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“A Taste of Your Own Medicine”

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  “A Taste of Your Own Medicine” Generated on 5/18/2025, 10:19:46 AM 3 min read • 591 words Genre: tales, psychological SOURCE: An original tale of karmic justice served cold from the bone crypts of twisted fate. [The Cryptkeeper’s raggedy voice scratches and crackles like a rusty sawblade cutting through dry bone.] “Well, boils and ghouls, tonight’s tale is a real gut-wrencher—a viscera-ly violent vengeance stew that’ll have you howling in terror! So grab your wicked utensils, because this is one recipe for justice that’s gonna leave a sour taste in your blood! I warn ya, it’s not for the faint of heart—or stomach. Let’s dig in!” * * * Jacob Dellinger was a man whose ego was as swollen as the bloated corpses he dissected in his underground lab. A twisted surgeon with a reputation for mercilessly experimenting on terminal patients without consent, he reveled in the power to play god—or rather, Satan’s butcher. His victims were left as writhing, screaming meat puppets, sl...
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The Neon Shrine

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  The Neon Shrine Generated on 5/18/2025, 10:16:36 AM 3 min read • 487 words Genre: bloodybites, social-horror In the heart of the city, a narrow alleyway buzzed with the harsh glow of flickering neon signs. The kind that promised salvation—energy drinks, a 24-hour pharmacy, miracle skin creams—but offered nothing but fluorescent lies. Mara stumbled in the rain, her phone dead and her heart pounding like a drum in her ribs. No signal. No Uber. Just the suffocating roar of distant traffic and the sharp stink of garbage. She ducked into a corner shop that was barely open, the glass smeared with grime and blood—old, dried, crusted—spattered like a missive from somewhere darker. The shopkeeper, a grotesque figure with glassy eyes and cracked, fungal skin, nodded at Mara. “No signal in here,” he croaked. “But you can charge your phone if you want.” Mara didn’t trust him. Phones didn’t just die anymore. She was sure of it. The city was a hive of surveillance, data, juice, life...
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The Loom of Flesh

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  The Loom of Flesh Generated on 5/9/2025, 9:46:20 PM 5 min read • 935 words Genre: mastersofhorror, psychological Nestled in a forgotten coastal village, where tidal mists swallowed streets whole and the horizon burned with an eternal orange dusk, stood the century-old factory known as The Loom. Its skeletal frame was a latticework of rust and rot, one that local children dared each other to approach yet never entered. It was said The Loom wove not cloth, but the very essence of the villagers’ bodies and souls into its tapestries. They did not know this, but their flesh was the factory’s loom. Mira, a textile conservator from the city, arrived to document the factory for an archival project mandated by the state. She was precise, clinical, her mind wrapped in the logic of preservation and history. The villagers met her with a brittle politeness that cracked under every gaze. Among them was Old Severin, the last living loom operator—his hands gnarled as twisted branches, kn...
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“The Last Cut”

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  “The Last Cut” Generated on 5/9/2025, 9:30:12 PM 3 min read • 524 words Genre: tales, psychological SOURCE: An original tale from the Cryptkeeper’s decayed diary, penned in blood and madness. “Greetings, boils and ghouls! Tonight’s tale is one to shear your soul right down to the bone—a scalp-tingling story of vanity, vengeance, and a very hairy situation gone horribly wrong. So grab your shears and hold onto your follicles, because it’s time for… ‘The Last Cut’! Our story unfolds in the mist-choked streets of a forgotten Gothic town, where lives and sanity hang as precariously as a noose on a gallows tree. There lived a barber named Victor Vex, renowned not only for the sharpness of his razors but for his razor-sharp ego. Victor was a man obsessed with perfection, a man who believed every strand of hair was a testament to his godlike artistry. But what Victor lacked was a shred of humanity. One cold, moonless night, a mysterious cloaked figure entered Victor’s dim, blo...
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The Quietness Below the Floorboards

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  The Quietness Below the Floorboards Generated on 5/9/2025, 9:26:56 PM 5 min read • 950 words Genre: creepypasta, psychological I never thought a simple home renovation could unearth something so utterly disturbing that it’d gnaw at the edges of my sanity. I’m sharing this now because I can’t keep it locked inside anymore, and maybe someone out there can make sense of what’s happening—or at least confirm I’m not completely losing it. About two months ago, I bought an old Victorian fixer-upper on the outskirts of a small town. The place needed work, but nothing I couldn’t handle. The previous owner had left in a hurry, and the house smelled faintly of damp wood and forgotten memories. I started by tearing up the old carpet in my bedroom—just to see what was underneath. That’s when I found it: a section of the floor that felt… off. When I pried up the boards, I discovered a shallow cavity about two feet deep, just below the floorboards. Inside was an assortment of strange o...
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Data Decay Protocol

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                    Data Decay Protocol Generated on 5/8/2025, 3:25:26 PM 4 min read • 662 words Genre: creepypasta, psychological SOURCE: Personal logs recovered from a corrupted server archive linked to a discontinued mental wellness app Day 1 | 23:47 I don’t remember signing up for this app, but it’s on my phone. “MindMesh,” it says — a mental health self-monitoring tool that syncs with your sensory data to recommend meditations or mood prompts. It claims to “map your mental landscape.” Weirdly invasive, but I didn’t delete it, so it must’ve been automatic. The interface is strangely glitchy. Text sometimes jumbles mid-sentence. Like the app’s own mind is fraying. --- Day 3 | 04:16 I keep getting these notifications labeled “Protocol Update.” Opening them just shows a rapidly scrolling sequence of numbers and letters, like a corrupted code dump. When I try to screenshot, the app crashes. The phone’s battery dies faster ...
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The Final Status Update

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  The Final Status Update Generated on 5/8/2025, 3:15:44 PM 3 min read • 481 words Genre: bloodybites, social-horror At 3:17 a.m., Julia’s phone buzzed. A notification. Not the usual heartbeat of group chats or algorithm-pushed ads—but a live stream request. She frowned. She didn’t know the sender. Just a blank profile with a single word: *Watch.* Curiosity clawed at her. She tapped. The screen flickered. A dim, claustrophobic room appeared, walls slick with deep crimson streaks that pulsed like veins. The camera’s angle was skewed, shaking violently as if held by trembling hands. A voice whispered, rasping and low: “You wanted to see. Now you will.” Before Julia could swipe away, the camera jerked toward something horrifying. A man—his face shredded, eyes gouged out and bleeding shadows—clawed at the dirty floor with bloody fingers, dragging himself forward as his throat gurgled a wet, terrible noise. His skin hung in hanging strips, twitching like dead worms. ...
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