Dark horror stories from the Northern California town of Sandcastle where good and evil fight over the souls of the townspeople.
For a decade every morning little girls would find dolls on their doorstep. People figured it was the old eccentric woman on the hill making home made dolls. No one ever figured there was something wrong with the dolls until their searched the woman’s home. Some say she still haunts the neighborhood and sometimes they find dolls!
I love conspiracy theories whether they are true or not. Enjoy this fun little tidbit because you never know when your government is going to test a portion of the population with one of their experimental drugs–especially part of the population they might feel is expendable.
I thought it was just a movie. Remember that movie? Soylent Green? It was back in the 60’s, I believe. They made a movie about turning people into instant food. I didn’t think it was true, I mean it is Hollywood, right?
Clowns. I’m afraid of the word. I never want to hear the word. On Halloween I don’t even come out of the house in fear of seeing Him–the Clown. Or any clown.
I will start by telling you that I used to love the circus growing up. I went to every circus and parade when I was a kid. You could always find me celebrating and laughing with my friends. We couldn’t help but notice there was one clown that would always be at every parade. He would do tricks like walking on stilts or juggling. We knew it was always the same clown because he had these evil deep blood red eyes and weird teeth. He wasn’t like the others and he was always there on Halloween. They were goofy and old. He was always young—maybe in his 20s. I don’t know. He could do anything and do it better than all of the rest and he always smiled at us, picking us out in the crowd.
As I grew older, I stopped going to the circus because I started to love football and sports then I went college, got a job…you know the rest. I just grew out of it. Then one Halloween day my company took us all to the circus for a company team building event. I hadn’t been to the circus in ages and had forgotten all about that evil clown. He was the last thing on my mind when I walked into the big tent.
But there he was. The clown show was first. All of the clowns doing their silly acts for the patrons, while they ignored him. They always ignored him. He was juggling knives of all things. Big, machetes. As one clown walked by him, one of the machetes came down on the clown’s arm and sliced it off. He screamed as it dropped to the ground and grabbed the shoulder socket from where it was torn. Blood spewed between his fingertips. The clown ran, screaming from the tent as his arm twitched on the ground. No one else flinched. No one noticed. Was it an illusion?
As I stood and stared, the evil clown looked up in my direction and winked at me. He read my screaming mind. It was impossible! His smile turned into a razor sharp grin with teeth as jagged as hunting knives–just like when I was young. No one else noticed, they all laughed the clowns and how they tripped and entertained. No one saw the evil one staring at ME. A bit queasy, I sat down and pondered on this thought: HOW??? How in the hell was this guy still young? He was already 20 years my senior when I was 10. It had to be the make up, but there he was doing the same flips and jumps that he did years ago and still picking me out in the crowd with those evil eyes.
My stomach churned like I was going to hurl. On weak legs I stood and made my way through the laughing crowd, hoping to make it to the exit before I passed out. As the fresh air filled my lungs when I exited, I felt a little better–at least enough to get curious. I looked around and saw him. Only him, making his way to a smaller tent. Sadly, curiosity got the best of me and I followed. When he reached his tent he opened the flap and turned to look at me. With one hand he motioned for me to come inside.
I could have said anything but yes, but I didn’t. My mind raced with fear and anticipation as I stepped into the tent. It looked way bigger inside than it did outside. There were rooms and strange moaning noises coming from the rooms. It had to be an illusion of some sort.
“Come, sit. Would you like some tea?” he pulled a chair out from the table. The center piece was a small pumpkin carved in a clown’s face and glowing with a hypnotizing fire. An almost black fire.
Reluctantly, I nodded. I assumed the caffeine would clear my head a little so I didn’t say no. He came back a few minutes later with some mint flavored tea and told his story.
“I am old. Older than you know. Everything here is an illusion and no one but you and your friends can see me. You created me out of your feeble little mind.”
“How can I be sitting here, drinking this tea, if I created you?”
“Only you can answer that.” he laughed.
“Then where am I right now?” I started to grow really tired and my eyelids began to shut. I tried to focus on the glowing light of the tiny jack-o-lantern before me, but it just made the fatigue worse.
“You’re right here with me.” he smirked and continued. “No one can see you, you’re like a figment of their imagination right now.”
I felt my chin drop to my chest then as I came to, everything was bigger. The smell of mint tea flooded my senses as I realized I was in the tea cup I was drinking. Heavy footsteps padded the ground and the chair I was in squeaked beside me. That hideous, razor sharp grin now blocked my view of the tapered tent’s top.
I think I screamed, I’m not sure. He raised the cup to his lips and as the liquid started to pour into his mouth, I went with it. My fingers slipped as I tried to grab onto the side of the cup. My ass hit his pursed lips and I tried to grab those too, but they were too supple. I tried to grab at his teeth, but only screamed as one of my fingers bounced across my view when his jagged tooth cut into it and sliced it off. I wrapped my arms around the tip of his tongue, watching the liquid fall down the dark tube of death as he swallowed the tea.
“Hmmm…” the sound of his voice was loud inside his mouth. He shook his tongue back and forth until I lose my grasp on the slimy muscle and fell onto the soft pads of his saliva glands. There was so much spit in his mouth, and even more as my limbs flailed and activated them. The tip of his tongue pushed underneath me and prodded me to the top of his thick muscle. The bastard was toying with me–pushing me up against the roof of his mouth and making me bounce up and down on his tongue like a trampoline.
“Please let me go!” I screamed. “I’ll do anything! What do you want?”
His laugh echoed in my ears as he began to tilt his head backward and swallow. I made one last attempt to grab at his disgusting uvula and wrapped my body around it. He didn’t gag or choke like I expected, he just shook his head violently until I slid down the slippery organ and into his throat. I could feel the muscles of his esophagus working around me, pushing me down in to the pit of hell where I knew I would be mashed by stomach muscles while being eaten away by acid.
I cried as my body bounced down into the humid, smelly pit of his gut. It was dark and hot. I stood and the little bit of tea he swallowed swarmed around my ankles. I pounded on his stomach walls screaming to let me out as a large, smelly gas bubble swept by me and exited through the top. I heard him burp and then felt warmth squirting out at my clothes as they seemed to melt off of my body then it stopped. It was silent. My skin was burned with stomach acid where the clothes didn’t protect me. The heat of the pit made me sleepy despite the pain in my skin. I sunk down in defeat into the hot tea and acid mix, feeling my skin begin to burn and drift away.
I suddenly awoke in my bed, sweating and screaming with my cell phone blaring in my ear. My maniacal laugh was probably heard throughout my apartment building. “It was all a dream.”
I grabbed the phone and stared at the unknown number. Before answering I looked down at my legs. There were red burn marks in my skin on my ankles and I was wearing pajamas I didn’t recognize. To my horror, my index finger was cut up and wrapped in bandages.
I slowly pressed the button to answer the call. “Hello?”
“Hello, Steven!” The clown’s cheery voice danced in my head. “Let’s do it again next Halloween.”
**
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This story is by Spooky Boo
I made a mistake. A BIG mistake! Over a month ago I was surfing through the online classifieds and I came across this free box of stuff that was posted to Craigslist. I sell a lot of things that I get for free from Craigslist on eBay and Amazon. I know it seems like a scam, but it isn’t. If people are willing to just give things away, then why not sell them?
The box had a lot of junk that I gave away on FreeCycle, I do that so I can build my customer list. I know, that sounds scammy as well, but these people will take junk off my hands in minutes or buy incredible items when offered. So I keep their emails. Is that a crime? I don’t SPAM them. I send a message asking if they would like to be notified. OK? Don’t judge me.
While giving away the items and clearing out the box, I came across this thing called a fidget spinner. At first I wasn’t sure what it was, but then when I realized that it could spin between my middle finger and thumb at an even pace, I was fascinated. My first thought was to sell it, but every time I went to list the spinner I couldn’t do it. I would pick it up and spin it for a few minutes and then do it again. Soon, I was only spinning it over and over again. Everything in the box was gone and I was still spinning that damn thing.
After I started playing with it, I realized that almost everyone had one. Where had I been hiding? They were everywhere with people spinning them. I was no exception. I spun it night and day. It was prettier than all the others. There weren’t any lights on it, but it would light up as it spun. It also made this weird humming noise. I went in and tried others in the store, but none were like this at all. I compared it to the fidget spinners my friends used and none of them could come even close. They wanted to try and I would just laugh at them. I always said no.
It wasn’t until after the first month I had it that I realized I had a problem. It was like an addiction. It was like that feeling one gets when holding a cigarette between your fingers and taking a very long puff. I couldn’t stop. I had been spinning for five days while at work, at home. I wasn’t sleeping. I didn’t realize this until I looked in the mirror and saw the bags under my eyes. Even when I went into work people asked if I wasn’t feeling well. When my boss called me into his office he told me to go home and get some rest after scolding me for not getting any work done.
When I got home, I just kept on spinning…and spinning. It was talking to me, I know it was. If I listened closely, I could hear it humming my name and whispering unintelligible phrases. I could even hear it laughing at me. It became hard to sleep at night at all while I sat on the couch and just watched the erroneous lights on the ends flash in different colors as it turned and turned and turned.
I’d find myself falling asleep and when the buzzing and whispering stopped, I would bolt up again and start spinning. It never ended. After 3 weeks, work fired me. I had no excuse. No doctors note. I stayed home sick for weeks and they called me and told me I was no longer helping the department and had to leave. They asked if everything was ok and if I needed any kind of help while finding a new job, I just hung up the phone then found 2 weeks of severance in my bank account the next day.
Two weeks later I found myself still spinning. I was weak from not eating and most likely severely dehydrated, but I couldn’t stop. The voices in the fidget spinner calmed me as it went round and round. Yesterday they turned off the lights and cable. I have no money to pay the bill. I chew on ice cubes so I don’t have to get up and get water. I think I’ve lost about 40 pounds just spinning and not eating.
“This has to stop now!” I managed through the tears. I stared at my reflection of my defunct television. Just a hollow shell, void of life, stared back at me. The only light was the spinner. I had shut all of the blinds so I could watch the lights in awe. Now that I’ve noticed my reflection, I’m terrified.
I stumbled into the kitchen and grabbed my electric knife. Stupidly I plugged it into the wall forgetting I couldn’t turn it on. The fidget spinner just spun, mocking me as I threw the knife on the ground. Through the tears I searched my knife drawer and found a steak knife. I started to cut at the skin on my wrist but the spinner mocked me. It laughed and hummed in a whimsical tune that a steak knife wasn’t sharp enough. Then I grabbed the bread knife and started to saw, half screaming until I passed out.
When I came to, I was weak. There was blood everywhere, but there was some relief. When I had passed out the fidget spinner had stopped and so had the bleeding. It wasn’t enough. With my right hand I tapped the end and it started spinning again, whispering and laughing. I dug deeper into the knife drawer and finally found it! With one large swoop and putting all of the strength I had left into my right arm, I sliced right down into my left wrist with the meat cleaver. I cried out as my hand tumbled across the floor, still grasping on to the fidget spinner. It continued to spin and laugh me as the room grew dark.
That is why I’m here, at the State Hospital for people with mental diseases. I sit here watching my stump in horror as I can still feel the presence of my hand and that damn fidget spinner.
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Do you ever stare at the wall and count the faces? The boy did and they started coming alive! No one else noticed except for a girl he met on vacation then she could see them too. I have to transcribe this story.
This is a story I actually wrote speaking it adlib over the cell phone at one time I was waiting for a ride. It was a very good story, then before I could transfer the story to my google drive, my phone rebooted and it wasn’t saved. I tried to recreate it here. It’s a little different from the original.
A little boy loves to go out and play with others unless the dark friend inside his head starts to get mean to the others.
The carnival. A place of happiness and carefree laughter. The place where children and parents laugh and ride the carnival rides while getting a thrill of a lifetime. It is also a place where the degenerate and creepy hide so that others may not find them.
We all know the stories about clowns and carnies. Well, we think we know the stories of clowns and carnies. Most of the tales are made up lies. MOST of them. Some of the clowns and carnies are different. Usually derelicts in their time. Anyone will hire a carnie because they can travel and move on with the fair. Most of them have a past and cannot find a normal job or career.
I know a lot about carnivals because I grew up with one. I moved from city to city with my father–watching the other kids play with their friends and parents while I sat alone without friends. There weren’t many kids who traveled with us so I was all alone. My dad taught me reading, writing, and math. He was really good with history. When high school rolled around I was able to stay and attend so I could go off to college. Dad said that the carnie lifestyle was no place for a woman–and he was right.
He didn’t smoke and drink a lot like the other carnies and clowns as he said he had to keep his head clear for his projects and jobs. His projects. THOSE projects he was so proud of and bragged about. I thought they were normal at the time. I had no idea what was going on until much later in life. It’s almost like a dream and it never happened except the screaming never stops in my head.
He always parked our trailer away from the camp or the fair. Normally we are supposed to stay with the group, but he loved to fish so we would find a lake to camp out at nearby if possible. If there were no lakes he would find a campground or other completely legal area. It had to be legal because God forbid someone searches his truck or trailer for any pot or other paraphernalia. God forbid if his projects were found.
He was always a good dad to me. He never raised a hand to me–well, he never had to either. He never swore in front of me. I wasn’t allowed to smoke or drink. He home schooled me and he must have done a pretty damn good job because I aced all of the exams to get into an excellent college. So he was a carnie, and I soon found out why.
It wasn’t because he was a known derelict or criminal. He didn’t have a criminal background. He didn’t rob people. He had never been to jail. I don’t even think he has ever had a speeding ticket. So why did he stay out of a normal lifestyle for the both of us?
Oh right. His projects.
The very first project I ever walked in on terrified me. It was the same week mom had disappeared. She traveled with us until I was about 4 years old. I can talk about it because I remember all of it now. years of therapy did that for me. For so long I wanted to pretend it was all a nightmare that I forgot what he did to her. He was hovering over a lifeless body when I walked in on the part of the trailer he called “the shop.” Our trailer was pretty big. He had the whole back area which had a small office I was never allowed in that he called “the shop.” Of course there was a little kitchenette in the middle with the dining room and living room in one. Then the hall area. My “room” was a little area with the bed above the truck cab, a closet and a small table. I also had a drape for privacy–which he never invaded. Privacy was very important to him.
That one night I was scared. I had heard something outside–someone screaming. Mom was gone for about a week by then and couldn’t comfort me. It was late, about 3 in the morning. I crawled down my ladder as I was too small to jump down still and walked through the dark trailer to the back. The door to his office was open a crack and the light was on so I peeked in. There, lying on a table was a woman. I could only see her naked body and the back of her head, but I swear it was her hair. I watched, knowing the person had to be sleeping or something. I didn’t understand death yet, I didn’t know what it was.
I watched as he cut her skin down the middle of her arm and through her sides, down her hip and to her ankles. She had no feet. He continued up her inner thigh and to the other side then back up to her other arm pit. I couldn’t see how he cut around her shoulders and head, but after he was done, he used some tools to loosen the skin from the woman’s body. He took the skin out his back door. Eyes wide and in a state of shock and confusion, I watched him hang the bloody mess outside the window on our laundry line that was hidden within a small group of trees.
Tears welled in my eyes as I stared at the horrifying mess of clotting blood, muscle, and fat–still in human form but for me not recognizably human at all. Blood dripped down from the finger tip slowly to the floor. I didn’t want the mess on the floor. I hated it. The skinned head fell to the side and stared at me with the dead, drying eyes almost falling out of its eye sockets. I cried hard as I grabbed a wet cloth from the bathroom and began cleaning the blood off of the floor.
The tears flowed harder as daddy picked me up in his arms and held me. “Drop the cloth,” he demanded.
I did, fearful that he might do the same to me if I disobeyed. He wiped my tears as he brought me into my room and calmed me with my bedtime song. “It’s all a bad dream,” he said. Go back to sleep, you were dreaming.
I awoke the next morning–fearful of what I might find. It must had been a really bad dream–a nightmare. There was nothing. His office was all clean and there was nothing hanging out back on the laundry line. I called out for mom, but of course, she didn’t answer. She was still gone. Dad and I went to the police station that day to report her missing. The cops still came over and checked out the place. They were pretty thorough. I so wanted to believe it was a dream, but I didn’t dare say anything or daddy might get mad.
We spent the remaining days at the fair as happy as ever. I missed mom, but kids kind of adapt quickly I suppose. He made sure I was having a lot of fun then we moved on to the next town. I know he did spend a lot of time in his office, but he never invited me in and he never had any women over that I knew of. Something always held me back from opening the door to see if he was there.
When we arrived at the next town, he brought out a little present for me. “Look darling, a new pair of gloves for you!” he sounded so happy. He caressed them while holding them up to his cheek. A glint of sadness hit his face for a brief moment then he smiled real big and pressed them up to my face.
“Look baby, almost as smooth as your mom’s touch.”
They were beautiful, etched with a special silky thread that reminded me of the color of mom’s hair. They were smooth and comfortable. I wore them every day until I grew out of them. Then, one day when dad and I were playing softball out back, the cops came. They grabbed me and took me away. I was about 9 years old. I screamed out his name and cried while still trying to jump out of their arms. I watched as they knocked him to his knees and handcuffed him.
Years later, when I was old enough to see him again, I went to visit him in prison. He just smiled and asked if I still had them and wondered if I thought a lot about Mom. That is when I knew for sure what he had done. Tears filled my eyes as I walked out of the jail without a word. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t dare speak to him ever again. I don’t know how many women he had killed…murdered and given me their leather. Every week it was always something new and beautiful. I suddenly hated myself for enjoying the clothes and purses he gave to me. All of the pieces I handed over to the police. Pants, shirts, skirts, necklaces, it was endless. I didn’t know how many women these came from, and neither did they. Most could not be identified, but they were human skin. The only pieces I didn’t give were the gloves that I cradle next to me before I fall sleep every night.
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Music performed and copyright of Myuu.
A couple looking for a home wonder why this one is so inexpensive. They don’t realize it is haunted and will pull you into your freakiest dreams.
