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I sat on the back step last night, looking out toward the moor where the silhouette of my daughter Emilia paced along the edge of the property. When the crickets quieted down, I could hear her voice calling out softly, “Mama? Mama?”

Emilia’s mother, Madolyn, had passed away from complications of pneumonia the year before. Her parents had wanted her body flown out to Montana, to be laid to rest in a family plot, but I couldn’t bare the thought of her being taken away from Emilia and me. I had her interred in the nearby Maple Grove Cemetery. At night, if I looked out my bedroom window, I could see the stone wall in the distance that marked the edge of the lot, and wish my beloved good night. Read More »

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I got this package in the mail from my dad: brown paper wrapping, large but flat, with the word “FRAGILE” written on it in black ink. When I unwrapped it, it was this big, acrylic painting, framed in some sort of bronze-gilded plaster.

The painting itself was of this long hallway full of doors, kind of like you’d see in a fancy hotel. The walls had edging about halfway up, the upper part was painted sort of an off white while the lower half was a crimson red that blended into the carpeting. Between each door was an up-turned light, as well as on the far wall at the end, where the corridor seemed to connect to another hallway running perpendicular to it, disappearing around a corner. Read More »


Originally posted on /r/nosleep.

A year ago, I went to visit an old friend of mine from college named Chris. He lives in Connecticut with his wife Susan and their son Todd. The plan was for us to hang out for a few days, so they had promised to prepare a guest room for me.

When I arrived, Chris took me aside.

“I know we promised you the guest room,” he said quietly, “but something’s come up. Susan’s Uncle John just got divorced and she offered him a place to stay until he can find an apartment. He won’t be in our way, but I had to let him have the guest room.”

“No problem,” I said, “where am I sleeping then?”

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It was my friend Tommy’s 11th birthday and my first sleepover. My mom dropped me off at his house in the afternoon. It looked modest from the front, but when Tommy led me inside, I discovered that it was actually fairly big, with at least five large rooms on the first floor alone.

“My mom set us up in the basement.” He said, leading the way to a small door just off the kitchen pantry.

I envisioned a dingy cellar like the one my family had. Ours was a single, tiny room that looked like miners were still in the process of digging it out. Nobody spent the night in our basement unless they had eight legs and six eyes and shot webbing out of their ass.

Tommy’s basement was like a whole other house. There was a small room with a couch at the bottom of the stairs, but in the far wall was a swinging door leading into a kitchen almost as big as the one we had just left. In the basement kitchen there was another door leading out to the back yard, and a long hallway that extended deep under the house.

“Jesus,” was all I could muster.

“The basement was set up as an apartment to rent out by the people who lived here before us.” Tommy explained. He pointed down the dim hallway. “The first door on the left is the bathroom. Second door is a closet. We’ll be sleeping in the bedroom on the right.”

“What’s the door at the end?” I asked. Read More »


I wrote this while working on a new persona to share stories on Reddit. I didn’t feel like there was enough interest to keep it going after two stories. This was the first of the two.

The year was 1989. The McCallisters had just moved to the small town of Northfield. Todd McCallister had finally gotten his teaching license along with a job teaching history at the high school. Maria was content to stay home with their two children: Alexis, a rambunctious four year-old, and Franklin, who had just learned to walk. When the children were down for their afternoon naps, she got a little time to herself, which she spent neatly stitching together a variety of plush animals.

The town was quiet and peaceful, nestled in a shady valley, mostly bordered by forest. The noisiest it normally got was when the occasional train passed through on its way to other places. The biggest story the police blotter ever got was a drunk and disorderly.

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