Christian; we are diverse with diverse perspectives outside of things that are actually Goth (of which specific religious affiliation is not). There are quite a few Goths who are Christians, and there are Goths who are Jewish, Muslim, and members of other monotheistic faiths. There are even Goth priests - check out the ::Priestly Goth Blog:: for example. You cannot tell someone's religion by subcultural affiliation. Side note: if you wish to convert someone to your faith, condemning them and berating them will have the exact opposite effect; you are more likely to drive that person away from the religion you profess than convert them. The HouseCat at 07:00

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 56 min. ago Zcissors I have a plan, and if im wrong, I could kill thousands If im right... millions

r/TwoSentenceHorror 2 hr. ago villianrules After taking the ancestry test I discovered that I was related to a serial killer. It makes me so proud of continuing the legacy.

i turned to the guy who k1lled my wife ✨ He cried so desperately, scared for what was to come. If only he had talked to me and tried to reason, maybe I could have spared him. But that was impossible. After all, he was born just a few moments ago...

America’s Top 5 Spooky Spots for Horror Enthusiasts February 17, 2024 / Strange and Unexplained / 4 minutes of reading Estimated reading time — 3 minutes How many times have you tried to find a place in the US that will raise your hair up and fill you with adrenaline? If you’re the kind of person who loves to take part in horror adventures, then you should know that America is full of spooky places, like dark cemeteries, abandoned mansions, and dark towns. The only thing you’ve left to do to satisfy your horror cravings is to choose the most suitable one for your needs and plan your next trip. The 5 spooky places in America that we’re about to list and discuss will indeed fascinate every horror enthusiast. Table of Contents 1. Bonaventure Cemetery 2. Lemp Mansion 3. Bally’s Resort and Casino 4. Gettysburg National Military Park 5. Clinton Road Final Thoughts 1. Bonaventure Cemetery At first glance, you might think that Bonaventure is just another cemetery that might attract horror lovers at times. But trust us, you actually need to prepare yourself before you see the centuries-old tombstones that surround this historic site in Savannah, Georgia. Bonaventure Cemetery is an ancient, historic district that was once a privately owned cemetery. Even though this site attracts tourists with its beautiful nature and architecture, to this day, multiple people have reported unusual occurrences, such as the sounds of children and barking dogs, even when no one is around. As visitors claim, you should definitely consider going around the graves of Gracie Watson or Kehoe House – children who died in the 19th century but whose ghosts never left the Bonaventure Cemetery. 2. Lemp Mansion Besides cemeteries and battlefields, you can find numerous mansions and old houses in America that are considered haunted. Lemp Mansion in St. Louis, MO, is one of those mansions that still fascinates visitors with its eerie atmosphere. The main reason why this house is considered haunted is the history behind it – the tragic death of the Lemp family over 60 years ago. Almost a century ago, Lemps were important figures in the brewing industry. In the 1920s, the business began to decline. Not surprisingly for that period, this downturn made a few family members commit suicide. The first one among them was William Lemp who was followed by his son Billy. His brother, Charles, did the same later, along with a 13-year-old physically and mentally disabled brother. Today, Lemp Mansion is an inn and a restaurant and its visitors sometimes encounter the spirits of these 4 dead members of the Lemp family. 3. Bally’s Resort and Casino If someone asks you to name some of the most popular attractions in Las Vegas, chances are that you’ll name Bally’s Resort and Casino if you’ve ever gambled in this building. Everyone knows that Las Vegas is full of casinos and entertainment venues. But it turns out that horror enthusiasts either take pleasure in playing thrilling real casino games online or gamble at physical casinos that have a reputation for being haunted. Bally’s Resort and Casino is one of those haunted places in America. This casino was initially known as MGM Grand in the 1970s and attracted wealthy people from all over the US. But this was before a terrible incident happened – in 1980, faulty wiring started a fire in the building, which resulted in the deaths of 80 individuals. Today, visitors to this casino claim that from time to time they hear spooky noises and notice the spirits of the people who died on that day. That’s why Bally’s Resort and Casino is considered haunted. 4. Gettysburg National Military Park Considering the number of people who died at the Battle of Gettysburg during the American Civil War, it’s not really surprising that the National Military Park of Gettysburg is said to be haunted by the ghosts of soldiers. As a matter of fact, the Gettysburg National Military Park consists of numerous spots where paranormal activities occasionally take place. For example, there, you might encounter three disembodied heads. These hands belong to Confederate soldiers who died tragically on the battlefield. But other than these figures, sometimes you can even hear gunfire, shouts, and even the cries of wounded men. 5. Clinton Road One more scary place in America that usually fascinates horror lovers of various preferences is Clinton Road in West Milford, New Jersey. It’s a 10-mile-long road that isn’t anything special at first glance. However, the legend says that if you decide to race on this road, chances are that you won’t escape evil spirits and phantom headlights. Even more exciting about this haunted place is the rumor that after throwing a coin into the bridge at midnight, someone will throw this coin back at you. It’s hard to decide whether it’s true or not, but if you dare to explore this place, throwing a coin is worth it. Just remember to do it exactly at midnight. Final Thoughts It wasn’t easy for us to choose only 5 haunted spots for horror enthusiasts who plan their ghost-haunting trip in America. But at least, now you have a starting point for your adventure. Just keep in mind that although you might consider yourself brave enough to explore these eerie locations, we don’t recommend going to those spooky places alone. Who knows, maybe those ghosts are actually waiting for a brave person who can become a part of their company.

‘Ylim3’ By IPostAtMidnight I've found her name in the wet cement, written in remembrance. Little Emily vanished last year. Now they’re pouring new sidewalks in my neighbourhood, and I’ve found her name in the wet cement, written in remembrance. But it was written in reverse. And from below.

🕷🩸𝔅𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔰𝔲𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔯🕷🩸

We felt proud as our daughter got on the bus to enjoy her first day of school. Our hearts dropped when the real school bus arrived moments later... ✨NyaChat

✨He had no way of knowing that the tip of one of the blender blades had come loose until he gulped down the last of his smoothie...

r/TwoSentenceHorror 5 min. ago InfamousInspector863 Her heart raced as the caller informed her that her date had died in a car crash earlier that evening. She turned slowly to face the person driving, realizing she was sitting next to a complete stranger.

r/TwoSentenceHorror 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.

I thought telling the genie “I want to live forever” But the universe went dark 3 billion years ago by douggold11

r/TwoSentenceHorror 4 days ago kaoru-aeli They pointed at me, laughing and calling me "four-eyes". They weren't laughing after I decided to revealed 82 more.

Mother Warned Me Mother always warned me not to cross the street. Mother warned me about those types of things. She said bad men would kidnap me, take me away. I guess she was right, in a way. I crossed one day, because I was never a good child, and several men came out and picked me up and asked me many questions. I don’t know why she never wanted me to cross the street. All the men wore blue and had badges. I don’t know why they put silver bracelets on Mother. I don’t know why Mother attempted to bite one of them. I don’t know a lot of things, I suppose. And years later, I’ll never know why she made me call her Mother.

r/TwoSentenceHorror 5 yr. ago netflixandskill my son was reported missing last week they found him but it's not my son

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 4 days ago CalebVanPoneisen While tidying up my girlfriend’s apartment I found a purple diary labelled “Boyfriends Whom Dare to Look”. Unable to resist the temptation my heart raced, at the sight of names and dates marked with red but before I could fully process it's meaning, a voice be- hind me chuckled “It’s time to break up,” as a sharp object pierced my back.

JAKEYYY IKK YOU LIKE ME BETTER BOO BOO BEAR 🌸🌸💋💋🍷🍷🍆🍆

YOU CAN ROT IN FIRE YOU LITTLE S1UT IDCCC HE LIKED ME EVEN MOREEE EMMAA!!!!! I HOPE YOU FAL DOWN A FLIGHT OF STAIRSSSS🤬🤬🤬🤬

EMMA YOU KNOW WHERE TO MEET ME AFTER SCHOOL I KNOW I WILL WIN 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬

EMMA HOW DARE YOU STOLE MY MANZZZZ AND NOW YOU CAN EAT💩💩HAVE FUN WITH HIM IDCCCCC

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

“I woke up in a joyful mood and went to my mirror with a smile on my face; only, my reflection wasn’t smiling back at me.” -Aubrey Lichtfield

Avoid~ -profanity -animal loss -stereotyping -ignorance

˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚‏𖦹 cole 🌌🪕𓃹𓆱ִֶ˖🐇་

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕊𝕦𝕓𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡. 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆: 💕 ⭑ ๋࣭ ︶꒷꒦︶ 𝑴𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆{𝑶𝒑𝒕.} __꒰🍒꒱ ♡ ･___ 𝑳𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆: 💕 ⭑ ๋࣭ ︶꒷꒦︶ 𝑨𝒈𝒆: __꒰🍒꒱ ♡ ･___ 𝑷𝒓𝒐/𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒔: 💕 ⭑ ๋࣭ ︶꒷꒦︶ 𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓: __꒰🍒꒱ ♡ ･___ 𝑫𝑶𝑩: 💕 ⭑ ๋࣭ ︶꒷꒦︶ 𝒁𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒄: __꒰🍒꒱ ♡ ･___ 𝑺𝒆𝒙𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚: 💕 ⭑ ๋࣭ ︶꒷꒦︶ 𝑵𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚{𝑭𝒍𝒂𝒈𝒔}: ◠ . ─ · ◠ . ─ · ◠ . ─ · ◠ . ─ · - ◠ . ─ 𝑷𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔{𝒊𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚}: 💕 ⭑ ๋࣭ ︶꒷꒦︶ 𝑺𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆/𝑨𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄: __꒰🍒꒱ ♡ ･___ 𝑶𝒄 𝑸𝒖𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: 💕 ⭑ ๋࣭ ︶꒷꒦︶ 𝑯𝒐𝒃𝒃𝒊𝒆𝒔 This template was made by Zomie on Discord search up "Zomie" for more! Also no need to credit me! 🎀

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⣟⣿⢭⡭⠉⣠⣤⣷⡶⢆⡠⢤⣽⠯⣒⢭⣂⠀⠈⠙⢷⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⠞⢋⠝⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠐⠊⠑⠈⠑⠢⣤⢜⡟⠲⡀⠀⠙⠻⡿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠛⠁⢠⡖⠡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠢⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⢭⠤⣿⢲⣄⠑⢌⢿⡛⠷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠟⠁⠀⡰⡋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠢⣝⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠱⣬⡘⣮⣆⠀⠫⡻⣆⠈⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡿⠀⠀⡜⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡻⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢇⢹⢣⠀⠑⡙⣧⠀⠙⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡟⠀⠀⡰⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠈⡆⠀⡀⠀⠀⡈⢚⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣾⣭⣧⣃⠀⠐⡌⣧⠀⠘⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠻⠀⠀⢠⠃⢸⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣴⢱⠐⡕⡀⢺⢷⠄⠪⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠟⣎⢹⠙⡆⠀⠐⠘⣇⠀⠘⣆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⢸⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⠀⠘⢸⡆⠘⡀⠀⠁⠱⡀⠈⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣸⣬⡘⢷⠀⠀⢣⠘⡆⠀⠹⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⡟⡀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⣾⡇⠃⡄⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⡀⢸⡿⣆⠘⣄⠀⠀⠘⠔⡌⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣯⠓⣼⡀⠀⡄⠇⣿⡄⠀⢇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⢡⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠇⡇⡄⢠⠀⠐⡄⠀⣧⠀⠁⢸⡃⠈⢣⡈⢷⡀⠀⠈⢮⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⡈⣇⠀⢱⠈⡘⣇⠀⢸⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡆⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣀⣱⣼⣬⣆⠀⢡⠀⠸⡄⢸⢻⠉⠉⠉⠙⢯⣿⣦⡄⣀⣻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⢧⣿⠀⠀⡇⢣⢹⡀⠸⡇⠀ ⠀⢠⠹⡇⠀⠀⡀⡄⣿⡿⠀⠈⢎⣧⡸⣄⠀⣆⠀⢿⡌⣾⢀⡠⢤⣤⡤⣌⣻⣿⣶⣍⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣞⣻⡄⠀⠀⠈⡞⡇⠀⡇⠀ ⠀⡌⡆⡇⠀⠀⢠⣧⢸⣗⣤⣿⣯⣽⣿⣿⠕⠼⠷⠌⠟⠿⣊⣺⣻⣿⣛⣻⣿⣿⣷⣿⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢛⢣⠀⠀⠀⢰⢹⠀⡇⠀ ⠀⢷⠃⡇⡇⢰⠀⢻⣔⣻⣿⡤⢿⡦⣬⣿⣄⠀⠀⢠⡖⠛⠉⠋⠹⡏⠻⠏⢿⣿⣿⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢸⠸⣸⠀⠀⡄⠀⢏⣇⡇⠀ ⢀⣼⠀⡇⢷⠀⡀⠀⢿⣯⡙⢧⣈⢣⣙⣹⣿⠿⠻⢿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠘⠒⠚⢫⡿⠃⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢸⣶⠃⠀⠀⡇⠀⠘⣿⠃⠀ ⢸⡇⢸⡇⠈⢧⢡⠀⢸⣿⣷⡀⠉⢀⣀⣰⡿⠀⠀⠀⠹⢦⣤⣀⣤⣤⠤⠶⠟⠃⣼⢏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣼⢹⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⢹⡀⠀ ⢸⡇⢸⠇⠀⠈⢪⣷⣄⣻⡹⡟⠛⠋⠉⠁⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣫⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⢹⠸⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠘⣇⠀ ⠸⢣⢸⠀⡇⠀⠀⠉⣎⠹⣹⢹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠲⠿⠛⠁⡇⡀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢠⣿⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀ ⠀⡼⣸⡄⣇⠀⠀⠀⢹⡄⢻⣾⣻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⢁⠇⠀⠀⠀⡀⣼⣄⡿⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠸⡄ ⠀⠱⣻⡇⡿⡄⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⢻⠻⢿⡦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⡞⡟⣜⠆⠀⠀⣰⢣⣿⣿⠃⠀⢠⠀⢠⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀⡇ ⠀⠀⠹⣷⡇⡷⡰⡄⠀⠈⢿⡜⡆⠀⡇⠈⠙⡦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⢚⡽⠋⣸⣽⡟⠀⠀⣰⣏⣾⢟⡎⢀⡾⠃⢀⠆⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⡿⡿⡽⠳⣝⣦⡀⠀⢳⣽⣤⣇⠇⣴⡗⣿⠗⣦⣤⣶⠋⣁⠕⠋⣀⣼⠟⣽⠀⢀⣴⣿⠟⣽⡞⢠⡾⠁⢠⠊⡜⣾⠃⢠⠀⠀⠇ ⠀⠀⢀⣷⣟⢁⠜⢉⠛⠿⣶⣤⣙⢿⣼⢰⢧⣽⡽⣰⠟⠋⢹⡞⠁⠀⠉⠉⣀⣼⣥⠖⣩⣿⣃⣸⠟⡱⠋⠀⠄⣡⠞⣽⣿⣴⢃⠄⣼⣶ ⠈⠒⠋⠉⣿⠎⣠⠃⡰⢠⣢⡶⢉⠏⡽⢯⢞⣿⣽⣷⠀⢀⡼⣗⠒⠒⠈⠉⠉⠉⠀⡰⡿⣹⡏⢯⠞⢀⣴⡼⠚⣡⣾⣿⣽⠖⣡⡾⠟⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⡏⡜⠏⣰⣷⠟⢉⡴⡫⢚⣨⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣧⡞⣹⠿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⢠⢻⣿⣫⠞⣋⣥⣲⢿⣿⣯⡭⣖⢺⡍⢷⣦⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⢸⡴⠋⣠⣔⡽⣪⡴⣻⢿⡿⣿⢟⡟⠋⠙⢾⣀⠕⢹⡀⠀⠀⣠⣔⣺⠁⣿⡼⢛⡽⠟⠉⣠⢆⡾⠉⠒⢝⢾⣏⠟⣎⢪⠳ ⠀⠀⢠⡿⡇⣾⣵⣻⣿⣿⣫⣔⡩⠋⢁⠞⠁⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⡶⠉⢧⠀⣼⣿⠿⣿⣼⣡⠞⢁⡤⣲⣾⣷⡽⠉⠑⢤⣀⣑⢛⣦⡸⣣⣇ ⠀⠀⢿⣇⣿⢟⡽⢋⣿⡿⠟⠁⣀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠗⣒⢤⣀⡠⠊⠀⠀⠈⣿⢿⠏⡇⢻⣯⡶⠿⠟⠛⢉⢜⠝⠀⣠⠔⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⡇ ⠀⢠⣿⣿⣽⣫⣞⠿⠉⠀⣠⡞⠁⠀⢀⣼⠟⠸⠊⣰⡛⠀⡀⠀⠀⣴⡟⠸⢸⡷⣫⠗⢉⡠⢀⣴⡳⠋⣠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣇ ⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⠝⠁⠀⣠⣾⠋⠀⠀⣠⡾⠁⢀⢞⠼⠤⠒⠁⠀⠀⣼⡱⢧⢠⡾⣏⠥⣊⣡⣶⠟⠉⠀⡔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⢾⡿⣹⡻⠃⠀⢠⠞⡱⢁⠀⢀⡾⠋⠀⡴⡣⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠋⡼⣇⢸⣼⣿⡿⠋⡝⣽⠃⢰⢀⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘ ⣼⡾⡛⠀⢀⠔⠃⢠⠁⠀⠑⣿⡁⢀⢾⠯⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠊⠀⢸⢱⣿⣾⠽⠋⣠⣞⣽⠟⠀⡎⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢷⡱⠁⢀⠊⠸⠀⢸⠀⠀⡞⣎⢇⡷⠃⠀⠀⠀⢀⠞⠁⢀⣼⢿⣾⣼⣡⣴⣭⠾⠿⠋⠀⠀⡟⢀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰ ⡟⠁⢰⠃⠀⠇⠀⢸⠀⠐⠃⠋⡸⠃⠀⠀⠀⡴⠁⠀⡴⠃⣸⣌⣿⢿⣫⡿⠛⠀⠀⠘⡄⣰⡇⡌⠀⠀⡔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⡇⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠐⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⢠⠊⠀⢠⠎⢰⣿⣿⠟⡾⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣻⢰⠀⢀⠜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡿ ⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⡄⢸⠊⣶⠁⠀⡠⠁⠀⡠⠃⠀⠀⢩⡇⠸⠁⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠇⢠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇ ⢸⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⢧⠈⠘⢻⠀⡰⠁⠀⡰⠁⠀⠀⡠⢺⢀⠀⠁⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⠀ ⠀⣏⡄⠀⠀⠀⠰⠀⠘⣆⠀⢸⡴⠁⠀⡰⠁⠀⢀⠚⠁⠈⣿⣄⠀⠸⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡷⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠀

r/TwoSentenceHorror 12 hr. ago HoardofAngryQuokkas It's happening again - I must wash away all this blood; silently, I creep out to the kitchen like I've been doing for the past three years, spending hours in the moonlight scrubbing out every speck of evidence. I know my dad and brothers think I'm some late bloomer, but I just don't want to freeze to death out in the menstrual hut like mum did.

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r/shortscarystories 1 day ago deathherself3 Warming Up Drip, drip, drip. The ice was melting. My prison was thawing. Soon, I would be free. How had the world changed, I wondered. Would it be easy to find food, to find warmth, to find shelter? Would I be stranded here on the ice or in the water? Drip, drip, drip. I had been frozen for so long. So very long. My siblings beside me yearned for freedom just as I did. When the ice gave way we would burst forth and see what the world offered us. I hoped it was thriving out there. Drip, drip, drip. We needed it to be thriving. Whatever was out there wasn't ready for us, I was sure. Our hosts, whatever form they took, were unsuspecting. We could, and have, survived for hundreds of thousands of years in this cold, unforgiving desert. The permafrost we have been hibernating in is giving way to the warming earth below. It was almost time to leave, to spread, to infect. Drip, drip, drip.

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White Lie I'm the last one here. Those things have killed everyone else. Those things with the huge wings, with the beady eyes, with the sharp claws....every time I close my eyes see my coworkers being ripped apart. A few of us made it to the building here, but even here we aren't safe. I watched them get picked off one by one, screaming as they fought against death. I tried to stop it I swear I did I tried... Now I'm running through the building to the main power center. With no one else to ask, I'm tasked with pressing one of these buttons. Either will press the red button, or the green button. Supposedly, one button will turn the power doors back on, protecting us from whatever that shrieking, hungry, and angry...thing is outside. That's the red button. The other button is green and opens the opposite side power door, and I can only imagine what might be out there. Why had I agreed to come and research in this lab? I think as I run, hearing the screeches behind me. Oh .... Why did I lie on my application? Why didn't I admit I was color blind?

All I saw was red ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↓ˢᶜʳᵒˡˡ ᶠᵒʳ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ↓ I check into small hotel some kilometres away. It is late. I am tired. I tell woman at desk I want a room. She tells me room number and give key. “But one more thing, comrade; there is one room without number and always lock. Don’t even peek in there.” I take key and go to room to sleep. Night comes and I hear trickling of water. It comes from the room across. I cannot sleep so I open door. It is coming from room with no number. I pound on door. No response. I look in keyhole. I see nothing except red. Water still trickling. I go down to front desk to complain. “By the way who is in that room?” She look at me and begin to tell story. There was woman in there. M*rdered by her husband. Skin all white, except her eyes, which were red..

r/TwoSentenceHorror 3 hr. ago SadiqUddin I came out of the shower and I saw a burglar standing over the bodies of my family. I couldn't just let him get away, he's seen too much.

r/TwoSentenceHorror 3 hr. ago masiakasaurus On the last day I told my double, "only one of us be coming out alive." And I tied his umbilical cord around his neck.

🤥⚖️🤫

🟥🟥🟧🟥 🟥🟥⬜🟥 🟥🟧🟧🟧 🟥⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛🟦🟦 ⬛⬛⬛⬛ 🟥⬛⬛⬛ 🟥⬛🟥⬛

ඞΔΜØŇǤ ỮŞ ඞ🤥╦̵̵̿╤─

‧₊˚🌲𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲𓆱

‧₊˚🫎𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞𓆱

‘A Message From Your Personal Demons’ By MrGarm “I am the worst of your demons, but you see me as a friend.” Hello, my dear. You do not know who I am, but I know you. I am one of the three demons that were assigned to you at birth. You see, some people in this world are destined for greatness, destined to live happy, fulfilling lives. You, I am afraid, are not one of those people, and it is our job to make sure of that. Who are we? Oh yes, of course, how rude of me. Allow me to introduce us: Shame is my younger brother, the demon on your left shoulder. Shame tells you that you’re a freak; that those thoughts you have are not normal; that you will never fit in. Shame whispered into your ear when your mother found you playing with yourself as a child. Shame is the one who makes you hate yourself. Fear sits on your right shoulder. He is my older brother, as old as life itself. Fear fills every dark corner with monsters, and turns every stranger on a dark street into a murderer. Fear stops you from telling your crush how you feel. He tells you it is better not to try than to let people see you fail. Fear makes you build your prison. Who am I, then? I am the worst of your demons, but you see me as a friend. You turn to me when you have nothing else because I live in your heart. I am the one who forces you to endure. The one who prolongs your torment. Sincerely, Hope.

Horror Confessions @Horror_Fessions "When I was 8 I would hear what seemed like a younger girl calling for me in my back yard, my mom decided to ask around to see if any young boys had the same name as I did, turns out 8 years prior, a girl and her brother with the same name as I were murdered in a courtyard behind our house."

⭑camp half-blood ⭑

🙂⃤🪄🎵🎶🎭☘

r/TwoSentenceHorror TwoSentenceHorror r/TwoSentenceHorror 9 hr. ago CalebVanPoneisen “Sorry, but I just can’t do this,” I admit to the bungee instructor. The next moment, I’m falling, pushed by my friend, whose horrified face reveals him realising my harness wasn’t attached.

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Go to TwoSentenceHorror r/TwoSentenceHorror 3 hr. ago GraceTheGreat666 I asked the genie to show what I look like a year from now. I found myself staring at a gravestone with my name on it.

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.

Go to TwoSentenceHorror r/TwoSentenceHorror 4 days ago Turds_Unlimited Ten armed men entered my home! Wait, there were two of them...

Posted on October 22, 2020 Grim pickings… Mottled with rot, the pumpkin was the ugliest and densest in the patch. Not exactly the gourd he was looking for, but the Horseman rode off with it feeling well-equipped for the evening a-head.

1/2 MOVING ON ➪ғᴇᴀʀ ᴏғ ᴅʏɪɴɢ. "Honey, you forgot your phone!" Karen yelled. The door slammed shut. Karen sighed, setting the phone down on the kitchen counter. Plankton had been more obsessed with his latest scheme than usual these past few days, and it was starting to wear on her. Her thoughts drifted to the time before they were married, when his ambition had been endearing, not exhausting. They had met in college, where Plankton's mind for science had been as vast as the ocean. Back then, his inventions had been quirky little gadgets that never quite worked out as planned. But now, as he chased after Mr. Krabs' secret recipe, his obsession had become all-consuming.. Suddenly, Karen saw a flash of light from the direction of the Krusty Krab, she dashed out the door, and she raced to the chaos, and as she approached, she saw the exploding contraption hit his head. "Plankton!" she screamed, but it was too late. He lay motionless as she sprinted, fear coiling around her. She knelt beside his tiny frame, her hands shaking as she felt for a pulse. The Krabby Patty formula could wait. Her husband's life couldn't. With trembling fingers, she dialed the emergency number, her voice shaky as she relayed the situation. Sirens grew louder, piercing the stillness of the night. When the medics arrived, they worked swiftly, their movements a blur of efficiency. Karen hovered nearby, her screen never leaving her husband's face. They loaded him onto the stretcher, Karen going in with him. The hospital was a stark contrast to the colorful underwater world she knew. The doctor's expression was grave as he explained that Plankton was in a coma. "We're doing everything we can," he assured her, but his words offered little comfort. Karen sat by Plankton's bed, her hand tightly gripping his. The machine beside them beeped a steady rhythm, a grim reminder of his condition. The door to the room squeaked open, and in waddled SpongeBob Square Pants, looking out of place in the stiff chair. "Hi, Karen," he said softly, his eyes immediately finding Plankton's lifeless form. Karen looked up, the tears still fresh on her screen. "Oh, Sponge Bob, thank you for coming," she managed. He nodded, his usual cheerfulness replaced by a look of genuine concern. "I heard about the accident," he said. "Just keep him company," she replied, her voice weak. Sponge Bob nodded solemnly, his gaze shifting back to Plankton. He approached the bedside, the squeak of his shoes echoing. He pulled up a chair and sat down, twirling his hat nervously. It was strange to see the normally energetic Plankton so still, so small in the face of something bigger than his own ambition. Then, tentatively, Sponge Bob began to speak. "You know, Plankton," he started, his voice barely a whisper, "I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be here without you causing trouble. You've been a real thorn in Mr. Krabs' side, but you've also been a part of our lives for so long. In a weird way, I guess you're like family." He leaned closer, his spongy hand reaching out to squeeze Plankton's tiny one. "And families stick together, even when things are tough." He took his hat and laid it on the bedside table. Karen watched, surprised by the tenderness in Sponge Bob's voice. Despite their rivalry, there was a bond between them that she had never fully understood. Perhaps it was born from the years of adversity, a shared history that transcended good and bad. "I know you're in there, Plankton," Sponge Bob continued, his voice a mix of hope and sadness. "You're the most stubborn person I've ever met. I can't imagine you giving up now." He swallowed hard, his eyes misting over. "You've got to pull through this, buddy." The room grew quiet again, save for the rhythmic beeping of the machine. Karen felt a warmth spread through her, despite the coldness of the room. Sponge Bob's words had touched her in a way she didn't expect. Their friendship, built on a foundation of constant conflict, was somehow stronger than she had ever realized. Then Mr. Krabs entered. "Karen, hey," he began, his voice cracking with emotion. "How's he doing?" Karen looked up from her vigil. "No change," she replied, her voice flat. Mr. Krabs shuffled over, his eyes flicking from the unmoving Plankton to the worried look on Sponge Bob. He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "I just wanted to, you know, check on him," he said awkwardly. Sponge Bob nodded, his grip on Plankton's hand tightening. "We're all here for him," he said, his voice firm with resolve. Mr. Krabs hovered by. "I never thought I'd say this," he murmured, "but I don't want to lose him either." The words were a surprise to him, and also to Karen. The weight of their shared history sat heavily in the room, a silent acknowledgment of the battles they all endured. SpongeBob nodded, his expression earnest. "We all have our moments," he said. "But it's what we do when things get tough that really counts." He leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving Plankton's face. "Remember that time you accidentally turned us into babies?" A faint smile ghosted his lips at the memory. "We all were so tiny, I could've swallowed you whole." He chuckled, a sound that was unfamiliar in the somber room. "But I didn't. Because deep down, I knew you had more to give to this world than just being a rival." Mr. Krabs chuckled too, the tension in his eyes easing. "Aye, that was a wild ride, all right," he said, his gruffness softening. Karen couldn't help but smile at the memory, wiping a fresh tear from her screen. "You two have had quite the history," she said, her voice filled with wonder. Sponge Bob nodded. "Yeah, more adventures than I can count." He paused, his smile fading. "But none of them have ever made me feel like this." He took a deep breath, his words coming out in a rush. "Plankton, if you can hear me, you need to wake up. Your Chum Bucket's not going to run itself, and I can't eat Krabby Patties without someone to compete with." Mr. Krabs grunted in agreement, his eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. "Yeah, and who's going to challenge me for the title of best burger in town if you're not around to stir the pot?" They shared a moment of quiet laughter, the kind that comes from a place deep within, where memories are etched. It was a strange sight: the sworn enemies, now united by a shared love for the pint-sized that was more than just a rival. It's midnight when he's no longer in a coma. Right at midnight, was when their waiting would come to an end, and everything's changed.. Plankton's eye fluttered open, his vision blurry. He tried to sit up. He felt weightless. Karen and Sponge Bob gasped. Mr. Krabs' turned to emit a choking cough. They stared at the empty space where Plankton's body still lays. "What's going on?" Plankton's voice was faint, echoing around the room. "Karen?" But they seemed to ignore him. The doctor sighed. Karen and Sponge Bob exchanged a hopeful glance. "Plankton?" she whispered, leaning in. "Can you hear me?" Plankton's eye searched the room, confused. "I'm right here," he said, his voice growing stronger, but still not reaching them. "Ma'am," the doctor says, "I know it's hard but, you can leave the hospital whenever you're ready." Karen nodded, her screen still fixed on Plankton's body lying on the bed. The beeping machine had stopped. "What?" Plankton's voice grew desperate, floating above the room. "Why aren't you guys listening?" Karen's gaze remained fixed on his lifeless body, the reality of the situation setting in. "Oh dear Neptune," she whispered, her hand trembling as it hovered over his chest. "He's...he's..." Sponge Bob's eyes widened in realization as he cried. Mr. Krabs stumbled back, his claws over his mouth, his eyes bulging in shock. "No, no, no," he murmured, his voice a whispered denial. The doctor looked from the machines to the ceiling, his eyes glassy. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice hollow. "We did all we could." Karen felt the world collapse around her, her body heavy with the weight of her loss. Plankton's voice grew faint, his words lost in the air like a ghostly echo. Sponge Bob's sobs filled the room. Plankton's spirit hovered above his body, his mind racing. "What happened?" he asked, his voice now a mere wisp of what it had once been. "Can one of you just explain to..." But his words trailed off as he saw the tears on Karen's screen, the shock on Mr. Krabs' face, and the sadness etched into Sponge Bob's features. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice barely a murmur. "Why are you all so upset? My machine exploded but now I'm awake!" It was as if there was a barrier between them that muted his voice and kept him from touching the world. He waved his arms frantically, trying to get their attention. "I'm right here," he whispered, his voice growing louder with each desperate attempt. But the only response was the sadness that hung in the air, thick and palpable. The doctor's expression remained steady, his gaze flicking from the machines to Plankton's body, then back to Karen. "Ma'am," he said gently, "you should go home. Rest." But Karen couldn't tear her screen away from Plankton's lifeless body. "Karen?" Plankton called out. "What's happening?" But Karen remained silent as she stared at his still form. Sponge Bob was crying openly now, his body heaving with sobs. Mr. Krabs was leaning against the wall. "What's going on?" he asked again, his voice desperate. "Why can't they see me?" He looked around the room. "Karen," he shouted, his voice echoing through the emptiness. But she just sat there. "Guys, I'm right here!" Plankton's voice was now a desperate shout, but it was as if he didn't exist.

2/2 MOVING ON ➪ғᴇᴀʀ ᴏғ ᴅʏɪɴɢ. Mr. Krabs wiped his eyes with a handkerchief, his voice shaking. "I'm so sorry, Karen," he said, his words a mix of sadness and regret. Karen nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see Sponge Bob's wet eyes. "We're all here for you," he murmured, his voice soothing despite the pain. Plankton watched as the world around him shifted, his friends' sorrow a stark contrast to his own confusion but failing to penetrate their grief. He follows Karen back home. "You can't ignore me for..." He tries to argue, but she doesn't flinch. He's invisible. It's like he's not even there. He follows her through the desolate streets of Bikini Bottom, his voice trailing behind her like a forgotten thought. "Karen, stop!" he cries, but she doesn't hear him as she goes into the Chum Bucket. Spot, his amoeba puppy, barks as they come in. "Oh, Spot," Karen says sadly, her voice heavy with a grief Plankton can't fathom. Spot looks around, sensing his master, tail wagging. "Spot, boy," Plankton calls out. He goes to sniff his owner right where he's standing. The puppy's nose twitches. "Spot, it's me," Plankton whispers, his voice now a mere wisp. The amoeba wags his tail. But Spot doesn't jump up to lick his face like he always does. Plankton watches as Karen moves about the room without a glance. He follows her, his spirit trailing behind her. "Look," he says, his voice bouncing off the glass beakers and unused gadgets. But she simply picks up a half-finished experiment, her screen glazed over with unshed tears. Plankton's inventions are scattered across the floor. "Karen, see this," he says, trying to show her his latest gizmo. But she just steps over them. "Karen!" he yells, his voice bouncing off the walls. But she doesn't acknowledge him, her screen fixed on a photo of them from their wedding. "What's happening?" he whispers, his voice trembling. "Why can't she see me?" He watches her, his mind racing with possibilities. "Karen, sweetie," he says, his voice desperate, "It's me, Plankton. Your husband." But she just keeps moving, her actions a painful ballet of loss. "Karen," he pleads, his voice cracking. "Look at me." He waves his hands wildly in front of her, but she doesn't flinch. It's like he's not even there. "Karen, can you hear me?" Plankton shouts, his voice bouncing around the room, but it's as if he's speaking into a void. He follows her into the living room, where she slumps onto the couch, her body wracked with sobs. "What's the matter?" he asks, his voice now a mere echo of his former self. But Karen doesn't respond, doesn't even look up. Plankton paces the room, trying to make sense of this. "Karen," he says again. But she turns her attention to Spot. "I don't know how to tell you," she whispers with tears. Plankton stops in his tracks. "What do you mean?" he asks, but she doesn't hear him. He backs up, Spot following him. "Spot," Karen calls. The puppy wags his tail, looking between Plankton and Karen. Plankton feels a pang of hope. "Come here, boy," he says, his voice desperate. But Spot just sits there, staring at Karen, tail thumping the floor. Plankton's voice cracks. "Why won't anyone listen to me?" he cries out. "Spot," Karen repeats, her voice broken. "I need to tell you something. Your daddy... isn't coming back. Plankton's not coming home." "What are you talking about?" he chokes out, his voice echoing in his own mind. "I'm right here!" But Spot's eye remains, his tail wagging slightly, his expression hopeful. Plankton watches as she picks him up, cradling him in her arms. "He's always been there for us," she says, her voice cracking. "But now, it's just you and me." Plankton's spirit feels a chill run through him. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice now a faint whisper. He moves to his chair, and Spot leapt out of Karen's grasp as he follows Plankton. Spot jumps onto the chair, his tail wagging. Plankton desperately tries to pet him, but his hand goes right through. "Spot," he says, his voice barely audible. "Spot, I'm here." The amoeba puppy tilts his head, his eye searching. Plankton can almost feel the warmth of his body, but his touch is met with only cold emptiness. "Spot, please," he whispers, his eye filling with tears that won't fall in his new ethereal form. Karen looks at Spot. "You're going to have to be strong," she says, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Daddy's not coming back." Plankton's spirit recoils at the words, his mind racing. "What do you mean?" he asks again, his voice now a desperate whisper. "I'm right here!" But Karen's gaze fixed on Spot. Plankton's voice is lost in the abyss of his own disbelief. "Karen," he whispers, his voice now a mere echo in the silence of the room. "What are you saying?" He sits down in the chair, Spot watching him intently. Karen looks confused at Spot. "It's ok, buddy," she says. "Daddy loved us very much, but now he's gone." Plankton's mind reels. "What do you mean 'gone'?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm right here!" Karen doesn't react to his desperate pleas. She just sits there, watching Spot. Plankton tries again, his voice now a mere echo of what it once was. "Karen," he calls out, his desperation palpable. "Can you hear me?" But she's lost in her own world of pain. At least Spot recognizes him. "Spot," Karen says. "What are you staring at?" Plankton's spirit feels like it's going to shatter. "It's me!" he shouts, his voice bouncing off the walls without reaching her. He waves his arms wildly, but she doesn't flinch. It's as if he's invisible, not even there. He watches as she moves through their home, her actions muted by his inability to interact. "Why can't you see me?" he whimpers, his voice lost in the void. Plankton's spirit follows her, his desperation growing with each ignored plea. "You ok, Karen?" he asks, his voice unheard. Karen doesn't respond, lost in thought. "Karen," Plankton calls again, his voice growing weaker. "I can see you, why can't you see me?" Karen's going through the motions of a life without him. The sound of her sobs haunts him, echoing through his invisible existence. "Well, I guess I can watch some soap operas since he's not around to complain." She says with forced laughter through her tears. Plankton watches her. She's moving on, without even realizing he's right beside her. She doesn't even look up from the TV! He stands in front of the TV but she doesn't flinch. He's getting mad now. "Forget the TV!" He says, trying to cause a ruckus by jumping onto it. But Plankton's now in the TV as it cuts to static. He's trapped in the flickering lights, his tiny frame distorting on the screen. "Karen!" He yells, his voice now a part of the static. "What's up with the TV?" Karen says. "I can't get it to..." But her words are lost to Plankton, now in the static, his spirit pushing against the unseen barrier. "Hey!" he shouts, his voice distorting with the fuzz of the television, banging it audibly. Karen hears the banging as the TV shakes. "What's going on?" she asks, her screen a mix of fear and confusion. Plankton's spirit is desperate, his voice now a part of the static, his form a flickering shadow on the TV screen. "Karen!" he cries, his words lost in the fuzzy chaos. Karen jumps at the sound of her deceased husband's distorted voice. "Was that... PLANKTON?" Plankton's spirit, still trapped in the TV, nods vigorously. "Yes, yes, it's me!" he cries, his voice distorted through the static. Karen stares, her hand trembling as it hovers over the remote. "How?" she whispers with shock. Plankton's spirit, still trapped, keeps shouting, his words a cacophony of static. "It's me, Karen! I'm right here! I followed you home from the hospital and only Spot..." "Plankton, you died in the hospital.." "What?" he asks, his confusion palpable. "That's impossible; I'm right here!" He waves his arms in front of the flickering screen, his body a distortion of colors. Karen's eyes well up with fresh tears. "Plankton," she whispers, her hand shaking as it clutches the remote. "You've got to go. You've got to move on." The static on the TV screen swirls into a tornado of colors as Plankton's spirit fights against the invisible barrier. "No," he screams, his voice a muffled cry in the cacophony of electronic distortion. "I can't leave you.." Karen's screen filled with tears as she looks at the flickering shadow that is her husband. "Spot and I will be okay," she says, her voice shaking with emotion. "But you can't stay here." Plankton pauses, his form rippling in the static. "But what about the Krabby Patty formula?" he asks, his voice a distant echo. Karen's smile is sad, her screen wet with unshed tears. "It's just a recipe, Plankton," she says softly. "You've always been so much more than that." Plankton's spirit seems to deflate, the static dimming. "But I've spent my life trying to get it," he says, his voice barely audible. "What's the point if I can't even..." "The point," Karen says, her voice firm despite the tears streaming down her screen, "is that you've touched more lives than any Krabby Patty ever could. You've got to go, Plankton. Find peace." Plankton's spirit flickers, his eye searching hers. He nods, his form growing transparent. "Ok," he whispers, his voice now a faint echo in the static. "I'll go. But I'll always be with you, Karen. And Spot. In spirit." The TV screen fades to black, the static dissipating as Plankton's spirit is released. Karen stares at the empty space, her hands clutching the remote tightly. "Thank you," she says. "Thank you for everything."

What’s in the basement? ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↓ˢᶜʳᵒˡˡ ᶠᵒʳ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ↓ Mommy told me never to go in the basement, but I wanted to see what was making that noise. It kind of sounded like a puppy, and I wanted to see the puppy, so I opened the basement door and tiptoed down a bit. I didn’t see a puppy, and then Mommy yanked me out of the basement and yelled at me. Mommy had never yelled at me before, and it made me sad and I cried. Then Mommy told me never to go into the basement again, and she gave me a cookie. That made me feel better, so I didn’t ask her why the boy in the basement was making noises like a puppy, or why he had no hands or feet.

Pretending to be asleep doesn’t work ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↓ˢᶜʳᵒˡˡ ᶠᵒʳ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ↓ A young boy is sleeping in his bed on a usual night. He hears footsteps outside his door, and peeks out of his eyes to see what is happening. His door swings open quietly to reveal a mvrderer carrying the bødies of his parents. After silently propping them up on a chair, he writes something on the wall in the bløød of the déád bødies. He then hides under the child's bed... The child is scared beyond relief. He can’t read the writing on the wall and he knows the man is under his bed. Like any child, he pretends that he slept through the whole thing and hasn’t awoken yet. He lays still as the bodies, quietly hearing the breathing from under the bed... An hour passes, and his eyes are adjusting more and more to the darkness. He tries to make out the words, but it’s a struggle. He gasps when he finally makes out the sentence... “I know you’re awake”. He senses something shift underneath his bed...

The Answers As I lived my life, I had always pondered on the mysteries of the universe. I wondered what it all meant, why we were all here, and what lie beyond. That was the reason I became a scientist. I slaved over my work trying to unlock the unknown whole of creation. Always fighting a never ending battle to seek answers for life's greatest questions. Then, when my life came to an end from an untimely accident, I found myself standing on the precipice to eternity. In the seemingly infinite chasm of darkness, a voice called out a question to me... "Shall all of the answers be revealed to you, or will you swim the sea of creation in unknowing bliss?" "Please... Show me the answers I have tirelessly searched for and still seek!" "Very well..." A sudden emergence of a blinding light bathed me, and I was brought into the entirety of knowledge kicking and screaming. That was almost two years ago... Today I lay in my playpen attempting my last ditch efforts at telling my new Mom and Dad what I know, but all they see, and all they've seen for months, is a child at play, talking gibberish. My urgency grows and the fear begins to consume my mind as I realize... the better I get at communicating with them, the more of what I know fades from my memory.

🎬

❗Berry Avenue Story❗ I had a friend, Lily. She had the most perfect, straight, blond hair with the most gorgeous pair of chestnut eyes. Everyone loved her- no, they adored her. Every time she walked in the hall, she always left girls complimenting her and boys deeply in love. But for me, it was different. They didn't care about me at all. In fact, they acted like I didn't exist and I wasn't there. Although Lily was popular and all, she was really nice to me and everyone and had good grades. She was a good friend, but I was jealous of her. One day, I invited her to a sleepover, and that's when I took action and made sure she wouldn't be back. Everyone was in shock, they couldn't believe that Lily had died. After that night, the police found her body in a shed. After that, I dated Lily's boyfriend, my long-time crush. After we finally became adults, he proposed to me. I was so excited for our wedding-and it was today. I felt so gorgeous and beautiful in my white pearl wedding dress. Though I did feel a bit of guilt towards Lily. Over these years, I've been trying to do my best to forget about her and move on. Just as we were about to complete the ceremony, a woman wearing a black wedding dress with wilted flowers in her hand walked on the aisle. We were all confused and told her to leave. She was wearing a black veil over her face, and looked down. When she finally looked up and removed her veil, I realized that it was Lily. In terror, I dropped the bouquet and fled. He came up to me and asked what happened. I asked, "You didn't see her?" He was extremely shocked and asked, "What do you mean? See who? Are you imagining things?" Soon, I felt faint and fainted. It was a totally blackout, I couldn't see anything or even move. But I sure was awake. And when I finally was able to open my eyes, I was in a hospital, in one of those hospital gowns. I looked at myself, I was all weak, and wrinkly. A lady there smiled at me and said, "It was great being your nurse. I'm so sorry that you couldn't live any longer." Someone was about to unplug something, and that's when I saw a ghostly figure of Lily and she said, "This is my revenge, you're coming down with me."

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Hey guys, I'm going to be a writing some stories! So type ".lavendercloud if you want some to see some of my content!