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My dog and I have always had a special bond, he loved me so much and so did I.
His name is Honey, because he’s always been so sweet to everyone.
One day I got home from work and I was really tired, I wanted to take a nap, and so I did, while cuddling Honey, as always.
I slept soundly for 4 hour straight, then I woke up to the sound of my dog licking my elbow, but I was just too tired to do something about it, and I didn’t even mind so I just fell asleep again and slept for another hour and a half.
I woke up again, I couldn’t feel my arm, and I was feeling a strange burning and absurde pain, but I was just really tired, so I let it go again and fell asleep another time.
I don’t know how much I slept this time, but I was in so much pain, I can’t describe what I was feeling.
I looked down to my arm, where the pain came from, there was nothing (left).
My dog consumed my skin, my flesh.
And he was now playing with my bone. |
TRUE STORY
Well i kept trying to post and it didnt work so i guess i have to tell a story of my own. So this is a dark web horror story and is going to be pretty bloody and disturbing so this is your warning if you get disturb by death dont read this. Now time for the story. Im one of those kids that has always been fascinated by the internet and likes the hacking part of it. A year or two ago i was talking to my friend whos name i will not disclose and i will use an alias for it lets call him Bob well me and bob were talking about the internent and he brought up the dark web me only having a little knoledge about it at the time was very very intrested in it and he said he goes on it sometimes. And im like well how do you get to it he goes i dont recomend it but ill show you how to get tor and a vpn and a ghost to change the ip adress every minute or so. He was like dont do it is all im saying but obviously the adhd part in me wanted to do it no. so i go home and get it all set up after a while.and i just want to say i will never go back to the dark web after that experiance because holy crap it was horrible. I just want to say for those of you who think the dark and deep web is a search engine its not its a hidden wiki with a bunch of onion links now me being the stupid 15year old i am i start clicking on links most of them were sites like silk road wannabes but some of them were cp which ill never get out of my mind EVER EVER EVER. but one of them was so bad so gruesome that ive had nightmares for weeks and im still having them a month later. So heres where the story gets good i guess i click on a link that i will not say because i dont want anyone else to see the things i had to see So i click on the link and a chatbox pops up in the bottom right of my screen in the middle it said choose name so i put anonomys01 and when i do that people start talking in the chat very clearly excited for whatever the hell was about to happen and then the blackness on my screen turns to a video of a man with a mask on looking extremely excited and then he say HELLO LADIES AND GENTLEMAN TODAY WE HAVE A VERY SPECIAL SUPRISE WITH 3 NEW ATRACTIONSand i was like what does that mean and then it starts to happen... they roll in a lady on a cart and shes tied down with ducktape over her mouth and imediatly the blood drains from my face and then the guy says OK ITS TIME TO VOTE!! WHOEVER DONATES THE BIGGEST AMOUNT OF BITCOIN GETS TO CHOOSE HOW THIS LADY DIES and i dont know all of it but it was 50 some bitcoin for A SAW I KID YOU NOT THE BASTARDS GOT A SAW AND CUT THROUGH HER STARTING IN BETWEEN HER LEGS AND ALL THE WAY UP she died in a few seconds i threw my guts up i started crying and then they brought someone else out it was a man in his 40s Screaming under the ducttape i tried to lleave but i was locked in there it wouldnt let me leave.. he started the voting again and it was 45 bitcoin to use a torture device and then beat him to death with a baseball bat. the torture device was horrible it was this pear thing and they put it up well you know where and twisted a screw and it expanded ripping this mans anus apart he wasnt dead yet but was bleeding and then they got a baseball bat with NAILS IN IT and beat this man until he was unreconazable i wanted to leave so bad but it just wouldnt let me they bring out another woman this one only in her 20s or 30s and the voting starts again and someone donated 61 bitcoin to see this lady get raped and then have them rip all the hair out of her skull and then beat her head in with a hammer it was horrifying i wanted to die i was home alone and i was screaming and crying im not even going to go into detail because ill throw up and after it was over they said ok we have one more suprise for you guys and the chat went insane. i had said nothing in the chat so far and someone noticed it they said anonomys01 why havent you said anything and at that moment i franticly unplugged every single thing connected to the computer and called hid in my closet crying. well thats my story and word of advice DONT GO ON THE DARK WEB listen to the storys of the people that were dumb enough to like me. Also does anyone else have story about this kind of thing i dont like seeing it but i need to get scared again im emotionless at this point i just need to feel some sort of emotion so please leave a story about the internet. |
First entry. Today was the big day, my first kill! It was so thrilling, to feel the life leave the body is so intoxicating. Killing random bugs and animals has nothing on this kind of rush.
Stalking the prey was pretty fun too, watching it go about its day, oblivious to death lurking in the shadows. The first time I broke into its home was a real adrenaline rush, watching it sleep so peacefully as if a hungry predator isn’t watching its prey, haha yum! Delicious! I learned a lot during this first hunt, like what I like and don’t like. Next I broke into preys home again and tied it up, oh all the squealing prey was doing sounded like beautiful music. Unfortunately I had to cut the squealing short, because well you know can’t have anyone hearing me while I transport my prey back to my den. I stuck it in the neck with a needle, feeling the needle penetrate its skin felt so good, quite a nice little appetizer for what’s to come. At last we arrived back at my lovely little inconspicuous home, I threw prey down in the basement where it’s sound proof. I propped it up in a chair and tied it up good, at last it woke up and it was time for the fun to begin. First I uncovered it’s mouth, only thing better then squealing is screaming. I start with the finger nails and toe nails, ripped all of them out with pliers, feeling each nail leave the fingers was odd feeling but really addicting, like popping pimples. Next the teeth, don’t think I’ll do those again, to much pulling work with so little pleasure to come from all that pulling. Got tired of the pulling, so I went to cutting off stuff. First fingers and then the toes. I cut off its Tongue, Ears and bits of its nose as well. Now this is the best part, I started it’s skin off with all kinds of blades I have, the serrated blades brought very pleasurable results and don’t even get me started on the cheese grater. At this point the kiddie pool I put underneath us was starting to feel with blood so, to finish up I torched all it’s skin to stop the bleeding, unfortunately I think it died. I cut its head off for good measure, I haven’t disposed of the body yet but I’ll get to it. I put the head in a box for safe keeping, I’ll probably end up pickling it! Well this was a good first diary entry. I’ll have more soon I already have more prey picked out for hunting! Can’t stop now, I haven’t reached serial killer status yet! It’s gonna be great! |
#x200B;
In the quiet and seemingly idyllic town of Hollowbrook, where the autumn leaves fell in eerie silence and the mist often hung heavy like a shroud, lived a man named Daniel Grayson. He was an unremarkable figure, an accountant by profession, leading an ordinary life with his wife, Emily. Yet, for all the mundanity that characterized his existence, a sinister undercurrent was about to weave its way into his reality.
It all began innocuously enough, with an offhand comment from Emily. One evening, as they sat at the dinner table, she gazed at him with an unsettling intensity and remarked, "You know, Daniel, we all wear masks, hiding our true selves." Her voice was soft, but the words carried a disconcerting weight that settled in the pit of his stomach.
As the days crept by, Daniel began to notice a pattern that sent chills down his spine. People he had known for years, friends, acquaintances, even strangers, seemed to echo Emily's sentiments. The postman would pause at his doorstep, eyes glinting as he muttered, "Beneath the skin, we're all the same." The local grocer, arranging shelves with meticulous care, would glance at him, a sinister smile playing on his lips, and say, "Deep down, we're all connected."
These utterances wormed their way into Daniel's thoughts, breeding a paranoia that nestled itself within his psyche. Whenever he confronted these individuals, they would blink in apparent innocence, their expressions clearing as if the unsettling words had never left their lips. Doubt gnawed at him, a gnawing suspicion that he was either losing his grip on reality or that he was ensnared in a sinister web of deceit.
The descent into darkness was gradual, yet inevitable. Emily's eyes, once warm and inviting, now held an eerie glint as she murmured, "Underneath, we're all fragile." The mailman's voice dripped with ominous undertones as he intoned, "Sometimes, sacrifices must be made for the greater good." The butcher's grin grew malevolent, his gaze fixed on Daniel's trembling hands, as he whispered, "The time for reckoning draws near."
Night after night, Daniel's dreams became haunted tapestries of blood and shadows, his waking hours consumed by an obsession with the enigmatic words that seemed to swirl around him. He locked himself inside his home, the walls a sanctuary from the encroaching threat he couldn't quite grasp. He peeked through curtains, observing neighbors congregating in hushed clusters, eyes following him like predators tracking prey.
His world became a labyrinth of terror and suspicion. Was he trapped in a nightmare of his own making, a victim of his fraying sanity, or was there a malevolent plot unfolding that only he could perceive? The boundaries between reality and delusion blurred until they merged into an incomprehensible mosaic of fear.
Then, on a moonlit night, an envelope arrived at his doorstep, an invitation bearing the names of his family and friends. An intervention, they called it, a gathering to address his spiraling paranoia. Trembling, Daniel stepped into his living room, where faces he had known all his life awaited him.
Their gazes held a disconcerting camaraderie, their expressions inscrutable masks. As they spoke, their words wove a tapestry of menace, every sentence laden with veiled threats and unsettling promises. Daniel's heart pounded in his chest, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and dread. Were they truly there to help him, or was this a façade concealing their malevolent intentions?
Time seemed to slow as the tension in the room grew palpable. The air was thick with uncertainty, a suffocating embrace that left Daniel gasping for clarity. And then it happened—the scream, piercing through the stifling silence. The sound reverberated, bouncing off the walls, leaving a trail of shock and fear in its wake.
Was it Daniel's own voice, wrenched from the depths of his fractured mind, a primal howl of desperation? Or was it something more sinister, a reflection of the impending doom he had feared all along? As the echoes of that haunting cry faded, the room stood frozen in time, an enigmatic tableau of anticipation.
And so, Hollowbrook's tale remains suspended, an enigma that defies resolution. Did Daniel succumb to the clutches of madness, or did the town's murky undercurrents finally engulf him? As the wind moans through the streets and the shadows dance their macabre ballet, one question lingers in the air, unresolved: Are we ever truly safe from the darkness lurking beneath our seemingly ordinary lives? The truth may forever elude us, lost in the echoing corridors of uncertainty. |
In No Sense Lost: A Story of Sex, Drugs, Rock, Roll and Redemption.
Once upon a time, in a small town nestled amidst the rolling hills, there lived a boy named John. John had always been passionate about writing and poetry. He carried around a backpack that held a collection of cherished journals, filled with his deepest thoughts and verses. These journals were his most prized possessions, representing his growth and creativity over the years.
As the days passed, John's excitement grew because he had just graduated high school and was eagerly looking forward to attending a concert by his favorite band, Zex Sea. The concert was an underground affair, held in a dimly lit basement somewhere in town. John loved the idea of experiencing the magic of their music in an intimate and laid-back setting.
The night of the concert arrived, and with a mix of anticipation and nervousness, John made his way to the secret venue. A small group of fans had gathered, and the atmosphere buzzed with a sense of camaraderie. The organizers had created a cozy and welcoming space, with beanbags and fairy lights adorning the makeshift stage.
As the band members set up their instruments, John found himself chatting with fellow concert-goers, all of them sharing their excitement and anticipation. The dimly lit basement exuded a sense of warmth, like a hidden refuge for music lovers to connect and unwind.
When Zex Sea finally took the stage, the crowd hushed in anticipation. The band's melodic tunes filled the air, washing over everyone in the room like a gentle wave. John closed his eyes, allowing himself to get lost in the music, feeling the rhythm pulse through his veins.
Caught up in the enchanting melodies, John was moved to the core. He wanted to capture every moment of this magical experience in his poetry journals. So, with his backpack by his side, he began to scribble down his thoughts and impressions, penning verses that danced to the rhythm of the music.
As the concert progressed, the boundaries between the band and the audience blurred, creating an intimate and connected atmosphere. The lead singer exchanged banter with the crowd, making everyone feel like they were part of a tight-knit family, united by the love of music.
Amidst the enchanting tunes, John became so immersed in the experience that he momentarily set his backpack down on a nearby beanbag. He felt confident it would be safe there, as he could almost feel the positive energy enveloping the basement.
But when the concert came to a euphoric end, and the lights gradually brightened, John's heart skipped a beat. He reached for his backpack, only to find it missing. Panic set in as he searched around the beanbag, but it was nowhere to be seen.
His heart sank, realizing that he had lost all of his poetry journals—the record of his deepest thoughts and emotions from high school, the very essence of his creative soul. Disenchanted, he left the basement with a heavy heart.
In the following days, John couldn't shake off the sadness. The weight of the loss seemed insurmountable. Unsure of what to do next, he sought solace in the familiar streets of his hometown. But try as he might, he couldn't escape the pain of his missing journals.
In search of a fresh start, John decided to embark on a journey to California, hoping that a change of scenery might heal his wounded spirit. He found himself drawn to the vibrant neighborhood of Haight-Ashbury in San Francisco, where the spirit of counterculture and music still thrived.
Homeless and adrift, John's days in California were challenging, but he clung to the memories of his lost journals as a reminder of what he once held dear. The pain of the loss, combined with the struggles of homelessness, pushed him toward a dark path. Feeling desperate to survive, he found himself drawn into a circle of people involved in selling drugs.
Amid the haze of uncertainty, John encountered a fellow traveler named Emma. Emma had also experienced her share of hardships and was now trying to find her way back to a better life. As they shared their stories of loss and survival, they formed an unlikely bond, supporting each other through their darkest days.
One evening, as they sat on a bench in Haight-Ashbury, Emma noticed the sadness in John's eyes. She gently urged him to share his pain through his poetry once again, to find healing in the words he had lost. Though hesitant at first, John slowly began to let his emotions flow, recounting his journey from the joy of graduation to the heartache of losing his journals.
Moved by his vulnerability and talent, Emma convinced John to share his verses with others, believing that his words held the power to touch hearts and mend his own. With Emma's encouragement, he mustered the courage to perform his poetry on the streets, using makeshift stages and street corners as his platform.
To his surprise, the passersby stopped to listen, their curiosity piqued by the raw emotion in his voice. Strangers became an audience, their hearts touched by his poignant words. And in that shared moment of connection, John felt the first glimmers of hope flickering within him.
As the days turned into weeks, John's impromptu poetry performances gained traction, drawing larger crowds of people eager to listen to his heartfelt verses. His gift for capturing emotions and weaving them into beautiful poetry transcended his personal loss, transforming him from a homeless soul to a revered poet of the streets.
John and Emma's friendship deepened, and together, they sought ways to improve their lives. They attended support programs and sought help from organizations dedicated to helping the homeless get back on their feet.
As the years passed, John's poetry continued to resonate with people from all walks of life. Through his words, he found a sense of purpose and a new community that embraced him with love and understanding. His performances became a symbol of hope and resilience for those who felt lost in the vast sea of life.
Though John never recovered his original journals, he learned that true poetry was not confined to paper and ink. It was etched in the human experience, in the connections forged between souls, and in the courage to share one's vulnerability with the world.
And so, on the streets of Haight-Ashbury, among the echoes of the music that once wounded him, John found redemption. His journey from loss to redemption became a testament to the power of art and the enduring human spirit. And as he continued to share his poetry with the world, he knew that his lost journals had not disappeared in vain—they had become the foundation of a new chapter in his life, forever etched in the hearts of those who heard the tale of a boy named John and his journey through the sea of life.
As John's poetic journey continues, he finds himself drawn to the music scene once again. Hearing about a concert featuring the Disco Biscuits, he decides to attend, curious to experience another transformative musical event.
As he steps into the venue, the familiar sound of Zex Sea fills the air, and John immerses himself in the melodic rhythms. The crowd's energy is infectious, and he feels a sense of excitement and connection that only live music can bring. |
I am 18F and about to leave for college. When I was younger I had very intense fears at night and also insomnia. I remember for years I had to sleep with a system, windows and curtains closed, closet closed, door open for light but as long as there wasn’t a view into another room. I would also place numerous pillows on both sides on me so that I could feel something there. Even with all that, I would lay on my back covered in blankets. I usually was too scared to move and stayed still there and sweat. For a while I was worried that I would always be scared and couldn’t see myself as an adult being ok at night. My mom has told me that it was just something that took my brain longer to mature in. I was also an anxious child and I will explain more how it never fully went away.
By the time I was 14, I had finally been able to close my door and be fine most nights. This was around the same time I had developed bad depression for reasons i dont need to get into but from 14-16, I was in a very dark place so I had no fear of the dark. To be honest, for a while I wanted to die so I had no fear for things coming for me in the night.
I am so grateful for how far I have come, and Im still healing. But for some reason, Im scared again. Im about to live on my own and Im scared of the dark.
I should get into the specifics of what im scared of because obviously im not stupid and have attempted many times over the years to convince myself that nothing is there. Im starting to think that its there even if i dont see it. I can just feel presence, which horrifies me. It’s only demons, of all shapes and forms and my imagination was always what scared me the most. Sure when I was younger I would cry for days if a kid at school told me a scary story. I even remember seeing a picture on a magazine of a vampire or something and I barely slept for weeks. Some images were hard to get out of my head. My head was always the worst horror movie because I could imagine demons with different faces and could never turn it into art even though I paint.
I didnt watch a single horror movie till i was 14 or 15. I see the appeal now and think its fun to get jumped scared from a dumb movie with friends. Only with friends tho. I haven’t seen most of the classics. One time when i was 10 my soccer team had a slumber party and threw on Poltergeist even tho I begged them not to. A couple of them still make fun of me for sobbing in the kitchen which lead to my nose bleeding and causing a scene. I also have always gotten random nose bleeds to this day. And a little of my hair falls out every day.
I also was only scared of make believe stuff which is weird. Before I watch my first horror movie, I had seen a few thrillers and documentaries on serial killers. Sure sometimes I would feel scared of a man coming into my room at night. But I was more interested in true crime than scared. I dont necessarily like gore but I would be more disturbed if I saw a demon on the screen.
Anyway I could always feel things in my room in the corner or just there looking at me. You now how sometimes in the corner of your eye you see a shadow figure and you look and it’s nothing? Just your mind playing tricks, Im starting to think it isnt my mind.
A few weeks ago I started having trouble sleeping again. Im not sure why. It could be the reddit stories I keep seeing about interactions with entities. Some of them seem real. I also just got out of a long situationship with a heavy christian. Between the way he talked and the stories, Im scared that demons are following me.
Maybe Im crazy and just need to chill out but should I see a psychologist or something?
Ive had panic attacks before but I had a narly one last week because of all this. It was past 3am and I still couldn’t sleep. For the past year I havent gone more that a day or so without smoking wood. That night I had nothing. It always helps me sleep. I started at 14 and I do it every day now. (before anyone tries to say thats the reason, you’re wrong, I use it medicinally and it’s helped me). So yeah it usually knocks me out and Im mature enough to admit i’m fairly reliant on it. I can hardly even remember what happened that night. But it was one of those “stuck with your thoughts” moment and it kept spiraling until i was in the bathroom crying because I was tired but too scared to be back in my room. I had to wake up my mom, I really didn’t know what to do. We turned on a documentary and I calmed down but didnt sleep until 5am. I share a room with my younger sister and she at her friends house that night. Last night I asked her to lay next to me because I could see myself staying up all night again. I even opened the door. Im moving into my own room in the dorms next week. What should I do? Should I sage my room? Hope my new one has good energy? Go to church?? I really dont know and I have struggled with faith. I went to catholic school in elementary/middle but it wasnt until i started to loose faith that I wasnt scared anymore. Please help. |
So I was about 9(16 now) and I lived in a two story house and I never believed in ghost until January 2nd,2005. I always got home before my mom did and she trusted me enough to leave me home alone since I had a spare key. When I got into the house I always made sure I locked all the doors and went upstairs to play video games before my mom got home.
One day I got home from school and I did the same thing I usually would until the lights started flickering and turning red, our lights never did that… I called my mom and she called the police and a couple minutes later the police came but saw nothing and I was terrified , I’m 16 now and still believe. I’ve never had an experience like that in forever. I’m still scared until this day |
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Being a rookie you come across the usual hazing you would get from the local police but this place I was transferred to from the city was a big change being in a small town so it wasn't that kinda of place to haze.
The officers I worked with and the friends I made were all pretty layed back and hate to say this but lazy and weren't really police at all, not because of their laziness, I couldn't blame them for that, it was the fact that this town I landed in was awfully quiet with nothing really going on, really nice town folk with no grudge to outsiders, welcoming with open arms which was kinda creepy at first but I guess I was just used to getting mean eyed by city people for the first three years of being an officer.
So my first month being here didn't feel like a job at all, the usual calls would be about escaped animals from a barn or punk kids hanging around late nights getting drunk, nothing violent at all which was a nice pace but very much boring.
October thirty first was something I haven't experienced here and what I was told, the kids like to hang around this old road, Church road it was called, it was the one road that lead to an old abandoned funeral home which was basically a mansion, one road in and one road out and not to mention the bridge that you would have to cross on get to the funeral home.
It was basically an island with rough waters that not even a canoe would get anyone near it which was a good thing, so Halloween night I was posted at the edge of Church road just at the bridge which was surrounded by old dead trees and yeah it was pretty eerie since all other trees before Church road were covered with leaves, it was literally like a waste land of thick blackness all the way down the road and I could see why the young ones would wanna hang around here for a thrill.
I sat around the bridge keeping an eye open and turned away a few of the kids trying to pass by but other than that, nothing much happening.
I had begun to fall asleep in the car which I couldn't let happen so I decided to step out and stretch my legs and have a cigarette just to pass the time, I sat on the back trunk facing down this creepy wooden bridge and could see down the road almost clearly, a few street lamps leading to the mansion which was barely visible with the wind howling slightly, like something straight out of a horror movie.
I scoffed at the idea of something creepy happening and imagined someone walking towards me from across the bridge and have myself the creeps, I shook my head and flicked my cigarette laughing off my nervousness and turned to walk back to the driver side door.
Just as I put my hand on the handle I took one last look through my peripheral vision and could actually see a figure walking at the end of the bridge, I quickly pulled out my flashlight and sighed thinking one of the punk kids managed to get by me.
I started walking towards this person as they walked closer and I yelled out "C'mon! You can't be out here, it's not safe! Now get back to this side and get home!"
Shining my flashlight down on the wet wooden beams below my feet and shined it up towards this person "you mind? That's a little bright!"
I pointed the light downward and approached the person and we both stopped at the middle of the bridge "cold night isn't it?" The person says and I nod my head in agreement "yeah it really is, but sir you can't be here, these premises are off limit at all times, we get too many vandals and such round this time".
The person stares at me with a confused gaze "oh is that right? But I love just up this road! I haven't seen any vandals around!"
I look at him confused myself and look around "sir, no one has lived around here for years, especially not at the funeral home and I'm pretty sure that's the only place around here for miles!"
The man smiles and turns his head as I turn my head behind me hearing another car pulling up and I see another deputy arriving.
"Can you come with me and we'll talk to my friend over here and sort this out" the man nods his head and we both walk towards his car coming around the corner and we stop as he stops right in front of us.
I wave my flashlight as I look at him through his windshield and he gestures me hastily and he rolls down his window "get in the car! Now!"
I look at him confused "what is it?" I turn to look at the man who walked beside me to see if he was giving a reaction but you can guess what had happened...
He was gone...
I panicked and quickly got in the car and we drove off leaving my car behind and didn't bother to look back.
That whole drive back to town was the scariest silence I had ever experienced and didn't bother to ask what just happened cause even so, I was still in disbelief about the whole thing.
When we got back to the station I went straight in and locked up my belt and such in my locker and clocked out, the deputy that picked me up sat at his desk and threw a old picture on the desk without saying a word, I leaned down and looked to see the same man who I was talking to and well... I just couldn't comprehend the situation.
The deputy looks at me with the straightest face and rests her hands on the table "I see you met my grandfather..."
I looked at him and shook my head
"I don't know what you're talking about, nothing happened"...
He smirks "my grandfather was one of the last people to own that funeral home, it was in my family for the longest time but for some reason, people went missing on that island, not only people but the bodies of the dead also, so it was shut down and my grandfather apparent ever made it out himself, something went on there but no one really know what happened and no one wants to found out cause they're afraid they'll go missing, so next time, maybe if you are posted or have to go there? Stay off the bridge".
I took a deep breath and agreed to his warnings and it was at that moment I found out a dark history about this quiet town, maybe that was why it was so quaint.
A few times after that I had to escort a few of the kids off the road but I never crossed the bridge myself cause of the fear of seeing that man again, other than that? I never took the nightshift at Church road ever again. |
Last nights sleep was alright. There were a few arguments made and the cameras sure did zoom in on that. The islands temperature is alright, it’s a bit cold but a jumper and leggings fixed that. This morning David announced that we could call him Dave or David so I’m using them interchangeably. Anyway, moving onto the day.
We ate and the food was nice. To be honest, the food was nicer than most takeaway places. I wondered wether they were feeding us this to be nice or to get good ratings. Or looking back, maybe to lull us into a False sense of security.
They (oh btw when I say they I mean the producers) get us into boats and take us to the middle of absolutely nowhere. We are told to get back safely, cameras are strapped to our chests and we are told that there are creatures that WILL KILL YOU if you split up. A few of us laugh and are glared down.
We start to walk, my team along the river, the other team had sprinted off, laughing and screaming. My team is almost silent, sticking to each other, talking in hushed tones. The creepy stalker girl comes over and starts a full blown interrogation.
“Would you say that the reason your blog is the most popular is because you are an only child and have learnt how to be impressive because you always wanted fame and didn’t have anyone to ask for tips?”
I blink and say, “Well, I have a few points, actually. 1. How did you find out about my family, 2. No and 3. Maybe I’m just a likeable person?” She nods and says, “You know you’re wrong.” I just nod. She has a lot of audacity and she isn’t going to last long.
We keep walking and I stop. There is a figure, walking slowly fiddling with something in his hands. The animal lover boy says that he is going to help them. They talk for a while and walk back over. He says, “This is Alfie. He is an intern that got lost. Well, he signed a contract to be on the show and he said the first team to find him was the team he would be on.”
Eventually, we reach David at the campfire. He greets us and says, “Oh no one died? And you found Archie. Right then, anyway, you guys have won so you can do what you want.” I start to take my camera off and feel a hand on my wrist. It’s David.
“Who said you could take it off?” I tilt my head in confusion and he says, “You signed a contract, the camera stays on.” I go to argue and see fury behind his eye.
The other team come running out and say that one of them is missing. David nods and grins at the producer. He says something about getting ready to vote someone out. We all gasp and he walks off. The blonde boy and girl walk up to me and say, “He didn’t say anything about the person who went missing.” The girl adds, “And he was smiling. I think we are in danger.”
It starts to get dark and I realise how long the challenge took us. Even if that missing person had survived this long, they’d die during the night. They voted off someone who had spent the whole challenge lying.
We are about to go eat. I’m scared for my life. |
A couple of months ago I took a shift to work porter at a fast food restaurant, alone of course. I would go in around 1 AM to 10 AM cleaning the restaurant and ensuring cleanliness throughout my shift. The first couple of months were normal but felt off. As the night would carry on the atmosphere would feel ominous. The lights would be half off and I would have my earbuds in cleaning out the fryers and I would hear noises throughout the store. Nothing too crazy, or so I thought, as the months went on the noises would progress to a worse and worse state. It would sound as if someone was slamming their hand as hard as they could against a door a couple of weeks before posting this. A couple of days before this post I went in as usual it felt as if it was a pretty normal day yet once again something felt off. Something didn’t feel right and it was just quiet, as soon as I clocked in and got my cleaning supplies gathered I walked out to a person wearing a black hoodie and grey sweatpants. They weren’t wearing shoes, as I stared there frozen with my mind taking in 1,000’s of panicking thoughts they began to groan as if they were being choked the groaning sounded quiet but had an echo the echo would resonate through my ear as I stared in fear. The manlike figure looked up as the faceless figure still groaning in what I could only imagine was pain instantly jolted at me. As quickly as I possibly could imagine I put my hands up in fear and at a moment's notice the figure was gone. The noises of the restaurant as well as the traffic would begin as soon I uncovered my eyes. I stood in fear. |
Steam rose from the two metal cups filled with a dark brew of tea. The streaks of steam floated up in curls between the man and woman who sat across from each other. The woman stared with a relaxed poise at the man as if waiting for him to speak. Though, the male counterpart remained quiet for the long one-hour session.
Ash sat back against the long black couch that seemed to come out of an archive library rather than a therapist’s office. The leather was real and the aromas from past visitors’ butts being on it wafted into Ash’s nose with each movement he made. Though, during these sessions he didn’t find himself moving much. As soon as the older woman’s eyes locked on his, he seemed to freeze. His eyes would inevitably drift down to the two cups sitting between them and watch hers slowly empty while his remained untouched. It was a ritual she did the moment he was called back to her, placing the two cups in the old processor and punching in the right sequence of numbers before a golden-brown liquid spilled from the nozzles. Once filled she placed the cups down, one on each side of the polished steel coffee table before sitting down herself with a transparent screen on her lap. The simple gesture of welcoming seemed to be an act to bring some relaxation to the otherwise dark and cold room. Even with the large, paneled windows lining the right side of the office that looked out into the black abyss of space, speckled with the brilliant light of a million suns, did nothing to ease the tension. The tea did little in terms of comfort as well. The dreary, noncaffeinated beverage only added to the dullness.
Ash fidgeted anxiously as the silence drove on. He would glance at the woman occasionally to prompt her to speak but she was far more stubborn than him. She had told him many times before that it would be up to him to get these sessions rolling since he wasn’t much for talking. He figured that she was just trying to break him out of his shell. She wouldn’t even give him so much as a hello when he came in and he did the same. It always started like this, sitting in silence until the man broke or the time was up. He hated every second.
He hated the way she would stare blankly at him while holding a wide smile across her thin lips. Her bright clean teeth looked like unholy beacons in the dim light. Those large amber eyes glinted from behind her glasses like tiny planets locked in time. She was here to listen to him, but she resembled more of a husk, a deep hole where people come to throw their problems into, then leave. If Ash stared too long, he could see the other lives that lived within that witch’s head and the horrors they had been through. They culminated into so many emotions and experiences that collapsed upon themselves forming a darker mass than any black hole. Ash could feel his own emotions being pulled into the void, brought out as she pried it from him. He could no longer take the silence as his hands gripped the edge of the leather couch and a ringing noise rose in his ears.
“Soon, the hunt will begin again…” said Ash finally.
The woman nodded slightly, her stringy white hair fraying out in all directions and swayed with her movements.
“Are you looking forward to it?” asked she.
Ash nodded, the break in silence seemed to calm his nerves and ease the white flashes in his mind.
“You used to be gone for weeks at a time, lost in an unknown wilderness of beasts. I would always worry about you; such stresses can cause further damage even for a healthy person.”
“Am I not healthy?” asked Ash.
To this, the therapist didn’t reply. The only noise came from her fingers tapping against the transparent glass of her tablet as she recorded every word quite quickly and scribbled her notes down.
Ash had a sudden rush move up his spine and the ringing was back, like an alarm sounding in his body before disaster struck. His hands tightened around the leather edge of the couch making the material wine under the strain.
The woman looked up from her tablet to see the patient drawing further over the edge. Though, she showed no concern as she had to deal with many violent patients in the past. Plus, she could always trust the companionship of the taser on her hip that she wasn’t ashamed of showing. However, with her own safety and the patients in mind, she decided to deter Ash's aggression before it was too late.
“I’ve heard from your colleagues that you have more unorthodox ways of killing your prey. That you…take immense joy in their death.”
Ash’s eyes seemed to light up at the mention of gore and the subject of hunting. It was true, ash enjoyed the hunt far more than the other few hunters on this ship. The evidence was in the chilling reports his fellow hunters would file. A whole file just on Ash's incidents labeled under, “A. R.’s incidents.” The woman pulled it up on her tablet and skimmed through the reports again.
Once, on a simple patrol around camp after a long day’s work, two hunters heard noises coming from the vegetation nearby. They wandered off the trail a few yards to find Ash standing in a clearing with an elk hanging before him. His armor and mask were covered in the dead beast’s blood, and he had carved into the animal with his knife stripping it of it’s innards and harvesting the meat from the carcass. This was the traditional way to butcher game, of course, but in these times the act seemed barbaric. Hunters would usually process the game for the colonies through a series of dehydrators and meat processors, taking the unsavory element of a living butcher away and replacing him with high production technology.
No blood, no viscera, not a single piece of flesh seen or waisted.
For the two hunters to happen across their colleague practicing the old ways, the scene was disturbing. Especially, since the hunters made a point in their report to state that, “he was singing to himself in a soft hum while plunging the knife into the carcass. His cuts were wild and careless, more like a deranged psychotic than an old-style butcher.”
This report was only one of many that we’re filed in Ash's name. Some were far more disturbing than others and everyone began with him sneaking away from the base camp to indulge in his darker desires.
Another report was far more serious than the rest. This one involved another human who got involved with an altercation with Ash. The report was vague, despite its importance, but essentially Ash developed a grudge towards one of his colleagues and before anybody could intervene, the tainted meat was already on its way to the outer colonies. The catastrophe was kept a secret and the outer settlements got their food all the same and we’re thankful for it while Ash sat in the brig for a few months before being released and assigned a therapist.
Here he was, the ball of anger festering on the leather couch as he stared at the woman. He wreaked of death and mayhem that seemed to seep from every pore of his body. Every movement he made was aggressive, from sitting back against the couch to rubbing his nose in which case he almost seemed to tear it off with each swipe of his hand.
Keirtha kept smiling and staring back at the man sitting across from her trying to match his ferocity. She couldn’t show weakness for a moment as her insides trembled in terror. She imagined this is what his prey saw before they were slaughtered, his coy smile and his sharp eyes as he encroached on them through the brush. Now, he was just idly sitting with a disturbing look of excitement in his eyes as he gazed at her.
For the past few weeks, all she did was watch the reports come in. The annual hunt had occurred with its only survivor stepping off the dropship, Ash. Food shortages were becoming a major issue on the capital ship while the outer settlements had been starving out for days.
It was inevitable.
The last factions of earth had left the barren planet many years ago in search of resources to continue their survival. Their hopes were high and Keirtha, who was just a young woman when the expedition began, could remember the joyous spirits aboard the ship as they hurtled towards a brighter future. However, after thousands of years covered in hyper sleep with no suitable planets registering under the scanners, the ships automated controls had no choice but to turn back and journey home on low resources. Keirtha and 30,000 other humans woke aboard the capital ship to gaze upon the blue rock they were wanting to escape. Luckily, the long absence of humans gave the planet time to heal. Most of Its wildlife had returned and the administrators formed groups of skilled fighters known as hunters to go down to the planet and harvest its game once a year. The spoils of the monthly hunt were processed and rationed among the ship and colonies formed on the outer reaches of the milky way. This was how it went for many years, but just like before the earth died beneath their touch.
With each passing year the harvest became thinner. More radical rationing procedures were administered and since the capital ship had become the secondary home to humans, it wasn’t long before the settlers in the colony’s sat down to an empty dinner plate while the capital ship stockpiled for the coming time of famine. However, everybody knew that it wouldn’t be long before the ships reserves were depleted as well.
Tensions we’re growing, amongst the crew of 25,000 and the administrators who racked their heads for a solution. One was bound to come, but hopefully not the one Keirtha expected.
As one of the few therapists on this ship of a thousand souls, Keirtha stayed in direct contact with one of the administrators, Adam Listin.
Mr. Listin liked to receive reports from Keirtha about the overall mood of the crew. Mutiny was still a terrifying issue despite its original beginnings hundreds of years ago. So, it was important that a leader of a capital vessel such as this to have a general idea on the crew’s morale. This was one of Keirtha's jobs and it was the most painstaking. Not only would she have to file a report on the crew’s morale, but Mr. Listin insisted that she also send him detailed reports on more interesting citizens. Specifically, those who were more radical than others or had specific complaints on how things were run aboard the ship. As irritating and monotonous as the chore was, Keirtha filled every one of the administrator’s requests. She thought nothing of it until Ash became her patient.
He had only been seeing her for the past year and the sessions seamed to harm more than they helped. The angry young man was assigned to her after an incident during a hunt when he was found dripping in blood while playing with a dead elk. Ash's captain, a stubborn woman, recommended that he visit a therapist in hopes to ease whatever devils resided in his head. With every session, ash grew more aggressive. Even when no words were spoken, the young man looked as if he'd explode while Keirtha only tried to keep calm with a smile as she counted the seconds.
She didn’t even try to help him. The moment he sat down on her couch, she knew she was staring into the eyes of a monster. Mr. Listin took great interest in Ash on while reading Keirtha's first report of him. During the coming months, as Ash's actions grew more radical and the food depleted, Mr. Listin grew obsessed with the young man’s thoughts. This last hunt, report after report came from the surface. Keirtha read them with dread while Adam listin read them with inspiration.
Now, as Keirtha exited the file to read a message sent to her by Mr. Listin, the dread remained.
Her eyes darted from Ash to the tablet as her finger hovered over the icon. A part of her didn’t wish to read it as she could feel that she already knew what it said.
Ash seemed to take notice of the unopened icon in the middle of the transparent screen, “what’s that?”
Keirtha’s heart sank as her finger finally fell on the button while realizing her hesitancy wasn’t going to prevent the coming events.
“It’s a message from Adam Listin. He’s an administrator who’s quite interested in you.” Said Keirtha as she scanned through the contents.
“Is that legal. I thought there was some sort of patient, doctor confidentiality?” he asked.
“you’re an exception. Don’t worry it’s good…for you,” she closed her eyes as she got to the end of the page.
“Well, what does it say?” asked Ash.
Keirtha turned the tablet off and set it on the table between them. She gripped the cup of cold tea in her fist and gulped down the last few mouthfuls.
“I hope your proud of yourself,” she said speaking to the man as if he was a boy, “your behavior down there has set in motion a future that I do not wish to be a part of.”
“I did what was necessary,” Ash said defensively, his body tensing again as his hands closed into fists, “we would’ve all starved if I hadn’t made the right choice.”
“The right choice was slaughtering your fellow hunters and submitting them to be processed for rations in the settlements?”
His teeth clenched as he rose from his seat, “the settlers won’t be complaining. Their bellies will be full again. I have ensured the future of our kind.”
He crept around the coffee table towards her like she was unwary game far down below on the blue rock. This was what she wanted yet she still feared death by his hands as they wrapped around her throat. She gave little protest or struggle as he restricted her breaths and the world faded around his large haunting blue eyes.
“I will not be a part of this new food-chain,” Keirtha wheezed out.
“You will not feast. Then, you will be feasted on.” |
The scorching summer I hit sixteen, and the liberty of my freshly-acquired driver's license danced in my hands, the town was smothered beneath the weight of a pre-Christmas heatwave. People sought solace in the lake's cool embrace, yet it was Kyle Lewis, my adolescence's shadow, who was yanked lifeless from the waters. But it wasn't death by drowning, for there was no liquid filling his lungs.
A decade lapsed, and my return to visit my folks rekindled old habits. The road to their house, intertwining with the route to town, unfurled toward the lake like a twisted magnet drawing me in. I parked the car, stood by the roadside, gazing at the water's shimmering surface, sun casting a gilded net over it.
Memories flooded my senses. The evenings Dad and I tinkered in the garage, a car project binding us. My sister's teary outbursts, Mom's consoling whispers, Dad's silent stance. Those endless summer days, the police presence, town's secret murmurings, the swaggering Ryan brothers.
The final day of Kyle's existence unfolded through police interviews, echoing in the stories of those who bore witness. He rose late that morning, remnants of last night's drinking spree with my sister still etched in the air — empty bottles, the stench of liquor. Their residence lay along the same stretch as my parents', the abode I pedaled by daily on my way back from school, car fantasies swirling in my head.
Kyle's head throbbed from the hangover. Seated on the couch, he rolled a cigarette while Taylor brewed coffee. She questioned him about food, met with a dismissive refusal. A quiet unease gripped him, the debt to Dean and Pete Ryan, burgeoning like a storm on the horizon.
The police pried into his debt's origin, but it wasn't until later that Taylor confessed the truth. No longer fearing Kyle's fate, she unveiled the real reason — a drug deal gone awry. He had treaded down a perilous path, entangled with the Ryan brothers.
He chain-smoked, guzzled coffee, cigarette butts piling. Showered, clad in jeans and a navy tee, this attire would be his shroud.
He informed Taylor of his visit to a friend's place and drove off, tires screeching, raising a dust storm that hung in the windless air. At the Mobil station, he bought cigarettes and an energy drink. There, fate's cards reshuffled as Pete Ryan sauntered in.
"I'm collecting today," Pete's voice echoed, words tinged with ominous intent.
The cashier caught fragments of their conversation, left to wonder at the meaning. Did Kyle respond? Silence and secrecy pervaded, the Ryan brothers' aura discouraging tongues from wagging.
Dad shared a history with them, school days mingling with Dean, the eldest. Even back then, they were trouble incarnate, scripting their notoriety.
After the Mobil encounter, Kyle sought my father's aid. He appeared when Dad and I tinkered in the garage, tightening brakes, our bond forged in grease and tools. Our project neared completion, a promise awaiting fulfillment once my car roared to life.
Kyle exited his car, meeting Dad's gaze — a chill edging over his features. A chilling silence preceded their exchange.
"Can we talk?" Kyle's voice trembled.
They vanished into the kitchen, I, a silent spectator on the threshold. Desperation adorned Kyle's face, desperation for help, for redemption.
"I wouldn't ask if I had any other choice. I'll pay you back. I owe Pete money for the car parts," Kyle's voice trembled.
Dad's laughter sliced through his words. "That heap of junk's not worth a dime, let alone five grand. Begging's one thing, but lying's a different breed."
A liar — an entity Dad despised as fervently as a man who struck a woman, a breed to which my sister's boyfriend belonged.
"All right, but it's not what you think," Kyle's voice wavered, an unfamiliar cadence, a vulnerability absent from his exchanges with Taylor. "I did some work for them, sold some stuff. I owe them for it. Just need to square up."
A version of the tale I'd overheard, twisted truths concocted to buy time or manipulate sympathy. An innocuous debt twisted into a noose by the Ryan brothers' clutches.
Dad's height, equal to Kyle's, became an imposing force. "So, I'm to clean up your mess now? What kind of man are you?"
The question lingered, an unspoken answer woven into Dad's tone — a coward, a liar, the worst breed. Dad was a bastion of strength, silent endurance, a shelter against life's tempests, and he demanded the same from me.
Dad spoke again, his words laced with an unspoken code. "I understand your plight. I'll pay off the Ryan brothers, and in return, you vanish, leave my daughter. That's the pact."
Kyle emitted a strangled sound, a blend of frustration and rage. "You can't just exile me."
But actions superseded words — Dad grabbed him by the collar, slamming him against the wall, the collision seething with unspoken tales of frustration and loathing.
"Dean Ryan finishes you, I couldn't care less. In my house, my rules. Lay a hand on my daughter, and I'll break both your arms."
Dad stepped back, arms folded, as if the outburst were an ephemeral gust. Silence stretched, pierced only by the frantic buzz of a fly against a windowpane.
Kyle slumped, disarmed, eyes fixated on Dad, palms opening and closing as if wrestling with indecision. He departed without a word, his gaze locking onto mine, an acknowledgment of my witness to his humiliation.
He shoved past me, a harbinger of unease. Not for myself, but for Taylor. Dad had wounded him, and she'd bleed for his honor.
Kyle trudged back to his house, his recklessness overshadowed by tension. He was a ticking bomb, Taylor the catalyst. Their argument was recounted to the police — his plea for her to flee, her refusal cemented by familial ties. The altercation bore its toll, her fall painting her lips with a crimson bruise.
That evening, Kyle ventured into town, drowning his qualms in alcohol. Bravado cascaded from his lips, boasting defiance against the Ryan brothers. A knife shimmered, his readiness for a showdown proclaimed. Nightfall saw him ejected from the pub, condemned to wander off his drunken stupor.
As the doorman guided him out, Kyle disappeared into the night, vanishing into the darkness shrouding his fate.
The clock ticked its mournful count, nearing midnight perhaps, as Pete Ryan dozed on his brother's couch. Inside their silent camaraderie, a secret pact was sealed.
Fishing memories from the depths, I questioned Dad's gaze. "Did you ever owe Dean Ryan anything?"
His response was a pact itself, forged in silence. But secrets are a weight we all bear, and curiosity plagued me. "I always wondered," I murmured.
His reply hung like a pendulum's final swing. "I owed him a debt he claimed."
A connection invisible to the world, my father and Dean Ryan, an unspoken debt settled, entwined with the darkest corners of our history.
The night Kyle vanished, my father's hands cradled my shoulders, a gaze of shared understanding locking us in communion. "This is my burden. I was behind the wheel. Remember this, never speak of it."
Dad passed me his car keys, a directive to cleanse myself of that night. I glanced in the rearview mirror, my father a sentry by the roadside, his phone clasped tightly.
In that fleeting instant, my former life shattered — innocence eclipsed by knowledge, a reality swathed in shadows. The dark mantle embraced me, irreversibly transforming my perception of myself.
"Who did you call that night?" I inquired, wrestling with the fragile threads of trust binding our pact.
The truth emerged, unveiling Dean Ryan's involvement. "I called Dean. Told him about the accident. We had history, a shared past. He helped me conceal the truth."
The weight of his confession hung heavy — a brotherhood built on mutual silence. Our bond, once impervious, now fissured by the memory of that night.
The night's chill surged as memories churned, my father and I bonded by a secret unspoken. We gripped beers in the garage, two souls bound by machinery, tradition, and silence.
"Do people still suspect the Ryan brothers?" I inquired, yearning for closure, a resolution to the shadows.
"Perhaps," Dad sighed. "They don't talk much about it these days."
My mind wandered to the day Kyle's bloated body emerged from the lake, a convoy of police cars passing us by as we labored in the garage. The somber parade, sirens muted, an accompanying soundtrack to our relentless work. The metallic sheen beneath the old paint, stripped bare for the world to see.
"Dad, stop. They might see," my plea for caution, for anonymity, as we worked, the garage a cocoon of secrets and paint fumes.
"People know we've been fixing this car, son," Dad assured, the reality bending around us, shielding our endeavors.
For years, the town's attention was captured by the Ryan brothers, their role assumed, the police, mere witnesses. The car stood sentinel in our garage, the paint renewed, the dent erased, a facade masking the shadows.
But even as time flowed inexorably, the lake retained its mystique, whispers of its haunted depths. Swimmers claimed to sense phantom fingers grazing their limbs, prophecies of the tragedy ingrained in the very fabric of its waters. Kyle's presence lingered, morphing into myth, a narrative twisted by time's relentless grip.
With every return to town, Dad and I reconvened in the garage, our shared ritual. Petrol fumes mingled with the glow of fluorescent lights, our conversations mere echoes of the unspoken past.
Dad retrieved beers from the garage fridge, our silent communion's liquid sacrament. We faced the road, wrapped in nocturnal solitude, a lingering hush underpinning our dialogue.
"Does town still harbor suspicions about the Ryan brothers?" My query erupted, an ember of curiosity.
"They might," he admitted. "But people don't dwell on it anymore."
The day Kyle's life was extinguished, he illuminated a truth I couldn't escape. As I idled by the lake, my thoughts drifted back to that night — my father grappling with a life-altering decision. Dad guided me, the truth tethering us.
"Who did you call that night?" I ventured, a question ensnared in the web of our shared secrecy.
A heavy silence passed, untying the thread of history. "I called Dean Ryan. I told him about the accident, that I needed his help."
A connection, rooted in shadows and silence, solidified. But trust carries its price, as I would soon understand. |
this is 100% a true story I was 9 years old and I was fully awake and I was lying in my bed playing a game normal right? then all the sudden I saw 3 ghosts, they were my mom, dad, and brother and they were floating and u could see through them just how u could a ghost and I did a bloody murder scream and my mom ran into my room and asked what happened and I told her and later on I asked everyone if they were doing some kind of prank on me then and they all said no….and that night I heard people talking and it sounded creepy like and I looked and everyone was sleeping and no one was sleep talking… |
I am 28 years old and got my house 4 years ago in boston mass. The house was built in the 1800's and was a morge before it became a house. Sorry for any errors English isn't my first languge. When I first moved in for the first 2 years, everything was normal. The 3rd year I was living in that house I decided to rip put the carpets because they started becoming gross. In the living room a pentagram was carved into the floorboards. I'm from France and the supernatural isn't really of intreast and not talked much there. I didn't know what it was until I looked it up. I still didn't believe in the supernatural. 3 weeks later is when I started noticing signs. My dog who was normally friendly would growl at the doorway at the same hour of the night. My bedroom door would randomly be open when I know I closed it. Heavy footsteps would walk around in the attic and my name being called but I live alone. I found pictures of me sleeping. I would have scrates on my back. What would you guys do? |
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I don’t know if this exists in other places but in the Philippines, I think it’s pretty common. Some of my friends told me that when they were just starting their new work, they were required to prepare a song and dance number for their company’s Christmas party. Although it would be very embarrassing, it was the norm here, so my friends didn’t complain. I remember doing it as well and as someone with severe social anxiety, this is really stressful. I never wanted to do this kind of initiation again.
However, I resigned from my old job and am now working at a small production company. I received a very warm welcome and on my 2nd day at work, the HR informed me that they will be having a small welcome party for me on Friday. They encouraged me to bring my partner or any of my friends to join. No one has ever thrown a party for me ever before. Even during birthdays, I usually celebrate it with my family and that’s just about it. So, you could tell, I was really excited.
As I worked that day, my other co-workers kept asking me about who I would invite and what kind of food I would like to eat. I told them, I’m thinking of bringing my best friend and I really like barbecue. They seem to like the idea of eating barbecue as well as they start chatting about how they like barbecue as well.
Friday came and unfortunately, my best friend had an emergency and told me he couldn’t come anymore. Thinking that it was okay, I only told my coworkers that my best friend wil miss the party and they were shockingly sad about it. One got angry and walked out. I was so confused by this reaction.
“I guess no barbecue then,” one of my coworkers said.
My eyebrows furrowed. Were they thinking that my best friend would bring the barbecue?
“Thank goodness we have a back-up.”
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Yesterday, I started my camp counseling job. Today did not go the way I expected it to. I'm 23 and living under my parents roof. I was jobless for 6 months after my last job fired me. My parents had a plan to kick me out if I did not find a job soon. That's when I found this camp counseling job. Good pay, near me, and not many requirements. When I got the job my parents were delighted. Yesterday was fine, nothing too stressful (expect the part where a kid threw up on me). This camp was overnight and there beds were a hard as a rock. Nobody got good sleep, so today everyone was crabby. Everything was going ok until night. When I was getting ready for bed I had this nagging feeling something was wrong at the kids cabin. I brushed it off and tucked myself into bed. I was exhausted after a long day of complaining, but I could not seem to fall asleep. My eyes were feeling heavy, my body was relaxed but I could not shake the feeling of something being wrong. My gut was telling me "check on the children, their not safe." But I couldn't get myself to get up. That's when I heard it. A high pitch, terrified scream. I jolted up looking around, but everyone else seemed to be sleeping. I had to see what was wrong, even if it was just me. I slipped to my bag, pulling out a flashlight. I creeped to the door, cracking it open as quiet as I could. Crossing the street I heard it again. The same high pitched scream. A scream of terror that could be heard from miles away. Panicking while running was not fun, I tripped many times on roots, cracks, rocks, whatever was there I tripped over it. I was not ready for what I would see after swinging the door open. The walls, the beds, the floor, everything. Everything was covered in dark,red,goopy blood. I screamed as I read the words written on the walls. "Check on the children". Kids bodies were demolished, some unrecognizable, some with the numbers 666 on there head. I couldn't breath. I couldn't think. That's when everything went black.
I'm writing this while laying in a hospital bed. Im not crazy, although everyone thinks I am. Apparently I tripped and hit my head on a rock. No one believes my story. The police say everyone at that camp that night is alive and well. No blood on the walls of the cabin. No unrecognizable dead bodies. Nothing to prove my story. So I hope this will make you believe me. After all, it's your turn to check on the children. |
TRUE STORY
This happened during quarantine sometime in the middle of 2020 and 2021. During this time I was a freshman on highschool, I fell asleep while trying to do some assignments on my surface pro. When I woke up I quickly tried to do some school work on my surface pro...but when I picked it up I noticed my surface pro was stuck on camera mode for some reason. I kept trying to click it and get it to get off camera mode, I noticed that the camera quality was a little glitchy looking. So me being a random weirdo I decided to pan around my room with the camera, as soon as I did I saw a white aura outline of something. It looked like a person...Although I'm not sure it had hair I think it looked like a person but it could have been something else. When I saw it I just froze on it, it was right in my face I remember saying "What is that?" Then after a couple of seconds it moved away. Then when I panned my camera to the side of my bed there were about three aura outlines of people, they were the aura shapes of human like figures. I just stood there watching them I distinctly remember one shaped like a woman in a dress with long hair. At the time I had a drawing on my wall and I saw the woman touching my drawing and looking at me or at someone else, it looked like she was saying something then she walked away and disappeared somewhere else in my room. That really fascinated me...then I saw one "spirit" outline that looked miserable it was short I remember it was looking out my window possibly. Then the third one I saw was a man in a business suit, he noticed me looking so he walked over and squatted right in front of the camera looking straight at me. I just stared at him and said "I can see you." Then I just stopped and quickly searched on google to see if there was some kind of filter or malfunction with my surface pro...but there wasn't any. No explanation to what I saw, the camera lense still works I only ever tried to see them twice. And after that I never tried to use it to see them again, I still live in the same house in the same room. I told my mom about it and she said "That's what you get for watching all those scary movies bringing demons in the house.". So yeah that's my story it sounds like bull but you can think that if you want but I know that spirits are definitely real, and none of them gave me evil energy at all. |
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TW: Domestic Abuse, Violence, Gun Violence
Weeks turned into months, and the weight of the horrifying events that had shattered my reality still bore down on me. My nights were haunted by the echoes of that fateful night, my days clouded by the struggle to comprehend the darkness that had consumed my family.
Sitting across from Dr. Madilyn, the room felt both comforting and stifling, the sterile walls serving as a backdrop to my turmoil. The conversations had been difficult, the memories dredged up in painstaking detail, the wounds still raw.
"Must I continue?" I asked hesitantly, my gaze locked on Dr. Madilyn's face, searching for any sign of reassurance.
Dr. Madilyn met my eyes, her expression a mixture of understanding and reluctance. "Yes, you should. You've shown remarkable progress, becoming more comfortable discussing your experiences without having a nervous breakdown."
As her words settled, a mix of relief and trepidation washed over me. The idea of delving into those memories once more was daunting, but a part of me knew that confronting them was the only path toward healing.
"Do you... believe me?" I inquired, my voice tentative as I held Dr. Madilyn's gaze, seeking validation after the skepticism I had encountered from others.
There was a moment of pause, a pregnant silence that seemed to stretch on endlessly. Finally, Dr. Madilyn exhaled softly, her voice carrying the weight of her own internal struggle. "I'll admit, in the beginning, I had doubts. But as your case unfolded, as we explored the details, and given the subsequent accident... it became clear that your story was not only real but painfully vivid, too vivid for anyone to fabricate."
Her words were a balm to my wounded soul, offering validation that I had yearned for since that night of horror. With a deep breath, I leaned back in the chair, my gaze drifting toward the ceiling as I closed my eyes. The memories loomed large, a shadow I could no longer avoid.
"Okay," I whispered, my voice more resolute than before. "I'm ready."
With Dr. Madilyn's guidance, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to be transported back in time, back to the depths of my own memories. Less than twelve years prior, the world I knew had shattered, and the horrors that unfolded that night were etched into my mind like dark stains on a canvas.
I revisited that night in my mind, reliving the terrifying moments as if they were playing before my eyes. In my recollection, I remained curled up within the closet, tears streaming down my face as I clung to the edge of sanity. Time passed slowly, each minute stretching like an eternity.
But then, the silence was shattered by the faintest sound, a series of small whimpers that seemed to crawl their way to the top of the stairs. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized the voice, my mother's voice, weakened and exhausted.
"Eve," the voice called just opposite of the bedroom door, breathless and strained, as if the mere act of speaking was an effort too great to bear.
"M-Mother?" I stammered, my voice choked with emotion as I wiped the tears and snot from my face, my body trembling.
I had placed my fingers amongst the gaps of the closet door, and my eyes immediately adjusted amongst the darkness of my parents room, a glimmer of light snuck in from hall, that’s when I noticed the bedroom door slightly jagged and ajar.
"I-I... am here," she managed, her words a fragile thread that connected us across the darkness of the house.
As the minutes ticked by in silence, my ears strained to hear any sign of her condition. The whimpers that had reached my ears were a testament to the pain and exhaustion she must have been enduring. Despite the fear and uncertainty, a glimmer of hope warmed my heart, the knowledge that she was still alive and fighting to protect me.
Then, her voice, though weak, held a newfound strength as she spoke again. "D-Don't come out... D-D-Do you understand me?" Her words were clear and stern, a command borne from a mother's love and determination to shield her child from the horrors that lurked outside.
"I understand," I whimpered softly, my voice barely audible, a simple response that carried with it an unspoken promise to obey.
Silence once more enveloped the house, broken only by the faint sounds of my mother's labored breaths. In the confined darkness of the closet, I huddled, my heart heavy with a mix of fear and gratitude. The knowledge that my mother was still alive, fighting against the unknown, gave me the strength to endure the terror that surrounded us.
And as the minutes plunged deeper into obscurity, I clung to her words, her presence a beacon of hope that guided me through the darkness. In that moment, I understood the true depth of a mother's love, a love that could withstand even the most nightmarish of circumstances, a love that would forever shape the course of my life. |
Unfortunately, I have a good idea of where we are headed. There is nothing for me to do but to accept my fate. The men and women around me show no signs of awareness that they know where they are headed. This leads me to suspect they must really be as poor as people often guess us types are…As I’m writing this, alive and well, there’s no doubt I am being watched.
Do you know what it is like to cheat the greatest cheater alive?
The question flits before me: Did I cheat or did I finally learn…Black bold horns sway into my heart like the visage of a giant deer standing boldly in my path: there are the blank black pools on the side of his head staring at me, with seriousness, and calmness. I shouldn’t be here is what the voice in my head keeps telling me.
My mother should have sorted me out at a younger age in one of two ways: either she could have made things clear to me and given me a good morality, or, she could have just let me be and never addled my mind and let me live as I was going to anyway -- I suspect that way I could enjoy this peace and quiet now and just accept that there is a new life for me waiting outside in the forest and that black deer won’t be finding me.To go back to the story.
I’ll delve in more now. It isn’t clear what’ll happen to me. So long as I’m in this place, I reckon, I’ll use what I can to write what I feel I ought. Writing will keep my mind clear in the long run so long as I’m alive. It will give me something to do, to focus on.To be clear, I’ll mention some critical details, facts hardly impertinent. Convicted is what I am or was, namely, for approaching rather aggressively some bastard who I kept seeing too near my kid. Obviously I do not regret what I did. The realization has since dawned on me how chance is actually something downright evil. Chance would leave me no choice but to be forced to defend my precious daughter in a way fit for hell. I mean that literally. Nowadays they don’t spare anything anymore. That I am here stuns me and scares me but there is a flash of hope in my soul that I really did escape and there is nothing or no-one that will come get me and force me to go back.---, I sure hope not. I may have found a loop in the system. What else could explain how I’m now here writing these papers?
\_\_ forgive firstly me, and then secondly anything and anyone that tries to take me back.Siphoned up like waste in the tubes, all of us after having been blasted through our quasi-trial, were sent up without hesitation directly to higher services and given our last meal here on Earth and all within the span of just a few hours processed right into Near Dawn Transit. I would think they’d have a crowd at least to watch us board, but nothing. What rivets my mind the most, even now all this time later, is how they didn’t even seem to have the intention of learning the crowd something. They didn’t feel any edifying impulse, no instructive directive, no desire to even translate their punishment into some useful purpose. In fact, it all almost seems incomprehensible to me, except... that I think there may be something I can see..
I feel the breathing of a terrible following curse behind my shoulders now -- like evil eyes are watching me -- that I cannot escape from no matter what. My lips dry up -- I am really experiencing this now, help me, help me.I get this metallic taste in my mouth.
It has been weeks since I wrote but I’m back to get to work.There was something I was afraid to name that I’ll now try and explicate. Near me, by the way, is a stack of near-angelic books that I’ve really come to respect and admire. I have been collecting them over the weeks to supplement my mind and understanding.Yet there is never a second that fear doesn't permeate my body. Every cell, every piece of my biology. To look for books of any sort means to travel -- it is dangerous and beyond frightening. Terrible, so terrible.But at least quietly looking at me from my dark side is some work by Aquinas, Occam, Rowling. There is a special book too which I find most useful that is named the Bible. In it are the most apt descriptions for the purposes of reconnoitering my memory to write this and to also explore my own suffering. By lamp-light I watch their old faces blink at me non descriptively. Watching me, waiting to see what I’ll do with my time and my opportunity.
Let me be clear and directed and let me use my words well. What I meant to say was I suspect we were all being taken there for a specific reason that has less to do with our crimes, and more to do with the ominous control exerted by the place itself. Please tell me if you can think of a better explanation for what is happening to us. If you read this in the future in this deserted world -- please. I think you will understand what I am talking about if you are reading this right here and right now. It is redundant, I admit it. But I have to say I see no other purpose of mass transportation -- color is seeping into my eyes and heart as I write this! I am becoming spirited and bold -- of tens and thousands of prisoners onto these ships to… what shall I call it? This is not a deliberate obfuscation and I am not kindling mystery for the sport of penmanship.
Right here and now I am making a choice. This is a bit to me like an ontological choice. Yet were I writing as though I were creating a report for a bank or some merchant, I would not bother scraping my insides to make sense of my experiences or to enable my sanity. So I will not talk in a way that is stagnantly rational but will instead explore these memories and my current thoughts on them as though I were piecing together a new mosaic. I have nothing to aspire to but what I imagine to be the fulfillment of what I have to do. Aquinas recorded life -- pieces of it -- from his section of history and I am the better for it. By this way I suspect he accomplished his job and now that has brought us to this place and there approaches my own body and spirit.I will say this. I have already said a lot. I am sure now that my dream was meant to be understood from this same light I am casting now.
Once I dreamt there was a certain walled-city on Earth that became so luxurious and wealthy and known for its comfortable opulence in a monstrosity of a chaotic and lawless endless heap of decrepit and ruined and dying cities that almost all tried to flee to there from around the world. So many would say: “But this is the worst city of them all and still it does not fall.”
And like the crown on the mantle the wisdom came to me. In the dream I thought: “It does not fall because it receives its profits directly from Hell.”
I put my pen down and look around me for a second. I survey my surroundings from my bed-side window and stare good at the depths of the swollen trees scattered around me. I know it is at least late July if not August because of the reliable drone of the cicadas screaming from the trees...
They were sending out batches of us every-day. No one ever really knew where, but there were rumors -- endless rumors -- that mystifyingly never amounted to anything consequential. Even now I am stunned into a stupor just to consider how even that mindless apathy gripped had me in the vice-grip. I too, heard the rumors. Like the rest of everyone I ignored them and carried on with my life.
When I was arrested and swept through the funny pipeline they just out and stopped calling a court system, I had an inkling of what was happening. Even then, although I sweat terribly and found myself unable to sleep and unable to talk -- even then I maintained in the back of my mind that I was just a paranoid man. No one else around me was saying anything or daring to voice what I did not want to hear. But we kept on going.Deep in space. We were going so fast that the view afforded to us by the small circular windows by our head was always just a mix of light.The smarter of us knew we were in space, but the rest just laughed or remained sullen. The average intelligence would not even have guessed anything other than a terrible penal colony. But I knew they were taking us to a particular place. Horrible visions began to flash through my mind. Could the rumors be true? It was said by some that they had been sending us into a quick death -- straight into the atmosphere of of some burning-hot planet very far away from us.The usual arguments at the work-place consisted of laughter mixed with angry protestation and skepticism. Why would they make so much of an effort to exert a death penalty? Sure it was easy to get into space now -- but to send endless prisoners all the way to a planet to kill them?I will say this without ornament. Suddenly it dawned on me both in bits and pieces and all at once, where they had been sending us. Is there any way to record the white terror I felt when this thought occured to me?
Men -- they had finally found it, stumbled into it, used it, kept it, loved it.Then, in my abject horror I did something very strange which I never before did.
I sunk into myself instinctively and prayed and prayed and did nothing but pray.
And I awoke back here on Earth and now before me I see the skyline of that horrible city. With its kind white walls and its still, quiet composition, I see nothing outwardly wrong with it. |
I (M26) Just had the most traumatic experience of my life time, and I'm still contemplating on what to do. Around two months ago me and my girlfriend, Annie decided to go on a trip to Japan, since we're in a time with electronics and cool gadgets, of course we are stuck to our screens all day long. So we decided this trip would be amazing to breathe some fresh air, no electronics, and explore new places. That was until IT took Annie, I'm sorry, I got ahead of myself, I just, I mean I'm not fully sure what happened or how she went missing but I think I know why, I'm getting too distracted. So, no matter what, I know even though I lost my love, I could still take a trip to Japan since we already had tickets. So I take the plane to Japan, and go out to a small village. Everyone in this village is a community, and of course, I rented out a house there because I was curious on how exactly I was supposed to live without a phone for a while, but I could always go out of this area, visiting new towns, but I wanted to stay where I was. So that night, like every human would do, I looked out the window and the children, mothers, fathers, they were all out surrounding a fire. I could hear the odd-sounding music through the thin, tampered, old-styled window so I just listened and stared like a stalker. Being as curious of a soul that I am, I walk outside of the house and walk down the path and hold a lantern for a light source. I heard some of the song and it sent shivers down your spine, exactly like some guy was following me, (which I luckily escaped). "Tall woman, pretty woman, woman of the swamp, beautiful as she is, her hair is still in knots, no clean, but prefect dirty, it's funny, because we all know she could swallow you whole!", the kids sang slowly, but seemed in a forcingly happy manner. I tried to ignore it, so I kept going down the path until I reached the end. From there, I stood in front of a pond that you could swim in, and I could stand in, probably about five feet deep. This pond was lit up by fireflies and strangely lanterns on strings supported by trees. This pond was beautiful, it was light-blue, it looked like it was glistening from the light in the lanterns, beautiful Lili pads, and I thought to myself that I could swim in it. I jumped in and I instantly felt purified, new, I felt amazing, like all my troubles and melted away, like a popsicle on a summer day. But that all changed, the beaming light hitting the waves I was making quickly turned into darkness. It wasn't there, I suddenly felt the purifying water feel mucky and slimy and filled with goopy algae, like someone turned the off switch on the pond. But this wasn't some dream that the pond was all nice, the pond just switched into a swamp. But the discussing, nasty feeling of being in a swamp like this would be quickly forgotten and overridden by this next experience. I heard gurgling noises and then zombie-like groans, then the water turned from murky and cold to slimy and look warm. Then suddenly I felt a horrifying feeling, something was behind me. So I pushed my way throw in a desperation to make it through, I struggled while I felt whatever was behind me inch closer by the second, not once did I dare to look back. I picked my foot up out of the water and began to run, as heard this slow beast run towards me, I eventually found that it was far and finally had the courage to look back, there she was, a 9 foot tall woman with a smile of the face, looking down at me. She has long, messy, and knotty hair with a straw-hat on her head, she had torn clothing along with algae and whatever other stuff was in that swamp dripping off of her, an In that moment, as it started to come my way, I realized something..... "You...... You took Annie".
|
Have you ever moved into a place and immediately regretted it upon staying the first night?
I was freshly out of an abusive (verbally and sometimes physically)relationship, and I was homeless with my 3 year old son. We stayed with a friend for a number of weeks before the VA was able to help us find an apartment.
A little backstory there, I served in the U.S. Army for a few years and was honorably discharged. Since I served my time and was released honorably, I was able to get services that helped us get into an apartment and provided us with the basic necessities to start over.
The apartment was pretty shoddy, not at all visually pleasing. The kitchen floor was peeling and curled at the edges, there was no peephole in the front door, the bathroom was cramped and it was in a bad part of town. The rear bedroom was unnerving, there was an attached walk-in closet that had that overwhelming feeling of sadness and made you want to run immediately as far as possible away from it as you could get.
The first night, as I settled into bed, I was startled by scratching and little feet running across the room. Being that it was a new place, I let it go and went to sleep thinking I would deal with it the next day. I fell into a deep sleep until 231 am. My son was screaming uncontrollably, this was his first night terror. The first of many in the coming months.
Over the course of the months we were plagued. First was the roaches and mice. We had just moved in and discovered within the first 2 days that there was a roach AND mouse infestation. We found a stray kitten a few days later and took her in, she found a dead rat-literally mummified under the stove. We found it because she would stand and paw at under the stove for long periods of time. Then my son found a bedbug. He thought it was a ladybug, I'm grateful he didn't understand.
My son woke up at 231 every night we lived in that apartment, screaming bloody murder, inconsolable. There was one time he sleepwalked instead and he smashed a dozen eggs on the kitchen floor before going back to bed peacefully.
The truly interesting thing about this place was that my ex I had just split with had lived in the same apartment with his ex when she was pregnant with their son. Maybe a fingerprint was left, did their trauma live on to affect us years later? |
\[1\]
I drag myself as fast as I can, but it barrels down the steps and grabs my newly injured left foot, which is dislocated, and slams me against the wall across the room like a rag doll.
Gravity pulls me down, and I spit out blood.
One of the masked guests enters the room and starts shooting at it with the gun I was given, but it only has 2 shots left, which REALLY pisses the thing off.
That's enough to draw its attention away from me, and it tackles the guy through the stained glass window, running and screaming outside.
Thank fate it has the attention span of a 5-year-old.
I cough out more blood and try to mimic what the old car guy did when relocating my right foot earlier and try it with my left one.
I don't know if I did it right, and it hurts way more this time, but it'll have to do.
\[2\]
I get to my feet, limping and beaten to hell, bloody.
I'm coming for you, Tom, wherever you are in this damn place! I promise I'm going to save you.
Nothing but green tapestry and walls. I don't know what this place's damn obsession with that color is. Isn't there enough of it outside with the trees and grass?
Making my way up one more of the halls, I open what had to have been the fiftieth door or so to see Tom chained to a bed, with a shocked look on his face.
He yells out not to come any closer, and then I take off my mask, revealing myself to him.
He goes wide-eyed with shock, like I was the last person he'd ever expect to see here.
\[3\]
We both start to cry, and I go down to the bed to hug him. He says he's sorry, and I just tell him to shut up and that I'm getting us both out of here. I don't have a key, but I use objects around the room to destroy the bedframe parts that Tom is cuffed to.
I tell Tom we need to hurry up and get out of here, but he tells me to wait and that we need to save Jake. Jake? Tom answers by stating that Jake's his boyfriend and that they met here. He's an older guy and ex-military. They'd both been planning on secretly leaving here until things got bad and they lost contact.
Tom says that he told Jake to come find me and watch over and protect me if he ever escaped without Tom...
I stop in my tracks with Tom and look down to pause.
Tom turns to me with a hopeful then worried look.
\[4\]
He's dead... I'm so sorry.
Tom starts to ball up into tears and cry, and I hug him tightly.
We have to get the hell out of here.
As we both move outside the mansion, we come to the gate and help each other climb over into the woods. We don't really know how to navigate where we're going, but we're hopeful that eventually, we'll hit a road.
It's pitch black in the dead of night, with the trees fully blocking out the moonlight.
We both start to hear screams from those things. I quickly pull Tom down to the ground and tell him not to make any sounds.
I can see the fear in his eyes, the doubt that we both won't make it out of this. I'd be lying if I said my optimism wasn't running out at this point.
\[5\]
The screaming dies down, and we pick up our pace through the woods.
Finally, we find the road. After what felt like forever, we wave down a truck, shouting and waving frantically. The driver gets out, confused, and we yell for him to take us and start driving as soon as possible.
He thankfully agrees, and we do it, make it out safely, call our parents, and eventually go home.
It all feels like one horrible nightmare, but it's real. We have the scars and missing fingers to prove it. It takes a while to heal, and life starts to seem normal again.
\[6\]
One day, in my room, working on something for college on my laptop, my brother knocks on my door, hugs me, and teases that I got a letter from someone today, saying how it must be a secret admirer or something.
I scoff and push him out with a smile, inspecting the letter.
It's odd. It doesn't say who it's from in the address. As I go to open it, all that's inside is a single piece of paper saying "uninvited." I glare in confusion and then turn quickly, hearing a scream followed by a crashing sound in the room next to me.
They're here...
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_Written by Vulkath 8-10-23Thank you so much for reading <3 Hope you enjoyed all 3 parts to this story I'll be narrating it on my YT which is vulkath. If you'd like to narrate it yourself feel free you have my permission all I ask is to be given credit hope you have a wonderful day/night :P
I made a narration of the full story on YT |
Hello fellow Redditors!
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Stay spooky,
Mr. Sinister” |
I 16 years old was kicked out of my moms house for something that I have already posted about. I became homeless for 7 months of my life which is really traumatic for my age. As soon as I arrived to the place where the homeless community stays (under a bridge) I knew I wasn’t welcome because the amounts of looks I had gotten by junkies for wearing not bad clothes and having a suitcase full of them. I did not have a tent or anything so I had to sleep outside which didn’t help my chances of being safe at night. Surprisingly for the first week or two I wasn’t touched or talked too Except for the occasional "any fenth". I was doing good since I didn’t touch drugs or anything along those lines so it wasn’t as bad as I thought. But still no where near as good as my middle class privileged life I had before. One night it was freezing cold and I sat around the fire with all the high junkies that would just stare at the fire for hours on end, they were like zombies.I had left my suitcase where I used to sleep every night and when I left the fire to go sleep I realised it was gone. The panic was like nothing I’ve ever had. I ran around the camp looking for signs of my suitcase with all my prized possessions. I walked up on a junkie that was wearing my favourite shirt and I simply asked him where Is it. He acted clueless and said where’s what. I said you know what the fuck I am talking about you are wearing my fucking t shirt. Before he could answer I was in his tent and there it was under a dirty sleeping bag. I grabbed it and the junkie stood up and grabbed it back saying ITS MINE BITCH and I was met with a headbutt right to my forehead. Before I knew it I was getting jumped by four junkies but I took it like a man because I’ve had worse beatings. I somehow got to motivation to get up and hit one of the junkies with all my power right in the jaw. He was out cold and all the other junkies backed up but it turned out someone was behind me with a dirty needle with a bit of heroine in it.
UPVOTE FOR PART 2 |
\[1\]
My head, my fucking head. My vision is blurry, and I quickly try to compose myself.
What the fuck even happened? Who are these psychos, and what the hell do they want with my brother?
I grunt in pain.
That bitch who claims to own this place says he's not feeling well? What the hell is that supposed to mean? And yeah, I get it, monsters aren't real or whatever, but I know what I fucking saw, and the fact that no one would take a stranger busting in and wailing in fear seriously paints a gross picture of who these people are.
I have to find my brother, and we both have to get the hell out of here. I didn't come all this way to get laughed at and then assaulted in the back of the head and dragged into god knows where.
I scan around the room as best as I can with a sore cranium.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
\[2\]
It's dark, very dimly lit by one singular candle. There's the distinct creaks of a rocking chair and the silhouette of someone in it, fucking watching me!
I'm behind bars, and luckily, they're on the other side, eerily rocking back slowly in that damn chair. I get up to find myself stripped of most of my clothes and even my shoes. I don't even have my damn knife that I hid!
I try to get up, but the ceiling in my DIY jail cell is uncomfortably low, and I can't stand straight up without my neck cocking sideways.
The disheveled silhouette of a person in the rocking chair notices me awake and starts to get up out of the chair to get a closer look at me.
My heart rate raises.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
\[3\]
The person shambles over to my cell bars, and I get a better look at them.
It's a wrinkly, old, matted woman with a nefarious grin. She waddles over to my cell, raising her arm slowly and trembly to point behind me as she starts to cackle maliciously.
I begrudgingly turn around, morbidly curious as to what kind of horror the old hag is pointing at. I reveal what's behind me in my cell.
As I make what is probably the slowest turn of my life, I get knocked to the ground by something stocky and pissed off.
I try to wrestle the thing off of me, but it's too strong and bites two of my fingers off my right hand. I scream, and the old hag just fucking cackles like a psycho.
I have to think quickly, or it'll be more than just my fingers that get ripped off.
With my left hand, I scramble to find anything, but it's no use. The fucking thing attacking me throws me against the bars, and my back slams against the metal.
That's it, I'm going to die. I'm sorry, Tom, sorry I couldn't save you.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
\[4\]
I notice the bars get a little loose from that heavy slam and then get an idea. The creature backs off a bit and charges for me, about to pancake me between the bars of our cell.
But I roll out of the way, and the thing slams through, crushing the old hag and running off upstairs.
Holy fuck.
I quickly take some tapestry and wrap it around myself so I feel less exposed and wrap some around my right hand. It hurts, but I manage.
I then cautiously go up the stairs, hoping that thing doesn't turn around and go back down in my direction.
As I move further up, I start to hear screams and loud noises from that thing.
Fearful, I scan the area for anything potentially useful and see an old rusty corkscrew on the ground. Good enough, I guess.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
\[5\]
As I sneak through the mansion, I see one of the guests near a door, looking panicked—probably from all the screams.
I know these people probably don't have my or my brother's best interests in mind, so for my own safety, I run out of the shadows and tackle him, jamming the corkscrew into his neck. He gets a good punch on my eye, and I fall to the ground, unable to see. He gets on top of me and starts to strangle me.
But he slowly loosens his grip and falls to the floor, bleeding out from the fatal wound I inflicted. I gag and then try to get up and drag his body into the room he was standing by.
Once in there, I change into his clothes just so I have actual clothes on again and wear the mask. Hopefully, they don't notice that they're too big for me, but I awkwardly try to tuck them in and make it work.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
\[6\]
I don't find much usefulness in the room, so I quietly leave. Then, I get bum-rushed by that thing from the cell!
It tackles me, crazed and bloody.
It grabs me and chucks me off the interior balcony that we stood on, and I fall down to the lower floor with my left shoulder and foot taking the brunt of the fall.
Oh fuck, and now my left foot is dislocated.
The thing screams and starts to barrel down to where I am. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I need to hide!
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
This is part 2 part 3 will hopefully be out soon. Thanks for reading hope you liked it <3
I made a narration of the full story on YT |
I 17 year old was walking in the forest I had just had a argument with my family I went on a walk to clear my head after 5 minutes I see runner shoes and get a bit scared I turned around to see the same runner shoes I turn around again and see runner shoes so I walk thus direction I then find a cap and earphones at this point im shivering cold it was 11pm I was walking for a while it just turned 2am I lost track of time when my watch died at this point ive already walked deep into the forest the nearest exit was atheist 20 miles away I put my airpods in 10 minutes later I feel like I'm being watched but I thought nothing of it my heart dropped as I saw a bit of blood on the trail the trail was open with just trees on both sides I can see something at a distance it was a man with a knife rapidly moving at me run the over way he grabs me at this point I look down there's a big grey line running down My pants I look at him I run more until he grabs me says you are I ran just before I heard what he said I made it home I started crying and to this day I never walk in the forest. Please comment your rating 1/10 |
I was driving home from work late at night yesterday and on my drive home there’s this long road spanning for miles called arrow route and I always see random people walking there but today I saw a young girl with her thumb out trying to find a ride so I pulled over to let her in. I asked her where did she need to go and she just pointed straight with a thousand yard stare. I kept trying to engage in conversation but every question I asked she would just point her finger straight so I gave up and kept driving straight. I drove for about 10 minutes before I looked back at her and seen her hair changed colors from dirty blonde to a dark brown. I was started to think wether her hair was always that color up until her eyes changed as well from green to dark brown. Her jaw began to move around and change shapes and slowly her skin changed from pale white to light brown. She began to get taller and I noticed her hair was getting shorter and shorter, resembling my haircut. Whatever it was that I picked up was morphing into me and I couldn’t stop it even after I began to cry for it to get out of my car. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t push it out and it just kept looking at me with a blank stare until it smiled and started talking to me, asking me all the same questions I asked in the beginning in my voice. I fainted and crashed my car out of fear and when I woke up police and firefighters were on the scene but the thing wasn’t there. I lied to the officers on the scene and just said I fell asleep behind the wheel because no one would believe me. |
What did I do? Did I really free my village or did I instead release a villain? Did I create a new threat? If that new threat was Askhartès, then I had just condemned all of us to a greater doom.
The monster leaned forward and toward us as we stepped backwards in fear.
"This fool always spoke endlessly." Askhartès said before absorbing something out of Redeye's remains.
"What— what you doing?" I asked trembling.
"Don't you have something to do?" He retorted, and I looked at the Root Altar location next to Redeye's fallen throne. There was still something standing there despite the roots that the monster had absorbed. Black vapors emanated from all the remains of Redeye then merged to form the dark soul of my great-great grandfather. "My work ends here." The monster spoke.
"You said— you said you would help." I protested.
"Don't be dreaming kid, those things never help anyone. At least not for free." Razor corrected.
"I said that I shall do the rest, which is taking back everything that is mine. Your human woes are no concern to me. I have to go back to the realm of my kind." Askhartès spoke, then his tentacles wrapped the soul of Redeye before he flew away, moving in the air just like an octopus swims in the ocean and disappeared through the ceiling, taking Redeye's soul with him.
I looked at the core structure of the Root Altar still standing. I did not know exactly what time it was, I did not know what to do, I only knew that I had to take it down, therefore, I ran towards it and even touched it with both hands. The moment I made contact with the altar, I found myself in a new place, a dark place where the only source of red light came from the platform I was standing on.
Calling a 'platform' is just my way of trying to make it as clear as possible, in fact, I stood on a wide sized version of the Redeye's cult symbol resembling a compass. It glowed in red while everything around was totally obscure. The symbol made a lot more sense due to the fact that there were smaller versions of the altars I spent the whole day taking down, positioned according to their respective locations in the real world: North, South, East and West.
Each of the altars had a curved column bent to support a statue of Redeye standing in the middle of the symbol. The statue itself stood on what resembled a cage. I walked around the center not knowing what to do, and approached the cage to see what looked like a small version of the village with little lights like fireflies, all trapped inside.
"Help! Help!" I heard from disembodied voices and for some reasons thought about Redeye pointing out that the Spiritual influences the Natural, or in other words, what happens in the spirit realm, defines what happens in real life.
When I tried to touch the cage, I found out that it was protected by an invisible magnetic force, therefore, I thought about reproducing what I did in the real world: South, North, East and West, the exact order in which I took down the altars. I touched the South Altar but nothing happened, so in frustration, I kicked it and it crumbled, along with its curved column. I did the same for all the other altars until the statue was deprived of support, allowing me to just push it and let it shatter on the symbol, gruesomely reminiscing of what I witnessed earlier. I then touched the cage, and it just sort of melted, allowing the village, and all the lights to be set free. They shone with a bright white, blinding me to the point of hurting my eyes and I just sat there, waiting until I could open my eyes again.
The first thing I remember doing is hearing the music from an old radio placed at a window of the house behind me. The second thing was the feeling of the cool breeze of the outside, thus leading me to the third one, opening my eyes to see. I remember the stars and the moon, resplendent like on the wallpapers we see on the web. I remember the lights of the village, the lights from the buildings, more beautiful than ever as the electricity had returned. Everyone around me was unconscious and I checked the time to read 11:47 pm. It was not midnight yet, it was not the 10th of June yet, but the blackout was over.
Unfortunately, the sweet realization of the victory soon faded away as screams of terror and distress ushered in a massive period of grieving. The 84th and last blackout was by far the deadliest with a record of 349 deaths.
"Carla? Carla? Vivian?" I heard from a familiar voice. It was my mother.
"Mommy?" Carla answered, not far away, making me jump on my feet and run to her.
"Don't go to her!" I said, retaining my sister to protect her. She hugged me, happy to see her brother.
"You?" My mother said.
"Don't come close to us!" I warned.
"You're not— you're not dead? You— so he failed?" She wondered, and could see in my eyes that I knew.
"Terrence, it's mommy!" Carla said.
"Don't go to mommy Carla, she's evil!" I said.
"No look, it's mommy? What you doing? Where's daddy? And Vivian?" She asked, shattering my heart for the umpteenth time that day.
Penelope then made the first strides toward her escape after realizing that her cover was blown, ignoring the desperate cries of her youngest child as I retained my sister. It was not the moment to go after them just yet. The same night, my sister and I settled in Adelaide's house because I needed to watch after her and the evidence, and because well, our house was destroyed. Right from the following day, when authorities were again able to operate, I explained and showed them everything that I could.
Of course, there are many things that unfolded from there so let me just fill you in with a few I think you might find interesting. After my revelations, the village population was split between those who believed me and some others still sceptical. My mother was the only surviving cult member devoted to Redeye. All the valid men volunteered for her capture, and they found her at the outskirts of the forest, trying to perform a ritual. After the diary that I had lost was found by one of the villagers, further evidence emerged against my mother, and she was thrown in a heavily guarded cell immediately after her trial. To avoid anyone to be manipulated by her cunning nature, I am the only one allowed to visit her alone without escort. For everything that I had accomplished as the Outlander, Carla and I were given a new house despite the fact that all the calamity arose from our family. I was awarded with an honorable rank in the village that I preferred to decline because of the shame Redeye and my mother brought to our lineage. A few weeks after the last blackout, we started receiving many visitors on the land, stating that our village was not visible on any existing map. That brought quite a lot of development in the community, however, we chose to remain hidden, discreet and in full control of our small part of the world.
In 2021, after the village, Carla and myself reached a little bit of stability, I went on an important trip to fulfill my promise to Edlynn. Thanks to the diary, and what I helped her with in writing, I could trace her parents' address all the way to the United States. The moment I stepped into their house, after pretending to be some sort of medium, I could see pictures of her with a heart warming smile and her preference for the green color. However, what mattered for me the most are the tears of joy they shared when they recognized that the note I gave to them truly came from their daughter, as it contained information only her and her family knew. People that are separated because of death indeed still have many things they wish they could say or share. Upon leaving the house, on my way to my requested ride, I saw a Great Green Macaw land on their mailbox, a few meters away from me, before flying high in the sky, making me smile and wave Edlynn goodbye one last time.
My whole life was turning into a valuable lesson, even a whole course. From the blackout to its end, I had to grow up fast and eventually became my sister's guardian and only 'sane' family. How the little things can have such impact on the world. Some parents fail to recognize the value of their own child, then that child sinks into a deadly megalomania and delusion, in turn failing to recognize the value of every single life around him. Many lives destroyed, many lives wasted because of the pain. I am grateful for still standing, trying my best to escape a destiny that was almost forced upon me, instead of just letting me find my path. I always wonder what would my life be if my great-great grandfather did not do what he did. At least, I did find a path despite the storm. I do not believe to be the Outlander, no. I refuse to let Redeye, his cult or even Askhartès define who and what I am. Before the resolution of the blackout and after its definitive stop, I stand in between. Yes, I am the bridge between the old world and the new world, between the time of war and the time of peace. At least, that was what I thought.
As soon as I returned to the village a few days later after my trip, I was hit with a really worrisome news. Someone in the village had stolen all Adelaide's witchcraft books.
The same night of my return, I dreamed about myself lying down and stuck on my bed as if it was some freaking sleep paralysis. In the room, there was a girl using blood on her hands, to write things that I was not able to read. The moment she spotted me looking at her, she approached.
"You're here." She whispered.
"Who are y—" I asked.
"Ssshhhhh! Not too loud, he'll hear you."
"What's going on? How did you get in here?" I asked again.
"How did 'you' get in here, this is not your home, I mean, not exactly, this is the Midway Realm." She revealed.
"What? Why I can't move? Who are you?"
"Terrence, it's me, Hazel. Don't you recognize me? I changed that much?"
"You've done something wrong. Very wrong. You've freed him, and now I can't control him anymore."
"What? Who?" I questioned.
"Twin." She replied.
"Twin?"
"Look who's here, mommy's favorite little baby!" A male voice said from behind the door, making Hazel gasp in fear.
"Hurry Terrence please! You gotta find me, you— you gotta find him, before it's too—" She could not finish shouting.
He crushed the door into several pieces with a bizarre power that emitted a green light, not allowing me to see him properly, and he sent all the pieces in our direction while Hazel screamed in terror. I jumped in my bed waking up and immediately gasped in fear myself, when I saw all the walls, the floor and the ceiling in my room covered with distress messages written in fresh blood, streaming down: help me; save me; find me; find him; find us; Midway Realm; hurrry... They were everywhere, and the door and windows of my bedroom were wide open.
I checked the time on the same mechanical watch from the blackout, that I still have to this day, that I still wear almost all the time, and read 2:26 am. I did not wait until morning and dashed to my mother's prison cell. It was only my second visit to her in six years. I stormed through the facility entrances, startling a few guards sleeping on duty and found the lady dancing in her cell in the middle of the night.
"Oh, Outlander my son. Hello!" She greeted gleefully when she saw me.
"Who did I free?" I questioned.
"So you've finally seen him? Oh dear, I told you that the sky was about to get darker for you. For all of us by the way." She spoke.
"Who did I free? Redeye said the same thing before he died and I know he wasn't talking about Askhartès. Who's that guy? And what's his business with that Hazel girl?" I asked.
"I won't say anything about Hazel. I've never been a gossip person you know. Her parents should have known what they were getting into when they chose to make her escape the village. Everything has a price, a soul for a soul." She replied.
"For the last time Penelope, who is he?"
"So you didn't recognize him? That is sooo awful. Does he care? I think not. He'll soon be here anyway. First, he'll come for me, then he might go for Carla and keep you for the dessert, before crushing everything and everyone."
"WHO IS HE?" I shouted, shaking the bars of her cell.
"You always lacked manners and brains." She said, after sighing in disappointment. "After everything that you've seen and heard, you still need to be lectured. Fine." She added, suddenly standing straight. "This is how an Outlander is born. You're the only one that have existed. I gave birth to you, and I'm so proud of myself for accomplishing such a task. Even though you're such a disappointment."
"Do not test my patience!" I warned.
"I guess you should know. In an offspring from our bloodline, one sibling is chosen among others and the rest has to be sacrificed. The chosen one, myself in this case, undergoes a series of ritual each time she has to give birth, or each time he has to impregnate if he's a male. If there's one baby at birth, the ritual is a failure. But if there are twins the ritual is a success— at 50%. The chosen sibling still has to make a difficult choice. One baby has to be favored, and the other has to be discarded and locked away, somewhere, very dark." She revealed before pretending to hold two babies, and I remembered the painting of her holding two infants I saw in the realm of Redeye.
"What— what did you—" I tried but failed to speak.
"Terrence the Outlander..." She said looking at her right arm. "...and Lawrence, the Outcast." She said, looking at her left arm, then looked at me with a smile.
My heart racing again, I almost fell trying to put distance between that evil woman and myself, under the guards appalled looks following her gruesome revelation. She laughed behind me, rejoicing at the prospect of a new threat looming over us all, saying that the rejected son was on his way home, lusting for blood. Will all this nightmare have an end? I stepped outside trying to breathe after she crushed my heart one more time with one more evil deed. Neither the stars nor the moon were visible that night. She and Redeye had told me the truth: the sky was indeed getting darker. |
Every time I close my eyes, it's there, ready to grab me. The hand. But when I open my eyes, there's no hand. It's like there was no hand there at all. But I know there was. I've been dealing with this for years. Causing the diagnosis of Insomnia.
I haven't gotten a good sleep in years. My parents have always told me that it's just my imagination, but I haven't used that since i was 10. Now, I'm 25.
Finally, tonight, I decided to confront it. Using all the strength I'd gained from weight training to make sure I got out alive.
When I closed my eyes, there it was. With what looked like dark blood. Then, just as suddenly, it disappeared. I was free, at last.
The next morning, my mom got a call. Her dad was found dead with dark red blood on his hand from and unknown encounter.
It was the same hand I'd seen in my dreams |
I'm writing this document to warn everyone to never accept an invite from the user Killjoy88 or visit the Virgin Massacre site. It's a twisted dark website dedicated to showing the torture and murder of innocent girls. Avoid that vile site at all costs. Let me start from the beginning.
I used to be a fairly normal college guy until recently. I had a small group of friends, mostly kept to myself and browsed the internet all the time. I was particularly interested in shock sites. Anything that got a surprise out of me was always thrilling. My life was always so mediocre I needed something to break the mediocrity. I needed something that could wake me up and feel alive. My viewings began with simple fight videos and then escalated to near-death accidents. It made my stomach turn, but at the same time, I could feel my blood boiling with excitement.
I searched various forums on the best shocking violence sites until I saw this one user mention the Virgin Massacre. Everyone on the forum was confused and had never heard of it before. He went under the alias of Killjoy88. He said that the Virgin Massacre was this dark website that even the police couldn't track. The guy rambled on about how it hosted a library of videos where schoolgirls had to go through death traps until they faced a butcher at the end.
None of us were sure if we believed him and quite a few called him an outright liar. Talk about red rooms was common on these types of forums but no one could ever prove they existed. I was neutral to the idea. I had no doubts about humanity's potential for wanton cruelty but red rooms always felt more like an internet urban legend. Isn't it odd that the danger of these alleged sites were never made public but some random guys on an obscure forum had all the details? Some people would do anything to look cool; even if meant pretending to be a connoisseur torture porn sites. Still, I had nothing better to do with my day so I asked Killjoy to give us a link to the virgin massacre.
He of course made up some shoddy excuse about why he couldn't do that and how he would only give the link to someone he trusted. My eyes rolled so hard I almost worried they'd pop out of their sockets. It was clear that Killyjoy88 was yet another attention-seeking troll with a poorly thought out story. Everyone else in the forum called him as such. The chat was filled with laughing emojis and colorful insults that got a few chuckles out of me.
I was more than a little surprised when I got a DM later that day from Killjoy88. He said that since I was the only one who didn't mock his story, I would get the link. A bunch of thoughts raced around in my head. I still had severe doubts about his story but figured I still might find something intriguing if I played along.
I told him I was interested in seeing the Virgin Massacre site but I didn't have any VPN security software. He assured me that wasn't necessary. Killjoy said he screen-recorded a video preview of the site as a test to see if I was worthy of seeing the real thing. It was a pretentious answer, but I held my tongue regardless. I clicked the link and was taken to a domain consisting of only the video file. It began playing by itself, showcasing " Virgin Massacre" in muted yellow letters. A raspy voice like sandpaper emitted from my speakers. This is a rough summary of what I remember:
《 Welcome to the Virgin Massacre! We host thousands of gore-tastic movies for your depraved viewing pleasure. Our main attraction is the ensemble of beautiful young maidens just ripe for the slaughter! Daddy's little princess won't be a princess for long after she's eviscerated by our finest traps! Stay tuned for a movie you'll never forget! 》
The addition of a narrator was making me question the validity of the site even more. It felt more like watching a low budget movie rather than an actual torture video. The creator was passionate about his project, to say the least. The screen shifted to a low-resolution video feed of a girl standing in a room of rotating chainsaws. It's hard to explain, but it looked like the chainsaws were horizontally connected to various pillars that spun in place. The production values of the "props" were a step above what you would expect from some obscure Gore site. Could it have been a scene edited from a movie? I wish the real answer was so innocent.
From what I could make out, the girl wore a bloody tattered Japanese schoolgirl uniform despite not having any noticeable Asian features. Her face was scrunched up in an agonizing teary-eyed scream. She howled and begged to be set free from her captors. The raw anguish in her voice unnerved me to my core. I've seen tons of movies where the actor's performance could easily be mistaken for reality but this performance wasn't a mistake. It felt real. It felt like torture.
I immediately found myself feeling empathy for a girl I'd known for less than a minute. With that said, I didn't look away. I didn’t close the video. I needed to know at the very least if she made it out OK. After she cried for a few minutes straight, she finally began moving. She must've realized that there wouldn't be an escape waiting for her. She squeezed her body between two pillars of chainsaws, trying her damnest not to get hit. I watched with bated breath with every step she took. The roar of grinding metal snuffed out her cries completely.
She got far through the room and it almost seemed like she would complete the challenge. She nearly made it out when the left side of her stomach got grazed. The blades cleaved through her flesh effortlessly and left a gaping gash where she was struck. The pain was so great that it caused her to completely lose her composure. She threw her arms around as she cursed her luck and cried a bloodcurdling scream. It was hard watching her wobble out of the room while clutching at her wound.
She walked down a long corridor of rusted metal until she reached another room filled with traps. This one had buzzsaws strapped to the ground with a uniform amount of distance between each one. The hallway was so cramped that jumping past the buzzsaws was the only way to progress.
The girl was visibly terrified and hesitated once again. There wasn't much margin for error. She had to calculate her jumps just right or else she was done for. I could tell that the stomach wound was causing her focus to wane. The girl took a few steps back to build up momentum for a sprint. Once she took off running, she leapt over the immediate buzzsaw and landed in the middle space. Unfortunately, it wasn't a safe landing. She stumbled once she touched the ground and fell forward right in front of another buzzsaw. The moment of impact was obscured by a heavy static filter but her agonizing screams remained etched into my memory all these months later.
A heavy sense of nausea overwhelmed me and I emptied my stomach into a waste bucket by my side. I immediately closed the video and took a moment to regain my composure. Had I just witnessed a real death? Who was that girl? Did her family and friends ever find out what happened to her? Questions with no answers swirled around in my mind to no end.
I was just about to contact Killjoy88 when I noticed that the chat log was gone. All the messages were deleted, even my own. I refreshed the page several times to see if it was some glitch, but nothing changed. I even went back to the forum where I met him but all his posts were also missing. Even the link he sent me wouldn't load. Killjoy88 had completely erased his tracks.
I thought my experience with Killjoy was over until a received a package in the mail a week after the incident. At my door lay a clear plastic case containing a bloody schoolgirl uniform. Attached was a note that read, " Did you enjoy the movie?" I notified the police about everything but have yet to receive any updates.
It's been a few months since the incident and I try my best to leave it behind. I haven't been invested in the Gore community lately. Those videos just bring back bad memories. The worst part of watching a murder video is the guilt of not being able to help the victim. I don't want to see videos of people suffering anymore. It makes my heart sink. I can't even afford to move with my lousy salary, so I'm stuck here always looking over my shoulder, fearful that I may be the next victim of that accursed site.
If you're a thrill-seeker like I used to be and you get an invite to see the next best Gore video, Don't go for it. Keep your sanity. |
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