The Sandman

Don’t Say It’s Name

by sixpenceee user Veiled-Tales 

It started out as most horror stories do, slowly. In fact I remember the first day that I saw…”it”. I apologize now for not being able to say it’s name. For now we’ll just call it the “Intruder” I’ve tried many times to warn my friends and family but every time I say it’s name people around me seem to just go blank for a few seconds, then they completely forget that I said anything at all. I have no idea what’s going on, but I seem to be getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning, maybe then I’ll finally be able to explain all of this. I had a relatively normal childhood, in fact nothing too out of the ordinary happened until I was in high school. The very first night it came to me I was laying down to go to sleep. It was just like any other day that transitioned into any other night, or so I thought. As I laid in bed I reminisced about what had happened throughout that day when suddenly I was gripped by a sudden fear. It felt as though my chest had suddenly tightened and I felt the urge to cry instantly. I had no idea why but I could definitely feel it there, though at the time I didn’t know it’s name. The only way I can explain it is a dark, thick, smothering shadow. It doesn’t have a shape, it doesn’t have a face, it’s just there. I knew at that moment that I was no longer alone. I suppose eventually it became bored and slowly faded into the corner of my room and I finally drifted off into a restless sleep. I would soon be having a lot of sleep that felt more like exercise than rest.

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The Girl in the Photograph

One school day, a boy named Tom was sitting in class and doing math. It was six more minutes until after school. As he was doing his homework, something caught his eye.

His desk was next to the window, and he turned and looked to the grass outside. It looked like a picture. When school was over, he ran to the spot where he saw it. He ran fast so that no one else could grab it.

He picked it up and smiled. It had a picture of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She had a dress with tights on and red shoes, and her hand was formed into a peace sign.

She was so beautiful he wanted to meet her, so he ran all over the school and asked everyone if they knew her or have ever seen her before. But everyone he asked said “No.” He was devastated.

When he was home, he asked his older sister if she knew the girl, but unfortunately she also said “No.” It was very late, so Tom walked up the stairs, placed the picture on his bedside table and went to sleep.

In the middle of the night Tom was awakened by a tap on his window. It was like a nail tapping. He got scared. After the tapping he heard a giggle. He saw a shadow near his window, so he got out of his bed, walked toward his window, opened it up and followed the giggling. By the time he reached it, it was gone.

The next day again he asked his neighbors if they knew her. Everybody said, “Sorry, no.” When his mother came home he even asked her if she knew her. She said “No.” He went to his room, placed the picture on his desk and fell asleep.

Once again he was awakened by a tapping. He took the picture and followed the giggling. He walked across the road, when suddenly he got hit by a car. He was dead with the picture in his hand.

The driver got out of the car and tried to help him, but it was too late. Suddenly he saw the picture and picked it up.

He saw a cute girl holding up three fingers.

Midnight Dancer

Submission by: Mr.Baubas

Have you ever had one of those feelings that something was wrong? I don’t mean during the day either, but at night. I mean that sudden unprovoked feeling of dread that commands you to wake. 

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Her Name was Emma

Her name was Emma.

That’s what everyone called her, anyways. Sometimes they would call her Em, sometimes someone would slip up and call her Emily. She was a part of our group of girlfriends growing up in a large town, not quite big enough to be a city but big enough that there was still privacy between neighbors.

We called ourselves the “Unbreakable Six,” because there was me, Summer, Mel, Nina, and Jules.

And there was Emma.

Emma started off as a practical joke by the other girls in the fourth grade. It was probably Jules that started it. She was always playing pranks of people. In high school, she even got suspended once for going too far, and had to babysit for hours to buy that girl a new cellphone. Or maybe it was Summer, who always seemed too busy with music and band to think of such an elaborate prank. Or maybe it was Mel and Nina, who were best friends and could have lived without us, always conspiring together like they were twin sisters.

Either way, I bought my lunch, cold cut sandwich and carrot sticks and a pint of orange juice (I couldn’t stand milk; it would account for how short I ended up being) and walked over to our lunch table. Jules looked excited, waving me over to them.

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Don't tell me what they said about me, tell me why they felt comfortable saying it around you💯💯💯

Don't decrease the goal, increase the effort 💯

My grandfather always served an extra plate

by reddit user shiloh667

My grandfather died two weeks ago. After the funeral, my family sat around my grandmother’s living room, talking about the nice memories we had with him. All of us grandchildren mentioned how he always spoke in different voices when reading, even if it was just the newspaper. We spoke of the stories he used to tell us about his childhood.

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My brother died when I was a child. He kept talking. I think people should know what he said

by reddit user TheEmporersFinest

Although rather lengthy, I received many messages to make a post about this story. After reading, I understood why. 

We’d all known Dennis had less than a week and we’d all braced ourselves, for all the good that would do. This was going to tear us apart and leave a ragged gaping hole in all our lives. But that would be it. It would fit within our understanding of things and we could all assume he went wherever we thought people go. That would have been so much easier, so much less troubling than what actually happened.

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My sister was murdered and she won’t shut up about it

by sixpenceee user EZmisery, tumblr, facebook

As kids, my sister Cassie and I didn’t know we were different. How could we? We spent all of our time in the house. Our parents never let us play outside. They said this was for our own protection. I remember clearly our father outlining all of the horrors of the world beyond our front door. “Vicious animals, dangerous men, deathly illnesses.” Everyday brought a new reason why we couldn’t venture outside the walls of the house. I realized the truth much later; they were embarrassed of us. Cassie and I were close, literally and metaphorically. We spent every moment together. I’ve read that twins are often this way, but we were more than that. We woke up at the same time, closed our eyes for bed at the same time. We would often dream the exact same dream. We read books together (she’d read the left page, I’d read the right). Our parents said we were unnaturally close. This didn’t make sense to us at the time.

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