Erica Rose
Bio
Just a mom writing about strange things.
Stories (19/0)
The History of The Mothman
The Mothman is a legendary creature that is said to have appeared in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, in the late 1960s. The creature has captivated the minds of many across the years and is described as being a large, humanoid creature with wings like a moth. It is said to be between 6 and 12 feet tall, with glowing red eyes and a wingspan of up to 10 feet.
By Erica Rose10 months ago in Horror
Top 3 Things to Do in Nashville
Nashville is a city with a rich history and culture, and there are many things to see and do in the Music City. As a tourist you might wonder, "Where do I start?" well I've got you covered! Here are three of the best things to do in Nashville:
By Erica Rose10 months ago in Wander
The Hiker's Tale
A Hiker's Tale - A Horror Story Preview Into the sequel of 'The Devil's Tales' Sequel coming out in 2023. It was supposed to be a chance to find myself, I’m not sure where it went wrong. Perhaps, if I had just stayed in bed that morning I wouldn’t be here, I just needed to escape reality. My therapist said “How do you know, unless you try?” and with that the plan was to break out of my comfort zone and try something new. I was scrolling through social media online and came across a picture, it showed rolling mountains engulfed by trees and a sunset that spoke a thousand words. This was it, something that would get me out of my comfort zone. Good idea, right? The scenery was even better than the pictures, it felt almost too good to be true. I had everything I needed, according to youtube's search results for hiking and survival gear, at least I hoped so anyways. I was halfway through the first branch of the trail I was following for my hike, my legs felt like jello, I was sweating out more than what I was drinking, and was really regretting leaving the comforts of my air conditioning. How did I ever believe I could pull this off? I slumped myself against a tree and looked up through the dancing leaves on the branches. Did I even tell anyone I was coming here? I pulled out my phone and squinted my brows at the zero signal. Looks like I’m not the one to assign to planning anything out, I can’t even plan out a hike at this rate. If I turn back now, I’m just proving I can’t change. I sucked up my sorrow and kept going. I had arrived at the site early in the morning, which should have given me plenty of time to make it to a clearing at the end of the first branch to camp out. It felt like only a few hours had passed, yet why was it getting dark already? I could see a light flicker at what looked about half a mile out through some trees off trail, according to the map I studied I should still have another three to four hours of hiking before the clearing. At the rate things are going though, it’d be pitch black by the time I got there. Against my better judgment, I crossed my fingers hoping perhaps it was a ranger building, or other hikers and went for it. The forest seemed to grow thicker the more I walked off trail, and the sunlight seemed to be rapidly fading away from me. This is it isn’t it? I’ll be one of those girls on a missing persons poster, well thats if anyone would even care to look for me. I could see the flickering light fairly close now. It was a small house, with no roads to or from. I didn’t see it listed anywhere on the map, so to say the least I was baffled.‘Knock-knock’, I tapped my fist on the wooden door only for there to be no answer. I stood in place for a moment, wondering if I had made a mistake. To my surprise the door slowly creaked open, but no one was there. I stepped inside, “Hello, is anyone there?”. Nothing. I looked about and saw a lit fire, it crackled away heating the room, in front of it was a rocking chair, and a worn down sofa. The walls were grasped by vines and ivy, as if the house had became part of the forest. I was tired, and the darkness had swept over the forest outside. I walked over and sat down on the couch, I pulled my survival knife out from my hiking bag and clutched it in my hand. Better safe than sorry. It felt like the most comforting thing in the world for some reason. I tried to keep my eyes open as I gazed at the fireplace, worried that the owner would swoop in at any moment, to find me a stranger in their home. Before I knew it, I was swept away into the most peaceful sleep. It felt like I had slept for days when I felt a nudge. “Hello, what are you doing here?”, a man stood leaned over and looked down at me with puzzled eyes. This is my chance. I swung my arm up and hit into the side of his neck as hard as I could with my knife. According to amazon reviews it is one of the sharpest knives you can get. He gargled, clawed his hands at the area I stabbed, as if it could save him. His eyes watered with a pleading look. I knew I could change.
By Erica Roseabout a year ago in Horror
Sea Devil
Sea Devil It has been months since any of us have seen land, it’s almost like the world has been swallowed by waters of the abyss. Many of us have fallen ill, and it seems that our calls for help, and prayers continue to go unanswered. The captain seems mad, proclaiming that “Just a bit further now boys, she’s waiting”. We had all signed up to be crew to him in England, he spoke of it being the voyage of a lifetime, being a man, a year abroad would set your family up with all they need, and with this many of us ran to the chance. Work was scarce during these times, people were going hungry, and to be offered a prize like this, it seemed too good to be true. First came the rats, they had spread illness amongst us before we even knew it, then came the shortages with more being ill, our medical supplies were at an all low, and food was beginning to run thin.
By Erica Rose3 years ago in Fiction
W.V.'s Creatures Of Legends
The Mothman statue of mothman - photo credited to wvnews.com The Mothman also known as the winged-man, was one of the first reports was on November 15, 1966. On December 15, 1967 disaster struck as the Silver bridge collapsed causing the tragic deaths of 46 people. Prior to the collapse reports of a strange creature with massive wings and large eyes was reported to be seen flying around the bridge, later this was interpreted to be the Mothman trying to warn of the disaster to come. Today in Point Pleasant W.V., an annual Mothman festival is held every third weekend of September, along with a statue, and museum (year-round) dedicated to the Mothman.
By Erica Rose3 years ago in Horror
Journal of Jack The Ripper
August 31st, 1888; I know I might appear as a mad woman my dear journal, but I am not. My father was a doctor and during the beginning of my childhood, he would show me the beauty of the art of medicine. He was a man of ideas and great beliefs. His heart was of gold and he helped the poor as much as he could do so. My uncle had always frowned upon this, he was disgusted by the lower class. It was from him that I learned to hate. It was from him I learned the satisfaction of killing. My bitterness started when a man from the slums came in demanding tonics from my father. You could tell the man was strung out, and hoping to get a thrill. It was like the devil himself came to see us when he pulled out that knife and grabbed me by my hair. “Now, or the girl gets it!” His knife pressed against my throat allowing my smallest drips of blood drop down. My father tried to calm the man and begged him not to hurt me, coming closer to the man with each step. “That’s too close!”, he scraped across my throat and face within seconds as he flung me aside leaping forward with his blade. I could see my father lay on the floor bleeding out, my body shook while I clung my neck and face with my hands. Drenched in blood. The man started filling a sack with anything he could place his hands on until the bell above the door dinged and my uncle walked in. With a flash of his hand the man fell to the ground. My uncle dropped his gun and ran over to me, and started shouting for help. “Is he dead?’ I whispered through tears and blood,’Yes.” my heart had felt happy knowing the man was dead. “Good.” Years have passed, and I continued my fathers study of medicines. I wanted more though, and even with my wits and skill, nowhere would take me. This was part of the pain of being a woman. My uncle however showed me the skills of death, so that my body would never know a scar like the one etched across my face, ohw so many years ago. It became apparent I would never be able to continue my research of the human body without obtaining a corpse myself. It did not matter my uncle's place in politics, or the strings he would try to pull to allow me to carry on my fathers ideas, it was believed men were only suited to this line of work. “Why not just be a nurse?”, they’d ask. The nerve of them, my skill was not going to waste away galloping behind men. I wanted to be a doctor, and the best one at that. This, my dears is what led me to this. Looking upon the slums of the city, the hatred in me grew. It was their fault my father was dead, their fault I came to this position in life, and well when life gives you lemons, you must make lemonade. I had to be smart though and use my wits about this, a woman such as myself would easily stand out, but a man would not. I prepared the perfect disguise, and of course night time would be the best time. I needed a pattern to follow, which easily enough boats docked every Thursday and Friday. They’d depart on Saturdays, or Sundays. Amongst these ships are butchers and workers, one of them could easily be blamed if things get too heated. I needed victims that would not be missed, and could easily be drawn away from the public's eye into more secluded areas without suspicion. My first victim had soft skin, she was a prostitute and easily led away when i flashed money to her. I didn't even need to say a word, it was so easy! I thought I would get sick the first time but I didn’t! I watched as she led before me down an alley, then at the most perfect moment I stepped forward and grabbed her from behind. She giggled for a moment, I suppose she believed I was just “ready to go” as you would call it. Ohw, how it changed with the first cut, then the second I watched her try to step away, tears streaming down her cheeks as she gurgled upon her own blood. I couldn't help but smile, I mean can you blame me? I had to make it look like a killer for blood and draw the attention away from the views of a surgical matter. I stabbed her, and cut her in so many ways angels would even blush. I then began to make my cuts along her abdomen to begin my examination. I was ever so close, until I heard footsteps coming towards me. I had to disappear. My uncle caught me coming in. He looked upon my trench coat and grinned. We spoke for many hours, he was very proud and had some ideas about how to further my examinations. He has proclaimed to get me the proper surgical knives, and obtain jars to keep specimens in. He believes my work will do great towards his fellow club of men, and will inspire the world. Until next time my dear journal, for it is time I rest and plan my next move.
By Erica Rose3 years ago in Horror
The Two-Faced Demon
"Two-Face Demon"- Horror Story Inspired by the life of Edward Mordake (also known as Mordrake) "Kill them. Kill them all." It whispered to me as I tossed and turned through the night. No one understood the torment I endured from this demon placed upon my head. It snickered at my thoughts, the smile it gave was that of nightmares. Ohw how I have pleaded to god to end my suffering, how I've pleaded to doctors to remove this monstrosity from me. I am just a poor man no matter my riches, I shall always be poor by grief. I have written out great operas, drenched in the tears of my heart, yet never shall I play them to the world. I shall never give it what it wants, no matter the temptation. "Let me be seen, let me curse their young, let me beckon the gates to release seekers to clinch their souls, let me devour!", The wickedness, only in hell could I imagine such things said, yet it refuses to stop, I must stop it, even if it kills me. I knew from a young age I would never have the solitude of life that I seek, for even in my mothers eyes I could see the sadness she bestowed upon me. A child with two faces, one normal one, and one on the back of the head. Children have always screamed at the sight of it, at the sight of me. I once had hope, hope that doctors would somehow remove this demon, yet they have rejected me of any such hope, instead I've become known as a horrendous creature, lectured about in the papers. The demon shows me no pity when I cry, instead it smiles at my distraught and whispers foul words into my mind. I've tried to gag it, I've tried to suffocate it into my pillow, I've tried to drown the damn thing, yet it resists being called back to hell. I believe that there is only one way to be rid of this creature, though I fear it will continue it's whispers in the grave. I have shut myself away from the world, in hopes that they shall all forget of the man with two faces, and I will be forgotten into an urban tale told to scare children to bed. I know the hideous torments that could await me, but none shall ever trample the torment I have endured. I take no hesitation, and pour a glass of whiskey to ease myself. I thought my hands would at least tremble, yet my body feels no hesitation. The demon giggles, mocking me. "Nothing will stop me, I will whisper in the air and earth, I will feed on the blood and call out to my sisters and brothers!"I'm smiling, it does not realize I feel no fear at this moment. I inject the contents of the vile I had claimed from a man who took pity upon me. I have never felt so peaceful, even as it laughs. I can feel even the smells and aromas around me, never have I felt such sweetness. Never have I yearned so much for such a feeling, I must bid you farewell now though. I can see a flicker of green light, with yellows dancing around it, this is it. My sweet death embraces me with it's kiss.
By Erica Rose3 years ago in Horror
My Soul's Echo
Passion is like wildfire it can spread through you coursing it's way endlessly. They say a photo can say a thousand words, but it's much more than that. Abandoned, left behind, and the strange it calls out like an echo to me, begging me to capture it's history. It might sound strange but when I look at a worn down place I see a story, what tales happened within it's walls? Then there's nature that always comes back to return what was left behind into the earth. A cycle of life waiting to be captured.
By Erica Rose3 years ago in Photography
World's Youngest Serial Killer
Amarjeet Sada is recorded as one of the worlds youngest killers. He was born in Mushahar, Bihar, India. It is unsure when he decided this was his path or why he came to be this way the theories are endless. Many debate if he was abused growing up, if his father hurt him, or if he faced poor living conditions, however Amarjeet was happy when it came to killing. His first murder was of his sister who was only between eight and nine months old. The family attempted to cover up the murder to protect him, however he soon struck again. In 2006 he murdered his six year old cousin which the family also tried to cover up. Later when questioned by authorities his uncle replied that he had been protected by the family and stated "family matters" as to why they where covering up the murders he committed. Chunchun was spending a day running errands and afterwards went to pick her daughter up from daycare only to find out she was missing. A search begun, and villagers questioned Amarjeet. When questioned he started smiling and bragging about how he did it. First he strangled her, then he beat her with a brick, then he attempted to bury her with debris. She was only six months old, meaning he went in picked up a helpless baby and took her to her death. Amarjeet was now eight years old with a murder count of 3. He then lead the villagers to her body. His family tried to cover it up, however police where not having it. They took Amarjeet into questioning. When questioned he was happy about it, and only wanted police to give him more buns. He was evaluated and found to be excited by inflicting pain onto others. There was a in-balance found in his brain that released hormones making him feel joy when hurting others. He was found guilty of the three murders and sentenced to three years in juvenile prison due to his age, and laws by India on children. It was reported that he called into news posts to report this call information was released by "The Guardian Post" that he was in a children's home and set to be released upon his eighteenth birthday. Was this a form of warning? Was this him reacting to the attention he was receiving with the press? His whereabouts today are unknown. We have to wonder if he returned back to village to be under the protection of his family. Some also argue that he could have been taking the blame for someone else who committed the crimes because of how advanced and conducted the crimes where played out, however if this is the case then why is he so infatuated and excited by inflicting pain. Is his acts of murder still happening? Is he still taking the lives of children and where is he now? Maybe he's your neighbor, maybe he's hiding, or maybe he's planning his next move. What events happened to lead a child to do these things and where there more murders then just the three known? Why did he prey on little girls? One thing that is for sure is the marks left behind of these children's deaths will forever haunt this village and with voids that can never be filled. Perhaps with the advancements of psychology and treatments we can one day better understand how to prevent this kind of hatred and torture from forming. The world can only sit and wonder, while hoping that the killing has finally came to an end and that eventually perhaps we can lead to a world without so much violence and hatred, however it seems a long way off for we ourselves are animals with our own instincts.
By Erica Rose3 years ago in Criminal
Horrors of Poveglia Island
Poveglia Island near Venice, Italy may seem like a beautiful attraction perfect for tourism with breath taking scenic views, however a very dark illuminating history is layered within it's grounds making it known as a notorious island of death.
By Erica Rose3 years ago in Horror