The Omniscrolls

Being a naturally reserved and shy child, I often found myself being bullied by my classmates, but I always followed my mother’s advice and forgave them each time. Being a religious person, she asked that I never fight back against them because I’d be no better than them. My father, however, disagreed. “You’ll only be a carpet for them in the long run,” he said. “If you let them get away with it, they will never stop.” I hated to admit it, but he was right. Even though I mostly agreed with Mom’s ideals, I found Dad’s words eventually ringing true. As the years passed by, the bullying only got worse, and those responsible were never punished. I wanted to stay true to my beliefs and be the good person Mom wanted me to be, but at what cost? What was the point in being “good”—whatever that even meant anymore—if it only brought me suffering in return? It was not long before I was the only prey left in the class. I tried getting to know my bullies in a desperate attempt to find something we ...

I had a closet friend named Sophia when I was seven. I met her when we moved to a new house in a different town. She looked no older than I was at the time, and she was playing with a teddy bear inside the closet of my new room. The night I met Sophia, I asked if I could join her. She smiled and said yes, and we played until I fell asleep. I woke up the next day and went downstairs to find my parents panicking and on the phone. When they saw me approaching, they rushed to my side and asked me where I was. I said I was in the closet, but they didn’t believe me. My parents said they checked the closet and every other inch of the house and couldn’t find me. I didn’t know what to say other than the fact that I played with my new friend. I could tell at the time that they didn’t believe me. They said it was alright, and that they were just glad I was safe. Mom urged me to not hide anywhere at night and to only sleep in my bed. I agreed, although I didn’t always listen. I was admitted to a n...

I was sitting on a park bench waiting for my next client who was running late when a girl in her early teens approached my bench. She had some scrape marks on her face and hands, and she was also missing a shoe. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?” I asked. “My foster father. He beats me every day; I couldn’t take it anymore.” The girl, who introduced herself as Leila, said that she had complained to the police several times, but they never listened to her because of the status her foster parents held. Her foster mother didn’t care about her either. I felt my stomach twist inside. Having lost my parents to a contract killer, I was in and out of foster homes until I ran away at the age of sixteen and found myself in my current career. Leila asked if I could take her in, but I declined immediately. My work as a contract killer allowed me no room to be a mother. Instead, I saved my number on her phone and asked her to give me a ring if she ever needed my help. I usually had two rules: n...

As witches, my mom and I never disclosed our secret to anyone in our town, save for my mom’s best friend, Sara. This was a secret Sara alone kept ever since my mom saved her from a group of bullies when they were on their way home after school. Mom had erased the bullies’ memories, and had also planned on doing the same for Sara, but she had pleaded with Mom to let her memories remain. This one act of kindness, however, brought us misfortune in the long run: Sara accidentally revealed our secret, and it wasn’t long before the entire town was after us. Mom cast a spell to erase the entire town’s memories, and the two of us fled soon after. Mom wasn’t sure if every single person in the town was affected considering the sheer magnitude of the spell, so we stayed out of sight and stuck to the woods for safe passage. If only we had our family heirloom, Mom would have been able to magnify the effects of the spell to ensure complete control over the town. Once we had moved past two more towns...

Christmas was drawing near, and my daughter, Ella, was asking me for a pony. I told her to write to Santa for it, saying that it wasn’t something I could get her. I wished I could, but ever since my husband passed away, I’ve been struggling to cover the expenses as a single parent. Ella had only recently started to regain interest in playing with her toys, so I didn’t want to say no to her directly. I thought I’d leave her a note as Santa, promising to give her a pony when she’s older. One evening, I overheard her talking to two of her favourite animal toys, telling them that she would soon have a pet pony. My heart sank, seeing the joy in her eyes. When Christmas finally dawned, Ella rushed to the living room first thing in the morning, and there, to my disbelief, stood an otherworldly creature that resembled a pony. The animal was relatively larger, but what was strange about it was that its skin was crimson and its eyes glowed as if they were set aflame. There was a letter on the t...

Trigger Warning: Suicide I had barely been at my new school for an hour when I started hearing rumours of “another haunting”. Curious, I asked what had happened from one of my classmates. She said that a couple of girls from another class who tried to bully a girl were pushed down a flight of stairs. Both of them had sustained multiple fractures and were in serious condition. I learned that the hauntings had started three months ago after a girl the same age as me called Karina was found dead in the gymnasium. She had taken her own life. The hauntings had started soon after her death, and every time someone would try and bully another child, they would find themselves either scared away or seriously hurt. It depended on the severity of their actions. Two of the three girls who had bullied Karina had left the school when the hauntings began and they were thrown off the same staircase. One had broken both her legs and the other’s face had been disfigured—same as Karina when they did the ...

My best friend, Ella, has had an imaginary friend since she was five years old. She came from an abusive home where her alcoholic father would constantly beat her mother. Ella’s mother once took Ella and fled their home, but her father found them a few days later and killed her mother. He then kidnapped Ella and was on the run from the police until he eventually died in a shootout with them not long after. Ella was then placed in an orphanage until she was adopted seven years later, but the cycle repeated there as well and she ran away and started living on the streets. That’s where she met me. She and I became best friends, and we kept each other safe. Initially, her imaginary friend didn’t bother me, but over time, it began to irritate me because Ella would insist that I talk to her. Ella said her friend’s name was Anna, and that she was a lot like me. One day, I suggested that maybe she should see a psychiatrist. Ella got offended and stopped talking to me for a few days, but she ev...