Otira

Deep in the Southern Alps lies a town that is now nearly empty. The sections, once filled with houses, are now empty, only concrete blocks remaining.
Some of the few houses there have smoke leaving their chimneys; the only sign of life. The others are seemingly empty. All the houses are as derelict as the next, inhabited or not.
The local hotel is 'bustling'. Both its fires are lit.
People in this town are lucky to get 2 hours of sunlight a day. And yet, this town is situated directly on the coast to coast train line. The trains occasionally make brief stops, simply for assistance through the nearby tunnel; the third longest in New Zealand.
This town is a ghost town. The tunnel is the most well known part of it.
And here, it ends.
To be continued.

True story, bro.

The Beginning - The Emptiness Of I part 2

In every town, there is a place which is always totally abandoned. Usually, it's a derelict house. The one in my town is right beside the school. It's a popular place for waggers, but no one goes inside. I don't know if anything bad happened there, of if it's empty just because, but it is always empty.
There are times when my fascination with fear and paranoia go too far. This was one of them. I should have learnt by now not to mess with things like this, but I couldn't help myself. So, on one stereotypically moonlit night, I broke in. The back window, the one facing away from the road was my entry point. The floor was covered in plaster dust, but otherwise the house seemed fine. Just unused. Unused and empty.
I climbed in the window, and walked across the room to open the door. The door opened cleanly into what seemed to be the hallway. The walls were bare and the wooden floor was again covered in a fine layer of plaster dust. My footfalls sent up little clouds of white powder as I walked. I treaded down the hallway, around the corner, and up a flight of stairs. I was getting kind of self-conscious about the footprints I was leaving behind, but I'd always wanted to come here. I would look around, then leave. No harm done.
Reaching the top of the stairs, I looked about. There was a landing, with two doors on either side. Heading left, I tried to open the door. Strangely, it was locked. Perhaps not locked, but it wouldn't budge, and the doorknob wouldn't turn. Locked, or jammed. Either way, I gave up on trying to open it, and tried the door at the other end of the landing. This one opened fine, and led to a large room with a huge window looking out to the school. I stood by the window, looking out, when I heard a rustle back by the stairs. Curious, I went back to check what it was. I couldn't figure out what had made the noise, so I decided to check the other room again.
I froze. There, on the floor, in the dust, was another set of footprints. Not mine, another set. They came from the room, and went down the stairs. Following them, I descended. They turned a corner at the bottom, and disappeared. Just stopped. Paranoid, I headed back up the stairs to the locked room. Trying the doorknob again, this time it yielded.
Suprised, I pushed open the door, and cautiously walked into the room. An old, neglected mattress was lying on the floor. From what I could tell, it was stained with blood.
Freaked out, it was then that I decided to leave. Quickly. Spinning around, I took a step forward, and froze once more.
For there She was. The being that would forever torture me. She looked so menacing, and yet so innocent. Short, young, but with an expression on Her face that wasn't human. Blood was dripping from Her fingers, from the ends of Her terrible, long nails. She looked up.
Her eyes are the most haunting things I have ever seen. I will never be able to get that image out of my head. Her piercing glare, threatening, pure evil.
That was how I discovered Her. Or perhaps, She discovered me. Ever since, She has stayed with me. A horrifying, torturing presence.
The pain I have suffered at Her hands. . . immeasurable.
The sorrow She has caused. . . unbearable.
Her very presence is intolerable.
The sight of Her causes pain in the anticipation of itself.
She will never leave.

Memorial

He walked into the silent, empty hall. A feeling of peace washed over him, along with something else. An underlying sense of sorrow, fear, mourning. This place was full of emotion, and yet empty at the same time. The perfect place for him. He could feel the cries of long-lost souls begging for help, for remembrance. He reached out, let himself be enveloped by the spirits of the dead.
They welcomed him. He become one with the dead, felt their pain, their anguish at being taken so early. He reached out more, inviting them into his body. They responded, curious and suprised at the one person who heard after all these years.
He listened.
He understood.
He mourned with them.
He opened his soul entirely.
He breathed them in, taking strength from the energies around him.
He drew in their sorrow, their fear, their pain. Took it inside him, and kept it with him as he walked away.
He left them behind, and there they remain.
But he has not forgotten.
I have not forgotten.
I will remember them.
Lest I forget.

REWRITE!!!

You may want to turn around. Concentrating solely on a computer screen isn't very safe. It leaves no attention free for your own protection. It makes it too easy for anyone, anything, to sneak up on you. Too easy for something to grab your head, twist it, crack it, hear the satisfying crunch of your spine breaking. Too easy to maim you, to drag you out of that chair and fling you across the room, to feel the juices and blood on my hands as I gouge out you eyes, to ram my nails in between your muscles, to pull out your tendons. Too easy to rip off your skin, to pull out your hair, your teeth, your nails. Too easy to break every bone in your body, slowly, painfully. Too easy to rip your arms and legs from your body, to slice open your stomach and pull out your guts. Too easy to rip your ribcage apart, to pull out your heart and lungs in front of your very eyes. Too easy to make your very soul scream in pain and fear.
So, please. Stay aware. Pay a little attention. Look around every once in a while.
For me.

Prologue (part 2) - The Sialon Chronicles

You twirl around trying to find an escape. The creature screams again, an ear-piercing shriek that sends an icy chill to your very bones. As you spin around, you see that you and the creature are completely alone. The plateau that surrounds you is completely flat. There are dark mountains on the horizon. There's no shelter from the cold wind, and certainly no escape.
Turning to face the thing that brought you here, you shout raggedly, "What do you want?! Why'd you bring me here?" The thing silences it's screech. Facing you, it grins menacingly. It's teeth are sickenly pointed, as if filed down painstakingly on bone. The voice that escapes from it's mouth, however, is the polar opposite. Smooth, soft, and cooling.
"Why, don't you remember me? Not as strong this time, are we?"
"This time? What are you?"
"WHO am I? You should know, we've met before. Not in this lifetime of yours, but many, many times before. I've had such fun with you over the years."
"What are you on about? Let me go!" you shriek.
"No. Why would I do such a thing? You are mine. Have been for the last few centuries, and you will be for the rest of eternity." the creature sends a chill over you as it speaks.
"What the FUCK?! Let me GO! Please!" you beg, shaking.
"Beg all you want, you're mine, there's nothing you can do to change that. Get used to it, it's not the first time it's happened." it explains, impatiently. Frantic, you search for something to use as a weapon, even though you know fighting this thing is pointless. The creature starts pacing slowly towards you. Your hand falls on a ragged, cold rock. The being is getting close. Only a few metres away now.
Postioning the rock against the ground, you whisper, "Goodbye, Sialon." Ramming your head towards the ground, Sialon shrieks again. Your head bashes into the rock, and your skull shatters. The rock goes through your skull, between your eyes, and pulverises your brain.
"He remembered. . ." Sialon whispered.
"Until next time. . ."

Prologue (part 1) - The Sialon Chronicles

There it is again. That flash of movement, in your peripherals. Tonight's not the first time you've noticed it. But it is the first time it's happened at night. You know that, if you turn around, you'll be able to see it. For this isn't like the tales of 'Shadow People'. This doesn't disappear when you look directly at it. And it's certainly not a shadow. Shadows don't move of their own volition. And shadows definitely don't run through your house, making loud footsteps right outside your door. Shadows can't move objects. Whatever it is, it's not going to go away. It won't move until you turn around. Slowly, you turn your head, preparing yourself for what you might see. All the other times, it's been a solid, dark figure, standing, staring. But that was during the day. Now, it's past 2am. There's no one else in the house. You keep turning.
Weird, there's nothing there. It was in the corner of the lounge, but now, it's not. It always makes an unmissable, nightmarish noise when it runs off. Chillingly, you realise it must still be here. Thoroughly paranoid now, you spin back around.
A screeching bursts from the thing's face, which is inches from your own. A blank palette, with just a mouth and eyes. Cold, empty, black eyes. It's breath is cold, strangly, icily cold. And it stinks. The stench is literally breathtaking. You can't breathe. The chill spreads from your face down your spine.
Then, the screeching stops. You can breathe again. Taking a gasp of not-so-fresh air, you glance at the nightmare in front of you. One thing's for sure, you're not in your lounge anymore.
The creature is now 10 or so metres in front of you, glaring. It's ragged robe flutters around it's pale, cold ankles. It seems to emit cold. And it's arms, oh, it's freakish, unatural arms. The skin, if you could call it that, seems to be covering the bone itself. The small amount of flesh that is visible is hanging off by a rotting thread.
The terrain this horror is standing on matches it well. An icy, ragged, rocky landscape. Blue, pale blue and grey everywhere. The very sky seems to be protesting your presence. Dark, black clouds are gathering above you. The howling wind whirls between you and the creature of your dreams.

Clocks

It's silent. As it should be at this time of night. The only sound in the house is the ticking of the clock on the wall. You enjoy it at times like this. It's peaceful; the silence. The best time to think, and record your thoughts. The pad of refill beside your bed gets plenty of use.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
It's rhythmic, the clock. Soothing, relaxing. As if everything is going right.
It's times like this when your insomnia doesn't matter. You think best at this time of night, when there's no interruptions. Apart from the occasional moments of paranoia, it's perfect. And that's all they are. Paranoia. Senseless paranoia. No reason for it, apart from your imagination. It's your imagination that's turning those night-time noises and shadows into something sinister. The footsteps are clearly just one of your pets, or the groans of the old house. The scratching and tapping at your window is just a tree. The shadows in the corner, just your brain trying to make something out of nothing.
Paranoia. Paranoia and imagination. That's all it is. But then, what's making that sighing noise? The wind? Probably. At least the ticking of the clock is familiar, regular. There's no mistaking that for something else. Unless it's the slow tapping of impatient claws, or fingernails. . .
Damn your imagination. Overcome with a sudden feeling of paranoia, you just have to get up and confirm that your fears are unfounded. Using your phone as a torch, you swing your legs out of bed. The clock is just outside your bedroom door. The ticking (tapping?) is coming from the other side of your door. You sigh. Safe then. But you know that you won't be able to sleep until you're sure.
Opening your door, you look around nervously. You glance at the clock. Strange, the ticking doesn't seem to be coming from the clock. You check the time. 3.03, the clock says. You decide to get a glass of water.
Suddenly, you get a message.
"Hey, you up?"
A mate. Just a mate. Nothing sinister. But, something on your phone catches your eye. The time on there says 3.43. That's weird. You glance back at the clock. Something doesn't seem right. It's not moving. But the ticking continues.
In fear, you rush back to your room, all thoughts of water gone, and back under the covers. You're too panicky to notice that the tapping has stopped.
You hear a sigh, what you thought was the wind before. It's by the door.
You can't move.
Whatever it is has you paralysed, at it's mercy. There's nothing you can do. It sighs again, closer, and you can smell it's rancid breath.
You feel something on your leg. Sudden, unbearable pain follows. The pressure moves up your thigh, and the pain follows. It's as if your very flesh was rotting away. It reaches your stomach. If you could move, you would've screamed, doubled up in pain. It's terrible.
Your lungs collapse. You can't breathe. Then, suddenly, it's gone. The pain, it's gone. It fades. But, so does everything else. It's over. You're gone. Slowly, but surely, you die.
And slowly, but surely, the tapping starts again.

Terror - The Emptiness of I part one

It's Her again. She's back. There's no escape. It seems to be my doom to be daunted mercilessly by Her. The one path of escape I thought would work, She foiled. Now, She's taken everything dangerous. She's suicide-proofed my life. She's taken everything potentially harmful, and is using it to harm me. She's torturing me. Putting me through excruciating pain, whilst keeping me alive. She does it during my sleep, turning my one refuge into a place of pain and nightmares. I never see Her, but She speaks to me. No one else hears her. She tortures me mentally during the day, and physically at night. There's no rest. No escape. No escape from Her eternal hell. Her voice is starting again. I can't get anything done when She's talking.
Here we go again. . .

Cupboards

You know it's there. In those cupboards. Even though it's quiet, you know. You can just tell that something's there, waiting. Perhaps it's waiting for you to open the door. Perhaps, it's just waiting for the opportune moment. Maybe it's both. If you don't open the door, it might leave the cupboard when you're not looking. It'll change hiding places. The cupboard, the basement, your wardrobe, under your bed, around the corner. . .
Eventually, it will get you. And when it does. . . Let's just say it's not quick, and it's far from painless.
It enjoys killing.
Especially once you know it's there.

Sleeping?

You wake up in the middle of the night. This is unusual. Something must have happened to wake you up. You fling your arm across the bed, to comfort yourself in the presence of the person you're with. They comfort you, but can be a prick sometimes. They are fast asleep. You don't turn around; you don't want to wake them up.
Then, you hear someone in the toilet. Weird, you and your partner are the only people in the house. You notice the window being open. It was closed when you went to sleep. But no matter, it's a second story window. Nothing can get in.
Then, you hear the sound of your partner coughing in the hall.
You turn around.

Things that go 'Bump' in the night.

Of all the things that go 'bump' in the night, the being called Slender Man is probably the scariest, and most dangerous, for two reasons. One, he usually doesn't go bump. He's usually silent. He's hard to notice. But you can see him. Once he starts following you, you're doomed. He will stalk you until you're his. And once you do notice him, you will start seeing him everywhere. You will be haunted by his presence, his unnatural aura. He will be outside your window in the darkness, staring in. His unearthly arms will reach for you, slipping through the smallest of cracks. There's no escape.
Reason two: who said anything about Slender Man going bump only in the night?
What's that behind you?

Last Message

I sit here, writing this, on what is probably the last day of my life. I'm going to make the most of it, and try to relax in the sun. I just wish I didn't have to spend it alone. But that can't be helped. It's not safe to be around me. For if you were to witness my death, you would be next. She's relentless. They say that she has to knock 28 time on every door and window between you and her. But I don't want to prolong the inevitable. It would only make it worse. I've accepted my fate. I'm going to die, and soon. Any minute now. I heard her kill a telemarketer over the phone. She knows I witnessed it. They say she has unnatural powers. She could be here anytime now. There's nothing I can do. Which is why I told no one about this; they would either try to stop her, or want to stay with me. I don't want anyone else t-

WITNESS

Sam's Fukuyama - not really creepy.

For those of you that live in Auckland, especially around Blockhouse Bay, you've probably seen this truck. I once saw it 5 times in one day. I see it EVERYWHERE. The same one. Same license plate. Hell, I've even seen it in Whangaparoa. So, here goes.

You are walking down to the town centre, to meet with your mates. It's a beautiful day, bright and sunny. As you walk down the street, you get the feeling someone's watching you. You shrug the feeling off, thinking "Who cares?"
There's a steady flow of traffic on the road, typical for a day like this, near the end of school holidays. Families are going out to parks and beaches, and various trucks and vans emblazoned with logos pass by. The area you live in is reasonably multi-cultural, and the trucks are labelled with things like 'Tegel's Chicken' to 'Sam's Fukuyama' Noticing these things is a regular habit for you, you don't know why, but you don't particularly care why. It does no harm.
You meet your mates, and you decide to get lunch and sit in the park. On the way, you notice the 'Sam's Fukuyama' truck and point it out to your mates, laughing at the name. They look at you bizarrely; it must have just turned around the corner. You forget all about this over the course of the day.
On the way home, you see the truck again. It seems to slow down as it passes you, but that's probably just your imagination. However, seeing the same truck three times in one day is unusual, as trucks usually just pass through your area. So when you get home, you decide to figure out what 'Sam's Fukuyama' is. Strangely enough, there's no listing for it in the Yellow Pages. Confused, you do a quick google search, but to no avail. Nothing. Searching 'Fukuyama' however, brings up nothing apart from a news article a couple of years old, about an escapee from an insane asylum.
You hear the slamming of a car door.
You look out your window.
It's Sam Fukuyama.

Meurto blanco

This is based on the Meurto blanco/white girl/white death story, if you haven't read it you probably won't get this one.
Here's the original (I think) : Meurto blanco

Footsteps.
Thud, thud.
Footsteps when it should be quiet. There's no one in the house. I'm home alone. At least, I think I'm home alone. But something has to be making those footsteps. They're getting closer. They're coming towards me.
Thud, thud.
Slowly, but surely, they're making their way down the hall towards my room. They're outside now. They've stopped. Right outside my door.
Knock.
Should I open it?
Knock.
Knock.
Whatever it is, it knows I'm here.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Perhaps it can't come in.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
All those myths about beings who can't come in unless they're invited, perhaps there's some truth to them.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
That's it, it can't get in.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
I'm safe as long as I don't open the door.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
The door's opening... Oh fu-

WITNESS

Slenderman

Here's my attempt at a Slenderman story.
Here's the Slenderman legend: http://www.mythicalcreaturesguide.com/page/Slender+Man

And here's my story.

It'll start as flashes of movement in your peripheral vison. Easily explained. An animal, car, someone walking by, anything. But then, it'll start to happen when you're alone, and this is harder to explain. But there's still plenty of viable explanations. Slowly, these falshes of movement will last longer, as if whatever it is cares lees about you noticing it. But, of course, it's nothing. Just a shadow, is all.
But soon, these visions will not only be visible in the peripherals. You will catch glimpses of movement right in front of you, on a wall, the floor, or even as something solid. Slightly creeped out, you try to find out what might be causing this. Perhaps ther's a scientific explanation for all this. Maybe it's a shadow person. But, during your various google searches, you find an urban legend about a being called Slenderman. You dismiss it as something fictional, created on some forum. But there have been reported sightings. Nah, it's fictional. It doesn't exist. Nothing to be afraid of. Bad idea.
After this, it just gets worse. You start to see him everywhere. Hiding amongst trees and buildings, following you, stalking you.
Until, one night, you are closing your window before going to bed. He is there. You see him. He is no longer hiding. There he is, standing outside your bedroom window, peering in. All thoughts of a prank go out of your head as you realise that this window is on the second floor. You freeze, staring into his dark, dark eyes. His arms extend to an unatural length, sliding towards you, into your room. Suddenly, you snap. You have to get out. You spin around, and rush out of your room. You go into the lounge and turn all the lights on, but to no avail. The tendrils are slithering towars you. There's no escape. You're cornered. You curl up, shivering. Then you feel a cool tendril curling around your neck.
Goodbye.

Whistling

Based on trufax... kinda.

There it is again. A low whistling, almost like a howl. It comes with the wind, as if the wind was causing it. That's
what most people would think. Just the wind blowing across something. Like when you blow acress the top of a bottle.
But, you know better than most people. You know that this noise is too unatural to be created by the wind. It's eerie,
and sends a chill down your spine. You've lived your life to the fullest, but there's still more to come. You don't
want to die. But this noise is not a good sign. It means your time is almost up. It means they've found you. They've been roaming this earth for centuries now, waiting for someone to remember them. You see, they operate on memory. Memory, and as long as someone in the world remembers, they reamin here. Looking to add to their ranks. Their number has remained unchanged for decades now; no one has learnt of their existence. For only when you learn of them, do they become aware of you. Anytime after you become learn of them they will come for you. It could be weeks, months, or even years before they find you. But they will. Sometimes, it's almost instant. Even as you read this, they could be on their way. There are always signs. The eerie whistling, sudden winds, coldness, and most of all, paranoia. For these beings create paranoia. Paranoia is a sign of their presence.
Just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they're not there.

Can't sleep?

I can't sleep. This is terrible. It's 2am. I have an important meeting tomorrow. I need to sleep. But I can't, not with it sitting there, staring. That's all it ever does. Stare. It's unsettling. I don't know why it's here. I don't like people staring at me, but this gruesome thing, it's terrible. I tried staring back at it once. It stood up, crawled over to me, and snarled in my face, exposing rows of teeth, with strands of rotting flesh in between them. Ever since I've layed with my back to it. But I can feel it's glare. It's been slowly getting closer over the past few weeks. Tonight, I can feel it's breath on my neck, and hear it whispering. Whispering terrible, terrible things. Tomorrow, it'll be close enough to touch me. I'm dreading tomorrow night. But there's nothing I can do. Apart from warn everyone I know. When it's done with me, it'll move on to someone else. I say warn, but that's a lie. There's nothing you can do to stop it. By telling you all this, I've only made it worse for you.
Good luck.
You're going to need it.

And Another...

I spent pretty much all of last night writing stories like these. Enjoy.

You might want to turn around. Concentrating solely on a computer screen isn't very safe, you know. You never know what might happen. Anything could sneak up behind you, and suprise you. Anything could rip your head from your neck, and gouge your eyes out in front of everyone around you. Anything could dismember you, disembowel you.
And that would ruin the fun for me...

The First of Many

The first story to be published =D

You think you're safe during the day? Are you only afraid at night? When it's dark? Is daytime your escape from nightmares, from bogeymen and murderers, from the things out to get you?
Well, it shouldn't be. Just because it's light doesn't mean you're safe. Yes, there are the few of us who are able to brave the daylight. I can see you. Watching those videos, reading those stories you didn't want to in the dark. In fact, some of us are like you humans. For some of us, the day is our time. Some of us prefer it to the night. Do you want to know why?
It's because during the day, you're not expecting it.