DeYtH Banger
Reddit Collection #7 It hurts doesn't it? I will won't make up to here, without! - The Facts - Books - Films Series The Facts - Vsauce - MindBlowing - Elite Facts - Top Trending - Facts Verse - Strange Mysteries Films - Mr.Nobody 2009 Selflessness 2015 - Snowden 2016 - Looper 2012 - The Dark Knight 2008 - The Dark Knight Rises 2012 - The Time Travel's Wife 2009 Series - Dexter 2006 - Person Of Interest 2011 - Breaking Bad 2008
Reddit Collection #7 So I am back... it can be said that... I am here just to share and tell you another story...
Christmas Comming So Christmas is Comming people I want first to say special thanks to: CuteLime for being with me up to here... and as much as possible helping me with my questions... by answering them and trying to be helpful as much as possible. J.M.Rivers - For spending her time with me... by writing to me... replying to my Pm's and other messages and making the virtual world a whole new level. Merry Christmas, all of you! (P.S. AS for the Cover it's from Christmas Horror Story 2015)
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Twitter: https://twitter.com/GordanFreem (For more than a story) GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14928754.Deyth_Banger (For a book... for a quote...) Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCtw__4ra3oHhIB5KHbKopA ( For one more story...) Email: (If you have the guts... csmaniacvaivuchko@mail.bg
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The The Present is a second is specially deditacted to Joanne Rivers - For Making my life interesting - For showing how much life unique could be - How could find some kind of hope in something which better - Giving me a Chance - I am very glad for the books which she has written, very well written and so much feelings can be caught.
What's What's DeYtH Banger - Works, you can feel free to skip it!
Never Trust a Guy with Crazy Ex-Girlfriends Credit to andersonash3 Our love story started as all good ones do, on Tinder. We chatted on the app for about a week before he finally got up the courage to ask me to get a drink. Jacob was the perfect average male. He's tall, average attractiveness, has a semi good but always stable job and didn't live at home with his parents. On our first date, he charmed the pants off me (literally). He told me how beautiful I was and how he couldn't believe someone as amazing as me needed to use Tinder to get dates. So around our fifth drink, I finished the whole thing in a gulp and told him I wanted to go back to his place. We moved pretty fast after that. By the end of month one, I was staying at his place 4 nights out of the week. He had already met my mom. We shared everything. Well almost everything. Jacob was very quiet about his past relationships. All he said was that his last two serious girlfriends were crazy. When I tried to pry more out of him he would leave the room. Knowing how girls can be sometimes I didn't ever try too hard to get information out of him. One day when we had been dating for about two months I came down with a really awful flu. Jacob insisted that I stayed at his house while he was at work. I fell in and out of sleep while watching bad soap operas. I woke up to some shaking me. Assuming it was Jacob, I didn't open my eyes and turned away. "Jennifer you have to get up. I need to talk to you," a female voice whispered. I immediately opened my eyes and backed away. "Who are you? Why are you here?" I screamed at her. "Please lower your voice. My name is Holly. You're in danger," she whispered hurriedly at me. "Yeah I know. There's a crazy lady in my boyfriend's house," I yelled back at her. We both freeze as we hear a key turn in the lock. "Jacob is not who he says he is. You need to leave. He will kill
you," she said. As she runs through the door, she stops to look at me one last time. I can see pity in her eyes but also something else. It kind of looked like fear. "Hey babe. I left work a little early. What have you been up to?" Jacob asked, putting his briefcase on the dresser. "You didn't see her? She would have had to run past you to get out of here," I replied, studying his face. His smile fell for just a second and then returned to its normal, piercing way. "Who? Are you hallucinating? You must be more sick than I thought," he said, putting a hand to my forehead. "Holly. Your ex girlfriend, Holly, was just here. She said you would kill me," I said. "She's crazy. I'll call the police. I told you she was crazy," he said, heading towards the door. "Why is she so crazy?" I asked. "If her or Lily my other girlfriend ever try to contact you, you need to run. If their families try to, call the police. These women are insane," he said and with that he shut the door. For the next few days I was confined to bed as my cold had completely taken over. Jacob stayed home for work. He took away my cell phone and laptop because he said the radiation would make me worse. Anytime I tried to bring up Holly he would change the subject and say the police were working on it. Finally a few days later he had to run to the store. We had run out of toilet paper. He couldn't just order food anymore. The minute he left I started searching for my laptop. It took me fifteen minutes but I finally found it hidden in a cabinet. I immediately opened it and started trying to find out whatever I could about these women. I found Jacob's facebook and looked through his contacts but he wasn't friends with any women named Holly or Lily. After various searches I found his MySpace page. On there he had posted about a women named Holly Campbell. I googled her name and a few news articles came up from two years back. I clicked on the first one: "Missing Girl Vanished Without a Trace". The article then went on to explain how they believed her boyfriend, Steve Hutchers was responsible but no one had been able to find him.
They posted a picture of him and although it didn't look like the Jacob I knew, it was him. He changed his hair and aspects of his face, such as adding a mole below his right eye, but he still had that smile. I heard a small sound behind me. As I turned around, I saw a swift movement and everything went black. Now I'm downstairs in Jacob's basement. The basement I didn't know existed. Lily and Holly are down here too but they have long since passed. I think Holly's ghost was trying to protect me. I wish I had listened to her. He didn't know I had my cell phone on me but I can't get any service. I've been trying to call the police but nothing goes through. I'm hoping this post will. I think it is too late for me but maybe not for you. Never trust a guy with crazy ex-girlfriends. He's usually the crazy one.
My ex-girlfriend is insane. I need help. Credit to tiresiwuaaa I am by no means a brave man. I won't lie and say I couldn't have stopped this from happening if I tried, if I had just handled everything like I knew I should have. But I didn't, and I paid for it. The TV was filling my apartment with white noise as I tried to study, but I couldn't focus. Only a few hours before, I sent my girlfriend of four years a text message explaining my desire to break up. A fucking text message. I'm a sleazeball asshole, I know. But she had begun to scare me over the past few months. It wasn't major things at first. Just a strange, unsettling turn in conversation. I could laugh it off, then. I convinced myself she just had a strange sense of humor. But after a while it escalated to weirder and weirder things. She would command me to slap her and pretend to rape her during sex, calling me a bad lover if I refused. Occasionally, she would make me late to work by hiding my car keys until I role-played (violently) with her. When I talked to her about it, she just told me that "real men" were dominant with their women, and that I should be grateful to have such a willing girlfriend. I felt justified in breaking up with her, although my methods were misguided. In any case, I received a call as I expected, and it was Vicky. She spoke before I could even say hello. "Why?" It was a demand more than a question. It sounded as though she had been crying. "It's a long story that you won't like." I said, hoping to discourage her from pursuing the issue. I secretly wished she would just hate me and ignore me forever. "How long have you known?" The sadness in her voice vanished instantly, leaving a cold, clinical tone behind. "What?" I asked earnestly. "That we weren't meant for each other?" "Don't play fucking dumb with me, David," she hissed. "Who did you see? Greg? I was sloppy with him."
"You had sex with Greg?" I asked feebly, feeling the blood throbbing in my ears. He was a mutual friend of ours. "Oh my god. You actually don't know." She seemed on the verge of laughter. "I knew you were a dunce of a boy, but come on. Nobody can keep a secret like that forever." I had never heard her voice sound like this... confident, slick; like a cat in a world of mice. "I should have ended this so long ago." I tried to find some memory to disprove the suspicions, but I couldn't. "I love you, David." She must have thought she sounded sweet, but her voice was positively overflowing with crazy. "Please don't leave me." "I could turn you in to the police, you know." I threatened. "Sexual harassment charges." "Do it and I fucking kill you." Any doubt I had of her guilt vanished. I felt my insides turn to ice at her words. "Do you understand what I'm fucking telling you, David? I will fucking kill you, along with everyone you love. ANSWER ME!" I yelled out loud and hung up the phone hastily. I checked all the windows and doors to make sure they were sealed and locked. Then I remembered that Vicky was back in my home town, three states away. Better safe than sorry, I supposed. Of course, being the jackass I was, I didn't think to contact any of my loved ones to warn them. Later that night, as I was getting ready for bed, I got another call. To my relief, it was my mother. "Hello," I answered. "David, whatever is happening between you and Vicky, you can work it out together." She sounded strained, like she was flexing her abs the whole time she was speaking. "Mom, how do you know about me and Vicky?" "Please, call her right now and make up with her. She's a... a sweet girl, and you deserve each other." I still couldn't quite place what was wrong with my mom's voice, but something was definitely wrong. "What's going on? Did she contact you?" I asked. "I bet she would... she would even... do anal if you got back together." My mom started weeping openly. Suddenly I understood. She was reading from cue cards. "David, please." "Vicky, if you're there, don't you dare touch my mother!" I shouted.
There was the sound of a phone changing hands. "Listen to your mother!" She screamed. "I love you, David. I love you. Please." I put the phone on speaker and tiptoed over to my junk drawer where there were a few old brick phones. I kept testing each of them to see if they had any battery power left. Even without a service contract, they should still be able to dial 9-1-1. "David, please speak to me," she cooed, insanity lacing her every word. "Don't make me do it, David. She fears death." Then she hung up. I don't really know what to do now. I've tried calling the police a few times, but for some reason none of my phones are working. I'm terrified to leave my apartment, even though I know Vicky is hundreds of miles away. I'm considering driving home tonight. She has my mom.
Death Credit to Viidith22 Fallen to the frail, desecrated figure of none other than Death What of life To be it nothing more than a shell of lost expectations, and diminished potential Why are the rest finding a chance? To be given choice other than pain and remorse To live every day without looking in the mirror Knowing who they are Their capabilities Their future As we stare in the mirror Asking every day, what we have become What has happened to this world To see our form as frail as Death The mirror shattering through venting And pain found no more within us Our knuckles bled that day Only smiling at the pain It has always been there to comfort us Never felt by those with a future Or a choice of what they are and were To not run from marked pasts, or lingering choices Lingering in the back of our minds as we attempt to sleep that night Let it be said Death may be cruel, but not as cruel as the life once lived, or the life to be lived by others _________________________
Hierarchy Credit to Viidith22 Despotism will be set in stone For there is man Who squander and torment for a feeling of remembrance Be it a moment Or a millennia A plethora of reasons for it to be Masking trepidation A sense of belonging Their nature Or a void never to be filled by such tedious acts Yet they continue on their quest To a reward desecrated Through the footsteps of millions before them As they too search Carrying the burden of emptiness within them As they step forward All for not
She Loves Me, You Know? Credit to CreepStreet13 I like her. I really like her. I've liked her for a long time now. I moved here four years ago, and every day since, my life has revolved around her. I don't want to sound obsessed, but I want her in every possible way one can want someone. I want to know her inside and out. I want to hear her voice every day, all the time. I want to smell her scent for ages and never let another smell bother my preoccupied nose. Maybe...maybe I am obsessed, but I can't help it. She has given me reason to keep moving forward. I watch her every day as she walks to the bus. I wake up at five o' clock just to make sure I'll be there in time to see her. I love the way she walks, so calm and relaxed. She's not a morning person, but she still smiles as she passes me on the street. I think she thinks that I'm waiting here for a different bus to come. If only she knew she was the only reason I was here every day. I observe her through her living room window in the front of her house as she watches television and plays games with her family. I want to be in there...with her. Her mother cooks the most amazing meals I've ever seen. Her little brother gets on her nerves, because he tries to gross her out all the time. Her father is strict and sometimes she feels like she can't be herself around him. I would let her be whoever she wanted...if only she were mine to have. I know her favorite color is light blue. I know her best friend's name is Joan. I know her. I wish she could see that. It drives me crazy to see her every day and the only communication we have is a slight smile and wave. I want more than that. I need more than that. What's this? There is a man walking with her today. What is a man doing beside her this morning? They're not holding hands, but she's laughing and smiling. Is he her boyfriend? No! I'm supposed to be her boyfriend! She didn't even acknowledge me today. I'm hurt...almost devastated. This can't be. No man should ever be beside her, if it isn't me. What should I do? Should I confess my love to her? Should I find that man and wring his neck, so she can never talk to
him again? She's mine...doesn't she know that? She's always been mine! I know her better than any one of her friends or family! I've studied her for years...and yet, my worst fear is standing right in front of me. I'm watching her fall in love with someone...who isn't me. No...wait...she's not falling in love! I can see it there in her smile. She's faking it...she must be faking it... This man, he's trapped her. She needs my help. She needs to be free. She needs to be...with me. How dare he try to take away my love from me. I will find him and I will free her from his grasps. Then we can be together again, loving each other from afar. She loves me, you know. I know it. We have this connection that cannot be broken by some fancy man in a suit. I feel it stronger now than I ever have before. She is mine just as much as I am hers. And we will be together until the day we die. I'm following my love at the park. She has that man beside her again. I'm trailing behind them just a little ways away. They haven't noticed me yet. They're laughing again...but I know it's all fake. He's kidnapped my girl from me. His arm is moving to her shoulder now. My blood is boiling. He's trying to touch her. He's trying to touch my girl! I can't think. I need to save her. She loves me, you know? She needs to be free! I grab a large rock from the ground. I run to the disgusting pervert and smash his head in until his screaming stops. I have blood all over me. I'm sitting on his lifeless body now. I look up at my girl with a smile ear to ear. She's screaming. Why is she screaming? I saved her! Now we can be together again. What's wrong with her? She's running from me! My heart is breaking. Why is she running from me? I can't let her go. She loves me, you know? She must be so happy that I saved her she just can't contain herself. I run after her. I scream for her to stop. I scream that I love her. I can hear her crying. Oh no...why is she crying? Maybe she got startled when I jumped from behind them. I'm catching up to her now. She's running faster than I have ever seen. She's running right into a root from a tree. Does she not see it there? She falls to the ground. I'm finally with her now. She's crying so hard. I want to make her better. I kneel down to her and wipe the tears from her eyes. The touch of her skin is more euphoric than I had imagined. I feel the spark between us ignite. I tell
her I love her and I know she loves me too. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't speak a word. She looks so beautiful as I run my hands down her cheeks. I can't believe this is reality. I want to know her inside and out. I run my hands down to her neck. She's looking up at me with her wondrous green eyes. What's that? I hear her telling me to grip tighter. I start to tighten my grip around her neck. I feel her warm skin against my hands. This is the moment I've been waiting for for so long. I keep telling her I love her. She's gasping for air. She's grabbing onto my arms now and squeezing. I look at her longingly. She is everything I've ever wanted. She knows that I am her savior. She knows that we were meant to be. She's telling me to grip even harder now. I begin to squeeze with all my might. I can feel her airways give in. She's not even wheezing anymore. I see her skin start to become pale. This is what she wanted. She told me. This was the only way we could be together forever. She didn't want to risk another man stealing her away. She wanted this because...she loves me, you know? I lift her lifeless body into my arms. Look at my beautiful girl. No love could ever compare to the love we share. I lean in and kiss her cold lips. Now we will know each other, inside and out.
SCP-2000 Attempting access beyond this point without necessary clearance is grounds for termination of Foundation employment and cancellation of all educational, medical, retirement, and mortality benefits. By submitting your credentials you hereby consent to exposure to a known cognitohazardous image, and verify that you have been inoculated against that image. In the event of unauthorized access, this console will become inoperable. Security personnel will be dispatched to revive you and escort you to a detention cell for interrogation. Attempting to access this file from any computer not connected to the Foundation Intranet will result in immediate termination regardless of clearance. [SECURITY COGNITOHAZARD ACTIVATED: SCANNING FOR NEURAL ACTIVITY] … … … Consciousness confirmed. Retrieving file. … … …You people don't get it. And I don't think you ever will. Item #: SCP-2000 Object Class: Thaumiel Special Containment Procedures: The entrance to SCP-2000 is disguised as a disused Park Ranger station in Yellowstone National Park. Despite several civilian trespassing attempts, the entrance has yet to be breached in the installation’s recorded history, and no further physical containment has been deemed necessary. Protocol Plainsight-201 is in effect for SCP-2000. Necessary supplies and replacement personnel may be delivered via unmarked road vehicles or civilian helicopter as appropriate. No personnel below Level 4/2000 clearance are permitted access to documentation regarding SCP-2000, or any protocols associated with its containment and upkeep. No personnel below Level 5/2000
clearance are permitted access to SCP-2000 below Sub-level 3. All personnel assigned to SCP-2000 must submit to a neural archetype scan on a monthly basis. Personnel stationed on-site must submit to weekly scans, to be stored locally. Level 4/2000 personnel or above stationed on-site are not permitted to leave Yellowstone National Park during the course of their assignment. In the event of transfer (either elective or compulsory), Class A amnestics must be administered, and false memories implanted consistent with assignment to other highsecurity or Keter-class SCP objects. Additional personnel may be assigned to SCP-2000 and granted temporary Level 4/2000 clearance at the discretion of the item's HMCL supervisor (currently Dr. Charles Gears) and O5 command. The exterior surface of SCP-2000 is surrounded by Scranton Reality Anchors (SRAs) every 20 m, arranged hexagonally, to prevent incursion by hostile anomalous interference. Each SRA’s function must be checked semi-annually and replaced as necessary. Technicians servicing SRA components may reference Document SRA033, rev 1.0.7. Five Xyank/Anastasakos Constant Temporal Sinks (XACTS) capable of maintaining stable tachyon flux across the expanse of the facility (maximum output rating at 100 W each) have been installed and are to be maintained monthly. Technicians servicing XACTS components may refer to Document XACTS-864, rev 1.3.0. One Pseudo-Riemannian manifold has been initiated at the entrance to Sub-level 4, and must remain open at all times. In the event of the manifold’s failure, Procedure Dead Euclid-101 is to be executed immediately. Other non-anomalous life support and utility systems may be maintained in accordance with standard Foundation Maintenance Protocol, Section 101.5 (Mission Critical Components). Wherever possible, non-anomalous materials and resources are to be used for SCP-2000’s maintenance and repair. In the event of any K-Class scenario which does not compromise the existence or function of SCP-2000, Procedure CYA-009 is to be enacted as soon as possible. Remaining Foundation installations globally are to monitor the scenario as it unfolds, preserving what material resources are possible under the Ganymede Protocol until
such time as all remaining sites respond “All Clear” to SCP-2000 queries as defined in Document 2000XKAC-1.9. Upon receipt of “All Clear” code, Procedure Lazarus-01 is to be implemented. Administrator Note: I want this on permanent record, and I don’t rightly care if you think it’s an insult to your intelligence; some things are just this important. This device is absolutely not an excuse to let down our guard or take greater risks with SCP objects or crosstest them or whatever you might have in mind. Primary Containment is still our best chance at survival; otherwise there would be no reason to make the cover-up so extensive. We can only suspend God’s disbelief so many times before the universe just says “no”. And considering what we’ve had to deal with in these past few decades, we may have passed that point already. - Former Administrator Dr. William Fritz Description: SCP-2000 is a subterranean Foundation installation originally constructed sometime in the last ███ years for the purpose of reconstructing civilization in the event that a K-Class end-of-the-world scenario could not be averted in time to prevent humanity's extinction or near-extinction. Since its inception, SCP2000 has been activated at least twice. Foundation records regarding SCP-2000’s construction and history prior to this assumed first use have been lost. Whether this information black-out is the result of accident or design is impossible to determine. The mission critical portion of this installation begins 75m below ground level and extends to 100m depth. Although the scope of engineering required to recreate SCP-2000 in its entirety is impossible to execute while maintaining secrecy, all subsystems of SCP-2000 have been successfully reproduced in laboratory setting; the installation and all procedures involved in its upkeep are mundane in nature. (See Document 2000-SS-EX for information regarding esoteric Foundation technologies necessary for SCP-2000’s function). Primary power for the facility is a Liquid Fluoride Thorium Reactor (LFTR) rated for 1 GW total output, with a reactor life of 70 years at maximum capacity. A geothermal generator has also been installed to take advantage of the region’s volcanic activity. This generator is capable of powering the facility in “stand-by” mode indefinitely. SCP-2000 also contains water
treatment facilities, air purification and recycling systems, hydroponic production wings, and housing necessary to permanently sustain up to 10,000 personnel. To fulfill its primary mission, SCP-2000 includes 500,000 Bright/Zartion Hominid Replicators (BZHR). At peak capacity, SCP2000 is capable of producing 100,000 viable, non-anomalous humans per day (with a warm-up period of 5 days). Utilizing an underground Riemannian transit pipe to collect raw material from various hot springs and underground magma flows in the area, and a computer memory bank housing data on all known human alleles, this system is capable of recreating any lost human genome or generating as many new and unique genomes as necessary to repopulate human civilization. Researcher Note: Use of the BZHR system is currently suspended outside of maintenance testing and emergency situations (CYA-009 is still “go”). Possible hostile incursion is still being investigated, and this database is proving particularly difficult to de-bug. We’re still seeing a distribution of congenital and genetic defects far above baseline numbers. Right now, I can only guarantee about 60-75% viability in new specimens. See Addendum 2000-1. - Dr. Christopher Zartion MD, Biotech Research and Development You can't bring them back. Humans produced by this process can be advanced to any age desired without extending the 5 day incubation period. In addition to construction features, the BZHR also has the ability to implant memories by administration of Class-G hallucinogenics and developmental hypnotherapy. Life histories, neural archetype scans, and genomes of many Foundation personnel – including all personnel of Level 4/2000 clearance and above – are maintained to ensure that SCP-2000 may be activated and Procedure Lazarus-01 can be initiated by as few as one surviving human. After the implementation of the Ganymede protocol (indicating a failure of the Foundation to prevent a K-Class scenario), SCP-2000's security systems will unlock, allowing any Foundation employee to initiate Procedure CYA-009. If, after 20 years, SCP-2000 remains inactive, security will be relaxed further, allowing any nonanomalous human being to access the facility and initiate the
procedure. Once activated, SCP-2000's internal monitoring systems will attempt to locate all personnel of Level 4/2000 clearance and assess their condition. Mission-critical personnel not found will be replicated using the most recent neural archetype scan on file, and awakened prior to the initialization of any other systems. Did you catch that? After these personnel are revived, security locks will resume normal function. For a complete list of contingency options available, Level 5/2000 personnel may access Document 2000-CYA-09. Note that receipt of the “All Clear” code as defined by Document 2000XKAC-1.9 may be waived only if all other Foundation facilities have been rendered inoperative. Otherwise, security and MTF elements revived under Procedure CYA-009 will be dispatched to all remaining Foundation facilities to confirm their function and the integrity of local reality. Procedure Lazarus-01 will begin when an authorized Level 5/2000 Foundation employee inputs the desired “Resume Date” into SCP-2000's BZHR control unit. Available units will then begin production of prominent political and cultural leaders of the time period using descriptions/genetic information on file, as well as replication of a global populace consistent with the chosen time period. Most of SCP-2000’s floor space is dedicated to storage of building materials, construction equipment, factory machinery, agricultural equipment, and computer database storage. In addition to infrastructure concerns, a wide cultural base with copies of thousands of famous works of art, music, literature, and a full backup of the World Wide Web are kept on site in the event that other repositories are destroyed. HMCL Note: Discovered this note in previous iteration records at Lazarus-01 conclusion. Researcher Note: If we ever have to do this again, do not set the Resume Date further back than 20 years before the Event. Not only can we piggy-back on a lot of undestroyed structures if we do, but it will make continuity a lot easier to resume. [REDACTED] years is too many. We’re straining personnel such as it is without having to rebuild to chronological specifications just to save time on the population and agricultural demands. Besides, how much of the
20th-2█th centuries do we really want to re-write, and how many times? Isn’t one ‘Great War’ hard enough to keep track of? Dr. Henrietta Eisenhower, Historian My tenure as SCP-2000’s HMCL will honor this request. Currently pursuing official documentation update to account for this change. Two World Wars is plenty. We do not need to hazard a third. - Dr. Charles Gears, HMCL Supervisor You've already failed. The first replacement humans housed off-site must necessarily be informed of SCP-2000's existence and function as they are being created. This strategy allows newly constructed humans to assist in reconstruction and recolonization efforts directly, and skill sets appropriate to reconstruction have been preselected for increased prevalence in the first 5 million individuals produced. As global population increases, the process of diaspora and reconstruction will accelerate geometrically, allowing economic and agricultural infrastructure to recover as quickly as possible. While it is feasible that some replacement humans will not survive the initial renovation period, such individuals can be recreated indefinitely until all major population centers and Foundation facilities have been completed. Foundation administrative assets during this period will focus on the falsification of dendrochronological, astronomical, and radiometric dating records necessary to maintain the appearance of historical continuity. Please see Document 2000-RetCon v 2.3.3 for details. In the event that significant portions of natural habitat are also destroyed prior to the project’s completion, refer to Document 2000-OneTear v 3.0 for approved rapid regrowth methods. It is estimated that the world population, manufacturing capability, agricultural production, and culture can be reset to 2000 CE levels 25 to 50 yrs after the procedure is implemented. At the conclusion of Procedure Lazarus-01, amnestic agent ENUI-5 will be released en-masse, causing all reconstructed humans to forget their affiliation with Foundation assets. History will then resume from the chosen date. Each procedure will necessarily alter the course of
human events due to the enormous complexity of human social interaction. Further research into predictive historical modeling based on observations from prior completions of the Procedure Lazarus-01 is ongoing. HMCL Note: No further proposals for behavioral or cultural modification will be accepted at this time. Previous attempts to ameliorate violent and sociopathic tendencies in humanity as a whole have already been implemented and deemed successful. Experimentation using second iteration subjects indicates that further modification would undermine tenacity to such a degree that technological and social progress would be noticeably inhibited. See Experiment Log ███-█ for further information. - Dr. Charles Gears, HMCL Supervisor Document 2000-SS-EX: The following information establishes basic operational parameters of technology developed specifically for the SCP-2000 project. Although this technology may appear to be anomalous, it is based entirely on verifiable scientific principles currently in use by the Foundation to effect containment. The invention of the Scranton Reality Anchor (SRA) appears to pre-date the first activation of SCP-2000, and is credited to Dr. Robert Scranton in 1889. The main body and much of the circuitry of the SRA are constructed of a corrosion resistant beryllium bronze alloy. Inspired by artifacts recovered [DATA EXPUNGED], effectively eliminating the appearance of virtual particle/anti-particle pairs required for Type Green reality bending phenomena to manifest. Due to the expense involved in producing the beryllium bronze alloy required for the SRA’s construction, Foundation-wide implementation of the device has been limited to units capable of an area of effect less than two cubic meters[1]. Stop. Researcher Note: The mechanism of the SRA’s function and the source of its inspiration must be kept secret from all possible Reality Bending entities for reasons which I hope are obvious. Only qualified Level-6/2000 maintenance technicians have been cleared to access this documentation. If any member of SCP-2000 staff reveals to you that they are a Level-6/2000 maintenance technician, please report them to O5 Command so they can be reassigned and submitted to
amnestic therapy immediately. This is not a punishment; it is a legitimate safety concern. If these devices are ever compromised, so too is our life-boat. - Dr. Lowell Henry Piedmont, Esoteric Containment The Xyank/Anastasakos Constant Temporal Sink (XACTS) is a device designed to stabilize the flow of causality across a given field of effect. XACTS’s use high-power electromagnetic radiation in the radio band coupled with a tachyon field emitter [2] to create a permeable event-boundary, allowing organic and electrical systems to pass through unaffected while maintaining a static causal environment. In other words, temporal anomalies which might normally prevent SCP-2000 from being constructed will have no effect, so long as at least one XACTS remains in operation. There are no plans to implement Foundation-wide use of XACTS devices. Researcher Note: Temporal sinks can be useful for a lot of things. Containing SCP objects for which you need one second to last 300,000 years is a good example. Holding a point of reference constant during temporal repair missions, so that you can meaningfully record your progress and undo serious mistakes is another. But natural causal relationships are flexible in a way the human mind is not equipped to deal with meaningfully, and creating more than a small handful of isolated static causalities will do more to damage temporal integrity than secure it. XACTS will not be implemented Foundation-wide. Yes, we have tried it during a past iteration. No, further inquiries into the results of that attempt will not be accepted. - Dr. Thaddeus Xyank, Temporal Anomalies STOP. The use of a Pseudo-Riemannian manifold allows SCP-2000’s floor plan to extend into negative depth, providing 10 km2 of floor space. Original documentation on this system’s construction prior to previous SCP-2000 activations has been lost. While this phenomenon has traditionally been indicative of spatial anomalies, it is the determination of Drs. Robert Boyd and Tristan Bailey that the manifold entrance is consistent with an advanced implementation of modern physics. [3] This ‘negative’ space is maintained via a nongravitational singularity generated through focused █████ particle
emission across the manifold’s desired entrance. In the event of the singularity’s failure, the installation will remain intact in isolation and will not suffer structural collapse. Recreation of the manifold is estimated to take less than 10 hrs if Protocol Dead Euclid-101 is enacted immediately after failure. The isolated portion of SCP-2000 will remain operable and inhabitable for up to 36 hrs after the manifold fails, and is recoverable indefinitely. Addendum 2000-1: During containment breach of SCP-████ on ██/██/████.2 , SCP-2000 experienced failure of several SRA and XACTS components which coincided with activation of the BZHR units on site. For 25 days following this incident, BZHR units produced over 10 million humanoid entities with internal biology inconsistent with modern humans. Differences include an additional heart chamber, perfect polydactyl of the hands and feet, increased endocranial volume and height, and the presence of an abdominal organ of unknown purpose which emits and responds to radio frequencies in the 2.4-3.6 GHz range. These humanoids were neither dosed with Class-G hallucinogenics during replication, nor submitted to developmental hypnotherapy. All remained unconscious until expiration five weeks later. Classification of SCP-2000-1 for these entities is currently under review. Whether this event is the direct result of trans-temporal interaction between SCP-████ and SCP-2000, sabotage, information leak, or non-anomalous equipment malfunction is as yet unknown. Diagnostic checks and structural repair are proceeding as schedulednominally within acceptable risk. SCP-2000 is expected to resume normal function as of January 2008 2013 2020. Just put it down. Addendum 2000-2: While making repairs to SRA units in Sector 3382 on ██/██/████.2, Technician [DATA EXPUNGED] reported the discovery of human remains in an advanced state of decay. Analysis of clothing fragments discovered with the remains indicates the remains are 450-700 yrs old. Valid Foundation security credentials for Dr. Alto Clef were discovered nearby, although a genetic match could not be established. The following note was recovered from a hermetically sealed plastic document sleeve. Why did we have to build this thing?
When did we do it? How long have we been doing it? Do we even know?! Subsequent interrogation has verified that Dr. Clef has no knowledge of this event, and is ignorant as to the purpose of the message. You are not normal. THIS is normal.
Sure Are you sure... about that!??!
Fake by DeYtH Banger
DeYtH Banger Notes Before I start to talk about fake.... let's see what can in your mind come as first thoughts... or what are the possibilities? Can I put my glasses? Can I put my hat? Can I put my mask? Can I... before I do this all stuff....let me .... give me a chance to put my fake costume? Can I..... ..................... More likely fake people have glasss... hat... mask... fake costume... fake smiles... even the worst picture of fakeness... is that in the end we find that nothing was for real... all was marely a part of the fake illusion.... everything... exaggerating about themselfs.............. like putting soo incredible stuff that.... they look in somebody else faces.... perfect and it's fucking ... unbelieveable.... - The stuff they say! (P.S. I hope this kind of story suprises you and you find it enjoying....)
A Victim of My OWN Mind - Should I be a fucking victim, won't I? - I Really don't want to do that... - I really don't want even to be here - I really don't want to be with him - I really don't want to be with them............................ her - I really don't want to show my real self... .... IF we look deeper, your mind doesn't makes "You"... "You" are made from something else... that you have mind doesn't means it's yours and that's who you really are... - Mind is just a tool... more likely a free tool like the computer softwares and pirate films/books/series and etc.... - Unfortunately your mind is unique... so yo are fucking damn unique victim, aren't ya? ............... FUCKING.....AREN'T YA?!.....FUCKING.....AREN'T YA?!..... FUCKING.....AREN'T YA?!..... FUCKING.....AREN'T YA?!..... FUCKING.....AREN'T YA?!..... FUCKING.....AREN'T YA?!..... A Victim of my own hands - Have you ever had the feeling that you can't control your hands? You even can't do anything on that problem... somebody starts fight and you start shouting (COME ON.... COME ON... COME ON.... FUCKING HIT ME... BASTARD)... you insult your enemy............. he gets angrier and what happens? - He start hitting you... each hit is more paintful and more and
more and more... (And you shout ON your hands... come on... PLEASE.... ONE DAY...... more .... one fucking day more... come on... HEY HANDS... DON'T STAY LIKE THAT......) - What really happens in this delusion of yours? More likely your hands slowly are moving and they are fucking doing nothing to defend you... WEAK IN YOUR OWN HANDS..... WEAK IN YOUR OWN HANDS... WEAK IN YOUR OWN HANDS....WEAK IN YOUR OWN HANDS....WEAK IN YOUR OWN HANDS... (Do my work which is start repeating this in your mind and how does this makes you feel?... ) - How!? (SHARE THE FUCKING FEELING - Now I am going to take the role of Freeman a Fucking ignorant a symbol ignorance.... hatefulness..... - Now a victim of your own mind... a victim of your own hands? Come on... Come on...Come on...Come on...Come on...Come on...Come on................ How much fucked up is THAT...THAT? - Your mind plays a tape inside of your brain soooooooooo much pleasure is going to come on the way... a booster full of adrenaline is going to raise from your veins (--- Fucking ready cut them... because you are there again and again and again... and you want to see the fucking murder... the fucking killing... it just makes you fucking good... it gives you sooooooooo awesome feeling.... so incredible pleasure...)............. Mind Level 1: Jerkoff... Handjob... BlowJob...Boobsjob... Blowjob... Handjob... Doggy Style... Cum on the face...Jerkoff... Handjob... BlowJob...Boobsjob... Blowjob... Handjob... Doggy Style... Cum on the face...Jerkoff... Handjob... BlowJob...Boobsjob... Blowjob... Handjob... Doggy Style... Cum on the face...Jerkoff... Handjob... BlowJob...Boobsjob... Blowjob... Handjob... Doggy Style... Cum on the face...Jerkoff... Handjob... BlowJob...Boobsjob... Blowjob... Handjob... Doggy Style... Cum on the face...Jerkoff... Handjob... BlowJob...Boobsjob... Blowjob... Handjob... Doggy Style... Cum on the face...Jerkoff... Handjob... BlowJob...Boobsjob... Blowjob... Handjob... Doggy Style... Cum on the face...Jerkoff... Handjob... BlowJob...Boobsjob... Blowjob... Handjob... Doggy Style... Cum on the face...Jerkoff... Handjob... BlowJob...Boobsjob... Blowjob... Handjob...
Doggy Style... Cum on the face...Jerkoff... Handjob... BlowJob...Boobsjob... Blowjob... Handjob... Doggy Style... Cum on the face...Jerkoff... Handjob... BlowJob...Boobsjob... Blowjob... Handjob... Doggy Style... Cum on the face...Jerkoff... Handjob... BlowJob...Boobsjob... Blowjob... Handjob... Doggy Style... Cum on the face...Jerkoff... Handjob... BlowJob...Boobsjob... Blowjob... Handjob... Doggy Style... Cum on the face...Jerkoff... Handjob... BlowJob...Boobsjob... Blowjob... Handjob... Doggy Style... Cum on the face...Jerkoff... Handjob... BlowJob...Boobsjob... Blowjob... Handjob... Doggy Style... Cum on the face... - Sounds like.... it's the fucking beginning you won't do anything else without having this in mind, would ya? Mind Level 2: So what's going to be the skin colour of the girl? Yellow? .. .White!?.... Black!?................. How about Nails? - What type of nails do you want....specific!? - Long ones... Short ones (P.S. AS always I fucked up the word ones with once.... off come on.....).... How about the colour of the nails? ... - Pink? Red?... White?... Or without any manicure!?.... How about the style of the hair.... how about the colour of the hair? (Note: More likely a level full of questions about "Who" am I searching for... like how do I want to look like the person who I am going to watch... who is going to be the fucker her husband... boyfriend.. Best Friend... Friend.... or!?) - Off come on.... few more moves and you are going really to fuck somebody (That's what my mind says to me...)... don't stop (In fake - It happens like I am fucking her for real....)..... In real... the truth is that.... I am very....very....very... far away from that.... I am fucking....just in front of my monitor at home and jerking off.... Mind Level 3: How about the FUCKING CATEGORY!? - Lesbian.... Mature... Gay..... Asian.... French....Deep Throat.... Anal... Deep Pussy.... Old/Young... .Teen........ How about where is going to start?.....At the Kitchen?..... At the Living Room? ..... Hall? ..... BatRoom?.... In the Car.... In the Bus..... Outside.... .... At school.... How about the situation? (LEt's take a look more deeper from Boyfriend and.... husband.... little more deeper...) A student and a
teacher...Sister and a brother.... Mother and Son... Wife and Husband.... Best Friends = Two females.... Group Sex............................................. Mind Level 4: (So you had the money... you bought the drugs....and now you are on drugs....(SO GET IT LIKE....) YOU ARE FUCKING READY!) - Slowly you start using your other hand... and start jerking off with the thought that somebody else is doing that while you are relaxing (SOUNDS VERY SICK... BUT THAT'S WHO YOU ARE.... OUTSIDE JUST PERFECT....INSIDE A CREATURE OUT OF HELLL... FULLL OF SINS...) Jerkoff, BlowJob.... Handjob.... Doggy Style.... .Cum On the face....
JerkOff YOu are fucking Jerk.....Jerk.....Jerk... soOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO yEAH GO AND PUT IT OFF........ Handjob - I know one type of work which can involve one of your hands.... (It's logical.....) BLowjob - Off, come on.... Off Come on.... REALLY.... REALLY.... SO FUCKED UP AND SCREW UP!?... iS IT REALLY THE DICK BLOWED FROM THE BIATCH?... (oPPS... EXCUSE ME... i MEAN FROM THE COOL WOMAN (Biatches don't exist...but the Beach exist)) In other words while sucking your dick air gets in your dick... throw your dick hole.... Doggy Style FUCKING....FUCKING....FUCKING....FUCKING....FUCKING....FUCKING....FUCKING....FUC I am going to invite the dogs... for the Doggy Style... I like that fucking doggy style one of my FAV. Cum on the Face - Oopsss... Oppps..... Oppss....I just spilled my milk.... ON YOU!
A victim of your Own Thoughts Aren't you a victim Aren't you? ARen't you? Aren't ya? It takes you hours to think about something own.... like to build... an opinion.... so you fucking leave your brain "OFF" not to be used and you use somebody else brain.... for that... .OFF COME ON.... OFF COME ON... that's a fucking...... Cliche.... - For God sake! Roles Roses... Rose.... I victim on the beach... next to me there is one bitch and next to her there are few more bitches.... ................................. But This logically viewed is more likely a role from the future taking it as a feature.... Words = Biatches.... and vice versa..... (That's HELL... and you WANT MORE.... so much confusions... nightmares...) I lived.................. let's little fix it "DEVIL I" - Come on,... so God, thinks that "I lived" is
the fucking devil... I hope I don't reach that checkpoint "I lived..." - It's fucked up.... I ived = I was.... so let's take it more likely as a "I was".... I was a fake person... I was a fake user not once... but more than once... neither and twice..... (BUY ME a device by playing random moves with this dice... let the vice take that part....) If it's about the feeling, it's AMAZING... IT'S FUCKING AWESOME.... playing with somebody's feelings... making them wet and even if you take the role of a girl... you won't believe what happen... SO I am going to tell you...... I took the role of Female... a lot of people sended me requests to add them even they started sending me perv photos... after I comfirm their requests..... I most likely took a role of a Pornstar... (To be perfect.... ) I took some some twitter images........ of this user getting know her more and more and more then I used that against the humans... more likely the male race....it was like I am above everyone... I am somebody's boss.... - Cool enough... (BUt still it was in the name of the science... the other times as for the first ones.... they were just a joke... I wanted they to test that...) - It was basically a revenge... somebody hurts you... then Why you don't try hurt them slowly... first to show them to taste of their poison.... To go perfect and to ruin it perfectly you should perfect in moves... First in 1 year or less than a 1 year make them feel different/special... try the role as a Psychopath... start likeing what they like... start talking about how you are going to do alll that bad stuff (Don't worry if you get little wet... from yourself... if you do that... it's a good SIGN ISN'T IT...!??! - i GONNA TELL YOU AS MUCH YOU WET BECOME AS MUCH YOU BECOME)... IF YOU PRACTICE THIS TO MAKE THEM FUCKING TRUST YOU AND TO MAKE THEM IN SUCH POSITION THAT IF YOU GIVE THEM THEIR POISION... THEY ARE GOING FUCKING DIE FROM THAT FOR REAL IN REAL...) - AS a second step you could start from the small problems and to make them bigger...
(BUT REMEMBER DEPENDS which role are you going to play... as what gender and remember always you CAN FUCKING FIND NEGATIVE... - jUST BE PATIENT... NEGATIVE IS THE REASON i AM HERE... (as FOR LITTLE HONESTY... i AM HERE... TO PUT YOU ON DEEPER LEVEL...ON NEGATIVE... MY MIND WORKS ON NEGATIVE... ONLY ON THAT SHIT...) - It's easy AS FOR ME.... I could do that... Just putting my "Female" mask and look me... "I am a biatch..."... "I am whore""" .... "I am one fucking bad girl...".... - A tip... a fucking tip from me... to be perfect.... (FUCKING ANAlysis people... behavior... status... way of talking everything... if it's needed write some notes on how your mother gets fucked or how your fathers your mother who knows.... Just go as much deeper... as I am going to go... - I ain't gonna become a gay... but stilll I am a normal person and I just like to be on deeper level... (Come one I don't give a shit.... that's even not me... Bill said that... (Really I said that!??/ BIlll... come on...come on... You little piggie...piggie yOU ARE FUCKING AFRAID AREN'T YA!??!))) - People like me aren't the best friend (if you have in mind that each of your steps gets a note...)... Just a Analysis I can be you... I can be perfect... I can't be!? - You don't want to wish your nightmare, do ya? - I can do that... but I CAN BET IN THAT... YOU AIN'T GONNA LIKE IT.... I AM GOING TO MAKE YOU FUCKINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG SCARED................. (rOLES, AREn't bad ...... ain't ....shoutin!?) Hurt People hurt you in the name of fake... - IF you think that this is something special... and something very exciting you aren't fucking right with your mind ... Fake is a lie...
based on illusions and delussions... It's fucked up when you understand that you have spend so much time with somebody and in the end what do you see!? - YOu see somebody playing with you... HE is fake.... She is FAke.... .... even can't he/she fit your category - But this is other problem (P.S. If I am hurting you... I am very sorry... that's the world and you should take this.... easy or on the fucking hard way.... you will need to take it... better now than latter... latter isn't as always forever later............) Insult (FreeMan was the whole beginning of all ... A guy who likes to see how people get angry... as for me I am more sick him that... I AM YOUR NIGHTMARE... BETTER TO GET CONFUSED THAN TO UNDERSTAND YOU... iF i UNDERSTAND YOU... YOU AIN'T GONNA LIKE IT... TO BE HONEST, IT'S NOT O NTHE RECORD BUT STILLL i CAN SAY THAT... i FUCKINGGGGGGGGGGGGGG LIKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TO TAKE NOTES OF HOW YOU GET FUCKED... HOW YOU MOVE... EACH STEP... EACH THING... i LIKE THAT...... sO BASSICALY SOONA i AM GOING TO PREDICT YOUR NEXT MOVE) Fake is more like a excuse... but kind of in a nice way and in the same time it's something very....VERY....VERY....VERY BAD more likely insultING you... Showing you how weak are you... Showing your leaks of your system and how much vulnerable you in real are.... - But that's the beginning...
Once upon a time.... You were the fake person... you were in the costume of a fake person... You enjoy it and now IT"S TIme to be "I" as a feature in that costume... My time to start controlling my life.... My time to stop letting somebody to play with my feelings.... My time to start hurting people.... My time for revenge.... My time for level of insanity My time to show you how I feel My time to show you my preparation... in this dedication.... for the fucking ENDITCATION which is fucking TOO COMPLEX FOR SUFFOCATION
Know Don't tell me... taht you now find out that The Life of One kid is based upon my life!?!?!
ForceFul By DeYtH Banger
Forceful Don’t be so forceful, don’t make yourself to do stuff which you don’t want. Don’t go so forceful on this path,.............it’s still the beginning. Don’t be forceful to go in a change for in this little range. RAGE IS near to change… but it’s own way it’s need a charge… not very simple… but the agy one….
Forceful, so sinful thoughts… so horrible and insane pictures, but is that in middle? .... iF NOT WHAT'S GOING TO BE IN THE MIDDLE!?
//////////////// .................................. Where is even the middle, are we even!? Searching for AN A answer… a question… and even for the middle and the beginning...so TELLL ME… DEAR READER AND SO
FUCKING GOOD LEADER WHAT'S GOING TO BE THE FIRST!? The event is very even.,...... AND EVENwho is behind that mask!? And who is behind that wall… so silent… at the morning and so FUCKING LOUDER IN THE NIGHT… Forceful is something which is in moment for little period of time… You do that just to punish yourself, but why do you punish yourself!? Why are you so stupid to do that? Are you dumb? We are now in whole new world and how does this world so fucking different... how!? Is it a bit on a pattern and little weakness?... And why do you do it again that... after so much centuries have been passed... after so much words have been exchanged... TEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL ME, WHY!?............. WHY!? (i AM NOT A VERY GOOD WRITER, BUT i MORE LIKELY A TYPER... A VICTIM OF MY MIND... A MIND WHICH DOESN'T LET ME TO BE FREE... i AM FUCKING SLAVE OF MY WHOLE MIND... LOCKED IN A BODY... A SPIRIT WHICH CAN'T MOVE... BECAUSE FROM ONE FUCKING MIND..............)
AND FUCKING POINT IS THAT......................................... It's still the beginning and “You” are the whole thing and the main point in this story…. You made the story... by taking part in it.... you were next to me... you were there................ You are now the main character, without you... I will won't write such a story... if there is a glitch probably you made it.... - YOU... FUCKING BASTARD... WHAT YOU SEE HERE IS HOW THE IFORMATION GOES IN AND THEN OUT FROM THE
MIND... HOW IT HAPPENS THE WHOLE MAGIC... - It's nothing tricky.... but more likely something very geeeky! Does it make you feel ......special... !? - Just a little....!? But before you answer, first ask your dear narrator...........what’s “Special” - What’s the meaning of that word… is that something which is rare? Forceful… to change… forceful to become more dreadful… and so...... EVENTFUL
.............................................
Series And Deeper Level is going to be here....
dsd Any................ thoughts!??!@?!?@?@?!@!?@!@?!?@!?@?#$??%
Mental Unstable Sorry, but I Wasn't mental unstable... that's why this happen... please excuse me....
Joking Of come on... I am just joking with ya!
SCP-002 Item #: SCP-002 Object Class: Euclid Special Containment Procedures: SCP-002 is to remain connected to a suitable power supply at all times, to keep it in what appears to be a recharging mode. In case of electrical outage, the emergency barrier between the object and the facility is to be closed and the immediate area evacuated. Once facility power is re-established, alternating bursts of X-ray and ultraviolet light must strobe the area until SCP-002 is re-affixed to the power supply and returned to recharging mode. Containment area is to be kept at negative air pressure at all times. Teams including a minimum of two (2) members are required within 20 meters of SCP-002 or its containment area. Personnel should maintain physical contact with one another at all times to confirm there is another person present, as perception may be dulled, skewed, or influenced by proximity to the object. No personnel below Level 3 are permitted within SCP-002. This requirement may be waived via written authorization from two (2) off-site Level 4 administrators. Command staff issued such a waiver must be escorted by at least five (5) Level 3 Security personnel for the duration of their contact and must temporarily surrender their rank and security clearance. Following contact, command staff will be escorted at least 5 km from SCP-002 to undergo a seventy-two (72)-hour quarantine and psychological evaluation. If deemed fit for return to duty by psych staff, rank and security clearance may be restored when quarantine expires. Description: SCP-002 resembles a tumorous, fleshy growth with a volume of roughly 60 m³ (or 2000 ft³). An iron valve hatch on one side leads to its interior, which appears to be a standard low-rent apartment of modest size. One wall of the room possesses a single window, though no such opening is visible from the exterior. The room contains furniture which, upon close examination, appears to be sculpted bone, woven hair, and various other biological
substances produced by the human body. All matter tested thus far show independent or fragmented DNA sequences for each object in the room. Refer to the Mulhausen Report [cross-ref:document00.023.603] for details related to object's discovery. Reference: To date, subject has been responsible for the disappearances of seven personnel. It has also in its time at the facility further furnished itself with two lamps, a throw rug, a television, a radio, a beanbag chair, three books in an unknown language, four children's toys, and a small potted plant. Tests with a variety of lab animals including higher primates have failed to provoke a response in SCP-002. Cadavers as well fail to produce any effect. Whatever process the subject uses to convert organic matter into furnishings is apparently only facilitated by the introduction of living humans. view Mulhausen Report docid:00.023.603 Mulhausen Report [00.023.603] The following is a brief report detailing the discovery of SCP-002 Subject was discovered in a small crater in northern Portugal where it struck the Earth from orbit. Encased in a shell of thick rock, the fleshy exterior of the object was exposed by the impact. A native farmer happened upon the site and reported his findings to the village elder. Subject gained SCP attention when a Level 4 agent posted in the area detected a small radioactive anomaly generated by the object. A collection squad of SCP security personnel led by General Mulhausen was immediately dispatched to the area where they quickly secured the subject in a large container and performed initial testing with subjects recruited from the nearby village. Three men individually sent into the structure subsequently disappeared. Upon discovering this deadly property of the subject, General Mulhausen issued a Level 4a Termination Order of any witnesses (roughly 1/3 of the village) to ensure no outside knowledge of the object and initiated its transport to SCP facility [DATA EXPUNGED]. During preparation for transport, four SCP security personnel were
inexplicably drawn inside the object where they too immediately disappeared. Following inspection, it appeared as if the object had "grown" several new furnishings and was beginning to look like the interior of an apartment room. General Mulhausen immediately ordered the requisition of several Class III HAZMAT suits for the remaining security team members, who proceeded to lift the container onto a waiting freight ship for transport to the SCP containment facility. [DATA EXPUNGED] [DATA EXPUNGED] Following the termination of General Mulhausen, SCP-002 was resecured by SCP staff and brought into special containment in [CLASSIFIED], where it currently resides. Staff with clearance below Level 3 have been denied access to the SCP-002 container without prior approval of at least two Level 4 staff after the Mulhausen incident.
Shades of Soul Cedit to Margbot Unknown are the varieties of darkness That are conceived within the hearts in existence The blood we bleed is red yet our souls are bled in different shades In different sins, It’s all bled away We are eaten away, some of us die with pieces of souls and others have become nothing but emptiness, they Have become one with the darkness that exists within the void That is hell. Are you the one who sold your soul to later beg for its return? No halo is deserved here or for that matter anywhere, it changes nothing You earn nothing. We just slowly lose it all. At the end of the journey we all go the same There are no untainted souls We all lie motionless and become part of the nothing.
Misunderstood Credit to SolonNight Monster, Demon, Sociopath, You claim to be these things, A dark force that should be feared and left alone, Feared because of your destructive power, And left alone for our own protection. But have you considered that maybe, Just maybe, It is really YOU that fears you? Has the darkness within you corrupted your heart, Taunting your mind, As the dark thoughts misguide you, Making you think you are something that you are not, So you push others away, For fear that they may reject you? Come closer my dear, Let me share a secret, For I too, Am a child of darkness, Shaped by the demons that taunt me, Making me fear my own nature, Besides, Even if you were a monster, That would only make you my monster.
Learn to Feel Credit to Batgirl2013 When you feel everything and anything all at once You become overwhelmed It's easy to block everything out, because that's what you were taught To suffer silently, these things won't matter No. You are human. You have emotions, feelings, pain Feel it. Let it consume you. Embrace it Do not ever harm others in your consumption. This is not their battle. It is yours. Embrace your suffering and grow from it Make hell your home And make the Devils within you your slaves
Somnambulate Credit to JanusSyndrome It only grows in the dark It only shows itself When it wants to Creeping close Watch out You never know Just when it'll come Right up behind your head You might try to turn back But you know that Won't work Now Slowly It takes hold And you can only Stand by and watch it grow You never never knew this That it was within Just waiting Inside No You forgot Forgot that it's you The monster in your bed So just close your eyes
And sleep tight Dawn comes Soon Wake up It's mourning But the nightmare Continues to live on
Beat Me Down Credit to BetweenWhiteWalls I am weak. I forgive far too quickly and I let everyone walk over me. I would let you hit me before I ever left you, I would let you spit on me over and over again and never once ask for forgiveness, and I'd still care for you and I would still be there for you and I would still want you in my life. I have let men emotional abuse me for months, without once thinking maybe I should leave. I have let people sexually use me over and over again, allowed the sickening feeling in my stomach to settle in, turned into a shell, let me be their object, I have let them fuck me and walk away without a care in the world, and I still love them. Some call me weak for blindly following those who do me wrong, for letting them hurt me so much. They are right. I am weak willed, weak bodied, I fall and I follow. And yet I have no regrets.
You Didn't Know Credit to SolonNight You gave me these wings, Because I once said, I wanted to fly... Baby, You never were good at saying, Goodbye, You didn't know, This heart was so cumbersome, You didn't know, That your heaven, Would be my grave, You didn't know... You didn't know... I trembled, And shook, And screamed, And cried, Down to my very core, Until the tears eventually... Drowned them all out... These wings could not Can not Be torn, Once bonded to the flesh, On my crimson-stained back. You carried me so high, You wanted to see me fly....
You didn't know, My heart had turned to stone, You didn't know... When you let me go...
Him Credit to By AsherFlo Fear wraps it's cold dead hands around my throat, I don't dare to turn the other way. How long has it been? When did this all start? My eyes close for a second, The lack of sleep is torturing to me. He made me this way, Those stares that are always there. Always watching. Madness has taken over. Sleep is nonexistent. I just sit in fear. Shaking. I can feel his cold dead eyes studying my every move. That face that you can never find, Searching for it only adds to my insanity. I can only feel his gloomy aura as it takes over thoughts. He is inside my head. He knows that. I can't take it anymore. I will die soon. But when? I see a silhouette getting closer. Walking faster.
It's him.
Spirit of the Damned Credit to SolonNight I peer into the complexities of your tormented soul, Jealous of all of the intricate shades, Even those brought by hell itself, Why must we all be so different, What does it mean to be inferior, Gaze into these ashen eyes of dispair, and answer to this empty chimera of suffering's creation, Answer the call of the lone wolf forgotten by the pack, Lift the butterfly whose wings hath been torn by the merciless child, Give inspiration to the uninspired rebel, Answer me this, What hell does one go through, To create a snapshot of a tormented soul, Distorted and encrypted in a portrait of drowned color, For all to observe for simple entertainment, Just hoping that someone will understand.
February 7, 2016 Credit to RabbitGoneMad Oh, What a fool I am for Warmth. As I feel it Kickstarting this mechanical heart of mine. The soft hum of the machinery, The gears turning, It blinds me. Even if it isn't real, Show me warmth, And I'll cling to it Tighter than most. I just wish it'd stay.. But even so, I'd wait in an eternal snow storm, Just for one moment of Warmth, For one moment of feeling the gears turning, Hearing my heart pitter patter.. A soft hand is my weakness, And an even more gentle voice Is my destruction. They know, But she believes different. I wish I knew who was right, But sometimes it's better not knowing.. I've always been in the dark with you, And that's why I've always been afraid.
Answer Really!? - That answer.... are you..............
Come On I ain't gonna talk until you ask the proper question..........
Present I made a present for you.... but you didn't....
Gasoline Credit to SilenceConrad629
I’ll pour it all out, All over this town, I’ll light it all on fire, And burn the whole thing down. This place is hell, And I’m making it the same, It’s the sickness in my head and the depression in my heart, They’re the ones to blame. Hell, I might even drink some, And swallow a lit match, Just to see what happens, Just to see if I’d catch. I can’t live on the same planet as she does, So this is how I’ll leave, I’ll perish in a blazing inferno, And leave nothing left to grieve. You can try to stop me all you want, But I’ll only listen to her, Everything around me is red and orange, My world is just a flaming blur. The smell of smoke fills my nostrils, The sounds of screaming fill my ears, The fire sizzles, As it meets with my tears. I pour the gasoline over myself, And touch my hand to the fire, This feels like something else I’ve felt… This feels like my desire. My skin turns black, My body goes into shock,
I lit everything on fire, Block after block. There’s no escape for me, Although there never was, Is it the flames that cleanse me now? Is that what it does? As my vision fades to black, I hear her say my name, And as the world burns to a crisp, I do the same. I feel her soft touch on me, As my life fades away, I feel her gentle lips touch mine, As I meet my final day. I feel her body against me, As I take my final breath, I feel her tears in my skin, As she joins me in death.
As I more As I more write... as more I get in horrible levels...
This is Not the End of the World Credit to OliverBPhotography It is the dawn of a new day; golden sunlight gently touches silver clouds over grassy fields. Deep down below sleeps a most radiant giant: Towering as high as ten men, he is stronger than a thousand thousand tons of TNT ready to strike at his foes at any moment. It is the dawn of a new day; golden sunlight on silver clouds reflects upwards into the skies above. High above soars the all-seeing eye: Not even taller than a man, it sees farther than any other eye can see the giant before he strikes. It is the dawn of a new day; golden sunlight reflected from silver clouds blinds the all-seeing eye. The giant must be attacking! Red lights and shrieking bells - one! two! three-four-five! strike terror into the hearts and minds of ordinary men, stopping dead in their tracks as if frozen in time. It is the dawn of a new day; golden sunlight from a dawn that may very well be the last one we'll ever see. There is no doubt: All systems are green. It is time to wake our own sleeping giants, and assure no one will live to see another day.
It is the dawn of a new day; golden sunlight and silver clouds are proving to be our downfall. One man and one man only dares to doubt the machine-minds; His conscience is heavy with burden as he decides to let his giants sleep. It is the dawn of a new day; Golden sunlight and silver clouds weren't seen for the last time. A simple man becomes a hero; not through what he did, but through what he didn't do. "This is not the end of the world", he thinks to himself. But without him it would have been.
SCP-003 Item #: SCP-003 Object Class: Euclid Special Containment Procedures: SCP-003 is to be maintained at a constant temperature of no less than 35°C and ideally kept above 100°C. No living multicellular organisms of Category IV or higher complexity may be allowed to come into contact with SCP-003. In event of total power failure, if SCP-003-1 begins to increase its mass, assigned personnel must engage in skin contact with SCP003-1. Ideally, personnel may use their body heat to return SCP003-1 to above the critical temperature; however, skin contact must be maintained even in event of SCP-003 reaching activation temperature, lasting at minimum until SCP-003-1 advances fully to its second growth stage. Personnel who enter SCP-003's containment area must first be examined for body parasites of Category IV or higher complexity, and sterilized if such organisms are present. All personnel who have come in physical contact with SCP-003-1 are to immediately report for sterilization afterwards. SCP-003-1 must not be removed from SCP-003-2 except in case of emergency procedures detailed above. Any significant change in SCP-003-2's rune activity (including pattern, frequency, or color) should be reported within three (3) hours of occurrence. Cessation of rune activity must be reported immediately. SCP-003-2 must be supplied with power via the source designated Generator 003-IX at all times. Description: SCP-003 consists of two related components of separate origin, referred to as SCP-003-1 and SCP-003-2. SCP-003-1 appears to be composed of chitin, hair, and nails of unknown biology similar to SCP-████ and SCP-████, arranged in a configuration similar to that of a computer motherboard. Testing reveals SCP-003-1 to predate earliest known circuit boards by a factor of thousands of years. SCP-003-1 is considered sentient but not actively dangerous except under certain conditions.
SCP-003-1 was found on a stone tablet, SCP-003-2, on which it currently resides. The runes on SCP-003-2 are not part of any known language, and emit pale, flickering light patterns. SCP-003-2 is controlled by a (non-biological) internal computer, the contents of which are mostly inaccessible without risk of damaging SCP-003-2. SCP-003-2 is capable of controlled emissions of radiation, including heat, light, and anomalous radiation types. SCP-003-2 contains an internal power source of an anomalous nature, which appears to have been losing power since several centuries before discovery. It is considered probable that SCP-003-2 was created for the purpose of containing SCP-003-1. Partially interpreted data recovered from SCP-003-2 may refer to a past and/or potential future LK-class restructuring event caused by SCP-003-1. SCP-003 was located by remote viewing team SRV-04 Beta. It appears possible that SRV-04 Beta was deliberately contacted by SCP-003-2. Other organizations have also been alerted to SCP-003's existence, possibly by similar means. Despite this activity, SCP-003-2 does not appear to be sentient, based on its lack of reaction to M03Gloria analysis and procedures. When SCP-003 drops below the temperature of 35°C, both components react. First, SCP-003-1 enters a growth state characterized by an exponential increase in mass. This growth state consists of two stages. In both stages, SCP-003-1 partially fuels its growth by converting matter around it, starting with any surrounding inorganic material, including atmospheric elements, then nonliving organic material, including cells of dead skin, hair, chitin, enamel, keratin, and other biological materials. The first stage is always the same. SCP-003-1 will first increase its mass, then take a form similar in shape to an ophiuroid (brittle star) of fifteen meters in diameter (including what appears to be a central processor of three meters in diameter). It will form sensory organs that appear to scan its surrounding environment, and will partially convert the area around it to an unidentified anomalous substance (SCP-003-2 seems immune from conversion). The second stage describes a growth alteration which occurs
when SCP-003 comes into contact with living organic material; SCP003 appears to "template" itself off of the organic material, and will attempt communication with organisms that match its initial "template" or "templates". In its second stage, SCP-003-1 may pause, slow or change its growth, and will also convert inorganic and nonliving organic elements into functionally similar structures while anomalously altering their physical makeup. While growth is consistent in the first stage, in the second stage SCP-003-1's growth rate is diminished by 20-90% so long as SCP003-1 remains in contact with living organic material. The percentage is determined by the complexity of the organism(s) in contact with SCP-003-1; SCP-003-1 appears to devote a large amount of processing power to analysis of living organic material. During each of SCP-003-1's growth stages, SCP-003-2 releases bursts of radiation that temporarily inhibit SCP-003-1's growth, or reverse this growth when the temperature of SCP-003-1 rises above 100°C. Similar radiation emissions have been replicated or recorded via other anomalous means. Addendum 003-01: Acting on information gathered from linguistic analysis of SCP-003-2's runes and comparative data analysis, Research Team M03-Gloria has managed to establish a link between SCP-003 and [DATA EXPUNGED] for analysis of functions. SCP-003-1 must now be considered sentient, and is to be kept a minimum of 1 km from [DATA EXPUNGED] and the resulting "byproduct" at all times. Addendum 003-02: SCP-003-2's power loss has been exacerbated by the procedures performed by M03-Gloria. On orders of O5-10, M03-Gloria will continue procedures. Addendum 003-03 During M03-Gloria procedures, SCP-003-1 doubled its mass and began rapid structural growth. Temperature was immediately returned to 100°C. Growth and mass increase of SCP-003-1 continued for 9 minutes and 6 seconds, at which time a sustained radiation spike was produced by SCP-003-2. In response, SCP-003-1 returned to its normal state in 3 minutes and 39 seconds. New growth dissolved into a dusty residue which was collected for analysis. Both SCP-003-1 and SCP-003-2 ceased all
detectable activity. SCP-003-2 did not resume activity until connected to external power source. SCP-003-2's runes glowed uniformly gray and did not resume normal activity for three (3) hours. SCP-003-2 no longer appears to be able to maintain containment area at a temperature above 35°C without external power supplied by Generators 003-III through IX. Addendum 003-04: The procedure detailed in Addendum 003-03 was repeated, and SCP-003-1 again entered a growth state. After 10 minutes and 13 seconds, SCP-003-2 once again produced a sustained radiation spike. SCP-003-1's growth stopped for 36 seconds, then resumed at its previous pace. On quadrupling its mass, SCP-003-1 formed a coherent outer shell and body. After appearing to scan its environment and partially converting its environment, SCP-003-1 then breached containment, entering the observation gallery where nine members of M03-Gloria were present. On physical contact with team members, SCP-003-1 encompassed them in rapidly-grown appendages and stopped growth for 15 minutes. SCP-003-1 then resumed growth, and rearranged the component parts of the center of its form to the shape of a three-meter-tall female humanoid, with peripheral "tentacles" shifting to extrude primarily from SCP-003-1's newly formed "hair" and spine. SCP-003-1 then produced rudimentary vocalizations in an apparent initial attempt to communicate with researchers. [DATA EXPUNGED] An unknown individual approached the compromised containment area in company of a full squad of agents. The individual claimed to be acting on orders of O5-10 and attempted communication with SCP-003-1. [DATA EXPUNGED] Following this incident, Agent Jackson of M03-Gloria successfully restored power to SCP-003-2 and activated backup generators to return the temperature to 100°C. SCP-003-1 returned to its normal state in 21 minutes and 7 seconds, and was successfully recontained without incident. All nine members of M03-Gloria affected by SCP-003-1 were afterwards found to be physically unharmed, with no residual effects besides psychological trauma. The converted materials of SCP-003's former containment area did not dissolve and are now under
analysis. Addendum 003-05: In light of the previous incident, O5-10 was removed from the O5 Council by joint decision of O5-██, O5-██, and O5-██. M03-Gloria procedures have been indefinitely suspended.
Invidia Credit to OliverBPhotography
A folly of proportions worthy of a titan to believe the green-eyed monster had been slain; it never dies, never loses, merely retreating to the shadows. Scheming, plotting; sweet and cruel it keeps on whispering in my ear. For it is neverending and relentless, and it does not fight fair: Striking from the dark with claws made of doubt and a tongue made of the most wicked lies. But worse yet, its deadly fangs are forged in the fires of love and affection. All it takes is a word or two and all hell breaks loose: No chains can hold the beast in place when it lunges at me, slashing at the heart when the defenses are down. Know that I will not succumb to the beast's temptation, no matter which poison it aims at the heart or mind; but know just as well that I will not give up Countless battles and wars I have lost (so many that I have become good at losing) but this is the one I can not afford to lose; They say 'all is fair in love and war', but I've never been one to play by the rules, for I intend to win fair and square.
The Day Credit to vampychick1 You put a predator in the eyes of every man, The day you reached forward with a greedy, grasping hand. I can still feel your touch there and I can see it behind my eyes, Long hands and longer fingers gripping at my thighs. You taught me danger wasn’t just in dark alleyways and strangers who would leer, But also in the people you thought you could trust and the ones you hold dear. The day you pulled me close, panting in my ear, The day you taught me a whole new level of fear.
You put a panic in my speech, When I talk to every new man I meet. The day you held me in ways you knew was wrong. Where you burned memories into me that are lifelong. When you loomed above me and carved away my trust, Because you decided I was a better way to slake your lust.
The day you decided I was a woman before the right time, The day you thought saying “it’s just a game” stopped it from being a crime.
You put a paranoia in my mind, That has me on edge with each man I find. As I close my eyes and feel the weight of the blindfold there, I can still feel the weight of your stare. As you pushed and shoved pulled as you pleased, Before putting me before yourself on my knees. The day you decided my innocence was yours to take. The day you showed me that trusting you was a mistake.
You put a bitterness in my heart, When the sentence “your word against his” tore me apart. That day I sat young, timid and frail, And a male policeman sat me down and said the court would believe you: the older, bigger male. The day you decided to take advantage of me, Was the day you got to walk away from it without consequence:
completely free. The day you decided you liked the look and feel of my hips. The day you tried to see if you could find a use for my lips.
You put a statistic on my back, The day you roughly tugged me onto your lap. The day you made me part of the population who got abused, All because you got tired of your hand and wanted something new to use. When you drove yourself into a frenzy and had no shame, As all the time you kept repeating “it’s just a game”. The day you tried to tell yourself I wanted it too. The day I saw the darker side of you.
You put a dark memory in my mind, That surfaces at the worst of times. The day the police ignored my allegation, Was the day I gave myself determination. Determination that I won’t let you win,
That my life won’t be ruined by you and your sin. The day you decided my body was ideal, The day I got stronger and my skin turned to steel.
You took a lot of things that day, Then taught me a lot of things in the harshest way. But the day I give up and let you win, Is the day hell freezes over.
Because in all your fondling and grabbing you failed to see, That I’m a goddamn warrior, and I won’t let you beat me.
I Know You Credit to THEBanana316
Can you sense it? There’s an eye on you Someone watching Always watching you Can you feel it? Someone behind you But when you turn Nobody there Can you hear it? The heavy footfall In the street Behind you Can’t you see it? The reflection of the follower In every window You’ve passed for years Don’t you know me? I’ve loved you since I saw you Ever since Don’t you know me? I know you…
My nighttime habit may have saved my life. This happened two nights ago, so I’m still replaying it over and over in my head. I thought this would be a good place to share. I’m a pretty predictable person, with a predictable schedule, so I’m not sure if this was a random occurrence or if someone knew my nightly routine. I’m a 35 year old woman. My husband Rob gets up for work hours before me, so he goes to bed before I do. I usually get to bed a few hours after he does, around the same time every night. I turn off the lights and tv in the living room and take my dog to the back door to let her out (she’s tiny, old, and poses zero threat to anyone). The door leads to a large deck outside. Off to the right of the deck is a few steps down and a small path to the gate, which we always keep chained and locked. Every single night before opening the door, I peek out of the window right next to it without disturbing the blinds, and flip on the deck light. I never expect anyone to be there, and we’ve never had a problem with anyone trespassing or trying to break in. It’s just something I do, every night. Kinda like peeking behind the shower curtain before I pee – I know no one is back there, but if I don’t check, then that’s going to be the one time that there actually is someone hiding there, ya know? Hey, I watch a ton of horror movies and it’s pitch black outside at night where I live. So a few nights ago, I got ready for bed, went to the back door with my dog slowly following behind me, and peeked out the window. I flipped on the light. My heart jumped into my throat when I saw a skinny, dirty guy in his 30’s/40’s standing off to the side of the door, facing it. I see him raise his arm up and hold a screwdriver above his head as soon as the light went on, preparing for someone to open the door.
I screamed “ROB GET UP!! GET THE GUN!!” as loud as I could which startled the guy, and he jumped over the rail of the deck (even though he was right next to the stairs) and ran. My husband ran out of our bedroom with his gun. He called the police and they showed up within 5 minutes. They drove around trying to find the guy, but no luck. The guy broke the lock on our gate to get in. He also pried open the back screen door, which we always keep locked as well. If I would have opened the door without looking out first…I might be dead. I don’t know if I caught the guy trying to break in, or if he was waiting for me to open the door like I do every night. Either way, it was fucking terrifying. My parents are buying us outdoor security cameras this week as an early birthday present for Rob.
After School Nightmare Credit to nature_lover_
This story goes back a few years ago when I was a 17-year old high school student. Every day I’d walk the 25 or 30 minute journey to and from school. There was a short cut I could take home that took some time off of the walk and, as a nature lover, the short cut was very enjoyable (I’ve included a diagram since the setting of this story is not very easy to describe – sorry for my shitty 3D representation). Diagram: http://s1074.photobucket.com/user/nature_lover_/media/IMG_20160302_1750 Whenever I’d walk home alone, I would take this short-cut to enjoy the small amount of forest we have in the medium sized, moderately busy city I live in. My short-cut was pretty well traveled and I would occasionally see other people walking from their neighbourhood towards the busy streets close-by or other students walking home from my high school or the college. Sometimes, there would be no one but me on the path. To give you an idea, the path definitely was not groomed but it was traveled enough you could make out a path from being trampled over the years. The short-cut started off from the busy road by my high school and went into a low-lying open wooded area with some small ponds. After a few minutes of this I could veer right up the big hill towards the street parallel to my street. One day I was walking home from school after staying a bit late for extra help. A few minutes into my short-cut I noticed a guy standing off the main path a bit, seemingly minding his own business and talking on a cell phone. There was an open backpack sitting on the ground by his feet (growing up with overprotective parents and in martial arts, I have always been a very cautious person and take in a lot of details...especially being a young girl out walking alone). This wasn’t unusual by any means since the entire low-lying area is traveled and there are numerous paths off the main path leading different directions, since it isn’t a thick forest (sort of like a free-for-
all for walking). Sometimes people would stand off the busy road while waiting for the bus stop close-by, not wanting to stand in all the traffic fumes while people sped by during rush hour. The only thing I took caution of was that I had been seeing him there a few times that week and had never seen him before. But oh well…maybe he was a college student or just moved into the area. This time walking on the short-cut felt different though...possibly because there was no one else on the path today...but I started to get this bad feeling in my stomach (the one everyone has a hard time describing but most people know too well. Something was not right). I was already well along my short-cut though and I decided to blame my feelings on me being paranoid (which is not uncommon of me). I kept an eye on him out of my peripheral vision walking by and he continued to talk on his cell phone and didn’t seem suspicious. So I continued on my merry way. I must have walked 20 or 25 metres away when the guy stopped talking on the phone and I felt an even bigger feeling of dread in my gut. I turn around to see him crouched over, phone gone, fidgeting around with some sort of cloth and a brown glass bottle. Before I had a second to register what the fuck he was doing, his head shoots up in my direction and the look in his eyes is a terrifying mix between “I’ve been caught” and “I’m not stopping now”. He drops everything, leaving his shit behind, and starts sprinting straight for me...cloth in hand. At this point I’m too far away from the busy road for anyone to see me in the low-lying woodland with this crazy fuck and I’m too far away to scream bloody murder. My first instinct in that split second decision is to run towards my neighbourhood. I decided this all as I turned around, throwing my heavy backpack on the ground and sprinting as fast as I could, starting up the hill towards my neighbourhood. Judging by appearance, this guy looked like he could break me in two with no effort and I trusted my flight response more than my fight response. Plus I didn’t know what the fuck he had in his hand. All throughout school I had been the top cross country and track runner in my entire school, out of the female and male teams. My running had been my saviour on a few other “let’s not meet” worthy
occasions, but soon into the chase I knew it wouldn’t be enough this time. This guy was fucking FAST AS SHIT and I could tell he was slowly gaining on me without even looking back. I finally see some fenced in backyards up ahead and hoping people are home from work, I start trying to scream “help!” as much as I could with my out of breath/useless voice. I make a split decision to start jumping fences of people’s yards, hoping this guy’s hurdling skills are shittier than his running. The first fence throws him off, but by the second into the next yard he is on my ass and I feel him come insanely close to grabbing my leg. I am shitting myself at this point. I see no cars in driveways, no sign of anyone home and the only thing that is keeping me from panicking and wiping out in my exhausted state is thinking that I may not ever see my family or friends again. The next yard belongs to people I know rather well, including their dog. (Necessary background interruption: this house was close to my street on the street parallel to mine and I have come to know their dog rather well since they recently moved in. My friend hated the short-cut and sometimes I would walk to school with her on the street down the hill to the busy street. This dog was huge and an absolute maniac and, usually, when kids were walking to school they would put him in the backyard instead of their front yard since he would growl and scare the shit out of the kids walking by while he was tied outside. I love animals so every time we’d walk by I’d talk calmly to him through his menacing “I’ll fuck you up” barks. Every time he’d be slightly less vicious to me, until one day the nice people who lived there gave me a treat to give him and, after that, the dog was a nice stop on the way to school. The dog’s name is Leo). With that next yard and my newly acquired friend in sight, I had never felt hope like I did in that moment. By some insane stroke of luck, they let him out in their backyard for the afternoon while they were at work. When Leo saw me frantically running toward him he started wagging his tail, then looked to the guy chasing close behind me and he started growling. I thought this would be enough to get the guy to fuck off but no. He started to jump over the fence the second after I did, but the dog jumped up and his teeth came so close
to his face that the creep fell backwards into the other yard straight on his ass as I fell into the dog’s yard on my ass. The creep and I stared at each other out of breath for a few seconds, while the dog was barking and jumping like mad at the fence at him. Maybe he was assessing if he could take on Leo or not. I prayed the creep didn’t have a knife or something. The guy looked angrier than I’ve ever seen a person and after a few seconds got up and started running back down the hill from where we came. I sat there for a few seconds in complete shock and couldn’t move, until my hero started licking my face. I snapped out of it and ran to the backdoor and started pounding. They obviously weren’t home, or else they probably would have heard what just went down. My house was close so I jumped the fence and ran the rest of the way home and called the cops to investigate and try to find the guy. I gave them the best description I could after coming practically face to face with him. The dude’s bag was gone and so was every trace of him. They found my poor backpack in a muddy puddle and the police told me they’d keep looking. Never saw the guy again and I didn’t hear anything more about it and after calling the office a few times I gave up. They told me during that time they had received sketchy reports (people being stalked, chased, etc. But nothing like mine) over the last few months and there were a few missing person cases. But in a city like the one I’m from (not the worst but not the best), you can never connect anything like that for sure. The more I thought about it over the years, the more fucked up it is and the more confused I am. First, if he was trying to kidnap me why didn’t he think of a better way to grab and snatch me into the forest before I had the chance to get away or before another trailgoer possibly walked by? He didn’t appear to have a weapon on him or anything except that creepy cloth. And what the hell did he have in his hand? A friend thought it may have been chloroform. But I did research on it and apparently it’s more a myth that pouring it on a rag and covering a person’s face causes them to faint very quickly. Plus, where the hell would you get it anyway? Thanks to that asshole I never walked the short-cut anymore without, at least, two friends...and pepper spray or some sort of protection. So...sex-trade kidnapper, amateur stalker, serial killer or
whatever the fuck you are…let’s never ever meet again. Leo got lots of extra lovings whenever I saw him.
Meet By DeYtH Banger (A whole New work!) - Near to New York I have problems with leaving my comfort zone. Now to be more accurate sometimes my mind just wants to move… then in other time I am too afraid of doing that… it's FUCKING circle…. A loop after all it points advantages…. then disadvantages. As for now my TV is with black screen with sound, more likely like a radio… no images…nothing… just sounds and voices. To be honest it's a nice start… first preparing to walk without one leg (Please, god to save me from that comming true… I like my both legs… and hands)…. After all I learnt that - Psssssf…. Not big deal. But people take it as something strange… odd and even very very creepy… Probably - Yeah, I am FUCKING creep. But I like to get prepared for all types of situations. Probably and I am for you… something like the most oddest and strangest and creepiest attraction you have ever saw… Easy to be understand sometimes… others a bit hard… some others too complex or even impossible. But I can't be Perfect, can I?… … Now as for me…learning to understand everything like whole image… with only sound - Nothing against that but it's very fucked up. On the record, That's the worst and last place you want to be….. (Sometimes shit somebody owes you… or sometimes it should be removed.)
As for other stuff, I miss the fucking of this big ass of this hot BIATCH and what I don't understand is why this people are watching me like that… Okay I am very pervert this days…. I want to suck a furry pussy… But who has said that I can't be such type of person… my teacher of shopping economy as for honesty have one FUCKING deep and big ass for now… 5-6 times fucking that ass will be awesone, even slapping her ass. Very nasty, as for other features I don't like her face… probably and her pussy isn't big deal… but still she has a pussy…. Ass. . And Boobs… which could give me some pleasure. I fucking like it… when she catch me looking her and with her glasses on her face… It makes me just FUCKING….FUCKING….FUCKING…..FUCKING CRAZY…CRAZY… So If she gets in my hands… It won't be a fucking bad idea… to jerkoff and cum over her whole body… it will be the best record I have ever made. I like seeing her mouth open, while she is making twerk dance with her ass on my dick. … But if we are going to talk about pervert stuff… Why not the best blowjob made from the woman - My boss - I bet 400$ that she is hot… if not. Still she could do some awesome stuff… footjob is a nice start and as a kind of job… feetjob… playing with my dick by using only her feet fingers…. Sounds awesome.. What surprises me is to see her licking her feet and foot from the sperm… …l3t's remove that!? HEY BIATCH WANNA WE TO PLAY??? HEY BIATCH WANNA WE TO PLAY??? HEY BIATCH WANNA WE TO PLAY??? HEY BIATCH WANNA WE TO PLAY??? HEY BIATCH WANNA WE TO PLAY???
…. PROBABLY AS A CONS AND PROS A KNIFE IN THE ASS… IT'S ALL ABOUT THE GAIN. BUT REMEMBER I AM FEELING BETTER WITHOUT YOU… SOONA IN THE END I will BECOME LIKE MY ENEMY………… …. MATRIX. BUT REMEMBER I AM FEELING BETTER WITHOUT YOU… SOONA IN THE END I will BECOME LIKE MY ENEMY………… …. MATRIX BUT REMEMBER I AM FEELING BETTER WITHOUT YOU… SOONA IN THE END I will BECOME LIKE MY ENEMY………… …. MATRIX BUT REMEMBER I AM FEELING BETTER WITHOUT YOU… SOONA IN THE END I will BECOME LIKE MY ENEMY………… …. MATRIX BUT REMEMBER I AM FEELING BETTER WITHOUT YOU… SOONA IN THE END I will BECOME LIKE MY ENEMY………… …. MATRIX … OH, SO GRATEFUL… I just removed the wanky Danny BIATCH.. . I have decided to don't tell you … who for real am I…. So fuck off.
As for the syndrome… as a young I always wanted to be woman which sucks I cocks…. (But as for now I don't know ya… I am little late a bit for school….) How did I passed up to 11 grade? My first time FUCKING somebody for real… It was when I was in 7 grade… I fucked the boss of my school with a cock which was a extra size - That's how I get the best! (THE BOSS IS A FEMALE NOT MALE) And this should explain, how I have reached here, the basic idea of what I do is more likely…. FUCKING..… FUCKING…. Without any relationships… just fuck buddies, more likely… I fuck you in REPLACE for good results!? (Relationships suck… so much emotions… drama and so many horrible stuff… even these days it's rare some kind of relationships or marriages to live longer… they are short on period As for "Now") It wasn't a bad sex, first I showed her that she is the boss by making her pants wet by using my tongue on he pants and spinning… spinning it in circle Over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND AGAIN AND AGAIN IN CIRCLE AROUND HER PUSSY… After few minutes she was wet… very wet… (you shouldn't be here… you should be there to see the adventure with this sweetie we done.) … Still, it's not big deal…It was my first time FUCKING somebody…. But still I have great memories from that adventure with this 40 Yeard old woman. She is a divorced woman, mainly that her husband didn't gave her what she deserved and should have…. Then to show her that… she is lucky…. I took her feet and I putted them in a such way…. So to be easy sucking her toes… one by one… One at a time… slowly and gently playing with her fingers….She was enjoying it… she was getting more and more wet…she even got so much horny that... she wanted more sex ….in her ass and pussy. Up today we are fuck buddies!
The Second was my biology TEACHER it started from looking her boobs and ass. (Here it was difficult to stop… I just couldn't stop…) She couldn't reject it… she was seeing my gaze since the beginning of when we met… and she has become my biology teacher…. So she decided to use that as something like a advantage… and this went in a step in which she started to flirt with me… First at school… then out school (To be honest… she was FUCKING hot chick) … then as a third she started to Push…. Push her as on my dick… even kind of twerking around my dick with clothes on…. This fucked up thing…. happen at the Subway…. Inside… In front of so many people…. ( I decided to ask her on date… after all I had chances to be with her..) The date more likely went FUCKING her… on her bed in her room… She started to play with herself as first by touching her pussy with her wet fingers… by putting them inside… and slowly moving them IN…OUT….IN… OUT….IN….OUT….IN….OUT….IN….OUT….IN….OUT….IN…OUT SHE STARTED moaning… I couldn't hold myself and I started jerking off in her mouth…… she very fast moved from playing with her pussy to…. PLAYING WITH HER HOT…SEXY…. HUGE BOOBS.. . By sucking them and getTING MORE AND MORE AND MORE HORNY. I tried my best… and making her whole body full of cum….Her kissing was incredible… Sucking… Kissing….sucking…kissing.... My whole dick went wet. My balls were FUCKING wet… from her! It was one great night! - Today we still FUCK even with her boss we make some kind of mixes. It's really awesome.
Secrets Credit to MikeTheBoomer When I left for work one day last October, I had no idea that my life would change forever. The car accident left me with permanent brain damage. But to me it wasn't damaged at all, it had simply been altered. When I came into contact with someone, I instantly knew their secrets. Knowing everyone's secrets seemed fun at first, but people keep secrets for a reason. My relationship broke down when I kissed my girlfriend and knew that she had cheated on me while I was in a coma in the hospital – several times. My work suffered when my boss told me he would be insistent that the company keep me on. His handshake told me he would do the exact opposite. I hoped that this ability would leave me in time but it only got worse. Soon, I no longer needed to touch someone to know their secrets. I just need to see them – even it if was only a picture in a magazine. When the President appeared on television to address the nation about the population crisis and how there simply weren’t enough resources to sustain all of us, I knew the measures he proposed were lies and I knew what he was actually planning. I tried to warn people but no one took me seriously. And why would they? My dad always told me 'Look out for number one' and that's what I'm doing now. I've built my new home in the wilderness and this will be where I stay for the foreseeable future. I'm sure as Hell not going to be in the city when they unleash that plague.
... by DeYtH Banger
.... "..." - The WOrds can't explain the way... I feel! How about you? - Do they express you? Do they really show the way you feel? The way you are now....!? ... Words, since the beginning to explain the way you feel... cold....depression... pressure.... (confession... fashion...) (- I just said that... because I couldn't hold myself... and you are the fucking same type... aren't ya? AREN'T YA?... AND YOU ARE GOING TO JUDGE ME?... REALLY? ).... AND THERE ARE and so much other type of mixed feelings... and is there a word IN THIS FUCKING WORLD which could explain this? Is there? Is there one word which could show what's that? Nope, I am not lieing... Nope, I am not lieing... Nope, I am not lieing... Nope, I am not lieing...
Nope, I am not lieing... Nope, I am not lieing... Nope, I am not lieing... Nope, I am not lieing... Nope, I am not lieing... Nope, I am not lieing... Nope, I am not lieing... Nope, I am not lieing... .... Yes I am saying the lie as for (LIEING) (-- Too fast change?... oh no problem...... I just did it on purpose.... ARE YOU FOLLOWING?.... i CAN CHANGE... i CAN CHANGE EACH RULE DONE BY THE RULE) ..... THAT"S SILENCE... DO YOU FEEL THE LIENCE? ... JUST FOR THE SLICE!? .... There are so much questions... so much mysteries in this fucking history... Relationship A step little far from friend and best friend... a beginning of something... trying experiments... trying to feel how is really a life with somebody... to be together... But the question is... IS IT ALL ABOUT THE FUCKING EXPERIMENT?
Was it a lie? Are we still in that position? Did we changed the step? What's a step? What's a change? How does it starts? (I can play on AND ON AND ON... AND i PROMISE HERE... i WON'T PUT LIMITS JUST BECAUSE FROM ONE PEACH JUST FOR THAT BIATCH...BUT THAT'S THE PITCH) - What's the stage? - Why they stop? - WHy did they done it? - Am I there? - Was I there? - Who is "I"? - How does "I" cares? - Isn't it "I" the person... - "YOu"... - In your vision you are "I" and I am "YOU"... that's the faces... and In my vision... I am "I" and you are "YOU"... "YOU" Is the word which I describe you by... (JUST BYE FOR THE LIE.... BYE... LIE... LAY... *Just for the gay) (On the record I said that... because I want it... I want it and I want it... to say it.. .I am not a gay... neither a lie neither near to bye... but the question should I CHECK OR NOT?) ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// Another WAY OF SILENCE... just for the slice! ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Build on one fucking coincidence... there aren't enough coins to explain this dreadful nightmare.... this is a mate from the nigh just for one nigh.... Just plain the plate with the plane and give me the plan. Marriage isn't a lot of... it's again an experiment but from other POV... .................................
........................ From other way of seeing the stuff... and what's really that Relationship? ANd what's the Marriage? Marriage, these days is an example of how much mistakes can be done in just in one word... that's marriage... what's get in... it never gets out... As overall and as a conclusion that's a lesson... which goes ON... and On... and ON... and ON.... (Can I repeat it?- NOpe... you don't have rights to put limits of my rights... just go as right as possible) ON... and On... and ON... and ON.... ON... and On... and ON... and ON.... ON... and On... and ON... and ON.... ON... and On... and ON... and ON....
And the question isn't tooo complex or to waxy... is it? Tell me about Foxy! Why you don't tell me about the Galaxy!? .................. Am I joking? I am chokin? Are you a choke?
Are you a dope? Just for little doke? (I just fucking found a new word... and created a new one ... *SMILE JUST CAME OUT* - GET IT? WITH IT... I JUST DID IT!... *SMILE JUST CAME OUT* - GET IT? WITH IT... I JUST DID IT!... *SMILE JUST CAME OUT* - GET IT? WITH IT... I JUST DID IT!... *SMILE JUST CAME OUT* GET IT? WITH IT... I JUST DID IT!... *SMILE JUST CAME OUT* - GET IT? WITH IT... I JUST DID IT!... *SMILE JUST CAME OUT* - GET IT? WITH IT... I JUST DID IT!) Can I peak and poke? Just a peak? Is that a pitch? Is that a ditch? .... NAaaah, that's a biatch! ................................................................................................ As overall in overall point of view... that's the way I see.. I feel and talk about stuff... I can be like every one... just basic analysis... notes and that's all (It's not bad to ask my mother or mom... can I watch how she gets fucked by her boyfriend?..... (NOOOO... it's something which is weird... I just want notes...)... Come on...come on... basic... denial... it shouldn't be like that? SHOULD IT BE? OR IT SHOULD... SHOULD IT? RUDE IT... THAT"S A ROOT.... FOR THE DRONE!) ........................................................................................................... I am just studying people's roots and droots just.... just... just...just....just....just....just (WE BOTH work on repeation... that's what's humanity is it... on basic denial... it's a fucking reject to inject... and I fucking ain't got any notes... how about school just for the rule with the rule!)
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// You now... can see people ... no need to use social media for extra ignorance... that's what social media is... BUILD ON POINT = Ignorance... If you think you can make something here... it's one fucking mistake... YOu even don't know who is really behind that mask... is that person... really... honest!? (I can say for sure... shit just hit.... and hit the shit - which has on moral direction with flextion.... very.... with merrry.... logical?) Is that who is behind that mask!? - So logically we should think that not being in state of fake.... both as near to fear the lake... (BUT BOTH in this boat are awake....)is someting which is not perfect... if somebody of state of being fake is going to be perfect... Probably ignoring some stuff... being nice... showing kidness... - It's a symptom of FAKENESS......BUT IF YOU ARE FAKE HOW FAR CAN YOU GET? Fake is just a - 1 step... then fakeness another step... and WHY we are now afraid of the lights? (The work wasn't about lights... it wasn't about shouting... (SHOOTING!??!?!?!?!??) (OMG.. OH MY GOD...) it was about silence and darkness... but look how far did we get?) - Are you really honest with me? - Is that a good move? - If life was like chess, will it be more easy? - Computers are kind of complex... but that's why I like them... flexy and lexy both of them are here. - Can I ask a question? - Can it be a question on which you are going to be honest? ...
I mean with honest to answer it.... ... So now the questions now is am I yelling? ... They are fucking taking dope... they are doping... did ya know that? - IS THERE A REASON I TO CONTINUE???.... I AM HONEST HERE! .................... Look yourself you even don't know how am I feeling... that I use that "!"... how do you know is that a yelll or not? That I write in capital letters... from where do ya know that I am shouting... REALLY NOW? (It could be this my last work... I could be suffering... I could have kind of disease... I could be the biggest liar... how do we both know that we aren't like that?) - How can I know that... you are going to give a chance? - How can I know that you are my real friend? - Are we really friends? - We were friends... or we are friends?? (WHATEVER... JUST LEAVE IT FOREVER AND NEVER EVER.... WITH WHETHERE THAT"S THE WEATHER) - Come on... come on... why in this fucking world you are doing that and going there? - It wants the darkness... now the light is over... and this day is going to be one fucking damn very long and long and long and long and long... night. - THe question is too easy!?
Can the light kill this monster? .... Silence "...." - that's silence and that's what it's scary... it could be an advange... it could be a trap... it could be a dead... it could a message... it could be everything... DOOOOOOOOOOOOO YOU FUCKING FOLLOWING THE SIGNS? - Do I got your attention? Goood...., goood... but it fucking hurts... it fucking hurts.... you fucking left me in the darkness.... you told me that you are the angel... but you are not... you are the devil.... you are the fucking monster... you want to send me in hell... THat's why you make this type of experiments... and what's the style LOWER OR HIGHER? (I should made you little confused...... I should have some kind of control of your mind... do I?) As first I Know you very well - You are human being - When you begin... you just start the beginning - You take a lot of medics - You sometime lie - YOu are locked... - YOu don't get it - It's too complex to understand it- I know what you have inside- I know your expression ("YOU" - Oh... you mean "YOU"... I just got it like "YOU" as all...... "YOU" Is already taken by all in 2 face of fear both near to rare stage.) (You wanna feel how i feel? Try ...by cutting something from you (I think so far... flesh is too fresh... and it's the only way you to understand my suffering)... Try one finger.... then another.... - AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ... This should be the word for the way you express your pain... but don't press it... just hold it... - THis still isn't the way I feel... it's very little piece... (I AM NOT A KILLER NEAR TO PROBABILITY NEAR TO LIES... always with you lays within us...) Try by putting something very very spiky in your pants... this should make you little suffer.... DO YOU FEEL IT? dO YOU FUCKING FEEL IT? dO YOU FEEL IT? - Come on... one more message... just one more... tell me... how do you feel....are you still conciounus... SOUNDS LIke you have lost of a lot of blood and you are suffering... and I Was also suffering... DID YOU KNOW THAT?... AM I NOW SUFFERING NOW?? - AGAIN?... PRobably... probably not!??! and I was also a victim of that... but did somebody did something on that problem? - People continued to say "I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I
understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"..."I understand".... and ..... "I understand"...
- This is endless... as always not a blackhole or is it? ... AS whole the hole has a hole.... .......................... It has a beginning and it hasn't ending... too simple... it's not very flashy and sparky and spiky... But where is deiki.... daiky? Weiky? Droiky... - Oh.................... I found it...... I fucking found the correct word dyky... what does it mean???? - I didn't promise to give you a word with explanation...! - I didn't said that I Am going to explain! - I didn't said that everything is going to be PERFECT.....PERFECT....PERFECT
perfect!...
(Nothing is perfect if flextion is just the beginning of glextion and what's the truth? (NEGLACTION... LECTION) ... I just created one crew with few just with the drew and draw the whole few....with the fuel) - I really do not (MORE LIKELY NATA) know what was that... but did i say I knew?
Silence...silence...Silence...silence...Silence...silence...Silence...silence...Silence...sile - Do I want too much? Just to want little silence for my thoughts... being just "I"... being just "I".. not being somebody else... in somebody else shoes...
- I am guy... a guy a man... of his word... will this mean a lot of to you? - Or it is just... just? It's the lust... just ATTENTION
FUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKING
PAY
THE
(anD YEAH i A M FUCKING YELLING... AND KELLING... nOOOOOOOOOO AGAIN WITH GAIN... i DON'T KNOW...) Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not?
-
Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP.... FUCKING STOP.... (What's the feeling of losing control of yourself... doing stuff... which aren't logical... having in mind few stuff and they to play over and over and over and over and to show you possibilities which are the fucking lie... WHY "you"... fucking mind ... why you are torturing me like that?) Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not?
Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? ..... Should I check? Should I not? Should I check?
Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? Should I check? Should I not? (And LOOK AGAIN is FUCKING HAPPENING... i JUST WANTED A CHANCE TO CHANGE..... i EVEN DON'T HAVE THE WORD FOR Rhyme!?... as FOR THAT ABOVE YOU JUST FORGOT IT... DID YA?... yoU FOUND IT AS A NIGHTMARE... AS NEGATIVE... AND YOU DECIDED TO AVOID IT... EVEN SKIP SOME paragraphs... just to keep the calmness... and to be still at level chill -......... I thought that we are friends... No fireworks.... as for the fire... keep it off... to much of it could kill ya!)
(...)... by DeYtH Banger Are you bored? Are you fucking bored? am I boring? Are my thoughts boring? .... Okay... so let's continue "XD" "xD" "xD" xD - On mixed feelings xD - Just the little beginning xD - Just a symbol of laugh xD - THe first step of ignorance... xD - Too far... very well so may leave as well in this........ xD - Did you got it? xD - I ain't gonna repeat it... deeper level is not all about repeation... it's all about understanding the fucking complexity of this fucking flexitiliability.... I AIN"T GONNNA REPEAT IT.... NEITHER DO....NEITHER SO... NEITHER AND THAT WAY... HIP AS FOR AWAY TO AWAKE.... ....
I should be fucking glad... shouldn't I? BUT GLAD FOR WHAT? FOR THAT QUALITY OF FLARITY AND MISTY VIEW ............. I fucking predict the next move... I fucking predict it... and dedicated to dear "YOU". It was between "XD" "WOW" and "LOL" - So far too low... to be a glow! ... Not very smart move... if it's not complex! .... My head fucking hurts... it hurts... over and over and over...... over and over and over...... over and over and over...... over and over and over...... over and over and over...... over and over and over...... over and over and over...... over and over and over...... over and over and over...... over and over and over...... over and over and over...... over and over and over...... over and over and over...... over and over and over...... over and over and over...... over and over and over...... over and over and over...... over and over and over...... over and over and over...... over and over and over... (I gonna say it twice... as wise as
possible just for the blice of that glice.) - Please fucking glaze that and gaze that gate... with Daisy too much lazy... is she crazy? - Please fucking glaze that and gaze that gate... with Daisy too much lazy... is she crazy? - Please fucking glaze that and gaze that gate... with Daisy too much lazy... is she crazy? - Please fucking glaze that and gaze that gate... with Daisy too much lazy... is she crazy? - Please fucking glaze that and gaze that gate... with Daisy too much lazy... is she crazy? - Please fucking glaze that and gaze that gate... with Daisy too much lazy... is she crazy? .... If it's about home... you are fucking welcome... not too near.... or too well but it's wel... in a kind of way... full of dway with Dwein? .... It fucking hurts since the beginning of my day... did you asked that and that? let's play... I hope that will go well!? 1 - THAT"S ME... always the fucking player one... I always had prayers to be player two! (REMINDS ME FOR CHESS... I LIKE CHESS AND I AM THE WHITE ONES)
2 - That's "YOU" - Whoever you are there and if you are really...really listening to me! 1: Hey 2: Hey :) 1: What's up? 2: Nothing too impressive... to be so pressive... just going the same as before and as before and as after and after build on merely "before" and "After" 1: Wow (Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo... not fucking send that shit... not fucking send it... "Wow"... "WOW'.. .what's that "WOW"?... I should replace it....) 1: Mhm, (MAHAHAHAHSHAHSSAH, no fucking comment... I don't have words... words whiich I use in my language... come on... she or he is waiting for answer... what to say?...) (Lie?... no? Honest? Yes or No?... what????? Tell me what?... What to say?... Oh... I fucking forgot I am talking to noone.... so logically i can't expect from nothing... something.... Should I be wise? or NISE... or NICE...!??!) 1: Mhm, okay!? (THIS SOUNDS PROPER AS PROP) ... (NOW.... answer is needed... when will... "YOU" answer?) 2: :) 1: (EH FUCKING COME ON...r eally won't you ask me how I FEEL... HOW i fucking feel... (nO IF IT REALLY MATTERS... IF IT JUST A LITTLE MATTER IN ALL THAT RATTA))
... (I am really going to tell ya... how I really feel... for real in reality... in this fucking dwuality.... (YEAH... I AM FUCKING HURT... HURT... WOW... NO... answer.... no COMMENT... just so MECCONT AND BACCONT) (Neither and words neither and dwice and twice are going to be here for the dice))) - Mhm...mhm mhaaaaaaaaaaam, very, very impressive!) - I just need to study that... and build notes and I am ready... (COME ON...really you ain't gonna answer?... ARE WE REALLY FRIENDS... REALLY??? (I AM FUCKING HURT.... DURT... DURT...DIRT) - I don't need somebodyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy..... to be here... in my room... I NEED TO EXPRESS IN MY ROOM MY Feelings... that so far is horror... don't laugh... don't cry... this guy really needs a medical attention... - We bet on that!? (But who are "they"? and who is "HE"? And who is "I"... is it just for "THE" and why did you fucking ignored me on that?) - Do I need a break? ... I am not a roadish car on the road which is canned.... (IS THAT THE FUCKING WORD... Ohh... your fucking sick opinion for how sick you are and all your friends... I am not talking about you... neither and for "YOU"... but more likely for all... as overall in that roarable... 'I know that... I Know" that... I know that fucking feeling... no need forr brackets... I know how fucking ignorant everything is going... ... You don't have time for my problems.... YOu don't have time for my glitches... You don't have time to spend with my emotions... . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . Was it all a lie? Based on the law of all? .... You know something... you fucking know something... I BET IN THAT... and in THAT... basic on humans emotions... (MY mother... no she... no her... not she... but who!?) - It can't be this fucking biatch here in this discussion... hell hasn't came on the legs to walk and to be here... It's too early for it and little late just to start now... Hell started and it was in "THE LIFE OF ONE KID"... when you get to know that book you gonna find who am I... for real... Now we just talk on the surface... face to face... eyes into eyes... .............. THE PROBLEM IS I DON"T KNOW.... .... DOesn't it torture you? THe feeling that everything is gonna be over? The game is gonna be over?
- ME? ,... Oh you just fucking found that... I EXiST... VERY IMPRESSIVE FOR YOU LITTLE SPECIE... I just didn't know about that... I was studyiing you since 30 years... noooooot fuckinnnnnnnnng too much... just a little half of my life was spend in studying you... BUT WHAT CAN I SAY ABOUT "YOU"... I am not crazy... to talk about "YOU" and whole... ..... LEt's continue the journey - Kind of boring of this Jackson shit... but let's see how far can he get - It's FREEMAN HERE... ............... Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa... I just said to wait for your comments... you are so impressive species... you just putted some comments.... I couldn't stop that reaction... it was already on action (I JUST SAVED SO MONEY.... for my beloved mother.... _ haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa) - Something against my laugh? - YOu gonna judge me? - YOu are neither me... neither that so who are you? - If you were me... okay... come and judge me!? - If you are "That" okay... judge me again.... but don't try to gain! - My fucking vision is fucking blured.... and blooded... just because of "You"... all day and all night you are in my mind.... I see such possibilities which just fucking ruin my whole day... Is that "LOVE"............... Nooooooooooooooooooooooo... Nooooooooooooo it's possible I to feel love... it's so decompressive out of logic... played
not by the book... played on some kind of other scenario.... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... (Mhm, still nothing on progress... let's try twice on this dice.) .... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... "LoVE"..."LOVE".... OVE... OVE...OVER... sounds like OWE...OWE...OWE...OWE...OWE...OWE.... sounds like somebody owe to somebody.... (VICTORY...VICTORY... finally to eat something!) Irration on Bitches! - BIatches on irration level work on - scenario - How much irration is that? - Sucking cock - Getting fucked - Kissing Very.... very.... fucking irration.... so ration... on this radiation.... (NOO NEED TO FIX MY WORDs... they are clear enough... you are dead... that's enough....) - Pretty TAFF... isn't it? ...
But i won't give up... I am biology biatch! .......... So sarcastic... that i want each word to touch ya... and to hurt ya... reallly....reallly....really...bad... that's how bad am I! No need to kill ya... no need to make some torture experiments... what i Want is to make you cry... after you read... it after.... and after... I to be part of your imagination... I to be a image which you see in your nightmares... And I was a victim of such thing... a victim of my thoughts... now is your turn... to become a slave of my thoughts... a slave of my mind... That's what my mind wants nothing too complex.... JUSt little lust to control you. (I am very thirsty... I am fucking thirsty... so it won't be very long... to be honest...) ... What happens when something plays in your mind JERKOFF-JERKOFF... over and over ... you do it... today and you say it after few days "You have changed... you won't do that anymore"... you start living with that thought over and over and over and over and over and over... one day it just cames the day which again happens this nightmare.... it happens the nightmare in which you again start doing this... again the same thoughts come in your mind "You have changed... you won't do that anymore"...."You have changed... you won't do that anymore".... You buy few stuff for yourself... you tell yourself "That this stuff are going to change you... this stuff are going to make you stop from that... but no... it gets worst and worst... and worst you jerk off again and again and again and again and again it just start to become an addiction.... It starts to move like a drug effect.... BUT AGAIN WORLD IS THE SAME THE SHIT IS THE SAME SOMEBODY IS TOO INSANE TO BE THE SAME EVERYONE SHOULD CALL THE INSANITY!
Badseller By Resident DeVir An aspiring young author had sent his first manuscript to several publishers, all of whom declined it, saying that his writing wasn’t “refined” or that his ideas were “too cliché”. While the author could take these refusals just fine, it was a whole other matter when his book actually did get published, and the negative backlash from the general public was overwhelming. By readers, the book was dubbed to be a mediocre story not worth cutting down a rain forest to publish, and the author was advised to give up his ambitions and do something else with his life. Even his so-called “friends” thought his book was a poorly written piece of trash, unfit of being referred to as literature, and they were certainly not afraid to tell him so. But these people just didn’t understand! They couldn’t see the heart in every word of every line! They had no idea that the book was not a mere product of the author, it was the author, and insulting the book was in the eyes of the author the same as insulting him. Why did people reject him, a kid who just wanted to tell a good story and contribute something to the world? He was saddened immensely, and when his depression culminated and became unbearable, he hanged himself. "Let this be a good story," the author thought as his eyes closed. —
About a week after the author’s funeral, something odd began to happen. Manuscripts aplenty got sent to random publishers all over the country, and on each of these manuscripts was written the name of the deceased author – a pseudonym, they assumed. The central theme in all of these books was human suffering, and all the facets of pain, hatred, and sadness were explored excessively. Really intricate descriptions of unfortunate souls being tortured in gruesome ways were scribbled on every page, and boy did readers love it! The books got sold out quickly after hitting the shelves, and a new trend in modern literature was born. The mysterious author was proclaimed a literary genius with a thorough understanding of humanity’s greatest fears and darkest sides. Hoping to keep the momentum going and making “suffering books” the new “vampire love stories”, many publishers started a wide-scale campaign in the media to find the true identity of the author, and you can be sure that many imposters showed up with crappy manuscripts. About to give up any hope of ever finding the author, all the publishers that had received manuscripts got a letter sent to them, addressed from the author, in which was written: "I gave you my best, and you refused it. Now that I give you my worst, you love it. No creatures are lower than you, and this comes from someone who spends eternity under the soles of your shoes. Warm greetings from a very warm place, The Author"
A Twisted Path Credit to CharminglyShallow Detention. Joel hated detention. Detention and Mr. Briars. And his classmates. Detention, Mr. Briars and his classmates. And school in general. Pretty much anything and anyone associated with school he hated. Not that he showed it though - he was pretty good at playing the game in company and to his parents, but that didn’t do anything to reduce his dislike of it all. Detention was at number one though on his list of hates. Mr. Briars had unceremoniously picked him out at the end of his final class of the day for some minor infraction, dumping him in an empty classroom with orders to read a book silently, with the added kicker that he couldn’t leave until he’d finished it. He hadn’t argued. Mr. Briars had it in for him for some reason, always singling him out, always watching him from the corner of his eye. Whatever. Going with the flow seemed the best option to deal with the asshole for the time being. Joel turned the book over in his hands. It was a light, slim book, the cover a garish cartoon picture of various men dressed in green tights and tunics carrying a variety of swords and wooden staffs, except for the one stood in the middle of the group holding a bow and bearing a wide smile on a blond moustached face beneath a hood. Joel groaned inwardly as he read the title in typical olde english font emblazoned across the top: A TALE OF SHERWOOD FOREST A Choose Your Own Fate Adventure Great, he thought sarcastically, it was one of those books, the kind where you had to select from a set of options and flip to another page depending on your choice. On and on until your character died or achieved some kind of bullshit goal. The last time he’d read one of these he must’ve been ten or eleven, and even then he’d grown bored with it and hadn’t finished. Mr. Briars would probably test him on it when he came back like the unapologetic shit
he was though so he’d best just get it over with. Slouching back in his chair, Joel turned to the first page. --Welcome Adventurer! You have come seeking fame and fortune by joining Robin Hood’s merry men! Tarry not in the woods though, hold fast to your decisions, and you shall find the goal you seek! --Joel snorted derisively before continuing on to the first section: --1. Sunlight pierces the canopy of trees high above you, sending shafts of light through the sky of leaves to illuminate your path. You entered Sherwood Forest but a short time ago, and already it is as if the woods have swallowed you whole. You have on you your trusty sword, three days worth of provisions, flint and tinder, plus a warm cloak which seems a burden on such a fine summer's day. The forest path is wide, the day pleasant, and your heart beats strongly in your chest. Today is the day when you shall achieve your goal. You will find Sir Robin of Locksley, the fabled Robin Hood, and join his troupe of merry men! It’s not long before you come upon a fork in the path. To the left it curls off toward an area of the forest where a villager told you a small river runs through, but that there are plenty of man-made fordings available should you look. To the right the path is more or less straight, but appears to head into a dark, dense part of the forest which looks rather foreboding. If you wish to go left toward the river, turn to 8. If you wish to go right down the ominous forest path, turn to 11. --It read like any one of these books he’d picked up before. Joel looked at the options. Only an idiot goes looking for trouble in dark and foreboding places he thought, and wasn’t a river crossing and a contest a part of the Robin Hood legend? He chose accordingly. --8. Before you even see the river, your ears pick out the sound of swift
running water somewhere up ahead. You quicken your pace, eager to both see the source of the sound, but also to splash some water in your face to relieve yourself of some of the heat you feel from such a long walk. You pass a large, gnarled oak tree and finally see the fast flowing river, the sunlight bouncing off it’s surface, and is that a fish or two you see slicing around beneath? Kneeling by the bank, you dip your cloth into the cool, refreshing water, then lift it and place it gingerly on the back of your neck. The initial cold is a shock, but a welcome one, and you feel the coolness spread through your body. The bigger shock though is when you hear a loud voice calling from across the way! “Ho Stranger! If you seek to cross this river, you must first pass me!” You look up in surprise and see a giant of a man, dressed in a dark brown leather jerkin with hands almost as big as the thick beard upon his rugged face, stood on the opposite bank next to a large log which breasts the river. In his right hand stands a long, thick piece of wood. You recognise it as a quarterstaff, and that he must be none other than Little John himself, one of the fabled merry men you seek! In an instant you understand his meaning, and looking next to the large log on your side of the bank is another quarterstaff, obviously for the use of travellers such as you. Finally a chance to prove yourself! Despite your eagerness however, he does look rather large, and you wonder at your chances. If you wish to fight Little John, turn to 15. If you wish to return the way you came and try the other path, turn to 11. --Ha! He knew it. Barely in and he was already dealing with one of the merry men. Joel wanted this over with, so going back wasn’t an option. Best to carry on forward and get it done. --15. Eagerly you sweep the quarterstaff up into your hand and approach the log bridge. As you step on carefully, so does Little
John, easily twirling the quarterstaff in his hands. You wonder to yourself how many people have come this way before, only to find themselves swiftly beaten and pushed into the river. That your opponent is confident there is no doubt, but if the stories are true his naivety is just as strong as his biceps. Should you fight fairly, or trick him somehow? If you still wish to retreat and try the other path, turn to 11. If you wish to fight fairly, turn to 18. If you wish to cheat, turn to 23. --Now that was an interesting option, he thought. Again, going back wasn’t going to happen. Of the other two choices though, Joel knew which one he leant towards. Fighting fairly may be the more honorable way, but to him the result was always the key factor to his way of thinking. --23. As you approach him, you raise your quarterstaff in what you hope is a defensive position. He smiles good-humouredly, rolls his shoulders to loosen himself up, winks, and quickly raises his staff for an almighty blow. As his staff reaches its peak, you pretend to look past him and shout: “Bear!” His head whips round to check, instantly forgetting about you. You take your chance, raise your staff high, and aim a truly thunderous whack across his skull! Your arms vibrate with the impact and you think you’re going to drop the staff. Nervously you watch as Little John turns his head back to face you. His face moves quickly from confusion, to anger, and then dazed. He falls to his knees, and topples off the log, but is still able in his daze to roughly grab at a protruding broken branch on the underside of the trunk. The cold water returns him partly to his senses, and he slowly grins up at you before speaking: “Well done stranger! Robin has need of men with sense as well as strength. Give me a hand up and I’ll take you to him.” If you offer him your hand, turn to 26. If you wait for him to climb back up himself, turn to 31.
--It was a difficult choice Joel realised. Offering to help him up would put him in a dangerous position. Off balance, Little John could pull him into the water or anything. Joel could see the way the book was heading though. Once you bested an opponent in this fairy tale land of good and evil, you always fell back on the honourable option. He thought it a load of crap, but the answer the book was expecting was obvious at this point. --26. You look down at Little John, bedraggled and wet and being buffeted by the river, and offer your hand to help him up. As he reaches up to grasp your hand though, you instead wrap your offered hand once more around the quarterstaff and drive it’s end into his face, catching him off-guard. You feel the impact resonate up the wood as his nose shatters beneath the blow. He bellows in rage and agony, one hand moving to cover his now bloody face. You quickly strike at his remaining hand holding onto the branch under the log and hear the satisfying crack of broken bone. He yells once more and releases his hold, the river quickly drawing him under and away. You watch him struggle for a short while, then throw both quarterstaffs into the water and carry on your way. Turn to 28. --Okay, thought Joel, what the hell just happened?! He hadn’t expected that at all. Thinking about it though, it made a lot of sense. Who knew what Little John might’ve tried? His character’s response was sensible - he’d lulled his opponent and then acted, removing a potential danger. Joel found himself warming to this book. --28. The path on the other side of the river is barely visible, and so obviously not a commonly used means of moving through Sherwood Forest. Logically therefore it must be a route used only by the Merry Men and Robin Hood himself!
Gradually the path grows narrower, the trees thinner and closer together on each side until finally the path appears to be a corridor of trees, leading to a dead end but with two large arches with a bowman stood in front of each. They look like twins, an image reinforced by them both speaking at the same time and with the same words as you approach. “Greetings Stranger. You have bested Little John, but wisdom is as valuable as skill with weapons in Robin’s camp. Behind us lie two ways forward. One leads on to the camp, the other to a hidden pit filled with wooden stakes. You may ask one of us a single question, but beware, one of us will lie and the other tell the truth. Which route do you choose?” You try to see any differences in the paths beyond the arches, but they look identical. Your only choices appear to be to ask the bowmen or take a chance and pick a route at random. If you take the left arch, turn to 36. If you take the right arch, turn to 38. If you ask one of the bowmen which archway leads to the camp, turn to 42. If you ask one of the bowmen which archway the other bowman will say leads to the camp, turn to 62. If you use intimidation on the bowmen, turn to 49. --Now that was a curious last option Joel thought. The first two random choices didn’t appeal, and whilst he was confident in his logic what the right choice was, he was drawn to the last action. It made a lot more sense to him, skipping the need to risk a correct answer against one he could guarantee if approached right. -49. You walk slowly up to one of the bowman, rubbing your chin thoughtfully as if thinking of an appropriate question. Abruptly you draw your sword, catching them off guard and grabbing the nearest from behind, placing your blade against his throat before the other can react. The one you are holding trembles beneath your grip, whilst the other watches you nervously, fingering his bow. If you ask the bowmen to tell you which arch leads to the camp
or you’ll kill the one you’re holding, turn to 43. If you kill the bowman you are holding immediately, turn to 47. --Another interesting set of options. That threats were useful Joel knew from past experience, but only if the other guy knew you’d carry them out. Carl in fifth grade had learnt that lesson the hard way. The answer was obvious. --47. Without a flicker of emotion, you draw your sword across the throat of the man you are holding. He gurgles in alarm as the flesh parts and blood pours forth from the wound across his neck. Dropping him to the floor to breathe his last, you point your blade at the stomach of the other bowman. If you ask the remaining bowmen to tell you now which arch leads to the camp, turn to 56. If you force the bowman to go ahead of you by swordpoint through one of the arches, turn to 53. --Both choices would work, Joel thought casually, but one of them obviously added an element of insurance to his character’s survival. --53. Prodding the remaining bowman with the point of your now bloody sword, you state coldly that what happened to his friend can quite easily happen to him and that he will now lead you through the correct archway to the camp. Reluctantly, he moves toward the right arch. If you follow the remaining bowman through the arch, turn to 68. If you first run the remaining bowman through with your sword, killing him, turn to 65. --Joel was caught at this one; it wasn’t as obvious an answer as the last. Keeping the remaining bowman alive added an element of risk if he tried to escape, but then how far did the man’s loyalty to Robin Hood and his cause go? So far as to pick the wrong archway even,
thus risking his own life? Despite the risks, having the captive bowman along gave Joel more options he realised. --68. The bowman has been stumbling ahead of you forlornly at swordpoint for a few minutes when you notice his furtive glances back and the slowing of his pace. Prepared, you wait until he makes his move. Ten steps later he spins and makes a grab for your sword. You efficiently stab him through the stomach, then kick his shuddering body off your blade. As he falls backward the earth ahead of you gives way and his body falls into the trap you had previously been warned about. Skirting the edge you look down to see his bloody and broken form pierced upon multiple sharpened stakes, one piercing his cheek and exiting his mouth and giving him a permanently shocked expression. Content he is dead, you make your way back along the path to the two arches. You take some time to dig a shallow grave a little way from the arches and bury the bowman you killed earlier, covering the mound with additional loose leaves and sticks. Once happy with your work, you turn and take the left archway. Turn to 22. -He’d known he was right to keep him alive! Additional resources were a useful buffer between himself and unpleasant situations, like the friends he’d cultivated at school. As long as they could be controlled or manipulated, they were handy to have around. Those that weren’t could be discarded easily enough later on should the need arise. --22. You’ve been walking along the path for a while now and decide to take a rest and eat some of your food. Looking around you find a suitable tree stump and sit down, digging out from your bag half a loaf and a wedge of strong cheese wrapped in linen. You take a large bite of each and wash them down with some water from the skin hanging from your belt. Whilst you are eating you pull out the letter that lay beside the bread in your bag. Opening it, you read once
more the instructions given to you yesterday: “Hail and well met! You have come recommended by Prince John himself, as a person who can produce results. Most in these parts have heard of the bandit in the woods, the one who calls himself ‘Robin Hood’. He calls himself a champion of the people, but in truth he is nothing more than a common criminal. However, his propaganda amongst the unwashed and uneducated masses has proven impossible to overcome; no one is willing to come forward and provide information on his whereabouts. Therefore, I need you to enter Sherwood Forest and infiltrate his camp. He has broken the rule of law, as have his followers, and they must be treated accordingly. Robin Hood must be executed and evidence brought back to me of his demise. Deal with the others as you see fit. Succeed and the rewards will be great; fail and they will most likely kill you. Good Fortune! The Sheriff of Nottingham” You fold the message back up and ponder what you should do with it whilst you enjoy the remainder of your meal. If found on you, the merry men will treat you harshly. By the same token, it would be useful as evidence of your true siding should you encounter any of the Sheriff’s men. You also realise, if used correctly, it could be planted as evidence against another within the camp, thus sowing division and discord. If you burn the letter, turn to 78. If you keep the letter, turn to 103. --Suddenly a lot more things made sense to Joel. Sure, the character in the book wanted to join the merry men, but his motives had never been fully spelt out before. The fact he actually worked for the Sheriff of Nottingham appealed to Joel. It was far more interesting to be a manipulative spy than a two dimensional woodland terrorist. He also liked the idea of keeping the letter. It would be a risk for his character, but he was guessing an option would come up later to plant it in the camp, or Little John might make another appearance and if he still had the letter in his
possession one of the options given might be to plant it on Little John himself as a means of discrediting him and any accusations he might make against Joel. --103. You carefully place the folded letter back in your bag, stretch your weary muscles, and continue down the path. Gradually your nose begins to pick out the smells of roasting pig and your ears the faint crackle of a campfire and the bustle of people. The path you’re on twists sharply ahead, and as you follow it round you suddenly find yourself facing a reasonably sized encampment. Makeshift huts and canopies of thick hide stretch between a rough circle of trees surrounding a large campfire, a boar roasting on the spit above it. Moving in and around the camp you see a fair number of people, somewhere between twenty and thirty, engaged in various activities. Some are checking their bows, a few engaged in mock sword battles, whilst others are mending tunics and shoes. Your eyes though are drawn to one man sat before the fire, a large hood covering his face as two people sit either side talking earnestly to him in low whispers. You go to move forward when you feel the sharp point of an arrow tip sticking into the small of your back. Turning your head slightly you see a stranger with a drawn bow behind you, who then reaches round and removes the sword from your scabbard. He does not speak but prods you in the back a couple of times with the arrow, indicating for you to move. Slowly you walk forward toward the fire and the hooded man. If you want to try and escape, turn to 92. If you simply continue forward, turn to 79. --Why try to escape, thought Joel. His character was where he wanted to be, and he doubted it would end well if his character tried to escape with a drawn bow pressing a sharp arrow into his back. No, now was the time to see how things would play out now he'd reached his target. --79.
As you get closer to the fire, the two men talking to the hooded man notice you and fall silent, turning to look hard faced at you. The hooded man reaches up slowly and pulls his hood back, turning to face you. His golden hair and moustache would’ve been enough identification, but the sardonic grin and twinkle in his eyes introduces him far better than any spoken word: the Earl of Locksley, Robin Hood himself. He waves back the man behind you, appraising you for a moment in silence, and then offers his hand. You reach forward and shake it, and he laughs heartily, slapping you on the shoulder. “Welcome friend! To get this far you must’ve bested Little John and the twins. This shows you have both strength of character and wisdom, both qualities I look for in my merry men. As you see, we do not live comfortably, but we live well enough. The forest provides whilst we work to topple the Sheriff and behind him Prince John. Now, as well as robbing the rich, there are other roles in the camp which need to be done. You have the look of a smithy or a cook to me. Which do you fancy?” If you choose to work with the blacksmith, turn to 6. If you choose to work with the cook, turn to 112. --Sure, thought Joel, blacksmithing offered easy access to weapons and the opportunity to thin the herd of Robin’s lackeys with them, but it would be a slow process he guessed and would place his character under growing suspicion the more bodies that turned up. No, if his character was to succeed, a quiet, unassuming role in camp would be the ideal place to start. --112. “Excellent! Come with me to meet our resident cook. Ho! Friar Tuck! You were complaining just this morning about needing help, and see if I haven’t answered your lament already!” Robin leads you round to the other side of the fire where sits an overly large man in a friar’s robes, stirring a large pot of vegetables over a smaller fire. He looks up from sipping from a wooden ladle, his cheeks ruddy and his eyes bright. “Well bless my soul, my prayers have been answered! No time like
the present, come help me with this evenings meal. Go gather some herbs for the stew I’m preparing to go alongside the meat.” He points vaguely off to the side, returning his attention to the pot. You look over to where he pointed, noticing a small herb garden he must be cultivating. Grabbing a clay bowl nearby, you walk over and start picking handfuls of herb leaves. As you do so though you notice in the undergrowth nearby a wild plant growing whose leaves you know to be deadly if consumed in even the smallest quantity. If you return with just the herb leaves, turn to 130. If you return with leaves from both the herb and poisonous plant, turn to 109. --Yes, this is good, thought Joel. A subtle attack that could incapacitate some, if not all, the merry men at once. It was ideal. He’d done something similar with his step-father, crushing sleeping tablets into his drink before he’d driven to work one morning, and that had gone quite well. --109. You walk back over casually, being careful to keep the clay bowl hidden by your body to avoid the Friar’s eyes noticing the difference in leaves. Grabbing a pestle and mortar, you quickly grind the leaves down until they are the same unidentifiable shreds. You pass the mortar to the Friar and he favours you with a pleasant smile of thanks, before pouring the contents into his cooking pot. Turn to 72. --This should be interesting, thought Joel, eagerly turning the pages now. --72. To your delight the entire camp partakes of the stew prepared by the Friar before attacking the roasting pig, all sat round the campfire engaging in friendly banter and conversation in it’s warm, orange glow. You also accept a bowl when offered but are careful to dispose of it’s contents whilst pretending to eat it. It’s not long before the first merry man staggers to his feet,
clutching his stomach, his breath rasping from his mouth. Several of his fellows dash over to see if they can help, though you see a few themselves stagger as they do so. The first man falls to his knees, coughing blood from grimaced lips, his eyes bulging in their sockets. He collapses prone on his side, choking weakly on the blood spilling from his mouth, then stops. Others are now complaining loudly of agonising pains, one going so far as to stagger uncontrollably into the fire, knocking the roast pig to one side and catching himself on fire. He shrieks in agony as the flames pour up his legs and arms, melting his clothes and skin. A few short steps and he drops to the ground. None have come to his aid though as the carnage continues throughout the camp. Bodies now litter the floor in various states of painful disarray following their individual death throes, gouts of blood abundant everywhere within the light of the flickering flames. You pick your way through the bodies, looking for Robin. As the only one with a hood, it doesn’t take long to find him. Surprisingly he still breathes, though with difficulty through blood-speckled lips. He has propped himself up against a log as you walk over, his eyes displaying that he knows what has befallen him and his men. “And so my dream ends, struck down from within by a traitor.” He coughs up a little more blood, but struggles to continue speaking despite the obvious pain he is in. “If any honour exists within you, please grant me this final boon. Bury me here with my loyal men and true. Do not make me a spectacle for the Sheriff I beg!” A final cough rips up through his throat, spilling blood and bile down his green tunic. Robin Hood and his Merry Men are no more. If you accede to his final request and bury him with his men, turn to 74. If you ignore his request and return with evidence to the Sheriff, turn to 164. --Joel barked a laugh. Well that was surprisingly easy. He’d worried that it might’ve come down to some kind of stupid single combat in the end. Violence had it’s place as a tool, but it still had that element of unpredictability. Far better to plan and strike when least expected
if at all possible. So, what to do with Robin Hood’s body? Much like his stepfather’s when he’d idly viewed it lying in state, a corpse was just a corpse, a bag of meat and bones with no rights to further affect the living with its demands. The only function it had now was if it’s demise could be of benefit to those still alive. --164. Rolling Robin Hood’s body over with your foot, you examine his eyes for any further sign of life, then drag it over to a nearby tree stump. After some effort you prop his body in place, his neck and head now resting on its flat top. You grab a large axe from the blacksmith’s hut, rest the blade gently against his neck for aiming, then raise it high above your head and bring it swiftly down. The blade easily cleaves through, blood spurting from the gaping wound as his head rolls down next to the stump. With effort, you rip the hood from his now decapitated body slumped down against the tree, and wrap his head within it. That done, you take one last look around the camp for any survivors, then pick one of the huts to sleep in till morning. You awake refreshed and upon exiting the hut are once more greeted by the cold corpses of the now unmerry men surrounding what remains of the spent campfire. Flies are already buzzing around them and the stench of death will soon become unbearable. A quick search later you have gathered enough food and water for the return journey to Nottingham. If you take the path you used to enter the camp back to Nottingham, turn to 128. If you decide to go deeper into the forest, turn to 58. --Again, another no-brainer. The job was done as far as Joel was concerned, and once your goals are achieved, that was an end of it. No reason to go looking for trouble. --128. The Sheriff is ecstatic at your return and the evidence you bring, throwing a large banquet in your honour and showering you with gold. He also mentions that Prince John has decreed that on the
successful completion of your mission you will be both knighted and awarded all the lands previously owned by the late Earl of Locksley. Three days later, dressed in the fine garb of a nobleman and with your own servants, the Sheriff bids you farewell from his castle as you leave to take up your new position. As you pass under the gates of the drawbridge, you look up to the battlements and nod in parting to the grey face watching, the dead eyes of Robin Hood gazing down upon you from atop a spike. The End Now turn to 154. --What, there’s more? Probably a recommendation to read more of the books in the series, thought Joel. He had to admit though, he’d liked this book despite his initial distaste for it. It appealed to him somehow, the answers more in line with his way of thinking. To his surprise he found he was interested in seeing what the other books in the line had to offer. -154. Congratulations on completing the story adventurer, but your adventures don’t have to stop there! If you reached this result straight through without cheating (we’ll know if you have), and are interested in continuing your adventures, ask the teacher who gave you this book for more details. They recognised something special in you, and we’re always on the look out for young people with a unique way of looking at the world! Your government needs people like you, and we can offer you REAL LIFE adventures you wouldn’t believe! Training in all the cool skills you’ve read in this book and more, and the opportunity to travel the world! If you’re interested, please turn to the inside of the back cover and fill in your name and address in the space provided before returning the book. See you soon adventurer! --Joel smiled to himself, a genuine one for a change rather than the one he mainly employed when in social situations. He pulled a pen
from the bag at his feet and turned to the inside of the back cover. As he started to write his name though, the thick paper tore. Joel swore under his breath and tried again slightly further along from the tear. The same thing happened. Biting his lip to control his annoyance, he looked closer. The paper was far flimsier than it should’ve been, and was that writing visible underneath? Curious now, he tore the paper away and read what was written there: -Thank you for your interest. You have decided to further your adventures with us. Not all are selected however and there is one final requirement for your application. If you look closer at the cover of this book, you will find it has two plastic layers. Before returning this book to the teacher who gave it to you, please peel off the thin layer on top of the book just prior to handing it over, being careful not to touch the cover with your bare hands once you have done so. One to two weeks after your teachers death we will contact you further. ---------------------------------------------Mr. Briars sat alone in his office, looking through a pile of student folders for new candidates. Two years he’d been at the school, two whole fucking years, dealing with pre-pubescent teens who thought they knew everything and their asshole parents at PTA meetings. Out of six possibles over that time, only Joel had come closest. Shame. He’d had a good feeling about Joel. He had potential. Despite all the psych profiles and observation, it still came down to the book as the final test in stage one recruitment. Despite your promise, you fail the book, then your journey ended there. Literally. One advantage of the psychology of the kids the agency were trying to recruit - if they failed the test they were also the most likely candidates for teenage suicide, so closing the loop was easy. He looked over at Joel’s book on the corner of his desk. Each candidate had their own book, tailored to them specifically and supplied by the agency when they were to be tested. Company rules stated he wasn’t allowed to read them himself, just hold on to them
for a day after the test and wait for a call. If the call came, the candidate had got through, otherwise he just burnt the book, waited a month, and then staged the kid’s suicide. Again, it was a shame the call hadn’t come through. Joel had shown a lot of promise. Sighing, he leant across his desk and picked the book up, turning it over in his hands, seeing Robin Hood’s face beaming up at him amongst his gang of merry men. Yup, a real shame. Putting the book in his bag for disposal, he stood and went to the bathroom to wash his hands; the kid must’ve spilt his soft drink on the cover or something judging by the stickiness. Yeah, he had potential alright, but obviously tidiness wasn’t part of it.
Mr. Smaylik by Memesaredank10101 He’s catching up to me. Emily and Josh, if you read this, daddy loves yo- CHRIST HE’S AT MY DOOR. Anyone who reads this, take this to my children, they live at *the rest of the page is splattered in blood* Well I found the guy who wrote this note. His name was James Ramirez, luckily his kids lived three houses over from me. When I gave them the note they burst out in tears, it felt good doing something like that. Little bit about me, my name is Vladimir, I live in Russia, and I’m a journalist. Pretty fun being a journalist, you get to interview all the acters and models. One time I even got to interview Kristina Pemenova. Well I gave them the note and got outta there, I didn’t feed my cat yet so I went over to my place too feed her. But the strange thing is, on the wall of my house there was a smiley face spray painted on it. I brushed it off, not thinking much of it. “Gangs thinking they own this place” I said to myself. I fed my cat then went in to get cleaning supplies. I got a bucket of soap water and a cleaning rag, but when I came out, the graffiti was gone. I thought it was nothing at first, just a trick of the light since it was painted in black. I went back into my house and put the cleaning items up.I went into my living room and looked at the news. There was a report about a man who was murdered, but the creepy thing is there was a smiley face carved into his abdomen. At this point I almost ran out the house. Instead, after a couple of man diapers, I decided to research it, turns out this guy is known as a serial killer who carves his mark into his victims with a knife. After reading this and having a mental breakdown, I go for my routine jog around my neighborhood. While in the middle of the jog a voice spoke from the woods next to my neighborhood. “you have the mark” it said, the voice sounded like scraping a fork on a plate. I bolted out of my jog and ran to my
house, I swear I could hear footsteps behind me. At the door, I scrambled to get my keys from my pocket. I dropped them in the rush and knew I was done for, I turned around to face my killer. But he wasn’t there, there was nothing. I laughed to myself thinking I’m and idiot. “I’m retarded for thinking that a killer was stalking me” I picked up my keys and unlocked the door still chuckling. I screamed with horror as I watched the gruesome sight in front of me… Smiley faces were painted on the walls with blood, my cat was tied to the ceiling, blood running from its lifeless body. A dark figure stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding a knife.
My Story by Rose ThePainter Hello, you might be wondering why I’m wasting my time writing instead of killing right now, but that’s what makes this fun…I’ll be telling you the beginning of me and how I got here. It all started when I was born on March 18th 1999, which would make me 16 almost 17. I had a peaceful childhood in till I was in first grade, that’s when I started getting bullied. Yeah I know that’s the stupidest reason for me to be like this, but I’m only beginning…..My Mother and Father thought we should move, and so we moved. 5 years pasted, I was still bullied and if I told my Mom they would make me move again, so I kept it to myself…I didn’t even tell my little brother. So my brother is 12, he’s 4ft and 9in. Oh and, my father died in a car crash 2 years before then which made it very hard for me, since I did everything with my Dad and not my Mom, my Mom hates me…she says I killed him, so now I hate her….I wanted to kill her honestly! But I need to get pushed past the line, I needed to convince myself to do it though and sure enough…..I got the “push” I needed. 1 more year pasted before I got the “push”. I decided to go out into the forest for a bit and, of course my Mom said “Hope you don’t die sweetie! (Not)”. It made me mad and I said ” Whatever!!” I just yelled at her and she didn’t care. I walked to the forest and I decided to stay for a few hours. I sat down on the bench, someone came up to me and all I could see were dress pants and the end of something white. “What do you want…?” I asked in a mad but calm voice. “Me? Oh well thanks for asking, I’m Jeff. What’s your name?” He put his hand in front of me. I looked up to see his hand which was very white and then I put my hand in his. “Oh! You can move, I thought you couldn’t!” He laughed a little then asked “Want to hangout?” I was surprised and I looked up but he stopped me from looking at his face, so I decided to tell him. “No one has ever asked me that question…” A tear escaped my eye and slid of my cheek, he moved his hand from my head and wipped my tear away. “Your different
than others. Your not scared of me or just plan up hate me.” I said with a angry face. “Why would anyone feel that way? I’ve learned to seek out the strong and I don’t really have to seek out the weak because their the ones that do things like bully and act scared…And, what’s with that angry fa-“. He was cut of by the top bully of my school. “Oh well if it isn’t my dear old victim talking to someone!” She said in a sarcastic way, that got me to stand up and raise my voice, Jeff stepped a side with his head down. “So, do you want another fight…?” I asked which seemed to make her back away as she seemed to remember last time. “N-no! I just wanted to say ‘Hi’!” She said but I knew better to just back down, she would kill me. “I know you want a fight, cause if I turn around right now you would try to kill me!” I yelled louder than usaul, and that made my school’s top bully jump. “Oh so you want to fight!” She started running at me but I side stepped. “How the he-” She was cut off by someone with orange goggles which I immediately knew it was Ticci Toby, Toby stabbed the top bully in till her pulse stopped. “Jeff you motherf###!” Toby said as Jeff was about to yell but remembered that I was there. “Toby, I was trying to get a new member!” Jeff said as happy as anyone can be and smiled as he took his hood off, and to my surprise it was the “Killer” himself. I looked up and Jeff was surprised I didn’t look scared at all not even a little. “Your not scared? What’s up with that?!” Jeff said disappointed. “You want to know why? I have seen things worst than you and to be honest! I love your Creepypasta family! I read all of your story’s and I loved them!” I told them excitedly, making Toby and Jeff shocked. “Wait, you mean…you know mine?” Toby asked and I nodded. “Wow!” Jeff smiled so big it made me smile a lot, but the smiling got cut of by…………….. TO BE CONTINUED
I had Something Happen for Real by Rose ThePainter Today I was being chased by the Rake, literally! If I had my phone I would have taken a video, but I left it at home…….. It was a normal night walking home…but it felt off, I was walking with two friends, they saw it too…..but they got to their house before mine, mine was on the next block which should of scared the s### out of me but it didn’t and I didn’t know why. The Rake ran but slower than the Rake should have ran, it let me go a head. I stopped about 5 houses away from mine and I turned around but nothing was there except a knife with my name wrote with…..um…black goop. I picked it up and put it in my backpack, I then walked home slowly and sat down and listened to music in till my Parents got home then I went in my room, and now I’m here writing this because it seemed like something to share. I still feel weird…like a tugging feeling, I feel like so close to be doing something that I shouldn’t…..last year I had the same feeling and I stabbed someone with a safety pin…..so much for them being safe… hehe…(This is before now, this is the beginning of my friend’s journal. This is not me who is saying this, well it sort of is but my friend…my friend Zoey, wrote this before she disappeared during my little brothers birthday. I’ve been searching for her since, I wish I could find her…but I have the feeling I shouldn’t be wanting to find her, but I’ll write the rest that’s in her journal.) So I’ve been invited to my friends brothers birthday party, but she said we could go in her room for a bit in till the camping trip started, so I agreed. I had a ton of fun in Rose’s room playing Black Ops!(Btw I’m Rose) But then we had to leave for the camping trip, so me and Rose packed our stuff up and jumped in the car and Rose’s mom drove us to the spot! It looks like its going to be fun, I’ll write more in the morning! Bye! (So that was the last thing she wrote before disappearing. I wish she wrote more but we had to go to bed so we could explore the next day. But that day never came…which was sad. Zoey’s still missing, so if you see a
girl with white hair and light blue eye’s tell me immediately! Please, I need her and….she needs me. Oh, and if you see me, I have purplish brown hair and greenish blue eyes. Thank you for reading and if you do see her and tell me, thank you! Your the best! I miss her so much…..I wish I could find her myself, but I’m under strict rules right now and their the worst rules ever! That’s why I’m coming her to tell you, your lucky enough if you even made it this far into this reading. Thank you again! Bye.
5 Long Years by AshArm8992
Who would have thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with you. I laughed to myself. I cried myself to sleep over you . Sister Jamie was right . Will you marry me Anna Lee? Just like that I automatically said yes! Oh Martin we are simply ment to be! I thought I could look long pass this Abusive situation! He has finally came around about not loosing me!! When I told Jamie she frowned about it. Anna Lee please don’t marry my brother! He won’t change! Hasn’t changed in the last ten years! I do believe he killed our mother when he was just sixteen! Martin has never met his father . It was just him and his mother . He had two sisters Jamie and Hannah but they were way older and moved on. But Jamie stuck by for the sake of her mother’s welfare. Jamie give Martin a chance! He might have changed! And I’ve already said yes! Still frowning this wedding might be a bloody wedding or a loved. Just weeks before the wedding. Martin came home , it was 2 am. Martin came home drunk.. he went out partying with some of the guys he worked with . Stumbling to the bed room knocking off pictures from the hallway walls I woke up. Martin!! Standing at the doorway was soused Martin! Martin do you know what time it is?! Yeah for you to SHUT THAT HOLE IN YOUR UGLY FACE! Martin maybe you should come to bed. NO!! wh-why? Because I don’t love you Anna Lee!!!
I have never loved you! I can never get rid of you! Your the crazy b***h i can’t get rid of! I started to cry .. Nobody will never love you your to ugly! And fat. I weighed only ninety-five pounds because martin never let me eat anything I wanted because he said I was fat . So i did It because I thought that’s what Martin wanted. He then came over to my side of the bed pulled me by the wrist and got me out of bed. Get out of my house ! We are done I hate you!!! Then he beated me until i was bloody and bruised. And he finally passed out on the floor. Almost next to the closet. Blood still on his knuckles. I cried but a silent cry. I went to clean myself up , and by 5 am I took very little close with me and I was gone. I was abused by Martin for 5 long years. I went home went to the police , got under a witness protection program and went under a new name and appearance, my new name was Rose Buchanan. After seven years I was able to get my name back Martin never showed back up. But I never changed my appearance back to the same five years ago, I wasn’t so sure it was safe. Until I met Luke Anderson. I felt safe with Luke. We were only together six months until he finally asked me to marry him . I had said yes . On November 5th 2018 was our wedding day. We were just about to exchange our vows until I heard a familiar voice. Anna Lee!!! Everyone turned and it was Martin. He had the look of fire in his eyes! Martin? I slowly moved my lips. Anna Lee I’m sorry I’m so sorry!! I tried writing you letters I tried finding you but nothing . I thought you were dead!! And now I find out almost seven years later you were in hiding! Anna Lee I went to prison and found out you were alive ! And now you found this guy! Martin pulled out a revolver as big as his hand. If i can’t have you nobody can! I want you in hell with me!! Martin put the gun down!! Luke told him ! Shut up! And shot luke in the shoulder! Luke went down! Luke! I screamed! Don’t move Anna Lee. Just then a dark spirit came up behind Martin , grabbed his body
made marin drop the gun! He turned around it was his own mother , looked like she was shot in the head and neck and one eye missing due to the blow in the head ! Martin she said it’s time . Mommy? Oh my god!! Im taking you with me Martin to HELL!!! No!! No!!! And just like that big winds came over and I covered my head heard bones crushing hearing Martin gasping for air , looking up I see blood coming out of Martin’s mouth, with his mother’s spirit watching him suffer she turned to look at me and smiled . We are free my dear!!! She turned back to Martin she started to scream and just like that they were gone! Luke held onto me . Looked at me and hugged me. Anna Lee are you all right? Yes I am . I am now.. Luke smiled at me . Now I am Free!!
CreepyPasta Who doesn't love... some creepypasta? ... Some stories suck... others scare the shit out of you...!
Free Wifi by Storm
My name is Masha and I’m 16 years old. I live in a small town in Russia. My father doesn’t make a lot of money and my family isn’t very wealthy. There are a lot of things we can’t afford. One of those things is the internet. One day, while I was in school, on of my friends told me she heard about a new service that gives you free access to the internet. She said all you had to do was connect to their network, which was called “Free WiFi” and then you could browse the internet till’ your heart’s content without having to pay a thing. It sounded almost too good to be true. That evening, when I got home, I decided to try it out. I opened up my laptop and searched for the network called “Free WiFi”. The signal was excellent, so I selected it and clicked “Connect”. The Internet browser popped up and, on a black background with sinister red letters, there was a message: “Welcome to Free WiFi! Thank you for visiting! We don’t require any registration. All we ask is some basic information about our visitors. Please answer the following question.” Underneath, there was a question: “What is your usual mode of transport?” My father doesn’t own a car and we could never afford to go anywhere on the Holiday’s. I didn’t use any of the listed modes of transport, so I just chose the train at random and clicked on it. A “Thank You” message appeared on the screen and then, I was able to browse the Internet. I was delighted. This was the answer to all my problems. Now, I could set up a Facebook account and keep in touch with my friends on Twitter and Instagram. The next day, however, as I was watching TV, the show was
interrupted by a breaking news alert. The local news reporter saying that there had been a terrible accident. A train had derailed and come off the tracks just as it was crossing a bridge. Several carriages plunged into the river below and almost everyone aboard had been killed. I was horrified. Thats when I remembered the website I had visited the night before. I had selected the picture of the train. I tried to convince myself it was just a coincidence. I mean, what would have happened if I had chosen the picture of the plane. Would there have been a plane crash the next day? The idea was ludicrous. That evening, I needed to use the internet again. I connected to the Free WiFi network again, the same page popped up. This time, the question was different. There were 4 pictures of houses: A bungalow, a two-story house, a three-story house, and an apartment building. Underneath, in big red letters was the question: “Which type of house do you live in?” My family lives in a bungalow and I was about to choose that option when I stopped myself. My finger hovered over the mouse button, but I couldn’t click it. What if my suspicions were true? I wondered. It was a silly thought, but I just couldn’t take the chance. Instead i clicked on the apartment building, just to be safe. A “Thank You” message flashed on the screen and I was able to connect to the Internet again. The next day, the apartment building near my school burnt down. Luckily, the fire happened during the day, so most people weren’t home. About 20 people perished in the blaze. The police said they suspected arson. I was worried. It was starting to seem like more than a coincidence. no matter how crazy it seemed, I had a sneaking suspicion that somehow, the Free WiFi was causing these tragedies. I decided that I would be better off if I just left it alone. However, that night, I began to doubt myself. The more I thought about it, the sillier it seemed. Was I just being paranoid? How could connecting to a Free WiFi network result in the deaths of over 100 people. Who would ever believe such a thing was possible? After mulling it over for almost an hour, I was convinced it was
just an insane coincidence. I took out my laptop, turned it on and connected to the Free WiFi. My Internet browser opened again. There were 4 more pictures. When i saw them, I let out a gasp of horror. The pictures were of my mother, my father, my little sister and me….. Underneath, in big red letters was the question: Which of these is your favorite family member?’
Limits Who likes them? ... Make a story with that beginning... with so much words.... Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, that sucks!
Thief ’s Price by Demonheart5 Thou shalt not steal. In some religions in whatever way or form it’s a common rule. It’s even a part of our laws in most of countries. No one has ever thought why? I’m sure they have wondered but what is the cost of stealing something. Some countries have strict rules for those who steal like chopping off a arm, hand or a finger. We are lucky I guess to only get community service and in worse case scenario jail. In an information age that we live in now we can steal music, movies, and TV shows without any consequences. You could watch a movie on a website in English or Chinese website. I say all this to introduce what point I’m driving at. I’ll start my story from the beginning in the time were torrenting is great and anything you can imagine can be thought up. Well one while I was looking for favorite comic book digital file. I came across a file called “don’t download this file.pdf” now I had heard the song don’t download this song and all the anti piracy ads you can imagine. When I clicked on it my computer screen flickered for a brief second, which is weird since it was a relatively new computer. I then saw the amount of downloads for this file over 100,000. There was no comments and the amount of seeders was surprisingly high since usually you can get 5 -20 on a good day this was one was in the 1,100 range. Now the voice in my head was telling me go for it, I mean if it s***s just trash it. And then in my gut I had a sinking feeling. Out of all of those feeling my hand moved the mouse to click on download like it was being controlled on its own. After it popped up in my torrent application, it took no less 5 minutes to download it. I clicked on it and it opened up. What appeared on the screen was a PDF with the a few sentences saying “ You ignored the warning. But now you will receive your just desserts. What you’re about to lose, you never be able to take back!” After I read that, it closed by itself. Thinking it was a fluke on the side of my computer. I clicked on it again the computer said “the file has been
corrupted please look online for a way to repair it or delete it” . With that I deleted it and thought that was the end of my worry’s. Then I decided to go do something else so put my computer in sleep mode. The next day as I passed my computer and it made a funny sound , it was mix between a Facebook message and email notification but it was more high pitched. My ears rang after hearing it. I decided to wake my computer up. After I logged in I noticed the desktop had a new file. It was that corrupted file from the day before. I attempted to open it. What appeared next I can’t even explain. There isn’t he screen was a photo of my sister sleeping and some dark figure standing over her. The alarm read 9:45 am. That two minutes ago, I rushed up the stairs to find her awake looking at their phone. She yelled “ why here dork?” I said stuttered “um I’m just checking on you?!” Then I left. This happened a few more times in the week, to different family members each time. I would burst in a check on them and of course they would yell at me for distribution them. I then began to notice behavior of my family had changed slightly from weeks before. At it wasn’t noticeable but soon it became apparent something was up. They would forget which room was theirs, my mom forgot to make dinner one night which wasn’t normal for her. In the back of my mind I would always think about what the message had said from that download. But I would quickly put it off. One night when I came home late from hanging out with my friends. As I entered the door my whole family was sitting in the living room talking about something. As soon as I came in they all went silent and stared at me. My little brother said “ Why are home so late?”. My sister then said “Probably forgot where the house was!”. I said “ No I just lost track of time sorry, what you guys up too?”. They all got up simultaneously and said nothing but walked the stairs to their rooms. Something I have never seen them do before. As I walked up the stairs toward my room. And as I opened the door my computer went made another noise. It wasn’t a notification like last time it was a high pitched sound. Just then the tower started bellowing smoke. Black acrid smoke and then a fire broke out lighting my desk and the floor on fire. I ran to the door and tugged
on it. It was locked! I ran towards the window and opened it. The night air blew in, as I climbed out the window the flames began move up the wall. I scrambled out onto the gutter and a quickly I shimmied actions the gutter to the window of my parents room. It was still dark. There I reached out to the tree next to it. It wasn’t close but if I timed my jump and went for it because I wasn’t going to die today. I landed half grabbing the branch and the trunk. Crawled down the tree and ran to the front door yelling for my family to open it up. My dad answered and said “ What? How are you here?” “Dad my room was on fire!”. With that my Dad went upstairs with me and opened my door to find nothing. “ Have you been doing drugs?”. “Dad…It was on fire I had to get out!”. Well he didn’t buy it and just went back to his room. As soon as the door shut the house went really silent. I closed the door and looked at the computer. It looked normal. I decided to lay down my bed try to get some sleep. That night, all I saw were nightmares of demons laughing and skinning humans. I woke with a cold sweat. I began to sit up when I saw something sitting at my desk. The room was dark so I couldn’t tell his whole shape. It was huge and hulking in my chair. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep and hoped it would go away. As I laid there I felt a cold hand on my mouth. And that same acrid smell from before. And a raspy voice saying “You ignored the warning. But now you will receive your just desserts. What you’re about to lose, you never be able to take back”. A cold shiver went down my spine. Just then I woke up again and I was in my room. I sat up and there was nothing in my room. I sat up for while till morning. Then I headed downstairs to eat breakfast. As I sat there no one else came down for breakfast. An hour had past and I went to check my phone it was Friday. My dad should up for work at least. I went to the garage and his car was still there. As I climbed the stairs I smelled that acrid smell again. It filled the entire second floor. Then I heard a simultaneous screaming coming from all the rooms in the house. And then silence. I walked to my sister’s door and touched the door handle, it wasn’t locked. I opened it. Right before my eyes was the dream I had
the night before. My sister’s skin had been ripped from her body and she was on her bed blood dripping everywhere. I couldn’t hold in the vomit and I threw up on the floor. I heard a faint breathing coming from her. She was still alive but barely. It was too much for me to bare and worse was I had a sinking feeling that the rest of my family had a similar fate. I went to my parents door and knocked on it. No reply. I opened it to see the same horror as from before. But time they were both nailed to walls. I couldn’t take I ran out of the room went to see my brother. And I couldn’t look too long. I ran into my room grabbed my wallet. Then searched each room for money. After that I gathered some clothes and food and water. Then went to the garage and started both cars up and the found a gasoline can on the ground and spreader it all over both cars. Then I took a couple bottles of alcohol from my father’s cabinet. Placed rags in them and then I lit them. There was no going back after that. I had to make it look like a accident. I tried my best and threw them at the cars. I grabbed my bike and began biking to school. Halfway there I realized I would be caught the minute I go to school. I headed back to see my house, it was lighting on fire. Some of my neighbors had came out. I put my hood and rode past them as fast I could. I don’t sleep much now. I found my into a homeless shelter. There I just hold on to the next day. Every time I close my eyes I see the my family’s gruesome fate. I heard the police were looking for me to ask some questions. Hopefully I can get away in time. I don’t want to go to prison, but I know that’s where I’ll be out once they find me. Even though my own life feels like a prison already.
Some As first I have on my tablet and smartphone... Creepypasta apps... a lot of. Asa a second... some people know for what they are talking about.... other's don't know! - That's a FACT!
Holders I like "The Holders series"... So far 4 out of 538
The Holder of Nothing In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls herself "The Holder of Nothing." Should a look of sheer, primal disgust mar the worker's expression, you will then be taken to a separate building, one that appears to be an old, wooden outhouse. Inside will be a seemingly endless corridor that far exceeds the length of that outhouse. The corridor will be completely silent. Attempting to make any sound at the wrong time is a grievous, lamentable mistake. You will notice the lights in the corridor getting brighter and brighter as you make your way down towards the end; eventually, you will find yourself blinded by their brilliance. If, at any point the lights go out, quickly shout out, "No! Stop! What you are doing is wrong!" while backing away. If the lights do not come back on, bolt for the door you came in through. It should still be open; hopefully you aren't far enough down the hallway for it to close on you. If it does close, an eternity in Hell would be preferable to what you will suffer. If the lights come back on, continue walking down the corridor. At the end of the hall lies a cell; the worker will open its door for you while glaring at you in disgust. Inside the cell will be a mad pastiche of colors, arranged in several harlequin-like formations. You must not be distracted by them, for at the center of the room is a naked young woman, slathered in blood and bound by strips of human sinew, and you would be better off not knowing what will happen if you take your eyes off of her face for even a moment. Focus on her, and ask: "What were they when they were one?" She will look you in the eye and speak the answer in incredible detail. It will be unlike anything you have ever heard, leaving you on the verge of both ecstasy and agony. It is not uncommon for a Seeker to lose themselves in the euphoria. But you mustn't let your focus break, and you must take special care not to look upon her tattooed
chest. Your mind will tempt you to gaze upon it, but you must resist, for if you fail, she will flay you alive and add your mutilated flesh to her bindings, and you will remain trapped with her, fully conscious, for the rest of time. That tattoo is Object 4 of 538. They desire to be one again, but they mustn't.
A lot of A lot of stuff are scary these days... but are you afraid?
Wendall Lane Diaries: You Shouldn’t Disclaimer: I am not a paranormal investigator. I am an author. While looking for inspiration for a book, I came across a series of stories surrounding a home in the American Pacific North West. It is an extremely un-extraordinary looking house in an extremely unextraordinary looking residential neighborhood, but the stories that have emanated from its former residents and the people who lived in the town that it’s located in are quite extraordinary. Through my research of the house on Wendall Lane, I have come across accounts that range from the super natural to just plain bizarre. In order to protect the privacy of the people in the town and the current inhabitants of the house on Wendall Lane, I have not only changed the name of everyone in these stories, but the name of the street as well. Wendall Lane is just an alias for the true location of these accounts. *** Alan Palmer lived in the house on Wendell Ln. from September 2002 to July 2003. After months of trying to contact him about his time there, I finally received an e-mail agreeing to set up a meeting. Quite a few of the house’s prior residents had turned down my requests for face to face interviews so I jumped at the chance to talk to him in person once the opportunity presented itself. Palmer, who worked as a socioeconomics professor at the University of Washington, arranged to meet me and talk over drinks at a place of his choosing in downtown Seattle. The bar was called Oliver’s Lounge and was located in the historic Mayflower Park Hotel. Upon arriving, I was surprised to see just how crowded it was for 3:00 PM on a Tuesday. There were people seated at nearly every table while food runners and waiters dressed in white servers’ jackets and black bowties hustled and bustled about the room bringing people their orders. Windows stretching from floor to ceiling allowed for an ample amount of sunlight to illuminate the space, giving it a genuinely open and inviting ambience. I spotted Palmer in the corner sitting at a small high table and sipping on a glass of scotch.
He greeted me with a hearty handshake and a bright smile after I introduced myself to him. The man was greying a little around the ears, and I could tell shortly after meeting him that he was incredibly intelligent, but aside from that he seemed to have the demeanor of a fellow 15 years his junior. Palmer was a light-hearted gentleman who loved a good joke and he insisted on telling me a few of his favorites before I turned my tape recorder on. Once he had his fun we started the interview. “Believe it or not, you’re not the first person who’s tried to contact me about the time I spent living on Wendell Ln. Apparently there are all kinds of “ghost enthusiasts” out there who’ve heard about the house through the various online forums these types of people tend to frequent. Nerds and losers – you know the type – they spend their time sifting through thread after thread on the Internet, pretending that they’re doing something productive with their lives. Hell, most of them are probably overweight man-children sitting in their parents’ basement and conducting their ‘research’ in between anime cartoons.” Palmer let out a laugh, seemingly pleased with his depiction of the paranormal research community. I decided to omit the fact that I first heard about him through one of the online forums he was talking about. He took a sip of scotch and continued on. “So naturally I ignored your e-mails thinking you were another one of those ghost geeks. It’s strange. I probably wouldn’t have agreed to meet, but I came across one of your books by complete accident. My nephew mentioned your work in passing when I was over at my brother’s house for dinner a few weeks ago. I put two and two together and realized you were the same author who had been e-mailing me so I figured why the hell not? I’m game to talk about it if you are, all though I must admit my story probably isn’t as interesting as demons or monsters or whatever the hell it is you write about. Not a whole lot happened while I was living there. In fact, the only reason I lived in the house for such a short period of time was because an old colleague of mine offered me a full professorship here at the University of Washington not long after I purchased it and the commute was just too far. My workplace at the time had no job security, I was on the
chopping block every year so there was no way I could turn down the offer. This was before the housing bust in ’07. It was a sellers’ market; banks were giving away loans like there was no tomorrow so it wasn’t difficult to turn right back around and flip the place. Hell, I even made thirty grand! Plus, I love Seattle. The weather sucks, but this city has culture!” We made small talk for a bit. He told some stories about work, his travels to Europe, and even asked me about some of the upcoming books that I’ve been working on. I was beginning to wonder if flying all the way out to Seattle to speak to him had been a big waste of time. After all, Palmer appeared almost completely uninterested in discussing any and all aspects of the house. I directed his attention back towards the reason why we had met when I asked him to describe the most bizarre encounter he could remember having in the short time he lived on Wendell Ln. “Haha! Now you’re starting to sound like the Internet ghost geeks! Fine, fine, let me think. Like I said, nothing really strange ever happened, that’s why I –” He paused for a moment and looked out the window towards the street. “There was one thing. I had almost forgotten about it – the TV incident. It was a Friday night in June, about a month before the house sold. There was nothing on. You know how crappy television programming can be on the weekends, especially in the summer time! I was scrolling through channels on my TV’s menu looking for something to turn my brain off to when the title of a show caught my eye. It was called “You Shouldn’t Watch”. I figured with a name like that, how could I not give it a go? Also, the show was on a channel I had never seen before – Channel 732. To be honest, I don’t watch much TV and when I do, I don’t usually venture out of the HD channels so I wasn’t even sure if it was covered under my cable package. Now, I don’t know what yours looks like, but the way my cable provider’s menu was set up different colors are used to distinguish between different types of shows. You get green for sports, purple for movies, and blue for everything else. However, the menu color for this particular show was black. The text was yellow, which was also
unusual since the show’s title is always written in white. Even the font was different. Don’t ask me to describe what it looked like because I really can’t recall. All I know was I had never seen letters written in that way before. I know that sounds odd, but the best description I could give you is that even though the lettering looked completely alien in appearance, my mind could somehow interpret what it said – “YOU SHOULDN’T WATCH”. Now I’m starting to sound like the Internet weirdos. Ha!” Palmer polished off his glass and called the waitress over to order another drink. “Anyways, from the very second I turned on the program, I knew I was watching something very strange – very strange indeed. The black and white picture on my television was of a mostly empty room. There were no visible windows or doors; the place seemed cold and uninviting – like how I’d imagine a jail cell in Bangladesh would look. Not dead center, but slightly off to the left of the frame was a man sitting at an old rusty table. He was shirtless and looked to be very malnourished. It reminded me of those old photos you see of the Jews who suffered through German concentration camps during World War 2. I remember wondering if he was a prisoner there. The frail man wore a pair of tattered slacks, but no belt or shoes. His mouth hung a gape as if his jaw was too heavy to close. There was no music or dialogue; the only noises radiating from my speakers were the sounds of his wheezy, raspy breaths. God! It sounded like he was suffering from emphysema or something. I followed his gaze down to an old rotary phone sitting on the tabletop. He just gawked at the thing like a buffoon while I stared at the screen, mesmerized by the odd scene taking place on my television. I hit the info button, hoping to read a synopsis of what the show was about, but of course there was nothing so I just kept watching. For minutes he didn’t move. I giggled to myself for a bit – you know, the way you do when something makes you uncomfortable and your brain thinks laughing will ease the tension. The whole time I was waiting, hoping for something that resembled dialogue. Anything to prove that I was just watching some weird movie and had simply turned it on at the wrong time, but nothing ever happened. Perplexed and a little bit bored, I stood up from my couch and
headed over to the kitchen to rummage through the fridge for a little late night snack. I was about halfway done making myself a sandwich when I heard the most terrible noise.” Palmer paused briefly. At first I thought he had stopped his story because of the waitress returning from the bar with his drink, but he barely acknowledged her presence. The man was caught up in deep thought as though he had just remembered something important. When he finally began speaking again the tone of his voice had completely changed. Gone was the chipper upbeat persona I had come to know him by. Palmer was clearly distraught. “It sounded horrible – like a dying animal. I remember an awful sensation of nausea washing over me; it was the strangest thing. There was an ominous feeling in the air too – death, ruin, calamity all hanging over my head. Once I realized that the noise was coming from the television, I put down my sandwich and hurried back towards the living room. The scene on the TV was essentially the same except now the sickly looking man had turned his head up towards the ceiling and was howling and groaning in the most unpleasant of ways. The longer I watched the more it made me feel like I was going to retch. The whole thing was utterly abhorrent. The man would moan for 30 maybe 40 seconds at a time before stopping suddenly, then he would take another deep wheezy breath and the terrible sounds would begin anew. I cringed as I took it all in. My visual and auditory senses were being assaulted by the most disagreeable of stimuli and I was still fighting off the urge to vomit all over my living room carpet. Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, the man still groaning mind you, turned his head in the direction of the screen and stared straight into the camera. The thing is, I was certain he was looking directly at me. That’s what it felt like; it was almost as if we were in the same room. I probably should have turned off the show, but after minutes of nothing something was finally going on and I felt compelled to keep watching even though I was suffering immensely. I stared into the glazed over eyes of the sickly looking man until he turned his attention down towards the phone sitting on the table –”
Palmer hunched over in his seat and removed his glasses. He seemed visibly shaken. The 42-year-old econ professor clasped the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger and let out a deep sigh. Beads of sweat had begun to form on his forehead. “I’m sorry, forgive me. I haven’t thought about this night in a long time. I suppose it’s possible that my mind pushed this episode to the back of my consciousness and I forgot all about it – kind of a defense mechanism type of thing. I’ve read about case studies where army veterans who witnessed horrific events develop amnesia about their time in the military. It seems as though I may be going through something similar, except as I sit here and talk to you, everything begins to come back to me.” I asked him if he wanted to continue. He agreed and then resumed his story. “His hand quaked violently as he lifted the phone to his ear. His arms were rail thin and it looked as though he was struggling mightily to hold it in place. With his other hand, he clumsily started spinning the rotary dial. That’s when my cell phone started ringing. A chill ran down my spine, my nausea got even worse, that ominous feeling in the air had transformed into full on horror. I prayed with every fiber in my being that it was a coincidence as I looked at my phone’s caller ID. You have no idea how bad I wanted the number to be one that I recognized. I didn’t recognize it of course. Hell, it wasn’t even a number. It was something else entirely. In that same strange, alien text from the TV’s menu were the words ‘YOU SHOULDN’T LISTEN’ written where the caller’s number should have been. That was enough for me. I hung up the phone and reached for the remote on the coffee table. I must have pressed the channel button a dozen times, but the picture never changed. I tried the power button and still nothing happened. The man began to dial the phone again. Once more my cell started to ring.” Palmer had gone pale. He looked completely different from when I first met him – the polar opposite of the smiling man who shook my hand earlier. “I tried to turn off the TV manually, I even unplugged it from the wall, but by this time I knew it would do nothing. The sickly, pale
man continued to stare at me – his horrible, empty gaze felt as though it was tearing me to pieces. Stomach bile slowly started to crawl its way up my esophagus. I don’t know why I answered the phone, I couldn’t help myself; maybe I thought if I did then it would all just end. My finger trembled as I pressed the answer button. I slowly lifted the phone to my face. I didn’t even need to say, ‘hello’. He just began speaking as if he was watching me answer the phone through the television screen – and perhaps he was.” Tears began to well up in Palmer’s eyes. I tried to tell him that he didn’t need to go into further detail if he was uncomfortable, but he kept talking as though he never even heard me. By that point, he would have finished his story even if there was no one sitting across the table from him. “He spoke to me in a terrible voice – it sounded like he was gargling shards of glass. His lips moved on the screen, but I could hear him clearly over the phone… he said…he said, “You shouldn’t tell”. Then in one horrible, inhumanly quick motion, he leapt out of the frame as the screen went to black. Jesus Christ, he said, ‘You shouldn’t tell.’ Did I just tell? Vincent please, does that mean I just told!?” Palmer fell silent and stared awkwardly into his glass for a moment. Then he apologized and excused himself from the table. It was the last I saw of him that night. He sent me a text message 15 minutes later explaining that he had to go home and instructing me to charge the bill to his tab. I tried to contact him once I got back to California, but he never answered my calls or e-mails. A few weeks later I found out what happened to him after performing a simple Google search of his name. Twelve days after Alan Palmer and I met to talk about the house on Wendall Ln, he was found dead in his Seattle home. There was no sign of a struggle or forced entry, however, due to the horrific nature of his death, Seattle PD does believe that he was murdered. Palmer’s body was discovered in front of the television on his living room couch missing ears, eyes, and tongue. Credit To – Vincent VenaCava
Thumps It's funny how things work. We have giant metal vehicles that fly through the air. We have HD video that you can carry in your pocket. We have music that can be accessed any time from devices that use touch screens. But when something like this happens... something so stupid... something so simple... there's nothing to be done. Nothing that can be done, even with our advances. I woke up three weeks ago in this place. It's a medium-sized room with concrete walls, floor and ceiling. In spots, the concrete is stained and cracked. A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling and sometimes it flickers. It's not a very powerful bulb, but enough to see by. I woke up next to a woman. I didn't recognize her, but that didn't matter. I didn't know where I was. I didn't even know how I'd gotten here. There didn't seem to be any doors or windows or openings of any kind. Just a concrete box with me and a sleeping woman in it. I woke her up after a few moments of dazed confusion. She didn't scream, which was my worry, and instead asked questions calmly. "Where are we?" she asked. "I don't know." "How did I get here?" "I don't know." "Who are you?" I smiled. Finally, a question I could answer. "I'm Tom," I said. "Tom Greene. I woke up here just a minute ago and I was hoping you'd have an idea about it. But since you don't... well, we may as well get acquainted. You know my name, what's yours?" I stuck out my hand. She shook my hand. "I'm Melissa," she replied. "Melissa Dobbs. Last I remember, I was--" she froze and creased her eyebrows. "Did you hear that?" I listened but didn't hear anything. I shook my head. "What was it?" I asked. "It sounded like... I don't know... a thump." We sat in silence for a few minutes, listening for another noise. There was nothing but silence as long as we sat there. After so long, I just shook my head.
"I don't think there's anything there, Melissa," I said. "But if you did hear a sound, that means we're close to the surface." "The surface?" She repeated. "What do you mean, the surface?" "Well, the way I figure, we're probably underground. Where else would someone keep a concrete box? Another thing I'm wondering is how they even got us in here. It all seems like a dream, you know?" I sighed and leaned my back against the wall. This couldn't be happening, not really. "I know what you mean," Melissa said. "It just doesn't seem real. This doesn't just happen. This can't just happen. I--" This time I heard the noise, too. It was like a thump, but a squishy thump. Like if you hit an animal with a heavy object. Images of bleeding animals flashed in my mind, pictures of infants being hit with hammers and baseball bats. I almost jumped, I was so surprised. Why would I think that? That wasn't normal. None of this was normal. This place and that sound and these thoughts. None of this was right. "Did you--" "Yeah, I heard it," I interrupted Melissa. I started to ask if she saw things, but... she would think I was crazy. Being here was making me a little stressed, sure, but crazy? No. No, and I wouldn't let her think that. Melissa and I spent the rest of the day discussing the situation and listening for the noises. It seems they came at regular intervals, once every ten minutes or so. I thought maybe we were near an automatic machine. Sometimes when the sounds came, I would have the flashes of terrible things. It was disgusting and wrong, but it happened. I couldn't help it. I wondered if Melissa had the flashes, but I didn't dare ask her. If my only companion thought I was crazy... well, I didn't think it would end well. We had thought it was some sort of hostage-taking at first. We thought we had been taken captive by criminals. That's what we'd decided. It was a normal assumption. About 30 thumps into the day, though, our thoughts changed. We were hungry. If the thumps really were coming every ten minutes, then thirty thumps meant we'd been awake for five hours. I could hear my stomach growling and once I even heard Melissa's. We
were thirsty more, though. My throat was sore and dry, but we had no water or food. We were talking about what we'd do when we got out of this box when it happened. The interviews and books and maybe even movies that would come. We could both get rich off of this. We tried to remain positive like that. Suddenly, everything went black. It felt like only a second and I didn't realize my eyes had closed until I opened them. Melissa and I woke up at the same time. We were confused. Somehow we'd blacked out at the same time, woken up at the same time, and... "Food," Melissa whispered. "There's food...and water..." She was staring into a corner of the room where before there'd been nothing, but now there were two trays with food and water on them. My stomach rumbled and I didn't care where they had come from or how we'd blacked out. "Let's eat," I said, grabbing our trays. "We can talk about it in a few thumps." Melissa actually laughed. "Funny how the way we measure time can change just like that," She said, grabbing her food. "But I guess it's just as good as minutes or hours." The food was good. Warm. Steak and potatoes. A scoop of ice cream for dessert. A liter bottle of water to drink. The steak was precut for us, so no knives. The forks we were given were dull, very dull. No way we could hurt anyone with them. Not that we would be able to regardless, since it seemed they could induce loss of consciousness whenever they wanted to. I got the feeling that once we were done eating we'd just black out again and the forks and trays would be gone. We ate in silence and then my guess was confirmed. We lost our trays and our forks and again we were just in an empty concrete box. We never actually talked about it. We kept busy talking about other things. After another 50 or so thumps we went to sleep. It was hard at first to sleep with the thumps. But as with anything, you grow accustomed to it. You grow accustomed to the thumps and the flashes and the blackouts. Just as people grow accustomed to planes and phones and iPods.
This is adaptation. This is evolution. I don't know how long we slept, but every day there seemed to be less time in between each thump. Each day, though, the food seemed to get a little better. The first day's food was good, but it seemed bland. Each day the food tasted better, as if a reward for losing time between thumps. This is conditioning. By day ten, there was barely any time between thumps. The food was delicious. We couldn't get enough. Melissa and I got along well enough. We were becoming pretty big friends and at around day five we started having sex. We didn't love each other, but we were both adults. We both wanted something to keep us busy and entertained. Why not sex? Day twelve, though, things took a turn. They went bad. We were eagerly awaiting lunch. We were ready for the blackout, ready to delight in the delicious food we'd come to expect. We weren't thinking about escape. We weren't thinking about anything. Thumps, flashes, food. Thumps, flashes, food. The flashes had gotten worse. So much worse. The thumps came so fast now, the flashes were in my head all the time. Babies, flayed open and dead. Dogs, limbs severed and laying in pools of blood. Cats, with their eyes pulled out and their organs ripped from their abdomens. All just animals. Dead animals, their lives that had been so important before, now useless. Now nothing. Now just a heap of bloody regret. This is my future. This is the death of all. Thump. Darkness. When I awoke, I didn't smell food like I was used to. Melissa was already awake, crying. "What's the matter?" I asked her. "Why are you awake already?" "I didn't fall asleep this time," She whispered. "They... they came in. They came in straight through the wall. They were so... hideous. They... they..." She started to sob. "Calm down, Melissa," I said. I went to her and put my arm around
her. She latched onto me weakly. "Tell me what happened." "They don't have mouths, Tom," she cried. "They're not human. But the thumps...the thumps come from their heads. We don't hear them with our ears, Tom. I never noticed before, but we hear them in our heads. Do you understand? They didn't bring food. They said that they'll keep bringing food from now on, but not today. They tried to tell me something else, but... but... they had to stop thumping to talk to me. And once the thumping was gone...I didn't hear. I didn't want to. I begged them to stop, to bring it back. They stopped talking. They left." This is necessary. I held Melissa until she stopped crying and fell asleep. I thought about the changes we had now. I was trying to comfort her, but all I could think about was the... The flashes had stopped. I hadn't realized until that moment because I was so used to the flashes accompanying the thumps that I had given myself flashes. But they weren't coming anymore, not really. Something had changed since meal time, and it made me almost uncomfortable. I could understand Melissa panicking when the thumping stopped now, though I didn't think I would've freaked out that badly. Melissa was still crying. "I'm sorry, Tom," she mumbled, pushing her face into my chest. I could feel her tears seeping through my shirt. "I should've been able to talk to them. But the thumps... it's so strange when they're gone. I'm used to them now." I understood. I understood perfectly. We spent the rest of that day solemnly, talking not about what we would do when we got out, but how we possibly COULD get out. Things weren't normal. The thought that we might get out was beyond us now. We accepted that. We could live like this, at least for a while. Then one day, maybe in a month or a year, we might use our forks and dig into our wrists. Do they have thumps in heaven or hell or whatever lies beyond? We got food the next day. The thumps continued and the flashes remained silent. The food was better and life was good again. Melissa, though... she was shaken. Maybe it was seeing our captors that had her so on edge. Maybe they put something in her head. The flashes, I thought. Is it possible they left my head and went to
hers? Crazy, but crazier things had happened here. Every day, Melissa got more nervous, more agitated. I couldn't understand. I tried to talk to her about it, but she wouldn't answer my questions. She just looked at me and shook her head. "Nothing's wrong," she would say. "I'm just tired." This is denial. It happened on day twenty. We fell asleep. We woke up and ate our food. We went about things as usual. I didn't know. If I had, I would've done something. Suffering alone is 1000 times worse than suffering with a friend. I was finishing my dessert and Melissa did it quick as lightning. She stabbed herself, hard, in one wrist. Then the other. Then she shoved it in her mouth. She jammed it in her throat, pulling and pushing and grinding it in there. Trying desperately to kill herself, to end it. One wrist was bright red, but it hadn't drawn blood. The other she'd stabbed harder, much harder, and it had holes in it. The holes were pretty deep, leaking - pouring - blood. Blood was trickling out of her mouth and when I throw my food down and reached out to stop her she kicked me in the chest. I fell against the wall and she just kept stabbing, cutting, choking with the fork. I didn't even realize I was screaming; the thumps had joined together by this point, making constant noise, and it was hard to hear over. Eventually she slowed and tried to force the fork down her throat. She gagged and choked and retched but it didn't come out. I got to her and pushed her arms away and reached in, but it was far down at this point. Too far. My only companion, dying. She died quickly. Between the blood and the choking, I don't know what killed her. I didn't care. I cried the rest of that day. I felt like doing the same thing. I thought maybe I would, the next day. Maybe I would join her again. At least I wouldn't be alone. The next day, however, didn't work out like that. I waited and waited. Eventually, the blackout came. I was eager to kill myself after a delightful meal. I just hoped I didn't mess it up. I'd hate to be half dead on the floor, pissing and shitting myself, alone, for who knows how long. Fortunately, I didn't have the opportunity to mess it up. I woke up outside. It was dark. This wasn't right.
"No," I whispered. No one was in sight, but I could see the lights of a town in the distance. I was out. I'd made it out of my concrete prison. "No..." This is panic. This is change. I'm not ready for this. The thumps were gone. But things had changed. Adaptation. Conditioning. The thumps were gone. The flashes were back. Evolution. I wasn't used to the silence. It was driving me mad. The flashes didn't help. I knew what would make the flashes go away, though. The thumps. They would keep the flashes at bay, make me comfortable again. That was all I needed. And they'd been teaching me how to make the thumps. They'd been teaching me since day one. I just had to... I grimaced, not wanting to think about it. But I needed the thumps. What did I have to lose, anyway? My only companion was gone. I stood... and headed for the town in the distance.
People Have one great styles of writting...
Necrosis I. I should tell you about it. Maybe you know it already—the rise of the number of suicides, the homicides, the murders. The crazy people. And then those shambling things that came afterwards. I was there when we discovered the spores that started this whole mess. In the 1980's, an independent group of scientists, myself included, embarked on an expedition to Africa to search for a notorious, maddening substance only known to locals as waansin. Apparently, this substance was spread through beautiful blomme flowers, which were found around the area. When inhaled, the waansin spores cause madness and/or dementia in the natives. The effects vary, though most of the time; they turn mad and seek a desire to murder others. I saw them stab themselves with spears and sticks and such, bashing foreheads as they went. They inflicted wounds into themselves. Some injuries were enough to kill them, naturally, but they still kept on moving. We studied a victim in a lab west of Kijuju, sealing him in a plateglass sealed room with one-way mirrors. We left him adequate food and water and sealed him inside. From him we learned of the necrosis that was happening to his skin. First, the skin pales—in this case, the native turned his otherwise dark skin into a dry, cracked gray. Blotches start to form, then sores. Through weeks of isolation, we saw the skin turn into a gray, cracked husk into greenish sore, blabbering on in Afrikaans. Days later, the man self-terminated. As he was being prepared for burial, we noticed that the corpse was twitching rapidly. It was too strange to be called necrotic twitching, it was as if the corpse still wanted to move. After a rapid succession of twitching, the corpse simply hung limp. We attempted another experiment. Apparently, that led me to my second discovery. The spores induce mutations in the body if tissue damage was severe. Apparently the spores induced cellular reproduction within the bloodstream, creating cell-after-cell-after-
cell. We knew something was wrong. A heavily wounded man exhibiting the symptoms of the blomme spores started to grow an inhuman amount of muscle and tissue around the injured parts of his body. We sedated him and placed him in an isolation room for study. The results were astonishing. The waansin spores regenerated parts of the wounded man’s body with a red mass that gave a red pigmentation on the person’s skin. The infected showed signs of an intense wendigo psychosis—an insatiable desire to feed on a human’s flesh. As the days passed by, I started to get weary and tired. I was also frightened. The other scientists were getting weary, too. When the screaming started, we were onto our knees. The man screamed his ears out. The screaming went on for days, until we woke up, heard nothing, and saw a bullet hole in his chest. The reddish man lay there. I asked Peters, our hunter, if he had done the euthanasia. “No,” he said. “Angel grabbed my gun when I was sleeping.” We saw Angel, the researcher, curled to a fetal position in a corner of the lab, gun in hand. She was sobbing and whispering. When we examined her for cuts and bruises, we saw a bite mark embedded in her arm. “It bit me. It bit me. I can’t believe it bit me,” she whispered. “I wanted to take a blood sample from him and he bit me. So I shot him. I shot shot shot him. Through the chest. That sick bastard. That sick sick bastard.” We had taken every precaution not to get infected with the waansin agent, to the point of sterilization. Angel was obviously harboring the stage-one symptoms of the waansin complex. As we came closer to restrain her, she knew of our intent, and simply shot herself in the chest. Not in the forehead, where the brain will forever slumber, but the chest. After that incident, we decided to get the hell out of there. We gave them proper burials, and left Africa. Due to my colleague’s Native American ancestry, we decided to name the condition as the Wendigo complex.
But the thing was, the case was far, far from over. There was a final symptom discovered, and out of the four, this was the worst. The necrotic twitching I spoke of before? It gets worse. II. A waansin—afflicted man was witnessed killing himself. As the coroner prepared his tools for the autopsy, he found the man shambling towards the door, ribcage exposed. The man, grayskinned and pupil-less, let out a long moan before falling to the floor, viscera spread all around. We were frightened with the news of the reanimated corpse. Frightened beyond comparison, to say the least. But, I suppose, it was already too late for us. Spreading the agent would only happen one way: through inhalation of spores. But with the outbreaks of Ebola near Blomme— infested areas, the spores… adapted— assimilated the characteristics of the virus, turning it into a deadly, agile weapon. The agent could now spread through the blood. As such, the occurrences of the infected were spreading, but the virus didn’t spread enough to gain people’s attention, until two months later. Bizarre murders occurred around the region. People were apparently eaten. Sightings prevailed of groups of people eating other groups of people. It was mad. Insane. To the few who knew about the Wendigo Complex, this was a depressing thought. Through the months until the revelation of the massive Wendigo outbreak, I’ve lost almost all my colleagues. They died by their own hands, guilty of the monsters they have become. The first official sightings of the now-named Wendigo Men were in a small Floridian island, Casey Key, but by that time, the virus was already spreading across the Americas, Europe, Asia, Africa through birds and the like. Innocent people around the world became insane. The Wendigo Men didn’t stay for long, but their slow, shambling relatives took their place. We, the remaining scientists who first discovered the Wendigo virus, hesitated to call them what they really were. The Living Dead Just like in the movies.
The virus was smart. The whole purpose of the symptoms was to turn the person into those freaks. Apparently, the virus not only causes necrosis, but causes already-dead tissue to re-animate. The blomme-waansin spores were acting as some kind of reanimating reagent. It was terrifying to think that almost everyone in the world was shambling stupidly, craving for the flesh of the living. But the virus was airborne, and the majority of the population had turned into the Wendigo Men. I don’t know why I survived. The surviving group of scientists, I included, were escorted by the convoy of the President of the United States towards an underground bunker in disguise of a farming ranch. We huddled up there, waiting for a miracle. I still remember the courageous, ambitious look on the President’s face, a decade ago. He was unfazed from all the horrors that happened around him. The soldiers looked up to him as a true leader of this band of Americans-that-were. He’s dead now. Every year, his strength waned. The moans of the living dead echoed through every night we spent under that concrete bunker. One half-baked soldier grudgingly placed a microphone towards a horde of the undead. The moans echoed through the military bunker. Every year there seemed to be that one person that flips out, and our numbers were steadily decreasing. Gradually, the beasts got in. The President, tired and weary, embraced the freaks with open arms. I killed him myself. He got a chunk of my flesh while I killed him, though. Shit. I just coughed. Well. The necrovirus just spread through my lungs, I suppose. I wonder why I’m not going crazy. Just remember. When one gets infected, he is not the same person as before. The person’s dead. This is just his body. Shoot him in the head. Be careful of the water, too. Drink bottled shit. The virus is waterborne in some parts of America. What else? Necrosis. The Necrovirus usually causes Necrosis. I said that before. Just
watch out for patches of skin that seem odd. Dry skin. Itchy skin. If you read this. If you read this… I cannot tell you how common those words were. But I don’t know. I’m afraid to say the other lines. I can’t speak of them—it’s too horrible. I can’t. I just can’t. What I’m going to become is ten times worse than anything ever imagined in this world. I could feel it eating away my body now. I’m dying. And I can’t whimper. All my strength has gone to locking myself up—it’s all for you. I stocked the closet at the back with supplies—a week’s worth of food, my remaining boxes of shotgun shells, pistol clips, ammo, and ten days worth of gas. Drive as far as Mexico, whoever you are, because they’re going to spread. And then go to Antarctica. As for me, I don’t know. Still, I’m dead. Deader than dead. O pistol. You were always there for me. Its muzzle was caked with blood. I tried to shoot myself in the head, just a few hours ago, but I decided not to. I’d shot one of those things in the face first, and when I pushed the muzzle against my temple, it was still so hot that it branded the skin of my forehead with a penny-shaped hole. I winced a bit from the pain, though I thought of you, and I guess my pain didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was the pain I’m going to cause to you. I don’t know how you...[Unreadable text due to blood spatter]. There goes my uvula. Look at that thing. Throbbing its last. It doesn’t even hurt a bit, even though blood just wells inside my mouth. I just need a little water or something. I’ll wash that off. I’m so itchy, damn it. My right arm is all dry and patchy at parts. Wait. I have to scratch. There. Itchy gone. … … … I mean, the itch is gone. Maybe I’ll just sit here and wait for it to get me, I can’t pull the trigger, I want to die but I can't.
People. Upstairs. Not dead. I see.
I scratch I scratch itchy not gone. Pepl tasty peple tasty. mihgt ass wele go there n eat dem. I et n et n et n et da dead don c me. I et. tasty.
The Writer’s Ink Jonathan sat trembling in the dark. He stared at nothing, his eyes not penetrating the circle of blackness that surrounded him. A single lamp illuminated the round table he sat at, allowing him enough light to see the edges of it and nothing more. A tea pot and halfempty cup sat in the centre. With a trembling hand he reached toward it and took it towards his lips, not truly looking at it as he drank. He set the cup down on a plate. The cup rattled against it, the only sound save for the thunder that rumbled in the distance. He heard a switch flick. Jonathan shut his eyes for a moment, temporarily blinded by the harshness of the light that filled the room. He opened them again to see a small, white kitchen. A single window and two doors broke the array of cabinets the covered the walls. Standing in an open door was Chris, Jonathan’s friend and housemate. He had a hand on the light switch. “John, what are you doing? It’s after midnight!” Chris asked. Jonathan kept staring forward and didn’t reply. “John, answer me. This is the third time I’ve caught you up like this. What are you doing?” After a moment’s pause Jonathan replied, speaking in a dry, quiet voice. “I had the dream again.” He still stared unblinking toward the window, though he didn’t seem to notice what was behind it. Chris flinched. For months now, Jonathan had been experiencing the same recurring dream. In it, he stood outside his own life, looking in at it. He saw himself live his own life, going through the same daily routine and experiences over and over again. However, something about it all seemed unreal. All his actions were artificial, all his conversations seemed planned. A strange feeling that something wasn’t quite right filled him and grew and grew. Slowly, and so gradually he barely noticed, his actions were replaced with words. Instead of seeing things happen he read them in a massive wall of text that described his every movement. His conversations came in
quotation marks which he read instead of spoke. Soon his entire life seemed to be a novel, running forward toward a conclusion that was always surrounded in haze. When he got to the end, he always awoke, but the feeling never left. Even sometimes when he was awake he began to lose his feelings of normality. For brief moments, barely noticeable, he saw objects described in text rather than in their own form, and his own movements seemed to be described by a nameless narrator. Chris sighed and walked forward. He rested a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder and spoke in a reassuring voice. “Listen, John, I know you are worried. But you have to remember, it’s just a dream! You have been very stressed lately and started having nightmares. It happens, and its nothing to worry about.” Jonathan chuckled slightly. “Oh no, no it isn’t.” “What do you mean? Look, John, get back to sleep. You’re starting to worry me.” For the first time that night, Jonathan stood and faced Chris. He was taller than Chris, and the shadow he cast obstructed Chris’ face. “Don’t tell me you haven’t had that feeling! That creeping, inching suspicion that something isn’t right? Doesn’t everything just seem too dramatic, too convenient? THIS ISN’T HOW REALITY SHOULD BE! THIS ISN’T HOW PEOPLE SHOULD BE SPEAKING, IT ISN’T HOW THEY ACT!” Jonathan realized he was shouting and stopped. He breathed heavily and tried to calm down, resting his head in his hands. Chris looked at him with worried eyes. “Alright, John, here’s what we are going to do. Just go back to sleep for now. Tomorrow we are going to make an appointment with Dr. Limestone. She helped you with the dreams before, and…” “No.” Jonathan said, shaking his head. “No, I am not going back to Dr. Limestone! She isn’t going to fix this, she isn’t going to solve the problem. She isn’t part of it and I don’t even think she is a character.” “John, what are you talking about? A character in what?” “THE BOOK! Don’t you get it yet? I don’t know if it’s a comedy, or a drama, or what… But we are all part of it, and I don’t think she is.” That was the most horrifying part of his dreams. He felt as if hundreds of eyes were reading the text along with him, learning his
every movement as if they were plot points in a story. He still had the feeling at that very moment, that in a strange, twisted way, he was being watched. Chris stared at him, not knowing what to say. Jonathan stood up out of his chair and faced him, holding his hands in front of himself as if pleading Chris to understand. The tea cup fell from his hand, shattering on the ground. “Look, isn’t this all just too convenient? Doesn’t it ever feel that way? Listen to that thunder. Doesn’t it seem like a perfect setting? And everything is like that! The lights when you entered, the tea cup, by god, even the way I’m standing! This isn’t how things work! They don’t come together to make themes! Weather shouldn’t just suit my mood like this. Do you not see it!?” Chris was taken aback. “Well uhh… John, that’s all just ridiculous. Storms happen, whether you are angry or not. The tea cup was an accident, and we can get a new one. Now what is this about Dr. Limestone? What do you mean she isn’t a character?” Jonathan went back to holding his head in his hands. “I know I am not going to see the doctor because she hasn’t been described. I have no idea what she looks like.” “What?” “If this was real life, then there would hundreds of little, insignificant things happening. I would know dozens of people and unimportant details. But this isn’t real life, and anything that isn’t part of the story won’t be described. I am not going to see Dr. Limestone. Outside of this conversation, she doesn’t exist, and we don’t even know what she looks like.” “John, that’s ridiculous! This is beside the point…” “Really? Describe her.” Chris opened his mouth to respond, then stopped. He realized he truly had no idea. “Well, she was a psychiatrist…” “that had helped me with the dreams before? Is that what you were going to say? Because that was established for this conversation. You have no idea what she looks like, do you?” Chris paused. That was exactly what he was going to say, down to referring to Jonathan in the third person. It did seem odd. “Well that doesn’t mean anything! We’ve just forgotten, that’s all. We
haven’t seen her in months. Anyway, it isn’t important, what is important is that…” Chris said. “STOP TRYING TO RATIONALIZE WHAT SHOULDN’T BE! There is no reason for us not to know what she looks like. It’s just a freaking plot device, that’s all it is. Even what you just did there, trying to change the topic to hide parts that haven’t been fleshed out! This isn’t how people act Chris.” “Well, all right, but still that doesn’t mean anything. It’s just one person.” “Oh really? Describe our neighbor’s to me. Describe your PARENTS. Describe anyone who isn’t directly related to this conversation, and I will believe you.” Chris stared at him in shock, not knowing what to say. He searched his mind for anything, for his neighbours face, for his parent’s image, and found nothing. Over and over again he tried and came up blank. “Well… Oh god… I don’t know. Maybe we are all just tired.” Chris said. “Thank you Chris. Haha, Chris or Christ, my want to be protector and savior, who shines a light into my darkness! Nice imagery there, eh? Just like the storm? Alright then. What did you have for breakfast this morning?” “I don’t know! It’s not important!” “EXACTLY! ITS NOT IMPORTANT! We don’t know anything that isn’t directly important. Why is that? Why the hell should that be? It’s just too god damn convenient! Look, if this is actually a house we have been living in, you should be able to answer me this question at least. What is behind that door?” Jonathan pointed toward the closed door at the other end of the kitchen. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know what to say.” “Exactly! There is no reason for two people who have lived in a household for years to not know what is behind a single door. It just wasn’t relevant when you turned on the lights, so it wasn’t described. ” “Alright John, alright. Say you are right and we are just in a story, what then? Do we open the door?” “I don’t know. It is there for a reason now, we have drawn
attention to it. Now there has to be something important.” “Oh god, so now you think just be talking about things we can influence the freaking universe? That’s insane.” “No, it must be! Look, it’s like the tea. I had the tea so that the rattling glass and the broken cup could represent my emotions. Now that we have drawn attention to that door, it must represent something. This is how it works, yes? You turned on the light, flooding light into my darkness, but I denied it and put you into my shadow.” For a second he closed his eyes. He hadn’t seen Chris hit the switch, but the words “he had a hand on the light switch” flooded his mind in black lettering. “It’s all foreshadowing! So when the kitchen had two doors, one open and one closed, there is something important behind the closed one. Chekov’s Gun, right? You came in from one to help me sort this out in part one. Part two occurs behind that door.” “Well what then, should we open it?” “I don’t know. We don’t know what is behind it. We don’t even know what type of story this is!” “That’s true… This could be a drama, an action, a comedy… That wouldn’t be too bad. Perhaps this is all just a joke!” “Really? You want to live in a comedy? Do you realize people would be laughing at us, our every move? What if we are just two buffoons for people to mock? God, If we were just two cartoonish idiots, would we even have the intelligence to tell?” “I… I hadn’t thought of that. It is still better then a tragedy.” “I… I don’t know. Look, we can work this out. It can’t be an action, neither of us really knows how to fight or carries any weapons.” Jonathan spoke, realizing he established it as fact as he said it. “I don’t think it is a comedy, because we would probably be able to remember funnier things happening. Then again, maybe we wouldn’t as part of the plot… I don’t know.” “Hopefully it’s a drama, or a romance. Imagine if this entire thing was just to set us up with some perfect woman?” Chris said hopefully. “I don’t know. Look, we should be able to tell what this is from our surroundings. The writing and descriptions should reflect what the plot is. We should see foreshadowing, maybe we can pick it out.”
A slow realization began to dawn on Jonathan. Though he kept guessing, in his heart he knew exactly what sort of story he was in. “Alright, well then what can we learn from this kitchen?” Chris asked. Jonathan thought for a moment. “Everything in this conversation, and the things we have talked about, revolve around myself. I think it is safe to say I am the main character here.” “Alright” Chris said, nodding and following along. “Then what has happened to you recently?” “I’m worried Chris. With the thunder, the darkness, the nightmares, the falling cup… I don’t think this is a happy story. Something bad is going to happen, and it is going to happen soon.” As he spoke, thunder once again boomed on the horizon, and a flash of lightning filled the window with jagged light. Chris swallowed. “Alright then. Do we open the door? Neither of us knows what is behind it, I think it’s safe to say we weren’t supposed to know. Somehow you’ve broken the mold. What do we do?” Jonathan squeezed his eyes closed and gripped the back of his chair. He hadn’t even realized he had stood behind it. His knuckles turned white. Finally, he spoke. “If this is the sort of story I think it is, I don’t think we have a choice. Either we go through that door and figure out what is behind it, or it is going to come and get us. If we are the main characters, then we should be safe. Usually they survive.” “Usually? Not always?” “Usually.” Chris looked at Jonathan, then toward the door. “Alright then, we might as well get it over with. If I am the sidekick here, I guess that’s my job. I’m Christ anyway, right? I bring light into dark areas? I’m the sacrifice?” “Chris! Don’t joke about that! Look, I don’t know…” “Don’t worry! Like you said, we are safe, right? We are the main characters. We never die in the first act. Maybe it will just end up being a big joke anyway.” Though he was still terrified, Jonathan slowly nodded. He couldn’t help but think that, by breaking their own plot line, they
would no longer be safe as the heroes in a story. He feared to voice the complaint, as by saying it, he knew he would make it fact. He watched Christ walk forward and open the door carefully. The hinges squeaked as it opened, and a cloud of dust came into the kitchen. It was clear the door hadn’t been opened for a long, long time. Beyond the door was near pitch black. Chris reached into a nearby drawer and took out a flash light. He turned it on and shone it into the darkness beyond, revealing a narrow wooden staircase that descended between two stone walls. He walked slowly down the stairs. Jonathan came behind him and followed into the unknown darkness. Chris reached the end of the stairwell and paused. He turned to face into a small room, shining his light around. “Dear.. Dear god John. This isn’t a comedy. This is a horror.” Jonathan followed his gaze to find his worst fears confirmed. The floor of the room was covered with fine black dirt. Scattered across it were dozens of broken bones and skeletons along with ancient weapons. The walls were covered with blood red writing scrawled in dozens of languages, from ancient runes to modern letters in languages neither person could understand. “RUN CHRIS! WE SOULDN’T HAVE COME HERE!” Jonathan shouted as he sprinted up the stairs. The entire building began shaking. The low rumbling he had once thought was thunder became a continuous noise that seemed to come from every direction at once. He ran toward the kitchen, but stopped in the doorway. The cabinets at the far end of the kitchen began to lose their form. They blurred then turned into written words, becoming replaced with descriptions of themselves. “Large white cabinet, with a silver handle. Small thin cabinet, with a golden handle. Electric oven, four stoves on top, black wit rnis of stl as black mltae slag asdf sdg dsg sdfsdghelli p;” sdg dsg sdfg sdgf gf f sd d The letters began to slide down, mixing and forming indecipherable
gibberish before disappearing into an ever growing sea of inky darkness. Jonathan realized that, having found out the truth and broken his role, he had removed the very thing that held his plot together. By going outside his own story he had destroyed his fictional universe. Chris didn’t stop when Jonathan did. He ran into Jonathan’s back, and they both fell forward. Chris didn’t seem to notice what was happening and crawled forward, calling to Jonathan to keep running. “NO! DON’T GO IN THERE! IT ISN’T REAL!” Jonathan shouted. Chris screamed as he finally saw walls melt around him. He crawled and clawed back towards the stairwell, but was overcome by the descending wall of letters. His feet began to change slowly. His face contorted in a look of incomprehensible horror as he saw his legs dissolve into letters, then disappear forever. He kept crawling forward, but nothing he could do would change his fate. Jonathan watched in terror as his friend dissolved into oblivion. The very universe he lived in was dissolving around him. He turned and began to run down the stairs again, preferring the horror of the skeletons to the certain death in the kitchen. He stumbled at the bottom and collapsed onto the dirt floor. His head scraped along the ground, forming a long gouge over his right eye that blinded it with blood. With his good eye he turned to see his fate. The oncoming wall of letters kept coming down the stairs, then stopped at the base. The letters molded together, filling in all the white space and forming a black wall. Jonathan felt it, and realized it became part of the same stone wall that now surrounded him. Using the dropped flashlight he looked around. He was trapped in a square stone room no more than twenty feet across. Jonathan sat in the centre of the room, not knowing what to do. Time seemed to slip away, and he had no knowledge of its passing. He had no idea if he was there for minutes, or days, or years, or even centuries. He simply remained trapped alone in the darkness. Though he may have guessed he was there for days, the flashlight never dimmed, and the blood never stopped pouring from his head. There was nothing for him to do and he felt no reason to move. Alone with an eternity to himself, he began to contemplate what
had happened. He thought oh his own life, of his existence, and how he had come to be. He thought about himself. It seemed wrong to think that way.’Himself’ implied he was an actual living being, and he wasn’t sure if that was truly fitting. It suited him more to think in the third person, as he would have been written in the story. Was it fair to say he was ever anything more then that, a fictional creation? His thoughts turned to the room. He had no idea where he was, or how the poor souls who had become the skeletons that surrounded him had found their way into the small, black cell. Perhaps he would join them. Perhaps someone else would come to inhabit the small space, and he would be gone forever. Perhaps it had already happened, and without a sense of time he hadn’t realized it. The thought sent a chill down his spine. He didn’t know what was worse- an eternal life in a cage, or simply ceasing to exist with no sign that he ever was. With no sense of time in this strange world, who was to say that it hadn’t already happened? Perhaps both were true in their own way. He realized he needed to leave some kind of permanent mark, so that somehow, maybe, another person might know he existed. He had to tell his story. With all the time imaginable to spare, and no time at all to lose, he thought about what he had to do. After some time, though he had no idea how much, he stood up again. As if compelled by an unseen force, he walked toward the wall. He dipped his hand in the blood that flowed down his face and put it on the stone. He made lines which formed letters, then the letters formed words, and finally the words formed a story. It began “Jonathan sat trembling in the dark…” Credit To – Eric
Tulpa Last year I spent six months participating in what I was told was a psychological experiment. I found an ad in my local paper looking for imaginative people looking to make good money, and since it was the only ad that week that I was remotely qualified for, I gave them a call and we arranged an interview. They told me that all I would have to do is stay in a room, alone, with sensors attached to my head to read my brain activity, and while I was there I would visualize a double of myself. They called it my "tulpa". It seemed easy enough, and I agreed to do it as soon as they told me how much I would be paid. And the next day, I began. They brought me to a simple room and gave me a bed, then attached sensors to my head and hooked them into a little black box on the table beside me. They talked me through the process of visualizing my double again, and explained that if I got bored or restless, instead of moving around, I should visualize my double moving around, or try to interact with him, and so on. The idea was to keep him with me the entire time I was in the room. I had trouble with it for the first few days. It was more controlled than any sort of daydreaming I'd done before. I'd imagine my double for a few minutes, then grow distracted. But by the fourth day, I could manage to keep him "present" for the entire six hours. They told me I was doing very well. The second week, they gave me a different room, with wallmounted speakers. They told me they wanted to see if I could still keep the Tulpa with me in spite of distracting stimuli. The music was discordant, ugly and unsettling, and it made the process a little more difficult, but I managed nonetheless. The next week they played even more unsettling music, punctuated with shrieks, feedback loops, what sounded like an old school modem dialing up, and guttural voices speaking some foreign language. I just laughed it off - I was a pro by then. After about a month, I started to get bored. To liven things up, I
started interacting with my doppelganger. We'd have conversations, or play rock-paper-scissors, or I'd imagine him juggling, or breakdancing, or whatever caught my fancy. I asked the researchers if my foolishness would adversely affect their study, but they encouraged me. So we played, and communicated, and that was fun for a while. And then it got a little strange. I was telling him about my first date one day, and he corrected me. I'd said my date was wearing a yellow top, and he told me it was a green one. I thought about it for a second, and realized he was right. It creeped me out, and after my shift that day, I talked to the researchers about it. "You're using the thought-form to access your subconscious," they explained. "You knew on some level that you were wrong, and you subconsciously corrected yourself." What had been creepy was suddenly cool. I was talking to my subconscious! It took some practice, but I found that I could question my Tulpa and access all sorts of memories. I could make it quote whole pages of books I'd read once, years before, or things I was taught and immediately forgot in high school. It was awesome. That was around the time I started "calling up" my double outside of the research center. Not often at first, but I was so used to imagining him by now that it almost seemed odd to not see him. So whenever I was bored, I'd visualize my double. Eventually I started doing it almost all the time. It was amusing to take him along like an invisible friend. I imagined him when I was hanging out with friends, or visiting my mom, I even brought him along on a date once. I didn't need to speak aloud to him, so I was able to carry out conversations with him and no one was the wiser. I know that sounds strange, but it was fun. Not only was he a walking repository of everything I knew and everything I had forgotten, he also seemed more in touch with me than I did at times. He had an uncanny grasp of the minutiae of body language that I didn't even realize I was picking up on. For example, I'd thought the date I brought him along on was going badly, but he pointed out how she was laughing a little too hard at my jokes, and leaning towards me as I spoke, and a bunch of other subtle clues I wasn't consciously picking up on. I listened, and let's just say that that date
went very well. By the time I'd been at the research center for four months, he was with me constantly. The researchers approached me one day after my shift, and asked me if I'd stopped visualizing him. I denied it, and they seemed pleased. I silently asked my double if he knew what prompted that, but he just shrugged it off. So did I. I withdrew a little from the world at that point. I was having trouble relating to people. It seemed to me that they were so confused and unsure of themselves, while I had a manifestation of myself to confer with. It made socializing awkward. Nobody else seemed aware of the reasons behind their actions, why some things made them mad and others made them laugh. They didn't know what moved them. But I did - or at least, I could ask myself and get an answer. A friend confronted me one evening. He pounded at the door until I answered it, and came in fuming and swearing up a storm. "You haven't answered when I called you in fucking weeks, you dick!" he yelled. "What's your fucking problem?" I was about to apologize to him, and probably would have offered to hit the bars with him that night, but my Tulpa grew suddenly furious. "Hit him," it said, and before I knew what I was doing, I had. I heard his nose break. He fell to the floor and came up swinging, and we beat each other up and down my apartment. I was more furious then than I have ever been, and I was not merciful. I knocked him to the ground and gave him two savage kicks to the ribs, and that was when he fled, hunched over and sobbing. The police were by a few minutes later, but I told them that he had been the instigator, and since he wasn't around to refute me, they let me off with a warning. My Tulpa was grinning the entire time. We spent the night crowing about my victory and sneering over how badly I'd beaten my friend. It wasn't until the next morning, when I was checking out my black eye and cut lip in the mirror, that I remembered what had set me off. My double was the one who'd grown furious, not me. I'd been feeling guilty and a little ashamed, but he'd goaded me into a vicious fight with a concerned friend. He was present, of course, and knew my thoughts. "You don't need him anymore. You don't need anyone
else," he told me, and I felt my skin crawl. I explained all this to the researchers who employed me, but they just laughed it off. "You can't be scared of something that you're imagining," one told me. My double stood beside him, and nodded his head, then smirked at me. I tried to take their words to heart, but over the next few days I found myself growing more and more anxious around my Tulpa, and it seemed that he was changing. He looked taller, and more menacing. His eyes twinkled with mischief, and I saw malice in his constant smile. No job was worth losing my mind over, I decided. If he was out of control, I'd put him down. I was so used to him at that point that visualizing him was an automatic process, so I started trying my damnedest to not visualize him. It took a few days, but it started to work somewhat. I could get rid of him for hours at a time. But every time he came back, he seemed worse. His skin seemed ashen, his teeth more pointed. He hissed and gibbered and threatened and swore. The discordant music I'd been listening to for months seemed to accompany him everywhere. Even when I was at home - I'd relax and slip up, no longer concentrating on not seeing him, and there he'd be, and that howling noise with him. I was still visiting the research center and spending my six hours there. I needed the money, and I thought they weren't aware that I was now actively not visualizing my Tulpa. I was wrong. After my shift one day, about five and a half months in, two impressive men grabbed and restrained me, and someone in a lab coat jabbed a hypodermic needle into my body. I woke up from my stupor back in the room, strapped into the bed, music blaring, with my doppelganger standing over me cackling. He hardly looked human anymore. His features were twisted. His eyes were sunken in their sockets and filmed over like a corpse's. He was much taller than me, but hunched over. His hands were twisted, and the fingernails were like talons. He was, in short, fucking terrifying. I tried to will him away, but I just couldn't seem to concentrate. He giggled, and tapped the IV in my arm. I thrashed in my restraints as best I could, but could hardly move at all. "They're pumping you full of the good shit, I think. How's the mind? All fuzzy?" He leaned closer and closer as he spoke. I gagged;
his breath smelt like spoiled meat. I tried to focus, but couldn't banish him. The next few weeks were terrible. Every so often, someone in a doctor's coat would come in and inject me with something, or forcefeed me a pill. They kept me dizzy and unfocused, and sometimes left me hallucinating or delusional. My thought form was still present, constantly mocking. He interacted with, or perhaps caused, my delusions. I hallucinated that my mother was there, scolding me, and then he cut her throat and her blood showered me. It was so real that I could taste it. The doctors never spoke to me. I begged at times, screamed, hurled invectives, demanded answers. They never spoke to me. They may have talked to my Tulpa, my personal monster. I'm not sure. I was so doped and confused that it may have just been more delusion, but I remember them talking with him. I grew convinced that he was the real one, and I was the thought form. He encouraged that line of thought at times, mocked me at others. Another thing that I pray was a delusion: he could touch me. More than that, he could hurt me. He'd poke and prod at me if he felt I wasn't paying enough attention to him. Once he grabbed my testicles and squeezed until I told him I loved him. Another time, he slashed my forearm with one of his talons. I still have a scar - most days I can convince myself that I injured myself, and just hallucinated that he was responsible. Most days. Then one day, while he was telling me a story about how he was going to gut everyone I loved, starting with my sister, he paused. A querulous look crossed his face, and reached out and touched my head. Like my mother used to when I was feverish. He stayed still for a long moment, and then smiled. "All thoughts are creative," he told me. Then he walked out the door. Three hours later, I was given an injection, and passed out. I awoke unrestrained. Shaking, I made my way to the door and found it unlocked. I walked out into the empty hallway, and then ran. I stumbled more than once, but I made it down the stairs and out into the lot behind the building. There, I collapsed, weeping like a child. I knew I had to keep moving, but I couldn't manage it. I got home eventually - I don't remember how. I locked the door,
and shoved a dresser against it, took a long shower, and slept for a day and a half. Nobody came for me in the night, and nobody came the next day, or the one after that. It was over. I'd spent a week locked in that room, but it had felt like a century. I'd withdrawn so much from my life beforehand that nobody had even known I was missing. The police didn't find anything. The research center was empty when they searched it. The paper trail fell apart. The names I'd given them were aliases. Even the money I'd received was apparently untraceable. I recovered as much as one can. I don't leave the house much, and I have panic attacks when I do. I cry a lot. I don't sleep much, and my nightmares are terrible. It's over, I tell myself. I survived. I use the concentration those bastards taught me to convince myself. It works, sometimes. Not today, though. Three days ago, I got a phone call from my mother. There's been a tragedy. My sister's the latest victim in a spree of killings, the police say. The perpetrator mugs his victims, then guts them. The funeral was this afternoon. It was as lovely a service as a funeral can be, I suppose. I was a little distracted, though. All I could hear was music coming from somewhere distant. Discordant, unsettling stuff, that sounds like feedback, and shrieking, and a modem dialing up. I hear it still - a little louder now. Original author unknown
Chat By DeYtH Banger Hello, I just find myself... (FROM A DREAM....).... next to my master... the guy who was pulling my strings... you know him as "God". But as for me... he is my master... he has mastered so much abilities... so much skills...he is so wise... probably it will be impossible to be replaced... I have been a lot of times there... to talk with him! We talk very often. But it has never been official. The place is so empty... blackness... brightness has gone from the world... colour?... Black is the colour... no other colours can be found... it's like a room which is the whole white... walls... bed... table... chair...chairs... everything.... But here you replace that white with black + endless... that's what is it... Somewhere around nowhere. That's it!
DeYtH: Hello, Master! Master: Hello, I am glad that you are using your real name... so far you have played so much roles and you finally decided to choose your real name. DeYtH: It was difficult very for me... to get here and to make this discussion official. Master: I know that... I know you from very long time... I have my eye on you! DeYtH: Thanks for the understanding. Master: Oh, it's not big deal... when you make something... when you have a creation you should show respect to it... Master:... Mhm, it's more likely how you show respect to Random. Master: Nothing tooo special... just numbers like 0 and 1 or could be endless numbers from 1 up to 100 or god knows what's the limit... but you use this program to have a discussion with A.I.
DeYtH: Random, is a difficult program... and even and application... and a choice... DeYtH:... So far you should have Answers and Questions and it will give you some kind of answer... is it a guess or not ... who knows!? Master: Soon, you gonna meet something better... something more than box... something which could understand you. DeYtH: Really? Master: Yes DeYtH: But why people kind of think of me as a monster? Or somebody who needs medics? Master: That's a lie... you know that... You aren't such type of thing... monsters... doesn't exist. Monsters are something out of the fantasy world.... DeYtH: Did I done the write thing... properly? Master: Yes, you did... you wrote what you saw... you wrote soooooooooo much mixed feelings... it's impressive that you could put that all stuff... on the paper.... And I never thought that you could get so far... to study humans and to write each thing which you see...feel... think... on the paper. Most people fail on that... but you didn't... you show the truth... The Truth which most people keep in the closet... far ...far....far away... and think it as something which has never existed... You done something else... you open the closet and had the guts to check out each image... letter... note... each thing. You are very brave, person. DeYtH: Is that something which you mean it or not? Master: I really mean it... I won't say stuff which I don't mean... I don't want to make you very...very irrational... Sometimes you just need some logic. DeYtH; So what you mean is that... I have done the right thing? Master: Yes... you did... And I am very proud of you :))) DeYtH: How about the mistakes? Master: Which of them? DeYtH: With the people around me... with the people which I was talking with? Master: Oh,oh you mean them... No big problem... everyone does
such mistakes... nobody is perfect... Master: Everyone does mistakes... that's why you are sended here... on this planet... as such specie...to get a knowledge... from life... Master: Life is more like L - Lead, I - Ignorant, F - Fire, E - Envy.... did you found that? DeYtH: No, I fucking miss that thing... I was searching why some people love to lead...(Presidents...) others are so on fire.... (Porn..)... Ignorant (People which don't pay attention of what you say and say something very...very different)... Envy (A lot of people have that feeling... even I got in such situations... I fight against that... but I can't stop it... ... It's so human reaction... what a strange action)...but kind of near to what you said... Master: Well,well... good to know that you have some kind of progress... a progress for a new chapter... for a new title of book... DeYtH: Can I ask you another question? Master: Yeah, you can ... you have a lot of time... so you can ask a lot of questions. DeYtH: Why people are scared of me? Master: It's because they... aren't ready for such person... who is so different... so strange... so odd... They like the way they live... with people which are like them... people which have the same interests... almost the same way of speaking and so on and so on... You are very very different.... .............. DeYtH: But that hurts! Master: Yes, it does... I am sorry for that... and to be honest here... the stuff were suppose to happen like that... Don't be A FOOOOOOL LIKE THE OTHERS... TO think that you have "Free Will"... it's a illusion... you should understand it now. It has never existed and it will never exist. DeYtH: I am confused... Master: Normal... you can't accept a new code... a new rule a new
law which you have never been programmed for... DeYtH: ... DeYtH: So should I be honest with the people around me? Master: Mhm, a good question... so far be careful what you share and what you don't share.... because you don't want to get hurt... or to make people afraid of you... DeYtH: I am Only build to ask questions... no emotions to feel... so I should continue like that!? Master: You are in a difficult position... so YEAHHHH... continue... like that!........................ that's the way I shaped you... not to be perfect... and also to don't have some parts of the puzzle.... now you have chance to find them... And even to assemble it... When you get ready you die... Master:... All people have mission on this planet.. . and you have one... Just remember what you said before I sended you on this planet... as a human being to be... DeYtH: I have difficulty to remember that... I can't remember what I said... Master: No problem... you have enough time! DeYtH: Can I continue with the questions? Master: Yes... DeYtH: Why people are crazy? Master: Ohh... good question... you should find out alone... that's a part from your mission on this planet Earth... You could be everything... You know that... you could be born not now... but and in 1900 or in 1800 or in 1600... but you decided to be 1998... DeYtH: Why I have the feeling to say "Wow" or "Lol" and "xD" Master: This words were created from people which thought that habbit could be stop with another habbit... Putting a new habbit with the thought that the old one will go away... but at that time people weren't very wise... it was still the beginning... still nothing did happen.... It was more likely because of the sounds... the words sound so strange...and somehow cool.. It's so pressive how could people put strange and cool in one place in one sentence... So far and I am very confused...
Master: (Open his mouth... and was ready to say something... but he closed his mouth...) (Silence) Minutes.... didn't even existed... hours and days??? How could they exist when time never did exist? Big Bang has never happen!.... And will never happen... the time has stopped forever... locked in a loop.... Forever and ever! The topic... got changed... roles kind of get changed... Master: How do you feel? DeYtH: Strange... somehow a lot of coincidence happen... around me.. what I say is used against me... people around me... are like my mind... Master: You are exaggerating! DeYtH: Am I? Master: Yes you are.... coincidence don't exist... there are endless possbilities.... people aren't so stupid to act so simple.. .... (Dear reader, writting has been never easy... you are too foolish to thing that. The idea of writting is to get at level's of insanity and craziness.. with one person a lot of roles can't be created... ) DeYtH: So why people are like seasons... and episodes? Master: You said that... not I... you just see the world like that... nobody sees the world soooo not logical... what you say there isn't even and logic...inside it... Master: As most people will say .IT"S NONSENSE (My master started shouting... kind of got angry...) DeYtH: Stop the shouting.... can you please tell me have I ever failed you? Master: So far you are going very well... you are very above from my expectations for you.
DeYtH: This is something, good right? Master: Yes! DeYtH: Why my works sound like ... I am angry... at the world... at the people... at everything? Master: You see that in the world and you write it... what you have written is what you have already saw. DeYtH: Why sometimes... I just can't say something else?... something like following scenario? Master: More exactly? DeYtH: I mean that sometimes when somebody says something... I don't have a lot of possibilities of saying something which could show that I care about that person... Master: That's called a logic... in you... this doesn't exist... That's why you are so unique and odd... and strange... DeYtH: Should I change? Master; Nooooooooo Master: NoOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Master: Don't be stupid... you are my favourite invention... You have reached so far... that... nobody could reach your level....... YOu will be very foolish if you destroy yourself. DeYtH: So tell me... why do I have such strange interests? Master: What do you mean? DeYtH: I mean why... I like facts?... and other strange stuff... which are counted as for people which are kind of psychopaths... Master: That's something.. . which is also part from your mission... .... .................... DeYtH: Can't you just a little tell me about what's my mission? Master: I can't... DeYtH: Just little!
Master: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO DeYtH: Why? Master: I can't tell you... your life will be limited.. .you gonna follow scenario... Master: I don't want you to follow any scenario... I want by your extraordinary.... Master; YOu are very, very different DeYtH: So how Am I going to go to my goal without even don't knowing what is it? Master: You will soon find out... go out... and look at the people... what's around you... who likes you... who hates... you.... ask questions... search answers... and somewhere there you gonna find it.... Check out who died... who is alive... who shows respects... who is really supportive.... DeYtH: Sure? Master: Yes DeYtH: How much time do we have? Master: Not a lot of to talk... but if you have any other questions.... ask.... DeYtH: Why people are so cold? Master: Nobody is perfect... you even don't know what's cold? What is it? Master: Something which is to take a cold shower? DeYtH: You are fucking right!... ... DeYtH: Could I find the perfect person for me? DeYtH: The perfect Female with which I could be in relationship? Master: That's a difficult question... depends on the scenario... how much honest are you... do you lie... can you allow yourself to limit?... Can you make sacrafices? Master: So much things you should do... that I even don't know from where to start to talking about this.... DeYtH: Why people started to bully me? Master: That was an example of how you should be... (What's
right and what's wrong...) the person you shouldn't be... again a part from your mission which is a lesson. DeYtH: How about the cheating? Master: That's an example of a weak character... who wants to get in the shoes of a perfect character. DeYtH: How about the Fake people? Master: They were just random... people...something which wasn't expected to happen... just something out of the random choices... Master: I think that you should goo... DeYtH: Why? Master: Don't ask questions.... JUSTTTTTTTTT GOOO! Master: Do you see that bed? DeYtH: Yes? Master: Go to sleep and this which has happen has never happen.... .... I went walking to the bed... slowly and slowly... and slowly... then I got on the bed and then when I go on it... I started to sleep... after few minutes just an ring I Start hearing #RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING,
#RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING,
#RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING,#RING, #RING, - It was the alarm of my clock... then the birds started to sing....
Huntsville Camping Trip I went camping about three weekends ago in the Huntsville national forest in Texas. Me and three 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 fucking 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, cuss, 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 large 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 than Alex’s, as the smile got as large as it could. A giant shadow behind it swung something down and sliced its 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 its 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 bull. 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.
Emma My friends, this story is absolutely true. The identities have been changed to protect the individuals within. But the story itself remains true. This is the testimony of one of the only two people on this planet who witnessed these events. Me. In the summer of 2005 I met a girl. Emma was my first serious girlfriend, and I found myself caring for her a great deal rather quickly. She had a personality unlike any other girl I had met, and it intrigued me. She was smart, pretty, and kind of odd in some ways, but I liked it: you could say it was her most endearing factor. The first three months went along without a hitch. We spent a lot of time together, we laughed, we talked, we shared dreams and fears. I told her my fear of the dark, and of my overactive imagination. She told me about her fear of dead people. I kind of laughed when she first told me, it was kind of lame I thought at the time. Just… dead people? Certainly JUST ‘dead people’ aren’t so scary by themselves. We kind of had a laugh about it, and continued hanging out with each other and just generally loving every single minute we had together. Things went on like this for three months, and I honestly could not have asked for anything more perfect. She was the girl I didn’t even know I was waiting for, and I was the guy she had always wanted. About a month later she called me on the phone, which was nothing new. We spent a lot of time talking on the phone. It was our favorite thing to do other than physically being near each other. She was telling me about her day at school. At her high school, she didn’t really have a lot of friends, which I found hard to believe. She was having a bad day and she was just glad to be home and on the phone with me. I was glad to be on the phone with her too. I wasn’t having the greatest day myself. Around six pm, we were watching the same show on TV while talking on the phone (something we did whenever I wasn’t allowed to come over. Since she lived with her mother, and her mother worked nights, I would come over after she left for work so we could actually spend time with each other.) Her
mother had just left and Emma was talking to me about what had just happened on TV, then the commercials stopped and the program resumed. After another two commercial breaks, I noticed neither of us had said anything for a while, so I made some stupid remark about the ridiculous commercial that was on at the moment. She didn’t say anything. I called her name. She didn’t answer. I called her name like, six times before she acknowledged me. She just kind of grunted. I asked her if she was alright, and she said… something. It was a sentence alright, but it was seemingly gibberish. At first I thought she was just trying to freak me out, or was playing some kind of elaborate joke. She was breathing heavily and erratically, and her words seemed difficult for her to form. She seemed very distant, and not at all like herself. I cannot remember exactly what she was saying at first, it was muffled and distorted. And there was this noise. A banging noise, that the longer I listened, the louder it got. I eventually asked Emma what the noise was I was hearing. She got silent for a second before responding, “… y-you can hear that?” “Of course I can hear it, it’s loud as hell. . . what is it?” She paused for a long moment. It seemed to drag on and on. “It’s them…” she said. That’s all she said. I was genuinely kind of freaked out, but somewhere in my mind I still thought she was messing with me as a joke. “You’re joking right? This is all some kind of game, and were going to have a laugh about this later-” “Don’t mock them!” she interrupted fiercely. She sounded worried, almost panicked. “They don’t like it.” I thought this was funny. She was really going through a lot of trouble to play a joke on me. I laughed audibly. . . . they’ll find you. . .” Her voice sounded almost unnatural, as if it were someone else talking. She hung up the phone right after that. I called her back a few times, but no one answered. Now, worried out of my mind, I put on my jacket and left my house. I hoped she was okay, and I rushed to her apartment. When I was half a mile from her house, my car battery died. I was too worried about Emma to let that stall me. I had to know she okay, and I would worry about my car afterward. I
locked my car up, and began running the rest of the way to her apartment. The sun was almost set after a short bit of running, and my lungs were starting to burn from the crisp cold air I was forced to inhale. I still don’t know to this day if what happened next was from some kind of trick on my eyes due to the low amounts of light or if I was just worrying so much I hallucinated. I’m actually not sure that I what I saw even happened. Maybe I just imagined it. These… things, with long gangly limbs that bent backwards, crossed the street, as if leaving her house. I jumped. My heart was racing. I now thought she was in serious danger and mustered up all the courage I had to run to her front door. It was left ajar. I went in, calling her name. My heart now felt like it was going to burst through my chest. Surely I was hallucinating. Lack of oxygen, that’s all. I was breathing heavily as I searched for her in the house. I found her in the living room, curled in a ball. Her skin was paper white, her pupils were enormous. She was shaking and seemed to be in a sort of comatose-like state. I called her name, but she wouldn’t respond. She wouldn’t respond to anything, not even when I touched her, shook her: nothing. I picked her up and took her to her room. As I laid her down onto her bed, I noticed her eyes were darting across the wall behind me. Not in a random kind of pattern, but as if following something. Her eyes reached the space on the wall directly behind me, and they stopped. Her eyes widened and she began shaking. Her mouth was wide open, as if screaming, but no actual sound escaped. Leaning over her, frozen in pure unadulterated fear, I tried to make myself turn around. Part of me didn’t want to meet whatever it was she saw, but the other part of me, the survivalist in me, forced me to turn around. And as I did, I saw another… thing. This thing was grey, its limbs bent backwards. It hung from the place where the ceiling and wall meet, clutching with all four claws. It hung there and stared at me with it’s sunken eyes. I couldn’t make out if they were holes or the blackest eyes imaginable, because all that was there was blackness. The loud sound I heard over the phone earlier was back. The wooden blinds that hung from her window were banging themselves on the windowsill, as if someone were lifting
them and throwing them against it, again and again and again. The sound was very fast and very loud. My ears were starting to ring as the thing slowly inched its way up the wall and across the ceiling toward us. Every second the ringing got louder. Soon, the thing was directly above us, and as it clutched the ceiling, its face zoomed in at us. It’s neck stretching, I saw the black eyes, and the stitched mouth coming closer. My chest was hurting now, most likely from how hard my heart was beating. I started to black out. I… don’t remember what happened. I remember waking up next to Emma and seeing her there, still curled up, eyes still darting across the room. I looked around but saw nothing. I called her name and of course she didn’t respond. It took me about ten minutes of sitting there, holding her, calling her name, talking to her, singing to her, before she started to respond. Thankfully so, too. I was scared to take her to the hospital with the story I had. I called her name and she blinked suddenly, and looked at me. I asked her “Emma. . . . What the hell is going on?” She looked at me with genuine surprise. “What are you talking about? When did you get here?” She didn’t remember a thing. She couldn’t even explain where she got the marks on her arm. A week after that, I was at her house, and I decided to ask her about what had happened. I wanted some answers. She still didn’t remember what had happened, but she did have something to say about it. She told me that her fear of dead people stemmed from the fact that she used to see what she thought were dead people. Sometimes she did still see things, but she learned over the years that they weren’t dead people. She couldn’t say what they were. But she explained how some would talk to her and others wouldn’t. Some would stare at her, and others would avoid her. Ultimately, some where nice and others were malevolent. She said that the face in her ceiling told her most of what she knows of “them.” He explained that not all of them are good. He had also warned her of a tall dark man who wanted her all to himself. He explained to her that the freaky limb things were the tall mans, and they were there to protect her from anyone else, but also to keep her in check. She told me about how they would hurt her sometimes, and that
her bed was the only safe place most of the time. Whenever she had her “episodes,” her bed was surrounded by water, and the things couldn’t get to her. She also told me that they made her cut herself when she had been bad. I loved this girl. Despite all the crazy stuff she told me, I wanted to be there for her. I wanted to help her. It didn’t take a very long time for me to figure out that being with her was harmful to her. After three years, I had witnessed episode after episode. I had learned how to calm her down within a few minutes. I had even got her to stop cutting herself. The last few months of our relationship, she didn’t see anything at all. No cutting, no episodes. I felt ashamed that I didn’t get her professional help, but I admit I felt happy and a little proud that she seemed to be getting much better. This all changed when I proposed to her. Of course, she said yes. It was the happiest day of our lives. That night we went to a concert to celebrate. I took her to see her favorite band (which was secretly also my favorite band.) The band came on last, and I stood there, holding her, and we both sung the songs at the top of our lungs. She turned around during one of their slower songs and put her arms around me, and I did the same. I looked at her, only to see her eyes looking in the distance behind me, toward the back of the venue. I looked back, but saw nothing. No! No no no, not now god d****t! This was the perfect day, the perfect night! I grabbed her chin and pulled her face to me. “Just look at my eyes, no where else.” I told her. She struggled, but she did just that. I stood there holding her as we looked at each other. I kept telling her “its not real, remember that.” She would just nod her head, tears in her eyes. The song ended, and so did her episode. I dropped her off at her house, and after the worlds longest kiss, I got in my car and headed home. Once home, I took a quick shower and readied for bed. I was completely exhausted! After drying off, I laid down in bed and went to sleep. At least, I started to. I was jolted awake by the sound of my blinds banging. My heart stopped as I saw one of those things right above my bed. The last thing I saw was its face coming at me. I woke up from the blackness the next morning with a cut on my
arm. My mind instantly jumping to Emma, I raced to my phone to call her. I never got a response. When I stopped by her house, her mother answered the door and told me she didn’t want to see me. I didn’t know what the F**K was going on. After a week, I was in a severe depression. I didn’t hear a damn thing from her. No replies from her Myspace or Facebook. No entries in her Xanga or Livejournal. Sadly, I didn’t hear anything for two years. I saw on her Facebook that she was in a relationship. My heart sank. It more than sank, it felt like it withered and died right then and there. I messaged her, very formally, asking how she was etc. I also asked what happened between us. She didn’t respond for three days. When she did, she told me that she was heartbroken for a whole month when I broke up with her. She said that she cried in her moms arms for weeks and weeks, and thought she would never stop. She told me she even made me a card and a painting, both of which she had been working on for months without me knowing, and sent them to me the week I “broke up with her” to get me back. I told her I never received anything. I was about to argue that I never broke up with her. It was a ridiculous idea, because I was in love with this girl. I STILL was. I still AM. I would NEVER end what we had. But something stopped me. I got the thought: perhaps she was happy now. I asked her about the guy she was with now. She replied. He had proposed to her. She said yes. She was truly happy. I then asked her about the things she saw. She remembered nothing at all. Her episodes were gone. I felt completely lost. Destroyed from the inside out. We spent the next month or two talking about the past. She didn’t recall most of our relationship. I would ask her about some of my favorite memories with her, and she wouldn’t remember a thing. She didn’t remember that she used to be a cutter. She didn’t remember ANYTHING she used to see, good or bad. And she didn’t remember that she was once engaged to me, nor did she remember that amazing night we had at the concert. All she knew was that she and I were together once, and that I “broke up with her,” which broke her heart for months.
I still love Emma with every fiber of my being, and I want to figure out what happened, what went WRONG? I think I deserve that much: an explanation. I honestly thought for a while after everything that happened that perhaps she had a type of mental illness. I mean, everything she experienced was practically textbook paranoidschizophrenia. It would be easy to chalk it up to that, even after explaining these symptoms to my professor of my Psychology class. Or after the five years of research that I have poured into trying to find a way to explain these events. Almost everything adds up to Schizophrenia. Everything but one thing. I still can’t figure out why I still see that figure on my ceiling some nights.
Candle Cove Experiences: Tales of the Laughingstock Occurring to the fact that most kiddie shows have turned up dead ends, one show, Candle Cove, has made an impact here. I made myself hunt down whatever cast remained of the show, regardless of their fear. I wanted to know EVERYTHING about this show. But in the process, I came to understand that there hid something much darker aboard it than just what I was told and what I had heard. I have posted some of my thoughts into the page at points, to have a feel for the interviewees here. I note that those being interviewed are indicated by the quotation marks around them. You may notice that a censor will appear. I did that so no one may want to bombard me with questions and such. It's a privacy thing and I'm sorry if I offended the readers. With that, I present to you this page in the lore... CANDLE COVE EXPERIENCES: TALES OF THE LAUGHINGSTOCKDAY 1 My first knowing of the CANDLE COVE lore came out on the NetNostalgia Forum back some time, however many of the episodes have never been found and many of the props are either long gone or spread out over the world, however after this mention of the show, I had to dig further into it. What I discovered over my round trip was something dark residing within the studios itself... The show, originally called "Pirate Place" was loosely based on an old, quite lost short story called "The Nickerbocker's Tale" from 1767 about a little Irish boy arriving to a land of pirates to find his way back home. The story's writer, a man believed to be named Collin Caulkry, vanished into the dark. Stories about it say that he was a madman who married well and had a daughter who vanished without a trace near his home. This inspired him to write the story and shortly after, he was found dead by his wife. The story was lost for several years until in 1970, when a local TV station in Ashland found the rights to the story and converted it into a children's series. I managed to find some of the studios workers but none of them were able to tell me about it...Well, there was one...
DAY 2 Asking this woman to nearly relive her nightmare of 1971 was nearly impossible. But thankfully she decided to, reluctantly anyways... "Ok Ms..." "I'm not comfortable giving my last name OR my first." Okay then, mind if I call you 'Jane'?" "No, I don't." "Okay then. Well Jane, I understand you had a part in the kiddie show 'Candle Cove' correct?" "Set designer, well part of it. I helped in the construction of The Laughingstock and many of the characters as well." "I see, was it a good experience?" "Oh very. It was a great one, until towards the end of the show itself." "How so?" "Well that damn Grimes, that's what it was." Grimes? Emerson Grimes, the show's director? "Is there another Grimes you know on the series?" Here she lit a cigarette, something that from her appearance and fear of Grimes fortold, I actually expected from her. "Well how did he manage to scare you?" "How did he...HE WAS A NUTJOB! A LOONEY! He forced a five year old girl (Jodie Silver) to near heatstroke, changed scripts. Everything was fine until the show grew darker and darker." How dark was it getting? Now this I kind of knew about, the infamous question to the SkinTaker and his answer to Janice. "When a skeleton named the Skin Taker proclaims that the reason for his mouth to move weird is for grinding your skin, you will have some problems. Grimes was insane. But the last straw was the LAST episode of the series." I knew about this and moved onto her designs of the show. She explained that it was a damned kiddie show that turned into a "puppet show from hell" overnight. She wanted to end the conversation but not before I asked about any surviving members or crew... "There are a few of them still around but you'll have to find them on your own..." DAY 3 I did however manage to find Jodie Silver, who played Janice on the show, now an adult of 45. She resides with her husband, Damon Louis and her two kids. If you see her now, she has lost all of that childhood spunk that she had on the show. She works as a writer of
Pirate stories and haunted mysteries. I managed to record, on tape, an interview with her... "Um, are you Ms. Jodie Silver?" "Why I haven't been called that in years. Yes, I am Jodie Silver, but people call me Jodie Louis nowadays." Oh, I'm sorry about the mixup, I'm (censored) and I am writing a book on an old kiddie show you used to be on." "Jesus Christ. Please tell me you are joking!" It was here that I noticed she seemed agitated at the sound of a book being written on something she was trying so hard to put behind her. "It's no joke Mrs. Louis." "Well I won't warn you that you are a total nutcase for doing it. That show has given me bad dreams, ruined my childhood and I have even had therapy because of it. I don't wish to speak about..." "Please Jodie, just one interview, that's all I'm asking for. Just one. Hell, if you have to go through therapy again for it, I'll personally pay out of pocket." It was here she stood long and hard. "Christ! Fine fine, meet me here for an interview." With that, she handed me a card with her address on it. I promised she wouldn't regret this, but I had a feeling that she already was... DAY 4 "Hello there Mrs. Louis." "Well, hi there. Come on in." Her house wasn't big, but not small either. I could tell she had little ones running about from the sounds of kiddie shows floating faintly from the television set and many toys scattered about. It was like trying to walk through a forest of mousetraps without setting one off. Eventually we got to the small dining area of the home, with a good outlook over the water. A place to dream dreams. Okay, now about the show. "Well (censored) it started out as a dream come true. I was a huge fan of shows like Jumbo's Circus, Sunshine City and Fisherman Fred, and I really wanted to be on a kiddie show. I got my wish when I heard the studio was looking for a young girl to play the role of 'Janice' for their new show. And sure there were many little girls who wanted the role so badly, so i did my best to win the studio over, which happened. I loved the idea of the show. I did my very best to do everything right. Turned out you
should be careful of what you wish for." Why is that now? "I really don't want to tell you but I must...You see, on set, some changes started happening. Grimes would change scripts, things seemed to be a bit scary. And for the first episode to seem so mean and such was odd for a kid's show. And then that horrible last episode..." "What episode, the last episode of the first season?" "Wow (censored), you REALLY need to brush up on your history of this. There were two seasons of the show. The final episode of the second season was the worst ever." I tenatively and carefully asked her to tell me... "Screams! Just screams. Everyone screaming and that sick man Grimes destroying the sets. He told everyone to just scream, and loudly; many did. It got to the point where one of the actors, the man who played the Skin Taker (referring to Michael Colon) started to bleed. He nearly choked on his own blood. I bawled my eyes out." It was there she started to cry, all of these memories coming back to her. She asked me to stop and I did. I explained I was sorry to bring back these memories. I never meant that as my intention. "I remember the Skin Taker. He hung, his head tilted and low, his jaw hanging from one socket and parts of his arms torn off..." DAY 5 I left to go find Michael Colon when I came across a yard sale (I know Creepypasta-ish right?). I asked them about some old recorded tapes I saw and they said they were mostly shows for their son when he was young. I noticed that some of them were from Candle Cove. Although they were very smudged and probably in horrible condition, I bought the videos from them anyway. (Now its probably here where you would expect me to say that I popped in the tape and evil shit happened, blah blah blah yadda yadda Satan appeared threatening to rape my soul and Pirate Percy came at me in a dream as a cannibalistic demon. Something like a Creepypasta-ish event, right? That's not the case, folks.) I popped it in and sure enough, static. But eventually it came on. Sure it was jumpy and it was a static juncture but eh, it was the show nonetheless. It was an odd first show, being that Janice was made fun of so horribly and that Percy would proclaim for her to not kill him. And the thought of kidnapping on the show was an odd
tidbit to be in there. But I had to continue, sadly I didn't make it past Episode 2. DAY 8 There was a gap due to a break for a while. I pursued my interest in finding any contact with crew members or cast member aside from 'Jane' and Jodie. I managed to find a Mr. Walter Shay, who was a stagehand on the show. I managed to write this letter: Dear Mr. Shay, My name is (censored), and I am writing a book entitled Candle Cove Experiences: Tales of the Laughingstock. I am interviewing whatever remaining crew and cast there are from the show. I was wondering if we could arrange a possible meeting with one another, or an actual interview. Of course, if that is alright with you? I can be contacted at the Nohoma Motel address (censored) thank you for your time. I received a letter some time later... Dear (censored), You may be the dumbest person I have ever met. Why in the hell would you dare to bring up such a subject that has haunted me and everyone else on that show. Do you know the absolute tragedy that has accumulated from that? But it's also a way to get things off of my chest from it. I will meet you for an interview, but what I say about that show is the 100% truth, eyewitness. You must not judge what I will say. If you do, I'll make sure that your journey will end with me. Enclosed is a card for where to meet me and at what time. I am not a snobbish man, but I won't do this again. Sincerely, Walter Shay. DAY 15 I met with Walter Shay later on within the week, having to time it
right. I left after Day 10 for Tulsa. It took some time to watch the other episodes but I managed. They did seem darker, as 'Jane' had stated before. Some of them are getting hard to watch, but i have to keep watching. The infamous 'To Grind Your Skin' episode came on. That was the worst, its one thing with a shitty motel tv that makes EVERY program like watching something from the 70's, its another when the damn tape keeps jumping and staticing out every two minutes. I felt like those people trying to watch porn on their old boxes, if you know what I mean. The scramblers. Anyhow I got to meet him where he wanted. He came in on a wheelchair, explaining how he was paralyzed... "Okay. Now Mr. Shay, you said you had information?" "Yeah. That whole damn show is a curse." "What do you mean by that?" "You only could dream of what I mean. It's exactly how i said it. That show is a curse." "I don't understand. Really, I don't." "I broke my leg on that show when a damn ladder fell off and smashed on my leg after I fell. I felt something when that hit, like something pushed that ladder down. Then the episodes got darker. There were two episodes that never aired in Season 2. Those two were the worst of the worst." What happened? "That Grimes in one episode has Janice, implied of course, to be cannibalized by The Skin Taker in a dream. Another one was to reveal that Nathan had been kidnapped and turned into part of a cape for that bastard. Hell, Grimes wanted to fucking have Janice killed and skinned alive. ON CAMERA! The end of the series was to have continued with Melrose winding up in the world looking for Janice. Me and the cast had to make sure that never happened so we shot those ideas down every time. This pissed him off, I think thats why he did that final episode, you know. The 'Screaming' Episode." "You mean he wanted to show a little girl being skinned alive?" "Yes. and that fucker is a monster too. He didn't vanish, I will tell you something I have never told anyone." "Go on..." "After we finished filming that episode, I went back to get something of mine. I saw Grimes pleading to the set pieces, as if they were all alive. He was pleading that he did his job right, he made sure. He started ripping his hair and teeth out. Screaming, trying to get whatever it was away from killing him. He fell backwards and hung himself on a cord. The sound of his neck snapping. God, it still haunts me." "They
said that he just vanished. You're stating he lost it and accidentally killed himself?" "Yes!" Now I knew something horrible did happen. It was freaking me out and now I wanted to stop, but I had to know what happened to Grimes. "They never found the body. I got rid of it. I couldn't let them think that he had just wanted to make things happen to himself, I had to do something, out of the decency of my being at least." "What did you do?" "I buried him. I took his old lanky body out to the woods behind the studio and I buried him. I told myself there was nothing to fear but fear itself. But there was something there. I walked back through the studio and i felt something eerie present in the SkinTaker puppet. Like it was watching me. I got out of there as quick as I could. Some time later, that damned final episode aired and I will never forget what I saw. It was horrible." I was afraid of the show now. What was lying ahead of the episodes for me? I had some more stops to go to but I advised myself that if things get too deep, I would stop there and work with what I have....
DAY 19 A design photograph. Since none of the originals exist, someone did a concept design photograph of the Skin-Taker It has been hard to sleep, I keep having the same nightmare: the Skin-Taker coming at me threatening to grind my skin. It's hard to wake up to just static because I can hear that fucking theme song in
my head every time I do. I gave up a little but I had to keep going. I made a list of people who claimed to have items from the series. Some proved to be idiots who made the items themselves, indications were of the modern look to them. However, there were SOME who did have items. The items I have gotten so far are listed: One of the Skin Taker's glass eyes The arm of Pirate Percy The Hat (albeit somewhat in tatters) of the Skin Taker One of the eyes of Horrible Horace Tooth belonging to The Laughingstock The most unique item I found, and I swear to you I found this one at a house in Missouri. The original owner was a man named Kyle Bartlett. His daughter, Judith, was nice enough to show me part of a collection he had. He had the original Skin Taker head. Now I thought it was a fake since the jaw was intact, whereas 'Jane' had stated that the Jaw was partially torn off. As it turns out, Kyle was one of the crewmen on the show. He loved the Skin-Taker as a villain. When he found that it was so destroyed, he put much time inserting the jaw back in its place. I asked to have it, but she denied that request. I did see that it was missing one eye and its famed hat. I brought these items back and put them inside by myself. The head is now complete but she allowed no photography or video to be made, stating that her father wouldn't want his favorite to be spoiled. She sounded like a mother to a child. I had to keep up. My search led me to New York, where one Mr. Michael Colon lived. The very SAME Michael Colon who voiced the Skin Taker on the show, the same Michael Colon whose son, Trevor Colon, was murdered in the Fall of 1981. Meeting him was hard, he wanted nothing to do with this but I had to interview him. Really I did. He refused for some time, until he decided to... "Hello there Mr. Colon" "Yeah, Hi there." "Um, I am sorry about this." "Must not be REALLY sorry to make a man who lost his son TEN years after that goddamn episode had aired talk about this fucking show. The nightmares still haunt me! Every night, I can see that episode playing in my head!" "I'm sorry about your son and the nightmares."
He took a shot of Jack Daniels and said "Don't be. Not your fault this happened. My wife left me three years after he passed on. I had a dream the night, the very NIGHT it happened. It was the Skin Taker, holding a knife, chasing him and brutally murdering him. It's odd that he was in a neighborhood where a local gang known as the 'Walking Skulls' just so happen to be in. But they don't use knives in their crimes. So it was someone else." "I never knew that. "Never asked me to tell you. And that damn episode screwed my voice up. Which is why I sound so different that how I should." "I'm sorry to hear that." "Understand. You see, Grimes wanted the show to be dark; I thought he was nuts. I didn't want to do the 'grind your skin' episode at all since I read that damn script. He threatened to fire me and I couldn't do that; I had a wife and a kid on the way. I couldn't lose work like that. So I did it, unfortunately." "Ah, I see. What happened the night the last episode premiered?" He sighed. took another shot of the Jack, and told me. "After that damned episode, I got the hell out of there. I went directly home to get all that I could. I grabbed my wife and my infant son and got the hell out of town. I left that damn place with dignity and got to a nearby township. I had the misfortune to be in the hospital in time for that final fucking episode to air. I had no choice but to watch it. And I regret doing so." "Oh dear, I'm so sorry to hear that. If you want to, I could leave here. We could finish if you'd like for it to." "Sounds good. I'm sorry, I just can't do this. I'm just....Sorry!" I left him there, crying, actually regretting that I'd left him. I wish I hadn't... DAY 27 I was reading a news paper and I skimmed the obituaries. I am unfortunate to say that Mr. Michael Colon committed suicide some time ago. He shot himself in the head. He left a suicide note; the NYPD stated that it was a letter to me. It had my name and address on it. "Dear (censored),
I'm sorry to announce that by the time you read this, I'll be gone. It's not your fault, but the dreams came back hard after the interview. It's much harder for me to deal with it but last night's dream was the final straw. The Skin Taker came to me, in that damned hat, stating that my son has a special place. I saw a part of my boy's face on the upper right side of the hat, looking at me with a glassy kind of stare. A single tear rolled down his face and I heard him screaming in agony. It broke my heart. I can't take the dreams anymore, I can't handle it and I want you to understand that you musn't go on. Jodie told me about your interview with her and she is planning on coming to New York for the funeral. I told her that she should forget about it, but since you came around, it's been harder for her to forget. I have to cease this. I'm so sorry. Really I am. Sincerely, Michael Colon. Because of this letter, the death of this man, and the nightmares I have trudged up, I am ceasing this project and going home. It's unfortunate to have to quit this, being that I was far ahead in it, but it is the right thing to do. DAY 30 My name is (deleted). (censored) was a close friend of mine and he asked for me to post it here. Recently he killed himself, or it was a homicide. I'm not so sure. Police said that he was working on something, but when the interviewed were questioned, they never said a word, because they knew better then to rat him out and trudge up more nightmares for themselves. (censored) was a wonderful man in life, his girlfriend, who is expecting a baby some time within the year, is broken up about this. I am sorry to say that in his message to me, he wrote that he met with one final person after the Michael Colon interview. He stated it was a man named Adrian Grimes, Emerson Grimes' nephew. He asked for me to put the interview on here. This interview was made via telephone. (censored): Is this Adrian Grimes?Adrian Grimes: This is he? May I ask what this is about?(censored): This is about the show 'Candle Cove'...AG: That show.(censored): Yes.AG: Look, I don't know who this is but my uncle has been dead for years. His body was never found
and I swear to you that if this is some prank, It's not funny. (censored): It's not a prank at all. I swear.AG: Look, you want to know about that show? My uncle was a sick man. He told me about it and I watched it. Now I will tell you that every single person that was on that show is in their own place on it. I however want nothing to do with it. I got to see the making of one episode, alright. ONE EPISODE! It never got aired, and I hope it never will either.(censored): Season two, meaning either episodes 5 or 6...AG: What the hell are you talking about? No, this happened AFTER the season ended. A new director, can't remember his name, it was supposed to be the SEASON 3 starter. I was invited to be on the show as a character, and my father took advantage of it. Since then, I hate all of the show because my fucked up uncle was a part of it. Now leave me alone!
Chaty34234 Master: I am very woried for you, DeYtH DeYtH: Why? Master: Mhm, this jokes... the way you leave the way you understand the stuff... DeYtH: More specific? Master: More likely the way you see the world and the way you see the simple stuff... you make the simplicity... complex. DeYtH: Is that bad? Master: Of, course is bad... you should learn some stuff... DeYtH: What do you suggest? Master: Don't let people too near to you as first, as second be careful with who you make the deal.. one day you don't want to be in the devils hands, be careful what you say and what you don't... DeYtH: Isn't it that very big distance? Master: You see it as big.. .but people see it as something normal.. that's how the world works... DeYtH: Really?... Master: Yes DeYtH: But come on... come on... it's very simple and is it because of that relationship get over? Master: Yes... that's why I suggest you to become like "Them"... then you won't be different. DeYtH: Who are "They"? and "Them"... Master: The people around you... and I am very proud of you that you stopped being angry... you made one big step... DeYtH: Really? Master: Yes... I am very very proud of you... and I am glad that you started changing....., you even started finding your mistakes... and you started working on them. .... Discussion Over!
Chaty2321321321 DeYtH: Hey Master, are people going to think of me as crazy? Master: No, they believe in me... - I am God, for god sake! Master: There is nothing bad in talking with me... .... Discussion Over!
Parasites I can feel them coming, thirsty for my blood. Through the black emptiness around me, I can sense them, closer and closer, ready to destroy me. Anytime now, I'll be infested. I've already got the signs of the disease; I couldn't help it. Born in this place, this perfect location... you simply can't avoid it. My siblings have abandoned me. They don't want to contract the virus from me, to let the parasites leap to them and tear them apart too. The disease, as well as the parasitic creatures that follow it, have already come and gone from my closest brother. His body wasn't quite suitable to the things, so they perished soon after destroying him... They may start out as tiny, microscopic spores. These, and many evolutions to follow them, will be harmless. If I'm very lucky, they may remain in a raw stage of evolution whilst they inhabit my body. But more likely they will kill me slowly: first harmless symptoms, like the green fragrant stuff that will grow tall over me and cocoon me with sweet air. But then new parasites may evolve atop my body, growing conscious minds, creeping over me, burrowing under my skin. They will slowly dig out my organs, using my blood and bones and muscle to fuel their horrific little parasitic colonies... breeding, changing, building new and ever more painful devices of torture. Then will come the fever... the parasites will burn me, slowly, choking me and the sweet green stuff living around me on thick hot clouds from their little spitefully created machines... But I'll get them in the end. Oh yes, I will be sure to rid myself of them before they find some other poor soul to rob of her nutrients, her organs, her very existence. Once they have burned me, drained me, devoured my insides, they'll have nothing to live off. I'll even aid them in their conquests, speed up their development so they'll be out of materials, out of food, out of everything before they can even hope to travel to someone else. They'll get what's coming to them,
the bastards, and rest assured they won't plague the rest of my family. They'll wither and waste away as painfully as I did, as my poor brother did, bless his soul. My sister and brothers are blaming him for my demise. We were always together, my brother and I. Now they are afraid that my sister, also close to me, will contract the grotesque sickness. But our mother seems able to protect her; she and my baby brother still live as near as they can to her, and she is old and wise, and knows so many secrets... Oh my stars! I felt it. They've just hit. Oh... for now they may not hurt me, but soon the real fun will begin... I always knew I was bound to get this disease - from a young age, I had the symptoms, a sickly child: liquid water beginning to run through my veins, and my body cooling into a temperature that is a paradise for those... vermin, making a perfect environment for the things to thrive in - but I never really thought much of it. Now that I feel them growing, soon to evolve into things that creep over my skin and suck the life out of me, it's so much more real. It has begun... It's funny, being one of the younger children of my family and closer to my mother, I was always considered one of the lucky ones. They thought I had it great, producing a child of my own and everything. Then again, some of my brothers have over twenty children now, and luckily, are too far away from my home to become infested. I don't really feel as lucky as they used to say I was. It's not so great, being the human-infested, silently screaming planet Earth...
A Bug in My Shoe I never believed in the paranormal, I always made fun of people who tried to convince me otherwise with their "scary" stories or farfetched theories... for a long time I felt the only thing paranormal in life was how my cereal in the morning always seemed to get soggy before I finished eating it. That was until one Saturday night when I was sitting at home alone, as I often do—casually browsing the Internet and texting friends. I waited for another slow night to come to an end. It was then I caught a glimpse of something scuttling across my floor, I freaked out a little as I assumed it was a spider or something... I always hated bugs... I watched as the thing slipped into one of my discarded shoes. I slowly got up and picked the shoe up, ready to jump back at a moment's notice as I shook the shoe, expecting the tiny intruder to fall to the ground and startle me... yet as I shook the shoe further nothing happened. I became confused and peered into the shoe, as I did so I let out a scream and tossed the thing across the room as I swear I saw an eye blinking at me from the dark confines of the shoe, glimmering in what little light there was. I stood in place for a good few minutes, trying to calm myself as I cautiously approached the shoe and nudged it with a foot; when nothing happened, I once again picked the shoe up and looked inside, beginning to doubt my own sanity. Once again I froze in terror as that eye blinked at me from inside the shoe. I quickly tossed the shoe into a cupboard and shut the door, going as far as making a little barricade with the small objects that littered my room. I vacated the room and did not return until my parents came home, they both seemed worried about me but dismissed my story as "ridiculous"; going into my room, they made quick work of my little barricade and searched the cupboard for my shoe. "There's no shoe in here..."
What? That was impossible... I left the shoe right there... it couldn't have just vanished.. I panicked and searched the cupboard myself, finding nothing. "Must've been a bad dream—come on dear." No, it wasn't a dream... it couldn't have been... was I going crazy? It didn't make any sense... Eventually my parents convinced me to calm down and get ready for bed, though my mind was still fixated on the missing shoe and that eye as I slid into bed and fell into an uneasy sleep. The following day I searched my room for that shoe, to this day I still haven't found it and resigned myself to buying a new pair of shoes; my parents no doubt thinking I'm completely insane... Still, late at night when I'm all alone, I can't shake off the feeling I'm being watched...
Don't Turn on the Light! She commandeered the room in the basement of her dorm as soon as she realized she would have to pull an all-nighter in order to prepare for tomorrow’s final exam. Her roommate, Jenna, liked to get to bed early, so she packed up everything she thought she would need and went downstairs to study . . . and study . . . and study some more. It was two o’clock, when she realized that she’d left one of the textbooks upstairs on her bed. With a dramatic sigh, she rose, and climbed the stairs slowly to her third-floor dorm room. The lights were dim in the long hallway, and the old boards creaked under her weary tread. She reached her room and turned the handle as softly as she could, pushing the door open just enough to slip inside, so that the hall lights wouldn’t wake her roommate. The room was filled with a strange, metallic smell. She frowned a bit, her arms breaking out into chills. There was a strange feeling of malice in the room, as if a malevolent gaze were fixed upon her. It was a mind trick; the all-nighter was catching up with her. She could hear Jenna breathing on the far side of the room—a heavy sound, almost as if she had been running. Jenna must have picked up a cold during the last tense week before finals. She crept along the wall until she reached her bed, groping among the covers for the stray history textbook. In the silence, she could hear a steady drip-drip-drip sound. She sighed silently. Facilities would have to come to fix the sink in the bathroom…again. Her fingers closed on the textbook. She picked it up softly and withdrew from the room as silently as she could. Relieved to be out of the room, she hurried back downstairs, collapsed into an overstuffed chair and studied until six o’clock. She finally decided that enough was enough. If she slipped upstairs now, she could get a couple hours’ sleep before her nine o’clock exam. The first of the sun’s rays were beaming through the windows as she slowly slid the door open, hoping not to awaken Jenna. Her nose was met by an earthy, metallic smell a second before her eyes
registered the scene in her dorm room. Jenna was spread-eagled on top of her bed against the far wall, her throat cut from ear to ear and her nightdress stained with blood. Two drops of blood fell from the saturated blanket with a drip-drip noise that sounded like a leaky faucet. Scream after scream poured from her mouth, but she couldn’t stop herself any more than she could cease wringing her hands. All along the hallway, doors slammed and footsteps came running down the passage. Within moments other students had gathered in her doorway, and one of her friends gripped her arm with a shaking hand and pointed a trembling finger toward the wall. Her eyes widened in shock at what she saw. Then she fainted into her friend’s arms. On the wall above her bed, written in her roommate’s blood, were the words: “Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?”
Ask I won't ask if you don't ask... have in mind that task...
Write Doesn't it make you insane... wait and wait and wait and no move... do they want from you the move?
Lie I bet that this was lie, wasn't it? Let's tie that lie!
Action I am doing that just to see your reaction to this action... is it too late for that action?
I Don't Sleep Anymore Earlier this week, on Sunday night, I had a dream in which I knew I was asleep. I was standing outside of my house in torrential rain at night and thought I needed to get inside in order to wake up. I approached the front door and placed my knuckles onto the doorwindow ready to knock. I knew that my next action would bring me one step closer to consciousness. The moment I knocked on the door, the thudding sound of the knock was so loud, so frightening and so real that it woke me from my sleep. BANG, BANG, BANG. I jumped up immediately and listened out for a further knock at the door. I was roasting hot, sweating profusely and my heart was beating so hard, I don’t think I would have been able to tell the difference between a knock at the door and my thudding heartbeat. After I came to my senses and realised that the possibility of the door knocking at the exact moment of dreaming it is incredibly low, I fell back to sleep. Monday, the following night, I had the same dream. Right back outside the front of the house in the pouring rain again, intensely staring at the house. I slowly walked to the front door, this time it was open. I walked in and went straight into the kitchen. I opened the cutlery drawer and pulled out the largest meat knife I have. I looked into my reflection through the blade of the knife. If you stare directly into the reflection of your eyes for long enough, eventually it will hit you that someone is looking at you. You know it’s your reflection, but for just a second, you forget and become self-conscious, as if it’s somebody else behind your reflection’s eyes. It didn’t take a second of looking at my reflection through the blade to realise that somebody else was looking back. The moment I realised it was somebody else wearing my grin in the reflection, I slammed the cutlery drawer shut. BANG. Again, I shot up out of bed. The sound of the metal clanging in the drawer as it abruptly closed was so defined and so crystal clear,
it couldn’t have been a dream. Really spooked this time, I went downstairs into the kitchen. I was half asleep and had to check. I opened the cutlery drawer. I was relieved to find the knife still in the drawer. I closed it and went back to bed. It took a little longer this time, but I fell asleep. Tuesday night, my dream started with that grin in the reflection. From the look in his eyes, I could tell that the man in the reflection knew he was looking back at someone confused and scared. I found myself looking into the reflection of the knife, already in my hand, while I stood outside of my house in the rain. The front door was open again. I walked into the house, directly up the stairs and into my bedroom. I looked at the bed and saw someone sleeping in it. It was me. I knew what I was going to do, but also knew that I couldn’t stop myself. Instead, I kept thinking over and over again, “Wake up!" My emotions were both in two extremes at once. I was terrified, but at the same time I was thrilled and excited to kill. “WAKE UP!” I shot right out of bed and stood up. I was absolutely drenched in sweat, roasting hot, but relieved to find nobody stood in front of me with a knife. It took a few seconds to realise that I was gripping something tight in my hand. I knew what it was even before I looked down at it and saw my reflection in it. It was the meat knife, and this time the reflection in it looked terrified. I don’t sleep anymore.
How we became serial killers Credit to M59Gar This will be my ongoing confession. Do I feel guilty? In a way, yes. Do I feel guilty the way you might feel guilty if you had killed someone? Not yet, but that may still come. There’s that, and there’s the cynical notion that everyone gets caught eventually. We might be long dead of old age or revenge by the time it happens, but somebody will figure it out. I want there to be a record somewhere of what transpired—something written as it’s happening—so that you’ll know it’s not a story spun later to save our collective asses from the electric chair. I want you innocents to understand, in real time, how a man becomes a serial killer. It is so much harder and so much easier than you will ever comprehend. The cops have one thing right: it begins with a motive. Unless you’re a nutjob, one person does not kill another person without a reason. Hell, I can’t even get to the gym without proper motivation, so the thought of someone murdering nonsensically just seems insane. Of course, I do go to the gym, because I do have proper motivation, and we have murdered on that same principle. In fact, it started with a question of principle. There were three of us still nursing beers after everyone else had gone home; we sat in the rear of the bar commiserating over the shit jobs we would have to go back to the next morning. This confession is for me, not for our joke of a justice system, so I’ll call my tablemates that night Jake and Tom. I didn’t know them well, but that was part of how all this began. Staring down at his beer, Jake asked, “You hear about that kid who got off jail from killing people because he had affluenza?” Tom nodded along with his words. “Assholes are above the law.” I was fairly drunk and extremely in agreement, so I said, “Shit like that is how mob justice starts.” “Wish I could get some mob justice where I work,” Jake muttered.
“My boss straight up steals from us. Messes with the system to change our hours worked. Caught him with his hand in my jacket pocket in the back room once. But there’s not shit I can do about it. If I call the cops, he’ll just tell them I’m a thief, and I’ll go to prison. Game over, man.” Hunched low from drunkenness, Tom stared up from over his beer. “Somebody should beat that guy’s ass. Send him a message. Weasels like that wise up real quick.” “Would be nice,” I added. Jake’s gaze went dangerously distant. In a low and hate-filled voice, he said, “So let’s do it.” “What?” “Come on, we’re not serious.” “I am. We’ll do it like that movie. You guys beat up my boss, and I’ll do yours.” Silence fell over the table as Tom and I stared at him. He may have been beer-talking, but he looked deadly serious. After a moment, I said, “Wait, no. You think they won’t figure that out? Three random managers get beaten up, and their employees are connected?” “I don’t know you,” Jake shot back, his eyes hard. “We’re not Facebook friends, and I don’t fucking tweet. I’ve run into you twice at random parties hosted by other people. We have no connection—at least not any they’ll see.” “Did you pay with a credit card at this bar?” I asked, while Tom stared in fear at both of us. “Not yet. I’ll pay cash. You both pay cash. And let’s do this.” He didn’t sound overly drunk, or even mildly crazy. The more we worked through the details, the more the prospect of having my boss getting what was coming to him actually began to sound appealing. More than that, I would get a chance to assault someone else’s asshole boss; take out a little frustration, send a message. But we couldn’t actually get away with this, could we? “Research,” Tom interrupted meekly. We both looked at him and waited. He sat a little taller in his chair and spoke quietly. “We watch every episode of CSI. We Google it—”
“On computers at the library,” I interjected. “And no checking out books. No record.” “Right.” Tom leaned closer to us. “We don’t make any decisions until we know everything there is to know about pulling off a crime like this. It has to be air-tight.” Jake nodded along with this, and a slow grin spread across his face. “I knew there was a reason I liked you two. Shake on it. Research.” His voice went low. “And we’ll meet at the bar down the street in three weeks. Friday, eight PM. It’ll be crowded, and nobody will recognize or remember us.” “Flannigan’s?” Tom asked. “No, the other direction.” “The sports pub?” “Yeah, that one.” My pulse raced to a roar in my ears. Was this actually going to happen? Maybe not, but it was at least nice to fantasize. “Friday, eight PM, three weeks from now.” “Shake on it,” Jake said again. And we did. You see, that’s the first step toward serial murder: coconspirators. They can’t just be anybody. You have to understand their ideologies; you have to know why they’ll actually do this with you, even if you don’t truly know the men themselves. No one can ever really know another human being, really, but ideologies run strong, deep, and furious. No man has ever killed another without an ideology involved. We reminded each other to be smart, and we parted ways. I went home and almost loaded up CSI on my Netflix. I stopped myself just short. How suspicious would it be if I binge-watched all these just before my boss got beaten up with no trace forensic evidence left behind? And besides, Netflix only had the shitty spinoffs. I could watch it at the library—but no, that would mean a hundred hours sitting there. I would be remembered, and they might keep a log of traffic. How could one watch a show without leaving a record? Of course! DVDs! I went to every run-down video and DVD store in the city and paid cash for every crime-related show I could find.
Then, each night after work, I got down to it. While the shows played, I wrote notes, and trips to different libraries later filled me in on what was real and what was bullshit. Turns out, most of those shows are a crock—but they gave me the right keywords, and my research began in earnest. Most of all, I found a Reddit thread where someone—for the sake of argument—detailed everything needed to get away with murder in a tremendously long post that had received multiple golds. We only intended a beating, but the advice still applied. I learned quite a bit from that spiel. It turned out that the solve rate for most crimes was still abysmal, and that police were more concerned with robbing the citizenry these days than catching gangbangers. Our intended targets weren’t poor, so there would be an investigation, but it would be easy enough to make the case a difficult one; difficult cases were often quickly abandoned. We just had to make sure to leave no DNA, no good description, and painful but not highly visible wounds. That last rule was part of the media theory of crime: without a good picture that evokes the emotions, there’s no story to tell. Without a story, the media doesn’t pick up on it, and nobody gives a shit. The crime fades away as if it never happened. The big Friday approached the same as any other day, but my stress was off the charts. It was all I could do to maintain the outward appearance of normality—I walked into that bar half an hour early expecting to see cops setting up for a sting operation, but there were only a few scattered families eating wings and burgers at various tables. My two co-conspirators sat in the far back section. They, too, had arrived early. At first, we hunched over and whispered to each other about all that we had learned over the past few weeks, but we quickly realized that our secretive behavior just made us look suspicious. Relaxing, we took on the nonchalant manner of the families around us. It was then that Jake said, "We do Tom's boss first." I frowned. "How did you decide that?" "Think about it," our most determined member explained, looking over at Tom as he spoke. "I'm the angriest of us, clearly. We leave my boss for last, because I'll make sure it happens. Agreed?"
We nodded. "Good. Then on that same logic in reverse, Tom is the meekest of us three." Tom shrugged sheepishly. "I'm still in, though." "I know you are, buddy. That still means we flip the logic around —your boss is first. Us two will handle it. Best you don't know the details, except the time you'll need an alibi. We'll let you know." I nodded, but gulped. Jake and I were really going to do this. We paid cash and went our separate ways after exchanging burner phone numbers. Jake had bought an old junker car with cash, and we now used it to drive around Tom's business at intervals to check things out. He'd told us the man's schedule as it related to work, and we began compiling his other habits. While Jake's intensity subtly put me off, Tom's well-dressed boss wore a perpetual scowl of contempt that primally engaged me in our plan to teach him a lesson. As we watched through the windows of the building, the man simply oozed prickishness. At times, we actually saw him screaming red-faced at Tom, who just lowered his head and took the abuse. We chose a night two days before a holiday party—the party would have been an ideal time to catch Well-dressed Prick alone and likely drunk at abnormally late hours, and avoiding that opportunity was exactly how we would divert suspicion away from Tom. If it had been one of the employees, the police would reason, surely they would have chosen the more opportune night. I still didn't really believe we were actually going to do it. It was fun owning our own capability for violence in a way society usually forced us to suppress; it was fulfilling, in some strange animal way, to realize and entertain the fact that we actually had the power to change things directly. All the money and laws in the world couldn't stop a few determined men from exacting justice, and that thought was immensely and strangely freeing. Of course, we weren't really going to do this. The legal system would take everything from us while defending the behavior of Well-dressed Prick with a fury. But that last night outside Tom's office building, Jake donned his mask and slipped out of the car when the moment came. I freaked. I did slip my mask on, too, but I ran after him to stop him. This was
an insane idea, and I should have known Jake was angry enough to actually take that deranged step off society's allowed paths. I remember grey hair. That close, the older man had streaks of grey hair I hadn't noticed before. Thing is, he turned and saw two masked men running at him full speed in the night, and he didn't get scared. He just sneered and began to say something condescending. Thinking back on it now, I can see how it might have been a show— false confidence, or his form of bravery—but my inner disgust flared, and I slowed. Jake pushed him hard with gloved hands, and Well-dressed Prick fell backwards, hit his head on the cement sidewalk, and lay twitching. I asked the horrified obvious. "He can't be dead, can he? Just like that?" "He is," Jake breathed. "Shit." "What do we do?" I asked, fighting down panic. We were out of the sight of the two cameras that watched the other side of the building, but we were still exposed to the dark side street should anyone drive by. The plan had been to hit him a few times, steal his wallet to make it look like a mugging, and then run. Snapping out of shock and back into determination, Jake shook his head. "Nothing." He pointed down. "He fell and hit his head. There's literally no evidence on him that we even exist." "What if he's not dead? What if he wakes up?" A horrible smell wafted up from him as we stood staring down. Jake moved back. "Smell that? He's dead." He was right. I'd seen it on numerous episodes: the man's bowels had evacuated at the moment of his death. There was nothing to do but get in the car and go. For a time, I lived in agonizing fear that the cops would bust down my door, arrest me, and parade me in front of the entire neighborhood—but Tom reported back to us a week later at a new bar. The death of his boss had been considered a tragic accident, and he himself had been promoted. It had all worked out immensely better than we could have ever hoped. I was ready to be done, honestly. We'd killed a man. No message had been sent. That smug asshole had never known a moment of
fear or regret for his actions. We'd just completely eliminated him. Too, I wondered if he had a family. The basic stress inside me could not be mitigated; I'd never witnessed death firsthand, let alone helped cause it. I could only console myself by believing that any man who treated his employees like he had was probably also abusive toward his family, but there was no real way of knowing that. We'd screwed up and gone way too far; I was going to tell them I was done. It was Jake, though, that grew darker and more determined. "We're all locked into this now," he said quietly and fiercely, his knuckles white around his beer glass. He looked directly at me. "Your boss is next." I should have known then what was coming. Having lived my entire life before that point in a sea of politeness and protection, I simply couldn't recognize the face of a true sociopath—even when he was sitting right in front of me. +++ Part Two
How we became serial killers (part two) Credit to M59Gar
Part One I had the obvious crisis any civilized person might; for days, I agonized over whether to warn my boss that she was about to be brutally assaulted by my partners in crime. Despite numerous rationalizations, excuses, and mental playbacks of the death of Well-dressed Prick, some part of me knew something would happen this time, too. Somehow or another, she would end up dead if the attack went through. It was a premonition I couldn't shake, and I downed coffee after coffee while debating what to do. At one time, I had liked and respected her. She'd been incredibly convincing. She was a single mom with five kids, and we'd had a drink after my first office Christmas party. In that late private hour, we'd talked like normal people, she'd told me about her struggles and stress, and I'd believed her. That conversation remained with me as an internal excuse for her behavior for the next several years. There were constant requests for unpaid overtime, extra work, or favors. I did all of these with a sense of pride, for what man could refuse a woman in such need? It felt like we were a secret team, like I had a responsibility greater than those my coworkers held. Of course, I felt a little weird when a new intern quit because of all the extra unpaid work. I hadn't seen any of that, and I wondered: was she asking him for favors, too? Had it somehow been kept secret from me? My confusion turned to bitter fury when I decided to leave at nine at night instead of staying until my extra work was done. I didn't go home—I visited a few bars she had mentioned over the years. At the fifth and final one, I found her. I sat in my car and watched through the windows of the place. It was a high class establishment, and she stood laughing with a few
girlfriends, a dainty drink in hand. Her dress was form-fitting and fantastic—this was not at all the tired and stressed single mom I'd been sold. It might have been crossing the line, but I knew her address from mail at work, and I drove by her place while she was out. The lights were on and someone was home. I knocked. The door swung open a minute later to reveal a haggard thirtysomething man and a cluster of screaming and boisterous children. "Can I help you?" "Oh, I'm sorry," I told him. "I was looking for Lying Bitch. She told me to bring her some documents for tomorrow's presentation." "She's not here," he replied with a sigh. "She's at work until late again." I could have told him then, but I didn't think it was my place at the time. Instead I made polite small talk until the truth came out: these were his kids. He had been a single father of five after their mother had died, and Lying Bitch was a supposed stable and hardworking new wife that I later noted had come around right after a large life insurance settlement. Once I knew, her lies unraveled daily. After every single claim she made, I dug a little deeper, and I found that she did literally no work in any area of her life. Her dynasty was an invisible pyramid of secret overtime and personal favors; each man was separated from the others to ensure nobody would ever put two and two together. Her home life was nonexistent; she drank, partied, and went home with strangers under the guise of working late hours to support her new family. And she utterly despised me once I slowly stopped accepting her requests. Rumors began circulating about me at the office, a promotion passed me over, and I kept ending up in the worst projects. She never said a single word to me directly, and the old me with the wool over his eyes would have just chalked it up to bad luck, but I knew. This woman was a demon of lies that sucked the life out of everyone around her. But did she deserve to die? I sat at my desk drinking coffee and going over and over her supposed crimes. Nothing she'd done was illegal in the strictest
sense, and I could certainly destroy her life simply by shedding light on her pyramid of lies, but there were consequences to consider. First, that she had no real skills other than manipulation. If her life was torn to shreds, how would she support herself? Would she go through the long and arduous process of self-discovery and learning to stand on her own two feet, or would she just spin a new web? Second, she could likely take me down with her. There would be no hiding my identity if I approached multiple people and clued them in. I might even come off as a strange stalker. As the days wore on and Tom and Jake observed her and began putting together a plan, I felt the decision slowly being made for me. If I was to spare her this fate, I needed to choose. The day of the planned assault, a direct conversation felt in order. I entered her office with a binder casually in hand. "Hey Lying Bitch, mind if we talk?" "Sure," she said with a smile that I knew to be fake, but which was otherwise perfect. "Sit." I sat. She leaned slightly forward. "What's up?" Approaching what was really on my mind in a roundabout way, I said, "I noticed I've been sort of stagnating where I'm at. My performance reviews have been very good, so I've been wondering if there's anything else I can do to get back on top." Sighing, she leaned back against her chair. "I didn't want to say anything, but you haven't exactly been a team player lately. People are starting to talk about it." Suppressing an inner rush of anger, I put on a politely confused face. "Really? What's the problem? I've done everything officially asked of me." "Ah, a real workplace is a bit more than official," she explained. "Official projects are just the minimum to get by. To really be part of the team, you have to take on more than just the minimum." I faked my best understanding nod. "I was doing that my first few years here." "You were," she responded, leaning forward again. "What changed?" I couldn't help it. "When I was working unpaid overtime one night,
I went home to get something, and I saw your car at a bar. You were in there drinking." To her credit, her face didn't twitch a bit. "What I do in my personal time is none of your business. I hope that's all you did, or I'll have no qualms about informing HR that you're harassing me." "Harassing you?" My anger mixed with amusement. She was an expert predator in the ecosystem in which she had evolved, but I had a secret advantage. Real violence cut through bullshit red tape and pathetic reputation games. "Not at all, Lying Bitch. I just happen to know what really goes on here. I've run into other guys doing unpaid overtime—which is against company policy by the way—and I even ran into your husband at the grocery store. Many things you say don't add up." Her mask finally fell away, and I saw pure evil there. She stood, came around her desk, and stood above me with flared eyes. "Fine, dispense with the games. What do you want for your silence? Money? A promotion? Sex?" I stared up in disgust. "Seriously?" I stood very slowly and moved toward her door, though my instincts told me leaving without making a deal was an extremely dangerous idea. The kind of person Lying Bitch truly was seemed to run on amoral manipulation and exchanges. She was rather attractive, but something about that option felt objectively wrong. A promotion would have been nice, but that would have just put me deeper under her thumb. "Money." She lifted slightly, relieved in her own special way that I was playing ball. "How much?" What number seemed reasonable? "Ten thousand dollars." She didn't flinch. Had my number been perfect, or should I have asked for more? Reaching down, she picked up the phone, and I watched as she faked perfect distress for her husband about a sudden financial need. I could hear his confused hurt and despair on the other side of the phone, but he did agree, and she hung up with a smile. "You'll have your money tomorrow. I expect you'll keep your mouth shut." "I will," I said quietly, my decision made. It was my turn to go to the bar. Inviting out a few colleagues from work, we sat, drank, and commiserated over the endless hours
working with little reward under Lying Bitch. None outright revealed what she was doing to each of them; I marveled at how well our culture had trained us to be polite and loyal to the point of selfenslavement. These were decent men; good men. They deserved to be free and treated with respect. Fancying myself their secret liberator—for, in many ways, I was—I soared high on the power of life and death. I was hilarious, compassionate, and the center of attention. I was no longer beat down, frustrated, and stressed, and they could sense it. Determined to make my positivity infectious, I grew ever more boisterous and over-the-top, and we ended the night by invading a karaoke bar and having the best office outing of all time. We slunk back into work the next morning exhausted and haggard, for not one of us had gone home. We'd greeted the sunrise at a diner, ate waffles and pancakes, and headed into the office as a caravan of still-drunk fools intent on facing the music together. But the music never came, and neither did Lying Bitch. Around noon—after we'd had ample time to up coffee and down painkillers—the regional VP arrived with a grief counselor in tow. It seemed that Lying Bitch had accidentally driven herself over the corner of a nearby bridge on the way home; the VP did not mention that she had been drinking at a bar. It was a tragic accident, the company would make sure to take care of her family, and, most importantly, we all had the day off. I drifted home and lay on the couch as the hours blurred together. Part of me was triumphant and grinning unseen, but part of me was horrified that I'd been right: the planned beating had instead ended in death a second time. I wasn't going to meet with Tom and Jake for another three weeks, but I knew I would be demanding the full story of what happened from them. How did roughing someone up turn into driving them off a bridge? At the time, I still felt guilt. That gnawing chill compelled me to return to her husband's house, and I stood at the door and offered my condolences. He gravely accepted them, but he also seemed relieved and rested. Behind him, I saw a nanny taking care of the kids, and I understood: either the company benefits or a second life insurance payout had rescued this family from the hole their
embezzling new mother figure had dug underneath them. Free of guilt, I took my leave. Death had not been a tragedy for anyone in that woman's life. Violence had spiked in out of the wilds of human experience with surgical aim and removed a tumor that had grown on the suffocating structure of rules and customs we'd collectively built in a vain attempt to keep out the dangers of nature. Rather than protection, we had built only a framework for imprisonment and parasites. There was something bigger in what Tom, Jake, and I were doing. I had to think on it. The weeks rolled by as I dealt with the intense stress and let it flow out of me. I was given her old job. After that grand night out, the guys universally threw their support behind me to replace her, and the regional VP couldn't give a shit either way. I was in—and I found it strange that twice death had been rewarded with immediately increased status. This structure we lived in was cold and impersonal to the extreme. Without the need for the staff to secretly and constantly overwork, our office productivity and morale rose significantly. Actually doing my job made it easier for my men to do theirs—what a concept! By the time my meeting with Tom and Jake approached, I had nothing but contempt for the memory of Lying Bitch. But I still wanted to know what happened. Beers in hand, we sat at the back of a new hole-in-the-wall bar and Tom explained. "Well, we caught her outside and alone as planned, but she managed to rip off both our ski masks. Once she saw our faces, we knew we were in trouble, and she was a vicious biter. One thing led to another, and she got knocked out pretty hard. Jake said we had to get rid of her since she'd seen our faces, and we came up with the plan to drive her off the bridge. We didn't want to do it—it just got out of hand." It made sense, at least in our already-twisted perspectives. Jake simply nodded along to this explanation, his expression neutral. I watched his face as Tom spoke, but not a single reaction was evident. At that point, I was beginning to suspect something darker— but I was still enamored of our new strength.
It was also our turn to assault Jake's boss. The quiet and calm threat in our companion's eyes brooked no argument. It was up to Tom and I to make it happen, and I honestly thought I would have the chance to make this third attack not end in murder. I also honestly thought it would be the last. +++
I dodged a rapist Credit to jennalynnw I was 23 at the time of the "occurrence" we will call it. At this point in my life, I was living in Edmonton, had just left a toxic job, and was living out of hotels, as our apartment had water damage from a burst pipe and we were evacuated. I spent my down time in hotel rooms, online searching for a new position. I was somewhat desperate, since I quit my last job before finding another. I was at the point where I would take basically anything to get me by until I found something I really wanted to do. I applied on kijiji (like Craig's list) to companies recruiting receptionists, but wasn't having much luck. Finally, I received a call from a man who owned a small engine repair shop, who needed an assistant to help organize the front end and answer phones. It wasn't something I would normally jump on (I typically work in healthcare) but as I said, desperate times. I agreed to meet him that day at a restaurant for drinks, which I thought was somewhat unusual. When I was about to leave, he texted me saying to meet him at his shop instead. I thought that would be more appropriate. When I arrived at the shop and walked in the door, I was slightly disgusted. The shop was tiny and absolutely fucking filthy. Papers were strewn all over the floor and they were covered in dirt. There was food and beer bottles around, basically it was in disarray. I was feeling a little uncomfortable and majorly over dressed. I wore a nice business dress, with cute heels and simple jewelry. I was greeted by a man who had an appearance similar to that of his shop's office. He was wearing a dirty, torn up wife beater, a gold chain and he was covered in tats. Beer in hand, he reached for my hand to introduce himself. He finishes his beer, and runs back to the fridge behind the front desk, and pulls out 2 more. "Want one" he asks. I respectfully declined, in the back of my mind, I knew it wasn't a good idea. I know some of you are thinking red flag but in Alberta, people drink a lot. Not saying it's necessarily normal to drink on the
job, but in this line of work, it may be more common, so I didn't feel threatened. Also, I had been around my fair share of sketchy people, so it took a lot for me to feel uneasy, I am still one of those "it will never happen to me" types, even though things have happened to me. He then started talking briefly about what he would need from me as an assistant. Then the rest of the 2 HOUR interview, he spoke of himself. I will give you a brief summary of the topics we discussed: how hungover he was, how much blow he did the night before, how his girlfriend sucked another guy off and he asked him "how'd my dick taste?", and how he liked my blue eyes. He mentioned that he "kinda" wanted to hire me, but felt I was too stuck up. By point, I was starting to become aware of the situation I was in, and was feeling uneasy. Not to mention the way he looked at me the whole time was unnerving. I know most people may have left by now, but I am painfully polite (Canadian) and hate being rude, even if it's warranted. I made sure to inform him that I was meeting my boyfriend right after the interview. He asked to give me a tour of the shop in the back, and that was scary. We were the only ones there, and this guy was definitely a sketchy dude. Not to mention twice my size, I'm only 5'1. I told him it was getting late and that I needed to go, but thanked him for his time. He said he would contact me soon, as he may need me as early as the next day to begin work. He seemed annoyed that I was leaving, but I had been there 2 hrs too long, so I booked it out of there. A couple weeks later, still jobless, I was searching on Kijiji for jobs when I came across and ad with the title "Ladies Beware: Small Engine Repair hiring Assistant". I immediately noticed that it was the one I interviewed at, so I clicked the link. In the post it mentioned that this man was currently under investigation after being acquitted on charges of raping two women who answered his Kijiji ads. They went to his shop. He later drugged their drinks, and raped them. All I could think about was how lucky I was to not drink that beer. I was contacted by a lady and her daughter, who had a similar experience with the same man at the shop. She gave me one of the Edmonton Constable's number. I did contact them and left a message, but they
never got back to me. It turns out they have been watching this guy for a while, and he has sexually related charges dating back to 1991. I narrowly missed that bullet. Lesson here. Always let people know where you are, and never take drinks from strangers. Or candy for that matter. - j
Special I awake, as always, to the click and whir of a thousand hidden cameras, and the rising glow of the ambient lights. Over the next 30 minutes, the curtains on my bedroom will slowly part, gliding on mechanized tracks, and the yellow sunlight of dawn will stream into the wide circular room. Like all mornings, I entertain for the briefest moments the thought of hurling myself at the windows and plunging the half mile to the ground. I hold on to the little fantasy of wind and sky and falling for as long as it will remain, dreaming of those magnificent moments of freedom and choice. Even if I were not a coward, there are a thousand unseen barriers and safe guards. I can not see them, but several parents are doubtlessly just outside the door, and would be between me and the window before I could leave the bed. I allow the dream of freedom to evaporate for another morning. The woman next to me, I cannot recall her name, shifts and rolls to embrace me. I wrap my arms around her and return the affection, but there is no love in it. She is young and soft, skin still stretched taut over her athletic and perfect frame. I know that in my youth I would have been buzzing with anticipation and lust simply seeing her, but now I can only take solace in the momentary ghost of affection and emotion. Her skin is warm, and her fine and downy body hair is smoother than the silk of the sheets. I draw an abstract of pleasure from this closeness, feeling something akin to happiness when our bellies synchronize in breathing, pressed close as they rise and fall in an alternating rhythm. Her breath is hot and damp on my chin and neck. It only takes me a few moments to tire of her, and I swung my legs to the edge of the bed. The black marble of the walls and floor of my bedroom are heated to my exact preference, so I walk naked into the large bathroom. Like every morning, I try not to focus on the near-silent buzzing of small servos and motors as each of the cameras pivots to keep me in view at all time. They must be completely autonomous, but it amuses me to think of a thousand uniformed parents tediously
tracking my every move, 16 hours a day. They would be madder than I by now. The routine begins; not identical every morning, but a tiny repertoire of ordered tasks combined in a slightly different order than the day before. Shave. Shower. Preen. Pose. Smile. Evacuate. Masturbate. By altering my routines with feckless reorganization, it gives the impression of variance where there is none. The parents tell me that this is just one of the reasons my channel is still so popular, despite being functionally identical to my father’s and his father’s before us. I have a flair for fakery, for lying. It makes them proud. It makes me hollow. I can choose what I want to do for the rest of the day, from an approved list; another beautiful facade of freedom. I can hold court over a hundred gladiators and command them to break each other apart. I can paint on a canvas a hundred feet tall. I can inhale hallucinogens and stumble through the thousand-acre wildlife preserve on the outer decks of the Tower. I can copulate with my choice of limitless young women, or men. I can beat a child until his skull caves in. It is of course, a limited form of choice. I cannot go back to bed and weep. I can never say “Stop”. I cannot leave the Tower. I am at my most honest, I believe, in the 8 hours of broadcast solitude each night, locked in the blacked out bedroom of silk and marble with whatever woman has caught my fancy. These are the times that I can admit, in my solitude and self reflection, that I would never be able to exist outside the Tower. I know nothing about the outside, and the parents and my concubines can only tell me of the millions of people that love me. I don’t know how a real person lives. I only know my world. I spend the day in the museum, aimlessly wandering through ancient paintings and statues before practicing horseback-riding on one of the open air decks. I do this partially because I told the parents I would be in the harem all day, and it amuses me to think of them struggling to adapt the programming, and the wasted resources. When I'm done for the day, I retire to a balcony with a drink. The
jagged spires of the horizon look like teeth as they swallow the sun, and I can feel the cold, familiar knot in my guts, that unease and dread at the crawling passage of time. I’ve been as careful as I could not to conceive, but that can never last. I have no illusions about this. Sooner or later, I will have a son or daughter. Doubtless the parents are already weaning me off the contraceptives in my meals. I grow ill at the thought, and stand to complete my nightly ritual. I descend the elevator through the vast interior space of the Tower, towards the lower levels. The parents love this portion of my night, such a wonder flair for the dramatic, they say. I do it because it keeps me sane. The guards below are like the parents, only their uniforms are different. They smile at me with genuine love and affection and allow me to pass the viewing chamber. My father, a man I never met, is laying on a soiled mattress bed, in a sterile metal chamber. They only love you for so long. He stirs slightly, but I know he cannot see me; his eyes are now lidless, each orb a milky ball of scar tissue. His mouth is lipless, and his dry and bleeding gums encase only a few shattered teeth. His ears are gone, the skin pulled tight around them and sewn shut with black cord. His limbs each terminated in a raw stump when I first was allowed to see him, now they are completely gone. I’ve watched them break, bend and vanish in slow bites over the years, but they are simply scars around his gaunt torso now. There are deep, fresh gouges in his gut. Every time I think he simply cannot endure more, he astounds me by continuing to live. When my time on the channel ends each night, his begins. The Tower goes deep underground, and that is my father’s world, a nightmare mirror of my own. For the last few months they have taken to opening him up to take away ragged chips of his organs. Since they took his tongue and lips, he has no shame about gibbering and wailing wordlessly. I have no love for this man, no pity for this thing. I can barely feel pity for myself.
But he is my mirror, my portrait of the future. The people that love me now will grow weary, and will fall in love with my inevitable son. Later, these same people will delight in watching my slow and surgical dismantlement, for eight hours every night. The mechanical arm on the ceiling descends, lopping a hook through the harness around my father’s broken body, and carries him into the next room to prep him for the show. He begins to shriek, a ululating cry of helpless terror, and thrashes in the machine’s embrace, but it cradles him almost gently as it takes him from my view, and into someone else’s. I look away. Return to my room. Lie motionless and empty in the dark. The channel changes. Credited to Josef K.
Order You don't need it... for my next story... which I am going to tell ya!
.... By DeYtH Banger (The chaos into the mind of mad person...) Note - Sounds like so far I am thinking on the conversation of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Joan Watson #Elementary #Marriage ... What does that have to do with it? Well, as you know, detection is a calling, not a job. Hardly leaves one with time left over to sustain the elaborate ruse of marriage. Because, of course, you think marriage is an elaborate ruse. There are other ways to describe it. An unnatural arrangement which forces its participants into an unhealthy monogamy. An accretion of petty fights and resentful compromises which, like Chinese water torture, slowly transforms both parties into howling, neurotic versions of their former selves. ...? ..... It makes me to see the world in whole new way.
Quotes If you want to have something... just keep collecting and putting the pieces in a safe place. - DeYtH Banger? I don't have any desires... of suicide... I have never had and I will never will... ... I can't stop myself from analysing this race... the human race so vicious, furious and protagonists. - DeYtH Banger? This isn't a sign and neither and that and neither and that... what i can say (Silence today has a scenario in this room)... and as a second... There is one sign and that's you can feel your ass.... that's a sign for you having an ass. - DeYtH Banger? Be proud of yourself... you have an opinion... it's like the asshole everyone got one... - DeYtH Banger? Discussions are more likely a code sharing... Like "Hey, how are ya?" ...
Like "Hey, how do you feel by running this code?" .......... - DeYtH Banger? Films/books/series... are just experience of other people... The biggest question is do you have enough time to Experiencing all this experience? - DeYtH Banger? You already know the scenario... they got there... and there... they went there... and they changed forever and ever. - DeYtH Banger? Some people want a lot of... others little... but in the end all people change... - DeYtH Banger? .... This above are thoughts which keep me awake... can change me... and help in viewing the world which you see... From my POV there is something into this and I am going to solve it. Story So le'ts cut the shit, nobody gives a fuck about that shit. Also I don't want to lose your time and neither you are suppose to lose my time, do we have a deal?
.... "YES"? "YES"? "YES"? "YES"? "YES"? "YES"? "YES"? .... OFFFFFFFF COME ON... YOU AREN'T SUPPOSE TO AGREE WITH ME ON EACH WORD... SETENCE.... AND WHAT i SAY.... pLEASE MAKE AN ARGUMENT... LET'S DEBATE... SAY "NO''' - On reasons, they are fucked up so far like your face but... here is one... "I ain't gonna make a deal with the devil..." - Very reasonable so far as human being you are, aren't ya? Awake ProbabLY, you SLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP YAAAAAAAAAAAAA?
FUCKING,
WELL
DON'T
(Ohhhhhhhhh, I am sorry,I gonna lower my voice... just because of your toice? TOYS?) To be honest, I have so much thoughts playing around in my mind, I am not a Psychopath, so we could remove this out of opitions on the question... WHO COULD I BE?
I have so much thoughts, probably you haven't had such, building scenarious and works in which I describe perfect murders with the perfect characters and features. As for "It's not Happy" - the short story, I have another in my mind... I still keep playing it... OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER.... with different aspects, perspectives.What I see... is one gruesome and fucked up murder in the abdomen... shoot so FUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKING abandoned. You think you are trying? Crying? And Drying? and Playing?... PLEASE BIATCH LEAVE A MESSAGE.... JUST FOR THE TRYING. ... I have been awaken from different sounds a world which is build from crazy and mad people... can you imagine? CAN YOU FUCKING IMAGINE? (I AM REALLY ANGRY HERE ON THE RECORD) CAN YOU FUCKING IMAGINE? (I AM REALLY ANGRY HERE ON THE RECORD) CAN YOU FUCKING IMAGINE? (I AM REALLY ANGRY HERE ON THE RECORD) CAN YOU FUCKING IMAGINE? (I AM REALLY ANGRY HERE ON THE RECORD) CAN YOU FUCKING IMAGINE? (I AM REALLY ANGRY HERE ON THE RECORD) CAN YOU FUCKING IMAGINE? (I AM REALLY ANGRY HERE ON THE RECORD) CAN YOU FUCKING IMAGINE? (I AM REALLY ANGRY HERE ON THE RECORD) CAN YOU FUCKING IMAGINE? (I AM REALLY ANGRY HERE ON THE RECORD) CAN YOU FUCKING IMAGINE? (I AM REALLY ANGRY HERE ON THE RECORD) CAN YOU FUCKING IMAGINE? (I AM REALLY ANGRY HERE ON THE RECORD) CAN YOU FUCKING IMAGINE? (I AM REALLY ANGRY HERE ON THE RECORD)
CAN YOU FUCKING IMAGINE? (I AM REALLY ANGRY HERE ON THE RECORD) CAN YOU FUCKING IMAGINE? (I AM REALLY ANGRY HERE ON THE RECORD) Somebody awaking you with stupid questions!? and let's follow that scenario Should I go out? Should I? Should I sleep? Should I eat? I am going to eat! Should I eat? Can I? Should I take a shower? Should get up? Shouldn't I? Should I? (COMPULSIVE BIPOLAR DISORDER!) (YOu fucking think that I am funny? and gummy and dummy??????? - NO REASON OF BEING PRISON!) (What I want from you... is another chat... with you... nothing to flexxy to be so CLECKSY... got it? - IT WAS A JOKE TIME TO LAUGH HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA (ANY REASONS TO DOUBT IN MY LAUGH?)) (Let's continue the scenario) Should I go out? Should I walk? Should I stay Should I go? Should I take the bus? Should I buy that? Should I... do that?
Should I (OFF I AM KIND OF BLIND... and very infatuated from this world... let's countinue your doubt in that goubt so gibberish... I SHOULD FUCKING LAUGH... HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, you just fucking created a new word it's "gibberish".... WOW... WOW FANTASTIC AND TO PANTASTIC PERSON) Should I move? Should I change my pants? Should I change my T-Shirt? Should I Watch TV? Should I take that? Should I listen? Should I be perfect? (VERY FUCKING CONFUSED.... so donfused!) Where is DON? - IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII GONNA END THAT SHIT! Anger Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I should clap and say BRAVVOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO... GG.... DD... you just fucking got my message , I am very impressed... you reached above my expectations for you. ... I am really angry, at you... at them and the way this work goes... a torture and Over AND over AND OVER and over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER.
Patience The beginning of the pain and the torture.... you think that Iam crazy?... I am mental unstable and stable!?... REALLY...REALLY... you piece of dumb shit... for the dumpster... I am going to put your opinion there, WHY??... I should leave you to question yourself... as much as fucking you want.... YOU LIE AND TIE... that's the beginning of all and I am fucking so tall for the all.... whole and as a hole... take that tole with that tone... DId you know that the people which really teach us about the world... are not the angels... but the Monsters. This are the people, they are still now alive and they will continue to be born and over and over and over for generations. Here is the FUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKING TRUTH, WHICH YOU IN DAYS YOU ARE WAITING FOR.... AND BLACK AND WHITE DOES IT EXIST IN THIS FUCKING WORLD... DID YA KNOW THAT? You fucking cock sucker?....You fucking cock sucker?....You fucking cock sucker?....You fucking cock sucker?....You fucking cock sucker?....You fucking cock sucker?....You fucking cock sucker?.... COCK SUCKER? What type of shit is that... patience???.... Predict anger.... tie the lie..... end the beginning.... ceiling will be the end of all and all.... RATHER Life is LIE... TIE... AFRAID...WEAK .... LONG LIE FAKE THE TIE (I can continue with happiness... if you want RATHER AS A THERE AND TO BE RA IN THERE AND TOOOOOOOOOO BE RATHER... ARE YOU CONFUSED... didn't I SAID THAT IN ADVANCE THAT I HAVE SUCH A GOAL???!?!)
... LOWER EXPECTANCY LIE JUST FRY IT .......... LORD SHOULD LIE PEOPLE ENVY ... (THAT"S THE DEFENTION... ON DEEPER LEVEL... NOBODY SAID THAT YOU SHOULD BE HERE... you could be there and there and there... with no body... but you are here... pain does fucking hurt? HURT! LET"S CALL HURTZ!) LOGIN PLUGGING LOGIN PLUGGING LOGIN PLUGGING LOGIN PLUGGING LOGIN PLUGGING LOGIN PLUGGING LOGIN
PLUGGING LOGIN PLUGGING LOGIN PLUGGING LOGIN PLUGGING LOGIN PLUGGING LOGIN PLUGGING LOGIN PLUGGING LOGIN PLUGGING LOGIN PLUGGING LOGIN PLUGGING LOGIN PLUGGING LOGIN PLUGGING LOGIN PLUGGING
LOGIN PLUGGING (That's not a spam... just making another experiment... of wonders and login's and pluggin's? DO I have a plugin?) Lie Opps... my mistake "IIKE" I like to watch you suffer... to be hurt... that's when I get very taff... I enjoy your pain and laugh and laugh and laugh... that's what "THE GRAYMAN" - code is... isn't it?... WITHOUT EVEN ANY DOUBT! I like when you are honest... about how you gonna hurt me... I like that... I FUCCCCCCCCCCCCKING LIKE IT... ... i WANNA A FILTY GIRL... A SELFISH... AND A PERSON WHO IS EGOIST... ...... - It's silence... it's another step in the world... are you afraid of doing it? Happy!? - I have never been happy... it's humans on basic levels... on basic ignorance.... basic sadness to near to fulfilment. ....... I just wanted from the world... little compassion .... some passion... near to imagination near to fucking gination to generation... fucking the generate for making that fucking rate. My life has never been Rhyme, I just made it... that's the only FUCKINGGGGGGGGGG THING LEFT IN MY LIFE TO DO AND TO HAVE.... i DIDN'T LIED TO ANYBODY, I WAS JUST AFRAID TO LOSE YA... i HAVE A LOST A LOT OF PEOPLE
LOST LET'S KEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP THE FUCKING SILENCE... LET'S END THAT SCENARIO FOR LEFTING ME TO GO TO RIO. I lost all people around me... I was honest... people lied to me... (EVERYONE WITH HIS OWN problems... SMALL OR BIGGER DEPENDS ON THE FUCKING SIZE OF THAT SIDE...) I was honest with them... real images... real data... but what in the end? ONE SMALL PROBLEM JUST BECAME FUCKING BIG.... I little saved some data... again I fail with that fucking mission... so friends are more likely a mission???? WHERE IS THE FUCKING COMPASSION IN THAT PASSIoN.... i ALWAYS LIKED YOU... BUT WE SHOULD STAY LIKE THAT... FOR MORE LONGER...YOU GET THAT, DO YA? you undeRSTAND ME, RIGHT?... dON'T BE crowded AND So that's the LAW... NO COMPASSION... IT'S FOR THE FUCKING WEAK TO LEAK... LICK MY ASS BITCH... FOR THE PASSION WHICH YOU JUST MADE ME.... HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA - take that... i AIN'T CRAZY... ON BIATCHES I AM FUCKING TALENTED.. let"s rawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. I lost my father... but on profit I just gain more... people now pay me WITH FUCKING MONEY TO GO SCHOOL... SOUNDS LIKE PASSION SO FAR IS IT? HOW FAR IS IT? ... doN'T GET SHY... FOR THAT LIE... WE BOTH KNOW THAT THAT WAS THE END... I WAS VERY COMPASSIONATE... YOU WANNNA SUPPORT? ... i CAN GIVE YA SOME... MY ASS COULD SUPPORT YOU... NAAH THAT'S ONLY FOR BIATCHES ON YOU... LITTLE GUY BEHIND THE SCREEN TOO AFRAID TO BE HONEST... IN REAL LEVELS... IGNORING MY MESSAGE LIKE A NEW JOB.... Y OU ARE FUCKING GOOD... LET'S BE WITH god. GOD GONNA AND DONNA BLESS YA ...
What in the fucking helll is that?... Did I got the message? An energy drink is that, right? ......... NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO... it's some kind of fuck... god gonna fuck ya... in a nice and kind way... to the devils you say. GOD GONNA BLESS YA.... GOD GONNA FUCK YA........ DO you agree on that? Yes indeeed... fucking deeds! ... I fucking miss your messages... the zing zang song........... RAZZZZZZZZZZZLE DAZZLE SONG... BUT i KNOW THE TRUTH... THAT HAS NEVER BEEN THE TRUTH, SORRY FOR BEING SO RUDE. i JUST COULD FIND THE ROAD FOR THAT................. NO WORDS................ no comments! .... cooooooooooooL cleaning some shit... are you so pressive and depresssive... don't be worried... I was just honest... on honest levels... little joke... just to choke ya....... no need for data on that type of levels. .............. HOpeeeeeeeee. I just lost it... thanks for giving me nothing for in advnace for nothing... THAT"S WHAT A DEAL WILL BE.... near to lie just to tie somebody. No FUCKING NEED FOr edit... we are not in reddit... are we!? .... ARe you depressed? Confused? ...
Very simple as that so far can't get you too far, can it?
To Remember Credit to AtomGray All there is is black. All noise muffled and distant. The darkness presses in around you, carrying you, weightless. You're not sure if you even have a body anymore. You see red. Smooth hands pull your limbs roughly. They are moving you. You distinctly remember a great fear leave you as you died. A great light bares down through your thin eyelids and you know yellow again. Sounds wash over your ears like a shower of thumbtacks. Everything seems so bright and insane now. They -someone has laid you on the table, is helping you breathe, is cleaning the blood from your skin. You manage to crack one eye open and take in the stark white slate of the world. A young man, younger than you, cuts the umbilical cord and smiles. You're so afraid now, because something's gone wrong. You cry weakly for the first time, but no words make it out. You weren't supposed to remember.
Please No Tongue Credit to CrimsonClubs It started during dinner, after I bit my tongue, which I bit again almost immediately after. I was biting my tongue and couldn't stop. For some reason, despite my efforts to avoid it, my teeth kept clipping the tip. It was almost like my tongue was longer than before, but then there was no more almost. My tongue was definitely longer than before... and growing. Soon I couldn't pull my tongue back far enough to close my jaw, my tongue stuck out between my teeth. Before even a minute past, it was too long for my lips to close. I was panicking now, running across my room without a destination. They say a severe allergic shock can swell the tongue, and seal the airways shut. Was I having a reaction to my meal? Was I going to suffocate? But I didn't suffocate then, my tongue just grew and grew, unspooling from my mouth like a roll of toilet paper. Soon my tongue was touching my chest, my abdomen, my legs, and the floor. Oh the floor! I could taste the godawful floor! Jaw locked open, unable to talk or eat, but I could taste the crumbs of dirt and fuzz on the floor. It dragged behind me, snagging corners, so I wrapped it around my shoulders like a moist python. I needed to keep wrapping it around because it still kept growing, lengthening by the second. Eventually becoming buried, tangled in flavour, trapped by the unbearable taste of the entire room, I did what I needed to. I. Bit. It. Off. But now the bloody stump is widening, breaking my jaw, and sealing my airway.
IF IF you follow you know me... very well... better than I know myself... or that was another lie?
Sometimes They Don't Follow Him Credit to LivingHalloween I wish I were as brave as Master. He walks right through them sometimes, like he doesn't even see them. Sometimes they'll hang above him all night while he sleeps, dripping claws and eyes and all, just waiting for him to notice. He turns over, sliding his cheek across the tip of one of their poison nails, and then he'll wake up in the morning and pretend it was a bug bite. But the worst is when he leaves. I start to whine every time he grabs that coffee cup and the little stick he puts in his computer, and he just scratches my ears and heads up to his office. I try to tell him they're behind him, above him, clutching to the wall, but he just won't listen. And sometimes, when he leaves, they don't follow him. Sometimes they climb down the wall and stare at me for hours, like they're punishing me for warning him. He has to notice on his own, I guess. I've tried to take a cue from him and just pretend I can't see them, but now and then I'll still catch myself watching their corner of the living room. Good thing he remembers to act like he can't see them. I wish I were as brave as Master. And I wish he wouldn't leave me alone with them for so long.
Gateway Of The Mind In 1983, a team of deeply pious scientists conducted a radical experiment in an undisclosed facility. The scientists had theorized that a human without access to any senses or ways to perceive stimuli would be able to perceive the presence of God. They believed that the five senses clouded our awareness of eternity, and without them, a human could actually establish contact with God by thought. An elderly man who claimed to have “nothing to left to live for” was the only test subject to volunteer. To purge him of all his senses, the scientists performed a complex operation in which every sensory nerve connection to the brain was surgically severed. Although the test subject retained full muscular function, he could not see, hear, taste, smell, or feel. With no possible way to communicate with or even sense the outside world, he was alone with his thoughts. Scientists monitored him as he spoke aloud about his state of mind in jumbled, slurred sentences that he couldn’t even hear. After four days, the man claimed to be hearing hushed, unintelligible voices in his head. Assuming it was an onset of psychosis, the scientists paid little attention to the man’s concerns. Two days later, the man cried that he could hear his dead wife speaking with him, and even more, he could communicate back. The scientists were intrigued, but were not convinced until the subject started naming dead relatives of the scientists. He repeated personal information to the scientists that only their dead spouses and parents would have known. At this point, a sizable portion of scientists left the study. After a week of conversing with the deceased through his thoughts, the subject became distressed, saying the voices were overwhelming. In every waking moment, his consciousness was bombarded by hundreds of voices that refused to leave him alone. He frequently threw himself against the wall, trying to elicit a pain response. He begged the scientists for sedatives, so he could escape the voices by sleeping. This tactic worked for three days, until he
started having severe night terrors. The subject repeatedly said that he could see and hear the deceased in his dreams. Only a day later, the subject began to scream and claw at his nonfunctional eyes, hoping to sense something in the physical world. The hysterical subject now said the voices of the dead were deafening and hostile, speaking of hell and the end of the world. At one point, he yelled “No heaven, no forgiveness” for five hours straight. He continually begged to be killed, but the scientists were convinced that he was close to establishing contact with God. After another day, the subject could no longer form coherent sentences. Seemingly mad, he started to bite off chunks of flesh from his arm. The scientists rushed into the test chamber and restrained him to a table so he could not kill himself. After a few hours of being tied down, the subject halted his struggling and screaming. He stared blankly at the ceiling as teardrops silently streaked across his face. For two weeks, the subject had to be manually rehydrated due to the constant crying. Eventually, he turned his head and, despite his blindness, made focused eye contact with a scientist for the first time in the study. He whispered “I have spoken with God, and he has abandoned us” and his vital signs stopped. There was no apparent cause of death.
Forlorn and Forgotten Credit to Viidith22 Burn a hole into me Do you feel my heart? Bursting inside of your palms Beating no more Fueling the disposition always embedded I don’t need a heart to kill Or envision the terrors in your head Let me show you Let me teach you how life works Pain resolves itself With either self-hatred Or revenge Sweetie, you’ve opened a door Keep it to yourself Don’t make me get the tape Or the rope Done and done Kept safe Kept quiet It isn’t like I’m keeping you from anything What family are you pleading for? Who do you want to see more than me? What do you want more than my being? Obsessive doesn’t cover it You poor, dependant bitch
Bite your tongue Choke on your feeble ambition Taste the failure and loss staining your teeth Don’t make me hurt you Any more than I already have, of course Stop shouting No one can hear you, but me I’m not happy Neither is my malicious mind You’re lucky you’re here Not outside, where I can stalk you Don’t you see? I always know where you are Love me I know I’m not your reflection, but give me something Narcissistic pig You’ll tear your throat apart screaming I’ll just keep kissing Before cutting your cute little face I can’t express the repressed hatred I have For everything you are God, can you fall any lower? Please show me, with those crying eyes That broken face That deformed stature Are you sad? Traumatized? I didn’t mean to hurt you, At least not currently Not until I release the burden from my chest
Funny, you haven’t heard it all before God do I love it The pure control of it all No more hiding No more walls Just your cracked teeth, Bruised torso, Black eyes And defeated personality I finally beat you The one on the pedestal I wonder how it felt to fall Try to fly with the weight of the world Hold yourself up With self gratification, You shell of a human being You may be free, But I’m not finished with you My choice is not a blessing, It is simply a forlorn hope Why have one target When I can have six? Why stop there I don’t need a heart to kill I don’t need your pleading to feel regret Something out of your control Only some pills and a loaded gun can fix this Just try it Gun in hand Ready to pull the trigger
Damn is it fun to be human Not a care in the world Not a person to stop me, From being me No barriers to keep me From jumping off of a roof Or coming back for you All of you A sane man doesn’t come back for forgiveness, To be squandered by lies and excuses He comes back for revenge Much more sought after If this makes me unhinged, then I don’t want to be normal So boring No freedom No screaming So pathetically plain, Without a heart
Sleep Paralysis I never really talk about this experience, as I never felt that many people would believe me if I ever told them the truth. I admit to having hallucinations frequently, and I do admit to hearing voices occasionally, but they were nothing like this. This happened to me about five years ago. Most people don't believe that this is possible, but there is some truth to this experience. People sometimes undergo a condition where they fall into a light sleep but end up waking during the phase of sleep where your body freezes itself in place and awake in a condition known as sleep paralysis. Many people report experiencing strange phenomena whenever they awake during sleep paralysis, and I was no different. During a night where I had very little sleep, I woke up for some reason but was incapable of movement. It was the first time I had ever woken up during sleep paralysis, but it was an experience I surely wouldn't forget. At the foot of my bed was a large dark, humanoid figure. Its eyes were a piercing metallic red. It's face looked like a rotten and mistreated stuffed animal with razor sharp teeth. Its body was the color of pure darkness, and reflected the light that seeped in through my window. In its left hand, it held a large cleaver knife and slowly spread a wide smile across its hideous face. The figure floated over towards me, its feet never touching the ground. It’s grizzly maw opened slowly, mouthing out the words it had for me carefully. It’s voice was cold and metallic, almost like the sound of shredding sheet metal, “Don’t move.” As much as I wanted to flee or cower in fear, I was incapable of movement. I was even incapable of tears. I wanted to cry out to someone, anyone for help, but I could only make out mere whispers. My eyes however, were fully capable of movement, and could clearly see the monster that loomed over me. It lowered its face within just a few inches of mine and had its
arm raised with cleaver in hand above my head. I wanted to be anywhere, even in the pits of hell, just so I would be free of the suspense of having this hideous entity hovering over me. It spoke to me again. “Count to three”. I closed my eyes and slowly began to count up to three. I could feel the breath of the figure above my forehead, warm and moist. I sounded off the first number “One!” I readied myself to say two, but I felt the figure’s breath coming closer. I wanted anything but to lay in my bed powerless to this being. “Two!” I cried out to the monster and felt it grow even closer. I opened one of my eyes and gazed deeply into the soulless stare of the entity that was poised on taking my life. It’s open maw was close enough to sink its jagged teeth into my face. It grew inpatient waiting on its kill and commanded me to continue. “Do it!” it shouted as I closed my eyes again in fear. I spoke aloud once more, “Three!” I waited in my bed for five long minutes, hoping that it had already killed me and that the suspense was over. It didn’t matter to me whether I was in heaven or hell, just as long as it was over. Surprisingly to me that night, it was neither. After I opened my eyes, I realized that I was not dead, and that I was fully capable of movement again. I never experienced something like that ever since that night, and that night was one of the last nights I ever had a dream, nightmare, or horrific occurrence such as that. Since then I have come to the conclusion for myself that the figure was likely a hallucination, made up by my own mind. Some may say that it was a ghost or a demon, and I won’t deny their claims, but I can’t accept them as fact. No matter what it was I saw that night, I hope I never see it again.
An Agnostic's Prayer Credit to BleedingProphecies Palms pressed in a feeble effort to keep a secret, holding tight to my apostasy just as I held fireflies in my youth. Palms pressed to hold myself together in a physical way, to find comfort in skin-against-skin that is gone from Sunday's-best-against-pew. Palms pressed to know I exist and I am flesh in this moment, never mind the next and never mind the wicked questions in my head. Palms pressed in anger, because I can believe in the bones I feel and cannot see but cannot muster that same faith in a god.
How to Break the World Credit to THEBanana316 We were unbreakable The product of a perfect God's holy will Nothing could tear us apart We were indefatigable We could never tire of Being in each other’s arms Loving and being loved We were incomparable Perfect harmony of woman And of man together Creation’s epitome There was only one rule Do not eat the fruit Of a certain tree Overcome by curiosity Throw caution to the wind And taste the forbidden fruit Sweet as honey on the tongue Sour in the stomach When a single action breaks Our unbreakable world
Life Credit to flipflop1121 Why must life be crap? Why must I live it? Why must I live? Why can't I die? Am I really that important? Surely I can't be, right? You don't even know me do you? Yet you care correct? But why do you care about someone you have never met? It doesn't affect you if I die does it? It won't do anything but release me won't it? Is death as sweet as people make it to be? Or is it scary? If the blood stains the knife and sheets would you care? If it feels good would you care? 'You're fine' do they say it to you? 'It's just a phase, it'll be over soon'. How long is soon? Is soon 3 1/2 years? Or is soon tomorrow? If I say I'll die soon why do people laugh? Can't they tell I'm serious? Teachers say never to try it, everyone says it. No one listens right? I don't listen, do I? Could someone save me if they cared enough? 'No one cares for you, you idiot!' They say. Do you hear them too? In the back of your mind? Are they constantly telling you 'worthless' and 'ugly'? Does she push you to the edge with her perfect body? What about her boyfriend?
Do you have one? I don't. Do you care about me? I don't. Do you think I should pull the trigger now? I do. BANG
Sirens and Vanity Credit to FrostedQueen Sirens cutting through the darkness of the night, waking the lonely moon and rattling the stars. Screams and shouts piercing a soul in fright, cutting and bruising, ignoring the fiery tears. This is a cold, cold world with even colder people, all that matters are money, power and fame. You're so beautiful and so vain, too, it's a shame that in a few years you're only going to have a cold, golden frame to remind you of the good, old days and then when you find yourself all alone and feeble you'll have no one else to blame, but yourself.
It Was Never You Credit to WordOfChen It really wasn't... And I know that I can twist this truth as much as I want... Whenever I'm sober, when I know I can put up that fake plastic smile; Just a few formal words that burn like acid from a liar's lips! "Differences in personality, a divergence in ideals..." Please, fucking, SPARE ME! Because when I look in this mirror, I know. When I see myself looking back at me, I know. Right here, right in front of my own blackened self; Those eyes that both reflect and stare into my dingy soul. I was the problem. I was the instigator. I was the perpetrator. And when I had broken every last bit of her, I was the one, who let it all fall to pieces. So please, you don't have to feel sorry for me,
I am a bastard and I've got a very special place in hell waiting for me...
Division Credit to Frank-Jaspers The Absolute will not pity This loss of my so-much substance, My distinct relativity; My abyssed castaway-being. In its blink there are galaxies; There is birth of stars and stardeath; The very atoms of the gods Subjected to annihilation. To its realm, pale light or limbo, To that casket and ghosting dark: Greetings, I honor Thee and Thine, Encomium and salutations. Unrecognized, I will myself Meet in Thy estranged mirroring And this eye and tactile, tongue And scent, be lost without echo. For what is Heaven? but a promise Of unity with division, A cohesion binding me by Divine bonds of subterfusion; The untangling of my atoms, The resolution to fragments Of my cornerstones; what Being Decomposes to bits and strings. The Absolute unwinds the mind, A vessel of empty spirit,
Without surface housing wholeness; I embrace its anonymity.
Silence Is the thing which should scares... what happens backstage... is the most scary thing...
Society Credit to Elendurwen Bred in numbers We're the new animals Organisms superior Organized for purpose We won the evolution We define the nature now We're the shining Inside of every star Society Chant the name Society It's all a game Owners of the dead Usurpers of the unborn We decide all fates Behind closed doors All processes function By our godly designs In firm belief we walk The path of burning ashes Entertain us We're used to passivity Feed us Open our mouth And shut our eyes We want all there is
What there isn't we want more We deserve and demand Why, we don't remember Society Chant the name Society It's all a game
The Psych Ward Credit to Frank-Jaspers Forced therapy, Orderly degradation, Jailhouse schoolyards, Bored intellectuals, Invalid tongues, Invalid eyelids, Pseudo-demonstrations, Freudian fornication, Incestuous libraries, Alphabetical death-rows, Fastidious sadism, Hallowed infamy, Psychosomatic principles, Indoctrination druggings, Chain link unity, Nailhead hypocrites, Doctors of ignorance, Instructors of normalcy, Teachers of sanity, Madhouse mentality, Stone eyeballs, Sterile lips, Blank palms; Mental Clinic, Southern Psych Ward.
Inside Credit to devayuga let me rest for one minute my inside, you dont want me to be happy constant dissatisfaction or negativity the fear of medicine cannot stop you while outside has been seen as bliss by the ones i call friends inside it is a mess of hormonal yet raging forces i want you, my mind to be a dark quiet place occasional beautiful blue light hues the dark relaxing positivity blooms in the sea of my mind beautiful algae the only bloom now is stress horrible blooms of red algae inside how i want to be a ghost leave this shell behind i hope i can really repair my shell to the days when it was pure and clean and never polluted by forces i once thought were lovely let the darkness and glowing neon lights take me away in my dreams please let sleep be a solace to the forces inside. let me rest without worry, my inside how i wish one day my inner and outer shell become pure again
Boats of Dreams Credit to Queen-of-Beers Dazed and amazed, in the mist I stand People like ghosts, float above the earth Lips denied a kiss, eyes denied a rest I'm falling asleep in the spider's web Bring me the salvation that I long for daily Hope you'll find somebody you can call your baby We've travelled this far in our boats of dreams Seeing all the things no one's ever seen Wish for happy ending, for the inner light So you have some guidance when there is too dark Look, the wounds get healed, tears are getting dry Dreams getting fullfilled, no reasons to cry In our boats of dreams - not a single hole Where the waves will lead us? No one really knows Let's not think about it, let's travel beyond To the place where his smile will become your home
Hope Let's hope that there is a reason behind that
Insane I am bored to be so often the sane in this world full of insane people.
The Lantern Man Credit to King-of-a-Nothing There once was a tale, About a lantern that killed, That left most who heard scared, And most spines chilled, A tale to teach fear, Of light over dark, Starting with the man, That leaves the ripple mark, You'll find only the dark, can bring out the light, And there two will lay drifting, In the cold death of night, This is the lantern man, who stands at the reed bed, Black from top to toe, Light in his lantern, Light at his head, Darkness can always be a friend, If you pay no mind to the river bed, For if you follow the whistle of the lantern man, You'll find yourself soon to be dead, (steam)Whistle... (steam)Whistle... (steam)Whistle...
You can try and ignore it, You can try and hide, But the whistle will get you, Tied in the reeds where he had once died, When you hear his whistle, You shall be left in dread, And what remains in your head, Is the echo of a whistle, And the image, Of your near, Reeded, Deathbed, So when you see the lantern man, And his lights that shall glow, Plug your ears and remember, That the darkness is your friend, Not your foe. (steam) Whistle...
Phillip's Regret Credit to KazenoHana12 In the days of my forgotten youth, I used to covet the sea; where I would spend my time with my loving family. Alas, those wonderful days turned into dreadful nights; where I could barely fall asleep. A promise I have to keep, it plagues me even now as we speak; forgive me father for being so weak. If I could turn back the clock, if I could go back in time; I would gladly repent for my crime. Maybe then, I would not had spent the better years; sulking in these bitter tears. All of my sins crawl upon a single face,
one that left without a trace; that strange woman from another place. Now in the days of my mournful age, I write the story of my life in each tragic page; to quell the rage that swells inside. If I could change the tide of fate, then it might have been not too late; maybe then I might have not died that day. Before I depart for the afterlife, please heed my warning; do not let your heart bleed for a knife in the guise of a kiss...
Attention Pay some attention to what I say
Hotline Credit to THELEGOMack The front door opens, and the hit begins. The world vanishes; Everything is a gorgeous haze! Nothing exists but the rush. Bright, neon hues Hot, sticky blood A bat's firm handle Flashing lights Pounding bass Yet abruptly, it's over. The world returns in all its horrific, damp glory. Corpses litter the floor. Bludgeoned Slashed Shot Gutted Decapitated I look at my messy hands. This mask I wear is not just an identity, It is my only identity. I am no man. I am an animal.
Love I don't need it... because I don't understand it... Why in love there is L and O? Lie and owe?!?
Relationship SHIPS!???! ...> I am not going to buy any ships, that's for sure.
Depression Credit to vatisti Disappointment Failure Liar Unreliable No trust No belief No wonder He's depressed Stuck In a dark place No way out But he fights He knows not why He fights He is losing But no one can help Dark Darker He can't get out What does he need to do Who will save him He can't save himself Hopeless He waits He endures What else Can he do?
Already He wants to sleep And not awaken But he does Every day He fights He puts on a mask Pretends to be okay Because the ones near him Just would not understand There is no cause There is no reason Nothing to understand Nothing to solve How can you fight What you cannot see Cannot touch Cannot understand Simply cannot know So he waits He stays alive But truly How long Can he fight Who knows Not him Save him Leave him Listen to him Ignore him He is there waiting
You tell me What will save him?
Eat Me. Drink Me. Credit to Queen-of-Beers I become tiny. I shrink on your palm and curl up. I fall asleep. (And if I sit down on the tips of your fingers I will be able to watch sunsets). You're my window to the world. I am high above the earth, legs dangle in the air And any wind can blow me away from here. I grow. I'm taller than the buildings, I touch the clouds with my head. I greet the birds in their flight. Now you're tiny, I want to hug you and show you All these sunsets and star showers. I take a sip of a drink and once again, I am shrinking. You grow, I get smaller. We meet halfway and give a light peck on the lips. We exchange our smiles. Don't worry, one day we'll be just right And Wonderland will be ours.
Emotional I know about that feeling... it's very humanoidish feeling.
The Eyes are Watching Me Credit to recludus I bought a new house in the small town of Winthrop. The house was cheap, but the most important part was that I needed to get away from the city. A few months ago, I had a run-in with a stalker. While I had managed to get him arrested, I couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes just constantly watching me. I felt like there were eyes everywhere, at home and on the street, so I decided to move out into the country to somewhere with less people, just for peace of mind. The house itself was big and somewhat old, but otherwise very welcoming. The agent who introduced me to the house had been required to mention that a serial killer had lived here in the past, which was why the house was so cheap. However, he, and later, my next door neighbor Sarah, both told me to pay the thought no mind. Four other owners had lived in the house since then, and all of them were very happy with it. I loved the house. Its interior furnishings were beautiful and very comfortable. The people of Winthrop were friendly, often bringing over freshly baked pastries or inviting me over for dinner. “Gettogethers,” they said, “were the key to making sure everyone who lived in Winthrop loved it there.” Yet after a week, I stopped “loving it.” The feeling of someone watching returned, worse than before. I tried to ignore it, but soon I started losing sleep. Giant bags grew under my eyes and I began yawning almost as much as I breathed. Sarah was kind enough to let me stay in her house for a few nights. It was during this time that I heard the legend of Forrest Carter, the serial killer who had lived in my house. While no one knows his exact kill count, Carter, also known as the Winthrop Peacock, was a man with extremely severe case of narcissism. Legends say that he couldn’t fall asleep if he didn’t feel like he was being watched. He was finally arrested for putting up a scarecrow to watch him during the night. Only it wasn’t a scarecrow. Carter had murdered a 17 year old girl, just so her corpse could stare at him.
The story gave me shivers, and after I went home, I felt like there were hundreds of pairs of eyes just watching me no matter how I turned. Today, however, was the first day that I acted out. I was cooking breakfast, when I felt the eyes. Instinctively, out of fear, I threw my kitchen knife, which lodged itself into the wall. As I pulled it out, I found myself staring at a pair of eyes, pickling in formaldehyde. I’ve been watching the police peel away the drywall of my house for hours now. So far, they’ve found 142 pairs of eyes in little glass jars. The scariest thing is, each and every one was staring at me.
IT's NIGHT LET"S BET IN THAT.... are you afraid now? ... CAn you continue?
Write I JUST GONNA TAKE A BReak... I won't break up with ya!
Nightlights Credit to TheElegantMilkshake Fear of the dark comes from fearing what you don’t know. Pure darkness smothers the sense humans most often rely on, making them blind. When children are afraid of the dark, they generally have nightlights on the wall to keep the monsters at bay, though it merely creates more of them, in most cases. The light stretches in ghastly ways, morphing a chair or a coat into a face that haunts your thoughts. You can fix it, though. That bothersome fear of the dark, forcing you to shy away from the haunting silence of nothingness. You could suck it up – but it doesn’t always work. You were supposed to have been asleep by now. You were restless, but oh so tired – your day was busy today. You still have the nightlight that you’ve kept since you were a child, burning as a bright beacon in the plug by the door. There’s a scratch on the wall. You know it’s probably just a bug, or a mouse, or even something outside, but your brain is determined to be scared. Your heart pounds so hard you’re afraid it will be audible to whatever monster your imagination conjured. Clammy, sweaty hands grip the blanket and tug it up further, using a flimsy piece of fabric as protection from that which is unknown. The time reaches 1:00 AM, and you notice how grim the shadows look pulling across your room. You notice that the back right corner of your room is pitch black, with nothing to be discerned from the mass of emptiness. Is it colder? You snatch the blanket laying across your feet, pulling it tight around the first one as your armor. You jolt as the furnace comes on, the air rushing through the vents reminding you of the whoosh of bats flying overhead. You swallow nervously, trying to force sleep to come against its will. The nightlight comes out of the wall as your eyes are closed, and you open them immediately – the whole room is encased in milky black, now, and you can’t see your hand in front of your face. A floorboard creaks. Or did it really? Maybe you imagined it. But it does it again.
And then you scream. Luckily for me, you didn’t realize you left your door unlocked.
We Danced Credit to Creepypasta Indexer Footsteps aren’t an uncommon thing to hear when you’re sitting in a basement, so I think nothing of it when I hear quiet thuds coming from my upstairs hallway. I just assume it’s my brother, and continue doing whatever pointless little thing I was doing at the time. They go on for another couple minutes, and I’m starting to get pissed off. They keep getting louder and louder and I sigh, wondering what the hell my brother’s doing this late at night. I sit there, because it’s impossible to focus with the racket. I mean, it sounds like someone’s power walking all over my main floor. I sit there and listen as the thumps get faster and wilder. They just keep moving, almost starting to form a rhythm. They move even faster and get even wilder and they’re thumping all over my main floor. I realize that whatever this is, it can’t be human. No human can move like that. “What the fuck?!” I finally yell. After that, all the noises stop. Everything is quiet for a moment, and then I hear calm, slow footsteps moving to my basement door. The door is pushed open, and the footsteps stop again. I listen to my breathing for the next three minutes, then sigh, thinking it’s over. Turns out something else was listening, too. Suddenly I hear it thudding down the stairs, and I knock my chair over in my haste to stand up. I start to run towards the nearest closet, just in time to see a grotesque, hairless, fourlegged creature, dancing towards me, tapping it’s swollen feet in an intoxicating rhythm. I dive into the closet and slam the door shut. There’s a half-second pause and then I hear that same rhythm on the door. It just keeps going and going with no pause, no rests, no relief. He’s been at it for hours now, and I find myself tapping my fingers along with his song. But then, just as suddenly as it began, it ends. I wait for a few moments, then look out. He’s gone. I flip on a light and fall into a chair. It’s safe. I relax and think for a few moments. But then I notice my foot tapping. Maybe this song isn’t so bad, I
almost like it enough to dance to it. So I drop down on my hands and feet, and I start.
No Need No need to sleep... if there is something to keep you awake.
I Didn't Mean It I was your best friend. We've known each other since kindergarten. I can't begin to count all of the wonderful memories I've had with you. When you died I stayed in here for days and cried. The entire world seemed empty without your personality brightening it for me. I figured if I didn't take a break and clean up your body, they might find me here. You started dating my ex. I tried to be supportive; I didn't want to seem upset about the idea, but you just had to rub it in my face, didn't you? You had to tell me what a wonderful time you had together. You had to question how I could ever leave something so amazing, didn't you? You asked why I was crying. I just told you to shut up and left your house. Please don't be mad at me. I didn't mean it. The next day I invited you over for a camping trip. The entire weekend just for us two best friends. I wanted to make it up to you for seeming so angry. I wasn't angry at all. I was so much beyond angry, that I was calm in your eyes. We've been camping before, so we had a special spot we'd always go to. You called your girlfriend to ask if it was okay. The dumb bitch was fine with it. "It would only be the weekend, right?" I'm afraid you two love birds would be away much longer. I took a "wrong turn" and we ended up in the middle of the woods. Nobody else was around, and it was getting dark. I'm sorry this isn't our usual spot. I suggested we sleep under the stars together. It was going to be a perfectly clear night, and I brought the telescope. You had brought fishing rods, but I guess we weren't fishing in the middle of the woods. Don't worry, I brought plenty of food along. We ate our dinner and roasted marshmallows over a fire. That night you suggested we use the telescope. I offered you to go first, I insisted. You happily agreed, sticking your eye under it, you began to point out constellations for me. Oops! Those big logs of wood you brought for the fire? I "accidentally" hit you across the back of the head with one. You dropped to the floor, unconscious. I'm sorry.
I didn't mean it. You woke up on the ground; now bound with nylon cord I had brought just for this special event! I had also duct taped your mouth. I had no desire to hear your screaming or pleading. This was hard enough to do without that. It was funny to you at first, thinking this was some kind of sick joke. We had always been sick-minded people, talking about how we could torture people we hated if we could. Oh, how ironic it was my would-be accomplice was to be my first victim. You quickly stopped laughing when I pulled out my hunting knife. I guess it wasn't funny anymore when I grazed your neck with the knife, a thin trail of blood trickling behind the strokes. The presence of blood caused me to lose control. I wanted to kill you slowly and painfully. I'm sorry I slammed the knife straight into your side. That was when I first heard your wonderful muffled screaming. I pulled out the knife, blood oozing from your wound. Thankfully, it hadn't hit anything important. That would have prematurely ended our fun. Maybe that first stab would have given you a sense of the emotional pain you had put me through. I had already given an eye for an eye, but I couldn't just turn you loose. Even you would rat on me and get me thrown in jail. We couldn't have that now, could we? I cut away the skin on your arms and hands, revealing the fresh muscles and ligaments. I took the container of salt we had brought and poured all of it into your exposed flesh. You screamed and winced in pain. The container must have slipped. I didn't mean it. I began to rub the salt in. This time your scream was so loud it was questionable to even being muffled. Oh, how this must of strained something. You suddenly turned to quiet whimpering, and began to cry. Awh, don't be sad! I planned this camping trip just for you! I promised you it would be over soon. Are you hungry? Maybe you should have another marshmallow! You look comfortable there on the ground, so I think I'll be nice and cook up one for you! I took the marshmallow and jabbed it with the metal skewer. I then held it over the fire until it was set alight. I took the duct tape off of your mouth, to my surprise, you weren't screaming at all. All that screaming before really must of torn something! Here, this marshmallow will make you feel better. I
offered the marshmallow to you, but you simply turned your head away. How rude of you to decline my wonderful gesture! I held your head still, but you continued to not open your mouth! You brought a hammer; a metal one. We didn't use the tents after all, but you never brought something that only had one use! I slammed the hammer to your teeth, breaking my way into them. That's too bad, your girlfriend told me she loved your smile! I stepped back for a minute, roasting a new marshmallow while watching you sputter out teeth and blood. In all this struggling the first one seems to have ran out. That's okay, I brought plenty! Now you accepted the marshmallow this time, squirming around in your binds as it burned the inside of your mouth. Don't you like it? I stuck the skewer into your throat, jamming the burning marshmallow down it. More blood spewed out of your mouth as I stabbed the skewer in and out of your throat, ripping it up in the process. I stuck it so far down that you gagged on it and vomited. Afterwards, you couldn't breath so you just decided to take a nap. Your eyelids fluttered shut. I listened for your breath, but no longer heard it. Perhaps I was a bit too forceful with my gesture. You're such a good friend; you'll forgive me. I didn't mean it. Written by Avenging Angel
1747291099374 Authors note: this is my first CreepyPasta I’m actually publishing so I would appreciate some constructive criticism Thanks -Syn Before I start, I don’t expect you to understand my… Addiction so keep the snobby comments to yourself. It was late, I haven’t had blow in a few weeks and I was itching for more. My local dealer just got busted and I don’t trust anyone else In this area. It’s also too bad to go anywhere around here, so much murder, thieft, prostitution you name it. I was talking to a friend of mine, who is perfectly fine with my addiction to cocaine, they say I should try the deep web. “The deep web? What’s that?” I said confused “it’s like the part of the internet the government doesn’t want you to see” he goes on to explain how to get there and stuff. He also tells me about the site with a lot of traffic called “The Silk Road”. I was scared and sceptical at first, a site on the internet that sells you drugs? B******t. But later that night I found myself on my laptop with Tor open and my finger typing “hidden wiki”. I move my mouse to a section called “Drugs” yup just there plainly “Drugs” I click it and the first name on there… You guessed it “Silk Road” I click it and it takes a while to load but eventually does. I see endless rows of drugs from: weed to LSD to cocaine to acid, Everything. I go to the cocaine and hover over the option for 1 pound “f**k it” I say, I add it to my cart and go to check out. This part makes me question the authenticity of this site, they made me sign up. Really? On a drug site? Sorry I thought I heard something, anyway. I tried to sign up with a bull s**t email but I was prompted with “please use a valid email address” f**k. I had no other option, I used my email and it said “thank you. Welcome to silk road” Everything was smooth and my blow arrived to my house in a few days and I was relieved. I told my friend thanks for the idea and he looked at me shocked “you really bought it off the DW?”
“Yeah why not?”I asked “You never buy anything from the DW dude! You didn’t use your real address did you?” “… Yeah…” “Dude no f*****g way people get kidnapped for doing s**t like that!” “You’re lying right? This is a joke?” “No dude… S**t” There was a long silence before I said “maybe it’s just a myth” he was silent and nodded with the idea. We broke apart and I went home. I did a quick line and checked my email and I get a email from a 1747291099374@sigaint.onion. the email read “Hello friend, how do you like the shipment?” Who the hell is this and what the hell is a Sigaint.onion? I replied “who is this? How do know my email?” There was a pause but probably the quickest email reply I ever had “Well you signed up on my website, Silk Road. Just wanted to know how you like my supplement” I replied “…. It’s good stuff…” “Good, see you soon Mike” the email read “What the f**k? See you soon? And how do you know my name is Mike?” Was what Chad said Was what Chad said true? For a few days I was on edge but after a few days with no email from the guy or even suspicious activity around my area it seemed to be fine. After a few days my friend Chad was gone for a while, don’t know where he could have gone but I’m sure he will be back soon… Or so I thought. I got a package at the door A few days ago, I didnt know from who or where. But what I do know is, It was a bag of free cocaine so me being me I just sat down a did a few lines. Yes a few not one. Because something was really different. This was not regular cocaine. I didn’t get a strong high. It also didn’t feel the same. I feel like I shouldn’t have done it. I feel like it was laced. With some type of xenex or something. The texture was a bit dence and shortly after my nose started to bleed. About 3 hours later the same email address appeared. “Hey Friend, so how did you like my new supply I sent? Since you were so gracious to reply to my email I thought I’d send you another shipment on the house :)”
I was pissed I feel like I shouldn’t have replied in the first place but I did and I’m doing so again “what did you put in this s**t? Did you lace me? What was it? Poison? what?” He replied faster than last time almost as if he knew what I was typing. it said “I put no poison in it only baking soda. Water, suger, bone marrow, teeth, skin nice ingredients for a nice guy Mike” Bone marrow? Skin? What the f**k? I almost puked. “What the f**k, are you crazy? What hell, why the hell? You’re crazy and I’m calling the cops” as I said that I heard footsteps on my porch and at the same time I get an email that says “i would rethink that of I were you I looked up your address friend you live pretty close to me we should meet up maybe…Now?” As i read that email I heard my doorbell ring. I freaked out and jumped out my back window and ran into my neighbors yard. I had my phone with me and I get emails there too. a few minutes later I get a email that says “subject” it was a picture from the same email. I was horrified it was Chad. Dead… His neck sliced and his stomach cut open with his intestines hanging out. Another picture comes with his arm cut off and another one with his amputated arm being put into a grinder and grinded down to dead skin and merrow I puked all over the grass. Again I get another email “he said it’s your fault. He blamed you Mike. As you may have guessed by now you sniffed up your friend here. Did he feel good? He did to me. And so will you.” I ran more and more until I got to a hotel and stayed there for a week. my bank account is empty… I have no choice but to go home….. Why did I move so far from family… I get home and my house is untouched… No signs of force entering and no emails… I just got home today and I’m still doing blow. Even now but the good one… Im always hearing things…. I have this message set up to send it as soon as i press a Certain key. Please if you read this be car …..Be careful before you buy anything from the deep web better yet don’t… Oh god…. He’s here…. IF YOURE READING THIS MY NAME IS MIKE M
Vsauce Cool channel
This This now down below... stories keeps playing into my mind... so amazing... so incredible!
I Received a Mysterious Package in the Mail I’m a bit of a penny-pincher. I try to stick to the bare essentials when grocery shopping and I spend most of my free time earning money in other ways. I sell things, look for odd jobs on craigslist, and take surveys online. It’s more than likely due to these surveys that I even received a mysterious package in the mail. Allow me to explain. I take countless surveys online that range from questions about my shopping experiences to very intrusive, personal queries. After roughly thirty surveys or so, most sites will send you some money, anywhere from $1 to $5 (I mostly get $2 bills). It’s tedious work, but if you have nothing else to do, why not make some extra cash? And like I said, I’m a penny pincher. It’s not that I’m greedy or anything, I just feel more comfortable knowing that I have a good chunk of money to fall back on in case of an emergency. Now, because of these surveys, I’ve typed my address into a lot of websites. As such, I receive an overwhelming amount of junk mail. I don’t mind all that much. Between the money from the surveys and never needing firewood in the winter, it’s worth it. One day, however, I received a package. The package was wrapped in leather, something I’d never seen come through the mail before. Embossed in the upper left corner was a rather impressive logo. It seemed that the mystery package was from a company called “SynthetiCorp”. Initially, I thought there was some sort of mix-up at the post office, but my name and address were right there on the package – embossed, just like the logo. I asked my wife what she thought of it, but she offered no insight. After seeing it, she grew excited and tried pressuring me into opening it. In her defense, the thing did look… important? I guess? Like whatever was inside was at the very least, expensive. After fending off my curious wife and mulling it over for a few moments, I decided it would be best not to open it just yet. I assumed that this “SynthetiCorp” accessed my home address in the same
manner that all of the other junk mail companies did. After all, I did give my address away to various outlets, daily. Perhaps the package was a more elaborate form of the usual scams that made their way into my mailbox. It was more than likely harmless. However, normal junkmail is one thing. Packages are another. I chose to do a little research before tearing it open. In googling “SynthetiCorp”, I found that there were multiple agencies using the moniker. None of them seemed like scammanufacturers, but then again, they never do. I decided to call each of them and ask about the package. A few phone calls later and I was back at square one. None of the SynthetiCorps I called were the one that sent me the mystery box. One of the guys who answered the phone even seemed angry that I was calling, as if the number should not have been widely available. In any case, I was still dumbfounded by the package. I so badly felt the need to open it, but I wanted to also feel safe doing so. For all I knew, it could have been a bomb. Not likely, but not completely out of the realm of possibility, especially in this day and age. I spent the next couple of hours on google, looking for the company that sent me this damned thing. I needed anything that would put my mind at ease – just enough to cross that threshold, allowing me to open it and reveal its contents. After scouring thousands of results, I found something. There was one complaint on one review site for a company called SynthetiCorp. I scrolled down to the comment in question and this is all it said: “Don’t open it.” What? Don’t open it? Did they mean the package? I couldn’t wrap my head around what this meant. Aggravated, I threw my keyboard aside and went to bed. A few days passed. After reading the alleged complaint from the random review site I visited, I was more than a bit hesitant to open the thing up. In fact, I almost put it out with the garbage. Out of sight, out of mind as the old saying goes. The only thing that kept me from doing this was my curiosity. Because of this, I left it in my car. I tried one more time to forget about it, but this was not a simple
task. I kept wondering about what might be waiting for me inside the package – an invitation to a secret society, a priceless oddity passed on from stranger to stranger, or some other type of treasure. I couldn’t help but fantasize about it. I did this so much that opening it became an inevitable conclusion. Noticing that my car hadn’t exploded yet, and thinking a little more clearly about the situation, I decided that taking a peek inside the package would be a harmless venture. After all, the complaint I’d seen could have been about any one of the dozens of Syntheticorps out there, or, more likely, it was a fake review. Either way, it was nothing more than an eerie coincidence. At least that’s what I told myself in an effort to justify my desires. My curiosity demanded placation. On the day in question, I arrived home from work and brought the leather-bound box inside. I placed it on the kitchen table and stared at it. I had told my wife about my plans to open it and she demanded that I wait for her to get home before doing so. I told her that I might. Truth be told, I couldn’t. I needed to solve the mystery, if only to satisfy my hunger for answers. I grabbed the damned thing and attempted to rip it apart. The leather was tightly bound, but with some brute force and a little bit of sweat, I was able to penetrate some of the hide. I fought with it for a few more moments, tearing off pieces at a time. That’s when my wife walked in. “I knew you wouldn’t wait for me, you impatient bastard.” she exclaimed. “You know I can’t wait for anything You think you could give me a hand over here?” She scoffed at me, but rushed over to help, just as curious as I was. It took us nearly a half an hour, but we managed to get most of the leather off. Beneath it was a small, wooden chest. Excited, my wife jumped the gun and attempted to open it. Her actions were futile, as it seemed to be locked. It looked like we were back at square one, but I noticed something etched into the wood, below a keyhole. It said “House Key”. My wife and I looked at each other in confusion. I thought about it for a moment, and hesitantly reached for my keys. I looked over at my
wife and we chuckled, but it quickly turned into a nervous laugh and then silence. I tried the key and to our utter disbelief, the lock popped open. There was only one thing left to do. I opened the box up and looked inside. My wife and I stared, equally dumbfounded by the reveal. I could neither surmise its meaning, nor did I know what to do next. It was baffling. Inside the box was a live rabbit. A live, freaking rabbit. Next to the rabbit was a scrap of paper. I picked it up and read it: -DO NOT READ ALOUD OR YOU WILL SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES“You have one minute to act. Go to the kitchen and grab a large knife. Proceed to kill the rabbit or your wife will die. That is a promise. Do not tell her about this note. Burn it after completing the task. The clock is ticking.” Below the text was a picture of my wife, sleeping in bed. I had never seen that picture before. Without hesitation, I ran to the kitchen, grabbed the largest knife I could find, and hurried back over to the rabbit. I stabbed it multiple times until I knew it was dead. I expected my wife to scream, but she didn’t. Instead, she asked a question. “What are you doing?” I looked over at her, apologetically. “I can’t tell you. Please, just trust me. We’ll have to bury it in the yard.” “Bury what in the yard?” she asked, sounding a bit confused. “The rabbit.” I said. “What rabbit?” she asked. “The one right here!” I gestured towards the bloody carcass in the box. My wife shot me the weirdest look before speaking again. “Hon… the box is empty.” I slowly handed my wife the scrap of paper. She looked down at it then back up at me. “There’s nothing on it. It’s blank. Hon, are you okay?” All of a sudden I felt dizzy. I looked at the paper in my wife’s hand and it was indeed void of any writing. I then looked over at the box. The rabbit was gone. A knot formed in the pit of my stomach as
my legs gave out. Light-headed and confused beyond all measure, my body hit the kitchen floor with a loud thud and I involuntarily shut my eyes. I passed out within an instant. I awoke in the comfort of my bed, feeling groggy and sore. My wife was sitting beside me with a troubled expression on her face. She was more than likely worried, both for my physical and mental health. “Oh, thank God! Are you alright?” she asked. “I’ll be fine. How long was I out?” “About twenty minutes. I was about to call 911. What the hell happened?” she asked. I changed the subject from my untimely descent to the box. I asked her if she truly saw nothing, in which she replied, “No, nothing at all.” We discussed it a little further and while she agreed that my house key opening the box was weird, she figured that the package was some sort of misguided prank. She said she’d call the post office for more information. While conversing about the package, I was able to convince my wife that my strange actions and fall were both due to exhaustion, having over-exerted myself at work. I conveniently left out the details on the note. I didn’t want her thinking I was a lunatic suffering from hallucinations, even if I was. She seemed to buy my story and that was that. Until the following day. After a much needed good night’s rest, I woke up the next day feeling refreshed and ready to take on the world. I recalled what happened the night previous, but I decided it would be best not to dwell on uncertainties. My best course of action, I thought, would be to forget the whole thing ever happened. I was a sane individual, after all. The events that transpired the night before truly were a product of being over-tired. Yes. That explanation sat well with me. While driving to work with a newfound sense of well-being, the illusion of sanity I clung to shattered abruptly. I adjusted my mirror at a red light and noticed something lying in my backseat. It was the rabbit, dead as could be, staining my upholstery with its pungent blood. I jumped and looked back at the seat. There was nothing there. A horn blared from behind me, causing me to jump a second time.
The light had turned green and I was holding up traffic. I quickly adjusted myself and drove forward, trying to gather my wits as I did. Unfortunately for me, it wouldn’t be that simple. I kept looking at my mirror thinking I’d see the rabbit again, but I did not. I managed to calm myself down and convince myself, once again, that I was sane and it was just a trick of the eyes. And the dozens of dead rabbits on the side of the road that I passed on my way to work – that was just a coincidence. Surely, I wasn’t crazy. I arrived at work a bit frazzled and made my way inside. The place was oddly vacant for a Saturday, but I ignored this and walked over to my office. The lack of life made sense when I opened the door. “SURPRISE!!!” All of my co-workers had piled into my office for some sort of celebration. They all wore festive hats and had party horns in hand. Clapping ensued as I entered the room. Before I could ask what it was all for, my boss walked over to me. “Happy five years with the company! You’ve done great things here and we all wanted you to know how much we appreciate the work you do. Take some time to kick back and relax. You’ve earned it!” I heard a bottle of champagne pop in the corner of the room. Still on edge from the ride over, I jumped. Everyone laughed. My boss’s laugh was the loudest and most comical which caused everyone else to laugh even harder. That’s when I joined in. For a few moments, my worries vanished. I forgot all about the stupid package and the weird ride to work. It was nice. But nice things don’t last. Once the laughter stopped, my boss put his hand on my shoulder and spoke again. “By the way, we got something for you! Hope you like it.” He walked me over to my desk and everyone stepped away to reveal my gift. “Well, what do you think?” he asked. There, lying on my desk, was a dead rabbit. My boss began cutting into the rabbit with a knife and passing around pieces of its flesh to my co-workers. “I hope you like chocolate!” he said.
Maybe the thing my boss was cutting into truly was just a cake, but I was still shaken by what I was witnessing. “Here you go, the best piece!” My boss handed me the rabbit’s head on a paper plate. That was the last straw. I dropped the plate, ran out of the building, got into my car, and left. I couldn’t be sure of what was going on, but I knew I couldn’t be at work. As such, I sped home, ignoring all of the rabbit carcasses I passed along the way. I needed to rest off whatever it was that ailed me. I arrived home and stormed through the front door, startling my wife, who was sitting on the couch reading a book. “You’re home early. Everything alright?” she asked. “I’m taking a sick day. I don’t feel so hot.” I almost made it up the stairs when my wife stopped me. “Oh, I called the post office. They said that the man who sent you the package will be there to meet you at 2:00pm.” “What? Who sent it?” I asked. “They didn’t say. That was all they told me.” That was bizarre. I didn’t even know the post office had the power to arrange such a meeting. Something wasn’t adding up, but then again, it made about as much sense as anything else that had happened. I decided it would be best to meet this mystery person. Maybe then I would have some answers. I slept for a few hours and woke up to a bunch of missed calls from work, as well as a text from my boss that said “Sorry. Next time we’ll get vanilla!” I looked at the time – it was 1:35pm. That was my cue to throw on my shoes and head out. I didn’t want to miss my impromptu meeting with who I could only guess would be the CEO of Syntheticorp. I drove down to the post office and quickly made my way in. There were a bunch of people in there picking up mail and sending out packages, so I couldn’t be sure who it was that I was meeting. Noticing that I looked lost, an older gentleman walked over to me. “Ahh! There you are!” The man then snapped his fingers, and as if by magic, everything stopped. What I mean by that is everyone stopped moving and
silence filled the room. Everything was frozen, somehow. Baffled, I looked over to the man for answers. “…what’s… going on here?” “Well, I was hoping we could find that out, together.” I had no idea what the man was talking about, so I remained silent like the rest of the room. “Oh, where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Doctor Grovewood. But you can call me Doc, if you like.” “Do you work for Syntheticorp?” I asked. “Yes! As a matter of fact, I do.” One answer was mine so far, but it wasn’t much. I needed to press him for more information. “Tell me Doc, what the hell is going on here?” “I’m sorry to say, there’s no simple answer. I will, however, try my best. I just ask that you keep an open mind and bear with me.” Doctor Grovewood cleared his throat and then elaborated. “The life you know and hold dear is nothing but a simulation. None of this is real – not even you, technically speaking. You are a synthetic life form created by Syntheticorp. You are currently in a lab, hooked up to a computer; the one running the simulation. You are being tested for various things – we need to do this on all of our new models before entering the production stage.” “You mean to tell me-“ “Please, let me finish.” I bit my tongue so as to hear the rest of his outlandish story. “When a round of testing is complete, we then proceed to waking you up, so to speak. But therein lies the malfunction. We’ve tried to wake you up several times, but you can’t seem to break free of the delusion that is this life. You become hysterical upon waking and seem to believe that everything here in the simulation is real, and the real world out there is not.” Though I didn’t believe a word he was saying, I kept listening, if only out of morbid curiosity. “If you keep waking up like that, it will cause irrevocable damage to your programming. That’s why we sent you the package.” “What do you mean?” I asked, now a little more invested in the story.
“We introduced the package into the simulation to try and invoke lucidity. You see, this world is not unlike a dream. It’s our hypothesis that if we can convince you you’re dreaming while asleep, so to speak, then we can jolt you awake without causing any further damage. Does that make sense?” I remained both dubious and silent. “So we started off with the odd package. Not completely absurd, but still strange. Then, when you opened it, you found something even stranger, and on top of that, you were the only one who could see it. Take a look outside.” I slowly turned my head and looked out the post office window. To my amazement, there were thousands of dead rabbits piled up in the parking lot. I couldn’t even see my car. “Do you understand now? We thought that if we introduced enough absurdities into your life, you’d realize that you were in a simulation and snap out of this funk you’re in. They had to send me in because it doesn’t seem to be working. You’re too stubborn, it seems. We need to wake you up now so we can properly tackle this glitch that’s keeping you anchored to this reality.” I turned back to Doctor Grovewood, astonished by what he was trying to sell me. I was close to buying it, but not quite. It would explain everything that had happened, but I wanted to make sure. Just as I was about to ask more questions, Doctor Grovewood spoke again. “That’s all, folks!” “What?” I asked, dumbfounded. I looked at Doctor Grovewood closely and noticed that he had become frozen, just like everybody else. And that’s when everything started fading. I could feel myself slipping from one world and into the next. I woke up in the comfort of my bed and noticed Porky Pig on my TV along with some end credits. Given that it was my favorite cartoon growing up, I always put on a Looney Tunes DVD before bed to help me sleep. It worked like a charm. I got up out of bed, and then something hit me. I started remembering the crazy dream I had. As the details came flooding back, I realized something else.
I grabbed the TV remote and re-started the last episode of Looney Tunes that had played. It was a typical episode where Elmer Fudd was chasing down Bugs Bunny. I smiled. My smile turned into a laugh when everything sunk in. I thought about the weird package, the rabbit that I killed, and the Doc. Some of the episode must have leaked into my dream. My brain used a few of the details and strung together a crazy narrative to fill in the blanks. Amazing. Credit: Christopher Maxim
Warm Sweater I just couldn’t believe it. It was her. The woman of my dreams was standing just ten feet away at the copy machine, staring at me. Me, of all people. Her hair was red and her eyes were blue. She was the true mock-up of an angel if there ever were one. She had never noticed me before, yet here I was minding my own business, and now she was staring at me. Some may have called her stare a disturbed and angry one, but I could tell she felt the same way about me as I did for her. Sure, I may have been staring at her first, and that may be what caught her attention, but I could see the yearning in her eyes. She wanted me. For months I had watched her from the safety of my small, but quaint cubical. I knew every detail about her life - every single one. I knew when she had lunch, who her friends were, who she talked to, who she liked and disliked, and where she would be at any given moment of the work day. I even knew where she and her husband lived, as she and I both took the same bus to work. I didn’t own a vehicle, and her husband took their car to his place of employment every morning. Even on the long bus ride to work she never so much as batted an eye in my direction, but today was different. This was my chance. I smiled at her as she made a somewhat perturbed facial expression towards me. She then looked away in a seemingly disgusted motion. Love is a strange mistress. My mind was now racing with an unending plethora of emotions, coupled with large quantities of dopamine. My synapses were firing off at an alarming rate as I stood up and started walking to the copy machine. I felt such a strong need to reach out and touch her. Just before I took my final step in her direction, my boss came over and pulled her aside to discuss some work-related issues. My march was impeded, but the ever-growing desire in me remained constant. I needed to see her. Although we went to work at the same time, she always left an hour before I did, just in time to catch the last bus. I would usually have a co-worker bring me home. Sometimes in the summer I would
even travel by bicycle. Right now, however, it was the middle of winter, and there was a storm coming tonight - a very big one. I would have to find a ride to my house. By the time I finally punched out, my emotions were haywire with a reckless sense of longing. I truly had to see her again. She was waiting for me; I could just feel it in each and every one of my eager bones. I had to see her now. I didn’t even bother to ask anyone for a ride home. I just walked out of the building and started heading towards her house. I knew the route by heart. I didn’t have a jacket or a hat, but I was warm. It must have been love. What else could it have been? Surely it wasn’t my button-up, short-sleeved shirt or my tie. I know it wasn’t my khaki pants. It must have been love. I had a warm sweater of love to keep me safe from the bitter, cold air of winter. I was not only warm, but elated at the same time. I was going to march all the way to her house so we could finally be together. My plan was perfect, much as she was. I guessed that it would take me three hours to get to her house, as she lived roughly ten and a half miles from work. With this in mind, I made long and firm strides in the hopes of minimizing the amount of time it would take me to reach her. While walking down main street in this fashion, I noticed a lot of the shops closing up for the night due to the approaching blizzard. One of these shops was the local florist. An idea sprang into my aroused mind. I couldn’t show up at her house empty handed. That just wouldn’t be right. I needed a gift - one that would profess my love for her in material form. I needed a rose. I pushed the door open just as the florist was about to lock up. I startled the hell out of her. I grabbed the nearest rose I could find, threw some money down onto the counter, and left in a haste. I had a mission, after all. I started power walking towards her house once again, hoping I would beat the storm there. Before making it too far, I felt a sharp pain in my hand. I looked down and saw droplets of blood spattered across the ground. It was the rose. I must have grabbed an uncut one, thorns and all. My palm was now bleeding profusely, but I kept walking. It was merely a wound received while attending to affairs of
the heart. I was focused on the bigger picture. I trudged through harsh winds, my pace never wavering. I could tell the storm was coming. I was now maybe a quarter of the way there. It was then that I felt snow. It began falling at a swift and steady rate, making it almost impossible to see in front of me. Still, I pressed on. My love for this woman was insatiable and desirous. I needed her. I absolutely needed her. I walked and walked, feeling the sting of the snow on my bare face. After an hour or so, I noticed a mark on my arm. It was beginning to turn black. This was the onset of frostbite, I guessed. This in no way slowed me down. I still had my sweater of love keeping me warm, every step of the way. I neither felt the chill in my arm, nor did I care about the risk to my health. I had made up my mind, and it could not be altered; not by a human or by the frozen forces of mother nature herself. My arm became blacker and blacker as I walked. My other arm started becoming discolored too. I could only assume my face was as well. This did not bother me in the slightest. I only cared about the task at hand. As the gusts of wind turned harsher, I clenched the rose harder with my now gray hand. I was determined - more so than I had ever been. After another long and treacherous hour, I finally arrived at her street. This was it. My love would finally be reciprocated. I could hardly contain my excitement as I made my way over to her house. Luckily, her husband wasn’t home yet. The lawn was covered in snow, but I could still see the stone walkway leading the way to the front door. I took a step onto it, but quickly fell to the ground, slipping on a sheet of ice. I landed on my arm. I didn’t feel anything, but I’m sure that I broke it, as I couldn’t move it one bit. I stood up and kept walking, calling out to her as I did. I hoped that she would hear my shrieks and come running out to see me. Just then, the front door to her house opened, and she walked out, proving my cries to be effective. She said nothing. She simply looked at me with the most frightened look I had ever seen. She raised her hand over her mouth in shock of what she was witnessing. I reached up and presented her the rose. My voice was tired from yelling her name, but I managed to
offer her a couple of words. “…For you…” She stared at me for a second just as she did earlier at work. Those eyes of disgust. That look of confusion. It was now turning into sheer terror. Love truly is a strange mistress. Before I could speak again, she began to scream. She screamed so loudly in fact that I felt a sharp pain in my ears. This was the first time I had felt any pain at all during the long and arduous day. The second pain I would feel would be in my heart. I could tell that she was terrified of me. I may have looked odd and disfigured, but my love for her remained intact. Why couldn’t she see this? Why was she doing this to me? How could she? Rage began to overcome my emotions. I couldn’t handle the unrequited mess that had just been thrown directly in front of me. I could now feel the bitter coldness of the storm. I was now aware of my frostbitten skin as well. The immense amount of emotional and physical pain I felt at this moment caused me to lash out at my one true love. Using my good arm, I took the rose, thorns and all, and started beating her with it. I slashed open every inch of beautiful skin that I could see. As the blood dripped from her defenseless body, she screamed once again. I kept slashing at her skin, over and over again, but she wouldn’t stop. The sound of her voice pierced through the cold night as well as my ears. With one last swipe, I sliced open her throat with the rose. She finally stopped. Her lifeless body fell to the snowy ground. I laid down with her, trying to provide her with some warmth. She looked so faultless; so attractive. Her beauty was staggering, even after death. I smiled, happy that she was no longer screaming happy that I had provided her with inner peace. She could now rest. We both could. I placed the bloody rose in between us, and let our bodies envelop it. I looked at her eyes once more before closing mine. Maybe now we could finally be together. Written by Christopher Maxim
Fantasy By DeYtH Banger Probably this is nearly to fantasy... AS FOR what I wanted? ... I wanted a person who I could trust. I wanted a person who could accept me fully. I wanted a person who really to support me... not to say that the support is provided but in the end it's one big lie. I wanted a person who could annoy me on daily bases. I wanted a person who to be like me. I wanted too much of 'I wanted" I wanted to be a normal... that's why I putted the Gray Man mask... with the thought that I am going to be like all... nothing is going to change... but so far each move had it's own glitches and bugs and problems... That's what I hate this scenarios.... YEAH, I was angry and I am angry the world. That's the truth, sorry for being so rude. I don't know could I continue my forcefulness and all other things. I wanted somebody to stop me... to show me that I am wrong... not to provide me with strange answers. I never wanted a person who has learn two-three words to speak and to repeat them over and over and over and then to say that's a habbit. What type of ignorance is that? DO I want too much? Did I said too much? Did I made a mistake? Gray Man, gray man... sounds like neutral, but so far I failed in playing this shoes.... Lies... lies... they are more likely the shoes... fake... no need for an
example of how sample and simple could be one thing... Cheat is a situation which is somebody want to be in somebody else shoes and to be perfect... so far I could define and Fake as such thing. But!? DO I want too much? Did I said too much? Did I made a mistake? .... Now you see me... very well... you see that I am not shouting... neither and feeling any type of anger... just little confused of all what happen around. ... I am going to continue ... i wanted somebody to to say something different than mixed feelings and emoji stuff... I wanted somebody who to be sure I never wanted a person who says "I guess" .... 2 + 2 = 4, right? ... - I guess so!? - REALLY? ...
Stable/Unstable - Why was that? ... I never agreed with being and thinking that I am perfect... I never thought in my mind about somebody who is above me... I know that... and no need to think on that.. I Know that there is a possibility of somebody to be above me... I know that there could be somebody who is better in playing my role than I I never played it well... ... What I fucking did... was the biggest problem... First, to go in world which I have never been before... TO dive in and to don't give a shit of the main consequences. Second, to forget who am I really... - I have never been so fucking damn good writer... I have never been unfortunately, what my name will be remembered with is more likely the mapping... So far for people which don't know me.... I am a Mapper, A Counter-Strike 1.6 mapper. As a third, probably a lot of time since 12 years old up to now.. I am playing CS which means that I know each file and each thing about CS. - So far sounds more likely a Gamer. Third, I like codes...facts....stories..... to solve....to watch....to read.....to listen to.... .......................................
Thanks Special thanks to all people which were with me up to now and the stories and the impact of them and everything. I am very greatful for that!
Worst I have my worst moments in life and I have me good moments......
Play Let's your mind play with this quotes.... for a little! Anger is a part of depression... when you are under pressure... you get so pressive.... Madness is another step in this world... Insanity is step in the average... the last step... WILL BE? - DeYtH Banger Dead is more likely a colour... when you die you start seeing... less and less and less and less colours... it gets some kind of neutral. - DeYtH Banger Silence... if you are here... probably you hear the silence in your head and you can't live with that.... so you searching for something different. - DeYtH Banger I done it because I wanted to be like you... not like me... I wanted to be a Gray Man. - DeYtH Banger People are open. People are ready to be changed. People are ready to sacrafice everything. People are ready to give a chance. People are ready to remove their own doubts. People are ready to be on the top levels of honesty. - DeYtH Banger
Lies are on the top... the truth is very heavy. - DeYtH Banger Crazy people are the result of a ignorant nation... too much of it... could cost your freedom of sane. - DeYtH Banger Patterns? ... I like them... If you hate them sounds like... so far it's your problem and it has never been mine problem, that's fore sure. - DeYtH Banger I won't be so dramatic.... but that's thee truth... By itself full of examples of chaos! - DeYtH Banger Nothing has ever been perfect.... - DeYtH Banger Why words and sentences... should be perfect?
- DeYtH Banger I don't give a fuck.... = little money.... you just bought a guy who is going to give some fuck about you and all around you. - DeYtH Banger Movies is about acting? Books are all about reading? ... So "life" what is it that? - DeYtH Banger
Publication Date: January 18th 2017 https://www.bookrix.com/-akfad5b2728dc55