#moth_unknown

Sitting down on one of those uncomfortable wooden chairs with the bus carved out of it, while being manufactured in order to produce a rustic feel. The checkerboard and hard concrete paved tile were waxed and shining far too bright for a Saturday late-afternoon. Air conditioning was shoring up from somewhere, and Fibonacci turned his head to look. He goes to turn his head, not looking forward to whoever was going to be sent to fix that. 

A little bit of purple sludge could be seen from one of the opposite windows. Tapping his foot. Now, having apparently no other noise to focus his nervous mind on.  All he had really wanted to do was disassociate and wait until his name was called so he could be pulled through another battery of tests. But this was important. 

You don’t get pieces of paper that let you into amusement parks often, and you have to bring proof of identification and social security. He had noticed then, as a man tall and lanky, a similar height to Fibonacci, but without the insular bulk of someone who liked to work out (it was very hard to discern if this person was fat or skinny or some combination of the two under what must have been stifling clothing. The device was taken out and replaced, some sort of mechanism inside the machine. The figure stalked away from the task, wearing thick gloves and a large white mask strapped to one of the employees.

This was not the time to panic; he was Fibonacci Pinipeda, and a simple interview wasn’t going to get the best of him. Getting here an entire hour before the expected start date was smart. Though he had overhear through the what seemed to be ancient loudspeakers (the trend with Horror entertainment seemed to be retro technology to ‘save’ money. He wished he had brought some sort of book. Trying to offer a friendly conversation to someone left standing on the side of the wooden chair right next to him yielded no results. This was nothing like the library he had just left, walking directions after the bus ride burning a hole in his back pocket. Having aimlessly haunted the shelves, a breakfast of tap water and whatever could be scavenged from a nearby dumpster.

Isabel was growing increasingly impatient with waiting, from the outcrop of people forming a rush that would not be an easy proving ground to the way the park would soon be closed to the public. If the interview wasn’t in the front office or the guest room, what were they getting into? The fear and uncertainty of all of the surrounding and unspoken details. Now it seemed clear that their only competition was on who could be pitied more, someone who could be bothered to dress for the job they wanted, or the vagrant in the wooden chair.

Exactly when the amusement park had opened its gates to the public, winding corridors smelled faintly of rust and dying equipment warranties. They had not worked before and were pretty sure this is what all buildings hiring teenagers were supposed to smell like. 

“This isn’t the kind of thing that can wait, I assume,” motioning toward the piles of garbage. At least twice the industrial size and overflowing. He hadn’t even brought gloves.

“No, I don’t think so.” Isabel went to wave me off with a ‘shoo’ motion with their free hand. The other looked skeptically at a schedule they could not yet see.

“I know, and what you do here is your first job?” attempting to make awkward small talk while hauling garbage. Back straining and ears flattened against his head with the smell.

“Um, yes, actually,” trying to end this interaction quickly so they could prove that this job training was a success.

“Then you will need to figure out what to do with the corpse?” then pulled back the door to the escape room entrance. Locked overnight expertly with a key.

The sun sets for Isabel Tagio. The chill from the blue bike at windspeed to the amusement park was a sight to behold. The usual white babydoll mask and large knife were not a cheap endeavor. All they needed to do was stash the bicycle. Moving it too close to the petting zoo was a no-brainer. Time to maneuver and strategically place a sacrifice where he could see it.

A circular enclosed space marked by trees and eight hand-drawn signs that needed to be replaced with either spray-paint or…. Lamination? There was no guarantee with Maryland’s seasonal windy term in July that this was going to be an easy job. But it was a chance to do extra work to ‘make up’ for the mistake. Not training the new hire as well as entertaining the twins.

The trial begins for Me Fibonacci Pinnipedia. It had been a little difficult to maneuver on two feet. It was a mistake to follow the scent based on the name given. It was a mistake that brought him to the beach. And a confrontation by the waterfront. I have no way back. Then he noticed the blue bicycle. It was parked next to the garbage cans. A putrid scent of both human meat left on the stairs overnight and body odor. Seemingly trapped and still holding a cellular phone, hand scratching for the door with a cutthroat. It reminded me that this job training test would prove if I was worthy. No, apparently, getting away with what looked to be actual murder seemed to have been the ticket to success.

Some cars passing, but nothing too serious. In small towns filled with people. Essentially, away from the tourist attractions of the beach was farmland. Rows and rows of corn to be planted. The selkie thought to himself. To give this unknown deceased person a proper burial. A shovel, a bike, a large bag. This looked suspicious, and even tried to wave down the police before Fibonacci was just waved off and given an address to a landfill.

The nerve of some people. The walk home from the amusement park was long and tiring. After being fired for allowing people inside after hours. The boss, who was wearing a three-piece suit as if he had to attend an important meeting. This job felt like a dead end, and what if training meant Isabel would then be given no more hours?

The notification on the computer confirmed the worst of it. He was being impersonated by someone on a mobile device. I wonder if it was possible to have some of my pay in cash, albeit a meager amount not fit for minimum wage in the United States. Honestly, I would have happily taken the bus. All this Sweat and the salt from exertion, both dried and fresh, stained the hours of effort to hide a body somewhere that was not the woods, as per instructions in rural Maryland. I need a long bath. But this had to be done. What would become of my prospects now, could I at the age of sixteen do this job as well as maybe a year down the line, what about ten years? Were the wasteful and discarded remains of others all that the counties could provide?

…

The chill from the blue bike at windspeed to the amusement park was a sight to behold. The usual white babydoll mask and large knife were not a cheap endeavor. This was not the type of thing that could wait. Or it was the type of thing that you could procrastinate on until the last minute. The idea was to bury what was left. When you are expected to work quickly, and suddenly the whole of your three-day window to do your real job training is stunted to just a few hours, you get creative. Or at least the job of now cleaning up after the multiple scavengers and their. Making a scene was not going to win Fibonacci’s spot over Isabel. They were always going to be raised with an inside and integral knowledge that he did not understand. Cutting out the word ‘she’ could not make a character have its own choice, back to the drawing board. Back to… the pile of earth. The markers with tape explaining that none were allowed enrty without the proper authorities.

They had left their belongings out in the open, claiming it was because the locker was stuck, but you saw it being pried open with threats of future violence and humiliation. It felt like pulling shards of glass out of your own screaming lungs to start again after having done so much of the work. Could you really rewrite your past? Was getting only so far, getting lucky and even more unlucky, but finally being able to finish.

Finished the work, stop monologuing. This is not the time to talk to yourself. They don’t know who you are, with a clipboard and a scowl, and you saw a task and simply asked if it was a part of the property, not if you needed to be told how and when to exhale.

The feeling from earlier, or your chest burning and the burning joints, was not easy. If he could just slip away into the water, he could cure the error that was movement. You were supposed to wear heavy protective gear. To keep things clean and to prevent the spread of a fungal infection. Passed through underground channels in gentrified tufts of grass. He had wanted to die, not as the coat was lost in a paper trail no officer would do more than brush past, but because he had fought so hard just to be neglected for not trying hard enough at all.

This was going to take some nerve for someone else to understand the sourringing implication that the best of your work, now needs to be the worst of it. Leave the shovel, then leave enough wood in the hole so it can be returned to where it originally went.

This was a short story, all of life, all the lives that led up to this one. Ripe for the re-write and made in so little time with so little care for attention to detail. It was becoming so hard to stay focused, not that the tasks did not matter or that this wasnt something that could be interesting. But literally nothing seemed to matter more than watching the clock. So what was read the first time? A horrible murder scene, the bodies were probably ground into the machine, making that putrid sludge a name-brand product, too. The bastards probably want to get away with not paying the insurance. But what if there were no Evangelene or no Emma? What if enough people fathered around glowing laptop screens instead of a fireplace, not to protect themselves from the story they could pass the long, haunting hours with,h but to know for once in this painful, traumatic, ever-changing past that you are not alone? 

Two envelopes were left on separate doorsteps. There is no point in getting into the minutiae details of the postal service worked but to kill time. You could tell someone during the first half of the year, typically called summer and spring, that the paperwork was late and you would redo it at the deadline later. The deadline would then respectfully be moved to the second half of the year, which is typically the spooky season of fall and winter. This can be absolved with a government website search, another website that lets you sign documents for free, and a second phone call to confirm that you did, in fact, mess up taxes the first time. It's not called fraud its called being an adult.

Written by Logan A Card for Professor Bird's Literary Techniques and Story Development Class. Full Sail University

It's been days since I was brought here. Each day, the doorway between the cemetery where I was summoned and the pile of green aventurine rocks, as well as runes of solwilo and izas forming dollar signs in copper, silver, and gold upon a notebook, tells me what I need to know. This is a well-practiced occultist. I am his discovery, rescued from doom just a street over.

I remember very little about my past life. I know I was in a bright room and fussing over something placed on a blank slate and furrowed brows. The bed and the from the pocket to a room indoors. Maybe the body this once was named "Thrift"; it was written on a few smaller and skinnier pieces of paper.

In the center of the room, ignoring all other responsibilities and face turned toward the moon, a man is chanting, covered in runes. This is not what I wanted to happen on a Monday morning. The start of the human work week. The last thing I remember was that I was in a place where I could move freely and think without pain. My tasks begin with being told to enter the doorways, and when I get there, it is a loud and bright room, like what I remember about my family.

I wait by the cemetery, when someone offers to take me away or help me find something I ask for the name of my target, or her mother. I'm not supposed to let people take me. So get heavier until they stop moving. When a man in a large set of overalls and thick pliers came to

The screen in the room I am being summoned into feeds me what I understand. Some people are missing, and Amber is alerting you on how to find them! My favorite part is Elmo's World. Don't tell the occultist, but I used the wand when he fell asleep and found the place. It's some sort of strange bit of mysticism.

The community in the building with the T says they can't talk to me much, that I'm incorrect. But it's good that I came, and there will be more little children if I bring them here. They do not have food. This sounds like a fib.. I just wanted to know how to find a brown sash. Apparently, the street has other delights, sweet things, and almost tripping down the drain system. I am invited in person by one of my new friends. I hand the woman the spray bottle and tell her it's for when I stop listening. I'm not like children; I need to be moist, or I can't move or even breathe. She nods and takes it with a quick thanks on her lips. She takes a small screen out of her pocket and taps her finger a few times. Afterwards, I go home. The occultist lets me listen to my favorite stories from the big screen on his large table. I open the cupboard, and nothing is there. Nothing but metallic cylinders and pictures on paper with them. A space for another outlet has scratch marks on the bottom. I remember wheels and a large white rectangle with room for squares being placed outside.

. The scent of dragon's blood incense is heavy in the air. He needs something that no screen or stack of papers can help with. Crystals in a circular pattern keep my lifeforce out of reach. I want to go outside and look for cookies. I miss talking about what I'm doing today and how many tasks those little girls did throughout the day.

When I'm finally allowed outside, he introduces me to my new friends. All of them are wearing clothing with a brown and bedazzled accessory. I shuffle with my blue coat and jeans, zipping up everything to be polite. I should go; I am not welcome without a grown-up present.

I go back to the occultist, asking for the task that requires looking with the little girls. I'm being given names and sent out with a promise of food. Once I get these things done for you, you can sacrifice all of yourself that you feel the need to. Street numbers and a last name. This is the thrill of the wild hunt. Running errands for a man who does nothing but play, not with me but with papers I can't touch without being berated and confused voices in the smaller rectangle screen. Shiny cylinders cannot be opened by teeth, claws, or rocks. And I'm almost out of the smaller kinds of shiny things.

Once a man came by the cemetery, it was not long after that he began to take out a stack of papers with dark wrapping and a "T" in order. I walk over there and can't get back across the street! Even with the occultist's help, I just stand. He is angry, and another group of people sees him outside. I look back at the lawn and the "for sale" sign. Something I can't quite place my finger on is why the food I put down for later, when the rot and mold can easily be digested, has been removed.

I like having a clean room. But now I cannot find anything. I've been given an order again from the circle, and more runes are added to what will soon be delicious-smelling food. The scent of the very name of my target is in sight. I could drain the energy of both. Depriving all three parties. My limbs bend and cannot move as the sun rises, all is pain and burning, blurs of lights, dimmer than my birthplace, and then I am taken again to the summons, placed upon the shade in the trees among the flat, round rocks. I can usually see my sleeping place and where the occultist will one day feed me from the amount of black bags with blue strings piled to the side.

The doorway is easy enough to break into. I find my way upstairs. My stomach growls as I use the "friendship bracelet" to smell the energetic properties of my prey. I wish the occultist had given me teeth instead of only a mouth. The blue stings and the black bag are here too. But in the corner and in another box out of the way. This is not what I want to do. But we all have things to do. This is my purpose, and if I don't bring back the small pieces of information in plastic and on paper, then I will not get to leave the house until I do it properly.

The man in black, whom the occultist often points and whispers for me to watch out for these missing boxes, was shoved underneath the floorboards with a sticky note that said "For Meylin". Next to a blue and plush jacket, not suitable for class for more than one day a week, but the library is much more forgiving. Both scolded me for plucking through the trash. One of my classmates, Oscar, claimed he found it first. And I'm getting a gold sticker for explaining how to read a map. But no treats.

A blonde woman with blue eyes, dressed in a pantsuit and wearing a hammer necklace, has a tattoo of something I saw on the wall at home, and comes to ask me questions. She moves my desk away from the others. I'm not much of a fan of falling behind, but I guess I can understand. She asks me for the bus I came on. I shake my head from inside the coat and jeans. The coat the teacher tried to unzip for me earlier, and I was surprised when I was introduced to moisture on my face.

The little girl does not want to be my friend and will only talk to me if I buy cookies. Which is where I'm getting my food from, since the occultist cannot seem to do more than go to the end of the road, into a vehicle

A little girl reads a book on European fairy tales in the other room, trying in vain to cover her ears as two adults squabble in the other room. I'm being given a copy of "Elmo's World" and told to follow along in class the best I can. It's my turn to bring the paper home! And now the little lines and boxes will be full!

The occultist will be so happy with me! I've gotten all of the information, and now there's a place every day I can do that! He wouldn't even have to wake me up.

The man sits in front of his screens and fusses over his paper. I do not dare to know more than a few light taps. The scent of a fresh kill is no longer far away. And on the screen I see my own reflection, two large eyes, blue fur, and a vacant mouth. I aim for only the meal he is holding, the only thing I have been programmed to ingest. But I am told 'no, no, not like that, so now I munch on something sweeter.

Wiping a piece of viscera off my face can wait. I wriggle my fingers and hum, finally satisfied. The more people I befriend, the more cookies I can have, and I know pressing buttons and listening to the screens means there will be. If he cannot find mt best research to be well, then I will no longer look for and tell him the things he wants to know.

A hissing noise from the faucet, and I'm once again back to normal. Maybe I could turn on the shower and stand only where the steam rolls in. I cannot breathe, and if I can't breathe, I cannot eat. This consecrated ground will harm me. This home had fallen into neglect far before I got here. I could stop, and with the rain rolling in, I should be able to sit outside. It's brighter and just as hot as inside. There is no longer a stack of paper, but one up top of the door that I cannot reach. Sometimes, before it was cold inside, I would draw a bath and sit there for hours, falling asleep, but mostly I was woken up and

Inside, the stack of papers was found perfectly intact and untouched in the trash can, ever growing. The lights have stopped, and someone in a suit, who knew my friend, is back outside. She places a hand over her mouth and shrieks. I scream back, not out of fear but surprise!

Now overflowing with garbage, as laundry was now caked in grime, and an online game that was never turned off hummed in the backdrop. I don't understand why he tried to call me his daughter. To convince the court that she was the imposter, and her mother was unfit.

More envelopes are shoved through the door. And a clammy hand of a small child, never wanted or fully coherent, turns it over. A past due stamp on the side and several older newspapers, soiled with rainwater.

With the bloated corpse in the corner, the myelin could choose to escape now, but soon the monster would again be hungry. And the little girls who had imprisoned it were not allowed in the adults' room. It's the first place my friend's mom looks, once she is done, I wander up to her. Tentatively, I extend an arm with one of my things.

When you offer someone something, you use a napkin. All I have is the paper from the door and a few of my precious food items. She hands back my spray bottle and takes one. Something outside is shouting, and there are a lot of loud noises from 'emergency responders' and red and blue lights flashing. Adults in hazmat suits inspect the occultist's spot of rest, and I'm taken across the street. Where an abandoned bundle of roses sits filled with moisture and life until I touch it.

Radio slash Did I meet The Rake?

Written by Moth_Unknown(They/Them/Theirs).

Uploaded Originally on Wattpad.com and Creepypasta.com.

Calvert County Maryland 2003-2020

When I lived in Calvert County from what was birth to approximately the tenth grade you do what anyone else does in southern maryland. beach trips to sunbathe. The random smell of brackish water right before it rains. Random heroine needles on the ground that definitely do not belong to you. You go to school, go home, go to swim lessons, get dragged to support your brother’s football scrimmage as you play pokemon pearl on the DSI.

The home I grew up in was owned by two separate owners before. The earliest going to the nineteen ninety nine and  the other from two thousand two with no vacancy for squatters.. And I will not be giving the pace up for love or money. The anonymity of my neighbors in a climbing price of living is far too rare. This is however a scary story. So maybe this will go out one ear and into another vice versa. Its pretty normal town with pretty normal things. Im not even completely certain why im writing this I have plenty of other projects. But I genuinely does not matter because everything is starting to make sense. 

In middle school in about the seventh to the eighth grade I had the worst habit of falling asleep in my father’s room.That was where the guns were. My dad had a habit of getting all of them lined up and cleaned by the weekend. My mother was a former police officer in Annapolis so I'm well aware of the law of not carrying one of those loud disruptive firearm things to class.That and the tapping and whispering on my window of my childhood bedroom was a little unnerving. Only during the night, and only on my father’s weeks of custody. Only if I had something else to do. My dad called it growing pains and bargained with me for a nightlight.My brother in the exact same grade but not the same homeroom developed a terrible habit of staying up playing video games. 

Fed up with the strange behavior and late nights/disobedience we were supposed to speak to a divorce support group counselor. I however got pretty frustrated that my ‘expansive imagination’ got brushed over. For whatever reason the dare program as well as the new phenomena of vaping from my day had almost no issue getting to school but any mention of this creature claiming to be a loved one you were not certain was speaking to you was the generation z’s excuse to check our phone. Because apparently the bogey man can't get you with blue screen light six inches from your face in sleep deprivation checking your latest history or spanish grade. 

The thing you expect to hear at a sleepover in this small vacation town just about fourteen or fifteen miles from the attractions in north beach such as the local ledo’s pizza, library and amusement park. (No escape room though? So those dreams about the pervasive knocking days before the actual disturbance begins to offer more esoteric that self fulfilling prophecy.)

You do not expect to hear growing up that the house is haunted and no one is allowed in.Now the lease on the place is a forty five minute walk in one direction to North Beach according to google maps.

You can expect to get a few people well meaning as they seem to be trying to offer teenagers and hitchhikers a ride.Or for one or two to try and get ahold of a bike or two, but i guess in towns with more access to public people do odd shit. Before you ask i did have a supernatural phase, but why you ask is probably because of the cold forged steel spheres kept in Winchester Brand.

At some point even my stepmom (we are not going to call her jay-three, she hates that.) communicated to me while i was busy crouching down to pet a 

Before i go any further i know wiki as well as some other places have already mentioned the not deer and some other creatures. I know for certainty that this historic town for tourism is not an odd place to find local folklore like ‘brownies beach’ (er Brownies are english fairytales creatures) and Chessie (pronounced like Nessie) 

And if so many people go missing over the summer how easy would it be with a low crime rate in the suburban area for the police to mention that nothing has happened at all. 

What happens when a family pet dies? Should that animal get buried or cremated. This is at worst going to be regaurded Asa form of fiction. So that's not really my call academicly.

This is going to be gross. Along the local boardwalk in fiberglas as an standard building material does indeed have its own consequences on a beach down for housing  seagulls,ducks, swans, and geese. The fact that there is avian feces on plastic would mean that it does not breakdown on its own. And relies on passing dogs on leashes, flies, clean up crews l for the natural process. So I personally have never seen someone tell a tale of this freak about being attacked on a boardwalk. Okay gross bit over.

Though in more rural areas not encrusted with micropastics that wash into the chessapeak bay area this could very well happen. As per the dispension of belief that I myself am telling a truth along with other people who have been chased down walking home or lost children of varying ages to maulings and gunshot wounds to the cranium.

The politically correct answer isn't the cleanest. The local middleschool (of that in this rural boring community there are sevral) where you can guess that people get bored. Boredom leads to you inviting a few friends overwhere you tell the story. (Well not Me-Me per say I never invited girls over, I did get to as a girl scout tell scary stories about an owl.)

Speaking of owls I had a whole demonolatry phase where I meditated to Rex Paimon's enn in highschool. I'm getting side tracked because a majority of luciferians and Satanists I know of don't act like you see in the common trope. You may meet someone in a little black dress calling herself Lucy (spelled LUCI) but it's literally an exaggeration. Like… If every Muslim (theorecticly) was a terrorist then why does the aquatics center in my county town that hosts swim competitions do an all hands cheers rather than group prayer? I mean we are all wearing bald caps and held to the letter of the agreement with fancy jackets we wear as part of a select group. And meet secretly in the middle of the night. I'm getting back on topic.

Though this story happens far after this fact. And sleep deprivation and trying to pass finals week by scaring yourself into debt and out of a cruddy GPA is only part of it. What becomes of people who go missing can be found  maryland independent the local newspaper/ online journalist platform. Is up to the Calvert County police station. Or if any internet sleuths want to handle it and can focus on not doxxing anyone before town officials and journalists get the chance to say what's what. Because that's where the good stories about deranged killers and monsters come from.

No use stalling any longer so here it is. The whole timeline of the paranormal issue going on at home. Not that any of you asked.

I had a dog growing up named ASOKA. The reason my sibling and i had named her such was because at the time my twin brother loved star wars (and in college for his bachelor’s degree still is) . In the fifth grade I got really into the creepypasta fandom. My father and mother (now separated and in long term relationships with other people), 

We brought her home when I was in kindergarten. She snored ike a bear. Slept on sleeping bags as well as the floor. Great childhood dog, I say that because you're supposed to kill the monster of the week with cremation if it's scandinavian.

During a long stint of boredom I had decided to go over to a friend's house in the fifth grade. I scrolled on my instagram feed. He did the same and then decided when I overhead some sort of gunshot/loud long range noise.

My Brother in the same grade and I walked home only to discover a house with the smell of death permeating the area. I have only been on the planet we call earth for eleven to twelve years, its so funny how time works.

The animal and beloved canine childhood friend was buried in our backyard. A few months later after some talks with the counselor and being handed a copy of thomas malory’s legend of sleepy hollow and other stories by my beloved father. My mother told me someday I would by my own home and may have children with a nice girl who would also be annoyed by the excessive babble of horror creatures and obsession with the internet.

I moved out before my senior year and in the middle of my junior year of highschool as I've told you here. Eventually due to other reasons I decided medication for sleep deprivation induced psychosis (antichrist grandiose delusions) and leaning my efforts in school toward the nice Christian therapist my mom employed out of fear for her kids Grades and social isolation. Sorry mom, youth group was just a rebellious phase 

Every night, not a decade after the dog’s passing, I heard knocking on my back door. This was disruptive during my sleep. Not out of grief but that factoid of creepy whispers and nightmares I told my psychologist about. And it never happened in other Maryland cities, only Calvert, not Anne Arundel. (More Frustrating As to write than to read in words.)

Knocking. Three firm taps and a firm but familiar voice of my father telling me behind the door to let him in. the first time i asked if he left something in his work truck over text and he appeared behind me was when the grownups in my life started to recognize that something was up.

Just… it was the oddest thing. If i wasn't playing ambient music (with or without a night light). I heard a knocking. It was almost unnerving to spend time with the woman who gave birth to me in a small apartment in the city because the noise disappeared. With the exception of amber alerts on the phone, I was grateful for the snowstorms that lead to snow days and gave me more than enough time to troll youtube and tumblr looking for my next horror fix. Even when a few ended up in my english homework and light warnings of plagiarism and time management combined with spell check replaced warnings about getting lost in my own head, and my brother took a great liking to the business and even digital art world.

There was nowhere to hide from the kudzu that overran the great oak and pine trees that swayed during hurricane season.So if anything was supposed to be lurking on the road waiting for trespassers and lost folks on a steep nearly 90 degree hill in the opposite direction from brownies beach. (Named after the early settlers speculations that glass beads and headstones were gifts from the fae folk and british lord calvert lineage). It was not going to get past a few pets and guard dogs. So Please do not go looking to get mauled, and leash train your pets.

The weird thing is that we live in a society with cars.Why is it that random road kill is only getting put in one place. Not two places the kid who keeps getting harassed by the thing all their therapists are convinced is either a manifestation of unchecked pet death guilt and a first brush with death or a full on hallucination. (Sorry Mr.Pierettie finals week was weird for everyone.)

It's not like a really cool beach town stops being cool because a few buildings get haunted. Or the population of idiots gets larger and some dude starts to get political about when and where he's allowed to teach. Much scarier things exist. And one or two bad or scary cesspool experiences is not going to ruin a lifetime of great memories. Plus if this thing hides in plain sight is hiding in a place with no real security or authority calling to check your current location really a good idea?

Something is wrong with that little town I grew up in. and it's not getting better. This isn't about the navel testing base or the really weird way the library just up and moved while you were at college. 

Is anyone going to check on the population of lost pets in my hometown or should we get some kind of neighborhood watch before the haunted garden tool hangs around looking in abandoned barns for seconds. It's not like tearing down historic monuments for the first time in the countryside of many many many abandoned tobacco farms.

We haven't had mountain lions in years but I sure as heck heard one while hiking home from the public library.

Usually, I tuck my kid in at night. Single parenting can't possibly damage someone if they get every other weekend off. All parents want what's best for their little kids. Liberals and their woke agenda and consent forms, I bet your boss HATES having these clogging the tender office, eh? Oh, come on, font gives me that the sooner I get this done, the sooner you can get back to... You horned people like football, yeah? You know hanging the red skins to the commanders. Indian chiefs weren't more on the nose for what they wanted? Ah. Yeah, right, this is about my ex's little mistake. It's my weekend. It's so cute you threaten to gobble them up and tuck them in. After dinner and a midnight snack, of course!!!

Now, Mr. Rogers. John Handcock should be on the ID. I'll get that for you, but I'll need it back. Okay, too far, my bad, no jokes. Yeah, I let him upstairs... he was, uh, on Benadryl when I let him in, but that cheapens the bill. You gotta believe me. He smelled like gasoline, and his eyes were on the wrong side of his face!!! Worked for Krampus Co. What does this have to do with affirmative action? You pay bills, right? Well, not here, just in general, to know. Oh, you do, yehaw. Thank you for your service. Can I give my ID back? Oh, you need my signature, okay. Had one of those, erm... gas masks on his face. No, not the freak at the end of the road with an obsession with bonsai. The guy I took the ad from, ah, it'll come to me, wrote it down with the yellow folder, I'm sure your fairy kind is great, and all I like is that everyone else is just fine. Mr. Sticky was a real creep. I get it. That's really un-American, but the towns are gone. I saw the Cyanide and Happiness news broadcast about it just last week.

So I play music while I'm working. Retro stuff, my child loves it, and well, rents are not cheap. The more she stays over, the better. Who did you say you worked for again? I'm not going to let you see the body without a license. There is a bit of rustling, and an ID is exchanged and tested, cut in half.

So anyway, I'll let you have your goods now; she's my property after all.

Before leaving, every person in the precinct was given an optional drink. Or even maybe no drink at all if caffeine does not feel practical. And this was tested with a chemical strip for impurities. An adorable party trick taught by a farmer with entertaining hands of service. This was no different when a young woman and two companions walked into the interrogation rooms.

The woman in the interrogation room was not someone who seemed to have an encyclopedic knowledge of a drug.

On the screen next to her was some sort of joke. Who in their right mind would really think that someone underdeveloped could be attractive? Did the medical field not give free vaccines?

What is going to happen to the body? The morgue is for much larger citizens. Not the livestock that was associated with the common folk and the day-to-day chores.

"What really happened?" the knight asked. Pen and paper in hand, and a smartphone buzzing on a desk out of view but not out of earshot. Cracked door displaying only a white painted internal window rather than foggy one

The woman, rail-thin and with baggy clothes. A burlap sack and canvas cloth hanging on, she shrugs her shoulders.

She glares at the man, points at her throat, and mouths the word "No".

"Whom do you think you're talking to?" asks the knight, even more scribbling in a notepad.

The woman looked down at the floor.

"Alright, alright, I get it. You didn't want to speak to us without a lawyer present?" He leaves the table then.

The vegan woman nods, takes a golden apple out of her pocket, and hands it to him. Completely oblivious to the loud humanoid noises with no real words, only spluttering shouts and comments.

The two men spoke among themselves. Small in stature, red shirts, blue slacks, with no weapons. No one was permitted to carry weapons except the guard.

In the three interrogation rooms, three lowly humans sat. Incapable of speech. All who worked in a wealthy kitchen. Mixing ingredients, salvaging parts sat. Preserving foodstuffs.

The dental records showed no abuse, bright and lined like a military cemetery. The bones of livestock were often important. Hidden in the gain alcohol and the vomiting of poisoning was the cyanide. Apple seeds, found with no tiny fingerprints and with a single strand of hair.

And in the grand room of the farm. A desk, cleaned vomit, an empty glass, and a broken vial were incomplete in being priced back together. Larger matching jars of human tongues. Larger still, an empty fridge devoid of foodstuffs, thrown into the pantry and open table venues. Promising to receive payment for the service

"Free.Us." This was not what brought the woman to the precinct. Only the actions of her comrades that freed the obituary of the one who held them. And the woman was escorted out of the room, having collected the apple seeds in her pocket, leaving the stem in the precinct's waste bin.

The arrest was from the new Renaissance fair depicting the time within the year of 2021 of the United States area fifty-one raids. What really went on all those years ago was, in fact, just a publicity stunt for the royal family to gain more power and a variety of livestock. For some reason, after a few generations of breeding, all the humans on the farmstead turned blue. This was, of course, fine with the mountaineering folk who would prefer to blame undocumented property on farms on cannibalism. Now that said, livestock were learning to speak up for themselves, then the removal of damaging organ systems needed to be obtained to preserve the commonwealth's own sanity.

No Pets are permitted on campus outside of medical equipment and lab experiments. The bulb of light in the small room was a distracting hum. Constant but never quite negative enough in peripheral to block anything out. To his left were several other chairs, and each of them contained both the seated host and one or more participants in some sort of injury or another. Occasionally, the staff would arrive in scrubs as well as gauze masks made of filters, gloves, and face shields firmly cemented to the head like some sort of bargain of horrors.

The tiles on the floor were white. Due to the interior design and the speckled portions of every shade of brown, red, orange, and green, it seemed like the room and the surrounding hallway were tactfully designed to make the scent of rubbing alcohol and leather. To his right was a swine, medium build and politely on the floor, both confused and frustrated at the turn of events. Not only is the scarab on the floor not food. But it was honestly more of a concern how the hospital had only walked up to him once.

Mabon Christian was in his first year of nursing school. This was supposed to be his day off, and he had scheduled office hours. Sending an electronic letter out immediately. He wondered why the housing office had forced him to attend so many meetings if he was still going to have to wait in line. Currently, the swine was unable to look up and protested greatly that the insect he had planned for breakfast had suddenly gotten away!

"Bore da, how can I help you before the class?" said Cerridwen Prophet. The professor raised her sleeve to cuff them, then began taking vitals and sanitizing her hand with a nearby flask of whiskey in her office.

"Bore da, I was hoping to see you for a medical inquiry," Mabon said. Fidgeting with both the notebook and his feet, he was trying to use them to keep the creature from devouring the carpet.

"That would, in fact...explain the pig. How did this occur?" Cerridwen Prophet, the professor of transfiguration, asked politely.

"Yes, I did not have to wait long. This is someone I live with, for privacy reasons, I will keep his name private," Mabon explained finally.

"I figured not," she took a swig from a glass mason jar of a clear liquid on the table.

Who is this

"My roommate," Mabon said. Checking his watch, then checking a small notebook in his pocket, a green cover with a pattern of the nation's Malita attached.

"And what did this roommate eat?" Humored Professor Prophet

The Nurse in training had not thought it necessary to include the container, wrapped in a beeswax-cloth cover, as well as a metal bowl. If this had been taken from the glass container in the icebox, he would have been disappointed, but no. The low-hanging fruit was apparently enough to entice whatever intruder.

The professor is not just an old witch with a pointy hat. She was also avoiding having porcine saliva on her dress pants. With all the responsibilities provided by being in charge of students' hours/safety. You then would think that at her age and with her tenure, she had seen it all and then had given the young man her number. He then emailed an image of the partially emptied pot, with the cooked food in the container. Comprising completely ordinary vegetables and fruit.

"I highly recommend that you--" The professor was going to point at the royal wedding photo and then find the mailing address of a college, but conclusions had already been jumped to.

"I will do that immediately, Diolch! Now, if you excuse me, I have to go home and do some cleaning, then physical training," Mabon Christian interjected. Toward the garage near the campus exit, pig in tow.

"No...problem?" Professor Prophet sighed in confusion.

He left with the swine, not holding him, and with no more answers than normal. Now, Mabon Christian had no choice but to go work out and keep the animal somewhere else! Was this bowl trick a universal custom for all humans visiting for school?

This complicated things to an extent he was not comfortable with. Would his mother be able to take care of this mess for him? No!!! That was not a thought the Young blonde Demigod had to deal with, that the metal pot was a gift. And needing to buy glass to fit in the refrigerator? Yes, now, for all he knew, not everyone just grabbed what they needed at the store without thinking.

The pig was busy trying to chew a portion of leaf decoration, decidedly keeping him in the garage owned by his uncle Arawn (who wasn't really his uncle but a good friend of his father). A hallway with equally annoying Buzzing bulbs of light that first highlighted the hallway, and a dimmer humming once the carpet became more and more enticing for combat boots and hooves.

"This is why you don't eat my leftovers in the fridge," Mabon Christian said to no one who could respond. Placing a garbage burlap sack and a cardboard box of all of the former human things nearby. Maybe his cousins were right about finding work so quickly after being independent?

And the floor was a brown tile gross with leaves and urine; Hay on the tile was caked in filth. What is important about the discourtesy isn't the failure of one student to show up to a few classes, even when someone has been enrolled and simply does not show up. Volunteering was something students who need credit hours sometimes do.

For those of you who are under educated in the Heathenry tradition as it became unfamiliar was not the norm until the seventh grade. I'm American. The American Healthcare system is crap, and so sometimes people slip through the cracks. This Is in 2025 and was no better for people in life threatening households in 2016 when this story took place. One of my friends at the time, went missing and a hound from the otherworld took her place. (I'll get to what happens to her later).

So in the summer before the school year of sixth grade we got a knock on the door from my eldest sister. She was a real b-word. What? Her name started with the letter be. Left the animal on the doorstep and just... never came back. 

The animal was not used to being abandoned by the person who had raised her her whole life. My father left me a few messages about being home quickly and having to discuss things urgently. The skinny little thing had everything to do with "B" leaving a fratboy  blonde blue eyes of a partner and sorry excuse for a human being. It's just that as fallout for mental health recovery my half sister moved away and could no longer afford food for the animal.

A Meer three inches from ASOKA's height. My non-identical twin brother and I were pretty stoked. (Before the inevitable decision on the battle of even more chores within the divide; bummer.) This was a new pet, and the promise of seeing a relative was a rare treat. Even if the questions of how school was going and if we had ice cream money before going out for ice cream were a little annoying. She insisted on driving even though her arm was in a sling. Telling us fun stories about how, as a kid, she was not permitted to even wear makeup, and her dad sat on the floor of one of his apartments, learning how to blend concealer. This was after the request not to use all the Pinterest data because 'big sister wants to make collages too, its my iPad

On the school bus, a few months later, I was so stoked to start conversations with 'I have two dogs at home, what is your name'. At this point, I had grown used to the routine of waking up early enough to take. Her name was Katelyn. She liked anime, though preferred bleach to black butler. My new friend had NEVER heard of the supernatural by the CW show before I mentioned it. She loved Bleach (maybe a little too much) and Fruit Basket, which were things I had never considered being interesting, and in many real ways still don't. We could debate the likes of animation and what that meant for the male gaze, and what is and is not considered feminist. This was met with confusion before I backed up my budding politics with fanfiction, and which men were eye candy for the women. It was a locker room talk sort of thing, you would not know unless you walked away from teenagers being gross about big hentai boobie waifus to discuss the plot point of whether the Supernatural Anime was more similar to the books or the live action show.

The roles for us 'girls' rather than 'boys'. As it has been such a long time that everyone should have been of voting and bill paying age. It should have just been a phase, not the only portion I can recall. She should have gotten to grow up. I don't know if I'll find her.This is not me trying to look.

She gave me her username for kik while the bus driver wasn't looking and that is where our story stops without a bit of context. Pagans are just like everyone else. We have our parents informing us to stay away from the spirit board and to not let the interest in the occult affect our grades. Her death isn't on my hands, and I have spent a decade working up the courage to explain.

She loved anime, so I got into it around the same time. We could talk to each other about the books that we liked without 

My new friend from middle school was obsessed with nightcore. And then got me obsessed with nightcore. I got really Into supernatural because this awkward BO riddled tween next to me lived every Wednesday for the program. I had to go to my mother's house to catch up on episodes. I had never heard of warrior cats. She had apparently never read the inheritance cycle.

Katelyn had bruises and did not bathe regularly and pretty much constantly smelled like chlorine from swim practice. I sat next to her anyway, listening to her and giving her an awkward sideways hug while she hyperventilated due to the proximity of boys because of something 'she did not want to burden me with'.

At home, I got to relax and have a bit of ''me' time. Our houses weren't more than a street or two apart so a quick message could be set up either way. Katelyn often apologised for not being able to invite me outside or going over to my house. She even shared a few tricks about how to sneak food into your rooms when your parents lock the door. I needed a few hours then. I was a kid and this was NOT normal. The music teacher agreed. 

Even worse was that my sister often complained of a dislocated shoulder. Promising that if i snuck her ibuprofen. When she went to the store and got nervous and called me I answered. I don't like makeup and dresses and have no idea what 'mean girls' is, but this means i dont have to do my math homework yet and my parents can do nothing about it. So spending time listening to people even if I got nothing out of the conversation  was a small benefit I decided.

It was between these times I developed an odd... recurrent dream.

Katelyn and I were stoked to get to work on hand drawn animations, finally making up our minds on which videos we liked best from her porch and my data plan from my dad's CDL permit job. A week later I was called into the office at knight's local middle school and my friend was gone without a trace. 

Before she left for home, I got a message asking what I would do if I were left on an island with nothing but candy. She had apparently 'lost her phone', so this was odd. I texted back with 'Is the phantomhive name taking applications from baldroy?'. No further response, but she did start giggling. Like insane happy fits, I could not place or control.

Confused, I sat at our regular spot. Pulled onto our seat. Sat down and put earbuds on. To my disappointment a new family who had never heard of Katelyn (last name redacted) said that was up to witness protection. And then changed the subject to dogs. My friend was missing and I was grounded from using kik ever again? How was I supposed to meet up with my friend now? Was she still mad at me for telling the counselor about her depression?

I got home. Tears welling down my face. Pinpricks of anxiety and confusion that no eleven year old child had ever and should never experience. A dog... blonde and with brown eyes almost identical to Katelyn's was waiting by the door. My sister left me a note on my bed thanking me for taking care of her pet and she would see me at the next reunion.

I never saw or heard from Katelyn again. A woman in curlers I remembered telling her off for spending so much time slacking off and who I made the excuse of seeing her child with music theory homework for extra credit. Cornered me at my locker, shrieking that my family and our traditions have 'stolen her little girl'. The homeroom teacher started to tell her to 'f off and pick on someone her own size' and asked if I remember what time my dad got home from his shield wall meeting.

There was an announcement the next day about suicide being a sin against God. Katelyn was not exactly a witch and not a Christian. So it couldn't be that simple right? She just stopped talking and sitting next to me one day?

As an adult these fragments make sense.The shit to be cleaned. The bedroom I was never able to enter. The way everyone picked on a child who neither bathed properly nor ever smiled for fear of giving men the wrong idea. In 2016 I was raised as a heathen. And in 2025 I will have graduated knowing I can do nothing but provide hope through my art. If my older sister can survive and live a good life free of horrible blondes, maybe my middle grade friends just moved schools. Katelyn had so much that made her sick both mentally physically and emotionally, and that she wanted to do it  and just leave because she was a year older than me at thirteen. I'm choosing that she went through Hel and now has more friends her own age. 

Hi! Im username r/Im-not-persepolis-its-starfire

I use she/her/hers pronouns.

I'm on the am-i-the-monster subradio because I find it good to have an online community for my newfound identity.(although this is not initially my choice).Also I really hope to share some insight on my situation with a bit of advice.

I'm just like everyone else really, but I'm not like those other girls who can be out in the sunlight all day and don't mind snacking on the occasional bacon sprinkled salad and burger from mc ronalds. I have a phone my parents gave me unlimited text messages and calls on (no data unless I get a job). I like coloring books, drama television and death metal bands in the car with dad. (Mom stopped trusting me to take the bus, because the other kids apparently have germs)

I have Vampirism, not a vegetarian or vagitarian (that last one at my minor age gets gross for religious reasons). And no before you ask, it wasn't islamic radical bombers who worship castiel, or the vaccine, nor was I born with it. I came out when I went to a standard sports check up and my parents were obviously more concerned  with me keeping up with attendance and getting back to normal than the obvious 'blood' cravings. It was a really tough sports physical so I got to choose what was made for dinner as long as I promised to help mom with the pots and pans like everything was fine.(I'm literally never going to live it down though!!! Who offers a kid gelatin in the waiting room for also scrolling through spotify for black veil brides.) becuse for the most part this condition does not effect me. I really dont know why im the one in my town bing put on the pot by the police about missing persons i went to school with but have never really had a face to face conversation with 'because of the fear or woke culture'. I dunno some tengers just find it impossible to leave the conservative box they were brought up with and discover things for xierself, I guess.

According to the student nurses a few grades ahead of me the job market is awful. So I guess everyone has their own struggles. I mean mine is trying not to make my chronic illness my entire account focus even though i get tags and comments on a daily or near weekly basis and those are the likes and comments

So I met my now long term partner at a soup kitchen frequently because the job market for hijabi teenagers chronically ill or otherwise is abysmal. I claimed to need more help in service learning hours, turns out she's great with meat and only scowled a little when I got too excited for a cup of chicken broth with extra iron supplements and chose just any cup on the drying rack. Neither of my parents really understood what all the hype was about. Dad was convinced I should  get an internship at a hybrid office for the fatigue and health insurance to keep up my grade for scholarships in the future. And mom thought it would effect my njrotc grade. Then the Olympics for 2020 happened and hey!!! Suddenly sword training and buffy (whoever that is) is cool again. And the fencing uniforms for competition are super modest (if not a bit tight fitting hut hey!!! Y'all raised a proud Palestinian woman, tuck and roll).

So to be honest I've had a bit of a rebellious phase.This is how I got... infected. So this is going to be a long one. Oh and all names and urls will be kept anonymous for privacy. I was walking for my silly little mental health; Ya know I dont want to end up dealing with this guy from the serial killer photos and im not just going to go up and ask someone if they are really jeff the killer (Cronically online much?). I don't belong  to a very nice part of the south. So this person on an electronic scooter gets picked up by some rando in a pickup truck. I mean I'm just a teenager with an iPhone. Why would I need to know how to call for help? That's what got me into this mess. Not like someone calling everyone 'weirdos' then bled into my mouth. I don't even watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer so I don't know how to do arbitrary things like drown a fish in milk or make pop culture references to draw the audience into something that is helpful for the plot.

I could not tell the guy in my homeroom class what happened to me. I really wanted to because maybe then he would be kinder about the women in his family having cravings and not wanting to be unselfish with rationing snacks. I could tell my homeroom teacher that my dental hygiene is fine and my diet is now altered. It was a relief to my southern american public school that I can now eat blood because I should still be treated as normal despite my home life. 

The thing that bothered me wasn't even the rude comments. You unfortunately live as long as I have grow used to it. The questions from people who think I should just wear a crucifix and a separate kind of shawl don't really get it. I don't have to veil yet... my body does not produce the kind of things normal bodies do... we moved to be american. Maybe I'll get to decide if I study more about islam like my mother and father (both living).

It was the guy in a backpack looking for the bus station. Smile walked by me, noticed the blood in my eyes and mouth from a bystander with a red slushie, split lip from some altercation.i decided he was hashtag too spooky for me with his towering pale figure, louisiana accent and dark formerly blood stained hoodie. I was in there because I wanted to compare prices for Vitamins B12 with prescribed folic acid I take at lunch and the nurse can come to expect.

What I did was ignore someone getting abducted and asked a cop a few hours later when I realized no one else was doing something about it. It really occurs to me that I do not live in a very nice part of town, so not that I can be blamed in full for the disappearance. I would really ask that those on the radio website do their best to use logic and reasoning through google for the rest of this. I did however see two people trespassing in a building they were not meant to be in after hours... so thats why I called.

I decided to go ahead and inform the police when I was being falsely interrogated about a crime of 'tresspassing on public property without proper clothing'. I really didn't feel the need to point out the car driving past with two known serial killers and one of my classmates. I havent told my mom and dad and i dont know how to bring it up that people are missing and it's all over the school intercoms. Its between myself, this one kid whos dad is gone a lot for work with a boyfriend he just wont shut up about, and this kid who showed up wearing 

I got grounded for doing what our teachers at school told us was the right thing because I was escorted home!!! I was so mad that night I could have hissed in all their faces.