Joel Farrelly

In retrospect, it may seem quite obvious that whatever was out there had been doing something to keep my grandparents asleep that night. And if it could do that, who knows what else it was capable of.

It took me a full three seconds of looking at that window before I spotted the thing now staring back at me.

Though, the Pawleys Island Gray Man is considered to be a generally benevolent being, my theory is that there are actually many Gray Men out there…

PASS ME ON OR IT WILL GET WORSE!

Here are three terrifying first-hand accounts from people with mundane jobs that I CAN legally tell you about.

This figure is something between man and predatory fish. There is a note scribbled in the margin here that reads: Imagine a merman with no arms and a mouth like a garfish and a big, weird-looking dick. This is the Pelagic Man.

For someone who has spent over a decade honing their lucid dreaming skills, suddenly not being able to remember a nightmare can be even more disturbing than the nightmare itself.

The lawyer they gave me asked if there was anyone I wanted to call and handed me his smartphone. I figured you were my best bet. They’re clever bastards but not clever enough to know that I record all of my streams onto a redundant server. I’ve attached a link to download a video from my Dropbox. The folder is labeled “Insurance.” Watch it. Tell me if you still think I’m crazy.

“See, to displace one evil act, you have to help facilitate another. Which is where I come in. I am your facilitator. For the next thirty-four minutes that you would’ve spent here, you’re instead going to do everything I tell you. Deal?”

I need you to call the cops and see if they can like trace the IP on my email or something and obviously please don’t post this…

“So, the transient is a decoy and the house…”
“Is a trap, yes.”
Mikey thought this over for a moment and shrugged. “Then f*ck it. Let’s go get trapped.”

The crevice in front of him began to widen until he could see into it and he realized the opening was emitting a faint red light, almost pink. Squinting into the light, he could just barely make out the shape of something…

I couldn’t help but scoff. “You saying you’re a Ghostbuster?”
“That’s putting a bit too fine of a point on it for my liking. Plus, I think the title might be taken.”

“When you die, your soul is mine.”

For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.

So a couple of years back, a bunch of top secret files became declassified thanks to the Freedom of Information Act and according to one of these files, the government had secretly converted the Control Center into a CIA research facility shortly after it was officially decommissioned in 1965.

According to the legend, if you stood inside this mirror-room alone for too long, supposedly the devil would show up and steal your soul.

If there are certain parts of this story that you find difficult to read, know that they were just as difficult for me to write.