Photos.

Photos.

They should make you smile.  Feel good.

But, I feel sick.  I feel crazy.

I've felt something has been next to me, against me, close to me, for the last week.  But, when I look, there's nothing there.

I didn't know what to do, so I took pictures.

I grabbed my phone, and began taking selfies.  I took one in every room of the house.



I'm not alone.



There was something behind me.  It's in every photo.  A dark shadow of a person.

I'm scared.  It's 3:00 am in the morning.  I've been up all night.  I felt the shadow behind me.  I felt it getting closer.


It's here right now.  It's breathing on my neck.  I can feel it's icy breath.  I can smell it's putrid stench.

I just took another selfie.

It's not a shadow any more.  It's a man.  His head is close to mine. He's looking at me.  I know him.  He's the man that killed my mother.

He's been dead for ten years.

Is this what will happen in a Nuclear War? What will we do?

Four minutes.

It takes four minutes for the train I ride to go through the tunnel.

At minute three, I knew something was wrong.

The train lost power. It went pitch black.  It kept rolling, and stopped just outside the tunnel entrance.

Not a word was spoken from the twenty or so of us in the train.


Deafening silence.


The world is blanketed in thick layers of grey powder.

The surrounding forest is nothing but rows of bare trunks sticking out of the ground like coarse hair.  No life.  Nothing.


The passengers all scrambled out.  Fighting.  Frantic.


I refused to move.


I don't know where the other passengers went, but I know where they are now.  They don't look right.  There is bubbly red foam dripping from their noses and mouths.  One of them is chewing on a small hand.  Another one, has long blond hair hanging from a piece of skin in his mouth.

They're scratching to get in.

They're leaving pieces of skin on the windows.


What do I do?


What do we do?

Friday Scary Story, January 30, 2015

Blood.

I smell it.

My body is sticky with it.

It's dark.  I can't see anything.

I don't know where I am.  I don't know how I got here.

I'm afraid to move.   When I did, something else moved beside me.  I don't know what it is.

I'm so scared.  I can barely breath.  I make myself, so I don't faint.

What happened?  Where am I?  

There's so much fear in my body, my heart might stop.


Something moved again.  It's under me.


Oh God... What have I done?
Please God... make this stop.  I want to be home.  I want to be home in bed, waking up to go to work. I will never complain again.  God please, let me go home.

I remember...

I remember... I went out.  I met friends.  We went drinking.  Then... black.




I feel a face beside me.  My finger caught in its open mouth.  I felt teeth.

The smell is so strong.

I want to live.

Friday Scary Story, January 16,2015

Coffins.

They are for bodies to rot in.  Disintegrate.  Putrefy.

The coffin at the end of the room is small.

Tiny... like a child's.  It's not.  It's my mother's.


I want to open it.

I want to look inside.


She died before I could see her.  They found her on the street.  She was alone.

No one is here with me.  No one would know if I opened it.

Time is ticking.

I only have an hour.  I only have an hour, before she's taken away and burned.

They say it wasn't pretty.  I should remember how she was, not how she looks right now.  Street people.  No one cares.  They are garbage.

I hear her voice.  She's asking me to help her.  It's a whisper... but, I hear her.

What if she's still alive?  What if she needs me?  What if she's too weak to open the casket, and she's burned alive?

Questions are tearing at my brain.  I feel mad.



I did it.  I opened it.



I should of come earlier.  I should have listened...

The top fabric is torn and shredded.  Her fingernails pushed away from her bone.  I closed her mouth and eyelids.

I'm sorry, Mom.