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Sacrifice to Malachy Locke

by cnkguy
Sacrifice to Malachy Locke

Sacrifice to Malachy LockeReading Time: 7 minutes

If you are reading this, then it means Malachy Locke has chosen you. I write this so that when the time comes for you to make your decision, you will be fully informed. I wish you all the best, my dear. I know you will choose right.

Malachy will come for you when you are not expecting it, when you have just begun to accept the mediocrity of life and your place in it. You will likely be young. He tends to choose his lovers young, for which you should be grateful. In fact, I guarantee that no matter what age you are when he takes you away, you will wish he had come sooner. If you are eighteen, as I was, you will wish you had been sixteen. Sixteen, and you will wish fourteen. The life you had before meeting him will seem so worthless, so contemptible to you that you will despise every year you spent away from him.

But that, I am happy to say, will be the only regret you ever have. Life with him will be a waking dream. He will take you anywhere in the world that you ask him, to places you have only ever imagined. He’ll give you anything you want, although you will only want him. You will live with him, eat with him, sleep with him, and wake every morning to find him still there, still loving you faithfully.

And he will need only one thing in return from you. Like a gentleman, Malachy will not bring it up at first. But as the days go by, you will see him begin to change. When you met him, he looked twenty-five, thirty, perhaps, but now he will look older. Silver threads will shimmer in his hair. Lines will cross his face. His skin will thin, bones and tendons emerge, and you will worry. He is aging before your eyes, and you will fear losing him. So, of course, you’ll do anything he asks to make him well again.

All I would advise, for the first time, is just to relax. Let his fingers trace your throat, perhaps turn your head to the side so he can press his lips to your neck. It will not be with his teeth. They’re sharp, can crush bone, and he doesn’t want to hurt you. It will be a tiny blade, one he’ll keep on the table beside your bed, and you won’t even feel the incision. A little cut, not a quarter-inch across, and then he will just be kissing you.

Turn on the bedside light. Look how beautiful he is, with your blood glistening on his lips. Watch as his body, illuminated by the yellow lamplight, becomes younger in a matter of moments. His skin will soften, his face become smooth, his hair darken until it is as thick and black and healthy as a bull’s.

And he will look twenty-one.

You will soon become used to this routine. In fact, you will come to enjoy it. It is something you can give back to him, to repay him for the love he shows you. And he needs so little, a few tablespoons-worth of blood at a time, that you will barely notice it. Weeks will go by, and you will find yourself desperate for him to take more, as much as you can give him. For him to drink your blood by the gallon-full, to devour you completely.

Malachy will oblige, within reason, of course. More blood, but not enough to hurt you, certainly not enough to kill you. He needs you, wants you to live a long time with him.

Use scarves and high-collared clothes to hide the scars that decorate your throat, the cuts that dance around your neck. Realise though that even if you keep the scars hidden from view, people will notice the change in you. Not physically. But they will notice how you act around them, how you are aching whenever you are away from Malachy. You will turn every conversation to him, this mysterious lover and the life you share together.

If you try to introduce him to friends and family to quell their concerns, they will only grow more afraid. Although they can’t put it into words, something about him makes them uneasy. A certain fire in his eyes, a fierceness in his laugh, something they feel is off. They will question you constantly about him, beg you to leave him and come back home.

Sever all contact with them. Malachy is the only family you need, the only friend you could ever want. Your lives are entwined, irreversibly. And you will be glad of it. Life will suddenly seem simpler, everything thrown into perfect clarity.

He will hide his failing health from you at first. Please forgive him that. It was only when I noticed the first grey hair return to his head that he told me the truth, that he couldn’t live on blood alone, not forever, no matter how much I poured out for him. It would be like trying to survive on only water. He was going to keep aging, grow weaker. He would live another three months, perhaps four.

That’s when you will have to make your decision. How much do you love Malachy Locke? What would you sacrifice to be with him? He will not die if you refuse him, you understand. He’ll simply find another woman, one who will give him what he needs.

But you want his love for yourself. So you will do what it takes to keep him.

I remember how scared I was, the night he planned the first excision. We made love first, and then he took a wooden box from the bedside cabinet. Inside were gleaming silver scalpels, scissors, curettes and clamps, forceps, retractors, bone chisels and needles. A bottle of pills, a bottle of alcohol.

And a metal dish, ready to collect my flesh.

Where he cuts will be up to you. It can be a lump of tissue from your belly or breast, or one of your fingers or toes. There are lots of different options, and he will explain them all to you so that you can decide for yourself.

Try not to worry. He will not need to take much. Human flesh, like blood, goes a long way. That first time, he assured me that an ounce, even a half-ounce, would be plenty, enough to restore him to health for months more.

He put two pills into the palm of my hand and I swallowed them down with some of the alcohol, willing them to work fast. As my senses dulled, I heard him ask me if I had made my decision about where to cut.

I closed my eyes and pinched an inch of belly fat between my fingertips. Malachy murmured his approval. That was a good place, he said. No one would see the scar under my clothes, and there was plenty of loose skin to stitch me back together.

No need to be concerned, he whispered, as he rubbed alcohol onto the area. This operation was so simple, he could do it in his sleep. He pressed a kiss to my cheeks, to my eyelids, and then brought the blade down on my skin.

The scalpel cut into my belly and the pain shot through me, bright and clear despite the drugs. Like a coward, I cried out, begged him to stop. Such a coward. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d carried on cutting, held me down on the bed if I tried to fight him. Cut out my heart then and there, the weak, treacherous heart that didn’t love him enough to bear the pain.

But Malachy stopped straight away, mid-incision. He is, as I said, a true gentleman, and he will take nothing from you that you do not freely give him.

The metal dish remained empty.

He stitched me up again, soothing me with his kisses. He licked the wound, lapped up the blood that had pooled in my belly-button. He told me not to feel guilty, that he still had plenty of time. Plenty of time for us to try again. And he reminded me of my options, where the cuts could be made, the flesh taken.

Again, I remind you of the decision you will soon have to make. How much do you love Malachy Locke? What price are you willing to pay? What would you sacrifice?

The choice I made was the same as any lover would have done. He was growing so sick as the weeks passed by, a dying flame. He slept most of the day, trembled at night in my arms. I held him close, fed him my blood, stroked his greying hair.

We tried again eight weeks later. Again, I downed the pills, drank straight vodka. The cut on my belly had healed a deep-pink. I closed my eyes, ready for him to make a different incision.

The metal dish was soon full.

Not quite an ounce of flesh, Malachy said, but it was enough. He ate it raw, while I lay there and watched the strength return to him. He was so very grateful. I would have plenty of time to heal, he assured me, before the next operation. Another seven or eight months before he’d need to feed again.

And that is how it went, my dear. Eight months later, he made another excision, and ate six ounces of flesh. Then ten. Then a full pound. A couple of times we tried for more, once a whole three pounds at once. But it was more difficult, took longer to heal, so Malachy decided a pound would be the limit. A pound is what we aimed for after that. You’ll find that, as with the blood, you want to give him more than simply what he needs. More than the bare minimum. There’s a certain pleasure in giving him as much as you possibly can.

But now I’m too old. It was thirty years ago that he chose me. He hasn’t aged, but I have, and now people who see us in the street mistake him for my son, or even my grandson. Malachy laughs, but I can see the pain in his eyes. He knows that our time together is nearly at an end.

So, when I am dead, he will choose another lover. And if you’re reading this, then it means he’s chosen you.

Malachy offered to cut piece by piece, as he tried to do the first time, so I can stay with him a few years more. But I’ve asked him to just take my heart and get it over with. To be cut up like that terrifies me.

And besides, he doesn’t deserve to be stuck with me any longer, nearly fifty years old and looking older every day. He deserves someone young, beautiful. That’s why he chose you.

So tomorrow it will be over. Tomorrow he will devour my heart and then go to find you.

I have given him so much flesh. And bones, and organs, too. And hearts. But now I am too old to make him any more hearts.

My heart will be the last I give to him, and the largest.

CREDIT : synthetic_child

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Serial Killer | Real Ghost Stories, Paranormal & Hauntings

by cnkguy
Serial Killer | Real Ghost Stories, Paranormal & Hauntings

Could the ghosts of the Charles Manson murder scene be haunting the property built near the tragedy?

If you have a real ghost story or supernatural event to report, please write into our show or call 1-855-853-4802!

If you like the show, please help keep us on the air and support the show by becoming an EPP (Extra Podcast Person). We'll give you a BONUS episode every week as a "Thank You" for your support. Become an EPP here: http://www.ghostpodcast.com/?page_id=118

#ghosts #ghoststories #halloween #horror #paranormal #supernatural #haunting #haunted #demonic #hauntedhouse #cemetery #evp #ghoststory #ghostbusters #unexplained #shadowpeople #investigation #truestory

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A Collector of Sorrows

by cnkguy
A Collector of Sorrows

sorrowsReading Time: 16 minutes

I call myself a collector of sorrows. As a teen, I felt alone and ignored. My classmates bullied me, and my parents spent most of their time at work. They didn’t have the time or care to hear how Brett pushed me on the playground or how Tommy joked about my big nose. After a while, I decided no one could help me, but I didn’t want anyone else to feel neglected. So I started to collect obituaries, missing child ads, and tragic stories in the paper. While I pored over grisly murders and tragic accidents, I copied the victims’ names and faces to my memory. Others would forget about them, but I would remember. If just one person remembered, then they could find the peace I could not.

Needless to say, my hobby didn’t gain me many friends. On a couple of occasions, the other students found my stash of tragedies. When they did, they tore it apart or burned it. Then they’d beat me up for the fun of it.

But eventually the bullies forgot about me. By the time I graduated, there was no one left to judge me. Even afterwards, I avoided people and people avoided me. I took a boring desk job at an accounting firm, where each of us enjoyed the privacy of a small cubicle. The only time I ever talked to someone was when I refilled my bottle at the water cooler. From time to time, I consulted with my boss Julie. She was tolerable.

When I took the accounting job, I moved to an isolated home in a rural town called Harriston. Like many country homes, mine sat on acres and acres of land. My closest neighbor, if you could call him that, lived five miles down the road. Most of my property sat wrapped in a vast pine forest. Old trails snaked throughout the woodlands. Many of them lead to small lakes and ponds while others circled back around on themselves. Even recluses need fresh air, so I walked them whenever I could.

Having grown up in an urban neighborhood outside of Chicago, I was accustomed to reading about car crashes, drug overdoses, and gang violence from time to time. When I moved to the country, I expected a new set of tragedies. But I found something different altogether.

Over the years, I recorded many instances of missing children. Most had wandered into the woods, lost their way, and never made it out. When they were found, if they were found, their corpses were days old. The forest critters had picked apart their bodies almost beyond recognition. In one graphic photo released by the police, a girl’s throat was ripped out and her head was turned completely around. Probably the work of a local grizzly bear.

Foul play was almost never expected. If any of the children had been murdered, the police had no suspects. After all, family was everything in Harriston. Since neighbors were few and far, the townsfolk spent their time almost exclusively with family. To murder a family member was unnatural and unthinkable.

In my first four years in Harriston, there were just two confirmed murders. On September 22, 2012, a man shot his brother after several beers and a heated discussion about who contributed more work on the farm. On January 7, 2016, a man broke his sister’s neck to take her share of their father’s inheritance. The man denied everything. Evidence was scant, but the jury convicted him anyways. He spent the rest of his life in a state prison.

My most interesting report came in the summer of 2016. This time a grown woman, Angela Witten went missing. Her husband said she went for a morning run in the forest and never came out. As with the missing children, everyone assumed Witten had simply lost her way. But the husband claimed she ran the forest trails every morning. She could not have gotten lost. She knew those trails by heart.

Three days later Angela Witten appeared at the start of the trail. An unflattering black and white photo showed her with deep rings under her eyes and a cut across her cheek. According to Witten, when she entered the woods that morning, the trails changed. After a few minutes, she turned back. But even after ten more minutes of running, she was no closer to home. In time, the trail led her to a clearing. She described the air as thick and unnaturally quiet. The clearing, Witten said, was a perfect circle of dead, brown grass. At the center of the circle, stood a stone pedestal. She approached the pedestal and found a glass orb. Out of curiosity, she touched the orb. She found nothing strange about the orb itself, but wondered who had placed it there and why.

Angela Witten then tried to exit the clearing, but she fainted before she could reach the tree line. At that point, the woman’s recount became harder to follow. She spoke of laughing shadows and eyes on her back. The only thing she could clearly communicate was that something was following her. Even after leaving the forest, she said she still heard it and felt it. And it was getting closer.

Witten’s story took up only a short column on the fourth page of the newspaper. Just a day after her story was published, Witten died. Her five-year-old son found her collapsed on the kitchen floor with her neck snapped. Authorities concluded she must have slipped and fallen against the counter. Witten made primetime on the local news station.

With my interest piqued, I searched through the library’s archives. Death by snapped neck was fairly common in Harriston. It affected children on the playground, elders in their homes, and loners and lovers alike. There were upwards of a hundred cases in the past decade. With that said, I found nothing noteworthy about these deaths. Most deaths could be attributed to everyday clumsiness and run-of-the-mill accidents. And in the few suspicious cases, there was never any mention of forests, stalkers, or paranoias. My gut said there was a common thread running through the sorrows of Harriston, but I found nothing. I gave up the search.

Not two days after I gave up, I flipped through my own collection of Harriston sorrows. To my surprise, I noticed Angela Witten’s paranoia wasn’t the first. Eric Garland, age seven, was one of the many missing children. Before his disappearance on August 12, 2015, Eric suffered a week of night terrors during which a disfigured man followed him through the woods. At first, the man lurked in the shadows, but as the nights progressed, he came closer. Once within earshot, the man introduced himself as the Death Stalker. One day before his disappearance, Eric said the Death Stalker stopped following him in his dreams. Now he followed him in waking reality. The Garlands thought nothing of it until their son ran into the forest never to be found again.

Although I didn’t wish harm on anyone, I watched and waited eagerly for the next tragedy to strike my small country town. A voracious, black cloud hung over Harriston, swallowing him and her without warning. I yearned to figure out why. For that, someone else needed to die.

But the days were quiet and the obituaries short. I checked the news at all hours of the day, even during work at the firm. My boss noticed a decline in my work. After calling me into her office, Julie told me I was on probation. Reluctantly, I put my research aside.

Another few months passed. I read the papers in the morning, but nothing of interest ever came up. I forgot about snapped necks and Death Stalkers. Just run-of-the-mill deaths by disease and car crash. That is until one summer evening when I headed to the forest for a leisurely stroll.

The sun’s toes dangled over the horizon, and the trees were abuzz with the chatter of birds and cicadas. As I stepped into the forest, a warm gust of air sighed through the branches. Hands in my pockets, I headed left down the fork in the dirt trail. After another left turn, the path would curve around to the other side of my property. All in all, it was a fifteen minute walk, just long enough to clear my head.

I watched the pine needles tumble down from the tree tops as I continued onward. All around me, crows cawed from the canopy. Though I searched for them, I could not see a single feather.

Having given up the search, I took my final left turn. At once, the crows quieted. I heard neither their shrill squawks nor the flutter of their black wings. The gentle wind had died. The entire forest sank into a heavy silence like that of a storm cloud waiting to burst open.

Ahead of me, the familiar pinewood grew increasingly unfamiliar. Twisted, knotted branches blotted out the sun. Twilight lay across my path. I turned back. Perhaps I had taken the wrong fork in the road. But there was no fork in the road. I jogged several paces, but I found no sign of it. I had no choice but to follow the path where it lead me. I laughed a short, uneasy laugh. “It’s a joke,” I told myself. “It’s all a joke.” But who, or what, was playing it on me?

Without sun, time became impossible to tell. For all I knew, time hadn’t moved at all. Regardless of how many steps I took, the trees all looked alike. And yet, at some point cobwebs descended over the pine trees. They sucked the trees dry until their needles browned and dropped to the floor.

Not knowing why, I hurried down the path, faster and faster. Soon a cool sweat spread over my body. Just as I began to pant, I ran face-first into a spider web. I stopped to rub the sticky thread out of my eyes and spit out a strand that slipped into my mouth.

When I opened my eyes, the forest had fallen away. The tree line broke and the grass died. Before me lay a perfect circle devoid of all life. At the center stood a stone pedestal, and on it, a black ball carved from glass. I could not believe my eyes. I snapped a picture with my phone just to be sure. But the photo showed me the exact same clearing. “Maybe Angela Witten wasn’t crazy,” I thought.

My legs pulled me forward as if of their own accord. The closer I approached the pedestal, the greater my curiosity grew. I ached to touch the orb, though I could not say why. Before I could stop myself, the orb filled my hands. I brought it to my face until I could see my pale face on its polished surface. Yet, as I stared deeper into the glass, I became aware of something else: a dark figure with great saucer eyes. Just as I noticed it, the figure smiled a sharp, crooked smile.

At once, I dropped the orb. It made no sound as it hit the ground, and when I blinked, the sphere reappeared atop the pedestal. My heart leapt into my chest. Once again I ran. All around me the trees snickered and the sky darkened. I looked up in search of the sun. To my surprise, it sat on the horizon just as when I entered the forest. The sky had not darkened at all. But my vision had. I sprinted towards the trees while the sinister cackle echoed around me. A dark veil smothered my sight. I fell.

Cold, hungry, and scared, I woke up at the start of the trail. Dusk was slowly sinking into night. I brushed the dirt from my shoulders and inspected a long gash along my right shin. I can’t recall how I got it. I glanced down the forest path. The wind roared through the trees. Far back, on the edge of my vision, a silhouette swayed behind a thin cedar. I blinked and then it was gone.

“A figment of my imagination,” I said. But I didn’t stick around to find out. I scurried home and locked the door. Without hesitation, I ran into the shower to drown my thoughts. I thought the shower would calm my nerves. Instead I felt weak and vulnerable. As the water cascaded over my head, I didn’t dare open my eyes. And no matter how hot I turned up the water, a cold shiver still ached in my bones.

When I finished showering, I dried myself off and retreated to bed. I pulled the covers tight over my body as the wind picked up outside. Tree branches scraped against the window, and the floors creaked. On top of that, my heart pounded in my ear. Sleep did not come easy, but it did come.

Before long, the dark night passed on to a dark, cloudy day. The memory of the forest clearing echoed in my drowsy, morning thoughts. But I dismissed it as a dream and carried on. Then I made my breakfast, got dressed for work, and headed for the door. But just as I grabbed the door knob, I had a thought. I took out my phone and opened up my photos.

It was there. I hadn’t imagined it: the desolate clearing with the stone column and glass orb. I zoomed in on the column. Although I hadn’t noticed it earlier, there were runes carved into its surface. I couldn’t guess their origin. They looked ancient and inhuman.

As I inspected the runes, I spotted a shape crouched behind the withered trees. Shriveled and slate grey, the shape stretched a long claw from out of the brush. A thin slit of a mouth stretched all the way across its scarred face. And its eyes were hollow and hungry.

A door slammed deep within the house. “Hello?” I called. A low grumble resonated down the hall. Before the noise could draw any closer, I sprinted out the door, got in my car, and drove away as fast as I could. Although a braver man would’ve investigated the noise, I didn’t even want to think about it. As it was I could barely keep the creature’s marred complexion out of my thoughts. And it’s ravenous eyes. No matter where I went, I could feel their gaze wash over my skin.

I sped down the twisted country roads until the dense forest gave way to rolling pastures gated in by short, wooden fences. On most days, farmers tilled the land. But the sky was swollen with billowing, black clouds, and the wind raged through the tall grass. Rain threatened to fall at any moment. The fields were empty. The roads were as well.

Thunder crackled in the clouds. I glanced up as lightning sparked across the sky. I followed its path over the field. It disappeared, but as soon as it did, another rushed to take its place. All the world lit in a flash of white. All but a single black shape that stood far off in my periphery. At first, the shape didn’t register. I drove another few seconds before I realized what I’d seen. When I glanced over, the Death Stalker stood at the fence grinning wildly. It’s head cocked to an impossible angle and its mouth spread wide to reveal a razor-sharp smile.

The tires squealed and spit dirt as I floored it. The figure followed me just beyond the border of my sight. I could feel him like a scar seared into my every waking moment. Somehow I sensed him closer to me as if he were running beside the car.

For the remainder of my drive, I looked ahead and nowhere else. Whatever lurked in the periphery, I would not look. People, cars, or creatures. It didn’t matter. I barreled forward. Horns blared. Men swore. I didn’t care. I pulled into the office parking lot. Eyes down, I scrambled out of my car and high-tailed it to the door.

My hand was already on the handle when I heard someone call for me. “Wait!” they said. “Hold the door please.” Naturally, I turned. A rotund man stumbled forward with a stack of boxes in his arms. His face was red from exertion, and a shadow loomed over his head and shoulders. But the shadow was not a shadow. It was the dark body of the Death Stalker. No less than ten feet tall, the beast towered over the man. Its head snapped between severe angles and a hot screech emanated from its throat. The creature cackled as I disappeared past the door.

No doubt, I caught several suspicious eyes as I ran into my cubicle. I heard the clack of heels behind me. “Are you alright?” someone asked. I did not turn to look, but I recognized her voice. It was Julie.

“I’m fine,” I said in short, sour words.

“You scared some of the others by running in here like that.”

“I’m fine,” I repeated.

“Really? Because if I’m being honest, you don’t look fine.” She circled around me. But I still would not look up. “Your eyes look hollow.”

“Julie, I’m fine,” I said. “I just want to work. I’m having…I’m fine.” Without another word, Julie and her heels clacked back down the hall.

True to my word, I wanted to work and nothing else. In fact, that’s all I did. I didn’t take a break for food or water or even to walk around. Absorbed in my work, I completely forgot about the events of the morning. When the day was done, I stood up on shaky legs and walked to the door without a worry. Rain had finally begun to fall. It poured down in a constant onslaught of cool, heavy rain.

Since I didn’t think to bring an umbrella, I stopped just before the door. Although the sun would not set for a few hours, the sky was cloaked in dusk. I stared into the stormy sky and sighed. Only a few paces behind me, a deep sigh echoed my own. “Hello?” I said.

Silence.

But I knew what followed me. The creature’s patient watch burrowed deep into the nape of my neck. I scratched the path of skin, but it only worsened the discomfort. I itched to turn around. When I did not, there came a sharp click click click. The noise drew closer and closer until curiosity finally overcame me.

Hanging from the ceiling tiles, the Death Stalker crawled towards me ever so slowly. The creature stopped and reached out with one spidery arm. Its disfigured head spun around until it sat upright. The Death Stalker bared its crooked teeth. A demonic laugh rumbled in its throat.

I bolted out the door. The rain beat down. In the five seconds it took me to get in my car, water had seeped through my shirt and my shoes. With shaky hands, I guided the key into the ignition and started the car. But the engine sputtered. The car was only a year old. Not once had it ever failed to start. “Come on. Come on. Come on,” I said, trying the engine again. This time it worked.

Lightning split the sky in two as thunder rolled over the earth. And the wind shrieked as I drove my car down the slick streets. Inky clouds stretched from horizon to horizon. There was no way to tell where I was in the tempest. But the farther I drove, the more the darkness gathered. I was driving straight into the storm’s heart.

Again I sensed an icy tingle across my neck. The wind quieted to a hush. My headlights flickered. “Look at me,” I heard in a raspy voice. “Look at me…”

“No! Leave me alone!” I screamed. The Death Stalker laughed. My headlights flickered once more and then gave out. But I charged forward blindly. One way or another, I would make it home. The car shook as another clap of thunder spread over Harriston.

I squinted into the dogged blackness. At once, the headlights flashed back to life. The light shone on the hulking figure of the Death Stalker. Arms spread, legs steady, he stared down my car. I clenched my eyes shut and prepared for the collision, but there was nothing. When I opened my eyes, there was only open air.

By the time I reached home, the storm had subsided. Silence lay over the house. It comforted me and frightened me all at the same time. A twitch ran up my spine. “You just need sleep,” I said as I entered my bedroom and closed the door behind me. “Sleep. Just sleep. That’s all you need. Just need some sleep.” I kicked off my shoes and pulled back the covers.

Just then the door creaked open and slammed shut. I froze in place. The floorboards groaned from the thud of heavy feet. When the footsteps stopped, a wash of hot breath spread over my shoulders. It reeked of curdled milk and meat left to rot in the summer sun. Two grey limbs surrounded me on both sides of my periphery.

“Look at me,” the Death Stalker said. “Look at me.” It repeated that same phrase for over a minute. At any second, I expected its claws to wrap around my neck. But it only told me to look at it. When I did not obey, the creature gave up. Once again, an eerie quiet lingered through the house. For another minute, I stood still as stone. Nothing happened. I was safe at last.

Out of habit, I turned to close the door for the night. The Death Stalker grabbed my head in its claws and pulled me towards its ashen face. Its eyes bored into mine. It loosed a blood-curdling scream that knocked me unconscious.

Much to my surprise, I woke up. My back ached from a night on the floor, but my neck was in perfect condition. That was more than most could say after meeting the Death Stalker. But I did not consider myself lucky. If the Death Stalker left me live, there was a reason. The only explanation I could think of was that the creature was toying with me.

Even though I had woken up, I would not open my eyes. If I did, I knew what I would see. Springs groaned as the bed rocked. But I was not on the bed. Something had jumped on top. The sheets rustled as it crawled towards me. When the rustling stopped, there came a hoarse sigh. My hair danced as a puff of rancid air flowed down upon my head.

“Look at me,” a gravelly voice said. It was so close. I could almost taste the creature’s words on my lips. “Look at me.”

“No,” I said. The more I looked, the closer the Death Stalker came. If I looked this time, I would not survive. But my eyelids fluttered with anxious desire, my spine shuddered, and my blood itched. The Death Stalker must’ve sensed my pain. It snickered to itself and scraped its claws against each other. The screeched with the sound of steel on steel.

“Look at me,” it said again. I clenched my eyes shut and curled into a fetal position.

“No,” I said, squeezing myself tighter and tighter. “No,” I said, again and again until tears dripped down my cheeks. Now the Death Stalker’s laughter echoed all around me. It rang in my ears and trembled in my bones. Somehow I knew the only way to end it was to open my eyes.

However, in the end, my judgment suppressed my curiosity. I locked my head between my knees and never once opened my eyes. The Death Stalker called to me for hours. Its massive feet thud around me as it paced to and fro. When I did not answer, it grumbled and snorted. After two hours, the room fell dead quiet, and the stench of the creature’s rotten breath dissipated. No longer did I feel a rattle in my bones or a fever in my veins.

Even so, I would not relax. Just because a little tension had evaporated from the room didn’t mean I was safe. It was another ploy for the Death Stalker to get its hands around my neck. So the entire day I spent wrapped around my knees. I did not move, not for food or even the bathroom. The phone rang, presumably from work. After a neurotic day at work, I had disappeared. Julie would want answers, but she could wait.

The day dragged on. Minutes passed аs hours, and hours as decades. At some point, I passed out from exhaustion. Once again I woke up on the floor. My back throbbed and my neck was stiff, but thankfully still intact.

Dawn streamed through the windows, and the morning doves cooed. I rose to stretch my limbs, wash my face, and change my clothes. I made it halfway to the bathroom before I realized my eyes were open. My heart throbbed for a moment, and then slid back into a peaceful rhythm. Despite the horrible days prior, I did not fear my sight. I heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing. I was free. I knew it.

Sun shone upon the winding country roads. I enjoyed the leisurely drive to work. I smiled at the the swaying forest trees and at the workers in the fields. When I got to work, I greeted my coworkers happily. Even on a normal day, this was strange behavior for me. Oddly I could not find Julie to explain why I never showed up to work the day before.

I sat down at my desk and got to work. Yesterday’s work still sat on my desk, but I completed it without delay. Before I moved on to the current day’s work, I went to the water cooler to refill my water bottle. That’s when I saw Julie scamper in. “Julie,” I said. She jumped as I said her name, but came over regardless. “I apologize for yesterday. I was bed-ridden. It was terrible. I…Julie?”

Her hair stuck in clumps, dark rings circled her eyes, and her blouse was a wrinkled mess. “It’s fine,” she said. She forced a weary smile. “I understand.”

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“I…I had a rough night.” She looked past me and nowhere else.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Her brow furrowed in an expression of deep distress. “I had a dream of this…glade in the woods. It wasn’t a memory. I have never been there, but I could feel the withered grass on my feet. It was as real as anything. As real as you standing in front of me.” She still would not look at me. “At the center of the glade, there was a stone column with a black ball on top. I touched it, and then I started running for some reason. I kept running and running as if something was chasing me. Now I’m awake, but I still feel like I’m running.”

If Julie looked at me then, she would’ve seen the color drain from my face and the light vanish from my eyes. “That must be terrible,” I said. She laughed a nervous laugh.

“I think I’m seeing things,” she said. Before I could say anything, she shook her head. “No. I’m fine. I’m fine,” she said. I knew otherwise.

Two days later, Julie was found dead in the stairwell of her apartment. Neck snapped. She fell down the stairs, or so they said. Family members called it a freak accident and a terrible tragedy. Her brother wrote the obituary himself. He spoke of childhood memories on the farm, summers on the lake, and Christmas in the Florida Keys. His words were tender, wistful, and utterly heart-wrenching. They made a lovely addition to my collection of sorrows.

 

 

CREDIT : Andrew Layden

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Not Haunted | Paranormal, Supernatural, Horror

by cnkguy
Not Haunted | Paranormal, Supernatural, Horror

Encounters with shadow people and voices heard in home trouble a woman, however she still beleives her house is not haunted.

If you have a real ghost story or supernatural event to report, please write into our show or call 1-855-853-4802!

If you like the show, please help keep us on the air and support the show by becoming an EPP (Extra Podcast Person). We'll give you a BONUS episode every week as a "Thank You" for your support. Become an EPP here: http://www.ghostpodcast.com/?page_id=118

#ghosts #ghoststories #halloween #horror #paranormal #supernatural #haunting #haunted #demonic #hauntedhouse #cemetery #evp #ghoststory #ghostbusters #unexplained #shadowpeople #investigation #truestory

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Permian Killer

by cnkguy
Permian Killer

Permian KillerReading Time: 8 minutes

Ever wanted to meet an extinct animal? Once you’ve heard my story, you might want to think twice about that.

Ever since my childhood I had a huge affinity with dinosaurs and other extinct animals. Whenever a movie or documentary about the subject was to be aired or announced, I quickly looked it up and watched it.

Series like Jurassica on the Discovery Channel, Walking with Dinosaurs and it’s spin-offs Walking with Beasts and Walking with Monsters on BBC and Prehistoric Park and Primeval on ITV. Movies like Jurassic Park, Dinosaur and even Land before Time. I watched them all or at least as many of them as possible.

But I digress…

This facination for these ancient creatures inspired me to study paleontology. After years of studying and researching, I achieved my dream and got a job at the natural history museum where I did my internship as head paleontologist.

At one point, I lead a fossil hunting expedition in South Africa after the museum got a message from a befriended farmer who stumbled on a fossil-rich sedement layer full of beautifully preserved skeletons of late Permian megafauna upon his land. In case you’re not familiar with Permian megafauna, at this point in Earth’s history, life on Earth was at the edge of the greatest mass-extinction event the planet has ever known. Around twohundered and fifty million years ago, over ninety percent of all life on Earth was wiped out, causing the planet to nearly be devoid of all life. The dominant life forms were a wide variety of strange reptiles, some of them paving the way to the rise of mammals in the late Triassic period, about forty million years after the Permian-Triassic mass-extinction.

The idea of having an exhibition on life in the late Permian sounded tempting and not many museums have exhibitions like that so after months of preparations, we arrived at the quarry.

Some of our finds included a group of five Scutosaurus’s, an Estemnosuchid, several Dicynodonts and a beautifully preserved skeleton of a large Gorgonopsid. The twenty foot long predator only missed a few teeth, some metatarsals, ribs and vertebrea and a part of the lower jaw, but otherwise as good as complete.

I was really excited to find all these extraordinairy creatures in such a well preserved state. These specimens could tell us a lot about a flourishing world before it plunged into an apocalyptic disaster of biblical proportions.

After excavating the fossils for nearly a month, they were ready to be wrapped in a cast and to be shipped off to the museum. But before we could leave, an old skinny black man appeared. He looked like he could be the village fool. In a heavy South African accent he said “Please…I beg you…Leave these fossils where you found them. You’ll disturb their spirits. If their remains are to be removed, their restless souls will haunt you”

As you could guess, I’m not a very spiritual or religious person. I’m a scientist who wants to learn more about long lost ancient worlds and the amazing creatures that inhabited them. I shrugged off the crazy man’s warnings and went back to the museum.

Months go by and during that time, the fossils we dug up in South Africa were unpacked and cleaned up from the rocks they have rested in for the past twohundered and fifty million years and a new wing was built on to the museum to make room for our new Permian exhibit.

After fifteen months, the new exhibition room was ready to be opened to the public. It was a huge succes. That day, the museum was visited by over five hundred people from not just our own home town, but from across the world. Even the befriended farmer on who’s land we found the fossils was invited to see the results of our hard work.

As you go into the exhibit , you’ll first encounter five Scutosaurus skeletons, looking like they were searching for new feeding and breeding grounds, followed by an impressive Estemnosuchid skeleton posed like it was a roaring hippopotamus.

The Dicynodonts were posed like modern day prairie dogs, making them especially popular with the kids.

And in the middle of the exhibition was the pride of the museum; the majestic skeleton of the Gorgonopsid. The missing parts were reconstructed from clay and were painted in the same deep brownish colors as the origina fossil bones so they wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb.

I was having a blast to see all those excited faces, but that quickly dessipated into nothingness when I saw a familiar face in the crowd. It was the old man who approached me back in South Africa when we were about to leave for home, only he looked older, angrier and more upset.

“I told you to leave the fossils where you found them” the old man said to me in an upset tone. “You’re putting yourself and everybody here into grave danger” Before I could walk towards the old man, he set his hands on one of the Dicynodont skeletons and tore it off the stand, scaring some of the kids and making them cry. He runs off with the severely damaged skeleton when I started to chase him. “COME BACK WITH THAT FOSSIL! IT’S VERY FRAGILE! PLEASE! GIVE THAT BACK!” I yelled, hoping someone could help me to stop the thief

My pleading cries were heard by Matt, an old friend of mine who also worked at the museum, but as a museum guard. Matt manages to cut off the old man’s path and stops him before he could reach the museum’s exit. I managed to take back the severely damaged skeleton while Matt handcuffs the old man.

“You’re making a huge mistake! Please! Return the fossils to their graves before it’s too late” The old man pleaded with thick tears on his face when the police carried him away from the museum. I went back to the exhibition room to appologize to the crowd for the events that just transpired. I brought the scared kids and their parents to the museum’s giftshop where the kids could take home one of the miniature toy versions of our new Permian beasts for free.

What should have been a day of celebrations, it became a day of frights and dissapointments. The Dicynodont skeleton was so severely damaged, it took weeks to be repared and presentable again. Despite what happened, the new exhibition remains a succes for years to come and in that time we didn’t hear anything from the crazy old man who had so rudely interupted our opening day.

One evening however, some of my fellow co-workers and I worked until late to study some of the fossils that didn’t make it to the exhibition because they consisted of just a handful of bones or too imbedded into the rock it wasn’t save enough to remove it without damaging the fossil.

I was examining a Platyhystrix fossil, a strange sail-backed amphibean from the same time as the animals in our new exhibition when I heard the pitter patter of tiny feet. At first I thought we had rats so I went to inspect it.

Armed with nothing more than a flashlight, I searched the halls for the little furry intruders. When I arrived at the Permian exhibition hall I started to notice something odd. I found some strange bloody footprints. At first I thought the rats had injured themselves while trying to intrude the place so I followed the prints, expecting to find some injured rats.

But as I followed the footprints, I noticed that they also left behind claw marks. These couldn’t be left behind by a rat. These were more like a monitor lizard’s clawmarks. I kept following the claw marks untill I found a large hole in the wall which looked like it was gnawed on by some rodent like a rat or a gopher.

I started to get confused. No animal alive today had a combination of a monitor lizard’s gate and being able to gnaw like a rodent. When taking a peak in the hole, I noticed something moving, but because it was so dark, I couldn’t make out what it was.

I grabbed the flashlight I had on my belt to have a proper look, but it spooked whatever was hiding in the hole. Before I knew, the mystery creature bit my hand, leaving a large gash. When I had a clear sight of the culprit, I was surprised to see it looked like a pudgy lizard with tusks and a beaked mouth. It was a Dicynodont. A living…breathing Dicynodont. Soon more Dicynodonts came running out of the hole after hearing the distress call of the one who bit me. One of them had some walking difficulties, as if it recently got…..injured when it was roughly handled. That reminded me of the incident with the crazy old man who tried to steal one of the Dicynodont skeletons on the opening day of the Permian Exhibition.

When I realized that detail, I rushed to the Permian exhibit and to my shock, the Dicynodont display was empty. Did the fossils come back to life? No…it couldn’t be. What was going on? Was that old man right about disturbing the spirits while we excavated those fossils. That’s when I heard a loud window crash and walls being torn appart. When I turned around, I noticed something else missing. The herd of Scutosaurus’s was also missing. They too mysteriously turned back to life. I was both spooked and fascinated when I saw the lumbering armored behemoths graze on the fern garden just outside of the museum.

This was my chance to study the feeding habbits of a creature which has been extinct for over twohundered and fifty million years. Fortunately the Scutosaurus’s were very docile creatures. One of them even approached me out of sheer curiousity and wrubbed it’s head very gently across mine like a cat who wanted some attention.

But as I was about to pet the curious Scutosaurus, I heard a loud scream and a viscious roar which even spooked the Scutosaurus’s which I just managed to dodge while they were stampeding out of sheer fright.

When I hurried back inside, to my horror, another fossil was missing. The highlight of the exhibition, the giant Gorgonopsid, which we nicknamed “Hades”, after the greek god of the underworld, came back to life. I heard another scream which I recognized as that of my friend Matt.

That huge predator was chasing Matt. I hurried as fast as my legs could carry me, but I realized I was too late when I heard my friend’s blood gurgling cry. When I finally found the beast, it had already torn off Matt’s head and crushed his ribcage, showing the ribs sticking out and the organs spilling all over the floor.

Hades stood about five feet at the shoulder and was twenty feet long. His skin was covered in both scales and short fur. His blood covered saber teeth were over ten inches long. The ancient beast soon realized that Matt’s dismembered remains weren’t enough to satisfy his monsterous appetite and quickly turned his gaze towards me. As soon as Hades started to run towards me, I ran as fast as I could in an attempt to outrun the giant mammal-like reptile.

While running, I came across a small stool which I managed to lift up and as soon as Hades came too close, I managed to hit the beast in the face with the small stool. Even though it wasn’t enough to knock out the beast, it was enough to distract it long enough for me to have a head start and find a new hiding spot so I could think of a way to take care of the Gorgonopsid.

But before I knew it, Hades found me again. He must have smelled the blood from the wound I got when I was bitten by one of the Dicynodonts earlier tonight. Again, I ran as fast as I could.

Being chased by Hades was like being chased by a grizzly bear that had the agility and stamina of a Siberian tiger. No matter how much I liked prehistoric animals, I refused to end up as a midnight snack for the apex predator of the late Permian.

When I finally reached the museum’s exit, I tripped over my own shoe laces, fell and badly hurt my arms. Before I could get back up, Hades had already placed his right front paw on my chest and slowly scraped his claws across it, leaving severly bleeding and painful scratch marks. The beast then proceeded to play with me like a cat does to a mouse before delivering the fatal blow.

I saw a chance to escape again when Hades didn’t pay attention to me. But before I could get back up again, Hades pinned me to the ground and crushed my spine in the process.

The last thing I saw was the gigantic head of the predator, staring at me with a furious look on it’s face when suddenly his mouth made…speaking motions. “You should have left us in the rocks when you had the chance, but you just had to dig us up” Hades spoke in a clear and terrifying South African accent before making a final roar and tear me to shreds.

The museum was closed for good after that horrendous night and the remaining objects were moved to other institutions across the country.

The Dicynodonts, the Scutosaurs and Hades dissapeared without a trace but if you listen real carefully at night, you might hear the beast roar, searching for it’s next meal.

 

CREDIT : Michiel Gilissen

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Empath | Haunted, Paranormal, Supernatural

by cnkguy
Empath | Haunted, Paranormal, Supernatural

An empathic listener shares how her sensitive abilites can also be a curse.

If you have a real ghost story or supernatural event to report, please write into our show or call 1-855-853-4802!

If you like the show, please help keep us on the air and support the show by becoming an EPP (Extra Podcast Person). We'll give you a BONUS episode every week as a "Thank You" for your support. Become an EPP here: http://www.ghostpodcast.com/?page_id=118

#ghosts #ghoststories #halloween #horror #paranormal #supernatural #haunting #haunted #demonic #hauntedhouse #cemetery #evp #ghoststory #ghostbusters #unexplained #shadowpeople #investigation #truestory

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