Screams and Memories

💀 “It got into my hand and it went bad… so I lopped it off at the wrist.” --- 📦 What’s in the Box? I stared at the old box on the table, heart thudding louder with every second. Who would leave this here? And why? It looked harmless enough—aged wood, worn corners—but the strange symbol carved into the lid told a different story. Inside: a book. Thick. Warped. Bound in something that didn’t feel like leather. It smelled of dirt and copper… like grave soil and old blood. The edges were scorched, as if it had narrowly escaped a fire—or something worse. Danny stepped in like he had always been there. I didn’t hear the door open. I never do anymore. He just appears. Like guilt. Like memory. “What is that?” he asked, not moving any closer. “Someone left it at my door,” I said. “Knocked and vanished. Just… this.” He leaned over, hand outstretched—then snatched it back. Like it burned him. “You keep bringing things into this house like it’s not already haunted.” “I need to know w...

🕯️ The Nightly Storyteller: A Moss-Covered Cemetery The wind sighs through broken stone, brushing against the name I whisper like a spell. “Dad.” They say grief fades. But some shadows stretch across lifetimes. He’s been gone for years now—so has she. But I still hear him in dreams. That slow chuckle. The creak of the hallway as he checked on me late at night. He wasn’t a perfect man… but he was mine. And now? I speak to silence. And sometimes… it answers back. The sky feels too pale today. The air… too thin. There’s something unnatural curling beneath my skin. Something watching. I see them now—auras. They wrap around people like invisible fire: Red. Green. Violet. Each one pulses with intent. With… hunger. > (Buzz. Unknown Number.) “They pulse with intent,” the voice hisses. “Red—rage. Green—grief. Violet… hunger.” I doubled over. That word did something. Twisted something. I gagged as the scent of rot and sickly sweetness invaded my throat, like funeral flowers dipped in decay. ...