Titancore Emojis & Text

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.

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

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

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

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

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

✋WAIT ✋ DOoOoN’T TELL ME ⤵️ YOU WANT ME TO RUN DOWN TO THE STORE AND BUY MRS PUFF SOMETHING SHE DOESN’T NEED THEN YOU WANT ME TO RUN BACK HERE SO YOU CAN SAY: “ARR SPONGEBOB! YER SPENDIN ALL ME MONEY!” AND THEN I’LL SAY: “BUT MR KRABS! IM ONLY DOING WHAT YOU SAID!” THEN YOU’LL SAY WERE NOT TALKIN ABOUT THIS 🔺 OR THIS 🟥 WERE TALKING ABOUT THIIIIIS 🔴🔴🔴🔴

ˡᶦˢᴛᴇɴ ʸᵒᵘ ᴄʀᴜˢᵗᵃᴄᴇᴏᴜs cheapskate ˢᵠᵘᶦᵈᴡᴀʀᴅ’s ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ ᶦⁿ my house ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʜɪʀᴇ ʜᶦᵐ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᴀʟʟ ʙᴇᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᵒᶠ ᴀ ˢᵗᵘᴘɪᴅ dime

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

r/TwoSentenceHorror 4 yr. ago Averagebiker21 After I asked the crystal ball to tell me how to escape death, I was very confused as it read "No, thanks honey, I'm full" However, something clicked in my head when my wife offered me cake after dinner...

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

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

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🧪 ʳᵃᵛᶤᵒˡᶤ˒ ʳᵃᵛᶤᵒˡᶤ˒ ᵍᶤᵛᵉ ᵐᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵒʳᵐᵘᵒˡᶤᵎ 🧪

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.

S̶̙̾̽̈q̸̨̮̲̠̖͓̠̳̰͍̐̍̔̇͐̌͊͛̈́̐̽̚u̵̱̝̜̲̲̹͍̗̭͈̞͎̽̽̈́͊̀̉͗̏̀i̵̡̛͕͔̹̪͍̙̥̗̩̿͆̉̍̈͐͂͘͘͜͠d̶̢̫̠̜̹̦̱̝͇̞͇̙̈̎̍̽̾̀̑̒̀̎͘͝ȋ̸̙̮̙͖̩͋̓̐̈́́̚͘ò̸̟̳t̴̙̆ ̸̡̤̰̣̙̌̇̑̊̅̈́̉̋̊́͝͝B̶̦̓o̸̜̟̲̤̔͊́x̵̩̰͓̭̙͛̋̌̀̍͜

Pansyk •6mo ago Personally, reading and writing fanfiction has really helped me with my technical skills. When I look over the fanfiction I have written over the years, I can see how my prose and dialogue have improved. All fiction, whether of the fan or original variety, is built off of the basic idea of "making words sound good." And fanfiction is a perfectly acceptable way to do that. However, the way that fanfiction operates in terms of characterization and plot? That's radically different from original fiction. In fanfiction, characters are already established, so even if you're doing some batshit insane Alternate Universe, everyone already knows the basics of what's up. That's not true of original fiction. You need to devote more time to both fleshing out your characters and establishing their relationships with the rest of the cast. Plot often progresses differently, in part because of the time you just spent showing your readers who these people are, but also because fanfiction and original fiction often follow different structures entirely. Fanfiction is free and accessible to anyone with an internet connection. That makes it useful for new authors, especially young authors. Think of it as swimming in shallow water. It's fun! It can help you build up some strength. Anyone can do it. But it won't completely prepare you for diving into deeper water. So, I guess at the end of the day, reading both will help your development as a writer.

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

r/shortscarystories 12 hr. ago Wellsong Mrs. Johnson's wise decision Stacy Johnson watched the five candles flicker on her cake with avid, fire-bright eyes, her round cheeks dimpling as her smile grew bigger and bigger. Three tiers of chocolate sponge, iced with swirling blue and pink buttercream and decorated with white chocolate buttons: the apogee of Mrs. Johnson’s baking efforts. Stacy’s school friends bounced in their seats. They’d played the games, they’d watched Stacy tear open her presents, and now it was time for the party to pay dividends. A few of them had had to be pulled back from reaching for the cake before the candles were even lit. “Make a wish,” Stacy’s mum said, fumbling with the camera app on her phone. Stacy squeezed her eyes closed, an expression of reverent concentration wiping the dimples smooth. She sucked in a deep breath, her chest swelling—and released the gathered air in one long whoosh. Mrs. Johnson’s index finger brushed the touchscreen of her phone. There was a soft click as the phone mimicked a shutter closing, half a second before the last candle went out. Then the electric lights went out too. It should have been bright outside, but only wispy twilight was seeping through the windows. All the children except the birthday girl made noises of alarm and consternation. “I made my wish!” Stacy declared, her voice cutting into the murmurs all around her. Mrs. Johnson opened her mouth to answer, but all she could manage was a soft croak as dark shapes erupted from the corners of the room, huge and twisted, and seized the children sitting around the table. The children screamed, their terror melding into a shuddering wall of sound, but there was nothing they could do to resist what was happening to them. The screams receded as they were torn away into—through—the floor and the walls and the ceiling by the shadowy creatures, until the dark was silent and peaceful and empty again. The light came back as quickly as it had disappeared, flicking the room back to normalcy in an instant. Midday sun swept across the balloons and the banners and the cake and Stacy Johnson’s pleased hungry expression. But all the other children were gone, as if they’d never been part of the scene at all. “Now the cake’s all for me,” said Stacy, dimpling anew. “Unless…do you want some, Mummy?”

“This Christmas feels like the very first Christmas to me! There’ll be shopping, decorating, and plenty of snow!“ La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la 🤪 🎄 🤪 🎁 .

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.

Gᴏᴛ ᴀ sɴᴀᴋᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ sᴛᴏᴍᴘᴇᴅ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴇʟ ᴏғ ʜɪs ʙᴏᴏᴛ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ɪᴛ. Lᴀᴛᴇʀ ɴɪɢʜᴛ, ʜᴇ ɢᴀᴠᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʜᴏsᴛ, ᴀs ʜɪs ʙᴇғᴜᴅᴅʟᴇᴅ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ʀᴀᴄᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ Pᴀ. "Sᴏɴ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʟᴅ ʙᴏᴏᴛs. Hᴇ ᴅɪᴇᴅ ɪɴ 'ᴇᴍ, ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴏғ ғᴀᴄᴛ. Wᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ʜɪᴍ ᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ. Wᴇʟʟ, I ʀᴇᴄᴋᴏɴ ʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ. Hᴇʀᴇ—" Mᴀ, ᴡɪᴘɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴛᴇᴀʀ ғʀᴏᴍ ʜᴇʀ sᴇᴀᴍᴇᴅ ᴏʟᴅ ᴄʜᴇᴇᴋ, ʜᴀɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪʀ ᴏғ ʙᴏᴏᴛs ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴀs ᴀɴ ʜᴇɪʀʟᴏᴏᴍ. Hᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ. Iᴛ ᴡᴀs ɴᴏᴛ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴡʜᴇɴᴄᴇ ʜᴇ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴀ ᴍʏsᴛᴇʀɪᴏᴜs sʜᴀᴅᴇ. Dʀᴇssɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ, ʜɪs ɴᴇᴡʟʏ ᴡɪᴅᴏᴡᴇᴅ ᴡɪғᴇ ʜᴜɢɢᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ sᴏɴ. "Bᴏʏ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢʀᴀɴᴅғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴅɪᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴏᴛs ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴅɪᴅ. Tᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ..." Oғ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏᴏʀ ʙᴏʏ ʜɪᴍsᴇʟғ ᴍᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴇ ғᴀᴛᴇ. Hɪs ᴡɪғᴇ ʜᴇʟᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴏᴛs. Lᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴄʟᴏsᴇʟʏ, sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴇʏᴇ. Iᴛ ᴡᴀs ғᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ғᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ᴛᴏᴏᴛʜ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ sɴᴀᴋᴇ, sᴛɪʟʟ ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴠᴇɴᴏᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏɪsᴏɴ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴs. Lᴏᴅɢᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍʙᴇᴅᴅᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴏᴛs.

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/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.'

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

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

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

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣤⣾⠛⠻⣷⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⡏⠉⠉⠙⠛⠿⠿⣷⣀⣀⣿⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣀⣤⣀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣄⡀⠀⣀⣤⣀⠀⠀ ⢰⡿⠋⢉⣹⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠛⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠛⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣏⡉⠙⢿⡆ ⢸⣇⣠⣾⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⣠⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣄⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣷⣄⣸⡗ ⠈⢻⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⡟⠁ ⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⢤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡤⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠿⣿⣷⣦⣀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠉⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⣿⠿⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⢿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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/

ᴺᵃʳʳᵃᵗᵒʳ⠘ ᴵᵗ'ˢ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ'ˢ ᴸᵉᵍᵉⁿᵈᵃʳʸ ᴰᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᴾᵃʳᵗʸ! ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ⠘ ᴴᵉʸ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵇᵒᵈʸ! ᴵᵗ'ˢ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵈᵃⁿᶜᵉ! ᴰᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʸᶜˡᵒᵖˢ! [ᵖᵘˢʰᵉˢ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉˢ ᵗᵒᵍᵉᵗʰᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ᶠᵒʳᵐ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵉʸᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗˢ ʷʰᵒᵒⁱⁿᵍ] ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⠘ ᴴᵃ⁻ʰᵃ⸴ ᴵ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ⁱᵗ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ⠘ ᴺᵒʷ⸴ ᵈᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵉᵃ ᵐᵒⁿˢᵗᵉʳ! [ᵗᵘʳⁿˢ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵃ ᵐᵒⁿˢᵗᵉʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗˢ ʳᵒᵃʳⁱⁿᵍ] ᴾᵃᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ⠘ ᴼᵒʰ! [ᴾᵃᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ ʷᵃⁿᵗˢ ᵗᵒ ᵈᵒ ᵃ ˢᵉᵃ ᵐᵒⁿˢᵗᵉʳ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵏˢ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵇᵒⁿᵉ ᵖᵒᵖˢ ᵒᵘᵗ] ᴼʷ! ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ⠘ ᴾᵃᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ⸴ ᵃʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵒᵏᵃʸ? ᴾᵃᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ⠘ ᴵᵗ'ˢ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵐʸ ⁿᵉʷ ᵈᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᵐᵒᵛᵉ‧ ᴵ ᶜᵃˡˡ ⁱᵗ‧‧‧ "ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵒʳʳⁱᵇˡᵉ ᵐⁱˢᵗᵃᵏᵉ‧"

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

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."

r/TwoSentenceHorror 23 hr. ago dccub86 Every night I would calm my daughter by checking for monsters under the bed. Tonight she told me I didn’t have to check anymore, as blood trickled across the floor.

r/shortscarystories 1 yr. ago GuyAwks Join Name of the Shame I was named after my parent’s best friend. I never used to have an issue with this. I do now. The name Xavior might’ve been an uncommon choice for a boy. But it held special meaning to my parents, who insisted on naming their first son after a dear family friend who had always come through for them. After all, it was Xavior who’d first introduced them in college. It was he who spoke at their wedding. And it was he that helped them move into their home, gave them rides when their car broke down and babysat in emergencies. My parents said naming me after him was honor. Growing up, I only ever felt to be proud to be named after such a great guy. Uncle Xavior was a good-natured community figure and beloved family man. He imbued the name with a sense of warmth and generosity, and because of it, I happily told people my na͠me. That’s why it’s such a shame that he did what he went on to do. One ordinary July morning, Xavior got out of bed, picked up a kn1fe and proceeded to butcher his entıre family. He then got into his car, drιve into town and continued his kılling spree. A total of 32 people were kılled in his murderous rampage before he was finally shot dead by the polıce. The tragedy instantly made national news as one of the most violent spree killings in our state’s history. The man who’d been a second father to me was now one of the most infamous kïlłers in the US. Ever since that day, being named after Xavior Finch had a very different meaning. Instead of a blessing, it was now my cûrsêd. Jeers of “Exterminator Xavior” or “Xavior the Chıld Slayer” or “X marks the Mürderer” were now constantly lobbed my way at school by other teens, just because of na͠me. Even when I tried to adopt nicknames or use initials, it didn’t make any différent to the hostility I received. Whenever I gave my name to people, they’d clarify “Like the rampage kıller?” or just reflexively cringe at the reminder. I hated it. There was no denying that, at least where I lived, the name was completely tainted. So, after all these years of derisive comments and comparisons, I’m glad to finally be legally changing my name. I haven’t settled on what it’ll be yet. Anything that doesn’t conjure up images of the notorious convict. I refuse to lıve in the shadows of Xavior Finch’s crımes any longer. No, I want the killings I’m going to commıt to speak for themselves. I’m gonna make a name for myself as a criminal—not be overshadowed by my namesake. Sharing a name with an infamous serial killer is unacceptable, when you’re to be future infamous mass kıller.

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

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.

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..."

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

----- 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!

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

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

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

r/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."

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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.

Spongebob's house _ |\/ \/| \¯\/¯\/¯/ ╱¯¯¯¯╲ _ /'X'X'X'|_|| |O'X'X'X|¯¯ |'X.-.X'| \X'|*|O'/ ##/¯\## Squidward's house _____ | | /_____\ |¯|0| |0|¯| \_| /_\ |_/ / /¯\ \ |_|_|_| /===\ Patrick's house <╷< .─¯¯¯¯─. / \ '──____──' / \ Krusty krab ._._. \###/ _ ╷╷ V __ ¯|¯ //¯¯──¯¯¯// \\ | ||[] [] O||##|| | ||.─.─.─.||##|| ' ''' ' ' ''' '' Chum bucket >¯¯< .─\_c/─. (_______) \ Chum / | Bucket| \ |¯| / ╹╹╹╹ Mr.Crabs's house __ .__(())__. \──|[]|──/ _ | | _ / \ | | / \ \ \|__|/ / ¯─__||__─¯ / \ Sandy's house ____ .¯─.─_¯. / {_ .} \_ | O )( //*\ ¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯

favorite(s) SpongeBob shipping Karendy — the ship between Sandy and Karen krabbob (spongebob x mr krabs) Larrick — the ship between Larry the Lobster and Patrick Star MR KRABS AND MRS PUFF + KRUFF PatBob(SpongeBobxPatrick) Plabs — the ship between Mr. Krabs and Sheldon Plankton Plankaren — the ship between Plankton and Karen PlankBob — the ship between SpongeBob and Sheldon Plankton Plankward — the ship between Plankton and Squidward Tentacles Sandrick — the ship between Patrick and Sandy Cheeks Spandrick Sandy Cheeks · Patrick Star Spandward — the ship between SpongeBob, Sandy Cheeks and Squidward Tentacles Spandy(SpongeBobxSandy) Squandy(Squidward vs Sandy) SquidBob(Squidward vs SpongeBob) SquidPatBob — the ship between SpongeBob, Squidward Tentacles and Patrick Star

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.

░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▒▒░░░░▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▓██▒░░░▒▓▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒░▒▒░▒▓▓▓▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒░░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒░░░▒▒▒▒░▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒░▒░▒▒▒░░▒▓░▒▒▒░▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒░░▒▒▒▒▒░░░▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▒▓▓▒▒▒░░▒▒▒▒▒░░░▒░▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▒█▓▒▒▒▓█▒░░▒▒▒░░░▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▒▓▒░▒▒█▓▒░░▒▒▒░░░▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▒▒▒░▒▒▓▒░░░░▒▒▒░▒▒░▒▒▒▓▓▓▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒░▒▒░▒▒░▒▒░░░░░▒▓█████▓████▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒░▒▒░▒▒▒▒▒▒░▒▒▒▒▒▓█▓▓▓▓████▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▓▓▒▒▒▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒░▒▒░░░░░░░░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░▓▓▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▓▓▓▒▓▓▓▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒░▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░ ░▓▓▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒░░░░░▒▒▒░░▒▒░░░░▒▒▒░░▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░ ▒▓▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▓░░▒▒░░░░░░▒░▒▒░░░▒▒░▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░ ▒▓▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▓▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒░░░▓░░░░░░░▒▓░░░░░░▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░▓▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░░░░░░▒▒▓▓▓▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▒▒▒░░░▒▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░ ░▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▓▒░░░░░▒▒▓▒░░░▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▒░░░░░░░░░ ░░▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▒▒▓▓▓▓░░░░░░░░░▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▓▒▒░░░░░▒▓▒░░░░░▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▒░░░░░░░ ░░░▒▓▓▓▓▒░░▒▓▒▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▒░░░░░░░░▓█▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▒▒░▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▒▓▓▒░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▒░░░░░░░░▓████▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▓▒▒▒▒▒░░░░▒▒▒░░░░▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░▒▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▓▓▒░░░░░░░░░▓▓██████▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▒▒░▒▓▒▒▒░░▒▒▒▓▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▓▓▒░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▓▓▓▓▒░░░░░░░░░░░▒▓▓▓▓███████▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▒░░▒▒░▒▒▓▒▒▓▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▓▒░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▓▓▓▒▓▓███▓▓▓██▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▒░░░▒░░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▓▓▒░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓██████▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓█▒░░░▒▒▒▒▓▓▒▒░░░▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▓▓░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▓▓▓▓▓███████████▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█████▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▒▓▓▓██▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▓▒▒▒▒▒░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓██████▓▓█████▓▓██████▒░▒▒▓▓▓█▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒██▓▓▓▓▓████▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█▓▓▓▓░░░░░▒▒▒▒▒░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒░░░▓▓▓█▒▓▒░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█▓██▓▓▓▓▒░░░░░░░░░░▓▒▒░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓█▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░▒▓▓▓▓▓▒░░░░░░░░░░░▓▒▒▒░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▓█▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒░░░░░░▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░███████▒░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█▒░░░░░░░░░▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░▒██████▒░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒░░░▒▒▓▓▓▓████▓▓▓▓▓▓▒░░░░░░░░░░▓▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▓▓▓▓▓▒▓▓▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░░░░░░░░░▓▒██▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▒░░░░░░░░░░▒█████▓▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░

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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!

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@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/

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."

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

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

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.'"

-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

‘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."

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.

" 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

Tinder is completely useless, and I don't have a single match. If I don't find another way to start a campfire tonight, I'll freeze to death. (tumblr) 🖤

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

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/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.

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.

“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‧

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?

shortscarystories.tumblr.com 🖤 You locked your doors and Windows to prevent me from entering. Too bad I'm already inside.

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

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

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

¢нσ¢σℓαтє (CHOCOLATE!!!!! :chocolate_bar: :chocolate_bar: )ಥ‿ಥ ѕρσиgєвσв!!! ⓅⓁⒶⓃⓀⓉⓄⓃ ѕρσиgєвσв:| ( • )(• ) | ραтяι¢к: / ( • )(• ) \ ѕqυι∂ωαя∂: ( (•)(•) ) ρℓαиктσи: | (•) |

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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.

ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ⠘ ᴼʰ! ᴼʰ! ᴬʰʰ! [ˡᵒᵒᵏˢ ᵃˡˡ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᶠᶠⁱᶜᵉ] ᴴᵉʸ⸴ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ⸴ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵉᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᴷʳᵃᵇᵇʸ ᴾᵃᵗᵗʸ ˢᵉᶜʳᵉᵗ ᶠᵒʳᵐᵘˡᵃ? [ˡⁱᶠᵗˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵉˢᵏ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈʳᵒᵖˢ ⁱᵗ] ᴼʰʰ! [ᵖᵘˡˡˢ ᵒᵘᵗ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳⁿᵉᵃᵗʰ] ᴵ ᵖᵘᵗ ⁱᵗ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ʰᵉʳᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᶜⁱʳᶜᵘˡᵃʳ ᶠⁱˡᵉ ᶜᵃᵇⁱⁿᵉᵗ‧ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ⠘ ᵀʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᵃ ᵗʳᵃˢʰ ᶜᵃⁿ⸴ ʸᵒᵘ ⁿⁱᵗʷⁱᵗ‧ [ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ˡᵒᵒᵏˢ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ⁱᵗᵉᵐ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉʳ ʷʰⁱˡᵉ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ˢⁱᵗˢ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵇᵘᵗ ˢᵘᵈᵈᵉⁿˡʸ ᵍᵉᵗˢ ˢᶜᵃʳᵉᵈ] ᵀʰᵉ ᶠᵒʳᵐᵘˡᵃ?! [ᶜᵘᵗˢ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ˡᵒᵒᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵒʳᵐᵘˡᵃ ᵒᵘᵗˢⁱᵈᵉ] ᶠᵃᶜᵉ ⁱᵗ⸴ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ‧ [ᵍᵉᵗˢ ᵗʳᵃˢʰ ᵗʰʳᵒʷⁿ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᶠᵃᶜᵉ] ᵀʰᵉ ᶠᵒʳᵐᵘˡᵃ— ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ⠘ ᴰᵒⁿ'ᵗ ˢᵃʸ ⁱᵗ! ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ⠘ ᴵˢ ᵍᵒⁿᵉ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ⠘ [ᵗᵉᵃʳʸ⁻ᵉʸᵉᵈ] ᴼʰ⸴ ᴵ ᵃˢᵏᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢᵃʸ ⁱᵗ‧‧‧ [ᶜʳⁱᵉˢ ᵃ ᶠᵒᵘⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵗᵉᵃʳˢ] ᵂʰʸ ʷᵒᵘˡᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵈᵒ ᵗʰᵃᵗ? ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ⠘ [ᶜᵒᵐᶠᵒʳᵗˢ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ] ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵒⁿ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ⠘ ᴬʰʰ! [ᶠᵃˡˡˢ ᵒᵛᵉʳ; ʰᵉ ᵍᵃˢᵖˢ] ᵂʰᵃᵗ ᵃʳᵉ ʷᵉ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᵈᵒ? ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ⠘ [ᵍʳᵃᵇˢ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵗʰᵉˢ ⁱⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱᵐ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᵃ ᵖᵃᵖᵉʳ ᵇᵃᵍ‧] ᴼᵏᵃʸ‧ ᴬˡˡ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ‧ ᵂᵉ'ˡˡ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵖʳᵉᵗᵉⁿᵈ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ'ˢ ⁿᵒʳᵐᵃˡ‧ ᵀʰᵉⁿ ʷᵉ'ˡˡ ˢᵗᵉᵃˡ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵒʳᵐᵘˡᵃ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ! ʸᵉᵃʰ!

💛🧽💛

Spongebob Ascii! « on: July 15, 2003, 09:05:35 am » ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ( ) ) O O ( ( (. ) (. ) ) ) O ( ( C ) __) (__ ( ( * * ) ) ---) O ------------ (--- / /( )\ \ / / ) O O ( \ \ / / ---------------------------- \ \ / / | --- --- \/ --- --- | \ \ ||||\ | /\ | /|||| |________ \/_________| | | | | | | | | _ |_ | |_ |__ ( ___| |____ )

☢;;❝ВUТ ТНEɴ YOU ЅНOWED МE ҒRΙEɴDЅНΙP! ТНΑТ'Ѕ ΑLL Ι REΑLLY WΑɴТED!❞ ⁽ ˢᵖᵒᶰᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ⁾

❞ⓈⓟⓞⓝⓖⓔⒷⓞⓑ, ⓨⓞⓤ ⓘⓓⓘⓞⓣ, ⓨⓞⓤ❜ⓡⓔ ⓐ ⓖⓔⓝⓘⓤⓢ❕❞ ~ Ⓢⓗⓔⓛⓓⓞⓝ Ⓟⓛⓐⓝⓚⓣⓞⓝ

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/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/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.

Adyghe: Спанч Баб Amharic: ስፐንጅቦብ ስኰይርፓንትስ Azerbaijani: Süngər Bob Kvadrat Şalvar Bosnian: Spužva Bob Skockani Català: Bob Esponja Čeština: Spongebob v kalhotách Cymraeg: SpynjBob Pantsgwâr Dansk: SvampeBob Firkant Deutsch: SpongeBob Schwammkopf English: SpongeBob SquarePants Español: Bob Esponja Français : Bob l'éponge Íslenska: Svampur Sveinsson Italiano: SpongeBob Magyar: SpongyaBob Kockanadrág Norsk bokmål: Svampebob Firkant Polski: SpongeBob Kanciastoporty Português do Brasil: Bob Esponja Calça Quadrada Română: Buretele Bob Pantaloni Pătrați Slovenščina: Spuži Kvadratnik Suomi: Paavo Pesusieni Svenska: Svampbob Fyrkant Türkçe: SüngerBob KareŞort Ελληνικά: Μπομπ Σφουγγαράκης Македонски: Сунѓерот Боб Панталоновски Русский: Губка Боб Квадратные Штаны Српски / srpski: Сунђер Боб Коцкалоне हिन्दी : स्पंज बॉब स्क्वायर पैंट ไทย: สพันจ์บ็อบ สแควร์แพนส์ 한국어: 스폰지밥 네모바지 日本語： スポンジ・ボブ 中文（简体）： 海绵宝宝 中文（繁體）： 海綿寶寶 粵語： 海綿寶寶 ייִדיש : ספּאָנדזשבאָב סקווערפּענץ עברית : בובספוג מכנסמרובע العربية : سبونجبوب فارسی : باب‌اسفنجی شلوارمکعبی مصرى : سبونج بوب سكوير بانتز

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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

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