"The killer, yet unidentified, has left local victims' bodies mangled and nearly unrecognizable. We need to warn you that the following details are disturbing.... The victims are thought to have been drugged and tortured with a crude weapon. No fingerprints have been identified at any of the crime scenes. Forensic experts are now suspecting the killer has disfigured their own hand to use as a weapon, having flayed the skin from each finger, filed each bone to a razor's edge and then dipped each digit in molten metal to seal and harden the weapon. Local authorities are in a tireless search for the killer, and recommend that residents stay calm and safe behind locked doors until this deranged felon can be brought to justice."
Feeling sick, I picked up the remote and flicked to another channel searching for a sitcom or something to ease my nerves. Were all of those gruesome details really necessary? The thought of those victims, some only several miles from my house, was making me break a cold sweat.
My thoughts turned to Delilah, as they always do. Where is she? Is she safe? Is someone protecting her? I still loved her so much, even two years after the divorce. How could I have been so judgmental? If I had just tried to understand her better, listened a little more, then maybe I wouldn't be alone now.
Restless, I stood up to do a quick patrol of the house, making sure my security system was still armed. It was pass-code protected, and I had adjusted the settings so that even one incorrect pass-code entry would set off an alarm and have police on their way.
Feeling reassured, I returned to the couch. The voices on the television helped me feel less alone. It was 2am now, and I let myself drift into a light sleep, knowing an alarm would go off if anyone tried to get into the house.
....I woke in a panic, feeling deeply uneasy. The TV was off. The lights were out. Had I turned them off? I tried to move but my body felt like it was made out of lead. My head was swimming. I rolled off the couch, crawled to the switch on the wall, and flicked on the lights.
I collapsed to the ground in a wordless horror, as the drugs took over my body. Carved into the wood floor where my head now lay was this message:
DEAREST, YOUR PASS-CODE WAS STILL MY BIRTHDAY
YOU ARE READING
Scary ghost stories and stuff (1)
HorrorThese are from the net however they are the creepiest stories ever!.......o(╥﹏╥)o in other words I did not write ANY of them. so please credit the right full owners, thank you.
