#short scary stories

[comfort-person]

The rise of anger

Synopsis: Henry creel has children of his own who grew up in the lab, someone kidnaps them… how is he supposed to suppress the anger within him? Well. Simply. He cannot.

Pairings: y/n x henry (henry x the kids as well)

Trigger warnings: distressing scenes, punishment of reader, gore, blood, killing all that stuff- if you’re sensitive to any of these then please read at your own discretion.

“What’s happening to him?” The voice of the small girl asked, eyes turning to look at her sister who was one year older than her. They were both frozen in fear hearing the horrifying sounds of electricity buzzing throughout their father figure. All the children in the lab were practically Henry’s children because he was the only one that cared but the small girls- Matilda and Harriet had gotten quite a fond bond with Henry. So much so he allowed them to call him “dad” or anything they wanted to. He was a father figure to them and seeing him getting tortured to this extremity with no mercy made both children sick to their stomach, Matilda and Harriet were sisters- they had grown up together since the very beginning and although they weren’t very old they both knew they had to stick together during this time, even if they weren’t proper siblings. Harriet was 004 and Matilda was 005 both sisters having a bond that was meant to go unbroken.

“Why are they hurting him? Matilda you’ve got to do something… we can’t let him get hurt anymore” Harriet spoke tears practically ready to fall from her eyes, Matilda soon grabbed a hold of her sister by the wrist yanking her just behind the wall as the sound of the fuzzing was cut short, groans of agony leaving Henry’s lips body limp as he was dragged out of the room the guards merciless and careless. “Dad-“ harriet sobbed out forcing a hand to quickly cover her mouth but it wasn’t Matilda’s “shh” a gentle hush came from just behind the two girls. Both young girls turning to see you, worried and clearly upset by the whole situation. The worry was soon washed off of your face pure terror taking over your body as you slowly rose up from the ground eyes filling with fear as you stared at papa. He had caught onto the fact that both girls had seen what had happened,

“Children… y/n… why are you out so late? You know you’re supposed to be in bed.” He spoke and you took a shaky breath inwards “I’m sorry… it was my fault.” You quickly spoke not wanting the girls to be hurt in anyway. You watched papa knowing he wasn’t impressed and you kept your composure as you slowly leaned down just between both girls “listen close, follow my instructions…” you whispered keeping your eyes on papa as guards seemingly walked towards all of you at an angrily fast pace “run… run as fast as you can and don’t stop… run.” You whispered pushing both girls behind you as they sprinted away, two other guards appearing behind the others as they ran after the girls your jaw clenched as you stared at the guards and papa “y/n, you broke my trust.” He spoke in a condescending tone and you slowly lowered your glance body rigid “I’m sorry,”

You tried to apologise. You tried to get them to hear you. You tried to get papas forgiveness but instead you were dragged into the room Henry was last in your body being thrown into the wall as a long baton which had electricity running through it was shoved straight into your chest the other guard immediately bringing the other baton down to stab into your stomach cries of mercy leaving your lips as your knees began to weaken body slumping to the ground as the sick punishment continued, your body seizing every time the electricity ran throughout you until you were curled up trying to protect yourself but within minutes your body was completely weak, reeling in and out of consciousness before everything turned black and you were left in fear of not knowing what had happened to Henry or the girls.

~a day later~

“Y/n” a soft whisper was heard a long with a little gentle nudge, a palm resting upon your shoulder as you were given another shake

“Y/n”

The voice spoke again and your eyes fluttered open body aching terribly as your eyes met with those beautiful sea blue eyes “henry?” You whispered out. He looked tired, as if he was in pain…. “Yeah it’s me.” He soothed hand tracing just against your arm in a comforting manner “are you okay?” He asked eyes searching yours and you stared silently and confused “I’m okay. Just hurt…” you murmured as he ran a gentle palm over your forehead lightly brushing some hair off of your sweaty forehead “they really hurt you didn’t they?” He asked you, rhetorically of course, eyes full of anger… if he could he would kill every single one of them. Well he could and he would, but not right now. But before he could think anymore of that a soft gasp left your lips your eyes widening as you forced yourself to sit up, henry was sat on the edge of the bed eyes widening as he gazed at you visibly concerned “what’s the matter?” He asked eyes searching yours,

“Matilda… Harriet… did you see them this morning?” You asked and his brows furrowed head tilting to the side “what?” He asked concerned and you breathed heavily “they-they saw what had happened to you… papa saw us… I-I-I told them to run…. They ran… I…” that was enough information from you Henry’s tall figure immediately lurching up from the bed as he rushed towards the door, glancing over his shoulder to look at you “I don’t care what you hear- you stay here” he demanded but only for good intentions. He didn’t want you getting hurt. He couldn’t have you getting hurt… no way.

-

Henry rushed down the hallways each turn only coming to absolutely nothing. He couldn’t find them. He couldn’t find his kids. Someone had taken them. He just knew it. He had a horrible gut feeling. Every door came to a dead end, it was either a sleeping child or an empty room- Harriet and Matilda’s rooms empty. Completely empty. And he wouldn’t of been that concerned if it wasn’t for the fact that their bedsheets weren’t made. All children made their beds. Every day. Matilda and Harriet not missing a day of doing it ever. So it was unusual. Strange. Unlike them. He wouldn’t stop until he had found them. You remained in bed breath hitching, you were fearful… worried… you knew you had to help in someway or another and so you instead of following Henry’s orders got out of bed, body weak as you stumbled out of the room hurrying down the corridors until you came to the bathing room where you only got to use it if you needed it. Truly.

You locked the door as you filled one of the baths up until it was enough to let your body float, you hated doing any of this but you had to find them…. For Henry’s sake. You then clambered into the cold water shivering as you got inside. You knew it had to be a certain temperature but right now that wasn’t plausible. You then closed your eyes relaxing into the bath as you began sinking more and more into the darkness until you were completely submerged in darkness, eyes moving under your eyelids as you looked around- looking for any trace of the children.

“Please! Please! Please! No!”

Echoed screams ran around your head as you spun around in circles trying to find the source of the voices until your eyes landed onto a little spec of light two small girls cowering together from two guards, you watched in silence as they gripped onto each other sobs and pleas leaving their lips. You breathed heavily eyes wide. “Matilda” you whispered reaching out to the small girl watching as her head turned to look to you, eyes full of fear as she screamed fading into waves of memories along with Harriet and your breath hitched before you struggled in the water, your body in real life trying to wake yourself up before you suddenly shot up a gasp leaving your lips, the body of water you were in splashing about as you quickly got out- blood dripping from your nose as you stumbled out of the bath, white clothes dripping with water as you sprinted the hell out of there body trembling in complete fear. You had to save them. Somehow. “Henry!” Your voice yelled echoing around the empty halls, tears were clear in your eyes as you continued shouting his name but it was no use. No use whatsoever.

You tried to keep your composure, barely breathing as you searched and searched for them until you came across them guards gripping onto both of them unaware of you being there “please don’t hurt us… please… please.” The small girls begged as you trembled with anger slowly raising your hand and just as one of the guards went to strike Matilda your fingers curled as the guard was lifted up into the air before being smashed into the wall about ten other guards appearing out of thin air practically. You tried to hold them off, but couldn’t- but that’s when you felt it,

A strong magnetising feeling as screams of fear began leaving the guards lips, spiders leaving the walls- imaginary spiders… a guard being thrown in every direction as your head slowly turned to the side seeing henry, the vein in his neck visible, eyes cold and angry and blood dripping from his nose as he dealt with the guards each one collapsing onto the ground one by one… and when there was one left Henry walked towards him slowly, head still tilted slightly as if challenging him to do something. “I-I-I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.” The guard cried out and then it happened Henry’s hand wrapping around his throat as he lifted a fully grown man up into the air fingers practically digging into his throat stopping him from breathing before Henry threw him into the wall, head jerking to the side forcefully as the guards neck snapped. Henry’s body soon froze breathing heavy as he turned to look at you, eyes still angry,

“I thought I told you to wait”

His words were soft yet that undertone of anger was there but before he could even be that little bit more angry at you both girls frantically wrapped their small arms around his waist, his arms wrapping around them as he embraced them holding onto them tightly “I promise you won’t go through anything like this again… I’m so sorry.” He whispered to them both as he gripped onto them. But the reunion was cut short by gunfire Henry’s jaw clenching as he slowly stood up “listen close, follow my instructions… y/n take both girls and hide… I don’t care where… just keep them safe. Keep yourself safe.” His finger then rested under your chin forcing you to look at him “keep yourself safe. I mean it.” He whispered and you nodded your head “good.” He then pulled back both girls emotional as Henry pressed a kiss to each one of their foreheads “I’ll be back soon I promise… and when I’m back we’ll be able to live our own life outside of here… the life you both deserve…. The life we all deserve.” He whispered before he looked at you “now go. Go. I promise I’ll be back.”

And so you listened dragging the girls into a room as you held them both in your embrace, Henry’s tall figure starting to walk down the hall towards the constant gunfire and he watched as guards stormed towards him, guns raised and a cold devilish smirk tugged at his face as the lights began to flicker as blood went everywhere the lights soon flicking off completely… Henry was going to make sure every single one of them regretted every hurting him, you, the girls… anyone- he would make sure of it. He would also make sure that this was their last day on earth. They wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone else… not anymore.

[roseblack2222]

Chilling Tales for Hot Summer Nights #chillingtales

[anicarissi]

I recently learned the hardcover of HIDE AND DON’T SEEK: AND OTHER VERY SCARY STORIES is now in its 3rd printing, which set my heart aflutter like an attic filled with bats. Thank you, librarians, educators, booksellers, and readers! 🦇🖤 If you don’t have one yet, you can also find it in paperback or ebook—Carolina Godina’s full-page illustrations are absolutely gorgeous in all three. (And the audio version has multiple talented narrators!)

[just-phils-things]

Watch ""We Escaped A Haunted House, But I Think Something Is Wearing My Wife's Skin." #r/nosleep Stories" on YouTube

Freaky Friday story time r/nosleep story

[insomniac-dot-ink]

I can’t go home. There are only a few places open this late and I am walking. I leave a trail of footprints in the powdery snow. The music hall in the middle of town is playing a local band no one has heard of and a single popup store sits outside. I go to the window. The clerk is on her phone in the small cramped cart. Her screen goes dark and she looks up. Her hair is deep brown and tied back so neat and boxy you’d think it was a nun’s habit.

“Hot chocolate,” I say.

The clerk is nonplussed. She takes my money. Her habit-like-hair is stiff and doesn’t shift as she nods and counts my ones. She moves from one end of the little cart to the other with a Styrofoam cup. 

She carries the sugar-thick hot chocolate in one hand and it lets out a thick steam. I am sure she made it too hot. She stops. Her gaze draws up and over my shoulder. Her pupils expand and shoulders rise almost to her ears.

She glances at my face and then away again. Her lips are thin and uncolored. She mouths the words like an unskilled ventriloquist, “do you need me to call someone?”

I shake my head and take the cup and the texture is squeaky and flakes off in my grip. I walk. My footprints mark the powder-white snow and my city only has a few places open at this time of night. My legs are numb with cold and my eyes ache from lack of sleep. I am grateful for the street lights which are all a pale blue color that is supposed to help the birds. I am a bird person, I think, if I was going to be anything.

Cars pass and I am grateful for those too. I reach the street of little cramped stores, one after the next. A fabric store. A second-hand book store. Florists and boutique shoe shops. All too charming to be supportive. The Walmart is just outside our small town limits and I can’t go home.

Across the street, the pub has lowlights on and voices rumble like a thunderstorm from within. I don’t think the rest of the town likes the pub. The bar has one long window made up of colored glass in muted reds and blues and yellows. It reminds me of church windows and leaves the impression of making up for it. Making up for being what it is.

I square my shoulders and push my way in. The air is warm and floor a good type of dark wood. The tables are full enough to be considered a party–or, what I imagine a party to be like. I hadn’t noticed the dusting of snow on my hoodie, and shook it off like dandruff.

The man behind the counter gives me a cursory look. He is a big man with a large mouth and wears frowns like he’s making up for something too. “Mark isn’t here,” he says in a further cursory manner. I shake my head and make my way to the counter. I hadn’t finished my hot chocolate and clutch the Styrofoam cup in both hands.

“Warm up?” I ask but Steven Plyer, the barkeep, is looking over my shoulder. He mouths to himself silently like he’s working out a math problem under his breath.

Two men, big and strapping, move away from the bar’s church-like window. They take seats at the end of the bar and Steven Plyer, the barkeep, leans over the counter. His pupils are ink-dipped coins. I fiddle with the ends of my sleeves. He looks over my shoulder just as I push my hot chocolate closer over the counter.

“There’s a whole world out there,” he says.

I close my eyes. “I know.”

“You don’t have to go.”

I shake my head and Steven Plyer takes my hot chocolate and disappears behind the swinging doors to the back. The rest of the men have moved away from the window and sit on either side of me. They murmur in voices too low to hear.

The oldest of them, a man that smells like leather, stands. His voice has a vibrating quality, unsmooth, dragging out the “a’s” like a regal sheep. “Do your parents know?”

Steven Plyer returns with my hot chocolate steaming and passes it to me with both hands. I get up because the old man needs my seat, I think. The first two men huddle by the front door, coats on and heads bent together like prayer, and I leave without them. The snow is no longer powder but inch-thick fluff. I kick up the fluff with each step and the silver hangs about me like fairy lights, I imagine. I take a sip of hot chocolate and it is too hot and too sweet and you can be grateful for that too.

The sidewalk ends and I walk alongside the side of the road just on the edge of the white line. I think I can see the lights of the Walmart beyond the lights of the city. Trees gather on either side and I miss the blue glow of the street lights and the concerned gaze of the clerk in her tiny cart. I wish she had come with me. I wish Steven Plyer had called me by name.

A solitary car passes and its stark white headlights blare against the night, more violent than kind, and I have to shield my eyes. The car is red and large and pulls to stop on the other side of the road. The window rolls down and a curly-haired woman sticks her head out. Her face is small and elfish and mouth pinches together at the corners. She wears a tight shirt buttoned up all the way to her throat like it might hold her in.

The head beams glow perpendicular to me and I regard the woman as she regards me. She is slow to speak. Slower than the men at the bar had been.

“Get in,” she says, buttoned-up to the throat and with eyes more tired than sad.

“No,” I say and take a sip from the hot chocolate. It’s cold.

Her windshields wipe away the snow and she looks over her dashboard. Her voice is breathy in the way of a Hollywood actress from a bygone era. “I’m worried.”

I nod. They all are. “That can be enough.”

Her mouth zips together into an angry line. She sticks her head out the window, close to a snarl, looking past me, and honks her horn in one long blast. I shy away from the noise and the too-brightness of her head beams. She drives with her head out the window, honking her horn over and over again as loud as she can.

I walk and there are no more cars. The snow settles over my shoulders and I don’t bother to dust off my hood or warm my hands. I leave the white line and walk in the middle of the road. The lights of the Walmart warm the night just outside of town and I can make out the outline of parked cars in the distance. They’re aren’t that many places open this late at night. 

I slow to a stop and sway a bit, like I'm drunk, I think, if this is what that's like. A second pair of footprints mark the snow in front of me. When had that happened? I tilt my head all the way back. The clouds are bright like daylight and snow growing heavy. I think it will all be glittering when the morning comes.

FIN

My book! 🐈 Newsletter

[automeris-io-moth]

Reunion

That morning Hero felt particularly tired. 

Perhaps Villain had noticed early when greeting them at breakfast, such was the reason the servants were fetched to help them shower, help them dress and eat, fed by hand as if not humiliated enough by then, trapped by the fact they were indeed unable to lift the cutlery. 

Perhaps it had been Villain’s doing. Perhaps it had been the tea, perhaps it had been something else. 

Later, Hero was taken to the main hall of the former gubernatorial palace right in the heart of the city, where a wood and gold throne laid. Hero had once, long ago, made a joke about Villain compensating for something with such a cartoonish display of power, but then they had no energy to obnoxiously repeat it, as they did every time they entered the place. Mockery was one of the few things Hero had left after all. 

Yet, that day they could barely keep their head upright, a foggy sense of nausea crepting up their throat, a heavy weight pushing them down from the top of their head kept them glued to Villain that morning, head laying on the other's shoulder as Hero laid across their lap, their enemy's hands stroked up and down their arms and back, warming them from the coldness of the room. 

"Let them in," Villain's voice boomed across the hall, the echo remaining a second longer. 

The old wooden doors creaked open, uneven steps entering the room, as if being rushed, and Hero hid their head from the sharp noise. 

"What do you think I should do, love?” Villain asked the Hero this time, pressing their lips against their hair  “Four intruders wandering around, trying to enter our home to steal god knows what.” 

And Hero tried, tried to twist their head to look at the people standing before them, distinguishing them on their knees, half aware of the number mentioned, half aware of their factions, of what they wore. 

Half aware that they knew them. 

“I told you, Leader,” one said, a whisper too sharp to fulfil its purpose of being discreet “they sold us out.” 

“Shut up, Teammate, what about that?” The called answered, face straightening and, for a moment, Hero could swear they made eye contact “What are you looking to prove with this display, Villain?” 

Villain huffed a laugh, turning Hero’s head back to them  “Come on Leader, do you really think I put this show just for you?” 

They had, Hero thought, Villain usually preferred if they weren’t seen. Just for their eyes, they had once said, when they were, as that day, too out of their mind to talk back. 

“What did you do to them?” 

“I would never hurt them, if that’s what you’re thinking,” they answered, hands pulling them ever so close to their chest, curling if only lightly to embrace them “I’m not like you.” 

“We never…” 

“Yes you have,” they answered “I’ve seen every scar in their body, and I’m responsible for only one. Don’t lie to my face please.” 

“They knew what they were doing! It was for the greater good,” Teammate answered this time, sweat dripping from their forehead to the blood, taking the dirt with it. 

“Such a funny concept is the greater good. I can assure you it holds no meaning to me, there is nothing greater than keeping what's mine close and unblemished, and you have scarred it, sadly.”

With a hand on their hip, and the other on their neck, Villain twisted Hero’s head slightly to the right, where their team knelt, eyes glazed, barely open enough to discern their shadows, they could see one turn away from their unintentional stare. 

“So what would a fitting punishment be,” they asked in the air, looking down at Hero “I accept suggestions, my light.”

_

Masterlist

[creepyclothdoll]

Condemned

Paul loved escape rooms. 

He just loved them. The lovingly-crafted set designs and props, the electric buzz that came from finding hidden items and putting together puzzle pieces, the euphoria of cracking a code, the adrenaline of the ticking clock, and most importantly, the thrill of the escape. 

His friends had long ago stopped accompanying him every week, sometimes more than once a week, to escape rooms in his area. Especially once he started driving hours out of town just to try new escape game centers for a fresh hit of that delicious escape puzzle challenge.

Paul now preferred to go alone anyway. People just bogged him down. He didn’t come to make friends, he came to win. 

Months of hot anticipation finally bore fruit when the “Great American Escape” opened its doors to him, at long last. Great American, according to the billboards and posters strewn around town, was the primary attraction of an entertainment mega-complex which took the place of a long-disused waterpark hotel. It would be huge, he knew. Not just physically. His great fear was that it would blow up on social media– maybe even on his feed– and then the solutions would be spoiled for him. So he had to be first.

Great American Escape was so new the day he strode in there that there were still “CONDEMNED” notices stuffed into the recycling bins and old lists of health & safety violations stuck in the vents. 

“One ticket for Mystery Escape,” Paul, slapped his money on the counter and smiled at the teen boy working behind it. He was a short, lithe, wide-eyed man in his thirties with dark greasy hair and one navy blue university sweater he’d kept in moderate repair for a decade and a half.

“No group?” The boy asked. When Paul confirmed this, the boy said, “You’ll have to wait until a group comes in. You need three people at least.”

“When is the next group coming?” Paul asked.

“We don’t have any groups booked today,” the boy replied.

“... So, you’re not gonna let me in?” 

“... Um… yeah. I can’t. Sorry.”

Paul put down another handful of bills. This wasn’t his first rodeo.

“I’ll buy three tickets,” he said. He made sure to draw the boy’s attention to the extra $20, a little tip for a helpful front deskman. 

The boy, who was thin and bored-looking with a patchy teen mustache and his elbow resting on top of a stack of I Escaped stickers, glanced at the security camera which flickered in the corner, its blinking red eye frosted over with a decade of dust. The boy took the $20 and shrugged. 

“You won’t be able to escape,” the boy said. “It’s impossible by yourself. But if you want to try… I guess you can try.”

The boy led Paul towards a set of slightly rusty elevator doors, past posters and cardboard cut-outs of characters from “Rattlesnake Gulch Treasure Hunt,” “Escape From Venus,” and “King’s Dungeon Jailbreak.” Paul planned to return to these, but he’d start by going straight for the crown jewel– Mystery Escape, which had been advertised exclusively with nothing but an open doorframe leading to darkness. 

The boy went over basic safety guidelines. The door wouldn’t really be locked, red things were real alarms, things that said “staff only” were really for staff only, etc., blah blah blah, boring stuff.  Paul listened impatiently, but carefully, only because knowing what was “real” (and therefore inconsequential) would give him a leg up in the game. 

“The game starts when the elevator door opens,” the boy finally said. “Floor 3. Good luck.”

The elevator bell dinged, and the doors slid open. The light flickered. Paul stepped inside. 

He waved to the boy as the doors shut. He pressed 3. 

The light above flickered. Paul could almost see his reflection in the red-rusted metal doors. 

The elevator began its ascent, and right away, Paul could tell something was strange. There was a creaking noise, like a train braking. The light flickered. The light sputtered out. 

The elevator stopped.

Paul was trapped. It was pitch black inside the tiny car, which made no sound or movement. 

The first thing Paul did in any escape room was to check around for hidden props. Keys, ciphers, and puzzle pieces were often hidden around a room for players to find, which would then give them a clue as to what to do next. Paul checked around the elevator car for hidden tools. He pulled up the mildewy carpet by its frayed edge– nothing under there but more mildew. But wait! On the bottom of the carpet there were numbers and letters: EL1. What could that possibly mean? 

The next thing Paul did in an escape room was to interact with anything interactable he could see. In front of him was a series of numbers, 1-5, a “door open” and “door close” button, and “emergency.” But “emergency” was red, and red things were inconsequential. 

Paul pushed all the buttons but the last. To his surprise, the door began to open slightly– then jammed. 

Paul mused about the possible meanings of “EL1.” E was the fifth letter, and there were five numbers… But L? 

Maybe it was a cipher. Paul thought on this. 

He started trying combinations of buttons. The cipher thing was the key somehow, he knew it. A cipher worked with a code. Where was the code? Maybe it had to do with the symbols, not the numbers…

Suddenly, it all made sense to him. He pressed a set of numbers and then hit the door open button.

To his delight and satisfaction, the elevator doors creaked open. And with them came light.

Paul could see well enough now to see that he faced a concrete wall, which took up the whole lower half of the exit. But above that half, Paul could see a hallway of a hotel, so tantalizingly close. 

Paul had beaten escape rooms that had physical components to them before, so this was cake. He gripped the edge of the concrete ledge in front of him and pulled himself up. He let out a grunt as his head and arms made it over the threshold. He just had to find something to grip so he could drag the rest of himself through the gap, and then it was on to the next puzzle.

The elevator lurched.

There was a sound. A scrape, a crash, a wet squelch, a snap. It all happened at once, and it was the loudest sound he ever heard.

When Paul finally sat up, he was somewhere completely different. It was dark here. Darker than the elevator car. The darkness of this place was crushing, like the depths of the deep ocean. There was a smell of meat all around. Paul quickly dismissed the idea of trying to adjust his eyes– he’d navigate by feel.

Paul reached out into the darkness and felt nothing. He stood. His hands pushed him up from a strangely soft, lumpy floor. He noticed something strange about the sound of his movements, and let out an inquisitive “Hey!” to check the echo. It did not bounce. He was… outside?

No– he must be in the disused waterpark proper. The building was huge. Paul was delighted by this thought. He’d chosen the right room.

Paul felt around for a wall, a light switch, a puzzle. Anything. 

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” said a deep voice.

“Hello?” Paul said after a moment. 

“You lived a selfish life, Paul. You cared for nothing and no one but yourself and your own pleasure. You were an idolater, a heretic. You raised the Escape Game to the heights of a god. Pity that from this place, there is no escape.”

Paul listened carefully to the monologue. Selfish. Idolater. Raised. Heights. These things might be clues. 

“Paul,” said the deep voice, which seemed to come from above, below, and all around him, “You died a foolish death. Pity that you did not suffer. But now, you will suffer for eternity.”

Paul was already climbing up a staircase he’d found. It was the disused waterpark. Raise, he thought. Heights. The key was to go up. 

He found a craggy, warm wall. There was something under his hand– a button? He pushed it in, hard.

Under his hand, a huge glowing red eye flew open. 

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH!” 

The eye blinked in pain and fury, welling up with tears. A thousand more eyes flew open along the wall before him, and Paul saw that it was not a wall at all, but some kind of enormous creature. It stirred, its red gaze illuminating the space around them.

“Stupid man. You woke something up.”

But now Paul could see the entire room– or space, or whatever it was. What he’d taken to be the “floor” was a mass of flesh– human hands, it looked like, reaching up stiffly. The hands started to stir as the creature woke from its slumber. What Paul had taken for a staircase was not that. 

Paul was making some real progress. As the hands clamored over each other, rising like tentacles from around the immense eyes, Paul hopped onto the face of the thing and started using the eyes as hand-and-footholds, which was their obvious use. Paul could spare no time on figuring out little things like that the honest way, he was on a clock. As he stepped on the creature’s eyes, it let out another unearthly roar and started to rise. 

There was a hole in the ceiling. Yes– this was meant to be a cave of some sort, and it had an exit. 

“You idiot,” the voice boomed. “You–”

Paul kicked the creature in the eye a few more times to make it rise faster. A tsunami of pale, writhing hands on wiggling stems shot up towards him to slap him away, but by the time they reached him, he was already through the hole. 

Paul scurried through the tunnel as fast as he could. If it was a three-person puzzle, you couldn’t waste any time.

He came to the next room, which was well-lit– a nice reprieve. In this room, a sweltering cave, some props department had gone all-out carving little demon faces that stuck out from the sides. These gargoyle-like stone structures leered at him and grinned in anticipation.

“The flametongue is coming, kindling,” the demon voices hissed. “Ready or not!” Paul heard a splashing, gurgling sound up ahead. He took quick note of some of the quirks of the gargoyle faces– most of them had black scorch marks on them, but some didn’t. That was a clue. The light from the other end of the tunnel grew brighter, as did the gurgling. Paul realized what he was meant to do, climbed up the protesting gargoyles, and found a set on the ceiling which had no scorching on them. Below, a wave of red-hot boiling sulferous-smelling magma flowed down, passing over the other gargoyles, who screeched and sputtered in it. Another puzzle solved. Paul dropped down once the stones cooled, and hurried up the tunnel– no time to spare. Only one more wave of “fire” passed before he solved the gargoyle pattern and pulled the right ones out of the wall in sequence to reveal a hidden exit.

This escape room was huge. He made his way through a room which featured a river of moving knives, which he was able to avoid by memorizing the timing and patterns, and climbed up into a room full of blistering ice and animatronic zombies which lurched toward him, their bodies crackling as they froze just as soon as they’d moved, their lips split by the cold. This puzzle was a simple matter of lining up the giant shards of ice in the room so that the light concentrated and blasted a hole through the glacial wall. 

Paul’s own body was profoundly frostbitten by this point, but he didn’t notice. He was on a timer. 

By the time Paul finally made it past the “three-headed-dog on a chain” puzzle, that subterranean voice from the first room had caught up with him.

“Paul,” the voice said. “There is no hope. There is no escape. Do you understand? You are dead, Paul–”

“Ssh,” Paul said, gazing at the puzzle before him. 

The door was immense. It seemed to stretch above him and beyond for miles. It was carved from stone older than the bedrock of earth, and above it, in an arch as large as the firmament, there was carved a phrase:

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

This was clearly important, because the deep voice had already voiced it earlier in the game. After checking the area for tools, Paul ran through anagrams. There were a lot of little props around the big door– lots of discarded holy texts, some bones, some strange bits of giant insectoid carapaces which Paul could not immediately identify. The bibles and such had bits burned and torn off of them in places. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. That was a ciper, maybe. He was sweating. He had to be at nearly an hour already. He started arranging the bones.

“What you are doing is futile nonsense,” the deep voice said.

Aha! By turning the phrase above the gate into numbers and then matching those numbers to the non-burned sections of each holy text, organized by the printing date, Paul had discovered an anagram which, when re-ordered, spelled out skeleton key prop, ds flo knemb yyuq. Paul had only bothered to spell out the first three words, however, due to the time crunch. That was all he needed to understand what to do, and he had done it: he had connected all the bones into one big key.

“I don’t think you understand, Paul. This is not a game. You cannot escape your fate. You cannot escape your death. You cannot escape damnation. You cannot escape from Hell.”

Paul slid the giant skeleton key into the lock. It took all of his strength to shove it to the back. Behind him, the host of hell scrambled over each other up the lip of the abyss– the thousand hands and eyes, the fire-spitting gargoyles, the lurching ice zombies, the great black dog, and many others, come to claim him for their own special torment.

Paul turned the key. There was a click. 

Well– more of a thunderous clunk.

The deep, gravelly noise of the stone door opening reverberated all throughout Hell.

“What the–”

“Hell yeah!” Paul shouted. He ducked through the door.

The red eye of the security camera caught it all. The man, crawling through the gap in the elevator. The lurch. The fall. The split.

The hopeless paramedics, the traumatized front desk boy, the shaking venue manager, the anxious lawyers, the dozens of police putting up brand-new yellow “do not cross” signage around the old hotel. 

The red eye of the security camera watched on as people in grim uniforms put the larger piece of what had been paul into a black bodybag and fetched the rest from the third story floor. 

“Used to love this waterpark when I was a little kid,” said one of the paramedics to another. “Now I hope they tear it down.”

“Wasn’t this place a lawsuit magnet back in the day?” said the other. “I remember a kid–”

The paramedics both noticed at the same moment that the body bag was moving. A lot. 

“Is he alive in there?” The first paramedic choked out, even though he understood that the answer had to be no. But then the zipper started sliding down. The bag was opening from the inside.

The headless body of Paul Gibson sat up. It reached out with its stumps of fingers, covered in cool dark blood, and rolled out onto the hotel lobby floor. Both paramedics screamed and leapt away as the decapitated Paul stumbled to its feet and lurched forward. It felt around without its fingers, leaving smears of blood on the front desk, the wall, the table, the “do not cross” tape, until it found the small white cooler on the floor. He pried it open with his mangled hands and lifted his own iced head out. 

Paul put his head on top of the gristle that was his neck. He had it the wrong way around, but his eyes opened and he smiled through bloody teeth. 

“I ss-ss-olved the b-a-ag puzzle,” the formerly dead man sputtered. “Did it a-all mys-self.”

He turned around to face both paramedics, so that his front side faced away. 

“Uh… congratulations,” the second paramedic said.

Paul choked up more blood and grinned wider. He stumbled toward the front desk, toward the paramedics. They backed away from him in horror as he reached out the wrong way and grabbed a commemorative I Escaped! sticker from the top of the pile.

“Th-a-ank you,” Paul said. “I’ll be su-ure to come back soon!”

[thebarontheabyss]

Happy Halloween to all dead and alive patrons of TBOTA! 👻🎃

Sharing another entry from the archive update if you haven't tried it yet—one that is just perfect for tonight. All other entries are available in the menu or during Chapter 4 of the game!

Have a spooky-but-fun holiday, and see you in the Abyss! 🖤

The Last Recordings of Ibaria Kell’ani

——————▸ Recording 001:

Finally, got this thing working.

My name is Ibaria Kell’ani. I’m a field agent of the Extrarealmic Exploration Institute of Civitas. I was taken hostage by inhabitants of realm C520, for reasons I still can’t figure out.

We were ambushed just a few miles from the gateway right after we descended into the valley. Everything happened so fast.

I… I don’t know where the others are.

When I woke up, I found myself in this chamber. No sign of my team, no sign of my captors—just cold stone walls and… silence.

Shit. I need to think.

——————��� Recording 002:

An hour has passed since my last recording. Finally managed to calm down.

Let’s see… the important details.

So I woke up in this lavish room, not exactly what I’d call a cell. It’s... unsettling. The bed is large, almost too comfortable, with golden embroidered sheets and a flowing canopy. There’s a faucet in the corner, and a plate of fruit on the bedside table—perfectly arranged, by the way. Fresh, untouched.

Were I not a hostage, I’d give this place a five-star review.

There’s a large window overlooking the valley, and based on the view, I think I’m on the opposite side from where we landed. The elevation is dizzying. It’s way too high to climb down. I thought about making a rope from the bedsheets, but considering how far the drop is, I’d probably fall to my death.

So… let’s file that under Plan Z for now.

Oh, and the door to my room is wide open. Not locked. Not guarded. Just… opened.

I took a peek outside. There’s a huge corridor, stretching in both directions, but it’s too dark to see where it will take me. But I did see some ornate carvings running along the walls, the kind that would take lifetimes to craft.

What a strange prison cell. If that’s even what this is. I called out for my team, but the only thing that answered was my own voice, echoing back.

Nothing. No one. Just silence.

I think… I was hurt during the ambush. There’s a wound on my chest, right above my heart. I didn’t notice it at first—maybe I was in shock. But when I looked, someone had sealed it up. The stitching is crude, primitive. And yet, it doesn’t hurt.

In fact, it’s… warm to the touch.

I’ve been debating whether to leave the room. The open door feels like bait. Like part of some elaborate plan. This realm—C520—has already proven dangerous, and I’m not naive enough to believe my captors would forget to lock my door.

But it’s either that or the window. And I’m not ready to throw myself off a cliff just yet.

I’ll… I’ll keep you updated.

——————▸ Recording 003:

What is this place?

It took some self-convincing, more than I’d like to admit—but I did it. I went outside. Walked through the dark corridor, my flashlight shaking in my hand the entire way.

At the end of the hall, I found a sodden door. Behind it… there’s a worship chamber, or something that resembles one.

Oh, I should mention—my comm device. Still broken. Probably fried during the ambush. So, I’m left with my secondary recording device. It can’t do video, but I’ll keep doing these audio docs, so If anyone ever finds them…

You know, I should probably stop thinking about that.

Anyway, the chamber. It’s huge, like some sort of ancient monastery. Big statues, lined the walls, their faces obscured by time or maybe deliberate damage. I think they depicted warriors, or Gods–or both. Each statue was clutching something—heads. Humanoid heads, held like stone trophies in their cold hands. There were unlit candles scattered across the floor, and carvings covering the walls and ground. It all screamed of some kind of cult-like ritual space.

Wish Agent Joles were here. Her expertise in extrarealmic anthropology would’ve come in handy. I’m just a field agent—a grunt. I’m here to follow the experts, not to play investigator in a nightmare temple.

I wonder where the others are.

The chamber was cold, but the atmosphere was worse than the temperature. I tried to read the carvings, but without my comm device, I couldn't translate them.

There was no exit except for the way I came in, so after a while, I left. Honestly, the whole place gave me the creeps. Those statues… those heads. It felt like they were watching me as I walked away. I know that’s crazy. I know I’m probably just freaked out. But I heard rumours, about the things hiding in some of these realms.

Although, that won’t make sense, right? They scan every realm before expeditions. They check for dangers. And for safety measures, we had a whole squad of security guards. So… how did this happened, for Dominie’s sake? We were supposed to be prepared for some primitive inhabitants. What the hell happened?!

Sorry. Got carried away.

So, when I got back to my room, I downed some water from the faucet. I kind of hesitated before drinking it, but they wouldn’t poison it, right? I mean, there’s no point. They can do whatever they want to me. It’s not like a 5’4" field agent is going to pose much of a threat.

Actually, another thing I don’t want to think about right now.

I need to reassess. The sun—looks like it’s starting to set. I’ll head out again. Try to cover more ground.

Wish me luck.

——————▸ Recording 004:

Hello again. It’s morning already. I was so tired I fell asleep and forgot to record.

So… where do I start? This place is huge. And I don’t mean big in the normal sense—I mean *palatial*. A labyrinth of halls, corridors, and rooms. It took me more than two hours just to make a partial sweep, and I’m not even sure I’ve seen half of it.

There’s a throne room, of all things, sitting empty like its monarch left centuries ago. I walked past more than ten chambers—some grand, like mine, others more bare but still way too fancy to be normal cells. I found a grand hall, kitchens (complete with gleaming silverware and bowls of nothing), and long stretches of corridors leading to dead ends or locked doors.

All of it… deserted.

It’s like a whole kingdom got up and walked away one day, leaving everything behind. There’s no dust, no decay. Just vast emptiness.

No sign of my team, as well. Not a trace. Not a voice. The only sounds are my footsteps and my breathing. I tried the doors leading outside, but they’re all sealed shut, not even a lock or handle to work with. I think… the lock is on the other side?

After a while, I could feel another panic attack creeping up on me. But… I was too damn tired to let it happen. I didn’t have the energy to be scared anymore.

Instead, I stumbled back to my room, drained. The plate of fruit was still sitting there on the bed, so I ate the whole thing in one go. Honestly, I don’t even remember what it tasted like. It could’ve been cardboard for all I care. I just needed something in my system. Then, I collapsed onto the bed and slept.

When I woke up… the plate was full again. Back where it had been yesterday. Fresh fruit, arranged just as perfectly as before.

That’s when I lost it. I yelled—really yelled—until my throat hurt. Not because I was scared. No, I was pissed. Furious, actually. I don’t care what’s going on anymore. I don’t care what they’re planning or what they’ll do to me. I just wanted this stupid, endless suspense to end.

But no one came. No one answered.

No footsteps, no voices, no movement at all.

Nothing.

So here I am again, talking to this recorder like it’s a friend. I’ll… I’ll try another walk around today. There has to be something I missed. Maybe a door I overlooked. Maybe some clue that’ll help me make sense of this.

I can’t give up. Not yet.

My wound seems to be getting better. I mean, it’s not hurting anymore. Just… pulsing a bit. That’s weird, right? It doesn’t hurt, but it’s like there’s a heartbeat just beneath the skin.

I don’t know. It’s the least of my problems right now.

——————▸ Recording 005:

It’s been three days. I don’t think there’s a way out.

I’ve searched every inch of this damned place—every hall, every room, every shadowed corner. And as far as I can tell, the only real exits are the windows. I spent yesterday walking through even more fancy halls and ornate chambers, all just as grand and empty as the rest of this palace.

There’s also a garden, which… well, I have to admit was a nice break. I needed the air. But other than that… Nothing.

Every morning, the fruit plate on my bed gets replenished. I checked it this morning, waiting to see if someone would sneak in while I slept, but… no. No one. It’s magic. I saw it happen. The fruit just appeared, like it was summoned out of thin air.

That’s when I started thinking about Samir. If he were here, with his arcane knowledge, he’d probably be able to figure it out. Or at least, he’d have some theory. But Samir’s not here, is he? No one is. I’m alone.

Maybe someone managed to escape? Maybe all of them did. Maybe I’m the only one unlucky enough to be captured. Maybe… maybe the search parties are combing through the valley, following protocol, marking my absence on some cold, clinical report.

Either way, I need to be patient. I’m not in any immediate danger, right? No one’s tried to harm me, there’s food, there’s water, I’m not hurt… at least, not physically. I just need to keep my head on straight. Just be patient, Ibaria.

I had the strangest dream the other night. I was back in the chamber with the statues—the one with all those warrior effigies. It was snowing inside it—not just cold, actual snow falling from the ceiling. I remember watching it fall on those stone faces. And then one of the statues moved.

She was a woman, tall and armored, a warrior just like the others. But instead of standing there, frozen in place, she stepped down from her pedestal. She walked right up to me, took my hand, and kissed it. Her lips were cold. I could feel them, real as anything. And then she whispered, “It’s going to be alright.”

I thought about searching that chamber again, but honestly… I’m afraid to find her there.

I’m trying to stay focused, to keep some semblance of a plan.

So here’s what I’ve got:

- Plan A: Wait for rescue. Patience. Hope the Institute hasn’t forgotten me.

- Plan B: Try some of the locked doors. See if I can force my way through one of them. Maybe there’s something I missed.

- Plan Z: Jump out the window.

Let’s… hope it doesn’t come to that.

The wound on my chest is still there. It’s not hurting, but that pulsing sensation? Yeah, that’s still happening. Almost like it’s synced to my heartbeat. If I focus hard enough, I can feel it—this subtle thrum beneath the skin, warm, constant.

I can’t figure out if that’s a good or bad thing.

——————▸ Recording 006:

The others are dead.

It’s been two weeks since my last recording. Two weeks of silence. I had no reason to record. No purpose. I’ve just… wandered around this place. Lost, alone. Waiting, I suppose.

Until today.

I dreamed of her again. The woman from the chamber. She came to me every night, standing there in the snow, whispering things I couldn’t understand. But this morning… I didn’t wake up in my room.

I woke up in the chamber.

The cold stone floor was beneath me, and I could see my breath in the air, though I felt no chill. I bolted out of there, heart pounding in my chest. But something made me stop at the door. I turned back. I don’t know why. Maybe it was instinct, or maybe I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something I’d missed.

I searched the chamber again, behind the statues this time. That’s when I found it.

A door.

It was hidden behind a statue. The door was ice-cold to the touch, frost curling along the edges, but I didn’t hesitate. I pushed it open and stepped inside.

And that’s when I found them.

My team.

What’s… what’s left of them.

Their bodies were frozen in place, scattered across a huge, cavernous room. Catacomb-like, the walls were encased in thick ice, but I didn’t feel the cold. It was like the air had been sucked out, leaving only silence, death.

Their chests were split open. Not torn or clawed at—opened. As if something inside them had burned its way out. The skin around their wounds was charred, blackened, but the rest of their bodies were pristine, preserved in the ice.

I found the professor. Sylvia.

She was my mentor. I’ve known her for years. She always had this calm, steady look about her. But now… she looks terrified. Even in death, that fear is etched into her face.

But they weren’t the only ones in that chamber. There were others. Other bodies. Explorers, I think, judging by their clothing. But not just from Civitas. No… these people were from other realms. The styles of their uniforms, the equipment scattered around—it was all different. But their fate was the same. Chest opened, frozen in ice. Like something had devoured them from within.

And then, at the center of it all, a circle of bodies.

My captors.

They were arranged in a circle, lying in perfect formation, like some kind of ritual. All of them dead. I think they poisoned themselves. There was an empty bottle in the middle, the liquid long gone. It didn’t make sense, none of it makes sense.

And at the end of the room I found… her. The statue.

The bronze woman, the one from my dreams, her form still and cold. Covered in ice, just like the rest of the chamber. But there was something about her. She wasn’t just another statue. I could feel it. Like she was watching me. Waiting.

I ran. I couldn’t take it anymore. I bolted back to my room, slammed the door behind me, and collapsed on the bed, my mind racing.

Before I left the chamber, though, I grabbed something—Sylvia’s log. Her personal notes. I’ve been combing through them ever since I got back, trying to make sense of all this.

The final entry… it must have been written just before everything went wrong. It says: *“Someone has interfered with the gateway. We are in the wrong place.”*

I don’t think anyone’s coming for me.

——————▸ Recording 007:

It’s snowing outside.

The valley is white, pristine. It’s been snowing for two days now—relentless, endless. Everything is buried beneath it. The world is so quiet.

There was once an empire here. A pantheon of warrior-gods who ruled this realm. They waged wars—horrible, unending wars. So many dead. Gods and mortals alike. We’re so similar, aren’t we?

And she… she needed someone to save her. Someone to carry her. Not all mortals are capable, she told me. She needed someone who crossed the realms, absorbing void energy. But even then, some… can’t take the weight.

So she had to try, again and again.

I’m… I’m not in control of myself anymore. I wake up in places I don’t remember going to, sleepwalking through this palace. I feel tired all the time, like there’s a weight inside me pulling me down. But she said it’s alright. It’s all part of the process. The cold is everywhere now, but she says my warmth will sustain her.

I was just a field agent. I wasn’t special. I wasn’t important. But she told me I am. I will be. I was the only one who mattered. This place—it’s been waiting for me. All of it. The halls, the statues, my throne. Waiting for me.

To take back my realm.

To lead my people to victory.

To be the war, the snow, the cold.

The wound on my chest—it's healed now. It closed days ago. I feel stronger. Clearer. More… whole than I’ve felt in a long time. I thought I’d lost myself, but no. I came back through.

Thank you, for your sacrifice. It won’t be in vain. You gave me the strength I needed. The strength to do what must be done.

I will take back what’s mine.

[cheerfullycatholic]

Happy Halloween!!!

To celebrate, I thought I'd share a few of my favorite short stories, written by me!

If you're interested, please enjoy one (or all three) 👻 (mild spoilers in the TWs)

What Stays With Us, a ghost who can't settle down (no TW that I can think of. It's spooky but there's no harm done, though if you find one feel free to share and I'll update this)

The Beasts of Cape's Peak, a couple of bookworms who are confronted by creatures that they thought only existed in their stories (TW some danger, werewolves, murder implied, kidnapping)

Winter's Revenant, a man who just wanted to ice skate in peace (TW dead body, vampire, torture mentioned, some blood and gore, nudity (not sexual, not descriptive), death, guns)

[brown-little-robin]

it's not good for the job search to have a fundamental, bone-deep certainty that the world will always punish an honest attempt >:|

[guyawks]

A Canary in a Coal Mine

“Screw the library. Man, I hate coming here even more than I hate going to exams.”

“Shhhhh!”

The sound of Ms Bedford, the prim and proper campus librarian, shushing us echoes from across the dilapidated shelves of the old library.

“See, Melvin, you can’t even complain about how boring it is here” Garrett hisses, flicking his pen against his nearly-blank notebook. “Why’d you have to drag me to this friggin place?”

I raise my head from the thick textbooks I’ve been poring over and push my glasses back up my nose.

“I told you, friendo, you need to study for once. Do you really wanna repeat any more classes?”

Garrett clears his throat and sighs.

“Ugh, you’re right.”

“Here’s a fun bit of trivia from my history paper to keep you entertained” I excitedly whisper. “Did you know that back in the early 20th century, coal miners used canaries to protect themselves?”

“Oh and how was that?” my friend asks, uninterested.

“Well, in underground mines, there was a huge risk of carbon monoxide being present in the air” I recount enthusiastically. “These miners, unable to detect the odorless but lethal gas, would die from exposure to the hazard before even realizing it was there. So what did they do?”

Intrigued, Garrett takes a deep breath and listens on.

“They started bringing caged canaries into the mines with them. Those fragile songbirds were far more susceptible to gasses than humans, succumbing to their effects quicker and more severely. The second a canary dropped, the miners had a clear sign to evacuate or put on breathing masks.”

“Woah…that’s so…sad for the birds though” Garrett wheezes, now inhaling deeply between every word.

“Better the birds than the miners” I reply. “In the 1920s, they had to do what they had to do.”

“Crazy….I think I’m…can you reach into my bag and grab-”

Before he can finish his sentence, however, Garrett starts to hyperventilate uncontrollably. He doubles over the desk onto the floor, panting for air.

Witnessing this furore, I call out to Ms Bedford.

“Help, miss, my friend can’t breathe!”

As onlookers watch in concern, the librarian rushes to my side. Taking one look at Garrett, she turns and announces to the entire hall.

“Attention students, the library is closing! Please leave in a calm and orderly manner!”

Ms Bedford and myself both pull dust masks out of our pockets while the procession of people exit. A cold smile forms on my face beneath the mask.

“Good work, Melvin” Ms Bedford tells me once the building is empty, passing me a roll of cash.

“I told you bringing him here would be cheaper than doing an asbestos test on the building” I whisper back, retrieving my barely-conscious friend’s inhaler.

“Who better to test the air quality than one of the most sensitive asthmatics I know?”

[spookcataloger]

Vietnam Tunnel Rat Stories (2020)

[kjudgemental]

'I heard one cry in the night, and I heard one laugh afterwards. If I cannot forget that, I shall not be able to sleep again.'

'Count Magnus', by M. R. James (1904)

[maculategiraffe]

also to add insult to injury of missing my sleepover and having an emotional crisis because of the covid, I had JUST made the SUPERHUMAN effort to call the mammogrammers and schedule my horrible annual boob squishing and I had to call them BACK and RESCHEDULE. and listen to the automated menu options like eight times because they were confusing and I kept spacing out in the middle. which I did. because I am amazing. rescheduled for three weeks out. at least this time hopefully they won't poke holes in the boobs before squishing them???

[silverskye13]

As it turns out having "scary dog privilege" in real life is nerve-wracking