Monday, January 31, 2011


I was doing some mining with lights off. I could see well in dark. However, something got screwed up. It was like fucking hell. Good thing that game didn't crashed or deleted some files required for game. After some time it seems stable, but results are horrible... I almost thought Herobrine will come behind me during corruption (but... he doesn't exist still :P). And additionally, sorry about this giant amount of panic talk. It seems it's just GPU issue. Not big problem.

Server where this happened is VeoPress Mine Server - . Only I had this issue, nobody else.

NOTE: THIS IS NOT ACTUAL CORRUPTION AS IT WAS. Video Codecs went too buggy and it caused this damage. I'll try to fix this corruption, but it will be 1,8 GB file, not sure am I able to upload it, would take.... 2 days of non-stop upload.

Don't believe? Here're some screenshots which have not been damaged.

(This video was posted by TomKTW. The text on this page was in the description.)

Thursday, January 27, 2011


Boa was an imaginary friend I had when I was a kid. I don't remember much about him, but what I do remember happen to be very fond memories of him.

His lips were very dark - almost black - and his teeth were a disgusting yellow, as if they'd never been brushed. His feet were absolutely putrid, especially his toenails; they were yellow from fungus. He had talons instead of fingernails; they were very dark at the tips and got progressively lighter.

He had a lot of scars; they were very noticeable and stood out from his pale skin. I can remember staring at them a lot. They had a red tinge to them. The biggest scar was on his arm (if I remember correctly, it was his right arm). It was HUGE and stretched all the way from his shoulder to his elbow, as if his arm had been sliced in two length-ways at some oint. It bulged out from his skin like you'd see if someone didn't take proper care of a wound and it healed incorrectly.

The other scar was above his left eye. For the most part, it was covered by hair, but you could see a glimpse of it; it went diagonally towards his left ear. It stopped just short of his eye.

Anyway, I had a two-hour conversation about Boa with my mom this morning and wrote down some things that I found interesting or didn't remember. This was the first time in a while that I've asked about Boa and I was surprised at how much my mom remembered. Her first response after my asking was, "Those were terrible times." It took some coaxing, but she eventually started revealing more and more as the conversation progressed.

I was about five or six when Boa first came around. My mom said tht before I started playing with Boa, I kept asking, "Why does the man keep following us," and continued doing this for some time before I finally introduced the man as Boa. She felt that my cute childhood personality changed almost immediately after that; I began cursing like a sailor and having vicious temperament issues (throwing objects, yelling/screaming, spitting at, and biting, apparently). I really don't remember any of this.

The strangest part, she said, was that I began injuring myself. I would take knives and scissors and cut into my arms and legs. That was part of the reason I had to be checked out by doctors. They explained it as attention-seeking behavior and my parents were instructed not to give in to certain things but to only reward my good behavior and to ignore my bad behavior.

Shortly after that was the couch being sliced to bits and gutted. My mother seemed very baffled on the phone about how everything happened. For the most part, my parents blamed the odd occurrences in our house as a little kid starved for attention. My dad is a very scientific man who is not religious at all, while my mom does indulge in the possibility that some things simply can't be explained. At one point, she wanted to get me and the house blessed, truly believing that a single child couldn't do all the things that were happening.

I vaguely remember them arguing a fair amount, but again, my memory isn't the best when it comes to my childhood. My mom said that they were very closed to getting divorced at that time; it was nearly more than they could handle.

As far as "Boa stories" go, my mom had three very distinct memories that involved Boa. One time, she came to check on me in my room and could hear me clearly talking to someone and a muffled sound that always followed. She opened the door to see me mutilating my toys and she, horrified, told me to stop and go downstairs. At that point, I turned my head towards her and demanded she shut the door. She told me no, and to come downstairs. I screamed, "Shut the god damn door." Cue the front door slamming. She said that scared the piss out of her.

The second Boa story was about the cat. My mom decided that she would start to embrace Boa and began to indulge me that he was there. She'd open doors for him and would pull up an extra seat for him. She even started setting a place at the dinner table for my imaginary friend. She said I would always laugh and say very demeaning things when she did nice things for Boa. My mom remembers inviting Boa to join us for dinner one night and I was shrugging, looking at the corner and asking Boa if he'd like to come eat with us. I suddenly stood in silence, as if listening to a response, cringed, asking, "Gross, do they even taste good?" I then looked at my mom and very nonchalantly said, "No, mom, Boa only eats cats."

It was her cat that she found outside, mauled to death. She said it looked as if he'd been sliced to bits with a knife and had been gutted. At that point she thought that Boa was the Devil or I was in the process of becoming a serial killer.

My personal favorite, and the last my mom had, of the three stories, was one day when my mom driving me home from day care. I had gotten kicked out for using my play scissors to cut a little girl's hair nearly completely off (her parents ended up having to buzz her head) then biting the shit out of her. I got in the car and was all smiles and songs as my mom berated me up and down.

She asked if I had something to say for myself and I replied, "Yeah, I'd like some mother fucking ice cream." My mom, very pissed, said there was no way in Hell I was getting ice cream. I then started talking to Boa and laughing hysterically before I began saying, "Poppity pop pop, Mom. Poppity pop pop," louder and louder each time. She asked what that meant and I responded, "Boa says you're a bitch and he's going to pop your tires." Not five minutes later, we were on the side of the road with two flat tires and had to wait for a tow truck to come get us.

About a week ago, I made a post in regards to a childhood imaginary friend I had named Boa. Since then, things have gotten...weird. I started to have these, you wouldn't call them dreams, really...whatever they were, they were about Boa. They get more vivid each time I have one. I started to remember things from when I was a kid. Things I suppose I repressed.

I had asked my parents to retell stories of Boa in hopes that they would bring up funny memories and laughs. They seem to hate that I remember. They've started to argue again, worse than I've seen in some time. I thought if I just stopped and tried to forget, t would all go away...but it's not. I'm starting to get the feeling that Boa wasn't an imaginary friend...I'm just not sure where to go from here.

(The following are two question and answer responses from anon to OP.)

"Figure out what made him leave. It may be a clue. Was it that you stopped talking to/about him?"

I was trying to figure this out the other night while on the phone with my mom (who's become extremely reluctant to "indulge" me anymore). I remember being told that Boa was forbidden. I know I kept talking to him in secret for some time after but this just made Boa increasingly angry. Things in my house got really bad with arguments and yelling. I can remember having a really tearful talk with Boa, telling him he wasn't allowed back anymore. Boa wasn't pleased and made threats.

I can remember the conversation and having this intense pain, like someone suckerpunched me in the gut. After that, nothing. I have quite a few holes in my childhood memories. The ones that involve Boa seem to be the hardest to recall.

"Boa just seem demonic to me. Call it a gut feeling. You have any more specific details you can give about him? Things he said? Did he talk you into that strange behavior or did you just naturally start doing it while he was around? Sorry if you've already answered those questions. I wasn't around for the first Boa thread."

Boa would egg me on a lot and I tended to mimic what he said. Say my mom wouldn't give me something. He'd tell me what to do to get it: scream, yell, throw yourself on the floor, grab the chair and throw it towards her but not hidding her - those types of things. Then, when she'd give in, he'd always smile and say something along the lines of, "Stupid bitch," and I'd usually laugh and repeat, "Yeah, stupid bitck." I'm not sure what you'd like to know when you say, "more details," though.

As far as saying that Boa was demonic...well, it just breaks my heart. Boa could be very terrifying at times, with his stories and actions, but I have many fond memories of him. He was my best friend. I can remember being picked on and coming home in tears, hiding under my bed from everything. Boa would crawl under and tell me that "little cuntpickle isn't worth your tears," and how he'd grow up poor and alone while I'd be a prince. He'd wipe my tears and we'd play in the backyard.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Minecraft OGG Files

During the 2010 Halloween update, Notch momentarily had an alternate download link available from the development blog. I decided to update from the blog, rather than let Minecraft update on its own. I simply extracted all of the files from the Winzip file to the game. I was about to leave for an out-of-country trip, so I (unwillingly) had to extract the files, shut down, and leave for Europe without trying the new features.

I returned two weeks later and forgot about Minecraft for a while. I needed to do a project for my Mass Communications class, though, so I wanted some somber melodies to accompany it. Instantly, I thought of Minecraft's bleak tunes and went digging into the Minecraft .ogg files. I chose calm2.ogg for the presentation, but I stuck around to listen to the other songs. In the 'resources' file, there was a folder, all on its own, entitled simply, "New Folder."

I opened the folder to find "ashes1ashes.ogg" and played it in Audacity. There was nothing really heard, just silence and faint clicking noises. I sent the song to a fellow Minecrafter who works professionally with sound editing, but they didn't find anything. I eventually started to play Minecraft again, for the first time in a month. The game updated and I played all night, making portals to the Nether and messing around.

I wanted to listen to 'ashes1ashes.ogg' again, but the folder had been removed upon Minecraft updating. I found the file in my e-mails and downloaded the attachment back onto my computer, this time throwing the song with the other music files. That's when everything went downhill.

I opened up my world to find everything on fire, including myself. My hearts would run out, refill, then run out again. Everything was on fire: the grass, the water, even the pigs and chickens. I tried reloading the world several times, but everything still burned. I deleted the world and created a new one, but that world was on fire as well. I decided to explore a bit and tried playing through a day. It was upon sunrise, the time music generally starts to play, that I heard it.

It was a man, humming a melody, clear as day. I listened to it, through the cracks and pops of the fire. It wasn't any recognizable tune, just something a father would hum to a sleepy child. Halfway through the song, the humming started to break up into a bit of a sob. Finally, the song cut off abruptly and the game shut down. There were no pop-up warnings or title screens. The world was deleted, too.

I searched for 'ashes1ashes.ogg' on the forums, to no avail. I checked the blog and noticed that the alternate download link I used on Halloween had been removed. Then I googled it, producing an angelfire page with two links: 'ashes1ashes.ogg' and 'ashes2ashes.ogg.' The first song produced the same sounds as the ones I had - silence and clicks. Hesitantly, I listened to ashes2ashes.ogg. It seemed to pick up where 'ashes1ashes' had left off. The humming turned almost directly to complete sobbing. The sobbing turned to silence, and and at the end the man spoke something in what seemed to be another language.

I transferred 'ashes2ashes.ogg' to the music folder in Minecraft, and all hell broke loose. Never again.

(Click here to go to the AngelFire site mentioned in the story. You're welcome.)


When I was a kid, I lived in a small, ugly yellow house. I can't remember much else about it. I kind of went into shock and forced myself to forget.

And why, you ask?

My parents were murdered. I was found unconcious in the woods nearby, clean and unharmed. Or, that's what I was told. I could never remember it. No matter how hard I tried, I could never remember any details before waking up in the arms of some doctor or ambulance driver. I was never allowed to go get my stuff, because apparently the murderer destroyed everything in the house.

After that day, though, I had nightmares. Terrible nightmares of a tall, red-eyed man in a suit carrying a scythe and of a dark forest in blood-red light. Every other night, I would wake up in a cold sweat, screaming. I was sent to a psychiatrist for it, but there was never any explanation or solution given.

Despite that, I grew up as a well-adjusted person. I did well in school and I found the woman of my dreams. We married about a year after graduating together. We both worked, but we found it in our schedules to go house hunting occasionally. Both of us figured that we had to move out of her parents' basement anyway.

I found our dream home while searching for a deal. I took a quick look of the outside, but the door was locked and it was impossible to get inside. The house looked quite old; it was this eerie yellow color. Something about it looked familiar, but I couldn't place it. Well, either way, I contacted the owner and got it for an extremely cheap deal. He seemed kind of relieved that someone wanted to buy it, as if it was avoided before. But I showed my wife and she loved it just as I did.

When we went inside, it was a mess. It looked as if a tornado blew through. The previous occupants of the home had left everything they had, though destroyed, as well as some red wine stains. Almost immediately, my wife and I set off to make the place livable. Eventually, we got the house to that status.

It was that one night that I was asked to take out the last bit of garbage. I picked up the entire pile and stuffed it in a trash bag. When it was all ready to go, I picked it up, hefted it over my shoulders, and began to walk to the trash bin out by the pool. Yeah, there was a pool. It was empty, though.

Halfway there, I noticed something fall out of the bag. I thought it was nothing at all, nothing more than my failure to securely tie the bag. I looked toward the ground to see what it was.

I saw two photos. Both were upside down. I knelt down and flipped one of them over. It was of a blood red forest...the same from my dream. I dropped the bag of trash and high-tailed it back inside. From there, I ran into the dark bedroom where my wife then slept.

"Honey, you have to get up. I found something within that trash."

My wife stirred and sat up, yawning.

"Do you have to wake me up in the middle of the night? What is it?"

"I found some photos in the trash. One of them was a photo of the forest from the nightmares, and--"

"You're probably imagining things."

"No, it's not my imagination, I--"

My wife sat me on the bed as she got up and turned on the lights. She turned to me and looked in shock.

"What's wrong with your arm?"

I looked down at my arm. It was completely red, even the sleeve. I had no idea what was going on. Looking at my wife, I noticed the color of her eyes had changed to red. It made me nervous, so I looked away. My eyes found the cat, but its fur was red.

My wife noticed the changes too, and panic slowly began to set in. We left the room and went into the dining room. It had the biggest window, so we thought we could see something...anything. That's when I noticed her arm was turning red, too. It looked like the red was just appearing on her arm by some sort of vortex on the back of her hand.

I suddenly remembered that when we had begun clean up of the house, we found a ceramic red hand. I tried to get my wife's attention, to tell her about her arm, but my mouth wouldn't open. And my arm... It wouldn't move.

That's when I heard the thump on the other side of the house.

(I had this dream last night. Some of the details I couldn't remember - or were stupid - were abridged or left out. But the story is basically the same. I'll be rewriting this a little to make it clearer.)

Tuesday, January 25, 2011


There was an old game me and my older brother loved to play together on Sega Genesis (on Sega Channel, and if you don’t know what that is, I feel sorry for you that you missed an awesome time). Years went by - it was so long ago - but I could remember the look of the levels and all the noises so clearly. I finally typed in "first person shooter for Sega" in Google over the weekend and found it within minutes. It was called Bloodshot. The following story is true, and you can even look up the game to see it is real (unlike many others claimed to be seen).

It was a boring night at home; I lived with two of my brothers and my father. I was home alone; dad worked late, brothers over friend’s place, so yeah. I decided to check out a bunch of old Sega Genesis games with an emulator on my brother’s computer. It was good memories, but no game lasted me more than five minutes. I then remembered Bloodshot, and frowned when I saw it wasn’t in my brother’s game folder. It took a while, but I found a download link for it, but it stopped at 92%. I was frustrated, waiting for an hour without it moving. I then noticed the file itself was in the game folder, where I told it to download I tried loading it anyway without waiting any longer.

I was relieved it worked. The familiar graphics came upon the screen and the well known little sounds filled my ears. It took a while controlling it with a keyboard, but I managed the buttons. Things got a little strange when I opened the door to enter the first level, and I saw another avatar already running and picking up all the special guns even though I was playing alone, and not even on 2 player mode. And this game is basically a fossil; it wasn’t an online game.

I thought it was a computer controlled entity, although I don't remember one being there before...and it was doing all the work for me. I followed behind getting bored as he blasted all the enemies, and then the boss of the level, and we ran back (after the boss dies, you have to run to the start before the place explodes). The second level, we stood in front of the first door. This is when I felt awkward around the other guy, he turned to me, and then the door as if waiting for me to open it. So I did, and we ran off. Eventually, I realized I was almost dead and have been fighting alone. I turned around to see my mysterious ally was running along the walls, and eventually found a hidden door with a special gun.

That did it, this guy was acting like a human player, and not a computer controlled entity. We went ahead into the level, and I noticed some glitches out textures on the walls. Curiously, when I ran into one, the game I reloaded the game and found myself alone in the first two levels. As I entered the third level, the countdown was already commencing and I saw my mysterious ally running towards me to exit the exploding level. We come to level four and it seemed the higher the level, the more glitched textures appear. Before entering the door into the forth level though, he shot me a few times, and then faced forward and waited for me to open the door. It was as if he was cursing me for abandoning him the first time around. When I shot at him, it did nothing.

After we defeated the fourth boss, the countdown didn't start. Confused, I followed the other player behind the dead boss and he opened a hidden door. Behind it was a avatar of a human (rather than looking like a robot like everyone else). It walked into me, startling me a bit and the screened flashed red as if I died, but the game froze. It was late, so I went to bed and shrugged it off.

The next day, the game wouldn’t load and came up with an error. I was interested to load the game up, but gave in after an hour and finished the download quite quickly. The game was normal however, there was no other player. I reached the fourth level, and after the boss, the countdown commenced. I went behind him and opened the door, and inside was the human avatar as well as another player texture. They walked into me, and the game flashed red, I died but the game didn’t freeze. I respawned in a huge level, but came across no enemies, weapons, or mines..but there is a strange buzzing noise. I am still walking through the level and trying to find out what the hell this is all for.

I left my computer on, but the game paused, it keeps unpausing itself in the middle of the night and I hear the noises of the game (as I leave my speakers turned up. Whenever I sit down to pause it again, I see something run around the corner at the last second, but can never catch to see what it is. I keep feeling like something is watching me as I sleep.

The Puppet

It was a marionette, I think. It had a big head, the face was made of wrinkly, flesh colored rubber. The eyes were gigantic, bulging white orbs with red pupils. The hair was black, made of some hard substance that didn’t mesh with the rubbery head. The teeth were gigantic, pure white and capable of moving up and down. The body and limbs were wooden, painted to resemble clothes, but the paint was faded, you could see the wood’s natural brown in some places. Each arm and leg was a different length, but the hands and feet were pretty detailed. It made a loud clattering sound whenever it moved.

That puppet... followed me. I don’t mean it got up and chased me. I mean it kept showing up in my life. My earliest memory of it is from my first birthday. I obviously don’t remember the full details of that day, but I remember my parents singing happy birthday and that puppet. I don’t know what it was there for; I just remember it scared me to death and I couldn’t stop crying. When I was able to talk, I asked my parents about it, and they said nothing like that had happened on my first birthday. They must not have thought lying about it would make things easier for me.

The next time I saw it, I was around three. I was exploring a room filled with old stuff my parents had stored away and I found a calendar, but I don’t remember the year. There was a photo for each month, but the only one I remember was October; that puppet was the image for it. I got scared and ran out of the room, I told my mom and tried to show her the calendar so that she’d know the puppet was real, but I couldn’t find it. The room had been very messy, and I had ran out of it so quickly I knocked over piles of stuff, I guess the calendar got buried.

I was six when it happened again. It was the middle of the night, I woke up from a nightmare I can’t remember the details of. I was too scared to go back to sleep, so I went into the living room and turned on the TV. An old black and white show on Nick at Nite was ending and when the commercials started, that puppet came on. It was dancing while loud music played. I screamed and started crying uncontrollably, but by the time my parents got downstairs, the puppet was gone.

I didn’t see the puppet again for quite a while after that, but I kept having nightmares about it. When I was 15, I decided to try to track it down, using the internet to try to find information about the calendar, the short, anything. No one had ever heard of it, but one day I got an instant message from someone I had never talked to before. Their screen name was a random mash-up of numbers and letters, but their avatar was a picture of the puppet. They IMed me, "Glad that you still remember me," then immediately signed off. They never contacted me or came online again.

When I was 20, I was walking by a store that sold old toys and dolls, and in the front window, I saw the puppet. I went inside, and asked the clerk if he knew anything about that puppet’s history, when it was made, where it was from, anything. He didn’t, said the puppet had just been sold to the store a few days ago, I could have it for $6. I wasn’t sure what to do, it still scared me, but having proof that it really existed seemed like a good idea. I bought the puppet, and took it home.

For a while, I felt better; I viewed the puppet as a childhood fear I had overcome as an adult and even started to believe the explanations my parents had given me for the past appearances of it (I saw it somewhere else as a baby, imagined the calendar, dreamed the TV short, and someone online who had one played a trick on me).

I kept the puppet, but as I moved on in my life, I pretty much forgot about it. I finished college, got married, and my wife should be giving birth in a few weeks. I was cleaning up a room for when the baby comes, and found the puppet, dusty and abandoned. I didn’t want my kid seeing it when he was little, so I picked it up, and decided I might as well wipe the dust off before moving it to another place. When I dusted it, I noticed a faded inscription on the back:

"This is what he'll look like."

Before I could figure out what this meant, I heard my wife starting to cry. I rushed to her, she looked more upset than I had ever seen her. Sobbing, she told me that the doctor had just called. There was a problem with the baby...

(This story is credited to a person called KI Simpson.)

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Grown-Up Food

Back then, the child did not understand a thing. He was dirty, restless and aching; his face was covered with soot. Ever since the Bright Flash, he hadn't been allowed to leave the house and it always seemed to be night time outside. He couldn't see much out the windows, anyway; there was too much smoke and ash, like a black snow day. Nobody came to visit. It was just Mom, Dad, him, and his Grandpa and Grandma. And now Grandma and Grandpa were gone.

His tummy groaned once more and he tugged at his mother's shirt, who looked about as dirty, tired, and restless as he did. He asked her for some of what she was eating, but she sweetly denied him, said this food was food 'for grown-ups,' and she'd get him something to eat soon enough. This was another of so many things that the boy did not understand. He pouted, turned, and left to find something that may distract him.

Mom looked a little sad.

The boy wandered around the empty house with the locked windows and doors and the dreary corridors. There was no power, so he couldn't watch TV or play video games. He was tired of his action figures and board games. A sudden whiff caught his attention, though.

He stoped and veered back towards the shut basement door, a place where he did not dare venture, for the basement was sure to hold monsters or at least rats. But there was a weird smell coming out of there today. It was the most interesting thing to happen in months since the Flash, so he pushed the door once, twice, and the wollen wood yielded with a slow creak.

The stench was overwhelming inside; the boy covered his nose and reconsidered, but decided he wanted to get to the bottom of this, slowly descending the concrete steps, holly sounds marking them.

He heard sounds down there, like some shuffling, something muffled. It was too dark. Fear gripped his heart, but by now he was transfixed. He grasped the wall for the light switch, then suddenly remembered there was no electricity.

Fortunately, in this time he had been taught to use candles and lighters effectively. He found such instruments resting upon a nearby table and lit the candle, casting a small aura of light around him. He gazed at the table; it was covered in shears and blades.

Turning towards the sound of the noise, he was suddenly taken aback and froze in place. It was Granny, leaning against the back wall. She was naked. Where her legs used to be, only cauterized stumps remained. She gazed at him so sweetly, but he was barely registering the situation; it was too much for him.

She smiled in resignation.

"Run. You're next."

The Mirror

I was sitting in the upstairs office of the museum with a cup of coffee when it happened. It had been a long day and I'd set the work experience kid the seemingly unfuck-up-able task of dusting the exhibits - after repeating my warning, of course, that some of them must not be touched or opened. A terrified scream, quickly strangled by a building-shaking thump and an awful rending sound, brought me rushing downstairs.

The mirror room - I knew it. In there hung an ancient mirror, about a foot around, made of polished obsidian. Behind the glass walls of its display case, it was harmless, although people amusingly reported seeing the face of an evil hag in it on occasion. Looking at it unprotected was madness, though - certainly for those without knowledge of the old ways.

I arrived in the mirror room and a horrible smell hung in the air. On the floor lay half a body - the lower half, still in the clothes I recognized from earlier. The skin had been stretched purple and torn away and the organs inside that hadn't been torn free leaked their contents onto the floor. The legs were at the bottom of a maroon spray that started below the wooden case of the mirror, and the hipbone lay almost against the wall.

The case was broken, the wooden sides pushed outwards. Clumps of hair, matted with skin and blood, stuck to the frame of the mirror. Concentrating now, I stepped in front of the black disc, my sandals carefully placed on either side of the bile-sprayed limbs and pool of blood on the floor. Looking into the dark reflection of the room, I saw my double once more. In her hand was a pale arm that led down to a broken form and a trail of darkness. Sure enough, when she lifted the half-corpse into the air, I recognized the shattered and stretched face.

Dargaea's Nectar

If you ever find Dargaea's Nectar, you'll probably be one of the ones who have been looking for it all their lives, and thus won't need any instructions on what to do with it.

Just the same, it's pretty simple (at least to start with).Make sure your affairs are in order, in case you have a bad reaction, and then...? Bottoms up!

The coming months are the least pleasant part. You'll find yourself unable to keep food down long before you're far enough along to stop needing it. It's the same with sleep. The color of your blood will be off and your veins will consequently stand out more. Expect a few in-grown body parts; it'll be little things, like fingers and ears and teeth, pressing up against the skin. Make sure you're caught up on your booster shots because youre never going in for a check-up again...or wearing anything more revealing than a trench coat in public, most likely.

Eventually, a little cut on your belly will start 'unhealing,' becoming a puss-filled wound in a few days. Over the coming week, three things will emerge from this:

The first object resembles a greasy black beechnut with maybe a tooth or two growing from it. When you're dead, someone will eventually find it and use it to make a new batch of Dargaea's Nectar. Hide it well to make things fun for future generations.

The second object basically looks like a softball-sized cluster of veins, many of them broken and leaking black stuff, and all wrapped around something. It'll squirm and you'll notice the twisted little skinless fetus in the middle. It will only survive for about twenty seconds. Burn the remains.

The third object will--

...well, let's just call it 'object 3.' It's easier that way.

You can plant it anywhere you want. I advise some place where you don't mind spending all your time and no one else would go. Your backyard or under your cellar works if you don't have any roommates; just as long as there's fertile soil. Dig at least five feet down. It won't want to be buried, but just keep piling dirt onto it. If you can still hear it when you're finished, you didn't go deep enough.

Its veins (or roots, I guess) will eventually spread in all directions about a foot-and-a-half for every year of your life. Grass and weeds will grow stiff and body, black and oily, or take on the color and texture of a spider bite or rice paper. Wood will be infected, too; you'll hear the arteries in your walls pulsing on quiet nights. The ground will rot with dead insect and animal life. Don't mow your lawn; it bleeds like hell.

This is your sanctuary.

No matter what threats or injuries beset you outside, here you will be safe and healthy...or, what appses for 'healthy' for you now. If you really hate someone, bring them here. Trick them into coming. They'll get infected one way or another - a lungful of spore, a thornprick, a bit of residue on their hand... They will vomit blood that has tiny centipedes in it. They'll shit out their own spinal fluids. Their eyes will milk over and hatch; little spines and brambles will grow from the sockets. They'll survive for months or years and doctors will be baffled. It will be fucking great.

That's just for starters. You'll learn more as you go. Much more. But if I told you everything now, you might not do it.

Whatever you do, just guard the third object with your life, with your very soul. If you think you're in danger of losing it, dig it up, kill it with a silver needle; let someone else make a new one someday. You'll feel as if you've pierced your own heart, but it's better than letting it fall into the wrong hands.

Because you're a Holder now.

And you'd better not let them come together.

Very Eccentric Nightmare

Just last night/this morning, I had the most odd dream I can ever recall having - and I've had some doozies. I'm going to do my best to describe what I can remember in as much detail as I can. I would almost liken this dream to a video game in the survival horror like the old Resident Evils, or Silent hill.

The dream started with me looking through the eyes of someone else. This man was not me, but it was almost as if I was inhabiting this individual's body and looking through his own eyes. There was a woman nearby that looked similar to my girlfriend, except older and it was not her. I do not recall her name, if it was even mentioned. She was a short redhead. There was another man also nearby; He was middle aged and had slicked back brown hair. I do not recall his name, either. I do remember him addressing the man in which I was seeing through as "Phil"(My name is not Phil).

Apparently something bad was happening, but I can't remember any speech from this portion of the dream. I remember the other man telling Phil that they needed something, but I can't remember what it was. So, Phil (hereby referred to as myself) went off down an old dirt path. It was dusk and the area was very isolated in the county. Eventually, I came upon a small market and went inside. It looked like any old country store aside from the blood and dead bodies. A shaken man behind the counter told me to just take what he needed. I cannot remember what it was that was grabbed, but it was small and wrapped in a plastic bag.

When I went back outside, a rusty blue truck slid to a stop nearby. The man from earlier was driving it and the woman was with him. He reached over and opened her door for her, then knocked her out into the dirt. He then stepped out, holding a gun, and cocked it. The gun was very odd looking; it resembled a Famas, but had polished wood features not usually found on a rifle of that sort.

I can't remember exactly how, but I was on the ground, looking at the woman. It became obvious that this female was Phil's significant other of some sort. The man walked over with the rifle and asked me something. I cannot recall what exactly was said, but it had something to do with me dying, and everyone except for the girl dying with him or the girl dying and everyone else being temporarily spared. I don't understand that at all. Anyway, the woman gave me a nod, and after I answered, she was shot once in the head with the rifle and I was kicked in the head and knocked unconscious.

When I finally awoke, it was dusk again, apparently the next day. I began traveling down another dirt path and eventually came upon a field of goats. There was a tin barrel in the corner of the pasture with something in it. I decided to check it out. I found the woman from before in it, decaying far faster than a normal body would. It had only been a day, but it looked as if it had been a week.

Continuing on my way, I eventually found a school building and there was screaming inside. For whatever reason, I went inside. Again, there were dead bodies and blood everywhere. Children ran around screaming, strange shadow-like being with scythes for hands dismembering them. It was very gruesome and difficult to describe. For some reason, I just stood there as all of this went on. Eventually, things quieted and I decided to explore this facility.

As I passed the girl's bathroom I heard crying coming from inside and cautiously went in. I'm surprised I didn't awake at this moment feeling sick. Though not as bloody as the main halls, this room was also bloody and a little girl was huddled in the corner, having vomited on and around the toilet. It was very realistic looking and hard to bear. The little girl addressed me, "Phil! You found me!". I never found out who this child was. She was never seen again, and I just sort of left the school. The whole event seemed very unnecessary.

As I continued on my way, things shifted to a different perspective. I was now looking at two individuals from a 3rd person view. One was the man from before, except he had glowing, black wings that seemed to be made of shadow, or some type of aura. He was discussing something with an older gentleman who looked like a scientist of sorts.

Again, I can't remember much of what was said (I can't remember anything about the detail of the room, either), but I do remember the winged one saying "Is that all you care about?!" in an angered voice. Eventually, a white glowing aura made a circle on an area of the floor and the scientist instructed the wigned man to step into it. The man obeyed as if he were a puppet. When he stepped inside, there was a blinding light and screaming. When vision returned, the man had been transformed. He was now three times the size of a normal man and dressed in all black, including a sort or armored helmet than seemed to have a crows beak or sorts. This enigmatic creature had a mournful bellow and crushed the scientist into bits, literally.

After that, I was back looking through Phil's eyes. I had come upon a quaint country property. Oddly, it was my real life great grandmother's home.

I'm going to try to describe the layout of my great grandmother's home for you to more clearly understand what's to come. When you first enter the back door, you are in a sort of porch/foyer. Though another door, you are inside the kitchen. In a corner of the kitchen, there are two doors. One leads to a hallway, the other to the living room. The living room has another door leading to a bedroom, which has another door leading into the hallway you can enter from the kitchen, forming a loop. In the hallway there is a door midway down that leads to a storage room, and at the end there is another bedroom and a bathroom. There is also a set of stairs. Upstairs, there is one large story area and one bedroom.

I stepped inside the house. There was no blood, gore, or bodies, but apparently no one was home. I went though the kitchen and into the hallway. Just as I neared the middle door, that dreadful creature burst from the door with that same mournful bellow. He was so big, he had to crawl on his knees in order to fit in the house, which made him kind of slow.

I turned around and ran into the kitchen, and then into the living room. I went around the loop and up the stairs, but the creature sluggishly continued on the route I had taken. Upstairs, I entered the bedroom and apparently pulled out chains and locks from nowhere and heavily secured the door. I felt safe here. It was peaceful. For whatever reason, I found three rocks on the nightstand and looked at the window. I had a plan! Break the window, and escape to the roof. I threw one rock, and then another. They did nothing but crack and mar the window. The third broke through, but only a small hole. It would appear I was trapped.

Frustrated, I paced around the bedroom. When I neared the door, the dreadful, mourning call was heard again and the door shook violently as this creature apparently rammed it. I leaned against the door as the creature rammed it again. The door loosened a little and I fell backwards and apparently, so did the monster on the other side. Little red numbers appeared and could be seen through the door as if around the monster, almost as if they were characters in some game and had taken damage. I felt very fatigued as I struggled to stand. Once on my feet, the monster broke the door in with another one of these dreadful cries, and ripped my right arm off. I was again seeing from a 3rd person perspective as Phil fell dead and his body was thrown out of the window. With another bellow, I awoke. I felt depressed all morning until about 11:30 a.m.

Also, the entire dream was accompanied at various arts by piano music. All of it was very saddening, maybe even frightening, and most songs were dirges that I've heard before. When nothing in particular was going on, however, there was this very haunting melody that I cannot remember ever hearing anywhere before and though I can play it back even now in my mind, I cannot describe it. It is a very unnerving tune.

(This story is credited to a person called SuperGamecube64.)


As I walked nervously to the stairs, my sleeve brushed along the rusted bars of her cage and to my absolute horror, she awoke.

A frail voice resonated from the stagnant corner - that ancient, fetid prison that had laid untouched for over a decade and kept us safe from the inumaginable hate within.

As her words began to form, interjected by that awful wheezing, a cold sweat crept through my body. I should  not have come through here. I should have stayed upstairs.

"Daddy, please! Let me out...just for a minute," her voice was almost human.

Choking back the tears, I resolved to ignore her; this was night my daughter. "Don't turn on the lights," I told myself, and walked away.

As the voice got louder, the cage began to rattle, banging and scraping, deepening that familiar indent in the wall. "How could you do this, Papa?"

She had never called me "Papa" when she was alive. I lit a cigarette with trembling hands and made my way up the steps.

Turning the basement door handle, I paused for a moment as the room fell silent and then heard something I'd never heard before.....

...the sound of the cage opening.

Just Rats

I want to tell you a story.

It's the story of a man.

You see, my great grandma was a real nice old lady; she had a nice little old lady house. We used to go there a lot before she passed away several years ago and my grandparents tore it down to build a new house for themselves on top.

One thing I distinctly remember was her attic - boy was it fucking scary.

It was dark - only one light bulb would work - and you had to be real careful because there was a lot of exposed insulation so if you stepped off the boards to get around you'd probably fall straight through the ceiling into the room below.

But it wasn't so much the atmosphere of the attic - the fact that it was dark, dusty, and smelled a little weird.

It was the story my uncle and my dad used to tell me about the attic.

a very long time ago, when my grandpa was just a little boy, they moved into this house. It was nice: two betrooms, a nice bathroom, dining room, and kitchen. My great grandparents made a very decent living; my great grandfather owned a very successful body shop and my great grandmother sold Avon. One day, my grandpa was playing in the living room when there was a knock at the door. He answered and there stood a man. He was wearing a nice suit and holding a nice hat against his chest with a polite smile on his face.

"Hello there, Junior!" He said. "Is your father home?"

My great grandfather approached the door, suspicious.

"If you're selling anything, I'm not interested. Thanks," He said, before trying to close the door. But no, this stranger interrupted with a start.

"No, no sir, I'm no salesman. I'd just like to talk if you wouldn't mind."

"About what?" My great grandfather asked.

"I was wondering if I could take a look in your attic. You see, I used to live here and would really bring back some memories." The man was nervous, but my great grandfather wasn't about to fall for any con man!

"Sorry, sir. My wife's about to finish dinner. Not interested."

So he shut the door and ushered my young grandfather away.

A day passed and it was another hot summer day. My great grandmother was fixing my grandpa lunch when she heard a knock.

"Wallace, could you get the door?" She called to great grandpa, who sighed and obeyed his wife.

It was the man again.

"Now see here, mister. I already told you. I don't want some stranger in my house. You leave me and my family alone before you upset my son and wife. And if you upset them I think there's going to be some trouble!"

"Please, sir!" The man pleaded, wringing his hands. "It'll only take a moment. I absolutely must get up there if even for ten minutes!"

This time, my grandfather didn't give him the liberty of  goodbye, only a slammed door.

A few days past, peaceful playing, working, the life of your average Canadiang upper-middle class family took place as usual.

My great grandfather, great grandmother, and grandfather sat eating dinner one evening. I like to imagine they were having my grandma grandma's (this is what I called her) roasted chicken and potatoes - so delicious. But I digress. Again, a knock at the door; it sounded important.

"I swear, if it's that son of a bitch asking to get in our attic again I'll be tuning his clock but good!" My great grandpa muttered, getting up.

"Wallace, please, nothing in front of little Jim!" My great grandmother cried.

I twas the man, again. He was not, however, alone. He was with another man who looked similar.

"Now, sir, before you chase us away, please understand we're brothers and we absolutely must speak with you!"

He said before my great grandfather could curse him out up and down.

"Well, spit it out then, man. Now you've gone and interrupted my supper after a long day's work and this had better be good!" My great grandfather threatened.

"Tell me, sir, have you ever heard strange noises in your house? Scratching, shuffling, maybe even light moaning from your attic?" the new man asked calmly.

My great grandfather turned stone cold. His son, my grandpa, had often whined of scratching and other sounds, to which both his parents attributed to maybe mice.

"Maybe we have, maybe we haven't. Why do you ask?" He answered coolly, crossing his arms.

The men at the door exchanged worried glances.

"If only you'd let us come up to your attic. You could come up if you like, but it would be better if you told your son to go to his room, your wife to the kitchen, and us men to go upstairs."

So my great grandfather told my grandpa to go play, asked his wife to clear the table, and led the men up into the dank attic. They used it for only storage; there were no real reasons to come up here, ever.

The two men looked around and knocked on the wood of the walls in the attic in various different spots.

Knock knock.


Knock knock.


Knock knock.

Not hollow.

My great grandfather froze as they nodded at one another before turning to my great grandfather.

"Now, sir, please believe us when we say we'll pay for any damages that need to be fixed, and that what we're about to do may be very shocking, maybe even frightening to you, so you may very well not want to see what's about to happen."

My great grandfather pondered right then and there about turning his heel and waiting downstairs, but no, he had to be the man and stay for his family's sake.

"Go ahead then, what's in there?" He asked.

He wished he hadn't.

The two men pulled at the boards, peeling away the old wood fairly easily. My great grandfather felt vicious bile build in his stomach and throat.

The smell. Oh god, the smell.

His body was frail and gnarled, his skin was a ghostly white, and his bared teeth were yellow as freshly boiled sweet corn. His eyes were open, glazed over and staring. The pupils were milky; he was blind. The whites were barely that; instead they were bloodshot to a point that was almost unbelievable. His fingernails resembled long, brown talons.

Horror filled my great grandfather as the two men bowed their heads.

"It's him," Said one. The other only sighed and covered his nose with his sleeve.

This thing, this remnant of a once living man was dead, but freshly. That was when my great grandfather had reached his boiling point.

"Now you had both better explain to me right now just what in God's name is going on here! Is this some sort of sick joke?" I ought to blow the brains out of both of you where you stand!" He bellowed.

"Sam, go get the blankets from the car. I'll explain." One man said as 'Sam' nodded and left.

"Sir, please understand, we'r eno monsters. You see, this is our brother." He began fretfully, looking at the mangled creature in the wall.

"YOUR BROTHER?! You sick sons of bitches locked up your own brother in the wall?" My great grandfather cried out, placing a hand on his queasy stomach.

"Never, sir, never," Said the man. "My father just passed. We never even knew this poor boy existed our whole entire lives, my other brother and I. Now it would seem our 'brother' here was born with some sort of mental retardation, something that my mother and father could handle as parents, so they chose to do the unthinkable rather than face the public with their shame!" He explained, motioning for the shell of a man (mind you, this story takes place in a time when something like a mental defect was seen as a terribly embarrassing thing).

My great grandfather held his head; he looked at the dead man, then back to the strnger.

"Get this...this...thing out of my house, send someone over to patch up your mess and then never, EVER come near my family again. You hear me?" He ordered.

"You can rely on that, sir. We had not wanted to bother you in the first place, but we couldn't sleep at night knowing some poor family was stuck with him living up in your walls, you see. He probably was sucking the moisture from the ceiling and eatin' bugs and mold, I would think. It's amazing he could have survived!"

My great grandfather solemnly said nothing. He only watched as Sam returned and the two men bundled their strange, demented, and dead brother, leaving with a courteous thank you followed by a repairman and a generous fruit basket a day later.

When my great grandmother asked what had happened, my great grandfather couldn't bear telling her.

"Rats," He said.

"Just rats."


He had always been different.

But not necessarily CRAZY different. He was always humiliated by his fellows for his love of the paranormal and for his vast knowledge on the subject.

But  no more.

One day, years ago, he followed them home after school. Every one of them.

Jordan had laughed at his eccentric attire. He shot Jordan in the head. Sarah had laughed when he asked her to prom. He strangled her with a necktie. Aaron had made fun of his face accent. He killed him with a crowbar.

And the rest, the rest who just ridiculed him every day, for his love of information, for his intellectual mind, well, he left them a little present of C4 under every one of their cars. every last goddam one of them.

He didn't go home that night. He moved, out of the country and across the world. And he spent his nights among people who understood him, on the internet, broadening his vast collection of paranormal information.

He chose to adopt an identity for himself, that night, so that everyone would know him, and he would  no longer be ridiculed, but loved, famous, adored.

But, what persona to adopt? What name to go by, on the Paranormal boards online?

Well, he had always wanted to be a doctor.

Don't Look Back at Him

You know that first day of school? That day you feared, the day you held your mother's hand in a tight grip, afraid to let her go?

What if that happened every single day?

Apparently, that's what happened to my friend, Jonathan, a few years ago. We were still in high school (freshmen) and lived your everyday life. One day, though, Jonathan got sick. He ws away from school for about a week and I didn't hear a single word from him (which is kind of weird - we were and still are best friends). I didn't really have the time to focus on the fact that he had gone AWOL because we had tons of homework to do.

After that week had passed, I met Jonathan again - he was as healthy as ever, although a bit pale. When I asked him if he felt alright, he almost jumped and asked me,

"Do you know me?"

"Yeah, J, we've known each other for a lifetime, douche," I jokingly replied.

"So it's all over?" He asked. I saw tears in his eyes. He hugged me and ran out of the classroom. I was confused by his actions and went to his house after school. His mother let me in. Jonathan was in the living room, apparently having a chat with his father. Jonathan seemed cheerful and greeted me with a hug (which was very weird - he's never been the huggy person). After having a cheerful chat for about ten minutes, he suddenly went quiet. He stared out through the window at times and didn't really respond to all my questions. He asked me to follow him to his room and he seemed really anxious about it, so I followed.

He closed the door and asked me to sit on his bed. He pulled out the chair in which he usually sat in front of his computer and, facing me, sat down and stared at me.

"Errr," I said, trying to think of what to say, "Are you alright, man?"

"Yes, I mean, I don't know," He answered and seemed as though he was waiting for something.

We sat there, quiet, for a while. I didn't really want to disturb him. I was almost close to opening my mouth again when I suddenly noticed how quiet everything had become. It wasn't only that I couldn't hear the cars or the wind. I couldn't hear my own breathing.

"Yes, yes, I know," I heard Jonathan say, which was fucking weird. That was the only thing I could hear. Imagine only being able to hear a voice and nothing else.

"What the fuck is this?" I asked. I could hear myself speak, but still couldn't hear my breathing.

"It's happening again. Fuck. It's happening again. No one remembered me," He said in the creepiest fucking voice I ever heard.

"Fuck it, I'm out of here," I said. As I was about to leave, Jonathan said his last words to me,

"Don't look back at him."

I shook my head and left the place as quickly as I could. I thought that Jonathan wasn't feeling well and what had just happened was just some weird mindfuck.

He never came back to school. He never came to visit me. His parents just couldn't find him; it was as if though he had disappeared into thin air. His parents gave up the search after about a year or two. A funeral was held in his name, but there wasn't a body. What was weird, though, was the fact that no one ever sat in his spot at school - not even the new kids. It was as though his chair remained sacred. It was though it was already occupied.

The creepiest thing of all is the fact that I think I see him at times, but it must be my mind playing tricks; it's almost as if he's walking around without a care in the world. The very next moment I realize I must've tricked myself. Right?

Recently, though, I have become more paranoid. It is as if I'm being watched. Could it be that I trick myself into seeing Jonathan and that's making me paranoid? Or is it the fact that his last words still cling to my memory? I saw a man watch me as I walked by the supermarket one day - after meeting his gaze, I have been feeling as if I was being watched every second.

So, I'm just telling you to watch your back - don't meet his gaze. I'm pretty fucking terrified right now. The worst thing, though, is that I can't hear a thing. I can't hear a thing except my own voice. And why the fuck is my mother pretending that she doesn't know who I am?

Gloom House

Think back, and see if this image matches up with any of your memories: a big, old fashioned living room, lots of antique chairs, candle holders, expensive china, things like that. The objects in the room have a bluish tint, and there’s a big staircase across from the door. There are large windows, but the blinds are closed. The only light source is a faint amount of daylight shining through the curtains, but it’s a grey, rainy day. Does that seem familiar? If not, you’re one of the lucky ones.

For those of you who do share that memory with me, you may not remember exactly where that house is from. That’s because it’s a dream, a shared dream many people have had. How many? There’s no way to say for sure, but of the people I’ve asked, about 75% had some memories of the house. For most, that was all it was, a faint memory, usually with negative connotations for no remembered reason. The truly unlucky ones, however, can remember more about the house.

A typical dream about the house will begin with you alone in the room I described. There will be no other people in it, and the only sound will be the tapping noise of raindrops falling outside. Your vision will start to get blurry, going in and out of focus as everything seems to move very slightly. A music box will start playing; the sound will be coming from every direction. You’ll hear the sound of footsteps from the above floor, it will get louder and louder. Just as you make out the faint silhouette of a person at the top of the staircase, you will most likely wake up. You’ll be nervous and depressed for a few days, but after that the dream will became a faint memory.

If the dream continues, the figure at the top of the stairs will start walking down them, while the music box grows louder. With each step the figure takes, a body hanging from a noose will appear, seemingly dropping from the ceiling. When the figure reaches the floor you’re on, you’ll barely be able to see any parts of the room due to the hanging bodies. The person coming down the stairs will be covered in shadow, you won’t be able to make out any details about them beyond a humanoid shape. They will offer you a rope, and in your own voice ask “Do you wish to join them?” I’m guessing that saying yes will result in you immediately dying, not a single person I’ve talked to said yes. If you say no, the figure will disappear, and a table holding the music box you’ve been hearing will rise from the floor. The music box will open, and lyrics will be added to the music, in an enchanting female voice.

“Seven is good, two is bad, nine is evil.”

This will be repeated over and over, and three cards will fly out of the box, number two, seven, and nine. If you pick seven, the dream will end, and you will feel normal when you wake up. If you pick two, you will wake and every second of your life will be filled with crushing depression, most people who pick two will kill themselves within a day. If you pick nine, a list of previous people who picked nine will appear on the table, along with the year it happened. Most of the years correspond with historical disasters, such as the black plague, the great depression, and Hitler’s rise to power. I’m not sure what the effects of the most recent choice will be, but I did, after all, only make it a few days ago.

(This story is credited to a person called KI Simpson.)

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Grape Jelly

"What the hell, you stupid fucks? Stop camping or I'll shove a scalding iron rod up your urethra!" I grabbed another handful of pizza rolls off my plate and tried to swallow them all at once. I gagged a little and some fell onto my shirt, but I could manage. I was particularly furious, having been spawn-killed in Call of Duty for the past fourty-five minues. I couldn't just leave - oh, no - leaving meant that those insipid cum guzzlers won.

I blurted some more profanity into my microphone and dabbed my forehead with a towel. Having wiped the pizza grease from my hand onto my Pokemon bed sheets, I nonchalantly reached into my boxer shorts and scratched my testicles. After a couple of minutes, I pulled my hand back out and slowly raised it up to my nose. I took a deep whiff and instantly realized something was wrong.

It smelled like spaghetti. What the hell? When was the last time I even had spaghetti? A chill ran down my spine. Thoughts ran through my head regarding diseases that caused your scrotum to smell like Italian food; I convinced myself I was being ridiculous and focused on my important game session.

Early the next morning, I was eating some Cap'n Crunch in my dining room downstairs. A few dishes from God knows when still lay on the table; they couldn't hold a candle to the shitstorm in the kitchen. I shifted a little and felt my chair squeak under me.

"Oh, Cap'n," I said while fluttering my eyes. "You'd never leave me, would you?" I stood up in order to reach the box to pour some more when my hand accidentally flipped over the bowl. The remaining milk splashed all over my legs.

"Fucking NIGGERS!" I balled my hands into chubby fists and punched Cap'n right in his smug little mouth. The box fell over and cereal spilled out onto the table like an eviscerated monkey's dinner. I calmed myself, pinching the bridge of my nose and sighing. I'd need some paper towels. I headed into the kitchen and sidestepped around some of the garbage bags. I reached the counter with little time to spare and grabbed the whole roll just to be safe.

After cleaning up my mess, I went into my room, took off my boxer shorts, and thre wthem into my hamper. I grabbed some underwear out of my drawer, but before I had the chance to put them on, I remembered my experience from last evening. I stared down at my crotch in silence for a couple of minutes before mustering up the courage to grab my balls. I handled them around a bit before disengaging and bringing my hand up to my face. I gasped and staggered backwards, falling onto my bed and probably splitting a crack in the frame.

There was no doubt about it. Salt and vinegar chips. I fucking despise salt and vinegar chips. I was at a loss for words. Suddenly, I didn't feel safe in my own apartment. The rest of the day I pretty much sat around in a trance, trying to comprehend the implications of this phenomenon and drolling a little. Night came soon enough, giving me a chance to rest my mind. I fell asleep quickly.

My eyes opened drowsily as I woke up. I had kicked my covers to the side while I was asleep. My alarm clock read 2:17 AM. Ugh, whatever. I propped myself up to grab my covers and screamed. At the edge of my bed sat the most putrid, disgusting creature I had ever seen (no, I was NOT looking in a mirror). Its beady eyes were sunken into its contorted mockery of a face, with patches of hair dotting its scalp. Mottled grey flesh was peeling all over its body, and in some places there were clusters of tumors with puss leaking out. But the worst thing was its mouth. Oh, God, its mouth. It had no lips, and its long, yellow, gnarled teeth jutted out at an unnatural angle, with enough space in-between for its barbed tongue to hang out.

I wanted to puke, or scream, or something, but I was in shock. I began to move my legs when I realized that something was wrong with my crotch. I didn't dare look down to find out what it was. It was then that I noticed the...thing was holding something. A fucking knife. Wait, no... Now that my eyes were adjusting to the dimness, I could see the shape was wrong. What was that...a goddamn butter knife?

The monster raised its other hand slowly, revealing a small jar rested on its palm. It made what I assumed was a smile before slowly gurgling out the words,


I screamed until I passed out.