supernatural
The hidden world of all things supernatural; a look inside witchcraft, spells, vexes, black magic and other spine-tingling supernatural phenomena.
The Boy in the Barn.
He felt heavy at the sight of it. Like he was the muddy earth that it stood on. It was for this weight it had put on him, that he held it at a chokehold within his mind. An imaginary prisoner he kept locked away, and the only recreational time it had was when he was alone. “I'm sorry sir but there are still some papers left for you to sign.” Marshall turned to look at Tom. he felt like Tom was some sort of cold husk. Lanky, pale skin, and sunken eyes, all tucked in a nice suit. He looked at Tom, up and down. He made him feel cold and husk-like as well, as he was handed the papers. “Thank you, sir. I will leave you and return tomorrow to pick them up. I believe that much time will suffice?” Marshall nodded, as his face grew dark. Tom seemed to glide on the mud as he climbed into his car, and it too seemed to run like some hydrophobic machine, untainted by the sticky substance. Marshall felt cleanliness as soon as Tom's car had gone through the gates, like a warm shower washing away a cold slime. Bella came out of the house, and grabbing hold of Marshall, she smoothly rubbed his back, looking at him with sadness and love. “Are you okay?” she asked, as she wiped some dirt that seemed to reach on Marshall's cheek. “Yeah. go on and take the kids back to the hotel, I still need to do a couple of things, and then we can head out tomorrow.” she nodded, and went back into the house, coming out later with the children and driving out.
By Typheus Wolf5 years ago in Horror
Where do the bad men go?
He’d only ever noticed the barn when he was thinking the bad thoughts. He realised this as he stumbled towards it, the weight of the bundle in his arms both far too heavy and far too light. He had the bad thoughts a lot, admittedly, so the opportunities to notice its absence were infrequent. But that morning where his mind was on his unpaid bills, the morning when that bitch had moved out, the morning he lost his wallet, all had one thing in common; he had wondered when he’d missed walking past the barn.
By Gwendolyn Pendraig5 years ago in Horror
The Black Song
April 14 Laura and I got into a fight today. Got a little heated, which sucks because things have been really good lately. Or so I thought. She got mad because I don’t want to go to her mother’s place this weekend. Four hour drive just to hear backhanded insults and sleep in a shitty bed, no thanks. Laura said I could use the time to “engage” with Sean, whatever the hell that means. I just walked away, hopefully she’ll cool off up there. I guess I got the whole weekend to myself. What should I do?
By Blake Anglin5 years ago in Horror
King of the Shadow Throne
He sat in the darkness of his hall, alone. This barren castle with the memories screaming in perpetual darkness, he sat brooding on the centuries, his losses, his wasteful onslaught that brought nothing as reward. Wreaking havoc just because he could, in the past his bloodlust and anger were legendary. Countless lives laid waste by his hand, millions of people drained for his sustenance. This Knight of death once almost destroyed civilization, but with many victories came many sorrows. Armies rose against him, and armies fell, at one point in time he was unstoppable. Dracula, The King of the Shadow Throne, The Elder Immortal, Lord of all Vampire. As he reflected on his past, sitting in his dark hall alone, the world outside past by without a notice. The dawn never touched the interior, it only darkened the shadows and cast a dreary, ever-present mist over most of the ground. The cursed land for miles around his castle that laid at the base of two enormous mountains whose names have been lost in time, like it’s lord, lost in the deep pages of history, no longer a myth or legend, forgotten entirely.
By Dalton Rogers5 years ago in Horror
Heart's Call
What I do is not, strictly speaking, urban exploration. At least, not in the most technical sense of the phrase. Yes, broadly, I do plumb the depths of old and moldering buildings and structures, but I like them quiet, isolated, distant. Far from the cities or even the suburbs. Out in the country or the woods, where everything is still half-wild, where decay is the natural state of the things we’ve built. Certain folks may quibble that what I’m describing is literally the essence of urban exploration, but there is no urban to speak of where I go. No suburban either. And besides, they’re not telling the story, so if I want to make broad, poetic statements about my hobbies, they can type up their furious complaints and counterarguments when I post this. Or they can shove them up their asses. I’m not picky.
By Griffen Bernhard5 years ago in Horror
An Old Barn's Memory
The shadows slip along the planks of ancient wood, their soft sighs undetected by anything other than the forgotten souls who have nestled themselves among the stale hay and dust, remnants of a time where this old barn used to be new, freshly painted and crowded with beings of flesh and warmth.
By Abrianna Leaming5 years ago in Horror
The old blue barn
The old blue barn. The last time I was here, felt like my last day on Earth. I get out of my car and glance towards the yellow grass surrounding the blue building. Walking towards it, memories come rushing back. I can’t believe I used to live here; now it’s abandoned and covered in graffiti. After that night, my parents made sure never to come back here..
By Yoallitl C Moreno5 years ago in Horror
Mission Complete
The approval from his loyal followers was what fueled his motivation. A thrill shot through the fibers of his muscles and nerve endings every time that green light lit up on his webcam. The sensation was his drug. He loved being the center of attention and as an up-and-coming U-Vid influencer, Braden Foster was right where he belonged.
By Kimberly Anne5 years ago in Horror
LASSITER MASSACRE
He was psyched to finally be at the Old Lassiter Massacre barn, in Bear Claw, South Carolina . Ryan had been a paranormal investigator for twenty years. After being tormented by an evil spirit as a younger child, he never wanted to feel that fear again. His parent’s were afraid that he might be a little too fearless and open a box he couldn’t close. The Lassiter Massacre barn carried a lot of pain. Purchased by Abigail and Ulysses Lassiter in 1675, the barn was a torture chamber. They owned many slaves, and they were well respected in their community. Slaves would be tortured and experimented on. There is a story of a slave woman by the name of Mattie. She had her unborn baby ripped from her womb. Her spirit is said to haunt the property. A neighbor reported a description of an apparition that resembled Mattie running towards the cherry tree by the barn. loud screams were reported coming from the barn. No one had been in the barn for at least twenty years. The last person to enter the barn went by the name Henry Riesen. The story is that Henry wanted to visit the location out of curiosity. When he returned home he was possessed and tried to kill his wife and children. His wife was courageous enough to grab their children and run next door to call the police. Henry was placed in a psychiatric ward.
By Brittany Fuller5 years ago in Horror
Like Corn, We Grew In The Night
“Feels like a different world out here,” Diana said softly, and in her voice I heard the same unease I had felt since we had turned off the main road. I looked over at her. The partially open window was tugging stray strands of hair from the braid I had attempted that morning, and in the tilt of her head and lift of her chin I saw so many echoes of her mother that it caused a physical ache. She was watching the landscape flicker past with a slight frown. The corn had grown old; endless fields of it rose and fell in gentle swells on either side of the car, the stalks and fibrous leaves turned honey-rust and shivery in the October cold. Ahead, the sky was a rapidly spreading panoramic bruise: a gentle blue on either side, darkening into mottled mauve and metallic violet in the center. Hanging plumes of dust kicked up by our passage obscured the way back, closing off retreat.
By Christopher Abel5 years ago in Horror
