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![Medicine by reddit user BlakeFabricatorI don’t remember exactly when the visions began, but I do remember the first time I was in a ball on the floor crying my eyes out because of all the flames and screams, which apparently only I could see.My dad found me. I don’t know how I would’ve pulled through if he hadn’t been there telling me it would all be okay. That I was going to be fine. That everything would be fine.[[MORE]]Afterwards he kept bugging me about seeing a doctor or a priest or someone, anyone, who could help me with the horrible imagines in my mind.At first, I wasn’t very keen on the idea. I didn’t like the hallucinations, but I didn’t like been told I was sick either. I didn’t feel sick at all.But as the hallucinations got increasingly worse, and my dad kept reassuring me I was just reliving some childhood trauma and any person with Ph.d would be able to fix me right up, I finally went and had a talk with my doctor.He told me it was post-traumatic stress syndrome. That I was experiencing it due to the horrible car crash my parents died in when I was a kid.He gave me some medicine and the visions went away.And so did my dad.](https://sixpenceee.com/files/0ede4e53c840682ad54552f9e39cd4bd/tumblr_nlhj6ggzni1s1vn29o1_500.jpg)
Medicine
by reddit user BlakeFabricator
I don’t remember exactly when the visions began, but I do remember the first time I was in a ball on the floor crying my eyes out because of all the flames and screams, which apparently only I could see.
My dad found me. I don’t know how I would’ve pulled through if he hadn’t been there telling me it would all be okay. That I was going to be fine. That everything would be fine.
![Justice or Injusticeby reddit user KMApokAnother one of those stories that theorize the afterlife:The Pearly Gates were not what I expected.After death, I stood in a crowd, thousands strong. I saw a golden fence ahead, hundreds of feet away. It felt more like an amusement park line then Heaven.As the crowd surged forward, I made out many smaller gates, opening and closing. For every gate I saw open, I saw several flashes of flame from the front of the crowd.What I saw near the gates terrified me.[[MORE]]Each person stepped into a circle of runes, the other occupant wearing a robe. When each person stepped in, the figure exposed their face. Every time, the face was different. We couldn’t hear the conversations outside the circle, but they seemed passionate. Soon, the person would either pass the circle and enter the gates, or disappear in flames.I was next. I watched the person ahead of me argue with a sad woman in the robe. A man in golden armor stepped up.“Ready?”“That’s……God?” I asked. “Taking different forms?”The….angel?….shook his head. “No. God is forgiving. He’d let everyone in. Who you see in the circle, that’s the person you hurt worst in your life. If they’re dead, they pass back to listen. If they’re alive, it comes as an easily forgotten dream. They are the one that judges you. They decide: Peace or Damnation.”I watched as the person ahead of me burst into flames. The woman covered herself. I swallowed, and walked forward.As I entered the circle, the robed figure reached up. I wondered who would pass judgement on me.And dear reader, I wonder, who would pass judgement on you?](https://sixpenceee.com/files/ae7ce2f9fb107c3403db31a7418d2d2f/tumblr_nlfog5ebgh1s1vn29o1_500.jpg)
Justice or Injustice
by reddit user KMApok
Another one of those stories that theorize the afterlife:
The Pearly Gates were not what I expected.
After death, I stood in a crowd, thousands strong. I saw a golden fence ahead, hundreds of feet away. It felt more like an amusement park line then Heaven.
As the crowd surged forward, I made out many smaller gates, opening and closing. For every gate I saw open, I saw several flashes of flame from the front of the crowd.
What I saw near the gates terrified me.
![Reality is Creepier Than Fictionby reddit user WontThinkStraightReality can be creepier than fiction. What’s truly terrifying aren’t the things that go bump in the night, but the macabre twists of fate in life. Especially when they get more horrifying the deeper you pry into them.Such as the story of old Aunt Mary.[[MORE]]Mary wasn’t my aunt, but a friend of mine’s. As it’s a very personal family matter, the names have been changed to protect their privacy.Old Aunt Mary was the eldest of four children. She was unmarried for the first 40-odd years of her life, so she was always spoiling her nieces and nephews with indulgent gifts. She was everyone’s favorite aunt.However, deep down, she was very lonely.Always being the spinster whilst everyone around her got married with children took a mental toll on her. When both her parents eventually died, they left a sprawling house for her inheritance. But the void in her life became as cavernous as the empty rooms of her mansion.Shortly after her 46th birthday, she surprised everyone by announcing her sudden wedding to Stanley, a man she’d known for only two months.It was clear though, they were deeply in love with each other. He was only slightly younger – 39 years old – but as charming, fit and generous a soul as Mary was. Whilst no one knew much about Stanley, they all loved and welcomed him to the family. They were also secretly relieved that Mary had found happiness after all those years of solitude.A month after the wedding, they took a honeymoon of a lifetime, spending a year to travel across the world. Every few weeks a postcard would arrive from various exotic locations exclaiming how much fun they were having.Everything seemed perfect until the couple returned from their trip. Living together at the mansion, Mary started to change. She stopped sleeping in the same bed as Stanley, then insisted that they have separate rooms. Before long, she was claiming to hear strange noises throughout the house: her name being called out during the night, furious scratching sounds echoing in the hallways, or mournful wails that seemed to come from the walls themselves.The more Stanley tried to comfort her, the more terrified she became. She would yell and scream at him to stay away, and to not touch her. She would spend days barricading herself up in a room crying and babbling, slowly going mad from the filth that would accumulate and the isolation.She started to claim that Stanley was replaced with an identical impostor. Stanley was not her husband – but something that looked, acted and pretended to be Stanley.Throughout all this time, Stanley was clearly distraught, but still loved Mary with all his heart. He never wavered in caring for her at the bedside, feeding her and talking to her as a loving husband. Over the following year the family spent a lot of time getting to know Stanley better as they took turns caring for Mary, and felt incredibly fortunate that he was around.So it was a total shock when they arrived at the house one day to be greeted by a squad of police cars. The front door was plastered with police tape, and they weren’t allowed to enter. After proving that they were related to the occupants, the officer in charge relayed what happened.That morning, Aunt Mary’s body was found at the base of an ocean cliff about a half hour’s drive away. A passing jogger had seen her car drive right up to the edge of the cliff, and a woman pulling a body from the back of the car. After calling the police, he then witnessed Mary stabbing a male body several times with a large kitchen knife. She then rolled the body off the cliff into the waters below.When the police arrived, she had simply turned and smiled, then jumped off the cliff to her death. They managed to recover her body, but no trace of Stanley’s was found. In all likelihood it was already washed out to sea. The license plate of the car led them back to the house, where the investigation was now focused. They found a broken lamp on the floor with blood splatter on the walls.Aunt Mary knocked Stanley out with the bedside lamp while his head was turned. She then had dragged the unconscious and bleeding body to the kitchen where she stabbed Stanley with a knife, before dragging him to the car and driving to the cliff.However, it was what they found next that puts a chill through my bones.In searching the house that day, the police uncovered a secret cellar under a large rug. Upon opening it, they were greeted with the anguished face of a desiccated corpse on the steps, clawing at the cellar door.The room was covered in the stench of dried human waste, and deep gouges in the woodwork where someone had desperately tried to scratch their way out of this prison. When the DNA analysis and dental records came back, the corpse was a 99% match with Stanley.He’d been dead for months, most likely of starvation. His long fingernails were broken and scratched from clawing in his futile attempts to get out. Stanley was the thing that went bump in the night; it was his pleas and desperate attempts to escape that echoed through the halls of the mansion at night.But solving that mystery only created a deeper one.Who then, was that person caring for Mary, spending time with her family - and whom ultimately was murdered and thrown off a cliff - if Stanley was already dead?Was it a twin brother? A Doppelgänger?Whatever it was, Aunt Mary took that secret with her to the grave.Reality is indeed creepier than fiction.](https://sixpenceee.com/files/23966b9f09e481f7fa4a93e85887fd38/tumblr_nlezg9qpep1s1vn29o1_500.jpg)
Reality is Creepier Than Fiction
by reddit user WontThinkStraight
Reality can be creepier than fiction. What’s truly terrifying aren’t the things that go bump in the night, but the macabre twists of fate in life. Especially when they get more horrifying the deeper you pry into them.
Such as the story of old Aunt Mary.
![Everything I Know is a Dreamby reddit user tiyafwonsTrigger warning for unreality. As a preface, please note that this will probably be very long. I don’t care if nobody reads it; everyone in the world could read it and nothing would change. I just need to voice my concerns for my own sake. Perhaps by organizing everything on a page I can make sense of things.[[MORE]]Several years ago, I was in a brutal car accident. I was parked in front of a train track, waiting for the train to pass by. I was the last person not to make it across the tracks. For visualization, there was a solid stream of cars on either side. If I had tried to sneak across, I would have rear-ended the person in front of me before successfully clearing them.I could hear the train approaching, and the black-and-yellow bars lowered in front of me. I am fascinated by trains, so I was delighted to be so close, finally getting a front row seat. The train was about a quarter mile from the crossing when the driver behind me accelerated and nudged me forward a few feet. The bars bent and eventually snapped, and I was knocked joltingly onto the tracks. I panicked and threw the car into reverse, trying to back out. The other car apparently had more horsepower, however, and to my horror my car door aligned perfectly with the cattle guard on the front of the train.I scrambled to get out of the car, but forgot about my seatbelt. I nearly strangled myself trying to get free. By the time I unlatched it, it was too late. One fraction of a second of the loudest sound I had ever heard, and then blackness and silence. I was certain that I had died. I didn’t feel any pain, and certainly if I had survived I’d be in agony. I tried to open my eyes, but nothing would happen. I tried to make a sound, to wiggle my fingers, or do anything, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t that I was paralyzed; it was more like I didn’t have a body to manipulate. I was just a mind submerged in a pool of nothing. The only sentiment I felt was that I had returned to that state after being gone for a long time; like forgetting how your parents’ house smells until you visit home for the holidays.Gradually, I started to have feelings of sensation. Passing waves of warmth and wetness finally allowed me to determine where the edges of my body were. Almost as soon as I became aware of my physical self, it began to ache. I felt as if every inch of me had been pummeled with a baseball bat–the heavy wooden kind. Even opening my eyes was a spectacular ordeal.I was in a hospital. So I had survived after all. People moved to surround me. Faces that never fully came into focus hovered above my own, and sounds that vaguely resembled speech seemed to reach me through water. It wasn’t long before I felt weak again and my eyes closed.This fading in and out of consciousness lasted for what felt like a very long time, maybe months, though the doctors told me it was only a matter of days. After that, I worked on speaking and swallowing food, which seems silly, but it was actually a challenge at the time. Finally, as more and more casts were removed, I was allowed to sit up and turn my head, for which I was incredibly grateful.According to my family and my then-girlfriend Sarah, all of whom were overjoyed at being able to speak with me, I was asleep for several days on end after the crash. I remember Sarah specifically saying she had missed being able to “stare at those beautiful eyes.”Time passed at an excruciatingly slow pace until physical therapy finally escalated to the point where I could be pushed around in a wheelchair. The doctors were surprisingly hopeful that I’d be able to walk again, but it was what they called “cautious optimism.” Nobody wanted to tell me I could be independent again and then have to admit they were wrong later. Obviously I was very hopeful myself, though even transferring from chair to bed was a painful challenge. It was around this time that I noticed I never dreamed anymore. When I slept, I only felt the same nothingness that I felt immediately after the crash.All the days blended together for a while after that. The next memory I can actually separate from the rest is the first time I tried walking on my own. There were staff members holding on to my arms and waist, just in case I fell, and with their help, I made it all the way across the room on my first try. The doctors said they had never seen such a rapid recovery. I was giddy.Obviously I wasn’t out of the woods yet, but soon I was allowed to live at home again with frequent PT sessions, and some weeks after that, I returned to work. Life was almost normal for a while. Except for a very slight limp in my left leg, the side that the train hit me on, I was feeling pretty normal. It was only after about a month of living in my own house that weird things started to happen.The first thing I noticed was that I felt an occasional stinging on my right forearm, like a thin needle was puncturing my skin. It was a tiny prick, maybe twice a day at most. I figured it was just nerve trauma or something and blocked it from my mind. Feigning ignorance was harder to do when I started hearing things, though. While I was reading in bed one night, I thought I heard Sarah crying. I strained my ears to make sure, and I definitely heard her sobs, but very distantly, like I was submerged in a pool.I made my way downstairs quickly, concerned that she had hurt herself or something, but she was just washing dishes in the kitchen. “Are you okay?” I asked cautiously.“Yeah, why?” She asked nonchalantly.“No reason.”I dismissed these oddities as best I could. After all, how could anyone expect to recover from being hit by a goddamn train without some lingering effects? Every so often, mostly when I was trying to fall asleep or sitting in a silent room, I would hear occasional sounds that I couldn’t connect at first. Gradually, I determined that they were hospital sounds–stretchers being rolled across tiled floors, beeping from machines, rapid chatter between nurses and doctors.Although I figured anyone who had suffered as much trauma as I had would experience some degree of whatever I was experiencing, I decided to bring it up with my doctor. He told me it was perfectly normal for someone in my circumstances, and he could prescribe me a sleep aid if I felt it was necessary. I told him it wasn’t a big deal; I was just satisfied that a doctor could explain my symptoms.The odd glimpses of what seemed to be my past only increased in frequency. When I slept, I finally dreamed again, but it was always the same thing. If I saw anything at all, it was a hospital room. Sometimes there were other people in the room, and sometimes I was alone with the machines.There was one night in particular in which the dream was more vivid and gripping than usual. My eyes opened wearily to see Sarah asleep on the chair beside my hospital bed. “Sarah?” I croaked. She jerked awake.“Henry!” She scrambled to my side, clutching my hand. At this point, it occurred to me that I was dreaming. I stared right into Sarah’s eyes.“I’m asleep right now.”She seemed concerned. “No, Henry. You’re finally awake. I’m right here. It’s been so long.”“Of course you would say that. You’re a part of my dream.” I smiled, amused. “I’ll probably wake up any second.” But as I spoke the familiar soreness caught up to me all at once. It practically knocked the wind from my lungs.“Henry, no.” Her distress was now evident. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Stay with me, Henry. Stay awake. Look at me.” I shook my head defiantly and closed my eyes. When I opened them, I was back in my own bed. It was about 3:00 in the morning. I sat awake, pondering what I had just seen. I thought I heard Sarah crying again, even though I could see her sleeping beside me.When Sarah finally woke up, she rolled over and laid an arm across my chest. “Good morning, big guy.” She smiled groggily.“If I was asleep right now, would you tell me?” I asked.“What?” She chuckled. “That’s kinda heavy stuff to drop on a sleepy person.”“Just bear with me. If I was asleep right now–dreaming, you know–would you tell me?”“Well, I feel pretty real,” she noted, patting different parts of her body. “Do you think I’m not real?”“Of course not,” I said. We got ready for our day. I couldn’t stop thinking about my dream, though. I noticed that when I tried really hard to space out at work, and listened closely enough, I could hear the hospital sounds more clearly. I was naturally concerned about this.That night, I went to bed early, and just as I thought, I was transported immediately to the hospital bed. I felt the thin sheets beneath my fingers. I opened my eyes, and Sarah was reading a book in the same chair as before. I just looked at her for a long time, trying to discern if she was real. She certainly seemed real enough. She turned pages with the same flourish that she always had, and chewed on one of the temples of her reading glasses.Eventually, she looked up and met my eyes. “You’re awake again!” She gasped. “Victoria! Paul! He’s awake!” My parents entered the room moments later, looking excited.I talked with them all for a long time. Of course, my parents, too, denied the fact that I was asleep, but that topic passed quickly. Instead, we discussed my condition. I had been in a coma for almost three months with little response. They had been slowly losing hope for my recovery until my brain showed signs of activity. Since that time, they had been visiting me frequently, hoping that I would wake up. It seemed a pretty convincing story.After many hours of talking, I had to stop; I was legitimately sleepy. Of course, they all understood and I fell back asleep. Only this time, I didn’t wake up in my own bed. I woke up in the same hospital bed a few hours later. I had to think about it for a very long time, but eventually concluded that I must have imagined my miraculous recovery, and had been in a coma the whole time after all. As you can imagine, it was hard to accept at first.Since then, I have been making a second recovery, which has been slower and less successful than the first. That’s why, for a long time, I was mostly convinced that I’m really awake this time. Nobody walks after getting blindsided by a train, at least not without lots of hard work. I’ve still only left my wheelchair on crutches, and it’s been six years.It probably sounds like a bittersweet ending, and at one point I agreed. I was prepared to live happily-ever-after in my wheelchair, and maybe even graduate to crutches someday, except for one thing. When I’m getting ready for bed, after I turn off my lamp and my head hits the pillow, I can still hear them; the faint sounds of a busy hospital.I know that many of you will say “But I’m real. This is real life. Of course you’re awake.” But that’s what you’re supposed to say. Nobody’s going to tell me “I’m fake. You’re dreaming, wake up.” I’m still asleep, and I’ve learned to deal with it. I know that nobody I meet during the day is real, but I’m tired, so I just pretend, and that will have to do.](https://sixpenceee.com/files/9a5ac7251f204cc122f451b8a754c373/tumblr_nldxnumhcl1s1vn29o1_400.jpg)
Everything I Know is a Dream
by reddit user tiyafwons
Trigger warning for unreality.
As a preface, please note that this will probably be very long. I don’t care if nobody reads it; everyone in the world could read it and nothing would change. I just need to voice my concerns for my own sake. Perhaps by organizing everything on a page I can make sense of things.
![I Still Get Panic Attacksby reddit user -del2phiWhen I was 16, my family lived in the middle of nowhere in the desert outside Barstow, California. There wasn’t much to do there, especially in the Summer when it was too hot to go outside, except in the early morning. But this one weekend, there was a small traveling circus/fair thing passing through.[[MORE]]My boyfriend at the time, Adam, took me to go see it. Actually, i took him, since I had a car and he didn’t. It was mostly just a few bad magic tricks, some wilty cotton candy stands, and people dressed up in animal costumes (not like at disneyworld, with the cute costumes, these were super creepy, like dirty animal pelts sewn together to fit a person). Anyway, we went, laughed at how bad it was, then we grabbed some milkshakes and I drove Adam back to his place, just a few blocks blocks from my house.A few hours later, Adam texts me “hey babe, what’s up?”Me: “not much. Just going to read something.”Adam: “lol cool. What did you think of the guy dressed like Abraham Lincoln?”Me: “who?”Adam: “at the fair. There was a guy dressed like Abraham Lincoln. He was legit.”Me “lol, I didn’t see him.”Adam: “too bad lol he was the dope.”Me: “aww, you should have pointed him out :(”Adam: “:( maybe next time.”At that point, my mom came in and was talking to me about something. I think it was about how I needed to start planning on what I would do in college. After a while, I finally got her to leave and looked at my phone. A few texts from Adam:“Babe, you there?” “What’s up” “Sorry didn’t mean to bother you :(”I sent a reply: “sorry, mom needed to talk to me. What are you up to?”After a few minutes, Adam: “hey! Me and some friends went out to the bunker. were having fun, you should come”The bunker was an abandoned Air Force site way out in the desert. There were some tunnels and stuff and it was the go to place for parties that you didn’t want your parents to know about. It was just pretty secluded and far away, and easy to hide or get away if parents or police came out, which was rare, but made it fun in a forbidden fruit kind of way. Adam and I had been there before for small, tame parties with friends before, so this invite wasn’t too unusual.So I thought about it for a bit, and realized I didn’t really want to read or plan for college, so I texted him back that I would be there in 20 minutes. I told my mom I was going to Adam’s place (yeah, I stretched the truth. Nobody ever admitted to going to the bunker), and got into my car.I was driving toward the highway when I passed the block Adam lived on. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone waving, and glanced over. I kept driving for a few seconds while my brain processed. Then I hit the brakes. I leaned out the window and looked back. Adam was walking toward my car. I stared at him until he got to the driver door.Adam: “I thought you were staying home today. Anyway, I’m glad you came by, I was just heading over to your place. I can’t find my phone, and I was wondering if I might have left it in your car.”](https://sixpenceee.com/files/9a931169b7b9c05572a2546633dcac14/tumblr_nldq3zjle31s1vn29o1_500.jpg)
I Still Get Panic Attacks
by reddit user -del2phi
When I was 16, my family lived in the middle of nowhere in the desert outside Barstow, California. There wasn’t much to do there, especially in the Summer when it was too hot to go outside, except in the early morning. But this one weekend, there was a small traveling circus/fair thing passing through.
![Calls From My Girlfriendby reddit user joncomicsThis is just the type of story to unnerve you.It was a late night last night. I paid the taxi and stumbled back into the apartment, trying to be quiet but managing to bang into damn near everything. Cringing at each thing I knocked over, I groped my way through the dark into my bedroom. It must have been two, maybe three in the morning by this point. Bar was closed, that was for sure.[[MORE]]I stripped to my boxers and tried to crawl into the bed as stealthily as I could. My girlfriend would definitely be pissed off at me getting home at this ungodly hour. She didn’t stir, the blanket rising and falling slowly with her resting breaths.I slunk down onto the pillow, eyes droopy and breaths heavy. I was nearly passed out before I’d even touched the cool, silky sheets. I could feel the room spinning away into a dream when my phone began vibrating.I groggily rolled to the side of the bed, reaching for the rumbling hums. I looked at the screen. It was my girlfriend’s number. She must have left it at a friend’s house and they were calling my phone to let me know. I answered it.“Hello?” I slurred. “Hey babe, I just got home. Could you help me bring in the laundry?”What. That was my girlfriend’s voice. But…I snapped my head to the huddled body laying next to me. My mind spewed infinite scenarios of what unimaginable horror awaited me under those sheets. My stomach in my throat, eyes wide with terror, I grabbed a handful of blanket and snatched it away from what it covered.She moaned into consciousness and stared at me, confused. I shined my phone in her face to see if she was some sunken eyed specter. No, no… she just looked really pissed off. She saw my eyes wide and mouth open, stupidly.“You stupid drunken asshole! GO TO SLEEP,” She seethed and smacked me with a pillow. She kicked my side a few times, grumbled some obscenities, and flipped over towards the wall. Yep… definitely my girlfriend.I must have hung up the phone because it began vibrating again in my hand. I jumped a bit, my nerves still a bit frayed. It was her number again.I answered it and she spoke again. “Hey babe, I just got home. Could you help me bring in the-”I hung up right away. It sounded exactly like her, but she was asleep right next to me. Her basket of clean clothes was in the corner, filled with folded things she hadn’t put away today. I remember her bringing it home earlier, because she had called me this afternoon and I begrudgingly dragged it all up the stairs for her…I crawled over to the window and with two fingers, separated the blinds so I could peer through. I scanned the lot for her car and saw it nearly directly below our bedroom. It was weird… It LOOKED like she was in the car but the longer I watched, the more it sank in that there was something very, very off. Her neck seemed too long, her shoulders much too narrow, and her head too… thin. Her face begin to twist to the side, all the while a toothy grin stretched wider and wider until it was touching both her ears. Her large, shadowed eyes were staring straight forward into the the steering wheel… until suddenly her face snapped upwards, her black eyes wide and staring hungrily into my window. Her mouth began to open into an impossibly cavernous grin. She raised a gangly hand to her head.My phone began to vibrate once more.I had been staring in shock, in complete disbelief of what I was experiencing. The light buzzing in my hand jolted me back into reality. All the air left my lungs, I collapsed next to my girlfriend and shook her awake. Still in her tired stupor, I shook her harder, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her to the window.“Babe…” I whispered, nearly in tears, “look… look inside your windshield.”She looked around for her car, and then she saw it. “Jon, what the…” she began to speak, looking very worried. In a split second, it changed to a twisted grimace of pure terror, her suddenly bursting into a shrieking, hysterical sobbing.She shoved her head into my side, my arms pulling her close to my abdomen. Unable to look away from the window, I watched as the thing inside her car opened the door and powerwalked away, unnaturally quick, towards the forested lake to the left of the apartments. It kept its head turned towards me the whole time, its neck bending gruesomely backwards as the rest of its body strutted away. It wasn’t grinning anymore, it was frowning. It almost looked sad.We must have tired ourselves out from all those surges of adrenaline fueled fear because right after it had walked away, I remember waking up in the day time. My girlfriend was still tangled in my arms, us both slumped towards eachother like the letter ‘A’. I checked my phone to see what time it was and saw that I had sixteen missed calls, all between the time of 1am and 7am this morning.We hadn’t tried calling eachother since yesterday afternoon, before it all happened. I had no idea how her phone had been used like that, as it was plugged in next to her all night. There weren’t any outgoing calls from her phone to mine.What’s weirder though is that when she checked her phone, she also had 18 missed calls but from my phone number. Each one, same as mine, was made between the time of 1 am and 7 am.I didn’t really know what so say about it to her. So I said,“Well, babe… I guess that means no more late night taco runs for a while.”We didn’t laugh.](https://sixpenceee.com/files/f6fff7c1aa55b4373e3363c2a1d33cbb/tumblr_nlc49nrkks1s1vn29o2_500.jpg)
Calls From My Girlfriend
by reddit user joncomics
This is just the type of story to unnerve you.
It was a late night last night. I paid the taxi and stumbled back into the apartment, trying to be quiet but managing to bang into damn near everything. Cringing at each thing I knocked over, I groped my way through the dark into my bedroom. It must have been two, maybe three in the morning by this point. Bar was closed, that was for sure.
![Traumatic Brain InjuryBy sixpenceee (Me!)This is not a horror story and this is a tale of fiction: Hopefully, you’ve never been to a traumatic brain injury rehabilitation center, whether for yourself or a loved one. It’s not a happy place. There’s patients floating in and out of consciousness and others groggy, confused and sore from surgery. We receive mostly elderly patients, occasionally an unfortunate young athlete who had been hit on the head, and from time to time automobile accident victims.But my most memorable patient was Henry.[[MORE]]Henry was 70 years old. He first came complaining that he had a difficult time using his hands. After a couple of diagnostics, we found he had a malignant tumor on his motor cortex. We had to perform surgery.I liked Henry. He was optimistic and patient. With all that was about to happen, he seemed cheerful. He had this sweet old, innocent smile that made him resemble a 5 year old child more than anything. What he wanted the most was to be registered into the hospital as soon as possible“Henry, we’re going to registrar you in the hospital but it may take about a week to clear a bed. At this time do you have anyone caring for you?”His face dropped.“No… my wife… she’s been gone a long time, and my kids are so busy with their own lives…”I understood why he wanted to be admitted as soon as possible. Loneliness is such a hollow, empty feeling.“Don’t worry Henry. We will call you as soon as possible.”And I made sure of it. I made my assistant stay extra hours on Friday to fill out paper works and clear a bed for dear old Henry. I received the bad news the following Wednesday.“Dr. Miller, we have a bed ready for Henry but he hasn’t been returning our calls.”A little disappointed, I assumed that perhaps that they had been calling at unlucky hours throughout the day. Perhaps he was napping.When Friday rolled around and there was still no response from Henry, I called in authorities to investigate fearing the worst.They found him glued to his rocking chair. He had shrunken so much in just a week. His ribs were protruding from his chest.They told me the first thing he whispered form his dry, raspy mouth was for a drink of water. Henry heard the calls and he wanted so desperately to answer them, but the tumor had grown at a rapid, unexpected pace. He was unable to move at all.He passed away a week ago. The tumor was too strong. But my heart doesn’t mourn because he had died. In fact, he died quite peacefully during his sleep. But my heart mourns when I think about how long he had spent by himself unable to move, constantly hearing the ringing of a telephone that could’ve ended it all and saved him, but it didn’t. Note: I seem to have a specialty for heart wrenching stories. Here is my last one, it was wildly popular:http://sixpenceee.com/post/109120334829/the-train-ride-i-wrote-this-story-in-high-school](https://sixpenceee.com/files/67fe2b7955094422f844a912a54a4a15/tumblr_nlbyghvlh91s1vn29o1_500.jpg)
Traumatic Brain Injury
By sixpenceee (Me!)
This is not a horror story and this is a tale of fiction:
Hopefully, you’ve never been to a traumatic brain injury rehabilitation center, whether for yourself or a loved one. It’s not a happy place. There’s patients floating in and out of consciousness and others groggy, confused and sore from surgery. We receive mostly elderly patients, occasionally an unfortunate young athlete who had been hit on the head, and from time to time automobile accident victims.
But my most memorable patient was Henry.
![The Unusual Exorcismby reddit user _moomyThis isn’t like the usual stories I post but damn is it good:I’ve heard several times that ghosts follow certain “types” of people. These people are perfectly normal in every way. They live their lives the exact same way you do. Only, when they’re alone, doors have a way of opening by themselves, light bulbs burn out and they hear soft footsteps creaking through empty wooden hallways. Around them, odd things seem to happen far too often. Everyone has probably been around a person like this at some point. Someone with just a few too many stories you don’t want to hear at night.I am one of those people.[[MORE]]I spent most of my childhood nights restless and under my bedsheets (or as I preferred to call it— “strategically camouflaged”). When I think back, I wasn’t the smartest kid, especially at ghost deterrence, but the fact that my cover doubled as a protective cocoon made it seem more sensible. I made it very clear to whatever spirit was around me that the “Fortress of Solitude” wasn’t my last line of defense. If needed, I would scream for mom.As more and more time passed, the same things would happen over and over again. Doors slammed shut, trinkets would fall over and lights would flicker. I even recall a toilet flushing by itself once. It wasn’t until early adulthood that I realized I didn’t need to actually do anything about any of this. Nothing ever hurt me physically. It was all just varying degrees of mental strain. Even what I considered the more significant encounters like a television turning on by itself or actually seeing a misty form appear eventually become well… annoying. My defense simply became ignorance.Things still happen as an adult, but they don’t really bother me anymore. If something falls, I whine and pick it up. If a door opens, I grumble and close it. And if light bulbs burn out, I replace them and have an electrician look at my wiring… (you can never be too safe there). The people around me have a hard time adjusting, but me… I’m rock solid. Nothing creepy really scares me because I’ve seen it all many, many times. It gets old.This leads me to the actual story. I’m 27 years old now and have just purchased my first house. It looks like a hipster’s headquarters. You know the type: big vaulted ceilings, wooden floors, big metal heating grates, etc… The basement was grubby and needed a little work, but it was home. It’s in the oldest part of town – the part that always seems to be right next to downtown. The house is really the perfect storm as far as the supernatural goes. Zac Bagans from Ghost Adventures could show up drooling at my doorstep tomorrow . Storied history of multiple deaths (yawn). Check. Frequent encounters with a prominent poltergeist (sigh). Check. The best freaking steal on the block. Check baby!The prior owner was actually a landlord looking to make money off his tenants, but he couldn’t keep any. They all eventually freaked out and broke their leases. After his first loss in court, he was finally so frustrated he didn’t mind taking a loss on the property.For the first couple of weeks it was business as usual as I settled in. There was definitely a poltergeist there. My pictures would rattle on the wall at night disturbing my sleep. Once more, the doors…. (What is this obsession with doors?) But this wasn’t my first rodeo. I coexisted, even if it was incredibly irritating.Late one night, I awoke to the sound of shattering glass. I moaned at being woken up… again. That stupid poltergeist. It was literally its only redeeming quality that nothing had ever broken while I was living in the house. I said a silent prayer, hoping it wasn’t my favorite Ninja Turtle coffee mug. I turned on my light. It wouldn’t work. Groaning about the light and the electrician’s bill, I got up and walked to the door, which closed right as I was about to walk through. I took a deep breath, opened it again, and walked down the hallway into the kitchen. Without light, I stepped on a shard of glass, letting out a yelp of pain as the sharp edge sank into the ball of my foot. I pulled it out to inspect it. It was a piece of Leonardo’s head. I stood in my kitchen in silence, looking for other fragments on the ground. And then, I felt something… Something I had never felt before when dealing with events like this… anger.I lost it…“Do you have any fucking idea how annoying you are!? I mean knocking things over— it was creepy when I was 10, but I’m an adult now and this is just rude. ’Oooooh look at me I’m a ghost; I don’t have any responsibility. I can just float around and make a bunch of noise by knocking things over whenever I want.’ Well guess what, I have to work tomorrow. I have to work to pay for this house you apparently still live in RENT FREE. ’Ooooh but I don’t want anyone living in my house, even though I’m dead it’s still mine.’ You already had this house and a life, a beautiful life on this planet, and now an afterlife and now you want more!? You’re greedy. You’re a greedy jerk.I want to make something else clear too. If you don’t stop bothering me and you think that if you keep doing this I’ll move: I will never move. I will never move ever. I will tear down this house before I move. I will tear down this house and build a 24-hour-a-day Denny’s. And you know what else? I will be open Thanksgiving, I will be open Christmas, I will be open every single day of the year and all just to spite you. I’ll leave the Denny’s in my will and guilt trip my kids into running it when I’m gone. It will literally be my dying wish. You will never have peace and quiet ever again because of the cycle of shame I will create in my own family.And when they ask me why weird things keep happening in the kitchen. I’ll just be like, ‘Oh don’t worry, that’s just Mr. Wiggles.’ That’s right! You’ll get a nickname! A totally crappy nickname! That’s the road you’re headed down. Just ask your ghost friends what happened when nobody wanted to live in the houses they died in. Besides, I’m respectable! That dirty basement that no one cleaned? That’s my man cave now. A clean, respectable man cave where I watch Netflix. Leave me alone! Leave me alone and I’ll leave you alone! I’m gone most of the day anyway!? When I’m home all I do is just watch television. Is it REALLY that bad?I got a broom and dustpan out of the closet and began sweeping up the shards of glass in the dark. The lights flickered on. I put everything away and began to head back to bed. Before I flipped the lights off I added, "One more thing, what are you doing with your afterlife? Don’t you have any ghost ambition? You can fly! Take a ghost vacation with your ghost friends. Go see Niagara Falls or Jupiter. Find out if Hogwarts is real or something. Seriously— why the hell are you wasting your time here?”Haven’t had a problem since.](https://sixpenceee.com/files/57bb56403d9481d9e8a434fa14c7160f/tumblr_nlbs9uqooq1s1vn29o2_500.jpg)
The Unusual Exorcism
by reddit user _moomy
This isn’t like the usual stories I post but damn is it good:
I’ve heard several times that ghosts follow certain “types” of people. These people are perfectly normal in every way. They live their lives the exact same way you do.
Only, when they’re alone, doors have a way of opening by themselves, light bulbs burn out and they hear soft footsteps creaking through empty wooden hallways.
Around them, odd things seem to happen far too often. Everyone has probably been around a person like this at some point. Someone with just a few too many stories you don’t want to hear at night.
I am one of those people.