The Un-Hallowed Book

“It’s resurfaced,” Therese said.
“What has?” I inquired.
“The Codex Hyperborea.”
Beads of cold sweat formed on my brow. The Codex Hyperborea was possibly the oldest, rarest and most sought-after grimoire in existence. That knowledge should have never seen the light of day. 

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The Doll

“Stuff is getting moved around, going missing. Then there’s the pranks. Like there’s crayon drawings on the wall. Mom and Dad blamed my sister, but she claims her doll comes to life when we’re not looking and does stuff.”

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The Christmas Witch

‘Twas the week after Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring. That would be me, the sleeping creature. Everyone else was stirring. Anyway, the sound of my cell phone going to town interrupted my slumber.

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Skogsra

Down the old logging road we hiked, hoping it might take us back to where we’d parked the truck. After a while of walking, I don’t know how long, a woman approached us walking down the muddy road. I would’ve thought this suspicious under different circumstances, but she enchanted me as soon as I looked into her clear blue eyes.

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The Bugbear

Something caught my eye; an old horseshoe nailed to the doorframe. I noticed that every door and window had a horseshoe similarly nailed above it. Most of the older houses in this area had a horseshoe over the doorway, so it wasn’t all that noteworthy at the time. However, typically the horseshoes are nailed to the outside of doorways, not the inside, and there was usually only one.

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The Goat Man

“Well, the Goat-Man is a half-man, half-goat monster who lives in the woods here in Swaggart County. They say if you see the Goat-Man, death is certain to follow by the next new moon. Folks have been seeing the Goat-Man.”

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One Dog Night

“A man was found dead this morning, and…” the sheriff trailed off.
“We think it was a large canine,” said Julia.
“And you think I had something to do with it?” asked Walter. 
“Well, there are some folks who are concerned, you being a werewolf and all,” said Sheriff Donne.

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Greg’s All Night Diner

From the diary of Katherine Craig.
Dear Diary,
Today began about 6:30 AM, when my ears were assaulted by the unmistakable racket of my Pa playing bagpipes on the front lawn.

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Changeling

“Another hell-hole opened up on my mail route!” the mailman said excitedly.
“Great. Another one” said Conrad with exasperation. We were all the time having to close them things.

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