For those pastas that are smelling less than fresh…

April 26, 2015
by derpbutt

The Siss

The Siss.

I am not one for the paranormal. The strange and unexplained can always be debunked if given a little rational thought, and whilst I enjoy a convincing story, its always just that… another story.

What I am about to share with you however, will certainly enter the realms of the strange and unexplained. I can find no rational reasons as to how or why these events have occurred, nor do I expect to find any in the days to come. That scares me. I apologise in advance for the length of this, but I feel I must not leave out any details.

I have spent most of my childhood in a town called Malvern. It is a quaint and quiet place full of green rolling hills, yawning open fields, deep dark nights and blankets of glinting stars. A beautiful place to grow up in the English countryside. We have our fair share of local tales in which we would discuss our latest concocted horror stories, designed to scare and excite those of us engaged in the usual teenage activities. I remember many nights in which I would scramble through the country, back to my house in a drunken and smoky haze, paranoia happily rooted in my brain as I dreamt up all the supposed ways in which I might meet my demise. Despite now being older and more sensible and having moved to the bustling city of Bristol, those thoughts are back.

I’ve tried to recall all these events to the best of my ability and log which days they were.


Radio. It was fantastic. A constant stream of music in which I needed to present no control over, songs would change of their own free will, only to be mildly interrupted for the occasional chatter by the resident DJ. When I was younger it played a very important role in my life, introducing me to a vast array of songs that would ultimately shape the course of my future (more than I should have hoped). My favourite station was a small local one called Soul Funktion FM, the DJ would often play all the Funk, Soul and Disco classics that had missed out on being popular when my parents were young. I’d often tape the station and bring the cassettes to school, one in particular being my most favourite. I still listen to it today.

I bring this up because one day the station made the news. The local DJ had been found dead near his cabin. The police were treating it not as a suspicious death, but rather a strange suicide. It had become apparent that the poor fellow had been slowly losing it. People had logged odd activities of his, disputes with neighbours. When I thought about it, I too had noticed a few odd things whilst listening to his station. I could recall garbled muttering at brief periods that I’d passed off merely as nothing and long pauses of silence when songs should have been played. Nothing stand out shocking, but simply slightly queer.

Now while this might not seem so strange and frightening, it is incredibly relevant as to the rest of the story. How? I’m not entirely sure yet. But I am determined to find out over the next few days.


A few months back I was with my friends playing football. It was winter, so while it was still fairly early the dark had been drawing in around us. Of course, this didn’t matter one bit as the pitch was illuminated by the floodlights, so we could see without any trouble. Almost everyone had deserted the park by now except us, best not to hang around in a dark city park, as everyone knows. There appeared to be one individual that had caught my friend Connors eye on the outskirts of the gloom however. Making a joke of how we now had a fan he pointed them out to us. The individual had been stood unnoticed and silent, watching us for the best part of half an hour before I realised that they weren’t actually watching. Instead they were in fact facing the other way, with their backs to us, staring out in to nothing. By the time we came to leave the person had left and I thought nothing more of it. That was until a few weeks ago.


Walking back from the shops I decided to take a short cut. It was the middle of the day so I decided to risk taking the route that went through the back alleys. About half way through the journey I came across a figure up ahead, making my mind instantly uneasy. As I drew closer I realised why. It was the shape of a man, one that was quite hard to make out, but also one that was somewhat familiar. It was the person from the park. They were to the far left of the alley, stood under a door arch that created a hard shadow across them from the glaring sun above. I was wearing sunglasses which seemed to make it even darker still. I stole a quick glance at them. It was hard to determine their build as they wore a large black tattered coat that covered most of the body, save for his bald head and dirty bare feet. Stranger still was that they were facing away from me, staring intently on the barred and graffiti scribbled door, seemingly taking no notice of my passing. The face was obscured by his large collar and I picked up my pace, hurrying home as fast as I could.

It wasn’t until I was with my friends that night relaxing that I decided to regale my brief and bemusing story. To my surprise I wasn’t alone in seeing this strange man around the city. Others told me that they too had seen a strange fellow, presumably a crazy homeless man, staring at walls on his lonesome. It became apparent that none of us had seen his face. Why was he always looking at nothing? We ended up laughing it off and deciding there were a lot of strange people around nowadays, suggesting that Jay would be one too if he kept smoking DMT, watching him load up his pipe and pass it around the room. Still, it had me thinking that night in bed… Who was he?


The next night our suggestion started to become a reality. It was the weekend and a few of us were listening to one of my Disco recordings and getting high on trips, remarking on how great the music sounded and what great taste the DJ must have had. It was at this point that Jay took a big hit on his pipe, sat opposite me staring out the room and in to whatever magical reality he could now perceive. Suddenly he started to get very agitated. His body started thrashing wildly and his stare stayed fixed in position. We worried that he might be having some kind of bad reaction and were about to call for an ambulance, before he came back to reality and the DMT wore off. His face was pale and his eyes watered as he broke his glance away from out of the door and back to me. I’ll never forget his next words.

“His face” he gasped.

A few hours later we managed to discern that Jay thought he had seen the homeless man in our hallway, only he had turned around to stare at him. When we questioned him about his face he could give us no answer, he could not remember. We decided that this was a perfectly reasonable reaction considering the discussions we had been having recently and the dose of the trip. Not to mention we were also tripping and trying to stay on the positive side of things. Later as we left our local club, the Black Swan, we headed back home after a hard night of partying. We were looking forward to bed and resting our aching body and tired minds. Jay was back to his usual self and complaining of tinnitus on the walk home, probably from standing next to a heavy dub rig all night.

We put on my favourite mix and wound down the night, most of us asleep by the time the mix reached its usual 4 minute pause, before it jumped back in to Cool And The Gang. It was at this point Jay complained that the speakers had become unplugged, making their familiar hissing sound. I remember him going to plug them back in, only to find that they were in. Looking at my laptop I knew there were still a few minutes of silence left. I told him he should sleep, turning off the music and noticing his nosebleed as he turned back to face me. He was becoming a nuisance and getting to be quite the handful. More so than usual. How little I knew.


One week later we met for a kick around in Eastville park, a few beers and to listen to some music in the warm weather. And there he was. He was stood next to the edge of the park, staring in to the trees behind with his back to us. Jay was the first to spot him and quite rightly freaked out, covering his ears and looking to the floor. I won’t lie, we were all a little spooked by him now and hoped he’d wander off and leave us in peace. After a good ten minutes of discussing him we found out that a few of our other friends had spotted him lately and still, he stayed right where he was, perfectly still.

It was at this point Mike got frustrated. He stood up, declared that he was going to go talk to the man and find out what he was doing, so he strode away. As he approached the man we all went quiet, eager to see whether it would escalate in to a conflict and if we’d be needed to rush over and intervene. Mike could be seen arriving at the man, who was still stood in place, and judging from his hand gestures began talking rather wildly. He reached out to grab the man, but just before doing so the man turned to face him. Mikes body slightly obscured our view but we could see that Mike had calmed down from his lack of gestures and likewise stillness. A moment later the man turned back around and walked away, head bowed low, leaving Mike stood still looking like he was his double. When he finally decided to turn around and come back we asked him what the man had said.

“Nothing” he told us.

“Well what did he look like” I asked.

“I don’t remember” he answered bluntly. And that was that.

We didn’t see the homeless man for a while afterwards. We had other pressing matters to attend to. Jay had started to lose his head a bit and we were all concerned for his well being. It was clear that he hadn’t been sleeping much and he complained of headaches and a ringing in his ears. To make matters worse his sleep deprivation was starting to make him hallucinate both visually (he’d often get flashbacks) and musically. He’d complain that sometimes he could hear things in the ringing and would always be looking over his shoulder. The doctors prescribed him medicine. As usual he overdid it, abusing the opiates and becoming a zombie of the group. Sometimes he would sit with us and black out, finding it hard to recall what it was that he was doing. Not that he’d ever really be doing much anyway. I wasn’t sure if I preferred the agitated Jay or the mindless Jay more.


It wasn’t until I got a call from the police asking me to come and pick up my friend that things got noticeably weirder. I was told that they had found Jay in a nearby wood. He had injured his hands breaking a shop window and presumably run away before blacking out from overdosing and being picked up by the police. The remains of a fox were with him, although it was said that an animal had killed it and dismissed as evidence. Jay was insistent that he hadn’t done anything wrong and profusely accused me and the police for not listening to him. He told me that he had proof, in a state of paranoia he now recorded his life on a phone, pleading for me to listen to what it was that he had captured.

I have the recording. It features Jay mumbling to himself as he plodded along the street and then going quiet. I told him the same as the police had, that it proved nothing. He urged me to listen again, confused as to why I could not hear whatever proof it was he thought he had captured. I reiterated that there was nothing on it other than the sound of his walking, stopping and starting. Leaving him with his parents back in Malvern I returned, stressed and worried for my friend.


Two days afterwards I received a call from his parents. Jay was in hospital and in a bad way. He had returned to Bristol on his own and gone back to the same spot in which the police had picked him up earlier. A dog walker had heard his cries for help and found him lying on the floor, passed out from shock. I went to visit him the following evening and was appalled by what I saw. Jay had lost the lower part of his arm and the remaining stump was bandaged up. He was lucky to be alive. He looked gaunt and fragile and rather lifeless behind the eyes. Pressing him for details he could tell me nothing, he could not recall a thing. Another black out. His story made the paper the next day, they called him dangerous and described the event as the work of a crazy man, thanking that nobody else was hurt. Apparently he had burgled the shop from earlier, hiding a hand saw out in the woods and upon returning, proceeded to saw through his flesh and cut his own arm off. The arm has not been found.

Understandably worried, his parents confronted me at the hospital and asked me what had been going on with their son, to which I decided to tell them the truth. They deserved it. I told them how he had been overdoing it a little with the partying lifestyle and how we had all been concerned before his health started to decline. I explained that the doctor had prescribed medication and that Jays addictive personality had led to him abusing that too, often causing black outs. My experience with opiates had often resulted in the same thing. His parents knew he was hooked on drugs and told me that they had purposefully removed them from him on his return home. This had me intrigued, he couldn’t remember the event. How could he have blacked out if he had not taken anything? Further to this they told me that he had been locked in his room, admitting to their despair in looking after him, waiting for him to be sectioned or recover on his own. How had he got out in such a state?


Distressed I returned home to friends and broke the news. Expectedly, everyone was greatly upset. It had been a long time coming but nobody had anticipated anything quite like this. We puzzled over the events that had lead to this as I suddenly realised the recording that Jay had shown me. I decided that someone else might have a better idea of what to make of it. Playing the recording out to the room we all sat in silence, listening intently for any clues that we might find. I played it several times over. At the end of the last play through I leant back.

“It was at least worth a try” I exclaimed

I couldn’t find anything odd about it. All but one of us agreed. Mike declared we were all deaf and that we should listen more carefully, could we not hear the static noise growing louder and louder? He grew increasingly impatient as we all told him there was nothing to be heard. I turned the volume up, only to hear more silence. That was when Mike got a nosebleed and had to leave the room due to his dizzy state. It was then I noticed the dark rings around his eyes and asked him if he was ill. He hadn’t been sleeping, he told me that he had an ear infection but that the damned doctor wouldn’t prescribe him anything.

Having seen similar problems in Jay my concerns grew for Mike. Out of curiosity I asked him to listen to the old mix I had recorded long ago. It played out to the middle part where the 4 minute silence began, only Mike contended this, stating that it wasn’t silence. Seeing that he was being examined by me and starting to look a little crazy he left abruptly.

I was completely caught up in this strange phenomenon and decided to google in to the death of the DJ from those years past. The cabin had been discovered with the remains of dead sheep in it. It looked like an animal had mauled them, but there were no records of the man owning a dog. It turns out he had committed suicide in there by taking a bread knife to his own ankles and proceeding to cut his own feet off. He had then crawled out of his cabin and half way across a field before dying of blood loss, he was found the next day. There was no sign of a struggle and the knife was confirmed as his own. The feet were never found.


The incident sounded all too familiar. I am now worried for Mikes safety. I am frightened for the safety of others. I am disturbed by the actions Jay has committed. I am tormented by the past events I uncovered. I am fearful of what else I may find.

I am now only lead to presume that the homeless man is in some way connected to all this. Mike and Jay are the only people to have seen him properly. Did he say something to them? Did he say something to the DJ years before?

If anyone else has seen this man or heard similar stories, please get in touch with me. I will continue to search for answers and will update this post when I am able to do so. I must get to the bottom of this!


I was passing through the park today and noticed a poster asking for information on a stranger who had been hanging around nearby. Apparently several dogs have gone missing and he is wanted in connection. After asking around some kids told me that they had seen him on the edge of the park, maybe he was living in those trees? A few other homeless are known to sleep there. I ventured in and there are certainly places that have been slept in, nobody was around however. What I did find was more disturbing though. Several animal bodies had been strewn around further inside in a sickening manner, this explains where the missing dogs have disappeared to.


The first thing I did this morning was notify the police as to the missing dogs whereabouts. I said I had more information than I actually do, they have asked me to come down to the station in a few days and look at some CCTV to help identify the suspect. Hopefully I’ll be able to catch a glimpse of the homeless man.

I’ve also found an interesting story on Google. A man from my home town was arrested on January 1st last year. Apparently he was accused of killing the neighbours cat and his wife called the police, worried by his apparent attempts at self harm. They decided to let him go as he was suffering from dementia. Two days later the police were called to his house by a concerned neighbour. The man had gone round asking for help and said that his wife could not wake from her chair. He was in a state of confusion. Police found his wife dead at the bottom of the stairs with over 60 injuries. The man himself had bruised hands and deep self inflicted wounds to his upper body. He seemed to have no knowledge of her death and was declared mentally ill.

Several other stories have cropped up in the Midlands area, maybe one every couple of years. Could these be in connection? Why the animals? Why the self inflicted wounds? I’ll look further in to it.


Mike rang me. He sounded in a bad way and told me he was starting to forget parts of the day. It’s Freds birthday so I suggested that he come out with us, that way I can keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t do anything unusual. We had been out at a busy pub and so far Mike had seem tired, but otherwise OK. It wasn’t until we were making our way back that it all started to go wrong for us. Mike started to get a headache and was complaining of the noise, so we picked up our pace. As we made our way through the underpass we spotted him. Dressed in black and blocking our path. I told them to run but Mike wouldn’t move. Fred had hold of him and was trying to drag him back when Mike suddenly came to life, grabbing hold of Fred and pinning him to the spot. I noticed the man turning around just in time but could do nothing for them. I closed my eyes, turned and ran. I left them there. I left my friends to whatever he is. I feel awful.


I arrived at the police station this morning to look through the CCTV archives. We found several parts where the homeless man was in the picture but he was always looking at the floor or away out of the park. That’s when I remembered the first time we’d seen him. I asked them to find the tapes from 13/11/14 and after a patient wait they showed me what they had. There it was. A still of him, standing tall and proud, right in front of the camera. It was pretty dark but officer Cartwright manipulated it and printed off a zoomed in picture. The homeless man looked about 50, round features, a flat nose and no hair. He looked like a typical thug off of some TV shows I’ve watched, only his eyes seemed to be covered by the dark still. Or else they were the dark.

Stranger still, I noted that my friends had gone missing after our run in with this man. The police looked in to it for me. It turns out that they are at home and not missing at all. Why hadn’t they rang me? They told them that they don’t remember ever being attacked, which made for an awkward conversation with the police. I can’t tell them what’s going on, they’ll think I’m crazy. I don’t even know what’s going on anyway. I’m glad that they are safe and well but I can’t help wonder why? He could have had us.


I was listening to my favourite mix whilst I ate my tea. I almost choked on my food. The 4 minute silence isn’t silence at all. It sounds like I have tinnitus, but it happens each time I play it. There’s a high pitched buzz of white noise, almost like a hissing, all the way through and loudest where there was silence. I don’t understand. Why? I can only think that it must have been the image at the police station, it has been my only interaction with him since. I don’t want to go crazy. I can’t go crazy, I’m trying to solve this. I must solve this.


I passed through the park today and was horrified to see that face on the information board. The police must have put it up. How many people have looked at that face? How many people have I unknowingly affected? I tore it down and looked for others but it seems to be the only one.


This can’t be happening. I’ve been listening to the mix every day. Each day it sounds different, less like white noise. This hissing, it sounds like a voice. I haven’t been outside in days, no interaction with anyone. Occasionally I can hear the sound with no recording or music, it’s my own ears doing it. It’s hardly noticeable. When I’m in bed, fear prevents me from sleeping most the night. This morning I woke up with dried blood on my face, it must have been a nosebleed. Other nights I’m simply searching on the internet the whole time, trying to find out more about what this could be.

I found a story about a man who killed himself through decapitation in Herefordshire. He’d been accused of killing livestock on his own farm. He was out on bail when they found him still lying in a make-shift guillotine. Suicide they said. They never recovered his head.

Well I have. It’s him. It’s the same man. This is the man who has been haunting us all this time. There’s no mistaking his face, its so recognisable. That round bald head with a wide flat nose. Only this time his eyes were distinguishable, small and sunken, a sad pale blue.


I had to get out. I went to the shop to buy some provisions, as I’d almost ran out of food. I felt nauseated by what I saw there. Front page of the newspaper was an image of Mike. How had I not heard of this? He’d hung himself from Bristol suspension bridge at low tide where they’d found him sticking out of the mud. The height of the drop had wrenched his head from his body. The police were still looking for the rest, they believe it has been carried further downstream. They said he had been battling with depression. He wasn’t. He’d stopped going outside. So have I. He refused to talk to his friends and shut himself away. It sounded a lot like me. It could’ve been me.


I’ve asked Fred and my friend Carla to stay with me. I’m no good on my own, I’m frightened of what may happen to me. To both of us. I think they are pretty worried about us too, but mainly because we must seem to be going crazy. Two webcams have been set up in my room as a security measure. I’ve played the mix to Fred and he agrees it’s definitely not our ears. It’s not a noise, it’s a voice now. I can’t make the words out but Fred tells me he can. It’s asking for help, almost begging persistently.

What’s stranger still is the recording of Jay. The hissing voice is there too. Still I can’t quite make out what it is saying but Fred insists that its almost like a list of commands. That must be it. Jay was telling the truth.


We can hear it. The hiss. It’s almost indistinguishable from tinnitus, but its at the same time for us both. Stopping and starting together. I understand why people passed it off as nothing for a long time. It must have been following Fred as I’ve hardly encountered it until now. You can tell it’s nearby from its incessant whining. It must be fairly close.

Carla also found me outside covered in dirt digging earlier.

“That’s twice today” she said. “At least you weren’t talking to yourself this time”.

I told her I don’t remember going outside.

“That’s what you said earlier”.

That’s a lie. I remember the second time. I came to outside, in front of my neighbours dog. Well, what was left of their dog. I promptly began to bury it in the flower bed before Carla found out, I can’t let her think I killed my neighbours dog. I wouldn’t kill their little dog. It killed that little dog. But how did it know it was there? How did it get the dog from inside? With my help?

I know Carla is starting to think that we’re crazy. I saw her texting people. She might be seeking help. I had to steal several minutes away from her just to write this. She just doesn’t seem to understand. She can’t hear. She doesn’t know.


We had two visitors today. The first was the neighbour asking if we’d seen their dog. I had, but of course I told them I hadn’t. The second was neighbourhood watch with a letter. Reports had been made of a man in a black coat hanging around the area recently. My heart sank as I thanked them and closed the door. If what I was about to open was that bald empty face staring back at me then the whole neighbourhood was about to fall victim to whatever it was that I had. It wasn’t his face.

It was Jay. There was no mistaking the same figure that had been following us these past few months, but with Jays face. His eyeless face. It wasn’t a great picture, the thing almost looked like it was wearing sunglasses, but I knew better. The rest of the night we spent crying together. I refused to show Carla the image, I can’t let her fall victim to the same fate we have. At the very least I might be able to save someone.


It’s over. The police will be here soon. I called them.

Again, I remember nothing. Waking to the sight of blood was the biggest shock of my life. In it were the bodies of Fred and Carla. I watched the video again and again trying to make sense of it. We’re all in my bedroom sleeping when Fred picks up my pen knife. It’s not even a big knife, I should have moved it out of the house though. It has a small saw blade for cutting twigs off, which he then proceeded to take to his shoulder. The shouting woke both of us up and Carla tried to stop Fred. I just simply stand and watch.

That’s when I watch my own hands grab my friend Carla by the hair and drag her to the desk. The desperation in her voice almost matches the panic in her face. I do it right in front of one of the cameras, her head hits the corner of the desk over and over. She goes limp after the first hit but I don’t stop. In the other camera you can see Fred pick up the knife and resume where he left off, like nothing is even happening, like he does this all the time. The whole while the hiss plays loudly in the background, screaming at Carla in time with myself and praising Fred. It’s messed up. I’m disgusted with myself. I know it wasn’t me but I can’t stop looking at my own hands like I’m to blame.

I could delete the video, try and hide the bodies. Try and get out of this mess. But I won’t. I think the safest place for me will be a prison. I’ll be safer behind thick concrete walls and Iron bars. I explicitly asked for any officer other than Cartwright. Just as well, he’s off duty with some illness. The best I can do now is post this online and hope that someone finds it of interest and can help, while I sit here and wait for them.

I can’t tell you how it came to choose us, only that I’ve inadvertently chosen it many more. I can’t tell you what it is either, or how it travelled distances so quickly and seemingly broke in to houses. I can’t tell you what it will look like, it can change. All I can tell you is that hissing in your ears, that’s it. It’s close.

The police will think I’m dead crazy. You know I’m not.

– Sissop

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April 26, 2015
by derpbutt

I’m Eric’s Best Friend

I’m Eric’s best friend. We met by a creek near where he lived. I had been all alone, and he had been too. I remember him asking why I had been abandoned, in bad shape, left to lay by the muddy bank while the gunk soaked my back. I don’t exactly remember what I told him that time, but all I see vividly, was the very thing I had found most important: His hand, in my hand, as he led me to the place I could learn to call home from that very day on. So we walked away from that lonely creek and towards a place that wasn’t as gloomy.
The rest of my memories, after that day, are filled with him. We played together, danced together, laughed together, and even cuddled up in bed with each other. We used to call ourselves brothers, even though we looked nothing alike, and would pretend we could protect each other from the nightmares that loathed inside his closet.
He was like my guardian angel, and I was his. All I knew was, that Eric was the one thing in life I loved more than anything. I loved him more than the air I could breathe, or the body that contained my soul and, in fact, I believed that I could give anything for Eric, anything he so desired.
Even his family was real supportive. They cared for me the same way they cared for him. Even the sister, who had recently brought home another friend, just like myself, seemed to love me like I had become another brother to her. The friend I told you of, the one the sister brought home, didn’t seem to like me much though.
I got the chance to talk to him once, when Eric and his sister left us in the room together, allowing his big beady eyes to intimidate me. I asked him why he seemed to always avoid me and I remember him saying “It’s because you don’t know,” And, “We aren’t like them. They aren’t like us. We can never communicate the way they do.” After I had asked why, he simply replied, “Because certain forces in the world want to keep things balanced.” He did a laugh then. “Imagine if we were ever let talk. That would drive them mad.”
I didn’t understand. I could talk. Well, to Eric anyways, and we seemed to be communicating just fine. I certainly couldn’t feel any forces holding me back, but I guess that was in the past. Now, things are different.
In Eric’s college years, we grew a bit apart. I’m not saying that we stopped living together, no. We had our own apartment, and we had been quite happy there. I remember Eric once telling me lots of exciting things about being able to live by yourself, and how having an apartment to just the two of us would be so much fun. But then he stopped, looking at me with a kind of sad smile, the kind you would give to someone like your ex or something, and he spoke horrible things like, “But I guess you wouldn’t understand, would you?”
I had gotten mad. How would I not understand? I was the one who most understood. I would have hit him over the head, but he had grown substantially taller than me, and alas my hand couldn’t reach that high.
I remember usually keeping myself to one corner of the room, the corner he least visited, and as the weeks rolled by and my Eric seemed to only get busier, we didn’t get many chances to talk. There were nice nights, like the one time he brought me over to the bed with him, and we sat together, him drinking coffee while he talked about his days and how everything had been going. I listened all the while, lovingly gazing at him.
But those nights weren’t all there was at this point in our lives. One day, when we were having our common coffee session, he brought up a difficult question. “Why don’t you show yourself?” He asked. “Why don’t you talk, why don’t you do anything?” There was a bit of quavering in his voice and I noticed he was crying. The coffee mug was now shaking violently in his hand, and I know that no matter how much I wanted to reach out to hold onto it before it fell, I remember I couldn’t. My limbs wouldn’t move, and I couldn’t get my mouth to open no matter how much I tried.
I was completely frozen, and never before had I felt so helpless, so apart from him. But after a while of just staring at each other, after he had still gotten no answer from me, he sighed, got up, and simply left the room. I remember at that moment, how much I had wished I had answered, or how much I wished I could reach out and touch his hand, but even then, I guess I sort of knew, that there was indeed something holding me back. There was a force that wanted me to suffer more than any living being on the planet.
That was the night, the night we would speak our very last words to each other. I was in the corner as usual, wishing I could cry my eyes out, because I knew Eric was crying his out in bed. I could hear the soft sobs, sending floods of pain and regret into me every time, and I remember how much I wanted to reach out to him, and how much I wanted to hold him, but I knew I couldn’t.
That’s when we heard the front door of the apartment, making sounds. The lock’s jiggling was faint, but audible in the still, eerie flat. I remember Eric jumping out of bed, both of us stuck in the roots of terror, unable to break free for several minutes. It was as if we had been trying to reassure ourselves that that was definitely not the front door making sounds, but a branch outside the window, scratching against it. But you see, why would there be a tree branch high enough to scratch the windows of the eighteenth floor?
It was when the front door had burst open, letting the smashing sound echo into the apartment, that Eric made a leap for my corner. He grabbed me, and I guess this had been his first instinct, he began holding onto me like the sun was not going to rise the next day. I kept yelling at him in my mind, to phone the police, to call for a neighbour, anybody, but since he could not hear me, my poor Eric simply held tight.
And even when the doors blockading our bedroom flew open, even when we could see the outlines of a hooded figure in black through the dark, and even when we caught a glint of his shiny knife with all its bloody luster, sparkle in the moonlight seeping in through the curtains, Eric did not let go. I guess we both sort of knew at that moment we were facing the grim reaper, or at least the reaper in a more human form, because none of us made a sound. No scream to wake the neighbours or anything. We just stared at each other, all three of us.
The figure smiled, and I still remember this blood curdling smile today, gnawing at the back of my mind from the depths of my memories. The figure smiled at us, and even though we couldn’t see him properly, we knew it was there.
Eric was frozen behind me, and I could feel tears roll down his cheeks and onto my head, as he squeezed me tighter with every breath. I think he had been hoping, hoping I would pounce into action at the moment, save him, drive the evil away just like we used to pretend we could with the monsters in the closet. Maybe we could laugh about it after even, announcing again how we were the bravest in all the land, fighting away monsters and going on quests to save damsels in distress.
And I really, really wish we could have.
But I could feel all of Eric hope flush away as the man crept closer to us, kneeling down to meet us and pull me away from Eric’s arms. He tried to hold on, and even gave out a scream as I finally was tugged away and thrown to the other side of the room.
I suppose that scream would have been loud enough to wake a neighbour, but even if they had heard, none of them did a thing. Shame really, how we tend to ignore more than we should.
Well, what happened next is beyond what I would ever have imagined for me and Eric in the future. It wasn’t happy. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t the happily ever after we had always dreamt at all. No, because I had never imagined that someone would be repeatedly driving a knife into my best friend’s chest in my future.
I would never dream of watching the blood gush out of his open wound and seep onto the drenching carpet below. I could never fathom why the man felt like he needed to drag the bloodied knife down from his chest towards the belly button, revealing the grotesque insides of a once happy, smiling person. I couldn’t watch as the life finally left Eric’s eyes after that last gurgle of blood left his mouth. And I definitely couldn’t watch as the figure, turned around to reveal a black hoodie, painted in fresh red.
If I could have cried, I think at that moment, no force on Earth could have stopped me. But instead, I was invited to watch the figure laugh his head off, like he had just watched this unspeakably hilarious thing on TV. He then got up, and seemed to remember I was there, watching him.
He came over to me, and used his clammy hands to pick me up and bring me close to his face. I couldn’t make out the face because of the dark hood, but I could smell his rancid breath leak out of his mouth. It was then he said to me, “What a cute teddy bear.” And I think this is what finally caused the blood in my veins to boil. After he had brought me over, and placed me on my Eric’s emotionless corpse, he started laughing again, as he let Eric’s bloody stomach soak my back.
This reminded me of that day by the bank. I almost expected another miniature Eric to walk into that room, and pick me up again, brushing the muck off my back, and offering me my precious home. In his arms, I would forever stay then, and this time for sure, I would not let him down. I would prove to him that I could move, that I could speak, that I could do anything, and everything.
I began screaming, inside myself, screaming for Eric to give me another chance. I wanted to show him I could start again. Maybe we could go back to the times of our past and fight off the monsters in the closet over and over, and maybe this time I would be able to hold a wooden sword in my paws too. Maybe even I could eat the famous pancakes his mother made this time, or prove the sister’s friend wrong, or maybe, just maybe, Eric would make me a cup of coffee too, and we could both drink some, talking about our days.
And I think that it was after this, and perhaps because that force had finally decided to release me, I felt a wetness swell under my eyes.
A tear drop.
A single tear drop running down my face, and dropping onto Eric’s lifeless body. That’s when started feeling sensations in my body that I’d never felt before. That’s when I remember thinking, maybe my chance had finally come.
As stunned and dazed as I was, There’s one thing I remember doing that night, that I know the force allowed me to do with all its heart.
As the still laughing maniac began to exit the room, I remember exactly what I did. I crawled on all four paws, pacing myself slowly out the door behind him, my eyes full of vengeance and a type of menacing feeling in my heart I’d never felt before.
And even today I remember the satisfying screams of that clueless psychopath, echoing throughout the building that night.

Credit To – Potatoes

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April 26, 2015
by derpbutt
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Corridors: The Wexley Hotel

Whether you’re at school, in a museum or office building, you may very well have to walk through corridors to get to one room or area to another. Long corridors in particular, that makes one’s walk to their designation seem so far, can sometimes make you think that the doors, windows and scenery you pass are all the same, and getting lost makes you feel like you’ve been to the same place over again. Such long corridors, in fact, might not lead you to your designation at all, or even let you escape it.

You can find one as such in the Wexley Hotel; a hotel humble and simple in design. All hotel room floors has corridors uniform in design, the only way to know where you are is from the room numbers and of course, the location of the lifts and emergency stairs. This story follows the experiences of a normal office-worker, that we will simply refer to as “John”, who was staying in one of Wexley Hotel’s International branches.

John flew over and traveled to his hotel, where upon reaching it, he strode over the receptionist’s counter. The receptionist handed him his keys, and he heads off nonchalantly to the elevator, dragging along his red luggage. Inside, he checked his keys to see what room and floor he’s staying at, and clicked the fourth floor, humming along the tune of the elevator music. His room was standard, and after settling down, he informed his co-worker who will be sharing the room where it was.

Not long after, he received a reply from his co-worker to come meet him at the lobby. So John walked out the room. The corridors were bright, and he turned left to get to the elevator. He walked on. And on. And he continued until he thought, that the elevators could not have been this far away from his room. He stopped for a moment to look at the room number he was closest to, and realized that it was his own room. He was getting freaked out now, and walked on to see what the number of the next room was. It was his room number, as well. He turned back, but the moment he stepped into the opposite direction, the corridors grew dimmer. He felt his dread rise. He changed his mind and decide to go forward instead, but as before, no matter how long he walked, he never reached the elevators. He walked quicker, but as his pace quickened, the corridors grew darker and darker. He slowed down. His heart was beating loud.

Each of his footsteps echoed. With the corridors being so dim now, it seem to sound louder. He tried opening a door of a room, but it was locked. That’s when he heard it; when he took a step, another footstep, faint and faraway, can be heard. Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap. He stopped in front of another room, tried to open it, but the same as before, it was locked. Now there was one more footstep echoing his as he walked. Each step he took, the sounds of these other footsteps get louder, closer to him. He tried opening one more door, then one more footstep joined in. He ran. The footsteps also ran, getting closer, ringing louder as they nearly caught up with John. He was starting to cry now, until he desperately tried to kicked down a door– and succeeded.

The door opened to another corridor; the elevators at the end of it– a half-wall sized window showing the outside world he longed to go out into. John rushed down the corridor, he dared not look behind him because those footsteps were so close, but as he ran, he glimpsed to his side when he passed by a row of mirrors adorning the corridors… And saw horrible, open-mouthed corpses, lined up against the walls. He screamed. He ran hard and closed his eyes, not wanting to see anymore, until he bumped hard against the glass window, falling back. He startled some passer-bys at the other side of the window, who worriedly looked at him.

John looked behind him. The corridors were lit normally again, and the mirror was gone, alongside the sound of the footsteps. He made it. He grinned and motioned at the curious onlookers that he was alright, and pressed the elevator button.

That’s when he realized. This was the fourth floor. Those onlookers shouldn’t be standing there. He turned his head towards the window…

He was right.


“Miss, are you sure? Please try again, John says he’s already checked in!”

“I’m sorry sir,” The receptionist replies, her accent strong, but her English clear. “Your friend has not checked in. Moreover, we don’t have that room number here.”

“You don’t? How come?”

“This room number… is on the fourth floor. You see sir, number four is regarded as the number of death in most Asian countries, including here. So if a building has a fourth floor, it’s bad luck, and you will probably almost NEVER see a fourth floor in any elevator.”

“Even here?”

“Especially here. If you go inside our elevator, you’ll see there’s no fourth floor. After the third floor the number skips to the fifth floor. Same with the next numbers with a four in it– fourteen, twenty-four, and so on.”

And in some cases, dear readers, the fourth floor is a gateway to the realm of the dead itself…

Credit To – Aliser

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April 26, 2015
by derpbutt

God’s First

In the beginning of the world before your father created the herds of man he created me. I am God’s first. Before man and woman was created, I stalked in the nights in the first garden. The many new creatures showing up created by your father became the first world. I am old so old I met the snake with the apple. This world was mine to hunt in. Than you showed up.

People like to believe the world before was a Utopia with no pain or death, but hunters were there ;hunters were always there. We who prey upon the weak and the unweary. I am the father of predators-the claws, teeth, improved senses, I have them all. You will think of me as some great evil or a reflection of human demons but this isn’t true; I am a creature. I live for the hunt. I do it for the need to eat not a personal vendetta like people for I am the primordial beast. I am the thing you hid from in the night and scared away with your flames. I who has sunken eyes and pale skin the one who you all fear because I have always been there watching the outskirts of your towns. After the millennia and continental division I have had every prey, and it is the same hunt except for you.

You who believe that you are the apex predator and believe that you have conquered your environment are my favorite meal. You believe that you are God’s sons and daughters but you forget he had many children. I am the older brother of Adam and his children won’t even believe in me today, but that doesn’t really bother me; a prey item that doesn’t know about you is an easy meal.

I can hear it again, another adolescent male has wandered into my woods. It is the young ones that are the best eating. I hear his footsteps in the woods. He moves through the trees like he is the king of my home. I have eaten many kings in my life. His heart beat is loud to me and I know where he is at all times. Now it is too late for him, he is mine.

I climb into the trees and throw stones in the direction of his path to mimic the sounds of footsteps. Immediately he stops and looks around. My body is hidden behind the mass of leaves and branches of the oak tree. I hear the boys heart speed up and he begins to walk back in the direction he came in, so I make the howl of a wolf in the direction of the path he took and off he was running into my trap. I watch his progress like a spider watches a fly. Soon the boy spots a clearing in the trees and runs for the open space, but falls short and down into my underground lair. His legs crack as he falls to the bottom of my trap.

Calmly I walk back to my home following the hypnotic sounds of his screams. This meal is worth the effort; it is always satisfying eating your catch. Now it is time for my meal. I crawl down into the hole where the boy is. It is dark and smells like wet leaves. The boy is delirious, crying, and screaming but I can’t afford more people finding me so I walk to him. As soon as he sees me he was petrified by fear no doubt. No other prey stops fighting when it sees its hunter. I walk up to him open my hands and right before he screams again I silence him forever with my claws. I can hear his thin neck crack and feel the warm trickle of blood on my hands. His flesh is delicious and warm in my mouth. This is the proper end of any prey in the wilderness.

Wait, I can hear another heartbeat…
Here I come.

Credit To – Mr.Clark
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April 26, 2015
by derpbutt

Espejo, Espejo.

I arrived at the house a few minutes after 9 p.m., my forehead decorated with droplets of sweat I’d acquired from practically sprinting there. If I’d have walked, I would have been unfashionably late and, since I was eager to make a good first impression, the best option had been to run the final few blocks.

My mum had informed me that the Ortegas paid their babysitters generously, for they had far more money than they did sense. With that in mind, I’d eagerly accepted her offer for me to babysit the Ortega children whilst they dined with my parents. Somewhere exotic, I presumed, since it would be Ricardo Ortega paying for the meals that time, and his pockets were always far from empty.

I knocked on the door to their luxurious, detached house, which was easily twice the size of my terraced home. Magdalena opened the door with a smile, her figure complimented by a deep red dress and matching heels. She seemed flustered.

She welcomed me in hurriedly, and I caught sight of Ricardo frantically adding a red tie to an elegant, black suit. He seemed agitated, and greeted me only with a glance of acknowledgement.

“The children are already in bed,” Magdalena informed me, her Spanish accent incredibly evident, “They should be no trouble. We’ll be back at around 11:30”.

This was going to be easier than I thought; I could spend the next few hours living the life of luxury, with the Ortega’s 50” smart TV to keep me company. Ricardo said nothing as he led his wife outside, closing the door behind him. The clock read 21:09.

I flicked through channels constantly, unable to settle on one programme for more than a few minutes. Frustrated, I was about to turn it off and find other means of entertainment when I heard the talking.

And the giggling.

It was coming from upstairs. I glanced at the clock with a frown: 21:41. Reluctantly, I climbed the spiral staircase to the second floor, where I was greeted by a long, dark corridor. Excluding the minimal light present from the downstairs chandelier, this floor was tyrannized in shadows. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed the girl.

She was sat closest to the far wall, whispering incoherently, a large mirror held firmly in her hands. Suddenly aware of my presence, she gasped softly, and drew the mirror close to her chest protectively. “Who are you?” She asked, timid.

“I’m Ryan,” I took a few daring steps towards her, “I’m babysitting tonight, our parents are good friends.” I now stood just a few feet away from her. Her grip loosened on the mirror, and delicately, she placed it back against the wall.

“My name is Marcela.” Her accent was much less prominent than her mothers. She couldn’t have been any older than seven.

“Well, Marcela, I think you should be in bed, don’t you?”

“I wanted to say goodnight, we didn’t get to talk much earlier.” Marcela turned the glass of the mirror towards me with a strange, unreadable smile upon her face, “would you like to say hello to her?”

I squatted down beside her, my patience wavering. “Hello, Marcela’s reflection-”

“NO!” She practically screamed, her face seized with rage and repulse. “She isn’t my reflection!” Her tone of voice implied that I should have known this fact.

“Alright, alright!” I mumbled, raising my hands in a mock self-defence position. “Why not? Your reflection is generally what you’d find in a mirror, no?”

“Because she’s different than me.”

At that moment, the silence of the house became unnervingly more conspicuous. Her words slithered through my anxious mind for a few moments before I found the courage to ask in what way ‘it’ differed.

“Well,” Marcela grinned mischievously, and spoke matter-of-factly, “Lupita – that’s her name, has different hair. And different eyes. And her voice isn’t the same as mine when she speaks to me. Do you want me to show you, Ryan?” She was standing now, head cocked to one side as her roguish eyes studied my response.

“No, thank you,” I tried to disguise my discomfort as I climbed to unsteady feet, “You need to go back to sleep. Take… Lupita with you, if you must.”
Her little face lit up immediately, and without hesitation, she re-entered the furthermost bedroom, dragging the mirror excitedly behind her. She left the door slightly ajar, perhaps to allow a slither of light to cut through the darkness.

Reunited with the soft leather sofa, I released a long sigh. Children, who’d have ‘em? I gave the clock another quick glance after being absorbed in a crime documentary: 22:50 p.m. As I scanned the channels for a forty-minute-fix, the upstairs silence was broken suddenly by a single word:


I sat up instantaneously, my heart beat climbing radically. Surely she wasn’t still awake, not after so long? Suddenly there was laughter, childish giggling that tore the silence into shreds. “Marcela!” I shouted, somewhat furious, “I told you to go to sleep!”

There was a discouraging pause before I received a response. “I’m not Marcela.”

My breath, and my words to come, clotted firmly in my throat. Irrationality seized me firmly, and I was suddenly incapable of moving. I remembered the Ortegas’ most recent christening well; it was for a baby boy they named Dino, who’d now be perhaps three. Despite only attending Dino’s, I failed to recall any mention of another christening in-between Marcela’s and his. Any older child surely wouldn’t have been sent to bed so early. With that logic in mind, I semi-convinced myself that it had to be Marcela.

“Don’t make me come upstairs!” I tried to sound menacing, and confident, but every aspect of my retort emitted the impression of pure fear.

“You don’t have to,” The voice came from somewhere else this time, somewhere painstakingly close. The tone was ever so slightly different than Marcela’s.

“I’m right here.”

Almost instantly, the chandelier above my head went dark, casting a malign shadow upon the room. I jumped to my feet in alarm, cowering in the darkness, trembling. “Tu..Turn the lights on, please.” I felt so vulnerable.
Soft footsteps arose. Small feet against wood. The scuttling sound began to my left, and encircled me. Malicious giggling accompanied it. I wanted to reach out into the chilling black, but I was tense with fear.

The movement relocated to the stairwell, and upwards, two thuds for every step. The scurrying reached the second floor.

And then: silence.

My first instinct, one which screamed with all it could muster within my head, told me to go outside, where I’d be safe, and wait for the return of the Ortegas. But the rational majority, which argued that a ‘mirror girl’ was simply impossible, and that I needed to get Marcela to bed before their return, won the rights to my response.

I had no idea where the light-switch was, and so ascended to the second floor using my phone’s flashlight as a guide. The intensity cast perturbingly dark shadows that crept across the walls around me. I directed the light at Marcela’s door, which was now wide open. The mirror lay in the doorway.
In the depths of the room, I could make out a small figure, who was somewhat concealed in the gloom. Motionless it stood, and whilst I could see no face I could feel its eyes upon me.

“Marcela?” I hissed, too afraid to take any further steps in that direction.
The figure sprung into motion, dropping onto all fours. It crawled at an insane speed deeper into the room, out of my view. A faint laughter skulked from within, loitering in the air around me. “…Marcela?”
The next sound came from behind.

I turned with a gasp. I held my phone close to my chest as its light ate away at the shadows to reveal something much more sinister. In the middle, motionless, stood a girl, but it wasn’t Marcela.

The resemblance was evident, but so were the differences. Her hair was a distinct shade lighter, with much tighter curls than Marcela’s. The eyes were convincing, but I was still able to notice their minor change in position; they were slightly higher.

She did not flinch or cower from the blinding light I cast upon her. She didn’t even blink. Instead, she indolently brought her arm outwards, and I caught sight of a hand-mirror held tightly in her palm.

“Marcela?” I desperately wanted to convince myself it was her, but her tone of voice differed so significantly that I couldn’t.

“I already told you, I’m not Marcela. I am Lupita.”

I froze. Impossible, I told myself, it’s absolutely impossible. But if it were impossible, I argued, then why are you so afraid?

The laughter was still present behind me, but I daren’t take my eyes from who, or what, stood just feet away from me. Her face was emotionless, and devoid from any expression. She continued to stare at me from behind crystal-blue eyes, which I was certain didn’t belong to Marcela.

“Please,” I was almost begging, a single tear escaping from my eyelid, “This isn’t funny. You… You need to go back to bed-”

“But I’m not tired!” She sneered audaciously, lowering the hand-mirror before allowing it to fall to the ground.

Suddenly she sprang into movement. She tore down the stairs like an animal, and into the shadows of the ground floor, where she began to laugh hysterically. I glanced behind me impudently before I followed, and I was almost certain that I caught a glimpse of a figure still lurking in the bedroom, watching me. I decided to dismiss it, and descended after whatever had run downstairs, petrified.

I shone the light around with a trembling hand, and failed to see anything, although I couldn’t decide whether this was reassuring or even more frightening. “Please!” I shouted, alarmed by my sudden bravery, “Just stop!”


“Are you there?”


Just as I was about to emit a sigh of relief, the noises started. Frantic scurrying, as before. It first came from behind me, on the stairs, but then suddenly it was everywhere. In front of me, behind me, in the darkest depths of the room and right before my feet, all at the same time. I cried to myself that it wasn’t possible, tears rolling down my cheeks. The laughter returned, too, and various outburst overlapped one another as the volume gradually rose to a deafening level.

I staggered backwards, defenceless, feeling along the wall with my hand until I reached another room. The scurrying sounds merged into running, heavy feet against the floor. The laughter darkened in its intent. The thud, thud, thudding echoed through my ears as I frantically searched the new room for a weapon. I’m in the kitchen, I noted, now devoted to locating a knife. It didn’t take long.

I drew it from the block on the counter, and gripped it tight in my left, sweaty palm. I took three brave steps back towards the living area, holding my breath.

The sounds subsided, and the eerie silence dominated once more. But I knew it was out there, waiting, malevolent and spiteful; darkness was its ally.

“Lupita!” My voice tore the silence open wide, “Come out!”

Another discouraging pause. A figure arose from the far side of the room, and it lingered there a while before it began to move towards me. It seemed unafraid of the knife in my grasp, for it advanced with confidence.

“Stop!” I demanded, outstretching my arm further to try and appear more defensive.

It paid no attention to my request, and continued to glower at me with impassive eyes in a gaze so cold I could almost feel it. In the corner of my eye I could see another figure, but I couldn’t make anything out; perhaps my mind was playing tricks, tormenting me.

The thing was so close now I could hear its tiny breaths: A shallow inhale, and an unsteady exhale.

“Don’t come any closer!” I warned it, taking a step back into the kitchen, “I mean it!”

No response other than a vindictive grin. It was enjoying my fear.

“Please…” It was now only inches away from the tip of the blade, fearless. Whatever remained in the darkness began to giggle softly, watching from afar.

“Do you want to see Marcela?” It spoke finally, in a deceivingly innocent voice, eyes settling upon the blade, “When I look here, I can see her. What do you see, Ryan?”

My body willed me to take a glance at the reflective edge, but instinct overcame me, and without thought I drove the knife forwards. It sunk deep into the flesh of its neck with sickening ease. Thick blood oozed out, winding around the handle.

Its eyes filled with pain, and a small, pitiful groan escaped its lips as it fell onto its knees. The white nightie it wore was now stained with its own blood. I let go of the knife, and as I did, the living room lit up.

Marcela ran from the light-switch towards us, screaming hysterically. Confusion hit me like wave of water, dowsing me whole. What was happening? “Marcela?”

“Lupita!” her voice was loitered with agony and despair, “estás bien? Estás bien!?”

She pulled the sunken body towards her, crouched over it, sobbing. “What have you done?” Her eyes met mine, ablaze with rage, equally as unforgiving as they were heartbroken. At this point the Ortega couple returned. Ricardo found us, and immediately shielded his daughter behind him as if I were some monster. “Go upstairs to Dino,” he instructed, his attempts to keep his wife behind him failing. She let out a cry, picking up the corpse and holding it against her body. She kept repeating “mi bebé, mi bebé” whilst cradling it, rocking it back and forth.

I tried desperately to argue my case, tried to explain the situation, but the more details I retold, the more ludicrous the whole situation sounded. Why had I been so stupid? So childishly afraid, so childishly irrational? Guilt seized me as the devastating reality of what had happened became clear. But how was I to know? Nobody ever told me that the Ortegas had twins.

Oh, how I wish that somebody had. There were no monsters that day except me.

Credit To – Nightfall
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April 26, 2015
by derpbutt

You Take a Look Behind You

You head to your 2nd period in school. You stop at your locker to pick up your math book. As you put in your locker combination, and open it, you feel something… strange. You can’t put your finger on it, but it oddly feels as if someone, or some THING, were standing behind you.

You take a look behind you. You are relieved to see it is just your friend Malcolm, asking if you had known what Mr. Masters said in social studies since he had fallen asleep in class at the time. You kindly state that the bell is about to ring and you need to get to math class.

Six hours later, you leave school and start to head home. You turn around a corner and walk uphill for a while to get to entrance of your neighborhood, when you feel a presence, like something was peering down at you from the fence. You look around, only to see a little bulldog playfully whimpering on the other side of the fence. As you turn around, you see a black blur flash by.

You take a look behind you. But when you do, whatever it is you saw is gone. You assume someone wearing all black went out for a jog and shrug it off. When you get home though, you can’t shake that paranoid feeling. You can’t help but think something is watching from the corner. But nothing is. Not in the hall, the staircase, your little brother’s room, the kitchen, you even skeptically check the basement. Nothing.

After a while, you go upstairs to your bedroom, sit down on your bed, and think. You’ve always had a problem with being overly paranoid. You begin to dismiss this as an everyday thing.

And then you think some more.You’re paranoid mind makes up the idea that maybe you’re NOT being skeptical. Maybe NO ONE is. Your mind comes up with the possibility that maybe some things are so good at hiding, the only one’s who’ve seen them are dismissed as paranoid people by society.

Something you see so rarely that when you do catch a glimpse of it, you write it off as your mind playing a trick on you. Hell, maybe it is in your head. Or maybe it isn’t.

You almost dismiss that as crazy and impossible, when you catch a glimpse of a black fuzz dash behind you through the corner of your eye. You hear a garbled hissing noise come from behind you. You can’t tell if you’re crazy idea’s could possibly be true, or if you are just tired and paranoid, so you do the only rational thing next.

You take a look behind you.

Credit To – Gallifrey Gojira
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April 26, 2015
by derpbutt
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Carvings of Dullahan

Every Sunday at 8:30 I used to treat myself to a long walk through a nearby woods in a small village on the coast of Ireland. I lived here. I loved it. I was always slapped with the heart-warming feeling of nostalgia the minute I stepped foot on the area. You see, I grew up here. I moved into my cottage house with my family at the age of five in 1994, I’m 26 now. Back then, there wasn’t much to do. But as a young, imaginative boy like my past self it wasn’t hard to make do with whatever I had.
As I walked through the forest I took in the scenery and the memories of how I would stroll, run and jump through each part of the woods, disobeying my mother and father as they said to keep within their range of sight. They would never notice, though. My father would be in the basement half the day constructing different things such as book shelves and stools, he would bring them up to the household only to be thrown under the stairs by a very annoyed mother who would much rather him keeping an eye on me as she made dinner and cleaned the house. My thought was shortly cut off by the sounds of distant horses galloping and neighing. “That’s strange” I said to myself. No horses have been around here for years.
I thought nothing of it and went back into my daydream. At the age of 11, I would use sticks as swords and carve things into the trees with the pocket knife I told myself I was “borrowing” from my father, when subconsciously I knew I wasn’t going to give it back. I can still see the things I carved in those trees now. Things like curse words, my mother and father, who have sadly both passed away now, “Jay was here”, etc.
One stood out to me while on my weekly journey the most. It stood out to me because I wasn’t the one who carved it. And instead of a great shine of nostalgia most of it brought on me, it quickly un-buried a memory that raised the hairs on my back. I blocked the memory out all these years. “GO HOME” It was roughly carved into the tree bark. It made my skin crawl. I could only faintly remember why.
One day, as a young child, I was having my usual lovely time in the woods when I heard music in the depths of the woods at about five o’clock that day. Irish folk music to be exact. I didn’t know this at the time, but I loved it. Something about the music soothed me. A few moments later, some sort of a relaxing, subtle force made me follow the lovely sounds that vibrated and whistled through the calm branches of the woods. I really cannot recall most of the journey. As if the music left a smudge mark my mind. As if on purpose.
When I woke up from the blur, I didn’t know where I was. I wasn’t surrounded by the heart-warming, friendly trees anymore. I was surrounded by dark, tall, ugly trees that intimidatingly stood over me. It was like I could feel them watching my every move. Another thing, it was no longer day-time. The darkness of the night was flooded through the woods and I felt as if my sense of sight abandoned me. How long have I been out for?
The music was still playing. Only this time I could swear it was slightly more warped and twisted. It was no longer that friendly, heart-warming sound to my ears, but as if it was made by a demonic existence once talented, but now dark and twisted. The moonlight dimly glowed through the leafless branches onto a tree trunk in front of me. Two words were carved into the tree. The words that would from then on always have a dark place in my mind. “GO HOME”. And I would have done exactly what that carving advised me to do, if I knew how. I was lost.
An old wagon caught my eye. Brightly lit and shining a short dim radius of light around it. Three black horses were roped to the front as if the people or person has settled recently. The music was still playing loudly from it. The same song on repeat. I can never forget it. What stood next to it a few yards away from me made my heart rate increase by what seemed like a hundred beats per half a minute. A young woman, probably mid-20’s, in rags, dark red, long, curly hair, standing there beside the wagon. Staring right at my face.
She was shaking. Not because it was cold, not because she was scared, she was shaking with anger. As if something in her head was on the verge of snapping. As if my presence disgusted her. And that stare. That stare from beyond those ugly trees. Her teeth were clenched, sharp. Upper lip raised, lower unnaturally trembling. Her eyes were twitching.
She was a fair distance away but it seemed like I could see that haunting face with perfect detail. It seemed cracked, as if she was once beautiful, but somehow hurt mentally by something that sent her downhill. We stared at each other for what seemed like hours. I was frozen. Something in my mind was telling me if I moved even an inch she would pounce for me. I wondered how she could see me. I was in pitch darkness. There was no possible way of her seeing me. But there she was. Looking me dead in the eye with those scarring eyes.
The tense moment was soon broken strangely enough, by silence. The music stopped playing. It sounded almost as if it was cut short by something angry. As if the vinyl was aggressively thrown out of place with a loud screech that echoed through the woods and made the horses go crazy. The thing in her head that was on the verge of snapping finally snapped as her face changed from furiousness to a horrible fear. As if she was petrified of the “thing” inside the wagon that cut the music short.
“GO HOME!” She shrieked, as her eyes, for a split second, turned blood red. As if she was demented, making the blood in my body, that was frozen in fear, violently shatter. I could swear the scream was loud enough to be heard for miles. She quickly scurried to the wagon, dead leaves quickly crunching beneath her feet. She ran inside, closed the door and, quickly, one by one I saw the candles that lit the wagon being blown out. I started to feel dizzy, as if she spared my life but didn’t leave me off easy. The last candle said goodbye to me and I was soon dreadfully greeted by complete darkness once again.
Despite being alone in a strange part of the woods in the darkness, a part of me was relieved. My legs trembled and gave way beneath me and I fell to my knees and then to my back. I was passing out. I couldn’t tell if my eyes were closed or open because both were equally as black. All I remember as I slowly faded into unconsciousness, was the vinyl. Booted up and playing once again.

I was awoken by sirens in the distance and a flashlight shining through my eyelids. “Hey kid! You okay?” It was a cop. (Garda in Ireland). I didn’t say anything. Nothing was worth saying at that time. I just rose to my feet and the cop brought me to the back roads at the end of the woods and three police cars escorted me home.
I told the police men my story. One sniggered and the other told me about Irish folk tales which he thought related to my events. I asked them about the music and the other simply said, “The music is what lead us to you. Strangely enough, I can’t exactly remember the journey it took us to find you.” He then started to hum the agonizing tune to which the other joined in humorously. “Very infectious.” One claimed, darkly. Strangely, they did not see the wagon in the darkness.

At the porch, I was met by my weeping mother who soon frantically ran to the car and threw me into her arms. “Where did you go, Jay?” she trembled. “Where did you go?” I didn’t know what to say. When I walked into the house, the creeks of the floorboards were heard by my father who then rushed up the stairs from the basement and swung the basement door open.
“Oh thank God” He sighed as he ran and hugged me. I was never the same from then on. That night in my bed, I heard three blood-curling shrieks made by that woman from the depths of those trees. Unnaturally loud. The night carried on as if it was never heard by anyone but me. I was looking at the carving that sent my life downhill all these years. It is almost faded from all those years of weathering. I wondered about the odds of landing here of all places on my walk. Then again I can’t exactly remember the walk here in the first plac- My heart almost gave way when I realized it was not me who led myself here. The music. Not again.
I hesitatingly looked beyond the carved tree to where the music was coming from and there it was. The wagon. Its wheels were almost giving way beneath it and the paint was peeled. It was rotting away. I could feel the years torment and anger of what used to be- in the wind blowing from its direction. The music was now warped even more, but this time it was warped because it was obviously broken from all these years. It sounded as if it was never turned off since that night. “It must be abandoned.” I told myself this as an excuse to my conscious made by the strong curiosity in my head.
I told myself it was just my over-active imagination as a child that led me to believe she was some sort of witch.
After a moment of debate with myself I decided to look around the wagon. I started to shake with dread as I inched towards the carriage. Dead leaves crunching were beneath my feet. The music seemed to get louder and jagged the closer I got. I told myself it was just my fear convincing me to turn back. The ropes that the horses were attached to were now snapped and worn. The steps creaked as I walked to the door of the wagon.
With a rough pull, the door broke from the moss and splinters and swung open. A waft of dust and the smell of death almost made me puke. It was dark in there. Someone could be staring right out at me and I wouldn’t even know. If someone was in here they know my presence because of the loud crack of the door as it opened. This made me very uneasy.
I hesitated but stepped foot into the wagon. The floors felt like they were on the verge of breaking through. I tried to look for the source of the tormenting music. I found some matches and they barely set alight when I lit a match. I lit a nearby lantern that lit most of the room. What I saw next made me sick to my teeth with fear and disgust.
A rotting, decaying corpse. Fly’s eating away at the remaining meat that hung off the body. It looked as if it did not die very peacefully, its head was rolled to the floor from its arms which were slightly swinging in the wind that blew through the open windows of the wagon. I was petrified. Not because it was dead, but because “it” was definitely not human.
The bones revealed where thick and from the remaining pieces of flesh, it was way too tall to be human. This was giant-like. It was hard to tell if it was male or female. I backed away from the thing sat there in the rocking chair and came across a note left on the table in front of it. It read:
Dear Dullahan,
I’m terribly sorry to inform you that while you were in your slumber I fled. I couldn’t take your aggressiveness no longer and decided to move up north. I hate you Dullahan. Whenever you got up to turn off your retched music I knew you had nothing but hate filled words to say to me. I left your music on, replay it as much as you wish, for I left you with three wails of death. Make good use of it. Goodbye.
Yours Truly, Bean Sidhe.

I put the note down as I tried to process all of these events in my head. The light suddenly blew out. My whole body tensed with grief and panic when I turned around and saw the corpse was no longer sat in the rocking chair. It was swaying violently, as if pounced away from in rage. I was trembling in horror as I slightly turned left to see it there. The corpse. Standing there in the shadows.
Slouched back touching the ceiling of this hellhole, head held under its arm. A black figure in the shadows.
I dare not move. I dare not show the presence of my fear.
The music then stopped.
There was a faint sound of horses galloping their way closer in the distance.
Its head slightly rose in his arm. “GO HOME”.

Credit To – JJ Wilton
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April 26, 2015
by derpbutt

The Magician’s Game

The audience laughed as the young man in the top hat smiled. The trick he had just completed had apparently been more than enough to please the crowd. As the man slowly walked away from the almost blindly bright spotlight, he kept his face focused on the crowd, continuing to smile.

He attempted to focus on specific members, one being a teenager who appeared to be recording the whole thing on his phone, another being a pretty blond girl with particularly lovely blue eyes. Tom realized that this wasn’t helping when he almost tripped on his own feet, and he went back to just smiling and focusing his effort on leaving the stage.

After a few moments, the magician was out of the audience’s sight.

Immediately, he stopped grinning and went to his nearby dressing room.

Once the magician had opened the door, he ducked under the doorway and walked inside the cramped room. Closing the door, he finally let out a sigh. After years of doing the same acts, it was finally starting to tire him out. At this point, he collapsed against the door and sat down for several minutes, thinking.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knocking at the door.

“Mr. Olzvick, do you mind if I speak with you for a sec? I promise it won’t take very long.” It was clearly the voice of a young man. He seemed to be rather impatient, for he said his words very quickly.

Mr. Olzvick, being a bit startled by this person, quickly retorted, “What do ya want? Autographs? Interviews?”

“Not quite, Mr. Olzvick. I have a letter for you, and it is kind of important. I’m supposed to deliver it to you face to face, so can you open up the door, Mr. Olzvick?”

He had received letters before, but something about the way the man worded the sentence gave Mr. Olzvick an uncomfortable feeling. Why would a letter need to be delivered “face to face”? Shrugging it off as just odd phrasing, Mr. Olzvick sighed and opened the door.

In front of him was a young man in a clean suit and with a slicked back haircut. With that hair, he looked a bit like an even skinnier version of Elvis in the 50’s.

“I’m busy, kid, so just hand me the letter so I can get back to work.” The magician grumbled.

“Mr. Olz-”

“Just call me Tom.”

“Well then, Tom, you were just sitting against the door, staring off in deep thought. I wouldn’t really classify that as ‘work’.”

“Just give me the damn letter.” Tom said, getting impatient.

”Alright, fine. I wish you good luck and goodbye, Mr. Tom Olzvick.” The man stated, and with that, he strolled off.

As the man walked off, Tom suddenly realized how peculiar that conversation was. How did the man know that he was leaning against the door? Why did he wish him “good luck”?

“Maybe this letter can explain something…” Tom muttered to himself, eyeing the letter.

The writing on the front of it was very neat, and there was no stamp or address. The writing stated, “Stop examining and open the letter.”

Finding it odd that the letter would know of his actions as he was doing them, Tom started to feel uneasy. He flipped to the back of the letter to find more neat writing, stating, “You are a bit slow. Care to be a bit faster?”

Tom was now incredibly skeptical as to what was going on. Being unable to put aside his curiosity, Tom ripped open the letter.

Inside was a very neatly folded piece of paper. Unfolding it quickly, Tom began to read the handwritten note.

“Hello, Mr. Tom Olzvick.

I can understand that you are confused, but please put that aside for now. There are more important matters at hand.

Since you have opened this letter, you have just began a bit of a… game. I certainly view it as a game. After all, games are fun, aren’t they?

The ultimate objective of the game is very simple: Winning, by any means possible. Losing the game will result in… well, you’ll see if you lose. Trust when I say that this a grand chess game. This letter was the first move.

Time for you to make the next one.


Tom stood in complete shock.

“Game? What the hell is this?” Tom said aloud, kind of hoping for some sort of hint at what was happening to him.

Looking down at the letter, Tom realized that there was some writing on the back. Tom was unsure if he wanted to flip it over, but he was also rather… exhilarated. Finally, he was doing something different and new, rather than performing the same tricks day after day, show after show. Tom liked the feeling, and he didn’t want to see it go to waste.

He flipped over the letter. On the back was two sentences.

“I knew you couldn’t resist. Make your chess move and let’s begin.”

At this point, Tom was starting to get over the shock of the paper knowing what he was saying before he even started saying it. Tom flipped to the front and took out a pen. “E4” had to be chess notation.

Tom carefully wrote, “D5”.

Nothing happened.

Tom sat down and waited impatiently. Something would happen in time. Within a minute, there was a knock at the door. Tom went to the door with excitement and opened the door. However, the setting was completely different.

On the other side of the door was a completely white tiled room. In the center were polished black chairs and a table. On the table was a chessboard, with the pieces already set up. Sitting in one of the chairs was a person that he couldn’t quite make out.

Tom couldn’t even believe what he was seeing. The cramped backstage had been replaced with this odd, bright room. Tom shut the door and opened it again, thinking that his eyes might have just been fooling him. Opening the door again, the room was still there in the exact same condition.

Tom walked in slowly, closing the door behind him, getting closer to the man and the table. As he got closer, he noticed the man had a very thin beard, a very smooth face, and green, piercing eyes.

“Funny, he looks a bit like…” Tom started to say before he realized something. The man was him.

Tom’s eyes widened as he stared in shock.

The man had all the same physical features as Tom, as well as the exact same outfit.

“So… shall we play?” The duplicate said, grinning as he stood up and pulled out a chair for Tom.

“Go ahead and call me whatever you like. Is Daburu okay? I’ve always liked that one.”

Tom still was still dumbfounded by this replica of himself. Tom looked behind him and noticed that there was no longer a door. Sitting down, he decided that he had to know what was going on.

“W-What are you?” Tom asked.

“What do you think? I’m you.”

“But h-how is that possible?”

“Have you ever considered that you always had a double that knew all your thoughts? One that knew every single thing you were going to do, and every single thing that you have done? We can keep talking, but first I’ll make my move. Pawn to F3.”

The pawn moved forward by itself. Tom began to speak again.

“Alright then. But if you know every move that I am going to make, then how can I win?”

“That is for you to figure out. Go ahead and try.”

Tom said nothing.

“Hello, Tom? Daburu speaking, you have been taking a bit too long to make your move. Go on.”

Tom sighed and began to play once more.

“Knight to C6.”

Tom watched as his knight moved to the correct spot.

“Excellent! Knight to C3.”

Tom started processing his possible options as Daburu sat there.

“You’re going to say F1, Tom.”

“As a matter fact, I’m going to say-“

“Pawn to F5.”

Tom realized just how difficult this challenge would be.

“P-Pawn to F5.” Tom stuttered quietly.

“Pawn to G4.”

Tom thought about distracting him with conversation.

“So, how were you forme-“

“I’m not listening.”

“But you know my thought-“

“I’m ignoring any thoughts that have nothing to do with the chess game. Go on, please.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Well, you can’t exactly leave, as you noticed that there really isn’t a door anymore.”

Sighing, Tom opened his mouth and said, “Pawn to E4.”

“I say Pawn to E4 as well.”

“B-“ Tom’s next move was interrupted by a scream of frustration from Daburu.

“This is just so… boring!”

“What? I’m playing the game.”

“Well, this game sucks. It always took so long and there was nothing to occupy the player as they did it. So, let’s spice it up, shall we?” Daburu said. He snapped his fingers and the chess board fell through the floor. The room collapsed around him as the ceiling flew away above Tom.

Tom still thought this was very strange, but he was starting to get used to the oddness.

The rest of the room continued to be deconstructed as the chairs simply disintegrated. Tom stood up as Daburu stood up as well, laughing hysterically.

“God, you’re going to love this. Now, make your move.”

“How am I supposed to do this without the board?”

“Memory, obviously. My memory is only as good as yours is, so this should be fun.”

The room had finally disappeared to reveal where they actually were. They were on the top of a moving train, chugging along a mountainside. Daburu laughed even harder as he saw Tom’s expression. “Come on, then! Make your move!”

“Uh… Pawn to G4?”

“Lovely. Knight to D5.”

The train was accelerating as they spoke. Tom knew that if he stayed on this train much longer, he would surely die.

Tom started to run to the sides of the train when he collapsed, head sticking off the right side of the train. Below was an incredibly huge drop that he knew he would not be able to survive.

“How many times do we have to keep doing this, Tom? Make. Your. Move.”

“Pawn to A… 5.”

Daburu pulled Tom back up to his feet, smiling.

“Pawn to D3.”

Tom was finally starting to get fed up.

“Just leave me alone. I’m just a magician that wants to live his life, not deal with this bullshit.”

“Oh, but I thought you were tired of being a magician? Doing the same tricks, over and over? Doing all those rabbit things as the audience laughs at how pathetic your act is?”

Tom got incredibly angry, very quickly.

“People love my acts.”

“Love for how hilariously terrible they are. Have you ever noticed all that laughter the audience has? Have you ever done a quick internet search of your name? Look it up, and you see video such as, ‘Magic Fails’, ‘Worst Magic Trick Ever’, and, my personal favorite, ‘Tom Olzvick: The Magical Fuck-Up.’”

“SHUT THE HELL UP!” Tom was absolutely teeming with rage and anger. One more comment, and that would push him over the line.

“’Hey, guess what, Tom? I think you’ve made another fuck-up. This one might be quite magical as well.”

That one set Tom off.

Tom charged straight ahead for Daburu, yelling and swearing the whole time. Daburu waved his attack off, laughing.

“You’ve been so caught up in this that you haven’t even realized that this train is about to drive off a cliff. See you later, fuck-up!”

As Daburu jumped off the train, Tom felt as the train went off of the ground and started diving into the abyss below. Tom fell over and started falling down into the area, dropping faster and faster with every second.

Tom watched as his body impacted the ground. He heard his bones shattering, before finally hearing nothing.

Tom woke up in his bed to a knock on his bedroom door.

Yawning, Tom ignored the nightmare he had just had and asked, “Who is it?”

“Lisa, dear.”

Tom smiled as he opened the door and let his wife through the door. She looked lovely with her luscious blonde hair. She had already prepared breakfast for him.

“So, how was the show last night?”

“I-It went well. The audience seemed to enjoy it quite a bit.”

Suddenly, Tom realized something.

He didn’t have a wife.

Lisa grinned.

“They probably loved all of the mistakes you made. I expect the next part of that epic video saga, ‘Tom Olzvick: The Magical Fuck-Up’, to continue quite soon.”

Tom watched in horror as Lisa’s face started to fall apart, her blue eyes falling out, and her skin tearing off to reveal her organs, completely changing and mutating into different shapes and sizes. Blood leaked out from everywhere, and Tom couldn’t bare to watch it.

Finally, Tom looked back and saw the skin reforming into the old familiar face it was. His face.

“So, she was one of your audience members. I noticed how you thought she was pretty, so I figured she would have been the best choice.”

Daburu grinned immediately after stating that. Tom, still horrified at what he had just witnessed, stared in disgust and awe.

“Oh, don’t keep doing that. We have a game to finish, after all. This time, I’ll even give you the board back.”

Tom’s bedroom quickly fell apart to change back into the white tiled room with the black table and chairs. However, this time, something was different. There was a noose hanging off to the side of the table.

“W-What is with that?”

“Oh, it is very simple. You considered this a dream previously, but it is rather obvious that this is just the breakdown of your mental psyche.”


“Come on, the stress and the boredom of your magic routines was getting to you, and you know it. I knew you were this great big waste of a magician because you already knew that yourself. You just kept avoiding it and suppressed the memory, trying as hard as you could to forget.”

“So? Pawn to H5.”

“Oh, so you’re playing again, are you? Alright, let’s do this then. Bishop to G5.” Daburu sat back down in the chair as the bishop moved across the board. Tom uneasily sat back down as well.

“Answer my question. What are you trying to say? Pawn to E6.”

“Well, you reached the breaking point. Your mind, deteriorating faster and faster, is hallucinating left and right. So, when you fell off that train and passed out, feeling incredible pain, you probably just wandered off and fell down a flight of stairs. Bishop to D8.”

“N-No, I was there. The train-“

“Tom, look at me. I am you. Exactly you. I know everything you know. How could I possibly exist?”

Tom said nothing and held his head down.

“Your reality is breaking down because you are accepting your inevitable fate. Your own suicide. What do you say to that, Mr. Olzvick?”

Tom slowly lifted up his head, took a look at Daburu, and decided what he needed to do.

“King to D8.”

Daburu sat in silence as the king moved.

“Knight to F4.”

The noose appeared to be getting closer.

“Bishop to H3.”

“Pawn to H3.”

“Queen to G4.”

The noose was now almost touching the table.

“Pawn to E5.”

“Queen to G5. You’re in check, Tom.”

Tom suddenly stood up on the chair and looked beside him. The noose was right there in front of his face.

“I will win this. I have to. King to D7.”

“I’m sorry, but you were fated to lose from the start. You did it to yourself, Tom.”

“Pawn to D4.”

“Knight to D4.”

“In four moves, I will win. Queen to E5.”

Tom lifted his hands up to the noose.

“Knight to F3.”

“Queen to E6. Check.” Daburu looked straight at him, not with a grin, but with a grimace.

Tom sighed heavily. He knew that this was his last move. Nothing he did would get him to win. Putting the hole around his neck, Tom closed his eyes.

“King to D8.”

“Rook to D4. Checkmate.”

Tom stepped off of his chair.

As he breathed his final breath, he heard Daburu say one final sentence.

“This was the grand chess game of your life, and that game… is over.”

Credit To – AGrimAuxiliatrix1

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April 26, 2015
by derpbutt
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The truck started perfectly and I eased out of the parking lot. I absolutely hated my job but it payed the bills. I sat in a cubicle from ten to ten, five days a week. What could be better. As I headed home from another terrible day there, I noticed a detour sign blocking my usual route. The detour took me through a section of my little town that I had never before seen. As I passed the abandoned houses and other buildings native to this gloomy place, I felt like I was being watched. I dismissed it as being completely normal, givin the place I was in. But I didn’t like the way the house’s rotting boards seemed to glare at me, how their broken windows silently mocked me. I sped down the pothole-ridden road all the way home. Without eating dinner, I flopped down on my bed and tried to sleep.

But sleep never came. I tossed and turned and rearranged the blankets but I sill layed awake. Then, I saw the glow of a pair of streetlights outside my window. I focused on them and their warm, comforting glow put me to sleep in mere moments.

I awoke in a state of shear terror. Something was incredibly wrong. My senses told ne to get up and check the window. There I found blood and scratch marks trailing down the pane. I’ve marked that moment as the one where I officially lost what little sanity I had left. Those were not Streetlights, they were the cold, glowing eyes of..…something. And that “something” watched me all night long, and I watched it back.

Two weeks have passed. I don’t leave the house any more. Food is getting low. Just last night, There were six “streetlights” outside my window, stalking me, watching me, planning their attack. I fear the day that the do attack. I fear for my life. But then again, what is left?

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March 30, 2015
by derpbutt

The Boy Who Cried Monster

I never really liked the woods behind my house much. There always seemed to be something wrong with it, like there was a terribly dark and evil secret inside. Especially after that god-awful night. I was only seven, susceptible to my wild imagination. I was scarred that night with what I saw though. The images were branded into my skull, where they would never leave. I still see them clear as the night it had commenced.
It was late September, I believe on a Friday night right after school. When I made it home I saw those woods, they sent a chill down my spine, like a cold fire. I quickly ran inside to the safety of my room. I finished my homework, being a smart student in my young life.
At around four, my best friend showed up. John. He was in the grade above me, being a giant and a genius in my eyes. I remember always falling for his peer pressure, doing his stupid dares like drinking toilet water or something idiotic like that. Being gullible as a kid, I regret ever falling for his stupid tricks.
He and I played on my Xbox for a while, playing Battlefront 2, one of my favorite games as a child. After almost two hours of playing and talking, it began to get dark. “Hey Will, do you want to do something only cool kids do?” he said beginning to smile slyly.
Being the idiot seven year old I was I answered excitedly “Of course I do!”
“Well would you like to go adventuring into your woods tonight?” he said
My heart skipped a beat at those words. I had lived here for over five years, yet I never got used to those woods. “Umm… well, I don’t know,” I said looking down at my feet, twiddling my thumbs.
“Your kidding me right?” he said staring at me, shocked. “Are you scared? Wow you really are a wuss aren’t you?” he said shaking his head.
“I-I am not a wuss!” I said stuttering.
“Well if you aren’t a wuss, then will you go into the woods tonight?” he said crossing his arms menacingly.
“Yes, and it’s because I want to, not because you want me to!” I said trying to stand up for myself.
“Yeah sure, anyway meet me outside your house at around ten tonight, and bring a flashlight,” and with that, he left.
The rest of the day, I was loathing ten o’clock. I couldn’t imagine going into that insane nightmarish place, especially in the dark hours of the night. As the waning moon slowly rose through the sky, I kept an eye on the clock, waiting for the hour hand to strike ten.
Forty minutes later, the bells rang on our grandfather clock, as if announcing the hour of my demise. I shook my entire body, chills running down my spine by the foreboding bells. After a few seconds of continually getting the jitters out of me, I quietly stepped out of the house through the front door, leaving it unlocked for when I came back.
John stood at one of the trees, in our front yard, with a flashlight pointed at the ground, revealing his location. When he saw me, his eyes widened in surprise. I reached him and flipped on my own flashlight, “You actually came out here?!” he said giving me a long hard stare.
“I-i told you I wasn’t afraid,” I said, obviously the opposite.
“I can see that now,” he said giving me an evil smile, like that of a treacherous villain. “Okay come on now, lets go exploring, just be careful…” he said beginning to slow as we walked to my backyard, “I heard there are wolves out here that will eat you if you wake them up from their deep sleep,” he said beginning to whisper now.
I froze up, thinking of the possibility of getting eaten by a wolf. He was older than me, so I trusted every word he said. What I didn’t know was that, I had much more to fear than a few primitive dogs.
We reached the old trampoline that I never, ever used. It was too close to the woods, I felt as if something could reach out and snag me into the darkness into the leaves and bushes. I could feel it, luring me into the woods, inviting me with a great adventure that I would never forget, but sadly, I got one.
“Okay just follow me, I’ll lead,” he said whispering now.
We entered through the line of trees, disappearing into the woods where we could no longer be seen. After only a few moments of walking, I lost view of my house, no longer able to see the familiar walls. I was now lost in the maze of brown in green, which was more like blue and black now in the bleak hours of the night.
John stealthily stepped ahead of me, as I stepped on leaves and twigs making snaps and crackles that scared me every time. Dakota shushed me and I tried even harder to no longer step on the small underbrush. I got a terrible feeling in me, as if something was there so I spoke up, quietly of course.
“John? Do you have a feeling like someones watching us?” I knew I sounded childish and afraid, but I didn’t care.
He turned to look at me, “Are you kidding me? Come on, man up and stick with me you baby.”
I didn’t want to be thought of as a wuss, or a baby, “Okay fine just what exactly are we looking for?”
“I don’t know, maybe the monster that supposedly lives here?”
It made sense to me in my undeveloped mind. I knew there was something in here that was causing this feeling I had. “What, does the monster look like?” I said getting scared of the hoots the owls made around us.
“Last I heard,” he started with a slight laugh that I didn’t hear, “It’s a massive beast, with forty eyes on its head. His tongue is like a snakes with the fork in it. I heard that it was hairy like Bigfoot, and kills children… especially seven year old’s.” Now I know he was messing with me, trying to get me more riled up than I already was, but then, I believed him.
I began to shake now my flashlights beam jittering through the air as we walked along. “W-why s-seven year old’s?” I said beginning to picture the beast in my mind.
“I don’t know, I think he likes the texture of them,” he said giggling quietly, “To bad you have a lot of bones and soft skin, I heard that’s his favorite kind, soft on the outside, crunchy on the inside.”
I started to hear things now, snaps from far away, rustling in the branches and fluttering of wings. The buzzing of insects started to come into focus in my ears, as if everything was trying to hide me from the true threat that lurked around each and every corner. I struggled not to cry out in fear and run home crying, and I succeeded, which I know I wished I wouldn’t have. I could have ran home, keeping my childhood innocence for longer than given to me.
We reached a small creek that rushed down with the sounds you would usually hear, bubbling, crashing noises and the like. John pointed his flash light down and found a small pathway with rocks jotting up from the waters surface. He started to step from one to the other until he made it to the other side.
I followed him quickly, stepping from rock to rock. The last rock though, I noticed. It looked funny, as if there was a face carved into it and I giggled at it, for it looked as if it had a abnormally large nose with a gaping mouth (which I put my foot in for a foot hold). It almost looked as a sign of hope I suppose, a comfort, and I gladly took it as one.
Once I made it across John stood there, waiting against a tree for me. He slowly motioned me to follow, so I did so. We gently crouched now, peering around with only our flashlights to show us the way.
The lights glared through the bushes and trees, sending the animals that resided in them, scampering away. Each time a rabbit or an owl jumped out of the bushes or trees, my heart stopped and I let out quick high pitched gasps. John laughed each time I did so, “Man, calm down it’s only a rabbit,” or “Jeez you really are a wuss,” either way though, I wouldn’t stop.
We came into a clearing, maybe one hundred feet in diameter. It looked abnormal, like something out of a romance film, just too perfect to be true. I turned and looked at the surrounding woods once we reached the middle, spinning. The flashlight whirled around and I laughed at the funny way it shimmered through the leaves of the forest. John quickly grabbed me and told me to stop in a firm voice.
“Are you insane?” he said with a completely calm voice, “Do you really want to summon the beast right to us?”
I stood in utter disbelief at what he told me, “I’m sorry I didn’t know. What was I doing to summon him?”
I didn’t see his smirk since he shone the flashlight into my eyes, “Spinning around in the middle of the circle, causes the beast to appear! Do you really want to be eaten by the beast right now?”
I shook my head vehemently beginning to become scared once more. He patted my shoulder with a smile I thought he meant to show me for compassion but was truly a sign of my utter stupidity.
He grabbed my arm and made me follow him further into the forest, “Wait, why are we going further? Aren’t we far enough?” I said with a worried tone.
“No! We need to find the monsters lair of course,” he said letting go but continuing to move now.
“B-but I thought you didn’t want to see the monster, why would we want to go to it’s home?”
He stopped and shook his head, “And I don’t, all I want to see is where he lives, then we can go back to your house okay?” I didn’t want to continue, but I had been reprimanded enough by him so I followed silently.
We went out of the opening, back into the darkness of the woods where we could no longer see. I moved my flashlight from corner to corner, worried that the monster would pop out. I could see it, jumping out at me, claws and fangs ready to tear into my flesh. I hated the thought and tried to think of something nicer, like my mother, or sister, or even the girl I liked at school, but nothing would over come the feeling of utter nervousness.
It felt as if every step I took was a closer step to deaths door, each one getting shorter and shorter, making me dread it more as I got nearer. I felt the devils cold hand on my shoulder, ready to attack me at just the right moment.
Occasionally John would ask me questions that would heighten my senses when asked, “Did you hear that?” or “Can you smell that, it smells like a rotting carcass,” and I could then suddenly hear and smell things I couldn’t before. The metallic blood seeped into my nose, giving me the knowledge of a dead creature nearby. There were rustlings in the nearby bushes and in the trees above me. I couldn’t stand being here, I was growing madder by the seconds. Then we saw it.
The home was hidden in the trees well, where you really had to look for it to find it, and since we had only flashlights, we focused on wherever we pointed. It was large and terribly made, dilapidated on one side while completely destroyed on the other. There were small dead animals on the ground, half eaten, and with no previous cooking involved, just the rotting body.
I saw Dakota stand back but only slightly as he saw them, being in true surprise. I was a different case. When I saw those poor creatures and their insides, I bent over and threw up all over the floor. The burning sensation came flowing through my throat, singeing it as it went along. With the nervousness and the dead carcasses combined, I couldn’t hold my stomach any longer.
I straightened up with the acid partially in my nose, driving me mad with the bile that wouldn’t become dislodged. Dakota moved forward, his light gently shaking as he did so. My flashlight however was shaking beyond control, like a beacon in the sky for all to see.
There was a small hole in the front and he stepped inside as I stood away from it, not wanting to get any closer to the demons hole. He disappeared into the base and I could no longer see him. He didn’t say a single thing, just stayed quiet. I didn’t want to be alone any longer so I quickly followed him in.
Through the rapid shakes and quivers, I could see the old cardboard had been here for quite a while, not giving off any sign of newness or reparation. There were small bowls of water and molded milk all over, giving off putrid smells that my nose failed to handle as I gagged, unable to puke any more.
I continued on, into the home, moving along. In front of me there was a hallway that ended in a fork going right and left. I knew something bad would happen, I just knew it. I could feel something was there, waiting for me to pass by until it had it’s moment to pounce. Yet, I continued on, determined to find my friend and go home. I reached the point to where I was maybe only three feet from the doorways, my hand quivering, making the flashlight bounce around in my hand.
He jumped out of me with a ferocious scream sending me sprawling to the floor in fear. I couldn’t believe that bastard. I had always thought of him as my friend but this was cruel. I was so mixed up by the anger and fear that I began to cry letting my emotions grab hold of me.
He started laughing hysterically at me, pointing and giggling. “Oh man I got you good!” he said starting to calm down. I just continued crying unable to speak with the hiccups and tears flowing like a stream down my cheeks. “Race you back to your place!” and with that he bolted quickly past me running through the door and out of my field of vision.
I tried to get up, but my crying had worsened with his sudden cruelty of leaving me there alone. After slipping back up, I followed him out the door but when I made it through, he wasn’t there. I didn’t want to run after him, I just wanted to be home in the safety of my room, away from the problems and struggles I had been put through. I knew though I didn’t have a choice to follow him or not so I tried to go the way which we had come.
I ran through the woods wiping my face, occasionally with the tears beginning to dry up. After only a few seconds I heard a scream. It sounded like John but it sounded as if cut short like a break in a record. I stopped, sure he would try to scare me again. Nothing but silence now. Not even the trees shook. No birds fluttered, no crickets, just the absolute silence with nothing but my heart beat and breathing to comfort me that I hadn’t lost my hearing.
“J-John?” I said loudly through the finishing hiccups of my tears. Nothing came back in response, only the silence was there to greet me. “J-john th-this is n-n-not funny at all!” I screamed out at him. Still nothing spoke up.
Had something happened? Was he hurt or attacked? Or was he playing another cruel joke like I had predicted. I thought the worst and walked forward slowly, scared for him and myself.
After a minute of walking I saw John. He was laying there, blood oozing from his neck and stomach. He looked straight ahead, into heaven or hell, whichever one he was off to. His eyes seemed glazed, now like all they truly were, were paintings or drawings. But that wasn’t the worst part. What stood over him scared me the most.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t human, that’s a fact. It was crouched in a gruesome manner, somewhat like Gollum from Lord of the Rings. It was pale, had gross skin, like it was stained by disgusting things, yellow and green were pasted onto him, but the orange crusted blood on his skin was the most see able, taking up most of his body. It stared at me, its eyes red like the flames of hell were peering back at me. It was small, unlike what John had said. It’s face was contracted, looking at me like a mashed together pile of white flesh. It had it’s teeth showing, covered in Johns fresh blood, preventing me to see it’s dental work. It was naked showing off it’s masculine parts, indicating it’s male origin.
It hissed at me as I stared in disbelief. Was this thing really there? Was I imagining it? I couldn’t tell any more, as I continued to stare. It dropped the arm it was now nibbling on, starting to stare back with more intensity. I wanted to look away, but now I felt if I did so, it would jump at me, not wanting to leave a witness alive for it to tell of what they saw.
He just stared at me, the gates of hell opening within his eyes. I couldn’t continue to stare anymore into those eyes, and at that distorted face, and I ran back to the location of his home. I heard the footsteps behind me, like of a crazed runner, determined on making first and beating everyone. I charged on and the steps became fainter as I moved along.
I made it to the home and jumped into the hole, my small body sliding in quickly. I ran down the hallway and into the corner which John had been hiding in previously. I stood there, breathing in small silent gasps hoping to not give my position to the creature.
“How could this be real? Was John messing with me? No, that thing was to realistic,” my brain argued with itself. I tried to calm down and collect myself and started to breath deeply now in long breaths. I now realized fresh tears had started to show themselves on my face. I couldn’t believe this, if I started to hiccup, like I usually do when I cry, I would be given away quicker than if I screamed.
I heard the small foot steps outside the door. They stepped in a rhythmic patterned that haunts me to this day. “Thump… thump thump… thump… thump thump.” It grew closer. “Thump… thump thump.” I could hear it’s raspy breathing now. “Thump… heeh, thump thump.” It couldn’t be more than only a few feet away from where I stood.
“Thump, heeh heeh, thump thump.”
He came in front of me, his eyes squinting as he looked around. He looked directly at me with those glowing red eyes, penetrating my soul. He then looked to the other corner, watching closely for anything and continued walking past. “Thump… heeh, thump thump. Thump… thump thump. thump… thump…”
I let a new stream of tears down my face when he was gone. I grasped at myself, trying to calm down. I let out my own wheezes from being scared. I tried to focus but couldn’t with all the confusion in me. I needed to breath and take slow breaths and exhale them the same way.
After only a few seconds of doing so, I slowly moved out of the home into the way I had come. I stepped outside, the coldness seeming more evil than it once was. I looked around, expecting to see the thing behind every tree and bush, but if it was there it didn’t show itself.
I couldn’t trust anything anymore, until I was safe at home, in bed with my parents, for I had already made the decision to do so. I bolted down the path I had come dodging branches and tree stumps as I went hoping the thing didn’t hear my crackling and stomping as I ran away. I was proven wrong though because I started to hear it now behind me, “Thump, thump thump, thump, thump thump,” was the sound it’s feet now made as it chased me.
I could feel the adrenaline surge through me now, and the rush of blood through my ears blocked the thumping of his feet. I started to fly forward now and I met the opening we had seen before, and I bolted into it, the light of the moon giving me only a slight sense of security. I looked back for only a short time to see the thing chasing me down, its teeth barred, ready to devour me when they had the chance.
I charged along through the woods in front me and lost him, but only slightly. I kept on running, refusing to stop until in the solitude of my home. I made it to where I was in range of the creeks noise, giving me a new burst of energy through the sound, letting me know I was on the right path.
The trees branches seemed to be helping the demon behind me, blocking my path with gnarled branches and twisted roots trying to trip me. I was able to quickly pass through them though bursting into the creek. I was quickly was brought down as my foot caught hold into the rock I had mentioned before. I only caught a glimpse of it as I went down slamming my face against the pebbles that were barely under the waters surface.
I stood up as quickly as I had fallen but I had twisted my ankle and could barely move without a surging pain flying through my leg. I heard the creature now, the thumping of it’s feet and raspy gasps as it chased me down. It burst through the trees leaping with a blood curdling screech. I quickly kicked out my closest foot, which happened to be my sprained one and made contact with his leg, sending his face downward into the water beneath me. I heard the splash and crack of his face against the pebbles and started sprinting as fast as I could, each step hurting worse than the one before it.
I burst through the line of trees and started hobbling toward the back door til I remembered the front door was surely unlocked. I couldn’t take a risk on the back door, for if I was mistaken, I was sure to be caught with my weak leg.
I started to become numb from the constant running and could almost no longer feel the pain that surged through my leg. I made it to the side of my house when I heard the springs on my trampoline stretch and moan. I turned but continued moving, and saw the creature flop over on it as he tried to chase me down through. Never have I ever been so grateful for that stupid bouncy toy my parents got me before.
I heard it smash into the ground and struggle to get up as I moved along, pass the shed and the garbage cans. I made it to the driveway, where I heard the leaves crunching behind me, maybe a few yards away now. My leg was fine now, or at least my nerves thought so, so I started to run again. I made it to the front door and swung the door open sending a loud creak into the house and ran inside pulling the door shut behind me with a loud slam that made the house shake.
The creature started slamming at the door trying to break in. The light flicked on upstairs and I heard it bolt away. “Thump, thump thump… thump, thump thump… thump… thump.”
My parents yelled at me, “What the hell is going on!?” my dad screamed in his robe.
I started crying now, completely overwhelmed by the returning pain in my leg, fear, confusion and reprimanding of my parents. “William Marcus Jones! What are you doing for Christs sake!?” My mother yelled til she saw my tears.
The tears felt like joy compared to what had happened and I was happy that I shed them. I tried to keep them in after a while of just sitting at the door, crying my eyes out. I opened them, the tears gently burning my eyes. My parents stood there watching me, confused at me.
I tried to speak to them but it came out in a blubbered jumble of words and plain sounds. They shook there heads and my dad picked me up by the back of my neck and back of my knees, and carried me upstairs, knowing now I was frightened. He carried into his room and settled me onto the bed. I curled up into a ball and let out a new stream of tears.
After nearly a minute or two of crying madly, my parents shook me out of the trance I was now encased in. “Will honey, whats the matter?”
I tried to speak between the gasps, “M-monster, J-j-j-jhon… animals… dead all dead… f-f-f-forest!” I let out between hiccups of fear.
My dad looked at me carefully, then whispered to my mom, “Probably a nightmare.”
My mom whispered back “How did he get down stairs though?”
“Sleep walking.”
She nodded and laid down besides me, picking me up to comfort me. After a while I was able to calm myself down and they tried to convince me that it had all been a dream and that I had slept walk downstairs and slammed the door to scare myself. I disagreed with them of course knowing what I saw was no dream. After a while of discussing I decided to give in, and agree, secretly holding the truth inside my heart.
I slept with them and the nights after. People started wondering where John had gone to. He hadn’t been seen home after that night and nights after that as I slept with my parents. People began to search and ask questions around the neighborhood trying to get anything out. I didn’t know until the sheriff came in and asked me if I knew anything about Johns dissapearance.
I told him every single detail I could remember which was maybe a little less detailed than the story previous but you still understand. He listened carefully and actually wrote down notes, taking into account my tale. After finishing he thanked me and asked if he could speak alone to my parents. I agreed and he left the room.
I went to the door when he shut it and held my ear against it to hear what he had to say.
“Okay, so your son is the closest thing we have to a lead in this case, but it all sounds like a crazy nightmare to me if nothing more,” the officer said.
“Oh did he tell you about that damn monster thing? I am really sorry officer, he’s been troubled by that dream for the past three days now,” my dad said.
“Well the funny thing about it is that, he’s known about the disappearance since it occurred according to what you’re saying, and since it is the closest lead we have, we’re going to keep an eye on it in case anything shows up,” the officer said.
“Are you kidding me?” my mother chimed in, “It’s a dream nothing more! Why would you ever even take it into account?”
The officer laughed, “Well I know it seems crazy but from what I’ve seen and from my knowledge of kids, he seems to be telling the truth. He said that he sprained his ankle while running away from this creature, and from what I saw on his leg, it looks pretty bad with that cast.” My parents had taken me to the doctors and they revealed a terribly damaged ankle so they needed to put me into a cast for it to repair. “Also he said the monster killed John. Now I may be wrong but, I believe he is trying to mask his friends death with a more magical or mystical affect so he can fool himself into not believing it true.”
My parents muttered in understanding and the officer continued, “I’ve seen kids say they saw their friends shot by a bubble gun, when it was in reality a real gun. This represents something more magical or fun about the death or accident, so the child can process it more. Your son however is smarter, and knows that what happened was still cruel, but his brain mixed it up with the mystical effect and created the image of the monster instead.”
“Okay I suppose I understand now, but you mean to say my son was actually chased down by some psycho killer or animal?” my dad asked.
“Yes, it is a very likely that he was chased down by something,” the officer said. They continued to speak but I can’t remember any more of their conversation. But I can remember how I felt. Of course they didn’t believe me fully. I was only seven years old, of course I was lying and making up a story.
The officer came back in and thanked me for my time and left my house leaving me with my parents.
Later in the week, police men started to go into the woods behind my house daily and they would come back with no information. Even later, I appeared in the paper, my article title being, “The Boy Who Cried Monster,” making fun of me and my story. The article went into depth of how my story was the only lead the police had for the disappearance of John. I was the laughing stock at school after that.
The police now began to search my forest every night and day. I could see the flashlights beams surging through my window as I tried to go to sleep with the monsters face plastered into my brain. I barely got a wink of sleep, and went to school, beginning to do poorly with lack of sleep and thought of that cruel creature.
Weeks passed and no leads appeared as mine stayed at the top of the police list. The police did find however the home I had described before, speaking of the cardboard and the dead animals all around it. My story had been backed up and now people actually began to believe my tale. They even found blood spots before the camp, only a little ways away. But no John. They searched the entire forest from one end to the other. No John. No Monster. Just a story about a boy who ran away from home, never to be found again, and a silly story by a crazy seven year old.

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