My gosh, it’s been ages since I’ve been here!

Well, number one, yes, I am still alive, for anyone who is out there!

Secondly, I’ve been busy over the past few years. My writing has taken a bit of a back seat… but now I’m back, and better than ever. This year, I will publish THREE distinct works–and that is a promise!

First, a novella that is pure Junji Ito worship… for fans of Gyo, and worse. It takes place in an isolated region of Canada and–you’ll soon see!

Second, a compilation that has been years in the making. This one includes stories I’ve written here and there, many of which have been posted for free online, and quite a few which have not. The main piece is twisted, and hilarious.

And, thirdly, a series which I began on Reddit, just after Russia invaded Crimea. Funny… now, ten years later, we are two years into a full scale war between Russia and Ukraine. This series involves cryptids which definitely don’t exist on the battlefield… hopefully? And, who knows, maybe there will be a bonus piece or two guaranteed to keep you gnawing at your teeth.

I’ll be polishing things soon and publicizing later. Beware, and see you all soon!

Here’s the latest installment in the “Russians” series!

It took years to come together… but at long last, my compilation with the terrifying and talented Matt Dymerski, Micah Edwards, and David Fuller has been released!

I personally contributed several stories, some of which have been released already, others of which had yet to see the light of day.

Check it out when you get a chance, and prepare to feel your skin crawl.

When we die, we don’t vanish instantly and forever from the face of the Earth… we remain, in some form, in body and spirit, and those of us who are still alive rarely realize it.

Take a look at my recent piece to hear an explanation, from the tenant at Room 1C, of how he found out that they live in the dust.

… And somehow, I lived to tell the tale! Read the story of New Jersey’s legendary haunted road here.

Hey all, I hadn’t realized how long it has been since I’ve posted. Rest assured that all is going well in my personal and writing life, in fact I’m nearing the end of a couple big projects.

Until they’re ready, have a look at this one. Cheers!

The full story, originally posted on Reddit. Enjoy!

I live about a hundred yards from the road, surrounded by trees, so I effectively don’t have neighbors. But the city’s close enough to commute to for work and weekends, so it’s nice. It really is. I go to sleep to the sounds of the forests, and when it snows, it’s almost magical. But recently… recently, I’ve been having problems.

It started a couple weeks ago. I was in the meadow behind my house, starting to dig up soil to make a garden. It was probably a couple of hours from dusk, but the clouds that day made it pretty dark.

I happened to look up at some point. That was when I saw a guy in a gray coat walking just the treeline at the edge of the meadow. The way he was moving… somehow I got the feeling that he just started when he saw me look at him.

It was… strange doesn’t cover it. There are no trails or public areas anywhere near my property. Sure, there are other landowners in the area, but I’ve met them all and none of them were nearly as tall or gaunt as that guy. I checked later—I went up to one of the trees that he passed. He had to have been six and a half, maybe seven feet tall. But he was so lanky that when he stooped over it looked like he might snap in half.

I didn’t get a good luck at his face. I could have called out to him, asked him what he was doing on private property, but he vanished into the trees before I could even decide what to do.

Whatever, I thought. It looked like he was heading to the road anyway, and in a hurry, so I let it go.

But a few weeks later… I turned in early and sat on my bed to do some reading. It was a beautiful afternoon—dark but quiet and very still. I could see all the way to the treeline beyond the meadow whenever I looked up. But my book was good—gripping—so I didn’t get my nose out of it for… at least an hour. At least.

That means that I don’t know how long he was looking at me. All I know is that I looked up and he was there. Right there. Right outside my window. Gray coat, lanky, seven feet tall, and looking right at me. Staring right at me.

I jumped out of my bed, screaming, and he jumped up out of sight. I didn’t know where he was—what if he was about to come around and break down the front door? Or just smash through a window—and then I heard him, stomping around on the roof. What if I—what if he just broke through the roof to get me?

I grabbed a phone and dashed into the bathroom, calling the cops. The ceiling there was reinforced, so at least it would delay him for a little bit.

The cops got there just minutes later. By then I had barricaded the bathroom door with everything in the room and hid in the tub, I was so terrified. But hearing them pounding on the door, shouting police… it was the most comforting thing I’d ever heard. I got out of the bathroom and they cleared the house, guns drawn, while another checked around the house and lands.

I was jittery as hell and couldn’t speak without stuttering, and since I recognized the man from before, I think I jumbled the stories up a little bit. I could tell it was annoying the cop who took my report, and it didn’t help my case when his partner came back and said there was nothing. No footprints in the garden, no flattened plants, no sign of anything or anyone being there.

So I… I asked the cops what they were going to do. They said they’d send an extra patrol out, but without a specific threat to my safety, that was about all they could do. I asked them if I should do anything, and they said that other than double-checking locks and considering getting a security system, I could pretty much get a gun or stay with a friend.

And then they left me alone in my house just as the sun started to go down.

I thought about calling a friend and asking to stay the night. Or maybe calling one over to stay the night. But I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t want to impose on anyone, and besides, I… well, I don’t have very many close friends anyway.

I lay awake in bed that night. The next morning, I went to town and got myself a dog. It was something I’d been wanting to do for a while, and what had happened to me kind of tipped the scale.

It’s funny. I’d planned on a Labrador, or a golden retriever, something like that, who I’d call Spot. I ended up getting a German Shepherd called Rex. That was all he ever answered to. And he wasn’t a puppy, so no matter how hard I tried to get him to answer to Spot, he only ever answered to Rex.

He was a good dog, he really was. He wasn’t the most playful, maybe, but he’d say hello when I came home and get me the paper in the morning and all of that. It was also a real comfort to have him standing guard when I worked in the garden.

But he was still a dog, and I was raised to think that dogs didn’t belong in the house. So, as soon as I could, I built him a house of his own, right outside of my window. It took him a couple of days to get used to it, but after I finished insulating it, he liked it just fine.

Besides, that way, he was on guard duty when I was asleep. I trained him to not chase after passing deer or squirrels or whatever, and to stick to my property when I was away for the day… so I’d get up, feed him, come home, feed him again, and then we’d play or work in my garden. That was the routine, and it worked well.

But yesterday… yesterday morning, when I went to feed him… he wans’t there. His doghouse was there, and his chain was there, leading into his doghouse, and his collar was there, but Rex… wasn’t. And I didn’t need to smell the red stain on his collar to know what it was. A similar stain was on my bedroom window, it must have been that dull impact around midnight that woke me up for a half second.

I’m in the city now, in a hotel. It’s two am, but there are a hundred thousand people all around me, and probably half as many cameras. I’ll be safe here. I’ll be safe here.

I rarely make it into the heart of the city. My job’s on the outskirts, not far from where I live, so I barely ever get to see the skyscrapers. In fact, last night was the first time I’d ever been in a building with more than three stories in… years.

I got there around six and ordered a pizza and ice cream to my room, and sat at the table and ate and watched the traffic. I stayed up pretty late, just because, and only went to sleep when I was nodding off where I sat.

I… think I dreamed that night. I think. I dreamed that I woke up and tried to turn the lights on to get to the bathroom, but the lights didn’t work. Then I dreamed that I was floating… off of my bed, then out the window, and then I don’t know. I was exhausted, and stressed, and out of it; I hadn’t even changed into PJs when I went to sleep.

I also left the curtains open over the night. And the light from the rising sun didn’t wake me, no, I slept through that. Instead I woke up to the sound of clanging, and creaking, like an old metal structure was being used.

The fire escape. I sat up—no, I tried to sit up, but I couldn’t move a muscle. No, I take that back. My heart—as that clanging sound continued, my heart started to race and I started to sweat and breathe faster. But I couldn’t move. It was coming for me—he was coming for me—the fire escape. He was going to climb up the fire escape and come in through my window and I wouldn’t be able to move a muscle to stop him.

I managed a low long moan. All at once, the clanging stopped, and I regained control of my body. I sat up in my bed, dashed over to the window, and there he was, jogging down the fire escape. The lanky gray man.

I jumped back and called the front desk—but they put me into a queue, and before I could do more than scream, he was gone. On the ground and ducking down an alleyway, out of sight…

“Hello? Hello, is anyone there?”

That was front desk. They’d picked up the phone a second too late. The lady asked me why I’d called. I asked if breakfast was still being served and they said to hurry before it was all cleared away.

So I did. I didn’t bother changing my clothes or washing my face, I just went down as I was and got a bowl of scrambled eggs and a few muffins and sat down with my book. God, I was tired and I knew I must have looked like crap, but I didn’t care. I spent a good hour there, just relaxing, when…

You know that weird feeling you get on the back of your neck when your hair is standing up on end? That kind of spidey-sense that lets you know that something’s wrong?

Well, I didn’t get that feeling. I just happened to turn around—I don’t know why—and there he was, leering at me from the sidewalk. The man.

I screamed and jumped back—I fell over my seat and grabbed at the table to stop, but ended up knocking my oatmeal all over me instead. And by the time I got up and started to point at the man, he was gone again.

A bunch of guys around me tried to calm me down, but I screamed for the police. I told them about the fire escape, and the garden, and Rex, and then he showed up. The same officer who had taken my report the day that I locked myself in the bathroom.

He didn’t believe what I said. He didn’t believe me at all. I tried to be as specific as I could and stick to the facts, not how scared I was, but he wasn’t buying it. I had nothing for them—he was just a too tall gray man with a weird… kind of blank, kind of empty face, and he was too skinny. Way too skinny. You can see the bones of really skinny people, but all he really had were bones. The skin was stretched over them like an afterthought.

The cop wrote down a handful of notes, or pretended to, I saw him scribbling. He said that if I had any further trouble, to just call 911. And then he left. He left me all alone in that crowd of people with oatmeal still all over me and tears in my eyes. I tried to clean myself up a little bit, but then I just kind of went back to my room, got my stuff, and drove home.

Except… I stopped at a pawn shop on the way there, and bought a shotgun. A Remington or something. The clerk said that it was easy to use, and powerful, and I didn’t have to aim that well. That’s good, because I’ve never used, or even held a gun before. Whatever. I told myself then and there that I’d learn.

That’s what I did when I got home. Before anything else, I went to my backyard, loaded my shotgun, and practiced shooting and reloading it a little bit. I’m on the smaller side, so it’s hard to handle the recoil, but it’s a powerful gun. Really powerful. One shot can knock down pretty thick branches, so I can only imagine what it can do to a human being.

I hope it doesn’t come to that. I honestly don’t. But if I have to, I… I hope I can do it. If I have to.

It was just before noon when I went back inside to shower and change. My mind was everywhere—I barely remembered to grab fresh clothes before I went into the bathroom—and then I said screw it, and threw off my clothes in my room itself and went naked into the bathroom. I kept my shotgun right in there with me, and maybe that’s what helped me relax.

I hadn’t eaten properly at breakfast and the junk I’d eaten last night wasn’t making me feel good either, so I took my time in there and relaxed. Got my mind right. My state lets you carry guns with a license, so I thought about maybe looking into that soon. Then I would feel safe everywhere, not just when I had the shotgun with me. Besides that, though, things were going to be normal again. I’d make things be normal again.

I put my clothes on and wrapped my towel into a turban to dry off my hair. Then I grabbed the shotgun—and saw my phone’s notification light blinking. I’d gotten an email. And that’s… really rare, for me.

I opened up the message. I didn’t recognize the sender, it was some kind of random sequence of letters and numbers from Hotmail. But the link was to youtube, so I opened it up, and… and…

I saw myself. I saw myself changing out of my ruined shirt and pants. Someone had taken a video of me stripping down to my bra and panties—and that’s not all. The video continued, to when I started to take my bra off, but I couldn’t bare to watch it.

I felt myself hyperventilating. I grabbed my shotgun and looked at the corner of the room where the video had been taken from. But there was nothing there. Just my desk and a bookcase—

Wait a second. Wait a second. I climbed on my desk and looked over the top of the bookcase, and there was a little imprint in the dust there. Like a camera had been left there.

But it wasn’t there anymore. That meant that someone had… come and taken it.

I put my shotgun to my shoulder and squeezed myself into the corner of my room. No, it was too close to the window, so I squeezed myself under my computer desk and held the gun so that if anything came for me, it’d get a buckshot to the face first.

I must have spent an hour like that. Just panting and gasping and sweating and trying to listen over the sound of my own heart racing. Then I finally crawled and out and started to clear my house. Room by room, closet by closet, and then around the front and the back and then I went back in and locked everything up. I barricaded the front door with my couch and nailed a few 2x4s I had in the garage over each window, and then I finally felt almost—almost safe.

I hadn’t called the cops, I realized, because I had thought that they wouldn’t believe me. But with the video… maybe they’d finally take me seriously.

I opened the link up again. But the video had vanished from youtube.

Whatever. I’m not going to let this scare me anymore, and if the cops don’t want to help me out, then I don’t want them to help me out. My house is locked up and I’m going to sleep with my shotgun tonight, and if that weird man with the gray coat comes back again… well, one of us is going to die.

I woke up in a cold sweat more than once last night. I was dreaming, I know it… but I can’t remember any of what I dreamt about. All I get when I try are images… of him. That weird tall skinny guy with his gray coat.

He’s in my head. He’s literally in my head. It was so bad that I lay in my bed and just cried for a while before finally dragging myself out.

The first thing I did was to check that the house was secure. I took my shotgun and looked at every window, the front door, the garage door, everything, to make sure that there were no signs of anything. Vandalism, forced entry, none of that.

Then I went out and checked the perimeter of the house. All clear there, too.

Finally I went back inside to have some breakfast. I’d had a hard few days, so I decided to treat myself. Pancakes seemed like a good start, so I started to make the batter. Dry and wet separate, just like always. I started to make the dry, mixing flour with sugar and some baking powder, and then I got a bowl ready for the wet. I cracked in an egg and then reached for the milk but… but there was no milk.

That was strange. I visited the grocery store just a few days ago, and I didn’t remember finishing the gallon I’d bought that quickly. Besides… I checked the trashcan, and there wasn’t an empty gallon jug there.

I felt sick. Just sick with worry and fear. I grabbed my shotgun and stumbled into my bathroom to throw up.

But I hadn’t eaten well the past day. So I just dry heaved for a while and then sat there, terrified, unsure of what to do.

I felt sick. Just sick. My hair was a mess and I hadn’t cleaned the house in weeks because of everything. In fact, there was hair on the bathroom floor, thick black curly hair—

And I’m a blond.

That was the last straw. I screamed—as loud as I could for as long as I could. It wasn’t even words, but it didn’t matter. I just had to let something out that wasn’t fear.

But I was still afraid when I was done. And I knew I wouldn’t feel safe in my house, so I jumped in the car and started to drive. Just drive. My parents live in the next state and they didn’t answer the phone when I called them, but that’s where I drove. All the way across the state and well into the next to get to my parents house.

I should have been alone on the road. I should have. This time of year, this part of the country, the backroads I took… I shouldn’t have seen more than a handful of cars on the road. But I always saw one. Just one. Lingering miles behind me on the road with its high beams on so that I couldn’t see its make or model. Whenever I slowed down or stopped for gas, it would slow down or peel off too, but whenever I started to drive… a few minutes later, it would be back there again.

The only time it vanished for very long was when I got to my parents’ house. As I got to within an hour of that lonely little house in the middle of nowhere… that car finally vanished.

A storm was coming, so I got inside and called around for my parents. But they weren’t there. They’re still not here. Their cars are here and so are all their shoes and clothes, but they’re not here.

The power went out about an hour ago when it started to rain. I’m on my last bar of battery and everyone I’ve called or messaged for help hasn’t responded yet. I can’t see anything and I only have eight shotgun shells left.

My internet connection keeps dying. I don’t even know if this post will go through. I don’t know what’s going to happen next.

I’m terrified. I keep hearing things and seeing shadows moving around outside. I need help. I can’t do this on my own anymore.

I’m going to post my address in a comment. Oh my God. Please hurry. I think I hear something at the door.

One of the most disconcerting feelings there is, is the feeling of being watched. Constantly, no matter where you go or what you do, the idea that someone is following you and waiting for the right time to do God knows what… it’s terrible.

My most recent creepypasta focuses on this encompassing terror. Read it with a can of mace handy, because who knows when someone may take too much of a liking to you…

I Think I’m Being Stalked [Part 1]

Over the years, I have experienced sleep paralysis several times. Once when I was a boy in a different country, once a few years ago when I was at home, and most recently, a few months ago when I was utterly alone in a house that was still being constructed. Each experience has had significant impacts on my ability to withstand fear, and my interest in the feeling of fear itself.

This resulted in my most recent work, I Have Sleep Paralysis xxx. Despite the title, it’s perfectly safe for work.

Read it, enjoy, and whatever you do, don’t go to sleep.

It was a long time ago when I came across the brilliant and dangerous mind behind Infernal Ink, Hydra M. Star. And although the pieces I sent her way weren’t a great fit for her magazine, I eventually recalled a vicious little piece I conceived of many years ago…

No spoilers here, but this one is a really funny one. Well, if you have a certain sense of humor. English slang, the juxtaposition of an autism-spectrum disorder and violence so severe that I struggled to describe it… you just have to laugh at that.

And remember… he who laughs last, laughs hardest.

NSFW link here!

In 2014, it was Ukraine. In 1999, it was Chechnya. In the 1970s, it was Afghanistan, and before that it was–but I’m getting ahead of myself.

A few weeks ago, I wrote a brief story about a Ukrainian patriot who encounters an unidentified and unidentifiable foe on the Donbass front. Inspiration struck and I followed it up with a story about a Chechen mujahid, and soon, I will round out the series with the account of an ex-Afghan fighter who resisted the Soviets when they invaded his country.

But the madness doesn’t stop there. The Russians aren’t the only ones who have invaded and oppressed other countries, and the recent war in Ukraine is certainly not the worst horror inflicted upon that nation.

Beware…

(Note: I mean no offense towards people of the Russian ethnicity or Russian nationals, this series is merely a horror series about several military campaigns the country of Russia has been involved with recently.)