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Ms. Warner could not help thinking of the burnt streaks that ran down the sides of the tiny carcass she had disposed of that day. The scalded paths that seemed to have seared through the fur and flesh of the poor animal. She had almost gagged at the unpalatable similarity between that vision and this highly detailed effigy. The story was fantastical. One that I knew would be embellished and exaggerated and probably be recycled with alternative names as a spook story to scare children for years to come.

In the year 28 AD the people of Frisia, a previously loyal province, were suffering under the oppression of the Roman magistrate, a former Centurion named Olennius. So blinded by greed had he become that he taxed the populous well beyond their means to produce. Now impoverished and risking starvation, the Frisians did the unspeakable and sought open rebellion as their only means of survival.

When Tim, one day, made the mistake of wearing shorts at school, revealing how sticklike and sickly thin his legs were, one of the many vitriolic idiots referred to them as "spindle" legs. The comparison wasn’t entirely accurate, but somehow the word had a particular connotation of legs that were twig thin, willowy, and bone-like.

Outside the tent was damp and cold and moist and like nothing Kayla had ever seen. Almost immediately, she wanted to return into the tent. Supria was already swiftly ahead. Here was like nowhere she had ever seen before. The sky was an eerie purple and orange, there were lighting strikes without thunderbolts. Sequoias characterized the landscapes and then the people.

What if the “aliens” are not from other planets?

I had no choice but to lift up the bed, and Becca aggressively grabbed our daughter to stop her from behaving wildly. She struggled to get out of her arms, and she succeeded when she sank her teeth into her mother’s shoulder. I ran immediately to the medicine cabinet. My wife was crying as she tried to lull our little Matthew back to sleep. He was awakened because of the loud ruckus in the house. With my youngest child and my wife in tears as I was patching up the wound on her shoulder, my heart was crushed while I was looking at the bite mark of my daughter.

Curiosity got mixed with raw fear and it made me speak, although all I could say was, ''Hello?'' I swear to God if anyone had responded, I would have died of a heart attack. Luckily for me, no one did. That calmed me down a bit, but my camera was still on, and, well, that was a problem to me. I had no idea who turned it on, and what was even scarier, who was watching me? I moved a cursor across the screen, and there wasn't an option to turn it off. It was seemed like whoever created this site wanted to see its visitors faces.

I took a short break a few hours later. Breaking through the curtains of vines and intertwined stalks was tiring, especially when I had to fight through the boggy soil that was weighing down my feet. It was then when I suddenly heard some rustling from the shrubs as I was taking out my supplies. I paused for a moment to closely observe. A few seconds later, I heard some subtle grunting close by.

Aside from the last part, I happened to tick most of the boxes. Without knowing what it was, I already spotted this door a few times. I also had a few vague encounters with ghosts in different places. I just preferred not to tell anyone about it in fear that I might be laughed at. I didn’t say a single word and pretended to mind my own business until the break ended.

We were dangerously close from the explosion. My ears rang as my vision was blurred by the ashes that covered the area. As I regained my hearing, I heard a very discreet sound that sent chills down my spine. I was certain that the others heard it, as well, when they turned their heads from left to right. It sounded like a silent howl of something that I have not heard before. It was like a strong gust of wind passing through a shattered horn or a screech being forced out from a dry throat.

I ran back on the bed and cowered under the sheets once again. “It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream.” I kept on repeating this line inside my head to convince myself that what I saw wasn’t true. Even though I cannot make out what this person looked like from afar, those glowing red eyes was more than enough to terrify me for years. The sequence between the hoots gradually grew longer, but every single one drew closer and closer.

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Fear made me dig. After a while, I really did find something, but it didn't look like a doll to me. It looked more like an old rag sewed up to look like a doll, with two buttons as eyes and few strands of hair poking out of what was supposed to be her head. It was muddy and half-decayed, and I tried to tell her again that she doesn't need it, but I didn't.

More tendrils wrapped around Pearl and lifted her bodily into the air. She shrieked, but the sound was drowned out by the screaming of the gulls and the deep rumbling from the creature. It held her high up in the air, above that glowing amber eye, which seemed to drink in the sight of the squirming creature in its grip, easily stripping away her defenses. In fact, there almost seemed to be something wise in its lone eye, like it could understand her suffering. Perhaps it was unfair to assign malice to the creature.

Of course he hadn’t, you would tell yourself. He was pinned in place, the same place, forever. Still you’d have to check. Perhaps, because for every second you tried not to look at him, you’d feel him looking at you. Then you’d look up, and it would be too late. Mr. Adderly’s scarecrow, nicknamed "Black eyed Jack" was around the size of an average man, but was of a curiously lifelike composition.

Becca was not allowed to be touched by other men, not even the tip of her fingers nor a strand of her hair. The very first time I witnessed this issue was when a male customer shook Becca’s hand when he made a hefty purchase of her designs. Anybody would have known that it was a mere form of polite gesture, but I noticed that her husband was staring at them until the customer walked out of the shop.

Die wahre Geschichte von Robin Hood - überraschend neu interpretiert, rasant erzählt und genau recherchiert von Bestseller-Autor Mac P. Lorne. "Die Pranken des Löwen" ist der fulminante Auftakt der Reihe um den Meister der Diebe. England 1110 - Der junge Gardist Robert Fitzooth wird zum persönlichen Leibwächter der englischen Prinzessin Matilda bestimmt, die den deutschen König Heinrich V. heiraten wird. An ihrer Seite überquert er die Alpen, gelangt bis nach Rom, wird in den Streit zwischen Kaiser und Kurie verwickelt und muss in einem jahrzehntelangen Bürgerkrieg kämpfen.

Further examination revealed that the "model" was in fact an actual human body - stripped of its skin and preserved by a process very similar to that used by Dr. Van Hagens. Reading of this singular event, I decided to do some digging and upon examining the list of special effects artists on the film in question, stumbled across a name that struck me as familiar. Familiar, because its owner, one Rene Toubain, had also worked on a film, in which large sections of the action took place in the catacombs of Paris and in particular, in the section with the additional skulls.

Short Stories by Mace Styx: "The hour was so late (or early, depending on how you looked at it) that she barely saw anyone as she padded silently from the castle, through the winding cobbled streets. The letter she had was burning in her hand and she still had the blade she had used to slit the King’s throat. If a member of the city watch found her, she was worse than dead. Still, she felt oddly calm".

It was a Monday. Monday was the day grandma got her medicine. She took some pill that some white-coated doctor told us would keep her alive, if only for a little while. I walked to the pharmacy, a couple of blocks away, through the rain. Careful to avoid the divots and dips in the beat-up sidewalk where puddles were beginning to form. There’s an old store that sells rugs and carpets between Grandma’s and the pharmacy.