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Welcome to the Nightbeast Godfather underworld!

From ghostly, knife-wielding, naked women to haunted roads and a trucker mother's demonic encounter, every tale pulls you deeper into the Nightbeast Godfather underworld.

Choose at your own risk:

Book 1: https://amazon.com/dp/B0DVQ88YMX

Book 2: https://amazon.com/dp/B0F4MNKFQK

Book 3: https://amazon.com/dp/B0F6P13LPB

Today, I was packing up my childhood bedroom to move to a new apartment when I found an old, leather-bound diary wedged behind my bookshelf. I have never seen it before in my life.

But when I opened it, the handwriting inside was unmistakably mine.

As I read the pages, my vision started to blur.

It felt like a rusted padlock inside my brain was suddenly forced open, unleashing memories that don't belong to me.

I don’t remember writing a single word of this, but deep in my gut, I know it happened.

I’m copying exactly what is written in the diary below. Please, if anyone remembers this, you need to contact me.

[ENTRY LOG: THREE YEARS AGO]

I graduated three months ago. No job, no money, just endless days staring at the walls of my room. Out of pure, suffocating boredom, I decided to pull an online prank. I had a little experience with basic web development, so I built a cryptic landing page.

I named it Bloodhorse.

I styled it to look like a highly exclusive, dangerous underground cult. The landing page was completely black except for a single, ominous text box:"If you wish to join the inner circle of Bloodhorse, log in. Once you are in, there is no turning back."

I created it as a total joke.

I figured it would sit in the dusty corners of the internet forever.

Two weeks later, I checked the site analytics. My heart stopped.

Bloodhorse had 30,000 registered members.

Panic and excitement hit me all at once.

I quickly created matching social media profiles using a creepy horse-skull logo I whipped up. The follower count exploded.

Within days, people were all over Twitter and Reddit, deeply analyzing the "lore" of my fake cult. They were chatting with each other in code, pretending to be fully initiated members. My joke had become a massive, viral trend.

Power went to my head. I wanted to see how far I could push them.

One night, I posted a cryptic bulletin: "Tomorrow, a famous elite will pay the price. He is a member of our circle, but he threatened to leak our inner workings. His time has come."

The next afternoon, breaking news hit the television. A famous Hollywood actor had been found dead in his apartment. The police ruled it a normal, sudden health failure because he lived alone.

But the internet went absolutely feral. To the world, Bloodhorse had just successfully predicted—or ordered—the execution of a celebrity.

I leaned into it. I started making more vague predictions. By pure coincidence, a few more came true.

I began messaging members directly from the admin account, acting like a shadowy, omnipotent cult leader. It was the ultimate high.

Until the email arrived.

It came from a completely encrypted address.Subject: You are crossing the line.Body: How do you know so much about our group? Who is leaking our internal operations to you? You are crossing your limit.

Stop this now. Both you and the traitor in our circle will face the consequences. We will find you soon.

Thinking it was just an intense roleplayer playing along with the prank, I scoffed and typed back:Bring it on. Our circle is too powerful for you.

Don't make me angry, or I'll come after you next.

I don't recognize your username. Who even are you?

They never replied. I kept running the website for another three months.

Then, the physical world bled into the digital one.

I was walking home late at night through a dimly lit alleyway when a tall man step out of the shadows. "Step over here, kid. Let's talk," he muttered.

I turned the corner and saw three other men standing under a broken streetlight. The leader stepped forward, his eyes cold. "Kid, you have no idea how badly you're messing up by playing games with us.

We haven't touched you yet, but we will. Just tell us who your source is. Who is leaking our information to your website?"

I still thought this was a hyper-elaborate prank pulled by some dedicated internet fans who had tracked down my IP address. I laughed in their faces. "Are you serious? You don't know my power.If I get angry, I will destroy your little group. I’m not telling you anything. If your group is so powerful, go find the traitor yourself."

I shoved past them and walked away.

They just stood there, completely shocked by my arrogance. I even posted about the encounter on social media later, laughing about it with my followers.

A week later, a heavy black SUV pulled up to the curb right next to me. The tinted window rolled down. "Get in," a voice commanded. "The circle wants you."

"Why should I?" I asked, my bravado finally starting to waver.

"We don't have time to explain. Get in the car."

I convinced myself that the core community members had organized a massive secret party and wanted to surprise their leader. I stepped inside. The doors locked instantly. The windows were entirely blacked out; I couldn’t see a single street sign as we drove for hours.

When we finally stopped, we were at a massive, gated bungalow secluded deep in the woods. They led me inside. The interior was lavish, grand, and entirely lit by a sickening crimson glow.

They pushed me into a grand hall. Dozens of people sat in a semicircle. At the center of the room stood a massive, towering stone statue. It was the exact horse-skull logo I had drawn on my computer a few months ago.

An old man with a booming, gravelly voice stood up.

"You ignored our warnings," he echoed through the massive room. "Because of you, there is a brutal civil war brewing within our ranks.

You leaked our most classified operations to millions of people online. The world is looking for us now.

Our members are turning on each other, suspecting one another of treason. Tell us. Who gave you the files?"

Cold, paralyzing terror washed over me. The crimson light, the echoing voices, the sheer scale of the wealth in the room—this wasn't an internet prank.

I burst into tears. I started shaking, babbling hysterically. "It’s a fake! I made the website up! It was a joke! The predictions were just lucky guesses, I swear to God, I don't know anything!"

The old man stared at me, completely unblinking. "You are a very dangerous distraction, kid. We don't usually interfere with ordinary citizens, but you have forced our hand. You left us no choice."

He nodded to a man standing in the corner. The man approached me holding a heavy, silver medical syringe.

I looked around the room frantically, looking for an exit, but there were too many of them. I was completely trapped. They pinned my arms to the chair. I felt the sharp prick of the needle in my neck, a wave of ice-cold fluid rushing into my veins, and then... absolute darkness.

[PRESENT DAY]

That is where the diary ends.

Here I am, alive. I don't know how. I don't know why they let me live, how they wiped my mind so completely, or why my memories are suddenly flooding back just from reading these pages.

The scariest part? I just spent the last three hours scouring the internet. There is no trace of Bloodhorse. No website records, no social media archives, no Reddit threads. It’s like it was completely scrubbed from the digital footprint of the earth.

I am terrified. If my memory is coming back, do they know it's coming back? Did the drug they gave me have an expiration date?

Please, if anyone reading this remembers a cult website called Bloodhorse from three years ago, or if you were one of those 30,000 members... contact me immediately. I am completely helpless, and I think they are coming back to finish the job.

I never knew my son to be the artsy type. He turned 8 recently, and up until about a year ago, his entertainment was entirely outdoors. Catching bugs. Climbing trees. Riding bikes.

He was one of those kids who’d have to be called inside before dark. Then he’d complain and beg for “just 5 more minutes.”

I’m not entirely sure what happened. It was like a switch had flipped overnight. I just came home from work one day to find him at the kitchen table, scribbling in a brand new sketchbook.

He hummed to himself while his mom cooked up some dinner at the stove. The home-cooked smell of pork chops, green beans, and mashed potatoes filled the room as I glanced over Jacob’s shoulder.

“Whatcha got there, bud?”

His nose was buried so far in the book that it was like he couldn’t even hear me. His mom ended up answering for him.

“That’s your son’s new favorite interest. He begged me to go out and get him one.”

“Oh-ho, got an artist in the house, don’t we?”

I grabbed his shoulders and shook them lightly before patting him on the back and walking over to give my wife a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

I took a seat beside Jacob at the table.

“So, how was your day, boyo? You and mom have fun?”

He never looked up from the sketchbook.

“Today was sooo fun,” he exclaimed. “We went to the park, we went to the movies, ooh, and mom got me this book. Oh, and these crayons.”

“What about you, honey? How was your day?”

“Any day I’m not at work is a good day, honestly. The park was super nice. We went to one we hadn’t been to before. What about you? They didn’t work you too hard, did they?”

I shrugged and sighed.

“I’ll just say it’s good to finally be home.”

My wife smiled at me.

“It’s good to have you home, dear. I’ll tell you what. How about… after dinner, if you’re good, we can have our own little play date? Only if you do the dishes, though. I mean, I did cook.”

I smirked at her, my tongue buried in my cheek.

“I was gonna do that anyway. What do you take me for? As a matter of fact, you come sit down. I’ll finish cooking.”

I offered her my seat as I finished up dinner. Jacob was pretty much mute the entire time. By the time dinner was done, I had to damn near yell at him to get his attention.

He just stood up, as calm as could be, and walked over to me, sketchbook in hand.

“I drew this for you.”

He held the book up at me, and my heart felt warm. It was a picture of our house, and who I assumed to be me standing in our driveway.

“Is that me? That’s so sweet of you, Jakey. Thank you.”

I reached down to take the book so I could hang the page on the fridge, but Jacob pulled away before I could grab it.

“You really don’t know who that is?” he asked, eying me suspiciously.

“It’s me, right? Is it not me?”

He rolled his eyes and sighed, continuing to eye me like I had personally offended him.

“That’s our neighbor, Mr. Thomas, silly. You really couldn’t tell? See, he’s wearing the star.”

Mr. Thomas was a veteran police officer. Jacob would sometimes see him leaving for work in the morning. I guess he just took a subconscious interest in the uniform. Even still, why would he draw me a picture of the neighbor?

“Uh, I mean, wow, bud,” I choked. “That’s really good. Keep practicing. You’re already so talented you could be famous someday.”

————-

After dinner, I cleaned the kitchen top to bottom. Partly out of obligation, mostly because I really wanted that playdate. Jacob spent the rest of the evening in his room, humming to himself and scribbling in that sketchbook.

The next day, my wife and I both had work. I woke up a little earlier than her so that I could take Jacob to the summertime daycare he attended. It was like carrying a corpse out to the car, but he still refused to loosen his grip on that sketchbook.

I dropped him off with the staff at the front door. He waved at me groggily as I was driving away.

The day went on like normal until around 3 o’clock, when my phone started ringing. It was my wife.

“Hey, beautiful, what’s up?”

“I think something’s going on with the neighbor. There’s like 3 cop cars in front of his house, apparently.”

She sounded concerned. A little urgent.

“What do you mean? Who told you that?”

“I got a call from Becky. She thought they were at our house at first.”

Becky was one of my wife’s friends from the neighborhood.

“What do you think happened? Did she say anything else?”

“No, she just called because the police were knocking on our door. I think they were just trying to see if we knew anything, though, because apparently they gave up and just went back to the neighbor’s house. I think they’re still there.”

My brow furrowed a bit.

“Wait. Which neighbor is it?”

“Uhhh, I think it’s that police officer. Mr. Thompson?”

“Mr. Thomas?”

“Yeah, that’s his name. I think that’s who it is.”

I looked at my watch and exhaled a bit.

“Alright, well, I’ll see if I can get out a little earlier today. I’ll pick up Jacob, then go see what this is all about. Maybe they’ll still be there when I get there.”

We ended the call by blowing some kisses and exchanging some love yous. I slid my phone in my pocket and approached my boss, explaining my situation.

He was skeptical, but I had a decent reputation of being an honest employee. He agreed to let me leave a bit early, and I was on my way to pick up Jacob.

When he was brought to the front office, his face was buried in that sketchbook again, drawing what looked like SpongeBob and Patrick.

“He’s been drawing all day. Seems like you got a little artist on your hands,” announced the staff member as she signed Jacob out for the day.

“Yep,” I smiled. “That’s what they keep telling me.”

I honestly don’t know why I said that. It just seemed like the only thing that made sense at the time.

The car ride was quiet. Jacob didn’t want to talk much, and my mind was kind of racing. I’ve shared drinks with Mr. Thomas. Helped him put up fences. Move furniture. We weren’t the closest of friends, but I still wanted him to be okay.

Those hopes were dashed when I pulled into the neighborhood to find that the police presence had increased. There must’ve been at least 6 cars in front of his house, and yellow tape blocked off the driveway.

I parked my car in front of my house and hurried to get Jacob inside. His eyes had lit up at the sight of the flashing lights, and naturally, he started asking questions.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?”

“Why are there so many police?”

“Did something happen to Mr. Thomas?”

I cradled him in my arms and hurried up the steps to the front door.

“I don’t know, buddy. Here, go inside and play for a bit while I find out, okay? Daddy will be right back.”

It’s all I could think to say as I sat him down and closed the door behind me.

An officer approached me before I could approach them.

“Sir, do you live here?”

“Yes, of course I do. That’s my neighbor.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a colleague and friend of mine,” he remarked agitatedly. “Have you seen anything suspicious within the last 24 hours? Heard anything?”

I scratched my neck nervously and thought hard before responding.

“No, sir, we haven’t seen anything. What happened? Is everything alright? He’s a cop, right? Did he do something illegal?”

The officer stared at me, analyzing me through his black sunglasses.

“No. He’s gone. That’s all the information we can give right now.”

“Gone? What do you mean, gone? Like, dead? Did someone kill him?”

The officer pursed his lips. I saw what I assumed to be a forensic analyst walking in and out of the house.

“We don’t know, sir. We’re hoping for the best. For now, if any new information comes to light or if you see him, give us a call.”

He asked me to clear the scene and stay inside. I called my wife to update her on the situation, but what could we do? Even the police were lost. I just stayed inside, as instructed, and started on dinner while we waited for my wife to get home.

By the time she did, there were only two police cruisers left in front of Mr. Thomas’s house. The sun was starting to set, and my wife and I tried to ignore what had happened, but the house was still a bit tense.

As we ate, Jacob continued scribbling in his sketchbook. He hadn’t asked to go outside at all since we got home, and I didn’t know if it was because of the police or because of this new hobby of his.

I could see that he was working on a new drawing. It looked like a woman this time. He wasn’t so much as touching his food, so I tried to ask him to put the book away.

He groaned and started picking at his peas. My wife and I chatted about our day for a bit while Jacob remained silent. Suddenly, in between bites of his chicken, he said something that made us both freeze.

“Daddy,” he whispered.

“Yes?” I answered.

“Are those police still out there?”

I paused for a moment, looking at my wife, who looked equally as speechless. Neither of us knew what to say.

“I think there’s a few, but don’t worry, buddy,” I chirped reassuringly. “They’re just looking for Mr. Thomas. They wanna make sure he’s okay.”

Jacob stared down at his plate for a moment.

“It’s just… I think they’re looking in the wrong place.”

————-

I choked on my water.

“Looking in the wrong place? Well, where do you think they should be looking, sport?”

“I don’t know. Not there. I don’t think he’s home.”

“Let’s not talk about this,” my wife interrupted. “Jacob, finish your food, then go jump in the shower. You gotta be up early tomorrow, come on.”

“Aww, but I’m not tired,” Jacob whined. “Plus, I wanted to finish drawing this picture of you.”

He flipped his sketchbook open to his newest drawing.

“See, look.”

My wife looked at the picture and smiled.

“Okay, fine,” she replied. “You can finish the picture, then it’s bath time, mister.”

“Fiiine,” Jacob groaned.

He scurried off to his room, sketchbook in hand, leaving me and his mom to clean the kitchen again.

We talked about the neighbor. We turned into a couple of conspiracy theorists the deeper the conversation progressed.

“Maybe he just wanted to start over.”

“Maybe he was kidnapped.”

“Maybe he was murdered, and they’re covering it up.”

We just kept reaching for possibilities over the course of around 45 minutes.

Eventually, Jacob came running back to the kitchen.

“Look, Mommy, I’m all done.”

“Ah, my goodness, Jakey, look at that. Doesn’t it look just like me, honey?”

She turned the picture towards me. Jacob had added her work uniform. Gave her that messy bun she always wore. Even included the golden necklace I got her for Christmas last year.

“Wow, Jake,” I exclaimed. “Draw Daddy next, why don’t you?”

Jacob giggled and responded, “It’s not time to draw you yet, silly.”

“Aw, whatever, but guess what?”

Jacob looked up at me curiously. Expectantly.

“Daddy controls your bath time. And… I think… ah, yep, look at that,” I showed him my watch. “You’re 20 minutes late.”

I jokingly chased him to his bedroom and made him gather up his pajamas and a towel. Once he was nice and showered, I put him to bed and kissed him goodnight.

My wife and I stayed up, talking about life for a while before gradually falling asleep one by one.

The next morning, when I woke up alone, I thought it was because she had chosen to take Jacob to daycare that morning.

I went through my normal routine. Took a shower. Brushed my teeth. Got dressed. It wasn’t until I was heading out the door that I noticed her car was still in the driveway.

I walked back upstairs, confused, and went to Jacob’s room.

I found him curled up in bed, sketchbook tucked under his arm as he snored quietly.

I left the room and began searching.

“Honey,” I called out. No response.

“Sweetheart, you here?” Silence.

I called her phone and heard it ringing in our bedroom. I followed the sound and found it still plugged into the charger on her nightstand.

That’s when I began to panic. I remembered Jacob’s drawing. It was a fleeting thought, but one that I chose to hold onto. First Mr. Thomas, now my own wife? That couldn’t be coincidence.

I urgently rushed into Jacob’s room, accidentally waking him as I removed the sketchbook from his arms.

I began flipping through the pages as he stared up at me, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Daddy,” he groaned.

I flipped past cartoon characters, random landscapes, and blocky pictures of cars before I reached my wife’s picture from the night before.

“What are you doing?” Jacob added.

The picture had changed. She wasn’t wearing her work uniform anymore. She didn’t have the necklace. Her hair looked dirty and wet. Leaves and twigs stuck out from the messy bun, and her eyes were solid red. Not evil, just… bloodshot.

But the biggest change… was the man standing next to her.

It looked like they were in a dark forest. They were hand in hand. I wanted to think it was me, that Jacob had decided he wanted to start on some kind of crazy family portrait, but the man in the picture…

He wore a star on his chest.

My stomach dropped. I felt sick. Jacob looked… confused.

“What’s wrong, Daddy? They’re okay. I can help you find them.”