Spiders

Did you know that spiders have the uncanny ability to send signals out to other spiders long after they're dead? These signals are made up of various combinations of chemicals that, when transmitted, can only be interpreted by other spiders who receive them. 

The messages that stem from the blend of chemicals are often very specific. Below are just a few examples of what those signaled messages can mean:

Some are meant as warnings. Some convey the last known locations of potential and easy prey. 

Some are simply instructions to take revenge on the entity/entities that destroyed them.


When was the last time you killed a spider? 




[Disclaimer: Image first seen on and grabbed from https://m.facebook.com/CREEPYismofficial] 

The Thing In The Basement

I've lived in this house for a long time and have always loved it here. There is no place in this house I haven't explored. Every nook, cranny, recess, hidden passage, you name it, I've been there. This house is ancient－over a hundred years old－and has a distinct vintage quality about it not unlike well aged wine.

The place is, for the most part, quiet. This is actually something I relish about it. It gives me a sense of freedom to do whatever I like, without interruption and distraction.

My favorite part of the house－the basement. It's the quietest and, inadvertently, the most peaceful part of the house since hardly anyone goes down there. I often hang out here in the cool comfort of the basement, just for the calm and serenity; it inspires me, especially when I am constantly seeking creative ideas for the type of work I do.

So I absolutely hate it every time someone moves in. Especially if it's a family with noisy children and dogs. I hate being disturbed. That's when those creative ideas come into play; and I emerge from the dark, shadowy basement...


* * *
I liked it so much better when it was just me and the old caretaker back then.

[Disclaimer: Image not mine.]

Chair Souls

You know how when sometimes you sit in a chair and lean into the backrest, only to leap back up immediately because you thought you felt the backrest wasn't there? 

That's actually the soul of the chair wanting to escape and claim a new host.

[Disclaimer: Image not mine.]

Playtime

I live alone. I'm used to it by now; the peace, quiet and freedom are a nice reprieve from a big family home full of noisy people and pets. Don't get me wrong, I like both. But there are times when you just need a place of your own to get away from it all, and still have the option to go back to visit.

One time, after a night of partying and drinks at the bar, I got home pretty late. It was around 3.00 in the morning. Tired from the night's events, I just wanted to take a quick shower before crawling into bed. So I turned on the shower and let it run for a bit to let the stall steam up nice and hot as usual before going at it; habit of mine, I suppose. Then I entered the shower stall.

After I was done, I turned off the shower, grabbed my towel and was about to step out when I heard it－the high-pitched, ringing laughter of a child, followed by another child, and another child; like they were having fun at the playground below my apartment. They started squealing and giggling so happily and I imagined they were chasing each other around the giant slide. 

Smiling sleepily at that thought, I proceeded to dry myself off as I stepped out of the stall. After getting dressed, I climbed into bed, thankful for the warmth and softness of my pillow.

The next morning, I woke up with a sudden thought－"Why were kids playing downstairs at nearly 4.00 in the morning??" As it was already daylight, that realization didn't quite freak me out as much as it would have the night before.

Until I went to the bathroom to wash up.

There, on the mirror, written in childish handwriting in crayon, were the words, "COME PLAY WITH US TONIGHT."

I immediately searched the 'Classifieds' section on the newspaper for new apartment rentals. Preferably ones that did not have children's playgrounds anywhere nearby.

Last Train

I always take the last train home. 

My shift at the hospital ends at 11.30AM and it takes me about fifteen minutes to get to the train station, just in time to catch the 11.45AM; sometimes with two or three minutes to spare. Miss it, and I'd have to take a cab, which is not only expensive but also difficult to find at that time of night.

Tonight was no different. Immediately after my shift ended, I clocked out, grabbed my bag and bolted for the station so I wouldn't have to miss my train. I always boarded the train in my uniform as there usually wasn't enough time to change.

Hurriedly, I made my way into the station, walking quickly toward the mezzanine where you swiped your transit card at the turnstiles to gain access onto the train platform.

On the way down to the mezzanine, I spotted－lurking in the shadows behind a pillar－a tall, suspicious-looking man in a dark grey hooded jacket. Being the only other person in the quiet station at that time, a growing sense of apprehension had put me on high alert. It looked like he was grasping something in his hand but two things hindered me from seeing what it was: The dim station light and my increasingly frantic haste to make it onto the platform.

As I passed the pillar, the hooded man stepped out from behind it. Throwing all caution to the wind, I broke into a run－my subway card at the ready to be swiped at the turnstile that led onto the platform－praying the train would arrive in time.

It did. The doors opened.

'I made it!', I thought, almost weeping with relief as I squeezed through the train doors as soon as they opened and found a space to stand among the crowd.

Crowd...?

The train was jam-packed with people. I looked around at the unusually large crowd of commuters. 'Strange', I thought. Normally there would be no more than five people per car at this time of night. Why was there such a big crowd tonight? Was there a special event that had taken place nearby? I supposed that’s what it was.

Tired from my shift and thinking no more of it, I moved slightly further into the train, where there was an empty spot you could lean up against, and started to close my eyes for a bit. Moments later, I felt a sudden soreness in my throat, followed by a dull tummy ache. 'Oh crap', I thought. Was I coming down with something? I couldn't afford to lose a shift; I had rent and bills to pay! Every shift mattered! I massaged my throat and stomach in an attempt to soothe the discomfort.

About half an hour later, the discomfort in my throat and stomach had crescendoed into a painful throb. Fortunately, I was just five more stops away from mine. I tried to endure the pain for another twenty more minutes. Finally, clutching my increasingly painful stomach while massaging my now-burning throat, I stepped out of the train onto the overcrowded platform.

Wait...

Why was it so crowded here? It had to be close to 1.00AM! I skimmed through my surroundings quickly. Something was wrong.

This wasn’t my stop! This...this was the stop where I had first boarded the train! A creepy feeling of disquiet crept into my heart as I moved, past the masses of faceless people milling about on the platform, toward the mezzanine.

And there on the ground, lying next to a pillar, I saw her; A girl in a nurse’s uniform. She had blood pouring out of two nasty wounds－one across her throat and the other in her abdomen－made by a very sharp knife. In an instant, the memories came flooding back to me.

I had never left the mezzanine that night. I never got to swipe my card at the turnstile. I never even made it past the pillar. My assailant, the hooded man, had attacked me with a knife. Yes. That was what he was holding in his fist. 

I remember it now. I remember it all.

* * *
If you happen to take the last train at night and see an unusually large crowd of people, do come up and say “Hi”. I’m the girl in a nurse’s uniform, standing near a pillar, clutching my throat and stomach in a painful grimace.

Devoid

Late one night, I was in my study typing out another one of my stories on my laptop and pausing every now and then to snack on a BLT sandwich－my usual late night snack－when I noticed something had taken place. I think I felt it at first, rather than saw it; a sudden and abrupt change in the atmosphere.

It wasn't anything tangible; more of a...change in mood, for lack of a better description. Taking a quick, cursory glance around, everything looked, smelled and sounded normal. Except it felt off.

Distracted from my writing, I got up from my chair and walked over to the window, pulling the blinds opened slightly to get a peek into the outside. I didn't know what I was looking for at that time, nor expecting to see. But as I peered out my window into the darkened street that was meekly illuminated by a lone lamppost giving out a pale, amber light, I saw nothing. Everything appeared as they would in their usual shadowy black, grey and white under the meager yellow lighting－homes, vehicles, outlines of trees and landscaping... I stared out into the dimly-lit street for a few more seconds before closing back the blinds and returning to my story.

I must have imagined the feeling. I mean, I write horror stories. And in the course of doing so, as ideas form in my over-imaginative mind, I tend to freak myself out at times. Snorting at my silliness, I attempted to resume where I had left off in my story. But I found that I couldn't continue.

The earlier sense of the change in atmosphere had become slightly stronger. I exhaled a heavy breath, sat up straight and let my eyes drink in my surroundings once more, lingering a little longer on them this time. Yet again, nothing was out of the ordinary in its appearance.

Something compelled me to the window again. And, in the moment that my heart had reluctantly made the decision to stand up and head towards the window and my brain had received the signal to do so, triggering movement in my legs, I felt something click in me, as if confirming this was something that needed to be done and giving me approval as I obeyed the call.

I pulled the blinds apart and once again, my eyes began to scan the outside. It was then I noticed something, something odd. It was subtle enough that I didn't realize immediately; the light from the lamppost was now glowing white. Not amber, not even remotely pale yellow, but white. As snow. Like the xenon bulbs of a car's modified headlights.

I rubbed my eyes, thinking I must have been having too many late nights and not enough sleep. But I looked again and, sure enough, white light was emanating from the lamppost. Weird, I thought. Had I seen it wrongly earlier? Was there a recent installation of new light bulbs for the lampposts in my neighborhood that I did not know of? That's highly possible. Makes sense too.

But it wasn't the only thing that was off.

Normally, in white light, though dim, you'd still be able to distinguish between colors of objects under its illumination. But with yellow lighting, things would mostly just appear washed out, as if they were colorless. Especially so in a much darker setting like the scene outside my window at that time of night.

But no. It wasn’t like that here. Staring intently at the objects dimly illuminated by the white light outside my window, I saw something was amiss. Everything seemed to have...there were no other words for it...lost their color.

A cold hand started to creep around my heart. Was I experiencing some sort of color-blindness?? Torn between the need for confirmation and the fear of finding out, I forced myself to shut the blinds and turn around.

The first thing that came into view was my pinewood desk and chair, both in bleached shades of yellow. Yellow! I could see yellow! Next, was my red laptop sitting on top of my desk where I'd left it. I could see that, too; a shiny, metallic red; a color that, right then, had never looked more beautiful to me. Other things, in full vivid color, simultaneously flooded into my view right then. I had never been so happy!

I closed my eyes and let out a huge sigh of relief, overjoyed at the fact that my color vision was still intact. I started to rationalize that, at that time of night, the darkness－causing visibility to be significantly limited－coupled with my lack of sleep had probably made things appear that way outside my window. The reason had been that simple.

Until I opened my eyes... And saw that the light yellow color in my pinewood furniture was fading to a greyish white! The red color of my laptop－proud and shiny a minute ago－was now receding into a dark, angry-looking shade of grey! I whirled around madly, my eyes frantically scouring the other objects in the room. Like an oil painting melting in a fire, the colors of everything in my study were ebbing away right before my very eyes! I ran out into my living room, followed by the kitchen and finally, my bedroom. The same thing was happening everywhere in the house. The instant I'd laid eyes on anything, it was always the same; its color about to bleed away completely!

What was happening??

Hot tears of panic welled up in my eyes as I blinked them back furiously, trying to fight the fear that had threatened to overcome me. But my vision became blurry as the room started swimming. And then, everything faded to black.

I woke up on the floor with bright, white sunlight pouring into my bedroom. As the sickening recollection of the previous night hit me, I dashed out my front door into the street. Right before me, the nightmare unfolded as the last vestiges of blue in the sky drained away. The trees, once cloaked in myriads of greens and browns in varying shades, had dissolved into a dull monotone. There was a morbid sense of surreality. It felt as if I was watching a never-ending sitcom back in the early 1940s on black and white TV. Nothing was ever the same again.

* * *
My world is now devoid of color.

Most of all, I miss the color red.

These days, I lock myself in my home with a bottle of vodka and stab at my colorless limbs with a kitchen knife, just so I can catch a glimpse of red before the blood fades into black.

Curtains

Her curtains were always kept closed at night for she did not like looking out of the window; afraid of what she might see in the dark.

So when she got up one night to use the bathroom and found her curtains had been opened, she went over to the window to close them before leaving the room.

Upon returning, she saw that her curtains had been drawn opened yet again and once more, moved to close them.

This incident kept repeating over the next few nights until one night, little Josie complained to her mother, "Mom, there's a lady outside my window and she keeps closing my curtains!"

The Stomach Eaters

Grandpa and I were always close. It had been that way ever since I was a kid and he lived with us. He would tell me the most enthralling stories, some of which he'd claimed were true. Even now, I still listened to his stories with mirth and anticipation, because you could never know what he was going to tell you.

On the day of my 17th birthday, Grandpa, at 83 years of age, told me a story I would never forget. He told me about the Stomach Eaters. I literally laughed out loud when he said that. Grandpa glared at me for a moment before I realized he was being serious. I hushed up. At that instant－I thought I'd imagined it－a look of something akin to...pride?...flashed on his wrinkled face. It was there for a split-second. And then it was gone, replaced by his usual serious "story-telling-mode-on" look as he grimly added, "This one is a true story, son."

He spoke of an ancient race of people called the Ventervescors, which translates loosely in English to "Stomach eat or devour". I guess it didn't sound so comical in Latin. They had the outward appearance of a regular human being. They even acted, sounded and aged like one on the whole. Except for when it came to meal times. That was when they gathered together as a family, usually in the middle of the night, and feasted on a human being's stomach while he was still alive.

The poor naked human would be lying down, alive but unconscious, with his wrists and ankles shackled tightly to the four corners of a large dining table. While he was still unconscious, the females would remove his vocal cords so he couldn't scream after he regained consciousness; Ventervescors had always liked the quiet.

Shortly after, the human would awaken. As the ravenous family prepared to dig in to their meal, two rows of razor-sharp teeth, both top and bottom, would emerge in front of their regular humanoid teeth, allowing them to tear, chaw on and grind up their food with ease. The oldest member of the family would start by placing both palms, one near the solar plexus and the other on the lower abdomen of their entrée. Then he would lower his head, sink his razor teeth in and tear off the belly button and give it to the youngest member. This would signify the commencement of the feast.

For the next twenty minutes or so, there would only be the sounds of tearing, crunching and swallowing going on. Ventervescors never consumed any other part of the human body while it was alive; only the stomach, as it was believed to contain the richest of essences brought forth by its conscious fear. The surrounding areas around the human's head and thighs would quickly be littered with tears, urine and other bodily fluids－discharged by his own primal fear. His mouth would be wide opened in silent screams of excruciating pain and agony as the Stomach Eaters ate peacefully. After the meal ended, the remainder of the body would be smoked, cured, dried and ground or whatever that was needed to be processed into stock, seasonings and preservatives. There was no wastage.

I listened in rapt awe, not once interrupting as Grandpa narrated the macabre tale in all its gruesome detail. I always had a bizarre fascination for gore. Instead of being put off like most people would, there was something in it that intrigued me.

Later that day, whilst playing some zombie apocalypse game on my computer, I started getting hungry and vaguely wondered about whatever it was Mom had gone out so early this morning to get in preparation for my birthday dinner. So, a little while later, when Mom announced that dinner was ready, I leaped up from my computer and went downstairs to the dining room in eager anticipation.

Mom had decorated the dining room with candles and had gotten a new tablecloth as well. "You don't know how excited everyone is, son.”, Dad said to me as he clapped me on my back. “We, in particular your Grandfather, have all been waiting for this moment to arrive and at last, it’s here!", Dad exclaimed, smiling at Grandpa and then back at me as he continued proudly, "You have come of age, my boy, and are now finally ready!" 

He then nodded at Grandpa and gave him a thumbs up.

Putting both palms on the dish, Grandpa leaned in to bite the belly button off of the silently sobbing man and gave it to me. I accepted it and immediately felt, for the first time, razor-sharp adult teeth sprout from the recesses of my gums. I bit into the soft, chewy umbilicus. 

The feast had begun.