Reddit Collection (Fresh-Short #9) by DeYtH Banger (ebook reader with highlight function .txt) 📕

torso. The shots I heard were him shooting the cow in the head.

It kept going like that. For years. A chicken or a duck here and there. Something bigger only very rarely. It sounds absurd but I almost came to think of it as commonplace. I only ever caught glimpses of the thing until what comes next. It terrified me. It happened in the middle of the day, over the course of a long weekend when my parents had gone to Seattle to see my uncle, who was ill.

 

It was on a Saturday afternoon, I was 17 years old. I was out in the barn putting out food for the horses and the dogs. The horses were running around out in the pasture and the dogs were asleep in the corner of one of the horse stalls. I heard something rustling in the tall grass outside in the pasture. The dogs looked around a little bit but didn't seem to mind. I assumed it was just one of the horses waiting for me to leave so they could eat. I kept going about what I was doing, and in several minutes I thought I heard breathing. I turned to look and it was standing in the door. Tall as hell even hunched over.

 

The sun was streaming in behind it, lighting up all the dust in the air around it like some kind of sickly halo. It was looking at me. Considering me. Maybe it was trying to decide whether or not I was food. I remember swearing, turning, and running as fast as I could for the house, not even thinking. Panic causing my legs to move. It was behind me, not even breathing hard. I heard it's feet hitting the ground in a constant rhythm. I got to the house, opened the door, slammed it behind me and locked it as fast as I could. I tore through the house, locking every door, and drawing the blinds on every window. I could hear it snarling outside the back door. The dogs were barking at it, but they wouldn't try to attack the thing. It was too big and they knew it. It roared at the dogs and they ran off, probably to hide in the pasture.

 

I went to my parent's bedroom and got Dad's rifle. I loaded it, set up a chair in the living room facing the back door, and waited. It started prowling around the house, I could hear it's feet crunching on the gravel of the driveway and the wooden planks of the back deck. It kept walking, back and forth. I thought about trying to look through a window to see it, but I was too scared. Eventually, after hours of hoping it would go away, the sun went down. I turned on all of the outside lights and went up to my room. I opened my window, with the rifle in my hands, hoping to be able to pick the thing off from above.

 

 

I saw it lurking just beyond the glow from the porchlight. It had long, sinewy arms, and walked on bent knee. It was by the chicken coop. Then it disappeared from view. I heard the chickens squaking and screeching. The thing reappeared with a dead, bloody chicken in it's hands. It bit off one of the wings with jaws that were dripping with slime and drool and let the dead bird drop to the ground at it's feet. Then it looked at me. It's eyes made contact with my eyes. It turned away again, back to the chickens. It came back with another bird, mutilated it in front of me, and dropped it. It went back again. And again.

 

I should have taken a shot at it, but I was astounded and confused trying to figure out what it was doing. Then it hit me, it was a show of power. It was showing me that it was stronger than me. That it could do whatever it wanted to do because I couldn't stop it. At the same time I felt powerless and sickened. Powerless because what it was saying was true. If it was just that thing and me, I wouldn't stand a chance. Sickened because I realized what kind of intelligence it would need to be able to convey that message. The thought shook me out of my stupor and I remembered the rifle at my side. It was heading back to the chickens, and I decided that when it came back I would take my shot.

 

It strode back to the porch. Almost arrogant, walking on bended knee with those arms so long that the chicken was nearly dragging on the ground. I raised the rifle up to my eye, and tried to steady myself. My heart was beating so hard I could see the rifle shaking ever so slightly in rhythm with each heart beat I could hear pounding in my own ears. It raised the body to it's mouth and just as it was about to put the chicken's head inside, I squeezed the trigger. The crack of the gun echoed in the now shattered quiet of the nighttime standoff and I heard it howl. A painful, loud, startled howl. I had hit it on the outside of the shoulder. It ran off into the night. I never saw it again. It was still out there, though. It still killed chickens, and other things. More often than before.

 

I'm writing all of this now because my parents died three weeks ago. They were killed in a collision with a drunk driver. He survived. They left me the farm, and I intend to live here with my own family. I'm 32 now, and I work for an Oregon Fish and Game office in Salem. I'm married to a wonderful woman named Stephanie. We have one son, Zachary, who is four years old. We are expecting a daughter in four months. I've come to the farmhouse alone today, I told Steph that I just wanted some time alone in my parent's house. To deal with some emotions. She was very understanding.

 

I've come back to claim what is rightfully mine. I have Dad's rifle next to me on the table and it is almost dusk. I've also brought several portable halogen lights to set up around the house, and my own shotgun. I'm borrowing a handgun from Joe, a guy at Fish and Game who I work with. When I am done typing this account of my memories, I will print it out, and leave it on the dining room table, along with my wedding ring and my key to the safe deposit box where my will is kept. Everything is loaded and ready. Hopefully I will return here to collect these things and nobody will ever know I wrote this.

 

Steph, in the event that you are the unfortunate soul to find this, which I'm terrified to think seems a likely outcome; the thought of you having to go on alone hurts me more than anything in this world ever can, know that I love you more than anything and I hope you understand that I am doing this to keep you safe. Zachary, I love you and can only hope you grow up to be a good, kindhearted, and strong man like your grandfather was. To my unborn daughter, if I don't live long enough to meet you, it will be the single greatest regret of my life.

Tell the police, tell fish and game, call Joe, he's one of the few people who knows about this. Make this situation known. Eventually someone will kill it, even if it isn't me. Goodbye for now.

Ode To Slender-Man

 By Mike

 

 

Upon the cloudy night he did come,
The Slender-Man hunts for his prey.
Alone, a walker roams the forest he does,
and within seconds, gone they are away.

The detectives they hunt for clues of the events
of what did partake that night.
Though nothing could be found at the scene of the crime,
there had been nothing left in clear sight.

So lo’, a thinker believes he knows
what did happen that fateful night.
He explains “It was the Slender-Man!
and to kill it, on him you must shine a light!”

So a brave soul he was, he went for a walk,
in the same forest before the set of the sun.
And what he saw there in the grueling shadows
made him turn around and run.

For deep in the dark, the Slender-Man feeds
on the poor people that his takes.
Blood and gore drops to the ground
as the muscles and bones they break.

The man runs from end to end,
though unfortunately, it seems he is lost.
He will be the next meal of Slender-Man
as he crumbles down in exhaust.

He awakes the next morning to the sound of birds
as it seems he has survived till now.
But Slender-Man, he never sleeps
and nobody knows quite how.

Away walks the man, in search of an exit,
though none he finds that day.
For Slender-Man had other plans for him,
so dost’, he took him away.

Do not fret the Slender-Man
as he hunts for certain prey.
Though if you believe his existence is fake,
chances are you will not again see the light of day.

Podcasts

 Few Of them are good... and the biggest population of podcasts... sucks!

Friends Forever

 by Anonymous

 

 

Why do you continue to seek me out? You cannot find me if I do not will it. I am the night… and yet, you know I am here. I see you, shivering as I cross the room. You twitch when I slip under your bed. You can feel me. Do you feel my breath on the nape of your neck? Do you notice my nails on your flesh? Do you meet my eyes in the dark of night? Yes, you know I am here. I have always been here. Things were different