Like the Raven

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.)

Vintage PC

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)

Playing the Part

I’m always playing the part. Ever since this stupid movie started, the part never really left me.

You’re probably confused. Should I bother explaining? Honestly, all you’ll do is ridicule me. Oh well. All the people I would confide in aren’t exactly… around. If you have a few minutes, I can tell you a story that will drive you crazy.

Trust me, I mean that.

It all started because I was desperate. See, I’m an actor. Or, I was, at any rate. Except, I haven’t had a role in over 2 years. I had a part in one of those big movies, it was filmed for nothing and grossed way too much to be healthy for the average person to have at one time. I had been riding on that, but my addictions to fast cars, hot women, and cocaine wasn’t exactly feeding the piggy bank. It started to dry up faster than it took me to ruin an interns life on a set.

And so, desperation set in. It started with the average frantic thoughts

What if my wife leaves me

What if my cars get repo’d

What if they take away my house

What if I run out of coke

Yeah, those may or may not have been in order of importance.

So I scrambled, reaching towards the bottom of the barrel for a part to feed the pig. You would think I’d find some Romantic Comedy or a Buddy Cop movie to satisfy me, but no. I found a Slasher flick.

Yay me. Fake blood that makes you itch and make-up applied by kids that were practicing on mannequin heads 2 months ago. But something was different about this one, something just didn’t… sit right. It’s hard to explain.

But, I brushed that away. I signed for the role of the slasher himself, a beastly fellow that was basically the offspring of one Mr. Myers and Ms. Voorhees. His story was stupid and convoluted, like every slasher flick ever. Something about an abusive father, an absent mother, some alcoholic bullies, that sort of thing. He was the victim of a previous slasher, which left him permanently scarred both mentally and physically.

The mental scarring is simple enough to understand, I mean, he witnessed almost his entire town die. That would drive anyone crazy. The physical scarring was a ripped out left eye, 2 gashes on the right cheek that formed an X, and a missing nose.

Yes, it is a ghastly picture.

Yes, my beautiful face had to be altered with makeup and CG to make it.

Yes, I was horrified.

Yes, I was that desperate.

No, apparently I’m not above that kind of work.

It would take almost 2 hours in the dressing room to pull off this look, mind you. Half the time I was sleeping, and most of the time you only saw the slasher’s face for a millisecond! Oh, it was a gruelling process.

After about 3 weeks of filming, we finally filmed the first murder scene. Up to this point it was all day-scenes that set the back-story, and the director didn’t think of shooting the night scenes when things started to get dark. It was a simple enough scene to pull off, the sorority girl back visiting from college would see me on the side of the road looking like a homeless man, would pull over to ask if I was okay, and then I would follow her home and murder her family off screen whilst setting a trap for her to stumble upon the bodies.

If that sounds overly familiar, don’t worry, I know.

The trap was a bit grisly, mind you. She had to walk into her parents room and see the dog lying on the bed in a pool of blood. She would run out of the room, but her father was now hanging upside-down at the entrance of it. She would then scream, back away towards the window where I was watching as the body of her mother fell from the closet. I would then jump through the window and chase her throughout the house until I cornered her in the bathroom and did the deed.

Yes, I did get shivers.

Luckily, the shooting process allowed the scene to be broken up in a variety of camera angles, so you never truly got the entire scene all together until it was edited. So no goose bumps.

The thing that shook me was watching the trap play out. You feel a sense of entitlement knowing you’re playing the guy that put that together. Truth be told, I wanted more. Screening continued, more murder scenes were shot, and the movie was finished, but my yearning grew more and more throughout the course.

I started small, mind you. Rabbits, stray cats, and dog here and there. I never dreamed of actually hurting anybody. Well, yes, I dreamed of hurting people, but those are just dreams right? I’m not crazy, no, not yet.

About 3 rabbits, 2 dogs, and 15 cats (yes, my town had a cat issue) later, I found myself at peace. What a marvellous thing I had done! I vented my anger, got my gratification, and helped my town with the cat problem! Things were going swimmingly. And the revenue from the movie turned out to be smashing, it grossed something like 2 million dollars. I had a free ride for at least a year with me playing the lead role.

Then they contacted me for a sequel. Oh yes, a sequel! A slasher flick II to go along with Slasher flick I, it was brilliant! I jumped at the chance to play the role again, and I felt at home in the makeup and prop clothes the character wore. I would creep up on stage directors and crew and scare them a bit for a little fun in between scenes, and I again watched the traps roll out and the bodies of the actors that played the part flop down. But something was amiss with the 5th murder scene.

I was supposed to chase a young man through a gym until he fell down the stairs to the locker room. Now, usually in cinema, scenes like this would be shot with either padding or dummies, but the director wanted none of that. The plan was to make him fall slowly down the stairs and then speed it up in the editing room.

It didn’t work that way.

As I gave chase, he truly fell down the stairs and snapped his neck on the railing. He died instantly, the doctors say, and the sequel was cancelled due to the fees needed to pay off his family for the incident.

But watching that body fall. Going

Plop

Plop

Bang

Down the stairs. It introduced a whole new concept to me, and gave me the urge one again. I had a feeling cats and dogs wouldn’t do it for me anymore, either.

The first headline read:

“Killer Recreates Scene From Grisly Movie!”

It made me laugh. It was only one column behind a bunch of ads for cars you could never afford and appliances you only get one use out of, but it was still there. What I did was recreate the first murder from the Slasher flick I starred in, right down to the letter. It was brilliant, the shrieks were real.

There was no pause for an angle change.

There was no flood lights.

There was no fat man sitting in the director’s chair.

There was just me, 4 dead bodies and what was supposed to be a prop machete. You’d be surprised how easy it is. The moment where a living being becomes an inanimate object… it’s empowering. It’s addicting. It’s fun.

I never stopped, either. I would recreate the scenes from the movies, then I would make my own. I would play this role until the day I died. With my machete and my makeup, I would stalk and shank and cause shivers. Every state across the United States, I’ve been to, and I’ve killed in.

But you probably knew all this, I mean.

You were the only one that followed me.

The only one that almost stopped me.

The only kill that ever got away.

But now. Now you’re tied up. Now you’re tired, bloody, beaten, and stabbed. And, unless my watch is wrong, you’ve probably been dead for over 20 minutes now.

(This story is credited to a person called Kyle. You can find more of their stories here.)

The Red Cross

I'd like to tell you a disturbing story I heard from people I know or have met.

I was living in the southern part of Sydney four years ago in a big house. One day, I advertised to share the house so I could save some money. The next day, a young Indian-looking guy around thirty came to the house. However, he wanted to leave quickly after I showed him the spare room.

I wanted to know what he thought about sharing the house with me. He said he liked the house, but didn't want to move in because of the cat. On the way out, I simply asked him if he knew what was really going on in the world. There wasn't really much reason for it. I just wanted to chat a little.

He replied, "Are you talking about conspiracies?" When I said yes, he looked up at the four corners of the room and asked if there was a bug of any kind. I told him I didn't think so. Afterward, he started to whisper with a very serious face.

"I know everything about conspiracies. I can even write my own book or create my own website just for all the information I know. When my mother was alive, she used to work in a hospital. She was constantly telling me, 'there is a secret room in the hospital where very rich people go to drink our blood.' "

At the time, I already knew about the illuminati's blood drinking nature, since I read the Biggest Secret by David Icke, but I was very surprised about the secret room in the hospital.

Six months passed and I met a guy at a political meeting that I became good friends with. One day, when I told him the story about the Indian guy, he wasn't very surprised about the secret room in the hospital. Instead, he gave me more information about the Red Cross.

He replied, "I can believe that. There's something fishy going on about the Red Cross. Many of the rooms at the Red Cross center in Sydney have a special lock system employed. You have to have a special 'security clearance' to enter each room. According to a man who works at the Red Cross, two men used to work there. However, when they went to Thailand, they were killed somehow."

My friend thinks both of them found the true nature of the Red Cross.

Why He Weeps

I'd heard stories of Retreat Road down in Cochrane, Alberta. They have a monastery there, with robes and everything. However, their real claim to fame is the massive statue of Christ being crucified in the woods.

I've been there a few times. I walked up the path with all the smaller statues beside the path. There was a baby, a group of people reaching toward Jesus, and all those things. They culminated in this 20-foot tall cross with Jesus hanging from it.

What really gets a lot of people, though, is that Jesus is weeping on the cross. No one can seem to figure out why. Weeping is not the action of a Lord and Savior.

Never.

Unthinkable.

I've been a few times during the day. It's an interesting walk. Even for the Atheist like myself, it's still awe-inspiring. I happened to notice lights beneath all the statues, though. I asked around and it turns out they do light the path at night. I asked if I could come back then, but they said the path would be closed. No one would tell me why.

Not one to follow rules, I returned that night and made my way over the fence and onto the path. As I walked along the winding route to the large statue, I passed the smaller statues. They seemed different. It was the angle the light hit them, I think.

The statue of the baby...its eyes were all sunken in and the shadows seemed to make its fingers end in claws. The statue of the people reaching toward Jesus, well...everyone looked dead, reaching toward Jesus with the shadows casting a look of horror on his face.

Something about them really unsettled me, but it was on a deeper level than just what they depicted now. I reached the statue of Jesus and gazed up at his face. i stood there for what felt like hours, just wondering why he was weeping. What for? What cause?

I heard the whispers and rustling of the trees on all sides of me long before I saw anything. I gazed up at Jesus, looking deep into those stone eyes, and understood.

That night, he was weeping for me.