TI watched as my soon to be father-in-law held his daughter's hand as he walked down the aisle. Tears streamed down his face as the wedding march that played in the background reminded him that, in a few minutes, he would be watching me hold his daughter's hand and slipping on her ring.He walked up to the altar and I took hold of her hand, grinning from ear to ear. It was the happiest day of my life.My bride's father got down on his knees and started begging. "Please, I did what you asked. Just please give my daughter back."I glared at him. "Shut up and stop ruining the moment. If you sit back down and enjoy the ceremony, maybe I'll tell you where I’ve hidden the rest of her body. (Source)

Where are you?!" I scream.Panicked, I run through the abandoned farm. I can't find her. Not in the old house. Not in the barn.I run into the empty field, heart racing. As I scan the area, I run into a mound of dirt and trip, sprawling to the ground.Getting up, it hits me. Abandoned farm. I tripped over freshly tilled earth.Crouching down, I start frantically clawing with my hands. Scooping handfuls of dirt, I hit something hard. Wood."Are you in there?!" I cry, pressing my ear to the wood. I hear muffled cries.I start digging again, but realize it's taking too long. Looking around, I see a garden shed. I sprint to it, ripping the door open. I see a shovel, still caked in dirt. Probably the same one that bastard buried her with. I grab it.Running back, I started digging with purpose. Soon the wooden box is exposed. I toss the shovel, and rip open the crate.She stares back at me, eyes wide. Bound. Gagged. But alive. I sigh with relief. Thank God.I reach into my bag, pulling out my rag and chloroform. I crouch down, placing it over her face. She struggles, faints. I toss her over my shoulder."Ah, hell!" My brother says as I walk back to the truck with a smirk. "You found her!""Yup. You almost had me though!" I laugh."All right. My turn. Where did you put her?"I gesture to the creek area. "Somewhere over there. Drowning's an issue though.""Jerk!" he says, running off. I smile, watching him go. I love adult Hide and Seek. (Source)

The doctor pulled the stethoscope ear tips out and hung the device around his neck."Mr. Weatherby, all of your tests have come back negative and my examination shows nothing abnormal."Adam knew what was coming next. "I'm not crazy, Doctor.""I'm sorry, but there is no physical reason for why you occasionally lose control of your hands. A psychologist can help...""I don't need therapy. I need answers. They seem to have a life all their own. I can't hold a job. I'm under investigation for assault. I almost killed my neighbor. This can't go on. I'll try anything at this point."After two weeks on a new medication, Adam saw no progress and grew increasingly depressed.He was convinced that despite what the doctors said, it was not a psychological problem. That night, a frustrated and angry Adam sat in a chair and drank bourbon. Drunk and hopeless, he stumbled to the garage and started the table saw, then slowly lowered his wrists toward the screaming blade.Detective Armstrong entered the garage where several uniformed officers stood over the blood-soaked body."So what do we got?" he asked, taking in the blood-splattered scene."This is a weird one, Detective.""How so?""Take a look at the body. He apparently chopped off his hands with the table saw and bled to death."Armstrong knelt down. "And?""And we can't find his hands anywhere. (Source)

I hate it when my brother Charlie has to go away. My parents constantly try to explain to me how sick he is. That I am lucky for having a brain where all the chemicals flow properly to their destinations like undammed rivers. When I complain about how bored I am without a little brother to play with, they try to make me feel bad by pointing out that his boredom likely far surpasses mine, considering his confine to a dark room in an institution. I always beg for them to give him one last chance. Of course, they did at first. Charlie has been back home several times, each shorter in duration than the last. Every time without fail, it all starts again. The neighbourhood cats with gouged out eyes showing up in his toy chest, my dad's razors found dropped on the baby slide in the park across the street, mom's vitamins replaced by bits of dishwasher tablets. My parents are hesitant now, using "last chances" sparingly. They say his disorder makes him charming, makes it easy for him to fake normalcy, and to trick the doctors who care for him into thinking he is ready for rehabilitation. That I will just have to put up with my boredom if it means staying safe from him. I hate it when Charlie has to go away. It makes me have to pretend to be good until he is back. (Source)

A few years ago, a mother and father decided they needed a break, so they wanted to head out for a night on the town. They called their most trusted babysitter. When the babysitter arrived, the two children were already fast asleep in bed. So the babysitter just got to sit around and make sure everything was okay with the children.
Later that night, the babysitter got bored and went to watch TV, but she couldn’t watch it downstairs because they did not have cable downstairs (the parents didn’t want children watching too much garbage). So, she called them and asked them if she could watch cable in the parents’ room. Of course, the parents said it was OK, but the babysitter had one final request… she asked if she could cover up the angel statue outside the bedroom window with a blanket or cloth, because it made her nervous. The phone line was silent for a moment, and the father who was talking to the babysitter at the time said, “Take the children and get out of the house… we’ll call the police. We don’t own an angel statue.”
The police found both of the children and the babysitter slumped in pools of their own blood within three minutes of the call. No statue was found. (Source)

A young girl is playing in her bedroom when she hears her mother call to her from the kitchen, so she runs down the stairs to meet her mother. As she’s running through the hallway, the door to the cupboard under the stairs opens, and a hand reaches out and pulls her in.
It’s her mother.
She whispers to her child, “Don’t go into the kitchen. I heard it too.” (Source)

We bought an old house, my boyfriend and I. He’s in charge of the “new” construction – converting the kitchen into the master bedroom for instance, while I’m on wallpaper removal duty. The previous owner papered EVERY wall and CEILING! Removing it is brutal, but oddly satisfying. The best feeling is getting a long peel, similar to your skin when you’re peeling from a sunburn. I don’t know about you but I kinda make a game of peeling, on the hunt for the longest piece before it rips.
Under a corner section of paper in every room is a person’s name and a date. Curiosity got the best of me one night when I Googled one of the names and discovered the person was actually a missing person, the missing date matching the date under the wallpaper! The next day, I made a list of all the names and dates. Sure enough each name was for a missing person with dates to match. We notified the police who naturally sent out the crime scene team.
I overhead one tech say “yup, it’s human.” Human? What’s human?
“Ma’am, where is the material you removed from the walls already? This isn’t wallpaper you were removing.” (Source)

My daughter woke me around 11:50 last night. My wife and I had picked her up from her friend Sally’s birthday party, brought her home, and put her to bed. My wife went into the bedroom to read while I fell asleep watching the Braves game.
“Daddy,” she whispered, tugging my shirt sleeve. “Guess how old I’m going to be next month.”
“I don’t know, beauty,” I said as I slipped on my glasses. “How old?”
She smiled and held up four fingers.
It is 7:30 now. My wife and I have been up with her for almost 8 hours. She still refuses to tell us where she got them. (Source)

I don’t know why I looked up, but when I did I saw him there. He stood against my window. His forehead rested against the glass, and his eyes were still and light and he smiled a lipstick-red, cartoonish grin. And he just stood there in the window. My wife was upstairs sleeping, my son was in his crib and I couldn’t move I froze and watched him looking past me through the glass.
Oh, please no. His smile never moved but he put a hand up and slid it down the glass, watching me. With matted hair and yellow skin and face through the window.
I couldn’t do anything. I just stayed there, frozen, feet still in the bushes I was pruning, looking into my home. He stood against my window. (Source)

During the summer of 1983, in a quiet town near Minneapolis, Minnesota, the charred body of a woman was found inside the kitchen stove of a small farmhouse. A video camera was also found in the kitchen, standing on a tripod, pointing at the oven. No tape was found inside the camera at the time.
Although the scene was originally labeled as a homicide by police, an unmarked VHS tape was later discovered at the bottom of the farm’s well, which had apparently dried up earlier that year.
Despite its worn condition, and the fact that it contained no audio, police were still able to view the contents of the tape. It depicted a woman recording herself in front of a video camera, seemingly using the same camera that the police found in the kitchen. After positioning the camera to include both her and her kitchen stove in its view, she turned on the oven, opened the door, crawled inside, and then closed the door behind her. After eight minutes into the video, the oven could be seen shaking violently. At this point thick, black smoke emanated from it. For the remaining forty-five minutes of video, until the batteries in the camera died, it remained in its stationary position.
To avoid disturbing the local community, the police never released any information about the tape, or even the fact that it was found. Police were also not able to determine who put the tape in the well, or why the height and stature of the woman in the video did not come close to matching the body that they had found in the oven. (Source)