Creepy + Pasta

The Shady Grove

2012-02-17T00:24:00.003-06:00

On the outskirts of a town called Pottsboro, there is a place called the Shady Grove. The only people that remember anything notable about it are all in their 70s or 80s and almost all of them refuse to speak of it.

There are a few, however, that will break their vow of silence and tell of the horrendous events that happened there. They spoke to me bout how they had seen what hell truly looked like and how soon they would pay for what they've done.

During the 1960s, a cult had formed in the town. They had taken to sacrificing people to summon their "master," who their leader had claimed would banish the filth from the Earth and begin a time of true peace.

The only catch was that they had to sacrifice only female children, but only if they were deemed impure after a night with the leader. After he had collected about ten little girls, he told them the day of judgment was upon them and to prepare the circle about five miles outside of town.

That night, at 3:00 AM, they began to ritual by covering the girls in the blood of pigs and cutting the children's arms and legs about one to two inches apart from each previous cut.

The next part was the cover their bodies in oil and light it. After this step, their bodies burst into blue flames and from the flame came a woman with eyes as black as coal and skin as white as snow.

The woman walked straight at the leader while saying something in an unintelligible language and he instantly burst into flames. After that, the group I was interviewing told me they all blacked out, only to find themselves in their beds with a ticket in their hands that had the word "HELL" stamped on it.

The group told me that if anyone attempted to enter the circle where the ritual took place, that would wake up instantly, have an intense vision of themselves burning alive, and then pass out and wake up in their beds holding the ticket to HELL.

Super Mario 128

2012-02-17T00:14:00.000-06:00

Mario has been a gaming icon for decades and has been in more games than can be counted. Although no year in recent memory has gone past without some type of Mario game being released, series fans will remember the nearly decade long drought of original Mario platformers.

From 1997-2005, there was only one new Mario platformer released: Super Mario Sunshine. During the second part of this drought (after Sunshine's release), the mysterious Super Mario 128 was the main focus of the fanbase.

No concrete information was given on the game and, eventually, series creator Shigeru Miyamoto claimed it had simply been a series of test concepts that were never intended to be an actual game.

The mystery faded from memory as the Mario drought finally ended and most people forgot about the game that had once been the center of every Mario fan's imagination.

The Mario drought corresponded with a bad era for Nintendo in terms of console sales. The Nintendo 64 and GameCube did not have the financial success of the earlier Nintendo Entertainment System and Super Nintendo, or the later Wii.

For a very proud company that relied solely on video games to make money, this was quite upsetting for the higher ranking employees that were attached to the company and felt its success or failure reflected on them personally.

Nintendo started working on a sequel to the 1996 Super Mario 64 shortly after the game was released, but during the late 90s it became clear that Nintendo was not winning the console war. The Super Mario 64 sequel was restarted from scratch, since the company believed that it was not a substantial enough improvement over the original to turn the tides of the market battle.

Seeing the generally more realistic and violent games on Sony's Playstation, the market leader, Nintendo considered making a Mario that was closer in tone to what the public seemed to want. There was quite a bit of internal ocnflict over how far to go with this new direction and the new mario was clearly not going to be ready until Nintendo's next console, the GameCube.

The only hint of this that was released to the public was a comment by Miyamoto that he thought Mario and Luigi should act "more like grown ups" in their games for the (then soon to be released) GameCube.

The new Mario project was ultimately split into two games: Luigi's Mansion, which reflected the darker tone that many felt the series should turn to (although it was still toned down quite a bit compared to what some Nintendo executives and developers wanted), and Super Mario Sunshine, which went in the completely opposite direction.

Both were released within a year of the GameCube and Nintendo felt confident that their new system and Mario games would return them to their former glory as market leader.

As those familiar with gaming history know, they didn't. The GameCube did even worse in market share than the Ninendo 64 and the mass market's taste shifted even more toward violent, realistic games.

During this period, the somber mood at Nintendo intensified and the darker Mario project was revived, this time code named "Super Mario 128." It isn't clear exactly what happened at Nintendo during this period. As we know, nothing called Super Mario 128 was ever released or publically shown.

The source that revealed the internal strife at Nintendo during the later N64 era refused to discuss what was happening during the time of the GameCube's failure, but released a prototype of Super Mario 128 online that can be played on the Wii homebrew channel.

The following is a recollection of my time playing it.

The game was clearly an early beta; the title screen was nothing but white text saying "Super Mario 128" against a black background. There was no options menu or save file selection, either. After the title screen, the game started. Bowser's laugh from Super Mario 64 looped in the background while a plain text box displayed this dialogue:

Mario,
I have taken Princess Peach and she will not live to see the sun rise tomorrow unless you take her place. You know what to do and where to go. Do not try to stop me unless you want to hasten her death.

The game certainly was going for a darker tone. After I made the text box go away, I was thrust right into gameplay. The first thing I noticed was Mario's character model. His body was as detailed as in Super Mario Galaxy (although a little more realistically proportioned), but his head was taken from his SM64 character model. Obviously his design wasn't finished yet.

The setting was a sky level. There were some simple platforms floating in the air. The rest of the area was just blue sky with several clouds scrolling in the background. The clouds seemed more realistic than the usual cartoony puffs in Mario games. They were quite graphically impressive.

There was no music or full voice samples from Mario, but there were sound effect/grunts when he jumped. The jumping was more subdued than in other Mario games. Mario didn't jump as high as he usually did and had little control over his movement in the air. The different types of jumps in every 3D Mario weren't present.

I played through the level. There was nothing especially notable about the gameplay - enemies didn't seem to have been added yet. I just jumped from platform to platform and it wasn't very challenging.

As I went through the level, I noticed the graphics gradually changing. The sky became more and more cloudy until it was entirely composed of clouds, and the cloud background gradually turned to a dark gray.

After this, it started to rain. I reached a small platform with a Toad on it. It looked like the Super Mario Galaxy model. When I landed on his platform, dialogue appeared.

We don't want you any more, Mario. You don't belong here. Just give Bowser what he wants. Die.

After the text box went away, I no longer had control of Mario. Mario just stood there for a while, then turned around and walked off the platform. His body seemed to go limp as he fell.

Eventually, it was revealed that there was a realistic, modern city under the sky. The buildings looked neglected, but there were people on the street.

Mario hit the ground with a realistic-sounding thud, but he didn't explode or show any visible wounds. He just lay there. The people in the city just kept walking by, ignoring Mario, although I thought I saw a few glance at him with cold, somewhat angry expressions.

This went on for a few minutes and eventually, people stopped appearing. Mario got up - I was back in control - but he couldn't jump at all and had a reduced walking speed.

The large buildings of the city didn't appear to be interactive, so I just kept walking down the street for a while. Eventually, I found a small house that seemed out of place among the larger buildings.

When I approached the door, Mario opened it. The screen went white and some black text appeared.

House of Torn Memories

This seemed to be the level title. When I pressed a button, the screen faded back to Mario. He was inside the house from before. Everything seemed bigger than it should. It wasn't gigantic, but scaled as if Mario was a very small child.

The house was filled with normal object covered in dust and signs of neglect. There were no people on the ground floor, just things like broken lamps and rotting food. I found a door that opened to a set of stairs going down, leading to a basement.

In the basement, I found a dilapidated couch and a broken TV. However, what really caught my attention was what was on the couch: two skeletons that appeared to be children, judging by their size. Due to the scale of the house, they were still larger than Mario.

I was starting to get really disturbed by now. How had a Mario game containing this been programmed to this extent?

I went up to the skeletons and tried pressing buttons to interact with them or the TV, but nothing seemed to happen. I was about to turn around and look elsewhere when i was nearly scared to death by a deafeningly loud crash coming from the game.

What appeared to be Bowser seemed to have broken through the floor from below and landed in front of Mario. I say "appeared to be" because this was nothing like the way Bowser is usually rendered.

The reptilian monster in the game had Bowser's basic brownish-yellow and green color pattern, but looked far more threatening than any Bowser model I had seem before.

It was not proportioned like the Bowser I knew. Its arms and legs were far longer in relation to its body and ended in razor-sharp claws. The green shell didn't look like it had spikes glued on; they were more jagged and organic looking with the same dark green color the rest of the shell had.

The face had small but intense pur black eyes and a mouth full of jagged teeth that took up far more of the face than it should have. Mario was cowering in fear from this thing. A dialogue box appeared.

You've kept me waiting long enough, Mario. I will taste flesh soon. Will you finally surrender, or does Peach have to die?

I still didn't have control. Mario just stood there, shivering for several seconds before nodding his head. Bowser impaled Mario with his claws. There was no blood, but it was clear from the animation and sound effects that the sharp digits of Bowser's hands had gone through Mario's body.

In one swift motion, Bowser dragged Mario up to his face and bit his head off. Again, there was no blood or graphic details left behind on Mario's neck - just Mario's character model being destroyed.

The screen faded to black. In white text, another level name appeared.

Mario's Eternal Home

Mario's character model was whole again when the level started. It was the only thing on the screen besides the black background. It was floating, as if in space. I could somewhat control it, but it felt more like I was deciding the general direction in which Mario would tumble than fully controlling him.

As I drifted towards no apparent destination, voices faded in. They were echoing, deep voices telling Mario that he was worthless...that the world no longer had any use for him and everyone would be better off if he was dead.

High pitched crying was layered onto the voices after a bit. It sounded like it was supposed to be Mario's cries. This really disturbed me and I found myself fighting back tears. For reasons I couldn't understand, this was effecting me on an emotional level.

The voices and aimless wandering went on for several minutes until I spotted a light grey speck in the distance. I moved towards it. It took a very long time to reach, and grew closer at a much slower rate than it should have.

When I was close enough to make it out, I saw that it was a tombstone. It was a very plain one with cracks in several places. When I got right next to the tombstone, I could see writing on it.

I turned off the system right after reading it. I'm not going to play the beta or hack or whatever this was again.There was a single word written on the tombstone.

Innocence

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

Normal Porn for Normal People

2012-02-16T04:27:00.001-06:00

Everyone knows that if you surf the web long enough, you'll see some sick shit. This is especially true if you intentionally dwell into the dark underbelly of the Internet. I've seen quite a few things I don't care to admit to, but the one thing I'll always remember is a site called "normalpornfornormalpeople.com."

The first thing about the site was that I didn't find it by actually looking for it. It was emailed to me by someone I didn't know. The email was as follows:

hi there
found this site is very nice thought u might like
normalpornfornormalpeople.com
pass it on for the good of mankind

It was a pretty standard issue chain letter, though the URL and the last remark really piqued my curiosity. I was having a very boring day when I received this, so I made sure my antivirus was working and clicked the link.

It was a very average, generic-looking site. It gave the impression that the creators just BARELY gave a shit about making it look professional. The author seemed to have a very tenuous grasp on English and, on the front page, was a long, boring, and incoherent rant I don't remember or have saved.

The site had a strange tagline. Even today, people still haven't figured out the meaning of it.

Normal Porn for Normal People, a Website Dedicated to the Eradication of Abnormal Sexuality

From the sound of that, I wasn't sure whether I was here to watch porn or if I had stumbled onto some kind of eugenics program. However, I was here now and I was very, very curious to see what "Normal People" get their rocks off to.

So I scrolled down through the rant and...nothing. The page didn't seem to link to anywhere else and I was about to leave when I noticed every word of the rant was its own hyperlink.

I clicked on one of them and was sent to a white page with a very long list of links.

normalpornfornormalpeople.com/ (random letters)

I stopped for a minute and asked myself if I really wanted to waste God knows how much time clicking random links that will likely give me a virus that will rape my computer.

I figured I'd just try it for maybe five minutes, just to see if anything came up. I clicked one of the links and was sent to another page. This page apparently had totally different URLs than the last one.

I was just about to say "fuck this" when I clicked on the third link and a video download came up. It was called "peanut.avi." It was a thirty-minute video of a man, a woman, and a dog in a kitchen.

The woman would make a peanut butter sandwich and the man would set it down for the dog to eat. This was all that happened for thirty minutes. It was obvious that the cameraman had to stop filming and wait until the dog was ready to eat again, and the dog seemed rather sick by the end of the video.

I know what you're thinking. "What the hell does that have to do with porn?" I have no clue. I've seen a little over two dozen videos from this site and the majority had no sexual activity at all.

After watching peanut.avi, I went on a certain image board I frequent to play online show and tell like I always do with weird shit like this. However, someone already made a thread about it - someone who had received the same chain letter I did. The thread got lots of people with nothing better to do than dig through the site, so that's how I saw other videos.

Most of the two dozen videos were very uneventful and consisted of people talking to the cameraman in a room with nothing in it but a desk and a few chairs. I mean literally nothing - no furniture or anything on the walls. The whole room had a very cold, sterile feel to it.

The conversations were just idle banter about previous jobs or embarrassing childhood moments. I kept expecting some kind of discussion about what the people were filming or what the site was about but, of course, nothing came up.

You would never know these videos had anything to do with porn if you saw them out of context. I will say one thing, though: the people who appeared in these videos were quite attractive.

However, the other videos that actually did feature content I suppose could be called "sexual" is where things got weird.

I'll give brief descriptions of the stranger videos. If you're really eaten u with curiosity, you can try to hunt them down on a torrent site.

lickedclean.avi

A ten-minute video filmed by a hidden camera, in which we see a repairman working on a washing machine for the first two minutes. When it's fixed, the repairman talks to the owner briefly and then leaves. The owner checks to make sure the repairman is gone and begins to lick all over the top of the washing machine. This goes on for seven minutes.

jimbo.avi

A five-minute video of an obese mime performing his act. It was actually pretty funny - particularly one part where he pretends to pull up a chair then pretends that it breaks due to his weight. In the last thirty seconds of the video, the camera cuts to static briefly and cuts back to the man sobbing quitely, still wearing the mime outfit and makeup. Some kind of obscure fetish?

dianna.avi

A four-minute video in which the cameraman talks to a woman in a room different than the "interview room." This room looks like one you'd find in a normal person's house. Exactly where they are is never specified, as "Dianna" only talks about her violin playing. She obviously plays her violin, but she keeps getting distracted by something.
I didn't notice this until someone on the image board thread pointed it out, but if you look at the mirror in the background, you can see a fat man in a chicken mask masturbating.

jessica.avi

Another four-minute cameraman video. This time he's outside a house, talking to another young woman. They talk about canoe rides. The camera zoomes out to reveal the city streets behind them occasionally. The strange thing is that no one has been able to identify where this street is. Guesses have ranged everywhere from Europe to Australia to the Phillippines, but there's yet to be a match for the street shown in the video.

tounguetied.avi

A ten-minute video. The fist five minutes consist of an elderly woman making out with a mannequin. The video cuts out like it did in jimbo.avi halfway through and the scene changes to a group of mannequins huddled together ina circle around the camera. The lights have been dimmed and the elderly woman is nowhere to be seen. From this point on, there is no sound.

stumps.avi

A five-minute long video where a manw ith no legs is attempting to break dance on a DDR mat in what looks like the kitchen from peanut.avi, but much dirtier. There's a radio playing music unseen in the background, but it stops at the four-minute mark when the man collapses on the mat in exhaustion.
He breathes heavily and pleads with someone off-screen to let him rest. This off-screen person becomes terrifyingly enraged and yells at him to keep dancing, which he does. You can hear this off-screen person begin to scream as the video ends abruptly.

privacy.avi

The woman from dianna.avi is masturbating on a mattress in the "interview room," while the man from stumps.avi walks around on his hands while wearing some kind of goblin mask. The door in this room was always closed in other videos, but now it's open.
In this video, the only light is in the room and the hallway is dark. Near the end of the video, you can see an animal quickly run through the hallway.

And, finally, the last video we uncovered: useless.avi.

In this eighteen-minute video, a blond woman from one of the previous interview videos is tied down to a mattress in the "interview room." She attempts to scream, but her mouth is taped over. After seven minutes, a man in a black suit and mask opens the door but does not enter.
He holds the door open for the animal that was running in the hall in the previous video. It's revealed to be an adult chimpanzee, its hair shaved and its entire body painted red. It seems to be starved and abused, with several wounds along its shoulders and back.
When the chimp enters the room, the masked man closes the door behind it. The chimpanzee sniffs the air for a moment (it may have been blind) and notices the woman tied to the mattress. It goes into a frenzy and begins to maul her. This assault goes on for a grueling seven minutes until the woman finally dies. The chimp eats flesh from her corpse for four minutes and the video ends.

The thread exploded with activity after this video was uncovered and people discussed it long into the night. When I came back to the image board the next day, I found the thread was deleted. I tried to start another one and the mods banned me. I tried emailing the guy who sent me the chain letter with the site's URL, but after sending five messages I never got a response.

I have tried to discuss this website on various sites and got banned frequently. The site itself was also deleted about three days after useless.avi was uncovered, likely because someone contacted the authorities about it.

The only proof that normalpornfornormalpeople.com ever existed was a few screencaps people took and videos from the site that people saved and uploaded onto torrenting sites. The most popular was useless.avi, which found its way onto a few gore sites.

Wherever you upload them to, all of the videos from normalpornfornormalpeople.com get deleted after a while.

(This story is credited to a person called Cosbydaf on the Bogleech forums.)

Tower of Silence

2012-02-09T23:36:00.000-06:00

January 19, 2003 --
Indian officials ventured into a deep jungle, investigating several missing persons reports from a nearby city. What they found was a "Tower of Silence," or dakhma. Zoroastrians use these sites to dispose of bodies in the open air.

While sites like these are not uncommon in certain parts of india, several peculiarities hint at something more unusual...

None of the bodies depicted in the photograph were identified. Villagers from nearby, though initially surprised at the sheer number of corpses in the dakhma, proved unable to recognize the bodies. The corpses also do not match the descriptions of the missing people.
There were no animals around except for maggots and flies. Zoroastrians rely on birds (i.e. buzzards) to dispose of the bodies, in the belief they are contributing back to the Earth. Officials found the corpses relatively untouched by any sort of animal.
There is no official count of the bodies. In fact, little work was actually accomplished at the site and, perhaps, this is why only one photograph has emerged. Officials avoided the spot - not only because they felt uneasy looking at it, but for the following, as well:
The deep pit in the center of the photograph was filled with several feet of festering blood - far more than the bodies on the outside could ever supply. The stench was so unbearable that many of the officials began to get nauseous when they first approached the dakhma.
The expedition was ended when a villager accidentally kicked a small bone into the pit, penetrating the coagulated surface of the pool. A massive burst of gas from the decomposing blood erupted from the pit, splashing those looking into it, along with the photographer.

Those caught in the explosion were immediately sent to the hospital, where they were quarrantined for possible infection. They became delirious with fever, shouting about "being tainted with the blood of Ahriman" (the personification of evil in Zoroastrianism), despite never having admitted having any familiarity with the religion.

In fact, many of them had no idea what the dakhma was when they had found it. Delirium turned to insanity as many began to attack hospital staff until they were sedated. The fever eventually killed all of them.

When officials returned with HAZMAT gear the following day, the site was empty. All the bodies had been removed and, astonishingly, the pool of blood inthe pit had been drained. All that remained of the incident was this photograph.

The Creature of the Road

2012-01-06T01:00:00.000-06:00

There was once a very small, quiet rural village. It was so small there was only one main road leading out of it, along which visitors often travelled to and from the village. However, there was one important rule the townsfolk held about this road: never go it alone.

This was strictly enforced by the villagers, but one curious young boy from the village decided to break this rule; he set out one day, when no one else was round, to explore the road alone.

As he approached the trail for the first time, he realized there was something very odd about it. Although he knew there were always people coming into town, the road itself looked like it had hardly been used.

Grass and weeds had grown across the whole path, and it was so poorly maintained that they reached all the way up to his waist, making it difficult to walk quickly. However, this did not deter the boy.

Determined to make his trip worthwhile, he pushed on into the overgrowth, looking back over his shoulder occasionally to make sure no one was watching. He moved quickly, hoping to get out of sight by any passers-by.

However, the boy's pace was cut suddenly short by the sound of something moving in the grass next to him. The boy's heart skipped a beat as he stopped in his tracks, looking and listening for the source of the disturbance.

The overgrowth was so thick he couldn't see anything, but he could hear the sound of something crawling in the grass near his feet. He could tell it wasn't very big, but something about it gave him a horrible feeling...the feeling of being hunted.

The boy was overcome by a growing sense of hopelessness as he realized he had travelled too far down the road to make it back before the creature reached him, and the grass made it hard for him to move quickly.

Suddenly, the boy sensed he was being watched. The creature had spotted him. From the corner of his eye he could make out a wide pair of eyes and long, sharp fangs fixated on him. The boy's heart was pounding as he turned to face it.

Suddenly, a hand gripped his arm. The boy jerked and looked, only to see the face of one of the elders of the village. "You fool! Don't you know better than to come here alone?" The man grabbed the boy and ran with him back to the village.

The boy's heart raced as he sensed the creature following him, but it never overtook them. They ran, gasping for breath, until they had escaped back into town.

After they caught their breath, the old man scolded the boy for ignoring the villagers' warnings. When he was done, he looked up and sighed. "I guess you're old enough. You deserve to know."

The man led the boy to his house. It was a very big house and, as they entered, the boy saw massive shelves filled with books about creatures he had only heard of in myths.

Mysterious men in lab coats sat around, studying them. The old man led the boy to a back room. He faced away, saying, "I'm going to tell you the truth about what you saw today..."

All of a sudden, the man turned to the boy, glaring at him, his piercing gaze freezing him in place. "But first, I'm going to ask you one question..."

All That We Have

2011-12-29T02:34:00.000-06:00

"Get well soon," my granddaughter says as she's ushered out of my hospital room by my daughter-in-law.

I won't be getting better soon, but nobody has the heart to tell her. I am dying of brain cancer. I haven't been out of my bed in three months. The doctor won't give me any direct information, but I know what my outlook is if they've placed me in Hospice. That's where you go to die comfortably.

The IV in my arm is running low. A nurse should be here soon to replenish it. It's one of the few things I have left to look forward to. My family barely visits anymore; the hospital is a two-hour drive from home.

I understand though. It's hard to watch your father die slowly of something no one can control. I'm not scared though, I have my next life to look forward to.

The constant beeping of my heart rate monitor is slowly driving me crazy. Sometimes, I wish it would just end already, but I'm not sure if I'm ready to die just yet. I've been in and out of this hospital for a long time now.

Last summer, I broke my hip. I've been confined to a wheelchair ever since. Losing your mobility after having it for almost seventy years is a terrifying thing.

I can hear the Doctor talking outside of my room. Another man down the hall has just died, and his family can't afford to fly him to their hometown for the funeral. They're going to stick his body in a freezer until somebody drives up to collect him. I can't stop myself from thinking about my fate. My family lives far away, will the same thing happen to me?

The Doctor looks in my room as I lay here, pretending to be asleep. Maybe I'll learn something about my condition. He eyes a clipboard before sighing. The usually cheerful nurse has a sad look on her face. I know I'm close to dying. They're keeping something from me. Who do they think they are? I have a right to know about whatever is going on with me!

The reality of my situation hits me like a brick wall for the hundredth time today. Now I'm not sure if I want to know how bad I've got it. I don't know if I could handle knowing that I'll die tomorrow.

How will my family react? The last thing I told my daughter was that I never wanted to see her again. That was twenty years ago. I've regretted that every day since; even more so now that I'm on my death bed.

She can't even be bothered to visit me. At least I know she made it in life. She's a lawyer. The day she got accepted to that Ivy-League school was the proudest day of my life. I never got to see her graduate. After all these years, she still won't answer my calls. I shouldn't have let something so simple as a religious argument get in between us.

My son may not have been as successful, but at least he still goes to God's house on Sundays. I'm proud of him for that. He's a mechanic for a big franchise. It's not much, but it's honest work, and it puts bread on his table.

The nurse enters my room, but she won't look me in the eye. I didn't even get a smile today. Normally she greets me with an exaggerated hello, and a big grin. I miss that. I still thought I'd survive back then. I know better than that now.

She wordlessly changes out the bag that my IV is connected to. Normally she'll tell me a little bit about some sort of change in whatever is going into my wrist, but today she just mumbled something before hurrying out of the room.

I wish I had somebody to talk to. My son insists on keeping me all alone, though. Says it would get annoying having to hear somebody ramble on all day. Right now, I just wish I could hear somebody that talks too much. There isn't any topic that would bother me right now, as long as I get to hear somebody.

The Doctor enters my room shortly after the Nurse left. He's got a phony smile on, but something's different. His practiced expression falters for a moment as he checks out another clipboard at the bottom of my bed. He gives me some lie about 'looking better' before leaving the room.

I wonder how many days I have left? It's a sad thing, when you measure the rest of your life in days. Maybe hours for all I know. I don't even know what day it is anymore. I lost track of that a week ago.

I haven't cared enough to ask, not that I could do so very effectively. I haven't been able to speak very well ever since the cancer spread to its more recent boundaries.

A hiccup in my heart rate brings me to better awareness. It happens every now and then, but its been happening more frequently lately. I'll probably go later today, if not tomorrow.

It's probably for the best. I'm nothing but a burden anymore, ever since my medical bills got more expensive than my social security. I wish I'd gotten better life insurance. I don't think I'd get a very good deal if I tried to get a little coverage today.

I wonder if I've been good enough in life to get to Heaven? I've followed the Good Book all of my life, but I'm still not sure. I guess nobody's sure at this point in their life. Will the Lord be merciful of my sins?

Does the Lord even exist?

No! I can't be doubting him now. Not when I'm so close to meeting him. It's just my nerves. I know I'm going to his kingdom soon, and it's normal to be thinking these thoughts. It's all in my head.

The sun is setting now. I reckon I've got about thirty minutes left before I can't see it anymore. I've gotten used to using the shadows to tell time.

There's a clock in here, but the batteries died a while ago. Nobody thinks it's important enough to change them. Judging by the time it gets dark, I would be able to tell what the actual time is, but I don't know what day it is. It was so close to daylight savings time when I lost track, that I don't know if it's seven o' clock, or five.

I can see a plane landing at the airport nearby. I watch them land and take off all day. It's a busy airport; there's usually a bunch of flights every day. It's not often I can look out the window without seeing a plane.

I've never been in a plane before. I wonder what it's like to be that high above the ground? I get a sinking feeling in my chest when I realize that I'll never know.

The pain is back. It starts with a dull ache in my head, but pretty soon it's going to erupt into a crippling sharp pain that renders me near incapable of coherent thought.

I've never felt this kind of pain all of my life, and that's saying something. I've felt a lot of pain; I used to be a diesel mechanic. Dropping one of the heads of a semi's engine on your foot is painful, but it's nothing compared to this.

The Doctor won't give me any more painkillers than are necessary. He says they should still be working when I cry out in pain, and he tells my family that I'm just being dramatic. I hear screaming all around me all day. I know they're all suffering from the same thing. He won't give them any more of the medication either.

The pain is getting worse. I want to pull my hand up to my head and try to rub my temples, but I can't muster the strength to move. I haven't been able to move my hands more than a couple of inches for a few days now.

In about an hour, the pain will get bad enough for me to start screaming. Then I go through that for another hour before they finally give me another dose. It's all routine for me now.

Only a faint glow is left of the Sun as it lowers itself over the city skyline. If only I could see the treeline at my house one more time. I haven't been to my house in ten years. My wife got that in the divorce.

Ever since then, I've been living in a retirement home. At least when I was there, I had somebody to talk to. Those old people always wanted to play some card game, but they were great company when my family wasn't with me.

I get a terrible feeling in my chest before I cough up a mixture of blood and bile. I'll have to wait until the nurse visits me in a little while before that gets cleaned up. I can't even wipe my face anymore.

Maybe the blood is a sign that I'll die soon. I kind of hope so, as bad as that sounds. I know I shouldn't want to die, but it's hard to maintain the will to live, when there's nothing worth living for.

My heart rate monitor is fluctuating constantly now. Maybe that's a good sign. Or a bad sign. However you want to take it.

I can't help but let out a groan as the pain in my head gets worse. Maybe I can muster up the energy to ask for painkillers when the nurse comes to check on my heart rate. I hope so. The pain comes in waves. It's always there, but every few seconds, it grows in intensity for a short while before subsiding to a dull ache that never leaves my attention.

The Doctor and Nurse rush into my room. Maybe my heart rate is worse than I thought. They're both shouting things at each other. I close my eyes and say a quick prayer, hoping they'll stop; hoping that the pain will end this time.

My vision starts to blur as my brain begins to shut down. It's going to happen today. Probably within the next couple of minutes. I wonder if my granddaughter is home yet? I hope they break it to her gently. I've never been able to tell her how much I love her, but she's the greatest thing to happen to me in these last few years of my life.

I can't hear them yelling anymore; my ears are failing me now. I can see their lips moving, but I can't hear anything except the pain. The Doctor is doing all sorts of different things to me that don't really make sense. I guess they probably would if I had any medical knowledge.

I can feel myself scream, but I can't even hear my own last garbled screeching. My vision has almost completely left me. I can only make out basic shapes now. I know that two more nurses have entered the room. It won't help, though. I'm going to die, and only God can stop it.

The pain vanishes as my vision leaves me. I can't see, I can't hear. I'm finally feeling peaceful.

I wonder what Heaven is like?

I ponder that last thought as I slip from life. A wave of panic floods over me as I see what awaits me.

Nothing.

Nothing awaits me. There is no afterlife.

This short, miserable existence is all that we have.

(This story is credited to a person called Brony-vas-Normandy.)

The Guardian

2011-12-28T19:42:00.000-06:00

Do you know what it's like to see one of your charges murdered? Yes, you can try to imagine, but really, it's not possible.

I know.

I've seen.

I could see the grotesque plans forming in his mind as he assured her that his childish behaviour was now a thing of the past and that he would like to invite her to his house to watch the peculiar picture box humans seem to take so much pleasure in viewing.

I tried desperately to signal his hideous intensions to her, but alas, without success.

I felt each stab of the knife, each puncture the blade made in her skin. I watched her writhe in excruciating agony on the shabby lino floor. I saw the life drain from her features while a fire tore through my body in response. Every one of my appendages seemed to be wrapped in barbed wire.

The teardrops that cascaded down my cheeks burned like acid. I wept not only because of the pain we both felt, but also due to my failure to protect the delicate, fragile young human who'd called on me.

The hatred I felt towards the young male took shape inside me, and it began to transform my physical appearance.

My flowing hair, previously the colour of flame, darkened to a dull ash colour and the strands became lank. My halo was coated in a blood-coloured rust, now more similar to a bloody headband than a golden ring.

A black ink seeped through my dove-like wings, turning them pitch, and suddenly they were riddled with gaping, ragged holes. Nails and teeth elongated and sharpened until they resembled shards of broken glass, able to tear through mortal flesh with ease.

I threw myself at him, relishing the look in his eyes. His sadistic grin fell away, to be replaced with sheer horror.

I felt my talons dig into his eyes, my snapping jaws catching a hunk of flesh on his cheek. Several bones snapped as powerful feathered limbs made contact with his ribs, arms and legs. I delighted in his screams, his pitiful cries for help and mercy.

His thrashing limbs first weakened, then stopped completely. I beheld the life source abandoning his body, and revelled in it.

I prowled around the house, waiting for the arrival of the human peace-keepers. When they came two days later, I made certain the human boy would be buried in a murderer's grave - arranging everything in the house just so. I even requested the help of a pack of wild canines, who were more than glad to help. For their troubles, I granted them permission to each take a small part of him.

It was concluded that these dogs had attacked and killed the boy.

As a last gesture of devotion to my human, I scooped her essence from her body, and carried her to her final place of rest, where she is at last at peace.

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

Alone?

2011-12-28T19:37:00.000-06:00

I sit up with a jolt, disorientated.

If it weren't for the sensation of my eyelids coming together to shield my eyes, I would not be able to determine whether or not they were open. The inky blackness presses in from all angles, suffocating me.

You'd think after all the time I've spent trapped in this murky prison I'd have adjusted. No, it's still quite a shock to be released from the depths of unconsciousness, only to be greeted by an infinite plain of shadows.

I glance around, looking for something, some object from long ago that will reassure me. I need to know some of my old world still remains.

Nothing.

I'm alone.

A white light flashes to the left of my... vision, if it can be called that. I ignore it. I've come to realise that its only purpose is to generate hope of this blanket of soot lifting.

I hear a creak -- a door opening.

"Cath, you’d better get up. We’re leaving for Granddad’s house in about an hour. Start getting ready, ok?"

I sigh. "Yeah, alright."

Oh, and your cane and shades are in the kitchen, near the bird cage.

I sigh again.

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

Mr. Mix

2011-11-14T19:08:00.001-06:00

Does anyone remember an old PC game from the early 1990s called "Mr. Mix?" It's mainly a typing game (similar to Mario Teaches Typing) where you have to type words into a box to make a chef (the titular Mr. Mix) put ingredients into a bowl.

Unlike most typing games, hoever, this game is notorious for having an insane difficulty curve. The game has a "Words per Minute" requirement for each level, being as low as 10 on level one and as high as 85 on the third. By level five, the requirement reaches over 500, effectively making it impossible to proceed any further.

One of the main things that people noticed about this game immediately was the background music. The music on the first level was an unsettling pattern of growls that got progressively louder as the level went on, often causing damage to early computer speakers that were designed to handle extremely high volumes of sound.

The second level had no music at all and the third had what sounded like an extremely low-quality recording of a hair dryer playing in the background. The remaining two levels had an extremely loud high-pitched ringing throughout the level that caused severe ear drum damage to those who managed to get that far.

Another rather disturbing aspect of the game was the design of Mr. Mix himself. He was a large, round-faced, overweight man with large beady eyes and red spots on his cheeks.

Most children who played the game reported having vivid nightmares of Mr. Mix speaking to them in a quiet, raspy voice and threatening them to keep quiet about something. However, none of them could remember exactly what that was.

One psychologist who saw many of these children reported being disturbed by the sheer amount of terror on the child's face as they recounted the details of the nightmare.

Many of the children broke down into tears in the process, begging for their parents to "save" them. However, no direct relationship to the game itself could be determined by these few cases, as not all children suffered the same adverse effects.

For obvious reasons, this game did not sell very well. It remained in relative obscurity until a few years ago, when PC hackers got hold of a ROM of the game and started digging through it.

Using memory hacking software, they managed to crack the game's code and bypass the impossible fifth level. What they found, however, was extremely disturbing and caused many of them to quit the expedition altogether.

According to the reports these hackers left behind, the game behaves very strangely if the fifth level is bypassed. The game crashes violently and closes, writing a bunch of files to the user's System32 directory to the point that the RAM was almost completely filled.

These files are reportedly pictures of people with horribly deformed faces, appearing to scream in pain and agony with their eyes appearing to be bleeding from their tear ducts and their outer layer of skin torn clean off in multiple places.

If the user attempts to delete these files, the computer will violently crash and blue screen, causing permanent irreparable damage to the user's hard drive.

The hackers found that this was caused by a lone byte in the game's ROM that triggered when the fifth level was completed. After removing this byte, they were able to proceed to the sixth and final level.

Unfortunately, all of the original hackers declined to discuss what they saw in the final level. All of them became extremely paranoid and reclusive, refusing to talk about anything related to the game and showing astonishingly extreme symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

Most of them ceased to be able to form coherent sentences within a week and, within a month, all of them went missing. All remaining copies of the game were destroyed.

To this day, no one knows what was in that game that caused them so much psychological damage. Maybe it's better that way.

Two years after this incident, a man was arrested after trying to kidnap an eight-year old girl from a grocery store. Through DNA and fingerprint analysis, the man was identified as one of the original hackers who viewed the final level of the game.

He was wearing a white chef's hat and had a look of unspeakable malice and insanity on his face. When interrogated, the man would only say one thing.

"I'm Mr. Mix. Shhh."

(This story is credited to a person called ingx24.)

Retributors

2011-11-06T17:00:00.000-06:00

Some time ago, there was a picture surfacing on the internet. It came with a text file and a video. The picture was called "Cold.png," the video was called "Graze.mov," and the text document was called "Initialize.txt."

The three files had a list of different things they did to the viewer, each separate of the other.

Cold.png was an image of Perch Creek's sewer system overlaid on a map of Perch Creek. Overlaid over this was an image of Ichor Forest and a picture of an old man with very tired eyes.

The eyes, as people claim, look into the viewer's soul. Bowel problems, as well as Nausea, have been reported. Opening the file freezes your pointer and, after fifteen minutes, the computer the file was opened on crashes.

Gaze.mov is said to be a video of a sleeping baby in a crib. After ten minutes of this, distortions begin to occur. The final three minutes of the video are of a woman with an abnormally long neck brushing her hair. Something is wrong with this woman, but the cause cannot be placed...besides her neck, that is.

The video is not inherently bad for your heath. However, viewing it causes others around you to be disturbed by you. This will cause psychosis in you because, after all, humans are social creatures.

Initialize.txt was by far the worst. It was actually an executable file in disguise. Executing this file would download a torrent of viruses that would wipe most of your information and crash your computer. The motherboard itself would be corrupted beyond repair of even the most talented hackers.

This 'txt' file, however, did open a text document. The only thing written there was eleven words that explain what exactly the Piche is. This is fabled to be what the teenage Andrea Cole wrote on a note before killing herself.

Andrea's picture - the picture of the Piche - has been unecoverable, but that is a different story completely.

Regardless, there was a group of ten hackers that called themselves the Retributors. They mostly plagued forums about Perch Creek and how "God wants his retribution." Even those who believed in the Piche knew these guys were spewing bullshit.

However, one of them started acting really weird. As it turns out, he had gotten his hands on the first of the three files: Cold.png. He delivered it to the rest of the Retributors and they looked at it to check up on it.

None of them dared open it on their own computers. Instead, they pulled the file up on a separate computer that promptly crashed not long after. After a week of nausea, they came back together and sold all their laptops and bought a $25,000 supercomputer.

This computer was used to hack into Cold.png. The hackers noticed something fishy in the binary, however. They removed the code and copy/pasted it into another document, assuming this was the cause for the computer crashing every time it was opened. They didn't open the picture, though. They were too smart for that.

A day later, they opened up the binary to check again and found that it had rewritten itself. The hackers made sure to copy this to a paper document and left it at one of the members' houses.

There were no more leads for almost another month. Then, out of the blue, the group received Graze.mov from an anonymous user by email.

They didn't dare open this file, either. They simply opened the binary and traced every charater until they found a list of numbers that didn't quite fit. It was the same for Initialize.txt. They pulled these numbers into a new program and began working on it.

They locked themselves into their leader's house and took turns working on solving the program for two months. After that, the numbers finally set out to a pattern. It was miraculous - so much so they finally left the house for one day.

They had breakfast and came back to the house, only to see a note one of them wrote on their door, scribbled out with an arrow indicating to turn the paper around. On the back was written BreakaSweat.mov.

When they ran the numbers, it produced a similar file they named BreakaSweat.mov. It was comprised of 55 binary digits, mostly 0s, in a demented loop. As it was with the files before, they didn't dare open it.

They put the file onto a flash drive and chose one member to watch the movie and record himself so the rest of the team could see what happens and promptly discuss what to do. The member was chose and he set up the video camera and turned on the movie.

The sound became distorted as soon as the movie opened, but the member didn't have any emotion for almost three minutes (about the length of the video).

Once it was over, the member stood up. Screaming could be heard in the background. After some time, the member sat back down. Both his eyes had needles plunged into them. He took a screwdriver and stabbed himself in the neck. The video was sent to the leader.

They all realized they couldn't watch the video. They let it rest and returned to their "God is angry" ways. One member, however, started his own project. He said he was going to watch the video and hand write everything he could about it.

The note was sloppy, at best. It won't be transcribed here, since it didn't make much sense. However, there were a few key things that should be mentioned. The video began at Ichor Forest's edge and ended at the tower. Between the two places were direct views of the Piche; it was almost as if it was looking back at you.

The member stopped the video before it ended and wrote one last thing: eleven words that struck horror into the rest of the hackers, who immediately disbanded, erased all files related to all of their work, and rebuilt their laptops. Those words were some of the most horrific words to a few members who strongly believed in the Piche.

The words?

Anything that takes the form of the Piche becomes the Piche.

So, remember as you read this. This speaks of the Piche. It takes the form of the spirit of the Piche and anything that takes the form of the Piche is the Piche.

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

Memory Card

2011-10-31T21:16:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, my parents were driving up to see my cousins. We always visit them during the summer. On the way there, we drove through a little village. Some church by the road was having a car boot sale. A massive banner told us it was in aid of charity.

My dad parked the car and got out, eager to have a little sniff around. He always had a thing for raking through people's old stuff and finding hidden treasures. While he was off treasure hunting, I decided to go off on my own little wander.

Most of the stuff on sale was the usual crap: cakes, ugly crockery, junk, etc. Someone was holding a raffle. An old woman was painting kids' faces, but only seemed to know how to do one animal; there were zebra-faced kids everywhere.

I remember a couple standing out over all the happiness and sense of community. There was just a man and a woman with dead eyes taking no interest in their customers at all. All they did was just stare into the distance.

Their table was full of kids junk. You know - toys, magazines, crap Playstation games, the usual. There were a lot of those Army Men games. A few sports games, as well. I reckon I missed all the good stuff.

I was losing interest when I spotted an old Playstation memory card out of the corner of my eye. Written on the front in chipped Tipp-Ex was the name SAM. Now this was a real hidden treasure. I bought it from the couple and tucked it into my wallet. Neither said a word or looked at me when they took my money.

After that, I found my parents once more. Eventually, we got back in the car and were once again on our way to my cousins' house. We stayed there for a few days. I enjoy hanging out with my cousins, so I was quick to forget about my purchase. In addition, neither had a Playstation, so it didn't matter anyway.

When I got back home, I retrieved my old Playstation from the attic and set it up. I had kept quite a few games, too. I had all the classics: Resident Evil, Final Fantasy, Tomb Raider, Metal Gear Solid, Future Cop, etc.

However, before I played any of them, I turned on the console without a disc in. I remembered you could do this to check out the contents of your memory card. I stuck Sam's into the slot and selected it.

There were a few save files on it. Some of them were corrupt - just strange symbols hanging there that displayed a strange series of characters instead of details. Others were games I had never heard of.

However, there was one I recognized: Metal Gear Solid. It was the VR Missions disc, to be precise. It said it had been completed 100%. I had both Metal Gear Solid and the VR Missions, so I decided to check it out.

I could remember quite a bit about the VR Missions disc, but the parts that stuck out for me the most were the giant soldiers, the murder mysteries, and the photo shoot mode. I remembered they were actually a lot of fun. I booted the game up.

When I loaded the save, something odd happened: the title music stopped. This sounded especially weird because I had turned up the volume on my TV so I could get right into the game, but there I was, suddenly plunged into silence.

On top of that, there were no sound effects as I scrolled through the menu options. It was a little eerie, but I chalked it up to the game or the console being old and worn out.

I remembered you could wait for Naomi's legs to uncross to take a photo in photo shoot mode and there was nothing there except a black space where a pussy should have been. It was a little empty void left by the creators to disappoint a million pubescent kids. Amused, I loaded up photo shoot mode and selected Naomi as my model.

When the level loaded, I remember thinking the music sounded a little strange. It was nothing eerie, just a little odd. Maybe it was slightly slowed down or something. AGain, I chalked it up to either the game or the console's old age.

I made Snake duck down and looked through the viewfinder, staring at Naomi's crotch and waiting for her to uncross her legs. I was determined to get that snap that had destroyed my perverted hopes and dreams all those years ago.

It took longer than I thought and the first time it happened, I missed it. Waiting again, I almost missed a second time. Luckily, my reflexes had been sharpened by generations of gaming.

Click. Gotcha! A perfect snap of the little black zone where her pussy should have been. I smiled to myself and shook my head. It was funny that I had gotten so excited over something all those years ago.

I was getting a little hungry, so I decided to take a break. I was just about to head downstairs for some food when I noticed something.

I could hear crying. There were little sniffles and short intakes of breath. At first, I had no idea where it was coming from. For a moment I noticed it was behind me. Then I realised it was coming from the game.

I remember getting confused, sitting there to listen to some voice coming from my TV speakers. I just couldn't work out why it was happening. It started getting louder and a little more hysterical. I figured it was coming from Naomi. I tilted the camera upwards, wondering what the fuck was going on. Just as I got to her face, a horrible wail tore from my speakers and scared the shit out of me.

Naomi was screaming at me. I just had time to register her twisted mouth and horrible eyes when I gasped and dropped the controller. It landed on the ground on a button and the game came out of viewfinder mode.

Snake was just kneeling there in front of her. I stood there, shaking, watching the characters seem to stare at one another. I could no longer see Naomi's face. I couldn't tell if she still had that horrible look across it. There was no one in my house. My parents were both still at work. I jumped forward and turned the console off.

A little while later, I was lying on my bed thinking about that horrible face when it dawned on me that the characters in the game don't actually have eyes, just a darker shade of pixels.

Their mouths never opened, either. They just nodded their heads whenever they talked. Naomi's mouth, however, had been twisted open and her eyes were almost photo realistic. What the fuck?

After a while, I convinced myself I had imagined the horrible details. You always do in situations like that. It was just some lame kid's save that he had someone fucked with and managed to scare the shit out of me with. I wondered what else he had managed to do to VR Missions.

Later that night, when I my parents were home, I finally got the nerve to turn the console back on. I selected photo shoot mode and chose Naomi as my model again.

When the level loaded, I knew right away that something was wrong. The stage was empty except for Snake. Naomi was nowhere to be seen. There was no music, either. It was just like the title screen. I ran around a little and the footsteps sounded louder than they should have been. They sounded real, too, like high-quality sound effects recorded in a great hall.

The whole thing was a little unnerving, but I kept telling myself that it was just some whiz kid's stupid experiment. Still, I couldn't shake the horrible sensation that something else was at play.

There was nothing on the stage except Snake. I decided to look through the camera's viewfinder again, to scan the level for, well, anything. Panning around, I realised that all those graphics that usually floated in the background were gone. All of that scrolling information wasn't there. The level was just floating in a black, silent abyss.

Still panning, I suddenly spotted something in the distance: a vague shape in the darkness. Before I could focus on what it was, it was gone. I had no idea what I had saw, but it reminded me of one of those ghosts from Metal Gear Solid you could see if you took photographs in the right places.

However, you could only see them when you left the game and examined the photos in the in-game photo album. They had been really creepy. I remember when I was a kid, I stopped looking for them because one had scared the shit out of me.

Still facing that horrible abyss, I took a photo roughly in the space I thought I saw something. I turned around and started talking photos all around me, a few being where Naomi was supposed to be standing. I left the game afterward. I was relieved to get out of that horrible place.

The menu still wasn't playing any music. There still were no sound effects when I scrolled through, either. I loaded up the photo album and began to shuffle through the pictures.

The first one was of the abyss that surrounded the level, or at least I think that's what it was. It was just a black image with no features. There were a few more like this, too. I remembered you could mess with the colors and contrast, so I played around with it, hoping I would see something. Nothing materialized.

Eventually, I gave up. I scrolled across to the next image - the first shot of where Naomi should have been standing. What I was faced with was something completely different.

It was a picture of a little boy, tied up against a bed. It wasn't an in-game photo, but a real one. It was a real boy on a real bed with real ropes. The picture was slightly pixellated, but nothing compared to the low-resolution of the game. Just at the edge of the picture, I could make out a leg. Someone was standing by the bedside.

Something told me to turn the game off. Something darker told me to scroll to the next photo. I listened to the latter. The next photo made my stomach jump. Gloved hands were holding the boy's eyes open. They were forcing him to look at something off-camera. The boy's expression ws of absolute terror. A part of me was glad I couldn't see what he saw.

I continued scrolling. They were torturing him now - cutting open his skin and mutilating him in ways I won't describe. The photos only became more and more disturbing, never letting up. Each one was worse than the last. They violated him and tortured his young body. I'd never seen anything like it. I never knew humans were capable of such acts.

My body was shaking and my hands could barely hold onto the controller, but I kept scrolling through the pictures. I was unable to stop myself.

I came to another image. I was relieved to see it was no longer of the boy. This relief, however, was short-lived. I squinted at the screen, wondering what exactly I was looking at.

Then it hit me. My insides did a little wet flip and I froze. I dropped the controller again, no buttons being pressed when it hit the floor this time. I was staring at the image, mouthing "what the fuck" to myself over and over. I stayed like that for a while, my body completely functionless as I gaped at the screen.

It was a shot of Naomi with her legs uncrossed. It was the very first photo I had taken after switching on the game. It was the photo that had started this horrible journey. Now, however, I could actually see her pussy. It was a real image of a pussy - not pixelated or anything. It was just sitting right in front of me in incredible detail.

If I were still a teenager, I'm sure I would have been delighted that all my hard work had paid off. I'm pretty sure every kid who tried getting a photo of her snatch back then would have felt the same, especially when compared to the black void that too many of us actually faced. However, I was far from aroused in this situation.

I noticed the pussy was moving, pulsing with every breath as though I was watching a movie instead of an image. It was like some voyeur's spy cam or something and it was squelching.

As I sat there, speechless, blood slowly seeped from the inside, dribbling over her lips and legs and spreading fast. When her pussy was completely caked in red, Naomi finally began to move her body. She was slowly leaning down towards the camera. I really didn't want to see her face, but I couldn't look away.

Then she was screaming and staring at me with those horrible eyes and twisted mouth. She wasn't looking at the camera, but at me. I screamed back before she lunged.

Out of nowhere, I found strength. I watched as my arm shot out from my body and hit the power button. Her scream cut short. The screen went blank. I tore the memory card from its slot and held it as though it was some potent drug. I realised I was breathing heavily. I kept staring at the name SAM in white Tipp-Ex as my lungs gradually relaxed. I never plugged it back in.

That was the last time I ever played VR Missions. I still have the memory card in my drawer, but I daren't open it. A part of me wants to bind the damn thing, but the other part won't let me.

Maybe one day I'll give it another go, just to see how messed up the rest of the game is. Perhaps I'll buy some of the other games and see how fucked up Sam's saves for them are. Maybe I'll try to figure out what games those other, corrupt saves are for. Maybe.

But for now...well...the memory card can stay in that drawer until I'm ready.

Fantasy

2011-10-31T17:03:00.000-05:00

I'm hoping this gets out to someone. I doubt it will, but there's always a chance that it could, right? I'm sitting here in what used to be my room as I type this. The TV is on, I have the window open, and the sun is shining. Sounds great, right? Unfortunately, no. This isn't my room. This isn't my house. It's all a perfect replica created by him.

I don't remember being stalked. Hell, I don't even remember how or when I got here. I guess the memory loss is bad even after you've been destroyed by him. I say destroyed because I haven't been killed, yet I wouldn't really call what's happening to me "living." Wait, I haven't explained who he is. Though with words like stalk and memory loss, I think you can figure out who he is.

The internet meme. That overplayed bastard. Slender Man.

I know you must be sick of Slender Man stories, but please listen. I believe at one point I fell victim to him. Let me take you back to that day and a few other days as well, I suppose.

One day, I was at home getting ready to go out. I was dressed and about to open the door of my room to leave and next thing I knew, I was in a dark void. The void warped and twisted around me as I stood there, trying to get my bearings. There was no up or down, no left or right.

I was just there in a swirl of colors that made my eyes hurt with how vibrant they were and how fast they were moving. I rubbed my eyes and when they focused, I was back in my room. I threw my door open, expecting to see the hallway I desperately needed. Nausea hit me rather quickly, so I was trying to hurry to the bathroom just in case.

There was nothing there. It wasn't like there was no one in the hall, but rather there was literally nothing there. It was the black void. There was no sound or air, just darkness. It was like what had happened before the colorful terror.

I slammed the door shut and turned to bury my face in a pillow, as I was so confused and afraid. However, when I turned, I saw him. He stood there, towering over me in that idiotic suit, tentacle arms at his sides and head craned downward to stare at me.

"Welcome," he said to me.

He didn't actually speak, however. He has no mouth, after all. Instead, I saw words in the same scratchy, messy font from the notes he sends to those Youtubers. It was silly, cheesy, and dumb...all words I know you're thinking, but it's true.

He displayed that stupid font in front of me, suspended in the air. I swiped my hand across the letters to get them out of my face, but they remained. It was as if the words were being projected by an overhead projector. They remained there and distorted over the contours of my hand.

As I stared at the words, they began to fade and I realized my captor was gone. I had been taken by him and he was holding me hostage or prisoner or whatever he wanted to call me. I sat down in my armchair and looked up at my desk.

I saw that, as in the "real" world, there was my computer. Eagerly, I turned it on and waited for it to boot up. He had left me a means to communicate out! I was going to be free if I could get word out to someone.

I was wrong. I could sign on to AIM, Yahoo, and MSN just fine, but each list was empty. No one was online, not even people who never sign out. I changed my preferences to show people who were offline and everyone on the lists from before WERE offline.

I tried my browser to see if I actually had internet access. My finger twitched on the mouse button as the browser started up. Never had I been so eager to see vapid new stories and flash ads before me.

The homepage loaded and everything was there. News, games, everything. I went to Facebook to see if the homepage was just some catched page. I thought that if Facebook was updating, I'd be good.

Even Facebook loaded perfectly. I could see new statuses and links show up on my news feed, but my status bar was gone. Comment boxes were gone and even the chat bar was missing.

He was allowing me to go online and see life go on, but he wouldn't let me speak to anyone. I slumped back in my chair and watched the news feed update. It scrolled along, showing me what everyone was doing, but I could interact with none of it. What was I going to do? Was I dead? Was I in some other dimension? I had nothing now.

Over time, I began to just live my life again. I watched TV. I went on my usual websites. I enjoyed what I could. I don't know how he was piping all of this in, but he wasn. he would pop in now and then to check on me, too.

One day, he finally "spoke" to me again. He told me I wasn't dead. I was merely his and I wasn't going home, nor was I going to die. He told me I should never have looked into him and that this was all my fault.

From that point on, he started harvesting things from my brain. He was taking fantasies and the things I loved and began to make them real. Whatever I could think up - whatever was on my mind that I used to put myself into a happy place - was fodder for him.

Soon I was going on Pokemon quests. I was fighting in the Battle City tournament. I was flying through space on the Normandy beating up evil aliens. I was kicking ass with Nathan Drake and stealing treasures. I even owned my own successful business. Yet every time, he came and ripped it all to shreds. Each one turned into some bad creepypasta when he showed up.

That Pokemon quest? He was the League Champion when I got to the end. He had no Pokemon at all, though. I sent mine out to try and attack him, but he stabbed each one with a rigid tentacle. I saw my team fall dead to the ground as the world warped and distorted around me.

I was dropped at a Pokemon Center, where everyone's critters were dead and the trainers were all maimed. They screamed out that their Pokemon had turned on them before seizing and dying. They cried so much that many were hyperventilating while others were starting to go mad. The sky turned red and the screams grew louder. Then everything went out like a TV turning off.

In Battle City, he fought me atop the tower on Kaiba's Alcatraz. He had no deck, no Duel Disk...nothing. Every time I played a card, he had one better that he pulled out from anywhere. When I pulled ahead, he destroyed me with cheap moves.

His field would go from empty to full in a mere turn and all hope I had for winning was constantly dashed. Then, as I lost my last Life Point, he destroyed the tower and let us fall into the ocean. I fell, tumbling through the air as debris fell around me.

As I looked up, I could see him slowly descending - standing still - and merely "staring" at me. I hit the water hard and struggled to find the way up. Pieces of the tower knocked into me, sending me around in circles until I opened my eyes and saw the faint light of the surface.

I finally surfaced and looked out to shore, where I saw nothing but destruction. Demented versions of cards ransacked the city. They were so familiar, but looked so demonic I couldn't even begin to fathom any comparisons to describe them. It's as if they were an amalgamation of all that was evil in the world, but I know that makes zero sense.

Buildings fell, explosions went off, and the sounds of screaming were quickly drowned out by piercing laughter that ranged from demonically deep to squeaky and disturbing. Bodies were being flung into the water next to me by the grotesque monsters, blood and innards raning down onto me as I treaded water for as long as I could.

I swam to the shore, desperate to get out of this fantasy, but once again he shattered it. It went crashing around me, shards of my surroundings flying everywhere with a warped crashing sound ringing in my ears.

In the next one, I was fighting aliens and robots with Shepard. It seemed like no other crew was around. We were freeing people trapped on a remote planet and were so close to deactivating the forcefields holding them captive in a large cell when he came to ruin things.

We had spent hours collecting access codes and fending off hoards of guards, but we were still standing and about to make it through and he was here to ruin it. He caused the shield to generate more power once we went to punch in the last access code.

The amount of power building in the shield was too unstable, causing it to intensify to dangerous levels. Once the shield had overloaded, it sent out a surge of energy that electrocuted everyone in the cell, causing them to scream out in tinny, hollow yells of pain.

The console that controlled the shield was fried and electricity arced out and hit Shepard. His armor overloaded and glowed red due to the intense heat, every bit of it frying from the overload. He was being cooked alive in what was supposed to protect him.

Then Slender Man showed himself, standing in the space between us and the now dead prisoners. My eyes focused on him and everything went silent. I blinked. I was back in my room with the scent of burned flesh lingering in the air.

I won't recount the other stories here, as I don't have the energy. Each one is as bad as the others, so forgive me for not wanting to remember them. I bet you think they all sound like bad creepypastas written by teenagers and I did warn you.

I bet you think stories about Pokemon are stupid. You know what, though? You're right. He took every silly thought, every wish, every fun little fantasy I've ever had and turned it against me. He created the elaborate worlds to dangle happiness in front of my face, only to destroy them.

He's even been toying with the fake weather outside my window. Rain while sunny, tornadoes, intense heat, upside down rain...he'll do anything absurd to confuse me. He even changes the day/night cycles to keep me tired and confused.

None of the clocks in my room run properly, nor do any of them display the correct times. Nothing on the internet has times or dates attached and the TV schedule seems to change mid-show, so I have no other means to help me know where I am in time.

To make this all stop, I purposefully fantasized about killing him. I fantasized about ripping his tentacles off and stabbing through his blank head with as big a knife I could think of. He even let them come true. I got in every means of horrible torture I could in each fantasy.

Not once would he ever be able to live once I got through with him. But, of course, once I killed him, sat back, and reveled in my victory, he was gone. The body was gone and he was standing in front of me, staring. He laughed. There was no sound, no words, but I could feel the laughter.

Truthfully, I'm not even scared anymore. I guess when I think back to specific parts of his destructions of my fantasies, I get a bit scared. I'm not even pissed off anymore. Mostly, I'm just tired. I'm defeated. This is what he wanted, after all. He's keeping me alive only to torture me.

I live in my fantasies and try to make the best of it, but I know he will always come to destroy it all. I want out. Hell, I'll take death at this point so that I don't have to risk him coming back for me. Now I'm beginning to believe this happens to everyone. After all, the only things ever found of the abducted are bags of body parts so that might not even be them. They could be in their own pocket dimensions being tortured as well.

If this gets out, please try to find a way to at least save yourself. I can't get email to go out successfully, but he may let this one out to use it against me. After all, he may just end up stalking my reader. For that, I'm sorry.

Another fantasy is starting. I should go. I think this one is where I'm a detective...

The Raven

2011-10-31T15:05:00.000-05:00

Apparently, you assholes on the internet don't take me seriously.
I'd like to live normally, to not have these 'wings.'

I'll retell this a little more clearly.

Day 1
My eyes are darker. It's the whole eye. They're a type of silver. They glow and reflect like a cat's eyes.

Day 4
It's getting harder to breathe. My eyes are completely black, not silver anymore.

Day 5
There are cuts on my back - huge, deep cuts. They reak like blood and decaying flesh.

Day 6
I passed out in a large pool of blood.

Day 9
I awoke. I have wings. They're black and look like a bird's.

Day 10
I can no longer speak, just...noises. Crowing. It's nothing a human could make.

Day 12
It's cold.

Day 16
I have nothing left to write. I can't talk and my vision is fading. I fear I will soon lose all my senses. I can barely hear or taste. Don't bother sending help, if you could. It's a lost cause.

-The Raven

(This story is credited to a person called Midnight Agony.)

DEAFFOUND

2011-10-31T04:29:00.001-05:00

I was browsing /b/ on 4chan the other day when someone posted a link. Their name was Anonymous, which was usual for 4chan. There were a bunch of comments on it, so I decided to click the link.

The link was to a file on Megaupload called "DEAFFOUND." I downloaded it, but Norton rejected it due to it being infected with some sort of virus.

When I went back to 4chan, all posts said "DEAFFOUND." For some reason, my computer froze soon after. I turned the computer back on, but it didn't start up properly. It showed my background with no files, start menu, or anything of the sort (explorer.exe didn't appear to be running). Almost automatically, a file opened. It was called "DEAFFOUND."

It was a Nintendo 64 emulator. I tried opening any ROM files, but all that could be found in the file browser was a corrupted file with a URL for the title. I went through the back way to open Google Chrome and typed the URL in.

My computer's screen blacked out for ten seconds and it froze. For a split second, it looked like a word or two flashed on the screen, but I didn't have enough time to read it as it was too fast.

After the computer froze and the screen came back, the page opened. However, something was wrong with my browser. There were no words anywhere on the window...just the layout. When Youtube finally fully loaded, I was on a channel called "DEAFFOUND."

There were also no words on the channel, nor was there a layout or avatar. The weird thing was that it said the account was created on October 31, 2011. This startled me, as that's today.

I began investigating by clicking on the first video, "DONT_WAIT." It was one minute and eight seconds long. The first 42 seconds of the video were comprised of black video with echoing noises in the background.

The words "Don't Wait" appeared on screen before it went black again. Exactly ten seconds afterward, it showed a trail in the woods with a ton of distorted video. The sound sounded like a phone left off a hook. The words "FIND ME" appeared after that. What really frightened me is that the trail in the video was the same trail I usually ride my bike down.

I rode my boke down there and looked around for anything suspicious. After around ten minutes, I stepped on a thin, blank disc. Actually, not far from that blank disc was a whole box of discs. I took them home and put them into my computer one by one.

They were just dupe files called "new file," save for one. On one of the discs was written the number seventeen. I put it into the computer and, not surprisingly, there was a file on it named "17." I opened it and it turned out to be an HTML file that linked to DEAFFOUND's Youtube channel.

Afterward, my computer shut itself down. When I tried to start it back up, all I could get it to do was show the word "DEAFFOUND" on the screen. It doesn't do anything else. I wish I never clicked that link.

I sent my computer to get fixed, but they said there was nothing they could do to fix it. They would want me to get a new computer because the virus on my computer was fatal. Now I'm using my dad's computer. Everything is fine, for now.

http://www.youtube.com/user/DEAFFOUND

Hospital

2011-10-31T04:14:00.000-05:00

I'm lying in what appears to be a hospital bed with my legs and chest strapped down. It's been about four hours or so since I woke up and I don't remember how I got here or anything that happened since a week ago, when I fell asleep holding my girlfriend.

I know it's been a week becuase my phone and watch both say the same date. I managed to reach my phone and hold it up enough to type this, but I'm not sure anyone will get this message.

There's white walls on every side of me and I can make out a light on the roof, but it's off. The only light aside from my phone is coming from the screen suspended above me. It's horrible, but my eyes won't close or look away for longer than a few moments...just enough to slowly type this.

The screen shows another white room, but this one's upright. In the middle of the screen I can see it.

I'm not sure what it is, but it's not human. Its shape is humanoid, but it's definitely not human. Its skin is grey - pale beyond belief - and its hair is pitch black, haing down messily and covering half its face.

I've been lying here in silence since I awoke. My throat is dry, but I know I'm capable of sound. However, my mouth won't open and my voice won't sound. My fingers don't make a sound on the touch screen. All I've heard is my own breathing getting shallower and shallower. I might not have long left.

I opened my mouth to take a deep breath and the screen above me moved. It hadn't moved until I opened my mouth, but now it's standing there with its mouth held open, a pit of darkness that shadows themselves seem to ooze from.

Just like mine, its mouth stopped. I can hear it. Not from the screen, but from everywhere. It's whispering to me, not in its own voice, but every one I've ever heard. I can't make out any words that make coherent sentences, but it knows my name.

I shook my head and clenched my teeth to try to block it out and, as I stared up at the screen, it mimicked me, looking right into the camera. Its mouth was open with horrible, pointed teeth grinning at me. I can see its eyes...if I can even call them eyes. They shine like light, but it isn't light; it's pure darkness, an area void of light at all, looking straight into the camera at me.

A tear rolls down my cheek sideways and down its. It's not a tear of water, but something black and burning. Why can't I close my eyes?

I couldn't take it anymore. I started screaming, convulsing under my restraints. What happened stopped me dead after a moment. It didn't shake. It took a step closer to the camera. It isn't screaming, either. It's laughing through a gap in its jagged, pure white teeth. The voices all laugh as one and tears pour down both its face and my own.

At the top of my lungs, I scream as I shake, desperate to get free...to escape this hellish torment. As my eyes focus on the screen, I see that it is gone. A tear of relief slides down my cheek. Next to my ear I hear a sizzling noise and black smoke is drifting up. I shift up my gaze, finaly free of the hypnotic screen, and the tears start silently again.

It's standing over me. Tears of darkest pitch drop down my face while the darkness of its eyes and mouth spreads.

Somebody help...

Modified

2011-10-31T03:59:00.001-05:00

Most of the stories you read about haunted video games involve someone getting the game from a yard sale or from eBay. However, this is something I brought upon myself.

I love and collect Nintendo 64 games. I usually get them in boxes with other games I bought online and then takes the ones I want to keep and put them in my collection. The ones I don't put in, I mod. I've gotten kind of good at it, so I sold a few to some friends of mine.

About a month of time, one friend wanted me to hack a copy of Ocarina of Time for him. He told me he wanted it for a creepypasta he was writing. Personally, I like some of those sotries, but I didn't understand why he wanted the game for it.

I asked him why he couldn't just do the story without a game. He said he wanted to do a video of him playing it to make the story more "real." I just kind of laughed at the idea. At least I was going to get paid for it.

The story he sent me was nothing special. He gets a copy of Ocarina of Time from eBay. He plays it and odd things happen - pallate swaps, strange sounds, backwards music, bleeding eyes, jumbled text, and other cliches found in these stories.

As you know, modding can take a while. I finally finished two days ago and sat down to test it. I had everything set up to record my playthrough. Why? Because I wanted to see how it looked after I finished testing it.

I turned it on and everything was working fine. The game started with some static, but it was supposed to do that. Like I wanted it to, the game started up a file instantly. Link was standing in the middle of Hyrule Field at night.

Link's tunic and eyes were black. There was some low moaning and some thunder sound effects. The game played just like I wanted it to; it made me feel proud of my work. That's when things started to get weird.

I was walking through Kakariko Village when there was a high-pitched scream, followed by a strange animation from Link. He quickly looked from side to side, like he was in some kind of panic, and drew his sword. This freaked me out. I didn't program that animation, nor was the sound effect anything I had put in.

I sat down the controller and went over to my computer. I didn't remember programming any new animations and wanted to see what the problem was. I looked through my programs for a specific one.

Not that long ago, I got a program named Lace. It allows me to make custom animations for Link. According to the information on it, it was last used a few days earlier. Maybe I did use it, but forgot about it. But...what about the scream? I didn't have anything like it in any of my sound files.

Suddenly, there were noises coming from the game. I went back and Link was surrounded by ten Cuccos in a circle. They were just sitting there, looking at Link. I had made their eyes red to make them look creepy, and it sure did work.

As soon as I moved the analog stick, they all swarmed him and he was dead in an instant. If that wasn't enough, the Running Man (the guy you sell the Bunny Hood to) ran up. A dialogue box popped up for him.

"YOU POOR THING. IF ONLY YOU HAD MINDED YOUR OWN BUSINESS. YOU WILL LEARN. THEY ALL LEARN."

That's when the game froze. I didn't program any of that stuff. In a panic, I turned off the game and went to my computer. I looked at the video to confirm what just happened. None of what I had seen was on the video. The scream, panicked Link, the Cuccos, the Running Man...none of it was there.

It was just Link standing there for a while befor ethe game froze. I went through the game's programming and played it a few times again. I could never get that same thing to happen.I told my friend about it, but he thought I was just messing with him. I'm glad I no longer have that cursed thing.

I even got paid for it.

Hollow

2011-10-31T03:43:00.000-05:00

She was beautiful.

She and I would sit with my laptop for hours on end, looking for the scariest things we could find. It was an odd relationship, but it worked. Something just clicked when I was with her. She was the love of my life and my best friend. Nowadays, I would give anything to have her back.

She knew of the things I had seen.

She dismissed it. Ah, Jordan, it's just your mind playing tricks on you. I wonder if she still thinks it was just my mind.

Really, she was always worried about me. I suppose that when you look at it from her perspective - the perspective of one who hadn't lived the way I had, who hadn't seen what I had seen - it would rationalize her train of thought. Sometimes, I wonder if she thought me insane. I know there were some times she did.

The love in her eyes when we lay together, when we made love, and when we scared ourselves silly...I just knew that it was because of that love that I would never lose her. She was mine 'till death did us part.

I really don't know how to describe the things I see - beautiful, lumbering, graceful, damned, hateful, loving...I wouldn't be wrong in saying slender and that's no allusion. Just as damned as the drunk that walks down the street from the bar each night, scratching his sickly face and adjusting the old worn hat on his head, only to have it fall on its slant once more moments later.

Just as loving as a mother to her kin.

They are us, essentially, with long, cracked-looking limbs and expressions that can be both grotesque and beautiful. They are young and old, just as we are, and they are all varied greatly. They are the walking souls that never lived, not unborn and not undead.

I've been seeing them for three years now, in numbers just as great as humans. They are their own society, treating us as though we do not exist. They do not behave as we do, however, and I told her and saw fear in her eyes...not of the beings of which I spoke, but for myself and my mental state of being. She loved me but, alas, she couldn't see. Seeing was believing.

There ws a day, about two months ago, when I walked with her. The same walk we'd walked a thousand times before. We lived on a circular road and often made the loop together while talking. I'd noted that, although the loop was our usual route, there'd only been one route we'd completely avoided in all those months we were lovers. It was the road the mayor lived on: Bowater.

This particular day, I suggested to her that we walk up through Bowater, as I'd never gone far enough to reach the end of the street in question. She devoutly refused and explained that there was a night long ago when she was followed down the road by a large, black, burly figure of insurmountable height. Knowing what I've seen, she also dismissed any nothing of paranormality. I was unconvinced, but I left well enough alone and we continued on our usual treck.

I really should have seen it coming, but we were so vulnerable.

Julia caled me one night...er, morning. Around 3:00 AM, to be precise. She told me she was scared, that she was seeing and hearing things. That she needed to talk. I stayed on the phone with her for two hours, just trying to calm her down as much as I possibly could. I did my best to calm her down. It almost worked.

She was dozing off and I was happy to hear it. I was really tired too. Then...a thump. It was almost a footstep, but not quite. I couldn't hear it really well over the phone, but I could tell it wasn't a footstep. Wait. Julia. Back to that.

After the thump, I heard her stop breathing. I panicked and said her name twice. She cut me off the third time with a scream. I heard a commotion. I heard her running. I heard a door slam and lock, then I heard more running and curtains moving. I spoke her name a couple more times.

"Julia? Julia?" I said.

"Jordan, don't go. Please don't go." came the reply.

"It's okay. What's wrong?"

"She's out there. In the hallway."

"Who's in the hallway, Julia?"

"I don't KNOW who's in the hallway, Jordan? It's just a SHE. It's white. It smiles with its eyes...SHE smiles. SHE."

"Julia, calm down. Calm down. What is she?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Jordan. I can't describe it. I just want to forget. Talk to me, Jordan. Talk to me, please, about anything. Just not that."

There was a reason I wanted to know. I wanted to know because I've never ever seen one in a house...until the night before that. What I'd seen was unlike everything else.

Everything else had remained very humanoid to an extent. This...this was like a mafia murder gone wrong. Like someone had stuffed her body in a suitcase and left her alive to grow that way. Her face...her face was smiling. It was a sickly black, toothless grin with wide, white bloodshot eyes. A black object that looked to be a horn with a ball end extended slightly from where her nose would have been.

What sickened me was that her face was hanging. LITERALLY hanging from this ball-ended horn. It was like a child's halloween mask. The gap between her face and head was held together loosely by blood-soaked skin, stretched to purple like tiny little slimy rope ligaments. Her face wriggled and spun loosely, hanging by the ball end and ligaments...making small squelching noises as she moved.

Her arms stretched under her legs and bent with four joints each to become hind legs of some sort. It was like some kind of sick, disfigured child was trying to play leap frog. Her legs were relatively normal, though I couldn't see them well under the pure white dress she wore.

The last defining feature of this thing were the three grotesque humps protruding from her back.

It was on my porch. I'd gone to use the washroom and decided to turn the kitchen light on so I could find the bathroom light switch (our bathroom connects to the kitchen for some reason). I turned on the light and there was nothing.

I went to the bathroom, finished what I had to do, and walked to the porch to turn the kitchen light off. I was greeted by the sight of that THING as I entered the porch. It looked up, its head lulled sickly to the side, and it smiled at me.

At that point, I was used to seeing things, but the sight of this creature sickened me so badly I felt that, instead of hitting the switch and making a run for my bedroom, I'd have to say "To hell with it" and run to the toilet to puke. I followed through with the former and kept my bedroom door locked for the rest of the night. I did eventually manage to sleep, but it was light and restless.

Now, I was sure that Julia was seeing exactly what I'd seen the night before. I couldn't pressure her about it, however, or I'd scare her even more. I talked gently to her and calmed her down. Soon, sleep was unavoidable and she drifted, allowing me to finally sleep myself.

The days went by and Julia now refused to go near Bowater road. There was also a new path she was staying clear of: a trail we'd always used to use to cut through to the park. She was hiding something and I resolved to find out what.

Soon after, I spent most of the days with her. The sweet summer air was a welcome change from the rain we'd been experiencing for the last week. I tried to ask her about that night, but she refused to talk. She just wouldn't say a word about it.

We walked and soon went to my place. She wasn't so excited about our scary hour any more, so we just cuddled. I swear to God there was never a moment that day that I doubted she was the love of my life.

We went our separate ways that night, parting with a long, lingering kiss. It was another reminder of our promise to one another. I told her to tell me if anything happened and that I'd be over in a second if she needed me. She did, after all, only live across the street.

That night, she never said much online. I tried to elicit conversation, but was met with a bunch of nondescript oohs, ahhs, and cools. Around 1:30 AM, she went offline. At 2:00 AM, I got a text and sighed with relief upon seeing it was her. The content of the text, however, set my stomach to unrest once more.

"Im going for a walk, sorry."

I looked out the window to her house and saw not a single light on. Not even in her bedroom. I noticed her front door open and she walked - or at least stumbled - out, cloaked in her long, pink jacket that was far too large to be wearing on a semi-cool summer's night. I couldn't see her face very well.

I tossed some shoes on and ran outside just in time to see her nearly disappear on the loop of Circular road. I walked fast, keeping my distance and keeping quiet. When she stopped, I got scared.

She was standing in front of the trail. The one she'd avoided so heavily.

She stood there for a good five minutes and I almost moved to go with her before noticing she was no longer alone.

One of the things walked out of the trail. This one was different, as well, but nowhere near as grotesque as the ones I'd seen beofre. This one wore a wooden mask. It was what I would have called a Plague Doctor mask. The long 'nose' of the mask descended to its chest and it was, otherwise, cloaked in black. A long, skinny arm reached out of the cloak towards Julia and she reached toward it, holding something in her hand.

No.

No no no.

It wasn't a hand she held outwards.

It was a foot.

My heart stopped. I knew. I just knew. I'd never bothered to question the way she walked, as though drunken. I'd never even bothered to look at her feet. Or her hands.

I looked down and, sure enough, there were two hands with spindly, long fingers stretched over the road in the street light's midst. My heart stopped and broke at the same time, for I knew that the face I looked at was that of my beloved.

My beloved. My Julia.

I yelled. I yelled with so much force and anger that the Plague Doctor himself flinched. Julia turned and I got my first clear look at her face - scared, regretful. Dead.

The Plague Doctor walked up behind her, grabbing the jacket from the front, as if hugging her, and tore it open. I was greeted by the girl thing from the night before, her body cozily hugged by my Julia's hollowed ribcage...for that a spine, a neck, and a head were all that was left of my beloved.

I cried. I cried out, to myself and to the things that killed her. I cried with rage and heartbreak, loudly and angrily, and began to run. I ran toward them, glaring at that detached face and waiting for its stupid fucking grin to fade. I glared, waiting for the satisfaction I'd get at seeing the fear in its bloodshot eyes before I bashed its fucking skull in.

It smiled widely.

I made it under the street light, merely ten feet away from the thing, sickeningly cradled by Julia's body, when I was grabbed. I spun around to see nothing, but when I looked to my side there was a bony, blue hand holding onto my shoulder.

I looked up and there was another one of them. It was hanging from the street light, a noose tightened around its neck. It sface was blue and old, like the rest of it, and it was smiling.

Unlike the girl thing, this being had no eyes. Rather, it had a crazy, wise glint in its empty sockets. Its feet were suspended three feet above my head, but its arms were disgustingly long - long enough to grab me.

I tried to run, to continue towards the killer, but those fragile looking limbs held me tightly in place.

I looked up again and cursed that stupid fucking thing for keeping me from killing the killer. It merely smiled a smile that would have looked encouraging on a normal old man and, for the first time, I heard the voice of one of them.

It spoke as it smiled, in an old man's soft voice. It spoke but one word before tossing me a good five feet back. I landed on my side and a sharp pain shot through my body, temporarily paralyzing me. I got up and they were gone. All that was left was the hollow body of my beloved, on the ground and staring up at me sadly.

I ran. By god, I ran. I ran home, snuck inside, and went straight to my room. I soberly reflected on everything I'd ever done with Julia. I reflected on all of it and smiled. That morning, I awoke with the firm belief that my beloved was alive and it ws all a bad dream.

I phoned her, to let her know how much I loved her and how thankful I was that I'd met her in the first place.

Her father picked up. He told me her body was found two hours ago by the park trail. I hung up and proceeded to break down. It's been a month since she died and I still think of what the hanged creature told me that night.

One word.

Samhain.

(This story is credited to someone called Jordan.)

Perch Creek

2011-10-30T17:00:00.000-05:00

It took Jeremy four years to convince his parents that it would be a good idea to take a vacation in Perch Creek. Jeremy was really into snow and loved the sights of Perch Creek. His boyfriend, Ron, lived there as well.

Jeremy's parents, after almost two years of saying no, decided that it would be okay this year to visit, because at least the town had a mall and an ice skating rink.

Jeremy was extremely excited. He signed onto Skip to tell Ron of the good news. Ron was equally excited and the two talked for hours about what they would do. Being young boys, they also shared sex fantasies between each other. As they were talking, Jeremy stopped and looked closer at the screen.

Ron: "What's wrong, Jeremy?"
Jeremy: "Who's that?"

Jeremy pointed to Ron's window. Because they were using video chat, Ron could see Jeremy's hand. He spun around as fast as he could. As he did, whoever "that" was dropped below the rim of the window.

Ron walked over to it, without the camera, and opened the window. He looked around for a few minutes then went back to his computer.

Ron: "I think you're seeing things, babe."

Ron laughed. Jeremy didn't. He was extremely worried that someone might have been outside his house. Ron promised he would be safe and, if anything happened, he'd call the police. Eventually, Jeremy gave in. They said their goodbyes and went to sleep.

The following week came and went, with no figure returning to his window, so Ron was able to calm Jeremy. The boy said okay. On that Friday, the two were talking on Skip.

Ron: "What's up, babe?"
Jeremy: "I get to see you soon! Like, tomorrow!"
Ron: "I know. I'm so excited."
Jeremy: "I love you."
Ron: "I-"

Ron was cut off by a smashing sound in his house. Jeremy began getting increasingly nervous. He repeatedly asked Ron to call the police, but Ron calmed him down, telling him it was probably nothing.

That was one bad thinga bout Ron: he thought he was the shit. This led him into a lot of trouble, but Jeremy was never there to deal with it, so he never worried too much. This time, though, he was really worried - with good reason, too.

Jeremy had looked up any crimes being committed in Perch Creek recently. There was a pretty bad string of burglaries that led to murders.

They were all committed in the same way. Someone would look in on a family through their windows and the following week break in and kill them. In pretty gruesome ways, too.

The perpetrator would cut the victim's fingers off, one by one, and slit their throats. Afterward, he would disembowel them and completely disappear. Jeremy was pretty sure this was happening, so much so he was in tears begging Ron to stop.

Ron didn't list. In fact, he ended up muting his computer and putting it down so Jeremy would stop complaining. Ron walked into the next room and Jeremy never saw him again.

Ron was killed in the same way as all the other victims. Jeremy, needless to say, was now bawling his eyes out. That was...until the sound came back on and Jeremy could hear deep breathing.

When Jeremy lifted his face, on the other end of the video chat was that man from the window, staring at him. He pointed to Jeremy and waved hello before turning off the computer. Jeremy felt his heart sink.

He was easily able to talk his parents out of the trip to Perch Creek, telling them about the murders and what happened. The family called the police to check the video on Jeremy's computer, to see if they cound identify the perp. Nothing came of it.

Nothing happened for the next sixteen years. Eventually, Jeremy decided to go to Perch Creek to say goodbye to his old boyfriend permanently. He took his new boyfriend, Richard, and the two packed away for Perch Creek. They arrived on a Saturday, during a blistering hail storm, and walked to the cemetery.

Jeremy said goodbye to his deceased boyfriend - the final goodbye - and the two decided to sleep the night in a motel. This motel, however, was right at the edge of the Ichor forest.

At 3:00AM, the door to their room burst open. Jeremy shot out of bed and saw his worst fear: that same man from sixteen years ago. The man was coming towards him. Jeremy started crying and woke up Richard, who stood up and went to fight the man. The man easily subdued Richard and grabbed Jeremy.

He beat Jeremy almost to death and eventually threw him to the floor. When he started cutting Jeremy's finger's off, the boy passed out from the pain.

The last thing Jeremy rememebered was the motel disappearing as he was dragged into Ichor forest, the horrific sound of crunching bones heard somewhere near him. It was like something was hungry.

Like something needed another meal.

Luna Game

2011-10-29T02:45:00.003-05:00

I found this cute little My Little Pony game about Princess Luna (I think that's her name. I don't watch My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic).

Click here.

I played it and thought it was really cute. The only problem is that it sometimes freezes up, but that's probably just partial incompatibility with Windows 7. Hope you guys have fun!

If your antivirus says the file has a virus attached to it, it is a false positive. If you really don't believe me, use VirusTotal to have it scanned through a number of virus scanners.

White Ditto

2011-10-24T22:47:00.001-05:00

This story is true, and to this day has freaked me out, so I figured I'd share it for Halloween since it is almost here and since it is one of my favorite holidays. I have never told anyone this before because it has been so bizarre for me to take in. Could my game be "haunted"?

Is there more to the MISSINGNO glitch than meets the eye? Did some GameFreak developer die while working on this game and is this is some kind of tribute, or could this even be a paranormal happening?? I don't know, but this freaks me out. Enjoy. :/

The background music is the theme that played in Lavender Town in the game, but reversed. The picture is some weird Jigglypuff thing I found off google images. Fitting to say the least.

EDIT: Right after I got through uploading this at 5.30am in the morning, my phone rings... it says "Private Caller" on the caller ID and they leave no message. WTF. Who could be calling at this hour?

Watch til the end, holy shit. Also, I have some good news, and some bad news.

The good news is I re-installed Vegas after I recorded this video and it is working. Even though I am freaked out and slightly scared, I plan to post the ending to the story and my explanation of the events soon because you guys are so interested.

More good news is that I bought a device that will let me transfer my Pokemon Blue Save file to my computer to be played on a rom so I can record it and show you guys the infamous creepy "White Ditto" as well as a freaky event that happened in-game that will be revealed in the story conclusion.

The bad news is that I don't know what other bad luck or strange happenings will come my way, or what may halt my progress with this strange video game phenomenon. It definitely seems some outside force does NOT want me to share any of this, though.

Everyone thinks this is a creepy pasta, or a Halloween prank. Despite how many times I say "this is real" people on the internet will believe what they want. So, do just that, I don't care. But I'm glad this has received such a good response and is entertaining regardless of what you believe. It's just a shame this has all been so stressful for me, as these "paranormal happenings" really do scare me.

Ok, so, I had to re-install Sony Vegas just to edit this. The music used is a slowed down version of Lavender town music.

No matter how many times I say "this is real" or "this isn't a Halloween" prank people will believe what they want, so draw your own assumptions. I'm on the fence as to whether or not this is coincidence or something paranormal.

The blue theory is very interesting one that you guys pointed out. Everything that has been messed with or has screwed up has been blue. This includes; the blue cartridge, the glacier blue gameboy, the blue SD card, blue screening Laptop, a drawer with blue items in it, Sony Vegas' icon is blue, my blue LED mouse, and now, I realize, even my Blue Snowball. My Twitter page, which is blue, keeps saying I don't exist sometimes when people try to go to it. What could it all mean? Could something be trying to lead me on with clues? I don't know.

I now have a fever though and am laid up in bed. I've been having some bad headaches too. So I'll save some more explanations for the next video.

Here's the paranormal investigation I did a year ago that I reference in the video... I think this might be related somehow: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aarz02U-nT8

I will have footage of the white ditto on my channel tomorrow, along with another weird anomaly I discovered on my version of the game.

Re-posting this as for whatever reason, the old video was deleted from my videos here on YouTube. The quality might be worse than the old one too, so sorry.

So, this investigation was done in my former home. The last time I played Pokemon Blue was around this time period, and before the investigation, my friends and I did in fact use a Ouija board. I really think this has something to do with the events occurring in my new home, and I think it has something to do with the Blue cartridge.

I haven't messed with the cartridge for a few days now. I've been trying to stay out of my house and have been going over to friends' houses a lot. I did transfer the save file from the cartridge to my PC though to easily record the white ditto, but I haven't bothered to record it yet. I bought another Gameboy and its shipping to me in due time. I'm afraid it will break as well though. We'll see.

What could all this mean? The blue items being messed with, videos vanishing, the white ditto... I feel as if I'm trying to figure out a puzzle with missing pieces. Please leave your thoughts below in the comments, I need your help in uncovering what is actually going on.

Ok, so after transferring my save file from my cartridge over to my PC, I was able to record this without any technology problems... sort of. However, as I suspected, the emulator/screen recorder crashed soon afterward, oddly enough at the same time. I am going to mess around in the game more and try to record stuff for you guys.

Lately the odd sounds in my house are getting worse. I'm going to start recording myself at all times, or at least parts of my house to see if I can catch anything to upload.

At this point, I am genuinely scared. After this was recorded, I captured something on Blue a second ago that pretty much solidifies that all this is connected to the game. I'll upload it tomorrow. It's the strangest thing I've ever seen.

Also, please realize that I can't upload commentated gaming videos unless I go to my friend's house as my mic is on the fritz. Please be patient and stop annoying me about it in the comments, thankyou.

EDIT: There is definitely no "cut" at 1:52 in the video, but a camera glitch or glitch that happened in rendering that was not my doing. I just looked at it and it "replays" the same scene that just happened for a split second. Very odd, could be a frame skip or something. A little later on the camera pixelates and cuts out as well, so I'd say its the camera and not something that glitched in the render.

I don't know what to title this video, so I'll just make the title what the capture program assigned it. Anyway, the story goes like this.

While waiting for my Gameboy Advance to come in the mail (stupid ebay and their slow shipping) I decided, since the save for my Pokemon Blue is on my computer, that I would play around on it and see if I could catch any other odd occurrences, as I was certain that this game and the paranormal events that are currently happening to me are somehow related.

So, I started up the game, started my screen capture program, and right away I noticed something strange. The white Ditto had magically gained 15 levels and was at around half health. Now, I hadn't touched the game since I recorded the "original" white Ditto video, and no one else has access to my PC, so I don't know how the hell this happened. But, I just chalked it up to some random glitch/bug and moved on.

I noticed on my save file that I only had 6 badges, so I looked to see which gyms my cousin hadn't beaten. One was Viridian, obviously, and the other was Saffron. So, I boxed some of the higher level guys my cousin had glitched and/or obtained, and brought out some of the guys I was using before I let him borrow the game, like Magmar, Muk, etc. I then set out to Saffron, battling some random trainers on the way, obtaining some useful TM's like Psychic from Mr. Psychic's house, and so forth.

I always loved Saffron as a kid because there were TWO gyms instead of one; the traditional Psychic gym that was home to Sabrina, and a Fighting gym at the top of town that gave you a Hitmonlee or Hitmonchan upon beating the leader.

I decided to hit up the Fighting gym first to do some leveling, as Sabrina is a very tough trainer to face due to Psychic types being so dominate in R/B/Y.

I managed to pretty easily handle the most of the trainers in the gym due to Muk being a Poison type (thus being resistant to Fighting moves), but upon realizing that Muk would be useless against Sabrina, I switched over to Magmar to just decimate everything with Fire Blast.

I got to the leader of the gym, saved my game, and was beginning to think that nothing substantially odd would happen. It was about 15 after 1, and I had been recording for a good 30-45 minutes or so at this point, so I was about to cut off my screen recorder. But, I decided to keep recording just for the hell of it, at least until I decided I didn't want to play anymore.

With the help of a lucky burn, I beat the gym leader pretty easily with Magmar's Fire Blast, and prepared to claim my prize of either Hitmonlee or Hitmonchan. But, something strange started happening that honestly scared the hell out of me.

After beating the leader and coming out of the battle screen, the music that would normally play wasn't there. What was there was a strange, second or so loop of the same note or two over and over. This went on for a few seconds before coming to a halt altogether so no music was playing whatsoever.

But that wasn't the scary part, it was what the beaten leader said. Instead of his usual shtick about letting me choose between Hitmonchan and Hitmonlee for beating him, he said, word for word, the dialogue bit from the creepy girl in Lavender Town; "Hahaha, I guess not. That white hand on your shoulder, it's not real."

A random Pokemon cry broke the silence, and the odd looped notes started up again as the dialogue disappeared from the text box completely. Although initially frightened, for a moment I thought the game had glitched and just randomly froze.

I was about to reset the rom when suddenly, the game white screened, and I appeared in a dark cave (I assumed it to be Rock Tunnel, above Lavender Town) with the most awful sounding music I have ever heard playing in the background.

This wasn't normal music from the game on loop or anything either (hell, I wouldn't even call this music as it had no real rhythm or timing), this was a loud static hum over top of of seemingly random notes of sound. I have never heard anything like this in ANY game, let alone Pokemon.

At this point I really wanted to turn the game off out of fear, but my curiosity got the best of me. Considering I couldn't see anything in this dark cave, I decided to go to my Clefable and use Flash. When I went to my list of Pokemon, however, I noticed something really strange.

The white Ditto's overworld sprite had changed from its usual substitute doll-esque sprite to the sprite of the old man laying down at the start of the game who will only get up if you give him coffee, or something along those lines.

I go to check the stats of the thing, and it's in-game sprite was non-existent, with the only thing there being a white background. Very strange. I quickly exited out and proceeded to go up to Clefable and use Flash; upon doing so however, the game again white screened, and I then was staring at Professor Oak's sprite from the start of the game. He wasn't moving, the text box wasn't coming up, and an ANOTHER bit of weird music was playing in the background this time.

At this point my palms were sweating from nervousness and fright. I started hammering the A button, and even though I heard the "ding" selection sound it makes when going through the menus, nothing changed on the screen. I hit every button on my NES USB controller and nothing changed still.

I was about to just shut down the emulator when I realized I could reset the game by simultaneously holding select, start, A and B. I quickly did this and luckily, the game reset... only not really. Before doing so, the text box popped up under Professor Oak and simply said "Hell" before taking me back to the opening startup screen.

At this point, I realized this was all too strange to be a random glitch... this was a message. And although the game had been reset, something was still off.

Yet another form of strange music began playing as I cruised through the opening credit screens and opening video sequences. The title screen wasn't displaying properly either, not cycling through the Pokemon as it normally would, all the while a strange music played in the background.

At this point, I reset the game through the emulator menu just to see if my game was going to be permanently like this. After resetting again though, the music and sounds began to play normally again.

I stared blankly at the title screen which was displaying properly now, still in awe at what had just taken place. I then quickly shut the game off and stopped the screen capture. I had to get out of the house after what had just taken place. This, above all things, was proof enough for me that this is all connected to the game.

I haven't played since I recorded this.

(This story is credited to BlameTruth on Youtube.)

Ichor

2011-10-23T17:00:00.000-05:00

The Ichor Forest is considered one of the most dangerous forests known to explorers. This forest, which lines the upper half of a town called Perch Creek, has some of the most oddly-formed natural waterways ever discovered.

The Ichor Effect, which is divided into two parts, is the definition of what happens to those who enter the Ichor Forest OR the definition of a natural structure that has a similar appearance and growth to the Ichor Waterway.

Part 1: The Ichor Effect that defines what happens to explorers. The exact incident, which is detailed in the town's history, was the disappearance of several explorers in the forest who had inexplicably aged or seemed to have aged. This effect is the explanation of unexplainable aging and intense paranoia/dementia.

The extreme aging is not aging at all, but the appearance of aging due to extreme stress. The body is forced to produce massive amounts of new blood cells and hair grows because of hormones and effectively ages the body.

This is the only explanation science has come up with, but is still only a theory. No effective tests could be done when the original scientists were alive and, in 1957, all tests were halted. Needless to say, there is no proof either way that the Ichor Effect can actually happen, or if it is something else.

Part 2 The second part of the Ichor Effect can only be explained by explaining the natural formation of the Ichor Waterway. Ichor Forest is surrounding a central spring that seems to be a huge, monumental steel tower with no windows or doors that rests in the middle of a natural moat. The moat then wraps in a spiral shape around the forest and through it - in equal-sized rings - all the way to the forest border.

The trees are all pointed toward the tower, as well, unless it is summer, in which the trees seem to be completely pointed upwards. Every summer, the water appears to also dry up. It is unknown why this happens, but the tree theory says it is simply an optical illusion done by years of lore.

The effect states that the repetitive nature of the waterway and forest leads to massive paranoia of impossible situations, increased hostility and anger, extreme stress, and hallucinations.

This can lead most to suicide. However, those that live appear to have age inexplicably. This is not always the case; sometimes they view the real world as simply a fake image created by the forest.

This effect has been noted on all explorers of the forest while the trees were present. When they were burnt down the first time, the tower was found and people initially thought a creature called the Piche had lived in there.

Upon examination and seeing no doors or windows, they assumed it was a meaningless structure or some solid block created by Native Americans for worship and left it alone. However, a diary was found next to the building on the next burning down of the forest. The last entry was scribbled in with a dying pen and very frantically written.

"____I've found this building it's ______meters tall and at least two horses in length. It's cold to the touch minus the fact it is ____ degrees outside. (There is a bunch of missing text or text impossible to read due to the dying pen) During the night the tower seems warmer to the touch, like a body is pressed against it. Not only that but, I can hear ______ scratch__________ from the inside."

The diary had no more pages in it. It appeared to be used for years worth of data and movement through the forest with active time checks. The tower was forgotten years later, when the town settled to what it is today. In addition, the Ichor Forest is now off limits.

About ten years ago, the Ichor Forest was put off limits when two teenage boys entered it and never came back. After a year of active searching, most of the search parties disappeared and all further searching was called off.

The town assumed some wild animal or group of people living in there were killing all who enter, for food (because bodies could not be found).

Explanation of the town:

The town of Perch Creek is located on the outskirts of the Ichor Forest. It is 135,000 acres of rich land susceptible to all kind of farming opportunities. It is also one of the few places in America that has all four seasons to the most extreme, ranging from snow to boiling heat.

It is a pleasant vill if there ever was one. There are four houses repeated in four segments - quadrants named by their founder: Geerhall Quadrant, West Hulldran, The Gueniveer Quadrant, and the Idealistic Quadrant. Geerhall and Idealistic are the top left and right, respectively, and line the forest.

The bottom left and right are Hulldran and Gueniveer, respectively. In the center of the four quadrants is a massive man-made lake, used in summer as a swimming hole and winter as an ice skating rink. This is the main point of economy for the town from the population.

A population of 13,465 put this town to the very brink of exploding.

Perch Creek was founded in 1815 by Jorge Hulldran, who came over in a boat from Germany and wanted to start a new life. He founded the town in the midwest by buying it off the Native Americans and ran the town as a place for his family and friends he brought over. This was the first quadrant.

Soon, Jacylin Geerhall bought some land and started the second quadrant. This was the first expansion of many that would later make Perch Creek what it is today.

After a series of deaths in 1895, the US Government took major interest in the town. Ichor Forest seemed to have wolves in it, or possibly Native Americans that wanted to kill the German-borne town. The government inhabited it for the next ten years and didn't find a single thing. It was deemed there was no danger of living in close proximity to the forest, and it was left at that.

The following year, 115 deaths occurred during the winter. It was obvious that the Native Americans could not be involved, due to the degree of cold when it happened. Interest in what was inside the forest took up in the early summer.

Nothing was found in the entire forest, but something was killing people again in the following year. The forest was burned down in 1907 to kill whatever could have done it. At this point, Gueniveer and Idealist bought the two final quadrants.

In 1910, the forest entirely regrew. That winter, 333 deaths occurred in the town, as if something was angry. People began killing pigs every winter and leaving their blood in a bowl on their doorstep. Those who did this were left alive and those who didn't were found dead at the end of every winter. A pattern began to emerge.

Each winter, a blizzard would occur and people would disappear. After the winter was over, a terrible smell would occur in the forest, After following it, one could find every body that had gone missing that winter.

The bodies were laid in some sort of marriage service every year. It was always a newlywed couple, but not always their families. Marriages began to occur outside Perch Creek in fear of being murdered.

A name was given to the creature: the Piche. Pronounced "Pike," it was a mix between Ichor Forest and Perch Creek.

In 1915, pigs' blood stopped working. Now, ashes of the burnt bodies from the previous year were dropped into the pig's blood. The blood was hardened to build the doors of most houses.

Now, the houses seemed to be permanently safe. The same was done to the window frames and some was built into the walls and surrounding dirt to create a sort of forcefield.

In 1920, the blood stopped working again and the killing resumed in ferocity. A personal militia was created to enter the forest and kill the Piche. They were gone for three days. When only two of the fifteen emerged, they had aged a massive ten years and had eaten every ounce of food they had taken.

After this, a rule of thumb began: houses were built without windows and with steel doors that only opened from the inside. This way, the Piche could not see anyone to kill.

In 1923, a man named Oliver Brehl released a book of information on the Piche. Only a few of these books still remain. From what hasn't been smudged over time there are three basic things that can be read:

The Piche does not kill unless you witness it.
The Piche has red eyes.
The Piche only comes out in the cold, becoming more adventurous and ferocious as more snow appears.

In 1945, the town was abanoned when every house burned to the ground. Remains were found of books and records. All information on the town ever existing was kept. However, no information on the Piche was kept.

In modern days, the town has boomed. A massive, four story mall was built in the Gueniveer quadrant and the lake had been built, along with hunting shops and classes for Ichor Forest.

The town also has a massive formation of crystals in a mine in the Idealistic quadrant. Because of that, it has become a popular tourist attraction. The mine goes down at least ten miles. However, because of air and heat, no more attempts to see the end of the tunnel have been conceived.

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

Cats

2011-10-19T01:21:00.002-05:00

Robert was convinced that his cat was trying to kill him. After using the litter box, Mr. Cuddles kicks the litter around, leaving a big gaping hole in the middle of the box. Robert was positive that Mr. Cuddles was practicing body burial.

Robert also occassionally woke up on the sofa after his afternoon nap to find Mr. Cuddles kneading about on his body. This, Robert was certain, was not a display of affection, but a clever technique in which Mr. Cuddles very subtlely checked his internal organs for weaknesses. Cuddles seemed to have settled on the pancreas. Robert stopped having afternoon naps.

And so, Robert went through every day and every night in fear that his cat would come out of the darkness and suddenly disembowel him, for some of the cat medicinemen had mysterious powers, and could shapeshift into anything. Robert was also sure that there existed a secret ring of cat terrorists bent on overthrowing humankind via faked cuteness and disarming meows. He dubbed these vile scum as caterrorists. Robert was not good at names.

Robert would have killed Mr. Cuddles himself, if not in fear of the retribution that he would bring unto himself from the crazed cult of caterrorists, who would undoubtedly claw themselves into his house and lay giant rat traps everywhere, which, Robert speculated, they would use out of a love for cruel irony.

He tried to intimidate Mr. Cuddles by goading him into a staring competition, but he always lost. Mr. Cuddles never blinked. Those damned cat eyes, staring straight at him, straight down into his soul! They seemed to know everything about him. They seemed to be taunting him!

Robert took a lot of amphetamines. They not only allowed him to stay awake against the hallowed forces of evil, they also gave unto him knowledge about the cats and their plans. It was as if some higher being was giving him help. He was very, very grateful towards this higher being. He often asked how he could ever repay him. The conversation usually went something like this:

Robert: Oh great, magnificent God of all, however can I repay you?
Higher being: Mo' pills.
Robert: If you do insist, oh divine master.

And so Robert took quite a few pills, secure in the knowledge that if the cat ever enroached upon his personal safety, the higher being would smack it to death, probably with a large baseball bat.

However, one day, the Higher Being dissapeared. Dissipated. Gone! Robert was extremely uneasy. He assumed that the cats had kidnapped the Higher Being using some sort of advanced technology. Coincidentally, slightly before this, he also ran out of pills.

It was no good. Robert was addicted to the amphetamines. He went to his usual dealer, Jacob, down the street, below the great oak tree. Jacob, whilst handing over a bag, asked him what the problem was. "No problem," said Robert. "Well," Jacob said, "your eyes almost look like that of a cat's. And your moustache looks strange, almost as if it's turning into cat whiskers." Robert ran all the way back home.

Robert couldn't find a mirror. The only mirror he had was smashed by Mr. Cuddles a week ago. And even as Robert ran around the house, looking for a mirror, Mr. Cuddles followed him with what appeared to be a ghost of a smirk on his face.

Robert finally found a piece of jagged glass which had fallen off from the smashed mirror. "Yes," he thought as he stared hard at the glass, "those do look like cat eyes. And it looks as if I'm growing whiskers! I'm growing into a cat!"

Suddenly, in the glass flashed the image of Mr. Cuddles. Robert looked behind him and screamed. Mr. Cuddles was right behind him, staring at him, as if saying, "Hahah, you're one of us, you're one of us!"

Robert took the piece of jagged glass and slashed open his own throat.

-----------------------------------------

Mr. Cuddles walked along the street, and went underneath the great oak tree, where he waited for a bit, until a black cat came along.

They both nodded and meowed to each other, conversing for a while, until, seemingly agreeing on something, they parted ways.

Mr. Cuddles went down the street to find a new owner, while the black cat looked around for a while, then, having made sure the street was empty, he closed his eyes and concentrated, causing his features to start morphing.

His posture grew more upright, his fur disappeared, his eyes grew more angular, his nose became more defined, his whiskers shrank inwards. And slowly, his features began to resemble that of a particular drug dealer whose body was found in the gutter a week ago, a man named Jacob. He took a packet of amphetamines out of his pocket and grinned.

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

Forest Creature

2011-10-16T17:00:00.000-05:00

After the suicide and death of several teens in a small rural town, a diary was found in one of the ransacked homes. The following is a word for word copy of what was written in the diary by Johan Nebra, the final person to die. It is prescribed that, if you have a week mind or stomach, you do not read what is coming up now.

January 1st-
Happy New Year.
January 2nd-
Today is awesome. I'm playing with my new xbox :)Plants vs. Zombies is the shit, just saying.
January 4th-
Forgot to write anything down yesterday, pvz is taking over my life LOL sucks though, because I have school pretty soon. Like, tomorrow, but I don't care, its time to play some more.
January 5th-
School was okay. Most people were just wearing new clothes and shit they got for Christmas. Saw some friends, made out with my girlfriend out back of the school. Her name is Andrea, if I ever have to mention her again.
January 5th-
Hey, another entry, yeah it's late but, I saw something out in the woods. It looked like a wolf or something. I think tomorrow I'm gonna have my buddies come over and we are gonna see what we can do.
January 6th-
Well it was me Steve, Gary and Eric. We all trekked across the property in my backyard (it's pretty big) and reached the lining to the forest. We saw the prints the animal made in the snow and it looked like hand prints. Slightly worried, we all turned back around and came back. Tonight, I stayed up to see if I saw it again. I did, this time it was just pacing left and right by the forest edge.
January 8th-
Today my girlfriend wasn't in school.
January 9th-
Steve was pissed all day, it looks like he hasn't slept in a few days. I remember him being pretty disturbed when we saw those prints. I think it's some sick joke.
January 10th-
There was a blanket of fresh snow on the ground today, a heavy one too, maybe an inch? School was cancelled. I tried to call Andrea from my house phone but the lines are all fucked up on land lines but cell phones work. Andrea doesn't have a cell phone, so it will be some time before I see her again. I hope she is okay.
January 11th-
Didn't sleep at all last night. It's been maybe two days since I've been tired at all.
January 12th-
Steve came over today, extremely furious. He dropped by the house to punch me in the face and almost break my nose. I don't know what the hell is up with that guy, but we are not friends anymore, I don't care.
January 13th-
A video was dropped in my mailbox this morning. I also went to school and Andrea was back, she was a bit on edge but it's her time of the month so I didn't worry about it. I will report back on the video when I watch it.
January 13th-
Okay, what the fuck. The video was the most disturbing thing I've ever seen. It was Steve, standing in the forest, naked, for a half hour. Before finally he lifted his hands and grabbed a pair of pliers. He snipped two frostbitten fingers off and walked to the camera and turned it off. The last frame, he shows where he is and I swear to God I saw that thing in the back.
January14th-
Andrea was extremely angry today, all day. And Steve was back in school, missing two fingers. I approached him, not even thinking about the video, and he just ran. A couple people I was talking to were telling me that he has been really paranoid.
January 15th-
Okay, I definitely fucking saw it tonight. It was sitting staring off into the distance by the edge of the woods. It was looking the opposite way of my house so I took a picture.
January 15th-
Don't you know, the picture came out foggy and I couldn't make out a goddamn thing.
January 16th-
Steve disappeared again.
January 17th-
Andrea was a total bitch today, she also was convinced I'm cheating on her. Paranoid much?
January 20th-
Andrea left me. 2 years, because she thinks I'm cheating on her. For no reason. She didn't have a reason, she just said I was acting fishy. Even her friends said that I wasn't though and not to worry.
January 21st-
Andrea killed herself. I saw it on the news earlier. She hung herself and wrote a pretty disturbing suicide note and left a picture. The picture was apparently enough to drop a dude into a mental hospital. The note made a few hardened officers quit the force too. I don't know what it said, but its freaky.
January 25th-
Sorry for inconsistency on my updates, but today Steve killed himself. In Chemistry, he swallowed a whole vial if Hydrochloric Acid, downed the thing like a fucking shot.
January 26th-
A huge blizzard crept in. I'm locked into my house and the blizzard cut power to our heater and, well, everything for an undetermined amount of time. Awesome.
January 30th-
Tonight - I will sit up and wait for that thing. I can't get it out of my mind.
January 31st-
Tonight - That thing saw me back.
February 1st-
I'm freaking out. That thing saw me last night, and all we did was stare at each other. We stared straight at each other for about an hour before it left into the forest. Needless to say, I didn't sleep. Today in school sucked, basically all we did was fucking nothing. Two movies and gym, otherwise notes and no talking. The thought of Steve made me wonder why we were in school at all.
February 1st-
Oh right, there was no chemistry now, damn well better not be.
February 2nd-
It hasn't appeared in a while. Nothing is there, like now that it has been noticed, it doesn't want to be seen again, or it has ran. Like a deer in the headlights.
February 3rd-
Nothing again.
February 4th-
There isn't anything out there, not a damn thing. But it is flurrying again. It looks like there is no end to the snow, basically just keeps piling on. It sucks.
February 5th-
Heat came back on, thank god. I lost my right pinky though, completely frozen off. We would go to the doctor but the snow picked up and both the school and the doctor's office are closed.
February 6th-
Nothing out there again. I'm feeling pretty good about it. First time I've seen the sun for about 7 days. It's crazy.
February 7th-
Snow on the roads have been plowed, I took today off school to go into the doctor's office to get my finger removed in surgery. When we got there the doctor looked awfully strange, like he felt uncomfortable working with me, but he cut my finger off for me and wrapped it in a little box. The box is on my top shelf.
February 8th-
Eric came over today. We talked for a while about Steve and what we liked about him, and I asked him when the funeral was being held. Eric looked worried then told me that a break in during the snow caused Steve's body, or what was left of it, had been stolen. I felt sick to my stomach.
February 9th-
Hot water has shut off, I refuse to shower in this cold.
February 10th-
The water heater isn't broken, we have the heater guy out here right now. Nothing, not a damn thing is wrong with the pipes, we just have no hot water.
February 11th-
It's back.
February 12th-
It is sitting there staring at me. I'm looking at it while I write this (I exchange my glances don't get your panties in a twist). I can't tell if it respects me or hates me.
February 13th-
School has been cancelled until further notice because of Steve's death. That's good.
February 14th-
The police are here. There are cars everywhere and we were questioned for about 5 hours. I never saw it myself, but I think I know what happened. From what I heard from the police and from my hysterical mother and father, was that Steve's body was left mangled in front of our door. What the fuck?
February 15th-
I'm so pissed off. All the time, I can't even explain it. I flipped out on Eric today, and he told me I was acting weird. Fuck him.
February 16th-
I punched Eric in the face. Hard. I think I broke his nose. I don't feel bad. He had it coming. I was having a bad day, and he came over to me and annoyed me. He was like "Hey, what's up? You know you are looking bad." WHY WOULD HE SAY THAT!?
February 17th-
If that thing is there tomorrow, like it is tonight, I'm going outside and I'm going to fuck it up. I don't care.
February 18th-
I think Eric wants to get me jumped. He was talking to this guy I've never seen him talk to before. I was worried what was going on because he kept looking at me and he pointed. The other dude looked pissed off. I'm gonna end this tomorrow.
February 18th-
Its about midnight, it wasn't there tonight. Better not be. I hate him. I hate it's glare. It's looking through me.
February 19th-
I broke Eric's right arm today. Let's see that faggot punch me.
February 20th-
It's back. Staring. But, I think it's closer now. Like, it's closer to me. Or the house, but it feels like me.
February 21st-
I'm not cold anymore. Not at all. In fact, I frequently sit outside in a tee shirt now. It's nice. I've lost another finger, but hey, I'm not complaining.
February 23rd-
4th finger down, 6 to go. I don't really mind it too much. I don't care much at all to be honest. I think it's funny that my parents are flipping out. By the way, my parents, I think they want to move me to a different school or something, they keep dropping hints about me not going. Or about other strange things.
February 24th-
I received a letter from Eric. My mom had to open it for me so I could read it because of how many fingers have fallen off. I've lost all my toes now as well, incase you were wondering. The letter said I'm starting to act like Andrea and Steve, and recently Gary. He said I'm unrealistically paranoid and angry. Fuck him, what does he know? I threw the letter out needless to say.
February 26th-
Sorry I missed a day, I was disturbed all day yesterday. I got a letter in my mailbox that was 2 pages. The first page was a bloody hand print and that was all. The second page said "Solar Eclipse".
February 26th-
I think the letter was from that thing. Because I saw it tonight, it was close. Very close. Fuck.
February 27th-
In four minutes, there will be a solar eclipse. I've never seen that thing outside during the day, I wonder if that is why it mentioned it?
February 27th-
One minute, I can see it's eyes inside the forest. It is waiting. Fuck.
February 27th-
I love Andrea. By my count I have 10 seconds until the sun disappears, and each inch of shadow, that thing is drawing closer.

This was the last of the diary that was found. The house was ransacked beyond belief and snow was trodden all through it. The parents seemed to be deceased, however not in quite the way Johan was.

The parents were holding each other, and frozen into ice sculptures (false frozen completely until the blood and skin turns almost to ice, or becomes ice like). They had no emotion, as if it happened instantly.

Johan, he was disemboweled and dragged from his room. You could see his organs strewn across the room and bloody drag marks down the stairs. Whatever was pulling him had only hand prints that it left.

Whatever "it" was, is no longer being looked at by the police and is assumed to be some sort of hoax that eventually led to his unfortunate death.

Reasons:

Impossible report of the shape and size of the creature
Impossible body proportions and limbs
Creature was supposed to have four legs, however drag marks and prints leading out the door indicated four legs being used and a straight drag mark. Police believe it is a man with a dog, because the drag marks had to be made by something with two arms to hold it.

All other information is privatized and the forest has been sealed off limits until further notice.

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

Nanashi no Game

2011-10-14T16:35:00.002-05:00

Click this.

Basically, if you haven't heard, Nanashi no Game is a scary DS game. The scariest out there (compared to all other DS games), from what I hear. But it's always been in moonspeak and nobody in English land has been able to enjoy the game. Now it's translated. WOOOOOOOOO!

Go play it and not sleep. DOOOOO ITTTTTTT.

If you don't have a flash card to play this on (this is the generally better way of playing fan-translated games), get the emulator DeSmuME, since the game requires a 90 degree flip of the DS to play half the game.

According to that thread, you'll be needing headphones too. Good luck with that, then.

Yes, I know this is pretty useless post, but I had to tell you guys here since I know a lot of you don't check Twitter.

John

2011-10-12T01:30:00.000-05:00

"Am I going to die in here, Herbert?"

"Yes, John. You're going to die in here."

"Why, though?"

"Go back to sleep, John."

The loudspeaker made the usual crackling noise before the room fell into a deathly silence. John shivered under the thin blankets provided for him. He was dying. It had been ninety days since he had eaten regular food, six since he was given a pill, and 116 since he last saw a human being. The world felt lonely.

John tried to force his body to sleep, but the hunger won out. He rose from the bed and paced around the tiny twelve-foot cube. He reached one side of the room, checked the tiny drop box, found nothing, and turned around.

When he reached the other side, he would pause and look outside the window, where he could observe the wall of dirt seemingly inches away. It wasn't spectacular by any means, but John found when you got desperate enough, you could see anything you wanted.

Lush, tropical rain forests, busy, vibrant street corners...even your own house. In the end, though, it was just dirt. He might as well be dead already.

Squeaking noises filled the tiny cube as John paced back and forth for what must have been an hour. He wasn't sure what time it was, but he started to feel tired again and his stomach no longer hurt. It just felt like a void, like something was missing inside of him.

He returned to his small bed, where he tossed and turned until falling into an uneasy sleep. There was no such thing as a good sleep here.

Every now and then, John would hear noises. There was a little rattle here, maybe the clanking of metal there, but in the first few weeks, these noises would keep John awake at night in terror. Now, they offered the only sign of life other than the voice from the loudspeaker.

The voice, called Herbert, was there from the beginning. Herbert brought John into this new world and Herbert would be the one to usher him out. Ever since John awoke that first day, dry heaving in a cold sweat, he felt a pull to the voice over the intercom.

"Hello, John. Try not to overexert yourself. We wouldn't want you to hurt yourself so soon."

Though the words were cold, John had an almost child-like attachment to them...or at least whoever was speaking them. At the time, it might have been because he thought it was what was going to lead him to freedom.

Now, it was because it was the only thing he had to remind him he wasn't dreaming. This wasn't Hell. This was real and he was alive for every minute of it.

"How was your sleep, John?"
"Good."
"Good? Care to elaborate?"
"No."
"Very monosyllabic today, aren't we?"
"Shut up."

John was upset. He hadn't received his little pill in the drop box. He always found one in the metallic compartment after he slept. It was routine and, now that the routine had been broken, panic had been washing over John all morning.

"What is it, John?"
"I said shut up."
"Is it your ration, John?"
"Where is it?"
"I asked, is it your ration, John?"
"Yes. Where the fuck is it?"

John was on the edge of breaking down. His whole existence was based around this simple routine: sleep, eat, pace, sleep, eat pace, sleep. Now, it was gone, leaving John with nothing.

"Oh, calm down. I'm sure it'll turn up somewhere."
"I'm going to die."
"We're all going to die some day, John."

John tapped on the glass window, nervously. He was anxious. If he didn't get the pill, he would starve for sure. It was the only thing keeping him alive. Thoughts ran through his head, contemplating whey they decided they wanted him dead today. Why they put so much time into this and then decided to starve him.

"Why kill me like this?"
"Kill you, John? I assure you, no one is trying to kill you."
"Then where is the pill?"
A sigh came through the loudspeaker. "You're simply unreasonable right now. I think you need some time to calm down and collect your thoughts."
"Herbert, I swear to god I-"

The loudspeaker crackled and the room was silent once more. John was almost glad Herbert had left so abruptly. He had no idea what he was going to swear to god for; he had nothing to bargain with.

Threats to Herbert only made him laugh, as he found out within the first days. When he talked about suicide, Herbert would only say, "I would rather not deal with a mess today, John."

It was useless. Even if John wanted to kill himself, he had no means to do it. He thought about breaking the window once and trying to use a piece of glass to slit his throat, but Herbert informed him it was made of shatter-proof glass. He was, essentially, death proof.

Hours passed as John checked the drop box for what must have been every other minute, hoping and praying for the little pill to come so he could survive another day, maybe two.

He would have to take breaks every so often. His small chicken legs weren't able to carry the weight of his bone frame. There wasn't much muscle and certainly not any fat left on him. When he did have the energy to walk, his legs wobbled uneasily, like a toddler taking his first steps.

He couldn't remember if he had always been like this or if it was a symptom of the starvation. Regardless, it was a sign of death.

Hungry and mentall exhausted from getting his hopes up with the drop box so much, John went to bed, defeated and scared. For the first time in a while, he was scared of death.

Herbert and John talked about death quite frequently - John's death, in fact. It had always been calm and almost soothing to know he would finally be somewhere else, somewhere outside these walls, but tonight, it was terrifying.

The real feeling of death was slowly creeping up on him. What would it feel like? Where would he go? Would he still be hungry? All these thoughts worked him up until he was sobbing into the small pillow on his bed.

"John?" the intercom crackled.

John sniffled and spat blobs of snot onto the bed, tears dripping down his face.

"John, I know you're not dead. Talk to me, please. I'm sorry about earlier."

John shuffled in bed, not sure what to make of the apology. Apology was a sign of error or weakness; something Herbert had never shown.

"Come on now, John. Don't treat me like this. Am I not good to you?"
"What do you want?" John asked in a shrill voice.
"There's the John I know. Listen, I have a surprise for you."

The voice sounded cheery as it came out of the device on the wall. John looked around the room, scared. He didn't know what this meant. Was the room going to explode into a fiery inferno? Would poisonous gas be released in his room, ending his life? Would he be forced to crawl into a tiny box until he was squeezed into hundreds of tiny pieces? John shuddered and curled into a ball.

"Now, now, John. Don't be shy," chuckled Herbert. "Check your mail box."

John's eyes shifted to the side of the room with the drop box. It looked unchanged. He hadn't heard or seen any movement in the room. Nothing could be in thre.

"Are you always so precautious when receiving gifts?"

John crawled out of bed and hobbled over to the box. He grasped the small handle and pulled it open slow, revealing the small round stick at the bottom. He reached in, half expecting it to bite him, but it didn't.

It remained the small, round stick it had always been. He lifted it into the bright, white room and realization flooded over him. He knew what this was. He had seen a lot of these before. It was a screwdriver.

"Ah, nothing like a good set of tools is there, John?"
"Am I supposed to stab myself?"
"Dear god, boy, don't be absurd!"

John studied the tool. It was small and about as round as a hot dog. The handle was red and shiny, nothing like anything he'd seen in a long time. Above the handle was the flat, metallic top. It was a standard screwdriver.

"Well, John?"
"Well, what?"
"Do I get a 'thank you'?"
"No."
"Well I never." Herbert muttered this as the intercom went silent.

John wasn't alone anymore, though. Something felt different. Why would they give him a screwdriver? John was tempted to put it back in the box - it couldn't bring anything but bad - but he couldn't.

He felt connected to it. They were too foreign objects in a place they had no business being and he couldn't abandon it. He knew he would never be alone again. John curled up in bed with his new friend and went to sleep - suspicious, but thankful. It was the best sleep he had since he got there.

John woke up feeling much more refreshed than usual. The deep feeling of emptiness was still present, but it wasn't as prominent as before. John got out of bed, firmly grasping the screwdriver, and walked over to the drop box. He opened it and, to his surprise, he found two pills.

Overjoyed, John quickly grabbed one and wolfed it down in a matter of seconds. Though it had the consistency of chalk, his senses went wild. His stomach felt full again. He was content.

He picked up the second pill and was about to casually pop it in his mouth just as the intercom cracked and Herber's perky voice cried through.

"Morning, John! How was breakfast?"
"Good. Why's there two?"
"Breakfasts? No, no silly. It goes breakfast, then lunch, then dinner."
"Shut up. Why are there two pills?"
"Oh, that! I'm glad you noticed, to be honest. Sometimes, the little things are the most important."

John fidgeted. It was unusual for Herbert t be so casual, but this was two days in a row. Something was going on and it troubled him.

"Why?"
"Well, you made such a fuss about yesterday's pill not being there, we thought we'd give you two!"
"Why?" John asked again, this time a little louder. Now that his stomach was full, he was a little more confident.
"It's only fair, John! We missed a day, so today we had to give you two to make up for it. It's simple, really."

John didn't want to believe him, but everything in his head told him he wasn't lying. He couldn't argue. There wasn't anything to argue. It was simple, like Herbert said; he was just repaying what was owed. It was the right thing to do.

"Thank you."
"Oh, you're very welcome, John. Very, very welcome."

Herbert said this in a flat tone. He was more his regular self, no longer the cheery giver he was a minute ago. John put the extra pill in his pocket. He would save it for an emergency, just in case.

John then took his screwdriver and returned to bed. He stared at the ceiling for a long time, thinking about what would become of him. Would he stay here forever? Had he aged at all? He couldn't remember anything of before he came here. He didn't even know his own name until that first, "Hello, John."

For all he knew, he never had a name. He was just a blip in society who slipped through the cracks. He believed this because he hated the alternative: he had a life, a family and friends.

There were people who have been missing him. They probably would have had a funeral for him by now. No one would still be looking for him. This depressed John greatly, so he went back to thinking he was a nobody.

John lied there some more until he had an idea. He would start his own history and he would record it in his room. He grabbed his screwdriver and pressed it to the bright white walls. He wasn't sure what they were made of, but he prayed they would scratch.

He pushed down with pressure and a horrible screeching noise echoed throughout the room, but there was a small mark where the screwdriver had slid. John could write. He chisled away for a few minutes until he had something he was proud of, right in the center of the wall he had written. "My name is John Nobody."

It wasn't much, but was a start. He wasn't sure to what, but it was definitely a start and John was proud of it. He wished he had someone who could admire it with him, which made him think of Herbert.

He loved Herbert more than he ever had. Herbert had given him the screwdriver and, in essence, his sanity. John, for the first time in weeks, was thinking clearly and rationally. There was more to life than just survival. There was thought, feelings, curiosities. It was wonderful. John wanted to thank Herbert more than anything else.

"Herbert?"
Cracking. "Yes John?"
"Can I see you?"
"No, John."
"Why?"
"It's against the rules, John. Go to sleep."

John shuffled uneasily in his bed. He wanted to press further, but he didn't want to annoy Herbert. He tried closing his yes, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Herbert?"
"Yes John?"
"Thank you."

There was an unsettling silence. Something was wrong. Someone must have found Herbert and slit his throat. He was more than likely lying in a pool of his own blood and now John was truly and utterly alone. He would starve without the watchful eyes of Herbert observing and commenting on his daily life. John was something now.

"You're welcome. Go to sleep."

John sighed and sank into the mattress. He could sleep easy knowing Herbert, like a mother caring for her child, was always watching and protecting. John quickly fell asleep, content and full of life. He had everything he would ever need: food, company, even rudimentary entertainment. He was a complete man.

John awoke the next morning and set out to work with his new friend after retrieving and consuming the fresh pill. Through the incessant wailing, scratched marking began making words, which then became a full sentence.

"Days I haven't been dead."

This was written off in the corner. There was ample room left just below this, leaving sapce beside one lone scratch. John decided he might as well have a basic understanding of time. He knew he stayed up roughly the same amount of time every day, so that means he should sleep roughly the same amount of time.

Using that logic, he could make a new tick every time he woke up. He used to count the days in the beginning, by when the pill came, but after a while it seemed pointless. There was no point in knowing how long it took him to die, just that he was going to and it was unavoidable.

John felt different now. He had a small amount of joy in his life and he took pride in his new writings. He had a new appreciation for being alive.

After admiring his work thoughtfully for some time, John gently placed his friend on the bed. He then slowly knelt down to the floor, his legs still a little shaky, and stretched out flat. He started by trying to lift himself up a little bit.

He didn't think his arms would support him but, to his surprise, he managed to do a full push up. Confident, he tried again. However, he only managed half of one before his arms buckled and he smashed his face against the metal floor. A little dazed, he pulled himself back up into the bed. He grabbed his friend and curled in close.

He spent the rest of the day dreaming of the things he could now do. He thought about how he had the means to kill himself now, but quickly perished the thought. There was no way he could kill himself now that he wasn't alone. He couldn't just leave like that.

He decided he would live for as long as possible and continue to write, even if it was only a sentence at a time. He was determined to have something unchangeable and permanent in his life. In the writings, he had that.

Crying. John woke up to the sound of crying. He had no idea what time it was. He thought he might be driming, but the crying continued for several minutes. It was high pitched, yet sounded low and guttural, almost as if the person was being smothered.

Scared, he grabbed his screwdriver. No one was going to hurt his friend. He pressed himself up against the corner of the wall, grasping the weapon in one hand and the other firmly clenched into a fist.

He stayed like this for what seemed like hours until, finally, the crying died out. John was shocked. It was the first thing he had heard that sounded even vaguely human for god knows how long, besides Herbert, of course.

"Oh, John. What are you doing up at such an ungodly hour?"

John jumped at the sudden sound being emitted from the speaker. He eased up once he realized the familiar, calm voice belonged to Herbert.

"What the fuck was that?"
"Excuse me?"
"What was the crying?"
"Crying? I think you're a little tired, John."
"Herbert, please. I-"

The loudspeaker crackled and fizzled out. John was left confused and scared without any sort of explanation. Maybe herbert was right. Maybe John just dreamed the noise. However, he was certain he was awake.

Then he thought it might be Herbert playing a trick on him. John decided this was the most logical answer and the best course of action was to ignore it. There was no point in giving Herbert the satisfaction of seeing John panic over a stupid noise. From now on, John would be unshakeable.

After sleeping for what seemed like only minutes, John got out of the small bed and walked over to the drop box. As expected, a small pill was there, awaiting consumption. John complied to the nonexistent request and ate the pill quickly.

He returned to the bed, where he picked up his friend carefully and went to work on adding another tick. After suffering through the terrible noise, John hopped off the bed and onto the floor.

He felt good and full of energy, so he decided he might as well work out. If he was going to die, he might as well look good. So he did pushups for quite some time, until he got tired and returned to his bed.

He would lie there and twiddle the screwdriver between his thumbs, thinking of new things to write. He could never decide on anything he really had the desire to put down, but it got him thinking. It kept him sane.

More crying in the night. This time it seemed louder, more focused. It was almost like it was calling to John. Determined not to satisfy Herbert in his sick game, John remained still and acted as if he heard nothing.

He just listened to the noise while maintaining his regular sleeping position. He did this until the crying finally died down and John was proud of his accomlishment. Content, he fell back asleep.

John's life slowly became more and more routine: he would get up, eat a fresh pill every morning, make a new tick on the wall, exercise, and get lost in his thoughts. It was boring, but oddly fulfilling to John. He forgot the luxuries of regular living so, for him, this was enough to satisfy him.

The crying also became routine. Every time John went to sleep, the noise would come back and John would ignore it as always. This pattern continued on for thirteen days, until one night the crying got particularly loud.

John continued to remain still, apathetic to the noise. He had almost gotten used to the noise and sometimes even managed to fall back asleep while it persisted. John was about to do so until he heard something that made his eyes open wide.

"For the love of god, someone please help me!"

John's eyes bulged. His teeth clenched.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," muttered John.

He clenched the screwdriver tighter than ever. A million thoughts raced through his head, but not were intelligible. His world was shattered. Here he had thought he was the only person but, mere seconds ago, he had clearly heard someone speak.

It didn't make any sense. Terrified, John curled up tighter as the crying continued. Though no more words were spoken and the noise eventually stopped, John remained up for a long time, too mortified to even consider getting out of bed.

John was completely confused, trying to comprehend what he heard until suddenly, it all made sense. Herbert. This had to be Herbert's doing. If Herbert was capable of generating crying noises every night, why couldn't he make a sentence? John began to chuckle quietly. What an idiot he had been. Of course it was Herbert.

Relieved and a little giddy, John hobbled over to the drop box and there was a pill waiting for him. He had been up all night. John ate the pill and walked back to bed, where me made a fresh tick.

He decided it would be best to fall back into regular routine and not give Herbert the twisted satisfaction of seeing him so uneasy.

Push ups were what John decided to do to stay normal - to keep Herbert oblivious to how horribly scared and tired he was. John was unsure how long it had been from when he last heard the speaking, but he had remained motionless on his bed for a long time, too jittery to do anything.

He knew he needed to move or else Herbert would catch on to the fact that John knew how he tormented him in the night. He kicked his legs off the bed and climbed down onto the floor. "Stay cool, stay calm."

He placed his palms flat and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and pushed. His arms wobbled uncontrollably, but he persisted. He wanted...no, he WAS going to at least one push up. His arms now fully outstretched, John struggled to make a small smile through the burning pain.

He had triumphed. He was satisfied. Suddenly, John lost feeling in his arm. He hadn't realized how long he'd been holding himself up. Tired and not thinking, John let go.

Dizziness consumed him, his vision a blurred mess of black and white flashes.

"What the hell?"

John muttered half finished words under his breath as he spit red globs out of his mouth.

At first, he was terrified. He must have been attacked, assaulted in his own home, but he quickly put aside these thoughts. He knew what really happened. His own body continued to betray him, slowly deteriorating despite the pills. They only gave him enough to live.

John picked his head up slightly out of the puddle he made and felt something on his face. Something cold. Scared, John looked around but couldn't see anything that could be the source. He looked at the pool of blood and saliva, confused.

John scanned the mess until he realized he could only feel it on one side of his face. Had he damaged nerves? Was it going to be like this forever? John began to get scared. He looked around the small area of his bed one last time...and then he saw it.

A small rectangular panel with holes in it. Under the bed, pushed up against the wall. John looked around the room one last time. He didn't want to be attacked from behind while he was under the bed.

John crawled under until he couldn't fit anymore. He lied there, completely baffled. He knew what this was. It was a vent. What the hell was it doing here? He couldn't see much through the holes. They were only tiny enough to let through a faint breeze.

John began picking at the corners, trying to pry the vent open. He only managed to cut his fingers. Dejected, John crawled out from underneath the bed and sat. He looked from the puddle on the ground to his hands, both equally covered in blood.

He reached for one of the blankets beside him. John figured he would only need one blanket to sleep well and, if things got bad, he could always use the bloodied one. He began to slow process of wiping the blood off his hands.

After a while, they were dry. However, no amount of rubbing appeared to remove the red hue. At first, this distressed John. Would his hands ever go back to normal?

He decided it didn't matter much. At the rate his hands were failing him, he wouldn't be able to lift them in a few days time. John lazily threw the sullied blanket across the room. It hit the wall with a dull thwack as John turned and lied town, trying to sleep.

John woke up with the common feeling of only sleeping for minutes. There was no way to tell how long it had been, but John added a tick to the wall anyway. He had been doing this regularly and had, in turn, amassed quite the collection of scratches.

John thought about making the walk over to the drop box to see if there was a new pill, but quickly remembered his important disocvery. This was only met with an empty feeling of disappointment. His fingers still bared the markings of defeat.

He spent the rest of the day in a zombie-like trance, periodically checking the drop box for a pill and then returning to bed. This went on until he tired himself out and tried to sleep again. John secretly wished it would be the last time.

The scratches that once brought John joy only now served as a reminder of his inevitable death. There was no way out. John would spend the next day here and the day after that and the tick after that and every other tick until he was dead.

"Jesus Christ! Oh, Jesus!"

John had been hearing more screams, louder than before yet still muffled. Tonight, they were followed by wild banging noises.

"What the fuck?"

Cold sweat dripped off of John's face. He was terrified. His mind ran through thoughts of a horrible monster ripping him apart as soon as it was done with whoever was screaming. All he had to do was let his guard down and he'd be dead. His eyes darted around the room, searching for something to defend himself with.

"Window? No, it's shatter proof. Blanket? Too flimsy."

There was nothing. It was hopeless. John clenched his fists in anticipation of death and felt a hard piece of plastic brush up against his fingers. The screwdriver. Instantly, John took it in his hands and pointed it toward the other end of the room, shaking it wildly as if fending off a mob.

John did this as he clenched his eyes until he realized something: the room was completely silent. John's ears were ringing and his eyes watered. He loosened his grip and the screwdriver rolled onto the bed.

John felt embarrassed. He just wanted to curl up and fall asleep forever, but he couldn't even do that. Surely Herbert was enjoying this, clapping slowly as tears of laughter rolled down his cheek.

The adrenaline was still flowing and there was no whay John could just go back to sleep. He got out of bed and paced the room, searching for anything, something different. Nothing new in the drop box and the same amount of ticks were on the wall.

John kept searching for something. It could be anything. He just wanted something to take his mind off the noises and the embarrassment. John walked over to his bed, his heart still pounding out of control.

"Why? Why?"

The words kept flowing through John's head, but there was no answer, nothing to console him. John became more and more angry until he was clenching his knuckles so hard they turned white. His face started to contort, tightening up as his eyes began to water.

"Why? Why?"

This became John's mantra. He clenched his teeth as he rocked back and forth. His hands were shaking out of control.

"Why? Why?"

John began to bite his lip. A small drop of blood flowed from the wound onto the bed.

"Why? Why?"

John's head fillwed with a thousand voices, screaming out of control but still saying the same thing.

"Why? Why?"

His face grew hot and red.

"Why? Why?"

John raised his arm and hurled the screwdriver forward at the wall, screaming as the handle shattered against the wall, sending the screw head flying.

"Why?"

John sat and sobbed into the bed. The voices were gone, but a new sound filled the air. One of great sadness. John sat and cried, the taste of blood and salt slowly filling his mouth. He spat huge blobs onto the floor beside the stain from earlier.

The room reaked of filth. John looked around the room, expecting to see Herbert laughing at him, but he did not. He saw that same room he had seen for the past ten days and the ten days before that and the hundred days before that...then he saw the shattered handle.

John sprang from the bed and fell beside the red fragments. He tried collecing them in his hand, but some were too small and he couldn't grasp them.

"Oh my god."

John rocked back and forth, mumbling to himself as he collected the pieces of his dead friend.

"What have I done?"

John felt more tears coming up until he noticed something. The actual screw. It was missing. John looked around the room, but he couldnt see it anywhere. He stood up and frantically paced the room, ignoring the tiny pieces of plastic being imbedded into his foot.

"Where are you? I'm sorry...oh god, I'm sorry."

John wished he could go back in time to before he threw his friend. He wanted to make things better. John had to stop looking periodically as huge waves of remorse took over and he had to sit down. He couldn't handle it. John walked over to the bed and obverved the puddle of muck he had spat out.

His heart skipped a beat as the sudden realization hit him. John crouched down and moved his hand toward the puddle. Just as his fingertips touched it, he pulled it hand back. It didn't make any sense for it to be in the puddle.

It made sense seconds ago. John was eager to shove his hand into the mess, certain he would find his friend in there. Not only was his body deteriorating, but so was his mind.

"What the hell is happening to me?"

John let himself fall backwards onto the floor, resting his head beside the puddle. He just wanted to die right there. He had no reason to live. He killed the one friend he had in this place. He stared off blankly as he contemplating diving head first off his bed.

As his mind wandered, imagining the bloss that would be death, something seemed to shine under the bed. Thinking his eyes were failing him, he raised his head slightly. sure enough, there was still a small shine. He was excited now.

He repositioned himself and began pulling himself under the bed, smearing the spit globs all over himself in the process. He kept sliding under the bed until his nose amost touched the wall. He looked down and, sure enough, there was a long, flat piece of metal. His friend.

John jutted his arm out from under him and grabbed the screwdriver. He brought it to his face and examined it closely. It was unharmed.

"Oh, thank god."

John pressed it to his face as he whispered sorry over and over again, thankful to not be alone anymore. John started the slow process of turning around so he could finally get some sleep. He shifted his arm, but it scraped against something cold and hard.

John cursed and turned around to see what cut him, shuffling around until it was blowing a steady stream of air onto his face. it was the vent. John began to turn back again until he had a revelation: he could pry it open. He had his friend with him. John carefully slid the top under one of the corners and began trying to force it open.

At first, it would hardly move. John put as much weight as he could onto the screwdriver until the corner finally popped up with a loud bang. The air from the vent continued to blow, but sounded different now.

John contined and placed the screwdriver under the other corner, ignoring the pain as the handless tool dug into his palm. Again, the corner popped up and John could almost see into the vent. He just needed to pry open the last two corners.

After letting his hands recover and getting into a better position, John managed to pop open the remaining side. John was excited. Sweat dropped off his face onto the floor now. What would he find?

John carefully moved the destroyed vent cover to the side and wiggled forward until his face was directly over the hole. John took a deep breath and looked down. He saw light. Almost blinding white light. It was familiar, yet odd.

"What the hell?"

John couldn't think. His brain felt like it was going to explode. He hadn't talked to anyone for god knows how long except Herbert, but this was different.

"Who's talking?" The voice sounded terrified. Desperate.
"Me." John almost whispered down the vent.
"Where are you?"
"Up here."

John continued looking down the hole. There was still nothing but white until a figure appeared. It was a person. They were scrawny and had shaggy, dark hair. They looked wildly around the room, clearly scared out of their mind.

"I'm up here," John said again, more confidently.

The stranger looked up and squinted his eyes.

"Oh thank god. Are you here to get me out?"

A sense of hopelessness washed over John. In the back of his mind, he somehow thought this person might be his way out. Clearly, this wasn't the case. This person seemed just as out of it as he did, maybe even more so.

"No, no. I've been here for a long time." The words were coming easy to John. It had been a long time since he had talked to anyone, let alone someone in person.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" The stranger grabbed their head and walked in and out of John's view. They were swearing louder and louder. John just lay there.
"Listen, how long have you been here?" John tried calming the stranger down - get them focused.
"Uh...um... I don't know. I don't know....like a night? Two? Maybe three? I don't know, man." The stranger was jittery.
"Have you gotten a pill?"
"Uh, what? Pill? What the hell are you talking about?" The stranger was looking upwards, directly at John's face.

John licked his lips. If he wasn't getting the pill, he must be hungry.

"Look, my name's John. I'm stuck in here just like you. Do you know how you got here?"
"How I get here? ...huh, how I got here?" The stranger almost laughed as they repeated the line. "I don't remember shit."
"Alright, can you tell me what's in your room?"
"Fucking nothing, man. Nothing. There's...uh...there's a window and...uh...a bed. Yeah. There's a bed. That's it, man. There's not even a fucking door, man."
John got a little nervous. "Is there a loudspeaker?"
"A what? Listen, man. There ain't shit in here." The stranger was still looking directly upwards. John wasn't sure if he could see him through the vent or not.

Why wouldn't there be a loudspeaker? How else would Herbert talk to him? What the hell was going on?

"Do you have any food, John?"
"No." John rubbed the etra pill he had been keeping in his pocket.
"Damn, this isn't right." The stranger walked out of sight again.
John's eyes kept slowly closing. He was fighting to keep them open. "Look, I've got to go. I'll come back later. I haven't slept right in days."

The stranger muttered something, but John was too tired to hear. He wanted to stay. He wanted to talk. This was the biggest thing to ever happen to him; he finally, actually, had someone. He wasn't alone. But he needed sleep. He didn't want to pass out under the bed.

He slowly crawled out backwards, passing over the now dark reddish-orange stain on the floor. He pulled himself onto the bed and laid his head down. He had so much to think about but no energy to do it. Within no time, John fell asleep.

John's eyes opened sharply. He sat upright and looked around the room. He was still alone, but just below him there was someone else now. Someone to talk to, plan with...maybe even escape with one day.

John staggered out of bed and went to the drop box. There was a pill. He grabbed it and popped it into his mouth, letting it slide down his throat eagerly. He picked up the broken screw head beside his bed and scraped across the wall. The room filled with the expected terrible noise, but John pressed on until there was a new tick on the wall. he wasn't dead yet.

John had almost perfected sliding under the bed. He wiggled back and forth until he was in the usual position. He tilted his head forward and pressed it up against the hole.

"Hello?"

John heard shuffling noises and a few soft bangs.

"Wha-who's there? John? John, is that you?"
"Yes."
"Don't fucking do that, man." The stranger walked into view, wiping his eyes.
"How'd you sleep?"
"Sleep? No, man. Can't sleep. No sleep right now." The stranger was pacing again.
"You should try. It'll help...make the first while a bit easier."
"Easier? Easier than what? Either way, I'm trapped in a fucking box. Either way, I'm fucking dead unless I get some food." The stranger sounded quieter. He must have been in the corner.
"It'll help you think clearly."
"Think clearly? Man, I don't want to be thinking clearly in here. No way, man. No way. If I'm going out, I might as well do it freaking out. You know what I mean?" The stranger's words were heard over a dull thud. He was banging his head rhythmically against the wall.

John repositioned himself. It had been four days and the stranger was only getting worse.

"Hey, did they bring you any food yet?"
The stranger laughed and the banging continued. "Food? What food, man? There's no food here..." The stranger began pacing the room while cursing to himself.

John fingered the small pill in his pocket. It was still there. He could give it to the stranger, but what if John needed it? He couldn't risk it.

"How about medicine? Like, a pill or something?"
"I don't want any fucking medicine from these people, man. You'd trust these people? What the fuck is wrong with you?" The stranger was banging on each wall, testing the strength.

John's stomach leaped into his throat. Holy shit...what if these pills had been poison? What if these pills were messing with his head, his ability to think clearly, his ability to sleep, his ability to remember?

His head was ringing. He needed time to think about this. John tried to open his mouth to say something, but the stranger's banging soon became the only audible sound over the ringing of his ears and decided it was pointless to continue the conversation. John crawled out from under the bed, his shirt scraping against the filthy stain on the floor.

Upon leaving the darkness of the bed, John was blinded by the almost glowing white walls. He stood and ran his hands over his head. Panic washed over his mind. John never even contemplated the thought that they - that Herbert - would try to poison him.

John saw images of himself lying in a giant room filled with other people, all of them seemingly asleep, dreaming the same horrid nightmare as him. Is this stranger even real? Is any of this even happening, or is this all some vivid hallucination concocted by the pills and his own distraught psyche?

It was too much to handle. John felt like he was going to throw up. He stumbled onto his bed and yanked the covers over his head. He clamped his hands hard against his ears to try to silence the ringing and the god damn banging from below. John clenched his teeth and pressed his hands harder against his ears to try and dampen the sound of the persistent bang.

Bang.

Sweat rolled down John's forehead.

Bang.

John's palms turned red and shook against the tension.

Bang.

John started to hold his breath.

Bang.

Tears began to roll down his now red face.

Bang.

John opned his mouth, unsure whether he was going to breathe or scream.

Bang.

Darkness. It was quiet now.

"Are you going to die in here, John?"

John let out a gasp as he quickly sat up in the bed. The room was dark - impossibly so. The white walls had always left the room in perpetual light, yet John could hardly see.

"Do you want to die in here, John?"

Voices in the dark. John pressed his back against the wall, hugging his legs to his chest.

"Wh...who are you?"

Suddenly, hundreds of indiscernible whispers filled the room, repeating John's soft words.

"Who are you? Who are you? Who are you?"

John's heart beat rapidly, loudly.

"John, do you want to die in here?" The whispers spoke as a single entity. No one voice took dominance.

"No...no, no, no, no..." John spat out the words, shaking his head as tears rolled down his face.

"Don't trust him, John."

"He is not to be trusted."

"He is lying to you, John."

"You can get out of here, John."

John was certain he had gone insane. He was shaking his head harder now. He heard their words, but they had no meaning. John wanted to die. He wanted this all to be over. He began to sob louder.

"Don't trust him, John."

"He is not to be trusted."

The thousands of soft voices came at John from all directions. John started to scream a deep, primal noise at the darkness. He screamed for the seemingly thousands of nights he had been in here. He screamed for the hunger. He screamed for the terror...but most of all, he screamed to prove he was still human. He was still alive.

His eyes began to pulge out of his head as he stared into the darkness and his roar became louder. Suddenly, a form began to take shape in the darkness. In the opposite corner of the room, the figure of a human could be barely seen.

John's roar stopped as he looked at the being. He could make out no features in it as it stood, motionless, in the corner. John sat, huddled in silence. The whispers had stopped and he now noticed the eerie absense of sound. It was like being in a vaccuum.

John stared closer at the presence, being careful not to move. The curiosity outweighed the horror and John opened his mouth to speak. Instantly, the sound of a thousand screaming voices filled the room; they were no longer soft.

The being in the corner began toshift, slowly moving towards John. John was paralyzed. The voices were louder than anything he had ever heard. He felt like his ear drums were going to pop. John again wished for death. He wanted to be out of this room, away from the voices, away from this hell.

His eyes began to roll to the back of his head as the voices grew louder, more angry. John couldn't breathe. His body trembled, struggling for air. The presence continued to slowly move towards John amongst the chaos.

John's lungs began to burn and his eyes felt like they were going to explode. The pain was excruciating. Just as John felt he was going to die from the pain, he felt a cold hand gently cup the back of his head and a soft breeze against his ear. The voices stopped and the room filled with white light once againa s John heard a single word gently whispered into his ear.

"Sleep."

John regained consciousness lying down normally in his bed. His body felt stiff as he forced himself to sit up straight. John slowly stood up and looked around the room cautiously. It was normal - exactly the way he remembered it before last night.

John paced around the room, making sure not to miss any detail. Still, he could not find a single abnormal mark or object. Satisfied with the small search, John checked the drop box.

There was a new pill. John popped it in his mouth and let it slide down his dry throat. He sat down on the floor and put his hands on his head. "What the fuck happened last night?"

John's brain went over thousands of possible scenarios, but only one made sense: John was going insane. His mind had finally snapped and this was the beginning of his descent into complete madness.

John started to laugh quietly to himself. After all these days and all these nights, he had finally snapped and it still made no difference. Whether he was sane or completely out of his mind, he would still be in this room. Forever.

That's when John remembered the voices. Before the screaming, they had spoke to him. They had said something.

"You can get out of here, John."

The soft voices still rang clear in John's head. Maybe he wasn't going insane. Maybe he could get out of here. John shifted his hand and felt something cold brush up against him.

Suddenly, the cold hand from last night flashed into his head and he immediately backed away from where he was sitting. John's heart was pounding fast againa s he looked at the spot where he hand rested. There sat the screw head. John laughed once again.

"I really am going insane..."

John clasped the screwdriver in his hand. He stood up and walked over to where he made his daily ticks.

"Days I Haven't Been Dead"

John read the words and remembered back to when he first scratched them into the wall. John considered scratching out dead and replacing it with insane, but decided against it. Nothing would matter anymore if he truly did lose his mind.

John quickly made another tick against the wall. he backed up and admired his work. Over time, the wall had quickly filled up. Multiple rows and columns of ticks lined John's walls and right in the center was "My name is John Nobody." John ran his fingers across the name.

"I am somebody," John thought to himself. "I am somebody..."

Suddenly, a loud hollering came from below. It was the stranger. John quickly went to the bed and dragged himself over the now black stain on the ground as he crawled toward the vent. The hollering continued and John stuck his face over the vent.

"Hello?"
"You! Oh man, it's you! Oh Jesus, this is great." The stranger sounded ecstatic. He was pacing quickly around the room, frequently letting out loud cheers.

John just watched nervously as the stranger moved around the room.

"I, uh...I can get out of here and you....fuck, you too, man! We can both get out of here!"

John was uneasy. What the stranger was saying was complete nonsense, but he had truth in his voice. John opened his mouth.

"How?"
"How?" The stranger laughed and let out another cheer. "We just fucking walk out, man!" The stranger laughed hysterically and beat his hands loudly against the wall like a drum.

John now knew he was not insane. He was looking at true insanity.

"Yeah, man. There's...uh... this panel, right? This heavy panel. Heaviest fucking thing I ever seen, man. It's right in my fucking room!" More laughing.
"How'd you find it?"
"It's fucking heavy, man!" The stranger sounded like he was panting.
John tried to clear his throat. "How did you find the panel?"
"Oh man, I'm fucking hungry. You know? I just need some food, man. Something to eat and I could move this. I'm too weak right now. Too weak, man. Too weak." John couldn't hear footsteps anymore. The stranger must have sat down.
John shifted under the bed, trying to get comfortable. "So, uh...they still haven't fed you?"
"Too weak, man. I could move this if I just had some food...then I could get out of here! And come get you, man! i could come get you!" The stranger made a wet cough. John was unsure if it was blood or just spit.

John shifted once again and something small pressed against his chest. John lifted himself up and put his hand into his chest pocket. There was a pill - the extra one John had been saving. He pulled it out and stared at it.

"Man, I'm so hungry..." The stranger started to slur his words. it sounded like he was passing out.

John stared at the pill. He knew he could give it to the stranger. What if he wasn't crazy? What if there really was some panel leading to freedom?

"Hey, uh...you. You didn't tell me how you found the panel."

John waited but heard nothing, just the sound of faint breathing. He began to turn around when the stranger mumbled something. John pressed his ear against the vent hole.

"Voices, man...those voices...so many..."

The stranger let out a snore and John heard the dull thud as his body sulked to the floor. He had passed out.

John quickly crawled out from under the bed and began pacing the room and rubbing his face. The stranger's words both excited and horrified John. He was excited because now knew he wasn't crazy. Those voices, that...thing...had actually happened last night. He was still sane, for now.

He was horrified because he wasn't crazy. Those things had actually happened. Something was in his room last night, something indescribable. John could still feel its faint presence, as if it was still in the room with him, watching, observing. John tried to ignore the feeling by thinking about the stranger.

Pills had been coming consistantly for a long time now. John felt certain they wouldn't stop coming. He could give his extra to the stranger so he could open this panel, then maybe they could both escape. The thought was overwhelming to John.

Just seeing another person, being in a different room (let alone the outside world) felt like something out of a fairy tale. John knew the stranger would die soon without some sort of food, without the pill, but the stranger was crazy.

His mind had already seemed to have left him. Even after eating, how could John trust him to do anything other than ruin a potential chance at escape? His choices were simple.

He could give the stranger his pill and hope that somehow he would be able to not only find John, but get him out of this room. Alternately, he could keep the pill for himself in case he needed it again.

The latter started to become more and more preferable as memories of being near starvation during the times when the pill stopped coming, but the entire time John could not shake the thought of potentially escaping.

John sat up to go to his bed. The choice was too big to make right away. He needed to sleep on it. A million different outcomes played out in his head. Some ended with John escaping with this stranger, both of them seeing actual daylight.

However, most were not like this. Most ended with John still in this room, as an old man, the walls covered in thousands of small ticks.

Every so often, John would open his mouth to try to scream, but a cold, dark hand would wrap itself around John's mouth, silencing him. With that thought burning into his mind, John fell asleep.

John's eyes slowly opened. He was still in the same position, staring at the white ceiling. He moved his hands across the bed and his fingers ran over the cold screwdriver head.

John thought it must have fallen out of his pocket. He slowly sat up and stretched his arms. As he turned his head to the side, his body immediately stiffened. There was a black creature in the corner.

Its body was exactly the same as a human's, but had no clothes or identifying characteristics. Its skin looked rough, like sandpaper, but was completely black.

Its face was what horrified John the most. There were no ears or nose or anything except two round, white eyes and a permanent smile on the creature's face. The eyes never blinked and they were staring straight at John.

John immediately reached for the screwdriver and pushed himself deep into the corner of the bed. He thrust his arm outwards and screamed, "Stay the fuck away from me!"

The creature remained stationary. Smiling.

John kept him arm with the screwdriver outstretched, horrified that the abomination might pounce at the first sign of weakness. His arm grew heavy and tired and started to sag. John began to cry.

The creature remained in the corner.

John continually tried raising his arm, in an attempt to hold the thing off even though it made no signs of advance. Both John and the creature stayed like this for what seemed like hours.

The only movement was that of John's tired arm as the screwdriver was raised in defence and then dropped. The smile bore deep into John's brain. It horrified every inch of him.

The unblinking eyes were locked on with John's, as if looking into his soul. John slowly drifted in and out of consciousness, fearing for his life, as he fell completely asleep.

John was mentally and physically exhausted. He couldn't fight it anymore. he let his eyes close and his arm dropped once more for good. Just before John lost total consciousness, he felt a cold hand rest upon the top of his hand...and then he was asleep.

John bolted upright in his bed. He was breathing heavily and his face was wet with sweat. He suddenly remembered the events of last night and held his breath in horror.

He scanned the white room but found nothing. He was safe. John felt as if he should be crying, but his body had no tears to cry. He was exhausted, physically and mentally. He wasn't going to last much longer like this.

He got up out of his bed and opened the drop box, swallowing the waiting pill inside. As his energy slowly returned to him, he thought. He could give the pill to the stranger. He had to. This might be his only chance - no matter how insane it was - to escape from this place. He had no other options.

John quickly scooped up the pill and crawled under the bed. None of that mattered now. He was getting out of here today. He couldn's tstand the thought of spending another night in this place. It was driving him insane, or had already driven him insane.

The past few nights blurred John's perception of reality. None of this could actually be happening. John was simply dreaming, at home in his bed. The idea comforted him for a brief second, until it occurred to him that he couldn't remember what it was like to have a home. John slammed his fists on the ground in anger and frustration at his own stupid mind before he pulled his face over the small grate.

"Hel-"

Red. John saw deep pools of red flowing beneath him.

"Blood..." The liquid covered the entire portion of the floor John could see. He felt like he was going to vomit.
"Oh, Jesus Christ. John put his hand to his mouth, in case he couldn't control himself.
"K-ki-"
"Holy shit..." John panicked. This man, the stranger, was still alive. John was certain it was his voice.
"Mister?"
"Ki..."

John pushed his ear up to the vent, turning his face away. He couldn't look at the blood any longer.

"I..." John started to cry. "I'm sorry...I can't hear you." John heard the stranger let out soft sobs.
"Listen...what...what happened?" The stranger let out a loud yell.
"Fuck...please, please don't die." John was in hysterics. The stranger was his one chance out and now he was bleeding out ten feet below him with no way to help.
"Listen to my voice. Don't die...please, please don't die." A pool of tears was forming around where John lay his face.
The stranger let out another yell before beginning to say something. "Kill..." John pressed his face hard against the vent.
"Kill...me..."
John slammed his fists against the floor. His hands went numb. "Don't you fucking die! Don't you fucking die on me!"
John was slamming his fists harder and harder against the floor. "You're my way out here! You're my way out, you piece of shit!" The stranger began crying louder.
"You can't die...you can't die..."

John's anger slowly left him and feeling retrned to his hands. He felt like he had broken his wrist. The sound of two men crying filled the room.

"Kill...me..."
"How?" John said, spitting out a glob of spit.
"Please...kill me..." John began to get annoyed again.
"I can't. Don't you understand? You're trapped, just like me. We're both going to fuck die alone in here. Why don't you ju-"

John turned his head to speak directly into the room, but stopped mid-thought. No longer did red fill the room below. In fact, John could not even see the room. Inside the vent was complete darkness.

John couldn't see anything except two piercing white eyes and a giant toothy smile. John was frozen. He was no more than four feet away from the face - the entity. He could reach out and touch it if he wanted to, but he didn't. He wanted to be away from it.

He wanted to be as far away as humanly possible, yet his body wouldn't let him. John looked deep into the eyes. They were lifeless, unblinking. John could not say the same for himself. His entire body was violently shaking and tears rolled down his face as he continued to silently cry. The thing continued to smile, unmoving.

John inhaled deeply and, as if he was unleashing what remained of his sanity, let out a scream. This lasted for what felt like hours. When he finally stopped, gasping for air, he opened his eyes and realized the face was gone.

Before John could even form another thought, he felt the familiar cold hand wrap its fingers around his face and whisper nothing but "Sleep."

John woke up in his bed. He slowly opened his eyes and remembered the blood, the face, and the soft whisper. None of it mattered now. John wanted to be dead. He had lost the last shred of his will to live. John was nothing but an insignificant speck in some sick and twisted universe.

John would end his life using the only friend he had in this place, the thing he once believed to be catalyst for his sanity: his screwdriver. John rolled onto his side, reaching to grab for his screwdriver one last time when, suddenly, he noticed the walls.

There were markings - thousands of them - scrawled over every inch of the wall. John quickly crawled out of bed, making his way to the middle of his writing wall. He ran his hands over his original writing. "My name is John Nobody." It had been scratched out. Thousands of new scratches covered the wall.

"My name is JOHN #1045960."

John scanned the entire room, thousands of new markings all saying the same thing.

"My name is JOHN #1045960."

John spun in circles around the room. He didn't understand how this was possible. He would have heard this happening. Even then, who? Who could have done this? John stopped spinning and looked in the middle of the floor. His screwdriver.

"You..." John said with a mixture of anger and great sadness. The screwdriver was positioned in the middle of the room, facing John.

"You...why?" Tears rolled down John's face. "I...I trusted you."

The screwdriver remained motionless.

"Why?" John began to sob while crawling towards the object. "Why? Why? Why? Why?"

John clutched the screwdriver in his hands and brought it to his face. "You and me were the same..."

A cool breeze rushed through the room. John looked up, screwdriver still in hand. The thing was standing in the corner, watching John. Its smile was the same as John remembered it, the eyes still burned in John's mind.

John looked at the smiling presence and back to the screwdriver when it dawned on him: he hadn't been betrayed. No, it was this...this monster who had done this. John repositioned the screwdriver in his hand, pointing it at the smiling being.

"You did this!" spit flew out of John's mouth as he yelled hysterically. "This was you..." John's body shook with every loud sob he let out.

"I...I'll fucking kill you!" John stepped toward the being, swinging the screwdriver wildly. The being continued to watch John unflinchingly. John planted his feet in the ground and let out a wile scream as he launched himself at the being. John latched himself around it.

It was freezing cold and had the texture of gravel, almost, but John lashed at it violently. John stabbed the creature in its chest with the screwdriver and cold air blew violently against John's hand, flowing from the wounds.

John yelled like an animal with every thrust of his weapon. He reverted to a primal stage, thinking of nothing but the kill. John's grunts and yells were mixed with sporadic sobs and only a few comprehensible words.

"Why?" This was the one word John could still focus his mind on with each stab. John took the screwdriver with both hands and let out one final blow directly to the being's chest with all his might. John panted as he tried to catch his breath. He remained sitting atop the being.

His thoughts began to return to him as his bloodlust subsided. John realized he had his eyes closed the entire time. He slowly opened them to look at what he had done.

Underneath John lay the being, holes covered the completely black body from where John had stabbed him, yet his face remained unchanged. The eyes stared directly back at John, the mouth ever smiling.

John grabbed the creature and pressed his hands against its head. "How do I get out of here?" The creature continued to stare at John and, just as he was about to stab it again, it raised an arm. John spun to where it was pointing and nearly fainted. A single white door had appeared on the far wall.

John's heart began to race faster and faster. The screwdriver loosely rolled over John's hand, falling into the creature's chest and being consumed by the darkness. John slowly stood up and walked, hand outstretched, towards the door. Behind him, the creature seemingly floated into an upright position. Watching. Smiling.

"I'm going to get out of here. I'm going to go...home."

John thought of a million different things that could be on the other side of the door. Every single one of them was better than being here, being in this room. He finally reached the door and let his hand rest gently upon the handle.

He took a deep breath and turned one last time to look at the room. The drop box, the lone window leading nowhere, his bed...he would never see any of it again. John took one last look at the being, still smiling at John, and pushed his hand down. It was time to leave.

The door swung open slowly. John could see light, real light - not the blinding whiteness he had become accustomed to. John slowly walked out of the room, the door swinging shut behind him. He was in a long hallway.

John looked to each side of him. Thousands of doors lined the halls. Each door had a single light bulb above it. Some were lit, while others flickered sporadically. John slowly walked foward, half expecting there to be a trap or for him to wake up any minute now, still inside that room.

John turned around to look bac at the door he left from. It was exactly like all the others. The doors were white, the same color as the walls in his room, except for a single brown plaque in the middle. It had a number on it.

"JOHN #1045960"

John ran his fingers across the numbers until he realized something: it was dark where he was standing. John looked up to see a single lightbulb above his door, just like all the others...except his was burnt out.

John backed away from the door, scared and confused. "Hello?" John yelled down the hallways. He received no response except for faint echoes. John spun around and looked at the door adjacent to his.

"JOHN #1045970"

Horror rushed over John. He quickly placed his hand on the door handle and swung it open. The room was a blinding light. There was an old man huddled in the corner, rocking back and forth.

John went to say something, but then looked to the other side of the room. The thing...no, a thing was watching the old man, smiling. John's body tensed up and the thing turned its head immediately towards John. He quickly slammed the door shut and began running. Tears ran down his face and poured onto the ground as he ran.

"I want to go home..."

John ran the dimly lit hallway until he saw a door with a flickering light. He grabbed the handle and swung it open. There was a man sitting in the middle of the room with his back facing John. A small pool of red liquid surrounded him.

"Hello?"

The man in the room screamed and his whole body jumped. The man sharply turned his head to look at John. His face was badly bruised and covered in blood. John opened his mouth to speak, but the man on the floor let out a deep laugh. Blood ran like a river from the man's mouth; all his teeth were missing.

John then noticed the screwdriver in the man's hand. The man continued to laugh while spitting blood at John. John's stomach felt horrible. As he slammed the door shut, he could make out the faint image of a smiling face in the back of the room. John ran full sprint down the hallway, screaming as he moved.

"I want to go home."

John looked to both sides as he ran. The doors were all open now. John could see people inside them. Some of them appeared normal, doing pushups or walking. Others made John sick to his stomach. There were people covered in blood, maimed, or disfigured.

In every single room, he could see one of those things staring and smiling. John's tears clouded his vision, but he could make a brighter than usual light not too far ahead. He ran with all his energy toward it as it got closer and closer until he hit something hard.

It was another door. He came crashing through it and landed on a cold, hard, white floor. John was dizzy and confused but he could still hear something: a voice. "Oh! Why hello there, John!"

John picked himself up off the ground and looked around his new surroundings.

He was in a blinding white room similar to his own. It had a bed with a few blankets and a quilt folded on top. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with large important-looking books. There was single desk pushed up against one of the walls with nothing but a small television and microphone on it, neither of which were plugged into anything.

Then there was the man. He was a short, pudgy man in a plain black suit. He was completely bald and his eyes were solid white; there was no iris.

"My, my my! You look horrible, John! What happened to you?"

John wiped his eyes and the nausea returned to him. He didn't understand what was happening.

"You're not going to be sick, are you John? Come, come! Sit down!" The fat man motioned John toward the bed.
"Wh-"
"Shh...shh...shh, my boy. You're tired! You're sick! Here, have this."

The man walked over to one of his bookshelves and produced a thermos with two small glasses. He opened the thermos and poured a sweet-smelling liquid into both of the glasses.

"What shall we drink to? Oh, how rude of me. But of course, we will drink to you. To John!"

John was confused. The man...John felt like he had known him his whole life, yet he had no memory of him. The fat man held the cup to John's lips and the sweet liquid poured down John's throat. John felt relaxed, comfortable. He drank the whole cup as the fat man placed his warm hands on John's face.

"Sleep now, John. Sleep."

John woke up after what felt like centuries. His body was stiff and it hurt to move. He tried to breathe, but the air burned his lungs. He violently coughed.

"Oh! You're awake, my boy!"

John continued to cough as the fat man's footsteps could be heard walking over to him. John realized he was in a different room. It was dark except for a single light illuminating himself.

"Don't hurt yourself just yet, John. We haven't even had a chance to catch up!"

John insaled once more and, this time, managed to restrain the coughs. He slowly let the air out and inhaled again. The worst of it was done, though his chest still ached.

"Where...where am I?"
"Home, John."
John looked around the room once more. There was nothing but darkness. "Who are you?"
The fat man made a fake gasping sound. "John, I'm hurt!"

John tried to move his hands to rub his face, but his arms wouldn't move. They were numb.

"Don't try to move too much, John. You'll want to save your energy."

John recognized the voice...the tone.

"Herbert?"
"Yes, John?"
"Why is this happening to me?"
"Why is what happening to you, John?"
"This...why am I here?"
"I brought you here, my boy!"
"I mean here...this...this place. Why can't I remember before all this ever happened to me?"
"Before what, John?"
"You know what I fucking mean!" John coughed again and choked on something wet. It tasted like metal.
"Shh...calm down now, John. John, tell me something. Why do you want to leave here?"
"Because I hate it...I miss my home...I want to go home."
"What do you remember of home, John?"
John was silent.
"Well, John? What do you miss? Home is merely an invention of modern society. What is a home, really?"
"I want to go home..."
"Don't be a fool, John. What can you miss what you've never known? The grass isn't always greener, my boy."
"I want to be home, Herbert...I want to be happy again."
"Happy? John, you were happy! The conversations we had, the screwdriver....you loved that screwdriver, didn't you, John?"

John looked away from the fat man. There was a creature standing just at the edge of the light, smiling, watching John.

"I mean really happy..."
"How can you know what that is, John?"
"Because I felt sadness...I felt like I wanted to die...like there are blank voids in my life I can't feel. To feel that...to feel sadness...I have to have known what it's like to have been happy...to know what it's like to lose something."
John noticed more beings. They were surrounding the two men. "Herbert, please. I just want to-" More coughing. This time, liquid leaked from the side of John's mouth.
"Oh, John, it appears your system isn't quite happy with what we gave you." Herbert pulled out a small handkerchief and wiped the liquid from John's mouth. It was red.
"What...did you do to me?"
"John, have ou ever dreamed?"
"What?"
"Dreamed, John...like in your sleep? I find it a marvelous phenomenon." Hundreds of faces were all staring at John, smiling the same smile.
"Of course I dream. Everyone does.
"Tell me about your dreams, John."
"I..."
"You can't remember, can you John?"

The room was deathly silent.

"I used to dream quite often, John. It was an entirely different world than the reality I was forced to live in. I dreamt I had an ant farm. I loved that farm. I gave each and every ant their own special name.

I would feed them every day. I gave them shelter, protection. I even talked to them, John. Quite often. I felt like I had a bond with them. Then, one day I dreamt they escaped. They broke out of the farm and...you know what they did, John?"

John coughed up more blood.

"They bit me. They bit me over and over and it hurt, John. Quite a bit. I tried to get them off, but couldn't no matter how hard I rubbed and how hard I scraped. I tried to wash them off, but that didn't work either.

All I could do was sit and let the ants consume me. My own friends, betraying me. You wouldn't betray me now, would you John?" John's vision was going blurry. All he could see was herbert and the faces...so many faces.

"And you know something, John? I-....John? John?"

John's eyes began to close.

"Oh, nevermind. It seems it's run its course."

John could feel cold hands placing themselves all over his body, lifting him upwards.

"Am I going to die in here, Herbert?"
"Yes, John. You're going to die in here."

The cold air rushed all over his body. He was freezing, yet his head felt like it was on fire. John opened his eyes one last time. The faces all stared at him, as if wanting to ask him something. John was slowly rising upwards.

"Okay, Herbert..."
"Go to sleep now, John...sleep."

Waiting for the Scream

2011-10-10T10:00:00.001-05:00

What do you think of when you imagine being cursed? The random elements of life conspiring against you? A horrible disease no one can treat? Everything you touch dying? The curse I've been burdened with may sound like nothing compared to those, but it destroyed my life just as thoroughly.

I had a normal life before this started - decent job, recently married, a nice house. It was a normal night. I was just looking around online when, out of nowhere, I heard a loud, deep, furious scream.

I had never heard anything so loud in my life. Needless to say, it scared the hell out of me. I screamed, myself, and nearly fell out of my chair. My wife was in a nearby room and came running. My heart pounding, I asked her what that scream was. She said it was me; she hadn't heard anything else.

She insisted she hadn't heard the scream I had. She said I must have been hit by a screamer online. I insisted that even if our computer could make a noise that loud, she would have heard it from anywhere in the house. After some arguing, though, I dropped it. Maybe I had only imagined it being so loud.

The next day, I was clearing the table after dinner. I was carrying a very sharp carving knife to the sink when it happened again. That same unbearably loud, furious scream. I was almost knocked off my feet. My hands violently twitched and I gave myself a deep cut on my other hand with the knife.

My wife was in the room; she was scared after seeing me nearly fall and cut myself. However, that wasn't what upset me. Once again, she said she hadn't heard anything. I was becoming terrified at this point. I made a doctor's appointment; it was scheduled a week later, but I would end up in a hospital before that.

Two days later, I was driving home after work. After going a whole day without hearing the scream, I was starting to feel better. I wasn't even sure I would need to see a doctor. I was a few blocks from home when it happened. I heard the scream again and the consequences were much worse.

As with the other times, I lost control of my body for a brief moment. However, that's a dangerous amount of time when you're driving. My spasm from the scream caused me to violently turn the steering wheel to the left, crashing into a streetlight.

I broke my hand and the car was trashed. I went to a hospital, but nothing physically wrong with my head was found. The scream started coming at random times, every day or two. Everyone thought it was post-traumatic stress from the crash.

It wasn't. I heard the screams. I know I did. I was a nervous wreck after the accident, but not because of what happened to my hand or the car. It was because of the scream. I lived in constant fear of it, afraid to to anything where losing my control could injure myself or others.

That wasn't the worst part, though. The anticipation of the scream was unbearable. No matter how many times I heard it, it scared me to death. Nothing my wife or psychologist said helped. Eventually, I started lashing out at people, angry that they wouldn't believe the screams I heard were real.

After one particularly bad fight, my wife left. She was crying; she said she still loved me and knew I wasn't being cruel on purpose, but she couldn't live with me anymore. I hadn't been able to work since the accident and, even with the extra sick time they had given me, I would soon run out.

The screams had ruined my life and I was willing to do anything to make them stop. I picked up a knife, the same knife I had cut myself with when I heard the second scream, and cut off both my ears.

The doctors didn't agree with my decision and I didn't expect them to. All that mattered to me was that I had done a thorough enough job to ensure they couldn't restore my hearing. I was held against my will in the hospital, restrained and monitored at all times, but I didn't care.

With the screaming gone, I was sure I could convince them I was sane in time. I felt better than I had since I heard the first scream, until the night after I removed my ears.

It didn't stop. I heard it. I hadn't heard a thing since what I had done to myself, but I heard the screaming every bit as loud as it had been before. I completely lost control at that point. I'll probably be put in a mental hospital, monitored and restrained to keep me from hurting myself, for the rest of my life.

I don't care about that, though. That's not the reason I say the screams ruined my life. It's the anticipation, the knowledge that no matter what happens, they will keep coming for the rest of my life. I never know exactly when, either. All I can do is wait.

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

Cold

2011-10-09T17:00:00.000-05:00

Initially, it started out as a simple distortion and dialogue between a friend and I. They were a good friend of mine and we were talking on AIM when it happened.

I signed onto my account late one night around three or four AM because I couldn't sleep and I noticed my friend was online. For argument's sake, let's call her Janna1300. I say for argument's sake because I honestly don't remember what the hell her username was.

Anyway, she was on and I didn't pay too much attention. She's my ex-girlfriend, you see. I dated her about 2 1/2 years ago. She and I had a good run, but we broke up on pretty poor terms. I didn't want to delete her, though. I always had hope we might end up back together again.

I ignored her and my AIM was pretty much empty. I didn't intend to talk to anyone unless they personally contacted me - at this time of night, it would have been just rude to IM anyone.

I scanned the internet for a while, looking for something to entertain myself with until I fell asleep. I figured cool songs/videos on Youtube would put me to sleep and creepy stories would keep me awake, so it was a win/win at this point. I couldn't find anything, of course, but my fruitless search had done me in for the night. I was about to pass out.

That's when it happened.

An AIM window popped open with a loud BING. it was Janna1300. The following is a quick excerpt of what she and I exchanged back and forth.

Janna1300: Hey
Me: Hey
Janna1300: What's up?
Me: Nothing, you?
Janna1300: Nothing.
Janna1300: It's really cold in my house.
Me: Haha
Janna1300: -.- Shut up, it's freezing.
Me: Get under a blanket
Janna1300: I am
Janna1300: Like 4
Janna1300: And my snuggie :D
Me: Loser
Janna1300: You're just jealous I can use the computer WHILE keeping my arms warm.
Janna1300: At. The. Same. Time.
Janna1300: :D
Me: LOL
Me: I hate you
Janna1300: Nah, it's cool

Then she disappeared for around ten minutes. I sent her a couple of messages with no reply.

Me: lol
Me: So anything else new?
Me: You fall asleep?
Me: Well, goodnight lol

I closed my computer and didn't turn my AIM off, as I frequently never did. Before the laptop went to sleep, however, I got another audible bing.

Janna1300:

It was a blank message, which was odd for her. I began messaging her back and some really strange stuff began to happen.

Me: Hey? You there?
Me: ...
Janna1300: //
Me: hello?
Janna1300: Hey
Me: What happened there?
Janna1300: What do you mean?
Me: You like, sent two blank texts?
Janna1300: No I didn't?
Me: Yeah, hold on
Me: "Janna1300: " "Janna1300: //"
Me: See?
Janna1300: That's weird. I didn't even type it.
Me: Really?
Janna1300: Yeah.
Me: Maybe a virus?
Me: or maybe you're just crazy
Me: lol
Janna1300: Shut up asshole
Me: <3
Janna1300:
Me: :(
Janna1300: <333333
Me: <3333
Janna1300: Its really cold in my house.

It was now that she started repeating stuff. I won't dull you with the information and what she said, but basically it was disturbing and creepy. She was a good girl - like an A student. For her to be having short term memory loss about what she said to me not even a day ago was really weird. She was hostile about it, too.

Janna1300: It's really cold here.
Me: Yes, I know
Janna1300: How do you know?
Me: You've told me like 5 times
Jana1300: No I haven't?
Me: Yes you have lol
Me: It's cool though
Me: Idc
Janna1300: Idk what your talking about
Janna1300: But if you're gonna be childish about it
Janna1300: Then I ////'';a's;
Me: Wait can you repeat that last bit?
Janna1300: What?
Me: It didn't come through right
Janna1300: I said
Janna1300: Then you can shut the fuck up because I don't feel likedealing with it

She was pissed. Needless to say, I was still convinced her computer had a virus. Something was up with her AIM, too, so I assumed she was either:

Extremely tired and therefore forgetting little things
Her computer had some sort of virus that was pissing her off, so she was very short tempered.

Hell, it could have been both for all I know. I chocked it up to nothing and mentioned to her that I was about to sign off. There was silence for about ten minutes, so I assumed she wasn't going to say goodbye because she was angry. That was her way these days. It hurt, but I sort of didn't care. That's when she started replying again.

Janna1300: Wait

It took her about twenty minutes to respond again.

Janna1300: Can I ask you something>
Me: Yeah, what's up?
Janna1300: What degrees is it outside?
Me: I don't know, maybe 50?

It doesn't sound cold, but coming right out of summer it was a frigid atmosphere out there.

Janna1300: My fingers, I can't feel them. And I can see my breathe
Me: Woah
Me: Cold house lol
Janna1300: Shu p
Janna1300: itsreally old
Me: You should probably go to bed
Me: Save your fingers some
Janna1300: Cant slep
Me: :/

It was about 5:30 coming on 6:00. I was exhausted, but I didn't want to leave her to be cold. She sounded scared, too. I know that sound dumb, but she sounded legitimately worried and scared. I should have listened.

Me: Look, I'm exhausted and I can tell you are.
Janna1300: My nail fell off.
Me: What?
Janna1300: Hold on, I'll forward yiup apixturw

She sent me a picture of her hand. Her fingers were a dark blue toward the tips, ranging on black and possibly frostbitten. The nail on her ring finger had completely fallen off. It was disgusting.

Me: Oh my god! Janna!
Janna1300: I knw

Her replies started coming in really fast. She seemed scared, almost.

Janna1300: ajdhsaihfaf
Janna1300: /////''''-=++______
Me: Janna?
Janna1300: Hlp
Me: What?
Janna1300: Cn i seeyio
Me: Do you want me to come over?
Janna1300: Wbecam
Me: On aim?
Janna1300: No, its acting reay weord
Me: I agree
Janna1300:
Janna1300:
Janna1300:

She sent me about a hundred blank texts before her AIM went dead. I wasn't about to go to sleep. I was worried for her.

I heard a bang. Fuck. I'm afraid of the dark and I heard a bang. A loud one, too. It was coming from the other room, like someone was walking into the house and closing the door in frustration. I didn't want to leave my computer for fear that Janna might return, but I didn't want to not leave my computer for fear of what might be in my house.

I choked up a reasonable excuse in my head: my parents would have heard the house if it was anything but my imagination. If I didn't hear anything for another maybe...ten minutes, I would check.

It was then that I received a Skype message. You know what Skype is, right? It's like a telephone or something you can video chat with people on your computer. We used to use it because she lives 45 minutes from me. I haven't used Skype since she left me though.

I got a message from Janna1300 - a video request. I clicked yes and a video opened up. My image appeared first and it took a couple minutes to see hers.

She was shivering, her breath easily visible. She was panting, as if in fear; I would have been, too. She was crying, ice forming around her eyes in extreme cold. I didn't know what to say.

It was silent for a few moments. She leaned in closer to the image, as if squinting to see me. "I can't see you," I heard from her, but the video had become corrupted by something and a small distoring sound was starting over it.

The sound was like the humming of a bird, but in a metalic and painful way. After a minute of that and my stunned appearance, my picture froze as well. Now, in regular intervals, the sound of a pig squealing and a grinding of gears against smooth metal could be heard overlapping. At each interval, the camera's pictures would become darker. It was weird. I could hear Janna crying.

"Don't cry," I said in a low tone. I don't know if she heard me. She continued to cry. "You need to get outside. It's warmer out there than inside the house, from the sounds of it."

I'm a very grounded and down to earth person, but to be honest, I don't know what I thought. I - it wasn't right. She wasn't right, she wasn't Janna. She was, something...different. And there's no way the house she's in was THAT cold.

I was incredibly worried. Suddenly, the sound cut out and the video cut back in on hers. She was sitting, silently quivering, and it was clearly still extremely cold. Her skin, on the tip of her nose, was dark black and dead. It was peeling away to a pure white below it.

She was wobbling, slowly but it was noticeable. Her eyes were sunken in, in a black shape. Behind her there was a figure. A disturbingly white figure. It was standing in her window, and as it slinked away, the camera cut.

Static buzzed into my ear and then my Skype message cut out. I was freaked out. I needed to know what happened, and needed to make sure that Janna was okay. I scrambled out of bed.

It was now I heard a faint scratching out in the hallway. A very faint one, as if a person had scratched all their nails off, and had to keep scratching out of fear. It was low, and consistent. I took a hugely deep breathe, and grabbed my doorknob.

It was freezing. By freezing, I meant FUCKING. FREEZING. I pulled my hand back and breathed out, watching my breath form into a small haze below my mouth. I was scared now.

I blinked slowly, closing my eyes and opening the door. As it opened, I felt the most intense feeling of my entire life. It was pure hatred, pure evil. An energy flow of death, and an equal pressure on my chest. All the lights in my house were off, every single one.

And being that it was winter, it was absolutely pitch black and completely silent. I didn't want to turn the lights on, but I felt as though I had to. I exited my room slowly, feeling not he wall for the light switch. When I reached it, I clicked it on.

Empty. Thank god.

The house was empty and I was crazy. Good. I'd rather be crazy than dead any day. I began to gather my things to leave the house. Even though I knew I wasn't going to be killed, I needed to get to Janna's house to make sure she was okay.

She looked half dead and that…thing….in the back of her image. I needed to make sure she was okay. I turned off the lights as I left, being that I was sneaking out, and decided to rush out the back door.

I reached the backdoor and a feeling of dread fell over me. The scratching, that horrible scratching that will never leave my mind, was there in front of me. Something, something small and frail, something snow white, was sitting on its butt outside. Its arms and legs each led to hands, all bleeding because of the scraping on my door.

Then the creature looked at me.

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

Like the Raven

2011-10-09T01:37:00.000-05:00

Dear whoever can see this text,
I need help.

It started a week ago, I know. Why not go to a hospital? How can I?

September 23, 2011
It began. I woke up in a cold swet, the taste of adrenaline and sleep in my mouth. The taste was potent and relentless. I couldn't remember my dream, but it must have been some shit. I was crying. My face was red.

I breathed in and went to the bathroom. When I looked in the mirror, I noticed my eyes were darker. It wasn't just the iris, but the pupil and whites, too. They were a kind of grey...a silver, if you will. Yes. Silver.

September 24 - 26
I can't sleep. My eyes are engulfed in black - not white, no blue iris...just black. I'm alone and scared shitless. My body aches. I can't take it anymore. There are lacerations forming on my shoulders. They're deep. They smell of blood and rotting flesh. I'm in so much agony.

September 27
Kill me, please. I'm choking up blood. The stains cover my chest, covering my breasts. I can't wear a shirt or bra any more.The pain is too intense.

September 30
I passed out in a pool of blood. I can barely breathe. These things, they're like wings. They stick out of the cuts. They're like a raven's wings - black, big, and devilish. I'm going to die - if not by this, then by suicide.

HELP.

(This story is credited to a person called Midnight Agony.)

Notebook

2011-10-09T01:28:00.000-05:00

If you're reading this, then either I've escaped and this is old news because I've been on plenty of news shows, or it means I've died and you've found this. If it is the latter of the two, LEAVE IMMEDIATELY.

Have you ever seen or found something you believe you shouldn't have? Most people will tell you they haven't, but I'm not one of those people. I've recently took up urban exploring due to some peer pressure and, for a while, it was actually fun. That is, until we found Lab 1508. If I'm right, that means it's just one of many labs.

You see, we found the lab while taking a road trip from Maine to California. We stopped at a lot of different places to check them out. This stop in particular, though, was in Hamilton, Ohio. The place we found was called Taylor's school. All I know about it is that it looks abandoned and condemned from the outside.

We went in through a gate that led into the basement. The first thing we saw was three old fuse box-type things that were labeled Basement, 1st Floor, and 2nd Floor. I joked around and pushed all three up. The place actually had power. That surprised me and my buddies Bill and Rick because the building had obviously been closed for quite some time.

We walked straight up the first set of stairs we saw and reached the first floor. The first two floors weren't anything special; the only thing that stood out was the mold on the ceiling. We went back to the basement and started to explore the rest of the place when we found the old gym.

It was filled with stuff. We found various medical vials, which confused me, but I just ignored it. I would later come to regret this. We sifted through mountains of stuff and made our way to the middle of the room.

Rick was the first to notice the hatch in the middle of the floor. We opened it slowly and made our way down the stairs. The weird thing about this place was that all of the walls were black. Neon white arrows and writing adorned the walls.

We continued walking until we reached a crossroads where the path split into eight different directions: Kennel, Lab 1508, Observatory, Gene Splicing, Reanimation, Mutation Studies, Offices, Human Resources, and Waste Disposal.

We decided to split up, which was a major mistake. I made my way to Lab 1508. Rick was heading to the Kennel and Bill was going toward Human Resources. The hallway I was heading down was very long; it took a good ten minutes to reach my destination. I entered Lab 1508 and saw the last thing I expected.

I saw myself standing in the middle of the room. It wasn't me, however; it looked...wrong. I couldn't place what was off about this other me, this doppelganger. It just looked strange in my eyes.

The next thing I knew, the doppelganger lunged toward me. I barely moved out of the way as it tried to grab my throat. I ran out of there as fast as possible. I'm now hiding in the offices.

I'm going to try to escape this place. I have no clue what happened to Bill or Rick. I believe they're probably dead. I just found a document on my way out, though. It's something about splicing human subjects with different animals. I'm putting the part I believe pertains to this situation in this notebook.

[This notebook was found inside a school a friend and I recently explored. In fact, it was right by the basement gate. We thought it seemed creepy, so we submitted it here.
The only thing we could confirm was that the school does still have power running to it. We got too scared after reading the first two sences to go much farther into the school.
Whoever owns the building probably left the notebook there to scare off kids, seeing as we found no body lying around. We also didn't find any document, which makes us believe the story is a hoax. However, you can go to the school yourself and find out whether or not it's true.]

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

Announcement

2011-10-06T16:02:00.000-05:00

I tried taking up the task of updating all the coding on all 500+ stories and after the third day, I failed. My hands simply hurt too much to continue, and even now they still kind of hurt. I may have given myself carpal tunnel.

So, I'm trying to take a long break from typing as much as I can. I would've gone in and started getting stories again, but this happened and now I can't really spend much time editing stories and whatnot.

Also, the email I've listed as the one to send stories to is getting pretty spammed up. In addition, the email has been semi-blocked because of spam being sent from it due to some random hotmail-specific virus that likes to spread itself by sending emails in bulk from your own email. I may make a new email for the soul purpose of gathering stories.

So, I do need some help with gathering stories and all that. If you want to help me, add me to your contacts and IM me. I need to get to know you so I know I can trust you with helping, first, but that's probably understandable.

I really apologize for not having any new stories lately. Thanks in advance for understanding, go die in a fire if you don't understand.

EDIT: EVERYONE WILL HAVE TO RESEND THEIR STORIES TO ME. I'VE SWITCHED TO A NEW EMAIL: crappypasta@live.com.

EDIT: ...Great, now the Blog Archive is broken again.

Vintage PC

2011-10-01T21:52:00.000-05:00

I recently received some old PC from my neighbor. He said he didn't need it, along with something about not knowing he even had it. Apparently, he was looking through his attic and found it, but it wasn't there before then.

I've taken the PC home and cleaned it up a bit. Inside the case was some kind of note taped tho the hard drive. It was a confirmation lottery ticket with 7 numbers: 67, 85, 82, 83, 69, 68, and 46. However, these numbers aren't listed in any lottery I know of.

When I turned the PC on through the ON/OFF switch, I heard a loud cracking noise inside the case. After a few seconds, the BIOS showed up. I was relieved, as you can never be sure what happens when a PC cracks.

Anyway, it booted into DOS. There were a few files and folders, excluding system ones: CUR~1, TEST.TXT, 29A.ASM, README.TXT, OPEN.ME, FILE_ID.DIZ, VOLKOV.COM, LYNX.COM and TURN.OFF.

It looked like Volkov and Lynx were programs for general use. I opened the text files to see what was inside, but all I found was garbage. Some kind of virus or trojan probably attempted to overwrite files, no matter what was in them. However, FILE_ID.DIZ contained the numbers on the lottery ticket.

29A.ASM contained some assembler code. I recall that 29A (666 when converted from hex to dec) was a virus developer group. The previous owner of this PC probably managed to leak something from them. There wasn't any ASM-compiling program on the computer, so he didn't look like he was part of that group.

I decided to copy the file onto a floppy, but it just didn't seem to work. Every time I tried to insert a floppy disc, it ejected itself after five seconds. I forced it inside and managed to get a copy of it, all 253KBs of it. I've given the floppy to a friend and he told me he'd take a look at it.

The day after, he said he never saw anything like what was in that code. It's supposed to play some kind of sound, which is nearly impossible on such an old PC, and some graphical effect, which is nearly impossible as well.

He managed to compile it into a working form, but there was one major problem: It's self-destructive. When it runs once, it takes over the whole PC. As the PC I got it from was just in DOS, I decided to run it anyway. Nothing happened, but I still wish I didn't run it in the first place.

I've notice something strange on my PC (not the old one where I just ran that program, but the newer one I've had). Where it would show the status of the PC, there was a little icon that looked like something burning. There was also some kind of fire animation on some windows.

I immediately checked the case, but there wasn't any fire or smoke inside (no, PCs don't have fire/smoke sensors, but I had to check anyway). I've rebooted, hoping it would boot safely. When it got to the desktop, I heard a program error sound (from the Windows 9x theme Underwater, for those who still remember. My PC was running Windows ME) and it repeated a couple of times.

I was shocked. Afterward, it played some kind of low quality screaming and showed something like pink bubbles (I have no idea why) and the man from the Underwater theme choking. After another reboot, I heard the PC's fan behaving like it was dead and the computer turned off.

I blacked out after that and awoke in my bed, as if I had just been sleeping (I was still in my clothes, though). It was around 4 or 5 AM, from what I could guess. There was a loud sound downstairs, so I went down there. It felt like the floor was wet.

When I got downstairs, my PC played a loud sound. I tried to turn it off, but all of the switches were gone, as if someone ripped them off. I went to the power panel to go from there, but those switches were ripped off, too. It was impossible to stop the sound that way, so I went to unplug the PC. However, I noticed something coming from the kitchen.

To get rid of the confusion, the path from my room to the PC was hall > stairs > entrance hall > living room > dining room > study. Another thing is that the living room, dining room, and study were merged without doors leading into them.

Whatever was coming from the kitchen looked human. No, it wasn't me, since shadows drop from a different angle and there weren't any windows beind me. It was holding a gun and pointing at me. It was kind of hard to notice in the dark, but I could tell it WAS moving. I wasn't moving at all.

It shot at me and missed, but there was no sound of a bullet ricocheting around. I panicked and ran to my parents room, though nobody was there. Again, the floor was wet. I locked the doors and began to hear strange murmuring behind it. It seems like that thing won't force open the door, however.

The only way to get out now is through the balcony. Even if it's possible for most, I was too weak to jump down to the other balcony below (we had two balconies and the second was right below). Though if I had to die, I reasoned, it was better to die by jumping than by being shot. So, I jumped. Luckily, I survived.

I ran away with an old bike. I biked to the middle of town to get a rest in whatever place had the nicest music and lights. I don't like it when there's no light; it scares me a little. Sure, I read creepy stories on the internet, but I get really freaked out if there aren't any lights on.

After some reast, I noticed something about my wallet. It was wet. How I didn't feel that before, I don't know. I checked inside it and found a small knife and some little bones. The bones were completely cleaned of all blood and meat. I felt kind of guilty about it, but I didn't even know if I had done anything or not.

Finally, morning came. I decided to get home before my parents woke up. However, when I got to the front doors, there were more bones. Just bones and skulls. I started to panic and immediately called the police department, asking what was going on and if my dad was there (he works there).

They told me he was 20 minutes late. They came and checked out the bones, but after an analysis they concluded the bones were too clean to find out who they belonged to. The police could only speculate at that point.

I tried to call my friend. No reply. I was kind of worried this affected him, too, so I went to his house. Again, I saw bones. This time, however, they weren't clean. They were full of blood. I got inside his house and checked his PC; he was searching online for some kind of satanic summoning rituals or something.

The webpages he was visiting were gone, with only the page titles available. However, there was a text file open that had those same lotto numbers. I realized it was actually a character key code. After a few moments of thinking, I came up with the letters that spelled one word: CURSE.

After heavily searching through my friend's PC, I noticed that all the cached images were of an image I hated a lot. Back in 2000, before we had a computer, I was in the study. That used to be my room, if you couldn't guess.

In front of my bed was a picture of a crying kid. I have to say that image is really creepy, but I don't know where it is. It might be possible that it's still in the attic. After finishing up, I went back to the door. I noticed blood on the carpet. Upon further investigation, I noticed my wallet had blood on it too. I took a look at the knife again.

It was bloody.

(This story is credited to a person called TomKTW)

Long Jack

2011-09-26T02:09:00.002-05:00

The Slender Man meme reminds me of a story my great-grandmother (who we used to call tiny grandma, since she was Yoda-ish) used to tell about a monster named Long Jack. I know Slender Man was started on Something Awful, but certain images and aspects remind me of that old ghost story.

I should caution that I didn't actually hear the story first-hand. When I was little, we lived for a while at my grandmother's house while my parents were sorting out a divorce. My great-grandmother lived down the road. The power would reliably go out during big winter storms in those days, and tiny grandma would come over and we'd sit in the fire and wait it out.

The old folks would tell stories and read books. I was only four or five, so tiny grandma would only tell the story of Long Jack after I fell asleep. My older brother and cousins would tell it to me later.

Now, tiny grandma and the rest of us live in the Pacific Northwest, way out in the boonies. She herself was an infant when her parents brought her out west. They were homesteaders.

There's an old dageurrotype of her as a child, standing with the rest of her class in front of a one-room log schoolhouse. There are huge, old growth trees behind her and lots of dark shadows. It's still very gloomy in the winter months in the PNW, even though the trees are much thinner these days.

Long Jack, whatever he is now, was originally a person. I don't know his real name. In that time in history, families lived by themselves in the woods, miles away from each other. However, there were a lot of people coming and going (other homesteaders, people looking for logging jobs, prospectors on the way to a gold rush, etc.).

There weren't hotels except in the bigger cities, either. When you slept, it was either in your own camp or some courteous homesteader would give you a place to sleep. Maybe violent crime wasn't an issue back then, or maybe people were more naive, but the guy who would become Long Jack was a murderer.

There had been a great string of murders in the region; whole families were slaughtered. Sometimes Native Americans would be blamed, as there were still some isolated Indian wars going on, but it didn't really look like that. It looked like people were inviting someone in and he ended up murdering them in their sleep.

Obviously, detective work wasn't big back then. In any case, sometimes it would be weeks or months before they discovered the bodies. The killer would be long gone by then.

I don't know if this one guy, Long Jack or whatever his name was, killed all of them. He did kill at least one family, though, and was caught (literally) red handed near the town of Bellingham, where my family is from.

They used to lynch people in those days. Usually it was black people. In the PNW, where there weren't a lot of black people, it was more often Chinese or East Indian men. Occasionally they lynched white men, even though they had a proper court system at the time.

It was risky to do and the vigilatntes did risk some blowback, especially for lynching white men. The local sheriff, John Larrabee, led the murderer out of his cell at night and took him out of town with a posse to some cliffs a couple miles outside the south side of town. They built a primitive gallows with an extra long rope, with the intent to hang him off the cliff extra high.

The hangman that day was a local eccentric by the name of Dan Harris. They picked him because he was a retiard sailor and knew everything there was to know about ropes and knots. He volunteered for the job, too. As a sailor, he had specifally been a whaler and had a morbid fascination with flesh and how to disassemble and render it.

If the posse had known that, they probably wouldn't have taken him on for the job. Dan Harris didn't just put a noose around the condemned man's neck. He put small nooses made of cord around each of his fingers and at the end of each cord was a heavy lead weight.,/p>

Around each wrist was a length of rope with a heavy stone. At each ankle was a rope attached to even heavier shoes. The posse watched Harris do all this, but they did not know what he was doing. Even Larrabee didn't have the forethought to object.

It came time to hang the man and somebody in the posse finally pushed. The man fell quickly to his doom. The posse expected to hear the sharp crack of a breaking neck, but all they heard was the sound of counting, in Harris' low voice. He had tied the noose to strange, not break. 1...2...3...4...

They heard a loud crack, almost like a shot. 7...8...9...10... Then they heard another. It wasn't the man's neck, but his legs dislocating from his hip. 14...15...16... They heard more pops and cracks. His shoulders dislocating, then his elbows followed by his ankles.

21...22...23... Then his fingers dislocated at each knuckle, sounding a bit like popcorn. Choking grunts could still be heard coming from the man; he was still alive and conscious throughout this. 36...37...38... Harris' voice became louder as his audience became more enraptured in the spectacle.

When he came to 43, there was the loudest crack of all. The makeshift gibbet broke and the murderer, all the weights, and rope went tumbling down the cliff face. His neck and limbs twisted and flailed into impossible angles. In the darkness, they could barely make out his corpse at the bottom. It was a horrific sight.

His limbs had all been stretched to awful, fantastical lengths, all intertwined with the ropes and each other. It was too dark to retrieve the body and, by the next day, animals had gotten to it and carried it away.

This is where my great-grandmother comes in. They used to tell her the ghost of Long Jack haunted those woods, abducting defenseless people if they so much as set foot there. They said that he would count as he stalked up behind you.

1...2...3...4... She heard him once, as she walked the long distance home from school one fall afternoon. 14...15...16... According to the story, you couldn't look back or he'd get you. You had to run as fast as you could, and ran she did.

21...22...23... The counting continued. It was like he was whispering, but it was still getting louder and it seemed he was right behind her. 27...28... She could hear his footfalls; his pace was much longer than her's - longer than any adult's.

She could tell from the rhythm that his legs were impossibly long. His arms and legs must be bending in some unnatural motion. She got to the door of their cabin...37...38...and slammed the door shut. Silence. She knew that if Long Jack had gotten to 43, she would have died.

There were other kids that got lost in those woods those days and they were never found. None of the adults ever mentioned Long Jack, but she had her thoughts to herself.

So that's the story of Long Jack, as my great-grandmother told it...or at least as my brother and cousins re-told it. I don't believe in ghosts myself, but I always liked the story. I haven't found any mention of such a murderer in the local archives but, then again, I wouldn't really expect to. Some of the other historic names, though, do check out...

39...40...41...

Swirls

2011-09-25T03:32:00.000-05:00

You have asked me several times, constable, what occurred on the 3rd of June, and I apologise that it is only now that I am able to relate the events to you. However, the events that led up to the crime in question were much too painful to recollect, and I still shudder when I think of that... thing.

But I know that I have to get this story off my chest, or the nightmares will never stop. However, the story does not start on the 3rd of June. It starts nearly one month before, on the 5th of May...

At the time, I worked as a short story writer, paid by the word. I specialized in the genre of macabre horror, and thus had a peculiar imagination and a slight dose of superstition, which may have been a catalyst to the events that followed. I used my income mainly to support my wife Margaret and I, a quaint happy family of two, soon to be three. You see, Margaret was expecting a baby. I bought pregnancy charms for her (for did I not say that I am somewhat superstitious?) as well as medicine to lessen her pains.

However, I also had a hobby that I used a significant portion of my pay to indulge myself in. This hobby was that of collecting queer and weird objects. Many of the visitors who have seen my collection that are not artists or poets have recoiled in horror at the strange objects that I have bought or imported from different parts of the globe.

These include, among others, a Haitian voodoo doll from the far reaches of Hispanolia, a copy of the Voynich Manuscript, a collection of shrunken heads including Shuar, Achuar and Aguarana tribe creations and the head of a multi-eyed moose from South America.

My wife, as much as she loves me, regularly remarks that the collection that I have may be too macabre for the ordinary taste, and that I should throw the things out, or sell them. And, as much as I love Margaret and regularly give in to her many wishes, I simply could not follow this particular want of hers, as these antiques of mine were far too valuable to simply be disposed of.

On May 5th, I went to a nearby flea market to look for queer items to add to my collection as well as to look for more birth charms for dear Margaret. The flea market sold many things that ordinary people no longer wanted, things which I have come to find regularly consisted of objects strange and eldritch, which were perfect for my collection.

As I looked through the items that came in that day, my eyes fell on a glass sphere. It was about an inch and a half in radius, and I could barely conceal the entire thing in the palm of my hand. Inside the sphere perpetually swirled a mass of a mud-textured substance of many different colours.

Green, blue, purple, brown, all the colors came together and mixed and swirled and separated. I was immediately captivated by the spherical object. I had to have it. I handed twenty bills to the shopkeeper, told him to keep the change, and hurried home with my newfound treasure.

I burst in the door just as Margaret was preparing dinner. I smiled warmly, remarking that whatever she was cooking smelled lovely, as I placed the sphere carefully on the dining table. I then told her not to strain herself, and helped her carry the dishes to the table.

I remember her remarking on the strange artifact, and I saying that I believed that such a captivating artifact would bring us good luck, which we needed, for the child was due to be born the next month. And I remember both of us settling down onto our chairs, eating and enjoying the good company.

But even as I enjoyed Margaret’s company, I could not help but occasionally glance at the patterns forming on the glass sphere. After dinner, I excused myself and brought the sphere to my study to examine it. It induced a nearly hypnotic effect upon my person.

The only effect I can compare with that of looking into the sphere is the mind-numbing and mind-dilapidating relaxing sensation of marijuana. And indeed, I fancied the swirls themselves similar to a hallucination that could only be conjured by one under the ill effect of psychedelic substances. The swirls were almost dream-like, and I could not help myself from looking deep within them into another richer world inhabited by the weird and the unknown.

At first, I only looked at the swirls for minutes at a time. However, as the days progressed, I started looking at them for longer and longer periods of time, feeling myself being pulled into the sphere's spell. I neglected my job and did not write a single story in the entirety of May, and very slowly, I began to neglect Margaret as well.

It got to the point where I would place the sphere upon my study table and look at it, and before I knew it, I would have spent hours looking at the thing, even though it felt like less than a minute! The swirls were consuming my life, and with it, my mind. I say this for I began to get strange revelations from the sphere. The swirls formed images, and, I know it sounds mad, but those images were always of evil things.

Killers. Demons. Sickness. Once I even fancied I saw Lucifer, his horrid and ghastly appearance made manifest through the swirls! I could not take my eyes off the new evils that continuously formed before my eyes!

As I have said, as the days wore on, I grew more and more distant from Margaret. She regularly attempted to bring me out of my seclusion, even going so far as to encourage me to go out to purchase more things to add to my collection, but I remained adamant and stayed in my study all day, only stepping outside to eat.

She grew more and more desperate, telling me that it was unhealthy to look at such a thing for so long a time. And finally, as my interest towards the sphere reached certain heights, her cheerful demeanor dissipated, and she stopped smiling. As I look back now, I regret how I ignored her warnings. It was childish, and if I had only listened to her, I may have prevented what would then follow.

It was on the night of June the 2nd, one day before the actual incident. Staring into my glass sphere as always, I sensed that there was something different about the swirls. I could not place my finger on it, but I was positive that on that night, there was an inherently larger malevolence than there ever had been within that glass sphere.

I watched intently the swirling of the substance as it started molding itself into what I assumed would be the paragon of all evil, when I heard Margaret cry out painfully from outside my chambers. Even though I have grown distant from her, deep within my heart I still loved and cared for her, and on hearing those inhumane shrieks, I feared the worst.

I rushed out through the door to find Margaret groaning in a fetal-like position on the floor. She was breaking water! In my desperation, I took Margaret up in my arms and ran out the front door, not even bothering to lock it. We got into my car, and I sped as fast as I could to the hospital, with her in the backseat crying in pain.

The doctors and nurses carried dear Margaret in a stretcher to the maternity ward, where I accompanied them as they prepared to assist my wife in childbirth. For the first time in a month, the glass sphere was not in my possession. I was not even thinking about it, for my heart and my soul were fraught with worry for Margaret!

I knew she was due, she had been carrying the baby for nine months, and yet, because of my obsession with the glass sphere, I completely disregarded any reason and completely neglected her! Tears in my eyes, I sat by her side, telling her to be strong, and that I was there for her.

Hearing these words, she smiled for the first time in a long while. And finally, with much effort, she gave birth to a lovely baby boy, with a cross shaped birthmark on his right arm. Margaret, though in pain, smiled, and remarked that the cross was surely a good omen. Then, having used up all her energy, she promptly fell asleep. I stayed by her side till morning, cradling the baby boy in my arms.

The next day, we returned home from the hospital in high spirits. We finally had a family! I knew that I had to give attention to my new child, and hurried to my study to put the glass sphere on my collection rack so that it would not disrupt my thoughts any further.

And then I saw what the glass sphere beheld. I uttered a low guttural sound from deep within my bosom. It was the sound of terror, the sound of the betrayed. I fell onto my knees as I beheld the atrocity before me. The contents of the glass sphere, the glass sphere that had only prophesized to me great evil, had not changed from last night. The swirling substance had been held in place, such that it looked as if time had stopped in the sphere. And what had it formed, that horrified me so? I will tell you.

It had formed a baby boy with a cross-shaped birthmark on his right arm.

I ran out like a madman at that instant. My mind was so muddled, the actual events are so hazy… But I remember seizing from the baby from Margaret, and running to my study, locking the door behind me. I remember grabbing the oriental knife that hung from my collection. I remember stabbing the demon, over and over and over.

I remember its smile as I stabbed it. Yes, its smile. A most terrible smile, like the smile of a predator that had lured its prey into a trap… And most singularly of all, I remember the shrieks from outside my door. Pained, coarse, high-pitched shrieks, then a halting, eerie silence. It was only later that I found out that my wife had died from shock.

As you can see, constable, even as I tell the story, I shudder and I weep. Even the mere recollection of it pains my heart so! I have no evidence that what I have said is true. I know that I will be hanged. And I welcome the respite of death, constable; I embrace it, for sweet, sweet death will finally rid me of my grief, my sorrow and most importantly, the nightmares that I have at night… Nightmares of a laughing baby boy with a cross-shaped birthmark on his right arm, molding substance in a glass sphere into forms and shapes of infinite evil!

(This story is credited to a person called Necronophore. It's their first story, so be nice.)

The Snatcher

2011-08-22T23:30:00.000-05:00

I can still hear him screaming. I don't know what to do; after all, he IS still my son...right? I should probably start explaining. It all started about a week ago on a day like any other. I woke up to my son crying. I changed his diaper, made breakfast, the usual. It was a Friday, which is usually when I go shopping to refill the fridge, but I had decided to put it off until Saturday.

I was putting my son to sleep at around 9 PM. I was making him his bottle when I looked out the window. The sun had been down for about two hours. My flood lights shone as far as the tree line. It's not like there was much else to see, just about five miles of woods until you hit the main road, then another twenty miles to the nearest town.

I kept getting glimpses of a shadowy figure moving by the windows on my porch. I thought nothing of it; it was probably just my cat, Sam. I laid my son down in his crib, gave him his bottle, turned out the lights, and left. It was about 11 when I first heard it over the baby monitor: a loud scurrying sound.

At first, I thought it might have been Sam again (he sometimes gets in he room when I forget to close the door), but that didn't make sense; Sam was outside, and I was sure I closed the door. I went in the room to take a look. The only thing that seemed out of place was the open window. I was almost positive it was closed when I left, but the room was so hot I thought I must have left it open and went back out to the living room.

At 12, the baby woke up crying. I sat there for a minute or two wondering if he would ever sleep through the night. I finally lifted myself from my chair to get my son, when he stopped crying. I listened to the monitor closely and heard low-pitched singing and creaking of the floorboards. Someone was in my house and they had my son. I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed the longest knife I could find.

I felt a chill shoot up my spine as I walked down the hallway towards the door. I slowly opened the door and saw "it." It was tall and mostly hairless, with a few hairs atop its round head. Its teeth were jagged, its nose was pushed in to the point that it almost looked like it didn't have a nose at all, and it smelled like a rotting corpse.

Its eyes... Oh god... it's fucking eyes. They were black and almost looked like it had just empty sockets where they should have been.

It was feeding my son some sort of liquid from what looked to be a glass bottle. It noticed me and left through the bedroom window. I ran to the front door to see my son on the lawn, shivering in the cold moonlight. I opened the door to leave, but as soon as I tried it rushed up the stairs and pounced on me. I got up and noticed it was just trying to get by me.

It grabbed my only phone. Not only was it faster and stronger than me, it was actually aware of what it was doing. It then ran out through the back door and I quickly locked my doors and windows. I went back to my front door to see my son crying on the lawn. He was cold and in pain and that thing was watching him. I tried to go outside, but that thing wouldn't let me.

As I sat there and watched my son began to change; his hair started to fall out, his skin turning pale. That thing has now started banging on my front door. I have retreated to my bedroom. I think they're in the house. I can hear the little one (my son) playing with his toys, and the large one testing the doorknob.

Seven Gables

2011-08-22T23:16:00.000-05:00

I've never walked through the woods at night before. The slightest idea of it makes me incredibly uncomfortable. As for my friend, Charlie, he was quite the opposite. He loved walking at night, may it be through the woods or elsewhere. On one particular night, he asked me to come through these supposedly haunted woods with him. I absolutely refused to go until he offered weed, which I myself had been dry for a solid month now. In March of Michigan, weed usually comes in higher prices...or at least in the part of Michigan I'm from.

Around 8PM, he pulled into my driveway and honked me out of the house. This was very unlike him; he usually likes to come in for a few minutes when picking me up. He must have been very eager to leave. I've gone on walks with him before and he's usually quite series. Head always looking straight forward, never speeds up or slows down...we have our most "intellectual" conversations we'd ever have, compared to just sitting around. These walks to him were treated as if there were rules, or like walking was an art.

Anywho, I come out to his car with a maglight ready and a set of spare batteries. I even grabbed my largest fold knife I had, just for safe measure.

"So Charlie, about these woods..." I said.

"Yeah?" He replied.

"Where the fuck are they? We've been driving for a good hour now and I'm getting restless. I thought we were got for a 'walk,' not a ride."

"Fuck you. We'll get there when we get there."

"Whatever. So... what makes this place 'haunted?'"

"I got high and started looking at the scariest places in this state, and this one was the closest around. It's called 'Seven Gables.' Apparently some witch used to live in these woods 1-200 years ago, right? I can't remember why, but I guess she cursed the place. There's a good x-mile path through these woods and if we 'hear a scream,' the last person to leave the property is supposed to die somehow.

Also, some people moved into that witch's house some time later: a husband, a wife, and two daughters. One night, the husband went nuts, took a shootgun and shot his wife, then locked his two daughters in their room and burned the place down. He was gonna do himself with the gun when he 'suddenly' found some rope hanging in tree, already made into a noose, so he hung himself. Legend has it, the curse is what made him go crazy that night.

Anyway, I asked around about this place and everyone has some sort of scary story. Cell phones go out, people see little girls dancing with trees, people hear screaming... it just sounds like a good time."

"...Okay, so how do you know that not just people fucking with travelers? I mean, if it's in the top listed spooky places, I'm sure it gets a lot of traffic from stupid people like us. The neighbors must hate it, so I'm sure they fuck with tourists." I replied.

"Hey, I'm not saying one thing or another, but we're going." Charlie replied.

"Fine."

"Oh, and apparently no one can find the house. That's the last thing I read. There's so much woods and a lot of the paths aren't marked. There's a main path that leads you into the middle of the woods and we should come across a corn field surrounded by woods. There should be about two more hours of path passed that, then it's all more or less uncharted territory. The house is in that area."

"...and we're going to find this house? Especially this late at night?" I asked.

"Fuck. I hope so, but I was just in the mood for a more adventurous walk tonight. Since you're on /x/ all the time, I figured you'd want to go. finally have a story of your own to tell." He replied.

"I guess... so how much further away are we?"

We eventually come up to this dirt road named Seven Gables. It's only about four minutes long and it dead-ends at a gate that led the path into the woods. The road was more of a very, very large driveway to some haunted house no one knows exists or not.

At this point, I remembered that there was a cheerleader and her sister who went to my high school. They were in an accident with a drunk driver on the night of prom, but it was rumored that her and her sister were both here that same night with a group of friends. They were the last ones over the property line as they were apparently getting chased by something. They sped off to leave and as they got closer to home, the accident happened. I even remember receiving an invitation to the funeral I never went to. Regardless, it had to have been a coincidence.

Charlie noted that he read that the gate we just approached was considered the property line of the area. The most appropriate phrase I could think of to piss him off at the time (because that's what friends do) was "So, the last person back over the gate is a rotton egg?" He gave me a full-faced glare and hopped the gate.

"C'mon, ya pansy."

I started walking in slow motion toward the gate to push him more. He glared at me again, pulled out a joint, lit it, and walked off. I was not about to get my turn skipped, so I chased his ass down. We walked through the woods for what felt like at least an hour, so I reached for my phone to check the time. It was 12:40 AM and we had arrived at 11:22 PM.

While I had my cell phone out, I noticed big bold letters labeled, "No service," where my bars should've been. Apparently, Verison is not everywhere I go. After showing Charlie my service was out, he pulled out his phone as well and, sure enough, no service. We poked at each other, making very fake spooky sounds, and continued our walk. The path we were on began to grow narrow and curvy as it became more and more covered with thick foliage.

I know I was high, and I know that I grow paranoid when I'm high, but I began to hear noises. It wasn't like a shuffling in a brush or branches moving. It was definitely no bird or owl, nor crickets or frogs. It sounded more like "boom" sounds in the distance. It wasn't an explosion, but what I can only describe as a heavy "bass" sound or like something giant dropping and hitting solid dirt. I turned and asked Charlie about it and the only thing he said was, "It's been getting louder the further we've been going down this path. I've been hearing it for a while, but I wasn't gonna say anything."

After a few moments of careful listening, he was right; it was getting louder. We could even start to feel it beneath our feet. It had finally got so loud that it seemed as if we were standing next to a shitty car that someone had dropped way too much cash for shitty sub-woofers blaring their shitty rap. And then...it stopped.

When it did stop, we were coming to a large bend in the path. When we turned through the bend, we found the cornfield. It was hard to imagine a cornfield in the middle of the woods, from listening to Charlie's story, or at least I had never heard of something like that. It wasn't that large of an area, but low and behold...there it was.

It was much untamed and there wasn't really anything growing in it. It hardly even had any grass. It was also very hill-y; enough to where if one of us went around a small hill, the other couldn't be seen around it. We split up and explored this field for a little bit, searching for anything to show eachother. There was nothing but old left over garbage that other tourists had left on their visits.

After ten minutes of aimless wandering, Charlie yelled out my name. I could hear him running in my direction. I ran toward him, too, until I saw his flashlight, then let him just run to me.

"Sup, Meng?" I asked.

"Someone started to run toward me from the woods." He replied.

I was more than sure that he was fucking with me until I saw a dark figure approaching from behind him. It was too far away to see with my flashlight, so I reached into my pocket and started to run my fingers on the groove in my knife blade. I was not about to die in the middle of nowhere.

As the figure got closer, I was able to start making out features. It was definitely another person. He got close enough to where I could even begin to see colors in what he was wearing. I called out to this person and got a reply: "THANK JESUS!" It was a middle-aged man wearing a brown vest, hiker's boots, and a backpack. He was covered in blood.

"You two need to get the fuck out of here, now!" The stranger yelled.

"Wait, who the hell are you? There wasn't another car parked by the gate. We were the only ones here." I asked.

"My name is Tim. I don't live too far away from here, so I biked. But you two need to leave now!" Tim replied.

"Fucking hold on a second and don't get the fuck any closer. What the hell are you covered in and why?" Charlie asked.

"WE DON'T HAVE MUCH TIME! I DON'T KNOW HOW FAR BEHIND ME THEY ARE, BUT I'VE BEEN RUNNING AND LOST FOR FOUR FUCKING HOURS!" Tim screamed.

We didn't really know what else to do at this point, so we took the man's advice. With him in front of us and me still feeling the groove in my knife, we ran down the path. The man did not hesitate to make it over this gate before we did. Fucking urban legends. We walked toward Charlie's car and Tim began his story.

"I come out here every Friday night with my three hounds. I'm an amature ghost hunter; I came here tonight with all of my gear and my boys. They run right behind me if I ride a little slow. I know that spirit energies are more active at night and I've heard every story there is to this place. For the five months that I've been coming here, I've only found orbs in my footage. No audio, no faces, nothing. I bring my boys because they can pick up on stuff more than I can and before my cameras and meters do.

Today, they took off barking into the woods and I chased after them. Theys plit up on me so I just followed Jonathan because I knew he was the closest. He howls differently than the others. I followed him until he got too far and I figured, 'they're smart dogs. They'll find me in no time if I wait by where they took off.'

I got lost trying to find my way back to the path, and I found a house. I took out my camera, since I was sure that this is the house all the stories were talking about. I went inside and started taking pictures."

Tim started to shake and sob as he reached for his camera. I looked over at Charlie and he was gripping his flashlight, ready to strike this man. I knew he was reching for his camera, but I don't think he did. I pulled out my cigarettes and passed them around.

"Thanks. You have to see these photos." Tim said.

He started flipping through the photos. It hardly looked like a house at all, with all the burn damage. I could see that Tim was hardly smoking his cigarette, since he was focusing too hard to not just explode into tears.

After viewing a bunch of burnt wreckage, the photos started to give more of an ill feeling each time he hit next. Finally, he hesitated to hit the next button again; he wiped his tears on his face, leaving more blood smeared than tears. He hit next again and it was a photo of two of his dogs, disemboweled and dragged across the floor. Someone or something had used their blood to draw some giant symbol on the floor. It wasn't a pentagram, but it gave the same dark feeling a pentagram would give in a photo like this.

Tim gave up holding back and started crying. He hit next again. It was more or less the same photo, but with one of his dogs looking up at him. It was barely, but still alive.

"I picked him up and held him and cried with him. That's why I'm covered in bloo-"

Tim had thrown up all over his and our shoes.

"Aww fuck, DUDE!" Charlie yelled.

"I dropped Isaac when I heard some woman start humming in the room next to me. I could hear that bitch walking to me, so I just ran. I fucking ran and ran and ran. I couldn't figure out how to get the hell out of these woods! THESE FUCKING WOODS! A..and then I started to see and hear things all around me. These...things were following me. I never found Jonathan, but he's probably dead too. When iw as certain I lost them, I saw lights up again, and that's when I found you guys."

We took whatever bottled water we had in the car and gave them to Tim to wash himself off. Charlie offered to take Tim hom,e so I took off my coat for him to sit on and keep blood from getting all over the seats. I never cared much for that coat anyway. We started to hear a single dog howl before we took off. I turned to look down the path behind the gate. I could hear something small running in our direction.

"GO! THAT AIN'T MY DOG! That's something else! We gotta go, NOW!" Tim yelled.

Charlie started the car and I hopped in. I looked back behind us as we drove off, but I couldn't see anything through the darkness. We dropped Tim off and he didn't say thank you or even look back as he walked inside.

"So, what do you think about all of this?" I asked.

"Whatever the fuck this weed is, I'm sure as hell gonna buy more after tonight." Charlie replied.

Charlie then took me home. Throughout the whole ride, he kept checking his mirror and looking over his shoulder. He was definitely uneasy about something. Before stepping out of his car, I asked him if anything was wrong. He drove off without saying a word. "Whatever, he's just high," I thought.

I threw the blood-stained coat away and called the police to let them know of this incident. It was now about 5 AM and I was tired. I never even found out what that bass sound was. At around 1 PM, I woke up and did my daily "morning" routines. I went and checked my phone and I had 132 missed calls and a single text message, all from Charlie. "Holy fuck," I thought before immediately trying to call him back.

No answer. I didn't have any voice mails or anything; all I had was a single text message. I opened it and all it said was, "I still hear that sound." Pocket dialing? What the fuck is with this text? I never got hold of him and I couldn't figure any of it out.

A couple of days later, I received a phone call from Charlie's dad. He said he hadn't seen Charlie since before he left to come pick me up on the night of our walk. It's now been nearly three months since this incident had occurred and no one has seen or heard from Charlie since that night.

Police have stopped by numerous times to question me about the incident. They say they can't find anyone named Tim who lives in that area and no one in the area has ever heard of some amateur ghost hunter. They also claim they've heard stories of this "Seven Gables" and it's all urban legend. There IS no house, no ghosts, no witch, nothing. I know I'm the department's number one suspect, but unfortunately...

The only thing I can tell the police about the whereabouts of my friend, Charlie... He was the last one over the fence.

Pendulum

2011-08-22T22:29:00.000-05:00

Ever since I was young, I remember hear the sound at Grandma's old farmhouse. Mom would put me to sleep in the upstairs room and slip downstairs to sleep with my father, leaving me and my brother alone in the upstairs room.

An hour or so after we'd been put to bed, a scratching noise could be heard above our heads in the attic every night. It was slow...like a pendulum. Back and forth, it'd sweep across the ceiling, at times skittering faster before fading back to a slow scratch. At first we were scared, as children are apt to do, but we learned to live with it and it comforted us in some strange way. It was kind of like "white noise," and it helped us sleep.

Well, I'm a grown man now. Grandma passed away some years ago. As we were cleaning out her house, Mom and I found ourselves in the attic. We were clearing out some old boxes and stuff when I came to the middle of the wooden floor. Although years of dust had covered them, there were still visible scratches in the wood.

I laughingly remarked to my mother about hearing a scratching noise when I used to sleep in the room below and my Mom's face drained of color. She gently took me by the shoulders and told me the story about how HER Grandpa, the father of MY Grandmother, had lost his job in the Great Depression and could barely afford to feed his family. He came home one night and hung himself in the attic with a horse bridle.

Apparently he regretted his decision, because he struggled to gain his footing near the end by flailing his feet. His heavy boots had gouged the wood where he had hung himself.

Cry Baby Lane

2011-08-14T19:31:00.001-05:00

(Oh my god, it does have an exist!
NOTE: This is the FULL movie.)

Black Ghost

2011-08-05T18:10:00.000-05:00

"You're looking nice," she said.

"Bah. It's just an old shirt I've been wearing too long, but when I think about it, I can't remember when I actually bought it."

"That's weird. Maybe your mom got it for you. Right?"

...That was the only thing I had in my mind.

My mom...I have no memories of her, as strange as it is.

It fades out. There's nothing there; only a strange scent. It gives me a home feeling. It's so strange. Home? My home is here. It's always been here.

The more answers I get, the more questions I get. Where am I? Who am I? What am I really doing here?

For a minute or so, everything was normal...but those images kept flashing through my mind. A TV with static. A woman crying. Three kids running away. It keeps going over in my head. Her scream. Nothing makes sense anymore. The world keeps turning upside down.

What's going on? Every time I ask myself a question, the surroundings change. The sky turns red. The skyscrapers get taller. It kind of looks like they have corporate logos on them, too. It all begins to spin. It gets dark. Suddenly, I hear buzzing that seemingly has no source.

They want you. They need you. Binary keeps popping up in my thoughts. I can see the numbers. Eventually, the binary changes into three numbers that continously repeat themselves.

731 731 731 731 731 731

An old computer pops up in front of me. There's a message on the screen.

"Are you trying to leave?"

I stare at the screen.

"Why do you want to leave?"

I see a keyboard next to me. I grab it so I can answer, but notice it has no wires connected to it. I feel the urge for answers, so I type anyway.

"What is this place?"

"This is your home."

A curse word escapes my lips.

"It has always been, remember?"

Remember, remember, remember. The word doesn't mean anything to me, since I can't even remember why I'm here.

"You were happy. Why don't you go back to being happy?"

No.

"I created this place for you. Be happy."

I kept staring at the screen. What the hell was going on? This didn't make any sense at all!

"GET ME OUT OF HERE!" I screamed.

The screen had a new message, but the letters looked like they were written in blood...with someone's fingers. I looked closely and eventually figured out what it said: "HELL IS SOON GOING TO BREAK LOOSE."

When I was done reading, pictures appeared. Pictures of massacres, people in pain. People with blood all over their faces. All of them looked like they were screaming things like "HELP US! HELP US!"

I looked away and was taken back to the room with the old computer. The PC was dead. The screen was black. I raised my head to look around, but noticed something on the white wall above the screen.

"RUN BEFORE THEY KILL YOU ALL."

Blood was everywhere. My heart seemed to stop when I spotted two glowing eyes above the bloody message. They disappeared soon after I gave them eye contact.

I woke up and found myself sitting on the couch. My old Game Boy Color was in my hands, with Pokemon Red inserted and the device turned on. I saw my character was in Lavender Town. That haunting tune played through the speakers the whole time. It was so bizarre. It felt like I had heard that tune in the dream the entire time.

My legs had fallen asleep, so I struggled as I stood up. I went to the kitchen for a glass of water. When I entered, I noticed a black ghost. It was staring at me, but after two seconds it vanished. I thought it was just my brain playing tricks on me.

July 23, 1998 -- Kazuma Kaito killed eleven children in his school with his own hands. He had been trying to rip their eyes out. When the police found Kazuma in the janitor's closet, they could hear him mumbling, "The end is near. It won't go away. Make it go away."

Kazuma was later asked by a psychiatrist what he wanted to go away. Kazuma replied, "The black ghost." The psychiatrist then asked Kazuma what the ghost wanted from him. He then said, "It wants us to be afraid."

"From what," the psychiatrist asked.

"They want to take over the-" Kazuma started before beginning to strangle himself. As the psychiatrist tried to pull the boy's hands away from his neck, the psychiatrist could hear the boy struggling to continue speaking. "The ord-...they are-...take ove-..."

Kazuma passed away moments later. Three seconds after, the security guards stormed into the room, only to find they were too late. The psychiatrist was shocked.

The police later went through the security tape. They looked at the unusual case and nothing seemec wrong, but at closer inspection they noticed something terrifying and breathtaking:

When the hands turned against Kazuma, his facial expression looked surprised and his eyes were aimed at the wall behind the psychiatrist. His hands aggressively rushed toward his neck as if someone else was strangling him. It was like a third person was in that room. Kazuma was really trying to strangle himself. He was fighting for his life.

But he was silenced. The truth was still safe.

Demon Virus

2011-08-05T17:45:00.001-05:00

It all started three days ago. I was looking up some funny pictures and found a forum topic called, "Post the funny pictures". Every post was spam and nonsense like, "PL%52EH3YH2W4O^N6T6N6O18D." I like to think about hidden meanings in things, so I decided to play with the message a little. I eventually noticed that the message backwards and rearranged was "666 NO DONT WHY HELP." I was obviously laughing and thought it was spam.

As I went on, nothing more happened. A few more messages like that were posted, so I thought there were a few trolls in the thread. That night, I was in my room watching Nick @ Nite and decided to go onto the internet with my PSP. For a laugh, I went back to that thread and found that all of the posts appeared normal.

I got out my laptop and was about to go back to the website but realized that the corrupted messages meant the site had some kind of virus, so I decided against it. At that point, I went to sleep and didn't wake up until around 12:40PM.

I got onto my computer and avoided the website. I was on Youtube when I figured out my computer was doomed. One of the comments was "4N3I623S10LK3N31232I10S4N21A6T0A3s31em25T3PvE12C6CA3." I don't even want to know what that said. Google was even worse. I searched some pictures for videos I was going to make, but I always found at least two pictures of dead and dismembered corpses even when safe search was on and while I searched for the most innocent things.

What I really noticed was a picture of a little girl who was about seven years old. Her eyes were dead white and her forehead was slit open. She seemed to be holding some book, but I couldn't tell what it was. Her mouth had been ripped open, too, and a star had been scratched into her stomach. It seemed like her hair was ripped out, as well. However, there was no blood, as if whoever did that to her cleaned her off so the wounds were visible.

When the whole image sunk into my mind, I immediately took my bat and cleared my computer off my dsk with it. I may have broke the monitor, but I didn't make sure. I knew that I didn't need to stick around to see anything worse happening. I wouldn't even dare give the website's IP to anyone, either. I told my friends what happened and they only started pranking me; they continuously started sending me fake emails that looked like the messages in the thread that started this mess.

It's only now that I realized the girl in the picture was my little sister, who died two years ago.

Cursed

2011-08-05T17:32:00.000-05:00

November 13, 2013

Today, my friend messaged me on Facebook. He said something about a scary noodle. He talked about how scary it was, but he wasn't typing like he usually does. He was the sort of person that never made spelling mistakes, but his message looked like he was rushing to write it. I wouldn't be surprised if my friend had gotten mad. He got mad sometimes for no reason, like if we bothered him while he was working on one of his tests. I'm just going to ignore him for a while. He'll stop acting weird soon.

November 30, 2013

I haven't heard from my friend in weeks. It looks like he really did get mad. Maybe he worked so hard on one test and ended up failing, then committed suicide over it. That really could be a possibility. You know, I'm actually think of checking out that dumb scary noodle now.

December 2, 2013

I'm scared. The story I read mentioned that anyone who reads it will die a few days afterward. I know it's just a story, but I believe it. I guess I'll find out if it's true in a few days.

December 4, 2013

I'm starting to feel sick. It might just be a coincidence. I probably caught a cold.

December 5, 2013

I'm really not feeling well now. It can't just be a coincidence. The doctors don't even know how I got sick or what I'm sick with.

December 8, 2013

I feel like I'm going to die. It sounds dumb, but it's true. I think I'll just go get a glass of water.

James McLanahan was found dead in his kitchen on December 12, 2013. Blood was dripping out of his mouth and a small pool had already settled on the floor. Doctors couldn't find any source of his death.

This friend that was mentioned was most likely Thomas [NAME REDACTED], who was found in a similar manner in his own home a month earlier.

Police attempted to find this 'scary noodle' that was mentioned, but no trace of it could be found.

Circle

2011-08-05T17:18:00.000-05:00

Alright, people. I’m here because I need your help. I haven’t got a lot of time (it’ll be dark soon, you see). All I need is a name. It’s too late for me, I won’t be able to do much, except pass on the name. That’s the key, the key to staying alive, is to the name. Reminds you of Doctor Who, right?

Everytime the Doctor figures out the name of the thing, what it is, it stops in its tracks, and he says something witty or figures out how to beat it, or at least he gets to run away with his sidekick. Damn, Doctor Who. Nerdy as fuck reference at a time like this. But I’m frazzled. Sun’s going down. Then it’ll come for me.

It started last summer. I just got my Bachelor’s Degree in Philosophy (sounds like a fucking waste of money, but I already had a job lined up, so, lucky me, I guess) and my half-brother, his girlfriend and I were roadtripping all over Europe. We’re all spoiled rich white kids, except my half-brother’s girl friend, Sarah. She’s spoiled rich and Greek.

Anyway, we did the whole damn thing, starting in England and France and then all around the whole continent, and it was really cool. An amazing experience, even if it ate up a lot of money. We planned to end the trip in Greece, where Dave’s (that’s my half-brother) girlfriend’s family owned some estate on an island. She and Dave kept joking about hooking me up with one of her cousins, and I was getting pretty excited for it.

Plus, I really had gotten into my major, and Greek mythology, so I was hoping to learn all sorts of cool stuff, and maybe see some ruins.I saw them, all right, and I wish I fucking hadn’t. But I’ll get there.

So we get to the island, and we meet Sarah’s family, and her cousin’s are hot alright, fucking gorgeous, but they don’t want anything to do with me. In fact, they seem more interested in Dave, which pisses off Sarah more than anything else. So she decides to use me as an excuse to get Dave away from them, and go see some caves on the other side of the island. Which hurts my chances with these fabulous Greek ladies even more, but hell, I’m a nerd; caves are cool, and I wanted to see ‘em.So off we go.

And when we get there, it’s everything you’d expect. The beaches were all white sands, beautiful, and sunny. These caves were volcanic or something, I dunno, but the rock was all black and shiny, like, perfect photo contrast. Anyway, Sarah’s leading the way, chatting us up the whole time, clinging to Dave. I can tell they’re getting all romantic, and they never really wanted me along in the first place (I had just been an excuse to get away) so I decide to do the polite thing.

I know, I know, you never go off alone in a scary movie or that shit, but I was on a tiny, beautiful, sunny island in Greece, couldn’t have been more than a square mile, and I had a flashlight.So as David and Sarah stay in the main chamber of the cave, sucking face, I flick on my flashlight and head deeper into the caves, and I can tell it’s kinda veering off to the right, and down a little, but I’m not worried, see, that’s the big difference. In horror movies and scary stories you always get worried before the bad stuff happens, but I didn’t.

No hairs standing up, no goosebumps, just calm. And I can still breath fine, and walk fine (just crouching down a little) when suddenly the floor was gone. I fell for a few seconds into pitch blackness.

I hit the ground hard. I would find out later that I fractured my tailbone, but at the time it was just a dull hurt. I had fallen on what felt like a bunch of dry sticks, and I had dropped the flashlight. Still, I wasn’t panicking yet; the flashlight had been one of those super-sturdy mag-lights, and I was sure I could find it. That kind of confidence, my friends, is rewarded.

My fingers closed around the cool metal of the light and I’ll admit, there was a brief moment where I was afraid to turn it on. I murmured a quick little prayer to Whoever was listening, and let my thumb pause awhile before pushing down the rubber button. The flashlight flicked on right away, but I almost wished it hadn’t, because I could see the floor all around me, and what had felt like old, dry sticks. Bones.

Really old ones. I mean, like, these could’ve been Socrates’ bones, that’s how old they were, crunching away underneath me. After about a minute, I got over my panic, and started looking around a little, objectively.There were a lot of bones, enough to cover the floor of the ten foot by ten foot space. The walls were thick black, the same volcanic material of the rest of the cave, except for one point, about five feet off of the ground, were something had been painted on the wall in red.

A circle. Just a harmless, unobtrusive circle, albeit one that was painted in a dulled crimson that almost had to be human blood. I suppressed a shiver and walked over toward it, my feet crunching on them bones them bones them dry bones (ha-ha), and I get right up close, shining the light on it, and still, it looks innocent enough, just out of place. So I reached my finger up and gently tapped the red circle.

Then I felt it. All of the fear and anguish and horror that I should’ve felt when I first fell into the place. I could feel something, like blood and screams and pain washed over the walls of that tiny chamber like layers of paint, and before long I realize it’s me who’s screaming, not for help but just in this guttural, caveman fear.

Dave and Sarah found me almost right away. I don’t really remember them showing up, or pulling me out of that place, but I must’ve been screaming right up until they pulled me out, because for the rest of the trip, they kept asking me what I’d seen. I couldn’t tell them about the circle, I don’t know why.

Whenever they asked I’d just say “Bones. I saw Bones.” And for the most part, they left me alone. They had each other. The trip ended two days later, and I was incredibly relieved to get on the plane. Because since I had gotten out of that cave, I hadn’t been able to sleep. I’m not the kind of guy who can go days without sleep, hell, I don’t even like to stay up that late.

But the night after I got out of the cave, I just lay in bed, awake, unable to move, just feeling anxious all over. Every time I’d close my eyes, I’d feel the need to tear them open right away.The second night after the cave, the night before we left for home, was worse. It wasn’t just anxiety anymore. It was the feeling that something was making me feel anxious.

My eyes would scan the darkness constantly, obsessed with the feeling that there was some entity creeping along the edges of my vision, hunting me, watching me. I never saw anything, no monsters; just felt it.But the second I stepped foot on that plane, I felt safe. Secure. I slept the whole ten hours home, and felt well-rested enough to forget about the whole ordeal.

Until it caught up to me. I don’t know exactly how much time passed, not more than two weeks, and by then I honestly had forgotten about the creepiness. I had just started a management position at an office owned by a friend from college, and was adjusting (pretty well) to all the money I was going to be making.

Life was looking up, and I was happy, all was well, yadda-yadda-yadda. Then it caught up to me. The first night was the same, just anxiety, worry, the inability to sleep. I was concerned, but figured I was replaying the experience or was maladjusting to work or something. I tried to shut it rationally from my mind and get over it.

The night after that, I even got a little sleep. Of course, the third night, the anxiety was back with a vengeance, and I sat in bed all night, lights on, looking and listening for something, something that was out there, hunting. That was two weeks ago.

I know you don’t believe me. Ignoring all of the monster stuff, a person can’t go that long without sleep, but I must’ve. I can account for every single minute that’s passed these last two weeks. During the day, I’m fine. I did take naps, that’s probably what saved me. But every night, the anxiety would get stronger, and stronger, and the feeling that something was there would overwhelm me.

I knew it now, knew it was some tangible, existing monster, but I just couldn’t know what it was.If I could find out what it was, what it looked like, what it wanted, I could stop it...or fight it...or run. Who am I kidding? I know what it wants. It wants me. And even with a name, I won’t be able to fight it. But maybe, if I find out what it is, before it gets me, I’ll write its name on my walls. Or draw a circle. Time now, anyway. The sun’s set, and I can really feel it.

Tonight’s the night. It’s hungry.

(This story is credited to a person called Allen Jacoby.)

Subject Q1100317

2011-08-05T16:57:00.000-05:00

No one would have guessed that man's darkest hour would have been 9:27 A.M. Central Standard time. No one would have guessed that a small town in Nowheresville, U.S.A. could bring down the world. No one would have guessed that the entire planet would be united against America. But then again, no one knew what the Americans had been planning for years.

I was working for a small private company at the time. We were funded by the United States government, but were technically seperate from it. Plausible deniability and all that. Of course I didn't know that. All I knew was that I had just graduated from a small college in a midwestern state school and this was the only job opportunity that promised anything other than boredom and embarrassment for the rest of my life.

I was basically a glorified receptionist. I took calls, made coffee, made appointments for meetings and just generally did what I was told. Not the most glamorous job, but it was either this or admit that I'd never surpass my father the mechanic in a one gas station town. So when one of my cousins suggested the job as a great way to get out into the world, I jumped.

People are always saying things like "If I had known what was coming I would have never taken that job," but honestly, if I hadn't taken the job I'd be dead now. And I still have enough fight in me to at least appreciate that.

Now I was always taught not to be too curious, and definitely never to look a gift horse in the mouth. So I did my job. And I did my best. And I didn't ask questions and I said yes sir and no ma'am. And I got promoted. I was to be Colonel Olsen's assistant. Not a bad deal at all. This changed my job description by about three words. I was now doing all the same things as before, but I was doing them "for the Colonel."

He and I developed a rapport. We were both Christian men who had come from small towns and big families. He became the closest thing I had to a friend at the compound. And I feel like I must have meant something to him as well. One day after a meeting he asked me into his office. I didn't think it would be any different than any other chat we'd had over the past few months. I was wrong.

He started by handing me a flash drive, a key, and a cell phone. If I ever got a text message from the cell phone I was to take the key and unlock the safe in his office. I was then to upload the data from the flash drive onto a laptop that he stored there. After that I was to read the notes he had left me in the safe and follow their instructions to the letter.

Even at the time I knew this was a cryptic message. Try as I might I couldn't push it out of my head. I was always raised to be obedient and I tried not to to be curious. But it was too much this time. I tried to access the files on the flash drive one day and locked up my computer. Nothing came of it and when I called tech support they were baffled.

They ended up transferring the contents of my hard drive to a new computer which they asked me to kindly be more careful with. I promised them I would treat it with the utmost love and they laughed and walked away. I slid the flashdrive into my back pocket with the key and went home.

When I came to work the next day it seemed normal enough. I was told that all employees would be going through a medical screening that day. And since my last name was Albreicht I would be first. As I was receiving a shot from a particularly busty and very friendly nurse, the phone started buzzing. Not my personal phone. The phone. I quickly excused myself to check the text. It was blank. However, it had come from a very familiar number. Colonel Olsen's.

I quickly made my way to his office which was blocked by two impressive looking soldiers. I tried to look unassuming as I made my way for the door but they weren't having it. Colonel Olsen's office was being searched for signs of treason against the United States.

I was blown away. Treason? There was no way that could be. The Colonel was the most honest upstanding man I had ever known in my life. I hid my concern and told the men that I had heard about this issue and had been spying on the Colonel for months now. I told them that I had a key to his office safe and that if I were allowed to enter the room I would help them with their investigation.

The two soldiers looked quizically at each other. They had clearly not been expecting this. I was not the country bumpkin they had expected. I told them that if they didn't let me in I would go to their superior officer and claim that they had been obstructing my investigation. That did the trick.

They unlocked the door and the taller of the two led me into the room. I walked quickly to the safe hoping that I could somehow think my way out of this. My hands shook as I slipped the key into the safe. It unlocked with the loudest clunk I had ever heard. I slowly swung the door open kneeling in front of it to obscure the soldier's vision. There was the laptop, and some documents. And a gun! What had I gotten myself into. It had a tube attached to the barrel that I knew had to be a silencer.

Could I do this? Should I trust the man who was being charged for treason?

I whipped around and put the gun to the head of the soldier who was looking at some documents on the desk and pulled the trigger as I closed my eyes as tight as I could. I don't think I need to describe what a gun does to a head. The other soldier opened the door to ask about the sound he had just heard and I put a bullet between his eyes. I may not have been the country bumpkin that they expected but I was definitely part of middle class America and my dad was a card carrying member of the NRA. I knew what to do with a weapon.

I dragged his body into the room, closed the door, and threw up everywhere. This was not what I expected on a Thursday morning.

After I had collected myself I went back to the safe. I leafed through the documents. The only one that had any meaning to me at the time was the first page.

Matthew,

If you are reading this I have most likely been killed. I know that you are a strong man but I hope that you did not have to make use of the item I provided for you. However, now is not the time for such wishes. Please take the documents provided with you and flee to Mexico. I have provided passports for you and your family. I urge you to take them and run as fast as you can.

And please forgive me.

Sincerely,

COL Jericho Olsen

Remembering the other instructions I had been given, I opened up the laptop computer, booted up what was clearly not a standard operating system and slipped in the flash drive. The screen went black immediately and I feared I had done somthing wrong. However, white text soon showed up saying things I didn't understand. I didn't take the time to figure things out.

I stood up, took a deep breath, slipped the gun into the back of my pants and walked quickly but calmly back to my desk. Fortunately I met no one along the way. I put on my coat and left a note on my desk stating that it was 9:30 and I felt ill and would be back the next day, please forward all calls etc. I don't know why I did it. It's not like I could return after leaving two bodies in my boss's office.

The rest of the news until Mexico is unimportant. I withdrew all my money from savings. I told my friends to leave the country if they had the opportunity, something big was about to go down. Most importnatly though, I managed to convince my dad and my sisters to come with me. When we arrived at the border the guards took a quick look at our passports and ushered us through welcoming us to the great country of Mexico.

We continued to drive as far South as Mexico City. All along our trip we heard of stories of strange happenings in the States. The most upsetting thing to hear was that there was no communication from North Dakota, South Dakota, Minnesota, or parts of northern Iowa. I had been working in the city of Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

When we reached Mexico City we finally stopped. I paid for a couple hotel rooms in a nice part of the city and bought the laptop I'm writing this story on. The connection in the hotel wasn't good, but the news was worse. Most of the midwest was gone. Not as in there was no communication. As in when the planes flew over it, they couldn't see anything but fire. Ash was falling like snow in Chicago and Canada had closed its borders.

I kept this news from my family. There was no point in scaring them. I just kept the tv on Spanish soaps and told them to try to think of happy things.

It was at this time that I decided to take a closer look at the documents the colonel had left for me. It was ugly stuff. My friend the Colonel had been doing some dirty things. Apparently the facility I worked in was experimenting on criminals with radiation and other things I don't even know how to explain. There were reports of things like a lady looking like she had turned inside out and constantly gushing blood until the supplemental bags ran dry. I will include these documents with my story when I have calmed down.

The scariest page was a write up about one patient who had spontaneously combusted and couldn't be put out. He was in constant agony and begged to be killed. It reminded me of the Human Torch. The Colonel had denied this request but told the convict that he would do his best to end the pain. The man was kept sedated in isolation until a General could be brought to observe him.

When the General arrived he was disgusted but intrigued. He demanded a field test of Subject Q1100317. The Colonel protested saying that this man had suffered enough and that they should end his pain. The General apparently was not pleased with this and told the Colonel that this job was not for a soft man. The Colonel continued to protest and the General forced him into to the cell with Q1100317. The doctor on hand stopped the sedative feed and the Human Torch woke up.

The details are grisly and I will post them later, but the Colonel did not survive this encounter. Unfortunately, this pleased the General. He ordered a full field test be prepared for the next week.

"This man could change the way wars are fought."

I've just heard that the United States has been quarantined. No one is allowed in or out. My country is burning to the ground. And I can't escape the smell of smoke.

Pale Luna

2011-08-05T16:38:00.000-05:00

In the last decade and a half it's become infinitely easier to obtain exactly what you're looking for, by way of a couple of keystrokes. The Internet has made it all too simple to use a computer to change reality. An abundance of information is merely a search engine away, to the point where it's hard to imagine life as any different.

Yet, a generation ago, when the words 'streaming' and 'torrent' were meaningless save for conversations about water, people met face-to-face to conduct software swap parties, trading games and applications on Sharpie-labeled five-and-a-quarter inch floppies.

Of course, most of the time the meets were a way for frugal, community-minded individuals to trade popular games like King's Quest and Maniac Mansion amongst themselves. However, a few early programming talents designed their own computer games to share amongst their circle of acquaintances, who in turn would pass it on, until, if fun and well-designed enough, an independently-developed game had its place in the collection of aficionados across the country. Think of it as the 80's equivalent of a viral video.

Pale Luna, on the other hand, was never circulated outside of the San Fransisco Bay Area. All known copies have been long disposed of, all computers that have ever run the game now detritus buried under layers of filth and polystyrene. This fact is attributed to a number of rather abstruse design choices made by its programmer.

Pale Luna was a text adventure in the vein of Zork and The Lurking Horror, at a time when said genre was swiftly going out of fashion. Upon booting the program, the player was presented with a screen almost completely blank, except for the text:

-You are in a dark room. Moonlight shines through the window.

-There is GOLD in the corner, along with a SHOVEL and a ROPE.

-There is a DOOR to the EAST.

-Command?

So began the game that one writer for a long-out-of-print fanzine decried as "enigmatic, nonsensical, and completely unplayable". As the only commands that the game would accept were PICK UP GOLD, PICK UP SHOVEL, PICK UP ROPE, OPEN DOOR, and GO EAST, the player was soon presented with the following:

-Reap your reward.

-PALE LUNA SMILES AT YOU.

-You are in a forest.There are paths to the NORTH, WEST, and EAST.

-Command?

What quickly infuriated the few who've played the game was the confusing and buggy nature of the second screen onward — only one of the directional decisions would be the correct one. For example, on this occasion, a command to go in a direction other than NORTH would lead to the system freezing, requiring the operator to hard reboot the entire computer.

Further, any subsequent screens seemed to merely repeat the above text, with the difference being only the directions available. Worse still, the standard text adventure commands appeared to be useless: The only accepted non-movement-related prompts were USE GOLD, which caused the game to display the message:

-Not here.

USE SHOVEL, which brought up:

-Not now.

And USE ROPE, which prompted the text:

-You've already used this.

Most who played the game progressed a couple of screens into it before becoming fed-up by having to constantly reboot and tossing the disk in disgust, writing off the experience as a shoddily programmed farce. However, there is one thing about the world of computers that remains true, no matter the era: some people who use them have way too much time on their hands.

A young man by the name of Michael Nevins decided to see if there was more to Pale Luna than what met the eye. Five hours and thirty-three screens worth of trial-and-error and unplugged computer cords later, he finally managed to make the game display different text. The text in this new area read:

-PALE LUNA SMILES WIDE

-There are no paths

-PALE LUNA SMILES WIDE

-The ground is soft

-PALE LUNA SMILES WIDE

-Here

-Command?

It was another hour still before Nevins stumbled upon the proper combination of phrases to make the game progress any further; DIG HOLE, DROP GOLD, then FILL HOLE. This caused the screen to display:

-congratulations

—— 40.24248 ——

—— -121.4434 ——

upon which the game ceased to accept commands, requiring the user to reboot one last time.

After some deliberation, Nevins came to the conclusion that the numbers referred to lines of latitude and longitude — the coordinates lead to a point in the sprawling forest that dominated the nearby Lassen Volcanic Park. As he possessed much more free time than sense, Nevins vowed to see Pale Luna through to its ending.

The next day, armed with a map, a compass, and a shovel, he navigated the park's trails, noting with amusement how each turn he made corresponded roughly to those that he took in-game. Though he initially regretted bringing the cumbersome digging tool on a mere hunch, the path's similarity all but confirmed his suspicions that the journey would end with him face-to-face with an eccentric's buried treasure.

Out of breath after a tricky struggle to the coordinates, he was pleasantly surprised by a literal stumble upon a patch of uneven dirt. Shoveling as excitedly as he was, it would be an understatement to say that he was taken aback when his heavy strokes unearthed the badly-decomposing head of a blonde-haired little girl.

Nevins promptly reported the situation to the authorities. The girl was identified as Karen Paulsen, 11, reported as missing to the San Diego Police Department a year and a half prior.

Efforts were made to track down the programmer of Pale Luna, but the nearly-anonymous legal gray area in which the software swapping community operated inescapably led to many dead ends.

Collectors have been known to offer upwards of six figures for an authentic copy of the game.

The rest of Karen's body was never found.

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

Journey of Spongebob

2011-07-16T08:40:00.000-05:00

Gates

2011-07-14T19:52:00.000-05:00

Around the world exist massive holes in the ground, the edges surrounded by a metal collar, and strange phenomena all about the areas they are located.

These are the Gates.

The gates have been known throughout ancient civilizations and tribes.

One man named Mel Waters has brought focus to them.

The two he has found have been dubbed "Mel's Hole(s)"

Mel asserts that, for years, locals had known about the "bottomless" nature of the hole, dumping garbage down the hole, including dead cattle, truckloads of old auto tires, and large appliances like refrigerators and TV tubes. When garbage was dumped in the hole, no sound of the object hitting the bottom was heard.

Mel claims he began a series of experiments with the hole on his property, including one where he lowered a piece of food into the hole-to detect if any water was at the bottom-at the end of progressively longer lengths of fishing line. His last attempt lowered the piece down to 80,000 feet.

At that point, in 1997, Mel sent a Fax to the Coast to Coast AM show describing the hole, and shortly thereafter appeared on the show.

Soon after the broadcasts, Mel claims that men he identified as government agents told him that there was a plane-crash nearby and that he could not approach the hole. He says that the government then offered to pay him a large monthly stipend to lease the land in perpetuity. These alleged payments are said to have continued from March 1997 through the beginning of 2000.

In December 1999, while on a bus to Olympia, Washington, Mel claims he witnessed an altercation between police officers and another passenger, after which he was taken off the bus to sign a police statement. According to Mel, the next thing he recalls is walking around San Francisco, twelve days later. He claims he had been physically beaten and his rear molars were extracted. An alleged IV scar on his arm convinced him that he had been drugged.

Mel claims that he later returned to the hole, at which time he was served with papers indicating that his ownership was now in question, due to modifications that had been made, presumably by the government tenants. Mel alleges that his assets were frozen for unstated reasons.

When he appeared on Coast to Coast, Mel Waters described the hole as being roughly nine feet across and at least 80,000 feet deep. He also claimed that it had numerous supernatural powers. According to Mel, a dead hunting dog thrown into the hole by a local was seen much later running through the woods, as if hunting with somebody else.

After his appearance on Coast to Coast in 2000, Mel claimed on a subsequent appearance that he had found a second hole. This second hole is alleged to be on public land in Nevada, under the management of the Federal Bureau of Land Management. According to Mel, the land nearby is used by Native Americans as well as "members of the Basque community" who were using the land for grazing sheep.

Mel described the second hole as being 9 feet in diameter, the same dimensions as the first hole. Mel claims that the Nevada hole has a solid metal liner, or "collar" sticking out of the ground, 2 feet high, 2 feet deep, with several notches in it.

1. Mel claimed that the alleged second hole's collar was composed of a substance with the following unusual paranormal properties.Mel claims that he dropped a box wrench on the metal collar, but that the impact did not make a noise. He says this implies that the collar absorbs the sound or energy.

2. According to Mel, the hole is "solidly lined" with this metal as far as one can see into the hole.

3. Mel claims that even in winter, the area around the metal collar is warm to the touch and will keep nearby tents warm. He says the collar is not hot to the touch, however.

According to Mel, local Basques say the hole has been there, in its current state, for their community's entire existence, dating back to the 19th century. He claims one man had personal recollection of the hole since he was young, over 70 years ago at the time of the interview (since around the 1930s). In addition to his claims regarding the Basque community and the second hole, Mel has also speculated about a Basque connection to the second hole: He claims he found a whale bone near the first hole, which he asserts could have Basque origins to a history of whaling in Basque culture.

Mel further claims that the hole occasionally emits a "black beam". He acknowledged that, "this is a contradiction, but a black beam of light, okay, comes from the hole. It lasts a very short time, but it just goes directly up to the sky... if you had a flashlight, and it was capable of throwing up a solid black..."

Mel claims that he and assorted Basque locals performed an experiment with the Nevada hole, in which they lowered in a bucket of ice they bought from the grocery store. Allegedly, one bucket of ice was lowered 1500 feet into the hole, and the other bucket of ice was kept at the surface as a control. By the time half the ice on the surface bucket had melted, the bucket in the hole was to be retrieved. According to Mel, the ice in the lowered bucket had not melted, and additionally, was no longer cold to the touch. He claims that the ice had been changed in an undefined way, and described it as having a texture like silica desiccant found in packaged food. As a further experiment, Mel claims they placed the alleged bucket of unmelted ice on a cooking fire, and instead of melting, the ice allegedly began to "burn." Mel Waters described the fire as "like that last flicker before you turn off [a gas stove]". Mel goes on to claim that this new substance could be used as a source of heat, saying that "one guy took some stuff home, he put it in his wood stove... and the thing's been keeping his place warm" for over three months (September to January). Mel claims this man also reported that steam from a nearby kettle was absorbed by the burning ice, and that the area surrounding the burning ice was always very dry. According to Mel, after a few months the stove with the burning ice crashed through the floor of the man's cabin for unknown reasons, and that the man returned weeks later to find the entire cabin collapsed into "wood dust." Mel attributed this alleged phenomenon to all of the moisture being sucked out of the wood by the burning ice.

Another experiment Mel claims to have performed on the hole involved lowering a living sheep to a depth of 1500 feet, resulting in the death of the animal and the appearance of a mysterious "seal-like" entity.

Mel claims that the sheep was led to the hole, but became agitated when it approached the hole and had to be stunned and placed in a crate. According to him, the sheep awakened as it was being placed over the hole and began trashing around in its crate and making "screaming" noises. The crate was allegedly lowered to about 700 feet, at which point Mel claims that the vibrations caused by the sheep's agitation could no longer be felt. He claims that when the cable had been lowered to its full length of 1500 feet, the metal collar around the hole began to vibrate. According to Mel, the sheep was left at this depth for thirty minutes before being winched back up the surface, where it was found to be dead. Mel claims that from an external perspective the dead sheep appeared the same as when lowered, but that inside, "the sheep looked like it had been cooked." In addition, Mel claims that he then observed a jellied blob that filled the body cavity where the internal organs normally would be, which he described as looking like a "huge tumor." According to Mel, the alleged "tumor" was removed, and the experimenters believed they saw some movement inside it. He claims that when the tumor was cut open, it released a "fetal seal," with human-looking eyes, connected to the tumor with an umbilical cord. Mel explains that the "seal" seemed to have a hold on those present, and that it and the human experimenters viewed each other for over two hours.

Mel claims that the seal seemed to him to be a being "filled with compassion," and that after nodding at the experimenters, it dove back into the hole. The tumor and sheep remains were allegedly bundled in a tarp and thrown back into the hole, thereby removing any evidence of the experiment.

Mel claims that he had been diagnosed with esophageal cancer prior to his experience with the seal, but that afterwards the cancer was entirely gone, with no evidence it had ever existed. Mel feels that he was healed by the seal-like entity from the sheep carcass.

In a later interview, Mel claimed the seal entity was now making regular visits to the Basque shepherds camping around the surface of the Nevada hole. He claimed that the seal was able to communicate with the shepherds through a portable radio. However, when recorded, Mel says that the result was only a series of unintelligible sounds, as one might hear in interference on a short-wave transmission.

Mel claims that a new species of bird has been spotted in the area of the second hole shortly after his alleged encounter with the seal. The bird was said to be bright red with a bluish beak and an estimated wing span of 14 inches. He claims that at least six individual birds have been seen in the airspace around the hole since the seal incident, but that no professional can name the species from a distance, and said bird has not been captured as of yet.

It developed into an urban legend, and gained the nickname Sun Bird. Mel claims that the so-called Sun Bird never lands, except near the rim of Mel's Hole. He speculates that the bird comes from deep within the hole and he claims that the locals believe that these birds are the cause of the sheep's death, and the tumor that produced the seal entity. Mel professes that he himself has shot at one of the birds, in an attempt to bring it down for possible analysis and perhaps dissection, but that after being hit directly twice, and tumbling twenty feet, the bird pulled out of the fall, and continued flying. According to Mel's story, no birds were seen until three days later. Mel reports finding two crushed bullets in his yard. He says it is inconclusive if they are the same two bullets shot at the bird.

Mel claims that a local Basque man volunteered to be lowered into the second hole, but that the man was convinced to reconsider by Mel and the other experimenters.

Mel expressed his wish to have his body thrown into the Nevada hole after his death.

The description of Mel's 2nd Hole in the Nevada desert bears a strong resemblance to the hole or bottomless pit believed in by The Manson Family and discussed in the various court proceedings. Manson preached that a bottomless pit with mystical powers existed in the Death Valley area. The Manson pit figured prominently in his end times predictions.

Hhidaka

2011-07-14T19:21:00.001-05:00

You all know that game for the Gamecube called Super Smash Bros. Melee, right? The fighting game with all of the Nintendo characters (Mario, Fox, Kirby, Ganondorf, etc.)? Well, you can find all of the scripts, models, textures, and files in the game if you can access the files using a program.

One script, called "Char.txt," contains all of the variables and move sets for the in-game characters. Each character has a TXT file that refers to their models, too, in a folder called "Char".

In order to add my texture hacks, I needed to copy all of the files to my computer. While copying, I noticed there were 26 items, but I was sure there were only 25 characters. To make sure, I explored the filenames. All of the normal files were there; there was Cfalcon, falco, Dkong...then I came across Hhidaka.

I opened the file and noticed his variable number happened to be "666". I assumed they must have randomly generated the numbers, otherwise it'd have been between 1-26. His texture file was located in "E:\SSBM\textures\Char\modeltexture\Hhidaka.

The contents of the folder were quite disturbing. What I saw was a PNG file of a Japanese girl dressed like a hooker. She had been stabbed and mutilated to the extreme, especially at her stomach; it was cut clean. It was called "Hhidaka.png" and was the main model texture.

I absolutely couldn't believe my eyes. Why the hell would that be on the disc?

I eventually remembered that I had bought this used from a flea market. It had no instruction booklet; it was replaced by what I thought might have been cheat codes or a walkthrough written on a sheet of printer paper.

I got out the case and unfolded the "cheat codes". Instead of cheats, I saw some Japanese writing. I couldn't translate it at the time, so I went back to the computer. I checked the script and saw that Hhidaka was a hidden character. To unlock him, you had to (from what I understood) KO the purple-colored Peach four times in a row without taking damage, while playing Ganondorf.

I found it odd, but I ended up doing it. After KOing Peach for the fourth time, it went to the new character screen. Instead of a battle, it showed a video of a Japanese woman who murmured things in Japanese. A knife was in her eye.

Because my parents were home, I quickly turned the volume down and waited. I did not dare to look full on, but I did peek every now and then. It went on for four minutes until the sound of a gunshot rang out and the woman's head jerked back. Then it cut to black.

It displayed two things on the screen: "Hiroki Hidaka's taste for blood shall be quenched!" and "You have gotten the HH trophy". I looked in the trophies, but found there wasn't an actual trophy displayed. The description was still there, though. It said, "FINDING THIS WAS YOUR MISTAKE."

At this point, my Gamecube restarted itself and went to the normal SSBM menu. There wasn't any music or sound, now that I think about it, but I began a match. I chose the thumbnail-less Hiroki Hidaka and pitted myself against Kirby. Corneria was the stage. Nothing happened for a moment before text popped up on the screen that said "FINDING THIS WAS YOUR MISTAKE". My finger immediately went for the power button.

I must have pressed reset instead, as the game didn't shut off. I could hear the disc spinning rapidly, as if trying to play Crysis 2 on a laptop. The TV started displaying the same Japanese woman with the knife in her eye, but instead it was a still image. There was a caption that said "Play as Hidaka and this could be you".

I later found out the Japanese text on that paper that came in the game's case translated to the exact same words and was even signed by Hidaka. It turns out he's a Japanese serial killer who was executed on December 25, 2006. That was the same Christmas I bought the game.