Really not trying to pick a fight, but why do they always give more credence to a police officer in paranormal stories? As we all see demonstrated nearly daily, nobody is more jumpy and likely to jump to (instant, wrong) conclusions than a police officer.

There’s a documentary on Hulu about Steven Stayner and his family called Captive Audience.

This is a story about real-world, human horror. Sorry it’s a bit long, but a lot happened, and it’s all true, sadly.

In 1989 I bought a 1-bed top-floor apartment in a converted Victorian (19th century) house in south London, England.

Okay this is really long but I’m unsure how to shorten it without giving up some details so.

This happened to me a couple times when I went to people’s houses for work (in the home medical equipment industry). It was usually a middle aged man who was very polite and happy to see me. But then he turned completely frightening if my staff forget to tell me something specific he requested and I showed up without…

I also don’t understand that one.

I’m confused by The Photo. It seems like he butt photographed the window? Am I missing something?

The bloody hands one might be the most memorable of this year, though I think I slightly prefer the one with the train tracks, it was nicely evocative. 

My favourite was the college girl who was given a lift by the seemingly kind, but insistent, good looking driver (even though she had her bike with her). His sudden, shocking change of attitude and unknown motive were the spooky part. What was with that guy, and why did he seem to change his mind and drop her off…

Whew, I’m glad I got to the page before it was annoying re-arranged into a slideshow.

This happened to the ex-boyfriend of my cousin Alex. His family had just purchased a home in San Angel, a neighborhood in Mexico City filled with history and old houses. Among other things, it was site to the mass hanging of men belonging to Saint Patrick’s Battalion.

A Single Flower

And here’s another tale from my mom’s time in the lab:

I grew up in a small town in central Illinois surrounded by miles of corn fields in every direction, broken only by the interstate to the east. Class sizes hovered around 80, and it wasn’t unusual to invite half the class to parties. This was especially true for kids who lived on the outskirts of town or out in the…

“Tales from an ER Laboratory”

This happened to me when I was about seven years old.

So. My late husband and I, our first flat together, above a tattoo studio. You came off the street and down a tiny dark alleyway to our front door. You went up a flight of steep narrow stairs from the street, up to the kitchen and the bedroom, and then a second flight of stairs (imagine a kind of Z shape) to the…

So I realize I’m late to the party, but I thought I’d share this anyways.

Never Answer the Third Time