If You Haven’t Heard Of It, The Clown In A Cornfield Movie Comes Out This May!

I loved this! Idk why it didn’t get more attention

Saturday Story #2: Down By the Bay

In the several years I've lived in this small town, it never rained. I remember growing up, not knowing what rain was until my parents and I visited extended family in another state. During the week we were there, there was a day where it downpoured. I remember sitting on one of the couches in the living room, curled up out of fear and asking my parents what was going on. They told me that it was raining and explained very broadly how the water cycle works. It was such a brand new and interesting concept to me. The instant returned home, I wanted to tell my friends about rain. My parents told me not to, that we were living in a decade long drought and that bringing up rain would make people sad. I didn't want to make anyone sad with my excitement, so I simply forgot about telling anyone.

Then I remembered.

About a year ago, a new family moved into town. They seemed like a run-of-the-mill, suburban family. Their eldest child, the daughter Korie, was my age (16), and their youngest, the son Thomas, was seven. They moved right into our neighborhood, right down the street. We were on summer break at the time with only two weeks left until school. And when school did inevitably come around, I decided to try and make friends with Korie.

Korie was probably one of the nicest people I've ever met. She was calm and would always strike up a conversation with me before class started. She had this way of talking to people that would instantly put them at ease. Countless times I would make jokes that she had some sort of undiscovered super power, or maybe she was a long lost goddess. She would always smile, giggle and shake her head at me. I'd invite her over after school and sometimes on weekends if her parents didn't have any plans. It was one of these weekends that Korie would inevitably ask the question.

"Isn't it weird that it doesn't rain here?"

"What?" I replied, somewhat caught off guard.

"Yeah, haven't you noticed? Ever since I moved in it hasn't rained once."

I remembered what my parents told me; "It's because we're in a drought. It's lasted for decades at this point."

"A drought ?" Korie looked at me, confused, "Weird. I feel like my parents would've known about one before we moved in."

We were both silent for a moment before Korie's phone buzzed.

"Parents need me to watch my brother, I'll see you later."

Then she left.

I had lived in this town all my life and never thought the drought was weird. No one else did. And maybe her parents just never looked into the town's history far enough to know about it. Maybe all they knew was that the crime rate was low and the houses looked decent.

Never did I think that maybe, just maybe, there was a secret being kept, that even I didn't know.

Life continued on as it was. Wake up, eat breakfast, get ready, go to school, get home, do homework, hangout with Korie, go to bed, and repeat. My usual boring routine, interrupted by a knock at my door on one Thursday afternoon when Korie had stayed home.

It was Korie's dad.

"Hey, kiddo. Your parents home?"

"No, my dad's at work and mom's running a bunch of errands before her shift."

"Oh," There was something in his facial expression that I couldn't place. It was like uneasy curiosity. "Would it be alright if I asked you something then?"

"Uh...sure?" I scanned over him, a little freaked out. I didn't know Korie's dad that well, and absolutely wasn't sure of his intentions in that moment.

"So, Korie mentioned to me that this town is in a drought, and that you were the one to tell her. I was just wondering if that's true?"

"I mean, it's never rained once in my life since I can remember, so yeah, I think it's true."

"And everyone in the town knows this?"

"Probably, a lot of them have been here for generations."

Korie's dad just stared at me as he thought. It felt like I could see the gears turning in his head.

"Okay, well, thanks for the talk, pal. I'll uh, I'll see you around then." He gave me an awkward smile before stepping off the front steps and heading down the street. I figured that would be the last time Korie's dad would be interested in the drought. It wasn't. Soon after, he started protesting at Town Hall and trying to publish articles in the local newspaper about how a town was trying to hide a drought from the media. He created conspiracies over it, things like the government was doing some sort of testing, or this was once an uninhabitable site caused by radiation. He went crazy. All over a drought. A lot of the townspeople simply huffed and shook their heads at the whole thing. A few tried to argue with him, and some even tried to silence him. That was the weirdest part. There were a handful of people treating this weird guy's dilemma like it was taboo. Not like he was crazy, but like he shouldn't be talking about it. It confused me, all of this over a drought? Why would people even bother?

My attitude quickly changed as soon as Korie went missing. It happened a week ago. Her dad reported her missing when she didn't come home from school, after he rushed over to our house. He looked so disheveled and frightened. I didn't know where she was either, I thought she had stayed home sick that day because she wasn't at school. The town joined the police's search efforts. We were out looking for hours, some of the adults posted things on social media for their friends in neighboring towns to see. News stations covered it. I was so shocked, scared and confused. I prayed that no one in the town had taken her. I prayed that she wasn't hurt, hoping that her dad's outburst hadn't caused someone to go over the edge.

I've been crying for the past few days. She was my best friend. Everything feels off. And today, when I looked out my bedroom window, I saw it.

The town has been in a drought for decades.

Today..

it finally rained.

You're going for a stroll in the woods one day when you see a person approaching you on the same path you're walking on. From afar it looks like they don't have a face. That's a funny illusion, you think to yourself, but as you pass them you realize they actually don't have a face. Less than a minute later you see the same person approach again, exactly as they had a few seconds ago, and this happens another time, and then again and again, and you realize it's not just the faceless person that is the same. You hear the same exact bird chirps in the same exact order with regular intervals, go past the same trees including a tree stump with a cluster of mushrooms on it and a small ant hill. You want to stop and get your bearings but you can't stop, you just keep walking, passing by the same things and the same person over and over. You're starting to realize something about this person, too, that you hadn't realized before for some reason. They're wearing the exact same clothes you're wearing, they have the same hair, they're basically you. Somehow you know your face is beginning to disappear too, little by little, but you can't check because you can't stop walking and your arms won't stop moving in step with your feet. Soon your face is entirely gone just like the other person's face but you keep walking. You don't remember a time when you weren't strolling through these woods, seeing these same things over and over. You don't remember a time when you had a face.

Link

It’s giving horror story dad joke edition

stood over a deepfryer and my head fell off. im screaming ah ah ah ah

My theory is that Frank likes to spy on his tenants.

Alright, A few years ago, I moved into a cheap one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of town. It wasn’t the best place—thin walls, outdated appliances, and an eerie, musty smell that never quite went away—but it was all I could afford at the time. My landlord was an older guy named Frank, who seemed friendly but a little… off. He gave me the keys and mentioned one weird thing before I moved in:

“If you ever hear noises at night, just ignore them. This building is old. It creaks.”

I laughed it off, assuming he was talking about pipes or the occasional rat in the walls. But after my first week there, I started to notice strange things.

At first, it was small. My kitchen cabinets would be slightly open when I was sure I closed them. A few pieces of food seemed to go missing from my fridge, but I figured I was just being careless. Then, I started hearing noises.

Late at night, when the city outside was dead silent, I would hear faint scuffling—almost like soft footsteps—coming from my living room. Every time I got up to check, nothing was there. My front door was locked. My windows shut. I told myself it was just the building settling, just like Frank had said.

Then one night, something happened that I couldn’t ignore.

I woke up around 3 AM to the sound of my closet door creaking open. My heart nearly stopped. My closet had one of those sliding doors, and I knew I had shut it before bed. I lay there, frozen, listening. The room was completely dark except for the faint glow of the streetlamp outside.

Then I heard it.

A slow, quiet breath.

It was coming from inside my closet.

I bolted up, grabbed my phone, and shined the flashlight toward the slightly open door. I couldn’t see much, just darkness inside. But I wasn’t taking any chances. I ran out of my apartment and called the police.

When they arrived, they searched my place but found nothing. No signs of forced entry, nothing missing—just an empty apartment. I felt embarrassed but also uneasy. The officer asked if I wanted to stay somewhere else for the night, but I said I’d be fine.

The next morning, I decided to check the closet myself. I moved my clothes and boxes out of the way, feeling stupid for even doing it. But when I pushed one of the back panels, I heard a click.

It swung open, revealing a hidden crawlspace.

A crawlspace big enough for someone to hide in.

Inside, there was a small pile of food wrappers. Crumpled water bottles. And a sleeping bag.

Someone had been living there.

I packed my things and moved out that same day. Frank acted surprised when I told him, but I could tell he knew more than he was letting on. I never got an answer about who had been staying there or how long they had been watching me.

I still think about it sometimes.

Because the scariest part?

I never heard anyone leave that night.

Walk-In Fridge

“Ow!”

Ken yanked his hand away from the sink as the water gushing out became scolding hot.

He dunked the burned hand into the Sani sink, which was kept mildly cold.

Ken typically used his bare hands to do the dishes. One of the dish gloves he’d brought in for all the preps and dishwashers to use had a tear in the pointer finger, and the other one just filled with water, even after duct-taping both tightly around his arm. He never figured out where the hole was.

Inspecting his hands, Ken noted the pink splashed all over the back of them, accompanied by a slight burning, almost-itching sensation. He stepped away from the sink, his worn, black sneakers dipping into little puddles on the floor.

His hand throbbed to the sound of his heartbeat. Why do they constantly shove me onto Dish? He thought, exhausted. It seemed like only people with sensitive skin were ever thrown on there.

The other usual dish, Alex, had eczema and kept this giant white bottle of special lotion in her locker.

Outside, a powerful, blistering wind shook up trees and whistled against the building. It was getting late, 10 pm, only an hour before closing.

BAM! BAM! BAM! The powerful knocks on one of the two back doors made Ken jump.

Heart still pounding, It made Ken feel silly when he remembered that Alex and another coworker had slipped outside to smoke on their vapes for a bit.

Trying not to slip on the wet ground, he pushed open the heavy door, which was completely locked from the outside.

Alex and Leyla slipped in, stripping off their heavy coats.

“You don’t have to knock so loudly, you know,” Ken told them as he returned to his spot in front of the sinks. “I’m right next to the door.”

“Leyla just has a lot of pent-up rage,” Alex explained, before hitting the vape and blowing the sweet fragrant smoke into the air. Both girls had to re-tie their hair back into ponytails and tuck them into their work caps.

“Someday, Richie’s gonna write you guys up for this,” Ken smirked. He didn’t get why so many of his coworkers just had to bring their vapes with them to a part-time job. They couldn’t last six hours without it? Why not have the decency to do it in the comfort of your home?

Leyla shrugged. “Richie doesn’t care as long as we do our jobs.”

“And have you been doing that?” Ken raised an eyebrow.

“Do your dishes,” Alex grinned.

“Um,” Ken stopped them from heading back out into the front. “Shouldn’t someone get to cleaning the walk-in?” The three of them turned to the giant, metal door, where the fridge sat.

It was at the very opposite end of the sink, sitting next to the second door leading directly outside. When the restaurant was extra quiet, usually late at night, you could hear the soft buzzing.

Leyla sighed. “Why can’t you do it?”

“It’s not my job,” Ken frowned.

“It’s not ours either,” Alex readjusted her cap, as she did often.

“The prep’s supposed to do it,” Leyla said. “But Dominique left early. So now you should be the one to do it.”

“He’s so messy,” Ken frowned. “He didn’t do a very good job cleaning his station.”

“But he gets his work done the fastest,” Leyla defended.

“Not super effectively,” Ken complained.

“Whatever,” Alex rolled her eyes. “His station looks fine.” Dominique was Alex and Leyla’s friend, as were a lot of people in this place. Friends who had convinced each other to work with them.

Richie’s voice cut into their conversation. The three of them could hear Richie from the front: “Alex! Leyla! Where are you?!”

The girls sighed, and Ken shook his head as he watched them exit out to the front.

He turned to the sinks and got back to work.

Richie was tonight’s shift lead. They were closer to Ken’s age than the high schoolers who snuck out to vape.

As Ken got through the last dirty plate, he froze to an unnerving sound: movement, inside the fridge.

His eyes shot in its direction. No more sound.

The sound had been faint, as if someone, or something, had bumped into something.

Waiting silently for anymore noise, Ken’s heart thrummed in his chest anxiously.

He considered checking inside, just to see, but he told himself to just focus on what he was being paid to do: clean.

Now all he could hear was the rhythm of running water. Outside, he heard the voices of his coworkers welcoming guests. They didn’t get very many customers at this time. He never understood how they could afford to stay open so late.

Once the commotion out front died down, Richie strolled in through the swinging doors. They scooped a foam cup from the racks of ingredients and brushed by Ken, situating themself into the manager's chair, a little black one right in front of the desk, complete with a computer, screens displaying the camera videos, and mini drawers stuffed with so much shit Ken doubted the scribbled-on labels were accurate anymore.

“Richie?” Ken asked.

Richie raised their eyes to Ken. “Mm?”

“Who's gonna clean the walk-in?”

Richie stretched an arm above their head. “Don’t worry about it, Ken. I’ll force one of the girls to do it before they leave.”

Ken nodded. He hated things being left unclean for too long. It was why he was one of the best dishes: he got through them fast just so he didn’t have to watch them sit around in their filth.

“I know. You mostly work with Omar, right? Everything done early and quickly, right? But on my shifts, we like to wait ‘till the end of the shifts. You get a bit dirty after doing it, huh?” Richie smiled. Ken was used to Omar’s shifts; tonight was his first time working with Richie since they became a shift lead.

“It’s an easy clean-up, especially with the aprons,” Ken protested.

Richie nodded. “You know this shift is mostly newbies. Dominique is fast but he’s still a tad careless.”

Ken nodded in agreement.

After a bit, Richie returned to the front. Ken was left with nothing to do. All the dishes were done. All the trash was taken out.

He swept the floor, though it had already been pretty neat from the previous few times he’d swept. Usually, those on dish waited until closing to finally sweep, and there'd always be a fun assortment of trash and fallen food bits scattered about the floor, along with puddles of water and some mysterious sludges.

Ken had to squeegee some of the water on his side of the room into the big drain underneath his station. If the building had been designed right, the drain would be slightly lower in elevation compared to the rest of the floor, but unfortunately, some doofus made it the same height, and a bunch of water collected behind it, cloudy and gray from whatever elements accumulated underneath the sink.

Then he heard it again. A bumping sound. This time louder than before. Were Ken’s ears playing tricks on him?

His heart thumping, he ignored it. After finishing the floor he decided to reorganize the condiments on the rack behind the prep station. Unfortunately much closer to the walk-in, but he preferred it over going out front to help clean and serve whatever random customer decided to grab a burger at 10:30 at night.

Ken tried not to think about the walk-in. He hadn’t felt so nervous about it since his first few days working here. He’d calmed down since, but working with a new crew under new conditions was spiking his anxieties again.

Finally, he pressed an ear against the metal door and listened hard. No sounds.

10:50 approached, and the crew up front was bringing back the last of the dishes, including items they were technically not supposed to be taking back until exactly 11. But most of the leads preferred to close as early as possible. No one wanted to go home thirty minutes before midnight. Even during the summer, when the high schoolers weren’t concerned about school.

Finally, Ken watched Richie tell Alex to clean up the walk-in, and for Leyla to clock out. Leyla ignored them and instead stayed to help Alex clean.

They were in there for maybe ten minutes or so. Ken thought he should help, but decided it wasn’t worth it and continued scrubbing his station. He always closed it well.

Finally, Ken watched Alex and Leyla lug out a ginormous black trash bag from the fridge.

“Fuck, this is heavy,” Leyla murmured.

Ken cringed when they nearly dropped it. Ken hated it when the bag hit the floor.

The girls disappeared out into the dark, windy night. The door shut behind them. They’d forgotten to jam a hat or trashcan onto it to keep it open.

Ken went up to the fridge and slipped inside.

He was impressed. The walk-in was spotless.

Nearly. He spotted a small, red smear on the floor just beside his feet.

Ken shook his head. How could they miss such an obvious spot?

As he crouched down to his knees to wipe it away, his eye caught something underneath the racks.

Bending low, he pulled it out and inspected it. And then yelled.

A human finger. Bits of red gore hung from the middle joint where it had been severed.

Heart beating faster, Ken couldn’t believe it.

He barged out of the fridge just as Alex and Leyla returned. Their clothes were splotched and stained from the cleaning job.

“Alex! Leyla!” Ken snapped. “Look at this!”

He held up the finger to them, letting them both take in the sight.

Ken huffed, “It’s paramount that you make sure to take out all of the trash!”

~~~

Other short stories by me:

Those Green Eyes

(here is another story I wrote a long time ago)

~~~

Imagine this: You’re just a normal, average guy, right? You take a few college classes here and there, you work a part time job—nothing special.

You work at an old convenience store late at night. It’s usually really slow at that time, so you spend your time reading superhero comic books. Every now and then, a customer might walk in and buy a pack of gum or bandaids or something.

So one night, your shift is nearing an end, and you’re almost done with your comic. You’re slumped back in your chair, feeling groggy.

You hear someone wall in thanks to the soft ring of the bell hanging over the door.

“Welcome,” you call out, eyes still glued to your book.

The stranger doesn’t respond, but many don’t, so you don’t think much of it.

Five minutes pass when the lights shut off. You curse under your breath as you set down your comic on the counter. It’s only when you look up, you realize it.

The stranger is standing right in front of you, right at the counter. How long was he there?

It’s impossible to see him clearly in the dark, even with the streetlights shining in from outside. He seems to be wrapped in a long, black trench coat, and his head is covered in a hoodie coming from under it. You can’t see his face, except for his eyes. You don’t know if you’re imagining it, but they appear to glow a sickly yellow and are lined with dark red veins.

You’re frozen. Your heart’s racing, but you can’t move. It felt like time itself had stopped.

Finally, logic enters your brain, and you jump from your chair. Stop looking at me like that! You don’t actually say it, but you almost do.

“I’m so sorry, it’s just a power outage, I’ll call someone. Sir? Are you okay?” you ask.

He doesn’t reply. You fumble for a flashlight.

So you continue. “I’m sorry about all this. This has never happened before, really. Can I borrow your phone?”

The lights flicker back on. You blink, struggling to adjust for a moment, when you realize it.

The man is gone.

Over the next few weeks, you keep seeing figures out in public that you swear is him. You catch him on a bridge up ahead, or disappearing behind a building at the corner of your eye.

You must have been tired that night, you need to keep telling yourself. So why do I keep seeing him?

You try to ignore the lingering figure. You pretend you don’t see it. But it’s getting harder and harder.

And he’s getting closer, and closer.

You become more terrified as time oasses. You scroll through the internet for hours, and flip through dozens of books. No answers..

You sleep with all the light on and a baseball bat under your bed—if you can even sleep at all.

He’s like a disease eating you. You begin to get weaker and weaker, and soon, you fall ill.

The thought of being stuck in bed scares you. You can’t run. And he knows this.

You ignore the doctor’s order to stay in bed, and one day, you pass out. You wake up in a hospital. You’re relieved to be surrounded by nurses and doctors.

You’re eating dinner one night when the power shuts off.

You press the button to call the nurse, but nothing happens. No lights, no sound, no nurse.

The room is getting colder and colder. You scream for a nurse. The feeling of alone-ness increases.

You’re relieved to head the door open. You say “Nurse! Thank you! There’s been a power outa-“

Glowing, yellow eyes.

He’s watching you, right at the foot of the bed. Towering over you.

“Who are you?l you scream. “Leave me alone!”

The figure doesn’t move. The room is getting colder, and it feels like your fingers are going to fall off. You scramble to get up out of bed, to run. Instead, you pummel right onto the ground.

The figure kneels in front of you, and you let out another blood-curdling scream. He takes off his hoodie.

And you see your own, smiling face staring right back at you.

~~~

Other stories by me:

Here’s a really unique take on snuff films called I’m Never Shooting Another Snuff Film. Definitely darker than some of the other stuff you find on r/nosleep.

If you’re itching for strange macabre and gorey short horror stories may I recommend this anthology by Adam Cesare, author of my favorite book series ever. Some of these stories definitely made me feel a little queasy