Wednesday, September 29, 2010

To-Do List

Okay guys, since I'm not punctual on putting up stories, I'm just gonna put my to-do list up here. I'll be showing what stories I haven't posted and which ones I'm currently typing up, so.... Also, tell me which story you'd like to see up here first. The first request I see after finishing the one I'm typing will determine which one goes up next.

Candles used to be here, but I guess I ended up not copying the link and accidentally pasted in Chinese Letters instead. I'll skip this until I can find Candles.
4chan Users are in Danger -CURRENT STORY-

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Little Update

Hey guys, Inunah here.

Sorry about the steady stream of stories going a bit dry for days on time. I don't always find good content to post on here. I have a steady stream of stories coming in from /x/ (warning, adult content!), but a lot of them I have yet to really read and a bunch of them aren't good to post here.

Anyone have anything worth posting here? I need a little help. :P


On another note, how's the site looking? Anything you guys want changed? I've been getting a few complaints about how I sort stories into categories.....


So, uh, yeah, that's all I've got to say right now, so do your worst!

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Gloomy Sunday

Szomorú Vasárnap, or Gloomy Sunday in English, is a hit song written in 1933 by Hungarian composer Rezső Seress. It's more commonly known as the Hungarian Suicide song because of hundreds (if not thousands) of suicides that had been inspired by listening to it. The song itself has been has been covered several times, most famously by Billie Holiday, and for the most part is considered an urban legend and a brilliant marketing campaign.

The version that reached radio waves, however, is not the version that was originally written. Rezső Seress originally wrote the song in order to woo his girlfriend, who had recently left him. The song succeeded in bringing them back together for a short time, before she jumped from his apartment window. Rezső had been out at the time. His girlfriend left a note for him--"Szomorú Vasárnap."

The song was changed before release. Rezső Seress himself committed suicide in 1969, jumping out of his window in very much the same manner his girlfriend did.

The Woman Who Lived Next Door

On the morning of April 13th, 2004, police were called to a house on the outskirts of a small village in central England by neighbors who had heard a sound that had chilled them to the bone: a single strangled scream with an abrupt cut-off.

They knew little about the woman who lived next door, only the rumors they had heard in the village shop and over the bar of the Black Lion pub on the corner. They had heard that she had moved to village to escape her memories: her daughter had been gone for several weeks before she would believe what the police had been telling her, but still her mind shied away from the truth and she kept the room ready for her return, the bed made and toys laid out; every morning she would run to the room half expecting to see her lying there, teddy bear in her arms and a sleepy smile on her face as she awoke.

After her husband left her, torn apart by grief and his wife's slowly slipping grip on sanity, her family had bought her the new home, wanting to give her a chance at a life, a new start.

She had been living there for 3 months now, but had never spoken to anyone. She hardly left the house; in fact, groceries were delivered and left on the porch and she would scurry out, pale and disheveled, avoiding the eyes of any who might look her way.

When the police broke the door down and went inside what they found was to put more than half of the village bobbies into psychiatric care so that they could sleep again. The worst thing of all was not the contents of the house, it was the contents of the camera lying on the floor in a pool of blood.....

This was the last photo that camera ever took...

Dead Fred

I was out late at night, returning home from a dinner party with my family. My way home took me past the local cemetery, and I decided to visit the grave of a recently deceased friend of mine. It was rather eerie, walking past all those dark stones and trees in that sea of sepulchers, but I wished to pay my respects.

If only I hadn't. If only I'd kept driving that night, gotten home, and buried myself under the covers. But I didn't. I was a little drunk from the party, and waltzing through a graveyard late at night registered as a fine idea in my mind.

I eventually found my way to his grave, stumbling in the dark. Upon finding that flat chunk of rock that bluntly announced my friend's departure, I was surprised to find a disk there, among the flowers.

This disk didn't have a professional label; it was the kind you could buy by the hundreds, the kind to burn files on. It was in a plain, square case, with no writing on the clear plastic. The only words were scribbled onto the CD's white sticker; using my phone to illuminate the disk, I read the two words scrawled there, hastily and unceremoniously in black marker.

They said, "Dead Fred."

What really perplexed me was the handwriting; it was clearly my friend's. He used to own a video rental store, with hundreds of old VHS tapes that couldn't be found anywhere else. He had written the receipts by hand, and it seemed to match up with the disk's title...and, after his recent suicide, his note had been found, covered in gibberish scribbled on with the same, messy script.

Intrigued, I wondered who had left this here. I hadn't seen anyone with it at the funeral.

Tears were starting to burn my eyes. I missed my friend so much, and this disk must have been something very important to him, to be on his grave like this. Then why hadn't he told me about it? We told everything to each other. It wasn't right for him to keep the secret to himself, carrying it to the grave.

How dare he leave me out?

In a fit of drunken rage, I swatted the tears from my eyes and stormed out of the cemetery, disk in hand.

Only later, when I arrived home and was already popping the disk into my computer, did I realize what I had done. I had taken something off of my closest friend's grave, something I knew nothing about. It wasn't right; this was worse than him keeping secrets from me.

Bitterly, I went to eject the disk before the WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO DO? OPEN DISK WITH ITUNES, VIEW FILES, etc menu popped on screen when, unexpectedly, a video opened.

This surprised me for two reasons: one, I had assumed the disk had either audio, image, or text files. I hadn't even thought it could be video. Two, it hadn't asked me if I wanted to open the video with so-and-so program. It just started playing.

It was an episode of Courage the Cowardly Dog, my friend's favorite show. I hadn't really ever been into the show myself. I found it very disturbing, and had only watched the first season or so.
So, when the title, "Dead Fred," appeared murkily on screen, I didn't know that something was wrong. I had seen the original "Freaky Fred" episode with my friend once, and I assumed this was just another episode starring the deranged, poetic barber.

Disgusted at myself for taking the disk, I went to exit the video only to find that my cursor was frozen. The keys rendered no assistance either, so I reluctantly turned up the volume on my speakers and started watching the video.

It started out just like "Freaky Fred," with Fred on the bus and Muriel spreading that yellow quilt over the bed. Fred wasn't reciting his poem, though; in fact, there was apparently no audio to go along with the video.

I thought that it must have just been the original episode with the title shooped until I saw Courage. The small dog was looking out a window, glaring down at Fred with a mixture of fear and malice in his eyes.

Courage turned from the window and looked angrily into the distance...then he started having flashbacks. All that shit he had always had to put up with, all the terror, all the came crashing down.

Courage was crying in his frantic, animated style as he ran downstairs and to the basement. He started rummaging through a trunk, throwing out various objects (an ugly mask, a shrunken head, and other objects coordinating with the show's signature, disturbing style) until he pulled out a cartoon double-barreled shotgun, tears still streaming down his face.

Lugging the thing upstairs, he stood, aiming it at the doorway, tiny paw on the huge trigger. The adventurous background music started playing; however, the video was still without sound effects.

Muriel ran excitedly downstairs (I guessed that the doorbell had rang, as I couldn't hear anything) and swung it open to greet her nephew.

There stood Fred, with his wide grin and messy hair, looking just as freaky as ever. He opened his mouth to speak, looked down, and saw Courage standing there, trembling shotgun aimed at his chest. A look of shock and fright overcame Fred before a shot rang through the house.

By 'the house,' I mean MY house. The shot was the only thing with sound other than the music, and I shat a brick.

I had just expected a "bang" flag to pop out of the gun, but no. Fred stumbled backwards as cherry-red blood started spouting out of his chest, spraying everything in the house. Fred fell to the floor, dead. Muriel started sobbing. Courage looked horrified at what he had done, and ran upstairs to the bathroom. He was soon locked in, as what happens in the normal episode.

At this point, I was a little shocked. This was disturbing, even for courage. For the next few minutes, Courage sat on the floor, sobbing, fur spattered in blood. Then, words started coming through my speakers, long and low.

"Hello, new friend."

Courage looked up, looked around, and saw nothing.

"My name is Fred."

Courage stood up and spun around. He went to the window, trying to find the source of the voice. Muriel and Eustace could be seen dragging the body to Eustace's truck, a trail of blood streaming behind it. Muriel was still crying.

"The words you hear are in your head."

Courage backs away from the window, looking at the shotgun beside him. The flashbacks return, all the name calling, all the times he'd risked his life to receive no reward, all the horrible things he'd seen. All the things Eustace had done to him, even after he'd tried so hard.

"I say, I said, my name is Fred."

Courage picked up the cartoon weapon, balancing the barrel on the windowsill, aiming down his sights at Eustace's head.

"And you've been very..."

Courage pulled the trigger. In a fraction of a second, Eustace's head exploded into a goopy mess. He dropped on the body of Fred, his falling on top.


Muriel screamed mutely. There was no bang of a shot this time, either; the audio was still off, except for the creepy poem.

As courage turned the gun on himself, I yanked the computer's plug out of the wall. I stood up, pacing the room, thoroughly disturbed. My friend's suicide note had only said the word "naughty" several dozen times.

"Hello, new friend."

I jumped. I must've left the speakers on, and just unplugged the computer. Although, the video still should have gone off, so it made no sense.

I went back to turn off my speakers, when I saw that they were off.

"My name is Fred."

I had turned them off after the first gunshot...long before I had started hearing the poem.

"The words you hear are in your head."

They were in my head. And they have been in my head ever since I watched that video.

I can't take it anymore. I'm going insane...have gone insane, I suppose....or maybe I've just gone bad.

It's too much. I'm going now. I had to tell someone, so I'm telling you..

Goodbye, my friend, for I'll be dead.
I'm putting a bullet through my head.
I'm glad that you've read all that I've said.
But, now, I must do something...

Hello, new friend...

(Do not mention any alternate beginning. I say, I said, do not mention an alternate beginning....or I will do something...



2 AM: I can't seem to sleep tonight, and writing has always calmed me down. Today has been quite an odd day. It's been very quiet. Nobody seemed to want to talk today. Nobody seemed to want to smile today. I felt different from them, though. I felt happy. As for why, I'm not sure. I seemed to get happier the more I saw them sad, but that's probably just my mind making things up this late at night. I'm not an evil person. I just want to go to sleep.

3 AM: I still can't go to sleep. All I can do is think of all the people I saw today. All I can seem to do is think of all the things I did today. All I can seem to do is think about all of the sadness. As for why, I'm not sure. I'm not an evil person. I just want to sleep.
4 AM: I can't sleep. I'm so tired, but I'm so awake. I wish somebody was here to tuck me in, to keep me safe. My thoughts are wandering so far that I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to find them again. I feel so different. I feel like I might have caused everybody to be sad today. I feel like I might have done something wrong today. I feel like I might have ended some lives today. As for why, I'm not sure. I'm not an evil person. I just want sleep.

5 AM: I don't want to sleep anymore. I looked in the mirror. I don't want to have to wake up ever again. I looked in the mirror. I'm afraid I may have scared people today. I looked in the mirror. I'm afraid I may have been a monster today. I looked in the mirror and nothing was different. I looked in the mirror and nothing was the same. I'm afraid of myself. As for why, I'm not sure. I'm not an evil person. I just want to die.

6 AM: I can't seem to die. I feel like all I can do is write. I feel like all I can do is breathe. I feel like all I can do is live. I can't seem to die. What's the point in living? What's the point in sleeping? What's the point in waking? I can't seem to die. As for why, I'm not sure. I'm not an evil person, I just want death.

7 AM: Every word I write seems to give me more life, and I can't help but take it. I can't imagine how I'm living, but the words keep me alive. I can't imagine how I'm happy, but the words give me strength. I can't imagine how you're still reading, but it's you that keeps me alive. I can't imagine how you're feeling. Your death brings me life. You can't imagine how I'm feeling. I feel so alive. You can't imagine yourself living. You just want to die. As for why, I'm not sure. I'm not an evil person. All I want is to live. All I want is you to die.


When I was a child, I lived in a rented two-floor house. Both of my parents worked, so I was often alone when I came home from school. One early evening, when I came home, the house was still dark. I called out, "Mum," and heard a voice say, "Yeeeeeees," from upstairs.

I called my mum again, and again got the same, "Yeeeeeeeeeeeeees," reply. I felt she was calling back at me and climbed up the stairs.

When I reached the first floor, I called once more and the voice, "Yeeeeeees," came from the furthest room. I felt uneasy, but I had a strong urge to see my mother, so I started to walk towards the room.

Just that moment, I heard the front door open downstairs and my mother came in, carrying a lot of shopping bags. "Sweetie, are you home," my mother called in a cheery voice. Hearing her voice made me feel instantly better and I turned back to go downstairs at once...but not before I had a quick glance towards the room. While I watched from the top of the stairs, the door to the room slowly opened a crack.

For a brief moment, I saw something strange in there.

A pale face, staring at me.


It's been 49 hours since my light went dead and left me in the dark. The fourteen dots from my wrist watch can show nothing in this total vacuum of light. I can do nothing but count down the time to my ending. I busted the crystal so I could feel the hands, gingerly running my finger lightly over the face. There is nothing but waiting. Every now and then I see a small dot of light, the random wayward photon activating my retina, or a stray particle passing through the Earth, but nothing more. Just a split second of false hope followed by nothing but black.

The darkness must be getting to me as I feel my mind slipping away from me. The only thing that keeps me partially sane is the torrent of sound made by water running beside me. It reminds me of a fan running in the quiet bright of outside night. The darkest room is as the surface of the sun compared to this place. To think I came here for fun.

The lack of luminance is wrecking havoc on my mind. It swirls and spins in a vertigo of three days drunk. The walls are spinning like the eye of a tornado; if only I could see them. I vomit the water and lay down against the cool rock, praying to every invisible deity for mercy. I retch and vomit again. Groaning against the earth, I think about killing myself and laugh when I realize I can't see to make it painless.

The spinning slows to an out-of-control teacup ride and I drink some more water. The irony of being trapped here next to liquid life has not escaped me. Three weeks. That is the figure I read once that the average human can survive without food if they had a steady supply of water. Combined with the six Power Bars in my pack, I could cling to life for a month, maybe a month and a half. There would be six weeks of darkness, vertigo, vomiting, and water. The humorous part is that it might be the best tasting water I have ever had.


"We found your son's body in side a small cave about 500 feet from the path, ma'am," the Park Ranger explained into the phone connected to the weeping woman. "As near as we can tell, he was exploring a small cave when the ceiling caved in. He had some Power Bars and was next to a stream." ... "Are you sure you want to know that?" ... "Okay, the preliminary report is saying he lived about three weeks. His death is listed as starvation in conjunction with exposure." ... "No, ma'am, he wouldn't have been able to dig himself out. There wouldn't have been any need to." ... "Well, ma'am, I mean your son was on the outside of the cave-in. He was only about ten feet inside the cave." ... "Ma'am, I know you are distraught, but we must have not been around to hear him cry for help." ... "Well, the coroner believes a stone fell and struck your son in the head, causing a minor subdural hematoma in the rear part of his brain." ... "No, ma'am, he wasn't unconscious. It means that your son was rendered almost instantly blind."

Unexplainable Photo

The picture below was taken on a mobile phone. The little girl you see crying refused to go into the group, as she said the little boy was scaring her. Thinking very little of her tantrum, the little girl's mother took the photo anyway. She later discovered what the child was crying about. Look closely about knee-high between the second and third girl from the left. That, I suspect, is the reason the little girl was crying.

Oh my. Click the pic for a larger version.

The Journal of Gabriel Orwell

I'm writing these entries to keep what little sanity I have left in me. Each day I feel it slipping away, like trying to hold water cupped in your hands. Writing about my predicament is much easier than explaining it to people, especially when doing so quickly leads to the label of insanity. No, I am not insane. At first, I didn't know how to deal with it. In fact, I still remember the first time I saw it...or rather, when it saw me.

I had a long drive ahead of me. It was already approaching 1:00 AM. Having virtually no sleep from partying the night before, I thought the best idea would be to stop at a motel. After a slightly awkward conversation at the front desk, I was sitting in the bed of room 250. The mattress was springy, the television was an antique, and the room smelled awful; this place was a shit hole. I didn't complain, though. Exhaustion was  beginning to take its hold, and I would only spend one night here, after all. I quickly fell sound asleep.

What was that noise? I awoke, not to the sound of my cell phone alarm, but to static. My eyes focused on the digital clock; it read 3:33 AM. The room was slightly illuminated. I sat up to find the TV displaying that all-too-familiar black and white static. I must have rolled onto the remote. I searched frantically for it, wanting to return to my peaceful slumber. I lifted the covers and looked around, but to no avail. Placing the covers back down, I jumped. The TV was no longer showing static. It, instead, screened a black and white middle-aged face, cropped to show only its eyes; it blinked. The eyebrows did not suggest any sort of malignant demeanor. However, I was inexplicably terrified of it.

It seemed the remote had made its way to the floor. I picked it up and immediately attempted to change what was on screen. Green numbers - representing the channel - popped up in the top right-hand corner. The number changed, but the image did not. Without further investigation, I turned the television off. I had difficulty sleeping for the remainder of the evening.

At first, I just thought it was some kind of joke. It couldn't be real. No fucking way. At the front desk, while returning the key, I noticed a TV behind the owner. It was displaying that same face. It blinked. I asked the man what he thought about what was on screen. "Yeah, I tell ya, the weather looks pretty bad if you have a long drive." My blood ran cold. Did he not see those glaring eyes? "You feelin' alright son?"

On my drive to my university, I rationalized. It had to be the cable in the motel. Maybe it was the only thing showing, and the owner was playing some nasty trick on me. It had to be. This was, of course, before the sounds started. Trying to get my mind off of what happened, I turned on the radio. Static. Maybe I'll just pop in a Frank Sinatra CD instead. Static. Great, I think. My car's sound system is fucked. Oh, how I wish it was that easy.

I only started to question my sanity when I got to school. In the dining halls, every TV was displaying that face. In the computer labs, every monitor was displaying that face. My roommate's new HD television was showing that face. It blinked. Of course, I asked everyone about it. They just gawked at me, confused. Some laughed, thinking I was toying with them. I have never felt so desperate.

It had been three days since my stay at the hotel. I walked past my floor's lobby; people were huddled around the big screen, occasionally laughing at whatever it was they were watching. All I could see was that face. It blinked. All I could hear was roaring static.

My MP3 player doesn't play music. I can't hold conversations on my cell phone because all I can hear is static. Static...that's what it was at first. Soon, the sounds started to change. One day, instead of static, I hear a man saying a series of random numbers in a monotone voice. A week later, I hear a woman screaming as she is stabbed to death. I can hear the blade cutting through her flesh and the footsteps of her killer. The sounds change, but the images on the screen don't. All screens just show that face. It blinked. I'm losing my fucking mind.

Today, I hear a man mumbling gibberish. I sit in my room, staring deep into the eyes that stare back at me on my computer monitor. Now I understand why I'm going crazy. It's not the sounds or this face staring at me, it's why. Why me? What did I do to deserve this? Was it because I stopped going to church? Was it because I stayed at that motel? Whose fucking face is in every screen I see? All of these unanswered questions are what are picking away at my sanity.

I can't take it anymore. I can't take the sounds, that face (it blinked), or how I pretend everything is okay. I haven't slept in days. I yearn for the alluring sensation of peace and quiet. No more assault on my senses. I thought of Van Gogh.


These handwritten pages were found scattered around the room of Gabriel Orwell - the same location where he took his own life. Investigators found him lying on the floor, his eyes gouged out, both his tympanic membranes in each inner ear punctured, and his wrists slashed. There were also two HD monitors in the room; both were shattered and damaged beyond repair by Orwell's fists.

If only he can see it, then how is there a picture of it?

Grab a Tire Iron

I've been living in a townhouse with my parents for the last couple of summers and before that for a couple of years in high school.

For some ill-fated reason, we've always had terrible neighbors. When we first moved in, we had a woman and her teenage daughter who regularly sold heroin out of her room, then a family with what seemed was the loudest, angriest chihuahua in the world.

For those unfamiliar with townhouses, it's like having a regular house with all the noises of an apartment building. The reason we've stayed for so long is my dad became friends with the owner and apparently we get fantastic rent.

Anyway, right before I came back from college one summer, my old neighbors (a middle-aged Mexican couple and their kid) left and some new tenants came in. I usually don't keep up with who's living next to us unless they're extremely fucking annoying or they park on our side of the driveway.

So the first night back, I decide I'm gonna smoke a little weed and listen to some music. My room happens to be adjacent to an identical one on the other side, so when I open the window, I can there's light spilling out from that window onto their patio. It's around 3am, so I wonder why they're up so late or if they just left the light on, but I decide I really don't give a fuck so I go through my backpack and look for my pipe. It's not there.

Without my piece, I resort to survival-style methods of getting high and decide to make myself a nice apple pipe. I go downstairs to the kitchen, get all the shit, come back upstairs and I realize my window is closed. I look outside my room, down the hall at my parent's room, and it's closed, they're sleeping so it couldn't be them. I decide getting high is more important than investigating so I go open the window and realize the light next door is now off. As I move from the window to my computer, I hear my window shut hard, and my blinds fall, all simultaneously.

I turn around, scared as all fuck, but nothing is there. The next thing I hear is my parents door opening and my mom coming into my room. She looks pissed, but then the color drains from her face when she sees me looking very, very afraid. Looking afraid as fuck is not the usual me, so she's immediately worried.

I explain what happened, but she dismisses it as me being a dumbfuck and trying to scare her. She tells me it's not funny and to knock it the fuck off and goes back to bed. Eventually, my will to get high is stronger than my fear, so I smoke a bowl and go to bed.

Nothing out of the ordinary happens for a few weeks, so I chalk it up to some strong wind, but I can't really explain everything so I try to keep it out of my head.

Come July, I'm usually out of the house all day, but that day is slow so I decide to take it easy and lurk around on my laptop for a bit. It's all a bit boring, so I decide to call a friend over. As I reach for my phone, I hear this ripping noise behind me and when I look, there is a hole in my window screen and the edges are jutting out towards me, meaning something fucking punched it from the outside, except:

My room is on the second story.

My first thought was, “Holy shit, a ghost just tried to falcon-punch its way into my room,” then to, “Holy shit, a bird just busted through my window.” I spend an hour looking for a bird corpse inside my room and out on my patio, which my window is overlooking. I look up at my room and realize two things.

1) My window is now closed and I'm the only one in the house.
2) The window of the room next to mine is not only open, but has no screen. And the light is on.

I rush back inside and when I get upstairs to my room, the window is open again, except this time, the window screen is fucking gone. As in, it's not on the floor and it's not outside, somebody/something stole my fucking window screen.

For some reason, the first thing I do is angrily march over next door to yell at the tenants next door for stealing my shit, but it's not until I'm outside I realize that's not even possible, the distance from one window to other is way too far. I go back in, and decide I'm not going back upstairs until my parents get home.

They eventually get back, but I don't bother to explain, even though they might get suspicious about the missing window screen.

I reluctantly climb back upstairs and fortunately, everything is the way I left it, window closed, blinds up. I move to close the blinds and notice that once again, the light is on next door. The light is spilling onto the patio when I detect movement outside Somebody is casting a shadow onto the patio from the window. I pay attention to the shadow. It's pretty clear it's a person standing there. But that's the thing that bothered me. They were just standing there. As if they were intently focused on something and refused to move.

Then, the light quickly blinks off, then on again, but now, the shadow is gone. I start panicking. Nothing moves that fucking fast; it was literally in the blink of an eye. I close the blinds and sleep with the lights on that night.

Just like before, no activity for a couple of weeks. Around the end of July is when my parents announce they're going to vacation in Mexico. They want me to stay at the house and take care of it and in exchange, I can throw a party or two as long as I don't overdo it. I'm fucking ecstatic just thinking of all the shit I'm gonna do for a week-and-a-half with an empty house, and I'm not even thinking of all the paranormal shit that happened.

Days later, I drop them off at the airport and I pick up my friend, Karen, deciding to christen my temporary bachelor pad with a smoking session. As soon as we come in, we both realize it is freezing. By the time I get to the thermostat in the living room, she's shivering and rubbing her arms even though she's wearing a hoodie.

I look at the thermostat, it's thermometer is reading 45 degrees, but it's set to 80. Karen says something like, “Your heating is fucked up,” but she's interrupted by a crash upstairs.

She says, “Aren't we alone?”

Feeling like I wasn't going to let this shit ruin my plans I tell her, “If we're not, we're gonna be.”

We rush upstairs, finding my bookcase and my desk on the ground, my books and pretty much all my stuff all over the floor. She helps me clean up as I explain the last two incidents. Karen doesn't really believe in anything paranormal, so the two of us discuss some reasonable explanations for what's been happening.

We both conclude that most likely, it's the neighbors. They've been getting into the house somehow, and they're possibly using the window as a way to distract me. She convinces me they've taken this shit way too far, so we decide I should confront them and tell them I've had enough.

As we walk outside in the little light that's still left, I notice there's no car in their driveway. That's when it hits me. I've never seen their car. I've never seen them leave. And except for that shadow, I've actually never seen them at all. I stagger and eventually stop as I come to this realization. Noticing me lag behind, Karen asks me if something's wrong.

I respond, “Karen... I've never seen them.”

“Well, now you'll meet them. It's probably a good idea to get to know your neighbors, even if they sneak into your house to wreck your shit”
“No, I mean, there's a possibility nobody's gonna answer, because no one lives there.”

She makes a confused face, looks over to the house, then back to me and says, “What are you talking about, somebody has to live there. Haven't you asked your parents about the neighbors at least once?”

I explain to her that I've never cared as most of the tenants move in for a couple of months, then move out when, I assumed, the owner got tired of their shit. Usually it was for falling behind on the rent or because they trashed the place. My parents even told me that on two separate occasions the police had asked them if they had heard any fighting or yelling next door, as apparently they had been called on a possible domestic violence situation.

Looking increasingly concerned, she muttered, “Maybe it wasn't domestic violence...? What if whatever is next door has been bothering the tenants, scaring them until they move out. Now that no one's there, it's trying to kick you out.”

Taking in that possibility, my emotions turn from fear to anger. I could understand getting spooked every once-in-a-while, but kicking me out from my house? Absolutely fucking not.

My newly uncovered anger affords me some confidence and I find myself pounding heavily on the door, Karen behind me.

Nobody answers.

We couldn't look through the window, as the blinds were closed and the glass was covered in smudges left by fingerprints. The rest of the house was surrounded by a fence, so I decided I'd see if I could take a look inside from the patio. From there I could see that the window was closed, but that the light in the room was on. As I turned to Karen, I saw through my own window that the door to my room was opening, slowly.

My heart pounded as I simultaneously pointed at the door and signaled Karen to look. We both stood in silence as the door opened ever so slowly, as if whatever was behind it was having great difficulty with its weight. Ajar enough for a person to fit through, the door suddenly stops and into my room walks somebody or something, but at that instant, the lights in the room fucking explode, shrouding everything into darkness. We shield our eyes from the flash, and when we look back up, the blinds have been closed.

But in that instant right before the lights blew, we managed to catch a glimpse of it. It definitely had a human shape, but as for the rest, I believe Karen put it best: “It looked fucking dead.”
In that brief moment, I saw its gray skin, mottled with bruises, its drenched hair fallen onto its shoulders, sticking to its chest with moisture. The purple-stained neck lead to its disfigured face, like the victim of a savage beating, contorting its face into a permanent expression of anguish. What Karen noticed was the yellow eyes, decaying, the pupils now flattened like a goat's due to the rot.

It was some fucked up shit.

Any anger or confidence or rationale that we previously possessed has dissipated. We are balls-to-the-wall scared. We stand in the patio, paralyzed, for what seems like hours.

Karen finally speaks up, “We've got to call the cops, we can at least make them go through the house.”

I call the police and tell them there's an intruder in my house. A squad car shows up and two cops search the entire house.

Nothing. I ask them if they can search the one next door, but they say they're not allowed without a warrant.

Eventually, they leave. We decide that since the cops have gone through it, it must be somewhat safe. We go to my room to find the window once again wide open and the blinds up. I go to close them, but I find that either are impossible. The window simply won't move, and if I had strained more to lower the blinds, I would have broken the string. Karen and I clean the glass from the busted lights. Exhausted and concerned, I fall onto my bed and Karen sits in my computer chair.

I tell her I'm out of ideas besides breaking into the house next door with a fucking tire iron. She says that maybe that's not such a bad idea. That's when I notice it.

In front of my room, is the attic door, and it's been slid open. I move quickly to shut my door and lock it. Karen looks panicked.

“Karen, do you think they searched the attic?” I ask desperately hoping for a yes.

“Probably not,” she says.

I look around the room, seeking bludgeoning weapons. I pick up one of those heavy marble-base trophies. She picks up a disused lava lamp. I swing the door open only to find the attic door is now sealed. We run downstairs, but instead of running out the door, I run into the garage, where I pick up a fucking tire iron and a big wrench.

I toss Karen the tire iron.
She's asks me if I'm high.

I say no, and tell her if she doesn't want to come, she can sit in the car. She refuses and takes a few practice swings with the tire iron. We march upstairs. I turn on the attic light and using a stool we gradually climb into the attic. Despite the summer weather, it's extremely cold in there. I spot what confirms my suspicions. Opposite our attic door, is the door from the other house, partially hidden under a pile of insulation.

Wondering why anyone would want to share attic space like that, we approach the door, hesitant to go in. I lift the door slowly and peek out my head into the hallway. All the doors are closed.

Karen hands me the stool and we drop down into the hallway as silently as we can, weapons ready to smash into anything. I decide the first thing I want to see is the room opposite mine. I try the handle, and sure enough, it's unlocked. I open the door swiftly with the wrench raised, but the room is empty. Devoid of anything. The room is completely white, except for a black stain on the carpet in front of the window.

We approach it. It's actually two stains close together, in the shape of human feet. They're black and shiny, as if somebody had purposely dipped their feet in tar and set their feet there. As we're looking, the door slams behind us and we hear somebody descending the stairs in a rush.

Alarmed, we both raise our weapons and rush into the hallway to find the master bedroom door ajar. We decide to check it out before we go downstairs. As we approach the door, we notice a smell emanating from the room. It's a horrible stench and we both reel back and hold our noses. I stick out my arm and slowly push the door in.

The stench did not in any way compare to what we saw.

A fucking nest.

The outside was made of newspaper, molded like paper mâché into a roughly circular shape. Then in the middle was a ring of leaves and I shit you not, matted hair. I looked to Karen, but her eyes were on the walls. I looked up to see the nailed corpses of several neighborhood cats and dogs. The smell was unbearable, but the sights finally got to us. Karen vomited and I quickly followed. I insisted on find out more so I go closer to nest, immediately regretting it. Nestled in the middle were several bowls brimming with unidentifiable liquids, some of them were watery and red, some of them had what I recognized as the black substance we found in the other room. Karen got closer as well. She was the one who noticed that the bowls were actually skullcaps.

We decide we are way in over our heads and begin to leave the room. Once in the hallway, we realize, the stool is gone. We search the other room unsuccessfully, comprehending we are now in deep shit. Both the stool and the other exits our below us, so no matter what, we're fucking going downstairs.

We grip our weapons firmly and descend slowly into the pitch-black annex. I fumble for a light switch, and surprisingly, I find one. The light is dim to the point of almost being useless, so we walk slowly into the living room.

As we get closer, we see a brighter light coming from the corner. It's a small television, turned on its side, playing static. Karen whispers, “Now they're not even trying...”

We step into the middle of the living room. There's a small overturned couch facing the wall. I focus my eyes, trying to distinguish between shades of black. Way in the corner is something a little darker than the rest. I can tell by the way Karen grips her tire iron that she sees it too.

I whisper, “Our best bet is to just fucking kill, right here, right now. If it's in the corner it's because it's afraid of us, right?”

Karen nods. That's when it fucking jumps at us, making the most horrible fucking sound, it was like hearing a death rattle backwards through a shortwave radio. We both swing, and we swing fucking hard.

I could tell I made impact because I thought I had broken my hand. The thing squealed, tumbled over and ran/staggered into the kitchen. We trailed it, but it moved way too fast. The last thing we saw was it bursting through the front window as we turned around the corner.

According to official police report, “a group of homeless men inhabited the premises for an uncertain amount of time.” And that's all as well, since we told the police all we heard was the window crash next door.

After I dropped Karen off, I came back to my room find my window screen, hole and all, lying against the wall. Next to it was a black, tarry hand print.

(I saw this story a few times, and the title that I'm using for this story was the first I saw, so that's what I'm calling this.)

Until the End of Time

As I lay here and write these words, the end is coming. I can feel it. The crimson river is starting to seep more slowly now, either I’m running out, or it’s clotting. I don’t want to shoot myself again, once should have been more than enough.

Tiff has already gone into that good night. She looks more peaceful now than she did a few moments ago, when I first confronted her with the idea of a murder-suicide pact. She didn’t take it too seriously. But, when she saw my gun, she panicked. She knew I meant business, and not only business, I meant that we should do it right then.

I knew she’d never be able to kill me, so I let her go first. It took three shots before she went down. Then I turned the gun on myself. I didn’t want to shoot myself in the head, I knew from reading several medical textbooks that a suicidal head shot can have devastating consequences on the structure of the head. The whole area could be taken clean off.

And people with no head can’t have an open casket funeral; it could frighten people. Even now, I think courteously of those left behind. I know mom would want to see me one last time, heck, my weird cousin Fred might try to take a picture.

I’ve known Tiff for only six months, but what a magical six months it’s been! Granted, we’ve only been dating for the past few days. I know it was love that we shared, and will continue to share in the afterlife.

One of the good things about living in the middle of nowhere is that the nearest neighbor is at least a mile away. It’ll be a few days before anyone notices we’re gone and starts to investigate.

I’d like to see the look on their faces, haha, they’ll look at us with a mixture of pity and disgust as they see our bloated, rotting corpses sprawled on the ground and… Gompers.

Yes, I almost forgot about my dog, he’ll be here with nothing to eat; he may try to eat us once I die. I know how to fix that.

Okay, Gompers is dead. I called him over as if I had something for him to eat, oh he ate it all right. Right in the head. I almost feel sorry bringing an innocent into this, but no matter, he’ll be our faithful canine companion in the afterlife. Maybe I should kill a few more people, I’m sure our friends would like to join us.

Oh, my wound has stopped bleeding, guess it’s time to shoot myself again. This time, I’ll hold the gun right to my heart, I’ll surely die then.

“May our love continue till the end of time.”

(This story is by a person called Brad Hall)

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Dangerous Roads

I was driving a shortcut from Twentynine Palms, CA to Albuquerque, NM. Twentynine Palms is located in the desolate high desert east of LA. The shortcut was all two lane road through total nothingness, except for passing through Amboy, CA. Amboy is a nearly abandoned town nearly as far below sea level as Death Valley, with a dormant volcano and lava field on one side and a salt flat on the other. It was also, at the time, a hotspot for satanic group activity.

So I was driving by myself in the afternoon. I stopped in Amboy and snapped a picture of the city sign, just to prove I was there to friends who dared me to take that route to I-40. I got back in my car and proceeded to drive up into the mountain range between Amboy and I-40.

Once I reach the top I am driving north through a canyon with high grass on both sides of the road. Up ahead I see some stuff in the middle of the road. As I approach I slow down to see a red Pontiac Fiero stopped sideways across both lanes, a suitcase open with clothes scattered everywhere and two bodies laying face down in the road, a man and a woman.
I stop a hundred feet or so away and the hair on the back of my neck is standing up. Being a Marine, I reach under the seat and pull out a 9mm pistol and chamber a round. Something seemed very wrong, it looked too perfect as if it were staged. An ambush? Was I being paranoid? Something was just wrong. Getting out of the car seemed unthinkable, it was the horror movie move.

As I scanned the road I saw a line I could drive. Pass the guy in the road on his left, swerve to the right side of the woman, behind the Fiero and I'd be on the other side. I dropped it into first gear, punched it and drove the line I planned.

 I passed the back of the Fiero without hitting it or either of the bodies in the road. I continued forward a couple hundred feet and slowed down so I could breathe and let my heart slow down. As I looked up into the rearview mirror I saw that the two bodies had gotten up to their knees and twenty or so people emerged from the tall grass on either side of the road by the car and bodies.
At that moment my right foot smashed the gas pedal to the floor and did not let up until I had to slowdown for the I-40 east onramp.

I will never know what would have happened to me had I gotten out of the car to check on the bodies or stopped my car closer to them. Somehow I do not think it would have been good. Sometimes real life can be scarier than a movie.

Elevator Incident

I was in Taiwan one year when I was younger, and had travelled to a busy night market (these are popular gatherings that usually operate in the evening). Nearby I spotted a sign for a netcafe in a 5-6 story tall building. Thinking I'd fire off some quick emails, I walked in the dark, small entrance of the building. The building was older and hasn't been well maintained, but it's not out of the ordinary in Taiwan. The entrance just had a dark hallway that led to a small elevator.

I pressed the elevator call button and entered. The elevator was uncharacteristically new compared to the building, but I didn't think much of it. Like some Chinese buildings, there wasn't a fourth floor (it's considered bad luck since "four" sounds like "death"), so it just read 1-2-3-5-6, which was usual. I looked for the floor the net-cafe was at-- 6th floor, and pressed the button. It lurched into action quietly and began the ascend. When it stopped, I figured it was my floor so I instinctively began to step out. Right before stepping out, however, the sight outside the elevator stopped me. It was pitch dark, only lit by the light in the elevator, it looked like it hasn't been occupied for decades, with some random pieces of furniture covered with white cloth or similar. It was a small building, so each floor were single occupancy, so I could see pretty much the entire floor from the elevator. Thinking I must have gotten the wrong floor, I checked the light (that indicates which floor you're on). Strangely, there was nothing, none of the indicators were on, but the floor button to the netcafe was still lit so I know I haven't gotten there yet. All this happened within a couple of seconds.
That's when I noticed a figure moving in the distance of the floor-- it was not very visible but I could make out what looks like a person dressed in some kind of gown, moving slowly towards the elevator. I was thoroughly creeped out, so I started pressing the close door button. As soon as I pressed it, the elevator light flickered off. I am this close to pissing my pants, and it's actually kind of freaking me out thinking back to it. The lights flickered back on under a second and the door closed, the elevator jolted back to life. A few moments later it opened again to the net-cafe.

I am beyond relieved at this point. I walked out immediately and sat down at a computer. After gathering my wits a bit, I walked over to the cashier's desk and told them what I saw. The girl working there listened and her face turned a bit ashen, so I asked her if she heard of similar.

She told me that she's never experienced it, but some coworkers and occasional customers have brought it up-- basically, the building has 6 floors, and the fourth floor had a history. Apparently the floor used to be a hair salon of sorts, until one of the employees killed herself there for some reason. She slit her wrists over the hair wash station and died. The store continued operations despite stories of weird appearances-- when customers got their hair rinsed the water would look a little red, like the customer was bleeding, little things like that, and a couple people reported seeing someone's figure walking away in the mirror. Naturally, the business closed down a few months later.

The building owner tried to re-rent the place out, but never had any luck. Most businesses are quite superstitious, and no one wanted to rent the fourth floor after someone had died in it, even at a very cheap price. Finally, after dropping the price to nearly nothing, a stationary supplies store wanted to rent.

During the renovations of the floor, however, several accidents would happen. Tools would end up in strange places, a mirror from the previous business shattered when no one was near it, and finally a worker had his hand jammed between the elevator doors when it closed on him unexpectedly. The workers refused to continue working and finally, the business left and the building owner finally gave up and shut down the floor. He then had the elevator company come in to replace the panel so that the elevator could not go to the fourth floor.

Let me repeat that-- the elevator was programmed to never go to the fourth floor. It doesn't even have a button. But for some reason, sometimes when people take the elevator, it would go to the fourth floor and the doors would open, and some, like myself, would see a figure walking around in the dark.

Friday, September 17, 2010


There was a girl who had an illness and was bed-ridden for the majority of her life. She was recently diagnosed to die within the next couple of months so her parents decided to spend as much time with her as they could before her time came. They decided that the best thing was to go camping at a local site for a little bit since the daughter was stuck in the hospital for so long.

On their way there, the girl was quiet as usual and laid in the back while the parents talked amongst themselves. When they finally reached their destination, they pitched the tent, unpacked everything and started a campfire. The mother was constantly filming the area and her daughter while the father went out for more firewood. It was getting dark when he came back, but he suddenly heard the mother scream so he rushed over to discover that his daughter was standing on her feet and was doing a wild, erratic ‘dance’ before she suddenly dropped dead.

After all the funeral processions and grieving subsided, the parents wanted to see the video the mother recorded on that very night. They put the tape in the player and began to watch. At first it just showed the mother looking at the scenery and random animals that passed by in the distance, but as the time frame skipped, it jumped to when she was inside the tent with the daughter as she stood up and began to jerk around.. But there was something wrong. It first was in the corner of their eyes but as they replayed the scene, their horror became more and more real.

The entire time the daughter was ‘dancing’, there was a ghastly white hand latched onto the top of her head.


Necronymous Forum
Private Message

Subject: Okay… Sent: Thu Jan 08, 6:36 pm
From: Seraphine-Savior To: Centurion616
This is kind of random, but I notice your posts constantly mention this ‘Thorvaldr’ character. You always say it’s watching something or waiting for something, but no one else has any idea who or what it is. I’m just curious… Who is Thorvaldr? :O

Subject: Re: Okay… Sent: Fri Jan 09, 2:17 am
From: Centurion616 To: Seraphine-Savior
Thorvaldr? I’m almost glad you asked. He’s just kind of there. A sort of presence, if you will. I can’t really explain it properly without it sounding completely odd. By the way… he sees you.

Subject: Re: Okay… Sent: Fri Jan 09, 12:01 pm
From: Seraphine-Savior To: Centurion616
Uh… could you explain that a bit better? Sorry, I don’t understand. I mean, is he a person, a ghost, a pet, or what? D:

Subject:Re: Okay… Sent: Fri Jan 09, 5:20 pm
From: Centurion616 To: Seraphine-Savior
Thorvaldr is a warrior king. He is waiting for the moon to rise as of now…

Subject: Re: Okay… Sent: Sat Jan 10, 4:14 pm
From: Seraphine-Savior To: Centurion616
9_9 I’m sorry, that just raises more questions than it answers. Don’t bother wasting my time by replying if you aren’t going to say anything useful. I know I’m probably coming off a little bit harsh, but it doesn’t seem like you’re taking this seriously at all. I’d try to help you on the forum, seeing as everyone thinks you’re a complete weirdo and I want to see if there’s anything that could be explained to them so maybe you’ll have an easier time.

Subject: Re: Okay… Sent: Sun Jan 11, 8:43 pm
From: Centurion616 To: Seraphine-Savior
I almost considered just deleting that reply there and carrying on the way I have been, but I’ve a feeling you’re not going to give up either way. If it’s that important to you, I’ll explain everything. To the best of my knowledge, Thorvaldr is something of an entity, and like I said before, he’s just there. He doesn’t even have a body, but somehow I’m able to know his every move and that he wants me to tell others about it. It’s an impulse. If I don’t tell everyone about Thorvaldr, he gets angry… He starts clouding my vision and everything gets dark and blurry, then I can’t sleep at all because I’m just lying there shaking. I can almost hear his voice kind of, but he’s not saying anything in particular, only these syllables and non-words that come out of nowhere right when I think everything’s quiet. He’s there, and he’s always there. I can’t get rid of him. I don’t want to go to a shrink, because last time I did they just gave me these pills that only made everything worse. I started seeing Thorvaldr in my own reflection. Even though it was very vague and hard to make out, I could tell it was definitely him.

I can’t fight it. Can’t fight a warrior king, especially when he’s taken over my mind like this. I’m trying to remember what happened, but somehow my memory’s been shot. Maybe Thorvaldr did it. I vaguely recall something about getting lost somewhere when I was in Norway, but that’s it. I’d tell you more, but I fear he’s trying to choke me as I type this…

Subject: Re: Okay… Sent: Tues Jan 13, 11:00 am
From: Seraphine-Savior To: Centurion616
Wow… that’s really weird… Anyway, the reason why it kind of took me an extra day to reply is because when I read that message, I had pretty much no idea what to say. That is really really weird. Maybe he’s just mad cause he doesn’t have a body? lol

Subject: Re: Okay… Sent: Tues Jan 13, 1:10 pm
From: Centurion616 To: Seraphine-Savior
Thorvaldr thinks that’s a great idea. Thank you.

Subject: Re: Okay… Sent: Tues Jan 13, 7:19 pm
From: Seraphine-Savior To: Centurion616

Necronymous Forum Topic - Meet Thorvaldr By: Centurion616
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 7:20 pm
At least he’s not waiting anymore. (Pardon the blood)
[Embedded video removed due to content]

Subject: Re: Meet Thorvaldr By: Demona
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 7:26 pm
That was really disturbing. Put up a warning next time.

Subject: Re: Meet Thorvaldr By: milkofthedead
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 7:27 pm
^ I think “Pardon the blood” could count as a warning. Though he didn’t say anything about the ‘corpse.’ At least I hope it’s not a real corpse… :O

Subject: Re: Meet Thorvaldr By: Neocracy
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 7:29 pm
Could someone tell me what it is? I’m too afraid to watch the whole thing, I stopped as soon as he left the room.

Subject: Re: Meet Thorvaldr By: Demona
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 7:36 pm
Okay, here’s a summary of what happened, at least the way I saw it. If anyone has any corrections, I’ll edit this.
0:00-1:12 - Some guy (I think it’s Centurion, but I’m not sure) is standing over a partially dismembered corpse on his bed. He’s replacing the missing limbs and digits with other body parts he’s pulling out of a sack.
1:13-1:40 - He leaves the room, comes back with a rusty sword and helmet and “equips” the corpse with them. Then the video just kind of jump-cuts there.
1:40-3:40 - He’s now sitting in front of the camera, staring. You can kind of see the corpse in the background, only for some reason the limbs are attached to the body like they actually belonged there. Then the damn video jump-cuts AGAIN…
3:40-4:36 - Same thing as last time, only Centurion is gushing blood through his closed eyelids and mouth. You can see some blood on the corpse too, and at the end of it all, Centurion smiles and waves.

Like I said, really disturbing shit. It’s worse than it sounds.

Subject: Re: Meet Thorvaldr By: Neocracy
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 7:38 pm
Oh, that was it? It’s got to be fake. I mean, if he’s bleeding out his eyes like that, how can he see to post? And it’s definitely Centurion in the video. He’s got the swastika tattoo, remember?

Subject: Re: Meet Thorvaldr By: ForTheEmpire
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 7:44 pm
If it’s fake, those are some really cool effects.

Subject: Re: Meet Thorvaldr By: Seraphine-Savior
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 7:49 pm
No, no, it’s not fake. And it’s all my fault. See, we were PMing one another before, and I asked about the Thorvaldr guy. If I hadn’t suggested that Thorvaldr needed a body, then none of this would have happened.

Subject Re: Meet Thorvaldr By: milkofthedead
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 7:55 pm
It’s not your fault, Seraphine. Centurion would’ve done it anyway, he’s just like that. Remember when he wouldn’t stop obsessing over that church arson guy?

Subject: Re: Meet Thorvaldr By: Winterwing
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 8:00 pm
4:21- It blinked. I swear to god, it blinked.

broken screen

Attacked by a Demon

Another Youtube

Username: 666

Still Life

No Through Road

There Are Monsters

Japanese Ghost: The Haunted Hospital

Malice in Wonderland