For those pastas that are smelling less than fresh…

August 11, 2014
by derpbutt


Brandon was slouched in his leather armchair, pondering the things the average middle-aged man might ponder. Mid-thought about the scratch he’d found on his car earlier that day, an abnormality in the corner of his room caught his eye. Sure enough, further inspection revealed a series of bubbles lining a hairline crack on the wall – a leak. Brandon sighed to himself, and wondered how long it would be before he summoned the effort to contact the landlord of his apartment and get it ammended. He concluded, with regret, probably not until it was much worse and he had no choice. Content with his answer he turned back to the shining monitor in his face.

Brandon lived a normal, and relatively dull life. He was single, had few friends, and worked in a library. His shift lasted from 8 to 4, and the time he spent along dissapeared into the vast depths of the internet. He rented a three room, tiny apartment, for which his library job just covered, along with food, a small car and internet. He had a small amount of savings from where an aunt had passed away, which he had never touched, other than the initial payment for the apartment, and the little furniture he had.

Day after day passed, and nothing changed. That is, except for one small detail, he noticed, on the wall. While reclining, again, on his leather armchair, he once again came face to face with the leak. Only this time the paint had peeled away, revealing a tiny hole, about the diameter of one of those tiny cocktail sticks you find at parties. Brandon scalded himself mentally for not dealing with that problem, remembered his conclusion a few days before, forgave himself, and decided he would act upon it the next day.

The next day came, and Brandon found himself, once again, presented with the tiny hold. He could have swore it was bigger, but there was no damp he could feel of. How peculiar, he thought to himself. He leaned back in his armchair and wondered as to the origins of the disruption to his smooth wall. Sure enough, Brandon ended the evening with his usual routine and the leak, and his outstanding task of contacting the landlord, slipped from his mind. The next day passed, and the next, with similar conclusions.

And another day passed; he was, for the fourth evening in a row, considering the hole when he found himself questioning the his not getting it sorted. It was growing by the day, and was now of such a significant size he felt it definately worthy of his time. Why had he not dealt with that yet? Then again, why would he have? Why should he deal with it, he asked himself. He concluded he didn’t have to deal with it, if he didn’t want to. Anyway, who said he had to? And who was gonna make him if he didnt?

Another day came and went. Brandon had spent his evening looking at the hole when the clock caught his attention and he realised, to his horror, it was 2 in the morning! He had been sat there from 4, when he arrived home, to 2 – 10 hours! Staring at the hole… Why, he hadn’t even eaten! Brandon was never one for concentrating for more than a few minutes on one thing, besides hours. Still, he thought, it was a very appealing hole now he thought of it. Sure it was only a hole, but it was more than that. It wasn’t anything imparticular he could put his finger on, but there was more to it. It had, by this point, continued to grow to about the size of a 2 pence coin, filled with a solid, black void.

After a short 6 hour sleep, Brandon awoke and began his usual morning preparation rhythem, when a thought crept into his mind – Why go to work, when he could stay home? He wasn’t angry about yesturday, he really did have a great time with the hole. But he didn’t like being tired. This way, he could spend all day with the hole, and not loose sleep! Brandon was pleasently chuffed with probably the first ever decent idea he’d had in his life. A week passed since his empiphany, and he had been with his hole ’till about 3 in the afternoon when he concluded he needed to do more for the hole. After all, after all it had done for him, a bit of serendaing was the least he could do. Brandon retieved the single red board-pen he owned, and began drawing. The hole was on a hill, and surrounded by a castle – Brandon liked this, and so did the hole! He looked around, and spotted his wooden chest by the front door. He heaved it over to the hole, and collected the all the cuttlery he owned, and with a few hours of work extra to his name, stood back to survey his work. The hole’s castle stood atop the chest, protected by a fence of metal knives and forks.

Brandon giggled aloud with glee. It was so perfect! And the hole loved it! He was just wondering what he could do next, when he heard a voice. It was a whisper, but he couldn’t tell where it came from. The words were like nothing he had ever heard before – that’s if they were words. Yes, they were words, only no language he’d heard before. It wasn’t a nice language. It didn’t sound quite right for this world. No, this couldn’t be of man, they just weren’t those types of words. “Sko’l-sho-kun” it sang, along with other phrases of equal irrelevance to Brandon. From within the hole something sturred. Brandon leaned in closer to get a better look, but flew back to his chair, as a long, wet limb climed out the hole – a tenticle of sorts. It was a dark green in colour, with a smooth, but textured shine to it. It could be a tenticle, but it couldn’t really. That name didn’t quite fit. It moved slowly, but kept extending, right up to Brandon who, by this point, was simply struck with awe. It made its steady way behind him, and back round to his front. Again it did this, and as Brandon watched in anticipation, he realised it had wrapped itself twice round his neck! As if he had woken from a nightmare he broke out of the trace and tried to scream. His body stiffened and his limbs flailed around the arm of steel. Every muscle in his body jolted as he seeked to be free of the creatures grasp…

As the tenticle snapped taught, a sickening snap could be heard from the apartments around, followed by a dull thud as his lifeless corpse dropped to the floor. The part decayed body was discovered 2 months later, after police forced entry to the apartment ensuing complaints of smells of decay. Had he not setup the auto-payments in his bank for his bills, perhaps the landlord would have found his body first. It was a bizarre case, to say the least. The body was found with his neck broken in several places, lying on the floor. Bruising was apparent all around his shouldars and neck, and a thick mucus coated his hands and upper body. Items had been knocked off the nearby shelves and desk, as though a struggle had taken place. An alter had been constructed against a wall in the room, to which his body appeared to have fallen after he lost his life, yet nothing stood atop it. Nothing, but a small patch of bubbling paint with a hairline crack running down the middle of it, presumably from a leak. The plumber patched it up and the apartment was cleared. It was assumed to be some sort of cult sacraficial ceremony, and the case was closed.

Something groaded in the wall, and slid away to seek another’s appreciation…

Credit To – Pseudaletis

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August 1, 2014
by derpbutt

The thing that lives in your mind

The thing that lives in your mind

A young girl stares at her reflection in the mirror. A voice in her head talks to her slowly, in words she can understand.

“Who are you?” She asks the voice slowly.

“I am your friend.” the voice replies. “I can play with you when you get lonely.”

“But what’s your name?”

“My name? I am the Un-you. I live in everyone.”

“How do you do that?” The little girl asks slowly?

“Would you like to see me?” The voice asked.


The girls reflection began to move.

Credit To – FrequentEnturpreter
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August 1, 2014
by derpbutt

Too Busy To Notice

It was about 1 am when I got home. I work late evenings, so coming home this late wasn’t out of the ordinary for me. The house was dark and I had to use instinct to get from room to room.
I got to the first bedroom door, my daughter Brooke’s. I snuck in quiet as a mouse to give her a kiss as I so often miss bedtime. She has the blanket up over her face and it just further reminds me how she is so much like me. I hate any light while sleeping and so does she. I don’t even know why I keep a nightlight in her room, must be for my own peace of mind knowing she had a light should she ever want it. I give her a quick peck on the forehead. She’s cold and I realize I left the a/c on full blast in her room even though it’s been a rainy, cool day. Yesterday was such a humid day. Seems like this summer won’t give us a break around here, hardly any perfect days this year. I turn off the window unit, close her door behind me, and head to my own room.
After changing into my pajamas, I crawl into bed next to my boyfriend. All my joints creak and my muscles scream at me. I know I have to pace myself in my daily life, but that’s not what super moms do. Get up early to make breakfast for my daughter, send her off the preschool, clean the house from the night before, laundry and errands until she gets home, dinner, and I’m off to one of my 3 evening jobs, come home, crawl in bed, and do it all over again the next day. It gets exhausting.
My boyfriend rolls over and puts his arm around me.
“How was work, hun?”
“Good, I’m just glad to be home. Remind me in the morning I have to get those books back to the library and to go to the grocery store. I don’t have the energy to make a to-do list tonight.”
“That’s good,” he says with a big yawn. “Brooke woke up screaming about the ‘scary girl’ again tonight, so I let her in bed with me.”
“Oh, poor girl. When did she go back to her room?”
“What do you mean? She’s right here.”
He sat up to show behind himself. He pulled the blanket down a little to show me her open-mouthed, quietly snoring face, because my daughter likes to sleep with the blanket over her face.

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August 1, 2014
by derpbutt

Down to Sleep

Now you lay you down to sleep
Insomnia begins to creep
Darkened thoughts enter your head
And serve to raise your sense of dread

An effort to calm your mind in haste
The demons in your room, erase
You begin to think your nightly chant
And hope the monsters will recant

“Nothing will harm me, nothing is real
I’m simply experiencing irrational fears
Tonight is not the night I pass
Tomorrow morning I will laugh

At how stupid I’m being now
At how my fear seems so well endowed
I’ll go to sleep and end the night
Another day I’ll live to fight!”

You feel more calm as words take hold
You feel less scared and much more bold
The chant will stop when it’s sleeping time
But it’s the cold, dead hand that stops this rhyme

Credit To – Matt M
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August 1, 2014
by derpbutt


I awoke to the sound of Sad But True by Metallica rocking through my alarm clock, and to the wish that the night was a few hours longer so that my slumber could have lasted just that little bit more. While I was thinking about this I heard James Hetfield sing “sad but true“ for the final time before the music faded out. Realising that I had already been lying there for 5 minutes doing nothing, I thought that I’d best get up and get ready for work. So I went about my morning routine as normal, but when I stepped outside and looked around it hit me. It was October 31st, Halloween. Fuck!

I hate Halloween. Ever since I was a kid I hated Halloween, and my older brother Justin knew this, and always tried to scare the shit out of me, but I never knew why I hated it. All I knew was that every year, I always had the worst feeling of dread come over me on this day. Just a feeling of pure terror. But there was no reason for this. I don’t remember anything bad ever happening to me on Halloween. But it is what it is, and I just had to get on with it, with the knowledge that today wasn’t going to be a very good day.

So I continued on like any normal day getting in my Monaro and driving the 45 minute journey to work, but while driving, I kept on glimpsing a dark figure out of the corner of my eye. It was really starting to freak me out, so I pulled to the side of the road and tried to calm myself down. Sitting there in my car, I realised how ridiculous I was being. I was just getting myself worked up over nothing.

So after scolding myself for being so stupid, I started the car back up and sat there for a minute just listening to the V8 rumble. After feeling sufficiently calmed down, I pulled back onto the road to complete my commute to work. Even when I arrived, I was still feeling a bit wary but I just told myself I was being paranoid, and got on with the day, trying to ignore the growing sense of unease.

All throughout the morning I kept getting the feeling of eyes on me, and of being followed. The harder I tried to ignore it, the worse it got, to the point where my boss noticed me looking around with a worried look on my face all the time. He asked me if something was wrong. I tried to play it off as nothing, but I’m not a very good liar, and he saw right through me. He gave me direct orders to go home, get my head straightened out, and come back in tomorrow focused and in the right frame of mind, or it was my job.

So now I was in danger of being sacked over this, but I didn’t even know what “this” was. I was really starting to get angry with myself for letting it get to me so much, but then I saw it. I was walking to my car, muttering to myself how stupid this whole situation was, when I noticed it. Off in the distance, across the road, just standing there next to a old abandoned building. Staring at me. I couldn’t move. I was frozen with fear. Then, a truck drove past and it disappeared. I ran to my car as fast as I could, started it up, threw it in gear, and sped out of there at a rate of knots.

I was speeding all the way home. Running red lights. I almost t-boned a guy. I only just stopped in time. I was absolutely terrified, and not thinking straight. When my house came into view, the relief was palpable. I pulled into my driveway, jumped out, and rushed inside. I ran around the house, making sure all the doors and windows were locked, grabbed a knife, and holed myself up in my bedroom. I just sat there for a few hours, jumping at every little noise I heard.

After about three hours of this, I had managed to calm myself down considerably. I was still on edge, but more rational now. I looked outside and noticed it was getting dark. I thought about it for a minute, and came to the conclusion that I didn’t want kids egging my house, so I filled a bowl with candy, wrote a note to take one, and went about setting it up out the front. When I opened the front door there it was. Right across the street. Looking at me.
I dropped the bowl. Slammed the door and locked it. Then grabbed the knife. Now by this point, I was sick of being hunted. I started making a plan. If this fucker wanted to take me out, I sure as hell wasn’t going to make it easy for it. If I was going down, I was going down swinging. I got ready, and was sitting in my living room, waiting, knife in hand for any noise that might tip me off to its presence.

I had been waiting for hours for any sign that this wasn’t just my imagination. It was about 10:30 now, and nothing had happened, and I was really starting to think this whole thing was in my head, when I heard banging. First at the front door, then at the back, then on the windows. I was ready for this. But everything stopped. For about 5 minutes there was nothing. Then I looked out the window and saw it run past.

It was running towards the back door, so I charged over, ready to confront it. I ripped open the door. Nothing. I stuck my head outside, and just caught a glimpse of it running down the side of the house to the front. So I scurried to the front door, tore it open, and again. Nothing. Then realising I had left the back door open, I rushed back across the house, slammed it shut and locked it.

I knew I was to late. It was in the house now. I was sure of it, and I was on the back foot. I was creeping around the house, looking in every nook and cranny. I looked through the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom. Nothing. It had to be in my bedroom. So I crept up to the door, summoned all my courage, and burst through the door to find… nothing. I couldn’t understand it. There weren’t many places in my house to hide. I was feeling defeated, when I heard a crash.

It came from the living room. I stood for a second, stealing my nerves and trying to regain my composure. This was it. Showtime. I braced myself, and headed to the living room. There it was. Standing there. Looking at me. A sick smile on its face. We both just stood there for a moment, in a sort of Mexican stand off. It started laughing. That was it. I rushed it. It dove out of the way of my knife. It was very quick and agile. I heard it make a noise that resembled distorted speech. I couldn’t focus on that. I was too preoccupied trying to kill this thing. I went for its throat, but it dodged again, and this time it grabbed me from behind.

We were struggling for the knife. I had a pretty good grip on it, but it was starting to pry it away from me. I stomped on its foot, to try and get it to let go, but it wouldn’t. Then it pulled my hand up over my shoulder, and finally managed to overpower me, and win control of the knife. Although while doing this, the force it was using to break my grip on the knife, ended up forcing the knife back into its own neck.

It let me go instantly. I was relieved to get away from its grip for the moment. I turned around to defend myself from its attack, when I noticed the knife in its throat. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, until I noticed a bit of skin peeking through on its neck. On closer inspection I could tell it was wearing a mask. I pulled the mask over its head to find the face of my brother staring back at me.

Credit To – The Iceman
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August 1, 2014
by derpbutt


Rebecca walked along the dark path as quickly as she could; she was regretting walking down the alley behind the houses. She knew it was the quickest way, from work at the Restaurant, but not the most inviting.

The alley-way was dead quiet and empty and made her uncomfortable but she carried on none the less. Rebecca could have just taken a lift with Gemma and Mark, but she insisted on walking so she could clear her head. Her boyfriend had dumped her for another girl and Rebecca was devastated.

She thought to herself “How could that idiot leave me, for some bimbo?!” Rebecca tried not to think about it, but she couldn’t help shedding a tear. “We were together for 2 years!” she protested and sniffled into her hands. Out of nowhere, Rebecca heard a faint laughter and she suddenly froze and listened, but she couldn’t figure out where it was coming from.

She pulled out a tissue from her pocket, wiped her eyes and nose and stopped crying, only to be met with silence. “Gemma?” she shouted “Mark?” still nothing, “This isn’t funny you guys!” but there was no reply, only the same silence as before but now even more uninviting.

Rebecca was scared now, more than upset but she shook off the fear that appeared to be nothing more than a gust of wind, then made for the exit of the dimly-lit alley and she ignored anything that was probably not even there.

Finally, a few metres down and she could already see the bright exit greeting her with warmth and safety. Rebecca nearing closer was relieved, she laughed because she worked herself up over nothing and thought she heard sounds which must have been a trick of the mind and nothing more. She stopped laughing.

The laughter from behind her didn’t.

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August 1, 2014
by derpbutt

Just Desserts

Working with old people was a hard job, constantly appealing to their needs, their short memory and temper-tantrums, but it’s worth it eventually . When you know you’re there for an elderly citizen with no family or friends, and they have only you to rely on. It feels pretty rewarding to know someone depends and appreciates your presence and help. It used to be what got me up out of bed every morning, until recently an incident occurred that has caused me to make it unbearable to even look at an elderly woman without wincing.
It all started when every Saturday I used to bring Meals on wheels and cleaned around the house for a sweet old lady who lived there alone, Mrs Tomlinson. She was in her mid 80’s, grey hair, and was riddled with wrinkles. She was a lovely lady and a picturesque grandmother figure, but she was just a bit of a scatterbrain and very forgetful. I’d worked with people with Alzheimer’s and other emotional disorders, but Mrs Tomlinson, as I said, just had short memory. The most frequent example being her habit of leaving things in the wrong places. Milk in drawers, clothes in dishwashers, cutlery in fridges. Nothing catastrophic, sometimes so unusual they stirred a laugh of both us. The worst it ever did was just cause a bit of awkward cleaning, like mopping up milk out of a cutlery drawer. Nothing too bad, just some really, really odd situations.
Or so I thought.
One day, I had brought Mrs Tomlinson her meal, fish and chips, and Swiss roll. She thought her meal was decent enough (although she did sometimes complain about the blandness of these meals), and we were having a conversation whilst I was cutting up some of her food.
“Is this okay for you Mrs Tomlinson?” I asked.
“Yes dear that’s fine. Oh so you’re such a gentleman! Remind of me of my late husband Mark. Bless him.” She replied dreamily.
“How long were you married Mrs Tomlinson?” I asked curiously.
Suddenly she pulled a face after taking a spoonful of her dessert, interrupting our conversation. She complained that it was too dry on its own, and she could really use some custard with it. Being a Brit myself, I could thoroughly concur that Swiss roll did need custard. (Not what Americans know as ice cream, a sweet yellow sauce so to speak.) She said she had some custard powder lying around in one of the drawers, and asked me to ‘be a dear’ and boil her some. Feeling charitable, (and seeing how it was my job) I decided to do just that.
Knowing I probably had quite a search ahead of me knowing her reputation of leaving things in odd places, I opened some drawers, hoping for the best. Picture frames, vases, cooking boards. No custard there. I opened one of the drawers on the far right. Tomato sauce, brown sauce, pepper, salt. The smell of old, forgotten food filled my lungs. This seemed like the place where to leave custard. I pushed some things to the side, searching. Finally, at the very back, there was a cylindrical plastic container. It had peeling, very faint pink wrapping on it. I guessed this was the custard and I reached out for it. I could faintly make out the letters ‘Cu…t…rd’ so my guess was correct. I opened up the lid, and what seemed more akin to dust rather than custard powder sprouted up and into the air. I coughed violently, nearly dropping it all on the kitchen surface. I peered into the container and as luck would have it, powder was in there. However it didn’t look like ordinary custard powder. It was more white and grey-ey as opposed to the usual faint pink colour. It had no sweet aroma either. Some clumps of dust must have stuck together and there were a few splodges that had formed as one. This custard looked a little off, but I decided to boil it anyway.
I got a pan, ( from the fridge) and placed it on the cooker. I tipped the powder in. Yet again, some of it scattered into the air, causing me to cough yet again. The custard that had formed as little fragments had since dissipated into powder again. I reached for some milk (thankfully not in the drawer) and poured about a litre into the pan, and turned up the heat. The milk consumed the powder and some specks of grey powder floated at the top. Losing more and more of my appetite at this less than appealing custard, I stirred non-stop, hoping it would soon look passable. Bubbles slowly formed around the edge, and the smell of milk and this tasteless custard raised into the air, making me lightheaded and somewhat dizzy.
Finally, after it had boiled, I turned down the heat. It was now warm but had gone a slightly pale grey. I was vaguely concerned about it not being yellow, but maybe I’d just put too much milk in, and this custard had definitely seen better days.
I tipped some of this ‘custard’ from the pan into the bowl along with the Swiss roll with one bite taken out of it. I brought it back in carefully, and Mrs Tomlinson and I continued to talk whilst she ate.
“Mrs Tomlinson be careful, I feel that custard is off its sell by date…” I warned her cautiously.
“Thank you dear.” Mrs Tomlinson thanked. She got some of the custard on a large spoon and shoved it the custard to her lips, and swallowed. Her eyes widened slightly, and she let out a faint cough.
“Ah yes, maybe it is a little off dear, but can’t be helped, thank you.” She said as politely as she could. She then held the spoon to me. “Try a bit dear, it may just be me.”
Reluctantly, I got a the spoon, and with a shaky hand, raised some of the custard below my nose, and slowly placed it in my mouth, expecting the worst. It slowly slid down my throat, making me un-easy, but then the flavour kicked in. I coughed and my eyes watered. Its texture was unlike any custard I’d ever had, and it felt like grains of sand where scraping my throat, along with its sickening lumps. It tasted ancient and the ever so slight smell of rotten eggs was on the tip of my nose. This custard had to be years old! But there was more than that, it made me cringe and shiver. There was something seriously wrong with that custard.
“Nope, *cough*, it’s not just you. Sorry Mrs Tomlinson…” I spat and coughed apologetically.
Mrs Tomlinson gave a faint smile. “Not your fault dear, anyway, what was it you asked? My husband?” She hastily tried to change the subject.
“Ah, what a brilliant man. 50 years of marriage we had, 50 beautiful years until he departed.” Tears formed around her eyes. “I never wanted him to leave me, and thankfully, he never had to.”
I squinted a little, the taste of the foul custard still in my throat. She slowly got up out of her chair, trembling with her weak frame, and went towards the mantle-piece.
“Would you like to see his ashes?” She asked. I nodded uncertainly, but a feeling of dread was washing over me.
“I’m always forgetting where I leave him, poor dear. But you know me…” She chuckled to herself.
She got a vase of the mantle, and slowly hobbled on over to me, holding the vase with care and love. She held it to my face, my heart beating faster and faster.
“Oh Mark, bless you…” She whispered fondly.
She opened the lid, and my heart cringed. An icy feeling of fear and guilt rushed through my body, and my stomach churned and I felt like vomiting. Something shivered in my spine all the way up into my brain.
In the vase, was a sweet smelling, pink powder. I was paralyzed in terror as my brain joined the dots.
“Oh Mark, you’ll always have a special place in my heart…”

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August 1, 2014
by derpbutt

Room No. 20X

Room No. 20X – Zelllix

Chapter 1 – The Arrival

A few years ago, I was an apprentice for a company which provided IT services to business customers. Besides my normal jobs, as it often happens in an apprenticeship, I was told to take a train to a distant small city in a very north-western part of Germany, to pick up a car and deliver it to the headquarters situated in south Germany. I arrived pretty late due to some issues on the public transport systems.

Even though it was already about 9 PM, the old man that sold the used car to my company, still opened the door and gave me the keys. We didn’t talk much, as I was pretty tired of my long day, and the old man didn’t really seem talkative anyway. I signed the contract that proved I was there to pick up the car, and was shortly after this thrown out on the streets.

As planned, I had a hotel reservation with me that led to a very small hostel at the corner of the small town. I would start my way back to the company the next morning, so I promised myself to try and get some sleep.

The hostel was the ultimate cliché of the ones we usually see in horror movies all the time.

I parked my car right in front of the hostel, got all my stuff together and entered the front door. The main reception room had a serious lack of light, and the shimmering lamps were emitting just enough light to see an old woman with old fashioned clothes sitting behind the reception desk. She had a hunchback. Did I mention that I watched a lot of horror movies in my life? Well, this definitely triggered some weird memories.

“Hello, my company did a reservation for one night for me, my name is Ian, can I check in?” I said, feeling a bit weird.

“Ah, you are late. Your room is already prepared and waiting for you.” – With these words, she handed me the keys, without even bothering to tell me how to get there or what my room number was.

I searched for a room number on the keys and there, on the key tag was written: “Room 20…” The last digit was faded and I wasn’t able to read it. I turned around and, already starting my question, I noticed the old woman was gone. Since I had arrived here, I didn’t notice any other staff members, so I decided to just search for the correct floor and try out the doors in order to find my room.

The elevator seemed out of order as nothing happened when pushing its buttons, so I took the stairs up to the second floor. I asked myself why a hostel like this needed such long corridors and so many rooms, I couldn’t imagine that there were many tourists in this town, and even then, they would most likely not stay here. The wallpaper on the corridors was flaking away and it looked like nobody had seemed to care about it for a long time.

While walking down the corridor, trying every door that applied to the possible numbers 201 to 209, the floor creaked several times, but that was the only noise I could hear at that moment. It was, as if every other noise got absorbed by the walls and the old, yellowed carpet. Finally, on door No. 209, the lock clicked open and let me in to my room. While turning the doorknob, I heard a faint scratching and tapping sound, which froze me for a second. A cold shiver ran down my back, as the scratching and tapping evolved into a deep, low mumbling that sounded inhuman. If I hadn’t been so tired I might have tried to find out where that sound came from, but now, I just blamed it on wind, or the house just being old producing typical “old house” sounds.

So I finally entered my room.

The room was simple, boring green wallpaper with flowers on it, a grey carpet, and in the center there was a one-person bed, maybe a bit too dusty for “being prepared” just for me, as the old woman said, but I was OK with it. I only took off my shoes and went to bed, still a bit startled about the weird noises I heard before. I noticed a tiny window which I couldn’t even have my head stretched out of, when I fell asleep.

Chapter 2 – The Dream

I am in my hotel room. Sitting straight in my bed, it feels like I have been sitting there for hours already. The walls have changed their color to blood red. The carpet seems to have disappeared, all I can see while looking down from the borders of my bed is a deep black hole with no visible ground. Even though I am afraid of falling, I get out of my bed, and it looks like I can still walk on the invisible floor of my room. I want to see where I am, so I approach the tiny window. Trying to look out of it, I can’t see anything but darkness, just like the one I’m walking on. I feel like I really want to get out of this room, I can feel I’m beginning to panic in here. The room seems to be a lot larger now that I’m trying to get to the door to the corridor. After a long time, that seems like an eternity to me, I finally reach the door, just to find out that it is locked. In panic, I’m now hammering on the door, trying to smash it open, but the door doesn’t even budge in the slightest way. The door seems to be part of the wall.

Suddenly I feel a suction around my stomach, pulling me towards the wardrobe on the other side of the room. While being forced into that direction, I can see the walls pulsating, spilling blood into the eternal darkness beyond me. The wardrobe behind me crushes into thousand sharp wooden pieces and gets sucked through a now visible hole in the wall. I am trying to hold onto a small piece of metal pipe that is sticking out of the wall inside the hole, but I can’t manage to hold onto it for long. I gain speed while leaving my room, and after a short period of time, I’m floating in the darkness, I can see the darkness surrounding my room as I am pulled away from it.

I wake up.

Chapter 3 – 1 AM

What a nightmare. I woke up, looked at my watch and saw that I had only managed to sleep about three hours. I was sweating a lot, and I couldn’t sleep anymore now, so I decided to take a shower. When I turned the handle, only brown, rusty water came out. It took almost one minute for the water to clear.


Relieved and feeling fresh, I tried to lay down. A few seconds after I layed down, the whispering began. I couldn’t really make out what it was saying, but it didn’t exactly make me feel comfortable. The sounds seemed to come from the room next to me. My room was the second last on the floor, so the room I was assuming the sounds to come from was the room right behind the wall where the wardrobe was located.

Somehow, there seemed to be light behind the wardrobe, as small beams of light shone through the small spaces of the wooden planks. I only remembered small bits of my nightmare, but I had the feeling that in my dream, there was a hole on exactly the same spot, and something was behind it.

I got obsessed with finding out what I would see behind that wardrobe, so I pushed the wardrobe to the side, just enough to peek through a small part of the hole I discovered now.

I was looking into a room that had similar furniture as my room, but everything about it was older, dustier and way more rundown. There were portraits on the walls, displaying old, brownish, black and white photographs of people with clothes that seemed like they came from the 1920’s. The room looked like it hadn’t been opened for a long, long time.

I stood up to move the wardrobe even more to the side to get a better glance of the room. I stretched my head through the hole. On the left, I saw the door to the corridor, which was closed. The door to the bathroom was left ajar.

Suddenly, I got a very oppressive feeling, like someone was watching me. Just as I was turning my head to look at the right side of the room, I heard someone…, something breathe right beside my head.

I was shocked and unable to move. I was looking right into the black eyes of a young woman that was sitting on a mattress on the ground, covering herself with a blanket. Right next to the wall I was looking through. She just sat there and stared at me, slowly moving her head back and forth. I was unable to speak a single word.

This was when I noticed a detail I hadn’t noticed when I first looked into this room. The flowers on the wallpaper in this room weren’t exactly flowers. I realized they looked like closed eyes.

The woman slowly turned her head towards the door. Right at that moment, I heard someone knocking at this door, three muffled, but strong knocks.

She closed her eyes, and with a fast movement she turned her head back to me, and opened her eyes again. At that moment, I saw all eyes on the wall opening synchronous to her, staring right into my eyes. It’s difficult to describe the feeling I had when that happened, or the events that happened right after it.

I remember that the door opened, and a weird shadowy creature entered the room. With an inhuman cry it rushed towards the young woman. It stopped with its face right in front of the woman’s face. Then their heads turned with an unsettling, cracking sound. They both now looked at me.

Chapter 4 – Escape

Adrenaline might have saved me in this situation.

I rushed up, ran to my door, onto the corridor and down the stairs. The whole hostel seemed to have changed up completely, the walls were bleeding, the lights were flickering and everything seemed surreal.

I arrived at the lobby, there was still no one there. I left the house as fast as I could, jumping inside the car and speeding towards home. At a last glance at the house, I could see bloody, dead faces behind all of the windows, all staring at me.

I managed to get home in one piece. Up to today, I don’t want to tell anyone about this. Maybe my mind has played tricks on me? Nothing happened until now, so at least that… something doesn’t seem to follow me.

All I did was looking up the hostels’ website on the internet. All seems to be fine here. I still don’t get rid of the feeling that I’m missing something. Maybe the small framed picture of a young woman and her family hanging on the wall behind the reception desk on a photograph on their website.

Credit To – Zelllix
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August 1, 2014
by derpbutt

I heard it.

It was ten o’clock at night, and I was getting ready for bed. Like any other night, I took my shower, brushed my teeth, and started towards my room.

I was halfway down my hallway when I heard it. A scratching noise from what sounded like came from the living room.

“Scratch… Scratch…. Scratch…” It sounded like a cat scratching the wall.

I have no animals.

I live alone, so naturally I grew scared, and terror paralyzed.

After a minute, I nervously laughed it off thinking that it was just the house settling, but as I neared my bedroom door, I heard it again.

“Scratch… Scratch… Scratch…”

The noise was closer now, in the bathroom that was a room away from the living room, where I had first heard it.

That was it.

Quickly, I ran into my bedroom, and shut the door behind me. As I breathed quickly but quietly, I got goosebumps, feeling that whatever it was, was behind my door.

I stood there, motionless for what felt like hours, but was really only about five minutes. Then faintly, there it was again, but not behind me… The noise came from my closet.

“Scratch…. Scratch….”

I couldn’t move.

I saw it… It was hairless, with huge eyes bulging from their sockets. Defiantly not human.

How could it have possibly gotten into my room? It had only just been in my bathroom! I panicked, asking myself.

Slowly I stood up, then paused. I felt its eyes on me, looking through the crack of the door.


There was nothing but the sheer feeling of being watched.

Maybe I can get away… make a run for the front door and call the police once I’m out. I thought to myself.

As if it had heard my very thoughts, It punched the wall, and I heard a thud.

The scratching started again, but didn’t stop this time.

“Scratch… Scratch… Scratch…Scratch…”

It went on like that for nearly ten minutes, until I had, had enough.

I suddenly lost it.

“LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE, DAMMIT!” I screamed, covering my ears.

I had them covered for a while, not sure if I should uncover them or not. Then, all of a sudden I felt at ease. As though the creature scratching, and stalking me was gone.

As fast as I could, I uncovered my ears and ran outside, calling the police.

When they got here, I was still outside, refusing to go inside alone.

They investigated the places I told them I heard the scratching, and in my closet where I saw it. (Though I left out the part that it wasn’t human, thinking they would call off the search due to thinking I was mad.)

They found scratches on the wall that looked like jagged knife carvings.

I refused to stay in that house, so I grabbed my car keys and went to the nearest hotel.

When I got there, the hotel worker at the front desk took my money, and gave me the keys to room 107 on the second floor. I quickly went up there. Once inside, I locked my door and windows, and sat on the bed.

I sat there in silence for a while, but heard nothing. I looked over at the clock next to the bed, and it was one in the morning.

I sat there for a while longer, and eventually fell asleep.

I woke up at three-thirty am.

It was back.

“Scratch…Scratch…” It scratched, muffled.

It was under my sheets.

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August 1, 2014
by derpbutt

Death Comes for Us All

Death comes for us all.

The intricate design of Death’s web spares no one. It is the inevitable reality we all face someday, some sooner than others. But not all of us are unwary of our demise. Not all of us are fortunate enough to live in blissful ignorance, unaware of our own mortality. But once you are caught in the web, like a hapless fly watching as a spider descends upon it, you will see how finite life is. For as easy as life is granted, it can just as easily be taken away.

My roommates, Alex and Sam, were the best roommates a guy could ask for. We were always hanging out together and we were all here for the same reason: have fun and worry about the future another day. We all did fairly well in school but just did not have the desire to pursue careers after college. We didn’t want to become adults yet. There was still more fun to be had.

I was majoring in Medieval Literature, Alex was a History major, and Sam was an art major. I don’t know how we managed to do decent in our classes, considering we missed quite a bit of them. Frequent nights at the bar, at the strip club, and at other “fun” establishments meant that the next morning involved all three of us, indisposed and reeling from alcohol. Thank God for afternoon classes, right? We made some lousy decisions those days and when you frequently drink like we do, colossal mistakes are bound to occur.

“Brett, get your ass over here and consume this alcoholic beverage!” Alex taunted me. He was clearly inebriated by now and it was only nine o’clock.
“Maybe if you would buy something besides Natty Light I might be more inclined to join you,” I retorted. “So, when are we going to the party? We keep pre-gaming this hard we might as well invite people here and have our own.”

“In a minute! In minute!” Sam exclaimed, amidst a sea of slurs. “Let me finish this one and we can go.”

Being the only sober one in the group, I volunteered to drive. I knew that these drunken heathens would surely attempt to if given the chance. The party was only 4 miles away and we were excited to get our mingle on with the ladies and toss a few back, so I drove moderately above the speed limit in order to appease the loud children in the back who decided that getting them to the party safely was the least of their concerns. But it should have been.

In the midst of all the rampancy in the backseat, I failed to realize that the light was red. A car struck the right passenger side door, causing our vehicle to roll. Panic consumed me as the car tumbled and spiraled into chaos. The car landed right-side up, but was barely recognizable from the tumbles. My neck was on fire and I could tell I had fractured my arm. I removed my seatbelt and rolled onto the pavement, taking care to avoid the glass and shrapnel from the now decimated vehicle.

I could not see in the backseat from where I was lying and I feared the worst. Were my friends dead? If so, I was responsible for this. That was guilt that I could never live with. That is when I heard it; laughing. Laughing was coming from the backseat and both doors exploded open like ordnance from a howitzer.

“You can’t take us that easy! That all you got?” Alex was in an intoxicated stupor, spouting nonsense that you would not expect from a crash victim.

“You gotta do better than that, you little shit!” Sam joined in on the crusade, both of them yelling into the Heavens.

Foolish, how could they not be thankful they survived. Instead, trying to provoke the wraith of God. The alcohol had totally consumed them and turned them into walking Neanderthals. I called 911 and emergency crews arrived shortly after. Luckily, the man who hit me was also drunk so I felt less guilt for the mistake.

Sam and Alex refused to be taken to the hospital even though Sam’s leg was badly bruised and his head was bleeding profusely. Alex seemed unaffected except for his dislocated shoulder. I had several fractures in my left arm and minor whiplash affected my neck. Considering how disastrous the crash was, we were damn lucky.

I sat in the hospital, angry at my buddies for their distracting behavior and also mad at myself for not taking control. How could I have been so careless? The irony; that the mature, sober individual was responsible. At least my roommates had a positive outlook on the situation. I still couldn’t believe the nonsense they foolishly spewed at the scene of the accident. But I was just glad we were all alive. I felt like we were given a second chance and I was grateful I still had my life, unlike my foolish friends.

It was an extensive and laborious three months until my arm was healed. I could not drive during this time so I hitched a ride with Alex to class every day, until one afternoon something bizarre happened.

“Brett, hurry up! I hate being late for class. Move your ass!” Sam always had to be as abrasive as possible when picking me up.

“I’m coming, you try doing anything timely and efficiently with a fractured arm,” I replied, hastily and out of breath.

“Yeah, yeah. So how is it feeling? You think it’s almost healed? I’m getting tired of chauffeuring your ass everywhere.” Alex said quite humorously.

“It’s getting better, it hurts much less than it used to but the doctor said not to force my recovery.” I said.

As I was replying, a look of dread consumed his normally collected demeanor. He pulled over, hyper-ventilating and staring into my rear view mirror. I have never seen him like this before and it gave me chills.

“Brett… look…look in your rear view mirror. Tell me I am hallucinating.” Alex said, shakily.


“No shit, but did you see it?” Alex was frantic.

“No, I didn’t see anything. You feeling ok? You sure something didn’t happen to you in the accident. What did you even see?” I was curious to know what spooked him.

Alex swallowed hard and began to speak.

“I saw me. I was just standing there. Then suddenly, my neck slowly started to slit. Just as the blood started to seep out of my neck, a dark, shaded figure placed its hand on my shoulder.”

He stopped there, refusing to speak anymore. I didn’t believe him. I mean, how could I? He was just in an auto accident and claimed to have no injuries. Something had to be wrong.

It had been a week since that bizarre event and my arm had finally improved to the point I could drive. I was in my car driving to class when I got a phone call. It was Alex.

“It…happened again. I saw it again, bro. But this time it was closer. I saw my face closer this time. I could see every detail. But the blood, man. There was more blood this time. It came out faster and I could feel something breathing on my neck.” Alex was stuttering and began hyperventilating.

“Calm down, Alex. Just calm down for a second. I think you should go to the doctor and have them re-examine you from the accident,” I said, assuredly.
Click. He hung up on me. I decided to head home and see if Sam was there. Maybe he could make some sense out of this. Maybe he knew something I didn’t.

When I got home, Sam was sitting in the living room. He turned towards me immediately and I could tell something was seriously wrong. Sweat poured down his face and he was staring at me with an unwavering gaze that pierced through me. The gaze of terror a man feels as he watches an iron maiden close around him, unable to resist.

“I have seen it, Brett. I have seen it, too. In my rear view mirror. I have seen it every day since the first time I saw it. It is all I see now.” Sam’s voice was shaky and tormented.

“Seen what? Alex said the same thing. Did you see yourself?” I said. I tried to remain calm, as Sam seemed like he would snap at any second.

“I saw… I saw a slit appear on both of my wrists, going vertical. There were tears running down my face as I watched the blood seep out and pool around my feet. Every time I see it in my mirror, the next time it appears closer and closer. Today, it was so close I could see a shade of a figure standing behind me, something I had not noticed before. It has to end, Brett. I can’t stand living anymore.”

I laughed aloud, breaking this repulsive façade.

“You’re right, Sam. It has to end. But it didn’t have to be this way. Who are you to defy Death? When one evades Him, he is grateful. But you… you spit on His name and openly provoked Him. Did you not think that there were consequences for your actions? No matter, the mirror was your harbinger… and I am His arbiter.”

Sam didn’t move as his wrists began to open up, a tempest of blood cascading to the ground. His eyes said betrayal. But it was he who betrayed. He who would dare beguile his savior. A dark shadow enveloped him as his soul was siphoned from his body, I could hear bone breaking and limbs snapping. He slumped to the ground, hollow and lifeless. I disposed of the body, in preparation for the next harvest. Alex would be home soon.

I heard the rattle of keys as Alex struggled to open the door. He greeted me in a panic.

“Brett, thank God you are here. Every day I see myself die, but now something is following me. Everywhere I go, it tries to envelop me. You have to help me,” Alex said, struggling to connect his words.

“Oh, I will. I will help you. I will end this nightmare for you once and for all,” I said, maintaining a ghastly grin.

Alex’s neck began to open up, little by little.

“You…these visions…it was you…” He struggled to talk, gasping as the blood trickled out like sap sliding down a tree.

“…Why…?” He whispered, at this point unable to speak.

“I have always been fascinated with medieval art, literature, and culture. It wasn’t until I read about the Black Plague did I start to realize the connection. It wasn’t just a plague, it was a reckoning; a mass harvest of sinners. It cannot be a coincidence that nearly all cultures refer to Death as an entity or being, don’t you agree? I believe that He holds our lives by a thread and can cut it whenever He sees fit. When we survived that accident, we were given a second chance. But you took it for granted – no, you AND Sam took it for granted. And because of your arrogance, I was chosen to execute His will.” I could feel His will coursing through my veins.

“Sam…what did you do to him…?” Alex was hanging on by a thread. One that would soon be snapped.

“His sins have been punished. Now it is your turn. Close your eyes and welcome oblivion.”

Alex’s throat tore open completely, revealing a torrent of blood that saturated the room in crimson glory. His eyes glared at me with regret and hopelessness as he approached his grand finale. I basked in the blood, smearing it across my body as Alex’s soul was extracted by the darkness, leaving only a desolate husk.

Death comes for us all.

But sometimes it isn’t our time to go. Sometimes He shows mercy and spares our life. But know this: be grateful for this opportunity. Cherish your life and know that He has deemed you worthy. But this blessing isn’t guaranteed. For as easy is life granted, it can just as easily be taken away.
Credit To – The-Heretic

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