A Genocide City Update

It had been about two weeks since I had played the Sonic 2 beta, I had kept dreaming about it every night. The dreams were getting worse and worse, I was waking up from them covered in sweat, I couldn't get back to sleep, I was too tired to function during the day. I knew I had to try my Sonic 2 cart, it was the only way I could move past this. I was too afraid to try it by myself, however. I invited a friend over, and not wanting him to think I was crazy, I casually suggested playing Sonic 2. I turned on my Genesis, heard the familiar "SE-GA!" voice, and then the title screen came up. Tails wasn't in it, and I screamed at the top of my lungs.

My friend was understandably startled, and asked what the hell was wrong with me. Barely holding back tears, I blurted out the whole story in a barely coherent babble. When I was finished, my friend just stared at me for a few seconds, then spoke:

"What are you talking about? Tails was on the title screen, just like he always is."

I wasn't able to respond, somehow this made things seem even worse, now I wasn't even sure if it really was some kind of curse, or if I had just gone crazy. I sat in complete silence for a few minutes, my friend made up an excuse about having to be somewhere and left, I can't blame him. After the initial shock wore off, I tried actually playing the game. Tails wasn't there, and the bonus round was impossible. I got this message after losing:

"You Can't Run From Your Failures."

I had absolutely no idea what to do at this point. I considered checking myself into a mental institution, but that last message about running from my problems made me afraid to ignore the game. Thinking about the messages, I decided I only had one option, even if nothing good was likely to come of it: I had to play through the game again.

I decided to do the next playthrough on my Genesis, holding a controller, being in front of a TV, using a system from my childhood made me feel safer than playing the beta. Aside from the lack of Tails and bonus stages, the first two zones were completely normal. I wasn't surprised at this point when Dust Hill came up after Chemical Plant, but after going a few screens into it, I saw something new in the background: Tails, hanging from a noose on one of those old west style stands you see in Hangman games. This image would repeat itself in the background every few screens worth of scrolling. When I got to where I had fought the boss before, there was another image of Tails being hanged in the background, Robotnik wasn't in his special boss vehicle, just the generic Sonic 2 floating vehicle he makes his escapes on. He did a laughing animation, and flew away. There was no victory screen, it just faded out and went to Aquatic Ruins.

The zones that are in the final game were normal, but when I got to Wood Zone, there was another change. I had noticed textures in the wood that looked like faces on my first two playthroughs, but now they were much clearer: Tails' face, in a twisted scream. These were carved everywhere in the level, when I got to the boss the biggest carving yet was in the background. Again, Robotnik just did a laughing animation and left, causing the screen to fade out. Mystic Cave and Oil Ocean were normal, then I reached Hidden Palace. Hidden Palace had changed a lot more than Dust Hill and Wood Zone, there was no music at all, and no enemies either. I walked through two empty levels, until I reached the part where Robotnik had killed Tails. Nothing was there, not the Master Emerald, Tails, or Robotnik. Sonic went into his despair pose from when Tails had been killed, and stayed like that for about 30 seconds, until the screen faded out.

Genocide City started, and it to was very different. This time it was filled with enemies, demon shaped robots covered in fire. There was no way to kill them, and the level was still lacking rings. There were also lava spouts shooting up from the bottom of the screen, and fireballs falling from the sky. This was one of the hardest platforming levels I had ever played, but after several deaths I made it to the goal sign, which still had the floor gap next to it. I touched the sign, and this time I did the trick that lets you control Sonic during the end of level score tally. It worked, and Sonic didn't run into the pit. The victory message was in that familiar black text:

"It Won't Bring Him Back."

The screen faded, and Genocide City Act 2 appeared. The graphics were different here, the fire had burned out, replaced by ashes and soot covered ruins in the background. Again, there were no enemies, the corpses of the animals that became badniks had returned, but this time they were all laying in a pile of ash. Also like my first visit to the zone, the only obstacles were some small gaps in the floor, this time they looked like holes that had been burnt through it. I reached the end of the zone, Robotnik was in his vehicle, at the right end of the screen, about level with Sonic. He didn't move, so I attacked him. He made the usual flashing damage animation, so I kept doing it. After eight hits, he still hadn't reacted or been defeated, but the black text appeared again.

"What Do You Hope To Accomplish?"

Not sure what else to do, I kept attacking Robotnik. After a few more hits:

"Killing Him Won't Bring Your Friend Back."

I continued to attack Robotnik, the message changed every few hits. I'll post them in the order they appeared.

"You Let Him Die, That Will Never Change."

"Revenge Won't Soothe You Forever."

"Like The Past, He Is Lost Forever."

"You Can't Get Your Innocence Back."

"Your Enemy's Blood Can't Wash Away Your Mistakes."

"You Have No One To Blame But Yourself."

"Take Responsibility For Your Failure."

"You Are Attacking The Wrong Person."

After getting all these messages, I got an idea of what the game wanted me to do. Instead of jumping at Robotnik to attack him, I walked into him, causing Sonic to take damage and die. One final message came up:

"You Have Paid The Only Acceptable Price."

The game reset, and the title screen came up. This time Sonic wasn't there either, there was just an empty circle. I started the game, and the screen the common beta sends you to when you select Genocide City appeared. There was no timer, no Sonic falling to his death, nothing. I turned the system on and off and tried again, the same thing happened. I tried the beta on my computer, same thing, same screen. I tried another Sonic game, it was the same, everything in the series had erased him. I haven't tried to play a Sonic game in quite a while now, but I see that one screen every time I close my eyes.

(This story is credited to a person called KI Simpson. View the first Genocide City story here.)

Mr. Widemouth

During my childhood my family was like a drop of water in a vast river, never remaining in one location for long. We settled in Rhode Island when I was eight, and there we remained until I went to college in Colorado Springs. Most of my memories are rooted in Rhode Island, but there are fragments in the attic of my brain which belong to the various homes we had lived in when I was much younger.

Most of these memories are unclear and pointless– chasing after another boy in the back yard of a house in North Carolina, trying to build a raft to float on the creek behind the apartment we rented in Pennsylvania, and so on. But there is one set of memories which remains as clear as glass, as though they were just made yesterday. I often wonder whether these memories are simply lucid dreams produced by the long sickness I experienced that Spring, but in my heart, I know they are real.

We were living in a house just outside the bustling metropolis of New Vineyard, Maine, population 643. It was a large structure, especially for a family of three. There were a number of rooms that I didn’t see in the five months we resided there. In some ways it was a waste of space, but it was the only house on the market at the time, at least within an hour’s commute to my father’s place of work.

The day after my fifth birthday (attended by my parents alone), I came down with a fever. The doctor said I had mononucleosis, which meant no rough play and more fever for at least another three weeks. It was horrible timing to be bed-ridden– we were in the process of packing our things to move to Pennsylvania, and most of my things were already packed away in boxes, leaving my room barren. My mother brought me ginger ale and books several times a day, and these served the function of being my primary from of entertainment for the next few weeks. Boredom always loomed just around the corner, waiting to rear its ugly head and compound my misery.

I don’t exactly recall how I met Mr. Widemouth. I think it was about a week after I was diagnosed with mono. My first memory of the small creature was asking him if he had a name. He told me to call him Mr. Widemouth, because his mouth was large. In fact, everything about him was large in comparison to his body– his head, his eyes, his crooked ears– but his mouth was by far the largest.

“You look kind of like a Furby,” I said as he flipped through one of my books.

Mr. Widemouth stopped and gave me a puzzled look. “Furby? What’s a Furby?” he asked.

I shrugged. “You know… the toy. The little robot with the big ears. You can pet and feed them, almost like a real pet.”

“Oh.” Mr. Widemouth resumed his activity. “You don’t need one of those. They aren’t the same as having a real friend.”

I remember Mr. Widemouth disappearing every time my mother stopped by to check in on me. “I lay under your bed,” he later explained. “I don’t want your parents to see me because I’m afraid they won’t let us play anymore.”

We didn’t do much during those first few days. Mr. Widemouth just looked at my books, fascinated by the stories and pictures they contained. The third or fourth morning after I met him, he greeted me with a large smile on his face. “I have a new game we can play,” he said. “We have to wait until after your mother comes to check on you, because she can’t see us play it. It’s a secret game.”

After my mother delivered more books and soda at the usual time, Mr. Widemouth slipped out from under the bed and tugged my hand. “We have to go the the room at the end of this hallway,” he said. I objected at first, as my parents had forbidden me to leave my bed without their permission, but Mr. Widemouth persisted until I gave in.

The room in question had no furniture or wallpaper. Its only distinguishing feature was a window opposite the doorway. Mr. Widemouth darted across the room and gave the window a firm push, flinging it open. He then beckoned me to look out at the ground below.

We were on the second story of the house, but it was on a hill, and from this angle the drop was farther than two stories due to the incline. “I like to play pretend up here,” Mr. Widemouth explained. “I pretend that there is a big, soft trampoline below this window, and I jump. If you pretend hard enough you bounce back up like a feather. I want you to try.”

I was a five-year-old with a fever, so only a hint of skepticism darted through my thoughts as I looked down and considered the possibility. “It’s a long drop,” I said.

“But that’s all a part of the fun. It wouldn’t be fun if it was only a short drop. If it were that way you may as well just bounce on a real trampoline.”

I toyed with the idea, picturing myself falling through thin air only to bounce back to the window on something unseen by human eyes. But the realist in me prevailed. “Maybe some other time,” I said. “I don’t know if I have enough imagination. I could get hurt.”

Mr. Widemouth’s face contorted into a snarl, but only for a moment. Anger gave way to disappointment. “If you say so,” he said. He spent the rest of the day under my bed, quiet as a mouse.

The following morning Mr. Widemouth arrived holding a small box. “I want to teach you how to juggle,” he said. “Here are some things you can use to practice, before I start giving you lessons.”

I looked in the box. It was full of knives. “My parents will kill me!” I shouted, horrified that Mr. Widemouth had brought knives into my room– objects that my parents would never allow me to touch. “I’ll be spanked and grounded for a year!”

Mr. Widemouth frowned. “It’s fun to juggle with these. I want you to try it.”

I pushed the box away. “I can’t. I’ll get in trouble. Knives aren’t safe to just throw in the air.”

Mr. Widemouth’s frown deepened into a scowl. He took the box of knives and slid under my bed, remaining there the rest of the day. I began to wonder how often he was under me.

I started having trouble sleeping after that. Mr. Widemouth often woke me up at night, saying he put a real trampoline under the window, a big one, one that I couldn’t see in the dark. I always declined and tried to go back to sleep, but Mr. Widemouth persisted. Sometimes he stayed by my side until early in the morning, encouraging me to jump.

He wasn’t so fun to play with anymore.

My mother came to me one morning and told me I had her permission to walk around outside. She thought the fresh air would be good for me, especially after being confined to my room for so long. Exstatic, I put on my sneakers and trotted out to the back porch, yearning for the feeling of sun on my face.

Mr. Widemouth was waiting for me. “I have something I want you to see,” he said. I must have given him a weird look, because he then said, “It’s safe, I promise.”

I followed him to the beginning of a deer trail which ran through the woods behind the house. “This is an important path,” he explained. “I’ve had a lot of friends about your age. When they were ready, I took them down this path, to a special place. You aren’t ready yet, but one day, I hope to take you there.”

I returned to the house, wondering what kind of place lay beyond that trail.

Two weeks after I met Mr. Widemouth, the last load of our things had been packed into a moving truck. I would be in the cab of that truck, sitting next to my father for the long drive to Pennsylvania. I considered telling Mr. Widemouth that I would be leaving, but even at five years old, I was beginning to suspect that perhaps the creature’s intentions were not to my benefit, despite what he said otherwise. For this reason, I decided to keep my departure a secret

My father and I were in the truck at 4 a.m. He was hoping to make it to Pennyslvania by lunch time tomorrow with the help of an endless supply of coffee and a six-pack of energy drinks. He seemed more like a man who was about to run a marathon rather than one who was about to spend two days sitting still.

“Early enough for you?” he asked.

I nodded and placed my head against the window, hoping for some sleep before the sun came up. I felt my father’s hand on my shoulder. “This is the last move, son, I promise. I know it’s hard for you, as sick as you’ve been. Once daddy gets promoted we can settle down and you can make friends.”

I opened my eyes as we backed out of the driveway. I saw Mr. Widemouth’s silhouette in my bedroom window. He stood motionless until the truck was about to turn onto the main road. He gave a pitiful little wave good-bye, steak knife in hand. I didn’t wave back.

Years later, I returned to New Vineyard. The piece of land our house stood upon was empty except for the foundation, as the house burned down a few years after my family left. Out of curiosity, I followed the deer trail that Mr. Widemouth had shown me. Part of me expected him to jump out from behind a tree and scare the living bejeesus out of me, but I felt that Mr. Widemouth was gone, somehow tied to the house that no longer existed.

The trail ended at the New Vineyard Memorial Cemetery.

I noticed that many of the tombstones belonged to children.

Drips 'n Needles

About two weeks ago, I decided that I wanted some Styrofoam heads to hold a couple of my hats. I was only able to buy two at the time, so I took them home and set them up on my shelf with my fedoras on them...but they just looked too bland, too boring. I decided that they needed to be artsed up a little bit

I decorated the one with the ping pong ball eyes first. I named him Pins n Needles due to the pins sticking out of his lips. I made it so his eyes are able to move when I want them to; I just roll the eyes in certain directions to make him look like he was looking that way. A few nights after I made pins, I decided to decorate the other one. I named him Drips due to the dye that is pouring out of his mouth and eyes.

I first noticed something was amiss when I woke up one morning. The heads are usually on a shelf across from my bed and above my door, but I saw that Pins was now sitting on my desk. His eyes were looking directly at me. As I remembered, I hadn't changed their position since I put them in. They were both pointed left, but now they were looking straight.

It struck me as a little bit odd, but I figured that it must have fallen off in the night and I picked it up without remembering it. That still doesn't explain the eyes moving, though. I tried to push it out of my head as I put Pins back on his shelf with Drips.

After that, nothing happened for a few days and I had almost forgotten about it entirely. Then, one night, I woke up in the middle of the night and Drips was out of place. He was sitting on my night stand right next to my bed. I shat brix. I know that I didn't put him there, and I live alone so nobody else could have either. I hit him off my night stand and threw a blanket over him and tried to go back to sleep. The next morning, the cover was off of him and he was sitting upright.

By now, I was thoroughly freaked out by the heads. I didn't like them any more, but I told myself that I was being irrational and scared for no reason. I picked Drips up off the floor and sat him back up on the shelf with his horrific companion. When I got back from work later that day, I took the fedoras off the heads and tossed both heads in a corner of my garage. I was finally able to sleep peacefully for a night or two.

Both of the heads were stuffed in a corner of my garage, but two nights ago I woke up to see that they were both back on their shelf AND wearing their fedoras. I freaked out and went downstairs to sleep on my couch. There is no way in hell that was possible. Now I'm convinced I'm losing my sanity. Inanimate objects can't do this...can they?

When I woke up this morning, both of the heads were sitting in the middle of the room. Pins' eyes were facing upwards towards me. I tore off the hats and threw them in the garage again. I don't know why I didn't just throw them away, but I know that I should have. They're scaring me, and I think they're moving around more frequently. I'm not going to sleep tonight. I can't stand one more night of these heads watching me. I'll keep you guys updated if anything more happens with these.

(The point in having the picture of Drips on a separate file-hosting server is because imageshack.us thought that the 4kb .jpg image file had no image to upload. o.o Then it took me 3 tries before I got the other two images uploaded. Even the IMAGES are haunted. ._. )

Splendorman

A Shattering Psychosis

One man's progressive withdrawal from reality to fantasy is clearly traced in his extraordinary series of cat paintings. They were done by an early-20th Century artist, Louis Wain. For some twenty years, Wain painted sentimental and realistic cat portraits which captivated Londoners. He had immense popular success illustrating calendars, albums, postcards and the like. Most of his life, he lived in seclusion with three spinster sisters and seventeen cats.

In his 57th year, indications of psychosis appeared both in his life and his art. He became convinced that enemies were influencing his mind with electrical impulses. At the same time, his cat portraits took an ominous turn.

Wain spent the last fifteen years of his life in mental hospitals, a quaint and courtly figure who suffered recurring delusions of persecution. He drew and painted constantly - always cats. Indicative of his psychotic state are his cats' eyes, which stare with hostility even in an early drawing: the psychotic often feels that a threatening world is staring at him. Another indication is fragmentation of the body: images of the body undergo strange transformation in psychosis, and are almost never drawn without distortion.

Wain's images eventually lost all coherence, but the baroque, infinitely detailed designs he produced were far more powerful and original than his former realism.

Click the picture to get a closer look.

The cat at the left, above, was painted during the early stage of Louis Wain's affliction. It differs from his earlier work not only in the alarming eyes but also in the spiked fur. Wain also replaced his usual landscape background with a formal design, an artistic defense against his sense of mental disorder.

In the next portrait, this cat is quite hostile and a satanic red color predominates, particularly in the eyes - a projection of Wain's own fear that he was being victimized by evil spirits. The rainbow-colored halos around the cat are often found in psychotic art.

In the late stages of schizophrenia, Wain's cats are almost abstract designs (above and opposite). Here, realism has completely disintegrated. Wain replaced it with obsessive, formal patterns in a desperate effort to organize and master his disordered thought process.

Don't Look Back

WHAT YOU WILL NEED:

---A small empty room: a closet, pantry, small bathroom, etc, with no windows. The room should be big enough and empty enough for a single person of your size to stand in without touching the walls or door. If the only thing you have to work with has windows, cover them so that no light can come through.

---Three matches

---A method of telling time

---A pen/pencil and some paper

HOW TO PLAY:

This game is best played alone. Your guests may not come if they feel like there's already a crowd.

This game is best played AT NIGHT.

---Turn off all sources of noise: phones, TVs, etc.

---Turn on the light in the room you're using. If it is an unlit room, place a lit candle or a flashlight so that it provides light inside.

---Start at the furthest point at your house from the room and go from room to room calling "I'll be ready soon!"

---When you get to the room, take the paper and write, "You are invited! A gathering, hosted by (your name). Takes place from (time you start - an hour from start time). Bring friends!" Place it on the floor and say into the room, "I'm ready! Come on in!"

Turn off the light and turn around, facing the dark of your house with the open door at your back. hold the three matches in your hand.

Wait a few moments in silence then start counting loudly out loud. When you get to ten, strike the first match.

1.) If it doesn't strike on the first try, drop it and strike the second one. Repeat for the third one if the second doesn't light. If the third doesn't light on the first strike, you have gatecrashers - uninvited guests. Don't turn around or pause to close the door. Run for the nearest light source and turn it on. The party is over.

2.) If the match lights, hold it until it burns down as far as you can bear. Greet your guests. Suggested: Say out loud, "I'm so glad to see you! Thanks for coming!" Light the second match. If it doesn't light on the first strike, see 1.

3.) Repeat 2 for the second match and greet your guest. If the third doesn't strike, see 1.

4.) Strike the third match. If it lights, say "Now everyone is here!" and count to ten again. If everything was done correctly you should hear or feel something. It's typically just someone saying "thanks" or "thank you" quietly. It may or may not be from behind you. Great party! Your guests were happy to come. Otherwise, silence, and your safe anyhow. Afterward, it's safe to turn on the lights.

If at any point you turn around or look behind you before turning on the light, see 1.

Courage the Cowardly Dog Explained

Everyone here loves Courage, but who exactly is he? He's a scared dog that does whatever he can to protect his home, Nowhere.

Where is Nowhere? Is it the place where there is nothing? No one? No hope? Hell?

Courage protects his home and makes sure no one harms Muriel. His master sits in his chair and hates everything and everyone. Whenever something evil comes to attack or rule over Nowhere, Courage fights back. He keeps Muriel safe and Eustace's home from being destroyed.

Muriel always sees a new head on Courage whenever something evil comes to warn her, giving him multiple heads.

Courage will forever stay in Nowhere (Hell) to protect his home, keep Muriel (humanity) safe from evil (Le Quack [greed], Fred [murder], Katz [hate], etc). His master, Eustace (Satan), will rule over and hate all that is Nowhere (Hell).

He is stuck in the middle of Hell and loves his home. He is Cerberus, our courageous, cowardly dog.