CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 7 SCARY Horror Stories from the r nosleep Reddit

Episode Date: September 7, 2020

LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "Something in my house keeps opening doors while I sleep" Creepypasta►13:38 "I found a Job on Craigslist, and now I’m regretting it" Creepypasta►31:37 "I can’t keep this video secret anymore..." Creepypasta►51:32 "I Caught Something Disturbing on my Pet Cam" Creepypasta►1:16:41 "I live alone on the outskirts of a state park, but I've made some friends" Creepypasta►1:32:01 "My neighbor murdered my dad. After searching his house, I don't blame him" Creepypasta►1:47:36 "If you ever find my old TikTok's, don't watch them" CreepypastaCreepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►TorVic Ulloa: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Oek3kSUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

I had initially brushed it off when I woke up that first morning, I was greeted with the side of my bedroom door wide open. My bed faced that door, and to avoid looking at the dark hallway that led from the room, I always closed it before going to sleep. So it did come as a surprise to me to find it open in the morning. But I could have not closed the door all the way last night. Then the draft from the AC managed to nudge it,

and then the hinge caused the door to swing all the way open. It was reasonable. So I went about my day per usual. Soon again, it was night time. Only this time I made sure to close my bedroom door until I heard the slight click of the lock sliding into place. Morning came once again, and, as any other day besides yesterday,

I woke to my closed bedroom door. I got up, dressed for work, and headed into my living room. The door to my pantry was open. Not cracked open or halfway open, but so completely wide open that the door was resting as far as it could go on the connected wall. Last night I'd gone out to eat with some friends, so I know that I wasn't hungry in the evening and wouldn't have gone into the pantry. But maybe I left it open that morning when I left for work. I'd gone there yesterday morning and was a bit rushed, so I could have left it open.

It was reasonable. Still, I forced myself to go about my day unfazed. The next morning, the door to my guest bedroom was wide open. I never went in there, since I barely ever had guests, and only about once every few months did I go in there to clean it. However, I happened to stop by that room the other day to grab some extra sheets. Since I rarely go down that hallway, never mind look down it every day, I could have left it open when I grabbed the sheets and didn't really reach it.

realized that I didn't close the door all the way. It was reasonable. The next day passed by in a paranoid blur. I kept checking over my shoulder, never quite focusing what I was doing at work. Sleep didn't seem like it would come easy, so I down a few melatonins and was out. Early next morning, I shut off my alarm and sulked about getting ready. I was still a little drowsy from the pills, but nonetheless, headed out to the bedroom without delay.

I was met with a slight breeze as I went further into my house. I rubbed my arms as the house seemed to grow colder and colder as I made it to the living room. My feet froze as I took sight of my front door completely open. Now I knew that I definitely did not leave the front door to my house unlocked and wide open. The only logical conclusion was that someone must have broken in stolen some valuables I had. I phone 911, texted my boss that I would be late,

and waited for the cops to arrive. They came shortly thereafter and immediately set to work. They investigated everything in my house from my front door to my bedroom. I sat on my living room sofa the entire time, and once they had finished, they came to join me on the conjoined love seat across. Now, the memory of the conversation is slightly fuzzy, but it went as follows.

Miss, one of the officers began, did you notice any of your valuables missing? Any jewelry, or maybe some money? I'd shaken my head saying, No, I don't keep much cash in the house and the only expensive jewelry I have is my wedding ring. Last night, I'd fallen asleep with it on, since most days I couldn't bear to take it off,

even though Philip and I were divorced. It remained on my finger, even now, as I typed this out. There doesn't seem to be any forced entry. The other officer began, clasping his hands in front of him. Heck, I'd even go on to say that whoever opened the front door had a key. Are you sure you closed it last night? Yes, I sat up straight in my seat,

annoyed that these officers would accuse me of such. You think that I wouldn't make sure my own front door was closed before going to sleep? One of the officers held a hand up, gesturing for me to take it easy. Ma'am, we're just saying there is not a single sign of a robbery. Nothing is missing or indicates breaking. He put the hand down.

Does anyone else have keys to your house? No one, just me. I bought this place after my divorce. Do you keep a key under the mat outside or any hidden key that remains outside the house that someone could have found? No, I'm far too paranoid to do that. Both of the officers stood up, signalling that it was time for them to leave.

They told me to retrace my steps of last night, and to rethink about when I think I closed my front door. Then one of them gave me their card, telling me that I can call them personally if anything else happens, since they are already familiar with my case. They probably thought I was some crazed loon who had gotten drunk and or high last night and forgotten to close my front door. But, I mean, what other explanation is there? Is there even one? I just can't believe that I'd slept through the night, unaware that my house was wide open for anyone to walk into. I ended up skipping work that day.

Something was happening in my house that occurred while I slept, and I was going to get to the bottom of it. I couldn't just brush it off like before. That night, I slipped into bed. I knew that whatever was causing my doors to open only occurred while I slept yet when I closed my eyes sleep wouldn't come

maybe the fear of this situation was enough to keep me awake a few hours passed and I may have dozed off because when I checked my clock it was 2 a.m. This was probably a good time to check on all the doors in my house to see if anything had happened I went to get out of my bed when something sounded outside my bedroom.

It was the slightest creak of a door opening. I froze, my eyes locked on my bedroom door, my body refusing to move. It's probably just the AC nudging a door open. Soft, padded footsteps sounded in the hallway from my bedroom, thumping ever so precisely. They got louder. Up to the point I feared what size being would produce

that louder footsteps on carpet. The footsteps continued, increasing in proximity when I heard them outside my bedroom. Someone was in my house. This someone must have been the one opening the doors, keen on the idea of tormenting me. Maybe some homeless person snuck into my house at one point in the last few days. I heard the faint jingling that something latched onto my doorknob. Then it was turning, and my door gave the slightest creak to let me know that it had been opened. Petrified, I remained completely still. I hastily glanced about my bedroom.

I had no windows to escape out of, nothing but my phone, which was resting in my nightstand. I could call the cops, but my door would be completely open any second, and this someone could intervene the call. Who says they're not clutching a knife and prepared to take me down if necessary? This person has been about my house already while I sleep, and I figured if I pretended to be asleep, they should just leave me alone, just as they did the previous nights. Immediately I grabbed my phone, flopped onto the bed, and pulled the covers to my chin. The minute I closed my eyes, the door weased a slightly larger creek that told me it was all the way open. Then, it was just silence.

Whoever had opened my bedroom door It was just watching me I forced all emotion from my expression As I pretended to sleep in my bed My phone still clutched in a death grip against my chest My entire body going still Suddenly I felt the hot whips Of someone's breath in my forehead

I shot up in my bed Launching myself against my headboard My eyes were wild My chest struggling to move so to keep air from going in and out at a steady pace. However, the air caught in my throat as my entire body froze in place. Once I caught sight of the thing that was standing at the edge of the bed, right where I'd been laying.

Its body was overgrown, with a slight hunch in its spine that told me it was taller than it originally perceived. And I say it, because there was no defunable features that led me to think this thing had a gender. Sure, its body looked humanoid, with two arms and two legs, but those limbs were long and gangly, with neither arm being of equal length to the other. Its skin was wrinkled in some places, such as around his wrists and chest, but other places it looked stretched out, as if the skin were being tightly pulled against its bones. Its eyes were two holes gouged into its head, deep and sunken in, no eyeballs, no eyelids to showcase how this thing could even see.

Above the eye-holes was a thin layer of greasy hair strands, dark in colour, contrasting to this thing's pale and malformed skin. And below all of that on its face was a thin and dried-out mouth, one that slowly stretched into a tight grin, revealing its set of black and decaying teeth. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. My eyes were frozen on this thing. The creature took a step forward. its legs bumping against the side of my bed. It moved one of their arms backwards before they violently swung it forward.

They clawed hands intending to make purchase in me. I managed to flatter myself against the headboard, avoiding its swipe. My breath caught in my throat when I waited for them to do so again since it had missed me the first time. As predicted, and uncoordinately, the thing swung its arm exactly the same as before. My earlier assumption was correct.

This thing, with its sunken in holes for eyes, must have been blind. I led a ragged breath escape my lips, relieved that I had a major advantage over this thing. But the second my breath left my lips, the thing's head snapped up to my exact location, and, without a beat, it bent down on its misshapen legs and launched itself at me. By a mere second, I managed to roll over on the bed and hit the floor. I didn't waste another moment and began to run. running, heading straight into my living room. The thing was right behind me, chasing me without so much of a hint of hesitation.

It barreled through everything in my house, knocking over my coffee table and a lamp in its desperation to catch me. I sprinted to my front door, which of course was closed now. I snatched my car keys from a hook nearby and heaved the door open. I made it outside onto my porch, and I went to slam the door shut to delay the thing. but its engorged foot stopped the door right before it could close. Two clawed hands appeared on the side of the door, clutching the metal frame. Desperately, I still attempted to close the door

when I felt the true strength of this thing as it began pushing the door back open. It was way stronger than me, easily opening the door back up despite my opposing force. Quickly, I decided that it was a lost cause. abandoning it I dashed to my car Then I began driving And didn't stop until I was a few hours out of town The fear in my spine didn't lessen

Until I stopped by a motel And bought a room for the night Even now as I sit in this motel Typing away into this website I pray that someone here knows what to do I've concluded that the thing Must have been living in my house all that time Maybe in my guest room

maybe in my backyard, or maybe even squeezing itself under my bed while I slept. But it must have been looking for me and each door it left open was its attempt to locate me. The only reason it never found me until now was due to its blindness.

It had to be. Otherwise, I would be dead now the first night it was in my bedroom. I don't know if that thing is following me or if it can. I don't know that when I do manage to go. to sleep if I'll wake up to it standing before me, my motel door wide open.

I don't know. And that is what scares me the most. That when I do manage to go to sleep, if I'll wake up to it standing before me, my motel door wide open. I don't know. I had been on my phone searching for Craigslist job ads. Hell, I had been for the past two weeks. My mom had been depressed and turned to drugs and alcohol.

Why, you may ask? Well, my dad passed away not long ago. She had gotten fired from a job and hadn't found a new one. That's when all the pressure was turned on me. If my estimates were correct, we would be evicted within seven months. I needed a way to pay the bills, the rent, the food, and my mom's whiskey all at once. Not only that, but I needed to find a way to pay my college tuition. Now, before I start, I just want to clarify things.

This took place in 2019, so don't come and murder me for not wearing a mask. And also, though I doubt anyone will believe me, I know what I saw. As I said, I was looking for a job. I didn't want to work at the McDonald's down the street since I'd worked non-stop and get minimum wage. did I want to work at the nearby factory since I'd probably get lung cancer before I'd be able to pay off my debt.

After cleaning the dishes and taking out my mom's half-empty bottles of whiskey, I went back to Craigslist. I opened up the description of the job I'd mentioned earlier, and I read. The job itself was decent. All I needed to know was how to swim, and it was close enough where I wouldn't have to take the bus.

The pay was a little over minimum wage. However, there was one odd thing. At the end of the description, I read, If you're sensitive about the supernatural, this job is not for you. I thought this was just some joke for the new guy, so I went along with it. Life continued as usual, and I was kept busy with my mom's breakdowns and episodes. I know, worst groundhog day imaginable. Five days later, I received an email saying that I had gotten to me.

the job. I mean, I couldn't be mad. The pay was good and I was willing to work there, but I felt as if they were hiding something from me, hiding something that shouldn't be known to humankind. I should have listened to my gut feeling. On Monday, I got on my bike and sped off. It was already sunset when I got there, but I didn't worry since I was told to come at that hour. Either way, I thought the job was odd, because the pool was about. to close. Without giving it a second thought, I casually walked into the indoor swimming pool. Strangely enough, the building was vacant. No people, no signs of them, and the deafening silence. Already weirded out, I changed into my lifeguard uniform and headed towards a lifeguard stand.

When I got there, I noticed a note besides the chair. Looking back at the large pool, I noticed the sun had long set, and I noticed the sun had long set, and I was a lot. and the night had settled over the building. How the hell, I managed to say. I had only been there for about 20 minutes, but it was already dark outside. I stared at the gentle waves of the pool for another minute before recomposing myself. I turned back to the stand and read the note.

The note read. Hello there, as we know, you will be the lifeguard for this pool. I know you might have many questions but this is the introduction. If you survive this night, your pay will increase tenfold. Now, here are your directions.

If you notice time seems to go fast, remember that. You'll need that knowledge for later. If you see a blood-red moon, make sure you turn off all the lights. You will also need to make sure this phenomenon is not occurring. If you notice the dark spot in the deep end of the pool

at exactly 11.20pm, close your eyes and count the 30, if you hear splashes of the 22nd mark, put your hands to your eyes. At 11.35pm, lock the doors to all the entrances to the pool. You will likely hear banging and the voices of your loved ones pleading from the other sides of the doors, but do not open the door. Only unlock the doors once the banging and pleading stops. If you do not hear the banging or pleads, run. Use the emergency exit and run. At midnight, A young girl will come up to you and ask you for help.

But whatever you do, do not follow the girl. You do not want to know what happens if you follow her. At exactly 1.36 in the morning, a group of people will walk through the doors and go in the pool. Then, at approximately 203, one of the swimmers will dive into the deep end. He will not come back up to the surface of the pool. The other swimmers will panic and run out of the building. If the swimmer returns to the service, act as if you don't notice him. If you make eye contact with him, it's already too late.

At 225, you will go into the manager's office and lock the door. Do not look out of the window if you hear screaming coming from the pool. And if you hear chanting coming from the other side of the door, pray to God that it ends. If you hear screams and growling, that's normal. Then at 2.35, you will unlock the door and exit the manager's office. Once you get back to the stand, watch the pool intently. If you see something odd happening at the shallow end of the pool, walk to that area of the pool. Act as intimidating and imposing as possible, since you don't want it to get to you.

At 255 run back into the manager's office, go under the desk and cover your eyes. Make sure you're hidden so the warden can't see you. Now, if you felt as if time seemed to accelerate at the beginning, chant, The spirit of the night, we have come to forgive you. We are here to offer you the sacrifice. If you saw the blood moon, go into the bunker. The bunker is located under the front desk.

The keys will be on the hook next to the desk. Only retreat from your hideaway at 5pm. Once you retreat, immediately exit the building. As we said, if you survive the first night, your pay will increase. Make sure you follow all of our rules and precautions for your safety. Once all of the directions above are completed, you have finished your job. Good luck. I was weirded out.

I had never been a believer of the supernatural or gods. This absolutely had to be a prank. But I couldn't help but notice the dark spot forming at the deep end of the point. I watched in amazement and fear as the dark spot swirled and started coming towards the surface of the water. This had to be a prank. This had to be, I thought, but the dark spot looked unnatural. Already unnerved, I decided to close my eyes. All the while, my emotions and thoughts were racing.

I was ticked off of the prank, but deep down I felt like this was not a prank. Luckily, I never heard the splashing. When I opened my eyes, the dark spot was gone. I rubbed my eyes to confirm this, but there it was. I looked around to see any sign someone was watching, but saw no one. I walked over to the deep end of the pool and inspected the water. No signs of the dark spot or anything out of the ordinary. What happened next gave me a jolt of anxiety and fear.

As I inspected the water and looked around the pool, I got the sensation of something off. I checked my watch and nearly fell into the pool as I checked the time. It was 1134. Reminding myself this was a prank, I calmly walked to the other side of the pool to the doors. I locked the doors and waited to surprise the pranksters. But when I heard what happened next, it started making me doubt this was a prank. The screams were deafening. The pleads were of my loved and the long-lost ones.

I heard the pleads of my dad throughout the yells and bangs. I thought the doors were going to fall off their hinges when the bangs got louder. The bangs sounded like lightning, and I almost believed they were until I looked outside. All I saw was the quiet night air and the soft chirps of crickets. It all happened so quickly. One second I thought my eardrums would explode, and the next was deafening silence. I immediately collapsed to the floor, rolling around in pain as my eardrums rang,

and I felt warm blood trickled down my cheek. I managed to crawl back to my stand and lay my head on the back of the chair. I was alert now and ready to run out of there, but my instructions said otherwise. I almost thought I was seeing things from my blood loss when I saw her. The little girl appeared out of nowhere, almost like she had always been there. The girl walked up my stand and muttered out.

My daddy is hurt. Please help. In an emotionless tone. Go away, whatever you are, I squeaked out while clutching my ears. Oh, please, my daddy is hurt. He needs help. Please help my daddy and save him. I ignore the little girl's pleading as I recovered from my fall and my bleeding ear.

You know what? Where is your dad, little girl? girl, I said. He tripped and hit his head. There, she replied, as she pointed a finger near the entrance to the building. As if on cue, a stream of red liquid, which I presumed to be blood, entered my line of sight. I was almost convinced when I remembered the note. After a while more of begging, the girl simply walked back to where she came from and vanished.

When I looked back to where the blood was, I saw nothing. I remember lying there for what felt like days, but was probably just half an hour. I thought at the times I had come to this pool and splashed around, thinking the pool was something to enjoy. I thought the environment was safe and somewhere you could be comfortable. But I learned otherwise the hard way. I felt sick to my stomach as I reflected on what had taken place in the past hours. As I rested and recovered from my injuries, the atmosphere changed. I didn't notice the group of swimmers until they were right in front of me,

startling me for my peace. I watched an interest as the group of nearly translucent swimmers headed towards the diving boards. They looked like ghosts, and I suppose they were. But they seemed more real than I thought. I expected a ghostly, misty figure floating around. These look like perfectly normal swimmers, except for their translucent appearance. After 30 minutes of watching them jump from the boards and swim, one of the swimmers seemed disoriented. He tried to hide it, but it was quite obvious.

The other swimmers tried to convince the swimmer to take a break, but he wouldn't listen. Then, as he was about to make the jump off the higher diver board, he suddenly fell unconscious. Unfortunately for him, he fell off the diving boards, plunging into the water below. He disappeared into the water as the other swimmers panicked. One of the swimmers dived to save his friend, but came back empty-handed. He had a look of shock and fear on his face as he re-emerged.

Without another word, the swimmered the swimmer ran out of the building to get help. I was interested, but was fearful because of the message on the note. I re-read the note and watched in my peripherals as the swimmer emerged from the water. I almost looked before realising what I was doing. In my peripherals, the swimmer smiled at me and tried to get my attention.

I just acted as if he were not there, but in my mind, I was transfixed on him and watching his every move. The translucent swimmer tried to blend in with the water, almost making me think he was gone. Needless to say, that was a close call. After another 20 minutes,

the swimmer disappeared under the gentle waves and never re-emerged. After making sure the swimmer was gone, I settled back into my chair. I scrolled through my phone but made sure to keep an eye on the pool. At the exact time of 2.25,

I ran over to the manager's office. I took the note along with me to make sure I took all precautions. When I got to, the manager's office, I noticed another note below the desk. If you're still alive, read this note. While you're in the office, make sure you're not facing the window. Also, make sure the things outside don't see you.

I know this is your first day in the job, but this is more of a test. Over time, you'll build a strength and become a member. It's not our choice to decide if you will work for our corporation, but even if you quit on the first day, you will receive $5,000 in compensation. We will discuss legal closure once you make it through the night. Make sure to follow instructions for your safety. I had already decided if I got out of this godforsaken place, I would quit. I wouldn't be able to ensure this on a daily basis.

Hell, I'd barely made it through the night. So there was no way I was going to do this one more night. I know it's hard to believe, but all of the day. this was real and happened to me. I myself wouldn't think this actually happened if it weren't for my first-hand experience. But stick with me. Now I know for a fact that demonic entities haunt the indoor swimming pool of my county. As I hid behind the desk, I heard unnatural and horrifying sounds. Just as I locked the door behind me, I heard splashing coming from the pool. Then an ear-splitting scream erupted.

from the other side of the door. I quickly hid under the desk and cover my ears to try and block out the noise. However, the noise was replaced with a low and guitaral growl. Almost the type a werewolf would make. But I didn't dare

look out the window to see the commotion. As I expected, the noises stopped at exactly 3.35. I was surprised at how calm I was with the situation, but even that didn't prepare me for the horrors which ensued just twenty minutes later.

As my instructions commanded, I ran back into the manager's office. My anxiety peaked when I heard a groan near the staff-only area, but it was too late. The warden had seen me. I remember running in and frantically hiding under the desk. Then I heard the sound of glass breaking and metal bend. Then the warden grouted me and tossed me out of the office. I landed with a hard thud as my head hit the pavement. I temporarily blacked out.

When I came to, I was in an unfamiliar room. Then I saw the warden. It was a massive creature that looked like a mix of a dog and a cockroach. It seems funny, but once you see it, you'll know what I mean. It grouted me and lifted me up. Before it could toss me into the fiery inferno, a beacon light was shined through a wind. window, scaring the hybrid away. It was from one side of the room to the other in less than five seconds, which was a 400 foot distance. Then I blacked out again. Three days later, I was

at the hospital being treated for three broken ribs, a mild concussion, a broken arm and wrist, and ruptured ear drums. The injuries were extensive, but I was still thinking about that night. Apparently, I had been found. As a result, the company was forced to pay me $10,000 in compensation and pay my hospital bills. My life was truly changed after that. Even with all the money, things couldn't be repaired. Nothing could. I was forced to sign a deal with a company to never tell anyone about the horrors I witnessed

that night. Even if I were to tell someone, they wouldn't believe me. They just dismiss it as the insane ramblings of a teenager. But one thing is clear. I am never going back to that place. Humanity, a dynamic species always moving and changing, forever evolving and adapting to improve our lives. And when we move, what we choose to leave behind tells a story that reaches through time

to connect us to brighter futures, or sometimes a deep and terrible past. I'm an urban explorer and last year I found this video in an abandoned house in rural northern California. To this day, I haven't the slightest idea what to make of this footage, but whatever is on this tape makes my skin crawl and my stomach clench. I keep telling myself that my eyes are playing tricks on me, well that is an error in the footage. But honestly, I don't have it in me to watch this tape any more to find out. I've been over this footage frame by frame, utterly consumed, and, unless I tell this story, I feel like I'll never have peace again.

I found the abandoned house my normal way, by asking around dive bars, and got lucky quickly. A bartender I spoke to sent me to this large manor house about 30 miles north, but definitely off the beaten path. Family, infighting about six years ago, prevented the estate from settling, and the building was just sitting there abandoned. Pretty cool, right. It took about two hours to get myself to the house, and man, I wasn't disappointed.

It had everything. Old furniture, creepy atmosphere, papers and dishes, the works. The plantation-style house looked as though it was built in the early 1900s, with paint-chipped white pillars flanking a heavy double front door. When I stepped over the threshold,

I was immediately struck by how, how aged everything looked. It seemed as though the previous owners left in the middle of breakfast and never returned. Dust cake dishes still line the strainer, clothes sat folded on the couch in front of the room and plate settings sat on the

dining table. Old shelves looked to have collapsed, spilling papers and boxes across the floor and the mantelpiece had started to fall apart as well. Going through each of the rooms, I was taking pictures and soaking in the atmosphere. I nearly tripped in the kitchen and kicked what looked like a camera across the floor. It was a somewhat dated Sony model video recorder, definitely less than five years old,

and honestly, I thought I just scored a free new camera. I scooped up the camera and continued my roaming through the house. As I was leaving the house, I moved past a very old, very rusted door near the kitchen. My hands were full and I was losing the light, so I thought, I don't want tetanus and left. I trekked back home feeling pretty damn good about my day. I was excited to post my new picks and to see if this new camera worked, so I plugged in the camera and it started charging from a very dead battery.

Once I'd finished posting and saw that my computer had picked up the new device, I opened the storage file. In the file on the camera was several videos named Connecticut, Norway and new video. I went ahead and watched Connecticut, only to find out that the former owner, Miles, was an urban explorer like myself with some major differences. The biggest difference was a cobiased amount of drug use once he got to the locations.

Look like meth, but I'm no expert. Not cool, but explains why he forgot his camera. I even went ahead and found him online and looked through his pictures. Nice guy, just a lot of issues. Then I opened the file labelled new video. And that was when my day went from good to Fubar. I'm going to do my best to describe the video. I can't get it out of my head,

and I'm starting to fear for my sanity if I don't talk about it. Enjoy, I guess. I'll go have a ball of cereal and start your day better than this. The video starts with Miles, driving down the same dirt and gravel road that I took to get here. He parks his Jeep in the same exact spot as me. before making his way up the gravel driveway. Throughout the walk, Miles keeps up a steady stream of commentary to the camera, calling us his fam and narrating the scene like in the other

videos. As he walks up to the front door of the house, the camera spins as he stopped and frantically searched his pockets. I can barely hear him say, God damn it, isn't the damn a hotel. Damn it, damn it, damn it, right, well let's make this quick thing, guys. Guiltily, I chuckled at him for forgetting his stash. He stepped through the doorway and began to wander around, and I was immediately shocked that the house was much cleaner than when I saw it. No piles of papers, or boxes, or clothes, or any of the refuse tossed around when I was there.

I later found out why, after watching the Norway video. Miles only went on adventures to steal things from abandoned houses. They call themselves treasure hunters, and they're the reason my hobby is. mostly illegal, so my sympathy was at a low point. After a cursory tour, he begins to ransack the place, tossing everything around, looking for something to sell. He pushes over tables and throw open boxes, throwing anything that didn't look valuable

in a deliberate show for his audience. After collecting a few items, sewing machine, a few picture frames and some tools, near the door, he finally notices the tetanus door I had passed by earlier. I admit that when he tries to open it, I got excited to actually see what was inside. Miles tries the door, only to find it locked. He went outside around the back of the house where a small window sat at the base of the building. The window seems to lead into the room behind the heavy door, but was incredibly dirty. He sets the camera down to find a rock and attempts to smash the window, with no effect.

He slams the rock several more times until he jumps back and yells, a fresh cut visible on his thumb. He gives this up and goes back inside, cursing to himself. As Miles goes into the sitting room, he spots an ornate clock sitting on the mantel of the fireplace. Climbing over the paths of clothes, he awkwardly tries to pull the clock off the wall and loses his balance, tipping over backwards. Both Miles and the clock hit the brick base of the mantle in a huge crash.

With a stream of curses, he stands up and inspects the clock before looking at the camera saying, Edit that out. He looks down at the wreckage of the clock. Miles cries out in triumph and reaches down to grab something. He stands up with a large, rusted, metal key grasped in his hand. In a sing-song voice, he yells, I think I know where this goes. Leaping over the clothes, he rushes over the boots.

big door and places the key in the lock. At first, the lock didn't budge, but after a frustrated grunt and push, the key turned with a loud scrape. Even still, when Miles attempts to open the door, it still won't budge. His temper sparked, Miles put his foot in the doorframe and wrenches hard against the door,

and, after the second time, it started slowly scraping open. The door peeled paint off around the frame, as though it hadn't been opened in far more than five years. It only opens a few inches before he gets stuck again on some swollen floorboards at the base of the door. Using his foot to press down the boards, Miles strains against the door until it jerks open another few inches. The floorboards pressing up again and wedging the door left just enough space for someone to fit.

Miles grabs the camera and goes down into the dark. Either the camera doesn't have a night vision mode or Miles forgets to turn it on, so the only light illuminating the room came from that filthy window. Even still, the setting sun falls directly on the window, providing light enough to see most of the room in the video. The basement is a roughly 15 by 15 workspace with an old workbench sitting against the far wall flanked by bookshelves. Opposite the table are a set of wood panel closets, standing open and empty. Miles sets a lantern flashlight on the top step,

facing the room before setting up a monologue for the camera. We've hit the jackpots, ladies and gentlemen. An old house in the woods, packed with loot, an untouched locked basement and a secret key. Ooh! Miles says to the camera, complete with mocking hand gestures. Nobody's been here for years.

I've got a feeling we'll find some good prizes down here. This would be perfect if I didn't forget the goddamn... At this point, he starts rifling through the bench drawers, pulling out old yellow papers. One of the drawers seems to have nothing but old newspaper clippings. Miles pulls this out and begins spreading them on the table. Obviously, they weren't worth anything to Miles, so he only glanced at them for a second. I've been over this video frame by frame, and one of the first things I noticed was that all the

articles had headlines relating to strange instances in the area. One said, Flood collapses four homes. Another said, Hikers still missing after 12-day search. And a third said, Man arrested for manslaughter. Those, and the dates in the newspaper,

put the oldest paper at 23 years and the youngest at seven years. At this point, Miles places the camera on the table, giving us a full view of the room from under the dirty window. He begins to search to panel closets and finds nothing, opens more drawers and still nothing,

all the while keeping up a steady stream of talking to the camera. Eventually he turns to the bookshelves, flanking the workbench, leaving him only barely in view of the camera. Apparently, there was something at the top of the shelf that he found interesting, and he tries to reach for it. Finding the treasure above his grasp,

Miles tries to climb the bookshelf's first shelf to reach higher. It holds for maybe four or five seconds before giving out. spilling everything, including Miles on the floor. For some stupid reason, Miles then decides to try the second shelf as though it will be any different. The shelf didn't crack, however, as Miles reached towards the top, the entire bookshelf leans forward and crashes directly on top of him. At this point, a lot of dust kicks up and catches the afternoon light shining through the window, nearly blinding the camera for a full four minutes. When finally the dust settles, we can see Miles struggling to get his leg out from under the debris, coughing, cursing and wheezing with each breath.

At that point in the video, I noticed something. The door to the basement was closed. A notification comes up in the video that says, low battery 25%. At this point, something strange starts happening with a camera. Miles's shadow was much deeper than the one surrounding other items, almost appearing like a solid black mass following him on the walls. It didn't act normally. The shadow would twitch from time to time,

but that could very well be the camera running low on battery. In addition to this, the audio started a series of eight taps every 90 seconds. Miles didn't seem to hear the beats, so possibly just another glitch, but it sounded like someone wrapping their fingernails against wood I've gone back dozens of times frame by frame and the dust mixed with the

sharp glare from the sunlight blocks any view of the door so I couldn't tell when exactly it closed then I looked at the audio for when Miles fell and could hear the distinct bang of the bookshelf Miles cursing then a full four seconds afterwards

then a full four seconds afterwards there was a slight scraping and a soft click of a door closing, followed by another eight taps, somewhat faster this time. I think, it's all I can hear that it could be. Miles didn't notice this yet, and was just uncovering himself from the wreckage. Amidst the stream of cursing, he stopped suddenly and looks out the view of the camera, behind where the bookshelf once stood. Whoa, what the hell is this? Some kind of picture thing?

Miles says, leaning close to the wall, He picks up the camera and points it at the wall. Most of it is in shadow, but the camera can see the top right corner of what appears to be some primitive-looking scribbles, representing either the moon or the top of a man's head with a dark shape bursting from the top. Encircling the top half of the picture in strange symbols, never seen the likes of it before or since. At this point, Miles turns the grab his flashlight from the top of the stairs as the light was beginning to fade. when he notices the door closed. Frantically, he tosses the camera on the table and runs up the stairs, attempting to push the heavy door open, but only meeting with creaks of the wood, wedging the door shut. He starts cursing over and over to

himself, grabs the flashlight and starts searching the room for anything to help pry open the door. There's nothing useful, but nevertheless he tries using the broken bookshelf, a desk drawer and a clothing rack to open the door, but still Still, nothing works. Overcome with frustration, Miles bellows out a primal scream and starts running back up the stairs. The shadows from the window are getting long now. All we can see is the flashlight dangling from Miles' hip as he smashes against the door with all his weight.

After a few moments, he stops, panting hard and leaning against the door. Of all the points in this video, this makes my skin crawl. As Miles leaned on the door, something I cannot explain or accept happens. Either Miles jumps up and back on purpose, or I don't know what, because the movement deeply unsettled me to watch. Miles' body flies up and hits the ceiling before crashing hard at the bottom of the staircase. The way he moved has kept him awake at night. It was unnatural, but there was nothing to push him. I don't know what to believe.

The camera is now vibrating faster at a steady 8 beats each 30 seconds. Miles seems unconscious or resting for about 5 minutes before he starts the stir. As he stands with his back to us and the very faint amount of light shining through the window, I could clearly see three long scratches down Miles' back. Maybe you landed on something sharp, but these scrapes look different. The cuts were wide and deeper at the centre and thin at the edges, much like how a bear marks the base of a tree. Miles reaches around and yelps as his skin stretches around the now oozing cuts on his back.

I've noticed at this point in the video, it looks like Miles's shadow, when he was banging on the door, had burned itself into the screen or lens of the camera. Miles' shadow was still banging on the door while the real Miles was on the floor. Even when Miles stood up and the light changed, that shadow stayed banging on the door no matter how to be. how Miles moved. Miles didn't ever notice, so this may be from the camera. What the hell, what the hell? It's all he can get out for a few moments. He then starts rocking back and forth, saying to himself over and over. It's just withdrawal. You're hearing things again,

like in Cabo. You're all right. You can get out of here and get that stash. When Miles is sitting in the floor, cradling himself, his flashlight suddenly turns off with a pop and plunges room into full darkness except the sliver of sunlight peeking through the window. It was close to night now and without night vision I couldn't see anything in the room. Panic seems to overwhelm Miles and he starts breathing harder and harder. Just the detox, just the detox, Miles says over and over again until he's worked up into a panic. The light has almost completely gone, so the audio is Miles sprinting up the stairs and throwing his body against the door frantically.

There's a notification on the camera, 5% remaining. Those 8 beats in the camera have sped up, now sounding like a phone frantically vibrating on the table every 10 seconds. The next few minutes were awful to hear and made my skin crawl. The room is completely dark. Miles slams his body against the door over and over, heavily breathing, slowly getting more frantic. Eventually, his cry is turning into manic, uncontrollable sobs.

His beating gets weaker and weaker until he's gasping for air, every ounce of energy pouring from him while he sobs, weakly sobbing about, why, why me? Then, in a sudden break from the darkness, a loud ripping sound tears through the silence like tearing fabric. The camera tapping, almost constant now, stopped. The silence in the video is deafening. I can hear Miles sob and weep for a few minutes.

Suddenly we hear Miles shout. What? Who's there? More banging. Another short rip. Get the hell off me! Miles says as the camera picks up scuffling sounds and a loud crash, probably the other bookshelf.

Things went quiet for a while, about 70 seconds. I thought the video was over, until a gut-wrenching, soul-shadowed. Aattering scream, pierces the dark. I could hear Miles banging on the door with weak, feeble strikes. Miles begins to beg, asking mercy in the darkness, begging to be let go, begging for mercy, sobbing and screaming in turn. The battery of the camera dies.

I'm not sure what this is. I'm not sure what I saw. Could it have been a glorified thief with a drug problem going through a bad detox in a creepy place? definitely and to be honest that's the world I would rather live in I'm not a believer in most paranormal things because mostly they're BS

I don't know what happened to Miles but when I personally got the building on my own adventure that door was closed that clock stood upright in the living room and there was no jeep in the parking lot and the camera was sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor in the back of the house

directly in front of that rusty heavy door it's not easy living in the city everything is expensive commutes are bustling and rent is extortionate especially when you're working as a butcher

in a small area of downtown it's especially harder when you have your child or dog that you care deeply for I can't bring myself to give him up even though deep down I know it's the best option when looking for a place

I first had to find somewhere that'll allow an animal, which removed most options straight away. And then I have to find one that's remotely in my price range. I succeeded, but at the severe cost of quality. So, my place is a dingy, upper floor apartment in an area awkwardly far away from anything interesting. But I make it work. A blessing is actually the job. Though the pay is mediocre, the benefit was that the head butcher, would let me keep scraps for the dog

and occasionally would let me take an offcutter too for myself. He empathised with my situation and has been such a blessing over the months. For the most part though, my dog, Buster, lives off cheap dry food I can just about afford at the local corner store. Things have been rough though. Recently, Buster has been acting strange lately.

I'd always see him pouring at the fridge, which is understandable when I know he wants his weekly meat. But sometimes he'll start pouring at the bag of dried food. For the longest time, he'd never come back for more, even if he wasn't full. The dried food wasn't the best quality, so it was easy for him to eat enough and be content. One day though, I gave him his goodbye hug, which he feebly returned. He seemed to be fatigued, but I took it as him just waking up. I had a usual day at work, when my boss pulled me aside.

bless him he gave me a bit of a pick-me-up speech and handed me a bag of mixed cuts some for me and some for the dog it was far more than what he'd usually give me and this was after he gave me my usual cuts the day before i didn't know what to say at first wanting to politely decline but knowing how much i needed it picking up on this he just gave me a pat on the back which urged me out the door i turned and shot back the same smile he gave me as i left to go home Knowing the stress I lived with on a constant level, it was a breath of fresh air to have someone who had my back. I happily stored it away, gave Buster some cuts and went to bed. The next day wasn't so great. When I came home from work, I could hear a faint whining through the door. I cautiously entered to see Buster curled up in the corner, seemingly distraught. I started looking around and saw small claw marks around the skirting boards,

It looked like he'd been scratching around the walls. I hoped a god who wasn't rodents in the walls. But when I turned the corner to investigate more, my stomach dropped. The small floor fridge I owned was wide open, its contents warming in the mildew air. As I went to shove it closed, I noticed something missing. The generous butcher's bag of meat I was given the day prior. My heart dropped. Did Buster do this?

This was a behaviour I'd never seen before. However, he'd been showing strange signs towards his dry food and was acting coy when I looked at him. I couldn't scold him since he wasn't caught in the act, so I resign myself to my spare meal of instant noodles. Buster had nothing to eat that night. I couldn't say anything about it at work the next day. It would seem so unbelievable to tell my boss

that my dog had eaten the whole bag, So, when he asked how I was enjoying the meat, I lied that they were great, and I was happy to have eaten well for once. His face was warmed that my emotions were cold. When I came home, all that welcomed me was a sad dog, and more scratches. The first ones were barely visible. However, these newer ones ran deeper. I yelled at Buster and pointed towards them.

I didn't know if he got what I was. communicating and eventually gave up. I went to bed hungry that day. It was another few shifts before my boss pulled me to his office. On his table was a bag, smaller than the last, waiting for me. I could tell that he couldn't keep getting away with generous donations, so it looked like he was being more reserved this time. We caught up a bit, and I left a few pounds heavier, and came home to cool it in the fridge right away. Buster, Immediately seemed eager at the bit to snap up what was in the bag. But it wasn't one of his meat days, so I made sure to put it in the fridge.

To stop any more incidents happening, I took the fridge out the kitchen and left it on the small dining table I had, so it was no longer on ground level. It looked messy. I'm sure if I had anyone over, it would have looked like such a scuffed setup. But luckily, no one ever came over, so I had no reason to be self-conscious. This was my assurance that everything would be fine the next day. Things were not fine the next day. Eager to have a meat day with a dog when I came home, I saw the table had been banged up.

Grooves edged onto its edge and the fridge was raided. There was no way he could have gotten the meat. The table space was much too small and Buster wasn't known for his agility nor dexterity, but I couldn't deny the facts in front of me. the fridge was emptied of all my butcher's products. I scolded him once more. He acted repentant, but he always did when I took that tone. Days went by, and the scratches got worse. I would find them gourd in the walls around shin height,

some deep into the plaster. Upon seeing them, my blood would boil at the thought of losing my deposit check, and as if he could smell the money in the air, there was a knock on the door. When I answered, I was met with a surprise visit from the building's landlord, here to make an unwarranted inspection, and to bother me about rent. Usually these went by smoothly, but I didn't want him to see the damage Buster had made. Despite him always asking to enter, he seemed to take my reluctance as a challenge and pushed past,

his weight far more overbearing than mine. His frame wafted past me, followed by his warm odour. He was the visage of gluttony. His skin seemed to be in a perpetual state of sheen from grease. His arms are tangle of dark coarse hair. His face has probably never seen a clean shave in his life. I don't know what was clean less, the apartment or his clothes, both of which were marred with permanent stains with no attempt to rectify.

Once inside, he saw the mess. The fridge haphazardly hanging on the table, the furniture damaged with fine grooves, and the walls littered with divvets and straight carvings. Boy, did he have a field day. He went around adding up the costs, and by that, I mean he just made up prices with every scratch he saw, which added up to almost exactly what my deposit was,

minus some change. It was frustrating, yet strangely convenient. He then sent a scarring look at the dog. The dirtiest look, despite Buster not having the capacity to understand it. My mind raced back to all the times he complained about Buster. I've always known him to being a quiet dog, yet my landlord would always complain that he'd bark incessantly when I was out.

He'd woke him up in the early hours of the afternoon. Seems every day was a lying for him. I'd argue back that he didn't bark or that the afternoon is not a time for a proper noise complaint, but he'd hear nothing of it. All he did was collect rent from his inherited block and do nothing all day. Anything that intervened with his lazy lifestyle was an issue to him.

In the end of his route, he pulled open my fridge and had a look around. I was confused, until he said, any meat for me here? As he stared at the shelves hungrily. No, I told him, which he seemed to turn away at and took his leave. Why did he come in just as the scratches started? and why did he specifically look for meat? It was weird.

Still, I now had the headache of trying to either repair the damages with what little funds I had or forego my deposit when I inevitably leave this place. Days went on and the scratches mounted up. They started small and low, almost like a cat. However, they progressed higher and higher up the wall, now sitting at knee height and deeper than before. one particular day

I came in with my bagged meat just as I was closing the door and meaty foot held it in place there was no stopping my landlord from waddling his way in he hummed to himself as he looked around furrowing his whole face as he scrutinised

all the damages he could see just from the entryway once he started going off about the damages he didn't stop for almost half an hour in the end I asked them to leave so I could settle in and that's when he started eyeing up the butcher's bag I still had in my hand. In my heart, I knew I didn't want to give it up.

This was my dog and ice treat for the week. This was special. But he very quickly pulled the damages card and offered to lower the cost if he could have a cut. I reluctantly gave him a slice, and he happily left, knowing he now had infinite power over me. To avoid the dangers of the fridge raid, I cooked the meat that night and gave Buster his treat.

He ate it almost too quickly, acting like he hadn't eaten in days, despite his food while being empty every time I came back, which was strange, as he usually savoured his meat as much as I did. As I lay in bed, my mind started running everything back. The cuts that just kept appearing, the meat that kept going missing, and Buster, acting like he hadn't eaten in a while. It didn't add up. After a while of this routine, something new happened.

Buster started acting strange. He wouldn't greet me in the mornings or evenings with the same gustow. He seemed thinner and didn't have the same spark of joy he once carried. I was worried his age was getting to him or he got a bug, but a vet visit was out of the question unless absolutely necessary. However, it became necessary. I came home to find Buster collapsed. He was breathing, but barely.

I quickly scooped him up and rushed to the nearest vet I could find online. The whole way there, all I could think about was how this happened. It started with the possibility that the meats were upsetting his digestive system, or maybe there was something in the walls that was bothering him and was what he was trying to scratch at. But the worst thought was the idea that this was my landlord's way of making one of his mild grievances go away. The weight wasn't too long on paper,

but with my mind racing, time elongated to forever. Eventually he was seen to, and they ran their tests. After a while, one of the nurses came out and started asking me questions. She asked me about his eating habits

and what he'd eaten recently. My heart dropped when I told her everything. However, she seemed puzzled, at this. She informed me that the reason he was sick was that Buster was malnourished. They said it seemed like he hadn't eaten properly in a long time. I protested this with the fact that his food bowl would be empty every time I came home and he would steal food from the fridge. But I couldn't argue with the physical facts in front of me. I was left to take a newly fed Buster slowly home with a shame of looking like a bad owner. Once back, I had his

I decided to test him a little. I poured out a little bit of food on his plate. He seemed reluctant at first, despite looking ravenously hungry. After a while of looking around, once he had the assurance I was looking, he hungrily lapped it all down. I was content, knowing he'd now eaten, but this only added to the confusing situation unfolding. That night, all I could do was think about everything I knew so far that the landlord seemed to conveniently come in when the scratches started. He always gave me back-handed comments about Buster.

He seemed to know about my meat takings and took a liking to the cuts I had. My theory was this. He was sabotaging the apartment and stealing the meat from the fridge. Once I started eating the meat right away, he started extorting me for slices knowing I was forced to take the offer.

With Buster gone, there'd be more meat, And as a bonus, less noise to keep him up for his daily sleepings. The problem is this. I couldn't confront him because I had no solid proof. So that's what I set out to do. I had to dig a little more into my small rainy day fund, but I managed to swing by an electronic store and picked up the cheapest pet cam I could find.

The bonus of its budget price was the fact that it was still compatible with my oldest dirt smartphone. I was set to be able to monitor somewhere in my house while I was away. The framing was planned to focus on the fridge. I left the camera between some old bugs, pointed into the small dining area where I set the fridge on the table. If the landlord was sneaking in and pinching the meat, I would have a full view of it.

Of course, at first, nothing was caught. But I made sure to walk past my landlord with a butcher's bag in hand. He made a snide comment about if I'm going to eat, all of it and I planted my seed here. I told him I was saving it for the next day. This way, he knew it would be waiting for him if he broke into my apartment. The next day, work went as usual, with my usual grievances with travel. I was anxious to get home and review the tapes. When I got home, all that lay before me was a mess of a scene. My dining table was collapsed, the fridge was busted open on the floor, and the chairs were all scratched up around the legs.

This didn't make sense. While investigating, another realization dawned on me. Buster, what was missing? I straightaway stormed to my landlord's room and didn't stop banging on the door until he answered. I did not hold back, yelling at him about what was going on, throwing shade about some of my ideas, which all made him scrunch his face in an anger I'd I'd often see on his red face. When he returned my words, all he threw was that he heard a noise in my apartment, and when

he opened the door, Buster ran out. I wanted to go in further, to tear down everything he said and to pry the compassion out of his meaty lips. But I prioritized finding Buster above all else and left. I spent hours scaring the streets for him, but ultimately it was a fruitless search. I'd have to put in for him at the pound and local vets, I thought, and resigned to investigating what happened at my apartment. I looked over the mess,

the daunting thought of having to clean it up swept to the back of my mind. The camera had a light which indicated there was some footage captured. I reached for the camera to review any movements caught. The first signs of movement was just one of the dining chairs, slowly sliding and being jostled around. I was confused at this. If my landlord had walked in, I'd have seen him by now. Next, the other chair started moving with slight bumps and nudges.

The sound was awful. Any sound piqued the audio, so it was either a fuzzy silence or the berating of my ears. The scraping sounds were grating enough. But soon enough, there was a horrendous scraping sound. There was a cut above any noise I'd heard thus far. The table wobbled with each scrape. and did it look like one of the legs gave in, and the table came over. I just heard the sound of something rummaging in the fridge,

and the sound slowly crawling away. Did my landlord somehow know of the camera, and so crawled in to steal the meat? No way, that would be preposterous, but what other options were there? My idea of catching him in the act didn't work, so I needed a new plan. When I was finished with the camera

I looked around at the damages The leg indeed looked like it had been haphazily hacked away Rough inaccurate grooves marred around where the leg eventually gave in The chair legs had similar grooves up to thigh height Though the chairs were still intact I was dumbfounded There was no way the landlord somehow knew about the camera And took to crawling with a saw to keep out a shot

It was impossible But I had nothing else to work on for any other theory. Watching the fridge was a lost cause, so I took to the route. I placed my camera in a new spot between a plastic plant facing the front door. There was no way I could miss him this time, even if he crawled. Sleep did not come easy, and work the next day was rough. All I could think about was Buster, and what I'd do to the landlord when I caught him red-handed. When I came home, things looked untouched.

Until I entered the kitchen and saw the fridge door, now relocated onto the floor wide open, the light casting a yellow tinge to my small box shelf. Furious, I slammed it shut and reviewed the camera. It started with me leaving the house. Then nothing, nothing, nothing. I kept skipping through, nothing. Then I was puzzled when the only movement I saw was myself re-entering the apartment. My mind reeled with ideas. Did the camera miss a segment?

Did the landlord have another way in I didn't know about? Had he somehow erased the footage? Nothing was missing from the fridge, because at this point my food supplies were running on fumes from the amount of raids happening. But this had another effect. the scratches from the dining room led further in. This boiled my blood, because if my landlord was trying to frame my dog, then scratches were now proof it wasn't him the whole time, since he was no longer at home. Investigating around, new scratches stood out from the otherwise

cleaner walls and went straight into my bedroom. I hesitantly approached, wondering if whatever banged up the fridge hadn't left. The room was relatively undisturbed, the only Everything standing out were a few scuffs here and there. I locked up my door, grabbed my fridge and placed it on my bedroom drawers. I grabbed the camera and didn't even bother hide it. I just placed it, ready to watch anyone enter the door with a fridge still in frame. I set it on ready for the next day and just collapsed into bed, exhausted from everything I was dealing with.

I woke up in the early hours, light still not gracing the streets. and the alert light on the camera showing that something was recorded. I figured it might have been me rolling around in bed, but when I sat up, my entire lower half felt moist. Had I been sweating? There was no way I spilled something on me, and it was too consistent to be a little accident. I saw my blanket and bed frame had been marred with marks and scratches.

This was the final straw. Vandalising the apartment was one thing, stealing what little I had was another, but this was a blatant threat to my well-being. I stormed to the camera to check what was recorded from the night before. The footage was grainy. The night view and the cheap setup was a lower standard than what it could pick up in the day,

and the day quality left a lot to be desired. The greenish-gray tinge was nauseating, with pixels blotting around as the camera struggled to pick up the faintest of outlines. but it did pick something up. Slowly, in the twilight hours of the morning, my bedroom door was slowly pushed open. It was obvious someone was coming in, and they were being deliberate with how sneaky they were being. I stared intently, trying to make out the chubby outline of my landlord, hoping it was just him,

since that was more preferable than some deranged stalker or a serial killer. But my God Was it much worse Around waist height A strange shape slowly stumbled in It wasn't short though It was long On all force as it slithered

Its way in The closest it resembled was a Komodo dragon A strange reptilian base But anything beyond that was alien to me In my limited knowledge of the animal world The back was covered in spiny bones, something I can only vaguely likened to the quills of a porcupine, but nothing I'd ever seen had any of that size. Its claws were sharp, but not in a clean way, like sharpened rock, rather than knife-like blades.

It waddled his way over to my bed and seemed to sniff me out with a few pokes of its split tongue. My breath froze as I watched it slowly clamber up the foot of my bed, my slumbering self, gently stirring with a movement on the mattress. The creature opened its mouth wider and wider, and just as it looked to be as big as it could get, unhinged this jaw to distend the width of its more. It scooped at my feet with ease, and slid forward inch by inch,

freezing many times as it did so, seemingly taken its time to keep me in my paralysed state. Eventually it got up to my hips, just below my belly and froze its lips pushed a few times on the pudge of my gut and it just stayed there

for an all good amount of time seemingly mulling over what its next move is eventually its decision was made and it slowly slid away releasing my lower heart from its jaw and slithered out of my room after that

the footage cut I froze there Everything I felt I knew had crashed around me And a terrifying reality I didn't want to admit Was sinking into my head Buster had seen this thing And gotten out while he could It had been feeding on any meat product for weeks

And had almost gotten big enough to eat me Almost I went back and checked out the markings around the house have they started small but each newer set had gotten deeper longer, higher. It's growing at a rapid pace and it's figured out

that it's nearly big enough to eat me. I've received the call from the pound. Buster has been found. I've spent the last of my money on a ticket out of the city. I'm going to swing by, pick him up and leave with what I can carry in my back.

Whatever is going on here will have to resolve without me. This is my landlord's problem now. It's a nasty habit, but I've been smoking again. Pretty heavily, honestly. It started because I was bored. Stupid, I know.

And it developed from there. I live alone and suffer from that. I don't have enough energy to do anything productive, but I want to feel productive, and sitting on the porch smoking counts as doing something, right? Again, it's stupid and doesn't make much sense. I keep saying I'll quit But here I am At 6am

Sitting on my porch with a cigarette lit Not even five minutes after the alarm woke me I live in a rural area On the border of a state bark and Route 30 There's a little apartment Of the little country market here If it weren't for the intermittent traffic It would be a quiet home

6am was one of the few times I could sit on the porch And not hear the constant stream of trucks and semis hauling things across state. If I was lucky, I catch glimpses of some wildlife though. Raccoon, deer, once even a bear that made eye contact with me as it steadily resumed its rummaged meal from the dumpster beneath the parking light. And that more than made up for the noise, I think.

I like to think that I always had a friend or two nearby. Kind of pathetic, really, but I failed to make any human friends in two years of living here. Another thing is the spiders. Tons of them make their home on the porch's railings and the ceiling of the overhang above. They freaked me out a little, the sheer mass of them, but I like to think we have a truce of sorts. They don't try to crawl on me or take up real estate to my chair and respect my personal space. They don't get smashed or bathed in a torrent of raid.

It's been working well so far, and I thank them for the cooperation, because it's totally normal to have one-sided conversations with the spiders or whatever other creature crawls into my line of sight. I was finishing my third cigarette when I noticed it. Stuck in a particularly nasty series of webs was a praying mantis, dangling from one leg. It was a pretty large one too. Green and tan with wings tipped in bright white,

which I'd never seen before. I was sure it could take on the comparatively little spiders on the porch, but its frantic arm movements struck a cord in my heart. I carefully removed the little thing from the web, and it almost immediately latched on with his front legs. It took over a minute to release his grip as carefully as I could, as I feared harming its delicate limbs. I set it down on my chair gently. See Tavana right there, I said, but frowned when I saw the mantis didn't seem to be doing well despite my efforts. It had its face pressed to the seat, limbs spayed as if they could no longer support its body weight.

As I watched, it struggled to move, legs uncoordinated. It flipped onto its back, where it grew mostly still, except for the slow movements of legs bending and unbending. A pang of sadness hit me. Probably more than what is normal for the life of a bug. But I didn't know what to do. I whispered an apology to it, then went back inside to get ready for work.

When I went to leave, it hadn't moved at all. its colour seemed to be more muted. Good luck, buddy. If nothing else, I hope you can pass comfortably there instead of a spider's meal. I passed to go to my car and thought about the mantis the entire way and throughout the day.

I felt worried and maybe even a little stupid for feeling worried, but it occupied my mind all day. Every break I could, I took to Google. I found that the mantis was likely female due to its larger size and the length of its wings, which did not extend past its abdomen. I also read up on the malting process, which gave me a little hope. It listed a lightning in colour and lethargy as signs of the process.

I continued my research in stolen minutes during smoke breaks and bathroom breaks. I wasn't able to determine the exact species, the white-tipped wings thrown off any hunch that it could be similar green and tan species. It was much larger than the average size of any mantises known in my area too. Its length had dwarfed my hand in the brief moment I held it. I figured it might have been some sort of one-off mutation of sorts. I got home from work a little late after stopping for groceries along the way. It was still there.

I went inside long enough to put groceries away, lighting up a cigarette as I stepped outside and hauling a dining chair with me, so I had a place to sit too. I studied her, looked as close as I could, and was happy to see light movement. Not much, but her antenna was still twitching and mouthpieces quivering just very slightly. I butted out the cigarette and went back inside the house, returning with a cup of water. I went off the porch to find the leaf, slightly dry, slightly curled up at the edges. I set the leaf about six inches away from her.

I used my fingertips to transfer a few droplets of water to the leaf. I searched around the porch, examining the spider webs, and picked off a medium-sized moth. I apologize to the spiders for stealing a meal, reassured them that it was for a good cause, then set them mostly dead but still twitching moth next to the leaf. I don't know if this will help, but if you pull through, at least you'll have a drink and a snack when you do. The mantis, as expected, did not answer. Not much for conversation, that one. I went back inside, thinking my presence might be a continued stress on her.

I didn't smoke the rest of the night, but looked at the door every so often. As time went on, I was happy to see that it had been a molting process after all, as she seemed to be detaching from the old exoskeleton little by little in small laboured movements. In the morning, the moth was gone, the dry leaf, and nothing left of her but a shed and destroyed malt, and a surprising amount of clear, viscous goo, and a lot of it. My Google Academy session had nothing to say about the goo, but I was just glad she'd made it through and was off living a little mantis life again somewhere. I smiled and left for work.

Another few weeks passed in its usual silence and lack of fanfare. I found myself smoking more, as if I needed an excuse to sit out on my porch more often than before. In the back of my head, I hoped to see her again, see how bright and new colours were, and how big she had grown. It was dumb, what with a large, expansive forest surrounding me, hundreds of acres she could be exploring and hunting. Still, it was a nice thought. Monday nights or trash nights, the dumpster emptied early Tuesday mornings. I'd fallen asleep at some point on my couch and when I woke up it was still dark.

I looked at the time. 5 a.m. Grumbling, I bagged up my trash, deciding to take it out before the dump drug arrived and with plans to get another hour of sleep in before work. The parking lot light was a bright orange-white above as I lifted the dumps the lid and threw the bag inside, the movement casting distorted shadows as I did.

It was after I turned to go back in the room. inside that I heard movement. Before I could even react or think about it, something hard and pointed pressed painfully into the small of my back. I did know anybody was still here, a rough,

out-of-breath male voice said. I froze, too afraid to even look over my shoulder in fear of setting the guy off. He sounded panicked himself, pressing the knife further against my back. For once, I begged for the usual noisy

traffic along 30, but the night was quiet and the road unoccupied at this hour. Please, I begged, voice barely above a whisper. I didn't want to die here, sad and alone, were the only old woman who worked in the country market there to find me. Let me go. I haven't seen your face. I don't even... What was he even doing to warrant worry about a sad, lonely woman living by herself?

I glanced around quickly and noticed. the window below my apartment for the country market was open. Of all places to try to rob, it had to be a little store in the middle of nowhere. I was going to die here, so out of the blue and unexpected, an inner place so small, it didn't even have a paper for me to be remembered as a passing headline,

a place where no one would mourn me or claim my body when it was found. I could sense him shifting from foot to foot nervously. No, I'm not. I can't risk it. I can't. He hovered behind me for several long moments, knife alternating between pressing even harder into my back, hesitant and pulling away. My porch steps were about 20 feet away. Could I make it in time?

Up my steps into the door, locking it before he could push through and make a more decisive jab of his knife? Probably not. not with all the smoking I've been doing. Our shadows stretched ahead of us, made grotesque from the angle of the Parganlot light. As I watched and considered my fate here at the hands of an indecisive knife,

something else in the shadow shifted behind us. Now, an even longer and larger shadow crept up, swallowing up the shadows of myself and my assailant until all you could see was this new shadow. The man cursed, the knife pulling away as he turned to the shuffling steps behind us. I didn't hesitate then, his distraction my benefit. I bolted for my steps, taking them two at a time,

but not quick enough to avoid hearing the man's screams being abruptly cut off by an echoing, wet crunch. I didn't look back. I crashed through my door, locked it, and made the bee-line from my bed where I huddled, terrified and in the disassociated days as the sun arose and the morning lights spilled in through my window.

It must have only been an hour, tops, before a commotion outside began. First, with the sound of the garbage truck pulling off, and then the sirens and more cars and a chorus of voices, then knocking on my door. Two officers stood there, the light of their vehicles

flashing below. Morning, ma'am, are you the one who lives here? I nodded, heart hammering in my chest. My mind is. immediately went to every worst-case scenario, because of course something else could go wrong. My mind landed under the idea that I'd somehow be blamed for the man's death. I assumed he was dead, because those screams and their quick end could mean nothing else.

Did you happen to hear anything in the night, any unusual activity? But the two stood shoulder to shoulder and blocked the view. No, not that I can recall, I lied. Why did I lie? I was out like a light since ten. They accepted the answer easily. I was surprised with how calmly I was interacting with them, despite the terror of my head.

Did something happen, officers? They exchanged glances briefly, but didn't hesitate in their reply. Word gets around in places like this, whether they told me themselves or not. Looks like a particularly bad bear attack, guy trying to rob the store below. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The first officer said, Not the first bear attack around here, said the second. I nodded again, not sure what to say now. All right, the first officer said after a long pause, well, stay safe,

keep on the lookout for wildlife, and be careful not to leave trash out near your door or steps. They turned and descended the stairs just in time for me to glimpse the body, covered in blood, in a flimsy sheet that hugged the outline of the body. Tall, broad-shouldered, and alarmingly ended right there at the shoulders.

I shut the door, called off work and stayed inside. No smoke breaks. The next day I returned to work, not able to justify another missed day of wages to myself. Talk at work confirmed what I saw. The man's head had been taken clean off, leaving only the collapsed body in the parking lot. The head was nowhere to be found Nobody knew the man But an abandoned campsite was found

In the park nearby Bear must have had one hell of the munches One co-worker said Two-by-the-store security cameras were just for show Would have liked to see the thieving ass I'll get where was coming to him I stayed quiet When I got home that day I sat on my porch in my usual chair

And lit a cigarette with a lot of unease I looked out toward the dumpster and the parking lot light, not yet flicked on in the fading sunlight. I thought about the shadow that dwarfed mine and the man's, the long, gangly limbs, the thin body above the larger, rounded abdomen, the triangular head and the moving mouthpiece. I didn't want to understand yet.

I made my retreat into the house when a spider crawled onto my shoulder and down the front of my shirt, sending my limbs flailing, as I tried to get it off. Several weeks passed, and the excitement of the bear attack eventually faded. I felt okay enough to keep up my normal smoking habits out on the porch after a few days. I also made a habit of not descending the stairs at night for any reason.

It was morning now, the sun barely peeking over the tree top. Not much had changed, except for what I called the great spider migration. I hadn't seen but a few on the porch in weeks. I wasn't too torn up about it after the little assholes had declared war and broke our truce. It was as I was putting out the second cigarette of the morning when I happened to glance up at the railing across from mine. Two little mantis nymphs perched on the top of the railing watched me. Head stilted and maxillary palps twitching in curiosity. They were bright green and tan, the little developing wings tipped in a bright white.

I smiled. Hello, little ones. Three years ago, my neighbour had what can best be described as a mental breakdown. One morning, he stepped onto his front lawn, looked around the street for a few moments, and then went and sat in his driveway, shirtless. I'd watched them do this because I'd just gone out to go to school. When I returned later that day, seven hours later, he was still there, sitting exactly as he had before when I left.

Most of our neighbours had gone to work, seeing the man as they drove past, but none had thought to call the police. He technically wasn't doing anything wrong, so he remained undisturbed for several hours, though undoubtedly watched by anyone who hadn't gone to work or school. I wasn't very familiar with him, passing greetings being the most contact between us in the years we live next door to each other. My parents were similarly unfamiliar with a man, though none of us could have said that we disliked him or felt uncomfortable around him. He was just a stranger who occupied the same street as us. For the sake of privacy and respect of the dead, I won't share his name. After arriving home that day, I went into my house, made some food and played video games,

not thinking about the man, but knowing with a sort of subconscious awareness that he was still sitting, motionless, and half naked in his driveway. Hours passed, and the fathers and mothers and general adults began arriving home from work, and the man's presence was beheld a second time, now worrying, inciting neighbourly unease because their children are out to play, and a strange man behaving oddly in the vicinity of children is an unsettling thing. My own parents had arrived by then, and questioned me about the man, and I told them as much as I've said now.

They told me to remain inside, and then together they joined the other neighbours, who had come out of their homes that slowly approached the man, looking like zookeepers, wearily approaching some agitated animal. I watched them through my window, a sense of dread filtering into my blood. I had no clue why, but felt that something awful was about to happen. The group of adults arrived at the man's driveway, and he sat as still as ever, paying no attention to them. The only part of his body that moved to his eyelids. All else was still, and even his breathing was so faint as to be indiscernible. My father was the first to reach

him and said something that I couldn't hear through my window. I opened it quietly, not wanting to give away that I was watching and managed to make out the phrase, are you all right? To which the man did not respond. Similar questions were asked by other residents, but no one received an answer. I saw some of them exchanged worried looks, and a few withdrew phones from their pockets, either to record the strangeness or prepared to call someone, presumably the authorities. My dad, who in his professional life was a student counsellor, wasn't at my school, thankfully, attempted to be physically supportive.

Kneeling, he placed an arm around the man, who was assuredly sweaty from having sat shirtless in the sun all day. I was understandably grossed out, but that trivial feeling gave way to abject terror when the man reacted to my father's touch. Without hesitation, happening the exact moment my dad's arm fell around his shoulders, the neighbour became suddenly animated and seized my dad by the throat in his hands. My mother screamed, the crowd collectively gasped, and before anyone could think to come to my dad's aid, the neighbour slammed his head on the pavement. In a second, he had climbed atop my dazed father and had landed several blows on his head. By the time one of the neighbours had snapped out of their shock and came to restrain the attacking man,

my father's head was a plubby mess on the driveway, caved in by the neighbours' mania-strengthened blows. I was petrified by shock, the unprovoked brutality of it all. I couldn't begin to process it to rebuttal. appropriately react to it. I was like a mannequin in that window, staring dry-eyed at the battered form of my father on the driveway. It was chaos after that. My father was well-liked among the neighbourhood, thanks to my father having been helpful to several neighbours' children. When the incident happened, a bit over half the gathered growled wanted to beat, if not

kill the man who had bludgeoned my dad. The other half, desperately wanting to maintain some level of civility, pleading with the opposing side to call the authorities and let them sort it out. Despite my father lying dead a few feet away from them, they defended his killer, speculating that mental illness, not malice, had been the cause of the violence, and that he deserved treatment appropriate to the circumstances. In the end, no one harmed the man. They all knew, were, all vaguely aware, that executing a man in broad daylight where children

were watching from windows was not something the neighbourhood could recover from. The police were called and the neighbour, who had calmed immediately after murdering my father, was taken away. Neighbours were questioned and everyone reported the same story. My father's body was loaded into an ambulance, black tarp concealing him, and my mother followed the procession of emergency vehicles in her car, firmly instructed me to stay home before departing. he hadn't known that I watched it all, and told me that Dad had been, quote, hurt. As they left, I peeked through the window and saw several neighbours glancing furtively towards

her house, their eyes filled with shock and sorrow. Angered beyond reason, rendered almost stupid by it, I left my home and ran to the neighbour's house. It took every nerve, every ounce of will not to look at the blood stain on his driveway as I passed it. Luckily, if luck is even an applicable term for all this, he had left his front door unlocked. I went inside, for the moment, not caring who saw me. I figured I had a right to investigate the house. If they weren't willing to help my father

but were willing to stop me from trespassing, they weren't neighbours at all. The man's house was dark, dust-chalked, and filled with an atmosphere of disuse. Apparently, his breakdown had occurred well before he positioned himself in his driveway. The specific details of his house are largely irrelevant. It had the general makeup of any three-bedroom suburban home, albeit one that had fallen to slow interior ruin.

There is only one room, a guest room, that deserves mention. It was here that I found the organisation and examination of a mystery, one that explained the neighbour's bizarre and savage behaviour. Within this room, crudely affixed to the walls, tacked at the boards, stable to nearly every service, were pictures of my dad. Earlier, I thought that mere physical contact had provoked the neighbour, that he would have reacted that way to anyone who touched him.

But clearly, evidenced by the pictures in the room, he had some long-held vendetta against my dad. The pictures seemed to date back years, some even on the family when we first moved to the neighbourhood six years earlier. I was only seven then, and despite the odd obsessiveness of it all, he had had the decency to at least black out my face where I was present. He did the same for my mothers as well. His ire was solely focused on my dad, on a desk covered with folders. These filled with pictures as well, was a small plastic.

box. It was black, and by the size of a glasses case and was the focal point of the desk. Everything seemed placed around it, but nothing touched it. Something in my gut told me not to open it, to just let the authorities investigate the house themselves when the time came, but my anger motivated me to find answers. Taking a moment to calm my shaking hands, I reached out and lifted the lid. There was a flash drive inside and nothing else. I took it out and as if brought to my awareness by contact with the thing, I saw a laptop beneath a stack of papers nearby.

I opened it and thankfully it was unlocked. I inserted the flash drive and accessed its contents, which consisted of scans of photographs, articles dating back decades, documents of event schedules, personal entries, and map coordinates. All of it pertaining to an occult organisation of which my father and neighbour were apparently members. According to the documents, some of which were diary entries from various members, the cult had been abruptly disbanded following a ceremony which required the sacrifice of a child. The cult had done objectionable things in the past, but apparently the taking of a child's life was the first and many members objected to it,

Those who were willing to go through with the abominable right did so, after excommunicating the unwilling. Following this schism in ceremony, the cult dissolved, the once loyal members expressing extreme regret at having committed the deed due to the nature in which it was carried out, which was apparently far more torturous for the child than planned. My father and neighbour were of those who conducted the sacrifice. The origin of the abducted child was not made,

mentioned in any of the entries and was not one of the points on the map, most of them being location sites for the occult ceremonies. Once the child had been acquired, the ceremony was held and the life was taken. The exact purpose wasn't disclosed. While I'm sure they had some sick reason, it seemed to me that the sacrifice was largely senseless as if no one really knew or dared to speak the Eldridge purpose beyond the name of the entity to which the offering was made. I've copied a short entry from the neighbour's digitised diary, omitting nothing.

It has been 20 years since that night. He thinks he can just escape it, just move on, brush all that blackness under a rug. He's married now and he's even fathered a child. But what of the rest of us, those who can't simply turn away from our crimes, even though they remain unknown to the world? I followed him throughout this period. watching him from the shadows as he goes about his morally unburdened life. It sickens me, infuriates me.

I can't sleep at night, can't eat, can barely perform the tedium of my work. Meanwhile, he acts as if he's normal, as if he hadn't done unspeakable things in worship of that lonesome, hypercosmic timekeeper, the black horologist. We both have. The only difference is that I feel guilt over them. He doesn't. I've altered myself considerably in the last few years.

I'm virtually unrecognizable now to anyone who has known me. Even the others, those with whom I've meant in contact with, say that it seems as if I'm a completely new person. I've bought a home next door to his, and have watched with disgust as he plays the role of suburban family man. His roots are gnarled and blackened, and the only thing that can grow from them are rotten, monstrous storks. I won't let him go on living this way.

false way. I can't. He's become a counsellor of a school for God's sake. What if it's planning and resuming those diabolical practices using one of those children he counsels? I can feel my sanity slipping away. The black horologist has wound his watch, and time ticks by. The evidence of the man's entry was abundant. There were pictures of the ceremony. Entries from various members attesting to the same things, and even a few from my father. His were mostly remorseless and unapologetic, dark, poyous. He was sure that his crimes were justified in the worship of this bizarre, time-focused entity. One disturbing entry of his was almost gleeful.

He mentions a feeling of beatific joy at having done some unspecific act of mutilation on an animal in alleged service to his master. I found no mention of my mother in any other files. I was thankful for that at least. I didn't want to think of my dad as an insane court member, but I suppose it's possible. But my mother, I couldn't imagine her doing any of the vile things detailed in the documents. An hour had passed, and I had no idea when the police would return to conduct a search on the house. I didn't want to just take the flash drive.

There was still a lot left to go through, and neither did I want to risk being seen going home and returning with my own drive to copy the files. Luckily, there's that word again, my neighbour had internet access. I planned on uploading the files to an online storage service I had an account with, but the moment I initiated the upload, the files and the drive started being deleted. Before I could salvage any of it, it was all gone, wiped by some security encryption measure in the flash drive. Apparently, he hadn't wandered the data to delete the drive,

and was willing to cedar raised rather than be transferred. than be transferred elsewhere. I no longer had proof of my dad's involvement in a murderous cult and the only remaining evidence were the pictures. The resultant narrative, rather than the truth, was that my neighbour was simply deranged and obsessive and had murdered my father for some unknowable reason. That's how it played out in the end. He never said anything to anyone, not the police, not the lawyers appointed to him. People believed it was to avoid incriminating himself further. The pictures in the guest room were undeniably damning.

But I believe his silence was not because he was unwilling to talk, but because he was unable to. His mind, if his diary entries are an accurate representation of it, was already greatly unraveled. The man that murdered my father had only done so out of some instinctual impulse, the last vestige of sense in an otherwise broken mind. I relate this story now in the hopes that someone here can possibly provide more information on this profane cult

and the sinister being they supposedly served. So, you've probably heard that the social media app called TikTok has been banned by the United States government. The ban is yet to take official effect and the whole thing is honestly pretty complicated. The reason most sources have cited it is because the app is Chinese designed and has been implicated with various breaches of privacy and a legal collection of data. This whole thing is basically a proxy, cyber war between paranoid fractions if you ask me. But honestly, it doesn't even matter. Now, as rewarding and constructive as it can be to discuss politics on the internet with strangers,

I'd rather not go down that path right now. It's not the real reason it got banned anyway. I am. At least I think I am. I imagine half of you right now probably hate me already but please just hear me out feel free to Lombast and or praise me in the comments if you wish but I'm not here to make myself famous or gain any sort of clout

I'm here because something truly horrifying happened and the world deserves to know the truth I was an avid user of TikTok regularly wasting hours just browsing random videos and periodically making my own My lawyer has recommended not sharing my username for reasons that will become evident soon enough, so sorry in advance. I had a modest following, but nothing crazy.

Most of my videos involved me doing dumb little skits or filming my cats doing something funny. Never had anything big, and by all accounts it was nothing out of the ordinary. I live with my parents, and one night I was home alone playing some Apex legends when my bedroom door just suddenly shut. It made me jump, and I turned around to see what happened. I fully anticipated seeing my brother or another family member with a smug grin, but no one was there. I got eliminated shortly after and got up to check the house, still a bit unnerved.

My parents were away for the weekend visiting my grandma, and my brother was supposed to be staying the night at a friend's house. I figured he must have come home instead, but after searching the house and calling his name, I didn't find him. I figured he was hiding to try and scare me, because that asshole loves to make me jump, and it's not very difficult. I finally decided to call him, only to find out he was in fact still at his friend's house. I felt chills slithered down my spine when he sent me a selfie of himself to prove it. I thought about calling the police, thinking that someone had broken in, but there were no signs of that being the case.

Now, they sent the movies, and I knew immediately that my door wouldn't have shut up. on its own due to a random gust of wind or some draft inside the house. I was on edge the rest of that night, but nothing else happened. A few days later, however, I was lying in bed at around 2 a.m. when I heard something whispered my name. I shut up right away, but saw nothing in my room. It sounded like it came from my closet, but when I flicked the lights on, there was nothing there. I began to grow seriously unnerved by that point, and just sat around with my heart racing for a couple of minutes.

Just when I had finally calmed down, I was about to turn the lights back off. A cup suddenly fell from the dresser. Water splashed all over the ground, but I barely noticed. A rational part of my mind wondered whether a random tremor from the earth was responsible, but that thought ceased with a single noise. Knock. A sudden, muffled knock reverberated from somewhere in my room. By this point

I was really beginning to panic and I was about two seconds away from sprinting out of my room and screaming like a banchie I don't exactly know what stopped me from doing that to be honest Is someone there I don't know why I asked the question either But to my surprise Knock

My heart skipped a beat And I tried to determine where exactly the knock was coming from Like before I thought maybe my brother was messing with me, but it was past midnight and I knew he had to work the next day. Curiosity then mixed with horror and I formulated an idea. I pulled out my phone and began recording. Can you hear me? I could hear my own voice shaking as I spoke.

Knock. A cold chill swept on my spine, but an idea struck. One knock for yes and two for no. Okay? Knock To ensure it understood I decided to ask a question to see if it would actually respond correctly

Are you a giant purple elephant? Knock Knock The knock Seems to change location every time Even with the two consecutive knocks I ended the video And shared it with the tagline

There was something in my room Holy crap I then started another video And posed another question Are you here to hurt me? Knock, knock. My heart breathed a small sigh of relief at that. I shared that video too

and then did a quick check through my house to make damn sure that one of my family members wasn't just messing with me. After confirming that, I went back to my room, now more curious than afraid. I thought I could be the very first person to document paranormal phenomenon firsthand and that possibility really excited me.

Are you still there? Knock. My heart jumped with enthusiasm as the camera rolled. I asked a few more yes-no questions, but most were just simple things that aren't too relevant. After the thing continued to respond accurately, I decided to take things to another level and prove once and for all that I wasn't just being pranked.

Can you do something to demonstrate your hear? This was probably a bad idea, and I'm sure. I'll get scolded in the comments for it, but I had to know. There was no knock this time, and things just lingered in silence for a couple of seconds. A sudden creaking noise then echoed from my right,

and I turned in sheer disbelief to see my door not begin to turn. The door popped and slowly rolled open to touch the opposite wall at the foot of my bed. There was no one outside. I shared the video. I was still nervous, but now also giddy with excitement. I thought my discovery of the apparent poltergeist in my room may shock,

not only the TikTok community, but the world at large. We've all seen those supposed paranormal videos on YouTube and whatnot, of a door slowly opening or some vague, shadowy figure that appears for a few frames, but this was on a whole new level. Not only was the entity willfully engaged in my questions, but it was happening right before my eyes. I probably recorded a dozen more videos that night with various captions. I can tell you the exact amount,

but all of them had since been deleted along with my account. That was my lawyer's suggestion, and I think he's right. Maybe someone out there archive them, but I hope not. I hope those videos never see the light of day again. Over the next couple days, I continue to communicate with the presence in my room. I contemplated getting a Ouija board to try and ask some better questions,

but I knew my staunchy religious parent would probably castrate me if they ever caught me with something like that. Instead, I decided to construct one out of paper, using a Pringle's lid as a planchette. I didn't really think anything would happen, but decided to go for it anyway. I had read that you need at least three people

to make a Ouija board work, something about a certain amount of spiritual energy or something. My good friend Ethan had seen most of my videos and was really interested in what was going on. I invited him to come over and see for himself and he was more than

happy to accept. He arrived late one night and I explained to him what my plan was. Ethan needed very little convincing and was game basically from the get-go. Ethan and I went to Jake, my older brother's room

and tried to explain to him what I was doing. He clearly didn't believe me when I claimed I'd made contact with something supernatural, but he also swore up and down that he had nothing to do with it. After a bit, I finally managed to convince him to come join us. His eyes went wide when he beheld my crude Ouija board. Zach, what the hell are you doing? He asked, looking suddenly uncomfortable. Jake, there's something in here. I swear.

Watch. I looked around the room and took a deep breath. Can you hear me? Knock. The reaction came immediately and made Jake jump. Ethan giggled and gave a muffled hoot of excitement. But Jake was silent. He glanced around the room,

trying to see where it came from as his visible discomfort grew. See, I told you, I proclaimed. I sat down beside the paperboard and motioned for both of them to join. me. Ethan sat down right away, but Jake hesitated. He looked around the room once more, and then sighed, taking his seat opposite to me. Do you want to talk? I asked to our ethereal guest. Knock. Ethan had a wide smile, but Jake remained stoic. I put my hand on my Pringle's cap planchette, and Ethan did the same soon after. Both of us then looked at Jake, who I had a supposed to,

with warily. He clearly wasn't comfortable with it, but the sight of my rag-tag Ouija board clearly amused him. Really? I shrugged. The one would kill me if I got a real one. Jake just sighed, not looking excited in the least, but placed his fingers in the cap as well. There was a moment of silence between the three of us, but surprisingly, Jake then asked the first question. Can you hear us? Nothing happened for a moment, but then I felt the planchette seemed to try and pull away. Our hand stayed gently on it as it hovered to the Y on the board. It paused the moment.

Then I felt it pulled towards the E. Sure enough, a second later, and it fell on S. Ethan immediately retracted his hand from the board and put his hands to his head. You guys better not be messing with me, he said. Dude, I swear on my life, I'm not doing it. I replied. Ethan shook his head, and Jake just remained silent, as if he didn't know what to say. I could tell both of them were hesitant to continue, so I decided to reassure them.

Don't worry, guys, it means us no harm. Watch, you don't want to hurt us, right? I motioned for them to put their hands back, and, after a few seconds, they both did. The Bringles cap then slowly drifted towards N, and then to O. We shouldn't be doing this, Drake said. Dude, we're going to go viral for this. No question.

You're still recording, right? Ethan replied, looking to me. I nodded and stopped the video to prepare the next one. Who cares? It ain't worth being haunted by a damn demon, Drake countered. He had a point, but I wasn't ready to back down. Are you a demon? I asked.

N. O. See? Jade just glared at me like I was an idiot. Well, it's not going to admit it. That's like asking someone if they're a murderer. Of course they're going to say no. I guess he did have a point, but I was adamant that the presence was not malicious.

Are you human? I asked. The planchette began to slide once more. N. O. Jill's descended my spine after. that. Jake and Ethan were both silent. My curiosity was insatiable by that point. What's your name? I asked. O S. Y. R. A. I just looked at Jake and he hunched his shoulders. I stopped the recording on my phone,

uploaded the video with a tag and started a new one. What are you? Jake asked. N-O. Why are you here? Here, Ethan chimed in. Why? Oh. Jake immediately flung his hands off the planchette after the planchette drifted to the letter U. Nope, uh-uh, I'm done. Screw this.

He began to leave the room. Dude, what's wrong? This is how like every horror movie ever made begins, Zach. I'm not about to be murdered by a ghost. As Jake and I argued, my bedroom door suddenly shifted. The three of us then watched in sheer disbelief as the door slowly rolled shut on its own accord. A dense moment of silence befell then, and Jake slowly turned to face me in horror. Honestly, we probably should have had the door closed from the beginning,

but that message was received loud and clear. We weren't done until it said we were done. I guess we don't have a choice now, I said. Jake glared at me as he took his seat one. once more, gingerly reaching for the planchette and posing another question. What do you want? L-O-V-E. I breathed a small sigh of relief at that.

See dude, he just wants to be loved, probably just a ghost of someone that's lost or something. I don't know if I was trying to convince Jake or myself of that, but a sudden bang against the wall caused the soul to jump. It was louder than any of the previous knocks, and it caused my heart to soar in my chest. This thing clearly had some kind of power to affect the physical world, and that should have terrified me way more than it did. Our hands returned to the planchette, and when it spelled something out, I actually chuckled. S. H. E.

Oh, she. She's a girl. Sorry about that. I replied to her. shooting Jake a pensive smile. I guess even ghosts don't like being misgendered, Ethan said with a chuckle, and Jake just shook his head in response.

Are you hot? Ethan just blurted out the question. Jake just glared at him like he actually wanted to smack him upside the head, and honestly, I felt the same. It was definitely not a wise decision to ask a powerful spirit. Yet despite that,

it actually got an interesting response. C. O. L. D. Cold. Our conversation went on for a while and spanned multiple videos. Jake, Ethan and I just basically spitballed questions at her, ranging from asinine things like hair colour to more profound questions like life after death.

I'll just summarise a few of them now to save some time for us all. How old are you? Old. Where do you come from? No. Have you been here for long? Too long. Are you an alien?

No. Is there life after death? No death. Are there more like you? Tupu. Is there something we can do to help you? Yes. What is it?

Paravutal. What does that mean? That was the last question she responded to. We asked several more questions, but the planchette didn't move again. I figured that meant. it was the end of the conversation. Jake stared at the board for several minutes before properly rising and opening my bedroom door to leave.

Ethan and I just stared at the board in silence for a few minutes. For some reason, I was suddenly exhausted. I mean, it was the middle of the night by that point, but prior to our little game, I was wide awake. I worked nights too, so I'm used to being up all night, but my lethargy made me wonder whether the exchange had taken a toll on my emotions or something. Ethan seemed to feel similar

and announced not long after that he was going to head home. I bid him goodbye and locked the door behind him. I went to check and shake, but he was already fast asleep in bed. Still feeling completely exhausted, I returned to my room. I didn't even have time to find something to watch on Netflix before falling asleep.

That same night, I had probably the most visceral and disturbing nightmare of my entire life. I don't even normally have bad dreams, and if I do, I don't remember them. But I don't think I'll ever forget this one.

I was in the forest, stumbling around in the dark. It wasn't like my normal dreams where random stuff seems to happen and have no control over anything. I was perfectly lucid. I remember touching the rough bark on the trees and feeling the velvety leaves as they swayed in the

breeze. I walked on fully aware of who I was, but without a clue as to where I was or how I got there. The further I went, the more twisted the terrain became. The trees grew in odd, unnatural angles, spiraling like loop-de-loops and other ornate structures. The ground became riddle with holes that seemed to just be empty voids, with some of them being massive craters of replete oblivion. There were these weird and terrifying statues along the way. Large matte grey slabs depicting all sorts of vile things.

Some looked slightly human, most did not. The majority were some horrendous amalgamations of vaguely animalistic parts, grated onto a wretched torso. Words simply cannot describe their utterly hideous vestiges in the context necessary, nor can they convey the permeating dread that coagulated in my soul as I beheld them. It was like some deep fear within me had been awakened, after seeing those sculptures. After some time, I came to a chasm.

Before me sat a massive crater that contained a black, darker than anything I'd ever seen before, at least at first. The more I stared at the abyss, the more I saw it for what it was. There was something down there, and I was unable to avert my gaze. I was paralysed in simultaneous bewilderment and unrelated terror as something began to rise from the pit. Something new. Something old but new. Horrific and beautiful. A girl cloaked in tapestries of night, spooned for the miasma of appendages that coiled and slithered into countless worlds. Below her, minions of every creed, colour, species and existence, festered and writhed about in chaotic ecstasy. They howled and cheered as their blasphemous goddess consumed the

world, snuffing them into non-existence in their orgy of psychotic bliss. The ultimate contradictions portrayed in that revolting scene were enough to shake my mind to its roots, like simply witnessing it was a sin greater than any I'd ever committed. It was also wrong, but right in a way I myself cannot even explain. I don't even know if anything I've said here makes any sense to anyone, but I felt compelled to tell it anyway. It's like my hands have ceased to be the way. their own and some other forces compelling them, as though I were nothing more than a mere flesh

puppet. I then felt a gaze shift to mine, and as soon as I was sure I was said to be devoured whole, everything vanished. Next thing I know, I'm waking up, gasping for breath in my bed. My shirt and sheets were soaked with cold sweat, and my heart was thundering in my chest. I've had bad dreams before, but nothing so visceral or horrific. profoundly profound as that one. It took me several minutes to realize I was back in the waking world, and a brief tranquility rolled over me. As terrifying as that dream was, it was only just a dream.

The rational part of me tried desperately to explain away the madness that had just the cost of my subconscious, and it almost succeeded, until I saw the symbol in my closet. It looked like a circle with thorns jutting out of it. like some scribbling made by a child. It was not gently crafted. On the contrary, it appeared hastily scrawled as though inscribed by a deranged man

on the last thread to fraying sanity. I rub my fingers along it, but it did not smudge nor leave residue on my finger. It looked almost like it had been burned into the wall. I decided then that I had to know more about what we had learned from the entity we had communed with.

I searched the name it had gave us. Osira, but found very little that seemed relevant. It brought up a game I'm unfamiliar with called Pillars of Entity, but it wasn't a direct match. I also got resorts for a Polish soccer player, some town in Norway, and an electronic musician on Amazon Music. None of them seem to match. So, I googled the word she had told us, which I did not recognise. Tupu, as far as I can tell, is a Swahili word which means, m-T. empty, while Paravital is Tamil for spread or disperse.

The fact it knew different languages was not that surprising, but the implications were. Tamil is one of the oldest known written languages in the world, predating aromatic and Latin by a substantial margin. I'm no expert, but as far as I know, it's also a dead language like the other two. Can't imagine there's a whole lot of people that are fluent in it, which leads me to you. to believe that whoever, or whatever Osira is, she is very old. Both of my cats, Druffles and Lemmy, also began to refuse to enter my room. Druffles especially used to regularly sleep on my bed, but he had suddenly stopped even coming near my room. A couple times I saw him staring from down the hall with his ears pinned back and eyes like saucers. I tried carrying him to my

room, but before I even got close, he went absolutely ballistic. He began snarling and hissing like he was in a battle for his life, and I dropped him after he shredded my arms of his claws. He bolted down the hall as soon as his paws touched the ground, and he hasn't ventured back upstairs since. My plausible deniability continued to dwindle, the more I learned and pondered upon it. Even if both Jake and Ethan had played along and move the planchette to prank me. I couldn't explain the knocks. To be honest, I'd long since abandoned the notion

that either Jake or Ethan were playing me, and that was before I made another truly unnerving discovery. By this point, the series of videos that I'd shared on TikTok had started to garner a bit of buzz. Several of them had a couple hundred likes and dozens of comments.

It was the usual stuff you see on paranormal videos with people claiming it's fake, while others offered advice or tried to explain what was happening. Most people just made meme references, though, or told me to burn down the house. There was one that stood out from the rest, though. Some girl I didn't know had commented under the video with four simple words that made my spine tingle. I've seen her too. I clicked on a profile, and like mine, it was nothing special. Just videos of her dancing and doing lip-sink video.

and stuff. She had more followers than I did, but nothing that would be considered influencer status. Her latest couple videos drew my attention right away. The first one was much like my first experience. The video showed her in what I assumed was a bedroom asking questions and receiving knocks back just like I had. It was captioned something like, Ohng, something is in my house. Her next video gave a bit more context. The first thing it showed was her, and she looked like she had been crying. She went on to explain

that she had seen a video on TikTok of three guys using a ghetto Ouija board to speak to something called Osira. I knew immediately she was referring to my video. She then actually began to cry and muttered something about thinking it was now in her house too. I always thought the saying

May my blood run cold was cliche and overdramatic, but that was the first time I experienced it firsthand. I would have sworn someone had just thrown me overboard the Arctic Express when I heard her say those words. The next video didn't help either. First thing I saw was that same symbol on a wall

that had been branded in my closet. Hers was much larger, probably five feet wide at least. Now, she could have been a copycat after all. TikTok is known for copying trends and those various internet challenges, but something about her demeanour didn't mesh with that idea.

Either she was a brilliant actress or she was truly petrified. The video just showed her filming the symbol or muttering and softly crying, but the end was truly horrifying. A sudden knock caused her to swivel to the left. A door slowly rolled open and in the darkness there was quite clearly a shadowy silhouette looming in the doorway. The poor girl went absolutely ballistic, screaming. and crying as the video degraded into a flurry of imagery before suddenly ending. Those first three videos were scary enough, but I think it's the last one which really rattled me to the core. The girl started the video filming herself, her expression completely deadpan and emotionless.

She just sat in the darkness and stared at the camera, silent and unblinking for several seconds. I'm ready. The video then abruptly ended, and that was the last thing posted to her account. I don't know what she meant by that. Many people in the comments reacted similarly to how others had to my video. Once again, though, another comment caught my eye. I've seen her too. I clicked on that profile and found it was the account of some kid.

He couldn't have been older than 12, but once again, he too had to. a similar strain of videos. I started watching the last one, when a sudden text message rolled in from a number I didn't have in my phone. Hi Zach, this is Ethan's mom. I was just wondering if you heard from Ethan lately. He said he was over at your house last night and he didn't come home or text. Just wanted to make sure you guys are okay.

Hope you're good. Once again, my heart plummeted to the lowest possible depth in my chest as I read those words. I dialed Ethan, but he didn't answer. I tried that three more times while checking all of his social media accounts. There was no activity on any of them, and he never answered my call. I began to seriously freak the hell out at that point and ran from my room to check on Jake. Jake, Jake, wake up, man, we need to talk, I said, barging into his dark room. I thought I saw him still sleeping in bed, but as I tore the covers away,

I realized it was empty. I thought maybe he had already left, but as I turned to walk out, I saw eyes staring at me from the closet. My heart skipped a beat, and I stumbled back into the wall as I slumped down. My heart was soaring in my chest, and it took several seconds for me to realize.

He was just sitting in his closet, staring vacantly, completely unreactive to my sudden intrusion. I was partially relieved, but as I tried talking to him, I couldn't get him to respond. I grew angry, shouted and shook him, but he didn't react at all. He was completely catatonic, like he was in some kind of trance. He didn't even blink.

Nothing I did could shake him from whatever state he was in. No matter how hard I shook him, pinched him or even slapped him, he wouldn't respond. Now realizing that something was very, very much. Very wrong, I ran downstairs to my mother on the verge of a complete mental breakdown. I tried desperately to explain everything that had happened, but I probably didn't make a whole lot of sense. She finally seemed to clue in when I mentioned that something was wrong with Jake. She rushed upstairs and I tried to get him to snap out of it, but again he didn't respond. I doubt the police, telling them about both Jake and the apparently missing Ethan.

Again, I don't know how much sense I made on the phone. but the lady eventually confirmed that officers were on their way. I told them to send an ambulance too, before hanging up and returning to Jake and my mom. The cops arrived a little while later, and my mom and I met them at the door on the brink of utter hysteria. We led them inside and tried to explain what was happening as an ambulance pulled up on the road behind the cruiser.

Once again, I doubted if they could make hits or tales of what we were telling them. My mom's priority was obviously Jake, but before she could lead them or the EMTs upstairs, something truly unpredictable happened. I was trying to tell one cop what had happened, when something large struck the other cop hard out of the corner of my eye. The impact caused us all to collapse. When I looked back up, I saw Jake, who had apparently just leapt from the second floor window on top of the cop. Without a word, he began to beat the arm. officer mercilessly, driving his fists into the poor guy's face again and again with vicious intent, or bearing an expression that seemed utterly devoid of either empathy or humanity.

The other cop quickly regained his footing and tackled Jacob's partner. They wrestled around for a moment as Mom cried and begged both of them to stop. I stepped in as well, helping the officer sojuw my brother as tears stung my eyes. I didn't understand what was even happening. The two of us eventually managed to restrain Jake, but the damage had been done. The officer he attacked was an older guy, and his face looked like he had just spied with Mani Pacchio and Mike Tyson at the same time. The EMTs rushed into help, and more cops soon arrived unseen.

I just held my mom as she cried. Jake has never been a violent person, and I don't understand what possessed him to suddenly attack the cop like that. He really did a number on that man too, and he's still still in a coma. They're not sure he'll ever recover. Jake was taken to jail and he has yet to say a single word to anyone since the brutal attack. It's like he's still in a trance, almost like his mind is being controlled. Over the next few days, my mom, dad and I were interviewed by the cops several times. My story was obviously not taken seriously at first, but I didn't know what else to say. I showed them my videos on TikTok and how other users seem to have been witnessing

the same phenomenon. They really seemed to grow nervous at that point. I mean, a paranormal explanation for a police assault is just about the dumbest possible excuse someone could make, right? No one in their right mind would believe it, but it was all I could tell them. One of the interrogators said that they were going to contact a special investigation unit and they would come to our house to interview us a few days later. I don't think I slept at all during that time. I kept hearing voices and thinking I saw shadows in my room. Obviously, the things that have happened in the last little bit

have done a number of my mental health, and not sleeping has obviously exasperated that. But I know there's more to it than that. The special investigation unit finally knocked on the door and they looked about as generic as I expected them to. Two men, black suits, with heads utterly devoid of hair of any kind, even lacking eyebrows. The way they spoke was almost robotic. It's hard to explain, but I assume they were FBI or CIA, despite them never actually stating

who they worked for. They told us we needed to leave our house while they conducted an investigation. We were too exhausted to argue by that point, and we simply packed our things and drove to a local hotel with truffles and lemmings. me in tow. We've been here almost three weeks now, and we still have very few answers. Jake is facing a charge of first-degree assault and a police officer whom remains in critical condition. Ethan's whereabouts are still unknown, and no one has heard from him. His bank account hasn't been touched, and his phone hasn't been used.

I tried to call him more, but his phone just goes straight to voicemail now. It makes me shudder to think where he is or what he's doing. If you happen to see a guy with curly brown hair, about 6'1, heavyset with glasses who responds to the name Ethan, stay away from him. I don't think he can be trusted anymore. Of course, it came out in the news a little while later that the United States government intends to ban TikTok,

citing national security concerns. Maybe that's actually true. but I can't help but think there's something much worse at play here this is all my fault and I know that now all I can do is ruminate all the things that have happened lately and I think I've learned a few things the nightmares I had and the response from the Ouija board that single word that keeps coming back to me

paravital spread or disperse the video from the other girl on TikTok who said I'm ready It's truly worrying to me now. I think that's what this thing, this Osirah wants, to spread and grow her influence. I think TikTok became the medium for her to do just that, and I think I let her out.

It all started with me, and I am so very sorry for how ridiculously stupid I've been. I know my words are hollow, but I don't know what else to do. I don't think Osira is a demon. I think she's something else entirely. For all I know, she's some Eldrich Abomination, Hell went on DeVarangar Planet. I keep having dreams about her, about war, devastation and pandemonian of all kinds.

She is chaos, madness, discord and debauchery. Just look around at the state of the world right now. I'd say her influence is already being felt. I don't know where we go from here, but if I were you, I would avoid those videos like the plague if they're still out there. She may just choose you next. Either way, a rogue deity of chaos invading the planet through the internet sounds like the most 2020 thing to happen all year. Be safe, everyone. Bad things are on the horizon.