The Bird In Your Home

Miss Jones, the old woman down the street who I sometimes help cross the road to the bus stop, came knocking at my door at 4am yesterday morning to remove a “bird” from her loft.

I said “okay” and pulled on a jacket and my pair of red crocs from the shoe cupboard and followed her to her house. I wasn’t entirely sure how to get rid of a bird but I thought I’d try and be helpful. She’s a 60 year old woman who lives on her own and I wouldn’t particularly like to upset her.

The house itself seemed to be covered in a thin layer of charcoal like it had spread from a gust of wind, similar to when sand from the Sahara Desert came to the UK during a storm except located entirely within Miss Jones home.

I didn’t think too much of it at the time.

I went upstairs, and to the entrance to the loft. You could hear squawking and the flutter of wings. The ladder was already down, and a black mist was seeping out. You could see swirls and patterns in the mist, illuminated by the lightbulb inside the loft.

I climbed up the cold, metal runged ladder and stood hunched in the loft, coughing from the charcoal in the air.

In front of me, perhaps 8 feet tall, hunched and looming was a black feathered beast. The tips were wispy like smoke, and moved fluidly. It had 6 eyes on either side of its face, 6 somewhat average for something of it’s size and then 3 slightly smaller ones to the left. The pupils of the eyes were purple and glowing, like some sort of magic perhaps. Or maybe a creature from a separate world.

It was like a monstrous deformation of a crow. Its wings looked cramped in the tight space, and it definitely wasn’t meant to be here.

It squawked loudly, all 6 eyes looking in my direction. I was startled and couldn’t move, it was like nothing I had ever seen before. Miss Jones eyesight must be getting quite poor if she assumed this was a regular crow.

I went out the front of her house and grabbed my phone, calling 999 and the operator responded with a “hold on” after I told her my situation.

15 minutes later the call ended on their end, and a black helicopter was in the sky above. It came down as discreetly as is possible of a helicopter.

A group of 5 masked men rushed into Miss Jones house and a lot of noise was heard from the loft, and a brick was dislodged from the front of the house, accompanied by a slight puff of orange dust falling.

Moments later, the five men came back out. One of them was collapsed, or dead and was being dragged by two at the back. The man at the front was holding a white, ice-like cube with a strange black orb inside of it.

Then around 5 minutes later the helicopter was gone from view and I said goodnight to Miss Jones.

I’m not sure whether I should be concerned, or glad it was handled. Either way, I suppose it’s out of my hands now. If you readers at home are aware of any strange occurrences, or anything you deem news-worthy please message me when you can.

Local Man claims he saw “Wolves made of Smoke”

At 2am, the moon shining brightly with a cloudless sky in May, Leroy Perry knocked at the door of my house in a frenzy. His hair was slightly messy, his clothes slightly torn, a claw mark on his chest, blood dripping and staining the clothes and his jeans. He had a scent of cigarettes and freshly cut grass. 

He was promptly rushed to the hospital, after all I don’t want the house share’s front doormat getting stained with his blood. I’ll admit it was quite peculiar, I wasn’t even sure why he was awake at this hour.

It’s been a couple days since and Leroy has awoken. He called me to the bedside and told me what happened. How he had ended up in such a state that he was near death on my doorstep on that night.

The following is a slightly paraphrased version of what he claims are the events of May the 25th 2023.

It was 1am, he was sitting on the hill by the trees at Armley Park, his coat under him, and a can of Coors in his hand looking at the sky. It was a dark grey as it morphed from noon to night. The moon shone a luminescent white in the centre of the sky.

He took a sip of his beer can, and laid down to watch as the stars came out one by one.

The stench of alcohol was laced on his breath, and clearly it had caught the attention of some local wildlife. He laid there, in a relaxed trance, as there was a rustle from the woods behind him.

A scent of a bonfire, or perhaps a burnt out cigarette, clashed with the odour coming from his breath. He sat up, perhaps thinking of moving in case he had disturbed a fox’s den.

He turned around, facing the wilderness, and – illuminated by the moon – was a Wolf, a smokey grey colour with luminous yellow eyes. The light seemed to go through it, you could still make out the shrubbery directly behind it. The smoke moved, but stayed in the shape that resembled a wolf. 

The yellow eyes widened, and stared directly at Leroy.

He started to back away, and it pounced going through his chest and pushing Leroy to the ground. 

A gaping 3 claw cut was slashed across his chest, ripping his clothes and leaving him bleeding out on the hill.

He stumbled down the hill and out onto the streets of Leeds. He clutched his chest and made his way to the nearest house where he knew someone, which just so happened to be Aiden Foxx’s (mine), and you know the story from there.

The side effects of this attack still aren’t known but if anything comes up I will inform you readers.

God Bless The Weatherman

This morning, the weatherman “Scott Acker” was caught taking psychoactive substances before his shift at BritNews in his dressing room. He was late to the set, and one of the runners was sent to retrieve him for the weather segment. The runner opened the door of the room to him, hunched over a bin, throwing up a strange purple substance that was also leaking from his nose and his eyes were glowing purple with slight sparkles.

Newly hired Runner, Anne Mitchells, was horrified and ran out the room screaming after seeing the state he was in. This is some sort of new drug that hasn’t been reported before, but Scott clearly knew about it.

When questioned, Scott said that it wasn’t illegal – but also that it wasn’t explicitly legal either. He claimed that it showed him the weather patterns, the future, and every event that can and will happen in your lifetime. He could see everything.

This seemed honestly slightly bogus, although it was concerning how accurate the weather reporter had been in predicting the weather over the past couple months to a scary degree. I mean usually weather reporters only get it right about 10% of the time but Scott got it exactly right up to the minute every time he would report on it.

As of the present, Scott has been taken off air, and authorities put him in a dark blue truck with red writing on the side saying “English Protection Unit”, and he is presumably in custody. He hasn’t been seen since but I hope that all goes well for him.

BritNews as of present doesn’t have a replacement for Scott but says that there isn’t much worry for the meantime as “it will probably just rain for a while” – James Brown (CEO of BritNews).

The drug currently doesn’t have a name, and its source is unknown but I think that one man knowing everything is an overreach of power and unjust for one person. I prefer the randomness and the unknowing of the future to the suggestion that every possibility is known.

So dear readers, today, to combat the possible feeling that no action you take matters, why not do something at random. Maybe try and say a sentence no one has ever said before, and have a lovely evening.

The Deer Masked Men.

I’m back in my home county of Essex for the weekend as I stay with my parents, and met up with a couple friends whom I went to Secondary School with. It was just a usual meet up, went out to the cinema then went bowling (honestly it’s getting a bit too pricey).

During a walk in the afternoon, as the sun was setting into dusk, we passed by Howards Park. I used to sit there and read books in the middle of summer and chill out sometimes with music playing from my phone. I went to walk into it with Charlie but he stopped me, grabbing my arm. I was, to say the least, confused. I know that it’s a dodgy area (most of England is pretty dodgy) but there’s lamps and a children’s park. It surely can’t have gotten that bad.

Charlie just said “No”. I know he didn’t want me to go in and find out but if anything he peaked my interest. He knows that I write these articles, he knows that I’m a person who wants to know anything about everything. Later, once we said our goodbyes, I went back to the park. 

I had my backpack on still, carrying The Werewolf of Fever Swamp by R.L. Stine, a notepad and pen, torch, a battery pack and wireless headphones. In my left pocket, my phone and in my right a pocket knife and my house keys.

I walked into the park, trying my best not to step on the leaves and twigs spread across the floor. I was slightly hunched, my legs bent at the knee, wary of my surroundings. I could feel a bit of sick at the back of my throat from nerves. 

I walked up to the middle-most bench, and looked around. It seemed completely empty apart from the memorial statue that stood with a torch, the flame originally lit at night, but tonight it flickered and faded out.

I heard a rustle in the direction of the court, with both a tennis and a basketball court, surrounded by a metal fence. A No Dogs sign faded by the sun from when it decided to show from behind the cloudy sky of England. I walked over, hand gripped around my pocket knife.

I could see a vague shadow standing next to the metal fence. A deer, I thought, although I also thought they weren’t in the UK, or at least the south east. I kept my distance, only seeing the shadow of deer antlers from the reflection of the moon. I slowly unzipped my bag, and searched around for my torch, before getting it out and turning it on in their direction.

That’s when I saw 4 or maybe 5 people, each around six feet in height wearing brown hoodies and had dear masks on their heads. Blood was dripping from underneath the mask, but they were alive. They stared at me. All of them. Two of them had antlers, the others did not.

I froze.

It wasn’t a pleasant sight. The masks had eye holes, and the smell of rotting flesh emanated from them to a point where I gagged on it. The ones with antlers held kitchen knives, and they looked like deer in headlights (ha), not moving, only staring at me. At my torch. Staples kept the masks on, stabbed into their necks, another source of the dripping blood.

The one on the left stood up, and slowly walked towards me. I felt like I was in a trance. As it moved, the nose of the mask flopped slightly to one side. I started to walk backwards, I didn’t want to die that day, my pocket knife firmly in my pocket.

If they tried anything I would at least have something. I knew the area, I could try and get away. I let it get closer than I was comfortable with, the smell of rot even harsher against my senses now. It breathed onto my neck through its mask, almost as if it came from the mask’s nostrils rather than from the person behind it.

The blood from its neck dripped slowly, but it wasn’t runny, more thick, like gravy. I could see the fur decaying, and a glint of the eyes behind the mask. They were pitch black. Even up close.

The thing held the knife by its side. I guess it didn’t see me as a threat, which I suppose is fair because I’m a skinny nerd, there isn’t much I could do. I stayed completely still, I thought maybe it was waiting for me to do something. To fight it.

Then, another rustle in the bushes. A fox, slightly visible, rushed under the bench and in front of the creature standing before me. It huffed, stepping backwards, afraid. The others had climbed off the bench into a circle, looking around frantically. 

I took this moment and ran for it. I ran out of the park, up the hill, then down the other side of the hill, down a backroad and reached my parents house.

I don’t know what happened that night, but I’ve tried to recall the events that took place to the best of my memory. The sight of the things, the smell of the rot, and the feel of their hot breath are ingrained in my brain. I don’t know what they were and it’s probably better if I don’t find out.

Ghost of Chicago

I took a holiday to Chicago with my good friend Bria during the term holiday in my break from my studies, just a nice beach holiday whilst exploring the city. Normally we’d get up early, and drink a cup of tea on the beach with a book. I finally managed to get around to reading Carrie by Stephen King which was a nice read. We also visited a few different libraries on our trip, I tend to buy books more than I read them however.

One day, about 3pm in the afternoon, we were eating subway sandwiches in Garfield Park by the lagoon. It was relatively cloudy, but not dark, and across from where I was sitting cross legged on the grass, a meatball marinara half eaten in my hands, I saw a woman perhaps in her mid twenties or early thirties in a wedding gown.

I felt a bit underdressed in my lovejoy t-shirt and jeans.

She was staring away from me, into the city. There wasn’t anyone coming after her, or with her. There was no sort of wedding procession; she was just there. I felt like I should approach her, something about her making me feel compelled to get closer, although I didn’t plan on swimming across to her.

I stood up, leaving my backpack and my coffee, and walked around the lake to see her. As predicted, she was gone by the time I’d gotten to where she was but I saw a glint of her dress from outside the park. I didn’t think much of it and carried on with my holiday for the most part.

Until two days later at Newberry Library when me and Bria were walking around and browsing, and I took a book off a shelf and then I saw her again a few rows down, in the same wedding dress, looking away from me. It was an odd experience, I mean it couldn’t have been the same person no one gets married twice in one week and leaves that wedding each time.

I started to wonder what her story was. Is she a widow? Was she left at the altar? Is she like Miss Havisham except she doesn’t live in isolation? The journalist inside me wanted to know more and I wanted to talk to her, see what she looked like under the dress, and know anything about her.

I decided once more, to try and approach her and find out. I walked past each aisle till, looking down each one (left and right) for any sign of her. Alas, I didn’t see her again. Like the time before. I started to feel a bit paranoid, like I was hallucinating or that someone had slipped something in my drink.

After a quick recovery bottle of coca-cola and a sit down the holiday went on. I started to go a bit mad, like I was seeing her wherever I went. From reflections in windows, to a wedding gown in the distance, to the image of the back of her head in my coffee.

It repeated like that for the rest of the holiday. The last appearance was at 4am during boarding on my final day in America. I was sitting on the plane, phone set up on the little table ready to binge watch Breaking Bad, when I looked out the window and saw her. Once again looking away from me.

She started to turn around, her hair now visible, long and brown. Her face seemed normal, pretty even. As she turned around more however, I could see the other half of her face. It was rotting, the skin peeling off and rotting. Her skull was entirely visible, and her eye was missing. The skull that was visible was a dusty grey, like the build-up on top of a shelf. The hole where her eye was left a black empty void, that not even a brain was visible in.

I did not end up watching Breaking Bad that flight, I was too caught up on the current circumstance to focus on it. Since that trip, that ghastly face has been stuck in my mind. I see it in my dreams when I sleep.

Closure is what I need, but I know I’ll likely never get it.

Haunted Manor

Recently, I took a flight to the town of Summertown (Tennessee, USA).

I’d heard of reports about a house that mysteriously only appears in the month of October. It sits on a nearby hill, typically surrounded by dead grass and perhaps a rabbit’s burrow or two. 

It’s practically a wasteland of weeds and mud.

However, come October 1st and overnight when no one’s watching, the field grows into a corn maze. And at the end?

A two floor hour, seemingly dilapidated and disowned. It seems barren and empty apart from a small candle light in a window. However, the owner of this estate isn’t listed in any records, and hasn’t been spotted by those in the neighbourhood.

At one point it became a spot where teens went at Halloween to throw raves and parties but all that went wouldn’t be seen again. Local police have investigated the area, but all that’s left is usually a stereo and an empty keg of beer.

They haven’t dared set foot in the house itself, or figure out who owns it.

It seems to just be a rule of the town to not set foot near the building despite some still not listening. Last year for instance, 2 girls (Sabrina Gates and Willow Esther) went up to the house with a boy 2 years their junior called Thomas Brooks.

No remains were found apart from Thomas’s phone, with a cracked screen and damaged hardware between a split floorboard at the entrance.

I thought it would be wise to investigate, given the nature of my site.

I checked local records and found that the house in question existed in 1932, under the ownership of Damien Thorn. A (at the time) 19 year old with an interest in woodwork and engineering.

He died 7 months after the house was built, found in his workshop out at back.

It was done by one of his own machines although it seemed more like an accident than a suicide.

From looking through the windows of the house from a hill across from it, I looked inside the house to see string connecting images on a wooden pinboard, although they were black and white and slightly ripped.

Next to it, a desk with a wooden chair that had a broken back. To the right of the bottom floor, was presumably a living room although from where I looked in all i saw was a bench with one leg snapped and some paint cans.

No one really knows what’s inside but apparently before his death, Damien was planning a Haunted House for the local town.

This is only speculation (although it isn’t unlikely considering the matter at hand of a disappearing house) but some believe that each year it appears and those who visit go through a haunted house of which rather than scares or tricks, are traps that result in death.

It would explain the missing persons cases.

Angela Thorpe, 1952, dismembered arm found in the local forest – a clean cut as if done by a quick, sharp blade.

Ben Axle, 1967, head found with no body and no eyes.

These files seemed more like something you’d see out of a Saw movie than reality, but yet here we are.

Since the disappearances last year, the field in question has been surrounded in police tape. Sadly this won’t stop everyone but it is at least somewhat of a precaution.
I’ll update you if I find any more information on the topic, but for now this case is unsolved.

Notice: I hope I don’t have to explain this, however just incase, this is a fictional news site and does not portray real life events.

A New Revolutionary Blogging App

by FoxWithAKeyboard

Written: 15th August 2022

A new app has entered the market, called “FoxBlog”, created by newly graduated University Student “Saul Foxwell”. Similar to TikTok and Instagram, your feed is based on what you’ve liked rather than what’s popular and it shows you what it thinks you would like so you don’t have to go looking.

It has a simple premise, you can create a blog with an email address and password, this allows you to post anonymously under an alias about whatever. From travelling, to reviews of amusement parks they have it all.

Whilst the app is relatively small compared to its competitors, what makes it completely different is what is hidden in the Terms of Service. After a long scroll, you will come across a line which says “by signing up to this site, you consent to the CEO of FoxBlog owning the contents of your soul and any affiliated possessions.”

When creating the site, Saul claimed that it was a “little gag […] not to be taken seriously”, as he personally believed that the soul wasn’t a real, tangible object and therefore could not be owned or controlled.

In recent weeks, the app has increased from 5 actively daily members, to 3,725 (on average). With it, many have unknowingly handed their souls over to Mr. Foxwell.

The baffled young adult, now with a job in IT in London, has started receiving letters with white glowing orbs inside of them. The envelopes are sealed, but pulsing, with nothing but a name and date of birth attached to each.

When word got out about the disturbing consequence, many simply shrugged and said something along the lines of “Better than that lizard guy.”, provoking me to wonder why our society has become so numb to losing personal data that losing ownership of your own soul no longer seems like a negative and more of a “meh” thing.

What powers and conditions which come with soul ownership is unknown, however Saul has started going by the name of “The Soul Master”, walking around with a cloak similar to that of a mediaeval wizard or something you would see out of Lord of the Rings. It seems as if this has stroked his ego more than anything, and made him power hungry, whilst he flaunts around like a nerd who plays too much Dungeons and Dragons.

This 22-year-old programmer has discovered what no scientist ever has, confirming the existence of the soul. Whilst this man should be congratulated on this discovery, it is also rather concerning whether he handles this well or becomes the next soul-bearing supervillain.

The future is uncertain as of right now, and time will tell what happens next, but I fear the worst.

Notice: I hope I don’t have to explain this, however just incase, this is a fictional news site and does not portray real life events.

The “Hunters” Internet Cult

by FoxWithAKeyboard – NOTE: this is a fictional news site

Written: 14th August 2022

Cults are nasty business, and getting into one is easier than the casual observer may think. They involve drugs, trafficking, exploitation of minors, and suicide pacts.

Many people are aware of cults such as Aum Shinrikyo, People’s Temple and Heaven’s Gate which are run by people who want power and control. People who wish to control a group, and give them a set of beliefs. They have disturbing rituals and practices which the members believe are normal as that is what they’ve become accustomed to.

This story, however, begins on 4chan.

4chan is a place known for toxicity, racism and adult content. The users are mostly lonely people who are terminally online (a phrase referring to someone closely engaged with Internet culture) and therefore easy to manipulate.

On the 7th of March 2020, multiple posts were made on 4chan to various message boards. They have been found on “Video Games”, “Weapons”, “History & Humanities”, “LGBT” and “Very Important Posts”. There are slight variations, however the image below is the message found on /v/.

This was the beginning of a further mystery.

This is how they started recruiting.

Both the poster and the cult owner are unknown, but they call themselves “Hestia” – the Goddess of Domestic Life, Home and Hearth¹. Their identity is still unknown but it is presumed that as of present day they are dead or replaced. The significance of this name is likely the feeling they wanted to give off rather than them actually being a Greek God.

On the server were displays of a madman. Discussions of murders and sacrifices were common, with an entire text channel dedicated to finding targets. All that was needed was a name, date of birth and a reason, the latter of which is never fact checked.

Multiple ex-members have come forward with statements. They claimed to witness the “use of wizardry”, descriptions which could only be either the use of Visual Effects or the powers of a God. Sacrifices are made, displays of severe violence are recorded and meetings between members are held weekly.

I have seen no confirmed murders, however many mentioned in the “hitlist” text channel have missing posters and have not been found.

I’ve seen theories online suggesting that perhaps it is some ARG or online puzzle game but that would be a harmful misconception. There is no puzzle to this group. 

As of present, the group is estimated to have 517 members, most recruited from the popular game “VR Chat”, and mainly composed of those aged 12 to 19, with few above that age range. I believe this is because children are the most easily manipulated.

The claims of the cult such as their number of kills and member count are difficult to confirm however what we can confirm is the strange rituals they partake in. Members were given paid tickets to fly to Greece, and stayed in local hotels when invited to participate. 

They have been seen patrolling the Vikos National Park, Greece, with shotguns and fire torches. Ex-members have claimed they partook in cannibalism on the 17th day each month which they originally were told was bison, and they would “ascend” members by gathering atop Mount Olympus. They said during ascension the eyes would “glow like the sun was ingrained in their skulls”, and they would “float upwards” as the group sang hymns in latin.

Any updates on this group’s activities will be posted on this site, certain footage isn’t allowed to be posted due to concerns from authorities.

¹ Hearth – the area round a fireplace (used especially with reference to a person’s home or family life).

The New “Nicolet High School”

Article by AFoxWithAKeyboard

Written: 13th August 2022

A forest presumed to be haunted is perhaps the last place you would expect to find a school, however this isn’t the case for the Nicolet National Forest in Wisconsin, USA.

The school opened some time within the past few weeks, with no permit authorising its construction. No scaffolding or construction of any kind was witnessed by wanderers or park rangers and it has proved quite difficult to navigate to.

It goes a mile off the marked paths and seems more as if it was messily placed in a shrouded area of trees rather than built due to the short time it took to appear.

The school has a metal fence surrounding, similar to that of a prison meant to protect those outside its walls. It’s constructed similarly to a run-down British primary school but slightly larger and more threatening. I doubt any child would set foot inside but then again I don’t see the world through the eyes of a 10 year old.

The school has a sign proudly placed in front of the metal bars proclaiming that they are “The Highest Rated High School in Wisconsin”. Because the school currently has no pupils this is bogus and a fraudulent attempt for students to enrol.

I asked my assistant Tye to monitor the building and he has some outlandish claims.

First off,  he mentioned how there were “12 slender figures in suits with tentacles”. Perhaps that is his unflattering way of describing white Americans. The “Playground” is a glorified cage with a basketball hoop and a wooden bench which “seems only big enough for 4 children.”

The rooms within are what make me the most fearful.

Most seem bland, the walls painted an off-white with a few tables and chairs. At the front of each, a blackboard with chalk. A whiteboard and pens would’ve been more appropriate given the times but it isn’t a major issue.

What shocked me however, was Tye’s description of what he called a “surgeons home”. He does exaggerate often but from the fear in his voice over the phone I think that this is mostly accurate. There was a table with tools spread across it, laced in blood and uncleaned. If it had a hygiene rating it would be lower than 0.

There was a plastic operation table, with a gas mask (presumably for anaesthetics). To the side, by the refrigerator, were mini coolers that looked more like bland lunch boxes. I wish for the best when this school opens in the coming weeks, and I pray my fears aren’t confirmed.

Dear readers, keep your eyes peeled for any suspicious activity in the Nicolet Forest area.

Strange Occurrence Last Night In The Sky

At 00:44 last night, once most of the UK were asleep, there was a loud rumble. Almost like a train going past your home or an aeroplane flying low above you. However, it was more echoey and booming.

I looked out my window in the midst of writing an essay for a University Assignment and saw a large crack form on the moon, seeping a purple mist that stained the sky a dark, violent purple. It began to get wider, and then it cracked upwards into an oval.

A bulging purple eye was in its place, with a red pupil.

I suddenly felt hot and bothered, as if someone’s eyes were staring me down from behind. As if I was being judged.

I turned on the British News channel to see if any of this was being reported but nothing, the channel was completely offline. Looking onto the street below was just silence. The streetlamps were off, but you could see for miles in the purple luminance that was spread from the sky.

It was almost like it was sunset just without the various hues of blue, orange and yellow – and it was completely silent like the world had entered some sort of parallel universe where the entire human race had been wiped out.

The sensation of paranoia was flooding through me, and I shut the curtains hoping it would solve the problem, but it seeped through the curtain leaving a speckled mess of purple on the hardwood floor. It was intense and stressful, I didn’t quite know what to do.

I walked into the hallway and tried to wake up my housemates Bria and Charlie. Charlie slept through it but Bria woke up and stumbled into the hallway asking what’s wrong.

I took her into my room and opened the curtains. You could see her physically shudder at the sight of the eye in the sky. The red pupil always seemed to be glaring into your soul. Seeing your insecurities, your worries, your worst moments and every bad side of you: From that time you were in Primary School and messed up during the school play, to the other week when you spilled your coffee on your lap.

It was an overwhelming feeling of dread, and it was never ending.

We sat there, huddled on the bed looking out the window. Eventually, a creaking sound happened at roughly 5:30am as the eye started to close again before another booming thud as it was closed shut.

If you look in the sky now, the crack is still present on its surface.

This could be some sort of Natural phenomenon or maybe a case of Carbon Monoxide poisoning, or maybe some sort of alien: I am not sure, I’m no scientist or an expert on extraterrestrials but that was an experience I will never forget in my life.