wrongapp

[wrongapp]

Squatter

Living in the middle of nowhere in rural northern Alabama has pros and cons. I'm not a hermit, despite what the local HOA thinks. I work a job, use modern technology, pay bills and taxes, etc. I simply prefer to live my life in solitude, surrounded by nature. My small cabin is buried up in the woods, the driveway is a little over a mile long. It's a small place, I don't need much room since it's just me and my two cats, Herbert and Ash. It's a simple one-story house, one bed, one bath, a kitchen and living area, and a semi-large office space. The only other area is the large outdoor garage.

The garage isn't connected to the house. In all honesty, it's a glorified car park with a really big shed that I use for storage and projects. Most of the time, I leave the building unlocked. There is nothing of value in the shed, the most valuable thing being an electric buzz saw that cost me a pretty penny. The other reason I felt no need to lock it was because nobody ever came down my driveway. I'm in the middle of nowhere, so not many people drove past the driveway anyways, but the damn thing is over a mile long. I've learned there are very few people who want a driveway that long, let alone want to explore one.

So, when I heard some movement in the old shed, I just assumed it was a raccoon or opossum that had made its way into the building.

Winter was on its way, and it made sense that the small critters would want shelter from the colder winds. I didn't let my cats out for a while, worried that they would get into the shed and get into trouble. A few weeks went by, and now and then, I would hear some noises. Since the noises were so faint and far and few in between, I just didn't think much of it. A part of me wishes I had. I wish that I had investigated, maybe even kicked the critters out. But one afternoon, I had enough.

When I got home and out of my car, I wanted nothing more than a strong gin and tonic. As I shut the car door, I noticed that the shed door was slightly ajar. Even though I left it unlocked, I was sure that I had shut the door. Fear crashed through me like a lightning bolt, my first thought was that Herbert and/or Ash had wandered outside and gotten into the shed. I briskly walked over to the shed and threw open the door, only to be met with a horrid sight.

I was right, kind of. A small raccoon had gotten into my shed, but something else got into the poor critter. There was blood on the floor, I could see a large gash in the things side. Sunlight poured into the shed, turning the once cozy work shed into a fire red orange that reminded me of hell's walls. Unfortunately, the raccoon wasn't the worst part of it.

Standing along the back wall of the shed was a man. He was much taller than me, but he appeared to be thin and frail. I could see the outlines of his ribs, his arms resembled uncooked spaghetti noodles; he was so disproportionate. Another wave of fear and adrenaline crashed surged through my veins, an unknown man was standing in my fucking shed, eating a raccoon. A part of me wanted to vomit; another part of me wanted to turn and run. I felt rooted to the ground; my feet wouldn't respond to my commands. His head snapped in my direction, and he didn't waste a second.

Lunging at me, I screamed. We fell to the floor, and I could feel his hands around my throat. I struggled against him, fearing for my life. I didn't want to die; I wasn't ready to go. I clawed at his hands, feeling my long nails puncture through his thin skin. Blood dribbled down his fingers and landed on my neck, the substance burning and heavy. My right hand fell to the side, reaching for a small handsaw that was sitting on the ground. I wasn't sure when or how it had ended up there, but that was the least of my concerns. I brought it up, slamming it into the man's arm.

He let go, letting out a guttural scream. He shot away from my form as I rolled over and tried to catch my breath. Glancing up at him, I could see him grasping his arm and trying to catch his breath. His eyes were wild, panic and fear written all over his face. I don't remember what happened, it's all a blur. I know that at some point, I grabbed the hand saw once more, and then I was on top of him. There was blood, so much blood, and it was everywhere. He stopped screaming and stopped moving, and at some point, I realized he was dead.

The rest of the evening was a blur. I got up, adrenaline still racing its way through my system. I ended up in the bathroom of my home, washing the blood off my hands and scrubbing under my nails. Hyperventilating, the realization crashed into me that I had actually just killed a man. I vomited, emptying the nothing in my stomach into the toilet. I felt too disgusting, I felt horrid and vulnerable. I was on the floor, breathing fast and rapidly. Herbert came into the room at some point and shoved his head up against my thigh.

Hours went by, and I hadn't moved from my spot on the bathroom floor. I had cried, had a panic attack, vomited two more times, and now I was just sitting here, numb. Herbert had fallen asleep a while ago; he seemed so peaceful. Ash had joined us; he brought his favorite Tuna Fish Can stuffed play toy and curled up next to Herbert. I just sat there, unsure of what to do. Was I supposed to call the cops? In Alabama, we had the self-defense laws, but I couldn't bring myself to move and pick up the phone. I certainly couldn't leave him there, either. I began to cry again, and at some point, I fell asleep on my bathroom floor.

I didn't go to work the next day, too concerned with what had occurred the previous evening. I decided against calling the cops, I was too afraid. I knew I had to find some way to get rid of the body, and when I saw a small bear running through my backyard, the perfect idea dawned on me. I wasn't sure why exactly the bear wasn't hibernating yet, but I didn't complain. Two days after the ordeal, I got home and poured myself a drink. I took it with me to the shed, getting myself ready to do what I needed to do.

Throwing open the shed door, and the body was disgusting. I nearly vomited again from the smell alone, but I pushed through. His skin was a blue color, and the blood around his body had dried up. I pushed on, grabbing one of his arms lightly. I was shaking as I grabbed the same hand saw I had originally stabbed him with and began to cut off the arm. When it hit bone, that's when the tears started to fall. It was scary, trying to cut up a person, and I just couldn't get this stupid handsaw through his bones.

I gave up- no. A better word is I got fed up. I was crying hot angry tears as I grabbed his other arm and then pulled. He was heavy, the little muscle he had weighed heavy. I pulled him out of the shed door and trhough the backyaed, all the way to the edge of the woods. I left him there, I don't know how to explain it but I knew that bear would be back. I wandered back inside slowly, Herbert brushing up against my legs as I entered the home. I washed my hands again, then decided that wasn't enough, so I showered.

That night, I cried myself to sleep. I couldn't think, sleep, eat, drink, anything. I thought this would be easy- just dispose of him and get this over with. Sobbing quietly, I felt Herbert crawl up close to my head. Ash slept peacefully at the foot of the bed, the two of them were a stark contrast to my current feelings. I didn't know how to live with myself, knowing I had killed and squatter living in my shed.

[wrongapp]

i think my professor is a cult leader

History 160 - Aztec History.

Room 315, 3rd Floor of the Harrison Building. 6:30 PM - 8:00 PM

When I first signed up for this class, I was excited beyond belief. In my small community college, you were required to take a history course. I have always been a big history buff, and when I saw this class on the Course Catalog, I knew I was going to take it. The first day of class only made me more excited, as well as my professor.

That day was rainy. Dark clouds loomed over the campus, threatening to spill over any moment. I was thankful I only had morning classes; the forecast called for heavy thunderstorms that afternoon. Walking from my dorm to the Harrison building, I climbed up three flights of stairs to the top floor. Room 315 was at the end of the hallway, but as I exited the stairwell, I could smell the candles. A strong, smokey scent traveled down the hallway and for a brief moment, I thought something had caught fire. It wouldn't have shocked me; the Harrison building was old and falling apart. When I stepped into the classroom, the scent hit me in the face. A few other students sat in the classroom and a tall, lanky man was at a desk in the front of the room.

"Welcome! Your name is?" He questioned. His voice was deep and hoarse, the voice of a long-time smoker.

"Jermey Mitchell," I answered. I watched as he scanned a sheet, then made a checkmark next to what I assumed was my name.

"Nice to meet you Jermey, please sit anywhere," he shot me a friendly smile. A small shiver ran down my spine, something screamed at me that it was wrong. But I was too excited for the class to think about it. I sat on the third row, closer to the wall, and got my laptop out. Looking around the room, there were only ten other people in the room.

"Small class..." I thought to myself, waiting for my laptop to boot up. A few minutes later, the professor got up and shut the door, trapping the ten students inside.

"Welcome to History 160! I'm Professor Manney," he began, pulling up a slideshow on the screen, "today we're going to go over the syllabus and all that," it was difficult to tell if he was happy to be here. I noticed a few interesting things about the syllabus; a requirement of buying candles and Aztec Death Whistle, an extra credit opportunity if you donated blood to the Red Cross, and the final exam was a camping trip. What the fuck?

"Alright, so as I'm sure you all are reading, this class is structured differently from your other classes. For starters, the candles and Aztec Death whistle are a requirement," he explained.

"At the end of the semester, we take a camping trip. I'll explain more as we get to that point in the semester, but it's all funded by the university, so you won't need to buy anything," I breathed a sigh of relief. As strange as it was, at least I wouldn't have to buy a ton of camping gear. The donating blood was odd, and he never explained it. Now and then I would donate plasma for money, so it was similar; donate blood for some extra credit.

The next few weeks were normal. He taught as any normal professor, with a few small red flags that I didn't think much about. Two students had dropped the class, so there were a total of eight of us. I only spoke to three of them: Clara, Sidney, and Matt.

Clara was an education major and involved in our school's women's soccer. She felt weird, a very stereotypical sporty girl, if that makes sense. If she wasn't studying or practicing, then she was at the gym or with her girlfriend. Sidney was in general studies, she didn't know what she wanted to major in just yet. But she was in a sorority, so she spent most of her time partying. She showed up to class hungover most days and would text me later asking for the notes. Matt was a forensics major, and he was fucking weird. He had this fascination, no, *obsession* with death. From what I knew, he didn't get out much other than work and class, which wasn't much. He worked at a morgue as an assistant, so he was constantly surrounded by dead people. Although these three were a little odd, we seemed to get along well enough.

The only thing we had in common was that our professor had contacted us over spring break.

I stayed on campus for spring break, working a few extra shifts at the local Starbucks. But, on Thursday, I got a notification from my email.

"Dear Jeremy,

I hope your spring break is going well. I just wanted to inform you that the Red Cross blood donation will be on campus this Friday. I would suggest you go in order to gain extra credit.

I wish you the best,

Professor Manney."

I had never mentioned to him that I was staying on campus for spring break. Did he see me around or at work? I brushed it off as that, figuring I was thinking too much into it. But, when I returned back to class, Sidney had asked me if I had gotten the email.

"Jermey, did Mr. Manney send you an email over spring break?" she asked, a tint of worry lacing her voice.

"Yeah?" I shot her a questioning glance.

"About Red Cross? The blood donation extra credit?" Her voice was shaky. Oddly enough, she wasn't hungover.

"Yeah? How'd you know?"

Because he sent me the same email. I don't know how, but he knew I was staying on campus for spring break," she sounded scared.

"Yeah, same. I just figured he had seen me around or something though, don't think about it too much," I tried to rationalize. Later, when Clara had arrived, we had the same discussion. She had also stayed on campus for spring break and gotten the same email. I wanted to ignore it, I wanted to believe that Professor Manney had just seen us around campus, but something about it rubbed me the wrong way.

I stopped trying to rationalize when I heard that Matt had not only gotten the same email, but had also disappeared.

Clara had spoken to Matt over spring break, informing me and Sidney that he had also gotten the strange email. But then he went radio silent. He stopped showing up to class and stopped responding to texts. Two days later, we finally heard that he just vanished. I tried not to think about it, I tried to rationalize that it was just a coincidence. Deep down, I knew it wasn't, but I guess I wanted to believe that it was. Ever since then, the class has become increasingly strange. We've started talking about Aztec Mythology and that's when everything started going downhill.

Professor Manney had started this unit normally, giving an overview of gods and mentioning a few stories that we would need to know. Then, we started talking about Mictlantecuhtli. For those that don't know, Mictlantecuhtli is like the Hades of Aztec Mythology - he rules over the underworld and is the god of death. I didn't miss the way that when my professor first mentioned him, his eyes glossed over. I didn't miss how he seemed to ramble about this god for longer than the others. It was odd that the next time we had class, the entire lecture was about Mictlantecuhtli. The way Manney spoke about Mictlantecuhtli was the same way that Matt spoke about death, filled with infatuation and obsession.

Ever since, the class has taken a dramatic shift. Any time Manney gets the opportunity to mention this god of death, he does. I'm trying to do some more research on this god, trying to learn just why my professor likes him so much. I'm also trying to stay updated on Matt, trying to figure out what happened. More and more red flags keep popping up in the class, but none of the other students seem to notice what's going on. Either they aren't bothered or don't show it. It's kind of creepy, but I try not to think much about it, I have bigger things to worry about.

The camping trip is right around the corner and I can't help but feel nervous. It feels like a massive thunderstorm, threatening to create widespread havoc on the town it hits. I have a pit in my stomach, something is so wrong. I've never believed inr 6th sense bullshit, but what I do believe is that something is about eat me alive.

[wrongapp]

my mom disappeared, so who is outside my window?

As you can read from the title, I keep hearing and seeing my mom outside. However, my mom disappeared YEARS ago.

For a little bit of context, I grew up in a really small town on the border of Alabama and Tennessee. It is one of those small towns where everybody knew everyone and if anything happened, the whole town knew about it within a few hours. I went to a small school, I think there were maybe 17 other kids in my class. 100 people in the building on a day-to-day basis? The nearest hospital was cities away, super small police force (not that we really needed one), you get the picture.

So, whenever my mom, Christy, disappeared, it was a massive ordeal.

I was 12. It was right after Christmas break. I had just gotten a phone for Christmas, and I bragged to all my friends about it. The middle of January rolled around and everything was going great. Then, one night, my mom was just gone. I know what you are thinking, "people don't just disappear." But that is what happened. Me and my siblings went to bed one night, my mom and dad were downstairs watching TV when I fell asleep. The next thing I knew, my dad was frantically shaking me awake, asking if I had seen my mom. I told him that I hadn't and asked him what was going on. A few minutes later, the puzzle pieces clicked. My mom was gone. She had just vanished overnight.

For the next 2 weeks, the entire town had been searching for her. The small police crew rounded up as many volunteers and service dogs as they could and searched. They practically went knocking door to door, asking if anyone had any information. The woods around the area were turned upside down and no rock was left unturned. I will never forget what my dad was like those nights; he didn't sleep, I don't remember seeing him eat, and he was rarely at home. If he was at home, he was yelling into the phone, demanding that the police search areas again and again until we found her.

Nothing was ever found; it was like she just vanished.

From there, my world was turned upside down. School began to be a mental war zone; I could always hear kids talking. Shit like, "Oh that poor girl" and "I don't even know what to say to her." I began lashing out at my friends and eventually, I was left alone. It was just me, my siblings, and my father. That didn't matter though; my siblings became distant. Henry, my younger brother, shut down. He never spoke, only nodding and shaking his head. Lindsey, my older sister, would lash out often. It was rare that she wasn't yelling, and if she wasn't yelling then she was sobbing. The worst of it was my dad. He loved my mom more than life itself; he would have laid down his own life or killed someone for her. Nonetheless, he did his best for us. He was there when we needed to cry, let us yell at him, and he even got Henry a notepad to write on, since Henry wouldn't speak. I honestly don't know how he put on such a strong face in front of his children, he was suffering so much.

A few months later, we moved. My dad couldn't afford the large house we loved, so we downsized. We moved up north a little, now in eastern TN. I started a new school and didn't make any new friends. I didn't want to make new friends; I had no interest in socializing with people. I think Henry had a really difficult time as well, I know his teachers hated him because he wouldn't talk. Lindsey did ok, made a few friends, and was starting her new school strong. All of this was 5 years ago, I'm 17 now. Lindsey has moved away; she's at some college back down in Alabama. Henry is still silent, but I do see him smile now, which is nice. My dad isn't ok, but I never comment on the amount he drinks or the "fresh air" he gets (he's smoking, but I'm not supposed to know that). I have gotten a little better and I'm set to graduate in a few months.

But that pretty much catches us up to today (I don't think I am missing any important details, but if I think of anything I'll edit/update). A few weeks ago, I woke up in the middle of the night to a loud banging on my window. It scared the shit out of me. I threw back my curtains to be met with a horrifying sight.

In the middle of the backyard, maybe a few yards away from my window and a few feet away from the woods, stood a mangled mess of limbs. It looked like it had been mauled by a bear, the limbs were turned wonky and unnaturally. I don't know if there was blood, I couldn't see. I sprinted out of my room and down the hall, nearly breaking down my dad's door.

"Dad!" I panted, trying to catch my breath, "there's something outside, get your fucking gun." He was wide awake at this point, looking at me with a concerned look.

"What are you talking about sweetie?"

"There is something outside!"

"Ok, ok, hold on," he rose from his bed and walked into the hallway. I begged him to grab his gun as he made his way down to my room. When he entered my room, the curtains were still drawn back. He peered outside, a confused look on his face.

"Sweetie, there's nothing out there," he explained, motioning for me to look.

"There was, I swear to you," I pressed my face against the glass, desperately trying to find some sign that that thing was there.

"Go back to bed, Emma," he was stern, leaving no room for argument. He walked off, clearly upset that I had woken him up and made him come into my room.

After that, there was a dramatic shift in my life. It started small, waking up in the middle of the night to taps on my window. I felt like I was being watched everywhere I went; I was so paranoid. It slowly got worse, the tapping turned into banging, and I could feel eyes glaring at me, even when I was positive, I was alone.

But the other night, things went sideways. I hadn't heard banging the past few nights and I hoped the torment was over. Tuesday night, I woke up to a small tap on my window. I rolled over, refusing to acknowledge the noise. A few minutes later, another tap rang out through the room. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that if I ignored it, then whatever it was would go away. It kept up like that, every few minutes a tap would disrupt the silence in my room.

Then, I heard my mother's voice.

It was soft, a whisper. I shot up in bed, jumping out of the bed and rushing toward the window. It had been years since I heard that voice, but I knew it. I knew that it was my mother's. Slamming against the window, my eyes scanned the darkness. There was nothing, nobody was out there. My mind was spinning, I knew what I had heard. I didn't sleep that night, now and then a soft humming could be heard outside my window.

It’s been like this for a few days now.

That brings me to this morning. I didn't go to school today, I decided to just skip. I told my dad what I had heard, which pissed him off beyond belief. Something back a "sick joke" and how "we would talk when he got home." I don't know what to do. I know it was my mother, I know it. I know her voice. If anybody has any information or advice, please. I'm desperate. I don't know what to do.

[wrongapp]

Howdy!

My name is Emma, I’m a small writer. I enjoy writing in my free time, so that is what this blog is for. It’s just a collection off all my stuff plus a few other things? Or possible horror ideas? Honestly, I don’t know

Constructive criticism and feedback is always appreciated!

Thank you, hope you enjoy my writing

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