"Why am I here?" I thought, walking through the old "haunted" house at the end of the neighborhood. The last time I was here I was only a small lad, no older than 7, so why am I feeling an urge to suddenly come here to investigate this place again? Were the ghosts taking me here?

Alexandria Marie Johnson was murdered on July 23 1993-at least that was what the newspaper said. She was 16. We were neighbors. I was the one who called the police. On July 23, 1994 I walked into my room and found Alexandria alive, standing by a window. Today is July 23, 1994.

Some might judge me for eating a Jimmy Dean pancake on a stick (much less 3 of them) while I sit in my bath, but I stopped caring about what other people think a millennia ago when I was surrounded by people who didn’t even take baths because soap was witchcraft or some nonsense.

I ran through the hallways trying to get to class. It seemed like one of those scenes in a movie where the main character is comically late. But it wasn’t I was a mess. A real life mess.

Grind the beans until they turn as smooth as sand in an hourglass. Pull the lever until the water streams down in an iridescent cascade. Pour the mixture from the pot into the cup elegantly and with a cold expression. Hope that you're not pretty. That is how you survive as a maid

Wearing a mask is a beautiful thing until the moment dawns on you that taking it off is a lot harder than putting it on. I had been wearing a mask for ten years before realizing it had begun to adhere to my face and to disintegrate the identity it hid.

I had always been an unremarkable demon. I came from a proud bloodline of many a well known incubus that had seduced some of the major players in history in order to alter its’ flow, but I was stuck with only the ability to ask charming questions and receive a truthful answer.

Whenever someone asks me about my childhood, I don’t smile and think of good times. I shudder. I think of the only thing from my childhood I remember. Cold, Darkness, Loneliness. Nothing else for 15 years. Cold, Darkness, Loneliness

You think you know me. But I’ve fooled you with my ordinary clothing and passive manner. I want you to think I’m weak, submissive. I want to gain your trust. If you only knew

The damp murk of the cellar, unaided by the arm of moonlight reaching in through the grime of a solitary window, was silent and still. Motes of dust, turbulent as stars, slowly twinkled in their passage through the blue light the nature of their disturbance unseen.

"Fellow Blockians, this is our hour of battle. We must not falter! To victory! Battalions 8 and 9, prepare for ambush!" The legoes crouched to camouflage themselves in between the multi-colored folds of the blanket. "Target in sight! Harden your armors! Brace for impact!"

The flickering lamp was the only source of light in the darkened field of buttercups. The bunny couldn't pause to think of why it was there in the first place- it was too terrified. Quickly, it hopped up to the base of the lamp and surveyed the sprawl of impenetrable darkness.

The end of my life was near. I could feel it in my bones. “Make it a double,” I said to the bartender. What would a few extra drinks matter? They’d help to numb the pain, at least, and if I was going to die soon anyway, I could at least go out totally blitzed. He set the drink

I was walking, book in hand, when I bumped into someone. I was met by a familiar face. My friend, Kate, looked back at me. But then it hit me Kate died in an accident 3 years ago. And I saw it happen. There was no doubt it was her, but how could it be?

It was a crisp fall day. The end of our hike had led us to a clearing in the forest, just behind the CVS. Holly was standing still, staring at something. As I approached, I saw it and gasped. It was a full skeleton torso complete with ribs, spine and pelvis. But no skull.

I was there alone.

One of the only good things to come out of the pandemic was this: by 2025, sweatpants have become acceptable garments in every situation. Of course, you'd need formal sweats for formal occasions, but there was no need to wear any pants without elastic or drawstrings.

Somewhere outside, someone—or something—was wailing. A blizzard was due, and Cecelia wondered if perhaps it was a banshee warning the neighborhood of impending danger and death. Just then,

The hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach was overtaking me. I reached for the bottle of Lorazepam, only to find that it was empty, and cursed. How could I be expected to function under such stressful conditions? It was like torture. Pure, unrelenting torture.

"Baloney!" cried the clown. "I'm telling you, thanks to Stephen King, all the children in the audience were terrified of your antics. One even called 911 before I could stop them!" His boss sighed as he rubbed his bald head. "Look, I'm sorry Danny. You're fired."

Every morning, before the day started me and Lucy would watch the military boys run along the country side. Everyday I would ask Lucy, “How come you don’t marry one of those boys?” And she would give the same look and say, “They were the ones that started this war.” But one day

There are so many beautiful and subtle things about this planet that make it unlike earth, but the most striking has to be the red snow. It never diminishes in vibrancy, despite the fact that winter can drag on up to a year. It’s also the reason I am as wealthy as I am.

Day 154 of the genetic mutation research: Subject D has started to repond to the treatment. The other subjects didn’t run with the same luck. I feel that sometimes we see progress and then hit a wall, but I am hopeful this time, we did some changes in the formula and I think

He approached me in the in plaza, smiling. Without a word, he handed me a card. It read “Marcus Wallaby the Third. Effing up the ineffable a specialty”. I was befuddled. He said “what can I do for you?”

This is how the story goes, how it ends, no one knows. Line by line, we fabricate it ‘til we sound inebriated. Using only context clues, cleverly we get to choose where the story goes from here. You’re up next! Good luck, my dear.

Jerry glanced down at the photograph in his hand, then back up again at the woman sitting alone at the back of the cafe.