campfirefire

I just want to get away. Away from the noise of this house. It's winter so outside isn't an option so I'll have to settle for the garage. It's not as frigid in there but it's still chilling so I bring a small space heater. I find an old lawn chair and set it up next to the only plug I can find. As the ancient off white heater warms up I look around. This place is so dirty. The concrete floor needs sweeping and the corners have bad at least twenty past hosts. I guess it's okay because no one ever comes out here this time of year. Finally the heater is warmed up. So much that my shins are almost burning. I move them aside so that the rest of

The warm water runs down my body and as I look down at my feet I see my long brown hair, black wet, float on the water flowing over my breasts. I go to grab the shampoo but its not there. Oh yeah, I ran out last time and was to lazy to put more in. Great, now I'm gonna have to tell for my dad. I'm thirteen and still need my father to take a simple shower. "Dad?" I call hoping he can hear me all the on the other side of the house in the office. He's alway in there, working like I don't even exist. I know he does it all for me but sometimes I just want him to be a dad. I yell repeatedly, louder and louder with every call. Now I'm getting wor

I could remember moving into this neighbourhood like it was just yesterday. Actually, when I think about it, it wasn't that long ago. Must've been about seven months ago when I first arrived. It seemed perfectly normal. I had friendly neighbours, a nice house and a fairly decent job at the gas station in the nearby town. Although all of my neighbours seemed cheerful and friendly, there was one specifically who seemed kinder than all of them. Her name was Amanda Robinson, and she lived in the house opposite mine. She looked about twenty, the same age as me. Her long hair was a light brown colour, just like mine, and her eyes were a moss gree

For most of my life I had lived in the same apartment. It was on the third floor and overlooked the busy city. It was also directly next to another apartment, which means you could hear everything going on behind the right-hand side bedroom wall. I would occasionally hear faint noises coming from behind the wall. There would be scraping, which I assumed was the sound of a chair being pulled along a wooden floor. Sometimes voices could be heard. I guessed they were either from the residents living there or from a TV or radio. And then there was the banging. The banging was a rare occurrence, but whenever it happened it really annoyed me. Why

Tessa tiptoed quietly through the cemetery. The moon was out, but it didn't do a very good job of clearing away the mist that hung low over the cemetery. Tessa pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, nervously. There were several trees planted around the tombstones, all looking like ghostly hands reaching for the sky and freedom. She walked past the tombstones, which were a ghastly white. They seemed to be floating in a sea of mist. As Tessa walked by a particularly ugly tombstone with a gargoyle on top, she felt something grab her ponytail. Tessa screamed in fright and lunged forward, away from the grasping fingers. When she look

"You know, I'm getting kind of sick of camping." Mike yawned, rubbing his eyes as he wandered out of his tent. His three friends, Sarah, Alex and Jade were already awake; heating their feeble breakfast of baked beans and pita bread over a portable stove that Jade had brought with her. It was the height of summer, and Alex had mentioned how a wood near him had a clearing in the middle that would be perfect for a camping trip. The wood had always been strangely quiet, so they didn't need to worry about dangerous animals. "Then by all means go home if you can't handle the tent." Sarah laughed as he slumped down onto the group next to her and

I remember the day we first arrived in our new home clearly. My father parked the car before the house, his gruff voice announcing our arrival. I was in the back seat, my sketch book open in my lap as I drew whatever came to mind. My younger brother Ben crawled right across my lap and pressed his face to the car window, looking out at our new home with awe. Irritated that he'd interrupted my drawing, I snapped the book shut and got out of the car, slamming the door in his face with no remorse. I was scolded for my behaviour, but being sixteen years old, I didn't really care. The house was old and worn, in dire need of repairs that my father

You're probably a little bit on edge. You've been reading and watching a lot of CreepyPasta today. Your mind is racing, and you think that you can't fall asleep. Don't fret. I'll help to put your mind at ease. All you have to do is just push all of those stories to the back of your mind. Have faith in the fact that those are just stories and nothing more. If you see something outside your window, just ignore it. It's just a trick of the eye is all. If you're woken up by footsteps late at night, just ignore it. Your mother is probably just making her way to bathroom. If you hear a door slowly opening with an unnerving sqeak, just ignore it.

Some people call me a hero. I can't disagree with them, because it's actually kind of true. Believe it or not, I've saved a drowning man, pulled a girl from a  burning building, and I even saved a dog from being swept away by a nasty flood. My friends thought I was crazy, but I thought I was just exercising my humanity. That, and I was kind of an adrenaline junkie. It was my guilty pleasure. I've been sky diving and bungee jumping on more than one occasion. I've jumped off the ledge of a huge water fall hoping that I didn't hit shallow water. I've got a couple of scars to show for my endeavors. I don't really do the adventurous things that I

I awoke to the sun shining through the slit in the curtains and an odd feeling. When I sat up, I was struck with confusion when I saw my surroundings. This wasn't my house. How did I end up passed out on the floor in someone elses home? "Okay, think, think, think. What happened last night?" I said, rubbing my head in what seemed like a futile effort to make the memory return. Just then, something clicked. The party. My friends and colleagues held a party in celebration of another successful book completed. Did I really drink that much? No, it wasn't that. I knew what a hangover felt like, and this feeling I had wasn't that. Something didn't