The first time I saw it, it was sitting near my bathtub, encircled by a crown of melted wax.
I began to grow colder as I wondered what the hell I had gotten myself into.
Please, I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried to tell my wife about this, but thanks to my history of practical jokes, she thinks I’m just kidding.
I suppose looking back on it now, one night should have pointed to who my roommate really was.
What is this thing?
This is actually really terrifying.
If it weren’t for Molly, I might not be here now to tell you about her, or about the night she woke me up with her banging on doors, more frantic than usual.
In the 1970s, Staten Island’s urban legend of a bloodthirsty madman who terrorized children turned all too real.
Someone please help me…
Moving into a spooky old house, on my own? What could go wrong, right?