For those pastas that are smelling less than fresh…

October 18, 2014
by derpbutt

The Gift

I’ve always been somewhat of a social outcast. This was of my own design, I suppose. At an early age, I decided that I wanted to throw myself into my studies. You have to get good grades to get into college. You have to get into college to get a good job. You have to get a good job to have a good life. At least that was what I had always been told.

When it came time for me to graduate from high school, my mom promised me a big party. She was really proud of me because I would be the first person in the family to go to college. My grades were good enough that I got a scholarship to one of the local colleges. This would work out great for me because I could get a good education and still live at home. Since my brother moved out a few years ago, it was just my mother and me and although we weren’t exactly poor, we did have to do without some of the things we wanted and greatly appreciated the value of a dollar.

My mom invited practically everyone to my graduation – family members, people from church, a lady I used to take piano lessons from as a child and even her hairdresser! When graduation night came and I walked across the stage, I heard a loud cheer from the audience. It felt good to know so many people were pulling for me. But, I couldn’t help but think that these people were really my mother’s friends, and not my own. No matter, they were all invited to celebrate at my mother’s house afterwards.

At the party, there was cake, punch, snacks, and lots of conversation. Also, everyone gave me graduation gifts! Most of them were cards with small amounts of cash tucked inside, ranging from $10 all the way up to $50 from a particularly generous church couple. My brother, who had driven over a hundred miles for the occasion, gave me a brief case. An aunt gave me an antique rocking chair. The pastor gave me a new bible. Apparently everyone thought I was a 50 year old lawyer with a passion for antiques. But, I did appreciate the sentiment.

I took everything to my room. I sat the heavy rocking chair in a corner, slid the briefcase under my bed, set the bible on my dresser and stashed a total of $185 in my wallet. However, I was not through receiving gifts. A few days later, a small package arrived in the mail for me. It was from an uncle on my mother’s side who had moved to Alaska of all places. I sat on my bed and looked it over. I was fascinated because it wasn’t simply a cardboard box all taped up like you usually get through the mail. Instead, it was wrapped in brown paper and there was a thin piece of twine that was encircling the whole thing and tied into a bow at the top. For some reason, I picked up the package, held it under my nose and inhaled sharply. “Ahhhh, Alaska!” I said to myself, imagining the cool Alaskan air wrapping itself around me.

Carefully, I unwrapped the package and found a small, blue box. I opened it to find a silver pen and ink. Immediately I thought, “Great. There’s another relative who doesn’t know me.” My thoughts then turned to one of the few memories I had of my uncle. Back when my father was still around, my uncle babysat me once while my parents went out of town. He was a thin man with pale skin and sharp features. The lines on his face told of a hard life that belied his cheerful smile when he saw me. I remembered how we stayed up late that night and watched a scary movie. It was great!

I took the pen out of the box, held it in my hand and then adjusted it into a writing position. It actually felt really good. It wasn’t too heavy or too light and seemed perfectly balanced. I put the ink in the pen and scribbled some lines on the brown paper that had been wrapped around the package. Dark ink flowed smoothly and evenly onto it. “Not bad,” I thought.

It wasn’t long before my summer classes at college started. I figured I’d get a jump on my required courses and going in the summer would give me a little time to adjust to college life without the campus being completely full of students. One of the first assignments I got was in my creative writing class. We were supposed to write any story at all as long as we could finish it during the class time provided. I looked around the classroom and could tell that no one else was prepared for this either, but everyone pulled out their notebooks and hurriedly wrote their tales. I decided that I would write about the gifts I had received for graduation and how I would rather have video games.

The next time our class met, the professor handed back our papers and I got a C. A note in the margin simply said, “Boring.” After class, I asked about my grade. The professor said that it lacked inspiration and wasn’t very creative. We talked about ways to think imaginatively and he ended up suggesting that I keep a dream journal to use for ideas.

When I got back home, I put a notebook on my nightstand, found the pen my uncle sent me and set it on top. That night I struggled to get to sleep, but once I did I had a dream. I was a child in a strange house. I crept into a room and picked up a blonde haired doll wearing a pink dress. There were voices coming from another room so I sneaked down the hall to avoid them and went out the back door. Once I was outside, I looked around to make sure no one was watching. I looked down at the doll and gently stroked its hair before wrapping my fist around its head and violently pulling it off. I heard a giggle that did not sound like my own. Next, I pulled off the doll’s arms and legs. Feeling panicked, I looked around and saw a rose bush. I went over to it and dug at the roots, accidentally pricking my finger on a thorn. I tossed the dismembered doll and its body parts into the hole and quickly covered them up. When I woke from the dream, I turned on the light, grabbed my notebook and pen, and stumbled toward the rocking chair where I recorded it in my journal.

The next morning, I yawned as I told my mother about the dream. A look of astonishment washed over her face. “Something almost exactly like that happened to me when I was a girl,” she said. “One day I found my favorite doll torn apart and buried by a rose bush in the back yard. I always thought your uncle did it, but he never admitted to it.” In my next creative writing class, I wrote a story about the dream. It earned me a B with the note, “Better.”

My journal lay silent the next few nights as I didn’t have any dreams, at least none that I remembered. Then, one morning I woke up and looked at the notebook. There, written in all capital letters large enough to cover the entirety of the page was, “WAKE UP!” At the very moment I read it, there was a loud banging on my door and my mother shouted “Wake up!” My head snapped toward my door. “You’re going to be late for your class!” she added.

“I’m up!” I yelled at her. “Go away!” I felt bad for being so abrupt, but she had just about given me a heart attack after all. I looked back down at the paper. I didn’t remember writing anything in my journal. I must’ve awoke in the middle of the night, wrote it and simply forgot.

That night I had a slightly disturbing dream. I saw someone crouched down on the floor of a room. He was busy scribbling something into a notebook. Words were creaking onto the paper as his hand feverishly flew across the page. When I tried to look over his shoulder to make out what he was writing, he moved so that I couldn’t see. However, I did notice that he was using my pen. This infuriated me, so I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder. He quickly stood up and turned to face me. It was me! My eyes were completely white, with large, dark circles underneath them. I had a crazed grin on my face and my hair was a mess, sticking up like horns. I gasped as I took a step backwards in shock and then looked down at the notebook. There was one phrase written all over it in various sizes: “He has you!”

Once again, I recorded everything in my journal. For my next assignment, I wrote about the inner self and how we should look at ourselves as others see us. My attempt earned me a D with the note, “This is not Psychology 101.” At this point, I was starting to get annoyed. My grammar was good, I tried really hard, and I was even using the damn journal as inspiration. Maybe I wasn’t ready for college. I wasn’t doing very well in my other classes lately either.

After a long and frustrating day, I stared angrily at the blank page in my journal before I went to sleep. As I drifted off, I dreamed that I was in an old house. I walked down a long hallway and then down into the basement which had a dirt floor and walls. There was a hole in the wall that I crawled through. I found myself atop a stone stairway. I walked down the stairs for what seemed like ages. Eventually I was in an empty room. I looked behind me and the doorway that I came through had disappeared. There was an odd, loud creaking as a large stone platform rose up from the floor in the center of the room. Its surface was as smooth as glass and looked like it was wet. Light from an unseen source shined down onto it. I took a step forward and reached out to touch it when black lines suddenly appeared on the surface. They then moved around and formed into three separate symbols. I had never seen anything like them before and when I tried to focus my eyes on them, they shook violently and settled into different shapes.

I woke up anxious to write everything down in my journal. However, when I reached for my pen, I screamed in shock when I saw that my notebook was covered with the same strange symbols I saw in my dream. I stood up quickly and backed toward my door, keeping my eyes on the journal. As I moved across the room, the symbols seemed to change shape and eventually looked like a pair of eyes staring directly at me. I turned on my light to get a better look. As I walked back toward my nightstand, the symbols seemed to scurry around on spider legs as they rushed back into their original shapes. Maybe I had just been looking at them from an odd angle. Maybe I was still half asleep and my eyes were still blurry. I had to be imagining the whole thing. No matter, surely this would make for a good story.

The next day during class, I took care to write exactly what had happened in my dream. I felt accomplished. Finally I was turning in something that Professor Thomas might find original. But, my victory was short lived. At the end of our next class, I got my paper back and immediately saw a large F at the top with “Is this a joke?” in the margin. Furiously, I almost crumpled the paper and then I looked at the rest of it. My name was at the top of the page, but gone was the story I wrote in class. Instead, it was replaced with the strange set of repeated symbols from my dream. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I ran out of the classroom and into the bathroom. I splashed water on my face and looked at myself into the mirror. What the hell was happening to me? Did I really write that or was I just seeing things?

A few nights later, I had a terrible nightmare. I dreamed that I sneaked up behind Professor Thomas and smashed him in the head with a rock. He fell to the floor with a loud thud. Then, I turned him over, sat on his chest and choked him with my hands until he stopped moving. Next, I took some rope, fashioned it into a noose, and slipped it over his head. I could hear the bones in his neck snapping as I hoisted him off the ground. The rope creaked back and forth as Professor Thomas’s lifeless body swung side to side.

The nightmare startled me so much that I woke up in the middle of the night. I fumbled toward the light switch and when I turned it on I saw a drawing of a hanging man sketched into my journal. The pen my uncle gave me sat on top and gleamed silently.

The next morning, when I went to school there were several students standing outside the building. Three police cars and an ambulance were parked outside. I walked up to a classmate, a fairly pretty girl with long, curly, blonde hair who was wearing a green cardigan sweater, and asked her what was going on. She looked at me, eyes full of tears, and said, “Professor Thomas killed himself!”

I blinked my eyes in disbelief and frantically asked, “What? Are you sure?”

She tilted her head to the side slightly and opened her arms wide. The next thing I knew, I found myself in her warm embrace. Her sadness somehow made the vanilla perfume she was wearing smell bitter. I thought it odd that she would hug me when I barely knew her. Then, she fought through her tears and said, “I know this will be hard for you. You were his favorite straight A student.” She became quiet for a moment and solemnly announced, “He hung himself.” Immediately, I pushed her back and looked at her in shock. I turned around and ran toward my car.

As I sped home, I just kept saying, “This can’t be real. It can’t be.” My mind was racing almost as fast as my heart was beating. What the hell had just happened? Did this have something to do with…me? I thought back on everything that had been happening – all the weird stuff that started just after graduation. When I got home, I ran to my room and grabbed my notebook off the nightstand. I flipped through the pages and then dropped it to the floor. They were all blank. Nothing I had written was there. I sat down on my bed and covered my face with my hands. My eyes were now stinging and wet with tears. When I opened my eyes again, I saw the pen my uncle sent me sitting there and shining at me happily. I picked it up and looked at it closely. The initials “AWH” were faintly visible, inscribed in a cursive font. Why had I never seen this before? Who the hell was “AWH?” Why would my uncle give me something like this? Determined this evil thing – this cursed object – was the source of all my problems, I tried breaking it in half to no success before finally taking it outside and throwing it into the trash.

When my mom came home, she asked me about Professor Thomas. I brushed her off as we sat there watching the news for any information. Honestly, I half expected to hear the police knocking at the door. Surely I would be a prime suspect if they had seen my drawing, my stories, and my…dreams.

That night I lay in bed with my eyes wide open, everything in the world going through my mind. How could I sleep at a time like this? I felt like I didn’t deserve rest. However, my body betrayed me and I once again found myself in a heavy slumber.

In the middle of the night, I was awakened by a stinging sensation. Something like this would normally cause me to sit bolt upright in bed and find out what was wrong, but I was just so tired. I lay there with my eyes closed. The thick blanket of silence that was draped over me fell when I heard a faint scratching sound. I strained my ears to listen closely. It was coming from my nightstand. Finally, I managed to open my eyes. I could see that my arm was stretched straight out. My hand was on my notebook and I was drawing something with my finger. As my eyes focused more, I could see that my fingertip was dripping blood. My eyes focused yet again and I could see large pair of hands, almost too dark to be seen against the darkness of my room. They were holding my hand and guiding my finger across the page.

Frozen with fear, my eyes moved slowly to the source of the hands. A massive, dark figure towered over my bed. Three horns crowned its head. Its twisted features were visible in hues of black and gray. The body appeared to be made of a thick smoke, impossibly both solid and wispy at the same time. Suddenly, it released my hand and peered into my eyes. Chills went through my body as a wicked grin revealed sharp teeth. The thing opened its mouth slightly to reveal yet a second row. It drifted backwards silently, toward the rocking chair and sat down, still staring into my eyes. The thing pointed a long, wispy finger at me before disappearing into a cloud of black, translucent smoke as the rocking chair creaked loudly.

Credit To – Escaped Null

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October 18, 2014
by derpbutt


Every person has thought about it, dreamt about it. Immortality. The ability to live forever. To never die. People have searched for thousands of years for an answer. Some died trying. Maybe that was for the best. Living forever… something like that has a steep price to pay. But those few people, the ones brave enough- or stupid enough- to accept it, they are the ones to be feared.
Explores believed that there was a fountain of youth in Florida. That’s obviously untrue. It would have dried up in a place that hot. No the “fountain” is more like a pond or a small lake, only ten feet wide and a foot or so deep. Nothing big or spectacular. But when it’s in action, it can be a pretty creepy sight. You see, the price is blood for blood. You have to kill someone. You don’t have to know the person, though it is a little hard to lead a stranger into the woods. It can’t be an elderly person or a child. Or maybe it could, but it just wouldn’t be worth it. You need a person who has lived about half their life, but still has the other half remaining. So basically thirty to forty. If that person was destined to die in only like four years because of some disease you didn’t know about, jokes on you. You only get four years, and you get the disease. Cancer, Parkinson, anemia… Whatever it is, it won’t kill you. You’ll just be in horrible pain. But presuming that wasn’t your first time using the fountain, you’ll be used to pain.
People don’t live forever. Their bodies just aren’t designed for that. Drinking the water changes your body, and not in a good way. If you’re young, you won’t notice right away, but as you age, your body slowly begins to decay. Nails peeling off. Hair falling out. Skin putrid and mushy, like a rotten peach. And that’s just the outside. On the inside, I shudder just thinking about it. You degenerate and regenerate. You cough up blood and bile. The skin of your abdomen is black from internal bleeding. The itch from liver failure will keep you awake at night, adding to the bags and dark circles under your perpetually bloodshot eyes. You have to eat, but your stomach can’t process it. What you don’t vomit back up causes infections in your intestinal track.
But some think it’s all worth it. To never die. They think it’s a fair trade to trick someone and throw their half dead body into the pond. They watch as the body rots before their eyes like watching a time-lapsed video. And like a desperate animal, they drop to their knees and drink the bloody water, spitting out bits of skin like coffee dregs or lemonade pulp. And then they laugh, because in that moment, no knife, no disease, no living creature can kill them. Stabbed, beaten, poisoned… You are now invincible. No more racing against the clock. So what if your ugly or in pain? So long as you return to the fountain every few decades to keep making the exchange, you’ll never taste death.
I know what some of you are thinking. You think it’s not worth it. You think you could never kill someone. That you couldn’t live with the pain. But that’s all superficial, because deep down, you want to do it. When you hear the word immortality, you’re heart beats a little faster. Your pupils dilate in desire. You reason within yourself, things like “I’ll kill only bad people” and “I’m already in pain, how much worse could this be?” Had I not told you there was a catch, you’d already be jumping in your car to drive wherever Google maps told you to go. Even now, you’re still tempted. Maybe you and your lover can do it together and have your fairy tale forever? Maybe you were already dying or someone wants you dead? Maybe you just want to be different? Right now it’s all fun and games. But when you get desperate, you will come. You won’t have any other choice, and I will be here. Waiting for you. I never said I was warning you away. No. I’m inviting you, my friend. I will always be waiting; I have forever. When you come I will show you how it all works, and I will teach you how to power past the pain. I told you the truth because it won’t change your mind. You’ll know exactly how to find me when the time is right. And after you make the trade, you’ll be laughing at the unfortunate humans destined to die. Always a slave of time. But you will be free. And until then I will be watching, waiting. Only for you.
Credit To – Jade&Hyper

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October 18, 2014
by derpbutt

User #13

If you had the chance to hear your loved ones for one last time, regardless of any unknown consequence, would you want to hear them? I thought I would never see… or hear my grandfather, the greatest influence over my life, ever again.

I have no Internet, landline, nor cable of any sorts in my house, so I would go to the public library to get internet access by using the computers there. And in fact, I’m typing this story on one of the computers there now. A couple of years ago, when my grandfather died, I was extremely depressed and had severe anxiety. After a couple of days of mourning over the loss of my greatest influence in life, I decided to go to the library to go on facebook so I could talk to someone.

Upon entering the library, I noticed how full it was, and almost all of the computers were used up… except for one computer. Computer #13. When I got on any sort of electronic device, I like to listen to music, but when I arrived at the spinning chair located at computer #13, There were no headphones. I looked around and saw that everyone had ear phones except for me. So I went to the check out counter and asked why there were no head phones there. The clerk responded by pointing at a sign saying…


A little annoyed, I reluctantly gave up three dollars and received a pair of shitty head phones. I arrived back at my station, plugged in my head phones and my library identification card’s serial number to log in, and I went onto spotify to play some music. I played my favorite song and listened to it for a good 30 seconds, then silence.

I wondered if I accidentally closed out spotify while opening up another tab to go onto facebook, but when I looked back at spotify I noticed something strange. The music was apparently still playing, but no music was coming out of the head phones. I thought that the head phones were broken because they were a really crappy set of head phones. I went to the counter to ask for a new set because the ones they gave me were broken, but when the clerk played
her music through the head phones, the music came out crystal clear. So I investigated to porthole that you connect the head phones into and it to was working fine, nothing looked wrong with it.

So i tried to listen to music again. I plugged in the head phones and put them on. I was about to continue my song when from the head phones… not from behind or around me… MY HEAD PHONES, I heard what sounded like heavy breathing and wheezing. Then I heard my name being called through the head phones and the voice sounded vaguely familliar and I couldn’t put my finger on it… until I heard…


There is only one person who I called “Grand pappy Joe” And that was my Grandfather. The only people who know that i call him that are Me, Both of my parents, and my grandfather. My parents were no where around, and I’m pretty sure that I didn’t say anything. I started to cry as the voice of my dead grandfather spoke to me, and told me his stories he would always tell me before bed.

A caring bystander, located next to me at computer #12 noticed me sobbing and she asked if I was ok. I ripped off the head phones, with tears running down my cheeks and I handed her my head phones and told her to listen. I told her that I heard my dead grandfather. She didn’t believe me because she snickered, but she gave a listen. As I watched her face go from smug, to pale white, to almost dismay, I realized that she too was sobbing.

I asked her why she was crying and she said that she didn’t hear the voice of a man, but of a girl, a young 16 year old girl named Sarah, who died in a car crash a couple of months prior. The driver was the woman sitting next to me. She survived while her sister perished in a terrible accident, from which, the angry girl in the head phones yelled at the woman sitting next to me, shouting that it was her fault that she was killed.

I haven’t gone to that specific computer since. I went back to the library, obviously, but never did I go back to that station. After the incident, I would hear bizarre voices, including my dead grandfather, and the voices of other deceased family members. They started as quiet murmurs, talking about their deaths, and they quickly escalated to violent shouts and threats. I can’t get them to stop. I haven’t slept in days cause I’m afraid that one of my deceased family members would kill me. Which brings me to the reason as to why I’m here, I need help! PLEASE, ANYONE WHO HAS EXPERIENCED THIS CONTACT ME! I’M SCARED AND DON’T KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON!!!!!! Email me at… I don’t know how much more I can endure. These voices are making me crazy! PLEASE HELP ME!!!!!!

Credit To – Thomas Fritton

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October 18, 2014
by derpbutt

The Other World

Have you ever wanted something so bad you’d give up almost anything to get it?

The long hours at night, sitting up crying over the one you love, or the dreaming of wealth, fame, and fortune. This ritual was designed for only one thing, to get what you truly desire.

First off, I must say this is not for the mentally weak. The path well not be easy, not will it be painless. Make sure your ready to perform this task. Stay calm and open minded. If you don’t believe that this will work, then it won’t.

Okay, enough talk lets get things set up. Every object has its importance so do NOT skip a single step, it it will most certainly end in misery and suffering.

Materials needed:
1. Rubbing alcohol (70% works well)
2. A small dish
3. A lighter
4. A cup of cold water
5. A scented candle if your preference
6. Salt
7. A very close, personal possession. (Don’t worry, it won’t be harmed.)
8. A dark room with decent spacing
9. A piece of paper
10. A writing utensil
11. A sharp knife
12. A deep desire

Okay, now that all objects are gathered and a room is acquired you must prepare the space. First cleanse the area. Be sure to remove all debris as this also cleanses the atmosphere of the area. Take the salt and sprinkle it around the area to keep any unwanted spirits at bay.

At precisely 12:22 the ritual will start. Sit on the floor with your legs crossed and your materials nearby. Place the candle three feet in front of you and light it. The burning candle’s scent will calm the mind and create a stronger connection between your mind, and what I call the “Other World”. You are the bridge after all, and you’ll need all the help you can get.

Next place the dish two feet in front of you and fill it partially with rubbing alcohol. Place the lighter next to dish. This will be part of one of the first tests you have have to pass to get what you truly desire. Place the cup of cold water to your right if you’re right handed or to your left if you’re left handed, make sure it is easily accessible.

Now take the paper and writing utensil and lay them one foot in front of you. These objects will be used to create the connection between you, your desires, and the Other World.

Place the knife to your left if you’re right handed, or to the right if you’re left handed. The opposition in side of the knife and your dominant hand will be used to represent the determination you have created in your mind. And the crossing over from this world to the Other World. Make sure the knife is pointing forward in relation to your seating position and direction your facing. This is crucial to your success as is begins the ritual with your mind moving forward. If placed in pointing any other direction your mind will become lost in the Other World and you will come face to face with your worst fears.

With all materials in place, finally take your personal possession and place it in your lap. That object will be your only connection to this world once the ritual has started. That object will be with you the whole journey. Keep it close so you always remember you have a way home. Your possession is the only way to keep your mind linked this world.

You are now ready to perform the ritual.

Take your writing utensil and write down your full name at the top of the paper. No nicknames or shortened names. Your full, original name. Next write your deepest desire below your name, whether it be wealth, fame, or love. Write it down in your own descriptive words.

Now that you have decided on your desires its time to connect to the Other World and see if you are deserving enough for them.

Close your eyes. Take a deep breath and relax, this week most likely be your only time to. The room should be warm now, the smell of the candle becoming much stronger. Relax and prepare your mind. Think of your desire and just how bad you want it.

Take your dominant hand and cross it over your body slip your fingers under the handle of the knife and pick it up pulling it across your body. Hold your empty hand open, hovering above the paper. Take the knife and place it firmly on your lower Palm and slide the blade along the skin making a small incision. Just enough to let blood run. Place the knife back in its original position blade pointing forward. Close your hand and let a drop of blood fall upon your name. Take your other hand and rub your thumb along the blood from your name to your desire. I cannot stress enough how much you need for the two to connect via the blood. This drop symbolizes the journey for you to get to your desire. If the objects were to not be connected your mind would forever be lost in the Other World searching for your desire.

Now clench your cut hand again and let a drop if blood fall upon your desire. Next slide your thumb from your desire to your name. This will symbolize your safe journey home. If the blood were to not connect, your mind would forever try to find a way home.

You have now opened the bridge to the Other World and passed the first test. A test if determination.

You will now begin your next test. You will overcome fear. Take the lighter and light the rubbing alcohol in the dish on fire. Next dip your hand in the glass of water next to you. Flick excess water of your hand and then in a swift motion dip your hand in and out of the burning alcohol. The tips of your fingers should now have flames sprouting from them. You must wait at least one full second before blowing out the fire. Don’t worry, there will be no physical damage to the skin if done correctly. This is to test your ability to adapt and quickly overcome fear, as you will face much of it soon.

If you have succeeded with the first two tests you should start to feel exhilarated but also somewhat sleepy at this time. Your mind had now completed the bridge to the Other World. Sit up straight, close your eyes, and take a deep breath as you enter this new universe.

Your mind will now start become to detached from your body. You will begin to feel light headed as you begin to drift across the bridge. You will imagine yourself floating in a void. Pitch black except for a small white light glowing ahead of you. If you were to turn around you would see another light, much closer, that is your home. The light ahead of you is the Other World. Now, move, you will begin to drift forward according to your own thoughts. As you near the light you will begin to hear little whispers coming from ahead. The voices will be very faint and barely audible. But as you come closer you will be able to make out individual voices. Voices of the ones you love, and the ones you hate. But voices will sound angry. Your dearest friends and relatives will be screaming profanity at you. The voices will begin to screech and it will feel as though there thousands of needles prodding at your ear drums. You will also hear the voices of your enemies as they scream in tones you’ve never heard before. The light you’ve headed toward will now be brighter than a hundred Sun’s. You will feel the inexplicable urge to cover your eyes and ears. To block out the pain and suffering that you know lies beyond that threshold. But you can’t. YOU CAN’T. Keep looking forward, if you try to close your eyes your mind will drift away and return back to the body. But, if you can get past the screaming and blinding light that is now enveloping you, you will be awoken by a fierce and brutal wind.

This is the Other World. You will open your eyes to a beautiful night sky. But the stars will be glowing much brighter and seem to move in random directions. You are safe, for now at least. Stand and you will find yourself in a coniferous forest the chilling wind blowing briskly through the trees. You will be wearing torn raggedy clothes, as if they were made in the early years of man. There will be a small blanket of snow covering the ground. You will be on a dirt path with pines surrounding you in all but one direction, forward. You cannot turn back now, you’ve sealed your journey, now comes the hard part.

The path ahead of you is curving and twisted. Your journey will be one of suffering, pain, and torture. But you wanted this right? A way to get your true desires. The cold wind will be biting your skin through the rags on your back. You must walk now or succumb to frostbite. If you choose to stay here your lifeless body will be found in the room, it will be bone chilling cold, and an autopsy will reveal hypothermia as the cause of death but you will be out of this he’ll frozen over, right? No, you MUST walk.

No one really know how long this road is. It’s length changes to suite the traveler and the difficulty of obtaining their desire. As you walk you will begin to feel the cold become increasingly intense and the wind will carry the screams of the damned. Those who were foolish enough to stop in their journey. Their souls forever trapped within the woods of the Other World.

As you continue walking you will notice figures in the corner of your vision. You will instinctively turn to look but the will vanish. These are the Watchers, they want only to bring you into this hell. To know the suffering they endure. They are harmless for now as you are strong, stronger then their weak, twisted, and bent minds. They want to shape you into one of their own. They will whisper to you, in the back of your mind. Telling you to stay off the path and join them in the woods. Right now their voices will be sweet, and seductive. As they will sound like your true love whispering to join them in the woods. Do not stray off the path, for that is how the kill. They will appear right in front of you. Their hideous decaying flesh dangling from their bones.

If you have heeded my warnings and are still on the path the Watchers will now be closer. The stench of routing flesh will immediately trigger your gag reflex but you must keep walking. Do not so for they are right behind you. Waiting for one small mistake. Looking at them will not cause any harm. But be warned, their lifeless eyes will seem so beautiful and captivating. They will beg for you to stop and just wonder in amazement. Do not stop.

After walking what most survivors say seems to be about one and a half miles, you will be greeted to a fork in the path. You may stop now. The Watchers are still behind you but they will not harm you for stopping as they are curious if your choice for paths. Both paths will be pitch black. A chill sent down your spine you can feel the black creatures behind you breathing down your neck. Now this is very important, you must, I repeat you must now turn around. Both paths will be infinitely long. Leading you to eventual mind collapse and insanity. By turning around you are proving your fearlessness and allowing the paths to change. You will now be face to face with one hundred Watchers. Their torn, beaten bodies frozen, their screams piercing the air around you. You cannot close your eyes for they will know your fear them and take your soul into the woods. Look at the hord as they slowly move closer. Their inanimate bodies inching towards you. Look past them to see the road you have traveled. You may now turn around to see that the left path has changed. The road ahead looks different. It is now clear with the snow melted by some unknown force. Take this path. The other path well lead to the same endless suffering just as before.

The path you’ve taken is that of survivors. It is much warmer here and you can feel the hope you once had before, but that will not last long. There was something else in those woods, the Watchers aren’t the only beings in the tormented woods. You will now get a deep feeling of dread as you realize when you looked back there was something else. It won’t occur to you until now that there was another monster in those woods. The urge to look back will be to great to resist. As you turn you will see a creature unlike anything you imagination could conjure. It is indescribable by the survivors. You will see this wide mouthed thing approach you. Run.

This is the test of your physical strength. No less than a full on sprint will suffice. You will hear the pounding of its body song the ground as it gains on you. You cannot stop until every ounce of energy is exhausted from you. Your sprint will turn to a jog, the jog to a walk, until finally you crawl on your hands and knees until your body collapses on the ground.

The beast behind you will crawl up to you and touch you. You will begin to feel warm, then hot as if you were thrown in an incinerator your flesh will begin to singe and burn, your organs expanding, and your vision becoming white. Do not close your eyes. Look straight ahead no matter how unbearable it becomes. As your body shuts down you will notice that all pain is gone. Your body is intact and the thing from the first is gone. But you are weak, to weak and you will begin fade away from this world. You will see the object you were holding when you started you journey. You will see images from your past. Memories will come flooding back and you will now be floating in a dark void, with a white light in front of you. You have done it.

Your eyes will open and you well be sitting in the room you started your journey in. You possession will be in your lap and it will be exactly five minutes after you started your journey. Go to sleep, for now you know you have earned your reward.

When you awake you will feel just as you would any other day. The day will go on as normal until a man you have never met before will approach you. He is the carrier. He will ask “What is it you truly desire?” You must answer in the exact words you wrote on the paper. If you choose to answer with something else, he will frown upon you and reply with “I’m sorry that you cannot decide” and simply walk away. Leaving you with nothing but horrifying memories. However if answered correctly, he will then smile and hand you a small piece of paper, the same one used for the ritual. You will then be greeted with your desire. If it was wealth you will win the lottery, if fame you will be automatically recognized as a man amongst men, etc. Your life is now changed forever. Only memories to prove what you have done.

You will go home with the most joy you’ve ever felt. You will lie on your bed and be content with your achievement. But in the corner of your eye, you see the instruments used last night. The ones that out you through pain and suffering. The memories of the Watchers and the horrible beast flood your mind until your mind drifts away in sleep. You want up the next morning and sit up. You look over to the instruments and wonder, “Is there anything I truly desire?”

Credit To – ThePlaguer
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October 18, 2014
by derpbutt

The Undead

There is a ritual that mankind has been performing for thousands of years. It is a very strange ritual but it works so well that we have forgotten what life was like beforehand.

No one knows exactly when we started this practice but experts have determined the reason it began. You see, many millennia ago mankind was faced with a problem. This problem has also been recognized as the original source for the overly-twisted and exaggerated symptom we label as being Undead, or Zombies. If you do not believe in the dead roaming our streets searching for their next brainy meal, I don’t blame you, it’s ludicrous – there is no evidence to support the Undead’s insatiable need to feed on the living. They didn’t even seem to notice us!

Experts have been unable to isolate an actual cause (though a virus is the most widely accepted opinion), but based on ancient traditions and manuscripts we have learned that mankind indeed faced an epidemic of the Undead. This incident was not limited to man alone – deceased pets and other animals were also reawakening after they died. Furthermore, our ancestors could not find a pattern of who or when the deceased would rise.

At first the events were mostly ignored, seen as a normal result of dying – one would die and then one day awake and carelessly walk around. They never cared to harm any of the living, and many experts believe that the Undead were not even aware that there were other inhabitants in the world. Much like fish in a tank, they were non threatening and minded their own business. Life (and death) went on as normal…until we realized the problem. Due to the sheer number of Undead wandering around, they were getting in the way. They would walk in front of moving carts, fall into wells, and even bump into the living. No matter what our ancestors tried, the Undead always found their way back to the public and everyday living became nearly impossible without having to worry about accidents caused by the Undead. So we did the only thing we could do and we’ve been doing it ever since……

We bury our dead.

Credit To – Joseph Miles

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October 18, 2014
by derpbutt
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Set Free

If you’re reading this, you probably have a good life. Your salary is respectable – not in the millions, but enough zeroes after the first number to maintain a time share, or an RV, or a summer home. You have a perfect spouse, perfect kids, a perfect car in the driveway. A perfect home, a perfect job, a perfect life.

So why is there a loaded pistol in the top drawer of your desk? A pistol with one chambered round? Why do you open that drawer every night, after the nanny has put your children to sleep and the little bottle of tablets has done for your loved one? Work, home, play, television, bed, fuck, and every night that pistol, steel smooth and reek of oil, until you awake in your chair, facing it all again.

Wouldn’t you like to stop? Wouldn’t you like to be set free?

Two words in plain wooden letters over the plain wooden lintel of a plain wooden church, crouching between two abandoned houses like an addict. The siding peeling in great sunburn curls, revealing wood aged to grey rust. The windows obscured by yellowed cataracts of newspaper. Except for one. The basement window.

Set Free.

Calm down. I’m not going to labor you with some tortuous magical ritual like ‘The Three Kings,’ or even a gruesome occult prank like ‘Bloody Mary.’ The process is mundane and not at all difficult. The church wants to be found. It wants you to solve the puzzle. It wants you to be set free. Trust me. I know.

The first step is the easiest. Find the church. You can use the internet, or hire a detective, or thumb through the local church registry, or throw darts at a phone book. The exact method doesn’t matter. You won’t find it until you are ready.

When you find the church, congratulations. You have passed the first trial. Now don’t hesitate. Don’t say goodbye, don’t put in a vacation request, don’t tell anyone where you’ve gone. Leave immediately. Bring no baggage, not even a change of clothing.

But bring the pistol.

If you fly, rent a car for several days. Keep some means of transportation on hand. You might need to move quickly.
When you see the church, do not approach. Do not, under any circumstances, enter. Instead, watch and wait. Bring a pack lunch, stay in the shade, and keep hydrated. This might take several hours. If you see anyone enter or exit the church, leave immediately. You have failed. Do not return for one year. Don’t worry, you will have unlimited chances.

If, after your observation, you see no one enter or exit the church, you may approach. Again, do not enter. Stand by the basement window. It will be nearly occluded by vegetation and debris, so watch carefully. Do not let your gaze stray from the window.

Say the words over the doorway. Do not intone the words as a spell or invest them with undue emotion. Just say them, over and over. Two words, repeated until the sounds are gibberish and the meaning is lost. Do not stop. If you stop, for any reason, leave. You have failed.
Watch the window. If you have persevered, a hand will appear. The most beautiful hand you have ever seen. It will press against the inside glass, pearl-sheen skin with a slight rose tint, perfect marble fingers splayed. Study the hand. Be thorough, but quick. You are now in the worst danger of your entire life.

If the hand has four fingers –


Run as fast as you can. Do not slow down. Do not hesitate. Do not look back. If you have left any belongings behind, do not try to retrieve them. If you parked too far away and you cannot run any further, steal a vehicle. If you can’t escape, use the pistol on yourself. It will hurt less than what is coming for you, right behind you.

If you have escaped, you must stay away. Never speak of the church to anyone. Never type the words into your computer, or write them on a piece of paper. You must never say the words. Ever again.

Easy, you say? At first. But the words will haunt you. Every book, every sign, every pattern of black branches again the slate sky, will scream the words at you. Every casual overheard conversation, every gasp and pull of a bus’s pistons, even the soughing of the wind. You will hear. You will listen. And you will respond. If you do, use the pistol. Otherwise, the next few days will be unpleasant for you. Your only consolation is that they will be the last few days of your worthless, wonderful life.

But if the hand has five fingers –

Leave. The church is occupied by workmen in the basement, and you have failed. Breathe a sigh of relief and try again next year.

But if the hand has six fingers –

You have passed the second trial. No time to celebrate. You must not dawdle, or the hand may retreat, and you will fail.

Press your own hand against the glass directly over the hand in the window. Your hand will perfectly cover the other with no overlap. Except for the sixth finger, of course. Immediately trace the direction of the pointed perfect finger. The hand will retreat as soon as you pull away, but that is no matter. You will now know where to look. Search the tangle of grass beneath the window. Locate the patch of earth indicated by the finger. Push your hand into the soil. You will hit something hard and smooth at once. Dig it up.

If you have followed these steps, you will be holding a key. Don’t ask for a description, because it is indescribable. Note that I didn’t say occult, or eldritch, or unearthly. It is none of those things. The barrel is perfectly normal, and the body lacks ornaments or symbols of any kind. When I say ‘indescribable,’ I mean that it is exactly like every key you’ve ever seen or owned or coveted. The key to your first car. The key to the padlock on the locker of the first girl or boy with whom you fell in love. The key to the apartment where you made love to the one to whom you said, I do.’

You have passed the third trial. Again, congratulations.

Open the front door of the church. Do not use the key. No lock bars your path. Don’t worry if you see people on the street now. They can’t stop you.

Inside, you will see a plain room with folding chairs and an altar. Ignore these. Find the basement stairs, just inside the door. Don’t bother with the lights. You don’t want to see what you’re meeting.

The basement is what you would expect. Stacked furniture, cardboard boxes dusted with blue mold and cobwebs, a water heater chuckling to itself in the corner. The only light is a single beam from the basement window. In that light, two objects will stand out – a wooden door against the far wall, and a box of pistols on a table.

Did you bring your pistol? I hope so.

Stand in the center of the room. Say two words and wait.

From behind the water heater, something will come. You will not see it clearly. It will avoid the light. You will make out eyes. And mouths. And hands. Many, many hands. Do not attempt to discern details. Keep your eyes to the ground. Its outline is – distressing. If you succeed in encompassing its true form, you will know immediately. Use the pistol.

Without delay you must hold out the key. Do not speak. Words are no longer necessary. The thing – the doorkeeper – will take the key from you with a perfect six-fingered hand. Shambling to the far wooden door, it will use the key. The door will open. From a million throats, the words will echo like thunder.


And a wall of solid light will bathe you in ice and flame tearing away your skin to expose your flesh your organs your bones your soul your life your life your intolerable perfect life all will be burned and broken and ground to molten glass and white pure fire of god god godless the light behind god beneath god through god the god of acid and razor and flensing of all that is useless and trite and weak you will see the doorkeeper his perfect hand perfect mouths perfect soul at the center of time and space and matter and chaos and dream and nightmare and your scream will be lost in the whirlwind of fire at the end of the world –

Darkness. The door is shut. The key is gone. The doorkeeper is gone. You
are alone. Be at ease. You cannot fail now. You may discard the pistol. It will not help you anymore.

Do not look down. The sight of yourself will not harm you, but you will be distressed. I certainly was.

Congratulations to me. I passed the fourth trial and face fifth. The final trial. The easiest trial. One that I had been waiting my entire life to undertake.

I must wait.

Wait in the dark among the broken furniture and the spiders. Wait and listen to the footfalls of the congregation above me. I have found that I can curl up all of my hands and mouths quite well behind the water heater if anyone comes down to investigate the queer noises I make.

Wait for the next seeker to stand outside the window and speak the words. Wait for deliverance of the key that send me to that unknowable world beyond my door, the door I keep, the door that will set me free.

What will you see in the window, I wonder? Four fingers, or six?

That depends, I imagine, on the answer to the next two questions.

How long has it been?

How hungry am I?

Credit To – MCH
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October 18, 2014
by derpbutt

Spirit Walk

Spirit Walk
In times of war or major turmoil the Native Americans had a ritual that they would perform. The tribal leader would go out into the woods for what they called a “Spirit Walk”. They would go out into the forest, alone, for however long they needed to. This could range from a few hours to several days. It all depended on the severity of the situation. While they were gone they would converse with the leaders that have already passed.
The following instructions are how to perform a ritual that will allow someone to speak with a person who is deceased.
This is not your….common ritual. Since most rituals are common and what not. This ritual will allow you to speak to someone who has passed on. First off we will start by what you need to have for this ritual. You’ll need some sort of container to carry water in. The most common item to use is a bucket or pale. You need to be able to carry it for a small distance. The bucket needs to be wide enough for you to be able to see your entire face in the water. The next item you need is something that was close to the person. Like a treasured toy, something the person carried with them, or wedding ring. Just something that they held dear to them. Next you need a small blade. A pocket knife will work best. It needs to be sharp enough for you to be able to cut skin. Don’t worry; you won’t be using it on another person or creature. And that’s all you need.
Now what you need to do is go into the woods and find a small river or stream. Any moving body of water will work. It can’t be tap water. It has to be pure water with no man-made chemicals. You need to fill the bucket up about half way. Then the item that you brought needs to placed in the bucket. Try to place it in the center but it doesn’t have to be exact. Lastly you need to add your blood to the bucket. It doesn’t have to be a large quantity. Just a few drops. That’s all you need. Give it a few minutes to set in. You then need to close your eyes and say the name of the person you want to talk to.
What you see next may not be to your liking. If done correctly you’ll see the person you have been working on trying to talk to. If not done correctly you’ll see yourself. Now you may be asking yourself, “why would I want to talk to someone who is dead?” Maybe you miss your dad and want to hear him talk again. Maybe your wife went on before you and you just can’t go another day without hearing her voice. Theoretically you would be able to talk to anyone who has died…. Just so long as you have an object that was valuable to them. Gandhi, Adolf Hitler, George Washington…just so long as you have that special item.
There is a ……draw back to this ritual. The person you summon will look exactly how they did when they died. Think about who you want to talk to and how they died. If it was peacefully then it shouldn’t be a problem for you…. But if the person died in say… a horrific car wreck and couldn’t even have an open casket then you might want to rethink your plan.
When you are finished talking to the person all you need to do is tell them that they can return from whence they came and their image should vanish from the bucket. Retrieve the item in the bucket and empty it then go about your day
There are no rules you have to follow, but there are some recommended guidelines that you should abide by. If you don’t follow these rules you won’t be damned to hell or anything like that. 1) You shouldn’t ask them about the afterlife. If you do ask them they will tell you. And the answer you receive will not be to your liking. I know of people that have gone insane over this. They constantly questioned their faith and resolve and eventually went insane. 2) Try to keep the conversation moving. Find out what you need to know and then end the conversation. If you take too long then you’ll start to see images moving in the back ground. At this point you need to immediately end the conversation. The water can act like a portal for some entities and you don’t need anything coming out from the other side. 3) Change locations for each conversation. If you sit in the same spot for multiple conversations then the powers of the other world will manifest enough to which possession may occur. None of them want to stay dead.

Credit To – HadesBane
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October 18, 2014
by derpbutt


I went into the woods to play hide and seek with my friends one night, very late in the fall. It was almost Halloween and we loved the idea of being scared or telling scary stories. Playing outside at night was a thrill for kids growing up in a small town, so playing in the woods should’ve been a pure adrenaline rush.

Two others friends and myself went off to hide while our final friend counted to thirteen. Yes, we even incorporated the number 13 into our fun. I went off by myself while my two friends went off together, they always stuck together because being alone in the dark woods was too much for them. I knew they’d hide in the trees so I went down the riverbank turned off my flashlight, got low and kept quiet.

I used loose bushes and leaves to cover my body while I watched the three flashlight beams from my friends darting back and forth for what seemed like hours. It was getting cold and laying near the river only made the air colder. I curled up in a little ball and pulled my arms inside my jacket to try and keep warm.

It was so quiet and peaceful in the woods. Alot of people are afraid to going into the woods but not me, for some reason I felt comfortable surrounded by the darkness and branches.

To my surprise I awoke on the river bank as the sun began to rise. I had fallen asleep in the woods! My friends never found me! I was sure to be grounded when I got home for staying out all night, so I uncovered myself and jogged out of the woods back into town.

Despite being a small town the streets and sidewalks were always busy in the morning, but not this morning. There was a large gathering in the parking lot of the grocery store and everyone seemed to be in a panic. I approached the crowd and pulled the hood of my jacket over my face, I wanted to listen without being recognized because someone was sure to tell my parents that they saw me.

The mayor himself was at the center of the crowd. He was standing in the back of a pickup truck and he was addressing the crowd. I could barely hear him over the murmuring of the crowd, I had to strain to listen. The only words I could make out were ‘missing’ ‘night’ and ‘woods’.

It was then that I realized that the entire town was looking for me! I disappeared in the woods and they were certain something bad happened to me! I needed to get their attention and let them know I was alright.

I pushed my way with difficulty through the crowd as I made my way to the mayor. I tried to get his attention but he either didn’t see me or hear me. I even pulled at his jacket but it didn’t work. In a huff the crowd dispersed and made their way to the woods.

Beginning to panic I ran to my house and was ready to get down on my knees to beg for forgiveness to my parents for making the entire town worry. But when I got to my house, it was empty. An empty box of tissues sat on the kitchen table, wads of used Kleenex littered the ground. Oh no, I made my mom cry! On the table next to the tissue box was the family photo album, all the pictures of me had been taken out like someone had been looking for something special. It must’ve been done so they had something to put on the ‘missing poster’.

Unable to find anyone at home I returned to the woods and began shouting to everyone that it was okay, I was okay and was not missing. But no one heard me. They were all too busy searching or were too far away to hear me.

I was on the verge of tears. I was so frustrated and upset that I ran back into the woods to find someone, anyone and make them hear me. I suddenly heard a ruckus of voices calling out, claiming to have found something. The voices were coming from the riverbank. They must’ve found my flashlight, I left it behind when I woke up.

As I made way back down to the riverbank I saw the crowd becoming larger and more panicked, I saw my mom on her knees by the river, crying, my father was standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders, he was crying too! They were staring at something on the ground.

“Mom! Dad!” I called out. “It’s okay, I’m okay!” But even then no one heard me.

Confused I walked toward my parents and looked down at what they were staring it. It… It was impossible! It just couldn’t be! They were staring at ME.

I felt a strange sense of relief as I looked down at my own dead body.

I overheard one of the police officer’s saying that I had apparently died of hypothermia while playing in the woods. If someone had found me sooner then maybe I would’ve survived.

As the crowd left the woods, my body leaving with them. I stayed by the riverbank. After all, I enjoyed being in the woods.

Credit To – WayWardWanderer

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October 18, 2014
by derpbutt

The Violin

It all started at a garage sale down my street. The woman who had lived in the house had died and her family was selling all her belongings. I had always been a hunter for cheap antiques and the woman who had owned this stuff had been ancient. I knew I could find a good piece or two, so my friend Isabelle and I walked down to the house. It was disheveled and unkempt. It would seem as the ailing woman lived out her final months the house had been left almost to rot. The driveway was covered in her belongings. Many of the items were broken and dirty, as though no one had touched them in ages. It was odd to us both but we continued to pick through the rubble.

That is when I came upon the violin case. It was shiny black leather, crisp and clean and all the fittings appeared to be pure silver, including the handle and the latch in the front. It was beautiful. I picked up the case. It had a weight to it so I knew the instrument would be inside. I set it on a desk they had for sale and opened up the case. I gasped. The violin was absolutely beautiful! It was pure ebony, with a gorgeous grain and a delicate shape. The most inner part of the scroll was two Medusa’s heads, the snakes curling up along the inner sections of the it. The bow was the same ebony, with a grip made of silver snakes, curled around each other. The bow hairs were crisp white. The interior of the case was blood red velvet. I had to have this thing, no matter the cost. I checked the hand written luggage tag that had the price. I was shocked. It was only a hundred bucks. ONE HUNDRED BUCKS! That thing should have cost me a fortune. It was clearly old. Not in a weathered way, it was in mint condition, but in style and just over all feel. This violin should have been upwards of five thousand dollars but it wasn’t.

I looked at Isabelle. She was busy with some antique porcelain dolls. And anyway she didn’t even play violin! I did! This thing was mine. I deserved it. It. Was. Mine. I closed the case and went to the dead woman’s son, the organizer of the event, to pay for it. His eyes got huge when he saw what I was holding. He began to shake. When I asked him what was wrong he just shook his head and told me the price. I gave him the hundred bucks then approached Isabelle, proudly brandishing my new instrument. She was jealous. It was plainly obvious. She bought the dolls and we went home. That purchase… It would be the worst decision I ever made.

As soon as I got home I pulled out my music from the Morrigan County Youth Symphony. I was a part of their summer division, forst chair first violin. I, Avery Mykaenin, was the concert master. I was very proud of that. This season we were playing the Rachmaninoff opera Aleko. I tuned up the violin with ease and brought it to my shoulder. I about died when I heard the sound of the violin I had just purchased. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard, warm and rich with a clear ring to it. I had never played that opera any better then when I played it on that thing. It was… magic. And this magic, feel feelings I had when I played it, the power I felt… It consumed me. I showed the violin off to anyone who would listen, locking my old one in the closet. This thing could get me into the London Symphony! Or the St. Petersburg Phil Harmonic! I had never been a prideful person but as soon as I touched that violin… I was so arrogant no one wanted to be around me. All I could talk about was my beautiful instrument and how amazing I was at playing it. I was so terrible to Isabelle that she blocked my number and refused to talk to me. My boyfriend broke up with me. My own parentd=s stopped calling or talking to me except when they had no choice. But all the while I thought ‘at least I still have my talent and my violin’ It was sickening. At my most selfish and arrogant point, when I had driven EVERYONE in my life away, was when things got even worse. Things began to happen to me. At first it was easy to ignore. Creeks in the night, doors I had shut being opened, but it didn’t stay that way.

One night, two weeks before the performance, I was awakened from a deep sleep for no apparent reason at all. My first instinct was to check on my violin. It was safe and sound, laying upon my vanity in it’s open case. I curled up and tried to go back to sleep but I just couldn’t. There was an odd… almost oppressive feeling in the air and I couldn’t drift back into dream land. With an annoyed groan I got up, going to my kitchen. I decided I needed some warm milk and Benedryl. That would get me to sleep again. I walked into my kitchen, looking about. That dark, oppressive feeling was growing steadily worse. It was like I could feel someone breathing down my neck. That is when I smelled it. Perfume. The kind of perfume only old ladies wear. I felt my blood run cold. “Don’t turn around.” I whispered to myself, ignoring the feeling and getting my milk and Benedryl ready. I took the pills and began sipping my milk. A hand gripped my shoulder. It was cold to the point of burning and I shrieked in pain, dropping my milk. Everything went black.

I woke the next day, safe in bed. At first I thought it was a dream but then when I changed my clothes… There was a handprint shaped bruise on my shoulder and in the center of the palm an inverted pentagram was burned into my flesh. I didn’t know what to think. I had driven everyone away and no one would believe me… What could have done this anyway? I had no idea. So I decided I was going to ignore it. I continued to obsess over the violin. I would practice for hours on end, locked in my house. That oppressiveness never went away, instead it built and built until I was nearly paranoid. I never slept. I just played, and played, and played. I stopped cleaning my house. I stopped bathing really. The burn on my shoulder was black and growing bigger. I was wasting away and I couldn’t stop. No one came to call. No one sought after me. No one cared. I was dying, slowly and surely. By the time the concert came I had lost a substantial amount of weight. That concert was what roused me to take care of myself. I finally showered. The concert went exceptionally well. When I came back home I went right back to playing though. It was all I did. All I could do.

Now here I am. I have only taken a break to write this and tell the story. I am dying. I haven’t eaten in a week. I haven’t slept in days. No one loves me. No one cares. I pushed them all away. All except for that force. It is my friend now. It wants me to sleep, the way it did. It wants me to give in. I think I will. There are so many ways I can end this but those kitchen knifes look best. Ah yes. The oppression wants it. Ah yes. I think I will…


Twp women approached the house.

“How long has it been since she was last seen?” One asked

“Three weeks. Plenty of time.” the other replied

“Same as the old women?”

“Yes. The plan seems to be working.”

“How many more do we need dead?”

“Oh… only one or two. The devil will have his payment.”

They pulled open the door. Avery lay on the floor of her drawing room, dried blood all around her. The violin lay upon the chaise

“How long has she been dead?”

“Not more then a couple of days.”

One of them picked up the violin, packing it up.

“Do we call the cops?”

“Oh someone will find her.”

“How do we get the violin to someone else then?”

“The pawn shop down the road. It’ll be waiting for the next idiot to come along.” she said as she nudged the young woman’s carcass with her foot “Silly girl. If only she had lived long enough to learn that some things are better left alone.”

Credit To – DeadlyPurpleBunny

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October 18, 2014
by derpbutt
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The Rude Awakening

I woke up to a very loud bang in the kitchen followed by a smashing noise. I glance at the clock, it’s 12:00am. Today is Halloween. Someone has broke into my house and managed not to set off the alarm, which when motion is detected it goes off. I get up and throw on some pants on and get my 12 gauge shotgun, load it, turn on the tactical light, and head out my bed room door. I go to the noise on silent feet and when I set off the alarm, I know what I am about to face isnt human or animal but supernatural. Now terrified, I start shaking hoping the cops will get here but what would they do, really. As I am walking, there is an extremely loud banging noise. I turn the corner and there is nothing. I see a dark mass move across the room and I shoot in its direction, putting a gigantic hole in my wall. There are pots, pans, plates, bowls, food, and glass everywhere. The front door is wide open and and all of a sudden slams shut with loud thud.

Okay, mabey supernatural is too weak of a word, whatever this thing is I’m in trouble, big trouble. As I’m walking in the living room the wood floors are creaking and I step in a warm, gooey, wet, milky red puddle. I try to ignore it but it’s everywhere. I’m near the hole in the wall and the wall is covered in the stuff. I must have shot it and wounded it.

Wounded, not a chance, did I shoot it, yes. All this shotgun is doing is making a mess. I finally come face to face with it and its ugly. This creature, as I would call it, is a glistening inconsistent red color, and is staring me in the eyes with its creepy snake-like eyes. I shine my light at it and its eyes have an emerald green glint to it. It has five long clawed fingers on each hand, and its legs have reversed knees like cat’s hind legs. Its toes are also long and clawed, too. It has about thirty long sharp spikes along its back. It has an elongated snout with razor sharp serrated teeth, and is drooling thick slime, while growling at me. But it’s not really a low growl, it’s more of a growl with sharper and higher pitch clicks. Its ears are not existent and are holes in his head like a lizard, and the nose is flat and wide.

I hear knocking on the door and I realize that it’s the cops that came to the call of the alarm, which by the way is still going off. The cops are out there yelling “It’s the police, open up!” They eventually give up and break the door in. Their guns drawn, they are looking death in the eye. The creature starts half walking and half crawling towards the cops. The cops dump all there ammo into this creature with no effect other than making a mess. As the creature is occupied with the police, I decide to make a run for it. I jump out a broken window and cut my arm on some broken glass.

I have no shoes, no money, and no keys for my car. I break my car window, setting off that alarm also, dang technology *sigh*. Anyway it’s just old enough to be able to hot wire but new enough to have an alarm. I break off the dashboard under the steering wheel and find the wires. After a few unsuccessful attempts at it, I finally get it. I also rip the wires out that controlled the alarm, I knew where they were because I’m a car mechanic, and drove away. I remember I kept some bank check slips in the car in case they were needed. I see my wallet which has my id in it and five dollars. My credit card is on the stand next to my bed so I will have go to the bank when they open. I glance at the clock and notice it’s 12:16am. It felt like this ordeal was an hour long but it only lasted about fifteen minutes.

It’s 9:00am, I’ve been driving for almost nine hours and I’m about to run out of gas. I go to the nearest gas station and put my five dollars in because they don’t accept checks, go figure. So I’m just at the line of empty, I have about one and a half gallons in my car since it’s three dollars and forty three cents per gallon, and I was puttering out on arrival to the gas station. I’m driving to my brother’s house to tell him what happened, and hopefully stay there a little while. I still have my shotgun and the barrel has some of the milky red goo on there. Good thing I had the right mind to throw on some pants because it was FREEZING out last night.
I still have a one and half hour drive until I get to my brothers house and the nearest banks opens at 10:00am and it’s 9:47am. I might as well wait and get something to eat. I went to Starbucks and got a bagel and then went to the bank to withdrawal money to fill up on gas again. I pulled out one hundred and fifty dollars and spent roughly sixty on gas. I kept driving and had about a half an hours drive left and I accidentally stalled out the car because I wasn’t paying attention and couldn’t start it again. The battery died, probably because I was driving all night with my head lights and heating on. I started to panic because I can’t just ask someone to jump start my car and I just sit there attempting to hot wire it, it would look too suspicious, especially with a gun in the back seat. So I went to a pay phone and called a taxi, there goes the only evidence I have of this thing so I went and got a napkin and a zip-shut bag out of the glove compartment and gathered a sample of the goo on the gun.

The taxi came and I told him where to take me and he told me the closest he could get me was the edge of the city, which was about five miles away from the street my brother lives on. So when we got there the meter said it was thirty three dollars so I gave him forty and the change was tip, I don’t care about a couple dollars back right now.

I caught another taxi and rode it the rest of the way and this meter read fourteen dollars so I gave him twenty, I have about thirty dollars left. It’s around 11:35am right now. I run up to my brothers house and bang on the door. He opens the door, annoyed and tired, I spill out the story and even show him the napkin. He lets me stay at his house for the day until we figure something out.

I don’t think he would’ve let me stay with just the evidence, I think it was the big dark circles under my eyes, the crazed look in my face, and my mental stability at the moment. Not to mention I’m still in my night shirt. I spend the day researching this creature, and it turns out it was a mythical creature called a Traposodious, I can’t let my brother see this because he would kick me out and call me crazy.

I decide to tell my brother in the evening where he would have to wait till morning to kick me out. Like I thought, he didn’t believe me. There was a knock on the door and sounds of feet scuffling, my brother opens the door and there’s kids at the door saying Trick or Treat. I thought it was the cops at first. I’m starting to get paranoid. My brother said if it really happened it would be on the news, so he turned on the news and we watched it till it was over and the only thing that was on the news was that several on duty police officers went missing and their last known position has not been released yet. My brother, not believing anything that could be related to paranormal, tells me its not real and that I should get some rest.

That night when we went to bed I woke up at the same time as the night before, 12:00am, to the same noises as before. I walk out of the guest room and I hear my brother yelling for help. I follow the noise and turn the lights on only to find that the creature is gorging on my brother. I charged at it to get it off my brother, but when I collided with it, it barely moved and I’m on the ground with the wind is knocked out of me. As I’m gasping for air the crying for help noise slowly goes away and I know it has killed my brother.

The creature is climbing onto me now, and it must weigh at least five hundred pounds because when it put its weight on my legs I hear them crack with excruciating pain. It then puts its right hand on my right upper arm and I hear that crack and break also. I feel its drool dripping on me followed by its teeth touching my neck and I know this is the end.

Credit To – Sam A. Campbell
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