By Chef Unxmaal
Sometimes things do not go as planned. The heist certainly did not. I meant it to be a simple job — masks, a few guns, fast horses, a big score at the end.
The big dumb deputy got Jim in the back, about a minute in. By then there was smoke in the air, screaming, lots of noise. I always knew Jim would die of a bullet, most likely in the back. I think he knew the same. I should have known that the sheriff would post a deputy at the bank. It made no sense. We had spent the previous night torching the Canaveras Ranch, shot old man Canaveras, shot his ranch hands, shot the wife and children. Let one run to town with a hole in her arm, in her bloody nightgown, so as to attract attention back to the ranch. Then we rode hard around the Gap to town, and waited until the kid rode up, nearly dead, screaming and hollering about murder. Continue reading “The Other One”
By Chef lifeisstrangemetoo
I was lying alone in my room when I heard the voice, deep and crackly, coming from beneath my bed.
“Hey,” the voice called out.
I told myself I was just imagining it.
“Hey kid,” the voice repeated. Continue reading “The Monster Under Your Bed”
By Chef Rukatofan
I live in a house at the top of a hill, in a woody, quiet neighborhood. Everyone mostly keeps to themselves out here, it’s not the neighbor community that suburbs usually have, but that’s just fine for me. Today, I’m watching my sister’s kids while she is in the hospital. I’ll change some names, all except the name of the ghost… which somehow I feel would be a bad idea. Not sure why.
There’s always a spot on our driveway where, whenever I walk down to the mailbox, or take the trash and recycling up or down the hill, I always feel like someone is watching me from the other side of the fence. I would just assume it was a neighbor, watching out of curiosity or something since no one really talks to each other on my street. Continue reading “Are Ghosts Safe for Children?”
By Chef jklimerence
Death is a weird fascination. It is a tricky sticky thing that seems to dart down and snatch reality right from under our feet, always when we least expect it, even though we know from the beginning to always expect it.
I, myself, never saw it coming. I chose a career in writing, in structuring entire worlds and divining the future of my characters, but even I could not see death’s lecherous caress, her pale fingers claiming what she desired. It felt as if I’d shut my eyes to fall asleep and opened to them to a world turned upside down and set on fire by some invisible madman. When the bones of my wife finally turned up, I truly did want to drench every last inch of this evil existence with kerosene and set it aflame with my anger.
Continue reading “I Made a Book to Remember the Passion of my Dead Wife”
By Chef Dectrek
I’ve never liked getting help from others. It always felt like pity. Like someone was trying to rub it in my face that I needed them even for the briefest moment in time.
So you can imagine how tough it was when my husband died and all the neighbors wanted to offer me their condolences. Denise would come over and say “Laura, it’s such a shame about George. How are you going to manage raising little Susy all by yourself? I’ve still got Drew and we can barely keep up with our five little ones considering how involved they are at the school. Anyways I brought you a casserole. Just put it in the oven for 30 minutes and no more or else it will burn…” It’s funny how I always left it in ten minutes to long. I guess I’m clumsy. Continue reading “A Cult Shoveled My Driveway”
By Chef JRHEvilInc/Joel R Hunt
//This is part of a series. Click here for part one.
I’m writing this because I need to make sense of what’s going through my head. I’ll admit it; I’m scared. And I know that if I close my eyes and try to sleep, my mind will be making monsters out of every creak of the house and every howl of the wind. I’m in that state where I don’t even want to make a noise, because part of me is worried that, if I do, I’ll hear a reply.
I know I’m being irrational. If I just get all of this written down I’ll see how ridiculous it is and I’ll be able to move past it. It will become impossible to deny that my fear is based on something absurd.
Ockham’s Razor. The true explanation is often the simplest.
That puppet is not watching me.
It started yesterday morning. Continue reading “The Schoolhouse in the Forest”
By Chef theoddcatlady
It was August 9, 2010. I was thirty eight years old. My oldest daughter Avis was twelve, and the younger pair, Joanne and John, were nine year old twins. I’d been married for fifteen years. I worked at an insurance firm. And every Sunday, while my wife and Avis went to church and the twins went to my mother’s house, I took a walk.
It was a clockwork sort of arrangement. My wife knew never to push me into going with her, I was an atheist and set on staying that way.
Of course, given what’s happened, my views have changed. Continue reading “I Took a Walk for Seven Years”
By Chef JRHEvilInc/Joel R Hunt
//This is the first of a series. Click here for part two.
“Mum, don’t worry about it. It’s just a splash, she won’t care.”
Mum doesn’t listen, already whipping the cloth off of the table and folding it over her arm.
“No, no, I want everything to be perfect,” she says, running a finger over the table to make sure the stain hasn’t gone down to the wood, “She deserves a real family meal, something nice. She doesn’t want to come home to a… a… warzone!”
“Good choice of words,” mutters my brother with a smirk. Mum shoots him a look, then turns to me.
“Fetch the fresh tablecloth, would you? It’s in the linen closet.” Continue reading “The First Parents”
By Chef Unxmaal
//Some parts of the beginning have been cut down, resulting in a shorter total run length than the original.
I don’t feel like I’m a nosy person. No more nosy than the next guy. I just have what my Ma would call an unhealthy amount of curiosity. I was the kid who climbed to the top of the big oak, just to see what was in the crows’ nest. I was the kid who dug a hole in the backyard so deep that I hit groundwater because I was convinced there was a cave under our house, and I wanted to see it. To see.
I never felt like a scholar. In high school, I kept my head down and did enough to get by, pulling off B’s and a few C’s. I wasn’t interested in learning, because learning wasn’t interesting. Uni was different. I took mainly core classes, math-English-history-science, but they were fascinating. For one thing, nobody cared if I showed up or not. It was entirely up to me to succeed, so I did.
In exchange for my education, I worked security and did some light maintenance duties. Maintenance was a no-brainer. I’ve always been handy, and most of the fix-it jobs were the type that could be solved with a liberal application of WD-40, or elbow grease, or both. Security was a different story. Security gave me super powers. Continue reading “The Stairs and the Doorway”
By Chef Nickbotic
//This series contains several references to “you guys” and your “comments,” from its original run on nosleep. Much of this theme has been removed to better fit papaslenders. The Complete Edition also trims a bit off the endings to flow better as one read.
This started with my child. She was the first to see them. I feel bad for her; she was the first one to experience the terror my wife and I would soon feel for ourselves. It began about a week ago, and I don’t know what to do.
Me, my wife Kimmy, and our 6-year-old daughter Anna live in a modest 4 bedroom house, in a place where we are victim to semi-regular blackouts. Only lasting for a minute or two most of the time, they are more of a minor inconvenience than a true problem. We’ve been dealing with them for close to three years now, and have learned to live with them. On the plus side, being subject to somewhat frequent power outages has afforded us a relatively cheap mortgage. But that’s neither here nor there. As I said, this began about a week ago. Anna came into our bedroom at about 1:30 in the morning and nudged me awake. I had to look at my phone to see the time, because the clock on my nightstand read a steadily blinking 12:00. We must have had a blackout.
“What’s wrong sweetie?” I asked, my comforting tone thankfully overpowering the irritation in my voice due to being woken up.
“There’s a man outside and he won’t stop looking in my window.” Continue reading “There are People Outside my Windows: Complete Edition”