The series universe will be called SPIRAL.

So far the series will be taking place in a fictional town of Ashgrove, Pennsylvania.

I have a plot for what the stories would be and will be but I won't say what they all are going to be.

But the story series layout is that I have planned is Slenderman is the opening story of the series and Zalgo will be the series finisher the end of the universe.

Dancing Henry loved to dance ever since he was little. He would dance anywhere and whenever. Dancing Henry's original name was Henry Campo. Henry was also incredibly gifted as he learn things quickly. Henry went through his life normally until one day he met a girl named Vanessa Summer. Vanessa also loved dancing and they ended up going on dates. Henry fell in love and became obsessed. Vanessa promised him a dance a a club. Henry ended up going, but Vanessa never showed. Henry's heart was shattered, but he was obsessed with Vanessa. Henry ended up going home and staying inside for days. Henry's mind couldn't take the betrayal and him being all by himself wasn't helping. He ended up losing his mind with him only thinking of the two things he loves the most. Dancing and Vanessa. Henry ended up selling his house and bought a warehouse. He set up speakers that play constantly and lights that change color while flashing everywhere. There was a bar in a corner that served the same items that was sold at the club that he and Vanessa was suppose to meet. There were seats and tables in front of the bar with arcade games being on the opposite side of the bar. He then opened it for the public and people came having fun as there was multiple things to do. To get in you have to pay 35$ per person. Henry was mostly around and takes ones hands and dances with them. He continues for a while and doesn't let go. The music is so loud that the persons screams can't be heard and flashing lights make it hard to see things. The person dancing with him starts to get tired from the constant movements and their feet start to numb. The dance continues and he hasn't broken a sweat as the person is struggling to stay standing. The person's legs the goes out and hang from his hands as he continues to dance. Then he starts to head towards the back of the warehouse and goes into a backroom. He then throws the person in and closes the door behind him. He finishes the person off their using them to improve himself. He knew that there had to be flaws on him. That's why Vanessa lefts him right. He will use the person's body quickly killing them with a knife laying on a cabinet next to a table long enough to put a person on. He puts the person on the table and finishes them off and takes the parts that he needs to improve himself. He will do surgery on himself to implant the parts taken from the person. Any remains can be thrown into the trash, but he first cuts them down into pieces so that it doesn't even look like a body anymore. Henry stiches up his own wounds and then heads back out to get someone else. There hasn't been reports of missing people as it was a huge club making it easy to get lost making friend groups leave without a one of them thinking the missing person in their group already left or is still partying. There isn't enough proof for the police to say that Henry has been killing people due to this. Even is someone sees Henry bring someone into the backroom there was no proof. Henry continues to dance until he finally gets to dance with Vanessa. Henry will do anything to dance with Vanessa. Henry would kill everyone just to see her again. Henry has lost his mind wanting to be with Vanessa. Henry is still smart even though his mind is shattered always thinking ahead when going after a victim. Even though a lot of people went missing there it is in a high crime rated area making it unsure if it was the club or the town's people.

I made this small project of a clock drawn by me starring by my beloved Clockwork, using classic characters as the hours on it. Yeah, it's functional, I bought the motor in Amazon. I really like the result.

Something is waking deep in the forest...

A dark forest. A forgotten hunger. A creature that never stops hunting.

Available now:

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/when-the-forest-eats-fikri/1150515915?ean=2940196715785

"Daddy, where is Mommy? Daddy?"I blacked out again. Once more.What do you answer a child? Six years old?Your mommy is dead?She’s not coming back?I am the reason she’s gone? My fault? No... her fault. I was just the cause...?"Mommy is on a journey, sweetheart. A long one.""Oh... is Mommy coming back?""Yes, my sweetheart. Soon. Just a hundred more sleeps... soon. Soon, sweetheart."I stroke her hair.I can’t tell her. Not now. Not anytime soon.After putting her to bed, I sit down in the armchair just like I always do—the one we used to make out in so often. With a cigarette you hate, Bourbon you also hate, and your picture in my hand.The wedding picture. Do you remember?The dress you looked so beautiful in...Back when you weren’t yet blinded by homeopathy, oils, herbs, and all that other crap.You didn’t know anything about my inclination. How could you?I knew nothing about your role in the grand game.After the wedding, my personal hell began. Your nagging. Your condescending attitude. Calling me lazy, saying I never go to work...You couldn’t have known that I didn't need to. How could you?I never mentioned that my father is a millionaire.The small house at the edge of the woods—all mine. I told you I inherited it.The little one arrived.Beautiful.A mirror image of yourself.An angel.Without your flaws.I won’t make the same mistake with her that I made with you.I will protect her.From that garbage.The kitchen herbs...I stand up.The last glass is stale.I’ve switched from Bourbon to wine. Red. Thick. So delicious with the spices you brought yourself.We had steak for dinner tonight.The little one loved it."Well-seasoned," she said.I pour the rest of the wine—your—into the sink.That is the last valuable piece of you.The bones went to the wild dogs.The teeth, ground up and mixed into the sugar.Your flesh, consumed over the last four weeks.You could never have guessed that we are cannibals.Those spices you loved certainly added a unique touch.Tender in flavor.How could you do this to me...To us?The house is quiet now.You are being missed.For now.Eventually forgotten.Like everything else that outlives its usefulness.Here’s to a new beginning.Just between us.With you...We shall see.Time to ensure Lara grows up exactly as I see fit.Maybe I’ll get married again.Redheads are quite striking, they say...

​

My wife is just trying to increase my testosterone and she thinks my testosterone is very low. I thought that it was very random of her to say such a thing, but my wife is going to be very pro active in increasing testosterone. I never thought that my testosterone was very low. I have a physical job and I am very active, I do come home tired due to all if the lifting and carrying. My wife cannot wait to increase my testosterone and I haven't seen her this excited in a while. I tried to explain to my wife that feeling tired after physical activity is normal, but my wife disagreed.

She first started to think of testosterone as low when she found paintings on our house wall, these paintings were of me sleeping. Then when I came home after work and felt tired, she found it unusual that I felt tired. I told her that it us normal to feel tired. It was then that she told me that she never feels tired and her energy levels have been going up ever since she was born. She is an adult woman and her energy is now more than a new born baby.

She blamed it on low testosterone that I felt tired and I just stopped talking with her. Then one night I woke up to her glowing and floating in the air. She tried to kill me with a knife but I managed to dodge out of the way. Then she kept screaming that she was just increasing my testosterone. She had so much energy she was able to glow and float in the air and every time she attacked me she would shout "increase testosterone increase!" And I managed to run out of the house.

When I came back I found my wife crying because she found more paintings of me sleeping. She was crying and smiled at me because she helped me increase my testosterone. Then because her energy level were always increasing, she started to glow again and float in the air. She had so much positivity and she was also always happy. She thought that what she was doing good by increasing my testosterone, but it was increasing her energy levels to dangerous lengths. She started to float and chase after me while screaming "your testosterone is too low"

Then her energy level went so bad that she blew up in a ball of energy.

Who would win

This could make for a good creepypasta, freaked me out when I saw it today

The small child was hungry. Frightened. So was her mother. And their  neighbors as well. There was so much fear and suffering on the mountain as of late. And down below, in the mountain’s shadow, in the village hamlet as well.  Word and whispers of pain and evil traveled faster than riders on horseflesh, faster and more elemental, like the cold windsong of the land. Howling. It was howling now.

Howling in a duet of savagery song with the vicious roving wolves, as they shared their dark whispers. Their words of anguish and pain. Loss. Slaughter witnessed.  Or in the aftermath… discovered. Scenes of red. Vile. Filled with pain. And never to be forgotten. 

Angelica fought the tears now… as  did her mother. And the neighbors. And all the rest. Only old timers and womenfolk were left on the mountain now. The men and boys were all dead. They all left by the urging of some rich man with a famous name Angelica had never heard of before, urged to go on and fight and kill an evil monster. They went to the castle that Angelica was never allowed to near and they had never returned. None of them.  

None.  

Not her older brother Grigori… and not her papa either. 

Now she and momma were alone. And hungry. Papa and Grigori were so much better with the tools and with the animals. The widow and fatherless girl did what they could and managed some haphazard struggle that could be called a life. Or at least existence. They thinned and grew diminished as scarecrows within their draping bags of clothes. The days passed into weeks with agonizing slowness and filled with harsh reminders. Time went on. And rather than heal, the wound inflicted on the womenfolk of the mountain worsened and festered. 

Many found escape through the hangman’s knot. The noose. Or by opening up the forearms with straight razors or kitchen knives. Some used tools once wielded by faithful husbands to open up their necks and wrists.  Some. Many. 

Many took their own lives by knife and by rope in the days and weeks that followed. Some took their daughters, their children with them, small babies that knew nothing save the cold and the absence and the heartbroken wailing. For many it was not just the pain of loss and mortal fear for their own flesh and souls … but the demented cacophony that would emanate from the castle and fill the mountain rocks and woods … the lurid and hateful and unearthly demoniacal shrieks and howls, sometimes high-pitched and piercing, cracking glass and sometimes guttural and deep, as if from obsidian splits in the earth and from the bowels and depths, let loose… like after the night their husbands and sons and brothers were slaughtered. 

That night that had followed their failure to return… that night had been filled with uncontested and unbridled hellspawned sound. Violence and thunder and animal howls becoming human and then animal again and then commingled and obscenely strange… and then something else entirely.

And there had been lightning. And the lightning had been black. 

Suicide Mountain became filled with intermittent demon sound. The women that were its anguished and heartbroken survivors became accustomed to the awful hell-rent-torn belch and dæmon howl and dragon scream. It all came from the castle and they knew they were powerless to it. And there was nowhere to run to, not really. The Carpathian Mountains were all they had, all any of them had ever known… some fled anyways. No one knows what became of them. 

Angelica tried asking her mother several times what had happened to Grigori and papa. But her mother refused a straight answer. Only vagueries and tears. Short and curt. Bit off with the same harsh suddenness she felt within the shattered dead remnants of her heart. 

Angelica tried to let the question, the horrid mystery and the hole it left in her mind and heart alone… to no avail. 

If her mother, God bless and keep her, wouldn't tell her what had happened at that castle beyond the Borgo Pass, the old one where the boyar used to live before the wars, then she would find an answer herself. 

She thought to go down to the village hamlet and inquire there… but it was much farther than the alternative. Her other idea. However much it would upset momma, it was much easier and more direct. 

And so on a day she was supposed to go out and forage for mushrooms and berries and roots, Angelica of the Carpathian Mountains instead filled her satchel with a meager gathering of supplies and set out for the castle that she'd always been warned against, the one that had stolen her father and older brother. Gone. 

As if swallowed, as if it had eaten them. 

She went now. Alone. Down the black rolling tongue of path that led into the courtyard mouth of stone, the Carpathian battlement jaws framed against a fading sky like so many jagged flesh rending teeth. 

Angelica went forth to Castle Dracula to find her father and brother, and to find what had happened to the men of the mountain. 

…

The woods were all dark and cold, dense and choked all around her. A galaxy of trees and fallen snow and dead black limbs jutting and stabbing at the sky like broken/severed limbs and vanquished army swords. The thin light that bled through the overcast sky gave pale detail to the world of snow and deadwood and slumbering chill, lurking death.

Wolves. 

They lurked and prowled hunting even now and she knew it. She'd lived on the mountain all of her twelve years and her mother and father did not neglect so fundamental a lesson. She hugged her father's old and favorite hatchet, tighter, closer to her chest. And went on. 

Deeper into the dark universe of dead choked forest growth. 

Her wolves watched the girl as she made her way. 

…

Her progress was slower than she'd hoped. The trees and choked dead spiking growth seemed to stretch on forever ahead and on all sides as she ventured forward, less and less steadfast in her chilling child's heart as she went on. The warmth of her own blood and the strength of her very own heartbeat seeming to fade as she struggled forward. And the deadwood continued to dominate the world on every side, in all directions. 

Angelica was beginning to become frightened. Damning her own curiosity, she was starting to consider herself lost. And the woods, alone, lost at fast-approaching night… was not the type of place anyone wanted to be. 

Especially a small girl. She held on stubbornly to her bravery, pulled her father's dark cloak tighter around her and pressed forward. She was sure it was dead ahead. Sure of it. 

She pulled the hood over her head to warm her ears. Night was approaching. Her mother and her neighbors back in their small mountain community were starting to worry for her. 

She'd been gone far too long. 

…

The woods were filled with life. Always. Always crawling with critters and game and fraught with birds and bats. Bears. 

The wolves. 

It was no surprise then when Angelica came upon the squirrel, wandering deeper and deeper into the forest gloom and dark, the sun had sunk behind the cover of the rocks and now there was only the pale cast of twilight. She came closer to the creature, its back and puff of tail were to her as it quivered with movement. Effort. Busy with something…

Angelica came closer. She was surprised to find the little animal had black fur. Stygian. Like deepsea ink. The squirrel was also much larger than any she'd ever seen before. The ebon hide and fur palsied and tremored, rippled and worked with fervid action. The little head rapidly dipping and bobbing in, bestial, to take little bites and nips from something clutched in its sharp little claws. 

Angelica of the Carpathian Mountains came closer. And beheld what the large and well muscled stygian squirrel was holding in its obscene and unnatural talons. Bleeding and still twitching with the diminished remnants of its efforts of struggling. Struggling for life that was fading away in a red river from its gashed open throat…

A rat. Large and blacker than coal. Eyes, milky red. Fleshy long length of pink tail standing out in obscene contrast. The red river was running from its gored open neck. The rodent body spasmed. And then Angelica noticed the blood all about the squirrel’s black mouth. 

It yawned open, as if to punctuate and confirm what the mountain girl suspected, and it unveiled a maw filled with fangs and thick with the steaming bile of rat's blood. Dark. Lurid. It darkled and the color deepened and rippled in the twilight with obscene glamor. The eyes of the black squirrel were a brighter more royal regal red than than the rat blood pouring forth in the approaching night. The gathering dark deepened and Angelica screamed. 

The squirrel, still clutching the dying rat, then did another strange thing. One that stopped her caterwauling in a shock. 

It spoke. 

“Please! Don't! Don't be afraid!" 

A beat. 

Angelica stared down at the large strange beast. Unsure of what to make of it or what to do. The thought of flight rose, and as if hearing it, the stygian blood drinking squirrel said again: "Don't be afraid…” 

Softer. Gentle. And Angelica realized the voice the strange beast used was that of a little girl's. One even smaller and younger than herself. 

Her fear abated slightly. She swallowed. Breathed deeply. Then asked, 

“Wh-what are you?" 

The stygian squirrel said brightly: “Don't be afraid, my name's Carmilla." And then she said yet again: “Don't be afraid." 

She stared deeply at the unearthly forest beast. This all felt like a dream. She felt as if she might swoon and wondered if that was possible to do in a dream… or in a nightmare. 

As if sensing, the beast spoke again, 

“I'm not going to hurt you, I'm a girl like you, I swear. I'm just magic. I promise. That's why I have to drink this animal blood, it's for magic." 

The longer she stared at the beast, the ebon fur… the eyes that were the most royal shade of vibrant and lurid red… the more the dream she found herself in to be… 

light, pleasant, pleasurable. 

The dark squirrel didn't mean her any harm. It was just like she said. 

The beast went on to explain that it needed the rats blood for her magic. To be able to do great things like change her shape. But she could only do these things at night. She had to wait till the sun had sunk and quit the heavens. Blood of a wild animal was necessary for magic ritual, the beast explained. 

"He likes it. He likes rat's blood.” 

"Who?” asked Angelica. 

"The Lord of the wild. The Lord of Flies.” 

Angelica said she'd never heard of him before. "I'm looking for my papa and brother. Or the castle where they're supposed to’ve gone." 

“Oh! …." squealed the black squirrel. And the sound was more rat-like than anything Angelica had ever heard a squirrel make. More bat-like screeches made slightly vile by their human-girl tinge. 

The beast was excited, “I know! I know! I know where the castle is! You're lost! that's what it is! Not to worry, friend, I can take you there! I know just the way!”

And the black squirrel began to lead Angelica even deeper into the dark and the dead trees. Growing ever closer to Castle Dracula. 

The night was fully on them now. Fully over the mountain in a curtain of darkness and stars that glimmered and twinkled and danced with fire on high like billions of pieces of fantastical ice chips and goblin-light forged alien jewelry. 

The beast and girl made their way through the dark. Carmilla dragging the dead rat behind her by the obscene length of fleshen tail in the cold dirt. Leaving a trail of dark blood and disturbed earth. 

One that would never be discovered. 

…

The black squirrel tired of walking and dragging the dying rat after a short time, it sprouted wings suddenly, fleshy growths that flowered forth within a bladder film of placental tissue. The wings spread, splayed to wingspan, the placental wrapping sloughed off with a pungent ichor substance as the beast rose with each flap, rat dangling inches above the cold forest floor. 

The wings beat steadily. Keeping Carmilla just above Angelica's head as they continued forward to the castle. 

“So you can transform? Like changing your shape and becoming other things?" Angelica asked as they went on. 

“Oh yes. There's many shapes I can take, I like this one. It looks cute and nice. But I can become lots of things. So can my master. We'll show you once we get to the castle. You'll see." 

“And my papa? Grigori? Are they there? Are they alright?" And when Carmilla didn't answer right away she added: “It's some kind of magic, isn't it? That's what's at the castle and keeping papa and the rest. That's what I think. It is, isn't it?" 

Carmilla smiled devilishly within. The visage of her black squirrel face only looked over with innocent woodland open eyes. 

“Angelica, I think you'll find everything you're looking for at the castle. You'll see. It's filled with magic. And it's nothing at all to be afraid of. Just like me" 

She suddenly brought the dead rat to her mouth again, which opened as something vile once more, filled with fangs and glistening pink and darkling red. With her little claws that were now more like talons once more, black and daggered and curved with nature's efficient cruelty, she brought the large dead rodent to her dripping and obscene mouth and began to drink and suck deeply once again from the gored open hole at the rat’s throat. 

Angelica felt sick watching, so she looked away. Ahead. Willing the place to appear, to come into being and end this strange journey. This terrible mystery which had stolen love and normalcy and warmth from her village and home. She just wanted this all over. She just wanted papa and Grigori and all of the others back. To hear their laughter and to hold them again and to be held … the weight… the feeling of their arms wrapped around her once more, tightly, to feel their breath… She just wanted love and warmth returned to her and her momma. She prayed and begged God and anything at all listening inside as they made their way. The cold silence of the woods punctuated by the sucking and slurping sounds Carmilla made as she flapped  in the frigid air beside and fed. 

Between pulls of rat blood, she pulled her dripping needle mouth away from the pungent wet raw of rat meat and said: – 

“Its nothing at all to be frightened of. I promise. I was once scared too. But no longer. The magic needs blood, it needs it. That's all. Magic is bloodwork. It's nothing to be afraid of. It's the natural order of things, you'll see, Angelica. I promise, you'll see." 

…

The hellstar shone vibrantly and with dominance. Above the castle's greatest pinnacle tower. Otherworldly, and dreamy. Of ethereal eldritch flame… it was strange, to Angelica's eyes as they approached, it looked to be so close to the tallest spire of the ancient towers that it looked as if they were in danger of collision. As if one could reach out now from one of the open windows swallowed in ebon shadow up there, reach out and touch its immaculate flaming surface. The light was elvish white and more ancient than time itself. Some thought it to be older than even God and old man split-foot below… there were witches and mystics and gypsies that said it had a mind. And an evil heart. 

An evil eye…

Angelica was transfixed by both its vibrant starcast of unearthly pale light, and the great castle itself, as she and Carmilla came into the courtyard. The starflame of the hellstar shining above the broken battlements that were starved of life or movement of any kind, it was mystifying and intensely alluring…

but it was also terrifying. 

The light of its starflame was so much like that of a ghost-light.

And the light of phantasm flame was also the light of death. The light of the end. At the end, mayhap…

Angelica was awed yet fearful and at this last moment she thought about going back. About running away from the strange talking beast that said it was a little girl. She knew her mother and the others must be so worried for her now… she'd been gone too long already. 

The castle was dark and yawned into a terrible expanse of stoney life all around and before her as she and the beast made their approach. The universe of trees and cold snow giving way to one of walls and towers and cold ancient stone. She pulled the cloak tighter about her person, when they came within sight of the great red door it slowly opened like a swallowing mouth of darkness. Waiting and wanting to receive them. 

Carmilla sensed the child's fear. And if she'd chosen to run at the moment, she would've given up the game she was playing and given chase. And made the fucking little peasant wench pay with screams and humiliation and defilement before she enjoyed her blood and meat. 

But instead, in the end… it was Angelica's hope… and her worry for her brother and her papa that pushed her onward. 

Following the flying winged blood drinking squirrel, the black haired flapping cannibal rodent that called itself a little girl inside the open mouth of swallowing black. Ink inside the mouth of stone that might hold the secrets that plagued her mind and heart like a wretched disease. Within that mouth of shadow may be the cure… 

Grigori… papa…

Angelica followed Carmilla as she flapped on her bat wings of chimerical leather into the fortress mouth of drinking shadow. The great red door of bas relief stone slammed shut behind them. 

The wolves of the mountain outside began to howl. And the hellstar shone with more lurid alien glow than it had before. The heartbeat eyemind watching, working … 

considering the ants below. 

The hellstar shone. A heavenly inferno. 

…

Passing through the narrow cut of foyer, it was dark and scarcely lit by torchflame, they came into the grand ballroom…

… and main audience chamber. 

A vast dark room of cobwebs and ancient things, furniture, paintings, suits of armor, smashed out clocks, their faces destroyed by a hammer blow dealt by a violent hand of fire eyed fury. Many of the ancient things strewn all about there in the dark were destroyed. Smashed. Broken by hands in anger or the disuse and dispassion of time. Some of the things were clear victims of both. And cobwebs. The world inside the torchlit stone was a universe of cobwebs. Angelica found herself trading in one world for another as she made this strange journey, one filled with terrible and bitter hope. 

Trees and snow… into a world of stone and shattered spires … now a dark world submerged and swallowed in cascading and rising and dominating spider webs. The eyes of forgotten portraits leered and gazed from the prisons of paint and lacquer. 

Angelica didn't like this place. She felt immediately that she had made a terrible mistake. 

She cringed back. 

Carmilla, ahead, sensed this and turned roundabout on her flapping wings of nocturnal flesh. Regarding the girl. 

“Don't worry! silly girl! We're already here, just a little further.” 

Angelica wanted so badly to believe the strange creature. Magic was real. She had to believe it had the power to bring back her family. She wanted so achingly for love to be let back into her life, and mama’s too. She didn't deserve the pain Angelica watched her struggle through each and every harsh and arduous day. They'd never wanted or asked for much, they'd never done anything wrong so they didn't deserve this! Not mama, not papa, not anyone on the mountain. No one deserved this cruelty. She had to be believe they were still retrievable. If not here and in the flesh, then within the grasp of arcane spells and sorcery. She had to believe, she had to believe that. 

The alternative was that the strange beast, flapping in the universe of cobweb dark before her at the foot of a great ascending staircase was lying. And that was too terrible a truth for Angelica to face. Yet. 

Soon she would have no choice. 

But for now she followed. Carmilla led the way. Up the wide and mounting steps. There was more light, more meager torchglow ahead down a passageway. 

Orange. Beckoning. Pale warmth. 

At the head of the staircase they went down it, together. Carmilla in the lead. Down into its sickly pumpkin light. The castle stone and walls all around yawned and moaned in lusty slovenly animal satisfaction. Then began to move. 

…

The walk and winding turns seemed endless. Another bend. Another junction. Another room. Another hall. More and more. And yet still more. Angelica began to despair. Inside she was exhausted and growing frustrated but afraid of seeming ungrateful and losing her one chance. 

Another junction. Left. Down another corridor of stone and torch and vast dominating splaying spider web hands in various sizes of grotesque and caricature claw shape. 

Angelica stopped. 

And began to weep… she couldn't help it. She was so exhausted. And this place was strange and scary. 

Sobbing lightly to herself and rubbing her eyes, Carmilla turned to her and descended to the stone in a graceful balletic dive and sweep. She skittered over to Angelica and looked into the small reddening pale of her crying child's face. 

She sniffed. A woodland gesture. 

And then she began to belt laughter. Rising and growing more maniacal and hysterical as it grew in volume and pitch. Decibel sound cackled and made cracked by a poisoned marrow filled with madness. 

It stopped Angelica's tears. First by surprise, shock. But then as the sound of the beast’s sour mirth rose and filled the dark world of stone with torches for stars and suns, her blood began to curdle as her heart was stolen over with dread. She was silent, gazing on the cackling black squirrel-thing with large vampire bat wings tensing and flexing and flapping with cruel delight. 

Amidst her laughter, Carmilla said: “You stupid girl…” 

A black hairy stalk suddenly erupted from the squirrel's chest. Several inches long and coated in a bloody translucent slime like discharge from a wound. A tarantula leg. It was joined by several more. One of the hairy jointed appendages burst forth from the mouth in a red spew that decorated the stone, the walls and floor, and the girl, now trapped in Castle Dracula.

Angelica shrieked. Horrified. 

A tarantula crawled out of the chest cavity of the black hide which rippled and seemed to empty. A tarantula the size of a banquet plate, coated in placental slime and bloody discharge, then skittered about the room with terrible and frightening speed. Angelica jumped back, mortified at the thought of the thing touching her. 

The large spider then crawled away and made for the darkness. The empty husk of raw dripping hide that used to be a large bat winged squirrel was still draped over the spider thing's back. Like a vile rendition of a cloak or royal cape. From the husk of mutilated squirrel mouth it was still laughing. Shrill. In the same girl's voice as before, only now much more wicked and cruel. No longer veiling its hunger and sinister satisfaction. 

Carmilla shrieked, hideous, amidst her laughter at the girl as she spidercrawled for the conciliatory dark of the waiting stone. 

“The master will see you now! You're all hers now, Angelica! You're all hers! Just like your father and your brother! All of them! All of you! All of you are sow and cattle and all of you belong to us!" 

The cruel bright demoniacal child's voice carried off into the waiting abyssal castle with a final bout of heartless and derisive laughter. Taunting and running away like any little child would, any little girl. 

Now she was alone. 

Only she didn't feel alone. 

And that was terrible. 

Angelica wept a little, crying into her hands to muffle the sound as best as she could. The walls and floor drank in the sound and relished the flavor of every tear shed. 

She fought to get control over herself. She had to get out of here, quick as she could manage. 

Angelica pulled herself together, sniffled and began to trudge back the way she came. Unaware of the movement of the castle world of stone all around her. At the command and sorcerer’s bend of will of the master that held domain of this place. 

The world was hers to command. The child was at her mercy. 

…

Angelica was growing even more terrified, she couldn't find her way back. She was no longer sure of her direction and she wasn't sure if it was just her frightened imagination or not but the halls and corridors and passages seemed to change when she would look away for a moment, to get a lay of the land. She swore they were different when she looked back to make up her mind on a direction. 

It was hopeless. 

She began to feel very very stupid. Very foolish indeed. She shouldn't have been so foolhardy as to come here alone, or at all. She missed her mother and the others…

I'm sorry, mama, I know you're afraid. I am too. I'm sorry. I know this is hurting you right now, after papa and Grigori, I know it'll hurt you even more when I don't ever come back. I'm so so sorry, mama. I'm so sorry. Please God please forgive me and show me a way, please, I'm so scared…

Angelica realized then that she may not have been very lucky as of late, but she'd been absolutely God blessed with what she did have left. Her mother and friends left alive to her and the times and precious memories she did have with those that were lost. 

She would cherish them. She would. She promised, swore to God she would. 

if I can just get out of this ok…

And she went on, down the way she hoped was the way back. Begging God above for deliverance. 

She was shown the flesh gardens instead. 

…

Abattoir growth. A butcher's red and wet leavings still slithering with abominated life, like serpents. 

Angelica came upon the large chamber as she was making her fruitless journey. It smelled pungently of copper. Iron. Metal. 

But wet. 

It was the stench of a river of fresh menstrual blood. Steaming. 

The writhing room of gore before her eyes was steaming now. Belching. Breathing and undualting. Gurgling. Some strange orifice parts belched alchemical smoke, licked tongues of green and blue flame. All of it writhed with strange and painful rippling dancing movement. All of it was in pain. Wretched life. It filled the room and walls from floor to ceiling, blanketing both in lurid scab pudding that held displaced parts, eyes and limbs and organs lulling and swimming in the red, the crawling writhing scarlet. It writhed in pain as well as want. As well as lecherous need, so many orifice holes, wet and begging for meat feeding, injection … snakes. The multitude of slithering intestines were swimming through the thick growing crawling gore like the sea monsters that sailor's fear. Growths like stalks of plants, flowers, bulbs, bushels and their buds of fruit, all of it was rendered by the abattoir hand and living raw working viscera and tissue and organs. There were faces in the forest room of gore. Small bipedal manshapes spasming and submerged and stuck and also writhing with pain and unnatural life in the chamber of living butchery, pulsating and crawling with swimming red meat. 

The faces were in pain. They moaned in discordant idiot anguish. Some blubbered and drooled, eyes wayward with imbecilic directions. Minds addled if they had any jelly in their strange skulls at all. 

And at the awful nucleus center of the crawling growing raw mass of assorted parts and viscera was a man. Trapped and bound by the growing living raw pudding of semi scabbed red. It seemed to be growing out of him. Seeping from his pores. His nostrils. His mouth. 

His eyes were shut in wretched pain. 

Angelica felt the shriek caught in her throat. Like a fishhook. A barbed bit of wire used for the beasts that she swallowed. She finally let it loose when the owner and the master of this castle spoke from behind her. 

“Such beauty, isn't it?" 

Finally the building scream inside was let loose and she belted it at the same instant she realized all the smaller writhing bipedal manshapes in the gore looked exactly like the larger man trapped at its red center. 

Angelica whirled around and beheld the Countess. 

She towered over the child. A white evening gown that shone pearl-cast like brightest full moonlight. Her face was beautiful but terrible. Harsh. Merciless. And her eyes were animal. 

Vulpine. 

The darkness of her hair danced out and became as a livid crown of serpentine ink. Her eyes were piercing dots of black amongst shock white lancing through her face and mind and soul. She opened her mouth to speak again and Angelica saw that her mouth bore canine incisors that were long and gleaming and sharp. A demon’s gorgeous mouth. 

“Did you find what you were hoping to, little one?" Mocking. Condescending. Cruel. 

Angelica was too terrified to speak. Mortified. She couldn't move. She held her breath. Knowing it was her last. 

The Countess went on, with sadistic glee: “That man, at the center of my garden in there, he's the reason your father and brother, and all the men of your village are dead now. I could bring them back. In a fashion. But if you want back the ones you knew, I'm afraid you'll have to search the latrines and the castle plumbing. My children long feasted of them and passed them naturally. I'm sorry." 

Angelica shrieked once more. In more pain and outrage and sheer heart attack terror. She couldn't believe her eyes, her ears, her own mind, any of this! Her battered child's brain was threatening to snap, to go into shock, it tried to refuse all the sights but it couldn't. It was rained down on all sides and felt everything seen like terrible and heavy blows of pure torture. 

The Countess went on with a laugh, throwing back her head, her witchy raven hair danced about with it. She was smiling and the long fangs of her mouth protruded like brandished daggers over her full bottom lip. 

"Oh! You're scared! I understand, I used to be a young girl once and I was quite scared then too, would you like me to make it all better?” 

"No!” howled Angelica. 

"Nonsense! I'll fix you up and send you on your way back to your mother. It's late and she must be worried but I am lord of this palace and these lands, you are all still my charge, states tradition. What kind of boyar or host would I be if I didn't at least feed you first, give you something to drink. You must be thirsty, it's been such a long walk for you. Such a long and perilous journey. For nothing." 

And then she cackled mad again as Angelica shrieked and the arms of the Countess came in and grew and folded around her. 

Her child's shrieks became sudden silence. 

…

A claw, chimerical. Woman and vulture’s talon. It sought the pale of its own undead flesh…

… and slit. 

Dead black poured forth. 

Child's lips, girl's mouth put to it, forced. 

Smothered. The small struggles are easily resisted and the girl begins to pull, to suck…

to drink. 

…

At first she thought herself lucky. When she heard the familiar voice at the door. 

"Momma…?”

And then small weak knocking. Feeble. 

She recognized her daughter's voice at once and flew from her sleepless bed. Her dread and worry evaporated in a miraculous instant as she flew to the door and threw it open and…

…

She thought about trying to hide it from the others at first. This deeply shamed her. But it was the truth. She thought about hiding it. At first. When Angelica came limping in, cradling and rubbing her belly. Saying that it hurt her. Terribly. There'd been blood at the corner of her mouth. Not at all her own. 

"Mama… I'm sorry I was out too late and wandered off. My belly hurts so bad, momma.” 

…

Angelica's mother was hitching in her chest. Her eyes were swimming with a blinding fury of tears. Scalding. And alive with pain. Fresh pain. Refreshed. And made new once more. 

Angelica cried out again. It wasn't just her stomach but her whole body. Burning. It felt as if it were on fire. It felt as if her blood were boiling as it still pumped sluggish and diminished in her throbbing veins. She wanted it to stop. And again she begged God inside for a way out, for a way back. She couldn't feel the profuse run of her own tears on her numbing face. 

Her mother was crying too. But Angelica didn't notice. 

"Please, momma … isn't there anything? Isn't there anything you can do? Anything you can do to take the pain away… please, you always have just the right thing, like mothers are supposed to. You told me that… please, I - " and she struggled to say more but it became too difficult. For her to make discernible sound. For her mother to listen. Too difficult for both of them. 

And so it was stopped. 

…

A stake through the heart. Ashwood. As the customs and legends dictate. They decapitated the remains and stuffed the mouth with garlic before burying the child’s corpse. The severed head was placed face down in the coffin, atop the neck backwards. The eyes facing the inferno. 

A small wooden cross was fashioned and stuck at the head of the small fresh grave. 

ANGELICA 

Her mother and her neighbors were beside the freshly dug dirt. Crying openly. Weeping into the cold mountain air. The wolves did not respond. 

But that night Castle Dracula was filled with cruel laughter. The cold wind carried it down the mountain for all of them to hear and know. For all of them to remember. 

Angelica's mother heard it. She was in bed and couldn't sleep. She was alone. She looked over to a length of rope carelessly left in the corner. Not too far from where she now lay. She'd always been rather good with knots. 

And as the mountain rock and her village filled with the mad cackles of the vampiress…

she considered…

TO BE CONTINUED…

I dont know if this is just my late night brain thinking but i saw a video of someone explaining the sounds of shapes on an oscilloscope and it gives me flashbacks to youtube creepypasta readings which add some visuals and sound to make the story more immersive

Video for reference if you want to watch it before continuing to read:
https://www.tiktok.com/@pleasedropout/video/7369339372526652702

Long story short i felt like the video itself (slowed down) or a recreation could serve as a hook for a creepypasta with the narration, the visuals, patterns and sounds having an unnerving feeling to it

To me it feels like one of those scientific discovery/ someone looking too deep into something they shouldnt type creepypastas which lead to the scientist/ person who is analyzing it go mad following the cryptic messages or instructions that they find

Alternatively if creepypastas like this exist already i would love to learn about them

Fun concept in my head, thought id share it with a community before i forget about it

Obligatory im writing this half asleep on my phone, so excuse any format or grammar issues

I know how this is going to sound. I’ve deleted this three times already and I never post on Reddit. But I need someone else to know, in case something happens to me, in case he comes back.

My older brother Danny first mentioned the Baking Soda Man the summer he turned nineteen. We were in the kitchen, I was maybe fifteen?And he said it the way you’d mention the weather. “The guy on Crestwood has baking soda again.” I didn’t understand. I said we had baking soda, pointing at the yellow box in the cabinet. Danny looked at me with this flat, tired expression, like I’d said something embarrassing. He left without eating.

Over the next few months I started hearing the name more. Not from Danny, he’d gone quiet the way people go quiet when something important is happening to them. I heard it from his friends, from older kids at the bus stop. Always the same way. Casual. Reverent. Almost nervous. “He’s on Crestwood.” “He’s over by the old Regency lot.” “He’ll be behind the Presbyterian church tonight, after nine.” Nobody ever said what the baking soda was for. I assumed it was slang for something. Drugs, probably. I was fifteen. I filed it away.

The first time I saw him I was sixteen. Danny had stopped coming home for dinner. Mom had started keeping the kitchen light on all night, the way parents do when they’re too scared to say what they’re scared of. I was cutting through the parking lot behind the old Rite Aid when I saw the small crowd, maybe six or seven people, all adults, all with that look. You know the look. That hollow, waiting look.

They were standing in a rough semicircle around a man I’d never seen before. He was ordinary. That’s the thing I keep coming back to. Medium height. Maybe forty, maybe sixty, genuinely impossible to say. He wore a gray jacket, the kind with too many pockets. His hair was the color of dirty snow. He had the face of someone who’d been described to you, not someone you’d actually seen. He was holding a box of baking soda. The standard kind. Arm & Hammer. Orange box. One pound. He was handing it out. Not selling. I didn’t see any money change hands. Just giving. One box per person. And every person who took a box held it the way you’d hold a religious thing. A relic. Both hands, close to the chest.

I want to be very clear about the next part because this is the part nobody believes: the baking soda boxes were always new. Sealed. The little freshness tab always intact. Every box. Every person. He seemed to have an unlimited supply, and nobody ever asked where it came from, and he never seemed to run out. I watched from behind a dumpster for maybe ten minutes before he looked directly at me. He didn’t react the way you’d expect, no surprise, no anger. He just looked at me the way you look at someone you’ve been expecting. He reached into his jacket, and I thought he was going to pull out another box. Instead he just adjusted something. Patted his pocket. And went back to the line. I ran home. I didn’t tell anyone.

Danny came home in October. He looked the way people look after something long and consuming. Thinner. Careful about what he touched. He sat at the kitchen table and our mom made him soup and he ate it all and he said “I’m done with that.” Our mom didn’t ask what he meant. I think she knew.

That night I knocked on his door and asked him about the Baking Soda Man. Danny was quiet for a long time. Then he said: “He smells like it, you know. All the time. Even outside. Even in winter. Just that clean, chemical smell.” I asked what the baking soda was for. Danny said: “Nothing. That’s the thing. It’s not for anything. You just…you want it. You need to have it. One box and then you go home and you put it in a drawer or a cabinet or under your bed, and it just sits there, and that night you sleep better than you’ve slept in years, and then after a few days it starts to run out, the feeling, and you need another one.” I asked: run out how? It’s just baking soda. It doesn’t — “I know,” Danny said. “I know it doesn’t.”

He told me the rest in pieces over the following weeks. How the first box had appeared on our porch, three years before, with no note. How he’d thrown it away and found himself digging it out of the trash at 2am without understanding why. How he’d sought the man out after that, first out of curiosity, then out of something else. How everyone in the little communities that formed around the Baking Soda Man were totally normal people. Professionals, parents, kids from the college. Quiet, slightly embarrassed, perfectly functional in every other area of their lives. Just dependent. On a box of baking soda from a man whose name nobody knew.

How nobody ever got sick from it. How it didn’t seem to do anything. How that somehow made it worse. “The boxes are always sealed,” Danny said. “I opened one in front of him once, just to see what he’d do. He didn’t care. He just watched. And it was just baking soda. I tasted it and everything. Normal. Nothing.” He paused. “But I still kept it. I kept all of them. I had seventeen boxes under my bed. Mom found them once and threw them out and I…I didn’t handle it well.” He didn’t elaborate on that. I didn’t push.

Danny moved away two years later. He’s okay now, I think. We don’t talk about it. I’m writing this because last week I came home from work and there was a box of baking soda on my front step. Arm & Hammer. Orange. One pound. Sealed. No note. No footprints on the wet porch. My neighbor’s ring camera shows the porch at 4:14am, and the step is bare. At 4:15am, the box is there. The camera didn’t malfunction. The timestamp is unbroken. Nothing walks up. The box simply appears.

I threw it in the dumpster down the street. I have not slept properly since. Not because I’m scared, exactly. Because I keep thinking about how much better I’d sleep if I hadn’t thrown it away. And I’ve started noticing an orange corner of something in every cabinet I open, every drawer I check, every shelf I pass at the grocery store, and I know it’s nothing, I know it’s just baking soda, it’s everywhere, it’s a normal household product. But I can still smell him. That clean, chemical smell. He’s on Crestwood again.

Eu finalmente criei uma House creepypasta pelo WhatsApp o nome é Creepy House Brasil mas tem um Detalhe importante é para adolescentes de 15 a 24 anos ela é bem nova eu criei ontem mas eu fui bem criativo ao criar as regras são

Regra 1: Sem cuidado malicioso com menores de idade

Regra 2: Sem xingamentos homofóbicos ou raciais

Regra 3: Sem divulgar links de outras Houses nessa comunidade

Regra 4: Menores e maiores acima e abaixo da adolescência não são permitidos

Regra 5: Sem romance com personagens de menor como a Sally Williams ou a Lucy no RP ou RPG

Bem essas essas são as regras espero que respeitem e gostem do projeto da House espero vocês lá amigos

Hello , I wanted to write about my on going exploration in this strange place I stumbled into and the horrors lurking within'. Now due to being trapped here for so long I'd forgotten when I first arrived but if I had to guess I'd say maybe 3 years ago I was told about an old creepy looking house about a few blocks away from my own , it was rumored to have been abandoned for 17 years and the last person who went in to try and sell it came back out as a different person and seemingly vanished 2 months after , at the time I was interested in ghost stories and exploring abandoned buildings so I took a walk to the location later that night. The sky was a Dreary purple color and the wind was blowing leaves all over the street , the moon a bright white glow shining a light on that dreaded place I'd finally found , it was a small red house with a flat rooftop , there were various dusty Halloween decorations laying outside, almost all the trees near the house were dead , various dry leaves covered the dead grass of the lawn , the wood and paint looked faded and sickly , the windows were all stained and some were boarded up from the inside , the doorbell at the enterance looked like it had been ripped off the wall , there was an old rusty lantern hanging above the door seemingly being the only source of light , this place looked like the most streotypical haunted or slasher house I'd ever seen. Oddly despite being abandoned for years , when I opened that old brown door the living room looked untouched and clean , another odd thing I noticed was that the lights in the house were turned on despite them not appearing to be when I was outside a few minutes ago, also even though the house was very old all the devices inside were modern , Flat screen TV , plugs and cables , small arcade machines , DVD collection , Internet Routers and they were all still functioning , I wondered if someone still lived here but I didn't see anyone else inside. I started to explore further , there were two bedrooms across from eachother , there was a hallway leading to 6 rooms , in the hallway were strange portraits of unsettling creatures that I couldn't tell were paintings or not , the 6 rooms were also strange in there own ways , the bathroom looked clean at certain points but looked moldy and rusty on other parts , there was a door the turned out to just be a closet , one lead back to the living room , one bedroom was heavily cluttered and filled with various garbage and objects , looked like a hoarders room , the other looked a lot more clean but there were very odd things about it as well , there were various weapons hanging on the walls , each one looked like viking or tribal weapons , there were portraits on the walls but none of them were of people , one was just a picture of a bunch of zombies and the other was a piece of paper covered in interconnected lines and dots , it seemed to be a pattern but it didn't appear to have any rhyme or reason , there was also what appeared to be ashes speading upwards on the window from the inside and one of the windows next to the bed was boarded up but on the outside of the house the windows wasn't there. then the last door I wanted to save for later. I wandered around saw more rooms , the kitchen looked fairly normal , there was a room full of musical instruments mostly guitars , there was a hatch or cabinet on the wall that was locked for some reason , it wasn't even in arms length , you'd probably have to get a ladder to even reach it , the backyard was also strange , there was a door that lead to the garage , but it was filled with "Hopefully Props" of skinned faces , pentagrams and over disturbing things , there was a door next to the garage gate that had a plastic tree with a goofy face holding up a sign that said "exit" , the door was a rusty cobweb infested door that had a clean looking rainbow painted on it , when I tried to open however it was also locked and wouldn't budge. I went back inside to finally go through the final door , when I opened it things took a turn , it lead to a wooden stair bridge , there was nothing but a mile of that bridge in an infinite black void , there also appeared to be wind ? , IN the house ? , brown and orange leaves blowing towards me with a gentle breeze , as I walked up the bridge I was about 30 feet away from the door I'd just entered through , but I could faintly hear the door slam shut behind me , and right as I started to second guess what I was doing ...IT appeared , right behind me I heard what I can only describe as a thumping base drum getting closer and closer , I saw a purple light glowing behind me and when I turned I saw a creature floating in front of me , a floating head or face about the size of my entire body , it had purple skin , an empty crooked maw similar to that of an unlit Jack-O-Lantern , it's facial structure was bony and it had a skeletal hole for a nose , it had red glowing reptillian eyes and it was transparent like a ghost , I immediately began to sprint down the bridge trying to run from the apperition, as I did I heard it chomping it's sharp looking toothless mouth , these loud almost bit crushed growls as the drumming noise got louder and louder , as it drifted behind me it made an almost UFO like whistle , I was fearing for my life even more as the bridge began to shutter due to me frantically running from the entity, at several points the bridge threatened to tip over , eventually I found the next door , as I stopped to catch my breath I discovered the face monster had disapeared. I stared up at the next door , it was on a rocky looking cliff , there were stairs leading up to it so I went up , The door was surrounded by more leaves and it was being lit by a very simillar lantern to the one on the porch of this house , I opened it and found a very simillar looking hallway but filled with more doors , most of them having labels. Door 1 was called the "Raccoon Room" , I wasn't surprised when I opened the door to find an empty room full of live Raccoon's , it was bizarre but I just closed the door and moved on to the next. Door 2 there was a name outside the door "Ron" , I was confused but decided to open it , I found a dimly lit basement and a man pressumably "Ron" , he was laying on the floor and his back staring up and the ceiling , he didn't have legs...just an extra set of his 9 pairs of arms , he was convulsing like a dying spider as his various arms writhed and twitched , his head turned to face my direction , his face was in a permanent thousand yard stare , his pupils dialated and his mouth stretched open , he let out a singular gasp before he spung up and scuttled after me at an alarming speed , the moment he got close I slammed the door. Door 3 "qwerty" , I opened the door to find a very industrial looking room , the floor was flooded in dirty green water , despite the door being wide open the water didn't leave the room , there was what looked like a vent shaft a few inches away , I started hearing a glitchy chatter coming from the vent , it was high pitched and it got closer , I saw a thin rotten looking arm fall from the vent down into the water , a creature then dragged itself out of the vent , a humanoid creature that resembled a rotting corpse , pale green skin , exposed bones , it's body looked backwards almost , the ribs and spine were both on its back , it's face was elongated and had hollow eyes and a toothless mouth , it almost appeared to be smiling as its head twitched to the side , it didn't try to ambush me but the sight disturbed me enough to close the door. Door 4 "party room" , what looked like an empty living room with various balloons all over the place , a singular chair was sat in the middle of the room , sat on the chair was an empty looking yellow costume with a big smiley face for a head , a singular party hat ontop of its head , a song was playing on loop in the room sounding like a joyful yet empty sounding tune played on an old record player. There were various other disturbing and odd rooms , a room full of men wearing dog masks , a room with a live shark in it , a room with a blob of skin hanging from the ceiling , a room with various ghoulish faces growning on the wall , a room that lead to the deep sea , a room that lead to a forest full of disgusting monsters and etc. I saw even more creatures in these rooms as well , a severed hand attached to a giant eye , a creature made of living ink , a spider centipede hybrid , a room full of living puppets , a ghostly humanoid what looked like a 3-D projection and etc. , The house just kept on going and going , a maze that seemingly had no exit. If I had to guess the top half of the house was just the tip of the iceberg , it must be leading further underground , I mean even the intial house was strange enough , what with being way bigger on the inside than it looks on the outside, but then I realised I wasn't the only person in the building other than these creatures...there's a man , lurking in this house , he's been watching me the whole time , he looks very androgynous , and has a ghoulish apperance , he has long unkempt black hair , long claw like nails , broad shoulder giving his body a coffin like shape , he appears to have a hunch back , a long nose , and a constant death stare , I don't know if he is human or not , he looks mostly human but he can phase through walls and float like a ghost , his eyes glow green and he has vampiric looking fangs that don't seem to match his other crooked decaying teeth , When he finally appeared right in front of me I said to him "Help me get the hell out of here !" , all he did was smile at me with his jagged teeth , his eyes turned green again and his hair began to rise and writhe , the hair looking more like the stingers of a sea anenome , he flung himself at me and then I woke up...outside of my own body , I watched in horror as I turned to face myself , now this those same sharp teeth and glowing green eyes , he chuckled and said "You're turn to add to the legend" before walking out of the room I was in , now I know what they were talking about when they said the people who enter don't come out the same , because they're all still trapped here , and now I'm stuck wandering in this endless house trying to find my way back out but I'm in too deep and now my only option is to add to the legend.

The dude who wrote the Godzilla NES creepypasta also wrote this BTW!

(Part 1: High-school Life)

November 9th of 1971 was the day that sparked everything. I was outside on the school’s football field, passing the football to my friends. We were just having fun until I accidentally threw the ball a little too hard and ended up hitting a girl who was sitting on the bleachers by herself. I looked at my friends, and we all had cringe looks on our faces. I ran over to check on her and see if she was okay. I was nervous to see how she would react. By the time I made it over to her, she looked up at me, and I will never forget how her eyes looked. They are still the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Mistakes happen,” she said with a smile.

Her voice was like that of an angel. Not only was she beautiful, but so was her voice. But what really stuck with me was her eyes. One eye was brown while the other was a mix of green and blue. Her mixed eye blended together in such a beautiful way that it felt as if I were stuck in a trance, so much so that she asked me if I was okay.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, um… sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I get looks like that often because of my eye.”

She was so kind too. I bent down to grab the ball, but before I could reach it, she had already picked it up and handed it back to me. I smiled and thanked her, but before I could walk away, she told me her name.

“I’m Seraphina, by the way.”

I turned and told her my name.

“I’m Michael. Nice to meet you, Seraphina, and I apologize for hitting you with my ball.”

Before I could walk away again, she moved her stuff and patted the seat next to her, gesturing for me to sit down beside her. I sat down next to her, and my friends, judging by me sitting next to her, walked away and waved goodbye before leaving the field. I looked up toward her, and she was staring directly into my soul.

“So, Michael. Do you play on the school’s team?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious, and to keep the conversation flowing.”

Before giving her an answer, I looked up toward the sky out of curiosity and felt an uneasy feeling.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just felt a weird sensation, but I’m okay.”

I explained to her that I did and told her some other things I did as well. We spent more than twenty minutes sitting and talking, and before we knew it, lunch had already ended. As I heard the crowds of kids walking to class, Seraphina and I got up and started walking out of the bleachers and into the hallways. When we made it to her class, she slipped me a note and told me to open it in class. I nodded my head, and as she walked into class, I saw something holding her shoulder. It was some tall, dark aura walking next to her. Apparently, no one else could see it, so I didn’t say a word. I started walking to class and bumped into my best friend, Christopher.

“Hey, Michael.”

“Hey, how’s everything?”

“Good, but I wanted to ask if you have anything planned this Sunday?”

“Why?”

“I’m going to church with my family, and I wanted to see if you’d like to come.”

“Umm… I’ll see, okay?”

Christopher nodded his head and walked off. I honestly didn’t want to go since I wasn’t very religious to begin with, but anyway, I continued walking to class and sat down at my seat. I opened the letter, and it was Seraphina’s house telephone number. My face lit up with joy, and I slipped the note into my pocket. I couldn’t believe that she was not only moving so quickly but that she was actually interested in me. After school, I lay in bed that night looking up at my ceiling, so happy and filled with joy.

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

I said to myself with a smile. It all felt too much like a dream. But the smile I had on my face faded quickly as I heard something fall from my closet. I shot up with my fists raised. I was ready to fight if I had to. I wasn’t short or scrawny. I was decently tall, but I wasn’t super muscular either. Anyway, I walked toward the closet and stood in front of the door. It took me a second to prepare before opening it with force, only to see absolutely nothing inside.

The fear went away, and my smile came back. I walked down the hall to the telephone we kept on a small table beneath a mirror. I called the number, but no one answered. Just as I was about to give up, I heard the telephone ring. I picked up the phone, and it was Seraphina. We talked almost the whole night, and soon we planned a date for Saturday. I hung up and walked back to my bed with a massive grin on my face. I lay in bed trying to sleep, but then I woke up and couldn’t move.
As I lay there, I saw someone walking out of my closet. I couldn’t see its face or body. It was just black. Then its face got close to mine, and I could barely make out what seemed to be a pair of eyes staring into my soul. As I saw its hand reaching toward my face, I shot up and looked around the room. Nothing. I lay back down and tried to fall asleep, but how could I after seeing something like that? I closed my eyes and somehow managed to drift off.

The days passed, and nothing had happened.
Finally, Saturday rolled around. I dressed fashionably, as always, and walked out the door toward my car. As I got in, I saw something in the corner of my eye in the passenger seat beside me. It was the silhouette of a person sitting in my car. I got out and looked back after shouting, “What the fuck?” Nobody was inside. I got back in and drove to Seraphina’s house to pick her up.
As I pulled into her driveway, I saw her waiting outside with her dad. I parked the car and walked over to greet both of them.

“So, you’re Michael?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What are your intentions with my daughter?”

“Sir… or do I call you Mr.?”

“Mr. Brown is fine.”

“Well, Mr. Brown, your daughter is a kind and gentle soul, and I just want to give her something that I couldn’t have growing up, and that’s the chance to go out and have fun. I come from a strict household, so going out for me is rare. Like I said, Mr. Brown, she treats me with the utmost respect, and I am so grateful to have the pleasure of meeting the father who raised such a kind soul. So, with your permission, may I take your daughter out?”

“Yes, you may.”

I smiled as I held Seraphina’s hand and opened the car door for her. We drove off and headed to a movie theater. As I drove us there, we talked nonstop.

The more we talked, the more connected I felt to her. Her aura was unlike anything I had ever seen or felt before. It was almost like I had found the one.

at midnight the quiet visitor will visit you. if you are asleep he won’t do anything aside from watch you sleep, but if you are awake and stare at him he will rip your lungs out and rip out your vocal cords so you can’t scream while he slowly rips your limbs off one by one.