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They told us not to talk about the night shifts. Not even whispers. The cameras watched everything, recorded everything. But sometimes... sometimes I'd hear things in the lower levels. Things that shouldn't... well, you know how it goes.

I never meant to find that box in my grandmother's attic. It was just sitting there, covered in dust, with my name scratched into the lid. Inside were dozens of photos of me sleeping - all taken through my bedroom window. That's when I realized why she always insisted I keep my curtains open.

Deep within the basement archives of St. Mary's Hospital, a leather-bound journal from 1873 reveals disturbing accounts of patients who vanished during the midnight hour, leaving only strange symbols etched into their bedframes.

Don't take the night bus that stops at Miller Street at 3 AM. The driver has hollow eyes and never blinks. People who board that bus are never seen again. Last week, I watched it disappear into thin air, passengers still inside. Just take a taxi instead.

The autumn leaves change colors gradually, starting with bright yellow, then orange, and finally deep red. Each morning, we can collect four different types of leaves from the garden path, press them between paper sheets, and create beautiful decorations for the dining room.

Im Winter 1983 verschwanden in einem kleinen Dorf drei Kinder. Zeugen berichteten von einer schwarzen Gestalt am Waldrand. Sie stand regungslos, auch bei Schnee und Eis. Wenn man näher kam, drehte sie nur langsam den Kopf. Die Fußspuren im Schnee führten nirgendwohin.

Los Angeles, January 26, 2013. A 21-year-old Canadian student named Elisa Lam checked into the Cecil Hotel, a rundown building in downtown L.A. with a dark past. It had been home to suicides, murders, and serial killers. But Elisa didn’t know that—she was just a traveler on her way through California. She called her family daily. But on January 31, she stopped. No calls. No messages. She was gone. ⸻

Lava is pouring into the water. I'm fucked.