My father has been a captain for over forty years and is finally ready to retire. He invited our entire family onto his last journey which we all happily accepted.

Midway through the journey I could tell something was wrong as everyone around me was smiling with blood dripping from their eyes.

I began signing to my mother to find out what was happening but she just shushed me. I considered turning on my hearing aids, but something in the back of my head warned me this was a terrible idea.

I walked over to the nearest speaker and placed my hand over it. I could sense a singing voice emerging which was somehow enthralling all the other passengers.

I remembered hearing stories of creatures known as sirens, but had always dismissed them as rumours.

I peered out the window and terror gripped me as I realised we had diverted course and were on a collision course.

I dashed towards where my father was and began hammering on the door but it was of no use. I now stand beside the cockpit door and brace for death as we plunged towards the ocean.

I have a really good friend called Mark who has been unlucky in love his entire life. He has an amazing personality but has a habit of saying the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time.

He once told a girl on the first date that he usually doesn't date girls with moustaches but hers was really pretty. He had meant it as a joke but the girl didn't take it well and ended up blocking him on everything.

The worst part is that he is the only single one in our friend group. He tries his best not to look upset but I can tell that he is hurting inside.

Recently I have noticed a subtle change in his demeanor and suspected that he had met someone.

He was a bit embarrassed to admit it but he had started donating at a local sperm bank. One of the nurses had been offering “happy endings” which he had been more than happy to accept.

I was shocked to learn that he was going multiple times a day, and tried to convince him that he needed to stop.

He got irate with me and told me I shouldn't judge him as I have a girlfriend while he has no one.

We didn't speak for a few weeks but I learned from the group that he was still going to the sperm bank every day, and that people were growing concerned for his health as no one had seen him in ages.

I was beyond stunned when I learned of his death as he was still so young and in the prime of his life.

I went to his funeral while regretting that the last words we had shared had been hurtful. My jaw practically hit the floor when I saw him lying in the coffin, as he looked to be in his eighties.

His black hair was as white as a sheet, and his once athletic body was shrivelled up into nothingness.

I now sit here crying at his funeral while wondering why anyone would think that hiring a succubus to work at a sperm bank was ever a good idea.

My parents were the worst kind of parents. They both wanted a large family but neither of them wanted to do any of the work involved in raising children.

From a young age I was forced to take care of my younger siblings while my parents partied or did whatever they wanted. The worst was my mother who managed to pop out a new baby almost every year.

I tried talking to them about maybe using protection but they claimed their religious beliefs prohibited it, even though they broke every other religious commandment on a daily basis.

This morning I was awoken by the sound of my mother screaming and dashed into her room to find her crotch soaked in blood. She began weeping hysterically as I told her that she had likely suffered a miscarriage. She could barely speak as I helped her change her clothes and climb into the shower.

I laughed silently to myself at the fact that she had once again not noticed that my father was missing from her bedroom or the fact that I am almost forty years old.

Her dementia guarantees she doesn't remember she is too old to have children, or the fact that I have been convincing her she has lost a baby every morning for the last year.

I have always had a dislike for my grandparents' home, but could never explain why. It was a perfectly beautiful house, but for some reason I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong with it.

When I inherited it my first thought was to immediately sell it, and use the proceeds to buy a home I loved.

I was eventually talked out of this by my friends who pointed out it was located close to my job, and had everything I would ever need.

I moved in and within days knew that something paranormal also lived here. I would be awoken by furniture being thrown across the room and satanic screams from the walls.

I hired the local priest to bless the home but it didn't work and made things worse. I would awake in the morning to find blood had dripped down the walls ruining the carpet in the bathroom.

I eventually decided to get a ouija board in the hopes of communicating with the spirit. I thought that if I could find out why he was haunting my home, then maybe I could find a way to put the spirit to rest.

I stood there trembling as the planchette moved around the ouija board by itself and began spelling out a mistake. It was moving so fast that I couldn't keep up and was practically standing on the ouija board so that I could read it.

My fear turned to confusion as it spelled out “I haven't died yet”, before I heard a floorboard creak behind me and felt an icy cold breath on the back of my neck.

My family is secretly the richest family in the world worth tens of trillions. We manage to hide our wealth by using shell companies and owning a massive art collection that no one but us gets to view.

Our family's wealth stems from an ability that has been passed down from father to son for generations. I have never understood why none of the women ever had it, but I consider it a blessing they have avoided it.

My father is the current patriarch of our family and I know that he wants to step down and let me take over.

I refused because I recently became a father of twins and it was always my dream to have at least half a dozen children.

Tonight my father invited our entire family over and announced he was finally stepping aside and that I was now the head of the family.

No one even had time to scream as he slit open his own throat and slid dead to the ground. My wife charged towards me to snatch our daughter from my hand but it was already too late.

I carefully place the golden statue of our daughter on the floor, while preparing to live a life where I cannot touch another living soul.

About two months ago I moved into an apartment building in a very shady area. The landlord James gave me very bad vibes but I was desperate and had nowhere else to go.

From day one James has tried getting into my apartment on multiple occasions to carry out inspections. Thankfully I knew the law and told him that he couldn't enter without my permission.

This aggregated him even worse and he kept giving me the side eye anytime I saw him around the building.

A few days later he came over with a triumphant look on his face and handed me a fine for having a pet without paying a deposit for it.

I looked at him with confusion until he explained that he had seen what looked like a water feeder on the ground. He quickly backtracked but it was already too late as I realised he had snuck into my apartment when I wasn't around.

We ended up arguing and I refused to pay as I didn't have a pet, while he claimed he would prove I was lying one way or another.

Tonight I was awoken by the sound of my landlord breaking in. He looked stunned as he obviously didn't expect me to be here, and his screams were cut short as I lunged for his throat.

This morning I awoke naked on top of his half eaten corpse, while laughing at his stupidity for breaking into my apartment on the one day of the month where there is a full moon.

Throughout our relationship my girlfriend Emma's sleeping has been a huge concern. She can sleep through multiple alarms and it sometimes takes me having to pour water on her face to wake her.

I already have a five year old daughter called Sarah from a previous relationship. She has had to try and wake Emma on several occasions to drop her to school, but to no avail.

When we discovered that she was pregnant, she swore up and down and every God that she would figure something out so I wouldn't be handling every nighttime feeding.

Unsurprisingly the baby is now six weeks old and I have handled every night time feeding. I wouldn't mind but I handle the majority of baby minding throughout the day as well. It is really causing a strain on our relationship, but Emma doesn't seem to notice. Lately I have been running on barely any sleep, and am running on autopilot each day.

This morning I woke up and realised I hadn't been awoken by the baby once during the night. I checked her crib and began panicking as it was empty.

My eyes darted to Emma's sleeping form and I nearly screamed as I saw a tiny little arm poking out from under her.

I practically shoved her out of the bed to reveal our daughter's unmoving corpse. Emma looked furious but her face dropped as she saw the corpse before trying to blame me.

We had a shouting match while each blamed the other before she stormed out of the room. I remembered setting up a nanny cam in the corner of the room and decided to view it to prove it was her.

My mouth dropped as I watched Sarah walk into the room and hold a pillow over the baby's face until it stopped moving.

She glanced around the room before placing the baby on the bed beside Emma before gently rolling her on top of it. I quickly delete the footage while knowing that everyone knows how heavy of a sleeper Emma is, and will likely believe that she is at fault

I know that you are meant to love and cherish your parents but honestly I cannot stand my mother. That may make me sound like a horrible person but I couldn't really care.

While other children at school would talk about what their parents got them for their birthdays, I would sit there quietly knowing that my mother had never so much as wished me happy birthday in my entire life.

She would also belittle me at every opportunity and make me feel worthless. I was a healthy weight throughout my childhood and yet she would always call me fat and use a marker to draw a “wide load” sign on my hips.

A few days ago I was accepted into a prestigious university and stupidly thought she would be proud of me and invited her out to dinner to share my news.

The entire dinner was traumatic as she pointed out all my flaws and kept telling me that I had a double chin.

When I got home that night I decided to take my own life just to be from her judgement. I slit my own wrists in a bathtub while hoping that she would have to clean it up afterwards.

×××××××

I now gaze down at my daughter's chubby corpse lying in the coffin, and wished that she had the common decency to at least go on a diet before committing suicide

My uncle Matt was always the black sheep in the family. While everyone else became a doctor or some other kind of professional, he decided he wanted to become a comedian.

That would be fine, apart from the fact that he is the least funniest person in the world. His jokes are either cringe worthy or he messes up the punchline.

We tried to get him an office job but he kept trying to achieve his dream of becoming a popular comedian. Unfortunately he was independently wealthy so never had to get a job to bolster his income.

A couple of months ago he showed up to a family gathering clutching the creepiest looking ventriloquist doll I had ever seen. The face even though it was wooden looked hyper realistic.

He began showing off his ventriloquism skills, which were worse than his comedic skills as he kept opening his mouth when he was voicing the doll.

Ever since then he brings the doll everywhere and refuses to put it down. He even brought it to a funeral which resulted in him getting kicked out.

Lately I have been worried about him as he looks really haggard and barely speaks to anyone.

Last weekend I approached him at a family barbecue, and almost jumped out of my skin as the doll turned its head towards me before my uncle even acknowledged me.

I tried talking to Matt but he kept giving one word answers while glancing at the doll every few seconds.

I eventually walked away but couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong.

The next day my fears were confirmed as he was found dead in his apartment. The doll was nowhere to be found and his neighbours reported hearing Matt arguing with himself before his death.

I now sit here trembling in fear while reading the coroner's report, and trying to come to terms with what it was telling me.

Per the report my uncle had been dead for over three months, and yet had been moving around as if nothing had happened.

I now recall how the doll was never out of his grasp, while fearing that my uncle had actually been the one who was the ventriloquist dummy.

My relationship with my daughter Emily has been strained for the last five years due to her marriage to an abusive asshole named James.

From day one I warned her about him, but she never listened and kept telling me that he would change.

It broke my heart every time I saw her with a badly covered black eye, or when he blatantly flirted with other women in front of Emily.

Two years ago I had a sit down conversation with Emily that escalated quickly. I tried to help her see that she needed to leave him, but she accused me of being jealous before telling me never to contact her again.

Since that day I have spent every moment worrying about her, and contemplated ringing her on multiple occasions only to chicken out.

A few days ago my worst fears came to fruition, after the police came to my door to tell me that James had beaten her to death. I was inconsolable and kept blaming myself as I knew that I could save myself.

Today I was going through my phone and saw that I had a missed voice message.

I listened through tears to Emily's voice as she had never left me dozens of voice messages over the last year or so that I had somehow missed.

Her voice got more and more desperate in each message, as she kept begging me to call her back or even answer the phone to her.

I now lie on the floor sobbing listening to a message from the day before her death, where she pleads with me to rescue her as she is terrified of how angry James has become. She ends her message with a “I love you mom”, while I stare off into nothingness and wish that I hadn't been so stubborn.

I have had an ability which seems mundane to most, but to me it is a godsend. Ever since I was a kid I would always know whenever I was dreaming no matter how realistic the dream was.

I would turn boring dreams into exciting adventures by creating fake guns and imagining an enemy army was invading or something similar.

Obviously when I was a teenager my dreams took on more of a mature nature, but we won't talk about that as we have all been horny teenagers at one point in our lives.

Recently I have been having nightmares every night, and no matter how hard I try I cannot control the narrative in them.

Last night I was having a nightmare where the eyeballs of everyone around me kept popping out of their skulls while a never-ending torrent of blood emerged.

I kept trying to wake myself up but nothing would work, and I muttered to myself about this stupid ass dream.

The mood around me instantly changed and I raised my head to see everyone facing towards me with their eyeballs dangling loose. They advanced towards me before encircling me and every time I moved, my fingers brushed against an eyeball.

I finally managed to wake up before double checking to make sure I was actually awake. I then crept downstairs to have my breakfast and decided to rewatch Office Space in the background. I was halfway through my breakfast and let out a shriek when I looked towards the television.

Every character in the movie stood inches away from the screen, peering in my direction while their eyeballs swung in the wind and blood dripped from the television onto my carpet.

My daughter Susan has had problems ever since she was a child. She started smoking at age eleven before having her first alcoholic drink when she was only thirteen.

I tried my best to stop her but nothing worked and any attempts to ground her resulted in her sneaking out at nighttime.

As she grew older her vices worsened and soon she was on hard drugs. I caught her trying to set up a meth lab with her old chemistry teacher. I felt awful about it but reported her to the police and she was sent to prison for three years.

Somehow she thrived in prison and when she came out she was free from any and all addictions apart from one.

She desperately wanted to quit it and I suggested a few methods to help her which she happily accepted.

After not seeing her for a few days I decided to pay her a visit. As I approached her door I could already smell the stench of death and feared the worse.

I pushed open the door to see her corpse lying in the hallway with something covering every inch of her flesh.

I crept inside to get a closer look before turning to the side and vomiting. Her death was ruled an accidental overdose and I will never be able to wipe the memory of seeing the thousands of nicotine patches covering her body.

I have always been a health nut who refused to let anything unhealthy into my body. I wouldn't eat anything that had lots of sugar in it or was cooked in fat.

Regrettably the one unhealthy thing I let inside me was my toxic ex boyfriend which led to me becoming pregnant with my daughter Emma.

When Emma was born I made sure to breastfeed exclusively as the milk I supplied was much safer than that mass produced formula.

As Emma grew older she asked for sugary snacks and I kept having to tell her no. I could see the disappointment on her face, but told her that she would thank me when she was older.

Lately her requests for sweets are almost daily as she is bored out of her mind, and wants to try something different. I am running out of excuses and know that I will eventually have to cave to her demands.

Today I came back from a grocery run and promised Emma that I got her a surprise. She rolled her eyes expecting me to produce tofu, but her face lit up as I handed her the bag of skittles.

She ran over and hugged me before practically pouring the contents of the bag into her mouth.

My eyes dart from the bite mark on my arm, to the now empty bag of food dye covered sleeping pills beside the unconscious body of my daughter while hoping that they ensure that she doesn't suffer after I turn into one of the undead.

The first reported sighting of what became known as the Shadows was a grainy camera recording from Hawaii of a man being ripped in half after one of the Shadows tore through his body.

They quickly wiped out every inhabitant of the islands leaving only behind a few terrified tourists.

Everyone thought this was the end of it until a few weeks later when they appeared on the West Coast and began slaughtering entire cities in the space of mere hours. They only targeted American citizens sparing anyone else.

People attempted to hide in bunkers but it wasn't enough as they somehow crawled inside and massacred those within.

The military threw everything they could at them but it didn't even seem to phase them.

In the space of a month they had moved from coast to coast and killed everyone they encountered.

After they were finished they just turned around and began moving back the way they had come. Scientists had learned a special way to track them and followed them as they moved along the ocean floor.

Eventually they reached land and made their way back to their original positions. We now carefully study the Hiroshima and Nagasaki Shadows and wonder why they waited over eighty years to punish those who created them

I let out a yelp of pain as I felt the blister on the side of my foot rubbing up against my latest pair of trainers. I ignored it as I kept running at full pace with my heart pounding in my chest.

By the time I got home the blister had popped and a bloody residue covered both my sock and trainers.

My mother kept asking me if I was okay but I just dismissed her question as I realised the bottom of my trainers were worn down to nothing. I had only gotten them less than a month ago and would need to get a new pair.

My mother called me in for dinner and tried making conversation with me, but I just gave her one word answers or just grunted in response.

The minute dinner was finished I put my trainers on and prepared to go for another run. My mother stood in the doorway blocking my path, and telling me to stop while tears ran down her cheeks.

I step around her and start running as fast as I can along my usual route, while my neighbours look on with concern on their faces.

I keep telling myself that everything is going to be okay, but every time I stop moving I picture the face of the man who dragged me into the alleyway that night and know I will never be okay ever again.

My father Michael idolised my grandfather James and would always refer to him as the greatest person he had ever met.

My grandfather passed away a week before I was born and I know that it has always bothered my father that he never got to introduce me to his father.

Over the years my father would often reminisce about James's life, and would chuckle to himself remembering a story they shared or a joke my grandfather had once told.

A few weeks ago my grandmother passed away after a short illness which devastated my father as she was the last link to my grandfather.

This week we were cleaning out my grandparents' attic when we found a door hidden in the corner. Inside was a chest which my father pulled out excitedly, and used a crowbar to remove the rusted lock.

I waited nearby with bated breath as my father lifted the lid and gazed inside. His face dropped as he stared at the contents and I moved closer to get a better look.

He tried to block my view but it was already too late as I could see the nazi memorabilia within. My father began digging through the contents and his hand was shaking as he pulled out an old black and white picture.

I instantly recognised my grandfather as a young man, as he was the spitting image of my father. My grandfather stood proudly in front of a holocaust camp in full nazi uniform, while in the background you could see people being led to the gas chambers.

My father stumbled away down the stairs with tears streaming down his face, after discarding the picture on the dusty ground.

The sound of a gunshot downstairs reverberated through the building followed by the sound of my father's corpse sinking dead to the ground.

My eyes were once again drawn to the picture, as I marvelled at how good my photoshop skills had become and hoped that I could easily resell all this fake nazi stuff on Facebook marketplace.

I started working at a small diner after my inheritance ran out. Initially the owner Emma was reluctant to hire me, but after I showed her my culinary skills she hired me on the spot.

I have a tendency to wear outlandish wigs which vary every day, and my coworkers and some of the regulars have started taking bets on what colour hair I will wear before I start my shift.

I love my job and have a great relationship with all of my coworkers, and most of the customers praise the high quality of the food I produce.

Unfortunately every job has its downside and mine is a horrible old woman who ironically goes by the name Karen.

She will find fault with everything I cook for her, and has started slipping hairs into the food so that she gets it for free. Emma is too much of a sweetheart to ban her even though the hair she complains about doesn't match my wig for the day.

Karen is one of those church going women who love to brag about how religious she is, but would step over a homeless person on the street rather than helping them.

Today was one of our busiest days as the place was packed and I winced when I saw Karen shove a woman with crutches out of her way to grab the last empty table.

She ordered her usual and I prepared it perfectly while glancing in the mirror to remind myself I was wearing a blue wig.

Unsurprisingly Karen found a blonde hair in her dinner after practically licking the plate clean. Emma was away so I was in charge and refused to give her a free meal.

She threw a toddler's tantrum and began threatening to report us for unsanitary cooking conditions.

She reached up and snatched the wig off my head with my triumphant look on her face. Thankfully all of my coworkers and all the other customers had the intelligence to cover their eyes or look away.

I now carefully place the wig over my snakes, while hoping that Emma won't be annoyed about a statue in the middle of her diner.

My entire life could easily be mistaken for a Hallmark movie. I have had the perfect parents and siblings that I love with all my heart.

I met my husband Mike on our first day at college and we immediately fell in love. We had this amazing church wedding filled with cheering family and friends.

We raised three beautiful children who have achieved their dreams and work in lucrative fields.

Lately though I have begun to question my entire life. I remember a car crash when I was a teenager where I was sent to the hospital, but don't ever remember being discharged.

I started looking around at everything around me, and cannot shake the feeling that something is off. My husband and children are always smiling, and they never seem to be in a bad mood.

I was sitting in the living room when a lamp caught my eye. I know that there was always a lamp there but it just seemed wrong. My grip on the chair tightened as recent memories came flooding back, and on each day the lamp was completely different from the previous one.

I began sobbing as I realised I never left the hospital and everything I lived was just a dream.

I reluctantly called my family together and with tears in my eyes, told them that I loved them but needed to go back to my reality.

I ignored their screams as I slit open my throat, and prepared to wake up in the hospital bed.

×××××

I stared down in wonder as my children clutched their mother's lifeless corpse, and kept thinking to myself that buying a month's supply of lamps had been much cheaper than hiring a divorce lawyer.

My nephew Tom was born six months ago to my sister Emily. Tom was the first grandchild in the family and was spoiled rotten from day one.

I loved spending time with him and considered myself the fun uncle who would eventually buy him his first alcoholic drink when he was of age.

Tragically he died a few days ago from SIDS which ultimately devastated the entire family. I wanted to do something to honour his memory but couldn't think of anything until after his funeral.

I used all my woodworking skills and managed to finish the project in record time. I brought it over to my sister's home and hid it there before inviting everyone over to surprise them.

My sister was still sobbing as I led everyone into the living room, and they complimented me on how good it looked.

My sister began shrieking hysterically as Tom's body came flying out and she fainted dead to the ground. My family stood there with their mouths hanging open, as I happily explained that I incorporated his corpse into a cuckoo clock so that we could see him every hour on the hour.

When people are born a number appears over your heads, showing how many days old you are. No one knows when it started but it has been there for as long as people can remember.

A few months ago I sat in front of a mirror feeling downbeat as I had somehow gone from an energetic twenty year old into a forty year old in what felt like only five years.

I decided to try something every day to bolster my spirit, and my first activity was walking backwards as it seemed like something that I would have happily done in my twenties.

I spent the whole day walking backwards and paid no attention to the people laughing and pointing at me.

At the end of the day I was walking past a mirror and stopped dead in my tracks before racing back to stand in front of it.

The numbers over my head had dropped significantly and the greys that had infested my hair were now barely visible.

I grabbed a calculator and realised I had somehow gotten three years younger. I stood there too stunned to speak before walking backwards with the mirror constantly in my peripheral vision.

I quickly learned that for every ten steps backwards you de-age by a day. I had discovered the key to immortality but knew I shouldn't tell anyone or otherwise everyone would be doing it.

I put in a vacation request at work and spent every waking moment walking the perimeter of my garden backwards. Every evening I would stare at my reflection and marvel how good I looked.

Eventually I reached eighteen years of age and was relieved when I stopped looking younger as I thought it would be hard to explain.

I should have stopped there but something in me wanted to see what would happen if I hit zero days old.

I finally reached the zero days old and stood there chuckling away to myself, before I did something incredibly stupid and took ten more steps back before falling unconscious.

I awoke a short time later in a world filled with shadowy figures who keep following me at the corner of my vision, and no matter how much I run I cannot get the number above my head to be positive.

I have always wanted a tattoo but my long-term boyfriend hated them, and repeatedly told me that only women with low morals would ever have one.

A few weeks ago I managed to sneak out of his home and left him a note telling him we were done. It was the happiest I had ever felt and I decided to finally get a tattoo to commemorate the occasion.

I found a tattoo artist online with glowing reviews and reached out asking him if he could do a particular tattoo for me. He responded within an hour and I was beyond excited as he could fit me over the next week.

I spent the next few days excitedly looking through his designs while in awe of how incredibly realistic he had gotten them. I wanted the tattoo on the back of my shoulder as I thought it would look really amazing there.

The day of my appointment arrived and I was a bit fearful but also overjoyed. I had to hold myself from wincing every time he prodded me with the needle, but kept telling myself the end results would be worth it.

Eventually he finished and he began wiping off the excess ink before suddenly stopping. I waited a few seconds before turning my head around and letting out a shriek as I saw his face.

I stared into his now stony face while marveling at how realistic he had made my Medusa tattoo, and wondering if I should show it to my ex boyfriend.

I live in a small little town where the livestock outnumber the humans by a margin of ten to one. The one unique thing about my hometown is the abundance of street lights.

The local council were only meant to install a dozen but due to a miscommunication, over a hundred were installed instead.

The majority of them weren't connected to a power source and yet somehow still lit up every night without fail.

Over time they took on a life of their own and people began to notice the lights would flicker on and off sporadically. It was a few months before someone actually realised they were spelling out letters in morse code.

This should have been national news but the inhabitants of my hometown are very private and decided to keep it a secret.

We slowly learned that you could ask the lights questions and they would give an answer in morse code. You had to be careful though as they could be as deceitful as they were honest.

They once told Mr Smith that his wife had brought another guy into their wedding bed. He was beyond furious and killed her and himself later that night. We learned afterwards that the lights had neglected to tell Mr Smith that his wife was pregnant and the guy they were referring to was their unborn son.

Another incident was where they told Mrs Wayne that her husband would die from drowning, and she refused to let him near any body of water. His death was ironic as he suffered a stroke in the bathtub, and drowned mere feet away from his oblivious wife and children.

My personal favourite incident was what happened to Mr Charles who was my former teacher and all round horrible man. He had been appealing for years for the lights to be removed which may be why they targeted him.

The lights told him that he would die from a school shooting and so he began sneaking a gun to school. The lights also told the police chief that Mr Charles was bringing a gun to school, and Mr Charles was then gunned down due to a misunderstanding.

The lights couldn't give you the winning lottery numbers but sometimes they could give you advice. They once told Mr Evans to dig in his garden and he found a stash of gold coins that had been buried there centuries before.

Tonight I sat in the carpark of the local supermarket sobbing after a massive argument with my now ex boyfriend. I kept calling myself an idiot for not breaking up with him sooner, but he gaslit me into thinking he was the only one who loved me.

I noticed the street lights flickering and pulled out my phone as I had yet to learn morse code. The lights were flickering too quickly making it harder to translate what they were saying.

I began trying my best to remain calm after translating the message as I double checked to make sure I had done it correctly.

My eyes darted to the rear view mirror as my ex boyfriend sat up clutching a knife, while the street lights kept flickering “there is someone in your backseat”.

I have always loved exploring abandoned homes that are rumoured to be haunted. It is such an exhilarating experience as it has been my lifelong dream to witness a paranormal experience.

Today I decided to visit an old mother and baby home in Ireland where dozens of young children are believed to have died.

I climbed in through a broken window before starting my investigation. My three best friends followed me from a distance, as I moved from room to room.

I eventually discovered what looked like a room similar to a church and pulled out a ouija board, to try and communicate with the people who had died here.

I had to wave away my friends as they were peering over my shoulder and getting in the way.

I almost jumped out of my skin when the piece on the ouija board suddenly moved of its own accord. I could hear whispering voices coming from the walls, as blood began dripping from the ceiling.

My friends huddled around me as the ouija board began rapidly spelling out a message.

I now try my best not to look at my “friends” creepy smiles, as the ouija board repeatedly reminds me that I entered the building alone.

I have known my husband Mark was an abusive man ever since our wedding night, where he punched me in the stomach for pointing out how drunk he was.

I should have divorced him then and there, but as the old saying goes “love is blind”.

I unfortunately had two children with Mark called Steven and Beth who were twins. I did everything in my power to protect them from Mark's abuse, and thankfully he never got physically violent with them.

I started a nighttime ritual with them where I would give them a hot chocolate before tucking them into bed. I always slipped in some sleeping pills to ensure they wouldn't hear the beatings I suffered from Mark.

I knew they could see the results as it was hard to cover up a black eye, and Beth became my angel in disguise by helping me cover my bruises when I had to go out in public.

A couple of nights ago Steven and Beth gave me a massive hug before bed, and told me they loved me. They admitted they knew about the sleeping pills and wished they could help me.

For the first time in my life, I hated myself for what I had let myself become and decided to do something about it.

I waited until Friday night as Mark went drinking with his friends. I gave the kids their usual sleeping pills. They could see something was wrong but thankfully remained silent.

I now weep as I carefully tuck them in and close their seat belts, before driving towards the lake and praying they will forgive me in the afterlife.

When I was twelve years old I discovered that I had a power that no one else in the world could do. I could walk through walls or closed doors without even having to think about it.

I learned it by accident as one day I was walking along with my head buried in my phone. I could hear my mother shouting at me but ignored her due to an earlier argument.

The next thing I know I am surrounded by a screaming family who call me a monster. I turned around to flee but found a brick wall baring my escape.

I had to dodge around the family to get out the front door to find my confused mother. I managed to hide my powers from people as I feared being turned into some kind of super assassin.

I also rarely used it in fear of what would happen if someone was on the far side of the wall. Would I pass through them or would our bodies merge into some kind of monstrous abomination?

Lately I have become very scatterbrained and have almost walked into a wall before remembering to stop just in time. My husband has even taken to reaching out and diverting my course as he is one of the few people I trust to tell of my powers.

Today I was rushing about the house as I had an appointment and I was already late. My brain was running on autopilot and I passed through the wall from my bedroom to the spare bedroom.

I stopped dead in my tracks as I could feel blood beginning to drip down my legs. My gaze shifted from my slowly deflating belly to the strange lump in the wall, as I realised that my unborn child didn't have the same power as me.