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Scary Story Podcast

Scary Story Podcast

A Podcast of Scary Stories and Short Horror Tales

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Stories

Helenke

October 19, 2019

My mom sent me a doll as a joke. She knows I’m terrified of those realistic porcelain faces and gets a good laugh out of it.

I live in Ohio, but my parents live in New York, so my mom had to send me the doll through Fedex. The doll had red hair, pale skin, and a crack on the left cheek. My mom, as usual, added a note, well two notes this time, inside the box:

“Hey honey, I heard you needed some company. Just kidding. Don’t be mad.” and another note that said “There you are.”

Typical. It did get a laugh out of me though.

Oh, there’s a thing you have to know about my mom: she’s obsessed with antique shops. When I was little, we used to go and I used to flip through the many old albums that were there and it was until much later that I realized they probably came from dead families. Over the years, I collected a photo of a young girl on a swing, being pushed by her father, many black and white portraits, and other things like that. I didn’t find them creepy back then, I think I just felt happy knowing my mom let me buy something. The old people behind the counters would give me my change and put my photos in a paper bag while my mom waited in line behind me.

I felt all grown up. I wanted to grow up. Joke was on me. This is not what I expected it to be like. I live with other roommates from college, and for the first time ever I had to purchase my own house cleaning supplies and groceries.

One of my roommates is really cool, but the other one never comes out of her room. We find her a little odd. She’s an international student from somewhere in Europe and has the coolest accent, but we don’t get to talk to her much. We hear her walking around in the middle of the night though, she doesn’t understand that here, we don’t slam the cabinets shut while the rest of us are sleeping, but she got angry with us when we brought it up so I glued a dish sponge to the corner of the cabinet door but I didn’t think it through because it doesn’t close properly now. But it doesn’t make noise at least.

I left the box by the door and next to the couch in my living room, grabbed my bag and left for class, but when I got back, the box was on the dining room table, opened, and as I got near it..

“I love. Can I have?”

My roommate said from the couch, holding the doll with both hands, making it stand on her lap. She never turned to look at me, she seemed too distracted with the doll. I thought it was weird, but I said:

“You can keep it in your room if you want, but it’s my mom’s, so she might want it back eventually.”

“Yes…” she said, seeming as if she was going to say something else, but she never finished and just sat there. I could swear I heard her humming a song, but I can’t be certain.

Things got creepy since that day, and all my friends that I tell this story to tell me to leave the house. There’s lots of things that have happened, but I’ll mention only a few.

I got up to go to the bathroom around 3am one night after holding it in for far too long, so I opened my door, and as soon as I felt the rush of cold air, I bee-lined to the bathroom and sat on the cold toilet seat. As I was peeing, I noticed a small ball of yarn on the bathroom sink, stained with some type of black ink. I was reaching out to it when I heard pounding (and I mean HEAVY pounding) on the bathroom door. It wasn’t locked, but whoever was outside wasn’t aware of it. I yelled out “just a minute!” assuming that one of my two roommates was about to pee herself and the pounding stopped. I flushed and reached to the door to open it when the weird roommate pushed me out of the way and grabbed the yarn from the sink. I washed my hands next to the ink that was left behind on the sink. I went back to bed and didn’t give it much thought.

About two days later, I heard some noises next to my bed. Someone was whispering words in a language I hadn’t heard before. I sat up and reached for my lamp when my door swung open and shut, but I could barely see a silhouette leaving my room. I turned on the light, and my jacket that was hanging on a hook behind my door was moving from side to side. Yep, someone had just been in my room. I got up and opened my door just in time to see Helenke’s door, the roommate that asked me for the doll, close slowly in order to not make any noise. I walked up to her door and knocked, but she didn’t respond. I knocked again and again. Suddenly I heard another door open, it was Stacy’s door.

I explained to her what happened, and she said that yeah, and signaled me to come into her room across the hall. She told me that I have to watch out for her because apparently Stacy’s cell phone had gone missing the week before but was able to trace it back to here with the GPS locator app. When the alarm went off to locate it, it had been in Helenke’s room. Stacy said that Helenke had accidentally grabbed it thinking it was hers and apologized, which sort of checked out because Helenke eventually found her own cell phone in her kitchen cabinet, the one with the sponge I glued.

Odd things kept happening on occasion, some involving the sounds of pacing back and forth in the middle of the night, laughter and random times, and a sheer coldness to the air in the apartment. Sometimes I would catch Helenke sitting on the couch smiling at the wall very early in the morning and I would have to keep throwing out stinky bananas and other stuff that belonged to her because she would let them spoil in the fridge.

I knew Helenke’s family probably had money because I knew that she didn’t work, and supposedly did all of her classes online, so she hardly went anywhere. But now I don’t know what to think.

About two months ago, I saw a post from Stacy on Twitter. It was a photo of a porcelain doll with dark hair, and I tweeted back “Creepy.” to which she replied “I know, right?” and almost immediately, she text me with:

“I found it on my phone, I have no idea where it came from.”

Call it paranoia or fast reasoning, but I put the pieces together crazy fast. I looked back at the photo and saw the crack on the doll’s face. That was the doll my mom had sent me, but with dyed hair. Helenke had probably used Stacy’s phone to take the photo before Stacy found her phone again and didn’t delete it.

I confronted Helenke about it, and she got visibly upset at me. She said that the doll doesn’t sleep in her room anymore, and she said it with exactly those words. I didn’t know what to tell her, but I yelled at her calling her a creep and a witch and I don’t know what else I said.

Helenke hasn’t talked to me since then, but she talked to Stacy sometimes. Well, before Stacy left.

Stacy moved in with her boyfriend and promised to help us find another roommate to split the bills with but so far its been three weeks and nothing. Also, she said she caught Helenke sitting on the floor of the living room smiling at the wall and got freaked out by the whole thing.

Not knowing what to do about my rent situation, I called my mom and she said she could help me out, but that I should try to sort out the issues with my roommate because, in her words, she was legitimately concerned about my health. I had grown a little distant, that’s true. I also stopped feeling hungry.

I was staring at the ceiling from my bed, around 2am, with episodes of New Girl playing on Netflix on my phone, when I heard a cabinet slam shut. Then some dishes got moved around. Then soft laughter followed by some humming, and then more slamming of the cabinet doors. I got up ready to let her have it, but as soon as my door creaked open, Helenke ran toward her room and I caught a glimpse of her, and a small dark figure walking behind her.

She closed her door.

I went to the kitchen to turn off the lights when I noticed the sponge I glued to the cabinet door had fallen off and was on the side of the kitchen sink, but the cabinet door was left open. I walked up to it and found a doll-sized chair, a miniature lamp, and one of my mom’s notes. On the shelf above, there was an old book, an album, and a stack of photos.

I grabbed the album and flipped through it only to find my black and white photo of a young girl on a swing, being pushed by a man. Every page after that was empty. Helenke must have taken it from my room. The stack of photos were mine also.

I ran to Helenke’s room and twisted the doorknob, which was unlocked, and I flicked on her light switch but the light didn’t turn on. I didn’t care. I went off on her. You’re crazy! Who are you? What makes you think this is okay?

I yelled at her while she tried to speak over me but I wouldn’t let her. I must have told her every single thought I’ve had about her ever since she moved in. She started crying and ran to my room and locked herself inside. I pounded on the door but all I heard was her annoying voice yelling back in some other language. I must have spent ten minutes knocking as hard as I could.

There were knocks at the front door. I looked through the peephole only to see a pair of police officers waiting for me to open. I did, they asked what the commotion was, and I let them in. I was up until 6am that night with the police until Helenke finally opened the door and started answering the police officer’s questions. For once, she seemed normal.

The police didn’t find anything weird about the cabinet or the fact that she had been stealing things from my room.

I woke up around 3pm that afternoon to the sound of the front door slamming. I had been hearing sounds of things being moved around all morning but I was just so tired that I would fall back asleep again right away. I walked over to the living room to see Helenke’s door about halfway open. It was a Thursday and I had already missed my classes so I decided to go out to buy something to eat and come right back, but I ended up visiting Stacy at her new place to talk about the whole thing, so I got back to my apartment pretty late.

I didn’t want to see Helenke so I didn’t even bother to turn on the lights and just went straight to my room, locked the door as always, and changed into my pajamas.

Then, like clockwork, I heard the cabinet door slam again.

I got up, opened my door, and went straight to the kitchen but then I heard Helenke’s door slam. She must’ve been doing this only to bother me. She didn’t even cook or anything at night, she just wanted to make noise just to get on my nerves.

I opened her door and flicked on the light switch. The ceiling light turned on.

Helenke’s room was empty. She had moved out and taken everything.

Well, not everything. She left my doll. Her hair was dark now.

It was sitting on the corner of the room on top of a piece of paper. A note.

I slowly walked over to it. It said:

“There you are.”

The Last Airbnb I Ever Visited

October 2, 2019

I’m trying to be as respectful as possible in sharing this story with you, but I need to tell the world about it or I will go insane. For those of you who don’t know, Airbnb is a service that allows homeowners to rent out their houses for a few nights or for longer stays to visitors, essentially turning your place into a hotel. I’ve stayed at a few of them, and though some were better than others, none come close to what I experienced one late night in the desert region of the United States.

My plane arrived late, as expected, and there was some strike going on with Uber and the prices for a ride to my Airbnb were through the roof, but I had no choice but to pay $80 for a 15 minute ride to the address that the host had sent me while my phone was still on airplane mode. 5667 was the code to get into the gate, he said. There were very detailed instructions on how to to get into the house –almost too detailed. Park downhill from the house, don’t disturb the neighbors. Enter the keycode exactly as listed followed by the # key. Follow the path of red bricks toward the back of the house. Key will be on the door and ready for you. Do not disturb the neighbors. Yes, he said it twice. This was a self-service type of stay, I guess nobody would be there to greet me and let me in. That’s fine, I thought. I actually preferred not having to make small talk with anybody and going straight to sleep.

The wind was blowing but the night sky was clear. I had never seen so many stars in my life. The Uber left before I entered the key code into the box, which was frustrating because I couldn’t seem to make the door click open and there was nobody in sight outside. Made sense. Who would be out at 1am?

Just as I was about to call the owner of the house, the door clicked open after I pressed the # key. Thank goodness.

The bricks wobbled as I followed the path to the back of the house, but when I finally got to the glass door, I saw the key. It had a keychain in the shape of a license plate, an Arizona one. I turned the key, opened the door, and found a normal room with a large bed, and two doors, one to the closet and one to the bathroom.

I opened the door to the bathroom and lifted the toilet seat only to find bloodied up toilet paper in the bowl. The person who cleaned must have forgotten to flush. I didn’t even want to open the lid of the trash can, but I couldn’t help myself and pushed the button with my foot to get the lid to pop open, but it had a clean white bag, to my relief. These things happen sometimes, and I’m not known to leave complaints on the review sections of anything, so I flushed the toilet, took care of my business, and went to the sink to wash my hands. When I looked up at the mirror, I saw crusty brown stains on the edges of the frame. I saw them on the corners of the faucet and the knobs. Dried blood.

The place smelled nice though, like fabric softener.

I opened the door to the bathroom, grabbed my backpack from the floor and propped it onto the foldable table that I guess was supposed to be my desk for the weekend. I grabbed my shorts I would be sleeping in, took off my shoes, and changed to get ready for bed. I was so tired that I forgot to brush my teeth.

At 5am, my alarm went off, as always, and I sat up on the bed in silence. It was still dark outside, but I had to go to my meeting with a potential buyer. Mines are a dying business, but generally older people like to purchase them and contract workers to dig for residual metals, and where’s there’s a buyer, there’s a sales agent. And that’s me. I turned on the light to the bathroom, opened the faucet to the shower only to see brown water choke its way out and then get replaced by steaming hot, clean-looking water. Something was off about this place from the start, and I should’ve caught the signs sooner.

I was daydreaming in the shower when I heard a scream from the wall next door. Now, the house was obviously shared because my room had been sectioned off to serve as the Airbnb part of the house, so I had no idea of who was next door, but the scream was nothing normal so I grabbed my towel and ran outside to my room and stood there, dripping, waiting for something else to happen. But nothing happened. The morning was still, no crickets, no dogs, no roosters. Just dead silence. I went back to the bathroom and dried off, changed, shaved while making sure I didn’t touch too much of the sink, and got my phone to wait for another Uber.

Now, the houses weren’t directly next to each other in this area, it was a weird combination of a suburban neighborhood mixed with rural fields in between, and all of the houses looked old and had big yards all around them. I was walking toward the road just as the sun was rising when I heard a voice, from an older man, talking and laughing all by himself as he sat on an old white plastic lawn chair by his porch.

Good morning, I said.

Then he got up, grumbling, turned his back to me, and walked into his house. He stood there for a while, but then he slammed the door so hard that I heard his windows rattle. I didn’t think much of it, but was definitely weirded out. The notification came through my phone that the Uber driver was two minutes away, but I saw the headlights in front of me, so I waved him down, I got in, said hello, and went to the buyer’s office in the downtown area.

It was getting dark when I got back, I took an actual taxi this time. 5667 #. The door clicked open, I followed the wobbly bricks, when I heard the door, my door, slide shut. I walked faster to my door, and I could see the curtains of the window moving around. The cleaning service, maybe? I felt uneasy but I opened the door, stepped in and looked around. Nothing seemed out of place… except for the closet door. It was right on the edge of closing shut or swinging open. As I stepped toward it, the vibrations of my footsteps on the wood floors must have triggered the door to open because the knob clicked and moved two centimeters open.

Weird.

But I wasn’t prepared for what I was about to see. I swung the door open and tried to look inside. I stretched my arm out to grab the chain to the light bulb, but instead of a dangling chain or string, I felt a leather strap. A belt. I moved it around and heard the soft clinking of metal –the chain. I tugged on it and the light flickered on.

On the wooden bar where you normally would put clothes hangers, there was a belt in the shape of a… noose. It had been cut at the loop. A clump of long dark hair caught at the knot. Someone had been hung here. Then the belt was cut to release.. her.

I felt the urge to vomit so I ran to the bathroom, only to see bloody toilet paper in the toilet again. Frantically, I grabbed my backpack, stuffed by clothes back in, my towel, my charger, and looked around to see if I had forgotten anything when the lights went off.

I heard a scream. And then I screamed.

I slid the door open, and ran toward the gate. I grabbed my phone and requested an Uber. 8 minutes away. I walked toward the road again when I heard laughter once again. It was the same neighbor, but now the laughter also came from the house across the street. The neighbors looked at me and laughed. Their wrinkled faces and yellow teeth could still be seen thanks to to the orange street lights. All they did was laugh.

I walked faster, but their laughs grew louder. I got the alert. The Uber was nearby. I got in and the woman in the driver’s seat noticed the laughing and my panicked face. What’s going on here? She asked, with a smile.

I don’t know. Please, just drive. Her facial expression changed. We didn’t say a word. And I never found out about the place. I didn’t leave a review. I didn’t even look up the address on Google for news about that area.

All I know is that I am never staying in other people’s houses again.

The Blinds

October 1, 2019

I don’t like looking outside. My room when I was growing up had those irritating horizontal white blinds on my windows. You know the type, the ones that come up easily but take some special maneuvering to come back down. My room faced the west side of the house, so I got to see the sunsets. The beautiful ones, as well as the sinister ones that cast long shadows all over the tree-covered area of the empty lot next door.

It was occupied at one point, or so the kids at my school had told me. But the trees were so dense and the grass was so overgrown, that you couldn’t see anything inside. Every once in a while, though, I could see a dim light from inside of the mini forest turn on and off. The area itself had a short fence all around it, but as far as I could see from my window, there weren’t any gates or ways to get in aside from jumping over the cheap metal fencing.

One evening, while I was getting ready for bed, a small candle, a flickering light type of thing caught my attention just as I turned off the lights of my room. I tugged on the string to lift up my blinds, but the string wouldn’t work, so I stuck my finger in between the blinds and pried open a small gap between them to have a look. Yes, there they were. Two flickering orange lights in the darkness. I will always remember that night, I remember how cold it was, and exactly what I was wearing. That’s when everything started.

I woke up around 2am to the sound of tapping at my window. There were no branches or anything, like in the movies. My room was on the second floor and there was no balcony and no roof area by the window. If you were to drop something, it would fall straight down to the dirt next to the living room window and miss the area where my dad kept the trash cans. I tried ignoring the sound and going back to sleep, but I heard it again a little later. The green numbers of the radio alarm clock said 3:20am, with the two flashing dots between the number 3 and the twenty. I had fallen asleep to the tapping.. or the tapping had come back. I turned on my lamp only to notice that there was a space between two blinds, like someone was holding them open to look outside. Perhaps I had left them like that when I looked out toward the lights, but then I noticed something. The gap between the blinds was slowly closing, and then they became fully closed. I don’t know if I was still half asleep and had imagined the whole thing, but I tried to forget about it.

I woke up at 5:10am once again, the tapping had come back. I grabbed my blankets and pulled them over my head, but the tapping grew louder. Frustrated, I kicked my blankets away, ready to turn on my light again when suddenly the tapping stopped. Something was outside. Since the window was right across from my bed, I had a clear view of the two dimly lit lights between dried trees next door, even through the little gaps between my blinds. I’m not sure how I managed to walk over the window, but with every creaking step I thought twice about what I was about to do. It was growing colder as I got closer, and when I was finally by the window, I put my finger between two of the blinds to have a closer look, when I felt a cold hand grab my finger, and then another ice cold hand grab my wrist. I tried to yell, I tried to scream as loud as I could, but no sound would come out. I punched the blinds with my other hand and managed to see a broad smile with many teeth, a pair of dark eyes and a pale face.

The thing whispered in many voices, but to this day I don’t know how to describe it.

And just like that, it let me go and I fell straight to my knees trying to catch my breath. I stood back up to run to my door. I had knocked down some of the blinds and I had a clear view to the outside. I didn’t want to look, but as I backed away toward the door, I saw the creature, the thing, a pale.. abnormally tall creature, moving toward the pair of lights from the lot next door.

I never told my family about it, and even though I don’t live in the same place, I still hear tapping at my windows every once in a while. I use curtains now. I make sure to shut my windows at night.

You never know what may be looking in through the darkness outside your window.

The Apparition In My Dorm Room

May 8, 2019

I was at a concert for the new freshmen at my college in California. I had met a girl during orientation that seemed to be into me. At the time, I was only looking to make friends, since none of my friends from high school had transferred over to my new university. But I’m a social person, so it didn’t take too long before we had a little group going.

My roommate was nice and he kept to himself most of the time, though later on in the year we became good friends and still talk from time to time.

Well, on this particular Friday, everyone stayed out late hanging out at the fields of the campus, a few students had brought out guitars and we all had a good time after the concert, until campus police told us to start heading back to our dorms or drive back home because the event was over.

I walked with Mary, the girl I had met, over to her dorm, and we hugged goodnight, exchanged phone numbers, and I went on my way. Both of our buildings were on extreme ends of the campus, so the walk back was long. I didn’t know the area very well, but I couldn’t get over how silent the whole area had become.

I got back to my dorm, quietly opened the door, and changed into my pajamas in the dark. I could see my roommate’s sleeping silhouette, oddly curled into a ball near the foot of his bed, but didn’t give it much thought. I climbed into my bed directly across from his, and covered myself up in the blankets. I went to sleep almost immediately.

Sometime in the middle of the night, though, I began to hear my roommate humming a song in his sleep. Then I heard him cough in a deep voice, wiggle around in his bed. I heard several footsteps, followed by the door opening, and the door slamming. I don’t remember what time it was, but my roommate didn’t come back, his bed was empty and already made in the morning. He had mentioned that he would be going home for the weekends.

The next day, a Saturday, we had a few events going on at school, and I got to meet up with the same girl for lunch and dinner. We walked around the trails nearby, and overall had a perfect Saturday. We both headed back to my room to watch a movie on DVD she had brought from home, but around 15 minutes into the movie, she fell asleep. It was only 10pm, but hey, some people are like that, right?

After the movie was over, I moved her over a little bit on my bed, and I brought one of my blankets to the floor, and fell asleep. It was amazing to me how easily I could fall asleep in that room. It was just so quiet. But that didn’t always mean that I slept well.

In the middle of the night again, I heard something moving on my roommate’s side of the room. Then, someone humming. Then came the coughing sound. I almost knew what would happen next. Then, I heard the girl say, “Hey, why’d you move?”

“Sorry, those–” and she didn’t let me finish before she screamed. I got up and stumbled toward the light switch, flicked it on, and asked what was wrong.

With the faint light from the exterior street lamps, she was able to see a figure sitting on my roommate’s bed. She thought that it was me, and I startled her when I replied from right underneath her, on the floor.

I asked her if she heard the humming, and she said yes. She asked if it had been me, but she had somehow already assumed that it wasn’t. We didn’t really know what to say to each other, when we heard a light tapping on the door.

I walked up to open it, and found the hall’s resident assistant, in his pajamas, asking if everything was okay in the room, that someone had called him to tell him that they heard a scream coming from my dorm. I said that everything was fine, but Mary interrupted and basically told him the whole story, while I just stood there, trying not to make a fool of myself on my first weekend on campus.

The RA stood there, half smiling, and asked us to look up the history of my room, number 338 on the forums online. He said he was glad we were okay, and asked us to keep it down, whatever we were doing. It got a little awkward, but he calmly left, and I shut my door.

It took Mary literally two minutes to find the story on her laptop, which talked about a student in the 80s who had fallen down a window of my building and broken his neck in the middle of the night. He had some sleep problems and would be known to sleep walk. He was taken to the hospital but died later during the early hours of the morning. Supposedly, past students have reported sounds of someone in pain from room 338 ever since. Even when the room was kept empty. Mary seemed excited about the whole thing because, of course, it wasn’t her room. I started questioning everything, including reality, which brought up a weird sick feeling in my stomach.

What bothered me the most happened on Sunday night when my roommate came back and upon hearing the story of what had happened, he looked at me dead in the eye and told me that he had left early the day of the concert. He had missed the whole thing. It hadn’t been him the person that I saw curled up at the base of his bed.

I had been in the room hearing his hums of pain by myself in the room. I was there when the the presence sleepwalked away and didn’t come back. Needless to say, I started going home for the weekends too.

The Woman In The Middle Of The Road

May 4, 2019

I used to drive big rigs for a large company you may have heard of, Coca Cola. My job was to take the bottles from the bottling center and into the distribution center some fifty miles into the desert just north of the border in Arizona.

Now, I used to do this route by myself late at night, but would sometimes be forced to make the delivery as late as 3am, depending on the season and the product demand, since I had to make multiple trips during the evening and would have to work overtime.

There was a patch of trees along one of the highways that I dreaded driving through. There aren’t many trees in the area, since it’s mostly rock and sand, but this area had tree after tree for around two miles, next to rock formations. Driving there at night was definitely an experience, since my radio wouldn’t work in that patch and the rock walls would echo the loud sound of my engine, making it sound like a strong, annoying hissing sound.

The walls of the box of my truck would get as close a foot away from the rocks at certain points, and I would be forced to drive with my left set of wheels on or crossing the lane divider markings on the road.

This particular night, I was approaching the patch of trees and rocks, when I heard my name over the radio.

“Robert, where are you man? Robert, come in.”

I recognized the voice. Rick was on dispatch duty tonight. I picked up the handset and responded.

“Robert, you need to turn back now, there’s been a …” and the radio turned into static as I drove deeper into the winding roads.

He had said to turn back, right? I wondered, after the fact. I slowed the truck down just as I was coming into the second turn of the patch of trees. I came to a stop, and attempted to make the turn back to head the opposite direction, at least to get back to Rick over the radio.

Now, these trucks can’t make turns easily, I gotta tell you. Especially on two-way roads as narrow as this one. So I changed my mind and decided to keep on driving, since I would be out of the patch in a few minutes anyway.

I turned the wheel, changed gears, and was about to step on the gas pedal. But as my headlights turned back to the road ahead of me, I saw something standing in the middle of the road.

She had her black hair straight down. A dirty brown dress on. She was a woman, standing barefoot in the middle of the road, lit only by my headlights.

Just at that moment, static came into my radio once again.

I turned on my high beams, but they didn’t seem to bother her. She didn’t move.

I picked up the radio handset and called for Rick, but I had no luck. I turned my eyes toward the road again, ready to roll down my window and yell out if she needed help. But I held off. The woman was now next to my door, I could barely make out her figure from just the side yellow lights, but I knew she was there.

Her eyes were dark, her skin was pale, and she was smiling. She started leaning her head to the side, staring dead into my eyes. Then I thought of something. There was no way she could’ve moved this fast to the side of my truck.

I felt my body turn cold with a type of fear I had never felt before. This woman couldn’t be real. Then, right in front of me, she vanished.

I sat in my truck for a few minutes, trying to process the situation, but I couldn’t get her image out of my mind. By pure instinct, I turned my head to the right.

There she was. Looking at me directly through the passenger side window. It was an abnormally tall height for her to just be standing there. I hit the gas pedal a little too hard, and since I was already in gear, my truck rumbled and shook to both sides. I got control of it, fixed my steering wheel, and started to move down the road once again.

I left that woman behind me.

My hands were shaking, but I kept my head calm somehow. I drove past the curves, between the rocks, until I drove out of the patch of trees. That’s when I picked up the radio and called for Rick.

“Hey, we gave you the wrong trailer box,” he said, “we need you to come back. Sorry about that.”

After the first clearing, I made a U-turn. I had no choice.

I scanned the road ahead of me the whole way for the floating woman with the brown dress, but didn’t spot her this time around. Actually, I haven’t seen her since.

I wasn’t the only driver with this route, and I asked around. With some nervous laughs, one of the other drivers told me about his experience. He had stopped after hitting one of the rough corners on the third turn. I knew the one he was talking about, I’ve nearly hit that rock myself, since it blends in with the tree branches.

He said he had gotten out of the truck to check for damage with his flashlight, when a woman in a brown dress came up to him. She didn’t say a word. Then just like that, she vanished.

Emily

May 2, 2019

Have you ever heard a little kid talk to herself? They talk about games, toys, colors, and even have conversations that really have nothing to do with anything. We learn to ignore them, they’re just playing around.

Right?

This is the story about the little boy I used to tutor back when I was in high school. He definitely wasn’t making up conversations. He was legitimately speaking to someone, and I have proof.

I got the tutoring offer through my teacher, he knew that I was good at math and excellent with little kids, since I had two younger siblings and I would run to their elementary school after my last class to pick them up. He’d let me go five minutes early most days so I would have enough time to bring both of my little brothers home.

The child I was supposed to help was named Jacob. He lived with his aunt, but most days his grandmother would take care of him. Both of his parents were always working, and you could tell just by the messy house. The grandmother would always let us work out in the balcony, and the subject was basic math.

One evening, I showed up at the regular time and I was surprised to be greeted by the mother. She asked me to come in, that Jacob would be waiting for me out in the balcony. I did as she said.

There he was, talking to himself while waving a pencil like a wand. As I slid the door open to step out into the balcony area, he turned around, and he got quiet.

He was normally somewhat happy to see me, since I don’t think he had many friends and I always promised to play at least one round of Connect Four with him if we got all of our work done on time. Every once in a while, he would say weird things, things about tooth removal, or even weirder… things about his parents cheating on each other.

One time, he mentioned a girl named Emily, who apparently would tell him all of these things when he was about to go to sleep at night. I really did think that he was making this up, since he was an only child and no other children were ever around. That day, the session went as planned. He got the hang of rearranging numbers in a sum, and other basic concepts. He eagerly pulled out the game we were supposed to play, when he casually said, “I know why you’re sad today.”

“I’m not sad,” I replied, “why would you think that?”

“I’m not supposed to say.” He shot back, looking away.

I didn’t think much of it, and kept arranging the pieces on the game stand.

“Emily says you’re going to get hurt.”

I asked him what Emily looked like, and he said that she was in high school, just like me. He went back to playing the game.

“What else?” I asked him.

She talks like you and she laughs like you too.

I was genuinely curious, but it was getting creepy and I didn’t want to poke around anymore.

We finished our game and said goodbye, ready to walk down the stairs, when I felt a sudden push to my knees from what felt like a dog. I leaned back suddenly and landed hard on my back as my right foot twisted unnaturally to the left. I screamed in pain.

Jacob’s mom came running from the balcony, where she was cleaning up a plate of cookies she had brought out. I was on the floor, my bag next to me.

Jacob started crying and then started screaming. He kept saying that Emily had done it, that he saw her do it.

“Shut up about Emily,” the mom scolded. “That’s enough about Emily.”

Jacob’s mom came to help me up and I sat on the couch while she went to grab me some water. The pain had stopped for the most part, but I got a throbbing headache and Jacob’s crying wasn’t helping.

“She’s not sorry, she’s not sorry.” He yelped out, with real, heavy tears in his eyes.

I called my dad to pick me up at Jacob’s house because I wasn’t going to be able to walk back home. He agreed to come pick me up in fifteen minutes and said he would take me straight to the doctors to get my leg checked out.

I got some medication for the pain. I had only suffered a sprain and part of my ankle swelled up pretty badly.

Before my math class was over the next day at school, my teacher told me that he had heard about Jacob, he said that Jacob’s mom was very embarrassed about the whole thing and wanted me to go back for dinner later on in the week. I hesitated.

He noticed my reaction, and asked me what was wrong, but I didn’t say anything.

He’s a little troubled, isn’t he? He said. He’s seen some stuff.

I asked him what he meant, and he told me the story of Jacob’s dad, who apparently had been his student as well some fifteen years ago. He had gotten his girlfriend pregnant and left school to go to work, but the girlfriend and her family left soon after the baby was born, and he was forced to raise the child himself, supposedly, with the help of his single mom.

But one day, while in the care of his mother, the little girl opened up a balcony door, climbed the railing, and fell two stories to her death. The father would never be the same after that.

Now I understood. Poor Jacob. His troubled father was probably a root cause for all of his odd behavior.

“Yeah, she would’ve been about your age now,” my teacher casually mentioned, “I think her name was Emily.”

The Legend of the Fisherman

May 1, 2019

There’s an old legend here in my town. We don’t have a lot of people now, since most of the younger folk decided to go into the city to get office or factory jobs. The fishing seasons aren’t what they used to be.

I’m one of those stubborn old women who, like some of my dying friends, would rather stay here at home than go off into somewhere where people run around honking at everybody.

Anyway, the story goes that the smell of rotting fish follows certain places or people. And if it catches you, it’s a sure sign that you’re going to die. Supposedly a fisherman comes by with his fishing net, tangles you up in it, and then kills you.

The story is about an old fisherman that went out to the bay back in the 60s, you see, and he never came back. Well, didn’t come back alive. His body washed up many kilometers north of here, and was found tangled in his fishing net. A real sad story that one. Some say he was killed on purpose. He himself had gotten involved with some bad apples. Nobody really knows for sure, though.

One of my neighbors, Beth, from down the street was found dead with a broken neck after falling down the staircase. She had gotten her feet tangled up on a phone cord. I told her not to get those extra long ones, but she liked to walk around while talking, maybe more like yelling, on the phone.. her telephone cord following her around where ever she went.

It’s true that her house started smelling like rotting fish a few days before and rumors went around my tiny community that the fisherman had come back.

Not more than a week later, another one of my neighbors died over night after another freak accident. She was about to take a bath, when she got tangled up on the shower curtains and hit her head on the bathtub. She was found headfirst into the water, her legs sticking out and everything.

I’m afraid the fisherman is after me now. It makes sense, you see. I don’t believe these deaths are accidental. The fisherman tangles you up and then kills you. And he’s been trying to kill me.

The other day, someone moved my ball of yarn while I slept. Then, my old water hose that doesn’t work anymore was stretched across my front door when I walked out. He’s trying to tangle me up, and I know I’m next.

Last night, I heard him. His voice hums along with the sound of the ocean. And the stench of rotting fish filled the air and still won’t leave. But I’m not scared.

I guess I’m just sitting around here waiting. Legends always have some truth to them, right?

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Hi, my name is Edwin and I write and narrate stories. Right now I’m at a desk in my bedroom in California, but in the photo above I was at a gift shop in the mountains of Ecuador. Life is good, isn’t it?
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