Hello, it’s Spooky Boo. Today I bring to you “Strange and Scary Stories Involving Computers, Social Media, and the Deep and Dark Web” For more information on the authors of these stories visit www.scary story time.com.
Now let’s begin….
Story Number One
I Discovered the Meaning of Life and Now I’m Selling It to the Highest Bidder
So, I discovered the meaning of life. Or at least, that’s what my eager customers are led to believe. You see, two or three times a month, I post a listing titled “The Meaning of Life” to various auction sites. I couple it with a sappy picture of a sunset or rainbow and a description that reads “All views are subjective. Results may vary.” Most people wouldn’t bat an eye at such a ridiculous listing, but there are some gullible folks out there that take the bait. When the bidding ends, I usually take home anywhere from $5 to $12.
After I’ve received my money via Paypal, I ship out the item. What is the item, you might ask? Well, I scribble down an inspirational quote or life lesson onto a piece of paper and mail it out in your standard, letter-sized envelope. The quotes are usually from famous writers, historical figures, or the Bible. Some of them include:
“If light is in your heart, you will find your way home.” (quoted from Rumi)
“People will forget what you said. People will forget what you did. But People will never forget how you made them feel.” (quoted from Maya Angelou)
“It’s never too late to be what you might have been.” (quoted from George Eliot)
And that’s it. One stamp, a drop in the mailbox and my work is done. It’s as simple as that.
You might call me a scammer or a con-artist, or perhaps even a plagiarist – and in truth, you are correct. I’m taking advantage of the naive people out there who are probably just looking for a sense of purpose in life – all so I can make a quick buck. But I’d like to think most people know it’s fake and purchase it just to see what I’ll send them. Besides, I’m a bachelor right out of college. As long as I can make a small dent in my phone bill and eat a packet of ramen each night, I’ll sleep just fine.
As you might imagine, I receive quite a bit of hate-mail. I’ve learned to ignore angry emails and private messages on the auction sites. As soon as I see that it’s from one of my customers, it gets deleted. I do, however, receive the occasional snail mail. It’s unavoidable, as my PO Box is listed on all of the envelopes I send out.
It would be pretty easy for me to toss these letters in the trash with the rest of my junk mail, but I never can. Something about receiving a physical letter from someone, good or bad, compels me to read it. Anyone who takes the time to write one deserves to have their voice heard, even if I don’t really care for what they have to say.
The more and more letters I receive, the more and more amused I am by them. To paint a better picture, here’s a few of my favorite quotes from the “fanmail” I’ve received over the years:
“You’re nothing but a glorified fortune cookie service.”
“You’ll rot in hell for the sins you’ve committed. Mark my words.”
“You’re a real f***ing piece of shit, you know that?”
It’s reached a point where reading these letters has become the highlight of my week. I’ve even tacked up some of the better ones on a cork board in my bedroom. You might think that’s sick and a little messed up, but I think it’s hilarious.
Not all of the letters I receive are bad, though. There’s one guy by the name of “Big Red” (like the gum, I guess – that’s all he ever writes above his return address) who mails me constantly. He sends me inspirational quotes in exchange for mine. I assume he’s a repeat customer who actually enjoys paying for and receiving cheerful messages in his mailbox every now and again.
The first quote Big Red ever sent me was “The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.” from Mark Twain. Though there was nothing else in the message, this was a great first impression, as Mark Twain is one of my favorite authors. The quote was much appreciated. As such, I hung it up next to the hate-mail on my cork board.
Another thing that’s great about the quotes Big Red sends me is that I can re-gift them to my customers. It saves me time from looking for quotes online. It’s true that I could send out the same quote more than once, but that just isn’t my style. I like to think that there’s a good chunk of people out there who enjoy the sayings I send them and who might actually be repeat customers, like Big Red. If so, I’ve got to have a little variety.
Some of the things Big Red sends me, however, are not re-gift material. Some quotes he sends are morbid and depressing, and other times he’ll send me small packages containing little trinkets that I have no use for. It’s a little weird, but I figure the guy is depressed and just needs a friend. Maybe the quotes he bought from me were the only thing he had to look forward to each morning. Perhaps the things he sends me are his way of saying thanks. To me, it’s validation that what I’m doing isn’t completely sleazy.
But here’s where things get weird. Today, I received another envelope from from Big Red. I actually smiled when I pulled it out of my PO Box. His letters and gifts were just as much, if not more of a highlight to my week than the endlessly entertaining hate-mail. Upon opening the envelope, my smile vanished.
Inside was a photograph of me, taken up close through my bedroom window. On the back of the photograph was another one of Big Red’s quotes:
“You look so alone. Where’s the meaning in your life?”
Story Number Two
I Read My Sister’s Facebook Page
When my sister died, I came into possession of her Facebook account.
That looks a bit weird, now that I’ve typed that out. To be honest, I’m probably not the first person who should have access to her account. Logically, that honor should go to her husband, Ted, if it goes to anyone at all.
The thing is, nobody knows that I have access to the account.
She gave me her password… Jesus, six years ago. She had asked me to log in and check something for her on my computer… I can’t remember why now. It’s one of those little memories that seemed unimportant at the time but I miss dreadfully now. A million little interactions and words and smiles between us and I’ll never remember most of them.
I digress.
Anyway, the password. About a week after she died, I tried the password on a whim. I figured she must have changed it at some point within the last six years, but to my surprise I was granted access right away. Honestly, Annalise. She never was very good with cyber security.
I know I shouldn’t have gone into her account. I get that, really. Even if she’s dead, it’s an invasion of privacy. Not just for her, but for everyone else. But I had just lost one of the most beloved people in my life and I was grieving. It seemed okay at the time. It seemed justified. And besides, it’s not like anyone had to know – I set her status to “offline” so nobody would see that I’d logged in.
I spent many sleepless nights looking through her Facebook. At the groups she was a part of, at the pages she liked, at the photos she posted. It quickly became an unhealthy addiction. Not that I cared. I was desperate for some kind of connection with her – anything at all. And so much of her life was catalogued online. It was the perfect poison.
To my great shame, I eventually began to go through her inbox.
If it makes it any better (I know it doesn’t), there wasn’t anything groundbreaking or terrible in her messages. Annalise preferred talking to people in person as opposed to over text. Most of it was pretty mundane. Sharing pictures of her little ankle-biter dog with our cousin, Sam. Ironing out details to a party invite with a group of college friends. Planning a last-minute trip to see her best friend, Freida.
That last one hurt a little to read. They were set to meet up just a few days after Annalise’s accident. Their messages were tense and curt as though they’d gotten into a fight. Freida had seemed so distressed at the funeral, crying that Annalise would never forgive her. It must have been hard, her best friend dying without making up for whatever stupid argument they were having. I imagine that stays with a person forever.
It’s funny how we always think we have time. The day of the accident, I was actually at the pharmacy picking up iron pills for my sister at her request. Her anemia was back and her arms had been bruising up like crazy. She had been a little blue lately, so I was looking at the candy aisle, thinking maybe I’d bring her some Cadbury Eggs to cheer her up – they were always her favorite, and I used to give her all the ones out of my Easter basket – when I got the call.
My sister. My stupid, clumsy, lovely sister. It wouldn’t be the first time she fell down the stairs – that had happened to her a lot as kids. But it was her last because this time, she was unlucky.
This time, she broke her neck at the bottom. She died instantly.
The memory of that awful moment – standing in the pharmacy, my mouth hanging open in a scream that seemed to have died somewhere deep inside my chest – flashed vividly in my brain and my face crumpled as I sat there, reading Freida’s message over and over.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.
I was still crying, curled up in my computer chair in a fetal position when Annalise received a new message.
It wasn’t rare for people to send new messages to Annalise’s Facebook page. Most of it was clearly sent in a state of grief – people wishing she hadn’t gone, wishing they’d had more time. I didn’t read any of these messages. To be honest, that felt like too much of an invasion. Plus, they just reminded me of the fact that she wasn’t coming home. And, weirdly enough, that was what I was trying to avoid by scouring her Facebook all the time.
But something was different about this one.
This one was from Ted. Before I could close out of the window, I read the first line.
“Why did things have to be that way?”
Visions of Ted flashed in my mind from the funeral. How pale he’d been, how shaky. Like he was dying under his grief. Like he had no one to share it with, although we all tried.
Ignoring that little voice of my conscience, I kept reading.
“Why did things have to be that way?
“It didn’t have to happen like that. You have nobody to blame but yourself and I’m so, so angry with you. We could have worked things out. We could have made it work. I love you. Even in our worst moments, you knew that – how could you not? I did everything for you, GAVE everything for you. You were so ungrateful.
“You know I didn’t mean it. I just got so angry. You do that to me, you know – you make me angry. And it hurt me, too, to do that. You have no idea how fucking bad I felt about it the next day. And besides, that fight nearly broke my hand. You aren’t the only one that came out hurt.
“I wish you’d listened. I wish you hadn’t tried to run. You thought I wouldn’t find out about your plans with Freida? You thought you’d be safe with her? What a fucking joke. You KNEW you were safe with me. I just lose my temper sometimes – who doesn’t? You’re supposed to love me and that means loving EVERYTHING about me. Or were those marriage vows a lie?
“It’s your fault. It’s your fault for leaving your phone open so I could read those messages. It’s your fault for hurting me when you knew I was already in pain. It’s your fault for making me so angry that I did something to hurt you again.
“Don’t you understand? It’s your fault. And now you’ve been punished for it.”
As I read the messages, I became increasingly ill. Slowly, a picture started to form in my mind, a picture that made my heartrate pick up and my jaw hang open.
No. No.
Before I had time to react further, another message came in.
“What the fuck… who’s reading this???”
Shit. I’d forgotten that by clicking on the message, it sent a “Read Message” notification. In panic, I shut my computer, backing away from it like it was toxic.
It took me a few hours to process what I’d seen. To try to understand it. But by the time I did – by the time I realized what Ted had done to my sister – I knew what I had to do.
I took screenshots of the conversation and went down to the police station. It was about three in the morning and they were surprised to see me, of course – but they were very interested in what I brought in.
They started the search for Ted immediately. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t in their home. He was gone, along with his wallet and all his personal identification. They stopped to talk to Freida, too, and she told them everything – about how they’d been planning to get her away from him, to hide her until she could get a divorce finalized. Freida wanted to talk to me but I refused. I have nothing to say to her for not coming forward earlier.
The police think their prospects of catching him are pretty good – he’ll almost certainly have to use a credit or debit card along the way, which will help them pinpoint his location.
As for me, I’m hoping they don’t find him.
Because if they find him, then he’ll be at the mercy of the law. And I’ve decided that the law is pretty lenient, especially in these parts. If Ted gets convicted – and that’s a big IF – he might get life in prison. And life in prison is too good for scum like him.
The police have started their search. Well, I’ve started one of my own. And I’m not stopping until I find him and get justice for Annalise, for my family.
I won’t stop until he’s choking on his own rotten blood.
We’ll be right back for Story Number 3.
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Story Number Three
One Strange Text Message by Unknown
Never have I truly been more frightened and horrified than that night one year ago. There was absolutely no way anyone had had that sort of experience. I’ve done my absolute best to verify whether or not what had happened to me was authentic, or if it was some sort of elaborate hoax that had been going around through texts. Nothing could truly shed light on just what had happened.
It all started with one strange text message I had received on some idle night when I was engaged in my studies.
Now let me begin by saying I am not a social butterfly. I am a reclusive, studious student who spends most of their day cooped up in their room with their nose in a book or researching some occult subject or an occurrence with an unknown explanation. It had truly been a simple day, with nothing out of the ordinary going on.
Being an avid collector and reader of internet phenomena and lore, especially with those of a mysterious or unknown origin, most scary stories or objects floating around in cyberspace did not frighten me. In fact, they intrigued and entertained me, so I often found myself browsing websites pertaining to those interests of mine. Among the things I’ve come across were the poorly-written tale of Carmen Winstead and terribly cliché accounts of people who have encounters with scary beings.
These tidbits of digital folklore were utterly laughable compared to the dreadful experience I had. As said earlier, it was an ordinary day. I had come home from school, as usual, and discovered a note scribbled down on a sheet of torn notebook paper attached to my fridge by a magnet. It was from my mother, I believe.
It said:
Dear…
We’re sorry that your father and I had to leave so unexpectedly without telling you, honey. We tried calling you, but I suppose you forgot to raise the volume on your phone and didn’t hear it. We had to attend a business meeting and it happened on such short notice that I didn’t have time to make any dinner for you. Your father and I left you fifty dollars on the kitchen table so that you can order anything you’d like for supper. It’s a bit of a drive, so we’ll probably be home late tonight. Call us for anything, okay? Make sure all the doors are locked and stay safe…
Love, Mom.
I crumpled up the paper and placed it down on the table, ignoring the money since I wasn’t hungry at all yet. I did my usual routine of going up into my room and spending several hours in front of my computer and with my books, doing my homework and then spending endless hours online doing whatever enticed my curiosity.
Hours went by, and I soon realized it was fairly late at night. When I had gotten home, it was around 5:00 PM. I had seemed to have lost track of the time while reading numerous articles on peculiar phenomenon, as usual. The reason why I spent so much time in this was primarily because, as I said before, I was not a sociable person. I often spent most of my days like this, lost in my own ruminations and interests and I did little other than that.
Very few people had my phone number, those people composing of my parents and a handful of relatives, so you could imagine my surprise when I heard my phone’s message notifier. At first, I had assumed it was my parents informing me that they were on their way home. Before I had reached my phone, I thought it rather uncanny that they simply didn’t call me and speak to me that way. They’ve sent me texts before, but not as often as they’d call me. Looking back, I truly wish I had simply let it be and not even dared to approach my phone.
When I picked it up, I saw I had one message received. I tapped the screen and revealed the small list of messages I’ve received from family members.
The first strange quality of this message was that instead of a telephone number informing me as to whom the caller was, there was only a string of unusual characters that I had never seen before. There were a handful of letters that appeared to be recognizable, such as “X” and “H” and “Z,” but some of the other characters were completely unusual.
The best way I can describe is that they appeared like the runes of some ancient culture, as they didn’t look like random, glitched ASCII digits or characters at all, but looked designed intentionally. Of course, not being well-read in the study of writing systems, I couldn’t properly ascertain whether these were in fact ancient hieroglyphs or numerals from some civilization lost to the sands of time, some sort of little-known ASCII trick, or perhaps a malfunction of some kind.
I felt an initial moment of hesitation before opening up the message sent from this unknown number, seeing as I’ve read a lot of scams and spam-bots go around doing this sort of thing. But for some unusual reason, there was something enticing about the strange contact that had sent the message.
Unfortunately, since it was on the spur of the moment, I didn’t remember to look up the number or contact that had sent the text. In retrospect, I honestly think doing so would have been futile anyway.
Knowing that this could have potentially been a severe mistake but driven by a desire to know just what the message said, I decided to open up the text and read it. I had expected it to be some useless doggerel or something of that nature, but instead, it seemed like a message written by a real person. It was not typed up formally, but seemed to have been rushed or written in a panic.
It said:
Whoever has gotten this I need your HELP! Something very weird and horrible is going on outside or around in my house. There is a really creepy fog beginning to build.
I found this text very odd. What fog were they talking about? I peered outside of my window, and the night was clear. I saw a handful of stars dotted on the sky and a waxing gibbous moon out, and there wasn’t a single trace of fog or mist developing anywhere. Who sent this text? Where were they? Was the unknown contact even in my city? My state? My country? I couldn’t figure this out, and I was just seconds away from responding, when another message was sent abruptly:
The fog seems to be eating my house. At first it started out as a normal fog forming outside my window but then it began to swallow up the whole neighborhood and I couldn’t see any other house or even the street or my yard.
As I read the chilling words of this next message, I began to feel a bit unnerved. I’m not exactly sure how to explain it, but I felt there was a sort of legitimacy in these words. It didn’t seem like some sort of troll attempt nor did I get the impression that this was some sort of eerie story circulating people’s emails or phones. I felt it was original, and someone truly was on the other side sending these texts, but I could only imagine who.
I simply sat there in nervous anticipation, waiting for the next text messages to arrive. I felt as if I should merely wait to see what would happen next, despite the pleading and unsettling story being told. I also still couldn’t rule out the possibility that this was all scripted. The messages seemed to be sent like an automated machine, just someone typing it then immediately hitting send. Then arrived the next batch of messages, and the texts went like this:
“The fog seems to keep growing and has eaten up my entire view of the houses of my neighborhood and it is crawling up my porch. I don’t even know what this is. No one is on the street from what I see but from the creepy mist there seems to be some sort of noises coming from them I don’t know how to explain what they sound like but like weird animals I have never heard and howls and screeches and high-pitched wails.”
—
“It looks almost as dark as night outside now but it isn’t night at all! My lights keeps flickering as if they’re about to go out. I am now in my room with the lights off but now I am looking outside and I see weird colored lights floating around in the weird mist. they are moving in weird circular motions and look like dragons or snakes made out of lights slithering around.”
—
“I can see nothing outside now except for the smoke and the weird lights and the snake shapes. I feel really scared now and I think I see the mist beginning to come into my house. It is seeping in from my windows and door and it sounds like those weird noises are getting louder and more terrible. I’m now in my hallway and looking down the stairs into my living room. OH MY GOD!”
—
“The mist REALLY IS seeping from underneath the door! It moves almost like it is alive because it seems to be crawling on the floor and moving in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen fog move before! It is coming up the stairs! I think I see people inside it.”
Trembling and scared nearly out of my mind as I read this hastily-typed but eerie compilation of messages, I waited for the unknown messenger to continue their haunting experience. I was so absorbed in their surprisingly chilling story that I’d completely forgotten to ask who they were or if I should do something about this. Then, without a warning, an image was attached to their incoming message, and what I saw was a horrible picture in which I still see today in my most dreadful nightmares.
I witnessed the dark hallway of a house I’d never seen before. White walls were visible along with a door slightly opened on the right side of the hall and a wooden floor. But at the end of the hallway there appeared to be some sort of mist or fog completely engulfing the corridor and everything behind it.
I do not know how to precisely put it, but I saw the outlines of ghost-like beings in the fog. If I could compare them to something, I’d say they appeared like shadow people from legends I’d read about online and psychology textbooks. Although to say that’s all they were would be an understatement.
They also appeared to be made out of the fog that was starting to invade the hallway, and they had long, gaunt arms and thin, skeletal-like fingers.
The most chilling quality of these beings was their eyes. Although they lacked a nose and a mouth, they had brilliant yellow eyes that resembled the headlights of a car. I didn’t even realize it at first, but as I stared at the terrifying picture, I was screaming. The hideous fog-figures seemed to be almost coming out of the phone and out at me. It was almost unbearable for me to keep looking at it.
Another dreadful subsequent photo was attached to another message they sent, and the ghost-like beings appeared larger, with their eyes glowing even brighter, and there were more of them in the mist. They were swallowing up the hallway and appeared to be getting closer.
Then there came a sequence of pictures that seemed to indicate that the unknown caller who was snapping them was running away. Some of the photos were shaky and grainy, appearing as if there was movement when they were captured. I conjectured that the caller then fled into a room because the scenery changed from the hallway to some other area entirely.
The last three pictures were then messaged to me, and they were the most unsettling of all. The first image showed a closed door in a very dark room, I could just scarcely see it. The next showed a sort of mist seeping in from the threshold, slowly curdling up into strange formations. And lastly, it showed those humanoid fog monsters or specters with those bone-chilling yellow eyes approaching with their arms outstretched hungrily.
Finally, a last text message was received.
“They’re getting closer now I can hardly breathe and they are taking over my room! The fog is pulling me in! Please help me somehow before I die! HELP!!!”’
Bordering on horror, I left my phone on my bed and just sat back and stared at it. I imagined the unknown caller sitting there in pure horror with those hideous beings approaching and God knows what they were doing to him. I felt paranoia and nauseous fear beginning to take control of my thoughts and mind. When out of nowhere, my phone began to ring.
I stood as still as a statue, listening to my phone ringing. Quivering with terror, I approached my phone and with a trembling hand, I nervously picked it up and looked at the screen. I saw those ghastly strange characters that served as the number of the unknown caller. The only thing left was to do was answer it. Even though I was merely tapping a button, I felt like it took all of my strength to do so. I answered it and held it up to my ear.
At first, it was deathly quiet on the other end. No sounds at all, as if it had been muted. Then I heard something so faint, so distant that I almost thought I was imagining it. It sounded as if someone was groaning in pain, but I couldn’t properly hear it more carefully to make sure it was that. Then that groaning was overtaken by growing, ominous whispers. It sounded as if a large crowd were whispering in unison in no particular organized manner, just constant, sinister, garbled whispering.
It then shifted to more onerous, terrible sounds. It sounded as if there was a fierce wind on the other line, and then coupled in with shrieks that made me think of exotic animals in some remote and unexplored jungle. Then it elevated to a weird barrage of discordant sobbing, like something mourning or wailing. It didn’t sound human, I can honestly say that right now. The more I heard these hellish noises, the more my hands began to tremble and my heartbeat began pounding in my chest, my mind filled with evil and terrifying thoughts as to what was making them.
This went one for about two minutes when, suddenly, the worst and final sound was that of a loud, high-pitched screech that made my blood run cold. Never had I heard anything like that in my life and I pray that I never do again.
And with that horrifying last sound, my fear took hold of me and I dropped my phone on the floor. I sprinted out of my room as fast as I could and sat in my living room, too frightened by those texts or to call someone. I was so horrified I didn’t even want to go into my room, not as long as my phone was in there. I immediately switched on my TV and let it sit on any random channel, anything to kill the eerie silence. I sat on the couch and I waited for the arrival of my parents.
An hour later, maybe the longest hour I’ve ever waited in my life, they finally showed up. I was so relieved and they immediately scolded me for being up so late (it was around 1 AM. Only now I realize the time that went between the text messages and the pictures sent and that phone call). But when they saw the fear in my eyes, their anger shifted to concern, and I explained the whole story to them.
At first, they seemed to shake their heads and comment on how I spent too much time on the computer researching silly subjects that were clearly getting to me. But I insisted that what was going on was really happening, and I wanted them to come upstairs with me to check my phone to prove what I was saying.
When I went into my room with my parents, I felt the core of my being turn icy cold as I spotted my phone carelessly dropped on the floor from when I had ran out. Too afraid to see those horrible texts and images again, I insisted my father pick up the phone and look at it. When he picked up and turned it on, I told him to check the messages and I warned him at how terrifying they will be. When he looked at them, he sighed in an irritated tone.
Imagine my shock when he told me he saw nothing out of the ordinary on my phone. Without thinking, I scrambled over to it to check it myself, despite the overwhelming dread I had felt just hours earlier. And to my utter horror, it was as if I had received no messages from anyone at all. Everything was as it was prior to me getting those eerie texts.
What had happened that night was, as I’d said before, the most frightful experience of my life. To this day, I’ve never been able to uncover who had sent those texts or why they had sent them. Everything had disappeared without a trace. Was it a hoax, or was it real? I doubt I’ll ever know the real answer and something inside me hopes I never do.
Stay tuned for story number four.
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Story Number Four
Intruder
Alan MacDaniels hated someone. He didn’t know who they were or what they looked like, but he despised them for one simple reason. Every night, they’d come to his home and knock over his trash cans. Something so simple, so mundane, yet its consistency infuriated him. It’d been going on for weeks now, always costing him precious moments in his morning routine. The same two cans, every day of every week. He hated this nameless villain with a fiery rage.
Finally, after simply allowing this disturbance to continue for long enough, Alan finally chose to end it. He contacted a home security service. After a few days, two men arrived at his home and began setting the cameras up throughout the house. A camera outside, a camera in the living room, a camera in his bedroom, and all of it is uploaded directly into his laptop.
He allowed the cameras to run for several days, eager to capture his interloper on camera. His excitement was palpable on the third day when he finally checked his laptop. Excitement turned to frustration as he looked over the various files. They were discombobulated, hours of footage mismatched. The timeline of events was nearly impossible to determine. Alan mashed the keyboard in frustration.
He sighed and went to work. If nothing else, at least he could figure out who was tormenting him. He opened the first file. Little occurred until the early morning, when a shadowy figure stepped out of the brush and rummaged through the cans. Alan, frustrated that he couldn’t get a better look, changed to the next file. The same routine, the same figure, the same two cans. The final file, he hoped, would reveal the interloper’s identity. He clicked on it and hoped for the best.
Once more, the figure stepped out of the brush to the cans, but something was different this time. He didn’t approach the cans. He simply stopped and looked at the camera. A chill shuddered through Alan as the man’s gaze seemed to meet his. The man looked around, seeming to observe the area before stepping out of the frame. Alan checked through all of the camera feeds, desperately trying to find the intruder.
Moments felt like hours as Alan scoured the footage, trying to find the strange man. He searched relentlessly, but the man did not appear again. Alan sighed and shut the computer down, slipping into his pajamas. He lay in bed and tried to sleep, but the image of the figure was still fresh in his mind. A clattering outside drew his attention.
Alan jumped from his bed and ran outside, a gun in hand. He was finally going to catch that bastard. The cans were knocked over as he expected, tracks leading off into the brush. In the dead of night, he could do little to find the interloper. Alan sighed in defeat and headed back inside. A thought popped into his mind. The cameras were still rolling, he might have another chance.
He nearly threw the laptop open and clicked on the file, excitement in his heart. He might actually catch that bastard. He watched the video and his heart stopped. Just as he expected, he stepped outside and looked for the figure, but something was different. The figure was there, right where he would have seen it. It walked right past him on the video, right where he would have seen him, and opened the front door. Alan’s jaw dropped in horror as he watched the figure continue inside, stepping in between the lights, giving glimpses of its horrid form. It was not a man. It walked into his room and stood in the corner. Alan watched, blood is cold, as he stepped inside and sat down at the computer. The figure didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge his presence.
It merely watched him, entirely still. Alan tore his gaze from the computer, looking around the room. He found nothing. His gaze returned to the computer. The feed was live now, and the figure was no longer in the corner. The figure stood directly behind him. As his eyes met the screen, Alan shrieked in terror and fell out of the chair. Even still, nothing was there. Nothing but cold, still air. Sweating profusely, Alan rose once more and looked at the screen. The figure was standing next to him, staring directly at him. Alan looked back, yet still only dead air and silence remained.
Curious now, Alan reached his hand into the void. As would be expected, his fingers grasped nothing. He drew a sigh of relief and looked back to the screen. The figure still stood, watching him. Alan sat back down and rewound the footage, watching himself grasp at the figure. It simply didn’t respond to his groping, only staring at him closely. Alan shrugged and sat back down, unsure of what to think, when he felt something. Something moved behind him. Alan froze. The shifting continued, until a light breath swept across the back of his neck. Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Alan wanted to scream, but he could only manage a low whimper as the hand’s grip tightened.
Ending
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That’s all for tonight. I’ll see you in your nightmares.
