“Four people were walking in the dead of the night wearing black hoods and capes like gowns and they literally had no faces. And by no faces I mean like no eyes, mouth, ears, just blank white pale faces.”
“When my uncle was younger he and his friends stole a car, drove across the country to Montana, and ended up holding a family hostage to run from the cops.”
“The zombies in George Romero’s movies are us. They’re hungry. Monsters are us, the dangerous parts of us. The part that wants to destroy.”
I opened my eyes. There she was. Dead. A dead girl. Dead teenage girl. A, literal, dead ringer for my younger sister. Her eyes were just inches from mine, still wet, but gone. I could smell her breath.
When my son was a baby, a guy leaned in and whispered, “I can smell your milk.”
Definitely don’t read these if you want to sleep tonight.
Someone set up this place. Someone planned for this. Someone picked us for a reason.
You’ve seen at least one ghost in your lifetime. And you feel like you’ve gotten messages from people who have passed away. It’s like you have a connection to the spirit world.
“I was not afraid until I saw this thing. Pasty-white, hairless, ugly.”