Pandora's Scary Book

Something truly odd has been happening here for months now, and I haven't been able to explain it at all. So I'm going to tell you my story, and hope that somebody out there can help me find a rational explanation for the whole thing. Before I start, let me tell you a little something about myself. I was in college for a few years, and graduated this year. So, as a result, a lot of the things in my apartment are mostly old — hand-me-downs from relatives and things like that. I was so busy as a college student in the past that I didn't even have time to go out and buy new things for my apartment, even though I could afford it, so I would mostly use other things like blankets to cover my windows with. This brings us to the important part of the story. Keep in mind, this takes place over a whole span of two months and a half. It started one June morning when I woke up to the feeling that I was being watched. I looked around the room, and saw nothing out of the ordinar

  My father was always the most caring of men. I know many of my friends had had problems with their fathers at some point. Some were prone to drink and others were quick to anger. My father did neither of these things. He had no problems expressing his love for my mother and me. He was a jovial, gregarious, man who loved life and loved those around him. He had the occasional beer or mixed drink from time to time, but never in excess. He was a very restrained and moderate man. In fact, I can only remember one time he yelled at me unfairly. I was young, ten years old or so. I was playing with my friend, Benjamin in the back yard. We lived in rural Simsbury, Connecticut, the town was surrounded by mountains and deciduous forests. We were talking about which monster would win in a fight: the tomatoes from "Attack of the Killer Tomatoes" or the clowns from "Killer Clowns from Outer Space." The conversation quickly burnt out when I quickly told my friend in

  Annabelle was the focus of a case that famed paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren took part in during the early 1970s, and is highlighted in the book The Demonologist. It has been stated that this is one of the most unusual cases of a possessed object on record. In 1970, a mother purchased an antique Raggedy Ann Doll from a hobby store. The doll was a present for her daughter Donna on her birthday. Donna, at the time, was a student in college, preparing to graduate with her nursing degree and resided in a tiny apartment with her roommate Angie (a nurse as well). Pleased with the doll, Donna placed it on her bed as a decoration and didn't give it a second thought until a few days later. Within that time, both Donna and Angie noticed that there appeared to be something very strange and creepy about the doll. The doll apparently moved on its own, relatively unnoticeable movements at first, like a change in position, but with the passage of time, the movement

  I brought him to the Riker Avenue dumps. There is a house that stands alone, not far from where I took him. I took the boy there. Stripped him naked and tied his hands and feet and gagged him with a piece of dirty rag I picked out of the dump. Then I burned his clothes. Threw his shoes in the dump. Then I walked back and took the trolley to 59 Street at 2 a.m. and walked from there home. Next day about 2 p.m., I took tools, a good heavy cat-o-nine tails. Home made. Short handle. Cut one of my belts in half, slit these halves in six strips about 8 inches long. I whipped his bare behind till the blood ran from his legs. I cut off his ears, nose, slit his mouth from ear to ear. Gouged out his eyes. He was dead then. I stuck the knife in his belly and held my mouth to his body and drank his blood. I picked up four old potato sacks and gathered a pile of stones. Then I cut him up. I had a grip with me. I put his nose, ears and a few slices of his belly in the grip. Then I cut

  Arthur William Bexton’s eyes stayed closed as a pair of firm, but gentle hands worked their magic over his whole body. From top to bottom, the hands wandered, their fingers stimulating every muscle group, squeezing and then pulling until he felt limber and relaxed. He breathed deeply, stretching the muscles of his chest and filling his lungs with air. The odor he took in threatened to tense him back up. Somewhere close by, something was burning. The back of his throat tickled, and his eyes began to water, prompting them to flutter open. All around Bexton, birch trees stood tall, reaching their limbs into the blue sky above. Birds flitted from branch to branch. He knew this place. He would often take walks here to clear his head. It had always had a calming effect on his nerves. But what was he doing here now? He pulled himself into a sitting position and realized that he had been lying on the ground. “Odd,” he said out loud to himself. How had he come to be

  Black-Eyed People (sometimes called Black Eyed Children or Bek) are young people, often children, with eyes that are solid black with no differentiation between sclera, pupil, or iris, and are occasionally reported to have blue or bluish tinted skin like that of a corpse. Those who report encounters with them often feel that the children were somehow supernatural and extremely dangerous though they could not explain why. Often they can be seen playing games and singing the nursery songs Old Man Long Legs  or He Jumped into a Bramble Bush. They are usually near abandoned or deserted areas. Sometimes, the reports talk of them appearing at one's doorstep- usually alone or in a pair. They appear to be unusually confident, yet shy children who avoid your gaze and look down, hiding their eyes, but speaking with an eloquency far beyond their apparent age. Often using the mannerisms and speech patterns of an adult, they occasionally even possess the voice of an adult, too. T

  I shall leave the world with this last letter, some may call it a request or a plea for help, I oblige to both of those statements. I cannot or will not categorize what this is, possibly, it is just simple writings by a simple man. Or, possibly, there’s something more, maybe a sort of silent poetry hidden behind the words in this piece of literature. Some call me egotistical, arrogant, and egomaniacal; I classify myself as a sociopath. Yes, a depressed, suicidal, sociopath that is what this man is. Hell, I don’t even know for sure if I’m a man anymore. I’ve fallen into the pit of despair where monsters plot their evil and convoluted schemes for the desolate world up above. A monster inside a man’s body perhaps, or maybe, a man inside a monsters body. It is foretold to you when you’re a child to give and give and give and give and expect absolutely nothing in return. You are told to hold onto your imagination and grasp in with the tightest grip of your bare knuckles without

  It had been a long, dull day at work. James fumbled for his keys in the pouring rain, dropping a few dollars from his pocket in the process. Didn't matter. He just wanted to get inside and get some well deserved rest, even though he knew sleep would only evade him. Sleep. The word seemed so foreign to him. Otherworldly, even. How long had it been? Three days? He couldn't keep this up. He needed to sleep, but he knew as soon as his head felt the soft embrace of his pillow, and his eyelids closed over his bloodshot eyes, his fatigue would leave him. He had medication, both legal and illegal, that he took frantically and fruitlessly to achieve at least a small taste of rest. The insomnia had begun to control his life. James popped a few pills down his throat, not caring about the side-effects, and slammed his head onto the pillow. His eyes closed, and he was plunged into an inky darkness. His mind refused to empty itself. He tried to concentrate, to forget about the

  Do you remember me? Sure you do, they ALL do, we were at the same party. We really hit it off, I think this is the beginning of a long friendship. It was your friend who introduced us. Well, she's not really your friend, I am though. You can always depend on me, and you always will. I can tell there are going to be a lot of people trying to get in the way of "us" but you can't let them. I'll always love you, even if they don't. I've never had a friend as protective as you. The things you have done to protect us against all the people trying to break us apart is truly beautiful, keep this up and you'll be my best friend. So many people have tried it before, they've all fallen short, but I'm sure you won't, I know you love me too much to let that happen. You're starting to look different, your devotion to me is exceptional, you're bordering on obsessive! Who are we kidding here? We were made for each other, each other is

  Some people consider 3:00 AM to be the spirits' time to communicate with us. Others think it's the devil's mark. Some even think that when you wake up at this time, someone is watching you. But if someone were to be watching you, how would they watch you if there were no windows or doors in the room you were in? There are many superstitions for what 3:00 AM could be. I'm going to tell you the real meaning of this worldwide time myth. While you sleep soundly, you dream. While you dream, you are unaware of your surroundings, unaware of what could be lurking in the closet, under your bed, beside you under your covers. Your eyes flutter open and you check the time on either your watch, cell phone, alarm clock, or simply whatever you have lying around that has the time displayed on it. But knowing the time doesn't really matter... right? You rub your eyes and blink a few times, adjusting to the darkness of your room. You hear the sounds of floorboards crea

  "Smile pretty for me." That’s the last thing you hear before everything goes black. They’ll find you in the morning, a parent or a sibling, cut from ear to ear. Some of them are found with their stomachs cut open and gutted like a fish. The cuts are sometimes clean, like from a blade, but sometimes they’re ragged and messy, as if a hungry animal got it’s claws in you. But don’t worry. You’ll still be smiling, after all. Smiling pretty. Just like her. Chelsea had always been awkward. Growing up, it wasn’t too bad. The other kids mostly left her alone, and she liked it that way. Sometimes they called her weird and gave her dirty looks. It wasn’t all that bad. But that all changed when she got into High School. Things were bearable at first. She had two friends, a pair of brothers that were new to her town. But the friendship didn’t last long. With them gone, it made it harder to deal with everything. It started with weird looks and people whispering about her as