The Omniscrolls

For as long as I remember, I always felt as if I was being followed. When I brought this up with my parents, they reported it to the police. However, the cops couldn’t find anything and the investigation went nowhere. I was embarrassed enough because of the investigation since the issue caught the attention of the entire school, but then my parents made it worse by hiring a private investigator. After a while, I no longer knew whether I was actually being followed or whether it was just the PI. My parents called her off after a year had passed, but the feeling of being followed still remained. Mom and Dad checked on me once in a while, asking whether I sensed anything strange, but I said nothing. I never saw or heard anyone, it was always just a feeling I could never shake off. There was nothing I could prove, so I decided to remain silent. If I truly had a stalker, then they had ample time to learn my daily routine and approach me when it was convenient. For years, I hadn’t encountere...

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Trigger Warning: Gore / Violence Against Children As a homicide detective, I thought I had seen it all until, one day, I came across a sight I never thought I’d see. The bodies of multiple children were thrown into a pile on the outskirts of the town. I felt knots form from my stomach to my throat as my partner and I investigated the bodies; the children were tortured before they were shot in the back of their heads. They were all minorities, so we started cracking down on supremacists and other gangs in the area, but every route we took led us to an impasse. As we ran around in circles, the bodies kept piling up every other week. By the time the second month rolled around, we were staring at a three-digit body count. I saw their faces every time my head hit the pillow, and I stared at the ceiling for hours, hoping and wishing to get my hands on those responsible. I could barely even eat anymore. My partner’s hopes of catching the murderers slowly eroded as this dragged on, but I doubl...

I spent most of my childhood dreaming and daydreaming about different worlds, imagining so many stories unfolding in my mind every single day. Mom always told me I had a vivid imagination and encouraged me to write whatever I dreamt about. She said she was just like me when she was young, and that writing all those stories down from a young age was a major factor that contributed to her becoming an author. I took her advice and started writing when I was just six, and over the years, I had so many stories of my own that I was proud of. However, my preferring fiction over everything else pushed me into a corner in social situations; a lot of my classmates thought me a freak and often bullied me. I struggled to make friends for many years, and once I reached my teens, I finally gave up on it. My stories were enough, I didn’t need any friends. My characters were my second family. After I finished school and started working, however, my writing slowly faded into the background of my life. ...

From a very young age, I could always see two shadows on either side of every person I met. Mom always said I had a vivid imagination, but I knew it was much more than that. Each of these shadow pairs had a strong presence around them, as if exerting pressure on their surroundings. But I was the only one who seemed to sense it. Mom always said it would all disappear as I grew older, but they never did. I still felt those strange presences even when I reached my early teens. I brought it up with her again, but she was quick to dismiss the topic, saying I should just ignore it. From then on, I decided to never speak of it to anyone, but I still wouldn’t give up trying to understand exactly what those beings were. I observed my classmates’ behaviours and saw if there was a connection between their actions and the shadows. At first, I didn’t see anything significant, but as time passed, I came to understand that the shadows were in fact swaying the decisions of their hosts, be it for bette...