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This thread is for finished stories related to Halloween 2011. The theme is anything Halloween / Horror / Scary.
Please keep your critiques, questions and discussions in the discussion thread.
1st Place: $100
2nd Place: $60
3rd Place: $30
Be original and be creative! Maybe your story could inspire a scary movie!
This is the game JohnnyUtah and I have been working on.
Here is my submission had to break it up to post it ^^;
The paranormal journals of jack coughmen
From: The editor at brams & hams publishing
To: the reader this is the published version of the journals of reporter Jack Highen Coughmen who sadly at the end of this work shot himself in the head we hope that it serves the paranormal community well as its author had intended.
My name is Jack H. Coughmen i am or...more likely was a famed paranormal reporter and investigator up until the week that lead to the events of
Monday October 31 2011. It had been a few tough mouths for me mouths of nothing but digging and hard research to find the very best story to fallow
having stayed in the homes of mass murders, famed killers, haunted hideaways both famous and not so famous, now i had a nice mystery mansion a
old slave plantation home down in the bayous of Louisiana to which the legends have stated that a powerful voodoo shaman was sold to the original
owner and that within three weeks the slaves revolted most have guessed for reasons of the master killing the young of slaves however others simply
say that the slaves just out numbered the residents at the time of the massacre this however not the weird part that's saved for the those who owned
after the massacre. Lily S. Thompson found on September 12 1910 partly eaten in the kitchen after missing for four week police found her after having
to break the locked doors down reports stated that "All windows and doors were locked." the final report came out saying that lily was attacked by a
animal somewhere in the house and that the animal had gotten free after searches failed to turn anything up. Mr. charlie S. manington MD. found on July
14 1968 sown upside down into one of the mansions hanging wall tapestry gutted and emptied of all bodily fluids and missing his gentiles reports stated
the fallowing "From close examination of the body and the time of death its seems that Mr. mannington was dead for three weeks until he was found,
His home was in slight disarray noting a struggle the killer has yet to be found." The paper was a blazed with the story giving it names like the "devil's
plantation" Or my favorite the oh so spokey "House of the voodoo" Things like that would not deter me not even the last owners police reports, Mr. &
Ms. Robin, Guarder Moved in on October 13 2006 the two claimed that there son was living with them however the night of October 31 2006 Police got a
911 call from Mr. guarder saying his son had been kidnapped when police reached there home officers found Mr. guarder's body laying outside the front
door the whole door way was covered in bullet holes Mr. guarder had been shot point blank with a double barreled shotgun the news stated the police
found Ms. guard locked in the master bedroom with the murder weapon yelling for her son when police got her into custody and into a mental institute it
was later found out that the guarders son had been dead for six years after a pedophile kidnapped and killed him, Miss guarder was found on October 31
2009 dead of a overdose in her new york apartment three years to the day she killed her husband. It was all set i had all my work bundled up and begin
packing i would make the calls tomorrow to set up a weeks stay at the devil's plantation.
Balmy weather was all around as i made my way up that long dirt road to the mansion the sun slowly setting i looked all on the outside of this house
while the sun's light permitted it looked as if it was brand new or untouched by anyone, as i made my way to the front door i saw what seemed like the
missing pieces of door wear Ms. guarder killed her husband i took my camera out and got a quick picture before making my way inside, once inside i
was surprised at how lovely the house was fine paintings wall tapestry busts but before i went to check out the house i found my room and set up my
tools and files being was not going to stop me from looking for my next mission into the world of ghosts, after a few hours of wondering the house's
many rooms i came to the library where i found some of the best books of many generations even the complete works of H.P. Lovecraft and as i looked in
the back of the room on a book stand a replica of the necronomicon having been a fan of the great Lovecraft i had to flip through it as i picked up the
book i saw the moonlight shine through the window i sat down in the chair just a few feet from the book stand once i opened the book i saw the detail
someone put into it i saw the images of cthulhu the fish god dagon and many others of the mythos as i reached the books end i saw a small verse in
blue ink on the top right corner it read "Tils mala gore rin gras alema" i didn't know it at the time but...that verse would end up saving my soul if only for a short time.
The first five days were fine nothing out of the normal happened it all seemed so mundane looked around ate napped then worked having seen not one
ghost a monster nothing but...then things took a turn, it was two days till the 31st i have awoken to the sounds of banging i got out of my bed with a
swiftness grabbing my pepper spray can i slowly made my way down the stairs as the door got into view i didn't see a silhouette i silently made my way to
the other parts of the house and found no one having one reason to fear i went back to the bedroom but as i claimed the stairs i heard the sound of a
women crying coming from my room as i opened the door i saw in the center of the room miss...guarder! she seemed to be wearing a sundress and her
hair covering parts of her face as i entered the room i was ready to speak with this ghost but before i could in a split second miss guarder let out a
banshee scream as her head snapped up and looked at me with widening eyes before her head exploded in a shower of gray matter and blood i was
standing in shock as i touched the blood that hit against my skin my hands...hell my whole body was shaking as i pulled my hand away from my face and
in my hand i saw nothing i looked to the body of miss guarder and the blood covered room only to found it untouched it was all a illusion, I had now
finally seen the paranormal which i have looked for years i quickly grabbed the portable camera out of my bag and began searching the house i headed
to the kitchen first as i walked down the south hallway i saw a figure in the distance it seemed like a butler as i got closer the man he began to rush at
me before i could blink he was on top of me i tripped back onto my ass but i remained upright as i opened my eyes the disembodied head of my
attacker screamed at me with empty bleeding eye sockets "YOU'LL NEVER GET OUT!!!" before vanishing.
Moving on :3
Big Note: ignore the odd spacing please ^^; *puts the anti-headhurt helmet on*
I scrambled to my feet and ran towards the library but was stop when the butler came into view once again this time headless and bearing a small axe
as i turned to run the opposite way the books on the shaves shot the books out into the room some hitting me in the skull, the pain was oh so real so
real that the man now at my back may be able to kill me i thought as i ran through the house my camera still rolling i turned to the kitchen but once i
was ambushed two flashy dog like monsters busted in through the windows as they came closer to me they made a awful noise the sound of snakes
hissing but with the powered rage of a wolfs growl as i had no time to think i turned and ran sadly i ran into a wall hit my skull again and blacked out...i
awoke sometime later in a cold sweat in my room the next morning my clock flashed five o' clock pm October 31st. try as i might to find my camera i
came across my cigars and figured i needed to calm down to find my camera but sure enough i walked over to my cigars and found the portable camera
i quick pushed the playback button, blank all of it battery power not even touched nothing was on it all a dream is what i thought as i closed my camera
and placed it back in my bag with my papers and other work i would be leaving tomorrow knowing now there's nothing but a bad case of nightmare
around here the reports were ready i could now move on...so i thought. As i made my way down to the front door to set my bags for tomorrow i heard a
low drumming noise far off into the distance of the house. I threw my bags to the door and grabbed my pepper spray but as i made a run to the north end
of the house the power cut off and i ran into a small table stubbed forward and i grabbed a wall tapestry it did keep me from falling but now i was lost in darkness,
slowly i kept to the walls till i got to the north hallway i saw the faint moonlight in the windows shining on the velvet hallway carpet i saw the door that
headed to the backyard you could have called it of this plantation i made my way down the hall but came to a stop when the light from the moon
vanished and the hall became very dark and a sound of hissing and wet clicking began to start i looked the wear the noises were coming from only the see
the walls covered in large imp like monsters teeth and jaws of sharks there skin had a look of...wet leather there eye's were dim green orbs but they
seemed to not notice me as i slowly creeped through the hallway until one of the imps spotted me it turned its body towards me and readied itself to
attack but before it could another of the beasts stops it now feeling fear more then ever i ran to the door and quickly reached for the doorknob the
heavy double doors exploded into hundreds of splintered spikes that cut and pierced sticking into my body as i slam backwards onto the floor looking to the only to see a huge mouth and meat grinder like teeth in rows and row as i tried to get
up two tentacles grabbed my legs and dragged me into the teeth i closed my eyes as the pain i felt was that of hundreds upon hundreds of fingers pulling
me to pieces bit by bit i opened my eye's to found I'm standing alone in the north hall i look back to see the imps gone from the walls and the moonlight back.
I kicked the door out and found myself on the patio over looking a great hungering horde of the undead a fire in the center the moon fixed in the very
center of the world and the fire below as i watched i felt drawn to it as i slowly came to the steps of the patio i heard the sound of foot steps behind
me i turned and was met with a axe and the headless butler i felt it all! my head rolled off the steps and into the grass the butler then picked up my
severed head and brought it to the fire and the alone person chanting at its glory, I could see my body still bleeding on the patio being torn apart and
eaten as my gaze was turned to the fire the undead began a chant some making only hisses or growls and howls as they whipped into a rage the fire
flashed out with a purple flame and glow! the moon! the moon! red as the eye of his greatness! my mind was running chanting wishing for death all thing
right with the world now then in a loud boom and a earth shattering quake a grand being appeared above the fire before its undead subjects its many
eyes and puss coated body twitched and twisted as its long bony arms reached out and grabbed my severed head its three claws popping my skull open as it
brought me to its mouth i tried to scream and did! i screamed to this...this thing from another place of being i screamed at it "EAT ME! PLEASE EAT ME!
REND ME! EAT MY BODY!!! EAT MY VERY SOUL!!!!" i continued till the beast opened its massive jaws and tossed me in once inside i could feel
everything i could know everything but in that split second i awoke in my bed again, now having had this happen before i looked the room over i saw my
clock said noon October 31 i didn't think anything of it till i saw something odd on the window it was the same verse from the book of the dead in the
library cut into the glass then it hit me as grabbed the clock and threw it at the wall and watched as the small imprint and hole made slowly closed i
then started to shout the verse as if to the being i had seen in my nightmare i saw the light of day turn to night the clock face showed time began spinning foreward the
walls began to show the signs of wore out wall paper paint flecking and chipping off the windows shattered large parts of the house falling down
around me as i made a break for the front door not caring for anything now but my own life i made it out and kept running i ran as fast and as far as my
legs could take me, sometime later i made it back to the main road i tried to head to the small gas station in the distance but blacked from the stress
the running put on my body.
It would be three mouths in a coma before i ever saw daylight again i woke up in the hospital on Thursday January 3rd doctors said that with the way i
had been going it was a death trap for anyone the police and reporters were shocked that i was not eaten by wild life all saying that wear i was really
wasn't, Its been a long road since that week of true paranormal visons but now i can return to my real home and relax, its now June 4th 2012 i can
feel myself slowly losing my mind...dear god the thing! that thing is calling me! i hear it! its calling me back to my darkening void! i see the demons and ghosts
now! there coming to take me! FREE ME!!!
by Armon Pakdel
Ella and I lay entangled in the grass. Our lips were locked in a passionate exchange of saliva. The summer sun blared in my eyes so when Ella punched me in the dick I didn't even see it coming. I buckled in pain and grabbed my wounded nutsack.
"Ow," I said. "Come on, Ella. Don't do this in public."
"You fucking pussy," she said. "It's not like anyone's watching. Nobody can even see us from this side of the park. Plus I know you like it."
"I really don't."
"Well maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to date a feminist."
"This might be more abusive girlfriend behavior than feminist."
"I'm not abusive." she declared. "When have I ever abused you?"
"You literally just punched me in the balls for no reason."
"But I did it because I love you."
"I know," I said. I leaned up and gave her a peck on the cheek. "It's still abusive, baby."
I took it Ella didn't agree when punched me in the dick again. As I doubled up, clutching my gut and coughing, I caught a glimpse of a strangely shaped shadow protruding from a bush some yards away. I nudged Ella and pointed with the hand that wasn't guarding my bruised penis.
"Is that... is that a peeping tom?" she said, jolting upright. Before I could affirm my lack of certainty, Ella stomped over, lit a match tossed it into the bush. The flames spread quickly and within seconds the whole bush had been engulfed in flames. That was when the man with the fish head rolled out, screaming at the top of his fish-man lungs. He donned a Armani jacket and it was on fire. We watched in stunned silence as the fish-man rolled back and forth on the wet grass. Then he stood up. Neither the fish-man nor his jacket looked worse for wear. Not a single singe. Even the bush and the surrounding grass appeared to be intact.
Slowly I began to back away. Just what the hell was he? The fish-man looked unfazed for someone who'd just been on fire. Ella stepped back as well.
"Holy pussy-biting Christ..." she said. "How did you-
"Oh, sorry." said the Fish-man. "Yeah, that might have looked confusing. I basically just resurrected myself... you know what that means, right? Wait, let me think of an analogy. Uh... have you played Super Dragon Master? Well it's basically like an auto-phoenix in that game. Not the first one, though. I mean the series. I forget which games have that as an item. Anyhow I got a ton of deity points last week for my mid b-day, so I'm pretty set for that stuff."
"What the hell are you talking about?" I said.
"It's just resurrection. I know you lower-level deities don't get that."
"We're not deities," Ella said.
"You two are human?"
"Oh crap. Dude, I'm sorry. Humans aren't supposed to know about deities. Yeah, so I have to kill you now."
"What?" I said. "You're joking, right?"
"No, sorry man. Dude, just revive yourself, it's not a huge deal."
"I can't do that!"
"Why not, man?"
"How would I?"
"Just use your deity points. Duh." The fish-man paused. "Oh wait, humans don't get deity points. Sorry dude, still gotta kill you."
I had to protect Ella from this weirdo. I shot forward, tackled the fish-man and started pounding the hell out of him. I hit him over and over again until his face was left a bloody stump. I stood up, breathing heavily. The fish-man twitched once, then stopped moving. I turned to Ella. She looked pale. I was trying not to panic but I was sweating like Gerard Butler on a Sunday and I think I might have pooped my pants.
"We need to get out of here." I said. "Right now."
"What just happened?" said Ella. Her voice was weak and strained.
"Come on." I urged as I tugged on her shoulder "Ella, I just killed a guy! Come on, we need to leave!"
Ella just stared at the ground.
"But he... he wasn't dead... the fire..."
"What are you talking about?"
"How did he put out the fire like that?"
"Does it matter?"
"Guys," said the fish-man, materializing before us. "I just told you I'm a deity. I have enough points to revive myself like 100 more times. And I still have to kill you."
Ella started sniveling and clutched my arm.
"I'm sorry," she whispered weakly into my ear. "I'm sorry."
I tried to tell her everything would be alright. I kissed her on the cheek and told her she would be fine, but her crying just got louder and louder.
"Your girlfriend's kinda annoying," the fish-man said. "Do you mind if I kill her first?"
"Please don't do this." I begged. "Please don't kill us."
"I didn't make the rules, dude."
He grabbed Ella and hit her across the face with such force that the bridge of her nose caved in. Ella let out a long, tormented scream as the fish-man took her arm and snapped it right off at the elbow. He jabbed her in the gut and she fell back onto the grass, puking piles of blood.
I stood and watched Ella getting beaten, helpless to intervene. I wanted to shout and tell him to stop but I knew it would be in vain. Then, apathetically, the fish-man grabbed Ella by the collar and shoved her on her back. She was clenching her teeth, clutching the bleeding tendon with her other arm and making a disturbing gurgling sound. The fish-man climbed on top and started to violate her. He raped her until she went cold and stopped moving. Then all at once I experienced what felt like a sledgehammer slamming into both my knees. I was now face-down on the ground, an cold sensation swelling up from my calves down. It felt like both the lower part of my legs had fallen asleep. I felt something warm touch my hand. Then everything went white.
I woke up in the hospital eighteen months later. The first thing I did was call out for Ella. A doctor told me she died of internal trauma and blood loss after surviving six days in a coma. Then I found out both of my legs had been amputated. An entourage of people came by to empathize and pry me about what happened. When I told them what I remembered the doctors declared that I'd suffered brain damage while comatose.
I never saw the fish-man again. But every night for the rest of my life after I got out of the hospital, I would go to the balcony of my apartment, look up at the moon, and yell at the top of my lungs. "FUCK YOU."
corrupted and Torn, are the only two feelings I possess within me now, as this bitter taste of the child's blood that flows through my body now like a serpents venom sunk deep into my flesh. As I hear them coming, I see all of them slithering from the darkest despoil of hell, crying in utter agonizing shrieks of pain and despair that I could not be comformed to sleep. I too was compelled to pity the merciless hatred I put down upon them, their innocent faces writhing in deformity, some with rope around their knecks so tight it had for moments seemed like they would die of asphyxiation, as only little gasps of air would sneak out now and then, to what sounded like a respirator lacking it's proper funtions to create the needed breath. Others which were just as mortified and tormented that I have seen only half of their faces, their skin looks as if it was marred and sometimes burned to a melting point. were these kids thrown in a melting pot, as their faces were burned but hardend so as they cried it looked almost featureless.
Why has this happend to me, what have I done to deserve such daemons? It has become relevantly clear that the Devil does exist and Hell is a place for me. Belial grant me my freedom now, take my soul and so may I walk forever in the Darkness of your despoil. Be so insidious to my body that my flesh is scarred beyond healing. They who have crucified my body to point only down so my soul shall descend only to your kingdom, and as I feel them pound the nails in my flesh I can hear the Angels of God trying to save me...nothing can, for I am only now a lost soul for the damned, I have no love, no family anymore for they too lay down forever in silence, Along with my body.
Oh how these walls move closer to my mind, the voices I hear of people that have lost all will and conscious thoughts, have only let me thrive so eagerly on what seems only the way to live. This Tv that never changes has been stuck in sramble for so long that I have created pictures through its distortion. Clearly there has been nothing, nothing at all to help me find even the slightest will to retain my sanity, it's as if all the lights and darkness have joined against me, for only seconds I have light, then dark, an evil dance being played upon me ruining my eyes so I can't see nothing but black and white. I know nothing, not even my own world anymore I am compelled to stay here in this quiet room that the only noises I hear are clearly in my head. I feel everyday is the same, absolutely no change at all, as if the days have not passed and I am just being driven worst and deeper into my madness. My journal that sits in front me, this little white book with damaged, disrepaired pages, it looks so despoiled and tattered. Has been my only company, as I write in it, I feel it is speaking to me. I urge you to read these letters, these words scrawled on this white piece of paper stained by my own agony. To see me in them, see my world that I am a prisoner of for eternity. Madness is truly skin deep, since all these words are written in blood...my blood, now I must sleep, sleep forever and never wake up, but be lost in my own despair and torment. Good night.
Had to cut it.
The Anatomy of a Chicken
There's a girl in my Anatomy class. I walk past her on the way to my seat. She's quite small for her age, scrawny in build, with a glint in her stormy gray eyes that speaks volumes of her inane curiosity. I ask around about her often, when I have the chance. She's Pandora, I hear, and they tell me she is fearless. I believe them.
She's in Lab, too, I find out the next day. The quiet girl splotched with grays and browns and blacks, sitting alone in her little corner and constantly blowing her experiments up.
I watch her the whole time, disregarding the monotonous drone of an anonymous teacher in the background. She's messing with the lab equipment--the beakers and the acids, and I recall that we're dealing with hydrochloric toda--No, wait, have I done anything wrong? Because, right now, she's walking right up to me, with a wide Cheshire grin quickly forming on her smallish face. Missed anything? Yes, apparently I had.
As comprehension rises within slowly turning cogs and gears, I am faced with this reality. "Hey, Mister over there tells me we're lab partners now." And this human enigma. "I'm sure we'll have a smashing year together." Do tell me there is a God.
I am not psyched for Lab today. This is the mantra that thunders through my insides even as I enter the front door and smile at the lab partner on the seat next to my own. She smiles back. I wonder when we'll start talking. The teacher walks in at that moment, folders in hand. The thoughts seem to quiet themselves, if only for a little while.
We're dealing with sodium today. It's supposed to be simple. Drop a sufficient--but not too large, else it will blow up on your faces--amount of solid sodium in a container filled with water and note the reaction that takes place. I tell her this, and she all but laughs.
"Where's your sense of fun? Let's drop the whole piece instead." I give off a grimace at that. "Mister won't find out. At least, not 'til the fire's up and burning."
I don't want to get into trouble.
She is persistent. "Come on! It'll be worth it. The explosions, the action, the expression on Mister's face when he finds out!"
No, I'd rather not. I've heard about this before. What happens when it ends up burning straight through the ceiling?
To that, the scalding reply: "Where's your spirit? Where's your spunk?" There are no more arguments after that.
The period ends in the same monotonous melody it had in the beginning. Our teacher, the tomcat, radiates satisfaction up front. He flashes me a smile; there are no explosions that day.
Looking away, I veer my gaze toward the board and jot down its contents--Monday, chicken bones, don't forget--in a hurried scrawl. Finishing up, I turn back to say goodbye, but stop as I catch sight of the disappointment on her face. Where's your spunk, I recall, and I can do naught but agree.
It's when the bell rings that I come to my senses. I slide my chair backward and stand up to leave. Before I get any further, though, there's a slight tug on my sleeve. It's her. She seems to have gotten that spark back. Curiosity, it implies. Mischief. I remember that glint all too well, and decide that this sudden change in her disposition wouldn't mean me any good.
Swallowing up my uncertainty, I face her. Well, what is it?
"Chicken bones are lame, don't you think?" Her words knock me out of my stupor.
Well, isn't that the most random thing anyone's said to me today. I flash her my most incredulous stare. She brushes it aside completely, the shine in her eyes growing brighter by the second. "I think we should try out something cooler."
The teacher will find out. It was my only defense against this growing nonsense.
"So? I've always thought that human metatarsals looked a lot like chicken bones."
Wait. Human bones? I couldn't even believe I was hearing this. I don't think--
"So you're a coward then, aren't you?"
Where's your spunk, I recall, and her proposition grows in appeal. My interest finally peaks. Where do we get them, then?
It's six o' clock on a Saturday, and I find myself standing outside towering gates. St. Louis' Cemetery I make out on a ruggedly chopped plank hung up beside the entrance, and begin to question my sanity. We're going grave robbing today, and the star of the show has yet to arrive.
She turns up ten minutes later, lugging a large black bag--two pairs of gloves, two shovels and a knife. It's then that I realize she isn't so scrawny after all.
"Hey," she says. "Sorry I'm late. I had to go pick up a few things."
I shrug, letting her blunder slide. Lead the way, I say. And she does.
We take a left as soon as we enter the cemetery, heading straight for the graves out back. "It's best if we go for the older ones." Her voice drowns out the frog croaks, and cricket chirps. "That way, it's less likely for people to notice that they've been messed with. Not too old though, else we'll end up with nothing to work with."
You sound like you've done this before. I try my best to look as doubtful as I possibly can. I hope she can take a hint. It doesn't work.
She turns her head around, giving it an abrupt tilt to the right. She lets out an amused laugh. "Me? Of course not! These," she gestures toward our equipment, arms splayed out and mouth upturned, "I learned from the movies." I wonder how much of her insight will help.
My watch reads a few minutes past six thirty. We finally reach the cemetery's end. The skies are dark, and the trees surrounding us look as ominous as ever. Pandora tosses me a flashlight, and I fumble for it before it falls to the ground.
"Here, we'll dig up this one." She points her torch toward a gravestone only a couple of paces away. The inscriptions are faded with age and wear, but I can make out a few words. Old Man Jack, it reads, we'll never forget. There's a shiver traveling up my spine, and for the first time since entering this graveyard I am filled with unease.
"Hey," she says. There is a slight waver in her voice. "Stop dawdling. The sooner we're finished digging, the sooner we'll be able to get out of this damn place."
She tosses me a shovel and a worn-out pair of gloves. I put them on. We're digging up a dead man's grave. The entire thing isn't supposed to be difficult. Immoral, yes, but other than that, it shouldn't be too hard. Suck it up--suck it up and dig.
We strike gold moments later as my shovel stabs through aged wood. "Finally," she says. "That's it." We put our shovels away and lift the cover up. The metatarsals, the bones of the feet. My eyes veer toward the remains of Jack's foot. Pandora pulls out her knife and hands it to me. "This is your dare," she says. "Prove yourself."
I take the knife from her and drag it across the remaining tendons somewhere below Jack's ankle. It takes a couple more tries, but the foot eventually comes free. I pass it over to Pandora. We run straight toward the exit as soon as we're done fixing the grave up.
It's approximately 8 o'clock by the time we get out of there, panting and out of breath. We break into fits of laughter. Relief.
You're crazy. The moon is out, and there's sweat on my brow. It drips to my eye, and stings.
She gives me a knowing grin, "You agreed to this, didn't you? Consider yourself crazy, too."
I watch as she walks off in the opposite direction, carrying--quite proudly--the bones of our labor, before going my own way.
(part 2: The Anatomy of a Chicken)
Locking the door to my house, I walk up the stairs to my room and plop myself onto the bed. It takes me about two full hours of staring at the ceiling to realize that I couldn't fall asleep.
Suck it up. He's dead; he can't do anything to you. Suck it up.
I tumble out of bed the next day without having slept a wink.
Pandora isn't at school today. I sit uneasily beside her empty chair, barely hearing the teacher's voice in the background. I wonder what happened to her. Why didn't she show up?
The noisy clang of the bell interrupts my thoughts. I barely remember to glance at the board. No homework for today, good. As if I could take any more. I take one last fleeting glance at the empty seat beside me - and scream.
Old Man Jack's skeletal frame sits, facing my direction. An empty blackness lies in place of his eyes. And where his foot - the foot that I had so foolishly removed - should have been, lay mine. I look, only to find my foot indeed missing. The blood slowly drains from my face.
"Hey. Excuse me! No screaming in the lab, please." I look up at the teacher, my eyes wide. He didn't see the skeleton. I turn back toward Pandora's chair. It was empty.
Eyes downcast, and shaken out of my wits, I manage to let out a small apology. Satisfied, the teacher walks back on his pudgy pair of legs, shiny leather shoes squeaking with every step.
It's been a week since that night, and Pandora's been missing in action for the same amount of time, give or take. I haven't been feeling so good either. I keep getting the feeling that someone's been watching me, but when I look back, no one's there. Worried, I decide to pay Pandora a visit. I get her address from the school directory.
I walk all the way up to her house--it isn't too far from the school campus. Her front door is unlocked. I slip past it without a second glance, and head straight up the stairs of her two-storey townhouse. I get her bedroom right on my first guess, and am welcomed by Pandora's quivering figure. She's on her bed, with her blankets all the way up to her neck. Her face is pale, almost an ashen gray. I move closer.
Her eyes slowly blink at me in recognition, and she cranes her neck upward. "The bones. We have to put them back." Her voice is cracked and whispery. I have no qualms understanding what she has to say.
It's a Saturday afternoon when we finally decide to put Jack's bones back. The road to the graveyard is long and tiring, and the sun's sweltering heat does little to ease our discomfort. There isn't a single cloud in the sky.
We take a left upon entering through those same gates, trudging down paths I'd rather not remember. Pandora's right in front of me, a quiet confidence surrounding her previously cadaverous state.
We're about twenty paces from Old Man Jack's grave when I realize we aren't alone. There's a solitary figure up ahead, standing in front of the same grave we dug up several days prior. The figure increases in size as we inch closer. It's when Pandora stops that my brain registers that the figure's actually a girl.
"Hello." The slight turn of her head signals that she's finally spotted us. "You're paying your respects, too?"
My voice is caught within the hollows of my throat as Pandora takes over, "N-no, we're here for something... entirely different. Is this man... your grandfather?"
"Yup." The girl nods her head. "Do you have some sort of business with him?" Her voice is high-pitched and childlike, carrying a sense of eerie politeness for a girl her size.
No, but we'd like to talk to you about a few things, I say as soon as I am able. Though... I think it would be best if we took this someplace else, I add, noting the large gray nimbus clouds quickly forming above us.
"Sure!" Her face brightens to an even wider grin, and she points her hand out in the opposite direction. "We can go over to my place. It's just a short walk from here."
Her place appears to be the small bungalow right across the cemetery gates. Its roofs are missing some shingles and the bright yellow shade the house must have been painted in a decade prior has begun to fade into an ugly, mottled mess.
"We're here!" The girl yanks the door open, and a puff of dust greets us as we walk through. My gaze drifts towards Pandora, and for a slight moment, we seem to be thinking the same thing.
"So, what did you want to tell me?"
We tell her the story of our grave-robbing escapade. She listens attentively enough, seemingly sympathetic. We finish up by saying how sorry we are, and that we'd put it back as soon as we could. I could sense Pandora's anxiety at that moment, the same feeling in my chest. There's a long pause after our story is finished. The wait sends shivers through my spine. Up, down, and back again.
"Well." A small childish voice breaks the premature silence pervading the room. "You could put Gramps' bones back tonight." She pauses. "You'll have to go alone, though," her gaze tilts toward Pandora, "I don't think Gramps will want anymore unexpected visitors."
We leave the house right after that, and as soon as we're out of earshot, I turn to Pandora. Are you all right with this? Going back there alone, I mean?
"No, I'm not. But I got us into this mess." Her throat gives off a slight movement, swallowing. "So I'll get us out of it."
I say no more after that, and reluctantly agree. She's fearless after all, those kids at school say, and I find that I believe them.
I am restless later that night. Finding myself unable to sleep, I kick off my blankets and grab a set of clothes. Pandora is somewhere in that graveyard. I need to make sure she gets back okay.
Before I know it, I'm at the cemetery gates once more. It's dark out at night, and the incessant cricket-chirps do nothing to drown out the rapid palpitations in my chest. Bracing myself, I race through the cemetery, taking a left toward the beaten path I've come to know so well.
I arrive just in time. Pandora is just about finished digging, and is slowly beginning to lift up the coffin's wooden cover. I find myself unable to move as skeletal hands jut out from underneath her, dragging her down into Jack's grave. She lets out a muffled scream as the coffin closes itself, letting out a satisfied click.
There's a shrill, ear-splitting laugh cawing out in the distance, right when my legs regain their movement. I know exactly whom it comes from.
Today's the day Pandora disappears.
Time shifts back to normalcy three weeks after her disappearance and I find myself back at school, listening to the toneless drone of my aged Anatomy teacher.
Sitting in my seat, a few paces away from him, I notice something strange. He tells us it's an anonymous donation, this box wrapped up in grays and browns and blacks. He's quite grateful, I'll bet, and his face practically lights up as he opens the life-sized package. I sit back as the entire class moves in swarms and droves up front to see what's inside.
He lifts it up with all the care in the world, the skeletal remains of what is to be our new subject matter, all assembled, brushed up and polished. It's quite small for an anatomical model, scrawny in build, with holes where a fine set of eyes could have been. There's something wrong about the entire thing, but I just can't seem to figure it out.
"Ah, too bad." My thoughts quickly topple onto the floors of my skull as he continues, "it would've been perfect if not for the missing foot."
Feed the birds
"Mommy look, birdies!"
"Okay Johnny, here are some crackers, try not to overfeed them or they'll get fat!"
Johnny always wanted to feed birds. Seeing them feeding and fighting over bread crumbs was a sight to see and he wanted to become a part of it so that maybe one of the birds would fly down and land on his arm, allowing him to show it off as if he's the master.
However, Johnny's life would change...
He came to the park where several large flocks of pigeons would gather from every direction waiting to be fed. Johnny took out a piece of cracker and crumbles it in order to make crumbs so he could feed them to the hungry birds.
"Here birdy, birdy, birdy!" said Johnny.
As he tossed the crumbs to the ground, dozens of pigeons came down to feed.
Excited with glee, Johnny then started to crumble another piece of cracker when some of the crumbs fell through his tiny little fingers and lands onto his shoes. Soon dozens of hungry pigeons came down upon Johnny. Seeing that the birds are coming down on him, the five year old kid didn't flee as he didn't think there's any harm the birds will do, I mean after all what's the worse that could happen? Little Johnny would soon find out.
"Cool, come birdies!" laughed Johnny.
Soon the birds starts pecking the kid...
"Ow, stop it, I got fo-ow!" yelled Johnny.
It gets worse...
His mother heard his cry and ran to the park to see dozens of pigeons gather in one area.
"Johnny!" she yelled.
She was restrained by a police officer who said, "Ma'am, you have to calm down, those birds will come after you if you bother them! I'll s-"
"I'm the boy's mother, I can't let this happen!" she yelled.
The police officer then takes out a pistol and fires into the air, causing the birds to flee in every directions.
"I was going to scare them off when you came in ma'am!" he said.
Once it's cleared, Johnny's mother walks toward the area and to her horror, she saw her son's eaten remains...
Short story here, rather poorly revised.
Pete slowly strolled through the filthy gutters of his village, Glasenby, as his lengthy brown trenchcoat scraped the ground. He always loved his slow, scenic route through to the grocer in his evenings, but that couldn't happen today. All the stores were closed for Halloween, probably out drinking themselves into a stupor. Normally, Pete would call them stupid junkies, but he had never actually seen one before taking a walk through the ghetto outside of his tiny, happy suburb. Angry homeless and addicts littered the street like cigarette butts on a sidewalk, and Pete gagged on the smell of rotting garbage that came from the many alleys. He read the signs hanging over the diverse stores. There was Carl's Tattoos, Mickey's Ribhouse, and an extremely worn, decrepit hospital. Pete was close to giving up and going back to his happy little brown-brick home, but around the corner of the way he came in, he saw a nearly invisible little shop. "Bob's Butchers", the sign read, nearly camouflaged among the many identical shops and stores.
"I could pick up a prime rack of ribs here," Pete pondered, "then I would eat like a king." Pete pushed open the door, and strolled in, as the smell of fresh blood began to permeate the air.
"Hey," Pete hollered into the echoing halls of the establishment, "can I buy a rack o' ribs here?" Nobody responded to his calls. Pete checked the sign, and it said it was open. Maybe there was a mix-up? Pete decided to go further into the hallways, and see for himself where the supposed owner, Bob, was.
Shuffling about the corridors, his wet coat slapping against the marble floors, Pete kept an eye out for any doors. It didn't seem there was any entrances or exits in the hallway, until he walked right into a finely made, wooden door. He began to jiggle the knob without result... locked. He turned around, and as he walked away, the door was pulled open by someone unknown. Pete snapped his neck around, and decided he would investigate the last room in the building... he'd wish he hadn't.
Pete strolled into the room, but the room was completely unlit, except for the dim light bulb shining far off in the middle of the corridor. He felt around for any walls around the door, but it seemed quite bigger than how it looked on the outside. Squinting in the darkness, he attempted to navigate himself about, but he fell face-first into a squishy pile of some sort of flesh. It hadn't been skinned yet, and it felt somewhat... familiar. This only put him into a horrible state of terror, and he fled, screaming, out the way he came inside.
As he screeched and cried through the hall, loud footsteps began to tap throughout the cramped lobby of the dirty store. Pete quickly flipped open his cell phone, using it as a flashlight, and saw a steady stream of blood beginning to flow throughout the dirty stone floor. He sprinted for the moldy, damp doorway, but quickly smashed in his nose on it. It was locked, somebody broke off a key inside the lock. After a couple of seconds of forcefully tugging and pushing on the door, it was clear it wasn't going to open. His ears perked, however, at a sound other than it own... it sounded like cheap work boots, smashing and stomping against the ground, towards him. Twisting his body around, he shone the makeshift flashlight behind him, and saw the creature. It was someone dressed in a bloody, drooping suit of human and animal fleshes and skins. On his head, he had the head of a freshly slain deer, the eyes removed crudely with some type of spoon. He quickly ran towards Pete, and began slashing and smacking his heavy steel butcher knife at him blindly. Pete, too shocked to scream, simply ran into the nearest room, the bathroom. He quickly locked the exit, and then himself into one of the three stalls.
Bob parked in front of his workplace, preparing for another day serving up quality meals. He gleefully shoved his key into the lock, and found he just locked the door... somebody must have picked the lock. He quickly unlocked it again, and looked about for any signs of damage. They didn't seem to have destroyed or damaged anything, but he saw a large brown stain of dried blood across the floor. Rushing about the building, he investigated all the rooms, and finally came to the bathroom; the bathroom was the only room in the entire building that had been locked. Once he got inside, he noticed a large stain on the wall in the third stall. He crawled under the locked door, and found the decaying body of Dave, his unknowing neighbour. Beginning to gag from the sight, he quickly reviewed his body, and realized that Dave had forwarded a message to himself. Bob snatched up the phone, and read it with shaking hands.
"THE DEERMAN IS HERE!"
Here goes nothing...
Oct. 1- This place was called "haunted" but i see nothing paranormal. Ha! How can a place be haunted with no paranormal activity! But, then again, i have to stay here the whole month, as part of my project on paranormal sightings and witnesses. Strange thing is, while the whole town was totally aware of the house, no one warned me not to go inside. It seems rather suspicious. Do they want me dead? I guess we'll just have to wait and see.
Oct 2- The door is somehow locked. I can't get out at all. I'll have to find the key. I did find some very strange paintings around here. Some were rather disturbing even. Weird thing is, I found blood on the floor where there wasn't blood before. I remember when I checked my camera, I confirmed that the blood wasn't there before, but the batteries ran out. But I had charged them the day before I came here! There may be some truth behind this myth after all...
Oct 3- I searched for the key but haven't found it yet. I did find a red candle though. It's some sort of ritual candle, I think. There are also some locked boxes around here. I managed to get the door to the basement open, and I found several piles of human bones. But the strange thing was that I haven't seen any signs of rat activity or any scavengers that would have cleaned off the bones. And they're real too. Not fiberglass replicas. Strange.
Oct 4- When I tried to reach for my water bottle on the table, it wasn't in my reach where I last put it. In fact, it was on the other side of the table. I'm starting to think that there might be someone else in this house pulling these jokes, which might be why i cant find the key to get out of here. I am getting a little bit creeped out by this place. Not scared, but creeped out.
Oct 5- More blood is appearing around the place, but it's not fresh. it's dried out and soaked into the floor. Maybe it's rising from the ground. But how would that be possible? I also found a message on the wall written in blood. It said "Come and join us", and I don't want to join "them". I kinda like living. I still think there might just be someone else in the house. But then again, I'm finding more evidence that my hypothesis is wrong. I wish I could take pictures, but my camera's batteries are dead.
Oct 6- Another message. "We will devour you." I really don't like this place. I did manage to get into the bathroom but the door slammed and locked behind me. I was in a state of panic for a bit but I was able to calm down when I found the key out of the bathroom. Thank God. I tried to use the key on the front door, but it didn't work. However, the bathroom had a lot of blood in it. It looked like someone was dragged across the floor and into the tub, but there was no body there.
Oct 7- I went into the basement, against all my instincts. Everyone knows you should never go into the basement in a potentially haunted house. There were several skeletons there and another locked box. I tried to open it, but i couldn't. when i looked back, I saw another message that said "Your soul is ours now." I've started to hear footsteps around here, but I'm trying to keep my cool.
Oct 8- I didn't find any messages today, but I have an uneasy feeling that I'll find one tomorrow. I went upstairs and into the room of the person that was supposedly killed in this house and I saw a wardrobe. I was about to open it until every brain cell I had started screaming "Don't do it" to me. So I didn't. Still no luck in finding the key out, but there is another red candle.
Oct 9- My god! I opened the wardrobe today and an apparition of a fanged skull ran into my face! it continued out the wall and out of sight but that scared the living shit out of me! I want to get out of here! It's only the 9th and I can't take this place anymore! I don't want to find out what happens on the 31st! Assuming I can make it there alive...
Oct 10- Nothing happened today, I guess the spirit to the face thing was enough for the evil things that are inside this place. I can hear them just laughing there ectoplasmic heads off. But not literally. I haven't heard any laughing yet. Emphasis on "yet"...
Oct 11- I've noticed that over the course of the days that I've been here, I've started to lose my head more and more. In the insanity sense of course. I do think that if I survive the 31st, I will be allowed to leave this accursed house. But another message on the wall is making me more uneasy than ever. "You will never escape"
Oct 12- I'm actually surprised that I haven't gone insane yet. But I imagine I'll be mindless by the 14th. No messages though. That's good. But I know that there will be more. I also found a painting that I hadn't seen before. Me; dead, with ghostly spirits eating my corpse. I hate this place. With all that's left of my heart.
Oct 13- I don't plan on writing another entry for a while now, I need to see if I can find that damned key! Wish me luck.
Oct 25- Well, I'm back with a key. But it's not the one to the front door. It's the one to the attic. I plan on going in there tomorrow if i can't find any other keys. But there isn't much else to say other than a message that was the worst of all; "We will send in our warriors." I think it's time for me to pull out my gun now. Good thing I brought it.
Oct 27- I bet whoever may be reading this is wondering why there wasn't an entry on the 26th. That's because i was fighting strange being that were coming from some sort of egg sack in the bathroom. i managed to destroy it, but not without having one bite me. At least they weren't zombies.
Oct 28- No more of those strange beings were here today but a message said "You haven't won yet", which gave me hope because the message was suggesting that i could win. But then again, it could be false hope. What good is hope anyway in a place like this...
Oct 29- I went into the attic but i didnt stick around long.i saw bodies that seemed to have died in agony. tortured until they were literally begging for death. That bite i got from the beings seems to have gotten worse...
Oct 30- food blood blood blood food i need it food blood blood i want blood i want blood i need blood BLOOD I WANT BLOOD I NEED BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD I WANT BLOOD I NEED BLOOD
Oct 31- ...
My life for Aiur, Cynofrax, The Aura, Mobius, the Xel'Naga, those kinds of things.
hold on! i forgot to tell the name of my story! my bad
-The Sanity Thieves-
thats the title. sorry i forgot it. Aura forgive me (and Tom).
My life for Aiur, Cynofrax, The Aura, Mobius, the Xel'Naga, those kinds of things.
We live a thousand miles away, a distance that is seperated by both space and time. The parks that we once played on, are now desolate and empty. The swings that we once swung, are gone and yet replaced by a metal stump. The only reminder that many lives once shared a hint of innocence. Remember October? The month when the trees leaves would fall, we would walk to school and kick our feet, while the bitter cold nipped at our nose. Our childhood dreams where we could be anything. Such fantasy it was, but most of all. Our dreams, the dream that someday we would leave this town.
Remember the mill where our fathers worked. I do, for when it closed and everyone left. The time for innocence was over, the dreams that we thought we could achieve were cut short. The mill now gone, cut to ribbons the dreams of our fathers. You said you would never leave, told me that we could runaway. Ah, such a fantasy it was. It was not meant to last. You moved away, and I left for a different home. You gave me your mailing address, and I promised a thousand times I would write. I tried to be strong the last time I saw you. But the pain was there. My heart was welling, your heart was aching.
I held on to my promise. I wrote to you everyday. But as with time and age. Some things change inevitably. I will always remember you. I see you in my dreams, I picture the best days we had. Laughing under the trees. I wake from these dreams in my bed. I sit up and look at my window which faces the bedpost at the end of my sheets. Sometimes I still think I am that little boy from a long time ago. Until the full moon denys me such pleasures by showing me the room with it's soft gentle glow.
Imagine the surprise when I saw you at the store. I blinked my eyes, thinking I was dreaming. Even though we are now both fully grown. I knew with every inch of my soul it was you. How fate can be such a mysterious and beautiful thing.
We live together now, we have kids of our own. Through time and space, we are now closer than ever. Older now we are, way past our middle years. We tell our grandchildren the story of that October day, when our childhood innocence let us play.
Alright, here goes. Haven't written anything in awhile.
Adrian climbed admist the wreckage of the collapsed building. He ignored the cuts and bruises all over his body attempting to dust off his extremely dusty and ripped clothing. He looked around the place for Ben or Blake. He tried to find a positive side to this situation but the only thing were that the riots had ended. Ever since the cursive act of 2014 had been set in place for Newgrounds users had gone crazy. All those who cursed were banned, only 3 strikes in their time on Newgrounds otherwise they'd be permanently banned and locked in the dungeon with the hundreds of other perpetraters. The mod Team had grown to an average number of 83 Moderators, at least half of them online at a time.
Crack. He saw some smoked crack. He continued walking admist the rubble and destruction of the once peaceful (cough cough) website. The users had flooded the forums with spam, filled inbox's and flagged countless numbers of worthy submissions. It was now early 2017, not a single submission had made it through the portal in 5 and a half months. The last time he heard of a new thread was the previous month which had to be locked due to such insanity. Entire forums were locked until the entire BBS was shutdown and Newgrounds itself put in lockdown. All the spam crew's went insane until the Portal itself was closed up for a temporary 2 years minimum was what they were told.
Snap. He saw a book called snap laying next to his friend Blake's body. He feared this would have come. He knelt beside his friend's body ignoring the stabbing gravel in his knees. He took his friend's bloody helmet, held it up against his chest and placed it in his friend's hand. He had been such a brave soul fighting for both freedom and the right to watch the Xombie collection again. After the cursive act had users getting gritty there was a late 2016 act to put the redesign for both Newgrounds and the Chat yet once again for at least another 3 years. That's what mainly sparked the riots. So for nearly 12 months rioters had looted threads, destroyed submissions and uploaded countless collections of hentai to the site until it went in lockdown.
Boom. That was the name of the song he had listened to that morning. Adrian looked at the few remaning standing buildings, and how destroyed and wrecked they were. The riots had ended about 4 days ago, after continuing non-stop insanity Tom Fulp had to ship truck loads of noobs from Kongregate to come try to fight against all the madness. One of these Kongregate noobs had been Blake, such a brave user. A stat-whore he may have been but a brave one at that. He died fighting for experience points and he was promised Medal Points on Kongregate. That was also when I met Ben. A long time Newgrounds user, he'd been permanently banned in the jail since 2003. I set him free during the major rioting and we'd become great friends since.
Rumble. That's what his basketball coach would tell the team to do before everygame. After most of the Kongregate noobs had been killed off and even the Newground Moderators went insane trying to stop the madness Wade Fulp had been killed triggering so much anger within all of Newgrounds, especially Tom Fulp. He ordered Armor Games, Xgen Studios and GameFudge to both unite and bomb Newgrounds 2 days ago. The site was destroyed with us inside it many people being killed and blown up. The remaining locked or forgotten threads were shattered instantly as well as the genius submissions such as 'Peanut'. Adrian saw Ben's decapitated head over by what had been the Newgrounds store. It was now a destroyed peace of rubble. He kissed his dear friend Ben on the head for what a brave warrior he had been not giving up at the fight since the riots had started. Tom Fulp had since moved to CrazyMonkeyGames to take charge of their site.
Shatter. That's what Adrian's dreams had done the past few years. He walked inside the Newgrounds stores with a ripped up pair of shoes questioning the fact at how he was still living. He opened up a suitcase and gasped in shock and awe at what he found. It was a Tank Award. A beautiful glowing, golden sparkling Tank Award that had been awarded to Waterlollies so many years ago. They hadn't done the Tank Awards since 2013 due to them cancelling because of the fact that shitty movies, games, musicians and artists had started winning them. He felt a shake through the air as he lifted it, cupped in his hands glowing in his face. He was thankful it was not destroyed in the bombing of Newgrounds. He decided to take the Award to share the genius of submissions like Waterlollies to other sites and spread the news elsewhere helping the Internet to become a better place for users to troll, spam and hack.
Adrian was proud of his friends, and all of Newgrounds for doing such a good job in the riot and fighting until their very deaths. As the lone survivor of the website he set off on his journey to help the Internet create genius submissions such as Waterlollies.
Oh, and then he saw a scary ghost. Happy Halloween!
This is my submission, a story I came up with on seeing this contest, it actually turned out better than I'd expected. I hope you enjoy it!
"Look. The fact of the matter is, she's dead. There's nothing that moping around and staring at that stupid card is going to do." Kyle said, setting his glass on the coaster in front of him. I didn't reply, it wouldn't have mattered if I had, he'd have simply continued his little rant. It was okay, though, it was his way of blowing off steam, and lord knows we needed to after what happened. I gazed up momentarily at the TV lighting my half of the room, having heard a laugh track roll, and rolled my eyes back toward the one piece of evidence that was left behind at the scene. A solitary post card, dated and left with a message; 'Death is not only the beginning, it is the end, it is that which binds humanity together irrefutably. One cannot be bound to a singular form for long, and it is my purpose to free those whose time has come. Do not be concerned, and have a Happy Halloween.'
It wasn't traceable, no prints, and the message and date were added onto the card using a printer. The detectives had given up on her case, and I knew I should do the same, but I couldn't. The woman was nothing to me, aside from a murder case, so what was it that tied me to her case as I was? An innate love of a good mystery? No, that wasn't it. The best estimation I can offer is that I simply wanted something to do. Ours was a town of quiet seclusion aside from the occasional drunken accident. Hell, I hardly had to work for lack of crime, I'd had to pick up a second job to keep my apartment.
"Hey! You listening over there, Sammy?" Kyle said, louder than he normally would have.
"Hm? Sorry, I must've been thinking too hard again." I replied gently running my thumb along the edge of the postcard.
He laughed, short and quick, as he always had. "You know, you keep thinking like that, you're gonna break your brain, man." He got to his feet and drained his glass of the remaining liquid. "Look, I'm gonna head home. Stop dwelling on this shit, dude. It isn't healthy."
"I'll try, Kyle. See you tomorrow." and with that, he lifted his coat from the chair and swept out the door. I placed the card on the coffee table and buried my face into my hands. After staring into the darkness for a moment, I ran my fingers down my face and planted my hands on my knees to get up.
I wasn't sure how I ended up where I was after that. I know I walked up the stairs, but I'd forgotten to turn off the TV, so I went back down and the card again caught my eye. I looked closer at the picture on the opposite side of the message and it dawned on me that it was a photo, one that had been printed onto the card as well. What the photo was, only a thought in my head before I blacked out.
I woke up and my head was pounding and felt like it weighed 50 pounds. After my eyes focused, I realized that the chain next to my head was hanging the wrong direction, and it dawned on me.
"Great. I'm upside down." I said aloud without meaning to. Strangely, my voice didn't echo in the room I was in. I took a quick look around and gained no more knowledge than I'd had before, it was simply a darkened room with chains and a system strong enough to support an adult man's weight. I felt up my leg with my hands to see exactly how I was suspended, and it was simply the chain swung over a metal hook, as though to hang a transmission. Simple enough. I grabbed onto my pants and pulled myself to a point where I could support my weight with my hands and loosed my feet from the restraint. One little thing slipped my mind. The weight of the chains. They slapped the ground hard, and pulled my legs along with them. I tried to grip the chain, but the strain had gotten my palms slippery with sweat and I fell. My first instinct was to try to grab on, and that was a big mistake; the hook I'd been hanging from pierced my palm and now I was hanging from this chain with a hook in my hand and a chain weighing down my body, so I could feel the hook beginning to pull through my hand.
"Oh, fuck." I said, desperately thinking of a way to get out of this with the use of my hand. "Uhhh... fuck." I had to get off of this hook, but it seemed like letting it slide through was my only option, so, rather than wait, I forced my hand through and collapsed onto the floor. The pain was absolutely unbearable, and I couldn't see straight for a minute, but I knew I had to do something about the bleeding. So, I sat up and took of my shirt, smelled it to make sure there wasn't anything too unsavory, and wrapped it around my hand as tight as I could. After that? I passed out from the pain.
I woke up and I was in the same room in the same position, so I assumed either whoever put me here didn't bother to come back, or they had and didn't care. Regardless, I couldn't just sit here anymore, this shit was getting boring and my hand hurt more and more by the minute. So I got up and scanned the room to no avail, there were no discernible details; I walked to the wall using my hand as a guide and began scanning it through touch. The entire room seemed to be circular, with no door. So how did I get here?
"The roof. You've got to be fucking kidding me." It was either that or the floor, and I didn't remember the floor ever sounding different, but I made another quick scan to be sure; no dice. I sighed heavily and cradled my arm close to me as a particularly nasty pang of pain hit me.
"Well, fuck me running." That was the only thing I could say. I knew I couldn't get out, not with this fucked up hand of mine, so I resigned myself to death and simply slumped to the floor.
I don't know how long I was there, I never bothered with a watch. But the next thing I saw was a light coming from the roof and something dropping in. The light didn't immediately fade, so I took my advantage; albeit sluggishly.
"Hey! You gonna kill me or what? This hand is really fucked, man, and I don't know how long I can stay like this." I called, cupping my mouth with my good hand to amplify the sound. Whoever it was didn't answer, so I bent down and picked up the thing they'd dropped. It took a minute to focus on it, given the bad light, but once I did, I knew that my hand wouldn't be bleeding for some time.
On closer inspection, it was the postcard I'd been mulling over in my head prior to this endeavor. I looked closer at the image and it was my house. In the middle of the night, it seemed, with one light on. My bedroom. I could see my silhouette in the window and it all flooded back.
One week ago, a flash in the night as I was looking out at the glorious full moon, but I took it for an animal's collar flashing.
"Are you kidding me?" I called out as I tossed the card to the ground.
"Fraid not, Sammy. 'Fraid not." he replied as he was shutting the hatch. It then dawned on me that the card had new content, and I quickly snatched it up and skimmed to the signature that it now bore.
'With love, Kyle.'
Caution Advised When Handling
My name is Ash Ketchum. Now, I know who probably comes to your mind: a bright, charismatic young trainer, who traveled around the world and against all odds, became the greatest Pokémon master in history. Sorry to say, that isn't me; that was my great-great-grandfather: Ash I.
This story has been kept in my family every generation since. My mother used to tell it to me almost every night. It was my favorite story to hear.
My great-great-grandpa travelled all across Kanto and Johto and beyond, training his Pokémon, learning from the greatest and surpassing them, and then rising to the top of the renowned Elite Four's ranks - It took him 3 years. He was only 13 years old. It was an unheard-of accomplishment.
As the new leader of the then-Elite Five, he was challenged by many aspiring trainers, and unwaveringly overcame each one. But he was always an encouraging winner. He gathered a loyal group of friends, and taught them the strategies for success he had learned throughout his travels. He became famous worldwide.
One day - while Ash was still young by Pokémon masters' standards - a determined, up-and-coming trainer defeated the first four of the Elite Five with little difficulty, and came to challenge Ash.
The battle was explosive. The stadium, built to withstand the most intense of all conditions, was trembling with the power colliding between the teams. By the end of the battle, the walls were charred with soot and marked with the pulp from vines. Boiling puddles, torn-up leaves, and rubble from the ceiling and floor were scattered throughout the area. Ash and his adversary - Alissa was her name - finished their battle as a draw after both of their teams succumbed to fatigue; by the same time, the stadium had nearly been leveled entirely.
After the match, Ash and Alissa spent time together talking about how their lives came together there and then. Before the Elite Five's doors had time to reopen to the public, they were married.
They then gave birth to a son - Ash II - who grew up to father Ash III, who was my grandfather. The first Ash Ketchum of Pallet Town was such an unrivaled hero, his name passed on from each generation to the next in his undying honor. And tomorrow is the day I continue his legacy.
On the morning leading up to my first day as a trainer, I slept soundly. I dreamt of what Pokémon I might choose, like I had dreamt of every day and night for the prior week. The strongest first choice among my peers was a water-type, closely trailed by a fire-type. Fire-types were the top choice, until people realized how vulnerable they were against water-types. Grass-types were never a popular choice, but maybe if I chose one, I could have the upper hand against the majority, choosing water-types. But what if everyone picked a fire-type? That would put me in a certain spot for defeat. Although maybe picking a grass-type would make me more unexpected of an underdog. Fire-types just seem so usually powerful; it's almost too obvious of a first choice. It was a tricky decision to make.........
"ASH! WAKE UP! YOU SLEPT THROUGH YOUR ALARM, SWEETIE!"
"Oh no. I can't really have--" I looked at my clock. I was over 2 hours late already.
My whole body started jittering out-of-control. I started to put on my pants, but my legs gave way under my distress.
"ASH! HURRY UP! ALL THE OTHER TRAINERS HAVE LEFT!"
I had set out today's clothes last night. At this point, it didn't help much, but at least it felt like I made it downstairs quickly. I took a couple slices of bread and some snack bars from the counter before rushing out the door.
"Good luck Ash! I love you! Be safe!"
I couldn't hear her. I was too focused on making it to Oak's lab without tripping on my half-tied shoes.
Once I made it to the door, I burst through without slowing down. Inside was Professor Oak - III - standing next to his grandson - Gary V. Oak had his hand extended towards Gary, with an odd-looking Pokéball in his palm. It had a dark silver shell with streaks of gold.
"Ash!" Oak sounded equally surprised and furious. "How did you get in here!? The door was locked!"
"Was it?" I hadn't noticed. I was panting heavily between syllables. "I'm sorry Prof-Professor, I-I just-"
"Granddad! Don't just stand there like an idiot! Give it to me!" Gary was the petulant, spoiled brat he was raised to be. His story was one that closely interlocked with mine, but while my tale was one of respect and success, his side of the page was marked with tragedy and desolation.
His great-great-grandfather was the same age as mine. They started their quests on the same day, and had maintained a strong rivalry since their youth. It's said they first battled outside Oak Labs, and again many times afterwards. However, from start to finish, Gary was rarely a challenging opponent. He trained his team diligently, striving for nothing else but to defeat his rival, but failure after damning failure drained his will to continue.
After eventually changing his sights from Ash to the prestigious Elites, he quickly and mercilessly crushed them all in one fell fit of rage. For once in his life, he had triumphed.
His reign, however, was short-lived. Before news of his success had time to reach more than a few nearby towns, a cruel string of fate snapped in two as his life's solitary dreamcrusher paraded into the (then-)Elite Five's challenge course, ready to dominate once again.
Gary was pleased by this newly developed turn of events. He had just defeated the four greatest-known Pokémon masters on the continent. He was confident his once-rival was no match for his power. But as the bug-sized threat in the first room drew nearer, Gary grew increasingly unnerved at the rock slide coursing his way. He swallowed at the dry lump in his throat as my ancestor opened the door to his stadium, and invariably, brought Gary back to his too-recent past as a failure.
"That was a good battle, Gary!" The only thing friendlier than a defeated Ash Ketchum was a victorious one.
But Gary had been subjected to that cheerful voice and that friendly smile too many times. He stormed out of the building, silently and shamefully. The details of where he went or what he ended up doing afterwards were never known past hearsay. The only thing agreed upon is that one day, an unfortunate woman gave birth to his son, and soon left the family behind for good.
Gary Jr. was raised in a cold, controlling environment. His son only heard what his father wanted him to hear. Much of it was bitter resentment towards the Ketchums, and after three more generations, their mentality had become religion.
"Hey, Ash!" I turned around. Two of my classmates, Peter and Leo, approached me, smirking. "How about a battle?"
"Oh, okay! Well, here goes nothing."
He pulled his new Pokémon from his belt and tossed it in front of himself. From it came one of the fire-types: a predictable choice for a hothead like Leo. I followed suit.
"What is that!?"
"Cheater! Oak gave you special Pokémon just because your dad is famous!"
"No! It was just the only one left!"
"Liar!" Peter and Leo started talking hushed between themselves. They were off-guard.
Impulsively, I acted. "Ghost!" I proclaimed, "Attack!"
The light breeze that was flowing that day stopped dead in an instant. Leo froze mid-word and glared nervously at the smoky cloud from the corners of his eyes. He looked like he was trying to swallow, but couldn't. The whole area started rumbling - or was it just us? I started hearing a quiet ringing in my ears, but before long, the ringing swiftly evolved into a full-blown shriek. Doubled-over, I grasped my head, but the sound wouldn't subside. I kneeled there, head-throbbing, until suddenly, the cry blipped to silence.
The wind started up again. I opened my eyes and cautiously uncovered my ears. The shriek was gone, but had been replaced with another desperate scream.
"Wake up! Wake up!! Oh god, oh god, god no, please, please wake up!! No, no, no no no..."
I looked back at my opponent. His Pokémon was limp on the ground. The flames on its body had died out.
My body locked up. What is this monster I'd unleashed?
I sat there, unflinching, not breathing, staring at his Pokémon's still body, shivers doing laps through my spine. Leo's crony stood near him, also frozen, Pokéball in hand. They were planning to team up on me, but I never gave them the chance.
I was afraid I had killed Leo's first teammate until, subtly but visibly, I could see its body moving. It was breathing. I stood up and backed away slowly.
Once I was out of sight, I took a giant gulp of air. I started half-choking, half-laughing with a mix of guilt and victory. "What is this monster I'd unleashed?" I chuckled to myself. "Whatever it is, now I am its master. I'll be my own legend soon."
I dashed on my way through Route 1, "my own legend" running through my head on loop. Not my mother's, not my father's, not my great-great-grandfather's cousin's uncle's nephew's half-brother's legend - Mine. It's my story and no one else's, and I am the main character.
Every once in a while, a wild Pokémon would cross my path, teeth snarled, poised to strike. I would toss out my Pokéball and it would be made unconscious in a mere few seconds. Quickly, I realized I didn't even need to tell my Pokémon what to do: I would release it from its chamber, and it would follow my thoughts to attack its target.
Also occasionally, a camping trainer would stop me from passing through until I could defeat them. I took pleasure in their dismay, seeing their pets fell cold to the dirt without even the slightest chance of struggle.
I strode through the Viridian gates like royalty. I felt so free, so in control. Like the world was almost mine, and I was ahead of schedule. I took a break in the Pokémart, and bought some drinks for myself. I considered getting potions - but Ghost couldn't be hurt - and more Pokéballs - but Ghost didn't need help! I took a deep breath, satisfied with my new lead on life. In the mood to glorify myself, I decided to call my mom to tell her the news.
"Hi mom! I-" She cut me off, sobbing.
"Oh Ash, I was so worried! I thought you were hurt!"
"What?" I was caught off-guard, "Why, what happened?"
"They say a tree fell on Route 1 on the way to Viridian City! Honey... one of your friends was killed by it."
I felt the first shiver run down my spine since I left Pallet Town.
I asked hesitantly, "...Who?"
"It was Leo, honey."
I choked on my vomit a little.
"They say some other kids were hurt, and I was so scared for you, dear. I'm so glad you're all right." She whimpered away from the receiver for a while as I washed out the taste in my mouth.
After some silence, I told my mom that I loved her, that I was okay, and that I had to go back to training for my first badge.
"Okay dear, good luck. I love you."
I walked around the city, emotions conflicting. I thought about all those Pokémon, those trainers... - What would happen to all of them? Was Leo's death only coincidence?
I would be horrified to find out I hurt them past knocking their Pokémon unconscious. But at the same time, that feeling of strength, freedom, control, and utter unstoppability that came from simply waving my hand and watching anything squirm before yielding to the futility of fighting me was unbeatable.
I cringed at myself, sickened by my inhumanity. "Who have I become!? These thoughts...they aren't mine."
I snapped back to reality and vowed to control my primal desires for destruction. I would forfeit the Pokéball to Oak and accept responsibility for stealing it. I had to. I couldn't keep going on like this.
Before I could take my next step, I heard screaming from around the corner. I ran towards it -- it was coming from inside the Pokémart. I foolishly leaped inside as if I had any power over anything. I couldn't fully comprehend each of the myriad thoughts that overwhelmed my terrified mind.
Bodies were strewn around the floor - human bodies - not undying, but somehow not alive. In the center of the room was the ever-amorphous cloud of sentient death - Ghost.
I grabbed for my Pokéball on my waist. It was still there. The ghost couldn't be bound by it. With the thought of redemption still fresh in my head, I contemplated how to stop the monstrosity from progressing any further.
But I soon realized my position. I couldn't stop it - it couldn't be stopped. I either took it back as my Pokémon, or ceased to live trying.
I reluctantly but unwaveringly accepted my fate, and accepted it back as my Pokémon - it was my master once again.
Hours, days, lifetimes spent moving from city to path to city to path, obliterating all creatures that got in our way. I had received my gym badges from Pewter City, Cerulean City, and Vermilion City effortlessly. As I passed through Celadon City towards the gym, I noticed the unusual emptiness of the town. I was frustrated by the unfortunately fitting phrase "like a ghost town."
Once I entered the gym, I realized why. The few who hadn't left had barricaded themselves in their homes. On a pedestal where the gym leader would have been was a velvet-lined box. Inside it was the Rainbow Badge and a handscrawled note saying, "Take it and go."
For all the next cities I visited, I had the same results. The Soul Badge, the Marsh Badge, Volcano Badge, Earth Badge... they were all left out for me before I had even arrived. I noticed for the first time how long it had been since I had seen a living being. Even the tall, grassy, often crowded off-roads were vacant. I had been walking them for days and never paid any attention to it. Was I just losing myself in thought to cope with the pain - or did I prefer the loneliness?
I walked past a large, exquisite archway over a smoothly paved road. I emotionless read the banner draped above the gate. "Beyond here reside the Elite Four. Novices prohibited. Champions welcomed."
Ever since my grandfather was Pokémon master, my forefathers began living more modestly, so the Elites were four once again.
I walked up to the façade of the enormous structure. Inside the glass doors was another sign, much more updated than the last. "The Elite Four evaluations have been canceled until further notice. We are sorry for any inconvenience." I felt like the first even to read it.
The giant, sliding doors opened automatically. By now, I was used to events inexplicably "working out" in my favor.
I walked into the entryway. Sometimes, when a room was out of commission, this area would be used as a placeholder. I walked into the first official stadium.
It was empty. As I paced down the arena, footsteps echoed against the enormous walls and ceiling.
I walked from the first stadium to the second.
It was empty again. Everything was completely silent between my rhythmic strides.
I walked from the second stadium to the third.
It felt I was exploring ancient ruins, like there hadn't been any evidence of life for centuries.
I walked from the third stadium to the fourth and final chamber.
Standing on the symbolic Pokéball emblem built into the ground, I looked around me: I saw nothing. The thought hadn't crossed my mind before, but what would I do after reaching the top? Was I supposed to find more battles? Would I need more trainers to overpower? What now?
As if to answer my voiceless question, a familiar voice from nearby thundered harshly and angrily, "ASH KETCHUM! YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS!"
I lashed around. "Gary? Is that really you?" I was both relieved for finally having human contact and repulsed for it having been Gary.
"Ash, you disgraceful shell of a human being! Don't you know what you've done!?" What I've done? Me? "You've ruined lives! You've ravaged whole cities! You've KILLED scores of innocent people! Men, women, children... You're the most hated, revolting creature since the world started spinning!"
All I could do was stand there, eyes glazed, stuck on the same three, looping words. "What you've done" "what you've done" "what you've done"... Was it really me? I've been thoughtlessly droning on from annihilation to accursed annihilation. Did I ever have a choice? If I stood up to the ghost back in Viridian City, would anything have changed?
Gary shook his head disgustedly and blurted out, "You're a sickening monster! I'll put an end to this!" He pulled one of the Pokéballs from his side and chucked it downwards. As I glanced at it floating towards the ground, I looked at the designs on the lid. It was a charcoal gray lid with a blocky, glistening golden letter "U" welded over it. It was an Ultra Ball - the most powerful Pokémon-capturing device legally permitted in the world.
It tapped the floor. Suddenly, the earth quaked violently as a beast nearly as tall as the enormous ceiling and almost as wide as the whole arena decimated the ground and sent violent shockwaves up my body. I landed hard on my backside and looked up at the spanning mouth of razor-sharp, jagged, yet evenly spaced teeth grinning demonically down at my vulnerable, blank visage. It took a slow, rumbling inhalation - then, it let out the most unbearable, incomparable, heart-stopping outcry this side of the heavens. Locked down to the floor tighter than the floor itself, I thought the skin on my face was going to rip down the middle and slide down the sides. After the all but deafening beast's demigodlike eruption softened to an airy hiss, I painfully sat up and continued coursing awe for the tremendous disaster I had found myself in.
The air thickened as Gary gave his final monologue, "This beast is a Legendary! You can't stop it, Ketchum... it's the most powerful force in the world! No- the universe! As if its Earth-moving body weren't enough to ensure my unquestionable reign of all Pokémon AND all of life!.." he grinned maliciously, "...it can take the force of all life from anywhere -- animals, plants, microorganisms... spirits --and absorb it. As long as there is a living thing in the world, it is always stronger. And now you will see it firsthand!"
I was incredulous. "Could the ghost really be stopped!?" But then I saw the futility in even wondering.
The air had slowly been getting darker and cloudier since I came face-to-face with the beast. By now, the progressively darkening, clouding air in the room felt almost as thick as water, but it felt drier than a drought. Once more, I heard the ghost's mind-crunching screech fill my head. My mind was throbbing, my veins felt like coursing acid, and I used what little power I had left to contemplate my everlasting regret - for what, I didn't know. But whatever I did - wrong or right - I wanted to take it all back.
The screaming continued until, one last time, it blipped to silence. I opened my eyes: everything was pitch-black. My body was upright, weightless, painless in the void all around me.
"Is this it?" All my pain had vanished. "Am I dead?"
I spun around in the nothingness once, and magically, it was filled once again.
"This is... Route 1."
I recognized the path, but it had changed a lot since I crossed it last. I saw a glowing, red ambience by one of its bends. I wondered what it could be. My body autonomously floated to it, and I saw the blood-colored aura form a shape.
I recognized the image before me. It was one of the trainers I had cursed not too long ago.
The ground moved the child's spirit back beyond me. As I drifted down the path, I saw more of the glowing remnants of those I had defeated. Some were trainers, many were Pokémon.
It was a graveyard of souls.
For the first time, I had a sense of the overwhelming magnitude of havoc I had created. The road was littered with the crimson apparitions. Men, women, boys, girls, groups and groups of friends and their Pokémon. I passed by a tree, snapped near the base, resting sideways across the path. I kept floating on, until I had made it back to where I had begun. My home, Pallet Town.
Leo was there. In the center of town, he was floating limp above where I last saw him. His Pokémon was in front of him, and some of the side of Peter's body was there too. Below Leo and his Pokémon, however, were dark circles in the otherwise tan, dusty ground. I didn't pay attention before, but I remembered seeing the same patterns below the once-living things down Route 1.
I passed through the door into my house, so I could recall one last time what it was like for life to be normal. Unlike the rest of what I had seen, my home looked exactly the same as when I left. Everything was meticulously spotless. I looked around the living area: I didn't see her. She wasn't anywhere downstairs.
I went up to the second floor. - the door to my room was ajar. I looked inside. My mom was curled up by my bed, holding my blanket in one hand, and a bloody kitchen knife in the other. She had killed herself - and no note was left anywhere. She never even tried to say goodbye.
Then, the world rushed by in a whirlwind. I passed by every town again, seeing the sea of red memories quickly thin out as I made it to where the people avoided me for their lives. I soared and soared faster and faster until, I stopped short of the entrance to the Elite Four's building.
I floated gently through the bounding lobby, faster in the first room, rushing through the second, then the third, and then finally, I made it to the aftermath of the biblically-proportioned showdown.
The skyscraping, groundbreaking colossus, large enough to fragment the stadium ground, powerful enough to shake the earth with just its voice, and resilient enough to bend the world to any shape at its own will -- had vanished. There was dirt and rubble clouding the air where the Legendary beast and the deathly ghost were clashing.
I landed before the stairway to the stage; I was solid again. I took the last steps before standing in the resulting wreckage firsthand. The stage ground had been completely removed from the platform; the rubble was scattered by the walls. I looked up and saw a clear blue sky where the ceiling used to be.
I was standing on soil which hadn't seen daylight for five generations.
I noticed Gary. He was face-up, eyes shut, glowing crimson-red... and buried partway in a ripple in the dirt. It was over.
But near the burial place of Gary was another rippling pattern.
It was empty.
I didn't know what there was left to think. I looked back up.
The ghost was there, waiting.
I tried to remember where I went wrong. When I found its Pokéball? When I let it massacre all those people? When I succumbed to its allure in Viridian? I ran over the whole journey in my mind again and again, and shortly, I came to my conclusion. I had done nothing wrong. I had done nothing. I was just a pawn in one of the reaper's sick games. And throughout time, it was clear to me nothing had ever changed. We all were the reaper's playthings: The only difference is now, he was bored of us. As life came, so it went. I stepped over the grave set out for myself, and lay there passively as the world left me behind.
Once Upon A Time
written by farore02
once upon a time there was a magical fairy whom loved to write fantasys and her adventures that were twisted and cruel and one day she happend upon an old woman with silver hair and her face was covered in warts she was lying down on the side of the dirt path half dead. the fairy flitted over to the old woman and said are you alright ? the woman replyed no kind fairy I am in deaths hands now.the fairy said what may I do to help you pass on in peace for the fairy was kind and generous and was willing to do atleast something for the lady. the old woman said tell me a story.the fairy nodded her head and told the woman her Favorite story she had written and it was the most gruesome one of the lot.
the old woman had a terrified face and her last words were I curse you to forever live in your terrible note book . the fairys image disorted and was sucked into her open note book and the book closed as the womans eyes shut for the final time. In hatred the fairy trapped in the note book cast a spell upon her self and the notebook that would make tragic tales of the reader that would eventually come true and kill them especially the women
Its a crisp summer night I thought to myself as I walked down the street.suddenly I tripped over a black note book and fell face first into a puddle on the street.I pulled my self back up and walked over to the side walk again. I wiped my eyes with my shirt and saw what I had tripped on. A black note book covered in grime and muck. I looked on the inside to see if anyone owned the strange note book but it was completely blank.I pocketed the note book and rushed to my home.suddenly rain and storm clouds stormed the sky and as if a warning struck lightning near me and the rain came gushing down from the sky as if it were crying from its failed attempts to warn me of the danger lurking around every corner.I started to break out into a run to escape the storm and finally I had made it home I rushed inside and set the mystifying note book on the table and shouted I'm home and heard no reply from my daughter. I stepped out of my flip flops and rushed into the bathroom to get a towl to dry myself with.I grabbed a towl from the rack and rubbed my hair and face removing the grime from when I had fallen. I wrapped the towl around my head and went to check on lisa my daughter.she was sound asleep as she should be at this time.I walked over to her silently and kissed her fore head.I walked out of lisa's room as silent as a mouse and went back to the dining room which I had set the note book at.I pulled up a chair and sat down.I picked up the note book and rubbed the grime and muck off with my sleeve and the words Stories appeared on the front cover.I swear I could hear giggling once I saw the cover.I opened the cover and looked at the first page.Magicly the words A Story about Alice Gray and her remaining life appeared on the front page and under it said by the fairy who lives within this book.I stared at the page in wonder How did this book know my name and was the writing appearing from faded invisable ink ? I stopped pondering about the suspicious book and started thinking I was being stalked and so I went to the door and checked to see if I had locked the inner and outer door I didnt lock the backdoor though because I have no backdoor.I walked into the kitchen and checked the locks on them. they were rusted shut but at least safe. I checked all the rooms and all the windows and saw they were all locked. I went back to the table where the notebook lyed and sat back down in my chair.I flipped to the next page and a little stick man figure of a lady and a girl who had a teddy bear in her hands with text above it were upon the page and I was absorbed into the book as I am with every book I read
Once upon a time there was a woman named alice gray who lived alone with her daughter lisa gray
they lived happily and were content with their lives.
I flipped to the next page and it also had stickman drawings I read the text above the drawing and it read They were happy and content until alices uncle came home. He asked for money and grew violent about it.He was shaking alice violently until lisa hit the uncle in the head with a lamp knocking him out.Blood trickled down his fore head and his eyes rolled up.a spark lit in his hair from the light bulb which was on when it was used as a weapon and started burning his hair the fire soon spread to the rest of his body and alice told lisa to call the police as she went to put the fire out.
I flipped to the next page. panicking stick figures were drawn on the page.
Alice put the fire out and the police rushed in through the door. They shouted what was going on and took poor alice and lisa to the police department for questioning.Poor alice lied and said she was the one who struck him with the lamp and not lisa as an attempt to protect her from any harm that might come to her.They comfirmed this truth and sent them home in the police car.when the car drove lisa and alice started hearing whispers saying you killed me alice over and over.poor lisa broke down and grabbed a stray wire sticking out of the seat and ripped it out and started strangling the driver with it.Poor alice tryed to stop lisa but lisa had aquired unnatural strength and seemed as though she were possessed.the car swerved and the driver gurgled and started spitting up blood as the wire was cutting into his neck and then the car crashed into another car and caused a major accident causing their deaths except for poor alice who survived with severe burns and her legs missing. Poor poor alice will get murdered.
After that sentence there was a creepy smiley face at the end and that was the end of the book
I shuddered and shut the creepy note book got up but for some reason I could not throw the book away ? I was tempted to keep the book keep it safe . Keep the book whispered a voice in my head and I did just that.I grabbed the book,walked to my room and stuffed it into the drawer then went to take a shower and soon after went to bed.I awoke to hearing the door bell go off more then once .I rushed to the door and opened it.My uncle harry was at the door I had forgotten about the book and its warning though and welcomed harry in.We sat on different couches facing each other and My uncle said. may I borrow some money.I replyed how much ? then my uncle started counting on his fingers and started shaking and said 3000 $ Please PLEASE give it to me ! my uncle got up and started walking towards me shaking.I heard my daughter lisa come in from hearing all the commotion and wondered in.At that moment my uncle was grasping my shouldars and saying PLEASE GIVE ME SOME MONEY I NEED IT.I WANT IT I WANT THE MONEY.I was saying please Please stop it and I was trying to push him away.At that moment lisa had picked up the lamp that was still plugged into the wall And SMASHED it on my uncles head.lisa started shaking and my uncle dropped to the ground and his eyes rolled back and a spark lit from the bulb shattering against his head.Suddenly I remembered this was all Predicted by that black note book! My uncles head went aflame and lisa went to call the police while I went to get the fire extinguisher.
after I put the fire out and the cops were coming I stared at my uncles corpse it was burnt to a crisp and completely black and was in a fedal position . The cops rushed through the door saying Whats going on after seeing the dead body and me confurting lisa. the cops then took us down town for questioning and I had protected lisa by saying I had hit him with the lamp and it was later proven true since i had put my finger prints over lisas on the lamp.We were then sent home in the police car.the radio was on playing classical music and a moth flitted around I noticed a wire sticking out of the seat and I Ripped it out in fear.But I did not noticed the other loose wire on the other side of lisa.Suddenly we heard voices in our heads saying Kill him KILL HIM KILLLLLL.Lisa snapped and saw the other loose wire next to her and before I could stop her she wrapped the wire around the drivers neck
Read part 2 next
once upon a time part 2
the driver Gurgled and gasped I was trying to forcefully make lisa stop but she pushed me away with her free hand as she strangled the man with super human strength she was repeating the words KILL kill as if possessed.Suddenly the car swerved out of controll and went crazy and we hit head on with a truck.The drivers head was cut off from the force of the wire being pulled back after we hit the truck.Blood was gushing everywhere me and lisa were screaming and the car was alight.I was being burned and in attempt to protect lisa from the flames I held her in my arms and protected her with my body and suddenly as if she were possessed again she shoved me away and my head was smashed against the glass window and lisa was screaming MOMMY HELP HELLLPPPP.........the screams were replaced with gurgling and then it went to nothingness as I passed out.I awoke suddenly and found I was in a hospital.I looked at my wounds and saw I wasnt that wounded just a few scars here and there.I had been in a coma for 6 days.The docter noticed I was awake and rushed into my room in glee saying SHE'S ALIVE! the docter told me that I was the only surviver in the crash and i was to be sent home immeaditly and pointed to my stuff.I noticed new clothes there And the black note book to.the docter wheeled in a wheel chair and set it near my bed. I tryed to move my legs but noticed I didnt feel them ? I removed the covers quickly and noticed they had been amputated I cried for a moment then thought LISA wheres lisa then remembered lisa.........Is Dead.I got into the wheel chair and remembered my future from what the black note book had said it would be.I quickly put my clothes and held the note book tightly.I wheeled around in my chair and wheeled it out of the hospital and ended up at the gun/beer/cigarette store. I had found earlier that my wallet was also in my clothes pockets and so I bought a shot gun the most achoholic beer and a pack of cigarrettes then headed on home. I sat down in the middle of my bedroom that has no windows and swigged down my beer and lit my cigarette and stuck it in my mouth.I felt instantly calm and stupid.wheeled to my desk opened the drawr and took my pocket knife out of it stuck the note book on the desk and Stabbed it.Black ink mixed with red Gushed out along with screams of agony.I continued to stab it until I heard the door break down and someone rushing in screaming.Looks like the murderers here already I said joyfully !Madness had already sunk deep into my mind and I aimed the shot gun at the door.A scary man walked in with a knife and I fired the gun.One bullet went in his brain I said gleefully the other hit his heart .And the other Shot his his head straight off ! I aimed the shot gun at my head after taking another swig of the beer and my head buzzed. I have nothing else to live for I said quietly to my self and pulled the trigger.
The ends of the story !
Here's one of my first stories for you guys. Enjoy!
The inane vocat me ... Mors et infernalis ... capto ... occiditis et immatura falce ... muriresponsum est fabula ... speculis... Et fabula.
When I had woken from my dreams into the sight of England, knowing that I would be traveling by foot to Penn Street (the legendary home of my ancestors, Howard Phillips Conry and his housewife, Sarah Conry), I had a sickly feeling that as I stepped onto the walkway off of the train's rust-infested steps, rain would most certainly be drizzling onto my coat. My hypothesis turned out to be correct, seeing as this is England. However, the precipitation did not bother me much, due to my lack of being outdoors since the trip from Paris. I longed for the familiar feeling of the wind on my cheeks when I followed my peers off of the sleeper car.
I had only ever seen pictures of the historic Victorian dwelling that my family had bought in the month of September, 1822 by my father, eager to view the property that his great-grandfather had owned in the years 1783-1812. In that time span, both of my great-great-grandparents had passed away of tuberculosis, which seemed to run in the family, seeing as my father died of the disease a few years ago. The home had been standing ever since then, unoccupied, yet not empty, or so the locals say. Legend has it that in the forty-something years that it had been abandoned, the souls of horrific and deathly things lurked in the dark void of corners. I had hired what must be particularly brave men, then, as I had received news of the home's completion of remodeling about two weeks ago. Since then, I had been traveling from my Paris home to this one to spend a few nights there. I had previously thought of turning it into a house for my brothers, of which all of them had been homeless in America for twelve years, but due to their lack of caring about its aesthetic, I am now directing the business of making a nice hotel of it. After all, I had not a well-paying job in a week, and in order to receive a steady income from this place, I very well do not even have to be present. My good friend Cyrus had been assigned the task of running the hotel in my absence, the job of which he seems eager to begin.
After my five-mile journey to the Conry Hotel (quaint name, don't you think?), Cyrus greeted me with open arms and gave me a tour of the establishment. In total, there are exactly fifty rooms, all of which were previously used as offices for my father's colleagues. The main lobby was nicely decorated, and I was given the Master Suite to the left corner of the second floor.
Something I found odd about the place was the complete absence of any living being aside from myself and Cyrus. I was expecting the laborers to be still at work finishing up any last minute touches, or at least a few taking a break on the lobby sofa. However, the place looked like it was in good hands, and my worries disappeared as soon as we finished the tour. The time was 8:30 in the night, and Cyrus soon left me to my ancestors' home, alone.
I figured that the first order of business was to open the hotel, seeing as the receptionist would not be in England for another week, leaving me with the task. Two hours went by, of which I spent time familiarizing myself with the surrounding lobby and kitchen. At 11:43, I heard a knock on the front door. At the time, I was in the lobby, reading a book. I opened the door, seeing as it was locked, and saw what was to be my first and last customer.
The individual in which I speak so ominously of had a unique physical appearance. In the darkness, I could make out a shape of a man in a long trench coat of German origin. He stepped inside, where I could get a better view of him. His face was tan, with a small moustache. His accent, as far as I can tell, was German. He spoke only a limited amount of speech to me that night, and the last that I saw of him was the sight of him walking up the steps to the room opposite mine. Afterword's, after a long night of reading and study, I drifted off to sleep.
The following morning, when I had awoken, the sun was rising up over the dark horizon. I guessed that the time was somewhere between 6:30 and 7:00 in the early hours of the morning. When I was fully dressed and moved downstairs to the lobby, the odd sight of the receptionist startled me. She greeted me warmly, and explained that her plans were cut short and she had decided to return to the hotel to begin her new job. As we were conversing, I noticed that the key to room 404 was still missing from its hook. I thought nothing of it, as most people don't wake up at the break of dawn on weekends. I walked outside to the brisk autumn air caressed my body. What a wonderful season to open a hotel!
Quite a large number of people were out and about on this particular morning as I walked over to the local coffee shop, where I was strongly expecting Cyrus to be. Yet again, my predictions were correct, as he was sitting reading a newspaper at the far left corner of the shop. I made my order, and then proceeded to where my friend was seated. We quickly started up conversation about the hotel. He was very curious about how my evening there went, and I told him that I never got a chance to sleep in my own bed, but as it stands, the floor is very comfortable. We laughed and joked about my night until I brought up the facts concerning my first guest. As I described him, however, his facial expressions took the form of grotesque horror. When I finished, he looked shocked beyond anything I had ever viewed. Was there something wrong about the character that had checked in last night? After all, if that was true, Cyrus would be the one to know. He had been living in England his entire life, and had grown up around the area. He nervously took a sip from his coffee. Eventually, he told me about the man that I had met last night.
The man's name was Robert Necrose. He had apparently been working at the local steel mill for forty years before he had retired later last year. He had always been a happy and quite cheerful man until his wife had died soon after his retirement. Soon after, he fell into a void of never ending depression. The final part of Cyrus's explanation shook me to the very core of my soul. Just last week, he had committed suicide by hanging himself in his sister's basement. Yet it wasn't a full suicide. The sister heard the noise of his body dropping from upstairs and had come to rescue him. Later, he was locked away in an asylum all the way in Devonshire. Legend has it, however new the legend may be, is that he had escaped due to explicit voices and chants in his troubled mind. Cyrus informed me that it was possible, although totally unlikely, that the voices told him to go to the hotel.
Our conversation had ended immediately afterwards, and I figured it best to run back to the hotel and confront this "Robert" man on whom so many fears were set upon. Once I got back, however, the door to the structure was tightly locked and possibly barred with some sort of unusually strong object. Christ! I should have told that young girl to stay inside and watch over that man! I pondered in the empty streets for a moment or two when I proposed my next plan of action should be to attempt to make my way inside, find the receptionist, and get us out of there before Necrose is aware of our presence.
End of part 1. Part 2 will be continued in next post.
Part 2 of
The time on my watch read 5:30... A.M.? No... that cannot possibly be correct! It was 7:00 in the dawn hours when I had left! How could.... I set off that last thought on the possible fact that my old watch may be broken. Right now, my focus should be on getting the girl out of this hellish nightmare.
I looked around for a weapon or tool of a sort that I may be able to defend myself with during a moment of combat. After several minutes I discovered a large crowbar lying in the back of the house. I figured that this would be the best tool to use in case I wanted to get into any rooms or, God forbid, smash someone's skull in. Now that I had a means of defense, I began searching for other means of entrance. My search thankfully found me a cellar door that was locked with an iron padlock. Trying to be as quiet as possible as to not attract any unwanted attention from the neighbors or Necrose, I had inserted the flat edge of the crowbar into the space between the lock and the door and gave it a strong push. The lock cracked open as though it was nothing. I kept the crowbar in hand at all times as I entered the cellar into the dark audient void of the Conry Hotel.
When I stepped into the darkness, out of the quaint light of outside, I could instantly tell that this particular area of the house was the basement. It was cold and damp, dark as the void that keeps me coming back, like positive and negative forces. I managed to find one book of matches in my right pocket and lit one. The completeness of the darkness was enough so that my match illuminated an area of about one to two feet in front of me. I clambered about, searching for a door leading upstairs, to the kitchen. For what seemed like an eternity, I had discovered a small, thin line of light, which must be coming out of the crack on the bottom of the door. Carefully, I made my way up the steps, trying not to make as much as a creak. I put my match out before entering the kitchen, in which a single light swung above the cooking counter. Next to the counter, to the right, there should have been butcher knives. All of them were missing; no doubt the work of Necrose.
As I made my way into the lobby, however, a horror struck me like no other blow, harder than a club to the head, faster than horse at full sprint. I was paralyzed by what lay before me. For what purpose it served, I still have not found. What lay there, in the middle of the lobby, was a twenty foot tall crucifix, pinned onto it; the lifeless body of the receptionist, nails swiftly entered into her wrists and ankles, a crown of despising thorns atop her skull, of which had been scalped for some unknown, sinister reason. And oh, the inferno! The area around the cross was littered with broiling flames, of which I swear I had heard the howls of the suffered upon.
Out of the shadows, out of the flames that engulfed the lifeless hotel, came Necrose, doer of all the damning evil in this cursed place, this Hell. As he came close, drenched in the stink of blood, axe of hatred in his cold grip, running, I raised my crowbar high to the heavens...
Night Six Hundred and Seventy-Nine
Cyrus had released me from the Arkam Institution today, on account of good behavior. After the incident at the former Conry Hotel, the old Victorian structure had been torn down, the pieces disposed of. It has been replaced by a local bakery, of which I understand has been doing considerably good business. As for the receptionist, of whose name is... was... Mary, her body had been buried in a spot of fertile ground overlooking the countryside. After the incident, the police found me in the morning swinging a crowbar wildly inside a burning building, of which everyone thought was just under destruction by the fire department. When they found me, I was out of breath, cut up, and burned. Inside my jacket they had found two items; a small book of matches, and a set of butcher knives. Whenever I think of that incident, I always see Robert Necrose, standing before me, with a confused look on his face. Then, as I reach out to touch him, he reaches out to me. And instead of touching his cold, unyielding hands,
I touch a smooth surface of polished glass...
and then I remember.
Fish and Burger by Ship
"The kid's clearly full of shit. Ghosts? Spirits? What is this, a Stephen King novel?" Officer Davis said to his partner. "We've been down there, I don't think that building even exists."
"I don't know, maybe we should just hear him out one more time and try to make sense of the whole thing" said Officer McDaniels with an exhausted sigh. "Well, let's give it one last go." The two officers entered the interrogation room where a frightened, worried and confused boy named Noah sat and awaited what was going to happen to him.
"Can.. can I leave now?" Noah hopefully asked.
Sighing, Officer Davis said, "No kid sorry, we're going to need to hear your story one more time."
"But that's ridiculous! I've told you every single thing that's happened and I was 100% truthful. I know my story seems-"
"Calm the hell down. No one's making accusations here, we just want to hear the story one more time to clarify the details. I want to get this over with as much as you do" said Davis, clearly annoyed.
"Well, ok... That seems fair." Noah said, still frightened. "For hopefully the last time, here's how it happened..."
It was a Friday night, the first night of fall break and a beautiful October afternoon. The trees had already begun to change colors all over, and there was a crisp cool air blowing through the entire campus. Everyone at school was ready for classes to be over so they could enjoy this amazing weather, but more importantly, a week off from classes. Noah, Eddie, and Dylan had been anticipating this break more than anyone else. They had checked the forecast ahead of time, and this weekend was going to be perfect weather for their trip to the lake. Three best friends off on an adventure.
Classes got over at around 2:00 that afternoon, and the boys had already packed up all their gear and were ready to spend a weekend at the wonderful Lake of the Ozarks that they had spent so much time at together when they were younger. Although this time would be different. This time it was just them, a group of college freshman all alone at their parent's lakehouse with enough beer to fill a swimming pool.
They hopped in the car and headed straight down Highway 44. Noah was driving, and Eddie and Dylan wasted no time at all to start drinking. As soon as they hit the road they had their beers open. "Thanks, assholes, I wanted to drive the entire way anyway" Noah sarcastically stated. After a couple hours of listening to Eddie and Dylan sing The Backstreet Boys, Noah decided to pull over and get some food.
"Now I don't know if you've ever stopped to get food in the middle of Missouri," asked Noah, "but it's not the most civilized place. I mean there are hicks and rednecks as far as the eye can see. I couldn't count the number of pickup trucks I saw."
"Just get on with the story" said Davis.
They stopped at the Boonetown Fish and Burger to stretch, pee and eat. Being from the city, these three boys clearly stuck out from the crowd. Not wearing any plaid flannel shirts like the rest of the crowd, you could tell that they were from the city. Noah, not trusting the sanitary conditions of the meat from this shady establishment, just ate from the salad bar while the other two had two of the biggest pieces of fish ever. As they were getting in the car a man with a crooked nose and a scar across his cheek ran up to them screaming "Hey! You boys headed down to the lake?? Tha's where most a ya city slickers who come through here are headin. If ya liked your fish ya should try our Ozark Fish and Burger down at the lake. It's brand new and purrrrty good. I give it my personal receemmendation." said the man, spitting out his chewing tobacco. He then handed them a flier and walked back into the restaurant.
"Well that was fucking weird." said Eddie.
"Yea that was a really sketchy joint, I told you we should have just gone 25 more miles to McDonalds." Dylan said "I don't feel very good anyway."
"Yea, me neither" said Eddie.
"I told you dumbasses you shouldn't have drank so much. Don't puke in my car or I'm leaving you on the side of the road" Noah told them as he drove off.
They arrived at the lake at about 11 at night and unpacked their things. They all decided that they were way too tired to start drinking, so they just hung around and watched TV for a few hours before getting to bed.
"Now this next part is word-for-word what Eddie told me what happened. Now, thinking back, I believe every word he said because I didn't realize at first, but the look of sheer horror on his face should have told me that he was not making this up." said Noah.
"Oh great, this again" sighed Davis.
Dylan and Noah were the first ones up the next morning and they went to get Eddie so they could go somewhere to get breakfast. When they entered his room they saw Eddie sitting at one end of his bed staring at the other end with absolutely no expression on his face. His eyes were glossed over almost as if he wasn't even in touch with reality at that moment. When they approached him he seemed to snap out of it and flinched when they took a couple steps toward him. "Dude, are you alright? You look like you got your soul sucked out of you or something" asked Dylan. Eddie slowly turned and looked at him and shook his head.
"Oh, Eddie's just fucking with us. You and I both know he always gets up early. He probably heard us coming up the stairs and thought of some elaborate plan to scare us. It's not Halloween for 2 weeks you jackass," Noah explained. But Eddie simply shook his head at that too.
"Do you guys want to know what happened?" asked Eddie in a completely monotonous tone that almost sounded nothing like him. Noah and Dylan both nodded. "Well, last night, I said goodnight to my girlfriend and laid down in my bed. I had had my eyes closed for about ten seconds before I heard a loud banging sound like someone had opened and closed my door really forcefully. I opened my eyes and I saw that weird ass hick from the restaurant. Well, like, it was him, but at the same time it wasn't him. I didn't understand it. He was dressed in all white, like the color of printer paper. Even his skin was this color, and he was standing at the entrance to my room. All I saw of his face was this gigantic cartoonish grin that stretched literally from ear to ear all across his face. Then he started to take a couple steps towards me. I was absolutely paralyzed and could not move a muscle. But I didn't want to move. What would I have done, punch it? So it started making its way towards me ever so slowly. Its legs moved but it just seemed to float towards me. It reached the foot of my bed and just waited there, staring. It was looking me right in the eye. Then, all of the sudden it lunged at me and I flinched and tried to scream but no sound came out. I felt this horrible cold sensation throughout my whole body as if I was stuck in a freezer. I couldn't move I couldn't talk I couldn't do anything. Then, as soon as it had begun it was over. I was released from whatever it was doing to me. At that point I just tried to shut my eyes and go to sleep but I couldn't. How the hell was I supposed to after all that? Then every 30 minutes or so I would hear laughing coming from right there at the foot of my bed where it stood. I didn't sleep all night."
"Eddie what the fuck dude. That's the most fucked up shit I have ever heard," Dylan exclaimed. "You probably just imagined it all because you were still drunk from before. You must have passed out and not even realized it and just dreamt the whole thing. You were pretty drunk dude."
"No it was too real to be a dream," Eddie said, "I know what I saw and I know what happened! It was real. As real as this."
Eddie was totally convinced that all of this had happened, but Noah and Dylan were still very skeptical. They decided to try and get Eddie's mind off it and go get food.
"Shoot, I don't know the roads around here at all, my parents were always the ones that drove us to go eat" Noah said looking around hastily to try and find somewhere to eat.
"Just go around the corner here, there has to be something" said Dylan. And sure enough, as they rounded the corner, all they saw was the Ozark Fish and Burger with its bright neon lights shining and the lake in the background. They tried to turn around quickly so Eddie wouldn't see the place but it was too late. Strangely enough Eddie said he had a craving for some fish again so they went inside. They all got the same things and left stuffed and ready to enjoy themselves.
After a bit of drinking the boys decided to go for a swim. The lake was still very warm and having had a few beers, the guys really had fun. Eddie seemed to have forgotten his experience from the night before and was really enjoying himself. They were swimming in a shallow cove that was maybe 60 feet across. Dylan, having once been a high school swimmer, asked the other two to time him and see how quickly he could swim across. So the other two got out of the lake to go get Noah's watch to time Dylan. After a 3 count, Dylan took off like a bullet from the shore. When he got to about the middle of the cove he all of the sudden stopped and shouted something to the others. He start thrashing about and was suddenly pulled under for a few seconds, resurfaced, and was pulled under again. Eddie ran out their to try to save him but it was too late. They both watched as Dylan was carried off across the lake towards the opposite shore.
"We have to go after him!!" screamed Eddie, panting and rushing to the car.
They both piled in and took off to the last place they saw Dylan. Whatever it was that had ahold of him, they had no idea what they were going to do to stop it. Rain started pouring down as it became almost impossible for Noah to see. After frantically swerving along the wavy lake roads, they finally stopped at the last known location of Dylan.
"I can't see shit" Noah said, "the rain is coming down way too hard and there's no way we're going to find him. What the fuck was that thing anyway? Undertow? Current? No, we're in a lake that's impossible."
All of the sudden Eddie screamed "there!" and dashed out of the car and slammed the door behind him. He ran ahead along the road for a little bit then dashed into the woods. Noah followed him closely but lost him when he ran into the woods. He turned the corner to try to see Eddie come out the other side but as he turned he slammed the breaks as he stared at the sign in front of him. "Ozark Fish and Burger". All over the restaurant were signs saying "Try the fish!" "Have our fish! It's to die for!". Obviously something was wrong here. This was not the same place that they had seen the restaurant last time, Noah knew that much. But he paid it no mind, what he was doing now was trying to find Eddie and Dylan. Then all of the sudden, out of the rain came a man wearing a plaid flannel shirt and a hat. Noah pulled up to the man and rolled down his window shouted at him and asking if he had seen his friends. The man spit out his chewing tobacco and smiled a huge toothy grin and said, "Sorry sonny, I haven't seen your friends. But I'm glad you could finally make it." The man then looked up and Noah saw his crooked nose and scar going across his cheek.
Noah drove out of there as fast as his car would let him. But as he drove away, he heard the man say, while laughing, "They're inside waiting for you. Just come on back sonny, have the fish."
"So that's my story. I got the fuck out of there and went to the police. That's it. Check my car, check anything, I haven't seen my friends since then and all I want is for this all to be over and everything to be back to normal," cried Noah. "It's not fair."
"Listen kid, we're going to have to contact your parents and keep you in a holding cell for a few days until we sort this all out. As of right now you're the only lead and witness we have to this investigation, so we can't just let you go. You'll be fine though, we'll take nice care of you" Officer McDaniels explained.
"But I didn't do anything!" Noah yelled.
"Kid, you'll be fine, I promise. Just sit tight and we'll bring you dinner and everything will be ok."
So they took Noah to a cell and had him stay there by himself for the night. At around 7:00 PM a guard came in and brought Noah his food. Noah mumbled an annoyed thank you and heard a distinct chuckle as the guard walked away. Then Noah looked down and saw a gigantic piece of fish sitting on his plate. Underneath the plate was a note that read "Compliments of Eddie and Dylan... See you soon"
"The Damp Morning"
Warmth seeped through the glass of her glistening window. She felt the sun on her exposed fingertips, which had peeked out of the covers during the night. She squinted as daylight reached her bright blue eyes. The aroma of freshly cooked bacon and eggs graced her nose: It was morning.
She was still curled up in her much-too-large-for-an-eight-year-old-gir l blanket, awake but too content to get out of bed. She heard footsteps coming towards the stairwell that led to her bedroom, located on the second floor. A voice exploded from the bottom of the stairs.
"Karissa! Get your little butt up! Breakfast is asking for you!" her mother hollered.
A hefty laugh could be heard from the kitchen down below. Her father found his wife's wake-ups amusing.
Karissa smiled, rolled over on her back, and comfortably placed her hands under her head. Her dark brown hair was a mess. Always a sign of a great night's sleep. Her bed would not let her leave. It was just too amazing. The silky smooth sheets had an attractive maple leaf patten printed on them, the cloud-like pillows perfectly supported her head, and the mattress flowed with her every curve.
"Mommy! Can you please, please, please bring my breakfast to me?! Just this once?!" shouted Karissa. She closed her eyes and hoped for a 'yes', but she was answered only with silence.
She opened her eyes again and listened. The clinking of silverware meeting dishes abruptly stopped. Something was eerily different about the feel of the room. The warm sun had seized to shine through her window. The once alluring smell of her freshly cooked breakfast was replaced by the stench of what she thought was rotting meat. Karissa brought her blanket up to her nose to shield the smell. It was becoming stronger.
"What's that gross smell?!" she screamed, expecting a response from her mother or father. Still, the house was silent. The air conditioning did not hum and the leaves outside did not rustle.
The air began to feel heavy in Karissa's lungs, like she was trapped in a sealed coffin. She inhaled a deep breathe, threw off her covers, and ran for the window. As her bare feet slapped against the wooden floor, the house began to moan and squeak, as if it were being pushed on by giants. She came within the window's reach and extended out her hand to grasp the latch, but found her self tumbling to the ground instead. The whole wall was slowly moving away from her. The floorboards screeched as they became elongated and rotten. She jolted up and stumbled backwards as she felt a furry texture emerge from the floor beneath her feet. Damp, gray mold was quickly growing from the cracks in the wood.
Karissa's heart pounded. She grasped her head and fell backwards on to her now stiff and cold bed. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to scream, but nothing would come out. Finally, amongst the overwhelming creaks and screeches coming from within the house, she heard a voice. It was weak and shaky, but sincere:
"Je ne peux pas vous aider."
Karissa opened her eyes. It was cold. Her blanket was much too thin for her liking. Her sheets were a boring white and the mattress was uncomfortable and squeaky. The pillow under her head was flimsy and unfluffable. Her dark brown hair was a mess. Always a sign of tosses and turns throughout the night. Karissa Ventourner was awake.
Pardon the informality - you were always picky about such things, back in the day - but it's been sixteen long years, godammit. Remember the sporty guy you were always tagging along with back in Secondary School? That's me. Your old William, right in the flesh(or rather the ink), all grown up.
I only found you by chance while scrolling through the newspapers, and it seems you've come a long way, Mr Director. Though, being the head of an asylum is pretty bizarre choice. I suppose you can't complain, though, you're sure raking in the dollars by the hour. Me, I'm just a humble bartender. That's right, a bartender. I bet you never saw this coming, and neither did I!
I swear, judging from what I've read you seem to have changed a damn lot over the years. No more the scruffy, long haired boy just lurking at the sidelines, eh? When you're not busy earning dollops of money, why don't you drop by for a chat some time? We have an awful damn lot to catch up on. And if possible, I hope you'll allow me a peek at your asylum. I'd always wanted to see what those creepy places were like.
It is indeed a pleasant surprise to hear from a dear friend after a so very long time. I would be most interested to hear of how your life had progressed after our innocent school days, however being an asylum director is more strenuous than you think, and it remains to be seen when I can make an appointment, if at all.
As to your second request, I am afraid I cannot abide to it. Institutions for the mentally insane are sacred places, as fragile as a spider's web. I feel I must prevent you, though no ill intentions of my own, from entering my facility. You will understand, I hope.
Same old Paul, eh? You've changed quite a lot, but you're still as icy as ever. Well, what did I do when you were acting particularly stroppy back in the day? Well, I ignored you, of course! Terribly sorry, Paul, and I offer a thousand apologies, but on my way back to work I took a detour to Woodbridge and ended up at your place. The guards gave a jump when I said I knew you, and after I proved it they happily stood aside.
Don't worry, I didn't intend to touch anything. In fact, I spent a good portion of the time just wandering around the administrative part of the place, and it was entirely by accident that I ran into Lain.
You must have heard about Lain. Rest easy, I don't intend to badger you about it for the rest of your life (actually, maybe I am, you know me!). I swear, though, I thought he was just another orderly when I met him. He had the garb on and all. The only thing that unsettled me were his eyes. I know it's clichéd, but they were somehow...dark. As if his pupils were diluted so much they were filling up his whole face. Pardon my exposition, but that's the only way I can think to describe him.
Anyway, he came rattling down the corridor and nearly collided with me, but he darted to the side at the last second. Then as I watched him dash down the corridor like a frightened jackrabbit, he suddenly slowed down to a jog, and finally stopped. Then he turned back and started walking towards me, staring at me with those eyes.
I'd have to admit, I was a little jumped by who I thought was just a strange orderly. If I had known it was an escaped inmate, I might have bolted right then and there. But instead he smiled and stuck out a gangly pale hand. Not knowing what else to do, I grasped and shook it. It was damn cold - like a lump of meat.
He asked me, damn calmly as you please, if I could sow him the way out. And what else could I do? I complied. And despite all his general creepiness, he looked damn young. Like some lost kid in the mall. When I said yes, I would show him the way out, his face brightened up and he thanked me profusely. No one's ever thanked me like that before - being host to crazy drunk ruffians doesn't exactly earn me any appreciation.
So say what you want, but I walked out of our short meeting liking that damn kid. Of course, before I could show him out two of your men leapt out and tackled him to the ground. Apparently they told me I was raising hell for a few minutes before they finally convinced me he was an inmate. And I felt damn sorry when he was dragged away, and the way he looked at me with those dark eyes, well it was like the eyes of a sick puppy, now that I think about it.
So I'll go out on a limb here and request that you arrange an appointment for me to see Lain. Of course, knowing you, I'll probably be denied, but at least let me see his file or something, let me find out more about him. He seems like a poor kid. What's his story?
Our lunch date's still on, by the way. You'd better find an open spot in you schedule, or I'm going to personally go up to your office and drag you down to that nice coffee place near Woodbridge.
You have never changed either, my old friend. However, I feel a pressing need to remind you that this is not the innocent proving grounds of our Alma Mater. This is the adult's world, a new arena in which every action we make has consequences. As such, I must frown upon you intrusion upon my institution, although I must thank you for not intentionally interfering with the inmates.
It seems that the effect Lain has had on others has never changed. He possesses a certain magnetic air around him that may attract you, but do not be fooled. It may come as hard to believe for you, as it has for so many others, but Lain is by far the most dangerous inmate in this asylum. As such, I hope you understand why I cannot allow you to see him, and that I cannot allow you to catch even a glimpse of his most classified files. There are buckets of red tape surrounding this man called Lain, and it is in my best interests that I prevent you from ever meeting him again.
I assure you, I am doing all in my power to try and allocate a time in which we can meet, as I am as eager to reunite as you are. The place you suggested, I hope, is reasonably far away from my institution.
Goddammit, Paul, when are you ever going to drop that formal tone? It's been sixteen years, buddy, cut me some slack. And, come on, what you said about Lain only makes me much more interested. Just let me have a peek. Just a little secret between us friends, eh?
I visited your asylum again, but don't worry, I spent the day talking to the staff and not the inmates. Apparently you've left quite an impression on both. They talk of you like some boogeyman, waiting to swoop down on them if they ever slip up or take a break. Like Mr Roberts back in our day. Never would've thought you'd follow his example, but different strokes for different folks, I guess.
Okay, you're probably not going to like this, but I weaseled some information about Lain out of them. And nowhere did they saw that he was some crazy manipulative sonofabitch. In fact, he was the model prisoner, quiet and polite. They did say he was sent here for killing someone, but that was many years ago, and he's never given anyone any trouble since then.
I'm sure whatever treatments you did to him have cured him. I'm sure you're capable of reason. Just look over his file one more time, and I'm sure you'll find some good stuff there. Come on, Paul. For once, stop being such a stroppy emo kid.
When I got outside, the purple fog was spreading. I covered my nose and mouth, and ran home.
I have never been, as you put it, a 'stroppy emo kid'. I have, and always have been, a perfectly rational man. I would have to be one, you understand, to stop hooligans like Lain from eroding my sanity. He may have charmed some of my staff but I will be the one to retain my senses. I ask you as a friend, William, not to pursue this matter further. For both the safety of yourself and the institution.
It seems I cannot meet you after all. My schedule is simply stretched thin, and try as I might I cannot find time to meet my dear old friend.
You also might be interested to know I have ordered my staff to bar you entry. I hope you understand I am doing this for the good of all concerned.
One more thing. I would like you to give me the names of the staff who told you all these fairy tales about Lain. I will see them in my office, where I will make sure we have absolutely no more misunderstandings.
Tough luck, Paul. I'm not giving you the names. It's an instinct I've cultivated back in the day when Mr Roberts was clambering after our asses. I'd do the same for you, and I'm sure you'd do the same for me.
I got a little friendly with some of the staff - you know me - and I got them to spill even more. Sorry to tell you this, but you're not exactly on their top ten list. Heck, once they were all done ranting, they even were willing enough to show me to Lain's cell. He was trussed up in a straightjacket and there were several orderlies close by waiting to pounce if he tried anything, but he was perfectly harmless.
We just sat down and talked. Some of the orderlies were even joining in at the end. And I don't give a damn what you think, Paul, but he's a perfectly sane man. And it's not just me. Your staff thinks so too.
Just look past your pride and give him a proper psychiatric evaluation, okay?
I assure you, the members of my staff who have so foolishly played along with this farce are vastly inexperienced men. The higher echelons of the institution, me included, all know what Lain can do when he shows his true colors. It is a miracle, and daresay divine intervention, that you have met Lain twice and walked away with your sanity intact.
For all the psychiatrists I have paid thousands for their service in this institution, Lain makes the best one of them all. He plays men like he plays a fiddle. I must confess that my heart went cold once I had read of your first meeting with Lain, and now it is sinking further and further as I become aware of your further endeavors.
I am telling you, no, begging you to leave this business of Lain alone, and giving me the names of all staffs involved. Lain has tried this before, and the last time he had nearly come close to succeeding in his goal. I would rather such a terrifying incident never happen again in my institution.
Sympathy card's not going to work now, buddy. I've been hearing stories, bits and pieces the orderlies blurt out after they check no eavesdropping, and I know what you do behind the scenes, Paul. I know of some of the treatments. 'Electroshock therapy'? Seriously? And your damn harmless 'Solitary Confinement?' Turns out it was more like Confinement from food, water and everything else
Don't you realize what you're doing to them? I understand they may have been a little off their rocker, but still, they're human beings. Especially Lain.
You do know this is enough to rustle some feathers among the government, right?
I would rather believe otherwise, but it is my opinion that you have ever so subtly issued a threat. It is true that I have treated my inmates harshly, and for that I do not apologize. Every man's home is his castle, and as the certified director of this Institution I am entitled to do whatever it takes for my patients to be cured.
It saddens me that you still take the side of that puerile wretch of a man. Now that pleasantries are out of the way, let me be a little more direct. Lain is nothing more than a monster, and you are a fool for being taken in, as you always were, even back in the day. The next time you are seen in the Institution's grounds, I'm afraid I will be forced to take more extreme measures to force you off my property.
It's not just me, Paul. The others also think you've been running a regular dictatorship here. I'd like to think I've got some friends on the inside now, so good luck If you're even thinking of keeping me away from here.
I could report this all to the authorities, you know,
I've seen some men come through my bar in my time, and I know their types. I'm sorry to say that you fall into one particular category, the one where men have had people listening to them for so long they don't care what's right or wrong anymore.
Of course, if you can explain all this, then by all means, I'm waiting for you. I not, then I'm disappointed.
Are you seriously daring to insinuate some of my own men against me? And you dare accuse me of being a dictator? In my own Institution, no less? Even my patience has its limits.
I have told you at the very beginning that my Institution is a spider's web, and it is my job to ensure when God picks it up it does not come apart in His hands. It is my job to ensure that this society is as rigid and as stable as ten ton brick, and it is my job to keep my hooligans under control. Lain is no exception.
So don't you dare suggest I am abusing my power, because whatever I do, I do rationally, for the sake of my Institution. You are an outsider, so I fail to see what in the hell makes you think you can decide how things must run around here.
Go ahead. Flee to the government, but I must warn you it will do no good. Even if those bureaucrats will ever so predictably disapprove of my work, I can easily hide what goes on, and of course they will not trust the word of a man who everyday adds to the disorganized chaos that is America, rather than restoring it.
You've done it now, buddy. I'm normally a nice guy, but you've sparked my fucking fuse. You've turned into a regular Hitler now, you arrogant weasel. So I can't go to the government? No problem. I was about to, but Lain stopped me. He had a better idea.
What goes on in a man's castle stays inside a man's castle, eh? Too dang right. If we settle matters inside the asylum, everyone will be none the wiser.
I think about half the orderlies are taking Lain's side. Pretty soon you're going to have some rebellion on your hands, if you don't change things quick.
Oh, and make sure you consider the last few sentences a goddamn threat.
My Dear William,
It is with much regret that I must accept that you are beyond hope at this stage. Since you enjoy the company of the mentally sane so much, why don't you come upstairs to meet me directly in my officer, and bring some of your newfound friends with you? Especially your new best friend Lain.
I have done extensive research on our newfound friend, and every time each new piece of evidence never fails to unsettle me. I know that wherever he passes, conflict erupts, people fight, and many, many die. I have seen him drive men insane, right here in this very Institution. I have even once personally met his hellish gaze. But nothing, nothing can compare to the loss I experienced when he made someone, someone very dear to me, jump off the sixth floor of this building.
So you make sure you tell Lain, that while my feet are still firmly planted under my desk and while I still retain the ability to speak, think and breathe, that he will never, ever, corrupt MY Institution.
When I got outside, the purple fog was spreading. I covered my nose and mouth, and ran home.
I'd always thought you were a bit off your rocker, but never like this. Has your arrogant little mind ever thought that you might be wrong, and the crowd raising hell that consists of pretty much everyone else are actually in the right? I've talked, and talked, and so has Lain, and everybody else, and almost, if not all, agree that you most definitely are in the wrong.
Everything you've done has been wrong from the start. Just face it. You've always been a stuck up arrogant prick during secondary school, and now I'm calling you out on it. I bet being a bigshot Director has its benefits, eh? I know the type.
Lain has not brainwashed me, or whatever the fuck you think it is. I don't know what being insane feels like, and I never will because I'm feeling perfectly normal right now. Just angry as hell. Maybe you're the insane one, Paul.
I'll make one last appeal. Release Lain, and then cancel the treatments for the other inmates. We can work something out. If not, then Me, Lain, and everybody else will move things one step higher.
It's been a long time in the making. Friends who I thought I could trust have betrayed me, and now I'm alone. I'll be spending the night in the office, thanks to you. My own men won't let me out. My own men. But I can accept it. This place is my home. And for every minute that passes, I am still the Director of this Institution.
You've done a good job this time, haven't you? Lain. It would be just like you, I imagine, to have slit William's throat and stuffed him in an empty closet from Day One. Just like you to steal away someone else close to me, and then start a whole new mind game. It's just like you. You fucking bastard.
I'll go down fighting. No one can corrupt my rational mind. I have honed it for years on end, resisting the infection that spreads naturally among places such as these, and don't think for a second you will be able to make me snap.
Don't think for a FUCKING SECOND that you have won. YOU HAVE NOT. I will go down FIGHTING, with my SANITY intact, and till the very end this will still remain MY INSTITUTION,
Okay, not that I had any doubts before, but you are seriously bat fucking insane, if you'd pardon the impression. Either that are you're really, really desperate. I'm not Lain, I'm William. No one's keeping you from leaving your office. I guess I'll take your answer as a no, though?
The whole lot of us are coming up to your office tomorrow. And not only the staff, Lain and several of the other inmates are coming along as well. We're going to stop your Third Reich once and for all. It's pretty damn clear that you're not fit to run this place, and that certificate of yours means jackshit.
For what it's worth, I'm sorry it had to come to this. But I have to do what's good for everyone.
If you were really William, you wouldn't have bothered to write to me, now that you've practically made my Institution your kingdom. No, you are most certainly Lain.
Every king has to die, every reign has to end. In hindsight, I performed decently. I did what I believed was right, and I have absolutely no regrets. And it will give me no greater pleasure to meet my death in the place which I have devoted most, of not all of my life to.
You can kill a man, Lain, but you cannot kill his legacy. I may have lost, but you haven't won either.
But I'll go down fighting. I know I'm outnumbered, but there are exactly six shots in my revolver, and I will try my very best to pump every single one into your fucking eyes.
(William - Paul Correspondence ends here)
Regarding the Woodbridge incident - where two men, William something and the Director were shot dead. I understand that there were some letters found in the Director's drawer. Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but the Director was tracking the correspondence between him and the William person, and among these letters a story emerges of a particularly scary sounding patient who apparently orchestrated the whole bloody mess.
I was interested, so I took a peek at some the asylum records. And guess what? No record of the patient ever existing in the asylum. I can't find his name anywhere, and all the staff swear up and down they'd never heard of him. But apparently, to William and the Director, he was real.
I think both of them weren't quite right in the head. One of them shot the other, and then killed himself, either way we can write this off as a simple case of insanity. I guess that's one of the things an asylum does to you. I got the jeebies myself when I visited that place.
Well anyway, that's my theory. Feel free to shoot it down and follow up on it, I'm just doing my job. If I'm right, though, a little bonus wouldn't do any harm.
Second Officer Edmund Nial
When I got outside, the purple fog was spreading. I covered my nose and mouth, and ran home.
I lead a pretty natural lifestyle. Usually I join the inhabitants of Earth in our desensitized conditions forcing us to live in a state of constant apathy. Maybe my apathy is stronger than theirs, that could explain my actions, or maybe others find more productive ways to stave off the persistent effects of consistently feeling nothing at all. Some sort of environmentally friendly material that fills the abyss that is life. Unless others have never realized how apathetic they really are hence they walk around with their feelings of self-importance in their meaningless jobs, materialistic tendencies and attempts at reaching new more desirable social stigmas. Fuck, how did I end up preaching some sort of libertarian mantra about the suppression of freedom in our all too modern lifestyles? Next I'll end up telling my non-existent children that if they masturbate an angel will shit a brick the size of a small caravan, which will then with the miraculous aim of the divine land on top of their mother's head, killing her instantly. In all honesty I have no idea why I am the way I am, but I'm starting to believe in that timeless idiom that goes, "You can't teach an old dog new tricks".
You know, life, it's just a seemingly never-ending cock tease for all of the people experiencing it. A whore that almost brings you to fruition but stops right before you actually reach the climax, over and over again. We're stuck in a circle of forcibly having to keep our true enjoyments at bay due to these highly enforced rules created to keep our survival bleak enough so that we remain close to depressed. To top it off nature stuck in this little fail-safe in our brains that makes sure we always have the idea in the back of our minds, the gnawing hope if you will, that things are going to get better. The hope that one day we'll all be sitting around naked, with no rules and no restrictions. Doing whatever we want, whenever we want. Until then though, if we eat too much we get fat. If we drink too much we turn into alcoholics. If we don't work hard enough we can't provide for ourselves or our families. We're fighting a never-ending battle, trying to do things that are pleasurable but never being allowed to do them in excess, and yet we're made to always want more luxuries. That's why life is dull, that's why all the colors of the world take on a shade of gray. That's probably why I am the way I am. Sooner or later everyone gets tired of paying a whore that doesn't finish her job.
While the intoxicating appeal of philosophy is enough to keep my mind circulating around different theories for hours on end, I'm afraid I have already digressed too far. Let me tell you about the only thing that brings me any sort of relief in this life. It all began merely three years ago, when I was with a girl who had managed to convert me to the ridiculous theocracy of true love. It was a brisk fall morning, the sky was gray much like the rest of the world. The auburn leaves had begun to turn into a shit colored shade of brown, and most of them lay in a heap (almost fittingly) by the sewer grates on the street Katherine and I had been on. We had been walking down that very shit stained road, hand in hand. Until I had found Katherine, nothing in my life was real other than me. After I met her, however, it seemed like I had begun to meld into the background; I was no longer convinced of my reality. In fact, she was so much more real than me, that she had taken on an omnipotent role in my life.
That morning she had seemed taken aback and tentative. She radiated a sullen, unpleasant mood. Her eyes lacked their usual sparkling vigor, they seemed cold to me, almost dead. This had shed a new light on her existence, as if she had been starting to fade away along with the rest of the world. I began to compare her to a succubus, leeching off my life in an attempt to achieve entity. This thought was fleeting that cold autumn morning, but it had festered in my mind over the days to come. I attempted to get a direct answer from her concerning the state she was in, but she had successfully evaded all my questions up until we reached our old hang out spot: an abandoned house in the middle of an abandoned street. The same house where we first had sex, the act that had temporarily allowed her to triumphantly steal my actuality from me.
As we entered the house, still hand in hand, we went up the old rickety stairs into the room where we had consummated our love. Where we had made a statement to the world that for the duration of our sex acts we had merged into one solidified (albeit horny) human being. As we walked up the stairs I noticed that tears had shown up in her eyes. I had observed that, for whatever inexplicable reason, seeing those tears had made me feel absolutely nothing. They left me completely devoid of emotion, much like the rest of the world does. So I had walked up the stairs, hand in hand with Katherine who had begun to solemnly cry, in complete silence.
Once we had entered the room I was utterly confused, but sure that one way or another I was going to get laid. We sat down, face to face, on the hard wooden floors and I peered into her eyes for the last time. They had already lost an amount of their depth, but I had still managed to find beauty in them. At that point a number of mascara laden tears had been streaming down her cheeks. Still, there had been no room for compassion inside of me. The words that had come out of her mouth passed by me in an unsettling haze. Sure, I had caught the more important ones, but some of the true nuances in her depressed sentences were lost upon my idle ears. She had called me disconnected, unaffectionate, and even a misogynist who was only interested in his phallic tendencies. Without much thought about it I had slowly leaned back towards the corner of the room where a glass shard sharpened to near perfection lay. I winced as my hand had wrapped around it's sharp edges and droplets of my own blood began to form a crimson puddle on the floor.
Our only private place on earth was not an ideal place to be. Rusty nails protruded from the walls ready to inject tetanus into an unaware passerby. Broken bottles littered the floors, partly from squatters that were attempting to evade the freezing winds of winter, partly from us. Floorboards creaked and threatened to give way under our footsteps and on a windy day it sometimes felt like the roof would come down on us. Electricity was out of the question, so our only source of light had been candles, which cast looming shadows that sharpened their fingertips on our raw flesh. Of course none of that mattered at the time, we were content with being together, regardless of how dilapidated our surroundings were. Ironically, our environment was not responsible for the death of Katherine, safety is an illusion shrouded in more mystery than we can fathom. The idea of safety, in other words, is a real bitch.
Continues in next post!
Having safely acquired the piece of broken glass, I had held my arm up against my back, hiding her imminent death from her. To further elevate my sense of self-importance I had viewed her carefully, listened to her soft voice, overjoyed at the notion that I would be the last person to ever witness the experience of Katherine. I contemplated whether I would have sex with her one last time, but I could no longer withstand my temptation to watch her blood flow like a rough, frighteningly beautiful, waterfall onto the hardwood floor.
That's when in one seemingly swift motion of my arm I allowed the shard to slice into her throat with almost a surgeon's precision. She had then collapsed to the floor in involuntary jerks and muffled, choking cries, the front of her dress already turning a shade of crimson. I had leaned over her convulsing body and passionately stabbed into her chest, all the while attempting to gather all the small details of her death into my memory. When she finally released her last struggling breath I sighed deeply and felt a certain type of satisfaction, which I had never encountered before. A feeling which validated my reality, made me the only real person in the world. Her death validated my existence, and from there the body count grew.
Now I am not one for confessions, and I certainly do not feel guilty about my previous actions, but my life up until the moment I began my murders had been at a stand still. It was as if I was waiting for a purpose, a necessary means to a seemingly meaningless system of thoughts, actions and emotions. While I may be more empty on the inside, devoid of true humanity according to you, I deem myself more human than the rest of the individuals that share my space. I am not attempting to say I am better, rather that I am real, this idea gives me the right to take away the false ideas of reality that the rest of you have obtained, and instead instil the only truth you can ever signify, the truth of death. And I cannot be stopped.