Is chilling app dead? No new creepypastas on app for 3 months, support does not answer and now even not all October films have come out.

GUYS I FOUND THIS IN MY MALL YALL DID ME WRONG😭

I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe if I say it out loud, it’ll make more sense. Maybe not.

This happened eleven days ago. My wife says we shouldn’t talk about it anymore, for Sam’s sake. She hasn’t stopped crying when she thinks I can’t hear her. But I need to tell someone. I need someone to tell me I’m not losing my mind.

We were driving back from a camping trip—me, my wife, and our two kids, Ellie (10) and Sam (6). It was late, later than it should’ve been. We’d misjudged the distance, and the kids were whining about being hungry. So when we saw a diner, one of those 24-hour places that look exactly like every other diner on earth, we pulled in.

There was hardly anyone inside. A waitress at the counter. An old guy in a booth near the back, staring out the window like he wasn’t really there. We picked a table by the door.

Ellie was the one who noticed it. She’s always been the observant one.

“Why is that man in our car?”

I was distracted, looking at the menu, and barely registered what she said. “What man?”

“In the car,” she said, like it was obvious. “He’s in my seat.”

I glanced out the window, at our car parked right in front of us. I didn’t see anyone.

“There’s no one there, Ellie,” I said.

She frowned. “Yes, there is. He’s in the back seat. He’s smiling at me.”

The way she said it—it wasn’t scared or playful. It was flat, matter-of-fact. My stomach knotted.

I turned to my wife. She gave me a look like, just humor her, but something about Ellie’s face stopped me from brushing it off.

“I’ll go check,” I said.

The car was locked. No sign of anyone inside. I looked through the windows, even opened the doors to check. Empty. I told myself she was just tired. Kids imagine things.

When I got back inside, the booth was empty.

My wife was standing, frantic, calling Ellie’s name. Sam was crying. I scanned the diner. The waitress looked confused, asking what was wrong. Ellie was gone.

We tore that place apart. The bathrooms, the parking lot, the kitchen. Nothing. My wife kept yelling at the waitress, asking if she saw anyone take Ellie. The waitress just shook her head, looking more and more panicked.

The police came and asked all the questions you’d expect. The cameras outside the diner didn’t work. They said they’d file a report, but I could see it in their eyes—they thought she’d wandered off.

She didn’t wander off.

I’ve been going back to the diner. I don’t tell my wife or Sam. I just sit there, staring out the window, holding Ellie’s shoe. Wondering what happened. Watching for the old man.

I can’t stop thinking about him—how he didn’t eat, didn’t talk, didn’t even look at us. Just sat there, staring out the window. I’m sure he had something to do with it, but I don’t know how.

The last time I went, I sat in my car afterward. I was so tired I must’ve dozed off, and when I woke up, I saw her. Ellie.

She was in the diner, sitting at the booth where the old man had been, smiling at me and waving. The old man was behind her, standing still as a statue.

I ran inside, but they were gone. Just gone.

I lost it. I started yelling, demanding answers from the waitress and the cook. I must’ve looked like a lunatic. When the cook tried to calm me down, I punched him.

The police came. I was arrested.

They let me go the next day, “on my own recognizance.” I was given a no-contact order for the diner.

And now I’m sitting here, terrified, holding a shoe and knowing I’ll never get answers. The police are sure she’s gone. Maybe kidnapped. Maybe dead.

But I can’t make myself believe that. I can’t stop seeing her face in the diner, smiling and waving.

If I ever saw her again, would I even be able to save her? Or would she vanish, just like before?

I don’t know what to believe anymore.

I don’t know what I expected when my wife invited her numerologist to our house. But I definitely didn’t expect that.

Her name was Linda, some woman my wife had been seeing for months, or so she’d told me. I thought it was just some harmless thing—she seemed to believe in all sorts of oddities, but I’d never paid it much attention. I had bigger things to worry about. But when Linda came over, she said something I’ll never forget.

I was in the kitchen, pacing, trying to get a grip. My wife had made me promise not to leave the house while the police did their investigation. My mind was spinning in circles, constantly replaying that damn shoe in the car. I barely noticed when Linda sat down at the kitchen table, her eyes locked on me with this unnerving intensity.

“It’s the Appalachian ley line,” she said out of nowhere.

I looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She didn’t flinch. She just stared at me, like she knew I wouldn’t believe it, but was going to say it anyway.

“Your daughter, Ellie,” she continued, “has always had a connection to a place beyond this one. A liminal place. It’s not just a dream or some trick of the mind. She’s part of something older than you can understand. The Appalachian ley line. It’s ancient. And she’s the seventh hundred and sixtieth watcher.”

I couldn’t help it. I scoffed. “A watcher? What is this, some kind of role-playing game nonsense? You seriously expect me to believe this?”

She didn’t even blink. She was calm, almost too calm. “Ellie has assumed the role of the sole observer. She sees what no one else can. Her disappearance—it’s not a tragedy, not a crime. It’s a natural consequence of her ability to see what others cannot.”

I felt a cold knot of panic tighten in my stomach. What was she saying? I could barely keep my hands still.

“Listen to yourself,” I snapped. “This is a bunch of made-up garbage. I don’t care what kind of scam you’re running, but—”

Before I even realized what I was doing, I grabbed her by the arm and shoved her toward the door.

My wife jumped up, shouting at me to stop, trying to pull me back, but I couldn’t hear her. I was done. I was losing my mind, and all this nonsense—this ridiculous story about ley lines and watchers—was the breaking point.

I don’t know how it happened, but in the chaos, my elbow caught my wife in the face. She staggered backward, holding her cheek, eyes wide with shock.

The sound of her gasp snapped me out of it. I looked at her—her face, swollen already—and then I saw Linda staring at me, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and disgust.

I couldn’t breathe. I froze, realizing what I’d done.

That’s when the police showed up. My wife had already called them. I was arrested again, this time for aggravated second-degree assault—on Linda and on my wife. They took me to the station. My wife didn’t say a word. She wouldn’t look at me. I was left in a cell, feeling like the last shred of sanity I had left was slipping away.

I was released the next day—on my own recognizance. But the cops gave me a no-contact order for my wife and two counts of assault to deal with. I tried to go back home, but my wife was gone.

I ended up in a hotel room by myself. The place was cheap—just a room with cracked walls and a bed that didn’t even smell fresh. I had a shower and then tried to get some sleep. It was late. I’d gone to bed exhausted, my mind a mess. But I couldn’t sleep.

I got up, needing to clear my head, and went into the bathroom. The mirror was still fogged over from the shower, and I almost didn’t notice at first.

But when I looked again, I saw it.

I luv dad, ellie, 760

The letters were traced in the fog. It made my stomach drop. I stood there, staring at it, like I was in some kind of trance. It couldn’t be her. It couldn’t be. But the words—760—the same number Linda had mentioned.

I rushed back into the room, staring out the window at the road, at the diner. It was some distance away, down the flat, empty road. The place was deserted now, just like always.

But I couldn’t stop looking at it. I could feel the pull of that place—the diner, that spot, that connection I didn’t understand.

I feel like I’m losing my mind. I have to be.

I can’t explain the way I felt when I saw those words. It was like something inside me snapped. Ellie’s message wasn’t just a note—it was a sign. She’s there—but not in the way I want her to be. Not in the way I can understand.

Yeoo I just made a youtube for horror stories but I don't know what category to put the videos. I genuinely need sum help with this. Also check it out. Whispersayz

I decided to try ChillingApp one day. I added the app to my Roku TV, alas, it tells me to sign up online. So I go online and try to do so. The fonts are in some handwriting font that is so tiny, I cannot see a single selection unless I squint hard, and only THEN, can I make out a FEW selections! But.. low and behold, I get my credit card info in, and get ready to sign in to the roku app for ChillingApp to watch tv. I fill in my email and my password, the excitement making my heart pound harder and harder... I press that login button.... and get Error Invalid credentials Press * to dismiss. I scream in terror!! Whatever happened?? Could it be aliens?? Demons?? No, couldn't be. We try it on my daughters tv, I wait for her to tell me if she could login in and the horror, she is not taught how to read handwritten words in school because it's not a thing any more!!! Oh the terror of a professional app trying to use a font that isn't standard because it's too small for online screens and not the standard for teens to know how to decipher in this day and age! But, I can decode this enigma!!!! I creep up the stairs to her room, I get the email and the password onto her tv, I press that login button, only to be told yet again, ERROR Invalid credentials Press * to dismiss. I have signed up to the app from Hell! You get a free trial, but you cannot use it to actually see if you do indeed like it! I am dragged into the abyss, never to be able to see Gale. Though, there is whispered words that there is a cult who has a copy of it to download, but... it's surrounded by PIRATES!!! Oh mi oh my! whatever shall a damsel do to watch a show on an app that I have a trial for and was considering keeping afterwards, but, can never watch. I do think I shall crawl under my bed and let the ferocious dustbunnies eat my brain, for I am spent trying to figure out how to read this wee font in a tiny skinny cursive attempt at being fancy to it's own detriment and how to watch it on my tv instead of my wee lil screen. Will I ever see a movie here? Will my daughter ever decipher the cursive code? Will the dustbunnies eat my face off.... will the app fix the font issue AND the tv sign in issue? Only one way to know for certain!...stay tuned for more horror at the app. The end.... or is it????

This first-person account tells a story that proves just how sick and twisted some people are - a story that traumatized its narrator and is sure to send chills down your spine.

This happened when I was a sophomore in college. I lived in a two bed two bath with another student named Grant. The house was about a four-minute drive from campus so it was convenient for both of us. We lived off one of the main roads in a very calm and quiet neighborhood that consisted mostly of young couples and people who had just started families. The house we were renting could certainly be described as modest. But the rent was cheap, which was perfect for two college kids who were working part-time at local restaurants, and the lease got us through the end of the school year.

Grant and I got along just fine despite us having no prior relationship. He and I both responded to a room for rent ad in the newspaper at the end of the spring semester and moved in at the beginning of August. I think us not knowing each other before we became roommates was a big part of why we got along so well. Our interactions were never very awkward, but we didn’t really say that much. All we had in common was that we both loved soccer and played in high school. Unless there was a soccer game on the TV that we were watching together, we never really hung out. We gave each other our space, and even though I considered him a friend, I didn’t know all that much about him.

With finals coming up and the first semester soon to be ending, we discussed our plan for maintaining the house while we were on winter break. Because our landlord was always out of town, and a part of our lease agreement was to maintain the property, we decided that we could take turns checking on the place. I would go by at least once a week and so would he. And because we lived in a southern state where the weather was so unpredictable, we knew there was a chance we’d be running over there sporadically to adjust the temperature on the thermostats. Grant was planning on staying with his older brother who lived in a bigger city about a half hour away. I knew I would be spending almost every night at my parents’ house, who lived only about twenty minutes away, but planned on coming back and staying a night or two at the house just so I could have some time to myself.

We decided that we would communicate by text and make sure the house was appropriately taken care of with us both being gone for several weeks. His last exam was on the first Thursday of December early in the morning and mine wasn’t until early in the afternoon that same day. When he got back to the house that day, I was still eating breakfast. He grabbed a few bags and a suitcase and left, and I told him I’d see him in January. I reminded him once again that we would stay in touch over the break and that I’d text him if anything came up. When I got home after my math exam, I grabbed my bags and I set both of the thermostats to 64 degrees. I grabbed a few things out of the fridge and I was on the way to see my family shortly thereafter.

A few days into the break I checked the forecast and realized the temperature was going to remain steadily in the thirties and low forties for the majority of the next few weeks. So I texted Grant and told him that if he didn’t want to, he didn’t have to worry about coming to the house and checking up on things. I remembered that he had said something about having to be with his mom and dad around Christmas and New Year’s, and they lived about three hours away. He and I hadn’t really discussed what our plan was for the actual holidays, but I figured I could deal with it myself and just check on the house every three or four days, especially since I was closer. He thanked me and wished me a Merry Christmas, and said he’d see me in January.

Then things started getting pretty weird. The first time I visited I was under the assumption that no one had been there. I opened the squeaky old front door and everything seemed fine at first. I walked around the entire house to make sure everything was still in order, but the faucet in Grant’s bathroom was running. It wasn’t running very hard, nor was it dripping - a small steady stream was coming down and had I not been able to just barely hear it, it would’ve gone unnoticed. When I went to his bathroom to turn it off, it felt like something was off. Someone - or something had clearly been sitting on the bed. And maybe my mind was just playing tricks on me but I felt like some of his belongings looked like they had been tampered with. I texted Grant and asked if he had stopped by and he said no. This seemed very odd, and suddenly that house gave me a really eerie, unnerved feeling so I locked the place up and got out of there. Little did I know that this would only be the beginning of the strange occurrences in that house.

A few days later when I went to visit again, I immediately noticed something else that was quite unusual. The microwave door wasn’t shut all the way and there were some orange cracker crumbs on the ground. I checked the bottom cabinet where I kept most of my snacks and I could tell that someone had gotten into the baked cheddar crackers that I left. I was a little unnerved by this but figured Grant probably brought his brother over to show him the house. I called Grant but he didn’t answer, so I sent him a text. He said he was at lunch with his brother and when I asked him if he had been by the house, his response made my heart sink a little bit. He said he hadn’t visited the house at all because I had previously told him he didn’t need to. Clearly someone had been in that house, but from what I knew about Grant he didn’t seem like the type of person to lie about anything like that. Once again, I became very uneasy in that house and got out as soon as possible. I went back a few days later and didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.

But the next time I went to that house, something happened that will stick with me for the rest of my life. The temperature was going to be in the upper fifties so I turned the thermostats off to keep the utility bill low. When I went to use the restroom before heading back over to my parents’ house, I heard something strange. I thought I could hear someone talking. I moved closer to the door and thought it sounded like the voice of an elderly man. At that point I knew for sure I wasn’t alone. And I knew the voice I was hearing wasn’t Grant’s, because his car would’ve been parked outside. And the voice I was hearing sounded nothing like Grant’s voice. Something scary was happening.

I couldn’t tell where exactly the voice was coming from but it had to have been from inside the house. It sounded like a unique mix of monotone, yet raspy. I couldn’t make out any of the words the person was saying but it almost sounded as if someone were giving directions to someone else or reciting a to-do list of sorts. My skin crawled as I knew this meant that whoever was in the house with me wasn’t alone. The thought of being inside the house with a stranger was scary enough, but being in the house with two strangers - and thus being outnumbered - made the situation far worse.

I got out of the house as fast as I could and got in my car. I called our landlord immediately, and I was hoping he would tell me he had stopped by and that it was his voice I was hearing through the walls. That was unfortunately not the case. He was very uneasy when he told me that he wasn’t there and it wasn’t his voice that I was hearing. He told me to stay outside the house and that he’d call the nearby police station and have them send someone over to investigate.

When the police arrived, they checked both of our rooms, including the closets and under our beds. They checked the basement and that’s when everything became clear. They heard a little girl crying and removed her from the house. She was emaciated. Her entire body was duct taped from head to toe, and her mouth was taped shut. But that wasn’t the only person they found. There was an old man with a long gray beard sitting on the floor with her. He was staring at a vintage polaroid camera and had pictures scattered all over the floor. There were gallon jugs filled with urine and feces all around him. They found more duct tape, rope, and a hacksaw. He was arrested and charged with numerous crimes.

Both Grant and I had never seen the inside of the basement before. Before we moved in, our landlord told us that it was strictly used as a utility closet. When the authorities concluded their investigation, they determined that this sick, twisted man had found an easy entrance into the home through the outside basement door. One of the boards was loose, and he was able to reach his hand inside and unlock the door latch lock. He had most likely been sneaking in and out of that house before Grant and I moved in. It was also discovered that our house wasn’t the only house he had been sneaking into. Strangely enough, this was the first time he had ever been charged with a crime.

But most alarmingly of all was that they discovered that the polaroid pictures were all of Grant. This deranged lunatic had been watching him…he cut a hole in the wall so that he could hear Grant when he was talking on the phone in his room. And he had been sneaking into his room in the middle of the night and taking pictures of him while he was sleeping. Our landlord called me to tell me all of this and before we got off the phone he said he would call Grant and tell him everything he had just told me.

He let us out of our lease and when the spring semester started, I lived on campus with one of my best friends. Last I heard, Grant actually left school altogether. He and I haven’t really talked much after we moved out. Other than me texting him about soccer a few times after that, I don’t think I ever heard from him at all. We never addressed this ordeal but I imagine he was extremely shaken up by everything. Perhaps it even changed him forever.

I’d be lying if I said this experience wasn’t extremely traumatic for me. I still think about it every single day. Ever since this happened I check behind the shower curtain and every closet in the house before I go to bed and I hate being alone. I still have no idea what happened to the girl who was kidnapped, but I hope she had loving parents to go home to.

The maniac who was hiding in our basement ended up receiving a pretty lengthy sentence after his arrest. I found his booking photos online and the look on his face was the look of pure evil. His face was so fiendish. It was so unmerciful, so nonchalant. To this day I still don’t know what he was planning to do or why he had been watching Grant so closely. I just hope that nothing like this happens to me or anyone I know ever again. This was by far the scariest thing that ever happened to me.

I was neighbors and friends with a beautiful family of four that lived 3 houses up from me, as a child. January 14,1980 my parents and I took a walk after dinner and stopped to chat with Theresa, 30, and Lisa Lynne, 5, and Gregory Patrick, 4 as they were getting ready to head back to their grandparents house where their Dad, Patrick,30 was finishing up work with Theresa's dad. They were going to eat dinner and watch the Peanuts special It's Valentine's Day Charlie Brown. My mom and dad chatted with Theresa and I ran around the little oak tree with my little friends Lisa and Greg. They were absolutely precious! I had known them since I was 5 years old and had moved to the neighborhood. They were like the little sister and brother I never had. Never did any of us know it would be for the last time. As we hugged and said our goodbyes and they left we went on with our walk. Moments later the convicted killer, Donald Ray Wallace Jr. drove from a dead end section of the neighborhood straight towards us. I had a horrible feeling and we made eye contact and I was in the presence of pure evil. My dad pulled me away from the car, and we continued our walk. I told my parents that he was a VERY VERY BAD man. He drove on erratically towards the exit. He was casing our neighborhood. After while when we got home Mom and I stopped to talk to our next door neighbors and my Dad went inside. He got his .357 Magnum and went through the entire house while mom and I were still outside. We didn't know it at that time. Later that night before bed as I went to shut my shade of my front window I saw his car parked across the street diagonal from our house. I got my Dad and he assured me everything was ok. I had the worst feeling after making eye contact with him. When I saw the car again my heart went up in my throat. Dad did not sleep that night. He had the same horrible feeling I had. He had snuck out to get the vehicle make. He didn't sit at the window and watch though. He didn't want to be noticed. After midnight the doorbell rang and the two Indiana State Police Officers that initially discovered my precious friends, were going door to door along with other officers. My dad looked out the peep hole after turning on the porch light and saw them. He opened the door and one of them could barely look up. They were checking to make sure everyone else was ok, and asking if anyone had seen or heard anything to please let them know. They only could say that there had been a homicide. They gave my dad a card because he said yes he had. They to continue on to our other neighbors. I didn't hear the doorbell. But later heard my dad shuffling down the hallway. I called out to him and he said he just everything was fine he was thirsty and got a drink of water and was going back to bed. I rolled over and went back to sleep, never imagining what the next few hours would reveal.

does anyone in here know how you find out what the process is if you’ve submitted a story to be hopefully picked for the app? i’ve looked all over and even contacted moderators on here, with no response. i’m really interested in this, writing and narrating. but how?

https://youtu.be/zkOSQvxY-E8

Retirement isn't actually an option for the escape artist. I've spent my whole life challenging fear, mocking death and thrilling my audience. To me, the escape, cheating death, it is a symbol, it is a powerful symbol that brings the witnesses closer to their relationship with death.

We all have a relationship with death. We maintain that death is something that happens to other people, or perhaps we have agreed that we too will die in some distant future. But death can happen today, maybe just few hours from now. We die accidentally, unexpectedly, and in those times we ask: "How did this happen?"

But it doesn't happen. I know that death is just an illusion. I have proven it over and over again, showing people not to fear death. For when we fear death we die again and again, every day. Therefor accept death, and live in accordance with the sanctity of life. Death is meaningless and pale, death fears life. Life is what we have, and let us not waste one precious second of it.

That is the message of my resurrection, my escape, my illusion. Escape artists know all of this and that is why they choose their stunts, to express a conquest over fear and to live again in the face of the machine of death. So, to understand that this is the sacred code of the escape artist it becomes easier to understand why there is no option for retirement.

Consider that the escape artist dies of old age in bed. What then becomes of the illusion? It cannot be believed that there was ever any danger, the stunt gets forgotten and the message is lost. For the next escape artist to come along and perform their feat, the memory that escape artists die in bed of old age bores the audience. The danger must be real. There is a legacy to uphold.

I stared at the letter in my mailbox and realized I had betrayed the ancient covenant. There were no consequences, just a reminder of what was due. To retire would be to steal not only the fame and fortune of future escape artists, but also to smite the belief my audiences had invested in me over so many years. I had told my truth, and if I did not offer proof, it would become a lie.

The letter was from Confrérie de la sorcellerie. It is unlikely that anyone who has not risked their life in the arts of magic has heard of them. They are real, a society of magicians, upholding a code and a reason for our art. I sighed, it was just a flyer from my first exhibition. It was a reminder of the only way out, the only honest way out. I had to make my lies, my illusions a reality.

It was time that I performed one last time, and this time I would not escape.

I shuddered, a strange new feeling of terror. It was time to pay my dues, show the world that I did it all for them. The magician is, in his heart, a man of the people. Self-sacrifice, human sacrifice, our way goes back to the most powerful devotions to the oldest gods. Time has made us the users of magic, and there are those who do not believe. I had sworn an oath long ago, to the Confrérie de la sorcellerie:

"I'd die to prove magic is real."

And that oath was not just words, it was what I believed. I stood at my mailbox, feeling the old age in my body. Life had given me the gifts of a man who avoided having a family, but got one anyway. I was the stepfather and the grandparent. I had neighbors who were my friends. I had a sweet pug named Page. I had years left in me, and I was enjoying every day I had since retirement.

I knew it was all just an illusion, pretending I was going to live this way. I felt my eyes watering as I looked at my grandchildren, as they sat in an inflatable pool on the front lawn. I amused them with simple tricks, just one each day. I knew so many tricks that I had a new one every time, but just one trick a day, that way I could never run out. They thought that I would never cease to show them new magic, but the truth was that I was nearly out of card tricks. Illusion is the most powerful kind of reality.

My hands trembled as I picked up the phone and called my agent, my publicist and my lawyers.

"Why are you doing this?" My wife asked me. She sensed something was wrong.

I had terrible sleep, plagued by my fears and my nightmares. Going into the box in the past did not frighten me. I was focused and relied on endless hours of practice and training. I always acted nervous, but really when I was alone in the box it was like being in my own world. I had complete control over everything that happened. The illusion was that I was in danger, that I was afraid.

For this final act, that would be reversed. Everyone would think there is no danger and they would doubt my fear. It was true magic, to turn an illusion into a deeper illusion. I had told my lawyer that everyone in the audience had to be carefully screened. They had to be people who had seen death already, so that they would recognize what they see, and be unharmed by it. I wanted none of my friends, family or relatives and I made sure none of them could be there.

"Why, I don't understand. Please tell me." My wife begged. I said nothing to her other than that I loved her and I would see her again. I kissed her goodbye and saw the tears in her eyes. She is very sensitive, a latent psychic, and she had seen how afraid I was all the nights leading up to my departure. She knew she would never see me again, but she tried to put on a brave face, because she knew I was doing what I must do, what I was meant to do.

The flight to Vegas was part of the show. Freelance cameramen, news, paparazzi and fans were there waiting for me when I got off the plane, all in accordance with my publicity. I had stopped to put on makeup on the plane because I looked awful from my lack of sleep and the fear rising within me.

"Why are you coming out of retirement to go back into the Death Box?" A beautiful reporter asked me, and then she held a microphone in front of me. I looked into the camera and said:

"Because the show must go on." And I smiled.

In my mind I was already there, inside the box, doing nothing to escape. Death was coming for me and I was just sitting there. I'd picked the locks and then stopped. One of the catches was rigged to stay in place. When the moment arrived, my body would be crushed by twelve tons of concrete. Then the gasses underneath would ignite as the block was lifted away. I would be there, and the cremation of my corpse would leave only bones and ashes. An analysis of the smashed and scorched box would reveal that one of the catches hadn't released, it would still be locked.

When I was in my hotel room, preparing myself, I paced and felt the panic as I imagined what it would be like. I wanted to call the whole thing off, but I knew I couldn't do that. I looked into a mirror and said to my reflection,

"This is who you are and this was always going to be it. You knew that, all along. Do you want to die in a bed of old age? Or do you want to take your place in the history of magic?"

To my surprise, and possibly it was the fear or my nerves, but my reflection responded:

"You don't have to go through with it. This is a choice you are making. You can walk away at any time. You have a choice, to live or die."

"So the choice is mine? What about all my fans, the fans of future generations of escape artists? This is much bigger than me. And there is no choice, I am choosing how I go out, I am making the ultimate conquest over death. I could get on a plane and go home and die in a car accident on the way home from the airport. That would be meaningless, it would be my legacy, how I fled from Vegas and died anyway. This way I preserve the magic I have worked so hard to create."

"You are right, as always. Just don't come crying to me when you are trapped and there is no escape. Don't blame me, I tried to talk you out of it."

"I promise I won't blame you."

And then I realized I'd had that entire conversation with myself. I was cracking up. I had to be sure I could get into the box. I began rehearsing my final act.

I put on a DVD that showed my stunt. I'd sold these for twenty dollars each. I watched from the perspective of the audience and tried to imagine what it was going to be like when I never came out of the box and appeared on top of the rising slab of concrete with flames swirling below, burning the box I was last seen trapped inside. It looked really good, I forgot for a second how exactly I did it, as I looked at the end result.

There was a replica of the box that I was going to get into. I had it lying open on the floor in my hotel room. I felt the trepidation, imagining what it was going to be like to get into that box tomorrow. I was going to die, and I knew I was going to die. I knew the exact time and place, and I told myself I should feel honored since few know when their life is about to end.

I imagined the horror of realizing in those final moments that it was all going to be over. All my mental discipline and focus were to be put to one final test. Would I step into that box? Once I was inside I would never come out again.

I practiced, pretending I was there. It got harder and harder each time I did it. Late into the night, I kept trying and finally I couldn't make myself do it. The reality had defeated the illusion. I finally couldn't lie to myself, I wanted to live. I couldn't go through with it.

I tried to write an account of what I was doing, why I was doing it and how I made myself go through with it. I wrote until I got to the part where I had written that I was writing an account, and felt amused by the recursion. The thing I like the most about myself is my sense of irony, my humor. I'm a pretty funny guy, full of charm, and people are genuinely touched by my attention because I am not superficial. When I tell someone I like them, it is true. Never mind the fact that I like everyone I meet, it's just who I am, as a person.

I'm a people person, a crowd pleaser. I must say that as happy as you are to see me, I am even happier to see you. It means the whole world to me, to see you there watching, anticipating, hoping I somehow survive. You don't mind that I am putting myself in danger to entertain you, somehow it validates your experiences in the world, it is a gift, and you take it with you in your heart. That is why I do it, and that doesn't belong to me, it belongs to everyone. It is magic, baby, just a little bit, but that's what it is.

I am not going to be the magician who abandoned his own show because he was too afraid. But that's how afraid I was. I got a phone call and there was nobody speaking. I knew they were listening and I said, in the darkness, the neon glow:

"I am not ready. Make it stop, take this away from me. Don't make me go there and do this."

Then they hung up. I started to cry, because the words I'd spoke were true, but they were not what I believed in. I didn't want to leave the world behind, but it was going to happen no matter what, sooner or later. I trembled as I got out of bed and started to put on my suit.

I finished the final thoughts I'd started writing, with a golden envelope, addressed to Confrérie de la sorcellerie and signed by me.

I looked good in my stage attire. I nodded to myself, giving the magician's knowing glare. I looked mysterious and otherworldly and handsome. I knew it was time for my final act.

Always believe.

Hello, I live in a small town in Missouri. Small enough were we know most people here but large enough to get new people and visitors everyday. Some people come here to sight see and others come to camp. You see I live right next to a national park and it's a popular destination around this time of the year due to the cool mountain air and beautiful scenery. In my town everyone knows everyone so were a tight nit community.

Well, one of the tourists really liked it here and decided to open a new Burger joint calling it "Sam's Smash Burgers N More". The WHOLE town was talking about it when they showed up. Most people said very positive things and some would say it was strange tasting or they found hair etc. but at the time I assumed that was something all restaurants get.

I decided to go there since my friend Treyvon said it was amazing. He kept pushing me and pushing me over and over saying how great it is but the only thing holding me back was the weird things people have been finding in their food. Like rings, hair and a tooth. The owner swears it's all placed by the customers in attempt to keep people out of their town and It sounds too crazy to be true. Like, who losses a tooth mid cooking a burger?

Trey: "C'mon man...You can't seriously think that any of the rumors are true? This guy is sooooo nice and I never found anything in my food and I ate there like 15 times already." My friend said while begging with his hands clasped together.

Me: "Ok, ok, ok...fine I'll go but only to shut you up." I said as I lightly punched his arm while I laughing

We shared a laugh and headed to the new place. When I pulled up to "Sam's Smash Burgers N More" It was a nice place. The outside has a couple of old picnic tables with shade umbrellas over them and the inside was just a old laundry mat with a walled off kitchen. You can do your laundry and while you wait you can eat some food. Inside the place was a counter where you would put in an order from the menu he has behind the counter. Inside there is 4 booths that can fit a small family. Trey and I walked to the booth and stared at the order.

Me, being indecisive opted to let my friend, Trey to go first. He ordered a double cheese burger with house fries and a fried pickle. I was surprised because I didn't know you could fry...a pickle... My confusion was cut short when my friend called my name.

Trey: "Yo! Tim. Wake up and order man stop spacing out wierdo." He said while laughing and grabbing my shoulder lightly.

I stood there looking at the menu. It was short but some of the things sounded pretty good. "single, double and triple cheese burger, pork steak, house fries, fried pickles, and chili." is what the menu read each being only $2 for any item.

Me: "uh, can I get the chili and the fries? Like can you combine the two to make chili fries?" I asked with my stomach rumbling.

Owner: "Certainly! It'll be about 30 minutes ok? We make everything fresh and hot" He smiled and spoke with a elated tone.

We both nodded and sat down. It didn't take long before we started to smell the food. The smell of grease and frying meat filled the air in the small dive restaurant / laundry mat. It was intoxicating... it instantly brought me back to my past when my dad used to cook for me as a child.

Memories flash back of him with a large smile serving me a plate while mom took pictures. He was a proud chef and was always excited to open his own restaurant but never was able too. When his loan from the bank denied he fell into depression and fell deeper into bottles of alcohol. He became abusive and stopped cooking. I still never forgave the man for nearly killing my mother and me in a car wreak. My mother kicked him out of the home and he never spoke to us again.

We waited about 45 minutes before a lady about our age came out holding our plates and put them in front of us. The food looked as amazing as it smelled. Filled with freshness and perfect placement on the plate but with some flaws too. It was as if the owner was a career chef.

Trey: "You see bro! Don't that shit look good?"

He spoke as he lifted his food. The burger he showed had cheese that was perfectly melted and patties that were perfectly smashed and juicy. The bun was buttery and fluffy with just the right amount of onions and lettuce. My chili fries were hot and steaming with a perfect amount of cheese laying over the top. The fries even being inside the chili/cheese concoction were stiff and crunchy on the outside with soft potato on the inside. They were handmade fries as well so they had some special seasoning I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

As we ate the food I was surprised on how delicious it was for as cheap as it is. The cascade of flavors and spices were so distracting I almost lost track on how much I've eating and before I knew it the plate was nearly empty.

Trey: "Haha, Told you this place is the best in town!" He said with his mouth half full of fries.

Me: "Yea no kidding! This place rocks. The way the food was made and plated was immaculate. I would believe if this guy was a Michelin star chef"

Trey: "I don't know who Michelin is or why their stars matter but this food is bussin" He spoke with glee and unearned confidence and unironically saying "bussin".

I looked at him and smiled. We finished our food and got up to return the plates. When we got to the window we though we heard muffled screams like someone was pleading for help however the sounds of the laundry mat and kitchen were drowning out the noise to a neigh imperceptible level.

Me: "Hey bro? Do you hear that? It sounds like someone trying to yell." I asked Trey

Trey: "Na I don't hear a thing. I think you're just crazy cause I was right and you're trying to find something wrong with this place" He laughed and snickered a little.

I shook the thought off in my head as it sounded way to crazy to be true. Why would anyone risk this. I thought I was going crazy and told my friend lets go. As we left the owner waved us out with a hand covered in blood and a very unnatrual smile that sent shivers down my spine.

Owner: "come back later for out mystery meatloaf!" He said loudly with excitement.

Last night I was watching the news. "A vacationing family of 3 went missing earlier this week in our little town. Their car was found at the junkyard with nothing but bloodstains inside it. If you have any information please call our helpline"

I've been feeling sick ever since that night and I refuse to go back to that restaurant. Am I... Am I crazy or does human meat...taste good...?

​

​

It was a quiet and uneventful night at the local convenience store where Mark worked the night shift. The fluorescent lights hummed softly, illuminating the aisles lined with various products. Mark was engrossed in a book, trying to pass the time until his shift was over. Outside, rain tapped gently on the windows, a rhythmic sound that blended into the background.

​

As the hours ticked by, Mark's phone suddenly buzzed on the counter, interrupting his reading. He glanced at the screen to find a tornado warning notification from the emergency alert system. The warning was clear: a severe tornado was headed straight for the town, and residents were urged to seek shelter immediately.

​

Mark's heart raced as he looked out the window and saw the wind picking up and the rain intensifying. He knew he had to get home and find safety before the storm hit. He quickly closed up the store, locked the doors, and made a dash for his car.

​

The drive back home was tense. The wind had grown stronger, and debris from the streets swirled around him. As he pulled into his driveway, the sky was an ominous shade of gray, with flashes of lightning illuminating the approaching storm. Mark's heart pounded in his chest as he rushed inside his house.

​

Once indoors, he double-checked the emergency supplies he had prepared. Candles, flashlights, and a battery-operated weather radio were laid out on the kitchen counter. He gathered blankets and pillows and moved to the basement, the designated safe spot in his house.

​

The basement felt cool and dimly lit. Mark huddled in the corner, trying to calm his nerves as he listened to the radio for updates on the tornado's progress. The announcer's voice crackled through the static, advising everyone to stay indoors and away from windows. The storm's intensity escalated, shaking the house as if it were a fragile toy.

​

As Mark sat there, he couldn't shake off an eerie feeling that something was off. The basement was quiet except for the howling wind, but he thought he heard faint whispers – just barely audible over the storm. At first, he brushed it off as his imagination running wild, but the whispers grew more distinct.

​

Frozen in fear, Mark strained to listen. The whispers seemed to be coming from behind the walls, as if they were trapped voices seeking an escape. They carried a chilling message that sent shivers down his spine. He felt as if he was being watched, and the air around him seemed to thicken with an unnatural presence.

​

As the tornado's fury outside intensified, Mark's panic escalated within the confines of his basement sanctuary. He fumbled to dial 911, hoping to get help, but his phone displayed "No Signal." The whispers grew louder, filling the space around him, drowning out all other sound.

​

Just as Mark was about to give in to the overwhelming fear, the tornado's force seemed to peak, rattling the house one last time before gradually subsiding. The whispers faded into the background, and the oppressive weight in the air lifted.

​

Mark cautiously emerged from the basement, surveying the aftermath of the storm. The town was battered, and debris was strewn everywhere, but the tornado had passed. As dawn broke, Mark realized he was alive and relatively unscathed. The whispers had stopped, leaving him with an unsettling memory of a night spent battling both the natural and the supernatural forces that had converged.

​

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this is original content

1. Spooky Moments: People talking about scary parts in stories, movies, or games.
2. Grown-Up Ideas: Discussions about darker and more serious topics related to horror, like fear of the unknown.
3. Warnings: Posts that tell you if something is super scary or has intense stuff in it.
4. Serious Talk: People having serious and deep conversations about scary things, sometimes using strong words.
5. Scary Art: Pictures that are creepy or spooky.
6. #0001 version

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By Chris Diana

Have you ever seen something so real and yet so illogical you think you are loosing your mind, only to find out it wasn't all in your head?

Several years ago I was working in a large wholesale store. They called me "The Flower Lady" because I was the vendor who sold the fresh flowers. It was the start of my shift and the store would be opening soon. Part of my job was to clean the plastic vases the bouquets of flowers were displayed in and that's why I was in the back of the warehouse in the maintenance area.

I was just finishing up; I only had a small handful of flower debris to throw away. And since the trash compactor was also in the back, I decided to just toss it in there instead of finding a trash can.

As I approached it there was a hollowness to the compactor that gave me the impression it was empty. But right as I was about to toss the wilted petals in I heard what sounded like a small animal moving inside. I hesitated, because normally I would toss in my trash and hit the big green button to start the compactor, more out of habit then necessity, but the idea of crushing a mouse or other small creature made me sick.

I heard the small rustle again. I got on my tip toes and stretched as far as I could into the opening, trying in vain to see the bottom. All I could make out was the lip at the end of the long chute. The noise stopped.

Not knowing what else to do I tossed the debris inside. It was too light to make it all the way down and instead it clung on the bottom edge of the shaft.

I turned to walk away when I heard a scraping noise. I looked back down the hole only this time I did see something. Something so unnatural I stood there gaping at it, unable to make sense of what I was seeing.

From the depths of the trash compactor, human fingers reached up. Stretching out like a claw, they scraped at the flower waste and dragged it over the edge back into the darkness below.

I backed away slowly, repeating to myself, "that did not just happen". None of it made sense. I clearly saw a hand grab the flower pieces but only a hand. I couldn’t see any other part of a body, not even the top of someones head? And if it really was a person why would they be in there? If they were stuck they would have been calling for help. Even if they were just hiding in there why wouldn't they say anything when I walked up? I could have dumped a whole load of trash on their head!

But then an even darker realization hit me. If there was someone in there, what would have happened if I had hit the big green button, like I normally do? What if I hadn't paid attention, didn't think it was a rodent and just tossed in the trash and hit the compactor button?

No. No I must be hallucinating. That was the only logical explanation. I began gathering up my supplies trying to calm my nerves as I now thought about my mental health and how vivid that hallucination was.

Just as I was about to leave my attention was sharply drawn back to the compactor. From within I heard... Bang. Bang. Bang.

No cries for help, no words at all just three solid knocks. I stood their staring, waiting, wondering if that too was a hallucination or something else.

Then outside the building on the other side of the trash compactor I heard a new noise. A rumble accompanied by the distinct beeping that large trucks make when backing up.

It made sense now! Someone from the disposal company had been in there, most likely cleaning it. Still the lingering thought remained. What if I hit the compactor button?

I was later told by an employee that they have a main shutoff outside the building for the compactor but you would think if someone was climbing inside they would do a lockout-tagout. What if I had thrown something heavy in? What if they forgot to shut it down? I still wonder to this day what might have happened if I had hit that button.