CRAPPYPASTA

For those pastas that are smelling less than fresh…


December 18, 2014
by derpbutt
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The Man in Black

It had been a week since Joshua was attacked on his way back to his plush, top floor bachelor pad in the middle of New York city and still he cannot sleep. He had been having nightmares every night since the incident and tonight was no different.
At 3 AM he shot upright from his supine position, drenched in sweat and cursing his mind for showing him yet more images of the attack and subsequent mugging at the hands of four youths armed with metal bars and knives.
He shuffled into the kitchen and took a beer from his tall, two door silver refrigerator. At one time in his life, this piece of expensive kitchen hardware was his pride and joy, showing it off to anyone who would dare attend one of his “I don’t care about being alone” parties. Now however, he despises the view of this chrome monolith given that he now associates it with 3 in the morning.
Joshua made his way over to the adjacent living room and sat in his leather bound E-Z boy recliner and turned on his 50 inch plasma screen TV. He felt his eyes grow heavier as he rolled into his 4th episode of Breaking Bad on Netflix.
Joshua’s eyes shot open to the sound of his alarm clock coming from his bedside locker. He strolled into his room, yawning as he walked and slapped the OFF button; the force with which he struck the device was born out of a combination of exhaustion and frustration.
He dressed himself in the normal attire expected from a man who works in one of the biggest banks in the city, a flashy suit with only the tie left to show any personality whatsoever. Indeed, Joshua thought of himself as just another corporate stooge, and he was okay with this, as long as it kept him in luxuries that he was accustom to.
Joshua left his apartment and entered the nearby subway platform, as he would always do, and boarded the train that would take him outside his place of work, as he would always do.
However this time, Joshua felt on edge the whole way from his front door to the train door. He had taken a week off work to recuperate from the whole ordeal but he still felt a sense of dread, as if at every turn, somebody was waiting in a corner, ready to pounce. When the train doors closed behind him, he felt at ease. He breathed a sigh of relief, rationalising that nobody would attack him in a train full of people.
He sat down beside the door leading to the conductors quarters, put his head back against the metal panel behind him and began to close his eyes.
He felt his eyes, once again, become heavy, like two weights had been attached to his eyelids. He fought off the exhaustion, fearing that he might end up on the other side of Manhattan. He rubbed his eyes and stared out to the other end of the carriage, that’s when something caught his attention.
Sitting no more than ten metres from him on the left side of the carriage was a man. There was nothing overtly strange about him, except that he was dressed all in black, with a long black coat and a black bowler hat. He was bald and wrinkled, Joshua tried to make out his face but his head was down, looking at the floor beneath him. Every few minutes, the man would raise his left arm to his face to check the time, but his head would never move.
Had Joshua seen this man two weeks ago, he would have laughed it off to another street performer, but after what had happened the week pervious, Joshua was paranoid towards just about everything.

Joshua kept his eyes fixed on the man in black, making note of every movement, his heart pounding at every twitch or small shuffle made by the man in the black bowler hat and coat.
He didn’t know why, but Joshua knew that something about this man seemed wrong, like watching as a storm cloud marches towards you, knowing that it’s bringing trouble.
Suddenly, the man rose from his seat, keeping his face hidden all the while, and scurried with purpose to the centre of the carriage, Joshua felt compelled to see this mans’ face, even if he looks unhinged to the other passengers, he didn’t care, he just wanted to feel at ease and maybe, laugh about it later.
Joshua stood up and made his way towards the mysterious man, he reached his arm to his shoulder, blood rushing to his brain as his fight or flight response kicks in, suddenly, a deafening noise echoes through the carriage and a white flash erupts all around.
Then, Silence.
When Joshua regains consciousness, all he can hear is a pronounced ringing in his ear and the faint sound of footsteps and voices all around him. He struggles to open his eyes, half because of the possible concussion that he has just suffered and the other half because of what he fears he may see.
When he finally does, he is met by a blurry scene of carnage, both metallic and human. The carriage is completely dark save for flash lights from what he can only assume are emergency services. Joshua raises his hand to call out for help, like a drowning sailor in a sea of steel. What he sees terrifies him to his very soul. Joshua’s hand is covered in blood and intestines, too weak to scream and display his true emotion; Joshua instead lets out a quiet sob, believing this to be his final moments on earth. His lamentations are heard by the men searching the cabin and they rush to his aid as Joshua’s world slowly goes black.
When he awoke, Joshua found himself lying in bed, with plastic tubes in his arm and nose, he heard the beep of his heart monitor, in time with his own heartbeat, he heard the bustling footsteps of hospital staff rushing all around him, fearing for the condition of his body, Joshua shot his gaze to the foot of his bed, convinced that there would be two empty spaces where his legs used to be. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw his feet sticking out of the bed sheets, he counted his toes to be absolutely sure and gave them a wiggle to be certain that he had not lost the use of his legs.
Joshua suddenly noticed he was not alone, he turned to his right and saw his best and only friend Matthew, slumped in a chair asleep, resting his head on the armrest.
“Ma…Matt…” Joshua weakly called out for his best friend.
Matthew abruptly awoke from his slumber.
“Josh! Christ man, are you okay?” Matthew rose from his chair and placed his hand on Josh’s.
“What…what the fuck happened?”
“It was a bombing man! Some crazy Right-wing extremist just claimed responsibility. The motherfucker.”
Joshua raises his hand in front of his face, the blood is gone but the wrinkle lines on his palm are still stained dark red, a small reminder of the fear he had felt in that carriage.
“My hand…was covered…in blood and guts man.” Joshua’s eyes begin to tear up. Matthew squeezes Joshua’s hand tightly.
“That wasn’t yours man. You’re okay. You’re battered and bruised but okay. It’s miraculous.
Matthew pauses, looks down to the floor and looks into the eyes of Joshua, with a sad smile.
“You’re the only survivor. How I…I guess somebody was looking out for you. I know you don’t believe any of that shit!” Matthew lets out a small laugh.
“The bomber, was it the man I saw?” Joshua sits up in his bed, his voice stronger than before.
“Jesus Josh, you saw him? Where!?”
“On the train.” Matthew looks at Josh puzzled.
“Josh, that guy was in his apartment the entire time, that’s where he detonated the bomb, according to the news anyway. Why? Who did you see?”
“There…There was a man…he…” Before Joshua could finish his sentence, there was a loud bang from the window at the end of the room, when Matthew went to examine it, he found that the glass had shattered, at the impact zone, there was a tiny dash of blood, and two storeys down, there was a dead bird twitching on a walkway.
“That’s weird, what’s a bird doing flying at this hour?” Matthew turns back to Joshua, looking completely perplexed.
“What were you saying Josh?” He didn’t know exactly why, but somehow Joshua felt that he should not mention the man in black to Matthew.
“Never mind. Just the accident playing tricks with me I guess.”
“Okay buddy. Well it’s pretty late and I better get outta here, I already pissed the nurses off enough by staying after visiting hours. I don’t think they believed me when I said I was your brother! Will you be okay until tomorrow?” Matthew spoke with a genuine look of concern on his face.
“Yeah. I need some sleep anyway.” Joshua smiled for the first time since he was mugged.
Okay man. I love you, you atheist fucker!” As Matthew left, Joshua rested his head back on the pillow, as he began to drift off he felt a presence once more sitting beside him.
“Forget something?” Joshua turned over, expecting to see Matthew once more, instead, he saw a man, dressed completely in black, sitting in the armchair. He head was dropped down, looking at his jet black shoes. Joshua noticed that the air had gotten colder and heavier, like there was an unwelcome force all around the room.
“You…should not be here.” Joshua’s blood froze. The man in black had spoken. His voice was that of an elderly man, but it had a malevolent coldness to it that could darken the sun itself.
“Who are you?” Joshua’s voice quivers as his heart races. Expecting to hear the rapid beat of his heart monitor, instead all he hears is unnerving silence.
“Me? Well my name was taken from me over a century ago, but I like to call myself Mr. Pale Eyes since nobody has been around long enough to give me a proper title, until you of course.” The man in black raised his head to show two completely white eyes illuminated by the moonlight scarcely illuminating the room. His face is hollow and gaunt, his skin white as snow, his teeth putrid and nose flattened to his face, with only two slits giving any indication of a nose at all.
Joshua wanted to run, but the combination of being hooked up to various machines and being paralysed with fear meant that he was trapped in bed. He thought desperately of a way to get this horrifying ghoul away from, the only thing he could think of was to ask as many questions as possible, keeping this thing occupied until a nurse or orderly comes across the two. Joshua had assumed the assistance button had been disabled considering he had been mashing it like a madman since the unholy figure had first made it presence known and nobody had made an appearance. He mustered up all his courage and looked sternly at Mr. Pale eyes.
“I thought I was the only survivor?”
“You were.”
“Then how are you here?” Mr. Pale Eyes gave out a sinister snicker.
“My boy, you must be breathing to be a survivor.” Joshua felt a horrible feeling in his stomach.
“You’re here right now, talking to me, how can you do that if you’re dead? Are you a ghost?”
“No.”
“Mr. Pale Eyes’ mouth widened into an evil smile.
“Far from it.”
“Then you’re a demon?” Joshua winced when he asked this question. Fearing the answer.
“Not necessarily.”
“Then if you’re none of these things, why is it that I can see you?” Mr. Pale Eyes shifted in his chair. He let out a soft sigh and laughed quietly to himself.
“I underestimated your curiosity Mr. Anders. It is indeed that which saved you. Had you just remained in that chair, you would be another number in this recent disaster. Instead, here you are, alive.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s that insatiable curiosity Mr. Anders.” Mr. Pale Eyes pauses for a moment and begins again.
“I suppose you deserve an explanation for all of this. I was once like you Mr. Anders. I was human, at least, I breathed like one. I was not a good man Mr. Anders. I had an unholy curiosity for little children. It wasn’t so much the joy of carrying out my actions as it was to watch, I liked to watch. And when I was hung for my crimes, the man downstairs gave me a fitting punishment. You see, the man upstairs is responsible for all the good in the world, happiness, love, forgiveness. But there needs to be balance, and the man downstairs is responsible for that. War, pestilence, terror, death. As I said, I was given a punishment most fitting my crimes, and that punishment was to watch. When a human’s life is forfeit, I appear.
But I only appear where there is a great loss of life, where nobody survives to tell the tale of the man in black standing in the centre of all the chaos. Nobody knows if the captain of the Titanic cried, but I do. Nobody knows what happened in the gas chambers moments before the Nazis extinguished the lives of men, women, young and old, but I do. I was even above the crash sites of towers 1 and 2 moments before they gave way to melted steel. The man downstairs may be evil, but he is smart. The punishment fitted the crime; I am weary of seeing death. He will add on another eternity for my mistake with you. He has taken this case on personally.”
Joshua sat dumbstruck at what he just heard, everything he thought was true had just been demolished, his beliefs, his concept of good and evil, fate, and yet, one thing stood out more than other.
“What do you mean; he has taken this case personally?”
Mr. Pale Eyes rose from his chair, shuffled slowly over to Joshua and places his thin, skeletal-like hand on his head.
“There must be balance Joshua, and we must make sure that you can’t live to tell the tale!”
Mr. Pale Eyes pushes Joshua’s head down against his pillow.
With a thud, Joshua wakes up and realises that he had just hit his head against the steel panel behind him. He looks around to discover that he is back on the train. He immediately looks at where Mr. Pale Eyes was sitting and instead finds a rotund Mexican woman sitting there in his stead. Joshua lets out a sigh of relief and realises that it had just been another nightmare. He begins to laugh and for a moment, is actually grateful for what his mind just conjured up. He pondered that perhaps this dream was a sign that he should not take life for granted, after all, it was so realistic and lucid, and he could not help but be affected by it.
Joshua begin to feel uneasy when it felt as if his legs were getting heavier, it was slow but noticeable, he tried to wiggle his toes but he could not even muster a twitch, he then slowly began to feel his arms draw back towards the panel behind him, as if they were magnetically attracted to it. It was then that Joshua began to panic, he tried to scream, but no sound came out, like in a nightmare when you call out for your mother but, nothing.
Joshua found himself completely stuck to the chair. He could not call out for anybody. He could not warn the conductor of their incoming doom. He knew what was coming; all he could do was watch.

Credit To – Paul W

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December 18, 2014
by derpbutt
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Black Angels

Everybody has a guardian angel that watch over them. They are known as “the defenders” they protect you from the darkness and wrath of hell. However there is a second one… many people do not know about they are called “Black Angels” Black Angels are the face of unimaginable fear and a symbol of death. There is a way to view these supernatural beings but you must know that attempting to view them and failing leaves you with vigorous consequences. Once you undergo the viewing your “defender” can no longer aid you and you will be truly alone.

But if you wish to see your “black angel” follow these steps. It must be on a Sunday because that is when god and “the defenders” rest. You must be in a room on the first story that has a window that can you see to the outside with, the room also must be fully dark. You must be alone and contain one protective item in-case something goes wrong, a cross is the best choice but holy water will serve as a valuable weapon as well. Hide the protective item in your pocket or a place where the “black angel” can not see it.

Look directly out your window and chant three times, “I wish to confront thy spirit.” Speak with as much confidence as possible and then shut your eyes very tight. Do not open your eyes or the darkness will consume you, or in modern speaking you will be taken hostage, trapped in the soul of your “black angel.” In its soul you will never rest to where you will feel an unimaginable fear, experience an unimaginable pain, and be forced against your will to remain in this sanctum for the rest of eternity. When you open your eyes you will be staring at a reflection of yourself out the window except its eyes will be dark black. Make eye contact but do not lose yourself in its eyes or the darkness will consume you. If you find yourself becoming lost in its eyes look away and reveal your protective item in front of you and shout, “I banish you from thy kingdom!” Shut your eyes and if done right you will find yourself in your bed and you will awake fully rested the next morning. Do not attempt to confront your “black angel” again, for now it knows your weaknesses and your inner self.

If you are still alive ask a question about how someone you know will die. It will describe your associates final hour in excruciating detail. Make sure you are maintaing eye contact but avoiding its deep gaze the entire conversation and listen to every word it says for if it ever speaks during the story, “The light of god calls them.” Shut your eyes, hold up your protective item and scream, “I wish to here no more!” When you open your eyes if done correctly the angel shall be silenced. If the angel does not say that phrase or if the protective item worked, say with overwhelming confidence the first, middle, and last name of someone you wish death upon. Then shut your eyes and place your right hand on the window and say, “Thy truth I must receive.” You will feel a sharp pain as if someone stuck a knife in you, it will last five seconds and then almost immediately cease. When this happens open your eyes, place the protective item near the window and say the “Hail Mary.” You shall be blessed and the evil shall be flooded from your soul and you can live a normal life.

You can visit your “black angel” as much as you wish. Just keep in mind each visit the angel will become more and more dangerous. It will try harder and harder to trick you into being consumed by its darkness. Also keep in mind next Sunday the person you wished death upon will have gone missing. However his/her records will be erased, and it will be as if they never existed. But you will know, but its best if you keep this to yourself.

That protective item must always remain near the window every Sunday for if it is not the “black angel” will cross dimensions and enter your world. And trust me, when a “black angel” invades our world, you will wish you were consumed by the darkness…

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December 18, 2014
by derpbutt
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Abu Ghattat

It has many names. The Scandinavians call it the mare, the Turkish call it Karabasan, from where I come from we call it Abu ghattat. But you’ve probably heard of it under the name the “Sleep paralysis”. The people that needs a scientific explanation to everything, those who do not believe in ghosts sought to explain it, and they actually thought they did… but they didn’t! This is how “they” defined it: Sleep paralysis is a phenomenon in which a person, either falling asleep or awakening, temporarily experiences an inability to move, speak or react. It is a transitional state between wakefulness and sleep characterized by complete muscle atonia (muscle weakness). It is often accompanied by terrifying hallucinations (such as an intruder in the room) to which one is unable to react due to paralysis, and physical experiences (such as strong current running through the upper body). One theory is that it results from disrupted REM sleep, which normally induces complete muscle atonia to prevent the sleeper from acting out his or her dreams. Sleep paralysis has been linked to disorders such as narcolepsy, migraines, anxiety disorders, and obstructive sleep apnea; however, it can also occur in isolation.

Hallucinations? Is that the name everyone calls an unexplainable phenomenon or its effects? They think that between the phase of sleep and wakefulness you can have this dream, this horrifying hallucination! Just how can we all have the same dream? Just how can we all witness the exaxt same terror? To me this is an insult to all of those who have faced it. Those people will clearly change their mind if they had the same experience, and live in denial that it was nothing but a hallucination, even though in that case it’ll ease their mind. You see once you come across with Abu Ghattat, you’ll have every right to claim it was a nightmare, because if you realized its truth, you’ll never be the same again.

This brings me back to quite a tragic story; the story of a close friend and a neighbor of mine, his name was Adam I remember him very well, just two years ago back on a Sunday evening, I remember heading home with him with his happy-go-lucky personality, we used to hang out every week-end. Adam you were such a cheerful person… On that exact evening I bid him farewell and left him with his usual smile, a smile he would never put on his face again. The next morning he didn’t show up to school all day, it wasn’t really that much of a surprise because we skipped school all the time, I couldn’t ever visit him because his parents didn’t like me at all. It was all kind of regular, nothing to worry about up until now. However, he didn’t come to school the day after as well, nor did he come the day after it, he didn’t answer his phone, he’s never online on any social network, and he’s nowhere to be seen. I became worried sick about him. And so I waited until Friday when both his parents aren’t in the house, and visited him but much to my surprise they were both there, his dad had that creepy glare which he gave me everytime he saw me, but it was somehow different than before. I sensed that he wasn’t angry.. he was sad. Then he said with “what sounded to me” as a sorrowful tone: Hello there, good thing you came honestly! Adam is in his room, if it’s possible please talk to him for a bit. The situation was awkward enough for me, and I just couldn’t ask what’s wrong, so without further hesitation I went to his room, the door was open and I stepped in and saw him, and dear God the state he was in was indescribable. I’ll only say that in comparaison to his usual self, he was in a completely pityful state, I greeted him but he didn’t reply and he kept shivering from the moment I showed up, I felt like my presence won’t help him through whatever he’s going through, so I just went out with an optimistic faith that he probably just had too many mushrooms again, but that most certainly wasn’t the cause for this. Anyway I decided not to visit him for a while, at least until he recovers a bit.

One week later, the moment I got out of my home… I saw it; the large tent-like structure that makes the typical funeral of my homecountry, and it was right near Adam’s house. I ran there fast as my heart beat even faster, I asked the first person I met there shouting: What the hell happened? Answer me who died? “Adam suicided, he slit his own throat” he replied. These words, these words almost made my heart stop, I won’t go through the details of the funeral as I don’t want to recall anything of what happened back then. Neverthless after the funeral ended, his father approached me, he told me that he gathered Adam’s possessions and that he wanted me to me take them, I wasn’t prepared for something like that, and I didn’t know if I should decline, but looking in the eyes of his dad, those desperate eyes, I just knew he won’t be able to keep them, he won’t be able to remember the tragedy of his only child. I had to accept.

Back home, I had been searching through his possessions in grief, when something caught my mind, it was a letter; I recognised Adam’s handwriting and knew it was written by him, the letter had a date which was one day before the first time I visited him. I started reading it, and its content brought me to tears, the letter was written as the following:

To anyone that is reading this. I’m writing this because I couldn’t share what happened to me with anyone, I just couldn’t look at anyone’s eyes and tell this story. Even though I wanted someone to look in my eyes and tell me it’s alright, I couldn’t bring myself to it. Oh God I just couldn’t!
On Sunday night, that cursed night that’ll forever be kept inside my memory. I was sleeping normally, when I woke up suddenly, but I couldn’t move a muscle I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t stand or even talk, I was clearly able to see the insides of my room. I was damn sure I’m not having a dream so why? Why couldn’t I move? I thought I’m having that thing my grandmother once told me about. Abu Ghattat according to the myth she told me it’ll only last for minutes, and my paralysis will perish. But what creeped me out was the fact she mentioned something about a demon being the one that’s paralysing you. But I knew such thing is impossible, I really wanted to believe that. But then I heard a sound coming from the corner of my room, since my eyes were the only part of my body that wasn’t paralysed, I tried to force them to focus on the room’s corner, and then I saw it. That sight terrified me to the fullest as I saw it, the jinn, the demon Abu Ghattat the monstrous being sitting there with the most sinister smile on its hideous face, once it saw that I noticed it he started crawling slowly to reach me, and I was dying from terror, I wanted to shout, I wanted to scream, I wanted to get off my bed and just run for it, but I couldn’t. Then it sat on my bed and I could vividly see its grotesque face now, it wasn’t very big, he ressembeled a troll or something, only it was uglier and scarier, it then strangled me with its hairy hand while keeping that smile. Oh my God! How terrible that felt, then he started biting my torso and punching it, he left me alone for a couple of seconds as it kept wondering the room laughing, while I could only watch, while I can’t do anything to save myself. He came back to me again and started strangling me all over again. I just wanted to close my eyes, I forced them with all my might to be closed. Then the paralysing feeling disappeared, I opened my eyes screaming as hardly as I can waking up my parents in the process. The demon Abu Ghattat vanished as well.
All what happened later doesn’t matter anymore, and now that night refuse to leave my mind, and the same goes to Abu Gattat’s damned face. I don’t what have I became anymore, I’m afraid to sleep, I’m afraid of the dark, I’m afraid of lonelyness, and I keep feeling its demonic presence near me all the time. It’s like I’m loosing my mind gradually. I know that I should get a grip of myself and be strong but I cannot, I cannot.

The letter ends like that, Oh Adam I should’ve been there for you when you needed me the most, I’m sorry my dear friend, may your soul forgive my idiocy.
It was hard for me, but I had to look more to what he was going through, I made a research on the Sleep paralysis. As it seems there are things that provoke the sleep paralysis, but the way I see it those were things that invite Abu Ghattat to your bed. And I have discovered many people had the same experience as Adam, and most of them saw it as well, the grotesque creature Abu Ghattat. But they aknowledged within themselves that it was a dream, if only you had done the same Adam! Your fear took hold of you and swallowed you completely, it destroyed you from the inside to the point you gave up on your own life to end your suffering. Now I see that you thought it was more mercyful, if only I realized all this sooner. May god have mercy on your soul.

Many may disagree, but to me Abu Ghattat is real. I used to be horrified by the fact I could end up its victim anynight, and even though I got over it quite a long time ago; remembering the evil that took away my friend still haunts my mind. After all, unlike the common ghost stories and sightings, it is real. Now I know that all of this mostly horrified all of you people as well, but all I can recommend is not to do anything that could invite him in, do not get yourself into a nightmare you might not wake up from as you may suffer the same fate as Adam. This is all my dear readers, have a good night, though I know you probably won’t.
Credit To – Writer: Faissal Ouard / Definition: Wikipedia
Credit Link – https://www.facebook.com/My.Glory.Shall.Pierce.the.Heavens

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December 18, 2014
by derpbutt
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Tyrian Purple

On the twelfth of April, 2013, in Galveston, TX, police responded to a call made from a hotel room to find Eric Brand murdered. A suspect was pursued and apprehended. His name is Andy Moore, age 24.

The following is an e-mail written by Andy Moore immediately prior to his arrest. It has been logged into evidence by Detective Scott Pollock of the Galveston Police Department.

To: (1 address omitted)
CC: (4 addresses omitted)
BCC:
Subject: URGENT–TURN BACK NOW

Guys,

Turn the fuck around. Stop driving now. Read the rest of this later, but for now, go home. I know I joke around a lot, but I’m serious this time. Turn around and go back to San Antonio immediately.

They’re coming, and I can’t run anymore. At this point, I’m not sure if I did anything. Things went to shit so fast, I haven’t had any time to think. Maybe I’m sick. All I know for sure is that I can’t run anymore. If I did this, I need to be treated or locked up anyway. I’ll try to explain everything before they find me, but I might not have time. Just turn around, go back and hope to hear from me. If you don’t, just forget about me. Jessica, I love you so much, but you need to be strong. Don’t ask questions, and if you don’t hear from me, you MUST forget about me. The rest of you, look after her if I’m not around to. You’ve been loyal friends for as long as I can remember.

I got into Galveston Wednesday evening as planned. I left early to get the room ready for us Jessica. I wanted to be cute. I know our anniversary isn’t for another month but I wanted to surprise you, and you’d be expecting something that day. Maybe if Jerry told me to stick it instead of giving me the rest of the week off none of this would have happened.

Everything was fine. The hotel check-in was frictionless for once, which is funny because I’m usually so disorganized. I should have known that things were going too smoothly. Nothing’s gone smoothly for me since I came home from Iraq. The drive was amazing, finding a parking spot was effortless and the people were all amazing too. I even bought silk bed sheets and candles at the store. They were Tyrian purple, your favorite color. The guy at the counter said he liked the shade as he handed me the keys. He said I wasn’t supposed to burn the candles in the hotel room, but I figured I’d block the fire alarm in the room with a plastic bag and some tape and it’d be our little secret.

From the moment I stepped foot inside my room and I was alone, a darkness crept over me. You’re the only one who gets it Jessica. You know what that war did to me. I showed you the color I see in my dreams before I wake up violent and angry. I always said I was seeing red, but you made me feel better. “Tyrian purple” is such a nicer name for it. You’ve always been such an artist. It’s a beautiful shade for your car, and it’s an even more beautiful shade for your dress. I hope I get to see you wear it again.

I left my room to get some fresh sea air and a drink, and I was seeing our color everywhere. The sun was setting so it was in the sky, and it was in the sea. The carpet in the hotel felt a little damp, but I remember it being our color too. It might have been seawater. I didn’t care. The color was wonderful. I felt so at peace.

Then, screaming.

Screaming so loud it set my teeth on edge. It was coming from the hotel. A woman was running out of the lobby. She had Tyrian purple jeans on. Then, police sirens, but they weren’t ordinary sirens. They were Tyrian purple, instead of blue and red. I thought that I might have been combining the two colors in my head since the cars were so far away.

Fuck, I can hear the sirens again. They’ll find me soon. I need to be quick.

For some reason I ran. I ran straight back to the hotel to grab my keys and my bag and flee. It was instinct. I can’t explain it, but I felt such an overwhelming impulse to flee from the sirens, as if they were coming for me. I bolted up the stairs to our room.

On the way out, I saw what the police were coming for, and I don’t know if it was me or not.

The carpet wasn’t purple, it was green. I could have SWORN it was fucking purple. And my candles… they were still at the lobby. I thought I had taken them up, but they were still at the lobby. As I went to grab them, I saw it.

The receptionist was lying dead in a big pool of blood. I couldn’t even recognize his face, but I saw the name tag, Eric. It looked like someone had taken a pair of scissors and stabbed him in the face so many times his skull had disintegrated.

Guys, I think I did something bad. I just wanted to burn a fucking candle in our hotel room.

I can hear them coming now. They’ll be here soon. I can’t remember doing anything, but I know that they’re coming for me. I’m in a parking lot. They know my car. They chased me for a while.

I love you Jessica, I’ll call you soon.

“Jerry” has not been identified, presumed non-existent. Andy Moore is currently unemployed. All e-mail addresses in CC field do not exist.

The “Jessica” referred to in the e-mail is Jessica Dyer, Andy Moore’s ex-girlfriend.

She was murdered in 2012 by an unknown assailant.
Credit To – Chad Haynes
Credit Link – http://letterjazz.wordpress.com/

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December 18, 2014
by derpbutt
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World of Warcraft: The Crypts of Karazhan

Before I can explain what happened to me last night, let me first share a few important pieces of information…

Since January 2008, I’ve been a fairly active player of Blizzard Entertainment’s “World of Warcraft”, an online game where you create your own unique fantasy character to battle dragons, undead zombies, and even other players in the world of Azeroth. Having played WoW for roughly 6 years, I’ve explored the many vast areas of the game pretty thoroughly, and sadly, the world feels much smaller now than it did when I first picked up the game. Until a few days ago; however, there was one area of the game which I had never heard of before: The Karazhan Crypts.

For those of you who have never played WoW before, Karazhan is a haunted castle nestled in an eerie zone known as “Deadwind Pass”. Players had to assemble into a group of 10, and venture inside Karazhan, fighting ghosts, demons, and a series of difficult raid bosses in an attempt to reach the top of the castle tower. The creepy atmosphere and haunting music made it one of my favorite places in the game. There has been nothing quite like it since.

Behind Karazhan is a small graveyard which also houses a crypt. There are stone steps leading underground; however, players are soon met with an impassable iron gate, making the underground labyrinth inaccessible.

Curious, I began researching why it was blocked off. I discovered that the game designers created the Karazhan Crypts several years ago, but abruptly scrapped development and sealed the entrance. No official statement was ever released as to why. Rumors circulating on online forums state that it was due to the “extreme graphic nature” of the crypts. Reading this intrigued me, and I soon learned that players went as far as to exploit a glitch in the game which allowed them to pass through the Iron Gate that sealed off the crypts. Apparently these players used the glitch consistently, and eventually had their accounts banned by Blizzard.
It’s been more than half a decade since the Karazhan Crypts were created and sealed off to players.

Last night was just another normal night like any other. I spent time applying for a new job, ate dinner, and went to bed after watching some TV. Having trouble falling asleep, I browsed various world-news channels on my phone until I did. A few hours later, I was shaken by a horrifying dream. An unfamiliar person and I were locked in a dark, stone room in ankle-deep water. It was too dark to see anything, but I could hear the sound of rushing water coming from the cracks in the walls, quickly filling the room. A feeling of hopelessness washed over me as I frantically ran my hands across the cold, stone walls, but could not find a door.

My eyes opened to the darkness of my bedroom, barely illuminated by the green light of the computer speakers on my desk. The time on my phone was 2:58 AM. I got out of bed, turned on my laptop, and logged into World of Warcraft in an attempt to distract myself from the bad dream and insomnia. It wasn’t long until my eyes grew heavy and I wanted to log out, when I remembered reading about the glitch to get into the Karazhan Crypts. There was a rumor on the official WoW forums that the crypts were to finally be taken out of the game with the launch of the upcoming expansion, and I decided to check them out before they’d be gone for good.

I arrived in Deadwind Pass, making my way through the eerie trails when I noticed something peculiar: two players, a Human and a Night Elf, traveling towards Karazhan. When I finally reached my destination, I saw them circle behind the crypt, and attempt the glitch to bypass the Iron Gate. At first I felt annoyed because I knew they’d probably want to fight me if they saw me, seeing as my character was a part of the opposing faction. So I hid and waited for them to enter before approaching the crypts myself.

One of them was speaking, although I couldn’t make out what was said (Blizzard translates speech of the opposing faction into an intelligible language called “Common”). Horde players can’t read what Alliance players type, and vice versa. The Human character seemed to be showing his companion how to do the glitch. It felt kind of strange to see this so late at night.

After several minutes of watching the two struggle to glitch their way into the crypts, it was finally my turn to sneak my way in. It took me a few tries, but after a few YouTube videos, I was finally able to get past the Iron Gate. I looked at my map, which read “The Well of The Forgotten”. At 3:00 in the morning, this felt pretty creepy. There was no music, only a soft ambience of wind and the sound a slow, steady heartbeat.

Upon descending my first flight of stairs after the Iron Gate, I found myself in a stone room with a deep well in the center, and what looked like claw marks surrounding the hole in the floor. I peered down and saw the two Alliance players at the bottom. I waited a few minutes until they were out of sight, I really didn’t want to get attacked by two people. I took a deep breath, and jumped.
When I hit the bottom of the well, I noticed something really weird. From the videos I saw, when players jumped down the well, they would land on a huge pile of bones and skulls to soften the landing, but this one was covered in the corpses of other players. There were hundreds of them, all with different names and races. I thought this had to be a joke, but what I saw later on still has me questioning what the fuck it was I landed on.

I still didn’t want to be seen by the enemy players, so I slowly made my way to the next area of the crypts: “The Upside Down Sinners”. In the videos I saw online, it was a room filled with water, with human corpses chained to the bottom by their wrists, their bodies unable to float to the surface. I traveled down a stairwell that led me to a vast, flooded room. The two Alliance players were just ahead of me, so I used an Invisibility Potion to sneak past them.

They were still speaking to each other, although I was unable to make out what they had typed. The “Upside Down Sinners” were definitely there; however, there was something off… The corpses each had unique names, and weren’t just built into the game. They were players. They were still tied by their hands and suspended from chains, feet floating vertically to the flooded stone ceiling.

I noticed that the Human player was beginning to yell something at the Night Elf player. The person playing the Night Elf tried “hearthing” (a spell that teleports your character to a safe location, usually their faction’s major city), but didn’t seem to work. The Human kept laughing at the Night Elf, and something about the whole situation distracted me from the fact that my Invisibility Potion had finally wore off. The Night Elf player instantly targeted me and started spamming the /beg and /help emotes, but I wasn’t sure what was going on. This had to be a joke, right?

Out of nowhere, the Night Elf player’s health bar started dropping – he was drowning. I then noticed my health slowly ticking away – I was drowning too. I tried hearthing, but the spell wouldn’t work for me either. The Human player turned to me and started emoting laughter, and yelling more in Common. At first I thought this was a pretty awesome joke until he sent me a message.

Jsjsleroth whispers: There is no escape.
Jsjsleroth whispers: You will join the others.
Jsjsleroth whispers: Death is close.

It’s impossible for someone to message a character on the opposing faction. I was way too creeped out to continue, but to my horror, the game would not close. The screen gradually dimmed down. The water we were floating in started turning red, and the heartbeat that was in the background grew louder, faster, and was accompanied by what sounded like a thousand different voices all whispering at once. I noticed my character slowly turning upside down in the water. This was too much; I ripped off my headphones and held the power button down on my laptop.

Jsjsleroth whispers: It doesn’t matter.
Jsjsleroth whispers: I will find you.
Jsjsleroth whispers: :)

My computer screen went black. I turned on the lights in the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. Pacing back and forth, I debated whether or not I should wake up someone in my house to tell about my experience. I decided to stay up until sun-rise, watching TV with the lights on. By 7:00 AM, I decided to re-open World of Warcraft. I logged into my character with the intent of asking anyone online if they’d ever been inside the Karazhan Crypts. Just then, I noticed that I had an in-game mail waiting for me from sender “Unknown”. Seemed peculiar—I didn’t have anything for sale on the Auction House. I rolled my eyes, expecting to see a message from a Blizzard Game Master about my use of the glitch earlier. It definitely wasn’t.

“I’m waiting. You know where to find me.”
*Unkown
Credit To – sharkparty

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December 18, 2014
by derpbutt
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Snatchers

Summers in Ireland are short and sweet, two weeks of blazing sun and then back to the rainy images known around the world. On this particular day, the heat was beyond comprehension for this nineteen year old lad, he'd never understood quite why people enjoyed holidays abroad, all he did in a foreign country was burn, peel and go back to a sickly pale. Avoiding the sun was not on the agenda for today, especially since his move to a new apartment in the centre of the city. The move had been a God send as his grandmother required constant help in her twilight years, and the apartment beside her had become vacant.
So with boxes filled to the brim with every belonging he had, Joey bid farewell to his parents who were so proud to see their son take such responsibility. Throwing the last of the boxes into the back of his battered Vauxhall Corsa, its red paint faded in the two-week sun to a fabulous pink, he put the key in his driver's side door. Jumping backwards as a shadow dashed from beneath the car, he stifled a scream. He dropped one of the boxes, slicing along his hand and leaving a rather nasty cut. Nothing serious, but Joey hated blood.
"Feckin' cats!" He roared into the empty cul-de-sac.
Shaking off the scare he opened the door to the car, the blast of heat built up within nearly made him faint, he could not wait for summer to see its conclusion. Adjusting his seat and turning on the ignition he took a deep breath, it was a new adventure, living on his own. A few minutes into the journey he looked to the radio, usually his cringey pop CD would have kicked in by now, blasting out the latest craze amongst 12 year old girls. Joey loved cringey pop, and had no reservations about singing at the top of his lungs with the windows down. He pushed eject, only to be greeted by the familiar, 'NO CD' message on the dash. He couldn't remember changing the CD, or taking it out. He peered around the car, no sign of it.
Pulling over at the side of the road he began to panic, not so much for the CD, but incase his car had been broken into. He scoured the inside of the car for anything else missing, then reluctantly got out and moved to the trunk. His hand quivering he put the key into the lock and opened the back of the car, only to find all his belongings right where they had been. Nothing else was missing. Joey was an only child, there was no little sister to claim the CD, and his parents never had a key to his car.
"I'm being ridiculous." He said to himself.
Clambering back into the car he pushed on, saddened by the loss of his favourite CD, but nothing worth crying over. The trip from home to his new home only took twenty minutes, a comfortable distance for his first time living alone. Then again, he had family right next door, so it felt almost as if he was cheating. The excitement of arriving had put all negative thoughts out of his mind, especially as he spotted another of his new neighbours, Abby. They'd been best friends since they were in nappies, and she'd been the one to tell him about the vacant apartment.
"Took you long enough!" She scolded in her mocking tone. "Get lost as usual?"
"No you twerp. I had to pull over for a second."
He loved her sense of humour most, it reflected his to a T, as it would growing up with someone. They could have an entire conversation made of unspoken gestures, and well placed eye movements. Their repertoire of inside jokes rivalled the big book of Dad jokes that Joey had gotten his father for Christmas. The two of them hauled what little Joey had brought up to the third floor, tossing it all onto the living room sofas, it was smaller than home, but it was cosy. It went without a hitch, except for Joey who nearly tripped over a rat on the way up the stairs, he screamed so loud the building must of thought a new Soprano singer was moving in.
"Wow, this place is a lot nicer than mine." Abby remarked.
"Isn't it great? Listen, i'm going to make some lunch, wanna hang around?" He said.
"Nah, I gotta head to work buddy! Say hi to your Gran for me!"
And with that, she was gone. But the warm feelings she left in Joey would last all day, Abby was like his sister, and a daughter to Joey's parents. Abby's mother and father didn't speak to her, and her upbringing was spent staying at Joey's home because she'd been locked out of her own. She'd even been taking care of Granny while he organized his accommodation. He needed to pop next door, just to let her know he'd arrived, but the rumbling in his stomach made him remember that he hadn't eaten all day.
"You win, food first, then next door." He chuckled.

Without time to do any decent shopping, Joey was left with two options, a sandwich or a very suspect looking apple. He weighed up the options and felt the jam sandwich was the safer route. Setting out two slices of hard, but workable bread, he began to butter each piece. The kitchen was small, though as it was an apartment for one person, it was perfect. He set the knife down and turned towards the fridge, all that was within was the apple, and the jam. Picking out the sweet, sweet jam he turned and reached for the knife.
"Huh." He exclaimed.
The knife had vanished, he looked round him, then onto the ground. Confused he stared at the bread, had he just imagined buttering it? Nope. There it was, butter on each slice, and even an imprint on the counter where the buttery cutlery had touched down.
"I am losing my mind." Joey whispered, worry carried in his tone.
Stepping out of the kitchen he looked into it, to see if he missed anything. Without any clues he simply took another knife out of the drawer and spread the jam, convincing himself that he'd put it back in the drawer, his mind ignoring the butter mark on the counter top. Quickly finishing the tasty morsel he grabbed his new set of keys and went next door, his Grandmother as usual was watching some god awful soap. There's always the stereotype of the Irish granny having no room for anything on her mantelpiece, because Jesus and Mary have already gotten the best seats. It was definitely true for Granny McCann, who had every table , cabinet and even windowsill covered in knickknacks. Usually Jesus or Mary but occasionally magnets from foreign countries or the occasional genuinely beautiful piece of china.
"Alright Gran?" Joey beamed, leaning down to her level.
Smiling the old lady pushed herself out of her comfortable position, and turned the television off.
"Awk darlin', did you come up to see me? Sit yourself down. Do you want a cup of tea? Or a sandwich? You look like one of those there kids off the tv, the African ones. So thin!"
Rolling his eyes are her incredibly offensive language Joey could only laugh, she was a product of her generation, but had a heart of gold. Unlike Joey who had grown up in a city, Granny McCann came from a small village near the west coast, where her superstitious, and very religious upbringing had made her some kind of wise woman in his eyes. She'd often tell him stories of the Banshee who would wail when someone was to die, or how to stop leprechauns stealing your change, by always keeping an iron coin in your wallet. Joey had grown up on these stories, but naturally only pretended to believe, for her sake.
"I'm alright Gran." He replied. "I had a sandwich next door, that's me all moved in. So if you ever need anything, you just throw your shoe at the wall, mm?"
"I'm not damaging the good wall! You'll just have to get the psychic sense my boy!"
The two shared a laugh as Joey reclined on the sofa, staring over at all the little figurines scattered around the place. His favourite was a small man in a bowler hat who had fallen in a puddle, the man's expression of sheer sadness oddly made Joey feel better. He stared intently at the table where it sat, only to sit up and take a closer look.
"Gran?" He spoke up.
"Yes love?"
"Where is the puddle man?" His eyes widened.
"The who?" Now even Granny was leaning forward, trying to look.
"The man who'd fallen in a puddle. I think it was Charlie Chaplin."
"Oh those go missing all the time. Never worry."
"All the time? Gran, is someone stealing from you?"
Suddenly Joey got incredibly angry, he'd been suspicious of the meals on wheels service that had been looking after her dinners, and if they'd been helping themselves, there'd be hell to pay.
"Nonsense, its just the Goid making their mischief." She said, as if it was the most rational answer in the world.
"The who? This isn't some fairytale Gran, if people are stealing from you-."
"Stealing? They don't steal child, they take. Goid, it means theft in our true tongue, but you wouldn't know anything about that. You kids don't care about our mother tongue, not when you have your text speak."
Eager not to lose the subject, Joey pressed on.
"Tell me about them." He could sense that like his childhood, a new mythological epic was about to spew from his grandmother's lips.

"The Goid are fairy folk, you see, before man started to tax one and other, the Fairy Queen decided she was owed something from everyone in her realm. So, she sent out her Goid to take something from everyone, every so often. But when mankind got too powerful the Fairy Queen could not rule over them. The Goid lost their purpose, and instead of only taking something every now and then, they'd pillage people! If you were picked on by a Goid, you'd be marked for life. Until they stole everything you ever had."
Joey raised his eyebrow, looking towards the empty spot on the table.
"So you're marked eh? Aren't you worried?"
"Nonsense, Goid are harmless as long as they don't know you know they are there. Never look at a Goid my boy, they're small, but they're still fairy folk. And they'll send you packing before you can beg for mercy. I've collected little titbits my entire life, little keepsakes, cause i'd rather they took them, than me."
Joey nodded slowly, in utter shock he was believing what was coming out of this lady's mouth, he snapped back to reality, making a mental note to always be here while the meals on wheels people were.
"I have to head back next door Gran, gotta unpack and get an early night, but i'll stop by tomorrow and we'll have a good dinner, just the two of us, sound alright?"
"Sounds lovely darlin', take some fresh milk with you, i'll never get through it."

So with milk in hand, and a kiss on his Granny's cheek, Joey moved back next door to his new abode. Flicking on the light he gazed towards the pile of boxes, groaning and rummaging through them for his blanket and pillows. He'd deal with the unpacking tomorrow, for now he just needed the sweet embrace of sleep more than anything. Tossing the bedding onto the mattress he picked out his toothbrush and headed into his bathroom, it wasn't dirty, but it wasn't sparkling either. A full scrub down was in order once everything was settled. He started to brush his teeth in the darkness, staring into the mirror, only seeing the illuminated hallway. Peering round he finally saw the cord for the light, tugging on it the place exploded in light, and with a loud long squeal, the light bulb exploded.
For a brief moment, Joey was so sure he saw the lamp on the table in the hallway move, just as the light bulb broke. As if something had been scared, and jumped up. He turned slowly and called into the hall, his mouth still foaming from the brush.
"Abby? Gran? You in here?" He managed, before spitting out the contents of his mouth into the grit stained sink.
With one foot carefully placed before the other, he crept through the small apartment, peering into each room before throwing on the light in an attempt to catch out anyone trying to hide. After a few minutes of this Joey sighed, his exhaustion was getting the best of him, and the humid night wasn't helping either. Double checking the lock on the front door he slunk into bed, pulling the blanket round him, and laying his head on his pillow. His single pillow. He sat bolt upright, scrambling around for the second pillow he'd left on the bed.
"This isn't funny anymore Abby!" He called out into the darkness. "Stop messing with me! Did Gran put you up to this with that Goid shit?"
From the darkness came the quietest grumble, Joey honestly thought it was his stomach. He didn't sleep for quite some time, he just lay on his side, watching the door. The summer days were long, and the nights were extremely short. As the clock on the side table read '04:43', Joey could feel his eyes become heavy. His anxiety had robbed him of a long sleep, but he was determined to get some rest. Leaning back he looked at the ceiling before drifting off to the land of slumber.

Joey awoke to a sharp pain on his hand, he swore loudly into the still dark night, clearly sleep would evade him yet, especially if these bugs had their way. It definitely felt like a bite, he thought to himself. He raised his hand to inspect it and saw the cut he'd given himself earlier was bleeding. Hanging by a thread, was the meagre scab that had grown that day, as if something had tried to pull it off. He began to shake, gazing over towards the clock, for some reassurance that this was the waking world. The clock was gone, as was he noticed, the sheet that was meant to be around him. He leapt out of bed and dashed into the living room, throwing on the lights in blind panic. Nothing happened, squinting through the darkness he saw the light fixture was empty, without a bulb.
He ran at the door, attempting to pull it open, frantically scrambling to find the keys that he'd left sitting on the side table. Screaming at this point, he saw something move in the shadows.
"This isn't funny! Stop it! Stop it!" His screams had to be heard by his neighbours, especially his grandmother. She'd send for help. She had too. From the corner of his eye he saw something dart across the living room, throwing the box of belongings it had sheltered behind all over the floor. Weeping now, uncontrollably, Joey dashed back to the bedroom throwing the door closed and sitting, his arms wrapped around his knees. He would have sat on the bed, had it been there. Everything in the room was bare, then he heard it. The scratching, but not like a cat on a door. The scratching of a screwdriver on screws, he gazed at the handle on the door, one by one, the screws were pushed through and onto the floor. Impossible.
"Help." he managed to whimper.

Abby released her charcoal black hair from its tight bun as she pulled herself up the stairs towards her apartment, that was when she heard the shouting. It was definitely Joey's vocie, she charged up the extra flights, her exhaustion overtaken by adrenaline. His door was locked, she rushed next door into Granny McCann's, using her spare key without a thought. It took her all but a few minutes to find the spare key to Joey's flat, but by the time she entered it was empty. She looked round at the rooms, nothing was left. Not a box, not a scrap of evidence he had ever been there. She felt tears prick in her eyes, someone had hurt her friend and taken his whole life.
She reached into her pocket to call the police, she had to take action. Her hand found only the inside of her pocket, she'd definitely brought her phone, she'd had to use it to buzz into the building. Gazing round for it she could have swore she saw something move out of the corner of her eye.

Credit To – AjayCassells

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December 18, 2014
by derpbutt
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Mess with ouijas.

When using the ouija board It's not the spiritual pressure moving your hand, it's a subconscious part of your brain which moves your hand subconsciously.
You're spelling out random words, even creepy words and sentences/phrases.

Basically the creepy stuff coming from ouija board does NOT come from spiritual pressure or spirits, even demons. It's coming from your own brain.
You know when the light-bulb has gone in your room but even so when you enter your room you subconsciously flick the light switch? That's the psychological effect that happens, the same with ouijas.

And sometimes you find misplaced things in random places? That too.

Maybe you wont know the true corruption of your mind until you use an ouija board.

You'll understand how idiosyncratic your brain works and how disturbing you truly can be.

And those demons your thought you where speaking to? It's your brain. It's entirely you.

And I'm stating that, when using ouija boards, feeling possessed, or frightened?
That's all a placebo effect having not knowing beforehand.

You subconsciously possessed yourself.

You was possessed by your own brain.

And that's what's the scariest, are you who you think you are?

Are you possessed by a side of you that you never knew existed?

Credit To – HYDE
Credit Link – http://r0kudo.tumblr.com

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December 18, 2014
by derpbutt
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Edith

These events take place some 26 years ago, in the Winter of 1988. I’m 44 years old/young now, back then I was an 18 year old student returning home for the Christmas break. My Dad was 42 at the time, and is now in his late 60s.

My name is Paul Jones, and back in '88 I was a 1st year undergraduate student at Manchester, and visiting my family for Christmas back home in our small town in North Yorkshire. The town we lived in was basically an old village, but nowadays my parents lived on one of those purpose built (dare I say yuppy-ish estates) a couple of miles up the road from the old village itself. All 4 and 5 bed detached houses on some old farm land. An estate of about 30 or 40 houses populated by Yorkshire’s more affluent class at the time. My Dad was from the village originally, and when he'd made a good bit of money through his consultancy work, we moved back up that way. His dream you see , returning home but to a bigger place than the 2-up-2 down he grew up in.

Anyway, it was very cold Friday in December when he picked me up; drove all the way to Manchester for me which was nice. It took us about 2 hours to get home and we made it back for about 5pm. My Mum was out that night. She managed to get a job as a council officer in Leeds, for 3 days a week, and was on her work’s Christmas party down there. She was sharing the 30 mile cab journey home at about midnight with a couple of her new colleagues who lived reasonably close by.

All was well, my dad and I slumped on the couch when we arrived back. Switched on the TV and discussed dinner. His suggestion was a quick curry at home, then down to the pubs in the village for a couple of cheeky pints. Of course a couple meant 5 or 6 but it was all good. We had lots to talk about and he was keen to find out how University was going. Plus we’d always bump into a few of the local characters down in the village and have a good laugh.

My Dad rustled up one of his 30 minute homemade curries whilst I unpacked and had a quick bath. We scoffed it down, had a breather, and by about 7pm were ready amble down to the pub.
The pubs were in the village itself. Which was either a 2 mile walk round the roads, or cut through our estate, across the old farmer’s field and down over the river and through to the village – which approximately cuts the journey in half. In principle I have no issue with the latter route, it gets dark and muddy down there, and I very rarely do that particular trek if I’m on my own, but I’m not averse to it and it makes sense for 2 blokes to save time.

So off we go, at this time, 7:00pm it’s dark already, but there’s a few dog walkers down there and even some parents leading a few kids to something going on in the village. It’s a gorgeous winter night. Very cold, but dry, and with a slight, overhanging mist. Not obstructive, just picturesque.
We get into the nice warm pub at 7:30pm and spend until 11pm sipping ale and catching up. My Dad’s a great guy, a jack the lad in his day, 6 feet 2 and built like a heavyweight camp. But with extreme intelligence to compliment it. He aced grammar school and went to Oxford before working commerce in London, and later returning back up North when I was 10. He now owned a business and technology consultancy out of Leeds, but seldom had to work himself. A good gig if you can get it. Everyone in the village knew him and gave him an almost hero’s welcome when he returned. About 11:15 we left the premises and walked back up the road. It crossed my mind right then which route we’d take home. Don’t get me wrong, and I big lad myself, but to be honest, on my own, I’d have taken the long but well-lit route back. But my Dad diverted left up to the field instinctively.

The short cut itself was probably half a mile. Up a track. Across a field. Up another bit of track, past an old, abandoned school house, across the bridge, across another short bit of grass, then through an alleyway onto our estate.

It was extremely poorly lit. The only real light was our estate in the distance and an old, 1950s style lamppost just next to the river bridge. The bridge itself was about 30 feet long and 15 wide.
Anyway, with 5 or 6 ales is running through my blood – Dutch courage – I amble on walking just behind my Dad, up the narrow track, up to the field and making our way across it.
Now, as we come up to the second bit of track, I see what looks like a figure on the bridge – no big deal – someone walking a dog late, or having a cheeky cigarette away from their nagging wife, or whatever. Who knows? Anyway, we edge up towards the 2nd bit of track next to the bushes and past the old, creepy schoolhouse and I can see it’s a woman … which … just surprises me really. She looks elderly too, haggard in fact. My Dad doesn’t even seem to have noticed, he’s trudging away in front of me and his eyes aren’t as good as mine these days.

“Shit”, I think, who is this woman? I get a horrible feeling inside me that makes my veins turn to ice. We get right up to the bridge, under the lamppost and my Dad lifts his head up and visibly jolts ….. his arm actually swings back to stop me, then he edges forward. OH MY GOD I think, this woman is looking right at us, her face is indescribable. Her hair and skin look like they could fall off. And her grin is nothing short of pure menace. She looks a hundred years old, and is wearing a kind of faded black, overcoat. I feel terrified, her teeth look like shark’s teeth and she’s stood with her back to the bridge wall, just grinning at us. Not inanely, it has a kind of (and this sounds weird) “told you so” feel about it.
“What the hell do you want?”, my Dad barked loudly and firmly. I was now in a state of shock. I was trembling in fear. There was something wrong here. My Dad’s a tough guy. Too tough. A few months earlier a couple of hooligans had tried their luck mugging him in the city and he flattened them both in seconds. But .. I don’t believe it .. he’s scared!!! Now he’s scared??!! How is this possible? An old woman!!” I’ve NEVER seen him scared in my 18 years on this planet!!
“State your bloody business” he said, this time a little more composed but just as firmly. She grinned all dead eyed at us and we edged passed on the bridge, with him keeping himself between me and her the whole time. Luckily the bridge was pretty wide for its size, and we were never closer than, say 12, feet. We just edged past her and she didn’t stop looking at us once. Not even to blink. Her eyes were perfect white and black. Like looking at coal on a linen sheet. Her hair was like white wool. Thick and stringy, but kind of tough looking like rope. Her teeth, oh god her teeth! Sharp. Sharpened even. I couldn’t see a tongue. She was vile. Unholy looking. I was severely disturbed by her, and I was disturbed by my Dad’s fear. As we slowly crossed the bridge and entered the dark again my Dad refused to turn around and we actually went through the process of walking backwards, through the field all the way back to the alley that led us to our estate. Perhaps a whole 80 or 100 yards.
My blood ran cold and my heart was in my mouth. I nearly threw up. But I was confident that she didn’t follow us. We saw and heard nothing and you could still see her silhouette in the lamppost light on the bridge from the alley that we had now entered.

“It’s Ok, it’s OK” I’m thinking as we can almost feel the light behind us shining from our neighbourhood. But then, as we were kind of backing through the ginnel I glimpsed a dark, blind spot and OH MY GOD her face was there, SH!I T she had followed us, she was stood 6 f*cking feet away, somehow my Dad takes what I think was a swing with one hand and forces me back with the other whilst turning and we both run the remaining 20 yards back to our well lit street.
We burst out of the alleyway like a couple of man men, before hurriedly composing ourselves. “What the hell?” I gesture to my Dad. He ignores me and just pushes me along the road to our house which is probably 200 yards further up the street.
We bolt into the house, lock the doors and turn the lights on. We’re sat in our kitchen, one of those huge ones with the island in the middle, and my Dad is anxiously looking though all the windows.
“If this is a joke it aint f*cking funny” I say.
And I never swear in front of him, never in my life.
But he just mutters “it isn’t”.
He picks up the house phone and calls Ray. Ray is my Dad’s pal from childhood, a fellow villager who also returned after making a few quid, and who lives on the same estate.
“Ray, come over to mine, now!” my Dad says.
I hear muttering on the other end, as my Dad pours himself and me a shot of Scotch.
“No, now”! he orders then puts the phone down.
We sup our Scotch, well my Dad necks his and pours himself another, and in 2 minutes flat Ray is knocking on our door. He enters and my Dad locks it behind him.
He pours Ray a drink, and says to him in a voice I’d say was a cross between angry, perplexed and exhausted
“Guess who we’ve just seen down by the river”.
“Who?”, Ray says looking wide-eyed.
“Bloody Edith Chapman” my Dad responds.
Ray momentarily goes a colour I’d describe as blue/green with a hint of red. He puffs his cheeks out, and says “well, I don’t know what to say, Paul” (Paul also being my Dad’s name).
“It’s a bloody conundrum though, right?” my Dad responds.

I bark up, “who is she?”
“Edith Chapman” Ray says. “An old woman from the village”.
“Right?” I say inquisitively.
“Carry on”, my Dad chirps up, pouring another shot.
“Yeah”, Ray said,” hmmm, Edith is a very sad and disturbed woman. She’s very old, and lives in what is basically an abandoned cottage down by the river. I can’t believe she actually owns the thing, it’s decrepit to look at. She was once found in a villager’s bathroom late at night. A woman, Pauline Johnson it was, got up to go to the toilet, and she was there. I mean, can you imagine? I’m not 100% sure what happened with that case. Pauline died shortly after.”

“Bloody hell”, My Dad interjected, “that really happened??!! I remember the … rumour, but”

“Yeah it happened, it happened alright” replied Ray. “It was seldom spoke of because the case collapsed when Pauline died. And just to disturbing to contemplate. But it happened. She was caught walking around people’s houses with some regularity. Very disturbed. Edith was terrifying. None of us went near that bloody house. But that’s the least of it. The woman is some kind of witch or demon”
“What?” I said, “no way. How? What the hell?”
“IT always was”, Ray says. “You can’t kill what’s dead already” he sighs
“Come off it” my Dad interrupts sharply.
“Bloody true, Paul”. Rays fires back. “No-one, and I mean no-one knew where she came from. Legally speaking, she didn’t even exist. No records. No legal income of any kind. No employment. No birth records. Even her age was estimated on hearsay, it quoted birth as being 1920 in local document, and yet… well I’ll tell you story alright. Remember by Great Uncle William?
(I’ll just add here that Ray’s Great Uncle was a local man who became a very senior type of lawyer called a King’s (or latterly Queen’s) Council. He was born in the early 1890s and lived to a grand old age, dying only 18 months earlier, in 1987)
Ray continues ” 3 years ago I went up to visit him in his retirement cottage near Whitby. It was the last time I saw him. We were having a kind of off the cuff conversation about land being developed in Yorkshire, and here to be precise, and Uncle William said that the new developments will have to stretch all the way down to the river to cope with housing demand. I then casually mentioned that they’ll have to turf out the old crone if they do, and his eyes lit up”
“Who”? he asked abruptly. Despite being 90-odd years old at this point, and physically impaired, his mind was still razor sharp and I doubt he ever forgotten anything in his life.
“Edith, you know” Ray responded.
His Uncle looked stern. “Son, remember I told you about my life as a child, growing up on the outskirts of Harrogate. I was nearly 8 years old at the turn of the 20th century. Well, in the year 1900 Edith Chapman was a grown woman with some accumulation of years. If she was alive now she’d be 140 years old, at least”
“So we’re being chased by a 200 year old woman” I speak up.
“2000 year old demon more like” Ray replies. “That is not a woman”, not human”.

Right there and then the front door goes, we momentarily shit out pants before realising it’s my Mum coming home. We see her in outline, through the kitchen door and down the long hallway to the front door, were she signals something with her hand before sloping off upstairs. The time is now 12:30am and she’s no doubt drank half her weight in wine. “Best keep quiet” my Dad says.

We sit there talking quietly and contemplating for perhaps 45 minutes. We eventually calm ourselves down and go with the theory that it’s just a mad old crow and nothing supernatural, then SHIT, again, the phone rings.

“Who the bloody hell is this at this time?” my dad mutters.
He picks up the phone, “Hello”
“Hi Paul, it’s Mr Parsons, down the road”
(old Mr Parsons is a fella who lives about 5 miles away. He’s known our family since my Dad was a kid)
“Hello Mr Parsons”, as my Dad still to this day called him.

“Now don’t panic” Mr Parsons says “everything is OK and no-one is hurt”
“What the hell are you talking about?”, My dad asks in a pretty rude fashion, that was not typical to him at all

“Linda (My Mum, My Dad’s Wife), she’s here. Their cab skidded on the road and hit a curb. Took out one of the wheels so they’re stranded. I’ve had a drink but I’ll drop her and her colleagues off in the morning in the land rover”
My Dad drops the phone and a look of sheer, undiluted terror washes over his face. I was close enough to the phone to hear it all and there’s tears falling down my face. Ray was busy pouring a drink at the other end of the kitchen, My Dad looks at me and gestures down the hall towards the stairs. “Who .. . the fuck … is upstairs in our house?” he asks me. I’m in tears and I’m just shaking my head .
“Get the gun from the garage, Ray” my Dad says.
“What” ray replies
My Dad gives him a look that somehow manages to convey the whole story and Ray darts out the back door and towards the garage. My Dad and I just stand there and stare down the hallway towards the stairs.
Ray enters back in. My Dad snatches the gun and checks it’s loaded. Right, “Me first, follow behind” he says. “Stay together!”

We creep down the hallway and there’s uncanny deathly quiet. The sound of literally nothing. We reach the bottom step and prepare to turn the corner left that leads us to the top …

SHIIIT!!! OH GOD NO!!!! This creature is just stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at us, now wearing one of my Mum’s white dresses, it’s fucking her, she stands there grinning with pure evil at us. Stood on the top step facing downwards! Her face is worse than before. Distinctly not human. Beastly. Menacing. What the hell is going on?!!!
My Dad goes crazy, then her face turns from grinning to predator- like and she seems to plummet down towards us in for the kill. My Dad unloads the shotgun and the noise in incredible, I fall sideways banging my head on the bannister and I can hear the ringing in my ears. I hear and vaguely see the creature fling aside my Dad and Ray and we’re all subdued on the floor. The sheer terror as I feel vaguely conscious but now have the woman standing over us. I instinctively reach for the gun but as I grab it I don’t see her, there’s a prolonged piercing shriek that sounds like nothing of this world and that makes me feel like death is imminent, my Dad and Ray are trying to pick themselves up off the floor, both scramble and the front door is open and she’s gone .…
All 3 of us are suffering minor injuries and a great deal of shock. My Dad wants to pursue with the gun in hand but we hold him back and lock the doors.
The 3 of us spend all night awake, guarding the house until Mr Parsons, true to his word, drops my Mum off at about 8am.
By this time Ray has gone home and the gun is stashed under the stairs, but the whole stairway is littered with shot gun pellets and stinks of gunpowder .

We lie, I don’t know why, but we say we got home from the pub and though there was in intruder, but it was an animal, cat or fox or something. She’s displeased but seems to somehow swallow it on my Dad’s promise to have the whole area sorted and redecorated within the week.
I feel guilty because I didn’t go back home for 2 years after that. I met my parents at various places, London, Manchester, Spain, but never went back to the house and not long after, my parents retired early to the South of France.
All this has come back to me recently. In 1997 I got married and moved to nearby Lancashire where my Wife is from. Subsequently we’ve had 2 children and life has been very good to us. We’re very happy

Now this is where things get a bit … coincidental, my Wife’s best friend, after years of being a Brigit Jones style singleton, has just got engaged to a guy from my old village. His address …

… is MY PARENTS OLD HOUSE! I’m not going to lie, I nearly passed out when my Wife told me.
We’re invited up to a party on Saturday the 13th of December, in 2 weeks; the plan for the early part of the evening is that the ladies will sort out the dinner whilst the guys nip across the field and the river for a couple of pints in the village.

Credit To – LeeD

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December 18, 2014
by derpbutt
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Too Quiet

You turn off the lights and quietly walk to your bed. You lie down and pull the covers up over your shoulders. You lie motionless and try to sleep. You hear a creak. You don’t fret, all houses make noises. Your eyes adjust to the darkness and you watch the blades of the fan circle overhead.
A piece of paper slips off your night stand and being the only audible sound besides your own heart and the fan, startles you. Is something in here you wonder? No? Yes? You can never be sure that you are alone, but you live in the middle of nowhere and you keep a .38 between your mattress and your box spring. You figure that the fan is the culprit.
You shiver and get up to turn off the fan. You are sure to do this stealthily, as you do not want to alert any imaginary criminals or creatures to your position. You crawl back into bed and curl up in your covers and drift off, the only light being the red LED of your TV.
You awake to a rustling sound you roll over and the sound stops. You do a quick glance across the room and see nothing. You hear a few barely audible thumps down the hallway. You feel a draft. The central air cuts on and you are relieved at to hear a foreign sound. Realizing that you are regressing into a small child, you think to yourself of how foolish you are acting. The red LED is off but you can still make out your dark reflection in the screen. You dismiss it and figure that the power has went out, a regular occurrence in the middle of nowhere. You roll over and drift off again.
The sunlight creeps in between your curtains and awakens you. You feel last night’s draft once more and look up. Your window is open. You close the window and turn towards the bare table where your TV once sat. You feel a cold substance on your foot. You look down and there are muddy tracks all around you. A single set is at the edge of your bed, facing where you once slept. You reach for your cell phone on your night stand and it is also gone. You retrieve your .38 and walk down the hallway and pick up your house phone. You dial nine one one and ask for police and say that your house has been broken into and you have been robbed.
You stay on the phone and don’t let go of the pistol. You thought that the hollow points from Uncle Tom were a useless Christmas gift. You walk outside and wait. A few minutes later a police car rolls into your driveway. Relief washes over you pull the trigger and gently disengage the hammer. The officers go inside and you them search your house through the windows. You ponder how easily you could have been spied on from these same windows. A few minutes later the officers come out of your house and one of them is carrying a plastic bag. They tell you that it was found in your closet. You ask to look in and the officer opens it. Inside are a few empty chip bags and a plastic bottle filled with urine. The officers say your house is empty. But can you ever be sure?

Credit To – CrosscutElm0

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December 18, 2014
by derpbutt
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Kruv and Adelaida

The realm was beauteous and plentiful, its people more so. No plague touched its borders, no famine its lands. War was seldom seen in this kingdom, whose peaceful lords ran their fortified estates in harmony with one another. The only problem was that peasants were treated harshly, scraping to live on the scraps of land provided to them by their lords. Besides this, the nobles were amiable and open with their dealings with one another, with one exception.
In the southernmost castle of this bountiful landscape lived an estranged baron and his wife. Though seldom seen, they were both said to be startlingly beautiful youths, albeit rather sallow. Despite this, the Baron Krov and his young wife Adelaida were a reclusive couple, only leaving their citadel in the utmost emergency. They never attended holiday feasts or tourneys held by the noblemen. The knights of their court were seldom seen in the festive jousts.
It was therefore a shock when it was said that the baron was to throw a jousting tournament in honor of his wife’s naming day. There was to be a feast following the events of the day, which would continue late into the night and into the early hours of the next morning. The noble men and women were ecstatic for the event. Knights trained, ladies gossiped, and nobles prepared their families for the festivities.
All the while the smallfolk would notice caravans of food, decor, lavish cloths, and other such things passing through their towns, bound south to the domain of the baron. This change was very sudden and new for the people of the land, who fantasized about the celebration to come. The day of the feast approached quickly. Those of higher birth donned their best attire, knights bore their armor, and everyone from the northern domains all the way to the south packed and left for the journey to Castle Kruv.
As the numerous families traversed through foggy wetlands and dense woods, a startling sight met their eyes: the dark and grasping spires of Castle Kruv. Each dark stone tower clawed its way into the sky, casting a gloomy and dismal aura about the battlements. While none could deny the macabre aspects of the castle, it also had an air of beauty, with its lush birch forest and surrounding grounds. And although the castle was undeniably unsettling, it too had aspects of beauty in its cold stone walls. It was these sights that greeted the ecstatic nobles and knights, as they completed the final stretch to the festivities.
Upon entering Castel Kruv, the revelers were led to various wings of the estate, in which they could clean themselves and rest from their travels for the evening to come. An hour after the last guests arrived, a servant of the house announced that the first of the jousts were to begin promptly. Lords and ladies greeted each other exuberantly in the decorated halls of the mighty, elegant fortress as the knights and squires proceeded to the field where the joust was to be held.
The pageantry of the Kruv family hung proudly from the halls and streamed from the tops of walls and towers. The heraldry of knights flew from tents, horses, and tabards, and the excited chitterings of near a hundred high-borns could be heard through the entirety of the arena.
Finally, another herald in the service of the Kruv’s announced that his lord and lady would not be attending the jousts. He apologized hastily on behalf of his benefactors, and swiftly departed. A small cry of dissent sounded from the amassed guests, but was swiftly silenced as the castle’s master of arms entered the field to commence the first match.
Horses charged, lances broke, knights rolled in the dirt. The crowd cheered their favorites and booed their rivals, all the while gossiping and chatting away. By the time of the final match, everyone’s voice was hoarse from over-use, yet their enthusiasm did not wane. After the sun had started to set and the winner of the day’s events had been announced, the noble families retreated to their temporary chambers to prepare themselves for the evening’s feast.
Lords and ladies clothed themselves in their finest raiments, planning to outdo each other in beauty and wealth. Long embroidered gowns of the finest silks and velvets were strewn about the shoulders of well-off women. Men in doublets of lavish textiles, decorated by the rarest gems, led their families through the torch lit halls of Castle Kruv, making their way to the heart of the fortified manor, the banquet hall. Rows of delicately carved tables lined with cushioned benches filled the room, save for a large central area serving for a dance floor.
Once everyone was seated, a loud musical flourish was played by the heralds of the castle to announce the entrance of the baron and his wife. The room became immediately hushed, all attention drawn to the ornately engraved door on the farthest wall of the room. The doors were pushed open, and in came a small stream of household servants, a few dressed in varying arrays of finery, handmaidens to the young baroness. A small escort of the castle’s resident knights followed behind, each sporting their colors on elaborately embroidered tunics. Finally came Kruv and Adelaida.
Lords and ladies alike gasped in stupor at the young nobles. Both were dressed in the colors of the Kruv family, red and grey. Both were also infinitely more stunningly beautiful in person than any of the stories had told.
Adelaida was a charming and spritely girl seemingly of around twenty years of age. Her hair fell in ebony ringlets around her shoulders and down her back. A circlet of silver inlaid with garnets rested lightly on the brow of her ivory flesh. Her dark lush ruby lips curved in a slight smile as she gazed over the crowd with stunningly pale green eyes. The long sleeves of her red gown almost brushed the ground, embroidered with intricate braided silver along the edges.
The other youth, Lord Kruv, was also pleasing to the eyes, causing the hearts of the younger maidens to skip a beat. His dark hair was worn short, though it still fell about his eyes. His strikingly pale skin mimicked his bride’s, unnatural for the location of their southern home. Kruv stood at an average height amongst his peers, yet he seemed to have dominating, almost feral air to him. His fine-boned, lupine face scanned the crowd of nobles assembled. He had no smile playing upon his lips, and bore a look of what seemed to be disinterest.
“My lords and ladies of the realm, I thank thee kindly for coming upon such short notice. My lady wife is very dear to me, and it greatly pleases both I and her that thou hast all arrived. It has been ages since we have had such a feast” rang out the voice of the baron, who proceeded to laugh deeply and unnervingly. Too late, the noblemen realized the knights of Kruv’s court had blocked off any means of escape from door or window. Lady Adelaida grinned fully now, revealing unnaturally sharp canine teeth. The handmaidens and servants of the baroness and baron began rushing through the crowds, snatching lords and ladies from their seats and dragging them to the corners of the hall to be fed upon. Surviving nobles fled to the exits futilely, blocked by the armed guards of the castle.
Many guests attempted to plead with the Baron and baroness, offering land, wealth, loyalty, and servitude. These attempts were made in vain however, and many of these whimpering lords and ladies became the blood-feast for the fair Lady Adelaida or her lover Kruv. Blood bedecked the banquet hall, and the court of Castle Kruv had a feast as none had ever seen before, nor ever had wished to see again. The peoples of the land reviled the southern realm of Kruv, yet no commoner complained to the liberation of the realm from their pompous liege lords.
It is still said amongst the peasants that any who wander past Castle Kruv on the darkest autumn night, shall hear the screams of those damned to a bloody fate amongst the vampires of Kruv’s court.

Credit To – Christofu

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