CRAPPYPASTA

For those pastas that are smelling less than fresh…


August 11, 2014
by derpbutt
6 Comments

The Project

Friday:

The branches had been stripped bare by the winter, their crisped brown leaves sitting at the base of the narrow tree; my stomach tightens at the sight of the ropes, nooses, swaying in the cool afternoon breeze,
Loose strands of my long blonde hair sweep across my face and I quickly tuck them back into my grey beanie, the large camera in my hand has dwarfed in size by my oversized winter gloves, I raise the lens to my hazel eyes and take several steps backwards so that the tree in it’s entirety can fit in the frame, the ground crunches below the weight of my boots.

The click of the camera breaks the deafening silence and reminds me how alone I am. Standing here. In the middle of this large forest, surrounded by death, the witches, were hanged here by the town centuries ago but their presence still lingers, cooling and thickening the air, as the realization seeps into my consciousness, poisoning my brain, my stomach begins to tighten into small tiny knots, my chest also tightens and sends my heart into a panic,
“One more, Alice, then run,” my voice is husky and timid. I raise the camera to my eye once again, inhale, press the button down, then turn on my feet and bolt in the opposite direction, weaving in and out of the thin, narrow overhanging naked trees – my rapid breathing fills the silence – by the time I reach the edge of the forest and slow into a walk I am panting, my lungs burning and screaming for oxygen.

* * *

“Over the course of the weekend,” Mr. Burton announced only several hours ago, “you and a partner of your choice will collaborate on a project, it can be anything. Fictional or not, you can decide,” the middle aged dark haired man begins making his way through the row of single desks distributing large cameras out, “on Monday, you will both present your project to the class.” His aged face wrinkles more-so as he smiles down at me and hands me a camera, the large camera is cold in my small bony hands.
As he passes by me, my eyes scan the classroom in search of a partner. Will is looking at me with a hopeful look upon his gaunt face, his wide blue eyes are fixed on me; I smile and give him a nod – Will has been a friend of mine since elementary school, last year he confessed his love for me and I turned him down, and I feel horrible for not being able to see him as anything else other than a good friend, during the summer, Will had a breakdown and is now on anti-depressants and I can’t help but feel partly responsible.

After class he stood waiting for me in the hallway,
“Hey Alice,” he beamed at the sight of me, I smiled and threw an arm over him, “how are you, Will?” I asked, to which he shrugged, we made our way through the school corridor without speaking,
“So,” he was first to break the silence, “I have an idea for our project,” he says,
“What is it?” I asked, giving off a hint of a smile out of curiosity,
“The hanging trees,” his voice is low and serious, my brows furrow, confused.
“we can take some photos and research the history of the town, did you know there were actually witch hangings in resco forest shortly after the town was founded?” He asks, but continues without an answer,
“On Monday we can really scare everyone with what we’ve got documented,”
I let out a loud laugh and slap his arm, nodding, I agree. “I can walk there after school this afternoon and take some photos,” I tell him, “I’ll call you when I’m on my way home and let you know how they turn out, okay?” Will nods and I hand him my phone to enter his number and I thank him before we go our separate ways.

* * *

The long grass whips at my jeans as I march through the field towards my neighborhood, I pull my gloves off quickly and fumble trying to unlock my phone, I find Will’s number and call him,
“It’s me,” I say breathlessly as Will answers on the other end of the phone, “I got the photos.”
“How’d you go?” He asks
I’m still trying to breathe normally,
“I’m not in any hurry to do that again,” I force a laugh and continue, “but, I got some good photos. So I hope we get good marks.”

I walk through the fenceless boundaries of the neighboring yards, past their weatherboard house into the small cul-de-sac street with overhanging trees that I call home, my house is two-stories with white weatherboards and dead grass, two steps lead up onto the front porch, the frosted glass front door is ajar,
“Mum!” I shout, using my foot to open the door, “is anyone home?” the creaking door comes to a stop as it hits the wall,
“In the kitchen Alice!” She finally calls back to me, “I’ve left some groceries in the car. Can you grab them please?” my shoulders fall in defeat and I sigh, “sure!” I yell flatly.

I jump down the steps and make my way across the lawn to the dirt driveway – houses in the neighborhood are in various stages of development – my mum’s car is parked at the end of the dug-out dirt patch towards the back of the house. I grab the large brown grocery bags from the backseat of the car and close the door using my backside, I decide the fastest way back into the house is through the back-door, so I make my way past the car and around the house to the back porch, using my foot again I slide the sliding door shut behind me; placing the groceries on the washing machine I walk in to the adjacent kitchen and dining room, my mum is packing the groceries away in the pantry,
“Why are you home so late?” She asks with her back to me,
“I had to go in to resco forest and take photos of some trees, did you know witches were hung here after the town was founded?” I ask my mum, she shakes her head – this is news to her too – and offers to help me with my research,
“I’m going to the library tomorrow to try find what I can,” I tell her. I pause for a moment before continuing, “Will Thompson is my partner for this project” mum turns around to face me, her aged face is expressionless at first, but she manages to force a smile. I can see through her happiness to the concern,
“How is he?” Her voice is low and soft, “I mean-” she’s lost for words,
I shrug and say, “he’s good, he’s out of hospital but he’s still on medication-”
“It’s not your fault Alice” she cuts me off, “his father was very abusive, and Marjorie resorted to alcohol to fill her emptiness, I mean, Will was bound to have some emotional problems.”

After helping my mother pack the last of the groceries away I decide to retreat to my bedroom to begin my project,
The wooden floorboards creak as I walk through the hall, I press against the front door to ensure it’s shut properly then turn around and make my way upstairs.

I have an e-mail waiting for me in my inbox, it’s from Will, the subject is our project; witches.
I open the e-mail and begin reading the attached link, it leads to a Wikipedia page about the witches of resco and their hangings in the nearby forest.
My eyes are glued to the screen as I read an old black and white article attached to the page. It was released in 1940 to coincide with the towns bicentennial, it tells how over thirty men and women were hanged, the first victim, Margaret Ross, being married at a young age was unable to reproduce, her husband, Richard, claimed her infertility was done by the hands of the devil. Margaret was the first of many.

The hanged ranged between the ages of 16-43, eventually the locals nicknamed the forest the gallow-trees;
The corpses were burned and buried in the forest in unmarked and often shallow graves, and as the town developed the authorities agreed never to build upon the land or remove the bodies of the victims out of respect.

Attached to the e-mail was a second link of a photo, a map, showing the town and the forest, with the burial sites highlighted, the map compared the original town map to one of present day; my house, and the surrounding housing developments. Have been built upon the witches burial sites.

“Will, it’s Alice,” I say quickly pacing my room,
“You got my e-mail,” he says on the other end of the line, his voice is low and quiet, I nod and try to compose myself as best as I can, “did you know my house was built here?” I ask him,
“Of course,” he says quickly “I saw it and e-mailed you immediately, this is great,”
“Great?” I repeat, confused and a little offended he thinks that, “h-how is-is it great?” I stutter,
“We can use it for the project,” he sounds amused, “we could use a ouija board and try and summon one of the witches, Alice,”
“No.” I tell him flatly, “that’s just asking for trouble,”
“Alice, think about it. We could record it or something,”
I continue to refuse him, but Will is persistent and eventually pressures me into agreeing to go along with his crazy idea,
“My mum is working tonight,” I say finally, “come around at 8.00 pm,”

* * *

I watch as mum turns out of the street before heading inside, I lock the front door and head upstairs to my bedroom where I change into a pair of black skinny jeans and an oversized grey knitted sweater, my long hair falls over my shoulders;
Will arrives right on time, the knock on the door breaks the silence through the house and startles me.

“Are you ready to do this?” He asks with a broad cheeky grin upon his face, holding the ouija board in hand,
“No.” I mumble, I open the door wider and let him into the house, he walks to the living room on the left and I tell him to take a seat while I grab us each a glass of water.

In the kitchen I pour us each a glass of water, the wind outside whistles through the gaps between the sliding door in the laundry, I walk into the small dark, square room and ensure the door is locked,
“Are you afraid?” Will asks from the kitchen and I flinch, “yeah,” I nod “how come I never knew about the towns witches before today?” I ask, “why wouldn’t they teach it in school?”
He shrugs while leaning on the kitchen counter, “when I was off school, in between therapy sessions I’d read a lot to fill in the time, and I came across the article I sent you today and I investigated the woods and found the ropes. It’s insane,” he shakes his head, “I guess the townsfolk weren’t proud of what they did and decided not to talk about it,”

We walk back to the living room together where the ouija board is awaiting us upon the ottoman and his phone – already recording -
“You place your index finger and middle finger on the planchette,” Will instructs me, I copy him and take a deep breath in, he tries to suppress a smile but fails.

“Okay,” he finally says, “relax, Alice, I’m going to start asking the witches questions,”
I keep my eyes on the wooden planchette and the large board beneath my hands,
“Is anyone there?” Will asks,
I feel the planchette move across the board to the ‘yes’
“Did you do move that?” I ask quietly, he shakes his head,
“What is your name?” He asks.

M.A.R.G-
“Fuck. Off” I remove my hands from the planchette and stand up shaking them, I quickly shake my head and take deep breaths, “no more,” I say to Will, he gets to his feet,
“I read about her,” I say, my chest is tightening, rising and falling quickly, and I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes, I blink and they spill down my cheek, “she was accused of being a devil worshiper,”

Will eventually calms me down and agrees to stay with me until I fall asleep,
I lay on the couch with my feet over him while he holds the camera and views the photographs taken this afternoon,
My eyes become heavier with each blink and suddenly the darkness and sleep consume me.

I awake with a startle; I’m facing the couch and the lights have been turned off, Will has placed a blanket over me to keep me warm – but he’s long gone, I think – my blood turns cold suddenly as I hear a click, it’s the camera, I roll over to face the dark living room, the lamp posts outside have let it minimal light, enough, however, to cast shadows of the trees outside over the blank walls, the camera clicks once again, this time the light flashes, blinding me, I bolt upright, clutching the blanket in my hand,
“Mum,” I whisper into the darkness, another click and flash go off and I let out a loud, terrified scream and shout for my mum. Loud footsteps boom from upstairs, suddenly a light comes on from somewhere past the hallway, my mum appears on the staircase in her nightgown,
“What’s wrong, Alice?” She asks,
I throw the blanket aside and race over to her, “can I stay with you tonight?” I sob into her nightgown, she holds me tightly and tries to console me, I can feel my body trembling but I have no control over it.
“Come upstairs, baby,” she whispers.

Saturday:

The sunlight awakens me, it’s golden and shining through the dust covered windows that overlook the small street,
I throw my legs over the edge of the bed and force myself to stand and make my way out of my mothers bedroom.

“Are you okay, honey?” She asks as I enter the kitchen,
“You look as if you haven’t slept at all,”
I take a seat on one of the stools of the island bench, “I kept replaying it over and over again,” I mumble, blinking my heavy eyelids, “mum, do you believe in ghosts?” I ask, “because. Last night, something was in the house with me,” my lips tremble along with the rest of my body and I let out a low sob,
“Have you told Will?” Mum asks before suggesting, “maybe you two should change the topic of your project?”

* * *

“Did you look at the photos?” Will asks me on the other end of the line after I tell him about my ordeal last night, “I sent you another inbox. I found a Wikipedia page for Margaret Ross,”
“I don’t even want to hear her name,” I tell him, “I’m so freaked-”
“This will be worth it come Monday,” he try’s to reassure me, how is this still exciting to him?
“What’d you get on your phone recording?” I ask him, remembering last night he brought his phone along as a recording device,
“Wanna meet in town for lunch?” He asks, “we can check out my recording and your photographs,”
I agree and hang up and make my way to the bathroom.

I lock the bathroom door and undress myself as quickly as possible – leaving my knitted sweater and skinny jeans from last night on the cold white tiles – I wash my hair and body and change in to a pair of black tights and a long sleeved maroon dress, I collect my clothes from the tiled floor and leave the bathroom.
Tossing my dirty clothes on my bed I walk around my bed to my closet and pull out a pair of black ankle boots, my grey beanie is on the end of my bed so I collect that and my phone before making my way back downstairs.

“I have to work tomorrow night,” mum says as I walk into the kitchen, “if you to. Get Will to stay over, I just don’t want you being home alone,”
I smile and collect my keys and the camera from the kitchen bench before kissing my mother goodbye and bounding out the front door into the late sunny Autumn morning.

I walk the few blocks to the heart of town, Will is waiting for me in the window of a locally owned cafe; His face looks thinner than ever, his eyes are bulging and surrounded by dark black circles – he’s tired – and by the looks of it a little agitated,
“Hey,” I try to sound upbeat with a forced smile plastered to my face,
He nods and gestures me towards the small table where his phone and jacket are,
“Will,” I say his name softly, carefully, “are. . . Are you okay?” I stammer,
He sniffs and wipes his nose while shaking his head, “I went into the woods last night,” his voice is shaky, “to the witches hanging site…” He falls quiet, his heavy eyelids close,
“What is it?” I ask urgently, I reach out and take his free hand,
“The ropes weren’t there,” he finally whimpers. “After you fell asleep I decided to investigate the site myself. And there was nothing there.”
We sit in silence as I try to take it all in, my chest tightens and suddenly it’s as if all the air has been squeezed from me, “um,” I gasp, my brain is scrambling for something, anything. And then, “Your phone,” I say as my eyes fall upon it, “did you manage to record anything?” I ask.
He nods and slides his phone across the table to me,
“I had to take a torch from your house so I could see. . . The quality is crap, but, you can see what I’m talking about.”

I press play and begin to watch the video; it’s shaky and only shows the dirt and the leaves peppered along the ground, I can hear Will breathing in the cold night, then, the camera begins to pan upwards. To the trees I stood amongst yesterday afternoon, except now they are free of their nooses. They are now completely naked, “holy shit,” Will says on the video – and that’s where it ends.

“My camera kept going off last night,” I say, sliding the phone across the table back to him and then the camera, “I haven’t looked at any of the images yet,”
Will takes the camera in his pale hands and begins searching through the images, “they’re just of you asleep. And you waking up,” he lets out a small laugh, “and screaming-”
“This is serious,” I say through closed teeth, “the ouija board. The ropes,”
Will slides the camera back across the table to me and apologizes,
“Last night,” he says softly, “I think something communicated to us. Through the board.”

After eating our lunch we decide to head to the town library,
“I don’t know if we’ll find anything,” Will says, as we approach the library steps, “I stumbled upon the witches on a whim, I had nothing to do with my days, I mean, therapy goes for two hours. I had to fill the other twenty two somehow,”
I push the wooden doors open and we walk into the musty old building, it’s dimly lit, most of the light is coming from the computer screens along the side walls.

“Excuse me,” I say to the small, frail, elderly lady behind the front desk,
“Can I please have a look at old town records. I’m doing a project on a certain historical event,”
The lady looks up at me through her magnifying-glass sized spectacles and asks in a low rattled whisper,
“What are you researching dear?”
“The witches that were hanged in resco forest,” I tell her firmly,
Her wrinkles grow deeper as a broad smile spreads across her face, “dear,” she chuckles, “we’ve never had anything like that happen around here. You’ve been misinformed, sorry,”
I frown, confused and look over my shoulder to Will, who shrugs.

I let out a sight, thank her and retreat from the library with Will,
“Why is everyone covering it up?” I ask shaking my head furiously,
“Who’s proud to say they hanged a bunch of locals?” Will retorts, “we can collect what we have and still present it on Monday,”

* * *

Will sits on my bed as I sit at my computer and open the e-mail from him. I open open the link and it comes up as an error, refreshing the page doesn’t help. It again comes up as an error,
“What is going on, Will?” I ask trying again and again to refresh the link,
“It must have been removed,” he says leaning over my shoulder,
“Why. . . Why, why would someone do that?!” I am so furious, my eyes fill with tears once again, “what the hell, we have nothing now, Will, nothing,”
He sighs and repeats himself from earlier, “who’s proud to say they hanged a bunch of locals?”
“Google,” I quickly mumble, “we can google Margaret Ross,” I close my inbox and open up Google; Margaret Ross. No searches found.

“This can’t be real,” Will mutters over my shoulder, he refreshes the page but once again we fall short, “anyone can edit anything, they can create pages and delete them and no one would know anything,” he sighs and paces my bedroom for a short time then stares out the window leaning on the windowsill,
“They’re playing with us, aren’t they?” He says with his back to me,
“The witches?” I ask, he nods slowly.
I feel a pang in my stomach,
“what are we going to do?” I ask nervously, Will shrugs and turns to face me, “no one will listen to us, we don’t have any proof,”

* * *

The late afternoon grows darker faster, as the ominous storm clouds gather in closer;
A loud clap of thunder brings the heavy rain pelting down, my phone sounds and it’s a text from Will letting me know he has made it home safe and sound, and dry.
I smile and set my phone down on my bedside table.

* * *

“I was researching the witches,” mum says to me over our bowls of chicken and corn soup, “I couldn’t find anything,” she continues, “are you sure they’re real?” She asks,
I nod and tell her all about the nooses in the trees and the ouija board session last night with Will. I even go so far as to mention the Wikipedia page with the photo inserts of articles about the witch hangings,
“It’s bizarre,” she finally says once I am finished, and we eat the rest of our dinner in silence.

* * *

“My mum doesn’t believe us,” I say to Will over the phone while pacing my bedroom,
“My mother doesn’t either. And being an alcoholic you think she’d believe anything,” he says jokingly.
I feel obligated to let out a small laugh to ease the tension in his words, “I’m off to sleep,” he says through a yawn, I nod and rub my eyes, “yeah,” I yawn as well, “I’m pretty tired too. Goodnight Will.”

I change out of my clothes and into flannelette pajamas and climb into bed, a flash of lightning lights the heavy black night and a loud boom of thunder rattles the house, I hear the window shake in it’s frame and look over at it, past my bedside table lamp – something suddenly catches my eye – I get out of bed and walk over to the window, at the base of the windowsill an inverted cross has been scratched into the wood, there’s another flash of lightning and clap of thunder that sends everything into darkness. The rain continues to slap my window with heavy, continuous drops. The outside world is cloaked in darkness. I tip-toe across the wooden floor and back into the warm comforts of my bed where I pull the covers tight around myself and bury my face into my pillow.
I car hear the wind whistling through the trees outside, it sends a chill through my bones, it howls through the spaces between the windows and doors, the cold and the darkness enclosing in on me.

I hurl my covers off and throw my legs over the edge of the bed, getting to my feet I cross the bedroom and close my door, the smaller the space the safer I’ll feel. As I make my way back to my bed the lightning lights up the night sky once again, this time, what captures my eyes is outside. In the trees a few feet from my house, hanging over my small street, nooses have been attached to them, they blow wildly in the storm, I am unable to move. My bones harden, my skin also and m heart stops dead in it’s tracks. My lungs are airless pockets.
“Mum!” I screech. Turning on the balls of my feet I bolt out of my bedroom and into the upstairs hallway, “Mum!” I bellow at the sight of more nooses, this time they’ve been tied around the light fixtures,
my mother appears in the doorway of her bedroom, the look of terror is quickly plastered upon her face.

She races over to me and grabs me by the arm,
“We’re leaving now!” she screams, we sprint down the staircase and out the back door to the car space in the dirt ditch.

We reverse out of the driveway and speed out of the street;
Mum and I spend our night at a truck-stop diner, drinking large cups of black coffee and trying to settle our nerves.

Sunday:

I fell asleep on the rubber chair of the booth, mum wakes me with a hand to my shoulder and saying my name softly,
At first I am confused, “where are we?” I yawn, but when I come to full consciousness I remember where we are. And why.

“Let’s go home, honey,” my mother looks as if she’s aged ten years overnight, her face is weathered and tired. I doubt she managed to sleep at all last night,
I look out the large windows into the morning light, the sunlight has slowly begun to melt the icy build-up off our car – the only one in the parking lot – I climb out of the booth and drag myself behind my mother out of the truck-stop diner.

We drive half the ride home in silence, “maybe we could get the house blessed?” My mother suggests, “get rid of whatever this is.”
I stare blankly out the window for a few moments before mumbling, regretfully, “I never should have agreed to go along with this project. Or that stupid fucking board,”
I feel my mothers hand on my leg,
“It’s not your fault,” she says, trying to comfort me – it fails – as we approach my street my stomach drops and veering around the corner I am afraid to look ahead at the overhanging trees that cloak my neighborhood, I take several deep breaths before forcing my eyes to look ahead.

The street is the same picturesque street that I’ve always known,
“What. The. Hell,” my mother mumbles slowly,
“W…w-where are the nooses?” I stammer, sitting upright I peer out the front windshield to get a closer look, but my eyes aren’t deceiving me. There is nothing at all wrong, no eeriness. Nothing at all off about the small cul-de-sac street.

My mother stops the car by the kerb and we get out, I am more hesitant than she is, but she waits for me to join her before we make our way across the damp grass, the only sound comes from the squelching of the mud and grass under our feet. We walk up the two steps together and pause on the front porch,
“Stay close,” my mother sniffs, she reaches out with a shaky hand and grips the doorknob, turning it she pushes the front door open – it squeaks it’s usual low, blood cooling, squeak – and it comes to a stop by the wall.

We cross the threshold hand-in-hand, nervously, my eyes are wide and suddenly I begin scanning the hallway, every nook and cranny that I possibly can,
“It seems fine,” mum quietly says, she let’s go of my hand and makes her way to the kitchen. I trail closely behind her,
Looking through the bannisters I try to catch a glimpse of the upstairs hallway, I can see one of the lights. It appears as it always has, unlike last night. And I become less anxious and, slowly, slightly more relieved.

“Oh my god!” My mother squeals, startling me, “what?!” I scream, darting into the kitchen.
The glass sliding door leading into the backyard bears a bloody pentagram symbol, and, at the foot of the door I notice what appears to be a cat. . . It takes me a minute to realize it’s still taking slow, shallow breaths.

“Knock, knock.” A voice echoes through the house, I take several steps back and look through the kitchen doorway to the front door, Mrs. Lawrence from across the street is standing in the entrance to our house, her wiry grey hair has been pulled back into a bun and she is draped in a warm woolen shawl, her cane bangs against the wooden floor as she crosses the threshold into the house,
“Is your mother home dear?” She asks frailly, I nod and call to my mother – not once taking my eyes from Mrs. Lawrence – “Rita,” my mother sniffs, trying to compose herself, “what brings you over here?” She asks,
“Last night,” Mrs. Lawrence whispers, “I heard a commotion in your house. And when I looked out of my window I saw the two of you leaving suddenly-”
“Everything has been taken care of,” my mother cuts her off, “it’s fine,”
But Mrs. Lawrence shakes her head slowly and waves her free hand at us, “No, No, No, my dear,” Mrs. Lawrence continues, “I kept an eye on your house throughout the night. And somebody was coming and going at different hours.” She says, “they were dressed in what looked like a black hood, and they carried ropes. A lot of ropes, too,” her aged face suddenly becomes soft with concern, “do you need help, my dear?” She asks.

“Mrs. Lawrence,” my mothers voice breaks, “thank you,” my mum looks to me and tells me firmly, “Will is staying here with you tonight, and tomorrow we’re going to the police, or finding a priest. Someone. Anyone. I don’t care,”

My mum and I both walk Mrs. Lawrence back to her house and thank her once again,
She closes her front door and I hear it lock as we make our way off her front porch.

* * *

“Someone was in your house,” Will mutters slowly in disbelief,
“Yeah,” I am sitting on the couch under a blanket with my mum – she’s just cleaned the mess from the kitchen and is, literally, on the edge -
“Mum works tonight,” I tell him slowly before asking if he can stay the night, his response in almost atomic, “of course. I’ll be over soon okay,”
“Okay,” I say before hanging up the phone.

* * *

Mum buttons her black work shirt and tucks it into her pants before running her hands down the front of herself, “okay,” she exhales “I’ll see you tonight, please call me if you need anything,” she says,
I nod and say to her “Will is running late, he’s stuck in traffic. But he’ll only be, like, ten or fifteen minutes so I’ll just hang out on the couch,”
She kisses my cheek and together we leave her bedroom and make our way back downstairs.

* * *

I stand on the front porch and watch as mum drives out of the street, my heart sinks watching her tail-lights round the corner and disappear,
I close the front door behind me and lock it then walk into the living room and sit myself down on the couch,
My senses and paranoia have kicked into overdrive.
I can hear the trees rustling in the light breeze outside, the wind blowing across the wooden floors, between every crack and groove in the wood itself. . . I can even hear my own heart beating, the sound of my blood swishing around in my body fills my ears and deafens me.

A knock on the door startles me and pulls me back to reality – it’s Will – I climb off the couch and race to the door, he’s wearing a pair of tattered light brown chinos that hug his thin legs, and a black hoodie with his hands buried in the pockets,
“It’s freezing out here,” he says, peaking out from under his hood,
“How are you feeling?” He asks making his way past me and inside.
I close the door behind him and lie through my teeth, “I’m feeling a lot better,” but somehow he can tell and asks “really?” smirking I shake my head and say, “no. Not really,”
“Well,” his tone is more upbeat as he announces, “I drove my mothers car over here incase we need to high-tail outta here.”

* * *

Will lays on my bed with his face buried in the pillow as I change out of my pajamas from last night and in to a pair of black jeans and a white zip-up hoodie,
“Let’s go downstairs and eat,” I say turning around to face my bed, “we have leftover chicken and corn soup,”
He raises his head and smirks with wide eyes, “I am so hungry,” he laughs. He scampers off my bed, bringing the camera for our project with him.

“So,” I say to him as we walk into the hallway, “they were hanging off here. And, it was the scariest thing I have ever seen,”
Will wraps an arm around my shoulder in an effort to comfort me, “maybe we’re gonna need to share medication,” he says jokingly,
As we descend the staircase I ask him while we are on the topic of medication, “how are you feeling? I mean, with everything aside from recent events,”
He shrugs and lets out a low sigh,
“I’m as good as can be expected, I guess,” he says, “I mean, my mother drinks to numb her pain because her ex-husband used to drink a lot and beat me, and her. And when he wasn’t drinking he would still beat us and tell us how worthless we were,”
I shake my head, unable to imagine such a thing, “that’s horrible. How’d you cope with it all Will?” I ask him,
He shrugs again, “books. Writing. Anything that would take me away from this nightmare I was living, sometimes I’d make up stories to try and justify why this was happening to my mum and I, but, they’d always become some sick, twisted, macabre story because nothing I could think of could justify the actions of my father. . . The night he left us was honestly the happiest night of my life, when I woke up and realized he had abandoned us. I had never felt more relieved,” his eyes are glistening with tears,
I clear my throat and decide to change the subject,
“Let’s put our project together for tomorrow,”

Will races out to his car to grab his backpack while I heat up two bowls of soup for us to eat;
“I’ve put together a few things to show you,” he calls from the entrance, the door slams shut and echoes behind him. I flinch, when the microwave beeps I remove the two bowls and place them on to the kitchen bench below the microwave, “be careful,” I say with my back to him, “they’re extremely hot,”

Using my thumb as a claw I pick the two bowls of soup up and turn to place them on the island bench;

The bowls shatter when I drop them, hot soup spills everywhere but I am frozen and unable to move at the sight in front of me,
Will stands in the doorway of the kitchen with my mother in front of him, with a noose draped around her neck,
“Will,” I cry staring into his large blue eyes, “w-w-what the hell is this?” I ask,
He laughs through gritted teeth, “witches,” he spits, “could you be any fucking dumber?!” His shouts echo, making me jump,
“I bought the rope from a local hardware store,” he says, “I left the tag on one of them. I only realized last night when I came back to remove them,” he chuckles and presses his face against the side of my mothers face, she let’s out a terrified scream and tears spill down her face,
“Why are you doing this?!” She sobs,
Will laughs hysterically, amused with her question, “why?” He repeats, “Alice was the only constant thing in my fucked up life!” He roars, my mother cowers huddling closer to his body in fear, “when she rejected me, I had lost everything I ever held on to!”
I am trembling from head to toe, I can hear the air swimming in and out of my lungs, my chest rising and falling as if I had just ran a marathon, “how’d you do all this?” I ask, my vision blurs as the tears fill my eyes, I sniff and dab my eyes with the back of my hands.

“On Thursday,” he begins, “Mr. Barton sat me down and told me about the upcoming project and wanted to make sure I would be okay to participate. Given my history of mental illness. I assured him I’d be fine,” Will grins widely, pausing for a brief moment for me to take it in before continuing,
“That afternoon I arranged the ropes in the trees in resco forest. And that night I created a false website for you to read. You’d be amazed what you can do on the internet, especially, when you’re off school and in between doctors and therapy sessions. . . So, when Friday came I knew you’d feel obliged to partner up with me,” he lets out a chuckle and bites him bottom lip, a little too hard. I notice that he’s drawn blood,
“When you fell asleep, I set the timer on the camera to go off. . . While you were screaming your head off thinking a bunch of dead witches were tormenting you I was removing the ropes from the trees in the forest. I only had to retrace my steps and film what I wanted you to see-”
“Is this going anywhere?!” I scream shakily,
Will nods and looks to camera,
“Have a look at it,” he says, “I bet you haven’t checked it since Friday night,”

I walk through the puddle of soup and broken glass and retrieve the camera from the bench,
“To the beginning,” he tells me when I turn it one,
I skip forward to the first photos I had taken on Friday afternoon, the next shows Will sitting on my couch with me fast asleep, his eyes are wide and so is his grimace. The next handful of photos show me screaming when I wake up – I close my eyes, embarrassed – finally, it comes to a photo of the inverted cross on the base of my windowsill, “I scratched that into the wood myself,” he tells me, “when I had my back to you,”
the next photo shows my mother and I reversing out of the driveway last night, and several photos of the house and trees outside decorated with nooses.

“I. . . I’m sorry, Will,” I cry, looking up at him,
“It’s too late,” he says, “my father didn’t expect me to kill him either. But I did, and I’ll kill you as well, Alice,”
Will yanks on the noose, strangling my mother, she immediately begins kicking and gasping, her attempts to scream failing, as I take a step forward Will pulls out a large butcher knife from the pocket of his hoodie and holds it out in my direction, stopping me in my tracks,
“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” his voice is cold and sharp,
My mothers eyes are bloodshot, her scrambling feet becoming steady and then, finally, they come to a complete stop. I let out a sob as Will let’s go of the rope, letting her body hit the ground with a loud thud, “mum,” I cry, falling to my knees. Shards of glass from the bowl press against my jeans.

Will saunters forward towards me, knife in hand, I lower my head and close my eyes, accepting that this is how I will die, tonight, my heartbeat slows down to a consistent beat now. I open my tear filled eyes and let the salty tears stream down my face. The glass jabbing at my leg finally sends my brain into survival mode, within seconds I am holding a large shard of porcelain glass in my hand, as Will approaches me I lunge upwards and bury the glass deep into the groove between his neck and shoulder, he brings his knife upwards and it comes to a jamming stop in my left rib cage. My eyes widen as my breathing is immediately halted in it’s tracks, I gasp but nothing seems to work, falling backwards I land against the kitchen counter, Will suddenly grabs the knife from my torso and raises it above his head, I shield myself with my arms as he slashes wildly at me. I am losing blood too quickly, the edges of my vision begin to blur and turn black, my chest screams, struggling to push onwards, I somehow manage to muster enough energy to pull the shard of porcelain glass from Will’s shoulder and begin stabbing at him violently, I don’t know if any of it has made any effect on him whatsoever, until he stumbles backwards, large, deep wounds spew blood out and down the left side of his face, his arms bare bloody wounds also. He stumbles backwards and disappears out of sight before everything fades to darkness.

* * *

When I come to I am surrounded by bright lights and beeping machines,
“Can you hear me?” A man – a doctor – says standing over me, I nod slowly, my head and neck ache as I do so,
“You’ve lost a lot of blood sweetheart, just hang in there okay,” and once again I am consumed by the dark.

* * *

Will hasn’t been seen again, apart from murdering my mother, he murdered his own that night, and is also suspected of killing a family of four and stealing their car;
I have survived, stitched and bandaged, but, alive nonetheless.

I am plagued by nightmares – both asleep, and awake – of what I endured, and I won’t ever be the same person I was before.
I guess, now, somehow in a sick ironic way, I can relate to Will Thompson, and that scares me more than anything else I have survived.

I won’t try understand the complex mind of a psychopath, but one thing I call tell you, is that he accomplished what he set out to do. He shattered my entire world.

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August 11, 2014
by derpbutt
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Miss Ham and Eggar

It was somewhere in her mid-thirties that Dana Eggar gave up on her dream of meeting someone special, settling down and raising a family. It was also about this time that she completely devoted herself to teaching.
She had been a 5th grade teacher at Walcott Elementary for the last 12 years but it was only in the last few that she had really hit her stride. She was easily the most liked teacher amongst the student population and the parents had no issues driving their children over to her house once a month for her notoriously fun ‘popcorn parties’. The simple fact was that the parents trusted her completely for the best of reasons. She sincerely loved the kids and her affection was returned.
Students who came back from junior high and the local high school even felt comfortable enough around her to call her by the name that the younger kids whispered and giggled out of her earshot… Miss Ham and Eggar. The nickname went all the way back to her own elementary years but she would never admit that to her former pupils and take away their pride of thinking that they coined it themselves.
It was midday and the children were running around on the playground behind the school. As she sat and watched her charges scamper around she realized that she enjoyed recess as much as any of them. These were the moments where the solitude left her alone.
She never understood why she never found Mr. Right. She was not an unattractive woman and she had both wit and a nurturing nature. Many nights as she laid in her bed staring at the ceiling she wondered if that was perhaps exactly why she slept alone. There was something good about her that made a man feel bad about not giving her the love and devotion she so obviously deserved so they usually ran for the hills. She had dated but it was rare that she made it more than a few dates when the man would get a “shit or get off the pot” feeling that he normally didn’t feel around other women. She both laughed and cried about this warped male radar that had driven away so many interesting prospects.
So she poured herself into her students.
It was a nice day and only a few clouds hung in the sky. She closed her eyes and felt the warmth of the sun on her face. A light breeze moved over the pavement like a sigh.
She couldn’t help but watch the kids playing four square. For some reason they took this game very seriously and the social order often times revolved around which child could dominate this seemingly innocuous game played with a red rubber ball. Despite the occasionally heated arguments over whether a ball was in or out Miss Eggar found it a lot less worrisome than the dodge ball games that used to have the red rubber ball bouncing off of faces and groins and seemingly requiring her constant medical opinions on everything from scrapes to contusions.
Let them argue all they want about who is in and who is out. If they didn’t bleed then it was a step in the right direction as far as she was concerned.
Today’s game was particularly well attended and there was a line of boys and girls shifting their weight from one foot to the other anxiously as they waited their turn to get into the first square and show off their ball-slapping prowess.
As it was almost noon the sun was nearly overhead. As she watched the children there was something gnawing away at the back of her mind. Something wasn’t right but she had no idea what it could be.
Something seemed a little off about the scene.
It started to annoy her. What was it about these kids playing four square that had her intellect annoyed. She laughed and made the analogy to herself that it was as if she was looking at a Where’s Waldo picture but she had neither the time or interest to actually look for him.
She closed her eyes and tried to enjoy the breeze again.
It had stopped.
She opened her eyes again and suddenly found the cause of her anxiety.
Some the kids were casting long shadows while some of them cast very small ones.
She wanted to laugh it off but when she started to look closer she even noticed that some of the children had shadows that went in the opposite direction of the child next to them.
A few of them cast 2 distinct shadows.
She wanted the breeze back.
Her mind raced for explanations. Her mouth had gone dry even though she had no idea what this could even mean and appeared to pose no visible threat to her class. It had to be some weather phenomena that would easily be explained by a science textbook.
She felt the protective side of her personality coming forward with surprising force.
She saw a few shadows racing around, seemingly playing happily, that had no corresponding person to cast them.
Recess needed to be over.
She fumbled for the whistle in her pocket and looked down.
At her own shadow.
The shadow that had one arm up.
Waving back at her.

Credit To – Lance Manion
Credit Link – www.lancemanion.com

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August 11, 2014
by derpbutt
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Origin

My name is Mark, and I have been convicted as a killer. I never thought it would end up this way, but it did. As I write this from my prison cell inside the Pelican Bay correctional facility in California, I know that I will be the last one to die. The one image that remains plastered in my mind is what they were wearing as they killed us. White. So much white, becoming red with each victim. We never knew where they came from, or what they wanted. They just…appeared. We never discovered their origin.

Let me back up for a second, and I’ll tell you everything. Before all this, I basically lived a normal life. Wife, two kids, suburban home. Simple right? My two sons, Alex and Jacob were my pride and joy. My wife Sarah was everything to me. We met in college, right after I was honorably discharged from the United States Marines after a three year service, and we ended up getting married right after graduation. I got a job down at the power plant, and she started teaching. We had Alex in the winter of ’06, and then Jacob in the summer of ’09. It seemed perfect, but it wasn’t meant to be.

The night it happened, we had some friends from down the block over for a barbecue. Dave, his wife Anne, and their daughter Alice. They had been family friends for years. The date was July 10th, 2013. I’ll never forget it. The kids were outside playing in the yard, Sarah and Anne were in the kitchen, and Dave and I were in the garage, looking over my half-restored ’76 Corvette. Then, we heard a chilling cry come from the backyard. Dave and I ran around the side of the house, and we see Alice lying under the swing set, cradling her arm. As I got closer, I could see that there was a metal dart in her arm, like from one of the dart boards you see in bars. By this time, Anne had come outside, and was consoling Alice. She reached down and gently pulled the dart from her arm. I took the dart and pulled Dave aside. “Dave, this isn’t a throwing dart. I saw this kind of stuff overseas. The guerrillas would strap these darts to explosives and use them as mines.” Dave eyes went wide.
“You think someone tried to hurt my daughter on purpose?”
“I don’t know, but I think we should all stay in the house for the rest of the night. It will be safer.” Boy was I wrong.

We all moved inside the house. By this time, it was already dusk, and the shadows the sunset gave off made me uneasy. I locked all the doors and windows in the house, and then checked them to make sure they stayed locked. We all clustered in the living room, and I flipped on the TV. As I surfed through the channels looking for a kid movie we could watch, I heard a loud thump on the roof of the house. I knew that it was impossible for someone to be up there, because the only way to get to the roof would be through the attic and out the window. There wasn’t a civilian ladder tall enough to reach the roof. However, I decided to check it out anyway. I climbed the stairs to the second floor, and began walking down the narrow hallway that leads to the attic steps. Then, I heard footsteps coming down the attic stairs. I suppressed the urge to run, and quickly moved to my bedroom. I reached up under the bedside table, and grabbed the Colt .45 I keep strapped under it. I made sure it was loaded, and cocked back the slide.

Then, I heard my wife call up to me. “Mark, what was that sound? Do you have your gun with you?”
“Yes, I do.” I called back. “I just need to check something in the attic. I think it’s a wild animal.” I didn’t tell her the truth because I didn’t want to scare her. Now that I look back, maybe I should have warned her earlier. I leveled the gun at the door, and slowly approached it. Just before I reached out to grab the handle, three sharp knocks came from the other side. I jumped back in shock. There was no way someone could be in there. Then, what I heard next made my blood run cold. Children’s voices, singing, on the other side of the door.

“One, two, three, four, we are knocking at you door,
Five, six, seven, eight, let us in or seal your fate.
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, all of you are going to Hell.”

I fired the .45 six times into the door, but there were no sounds of pain from the other side. I crept up to the door, and peered through the lock. Empty. Just as I was about to look away, a face in a white wolf mask appeared on the other side of the keyhole. I jumped back in fear, and emptied the clip into the door. When my ears stopped ringing, I heard my kids crying downstairs. I turned to run back down to them, and Sarah was standing there, staring at me, wide-eyed. “S-Sarah,” I stammered. “There are people in the house.” She kept standing there, staring at the gun. “Sarah. I need you to go downstairs and unlock the gun cabinet.” She didn’t move. “Sarah?” I then looked down at the gun in my hand. Only the gun wasn’t mine. My gun was a camouflage and black painted .45. This one was silver and ivory, and on the slide, written in blood, was the word: “Origin”.

I dropped the gun, grabbed Sarah and ran downstairs. Dave, Anne, and the kids were all still sitting in the living room, but they were clearly terrified. I took a deep breath in, and then explained the situation to them. Dave immediately grabbed Anne and Alice, and began walking towards the door. I grabbed his arm. “Dave, you cant leave, there could be more of them out there.”
“More of what?” He said. “You’re not making any sense. All I heard were nine gunshots, and nothing else. I’m taking my wife and daughter home.” He pulled away and yanked open the front door to the house. He stepped outside, and began to pull Anne outside as well. Suddenly, he stiffened, and slowly turned around. I recoiled in horror, as the crossbow bolt came into view, jutting from his chest. He looked at me, and then slumped over, dead. Anne screamed, and Alice began crying. I pulled them back inside, and slammed the door shut. I bolted to the gun cabinet, and smashed the glass with my elbow. I reached in, and unhooked the lock. I grabbed the two Springfield hunting rifles out of the cabinet, two boxes of shells, and tossed one to my wife. “Sarah, take the kids upstairs and don’t open the door unless you hear the knock we practiced.” She nodded, and took the kids, along with Anne, upstairs.

We had planned for a break in like this, but this seemed different. The singing, the crossbow bolt, the dart. It just wasn’t right. I walked around the main floor of the house for a couple of hours, and heard nothing. I collapsed into a chair, tired from pacing. My feet were burning, and my eyes were heavy. I checked my watch. It was one in the morning. Just as I was about to drift off to sleep, I heard the sounds of glass shattering. I jumped out of the chair, and ran upstairs. I knocked on the bedroom door three times, then waited a second, and knocked for more times. Sarah opened the door, tears running down her face. “M-m-mark, it’s Anne, s-s-she just f-f-flew out the window!” I ran over to the shattered window and looked down. What disturbed me wasn’t the fact that her neck was bent at an odd angle, it was the four figures in white carving a word into her exposed chest: “Origin”.

I aimed my rifle at them and fired a shot. However, the bullet hit air. They were gone. I turned back to my family, to find that they were gone as well. I dropped my gun in fear. “Sarah? Alex? Jacob?” I called out to the house. Then. I heard screaming coming from the backyard. I picked up my rifle and ran downstairs. I crashed through the back door, and fell to my knees in horror. There was Alice along with my family, each hanging by their arms and legs to the oak tree, crucifixion style. The figures in white were holding what looked like scythes. One of them raised the curved blade in its hand and sliced Alice’s throat open. blood poured down from her neck, staining the white trench coat and wolf mask the figure was wearing red. I screamed as each figure took their turn with my family, cutting their throats and bathing in their blood. When it was over, and I could no longer scream, the figures approached me.

I looked up at their masked faces. “Who are you? Why are you doing this? What do you want?”

The largest of the four looked down at me and tilted its head. The voice that came from it was in no way human.

“We have been called many things, but in the end, what you human’s choose to call us is irrelevant. We simply are. We have no beginning. We have no end. We are infinite. We watch, we wait, and when the time is right, we harvest. Blood is what sustains us. You have been spared, so that you may pass on our legend. We will return, and harvest again. But for now, we slumber.”

Then, just as they appeared, they vanished. I stood up and looked around. They were gone. Then, I heard the police sirens approaching. So, we’re back here, in my cell. I’m writing this on paper i got from the library. I need to pass on their legend, or they will come back for me. But, sometimes, I wish they would. Fear them, for the harvest is coming soon.

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August 11, 2014
by derpbutt
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Infernal Helix

You wake up in your bed. Everything seems normal, but then you start feeling pressure in your lungs and sweat pouring across your face, dripping from your forehead. You start feeling like somebody has their hands around your neck, but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes.

You hear a pounding sound and screaming of all pitches. You recognise the voices but you still can’t quite open your eyes as something is forcing them shut. The feeling of pressure in your lungs spreads throughout your body. You gasp for breath. All you seem to be inhaling is more pressure, as the pounding overwhelms you and you start feeling rushed, but drowsy all the same.

You bring yourself to open your eyes and are shocked by what you see. You see your hand, burning in fire, and you wander how that could have came around as you can’t bring yourself to do anything but stare. You seem to forget that this is real life as you still can’t breathe, but seem to have been distracted for a heartbeat. You flash back to reality, you’re suddenly overwhelmed by the agonising stench of burning. You can’t tell what it is precisely that you’re smelling so strongly, but all the same, it’s torturous. You still hear the screaming, as if somebody is behind you, shrieking as if they are in the clasps of the devil.

You see your entire house burning, all your possessions, soon to be ash. You have sudden flashbacks of all your memories, as if your life is flickering away in front of your eyes. You still can’t breath and you feel as if you’re about to collapse and give up like you wish you could, but you seem to be moving. Walking around your house, as you were never quite comfortable enough to call it your home, you see everything burning, but you don’t think to save anything, instead you just feel slightly relieved as the past you hate so much burns around you. All of this happens in what seems to be forever, but in reality, a second.

You fall over and can’t breathe, you struggle for breath, but that struggling only seems to bring on more pressure, pounding and torturous pain. You’re falling, but you feel almost dream like, you realise that you’re falling down the house’s staircase, catching fire as you fall. You feel as if you’re falling into hell, only worse. The sweat still coats your body but you smell your body burning as the flesh turns to the ash you’d dreamt about so many times before. You find yourself at the bottom of a tomb, you smell burning but can’t get distracted from the fact that you can’t breathe. At every struggle, you get engulfed with smoke. The pressure is still building up.

You find yourself standing outside your house. Still smelling the burning. Still unable to breathe. Still provoked by screams. But you no longer care. You look down and find yourself holding a bear. A bear you once loved. Now burning along with the rest of you. In the other hand, a lighter. You realise it is still lit, and drop it immediately. You suddenly remember. You are the monster that burned your belongings. You are the monster that is burning your family. You are the monster that started the fire. But the only thing wrong is that you wanted to burn, to burn in the hell you think you deserve.
Credit To – Anya Morgan

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August 11, 2014
by derpbutt
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Jumper

A woman was driving along an old mountain road just slightly after sunrise. She had been spending her vacation at a local resort and wanted to get home before dark.
As she traveled, she happened to spy a middle-aged looking man sitting out on the edge of a cliff. While this wouldn’t be unusual for some more adventurous tourists, this man had less then a kind of casual expression in his posture. Namely, instead of taking in the natural scenery as a whole, his face seemed affixed to the forest floor below him. He also had both of his hands planted firmly on the ground.
When he jumped over the edge, the woman instantly stopped her car and went over to the side of the cliff face. She looked out over the dense foliage below, wondering if she could contact rescue services for him. As she pulled out her phone and began to dial, she felt a pair of hands on her back. With a shove, she fell quickly to her death.

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August 11, 2014
by derpbutt
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Stars Unseen

Every night. Every night that the constellation Lacerta centered the ceiling amongst other stars, that is. It’s funny, the way stars work; the whole world in fact. Some nights, it’s hard to believe that there are some stars bellow us. Stars we can’teven see. But it was the constellation Lacerta, Lacerta, stuck in my mind.

A fairly small constellation, Lacerta isn’t noticeable by any means. Most who read this won’t even know what it is. I find very few people who ever actually look up. Some, I wonder, if they have ever took the time to look at our sky. If only we were all a bit more aware, if only we were more attuned to our realities, we would have known. If only I had known the severity of mine.

At first, it always felt like a memory. At the very back of my mind, a tiny spark existed, much like Lacerta. I didn’t even know if it was real or not, and really, how could I?

I would describe the feeling as a dream. Foggy, I would always wake up at night. I couldn’t move, just stared. Just staring blankly at the walls of my room. Every detail shone silvery: my posters, my bookshelf, my computer screen. The hollow blackness of my screen provided a stark contrast to the light of the moon. It reflected everything. I can just vaguely interpret my own bed. But a piece, just thatvery small piece, saw something else. Something that I don’t fully understand, but caused me much distress. My throat began to close up. I tried to swallow, but had no saliva, and quite frankly, I was too afraid to move. In the void of my computer screen, I made out slight, willowy figures. I wasn’t going to move my eyes, I didn’t want to. I just stayed like that for god knows how long. I can’t and won’t move. I can’t close my eyes, I should have never woken up. Why did I wake up?

This happened. This happened every night that Lacerta, small Lacerta watched me from the very highest point of the stellar sphere surrounding us.

I can’t remember anything else. The following weeks, I made many trips to the hospital. The doctor diagnosed me with multiple sclerosis and a severe case of insomnia. Whatever was happening, that small fragment of a memory or dream, I know it was hurting me. Whatever I saw, or rather didn’t see, was hurting me. I have no way to prove this; I just sit under the sky on cool nights, just staring. Tonight’s felt familiar. My heart skips a beat. Lacerta is looking down on me

Credit To – SeshaSeraph

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August 11, 2014
by derpbutt
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Hole

Hole

It’s been two days since I fell into a hole. Gravity kept slowly pushing me down, further and further into the black. Every moment the walls would get tighter and tighter. I could hear voices above me, people chatting from the street above me. I scream and scream for help but my voice could not reach them. Something caused sound only to echo down into the dammed abyss.

It had been a cold winter, potholes have become a common sight in the city. I was walking home from work, it was late and chilly. The strong winds blow on the fences causing a rattling sound to be constant. I must have past that alleyway for six years without so much of giving it a glance. However that day I heard a whimper sounding something like a dog. That is when I saw a hole. I worried an animal might be trapped and pulled out my phone to try and add some light. When I leaned over to look inside….i don’t remember how I slipped in. I only remember falling.

The hole was not a straight path down, it had a curve. Its size was so small I could not even lift my hands in front of my head. Past the first feet, my descent had been slow. Only moving inches by the hour, slowly slowly downward. The light of my cellphone was the first to die; I frantically tried dialing any number on it to no avail. Even if I could see the screen, it seemed I could not get a signal out. Hours passed and the day must have come. I could see no sun, but the streets above could be heard at their busiest. I spent hours yelling till my throat burned in pain. The people sounded so close, but I was so far down that the sun could not reach. After many more hours my mouth was dry, my tongue was swollen as I grow more and more dehydrated. My hunger did its best to keep up with my dehydration, starving I was growing weak and dizzy.

The situation had caused me to question my sanity. I went through periods of anger and grief. I feared dying and grow ever more angry and the voices of the people above, sometimes deciding they could hear me, but just ignored my plight. At times I thought I could see things moving in the darkness in front of me, but I know this should be impossible without any light. Two days I’ve been stuck in this hell, I was ready to die, I had no more hope. I was hungry, and thirsty. My body had grown tired, and weak. Even if I was saved, i doubt i look like the man i once was. I gave a curse to the voices and people above when I felt a jab in my face. I could feel a trickle of blood drip from the spot. My first instinct was to wipe the spot with my hand, but my hands could no longer move. Then I felt it again, like a pinch, and I could feel blood fill to the spot. Again this happened, sending a shock of pain down my body, after so long of being sensory deprived. The pain came more and faster, I struggled to move away but only slipped further and further down. I soon realized what was happening, something was biting me. The Bites came faster, and I could feel blood ooze over my face. I tried to scream, but I had no voice left to do so. I could not see what was eating me alive, just the scratching of small claws on rock and the pain of each tiny bite into my flesh. I pray I go into shock soon, and leave this dark place.

Credit To – BlueHero
Credit Link – http://bluefedorahorror.wordpress.com/

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August 11, 2014
by derpbutt
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Bunkers

Have you ever heard of the Atlantic wall? It was a line of Bunker placements, built and used by the Germans, to be able to fend off the possible situation of an Allied invasion, of course that happened. We all get taught a about D-Day when discussing the subject of WWII, but that is not the point I’m trying to make, you see, even after the war was over the bunkers remained, as a monument to the events of the war, most are still able to be visited but there are some that have been blocked off for the public, closed off by concrete walls disallowing anything to enter. I live in the Netherlands and close to Hoek van Holland at that, Hoek van Holland, Corner of Holland being the exact translation, was a city heavily defended by the Germans as they saw it as a possible location of invasion there are multiple bunkers set out across the long beach of it, some being closed off. My friends proposed me to join them in trying to enter one but figured I would join them.

Later that night we set out to find a bunker so we could explore it’s many chambers, but for that we needed to make an opening in one of the walls, luckily one of my friends had heard of a previous attempt made which resulted in a hole being formed in one of the bunkers . The entering of property such as the bunkers, is seen as breaking in to government property, so we made sure not to get caught or seen as we tried to find the concrete building. After a while of searching we found the one with an opening, hidden within some forestation, which would make it hard for us to get spotted. We realized upon closer inspection that it was too small for us to fit, well, too small for anyone but me, With some persuasion they succeeded in making me enter the whole to explore the place and perhaps even finding an alternate route in.

When entering the Bunker I realized it was very dark, making me hate the fact that I forgot to bring a flashlight, guided by the small streak of moonlight coming from the hole I began making my way deeper into the Bunker, using my hands as a way to feel my surroundings and get a feel of it, after a while though I began hearing a slight wheezing noise coming from behind me, I thought of it as nothing and continued making my way, a smell crept up in my nose making me grasp for it in mercy, something smelt like it was rotting in here, the slight sound of wheezing started following me again and I could hear light footsteps, I thought my friends had found an alternate route so I called for them, there was no answer. Must be my imagination I thought and kept walking.

I kept going forward a bit more taking a side turn here and there still grasping for the walls around me, until I tripped over something, falling down almost face flat only protected by my hands which landed on the object. I tried to find out what it was, as I touched the object that had made me trip I felt clothing I hoped it would’ve just been a stack of cloth materials left behind, I suddenly touched a liquid as I pulled my hand to my nose to smell, I found out that it smelt like blood, the realization of having tripped over a corpse made me frightened, at first I tried to make up false hope, it was a body left behind by the Germans, no, it was much too fresh for that, this was a freshly murdered corpse, I was shocked by the discovery but was shook away from it when I heard the wheezing again. I pulled myself up trying to see what was making the noise, I decided to make my way back and call the local authorities, only after a few minutes of walking did I realize I had been going the wrong direction, not only that but the smell of rot was getting bigger to the point that I was almost teary eyed from the stench, the walls suddenly stopped as I entered a large room and I figured out what was making the smell.
You don’t need to be able to see to know when you’re standing in a room full of bodies, the stench was emanating from this place like light from a lamp, I stood there in the middle of the room in frozen shock, one body was already bad enough, but seeing this I was about to pass out, and I was about to when the wheezing began again this time sounding like it was breathing down my neck, this feeling was confirmed when I felt small gusts of breath in my neck, I figured I would be hallucinating and tried to shrug it off. Then it touched my shoulders.

The feeling of whatever touched me was not that of a human, it felt like long sharp claws were resting on my shoulders, giving me a feeling that it could slice through my flesh with as little pressure it takes to poke someone, I didn’t know what it was, all I knew was to get the hell away from here, I dashed out of the room, not caring about anything anymore but survival, I still saw nothing but at least the body was a marker of telling me I was heading the right direction, in my mind I could see the thing pursuing me which gave me enough adrenaline to keep moving. I bumped into walls but I didn’t care, all I cared about was leaving this damned place, after a while I saw the hole I entered the bunker in I began sprinting towards it and as I almost leapt through it the thing took a hold of my leg, I felt the sensation of being clawed at making me groan in pain, he began pulling me back in, I thought this would be the end for me, until I felt my arms getting taken hold of as I got pulled out, my friends thinking I had been stuck asked me if I were okay. I looked towards my leg and saw it being bloodied witch scratch marks over it, I told them what happened and they stared at me in disbelieve, saying I must’ve gotten the wound by scraping my leg against a sharp piece of broken concrete, I looked into the hole and saw nothing but darkness.

I was taken to the hospital where my wounds were treated and I made full recovery telling my parents I was attacked by a dog. I don’t know what it was that followed me around and kept all those bodies, what I do know is that people had explored the bunker before me and were less lucky. I learned two valuable lessons, the first being: if something is blocked off it is blocked off for a reason. And second: don’t ever enter an abandoned place, because you’ll never know what you’ll find.

Credit To – Creepy Cridar

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August 11, 2014
by derpbutt
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Mother

My little brother is missing. He was supposed to come home when the street lights came on. However that was hours ago, any remaining sunlight has faded. Dad is already on his second job and won’t be home till sun up. Do i call the police? No, it has not been that long, its not like they care about this neighborhood anyway. I would be lucky if they bothered to write a report after 24 hours. I check the time, it’s 11pm. Shit, it’s getting late. I should of came home early to check on him. He’s 13 and should have been getting ready for school tomorrow.

Aiden has been pulling stunts like this since mom died. After the funeral, dad could no longer afford the mortgage on the house. We moved into this poor excuse for a city. I abandoned my college plans to aid him. To be honest, collage seemed pointless after her death. I mourned with a minimum wage job and nights at the bar. Aiden rebelled. Skipping school, and acting out in any way he could. I’ve tried to keep his worse crimes out of dad’s knowledge. Perhaps that’s stupid of me, but I feel he doesn’t need to have that weight on his shoulders.

I decide to check on his so called ‘friend.” A kid about Aiden’s age who lived down the street. A punk of a kid that will likely spend the rest of his life on the streets or in jail. His name is Johnny and I’ve hated him since I caught him keying cars near where i work. I called the police on the brat but nothing came of it except some insurance claims and “kids will be kids” talk out of his parents. His house was not far, and i found him in short order. I manage to explain what I wanted and he was candid, and even proud of telling me that him and Aiden had been throwing rocks through the windows of some abandoned buildings before splitting up.

Having a better idea where he was I move my search, there were many abandoned buildings in the area. Filled with graffiti, boarded windows, broken glass. The further i move into the decrepit parts of town the more nervous i felt. I know that many of broken down buildings were abandoned in name only, that low lives and the desperate often called them home. I pressed on, Johnny’s words sparked a memory of when we first moved into this city. There was one building that stood out from the endless row homes. It was a two story house, with peeling white paint. The windows on the bottom floor where boarded over, and I recall the windows on the second still held shards of glass. This broken home held similarities to our own home. Striking a nostalgic feeling in me when we first passed it, and am sure the same feeling was felt by Aiden. I started to feel confident i find my brother asleep on the floor of this old home, trying to relive a moment of his past.

Many of the streetlight’s in the area where broken, but I still know my way to my destination. I ignored the fear of darkness, and the unknown eyes from the houses around and made my way forward. It was only moments before i stood in front of it, the house stood just as i remembered. Peeling white paint, broken glass, even the graffiti seemed aged. All this may seem menacing to some, but i felt the same feelings of nostalgia. It made me think of my mother, and all the times she called me home to a house just like this one. I felt like i could hear her voice calling me again as i approached the house. There was no longer a door to bar entry into the home, i slowly stepped in letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. Calling my brothers name “Aiden!” I hoped no one but my brother would answer back to me. My thoughts returned to my mother, calling me and my brother upstairs when she needed us. It felt so long since i heard that sound, even if it only rang in my head I felt the urge to follow it up the steps. Each step moaned and creaked. Putting my hand on the railings to support my way I felt cobwebs cling to my hand. I quickly wiped my hand on my pants, snapping out of my nostalgia and remembering while i was here. I could see moonlight lighting the second floor of the home, glass crunched under my feet as i made my way to the top of the steps.

I looked around for signs of my brother. Investigating the broken glass on the floor i traced it to a window facing the front of the house. I could see a number of rocks on the ground, monuments to children’s destructive past time. My eyes were drawn to the back of the house, where there was only one room that still held a door on its hinges. The feelings of nostalgia swept over me once again as i heard my mother’s voice once more. A lullaby she used to sing to Aiden when he was a baby. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.” It took me a moment to understand the sound was not in my head, but coming from that room. Quickly i ran to the door and throw it open.The lullaby was silenced the moment bursted into the room. The lighting changed, and i could not see everything at first, but there was someone in front of me, standing there in the middle of the room. She had her hands wrapped around a large belly, the unmistakable bulge of a pregnant woman. Her female form was now obvious to me as my eyes adjusted. Before i got my bearings she spoke in a soothing voice “Come to me wayward child, mommy is here.” I was speechless as i heard the familiar sound of my departed mother. “You are older than most who are called to me, but I feel you seek a mother all the same” I started to walk towards her before i stopped myself. It all felt wrong, and as my eyes adjusted i know why. The woman stood there naked, raven black hair fell her sides. Her back…oh god on her back, four more limbs stretched to each side bending forward. They looked like legs, spider legs! Counting her arms and legs she had eat limbs in all.

She smiled at my hesitation, showing fangs that could rend flesh. My feet moved back, and my mind told me to run, but i saw something else in the corner. There lay my brother motionless, blood dripped out his mouth, a sheet of web held him to the floor. The monster in front of me moved with grace, turning around to follow my eyes to my brother. “You smell like him, were you looking for him?” she said with the same voice that used to wake me up for school. “My venom has already killed him, it is digesting him into an easier meal” She said sweetly. With this a rage built up inside me, months of mourning and frustration propelled me forward as i grabbed a shard of glass off the floor. I plunged towards her, tackling the creature, glass first right into her bulging stomach. A scream unlike any I have ever heard nearly deafened me, her mouth right next to my ears as we fell to the floor. On impact with the floor i could feel her fangs sink into my neck, tearing into flesh, ripping as we fell. Almost immediately i could feel my strength draining away. The woman was not faring much better, as i rolled off and away from her, her extra limbs curled forward twitching. Blood gushed from the wound i made in her bulging stomach. No, this was not blood, spiders thousands and thousands of little spiders burst from the wound abandoning their mother like a sinking ship. She was no longer moving now, the little spiders were filling the room, I managed to crawl over to my brother in the corner. I tried to peel off the webs that held him, but I no longer had the strength to do so. Collapsing to the floor I watched as the spiders started to crawl all over me, i was powerless to move in my defense. The world turned black as they covered my face, my only grace was that i could no longer feel anything. Am coming to see you mother, me and Aiden both.

I saw my mothers face in the blackness, then my brothers. Not the face i saw in the building but his smiling face, the face he used to wear when we were all together. Then I could feel them on me, crawling making my skin itch with every movement. My body twitched in response. I was starting to regain my strength. My hands were clumsy, slapping myself now. Pushing the arachnids off with every motion. I could feel bites, but a pain on my neck was worse. I put my hands on it to feel the slime of my own blood. Blood! She was not supposed to draw blood when she bite me, I’ve bleed most the venom out. I crawled, and crawled. Each inch aching, but i refused to stop. Glass, and thousands of tiny bites would not halt my escape. I made it to the steps, most of the spiders behind me, half crawling half falling down them. At the bottom i felt like I had broken something inside me. I hold in my scream as i manage to get on my feet and stumble out the door. As i saw the moon and the street lights I let it all out, I screamed as loud as I could. Losing consciousness i see the lights of the neighboring houses turn on.

Mother

Credit To – BlueHero
Credit Link – http://bluefedorahorror.wordpress.com/

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August 11, 2014
by derpbutt
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Sleepwalking (The Investigation of the Death of Jay Welk)

(START LOG)

Mr. Welk (Jay Welk’s Father): It wasn’t a homicide, nor a suicide. We know that. He was gone, as if he had left his own body – by the time he fell.

Interrogator: What do you mean Jay left his body? (Laughs) That seems like you’re entwining religion in this. I’m an Atheist, and this is a purely scientific and psychological investigation.

Mr. Welk: It just felt like our son was gone. When he started sleepwalking-

Interrogator: What? (Rolls eyes) Just start from the beginning.

Mr. Welk: It was about a week after his 14th birthday. He kept complaining that he wasn’t getting enough sleep, but we just assumed – since he was a teenager – that he was just complaining about waking up early for school. Eventually, his math – first period – teacher sent us an email saying he fell asleep in the middle of class.

Interrogator: So maybe he had insomnia so severe that it led him to his insanity.

Mr. Welk: No. It was something else.

Interrogator: Whatever… go on.

Mr. Welk: Because of the email, we sent him to bed 3 hours earlier. He still complained everyday – but less – progressively. Then one day, probably around March, he said he had a dream.

Interrogator: What was this dream about?

Mr. Welk: Jay said it was one of those dreams where he was falling. He said he was falling onto a beach, but a rocky beach. The creepy thing is, where they found his body – was on a rocky beach.

Interrogator: Interesting… go on.

Mr. Welk: Then the following night, he woke up on the bridge that goes over the creek – standing up – with his arms out. He could’ve fell if he’d leaned forward. Then he came home – and climbed up the window into his bedroom. Jay – every night – did this. He told us what was happening one morning – and we knew something was wrong.

Interrogator: What did you think was happening?

Mr. Welk: Well – at the time, I didn’t know. However – my wife was born into a very religious family – therefore – the second she found out about Jay’s sleepwalking to the bridge – she knew it was a spirit of some kind.

Interrogator: (Laughs)

Mr. Welk: (Yelling Loudly) Listen – do you want to hear my statement, or not? Because if you are going to laugh at everything in this story, maybe you aren’t the right person to be investigating this case – just because you don’t believe what I’m saying. Every person should have the right to be innocent until proven guilty – or in my case – if you’d let me continue – be proven innocent.

Interrogator: Calm down sir. (Pause) Continue.

Mr. Welk: (Pause) So, since my wife thought the cause of his sleepwalking was a spirit, she called an exorcist. The woman had to drive 8 hours, because she came from New York city. Her superstitious side of the family had preferred her over other exorcists.

Interrogator: Do you remember the exorcist’s name? She didn’t have the ID on her when you called us for the first time.

Mr. Welk: I think her name was Ms. Misteerios. She probably changed her name, but when I asked what her name was, that was what she said.

Interrogator: (Shuffles papers and scribbles name down)

Mr. Welk: Well anyway, she came about 2 weeks ago, and she entered Jay’s bedroom, locking the door behind her. She was in his bedroom for an hour, and then we heard a thump against the wall. I stepped forward and stuck my hand out to open the door, but my wife pulled me back. Then I reminded myself that I gave my wife the key. We waited for another hour. Finally, my wife unlocked the door and opened it.

Interrogator: And she was dead, right?

Mr. Welk: Yes. Just dead. No blood, no cuts. We gave her to you, and your team decided it was cardiac arrest. My wife thought the spirit killed her. (Pause) Jay continued his sleepwalking cycle for another week, and so we decided to take a break – a vacation to the shore – Bernard – and relatively close to the Bass Harbor Lighthouse. Jay was fine for the first 6 days. No complaints, no sleepwalking, but whatever disease or ghost or (pause) spirit (pause) that was plaguing him must’ve caught up to him. On the last night, he sleepwalked. All the way across the town, and up the lighthouse. He must’ve jumped this time, and he ended up at the bottom of the rocky cliff. He died. I thought he killed himself, but after thinking about it, it couldn’t have been suicide. My wife was right. It was a spirit. Because it would only make sense. The night she found out, she was gone. When I came back to the house to tell her what happened, she wasn’t there. Just gone.

(END OF LOG)

Credit To – Gogo Neverstop

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