CRAPPYPASTA

For those pastas that are smelling less than fresh…


October 18, 2014
by derpbutt
2 Comments

The Other World

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are now ready to perform the ritual.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Credit To – ThePlaguer
Credit Link – Theplaguer1@gmail.com

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October 18, 2014
by derpbutt
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The Undead

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

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

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

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

We bury our dead.

Credit To – Joseph Miles

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October 18, 2014
by derpbutt
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Set Free

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

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

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

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

Set Free.

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

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

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

But bring the pistol.

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

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

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

If the hand has four fingers –

Run.

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

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

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

But if the hand has five fingers –

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

But if the hand has six fingers –

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

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

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

You have passed the third trial. Again, congratulations.

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

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

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

Did you bring your pistol? I hope so.

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

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

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

SET FREE.

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

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

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

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

I must wait.

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

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

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

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

How long has it been?

How hungry am I?

Credit To – MCH
Credit Link – rodrigopud71@hotmail.com

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October 18, 2014
by derpbutt
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Spirit Walk

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

Credit To – HadesBane
Credit Link – baileyyk41@gmail.com

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October 18, 2014
by derpbutt
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Missing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Credit To – WayWardWanderer

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October 18, 2014
by derpbutt
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The Violin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Twp women approached the house.

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

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

“Same as the old women?”

“Yes. The plan seems to be working.”

“How many more do we need dead?”

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

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

“How long has she been dead?”

“Not more then a couple of days.”

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

“Do we call the cops?”

“Oh someone will find her.”

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

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

Credit To – DeadlyPurpleBunny

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October 18, 2014
by derpbutt
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The Rude Awakening

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Credit To – Sam A. Campbell
Credit Link – Samc1998@gmail.com

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October 8, 2014
by derpbutt
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The Corner Game

The Corner Game
This game, called “an cluiche cúinne” originated as an old Gaelic myth that was forgotten for centuries.

WARNING: This game can result in your demise. It is highly recommended that you do not play this game if you have a fear of:
-The Dark
-The Unknown
-Spirits
-Possessed Objects
-Being Alone

If you are an extreme daredevil looking for a new thrill, or a person who likes being scared out of your mind, this is the game for you. However, you have been warned.

To start the game, the time must be 10:40 pm at night. It is recommended you prepare your materials beforehand. At the 10:40 mark, it is time to set up the ritual. You will need:
-You’re bedroom
-An open floor (can be carpet)
-4 candles
-A piece of paper with no lines
-A pen with either blue or black ink
-A lighter
-A watch or clock (preferably a watch)
-And a piece of clothing you are willing to sacrifice

Your bedroom must have all the windows closed; however, they don’t need to have blinds closed. The bed must be made nicely, and the floor needs to be clean. The rest of the house must be empty of persons or pets. You are the only one who must be in the house. The pets and/or persons can be outside the remainder of the game. When all these preparations have taken, the game can now be set up.

At 10:40, you can now set up the game. Turn off every single light in the house except for your bedroom. Now go in your room and close the door, but don’t lock it. At this time, put the 4 candles in the middle of the room in a square formation. Do not light them just yet. Place your piece of clothing your willing to sacrifice in the middle of the placed candles. After that, then proceed to light all 4 candles with the lighter. Your job is to summon the spirit of Lucas Rowan, also known as Mr. Nightmare. Still before 11:00 pm, write his name on the piece of paper with your pen. After his name, write the words “I summon you” all before the 11:00 mark. You must stay quite through this procedure. Place the paper face up on the piece of clothing. Finally, at 11:00 pm, blow out all 4 candles. The game has begun.

Because of your actions, Mr. Nightmare is now allowed in your house. The object of the game is to stay in your room completely silent so Mr. Nightmare cannot correctly locate you. You may hear shuffling, creaking, or other curious noises outside your bedroom door. Mr. Nightmare will NOT open a door unless he hears you make a noise. Do NOT open your door. This will cause him to enter your room. Do NOT fall asleep at all during the game. If you do, he will enter your dreamscape and curse you with terrible, life-threatening nightmares. He is known for making people sleepwalk, so be careful.If you happen to make a noise during the game, you MUST hide in a corner of your room until the game is over, your face in the corner. You will feel him in the room with you, and you might feel sudden pain when looking at him. You won’t see him but you will feel a sharp pain.

Mr. Nightmare will leave your house at precisely 12:00 midnight. However, at this time the game still is not over. Your next task is to go through the rest of your house,looking in every single room without turning the lights on. By doing this, you ensure that Mr. Nightmare knows it’s your territory, and not to return unless he is summoned once again. If you turn on all the lights without searching through all the rooms, this gives him the opportunity to return to that room, and anyone who enters an unchecked room can experience headaches and fatigue. The only way to fix this is to play the game again, and check all the rooms.
The piece of clothing you sacrificed is now possessed by Mr. Nightmare’s spirit. Whoever sleeps in the same room with it will experience painful and possibly lethal nightmares. It is recommended to burn or throw away this piece of clothing.
The ritual is complete, but seriously, don’t try this at home.

Credit To – KyletheGameGuy
Credit Link – http://m.youtube.com/user/KyletheGameGuy

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October 8, 2014
by derpbutt
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The Noises…

Look, I know that you may think you have heard all the scary stories out there, and that this may be just another drop of salty water in the vast sea, but for your own sake please, pay attention to what I write here. It may just serve to save your life… If you don’t read this, just remember-

Don’t trust background noises.

It started a week ago. One night, as I was drifting into the land of shadows (or sleep, for those who are not as pretentious) when I heard the noise of a rake, or maybe a shovel, clattering to the ground in the room below. You see, the bedroom in my house Is set just above the garage, with only a few inches of floor between the two. Even so, usually you can’t hear a thing down there besides the occasional loud whir of the motor lifting or lowering the heavy door to the garage, or maybe sometimes the heater in the winter. Momentary confusion set in but, being a man of rationality and being very tired from a hard work day, I wrote it off as nothing I should be concerned with until the tomorrow. After a few minutes, once again the same clatter sounded from down below, now accompanied by loud thumping and pounding sounds. When they ceased abruptly after about ten seconds, I figured it must just be some kids taking their angst out on my garage doors or something. Whatever. If the neighbors care, they can deal with it.
Nothing else of note happened, and I awoke the next day unmolested, forgetting the events of the night before entirely. It was a lovely Tuesday, with birds chirping and sunshine flooding the bedroom window. The neighbors were having a barbeque outside, teenagers were heading down to the local river, and the ice-cream man was delivering goodies to the children. It all sounded delightful from my loft. It was a wonderful day, but the outside world was not mine to enjoy. You see, I write articles and do graphic design for a living, live alone, and order my groceries from online. As such, I usually have no reason to go outside. My entire connection to the great outdoors or to any kind of society at all, are the sounds of life thriving just outside my windows and the faceless patrons of the world-wide web. I realize now why I am so vulnerable to… It, but it is far too late for me to rectify my mistakes now. In any case, I had been living this way for years, and was so used to the common rustles and bumps of the night and the easy-going flow of suburban life during the day, that they had been nothing but background static for as long as I can remember.
Life rolled on, much as it usually did. I woke, slept, and woke. I had cereal one day, toaster waffles the next, and many pizza pockets throughout. Three days. Three days before I was expunged from my naivety. Can you believe that in all those hours, I never had the inclination to look outside? Never felt the need for some fresh air? For three days, I just surfed the web, and forgot all else. Then, on Friday morning, the internet went down.
That was when I noticed for the first time the odd, discordant quirks infecting the noises I believed myself to be so used to. It began with odd shifts in pitch that would randomly happen during common events. For example, at the barbeque next door, Mr. Wilson would hold a toast for the fantastic summer they were enjoying, and his children would joke about toasting something that happened every year. Often, in the middle of his toast, his voice would crack, or his children would suddenly sound older or younger than they usually sounded. The cars containing rowdy teenagers that passed by the bedroom window every day, three within ten minute intervals of each other, would sometimes forget to honk, or honk much louder than they should be able to. The excited teens would often say their lines out of sync with the others in their parties, and the song played by the ice-cream truck would sometimes garble into something that sounded vaguely of screaming. As I thought on these strange occurrences more, sitting at my desk, I realized something that made me more frightened than I have ever been in my entire life:

The same barbeque, the same cars, the same children, the same toast… had been happening at the exact same times, on the clock, as they had happened Tuesday.

It’s quiet right now, I might have time to explain-
Far from this being some screwed up “Groundhog Day” situation, the clock on my computer told me, with its bright, glowing face, that it was now Friday. All of the evidence agreed the computer was right, from the cell phone, to the Xbox, even the glitchy alarm clock I always meant to replace. This is real.
Being the intellect that I am, I decided to test this event which I dubbed “the repeating sound wave echo”, to see if it could be affected by anything I did. Of course, I didn’t even think to go outside, and that may have just saved my life, for the moment. Anyway, I changed my usual routine, tried to call out to people outside, even began to repeat my own noises, to see if mocking it would produce any effect.
Nothing.
Finally, after a few hours of experimentation, and losing my nerve and patience, I thrust open my window and yelled into the street below, “SHUT THE HELL UP!” Everything went quiet, and I noticed for the first time how abandoned the streets were. Nobody played outside, there was no eternal barbeque, and not a single driveway was bereft a vehicle.
Then I saw the blood. Smears of dark red were on the fronts and sides of houses, on the door handles of cars, even pooled in small divots in my wildly overgrown front lawn.
At the same time, the smell hit me. It was like… well, I can’t even describe it. It was the first time I have ever smelled rotten meat.
The last thing I noticed, before slamming the window shut and vomiting on my carpet, were the bodies. Desecrated corpses decorated broken windows and cracked pavements. It looked as if the entire community had been slaughtered an-
Sorry, it’s too much right now…
I now know what made the days echo themselves, what mimicked the dead it had ravaged. I’ve seen flashes of dark feathers, a monster the size of a man, with the sneaky grace of a cat. A beak, bloodied and covered in the viscera of my neighbors. It has begun mocking the very typing I am doing right now. My breathing is echoed, my heartbeat is accompanied by a sister heartbeat. It knows where I am, and it seems to be getting closer…-

I’m sorry, I would write more but I have no time I have to post this soon!the intenet has just started up a- I just heard a window donstairs break, shit!dont trust the noises, pay atention to the signs the noises might shift or change randomly! If they repeat, it’s too late!

Good luck, an goodbye…

Credit To – Nick Carlson
Credit Link – @Space_Lemon_ OR spacelemon@live.com

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September 30, 2014
by derpbutt
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The Unseen

I’ve never been the type of person to write experiences down, or record anything, really. Not because I was disinterested in the activity, or didn’t care enough, but because I was never really good at it. That was always my brother, Ben. He never missed an opportunity to capture something on film, or write something down. In fact, I remember him keeping a very detailed diary. Whether it was just us playing Scrabble (a game in which he often thrashed me) or a family reunion (an event that happened far too frequently in my opinion) or even the weather outside. Actually, the weather was what he seemed determined to keep a record of the most. This habit seemed unique and maybe even annoying, but never really odd. No, that’s not right… it did get odd. More than odd, in fact; it became downright terrifying.

That’s why I’m writing this now. Me, the one who never kept so much as a day journal. But it seems necessary now; actually, it seems to be the only way to make sense of what my life has become, especially to me. Seeing the words on paper seems to validate my sanity (or what’s left of it) because I can no longer trust the images in my head. I hope I can still trust my memories to be true, because they’re all I have left. And I’m leaving them here, in the hopes that some sort of good can come of this. So allow me to explain, please.

Even as children I could never really see us as siblings; me with my brown eyes and blond hair, shorter and just a little stocky, and him with his tall, slender frame, blue eyes and raven locks. I’ll admit that my brother was beautiful, with that dark and elegant look to him that I would have given almost anything for. Despite this, I don’t think I was ever truly jealous. Even in our high school years when Ben would spend countless nights out on dates and parties I never envied him; I liked my own company, and my privacy. As siblings go, I think we were pretty close. We rarely fought, and were each other’s best friends. Although, Ben’s habit of recording everything did get on my nerves more and more as we got older. Despite my best efforts and constant complaints, I couldn’t get him to stop recording me. I knew it was harmless and really a loving gesture, but something about it made me squirm. Ben would often just smile at this and say, “The camera loves you, Joe”. And maybe it did. All I knew was that I hated it.
This became especially true in the winter of 1995, right before I turned eighteen. Ben had been out at a party, and I had the house to myself for the night. I had always liked being alone, and I was in a good mood as I was deciding how to spend my night. I was pacing the living room floor in contemplation, going over my options. I looked outside and immediately knew that going outside was out of the question; the world had been whited out by a snowstorm. Between the black of the night and the snow, it almost looked like static. Suddenly my thoughts turned to Ben in a flare of concern, but it passed as I reasoned he would just stay the night at wherever he was at. I mean, no one would be crazy enough to try to travel in that blizzard. Walking towards the staircase at the left of the room, I resumed thinking of what to do with myself. As I rounded the corner off the top of the stairs and turned into my room on the left, I sighed in indecision. My eyes widened and my heart beat a little bit faster when I noticed the object completely alien in the design of my room; Ben’s camera, a small, compact, and black box. And it wasn’t just that the camera was there, on my dresser that shocked me.

It was on.

I didn’t know what to think. This wasn’t something that Ben would do, no, he would never be so careless. I didn’t know how his beloved camera had wound up here, but I decided to return it to his room when a better idea struck me; the blizzard. Ben had always loved recording the weather outside, especially the extreme kind. So, I went downstairs and placed it in its usual spot, in the middle of the table adjacent to the window. I checked the battery, not knowing how long it had been on, and set it to record.
I spent the rest of the night in my room, only going downstairs once to fix myself a snack. On my way down, I remember walking right past the camera, not sparing even a glance. After I got my food, I turned to go back upstairs, but something caught my eye; the camera. It didn’t look like anything was wrong, but I looked closer anyway. I realized what was off; it was pointing the wrong way, with the lens now focused on the staircase. This definitely creeped me out; I remember specifically aiming it outside. I decided that I had probably captured enough of the storm outside to satisfy Ben, so I picked up the camera and went upstairs to Ben’s room. I placed it on his neatly made bed and shut the door behind me, still thinking of how the camera could possibly have been turned around.

The storm dissipated not long after my discovery of the camera’s new position, and Ben staggered in as I was getting ready for bed. Now, this was unusual to me, because Ben didn’t drink (not as far as I knew, anyway) but I didn’t think too much of it. I walked out of my room to go to the bathroom and met him in the hall. My hair immediately stood up on end as I took in the sight of my brother: he was obviously quite drunk, swaying on his feet, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, but it was his eyes that really startled him. They were bloodshot, wide and darting, as if frantically trying to find something in the gloom of the hall. I spoke to him, “Ben?”
And his eyes snapped to mine. His words were slurred, but understandable, as he said to me, in a quiet but strong voice, “Where is my camera?” This was another oddity; he never moved it out of his bedroom except to film. He hadn’t moved it before he left, and he knows I would never touch it if I could help it, so why was he asking? Instead, I simply said “On your bed”. He turned around sharply and started to sway towards his room. Once he was inside, he slammed the door and I didn’t hear from him for the rest of the night.

I lay awake that night going over all the strange events; the camera in my room, it moving towards the stairs, and Ben showing up drunk and his strange question. I shrugged it off as just one of those nights, and went to sleep.
It was one of the last times I slept soundly.

After that night, Ben became more withdrawn and increasingly obsessed with his camera. He’d been coming out of his room less and less, and my family grew more and more worried. After all, he’d always been quite social and quite happy, and no one knew what the cause of this drastic change was. It was…heartbreaking, really. My sense of loss and pity slowly turned to one of fear, however: Sometimes I’d wake up in the middle of the night with Ben’s camera on my dresser, lens pointed directly at me, its small little red light looking almost insidious. He started recording my parents when they weren’t looking, often hiding in a corner. I’d try to confront him about this, but when I did, the look on his face always silenced me. It was beyond an expression of malice; it was murderous. Soon we stopped talking altogether, and it felt as if my brother had died. I didn’t know how right I was.

I found my brother’s body on a Thursday morning in November, lying face down in the middle of his room, limbs sprawled. He was fully clothed, and there didn’t seem to be any injuries, but there was something that did unsettle me even past seeing my brother dead; his eyes were blank. Not glassy or unfocused, but completely white. I stared for a few seconds.

They blinked.

I finally screamed then and my parents came running. They, too, screamed.

Life wasn’t the same after that. My parents fought more and more, and I was too sad to care. I was bored one day and was feeling especially conscious of my brother’s absence, so I went to his room. I wanted to remind myself of how Ben was before the winter, so I picked up his camera. I heard something rustle around when I picked it up, and noticed a piece of paper had fallen to the floor. I unfolded it gently, and almost dropped it. My eyes widened as I read its message, probably Ben’s last.

Written in what looked like blood were the words “DO NOT CHECK THE CAMERA.”

I threw down the camera and ran out of there with the paper still in my hand.

Eventually, as Ben’s loss became less sharp and life went on, I came to forget that camera. I immersed myself in a work program at a local youth centre, I was paying the bills and still living in that same house, with my parents having passed away a few years after Ben. It was winter again, I had a few days off with nothing to do and I wasn’t feeling up to much. Boredom and nostalgia slowly set in, so I visited Ben’s room again. The moment my foot passed the doorway, I stopped. Something felt…terribly wrong. Not unusual; wrong. Frightening. Menacing. The growing dark outside did nothing to abate this feeling.

I said to myself it was just the aftershock of Ben’s death, if something like that can be felt all those years later. I walked slowly, almost reverently, deeper into the room. I looked over all of Ben’s possessions, still there, and came upon that same camera. It was on, and I wasn’t all that surprised. Remembering the warning I had found, I considered simply putting it back, but I argued that it was probably best to know what the hell was going on, and was soon going over the recordings.

I’m sorry if this is getting hard to read, but my hand is shaking badly right now. I can see the video playing in my head, almost painfully clearly, and I think that this letter will be the last thing I ever finish. I can hear it coming, now; I can hear it laughing. I can hear Ben’s voice laughing with it, and under it, his screams.

The first videos were normal enough; me and Ben laughing outside, eating ice cream in the middle of summer, him winning at Scrabble, relatives we never saw, that kind of thing. Then they started getting darker. The film skipped to me, lying on my side in my bed, fast asleep. About 30 seconds into the video, the audio cut out. There wasn’t much noise to begin with, but no sound is as noticeable as absolute silence. Then, something moved along the edge of the camera’s sight. I say something because after seeing its shadow, there was no other possible way to describe it. I almost threw the camera across the room when it finally entered the frame; it was a tall, humanoid thing with arms and legs much too long for its body, dragging its limbs along slowly, almost like limping. Its skin looked to be an insane pattern of black and white, and my eyes began to sting just from looking at it. Then, as it approached my bed, it turned to the camera. Its face appeared to be burned, and it had black teeth that almost seemed to shine. It was smiling, no grinning, with the ends of its rotting mouth stretching up towards where ears should have been. As insane as it sounds, the most horrifying part of this home video from hell were the eyes.

They were Ben’s.

I forced myself to watch the other tapes, and it showed up in all of them, starting with the one I filmed the night Ben went to that party. The first time on camera, it seems, was right outside the living room window when I set it to film the blizzard. Its face was pressed right up to the window, smiling that insane smile directly at the camera, directly at me.
I burned the camera that night. I didn’t sleep easily either, imagining it to be right at the foot of my bed, looking at me with my brother’s eyes and those teeth ready to rip my flesh apart. I thought I heard it in the hallway, dragging its elongated limbs behind it towards my door, laughing softly.

The night before I moved out was the worst. I woke up at 2:45 AM, everything unusually quiet, letting my eyes adjust to the gloom. I decided to go to the bathroom, reasoning that this thing probably wouldn’t attack in the light. There, I got a glass of water, and leaned over to the faucet, splashing cold water on my face. When my head rose again, in the mirror, I saw it standing there in the doorway, still smiling that smile that didn’t reach its eyes (my BROTHER’S EYES). I turned around to look at it, and found nothing but empty space. My heart is beating so fast that it must surely be ready to burst or give out. I turn back to the mirror, and there it is, standing right behind me, its face inches from my shoulder. I’ll never know how, but I managed to speak. “What are you? What did you do to Ben?” Then I screamed, “WHY US?”

Then it whispered in my ear, “The camera loves you, Joe.”

It was Ben’s voice.

I turned and ran out of that bathroom as fast as I could. I turned on every light in my house and smashed every mirror I could find on the way to my bedroom. I packed a few clothes, my wallet and was about to run down the stairs when I remembered: Ben’s diary. I found it beside his bed and ran to my truck outside. His last entries will stick with me along with that video until the day I die.

Friday, November 24th

The camera is acting up again, this time showing nothing but static. Considering replacing it, but it’s so dear to me. Maybe I’ll just try to fix the lens again. Besides the camera, everything is great. Amy is treating me so well, and my friends are a lot of fun now that the holidays are coming. And then there’s Joe…

Wednesday, November 29th

Joe is acting more and more strange. He claims that my camera was on his room last night, so I’m going to watch the tape after I finish this just to see what he’s talking about. I’m starting to think he might need help…
That was the last time he wrote in that diary.
I’m having trouble focusing now. All I see is that video, that thing that killed my brother and will probably kill me. I’m not going to give it the chance.

I’m in a motel now, waiting for night to come. It looks like it’s going to snow.

I brought a camera with me, thinking I might say something, feeling the urge to record something.

After all, the camera loves me.

Credit To – Grim Writer

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