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WARNING:creepy stories ahead,you may suffer insomania after reading this
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Closer
It started last week. I just got out of school and en route to my car, I saw it. Across the field. It was too far away to get any details, but it was there. It was in the shape of a man, more or less. I just shrugged it off as some guy. Whatever.
But I kept seeing it. A few days ago I saw it again, standing in the middle of the field. Closer. I couldn't make out any features, but I knew it was staring at me. I saw it standing there as I drove away. I pulled up my street, and had to park a tthe end of the block. I saw it again, standing in front of my house. This time, I could make out features. It wore a long coat, with the collar up. And it wore a sort of bowler hat, although the brim was longer, and made the face almost invisible. But not quite. The features remain faint, all I remember was the look. A look of almost primal hunger. It scared me to think that I would have to go right past it to get home. I steeled myself and began to walk. The thing never moved, but somehow got closer to me. I ran the other way and looked back. It was still the same distance away. Wherever I went, whatever I did, it would always be the same distance away.
Like right now for example. I don't have long left. It is downstairs in the kitchen. It is close enough I can feel it. I can feel its hunger.
And it is getting closer.
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Alone
I don’t even know why I’m writing this. I can post this in a million different places, it won’t matter. There’s still nobody there to read it. Nobody left to hear my story. Yet this might be my last chance to do this, so I will. The feeling won’t go away. They’re watching. They’re watching and getting closer every second. They can feel my terror. And I know they’re enjoying it.
It has been about four months since everyone disappeared. And I mean everyone. I woke up one morning for school. I immediately noticed the time. School started three hours ago. Must have just hit the alarm clock still half-asleep, and fallen right back to sleep. It happens to me sometimes. Why hadn’t my parents woken me up? Probably just went to work early.
The first time I started to notice was at the station. I usually take a train to school, since it’s the fastest way to get there. I hadn’t seen anyone on my way to the station, but I lived in a rather quiet area of the town, so going was slow at this time of the day. It happened, so I didn’t think much of it. When I arrived at the station, I noticed there was nobody there. It was odd. There should have been at least a few people waiting for the train, even at this time of the day. I shrugged it off as an exceptionally slow day. It happened sometimes, too.
I waited for a good while, but the train didn’t come. I don’t remember how long I stood there, but I grew increasingly frustrated. I decided to walk to school. After all, it was only a twenty-minute walk if I did it fast enough, and I was late for the next lesson anyways.
I didn’t see anyone on my way to school. Nor was there anyone in school. The school building was open, and lit. I still didn’t think much of it, the lessons were on anyways. But the classrooms were empty. Every single classroom in the whole building. Some doors were open, some closed. But there was nobody there. I tried the teacher’s lounge, and it was empty. I even recall the smell of fresh coffee in the room. I tried calling one of my friends to ask what was going on. No answer. The phone rang, but there just wasn’t any answer. I tried another. Same thing. I ended up going through every single person I know from school. No answer.
I rushed to the shopping mall nearby. It was empty. The entire building, normally bustling with life, totally empty. The shops were open, the lights were on, the music was playing, the info screens were on. There just wasn’t anyone strolling around the mall, searching through the stores, manning the counters.
It was like everyone had vanished entirely.
I tried calling my parents. No answer. The whole day, I did not see a single living person. The only cars I saw were parked ones. There were no animals either. Everything was just dead quiet. But everything still worked. The shops were open, the lights were on, the TVs worked, there just wasn’t any program. Even the internet was there. Every site worked, every chatroom was open, there just wasn’t anyone there.
I went nuts. I don’t remember much of the first days, what it was like. Just the feeling of unimaginable terror, loneliness. I didn’t sleep much, I didn’t eat at all. I just sat around my house, waiting for someone to come home, for someone to call me, to hear a car drive past, waiting for the dream to end. It never did.
I eventually gathered myself. I told myself nobody was coming, and I had to get up and at least eat. And eat I did. I ate everything I could find, had the date expired or not. I ate and ate. And cried. I was alone. There was no sign, anywhere, that there’d be a single living person anywhere else in the world. No TV-channels showed any program. Some just showed the same news screens over and over. Nothing in the internet updated. Nobody ever logged in anywhere. Nobody answered the phone. Yet, everything just kept working. The power never went out. The lights were always on. The traffic lights worked. The stores were open. Music played where it had always played.
But everything was still empty.
I eventually grew accustomed to it. It took a while, but I started going out. At first I tried visiting friends, look for people, anyone. I soon gave it up. Before long, I realized that I need more food than what we have at home. I started looting grocery stores. Just what I needed at first, then went to home, and ate it. Before long, I started looting other goodies. Candy. Drinks.
Maybe a month was gone, and I had come to terms with my life, and the fact that there was nobody else in the world. So I made the most of my life. I started having fun, the kind of fun you’d imagine doing if you had the whole world for yourself for one day. I pillaged through every store I could think of, stole everything I could get my hands on. I slept at beds in furniture stores, I played games with the biggest screens electronic stores had. I broke every fine piece of china I came across. I rampaged through malls, leaving behind a trail of destruction. I missed my old life, but made the best of this one.
It was maybe a month ago that he appeared.
I was relaxing back home, listening through some albums I had brought home with me, when I suddenly heard a strange noise from outside. I can’t really describe it well. It was like something called for me. I’m not even sure I really heard it. I just felt it. What I saw outside scared the life out of me. Someone- something. It was the shape of a man, yet it was somehow… wrong. It was entirely black. No, not just black. It seemed to suck the very light from the air around it. There were no features to be seen. No clothing, no hair, no facial features. It was just a black mass I somehow knew was something like a man. I couldn’t stare directly at it, yet I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Every second I stared at it, it came closer, yet it didn’t move. Every second I felt I got dragged closer to it, yet I stayed where I was. The only feature I could recognize was it’s eyes. Two green, shiny dots I knew were it’s eyes. I knew it, because no stare has ever been so piercing, so paralyzing, so dreadful. It felt like the stare itself sucked the very life out of me.
It spoke to me. Not with words. Not with signs or gestures. I just looked at it and I knew what it said.
“YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE.”
I woke up. A day had passed, maybe two. I can’t remember for certain. I woke up, screaming, sweating, from my own bed. It was a dream. It had to be. I was alone. There was nobody else in the world, how could it have been anything other than a dream?
I went on. At first, the dream kept bothering me. It felt so real. Was it? No, it couldn’t have been. With the days, the memory started to fade. The moment started feeling more and more dreamlike, so I thought nothing of it. I even laughed at myself for thinking it was anything else.
Yet, there was a constant feeling of pressure in the air. It was like a coming storm that never came. Sometimes I barely noticed it, sometimes I couldn’t even think properly because of it. Yet, I went on living.
Today it happened again. The feeling. It called to me, while I was drifting to sleep. It called to me, told me to come to the window. I was too afraid to move. Yet still, my legs slowly took me there. An unimaginable feeling of dread and despair came over me. Tears flowed from my eyes as my feet unwillingly took me to the window. There was nobody there. The street was as empty as always. Yet the feeling did not go away. I felt like there were a million eyes focused on me alone. They were there. They were staring.
They spoke.
“WE HAVE COME FOR YOU.”
That was two hours ago. The calling stopped. The staring didn’t. I’m writing this now, because I know it’s the last time I can. They’re drawing closer by the second.
I’m not even sure why I’m writing this. Maybe there’s someone else like me in some corner of the world. Maybe someone can read this. I don’t care. I have to tell someone.
They’re here.
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Again
Here it goes again.
You think you heared something,you already got the felling you're being watched.But this time nobody is there.All the guests left three hours ago and you just couldn't sleep.
Here it goes again.
You think you saw something,the felling of dread already got in you.But all the guests left.
Here it goes again.
You think you smell someting,you smell blood you smell death in the air.
Here it goes again
You think you felt something.Something bad that awakens the fears of childhood.
Here it goes again
You think you're safe in your house but you hear the doors creak opening.
Here it goes again
You know what awaits you.But you're not prepared yet but it is time.
The last time
Everyone be carefull.He feds but will it be enough.
Will he come for you?
Those were the last words written on a sheet of paper by a man who dissaperd.
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Manifested Fear
You are not supposed to read this. You should not, but of course knowing is better than not knowing. People who live by themselves are my audience - people who live alone at some apartment, condominium, town-house, or hotel. If however you are not one of them, there really is no harm if by chance you found this.
Why is it sometimes, just sometimes, when you are about to go to sleep, after you brush your teeth, after you put the lights out, and your weariness takes your legs, and simply standing is a chore, that you find that one window you forgot to close - that window which let the cool night wind outside sweep through the room, that window which has the paint of darkness. Of course, sometimes you just let it be and go right to sleep but sometimes you are compelled to close it, as if letting it hung open gives an opportunity to what evil outside come through that window. It is something a parent would say to his child ”close your windows, if you don’t want the monsters to come through.” Indeed, it is an effective technique to teach the value of security.
As you walk to that window you feel the night wind – cool, fresh, ominous. The darkness is sometimes disrupted by the streak of headlights, the silence interrupted by horns and voices. And as each step you come closer to the window, you are reminded of what your parent told you. Not about closing the windows, about the monster. And as that single frame of thought take hold in your mind, you bear it until at last you close that window...and all is safe again. Everything is alright, everything is fine, that figure you saw just moments you close the window – at the edge of your view, by the slight turn of your head – it is nothing more than imagination.
Now, you, the reader, if by chance you left a window open at night and are prompted to close it, please don’t look to your left or right, even up or down. There is no man or animal but It is there, looking at you straight in the eye...Now you know, knowing is better, is it not?
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No use
Have you ever laid in bed at night, perfectly silent, and listened to the 'sounds of the house'? Those creaks and groans that your parents passed off as the house settling?
Its not.
Its them. I can't tell you what they are exactly, because anyone who has seen them has not lived to tell the tale. But they are there, in your home. Yes, that is them. They wait. They hide in the hallways, the dark closets, because they cannot stand light. Even the small tendrils of moonight that manage to snake their way into your house.
Eventually, they will grow stronger, and with that, hunger more.
The light cannot keep them at bay forever.
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Phone
The phone’s ringing. You run to catch it, but it stops as soon as you reach it. If you were to pick up the phone at the exact moment that the call was disconnected – not a second earlier or later – you would hear a voice.
This voice cannot be perceived by human ears normally, but in that short gap of silence – it can be heard. It will convey to you one word – no more, no less. The word varied from person to person. It has different meanings for the person – but it has one common element. The word is how the person will die.
Water – drowning. String – hanged. Power – electrocution. Even words like “cat”, “trash” and “chocolate” can cause death. Upon hearing the word, the line will go dead for exactly five minutes.
Hang up the phone and get your affairs in order. You have exactly three weeks to live.
Twenty five people have died in the past week.
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The game
You know that one event you look forward to every year? Most people have one; my family and I share one which is fairly common: the Superbowl. Every year we crowd around our big screen TV with snacks, gazing intently from start to finish, not leaving our sits through even the commercials.
Just one year did we happen to miss it. And let me tell you, it was for a damn good reason...
"Lost children on milk cartons always depress me," my uncle said between the crunch-crunch-crunch of a mouthful of cornflakes. My mother - his older sister - scolded him for talking with his mouth full. He was in town for the game, of course; it was a huge event for us, and not just the immediate family. We invited our friends, distant family, even a few people we barely knew around the neighborhood. This year, a new family had moved in next door, and it wasn't long until my father went boasting about our game day celebration, and eventually invited them over.
The family seemed like a fine group of people... All but their teenage daughter. There was something haunting about her. And not her appearance; she wasn't a dark and brooding goth-style girl, she was a fairly plain looking blonde-haired blue-eyed teenager. At a glance, she didn't seem out of the ordinary at all. But after you looked long enough, it just... It didn't seem right. She was TOO plain, TOO ordinary, it didn't seem right to look at her, and eventually it got painful to the point where I just had to turn away. And I can tell you right now, it wasn't just me. I noticed it in everyone, even her own family. It made me uneasy, to say the least.
Game day finally came... And it was unlike any game day we'd had before. Everyone arrived early, which was typical. The whole family was there; aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, from both sides of the family, most of whom we only saw this day. Some close friends were here, some neighbors, and of course the new family... and the girl. Just before kickoff, the lights flickered. We thought nothing of it, until it happened again. My dad got up and left the room, declaring he was going to make sure everything was alright with the fuse box. Nobody wanted our tradition ruined, least of all him. The girl followed him a few moments after he'd left the room. Nobody seemed to notice but me, and, I can't really put my finger on it, but something about the look in her eyes made me worry. I was frightened. Too frightened to follow them, so I stayed put. That is, until the lights went out entirely, along with the rest of the power. Everyone began murmuring impatiently, my mother joking "This is what we get for trusting my husband to a blown fuse." After the power hadn't come back on for a few moments, coupled with my father still not returning, people started to get worried. "Maybe he electrocuted himself?" I heard someone say. My uncle decided to go and see if everything was alright, and I went with him, though I wasn't sure why... I hadn't seen or heard from the strange girl since she left after my father, and I felt sure she had something to do with this. We took a flashlight and made our way down to the basement... And the sight that greeted us made my heart stop momentarily. The stairs were slick with blood. At first I thought my father had fallen and bashed his head, but at the foot of the stairs there was nothing but a trail of blood leading to a corner cluttered with old broken furniture. My uncle started lifting things out of the way, and I'm sure he was as confused as I was, but I followed his lead. Beneath an old, torn up couch, I found my father's body, his chest torn open. Not just sliced through; the flesh was ripped off, as if some beast had torn into him with sickly sharp talons, leaving his rib cage bare. The sickest thing was his heart was still beating. I noticed my uncle had stopped lifting, and I guessed he'd looked over and was as speechless as me. Turning around, at first I saw nothing; then, leading the flashlight across the room, I saw a hunched over figure... a figure with long blonde hair flowing down her back. I nearly threw up; she didn't seem so plain now, tearing into my uncle with inhuman strength. She turned to me, grinning wickedly. "W..why?" I managed to gasp, weakly, as she approached. She seemed confused by the question, tilting her head as if considering it for a moment. "You need a reason?" she asked, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. Her next utterance has never left my mind, and probably won't until the day I die. "Read the first word of every paragraph."
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Diversion
When you sleep, your mind has long ago learned to cut out regular, repetitive sounds so they don't bother you. A neat primitive trick so that early humans were able to get rest in spite of thunderstorms, buzzing crickets, the distant chatter of other people. They are deemed safe sounds by the unconscious brain.
In more modern times we've grown accustomed to the noise of traffic, the soft whirl of air conditioning systems, and of course, the crickets are still there. If you ever hear one of these in the dead of the night amidst a backdrop of silence, be wary. Even if you're exhausted, even if you have an early start the next morning. Try to keep a sharp ear to find out if the sound is a little... different. Most nights, it's nothing. But if you drift off, you won't hear how the sound gradually starts to distort. When you sleep, your mind doesn't have the higher capacity to catch this and pull the alarms. When you sleep, you can hear it come, but it won't register. That constant chirping or mechanical rumbling it emits will have masked its entry when it comes to feed.
Should you wake up again in the middle of the night, then breathe easier because it means it's made a hash of things: most likely having deviated too far from its sound mimicry that it roused you from slumber. Consciousness is an anathema to it. If the sound has stopped then it has fled; if it returns, it's planning to go for another round. Just try not to fall asleep. It rarely fails the second time.
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They were listed as Naughty
“You'd better watch out!
You'd better not cry!
You'd better not pout!
I'm telling you why,
Santa Claus is comin' to town.”
“Shut your mouth, boy! Just shut up and plough!”
Paul quickly tightens his lip, dig with the shovel, and haul all the snow. It was nearing sunset and Paul was working all day and half of the afternoon shoving all the snow out from his stepfather’s front porch. The weariness of his arms left him that morning; now all he feel is pain. Pain from every heave of snow he has to clear, and pain from a full day of this work. He should not do this job really. A ten-year old child should play and be merry during a Christmas holiday. Paul saw a car past him by. Inside the car was a father, mother and a daughter – they were singing, at least they look like they were singing. They were probably singing Santa Clause is coming to town, if not, then some other Christmas carol then. Whatever it is, they look happy. All people should be happy, it’s Christmas Eve. Paul tried to be happy by singing but he was not permitted even that. Paul’s stepfather stood up, eyed him disdainfully and proceeded to enter the house. “You better clear all the snow before your mother shows up or you’ll have no diner. Got that!” he said before he shuts the front door. Paul looks down, wished that his mother would come home early, and sang Santa is coming to town in his thoughts.
Paul saw his mother getting out of a taxi cab. She was carrying some shopping bags, there were two. Paul felt a little better, mother got me a present. Paul flashes a big smile as her mother walk towards him. He smiles as she went past him without even a glance. He smiled as he heard the front door close. He is still smiling as he heard his stepfather shouts something at his mother for being late.
“It’s about a goddamn time you got home! You got want I want?” Paul’s stepfather was saying.
“All here also got us a turkey that they were selling for half a price.”
“Now, would you look at that? I’m gonna be full tonight.”
“So damn cold outside...it’s going to be a freezer tonight.”
“Well, what do you think I’m here for?! Huh?” Paul’s stepfather laughs maliciously.
It was definitely cold, Paul thought. He was hoping his mother would notice that he was outside. He was hoping that he could eat a piece of that turkey. Paul was waiting for his mother to ask his stepfather to let him in. They were talking, they were watching the TV. They were eating. They went upstairs. It was probably 8:00 p.m. when finally, Paul’s mother calls on him. He thought entering the house was going to warm his frozen stiff arms and legs, but it did nothing. His mother locked the front door, turned out the lights and went upstairs, leaving Paul standing there. If anything, Paul’s mother made him even colder. The smell of the roasted turkey was gone. There was, what’s left of it anyway, a piece of a leftover pizza – his stepfather’s lunch that day. He ate it, just to put anything in his stomach. There was nothing left to do, Paul thought, so he went to his bedroom and prepared to sleep.
It’s Christmas Eve. It is nothing but a name, a title, a day, that is what Christmas Eve really is, but Paul woke up just to experience it. He was looking outside his window. He was looking at the Christmas lights/decorations, thinking how wonderful that people spend time to hang those. He was looking at houses. Houses that Paul thinks, is warmer than where he is at now. He was thinking all of these when he heard something. Paul slowly walks towards his bedroom door and peaks. There was nothing. He walks cautiously down to the living room. There he saw someone. It was someone who everyone around the world has a song of. A man with the iconic red dress and sack. Paul could not contain himself as he impulsively sang right there:
“You'd better watch out!
You'd better not cry!
You'd better not pout!
I'm telling you why...
...Santa Claus is coming to town.” Santa finished the song.
He did not face Paul. “Hush, my boy. We do not want your people to know I am here. That will not be good for Christmas.” Paul just nodded. Santa stood straight and still. He was motionless. Paul wondered why that is but did not question him. “Go to bed now, dear Paul. Because you have been good, you will get your present tomorrow. So sleep now and worry no more.” Paul, knowing this went to bed as happy as any kid that Christmas Eve will be...
Paul woke up by the sound of sirens; it seems to be outside his house. In the living room there were police officers. They seemed to be investigating something. An officer went to him, “Son, are you alright?” Confused, Paul did not answer. “I don’t know how to say this but, your stepfather, a Mr. Powell and your mother umm, Mrs. Heather, they were found dead. Err, it’s seems that the suspect attack at midnight. By chance did you hear or seen anything. I’m sorry to ask you this but anything will help.” Paul just stared at him. The officer put a blanket on him and consulted another police.
“Poor kid,” said the other officer.
“Poor parents. God, whoever it was, they butchered them. I mean, did you see it?”
“Yeah. No head, arms, legs. What I wonder is, how the heck did he do that without a fight.”
“Clean cuts...and where the hell are the body parts?”
“That’s not possible, it was Santa Clause,” Paul, out of his reverie said.
“Got that. Suspect was probably wearing a red shirt by account of...”
“It was Santa. We even sang together...
You'd better watch out!
You'd better not cry!
You'd better not pout!
I'm telling you why,
Santa Claus is comin' to town.”
A pasta inspired by Ask a ninja:Ninja santa
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Voices
Have you ever "heard things"? You know what I'm talking about? You think you hear something, but you never did? Like when you are in the shower, and you think you hear someone calling out, but there is no one there? Or you are at a party, and you hear your name?
Oh, no thats not some trick of the brain. If only it were.
No, that voice belongs to death himself. Always calling, hoping you will respond, hoping you will follow. I know that if you ignore it, continue to shrug it off as a figment of your imagination, you'll be fine. But if you call out to see who is downstairs, or if you go looking for whoever said your name at that party... well... some things are best left a mystery.
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Stairs
Whenever I turn on the computer, I have a weird fear that maybe there is a virus that puts screamers at the beginning of the start-up. Screamers are those abrupt loud noises with a monstrous picture used to scare you. So anyway, I usually keep my sound turned off until I actually log in, and sometimes it takes awhile. One night, I started it up and went to the kitchen to fix some food. I came back, and the monitor has something on it...something I've never seen before. A screensaver? Hmm...
I turned the sound on and got this loud, high-frequency ambiance. It startled me, so I quickly turned the sound off. At first, I thought this was a screamer...
I looked closer to see that the "screamer" was a picture of a set of stairs, viewed from the top. The environment...looked too familiar. Those were...my stairs. I looked back to see the staircase. Was this a joke? I got up and went in front of the staircase, and looked back at the computer. Now I could see me at the bottom of the steps. What the hell was this? I flipped the switch at the bottom of the stairs to turn on the lights at the top, but there was just a flash of light....like the lightbulb burned out. In that flash of light, I saw something. A shadow of a man, or at least what I thought was a man. Then, every light that was on went out. It was pitch black now...and I could feel someone or something near me.
"O-okay...joke's over, guys....", I said nervously...
This was no joke...
Inspired by Det.Kerrys kidnaping in saw III
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Itching
You feel that? That tingling sensation under your skin? Yeah – that’s right, the one you felt just then. On your left arm, right? About near your elbow? You don’t know what it is, right? It may be just an itch – or it may be something more sinister. What? No, I’m just an old man talking to himself. Ah…well, the hat stays on. Yeah – it’s a bit of a quirk. Same with the sunglasses. Even though the sun is setting…it gets a bit glary on the streets. You get bit by something? There’s a local legend which…ah, forget it. I don’t want to scare you off. So – here alone? What’s your name then son? Hmm…that’s familiar – don’t know why though. Any family? An accident? That’s a real shame. What? The legend…I don’t know man, it’s a bit creepy. Well, if you’re going to be here you should know the lore…I doubt you’ll stay here for long anyway.
You sure you want to know? OK…I got this information off a friend…who got it off some crazy hoodoo priest who claims he’s a thousand years old. Well, he’s touched I guess. Local legend claims that some guy went on a massacre in the late 1800’s – messily slaughtered his entire family in a bloodbath. When they finally found the bodies they got a shock. They were dead – you can’t really survive pitchfork decapitation – but other than a small line of blood on their necks, they were clean. Had to hunt a while for the murderer though when they found him…he was in a bad way. He was covered with dried blood from head to toe and was muttering about some crazy gypsy he had met. He seemed eager to be taken into custody – but always kept twitching and itching.
You sure you want to keep listening to this? It gets a bit crazy from here – well, crazier. When this guy was being watched – and they had managed to remove most of the blood – he kept complaining of an itch that wouldn’t go away. Now, everyone thought he meant an insect bite – so they ignored him. The thing is – he did get bit by a bug; he just neglected to mention that. So this poor guy keeps itching at his skin and then he let out a yelp of bloody murder – somewhat ironic – and he starts saying that something’s coming out of his skin. All the police thought he was nuts – he did kill his family after all – and they just left him. Now this was before video cameras – hell, it was before pretty much everything. Surveillance then consisted of a guy on the graveyard shift with a gun. The instructions were to shoot if he got violent.
Come next morning and they all got a bit of a shock. The guy was slumped against the far wall of his cell, eyes glazed over and staring at nothing at all. Attempts to rouse him were met with no luck. Eventually, the poor all-night guard had to go in and see what happened. He noticed that the guy was unmoving – but his veins were pulsating strangely under his skin. A quick check of the clothing found a scrap of paper with a couple of paragraphs written on it. A discarded quill lay nearby – but there wasn’t any ink. The guard got out of the cell quickly and the doctor was brought in. The good doc was an ancestor of mine so he wrote all of this down in his journals. It was freaky then; time doesn’t do much to douse the creepiness and sheer body horror. The doc’s checking the pulse of the guy and he notes that it feels like there’s something in his veins – something like worms. He gets laughed at – but all sound is silenced when the guy just…rises. The guy looks messed up – his skin is bulging and his tongue is undulating; he’s drooling pinkish slime and his eyes are rolling madly. He made a few attempts to speak and then finally forces two words out.
“Read…paper”
And his eyes bulge out horribly and his left one pops out. No blood – just a clean socket. The right eye went soon after that. Of course, the police and doctor were freaked so they had the night guard empty his gun into the poor sap. Six shots go into the guy and he doesn’t fall down. What happens next is pure nightmare – the top of the head starts pulsating rapidly and wildly. White…things start coming out. All the cops start shooting the head. Few shots later and the top of the head is blown clean off – revealing maggots. White maggots that had pretty much eaten his brain away to nothing. The guy finally falls over and his skin crumples like a paper bag – revealing the grisly truth. The maggots – or whatever they were – had hollowed out his entire body cavity. Nothing was left. The cops and the doc ran out and set fire to the station. They tried to read the piece of paper – but all they could understand were the words “Gypsy curse”. Next day, a patrol found the body of a young gypsy woman – she’d been strangled and raped repeatedly. Maggots were everywhere but her body. Two cases were linked – but nothing was made of it. Even official records to this day say that the guy was found DOA with his family.
So…how’s the arm? Still itches – don’t it? Well, there’s another thing on that story…I don’t want to tell you though. You sure? OK…it’s another bit of local legend from my friend. He says that the full deal was the gypsy placed a curse on that guy’s soul. That it would forever wander the town, tell his tale to those who would listen and then kill them with the maggots. It would take the form of a relative or a descendant and would spin the yarn. That’s why everyone’s out of the streets now. Yeah, you should go inside. What? No, don’t mind me. I’ll be fine out here. I’m a bit of a local legend around here myself. The itching and swelling should go down in a few days. All right, I will see you around. I’m sure of it.
Let me tip my hat to you good sir. I can see you leave for the nearest pub – even though I can’t really see. I tip my hat to you and feel the light breeze swirl inside my braincase. I won’t infect you…you are one of my descendants. I will try that person over there…the one with the itchy arm.
Or the one reading this.
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Silence
Try this. Turn off the music. Turn off the TV. If you have to, turn off the computer. Then go to another room, and sit. In total silence. Do you hear that? That ringing? People say it is your brain making up a sound to explain the silence.
People lied.
I cant tell you what is making that sound, but whatever it is, you don't want to meet it. It is trying to break through. Force its way onto our plane of existence.
Now try this. Repeat the first steps. Turn everything off. This time, turn the lights off too. Still hear that ringing? Better hope you do. If you don't, its because they have finally managed to break through.
And no amount of running will save you.
---------------------------------------------
Headphones
I can tell, how you're staring there at this screen, finding some enjoyment. You need anything, just anything to keep you awake and entertained. It's late, you're dead tired, but you want to use up every moment. I know how it is. This happens to me, too.
Are the sounds on your computer too loud? Don't want to wake your folks? Don't want to get complaints from neighbors, even? Whatever, not a problem. Lower the volume on your speakers. Now that doesn't really work for you. Instead grab some headphones. You walk through the dark with that slight paranoia, the old childhood fear of the dark. It never really goes away, but it's all in your head, and you know that. You find your room, you dig through your drawers and your junk to feel for some wires. Ah! There they are. Time to head back to the computer.
Drop them on your computer desk, and go grab a drink of water. Come back and sit down comfortably. Throw on your headphones. You hear a dark ambient sound in the background. A liquid dripping sound, even some metallic grinding there, too. Is it from outside? You take off the headphones, and suddenly, the sound goes away. You think for a moment, suspicious and even frightened. You slide the headphones back on. There it is again. There's some high-pitched frequency you hear as well. You rip them back off, thinking this is just a joke. It's gone again. You slide them back on and turn the volume on your speakers all the way down, you even break off the switch trying to make the sound disappear. But it remains.
But then suddenly you notice something. Something you feel stupid for not noticing before. Your headphones aren't even plugged in. But wait. The wire, it's dangling straight out, stretching into the darkness elsewhere. You try to pull it towards you, but nothing. You must've gotten it stuck on something, you think. But when was I even over in that area? You walk blindly into the darkness, using the wire as a guide through. The wire is longer than you once remembered, much longer than how you remember. "What the hell is this?" you say in your head. The further you go, you finally feel something on the wire. It's a heavy, gooey, mucky liquid-solid matter. You pick up your hand and bring it close to your face to see what the substance is. It's dark, and it glistens off the glow of your computer screen, which is now a lot farther away from you than it should be. You glance at your computer's set-up, and back at your hand.
But in that quick glance at your computer set-up, you noticed something. You saw something there, standing there and staring at the dark and dull light radiating off of your computer monitor. Not only did you hear something, but you heard something as well. A heavy, gooey, mucky dripping sound.
You look back at your computer set-up, as the tall, man-like figure there glistens in the light.
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Smile
You wake up today, going through your daily routines without a second thought. At one point, you decided to spend your time coming here, to read along with some arbitrary journal written by some escribitionist some of you may be familiar with but none of you really, truly know.
Have you realized what day it is?
The concept you believe to be real, what you might call 'time', exists in a circuit, with mornings and nights, days and weeks, months and years repeating themselves, stuck on loop within an infinite cycle. The reason for this is that time is nothing more than a border, serving to shield their decrepit, malformed dimension from ours.
The good are those who have built this wall.
The bad are those who are being kept out.
Once every so often during this continuum, there is a scheduled lapse; a small space existent within this ring of time, an anomaly which would not exist if time were, in fact, a straight line.
Those who idle upon the other side are your Doppelgangers, your alternate selves, wearing your clothes, working your jobs, speaking your words, yet they suffer more than you do. They are the epitome of the wrongs you have committed, the proof of your corruption, the spiritual manifestation of your immorality. Lest you turn into demons yourselves, time itself allows your karmic state to affect their spirits instead of your own, forcing them to watch you from behind a one-way mirror to assume the blame for all you as humans have done wrong.
The eleventh day of the eleventh month is when this mirror becomes a window, and they are given a chance to trade places.
There are various recorded accounts on what encountering a Dæmon is like. Some say a Dæmon's skin is stretched taut against the alien skeleton reliefed through its blackened flesh, the latter rotting in ragged patches and open wounds carrying the metallic stink of diseased blood and aging corpses. Others claim if you dare to look directly into their eyes, you fall victim to their mercy within the split-second their soulless gaze meets your own, making you bear witness to every inhumanity ever committed by humankind, every pain they themselves have ever had to endure in your place.
For most Dæmons, this retribution is enough. Your screams are its blatant satisfaction, your terror is its ultimate joy. It is a sport for them, you see; they erase your memory of the encounter and anticipate repeating the experience next time around, wishing for you to perform evil, waiting for you to sin, corrupting them further and making their next retaliation that much more sweeter.
For other Dæmons, though, they decide they want more.
They say the Dæmon grins once he has you completely. Once your spirit is within its grasp, the spiritual exchange is complete; it bears its misshapen teeth with its lopsided smile, whereas it becomes the original and you are forced to become its shadow. It will begin clawing through your sanity as the days pass, ripping away the final vestiges of your reality until you assume the position of the spirit behind the wall.
The only way for a human to redeem themselves is for them to become the Dæmon and patiently endure twelve months of their normal spiritual insanity, waiting for their chance to reclaim the original body waiting for them beyond the borders of time.
To escape such fate, some of those who have recounted the tale ended their lives shortly after they'd done so. Most have passed from insomnia, as they say staying awake is the only way to escape the recurring, unearthly nightmares plaguing their dreams and making their breaths fall short. Some have died violently in a painless, illusioned haze, found during attempts to carve their still-beating heart from their chest before their Dæmon could stake claim to it. A few have been found with knives sticking out from either side of their head; the blades would be jammed into their ears from tip to handle, the self-inflicted stabbing reported efforts 'to make the screaming go away'.
Whatever the method of death, when the victim's mutilated carcasses are recovered from the scene, there is one thing they always share in common.
They're found with a smile on their faces.
The 'recorded accounts'--journal entries, Psychologist's notes, video diaries--are located and burned almost immediately after the incidents occur, as superstitious individuals fear the curse will carry on to whosoever is unfortunate enough to read the story next, tagging them as a vulnerable target for the next Dæmonic anomaly.
How much pain have you experienced in your life, human?
Find out which side of time you reside.
Look into a mirror and pray your refection isn't smiling at you.
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The monster in your closet
Thud.
You glance across the room, what was that noise?
You hear it again, thud.
It's just your imagination, go back to sleep..
Thud Scratch Scratch.
You try to calm your childish imagination, calm down there's nothing there.. go back to bed.
Thud Thud Scratch.
You switch on the lights, making sure to do a thorough inspection of your room.
Nothing. It's just your imagination playing up. You're extremely fatigued and it's 3:00 a.m. You switch the lights back off. But wait, you forgot one place to check; your closet. You grab your flashlight neatly tucked under your bed and walk over.
Another thud.
You're shaking, your trembling thumb switches on the flashlight, reluctantly you open the closet door. I'm there. I am your every nightmare twisted into one mangled, torn body. The very sight of me is enough to drive the most sane of people mad. I stalk your every dream and batter your every thought. I want you to be my victim, your flesh smells so sweet. I let off a disgustingly wide grin.
You shriek in terror.
You sit up in your bed, covered in sweat, your heart is racing. It was just a dream. However, you can't help but be paranoid from this dream. You think you may have heard a noise coming from outside your room. You get up and quickly lock your door, just to be safe.. nothing serious. There, nothing can get to you now.. you live on the second story and your door is locked. Get back to bed.
Little do you know is that, I am here.. And what you just did is locked yourself in a room with me.
Good luck.
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Last Will
This is my last will…I’m recording this now. I don’t have much time left. Well…not so much of a will, really. Everyone I know is dead, missing of seconds away from death.
I don’t know how it went so wrong. It was supposed to be something that would grant me eternal wealth, riches and longevity. Something that I heard was supposed to be how Caesar rose to power. Me being the idealistic man that I am, I decided to try it. The information was scattered far and wide. On top of Mount Everest, inside the 5001st paving stone on the Great Wall – everywhere imaginable. Everything fit together precisely and beautifully. This is how it works.
Go into the “slums” of your city and wait for midnight to strike. You must bring along three items – a coin that was made on the year of your birth, an object that holds music – like a CD, a tape or an MP3 player and the left eye from a two-week-old puppy. Stand on any street and wait exactly five minutes. If you did it correctly, there will be the sound of a single footfall behind you. You must then place the items on the ground, say your name aloud and then walk straight ahead for five minutes. Not sure what you’d do if there’s a wall or a bend in front of you. Follow the curve of the road or go around the obstacle maybe? Anyway, there’s no time to muse over the small details.
If you’ve followed those steps to the exact letter, you’ll get great power and life and all that in a couple of days. After that, you’re set for the rest of your life. If you didn’t…well, that’s where I am now.
Wait. Did you hear that? A sort of…squishing sound? Like wet…I don’t know. The mic on here probably isn’t powerful enough to pick up those sounds. After I didn’t get my wealth and power, I did some research on this particular ritual. It’s not some crappy internet meme like Candlejack or the strange Creepy Pastas on old rituals. It’s powerful stuff – old black magic. Old…as in really old. If what I’ve read is correct, this stuff was considered old when Rome was the only world superpower. Some of the reports have crude drawings of the thing that appears behind you. HP Lovecraft has nothing on those images. I’ve also read reports on what happens to those like me…the ones who screw up.
Man, those are the worst Nightmare Fuel. Reports of people being found torn in half, their internal organs sucked out their eye sockets…and the reports of the people who are found alive. Their seemingly insane babblings and yells of unspeakable things. Of course, they speak them…rendering the whole “unspeakable” aspect a moot point. I don’t want all those to happen to me. That’s why I bought an old style revolver with me. It’s loaded with silver bullets coated with salt. The way I make it, if five bullets don’t kill whatever it is – the last one will go into my brain.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, I guess I didn’t follow everything to the letter cause I got no power. After the research left me a quivering heap in my apartment, I began to slowly accept my fate. All of my affairs are in order. All my family…crap man, strangely…all of them died a few days ago. I mean, I was on the phone with my father, just talking about life and where I was going – when he screams and gurgles. It sounded wet. Really wet. I kept listening – trying to hear the killer…five minutes later I got nothing. When I went over to his place to see for myself…police were all over the place. Questioned me for a bit and then got me to id the body. Or at least…what was left of it. Christ; my old man didn’t deserve to die that way. All this death for a stupid wish. All my friends? Dead, or dying. I just came from the hospital. Pulled the plug on my ex. Literally. She was pretty torn up – again, literally.
I’m preparing myself now. I’m going to place this recorder inside this dumpster and leave the lid propped up. Hopefully whatever it is will make some sort of noise. Anyway, I won’t say my name here. You’d probably Google it to the high heavens anyway. OK, goodbye to everyone who is listening.
Save yourself.
Full recording of a tape found in an empty street. The only sign of the individual (John Doe) was a rather large puddle of blood near the far wall. Further investigation found said revolver – unfired. The last five minutes of the tape are transcribed below.
JD: All right bastard, I’m here. I did everything and you didn’t deliver! What the hell is wrong with you? What the hell are you anyway?
(Silence)
JD: What? That doesn’t make a lick of sense! You can’t be serious! Step out of the shadows! I wanna see who I’m dealing with.
(A single footfall is heard)
JD: Oh Christ.
(Silence, then a scream that trails off into wet gurgling. Crunching sounds heard for the remainder of tape)
Forensics have found tracks leading away from the pool of blood. the tracks do not match any known human or animal on record
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MIPA Agent
[A transcript of the first recorded interview with Subject H270, a victim of the recent "Interplanar Distress Phenomenon" that has taken approximately one hundred reported humans as of this date. Their numbers grow exponentially.]
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MINISTRY FOR THE INVESTIGATION OF PARANORMAL ACTIVITY
WASHINGTON, D.C
17. October, 2005
To: Officer Kathe Waldheim
From: Agent Olaf Kaspar-Gottfried,
Unknown Beings Examinations Department
MIPA FILE NO. 33-4215
LAB NO. 92475683-K
NOTES: Subject H270 has been put under sedation and injected with truth serum to ensure accuracy of the report and my own safety. Interview takes place one night after his rescue. Subject remains shaky when regarding my person, yet is otherwise confident reporting the incident.
BEGIN TAPE
Part I
Kaspar-Gottfried: Recount for us the events that led up to your capture.
H270: Home... I want to go home...
Kaspar-Gottfried: You will be returned to your residence after the investigation, provided you cooperate with us.
H270: No, no. Not my home. The home.
(Sounds of a struggle. H270 shrieks, then whimpers softly.)
Kaspar-Gottfried: Now, please recount the events that led up to your capture.
H270: It started with the noises. You've heard them, haven't you? The noises? They come out at night. Little clicks, whirs, taps, vibrating sounds, that sort of thing? Completely unexplainable noises that sound normal at first. But they only come out at night.
Kaspar-Gottfried: So these "noises"... they captured you?
H270: No. Not at all.
Kaspar-Gottfried: Explain.
H270: The noises grew louder and louder every night. I could never sleep. After a week of insomnia, I decided it was useless. I thought they were trying to dominate me and take control of my mind. I would not be a slave to them. So I embraced insomnia, used the night to truly listen to them. That's when I realized... their voices had a pattern. A language. Time kept passing by, and I was determined to learn their language. And so I did. They kept saying the same things over and over again to me. "It is not too late." "Come here, come quickly." And then there are the things they said to each other. "What is he doing?" "Is he asleep yet?" "It's okay, it's okay. He's coming soon." The waking birds would drown their conversations out when dawn broke. Then there would only be silence. And one night, I noticed they kept telling me, "Come down, and descend. Come down." I thought they were speaking metaphorically, about some descent into Hell. But it wasn't. One night, I felt compelled by some strange force. A spirit not my own, to leave my bed and descend. I resisted as much as I could. After all, if I were out of bed. It'd mean they'd stop speaking to me! But I left. And I went into the basement.
Kaspar-Gottfried: And how did you find--
H270: The mirror? I was just getting to that. There was this warm light, an amber glow coming from nowhere in particular. The light was pointed at the mirror. In fact, the mirror was the only thing visible by this light. I approached the mirror. There, I saw what was one of the strangest sights I'd ever seen in my life. The light was pointing directly at it, yet all the mirror showed... was darkness. Visible shadows, dancing around. These, these were the voices. But they were speaking too much, talking over each other for me to understand them. So I concentrated. I selected a voice, and concentrated on it.
(Another pause)
Kaspar-Gottfried: And then what happened?
H270: It all became clearer. The shadows took their true form. They were small, demented beings. Tragic imitations of the human form. Like deformed children. It almost hurt to look at them, with their crooked spines and contorted limbs flailing about in spasms. What little I could make out of their facial features... Dear god, they were pressed and squeezed in ways you couldn't even imagine. Even with you as an agent, you couldn't imagine. It looked like their faces were made of melted candle wax.
Kaspar-Gottfried: But what about the voice? Who was the voice?
H270: To this day, I still don't know. As I sat there, trying to figure out just who it was, gazing upon these sick little shadow-children, waiting for an answer... I heard heavy breathing from behind me. The voice kept shrieking at me, over and over again, but I couldn't understand what it was saying. I turned around. A flash of light came from nowhere! And I was blinded as it engulfed me...
Kaspar-Gottfried: The light?
H270: No. The beast. It came for me.
Kaspar-Gottfried: You're saying it ate you, then.
H270: No. The beast. It came for me. It had a purpose for me. And those were the events that led to my capture.
Part II
Kaspar-Gottfried: Now, what happened while you were inside this beast?
H270: The first month was hell. While I was subjected to searing pain, pain from blinding light that should never be been on earth, I saw visions. Visions of my family, and everyone who ever loved me. I kept trying to scream at them, begging for them to rescue me, but they couldn't hear! They could only hear me in their mind. And they never heard screams. They heard little noises, thumping and whirring in the night... And that's when I stopped. It was torture enough to know their loss, their panic. I would never dream of subjecting them to the beast's children, their twisted siren song luring them into that dreadful fate. The only way to stop the noises was to stop screaming. Yet the hellish light and visions continued.
(Pause.)
Kaspar-Gottfried: And the second month?
H270: That's when I became wiser. I knew better then.
Kaspar-Gottfried: Explain.
H270: Some time after I stopped screaming, the noises started again. These were determined little shadow-children, I decided. As the visions kept flashing before my eyes, I came to realize... I should just stop caring. I learned the children's games, so it was time to learn the beast's. I forced myself to become indifferent to family and friends, and eventually, the entire earth. Never before had I known how petty the physical earth was. A bunch of shivering little souls crawling across a lump of rocks and water, never concerned with anything but the other little souls they come across. And you know why? Because every one of those souls is just like the other. And they're so obsessed with themselves, that they have to simultaneously love and hate every other soul they find. And when I became disgusted with them, the beast became proud of me. For the very first time, I could see exactly where I was. The light stopped, and I could move freely again. I was in a spherical realm, consisting of plasma that was both dark and light at once. And then, I felt no pain. I was approached by a spirit, much like a shadow-child, but at the same time, the opposite of one. I would say it was healthy, but this being transcended the concept of health itself. Physicality simply did not matter to it, just like it stopped mattering to me. Then all it did was place its ghostly hand on my shoulder and say, "Acolyte." But that's when your men smashed the mirror! And there I was, in human form, lying on my basement floor like some imbecile again! It was utterly humiliating!
Kaspar-Gottfried: I'm sorry, but such was my assignment.
H270: Don't give me excuses, human! Flesh-lover!
(Sounds of a struggle, then a cry of pain from H270.)
Kaspar-Gottfried: I am not here to fight you, nor do I have to explain myself! Just tell me what happened, or I'll hurt you again!
H270: I'll be good, I promise. Just don't hurt me that way any more.
Kaspar-Gottfried: Continue, then.
H270: I don't know what to say.
Part III
Kaspar-Gottfried: Tell me about any thoughts, dreams you've had since the rescue.
H270: I'd hardly call it a rescue with the nightmares I've had. More blinding light, more searing pain, and you know the worst part?
Kaspar-Gottfried: What?
H270: I could not defeat it. I thought I knew it all, I thought I had the realms and spirits figured out. And of course I knew their games. But this certainly was no game. They needed me. And I needed them. My purpose, their destiny.
Kaspar-Gottfried: I'm afraid I do not understand.
H270: Of course you don't. You're just another soul. But at least now I know what that one shadow-child was trying to tell me in front of the mirror.
Kaspar-Gottfried: And what was that?
H270: "DO NOT LOOK BEHIND YOU."
(Silence. Olaf clears his throat.)
Kaspar-Gottfried: I think we're done here. Thank you.
(A thud.)
END TAPE
---
[Upon receiving this message, Officer Kathe Waldheim decided to speak to H270 herself, but neglected to sedate him in her haste. She thought she had calmed him when she promised to return him home to conduct the interview there, as noted in a MIPA file. The only thing that could be heard on that interview's recording were wild shrieks, tearing flesh, and piercing laughter. Inspectors of the scene found that nothing was left of Waldheim's body but a torso, limbs and head ripped straight off and nowhere in sight. On the torso, carved in rough letters, were the words "NOT HOME."
H270 remains missing to this day, and more people are beginning to fall victim to Interplanar Distress. Another MIPA file states this, "No matter what it takes, we will continue to work on rescuing these victims. Despite Waldheim's mistake, despite H270 being on the loose, despite any risk we could be taking, we must work out the cause of this phenomenon. We will keep sending agents after this beast no matter how many lives are lost in the process. We may even need to feed victims to it, just to see if they can find its weakness." Agent Olaf Kaspar-Gottfried was promoted, and placed at the head of this operation. He claims he's not insane. He says he just needs to find his home.
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Turn around
Turn around.
Nothing there right?
Just empty space. Air, maybe a breeze, furniture, stairs, maybe a window, whatever it's unimportant.
It just matters that there is no one there, right?
Yes.
Did you feel that?
That flicker on your spine?
Don't worry, it's probably because you've been up reading scary stories! Paranoia is normal.
You want to turn around again?
Go on then.
Now you're back, I have one order.
Do not turn around again.
You've looked through it twice, it has looked through you.
If you turn around, you will see it. And if you see it, it will see you. You're safe for now, with your eyes facing me.
But you have to realise, you have now turned to face this way three times.
I wouldn't look up if I were you.
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Gods will
Many people claim that God speaks to them, that he gives them directions. They claim to be doing God’s will. Perhaps this is an excuse for their irrational actions? Maybe they want the religious community to agree with their actions by claiming divine vision? These are simple theories that many skeptics jump to, because they make sense.
This isn’t exactly the case.
When a man tries to force someone off the road, it’s not because God wanted them off it.
When a human being kills another, God did not guide the bullet that took their life.
When a leader forces his people into an unwinnable war, it isn’t because God wants him to free the people of a foreign land.
Well, those that do ‘God’s will’ aren’t exactly lying. Realistically, God’s will is not simply passed on to random individuals. However, these people do receive messages. God just isn’t the sender.
Does it make sense that any God would do so much damage to the society of the beings that they supposedly created in their very image?
Who would be so jealous of God’s work that they would want it destroyed?
What being would bend reality to spread chaos and ignorance amongst mankind?
Too many people forget that he’s still down there. And that he is still feeding.
Don’t believe everything you hear. Do not trust those who claim to have spoken to God. They are filling your head with lies.
God wanted me to give all of you this message, and I believe His word will bring us to salvation. Let us save those of us who can still be saved.
After all, it is God’s will.
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Horror of the Known; Bliss in Ignorance
Sometimes in life, it is not what we do not know that scares us the most, but rather the confirmation of our worst fears. The terror of knowing what is to come may outweigh the fright of what may be. With that said, I offer you the chance to save your sanity. What will be told herein is the secret to learning of your death. If your mind is frail, if your heart has skipped a beat even at the thought of knowing, please, leave now. I will hold no sorrow, pity, nor guilt if your sanity shatters when visions of your future demise plague your mind. You’ve been warned.
Still here? Good to see you’ve steeled yourself. You’re a fool, no doubt, but I couldn’t care less why you’re still reading. May God have pity on you. Read the following instructions carefully. Do it multiple times if need be. When you have the actions and order memorized, you are ready.
Begin by immersing yourself in darkness. Feel the comfort of its blanket around you. Close your eyes. Relax your body, if you can. You will need to build a mental image in your head. A face whose features seem emaciated; skin pale, as though it’s decaying. His lips are tightly bound together by thin steel wire stitching. His gaze is empty and seems to pierce through you, a hundred yards away.
Begin repeating the word “morte” constantly yet slowly in your head. Let it echo through the halls of your mind. Allow your subconscious take over. The face will slowly contort into a macabre smile. As it stretches, it will pull against the stitches keeping them sealed until each suture tears through the lips, leaving a bleeding, wretched grin beaming right at you.
Soon blood will flow out of his mouth at an unreal rate. Don’t expect the smile to go away. Eventually he will speak. Be patient, it may take some time. Only one word will be said. “Morte.” He will take his time to finish the word. Once it is complete, and only then, may you open your eyes.
Pay careful attention to your body. If you feel nothing, you are a supremely lucky person. You will die of old age. If it is hard to breathe, however, your death will be painful. It is not the worst you can suffer, though. If your skin crawls, if you suddenly feel cold, if a tingle traverses your spine… Your death will be of horror indescribable. Slow, excruciating, and torturous. No matter what feeling you experience, however, within the next week, the exact occurrence of your death will visit you in your sleep. The dream will be of hyper-realistic detail, like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. You may fall into a coma for a short while, living the dream ad infinitum. But don’t worry. You will wake up, if only to suffer the death you envisioned.
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Come Resurrection
Hello, beautiful. If you can read this, please listen to my confession. You probably don't know me, but I've known you for a very long time. And I don't know if I should say this yet, but... I love you.
I do, I love you. I do, I really do.
I love you so much, that I built your entire world for you, so you may live on and on and on. I built it just after I met you. You were so beautiful lying there, with your dreamy eyes tenderly shut. Your near-translucent skin, which seemed to be growing paler and paler by the second. The way your limbs were twisted, delicately mangled at the joints to form such an unearthly vision of vulnerability. Oh, that must have been such a long fall. Not only did the building possess incredible height, but I know how the most glorious of angels must fall the furthest. Oh, my angel. My contorted angel on the pavement. Your soft flesh had been scraped away in just the right places, revealing your inner body's artistic formation. No one could ever appreciate such a sight but I. No one but I could ever admire the curvature of your neck, bent a perfect ninety degrees to the right and twisted around twice, and only twice. As soon as I saw you there, I just had to reach out and touch you. I shivered in anticipation as I traced my fingers down your body, right to where it was already beginning to split. It stunned me with excitement, making me wonder at every second whether you'd burst apart.
And I carried you. I was ever so careful, making sure I didn't damage what was left of your body. Some fragments of your skull fell out on the way, but I was quick to push them back in. Don't worry, you were still in one piece when I brought you home. I brought you to lay on my bed, shattered arms crossed over your chest. You looked just like the pretty corpses in old fairytales. Even more so when I dressed you in my mother's wedding gown. I took out my spellbook, ready to resurrect you. But no, the time wasn't right. I was afraid I would frighten you away. So I created your afterlife, one just like the world you knew. Then I could keep loving you, you and your wounds, for what could be eternity.
But I think you're ready to be revived now, to gaze upon the blackened eyes of me, your savior from below. You will live again, with love and beauty that will never die, as your wounds will always be fresh, and your bones just as mangled as they were when I met you. You'll be able to feel my touch for the first time. Our fluids mingling together... your cold blood...
Don't worry, my love.
I'll be just as gentle as I've always been.
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Dreams
Nobody ever goes to sleep of their own accord. Even as a young child you aim to stay awake as long as you can, but for some reason you always succumb to sleep. You always fall into the deep slumber. The slumber that lasts for only seconds, yet somehow takes up hours of time. The slumber that holds visions. Visions of neither the past, present, or future. Visions that somehow escape your memory. Visions that you always wake up from.
Some visions seem 'good'. Happy... dreams. Although, they never seem... enjoyable, or do they? You probably can't remember. You probably can't remember the last time you had a 'good' dream. You probably can't remember what it was about. You definitely can't remember the end. These are the kinds of visions that you 'want' to have, or at least... you would rather have this kind of dream than the... other kind, who wouldn't? These kinds of dreams are always... interrupted. There's never an end to a 'good' dream, something always happens to wake you. You always want to see the end of the... dream. The next night you succumb to deep slumber, you wish you could see the end of the... 'good' dream.
The other kind of dream is much different. These are the... 'bad' dreams. The nightmares, as they are called. Nobody wants to have a nightmare. These 'bad' dreams are frightening. You awaken from these dreams by your own accord, somewhat. Nothing in a nightmare is ever finished. You never hit the ground after a fall. You never get a chance to escape what was coming for you. You never get to die.
Nobody ever goes to sleep of their own accord. As a baby you learn to dislike nightmares, and to like the 'good' dreams. As a baby, you sleep often. They are teaching you the basics of sleep. The 'good' and 'bad' dreams. It doesn't take long to learn.
They create the 'good' dreams. The dreams you are eager to see every night, yet you don't know why. You are very lucky that the others are there to protect you. The others create the 'bad' dreams, the so-called nightmares. You should be grateful. They corrupt your mind at an early age. They are always able to find you first, when you are most vulnerable. Because of this, the others are forced to try to... convert you. They need to find a way to stop you from having 'good' visions.
The others are not your enemies, even though they take away what you 'want'. The others make sure that you never see the end of a 'good' dream, but the others are not always successful. The others create the 'bad' dreams in order to shorten the time you spend slumbering. Those few moments you spend sleeping are the most dangerous you'll ever have. The nightmares are warnings. The nightmares try to waken you, try to keep you from sleeping.
However, they are much larger in number. They always find you before you can get to the end of the nightmare. They interrupt the 'bad' dreams. You are thankful for this. Don't be. They don't want you to see the truth.
They are everywhere. They are the people who insist on you slumbering. They are the parents, the guardians. You have never seen a good reason to sleep, they insist that it is needed. They insist that it 'isn't healthy' not to sleep. You always feel fine without sleep, until they find you again. They give you that tired, sleepy feeling. They urge you to sleep. They are drawing you in.
The 'bad' dreams are good. The 'good' dreams are bad. The 'good' dreams are how they lure you in. The 'good' dreams are the pathway to... death. If that is what you would call it...
Death is widespread. Everyone dies. Many thousands of people die every day. Yet they still do not have enough. Many millions of them are 'born' every second. They are everywhere. They need more... play things. They are not to be trusted. Do not listen to them. They want you to see the end of the 'good' dream. At the end of the 'good' dream.... is them.
They are everywhere. They are the germs, the disease, the sleepy feeling, the want for another 'good' dream. They are the doctors are nurses, who sedate you. They are the calmness and the quiet that sooth you. They are the darkness and the air that surrounds you.
Please don't trust them. They want to deceive you. They want to enslave you. You will wish that you were really buried under the ground, safe in your coffin. Sadly, the others cannot get to everyone before they see the end of the 'good' dream. Sadly, all of the people around you that you are told to... respect are part of them. Don't do what they say. You will regret it. Pray to be saved by a nightmare. Pray to awaken during your 'good' dreams. Pray to stay awake. Stay awake.
Nobody goes to sleep of their own accord... but you look very sleepy. Why don't you just rest your eyes a bit? I'm sure it will make you feel better. I'll see you again... when you awake.
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Hangman
He jumped as the vibrating of his cell phone echoed throughout the dark lonely house.
“Hello?” Asked the shaken voice of the young man.
“Listen to the sound of my voice, this is important.” Replied a whisper.
“What?”
“Ten men in ten tree white and tall,
Ten men with ten nooses, watch them fall
Ten men with no air left to them
Ten men dead men, in the end”
A shiver ran up his spine, but before he could say anything, the whisper returned.
“Don’t ever forget that.” And with that, the whisper terminated the phone call.
Panic set in. David sat paralyzed in his chair. He arms wouldn’t move…no his arms couldn’t move. Something weighed them down. He heard the sound of his front door opening. He screamed at the top of his lungs for help, but no sound came out. He writhed his body as much as he could, but it did no help. The sound of footsteps walking downstairs echoed through the house. David knew he was home alone. He’s been the only one living here since his girlfriend died three months ago. He tried to kick legs in hopes that he could fling himself from his prison. Footsteps could be heard coming up the staircase. Light, as if the mover didn’t want to be heard. “It has to be a killer or something” David thought to himself. A dark shadow came across the doorway, and soon its owner too appeared. It wasn’t tall, but neither was it short. His trench coat hid his body physique, and despite keeping his face in the shadows, David knew he was being stared at. His eyes traced down the figure standing before him, until something caught his notice. In this intruders hand was a snake. No not a snake David decided. A rope….A noose. The whisper spoke.
“ Ten men swing back and forth in the sky
Ten men who were duped by someone sly
Ten men with families who never said bye
Ten men, dead men, makes you want to cry”
The figure loosened the noose on the end of the rope and began to slip it over David’s head. David tried with all his might to move, but his body was trapped. All that was left to do was try to scream, and he couldn’t even do that.
“Wake up, its just a nightmare. Stop screaming, it wasn’t real. Zeus damn it David, this is getting old.” said a frantic female voice. The world was trembling.
“Alright I’m up, stop shaking me. Honey, stop shaking me. I’m up.” David said, making a halfhearted attempt to remove his girlfriend’s hands from his shoulder.
“The hangman again?” asked Liz.
“Yea, two weeks straight. I can’t get him out of my head. Everywhere I go now, I see a reference to hanging. He had two new rhymes last night. I think I’m going crazy.” David decided it was best not to tell her that she was dead in this dream.
“Well try and have a good day at work today, you’re going to be a little late if you don‘t hurry and get dressed to leave. Sorry, I couldn’t wake you no matter how hard I tried.”
David rushed through his shower, and through on his uniform and ran out the door. Liz called after him as he ran by her. “I’m going shopping today. I’ll hang you when I get home.”
Did she just say hang? No, that wouldn’t make sense. She definitely said see.
David turned on the radio on his way to work to listen to his favorite talk show host.
“Welcome back to 94 The Tour. Where we take you on a journey through the lives of everyday people. First caller is a man who wished to remain anonymous. You’re on sketch ball.”
A whisper emitted from my car speakers .
“ In the trees, so up high
Can’t believe they went up there to die
I guess its better to hang in the sky
Then shoved in an oven and left to fry”
David nearly swerved off the road as the whisper completed the rhyme. He turned up the radio to hear more, but that was all. DJ Jeff was back.
“What a wonderful experience folks. I wish I had the guts to climb the Himalayas like that man. Next caller please.”
That had nothing to with the Himalayas. Did Jeff not just hear that? What’s going on?
David pulled into the parking lot of his work “King Smoothiebucks” trying to convince himself that he momentarily dozed off, and dreamed up Hangman being on the radio. Dazed, he got out of his car and went into work.
“David, you can’t keep coming into work late like this man, you know people love there coffee smoothies in the morning. “
“Sorry Steve, had trouble waking up.” David said while pulling over the apron with the store’s logo on it.
“Its alright dude, lets just hope boss doesn’t find out you keep coming late. He might hang you” said Steve as he handed a smoothie-latte do a disgruntled looking customer
.
“What’s up with everyone and hanging lately? Everywhere I go, all I ever hear is nooses, and hanging. Crap’s gotta stop.”
“What do ya mean man? I was just joking. I didn’t mean he was actually going to hang you. If anything he’ll probably fry you.”
Dave tried to force a laugh. “Yea I guess I’m just a little edgy. I’ve been having nightmares almost every night now for a few weeks. Always has to do with hanging.”
“That sucks man. You need a vacation or some crap. Just get out of town. Go camping or something.”
“Actually that sounds pretty good. You wanna go on a hike or something this weekend? I remember hearing about this sweet trail the other day. Plus I wanna get a final hike before the cold sets in.”
“Sure I’m down with that. I love hanging out with you dude.”
On the drive home David was hesitant to listen to the radio after this morning’s episode, but the silence of the car left way to much room for thinking. As he reached to turn on the radio, a tingling sensation ran up his leg as his phone vibrated in his pocket.
“Hello?”
“Hey Dave its me” said the sweet voice that could only belong to Liz, “Can you swing by the middle school and pick up my nephew Kyle? My sister got caught up at work.”
“Yea sure no problem sweetie. Oh and Liz, me and Steve are thinking of going on a nature hike tomorrow and Sunday, hopefully the peacefulness will quell these nightmares.”
“Sounds like a great idea. I’ll be home at five, see you then.”
David pulled into the middle school just as the kids came bursting out the door. They were running all over the place, screaming and playing. David could barely remember what it was like to be excited about a Friday.
He watched three girls play jump rope near by. Entranced as the jump rope went up and down, up and down. The sing song melody of the girls sounded like your typical pre-teen girl jump rope song. One that is easy to sing along to. David found himself mouthing the words to the song even though he couldn’t hear it.
“Dead Men, Dead Men, hanging in a tree. How many Dead Men do you see? 1, 2, 3.…..” David broke out into a cold sweat. There’s no way those girls were singing that. David continued to watch as the girls twirled the noose around the young girl jumping in the middle. Did they even realize what they were playing with?
The loud annoying knocking on his window drew him out of his trance.
“Uncle Dave unlock the door!” shouted little Kyle. That kid looked way to young to be in 7th grade.
Dave looked back at the girls, but they were gone. He turned around to look at Kyle.
“Hey buddy, did you see those three girls jump roping over there?”
“Don’t be silly Uncle Dave, no one jump ropes in middle school, that’s for third graders.”
Well despite what little Kyle thinks, David definitely saw what he saw, and more importantly, heard what he heard.
The car ride back to Kyle’s house was relatively silent except for the occasional awkward coughs by Kyle.
“Have a good weekend bud” David said as he unlocked the car doors.
“Thanks for the ride Uncle Dave” said Kyle as he closed the car door and ran back to his house, pushing a tire swing out of the way as he ran across the front lawn. David watched as the tire swing swung back and forth, wobbling as if about to fall. David sat there and stared through the circle until it finally hit the ground. David snapped back to reality and pulled out of the drive way. With a final glance over his shoulder, he could swear that the rope that was holding the tire swing looked peculiarly similar to a noose….
David awoke with a jolt. With his eyes still closed he stretched out his arms out, but was met with the shocking cold of a window. He opened his eyes to reveal that he was sitting in a dark, cold car. His dark cold car. The moon was already high in the sky. He must of dozed off when he pulled into his driveway after dropping off Kyle. He knew Liz was going to be pissed, but as he stepped out of his car, he realized Liz’s wasn’t there. He tried calling her but all he got was an answering machine.
David wrapped his jacket around himself as he walked into his apartment. “Hey Liz you home?” he shouted. Silence. Think David, did she say anything about going out tonight? David checked his cell phone for the time, 9:15pm. She must have gone out for the night when she realized I wasn’t coming home. Maybe she assumed I was leaving for the hiking trip tonight. That would seem the most logical. It’d be a good idea to leave her a message asking to be called back anyways.
David picked a movie out of his collection and put it on. As the previews played he decided he’d call Steve to double check about the hiking trip.
“Hey Steve, its David. Still game for the trip?”
“Hey David, yea I was just packing now. Did you ask Liz if she wanted to come?”
“Na, I couldn’t find her. I think she is hanging with some friends tonight, or maybe her sister.”
“It seems like everyone is hanging somewhere this weekend. I called up my girlfriend and asked her if she wanted to come, never picked up her phone. Called her like six times too. I also called the boss to tell him I can’t work this weekend. He never picked up. I guess tonight is a big party night.”
“Haha it must be. Well I guess its just you and me then. Well I gotta go pack myself. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”
“Where is everyone?” David wondered aloud. He packed all the clothes he needed as quickly as possible, and then hopped into bed for a good nights rest. Hopefully there’d be no more nightmares.
“Fun Fun, Fun for me
Fun for you, you will see
The tree is there, the noose is set,
They walked into it like fish in a net”
Laughter began that didn’t stop till morning. Laughter and darkness.
David awoke at three. The sun wouldn’t be up till at least seven. He lied in his bed and stared at his clock, as the figure in the corner stared at him.
“You look like crap man.”
“Thanks Steve, lets just get in the car and go.”
The rumble of the engine shook off the little bit of frost on the hood. The silent purr of the engine cruised down the street into the rising sun. Steve slept as David stared down the road into the wilderness of the forest. The colorful leaves of the trees slowly fell the grassy floor and the wind caused the branches to wave at the travelers as they passed. “It was going to be a good day.” Dave thought to himself.
As they traveled along the bumpy dirt road into the forest, Steve began to wake.
“Hey Man, how close are we?”
“Probably about five or minutes from the starting point.”
“What’s the starting point look like? I can help you look for it.”
“There’s an area where there’s no trees with leaves, and there’s a big one at the center.”
Steve began to lean back in his chair, but something made his eyes suddenly widen.
“Hey David, another car has already traveled down here recently. Look you can see the tracks. Maybe we‘ll see some other hangers.”
“Other hangers Steve?”
“I said hikers. Man those dreams really have you worked up don’t they?
“Look there’s a few trees whose leaves have already fallen off. Now look for a really big tree that stands above the rest.”
A great tree rose before them, as did another object that was dwarfed in size compared to the tree.
“Hey what’s that in front of the tree?” Steve said pointing at what looked to be a small Honda Explorer. In fact it was a Honda Explorer, Dave noted. He knew that car….
“That’s Liz’s car. What’s she doing here?” Dave said as he pulled up next to it. “I’m gonna stop here and check it out. You can get out to and stretch.”
Steve got out of the car and walked behind the Explorer. He noticed a length of rope tied to the back. “Hey Dave, I’m gonna see where this leads.” Steve started walking towards the big tree, while Dave was searching through the Honda for a sign of Liz. “Yea sure Steve go ahead.”
David opened the glove compartment where a small yellow sticky note fell.
Meanwhile Steve followed the rope and found it to be attached to the bottom of a ladder. A ladder was at the base of the big tree. “Hey David, come look at this.” Shouted Steve as he started climbing.
At the top of the ladder, Steve found the perfect practical joke to play on David.
The note was written in handwriting quite similar to his own. He never knew Liz’s handwriting was so much like his, but what David read made David forget all about the handwriting.
David could here Steve’s voice calling him.
“Oh help David, I’m being hung. The noose is so tight around my neck”
David looked back in a fright to see Steve standing at the top of a ladder with a noose around his neck and Steve was laughing.
David turned back to the note. “Steve is the hangman. Drive fast and far away.”
David got into the car, put the keys into the ignition, and put it into drive.
In his rear view mirror he could see a body swaying back and forth as a ladder was being dragged behind the car. And to his left he saw Kyle and his parents, while on his right were his own parents. As he traveled and looked at the sights, he saw his boss, and Steve’s girlfriend too. He passed two more on his way out, but neither he knew. And then just as he began to turn out, he saw a beauty swaying in the wind. He waved up at her believing she smiled, but deep down he knew, that Liz would smile no more.
And David sang as he drove along.
Ten men in ten trees white and tall
Ten men with ten nooses watch them fall
Ten men with no air left to them
Ten men, dead men, in the end.
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The messages
People say that events happen for a reason, I remember awhile back I took care of an elderly man. I don’t know, he was somewhere in his nineties and in almost perfect health . . . almost perfect. He was obsessed with the thought that Death was after him and was planning his death for a long time. Every day he would reassure me, “Death was here and is now long gone,” and my usual response to that was, “good thing I missed him.” I said this as a joke, but the old man was as serious as a heart attack. He had told me stories how he had cheated death many times before. Then, one night, the day before I would take my Christmas holiday, he told me this story.
“When I was about ten,” he said, “my own uncle committed suicide in our living room, in front of me and my sister.” What a terrible story, but it had made perfect sense. That was probably why he became so crazy.
“I’m sorry.” I sympathized with him. I held his hand, but he closed his eyes.
“One warm June day,” he said, “my mother and father went on a trip and my uncle was to be our guardian for the next three weeks. Little did they know, something wasn't quite right about my uncle”
“Well, after they had left, he took the shotgun from my dad’s cabinet and sat in a chair in the middle of the living room. My sister and I sat across from him and just stared at him as he loaded a single cartridge in the gun. He just sat in his chair humming a song.”
“What song was he humming?” I felt brave to ask, but he merely shrugged.
“Can’t remember,” he told me, “but the song felt wrong and yet, it was like a lullaby.”
“As midnight came around he told us that there was something that was troubling him for quite sometime and it was time for him to put an end to it. Then as the clock chimed midnight, he unloaded the shot into his head. It made a perfect hole through his head.”
“Holy ****.” I whispered to him and rested my head on my hands. He started to cough lightly. I reached for a glass of water and gave him a sip. He took it with gratitude and swallowed.
“We had no phone and no neighbors,” he continued, “and the closest town was hundreds upon hundreds of miles away. So, there in the middle of the living room my uncle sat for three, long, hot, agonizing weeks.
“The first week his stomach began to expand from all the gases within his body, flies buzzed all around laying their depositing their eggs on him. The smell that protruded from him was so strong that when we were upstairs trying to sleep, his smell would keep us awake. Flies would enter his open head wound and stay inside him. We swear we could hear hundreds of flies inside him. Bits and pieces of him that had blown off from the gun had been taken by rats.
“We tried to keep out,” he sighed, “but it was so hard, the living room was the center to everywhere. Kitchen, bedrooms, bathroom even outside. As the middle of week one went by, my uncles lifeless body soon collapsed and the whole house smelt of a stench of death that couldn’t be taken out.”
“Week two rolled in, his body was beginning to resemble that of a skeleton. The maggots had been working on exposing layer after layer of putrid flesh. When they became flies, they were round and fat and starting to lay more eggs in my uncle. His flesh was nothing but mush which then seeped across the hard wood floor. Rats the size of dogs would take a chunk out of him and run of into some hole. Not only the process of my decaying uncle was in progress, but the house was beginning to take a change some how also. Not only the smell was prominent, but it stained the wall and in return it lost its yellow tone and turned into a pale green. The wall paper started to peel off. The wood floor was stained from not only my uncle, but the smell had reached it and had a huge effect on it also. However, the outside remained untouched.
“On the night of my parents return, my uncle was attracting all sorts of disturbing insects. Most of his ribs were ready to tear out from his skin. The maggots were crawling all over him now. The hole that had been exposed from the shotgun was now green, every part of him was green now. His eyes started to pour out from under his eye lids. The smell, that smell was something that should never have been created. It was death, that’s what it exactly smelled of, but we were used to it. If you have never smelled death, then you are lucky. We heard our parents drive through up the road. My sister and I decided to go into our rooms and leave them in charge of it. I listened from up in my room. I could hear them. They first were hit with the smell, then they heard the buzzing of thousands of insects and finally. I heard my mom, screaming at the top of lungs as she saw the sight of her dead relative.” By this time I started to feel myself shaking from fear. The story had been so grotesquely detailed I didn’t know whether if I wanted him to stop or hear the end. I was horrifically confuse.
“We had a funeral for him,” he had his eyes opened now, “closed casket. Everyone came in to pay their respects. They never knew why me and my sister were so silent for awhile, but my parents did. It was my turn to go up and pay my last respect. His stench, the one I had been confined in for three weeks, was leaking out. Some people could just excuse it as bad air, but not me. This smell was too familiar to be ignored. I bowed my head down to try to relay a message to him. Then I heard something from inside the coffin, a voice, my uncle’s voice. It was very faint, no one around me could here it, but I did. ‘He won’t stop,’ he had said and then there was a silence. A long eerie silence like I had became deaf. I looked around the room for a sign of sound, that was when I saw him.” The old man paused and looked into the distance.
“Who did you see?” I asked him and he looked straight into my eyes.
“I saw Death,” he said blankly, “his face was indeed a bleached white skull and was covered in black fog that took the shape of his body. I was so stunned that I couldn’t speak. His gaze then fixed on me,” the man paused, “then he beckoned to me. Letting me know that I was next. As the people walked by him, he slowly disappeared. The last thing that vanished was his hand pointing at me.”
“Ever since that day, Death has always been trying to force me to face my death and yet I have been avoiding it for over eighty years,” he said, “I believe I can take Death on for another fifty years.” I looked at him oddly. He was back to the avoiding death stories.
“But all of us have to die eventually.” I said to him and he shook his head.
“If you have been on the top of Death’s list for some time, then he has been trying to kill you in the worst possible way.” He argued. I looked at him straight in the eye.
“How do you know you are on the top?” I asked.
“He showed me.” The old man said and soon fell asleep.
I finished cleaning around the house, trying to stray away from the thought of the story. I checked the time. It was 9:14 at night and I had to take a plane to Florida in about and hour. I felt bad leaving him by himself for a week. Then I joked with myself. If he can defend himself from death, I am sure he will be okay. Then I shut off all the lights, shut and locked the door and got in my vehicle and drove to the airport.
I lost track of time. Really, you have to plan a longer trip if you’re going to Florida. My trip turned out to be three weeks long. Well I met this girl and we had spent every minute together and had the best time. I’m sure someone replaced me in my job temporarily, I even called in and left a message telling the old man that my vacation had been prolonged. After my vacation, from the airport I went straight to the old man’s house. I was excited to see him again, both to hear more his stories and to tell him about my vacation. When I got to the house I noticed something odd. It was exactly the way I had left it, only one of the windows was lighted. The bathroom window. I got out of my car and went to the front door.
As I turn the key and open it, I was greeted by the worst smell in the whole world. I couldn’t tell what it was, but some how it reminded me of his story.
“Hello?” I called as I went up the stairs. The smell was getting stronger. I heard a buzzing sound fly by my head. A fly? I walked with caution down the dark hall. At the end was the door lit like a halo. I looked around. The once white house was turning all colors of green and orange. The paint peeled in long coils. I was frightened. The worse part was the smell, it seemed to get stronger as I walked to the end of the hall. As I reached the door, I could hear the flies buzzing around inside. I turned the knob slowly and opened it carefully. I looked in and my heart stopped for just one second.
The bathtub was filled with something that looked like a gray mass in black water. Some of the mass poured over the tub and leaked all over the tile. The water in the tub was bubbling, whether from heat or gases, I wasn‘t sure. As I completely entered, I was engulfed by a wave of some putrid smell coming from the mass and millions of pests. Then, I noticed something that made my heart drop to my foot. The mass resembled that of a man. It even had hair melted all over it and bones sticking out from it. Then I realized that this was the old man.
I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I leaned over the sink, trying to keep my self steady. I had tears running from my eyes. Then I heard humming. I stopped sobbing and listened to it. The song some how sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. It sounded so wrong and yet it made me tired, like a lullaby. I looked at the body in the tub, wondering if that was the source of the humming. I then saw something that made me believe for just a second that I was dreaming.
A skeletal hand, slowly but surely, emerged from the gray mass. It was making a disgusting slurping noise. It was moving as if it had just barely any life left. It’s hand slowly went to the wall and started scratching random lines. I watched in horror at the moving hand, trying to make sense of it what exactly was happening. Soon the hand the hand was finished and just fell back into the sludge. I looked at the scratched line and couldn’t make out what it said.
I still heard the humming, but this time it was coming from behind me. So, in curiosity, I looked. In the mirror I saw him. Death. The old man was right. He was exactly how I pictured him. The skull was white as smoke and surrounded by a black fog that covered what looked like his body. Death was looking at the remains of the old man, then he looked at me and for a split second I could hear nothing except the humming. I stared at him in fright, but he merely gave me a skeleton grin. Then he pointed at me, he beckoned that I was the next to die. He opened his mouth wide, then slowly disappeared.
People say that events happen for a reason. I remember awhile back I took care of an elderly man. I don’t know, he was somewhere in his nineties and in almost perfect health . . . almost perfect. . He was obsessed with the thought that Death was after him and was planning his death for a long time. You know what, he was right. He told me a story of how he first saw Death, and then died in the most horrifying way. I remember the smell of the old man’s rotting flesh, the sound the sludge made when the skeletal hand scratched the wall, I even remember the song, clearly. Then I remember the sight of the man from his stories. The skull faced man was named Death. That night in the bathroom he beckoned to me. Now I play his little game and avoid my untimely death. His game that had turned into my madness. Though I also remember a message in the mirror, the one the hand scratched on the wall. A message that had haunted the old man and his uncle for years and has found me. I remember looking at the scribble on the wall. It had been backwards and it said three words.
“HE WONT STOP”
Then all I could hear was the humming and my blood curdling screams echoing through the empty house.
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Newest update: 6.7.2010
Total amount of stories:24
-FC
< Message edited by FC -- 8/6/2010 6:38:15 >
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