Pandora's Scary Book

  The boy was smiling while raking leaves, but his smile faded as he heard his new mother calling him. Unlike his old mother, this one's soft voice dripped with malice. "John," she repeated as he approached. When he refused to answer, she slapped him repeatedly, her nails digging into his flesh. He just smiled at her, willing to die before answering to the name John. She finally relented when there were three deep gashes in his cheek. "What would you rather be called again?" He told her his name for the fortieth time, and she angrily sighed, "Someone made that name up to torment me." "It was my mother's choice." She pinched his other cheek, hard enough to draw blood, and coolly said, "You keep forgetting I am your mother now. That's the only reason I put up with your nonsense." He wanted to laugh at her, but he couldn't do that without sobbing in pain. Instead, he replied just as coolly, "It's because you

  They say that madness runs in my family. But I would disagree. I would more likely say that my family, in its history, has been plagued by a series of grievously unfortunate events that took their tolls on the minds of my great-grandfather, my grandmother, and most recently, my father. It simply wasn’t within our control. For example, great-grandpa Stephen wasn’t always the sheltered recluse of a man that my mother used to tell me of. He was once a great role model, and a brilliant biologist, who womanized in his youth with his countless exploits of trips in the Amazonian jungles and Middle Eastern deserts that had amassed him a great wealth of exotic pets within his estate. But after his wife died, he became attached to the bottle, and would lock himself up days on end, shouting to seemingly no one in his atrium full of insects and snakes. On the rare occasions she saw him, said my mother with a weak sigh, he rarely spoke a coherent word. He simply gibbered at his glas

 I never had any dolls growing up, I mean, I’m a boy with no sisters, so there was absolutely no reason I would be playing with them. My friend had a whole collection of dolls displayed in her room; Collector’s Edition Barbies, Monster High, Bratz, etc. They didn’t creep me out; they were just dolls, after all. There was a news flash about this girl for a long time, I don’t even remember her name, but she was about twelve with freckles, with pale blonde hair and blue-green eyes. She had gone missing; last seen around the city park. But after the initial reports, the story died down, and her smiling face holding a white rabbit plush would end up on the missing children billboard in Walmart. Well, recently, I had gone to the park just to take in some sun. I sat on a bench, watching families sitting down on checked blankets, throwing Frisbees and flying kites. I had yawned and turned my head when I saw a girl. It was summer, and she was dressed in a blue and black long-sleeve

  Keith Ferguson made direct eye contact with the crow that was staring at him through his office-room window. He had looked away from his laptop a moment to give his eyes a break from the spreadsheet he was working on when he first noticed it. How long it was perched on his deck staring at him, Keith couldn’t tell, but its glare unnerved him. Keith banged his hand against the window, and it flew off. He went back to work. Keith wasn’t a model citizen. As a kid in elementary, he was the stereotypical bully who would make the weaker kids fork over their lunch money. In middle school, he loved to pick fights for the hell of it. He was almost expelled in eighth grade for sending a sixth-grader to the hospital. But by the time he was in high school, Keith developed a blood-lust. Because he didn’t want to risk life imprisonment, he kept his killings relegated to animals. He found joy in disemboweling squirrels, relished in decapitating birds, and especially loved slaughtering

  His bare feet blistered and calloused against the concrete. Concrete for as far as the eye can see. They just needed something to eat and their last meal was four days ago. He long ago got used to the pain of walking constantly. He shivered, the wind was strong and biting and he could smell a distinctive odor in the air. "The sea!" he shouted, "the sea!" She opened her eyes and smiled which quickly changed into a look of surprise. "Well go on!" she ordered. She was carted around in a wagon since she couldn't walk. She lost her legs to disease and decided to have them amputated. They continued on. The wind got stronger the closer they got. Under the red sky it was cold enough but in the wind it seemed like winter had come. She laid back in the wagon and watched the "clouds" roll by clearing her mind of everything except for her thirst so she slept. He pulled her onwards. Eventually they found what they were looking for. "We fou

  I glare at my soon victim from across the room, sleeping there in that bed. My bed. It was almost unacceptable, and my pale, elongated form snaked across the room to the young child. Gripping her cheek in my hand, I gave a wide smile. I wasn't focused on hurting her, or raping her, I was there to be her guardian. I stroked her head, before grabbing her leg, the docile attitude in me trying to grasp onto sanity. As she stirred awake from the disturbance in her sleep, my sunken eyes, a sign of my quite obvious dehydration, stared into hers. For a moment, her pale, beautiful blue eyes stared at me with the utmost calmness and love, before she started to scream. Immediately, I had to silence her, but I didn't want to hurt her. I was there to be her guardian angel. I slammed her six year old skull into the foot-board. One, two. Three, four. Five, six. Seven. I stared at the mess I had made both on the foot-board and on myself. I knew eventually that I would be blamed fo

  It was nearing eight o‘clock and the heat was killing me. I crawled on top of the couch and attempted to relax. I leaned over to the windowsill and adjusted the curtains to shield myself from the direct force of the bright orange-red sunset. My parents were gone for the weekend and I knew in about forty minutes my friend, Jerome would come by and help me survive this heat with some ice-cold beers. I lay down on the couch, in order to receive the full force of the tiny electric fan in the corner. My eyes started to become heavy the more I continued to lie down on the couch. I tried to stay awake, but the heat was too much for my tired body and I drifted off to sleep. “Shit, what time is it?” I mumbled to myself as I looked around the pitch-black room. Everything was silent. The only thing I could hear was the sound of dogs barking in the distance. “Must be a power outage,” I thought to myself. I reached into my pockets searching for my phone in order to find out what ti

  Worn around the edges, yet dreaming of vampire strippers, Professor Michael Haddux drove his dilapidated black 1985 Buick Le Sabre into the parking lot of Tarantula Lil's. It was getting late, approaching midnight, and a full moon shone brilliantly overhead like a fluorescent clock. His heart racing with nervous excitement, Michael had decided to risk his good reputation in the academic community for one night at the club that Time magazine had described as the wildest and dirtiest strip club in America. "This could be a delightfully enjoyable, even bloody night," murmured Professor Haddux to himself as he parked out back of the club, turned off the ignition and climbed out of his car. Because of recurring nightmares and severe episodes of depression, he hadn't slept well for days. He thought that he vaguely remembered having taken his medication that morning. Adjusting his bright red tie, he walked toward Tarantula Lil's, the new topless-bottomless

 In the dark where evil sleeps. Where sanity is useless trash. I tell a tale to give you creeps. And inspire true fear of things that slash. On a quiet All Hallows Eve. When rain did drizzle from the sky. Two siblings from their home did leave. Not dressed as ghosts but end was nigh. While friends of theirs did candy find. Among the houses that they passed. The siblings were of different mind. To another house they hurried fast. They had been promised a lovely thing. By a man with long, sharp teeth. If they came at midnight's ring. They'd raise their mother who sleeps beneath. The ritual was long and harsh. Twice they fainted dead away. Their blood was marking every hearth. When lit they marked the spirit's way. And in a scream and rushing wind. One sibling stared upon the other. Dead and fallen in their sin. He had not seen their risen mother. From the hearth's not blackened grate. A crawling figure made of Ash. Pulled herself in and sea

  Why is it that people in the modern world feel like our ancestors were just making things up? Look at the amount of creatures that are in mythology and folklore, not all of them could have been made up by a small group of people, could they? Then there is also the amount of reoccurring themes that appear in folklore. Think about zombies, they are from all over the world, but it is Haiti that still strongly believes in them. So if there was once monsters in the world, what happened to them? Could they have all just been misjudged fossils like some archaeologists claim? I don’t think so. Dragons have been found in writing from England to Asia. Vampires are found in all cultures from ancient times, the only big changes are the names. There is also Mares, which could also be a Succubus or Incubus. Once more, found in different cultures under different names. Let’s look at the some of the most common folklore and see the connection between them. Fairies, which in and of itse

  This ritual is referred to as “The Soul Transfer” ritual. According to the few people I've talked to that have practiced the ritual, they claim that performing the ritual will send one's consciousness into the “Nexus of Possibility”. This Nexus is said to neither bend to time nor space. While here, a person can view their life as if every possible decision they ever made turned out for the better. That one lottery ticket was the winning one. That girl you asked out became your wife. One would be able to gaze into their own personal Heaven and, for 24 hours, or roughly 30 minutes when it is translated into the real world's time, the ritual performer will live in this paradise. However, while this ritual isn't incredibly complicated, the chance that it can go horribly wrong is significant. Only one of the people I've talked to regarding it, a half-mad cultist recovering from a botched ritual attempt, seems to remember the process in its entirety. He all