While brushing your teeth in the evening, you catch a glimpse of your wall mirror, covered in fingerprints. Annoyed, you grab a towel and rub at them. They remain. Upon closer inspection, you realize that they seem to be on the other side of the glass...
You don't look in the mirror, the mirror looks into you. You are the reflection.
DISCLAIMER: I do not write these stories unless I state otherwise. These are all collected from an image board for sharing scary images and stories.

Have you ever gotten away with something so bad, so horrific it bored deep inside of you, and you ended up with that guilty pain inside of your stomach? Have you ever attempted to cut yourself on the arm to see how much you bleed, to relieve stress? Have you ever wanted to get away from the people who stand over your shoulder, watching your every move? Have you ever asked yourself this? I think from up until this point this has been the only time I have asked myself this. And the answers unveiled themselves to be entirely positive.

It’s somewhere inside my stomach and I know it. I just have to find a way to release it. Once I release it, the world will be gone. And happiness and sadness will combine to generate true chaos. It’s impossible to never die, so why wait? Let’s just get ourselves dead NOW.

Lately I’ve been having these dreams of tons of cars crashing, making masses of bloodbaths and oil everywhere. Then…then, there’s the man. The man that nobody knows about…IT’S JUST INSANE. Nobody even knows what he looks like; all we know is that he’s there. And he comes and ignites the oil and we all get dismembered from the fire instead of burning and melting.

First, the fire makes its way into your legs. It slowly rips apart the tender flesh into two uneven parts, and the blood drips down the leftover string of meat. You fall down onto your knees, and then plant your face into the concrete. Then it runs around your legs to cut off your circulation entirely. After you cannot feel your legs, it somehow pushes them over your head and you disassemble your entire skeletal system through breaking your spine. The pain has rendered you unconscious, so you don’t feel the rest, but it digs behind your face and poking outward to make holes. Then it leaves you to die like everyone else.

Then after the fire practically dismembers your entire body, you hear voices. The voices constantly whisper in an outrageously loud voice (for whispering), “BE QUIET. BE QUIET.” It hurts your head so much that your soul disappears. So all you have left is your spirit. And you float around in eternal despair as a spirit, crying and attempting to get the attention of others, but it doesn’t work.

So one day I woke up in my bed to see that my wife wasn’t beside me. This was odd because she usually wasn’t up this early. I knew she couldn’t have run off; it wasn’t like her. I put on my robe and ran downstairs. I saw my wife. She looked at me, smiled, and said…

“Be quiet.”

It was the voices inside of her. I started to think about me no longer having a wife because she’s gone and she’s going to try to kill me. I cried out on horror and fear, and fell on my back.

“Margaret! No! We can work this out of you! Just, let me call an exorcist…or somebody!?”

She fell down on her knees and slowly crawled towards me, her face looking vicious and deadly. Her eyes suddenly faded out of blue to turn grey, and in the blink of an eye they were blood-red. Tears rolling down each cheek, I grabbed the kitchen knife.
She continued to walk towards me. I was done for, I was gone. Or she was, at least. I grabbed the kitchen knife and took aim. I raised it above my shoulder, shook a little, and just as she came to my knees, I let go of the knife, and it landed on her head. It slowly poked in accurately, and I saw a few blood drips running behind the two bones behind her neck. She said “BE QUIET,” again, and I was scared half to death.


I kicked her in the face, and watched her roll back. The voices came again, she said it loudly enough for me to roll back and break my glass vase on my head. Her chest and stomach were absolutely clear. I raised the knife again.

With all my force, the knife came down and hit her chest, and I heard the *PUCK* as it slit inside of the heart. Blood came gushing onto my face, but it didn’t stop me. I felt good about this. I was killing evil. I slid the knife out, and did it again to make another coin slot. I lifted it and poked it back in repetitively. I think I must have missed 230 times, stabbed 867 times, and poked 94 times. I soon found myself licking the blood off of my nose and my eyes began to roll back as I said, “BE QUIET.”

‘Be quiet,’ the voices said. I stopped and as my spirit began to take control, I cut my left arm halfway. My eyes went back into place and the knife flew out of my hand, landing inside the large split in Margaret’s chest.

I felt my head, and it seemed completely normal.

But then I noticed something about when dreams become real.

When they do, everything inside the dream happens.

I opened my door to see the many cars crashed.

And also, I realized something else.

I killed somebody.

The ‘somebody’ had an evil spirit inside.

The spirit was inside my house.

I felt the giant anonymous man beside me.

“Be quiet.”

The spirit has lurked around my house forever, never to leave.

Whatever is left of Earth please make it good. Or just never be quiet.

Have you ever felt that the world around you does not exist?

That everything seems false? Or that dreams seem more real than the “Reality” we live in?

Everyone has had similar thoughts.

Has it ever passed your mind that we are all in a dream, but we do exist? That we are trapped somewhere and forced to sleep, in an unawake-able process of dreams?

We are trapped in this place until we die, where the people who put us to sleep create a scenario in which we die, and later discard us from the machine they put us to sleep in.

Having extremely sadistic minds, they sometimes create an extremely graphic and horrible scenario of death. They enjoy this, and love to torture people in their dreams.

Each one of the horrible people have their own person to create a life from.

Sometimes, the more twisted of them create a horrible life where the victim is abused, or immediatly killed.

Some victims have broken away from this process, and have tried to tell other victims, but they never listen.

They are called “crazy people”, “psycopaths”, and much more horrible things.

No one can ever reveal the true identity of the people, and all of us are subject to this process.

I’ll tell you a secret though, I’m new here, and you’re my victim. Good Luck.