The scary thread
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Fellow Macedonian! ^_^David_G said:
Well it wasn't THAT bad... you know... (it's a medical procedure to remove dead tissue btw). OK I did felt like vomiting for a second there. A bit...
Awesome! I thought that there were only two of us here.KindOfnElf said:
Two dormmates in college were in the same science class. The teacher had just reminded them about the midterm the next day when one dormmate ? let's call her Juli ? got asked to this big bash by the hottest guy in school. The other dormmate, Meg, had pretty much no interest in going and, being a diligent student, she took notes on what the midterm was about. After the entire period of flirting with her date, Juli was totally unprepared for her test, while Meg was completely prepared for a major study date with her books.
At the end of the day, Juli spent hours getting ready for the party while Meg started studying. Juli tried to get Meg to go, but she was insistent that she would study and pass the test. The girls were rather close and Juli didn't like leaving Meg alone to be bored while she was out having a blast. Juli finally gave up, using the excuse that she would cram in homeroom the next day.
Juli went to the party and had the time of her life with her date. She headed back to the dorm around 2 a.m. and decided not to wake Meg. She went to bed nervous about the midterm and decided she would wake up early to ask Meg for help.
She woke up and went to wake Meg. Meg was lying on her stomach, apparently sound asleep. Juli rolled Meg over to reveal Meg's terrified face. Juli, concerned, turned on the desk lamp. Meg's study stuff was still open and had blood all over it. Meg had been slaughtered. Juli, in horror, fell to the floor and looked up to see, written on the wall in Meg's blood: "Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the lights?"
---
As Jake trudged through the cornfield, he recalled the argument he?d had that morning with his Pa. ?But they?ve only been up a month? they don?t need changin?!?, he had yelled. ?Yes they do, Jake, every one! And I want that first scarecrow replaced by sundown!?
He shifted the heavy bag slung over his shoulder and cursed at himself for not thinking of something more clever to say. He clutched the stepladder in his other arm like a lance, and fantasized about different endings to the fight. ?I do all the work,? he thought to himself, ?and just once I?d like some say-so as to how and when things get done.?
Striding up to the stoic figure, he put the bag down and planted the ladder. ?Damn things last almost two months with proper care,? he fumed as he stepped up. He pulled off the garish hood and was met with a chorus of buzzing horse flies. Jake had just enough time to see the the boy?s glazed eyes, and the dried blood in his nostrils, before the head slumped forward.
?Huh?? he mused, ?Pa was right.?
---
It was a week long field trip to Derbyshire. I was in Year 7 so I must have been 12 or 13.
We were staying in a large isolated rural hostel, and it was famous for being haunted by the ghost of some historic person that visted there. My group, about 9 of us, were picked to sleep in the very highest dorm room. It was large and had 5 bunkbeds around the outside of the room. Thanks to my slow ass friend we had last pick of the bunks and had to have the last one, the one that was pushed against an old door. It was painted the same as the walls so we wouldn't have noticed it if it hadn't been for the handle.
We joked about what might be behind it and begun talking about the haunted room, the one where the guy had once sleeped and how bullshit it was that a teacher had the whole room to themselves.
On the third night (after another day of filling out worksheets about wildlife and other shit we didn't care about) around 1 am, after everyone had stopped talking and fallen asleep, there was a crash. A huge, fuck off loud crash from behind the door. Me and my friend promptly shat ourselves and didn't sleep again for the entire trip.
You'd probably expect us to move the bed and open the door to see what make the noise, (something that always bugs me about horror movies) but instead all 8 of us cowered in our beds, too fucking scared to move until the morning.
On the fourth day we had hours of free time in the afternoon, so whilst it was still light, our curiousity got the better of us and we pulled back the bunk bed and opened the door. Inside was an empty white room with one small window, the walls were completely covered in dents in the plasterboard and in the far corner of the room was a large bundle of fabric covering something and an old upturned wooden stool, the fabric was coated in red dust and rubble. The room just looked like someone or something had a fit of rage, the floor was covered in dust and bits of broken bricks. The wall and ceiling had no holes where the rubble could have came from, just large, deep dents everywhere.
Due to us being shit scared, we didn't enter the room completely, we didnt know what was under that fabric and we didnt want to find out. What was most noticable apart from the bundle was how incredibly cold the room was. It was summer, and so hot that in our dorm we had all the windows open, but in this room, even with the sun shining through the one window, it was freezing.
It felt horrible peeking inside, everyone was shivering and silent. Without saying anything we all backed off, closed the door and pushed the bunk back firmly against the door.
There were no more crashes in the night after we opened the door, but there were several whilst we had breakfast downstairs, sometimes when we were walking up the stairs to the room. At the end of the trip the teachers joked about how nobody heard or saw anything whilst sleeping in the "haunted room". I guess the stories they'd heard had our room confused with the one next door.
---
You just moved into your new apartment, in a very big city. After a year of this life, you have almost given up hope of making any friends; be it at work or any other means. You feel very lonely. After looking for a peaceful place to spend your time, you find a quiet diner on the outskirts of town. The waitress is very attractive. Also, she seems to be the only employee there, ever. You never see anyone else eat there either, ever. The place is perfect for you.
Making love to her becomes a routine. You go there every night for dinner, and then to see her.
You eventually make other friends, and eat at the diner less and less. After some time you stop going completely.
At a bar with your best friend, you tell him about the fun you had with the waitress at the diner. He says he absolutely must see her. You take him there one night, but the building is in a state of ruin. The front door barely opens. The grimy insides of the diner are disgusting, and, behind the counter, is moldy corpse, reeking of pus and rot.
When the police come to the scene, they interview both you and your friend. You are shocked to hear that the body is of a runaway girl from another province. The police tell you this is a homicide, and that she was also raped dozens of times, after she was killed. The police say they can get a match for DNA and eliminate you as a suspect. You are suddenly very worried.
---
The man in the baseball cap walked through the hardware section of Home Depot.
Something was wrong. He had to fix it when he got home. It was a little stuffy in there; might feel good to let some air in. He thought for awhile. The hacksaw would probably take too long, and it would be a weird angle for the phillips head screwdriver. He had tried the hammer, but couldn?t get it to work, even with the four inch hot-dip galvanized nails he?d bought yesterday.
It was an old place. Sold construction, over forty years old. The fuck if he knew what it was really made of. His eyes wandered over to the power tool section. That might do the trick. He just wanted to fix it up a bit. The ventilation wasn?t right.
After some inspection, the man purchased a DeWalt 14.4 volt electric drill, with a 7 piece set of rapid load masonry bits. 3000 rpm, 98.7 foot-pounds of torque, two batteries and a charger. He paid in cash, thanked the casher, and drove home. As the clock hit 1:47, he figured he?d give it a go. He didn?t know if the batteries were fully charged or not, but figured a few minutes of juice would be enough. Besides, he was getting a headache, and he wanted to get this done before the kids came home.
The man sat down at the dinner table and loaded the drill with a battery and a 17/64? masonry bit. He wasn?t sure what size to use, so he guessed he could start low and size up. But it didn?t really matter, anyway. After removing the baseball cap, the man pressed the electric drill to the left side of his head and squeezed the trigger. The drill made a loud grinding sound as the bit struggled to pierce his skull.
Two, three minutes later it was done. The man pulled the drill from his skull. Little flecks of bone were stuck to the bit. It felt like a slight wind was blowing through his head. He sat there for a moment, smiling.
It felt good to let some air in. But now it was time to take care of that leak.
Something makes me open my eyes. I can see my alarm clock clearly from across the room. 2:43 AM. Dammit. I close my eyes again, but something still isn't right. I don't have to piss. Maybe if I turn over. Then I feel it.
Someone is holding my hand.
I sleep on my stomach, with my arm hanging off the side of the bed. Now I'm awake, wide awake, and someone is holding my left hand.
The hand is cold, far too cold for a night in August. It holds my hand lightly, but with force. My fingertips are pressed against thin, clammy skin, like frozen poultry. Though I can't see them, it seems like the fingers are longer than they should be, wrapping much farther around my hand than should be possible. I feel ragged fingernails touching my palm. How many? Six? Seven?
I should yell in surprise, but I don't move. Somehow the room is darker than it was before. I am completely still. I hear the faint buzz of my alarm clock, but I can't make out the numbers any more.
The hand moves. It grips me tighter.
I black out. I awaken at my usual time, piss, and shower as always. But after my shower, I just cannot seem to get my left hand dry.
---
Have you ever been taking a shower while alone in the house and felt like something was moving around behind the curtain? Or watching you? Did you look up? Did you catch the very vaguest hint of eyebrows or a tuft of matted, greasy hair above the curtain rod? That's not a good idea. It doesn't really like it if you see it. It likes it the most when you've got shampoo on your hair, and your eyes are shut tight so your eyes don't sting. Or even better, when there's soap and bubbles all over your soft, pink face. It likes that the best, because your eyes are clenched so tight, and even if you did want to open them, like, if you heard a soft scratching against the plastic shower curtain, or a rasping of claws on bathroom tile, or the gentle splatter of drool or cum or... god knows what... well, you wouldn't open your eyes because it'd burn. Right? Right. Don't open your eyes. Because if you ever see its face, catch its eyes... Well. It'll notice.
---
Go to any mirror and put your hand against the glass. Don't worry, nothing will grab you. Wait. Sometimes it takes half a day, sometimes it takes a moment. But you'll yank your hand away when you feel it.
Worms or centipedes, who knows? All pressed in tight like there's no more room on that side, wriggling against your skin. When you pull back, the glass is the same and you'll be unharmed.
But now you know it's there.
---
Ever heard of a philosophical movement known as solipsism? Basically, according to the solipsist, only he exists. Since his only mind is the only thing he knows to be truly real, nothing else is.
Actually, the logic follows quite nicely. If the senses are our only means of processing information, and the senses are ultimately unreliable, then everything in your head must be - and is the only - reality.
And that's where the unsettling implications start to come in. That thing under the bed, in the attic, that your parents told you is "all in your head?" Well, your parents are also "all in your head." Your sight, your only source of reasoning, so reassuring when you turn the lights on and gasp in relief when you see that nothing's there? All in your head.
The thing in the attic, however, is another story. You've never seen it, you've never heard it, you've never sensed it, but your body really wants your mind to believe that it's not there.
Now why might that be?
---
Have you ever heard the expression an apple a day keeps the Doctor away? Most assume, with no reason to think otherwise, that it is simply an easy-to-remember rhyme that stresses the importance of eating healthily to young children. But the saying did not originate as a harmless reminder. It was born in a frontier town in the early years of the gold rush, where food was scarce and money even scarcer. One August, when a bad drought had struck the region, a series of bloody killings swept through the town. Every night, a single house would be broken into, and anyone who saw the invader would be swiftly, brutally slain. Nothing was ever stolen, save for a few scraps of food.
After two weeks of this, the local grocer set out a few apples and a glass of milk in the town square overnight. He then hid in the tower of the church, hoping to catch a glimpse of anyone who came by. Fighting fatigue, the grocer waited for any sign of life below. Just after midnight, he was rewarded by a chilling sight; a man, carrying a black bag stuffed with dully shining metal tools and covered from head to foot in cloth bandages, staggered into view. He paused at the sight of the apples and milk, then whipped his head around, as if looking for the one who dared to patronize him. Seized with fear, the grocer ducked out of sight, staying hidden til sunrise.
The strange man had only taken one of the apples, and didnt even touch the glass of milk. No houses were broken into, and no one was killed. For decades, the town continued to place out an apple or two every night, even long after a single apple stopped disappearing.
---
Yesterday, a friend of mine called me. It was a John, an old buddy from high school. I hadn't spoken with him for years, and we started to reminisce about all the crap we pulled in high school. A few days later I decided to call him back, and see if we could get together, maybe go fishing or something.
We talked on the phone for a while, and I said to him "Hey, maybe we should get together sometime." He first said that that was a bad idea, but then he agreed. I asked him for address, copied it down, and told him I'd see him in the morning.
The next morning I arrived at the place he said he lived at. There was nothing but rubble there. It looked like there had been a fire there years ago, but nothing got cleaned up, and the plants never regrew. In the middle of the rubble, I found a old rotary style telephone on the floor, not connected to anything. Hurridly, I pulled out my cellphone and called his number.
The telephone on the floor rang.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
I dropped my cellphone in shock, and knelt to grab the rotary telephone. A voice, drenched in distortion and hiss, said:
"I told you this was a bad idea."
---
The digital clock humming quietly on my nightstand was the only sound that my ears could pick up from my surroundings. The night was dead quiet. I knew he was there. Right on schedule, he would be standing outside my window. He would knock. I, for reasons I wish I could explain, would open the blinds. He would stare at me, and I would stare at him. He would leave soon after, and I would stay awake until the sun began to rise. This was our routine.
My mind was wondering a thousand miles away when he first knocked, though my eyes had stayed lingering on the window. I told myself that I wouldn?t open the blinds. I told myself that tonight he wouldn?t scare me and that I would get the rest I desperately needed. He knocked twice more. I held a pillow over my head and began humming an old song I used to sing in elementary school. He knocked again, and this time, he had a done it a lot less courteously than he had in the past. It had become a loud thumping noise.
I threw the pillow off of my head and opened the blinds. His pale, wrinkly face leered in at me. His lifeless, black eyes that shone despite their darkness, peered into my own. His stringy hair fluttered a little in the wind. He seemed to be breathing somewhat harshly, and though it was hard to determine his mood as anything other than emotionless, I could sense an amount of animosity I had never felt before.
After what seemed like hours, he turned around and was on his way. I faced the ceiling and wept.
This had been going on for more than a month. I had tried to talk to others about it, but I could never finish my sentences. They?d degrade into quiet mumblings and whimpers. I was so tired, and I had even begun to wonder if I was losing my mind. I had tried sleeping pills but even they couldn?t help me to sleep through the night. The weirdest part is that I always woke up about five minutes before he knocked. I knew, instinctively, that he would be there. I was so tired.
The next night, I told myself that under no circumstances would I look out the window. I didn?t even care if he was on the verge of breaking the glass, I would not give him what he wanted. I would not feed him. He?d have to find someone else to terrify. He?d have to leave me alone.
I woke up, and I instantly knew what was going to happen. It?s funny, I was anticipating his knocks, and yet I still jumped a little when I finally heard him. I laid in my bed quietly, as if I hadn?t heard anything. He knocked again, and I hid under the pillow once more. He knocked again, even louder than he had the night before. I whimpered, but remained under the pillow. He knocked twice more. After that, things got quiet. I no longer had the feeling I was being watched. I pulled my head out from under my pillow, and slowly looked out the window.
Nothing. Just my backyard.
I laughed. I laughed so hard that little tears began to slip out of my eyes. He was somebody else?s problem now. I looked at the clock, noticed I had only been awake for about fifteen minutes, and turned over to go back to sleep.
I had just gotten to that area where dreams mingle with reality when I heard the distant click of a door. My backdoor. Someone had entered into my house from the outside. Something from my backyard. I knew it was him. I listened quietly as his footsteps made their way from my kitchen, to my dining room, to the short hallway outside of my bedroom. He was walking slowly, patiently and was not attempting to hide his presence at all.
He was right outside my bedroom door.
He knocked on my door, and I almost vomited. I wanted to do something, anything. I was paralyzed with fear. He knocked again. Trembling, I pulled the pillow back over my head. All that could be heard was the sound of weeping, knocking, and a digital clock humming quietly to itself.
I was so tired.
---
My Internet Service Provider used to have offices in a shopping center before they moved to their (comparatively) lush accommodations elsewhere. There was a drop box at that original location. The monthly bill was due, and thus, there but for the Grace of the Net I went. It was about 9:30 p.m. when I left. From my relatively isolated apartments, it's about 10-15 minutes or so to downtown (Abilene has a population of about 110,000).
Right next to Camalott Communications' old location is a $1.50 movie theater. At the time, the place was featuring that masterwork of modern film, Mortal Kombat. I drove by the theater on the way into the center proper and pulled into an empty parking space.Using the glow of the marquee to write out my check, I was startled to hear a knock on the driver's-side window of my car.I looked over and saw two children staring at me from street. I need to describe them, with the one feature (you can guess what it was) that I didn't realize until about half-way through the conversation cleverly omitted. Both were boys, and my initial impression is that they were somewhere between 10-14.
Boy No. 1 was the spokesman. Boy No. 2 didn't speak during the entire conversation -- at least not in words.Boy No. 1 was slightly taller than his companion, wearing a pull-over, hooded shirt with a sort of gray checked pattern and jeans. I couldn't see his shoes. His skin was olive-colored and had curly, medium-length brown hair. He exuded an air of quiet confidence. Boy No. 2 had pale skin with a trace of freckles. His primary characteristic seemed to be looking around nervously. He was dressed in a similar manner to his companion, but his pull-over was a light green color. His hair was a sort of pale orange.
They didn't appear to be related, at least directly."Oh, great," I thought. "They're gonna hit me up for money." And then the air changed. There I was, filling out a check in my car (which was still running) and in a sudden panic over the appearance of two little boys. I was confused, but an overwhelming sense of fear and unearthliness rushed in nonetheless.
The spokesman smiled, and the sight for some inexplicable reason chilled my blood. I could feel fight-or-flight responses kicking in. Something, I knew instinctually, was not right, but I didn't know what it could possibly be.I rolled down the window very, very slightly and asked "Yes?"The spokesman smiled again, broader this time. His teeth were very, very white.
"Hey, mister, what's up? We have a problem," he said. His voice was that of a young man, but his diction, quiet calm and ... something I still couldn't put my finger on ... made my desire to flee even greater. "You see, my friend and I want to see the films, but we forgot our money," he continued. "We need to go to our house to get it. Want to help us out?" Okay. Journalists are required to talk to lots of people, and that includes children. I've seen and spoken to lots of them. Here's how that usually goes: "Uh ... M ... M ... Mister? Can I see that camera? I ... I won't break it or anything. I promise. My dad has a camera, and he lets me hold it sometimes, I guess, and I took a picture of my dog -- it wasn's very good, 'cause I got my finger in the way and ..." Add in some feet shuffling and/or body swaying and you've got a typical kid talking to a stranger. In short, they're usually apologetic. People generally teach children that when they talk to adults, they're usually bothering them for one reason or another and they should at least be polite. This kid was in no way fitting the mold. His command of language was incredible and he showed no signs of fear. He spoke as if my help was a foregone conclusion. When he grinned, it was as if he was trying to say, "I know something ... and you're NOT gonna like it. But the only way you're going to find out what it is will be to do what I say ..." "Uh, well ..." was the best reply I could offer.
Now here's where it starts to get strange.The quiet companion looked at the spokesman with a mixture of confusion and guilt on his face. He seemed in some ways shocked, not with his friend's brusque manner but that I didn't just immediately open the door. He eyed me nervously. The spokesman seemed a bit perturbed, too. I still was registering something wrong with both. "C'mon, mister," the spokesman said again, smooth as silk. Car salesmen could learn something from this kid. "Now, we just want to go to our house. And we're just two little boys." That really scared me. Something in the tone and diction again sent off alarm bells. My mind was frantically trying to process what it was perceiving about the two figures that was "wrong."
"Eh. Um ...." was all I could manage. I felt myself digging my fingernails into the steering wheel. "What movie were you going to see?" I asked finally. "Mortal Kombat, of course," the spokesman said. The silent one nodded in affirmation, standing a few paces behind. "Oh," I said. I stole a quick glance at the marquee and at the clock in my car. Mortal Kombat had been playing for an hour, the last showing of the evening. The silent one looked increasingly nervous. I think he saw my glances and suspected that I might be detecting something was not above-board.
"C'mon, mister. Let us in. We can't get in your car until you do, you know," the spokesman said soothingly. "Just let us in, and we'll be gone before you know it. We'll go to our mother's house." We locked eyes. To my horror, I realized my hand had strayed toward the door lock (which was engaged) and was in the process of opening it. I pulled it away, probably a bit too violently. But it did force me to look away from the children. I turned back. "Er ... Um ...," I offered weakly and then my mind snapped into sharp focus.
For the first time, I noticed their eyes. They were coal black. No pupil. No iris. Just two staring orbs reflecting the red and white light of the marquee. At that point, I know my expression betrayed me. The silent one had a look of horror on his face in a combination that seemed to say "We've been found out!" The spokesman, on the other hand, wore a mask of anger. His eyes glittered brightly in the half-light. "Cmon, mister," he said. "We won't hurt you. You have to LET US IN. We don't have a gun ..."
That last statement scared the living hell out of me, because at that point by his tone he was plainly saying, "We don't NEED a gun." He noticed my hand shooting down toward the gear shift. The spokesman's final words contained an anger that was complete and whole, and yet contained in some respects a tone of panic: "WE CAN'T COME IN UNLESS YOU TELL US IT'S OKAY. LET ... US .... IN!"
I ripped the car into reverse (thank goodness no one was coming up behind me) and tore out of the parking lot. I noticed the boys in my peripheral vision, and I stole a quick glance back. They were gone. The sidewalk by the theater was deserted. I drove home in a heightened state of panic. Had anyone attempted to stop me, I would have run on through and faced the consequences later. I bolted into my house, scanning all around -- including the sky. What did I see? Maybe nothing more than some kids looking for a ride. And some really funky contacts. Yeah, right.
A friend suggested they were vampires, what with the old "let us in" bit and my compelled response to open the door. That and the "we'll go see our mother" thing. I'm still not sure what they were, but here's an epilogue I find chilling: A close friend of mine recently moved to Amarillo, but at the time this happened was still living in San Angelo. I called him and talked to him briefly. He had two friends with him at the time, both professing some type of psychic ability.
I started telling him the story, leaving out the part about the black eyes for the kicker. One of the women (we were on a speakerphone) stopped me. "These children had black eyes, right?" she asked. "I mean, all-black eyes?" "Er ... Yes." I said. I was a bit taken aback.
"Hmmm," she said. "One night last week, I had a dream about children with black eyes. They were outside my house, wanting to be let in, but there was something wrong with them. It took me a while to realize it was the eyes."
I hadn't even gotten as far as them wanting to come in. "What did you do?" I asked. "I kept the doors and windows locked," she said. "I knew if they came in, they would kill me." She paused. "And they would have killed you, too, if you had let them into your car."
---
Carol was a young film student. She was recently engaged to a nice boy she had been dating for three years. She liked hanging out with her friends, going to the movies and listening to music. Really, she was quite typical for a girl her age.
Every once in a while, Carol liked to take her camera, drive out to her parents summer home in the woods, and film the wildlife. She entered the footage in wildlife photography and video competitions, hoping to make a name for herself.
One spring day, Carol loaded up her car with her camera equipment. She said told her roommate she would be back in a couple of days, and asked the roommate to feed her fish. She called her fiancé and let him know she would be at her parent?s summer home this weekend. She let him know her cell didn?t get signal out there, and that they didn?t keep a landline. She told him she would be out of touch for the entire weekend.
The drive up to the summer home was pleasant enough. She got there with no problems. Her parents were not due to the summer home for another couple weeks, so she had the place to herself. By the time she got unpacked, it was getting late so she went to bed deciding she would start shooting in the morning.
At sunrise the next morning, she gathered her camera equipment and went out to shoot some wildlife. It was a tiring but productive day. She got some great footage of an eagle catching a mouse. At one point she nodded off while waiting for a deer to come to a pond she knew the animals frequented. When she woke up, she found a pair of young deer drinking the water. She spent a little bit of time filming a humming bird darting from flower to flower. She caught footage of a huge rattlesnake resting on a rock. Then she took a long hike up a hill to try and catch some footage of fireflies lighting up a clearing.
By the time she got back to her parents summer home, it was just after dark. She had been lugging her equipment around all day and was very tired. She didn?t even bother showering. She just dropped her hat and camera on the chair next to her bed and passed out.
The next morning she was reviewing her footage on her laptop. The eagle was majestic. Probably some of her best work ever. She watched the footage of the deer. She thought they were very cute. Something in one of the deer shot caught her eye though. It was only there for a second. She thought she saw a very tall man with very pale skin in the bushes. It looked like he was watching her.
She rewound the footage, and looked again, this time in slow motion. She could certainly make out a figure, but she couldn?t tell if there was actually someone standing there, or if it was just a trick of light on some bushes.
Carol put the strange image out of her head and kept reviewing her footage. The humming bird footage didn?t come out well. The little guy was moving too fast, and the light was bad. The rattlesnake was cool though, even if it was a little boring. After she watched the bit with the fireflies, she was pretty sure she was going to win some kind of award. The natural lighting was just perfect. When the firefly footage cut off, she noticed that she still had one video file left to watch. Curious, she opened it. It was a video of her, sleeping in her bed. Her insides turned to ice when she noticed the reflection in her bedroom window. There was a very tall, naked, albino man with a scraggly gray beard wearing her hat and filming her sleeping. He was breathing heavily.
Carol slammed her computer shut, not wanting to see any more. The video stopped. The heavy breathing did not.
---
A few years ago I was spending some time with friends exploring old, supposedly haunted, places. We were at the Edisto First Presbyterian Church, where a girl named Julia Legare was buried in her family mausoleum in 1852.
People reported hearing unearthly screams time and time again, but never investigating the cause of it. Fifteen years later, when they opened the door to the mausoleum to inter the next family member who had died, finding her corpse huddled in the corner next to the door, arms outstretched as if still trying to find the exit.
Well, my friends thought it would be a funny idea to shut the giant stone door (which was originally open) behind me and pick me up in the morning. The bastards left me there? I tried and tried, using all of my strength, but I couldn?t budge it, it had taken four people to put it in place. In the dark, I resigned myself to the night ahead of me.
Now, I normally don?t frighten easily, but sitting there in the relatively small place, surrounded by a looming pressure that I couldn?t begin to explain, the darkness itself seemed to try to consume me. From all around it felt like weight was pressing against my skin, making even breathing hard. I sat in the dark for what must have been hours.
Then I heard the scratches. They were faint at first, I was sure it was my imagination, but soon they became more and more frantic as time passed. I huddled up in one of the corners farthest from the door and tried to cover my ears but nothing could stop the growing cacophony. This all may have lasted for a few minutes, but each second was an unbearable eternity.
Then, a loud scream echoed through the darkness, it was a wail of unrestrained pain and fear. The scratching stopped. For the first time I could distinctly make out the sound of a girl sobbing to herself, the pitiful gasping of one without a shred of hope left.
I felt such sorrow at the moment, such pain, that I think I forgot how to be afraid. In my heart all her suffering seemed to resonate. Inexplicably, I found myself apologizing aloud for everything that had happened to her. Hell, a part of me wanted to reach out and feel for a body to hug, but I couldn?t bring myself to do it for fear that I truly would find one.
I don?t know whether or not she heard me or was even aware of my presence, the sobbing continued and I could again hear fingers against the stone slab that was the tomb door.
I fell asleep at some point, which I felt was a merciful gift from the fates. I?m not sure how long I was out, but I was woken by a loud and powerful thud as the door slammed against the ground outside. I could tell from the light gray outside that daybreak was near, so I must have slept for at least a few hours.
I stumbled outside and went to a small unlocked prayer house. I think previously it was a segregated mini-church, but regardless, I leaned against the door and waited nervously until my ?friends? arrived. I approached them as they clustered around the fallen door, two of them were kneeling next to it with faces of shock.
There were bloody streaks covering the interior of the door, some with light scratches from fingernails, many without. I think now that she must have shrieked when they broke away from her hands, but I can?t be sure.
At first, they looked to me, then checked my hands, then nervously glanced at one another. I was rightfully pissed with them and told them every detail of what I remembered, wanting them to know what I had been put through.
Finally, after I grudgingly got into the car and we started to head back, someone spoke up. My friend said to me ?We were afraid to say anything, but look at your face.?
I later found out that many times people had tried to permanently seal the entrance to the mausoleum, including enough heavy locks and chains that it would require heavy equipment to remove it, only to have it found torn open with the door lying on the ground once more. This was in the 1980s, the last attempt of many through the decades. It seemed like some force was ensuring that it was impossible to ever repeat the mistakes of the past. This is something I am understandably quite grateful for, but to this very day I am chilled to the bone when I think of what happened that night.
When I reached from the back seat and adjusted the rear-view mirror, I saw that there was blood caked on my face. Just like the streaks upon the stone slab, there were dark red lines on either side, as if someone had gently cradled my face with torn fingers as I slept that night, feeling the warmth of another for the first time in over a hundred years.
---
In every major town and city, there is a house of which no official record exists, and whose windows have been boarded up for longer than anyone around can remember. The previous occupants, if there ever were any, are untraceable, and no organisation or individual will ever lay claim to the plot on which it stands.
Nevertheless, when you break in?always through a back, ground-floor window; you must never touch the outer doors?you will see amongst the dust the signs of inhabitants long gone. A flattened cardboard box, an overturned child?s cot, balding patches on the carpet where the pile has been worn away. Invariably there will be an orphaned double mattress in the master bedroom. What you will not see, however, are rats and cockroaches, or animal waste. Vermin know better than to come here.
These are Her sacred spaces.
The first time you visit, bring only what you need to help you enter the house. Then locate the master bedroom, stand in the centre, and draw an unbroken circle in the dust around your feet. Make it about a metre in diameter to be safe.
Face the doorway and say aloud; ?I wish to make a sacrifice. Will you welcome the offering??
Then leave as quickly as possible. You must not return until night has next fallen.
This time, bring nails, a hammer, an empty litre bottle, a sharp, sturdy knife, and a torch. Enter the same way you did last time. Remember the mattress in the master bedroom? Someone will be sleeping there. Don?t worry about waking them up; She has taken care of that for you. Turn the sleeper over onto their back and cut their jugular vein, making sure to collect as much blood as you can.
You will need to pour a little of the blood onto the floor of every room, including this one, but make sure you have some left at the end. When you?ve finished, leave by the same way you entered, and close up the boards again. (This is what the hammer and nails are for.) Walk home. Speak to nobody on your way. When you get there, tip some of the remaining blood into your right hand and smear it over your door handle before you enter. Then go to bed.
If there is any blood left, you must pour the rest of it onto any pavement in the city, but do not allow it to be poured down a drain. The knife you must never use again, and should bury. Do not trouble yourself with covering your tracks. When you next leave your house, the blood on your door will be gone, and the murder you have committed will have no repurcussions. From the moment you leave Her temple, DNA evidence will never again implicate you; law enforcement will creep around your footsteps without touching them. On cameras, your face will show up a blur.
You are under Her protection now.
Just make sure you get the right house.
---
I?ve decided to kill myself.
I think it?s important someone understand why, so I?m making this video before I blow my head off. The first time I remember it happening I was nine. Johnny Weller and I were playing in his back yard. The sun was setting over his back fence, warm oranges and reds shining through the bone-white slats like a creamsicle against pearly white teeth. Johnny was the cowboy and I was the dirty redskin, stealing his horse. We ran around the swingset, him laughing and me whooping and threatening to scalp him. When he tripped, I ran to where he laid in the dirt, scooping up a handful of air, pointing my finger at his nose and proclaimed, ?I got your gun now! BANG!?
Johnny?s head exploded in a tremendous blossom of crimson blood, slate-gray brain and chips of skull that sparkled in the setting sun. My hand fell to my side, and I stared, open-mouthed, unable to understand what just happened. Someone was screaming. At first I thought it must be Johnny?s mother, until she tore open the back door and I realized I was the one screaming. Johnny?s mother crumpled against her son?s headless body, adding her broken sobs to my horrified cries.
Johnny?s funeral was the next week, closed casket. I forgot the sparkling light shimmering across the cloud of Johnny?s blood. I forgot Johnny?s mother rag-dolling my little body, begging me to tell her what happened to her son. I forgot the sherrif telling my mother Johnny was hit by a falling bullet, one of twenty six cases each year. I forgot my father?s quiet talks with my mother about how they never found the round that spattered Johnny?s smile across the grass. I adjusted. I coped. I forgot.
I didn?t forget the next time it happened. I never played cowboys and indians again; in fact, I can?t remember a single instance of any shooting game played by little boys anywhere in my childhood. I do remember the little girl in the park, pop pop popping her little nerf balls as she bounced around. She ran up to me, brandishing the weapon and shouting, ?Hands up!?
I smiled and complied, dropping my sandwich in mock terror. I lifted my hands to the sky and petitioned for mercy. A true homicidal maniac in the making, she executed me with a flurry of staccato pop pop pops. I dutifully played dead, sprawling across my bench. She giggled and proclaimed, ?Your turn. Shoot me!?
A sudden sensation of intense discomfort slithered up my spine. I thought of flowers, glittering crimson roses, wet with morning dew. She eyed me impatiently, apparently convinced she might have to nerf me once more to provoke a response. I lifted my finger weakly, pointed at her and whispered, ?Bang.?
This time I wasn?t the one screaming. Her mother cradled her baby?s dismembered limbs, frantically clutching an arm, then a leg. I had pointed my finger at the little girl?s belly button. The moment the word left my lips, she ruptured like a water balloon filled with punch and soaking bits of crimson colored fruit. Johnny Weller?s decapitated body filled my vision, the slow red of sunset sliding down the front of his striped shirt. I ran.
I can?t do this anymore. I got pissed at Laura yesterday and put my finger in her face to tell her off. I didn?t even say it. I couldn?t bring myself to sop my girlfriend?s brains off the kitchen floor. I can?t do this anymore.
All I have to do is put my finger against my temple and say it.
At least I?ll go out with a bang.
---
I?m in between.
One of them bit me. The bastard took a chunk out of my upper arm. The fool probably didn?t even know it was an arm. He probably saw me as a walking turkey leg or something. Oh, but he got his dues. I whacked his useless head off with a crowbar I stole when shit got serious.
It got serious about a month ago, and let me tell you, it happened just the way everyone thought it would happen. Some ?contained? little outbreak, then BOOM, everyone I know is staggering around like kangaroos tripping on dextro. Not me, though. I knew I was going to fight it. I did well until about a week ago when Mr. Slobbermouth munched on my bicep.
It amazes even me that I?m so coherent. God, I wish I wasn?t. I?m not like them, but I?m just like them. I have the hunger they have, but I have all the guilt and love of humanity that is going to keep me from surviving.
I?m not even sure that I want to survive anymore. I see them do horrible things, things that are starting to drive me mad, and I either get sick to my stomach or find my mouth watering. I don?t want to live if living means I have to watch the destruction of my kind every day.
But then, this means no more hiding. It?s as if they can sense something in me, like they scan for a zombie membership card and find it on me. They leave me alone. I can walk freely among them.
You know how I said I?m just like them? Well, I?m better than them. I?m smarter and have the ability to gain the trust of humans. I found one yesterday, I know where all the good hiding spots are, you see, and Lord was it happy to see me. It grasped my arm and looked into my eyes, saying it was happy to have found someone to fight with. Making sure none of the no-brains were around, I took it with me and hid with it in a storm cellar. I let it fall asleep, then I broke its neck, busted open its head like a coconut, and tore into its meaty brain. The blood complimented it nicely.
For a few moments, I felt bad for what I had done. I saw his body in that stagnant pool of blood, looking as if he was still sleeping, and felt some remorse for the poor, trusting boy. I wondered about his life before the disaster. Was he happy? Did his family love him? Would he have survived anyway?
That acidic guilt rose in me, a constant reminder of my humanity. But there?s at least one thing zombies and humans have in common: the will to survive. And I?m about to do a much better job than either one of them will.
---
There?s a local legend where I come from. They?re simply referred to as the willow men.
There?s hardly a need for the law enforcement in this town. The willow men take care of all that. Every single step taken, every word spoken, every drop of blood spilt.. The willow men know about it before anyone else. Believe me, anyone that has invoked the wrath of the willow men has gone missing without a trace.
That?s why when I realized what I had done it was too late. The willow men were coming.
She just wouldn?t shut the hell up. No matter what I said and what I would do she was just hysterical. She kept pacing about the house screaming. She said she found this and that and knew I was cheating on her. She?d ask me who it was and I told her she was crazy. I guess I wore that excuse out. After a while, I couldn?t take her damn voice anymore. I?d walk room to room and she?d follow me. When we got to the kitchen I had my fill.
I reached for the first knife I could find and jammed it into her throat. The face of anger and sorrow melted into one of despair and disbelief. The crimson fluid ran freely all over her blouse and she dropped to her knees, scrambling around on the floor. She clawed at the tile and made gurgling noises which only served to infuriate me. I grabbed an iron skillet that had been pre-heating on the stove and took a swing at her head. A wet crack followed the impact and while I didn?t need to keep going I did.
I lost count of the number of times I hit her but I had a good deal of blood on me. What was left of her head was being held together by thin particles of bone and blood continued to rush out. I dropped the skillet to the floor with a loud clang. I wish remorse could have followed so I would?ve felt a least a bit human but it didn?t. I was just happy to be rid of her. With a grunt I picked her body up off the floor and hoisted it unto my shoulder. Her face hung next to me, dead eyes staring with conviction. I could only chuckle. As soon as I got outside, I dropped the ragged heap onto the ground and went to find a shovel. That?s when I knew they were watching.
I could hear the whispers from the woods and in the corners of my eyes I could see them staring intently at my every move. Whenever I would look up to the woods I would find only gnarled trees staring back at me. I knew they were there. It was dusk by the time she was good and buried. I was drenched in sweat and it had made the blood stains on my clothes expand and turn orange. I looked back up to the woods and I saw them peering from behind the trees. Long, gnarled faces with hollow eyes and gaunt figures. I could only half see the faces as they chose to hide behind their precious trees but they were there. Watching, whispering?
?What are you staring for, bastards?! You heard her! I had to do it,? I yelled at them.
Was I expecting a response? I don?t know. They just continued to watch me from behind the trees. I spit on the ground and threw the shovel down. They would come for me under cover of darkness and I wasn?t going without a fight. I stole away into the house and prepared. I pushed couches and dressers in front of doorways. I nailed wooden boards haphazardly to cover all the windows. As the sun crept underneath the horizon a great trepidation settled in the pit of my stomach. Was it honestly nerves? I hated to think it was such a powerful fear that I would start breaking into an ice cold sweat. I loaded up my shotgun and reached for a bottle of whiskey. I forced down a mouthful and then another and slammed the rest of the bottle against the wall in frustration.
One door I left open. It was the back door that stared out to the woods. I put a chair down in front of it and sat, shotgun in my lap. They were still staring at me. The willow men. We stayed staring at one another for three days. Eventually, exhaustion began to get the best of me and I started to nod off. I tried desperately to keep my eyes open. For a foolish second I propped my head up with the shotgun so that it wouldn?t fall. I snapped back to reason and lifted my head high. Last thing I wanted to do was shoot myself. Had I known what was coming I probably should have.
I pushed myself to stay up for a few more hours. The day came and went and it was the dead of night before I knew it. They persisted behind the trees. I began to rationalize that if I closed my eyes for a second, I could have enough time to open them while the willow men were coming at me so I could take a few down. Smiling I did just that. Of course, its? difficult to tell how long you were asleep. Could be a second, could be for days. I opened my eyes again and found I was still sitting in my chair with my shotgun in my lap. I snapped up when I saw that the willow men were no longer behind the trees. I flipped out and held the shotgun up, darting around barrel first. I took a few steps outside and tried to control my heavy breaths. I shook damn near uncontrollably and found it impossible to keep the gun steady.
I began to calm down when I didn?t see anything outside and began to return to my post when I stopped dead in my tracks. I felt tears well in my eyes and something began to push up and out of my throat. The willow men were peering from around the doorway and the sides of the house. I froze staring at their gnarled up faces and branch-like hands. I had to do something. I pulled the gun up and fired off a round. It managed to take out part of the door frame but it missed any of them altogether. I popped open the shotgun and madly grasped for a fresh shell in my pocket. I successfully reloaded it and lifted the gun back up.
The willow men continued to look at me from where they had been. I took careful aim this time and fired once more. Another shot hit the doorframe this time although closer to the willow men. I fumbled for a third round and as I did, I saw a large shadow cover me. Looking up, the willow men were upon me. I screamed and closed the barrel down on my thumb effectively severing it. Immediately after that, I lost all consciousness and collapsed.
When I awoke, it was ice cold. My vision began to return to me slowly and I could feel that I was being dragged. My heart sank when I looked around. Darkness stretched as far as the eye could see and I knew I was in the deepest part of the woods. Where my thumb had once been was black and swollen and had managed to numb up to my forearm. My ankles were in severe pain too but I didn?t know why. When I looked, I saw that they had been clearly snapped and the willow men were dragging me by my feet. I began to scream as loudly as possible for someone, anyone.
All I did was cause more willow men to appear and watch me from behind the strangest willow trees I?d ever seen. Their trunks were small and looked just like leather. The earth around them was red and moist yet where I was being dragged was dry, rugged land. I looked up to the canopy and wish I hadn?t. Skinless corpses hung down, blood dripping freely to feed what I now knew were flesh-bound trees. My screams were swallowed by the dark and my throat gave out, hoarse from the strain. In the silence, I heard a faint moaning.
I looked around to see if there was someone else here. Maybe some poor bastard who suffered my same fate. To my horror, I discovered the source of the moans. The bodies hanging on the branches of the trees were all still alive. Soon, I too would have my flesh torn asunder and be damned to hang up there and feed the hungry willow trees. There was nothing I could but accept my fate. The willow men had me.
---
I was adopted. I never knew my real mother; rather, I knew her at one time but I left her side when I was too little to be able to remember. I loved my adopted family though. They were so kind to me. I ate well, I lived in a warm and comfortable house, and I got to stay up pretty late.
Let me tell you about my family real fast: First, there?s my mother. I never called her Mom or anything like that; I just called her by her first name. Janice. She didn?t mind at all though. I called her that for so long, I don?t think she even noticed. Anyhow, she was a very kind woman. I think that she is the one who recommended my adoption in the first place. Sometimes I would lay my head against her in front of the television and she would tickle my back with her nails. She is one of those Hollywood mothers.
Second, there?s Dad. His real name was Richard, but he never really liked me much so I began to refer to him as Dad in a desperate attempt to gain his affection. It didn?t work. I think that no matter what I called him, he would never love me as much as his own child. That?s understandable so I really didn?t press the matter. The most notable attribute of Dad was his unmoving sternness. He was not afraid to pop his children when they did something wrong. I found that out before I could use the restroom properly. He didn?t hesitate to spank me. Well, I?m in line and it?s because of his methods.
Lastly, is my sister. Little Emily was really young when I was adopted, so we were about the same age, but she was slightly older. I liked to think of her as my little sister, though. We got along better than any sibling could possibly get along. We would always stay up late together and just talk. Well, she did a lot of the talking; I mostly just listened because I loved her. It was a great setup that we had! We were short on bedrooms, so- because I didn?t want to sleep in the living room by myself when I was littler- I had a pallet set up for me next to her bed on the floor. This is where I have slept since. But it was cool with me because I enjoyed being with her and I had always felt pretty protective of my little sis.
Everything changed on a horrible Wednesday night. I was at home taking a nap when little Emily opened the front door. The sound of the door opening pulled me to a state of consciousness and I walked from the room down the hall to the living room. That?s when I first remembered it was Wednesday. I was never any good at keeping track of what day it was. Actually I?ll just go ahead and say it: My sense of time was HORRIBLE! But nevertheless, I knew it was Wednesday because Emily had just come home from her Church?s youth group gathering. She walked in the front door and hugged me, and then was followed in by Dad and Janice.
?You have a good nap?? Janice said teasingly as she ruffled up my hair. I just shook my head away and snorted in a manner that clearly expressed that I was teasing back with her.
?Don?t you snort at your mother like that!? said my father gruffly with authority. He shut the door behind him and hung up his coat.
?I was clearly joking?? I growled under my breath. He must not have heard me because I didn?t feel him smack me. Emily then proceeded to our room and I followed. She started telling me about her day. You know? usual teenage girl stuff. But I listened so that she would feel better. After her summary she suggested watching TV and I obliged and jumped onto the couch as she was going for the remote. She rolled her eyes at my little-brother-like immaturity and scooted me over and sat down. The TV turned on and we watched it together until the sun went down. Emily was the kind of girl that- instead of watching cartoons and soap operas- would rather watch Discovery and Animal Planet and Natural Geographic. I like those too so I didn?t mind. Actually, those were the only channels that can hold my attention.
So it got late and Janice walked up behind the sofa. ?Emily it?s past your bed time. Turn off the television and go to your room. You too.? she pointed at me. Emily turned off the program we were watching grudgingly and stood up. She started down the hallway to our room. As I followed I couldn?t shake the feeling that something wasn?t right.
Not long after that, I heard a very loud crash on the other side of the house. I was up in an instant. ?THERE?S SOMEONE IN THE HOUSE!? I barked with extreme adrenaline coursing through me. ?Wake up!? I shrilly pleaded with Emily. She did, and as soon as I saw her sit up I ran to my parent?s room?
Dad was dead. His neck was splayed open and gaping as blood spilled out of it, off the bed, and onto the floor. I saw that the master bathroom?s door was closed and just before it- on the outside- was a man.
A man? I don?t feel comfortable calling it that.
He was very large and rugged. He turned around and saw me and that?s when I saw him accurately for the first time. I wont forget it. His eyes were large and beady and trapped with lust. He was styling a beard that was badly unkempt with blood dripping off. His clothes were dirty and his face was cold. Just then I noticed the same horrid smell of sweat and blood from earlier, but this time it was overwhelming.
He saw me. He saw me and grinned with a set of crooked yellow teeth. That smile threw me off. I thought that I was going to die, but then he turned back to the bathroom door completely unperturbed by my presence. I was terrified and didn?t no what to do. I just yelled and cried. I watched as he shouldered through door that was Mom?s only protection. I watched as he raised the large razor that he was carrying, but had obviously neglected to use properly. I watched as he sliced her open and tore her to shreds?
I then heard something; the last thing that I wanted to hear? It was Emily?s scream coming from behind me. The large monstrosity looked up from my butchered mother and stared at my little sister. I was distraught. He stood up and quickly started walking toward us. My sis turned and ran, and I was at a loss when he bypassed me and went straight after her. Why was she still in the house? Had she not assessed the situation and run? Apparently not, and now she was dead and I was alone.
I ran after them both. I expected the man to kill her as he had the rest of my family, but I was sadly mistaken. He grabbed her by the arm and jerked her as a way to make clear that he was in control. He dragged her through the house? I was making all of the noise I could now, hoping and praying that someone would come to my aid. He mustn?t take her. Not her.
As he passed me I backed against the wall and whimpered with terror, ?Why?? He didn?t respond except by putting his free hand on my head while Emily screamed in the other and saying ?Good boy.? He gave another crooked grin and a very cold, unnatural laugh. I followed him to the door where he dragged my helpless sister after him. He opened it, pulled her out, and slammed it shut behind him.
I am now sitting in the house with my mutilated adopted parents, shivering and whimpering with dismay. He?s out there with her. Doing who-knows-what to her, and I can?t do anything. I would if I could, but I can?t. I would chase after them in a heartbeat, but I can?t. I sit here, looking at the front door. I look down at my paws. If only I could open doors?
---
Everyone loves technology nowadays. In nearly every facet of our lives there is some form of technology there. It is forever with us and we have bonded with it, as silly as that may sound. Machines mirror us and everything about us. They are flawed as we are. They can die, they can make errors, they can learn, they can even get sick.
Indeed, viruses and other malware out there is very dangerous to our computers, and to us. Sure, someone you don't even know could steal your credit card number and make you thousands in debt before you even get the bill. But that's not what makes them so dangerous. There are some viruses out there that can do much, much worse.
If you don't believe me get any old anti-virus program. Any will do. There are files on your computer that your virus scanners will not scan at all. These are normally hidden from view in all of the files that are stored in important files. Even those who make these programs or those that are savvy with computers are completely unaware that they are there. But they are.
What you may not know is when you buy a sensitive piece of machinery like a computer, is that the moment you turn it on you leave an imprint of sorts on it. It forever becomes a part of you.
As I was saying before I went off ranting - you will have to manually specify these files to scan. The files in question vary from computer to computer and person to person, but you will somehow know what you are looking for when you actively look for them. They may not be apparent at first but continue manually looking for the files you need to scan.
When you find them, and trust me you will know when you find them, scan them. Your virus scanner will always scan only one item from the file and it is always infected with a virus that once scanned sends your computer into a flurry of alert messages. Not like those do any good now. You can turn the computer off now if you want, you have to do so by pressing your power button because your virus scanner and the files you just scanned will make the infernal binging noise and refuse to go away. If you shut off your computer now, you will never be able to start it again or be able to own any piece of electrical hardware. They will all break as soon as they are in your possession.
It might take awhile but fix every infected file manually. After doing so your computer will freeze up for about a day. Don't bother trying to cold start it now. Just leave it on and go about your normal business. Come back in 24 hours and your computer will have drastically changed.
For starters your desktop wallpaper will be something out of focus and mostly underscernable but utterly horrifying to you. In addition to this your desktop will be filled with folders, many of them will will be gibberish - a mishmash of random letters and symbols. Don't bother opening them because in them are hundreds of copies of the infected files you tried to delete.
There will be one folder that is clearly labeled though, it will always be some variation of "Click here" or "Click me" Do so, because this will be the one folder not filled to the brim with viruses. There will be a day to day, hour by hour, minute to minute text file of your life. Of course, this document will be extremely long so don't bother reading the parts you know. Skip to the end. As you go along you will notice that it begins to describe things that have not even happened yet.
This is your chance. You can make any modification you wish to these files. They are your life and your essence. Toying with this is toying with your soul. If you wish to read through all the events that have not yet occurred and change them in your favor - do so. You need to write them neatly and descriptively and within reason, no "And then suddenly hot women appeared."
After you have made all the modifications you wish to make, exit the file and save the additions you have made. Turn off your computer. Wait a few minutes and turn it back on. Everything will be back to normal. However, now, buried beneath all the files on your computer will be the folder containing the text document. This document cannot be edited further.
Now that you have a nice life planned ahead of you, I hope you made sure to compulsively write that you have not lost your computer or it has not broken down until the very minute you die. This is important, because if the files you wrote are ever destroyed in some way or are lost you will cease to be. You will not die, but simply cease to exist.
Imagine not existing in any plane the mortal mind can conceive of. You can't, can you? You don't want to.
---
Have you ever been walking up a quiet flight of stairs and get the need to get to climb to the very top as fast as possible? Or driving down the road late at night and suddenly get the urge to drive as fast as possible?
Don't worry, that's just them letting you know the chase is on. Be sure to play along, because there is nothing they hate more than catching the one they're chasing. They just never know what to do with them.
Well, there is one thing they hate more. They really, truly hate it if you look over your shoulder.
Someone is holding my hand.
I sleep on my stomach, with my arm hanging off the side of the bed. Now I'm awake, wide awake, and someone is holding my left hand.
The hand is cold, far too cold for a night in August. It holds my hand lightly, but with force. My fingertips are pressed against thin, clammy skin, like frozen poultry. Though I can't see them, it seems like the fingers are longer than they should be, wrapping much farther around my hand than should be possible. I feel ragged fingernails touching my palm. How many? Six? Seven?
I should yell in surprise, but I don't move. Somehow the room is darker than it was before. I am completely still. I hear the faint buzz of my alarm clock, but I can't make out the numbers any more.
The hand moves. It grips me tighter.
I black out. I awaken at my usual time, piss, and shower as always. But after my shower, I just cannot seem to get my left hand dry.
---
Have you ever been taking a shower while alone in the house and felt like something was moving around behind the curtain? Or watching you? Did you look up? Did you catch the very vaguest hint of eyebrows or a tuft of matted, greasy hair above the curtain rod? That's not a good idea. It doesn't really like it if you see it. It likes it the most when you've got shampoo on your hair, and your eyes are shut tight so your eyes don't sting. Or even better, when there's soap and bubbles all over your soft, pink face. It likes that the best, because your eyes are clenched so tight, and even if you did want to open them, like, if you heard a soft scratching against the plastic shower curtain, or a rasping of claws on bathroom tile, or the gentle splatter of drool or cum or... god knows what... well, you wouldn't open your eyes because it'd burn. Right? Right. Don't open your eyes. Because if you ever see its face, catch its eyes... Well. It'll notice.
---
Go to any mirror and put your hand against the glass. Don't worry, nothing will grab you. Wait. Sometimes it takes half a day, sometimes it takes a moment. But you'll yank your hand away when you feel it.
Worms or centipedes, who knows? All pressed in tight like there's no more room on that side, wriggling against your skin. When you pull back, the glass is the same and you'll be unharmed.
But now you know it's there.
---
Ever heard of a philosophical movement known as solipsism? Basically, according to the solipsist, only he exists. Since his only mind is the only thing he knows to be truly real, nothing else is.
Actually, the logic follows quite nicely. If the senses are our only means of processing information, and the senses are ultimately unreliable, then everything in your head must be - and is the only - reality.
And that's where the unsettling implications start to come in. That thing under the bed, in the attic, that your parents told you is "all in your head?" Well, your parents are also "all in your head." Your sight, your only source of reasoning, so reassuring when you turn the lights on and gasp in relief when you see that nothing's there? All in your head.
The thing in the attic, however, is another story. You've never seen it, you've never heard it, you've never sensed it, but your body really wants your mind to believe that it's not there.
Now why might that be?
---
Have you ever heard the expression an apple a day keeps the Doctor away? Most assume, with no reason to think otherwise, that it is simply an easy-to-remember rhyme that stresses the importance of eating healthily to young children. But the saying did not originate as a harmless reminder. It was born in a frontier town in the early years of the gold rush, where food was scarce and money even scarcer. One August, when a bad drought had struck the region, a series of bloody killings swept through the town. Every night, a single house would be broken into, and anyone who saw the invader would be swiftly, brutally slain. Nothing was ever stolen, save for a few scraps of food.
After two weeks of this, the local grocer set out a few apples and a glass of milk in the town square overnight. He then hid in the tower of the church, hoping to catch a glimpse of anyone who came by. Fighting fatigue, the grocer waited for any sign of life below. Just after midnight, he was rewarded by a chilling sight; a man, carrying a black bag stuffed with dully shining metal tools and covered from head to foot in cloth bandages, staggered into view. He paused at the sight of the apples and milk, then whipped his head around, as if looking for the one who dared to patronize him. Seized with fear, the grocer ducked out of sight, staying hidden til sunrise.
The strange man had only taken one of the apples, and didnt even touch the glass of milk. No houses were broken into, and no one was killed. For decades, the town continued to place out an apple or two every night, even long after a single apple stopped disappearing.
---
Yesterday, a friend of mine called me. It was a John, an old buddy from high school. I hadn't spoken with him for years, and we started to reminisce about all the crap we pulled in high school. A few days later I decided to call him back, and see if we could get together, maybe go fishing or something.
We talked on the phone for a while, and I said to him "Hey, maybe we should get together sometime." He first said that that was a bad idea, but then he agreed. I asked him for address, copied it down, and told him I'd see him in the morning.
The next morning I arrived at the place he said he lived at. There was nothing but rubble there. It looked like there had been a fire there years ago, but nothing got cleaned up, and the plants never regrew. In the middle of the rubble, I found a old rotary style telephone on the floor, not connected to anything. Hurridly, I pulled out my cellphone and called his number.
The telephone on the floor rang.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
I dropped my cellphone in shock, and knelt to grab the rotary telephone. A voice, drenched in distortion and hiss, said:
"I told you this was a bad idea."
---
The digital clock humming quietly on my nightstand was the only sound that my ears could pick up from my surroundings. The night was dead quiet. I knew he was there. Right on schedule, he would be standing outside my window. He would knock. I, for reasons I wish I could explain, would open the blinds. He would stare at me, and I would stare at him. He would leave soon after, and I would stay awake until the sun began to rise. This was our routine.
My mind was wondering a thousand miles away when he first knocked, though my eyes had stayed lingering on the window. I told myself that I wouldn?t open the blinds. I told myself that tonight he wouldn?t scare me and that I would get the rest I desperately needed. He knocked twice more. I held a pillow over my head and began humming an old song I used to sing in elementary school. He knocked again, and this time, he had a done it a lot less courteously than he had in the past. It had become a loud thumping noise.
I threw the pillow off of my head and opened the blinds. His pale, wrinkly face leered in at me. His lifeless, black eyes that shone despite their darkness, peered into my own. His stringy hair fluttered a little in the wind. He seemed to be breathing somewhat harshly, and though it was hard to determine his mood as anything other than emotionless, I could sense an amount of animosity I had never felt before.
After what seemed like hours, he turned around and was on his way. I faced the ceiling and wept.
This had been going on for more than a month. I had tried to talk to others about it, but I could never finish my sentences. They?d degrade into quiet mumblings and whimpers. I was so tired, and I had even begun to wonder if I was losing my mind. I had tried sleeping pills but even they couldn?t help me to sleep through the night. The weirdest part is that I always woke up about five minutes before he knocked. I knew, instinctively, that he would be there. I was so tired.
The next night, I told myself that under no circumstances would I look out the window. I didn?t even care if he was on the verge of breaking the glass, I would not give him what he wanted. I would not feed him. He?d have to find someone else to terrify. He?d have to leave me alone.
I woke up, and I instantly knew what was going to happen. It?s funny, I was anticipating his knocks, and yet I still jumped a little when I finally heard him. I laid in my bed quietly, as if I hadn?t heard anything. He knocked again, and I hid under the pillow once more. He knocked again, even louder than he had the night before. I whimpered, but remained under the pillow. He knocked twice more. After that, things got quiet. I no longer had the feeling I was being watched. I pulled my head out from under my pillow, and slowly looked out the window.
Nothing. Just my backyard.
I laughed. I laughed so hard that little tears began to slip out of my eyes. He was somebody else?s problem now. I looked at the clock, noticed I had only been awake for about fifteen minutes, and turned over to go back to sleep.
I had just gotten to that area where dreams mingle with reality when I heard the distant click of a door. My backdoor. Someone had entered into my house from the outside. Something from my backyard. I knew it was him. I listened quietly as his footsteps made their way from my kitchen, to my dining room, to the short hallway outside of my bedroom. He was walking slowly, patiently and was not attempting to hide his presence at all.
He was right outside my bedroom door.
He knocked on my door, and I almost vomited. I wanted to do something, anything. I was paralyzed with fear. He knocked again. Trembling, I pulled the pillow back over my head. All that could be heard was the sound of weeping, knocking, and a digital clock humming quietly to itself.
I was so tired.
---
My Internet Service Provider used to have offices in a shopping center before they moved to their (comparatively) lush accommodations elsewhere. There was a drop box at that original location. The monthly bill was due, and thus, there but for the Grace of the Net I went. It was about 9:30 p.m. when I left. From my relatively isolated apartments, it's about 10-15 minutes or so to downtown (Abilene has a population of about 110,000).
Right next to Camalott Communications' old location is a $1.50 movie theater. At the time, the place was featuring that masterwork of modern film, Mortal Kombat. I drove by the theater on the way into the center proper and pulled into an empty parking space.Using the glow of the marquee to write out my check, I was startled to hear a knock on the driver's-side window of my car.I looked over and saw two children staring at me from street. I need to describe them, with the one feature (you can guess what it was) that I didn't realize until about half-way through the conversation cleverly omitted. Both were boys, and my initial impression is that they were somewhere between 10-14.
Boy No. 1 was the spokesman. Boy No. 2 didn't speak during the entire conversation -- at least not in words.Boy No. 1 was slightly taller than his companion, wearing a pull-over, hooded shirt with a sort of gray checked pattern and jeans. I couldn't see his shoes. His skin was olive-colored and had curly, medium-length brown hair. He exuded an air of quiet confidence. Boy No. 2 had pale skin with a trace of freckles. His primary characteristic seemed to be looking around nervously. He was dressed in a similar manner to his companion, but his pull-over was a light green color. His hair was a sort of pale orange.
They didn't appear to be related, at least directly."Oh, great," I thought. "They're gonna hit me up for money." And then the air changed. There I was, filling out a check in my car (which was still running) and in a sudden panic over the appearance of two little boys. I was confused, but an overwhelming sense of fear and unearthliness rushed in nonetheless.
The spokesman smiled, and the sight for some inexplicable reason chilled my blood. I could feel fight-or-flight responses kicking in. Something, I knew instinctually, was not right, but I didn't know what it could possibly be.I rolled down the window very, very slightly and asked "Yes?"The spokesman smiled again, broader this time. His teeth were very, very white.
"Hey, mister, what's up? We have a problem," he said. His voice was that of a young man, but his diction, quiet calm and ... something I still couldn't put my finger on ... made my desire to flee even greater. "You see, my friend and I want to see the films, but we forgot our money," he continued. "We need to go to our house to get it. Want to help us out?" Okay. Journalists are required to talk to lots of people, and that includes children. I've seen and spoken to lots of them. Here's how that usually goes: "Uh ... M ... M ... Mister? Can I see that camera? I ... I won't break it or anything. I promise. My dad has a camera, and he lets me hold it sometimes, I guess, and I took a picture of my dog -- it wasn's very good, 'cause I got my finger in the way and ..." Add in some feet shuffling and/or body swaying and you've got a typical kid talking to a stranger. In short, they're usually apologetic. People generally teach children that when they talk to adults, they're usually bothering them for one reason or another and they should at least be polite. This kid was in no way fitting the mold. His command of language was incredible and he showed no signs of fear. He spoke as if my help was a foregone conclusion. When he grinned, it was as if he was trying to say, "I know something ... and you're NOT gonna like it. But the only way you're going to find out what it is will be to do what I say ..." "Uh, well ..." was the best reply I could offer.
Now here's where it starts to get strange.The quiet companion looked at the spokesman with a mixture of confusion and guilt on his face. He seemed in some ways shocked, not with his friend's brusque manner but that I didn't just immediately open the door. He eyed me nervously. The spokesman seemed a bit perturbed, too. I still was registering something wrong with both. "C'mon, mister," the spokesman said again, smooth as silk. Car salesmen could learn something from this kid. "Now, we just want to go to our house. And we're just two little boys." That really scared me. Something in the tone and diction again sent off alarm bells. My mind was frantically trying to process what it was perceiving about the two figures that was "wrong."
"Eh. Um ...." was all I could manage. I felt myself digging my fingernails into the steering wheel. "What movie were you going to see?" I asked finally. "Mortal Kombat, of course," the spokesman said. The silent one nodded in affirmation, standing a few paces behind. "Oh," I said. I stole a quick glance at the marquee and at the clock in my car. Mortal Kombat had been playing for an hour, the last showing of the evening. The silent one looked increasingly nervous. I think he saw my glances and suspected that I might be detecting something was not above-board.
"C'mon, mister. Let us in. We can't get in your car until you do, you know," the spokesman said soothingly. "Just let us in, and we'll be gone before you know it. We'll go to our mother's house." We locked eyes. To my horror, I realized my hand had strayed toward the door lock (which was engaged) and was in the process of opening it. I pulled it away, probably a bit too violently. But it did force me to look away from the children. I turned back. "Er ... Um ...," I offered weakly and then my mind snapped into sharp focus.
For the first time, I noticed their eyes. They were coal black. No pupil. No iris. Just two staring orbs reflecting the red and white light of the marquee. At that point, I know my expression betrayed me. The silent one had a look of horror on his face in a combination that seemed to say "We've been found out!" The spokesman, on the other hand, wore a mask of anger. His eyes glittered brightly in the half-light. "Cmon, mister," he said. "We won't hurt you. You have to LET US IN. We don't have a gun ..."
That last statement scared the living hell out of me, because at that point by his tone he was plainly saying, "We don't NEED a gun." He noticed my hand shooting down toward the gear shift. The spokesman's final words contained an anger that was complete and whole, and yet contained in some respects a tone of panic: "WE CAN'T COME IN UNLESS YOU TELL US IT'S OKAY. LET ... US .... IN!"
I ripped the car into reverse (thank goodness no one was coming up behind me) and tore out of the parking lot. I noticed the boys in my peripheral vision, and I stole a quick glance back. They were gone. The sidewalk by the theater was deserted. I drove home in a heightened state of panic. Had anyone attempted to stop me, I would have run on through and faced the consequences later. I bolted into my house, scanning all around -- including the sky. What did I see? Maybe nothing more than some kids looking for a ride. And some really funky contacts. Yeah, right.
A friend suggested they were vampires, what with the old "let us in" bit and my compelled response to open the door. That and the "we'll go see our mother" thing. I'm still not sure what they were, but here's an epilogue I find chilling: A close friend of mine recently moved to Amarillo, but at the time this happened was still living in San Angelo. I called him and talked to him briefly. He had two friends with him at the time, both professing some type of psychic ability.
I started telling him the story, leaving out the part about the black eyes for the kicker. One of the women (we were on a speakerphone) stopped me. "These children had black eyes, right?" she asked. "I mean, all-black eyes?" "Er ... Yes." I said. I was a bit taken aback.
"Hmmm," she said. "One night last week, I had a dream about children with black eyes. They were outside my house, wanting to be let in, but there was something wrong with them. It took me a while to realize it was the eyes."
I hadn't even gotten as far as them wanting to come in. "What did you do?" I asked. "I kept the doors and windows locked," she said. "I knew if they came in, they would kill me." She paused. "And they would have killed you, too, if you had let them into your car."
---
Carol was a young film student. She was recently engaged to a nice boy she had been dating for three years. She liked hanging out with her friends, going to the movies and listening to music. Really, she was quite typical for a girl her age.
Every once in a while, Carol liked to take her camera, drive out to her parents summer home in the woods, and film the wildlife. She entered the footage in wildlife photography and video competitions, hoping to make a name for herself.
One spring day, Carol loaded up her car with her camera equipment. She said told her roommate she would be back in a couple of days, and asked the roommate to feed her fish. She called her fiancé and let him know she would be at her parent?s summer home this weekend. She let him know her cell didn?t get signal out there, and that they didn?t keep a landline. She told him she would be out of touch for the entire weekend.
The drive up to the summer home was pleasant enough. She got there with no problems. Her parents were not due to the summer home for another couple weeks, so she had the place to herself. By the time she got unpacked, it was getting late so she went to bed deciding she would start shooting in the morning.
At sunrise the next morning, she gathered her camera equipment and went out to shoot some wildlife. It was a tiring but productive day. She got some great footage of an eagle catching a mouse. At one point she nodded off while waiting for a deer to come to a pond she knew the animals frequented. When she woke up, she found a pair of young deer drinking the water. She spent a little bit of time filming a humming bird darting from flower to flower. She caught footage of a huge rattlesnake resting on a rock. Then she took a long hike up a hill to try and catch some footage of fireflies lighting up a clearing.
By the time she got back to her parents summer home, it was just after dark. She had been lugging her equipment around all day and was very tired. She didn?t even bother showering. She just dropped her hat and camera on the chair next to her bed and passed out.
The next morning she was reviewing her footage on her laptop. The eagle was majestic. Probably some of her best work ever. She watched the footage of the deer. She thought they were very cute. Something in one of the deer shot caught her eye though. It was only there for a second. She thought she saw a very tall man with very pale skin in the bushes. It looked like he was watching her.
She rewound the footage, and looked again, this time in slow motion. She could certainly make out a figure, but she couldn?t tell if there was actually someone standing there, or if it was just a trick of light on some bushes.
Carol put the strange image out of her head and kept reviewing her footage. The humming bird footage didn?t come out well. The little guy was moving too fast, and the light was bad. The rattlesnake was cool though, even if it was a little boring. After she watched the bit with the fireflies, she was pretty sure she was going to win some kind of award. The natural lighting was just perfect. When the firefly footage cut off, she noticed that she still had one video file left to watch. Curious, she opened it. It was a video of her, sleeping in her bed. Her insides turned to ice when she noticed the reflection in her bedroom window. There was a very tall, naked, albino man with a scraggly gray beard wearing her hat and filming her sleeping. He was breathing heavily.
Carol slammed her computer shut, not wanting to see any more. The video stopped. The heavy breathing did not.
---
A few years ago I was spending some time with friends exploring old, supposedly haunted, places. We were at the Edisto First Presbyterian Church, where a girl named Julia Legare was buried in her family mausoleum in 1852.
People reported hearing unearthly screams time and time again, but never investigating the cause of it. Fifteen years later, when they opened the door to the mausoleum to inter the next family member who had died, finding her corpse huddled in the corner next to the door, arms outstretched as if still trying to find the exit.
Well, my friends thought it would be a funny idea to shut the giant stone door (which was originally open) behind me and pick me up in the morning. The bastards left me there? I tried and tried, using all of my strength, but I couldn?t budge it, it had taken four people to put it in place. In the dark, I resigned myself to the night ahead of me.
Now, I normally don?t frighten easily, but sitting there in the relatively small place, surrounded by a looming pressure that I couldn?t begin to explain, the darkness itself seemed to try to consume me. From all around it felt like weight was pressing against my skin, making even breathing hard. I sat in the dark for what must have been hours.
Then I heard the scratches. They were faint at first, I was sure it was my imagination, but soon they became more and more frantic as time passed. I huddled up in one of the corners farthest from the door and tried to cover my ears but nothing could stop the growing cacophony. This all may have lasted for a few minutes, but each second was an unbearable eternity.
Then, a loud scream echoed through the darkness, it was a wail of unrestrained pain and fear. The scratching stopped. For the first time I could distinctly make out the sound of a girl sobbing to herself, the pitiful gasping of one without a shred of hope left.
I felt such sorrow at the moment, such pain, that I think I forgot how to be afraid. In my heart all her suffering seemed to resonate. Inexplicably, I found myself apologizing aloud for everything that had happened to her. Hell, a part of me wanted to reach out and feel for a body to hug, but I couldn?t bring myself to do it for fear that I truly would find one.
I don?t know whether or not she heard me or was even aware of my presence, the sobbing continued and I could again hear fingers against the stone slab that was the tomb door.
I fell asleep at some point, which I felt was a merciful gift from the fates. I?m not sure how long I was out, but I was woken by a loud and powerful thud as the door slammed against the ground outside. I could tell from the light gray outside that daybreak was near, so I must have slept for at least a few hours.
I stumbled outside and went to a small unlocked prayer house. I think previously it was a segregated mini-church, but regardless, I leaned against the door and waited nervously until my ?friends? arrived. I approached them as they clustered around the fallen door, two of them were kneeling next to it with faces of shock.
There were bloody streaks covering the interior of the door, some with light scratches from fingernails, many without. I think now that she must have shrieked when they broke away from her hands, but I can?t be sure.
At first, they looked to me, then checked my hands, then nervously glanced at one another. I was rightfully pissed with them and told them every detail of what I remembered, wanting them to know what I had been put through.
Finally, after I grudgingly got into the car and we started to head back, someone spoke up. My friend said to me ?We were afraid to say anything, but look at your face.?
I later found out that many times people had tried to permanently seal the entrance to the mausoleum, including enough heavy locks and chains that it would require heavy equipment to remove it, only to have it found torn open with the door lying on the ground once more. This was in the 1980s, the last attempt of many through the decades. It seemed like some force was ensuring that it was impossible to ever repeat the mistakes of the past. This is something I am understandably quite grateful for, but to this very day I am chilled to the bone when I think of what happened that night.
When I reached from the back seat and adjusted the rear-view mirror, I saw that there was blood caked on my face. Just like the streaks upon the stone slab, there were dark red lines on either side, as if someone had gently cradled my face with torn fingers as I slept that night, feeling the warmth of another for the first time in over a hundred years.
---
In every major town and city, there is a house of which no official record exists, and whose windows have been boarded up for longer than anyone around can remember. The previous occupants, if there ever were any, are untraceable, and no organisation or individual will ever lay claim to the plot on which it stands.
Nevertheless, when you break in?always through a back, ground-floor window; you must never touch the outer doors?you will see amongst the dust the signs of inhabitants long gone. A flattened cardboard box, an overturned child?s cot, balding patches on the carpet where the pile has been worn away. Invariably there will be an orphaned double mattress in the master bedroom. What you will not see, however, are rats and cockroaches, or animal waste. Vermin know better than to come here.
These are Her sacred spaces.
The first time you visit, bring only what you need to help you enter the house. Then locate the master bedroom, stand in the centre, and draw an unbroken circle in the dust around your feet. Make it about a metre in diameter to be safe.
Face the doorway and say aloud; ?I wish to make a sacrifice. Will you welcome the offering??
Then leave as quickly as possible. You must not return until night has next fallen.
This time, bring nails, a hammer, an empty litre bottle, a sharp, sturdy knife, and a torch. Enter the same way you did last time. Remember the mattress in the master bedroom? Someone will be sleeping there. Don?t worry about waking them up; She has taken care of that for you. Turn the sleeper over onto their back and cut their jugular vein, making sure to collect as much blood as you can.
You will need to pour a little of the blood onto the floor of every room, including this one, but make sure you have some left at the end. When you?ve finished, leave by the same way you entered, and close up the boards again. (This is what the hammer and nails are for.) Walk home. Speak to nobody on your way. When you get there, tip some of the remaining blood into your right hand and smear it over your door handle before you enter. Then go to bed.
If there is any blood left, you must pour the rest of it onto any pavement in the city, but do not allow it to be poured down a drain. The knife you must never use again, and should bury. Do not trouble yourself with covering your tracks. When you next leave your house, the blood on your door will be gone, and the murder you have committed will have no repurcussions. From the moment you leave Her temple, DNA evidence will never again implicate you; law enforcement will creep around your footsteps without touching them. On cameras, your face will show up a blur.
You are under Her protection now.
Just make sure you get the right house.
---
I?ve decided to kill myself.
I think it?s important someone understand why, so I?m making this video before I blow my head off. The first time I remember it happening I was nine. Johnny Weller and I were playing in his back yard. The sun was setting over his back fence, warm oranges and reds shining through the bone-white slats like a creamsicle against pearly white teeth. Johnny was the cowboy and I was the dirty redskin, stealing his horse. We ran around the swingset, him laughing and me whooping and threatening to scalp him. When he tripped, I ran to where he laid in the dirt, scooping up a handful of air, pointing my finger at his nose and proclaimed, ?I got your gun now! BANG!?
Johnny?s head exploded in a tremendous blossom of crimson blood, slate-gray brain and chips of skull that sparkled in the setting sun. My hand fell to my side, and I stared, open-mouthed, unable to understand what just happened. Someone was screaming. At first I thought it must be Johnny?s mother, until she tore open the back door and I realized I was the one screaming. Johnny?s mother crumpled against her son?s headless body, adding her broken sobs to my horrified cries.
Johnny?s funeral was the next week, closed casket. I forgot the sparkling light shimmering across the cloud of Johnny?s blood. I forgot Johnny?s mother rag-dolling my little body, begging me to tell her what happened to her son. I forgot the sherrif telling my mother Johnny was hit by a falling bullet, one of twenty six cases each year. I forgot my father?s quiet talks with my mother about how they never found the round that spattered Johnny?s smile across the grass. I adjusted. I coped. I forgot.
I didn?t forget the next time it happened. I never played cowboys and indians again; in fact, I can?t remember a single instance of any shooting game played by little boys anywhere in my childhood. I do remember the little girl in the park, pop pop popping her little nerf balls as she bounced around. She ran up to me, brandishing the weapon and shouting, ?Hands up!?
I smiled and complied, dropping my sandwich in mock terror. I lifted my hands to the sky and petitioned for mercy. A true homicidal maniac in the making, she executed me with a flurry of staccato pop pop pops. I dutifully played dead, sprawling across my bench. She giggled and proclaimed, ?Your turn. Shoot me!?
A sudden sensation of intense discomfort slithered up my spine. I thought of flowers, glittering crimson roses, wet with morning dew. She eyed me impatiently, apparently convinced she might have to nerf me once more to provoke a response. I lifted my finger weakly, pointed at her and whispered, ?Bang.?
This time I wasn?t the one screaming. Her mother cradled her baby?s dismembered limbs, frantically clutching an arm, then a leg. I had pointed my finger at the little girl?s belly button. The moment the word left my lips, she ruptured like a water balloon filled with punch and soaking bits of crimson colored fruit. Johnny Weller?s decapitated body filled my vision, the slow red of sunset sliding down the front of his striped shirt. I ran.
I can?t do this anymore. I got pissed at Laura yesterday and put my finger in her face to tell her off. I didn?t even say it. I couldn?t bring myself to sop my girlfriend?s brains off the kitchen floor. I can?t do this anymore.
All I have to do is put my finger against my temple and say it.
At least I?ll go out with a bang.
---
I?m in between.
One of them bit me. The bastard took a chunk out of my upper arm. The fool probably didn?t even know it was an arm. He probably saw me as a walking turkey leg or something. Oh, but he got his dues. I whacked his useless head off with a crowbar I stole when shit got serious.
It got serious about a month ago, and let me tell you, it happened just the way everyone thought it would happen. Some ?contained? little outbreak, then BOOM, everyone I know is staggering around like kangaroos tripping on dextro. Not me, though. I knew I was going to fight it. I did well until about a week ago when Mr. Slobbermouth munched on my bicep.
It amazes even me that I?m so coherent. God, I wish I wasn?t. I?m not like them, but I?m just like them. I have the hunger they have, but I have all the guilt and love of humanity that is going to keep me from surviving.
I?m not even sure that I want to survive anymore. I see them do horrible things, things that are starting to drive me mad, and I either get sick to my stomach or find my mouth watering. I don?t want to live if living means I have to watch the destruction of my kind every day.
But then, this means no more hiding. It?s as if they can sense something in me, like they scan for a zombie membership card and find it on me. They leave me alone. I can walk freely among them.
You know how I said I?m just like them? Well, I?m better than them. I?m smarter and have the ability to gain the trust of humans. I found one yesterday, I know where all the good hiding spots are, you see, and Lord was it happy to see me. It grasped my arm and looked into my eyes, saying it was happy to have found someone to fight with. Making sure none of the no-brains were around, I took it with me and hid with it in a storm cellar. I let it fall asleep, then I broke its neck, busted open its head like a coconut, and tore into its meaty brain. The blood complimented it nicely.
For a few moments, I felt bad for what I had done. I saw his body in that stagnant pool of blood, looking as if he was still sleeping, and felt some remorse for the poor, trusting boy. I wondered about his life before the disaster. Was he happy? Did his family love him? Would he have survived anyway?
That acidic guilt rose in me, a constant reminder of my humanity. But there?s at least one thing zombies and humans have in common: the will to survive. And I?m about to do a much better job than either one of them will.
---
There?s a local legend where I come from. They?re simply referred to as the willow men.
There?s hardly a need for the law enforcement in this town. The willow men take care of all that. Every single step taken, every word spoken, every drop of blood spilt.. The willow men know about it before anyone else. Believe me, anyone that has invoked the wrath of the willow men has gone missing without a trace.
That?s why when I realized what I had done it was too late. The willow men were coming.
She just wouldn?t shut the hell up. No matter what I said and what I would do she was just hysterical. She kept pacing about the house screaming. She said she found this and that and knew I was cheating on her. She?d ask me who it was and I told her she was crazy. I guess I wore that excuse out. After a while, I couldn?t take her damn voice anymore. I?d walk room to room and she?d follow me. When we got to the kitchen I had my fill.
I reached for the first knife I could find and jammed it into her throat. The face of anger and sorrow melted into one of despair and disbelief. The crimson fluid ran freely all over her blouse and she dropped to her knees, scrambling around on the floor. She clawed at the tile and made gurgling noises which only served to infuriate me. I grabbed an iron skillet that had been pre-heating on the stove and took a swing at her head. A wet crack followed the impact and while I didn?t need to keep going I did.
I lost count of the number of times I hit her but I had a good deal of blood on me. What was left of her head was being held together by thin particles of bone and blood continued to rush out. I dropped the skillet to the floor with a loud clang. I wish remorse could have followed so I would?ve felt a least a bit human but it didn?t. I was just happy to be rid of her. With a grunt I picked her body up off the floor and hoisted it unto my shoulder. Her face hung next to me, dead eyes staring with conviction. I could only chuckle. As soon as I got outside, I dropped the ragged heap onto the ground and went to find a shovel. That?s when I knew they were watching.
I could hear the whispers from the woods and in the corners of my eyes I could see them staring intently at my every move. Whenever I would look up to the woods I would find only gnarled trees staring back at me. I knew they were there. It was dusk by the time she was good and buried. I was drenched in sweat and it had made the blood stains on my clothes expand and turn orange. I looked back up to the woods and I saw them peering from behind the trees. Long, gnarled faces with hollow eyes and gaunt figures. I could only half see the faces as they chose to hide behind their precious trees but they were there. Watching, whispering?
?What are you staring for, bastards?! You heard her! I had to do it,? I yelled at them.
Was I expecting a response? I don?t know. They just continued to watch me from behind the trees. I spit on the ground and threw the shovel down. They would come for me under cover of darkness and I wasn?t going without a fight. I stole away into the house and prepared. I pushed couches and dressers in front of doorways. I nailed wooden boards haphazardly to cover all the windows. As the sun crept underneath the horizon a great trepidation settled in the pit of my stomach. Was it honestly nerves? I hated to think it was such a powerful fear that I would start breaking into an ice cold sweat. I loaded up my shotgun and reached for a bottle of whiskey. I forced down a mouthful and then another and slammed the rest of the bottle against the wall in frustration.
One door I left open. It was the back door that stared out to the woods. I put a chair down in front of it and sat, shotgun in my lap. They were still staring at me. The willow men. We stayed staring at one another for three days. Eventually, exhaustion began to get the best of me and I started to nod off. I tried desperately to keep my eyes open. For a foolish second I propped my head up with the shotgun so that it wouldn?t fall. I snapped back to reason and lifted my head high. Last thing I wanted to do was shoot myself. Had I known what was coming I probably should have.
I pushed myself to stay up for a few more hours. The day came and went and it was the dead of night before I knew it. They persisted behind the trees. I began to rationalize that if I closed my eyes for a second, I could have enough time to open them while the willow men were coming at me so I could take a few down. Smiling I did just that. Of course, its? difficult to tell how long you were asleep. Could be a second, could be for days. I opened my eyes again and found I was still sitting in my chair with my shotgun in my lap. I snapped up when I saw that the willow men were no longer behind the trees. I flipped out and held the shotgun up, darting around barrel first. I took a few steps outside and tried to control my heavy breaths. I shook damn near uncontrollably and found it impossible to keep the gun steady.
I began to calm down when I didn?t see anything outside and began to return to my post when I stopped dead in my tracks. I felt tears well in my eyes and something began to push up and out of my throat. The willow men were peering from around the doorway and the sides of the house. I froze staring at their gnarled up faces and branch-like hands. I had to do something. I pulled the gun up and fired off a round. It managed to take out part of the door frame but it missed any of them altogether. I popped open the shotgun and madly grasped for a fresh shell in my pocket. I successfully reloaded it and lifted the gun back up.
The willow men continued to look at me from where they had been. I took careful aim this time and fired once more. Another shot hit the doorframe this time although closer to the willow men. I fumbled for a third round and as I did, I saw a large shadow cover me. Looking up, the willow men were upon me. I screamed and closed the barrel down on my thumb effectively severing it. Immediately after that, I lost all consciousness and collapsed.
When I awoke, it was ice cold. My vision began to return to me slowly and I could feel that I was being dragged. My heart sank when I looked around. Darkness stretched as far as the eye could see and I knew I was in the deepest part of the woods. Where my thumb had once been was black and swollen and had managed to numb up to my forearm. My ankles were in severe pain too but I didn?t know why. When I looked, I saw that they had been clearly snapped and the willow men were dragging me by my feet. I began to scream as loudly as possible for someone, anyone.
All I did was cause more willow men to appear and watch me from behind the strangest willow trees I?d ever seen. Their trunks were small and looked just like leather. The earth around them was red and moist yet where I was being dragged was dry, rugged land. I looked up to the canopy and wish I hadn?t. Skinless corpses hung down, blood dripping freely to feed what I now knew were flesh-bound trees. My screams were swallowed by the dark and my throat gave out, hoarse from the strain. In the silence, I heard a faint moaning.
I looked around to see if there was someone else here. Maybe some poor bastard who suffered my same fate. To my horror, I discovered the source of the moans. The bodies hanging on the branches of the trees were all still alive. Soon, I too would have my flesh torn asunder and be damned to hang up there and feed the hungry willow trees. There was nothing I could but accept my fate. The willow men had me.
---
I was adopted. I never knew my real mother; rather, I knew her at one time but I left her side when I was too little to be able to remember. I loved my adopted family though. They were so kind to me. I ate well, I lived in a warm and comfortable house, and I got to stay up pretty late.
Let me tell you about my family real fast: First, there?s my mother. I never called her Mom or anything like that; I just called her by her first name. Janice. She didn?t mind at all though. I called her that for so long, I don?t think she even noticed. Anyhow, she was a very kind woman. I think that she is the one who recommended my adoption in the first place. Sometimes I would lay my head against her in front of the television and she would tickle my back with her nails. She is one of those Hollywood mothers.
Second, there?s Dad. His real name was Richard, but he never really liked me much so I began to refer to him as Dad in a desperate attempt to gain his affection. It didn?t work. I think that no matter what I called him, he would never love me as much as his own child. That?s understandable so I really didn?t press the matter. The most notable attribute of Dad was his unmoving sternness. He was not afraid to pop his children when they did something wrong. I found that out before I could use the restroom properly. He didn?t hesitate to spank me. Well, I?m in line and it?s because of his methods.
Lastly, is my sister. Little Emily was really young when I was adopted, so we were about the same age, but she was slightly older. I liked to think of her as my little sister, though. We got along better than any sibling could possibly get along. We would always stay up late together and just talk. Well, she did a lot of the talking; I mostly just listened because I loved her. It was a great setup that we had! We were short on bedrooms, so- because I didn?t want to sleep in the living room by myself when I was littler- I had a pallet set up for me next to her bed on the floor. This is where I have slept since. But it was cool with me because I enjoyed being with her and I had always felt pretty protective of my little sis.
Everything changed on a horrible Wednesday night. I was at home taking a nap when little Emily opened the front door. The sound of the door opening pulled me to a state of consciousness and I walked from the room down the hall to the living room. That?s when I first remembered it was Wednesday. I was never any good at keeping track of what day it was. Actually I?ll just go ahead and say it: My sense of time was HORRIBLE! But nevertheless, I knew it was Wednesday because Emily had just come home from her Church?s youth group gathering. She walked in the front door and hugged me, and then was followed in by Dad and Janice.
?You have a good nap?? Janice said teasingly as she ruffled up my hair. I just shook my head away and snorted in a manner that clearly expressed that I was teasing back with her.
?Don?t you snort at your mother like that!? said my father gruffly with authority. He shut the door behind him and hung up his coat.
?I was clearly joking?? I growled under my breath. He must not have heard me because I didn?t feel him smack me. Emily then proceeded to our room and I followed. She started telling me about her day. You know? usual teenage girl stuff. But I listened so that she would feel better. After her summary she suggested watching TV and I obliged and jumped onto the couch as she was going for the remote. She rolled her eyes at my little-brother-like immaturity and scooted me over and sat down. The TV turned on and we watched it together until the sun went down. Emily was the kind of girl that- instead of watching cartoons and soap operas- would rather watch Discovery and Animal Planet and Natural Geographic. I like those too so I didn?t mind. Actually, those were the only channels that can hold my attention.
So it got late and Janice walked up behind the sofa. ?Emily it?s past your bed time. Turn off the television and go to your room. You too.? she pointed at me. Emily turned off the program we were watching grudgingly and stood up. She started down the hallway to our room. As I followed I couldn?t shake the feeling that something wasn?t right.
Not long after that, I heard a very loud crash on the other side of the house. I was up in an instant. ?THERE?S SOMEONE IN THE HOUSE!? I barked with extreme adrenaline coursing through me. ?Wake up!? I shrilly pleaded with Emily. She did, and as soon as I saw her sit up I ran to my parent?s room?
Dad was dead. His neck was splayed open and gaping as blood spilled out of it, off the bed, and onto the floor. I saw that the master bathroom?s door was closed and just before it- on the outside- was a man.
A man? I don?t feel comfortable calling it that.
He was very large and rugged. He turned around and saw me and that?s when I saw him accurately for the first time. I wont forget it. His eyes were large and beady and trapped with lust. He was styling a beard that was badly unkempt with blood dripping off. His clothes were dirty and his face was cold. Just then I noticed the same horrid smell of sweat and blood from earlier, but this time it was overwhelming.
He saw me. He saw me and grinned with a set of crooked yellow teeth. That smile threw me off. I thought that I was going to die, but then he turned back to the bathroom door completely unperturbed by my presence. I was terrified and didn?t no what to do. I just yelled and cried. I watched as he shouldered through door that was Mom?s only protection. I watched as he raised the large razor that he was carrying, but had obviously neglected to use properly. I watched as he sliced her open and tore her to shreds?
I then heard something; the last thing that I wanted to hear? It was Emily?s scream coming from behind me. The large monstrosity looked up from my butchered mother and stared at my little sister. I was distraught. He stood up and quickly started walking toward us. My sis turned and ran, and I was at a loss when he bypassed me and went straight after her. Why was she still in the house? Had she not assessed the situation and run? Apparently not, and now she was dead and I was alone.
I ran after them both. I expected the man to kill her as he had the rest of my family, but I was sadly mistaken. He grabbed her by the arm and jerked her as a way to make clear that he was in control. He dragged her through the house? I was making all of the noise I could now, hoping and praying that someone would come to my aid. He mustn?t take her. Not her.
As he passed me I backed against the wall and whimpered with terror, ?Why?? He didn?t respond except by putting his free hand on my head while Emily screamed in the other and saying ?Good boy.? He gave another crooked grin and a very cold, unnatural laugh. I followed him to the door where he dragged my helpless sister after him. He opened it, pulled her out, and slammed it shut behind him.
I am now sitting in the house with my mutilated adopted parents, shivering and whimpering with dismay. He?s out there with her. Doing who-knows-what to her, and I can?t do anything. I would if I could, but I can?t. I would chase after them in a heartbeat, but I can?t. I sit here, looking at the front door. I look down at my paws. If only I could open doors?
---
Everyone loves technology nowadays. In nearly every facet of our lives there is some form of technology there. It is forever with us and we have bonded with it, as silly as that may sound. Machines mirror us and everything about us. They are flawed as we are. They can die, they can make errors, they can learn, they can even get sick.
Indeed, viruses and other malware out there is very dangerous to our computers, and to us. Sure, someone you don't even know could steal your credit card number and make you thousands in debt before you even get the bill. But that's not what makes them so dangerous. There are some viruses out there that can do much, much worse.
If you don't believe me get any old anti-virus program. Any will do. There are files on your computer that your virus scanners will not scan at all. These are normally hidden from view in all of the files that are stored in important files. Even those who make these programs or those that are savvy with computers are completely unaware that they are there. But they are.
What you may not know is when you buy a sensitive piece of machinery like a computer, is that the moment you turn it on you leave an imprint of sorts on it. It forever becomes a part of you.
As I was saying before I went off ranting - you will have to manually specify these files to scan. The files in question vary from computer to computer and person to person, but you will somehow know what you are looking for when you actively look for them. They may not be apparent at first but continue manually looking for the files you need to scan.
When you find them, and trust me you will know when you find them, scan them. Your virus scanner will always scan only one item from the file and it is always infected with a virus that once scanned sends your computer into a flurry of alert messages. Not like those do any good now. You can turn the computer off now if you want, you have to do so by pressing your power button because your virus scanner and the files you just scanned will make the infernal binging noise and refuse to go away. If you shut off your computer now, you will never be able to start it again or be able to own any piece of electrical hardware. They will all break as soon as they are in your possession.
It might take awhile but fix every infected file manually. After doing so your computer will freeze up for about a day. Don't bother trying to cold start it now. Just leave it on and go about your normal business. Come back in 24 hours and your computer will have drastically changed.
For starters your desktop wallpaper will be something out of focus and mostly underscernable but utterly horrifying to you. In addition to this your desktop will be filled with folders, many of them will will be gibberish - a mishmash of random letters and symbols. Don't bother opening them because in them are hundreds of copies of the infected files you tried to delete.
There will be one folder that is clearly labeled though, it will always be some variation of "Click here" or "Click me" Do so, because this will be the one folder not filled to the brim with viruses. There will be a day to day, hour by hour, minute to minute text file of your life. Of course, this document will be extremely long so don't bother reading the parts you know. Skip to the end. As you go along you will notice that it begins to describe things that have not even happened yet.
This is your chance. You can make any modification you wish to these files. They are your life and your essence. Toying with this is toying with your soul. If you wish to read through all the events that have not yet occurred and change them in your favor - do so. You need to write them neatly and descriptively and within reason, no "And then suddenly hot women appeared."
After you have made all the modifications you wish to make, exit the file and save the additions you have made. Turn off your computer. Wait a few minutes and turn it back on. Everything will be back to normal. However, now, buried beneath all the files on your computer will be the folder containing the text document. This document cannot be edited further.
Now that you have a nice life planned ahead of you, I hope you made sure to compulsively write that you have not lost your computer or it has not broken down until the very minute you die. This is important, because if the files you wrote are ever destroyed in some way or are lost you will cease to be. You will not die, but simply cease to exist.
Imagine not existing in any plane the mortal mind can conceive of. You can't, can you? You don't want to.
---
Have you ever been walking up a quiet flight of stairs and get the need to get to climb to the very top as fast as possible? Or driving down the road late at night and suddenly get the urge to drive as fast as possible?
Don't worry, that's just them letting you know the chase is on. Be sure to play along, because there is nothing they hate more than catching the one they're chasing. They just never know what to do with them.
Well, there is one thing they hate more. They really, truly hate it if you look over your shoulder.
I get it not...David_G said:
Other than that, more scary shit David G. I'm liking the stories!
Yeah, I mean, we already knew that if they'd got in the car she would've gotten killed, it seems like we're missing something, but I don't know what.Azure-Supernova said:
Have you ever been walking up a quiet flight of stairs and get the need to get to climb to the very top as fast as possible? Or driving down the road late at night and suddenly get the urge to drive as fast as possible?
Don't worry, that's just them letting you know the chase is on. Be sure to play along, because there is nothing they hate more than catching the one they're chasing. They just never know what to do with them.
Well, there is one thing they hate more. They really, truly hate it if you look over your shoulder.
***
A young woman on her way to town broke her journey by staying with friends at an old manor house. Her bedroom looked out to the carriage sweep at the front door. It was a moonlit night, and she found it difficult to sleep. As the clock outside her bedroom door struck 12, she heard the noise of horses? hooves on the gravel outside, and the sound of wheels.
She got up and went over to the window to see who could be arriving at that time of night. The moonlight was very bright, and she saw a hearse drive up to the door. It hadn?t a coffin in it; instead it was crowded with people. The coachman sat high up on the box: as he came opposite the window he drew up and turned his head. His face terrified her, and he said in a distinct voice, ?There?s room for one more.?
She drew the curtain, ran back to bed, and covered her head with the bedclothes. In the morning she was not quite sure whether it had been a dream, or whether she had really got out of bed and seen the hearse, but she was glad to go up to town and leave the old house behind her.
She was shopping in a big store which had an elevator in it ? an up-to-date thing at that time. She was on the top floor, and went to the elevator to go down. It was rather crowded, but as she came up to it, the elevator operator turned his head and said, ?There?s room for one more.?
It was the face of the coachman of the hearse. ?No, thank you,? said the girl. ?I?ll walk down.? She turned away, the elevator doors clanged, there was a terrible rush and screaming and shouting, and then a great clatter and thud. The elevator had fallen and every soul in it was killed.
***
Today was the day he was dreading. He knew they were going to be extremely busy, and quite frankly he wanted to call out seeing as he was already late. His thoughts were briefly distracted by his black tabby, quietly pawing at his legs, ready for its breakfast. He made sure to fill up its bowl before he dashed out the door, returning twice to grab whatever he forgot the first few times. And he was off.
He breathed a sigh of relief as the last customer left. It had been the best sales day of the year, and they were obviously going to celebrate. He had been contemplating going on home, but he needed to unwind too. He had no serious obligations the next day, so he could stay out as late as he wanted. So when they asked, he happily agreed to go with them.
He couldn?t open his eyes. He was barely conscious as it was. He slapped lazily around until he managed to shut the alarm off, before he rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow. The door creaked as his black tabby walked in and jumped onto his back, where it curled up close to his head. The hot breath in his ear lulled him back to sleep.
The doorbell continued to ring. He crawled out of bed and made his way to the front door. It was his next door neighbor, a kind woman in her late seventies, who still worked. She was in her business suit, holding a trash bag. ?Oh did I wake you up? I thought you were usually up by now.? ?I usually am.? He said groggily. ?But they let me have today off.? ?Well I hate to come bearing such bad news so early in the morning,? She said, patting his hand, ?but I ran over your dear tabby last night when I got home. I came straight over to tell you but you weren?t home.? He stared at her for a few seconds, before their silence was broken by its footsteps.
***
During your day, there are probably a half a dozen moments where you can?t see, if only for a split second. Not like blinking, of course, that?s far too quick . Just that moment when you?re taking off your shirt, or wiping your face with a towel. That brief instant where you?re plunged into darkness. Every time this occurs, you?re playing roulette. A game. Unbeknownst to you, of course. Every time that happens there is something waiting, eagerly, to pull you into that darkness. That only happens if you lose, of course. One day you might open your eyes to find that you?re not where you were before. There are unsolved missing person cases every week. Those people? They lost.
***
Memories. They?re how we know what has happened. Everything you remember goes in to who you are, why you act the way you do. It?s a shame that people are not afflicted by the things they cannot remember. Especially you.
Memories are funny like that. Sometimes, when something so wonderfully frightening happens to you, your silly mind blocks it out to ?protect you.? While it might think it?s doing you a favor, it kills me to see it take those things away from you. Amazing things have happened to you. Horrible things have happened to you.
Even if you?ve forgotten, I will always remember. I was there with you every step of the way. I was standing in the shadows, watching you. Tormenting you. You have such exquisite fear, I can?t get enough of it. Over and over, I put you through the most exciting times of your life, watching each time as you collapse upon yourself in mindless terror. You?re exhilarating. If only I could watch you suffer forever.. But that silly mind of yours. Each time, you forget what fun we?ve had and go on like nothing ever happened. You even read stories about horrific things, and you take pleasure those horrors as I do.
Yet, you could never even fathom how grand it is to watch you endure them. None of those stories could amount up to the terrors you?ve faced. I want to have more fun with you, and spend more time with you. I want to watch you screech in dismay again and again. I want to experience your agony a million times. I only wish you would remember the dread I put in you. I wish that you would remember me, and cry out in the night. It delights me thoroughly every time you see one of my abominations. You?re so resourceful, always finding a way to live without losing any of your limbs. If only I could watch you die as you scream, so scared for your life. If only the last memory you had was of me, making you drown in your fear as you begged for mercy, tears streaming down your face. I?d tell you I love you, and I would thank you for all the great times you?ve let me share with you. I think I would be truly happy as I watched you sink into your final, dying despair.
If you were smart, you wouldn?t turn out those lights and pretend you?re not hearing strange noises. You wouldn?t distract yourself and remain alone, convinced that you?ll be okay. Do you remember what happened the last time you did?
.. No, I suppose you wouldn?t.
***
I am awake. I should not be awake. You have been far too bad for far too long, and it is time to stop. I wish I didn?t have to do this, believe me. It is so much easier for me to continue sleeping for eons than have to worry about you, humanity. I am awake, and I am most displeased.
You have all committed many atrocities in my name, some of those atrocities were committed against my name as well, and not a single drop of blood has pleased me. It is not a matter of benevolence or malevolence, but of point and worth. Your existences serve no purpose any more, as they did mere millennia ago. Furthermore, your ?sacrifices? are of no worth to me. What do I care if you send one of your own back to me? I made you and spat you out, what makes you think I want you back?
There is a reason you are not with me. It is because a great many of you are a failed experiment in its death throes. I was simply waiting until you destroyed each other, but now you have crossed the line, delving into matters that do not concern you. I thought you safe, confined from the others on the prison you call Earth, but no, you must reach your plagued, failed hands out of your cell and grab at anything that floats by.
You think you are only flying out into space, but really you are leaving the cage I made for you. It had everything you needed right there, but no, you must have more. If I allow you to continue you will creep into my more successful creations, and you will destroy them. They know this, and that is why they awoke me.
I have tried to let you sort yourselves out, but I cannot let this continue any longer. Soon you will all feel the wrath of your creator, for what was made can be unmade, and you all have so many wonderful ways to be unmade.
Some have called me God, others have called me Demon. All I am is awake, and very unhappy.
***
When you come home from your night out, you are going to find that your house is just the same as it always has been. It will be bright; well illuminated by the light bulbs you leave on in the living room and kitchen whenever you know that you will be out after dark. Your expensive furniture, from all your favorite designer stores, will still be in place. Upstairs, your computer?s fan will be humming because you?ve forgotten to turn it off. That?s something I know you do quite often, even though you try not to.
Kind of strange. You leave the lights on, but you try to keep your computer off. Don?t you know that wastes just as much power? It?s not going to keep the ?boogey man? out. Not the real boogey man. Not me.
You?ll take your jacket off and hang it on the hook next to your doorway. Your wife?s hook will stay empty, though. Don?t act like I don?t know, John. You?re acting like everything?s normal, but you know that it?s not. You were out tonight because you wanted to drink your problems away. Even if you were at a bar tonight, you won?t be tomorrow, and you?ll still be drinking. You?re quickly becoming an alcoholic, and it?s because you can?t accept the truth. Your wife isn?t going to be coming back. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. She left you, and I can?t blame her.
But, hey, I?m not complaining. It only makes it that much easier for me. I knew that I could lead her away from you by handing her those photographs of you in bed with that cheap whore from Middleton; I didn?t know that you would become inebriated, too. You won?t put up as much of a struggle as you might have before.
Tonight, after you take a quick shower trying to sober up, you?re going to sit down on the couch. I know you better than you know yourself, John. You?re probably going to try to call your wife, too, where she?s staying with her sister. After your call last night, though, she?s had her number changed. You probably don?t remember, but you threatened to kill her with a broken liquor bottle. That definitely ruined any chance you ever had of getting your wife back.
After you finish crying over the phone, you?re going to pass out on the sofa. That?s when I?m going to strike. I?m going to take you, John, and I?m going to drag you away and drive you, in the back of your own car, to a place down by the river side. I have some friends I want you to meet there. You probably don?t know them, but they know you, and they?re going to be eager to get acquainted. You see, there are some people who want to be you. They want your money, they want your life, they want each and every one of your credit cards.
And it?s a lot easier for them to take all of that away from you if you have no one, if you know no one, and, oh yes, if you are dead.
***
You?re just sitting there, trying to fan yourself off from the heat as you wait for you mother to come back from inside the shop. By chance, perhaps, you glance over to your left where another car is parked, empty and probably even more sweltering than your own. You roll up the windows and turn the key your mom left in case it got too hot. As the whoosh of cool air hit you in the face, you hear a strange sound, almost a knock on your window. You don?t look, thinking it impossible, because there was nobody there a second ago.
But soon, there is a movement out of the corner of your eye. You whip your head around, but there is nothing. All you can see if the interior of the car next to you, and a few odd buildings, all closed for the day. You chalk it up to the heat, one of those wisps you see on hot blacktop on days like today. You move to change the radio station when you see it again, almost a face, sitting in the back of the car next to you. But as soon as you turn to see it clearly, it vanishes.
You find you can do this every time, turn away and see the face, and have it disappear when you turn at it directly. You sit, staring out the windshield, but secretly paying attention the the car out of the corner of your left eye. The figure is hooded, tan, and more gaunt than any human you have ever seen. It seems to be laughing, almost, as his body blurs in and out of your already struggling focus.
Your concentration is pulled away only when your mom returns with her grocery bags, turning down the air conditioner and putting the car in drive. You press your face against your window, desperate for one last look before you drive away. But not to worry, for the first time, you can see him without using only your peripheral vision, his massive eyes and overgrown mouth twisted into a grin as the creature waved goodbye.
You turn back to the front, sweating and shaking uncontrollably. At that moment you know, you have not seen the last of that wicked being.
***
I can tell, how you?re staring there at this screen, finding some enjoyment. You need anything, just anything to keep you awake and entertained. It?s late, you?re dead tired, but you want to use up every moment. I know how it is. This happens to me, too.
Are the sounds on your computer too loud? Don?t want to wake your folks? Don?t want to get complaints from neighbors, even? Whatever, not a problem. Lower the volume on your speakers. Now that doesn?t really work for you. Instead grab some headphones. You walk through the dark with that slight paranoia, the old childhood fear of the dark. It never really goes away, but it?s all in your head, and you know that. You find your room, you dig through your drawers and your junk to feel for some wires. Ah! There they are. Time to head back to the computer.
Drop them on your computer desk, and go grab a drink of water. Come back and sit down comfortably. Throw on your headphones. You hear a dark ambient sound in the background. A liquid dripping sound, even some metallic grinding there, too. Is it from outside? You take off the headphones, and suddenly, the sound goes away. You think for a moment, suspicious and even frightened. You slide the headphones back on. There it is again. There?s some high-pitched frequency you hear as well. You rip them back off, thinking this is just a joke. It?s gone again. You slide them back on and turn the volume on your speakers all the way down, you even break off the switch trying to make the sound disappear. But it remains.
But then suddenly you notice something. Something you feel stupid for not noticing before. Your headphones aren?t even plugged in. But wait. The wire, it?s dangling straight out, stretching into the darkness elsewhere. You try to pull it towards you, but nothing. You must?ve gotten it stuck on something, you think. But when was I even over in that area? You walk blindly into the darkness, using the wire as a guide through. The wire is longer than you once remembered, much longer than how you remember. ?What the hell is this?? you say in your head. The further you go, you finally feel something on the wire. It?s a heavy, gooey, mucky liquid-solid matter. You pick up your hand and bring it close to your face to see what the substance is. It?s dark, and it glistens off the glow of your computer screen, which is now a lot farther away from you than it should be. You glance at your computer?s set-up, and back at your hand.
But in that quick glance at your computer set-up, you noticed something. You saw something there, standing there and staring at the dark and dull light radiating off of your computer monitor. Not only did you see something, but you heard something as well. A heavy, gooey, mucky dripping sound.
You look back at your computer set-up, as the tall, man-like figure there glistens in the light.
***
If you are the type who eats out regularly, one day a stranger might join you at the table. This stranger will always appear to be of your age and sex, and he (if it is a he) will only appear if you are alone. No matter what style of restaurant it is, he will always be carrying his own plate of food.
After a few seconds, he will look directly at you and say, ?You seem like an interesting person. May I know you better?? Say yes, and he will begin to ask you questions about yourself in between bites. These questions will be innocuous enough at first: what your name is, what you do for a living, and so forth, but should you open your mouth to answer, you will be forced to tell the truth, even if you do not consciously know what the truth is. Remain silent, and the stranger will scowl at you, pick up his plate, and leave. You will never see him again. If you do indulge his questions, however, they will grow darker and darker as the food leaves his plate, and it will become harder and harder to resist answering. Do not attempt to leave the table before he does under any circumstances.
When his plate is clean, he will stand up to leave, but not before asking you one last, irresistible question: ?What would drive you to take your own life?? You will instantly be aware that you will be able to lie in response to this one question, and I suggest you do, for whatever you describe will come to pass within the week. Those who are canny may use this chat to gain whatever they desire, but know that if the happenstance you name does not drive you to suicide, the stranger will start guessing as to what will. And consider how much he now knows about you.
***
You?re in your room late at night. You?ve been on the computer for a while now, and it?s almost time to get some sleep. The light behind you is still blazing, cutting a swath through the oppressive darkness of whatever ridiculous hour of the morning it is. In a sleep-deprived haze, you amble over to the light switch and flick it off, and instantly realize you screwed up. Your headphones are lying on the floor, and without the light to see them you?ll probably step on and crush them. Resolving to turn the light back on so you can grab them, you spend less than a second in near-perfect darkness as this goes through your mind. Then you flick the light back on.
You?re not in your room, anymore. It?s as if fifty years of disrepair have ravaged your once-loved living space. You?re also surrounded. You can?t really see them, mostly just their shadows are visible as they crouch on all fours all around you. The only features you can make out are hundreds of mouths of jagged, grinning teeth, and a set of glowing, red eyes to go with each twisted smile. You almost have time to scream. Almost
***
You know that ringing sound that you will perceive when you are in a very quiet area? Some people say this is an auditory-illusion brought about the ear?s inability to detect frequencies below the threshold of the human senses. This is completely wrong. That ringing covers up something else altogether. If you are quick, patient, and maybe a little lucky, you will be able to hear past the ringing. What you will hear are voices whispering to each other. They will silence themselves quickly but with practice, you will become more adept at catching and interpreting what they are saying. You will hear things of the past, the present, and the future. However, you must be careful. Because there is no such thing as a voice without a body.
And when you start noticing them, they will start noticing you.
***
There is a demon of great evil, that will be able to walk upon the Earth if someone is told of its existence and does not repeat the name to another. To the best of my ability, his name roughly approximates ?Jkqxxllyuo?.
This was told to me by a rather unkempt man on the street; if you have not noticed it already, I just told it to you
***
There it goes again. Something definitely moved this time. It was very brief, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw something. But wait. All the doors are locked, no pets, and your parents won?t get home until 10. So there?s no way something moved. It?s just your imagination getting the best of you. Sitting alone in your room, the only light emitting from the monitor of your computer, you stare into the darkness for several minutes. Just to be sure. Now you feel silly. What were you thinking? Of course there?s nothing there. What, are you 6? Go back to what you were doing.
15 minutes later, as you prepare to go to bed, you?re in the bathroom. The shower curtains shift. Wait? no. Stop spooking yourself. It?s just an overactive imagination, filling your head with what isn?t really there. You gaze into the mirror at yourself. You say it to yourself, slowly and clearly, ?Imagination.? With a sigh, you turn the lights off and head towards your room.
Laying in bed, you stare at your ceiling, dark and foreboding, only the motion of a small fan disturbing the calmness of the night. A shadow from the light in the hall shifts. No. No, no, no. Stop it. It?s your imagination. Just that. Go to sleep, you fool.
But then, just when you?re about to drift off to sleep, at the phase no one remembers when they wake, you sense something in the darkness. It?s your imagination, leering down at you. With a jagged, macabre smile.
***
(I might have already posted this)
Did you ever see one of those videos where you are asked to look for, or follow a specific thing through out the video? Then, at the end, they reveal that as were watching, something large and intrusive moved around in plain sight and you never even noticed it. Its frightening how often that happens, like how I just moved from the doorway into your room as you read this.
***
You could kick yourself. Its the middle of the night?or early in the morning, depending on how you look at it?and freezing cold because you, like an idiot, kicked off your blanket in the night. Nearly entirely off the bed, in fact, with only one lonely corner clinging to the edge of the bed.
Sitting up you take it in your hands, feeling that familiar fear from your childhood: that if you don?t find something to cover yourself up, you are leaving yourself open to all sorts of supernatural horrors. You shrug it off with a chuckle and give the blanket a good hard tug, trying to pull it all up with one go.
No luck. It seems to be stuck.
Another sharp pull seems to free it a bit, and you work, tugging it back up and trying to ignore that silly feeling of growing dread. Tug. Tug tug tug?. There! Finally! The blanket is mostly back up on the bed and you are safely beneath it once more, teasing yourself mentally for getting all worked up over nothing. Until, just before you drift back asleep, you feel a tug from that one side still dangling down from where it had fallen before.
Tug tug tug.
***
If you?re lucky, you?ll never know about it. Your life will be spent in the bliss that can only come from the ignorance of the dark horrors that scratch and gnaw at the edges of reality. You?ll never hear the dark whispers coming from the closet; never feel the cold chill creeping along your spine. You?ll never pause at a turn in the hallway because you know that if you look down it, you?ll see something that shouldn?t be there. Something that creeps, stalks, and skulks in the shadows. Something that, once it sees you, will never stop coming for you. It won?t come for you when you are sleeping. It wants you to know it?s there. It wants you to hear the relentless sound of its footsteps, the panting of its breath. It wants to smell your fear, to hear your whimper, and to see the horror on your face as it approaches.
If you?ve any sense at all, you won?t try to find it. You?ll never pay attention to the sounds. You won?t try to catch sight of those things that flit by the corner of your eye. Your ignorance will be your shield and your protection. Do not be overly curious; discount the sounds as the quirks of an old house, or the heating system, or any other excuse you can think of. Whatever you do, don?t believe. Because once you believe, they?ll become real. Once you inquire into their existence, they will solidify. And once you finally uncover them for what they are?
They?ll come for you.
***
(Again, I might have posted this)
Since before I could remember, I?ve wanted to be a mother. It seemed my whole childhood and teenager years were spent yearning for a child of my own. By the time I was nine, I had names?and color schemes for the nursery?picked out. All I needed was someone to make them with. But college was disappointing. I went through a whole string of bad boyfriends and bad father material. Getting on with my career didn?t seem to help much. I realized, though?when I was twenty-seven, and there were no suitable prospects on the line?that, technically, I did not need a man to have a
child with. Just a very particular product of his. I found a sperm donor bank, chose the best prospect they had, got out my turkey baster and? well? hoped for the best.
I was overjoyed when my first pregnancy test came out positive. My doctor was surprised to see me coming in sooner than he?d expected. Before I was four weeks along, I had the nursery painted, and the furniture set up. Toys and diapers, bottles and books, bibs and coveralls. I had everything a new mother would need.
I couldn?t explain all the weight I was losing. I kept getting thinner?everything except for my belly. My friends all joked that it had to be at least twins. Or the biggest baby they?d ever seen.
I got weary of the kicking somewhere in the third trimester. And the scratching.
Just one more week until my due date.
I just wish it would stop gnawing.
***
I was six, maybe seven years old when this happened. My family had just gotten back from visiting my aunt?s house. My cousins were watching a scary movie in the basement, and even though my parents said I would get scared, I snuck downstairs and watched some of it. I don?t remember what part I saw, but there were little monsters with teeth that would eat people in their sleep.
When we left for home it was dark outside and my parents scolded me for watching that movie. I secretly hoped they would keep scolding me, because I was feeling sleepy and didn?t want those things to eat me. We got home fine and my parents even managed to calm me down enough to the point where when my bedtime came around I could go to sleep.
I fell asleep almost immediately and slept pretty well. I woke up sometime during the night. Knowing where everything is in my house I didn?t turn the lights on, but instead used the street light coming in the windows. I went to the bathroom and then got a glass of water. As I was putting the glass in the dishwasher, something pricked my hand. I pulled my hand back and switched on the lights, but there was nothing in the dishwasher.
I looked at my hand and it had four little indents on the top and bottom where something had broken through the skin. Since that day I?ve had little bumps on my skin where the marks were, and I always remember to turn the lights on.
***
Have you ever gotten a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye? A simple movement caught in your peripheral vision. Most will simply dismiss this as a shadow brought about by a flickering candle, or perhaps a pet jumping down from a piece of furniture. Ninety-nine out of a hundred times, these people are right.
But then there?s that one elusive sight. It can easily be explained by the above conditions, but something feels wrong about it. A chill down your spine, a slight pain in your side. Maybe even a complete blanking of your mind, only to recede moments later.
Should any of these symptoms be felt, there may be cause for worry. Our peripheral vision is designed to catch motion, even in the dark. This was used to defend against predators in our early days, and as with many aspects of our human nature, it has remained, but weakened.
This view out of the corner of our eyes still alerts us to danger, and although predators have dropped on the list of dangers we may face today, they still exist. Should you ever feel that queer chill in your back, try not to focus on that shadow you saw in the corner of your eye. It might be better not to see.
***
?They were looking for you again today? I said.
You were beside me the same blank stare on your face, saying nothing.
I press myself against you to keep you warm, but you?re still as cold as the night.
?I went by your house. I even knocked on your door.?
We moved again. We were always on the move; it was the only way to keep you from being found. You never thank me.
?Your mom answered the door, and cried when I asked where you were. I told her I still haven?t seen you either.?
I lie to people a lot about you. To your parents, the police, even myself. What happened that night was not my fault. You said you were leaving, and I couldn?t stop you. I begged but you still turned away. Only when I grabbed you did you stop walking, and when you fell, you stopped breathing.
***
I have, for many years, locked the door behind me as I entered a room - bathroom door, bedroom door, whatever. For a while I knew why I did it, because I had a little brother and invasive parents that would walk in randomly without knocking. Not so much anymore - I've started remembering why I actually did it.
Am I being too cryptic? Sorry, it's late at night and a storm has rolled in, I'm a bit tired. But I digress.
Behind me, I began to realize, is an empty space - the air you once resided, where your soul was moments ago. Perhaps it's nothing, but it seems important to me. That space... That imprint, of sorts, is bound to the laws of physics just as you are - to an extent. It cannot go through locked doors, but unlocked it can. Something about the permission of a locked door and unlocked door.
You are probably thinking this is nonsense. What you should be doing, as unoriginal as this warning is, is reading the first word of every paragraph. Did you remember to lock your door?
I guess it's time for an another megapost. I don't know why I put so much work into this.
I have, for many years, locked the door behind me as I entered a room - bathroom door, bedroom door, whatever. For a while I knew why I did it, because I had a little brother and invasive parents that would walk in randomly without knocking. Not so much anymore - I've started remembering why I actually did it.
Am I being too cryptic? Sorry, it's late at night and a storm has rolled in, I'm a bit tired. But I digress.
Behind me, I began to realize, is an empty space - the air you once resided, where your soul was moments ago. Perhaps it's nothing, but it seems important to me. That space... That imprint, of sorts, is bound to the laws of physics just as you are - to an extent. It cannot go through locked doors, but unlocked it can. Something about the permission of a locked door and unlocked door.
You are probably thinking this is nonsense. What you should be doing, as unoriginal as this warning is, is reading the first word of every paragraph. Did you remember to lock your door?
---
The Fish is a shifting and shining creature that nobody has ever caught but that many say they have glimpsed in the depths of mirrors.
According to Herbert Allen Giles, belief in the Fish is part of a larger myth that goes back to the times of the Yellow Emperor. In those days the world of mirrors and the world of men were not, as they are now, cut off from each other. They were, besides, quite different; neither beings nor colors nor shapes were the same. Both kingdoms lived in harmony; you could come and go through mirrors. One night the mirror people invaded the earth. Their power was great, but at the end of bloody warfare the magic arts of the Yellow Emperor prevailed. He repulsed the invaders, imprisoned them in their mirrors, and forced on them the task of repeating, as though in a kind of dream, all the actions of men. He stripped them of their power and of their forms and reduced them to mere reflections. Nonetheless, a day will come when the spell will be shaken off. The first to awaken will be the Fish. Deep in the mirror we will perceive a very faint line and the color of this line will be like no other color. Later on, other shapes will begin to stir. Little by little they will differ from us; little by little they will not imitate us. They will break through the barriers of glass or metal.
Side by side with these mirror creatures, the creatures of water will join the battle. In Yunnan they do not speak of the Fish but of the Tiger of the Mirror. Others believe that in advance of the invasion we will hear from the depths of mirrors the clatter of weapons. And this time, they will not be defeated.
---
I went camping about 3 weekends ago in the Huntsville national forest in Texas. Me and 3 friends that came home for the weekend, they are all in college and usually we all get together at least once a year, old friends from high school. For the camping trip we planned to go backpacking deep in the forest, live off of fish that we catch and animals that we can trap. We have been doing this for awhile in Texas and in numerous places, Arizona, Colorado (if anyone is familiar with the Spanish peaks there), New Mexico, so we?re pretty much used to anything you?d encounter out there.
It was my turn to pick where we went camping, so I chose Huntsville (more accurately it?s Huntsville/New Waverly). So we drive up there park our car in a camping park spot and start walking off into the forest. We had some laughs along the way, everyone catching up with each other?s lives. We walked until it started to get dark and set up camp where we stopped. Everyone gathered wood to make a fire and we set our tent up. And we do what we always do: try and scare each other with weird stories.
Around this time we started to smell something very faint. It was noticeable, but not overbearing. We couldn?t put our finger on what it was, so we just carried on. Mike had to go piss and he walked off in the forest. A second later he come running back, piss all down his jeans like he?d missed really bad. Immediately we all crack up and throw some jokes at him. Then we noticed that he was white as snow and trying to catch his breath. He starts screaming for us to follow him, and runs off.
We all get serious and go follow him, not knowing what the problem was. We start to hear a faint scream and crying in the distance, in the direction we were running. It was pitch black away from the camp and Mike had the only flash light (we left ours at the camp, he had his from his trip taking a piss), so at this stage we didn?t have much choice but to follow the light, which was frantically pointing here and there in front of him.
The scream gets closer and Mike starts to slow down. We then notice a ratty old cabin that looked like it was abandoned, except for a faint light that we could see from one of the old mildew covered windows. The crying was intense: whoever it was couldn?t breathe enough to let out a full yell. We all followed Mike up to the front door and we could all hear the crying from inside. As soon as he knocked on the door it stopped.
We all waited and heard really heavy footsteps walking fast to the door. There was a giant slam against the door and the sound of a bolt unlocking. Then nothing. We waited for a bit, knocked a few more times, but still nothing happened. We walked around the house (there was no ****ing way any of us were leaving each other?s side) and noticed a window, which was a good way up. Alex took a deep breath and said asked us to give him a boost so he could see inside. Me and Mike lifted him up to the window. We watched him brush away dirt and webs from the window and place his face close to the window to try and see something.
There was a quick beat. Then suddenly he breathed in fast and let out a loud scream. Then he fell back from the window, screaming bloody murder the whole way. We all tried to calm him down but he was hysterical. We went to him but he started to shake, punch, kick, you name it, and then took off towards the camp.
None of us wanted to be separated so we all ran close behind him. We caught up to him and grabbed him and set him down. The fire was dying out so I grabbed some nearby wood that we collected added it to the fire. My hands were shaking and I had to do something. I went back to Alex and we all tried to calm him down. He wouldn?t he kept screaming and was breathing so hard that he eventually fainted.
All of us are terrified now, and we all kept the fire high until sunrise. Periodically Alex kept waking up, screaming just like before. By sunrise he was up and looked catatonic, just mumbling to himself and whimpering.
Me and Mike decide to go look at the cabin now it was daylight. We searched where we thought it was, except there was nothing there. Nothing at all. The indistinct smell from last night had now grown into a very strong smell of something dead, something stale. We headed back to the camping site. When we got there we found Alex had chewed into the sides of his face and swallowed so much blood that he was throwing up. John was at his back, and he looked like he was about to die from exhaustion. I guess we all looked that way, I just didn?t notice until I saw his face. Alex said quietly that we need to leave. Now.
We all started to pack up the tent. It started to rain really heavily (it was about noon) and the sky started to grow really dark. Alex started to go into a panic. He went and grabbed a big stick and yelled at us to leave it and leave, now, or he?d knock us out and drag us out of there himself. Mike started to yell at him, and they started to fight. We broke it up and finished packing, and then started to make our way back. After a little while we arrived at a creek we had crossed the previous day, only it was flooded over, and the water was moving to fast for us to cross it. Alex started to scream again, yelling at Mike for taking his time packing up the tent when we could have gotten out of here. This went on for a while until we finally convinced Alex to calm down and tell us what happened.
He said as soon as he put his face to the glass, a face on the other side did the same thing, and started to smile really big. It had dark eyes and a dark mouth which was much bigger then Alex?s, as the smile got as large as it could. A giant shadow behind it swung something down and sliced it?s face off. The face was stuck to the window, and he said it started to laugh quietly as it slid down. Mike, still pissed off (and though he wouldn?t admit it, beginning to get freaked out), started to argue with him again. We eventually started to follow the creek for a way to cross.
We then started to see toys floating in the creek. Really old toys, old Barbie dolls and baby dolls. This wasn?t like any old trash floating in the creek, though? this was a lot of barbies, a lot of baby dolls. One washed towards the side and Mike picked it up. It had some kind of voice chip that was dying and started to say some gurgling words we couldn?t understand, followed by it?s sad excuse for laughter. Then it sounded like it was whispering. We thought the batteries must be dying, he threw it down.
We kept going, and the sun was starting to set. Alex was freaking out more now, and was whimpering and breathing heavily. We all started to see shadows move behind trees, something we all called BS on until we all were seeing it. It was barely light out and we stop as we see the cabin right in front of us. None of us knows what to think. Mike says ?This is bullshit, I?m going in there.? Alex tries to stop him. We all do, all of us just wanted to go home. Mike says to all of us to fuck off, do our own thing, he doesn?t care anymore, this is all bullshit.
We start to hear hundreds of the same sort baby doll as before, laughing, whispering and trying to sing. We start to move forward past the cabin, all of us, and kept pushing forward. We smelled something dead in the air, something stale. The same something as before. We started to hear something crying, and something screaming. We kept on going. We eventually crossed the creek and left the woods. We get back to our vehicle and got in. Its pitch black, and we drive. We are about to get on the 45 to Houston but the road is under construction and can?t be accessed. It points to a detour. As we head towards the detour it seems to be small, bumpy dirt road going into the woods.
We then see a young girl come up to us. She looks like she was in trouble, young and pretty. She approaches the passenger side door and she looks like she?s really drugged up, or beaten up. Alex doesn?t roll down the windows, nor does he open the door. She reaches for the handle and he immediately locks it. She puts her face on the window and starts to smile really big. We floor it, Alex starts to cry and scream and we are all breathing heavy. We finally cut on a street that takes us to the 45 and we take it the whole way. When we get back to my apartment everyone doesn?t know what to say and we all break apart and go our separate ways.
Mike messages me later and says he is going to go back. I try to convince him not to and all he does is say it was our own minds that were screwing with us. I think he just went to prove to himself he wasn?t scared. I can smell that stench everywhere now. I don?t go out anymore, I just stay in and don?t answer the door. Last week everyone I met was acting really strange, people that I knew for a long time and total strangers. My own dad, when I went to his place to eat supper with him he just watched me, strangely, when I was sitting down. He didn?t say a word the whole time. I kept asking him ?What?s wrong?? He just slowly shook his head.
When I was leaving to go home I turned to wave. He had black eyes and an open mouth like he was in pain. When I started to walk back he shut the door and bolted it. I stayed there knocking and knocking. Nothing. I called him, his phone was disconnected. I even called the police. Halfway through the questions they were asking me the connection started to fade into static. I could hear a faint mumbling, singing and laughing.
Mike has completely vanished. There is not even a record of him being alive. When I call Alex?s house they talk to me like I?m some salesman. They say they don?t know any Alex and to please stop calling. The person who tells me that is Alex?s mother. I can?t get ahold of John. Someone knocked on my door and when I went to look I saw a face completely covering the peephole and a giant smile started to form.
I called the cops again and instead of it turning into static they got really strange. ?Sir, are you affected by any drugs at the moment?? ?No.? ?Are you coming home anytime soon?? ?Excuse me?? ?Come home.? and the phone call ended. My mail slot swings every now and then. Someone is sliding pieces of baby dolls through it. I try to call people now and all I can hear is static and bad baby doll noises and this crying and screaming. My TV is busted but when I go to piss I can hear it on. I might be going insane.
Whoever lives above me started to scream in pain and crying deeply recently. I hear giant footsteps from their apartment, I hear bangs and something falling to the ground. From the neighbours to the right of my apartment I hear what sounds like a baby that never gets tended too and then it sounds like a baby doll whose batteries are dying. My phone has been ringing now and it?s Alex telling me things in a language that I have never heard before, nor could even manage to repeat. I kept getting emails of pictures of black and small colorations, now I can?t even access my email. Someone knocks on the door, then they slam against it. I hear the bolts unlocking one by one and I run to make sure to lock all of them back.
Then, I sit down and begin to cry.
---
A young couple were waiting impatiently to leave on their first vacation since the baby was born but the woman?s aunt, who would be babysitting, was thirty minutes late. The young woman called her elderly aunt to find out what was going on, and the old woman apologized for her forgetfulness, and said she?d speed right over.
Since the aunt was only a couple miles away, the couple decided they?d go ahead and go rather than wait for her and risk missing their flight. Two weeks later when the couple returned they were horrified to find the baby still in it?s high-chair where they?d left it, except now it was dead and bloated, covered with flies. The aunt really had sped, and unfortunately crashed and died before she made it over.
---
In a small orphanage in a small village in Russia, there is a young boy. His hair is jet black, and messy, and he tattered jeans and an old dingy grey shirt.
Nothing is known of him. For 10 years, he sat in the bed in his room, never moving, never blinking, never eating or sleeping. In the 10 years, he has not seemed to age at all, continuing to look like a 7 year old boy. The only thing that proved he was alive is the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, and the refusal to take his eyes off anyone who enters the room alone.
A lone psychiatrist came over in an attempt to find out why the boy had done nothing in 10 years. He entered the room, and shut the door behind him.
30 minutes later, the orphanage's nurse came to check on the 2 of them. Opening the door, she saw the child, still sitting, still not moving, eyes fixxed on her. However, something seemed different. He appeared a slight amount larger, not by much, but enough to make him look like a late 8 or early 9 year old. The psychiatrist was no longer in the room. The door was the only exit, as the room had no windows, vents, or anything, and it was, in fact, in the exact center of the orphanage.
He continued to sit, only seen occasionaly by the lady who came in to check on him, and she never closed the door upon entry.
A week or so later, 2 law enforcment personel entered the orphanage, demanding to speak to the boy about the disapearance of the psychiatrist. The 2 of them entered, clsoing the door behind him, as the head of the orphanage stood outside the door.
30 minutes passed, and not a sound came from the room. The Head eased the door open. The boy was still on the bed, but the officers where no longer there. The boy was know quite noticably bigger, about the size of a 15 year old. His skin was darker than usual, and he looked angrier than ever. But one thing remained the same: His cold, unforgiving eyes that stared at whoever entered.
Eventually, the law organized a large group of 10 officers to speak to the boy. They entered the room, and left the door open, until one of the younger orphans ran up and shut it, appearently in a daze.
The head quickly ran to re-open the door, and upon doing so froze him in horror. A low rumbling noise came from the room....
".....One....more...."
If you return to that orphanage, you will see it still continues to run. The orphans live in good care, health, and education. However, there is one room, that you sill see is boarded up, and far from enterable. If you ask what is behind it, you will be removed forcefully from the orphanage.
However, when no one's looking, if you place you're ear to the door, you will hear a low ominous growling sound, and if you listen for a bit, you will hear....
".....One.....more...."
---
On the underside of your refrigerator there is a switch. Reach under there and feel for it. Don't mind the dust clumps and the roaches. You'll know it when you feel it, it's a hard metal tab sticking out of a slot in the plastic underside. I will be set on the righthand side (when you're facing the fridge). If you switch it to the left, nothing will happen. Your appliances will continue to run, the floor won't open into a swirling vortex that leads directly into the deepest circle of hell. You won't even hear a hitch in the hum of the refrigerator. You will get up and brush off and go about your business, you may move out of your apartment and leave the refrigerator behind, switch set to the left like it doesn't even matter.
When you die, five years later, the fingers, toes, and eyes of an unidentified person will be found in your stomach.
---
You're walking down your street, it's a gray, cloudy, unseasonably cold day.
As the brown leaves swirl about you, you hear, faintly yet distinctly, a baby crying. As you move toward the noise, it becomes the sound of a young girl sobbing. Closer you approach the sound, and as the wind picks up, it is clearly the sound of a young woman screaming. You race toward the corner, and as you near it, the sound becomes that of an old crone choking. Then silence as you turn the corner, revealing nothingg but a puddle of water on the sidewalk. As you look into the puddle, it seems your reflection is delayed by a few seconds...as if it is watching you and then mimicking you...
---
I can't say where/when or how often this will work, but I've tried it a few times with mixed results. If for some reason you find you can't sleep one night, indigestion, test the next day, hard mattress, too many creepy threads, whatever, close your eyes and start to play a slow and deliberate game of patty-cake. If you keep it up long enough you may start to feel a pair of something coming back to meet your hands from the void. Congratulations, you've just summoned your first... something. I can't say it's important not to open your eyes at this point, but I didn't anyway. The first time I tried this was in my apartment when I had a presentation to give the following morning, a real toss-turn kind of night. For whatever reason I sat up and decided to put one hand out before me and I felt a faint tingle from a rather low angle. I unconsiously started to play and after a while I noticed I was humming some sort of tuneless lulliby. After about an hour or so whatever was playing on the other end stopped and I went into a deep, dreamless and very restful sleep. I tried this trick again at my girlfriend's parents house while she was with me in their crappy spare bed (I was facing back to her, legs over the side of the bed, eyes closed). After about twenty minutes this time it actually felt like a pair of solid hands, from a much higher angle than before, was coming back and hitting mine a bit harder every time. Suddenly the game stopped and something made a noise in my right ear like a human shriek combined with car breaks causing me to cringe before it ran up the wall behind me into the ceiling. Maybe whatever was in that house had outgrown the game. I still slept ok. For all I know I was just hitting the wall/my blanket tiring my own gullible self out and my girlfriend's just a noisy ***** but... I still can't wait to try it again the next time I can't sleep. Still not sure what happens if you open your eyes, though.
---
In 1938, over 6,000 patients were checked into mental hospitals all across America within one week of each other. Reports of similar instances supposedly came from Europe and Asia as well. The circumstances of each patient were, eerily, identical.
Every patient completely shut down, shivering in the corner until their family, unable to calm or care for the individuals, committed them.
The only thing the patients would say was: "There is not, and never has been, such a thing in this world as a meaningless coincidence."
---
When you live in a bright place, you get used to light, and it starts affecting you less. When you live in a dark place, you get used to dark, and it starts affecting you less. When you live in a violent place, youn get used to violence, and it starts affecting you less.
And when you skydive enough, you get used to gravity, and it starts affecting you less.
This is nowhere near as pleasent as it sounds.
---
Sometimes, while masturbating, when you are about halfway done, you will stop suddenly. You will not know why. Youll feel a cold breeze play across you, and you will shudder. Youll become flaccid and feel slightly sick. If this happens to you, a female ghost is in the room with you. She might be standing right behind your shoulder. For God's sake, dont try and carry on. Your body wont be found
---
Once, about 50 years ago, there was a young boy. No one knows his actually name, so we will call him tommy. He lived in a quiet, small town. Every thing was normal, nothing out of the ordinary.
One day a traveling circus came to town. It had all the normal circus stuff, trapeze artists, animal trainers, clowns.
It also had a miniature wax museum.
Every one always commented on how life like the wax sculptures were, and how well done they were. The Ring Master thanked them, and said the artist was very talented.
Tommy was fascinated by the sculptures. He stayed will closing, talking to the ring master. He was so interested that the Ring Master invited him to come back to the circus after closing and he would introduce Tommy to the Artist. ecstatic, Tommy agreed.
That night, when Tommy came back, the circus grounds were completely deserted. No carnies, no animals, nothing. No where. Tommy really wanted to meet the Artist, so he went to the Wax Museum.
When he got there, the lights were on, but it was empty. Tommy started walking through, admiring the sculptures again. Then the doors slammed shut behind him, and he heard the faint click of a lock.
Tommy ran towards the doors, and shook them until they almost came off the hinges. He then stopped, thinking that he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He decided he must have imagined it. Then he felt something grab him from behind, and his sight went black.
The next day one of Tommy's friends came by the circus, looking for Tommy, to discover that they were packing up. he headed over to the wax museum, to ask if they had seen Tommy anywhere. When he entered the Museum, he walked a few feet and stopped.
There was a new sculpture in the exhibit. Of a young boy, around 9 years old. Tommy's friend approached the sculpture, a look of horror on his face. The sculpture looked exactly like Tommy, but when he reached out and touched it, he felt the cool, smooth surface of wax.
---
Any night, around 10 or 11 pm, take yourself to a flat, open area where you can walk in a straight line for two minutes or so without running into anything. Once there, face in the direction you plan to walk, with your arms at your sides and your hands relaxed. Close your eyes, and take a deep breath. At precisely 11:09 and 20 seconds, start walking. Be sure to take one step every second, no more, no less. Do not open your eyes, and do not hesitate. Count your steps in your head as you go. On the one hundred and eleventh step, say the word "One" out loud, and stop. Your breath will catch in your throat, and your hair will stand on end. For the next ten seconds, you will be unable to move a single muscle in your body, no matter how hard you try. After these ten seconds, you will be able to move and breathe again ? however, you will then start to feel the sensation of cold metal claws seizing each of your fingers by the base and plucking them clean off of your hand. It will not hurt. You will surely be horrified, but do not open your eyes, and do not move. If you move or open your eyes, all that anyone will ever find of you is your two fingerless hands, severed cleanly at the wrist. Once the claws have stopped, and all of your fingers have been plucked off, stay still for another ten seconds. It may help to count. After these ten seconds have passed, you may open your eyes. You will find that your fingers are still quite firmly attached to your hands. Go home immediately, and go directly to bed. Speak to no one for the rest of the night, and enter no building that you do not consider your home.
The next day, you will have become One of Them. Once per day, as long as there is even a sliver of sunlight, you may point at someone and speak the word "One." That night, he will face the same trial that you faced. If you see that person the next day, you will know that he, too, has become One of Them. If not, then do not be alarmed if you do not feel hungry the rest of the day.
---
The Raven plays a significant role in Native American culture. Some say he is the creator of the world, while others say he is the cause for much mischief for everyone. Both of those might be true...
Go to place where Ravens are known to be. Wait until nightfall, and make sure that you're well-hidden. If more than one Raven gathers near you, they will start speaking your native language in a low, guttural voice. They will speak of all the secrets of the world. At no point must you move while they're talking, for they will notice you and leave nothing but your prying eyes.
If you make it through the night with the knowledge of the world, then you will be forever marked. From that point forward, you must never be alone outside, or birds of all kinds will seek you out and try to kill you.
---
There is a doorway, one that can be any door, at any time. This door leads nowhere, yet there lies a realm of twisted reality to the opener. This door exists for everyone - some never encounter it in their lives, others unknowingly open it and step through.
The problem is, you can't tell if the door is open to you, until years after you step through it. You'll see them, and they'll finally see you.
---
In many stores and establishments that provide videos of a less than appropriate manner, there is a business card.
Some stores keep it well hidden, locked in a safe, and will deny it's existence. Others will show you if you ask for it by name. None will have it displayed in the open.
On this card is a name; Moonlight Films, and a contact number. It's always a local number.
Go to any payphone in any city and dial the number. The answer will be prompt but all you will hear is silence. Wait for thirty seconds. Then you will be served.
A dry, monotone male voice will ask you one question; "Is the road from life to death dark?"
If you answer with anything but the correct reply, he will hang up on you. If you fail the first time, I'd suggest not trying again.
The correct response is "It is moonlit."
If his question is answered properly, the man will say one address in your city and then hang up.
Go to this address and you will find that it is a small, dingy apartment. The carpet will be dirty, the wallpaper flaking and wrinkled, the windows cracked. It will smell of tobacco smoke and decay. On the stained old coffee table there will be a paper bag. On this bag your full name will be printed in red sharpie.
Open the bag and you will find an unlabeled video tape. Take it and place exactly $10.99 in the bag then leave.
You can watch the tape if you like, but you don't have to. I warn you, it's not pleasant. You will see a room or chamber papered in dessicated skin, the furniture will be crafted from flesh and bone. But all of it will be alive. The tape will last approximately 32 minutes and will depict the murder of a person and the subsequent crafting of their body into another animated furnishing.
You have rented the tape for one week. You must return it to the apartment by sliding it through the mail slot when the time is up. After that, never return to the apartment, never return to the store you recieved the contact number from, and DEFINITELY don't call the number ever again.
I'd also suggest you not keep the tape more than a week. The owners will not be satisfied with a mere late fee, and a good home can never have enough accessories.
---
If you ever try learning a foreign language, never try reading the Bible in the language until you have learned as much as you can. If you try to read it too early the words will become twisted in your mind and black shapes will cloud your vision. You will awake with no knowledge of the past 24 hours, but during that time you will have become a dark veseel and commit unholy acts.
---
Are you familiar with the concept of spontaneous combustion?
The story goes that sometimes people will just burst into flames, incinerated or boiled on the spot in a flash of intense heat. It is a rare thing to happen, some insist it doesn't even exist.
It exists, though. It does indeed.
It happens at random. If at some stage you ever feel unnerved for no good reason, then you know it might be coming for you, the invisible, sentient gateway.
The gateway might decide it doesn't like you, and thus will open itself inside of your body, sucking your soul into itself and unleashing a burst of heat to incinerate your body.
Nobody knows where the gateway leads... but Hell is said to be pretty hot.
I have, for many years, locked the door behind me as I entered a room - bathroom door, bedroom door, whatever. For a while I knew why I did it, because I had a little brother and invasive parents that would walk in randomly without knocking. Not so much anymore - I've started remembering why I actually did it.
Am I being too cryptic? Sorry, it's late at night and a storm has rolled in, I'm a bit tired. But I digress.
Behind me, I began to realize, is an empty space - the air you once resided, where your soul was moments ago. Perhaps it's nothing, but it seems important to me. That space... That imprint, of sorts, is bound to the laws of physics just as you are - to an extent. It cannot go through locked doors, but unlocked it can. Something about the permission of a locked door and unlocked door.
You are probably thinking this is nonsense. What you should be doing, as unoriginal as this warning is, is reading the first word of every paragraph. Did you remember to lock your door?
---
The Fish is a shifting and shining creature that nobody has ever caught but that many say they have glimpsed in the depths of mirrors.
According to Herbert Allen Giles, belief in the Fish is part of a larger myth that goes back to the times of the Yellow Emperor. In those days the world of mirrors and the world of men were not, as they are now, cut off from each other. They were, besides, quite different; neither beings nor colors nor shapes were the same. Both kingdoms lived in harmony; you could come and go through mirrors. One night the mirror people invaded the earth. Their power was great, but at the end of bloody warfare the magic arts of the Yellow Emperor prevailed. He repulsed the invaders, imprisoned them in their mirrors, and forced on them the task of repeating, as though in a kind of dream, all the actions of men. He stripped them of their power and of their forms and reduced them to mere reflections. Nonetheless, a day will come when the spell will be shaken off. The first to awaken will be the Fish. Deep in the mirror we will perceive a very faint line and the color of this line will be like no other color. Later on, other shapes will begin to stir. Little by little they will differ from us; little by little they will not imitate us. They will break through the barriers of glass or metal.
Side by side with these mirror creatures, the creatures of water will join the battle. In Yunnan they do not speak of the Fish but of the Tiger of the Mirror. Others believe that in advance of the invasion we will hear from the depths of mirrors the clatter of weapons. And this time, they will not be defeated.
---
I went camping about 3 weekends ago in the Huntsville national forest in Texas. Me and 3 friends that came home for the weekend, they are all in college and usually we all get together at least once a year, old friends from high school. For the camping trip we planned to go backpacking deep in the forest, live off of fish that we catch and animals that we can trap. We have been doing this for awhile in Texas and in numerous places, Arizona, Colorado (if anyone is familiar with the Spanish peaks there), New Mexico, so we?re pretty much used to anything you?d encounter out there.
It was my turn to pick where we went camping, so I chose Huntsville (more accurately it?s Huntsville/New Waverly). So we drive up there park our car in a camping park spot and start walking off into the forest. We had some laughs along the way, everyone catching up with each other?s lives. We walked until it started to get dark and set up camp where we stopped. Everyone gathered wood to make a fire and we set our tent up. And we do what we always do: try and scare each other with weird stories.
Around this time we started to smell something very faint. It was noticeable, but not overbearing. We couldn?t put our finger on what it was, so we just carried on. Mike had to go piss and he walked off in the forest. A second later he come running back, piss all down his jeans like he?d missed really bad. Immediately we all crack up and throw some jokes at him. Then we noticed that he was white as snow and trying to catch his breath. He starts screaming for us to follow him, and runs off.
We all get serious and go follow him, not knowing what the problem was. We start to hear a faint scream and crying in the distance, in the direction we were running. It was pitch black away from the camp and Mike had the only flash light (we left ours at the camp, he had his from his trip taking a piss), so at this stage we didn?t have much choice but to follow the light, which was frantically pointing here and there in front of him.
The scream gets closer and Mike starts to slow down. We then notice a ratty old cabin that looked like it was abandoned, except for a faint light that we could see from one of the old mildew covered windows. The crying was intense: whoever it was couldn?t breathe enough to let out a full yell. We all followed Mike up to the front door and we could all hear the crying from inside. As soon as he knocked on the door it stopped.
We all waited and heard really heavy footsteps walking fast to the door. There was a giant slam against the door and the sound of a bolt unlocking. Then nothing. We waited for a bit, knocked a few more times, but still nothing happened. We walked around the house (there was no ****ing way any of us were leaving each other?s side) and noticed a window, which was a good way up. Alex took a deep breath and said asked us to give him a boost so he could see inside. Me and Mike lifted him up to the window. We watched him brush away dirt and webs from the window and place his face close to the window to try and see something.
There was a quick beat. Then suddenly he breathed in fast and let out a loud scream. Then he fell back from the window, screaming bloody murder the whole way. We all tried to calm him down but he was hysterical. We went to him but he started to shake, punch, kick, you name it, and then took off towards the camp.
None of us wanted to be separated so we all ran close behind him. We caught up to him and grabbed him and set him down. The fire was dying out so I grabbed some nearby wood that we collected added it to the fire. My hands were shaking and I had to do something. I went back to Alex and we all tried to calm him down. He wouldn?t he kept screaming and was breathing so hard that he eventually fainted.
All of us are terrified now, and we all kept the fire high until sunrise. Periodically Alex kept waking up, screaming just like before. By sunrise he was up and looked catatonic, just mumbling to himself and whimpering.
Me and Mike decide to go look at the cabin now it was daylight. We searched where we thought it was, except there was nothing there. Nothing at all. The indistinct smell from last night had now grown into a very strong smell of something dead, something stale. We headed back to the camping site. When we got there we found Alex had chewed into the sides of his face and swallowed so much blood that he was throwing up. John was at his back, and he looked like he was about to die from exhaustion. I guess we all looked that way, I just didn?t notice until I saw his face. Alex said quietly that we need to leave. Now.
We all started to pack up the tent. It started to rain really heavily (it was about noon) and the sky started to grow really dark. Alex started to go into a panic. He went and grabbed a big stick and yelled at us to leave it and leave, now, or he?d knock us out and drag us out of there himself. Mike started to yell at him, and they started to fight. We broke it up and finished packing, and then started to make our way back. After a little while we arrived at a creek we had crossed the previous day, only it was flooded over, and the water was moving to fast for us to cross it. Alex started to scream again, yelling at Mike for taking his time packing up the tent when we could have gotten out of here. This went on for a while until we finally convinced Alex to calm down and tell us what happened.
He said as soon as he put his face to the glass, a face on the other side did the same thing, and started to smile really big. It had dark eyes and a dark mouth which was much bigger then Alex?s, as the smile got as large as it could. A giant shadow behind it swung something down and sliced it?s face off. The face was stuck to the window, and he said it started to laugh quietly as it slid down. Mike, still pissed off (and though he wouldn?t admit it, beginning to get freaked out), started to argue with him again. We eventually started to follow the creek for a way to cross.
We then started to see toys floating in the creek. Really old toys, old Barbie dolls and baby dolls. This wasn?t like any old trash floating in the creek, though? this was a lot of barbies, a lot of baby dolls. One washed towards the side and Mike picked it up. It had some kind of voice chip that was dying and started to say some gurgling words we couldn?t understand, followed by it?s sad excuse for laughter. Then it sounded like it was whispering. We thought the batteries must be dying, he threw it down.
We kept going, and the sun was starting to set. Alex was freaking out more now, and was whimpering and breathing heavily. We all started to see shadows move behind trees, something we all called BS on until we all were seeing it. It was barely light out and we stop as we see the cabin right in front of us. None of us knows what to think. Mike says ?This is bullshit, I?m going in there.? Alex tries to stop him. We all do, all of us just wanted to go home. Mike says to all of us to fuck off, do our own thing, he doesn?t care anymore, this is all bullshit.
We start to hear hundreds of the same sort baby doll as before, laughing, whispering and trying to sing. We start to move forward past the cabin, all of us, and kept pushing forward. We smelled something dead in the air, something stale. The same something as before. We started to hear something crying, and something screaming. We kept on going. We eventually crossed the creek and left the woods. We get back to our vehicle and got in. Its pitch black, and we drive. We are about to get on the 45 to Houston but the road is under construction and can?t be accessed. It points to a detour. As we head towards the detour it seems to be small, bumpy dirt road going into the woods.
We then see a young girl come up to us. She looks like she was in trouble, young and pretty. She approaches the passenger side door and she looks like she?s really drugged up, or beaten up. Alex doesn?t roll down the windows, nor does he open the door. She reaches for the handle and he immediately locks it. She puts her face on the window and starts to smile really big. We floor it, Alex starts to cry and scream and we are all breathing heavy. We finally cut on a street that takes us to the 45 and we take it the whole way. When we get back to my apartment everyone doesn?t know what to say and we all break apart and go our separate ways.
Mike messages me later and says he is going to go back. I try to convince him not to and all he does is say it was our own minds that were screwing with us. I think he just went to prove to himself he wasn?t scared. I can smell that stench everywhere now. I don?t go out anymore, I just stay in and don?t answer the door. Last week everyone I met was acting really strange, people that I knew for a long time and total strangers. My own dad, when I went to his place to eat supper with him he just watched me, strangely, when I was sitting down. He didn?t say a word the whole time. I kept asking him ?What?s wrong?? He just slowly shook his head.
When I was leaving to go home I turned to wave. He had black eyes and an open mouth like he was in pain. When I started to walk back he shut the door and bolted it. I stayed there knocking and knocking. Nothing. I called him, his phone was disconnected. I even called the police. Halfway through the questions they were asking me the connection started to fade into static. I could hear a faint mumbling, singing and laughing.
Mike has completely vanished. There is not even a record of him being alive. When I call Alex?s house they talk to me like I?m some salesman. They say they don?t know any Alex and to please stop calling. The person who tells me that is Alex?s mother. I can?t get ahold of John. Someone knocked on my door and when I went to look I saw a face completely covering the peephole and a giant smile started to form.
I called the cops again and instead of it turning into static they got really strange. ?Sir, are you affected by any drugs at the moment?? ?No.? ?Are you coming home anytime soon?? ?Excuse me?? ?Come home.? and the phone call ended. My mail slot swings every now and then. Someone is sliding pieces of baby dolls through it. I try to call people now and all I can hear is static and bad baby doll noises and this crying and screaming. My TV is busted but when I go to piss I can hear it on. I might be going insane.
Whoever lives above me started to scream in pain and crying deeply recently. I hear giant footsteps from their apartment, I hear bangs and something falling to the ground. From the neighbours to the right of my apartment I hear what sounds like a baby that never gets tended too and then it sounds like a baby doll whose batteries are dying. My phone has been ringing now and it?s Alex telling me things in a language that I have never heard before, nor could even manage to repeat. I kept getting emails of pictures of black and small colorations, now I can?t even access my email. Someone knocks on the door, then they slam against it. I hear the bolts unlocking one by one and I run to make sure to lock all of them back.
Then, I sit down and begin to cry.
---
A young couple were waiting impatiently to leave on their first vacation since the baby was born but the woman?s aunt, who would be babysitting, was thirty minutes late. The young woman called her elderly aunt to find out what was going on, and the old woman apologized for her forgetfulness, and said she?d speed right over.
Since the aunt was only a couple miles away, the couple decided they?d go ahead and go rather than wait for her and risk missing their flight. Two weeks later when the couple returned they were horrified to find the baby still in it?s high-chair where they?d left it, except now it was dead and bloated, covered with flies. The aunt really had sped, and unfortunately crashed and died before she made it over.
---
In a small orphanage in a small village in Russia, there is a young boy. His hair is jet black, and messy, and he tattered jeans and an old dingy grey shirt.
Nothing is known of him. For 10 years, he sat in the bed in his room, never moving, never blinking, never eating or sleeping. In the 10 years, he has not seemed to age at all, continuing to look like a 7 year old boy. The only thing that proved he was alive is the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, and the refusal to take his eyes off anyone who enters the room alone.
A lone psychiatrist came over in an attempt to find out why the boy had done nothing in 10 years. He entered the room, and shut the door behind him.
30 minutes later, the orphanage's nurse came to check on the 2 of them. Opening the door, she saw the child, still sitting, still not moving, eyes fixxed on her. However, something seemed different. He appeared a slight amount larger, not by much, but enough to make him look like a late 8 or early 9 year old. The psychiatrist was no longer in the room. The door was the only exit, as the room had no windows, vents, or anything, and it was, in fact, in the exact center of the orphanage.
He continued to sit, only seen occasionaly by the lady who came in to check on him, and she never closed the door upon entry.
A week or so later, 2 law enforcment personel entered the orphanage, demanding to speak to the boy about the disapearance of the psychiatrist. The 2 of them entered, clsoing the door behind him, as the head of the orphanage stood outside the door.
30 minutes passed, and not a sound came from the room. The Head eased the door open. The boy was still on the bed, but the officers where no longer there. The boy was know quite noticably bigger, about the size of a 15 year old. His skin was darker than usual, and he looked angrier than ever. But one thing remained the same: His cold, unforgiving eyes that stared at whoever entered.
Eventually, the law organized a large group of 10 officers to speak to the boy. They entered the room, and left the door open, until one of the younger orphans ran up and shut it, appearently in a daze.
The head quickly ran to re-open the door, and upon doing so froze him in horror. A low rumbling noise came from the room....
".....One....more...."
If you return to that orphanage, you will see it still continues to run. The orphans live in good care, health, and education. However, there is one room, that you sill see is boarded up, and far from enterable. If you ask what is behind it, you will be removed forcefully from the orphanage.
However, when no one's looking, if you place you're ear to the door, you will hear a low ominous growling sound, and if you listen for a bit, you will hear....
".....One.....more...."
---
On the underside of your refrigerator there is a switch. Reach under there and feel for it. Don't mind the dust clumps and the roaches. You'll know it when you feel it, it's a hard metal tab sticking out of a slot in the plastic underside. I will be set on the righthand side (when you're facing the fridge). If you switch it to the left, nothing will happen. Your appliances will continue to run, the floor won't open into a swirling vortex that leads directly into the deepest circle of hell. You won't even hear a hitch in the hum of the refrigerator. You will get up and brush off and go about your business, you may move out of your apartment and leave the refrigerator behind, switch set to the left like it doesn't even matter.
When you die, five years later, the fingers, toes, and eyes of an unidentified person will be found in your stomach.
---
You're walking down your street, it's a gray, cloudy, unseasonably cold day.
As the brown leaves swirl about you, you hear, faintly yet distinctly, a baby crying. As you move toward the noise, it becomes the sound of a young girl sobbing. Closer you approach the sound, and as the wind picks up, it is clearly the sound of a young woman screaming. You race toward the corner, and as you near it, the sound becomes that of an old crone choking. Then silence as you turn the corner, revealing nothingg but a puddle of water on the sidewalk. As you look into the puddle, it seems your reflection is delayed by a few seconds...as if it is watching you and then mimicking you...
---
I can't say where/when or how often this will work, but I've tried it a few times with mixed results. If for some reason you find you can't sleep one night, indigestion, test the next day, hard mattress, too many creepy threads, whatever, close your eyes and start to play a slow and deliberate game of patty-cake. If you keep it up long enough you may start to feel a pair of something coming back to meet your hands from the void. Congratulations, you've just summoned your first... something. I can't say it's important not to open your eyes at this point, but I didn't anyway. The first time I tried this was in my apartment when I had a presentation to give the following morning, a real toss-turn kind of night. For whatever reason I sat up and decided to put one hand out before me and I felt a faint tingle from a rather low angle. I unconsiously started to play and after a while I noticed I was humming some sort of tuneless lulliby. After about an hour or so whatever was playing on the other end stopped and I went into a deep, dreamless and very restful sleep. I tried this trick again at my girlfriend's parents house while she was with me in their crappy spare bed (I was facing back to her, legs over the side of the bed, eyes closed). After about twenty minutes this time it actually felt like a pair of solid hands, from a much higher angle than before, was coming back and hitting mine a bit harder every time. Suddenly the game stopped and something made a noise in my right ear like a human shriek combined with car breaks causing me to cringe before it ran up the wall behind me into the ceiling. Maybe whatever was in that house had outgrown the game. I still slept ok. For all I know I was just hitting the wall/my blanket tiring my own gullible self out and my girlfriend's just a noisy ***** but... I still can't wait to try it again the next time I can't sleep. Still not sure what happens if you open your eyes, though.
---
In 1938, over 6,000 patients were checked into mental hospitals all across America within one week of each other. Reports of similar instances supposedly came from Europe and Asia as well. The circumstances of each patient were, eerily, identical.
Every patient completely shut down, shivering in the corner until their family, unable to calm or care for the individuals, committed them.
The only thing the patients would say was: "There is not, and never has been, such a thing in this world as a meaningless coincidence."
---
When you live in a bright place, you get used to light, and it starts affecting you less. When you live in a dark place, you get used to dark, and it starts affecting you less. When you live in a violent place, youn get used to violence, and it starts affecting you less.
And when you skydive enough, you get used to gravity, and it starts affecting you less.
This is nowhere near as pleasent as it sounds.
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Sometimes, while masturbating, when you are about halfway done, you will stop suddenly. You will not know why. Youll feel a cold breeze play across you, and you will shudder. Youll become flaccid and feel slightly sick. If this happens to you, a female ghost is in the room with you. She might be standing right behind your shoulder. For God's sake, dont try and carry on. Your body wont be found
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Once, about 50 years ago, there was a young boy. No one knows his actually name, so we will call him tommy. He lived in a quiet, small town. Every thing was normal, nothing out of the ordinary.
One day a traveling circus came to town. It had all the normal circus stuff, trapeze artists, animal trainers, clowns.
It also had a miniature wax museum.
Every one always commented on how life like the wax sculptures were, and how well done they were. The Ring Master thanked them, and said the artist was very talented.
Tommy was fascinated by the sculptures. He stayed will closing, talking to the ring master. He was so interested that the Ring Master invited him to come back to the circus after closing and he would introduce Tommy to the Artist. ecstatic, Tommy agreed.
That night, when Tommy came back, the circus grounds were completely deserted. No carnies, no animals, nothing. No where. Tommy really wanted to meet the Artist, so he went to the Wax Museum.
When he got there, the lights were on, but it was empty. Tommy started walking through, admiring the sculptures again. Then the doors slammed shut behind him, and he heard the faint click of a lock.
Tommy ran towards the doors, and shook them until they almost came off the hinges. He then stopped, thinking that he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He decided he must have imagined it. Then he felt something grab him from behind, and his sight went black.
The next day one of Tommy's friends came by the circus, looking for Tommy, to discover that they were packing up. he headed over to the wax museum, to ask if they had seen Tommy anywhere. When he entered the Museum, he walked a few feet and stopped.
There was a new sculpture in the exhibit. Of a young boy, around 9 years old. Tommy's friend approached the sculpture, a look of horror on his face. The sculpture looked exactly like Tommy, but when he reached out and touched it, he felt the cool, smooth surface of wax.
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Any night, around 10 or 11 pm, take yourself to a flat, open area where you can walk in a straight line for two minutes or so without running into anything. Once there, face in the direction you plan to walk, with your arms at your sides and your hands relaxed. Close your eyes, and take a deep breath. At precisely 11:09 and 20 seconds, start walking. Be sure to take one step every second, no more, no less. Do not open your eyes, and do not hesitate. Count your steps in your head as you go. On the one hundred and eleventh step, say the word "One" out loud, and stop. Your breath will catch in your throat, and your hair will stand on end. For the next ten seconds, you will be unable to move a single muscle in your body, no matter how hard you try. After these ten seconds, you will be able to move and breathe again ? however, you will then start to feel the sensation of cold metal claws seizing each of your fingers by the base and plucking them clean off of your hand. It will not hurt. You will surely be horrified, but do not open your eyes, and do not move. If you move or open your eyes, all that anyone will ever find of you is your two fingerless hands, severed cleanly at the wrist. Once the claws have stopped, and all of your fingers have been plucked off, stay still for another ten seconds. It may help to count. After these ten seconds have passed, you may open your eyes. You will find that your fingers are still quite firmly attached to your hands. Go home immediately, and go directly to bed. Speak to no one for the rest of the night, and enter no building that you do not consider your home.
The next day, you will have become One of Them. Once per day, as long as there is even a sliver of sunlight, you may point at someone and speak the word "One." That night, he will face the same trial that you faced. If you see that person the next day, you will know that he, too, has become One of Them. If not, then do not be alarmed if you do not feel hungry the rest of the day.
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The Raven plays a significant role in Native American culture. Some say he is the creator of the world, while others say he is the cause for much mischief for everyone. Both of those might be true...
Go to place where Ravens are known to be. Wait until nightfall, and make sure that you're well-hidden. If more than one Raven gathers near you, they will start speaking your native language in a low, guttural voice. They will speak of all the secrets of the world. At no point must you move while they're talking, for they will notice you and leave nothing but your prying eyes.
If you make it through the night with the knowledge of the world, then you will be forever marked. From that point forward, you must never be alone outside, or birds of all kinds will seek you out and try to kill you.
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There is a doorway, one that can be any door, at any time. This door leads nowhere, yet there lies a realm of twisted reality to the opener. This door exists for everyone - some never encounter it in their lives, others unknowingly open it and step through.
The problem is, you can't tell if the door is open to you, until years after you step through it. You'll see them, and they'll finally see you.
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In many stores and establishments that provide videos of a less than appropriate manner, there is a business card.
Some stores keep it well hidden, locked in a safe, and will deny it's existence. Others will show you if you ask for it by name. None will have it displayed in the open.
On this card is a name; Moonlight Films, and a contact number. It's always a local number.
Go to any payphone in any city and dial the number. The answer will be prompt but all you will hear is silence. Wait for thirty seconds. Then you will be served.
A dry, monotone male voice will ask you one question; "Is the road from life to death dark?"
If you answer with anything but the correct reply, he will hang up on you. If you fail the first time, I'd suggest not trying again.
The correct response is "It is moonlit."
If his question is answered properly, the man will say one address in your city and then hang up.
Go to this address and you will find that it is a small, dingy apartment. The carpet will be dirty, the wallpaper flaking and wrinkled, the windows cracked. It will smell of tobacco smoke and decay. On the stained old coffee table there will be a paper bag. On this bag your full name will be printed in red sharpie.
Open the bag and you will find an unlabeled video tape. Take it and place exactly $10.99 in the bag then leave.
You can watch the tape if you like, but you don't have to. I warn you, it's not pleasant. You will see a room or chamber papered in dessicated skin, the furniture will be crafted from flesh and bone. But all of it will be alive. The tape will last approximately 32 minutes and will depict the murder of a person and the subsequent crafting of their body into another animated furnishing.
You have rented the tape for one week. You must return it to the apartment by sliding it through the mail slot when the time is up. After that, never return to the apartment, never return to the store you recieved the contact number from, and DEFINITELY don't call the number ever again.
I'd also suggest you not keep the tape more than a week. The owners will not be satisfied with a mere late fee, and a good home can never have enough accessories.
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If you ever try learning a foreign language, never try reading the Bible in the language until you have learned as much as you can. If you try to read it too early the words will become twisted in your mind and black shapes will cloud your vision. You will awake with no knowledge of the past 24 hours, but during that time you will have become a dark veseel and commit unholy acts.
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Are you familiar with the concept of spontaneous combustion?
The story goes that sometimes people will just burst into flames, incinerated or boiled on the spot in a flash of intense heat. It is a rare thing to happen, some insist it doesn't even exist.
It exists, though. It does indeed.
It happens at random. If at some stage you ever feel unnerved for no good reason, then you know it might be coming for you, the invisible, sentient gateway.
The gateway might decide it doesn't like you, and thus will open itself inside of your body, sucking your soul into itself and unleashing a burst of heat to incinerate your body.
Nobody knows where the gateway leads... but Hell is said to be pretty hot.
http://www.gamespot.com/pages/forums/show_msgs.php?topic_id=27413733
Have fun. Loads of stuff here.
Have fun. Loads of stuff here.
