The Spider Queen's Door For as long as I could remember, the field by my neighborhood was empty. The ground was too soft for construction equipment, and the soil wouldn’t nurture anything but weeds. Only two dead trees, surrounded by mushrooms, broke up the emptiness of the field.
The owner couldn’t do anything with it, so he left it empty. My parents wouldn’t let me play over there. They called it trespassing. My friends called it something else.
They said the trees were the doorway to her cobweb kingdom. They said if you went between them she’d catch you up and eat you. No one ever found the kids who wandered into the Spider Queen’s home.
We never played in the field, even though it would have been perfect for any game we could think of. But no one wanted to risk death, or worse, getting grounded. So we played in the streets and driveways and broke up games whenever a car drove through. And we n
InsatiableThere's a legend in the upper North.
You know, the type some call an 'Old Wives' Tale'; but the wives here won't speak of it. It circulates mostly among the children, but even then very little. A young one will sit by the fire with the fable on its lips and witch the others into wide and glassy-eyed terror. Then the mothers come and threaten to beat the young one 'within an inch of their lives' if they don't stop speaking nonsense. The threat usually works but the tale is still there, and it won't go away. It wouldn't matter if the whole village forgot it. A babe would be born with the legend writ in their mind; waiting only for the day when speech comes knocking to bring it forth again. In any case, it goes something like this:
Over the mountains and into the glaciers lie two standing stones fallen. Some say they were righted, but they are horribly wrong. In earlier years, the people used to climb the peaks to pay homage to the Gods, but tradition
And with Strange Aeons even Death may Die!And with Strange Aeons even Death may Die!
Those two words, repeated over and over by the patient in his cell, confounded every one of the nurses and medical personnel who tried conversing with him. Were it not for the IV drip in his arm and the fact that he blacked out at random intervals and thus gained a modicum of sleep, he would surely be dead. Even now the strange man was running on borrowed time. He should have been healthy but his vital signs were being ravaged by some unknown malady.
No one knew his name, only that he had been dropped off by an unknown person or persons one blustery night at Blackmore Asylum in Providence, Rhode Island. But it would be an inaccuracy to think that this man was completely insane or gone. His eyes betrayed a sinister, hunted sort of intelligence, a sensation like he knew he was being stalked.
And then there was that logbook the man had held in his possession. The staff weren’t quite sure what to make of it
House on the CornerThe House on the Corner
On the corner of Elm Street and Travis Drive, about 5 kilometers from the campus of Miskatonic University, Arkham, Massachusetts, there stood a grand old mansion of 200 years. It was a dark cedar wood structure with Victorian design and gables but few windows.
People in town rumored that the owner had a disease that made him avoid bright sunlight. But they neither could explain the disease nor provide any evidence. Typically the reports were regarded as mere rumors. This was the case for about 3 years.
It happened that the university accepted the application from one Atwill Reade, an alumnus and professor from Kent, United Kingdom, who had taught the subject of rare diseases at his university. Reade would teach 'psychic link disorders' at Miskatonic.
His application mentioned that these diseases were transmitted psychically by sorcerers and various unaligned users of psychic skills and magic. He felt the need to transfer his knowledge and research in United Stat
Creepypasta: The ShapeCreepypasta: The Shape
From the Logbook of Alexi Seraph
October 16, 1856
I have arrived, and let me tell you…well, I suppose you’re just my logbook, but it’s so wondrous that I have to tell somebody, anybody, about the majesty that is darkest Africa. I was born in a suffocating manor house within smog-choked London, and as soon as my dearest mother finally kicked the bucket I made a resolution to get as far away from it as possible.
And so here I am. The sun is intense, and the looks I am receiving from the locals at the hub of the city of St. Andrew’s are even more so. On that note, it saddens me how developed and modernized Africa is becoming. It should have remained unspoiled, if you ask me.
Not like anyone would have, but still.
October 20, 1856
I have learned of another wonder within this land. The locals call them the “Damu-mnywaji”. My Swahili
Halloween specialWARNING: The following contains gore and character death. Reader discretion advised.
Adam ran through the building, his footsteps echoing across the dark corridor His best friend Ty followed close behind. They were the only ones left, The rest were long gone and falling victim to this sick attraction.
"Come on, the exit is this way!" He panted, grabbing a wall corner to make a sharp turn, Ty following in pursuit.
They were college kids on the night of halloween, searching for a bit of fun. A new attraction had opened up, and the whole town was in on it. He had urged his friend to go. How did he know it would come to this, trapped and running through building after building away from horrors that awaited them?
They rounded another corner. A loud bang echoed through the room. Someone was trying to get through another wall. Ty jumped with a yelp, causing him to speed up.
They never saw it coming.
Adam made it to the door. The last of the power was on. They co
Madraz's Mansion of Macabre: Guitar GirlSomewhere in the Canadian territory of Nunavut, a legend was born. This legend took the form of a sixteen year old girl named Keya Jones. She was a natural prodigy with music, especially with her favorite instrument: a Mexican made guitar her father gifted to her when she made it to the G awards in grade ten. Whenever she began to play her guitar, people stopped and turned around. The music she produced was so natural and beautiful that those who listened to it begged for more. Her father once took her to a local bar to promote her musical skills. When she took the stage and strummed her guitar strings, the bar went wild. They had never heard this sort of music before. All they had heard on the radio before was the screaming of boy bands, the annoying voices of teen pop stars with little to no talent and the nonsensical banter of rappers. But when they heard her music, something sparked inside of them. They got a taste of ear candy they had never tasted before. So it came to pass that
Rise of the Blue Bloods: Chapter five
The fire blazed higher, as trapped their screams towered to the heavens, Ryan could see his mother lying dead in the arms of his father, his father entombed in flames his hand reached out to his son, “Run...take care of your sister...” he exclaimed with his dying breath, his head bowed over his wife, the roof crashed in on them.
Ryan waking, sat up in a sweat and a shouting “NO!” but it was past, he realized it was a nightmare, troubled and tormented, the moon was shining through his window, he got up and put his cargo combats on and a black vest, he put on his trainers and hopped from his bedroom window to the ledge bellow, his room was third floor in the Blue Blood manor, but he let himself down to ground level with ease not wanting to use the door and risk disturbing Bryndle who was fast asleep.
He began to sprint through the woods using his senses and the moonlight, his footing sure, his body bending and twisting between fallen trees, his